𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗛

The Jeon house looks just like normal when you pull up an approximate ten minutes later. You may have stretched the speed limits a little and angered a few other drivers in the process. What mattered was that you were here — and in record time at that. Jungkook's car is still parked in the driveway and you take no shame in blocking his exit with your own before cutting the engine.

You make your way to the front door with hurried steps, reaching anxiously for the doorbell before pausing. After a moment's consideration you curl your fingers into a fist as you bring it to the wood, knocking only twice. 

No response comes from inside, not even if you strained your ears. You wait for what feels like an eternity but was probably closer to a minute or so. Then the latch on the other side is moved, followed by a brief struggle as whoever was on the other side fought the lock into compliance. The door opens slowly and you're greeted with the sight of Rayne, staring up at you quietly. 

She keeps one hand on the handle, lips pressed together as she sends you an uncertain glance. Her hair is done up in its usual ponytail and she's dressed in a white blouse paired with navy jeans that end high on her hips. "You came fast," is all she says before taking a step to the side and allowing you to enter, just like her father would. 

"I did," you almost add that it were for the fact that her call had scared you, though figured that it probably wasn't such a good idea. Your shoes and coat come off without ritual, landing in a messy heap somewhere on the floor, you didn't exactly care. Rayne closes the door behind you, managing the lock a little easier this time around. 

One of the first thing you notice is the silence. Silence was not an uncommon thing in this house but this one felt wrong — scary. Even the walls held their breath, the floor had yet to as much as creak under your weight, like it, too, was steeling itself against something. 

"Cassian is in the living room," Rayne points down the hall, taking a couple of steps before she stops to glance over her shoulder to make sure that you were following. You wanted to ask what was going on but decided to hold your tongue as you let her lead you through the archway and to her waiting brother. 

Cassian was sitting on one of the couches, tiny legs swaying back and forth as he picks at the sleeves of his own sweater — it was inside out, meaning he'd probably dressed himself this morning. His head snaps up when you enter, eyes widening a fraction but he didn't smile like he always would, he didn't even call for you. 

Rayne takes you over, and you crouch down on the floor in front of him. "Hi sweetie," you say, hoping that the waver to your voice went unnoticed. When you open your arms he doesn't hesitate as he falls into your embrace with a quiet sigh. 

"I missed you nanny." 

The words are muffled against your shoulder but they still have you tightening your hold on him. "I missed you too," you tell him as you stroke his back slowly. He doesn't cry even though you'd half expected him to — just breathes deeply through parted lips. 

His sister is still standing off to the side and you pull back just enough to reach one hand out to grasp hers. She doesn't shrug you off, letting your thumb caress her knuckles tenderly. "What's going on?" You finally bring yourself to ask the question that had been on your mind since you'd first heard her voice over the transmitter. 

She hesitates, her gaze flickering across the room before finding its way back to you. "Father won't come out of his room," she whispers, as though she feared he would somehow hear them from all the way upstairs. 

You frown. You frown deep enough for your temple to hurt and your forehead to crease. Cassian's breath hitches against your shirt but he stays silent, tiny fingers curling around the hem of your button-up. "He won't come out?" you echo, wondering what could possibly be keeping him from his own children. 

Rayne nods, her attention going to her brother. "I woke Cassian up so we could put on our clothes and brush our teeth. Father always takes us to school in the morning but I think he forgot today is Monday." 

It clicks then. Her attire, Cassian's haphazardly thrown on shirt. You push down the spark of anger that surges in your chest. How could he forget to take his own children to school? Rayne must notice the change in your expression, she clears her throat and gestures toward the hallway which the two of you had just come from. 

"You have a car. You can take us right?" she timidly asks. It was unlike her to ever be bashful like this, but here she was. "I packed our bags already, we can leave now. I think our teachers are mad that we missed our first classes—" 

"No." 

You cut her off by squeezing her hand a little tighter. "No school today." Her brows draw together in confusion, even Cassian dislodges himself from you to send you a questioning look. Giving him a small side-hug, you then carefully rise to your feet, "Did you eat breakfast yet?" 

Both siblings share a silent glance, the elder looking somewhat guilty. They shake their heads but allow you to pull them along as you make for the kitchen. 

When stepping inside you're met with what is best described as a catastrophe. A glass of juice lay spilled on the counter, along with the aftermath of what was probably supposed to have been sandwiches. The package of bread had been torn into but the loaf itself was moldy. There's a small trail of butter as well, leading all the way to the abandoned, blunt knife. 

"Cassian was hungry so I tried to make something for him but I—" Rayne trails off as she inhales a short breath, teeth latching onto her bottom lip as she chews anxiously. "I was going to clean it up when we came home again I promise." She was blinking rapidly and when you glance down you realize that it was tears she fought back. 

Without thinking you drop to your knees beside her, wrapping your arms around her much smaller frame as you pull her in for what was likely the first hug the two of you had ever shared. She stiffens immediately, her body going rigid against your chest but she doesn't shove you off — just quietly accepts the comfort you try to give her. 

Your hand finds the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair carefully. "You did good." The whisper is loud enough only for her to catch, but you know that she does when you feel her shoulders slump. Then you squeeze her a little tighter, as if to emphasize the statement. 

