Namjoon hadn’t known how having friends felt before you two, the Min siblings who had somehow, for some reason, called him over every day and treated him as one of their own.

He often wondered about the appearance of his life if he hadn’t been in the same kindergarten class as Min Yoongi; if he hadn’t lived ten minutes away from your house; if he had been just a tad shier; if you had somehow hated him and avoided him at all costs.

In those blurred ages of his life where chunks and pieces were missing in his usually anal memory, he could vividly recall thinking about those Heavens his Nana spoke about when she fasted. He believed those Heavens blessed him with you two, yet he didn’t know why or how he’d deserved such a thing.

He didn’t believe in any God anymore – any religion, but that was a long topic – yet he still held the same belief. It was silly, perhaps a bit funny too; if he told all the colleagues from SNU about this lapse in logic over beer-stained tables they frequented, it was certain they would laugh, seeing it as a puny, little, lousy anectode before they’d brush over to more important topics such as the existentialism-marxism debate between Sartre and Merlau-Ponty.

If he told Yoongi, he’d roll his eyes and smack him in the head with a pillow, but he’d catch the little upturn to his scowl as he turned around. He’d probably mention it the first time he’d get drunk, along with tears and a speech of how he valued and loved the relationships in his life – that always came before the sobering speech of how everything he’d just said was bullshit, and he had no idea why he’d said it. Then, he’d chug another beer and fall asleep.

But if he told you…

He could clearly picture it, he could predict every detail; he knew you far too well, knew the way you breathed.

First, your sparkling eyes would widen, only slightly, your head would cant to the side and your hair would slide down your shoulder. You’d look at him for a moment, silently, because this would surely be on one of those nights when you couldn’t turn off your chatterbox – and you only got silent if you were confused, caught off-guard, or listening to him. Then your lips, which would shine in pinkish gloss – unless it was a sleepover when this happened, would curl; first at the edges, then they’d quickly bend into a grin. “That’s so sweet,” you’d say with that sugary voice of yours, then snake hands around his waist and hug him, before, “It’s too bad I don’t believe in God, though.”

And you’d both chuckle as you trapped him in your arms, trapped him with your vanilla perfume until it would get stuck in his nose and he’d spend the whole day deluding himself into thinking everything was spritzed in it.

But that part - about getting stuck - was not a hypothetical scenario, it truly happened whenever you embraced him.

And you did that often, for some reason. Jumping on him, smacking his arm, laying your head on his shoulder – you loved it all. But he was grateful to you for that too, if you weren’t such a passionate lover of touch, he’d be too frightened to even lay a fingertip on you.

He couldn’t crack why exactly, but he didn’t usually like touching people; it was a form of intimacy he’d assumed was too personal, too close, other people surely wouldn’t have wanted him touching them. But, for some reason, you did.

You truly were a blessing.

And just as he had silently suspected the eternity of his life, he managed to frighten and push away the smiling angel in Mary Janes, and soil the holiest of bonds in his life by being a fucking idiot.

Sigh that left Namjoon’s raw bitten lips, a nasty habit he’d picked up on burying his head in books until the little hours of the night when he’d already drank all his coffee, turned into a thin cloud of whitish smoke that dispersed into the chilly February breeze of early evening. Sniffling his runny nose, he finally brought the white lighter he’d recently gotten filled up after an adamant refusal to throw it away to the cigarette hanging from his mouth, and his thumb ached as he desperately flicked the little wheel until the flame appeared.

Taking the Parliament between his fingers, he swallowed the smoke and blinked the teary from the cold away.

What was the use of thinking about it once again; think, think, think – all he ever did was think. Yet he still couldn’t find a solution to the sinking ship.

If he’d said that aloud around you, you’d force him to watch the Titanic again.

He scoffed.

“What are you laughing about, all there by yourself?” His gaze slid sideways until she entered it, her long legs in skinny black jeans and a burgundy smile above the pastel blue turtleneck, barely peeking before she spread her hands tucked in pockets of her black furcoat.

Namjoon sniffled again as he returned to his previous pose, too frozen with cold to unnecessarily move, and took a drag. “Nothing,” he mumbled with the rasp of smoke. “Just thinking.”

“Mysterious,” Haneul teased as she stood beside him with a click of her heeled boots, the live music from a nameless indie-rock band blaring from the bar behind them. She tucked a strand of her blunt black bob behind her ear, pearl earring dangling as she eyed his hand. “Care to spare this lady a cigarette?”

His fingers twitched as he nearly handed her his own. But Haneul wasn’t you, so he dug into his coat’s pocket and handed her the pack, opening it with a spare finger. “Here.”

“Thank you very much.” Her burgundy manicured finger slid one out. “Lighter?”

He replaced the lighter in his pocket for the pack, and swiftly flicked it to light for her. It might’ve been another one of those Heaven’s blessings that it worked on the first try.

She held the cigarette with two fingers when she leaned in, then lightly pulled before puffing out the first smoke.

Just as she had straightened and he parted his lips, “You’re welcome.” She smiled.

Ah.

“Thank you,” he said, then awkwardly grinned as he shut himself up with the cigarette. Of course a girl like Haneul would’ve already heard about that. Why had he assumed she didn’t?

The two stood on the sidewalk and stared at the street in quasi-silence filled with distant traffic and car honks, bad muffled music, steps and chatter of the passersby, and their own puffs of smoke. Haneul made little circles with her own as she stood poised beside him. Even with all the city noise, it was somehow peaceful.

Until, “So, tell me.”

Namjoon turned to look at her and she was already squinting at him with the faintest of smiles.

“Every time we go out, you just have to separate from the group, sulk outside with your cigarettes, and stare off into the distance like some tortured intellectual.”

He scoffed; she just raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

“What’s all that about? What could be so grand and major that it tortures you even when you go out? Everyone wants to know why the mysterious Namjoon is so mysterious.”

“I’m not mysterious,” he defended, the smallest of amused smiles poking a faint speck of his dimples. “And it’s really nothing. I’m just thinking. I don’t usually have the time to do that when I have to memorize every detail of elementary logic.”

Haneul’s grin scrunched her upper lip and revealed a row of pearly teeth that shined, even in the poor light of neon advertisements and streetlamps. “Cut the bullshit,” she demanded, so bluntly that Namjoon found himself a few blinks later, only then wrapping his mind around what she’d said.

“Excuse me?”

“Just come clean with it,” she chuckled, “Got your hometown girlfriend pregnant? Failing marriage? Secretly a drug addict? You watched one of those bad movies from the nineties?”

“Like what?” He pulled on his cigarette, dimples now deep with her playful tone.

“Like… Showgirls? I was flabbergasted for days at how awful it was.”

“It’s not any of that,” he said, shoulders shrugging on their own. “I guess… I’m just a bit homesick.” He let the cigarette fall from his fingers before he kicked it into the sewer. “I’m still new to Seoul, you know.”

Only Haneul’s pull on the cigarette filled the silence for a few moments before, “That’s it?”

He almost flinched as he looked at her. She was nearly his height, perhaps half a head shorter with her heels, yet she still appeared as if she towered over him.

“Yeah…”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Then don’t. I’m not asking you to.”

She cocked her head. “Got a girl back home?”

Despite the cold, the tip of his ear burned. “No,” he chuckled over heartbeat that jumped into his ears, “nothing like that.”

“Good.” She threw her cigarette on the ground and stomped a thin heel over it before nudging her chin to the door. “Should we go in? I think the band’s taking a break.”

“Sure,” he said, more so asked, then followed her in with furrowed eyebrows as he stared at the back of her confident strut.

Was this girl… coming on to him?

Still dazed with Haneul and her antics, with the stuffy warmth that tightened around his throat and slipped a bit of nausea into his beer-full stomach, he sat at his wooden table beside Yoongi, when his friend pulled on the sleeve of sweater he’d just slipped his coat off, and shoved a blindingly bright phone screen into his face. It was a log of text messages with one of the guys from the park back home, Park Jimin, and the latest messages were a picture of you and Jungkook on the concrete bleachers, sitting on your place, as he held your waist and grinned as he blew smoke into your puckered lips, before two messages.

Dude… I think they’re really together, they’re not even tryna hide it anymore.

I can’t believe this punk, I thought we all agreed your sis is off limits.

Three dots appeared, then another message popped up, shunning the previous ones away.

They JUST wen to his place!!1! Seriously I’m gonna give him a good beating. Little jerk.

Early spring could’ve quite possibly been the prettiest part of the year.

Light jackets your parents nagged you to put on before you ran out of the house, smiling sun that kissed your brother’s gummy smile as you rushed to the park and melted away the freezing snow with remains of your snow angels, and pretty daisies and daffodils that grew around the checkered blanket you laid on the green grass, only to be plucked and sewn into a flower crown you put on the one of Namjoon’s head.

Yoongi and his small group of equally annoying friends had ran around, kicking their plastic ball, and you had eaten the delicious chocolate muffins Namjoon brought; full, chewing mouth messy with crumbs as you peeked over his shoulder into the fat dictionary he hastily flipped.

His then small and chubby finger pointed at the red-underlined ‘bunty’.

“This is what it means,” he said as he turned to grin his green-banded braces out. “A Scottish term that means little lamb or an adjective that means short and plump. People use it as a nickname because it reminds of a little lamb learning to butt her head for the first time.”

Lukewarm spring breeze tangled his brown hair and his daisy-daffodil crown nearly fell off, yet he stayed perfectly still, shining eyes glued to yours as he awaited your sentence of the nickname.

At that time, when you were ten and he twelve, nicknames had been the biggest of deals. How were you supposed to know you were best friends if there wasn’t a cute one for each? And while you had resorted to fondly shortening his name to Joonie — Joo-nie, it was so endearingly reminiscent of a cartoon character — he had confused you with the sudden nickname he’d get flustered over whenever you asked him what it meant, acting as if that was something you should’ve already known when he, himself, struggled to explain it without his dictionary.

“Do you like it?”

“Wait…” You leaned over his shoulder with the gulp of your muffin and smacked a finger on the definition. “This is a nickname for someone who’s short and clumsy?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at the page, the tip of his ears burning red as you leaned an elbow over his shoulder.

A pout puckered on your crumb-covered lips as you turned to look at him, met by your own reflection in his round glasses. “Then shouldn’t that be my nickname for you?”

“No, it can’t!” He crossed arms in striped sleeves. “It’s only for girls! And I’m not short.”

You giggled as you let go of him and laid your bum on the fuzzy of the blanket. “But you are!”

“What are you two bickering about?” Yoongi’s boney hand snatched the water bottle he had left in your care, eyebrows furrowing at the bit of water missing his mouth and falling on his wide shirt.

“He says I’m short and clumsy,” you whined but Yoongi only shrugged as he put the bottle back down and wiped at the damp spot.

“But you are.”

Just as you gasped, Namjoon pointed a finger at you. “And she had the guts to tell me I was short!”

Mischief tugged on Yoongi grin. “But you are.”

“I’m taller than you!”

That time of loud chuckles and giggles, running around and chasing Yoongi because he had stolen the last muffin, your mother’s stomp into the park, her nagging as she pushed the three of you home for lunch - had all been forever stamped into your memory.

There was not a thing you wouldn’t do to return there and hear Namjoon chuckle beside you as you bickered with your brother, instead of hearing him chuckle over the phone about all the exciting things he was doing without you.

“And then Haneul— You remember I told you about Haneul, that senior who hangs out with us? Then she got so drunk just from one bottle of soju that she pulled us in some karaoke bar and started singing…”

You bit your lip as your cheek pressed the phone into the crook of your neck, bare heel on the floral sheets as you painted your toenails. Your hopes of returning to how everything was before you made a complete fool out of yourself were slowly sinking with every mention of a new person you hadn’t even known the face of.

What was this ugly feeling clawing at your gut whenever he spoke about his new life? If everything was like before, you would’ve been gushing just alongside him. You would’ve been happy for him.

No, you would’ve been with him as he made all those memories he seemed to like so much.

You didn’t even have the right to be jealous of all his new friends and all the girls that seemed to flock around him. After all, he made it painfully clear you would be nothing but a friend to him.

Wait.

If Yoongi was like a brother to him… that would mean he saw you as a sister, right?

You scoffed at yourself and missed your nail by an inch, spreading the pink polish on your toe, yet he was as oblivious as always. “I know, right? I can’t believe she did that.”

Well, what were you even expecting? He couldn’t read minds.

“Yeah, it’s so insane,” you mumbled as you screwed the nail polish shut, abandoning it on the floor in order to fall on your sheets. Nothing seemed to be going the way you wanted.

“You think? I wouldn’t really call it insane.”

You took your phone in hand, sighing as you stared up at the ceiling. You had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but that seemed to have become the new normal. “…Yeah, well. You know.”

“Y/N,” he called with that beautiful deep voice of his that hid the slightest hint of laughter. “Did you even hear anything I said?”

Was it that you were just that easy to read, or was it that, despite not understanding you the least bit, he simply knew you too well? “What do you mean? I did.”

Battle against the tiny grin was a losing one, and like a middle-schooler combating her first crush, you rolled to the side and hid your cheek in the mountain of pillows, despite being alone in your home. Without Namjoon and Yoongi, it was unsettlingly quiet when your parents were at work.

“Really?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Then what was I talking about?”

Your grin stretched from ear to ear as your red hand fiddled with the locket you had no heart to take off. “I was painting my nails, I spaced out for a second!”

“Well, glad to see you haven’t changed.” A light scoff came from his side of the line. “You still never listen to me.”

“That’s not true,” you protested as you rolled on your back, knee arching as your gaze wandered to the fluffy teddy bear in the corner of your room. “But really, I’m happy you’re having fun in Seoul.”

A quiet giggle escaped you as you found that, in all truth, you weren’t completely lying.

“I was worried you’d be a total outcast.”

“Nice to hear my friends have such a nice opinion of me.”

“You’re so touchy! I was just kidding.”

An exchange of a few chuckles, and he was sighing into the phone. “You know, it’s nice here and all, but there’s been something bothering me.”

“What, did something happen?” Your tone gentle, you pressed the phone into your ear as you blinked, waiting for him to explain. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

For a few moments, he was quiet, as if he debated whether he should share his thoughts. Fearful worry weighed on your chest as you gripped the phone tighter, wondering if you’d truly grown so far apart that he couldn’t confide in you.

Surely, he knew he could call you up and share his problems even if you hadn’t spoken in years. You made a habit out of reminding him anytime something bad happened.

“I miss you.”

Perhaps it was the fault of the sudden static in your ears, or of the stop of your heart as if he had just caught it and kept it in place. Whatever the true fault was, you dumbly stared at the teddy bear, unmoving and only half-conscious.

Then, the sudden flood of warmth coursed through your chest and curled your toes as you grinned like a kid, a hand running over your lips to hide it. “I miss you too,” you admitted, perhaps much too softly to not be considered a fool once again, but all the nice feelings in your chest didn’t allow you to worry as you smacked your hand back on the mattress; partly mad at yourself for getting excited over such a simple sentence.

Of course he would miss you. He may have not liked you in the same way or strength you liked him, but… you had still grown up together. You were still as big of a part in his life as he was in yours. No Haneul or any other stupid Seoul girl could replace you, the little jealous devil on your shoulder sang.

And you stretched a stupidly enormous grin as you shut your eyes, humiliated by how much just three words could affect you. Even if they weren’t the ones you wanted to hear the most.

He sighed. “I wish you were here with us… I’m sure you’d kill it at the karaoke.”

Your grin refused to fall off. “I sure would.”

“Oh God, I’ve been talking about myself for the past hour. I’m sure you’re bored to death.”

“No, no. It’s alright. I like hearing about how Yoongi pushed you into Han river.”

“Tell me what’s new with you. What’s up in Daegu? Are you still hanging out with all the punks from the park?”

Your stretch lightly wrinkled the sheets but you couldn’t focus on that when the jealous devil on your shoulder kept nagging and nagging until, “Well, not really. I mean, I’ve been hanging out with Jungkook a lot lately.”

“Really? Little Jungkook? Since when were you close?”

“Hey, don’t call him little! He’s my age.”

Namjoon chuckled. “You know what I mean, you’re different.”

But you still were too childish for him.

“We weren’t before. But we got closer after… You know. You went to college.” You pursed your lips, awkward at something that could remind him of the incident, and hopeful he would just keep pretending nothing ever happened as he did until now.

But it seemed it still popped into his mind, because the very next question was, “So are you two, like a… A thing?”

Were you that transparent that someone who had just found out you hung out with Jungkook figured out it was just to get over him? Even everyone else, at school, acquaintances, friends — they all immediately thought you two were together. Was it because of your label of boy-crazy? Was it that everyone else could see through your crush on Namjoon and had somehow known what happened between you?

Were you just that easy to read?

You sat up, teeth sunken in your lip. “We kind of are… But why did you immediately think that?”

“Oh, no reason.” His voice was oddly airy. “It’s just that the guys talked about you seeing each other. Or whatever. Yoongi mentioned it a few days ago.”

Hah. Even your brother knew about you two? Guys really were the worst when it came to gossip.

You couldn’t tell if there was a hint of jealousy in his tone or if you had simply deluded yourself into thinking so — but instead of being glad, it just made you unexplainably furious. “Yeah, we’ve been official for a while. I just didn’t want anyone talking about it. You know, because they’d call me boy-crazy again.”

