novkiss.

//

part 1

The pointed heels of your louboutins click against the polished marble and almost instantly the conversations around the room falter. 

One by one, heads turn in your direction. Some guests watch openly, others more discreetly, but all of them seem to be hoping for the same thing… a glance, a nod, any small acknowledgment that you’ve noticed them. 

But your gaze remains fixed only on the stage ahead, your expression composed with a hint of the faintest smile playing on your lips. The deep ruby shade and the stones embroidered all over the fabric of your dress catches the light with every step you take down the hall. 

The Valerra pop-up store, your largest and most anticipated showcase to date, was in full swing. 

Every detail had been curated to perfection, not just to display jewelry, but to immerse every guest into the world you’d built and tonight, the world was drenched entirely in ruby.

Tall glass display cases stand in clean, symmetrical lines, stretching across the room with each case illuminated from within, casting a soft glow that contrasts beautifully against the deep red hues surrounding it.

The jewelry inside looks less like products and more like pieces of art.

Diamond necklaces rest against velvet cushions in rich crimson tones, each stone catching the light in subtle flashes that seem to follow you as you pass by, rings arranged neatly, spaced just enough to give each one its own presence and bracelets curved over sculpted stands draped in red silk, their polished surfaces gleaming under the lights as they reflect soft ripples of gold and silver across the glass.

Above it all, grand chandeliers hang low with their crystals refracting warm light while cascading red drapes frame the venue, flowing effortlessly from the ceiling like liquid silk as fresh roses in deep scarlet arrangements adorn every corner with other pieces of luxury decor you had picked out yourself. 

To your left, a string quartet plays, the soft music weaving seamlessly into the low hum of conversations and the occasional clink of champagne glasses. Waiters move through the crowd with silver trays balanced in their hands as they offer crystal flutes of champagne and curated hors d’oeuvres.

Haeun, your assistant, follows just a step behind you. Close enough to intervene if necessary, yet distant enough to remain invisible to everyone else. Her expression stays perfectly composed, but her sharp eyes miss nothing. 

She tracks the movement of the staff, the positioning of the guests, the subtle hesitation of a waiter who lingers a second too long before approaching a group. She mentally notes which influencers and celebrities have arrived and which haven’t, who was already capturing photos, who needed to be guided closer to the main display for better visibility. 

Nothing slipped past her… nothing ever did.

As you move deeper into the space, the lighting subtly shifts, guiding attention towards the center of the room where the stage stands waiting. It wasn’t extravagant, but it didn’t exactly need to be. Sleek metallic panels framed the backdrop, catching the warm ruby tones of the venue and reflecting them in a way that elevated everything else just the way you wanted it to. At the very center, partially concealed beneath a deep red velvet cloth, was the highlight of the night. 

Your new collection, hidden just enough to build anticipation, to make people wait, to make them want.

The announcer stands poised on the stage, dressed in a custom-made, shimmering gown designed by your dear friend Kim Taehyung, created exclusively to align with the vision you had carried for this evening in your head for months.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” Her voice cuts cleanly through the room, drawing attention back to the stage. “Please join me in welcoming the visionary behind tonight’s showcase.”

Guests gathered near the stage instinctively step aside as you approach, creating a clear path without needing to be asked.

“The mind behind the brand… the force redefining modern luxury…”

Your heels meet the first step leading up to the stage and behind you, Haeun comes to a halt because she knew this moment wasn’t hers to manage. It was all yours.

“Please welcome her…” The announcer’s voice lifts as you fully step onto the stage, and just like that, every eye in the room finds you. “Please welcome the founder, creative director and CEO of Valerra… Min Y/n !!!!” she cheers as a loud applause breaks out, filling the space and rising in waves while cameras start flashing.

Now that you were finally standing in front of the entire crowd, you let your smile widen just a fraction as your eyes sweep across the room. Rows of familiar faces, strangers, admirers, people who had followed your work, invested in your name, believed in your vision. They were all here, exactly where they were supposed to be.

And still, you let your gaze linger, just for a second longer than it should have.

Because even though you knew better, even though you had told yourself a hundred times before walking in that he obviously wouldn’t be here, a part of you still searched because… as stupid as it may sound, it was almost instinct, as if somewhere in the crowd, you might catch a glimpse of the one pair of eyes that used to always find you.

You don’t find them… of course you don’t but you look anyway, because sometimes, that’s all you can do.

The applause swells around you while the cameras continue to flash as people lean forward, completely captivated by you, by what you’ve built, by everything you represent in this very moment.

And you stand there, at the center of it all.

Valerra, your life’s work, your relentless pursuit, the very proof that every sacrifice had meant something, had brought you exactly where you were meant to be and this… this was everything you had ever wanted.

And yet, at this point, somehow… it felt like nothing, because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the gnawing emptiness in your chest because he wasn’t here tonight. 

Eventually, the rest of the evening slips past you in a blur.

The unveiling of the new collection became the turning point of the night, as expected. The velvet drape was drawn back slowly, revealing pieces that had only lived in your mind for months before they ever took form. It was everything you had envisioned, and it was being received exactly the way you had hoped.

After that, the night became a sequence of expectations you knew by heart. Conversations, introductions, familiar faces approaching with admiration tucked neatly into rehearsed compliments. Cameras flashed as you posed beside your pieces, beside guests, beside people who wanted to be seen next to you just as much as they wanted to be seen by you. 

You smiled when needed, spoke when required, listened just enough and somehow despite being at the center of it all, it all felt slightly… distant.

When you’re finally left by yourself for a very brief second, you let out a quiet exhale to yourself as your gaze briefly drifts across the room. At a distance, Haeun stands exactly where she needs to be, looking as composed as ever. Her attention never wavers, her focus split between the room in front of her and the updates filtering through her earpiece every now and then.

Everything was under control… Everything always was.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t the woman of the hour herself.” A familiar voice suddenly cuts through your thoughts as you instantly turn over your shoulder, and for the first time this evening, you allow yourself a genuine smile. “Tae.” you acknowledge as he inches closer and without hesitation, pulls you into a brief hug. “Look at you…” he chuckles, pulling back as his hands rest lightly on your arms. “I wonder who made you that dress to make you look this stunning.” he grins. 

You let out a small chuckle, tilting your head as you glance down at the gown, your fingers brushing lightly over the rich ruby fabric that hugs your frame perfectly. “I’m glad I went with this…” you admit. “I can’t believe I was actually second-guessing it.” you say looking back up at him. 

“Yeah imagine second guessing me.” he scoffs lightly, feigning offense as he straightens just a little. “That’s bold. Very very bold, Min Y/n.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave your face. “I had a vision in my head…” you counter, crossing your arms loosely. “I just… wasn’t sure if this would match it… Like you know how particular I get when it comes to these things…”

Taehyung chuckles at that, shaking his head.“When have I ever not understood your vision?” he cocks up a brow. “I get what you want before you even fully figure it out yourself. Come on, you should know this by now.” 

You giggle softly, playfully rolling your eyes again.

“Anyways…” he breathes out, stepping away just enough to stand beside you now, shoulder to shoulder as both of you face the room. His gaze drifts across the venue, taking in the way people admire what you’ve created. “Looks like this pop-up was a massive success. Everyone seems to love the new collection.”

You hum softly in agreement, nodding with a small smile and somehow Taehyung is quick to notice the way it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, his eyes fixed on the side profile of your face. You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head almost instinctively. “It’s nothing… I guess I’m just… exhausted. You know how stressed I was about this.” you explain as you keep your gaze fixed ahead.

Your words don’t even convince yourself and you know damn well that it definitely doesn’t convince the man beside you either. Taehyung presses his lips together slightly, studying you for a brief second before slipping his hands into his pockets. He turns his gaze back to the room, almost mirroring your stance.

A few seconds pass, just enough for the noise of the room to settle between you before he speaks again. “First pop-up store event without him, huh?”

You swallow at his words, like there’s something caught in your throat that refuses to go down and you’re quick to steady the faintest tremble in your lower lip, but you don’t dare turn to look at him. “Yeah.” you breathe out.

“How’s everything been? How… have you been?” he asks gently, after a moment and there’s a pause, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “And… how’s Yejun?” he adds, even softer this time.

Your lips tremble again, more noticeable now, and for a brief second you close your eyes, gathering yourself before anything slips through. “Yejun’s fine.” you answer quietly. “He’s… he’s spending the weekend with me.”

It’s a safe answer… a contained one but Taehyung isn’t oblivious to the way you sidestep the rest of his questions, the way your voice only finds certainty when it comes to your son… but he doesn’t push and just like that, a few minutes pass before you’re approached again, this time by a cluster of familiar faces who easily slip into conversation, not just with you but Taehyung as well.

After all, Taehyung wasn’t just anyone. He carried a presence entirely of his own, a name and reputation that stood just as strong as yours. He wasn’t simply accompanying you… he belonged in rooms like this, especially as one of the most influential figures in the fashion world. 

You straighten slightly, your expression falling back into that polished composure as you greet the group, exchanging pleasantries and eventually, the group disperses, replaced by others, then others again, until time almost begins to blur. 

By the time another hour passes, the initial excitement around the venue has somewhat settled. The room is still alive, still buzzing, but your role in it has already been fulfilled.

You turn slightly, your gaze landing on Haeun across the room and she notices immediately, as she always does, quickly making her way over without needing to be called. 

“I think I’ll call it a night.” you say quietly once she’s in front of you. Her brows lift ever so slightly, though she doesn’t question it because she understands. You’ve done everything you needed to do. You showed up, made your presence known, unveiled the new collection, entertained the right people and well… the rest can carry on without you.

“Make sure everything wraps up neatly.” you add. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Yes, of course.” she nods, already mentally running through what needs to be handled. You turn to leave, but her voice stops you gently. “Do you want me to call Mr. Choi?” she glances at you, referring to your driver who’s always prepared, always waiting just a call away.

You shake your head lightly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll drive myself tonight.” you assure her. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch the champagne.” you chuckle and a small smile appears on her lips. “Alright.” she nods, stepping back slightly. “Please get home safely.”

You give her a brief nod in return before she bows her head respectfully, already shifting back into her role as she turns away to oversee the rest of the evening.

And just like that, you step out of the venue, making your way to the private parking and the moment you slip inside your car, you just sit there for a brief second… breathing, like you’re letting the weight of the night catch up to you.

As a few seconds pass, you slowly reach for your phone. The lockscreen lights up in the dim interior as the time reads 9:54 p.m but you barely register it because your eyes are already fixed on the picture, like always. 

Yejun’s small, mischievous smile fills the screen, specks of paint smeared across his nose and cheeks. 

The memory comes back so vividly it almost feels like you’re standing in it again. He was barely 3, freshly introduced to the concept of finger painting at play school. Of course, his fingers seemed to have completely misunderstood the assignment because the paint ended up everywhere… his face, his clothes, somehow even the walls… everywhere except the paper but none of that mattered… not when he was having the time of his life.

A quiet smile tugs at your lips at the memory, and only then do you unlock your phone, scrolling briefly, checking if you’ve missed anything important only to come across a few messages, nothing urgent, nothing that needs you right now at least.

Once you set your phone back down, you close your eyes again, just for a moment. For reasons you don’t quite want to admit, the thought of going back to your apartment doesn’t appeal much to you right now. 

Yes, you left the event early because you wanted to call it a night, but this isn’t the kind of quiet you were looking for… not the kind that waits behind the doors of your empty penthouse.

You don’t want to walk into that kind of stillness, into a home that feels far too big for just one person, where even the quietest sound seems to echo back at you, where memories of the life you once lived, linger like ghosts in every corner. 

And yet, as much as you dread it, you don’t quite have it in you to go anywhere else either. It’s a strange, exhausting contradiction… wanting to be alone, even when you hate the loneliness that comes with it… wanting silence, but not the kind that reminds you of everything that’s missing. 

It doesn’t make sense, but then again, when have you ever been simple enough for it to? So you don’t try to untangle it, you simply just sit with it and then, quietly, you give in as you start the car and without thinking too much about it, you begin driving towards your penthouse, towards a space that’s yours, even if it doesn’t quite feel like it anymore.

//

Jimin reaches up and flips the sign on the glass door from “open” to “close” before turning around to face the now quiet cafe. The late evening rush has long passed, a few chairs sit slightly out of place, crumbs scattered here and there, the faint smell of coffee and baked goods still hanging in the air. 

He exhales, running a hand through his hair, taking in the sight of the part-timers near the counter as they move quickly, wiping down surfaces and stacking up trays, plates and cups. 

His gaze drifts lazily before his eyes land on a small figure hunched over one of the tables by the window on the other side of the cafe and his expression softens instantly, his exhaustion melting into something far more fond as he makes his way over. 

“What’ve you got there, buddy?” he chuckles, gently ruffling the little boy’s hair before pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down.

Up close, he watches the way Yejun’s tiny fingers grip a red crayon with serious determination, his whole body leaning into the table as he scribbles quickly across the paper. 

“My dream car.” Yejun replies immediately, not even bothering to look up. His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, lips slightly parted as he continues dragging the crayon across the sheet of paper.

As Jimin continues to watch the little boy with an adoring smile, he can’t help but notice for the millionth time just how much this baby resembles his father. 

The look Yejun’s got right now reminds Jimin of Jeongguk behind the counter, carefully piping cream onto one of his pastries, usually the strawberry cream choux which is somewhat considered a best seller at their cafe. 

He chuckles to himself as he continues observing Yejun. It’s the same slight furrow in his brows, the same almost stubborn need to get it just right, the same look. 

Just smaller.

“It’s super fast.” Yejun adds suddenly, still focused on his drawing. “Faster than Daddy’s car. And it can fly too… so traffic can’t catch it.”

Jimin lets out a giggle, resting his chin in his hand as he brings his focus to the drawing. The wheels are far too big, the windows are scattered wherever Yejun thinks they belong and somehow, it really does look like it might take off any second.

“Looks pretty cool.” Jimin murmurs, his smile growing just a little fonder and Yejun hums proudly at that, finally glancing up for a split second. “Daddy can sit here.” he says, pointing at a random spot on the paper. “And I’ll drive.”

At that, Jimin raises a brow with a playful pout forming on his lips. “And what about Uncle Chim, huh?” he asks, tapping the table lightly. “No seat for me?”

Yejun pauses, looking back down at his drawing like this is a very serious problem. He squints at the paper, then quickly scribbles another tiny circle somewhere near the edge of the supposed car. “You can sit here.” he decides, nodding firmly. “But you have to be quiet. No talking because I need to focus on driving.”

Jimin lets out a soft, offended gasp before breaking into a grin. “Wow. Not only are you kicking me off to the side, but you’re also silencing me?? I see how it is.” he narrows his eyes but all Yejun does is give him a shy snicker before going back to his drawing. 

Jimin’s smile lingers as he watches the little boy for another moment before his gaze flickers towards the counter. “Where’s your dad?” he asks, brows knitting slightly. Yejun barely hears him, far too invested in perfecting his dream car and Jimin doesn’t really expect an answer anyway. He pats the boy’s head once more before pushing himself up from the chair.

He walks around the counter, past the part timers and pushes through the door into the back kitchen. The low hum of the refrigerator instantly replaces the sounds coming from the cafe and it doesn’t take Jimin long to find who he’s looking for.

Perched on a stool beside one of the steel prep counters with his back turned to Jimin, sits the co-owner of the cafe. From the way he hasn’t even noticed Jimin walking in, it’s obvious he’s far too absorbed in whatever he’s watching on his phone.

Jimin pauses for a second, watching him before he slowly inches closer, his footsteps barely making a sound against the tiled floor. Once he’s right behind him, he slightly leans over, narrowing his eyes to catch a glimpse of the screen over his partner’s shoulder.

“Still keeping tabs on the ex-wife, I see.” he grins. 

A sharp gasp escapes Jeongguk as he instinctively slams his phone against his chest as if that would somehow hide it and whips his head around to face Jimin with wide eyes and a scandalized expression. “What the hell, Hyung!” he breathes out, still trying to steady himself, his grip tightening instinctively around his phone like he’s been caught red-handed.

“Hey, hey… I’m not judging.” Jimin chuckles, lifting both his hands up in mock surrender, though the amusement in his eyes gives him away completely. “It’s the first time you’re not with her at one of those pop-up events. I don’t blame you for feeling like you missed out.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at that, the reaction coming a little too quickly, a little too defensive. He turns away, switching his phone off before dropping it onto the prep counter beside him. “I’m not feeling…. missed out or anything. ” he mutters. “It just… I don’t know… showed up on my feed.” 

The excuse sounds flat even to his own ears, because of course, it didn’t just show up. Especially not with the way his very own fingers had typed out the keywords “Kim Y/n. Valerra pop-up store.” in the search bar almost out of habit… a habit that hadn’t left him. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that within seconds of typing those words into the search bar, his screen would be filled with nothing but you. Fragments of the night from a hundred different angles, paparazzi clips catching you mid-step, influencers zooming in on your dress, celebrities posting glimpses of the event along with pictures where they’re all posing with you. 

Anything that would let him catch even the smallest glimpse of you.

And he had watched it all… more than once, more than he should have. Long enough for the details to settle into him in ways he couldn’t shake off like the dress that hugged you perfectly, the way you carried yourself, the way you smiled at people who weren’t him.

And truthfully, it shouldn’t have mattered, not after all this time… not after six months, to be precise.

But unfortunately for Jeongguk, it did.

Jimin watches him quietly, reading him far too easily. He knows exactly where Jeongguk’s mind has gone, what he’s been sitting with, what he’s trying to brush off like it doesn’t weigh on him but he doesn’t call him out on it. He knows it isn’t necessary because sometimes… some things don’t need to be said out loud to be understood.

All he can really do is sympathize and maybe soften it a little with just some light hearted teasing here and there. 

“Fine…” Jeongguk exhales. “I searched it up, okay? I was just… curious. It’s the first pop-up thing she’s doing without me and I don’t know… I just…” He pauses, briefly running a hand through his hair. “I was curious, I guess. Just wanted to see how things were going.” He shrugs, like it’s something small, something insignificant.

But Jimin doesn’t miss the slight tremble in his voice and the way the words don’t come out as steady as he wants them to. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Gguk.” he says softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“Anyways… did you book your flight to Jeju?” Jimin asks, arms folding loosely over his chest as he leans back, clearly attempting to steer the conversation somewhere else. However, it doesn’t work… if anything, the question only makes Jeongguk sigh louder. “Yeah.” he still answers. “I did… Last night.”

Jimin’s eyes flicker over his face almost immediately, not missing the loud sigh and the way his jaw tightens. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, though he might already have a rough idea. “I don’t even wanna go.” Jeongguk admits with a bitter laugh as his gaze drops to the floor for a second. “I think the last place I should be in right now is someone else’s wedding… when my own marriage didn’t even survive.” 

Jimin exhales, an awkward chuckle slipping out as he shakes his head. “Gguk… you’re literally Hobi hyung’s best man.”

“Yeah, and she’s Bomi’s maid of honor !!” Jeongguk snaps back almost instantly, his head lifting to meet Jimin’s eyes as the frustration finally shows in full. “And we have to walk down the aisle together…” he continues, dragging a hand harshly down his face before letting out a short, incredulous laugh and shaking his head because this entire situation is just sooo fucking ridiculous. “Like actually walk down the aisle…” he repeats, slower this time. “Side by side…. in front of everyone.” His lips press into a thin line before he scoffs quietly. “Like yeah, sure, There’s nothing weird about that at all. Just me and my ex-wife, playing happy for someone else’s wedding like our own didn’t completely fall apart.”

Jimin presses his lips together as he takes that in and for a second, he doesn’t say anything, because yeah… there’s no good way to spin that.

“I get it.” Jimin says finally. “But you’re Hoseok’s best friend and she’s Bomi’s.” he states. “You both agreed to this like 3 months before the divorce…” he shrugs lightly, though there’s sympathy in his eyes. “No one saw this coming, man.” 

Jeongguk exhales quietly, his gaze shifting away again because none of this is new information to him. He already knows all of it, has gone over it in his head more times than he can count, but knowing does nothing to make it any easier. 

Because just the thought of attending a wedding right now, just being there as a guest, is enough to make him feel like throwing up. 

The idea of standing there and watching two people promise each other forever, smile for pictures, raise glasses to love and commitment… it all feels unbearably suffocating when he knows, all too well, how fragile that “promised forever” actually is. He has stood in that exact place before, made those exact promises, believed in them with everything he had and yet somehow, it still hadn’t been enough.

And the worst part is, he doesn’t even have the luxury of fading into the background for this particular wedding. He can’t sit this one out with some half-hearted excuse about being busy or unwell because he isn’t just another face in the crowd… he’s literally the groom’s best man. 

He has a role to play, a place to stand, words to say, a smile to wear whether he feels like it or not.

Often times, when you’re in a long term relationship with someone, your circles overlap, your worlds intertwine until it’s impossible to separate one from the other. Friends become mutual, memories become shared and suddenly, even after everything ends, you’re still tied together in places you didn’t even think would blow up right in your face after everything’s over. 

Hoseok had been one of Jeongguk’s closest friends since college, the kind of friend who had stayed constant through years of growing up, through some very questionable decisions, through endless late-night conversations and through every version of Jeongguk that existed before he became the man he is now.

Naturally, when Jeongguk started dating you, Hoseok met you too, and somewhere along the way, that connection extended to Bomi, your best friend at a small, casual gathering. It was just one of those in those in-between moments, passing interactions where they were just… there. 

At first, they hadn’t paid much attention to each other beyond polite conversations but somehow, in the middle of the constant overlaps, something had suddenly clicked between them that it almost felt inevitable and by the time your wedding came around, everything had already begun to change, though no one had fully caught onto it yet. 

Jeongguk’s best man, Hoseok and your maid of honor, Bomi were secretly hooking up. 

No one really noticed… not you, not Jeongguk, not the rest of your shared friends until months later, they just randomly announced they were official. 

Jeongguk vividly remembers watching it all happen in real time. You had both been genuinely happy for them because there had been something very special about watching two people you cared about fall into something so natural, something that felt almost meant to be. 

And most of all, it had felt nice, in a strange way, knowing that the two of you had played some small, accidental part in bringing them together.

Back then, Jeongguk had adored them. He had rooted for them without hesitation, teased Hoseok about how whipped he was for this girl and would constantly pester him about when he was going to propose and genuinely looked forward to the day they would finally tie the knot… but now, everything feels different.

Because now, with the roles sort of reversed, with time having shifted things in ways he never saw coming, it’s impossible not to notice the irony of it all. Unlike Hoseok, Jeongguk has a lot of history with the maid of honor of this wedding. 

He feels pathetic for it, truly. It’s his best friend’s wedding in less than 2 months, something that should feel like a celebration, something he should be wholeheartedly happy about but instead, it feels like his heart is still stuck 6 months in the past, still drowning in something it hasn’t quite managed to climb out of. 

The joy he knows he should feel is there somewhere, buried under layers and layers of heartache and it just feels impossible to reach it fully.

Still, he knows none of this is about him.

Hoseok and Bomi don’t deserve to have their special day ruined because of this. They’ve spent months planning this wedding and they had absolutely no idea things would turn out this way when they asked Jeongguk to be the best man and you, the maid of honor. 

So realistically speaking, there’s really no option of bailing out now because that would just be a total dick move on Jeongguk’s part and the last thing Hoseok and Bomi deserve is for their happy day to be tainted by the bitterness of the best man who couldn’t hold onto his own forever.

Jeongguk lets out a quiet sigh again, his shoulders dropping just slightly. He nods once, more to himself than anything, like he’s trying to gather whatever composure he has left. “Anyways… I should head home soon.” he mutters, glancing down at the time on his watch. “Need to get Yejun to bed… cause I have to drop him off early in the morning… at… you know…” his voice trails off and Jimin nods immediately, understanding without needing anything more.

“Go ahead.” he says, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. “I’ll wrap things up here.”

Jeongguk hums in acknowledgment, pushing himself up from the stool as he reaches behind to untie his apron. He folds it absentmindedly and sets it aside before grabbing his phone and slipping it into his pocket. Then he heads towards the small staff area tucked at the far end of the back kitchen, the one they used to change and keep their belongings. It’s a simple space with a row of lockers, a narrow bench and a mirror that’s seen better days.

He moves quickly, shrugging into his coat as his fingers work through the buttons. For a second, he pauses, glancing at his reflection. It doesn’t linger long, it never does these days. Then he turns and heads out. 

The moment he steps back into the cafe, his eyes find Yejun almost instantly who’s still seated at the same table he left him at, still completely absorbed in his little sketch and a soft smile takes over his lips before he can even think about it. “Hey, champ.” he calls gently, making his way over. “Ready to head home?”

Yejun looks up at the sound of his father’s voice, his entire face lighting up in an instant. The crayon drops from his hand without a second thought as he nods eagerly with a wide grin stretching across his face. Jeongguk lets out a chuckle, reaching out to ruffle his hair before crouching down to help him gather his things. “Okay, okay, let’s go.” Jeongguk murmurs, before slipping his arms around the boy and lifting him up, settling him comfortably against his side.

Yejun immediately wraps his small arms around Jeongguk’s neck. “Okay Jun, say bye to everyone.” Jeongguk says softly, turning slightly so they’re both facing the counter and Yejun doesn’t need to be told twice.

He waves enthusiastically at the part-timers, his tiny hand moving back and forth with far too much energy for such a small gesture. Then, as if that isn’t enough, he starts blowing exaggerated flying kisses across the cafe, making loud little mwah sounds with each one.

The staff burst into soft laughter, a few of them waving back while others pretend to catch his kisses mid-air. “Ahhhh we’re getting so many today.” Chaewon, one of the part-timers, teases while Jimin, who’s leaning against the back kitchen’s door, crosses his arms with a grin. “Save some for tomorrow, kid.” he calls out.

But Yejun only doubles down, throwing even more kisses, leaning forward dramatically in Jeongguk’s arms as if it’s a full performance. Jeongguk can’t help but laugh softly as he gently steadies his son. “Alright, alright, that’s enough.” he murmurs, though there’s no real strictness in his tone.

After one last, very serious final kiss, Yejun finally settles down like he’s satisfied and Jeongguk finally gives everyone a small nod before walking out of the cafe. Once they make it to the car, Jeongguk opens the back door and carefully helps Yejun into his little car seat. He makes sure the straps sit right, not too tight, not too loose as he adjusts them. 

He closes the door softly before walking around to the driver’s side and sliding in. When the engine hums to life, almost immediately, Yejun’s voice fills the car.

He’s already talking… something about his school friend Haru, about a toy they fought over, about how he won because he was faster. The words tumble out of him in a rush as he moves his hands and shakes his legs animatedly and Jeongguk listens.

He always listens.

Even when he’s tired, even when his mind is somewhere else, he hums at the right moments, nods slightly, glances at him through the mirror, making sure Yejun knows he’s being heard.

When they stop at a signal, the car finally falls into a brief silence and Jeongguk finds himself looking up at Yejun through the rearview mirror again. “You excited to spend the weekend at your mom’s, champ?” he asks softly and he quickly catches the way Yejun’s face lights up instantly as he nods eagerly. “Mama told me she’s taking me somewhere special this weekend!” he chirps, his voice bubbling with excitement as a small giggle escapes him.

“Oh really?” Jeongguk smiles. “Where’s she taking you?” The question comes out easily, but for some reason it instantly leaves a sick bitter taste on his tongue. 

Because he hates this… not the question itself, but what it means.

He hates that he has to ask his own son about you like this. Like you’re just… someone else in his life… like you’re simply “Yejun’s mom” and not the woman who used to be his entire world. 

His wife. 

The person he shared everything with, now reduced to vague updates passed through a 4 year old.

He hates the way this has become normal. The routines of it… packing bags, dropping Yejun off, picking him up again. Weekends split, days divided, time measured in schedules and arrangements instead of something whole.

But even as he hates it, even as that bitter taste on his tongue begins to settle into something that almost feels like poison, even as he can feel his heart splintering beneath it all, at this very moment he keeps his smile intact.

For Yejun.

Because what could a 4 year old possibly do about any of this?

“I don’t know actually…” Yejun admits after a moment. Jeongguk glances at the mirror again before the light turns green, watching the way his son’s brows pinch slightly as he thinks. “She just said it was a special place.” he adds, like that alone is enough to make it exciting.

“Well, I hope you have lots of fun, buddy.” Jeongguk says softly with a smile as he takes a left turn. “So… what do you want Daddy to make for dinner?” he asks, casually changing the topic. 

Yejun hums immediately, like this is a very serious decision that requires proper consideration. His tiny fingers come up to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully and Jeongguk watches him for a second, his smile never leaving his lips. 

“A bulgogi rice bowl!!” Yejun suddenly announces after a few seconds, his face lighting up as if he’s just made the best decision in the world which makes Jeongguk let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Of course.” he murmurs.

God… Yejun was just like his mother. 

Of course the two of you would share the same comfort food… the same favorite dish.

Jeongguk can’t help but think the reason behind this traces back to before Yejun was even born, back to when you were pregnant. 

When everyone kept warning him about odd cravings that would make no sense, about late night demands and sudden aversions, he had prepared himself for all of it. But you had been… different.

You didn’t ask for anything strange, didn’t send him out at odd hours or complain about wanting something he couldn’t find immediately. 

You just kept coming back to one thing. Bulgogi rice bowls… and not just any bulgogi rice bowls, but specifically the ones he used to make. 

Morning, afternoon, late at night when you couldn’t sleep… you would lean against the kitchen counter with your arms crossed or your palm cradling your belly, watching him cook and waiting like it was the only thing that could settle you and he would make it every single time without any hesitation, adjusting the flavors just slightly depending on what you felt like that day, making sure it was perfect before placing it in front of you.

And God… he had loved everything about it. Loved taking care of you like that, loved how something so simple could make you happy, loved how, for those small moments, everything felt right.

Now, as he drives with the memory swirling in his brain, his mind inevitably drifts back to you, like it always does and for some reason, tonight he thinks about the very first time he saw you.

He remembers it like it was yesterday. 

>>

9 years ago

Jeongguk keeps his eyes focused on the latte art forming beneath his hands. The thin stream of milk slowly slips into the espresso, blooming into a soft rosette that he’s made a hundred times before and maybe that’s why his wrist seems to have a mind of its own. 

Around him, the faint hum of the cafe envelopes him…low conversations overlap in soft murmurs and cups clink gently against saucers. Beside him, Jimin pulls a tray of freshly baked blueberry muffins from the oven while a part-timer carefully plates a slice of tiramisu, dusting the top with cocoa for a waiting customer.

Just then, the bell above the door rings, indicating the arrival of a new customer and almost without thinking, Jeongguk looks up like he always does. 

And in that exact moment, everything in him stills. He doesn’t know how it happens or why it happens but he swears the way his chest tightens, the way his breath stops and the way his heart seems to have forgotten its rhythm is nowhere near normal. 

The latte in his hand is long forgotten as his wrist, that apparently had a mind of its own, stops moving, letting the thin stream of milk continue to pour into the espresso, distorting the rosette as it dissolves into something totally unrecognizable but he doesn’t even notice as he just stands there.

He’s heard people talk about it before.

Love at first sight.

He never believed in it because frankly, it never made sense to him. He always thought it was something silly, something people dressed up in pretty words because it sounded romantic enough to believe in because if we’re actually being logical, how could you feel something so intense… so certain, without time, without knowing, without anything to hold onto except a single moment? 

The first sight. 

But right now, as Jeongguk’s eyes stay fixed on the woman dressed in a fitted blouse that’s tucked neatly into a pencil skirt that falls just above her knees, with her hair flowing freely behind her, with a presence and beauty so impossibly hard to ignore, he wonders if what he’s feeling in his chest right now is anything close to love. 

As you step further into the cafe, he feels himself gulp and before the part-timer beside him can step forward to take your order at the counter, Jeongguk moves, blocking the part-timer. 

Jimin notices the sudden movement and his brows lift slightly as he glances at the other staff, but no one says anything as Jeongguk steps up to the counter just as you reach it. 

“Hi.” you say softly as your gaze lifts to the huge menu boards hanging behind him as you scan the options. 

Up close, it’s worse. Or maybe better. Jeongguk can’t really tell.

There’s something about the way the light falls across your face, the way a few loose strands of your hair shift slightly under the cool breeze of the air conditioner, the way your expression changes so subtly as you try to figure out what you want. 

“Can I get a vanilla latte… and…” you pause mid-sentence, taking a small step to the side as your gaze shifts towards the glass display case beside the counter, where rows of pastries and other desserts sit neatly arranged. You lean in just slightly, narrowing your eyes as you scan through your options. “Oh and one of those chocolate ganache tarts?” you smile, gesturing lightly towards it as your finger hovers just enough to point it out without touching the glass.

Jeongguk just stands there, looking at you like a fool because if he’s being honest, he didn’t hear a thing you just said. All he can do is just focus on the way your lips move, the shape of your words forming in slow motion and the quiet cadence of your voice reaching him like it’s coming from somewhere just out of reach.

“Excuse me?” you tilt your head at the lack of response from the man behind the counter, a faint crease forming between your brows and that’s what breaks the trance Jeongguk is so stupidly stuck in.

He blinks, snapping himself back into reality as he inhales sharply. “I… I’m sorry.” he stumbles, as he quickly looks down at the register, fingers hovering uncertainly over the keys. “Could you… could you please repeat that?”