Upon pulling back, you instinctively reach up to caress her cheek, her skin warm and alive under your touch, such a stark contrast to the house you stand in. "But I'm here now," you say, thumb wiping away the single tear that had escaped, "And I'll take care of it. You don't have to worry anymore." 

Rayne nods slowly as she pulls in a lungful of air. She doesn't say anything, doesn't have to. You knew that she knew — and there was comfort in simply knowing. 

You help the children cook up some scrambled eggs. The elder insists on wiping the juice she spilled and you hand her a rag to do so. Cassian seems to be in a better mood already, he's less talkative than usual but he does his best to fill the silence as you prepare breakfast for them. 

The once bleak kitchen comes to life again, filled with the warmth of the stove and the aroma of food being made. "Would you look at that, there's bacon as well!" you exclaim upon pulling the fridge open. The meat was quickly added to the mix, sizzled in the pan until crispy. Before sitting down to eat you make sure to help Cassian get his shirt on right, aiding Rayne in pouring two new glasses of orange juice without spilling and setting the plates on the marble island. 

For a short while your mind clears up of all the thoughts that had been plaguing it for the past weeks. In this moment only the children exist, their small hands and hesitant smiles. They thank you for the food as they sit down to eat, gratefully accepting the napkins you fetch for them. 

"Will you go talk to father?" 

It's Rayne who speaks first after a few minutes of eating quietly, catching you by surprise where you had been cleaning up by the sink. You turn to glance at her over your shoulder, she was already watching you with a tight grip on her fork. "I will," you hum as you turn off the faucet and reach for a towel to wipe yourself dry. 

She swallows — though wasn't actually chewing — as her gaze flickers between you and her plate. There was something else she wished to say, that much you could tell. So you round the counter, pulling out the empty chair beside her own and taking a seat. 

"What will you say?" The undercurrent of worry in her question is impossible to miss. Rayne was protective of Jungkook, more than he would ever deserve after today. 

You have to bite back the rising anger, careful not to let it show in front of her at the thought of their own dad dismissing his two children like this. "I don't know yet," you honestly tell her. 

She nods, peering down at her food with a slight frown. "I think…" she trails off as she purses her lips, "…he needs to see you." The scrambled eggs are pushed around on her plate aimlessly, a simple distraction from whatever it was she was trying to say. You don't interrupt, even when curiosity gnaws at you from every direction. 

Rayne pauses, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours. It looks like she there's something waiting on the tip of her tongue. You can practically see the words forming in her head as she thinks them over. But when she she does utter them, you're not so sure they're the ones she really wants to say. "Father will listen to you." 

You almost outright object to that, your mind already arguing that listening to you of all people, was the last thing Jungkook would be doing. The girl beside you, however, seems sure of herself. She picks up another bite without bringing it to her lips, "Are you going to be nice to him?" 

Nice? Your gaze wanders across the kitchen — spotless now — but the memories if the state which you had found it in still lingers. Then you look at Cassian and Rayne, you think of the latter's voice when she'd first called, the bags she had packed and the breakfast she tried to cook. And even after all of that, she was still defending the man who'd forced these responsibilities on her. 

Would you be nice? No. The last thing Jungkook deserved right now was the same kindness you'd been giving him to no avail for so long. But that wasn't something Rayne should have to know. You place a hand on the back of her head, fingers brushing through the ponytail she had put it into. "I'm going to be nice to him," you tell her as you fiddle with the purple tie. 

"Did you say he was in his room?" 

After making sure both the children were alright, you had excused yourself with a small smile and quietly made your way up the stairs. For each step you climbed the anger you'd been able to mask slowly surfaced. Every stomp of your foot was louder than the last. By the time you reached the second floor you were practically seething with rage, and the source of it waits just down the hall. 

You had planned on slamming the bedroom open and have it rattle the walls — though figured that it would run the risk of the children hearing, which was the last thing you wanted. So you opt for entering like a normal and somewhat more composed person, letting it fall shut with a soft click behind you. 

You don't know what you'd expected to find in here but the mess that welcomes you inside was certainly a surprise. Clothes are littered across the floor — dirty you presume — an empty whiskey bottle stands on the bedside table, no glass, he must've been drinking straight from the source then. 

Jungkook himself is sprawled on top of the bed. The blanket clings to one of his legs, the rest dangling off the edge like he'd been tossing and turning. The dress shirt he wears is rumpled, its buttons undone to about halfway and judging by the smell inside the room, you didn't want to imagine when he'd last bothered getting changed. 

He's asleep, that much is evident. His chest rises and falls slowly, quiet breaths escaping his parted lips. Anger twists deep inside you at the sight of him blissfully snoozing away while his children were left to their own devices. And he'd better have the excuse of the century prepared when those eyes peeled back. 

Without courtesy you stomp over, fingers closing around the collar of his shirt as you yank him up with surprising strength. 

"Hey." 

The rough shake startles him awake and Jungkook blinks messily against the sunlight that intrudes on his sleep-ridden eyes. He lets out an indignant huff, his unfocused gaze wandering across the room before finally settling on you. It takes him a long second but then your presence seems to register and his shoulders immediately tense. 

Puzzled by your sudden appearance, his brows scrunch together and it looks as though he wants to say something. But you're not here to listen. "Get up," you hiss when hauling him further off the mattress, forcing him to catch himself on his elbows with a startled noise. 

"What are you—?" 