The wall clock above your study table ticked once, then twice.

“Oh,” he finally said. “…Then are you coming together for Yoongi’s birthday?”

“Yeah,” you said despite not even discussing it with him.

“…Great. Can’t wait to see you.” After you spat out somewhat tense farewells, “Bye, bunty,” he said and hung up.

And you felt as if you had done something terribly, terribly wrong.

Perhaps it was pride; it may have even been the burst of irritation that made you bump the teddy bear on the nose and say, “You big, dumb idiot…”, but that early spring day, you marched into Jungkook’s empty apartment with an uncrushable resolve and the prettiest skirt from your closet.

You had barely stepped a foot after his doorstep before you were on your tiptoes, his jaw in your hands and his lips on yours. His startled gasp was somewhere faint in the background, before a pleased chuckle enveloped you just when his inked hands did, the black entrance door he held open for you left to sway and creak by itself.

When your lips departed with a smooch, he smiled down at you, big eyes crinkled. “Did you miss me that much?”

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded as your heels touched the ground, fingers still on his pale cheeks.

“But you saw me last night,” he said through his grin, leaning it towards your own as the touch of one of his palms disappeared. The door slammed shut and the very next step back as his nose brushed yours, your back was resting on the stern surface.

The afternoon rays painted only a side of his face and a trail of piercings on his earlobe bright, yet left a shadow of your fingers over it.

“That was too long ago,” you said as you sneaked a look at his pink, pierced bottom lip with the cutest beauty mark beneath, his forearm resting against the door as he hunched over you and snaked his hand under your jacket.

You looked back up at his black, shiny eye — and there it was, the feeling that you could get butterflies in your stomach when you were with him.

“Hm, I didn’t know you liked me that much.”

Jungkook always liked when he was in control, always appreciated that little brush of ego when he’d tower over you or when you’d whisper sweet nothings of how he’s the best in his ear. But wasn’t that what every teenage boy liked? They were so easy.

Coyly, sweetly, your fingers caressed his skin until they settled on his neck. And like the most lovestruck teen girl, you blinked your saucer eyes up at him, called, “Kookie,” and watched his pierced eyebrows raise at the nickname you’ve never used before. “Do you like me?”

His lips parted. Then a corner tugged into half a smile as his curious eyes studied yours. “Don’t I show you how much I like you already?”

As his hold on your waist tightened, you smiled at him, your fingers running to play with his small hoop earring. You raised your eyebrows too, but only slightly. “Then what would you say if I asked you to be my boyfriend?”

Perhaps it was because his chest was so close to yours, or maybe the sound had just been that loud, but you heard the following knock of his heart clear and well.

Doe eyes that you had even forgotten could appear so startled and innocent widened, and his lips pressed together. He didn’t like being caught off guard or vulnerable, so as his tongue poked at his cheek, he forced his shoulders to loosen their surprised tension and his eyes drooped until they were completely calm.

And then he cocked his head to the side. “Well, first, I’d say yes.” His finger tapped your spine as his eyes roamed you, once again losing their doe-iness and gaining the look of the neighborhood jerk who only knew how to get into someone’s pants. “Then I’d rip that cute, little skirt off you.”

It seemed he'd done just that the very next moment; and there he was — absolutely putty and pliant in the small of your palm, and so, so undeniably and utterly crazy about you. And you never had to wonder about that.

After all, weren’t you perfect for each other? He — the girl-crazy jerk who only knew how to sleep with someone once before discarding them, or what you’ve heard, “a fuckboy”, and you — the boy-obsessed, boy-crazy, ditzy girl, or the new name that was quietly muttered in the school hallways behind palms, shushed beside the bathroom stalls, and whispered under the breath, “a slut”.

You two were a match made in Heaven.

It hadn’t been until later, when you were wrapped in the warmth of his bare arms, cheek pressed against his cross’s chain, that he combed fingers through your hair and sweetly whispered, “Tell me something.”

Moonlight seeping into his room and kissing the wrinkled covers you were hidden beneath blue, the tip of your finger gently traced his collarbone as you hummed in question, not a thought swirling in your mind.

Fingers that had escaped your hair trailed down your back, raising every hair on it as they did so. “Do you still have feelings for Namjoon?”

He must've heard the bang of your heart, because it punched right against his stomach. You blinked, your head raising to meet his drooped eyes, sparkling in the dark as he stared at you. They didn't appear so innocent, and his bunny grin was hidden beneath the firm tilt of his lip. "Why would you ask me that?" Your murmur was followed by a rapid few blinks as you cocked your head, eyes big. "Of course not," you claimed, although the panicked butterflies in your chest chomped on your insides, breath stuggling to escape your throat.

Did you still have feelings for him? Feelings that weren't friendly?

His lip twitched, and you two stayed still in the deafening silence for a whole moment before his hand enveloped your waist, clammy. A lazy smile pulled on his lips as he nudged his head closer to yours. "No reason, just making sure." He brushed his nose against yours, a habit so small you couldn't recall when it became one. The sigh that seeped through his nostrils was loud before he asked, "Can I tell you something?"

Afraid of reveling in his touch alone for too long, your fingers cupped his cheek as you gifted him the smallest of smiles, a gulp falling down your throat before, sweetly, softly, you said, "Of course."

He blinked his long eyelashes once again, as if he debated if he truly should. "I think I love you." You'd never heard his voice so weak and trembling, and despite never catching him in a lie, you felt this was the most honest thing he had ever confessed to you.

And it petrified you, from the tense of your toes to the raise of hair on your scalp, it left you mortified.

How could he love you? He barely knew anything about you. He had never heard you preach about the self-discipline and why you'd suddenly spend a week without lighting a cigarette just to prove you're in control of your own body, why you'd scoffed at altruists, how that scar on your knee was from when you'd fallen from a tree at seven, nor how you had memorized the benefit of every possible tea.

But... did he need to know all that to love you? Namjoon knew you better than you've ever known yourself, yet he still wasn't able to.

Perhaps the biggest truth was that you couldn't be loved if someone knew you inside and out, maybe that was what made them run away from you as they claimed you were confused.

You were. You were so confused your head was spinning.

But you had never heard yourself sound more certain than when you said, "I love you too," and pressed your lips against Jungkook's.

And just like that, your head wasn't spinning anymore and all of the thoughts dissipated from your mind when he kissed you back, fingers caressing up your waist until he enveloped your ribcage. And, in your kiss, there was the slightest stretch of his smile.

It was nice when his tongue slipped between your lips and you hopped on your knee to straddle him. It was nice that you could simply not think when his hand sneaked under the covers and grabbed your ass.

Maybe you could really love him. Maybe you already did. If only you gave yourself a bit more time, you were certain Namjoon wouldn't even cross your mind.

Or maybe he'd at least look left and right before doing so.

Not-so far away in Seoul, the moonlight appeared somewhat brighter and whiter as it kissed the curves of muscly arm Namjoon had just thrown beneath his head, bare chest heavin as a long, burgundy nail traced the defined outlines he’d been working so hard to build.

He tapped his cigarette into the ashtray with a sigh as he stared at the chandelier that loomed over him, mind blissfully blank for the first time in a long while.

Haneul purred as the supple, warm flesh of her breasts pressed against his ribcage as soon as her head did on his chest, leg enveloping his like a snake; a warm, soft snake, yet snake nonetheless. “You were amazing,” she beamed in her own, quiet way. “…For a virgin.”

A dry scoff escaped his aching jaw, legs exhausted as if he’d ran a marathon. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No…” Her sigh was dramatic before she pressed a palm onto his tummy and blinked up at him through smudged mascara, then, through a grin, “Maybe just a little bit.”

He pulled out a weak chuckle out of himself before nearing the cigarette to his lips.

For some time, that could’ve been anything from seconds to minutes, they were quiet; he smoked until his filter burned and she drew indistinguishable squiggles on his skin.

Out of nowhere, “Care to let me steal a smoke,” she disturbed his peace of mind just as he lit another cigarette.

His brain numbed.

He didn’t know why, knew it was silly, foolish and hopeless, yet, “Sorry,” he grinned at her, “I’m a bit of a germophobe.”

“That’s okay.” Her nails tickled him until they reached his limp penis. She took it, then scrunched her silken sheets as she slid down. “I’m not.”

“Sorry, had to go to Seoul a bit early to visit dad. I’ll wait for you on the station?!” Yoongi’s horrified grimace peeked from behind the phone, scrunched from forehead to chin. “That’s what you said to her? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Jungkook, with hands in pockets of his black sweatshirt, grinned his bunny teeth out and cackled as he used to do whenever Yoongi caught him and Jimin trying to play a prank on him.

“You’re laughing?” Yoongi raised his eyebrows, bare foot he’d thrown over a knee clad in old joggers maniacally tapping the air. “Is this funny to you? Do you think I’m gonna let you date my sister when this is the kind of texts you send her?”

“What’s up your ass, Yoongs? Don’t you know Y/N? She’s cool. She gets it.” He nudged his chin at the phone. “There, scroll down to her reply. She said so. Besides, it’s only a day.”

“You moron,” Yoongi accentuated with the theatric pinch of air, “you don’t understand the female species at all! They-“

“I had more girlfriends than you.”

Yoongi’s face fell as he glared up at the boy. “Don’t make me stand up.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened as he slammed his careless wide stance shut, straightened, and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“My sister,” he smacked his chest, nodding, “is a fragile being. She’s emotional, she’s young, you have to know how to behave properly or she’ll explode and cut a hole in your underwear.”

This was definitely not a conversation Namjoon wanted to sip his morning coffee to.

Nonetheless, he did, loudly slurped it as he glared at the back of Jungkook’s head, his palm pressed atop the cold ceramic surface of their countertop.

He must’ve been high on the loss of his long overdue virginity and the marks Haneul scratched into his back when he’d agreed to let Jungkook stay with them. Why did he have to? He had family in Seoul; Yoongi could’ve shortly lectured him somewhere Namjoon couldn’t hear, then send him off to his father.

About you staying, he already knew — but now the two of you were going to be staying here? With what space? What, was he going to be forced to sleep under the coffee table next to Yoongi while you two took their bedrooms?

He gagged on his coffee.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he turned around to grab the towel laid on the sink and wiped off the bit off the hot beverage from his lips and hands.

…What if… Yoongi allowed you two to sleep in the same bed?

The two haven’t noticed his mishap; they were still busy with their banter.

Namjoon gulped, then sighed as he put the mug on the countertop with a clank. No way, Yoongi would never allow something like that. He was still deciding if he was even okay with the thought of someone he knew kissing his sister to which, “Fucking disgusting,” Yoongi had deadpanned the previous night, eyes terrifyingly round.

He wouldn’t. It was going to be okay.

Ugh, why did he care anyway?

“I’m just saying,” Yoongi held his palms up, “if you were me, you wouldn’t let yourself date your sister.”

Jungkook scratched at his head. “Um… I don’t think this explanation is helping.”

“Okay, I hear you.” He lowered his arms with a press of lips. “My point is, I’ll smash your head in if you ever hurt her. That clearer?”

“Clear as day, captain.” He blinked. “…Can I, like, sit down now? My legs are starting to hurt.”

“Oh, sure. Sit here next to me. Want some coffee?”

“You have a Red Bull or something?”

Namjoon had to get out. Now. The air in the apartment was too stuffy. “Hey, I’m gonna go for a walk,” he yelled out to the two as he stepped into the small, narrow hallway to grab a jacket off the coat rack. Yoongi mumbled something in conformation and the two bid farewells to him as he grabbed his mug and gulped down the rest of the coffee in one glug.

It was bitter.

Just as he had taken a step into the hallway again, “Ay, Joon,” Yoongi called.

He faced him with a furrowed brow.

“Can you check the fridge for a Red Bull?”

Frozen in air, Namjoon blinked once.

Then twice.

He nodded as he walked over to the fridge, grabbed a can of Red Bull he had no idea why was even in there, took a few steps, and gave it to the sparkly-eyed Jungkook, seated on his place on the couch. “Here.”

The boy’s grin crinkled his eyes. “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon puffed out, shoved hands into pockets and feet in sneakers, and fled out of the apartment with a squint to his puffy eye.

How fucking annoying.

Finger twirled in your hair, you bestowed a polite smile upon your seatmate, with her wide eyes beneath bangs swooshed in a pink hair roller, and a hand over her lips as she stared at your phone screen with a picture of Jungkook’s lips pressed to the corner of yours; proof she’d demanded since she’d ambushed you upon walking through the classroom door.

“I can’t believe this,” she gushed, then groaned as her back hit the rest of her wooden chair, head cocked to the side. “This is amazing. How did you manage to pull this off? You put a spell on him or something?” She put the phone on the table as she stared at you in awe, round face turning into an oval with her hung jaw.

A giggle of yours breezed through the classroom chatter as you cheekily grinned over your shrugged shoulder, eyes scrunching. “Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s—“

She tapped your arm, clicking her tongue. “Look at her brag! You’re really shameless, you know that?”

“Like you wouldn’t brag in my place.”

“Of course I’d brag.” She crossed red sleeves of the uniform blazer, foot in the school slipper pushing the desk’s leg until she leaned back on her chair. “But, seriously, I can’t believe you ended up with someone like him. I was beginning to get worried you were hopeless.”

“Me? Hopeless?” You raised your eyebrows, legs crossing. “I could date any guy our age.”

“Shameless,” she deadpanned. “But, no, not because of that. I was worried you’ll really end up with that geek that hangs around your brother. I still don’t get what you ever saw in him.”

You blinked, then parted your lips to say something, yet the thought escaped you before you could catch it. What could you even say? Your seatmate’s blank face had already said all there was — in her eyes, and everyone else’s for that matter, the guy you’d spent sleepless nights weeping over was never anything special. And there was nothing you could’ve claimed or explained that would’ve plucked out the roots of their opinions and changed them.

It had always been only you whose knees buckled at the thought of him.

So, dumbly, “Namjoon,” you asked, a furrow to your brow that settled there on its own.

“Mm.” She shrugged.

“…What about him?”

“You had a disgustingly cheesy crush on him, that’s what.” She grinned, oblivious to the short-circuit of your mind and the trap of air in your throat.

There was a sensation too, somewhere all over beneath your skin, somewhere you couldn’t point at — a chilly, hot sensation that reminded of minuscule trembles.

Were you feeling… guilty?

You scoffed, more to yourself; what did you have to feel guilty about? You hadn’t done anything wrong. “He’s still my best friend, so try not to cross the line,” you’d settled on saying, acutely aware of how odd it would appear if you started gushing about all the strengths that overpowered his weaknesses — and the dimples you were certain you hadn’t shut up about through the whole of freshman year.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he’s your geek and all that. I seriously don’t get why you were so obsessed with him, though. Your brother has so many hotter friends.”

You rolled your eyes right back. “I wasn’t obsessed.”

“Right...”

“And why does it matter anyway? I’m with Kookie now.”

“Kookie!” She cackled. “Oh my. But, yeah, he’s one of the hottest ones. Next to that Park guy.”

“Of course he is, not anyone can be my boyfriend.” Already finished with the conversation, you unzipped your pencil case to get ready for class.

“But you know, your brother is pretty cute too.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t start.” A groan, and you pulled out your pencils and highlighters and set them in the order of height beside your notebook.

“…Is he single?”

“Ew.” You faced her just to grimace. “Don’t talk to me about that. Ever.”

“Sure, sure.” Out of nowhere, she pulled out a nail file.

With the way she spoke of Namjoon, you were certain your brother wouldn’t look her way twice. If anything, he’d run away if she ever approached him.

That was the only clear truth in this situation, yet as the day passed, slower than usual, her words threaded through your thoughts and continuously, ruthlessly tortured you. In the bathroom during the break between classes, upon catching yourself standing upright in the bathroom stall with a fist to your chin, you sighed.

I still don’t get what you saw in him.

What did you exactly see in him? What was it that hooked you and let him walk you on a long, tight leash for years with no sparkling eyes for anyone else?

Physical attributes you fancied had all always been clear; you’d adored his round glasses and braces when you were little and nagged at him when he’d taken them off, you truly loved his dimples and how pretty his lips were when he smiled, his sad eyes, his broad shoulders, his height… But all that couldn’t be it.

You were perfectly capable with appreciating pretty features without becoming obsessed with the people who possessed them. Park Jimin had full lips too, yet you could’ve never seen him as anything other than the biggest tattletale in the city and that boy who’d peed himself when Yoongi dressed as a ghost for Halloween and Boo!-ed from the shadows.

It may have been that you were simply too comfortable with Namjoon’s presence, that you’d taken him for granted when he had been by your side every single day for as long as you could remember — but that couldn’t have been it either! You were just as comfortable, although not as close, with every other one of Yoongi’s friends, every guy from the park had always been like a cousin to you.

Then it must’ve been something else, something you hadn’t caught on.

How his cheeks grew red when he was embarrassed?

How calmly he asked you for your well-being whenever you’d gone through a rough time? How cute the fiddle of his fingers was when he’d intently thought about what to say? How cute you two appeared on the picture shielded in heart locket that hung around your neck?

The fact that he’d gifted you that locket on your fifteenth birthday?

It could’ve been all of those things, yet none of them felt like the true answer.