He swallows as he hears your order again and forces his attention back to where it should be. But even then, even as he types in your order and tells you to wait by one of the tables for a waiter to come serve you, he can still feel it.

That feeling in his chest.

As Jeongguk watches you make your way towards one of the tables by the window, he barely registers the world around him. A second later, he feels Jimin nudge his shoulder. He turns just slightly, catching the way Jimin is already grinning at him and wiggling his brows in that all-too-knowing way. 

Jeongguk clicks his tongue under his breath, brushing him off without a word, but it does nothing to stop the way his attention drifts right back to you.

The cafe continues moving as it always does and Jeongguk forces himself to fall back into rhythm. His hands move on their own, wiping the counter, adjusting cups, finishing orders… but his eyes… god his eyes keep finding you. 

Again and again.

And despite the effortless beauty you carry, there’s something else that holds his attention even more. You seem… nervous.

It’s subtle, but not enough to miss if someone’s really looking. Your fingers fidget against the edge of the table, tapping lightly before stilling, only to start again moments later. You close your eyes briefly, inhaling as if you’re steadying yourself then nod faintly, like you’re repeating something in your head, like you’re reassuring yourself, like you’re bracing yourself for something.

And Jeongguk really doesn’t want to seem like a creep, though his actions are quite frankly saying something else entirely as his gaze lingers a second longer than it should and for reasons he can’t quite explain, he feels something squeezing in his chest.

Are you waiting for someone? A date, maybe? A blind date, perhaps? It would make sense to be honest… the nervousness, the way you keep glancing towards the door without fully turning your head, the way your posture shifts every few seconds like you can’t quite settle.

And for some reason, he doesn’t like the thought. He doesn’t understand it, doesn’t question it either, but it sits there even though he knows he doesn’t have the right to feel this way.

A few minutes pass.

One of the waiters brings your order over, as you thank him softly, but even then, you don’t seem fully present. Your lips move faintly, almost like you’re talking to yourself, rehearsing something under your breath. Your fingers trace absent patterns against the table as you shift in your seat, your nerves refusing to settle.

Jeongguk watches all of it, without meaning to and god only knows how badly he wants to approach you and ask if you’re okay. 

Just then, the cafe door opens again as the usual bell chimes softly but this time, he doesn’t look away from you.

And that’s when he sees two men, dressed sharply in tailored suits approach your table and the moment you notice them, something in you changes and Jeongguk seems to notice it almost immediately. 

You’re on your feet with your hesitation gone, replaced by something far more… confident. You smooth your posture as you extend your hand towards them with a smile.

Once the men accept your handshake with equally polite smiles, they take their seats and Jeongguk finds himself moving before he can think too much about it. He grabs his notepad and walks over, telling himself it’s just part of the job. After all, someone needs to take their orders, right? 

He glances at you briefly before smiling at the men. They quickly state their orders and Jeongguk seems to take his own sweet time with it, his handwriting slower than usual, stretching the moment just enough.

And that’s when he hears you.

“I’m very glad we could finally arrange this.” you say, your gaze fixed on the men ahead. “Thank you both for taking the time to meet with me today.”

Jeongguk pauses, just for a fraction of a second even though he knows he shouldn’t linger, knows he has no reason to stand there any longer than necessary, knows he needs to return back to the counter now, especially if he doesn’t wanna be seen as some creep who’s eavesdropping on his customers but he just can’t help but notice how right now, you don’t seem nervous at all, not even a little. 

The hesitation he had been witnessing just minutes ago is gone and there’s confidence in the way you speak now and… it’s different.

And as he forces himself to tear his gaze away, finally stepping back towards the counter, he realises he wants to see more of you. Not just the version of you that sits poised and confident across that table, not just the one who fidgets with her fingers when she thinks no one is looking, not just the one who closes her eyes for a second too long just to steady herself… he wants to see all of it.

Every side. Every face. Everything in between.

He wants to understand you in a way that goes beyond this fleeting moment, beyond stolen glances and fragments of a conversation that has nothing to do with him. He wants to know what drives you, what steadies you, what makes your voice soften, what makes you laugh, what makes you smile. 

And god, if you would just let him… if you would just give him the smallest chance, he knows, with certainty, that he would do anything to be allowed into that world of yours.

Eventually, he tries to immerse himself back into work. He moves through the cafe, slipping into his routine. He carries trays from table to table, refilling cups before they’re empty, he steps back into the kitchen to check on a fresh batch of donuts, he wipes down counters that are already spotless, aligns stacks of cups that don’t need straightening, adjusts cutlery that no one had disturbed.

Anything to keep his hands occupied, anything to keep his eyes from drifting.

But it doesn’t work, because no matter what he does, no matter how much he tries to focus on what he’s supposed to be doing, his attention keeps slipping back to you.

Every time he passes your table, he catches fragments of your voice and snippets of your ongoing conversation with the two men. 

“…long-term scalability…”

“…a distinct, independent design identity…”

“…Valerra isn’t just a brand, it’s—”

He doesn’t understand all of it… not really. The pieces don’t come together clearly, not when he’s only catching bits and parts of a conversation that exists far outside his world but he doesn’t need to understand every word to know how important whatever you’re discussing is to you. 

He sees it in the way you speak, in the subtle movements of your hands like you’re shaping your thoughts into something tangible, in the way your eyes don’t waver, in the way your voice carries so much conviction, completely unlike the nervous energy he had witnessed just minutes before.

There’s so much passion there and god help him because he can’t help but find it so incredibly sexy and the funny thing is, he knows how ridiculously absurd and downright creepy that sounds.

If anyone could peer into his thoughts right now, catch even a fraction of what’s running through his mind, they’d probably think he’s lost it a little because how does this even happen? How does a stranger walk into his cafe, sit down, speak to someone that isn’t even him and suddenly occupy this much space in his head? 

He doesn’t even know your name yet, for fucks sake. Not a single, solid thing about you beyond the fragments he’s overheard and the way you carry yourself, and yet… here he is, completely thrown off balance, watching you like you’re something he’s afraid to look away from. 

Like if he blinks, he might miss something he’ll regret missing. It’s absurd, truly, because for a split second he almost swears he can hear something ridiculous in the back of his mind… wedding bells of all things.

He nearly scoffs at himself for it because he just feels sooo foolish standing there and gawking like a loser, letting his attention drift back to you again and again like he has no control over it.

If Jimin were to catch him right now, he just knows he would get decked the fuck out with the way he’s so obviously distracted and unfocused. 

But apart from all that self awareness and disbelief at himself, there’s also something else. He doesn’t know how or why, but there’s some kind of… certainty in his heart, like it’s already decided something for him.

He wants you.

Not in a fleeting, passing way, not in the way you look at someone once and simply move on. No, he wants a chance… an opportunity… the space to step into your world and see if you’d let him stay.

So for the first time in a long while, Jeongguk finds himself doing something he hasn’t done in years. Almost sheepishly he looks up at the ceiling of his cafe and closes his eyes briefly as he sends up a prayer to anything that might be listening… hoping, just hoping, that you’re single and maybe, if he’s lucky enough… willing to give him a chance.

Around 40 minutes pass like that, slipping by without him noticing until eventually, when he glances over again, he sees the three of you standing and almost instantly he wonders if whatever discussion or meeting was going on, is over. 

He sees you extend your hand once more as you shake theirs, followed by a brief exchange, a final nod, and then the men turn around and walk towards the door to leave. 

And just like that, you’re alone again.

Jeongguk watches as you slowly sit back down and there’s a pause. You close your eyes for a brief moment, and he immediately notices the slow breath you let out and the way your shoulders drop ever so slightly. 

And then, it happens.

The most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.

It breaks across your face so suddenly, so brightly, that it almost catches him off guard, like a flash of sunlight he wasn’t prepared for. For a second, he just stands there, completely still, as if his body hasn’t quite caught up to what his eyes are seeing.

He’s seen you smile a lot today but somehow this… this is entirely different. It’s real and it’s… it’s unguarded. It reaches your eyes, softens every line of your face, transforms you in a way that feels almost… intimate to witness, like he’s seeing a version of you that isn’t meant for just anyone.

And it makes you look so impossibly beautiful. No wait… not beautiful. He thinks that word feels too small and way too ordinary.

Maybe… radiant. 

No to be honest, even that doesn’t quite capture it.

You look like something that was never meant to be described in the first place, something that exists far beyond the limits of any language and by anything as ordinary as words. 

No matter how hard he tries, nothing he knows feels enough, nothing feels worthy of you. It’s almost frustrating, the way every word falls short before it even reaches his lips.

And as pathetic as he already seems, he can’t help but think that if he ever wanted to do you justice, he would have to start from scratch by tearing apart every dictionary ever written, discard every overused definition of beauty, and build something entirely new. 

Like maybe a language of his own, one where every word is shaped around you and made meaningful only because you exist because nothing that already exists could ever come close since you’re not something he can simply describe.

You are something he would spend a lifetime trying to.

So, Jeongguk keeps watching because at this point, that’s all he’s been doing. He notices you reaching for your purse as you rummage through it for your phone. There’s excitement in the way your fingers move, in the way you unlock it and bring it to your ear.

Jeongguk doesn’t think, he picks up a tray and walks past your table yet again, even though he doesn’t need to and then he hears your voice again.

“Ms. Baek…” Jeongguk hears you breathe out the moment the call connects and he’s quick to notice the way you sound a little breathless. You press the phone closer to your ear and he sees the way your smile seems to widen. “I got it… I… they agreed. They actually agreed.” There’s a soft, disbelieving laugh that escapes you and somehow an unconscious smile makes its way to Jeongguk’s lips as he stands near the table a few feet away from yours, pretending to wipe it clean. 

“I secured the investment.” you say again, a little quieter this time, like you’re trying to convince yourself it’s real. “After all those drafts, all those rejections, all those nights reworking the designs and the pitch… they said yes. They believe in it. They believe in Valerra.”

Jeongguk briefly moves around the table so that he can look at you better and sees the way your eyes flutter shut for a brief second. 

“I’m actually going to build it…” he hears you continue. “From scratch… the atelier, the first collection, the production line… everything I told you about… it’s finally happening.” you giggle. “I’m going to make Valerra big, Ms. Baek. I promise I am.”

>> 

There’s a faint smile on Jeongguk’s lips as he takes another turn, guiding the car into the driveway of his apartment complex. Though his hands move on instinct, his mind is far from here, caught somewhere between a memory and something that is somehow comforting but also painful to hold onto.

So much has happened since that day.

Nine years have passed. Nine years have passed since you stepped into his cafe for the very first time. Nine years have passed since you stepped into his life for the very first time.

Sometimes it still leaves Jeongguk a little baffled, the way everything began so simply. The way he had been right there, in his very own cafe, watching something extraordinary take its very first step without even realizing it. 

He had been a silent (and maybe slightly creepy) witness to a turning point so significant in your life… the beginning of your dream turning into reality. 

But what lingers with him even more is the fact that it wasn’t just your life that had been altered that day… it was his too, because while you were there, laying the first stone to build your dream that would one day become your empire… your brand… your legacy… Jeongguk had been standing just a few feet away, building something of his own.

Not an empire… not a brand… not a legacy… but you.  

You… had become Jeongguk’s dream. 

And he remembers how unsettling that was, not in a bad way of course, but it was just so shocking that something so certain took root inside him before he even had the chance to question it because from that moment on, no matter how hard he tried to look at things logically, to ground himself in reason, there was one truth he just couldn’t ignore.

Every version of his future… had you in it.

It didn’t matter what path he imagined, what direction he tried to take in his head, what kind of life he pictured for himself. Somehow, in every single one of them, you were there. Not as an afterthought, not as something optional, but as something constant. 

As he approaches his designated parking space, his gaze lifts to the rearview mirror once again, and there you are, reflected in a different form. 

Yejun softly hums a random children’s song to himself with his tiny legs swinging slightly against the car seat and Jeongguk can’t help but let his smile linger a little longer because right there, in that backseat, is the very evidence of everything that came after.

Everything that was built, everything that was lost. 

And suddenly, it all feels so close like it all happened just yesterday.

Just yesterday, the most beautiful stranger he had ever laid his eyes on had walked into his cafe for the very first time. 

Just yesterday, he had been standing right there, gawking like an absolute fool, trying to make sense of the way his heart was feeling. 

Just yesterday, you had walked into his cafe a second time, then a third time and then again, until he had realised you lived somewhere in the same neighborhood. 

Just yesterday, he had gathered whatever courage he had to finally ask you out, only to be turned down because, apparently, you “weren’t looking for anything right now.” 

Just yesterday, he had asked you out a second time, and then a third, each attempt met with a different excuse of a rejection. One day you didn’t want a relationship, another day guys with piercings and tattoos weren’t your type.

Just yesterday, he was still trying, still chasing after you like some desperate persistent loser because the way you kept coming back to the cafe, the way you kept hiding that little smile every time he tried to flirt over the counter or the way you’d let him brush his fingers against yours as he passed you your coffee made him feel a little too giddy. 

Just yesterday, after far too many attempts and far too much patience, you had finally given in, just a little, just enough to let him take you out on a date for the first time.

Just yesterday, he was sitting across from you in a dimly lit restaurant, barely tasting his food because all he could do was just sit there and memorize everything about you. The way you spoke, the way you smiled, the way you laughed, the way you carried yourself, the way you were trying, in your own quiet way, to truly let him in.

Just yesterday, he was holding you close as you cried happy tears into his chest, because Valerra’s first ever collection was a massive hit with everything selling out faster than you expected. 

Just yesterday, after multiple dates and persistent flirting with free pastries, donuts and americanos (all without Jimin knowing) along with cute little notes on your coffee cup, did you finally let him be your boyfriend. 

Just yesterday, you had broken up with him for the very first time (one of the many other dramatic break ups in your eight year relationship) all because of an argument due to a certain regular at his cafe who’d flirt with him far too boldly while he would just stand there, painfully and almost offensively oblivious to it all.

Just yesterday, he’d shown up at your door after what was probably your sixth “final” breakup, with a ridiculously oversized bouquet of lilies that nearly swallowed his face in one hand, and a neatly packed box of your favorite caramel brûlée cheesecake bars that he had baked himself, in the other. 

Just yesterday, he was down on one knee on the quiet shores of his hometown, Busan, with the ocean stretching endlessly beside him as his fingers trembled just slightly around the little velvet box in his hands.

Just yesterday, you were walking down the aisle towards him, dressed in white and looking so angelic that he couldn’t help but wonder if he was dreaming, because how could he ever get so lucky in life. 

Just yesterday, he was standing right outside the bathroom in your shared bedroom with a small stick in his trembling hands as he stared down at the faint positive sign with his heart pounding against his ribs. 

Just yesterday, he was looking down at a baby so small, barely the size of his forearm as tiny fingers instinctively curled around his thumb. 

Just yesterday, your home had been filled with love, with life, with laughter, with late nights and early mornings and everything in between.

Just yesterday, the arguments started getting louder, harsher with words slipping out in anger that neither of you could take back no matter how much you wanted to.

And just yesterday, he was sitting across from you, desperately fighting tears and signing something that felt like the end of everything he had ever known. 

God… so much had happened…. so much had changed.

And somehow, despite all of it, despite the way your lives had split into something unrecognizable… a part of him still feels like he’s standing right there in his cafe, looking at you for the very first time, completely unaware that you would become everything to him. 

“Careful, buddy.” Jeongguk chuckles softly as he helps Yejun out of the car, steadying him with a gentle hand before taking the little backpack and slinging it over his shoulder and Yejun continues humming the same little song under his breath as they walk towards the elevator with his small hand tucked inside Jeongguk’s. 

Soon, they step inside and once the doors slide shut, Jeongguk presses their floor number.

“Daddy…” Yejun suddenly calls out, and the tone alone has Jeongguk glancing down with a soft hum and a faint smile already tugging at his lips, half-expecting a question that could go absolutely anywhere… probably something about sea creatures, or if he was allowed to skip bath time tonight. 

Yejun tilts his head, leaning a little closer, his shoulder brushing against Jeongguk’s leg. “How long… will I have two houses?” he asks and Jeongguk’s fingers tighten around his son’s without meaning to as his smile fades just a fraction. 

He knows exactly where this is coming from. He’d been bracing himself for something like this for months now. Six months of preparation, of telling himself he would know what to say when the time comes and yet as he stands here now, looking down at his son, he feels completely unprepared. “What… do you mean, buddy?” he questions gently even though he knows exactly what Yejun means. 

Yejun looks down at his shoes, nudging one against the other as he tries to frame sentences with what he’s feeling. “Like… Daddy’s house… and Mama’s house…” he murmurs. “When does it go back to just one house… like before?”

Jeongguk’s breath hitches and for a second, it feels like something caves in inside his chest because to Yejun, to a 4 year old, it really is that simple.

Something changed, so it can simply change back to the way it was. 

“Heeju  says…” Yejun continues softly, glancing up again and Jeongguk instantly recognizes the name as one of the kids from Yejun’s daycare. “Heeju says her mom and dad live together because they love each other.” His brows knit together like he’s confused. “So… you and Mama don’t love each other anymore?”

Jeongguk sees the hesitation and the careful way Yejun chooses his words and he knows this isn’t a sudden thought, this is something the little boy has been carrying for a while, something he probably didn’t know how to ask until now.

Jeongguk is well aware that kids notice everything. The small changes, the silences, the absence of things that used to be there and this… this isn’t something small. 

This is Yejun’s whole world, split into two.

He crouches down immediately, bringing himself to his son’s level, his hands coming up to gently hold his small arms. “Hey… no.” he says softly. “It’s not like that.”

Yejun watches him, trying to understand, but the confusion does not fully leave his face. “Then why…” he hesitates. “Why don’t you stay with her? Why… don’t we all stay in the same house anymore… like before?”

Jeongguk swallows hard as he watches it happen in real time, the confusion on Yejun’s face slowly blending into something sadder. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks suddenly, his voice small… like he’s scared and Jeongguk shakes his head almost instantly, a little too quickly, like he needs to erase the thought before it settles any deeper. “Baby, what? No.” he says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” he denies but Yejun barely seems to hear him.

“I can be better…” he says innocently. “I won’t make a mess… I’ll eat all my vegetables… I’ll clean my toys…” He pauses, thinking hard, his tiny face scrunching up as he searches for more things he thinks he needs to fix. “I’ll even sleep early…” he adds, eyes widening like it’s his strongest offer… his best bargain. “Then we… we can all stay together again, right?”

Jeongguk exhales softly as he shakes his head again, a little slower this time, as if he’s trying to calm not just Yejun, but the thoughts running through that little mind.

“Hey…” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing softly over Yejun’s arms. “No… none of that, okay? You’re already perfect.” he says as his hand comes up to cup Yejun’s. “You don’t have to change a single thing, buddy… not for me, not for Mama…. not for anyone.”

Yejun looks down for a moment, then back up again. “I just… used to like it more when it was one house.” he confesses softly and god, Jeongguk feels it… every bit of it and for a second, he wants to say it… wants to tell his son that he feels the same way, that he understands that ache far too well, that there isn’t a day he doesn’t think about what it all used to be like. 

But he doesn’t… he can’t.

So instead, he exhales softly. “I know…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over Yejun’s hand now. “I know, baby.”

As if sensing the sadness in his father’s voice, Yejun leans forward and wraps his tiny arms around Jeongguk’s neck in a sudden hug like he’s trying to fix something he doesn’t understand and Jeongguk pulls him close immediately, holding him tighter than usual with one hand cradling the back of his head as he presses a soft kiss into his hair.

“You know Daddy and Mama love you more than anything, right?” he murmurs and he feels Yejun nod quickly against his shoulder. He pulls back slowly, cupping his son’s face gently. “And… even if we have two houses…” he continues. “That doesn’t change…. Not even a little.”

Yejun watches him, trying to understand and Jeongguk knows it’s not quite the answer he wanted because to a child, love is supposed to live in one place. Together.

He stands slowly, guiding Yejun as the elevator doors open and they step out into the quiet hallway.“I know it’s different…” Jeongguk says softly as they walk down the long path leading to his flat. “I know it’s not the same as before.”

Yejun stays close to his side, his small hand still wrapped tightly around Jeongguk’s fingers. 

“But think of it like this…” he continues. “You’ve got two homes that love you. Two places where you’re always wanted.” His thumb brushes lightly over Yejun’s knuckles. “And no matter where you are… you’re never really alone, okay?”

Yejun keeps walking, his little brows slightly furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of it all, trying to fit his father’s words into a world that still feels too simple for something like this.

Jeongguk exhales softly, slowing his steps before crouching down in front of him again, making sure their eyes meet at the same level. “Hey…” he says gently. “Do you remember your favorite blanket?”

Yejun blinks, a little confused at first, but then nods slowly.

“The one with the little fishies… and sea shells… and crabs…” Jeongguk continues, a fond little smile touching his lips. “The one you used to carry everywhere… even when it got too small for you.”

Yejun’s lips curl just a little, like he remembers and Jeongguk’s gaze instantly softens. “Do you remember how one day… it tore a little… right in the middle?” he asks, making Yejun knit his brows together as he thinks and then he nods again, slower this time. 

“We tried to fix it, right?” Jeongguk murmurs, his fingers tracing invisible lines in the air between them. “We stitched it back together… really really carefully… But it didn’t stop being your favorite, right? It didn’t stop making you feel safe, right? It just… changed a little.”

There’s a small silence before he speaks again, more carefully now. “Daddy and Mama…” he says slowly, choosing each word like it matters too much. “We’re a little like that blanket.”

Yejun’s lips part slightly, like he wants to ask something, but he doesn’t, letting his father continue. 

“We tried to fix things…” Jeongguk whispers. “Daddy tried to stitch everything back together… just like we did with your blanket.” His voice falters just a little before steadying again. “But some things… they don’t go back to how they were before.” he breathes out. “But you know what didn’t change?” he asks quietly as Yejun’s eyes stay on him. “How much we love you.” he smiles as the words come out steady, even if his chest feels anything but.

“That part didn’t tear…” Jeongguk murmurs. “That part didn’t come apart at all.” he says as Yejun blinks slowly, taking it in. “It’s just that sometimes… grown-ups have some problems that are harder to fix… things that are a little harder to just stitch back together the same way.” he exhales quietly. “It doesn’t mean we stopped loving each other completely….” he explains carefully. “It just means… we couldn’t stay together anymore… like maybe… the thread isn’t strong enough to hold all the pieces together.” he gulps, pursing his lips as a way to hide the way his lips tremble a little. 

“So now…” he starts again. “It’s like we’re two blankets instead of one.” he smiles and Yejun’s lips part slightly as he blinks at his father. “But we’ll still keep you just as warm.” Jeongguk whispers. “Just from two different sides.”

Yejun looks at him for a long second, still thinking, still trying to understand in the only way a four-year-old can while Jeongguk stays right there, holding his gaze and hoping that somehow, for now, this is enough.

//

A soft groan escapes you as you shift slightly on the mattress, the morning light slipping through the narrow gaps in the curtains of the tall floor-to-ceiling windows of your penthouse. It presses insistently against your eyelids until your brows knit together, forcing you to slowly pry them open.

You blink a few times, trying to adjust your vision before letting out a quiet sigh as you push yourself up. Your body feels heavy in a way sleep isn’t supposed to feel because it doesn’t feel like you rested at all. 

Your gaze drifts towards the nightstand as you squint at the small digital clock, the numbers reading 9:04 a.m, and almost immediately your eyes shift to the little translucent amber bottle placed right beside it.

Your tongue clicks softly against the roof of your mouth as you shake your head, bringing both your palms up to cover your face, pressing them in as if you could somehow push the grogginess out of your system. You drag your hands down slowly, pushing your hair back before swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

For as long as you can remember, sleep has never come easy to you.

There were years where it felt like a constant battle. Some nights it was insomnia and other nights it was the nightmares.

But then, for a while, it had gotten better. Not on its own of course, but because of a certain someone.

Someone who would make you chamomile tea every single time before bed… someone who would hold you close through the night… someone who would absentmindedly trace patterns along your arms and your back until you drifted off… someone who would press the gentlest kisses to your forehead every time you so much as stirred in your sleep.

With Jeongguk… sleep had not felt like something you had to fight for.

But now that he was no longer a part of your life, it feels like you’ve been dragged right back to where you started because the silence feels louder, your thoughts are harder to control and it feels like the nights stretch endlessly with each hour blending into the next until time itself starts to feel meaningless.

And after years, you found yourself reaching for things you once swore you would never go back to.

Last night, it was sleeping pills. Other nights, it’s wine and sometimes it’s something with a little more kick in it… something enough to make your body give in even when your mind refuses to.

Sometimes there are nights where you let exhaustion take over in the worst ways, skipping meals, pushing yourself through work until your body aches, just so there’s a slight chance you might collapse into sleep without thinking.

Anything that might force your body to shut down, anything that might resemble rest.

And you hate it… you hate how easily it has all come back. How quickly you have slipped into patterns you worked so hard to leave behind because it almost feels like your body remembers everything you tried to forget.

You had tried so hard not to depend on these habits again. Not just because of what they might do to you in the long run, but because of how draining it is to live like this…. to wake up just as tired as you were the night before… to dread going to bed because you don’t know what kind of night you’re going to have.

And for the past few months, it’s been relentless. The insomnia… the nightmares…. both of them finding their way back to you, as if they had only been waiting for the right moment to return… as if they knew you would not be able to keep them away forever.

A few seconds pass by as you head towards the bathroom. You splash your face with cold water, brush your teeth, smooth your hair back, and for a brief moment you find yourself staring at your reflection. 

You shake your head briefly before reaching for the towel to pat your face dry and walk out to the living room. 

Your eyes instantly land on the covered food laid neatly across the dining table and a soft sigh leaves your lips. Junhee, the cook you had hired around 6 months ago, must have come in early again like she did every other morning and prepared you, your breakfast. 

You aren’t particularly hungry, but you know you need some fuel in your system especially for the day you had planned, so despite the lack of hunger, you force yourself to sit down and eat. 

By the time you finish eating, nearly 10 minutes later, the bell rings and you already know who it is.

You run your fingers through your hair and fix your silk robe over your body as you make your way towards the front door. 

“Mama!!” Yejun beams the second you swing the door open and just like that the heaviness and grogginess clinging to you instantly fades away. You crouch down to his level without thinking, wrapping your arms around his tiny body. “Hi, my love.” you laugh softly, closing your eyes as you feel your son hug you back and press your cheek into his hair, breathing him in gently. 

Yejun pulls away with the brightest smile on his face. “Mama, do you remember?? You said you were taking me somewhere special today?” he talks fast, his small body practically bouncing on his feet. “Of course I remember, honey.” you giggle, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek. 

Jeongguk simply watches you from where he stands, just a few feet away. There’s just something about the way you hold Yejun… the way your arms wrap around him so easily, the way your voice softens without even trying, the way your entire face seems to light up in a way he has not seen up close in months. 

It’s so achingly familiar that for a second, his body almost forgets that he isn’t exactly a part of it anymore.

For a second, it feels like he could just step in… like he could just close that small distance, join you and wrap his arms around you and Yejun just like he used to without thinking… like this is still his home, still his life, still his.

But he doesn’t move… he can’t…so he stays where he is, rooted to the spot, just watching, because that’s all he can do right now, standing on the outside of it, like a visitor who knows the place too well.

You giggle to yourself softly as you look over your shoulder watching Yejun run off inside before slowly rising to your feet and when your eyes land on the figure still lingering right outside your door, the smile on your lips fades. 

Not exactly out of intention, but because you simply don’t know what to do with your face anymore when it comes to your ex-husband.

There was a time when looking at him came easily. When your expressions did not need to be thought through, when your face would soften without permission, when your eyes would give you away before you even realized it. But now… now every reaction feels misplaced like a smile feels like too much… indifference feels like a lie and anything in between feels painfully inadequate.

So your face settles into something uncertain… something awkward.

Jeongguk looks into your eyes as he holds onto Yejun’s little backpack that’s hanging loosely over his shoulder and for a moment, neither of you speak but your gazes drift and it almost happens without thought. 

It’s hesitant at first, as if both of you are quietly giving in to the same unspoken urge. 

To look. 

To take each other in… because right now, that is all you are allowed. 

Jeongguk feels his breath falter as he takes in the sight of you standing there in your nightgown, the silk robe loosely tied around your waist. It’s a sight he knows all too well… one that he used to admire on the regular and just looking at you now vividly reminds him of the softness of the silk beneath his hands… the way it would crumple so easily beneath his palms when he would pull you closer by the waist… the way the fabric would ride up your body when you’d let his touches and kisses escalate.  

And for a fleeting, dangerous second, he almost moves… almost reaches for you like his body still believes it has the right to.

But he doesn’t.

On the other side, your gaze lingers just as long. It starts at the hoodie he’s wearing, a familiar beige one that sits loosely on his frame... one of the many you used to steal without asking and even at the distance you’re standing in right now, you can vividly remember the scent it used to carry… the scent of him. 

Your eyes travel upward slowly, settling on his face now… on the little lip ring he nervously plays with and the way his hair falls messily over his forehead, partially concealing the eyebrow piercing beneath the dark strands and that’s when you feel your fingers twitch faintly at your side because for a brief second, you imagine just stepping forward, reaching up, and brushing his hair away from his eyes.

It’s such a simple gesture… something you used to do without thinking back then but now, it feels like something you are no longer allowed.

So neither of you move and you just stand there, holding onto the moment in the only way you can now, through these quiet glances and memories that feel a little too real.

Jeongguk’s grip tightens slightly around the strap of Yejun’s bag as he forces his gaze away from you, away from the places his mind is trying to linger on. 

It makes him feel foolish, almost unfairly so, because despite everything that has happened, despite the way things ended, despite the way his heart had been left in pieces months ago, none of it seems to matter to the part of him that still looks at you like this… like you’re the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth. 

You clear your throat awkwardly, before stepping aside from the doorway and walk further into the penthouse, already knowing he will follow.

This had become the shape of your relationship now. Something in between strangers and something that once meant everything, like a fragile middle ground where both of you moved carefully, avoiding things that still lingered beneath the surface and forcing yourselves to keep conversations limited where words were chosen with caution because there was too much history in the things you were not saying.

So you both held on to what you could… what was still steady… what was still yours to share without breaking.

To what mattered. To who mattered.

Yejun.

Jeongguk steps inside the penthouse, the same penthouse he used to share with you, the same penthouse where he built a life with you. He closes the door behind him and walks further in not hesitantly, not like a guest… but not like he belongs either.

He watches you walk into the kitchen and grab a glass as the quiet stretches between the two of you. “So…” he begins, deciding to break the ice first as usual and you don’t turn around at his voice but simply move towards the sink, turning the tap on and focus on the rising level of water in your glass.

“Jun’s been raving about this ‘special place’ you’re taking him.” he continues with a faint chuckle as he steps further in the living room, slipping Yejun’s backpack off his shoulder and placing it on the couch. “Where…” he starts again even though you still don’t turn around. “Where are you taking him?”

“Ms. Baek’s.” you simply answer, taking a slow sip of your water, still not facing him. 

“Oh…” he breathes out as the realization hits him instantly and he nods to himself. “That’s… that’s nice.” he murmurs, his eyes still on you as you tilt the glass back and finish your water in one go. “Wasn’t he just 2 the last time we took him there?” he suddenly says again after a small pause. “Ms. Baek is going to be really happy to see him.”

You choose not to respond. Instead, you place the glass down on the counter because somehow, even something as small as a shared memory… anything that still carries the word “we” in it has a way of cracking your chest open wider than you’d like to admit. 

So you decide to move past it. “So I’ll drop him off to school Monday morning, and you’ll pick him up after, right?” you ask, changing the topic to just schedules… just arrangements.

Jeongguk gulps softly, his gaze dropping before he looks away altogether. There’s just something about the way you speak to him, the way you don’t even look at him most of the time. “Yeah… yeah, as usual.” he replies, his voice quieter than before. “Oh and…” he starts again. “Jun’s talent show’s on Thursday…. It starts around 4—”

“I remember.” You cut him off before he can continue and this time you finally look at him as you stand across the kitchen island with your arms folded loosely over your chest. “I already told you.” you continue. “I’ll meet you there at 3:30.”

There’s nothing more to it, no room for discussion and Jeongguk can’t help but nod a little too quickly. “Right… yeah, okay.” he breathes out as he moves his hands, wiping his palms against the back of his jeans, a small gesture that betrays the awkwardness he’s trying to hide. “Then… well… I guess… I should get goi—” 

“Mama! I’m readyyy !!” Yejun comes running out of his room, dressed in a fresh outfit, his loud voice and bright energy cutting straight through the tension in the living room and both your gazes shift to him instantly.

And the second you spot him, a smile effortlessly spreads across your face. “Bug, your cardigan’s on the wrong way.” you laugh softly, already moving around the island to get closer to him. “Come here.” you murmur as you crouch down to his level and gently slip the cardigan off his shoulders.

You carefully flip the cardigan around before guiding his arms back through the sleeves properly and your fingers smoothen the fabric down his arms, adjusting it neatly before tugging it lightly into place. “There we go.” you smile. “Now you look perfect.”

Jeongguk finds himself smiling as he clears his throat softly, stepping forward. “Alright, champ.” he says gently. “Daddy’s gotta head out now… think I can get a goodbye kiss before I go?”