"Quiet." 

His jaw snaps shut, surprisingly enough, and he continues to regard you with an irritate frown. "Do you know what time it is?" you question, to which he hesitates before shaking his head slowly. Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you suppress a roll of your eyes. "Well then I'll have you know that it's almost eleven." 

Rightfully baffled by this information, Jungkook parts his lips to speak — only for you to let go of his collar as you shove him back with enough momentum for him to nearly go crashing into his pillow again. 

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. It's then you notice the faint stubble across his skin, lining his jaw and going down his throat. In the three months which you had come to know him, Jungkook had always been smoothly shaved. You study the bags under his eyes, pointing to his unkempt appearance. 

"What are you doing here?" he croaks as he runs his fingers through the black mess of hair atop his head, wincing when they catch on a knot. 

You've turned your back on him, already halfway across the floor, not stopping until you reach the dresser and rip its top drawer open. "Your daughter called." The response is clipped, said with enough ice to chill the stuffy air inside the room. You're too busy rummaging through the neatly folded selection of button-ups inside to catch his reaction, but you could clearly hear the hitch in his breath. 

"Rayne called you…?" he asks and you can't resist snorting. 

"You don't have another daughter, do you?" 

He doesn't respond to that but there's shuffling behind you, likely him moving to sit up fully. "Not that you deserve this one," you add bitterly as you grab a shirt. "She's been running this house in your absence. Even had the decency to give me a call when you didn't." The drawer is slammed shut moments later and you turn back to him, this time with a fresh set of clothes. 

Jungkook is seated on the edge of the mattress now, the dress pants he'd been wearing to bed unbuttoned and unzipped. He's got one hand on his knee, the other still rubbing the remnants of sleep from his face. If he was affected by your words then it did not show, and that only upset you further as you storm over. 

He tilts his head back to glance up when you approach, the crease between his brows ever-so prominent — you almost want to smack it away. 

"Your children are over two hours late for school. I've just made them breakfast because your son was hungry." 

Jungkook's eyes widen a fraction and he scrambles to his feet, muttering a quiet 'shit' under his breath — only for you to promptly push him back. "Sit the fuck down," you snap, discarding the clean clothes on top of the duvet as you reach for the remaining buttons on his shirt, undoing them with efficiency he currently lacked. 

"I can do it myself…" he murmurs, though makes no move to swat your hands away as he lets you undress him. 

The shirt falls open to reveal his toned chest and stomach — which was just as tense as the rest of him. Jungkook exhales shakily through his nose, his jaw working silently and his head hanging low. Though whether that was in submission or avoidance you couldn't tell — you didn't care either. 

"Here's what's going to happen," you say whilst pushing the loose fabric down his shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up. "You're going to get dressed. Then you're going to go downstairs and tell your children good morning. You'll give them both a loving hug and tell them that everything's okay." 

Your tone is sharp, matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument as you continue without missing a beat. "You'll get in your car and you're going to drive them straight to their grandparents. And when you've done that you're going to go home and take a fucking shower." 

By the time you've finished your chest is rising and falling heavily, barely restrained anger seeping its way deep into your bones. Jungkook says nothing, his gaze fixed to the floor between you. 

It takes less than a second for your hand to find his chin, blunt nails digging into his skin as you force him to look at you. "Am I making myself clear?" you seethe. 

His neck is craned at uncomfortable angle yet he makes no complaints as he watches you with wide and dark eyes that resemble so little of the Jungkook you had come to know. He visibly struggles with his next swallow, it goes down thickly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he does. Then he nods mutely, fingers picking at the fabric of his pants. 

"Yes ma'am," he whispers. 

The formality makes your stomach flip as the muscles in your face twitch. Ma'am? Since when—? Under different circumstances you would've probably felt flustered under his intent stare paired with the way he'd addressed you. But today all you see — all you feel — is anger. And that anger would not vanish simply because he chose to have manners all of a sudden. You let go of his chin again, taking a small step back as you pray the distance might give you room to think. 

Jungkook shifts on the mattress, it groans under his weight, uncomfortably loud in the reigning silence. His tongue darts out to wet his dry lips though he quickly sucks it back into his mouth when your gazes meet. Dark lashes kiss the high of his cheek when they flutter slightly. His eyes stay with yours for a long while before dipping lower, noting the dress pants and button-up you wear — a stark contrast to the causal sweaters and jeans he'd usually see you in. 

His jaw slacks and his lips part before pressing together, only to part again. "You look nice," his voice is hoarse, as though his body had suddenly realized how dehydrated and exhausted it was. Just as the admission leaves him, he bites down on the inside of his cheek, peering up at you through his lashes before averting his gaze to the floor. 

"Thanks. I have an interview." 

You couldn't force yourself to sound enthusiastic about it even if you wanted to. All the excitement and the anticipation that had been building for this day had been turned upside down the second Rayne called. Hell — you'd even stood up Namjoon to go and tend to the fiasco that was the man sitting before you. 

But Jungkook doesn't seem deterred by your monotone response. His head jerks up, brows furrowing across his forehead and had you not known better — then he would've almost looked pitiful. "An interview?" he echoes, "For a job?" 