Perhaps Namjoon truly was right; this could’ve been only an accidental, hormonal crush — nothing less, nothing more. It had come out of nowhere for no apparent reason and was destined to fall apart and dissolve until none of you could remember it even happened. That one fun story you’d remember on accident, tomorrow, when you’d be proper adults with separate families and lives and friendship that would then be decades-long; you’d tell it to your children, “Hey, kids, could you believe this insanity? Do you know mom used to have a crush on uncle Joon? Can you believe that?”

And then they’d laugh, because it would be such an absurd, unfathomable idea.

You and Namjoon in your adult clothes; he in his brown, old suit of a philosophy professor and glasses, you in the suit of whatever job you’ll have, your two surprisingly round-eyed and somewhat eerie children in Victorian clothes you couldn’t truly understand why glared at you so intensely in this daydream, uncle Yoongi who’d secretly try to sneak them a beer, and, of course — the dad.

Who was the dad?

Your back rested on the wall of the bathroom cubicle, before your eyes not the ugly gray color of the tiles but the imaginary dinner table and the shadow-faced figure in a plain, boring office suit. You put the whole of your mind into discerning the face.

Come on, who was the dad?

“Hi, honey.” Jungkook wryly grinned at you with his bunny teeth, shiny eyes crinkled yet maniacally wide.

Your gut fell to your hips.

Before you could discern the oddities and panicked discomfort in your lungs this image gifted you, the bell rang and you jolted out your thoughts, just then remembering to breathe.

You huffed, shook your head and thoughts off, and tapped your feet over to the classroom. What the hell was wrong with you?

Even during lunch, yours being the usual — a cigarette behind the school, you couldn’t escape troubling questions.

“I thought you weren’t dating Jungkook?” Mira handed your lighter back, tip of her sharp nail lightly scratching your finger. Blowing the smoke out, she put a hand into the pocket of cropped red bomber jacket, ginger waves falling out the tuck behind her ears and joining her bangs.

Why was everyone so greatly interested in your relationships? Could you look at a guy without being swarmed with questions?

“We started dating recently.” A sharp flick of the lighter and you burned the tip of your Winston, puffed the smoke, and bent a scowl with the slightest downwards degree to signal you had no interest in prolonging the topic.

But, “I knew you’d end up together,” a short girl chipped in, with a smile much too big for how close you were. “You just look like you’re a good match! It’s like you were destined to be together.”

You smiled at her, Mira’s kittenish eyes piercing sideways through you. “Really,” you asked to humor her, and she nodded with a grin.

“Yeah! What’s your guys’ signs?”

You bit down on your teeth, the clench in your jaw tight before you smoked on the cigarette, buying yourself time. When was Jungkook’s birthday again? You were certain you knew — you went to his birthday party last year, with Yoongi and Namjoon—

Oh.

His birthday was eleven days before Namjoon’s. They were the same sign.

“I’m a Leo and he’s a Virgo,” you said, clearly, as if you hadn’t forgotten when his birthday was.

You didn’t wish him a happy birthday this year; you hadn’t spoken to Namjoon on his birthday either. You were not only a bad girlfriend but a bad best friend as well.

“Really? Oh my god, that’s such a good match! You really are made for each other.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, then politely chuckled at her excitement.

She chomped a bite of her sandwich.

“You really have a type.”

Your head turned to the sound of Mira’s voice, and she was smiling at you, her wide lips in a pretty magazine-cover smile, as if there had never been any bad blood between you.

“You sure love your Virgos.”

Lost, you attempted to return her smile and blankly blinked. “I guess so.”

“You really look good together,” she said.

“Thanks.”

She turned around with one last polite smile and linked hands with one of the girls you recognized to be her classmate, told her something, then the two walked off as her friend chattered about something you couldn’t hear.

You blinked once again, staring at her long ginger waves and how she didn’t bother to give you even one more look.

Didn’t she have a deathly crush on your boyfriend? Well — that was over a year ago already, when you were last friends. Perhaps you hadn’t thought that other people moved on and grew in their own directions.

Perhaps it was only you that was stuck in one place.

“Wanky,” a girl that stood in your group commented, on something you hadn’t heard over your thoughts but couldn’t be directed at anyone Mira when they took every opportunity to badmouth her, and everyone boomed into laughter, staring at you for a reaction.

Belatedly, you scoffed, then shoved the cigarette in your mouth, dazed and light-headed.

This was becoming a new normal.

Namjoon had been seated on the bench for an hour already. His legs ached, from the lengthy walk or the decieving Sun that bit them with cold — he wasn’t certain, but he still had no desire, even the faintest one, to stand up and go anywhere. Snuggled into his jacket, hand in pocket, legs in loose house joggers tapping the air through their cross, he smoked on his cigarette and stared at the park as if he aimed to etch the smallest detail into his memory.

It was pretty, with clean pathways, neat grass, and tall trees between benches. It was cozy and big.

But it could never compare to the park back home.

Wry half-naked branches, cherry blossom trees that simply stood when they weren’t in bloom, the chalk lines they drew on their concrete court, uneven rocky bleachers, and the basketball hoop with a ripped net. It was nowhere near perfect, but the calm and happy that overwhelmed him whenever he sat on those bleachers could never measure up to the indifferent and okay that coursed through his as he sat on this one.

Yet only one picture was enough to sour all the pretty memories he held dear to his heart.

How could you bring Jungkook to sit on your spot on the bleachers? It had always been reserved for only the two of you, the highest row of stairs in the middle, since the first basketball games when he was twelve to the last one he had spent sitting on your spot alone, gripping the empty plastic cup of mocha you had brought him. That had been such an awful day, when sun had burned his eye whenever he’d peeked it an inch out of his cap’s shade. When he’d been so thirsty yet couldn’t force himself to move from the spot as he blankly stared at Yoongi and Jungkook run around with the rest of the boys.

Jungkook’s place had always been on the court, with the ball, far out of sight and mind as the two of you discussed Kafka, Nietzsche, and Camu’s Stranger. While you were staring at him, nodding along to his words, discussed Mersault’s detachment from the world with him, sharing a cigarette with him — not looking at Jungkook.

Had Jungkook stolen his best friend? Or had he pushed you away himself?

Maybe it a bit of both.

All the hair-raising feelings of loneliness from the few months you hadn’t spoken, that slid after himself as if chained to his ankle, had awoken this morning when grinning Jungkook appeared at their door with Yoongi, the reality of the situation punching him in the face along with his cheery, “Good morning!”

He never had any troubling feelings for Jungkook, he had always been a nice enough kid; one of Yoongi’s goons that had alway loitered in the background, Park Jimin’s quiet and shy sidekick that hadn’t stuck out much. Then entered puberty, pierced his lip and plastered tattoos onto himself, started buying weed and playing the guitar, and earned himself quite a reputation around Daegu for his score with girls.

Last time they had spoken, somewhere in the summer before he moved, he said the number of girl he slept with had reached somewhere around seventy. What were you doing with a guy like that? What was going on in that head of yours?

A guy like him surely couldn’t even treat you right, if you were with someone like Namjoon, for example—

He blinked, as if waking up from a daze, the sound of casual passersby, barks of a few dogs, and lazy traffic in the distance flooding his ears. The long burnt ash of his cigarette fell on the grass.

He scoffed.

Did someone stealing you from him strike such a nerve he’d think of something like that? Of dating you? What the hell was wrong with him?

He was acting like a prepubescent child, getting jealous just because you’d finally found a piece of life he wasn’t intertwined in. He had no right to judge and act jealous; this was normal. You two were growing up, you weren’t kids anymore.

He wasn’t entitled to every part of your life.

What did he care for anyway? It wasn’t like he wasn’t doing anything with his life; he hadn’t even told you he had slept with Haneul. Why would you care? He was certain that you wouldn’t want to hear about that, when you were over the moon and happy with your boyfriend.

He knew all this — yet it still stung.

That his fear you’d never actually like him in that way had proven to be correct.

It was about time he learned how to let go. It was only his own fault he had let himself hope for something impossible.

He had to have been the worst best friend in the world.

Throwing your school bag at the foot of your bed, you shook off the red blazer and shoved it over a chair before you slumped on the flowery sheets, groaned out, and slammed a forearm over scrunched eyes. You’d just finished your secret call with Jungkook as he whispered in the apartment’s small, square bathroom about what Yoongi had told him.

The amount of confidence your brother had in being sneaky, texting him out of nowhere while Jungkook was showing you some ‘really cool’ underground performance of some no-name rock band, spouting about how he had to come to Seoul so they could ‘have a little talk about his sister’ — was truly amazing. You were certain he had just been waiting for you to get a boyfriend again, so he could act like a proper big brother and try to intimidate the chosen guy as if that would make him any less of an asshole - like your brother wasn't an asshole himself.

As if Yoongi didn’t nearly tug all your hair out when you’d smeared his favorite shirt with tempera that one time.

He must’ve thought he was so cool. It was the same spiel with Jungkook as it was every other time, “I’ll smash your head, watch yourself, better be good, she cut a hole in my underwear, blah, blah, blah.”

And girls at school thought this dork was cute.

You grimaced, then sighed and grabbed at your tie to take it off.

Yoongi must’ve overestimated Jungkook. That boy didn’t have a bad bone in him despite his piercings and black clothes. You’ve met his mother and the intimidating arch of her eyebrow when she’d asked who ate the cupcakes she’d prepared for the birthday of her co-worker’s daughter. Jungkook simply wasn’t taught how to lie, his face had flushed and eyes widened as his mom stared at him, a hand on her hip and an interrogating hum leaving her jarringly red lips.

It took him a whole of five seconds to confess.

That was also why he only smoked weed when his mother was out, he would’ve been long busted if he had done it any other way.

You stared at fingers that folded your tie before you put it on your bedside table, muscles in your back somehow more exhausted than usual. Soothed by the silence in your home for once, you sat up and hunched over the bed to grab your Winston XS, opened the white-curtained window beside your bed, and lit a cigarette as you sank into your dear mountain of pillows, knee arching as you took a puff and felt the tasty tar seep into your lungs and loosen your body.

Bored, and with nothing better to do, you grabbed your phone and dialed Namjoon’s number, hoping he wasn’t too busy for a chat. The thought your crush on him was a hormonal accident was, between everything else, somewhat reassuring. You could simply fall back into how everything was before from now on.

He picked up quickly, a puff of smoke coming from his side of the line as well, along with a, “Hello?”

“Hey, Joonie.” You smiled around the cigarette. “What’s up? You busy?”

“No, not busy,” he said, “just taking a walk. I just got my coffee. Well, the second one today.”

“Ooh, what did you get? Black as always?”

“No.” He chuckled. “A mocha. I was craving something sweet.”

You blinked, lips staying parted for a moment. You’d somehow assumed he stopped drinking mocha after last summer. Perhaps because you did. “Not in the mood for brooding with your black coffee and a book in the park today?”

“You could say that,” he said, cheery, as if the ‘mocha question’ had never even crossed his mind. Maybe he’d forgotten what you drank that day. “What’s up with you? Excited you’re coming tomorrow?”

“Mm-hm,” you hummed as you pulled on the cigarette.

“I bet you already packed everything.” There was a twinge of a smile in his voice.

“Ah.” You sighed; tapped the ash away into the white, heart-shaped ashtray you lied to your parents was for jewelry. “You know me so well.”

“Mm, I do. Did you forget to pack your pillowcase?”

Jokingly, you gasped, then laughed as you shook your head. “I did. How do you even do that? It’s scary.”

“Aah, I’m sure you could do that too.” He took a smoke. “Try it. What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“Hmm, let me think for a moment.” With a smile, you squinted as you attempted to picture him. “Well… If you were walking before I called you, you stopped in the middle of the street to take the call and leaned on something.”

He chuckled.

“But — I can hear you’re smoking and you don’t smoke when you walk. So, you’re probably sitting on a bench, with your legs crossed, coffee next to you.” You grinned. “The hand you’re holding the cigarette with is on your knee, hundred percent. And your book— Did you bring a book with you?”

“No, not today.”

“Then nothing. You’re sitting like that right now, smiling, and probably staring at some dog.”

He laughed out. “You’re right. That’s scary. Are you spying on me right now?”

“Mm-hm, I am. I sent a spy to infiltrate your base.”

“Who? Could it be the pigeons?”

You sneered. “How did you guess?”

“I don’t know, must be strong intuition.”

“Mm. And do you know what the pigeons told me?”

“That, I don’t know.” He scoffed. “What did they tell you?”

“That you’re really pissed you can’t sleep in your bed tonight because of Jungkook.”

“Uh— Huh?!”

Laughter escaped you as Namjoon struggled to string together a sentence.

“Wha— How did you know about that? Fuck, I choked on my coffee. Can you believe that happened the second time today?”

“Actually, I can,” you said as you took a drag of your cigarette and pulled off your socks with toes before swinging them on the floor.

Even the loud, annoyed click of his tongue made you giggle. “Did Yoongi tell you he called him?”

“Like he’d ever tell me something like that.” Back sliding down your pillows, you messed the covers with a lazy stretch. “I was with Jungkook when he texted him. That moron. But don’t you dare say I know.”

“I won’t, I won’t. Is that why he doesn’t seem scared of Yoongi at all?”

“Please. Does Yoongi’s speech actually scare anyone?”

“Yeah, a few guys got pretty scared.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Oh, so you’re an accomplice?”

“It’s not like that— Hey, how did you know I was going to be sleeping on the couch?”

You grinned. “Yoongi would never give up his bed.”

“You got that right.” He sighed. “My back is going to hurt like hell by the time you go home.”

You had nothing special to answer so you gave him a lazy scoff.

“By the way, I can’t wait until you come here. It’s been so long since we went to a party together.”

“Too long,” you agreed. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too, bunty.”

Your grin stretched from ear to ear at the nickname and you’d gotten so caught up in the sweet flutter of butterfly’s wings in your chest that you’d belatedly realized your cigarette fell on the floor. You jolted, grabbed it off the floor, and groaned at the trail of ash it had left.

Your head was truly in the clouds today.

The morning of eighth of March was surprisingly warm.

“Keep smiling like that and your mouth might get stuck,” Yoongi spewed with a disgusted scrunch of his lips and a squint of an already narrow eye the lukewarm spring breeze brushed burnt bleached hair out of, hand tucked into the enormous pocket of his hoodie.

Chuckle fell out of Namjoon’s lips seamlessly, almost as if it was accidental, and his hands tightened around the plucked stems of daisies and daffodils he’d tied with a pretty silken bow of pink. He shrugged, the smile refusing to fall off no matter how tight he pressed his lips together.

“Seriously, you’re making me jealous. Sometimes I really wonder if you’re only hanging out with me because you love Y/N more.”

The passersby stomped over the train station’s platform, some settling their luggage on it, others lighting cigarettes and sipping on their coffees as they sat down on the few black benches. The railroads before them were quiet, yet the space was full with the noise of lazy chatter, some waiting to hop on their train while others anticipated the ones who’d hop out of them, just like Namjoon did, jitters in his steady feet and tingles electrifying in his chest. “You know that’s not true,” he said, head cocked to the side. “I love you two equally. It’s just that I see your ugly face every day.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Look who’s talking!” Bewildered, he shook his head. “You jerk, don’t you know I hang out with you so I’d look a bit better in comparison? And here I thought I had a friend who understood my struggle…”

Namjoon chuckled again, but this time it even appeared to him how nervous it sounded. It was a mystery how he hadn’t jumped out of his skin from all the nerves already.

By Yoongi’s swift side glance, he knew he noticed it too, but he had no time to comment before Jungkook, who’d just walked back from the restroom. and his stomp of his boots against the thrown cigarette butt had stolen his attention. An older woman passing by looked at the cigarette sideways before shaking her head.

“What did she say? She coming soon?” Yoongi leaned on the pillar.

“Yeah, she’s almost here,” Jungkook said and Namjoon’s breath got stuck somewhere in his throat at the thought he was moments away from seeing you instead of hearing your voice buzz on the other side of the line.

Seeing you in the flesh had become such a foreign concept in the past months, your image warped with countless memories that plagued his mind and constantly played with no power to pause.

But the last time he saw you was vivid and fresh, even months later; eyes beneath furrowed eyebrows shining, strands of messy hair stuck to your cheeks and chapped bitten lips, arms crossed in the jacket most certainly too light for winter , and a look in your eye so unfathomable and unfamiliar that it chilled the back of his neck even from the distance.

Last time, you settled the silent incident that had eaten away at his insides. Time before that, he’d been too much of a coward to run after you when humiliating tears sprung to his eyes, as if he was some idiot; he gripped onto the string of hope you waved before his eyes, but just as his hypothesis stated: if he only gave you some time — you’d realize you’d never see him in that light.

The formula was simple and the outcome predictable, but it still ached even in the farthest parts of him he couldn’t reach nor mend himself.

But this time, it was going to be different. Everything was as it should’ve been. Three guys standing around waiting for you; your brother, your best friend, and your boyfriend.

Everything was in its place. And he knew his own all too well.

Idle chatter passed the time, warm breeze sent goosebumps down his skin, passersby came and went and stood, and then the animated voice announced your arrival, and moments later the railroads screeched as the gray train came to a halt beside the concrete platform, a moment of silence hung, and then the passengers swarmed out of the doors. “Hope that idiot doesn’t get lost,” Yoongi murmured as he shoved hands into his sweatpants’ pockets and straightened, puffy eyes searching for you.