Yejun doesn’t hesitate as he pulls away from you instantly, little feet pattering against the floor as he runs straight into his father’s arms. You rise to your feet as you watch the way Jeongguk bends down and lifts his son up with ease. “Come here.” he murmurs fondly, turning his face just enough and Yejun cups his father’s cheek with both his tiny hands and plants a loud, exaggerated kiss against it.

“Bye, Daddy.” he says brightly, his eyes crinkling with a smile and you notice the way Jeongguk’s expression softens even more. “Bye, baby.” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Yejun’s cheek in return. “Have lots of fun today, okay? Be good for Mama.” His hand comes up to ruffle his hair gently. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Yejun giggles at the ticklish brush of his lips and the way his father’s nose nudges against his cheek, squirming slightly in his arms before wrapping them loosely around Jeongguk’s neck for one last quick hug.

And just like that Jeongguk is out the door.

//

You smile softly to yourself as your gaze drifts to the rearview mirror, catching the sight of Yejun fast asleep in his car seat with his head tilted slightly to the side, lips parted just enough and his small chest rising and falling. Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer before you look back at the road ahead. It’s been about 40 minutes since you started driving towards this “special place” you had promised to take your son. 

When you finally slow the car down and press the brakes, the tires crunch softly against the gravel as you come to a stop and your eyes lift towards the view outside your window. 

A large iron gate stands ahead with a curved metal sign board arching right above it, bearing the name “Haesol Children’s Home”.

Within seconds you’re out the car, already inching towards the backseat, carefully opening the door. “Junnie… wake up, honey.” you murmur gently, your fingers caressing his cheek. “Come on, baby… we’re here.” you smile before leaning to press a soft kiss to his hair. 

Yejun stirs slowly, sleep still clinging to him as his lashes flutter open. His eyes blink a few times, before he looks around, parting his lips slightly as he smacks them together in that sleepy way. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you gently unbuckle him and guide him out of the car, setting him down on his feet. He leans into you instinctively, still half asleep, his small hand finding yours without needing to look.

“Where are we, Mama?” he asks, his eyes drifting towards the gate ahead as you shut the door behind him. You follow his gaze with the same smile still lingering in his lips and then you crouch down in front of him, your hands coming up to fix the collar of his sweater, fingers smoothing it down before settling gently around his arms. “This…” you begin softly. “This is a place Mama used to live in when she was little.” you explain, watching the way he tries to understand and process your words in his own small way.

“Come on.” you say gently, straightening up, but before heading towards the gate, you turn towards the trunk of your car instead. 

Yejun waits patiently beside you, his small hand brushing against your leg as you unlock it and open the trunk, revealing two neatly packed cardboard boxes. 

Before you can reach for the boxes, one of the young guards stationed near the gate notices you and recognition flashes across his face instantly. He moves without hesitation, opening the gate before jogging towards you, stopping just short as he offers a respectful bow.

You return it with a soft smile, dipping your head slightly before nudging Yejun beside you. “Say hello, baby.”

Yejun glances up at you for a brief second before quickly mimicking the gesture, his bow a little clumsy but sincere as his tiny voice follows through with a soft greeting that makes the guard smile. Then, his eyes shift towards the trunk, landing on the boxes. “Ms. Min, please… let me help you.” he offers, already stepping forward. Before you can protest, he stacks them on top of each other and lifts them. “Thank you, Minhyuk-ah.” you smile while he nods politely, adjusting his grip as he holds the boxes securely.

Beside you, Yejun’s attention is completely captured, his curious gaze following the movement of the boxes as his head tilts slightly. “What are those, Mama?” he asks. You hum thoughtfully, closing the trunk before reaching your finger to gently tap the tip of his nose. “Just a little gift.” you smile. “For the people we’re about to meet.”

His eyes brighten at that, like the idea itself excites him, and he nods as if that is more than enough explanation.

With the boxes now taken care of, you guide him back towards the entrance, slipping your hand into his once again as the other guards hold the gate open for you, all of them greeting you with bows.

In front of you, the narrow stone pathway stretches ahead, but it branches out into multiple smaller paths, each one leading to different parts of the grounds.

To your right, the courtyard unfolds in layers. There’s a large tree at the center that spreads its branches wide, casting soft, dappled shadows over the ground. Around it, low wooden benches and small tables are arranged, some occupied by young children, maybe around Yejun’s age, who are all busy drawing with crayons scattered everywhere and their heads bent down in concentration. 

A little further down, a cluster of swings and a slide stand as a few children take turns, playing amongst themselves.

To your left, there’s a long stretch of an open field where a group of older children are gathered, kicking around a slightly worn football as they run across the space shouting and laughing with each other. 

The main building stands further in, much larger than it first seemed. It’s not just one structure, but a series of connected wings forming a gentle U-shape around the central yard with the walls painted in soft, muted tones, pale cream and warm beige and windows lined evenly across each floor.

“Look, Mama!!” Yejun suddenly calls out, tugging at your hand as the two of you continue walking across the pathway with Minhyuk following right behind. Yejun bounces on his feet as he points at a group of children sitting in a circle, tossing small stones into the air as they play a game of gonggi. “They’re playing over there… can I play too?”

“Of course you can, bug.” you say warmly. “But first, we need to meet someone, okay?”

He agrees immediately, like the sweetest child he is, his small hand tightening around yours even as his gaze lingers on the children playing.

Soon enough, you find yourself climbing the wide staircase that leads into the main building as Yejun keeps a firm hold on your hand while following you. 

The familiar scent of polished wood and something faintly sweet, maybe from the kitchen down the hall, wraps around you the moment you step inside and right there, standing by the tall double doors at the entrance hall, is a face you would recognize anywhere.

“Y/n-ah!” Ms. Baek’s voice rings out before you can even fully take her in and her entire face lights up, her conversation with the volunteer in front of her forgotten in an instant as she steps forward, hands already reaching out as if she cannot quite believe you are actually standing there.

“What a pleasant surprise.” she squeals as she wraps her arms around you, greeting you with a warm hug and when she pulls away, her gaze drops to the little figure tucked beside you. “Oh my goodness…” she gasps, her eyes widening. “And is this who I think it is?” her voice softens as she leans down slightly, trying to get a better look at him.

Yejun, on the other hand, freezes for a second under the sudden attention and his grip on your hand tightens before he instinctively steps half behind you, peeking out from your side. “Don’t be shy, baby.” you laugh, gently nudging him forward, your hand resting lightly on his back as you guide him just enough for him to be seen properly. 

“This is Ms. Baek, Yejun-ah.” you smile. “She’s like a mama to me.” you say without hesitation as Yejun twists his head to look up at you. “Come on, greet her.” you encourage and he instantly bows down at her giving her a shy smile. 

Then you glance back up at Mrs. Baek. “You’re getting old, you know,” you tease lightly, narrowing your eyes slightly as if inspecting her more closely. “I’m starting to see more and more white hair on that head of yours.” 

Ms. Baek lets out an incredulous scoff, her eyes rolling immediately even as a smile tugs at her lips. “This girl…” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “Still as cheeky as ever… not a single bit of respect after all these years.” she glares at you, but there’s no bite to her words… only fondness.

Her attention drifts back to Yejun almost instantly, her expression softening again as she crouches slightly to meet his eye level. “And you…” she says gently, her voice lowering as if she doesn’t want to overwhelm him. “You’ve gotten so big already.”

Yejun blinks at her, still shy but no longer hiding, his fingers loosely hooked around yours as he watches Ms. Baek.

“Oh and…” you suddenly add, turning slightly as you gesture towardsMinhyuk, who has been standing patiently with both boxes still in his arms. “Here’s some snacks for all the kids.”

Ms. Baek’s eyes widen again. “Y/n-ah, you didn’t have to!” she says quickly, shaking her head. You only roll your eyes at her with a small grin tugging at your lips. “Please…” you reply lightly, brushing it off like it is nothing. “You’ve already done so much for this place.” she insists.

“Minhyuk-ah…” you call gently, ignoring Ms. Baek’s protests. “Could you keep the boxes in the kitchen? We can hand them out later.” you say and he nods immediately, adjusting his hold before heading off down the corridor.

//

“Thank you.” you mumble softly, offering a small smile as one of the volunteers hands you a warm cup of jasmine tea before passing another to Ms. Baek. You wrap your fingers around the porcelain as the delicate scent of jasmine rises with the steam.

You drift towards the large window of the multipurpose activity room, a space you remember far too well. The room is lined with low shelves filled with books, board games and neatly stacked art supplies.

The wooden floors carry faint scuff marks from years of children running through it and the walls are decorated with drawings taped up in uneven lines. The window stretches wide across one entire wall, giving a full view of the playground outside.

You take sip, keeping your eyes fixed on Yejun as you watch him run alongside a few children his age. Every now and then, he pauses, glancing around as if searching for you, and the moment he spots you through the window, he breaks into the brightest grin before running right back into the game.

Beside you, Ms. Baek takes a sip of her tea, her gaze not on the playground, but on you. “How have you been, Y/n-ah?” she asks softly and you don’t miss the way there’s a carefulness in her tone. “You’re looking much better than the last time you were here.” she adds gently.

Your fingers tighten ever so slightly around the cup because you know exactly what she means. The last time you were here, it had been the same night you signed your name onto something that ended your marriage… 6 months ago. 

And Ms. Baek remembers it as clearly as if it had happened just yesterday.

The storm had been relentless that night with the rain crashing against the ground, wind howling through the trees, the kind of night where no one expected visitors.

She had opened the large double doors at the main entrance only because she thought she had heard something through the noise of the rain but there you were, standing at the entrance, completely drenched with your clothes clinging to you and your hair soaked and sticking to your face. 

Water had been dripping from every edge of you, but it was not just the rain… your tears had blended so seamlessly with it that there was no way to tell where one ended and the other began.

And for a moment, all Ms. Baek could see that night wasn’t the woman you had grown into, but the little girl she remembers all too well from years ago.

The one who had once stood at the very same doorstep, with the same look, the same tears and almost the same kind of pain. 

That night, you hadn’t said a single word… you didn’t need to. The moment she pulled your shivering body into her arms, you collapsed right into her, your fingers desperately gripping onto her sweater for dear life. 

You had cried into her shoulder without explanation, your body trembling with everything you had been holding in and she had simply held you, just like she did when she had seen you for the very first time… when you were no older than seven. 

Ms. Baek had watched you grow up piece by careful piece, like someone tending to a fragile thing that refused to bloom too quickly. You had always been a guarded child, the kind who learned early on to keep her thoughts tucked away, her emotions folded neatly where no one could reach them. 

While the other children in the orphanage laughed loudly, fought easily and forgave just as quickly, you had been different.

You spoke when necessary, smiled when it was expected but rarely let anyone see beyond that.

You did have friends, of course. A small circle… a few children from the orphanage who had learned to understand your silences rather than question them, and later, a handful from school, three at most, out of which Bomi was the most memorable one.  

Even then, you never gave all of yourself away. There was always a part of you that remained untouched, as if you were constantly holding something back, protecting something no one else could see.

Ms. Baek had seen it all. The way you would sit by yourself with sketchbooks, your fingers smudged with pencil lead as you traced delicate designs over and over again. Intricate pieces…. earrings shaped like falling petals… rings that curved like they were meant to hold something precious… necklaces that looked less like accessories and more like stories waiting to be worn.

You had always loved creating and she had assumed that was where all your love would go…. into your work, into your ambition, into the dream you carried so fiercely that it almost seemed like nothing else could ever matter as much.

You had mentioned boys, once in a while. Passing comments in high school, a few names in college, stories that never quite held weight when you told them… nothing that lingered, nothing that made your eyes soften or your voice change and so Ms. Baek never thought much of it. 

Love, for you, had always seemed like something distant. Optional, even.

And then came Jeongguk.

The first time you brought him to the orphanage, you had simply introduced him as “just a good friend” who owned a cafe in the same neighborhood as your apartment, with your expression carefully neutral like always. 

But Ms. Baek had known better. She had lived long enough to recognize the quiet shifts in people, the subtle changes that words could never fully hide.

It was around the time your dream had finally begun to take shape, when Valerra was no longer just an idea scribbled into sketchbooks, but something real… something breathing. You had secured your first investment, your designs had started finding their way into the world and for the first time, there was proof that everything you had sacrificed was actually leading somewhere.

You had been relentless in that phase of your life. Every waking moment was spent refining, perfecting, building. Your hands were always busy with sketches, your mind always running ahead to the next collection, the next possibility, the next step closer to the life you had always envisioned for yourself. 

There was a certain fire in you back then, something unyielding and almost intimidating, like you were afraid that if you slowed down even for a second, everything you had worked for might slip right through your fingers.

And yet, somehow, in the middle of all that… there he was.

Ms. Baek had met Jeongguk a handful of times, but it had been more than enough to understand him in ways you had spent years trying not to be understood.

He was transparent in a way you had never allowed yourself to be. His emotions lived unguarded in his wide starry eyes and he carried his heart on his sleeve with a kind of honesty that felt both rare and terrifying.

And from the very first moment she saw him, she knew. The way he looked at you… god it was devotion in its purest, most unrefined form. The kind that didn't try to hide itself, the kind that didn’t know how to.

Even when you were curt with him, even when your words carried that sharp edge you used to keep everyone at arm’s length, he never once recoiled. He would only smile, as though none of it could touch him as long as he was allowed to just stand beside you.

Ms. Baek had seen many kinds of love in her lifetime. Quiet love, careful love, love that hesitated, love that calculated, love that protected itself before offering anything away but this… this was something entirely different.

It was reckless in its sincerity… almost foolish in the way it gave itself so freely. The kind of love that didn’t keep count, the kind that would offer everything it had, without ever thinking to ask for something in return.

And she had known, even then, watching him stand beside you like the world began and ended in your shadow… that he was already gone for you.

Completely, hopelessly, irreversibly gone. 

And for the first time, she had seen something shift in you too. It was subtle, almost invisible to anyone who didn’t know you the way she did, but it was there. In the way your shoulders relaxed just a little when he was around, in the way your voice softened without you realizing it, in the way you allowed him to stand closer than anyone else ever had.

It had made her heart feel full in a way she couldn’t quite explain because the little girl she had once known, the one who had built walls so high that no one could reach her, was finally letting someone in. She had believed then that you had found something rare… something that would stay. 

Which is why, the night you showed up at her doorstep, trembling under the weight of the rain and something far heavier, it had shattered something inside her because she knew, she knew how much you loved him and more than that, she knew how much it must have taken for you to love him in the first place.

You keep your gaze fixed on Yejun through the window, who’s laughing his heart out with the other kids before letting it fall to the cup in your hands. “I’ve been… okay.” you answer quietly. “My new collection just dropped.” you continue. “So I’ve been busy with that… and just… everything else that comes with it.” your shoulders lift in a small, almost dismissive shrug. “You know how it gets.” there’s a pause before you turn to look at her with a small, apologetic smile. “That’s why I haven’t been able to come down and see you.”

She nods in understanding as she lifts her cup, taking a slow sip before her gaze drifts to the window, settling on the playground outside. “Yejun is so adorable.” she points out softly with a fond smile. “He was so little when I saw him the last time.” she chuckles, shaking her head and you smile at her words, nodding slowly. “He’s got your smile.” she continues. “And god… those eyes…” she adds, her voice dipping just slightly. “It’s almost scary how much they resemble Jeongguk’s.”

Your grip on the cup tightens just a fraction at the mention of his name because you already know what was coming next. Ms. Baek lets the silence sit for a moment, as if weighing her words, before she turns her head slightly towards you again. “How is he?” she asks quietly.

You let out a slow breath and for a moment, you say nothing. “He’s… alright, I think.” you finally murmur. “I wouldn’t really know.” you continue. “I just see him sometimes… you know, because of Yejun.” you explain as your thumb drags along the rim of the cup, again and again. 

“How has it been?” she asks after a moment. “The whole… co-parenting situation?”

Your lips part, then press together again as you look away, towards the window. “It’s been…” you start, your voice trailing off as you search for something safe. “Challenging.” you settle on.

“Challenging?” she repeats with a slight tilt of her head. You huff out a faint breath, almost like you’re surrendering because it has never been easy to hide things from Ms. Baek, let alone lie to her, not when she knows you the way she does. 

After all, she was the one who raised you.

“It’s just…” your shoulders lift slightly before dropping again. “It’s awkward. All the time… We talk, but only about Yejun. We stand in the same space, but it feels like there’s something… blocking everything else.” your voice trembles slightly as you gulp to yourself. “We don’t say what we actually want to say. We don’t ask the things we want to ask…. so, it’s like we’re both pretending this is normal.” you add, your brows knitting faintly. “Like this is how it’s just meant to be now.” you sigh. “But it’s not like we have a choice…” you continue as Ms. Baek listens without interrupting. “We have to keep seeing each other, you know… we just have to figure it out… for Yejun.”

Ms. Baek hums softly, taking in every word, every pause, every crack you’re trying so hard to hide. “And how do you feel about it now?” she finally asks after a beat. “The divorce.”

You blink, slightly caught off guard, your head turning towards her a little too quickly. “The divorce?” you echo, your brows pulling together. “What do you mean how do I feel about it now?”

She shrugs lightly. “Do you regret it?” she asks, her voice careful. “Do you ever think… maybe you could have handled it differently?”

You don’t answer immediately as your jaw tightens. “I don’t know how else I would’ve handled it.” you breathe out after a moment. “It would have ended the same way.” you say lowly. “He would’ve left me first anyway.” 

Ms. Baek’s face softens as she notices the way your lips tremble. “You don’t know that.” she says softly, stepping just a little closer. 

“Well I do!” you suddenly burst out, the words breaking free before you can stop them. “I could see it, okay?” your voice shakes even more now. “I could see it happening.” the words tumble out of you as your chest rises and falls unevenly.“It was getting harder for him to stay. I… I could feel it.” your brows pull together as your vision blurs faintly. “I could see how I was disappointing him.” you continue. “How I kept choosing everything else. Work, deadlines, my stupid need to have everything under control…” a weak, breathless laugh escapes you. “I didn’t even realize how much I was taking him for granted until it was already too late.” you say, shaking your head slightly as you feel your throat tightening.

“And I couldn’t just sit there and wait.” you whisper, your voice already beginning to splinter beneath the weight of everything you’ve been holding in for months. “I couldn’t just sit there and wait for him to slowly fall out of love with me and then leave.” A tear slips free before you can stop it, rolling slowly down your cheek as your eyes squeeze shut for a brief second, like you’re ashamed of being seen like this.

“You know me…” you murmur weakly, your glossy eyes finally lifting to meet hers. “You know I’m not built for that.” your lips tremble faintly as you inhale shakily. “You know I wouldn’t have survived if he abandoned me first.”

Ms. Baek watches you quietly, her own heart aching at the sight in front of her… you look so small suddenly. “So…” she says softly after a long moment. “You abandoned him first?”

Your face crumples slightly and all you can manage is a tiny nod before looking away immediately, like even acknowledging it out loud makes you feel sick. “I thought it would hurt less that way…” you whisper hoarsely. “...If I did it first.” a bitter laugh escapes you. “God, that sounds horrible.” another tear slips down your cheek and this time you wipe it away harshly, almost angrily.

“He’s not your mother, Y/n.” Ms. Baek suddenly says as your head snaps towards her at once, eyes widening faintly and for a second, something defensive flashes across your face. “What does she have to do with any of this?” you ask quietly, though the crack in your voice gives you away immediately because deep down, you already know. “Everything.” she says gently and you look away again almost instantly.

“You think I didn’t see what that did to you?” she continues softly. “You think I haven’t watched you spend your entire life preparing yourself for people to leave?” she places her palm gently on your arm. “You were just a little girl, Y/n.” she says. “A little girl who learned far too early that love could disappear overnight.” she adds and suddenly the tears burn hotter now.

“You stopped relying on people because you thought depending on them was dangerous… You stopped asking for too much because you convinced yourself people leave when you become too hard to carry.” Her eyes glisten faintly as she looks at you. “And you spent years building walls so high around yourself so that nobody could ever hurt you like that again.” she exhales as you keep your trembling lower lip between your teeth. 

“I watched you keep everyone at arm’s length…” she says quietly. “Friends…. People who cared about you…. Boys who liked you.” A sad smile touches her lips briefly. “You always left first emotionally, before they could.”

You shake your head weakly, tears falling faster now. “No…” you whisper, though it sounds more like pleading than denial.

“But then Jeongguk came along…” Ms. Baek murmurs. “And for the first time… you let someone all the way in… You let him see every part of you that you spent your whole life hiding.” she says softly. “And that terrified you.”

A broken breath leaves your lips as you lower your head because Ms. Baek is right.

“You loved him so much that the thought of losing him became bigger than the love itself…” she whispers and as the tears continue to flow down your cheeks, your shoulders shake faintly. “And somewhere along the way, you convinced yourself that him leaving was inevitable. So you chose to leave first because at least that way… you could still pretend you had control over it.” 

You let out a strangled sound at that, quickly covering your mouth with your hand as another sob threatens to escape. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this…” you cry quietly. “I didn’t…” your voice breaks apart completely. “I didn’t want to lose him.”

Ms. Baek immediately moves closer, carefully wrapping her arm around your shoulders. “I know.” she whispers.

“I just…” you choke out painfully. “I loved him so much and it got so terrifying because one day I realized he had the power to completely destroy me if he wanted to.” your breathing stutters. “And I know Jeongguk would never intentionally hurt me but… people leave… they… they get tired… they wake up one day and realize they deserve better and then they just… go.” Your voice turns smaller with every word. “And I kept thinking…” you whisper brokenly. “What if one day he looks at me and realizes loving me is exhausting too?”

And as you finally break apart in front of her, Ms. Baek does the only thing she has ever known to do when it comes to you… she holds you.

She quietly reaches over to set both your half finished cups of jasmine tea onto the small table beside her before pulling you closer again, one hand smoothing slowly over your hair while your tears soak into the fabric of her blouse. Her heart aches unbearably at the sound of your crying… not because it’s loud, but because it’s not. You cry like someone who spent years teaching herself how to do it silently.

Ms. Baek closes her eyes briefly as she listens to your uneven breathing, your quiet little gasps for air between every attempt to steady yourself. She wishes more than anything that she could reach inside your chest and pull every fear out of you with her bare hands. 

She wishes she could somehow make you understand that Jeongguk was never going to leave you the way you feared he would… but she also knows wounds like yours are not logical. 

Fear like yours does not listen to reassurance.

It settles deep inside your bones and convinces you that love is temporary, that happiness always comes with an expiration date attached to it.

But god, the way that boy looked at you.

Ms. Baek doesn’t know if love can truly be measured through glances alone, but if it could, then Jeongguk had loved you more honestly than most people ever get to experience in an entire lifetime and every single time, his expression carried the same thing.

Wonder.

As though he couldn’t quite believe someone like you existed and somehow chose him back.

Ms. Baek remembers thinking then that Jeongguk looked at you like a man terrified of losing the only home he had ever truly found. That boy would have burned himself alive just to keep you warm if you had asked him to.

Not because you demanded it, not because he was forced to but because loving you seemed as natural to him as breathing.

And maybe that is why this hurts so much to watch now because she knows you spent your entire relationship preparing yourself for an abandonment that was never actually coming.

You loved a man who would have stayed through every version of you, even the difficult ones, even the broken ones, even the versions of yourself you could barely stand but your fear got there first.

And now all Ms. Baek can do is hold the little girl inside you who mourns the life she destroyed trying to protect herself from losing it.

//

“Mama look, me and Misun made this!” Yejun beams proudly as he runs towards you with a paper origami turtle clutched carefully between his tiny fingers. The folds are uneven and one of the little flippers is slightly bent, but the excitement shining in his eyes makes it look perfect anyway. “Oh my god…” you gasp dramatically, as you take the tiny paper turtle into your hands. “This is amazing, honey.”

Yejun giggles at your reaction, cheeks puffing slightly with pride while beside him, the little girl you had learned was named Misun shyly hides half her face behind her hands.

“And Misun helped me with this part.” Yejun explains seriously, pointing at one of the folds. “Because mine kept looking ugly.”

“Yah.” Misun protests with a tiny pout. “I didn’t say ugly.” she says and you can’t help but giggle at the offended look on her face.

“Well, I think both of you are origami geniuses.” you declare confidently before gently tapping the tip of Yejun’s nose as the kids giggle to themselves. Then, just as quickly as he had come running over, Yejun grabs the turtle back carefully before tugging Misun’s sleeve. “Come on.” he says excitedly. “Let’s make the frog now.”

The two children immediately scurry back towards the low craft table, their heads already bent together as they start arguing over colored paper. 

It was almost late evening now and you had spent the entire day here, at the orphanage.

From breaking down in Ms. Baek’s arms in the morning to sitting with the children during lunch, listening to their endless little stories and watching Yejun mingle with everyone so naturally made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t explain.

After your conversation with Ms. Baek, you had quickly pulled yourself together, fixing your makeup and wiping away every trace of the tears you had shed before heading off to meet some of the volunteers around the orphanage, many of whom had once been children here alongside you.

Including Seri, your former roommate.

The same girl who used to sit beside you while you sketched jewelry designs into old notebooks instead of sleeping. Now she worked as a successful lawyer who came back almost every weekend to volunteer at the orphanage.

“You know…” you murmur thoughtfully, sitting cross legged on the floor with your back resting against the wall. Ms. Baek sat beside you on one of the floor cushions, gently cradling a sleeping baby against her chest while across from the two of you, Seri sat peeling mandarins for the children, occasionally tossing the peels into a small paper bag beside her.

You watch Yejun from across the room for a moment longer before speaking again. “I’ve been thinking about building a swimming pool for the kids.”

“Yah.” Ms. Baek narrows her eyes instantly. “You’ve already spent enough money on this place. Stop it.”

And you know, she wasn’t exaggerating. The orphanage was still the same, but it now looked a lot different from the place you had grown up in.

Once Valerra began flourishing and your life transformed into something you once only dreamed about, you made it your mission to give back to the one place that had held together what remained of your childhood.

You had renovated entire sections of the building, installed proper heating systems during winter, funded better quality meals, rebuilt the library, added a music room, upgraded the medical facilities, replaced some of the old furniture, redesigned the children’s bedrooms and even improved security.

“Oh, come on.” you huff dramatically, waving her off. “It’ll be nice for the kids.” you say but Ms. Baek continues glaring at you. “They’ll have fun,.” you insist. “And learning how to swim is important… It’s literally a survival skill.” you say as Seri snorts beside you. “Only you would try to justify a giant swimming pool by making it sound educational.”

“It is educational!” you defend immediately. “What if one of them becomes an Olympic swimmer someday?” you say looking at both of them as Ms. Baek pinches the bridge of her nose with a tired sigh.

“This girl…” she mutters under her breath. “You really think money grows on trees.” she clicks her tongue while you grin shamelessly. “Good thing I have a lot of trees then.”

Seri bursts out laughing while Ms. Baek looks moments away from smacking you with a cushion.

Still, despite her scolding, her eyes soften as she looks at you because she knows exactly why you do this. You give and give and give to this place because a part of you still remembers what it felt like to have nothing and maybe this is your way of making sure no child here ever has to feel that emptiness the way you once did.

Soon enough, you find yourself glancing at the time and realizing with a small sigh that it was finally time to call it a day.

You gently reach for Yejun’s hand, your fingers wrapping around his tiny ones as you softly announce that it was time to head home and almost instantly, a chorus of tiny protests fills the room.

“Already?”“Yejun-ah, you have to come again!”“We didn’t finish making the lego set!!”

You can’t help but laugh quietly at the way your son looks completely torn, his eyes darting between you and the little group of children surrounding him like he genuinely can’t decide who to disappoint.

“Go on, baby.” you smile softly, lightly nudging his shoulder. “It’s time to say goodbye to your new friends.”

Yejun sighs softly, clearly disappointed but he still looks up at all the other kids with a bright smile.“Bye everyone!” he says loudly. “I’ll come back!” he adds as Misun pouts at him dramatically. “You better.”

“I will!” he promises with complete seriousness and you can’t help but smile sweetly at the sight. 

Before leaving, you stop to hug Ms. Baek tightly once more, the older woman smoothing a hand over your hair affectionately while reminding you to eat properly and stop overworking yourself.

After saying goodbye to Seri and a few more volunteers and children lingering around the hallways, you finally make your way out towards your car with Yejun practically skipping beside you.

The moment you help him into the backseat and begin fastening his car seat straps securely across his chest, he bursts with excitement all over again. “Mama!” he calls out. “I had sooo much fun today!”

“I’m glad, my love.” you smile warmly, gently fixing the collar of his cardigan after buckling him in. “Can we come here again?” he asks hopefully, tilting his little head at you. “Please?”

“Of course, baby.” you say softly without any hesitation as you lean down to press a kiss against his forehead. “We’ll come again.”

//

“Ma… where are we going?” Your tiny voice trembles softly through the darkness of the car, nearly drowned out by the violent storm outside.

Rain crashes relentlessly against the windshield, so loud it almost sounds like the sky itself is screaming. The wipers move back and forth desperately, but it barely helps as everything outside remains warped and blurry beneath the heavy downpour.

You sit curled up in the passenger seat, your small fingers tightly clutching the worn bunny plushie resting on your lap. One of its ears is half torn at the seam and its fur is rough from years of being held too tightly, but you hug it closer anyway, pressing your cheek against its damp little head. 

Your mother keeps driving with both her hands locked tightly around the steering wheel… her jaw tense and her eyes fixed ahead.

She doesn’t answer your question… not even a hum, not even a glance and for some reason you could sense that the silence in the car felt strange tonight. 

Usually silence with your mother feels normal… expected, even. But tonight it feels like something evil is sitting between the two of you but you’re just too young to understand what it is.

You look down at your bunny again before asking her another question. “Are we going far?”

Nothing.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, your tiny sneakers swinging nervously above the floor mat and your wet little socks stick uncomfortably against your skin.

Outside, thunder rumbles so loudly it shakes the windows slightly and you flinch instinctively… still, your mother says nothing and somehow, at seven years old, you already knew not to push further when adults act like this, so you stay quiet and just sit there hugging your bunny while streetlights flash briefly across your mother’s face every few seconds, illuminating the exhaustion carved into her features before darkness swallows her whole again.

The drive feels endless… too long… too dark… too quiet, until eventually, the car slows.

Then stops.

You blink sleepily through the rain smeared windows, confusion immediately knitting across your tiny face as you stare at the huge unfamiliar building ahead and for some reason it looks terrifying to you because you’ve never seen this place before.

Your mother grabs an umbrella and steps out of the car quickly. The moment the door opens, the sound of the storm becomes deafening and you flinch hard. A few seconds later, your own door is yanked open as the cold wind immediately slaps against your face.

“Come out.” Your mother says flatly and you look up at her hesitantly. “Ma…” you call out softly, looking absolutely confused. “Come out.” she says again and this time your tiny body obeys automatically.

The moment your shoes hit the ground, they sink slightly into the wet mud as ice cold water splashes up your legs and you gasp softly at the freezing sensation.

Your mother grabs your hand firmly as she slams the door close, before pulling you along beside her.

You struggle to keep up as she walks quickly towards the building. The umbrella barely protects either of you from the rain and your sweater is already getting soaked around the sleeves while water drips down your forehead and into your eyes.

You clutch your bunny tightly against your chest, trying desperately to shield it from getting wet too.

“What is this place, Ma?” you ask quietly.

No answer.

“Why are we here?”

Still nothing.

You stare up at her face through the rain, trying so hard to understand what is happening but your mother doesn’t look at you once and suddenly you feel very, very scared.

By the time the two of you climb the stairs towards the unfamiliar giant double doors, your tiny legs are trembling from trying to keep up with her pace.

Finally, beneath the small porch roof, she stops. Rainwater pours heavily around the edges of the shelter while thunder growls somewhere overhead while you stand there shivering violently, soaked almost head to toe with your tiny fingers numb around your plushie.

Then your mother kneels in front of you and your heart lifts instantly because finally… finally she was going to explain, finally she was going to protect you from the scary thunder, finally she was going to tell you everything’s okay.

“Ma has somewhere important to go.” she says instead and your smile falters immediately. “I’m going to leave you here for a little while.”

Your entire face crumples in confusion. “What?” you ask, but she doesn’t explain further. “You need to knock on these doors after I leave, okay?” she continues as you stare at her blankly because the words don’t fully make sense yet.

“Where are you going?” Your voice comes out small and so, so frightened. “Why can’t I come with you?” you ask again with tears already filling your eyes.“I wanna come too.”

But like always, your mother doesn’t answer and stands back up too quickly. “Kids aren’t allowed.” she simply states. “So stay here and be good.”

And then she turns around.

Just like that.

Your brain can’t process a single thing as you stare at her back as she starts walking down the stairs again beneath the umbrella. For one horrifying second, your body freezes completely and then panic explodes through you all at once.

“Ma?” Your voice cracks violently but she keeps walking. “Mama.” you call out again, taking a shaky step after her and suddenly your bunny slips from your arms, falling forgotten into the rain soaked ground but you barely even notice.

“Ma wait!” You run after her immediately, tiny sneakers splashing through puddles while cold rain lashes against your face. “Please don’t leave me here!” you scream out, but she keeps walking. 

Your sobs become uncontrollable now, wrecking through your tiny chest so hard you can barely breathe between words. “I’ll be good!” you cry desperately, little legs struggling to keep up with her long hurried strides as mud splashes against your calves. 

“I promise I’ll be good this time!” At seven years old, being good feels like the only thing that might make someone stay, but still, your mother doesn’t stop. 