Giving him a curt nod, you watch as his face goes through a variety of emotions. Shock, confusion, realization, dread and finally a reluctant acceptance. He mimics your motion with a dip of his chin, turning his attention to where his fingers still pick restlessly at his pants. His tongue prods against his cheek, "That's good…" 

He looks sad. Even then, he clearly wasn't planning to do anything about it other than continue to pose as a kicked puppy. His lack of, well, anything, has you biting back a scoff as you fold your arms across your chest. 

"I have a date as well." 

The lie rolls smoothly from your tongue, and it must sound believable enough, for Jungkook's eyes widen to double their initial size as they snap up to meet yours. You didn't have to mention his name, the image of Namjoon lay between you like a knife. And the lie did hold some truth. You had a friendship-date with Namjoon scheduled for today, but just like always — you'd dropped everything for him, for Jungkook. 

There was challenge in the way you had said it — a silent invitation hidden behind the statement. You would be lying if you said that there wasn't a small, hopeful and naive part of you that prayed he would see it. A selfish part that wished he would drop everything for you the way you would for him without question. To show you that the kisses you shared and the intimacy had meant something to him. 

Jungkook sits quiet on the edge of the bed. His brows are pulled together, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a firm line. Sure there was something else in his eyes — something deeper, vulnerable. But what matter were those feelings if he didn't act on them? 

You grab the discarded — fresh — shirt and shove it right against his naked chest. "Get dressed," you huff, hoping that the hurt won't show as you turn your head away. You hear him shuffle about, pulling the garment over his head and looping his arms through it. 

Only once he's buttoned it halfway do you bend down to pick up the belt that lies forgotten on the floor. Tossing it onto the pair of pants you'd picked out, you then turn to head back downstairs when he suddenly catches you by your wrist. 

"Are you leaving already?" 

His fingers keep a tight grip but when you cast a glance over your shoulder, you find that he's watching you with a hesitant expression. Your gaze drops to his thumb, stroking idle circles right over your pulse point. A caress that would always ground and comfort you now feels mocking, and you twist yourself free with a sharp inhale. 

"I have an interview," you remind him as you cradle your wrist to your chest. He doesn't attempt to reach for you again, his hand curling into a loose fists that he instead rests on his thigh. "I suggest you put on clean pants and go see to your children." 

You've made it safely to the bedroom door, with an iron-clad hold on the knob as you prepare to step out into the hallway, when Jungkook speaks again. His voice is a little louder this time, but still just as hoarse. "Then what?" he wonders, "After I come back home and shower. Then what do I do?" 

The scoff slips past your unguarded lips as you tilt your head to give him one last glare. "You get your fucking shit straight." 

Without waiting for him to respond you tear the door open — letting it slam shut behind you as you hurry down the hall and the stairs. 

Your steps echo in the otherwise silent house, faltering only as you pass the kitchen where the children still sat eating their breakfast. Frustration and hurt pumps steadily through your veins, urging you toward the front door and as far away from Jungkook as you could get — reason is what holds you rooted to the spot. 

You take a deep breath, willing the emotions far down your throat as you abandon the exit ahead and instead approach marble island. 

Cassian was on his second plate, he must've been hungry. "Is daddy feeling better?" he asks between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs, some of it sticking to his chin. 

Managing a simple smile, you reach for the napkins set to the side. "He is, he was just a little sleepy" you tell him reassuringly when wiping around his lips, "Your dad is going to take you to your nana and papa soon, won't that be fun?" 

The young boy lights up at that, nodding eagerly before diving back into his food with a grin. His sister on the other hand, was sitting quietly beside him, her own portion only half-finished as she sipped on her orange juice. You reach over to brush a stray strand of hair from her face gently. 

She heaves a big sigh as she sets her glass down. "Father messed up, didn't he?" It wasn't much of a question even though she phrased it as one. You frown, worried that she might've accidentally heard you upstairs, you'd tried to keep your voice down but perhaps you had been too caught up in the moment. 

Rayne turns to you. "My father doesn't mean it," she murmurs, "He really doesn't." Her brother has slowed down on his breakfast and was now peeking curiously at his sibling, looking slightly puzzled by what she was saying. 

"I'm sorry he's not very good at stuff," she adds as her gaze drops to the floor. 

You promptly shake your head, leaning down to pull her in for your second hug today. "It's not your job to apologize for him," you say as you rub her back, "Okay?" 

She nods stiffly against your shoulder but doesn't reciprocate the embrace. When you part again, she's looking at you with careful eyes. "Do you have to go now?" 

Five minutes ago you'd been eager to get out of the house, to just leave this entire mess behind and get to your interview in one piece. Only it was becoming extremely difficult when standing in front of the children. But Jungkook would be down soon, and it would only make matters all the more awkward if you were here when he did. 

"I do," you hum, "Your dad is going to be here in a minute, and then you're going to see your grandparents." 

You pause, hands going to the pockets of your dress pants as you rummage around for the notepad and pen you'd brought with key words for the interview. Tearing the first page off, you fold it back into your clothes before scribbling down the sequence going to your landline at home. 

"If you want to talk to me," you hand her the paper, "Then you just call this number, same one you did earlier." 

Rayne accepts the small note, her eyes scanning the numbers jotted down before turning her attention back to you. "Okay," she says. 

You give them both another hug, promising to see them soon, even though you hardly knew when "soon" would be. Lying was not something you did for fun but right now it felt kinder than the uncertain truth. 