And then you appeared, in the hurdle of faceless and nameless strangers, with messed windswept hair that jumped behind you, saucer eyes darting around the packed platform, hand pulling a pink suitcase that rattled beside the hop of your sneakers, and the heart locket he’d gifted you on your fifteenth birthday swinging around your neck.

“Hey,” Yoongi’s voice was muffled somewhere far away as he raised his bony hand, and your eyes froze in spot before they locked with Namjoon’s, and he couldn’t help the stretch of his smile nor the swell of his heart; and you smiled at him too, with your pretty smile that crinkled and sparkled your eyes, and his thumb slid over the stems of the bouquet in his pocket, and then you were scooped up in your boyfriend’s arms and abandoned the suitcase on the platform as he picked your feet up from the floor, engulfed you in an embrace, and you giggled like the happiest girl in the world before you swung arms around his neck and kissed him.

And, for some reason, his chest sank.

“I missed you,” Jungkook said with his arms around your waist, eyes of a puppy in love staring at yours as his lip puckered.

“You didn’t see me for one day.” Your palm cupped his cheeks and thumb slid over its apple. Your noses brushed together.

He grinned at you just as widely as you grinned at him when he said, “That’s still too long.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed as he put you down, as if what he was saying was too cheesy for your tastes, but anyone who you’d forced to sit through as many of the 2000’s rom-coms as you did Namjoon knew that couldn’t possibly be true.

“Waah, what is this? My sister comes for my birthday and then ignores me? What am I, a hotel?”

“Shut up.” You scoffed, then wrapped your arms around your chuckling brother.

“You’re telling your brother to shut up on his birthday week?”

“You need to shut up all year around.”

“You shut up, your jokes are lame.”

“Not lamer than yours.”

“Missed your annoying ass,” Yoongi said as he let you go and ruffled your hair.

“Stop that!” You scoffed at him while swatting his hand away. Eyes shining and fingers with your favorite beige nail polish moving away strands of hair the wind stuck to your cheeks, you smiled up at Namjoon and stepped forward.

He let go of the flowers and let them drop into the depths of his pocket as he took out his arms and spread them, the smile he’d lost sneaking up to his lips.

Your eyes crinkled, and then you jumped into his embrace and leaned your cheek onto his chest, his startled chuckle escaping as the warm vanilla fragrance snuck into his nose. For once careless it was going to be stuck there the whole day, he clutched you tight and dug his nose into your hair.

“I missed you so much,” you mumbled into his chest and he couldn’t help chuckling once again like an idiot.

“Me too,” he said, losing himself in the warmth of your body that shielded him from the wind, in your perfume, and your arms gripping his waist.

You stayed still for a moment, before he grinned and swung you left and right to hear your sweet giggle. Your touch faded much too quickly, and soon he was cold again as you pulled away.

As he opened his mouth to ask how your ride was, you were already bantering with Yoongi.

When his hand had reached for your suitcase, Jungkook had already snatched it in one and you in the other.

And when the four of you headed towards the stairs that lead down into the station, he pulled the bouquet out and threw it on the railroad as your boyfriend kissed your temple with a sunny smile.

Namjoon shoved hands into pockets and followed until Yoongi noticed he was behind him and told him to hurry. He only nodded, pulling a tiny smile when you turned over Jungkook’s arm to look at him.

Written 2022.

You'd tuck a lock behind your ear as you told him about the boy from school who said he had a crush on you.

"Really? Is he nice? Do you want me to check?"

You'd be swinging your crossed foot in the air and wrapping your glossed lips around the cigarette when you described your first date.

"I see. You must really like him."

And you'd ask him for a walk around your quiet neighborhood and cling onto his arm as you confided the problems with your fifteenth boyfriend of the year in him.

"Call me if he does something like that again. Yoongi and I will teach him a lesson."

The slightest change in your demeanor would catch his attention, such as that time you had a fight with your best friend of two years, a relationship that fell apart over something so minor you now couldn't quite recall the true reason.

It was a quiet Sunday morning in your household, when your parents were on a short trip to visit your grandpa. The snow rested on the scenery of the neighbor's yard that stood outside the long windows, and you were lounging with Namjoon and your brother under a blanket and a warm cup of coffee that still wafted steam on your lap. Yoongi's footsteps into the bathroom had barely faded with a slam of the door before he snapped his head to you, sharply-cornered eyes soft and arms that had gotten bulkier in his senior year of high school jumping in a cross.

"Are you okay?"

And that question led him to wiping the joyous tears of gratitude someone noticed and regretful ones of melanocholy as you recited all the events to him for the following month. You barely came out of your rooms or changed out of your sleepwear, and he patiently sat on your bed and let you murmur all your worries into his chest, his warm embrace and the faint fragnance of his airy cologne that reminded of evergreen the only things that shushed your despair.

But there were also times you'd strut out of the schoolyard, the red, plaid skirt of your uniform shortened and the black vest abandoned somewhere home so the tight of your white dress shirt would look prettier, all gleeful and grinning as you clutched onto the schoolbag that hung off your shoulder.

He'd wait before the school gate, a cigarette lit in his fingers as he stood in a small circle with a few of his classmates, your brother already running over Daegu to make it to the basketball game or the piano class he had scheduled for the day.

Namjoon was cool when he was lost in conversation, because he'd shove a hand in his pocket, stand a bit hunched, gesture his cigarette-holding hand around when he spoke, and clench his jaw so his mucle would pop out when he listened. You'd have to tap his arm to get him to notice you, eyes enormous as the expectation of him noticing the new clip in your hair and the fresh shade of your lip tint bubbled in your chest.

You waited for him to call you pretty. But just when you thought he would, when his deep voice would fade into the distant chatter of all the other students hurrying home, and his eyes would stop on your face, he'd only say, "Oh, you're here? Let's go."

And you'd hide the scowl that threathened to bend your smiling lips with a bubbly chatter of something completely unimportant, such as what homework you had due for tomorrow.

And, cluelessly, he'd blink down at you and ask, "Do you need any help?"

You would always tumble the thought around for a few seconds before accepting, even though you'd spend more time staring at his hands and somwhat messy handwriting than what he was writing and explaining.

He’d often smack your head with a pencil when you least expected it.

“Ouch!” You once grabbed at your aching scalp as you pouted at him. “What was that for?”

“Did you even hear anything I said?” He leaned his elbow on your white study desk, luscious lips pursed in disapproval.

You narrowed your eyes as if you were mad but his serious expression was too cool for the sentiment to be genuine. Your hands fell into your lap and snuck between your bared thighs before you shrugged. “…I was listening the whole time.”

“Really?” He raised one of his dark, straight eyebrows, a lock of chestnut hair he hadn’t cut for a while falling over it. “Then repeat to me what I last said.”

You squashed your palms, refusing to back down and blink before he did. “Like what? The last sentence?”

Your whole body flinched when he raised the pencil again.

“You little-“ He slit his own words with a click of a tongue, eyes narrowing as he slowly inched the pencil towards your head. For every inch it came closer, you leaned one back, an eye closing and another on a suspicious lookout.

You almost fell out of your chair when he lightly tapped it, a gentle brush that tickled.

He sighed when his pen-holding hand fell between his spread thighs, hunching. “Don’t you know I blew Yoongi off to help you study? We were supposed to go to a game together but I stayed to help you. Please take this seriously.”

But that was never your forte, so that spoiled pout of yours only became bigger as you straightened, hands crossing. “…You don’t even like basketball, though,” you mumbled.

“Y/N,” he called, sterner than you’ve ever heard him before. And his tone froze you in the spot. He shook his head, the way you’d imagine a disappointed parent would. “I know your head is occupied with boys, and that they’re the center of your world, but try to pay attention.”

His words stung. The condescending tone even more.

But he only looked back to your notebook and rested the pen beside it before flipping it to a former page. “You’ll fail the year at this rate…”

You didn’t know why they stung but the deep scowl already tugged on your lips. “If Yoongi didn’t fail already, I won’t either.”

“And who do you think does his homework?” You couldn’t recall ever hearing such an edge to his voice, to his beautiful, deep voice that never failed to soothe and calm you.

Your mind flashed and went blank as you stared at him. For once, you didn’t have something to respond with. And it wasn’t even when he said something smart.

“Look here.” He pointed at a row of his handwriting.

“I don’t want to,” you said, horrified by the intensity of the ache in your chest and sting of your eye when he turned to look at you. You knew him well enough to see hurt curiosity crack through his icy facade and show in his sad, shiny eyes. “I think you should go to the game, I’m not feeling well,” the airy words rushed out of you and left an awkward beat of silence before he could respond.

And it made your body cringe and twist from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, panic pumping in your throat. You didn’t even look at him, but grabbed your cellphone off the desk and pretended you had messages to respond to, just so you didn’t have to.

“…Are you sure?” It was a question uttered after a despairingly long few seconds of silence.

“Yeah, my head hurts.” Your eyes and fingers were jumping around the screen but you truly only kept refreshing your latest Safari search.

“Do you want me to get you something for a headache? Make you tea..?”

Your finger stopped when you heard his question. “No.” You sighed as you tapped the ‘x’ on the search bar. “Just go, I want to sleep.”

He cleared his throat and awkwardly tapped his thighs a few times before he curtly nodded. “Okay,” he concluded before standing up and grabbing his backpack off the lightwood floor. “I’ll leave you the book.”

You glared at his broad back as he threw the backpack on his shoulder but looked back down and typed for real when his eyes fell on you for a moment. A fleeting one.

“Bye.” He opened your light bedroom door and waited a moment for you to offer seeing him out or even return his farewell.

But you only stood up and went over to the queen bed in the corner of the room. He quietly gulped before closing the door and you slumped on your neat sheets the same moment, the light screen falling out of your palm.

You didn’t dare move until you heard the his heavy footsteps had faded and entrance door had closed. Only then did you let an ugly quiver overtake your chin, and buried your head into the enormous, soft pillow as you whined out.

The screen with a search bar that spelled, “Why are you such an idiot?” darkened and turned off and you weakly punched your pillow just as you imagined punching him.

When you took your head out of the pillowcase and blinked the black and white specks that clouded your vision, it felt as if you’ve been laying there for eternity.

You sprung up and breathed in, although your inhale was shaky, and grabbed your pillowcase and ripped it off the same moment. After all, sleeping on mascara stains surely wouldn’t be good for your skin.

At the moment you scrunched the soft material and tapped a foot against your floor to stand up, the question couldn’t avoid popping up — why did an offhand comment, that everyone else spewed at you already, hurt so much?

You blinked and blankly stared at your empty room. And then you scoffed. Because you had no damn clue either.

You grabbed your phone and unlocked it, only to see the results of your search.

https://www.urbandictionary.com > t…

Why are you such an idiot? - Urban Dictionary

A common question asked to 99% of the population because they are idiots. “Hey, Fitzy why are you such an idiot?" Answer: "Duh..." by GNUJunkie December…

You only pursed your lips, certain Kim Namjoon was the biggest one of them all.

Still, there was no force to bound you to being angry with Namjoon for too long. The mascara stains on your pillowcase hadn't even dried in the laundry basket before Yoongi and Namjoon stormed into your room, your brother's hand busy with a crate of your favorite flavored beer and narrow eyes in a happy squint, Namjoon's pinkish cheeks peeking out behind the enormous teddy bear's ear.

"I won him at the arcade," his voice came from behind as he raised the bear's fluffy arm and waved it at you. "He wants to tell you I'm sorry for being a prick."

A smile sneaked its way onto your lips as you put the neatly folded shirt onto the closet's shelf.

"Whatever." Yoongi chuckled as he leaned on your doorframe and raised the crate. "Let's drink this flavored piss."

With the strawberry beer sliding down your throat, you watched Namjoon's shiny eyes widen as he paced around your fluffy rug and spoke of how unfair it was they wouldn't let him play with them anymore because he broke the hoop when he'd slammed the ball into it.

Yoongi's raspy chuckles came from the other side of the bed as he laid his dirty, sweaty feet onto your clean sheets. You had to smack his calves until he finally put them down with a grumble of how unfair you are.

The bottles emptied faster than you would've liked and Namjoon left your room with a smile on his face this time, but you and your brother, like true siblings, were both too lazy to walk him to the door. As soon as the entrance door closed and Yoongi's complaints of how 'OCD' you were when you told him to put his feet down again died down, your brother's thin lips bent into a scowl.

Growing up alongside him made an expert at reading his scowls and blank impressions out of you — it was all in the degrees, and this one was his 'serious' one. "He was really bummed out that you got mad at him," he told you, gripping the nearly empty beer bottle he claimed to loathe the taste of. "Imagine how bad his mood was when he asked if he could play to blow off some steam."

Your back sunk into the mountain of pillows at the headboard, finger tapping against your flowery sheets. "I wasn't mad, I just got a headache."

Yoongi's dark eyes narrowed even further as he cocked his head to the side. "He knows you don’t like it when someone calls you boy-obsessed."

You narrowed your eyes right back at him. "Well, it doesn't matter now. He apologized."

He squinted his eyes even more. "He's a gentle soul, be nicer to him."

You squinted too. "Rich coming from you."

He leaned his head in, elbow resting on your folded blanket at the foot of the bed. "I am nice to him."

"Uh-huh, right."

"I am!"

"Sure."

"Are you sorry for being rude?" He cocked an eyebrow.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "Sure am."

He kicked his sweaty heel into your ribs and you squeaked out at your beer almost spilling. "Then be nicer to him!"

"I'm already nice, you jerk!" Your eyes bulged as you regained balance.

"You? Nice?" He scoffed as he pointed a finger at you. "Admit you were the one who cut a whole in my Superman underwear!"

"I told you, it wasn't me!"

"You so better say goodbye to your new silk robe."

"I will literally smash your head if anything happens to it. I swear to God." You pointed a finger to make the threat real.

"Sleep with one eye open tonight, you brat."

"Get your disgusting one-foot feet off my sheets right now, asshole, and go shower! You stink."

He smirked as he leaned back, voice falling a few octaves as he said, "Oh, hell no, this is what a real man smells like."

"Out. Of my. Room!"

On your freshly changed sheets, you wrapped your hands around your new furry friend that evening, and buried your cheek into his chest that smelled like Namjoon's evergreen cologne. You drifted off into Dreamland unable to tear off your smile.

And, just like that, it was as if nothing ever happened.

The time of your freshman year of high school was a blur of boring basketball games that weren't all that boring as you snuck out with Namjoon. Parties held in your home whenever your parents were away; you'd escape your brother's freestyle sessions with a trip to the convenience store where you'd pester Namjoon until he'd carry all the heavy bags as you skipped with both hands in your pockets before him and laugh at his silent complaints. Long hours spent in the coffee shop close to your school where you'd hang out with your brother's friends and listen in onto the stories he and Namjoon already gossiped about with you. Sleeping with your humongous teddy bear. And, inevitably, the silent dread of waiting for the D-day where the two of them would graduate and move to Seoul.

Somehow, all the hues of the world became pinker and pinker as time passed by, and no amount of your classmates making fun of your crush on the 'geek' Namjoon could tear those tinted glasses off your eyes.

You'd stare down at your cigarette and lean on the back of your school's wall as they giggled and made fun of you while reapplying their lip balm. How hurt he would be if he ever found out what they said about him?

But you never let that wipe the grin off your face as you shrugged and said, "So what? I still like him."

They'd roll their eyes and pat your shoulder as they spoke their condolences, but you knew they would never understand. They simply didn't know him as you did.

They didn't know how gentle the brush of his fingertips would be when he tucked your hair behind your ear, or how gently he would wish you good morning as he brought you morning tea after a sleepover.

They wouldn't know how his forehead creased whenever you told him a boy hurt you and how his jaw would clench when any of his friends made a mean joke at your expense. Of course they would never know. It wasn't them he picked flowers for when they were little, or the ones he invited to his first dance recital when he was six.

If they did, you were certain they'd all fall in love with him too.

But you were always just a tid bit selfish, so when the classmate sitting by you would joke about him being a nerd between classes, you'd dramatically flip your hair and excaim in true Shakespearian fashion, "But he's my nerd!"

And laugh at her grimace as she smacked your arm. "Gross!"

At least they stopped calling you boy-obsessed as you no longer dated any, too occupied with their graduation day looming over your head.

You wouldn't get even mad if they did. It wasn't a lie; you were boy-obsessed.

It had just never been plural.

And it was that slight difference in the accusation that ticked you off, only when he would say it.

The smartest person you knew was an idiot when it came to understanding women. Really, how couldn't he see it was only him you saw?

You had to be the one to make him.

It was only on their graduation day that you put your pink, heart-shaped sunglasses on his eyes as you two sat at the back of your father’s car. In his red high school uniform for the very last time, Namjoon joined into your giggles as he whipped his phone out and threw a look at the front camera.

“Waah!” He lowered the phone as his head fell on the black seat, plump lips in a wide, dimpled smile. “Look at this, I look like a male Lolita!”

“I think they suit you,” came Yoongi’s voice from the passenger seat as he craned his neck to see in the tiny mirror.

“But be careful, don’t break them!” You snuggled into your puffy winter jacket of beige as you watched straight, pearly teeth peep out his grin.