Not once. Not even an ounce of hesitation. 

The storm roars around you, swallowing your cries whole, but you scream anyway. “Mama please!” And suddenly… for the first time, she stops… so abruptly that your tiny body nearly collides into her and hope rushes through your chest so fast it almost physically hurts… simply because she stopped. 

Your mother stands there under the umbrella with her back still facing you as thunder cracks violently overhead, shaking through the sky and straight into your ribs. 

Water drips steadily from the edge of her umbrella while you stand behind her, completely drenched, shivering so hard your teeth nearly chatter. She doesn’t say anything for a few long moments as you stare at her back with your chest heaving.

Then, just when you take the smallest hopeful step towards her, you hear her mutter beneath her breath. “God, I’m so fucking exhausted.” 

At seven years old, you don’t even know what that means. Exhausted? 

You continue staring at her through blurry tears, shivering violently under the rain as your mother slowly turns around, and the moment you see her eyes, whatever hope had sparked inside you dies instantly. 

“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” she snaps, her voice sharper than the thunder roaring above. You hiccup violently as rain continues to drench you, soaking your hair flat against your forehead and running down your cheeks with your tears while she doesn’t move even an inch closer. 

She doesn’t lower the umbrella above you… she doesn’t shield you from the storm. She just lets you stand there to get drenched while she remains dry. 

“I can’t breathe with you around me.” she spits. “Do you understand that? Every day it’s crying, needing, following, asking, begging… always something. Always you.” 

“Ma…” you whisper brokenly as you try to take another shaky step closer, her words barely making any sense to you. You don’t understand what you did wrong. You only know she sounds angry, and maybe if you get closer, maybe if you cry softly enough, maybe if you apologize enough, she’ll stop sounding like this. 

“Shut up.” she spits and at that your sobbing catches painfully in your throat. “I’m so tired of carrying something I never asked for.” she says.

You don’t understand… not fully, but somehow your body understands enough to start shaking harder. 

“You’re the cruelest curse I have ever had in my life.” she grits her teeth as she says it and something inside your chest caves inward. “Do you have any idea how hard you are to love?” she continues. “Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is the life I was supposed to have.” she scoffs, looking away for a second like even meeting your eyes is unbearable. 

“You… ruined everything.” she whispers and your tiny face crumples completely, tears spilling faster now, but she doesn’t stop. “You always ruin everything… and I never even wanted you.” she says, shaking her head as her eyes meet yours again. 

“I tried.” she goes on. “Maybe not enough… maybe badly… but I tried.” she lets out a sharp breath, almost like a humorless laugh, before taking a small step back.

“But I’m done now.” she shrugs weakly, like she’s talking about something ordinary instead of splitting your world apart. “I can’t…” her voice falters for half a second. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waking up every day feeling like I’m drowning inside a life I never even wanted.” she takes another step back. 

“So consider yourself lucky...that I’m leaving you in this place and not somewhere on the streets.” she finishes, giving your soaking little frame one last look, and what hurts most isn’t the anger in her eyes but the emptiness. 

There’s no softness there, no love, no visible regret… just exhaustion so deep it almost resembles hatred before she turns around again.

“Ma…” you can’t help but call out for her again, because somehow your little brain forgets every cruel dagger she’d just shoved into your chest…. because she’s still your mother… because none of those words hurt more than watching her walk away. 

Your feet move before you can even think. “Mommy, please!” you start sobbing again, already stumbling after her, trying desperately to catch up. “I don’t wanna stay here!” you cry harder, rain and tears making everything shake and smear together while your tiny legs struggle helplessly to match her long hurried steps. 

“Please!” your voice turns shrill with terror. “Please take me with you!” you keep begging but your mother only walks faster, like she’s escaping you, like she can’t wait to get away quickly enough.

Your feet slip suddenly against the wet mud as your knees crash violently into the ground and pain explodes through your legs and palms. A broken scream tears from your throat but even through the pain, you immediately look up towards your mother and what you see nearly kills you.

She was already climbing back into the car.

“No.” your voice comes out strangled. “No no no no—” you scramble up desperately despite your bleeding knees. “MA!” You scream so loudly your throat burns and the sound simply echoes through the storm.

But the car engine starts anyway.

“No please!” you beg again and again as you run towards the car with frantic uneven steps. “You forgot me!” your tiny voice shatters completely. “Ma please come back!”

The headlights cut through the rain as the car starts moving. “MA PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” you beg, now chasing after it while sobbing hysterically with your lungs aching, your chest feeling like it was ripping apart from the inside. “I’M SORRY!” you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. “I’LL BE BETTER!”

The taillights grow farther away… smaller and smaller.

“PLEASE COME BACK!” you keep screaming until your throat feels raw enough to bleed and just like that, the car disappears completely into the storm.

//

Your eyes snap open violently as a sharp shudder tears through your body and for a few horrifying seconds, all you see is darkness. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as panic still clings to you like something alive, your lungs struggling to catch up while your heartbeat pounds so loudly it almost drowns out everything else.

You blink rapidly, a bit disoriented, your damp hair sticking to the side of your neck as sweat trickles slowly down your temple. 

The nightmare still feels real. Too real.

You can still hear the rain, still hear your own tiny voice screaming for your mother to come back, still feel the burning scrape of your knees hitting the wet ground.

A shaky breath leaves you as you force yourself upright against the headboard before quickly reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp.

Your hands tremble slightly as you drag them over your face.

“Fuck.” you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut for a second, trying to separate the dream from reality… trying to remind yourself that you’re not seven anymore, that you’re not standing alone in the rain waiting for headlights that will never come back.

But somehow, the nightmares only seem to get worse lately… more vivid, more cruel. You’re starting to think the sleeping pills are somehow making them stronger because every single time the nightmare returns, you remember something new.

Some tiny, meaningless detail from that night that your brain had apparently buried somewhere deep for years only to cruelly hand back to you piece by piece.

Tonight it had been the color of your mother’s nails… a chipped dark red. You remember staring at them while she gripped the steering wheel.

Last week, it had been the smell of her perfume mixed with the cigarette smoke lingering inside the car. Before that, the sound of her bracelets clinking softly beneath the storm whenever she moved her hand… the way her umbrella had tilted slightly to the left because one side was broken, the muddy water soaking through your socks, the freezing feeling of rainwater dripping down the back of your collar, the exact way the taillights looked disappearing into the storm.

It scares you sometimes, how much your mind remembers.

You exhale a shaky breath before slowly pushing the blankets off your body and getting out of bed.

The penthouse is silent as you step out of your room and quietly make your way down the hallway towards Yejun’s room.

You carefully push the door open, not wanting to wake him up.

A soft amber glow spills across the room from the little octopus-shaped night lamp resting beside his bed, its tiny silicone tentacles lighting up faintly in warm pastel colors meant to keep the dark away from your son who’s scared of the monsters under his bed. 

The glow paints his room in gentle shades of gold and peach, illuminating the scattered toys on the carpet, the half-open picture books beside his pillow, and the tiny socks abandoned near the foot of the bed.

And right there in the middle of it all is Yejun sleeping peacefully.

You sniffle softly, blinking rapidly as your eyes begin to sting again. For a moment, you just stand there by the doorway, staring at him and then quietly, so quietly, you step further into the room.

The mattress dips slightly beneath your weight as you carefully slide into the bed beside him, trying not to disturb his sleep but the moment your arm slips around his tiny body, Yejun lets out the faintest sleepy whine before immediately curling closer into you, his small hands grabbing onto the front of your nightgown while his warm cheek presses against your chest.

Your breathing trembles as you hold him tighter, burying your face into his soft hair that still smells faintly of baby shampoo. A tear slips silently down your cheek before disappearing into his pillow beneath your head as you press a trembling kiss against his forehead.

“I’m here, baby.” you whisper brokenly, even though he’s asleep as your fingers gently move through his hair while Yejun unconsciously snuggles even closer. “Mama’s here.”

//

— please drop a like, reblog or comment !! it would make me feel motivated and i would to love to hear your thoughts <3

part 2 ->

series masterlist - my masterlist <3

series taglist in reblog !!

And not just from the mini bagels, although those aren’t helping. There’s that other thing—that dull, heavy ache low in your abdomen that you’ve been ignoring for the past hour. The kind that starts as a whisper and builds into a full-volume announcement that your uterus is gearing up to shed its lining like a snake with a grudge.

Any day now.

You’re sprawled sideways across the stupidly nice bed—duvet bunched under your hip, one leg still hanging off the edge like you tried to climb out and gave up halfway—staring at the decorative molding on the ceiling and sincerely considering death by cream cheese and hormones.

Whoever decided mini bagels should be unlimited is an enemy of the state. And whoever designed the female reproductive system deserves a strongly worded letter.

You press a hand to your abdomen, fingers splaying over your pajama shirt.

Yeah. Rock solid. Disgusting.

Between the bloating from food and the bloating from impending menstruation, you’re basically a human water balloon right now.

The cramps had gotten bad enough earlier that you’d camped out in the en-suite bathroom for a solid twenty minutes, curled up on the bathmat like a sad shrimp, willing your body to just do the thing already instead of this prolonged torture. Jason had hovered outside the door asking if you were okay until you’d finally snapped that you were fine, just needed a minute, and he’d quietly announced he’d go use the big bathroom down the hall to shower.

Which was sweet, actually. Giving you space. Not making it weird.

Sweet. That’s what he is. So sweet and considerate you probably will never have to explain to him that sometimes you just need to lie on a cold tile floor and contemplate your mortality.

Plus, the whole introduction games thing.

One more and you would’ve murdered someone. Or yourself. Hard to say which.

Because, sure, 'group bonding, yay community, isn't this cozy, we're all artists.' blah blah—except no, actually, you do not need to know Dylan's entire professional 'journey' starting from when his math teacher discouraged him at twelve.

Like… congratulations, king. A middle schooler hated algebra and now he has a Leica.

Revolutionary, truly.

You don't even need a promise to know Dylan sucks at math. Or reading a room. Or shutting the fuck up.

You only have to hear him open his mouth to know his teacher was right, and that's a talent in itself.

If Tessa hadn't finally wrapped the circle with that "okay let's eat and mingle!" mercy call, you're pretty sure you'd be in handcuffs right now. At minimum, there would've been a strongly worded incident report and your mugshot would be circulating among NYU grads with the caption 'she snapped <3'.

You exhale, long and slow, and the room tilts a tiny bit. Not from alcohol—Jason kept refilling your water because he’s built like an after-school special—but from social hangover and lactose and the fact that your uterus has apparently decided to practice contractions like it’s training for mutiny.

Jason’s in the shower, and the fact that the shower is all the way down the hall makes it worse. Not worse like tragic, worse like… you can hear distant plumbing. You can hear other doors. You can hear the soft hum of people existing outside the room, which is rude when your nervous system is begging for a padded cell.

And you can’t even fully decompress because your brain, in its infinite cruelty, picks now to go: cat.

If Griffin were here, he'd make it worse.

That's the worst part.

You can see it: you back home after a big dinner, jeans unbuttoned, sprawled on your bed trying not to combust, and here comes His Orange Majesty, hopping up like he owns the lease, turning one slow circle before plopping his entire cat weight right on your bloated stomach.

Every time.

Never fails.

Like he has some built-in sensor for ‘oh, she’s eaten too much, time to compress the organs.’

You’d probably actually puke. Not metaphorically. Like, full-on, exorcist-but-make-it-dairy.

And you hate that your first thought isn’t thank god he’s not here, it’s—

Where is he.

You’re here. Jungkook’s here. Yoongi’s here. Half the people Jungkook breathes near are here. Hobi is coming. Taehyung and Iri are here. Tessa’s here. Even you—someone Griffin has decided is acceptable to infest with fur—are here.

So who’s doing Griffin’s weird little routines? Who’s refilling his water and pretending the faucet drip isn’t the only thing he’ll drink? Who’s feeding him on time so he doesn’t go full famine-victim and start screaming like he’s been starved for weeks?

You sit up a little, grimacing because your organs audibly protest.

Okay, no. You’re being dramatic.

Jungkook is a helicopter parent. Jungkook probably has a plan C for his plan B for his plan A. The man barely trusts oxygen around that cat. That orange menace is not going unfed. Not on Jungkook’s watch. Not ever.

Still.

You want to know.

Not about Jungkook. About Griffin. Obviously.

You’ve always told yourself cats aren’t a big deal. That they’re just… animals. Nice, sure, but not essential. And that was easier to believe when you grew up in a house where ‘no’ was a hobby your parents collected.

No pets. No mess. No unpredictable living things.

No to anything that might make you happy unless it also made you productive.

So you learned to shrug it off. You learned to pretend you didn’t care. You learned to become someone who didn’t need things.

Except Griffin showed up and ruined that little lie with one stupid purr and his warm body curling against your leg when you were reading. With the way he chooses you when you’re having a shitty day. With the way he seems to understand your moods better than most humans. With the fact that you now instinctively check for him on the couch before you sit, like you live with a landmine made of fur.

You love him. Quietly. Irritatingly. Against your will.

You groan, roll onto your side, and grab your phone off the nightstand.

The screen lights up too bright in the dark-ish room. Your thumb scrolls, muscle memory doing most of it, and then—there.

His contact.

You stare at it like it’s going to bite you.

Because again: not about him. It’s about Griffin. It’s about making sure the orange idiot is alive and not committing crimes unsupervised.

You hover your thumb over the name you saved him under—because you’re mature and normal and definitely not petty at all—and finally pick the phone up properly.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗

The three dots appear immediately. Disappear. Reappear.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚞 𝟸

You scoff out loud, adjusting your position on the bed.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒’𝚖 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 ❤️

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚔𝚛 𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 🤗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚊 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊

You blink at the screen.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘 𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙰𝙽𝚈 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚒 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝟽𝟶 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 😀

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚋𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚞 🖕🏻

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling despite yourself.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖??? 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡 𝚒 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙻𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖??? 🫩

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚖 𝚗𝚎𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚒𝚡*

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚒 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜

The dots appear. Disappear. Don't come back.

One minute passes. Then two. Then five.

You frown at the screen, wondering if you overstepped somehow, if this is one of those things he doesn't want to talk about like the whole laundry room thing.

Then finally:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚑 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎 🙄 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗

Another long pause.

You watch the screen, waiting, your thumb hovering over the keyboard in case you need to backtrack, say ‘never mind’ or make a joke to diffuse whatever this is.

Then:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚠

You wait. There has to be more.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝟷𝟽

Oh.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛

Your chest feels tight reading that. You don't know what to say, so you just send:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚏𝚞𝚕

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚠 𝚑𝚎𝚛

You stare at the messages, something unfamiliar working its way through your ribcage.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚎𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚒 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘

Fuck. Your throat feels weird.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚞 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚢𝚎𝚊

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘

The dots appear and disappear three times.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚝 𝚒𝚝

A soft uncharacteristic smile pulls at your lips.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚑 𝚜𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚘𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚏 𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚣𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛

You laugh quietly, shaking your head.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍 🍪

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚎 𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚞 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚔𝚒 🫩

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙

The dots appear. Stop. Appear again. Stop.

Then:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚑 𝚜𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚘 𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚊 💔

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚊 💔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝟺𝚎𝚟𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝟸 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚖

You snort.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

You're full-on grinning now, alone in this too-big bed in this too-nice room, texting your roommate about his elderly friend and his cat.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚒

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚍𝚔 🤔

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚔???

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚑 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝟸 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘 𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝟸 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚒 𝚍𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗 𝚒 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍??? 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚘’𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝s

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 😤

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢 💔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝟸 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚜 💔

You laugh again, softer this time, and then you just… sit there.

Looking at the conversation.

At the little thread of normalcy in the middle of this weird, overstuffed weekend.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚋𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚢𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜

Something warm spreads through your chest.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 🌙

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡 🌙

You set your phone down on the nightstand, face-up, and stare at the ceiling.

The bathroom door opens down the hall—Jason, finally done with his shower. You hear his footsteps, the soft pad of bare feet on hardwood, coming closer.

But you’re still thinking about Jungkook.

About Donna.

About a seventeen-year-old kid who died too young and the old woman who lost everything and the boy who shows up every Thursday with groceries he pretends are no big deal.

About laminated cat care instructions.

About Griffin, safe and spoiled and probably curled up on Donna’s lap right now.

The door opens, and Jason steps in, hair damp, smelling like generic hotel soap.

“Hey.” He pauses in the doorway, eyes wide, towel draped over his shoulder. “So. That bathroom.”

You push yourself up on your elbows. “Yeah?”

“It’s like—” He shakes his head, something between disbelief and amusement crossing his features. “It’s like a spa. There’s a steam setting.”

“Rich people.”

“Rich people,” he agrees, moving toward the bed. His eyes soften as he takes you in—hand pressed to your stomach. “How’s the tummy doing? Cramps any better?”

You make a noncommittal noise.

The ache is still there—lurking in your lower back like a threat—but it’s manageable now. Not the stabbing pain from earlier when you’d been curled up on the bathroom floor wondering why evolution decided periods were a good idea.

“A little.”

“Good.” He stops between your knees. Close. Warm.

His hands find your shoulders first, thumbs brushing along your collarbones through the fabric of your pajama shirt.

Your eyes close. Nice. This is nice.

Then he’s leaning down, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingers just long enough to feel intentional.

“Hey,” he says softly, and then he’s dipping down and kissing you.

It’s soft. Gentle. A peck, really—the kind of kiss you’d give someone in front of their parents. Sweet and safe and appropriate.

You kiss him back.

He kisses you again, slightly deeper this time, and you feel his weight shift as he leans further into you. Your hands find his chest automatically—still damp through his t-shirt, warm underneath—and you let yourself tip backward, forearms catching you against the mattress as he follows you down.

Okay. Okay. This is happening.

Finally.

Because it’s been—what, weeks? Weeks of dates and dinners and conversations that go nowhere near where you want them to go. Weeks of goodnight kisses that stay firmly above the neck. Weeks of waiting for him to make a move because you figured he was just being respectful, taking his time, being a gentleman about it.

And now here he is. Between your thighs. Kissing you like he actually means it.

Lock in, bitch. This is what you wanted.

His mouth moves against yours, slow and careful, and you try to match his pace. Try to sink into it. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, cradling you, and it’s—

Nice.

It’s nice.

He pulls back slightly. Not far. Just enough to look at you with those earnest green eyes.

“Is this okay?”

You blink up at him.

Is this okay?

You’re literally—you’re literally spread out on the bed right now.

Legs open. Arms back.

In what universe does this position scream ‘actually I’m not sure about this’?

But you nod anyway, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine.”

Fine. Great word choice. Really selling it.

He smiles, soft and relieved, and leans back in.

The kiss picks up again. A little deeper now. His tongue brushes your lower lip, tentative, asking, and you open for him because—yes. Obviously yes. That’s the whole point.

His hand moves from your neck to your waist. Settles there. Stays there.

Okay.

You shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable on your forearms, and he adjusts with you. Pulls back again.

“Still good?”

Oh my god.

“Yes,” you say, and you keep your voice even because you’re not going to be that person.

The impatient one. The ungrateful one who can’t appreciate a guy actually checking in instead of just bulldozing ahead like consent is some kind of optional side quest.

Consent is sexy. This is mature. This is healthy. This is what a functioning adult relationship looks like.

So why does it feel like you’re filling out a customer satisfaction survey?

Rate your kissing experience from 1 to 10. Would you recommend this make-out session to a friend?

Stop it. Stop it.

You’re being petty and immature and ridiculous.

Jason is sweet. Jason is considerate. Jason respects your autonomy and your boundaries and your right to change your mind at any point in the process.

That’s good.

That’s what you want.

He kisses you again, and you force yourself to focus.

On his mouth. On the weight of him above you.

There. See? That’s nice. That’s—

“Doing okay?”

You almost laugh. Almost.

“Mhm,” you manage instead, and pull him back down before he can ask again.

His mouth finds yours, and you kiss him harder this time. More insistent. Trying to communicate ’yes, I’m sure, please stop asking and just fucking do something’ without actually saying the words because that would be rude and ungrateful and—

His hand inches up your side. Slow. Glacially slow. Like he’s approaching a wild animal that might spook at any sudden movement.

You’re not going to spook. You’re not a deer. You’re a grown woman who wants to get laid tonight and all you need is for him to just—

“You sure you’re—”

“Jason.” It comes out sharper than you mean it to. You soften immediately, reaching up to brush his damp hair back from his forehead. “Yeah. I’m sure. Really.”

He searches your face for a second.

You lick your lips. “Just… didn’t you tell me once that sex helps with cramps?”

His eyebrows lift. Then a slow grin spreads across his face—genuine, amused, like he can’t believe you just said that.

“Yeah, endorphins help with the pain.”

“So I’m just saying.” You shrug, looking to the side. “Endorphins. Science. You know.”

He laughs—soft and fond—and leans down to kiss you again. Deeper this time. Less careful.

Finally.

“Well,” he murmurs against your lips, “can’t argue with science.”

You’re getting dick tonight.

About fucking time.

His hands find the hem of your shirt, and this time he doesn’t ask—just tugs it upward with a questioning look, and you lift your arms to help him pull it off. Cold air hits your skin, and then his mouth is on your collarbone, kissing a path down toward your chest.

Okay. Better. This is better.

You reach for his shirt, tugging it over his head because turnabout is fair play, and he helps you get it off. His chest is nice—lean, defined, what you guess comes from disciplined gym sessions.

You run your hands over it, feeling the solid muscle.

Not as squishy as you’d like, but you know this type of body requires effort.

Though if you’re being honest, that’s the least of your concerns right now.

Because what’s nagging your head right now is the fact that he’s quiet.

Like, really quiet.

His mouth works down to your bra, fingers finding the clasp at your back, and he unhooks it easily—experienced, you remind yourself, he knows what he’s doing—but the whole time it’s just… breathing. Soft exhales. The occasional hum of approval.

Which is fine.

Normal, probably.

Not everyone narrates what they’re doing like they’re the host of a particularly explicit podcast. That would be weird, actually. Unnecessary. Distracting, even.

So why does the silence feel so loud?

You push the thought away. Focus on his mouth kissing his way down your neck, the wet heat of it, the way his tongue slides down your clavicles.

Your fingers thread into his hair automatically—still damp from the shower—and you tug.

He pulls back immediately, wincing. “Ow. Careful.”

Heat floods your cheeks. “Sorry. Sorry, I—”

“It’s okay.” He’s smiling, amused, like you’ve done something endearingly clumsy. “Just maybe… gentler?”

“Yeah. Right. Gentler.”

Gentler. Got it. File that away under things you apparently do wrong.

He goes back to what he was doing, and you keep your hands on his shoulders this time. Safe. Neutral. No risk of accidentally scalping him or whatever.

God. Mortifying.

His hands work your pants down—you help kick them off, because coordination is already proving to be a challenge tonight—and then his fingers are tracing along the waistband of your underwear. Light. Teasing.

Say something.

You want him to say something. Anything. Tell you what he’s thinking, what he wants, what he’s about to do.

The silence stretches.

He pulls your underwear down, and you’re naked now. Fully. On this stupid expensive bed in this stupid expensive room, and Jason’s looking at you like you’re something to be appreciated rather than devoured.

Which is nice.

It is.

“You’re beautiful,” he says softly.

Okay. There. Words. Good words, even. The kind of thing you’re supposed to want to hear.

Though it sounds like words from a polite stranger rather than who’s supposed to be your kind-of-boyfriend?

Why are you being so weird about this, bitch.

He’s being sweet.

You pull him back down to kiss him, because kissing is easier than thinking, and his hand slides between your thighs. Finally. Finally.

His fingers find your clit, and—

Zigzags.

He’s doing… zigzags. Back and forth, back and forth, like he’s sketching a tiny lightning bolt on your most sensitive nerve endings.

It’s not bad. It’s stimulation. Friction. Your body responds because that’s what bodies do.

But it’s not—

You shift your hips slightly, trying to redirect. “Maybe, um—circles?”

He pauses. Looks up at you with those earnest green eyes. “Actually, zigzags help build it better. More surface coverage. Trust me.”

And he says it so confidently. So assured. Like he’s read studies on this, peer-reviewed articles about optimal clitoral stimulation patterns.

“Okay,” you hear yourself say. “Yeah, okay.”

Because what are you going to do, argue? Tell him he’s wrong about your body? You barely know what you like yourself—you’re still figuring it out, still learning, still cataloguing what works and what doesn’t.

Maybe zigzags are better. Maybe you’ve just been doing it wrong this whole time?

So you let him continue. Zigzag, zigzag, zigzag.

It’s fine.

It’s building. Slowly.

Like a pot that refuses to boil.

He reaches for his pants with his free hand—the ones he’d changed into after his shower—and pulls out a condom from the pocket. Tears it open with his fingers, which is safe and polite, actually, and rolls it on with ease.

Considerate. That’s considerate. Safe sex. Responsible.

But you have an IUD.

And he knows that, right? You mentioned it. Weeks ago, maybe, in some conversation about birth control and responsibility and being adults about these things.

So maybe he could’ve ask if you wanted it raw.

Don’t guys prefer it raw?

Why didn’t he ask for it?

Does he not want it raw?

Is there something wrong with you?

Stop asking questions you don’t want answers to. He’s being careful. That’s a good thing. Not everyone wants to go raw.

He positions himself between your thighs, and you feel the blunt pressure of him at your entrance. He looks at you—checking in again, always checking in—and you nod before he can ask.

Then he’s pushing in, slow and steady, and—

Okay.

Okay.

He’s a decent size, fills you up nicely, and the stretch is pleasant without being overwhelming.

And then he pauses, looks at you to make sure it’s all good and when you nod again, his hips start moving in this measured rhythm, controlled and consistent, and you wrap your legs around him to pull him deeper.

And still, he’s just so—quiet.

Just breathing. Soft grunts.

Can he, for the love of everything that’s holy, just say something?

“You feel good,” you try, hoping he’ll take the hint. Volley it back.

“Mm.” He kisses your jaw. “You too.”

That’s it.

That’s all you get.

Okay. Fine. Not everyone’s verbal. Some people express themselves through actions. Through touch. Through the steady roll of their hips and the careful attention of their fingers, which are back to doing that zigzag thing on your clit while he fucks into you.

Your hips start moving with him, trying to find the angle that works best, and he adjusts—attentive, responsive, clearly paying attention to your body even if he’s not narrating every goddamn thing he notices.

Which is good.

That’s good.

Focus.

His pace picks up, and you feel his rhythm start to stutter. His breathing gets heavier, hips snapping a little harder, a little less controlled.

He’s close. You can tell by the way his forehead creases, the way his movements become more urgent.

And his fingers—yeah, fallen soldier. Loss of coordination. Total system failure.

The zigzags dissolve into some kind of… abstract expressionism? Like he’s finger-painting on your clit with no clear direction or purpose.

Sir. SIR.

You don’t even think about it. Your hand shoots down, nudging his out of the way, and you take over.

Circles. Actual circles. The way God and nature intended.

There. Oh thank fuck.

Jason groans at the sight—apparently you touching yourself does something for him, noted—and his hips stutter harder.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

And then he’s done. Shuddering against you, face in your neck, muffled groan vibrating against your skin as he finishes.

Cool. Great. Love that for you.

Meanwhile, you’re still circling your clit like your life depends on it, chasing the orgasm that’s right there, so close you can practically taste it—

“Don’t stop,” you manage, and it comes out more demanding than you mean it to. “Keep—yeah, just—keep going—”

He does. Hips still moving even though he’s basically done, and finally—finally—it hits.

Your back arches off the bed, thighs clamping around him as the orgasm finally slams into you.

Not the most spectacular one you’ve ever had, but it’s real and it’s there and your whole body shakes with the release of tension you didn’t even realize you’d been holding.

“Fuck,” you breathe, collapsing back against the pillows.

Finally. Jesus Christ.

Jason pulls out carefully, disposing of the condom in the trash by the nightstand before flopping down beside you. His hair’s a mess. Cheeks flushed. Looking appropriately wrecked in a way that’s kind of satisfying to witness.

“Sorry,” he says, wincing slightly. “I, uh. Came too fast.”

A giggle escapes you before you can stop it. Genuine. Surprised.

“It’s okay.” You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him. “We got there eventually.”

He snorts, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, sliding down to rest on your waist, warm and grounding.

“Eventually,” he repeats, smiling. “Very generous of you.”

“I’m a generous person.”

“You are.”

You shift closer, pressing a quick peck to his lips. Soft. Easy.

He pulls you in, both hands on your waist now, and you let yourself be held. Let your forehead rest against his collarbone, breathing in the smell of cedar that makes your eyebrows furrow.

“Hey,” you say after a moment, voice muffled against his skin.

“Hm?”

“Next time?” You tilt your head back to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Drop the zigzags. Circles. Trust me.”

He snorts—actual full snort, shoulders shaking. “Okay, okay. Circles. Noted.”

“Good.”

“Can we sleep now?”

“Please.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering, and you feel yourself smile. Warm. Content.

This is nice.

He’s nice.

You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day finally catch up with you.

The party. The introductions. The mini bagels. The texting with Jungkook about Griffin and Donna and laminated cat care instructions.

Jason’s arms tighten around you, and you burrow closer.

So you fall asleep.

And you don’t think about how sex this time didn’t feel quite like what you’re used to.

The stairs hate you.

That’s the only explanation for why each step feels like wading through wet cement, your legs heavy and uncooperative as you drag yourself down to the ground floor.

Drowsiness clings to you and it won’t shake off no matter how many times you blink or rub your eyes or tell yourself to wake the fuck up already.

Also your head is pounding. And your lower back feels like someone’s been using it as a punching bag. And when you’d woken up this morning and stumbled to the bathroom, you’d discovered that your uterus had finally decided to commit.

Perfect timing. Really. Exactly what you wanted on day two of this stupid retreat.

You’d dealt with it—tampon in, crisis contained, minimal emotional breakdown—but you still haven’t eaten anything, which means you can’t take the Advil that’s currently burning a hole in your hoodie pocket because taking painkillers on an empty stomach is a one-way ticket to nausea city and you’ve already hit your quota of physical discomfort for the day.

9:07 AM, according to your lockscreen. Which means you’ve gotten maybe six hours of sleep. Maybe less. Hard to tell when you spent a solid chunk of the night staring at the ceiling while Jason’s arm draped across your waist like a very warm, very heavy seatbelt.

The ground floor is deserted when your feet finally reach the staircase ending.

Figures. You are probably the first person awake in a space that’s supposed to be full of people.

The kitchen is empty. So is the living room—that massive open-concept space that probably costs more per square foot than your entire childhood home. Morning light filters through the tall windows, catching dust motes in golden beams, and somewhere outside a bird is chirping with way too much enthusiasm for this hour.

Good for the bird. Some of you are suffering.

You make your way toward the coffee machine. It’s one of those fancy pod systems—the kind you’ve seen in boutique hotels and rich people’s Instagram stories—with a whole display rack of capsule options lined up like soldiers waiting to be sacrificed.

Mocha. White mocha. Vanilla. Caramel. Hazelnut. Something called ‘Midnight Espresso’ that sounds like it would kill you instantly. Regular, boring, normal coffee for people who don’t need their caffeine to taste like dessert.

You grab the mocha.

Because you’re basic. Because it’s too early to make interesting choices. Because the vanilla one is right there and you don’t want to think about why your eyes keep drifting back to it.

Vanilla.

Your hand hovers over the machine as you slot the capsule in, and for a second—just a second—you’re aware of how you smell right now.

Which is to say: like sleep. Like sheets. Like nothing, really, because you didn’t shower this morning and you’re not wearing any perfume and the only scent clinging to your skin is probably Jason’s generic hotel soap from where he held you all night.

Jason showered last night. Before you guys fucked.

You didn’t.

Should’ve, probably. Would’ve been the polite thing to do. The refined thing. The thing that a put-together adult woman does before having sex with her sort-of-boyfriend in a mansion that belongs to her sort-of-friend’s grandparents.

But you didn’t. Because you were tired and bloated and honestly? The idea of walking down the hall to use the shared bathroom felt like asking too much of your already overtaxed nervous system.

So you fucked him smelling like airplane and mini bagels and whatever lingering scent was left from the morning’s perfume application.

Classy. Very classy.

He didn’t seem to mind, but still.

You should shower today. Check the spa bathroom thing Jason mentioned before anyone else wakes up.

Dark liquid pours into the mug you grabbed from the cabinet, and you lean against the counter to wait. Arms crossed. Eyes unfocused. Brain doing that annoying thing where it won’t stop thinking.

Last night was good.

It was.

You finally got what you’d been waiting for—weeks of buildup, weeks of wanting, and it happened. Jason. Inside you. Making you come, even if it took some… collaborative effort at the end there.

Good. That’s the word. It was good.

A bit weird, maybe. But that’s normal, right? First times with new partners are always a little clunky. A little awkward. You’re learning each other. Figuring out what works, what doesn’t, where to put your hands and how hard to grip and whether hair-pulling is on the table or if it’ll get you a polite ’ow, careful.’

It’s a process.

Learning curve. Totally normal learning curve.

And it’s not like you have a ton of experience to compare it to anyway. Before Jungkook, your sexual history was basically a series of underwhelming encounters that you’d rather forget—fumbling hookups in dorm rooms, that one time at a party that lasted approximately ninety seconds and left you wondering what the big deal was.

Then Jungkook happened.

And suddenly you understood what the big deal was.

You grab your coffee, wrapping both hands around the warm mug, and take a sip that’s probably too hot but you don’t care.