After urging them both to finish their breakfast before their father came downstairs, you head out into the hallway as you pull on your shoes and coat, trying to steer your thoughts elsewhere. 

The cold winter air hits you right in the face, doing little to wash of the irritation that still bubbles hotly under your skin. Snow crunches beneath the sole of your shoes and you come to a halt by your car door as you fumble for the keys. You hadn't forgotten them inside, had you? God that would simply be the cherry on top— 

Before you can ponder the matter further, the sound of the front door creaking open catches your attention. Creaking was probably the wrong term to use — slammed felt more like it. For the door had indeed slammed against the wall, loud enough to send the nearby squirrels running for cover and for a second you consider joining them. 

Alas, the familiar voice of no one other than Jungkook himself, freezes you to the spot. "Wait!" His call for you slices through the gentle winds and when you turn, you find him stumbling down the steps of the porch. His shirt has yet to be buttoned all the way and he was still in the same pants you'd found him in twenty minutes prior. 

Though none of that seems to register to any of you right now, and you watch as he comes to a halt when reaching the third step, his bare feet melting the snow under him. His chest is rising and falling unevenly, his eyes wide but focused solely on you. When he realizes that you're actually looking back at him, it's as though a switch has been flipped and he launches forward. 

You don't think you'd ever seen Jungkook run — he wasn't running now either — but he was moving fast enough for it to almost be considered such. 

He reaches you a mere second later, crashing to the ground as he does. For a moment you thought he'd actually tripped and fell to his knees but then his arms wrap around your waist, big and strong yet they tremble like a child's as he holds on tightly. His forehead rests against your stomach, warm breaths fanning across your thighs, even through the fabric of your pants. 

Stunned into silence, you stare down at the mess of black hair that greets you as Jungkook's broad shoulders shake — though you don't reckon that it was from the cold. 

A moment later he tilts his head back, just enough for his chin to brush over your shirt. "I…" His mouth opens and closes repeatedly, lips wavering on his next exhale as he struggles to get the words out. Jungkook's eyes — that have always been such a mystery to you — are now filled to the brim with unshed tears as he gazes up at you with something close to desperation. 

"Please—" he whispers hoarsely. His jaw quivers and his fingers curl further into your coat as he pulls you closer, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together. He swallows with a strained noise as the first tear slides down his cheek. "Don't go," he pleads. 

You can only look on in silence, your hands hovering uselessly by your sides as another droplet falls, then another. His cries aren't audible, save for the hitch in his breath when he tries to compose himself — and ultimately failing. 

The lack of a response pulls another shaky exhale from him. "I'm sorry," his voice cracks on the last syllable. The grip he has on your coat tightens, perhaps he was scared you'd shove him off, but you don't even think you could move. "Let me fix it— I wantto fix it. Please stay." Each word comes rushing as he trips over them hurriedly. 

He would've probably kept going, had you not shook your head. "I have to get to my interview." And you'd be damned if you let this opportunity slip from your grasp. Three weeks you waited for his call. Three weeks and it never came. Enough was enough, right? So why did it hurt so terribly to see his face crumple as he buried it back into your stomach. 

"Okay…" he sounds defeated when he nods against you, his body sagging in on itself, it makes your chest twist uncomfortably. One of your hands hesitate before finding the crown of his head, fingers sifting through his dark locks carefully. He tenses at the touch, his previously slumped shoulders draw up again, only to relax when your soothing caress continues. 

A minute passes, maybe more. He must be cold, you think. The snow had to be seeping through his pants at this point and he probably couldn't feel his toes. Jungkook refuses to move, stubbornly holding on, though no longer clinging to you. He pulls back just enough to peek up at you once more. 

The tears have dried on his cheeks, leaving messy streaks in their memory. His lips are raw and reddened from where he's teeth had been assaulting them, they part as he blinks. "Come by tomorrow?" There's hope in his eyes, the kind you don't remember ever seeing on him. He shifts anxiously on the wet ground as he awaits your answer. 

You go back and forth for a while. The reasonable part, the one you had let take charge today, says to not agree. Your heart, however, can't help but squeeze hard behind your ribs. Your hand slides down the side of his face, palm coming to rest against his cold skin. Jungkook leans into the touch easily, pressing his damp cheek to your open palm. 

Thumb stroking absently beneath his eye, you watch as they flutter softly. "Tomorrow," you say, "I'll come at twelve." 

His breath stutters in his throat as he brings himself to quickly nod. Letting go of your coat, his fingers come to wrap around your wrist. He holds your hand to his face a moment longer before pulling it into his own and bringing it to his mouth. Lips brushing across your knuckles, he presses a reverent kiss to each one of them. 

When he lifts his gaze it's filled with warmth that contrasts the freezing winter that surrounds you. "Thank you," he whispers, because he, too, knew he did not deserve what you had just granted him. You don't respond, still, you don't pull away from the soft pecks he continues to litter the back of your hand in. The front door creaks in the distance — must be the breeze, you thought — but when you glance toward the porch, you find Rayne standing in the doorway. She's regarding the two of you from her spot, safely hidden from her father's view. 

It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, always was. Your eyes meet for a split second, long enough for you to catch the subtle nod she gives you. What that meant you didn't know and the question is dropped again as Jungkook's arms reclaim your waist, pulling you closer one final time. 