“I won’t, I won’t.” His voice deepened into that calm tone you adored as he turned his face both sides to properly examine himself.

Pink shadows that warm sun rays of cold February cast through the sunglasses danced on his cheek as the car steadily moved through the traffic. “I think I might keep them.”

“No way.” You grinned. “I just bought them.”

With a chuckle, he carefully slid them off and put them into your hands. Your cheeks blossomed their color as your fingers brushed and you masterfully hid your grin with a swallow and pretend that you had to stare at your reflection in the window to put them on your head as a hairband.

“Are you excited you’re finally going to graduate?” Your father rolled the wheel as he stared at the road through his thick-rimmed glasses. Pride tugged on his thin lips your brother inherited and his black hair was neatly gelled as it was every time he went into an important meeting.

“I am,” Namjoon said. “I can’t wait to get to SNU.”

“Ah, of course.” He tapped his fingers on the wheel as the mention of his own university squashed his wrinkled eyes into crescents. “Our Daegu’s pride. I’m sure you’re going to do great there.”

“It’s whatever,” said Yoongi as he slumped further into his seat, his navy green jacket riding up.

Your father sighed. “I would be more surprised if it wasn’t whatever.”

A few chuckles cost you quite a bit, because the very next moment, he turned and smacked your head with the bouquet of flowers your mother left before going to work. “Shut up!”

“Hey, you’re gonna break them!” Your hands rushed to grab the sunglasses but they clanked into the floor much too quickly. You groaned.

“Min Yoongi! Behave for once in your life!” The click of your father’s tongue was loud as he shook his head.

“It’s not my fault! She’s so annoying!” He threw on his best offended pout but your father only sighed.

“You know, I’ve been too lenient with you! If it was your mother driving, I’m sure you’d be smaller than an ant!”

“What did I even do? You never yell at her when she hits me!”

As your family bickered in the front, Namjoon slowly picked your glasses up from the floor and handed them to you with a slow blink. “Are you alright? Did he hit you hard?”

At the notice of the shine of his dark eye as he examined your face, you made sure to put a smile on it. “Nah. I’m used to it.” You giggled at his cute few blinks as you put on your sunglasses. His arm was pressing on yours. Or was it your arm that pressed against his? “I won’t have to put up with it anymore when you finally move away.”

“Ah, don’t say that.” His shoulders drooped along with his eyes. “You’ll come visit us often, right?”

“What do you mean? Just wait two years and I’ll move in with you.” You crossed your arms as his smile returned.

“How do you plan to do that with a two-bedroom apartment?”

“Easy.” You shrugged. “I’ll kick Yoongi out to the couch.”

“No, dad— What?”

You burst out laughing at his ugly grimace, a palm clapping over your lips.

His betrayed eyes snapped to Namjoon. “The fuck are you two talking about?”

“Yoongi! Language, for fuck’s sake!”

“You just fuckin’ swore too!”

“I am forty-two, I can swear whenever I want!”

“They’re fuckin’ conspiring against me!”

The graduation ceremony was held in your high school’s enormous gym; the polished lightwood floor could barely be seen with all the people standing on it in their uniforms, chatter bubbled through the room as teachers came out before one of the basketball hoops where the area was cleared, and you stared at the proud glint in your father’s eye as you two made yourselves comfortable on the packed bleachers. Yoongi straightened his tie with one hand as he swung off his jacket with the other, and Namjoon was mumbling his valedictorian speech under his breath as he tapped his thigh and stared at the floor.

“Are you nervous?” You grinned up at him as you settled the checkered shawl he had taken off beside you.

His lips stopped moving as he looked down at you, pale and lost. “Maybe a little bit.”

“You have no reason to be,” you said. “I know you’re going to be great out there. I didn’t help you with the speech for something to go wrong.”

His dimples came out as his shoulders loosened. His palm gently tapped your head. “Thanks, bunty.”

You giggled as you swatted his arm away. “Gosh, you didn’t call me that in forever!”

“I just want to say,” your father said as he grabbed Yoongi’s hand. Your brother stared down at him in silent wonder, eyebrows raised only ever so slightly and the scowl on his lips 'neutral'. Your father’s smile made all the wrinkles around his eyes appear. “I’m really proud of you, son.”

Yoongi’s lips parted the tiniest bit as he blinked, dumbfounded. You hadn’t even realized you were grabbing onto Namjoon’s sleeve until his hand slid and took yours. “Dad…”

Father’s lips pursed into a smile as he stood up and wrapped his arms around limp Yoongi. “Who knew my son would finish high school?” He chuckled into his shoulder as your brother returned his embrace, cheek resting on his shoulder.

Both short and red-nosed from the cold, they looked like two little dwarfs from Snow White.

The image made you look at Namjoon to gauge his reaction, and all the worry dropped from your shoulders when you saw he was trying to stomp down his laughter as desperately as you were. Your eyes locked for a moment, and a little pfft escaped him. You smacked his shoulder. “Shh, idiot!”

Yoongi’s eyes snapped open. The hand that was wrapped around your father’s neck popped a middle finger at you, and at that, you couldn't help but laugh.

Your bum already ached from sitting when it was their class’s turn to come out and accept their diplomas, but your father’s enthusiasm seemed to be at an all time high as he happily clapped for every little thing. Namjoon’s checkered shawl was in your tight grasp as you stared wide-eyed at the students being called by name. Finally, a teacher in a slick suit called Namjoon’s.

But the gym didn’t raise in an uproar as it did for everyone else. Only a few reluctant claps echoed through the full room.

Something banged your chest and clenched your jaw as you smacked your palms together, eyes popping out when you saw his dimples disappear when he took a step to take the diploma. You snapped your head to the freckled freshman girl that sat beside you. “Clap,” you gritted out through teeth.

She blinked at you a few times before she reluctantly obeyed. Her short-haired friend gave you an odd look but followed in with clapping before you turned to look at Namjoon who was bowing as he took the piece of paper.

A few heads started looking around and joined in. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Namjoon’s dimples to return. At the corner of your eye, you saw your brother kick the ankle of a guy beside him while stretching his gummy smile, and all of their class lined up in a row gave Namjoon the applause he deserved.

The teacher already called another student’s name and the gym erupted in cheers once again.

When Namjoon returned to his place in the row, diploma tight in his hands, he looked over to you. You raised your hands and made a heart out of them, to which he chuckled as he put the paper under his armpit and clapped for his classmate.

As you four ate jjajangmyeon in a close-by, rundown restaurant of brownish hues after Namjoon’s closing speech, Yoongi cursed at you to let him eat as you hung yourself around his neck. “My stupid big bro graduated, I’m so proud I’m gonna cry!”

“Ah, really, just let me eat in peace, woman! My food is getting cold.” But there was still a small upturn to his usual frown.

Your father put down his chopsticks to pat Namjoon on the back. “You did great on the speech today, kid.”

He bowed his head as he grinned, chopsticks with a grab of noodles freezing in the air. “Thank you, Mr. Min.”

“I’m sure Kim would’ve been ecstatic to see how good you were today if he wasn’t in the States.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon replied before politely smiling once again.

The awkward put of food into his mouth was enough for you to let go of Yoongi and lean over the table. “What about me? I helped him write the speech, where’s my credit?”

Your father scoffed at you. “Let’s see if you even get to senior year first.”

“Ah, dad, don’t nag her. School isn’t all that important.”

Your father clicked his tongue with the shake of his head. “You little- Ugh, really, as soon as I compliment you, you get even worse…”

Namjoon smiled at the two of you, cheeks puffy with ramen. It wasn’t long before he and your father slipped back into the discussion of Seoul National University and what he could expected there — of course, followed with your a brag of how good of a student he was.

Yoongi leaned to your ear. “Good work on getting the applause going.”

You picked at your food as you scoffed. “Always.”

“You’re not all that bad when you try,” he mumbled as he flattened his palm under the table.

“Of course not, I’m the best.” You gave him a silent high-five as you watched Namjoon nodding along to your father’s every word.

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

The dread of the looming D-day sat on your chest the moment your father dropped Namjoon off at his house. It was getting heavier as your careless hangouts became plagued with the discussions of how they were going to decorate the small apartment in Seoul your family had been renting out until now, and plans of all the places they would go to — without you.

They would go visit Namsan tower. Without you. Go to Lotte World. Without you. Eat convenience store noodles and drink instant coffee deep into the night as they prepared for the exams they had the following day.

There would be some new friends they met, someone that wasn’t you that would tag along to basketball games and keep Namjoon’s company as he discussed Plato. There will be someone else whose well-being Namjoon would care for, someone else he’d win a teddy bear from an arcade for, and someone he’d lend his jacket to when they were cold.

You’d come and visit for the weekend and they’d introduce you to their new, interesting lives you had nothing to do with, and meet new friends they wouldn’t gossip about with you.

If a boy disappointed you again, you’d have to call Namjoon to complain but he wouldn’t say he and Yoongi would beat him up because he hurt you, but, “That’s really bad, I’m sorry. I have to go study something you’d never understand for a very important exam, so I have to go. I’ll call you back, okay?” And then he never would.

You’ll have to start socializing with your classmates and find someone else to drink coffee with after school. You’ll have to find someone else to call to your sleepovers and new people you’ll have to convince flavored beer is delicious. “Um… have you ever read… Plato’s Republic?” you’ll have to awkwardly ask someone who’d blankly stare at you. “Actually, stoicism and nihilism aren’t all that similar,” you’ll have to say as you explained why you were a stoic and not a nihilist.

You’ll have to explain why you smoke but you’re not addicted to cigarettes, you’ll have to make someone understand why you’ve never fallen in love with anyone you dated, and you’ll have to tell stories you never had to tell to Namjoon and Yoongi — because they were there — just so the story you’re telling would make sense!

As you sprung from your floral bedsheets in the middle of the night, head as heavy as a rock with all the tangled thoughts — what you must do became clear.

Kissed by the summer’s morning daylight, your hand trembled as it swept mascara over your eyelashes. Your chest heaved with a ragged breath as you placed your hearty locket on it. And your eyes wandered around every inch of your reflection while you smacked your glossed lips and slid clammy palms down the waist of your floral picnic dress of ribbons for straps.

That day, you had to walk through Daegu in no one else's company as Yoongi had already ran out of the house in early morning to attend his piano class. All the familiar streets of gray buildings and cherry blossom trees that were far past their bloom at this time of the year awoke a palpable loneliness that poked the already fidgety nerves under your skin. You'll have to walk these streets all alone from now on.

The step of your blue Mary Janes quickened as a message on your phone screen alerted you he was already waiting.

Distraught by the jitters that tickled in your chest, an uncertain smile tugged on the edge of your lip as you spotted his wide shoulders in an earthy green shirt and an open book in a lap calmly seated on a bench. You scoffed. Only Namjoon would open a book while waiting for someone.

Two excited kids, a girl and a boy, ran through before you, giggling on their way to the swings at the side of the park. They reminded of you two when you were younger. The only difference was — they weren't running away from an enraged Yoongi who had just been picked to seek in hide-and-seek once again.

It took a few clicks of your heel and a loud bark from the Husky a lanky guy was walking by his bench for his eyes to tear from the pages and look up at you, wind playing with his brown hair as you managed to raise your palm for a quick wave. A tiny smile sneaked onto his lips as his fingers pressed down on the page to protect it from bending. "Hi," he said as he closed the book, gaze falling on your dress for a quick second before they returned to your own. "Did you run late because you were dressing up for our last basketball game?"

A snicker escaped you as you straightened the back of your dress before sitting down. "No." You looked at him, a nervous flutter in your throat like you've never felt beside him before. "Why would I dress up for that? I dressed up because I wanted to."

"Really?" His dimples appeared as he neatly put away his book into his navy backpack. "Well, I guess you do like all that girly stuff."

"Why, what's wrong with that?" You glanced down at your outfit before you looked at him. "Don't I look good?"

His head turned in surprise, shoulders tense for a moment before he leaned on the bench. "Yeah, you're alright."

You blinked. "No, seriously, do I look pretty?" All the possible saliva gathered in your throat and all the possible might you had in yourself took for you not to gulp and reveal your uncertainty as you examined him.

"You're always pretty, bunty," he carelessly replied, as if he was talking about the weather. Then he chuckled. "That hairband's pretty awesome, too." His warm palm reached out and patted the blue fabric on your head.

A smile cracked through as the unexplainable tension in your chest dispersed, and his head cocked to the side when he crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. What did you even expect from him?

"Who did you dress up for today? Be honest. Are you meeting a new boyfriend I don't know about?"

"Myself," you lied with a grin as you slid the purse off your shoulder. "But I am meeting up with one of my classmates later.” You pulled out two instant coffees you had picked up from the convenience store and handed him the mocha.

“Oh, so you’re not coming to the game?” His pink lip puckered in a pout and stole a little giggle out of you. “I’m going to be bored to death, then.”

“Tsk, tsk…” You opened the plastic cup and pulled the foil, a grin wide on your lips. “What are you going to do in Seoul if you can’t handle being without me for one game?”

He chuckled as he took a sip. “I’m going to sneak you into one of the boxes. You can sit in Yoongi’s sock box.”

You blinked, dumbfounded. “He has a box only for socks?”

“I was shocked, too.”

You put the plastic cap back on before taking a sip, leg crossing over the other. "Why are you suddenly calling me bunty again, by the way?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I'm getting nostalgic." With a drop of his cup on the bench, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Parliament and an old, white lighter you two bought when you heard about the 27 Club. "It's insane to think I'm going to be living in Seoul next week. The time just flew by too fast and I've been thinking of all the things that happened in this town. And how much I'm going to actually miss it — and you know how long I've been saying I want to get out of here." Through a smile and a sideways glance at you, he lit his cigarette. “It's going to be kinda lonely without you there."

You lightly smacked his arm. “Aww, don't say that. I'm seriously going to start crying. It's not like you're moving to the other side of the planet. You're only going to be two hours away."

"Yeah, I know." His eyebrows furrowed as he stole a drag before giving over the cigarette to you. “But, still, I don't know. I'm a little scared that my philosophy buddy won't be there on-call. The last time I tried talking to Yoongi about philosophy, he threw a book at my head."

"Yeah, he really didn't like it when you told him he didn’t know what nihilism was." You pulled on the cigarette even though your throat had dried out, eyes big as you stared at him.

"Learned my lesson when I woke up with a marker-mustache."

"But, seriously now..." Holding the cigarette, you stuck out your pinky. “Promise we won't grow apart. Friends forever."

He chuckled as he stared at it, hand covering his mouth to hide the embarrassment. "God, this is so childish." After a moment of reluctance, he hooked your pinky with his. "Friends forever."

“You have to say you promise!"

He grinned. "Fine, fine, I promise."

"Whatever happens?" You raised your eyebrows.

"Whatever happens." He nodded.

"Really?"

"Really, bunty."

The warmth of his finger disappeared as you handed him the cigarette, and gulped down coffee as if that was going to help calm you. Perhaps you should’ve gone for tea. "Then I have to tell you something."

This was it, you had finally gathered the guts to finally say it. Although they were somewhat fidgety and shaky.

"Of course, bunty. You can always tell me anything." The casual of his tone and the careless manner in which he smoked his cigarette told you he had absolutely no idea what was happening. There was a certain envy you held for the fact he could be so calm and collected while your insides were falling apart and crashing into each other.

You gripped the cup tight, eyes falling on your foot that wouldn’t stop swinging through the air as shyness of looking straight at him overcame you. "Well, it's more like I have to confess something."

"Sure." He spread his arms, chin raising. “Confess all your sins to Father Kim, my child."

You snorted. "You're such a dork." And why were you so wrecked and nervous around this dork?

"So? How have you sinned.” He rested an elbow on his thigh as he leaned closer to you, grin wide. “Tell me."

Your heart knocked against your ribs. This was much harder than you imagined while piecing your wording together this morning. "Well, I have to ask you something first."

"Ask away."

"...Do you,” your voice faded abruptly, something that was out of your control. You blinked and dared to look him straight in the eye. “Like me?"

His eyebrows furrowed as he tapped the ash away on the concrete. “What kind of question is that? Of course I like you. I wouldn't be friends with you if I didn't."

"No, I don't mean it like that." You were short of breath as your face drooped. "Do you like-like me?"

God, you finally asked him.

Genuine confusion stamped itself on his face as he leaned back, everything on him tense. "Does it seem like that? Did I do anything to make you feel uncomfortable?"

Oh, God—no, no, no! Why would he even think that?

"No, I—“

"If I did, I'm sorry. If you were worried about having to 'reject' me, you can relax because—“

"No, Namjoon." You had grabbed onto his wrist before you could stop yourself, the time seeming to stop for a moment when he looked at you. "I like you."

There. You said it. You finally said it without hesitation. But why was he only blankly staring at you? You awkwardly took your arm back and settled it on your lap.

"...For some time now."

The yellow sun rays were generous in painting every inch of his unblinking, unmoving face.

"I... I thought I should tell you before you moved away..."

Why were you stuttering? You never stuttered! All your insides ripped and your brave resolve slowly slipped out of your palms.

And he still wasn’t saying anything.

“Um... Please say something?"

"Wow." He scoffed, and your mind stopped working for a second. "I can't believe this." He shoved the cigarette into his mouth and inhaled it with a hefty raise and fall of his chest.