But still, Jason is good. Jason is thoughtful and considerate and asks before he does things and actually cares whether you finish. Jason doesn’t make you feel like you’re constantly two seconds away from either screaming at him or jumping his bones. Jason is stable.

And okay, sure—maybe there wasn’t that instant… thing. That click. That moment where your bodies just knew what to do without having to figure it out first.

But that’s not how real relationships work.

That’s not how adult relationships work.

The whole point of being with someone like Jason is that it’s not chaos. It’s not fire and fury and fucking against windows while rain pounds outside. It’s steady. It’s sustainable.

It’s the kind of thing you can actually build something on, instead of just burning everything down and picking through the ashes afterward.

So what if you didn’t have to learn Jungkook’s body? So what if the first time with him felt like your nerve endings had been waiting their whole lives for exactly that kind of touch? So what if every time after that was just… easy, in a way that made no sense, like your bodies were speaking some language you didn’t even know you were fluent in?

Chemistry doesn’t mean it all. Not in the long run. Not when the person you have chemistry with is emotionally unavailable and seeing someone else and fundamentally incapable of giving you what you actually need.

Jason can give you what you need.

Jason wants to give you what you need.

And if the sex takes a little while to sync up? That’s fine. That’s normal. That’s what happens when two people are actually trying to build something real instead of just… colliding.

“Boo.”

The mug nearly goes flying.

You spin around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, heart slamming against your ribs like it’s trying to escape, and there he is—six feet away, smirking like the absolute menace he is.

Jungkook.

Of course it’s Jungkook.

He’s got a small towel draped around his neck, dabbing at his forehead where sweat’s gathered along his hairline. His hair is damp, darker than usual, plastered to his temples in a way that should look gross but doesn’t.

Because nothing about him ever looks gross.

Because the universe is fundamentally unfair and you’re its favorite punching bag.

And he’s wearing—

Oh, come on.

A compression shirt. Long-sleeved. Black. Clinging to every single muscle like it was painted on by someone with a personal vendetta against your sanity.

His tits are right there.

Just. There. Staring at you. Being all… pectoral and defined and present.

They looked at you first, okay? You’re just responding. That’s basic physics. Action and reaction. Newton’s third law or whatever.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is still riding the adrenaline of being scared half to death.

He snorts, crossing his arms over his chest—which does not help the tit situation, for the record—and tilts his head at you.

“What does it look like, Phoenix?”

Your eyes snap up to his face.

His face. Where his eyes are. Where you should’ve been looking this whole time instead of at his stupid chest like some kind of feral gremlin who’s never seen a man before.

He’s smirking. Of course he’s smirking. He knows.

“Dunno,” you shoot back, recovering. “Did you have an identity crisis and went to look for it outside the house?”

That earns you an actual laugh—short, surprised—and he uncrosses his arms, moving toward the coffee capsule display. His shoulder brushes past you, and you smell the sweat and subtle body scent that always accompanies him wherever he goes.

Rain.

You take a pointed step back. Create distance. Preserve sanity.

“I went for a run, smart mouth.” He’s scanning the capsule options now, fingers hovering over the rows. “You know, like I usually do? Morning run? You ever heard of the term?”

“Vaguely. Sounds fake.”

“It’s this thing where you move your legs really fast—”

“I know what running is, jackass.”

“—in a forward motion, usually outdoors—”

“Oh my god.”

“—sometimes people do it for fun, or health, or because they have too much energy and nowhere to put it.” He glances over his shoulder, that stupid grin still in place. “You should try it sometime.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Lazy ass.”

“Braindead.”

He turns back to the capsules, and you watch him deliberate. His fingers drift between the caramel and the vanilla, hovering for a second like he’s actually thinking about this decision. Like coffee flavors require strategic consideration.

He grabs the vanilla.

Slots it into the machine without ceremony, reaching past you to grab a mug from the cabinet—you smell that rain-and-sweat combination more intensely for a second—and then he’s stepping back, leaning against the opposite counter while the machine whirs to life.

“You’re up early,” he observes.

“So are you.”

“I told you. Run.”

“And I told you. Sounds fake.”

His lips twitch. “What’s your excuse?”

You shrug, lifting your mug. “Needed coffee.”

It’s not entirely a lie. You do need coffee. Need something in your stomach before you take those damn painkillers and shut your period cramps down.

Jungkook’s eyes flick down to your mug, then back up. “Mocha?”

“Yeah.”

“Basic.”

“Fuck off.”

He grins, wide and genuine, and something in your lower abdomen does a traitorous little flip that you aggressively ignore.

“I’m just saying.” He gestures vaguely at the capsule display. “They’ve got like fifteen options and you went for the one that tastes like hot chocolate pretending to be coffee.”

“Hot chocolate pretending to be coffee is delicious, actually.”

“It’s a lie, Nix. You’re drinking a lie.”

“I’m drinking caffeine, which is all that matters at—” You check your phone. “—nine in the morning when I’ve had six hours of sleep.”

“Six hours?” His eyebrows lift. “What kept you up?”

Don’t say sex. Don’t say sex. Don’t say—

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“None of your business.”

He holds up both hands in mock surrender, that smirk not going anywhere. “Touchy.”

“I’m not touchy. I’m tired.”

“Same thing with you.”

“It is not—”

The coffee machine beeps, cutting you off, and Jungkook pushes off the counter to grab his mug.

He takes a sip, eyes closing briefly, and makes this little sound of satisfaction that’s completely unnecessary.

Completely unnecessary.

“Good shit,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You don’t respond. Just clutch your mocha tighter and try not to think about vanilla. About the way it smells on your skin. About the way he’d mentioned it once, twice, pressed against you in contexts you’re absolutely not revisiting right now.

And just wait for him to move and fuck off, but nope, Jungkook doesn’t leave. Because that would be mercy and fate decided you’re having none of that.

And also, that would require Jungkook to do something convenient for once in his miserable existence.

Instead, he leans back against the counter—the one across from you, thank god, at least there’s distance—and sips his vanilla coffee like he’s got nowhere else to be. Like annoying you first thing in the morning is his cardio cooldown.

“So,” he says, dragging the word out. “Sleep well?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“What do you want, a detailed report?”

His lips twitch. “I’m just saying. Big house. Nice beds. Lots of… entertainment options.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs, all fake innocence. “Just that I’m sure whatever happened last night kept you plenty occupied.”

Oh.

Oh, he’s going there.

“Maybe it did,” you say, matching his casual tone. Sipping your mocha like you’re discussing the weather.

His eyebrow lifts. Just slightly. “Oh?”

“Mhm.”

“That so?”

“That’s so.”

He watches you over the rim of his mug. Amused, maybe curious.

“Good for you, Nix.” He takes another sip. “Hope Jason knows what he’s doing.”

Excuse you?

“He does, actually.” The words come out clipped. Defensive. Shit. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Never said it was.”

“Your tone implied.”

“My tone is concerned. As a friend.”

“Then stop being so friendly.”

“Don’t want to.”

You don’t have a response for that. Don’t want one. So you just drink your coffee and let silence reign over, maybe that way he’ll take the hint and leave you alone.

He doesn’t.

It’s Jungkook you’re talking about, so.

“Why are you drinking coffee?”

You blink. “What?”

“Coffee.” He gestures at your mug with his own. “You hate coffee. You’re a tea person. You’ve complained about this approximately seven thousand times since August.”

“I don’t hate coffee, I just prefer—”

“Tea,” he finishes. “You prefer tea. You made a whole speech once about how coffee is ‘bean water for the weak-willed’ and tea is ‘leaf water for the enlightened.’”

“There wasn’t any tea,” you mutter, suddenly defensive.

“What do you mean there wasn’t—” He sets his mug down, moves toward the cabinet above the coffee machine. “They’re right here.”

He opens it, and sure enough—rows of tea boxes. Green tea. Black tea. Chamomile. Earl Grey. English Breakfast. A whole goddamn tea library sitting right there, six inches above where you’d been standing this whole time.

You stare at them.

Then at him.

Then back at the tea.

“Okay, so?” Your voice pitches higher than you’d like. “I clearly didn’t know there was tea there. The cabinet was closed. I’m not psychic. I can’t see through wood, Rogue.”

His lips are twitching. Actively fighting a smile. The audacity.

“And now,” you continue, lifting your mocha like a shield, “I have resigned myself to my life choices. This is my mocha. I am committed to the mocha. The mocha and I are in a relationship now, and I will not abandon it for some—some leaf water that showed up late to the party.”

He lowers his hand from the cabinet. Presses his lips together. His whole face is doing that thing where he’s clearly laughing at you internally but trying very hard not to show it.

“You done?”

“Yes.”

“Cool speech.”

“Shut up.”

“Very passionate.”

“I will pour this mocha on your head.”

He holds up both hands, stepping back. “Okay, okay. Mocha commitment. Noted. I respect it.”

“You better.”

The grin breaks through despite his efforts, wide and stupid and—

Ugh.

You hate him. You really, genuinely hate him.

You take a few more sips of your mocha, letting the caffeine do its work. Not a full meal, but there’s enough in your stomach now to justify what comes next. You reach into your hoodie pocket, pull out the pill into your palm.

His eyes track the movement.

You pop the Advil, chase it with mocha, and when you look up, he’s got one eyebrow arched.

His chin tips toward your hand.

“What’s up with that?” A beat. His voice drops half a register. “You okay?”

It’s such a casual question. Such an easy thing to ask.

But something about the way he says it—the slight furrow between his brows, the way his body’s gone just a little bit still—makes your throat get all weird.

“Period,” you say flatly. “Cramps. The usual ‘being a woman is a nightmare’ situation.”

He nods slowly. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a face, doesn’t do any of the weird things guys sometimes do when you mention menstruation like you’ve just confessed to murder.

“Those help?”

“The Advil?” You shrug. “Takes the edge off. Couldn’t take them earlier because—” You gesture vaguely at your mug. “Empty stomach.”

“Ah.” Another nod. His eyes stay on you for a beat too long—something flickering there.

Then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“There’s fruit in the fridge,” he says, pointing to said fridge with his thumb. “Saw some yogurt too. Granola bars in the pantry. If you need, like. Actual food.”

His hand hovers in the air. You stare at him.

Is he… is Jeon Jungkook actually being helpful right now?

Without being asked?

Without making it weird or turning it into a joke or finding some way to use this information against you later?

“Thanks,” you hear yourself say, softer than intended.

He shrugs. “Can’t have you dying on me, Nix. Who else would I annoy?”

But there's a smile in his face when he says it, and if your brain wasn't hazy from period pain, you'd say his eyes are a tad too soft.

He reaches past you for his mug.

Doesn’t think about it, clearly. Just muscle memory—arm extending, body shifting closer, the movement so natural it’s like breathing. Like he’s done it a thousand times before without registering the space it puts him in.

Except now he’s right there.

Inches away, really. Allowing you to notice the individual drops of sweat still clinging to his hairline.

He blinks.

And his eyes change.

You know that look.

You know it. Have seen it more times than you can count, in contexts you’re actively not thinking about. That shift from playful to something else. Darker. Heavier. Like smoke curling behind his irises, unhurried and lazy.

His gaze drops to your mouth. Just for a second.

Your breath catches.

Don’t.

His jaw tightens. You watch his throat move as he swallows.

Don’t you dare—

The doorbell rings.

Jungkook’s lips twitch in amusement when they flick back to your eyes, and he steps back, moment dissolving like sugar in hot water.

“Saved by the bell,” he murmurs with a snort, and you can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself.

He’s already moving toward the door before you can respond, mug abandoned on the counter, and you’re left standing there with your stupid mocha and your stupid racing heart and the lingering scent of vanilla in the air.

What the fuck was that?

You take a breath. Then another. Force your pulse to settle.

That was proximity and muscle memory and two people who used to fuck standing too close in a kitchen.

“JUNGKOOKIE!”

Hobi.

Jungkook winces, already moving toward the foyer. “Dude, volume.”

“What?” Hobi’s voice carries anyway, bright and completely unapologetic. “I’m excited to see you!”

“It’s nine in the morning and everyone’s asleep.”

A pause.

Then, lower but still audible from where you’re standing: “Oh. Whoops. Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound particularly sorry.

You take another sip of your mocha—lukewarm now, which is somehow fitting—and lean against the counter, watching the entryway.

Hobi appears a moment later, trailing behind Jungkook with a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and that easy, relaxed energy he always seems to carry.

He looks good. Rested. Like someone who didn’t spend last night navigating the complicated logistics of orgasms with a new partner.

Must be nice.

His eyes scan the space—the empty living room, the quiet kitchen, the distinct lack of other humans—and he blinks.

Then he’s grinning, easy and warm. “Damn. Just you two up?”

“Looks like it,” Jungkook says, grabbing his abandoned coffee mug from the counter. “Everyone else is still passed out.”

“Wild.” Hobi stretches, rolling his shoulders like he’s working out the kinks from a long drive. “Okay, so—where’s my room? I gotta drop this off, and then I should probably find Tessa, right? Say hi? Be polite? Also, where’s Tae? And Yoongi? Did they come together or—”

“Hobi.”

“—because I texted Tae like three times and he left me on read, which is rude, and Yoongi never answers anyway so that’s whatever, but I figured they’d be—”

“Hobi.”

“What?”

Jungkook just stares at him.

Hobi blinks. Grins. “Too much?”

“Little bit.”

“Fair.” He rolls his neck, that easy smile never dropping. “Lead the way, then. I’ll interrogate you about everyone’s whereabouts after I’ve claimed a bed.”

Jungkook snorts, already heading toward the stairs, and Hobi moves to follow—but he pauses at the edge of the kitchen, turning back to where you’re still standing with your sad, lukewarm mocha.

“Hey.” His whole face softens into something genuinely warm. “Good to see you.”

He lifts a hand in a little wave, fingers wiggling, and you find yourself smiling back despite everything.

“Hey, Hobi. Good to see you too.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing up the stairs after Jungkook, his voice already picking back up mid-question about room assignments and whether anyone’s claimed the good bathroom yet.

You stand there for a moment, alone in the kitchen again.

The vanilla coffee capsules sit in their row. Untouched. Mocking you.

You dump the rest of your mocha in the sink and go find the shower before anyone else wakes up.

Some people shouldn’t be allowed to exist before noon.

Tessa’s one of them. Standing there at the vanity with what looks like half a jar of moisturizer smeared across her face, hair wrapped up in some kind of microfiber towel turban, wearing a silk robe that probably costs more than your entire skincare routine combined—and somehow still managing to look like she belongs in a skincare commercial.

It’s genuinely offensive.

Not that she even needs the cream. You can see her skin underneath it, dewy and poreless and glowing with that specific luminosity that comes from good genetics and maybe a lifetime of never having to worry about anything, ever.

Must be nice.

You’d come here for two reasons: one, after Jason’s comment you had to see for yourself how incredible the communal bathroom was, curiosity had gotten the better of you. And two, when you’d gotten back to the room after taking that blessed, blessed Advil, Jason had already claimed the en-suite shower.

So. Here you are. In the legendary spa bathroom. Being confronted by Tessa’s skincare routine.

“Oh hey!” She waves at you through the mirror, all bright smile and easy warmth, like finding someone in her bathroom at nine in the morning is the highlight of her day.

You wave back. Try to arrange your face into something that resembles friendly instead of ‘I just had a weird moment with your sort-of-boyfriend in the kitchen and my body hasn’t fully recovered yet.’

“Hey.”

Nailed it.

Then you actually look around, and—

What the fuck.

This isn’t a bathroom. This is a… spa? Locker room? Some unholy combination of both that probably has its own zip code?

There are multiple vanities lined up along one wall, each with its own mirror and lighting setup. Multiple sinks. And beyond them—stalls. Actual shower stalls with frosted glass doors, like you’ve wandered into a very upscale gym by accident.

Except between the stalls there’s more frosted glass. Translucent panels instead of solid walls, letting light filter through the whole space in that annoyingly gorgeous way expensive spas do. You can barely make out movement through them—just vague shapes and shadows—but it’s enough to see if someone’s occupying the next stall over.

Rich people and their fucking design choices.

“First time seeing it?” Tessa asks, and there’s no judgment in her voice. Just genuine amusement.

“It’s, um.” You gesture vaguely at everything. “A lot.”

“Yeah.” She laughs, soft and easy. “Grandpa went a little overboard.”

Right.

Because some people have grandparents who build them entire bathroom complexes with interior designer-approved frosted glass panels instead of, say, giving them twenty bucks for their birthday and calling it a day.

You’re still staring at the stalls. Can’t help it. They’re nice—each one big enough to be a small room, with what looks like rainfall showerheads and built-in benches and probably heated floors because why the fuck not at this point.

Very zen. Very expensive. Very why.

“The stalls?” Tessa catches you looking.

“Sorry, I just—” You shake your head. “Why are there shower stalls? In a mansion?”

She doesn’t seem offended by the question. If anything, her smile goes softer, more nostalgic. “This used to be two bedrooms, actually. Grandpa had them converted when I was like… eight? Nine?”

“Converted into a communal bathroom?”

“For me and my friends.” She shrugs like this is a completely normal sentence. “We’d spend summers here, you know? Swimming in the pool, camping in the garden, riding the horses—”

Horses. Of course there are horses. Of course there’s a garden big enough to camp in. Of course there’s a pool and probably a tennis court and a helicopter pad and a small country tucked away somewhere behind the hedges.

“—and we’d get so gross after,” Tessa continues, completely oblivious to your internal class-consciousness spiral. “Chlorine and sweat and horse smell. So grandpa was like, okay, if there’s going to be six girls trying to shower at the same time, we need a system.”

Six girls. Showering simultaneously. In a bathroom custom-built by a doting grandfather.

Normal rich people things.

“That’s…” You search for the right word. Excessive? Insane? A level of casual wealth that makes your brain do jumping jacks? “Really sweet, actually.”

And it is, underneath all of it.

A grandpa who saw his granddaughter’s messy summer friendships and decided to renovate two entire rooms with fancy glass and spa aesthetics instead of just telling them to take turns.

There’s something almost wholesome about it, if you squint past the obvious ’we have more money than God’ of it all.

Tessa beams at you, and her smile does something complicated to your chest. Makes you feel small and petty for all the uncharitable thoughts you’re having.

She’s not showing off. She’s just… existing in her world, the same way you exist in yours.

It’s not her fault her world comes with horses and custom bathrooms.

“I miss them when they travel,” she says, quieter now. “My grandparents, I mean. The house feels weird without them.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Emotional vulnerability isn’t exactly your strong suit, especially not with people you barely know.

Tessa saves you by turning back to the mirror, unwrapping her hair from the towel turban with practiced movements. Her curls tumble down, wet and defined, and she starts scrunching them. Works some kind of cream through the ends, scrunching and squeezing, completely focused on the task.

Meanwhile, you’re standing here in yesterday’s clothes with your hair in a messy bun (but not the cute way, the ‘bird nest’ kind of way) that stopped being intentional approximately twelve hours ago.

Cool. Love that juxtaposition.

She twists her curls up, securing them with a scrunchie that matches her robe—because of course it does—and gives herself a final once-over in the mirror.

“Okay, I’m out of your hair.” She grabs a small bag from the counter. “Take your time! Towels are in the cabinet by the door.”

“Thanks.”

She’s almost to the door when she pauses, turning back.

“Oh—third stall has the best water pressure. Just FYI.”

And then she’s gone, leaving you alone in this ridiculous bathroom with its multiple stalls and heated floors and probably a bidet somewhere that plays classical music.

You catch your reflection in one of the vanities.

Yikes.

No, actually.

You look exactly like someone who got mediocre sleep, had confusing morning interactions with multiple people, and is currently operating on lukewarm mocha and spite.

Your skin is dull. Your eyes are tired. There’s a crease on your cheek from the pillow that hasn’t faded yet.

Tessa looked like a goddess with face cream on.

You look like a before photo in an acne medication commercial.

The comparison isn’t fair—you know it isn’t fair—but your brain makes it anyway. Catalogs all the ways you come up short. The ways Tessa is soft where you’re sharp, warm where you’re prickly, effortlessly beautiful where you’re… trying.

Always trying.

She’s the kind of girl who belongs in a place like this. Who fits into silk robes and custom bathrooms and probably looks amazing on horseback without even thinking about it.

You’re the kind of girl who’s still buzzing weirdly from a kitchen interaction that meant nothing and shouldn’t have affected you at all.

Get your shit together.

You grab a towel from the cabinet—soft, fluffy, probably Egyptian cotton or whatever rich people use—and head for the third stall after undressing and leaving your clothes in one of the lockers.

Might as well see what all the fuss is about.

The fuss, apparently, is a spaceship control panel masquerading as a shower.

You stare at the wall of buttons and dials and what might be a touchscreen interface, and your brain flat-lines. There are labels—tiny engraved words like ‘rainfall,’ ‘mist,’ ‘massage,’ ‘steam’—and you count at least twelve different settings before giving up.

Two shower heads. One fixed directly overhead, massive and round like a dinner plate. Another detachable, clipped to a holder at shoulder height.

And jets. Actual water jets built into the walls at various heights, because apparently standing under falling water is for peasants.

Rich people are insane.

You press the button that looks most like a power symbol—universal design language, please don’t fail you now—and water explodes from the overhead head in a perfect, even curtain.

Thank god.

The temperature’s already perfect. Warm but not scalding. Probably preset to some optimal number determined by scientists and luxury hotel consultants.

You press another button. The wall jets activate with a soft whoosh, and—

Oh.

Oh, Tessa wasn’t kidding about the pressure.

It hits your lower back in firm, pulsing streams, and your shoulders drop immediately. Every muscle you didn’t realize was tense suddenly isn’t.

Okay. Okay, this is… this is kind of incredible, actually.

You grab the eucalyptus shower gel from the built-in shelf—because of course there’s a built-in shelf, because of course it’s stocked with fancy products—and squeeze some into your palm. The scent hits immediately, sharp and clean, and you work it into foam between your hands.

Arms first. Shoulders. Clavicles.

The water pressure feels different now that you’re moving under it. More present. The jets hit your sides, your ribs, and you shift slightly to let them work across your back.

Then your breasts.

Your hands slow. Foam sliding over skin, slick and warm, and you cup them without thinking. Just—holding. Feeling the weight.

Jason didn’t touch them last night.

He… didn’t, did he? Clavicles, yeah. Briefly. But his hands stayed on your hips, your waist, never really—

Jungkook used to have a whole thing about them. Couldn’t keep his mouth away. Always had a nipple between his lips or his teeth or his tongue doing something that made your brain shut off entirely.

Your thumb brushes across your nipple. Accidental.

Except it wasn’t, you’re a liar, and the response is immediate—tightening, sensitivity spiking, and suddenly you’re very aware of the water pressure hitting your body.

Hitting everywhere.

No.

Nope. Absolutely not. You’re in someone’s grandparents’ house. In their custom-built bathroom. With a house full of people who could wake up at any moment and need to pee or brush their teeth or—

But the water jets are hitting your lower back, and if you just shifted slightly to the left—

You shift.

The angle changes. Water hits lower. Much lower.

Oh fuck.

That’s—

That’s really good.

Your hand finds the tile wall. Steadies you. The other stays on your breast because apparently your body’s made executive decisions without consulting your brain.

This is insane. You are insane. You already came last night—don’t be greedy—and this is someone’s grandpa’s bathroom and there are guests and—

You spread your legs wider.

The jet finds the right spot, and your breath catches.

Okay. Okay, this is happening. Apparently this is happening.

The pressure is perfect. Firm and constant and so much better than Jason’s finger-painting incident last night. So much better than zigzags, what the fuck even was that, circles are objectively superior, everyone knows circles are—

Jungkook always did circles.

These tight little motions with just enough pressure, fingers moving like he’d studied for it, like he’d memorized exactly what worked. And he’d watch your face the whole time, dark eyes tracking every reaction, making sure you were liking it.

He used to talk, too. Say the filthiest shit with that low voice, like he was narrating a porn movie, and you’d want to hit him for being so embarrassing about it but also—

Also it was kind of hot.

Really hot, actually, the way he’d tell you exactly what he was doing, what he was going to do, how good you felt, how wet you were, how pretty you looked when you—

The water hits just right and you bite down on your lip to keep quiet.

This is bad. Someone could walk in—the stall door isn’t locked, is it even lockable???—and you’d have to explain why you’re legs-spread under a water jet in a shower that probably costs more than your fucking car.

But your hand’s squeezing your breast now, thumb working over your nipple, and the water pressure is relentless and perfect and your brain is getting hazy around the edges.

Jungkook’s hands were always warm, and he’d squeeze just hard enough to make you gasp before his mouth would follow, and he’d hum against your skin like you tasted good, like he couldn’t get enough—

Stop.

Except you don’t want to stop.

Your eyes flick to the detachable shower head, still clipped in its holder, and your pulse spikes.

That would be—

That would be better.

More control. Better angle. You could aim it exactly where—

Your hand’s already reaching for it before you finish the thought.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You angle it down.

Jesus Christ.

The pressure from this thing is insane. Concentrated. Targeted. You adjust the angle slightly—just a little lower, just a bit more to the—

Oh fuck.

Oh fucking hell that feels way too good. Way too—

Your hand on the tile slips, palm sliding against wet porcelain, and you slap it over your mouth before any sound can escape.

You remember that time on the couch. His hands spreading your thighs wider, thumbs pressing into soft skin, opening you up so he could watch—actually watch—as you sank down on his cock. The way he’d stared like he was hypnotized, like he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

«Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.»

Said it so casually. Like it was normal, like you weren’t dying from embarrassment and arousal in equal measure.

Filthy bastard.

Problem is, you’d gotten used to it. Gotten used to the way he’d narrate everything, say the most mortifying shit with that raspy voice, make you want to ride him and—

Grown to like it, even.

Stupid. So stupid.

Footsteps.

Fuck.

You fumble with the shower head, nearly drop it, catch it against your stomach. Heart slamming. Brain scrambling to look normal, act normal, be normal—

The frosted glass is blurry. Distorted. Anyone walking past would just see vague shapes, right? Just the outline of someone showering. Nothing suspicious. Totally innocent.

You press back against the far wall of the stall, shower head clutched to your chest like a security blanket.

The footsteps get closer. Stop.

A stall door opens. Not yours. The one next to you—stall four, maybe?

The door closes.

You exhale slowly, trying to calm your pulse, and that’s when you smell it.

Rain.

Fresh and clean and exactly like—

No.

No.

You blink through the steam, eyes tracking sideways to the frosted glass panel separating your stall from the next one.

There’s a figure. Tall. Masculine. Moving around, and you can’t see details but you can see shape. The broad line of shoulders. The curve of an arm reaching up—

An arm covered in ink.

Tattoos running from wrist to shoulder, dark lines blurred by frosted glass but unmistakable. And that hand—you know that hand. Know exactly how those fingers look wrapped around—

Jungkook.

That’s Jungkook in the stall next to you.

You almost trip. Foot sliding on wet tile, catching yourself against the wall with an ungraceful thud that sounds loud as fuck in the enclosed space.

Shit shit shit.

Has he noticed? Did he hear you come in? The frosted glass is too distorted for him to see details, right? Right?

The figure shifts, turning slightly, and you whip around. Face the opposite wall. Keep showering like a normal person having a normal shower in a normal bathroom where totally normal things are happening.

Except your pulse is hammering and the shower head is still in your hand and you’re very aware of how not-showering you were approximately thirty seconds ago.

Deep breath. Just—shower. Rinse your hair. Be normal.

You reach up, running your free hand through your hair, letting water cascade over your face. Acting out what normal showering should look like.

But then—

Your eyes drift. You glance over your shoulder.

The figure in the next stall is washing his hair. Both arms raised, working through dark strands, and you can see that tattooed arm moving.

You remember that hand guiding yours lower. Wrapping your fingers around his cock. Showing you the rhythm he liked, the pressure, the—

Your hand trembles. The shower head shifts.

“Ngh—”

The sound is quiet. Muffled. But unmistakable.

And it didn’t come from you.

Your head whips toward the frosted glass.

The figure’s posture has changed. Head forward now, one forearm braced against the tile wall. And there’s movement below his waist, sound of skin on skin, wet and slick and—

Is he—

Is he seriously—

He’s jerking off.

Right there. Right now. In the shower stall next to yours.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck is he doing? This is—you’re literally right there. Right on the other side of a thin panel of frosted glass.

Does he know? Did he realize you’re here and decide to just—

Or did he not notice at all?

Is he just—what, so horny after his morning run that he couldn’t wait? Had to rub one out in the shower like a teenager?

The slapping sounds continue. Steady. Unhurried.

Your thoughts scatter. Trying to process this information and failing spectacularly.

But also—

The shower head has drifted. You didn’t mean to move it. Didn’t consciously decide to angle it back down, back to where it was, but your hand apparently has a mind of its own because suddenly—

Oh.

Oh fuck you forgot how good the pressure was.

Your knees nearly buckle.

And you can hear him. Can hear the water hitting his skin, his breathing—is it heavier now? It sounds heavier. Sounds like he’s getting closer, working himself faster, and—

You shouldn’t be listening. Shouldn’t be standing here with a goddamn shower head between your legs while your former fuck buddy jerks off three feet away.

This is insane.

But your hips angle anyway. Chasing the pressure. Finding the exact position that makes it good.

His breathing changes. Gets rougher.

Your free hand finds the tile wall again. Splayed flat. Holding you upright.

This is so fucked up.

So completely fucked up.

But your thighs are shaking and the heat is building and you bite down hard on your lip to keep quiet, keep silent, because if you make a sound—any sound—he’ll know. He’ll know exactly what you’re doing and you’ll never be able to look at him again.

The slapping sounds speed up.

Your hand tightens on the shower head.

Fuck.

He’s trying to stay quiet.

You can tell by the way the sounds get trapped in the back of his throat—these bitten-off groans that he’s clearly trying to swallow down but can’t quite manage. Can’t quite control.

And the sounds.

Thwop thwop thwop.

Wet. Rhythmic. Getting faster.

He must be using the shower gel. Has to be. That’s the only explanation for why it sounds so—so fucking obscene. Slick and quick and you can practically hear his grip tightening, his hand moving faster, and—

This is insane.

You’re insane.

You’re a pervert. A fucking creep. Getting turned on by your ex fuck buddy rubbing his morning wood out in the shower next to you like some kind of—

His breathing gets rougher. Harsher. You hear him exhale hard through his nose, trying to not make sounds, biting them off, trying to keep it together, but he’s failing and that’s—

That’s really fucking hot, actually.

Your free hand clamps over your mouth. Fingers digging into your cheek. Holding back the sounds that want to escape because if you make any noise—

Thwop thwop thwop thwop.

Faster now. Desperate. His rhythm’s breaking, getting erratic, and you can hear him fighting it. Fighting to stay silent while he—

“Ngh—”

The sound is bitten off. Muffled. But you heard it.

Your thighs start shaking.

Did he even see you come in? Does he know you’re here or is he just—what, jerking off obliviously three feet away from you while you do the exact same thing and neither of you acknowledges it?

He didn’t see you. You didn’t see him. Nothing’s happening. You’re both just showering. Totally normal showers. Nothing else.

Except you can hear him. Can hear every bitten-back sound, every sharp inhale, every wet slap of his hand moving faster, tighter, and your brain is supplying images it has no business supplying right now—

His hand wrapped around his cock. Thumb swiping over the head. That little twist he does at the tip because he knows it feels good. The way his abs would tense. The way his jaw would clench. The way he’d look right before he—

“Mhm—”

You bite down on your knuckle. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to keep any sound from escaping.

Through the frosted glass, you see his shadow shift. His head—

It turns.

Slightly. Just a fraction. Toward you.

Did he—

Can he—

Your eyes squeeze shut as the orgasm hits, crashes through you in waves. Sharp and overwhelming. Your whole body locks up, thighs clenching, free hand slamming against the tile to keep you upright, teeth sinking onto your lower lip while the shower head stays exactly where it is, water pulsing against your clit through the aftershocks.

Your vision whites out. Goes fuzzy. Every muscle trembling.

“F-fuck—”

His voice. Rough and broken and right there.

And you hear it. Hear the exact moment he cums. The way his breathing stops, stutters, restarts. The slapping sounds cut off abruptly, replaced by a low groan he can’t quite swallow.

Your eyes snap open.

His head is forward again. Not turned. Facing the wall like it never moved.

Did you imagine it? The turning? Did your brain just—supply that detail because you wanted it to be real?

He couldn’t have looked. The frosted glass is too distorted. He couldn’t have seen you.

Right?

Right?

The water’s still running in both stalls. You can hear him breathing. Hear the shift of movement as he—what, cleans up? Rinses off?

Did you imagine it?

Did he actually turn toward you or did your oxygen-deprived brain just—

Doesn't matter.

You need to leave.

Right now. Immediately. Before he finishes his shower and comes out and sees you and somehow just knows what you did.

Your hands are shaking as you hang the shower head back in its holder. As you turn off the jets. As you grab the towel from the hook outside the stall and wrap it around yourself with movements that feel mechanical and disconnected.

The water in his stall is still running.

Good. Perfect. Time to go.

You don't let yourself look at the frosted glass again. Don't let yourself think about what just happened or what he was doing or whether he knew you were there or—

Move.

You grab your clothes. Clutch them to your chest. Your hair is dripping everywhere and you don't care. Don't care about anything except getting out of this bathroom.

You're out the door before your brain catches up with your body.

The hallway is blessedly empty. No witnesses to your walk of shame. No one to see you fleeing a bathroom like you've committed a crime.