The past two weeks — or was it three? — had been absolute shit. Jungkook barely remembers where they started and where they ended. Time became a fuzzy concept when you stopped paying attention to it. Time was man-made after all, and he chose to ignore the wishes of man in favor of his own sorrows. 

He knows that Yelena had been there, he sees her face in his peripheral vision, always prowling along the outskirts of his mind. Her scent haunts him. Though she had smelled vastly of the streets and the filth that littered them — the undeniable aroma that had always been her still clung. When she'd gotten close enough he caught a whiff, and it made his stomach turn on itself. 

You had been there too. He remembers the scalding touch to his shoulder, the way you had reached for his face only for him to shove you off. You didn't mean to but your caress still burnt like fire on an open wound. For some reason you kept pushing, kept trying to help, kept asking questions that he did not have answers to. 

He remembers wanting to yell, to snap at you the same way he had Yelena. He's glad he didn't. Still, he can't understand why you continued to try. Why was it that you cared? — you didn't have to. It's wasn't pity, he knew the concept well enough by now to tell it apart. There had been something else and it irked him deeply. He did not need your help. 

Jungkook had it handled. 

Jungkook always handled it. 

So the days that followed he did what he always would — stick to his routines. He'd perfected them since long and it was easy to fall back into the pre-made schedule. Wake up at five, some time for himself, a coffee and work. Get the children out of bed, make them breakfast. The hardest part was knowing what to do with them during the days. He couldn't bring himself to play with them, doubted that Rayne would even want to. 

He started letting them watch TV. Figured that he could break one of his own rules to salvage the others. They spent hours in front of the screen as all kinds of cartoons rolled. Meanwhile Jungkook wasted his time in the office, burying himself in work until his eyes no longer picked up on the words written.

New Years came and he took the children to their grandparents. Cassian was excited to see the fireworks, he thought he was old enough to make it until midnight this time around and neither him nor his parents had the heart to tell him no. He'd briefly considered staying with them, ultimately deciding against it. Instead he went straight home and crawled into the bottom of his whiskey bottle. 

Jungkook stumbled into the new year barely conscious. And as he rummaged through the fridge sometime in the early afternoon, he found himself wondering how he would manage to pick up his kids within the hour. 

The next couple of days, weeks maybe, passed without much surprise. He stayed on track with everything that needed to be done, silently grateful when school opened back up and he only had to worry about filling his own days with things to quiet the hurt. Jungkook thought he was doing alright for the most part. He got through with what needed to be done and that was all that mattered, wasn't it? 

He was drinking more, enough for him to notice it himself. One bottle after the other, expensive brands that would last him months were ran through quickly. Personal hygiene had always been important but even that took a backseat. Shaving was a hassle and if he made it to the shower then it was a good day. 

By the time he got the children into bed he was too spent to do anything but down another glass and bury himself under his own pillow. Clothes were torn off haphazardly, landing in an ugly mess on his floor. He figured as long as the rest of the house looked presentable enough then it was fine. Then no one would notice. 

He should call you, Jungkook knows that much. On some nights he would stand by the telephone, nursing a half-empty glass of whatever he'd found in his study. Sometimes his fingers would type in your number, though he never got as far as lifting the handset and bringing it to his ear. The thought of hearing your voice scared him more than anything, leading him to putting it off — suppose it made him a coward. 

The landline had sounded late last night, when the entire house was asleep, save for Jungkook who now considered himself an insomniac. He staggered down the stairs despite having had only one sip that evening. Exhaustion weighed him down more than the alcohol did. 

Had he been thinking a little more clearly perhaps he would've stopped to question the sequence displayed on the screen. It was a number he didn't recognize, though his foggy mind had failed to realize such and he picked up without second thought. 

"Jungkook-ah?" 

Yelena's voice sobered him up pretty fucking fast. She spoke softly, the way she would when they were still together, before everything turned sour and her poison infected his family. Hearing his name fall from her lips like that made his knees buckle and his throat contract painfully. His heart beats faster in his chest, but it was not love. Jungkook had known love long ago, and this tasted rotten. 

"What do you want?" he managed to spit, hoping that the venom lacing his words would be enough for her to back down again. 

It wasn't, of course it wasn't. "I'm sorry about what happened. I've given it a lot of thought— I really have." she spoke quickly, rushing to convince him before he slammed the handset back down and ended their conversation. "I should have called you first, I know that. I just wanted to see my children—"

"You wanted money." 

She hesitated on the other end of the line, "No I— Well, only a little and it's not what you think." In the distance he heard voices, she wasn't alone. They talked loudly, incoherently too and Jungkook thought he'd made out the sound of a lighter being flicked on. 

"Listen I don't have much time—" she continued to ask for money, not a lot — not enough to cover a place to live, clothes and food. He knew that she had no intent to use it for such either. When he refused she grew anxious, then angry. 

"Why not?" Yelena barked into the transmitter, "I gave you everything. I loved you, I gave you children! Why can't you just—" Her sentence had been cut short by the sob that ripped through her. Jungkook listened to her cries. They did not hurt anymore or maybe he'd just become numb to the pain. 

"I should go," he told her calmly, only for a string of profanities to follow. Worthless. Selfish. Asshole. Things he'd been calling himself for the past weeks already, so what difference did they make? He listened to her for a minute but when he understood that she would not stop, he placed the handset back down. 