All your muscles felt like they fell asleep and you just kept dumbly blinking at him as he refused to even look at you. "...What does that mean?"

"God..." His fingers sneaked through his hair and suddenly tugged on it. Breathing out again, he squinted at you, head shaking as he said, "Y/N, I think you're a bit confused."

You had never felt an urge to to curl up and hide stronger than now. It was like a punch in the lungs. "About what?" Your voice has the slightest tremble to it.

"About... that. I know you didn't have a boyfriend for a while, but this is really..." He shook his head again, as if he wasn’t speaking about you to you, as if he was gossiping about you with someone else.

"I'm not confused. I'm not an idiot, I know what I feel."

"No, I didn't say you were.” He sighed and just stayed still examining you for a second. Then, he put out the cigarette on the bench’s leg and threw it in the grass. “I didn't mean that. I think you just misunderstood your feelings about me and Yoongi leaving."

"No. I didn't." Why were you suddenly fighting with him about this? Why hadn’t you bowed your head and ran away? You hadn’t even known this degree of mortification was possible to experience; all your organs were heavy and tingling.

"Are you really sure?"

"Yes, I am.”

He laughed although it was lacking any humor, his arms smacking into a cross. "Don't be ridiculous now."

"I'm not!" Hot, salty tears stung your eyes and you had to deeply breathe in order not to embarrass yourself even further. Why did you want to cry? What were you, five? Crying because something didn’t go your way? You pushed them back somehow, even you didn’t know how, and finally said, "Just give me a straight answer, do you like me or not?"

"It's not— There's not a straight answer, bunty. It's complicated." How could he even dare to call you that right now?

You swallowed. "What is?"

A beat of silence. Then another one.

He didn’t move and you didn’t dare either, until he blinked and his sad, shiny eyes drooped with something awfully reminiscent of pity. Was he pitying you right now? "You know we'd never actually end up together,” he said as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why? Why wouldn't we if you liked me?" Even to your ears, the question sounded desperate. But you couldn’t seem to stop yourself despite the ache in your chest.

"The problem isn't whether I like you or not."

"Then what is?” Your voice thinned out as you stared at him. “Be direct for once your life."

"We'd never work." What was he even talking about?

"Okay, you're really getting on my nerves now. Spit it out!"

"Well, first,” he sighed, hands falling to rub his thighs, almost as if he was wiping off the nervous sweat. “Yoongi is like a brother to me."

"...So? What kind of reason is that?"

He looked at you for a moment, really looked at you as if he was closely inspecting you for something. The edge of his lip tugged into a smile you couldn’t understand as anything but condescending. "God, you're still such a kid."

The coffee cup bent beneath your fingers, unnerved tone falling flat as you asked, "What's the second reason?"

"That, bunty. You're still too childish." It seemed even he was aware of how harsh his words were, so he sadly smiled as a poor attempt to repair the situation as his palms froze in a spot. As if to say, tough luck, my friend. As if to say he understood how you felt and that he empathized. As if he wasn’t t the one hurting you. "You just don't understand some things yet."

You fought to avoid blinking because if you did, the first tear would slip out. "I have to go meet my friend,” you blurted out as you grabbed your purse and abandoned the cup on the bench, nearly tripping over yourself as you jumped up and rushed off.

Namjoon’s feet stomped on the concrete behind you. "Y/N, hey,” he called as you bowed your head and kept walking, hand rushing to wipe off the heated tear and hide the ugly quiver of your chin.

And just when you thought he'd chase after you — he didn't.

The beauty of snow-covered landscape of your hometown, cute knitted scarfs, fluffy gloves, and numberless memories in the cold months all led you to adore wintertime. When you were younger — really, really younger; perhaps at the end of kindergarten? — your brother used to shoot a snowball at you every chance he caught. Your mother and father would spoil you with Christmas gifts, you’d make a snow angel in your brand new pink jacket, a steaming hot chocolate would wait for you by your living room’s fireplace… and, of course, little Namjoon would be beside you, snuggled in a blanket, pushing his round glasses back in place, and blushing when you made fun of his runny nose.

Wintertime always had the sweet taste of hot chocolate and childish games, even when you’d grown a few inches. It was then, somewhere in early December, that you had snuck out after school to the park beside your middle school.

You were thirteen and he had freshly turned fifteen that September, a difference in age that looked like it mattered at that period. You were always cool among your classmates for being friends with someone older, but Namjoon would’ve been ridiculed if it wasn’t for the fact Yoongi had already become infamous as someone that wasn’t to be messed with. Whether it was his proneness to kicking kids, sarcastic remarks, or that he couldn’t hold his tongue behind his teeth when someone irritated him — you didn’t exactly know, but you were glad there was always someone to stand up for the shy kid with glasses and dimples that he had then loathed, who’d look at the ground and stay silent whenever someone picked on him.

At the edge of the park, there was a kindergarten of walls painted in rainbows and a peculiar, blue mouse with a tall top hat, and a colorful, wooden fence surrounded it. For some reason, the red gate would’ve always been left open, and you two had giggled as you skipped into their yard, all gleeful and proud at the first taste of rebellion.

You had sat on the cold stairs of the rocky porch despite the cold that bit at your chubby cheeks, and Namjoon had scoffed at himself so loudly that the warmth of his breath made smoke. You grinned as you hid your freezing palms in pockets, eyes set on the pack of cigarettes he pulled out of his own. He had bought them before school, lying they were for his father. And they were Parliament — exactly the ones he usually did purchase for Mr. Kim, all so his masterful plan could work.

“I lit one myself when dad wasn’t home,” he proudly told you as he unwrapped the plastic. “Just follow what I’m doing.”

You didn’t know at that time if it was the cold or the excitement to blame for the tremble of your hand when you put the first cigarette between your lips, but you suspected even Namjoon’s wide smile as he lit it for you had some part in that, as well. “Thank you,” you told him, and his face lit up.

“Actually,” he puffed out his chest, eyes shining beneath his glasses. “I’m supposed to thank you for letting me light your cigarette.”

“Really?” You pulled in the smoke and blowed it out, both of you oblivious to the fact you were supposed to inhale.

“Yeah, I heard my father say that.”

That night, when you came over to your home and spritzed your vanilla perfume all over in fear of someone recognizing the stench of cigarettes, while lying to Yoongi you two had just been taking an innocent walk, sharing secret glances while stuffing your mouths full of popcorn, seated before the old family laptop the latest horror movie was playing on — you couldn’t wipe the smiles off your faces. It was the first secret you had ever shared with anyone. At least the first one you could remember.

And painted with many memories sisters to this one, wintertime was always new-secret exciting and hot-chocolate sweet.

But the winter of your high school’s second year had to scribble in “bitter” in front of it.

“Boy-crazy,” your classmate had just called you on that last day of school before winter break.

“I think they’re actually crazy about me,” you said as you stomped on your cigarette behind the school, puffy pink jackets long abandoned in favor of the stylish ones that were always unzipped to show off your outfit.

“I’m actually so jealous of you,” said one of the girls from other class with a cheesy grin, her half-eaten sandwich in her hand. “I can’t believe you’re going out with Jungkook.”

You scoffed, hand reaching into your pocket until it pulled out a nearly empty pack of Winston XS. “We’re not going out, though.” The bright, white rays shone straight into your eyes, so you swiftly slipped down your black sunglasses before lighting your cigarette.

The girls all stared at you like dazzled sheep, as if their brains couldn’t get through what you just dared to say. It’s only then that it became clear how offhand your comment was, when the girl of dyed ginger hair turned her head, still leaned on the wall. Your former best friend from middle school, Mira. Who always had the fattest crush on your peer with freshly black-dyed hair and a new piercing through his eyebrow.

Well, shit.

It was never your responsibility how she felt about someone, right? You’ve learned people usually didn’t care for hurting others’ feelings.

“Come on,” Mira said in that deep and sultry voice of her that, instead of soothing as it always was, appeared intimidating, and you couldn’t help but furrow eyebrows at her as you lit your cigarette. “We all know you’re dating. He can’t stop talking about you.”

Through the black of your sunglasses, you stared at the big, cat-like eyes under her bangs, tumbling over her words in your head as you pulled on the cigarette to stall responding. How should you even act when she spoke to you after months? The past few must’ve taken quite a toll on you, since you seemed to forget all the facts you had very well known.

Such as Mira stopped talking to you because you’d spent too much time babbling about and being with Namjoon, or how she was Jungkook’s classmate. You also forgot what sort of reputation your new companion of choice had — a jerk who already ran through half of the school. It was like a smack back into reality.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “We’re just friends.”

It was fascinating; the responsibility to appear good that weighed on your shoulders. Unlike some people, you weren’t selfish to intentionally hurt someone you held dear to your heart.

Mira shrugged and looked away, but being the self-proclaimed degree-expert, it was apparent to you there was a slight upturn to her lips.

For some reason, it made you smile.

That day appeared as if it was going to be fine and pretty when you met Jungkook after school and spent hours at his apartment, listening to him play guitar while his mother was at work and stuffing greasy pizza in your mouths after the small blunt he already had rolled in his bedside drawer.

His inked knuckles popped out as he took the blunt from your fingers, you two seated under the slanted, wooden ceiling of his bedroom that was painted in random paintings that were all a work of his own. The wrinkled, white sheets and the messed blanket of his unmade bed underneath you failed to faze you after coming over so many times, and you had gotten used to the strong, spicy cologne that was nowhere near earthy.

He smiled his bunny teeth out, an upper lip that was thinner than the bottom giving an odd cuteness to his intimidating exterior.

Jeon Jungkook was always just on the border of handsome and pretty — everyone said so. But you were certain only you had the privilege of calling him cute and clumsy.

Years ago, sometime when you were in middle school, he had just appeared in the local park where your brother held his basketball games since his building was close by, and you faintly remembered Yoongi allowing him to play because he felt sorry for the short, then skinny boy who had a permanent pout and big, doe eyes Namjoon said reminded him of yours.

He had been surprisingly good at basketball despite saying he had never played before and asking what the rules were after shooting the ball through the hoop, so Yoongi had taken him under his wing, and it wasn’t long before his whole friend group started calling the new boy ‘Kookie, their little talented bro’.

You were somewhat jealous of there being another kid your age to steal away your title of the group’s baby, but when he came over to you with his big eyes and bought you strawberry milk since he remembered it was your favorite while running to the convenience store — and that out of his own pocket money — you couldn’t bring yourself to dislike him.

After all, you hogged Namjoon all to yourself while he was much more interested in pestering your brother; for some reason, Yoongi had an odd amount of patience for the small boy. Now, he looked nothing like he did then.

He grew taller, overgrew Yoongi in a heartbeat. His brown hair were now black locks as long as his pale face, only shaven underneath where no one could see unless he tied a ponytail, his big nose had somehow shrunk, his lips became poutier with the piercing he had in their corner, and his loose clothes now all seemed tight on him, but how they fit didn’t really matter — because being black, they all blended into each other.

He wrapped his lips around the blunt’s filter, his chest underneath a Nirvana shirt heaving before he pulled the blunt away and closed his smile.

His fingertips tickled as they caressed your jaw, gently leading you to him. As the music on his phone changed from one rock ballad to the start of another, your lips pressed against his, soft guitar riffs in your ear as he blew out the smoke for you to inhale.

Your lips curved as your hand settled at the back of his warm neck, finger pressing onto the silver chain of the cross necklace he always hid under his shirts. You’ve asked him once why he never pulled it out, and he smiled down at the joint he was rolling and said, “I don’t know. It’s just something for me to see.”

You blew out the smoke faster than you inhaled it, fluttery tingle in your chest dancing around as he finally pressed his lips into yours. You didn’t know when he abandoned the joint into the ashtray seated on his bedside table, but his hands were around your waist at the very next moment, and, like always, your own ran into his soft locks as you fell onto his pillow.

It was while later, over the cardboard box with grease stains that laid on his kitchen table, that he had proclaimed with a mouthful of pizza, “I really don’t get why you don’t want us to be together.”

Your back covered in his Nirvana shirt that appeared enormous on you leaned back on the seat of one of his dark-wooded chairs as you eyed his prominent, bare chest with the cross he had just put back on, half of a pizza slice between your fingers. “Don’t you like what we have going on right now?”

“I like it,” he swallowed before putting down the crust he had always left behind. “But I wouldn’t dislike having something more.”

You blankly blinked at him, not a thought in your head.

He sighed, black eyes shiny as he stared at you. “Look, I really like you. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“I really like you, too,” you told him. “But I’m not ready for a relationship, I already told you that.”

“Yeah.” He awkwardly grinned, still as cute as ever. “You did.”

Then he reached for his Winston XS.

Maybe that was why Namjoon rejected you, you thought. Because it was simply so easy to do so.

It was as if you summoned him with that short, quick thought, because when you stumbled into your home while hiding a blooming hickey on your neck with messy hair, he was already sitting on your armchair by the fireplace.

You stared at him and he stared at you, your parents and brother sitting beside him with a cup of hot chocolate each somewhat blurry in the background.

“Hi,” he said, in that deep voice you hadn’t heard for months. Then an uncertain smile tugged on his lips.

“…Hi,” you mumbled.

“Where were you for so long?” Your mother straightened her back, a strand of dark hair falling out of her bun. She pulled a thin blanket over her wool sweater as she shifted on the sofa.

“Oh, I just went to a classmate to help me study.” Paralyzed in your own skin, you slowly pulled off your thin jacket.

“Who, Jugyeong?” She furrowed her eyebrows as you swung the jacket over the armchair opposite to Namjoon’s, attempting your best not to fidget at the sensation of his eyes stuck on you.

“No, Mina. She helped me with Math.” Jugyeong reminded of Jungkook a bit too much for your liking.

“Aah.” Your mother smiled. “Tell her mom I said hi the next time you go over.”

Perhaps it was because you were just a bit high, but the hug your brother gave you as he said he missed you for the first time in his life and the awkward sit with your parents as you tried not to make direct eye-contact with Namjoon’s shoulders that had somehow gotten even broader, were all a messy, uncomfortable blur.

The next thing you’ve known, you were beside Yoongi as he closed the entrance door with a hanged wreath while Namjoon waited to be seen out.

You crossed your arms and stared at the back of Yoongi’s head he had bleached blond as he hugged Namjoon and patted him on the back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bro, I’m coming over for breakfast to see your Nana.”

Namjoon’s chuckle was more melodic and beautiful than you remembered, although you had tried your best not to. “Sure. She can’t wait to see you.”

An odd urge to see his grandma as well awoke in you, but you only kept quiet and pressed your lips together. Wouldn’t it be great if you could’ve just disappeared into your room? Actually… why did you even agree to see him out? It was like you were intentionally torturing yourself.

“Good night,” Yoongi murmured with a small smile before turning around and — simply slamming the door behind him as he walked back into the house.

Your heart skipped a beat as your wide eyes turned to Namjoon, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

He stood with hands in the pockets of his long, dark brown coat, a plump smile above the tight of his white turtleneck. His dimples popped out.

When you were little, you used to poke them, and for some reason, your fingers itched to do the same now even though you had nearly forgotten about it. It used to annoy him so much he’d run away from you.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by coming here.”

“Nuh- No,” you stuttered, voice strangely high. “It’s okay.” You gulped as his lips lightly pursed, forcing yourself to drop your eyebrows and relax your face. “You’re always welcome here.”

He scoffed as his gaze fell on the pathway that led to your front door, cleared from the snow. “That’s nice to hear.” He gulped too, but you wouldn’t tell it if it wasn’t for the bob of his Adam’s apple, prominent even through the thin of the material on his neck. He looked up, eyes shiny and sad even more so than they usually were. “I wanted to say I’m… sorry… for not calling or anything.”

You frowned, voice barely above a whisper as you said, “That’s alright, I’m sure you were busy.”

He pursed his lips again. “But you could’ve visited us too.” His gaze strayed to the side after a brief moment. “But I understand why you wouldn’t want to see me.”

Something in this moment told you at least some kind of words were supposed to come out of your mouth. But you didn’t have any.

He deeply sighed when he looked at you once again, his jaw popping out as he clenched it. You haven’t seen him so unnerved in the past few years. But, oddly, you couldn’t say you were sorry for him. In some way, it made your chest flood with nice feelings, because you must’ve been exactly looked like this on that day.

“Look, I’m really sorry for the way I acted. I know I ended up being an asshole.” He paused. “I… never meant to hurt you. I don’t why I was so harsh.”

“But you were completely right.” A nervous scoff escaped you as you dropped your hands by the side.

He blinked, then froze, as if that was the last thing he expected you to say.

“I’m glad you said it the way you did, because I really was confused. I’m sorry that I dragged you into that and made a mess out of everything.” Perhaps the artificial sweetness of your tone would’ve been enough for him to catch on after knowing you for so long. But it seemed as if you two have become complete strangers in the few months you hadn’t spoken; the man before you was so familiar yet harder to completely understand than ever.

He didn’t seem to understand you at all.

He blinked once more, a corner of his lip raising. A finger couldn’t be pointed at what made it seem insincere. “I still am very sorry. You didn’t deserve the way I acted.” His hands swung around the hem of his coat as he shrugged. “I’d be really grateful if you could forgive me.”