Which you kind of have.

Morally, at least.

You make it back to your room. Close the door. Lean against it.

Your pulse is still racing. Your skin is still flushed. Your legs are still shaking.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck did you just do.

You just—you just masturbated in a shower stall while listening to Jungkook jerk off in the one next to you. In someone's grandparents' house. While your boyfriend—sort-of-boyfriend—whatever-Jason-is—slept soundly in the bed you'd had mediocre sex in last night.

You're a terrible person.

A genuinely terrible, morally bankrupt person.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that you're pretty sure you came harder just now than you did last night with Jason.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025

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

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

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

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

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

Someone just climbed into your bed.

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

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

That's it.

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

"AHHH—WHAT THE F—!"

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

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

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

"I was looking for Jieun!"

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

"I thought this was her bed!"

"Do I sound like Jieun?!"

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

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

And there he is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare at him.

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

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

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

"Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Usually," he shrugs.

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

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

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

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

You stare at him. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

You pause. That…is not incorrect.

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. "Get out!"

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

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

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

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

God help you.

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

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

But instead of caffeine, you get Jungkook. Perfect.

"Hey, bestie."

You flinch so hard your pen skitters off the desk.

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

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

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

You raise a skeptical brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate how disarming it is.

"You done soon?" he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him like he's actually insane.

He stares at the muffins.

"Banana walnut it is," you nod.

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

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

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

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

"What if I die?"

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

He nods solemnly. "Deal."

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

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

"Don't judge me."

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

You watch him, waiting for the verdict.

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

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

"Who knew I liked nuts?"

"I did. You're welcome."

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

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

You nearly choke. "Over a muffin?"

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

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

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

"Thanks for coming with me."

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

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

Just…friendship.

—

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

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

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

"You're gonna get salmonella and die."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raises a brow. "Baking?"

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

He laughs.

You don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods slowly, his eyes downcast.

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

You tilt your head, looking over at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh, loud and sincere.

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

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

—

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

He's awake in an instant.

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

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

His heart drops. "Are you okay?"

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

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

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

"I'll be there in ten."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him, stunned into silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

He brightens. "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

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

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

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

"And you wound women," you chuckle.

"Wow. That hurt, ___."

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

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

He blinks. "What do you mean?"

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

He pouts, actually pouts.

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

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

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

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

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

"And your other girls do?"

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

You roll your eyes. "Poor baby."

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

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

"Oh, here we go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Happily ever after, huh?" he teases.

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

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

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

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

"Maybe it will."

"It won't," he laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

He has no idea what he does to people.

Especially you.

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

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

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

His phone buzzes on the bed. Just once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, forcing a smile.

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

But Jungkook will never be yours.

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

And you're sure you can live with that.

Ten years later...

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

And yet, ten years later, here you are.

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

You grew up together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's been your most loyal customer ever since.

Which brings you to now.

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

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

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

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

"Your usual time is 7:20."

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

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

"Yes, exactly," he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Delusional," you chuckle.

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

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

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

"Lemon butter cream cup maybe?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I had a feeling."

"You always have a feeling."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And I mean it every morning."

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

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

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

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

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

"Because I need you."

You pause. "You do?"

"It's an invitation actually."

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

"My father's engagement party. Shocker."

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

"Engagement or father?" he grins.

"Both."

"Engagement number ten. Father number one."

You blink. "Ten?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what?" You chuckle.

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

You chuckle. "Aren't they always?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kookie?" you whisper.

He grimaces. "Don't."

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

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

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

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

You almost choke on your champagne. "No."

"Yes," he grins sarcastically.

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

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

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

You smile, nodding. "Very pretty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And we share," you remind him.

"We always share."

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

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

"I love that," you murmur softly.

Jungkook follows your gaze. "What? Dancing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh so loudly someone glances over at your table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Speaking of being spontaneous…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

"That's…wow, that's amazing, ___."

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

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

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

"You like big jumps."

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

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

You glare at him but your laughter slips out effortlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, I'd bring a GPS."

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

"You think I'll do well?"

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

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

"You sure you'll survive without me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh no," he whispers.

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

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

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

"Uhm…who is that?" you whisper.

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

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

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

"I wish."

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

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

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

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

You wheeze.

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

You stop laughing, your smile fading.

"Who said that?"

He stares at you.

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

You gasp. "I did not say that!"

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

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

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

You're already laughing again.

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

"Wait, what?"

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" you chuckle.

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

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

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

"That was also true."

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

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

"What is it?" he asks softly.

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

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

His entire body goes still, his eyes growing wide.

"You what?"

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

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

"I'm not."

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

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

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

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

He laughs, loud and delighted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So…London," you murmur softly.

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

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

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

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

You smile, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

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

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

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

"Your secret's safe with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Three months," he echoes.

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

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

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

"And you'll video call me?"

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

"That was one time," he chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Definitely not. It couldn't be.

—

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

And you feel more alive than ever.

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

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

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

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

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

A vintage Beatles t-shirt.

A Big Ben keychain.

A tiny corgi plush.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or we both are," you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

"___," you smile, shaking it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're very welcome, Miss ___."

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd love to."

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

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

—

It all starts with a simple coffee date.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

"Wanna watch a movie?" he offers.

You shake your head, smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow thickly, sensing a shift in the air.

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

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

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

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

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

Your head tilts in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't say anything right away.

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

Namjoon watches your expression carefully, waiting patiently.

Then, cautiously, he smiles.

"Will you marry me?"

—

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

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

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

He goes out a lot in June.

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

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

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

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

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

It's the familiar curve of your smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

The days blur and the nights stretch endlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My point still stands," Seokjin shrugs.

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

Seokjin notices first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's not spiral," Wonwoo mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook nods.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath catches at the sight of you.

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

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

But then he sees him.

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

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

"Sir, excuse m—"

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

"Shit—!"

"Oh my goodness—Jungkook?!"

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

Jungkook winces, pushing himself up to sit.

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

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

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

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

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

The waiter is taken aback, and so are you.

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

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

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

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

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

And he waits.

Waits for you to explain.

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

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

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

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

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

His voice sounds normal but his chest feels hollow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is wrong.

Everything has gone so terribly wrong.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maid of honor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seokjin winces. "Yikes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I know them?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She almost broke my nose," he groans.

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

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

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

The doorbell rings right on cue.

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

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

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

And finally…Lisa, your beloved cousin.

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

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

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

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

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

The tension is very palpable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, right. Right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, no kidding," Jungkook mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You just did."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok’s eyes shifted between you and Jungkook, tensing up at your question. He seemed not only confused but upset. Your eyes didn’t miss the soju bottle next to him. The sight left you even more than perplexed . Why was Jungkook seemingly having a casual drink with the same boy he had threatened before? How had he managed to lure him into the apartment in the first place? How was he here? The worst of thoughts began to emerge in your head.

“That’s a little rude, isn’t it?” Jungkook feigned innocence, leaning in to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear like he often did in endearment. However, in this particular moment nothing about it felt sweet or endearing. “Considering you’re the one who invited him over.”

What?

Your face scrunched up in complete astonishment. You slapped his hand away and put more space between the two of you.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t invite anyone.” Your voice wentup in pitch towards the end. “What’s going on?”

You look between the both of them, they shared a swift knowing glance at each other before Jungkook locked his gaze onto you again.

What was that?

Something was so off. Not only were you terribly confused but it felt familiar almost, terribly familiar. It didn’t feel as if you had walked in on a clear betrayal. It felt as if you had walked into some sick kind of inside joke. A set up meant to leave you in the dark. It didn’t felt like you were the one that deserved an explanation.

But you noticed one thing. Jungkook’s prying eyes poorly concealed something else in them. Seething jealousy. A shudder left you as you braced for what he was going to do. You’ve messed up horribly.

You felt Hoseok’s eyes on you now too, his expression changing into a frown as he studied you.

“I told you,” Jungkook spoke, his dark eyes didn’t stray from you but he was clearly addressing the other man in the room. “She was playing you.”

You snap your head back at Hoseok in shock at the words coming out of Jungkook’s mouth. You weren’t expecting them but they helped confirm your suspicions. The puzzle pieces were still scattered but you slowly began to watch them fit together as you took in everything in front of you.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What the hell are you talking about!” You shrieked out but immediately took a deep breath, feeling yourself start to lose control of the emotions overwhelming you. A need to reel yourself back in took over, a part of you afraid of triggering another panic attack that you couldn’t handle at the moment. You flared your arms up as you neared towards Hoseok who looked more upset by the second.

“You texted me.” Hoseok stated shaking his head at you. “You sent me this location and told me to come over, that you were ‘really needed me right now’.”

You stare at him, freezing in your steps as you rapidly shake your head in denial. What was he talking about? Had Jungkook taken your phone somehow without your knowledge? But how? He hadn’t asked you to unlock your phone the other day. You hadn’t texted Hoseok since yesterday, vaguely giving him a run down of your day. In fact, you had been texting him far less these days as you were determined to still let him down gently. You figured it was working. Which is why you couldn’t believe your eyes at him being here. You would never tell him to meet you anywhere. Not with Jungkook’s inquisitive nature that you had barely escaped earlier. Let alone lead him right into a lion’s den.

“No, no.” You explained, pointing towards Jungkook. “He must’ve contacted you somehow, I never texted you! I don’t understand what the fuck is going on but I never texted you that!”

This was ridiculous. You gripped your bag and slung it off your shoulder. You began to search for your phone, eagerly needing to provide proof of this insane claim but Hoseok continued his accusation.

“You told me you broke up with him yet you led me directly to your very much still boyfriend’s place.” He continued you with a scoff. “The text came from your contact. What the hell are you doing? Why lie about something like that? Is this a sick game or some shit?”

The text came from you.

That was literally impossible. Jungkook didn’t know your passcode.

Did he?

Even if he did, you would’ve noticed he went through it. Wouldn’t you? You didn’t recall leaving your phone unattended. Or did you? The days here didn’t even feel real, you were struggling to recall much of anything right now. But most of all, you didn’t like the guilt you felt at the thought of Jungkook going through your phone. You should be angry and you were but another part of you also felt ashamed. It felt exactly like what you had felt that morning he confronted you about your phone and how you had thought you fooled him successfully for once.

The walls were closing in on you as you finally found your phone. Your fingers shook while tapping against the screen.

“She lied.” Jungkook chimed in. From the corner of your eye you could see him still observing you as he walked right over to the island. “She does this whenever we have a fight, she just wants attention.”

No.

No.

No.

You swallowed, your eyes stinging with newfound tears as you opened your texts, easily finding Hoseok’s contact that you placed under a girl’s name. Your closed your eyes tightly, letting out a silent curse. You were right there was no texts of you sending a message to meet up, your screen just showed the many texts of you casually talking and politely declining to meet up with him. But it was then you realized your mistake.

These messages didn’t rid you of any guilt. They only dug your grave further.

You had been deceptive. Not with malicious intent but you had been nonetheless. You had lied to not only Hoseok, but to Jungkook.The latter unsurprisingly filled you with much more dread. No matter which way you looked at it, this looked exactly how he intended it to look like. The story of an unfaithful lover that had been caught red handed with another man by her husband.

Jungkook fit the part with ease with the way his demeanor promised silence before the storm. The forced coolness in his tone was hiding a beast beneath it. You suppose you fit the part too by how dry your mouth had gotten. You found yourself suddenly not wanting to meet his scrutinizing gaze. You went behind his back, didn’t you? You lay in his bed every night, ate his food, enjoyed his luxurious and in return you sneak around. Did you not deserve his wrath? Perhaps you deserved much more.

Another skipped heartbeat.

What was wrong with you? The rational side of you was slipping away little by little. It knew well that this wasn’t your fault but your feelings were fighting strongly against all rationality. If it wasn’t your fault then why were you hesitating to show them your phone? If you were so innocent then why did you feel so dirty? You gripped your phone painfully tight officially panicking as you delayed to turn it over like you were so eagerly planning on doing a moment ago. How could you be so idiotic? Why didn’t you delete these texts? Why didn’t you block him all together? You’ve not only screwed yourself over but you’ve taken Hoseok down with you.

Jungkook seemed to notice your struggle, his mask slightly slipping.

“ What’s the matter, baby?” The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. “Show your proof.”

He practically spit out the last word, twisted amusement taking over his gaze. You felt your lips tremble as you tried your hardest to swallow down a sob.

“Jungkook.” You pleaded with wide eyes. “Please, why are you doing this?”

His expression sharpened at that. Instead of taking pity in you, like you foolishly assumed he might, he glared daggers at you. His weakness seemed to be seeing you break and seeing you break down in tears. As sick as it was he did once tell you he hated to see you cry and you cling to that slither of hope that would appeal to his more softhearted side. But of course you should’ve known better than to trust you had Jungkook figured out in the slightest.

“Me?” He asked you incredulously, his mask fully falling now as you saw his eyes flash with a familiar type of hurt you had seen in them before. The same type of hurt when you had yelled at him that you would never love him. You took yet another cautious step back, surprised at how much the look seemed to leave you completely chilled this time. You didn’t remember feeling this breathless last time you had caused it.

“How do you have the audacity to say that to me.” He sneered at you and one stride towards you had him closing most of the space you’d been creating between you. “How about you turn over the phone screen and show me how much you’ve been lying to my face?”

Another step.

“How about you tell me exactly where you’ve been all day.”

Another skipped heartbeat.

He knew where’d you been.

“No.” You continued to shake your head and turned your frantic gaze towards the other poor man in the room.

“Hoseok, you need to listen to me. This isn’t what it looks like, he’s doing this on purpose to-"

Jungkook’s cruel laugh cut you off, he ran a hand through his dark locks in disbelief. You watched in horror as he played the betrayed boyfriend role so convincingly because he genuinely did feel like you betrayed him. You felt your chest ache at the sight. Why did it ache? Why did it hurt to see him like this? Not only had you not even sent that message to Hoseok but you didn’t owe Jungkook any sense of loyalty. You didn’t owe him anything.

But the broken look in the large doe eyes that you had spent every night looking into since you got here made you feel like you owed him the world. You saw the corner of his lip twitch as he tried to blink away his glossy stare.

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” Jungkook stated with determination. So sure of himself. He tilted his head to the side, turning to Hoseok. “Did you know what she had just finished doing just before she received your adorable first text?”

You stiffen at his implication and at the way he comes up behind you. His breath tickles your ear as his fingers come to brush your hair out of your face and wraps his other arm around your waist. You let out a small gasp. The hand on your hair slowly runs down the back of your neck and inner shoulder. The cold sensation of his rings making you involuntarily shiver.

“Or rather who she was doing.” Before you can react, he pulls you further into him and places a kiss on the top of your head. “You have no idea how pretty she looks on top of me.”

Your jaw hung at his awful crude words and you harshly pull yourself away from him, quickly putting back the previous distance in between you. Your face felt like it was on fire. You had nearly forgotten the undeniable mean streak Jungkook possessed. It had been easy to pretend it had never existed with how sweetly he had treated you all this time you’ve shared his space and his bed. How quickly had you forgotten the many sides of him, the ugly sides that came out when things didn’t go his way and when his doll had overstepped her restraints.

But it was obvious that this was more than Jungkook being cruel, he was making a point. Staking his claim.

“Stop it! What’s wrong with you?” You didn’t need to even look towards Hoseok’s direction to know how incredibly uncomfortable he was. It was clear in the way he cleared his throat and went to stand up.

“There wasn’t a need for all of this, I would’ve never asked you out if I’d known you two had just been on some kind of break.”

“We never broke up, she just loves making me jealous whenever we have ….disagreements.” Jungkook replied for you with a smirk spreading on his lips that reminded you of a devious child.

You were breathing heavily now, struggling to ground yourself as you felt the awful dread start traveling through you once again. It was triggered and you couldn’t do anything to stop it now. You had mere seconds left before your mind was burdened by sheer panic.

“She was just using you, unfortunately you were the perfect bait.” Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you. You watched nervously as he walked back over to the counter and leaned on it, directly facing Hoseok. You could practically hear his grin. “You need to realize how girls work, you seem a bit inexperienced .“

Your phone dropped with a loud ‘clank’ but the two men didn’t seem to even notice it. It may have looked like you simply threw it to onto the floor in rage but your hands hand not stopped shaking. You felt the hideous need to run your nails down your arms and face . It was taking great effort not to do so, you opted for running them down frantically through your hair instead. He was turning the tables completely and successfully. He was playing this off as a typical unsteady relationship where he made you look like the dramatic girlfriend who was simply acting out when there was trouble in paradise.

Hoseok let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he stood up from his seat. He seemed to be completely over it.

“Whatever, you need to tell your crazy girlfrie-"

“You need to learn to take threats more seriously. I told you to stay away from her .” You heard Jungkook cut him off with now a much less neutral tone. All casualness gone. You didn’t need to look at him to know why the air seemed heavier now, you wanted to tell Hoseok to be quiet and not poke him further but you could barely focus your spiraling mind on anything other than the feeling of your chest tightening.

“Listen, I didn’t think it was all that serious. She never actually told me she had a boyfriend. You can’t blame me for not knowing right?” There was a slight defensiveness to how Hoseok said it and you couldn’t help but feel bad. He’d been blindsided completely. When he spared a glance at you his face scrunched up in seeming concern at your worsening state of panic.

“Right.” Jungkook nodded. His grin still present but it faltered a little when he noticed Hoseok’s gaze on you.

“Hoseok, please listen to me. I-I did lie but it wasn’t because of what he’s saying. I wasn’t playing with you. At first I was trying to-” A frustrated sigh left you as you tried to figure out how to explain yourself. You couldn’t tell him the complete truth, not in front of Jungkook. His menacing blackmail still hovered over you like your own personal grey cloud.

“To let you down easily.” You cringed at your confession. It sounded much worse saying it out loud and you saw Jungkook raising both his eyebrows in mocking manner. You glared at the realization that hit you.

He knew you wouldn’t able to explain yourself. That’s why he brought Hoseok here. He wanted to see you cower and admit your mistake in front of him with no way out. Perhaps he even knew he’d trigger your anxiety by doing so. He’s managed to gather every key that unlocked your weaknesses.

Hoseok clenched his jaw, his lips set in a straight line. He looked like he couldn’t wait to sprint out the door. You knew you’d find no help in him or hope he’d see through Jungkook’s manipulation anymore. Now he was convinced you’ve dragged him into some unnecessary relationship drama.

“How considerate of you, baby.” Jungkook continued his taunting but you heard his true displeasure beneath it. He turned his attention back to Hoseok and circled the other side of the island where he sat.

The apartment was starting to feel much smaller than you recalled.

“So now that we cleared that up and there’s no room for pesky excuses . I would very much like you to stay the fuck out of my relationship. “

You flinched at the venom in his tone. The rage he’d been burying coming to the surface and poured itself all over the last sentence.

Seeing just how close Jungkook had gotten to him wasn’t helping your growing panic. He was taller than Hoseok but that wasn’t what was intimidating about him. It was his entire demeanor sending off such drastic mixed signals .There was nothing worse than not knowing how to predict an opponent in the slightest.

Jungkook placed a rough hand on Hoseok’s shoulder.

You swore your heart stopped.

“And I suggest you start by blocking my girlfriend’s number from your phone and forget she ever existed to you.” He leaned into Hoseok’s ear, his eyes tracing back to you as that mean lazy smile remained on his lips. From the outside it seemed like the typical comrade bro hug, almost friendly in manner. Two good-looking college boys sharing some type of gossip.

“I’d hate to show you what a name like mine can do to a nobody like you.” If he had meant to whisper it then he failed terribly because you had heard his threat perfectly. “Money talks a lot around here, I’m sure you know that. I could make you lose everything you’ve worked for or come very close to it. You won’t get a second warning.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Or minutes. You really couldn’t tell.

“I get it, I swear I don’t want any problems.” Hoseok replied sounding more peeved than shaken by your insane ‘boyfriend’s’ words. He probably assumed he was just another entitled rich boy who was throwing around empty threats because his ego was hurt.

He’d be half right but there was a lot more wrong with Jungkook than his spoilt attitude and those threats were not as empty as he thought.

Jungkook stared at him for a long moment, whether to take in his words or perhaps looking for an indication of a lie you weren’t sure but once he seemed satisfied he gave him a slow nod.

“Good.” He finally took a step away from him and grabbed the soju bottle next to him, shoving it into Hoseok’s chest. “Need me to call for an Uber? I heard bus fares are quite high nowadays.”

Hoseok’s face flushed but you were certain it wasn’t due to the alcohol.

“I can walk.” He grumbled as he began to walk towards the front door.

“Suit yourself.” Jungkook flashed him another smile, this time displaying his perfect teeth. It was an uncanny sight.

You hated yourself for not even managing to get a another word out, too engrossed in your own doomsday. The fleeing sensation of humiliation didn’t have room to properly settle, overridden by much more powerful emotions that never shared their home in your tortured mind. The nails were now starting to dig into your arms, you barely felt Hoseok walk past but you for sure didn’t miss l the last nasty glance he sent your way before the sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the room.

An immediate sob left your lips, your knees slowly gave out and you let yourself fall against the cold ceramic tiles. You lifted your head up slightly, watching the man in front of you with tears pooling your vision. He had never not been quick to comfort you during your attacks but this time he simply stood there with no intention of running to comfort you. Instead he let out a sigh, his eyes remained on the door with an odd look on his face. For a moment, it seemed like he was holding back a sob himself. His eyes shifting to the corner of the room before over to you. He bit his bottom lip harshly as he ran a hand over his face.

“Why the tears baby? You caused this.” He muffled into his own hands, turning his back to you. You watched his long legs paced back and forth between the small space of where you lay. Watching him run his fingers run over his now messy hair.

You continued to sob quietly, breaths growing more shallow. How could he say that to you? You had caused this?

“Get up. We need to get you into a cold shower if you want to feel better.” You heard him order as he struggled to contain a steady tone. He turned around, placing a hand on the marble counter and leaning his weight on it causing his muscles to flex underneath his thin t-shirt. His bottom lip was now swollen and red. Eyes puffy and distraught.

It was so unfair. All of it.

“You hacked my phone, didn’t you? Because I didn’t send that text to Hoseok and how else would you have known….where I was.” You muttered the last part mostly to yourself, the idea becoming more of a fact than a theory. You had assumed he had simply followed you but if he had gone as far as hacking your phone then he surely would’ve used it to track your location.

There was no way he had followed you either, the timing wouldn’t have made much sense and you were certain you would’ve spotted his car at some point considering how careful you had been the entire commute there.

You jump suddenly at the sound of his hand slamming down harshly on the counter.

“No shit.” Jungkook spit out and you draw back. The abrupt action caught you off guard. You had never witnessed him physically express his anger before.

“Now.get.up.” He repeated. “I can’t help you if you’re sobbing on the floor.”

“I don’t want anything from you!” You shouted back, sending him the most hateful look you could muster. He blinked, eyebrows furrowing as still he refused to look your way but you swore you saw a flash of regret on his face.

He took a deep breath and regained most of his composure. His jaw clenched.

“What did you expect? Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? There will be no secrets between us. I won’t allow it.”

Well, wasn’t that just rich coming from him.

“No secrets? I-I know what you did.” You accused in between sobs, your hands planted firmly on the floor as you shifted your body weight towards your right leg that left you in an awkward sitting position. It was hard to ignore the chills running down your entire body, your mind struggled to focus on what you wanted to scream at him.

He turned his head to look down at you. His penetrating gaze meeting yours at last.

“I know that you were the one that made my professor accuse me of plagiarism.” You said after another intake of breath. “ You did it, didn’t you? You blackmailed him! Just like you did to me. Just like you do to everyone in order to get your way. I don’t know with what but you did.”

He was silent. Just quietly looking at you.

Your short breaths only quickened, the horrible feeling coming in waves, stopping then gaining more force. You felt like you were stuck in a mid fall. It felt like years passed before Jungkook slowly made his way over to you, your eyes traced over the slight twitch of his fingers and cubic steel bracelet around his wrist. He bent down to your level and you felt his fingers lifting your chin up at him. You knew he could feel you shaking because he angled your face towards him again when you tried to look off to the side, his set gaze halting your rapid eye movements.

“Seems like a little birdie has been talking.” He whispered to you, he almost sounded disappointed. “That just won’t do, baby.”

You felt the sudden urge to slap him but you went to push him away instead. He caught your arms before you could do so, pushing them towards his chest and pulling your whole body closer to him. His actions were rough and careless. An indicator of just how much you’ve pissed him off this time. You could feel your teeth chattering now, your panic attack reaching its peak as you felt your vision blur. It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice all over you except you wished someone actually had just to rid you of this feeling.

“You know she’s right, you know I’m right. That’s why you’re so upset.” You went on as you squirmed in his hold.

“How easily you’ve forgotten what she’s done to you. Is it that easy to fool you, baby? Does that bitch really have such a tight hold on you still that you that you accept her words as truth without question?” He sounded a parent scolding a small foolish child over taking sweets from a stranger.

He was wrong. Your once all-consuming love for Eunji had turned into a grudge that you couldn’t shake off. She might’ve been a horrible friend but why would she lie about something like that? It seemed too specific. It seemed like she knew more than she was willing to admit and for some reason that only angered you more. She knew more yet she had given you crumbs in return. Was that the plan all along or was she making you a victim of her selfish bitterness again? Even after everything, it was hard for you to believe she hated you that much.

Because you had seen it. You had seen a fragment of sincerity in her eyes earlier. A small piece of pity, no matter how fleeing.

“Ask your little boyfriend what he was doing walking into Professor Clark’s classroom a few weeks ago.”

You swore you had heard it in her voice too. As if she had been doing you one last favor. Granting you one last bit of kindness for all those years spent together being thrown away. But the more you ponder over it, the more Jungkook’s planted seed of doubt began to grow its roots. Had you only seen what you had hoped to?

“You accuse me of lying to you over some gossip your little fake friend filled your head with? It didn’t take long for you to go running back into her arms, did it? Where is your pride?” The disgust in his voice would be hard to fake and you had to look away from the sheer sincerity in it.

“I didn’t run back to her! I wanted answers and-"

“And did you find them?” He cut you off, eyes searching your face like something in it had already granted him the answer. “No, of course you didn’t baby. You let her have the last laugh again.”

Again

“How would she know to make that connection and why would she lie about her seeing you walk into our professor’s classroom weeks ago.” You hissed back at him eagerly grasping to take control of the conversation that he had so easily overpowered in seconds.

God, you really couldn’t breathe.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re asking me why a girl that has been jealous and spiteful towards you for years would try and scheme against you for sleeping with her ex-boyfriend! ” Jungkook sneered back and you flinched at the sudden raise of volume in his voice.

“Lying comes as easily as breathing to some. Haven’t you learned that by now? You really are more naive than I thought if you have yet to realize how unkind this world is and how often people like you get trampled over.”

You let out another quivering sob, growing more and more upset by his words. You might be naive but you weren’t that naive to not realize that he wasn’t the one who should be saying this to you. Him of all people. It felt like a stab in the chest. Jungkook lets go of your arms and brings them to cradle your face in his hands instead. His thumbs wiping away your never ending tears. His action is meant to be gentle but his grip is so tight that you feel his nails digging slightly into your skin.

“I’ve only ever tried to protect you, baby. Protect you from her and from yourself.” His hot breath sent waves of shock through you, you felt his lips lightly graze your own. “How many times must I save you from her? And from everyone who has ill intentions towards you before you realize it’s only ever going to be me.”

He lifted one hand from your cheek to carress your hair, those glossy doe eyes pulling you in and tugging at the invisible strings on your limbs and heart.

“How many times must I prove my love to you?”

This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

It felt like something much stronger. Much too different. Your love for Eunji had never felt this overwhelming. It never felt like you were being lulled to a perfect sleep, just to be suddenly plunged into a free fall. This didn’t feel anything like a secret held close to your chest, your heart skipping a beat everytime you used to see her even when you’d already seen her three times before that day. How giddy you felt at her accidental touches. How much you seemed to please her and never wanted to see her in pain. How easily it came to you to want to fix all her minor inconveniences.

No, this felt nothing like that. It wasn’t a secret. It didn’t allow itself to be. It was too loud. Too ugly. Whatever you had felt for Eunji, it felt five times more heightened with Jungkook. His presence felt like too much yet like there was never enough of it to actually violate you. It fit you in a way you were so frightened to admit. He had taken a piece of you that you never agreed on giving him. Yet it was that very foreign feeling that had you craving him in moments you shouldn’t have. In nearly all hours of a day. You were frightened at what you had been feeling these past two weeks sharing his space. Completely terrified at what he had managed to make you feel for him in such little time.

Even now, he felt so familiar yet so untouchable.

“This isn’t love.” You replied back in a broken whisper. It was mistake and you realized it quickly but it was too late to take it back. You blamed your overly emotional state for the thoughtless response.

A few beats of silence passed with only your uneven breaths filling the room. Jungkook continued to caress your hair before the corners of his lips twitched. An almost sad small appearing on them.

“Fine.” Another few beats of silence. The heavy air lingered.

You licked your dry lips as he retrieved his hand completely from you. Your eyes tracked the movement before they landed on the unreadable look on his face.

“ If you think I’m such a monster, I promise I will show you how easily I can make that come true for you. ” He stated lowly, dark eyes taking in your features again. “And it will make everything else I’ve done pale in comparison.”

His words sink in.

You hadn’t wanted that all and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so disturbed. It rattled you to the core. You jumped forward to try and salvage what was left of the ruin you may have caused yourself and others.

“Jungkook n-no. I don’t want that. I don’t think that of you.” Breathlessly you pleaded with him. Not even a minute ago you wanted to rid yourself of his touch on you and now you were bringing your own hands to his face. The roles reversing with haste.

“But you just said it, baby. You don’t think this is love.” His sharp look was not budging. “What choice do you leave me if you won’t even believe my feelings for you after everything I’ve done? I’ll have to make you see it, one way or another.”

One way or another. That could mean so many things for someone like him and you didn’t want to find out which method he’d try out first.

“I-I do believe them. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He said with a disillusioned look and clasped your wrists. “For the third time tonight.”

Your fingers run down his cheeks as you as you near your face to his again.

“I’m not! I’m sorry. I’m sorry but please don’t do anything. I’m begging you, please.” It was pathetic . You were pathetic but you suppose you had already lost your dignity a long time ago. There wasn’t much else to lose and you weren’t sure you’d ever manage to have a spine when it came to the boy in front of you.

He eyed you.

“What it is it that you’re so afraid I’ll do?” He muttered, his breath once again warm against your lips.

You frowned. It was a trick question, wasn’t it? Was he genuinely asking you?

“I just don’t want you to hurt anyone.” You stressed, your fingers trembled terribly against his cheeks.

You felt his thumbs brushing the inside of your wrists in a circular motion gently. The soft action wasn’t to fully soothe you but it did distract you for split second.

“Anyone?” Jungkook asked lowly. It stumped you a bit. You tried to find some clarity in his fixed look but it didn’t display much of anything. In fact, you swore his eyes were inviting you to some sort of challenge.

So you simply nodded in response.

“Hm.” He hummed, his upper lip lifting slightly before he nodded back.

Was he agreeing with you?

You let out the smallest sigh of relief. It probably looked pained.

His hands then fully clasped your wrists and he stood up without warning. The force of it dragged you up with him due to his locked grip. He tugged you against him as he made his way down the hallway. You kept quiet, already starting to feel your body weight itself down like it usually did when your panic attack lost its strength. The numbness traveled through your every muscle. Jungkook had released your wrists and instead guided you by the shoulder with your body remaining pressed into his chest.

He opened the bedroom door and guided you towards the bathroom. The unease in your stomach had not left but it was easier to ignore with how heavy your eyelids felt. You felt him suddenly leave your side and brush past you to go turn on the shower. You caught a glimpse of yourself on the large mirror above the black vanity sink . The teary gaze and snot dripping from your nose. Your wet cheeks and swollen eyes. Your gaze accidentally caught sight of Jungkook while he slid open the shower door. His stare was hollow.

A look you don’t remember ever seeing on him before.

You looked away, unsure of what to make of it. When he approached you again, you didn’t protest as he stripped you both down. Once in the shower, you kept your back to him and fully faced the shower head that washed away any lingering nerves. You couldn’t help but zoom in on the ombré ceramic tile design in front of you as your mind drifted off again. Jungkook’s hands massaged your shoulders gently as he ran the loofa down your back. The act was intimate and normal. But your thoughts didn’t let you rest for the remainder of the night. Not even when you were both in bed, tucked under the soft warm sheets. Not even when he cuddled beside you, rubbing your back continuously and you listened to his steady breathing.

The normalcy of it all didn’t break your trance because you were still thinking of the look Jungkook had given you. The daring glint in his eyes masking the seething nature. The vacant look you caught of him in the mirror.

Something wasn’t right.

—

It was ache in your shoulders that woke you.The soft gel pillow underneath your cheek felt wet and you inwardly cursed and wiped your mouth.You thought you had dropped drooling months ago. You had yet to open your eyes, wanting to stay this oblivious and at peace before a certain reality hit you. It took a few seconds for the disorientation to fade away as you slowly blinked up at the familiar white ceiling with the recessed lighting now completely shut off due to the natural sunlight illuminating the space.

You lifted your head and let out a soft groan at the stiffness in your muscles.

It was quiet.