Silence filled the house and Jungkook took a moment to look around. If his own conscience was as clean as the place he stood within then maybe he would be happier. Now he just felt like an imposter in his own home. He went to bed with another bottle of whiskey which he sipped on until it was empty — then he passed out. 

When he woke up the next morning it wasn't to the sound of his alarm — which he later on realizes he'd forgot to set — but the sound of your voice. Jungkook thought he must be dreaming, why else would you be standing above him looking every bit the angel you were? Or perhaps he'd died and this was his heaven. Then he saw the scowl on your face and quickly realized that he was in hell. But even that wouldn't be so bad — how could it be when you were there? 

"Get up." 

The grip you have on his collar is harsh and unforgiving, forcing his tired muscles into compliance as he struggles to gather his bearings. How long had you been here? Who let you inside? When he tries to speak you demand his silence and his mouth closes against his will. Such a strange feeling. 

You ask if he knows what time it is — Jungkook does not. He learns that it's nearly eleven. It was rare for him to sleep that long, the liquor combined with his ex-wife's sudden call must've knocked him out pretty well. 

He attempts to shift himself upright, to regain at least some of his dignity, only to be shoved back by your hand. The way you touched him — even with such fury — made something spark inside his chest. 

"What are you doing here?" He sounds like a walking corpse and bites down on a grimace as he runs his fingers through his tangled hair. You don't respond, which was unusual for someone as talkative as you and Jungkook is forced to watch as you turn your back to him and step over the clothes that lay across his floor like fallen soldiers. 

You rummage through his dresser, a complete invasion of privacy, though he realizes that pointing that out would hardly benefit him. So he holds his tongue, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he stares blankly ahead. You tell him that it was Rayne who called — his daughter. The thought of her makes him feel sick with guilt. 

"Not that you deserve this one." 

His gaze drops to the floor and he swallows the lump in his throat. He knows that you're right. There were few things Jungkook deserved, none of them being his own children. Stealing a quick glance at the empty bottle sitting on the bedside table, memories of last night come rushing back and he does his best to shake them again.

He attempts to wake himself up by rubbing his hand across his face, frowning at the rough feeling of hairs growing on the lower half. In the distance he hears your approach, your steps thudding hard against the floor, you were angry, angry at him. 

His children are late for school — shit — he'd completely forgotten about that. What day was it even? If he was out of the house in five then he could surely have them there for their afternoon classes, lunch too. 

He scrambles to stand, his mind already downstairs and searching for his car keys when you suddenly snap. "Sit the fuck down." It doesn't take much strength for you to have him back on the mattress, Jungkook wants to blame it on fatigue but knows that his body is heeding your commands rather than his own. 

Then you begin undressing him and that might've been the most humiliating thing he'd ever had to sit through. "I can do it myself…" You ignore him and he realizes that the battle is lost before it could even begin. 

You give him a detailed list of what he's supposed to do, explaining the process as though he were a toddler — in his thirty years of living he'd never felt more like one. Get dressed. Go downstairs. Lie to his children and give them a hug. Get in his car. Drive them to his parents'. Home and shower. 

He listens intently, already memorizing each step as he runs them back in his head. The floor taunts him, belittles him on his failures. Suddenly your nails are digging into his jaw, the pain sending a jolt of electricity through him as you have him look at you properly — and he does, he really does. 

Your chest is rising and falling, your muscles coiled tight with fury. "Am I making myself clear?" Yes. He tries to see all of you at once, not knowing where to set his eyes though finally decides that he wants to get lost in yours. His fingers are an anxious and restless mess on top of his thighs, twitching against each other as he picks at the fabric of the pants he'd been wearing for God knows how long. 

"Yes ma'am." 

He doesn't know where the formality comes from, doesn't question it either. Jungkook knows only one thing, and that is the fact that he never wants to upset you ever again. 

When your touch vanishes he feels his heart clench but he dares not chase after you. Instead he regards your sophisticated attire. The dress pants and button up resemble little of what you would put on whenever you saw to his children. "You look nice." You actually look beautiful, you always do. Though he thinks you might not want to hear that right now. 

"Thanks. I have an interview." 

A job? You'd be spending time elsewhere? Then what about Cassian and Rayne? What about him? He wants to object but he's well aware that he's the one at fault. And Jungkook who always had a solution for everything, now sits clueless on the edge of his bed. "That's good…" 

It really wasn't. 

Then you tell him that you have a date. The single word slices through him like a sharp knife, twisting in his gut, hard. He already knows who the guy is — he would be stupid not to. The one from the mall. Namjoon. He hates that he has his named memorized but the man's infuriatingly handsome face had been keeping him awake more than he'd like to admit. 

Namjoon. The same Namjoon who made you smile and laugh. The same Namjoon who spoke so casually, the words finding him easily — the way they never would Jungkook. The same Namjoon who was now robbing him of the one thing that had made his heart beat faster for the first time in years. And he was doing it without even trying. 

Namjoon. Namjoon. Namjoon— Fucking hell.

He doesn't know what to do so he does nothing at all. His silence grows thick and heavy, broken by your huff as you instruct him to get dressed, all the while shoving the fresh shirt against his chest. Then you turn to leave and Jungkook wants to yell. Instead he grabs you wrist, holding on with the sliver of hope that remains. 