You giggled, although you were aware of how forced it sounded. “Of course I’ll forgive you, Joon. It would be stupid if we stopped being friends after just one fight.” It would be, wouldn’t it?

His smile widened, but it was somewhat sad. Like his eyes. They were so shiny it made him appear as if he was about to shed tears at any moment. “So…” His hand reluctantly escaped his pocket, fingers having the slightest tremble to them as his pinky stuck out. “Friends forever?”

You grinned, finally taking a step closer to him. “Friends forever.” You hooked his pinky with yours.

And you were both a pair of big, fat liars.

Written 2022.

You should be happy.

He’s trying to take care of you.

He cares for you.

But something in your heart told you that his intentions were not as pure as you dreamt they would be.

Taehyung felt like he crossed a line, but you had to know what type of person your new friend was. His skin itched with annoyance every time he remembers how you laughed, and smiled, with him. Of course not because Taehyung was jealous, he just wanted to keep you safe.

He imagined you would be happier, he thought after Jungkook left your party you would let him into your room and cry in his arms, and Taehyung would feel proud that he saved you from a different type of heartache and maybe you’d talk about the kiss from earlier and let him explain everything.

Instead you locked yourself in your room and didn’t even let him in.

You actually haven’t been out of your room since, only for bathroom and snack breaks but your room became your safe haven. It worried your roommate Yoon since you’ve never stayed inside this long. She wanted to do something to help you and she knew that opening your gifts would bring back that sunshine of a smile you had, she missed you and your smile. She felt terrible about what happened.

Even though she, and everyone there was thinking the same thing, but she won’t tell you that since you really seemed to be hurt by it.

Instead she puts on your favorite movie and moved the gifts to the living room so you can have your own unboxing party.

“Oh y/n~” Yoon calls out to you, but you ignore her until she groans,” y/n get your ass out here right now or else I’m cutting the wifi off!”

That got you on your feet.

“Okay I’m coming,” you sighed, lazily dragging yourself and your bunny blanket into the living room where you saw all your gifts,” what are you doing?”

Your heart ached both in a good and bad way. It hurt because, your birthday party, but it ached because she wanted to cheer you up.

“Sit and open them! Don’t ask questions just do it or else I’m kicking you off my netflix account.”

“Boo.” You stuck your tongue out but reluctantly sat on the couch.

Of course the first gift she handed you was Jungkooks.

You would have preferred to save it for last but there it sat on your lap, perfectly wrapped and waiting for you to reveal the gift underneath. You don’t know what to expect but you took a deep breath before carefully unwrapping it.

You didn’t notice the note that was taped on top but Yoon and her eagle eyes of observation quickly saw it.

Yoon ate her chips as she picked up the note that fell from the top of the box.

Happy birthday y/n

I hope this gift will make your birthday the best one you’ve ever had. Don’t ask about the price, I stole it. (I’m kidding I didn’t) but I do have to wash the dishes and do my roommates laundry for a year. Your reaction will be worth it though.

You’ve become my-

“Damn he’s sexy but kinda cheesy. Here.” She gently tossed the card on the coffee table where you quickly reached for the card to finish reading what it said.

You’ve become my best friend, I mean it, I simply cannot imagine life without you now. We’re like Jessie and James and Bam is Meowth. Partners in crime. Our crime? Getting RIPPED.

Anyways, Happy birthday Y/n.

Your bestie, Jungkook.

You wanted to cry but Yoon always teased you because of how easily you cried so you held in your tears. You put the note down to finally open the box to reveal your present.

Yoon watched, her munching was in beat with your nervous heart.

“What is it?” She asked when you stopped to stare at it.

You were shocked, flabbergasted and every other word in the thesaurus that described how you felt seeing this beautiful present.

“It’s..a music box.” You pulled it out of the box to show Yoon. Who was impressed but she didn’t understand why it had you tearing up.

“Cute, it’s that anime you like.”

It was a sailor moon music box, a replica of the ending scene. It had gold pillars overlooking the moon kingdom that projected from the sides. Your favorite part was Prince Endymion and Princess Serenity on top, spinning together while their song whimsically played. It was absolutely gorgeous in all of its glory and you couldn’t believe he would get you something as wonderful as this.

You looked up to cry to Yoon but she was in the kitchen getting another snack.

But it was like fate had wanted you to give Jungkook a second chance, fate wanted you to feel this loved at the exact moment that he decided to call you.

Your phone buzzed and you did not hesitate in answering, although you just sniffled, Jungkook still took it as a good sign.

“Y/n! You answered Fuck okay,” you heard shifting and then muttering before he spoke again,” okay y/n don’t hang up okay? I have a lot to say and-“

“Can you come over?”

Jungkook stayed silent, he was shocked you’d ask but he won’t give up this opportunity.

“Yes! Okay- okay,” he whispered,” Can I take my dog? We were about to go on a walk- I didn’t think you’d answer if I’m being honest- so-“

Jungkook rambled, you noticed he did that when he was nervous.

“Yes,” you whispered,” You can bring Bam.”

His heart melted at the fact that you remembered his dog's name.

Oh god he missed you so much.

“Okay I’ll be right there!” he hung up and you finally realized what you did and that Yoon will probably try to be nosy since she had a knack for drama.

“Yoon? Do you think you could go get me those macaroons from that one shop?” You called out to Yoon who was preparing a bowl of hot Cheetos now.

“What why? What about your diet? And our movie and gift party!” Yoon pouted but you bit your lip to hide your smile.

“I’m sad okay? Plus it’s my cheat day since all I’ve been eating are those celery slices you cut up. Please bestes roomie in the world~”

She squinted, seeing right through you,” Fine but don’t open any of them until I get back okay? I want to see what Taehyung got you.”

“I won’t, I promise.” You smiled before she put on a pastel blue velour tracksuit. You only knew it was velour because she always mentioned it.

The shop was pretty far and Yoon always liked to flirt with the baker so it would probably take her an hour or two especially since the shops around were open, so it gave you enough time to hear Jungkook out without having her eavesdropping.

Jungkook was there in record time, you think he ran because he was huffy and even his dog seemed to be panting.

You both stared at each other, both of your hearts feeling the same ache of missing the other. You let Jungkook in and gave him and Bam some water, Bam made himself at home on your couch and Jungkook sat at your table waiting for you to give him the cue to talk.

When you nodded your head to him it was like his mouth was a leaking faucet that couldn’t stop.

“Okay,” Jungkook sat across from you, hands smoothing his shirt from nerves,” I have a lot to say-“

“You said that-“

“I know- I know I’m just nervous, okay look Y/n I am so fucking- I don’t even know where Taehyung got that idea from,” he licked his lips,” okay I do but I swear I didn’t mean anything by it! it's-“

You almost gasped,“Wait what? What did you tell him?”

Jungkook rushed to clear his words up,” it’s not like I said anything weird! I-I just happened to tell him a little tiny, itty bitty white lie the day after our sleepover I went up to him and said we had to go to your place to get clothes and that we’d have an easy day since you’re tired. That’s it, but ya know it basically implies stuff. So I think that’s where he got the idea from…I don’t know though..”

Jungkook took a deep breath feeling a thick weight lifted from his heart.

But you were confused once again.

Why would he even say that?

What was the reason?

You didn’t understand why he would imply that, especially since you both were only friends.

It just raised suspicions in you again.

“Why did you even say that to him?”

Jungkook puckered his lips, shrugging not really knowing how to answer, but he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea again,” I was, ya know, a little jealous.”

Jealous?

Jealous of what?

Of Taehyung?

“You were jealous…of Taehyung?”

“Yes, of Taehyung!” Jungkook grunted,” it just makes me so mad that he gets to say all this shit to you and you still think he molds the clouds into hearts, which is abso-fucking-lutely insane to me! I mean y/n he said that I was using you for a fat fetish, didn’t that hurt you? He basically fucking implyed that a person would only be your friend because you make their wet dreams come true!”

Hearing those words felt like a hot knife cutting through the tension that formed in your heart. It was a reality check you needed but wanted to avoid at all costs. Jungkook saw your solemn expression and he felt his heart clench in ways he never thought it would, it hurt talking to you this way, it really did but he felt like you needed a little bit of tough loving. Not the type your friends claim to give you but real tough love that makes all the switches in your mind and heart flip.

“Look Y/n just because you’re bigger doesn’t mean it’s a fetish if I’m your friend, for him to imply that not only hurt me, it hurt you too I know it did,” Jungkook wrapped his hands around yours so you could feel the sincerity in his touch,” you’re beautiful to me and you make me feel things all over and I swear on my ultimate favorite spiderman, Miles, it’s not for some fetish.”

You held back tears, every word he spoke was laced with his heart and you felt it easing the tension and suspicion you had. Jungkook took your silence as you wanting to hear him out so he spoke again,” The point is that I don’t like you because you’re chubby, I like you because you’re you, and you’ve become someone really special to me and I would hate to lose you to a lie like this.”

That was all you needed to let the tears flush down your blushing cheeks, no one has ever told you that you were special to them. You covered your face letting go of his hands so he wouldn’t see you cry but he jumps from his chair and to your side, kneeling down next to you to console you.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you y/n, I would never use you like that.”

You cried louder but this time you jumped into his arms, making him fall back and making Bam jump from the couch to see what was happening.

“Oh my gosh I’m sorry,” you try to pull back up to console his worried pup, but Jungkooks grip is lethal,” No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“It’s okay, I got all the hugs and words you need.” Jungkook cheesily smiled feeling relieved that you saw his side of things.

He was worried that your love for Taehyung would blind you to seeing anything else but the way you cried into his arms said something different.

Jungkook cooed and kissed the top of your head before bringing Bam in for what he likes to think is a real family hug.

You don’t know why but you felt like you easily forgave Jungkook. His apology didn’t leave you sticky with insecurity, it left you feeling warm and like a problem was actually resolved.

Maybe that’s what gave you the courage to call Taehyung.

Jungkook made you realize that Taehyung was out of line with his accusation. He did hurt you and he had to know that he did!

Your new feelings didn’t stop you from feeling bad though, you felt even more terrible when you heard his voice chirpily saying your name when you called.

But you pushed them aside and asked him to meet you at your favorite ice cream shop, in case you wuss out, you’d at least still be able to get ice cream.

The next day Taehyung waited for you and if he was being honest, he was kind of happy to see you. He felt his heart race a little as he watched you walk into the shop, and it might have stopped altogether when you sat in front of him.

Were you always this beautiful?

How come he didn’t see it before?

He sighed and smiled but you had a straight face that made him a bit nervous since you’ve never been this serious in front of him before.

You didn’t smile at him or even say hi, so something was definitely wrong.

Maybe you were still on about the kiss?

“Thank you for coming, Taehyung.” Your cool tone spooked him.

“Yea I’m happy you called,” He thinly smiled, feeling awkward with each blink of your eye,” are you not going to order anything?”

Taehyungs startled expression made you double guess yourself.

You can do it y/n

Just tell him.

You deserve better.

You took a deep breath to build up courage to look Taehyung in the eyes, his sudden boxy grin caught you off guard but you stayed strong regardless of the messy cotton candy state he had your heart in.

It was now or never.

“No, I wanted to talk to you actually.”

Taehyungs body instantly froze at your words, again you felt yourself second guess you plan. But you needed to get this off of your chest. You weren’t going to let him off the hook so easily, aymore he needed to know how badly he’s hurt you.

And maybe you’ll tell him how you’ve come to realize that your love for him was actually, in fact, not as everlasting as you thought it was.

Maybe.

──────────•❥❥❥•─────────

A/n: okay besties we’re back !!! Idk how everyone will like this one as much as the previous one…of maybe I am just insecure AGAIN…

~Che

You had not noticed how long you had been hiding in the little dressing room, so caught up in the way the material hugged your body in all the wrong ways that the sound of footsteps approaching the door completely escaped you, it was the gentle knock against the dark wood that startled you from your thoughts.

"Y/n?" Remus hummed softly, the door clicking lightly as he leaned against it and you felt awful noticing the lightness of his voice, the happiness that dripped from it. "You still doing alright in there, love?"

You felt silly, you had planned for this day to be a little escape for Remus, his first off day in quite a while and he insisted that he wanted to spend the day with you, spoiling you with something pretty for the big night. Yet here you were, crying in the dressing room, fingers prodding desperately at the stuck zipper of a dress that should be your size, yet is the furthest thing from it. You did not want to ruin the day for Remus, did not want to bother him with insecurities the poor man had no business worrying about. So, you sucked in a soft sigh, attempting to shake away your thoughts as you lifted your hands to quickly wipe away any remaining evidence of you being upset before letting your fingers fall back to the task at hand, barely stifling a groan as you struggled to free yourself of the beautiful, yet hideous by spite dress.

“I’ll be out in a moment, Rem,” you breathed, though there was no way the quiver in your voice didn’t instantly gain his concern, he knew you, after all, knew exactly when you were upset or when something was bothering you and he knew more than anything when you were trying to hide it from him. “I’m alright,” you added hopefully but it was no use.

“Love,” he began and the floor creaked when he stepped back, actions already mapped out as he paused at the closed door. “Can I come in, please?” he asked, and you finally allowed a sigh to escape your lips as you offered him a barely audible groan of consent.

His eyes raced to meet yours as soon as he stepped in behind you, closing the door when he noticed you were half-dressed, confusion tilting into his brows at the sight of you. You might have rid your cheeks of the tear stains, but there was no hiding the red shadow in your eyes or the irritation on your skin, not to mention the dress that was currently sitting halfway up your chest, stuck below your bra as you shook your head in protest.

“Oh, I look awful, Remmy,” you cringed, attempting to hide yourself from his caring gaze as your arms surrounded your body, your man not sparing a second before he shook his head in objection, not needing to put much thought into your behaviour to know what was going on. “I don’t know how but none of these dresses seem to fit and the ones that do, don’t look quite right and some-” you groaned, puffing lightly to blow a strand of hair from your face, not that it improved the picture you had created for him to see. “Some of them fit perfectly yet still look awful,” you explained, and a small pout tugged at your lips as you looked at him through the mirror.

“I see,” he noted, and his fingers were gentle as they settled on your shoulders, thoughtlessly guiding you to lean back into his chest, brows furrowed as he kissed the back of your head, allowing you a moment to settle in his presence before thinking of saying anything else.

Remus had an almost sixth sense when it came to you, knowing without much prompt when you needed to be talked down or when you needed to be comforted and he realized quite quickly that you were longing for the latter. The two of you never truly talked about your insecurities but it was impossible to deny that they were there, and they always seemed to peak their head out on days like these. You were already extremely nervous to meet Remus’ friends and you wanted more than anything to look beautiful at his side, so he understood why something as simple as the dresses not fitting, could lead you to believe that all was ruined and send your nerves into overdrive.

“I just wanted to look pretty for you,” you noted after a moment, your eyes closed now as Remus’ arms took the place of your own, swallowing you in his embrace as you melted into his hold.

“You always look pretty for me, Y/n,” he protested almost instantly, taking advantage of your closed eyes to inspect what he was working with, noting the way the unkind seam was beginning to irritate your skin where it sat tightly around you, he hated that, hated the way it must’ve felt not only uncomfortable but probably only assisting in making you upset. “You are my pretty baby, hmm,” he voiced, and you mumbled in objection when he wanted to pull away from you.

“Remus- “

“You’re not the problem here, love,” he informed you with fingers brushing over your waist to show you what he was talking about. “Why don’t we get this off, then I can show you what I mean,” he left little time for objection before attempting to unzip the dress, a small gasp fled from your mouth when he proceeded to rip the sides from each other, not a single strand of patience with the silly object that dared to sadden his girl. “We’ll add it to my bill,” he shrugged when his eyes found yours again, earning a giggle from you as he tapped your legs to have you step out of it, one foot at a time before he kicked it to the other side of the little room. “There she is,” he sighed with a silly smirk, eyes almost twinkling as you laced your fingers with his, letting him take you in completely.

“I look exactly the same, Rem, no different at all,” you noted with curious eyes to which he pinched your waist lightly, softly reprimanding you for talking down at the person whom he loved more than either of you could fathom.

“That’s not true,” he moved his hands to your stomach, smiling with gentle encouragement as the motion made you tense in his hold, “This is who I love. With every curve, with every dent, every line that traces your skin- this is who I love, this body and the lovely soul inside of it- this is my girl, my pretty, heavenly girl, and no piece of clothing would ever change that for me,” his tone was so soft, so careful, like honey dripping from a spoon, it bled into every fibre of your being as your cheeks flushed with warmth.

“I love you,” you whispered, taking hold of his hand to turn yourself around, burying yourself in his chest as he chuckled lightly, squeezing you tightly as you placed a kiss in between his pecks. “You’re too good to me,” you insisted as he rubbed your back to soothe you, pulling back a bit to force you to meet his gaze.

“You’re too hard on yourself, angel,” he hummed and met your pouted lips with a quick peck, smiling as you leaned into him in search for more, one of his large hands lifted to cup your cheek. “Why don’t you get dressed and we go find a new store, hmm?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, fiddling with his shirt as it laid beneath your fingers on his stomach. “Can we go home instead? I would rather spend the day in your arms than in and out of stores,” you admitted, and his heart all but leaped from its place at the sound of you referring to his house as home, not to mention the absolutely adorable dip in your voice while asking to spend time with him alone.