The memories of last night came flooding back in rapidly and your stomach churned at them. You pushed them away as much as you could. If only it had been a nightmare. How much you wished it had never happened and how much you wished you hadn’t walked out the door yesterday. At this point, you weren’t sure if you cared about if what Eunji had said was true or not. If anything, it had left you even more puzzled about everything. Both of them had played you in one way or another. It seemed like they were taking turns, tugging on each of your arms in complete opposite directions.

You craned your neck and looked around the empty room. Jungkook wasn’t in bed but he usually wasn’t, he had made it a habit to cook breakfast before you woke.

Flinging your feet to the side , you climbed off the bed and made your way out the door and into the hallway. You could smell coffee and hear shuffling. When you made into the living room you came to a halt upon seeing Jungkook in the kitchen like you expected. He seemed to be chopping something on the cutting board, a tomato maybe.

“Morning, baby.” He greeted you with a warm smile when he noticed you. He was dressed in casual pajama pants with an oversized black t-shirt. His hair was messy, clearly he’d not bothered to touch it yet but it made him look more endearing.

“Morning.” You reply with a small smile of your own despite the shake in your voice. He was acting like nothing had happened and you didn’t know if you should feel immense relief at that or not. It didn’t feel natural but you could very well be making something out of nothing. As you approach him though, your eyeline shifts to the floor and instantly a realization hits you.

Your eyebrows knit together as your eyes search the ground and walk towards the same spot you were last night.

“What is it?” Jungkook asks when you fail to find what you’re looking for. You glance up at him, his curious gaze had followed yours to the floor.

“M-My phone. I dropped it last night. Did you see it?”

“Oh that.” He returns to pouring orange juice into a glass, the eggs on the stove sizzling behind him. “ I have it.”

You blink in confusion but try to conceal it.

“Oh.” You swallow. “Can you give it to me?”

Jungkook meets your gaze and slides over the glass of orange juice to you. You thank him quietly before taking a seat on the tall stool of the island.

“And why would I do that?” Your in the midst of taking a sip of the juice when he says it so you snort a little into the glass, assuming he’s joking for a split second.

But you notice the raise of his eyebrow, eyeing your movements as he awaits your response.

Tensing, you put the glass down and frown.

“Um,” You don’t even know what to say. “Well, because I need it.”

It came out more so like a question when you had intended it to sound like a firm reply. Jungkook notices your poor attempt as well, a smirk threatening to spread his lips.

“For what? To text another library boy?” He placed both his hands on the counter, leaning foward. He wasn’t that close but you fought the urge to lean back. His eyes narrowed into slits as bit the inside of his cheek.

His words make your mouth dry despite the juice you had just taken a sip of. Apparently the disturbed thoughts that had haunted you all night might’ve had some validity.

Yet this didn’t shock you any less.

But what did you think was going to happen? You had ignored all the warnings. Jungkook’s jealous side was something you never wanted to witness again and you had feeling you were only scratching the surface.

“Jungkook, I didn’t do anything. I was only trying to let him off easily. I-I wasn’t looking for anything else. I already explained this last night . I felt bad for what you had threatened him with when we weren’t even together.” It wasn’t a lie but you knew it didn’t matter by the way his expression didn’t budge one bit. Whatever innocent crush you had felt for Hoseok was long gone. Not only due to the sheer embarrassment that had occurred that no doubt had left him with the worst impression of you but you were not willing to put him in Jungkook’s radar again. You deeply regretted ever texting him at all.

It was too late to try to explain anything to Hoseok anyway. Even if you ever got him alone again you were sure he’d run the opposite direction at just your mere sight. He probably thought you were crazy.

This was crazy.

“I’m confused.” Jungkook’s scrutinizing gaze trapped you in place. “You said you didn’t want me to hurt anyone.”

“I-what?”

“You said you didn’t want me to hurt anyone.” He repeats lowly.

“I-I don’t-”

“Good. And I won’t as long as you stay in line.” He shrugs as if he’s discussing the weather and not the confiscation of your phone.

“But I need my phone, I need to text my parents.”

“I already did. They’re fine.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile but you could see how much he was trying to control the rage that traveled through him. The tightness of his grip on the edges of his counter, the veins on his hands and arms popping out slightly.

“Those petty excuses won’t work on me. You can only blame yourself as to why I don’t trust you anymore baby.” His eyes trailed down you. “Did you really think I’d be okay with you texting other men or anyone who shows interest in you for that matter?”

You looked away from him.

“No! That’s not what it was like.” You sputtered, feeling that sense of guilt invade you once again.

You heard him scoff.

“Have I been too nice, baby? I have, haven’t I? Because I don’t know what gave the impression that you could ever run back to that bitch or flirt with others to ‘let them down easy’ and think I would sit back and watch like your little lap dog.”

You watched his controlled breathing, afraid to make the slightest move that could set him off.

Deciding not to reply , you simply watched him and hoped he’d gather himself but your silence seemed to only edge him further because he pulled a hand away from the counter and reached over to take your glass away. You saw him twirl it around in his hand, your gaze fully lifting to meet his due to the unexpected action and he glared at you as he took a sip from it.

“Did you know he had a sister? Your little library boy.” He clarifies as he swallows, setting the glass back down. “She just got married. Would be a shame if a pair of newly weds suffered an unfortunate accident…or any other type of terrible luck.”

You were completely floored by his words. A full body chill running through you. You wished you had heard him wrong but the way he studied you expectedly made it all too real.

Were you that surprised though? How could you be? It wasn’t the first time Jungkook had made these sort of malicious threats. It was the very thing he had done when he had gotten you alone for the first time. There was no limits for the wealthy and well-read.

What really struck you was how and why he would go as far to involve completely innocent people that had no connection to either of you and exactly how long he had known about this? Had he accessed your private texts recently or had known of them for a while now? If it was the latter that would mean he has deliberately let you text Hoseok up until yesterday. Why had he waited that long? Why didn’t he confront you about it immediately?

Given your frantic state last night, you hadn’t even thought about the possibility. You had thought his actions were impulsive and reckless, that he had find out about the texts when he had tracked your location. But that didn’t make sense , did it? Because then why did Jungkook already know so much about Hoseok’s family? It was unlikely for even him to acquire this type of information overnight . Your stomach sunk at the knowledge that you really had underestimated Jungkook again. Because this suddenly didn’t seem like a simple impulsive act of jealousy. It seemed much more calculating

“Leave them alone, Jungkook. Please don’t involve anyone else into this. I’m begging you.” You spoke gently despite the mounting fear of upsetting him with one wrong word.

“I didn’t involve anyone , baby. You did.” He replied just as gently. It felt demeaning but the side of you that had began to cater to him thought he might’ve had a point.

“Okay.” You nodded. “Okay I did, I’m sorry. You don’t have to worry about it. You told him to block me, there’s nothing to worry about.”

He pushed himself away fully from the counter and came up beside you. He gave you back your glass of juice. He seemed much taller from this sitting angle and you watched him carefully as he played with your necklace. His necklace.

“You’ll have plenty of time to show me just how sorry you are, baby.” He mumbled to you as if he was granting you a token of consideration. Running his hands across the butterfly pendant.

“Because I’ve also withdrawn your college transfer. It really did pain me to do, I don’t like seeing you upset.” You looked up at him wide eyed and tried to process what he was saying.”But it pains me even more that you were so willing to discard me and what I felt after all I’ve done is love you.”

That rage was brewing behind his dark eyes. You realize now that it had never left, only fooled you into thinking he would bend to your will.

Discard him? What was he talking about? There was more than just insecurity behind those words. You could see the clear trigger in his entire demeanor. It was as if he was hell-bent on punishing you for something you never did.

“J-Jungkook please, I have classes I need to finish . I can’t drop out. My parents, they will-”

“Shhh, it’s temporary.” He halts your rambling with with a squeeze to your shoulder. “I can get a word in to enroll you next semester or whenever I see fit.”

That didn’t make you feel better but held back any protests.

“It’s all up to you really. It’s up you to show me when I can trust you again.” He leaned down to give you a kiss on the top of your head before brushing past you and walking back over towards the opposite side again.

“Now let’s eat, I made your favorite. I hope you like it.”

You watch him turn off the stove and you were a little surprised not anything was burnt. You let him plate the breakfast without uttering a word because all that was running through your head was how stupid you were for ever letting him take care of the transfer. You had paid a much bigger price than you thought. Jungkook was no longer satisfied enough knowing he had your body and compliance. He wanted every bit of you.

Because you suspected what had truly scared him last night.

The thought of someone else taking your mind and heart away from what he thought was already his. For what he worked so hard for. He didn’t want to share any side of you. He was frightened of what threat Hoseok and Eunji had both posed against him. He had you physically but it was breaking him inside that he didn’t have you fully yet. Mind and soul.

That was it, wasn’t it?

He wanted to frighten you and push the limits. Show a new face. A new side. Because nobody really could save you from him except himself.

He was going to show you what a mistake you made not choosing the correct mask.

—

As the weeks had gone by, you had grown more disillusioned with the hope of returning to college.

During the first week, Jungkook had not seem to be wavering on his decision no matter how much you had indirectly pleaded with him. It had been made clear that you wouldn’t get far with your methods to suck up to him in the way you had.

While he welcomed your touch and over enthusiastic displays of affection, he had only been entertaining the idea of it. It had reminded you of the time he’d seen right through your performance at the cafe but unlike then, this time he had not stopped or called you out right away.

He watched how far you’d go.

And you had gone far.

By the second week you had begin to simply cater to his every need. Waking up to cook breakfast for him instead for a change, not bothering him while he worked in his office and also cooking dinner. Then you moved on to displaying more physical attention, initiating kisses and prolonging hugs despite your racing heartbeat at the closeness. You surprisingly grew so used to it that it almost began to do on instinct. Due to spacing it out through the weeks, you had thought you’d made progress .

It was not too much all at once like your previous mistake.

Your feelings were also not entirely fabricated this time which made it more dangerous. Your attachment to Jungkook had been growing as a result of the isolation he had caused you. It had already been the case before the incident and now it only grew stronger despite your efforts to keep a level head.

But you had grown desperate when the pressuring reality hit you each night of what your parents would think of you slacking off and what it could mean to not have any future planned out. To have wasted all their efforts and money just for a stupid mistake on your part. You had not been able to even access your bank account since you had been left with no phone and you had not dared ask to burrow Jungkook’s MacBook yet in order to not draw any unnecessary attention.

You thought you could gain it all back and that you had not just tried hard enough.

However, the incident that occurred the very night you exhausted your last efforts had been a horrid and rookie mistake. It was your first and only strike up until now and the memory served as a reminder to not tread in murky waters.

~~

You waited for Jungkook’s reaction as he took the first bite. Gripping your own chopsticks tightly, you eyed the meal you had spent nearly two hours preparing, making sure you had perfected it to his liking. He nodded immediately, his doe eyes twinkling.

“It’s amazing baby.” He said in between bites, eyebrows scrunched together. “Really amazing.”

A soft sigh of relief leaves you, a smile spreading your lips.

“I was nervous, I’ve never cooked this before.” You explained, licking your lips. “I’m not much a cook though, my mom used to complain about it when I was younger.”

Jungkook hummed in response as he took another bite.

“My dad used to bake with me often though. I think I’m better at that.” The casual comment was meant to invoke the memory of the Christmas you spent with him but you aren’t sure if you succeed because his eyes drift over to center of the table.

“Are you wearing the perfume I gave you?” He asks, pulling you away from your focused script.

“Huh?” You ask then nod. “Oh y-yeah. I love it.”

He had given you a new perfume as a gift a few days ago. It was a pleasant warm rose and musk smell. The gesture came seemingly out of nowhere but the more optimistic side of you thought it maybe was due to him feeling guilty for leaving you alone here the few times he went to his father’s company for work. It would only be a couple of hours but hours felt like days when there was nothing but yourself to keep you sane.

He had not physically locked you in here. Not that you think he could anyway. But he had other ways of keeping you here, the key card he had previously let you borrow had now been revoked. He carried it with him at all times and if there was a spare one, you had not found it yet. Of course, you could physically leave and walk out but with no key, you would be forced to hang around the lobby until he came back. You were also not that dumb to try and venture off without your phone. It created too many obstacles in your head, you could get lost or something could happen to you and you wouldn’t be able to call for help. He must’ve of known that well and now that you thought it over, that was likely his main goal despite the jealousy tantrum he had tried to sell you.

Not that the jealousy had been act. You’d seen the vicious green-eyed monster take over him.

But admittedly Jungkook had already hacked your phone before. There was nothing stopping him from doing it again. Taking away your phone was a way of keeping tabs on you in another way. You felt stupid you didn’t realize it sooner though.

“I like it.” His eyes trail over you.

“Thanks. Me too.” You nod, coming to smell your wrist. “Guess you know my taste well.”

He half grins at that.

“I-I was saying that my dad used bake with me on holidays and it made me remember what my mom told me last time I talked to her.” You try to steer the conversation back.

That peaked his interest.

“What did she say?” He asked, taking a tip of his white wine.

“She said my dad had lost his job but she assured me he would find a new one soon since he’d already applied to another warehouse.”

He nods slowly urging you to continue.

“But it just makes me feel really guilty that I’m sitting here doing nothing all day while they’re working all day to….support my education. My parents are getting older.” You bit your lip, the actual guilt really hit you for a moment.

Jungkook eyes you, tapping his chopsticks against the plate.

“Do you need me to send them money?”

“No! W-What? No.” You let a breathless laugh out and shook your head. “I wouldn’t ask that. I mean I feel like it’s my fault. I f-feel like I should be doing more.”

He leans back into his seat, seemingly processing your words. Your heart is ready to jump out of your chest.

You let out a sigh and you look around the space.

“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up without finacial stability and an easy way out. But this is eating me up at night. I feel responsible for my parents and I-I am disappointing them already. Even if they don’t know it yet.”

You don’t look towards him as you continue. Feeling your throat start to close up.

“I just wish you’d ..reconsider. Going to college isn’t a threat to you-to us. I already live here and I’m with you.” You explain calmly. “If you really do love me, you wouldn’t be so careless with my future. I’ve been doing everything you want me to.”

He remains silent so you decide to add to your confession.

“I-I know you don’t trust me yet and that I haven’t earned it all. But please, keeping me away from everything isn’t going to prove my trust.” Finally, you return your gaze to him and look him straight in the eye.

“You’re only making my anxiety worse.”

With a wide-eyed expression, you raised your eyebrows emphasizing your words and waited stiffly for his reply. The TV playing in the background on low volume completely drained out as you zeroed in on him.

He let out a scoff, turning his head to the side.

The little bit of confidence you had fizzled out.

“So, that’s what all this has been about.” He confirms. “You held out longer than I thought baby.”

“No, this wasn’t just about that. I do care what you think and I did enjoy cooking for you, especially your favorite food because I-I do pay attention. I just thought you’d appreciate it more if…..if.” You stumbled over your words towards the end growing frustrated at your pleas falling on deaf ears.

“Are you done?” He asked with clear impatience when he saw you didn’t continue your rambling.

The action made you halt and stop mid sentence. You weren’t sure why but the sight of his aloofness made you cower. He was making you feel so insignificant. As if everything you said was a lie. As if he were dealing with a child instead of another equal with feelings. It reminded you of how Eunji had made you feel at times and you despised it.

You despised it because of how much you cared what he thought and felt about you.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks baby.” He coaxed you with a much nicer tone when he noticed your upset reaction. “You didn’t really think you’d sway me so easily, did you?”

Maybe you did.

You slammed down your chopsticks on the table and pushed yourself out of your chair. Jungkook followed your movements as you came to stand in front of him before you kneeled down, your knees scraping against the floor.

“Jungkook please, please.” You were out of options and resorting to the most degrading one but you didn’t care. “You need to let me go back! M-My parents… I feel stuck in here! Please!”

Reaching out to tug on his hand, your fingers caught hold of his shirt and he looked slightly surprised by your actions. His eyes widened the slightest bit as he took in your frantic state and high pitched pleas.He didn’t protest when you held his right hand with both of yours.

“Please! I’ll do anything but don’t take this away. I can’t be locked in here all day! Please!”

You felt like cowering even more under his scrutinizing eyes. His expression soon morphing into one of irritation.

“Stand up baby.” He pulled his hand away from you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to get you back on your feet. But you didn’t budge.

He snapped your name.

“Seriously, stand up.” He demanded more firmly. Looking completely annoyed now by your antics.

“What do you think you’ll gain from keeping me from going back to university ?! I have a life to return to! This won’t make things better!” You were trying everything now. Picking holes in what you thought were his plans and ideas. Trying to shatter whatever delusion had made him come to this drastic conclusion.

He let out a low curse. The chair squeaked under him as he pushed it away from the table and turned his body towards you. He dipped his head down and tugged on your loose ponytail, the action made you immediately close your mouth and shut your eyes at the stinging pain.

“You know what I think baby?” He whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

“I think you’ve become a manipulative little bitch.”

With that he stood up and left your kneeling figure on the floor. Your hands dropped on the chair he had been sitting. You his heavy footsteps down the hallway followed by the bedroom door shutting loudly. You ran a hand through your hair and held back tears at his insult. He had never expressed himself that way about you. It left an ugly wound on your heart and it triggered the undeniable people pleasing trait in you. A feeling you never wanted to feel again.

You’d thought you’d never feel worse than how you did when you found out about Eunji’s backstabbing nature but this was ultimately worse.

It felt so much worse.

Not him.

Not him too.

~~

It had been 2 months since then.

The rest of the days after that you had spent crying your eyes out til you physically felt you couldn’t anymore. You had held a grudge against him for his cruel words and he had taken notice. The weeks that had followed had been consistent of his various forms of apologies. He’d told you he hadn’t meant it and how sorry he was for using such a nasty insult towards you. Brought you back flowers everytime he’d return back from whatever errand he went to that day. Spent the night paying extra attention to you until you’d given in to his pleading large eyes that at times resembled that of a wounded boy’s.

His sweet whispers had convinced you to the point of even more intimate forms of affection, your body falling victim to his needy touches again . In a way you’d indulged in it as form of distraction yet again. Surprisingly yourself with the way you’d tightly grip the sheets, head buried into the mattress letting out encouraging whimpers at every harsh thrust. The nights had turned into the sweet escape you needed to make up for all the hours you’d spend alone. They had felt like a reward for making it through days with no complaints.

So you had given up for the time being and taken a different approach. You weren’t sure if you’d even call it that as it was more so your way of coping with the situation.

Was it? The days had started going by more quickly and at time you found yourself wondering what you were coping with exactly.

Your days were now mainly focused on new hobbies that were done in in the comfort of the apartment. You got into scrapbooking oddly enough. The idea had come to you once you rummaged through one of Jungkook’s drawers and found a kraft paper journal. Along with some stationary items you’d stolen from him, you had began to fill out the pages with different places you wanted to visit around the world. It had been something you remembered doing once when you were in middle school but you never got to finish due to running out pages on your tiny cheap notebook.

This time, you’d glued every magazine cut out, ribbon, glitter, different stickers and wrote out reasons to visit for each place. It had taken up your time along with the books you’d get Jungkook to bring you.

Comfort could help build a glorious cage.

You’d soon realized that the time here had simply brought back you’re already introverted nature and heightened it. It made way for you to indulge in all the more small things that you had always wanted but never had the luxury of having. Everything seemed much more appealing in a large space. You’d gotten to rearrange thing to your liking, growing more bold with the way you dealt with the kitchen or bathroom supplied as if they were your own. Integrating every one of your habits with Jungkook’s. Now you rarely thought twice before waking up and starting your routine. Your focus shifting to what you should bake that day, what you should read or write in your notebook, if you would scrapbook or finish a puzzle or simply lounge around and watch TV for the rest of the day.

The thoughts of your parents and responsibilities still lingered but in a more hidden spot of your brain, coming out in infrequent waves when your anxiety would also sneak it’s way through the edges.

Your anxiety.

It had been controlled every since Jungkook had come home with your refilled prescription last month. You had no idea when he had even found your empty bottle and took it upon himself to order the refill but you didn’t complain. It had eased you with its way it had you out cold nearly every night. No more heart palpitations or sweaty palms before drifting off to a fragile sleep. It didn’t rid you of it completely of course, you had your off days where it would trigger back.

The days had become more peaceful as well as Jungkook had started to spend more time at home too and taken less trips to the company. His absence was often the reason for those flare ups of anxiousness. He hadn’t had any outbursts since that dinner disaster and the one he’d had before become more of a distant dream floating further and further. That wasn’t to say he’d let his boundaries slip away. The mention of college was still a subject you hadn’t dared bring up again, neither was the one of your phone.

It was tedious to break the habit of reaching over the nightstand to pick up your phone or the sudden urge you still got to want to look at the time or check texts and emails. It had taken you the same effort to try and convince yourself you had no assignments due anymore and you didn’t need to set an alarm for anything. It had driven you nearly mad at the beginning, given your unpleasant breakdown but your mind had latched itself onto other stimulating activities to ease it.

You turned on the faucet and rinsed off your toothbrush before opening the medicine cabinet. Taking out your anxiety meds, your eyes linger on the pill bottle you’d always see. ‘Zyprexa 10 mg’.

You pick it up and unscrew the lid, counting the pills inside.

11.

They’re had been 11 pills ever since you’d first had found them in this cabinet. You didn’t know why you bothered to count them everyday. The number never changed. Jungkook was not taking them and had not been for a while. Despite the worry that piled inside you, you had not had the courage to confront him about it. Of course you didn’t know his reasoning or the details as to why he may not be taking it. You thought over the possibility of perhaps his doctor taking him off them but it was all just a part of the many excuses you’d made for him. You knew well why you wouldn’t mention them to him. The thought of an unpleasant reaction had chained you to an invisible wall.

“You’ve become a manipulative little bitch.”

The words would too often make their home inside mind, ruining your pleasant thoughts for the day.

You screwed the lid back on and tossed them back inside. After taking your meds, you walked back into the bedroom and saw Jungkook buttoning up his loose shirt. He tucked the ends inside his well-fitted pants, the work attire hugging his frame perfectly.

“I was thinking of making brownies today.” You tell him with a yawn, rubbing your eyes as you went over to him. “Or lemon bars, I haven’t decided.”

His nose scrunched up at the word ‘lemon’. It was so animated that it reminded you of a child.

“Definitely brownies, please.” You fought a grin before your eyes took in the scrapbook that was wide open on the bed.

“You’ve added a new place.” Jungkook comments, gesturing to the addition of ‘Zion’ and the breathtaking landscape pictures you had plastered all over the two large pages.

You felt a bit shy at how nosey he had been in knowing every detail of the book ever since you’d started it. It was endearing how he’d pay close attention to every page though and how he’d encouraged you to keep adding more. He had spent one day making you describe and explain why’d you chosen each place despite the small descriptions you’d already written on them. Most had been really superficial and non-interesting reasons, you just sounded like the typical tourist. He didn’t mind though, he had rested his head on your shoulder and listened while making sly comments.

That day he’d also promised you he’d take you to every one. You’d nearly laughed in his face but he had not broken a single smile. He had been dead serious. He claimed that at least but he seemed to know why you’d find that hard to believe given the circumstances he’d put you in.

“It won’t always be this way, baby.” He said with such certainty that you needed to believe him.“I’m only trying to teach you a lesson, show you what you haven’t yet realized.”

You didn’t really dwell on what he meant by that. It was obvious enough he’d done this to get back at you but what exactly had you not realized yet? You weren’t sure. In your perspective, his motives seem to be the same as they always did.

To keep you at his side.

“I think it’s really cool. I remember looking up pictures of it one time.”

“It looks amazing, I don’t think I’ve ever visited anywhere like that.” His gaze then returned to you as he motioned for you to get closer.

You held back a gasp when he grasped your waist and pulled you into his chest, your feet lifting off the floor for a second.

“I have a surprise for you.” He muffled into your neck, pressing his lips to your skin. “God I love this smell on you.”

It was his own perfume he had gifted you a while back and you almost called out the arrogant comment but you only let out a scoff instead.

“A surprise?” Your heart had skipped a beat but you scolded yourself to remain calm. To not get your hopes up for something too grandeur. Jungkook had made it clear you had not yet earned his full trust .The path was unclear but it was considerably still long.

And that meant you couldn’t have earned your phone back.

“Have you ever been here?” You turned when you felt the loss of contact on your neck and looked down to what he had pulled from behind him. He held two tickets in his hand, your eyed read over the famous name of the theme park.

“No.” Your eyed widened as you took the tickets in your hand. “The prices were always too out of my budget.”

The popular theme park was a known tourist attraction in this city. It was the largest in the country and you had been hoping you would get to visit it when you had first moved here for college but the money would never add up. Your funds would barely cover your food expenses at times and it left little room for much else.

It felt like you had a golden ticket in your hand, a full smile broke out on your face.

“Are we really going?” You face him, the tiniest bit of doubt seeping through your tone. The slightest bit of possibility of this being some kind of test or joke had slithered it’s way into you.

Jungkook looked almost offended by the question. His eyes boring into you as he let out a short laugh.

“Of course we are baby, that’s why I bought them.” He tells you, kissing your cheek. “You’ve been such a good girl lately, you deserve it.”

You were going out.

You would be outside again and at one of the most whimsical theme parks to exist.

“And if you keep it up,” He says into your ear, fingers tracing down the edge of your shoulder.“Things might start going back to the way they were.”

His implication was clear. If you stayed in his good graces, you’d eventually get your phone back and even your college transfer back. Your future back. The freedom back.

“Really?” Your eyes tried to search for the bluff. The teasing. Anything. But it didn’t surface. He nodded and smirked at your reaction, laying another kiss to your temple.

Had that been the lesson?

He had given these things so easily and he wanted to show you how easily he had been able to snatch it right back. If you had thought had been walking on eggshells with him before, that had been nothing compared to these past weeks, months.

That was the key to the lock wasn’t it? Had that been it all this time? If you had wanted to go back to the way things were, Jungkook had to see your mind and devotion shift completely towards him. Truly towards him. Not in the way you thought it looked like it would please him. He had made it happen gradually, organically even.

But the pressing question stood.

Did you want to go things to go back to how they were?

Yes. But not so much that it hurt you if they didn’t. Like you thought it would. Like it had hurt the first few weeks.

That in itself meant you were running out of time.

Because you shouldn’t want things to go back to the way they were.

You should want to completely get rid of Jungkook and his insanity. You should want to figure out a way to escape his blackmail and invisible cage. You should want to never turn back.

But it seemed to be too late.

Because all you had been thinking about these days were how much you studied his every move, how much you had memorized every blemish or insignificant mole on his back while you drifted off to sleep. How often he’d pout his lips unknowingly when you weren’t paying attention. How much you’d wish to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows just once and be able to look at him with as much love as he looked at you.

You’d analyzed his every move, afraid of what was next but in the process you questioned why you had also memorized his every habit. His favorite foods and snacks, how surprisingly tidy he was about his closet and clothes. How normal he seemed despite the dark secrets and intentions that boiled inside him.

Because the more you stayed in his home, the more you had started forgetting what your life was before it and why those starry brown eyes seemed far more enticing than the filthy walls of a motel or the familiar humble structure of your parent’s home.

—

From the moment you entered the park, you felt your spirits go up. You didn’t know if was purely the fact that you were finally getting fresh air or that you were actually looking forward to seeing everything inside. It was jaw dropping from the get-go. You were sure your fascination came from never really attending these types of attractions as a child or teenager but this one experience seemed to make up for all of it.

During the drive here you had mentioned to Jungkook that you wanted to take pictures of everything. It was a subtle hint towards your phone but in reality you weren’t expecting him to give in to you even for that use of it. You were right of course, he brushed it off saying you could use his instead.

You gave Jungkook’s hand a squeeze when you spotted the growing crowds as you neared the some of the restaurants and rides but he gave you an assuring smile.

“You’re fine.” He tugged you into his side, the breeze felt nice on your skin.

You repeated his words in your head as you focused your attention more towards all the tall rides and characters that wandered around the area dressed from well-known fables. A small giggle leaving your lips at some of the costumes they wore. They looked ridiculously cute.

The next hour consisted of you practically dragging him around and pointing to all the types of junk food that you wanted to try. The first victim was the Fairy themed milkshakes located in the Medieval village zone. They were a baby pink and blue infusion with edible glitter sprinkled on the top of the whipped cream.

“They look so good.” You mumbled to Jungkook as you two waited for your order in front of the small stand that was shaped like a tree bark. The decorations were impressive, the led lights layered around the plastic leaves flickered but it was hard to notice them in broad daylight.

“It looks like it tastes like a bag of sour candy.” He mused, playing with the ends of your hair.

“That would taste good.”

He smiled fondly at that, laying a soft kiss on your forehead before he heard the order being called out. His delicate touch were the ones that always sent the most shivers through your body.

He brought back the obnoxious drink and you wasted no time in taking a sip. The flavor was not as strong as you thought, it tasted almost like marshmallow but with a fruity aftertaste.

“Mmm.” You exclaimed sipping more. “Try it.”

He threw out his gum that he had been chewing and took a reluctant sip of it. You watched as he smacked his lips together, making a distasteful face.

“Oh baby,” He handed you back the shake with a shake of his head. “That’s fucking awful.”

What? It had not been that bad even if it wasn’t to someone’s liking. You wanted to roll your eyes at his dramatics.

“No it’s not!” You gaped at him, taking another sip. It tasted perfect to you. “It’s probably because of your gum.”

“Sure.” He said unconvincingly before guiding you both back towards the next destination on the theme park map.

The next victims included a corn dog, some type of corn soup and an abnormal sized cookie. All delicious to you but it had not been such a good idea to eat them all at once and then begin to go on the rides. Time was passing a lot quicker than you hoped and every stop you’d make to take a picture seemed to take longer with crowds of people waiting behind you to take the exact same one. In the exactly same pose.

The sun was setting and your legs had been started to burn now but you tried your best to ignore them. Thankfully, your anxiousness had not surfaced too much today. You thought over how it would’ve been a very different story if you hadn’t been able to take your meds again. It would’ve likely made it impossible for you to make it five minutes in here , let alone half the day.

Your eyes observed as Jungkook took a picture of one of the brightly lit canoe rides under a bridge with a boyish grin on his face despite the contrasting appearance of his dark attire and inked sleeves.

If only the people around you knew how quickly he could turn it off and on. Not even the almost grudge type style could truly ever match how cynical he could be if he chose to. It was anything but a font.

Yet you almost felt required to conceal that part of him from others. A feeling of protectiveness over how they’d perceive him or judge him.

It was silly considering the average pedestrian had more to fear of him than him of them but of course feelings never took the logical route.

“Did you come here a lot growing up?” You asked him as he snapped a last photo and handed over his phone to you. You had been the one carrying it around mostly due to him growing tired of you asking for it every second you saw something that peaked your interest.

“Twice. I loved the fast rides mostly.” He replied and you remembered how he had not stopped insisting you both get on the giant anchor ride. The sight of the swinging ship was a little off-putting to say the least but you weren’t completely against the idea. You had already been on a couple of the smaller rides in the park, like the spinning seashell ride that had you almost tasting the donut you’d ate before getting on.

You stared down at his phone screen, his home screen lit up and unsurprisingly his background was now a picture of you two standing at the very entrance of the theme park with the jumbo size sign behind you.

It was weird to look at because of how natural you both looked in it. His hand wrapped around your shoulder, a grin on his face and you had placed a hand on his chest.You tried to find an indication that this looked like anything other than a normal and even corny couple picture but you didn’t find one.

Could it be that you failed to find one because that’s what it felt like when it was taken? And it was it still felt like right now.

“With your whole family?”

“Mhm.” He nodded nonchalantly as you both walked past down the sidewalk that had all the restaurants and bakery shops.“ It was mostly my mom and I though, my dad used to complain pretty early on and just let us wander the park while he sat and waited on the benches.”

“Oh.” You mumble, frowning a bit.“Did that annoy you?”

He glanced at you, seeming to think back on it.

“Not really. I don’t think I cared that much back then or noticed.” Despite the dismissive words, you couldn’t help but detect a bit of snark in his tone.

“Still, he’s your dad.” You remind him as he held the shop door open for you and you gave him a small smile before stepping inside. His hand on your back despite you guiding which direction to walk over to first.

“He is.” You hear him reply behind you.“Why the sudden curiousity about my dad baby? Do you need my entire family therapy notes?”

You grew nervous at his inquisitive tone. You had not meant to pry into his father in particular, that’s just where the conversation had fallen naturally. For the first time your intentions didn’t have much of an ulterior motive in hopes of catching him in a lie or uncovering another skeleton in his closet. It was becoming a habit to just ask him about much of anything in a way you’d ask a friend.

“I was just wondering, my parents could never take me to these kinds of things.”

You felt him look at you from the corner of your eye when you went to stand beside him to look over a pile of baseball caps and beanies on a display shelf.

“Truth is there isn’t much to say about him, good or bad. I saw him as more of a burden to me at one point more than anything.” He mutters as he lifts up a headband with mouse ears on each end and tried to put it on you before you swat his hand away.

You don’t know what to say to his passing comment. There was an urge to ask him a follow-up question to it but you decide against it.

“Look at these.” You pointed in awe at the sight of vintage themed keychains instead. The souvenir shop you were in had an European architectural style. You went to pick up a pair of tiny tea cups that had a floral pattern wrapped around the porcelain glass. “It’s all so pretty.”