He asks if you're going already and he sounds pathetic as he does. You shrug him off, oblivious to the fact that he was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. What was he meant to do now? The clear instructions you'd given him just minutes prior are already slipping from his thoughts as the room around him shrinks. 

"Then what? After I come back and shower. Then what do I do?" 

You've never looked upon him with such disappointment, no one has, not even his own mother. "You get your fucking shit straight." And when the door slams shut behind you, Jungkook buries his face in his hands. 

The house is silent. He doesn't hear a lock twist downstairs — not that he could hear much over the pounding of his own heart, drumming in his ears. He breathes raggedly through parted lips, listening to the sound of the clock on his bedside table, ticking away — each flick putting more distance between you and him. 

Minutes must have passed by the time he rises from the bed. The pants you've prepared for him are abandoned again and Jungkook heads straight for the door which you had just exited through. 

His steps are light on the stairs, he hurries down, hoping to catch you before it's too late— But the front door slams shut just as he reaches the bottom. 

For a long moment he simply stands there like an idiot, staring at where you must've been only a second ago. His shoulders slump as he realizes that the slim chance of getting to see you had slipped right through his fingers. 

A floorboard creaks up ahead and he lifts his gaze just in time to see his daughter emerging from the kitchen. She turns to the shut door, then to her father and Jungkook knows that she knows. He doesn't want for Rayne to see the things he's tried so hard to keep buried, but it seemed no matter what he did, she would always be one move ahead. Even now she was. 

"What are you doing?" 

Her tone is accusing, she'd never spoken to him like that before. Jungkook frowns, he hadn't expected that question to be breached so soon. He fumbles for an answer though realizes that nothing would cut it. The clothes he hadn't given time to change are a mess, he is a mess. 

Rayne glances back to the front door, then to him. "Aren't you going after her?" 

"What—?" The words are punched from his chest and this time he turns to her fully. He can feel his brows pull even closer and he thinks he might've just heard her wrong. 

His daughter throws a pointed eye down the hall, like she was communicating the most obvious thing in the world. "Are you not going to tell her that you're sorry?" 

Jungkook stares at her as though she'd just grown a second head. He swallows, his attention darting between her and the door a handful of times. "I'm—" finally he nods, albeit awkwardly, "I am." 

Without thinking through the decision twice — or even once for that matter — he rushes down the hall, cursing the house for being so big. The lock hasn't been turned yet and he barrels out into the cold winter air clumsily. You're standing by a car that he remembers seeing on that day all those weeks ago, your hands shuffling through your pockets, unaware of the storm about to crash into you. 

"Wait!" 

The snow is freezing beneath his bare feet, it stings at first, though he pays it no mind when stumbling down the porch — the chill has nothing on the relief that fills him at seeing you again. You've turned back around, surprise painting your features. Jungkook seizes the opportunity as he throws himself forward. 

His knees hit the ground with little finesse, not that he cared about that right now — all that exists is you. You. You. You. He wraps his arms around your waist, his grip almost crushing in its intensity but you're not pulling away, and it only makes him cling tighter as he buries his nose in your shirt, inhaling a lungful of your scent, the one that made all his worries wash away. 

"I…" 

He struggles to speak, the tears building quickly but he's not forcing them away. "Please—" That word rarely left his lips, it never had to, yet it seems to have become a running theme when it came to you. He's completely unprepared, has no idea what to say, what to do. So he voices the one thought looping itself in his mind, "Don't go." 

The first droplet falls, then the next and he exhales a shaky breath. Rayne's voice echoes somewhere in the foggy distance and suddenly he knows what he needs to do. 

"I'm sorry." It's not enough, God, of course it's not. But it's all he can manage. He grabs onto your coat a little tighter, silently pleading for you not to leave him with his own despair. A selfish man he was — the least he can do is come to terms with it. "Let me fix it— I want to fix it. Please stay." Jungkook means every last bit, though he has little clue of how he's going to accomplish it. 

He'll learn how to. 

You remind him of your interview and it shatters his heart. Still, he knows that he has to let you go. All he can do is pray you come back — back to him. Even when he doesn't deserve it. 

Your hand is in his hair, then on his face. Somewhere between the gentle caress and the swipe of your thumb beneath his eye he realizes just how badly he craved your touch, your closeness. The feeling of your palm against his cheek shuns the cold. "Tomorrow," you say, "I'll come at twelve." 

That was twenty-four hours from now. Time — which had been such a fuzzy concept for the past weeks — regained its meaning in that moment and Jungkook begins silently counting down each passing second until he would see you again. 

He kisses your knuckles, slow and reverent, he knows he's not allowed more, this small grace is enough. Quietly he vows to himself to do better, to be what you need, what you deserve. For he can't stand the thought of seeing you walk away again. 

── [ ✉️ ] So how was that for yearning? Decent, no? Jungkook's POV is a lot hazier than OC's but that's because I didn't want to bore you ladies too much with all the details. It focuses a lot more on his internal conflict, his thoughts and feelings, well you probably understood that when reading. Next chapter is genuinely going to be such a ride. But this one held so many of the scenes I've been daydreaming about for the past half a year, it felt so good to finally sit down and write them. Yes Jungkook heel, and cry, and beg. I love it here. Do let me know what you thought so we can giggle together <3