“Sounds perfect. How about I go and pay while you change and then we can go?” he suggested and gave you one quick kiss before picking your own clothes from the floor and handing them to you, hovering at the door to catch one last glance at the excited smile that now tilted into your lips. “Hey, Y/n?” he mused, and you looked up to him with a curious hum. “I love you, too.”

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He had seen you down a drink or two, so you were in just the right mood to be dancing in the center of the room with your friends on either side of you. You looked beautiful with your robes discarded and only your white button down and skirt on, the top few buttons getting undone as the night went on. You were practically incandescent with the moonlight shining on you through the small windows, and for a moment, Remus nearly forgot why he hated the moon so much.

Remus loved observing you at parties, where there were enough people that he wouldn't be caught watching you. You were James' little sister, and he had made it extremely clear that none of the marauders were to even think about looking at you ('especially you, Padfoot').

He didn't even know how he had caught your attention. You were easily the most beautiful girl in your year and you were one of the smartest on top of that. He would have expected you to go after someone like Sirius, who was known for his looks and his charm, but you had approached him. Remus still couldn't believe you had fallen for him, but now that he had you, he had no plans of ever letting you go.

Your suggestive dancing jolts him from his thoughts and he takes another swig of his beer in an effort to hide his smirk. If he had it his way, he would walk into the center of the common room and kiss you in front of everybody, but he couldn't do that to James.

~~~

You finally start to feel the shots you and your friends had taken earlier as you dance with them in the Gryffindor common room. The sheer number of bodies in the room brought the temperature up and you undo another button on your blouse as sweat collects on your chest.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Remus sipping his beer and you smile to yourself as you imagine what could be going through his mind right now. He wasn't much for parties, but his friends loved them, and he liked spending time with his friends.

"Are you ever gonna tell your brother about him?" Marlene whispers from next to you, giving you a pointed look.

Pursing your lips, you shrug. "I've been ready to tell James for a bit now, but Remus is his best friend and I know he would go bloody mad if he found out."

You're dancing again when Marlene widens her eyes in warning and makes a turn around motion with her head. Confused, you spin around to see Sirius approaching. He gives you a sultry smirk, which makes you internally roll your eyes, and stops in front of you.

"Hey, Potter," he grins, his hands stuck lazily in his pockets, "wanna dance?"

Sirius had been casually flirting with you for months, but you had always been able to derail him in one way or another.

You bite your lip, taking a step away from him, "I was actually just about to get a drink, but I know Marlene would love to dance with you."

Shooting her a half-serious apologetic look, you slip away and walk over to Remus.

He looks surprised to see you approach, but you just lean in and whisper, "This party is getting a bit stuffy, don't you think?"

Then, before he can respond, you grab his hand and lead him into the stairwell that connect to the boys' dormitories.

"What's going o-" he begins before you pull him forward by the collar and press your lips to his.

He reciprocates immediately, his hands gripping your waist and leaning you against the wall of the stairway.

"I missed you today," Remus groans as you run your fingers through his unruly hair. A slight tug of his hair makes him bite your lip and you let him swallow your moan.

"I missed you too, Moony," you sigh, dragging your tongue along the seam of his lips. He parts them and you immediately deepen the kiss, tasting spearmint and beer.

Remus can feel your heart beating rapidly against his chest and he loves that he has that effect on you. He squeezes your waist before sliding a hand up your back until he's gripping the back of your head, your long dark hair tangled around his fingers. Before he can take control of the kiss, you spin the two of you around and push Remus against the wall. His lips curve into a small smile against your own and he lets you take control.

But the taste of his mouth isn't enough and you claw at the hem of his shirt to pull it off of him, when he pulls back.

"We can't do this here," Remus says pointedly, "James could see."

You scrunch your lips, crossing your arms. "What if I want him to see? I'm getting really tired of hiding from everyone, Remus."

He runs a hand through his messed-up hair, letting out a deep breath. "I know, darling, but he's my best friend and I really don't want him to find out like this."

You pout, knowing he's right, but then he grins, "But I can make it up to you upstairs."

The corner of your lips curves up slightly and before you know what he's doing, he lifts you up, tossing you over his shoulder as you squeal with surprise. Remus' tall frame carries you up the stairs and into the boys' dormitories, where he throws you onto his bed.

You grin as he crawls on top of you, his hands settling on the pillow on either side of your head. When he's directly above you, you give him a coy smile that he immediately covers with a searing kiss. His mouth burns against yours and you can't help but moan as he parts your lips with his tongue.

To the public eye, Remus Lupin was an innocent and studious seventh year who was only mentioned in the context of exams or the other marauders. But you got to see the side of him that no one else did. The loving and funny and sexy side of him.

You're so focused on his kisses that you don't notice when his hand slips down your body. The first brush of his fingertips against your clothed core makes you gasp, spurring him into action. He pushes your skirt up around your waist and brings his lithe fingers down to touch you.

When he makes contact, you're practically dripping and he groans audibly, looking up to meet your eyes. "Baby, you're so wet."

Anticipation courses through your veins and you don't have a chance to respond before Remus starts kissing his way down your body. When his tongue dips into your slick heat, you moan loud enough that Remus actually laughs.

"Might wanna keep it down, darling," he whispers diplomatically, his eyes glinting with laughter. "Don't want the whole party to hear you."

Rolling your eyes, you push his head back down. "Shut up, Moony."

He chuckles before diving back in, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking, making your toes curl. Remus can feel your arousal dripping down his chin and he laps it up with his tongue, trying to taste every inch of you that he can.

His tongue thrusts into you and your back flies off the bed, an anguished moan leaving your mouth, as you grasp onto his hair to keep him right where he is. "Oh, god, keep doing that."

A smirk ghosts across his face as he feels you fluttering against his mouth. When he wraps his lips around your clit one more time and sucks, you come undone below him.

Heat zings up your spine and you swear you can see stars as Remus works you through your orgasm.

"Holy shit, Moony," you huff, your chest still heaving as he climbs back up over you. "You weren't kidding about making it up to me."

A wicked smile crosses his face and he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. "Oh, we're not done yet."

Remus quickly sheds his trousers and boxers off, leaving him bare before you. You find yourself staring in awe at his sizeable length, when he reaches up to yank your blouse open. He places a small kiss on your exposed nipple, before swirling his tongue around it and sucking.

You sigh, wanting to let him take his time with each bud, but you can't ignore the feeling of his hard cock prodding your thigh.

"Enough teasing," you gasp, "please, just fuck me."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

Within moments, he has himself lined up with your entrance and begins pushing in slowly. The stretch is a sweet sting that devolves into a cascade of warm pleasure.

"Fuck," Remus groans, gripping your hips so tight he's sure to leave bruises. "You feel so good, baby."

His hands glide up to your breasts, and he tweaks your nipples, making you moan loudly. When he ramps up the pace of his thrusts, you cry out, your nails raking down his back.

The sharp sensation of your nails digging into him excites him further and soon your cries are loud enough to alert the whole of Gryffindor tower. You grip the sheets below you in an effort to anchor yourself, but when he angles his hips to hit that sweet spot inside of you, you can't hold back your moans.

Remus slams a hand over your mouth without stopping his movements, drilling you closer and closer to your release.

Soon he can feel you squeezing around him, and he screws his eyes shut to keep from coming on the spot.

"C'mon, darling," he whispers, his mouth pressed against the shell of your ear. "Come for me."

With another thud, your head falls back and you cry out silently, your hand covering his. The pressure of your release brings Remus to his, and he groans behind gritted teeth.

He falls onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms, your head below his chin.

You press a kiss to his neck, smiling, "Remus, that was-"

"Aye, Moony, you up there?" James' voice calls from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m perfectly capable of calling an Uber.”

Eddie scoffed, pushing the helmet into your hands. “Come on. It’s ten blocks, tops.”

“You’re right, I’ll walk.” You handed it back to him curtly and made to turn back down the alley of the restaurant. It would be inclines all the way back up, but you would rather foot it than get on the back of Eddie’s metal death trap. You had always declined in the year you’d been seeing Eddie Brock, but now he suddenly thought you’d change your mind.

He thought you’d change your mind because now you knew. It had been almost a month since you found out about Venom. A month since you’d almost been mugged just outside his apartment, and he had landed from a three story jump right in front of you and a very startled mugger. You’d gasped, stumbling back against the brickwork of the building- at the sheer stature of Venom- your neck craning up as he stalked passed you and grabbed the assailant by the throat. You flinched as it flung him into the nearest tree. The man had scrambled to his feet in terror, fleeing the scene before the creature could attack him again.

Venom had retreated back into Eddie, much to the reporter’s dismay.

“No, no— Don’t let her see—!”

It’s time we told her who we really are, Eddie! Don’t we love her? TRUST her? Look at her, looking at us in reverence!

You stood, slack jawed as you clutched your bag to your stomach. Your shock soon turned to irritation, and you smacked him on the chest with the purse. Eddie yelped.

“Let me see, Eddie?! That you’re what? That— that big monster on the news? This whole time?”

It was a knee jerk reaction. You had apologized to Venom later- up in Eddie’s apartment after a more thorough explanation and a few strawberry margaritas- for calling the symbiote a ‘monster’. Eddie, however, agreed that sometimes Venom was a bit of a nightmare.

In the end, you were glad they had told you. It was an obvious relief to Eddie, not having to hide such a deep secret any longer. And a great delight to Venom, who had apparently loved you just as much as your boyfriend did. They were a package deal, and you realized you had to accept them both, or neither. So you made the effort to include Venom more in your relationship, showing Eddie you were accepting them for who they were.

But you were not— absolutely not— going to accept a ride on the back of his damn bike!

Eddie threw his leg back off the motorcycle, jogging hurriedly after you as he juggled the pair of helmets. “[Y/n],” He called, “Can’t you just trust us on this one?”

You turned on your heel at the mouth of the alley and shoved a finger into his chest. “Do you have any idea what percentage of motorcycle deaths make up—”

“—Make up vehicular-related casualties in California. Yes, [Y/n], I’m familiar with your speech. I’ve done my own research on the subject, y’know.” He grumbled.

You glared at the hint of a smile he was trying to coax out of you now. You crossed your arms and silently dared him to change your set mind.

“But most motorcyclists don’t have Venom, do they?” He finished, and you rolled your eyes at his smug little counterpoint. From over his shoulder, you saw as a small, inky black head peaked over at you with pearlescent eyes.

“We will keep you safe, [Y/n]. We swear.” Came Venom’s deep but hushed voice. Suddenly, you realized this was one of those moments. The ones that set you apart from everyone else who would dismiss or fear Eddie and Venom.

You huffed. Sighing, you snatched the helmet meant for you from Eddie’s grasp and eyed it distastefully.

“...Fine. But you go one mile over the speed limit and I’m jumping off.”

You had to admit, San Francisco at night was a sight to behold on the back of Eddie’s bike.

True to their word, Venom had secured you to Eddie’s back with his sticky form. You felt the warm hold of his tendrils wrap around your middle comfortably, hidden from view beneath your coat. After the short ride back to your apartment, you decided that if you were in, you might as well be all in. Eddie kicked off the curb with a grin and revved the throttle a few times, sending the engine’s vibrations right up your spine as he drove you back onto the main streets. Your date continued as Eddie drove you wherever the streets seemed to take him. You linked your arms around his middle happily.

“Told you.” Eddie rumbled over his shoulder. You give the soft part of his side a playful pinch. But you grinned back all the same.

“Isn’t it freeing, [Y/n]? Better than your stuffy, tiny car.” Venom said. He peaked out from inside your lapel before disappearing back down around your waist.

“Hey, I thought you liked it when I drive.” You said to both of them, concealing a pout. You felt the muscles of Eddie’s abdomen tense and flex as the night air caught his laugh and carried it off quickly. You smiled, squeezing your arms around him tighter in response, your thighs doing the same. Eddie shifted in his seat in front of you, his muscles tensing minutely again.

You heaved a contented sigh and rested your head on his shoulder blade, watching the lights and buildings blur past. You wouldn’t admit it just yet, but this might be one of your top date nights with Eddie Brock, and it was all thanks to Venom.

Speaking of Venom, you blinked when you noticed Venom’s hold on you slowly seemed to spread. You shifted around a little to accommodate it as more of the symbiote reached around your waist, spreading up your chest and down, around your bare thighs. You had worn a skirt to dinner, and Venom had even made sure it didn’t ride up as you straddled the bike tonight.

You swallowed thickly when the warm, viscous creature finally spread down between your inner thighs, dangerously close to your center. The warmth traveled across the last thin layer of fabric covering you, and you found yourself responding almost instantly.

Venom was not a stranger in your’s or Eddie’s bedrooms. When you found out the symbiote was interested in you romantically, you were curious about it’s more carnal interests, too, if any. It was Eddie who had protested at first. You could tell he had feared what introducing Venom in that way might do to your dynamic. Still, you offered an open mind, and in the end, Venom’s presence remained welcome.

This, however, was certainly new.

You gasped, squeezing your thighs together when you felt a pressure, almost like a finger- or a tongue-  press against your taut panties. The tendrils that had inched their way up your waist beneath your blouse had reached your bra as well, sinking into the fabric and splaying flush with both your breasts. You whimpered. Now cupping you, Venom moved over your nipples, the action bringing them to stiff, aching peaks in a matter of moments.

“Venom.” You whispered in warning, unsure if either of them could hear you over the motorcycle or the wind. But as you felt the creature slip around your panties and make contact with your folds, you pressed your face to Eddie’s back again, squeezing him hard with a strangled, “Oh.”

In front of you, Eddie stiffened too. Feeling and tasting your skin through Venom, he glanced over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the road.

Hey, Eddie snapped in his own head, We’re tryin’ to convince her ridin’ with us is okay.

We ARE convincing her, Eddie. And she’s enjoying it.

Venom dipped past your folds and found your slick arousal waiting for them. Another tendril pushed in lower, almost lapping at the wetness blooming from your core. You flushed, felt the moan threaten to escape as you concentrated on not rolling your hips into Venom’s touch- into Eddie’s lower back.

“E-Eddie?” You tried, lifting your head up. Under your palms, you felt Eddie’s chest rise and fall at a more labored pace. You couldn’t help but smooth your hands up his pecs, dragging your nails over the hard wall of muscle the way you know he liked. Eddie swallowed.

I’m tryin’ to drive here!

Let ME drive, Eddie.

And without waiting for an answer, Venom’s grasp took over Eddie’s hands, sticking his grip to either handle without needing to squeeze. Eddie conceded, just for a moment, so that he could revel in the way your thighs were clenching either side of his lower half. His eyes fluttered as Venom’s liquid grip moved to sheath Eddie’s length, coaxing the half-hard member to it’s full size. He strained against his jeans now as Venom pumped his cock steadily. Eddie groaned. But he refused to take his eyes off the road.

“Oh- christ,” You shuddered from behind him. Venom guided the three of you up a hill and around a secluded bend, coasting the bike at a slow speed. Under cover of trees and the dark street, no one could see the way you snapped your hips, now freely rutting against Eddie’s back. Venom had slipped into your entrance, slowly pumping in and out of you while a steady rhythm moved over your clit and folds. It felt like Venom was pressing up against every inch of your sex.

It felt silky, wet, and warm, and you gripped two handfuls of Eddie’s shirt as the heat in your lower abdomen started to build. You didn’t even notice that Venom had rolled the bike to a stop, the engine’s purr the only thing drowning out your soft cries, and Eddie’s low, shaky panting as Venom brought the both of you over the edge together.

Finally, Eddie tore off his helmet. The cold night air was a balm on his flushed face, his head spinning as he felt Venom around him and inside you all at once. He turned in his seat, and you immediately reached to take off your helmet as well, letting it clunk soundlessly onto the grass beside the bike. Eddie craned his neck, capturing your lips in his for a sloppy, ravenous kiss. You gripped his jaw as you pressed your chest flush against his back, and the two of you both groaned as Venom completely reached through every layer separating the two of you, melding you together where you both touched. You thrusted against Eddie’s back wantonly, his mouth still swallowing down every one of your whimpers and moans.

You were the first to come, your eyes rolling up and your lashes flitting over Eddie’s cheeks rapidly as Venom kept fucking you through every wave of pleasure.

Your nails dug into Eddie’s chest again, catching hard on his sensitive nipples, and it’s enough to bring him to climax soon after. Venom seemed to thrum as Eddie came; you felt the viscous creature vibrate as Eddie’s hips shoved against the grip on his cock, and you could have sworn it was like Venom was coming too.

When he’s finished, Eddie’s head falls forward onto his chest, and you peppered his exposed neck in kisses as he caught his breath. Your walls twitched as Venom carefully receded from between your legs and off your chest. You were almost sad the way the cold night air replaced the symbiote’s warmth.

Humming, you rested your cheek on Eddie’s shoulder, fingers idly finding his to entangle them together.

Eddie arched a brow at you from over his shoulder, a smirk already playing on his lips. “So? Thoughts?” He teased sheepishly. “Did we, uh, change your mind on the whole bike situation?”

You snorted, grinning at them. Slapping his thigh lightly, you buried your face between his shoulder blades. “You assholes.”

Venom’s small head appeared again beside your cheek, nuzzling your face as you tried to hide your blush.