The previous scenic gardens zone you had just been at had probably been your favorite place out of the whole park.Jungkook’s camera roll now full with photos of all the different colored tulips that surrounded the trail. It was one of the most popular attractions for good reason. Jungkook had followed you like a lost child when you kept speed walking towards the countless sets of floral faces.

“Pschyology,” Jungkook says as he picks up the same tea cups in your hand, inspecting them. “What made you pick it as a major?”

You give him a questioning look at the drastic subject change, tensing up a bit at thought of discussing college again considering how downhill it had gone last time you had brought it up.

“Um.” You swallow. “I’m not so sure, I felt drawn to it and it seemed like a subject I could do well in. I don’t know if that’s still true though.”

It turns out knowing your psyche and patterns so well doesn’t always save you. You felt more disconnected with it by the day.

“Is that still what you want to do?” He puts down the teacups, his fingers brushing over a set of tiny wine glasses.

“Yes. I think so.” You try not to sound too eager. It felt like such a fragile gift he could easily shatter between his fingers.

He nods.

“You don’t have to feel like you need to do it just to please your parents baby. If you have other interests , I could always open up a way for you to do them.” You aren’t sure how true that is considering he had already snatched your future away so easily until he saw fit to give it back. Who was to say he wouldn’t do the same to anything else you wanted to do? But he sounded so genuine that you wanted to believe him.

You stay silent.

“Why did you decide to study so far away from home?” His eyes study your face.

The question catches you off guard. You brought your gaze down to the items in your hands. If you lied, he would know. You were sure of it. But if you told the truth, you feared the reaction would be not much different.

He seems to understand the meaning behind your silence. A look of realization crossing his face before his gaze hardened.

“Oh.” He says dryly. “Of course.”

You felt embarrassed by it all over again. You’d already tortured yourself enough for your dumb decision when it had come to Eunji.

“At least I have one thing to thank her for then.” He grasps your chin, a small smile playing on his lips before he gives you a firm kiss. His hand wraps around your neck as he pushes you further into him.

You feel yourself melting away, your lips parting slightly allowing his tongue to slip inside. Despite the intensity, the kiss feels playful with the feeling of his other hand pinching your sides and making you yelp.

“J-Jungkook!” You hiss in a low whisper, pulling away. You glance around to make sure nobody is watching you. It always seemed mortifying to you for strangers to witness those intimate displays.

He laughed in response, walking past you to seemingly go look at something else. You felt a little breathless and your face was for sure looking flushed.

A vibration in your hand made you look down.

Jungkook’s phone had received a notification. You snuck a glance at him to make sure he wasn’t looking your direction before unlocking it. If he had a passcode, he had removed it for today so you could easily navigate his photo gallery.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about going through it but it had been impossible to with Jungkook glued to your side the entire time. Even on your bathroom breaks, he had not been careless enough to let you go in with it. Silently reaching out his hand to remove it from your grip before you’d slip inside.

However, the notification was not what you were expecting. It was a reminder for his mother’s birthday. Tomorrow.

He’d set a reminder? You fought a smile at that. It seemed thoughtful given how he expressed their less than ideal relationship nowadays.

You tapped on his calendar, mindlessly scrolling down and you didn’t even pretend to be shocked your birthday was on there as well but your eyes caught another date that caught your attention more. It was titled ‘FS’.

11-11-20

You frowned at it.

FS.

Staring at the date, you tried to figure out why it would be significant to him. It clearly wasn’t some type of appointment or meeting considering the difference in the way he had wrote those down. Had it been an anniversary? You thought back to when you had met him.He would be the type to write that day as your anniversary date. But this was a year too early. You hadn’t met him at the cafe until much later.

Your fingers froze the second you pieced it together.

FS.

First sighting.

“Baby?” Nearly dropping the phone at the sound of him behind you, you quickly exited the calendar app and turned to him just in time he closed in on you.

“You got a reminder for your mom’s birthday.” You tell gently and hand him over the phone, a crease forming in your eyebrow. “It’s tomorrow?”

He takes it and types something out.

“Yeah, she kept asking me if we would come to her birthday dinner tomorrow.” He tells you and you can’t detect any specific emotion from his tone.

“My dad isn’t going to make it to it again.” He looks like he’s about to roll his eyes.

His mother wanted you to come too?

“We should go.” You offer, looking back towards his phone. “I-I mean if you want to? She probably feels lonely.”

He looks up to meet your gaze.

“You want to go?”

Would he find that weird? You didn’t think so. He didn’t seem to mind last time she had come unexpectedly to the apartment.

“She was really nice to me.” You say recalling the memory that seemed far away now.

The corner of his mouth lifts up. Like it did whenever he found something you did cute or amusing.

“Sucking up to your mother in law already, baby?” He teased and pulled you in. It wasn’t that. Was it? You suppose you didn’t mind bonding with her a bit more. The idea didn’t sound terrible. The image of her or anyone sitting alone having dinner on their birthday made your heart shatter.

Would Jungkook have really let her spend her birthday completely alone?

“Let’s go, we still have one more ride to go on.” He tells you and your face drops.

“No, please.” You complain as he tugged you forward but then looked back at the tiny pair of teacups you had put back down.

“Heights aren’t really my thing, I’m gonna throw up all I ate.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” He gives you a cynical grin, picking up the teacup set. “Let’s pay for this first though.”

“I don’t need that.” You protest going to grab it from him but he pulls it up higher so you are unable to reach it.

“You didn’t put it down the entire time we were in here.”

You groan as he practically drags you towards the register.

—-

The restaurant was dimly lit. It was a bit far out of into the city, located in a more calm and pleasant atmosphere that was popular for its scenic views. You felt out of place the moment you stepped in. Evidently you didn’t look out of place though. Your appearance was funded by your boyfriend, your mid-length black dress probably cost more than your entire tuition. You would’ve confirmed it if Jungkook hadn’t ripped of the tag before gifting it to you a few days ago. You stared down at the Christian Louboutin red bottoms on your feet, you’d half expected them to sense your tax bracket and make you fall head first the second you put them on.

You switched the gift bag you were carrying to your less dominant hand when you went to greet Jungkook’s mother with a swift side hug. She looked lovely, you caught a quick whiff of her perfume before you pulled away. The scent was slightly familiar. She seemed ecstatic at your arrival, well you assumed her joy was mainly aimed towards her son but you didn’t mind being on the receiving end of it too. It felt like ages since you had interacted with anyone besides Jungkook.

Not that you necessarily minded it, you weren’t exactly equipped at social interactions with strangers as proven before. But in a way his mother didn’t feel like too much of a stranger like last time you saw her. There was an air of warmth that surrounded her that at times mirrored Jungkook’s.

“Happy birthday.” You say to her , digging your nails into your palm in an effort to calm your nerves. The undeniable awkwardness you carried was hard to mask.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” She said. Her hair was styled into a slick bun just like yours and you smiled at the coincidence. She looked more elegant this time around, her heavier makeup enhanced her most prominent features.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

Jungkook had been walking a few steps behind you and you saw his mother’s face lit up instantly when she spotted him over your shoulder . You turned your neck, watching a tense smile spread his lips as he hesitated to hug her. It was the most uncomfortable you had never seen him. As a matter of fact, it was probably the only time you had ever seen him like that.

He gave in at last, giving her a brief hug that seemed to surprise even her. Her eyes widened a bit at his short-lived contact and you wondered how long it has been since Jungkook had properly hugged his mother. Months? Years?

It seems like you weren’t the only one out of place.

You took a seat, placing his mother’s gift beside you on the floor. Your nerves kicked in at the sight of the crowded space and far too prestigious set of silverware in front of you. Jungkoook soon followed beside you, a much more relaxed look on his face now that he put some distance with his mother. The smell of his cologne hit you and it did wonders to calm your overactive senses.

It was funny to think his scent once did the exact opposite.

“You must be sad your husband couldn’t make it, I’m sorry I wish I could’ve met him too.” You commented in an attempt to break any of the awkward silence that could follow after that greeting.

It was a small fib , you weren’t sure you wanted to meet Jungkook’s father at all with the way both him and his mother had spoken about him. He seemed rather cold by their descriptions but then again, if his mother was anything like Jungkook, you weren’t sure she was the most reliable narrator.

You pushed the awfully rude thought away, not knowing where it came from. His mother had not been unkind to you and she didn’t seem to carry any of Jungkook’s negative traits at all.

“Ah, don’t be. My husband rarely attends birthday dinners. His business trips are something I’ve grown used to.” She responds as she looks down at the menu but sneaks a quick glance at you.

“You look even prettier than I remembered by the way, my son sure knows how to pick them.”

Your cheeks warm at her compliment.

“It hasn’t been that long since you saw me.” You hold back a laugh. It was probably the help of the makeup you had piled on to cover all the blemishes on your skin that had you appearing more vibrant.

“I’m getting old now. A few weeks feel like a decade.” She sighs and you can’t help but let out a laugh this time. Jungkook is silent , looking engrossed in the menu.

“You’re not old at all. You look great.” You reassured her and decide to finally start paying attention to the menu as well. However, seeing the prices made you nearly cringe.

You sneaked a glance back at his mother and then towards Jungkook. You chewed on your bottom lip as an unpleasant thought occured to you. It didn’t seem like his mother suspected you weren’t from the same background as Jungkook but what if she did? If she knew you couldn’t afford any of this, not even what you were wearing from head to toe, would she assume something different from you?

Thinking back to your previous interaction with her at his apartment, his mother didn’t really seem like the type. She had not questioned your family or background at all. She only seemed interested in you and what you meant for her son. You buried the thought away despite the feeling of embarrassment at the idea of her somehow knowing he had basically began to financially support your entire life. Among other things.

“I’ll just get whatever you get.” You muttered to Jungkook, eyeing his menu.

He frowns.

“Are you sure? You should get whatever you feel like eating baby.” His words comfort you but just by glancing at the options, you realize you don’t even know what half of it means. They don’t provide much descriptions either.

Jungkook observed you and you tried to ignore the way you could feel him already grasping your issue. Him knowing you that well shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it did.

“That one,” He gestured to the oddly named item on the left corner. “It’s a pasta. Tagliatelle with truffle sauce. It’s really good, fits your taste I think.”

“You got that from me liking the spaghetti you made the other night?”

He gives you a teasing grin and nods. “Think of it as white spaghetti.”

Swallowing you put the menu down and tap your finger against it.

“I hope your mom likes the gift.” You really had no idea what to get her so naturally you relied completely on Jungkook to choose. It was a high end handbag he had picked out, assuring you that it would be to her liking. Maybe some flowers would’ve seemed more genuine on your part but you had forgotten to ask Jungkook to stop by for them on your way here.

“She will, don’t worry.” He pecked your lips before you could scold him. The PDA would never feel comfortable to you no matter how used you were to his touch by now. Much less with his mother as the main audience this time.

“My son has always been really affectionate. Straight out the womb, he was such a cuddly child.” His mother watched you fondly, her hands now clasped in front of her. “You two seem to match so well .”

“Yes, you mentioned he was clingy.” You blurt out before you realized what you said. It sounded a bit rude.

“I mean, as a child.” You clarify and watch Jungkook raised both his eyebrows as he took a sip of his water. He seemed unbothered by the comment thankfully.

“Yes, he was.” His mother chuckled at you.

At least they have a sense of humor. Must run in the family.

“What I mean is, I’m glad that side of him is back. I hadn’t seen it in a long time.” She explains with a more glum tone.

“And who’s fault is that?” You hear Jungkook remark.

His mother’s expression visibly falls. Her smile remained but she lowered her gaze, avoiding his eyes.

“Jungkook.” You whisper to him with an imploring look.

Instantly you feel a sense of not only embarrassment for her but deep empathy. She seemed so happy just moments ago. It was her birthday and that made it all much worse. While you knew Jungkook was far from fully reconciling with his mother, you had assumed he was on the right path at least. His mother himself had hinted at it. You had expected him to not make snide remarks at the very least.

Thankfully the waiter comes to take the orders before any of you can utter another word. You bite your nails nervously and look towards Jungkook for help in pronouncing the pasta meal. He struggles with it too but plays it off better than you would’ve. The pinch between his eyebrows was amusing and he gives your shoulder a squeeze when he notices your inability to keep a straight face.

Once the waiter leaves, you don’t know what to say to make things better. You don’t know his mother well enough to offer any sort of distraction but you wanted to lighten the mood at all costs. You never did well this sort of pressuring atmosphere, you feared you’d start to feel claustrophobic soon if something didn’t distract you too.

“Lots of children tend to be clingy I think.” You look between her and Jungkook. He gives you a thoughtful look, resting his head on the palm of his hand “But it usually fades out one way or another.”

It was a weak attempt.

“Yes, I guess that’s true.” His mother replied softly seeming to appreciate it nonetheless.

“Did you always want to be a lawyer?” Changing the subject might be for the best.

She goes on go explain that she didn’t at first and thought she’d end up becoming an interior designer due to her fascination with art when she was younger. But she ultimately decided to go to law school because her parents thought she’d strive there and have a more successful career overall. They had been right of course, she had been a top student. She claims it was hard and one of the worst experiences in her life was attending those first days of law school along with the bar exam despite her success.

You listen to her intently, nodding along to her ramblings that at moments remind you of your own. Her mannerisms continue to remind you of her son though, the resemblance still as uncanny as ever.

The food eventually arrives and that’s when you look over at Jungkook. He doesn’t seem particularly interested in what his mother is saying and you assume it’s because he must’ve already heard it countless of times before.

“What about you? I heard you’re a psychology student.” His mother questions, cutting into her steak.

You pause, your eyes slowly trailing towards Jungkook who has sharpened his gaze. But his glare is directed at his mother first before it lands on you.

A warning sits behind his eyes.

“Y-Yeah. I’m just sorta taking a short break right now.”

Take the shake out of your voice. You wanted to smack yourself for having such thin skin and the complete opposite of a poker face.

“Really? Oh that’s good. I hope you find a nice career in psychology. You seem like a very smart girl.” You smile at her words.

I thought I was until I met your son. The words sat on the tip of your tongue.

“She is.” Jungkook confirms with a nod, stabbing the fork harshly into the piece of meat on his place. He raised an eyebrow at his mother. “She doesn’t need a career to prove that.”

His mother smiles, oblivious to what those words really mean for you. She swallowed her bite and looks between the two of you.

“She doesn’t but I’m sure that’s what she wants if she’s in college.”

“Mm” Jungkook muses, holding up the piece of steak on his fork as if to inspect it. “Sure, she can get a degree but I expect to take care of my wife so there’s not a need for her to stress over it.”

Wife.

A cough leaves you upon hearing that. You tried to chew down the pasta you were sure had just gotten stuck in your throat. Blinking away the tears forming, you reach over to take a sip of water.

“Oh?” His mother eyes your actions, a bit perplexed. “I suspected you two were already serious but I didn’t know marriage was already on the table. I’m glad.”

You clear your throat and wipe away your watery eyes.

“I-I,”You gape at Jungkook but he ignores you , still looking towards his mother. “Sorry I wasn’t expecting him to say that either.”

“Eventually we will. Maybe sooner rather than later.” He shrugs, bringing the fork to his mouth and chewing down the steak. “ That’s the goal isn’t it? What’s so shocking about it?”

Staring down at your plate, you swore you feel the room spin for a split second.

“No! It’s not shocking at all. I always knew you’d want to marry once you found the right person.” His mother beams, sounding much more pleased by the idea the more she talked. All her previous bewilderment gone.

“I think I’d need to mention that to my parents first.” You express and send Jungkook a puzzled look.

Your parents.

The thought of them receiving the news of you in such a serious relationship that talks of marriage were already in the air made you squirm. You had barely even admitted to having crushes back when you lived with them, let alone someone close to a fiancé. A stupidly foolish part of you at one point had fantasied about that person you’d bring home to them would be Eunji.

Eunji.

You blocked her image out entirely, aggressively burying it away.

“I think it’s time for you to let me meet them then.” He throws back in a sickeningly sweet stone that silenced you with ease.

The last thing you wanted was Jungkook within any close distance of your parents. Not with everything he had against you. He might be the only man who’s ever had your heart ache terribly like this but he was could also become the man from your worst nightmares at one wrong move . To have him face to face with the people he’d swore he’d show your darkest secrets to if you didn’t comply was something you weren’t sure you could handle yet. The very thought of it made a wave of nausea hit you. It would be such a vulnerable position.

Even though it felt like years rather than months since that video had been taped, you knew that in itself meant you had distanced yourself from it so much that a part of you felt like it never existed. That Jungkook had never done that.

That your entire relationship with him wasn’t built on lies and deceit.

The reality was too hard to face because your heart was insisting you’d give in entirely to it’s desires.

Your true desires.

And you felt like you already had.

“You haven’t met her parents?” His mother gathers your attention again. Her question lingered in the air for a few seconds before you took it in.

“Uh, no. Not yet. They don’t live close by.” You hope the excuse sounds convincing enough with your overly wide smile.

“Ah.” She nods understandably. “I hope they can meet him soon. I’d also like to meet the parents of such a lovely girl.”

“Yes, hopefully.” Twirling your fork around your plate you realize you’re not that hungry anymore.

“I didn’t see my parents much when I was in law school either and after I met my husband-”

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”Jungkook announced and his mother paused mid sentence, giving him a small nod. You felt him lay a kiss on your cheek before he stood from his seat.

You watched as he walked away and disappeared into a corner.

“He gets bored easily at times.” His mother said sheepishly following your gaze.

For a second you’re tempted to ask her more about Jungkook now that the topic of conversation had shifted back to him momentarily. However, it seemed rude to try and pry about more than what you had already asked her when you had first met her. She seemed to have already over shared everything about him to you and you didn’t know if there was much else to ask. Not anything significant at least. Still you were greedy for every of untold story about him, for any of those insignificant details. Surprisingly your nosiness didn’t come from a place of pure fear this time. Your unease was accompanied with genuine concern and curiosity.

But you decided against it.It was her birthday after all. You shouldn’t risk tip toeing over a topic that could send her back to an unpleasant time period.

“I apologize for bringing you to such a crowded restaurant.” His mother says as she looks around.

The heavy murmurs and piano playing in the background fading as you focused on her.

“I know it’s not the best place for anxiety prone people. I used to hate it here too before I got used to it and fell in love with the food.” She adds with a soft laugh.

“Oh no it’s fine, really. I’ve been able to manage my anxiety a little better these days. It’s beautiful here.” You assure her and take a bite out of your food, not wanting it go to waste.

“That’s good to hear. Therapy?”

“N-No, I haven’t gone to therapy in a while. It did help me a lot though. I’m sure you know. Jungkook mentioned you also used to attend therapy regularly.” You bring your hand to your cover your mouth as you finish the bite.

You made a point to leave out the unnerving details of that story, not wanting to reveal how her son was first made aware of you. It was in fact a weird circumstance regardless if she was aware of his tendencies.

Her bright expression faltered. She stared at you for a long moment and blinked.

“Yeah.” She said after seconds of silence."Yeah, they for sure do help.”

She tilted her head to the side and focused back on her food. You notice the tiniest scrunch of her eyebrows before she sets her lips into a straight line.

That was strange.

You watch her carefully, your eyebrows furrowing as you try to decipher her reaction.

Jungkook returns a few minutes later and you plaster a smile on your face, attempting to push away the growing suspicion that settled in the pit of your stomach. The rest of the dinner goes smoothly, not anything of substance is said and Jungkook is mostly quiet. It was odd in a way to see him so closed off when it was usually you that was the silent one around people. You suppose it was due his mother’s presence being not nearly as intimidating as most people’s. Ironic considering her choice of career.

“We got you a gift.” You state the obvious once all of you had cleared your plates and a small round cake sat at the center of the table.

It had a dark chocolate spatula ribbon design on the bordes with a golden specked butterfly as the cake topper. The long wax candles placed in the middle already blown out. Your eyes had unconsciously been locked on the certain golden speckled figurine for reasons you could not begin to explain. It made you too aware of what his mother had said about the necklace.

“Jungkook picked it out so please blame him if you hate it.” You lightly joked.

“You really didn’t have to but thank you so much.” She took the gift bag from your hand, giving you a soft rub on the back when you leaned over to give her another quick hug.

You settled back into your seat and watched anxiously as she opened up the bag, shuffling through the tissue paper.

She took out the teal colored handbag and you clasped your hands together, tucking them into your chest. At first, the look in her face was unreadable as she further studied the purse. She looked in deep thought for a mere second before a smile broke out, her eyes widening.

“I-this is beautiful.” She expressed and looked over at Jungkook, you turned to glance at him and noticed him watching her. Intently.

“I used to have one just like this.” You raise an eyebrow. Had Jungkook gifted her a purse she already owned? You wanted to call him out but his his mother continued.

“I lost it a long time ago. Thank you.” She told you before her gaze met her son’s again briefly. “I didn’t think you’d still remembered the exact purse.”

Looking down at the hand-bag, your eyes scanned her face before they traveled over to Jungkook’s piercing gaze. It was unflinching. He had avoided eye contact with his mother for most of the dinner but he now he seemed to be unable to look away. You couldn’t describe the way he was looking at her. His jaw was clenched but his eyes held something more.

And you swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch so quickly that you convinced yourself it was your mind making you see things.

That same suspicion from earlier settled back into your stomach.

—-

It was stuck.

You pulled harder, letting out a huff as the bed frame legs loudly scraped against the floor tiles. Finally it moved and you slipped your head in between the small gap between it and the wall. Your hand felt for the piece of paper until you gripped the edges of it and carefully tried to scratch off the tape to not rip it apart.

Once you had it, you pushed the headboard back in place. Making sure it didn’t look slanted or out of place. Your eyes read over what you had written.

11-11-20

You were sure you would remember it without the need to write it down but you really didn’t want to put all your faith on the short term memory you possessed at the most important times. It had been the right decision because the numbers had already begun to fade when you got home that day from the theme park. The hiding spot seemed extreme but you really knew better than to risk anything less cautious. Even more so with something that could very well be insignificant.

Jungkook didn’t tolerate secrets.

You knew that well now. Even if it was a one way street. It always would with him and you were starting to understand that, accept it even. But you didn’t know why your gut was telling you to not forget these numbers. This date. The first time Jungkook saw you in that waiting room.

But this date could be more significant in other ways.

It was a long shot. A really long shot.

And you didn’t even know why you were attempting it. You almost felt disappointment in yourself for even going behind his back again. Had you not learned your lesson? But this was innocent, wasn’t it? You were only trying to access the internet to check your bank account and emails from job offers you had applied to.

But the lie settled uncomfortably in you.

You could’ve simply asked Jungkook for his permission to use his monitor or MacBook. You were positive he wouldn’t refuse.

As long as he hovered over your shoulder while you did and you wouldn’t be able to snoop like you really wanted to.

Your thoughts threw back the harsh truth. Jungkook’s computer was the only thing you hadn’t managed to snoop through in this entire apartment. Which meant that was the closet where all his skeletons must’ve resided in. Most at least. What you were looking for exactly you didn’t know. The more you circled around the reasoning you came to conclusion that it was more so you were seeking to make sure he hadn’t done something.

Something you were terrified he’d gone through with since the second he’d made the disturbing threat.

Walking down the long corridor, you felt your heartbeat in your ears with every step. You halted in front of his office door and let your fingers close over the doorknob to pull the door open. The office didn’t look any different from how you had last seen it. You hadn’t stepped foot back inside since your last failed attempt at unlocking his computer. There was a great chance this would be your second and last failed attempt.

Stepping inside, you let the heel of your foot shut the door behind you. As you neared his desk, your eyes fell on a couple of folders and papers laid out. You pushed his chair away from his desk and took a seat on it. A familiar paranoid thought popped into your head and you whipped your head around to check every ceiling corner of the room.

Why were you doing this? You shouldn’t be doing this.

Your hands felt sweaty clasping the mouse, the movement lighting up the screen. You gulped as you typed in the numbers from the wrinkled paper in your hand. The little loading icon that followed made your stomach churn.

You held in a gasp when the screen suddenly displayed a word document and multiple other tabs popped up.

You were in.

An unknown sensation went over you as you tried not to sit on the fact that he’d really had made that his passcode. It made your heartbeat faster than it already was.

Somehow it made you feel more guilty for doing this. You fought the urge to get up and sprint out, forgetting you had even thought of this but you stayed glued to the seat.

It took you a second to process before you read over what he had been doing before he logged off. But it was just a bunch of work documents he’d been typing out. They had his father’s company’s name on them. He had so many files too, you weren’t sure you’d be able to go through them all. You glanced over at the time on the corner of the screen, you still had plenty of time before he was supposed to be back from his errand. He had gone to drop off his car to get it detailed.

Despite that , you kept wanting to look over your shoulder at any sudden sound. You were stiff as a board as you clicked off his word document and clicked on an unnamed file. You scrolled and scrolled, your eyes trying to find something that stood out but nothing did. They all seemed work related, some even dating back to what seemed to be his college days. You moved over to his emails, squinting to read over the ones with long paragraphs. It was simply him giving detail responses to a colleague it seemed and instructions on another one. All similar subjects to his documents. Scrolling down further, you eventually came across dates that were too far back but you paused as you saw a female name on one.

A wiser woman would’ve not clicked it but your curiosity was one of your many flaws. Your eyes narrowed at the flirty message. It had also been work related and it was dated far back about more than a year ago. It had to be a female colleague of his and the flirtatious nature of her message had seemingly been one sided due to Jungkook’s dry response. You felt satisfied reading his lack of enthusiasm towards her, it had made you unclench your tight grip on your mouse.

Why had that made you jealous?

You let out an impatient sigh as you clicked off his emails.

What were you even thinking? He didn’t do anything.

He had been bluffing. Hoseok was fine. His family was fine. It had only been a warning and nothing more.

But that gut feeling wouldn’t go away, that awful doubt rearing it’s ugly bead.

How could you be sure? You bit your nail nervously as you stared at the screen. You shakily opened the browser and went to Instagram. Logging into your account, you quickly typed in his name and easily found his profile. You weren’t sure if he had ever followed you, you hadn’t opened your instagram in a while even back when you had your phone and you couldn’t remember if you had received a notification from him. It did surprise you that he had not blocked you entirely though.

You looked through his page. It was filled with the typical selfies and artistic photos but that wasn’t what you were looking for. Your eyes landed on his profile icon, the pink and orange lining around it. Holding your breath you clicked on his story . The first slide was a picture of a sunset he had taken somewhere. He was sitting down with a paper cup in his hand.

The next slide made your heart sink.

It was a black screen with two prayer emojis on the center and your eyes quickly read over the caption underneath it.

‘update: my sister’s condition is now more stable but please continue to keep her in your thoughts & prayers. thank you for all your support, our family needs it right now.’

You let out a gasp, your face twisting in complete shock at what you were reading. This couldn’t be real. You looked over at how long ago he had posted it.

9 hours ago.

You didn’t move.

How long had his sister been in the hospital? What type of accident had she been in?

A tear slipped down your cheek as you thought about Jungkook’s words that day. What he had promised. Had he really done it? No.

No it couldn’t be right? Your breaths became more shallow as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

But why? Why would he do this after you begged him not to? To an innocent person? How could he have done this.

Had it really been him? You thought over the possibility of it being a pure coincidence. A tragic one but one that didn’t involve Jungkook at all. But even you weren’t that foolish to believe in his non-existent nobility.

He had done it. He had gone through with it.

A shuddering breath left you.

Indescribable terror shook you. Any sort of benefit of the doubt you had given Jungkook was now gone. Vanished completely. Your chains didn’t feel so invisible now with the knowledge that Jungkook had kept every promise.

“If you think I’m such a monster, I promise I will show you how easily I can make that come true for you. ”

Had he meant for you to find out?

Had he meant to hide it from you?

You really hated how you weren’t sure.

A door slammed shut.

You nearly fell off the chair by how much your body jolted.

Jungkook was back early.

8:57 PM. Three minutes early, which means Jason’s probably already lurking somewhere nearby with his phone out, checking the time every thirty seconds like punctuality is a competitive sport.

You glance up from your screen.

Yoongi’s next to you, black scarf wrapped around his neck like he’s trying to strangle himself for warmth, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his puffer jacket. Only his eyes are visible above the collar, and they’re currently giving you that flat, unimpressed look he reserves for when he thinks you’re being stupid.

“Is he near?” His voice comes out muffled through the fabric.

Your eyes drop back to your phone. Messages still on delivered. No little dots indicating typing. Just… nothing.

“Don’t know,” you mutter. “He’s not answering.”

Yoongi shifts his weight, shoulders hunched against the October wind that keeps trying to crawl up your coat. The street’s mostly empty—just the occasional car passing, headlights cutting through the dark.

“How’ve you been?” he asks suddenly.

You blink at him. “What?”

“How’ve you been,” he repeats, slower this time, like you’re the one being weird. “Life. School. The whole… thing.”

“Since when do you care about my feelings?”

“I don’t. But we’re standing here, so.”

You snort, tucking your phone into your pocket. “I’m fine. Busy. Midterms are eating my soul, but that’s normal.”

“Mhm.”

“Jason’s been helping me with some assignments. He’s good at the whole… academic breakdown thing.”

Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound that could mean anything from ‘that’s nice’ to ‘I have opinions but won’t share them.’

“What about you?” you ask, because turnabout is fair play. “How’s the music stuff?”

“Fine.”

“Wow. Riveting.”

“You asked.”

“I asked for more than one word, jackass.”

He shrugs, breath fogging in the air. “Got a new client. Film score. Pays decent. Deadline’s hell, but it’s always hell, so.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It’s not.”

You roll your eyes, checking your phone again. 8:59 PM. Any second now.

The wind picks up, and you pull your coat tighter around yourself, wishing you’d worn something heavier.

“Why are you even standing here?” you ask, glancing at Yoongi sideways.

He looks at you like you’ve just asked why water is wet. “Because it’s dark?”

“So?”

“So I’m not leaving you alone on a street corner at nine PM like some kind of asshole?” He says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s the most basic thing in the world. “What kinda dumbass question is that?”

Something warm flickers in your chest. Not big. Not dramatic. Just… there.

“You could’ve waited inside.”

“Could’ve,” he agrees. “Didn’t.”

And that’s it. That’s all you’re getting. Because Yoongi doesn’t do emotional declarations or sappy friendship speeches. He just stands in the cold with you because that’s what friends do, apparently, and if you try to make it into a thing he’ll probably walk away out of spite.

So you don’t.

You just stand there together, breath visible in the October air, waiting.

At exactly 9:00 PM, Jason rounds the corner.

He’s wearing that charcoal peacoat you like, the one that makes him look like he stepped out of an academic journal photoshoot, and his hair’s slightly windswept in a way that’s definitely accidental but somehow works anyway.

“Hey,” he says, smiling as he approaches. His hand finds your shoulder immediately, warm even through your coat, and he leans in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“You didn’t,” you say, and you’re smiling too. Can’t help it. “Right on time.”

His hand slides down to yours, fingers lacing together, and the warmth spreads from your palm up your arm in a way that makes the cold feel less aggressive.

“How was your day?” he asks, thumb brushing across your knuckles.

“Long. Yours?”

“Same. Graded about forty essays on Fitzgerald. I’m pretty sure half of them were written by ChatGPT.”

You laugh, and he squeezes your hand, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Next to you, Yoongi makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a gag.

Jason pulls back slightly, glancing at Yoongi. Extends his hand. “Jason.”

Yoongi gives him a brief nod. Doesn’t shake. Just looks at the hand, then back at Jason’s face. “Uh-huh.”

Then he pulls out his phone, scrolling through something with his free hand while the other stays buried in his pocket.

Jason lowers his hand. Doesn’t seem bothered. Just turns back to you with that steady smile.

“Alright,” Yoongi says, still looking down. “I’m leaving.”

You turn, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re not coming with us?”

“I’m picking Jimin up. We’ll take the subway.”

“Jimin?”

Yoongi blinks at you slowly, like he doesn’t understand why this is confusing.

“Yeah. Cardigan bookish boy. Looks like a walking marshmallow. You introduced us?”

“I know who Jimin is, you jackass.” You squint at him. “I didn’t know you two were that close.”

He shrugs.

Because of course he does. Because Yoongi operates on a strict need-to-know basis, and apparently ‘developing a friendship with Jimin’ wasn’t information you needed to know.

“Since when?” you press.

“Since.” He waves a hand vaguely. “We’re watching movies. He likes horror. I like horror. It’s fine.”

“Movies,” you repeat flatly.

“Yeah.”

“You’re watching movies with Jimin.”

“That’s what I said.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this?”

“Why would I?”

Jason’s thumb is still doing that absent circle thing on your hand, and you can feel him watching this exchange with quiet amusement.

Yoongi checks his phone again, shoulders shifting like he’s about to leave, and something clicks in your brain.

“Wait,” you say quickly. “I can drive you both.”

Yoongi pauses. “What?”

“I have my car.” You gesture toward where it’s parked two spots down. “We can pick Jimin up. All go together.”

Yoongi’s face does that thing where he’s clearly calculating logistics and trying to figure out if this is worth the social interaction.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” you cut him off. “But it’s cold, the subway’s gonna be packed, and you’ll get there faster if I drive. Plus, Jason and I were gonna drive anyway, so.”

Jason nods easily. “I don’t mind. The more the merrier.”

“Where’s he at?” you ask.

“Union Square area.”

“Oh right.” You nod. “Carlyle Court, yeah?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift slightly. Like he’s mildly impressed you remembered. Or mildly suspicious about why you remembered.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat.

Looks between the two of you, then down at his phone, then back up.