arara gomen

Twelve Years Ago

Overly romantic and prone to flights of fancy – words written by your fourth-grade teacher on your report card, and words that come to mind now, seated with your nose pressed against the second-floor window. Delicately, you lean back and wipe the pane with your sweater.

Long ago, you decided to embrace your (unfortunately immutable) overzealous nature. It’s your superpower; the ability to make the best of a situation and always figure out a path forward. Even your high school drama teacher agrees – last spring, she declared your performance of Fantine in Les Mis to be the most spirited rendition she had ever seen.

Which, come to think of it, may not have been a compliment.

Regardless, it is not in your nature to do things half-measure. And honestly, you would dare even the most cynical high schooler to feel anything less than ecstasy when faced with a date with Yoongi Min. Impossible.

Bright lights swing onto your drive, and you snap the blinds shut, nearly toppling over in your haste to stand. The window seat on the second floor remains your favorite place to spy on the neighborhood. Never mind that things have been cramped since last summer’s growth spurt when you sprang upward four inches.

Below, your dad’s voice drifts up the stairs. “Y/N!” he yells. “Your gentleman caller has arrived!”

Coming to a stop at the landing, you smooth down your sweater and grimace at your hair in the mirror. No matter what you do, it refuses to behave the same way your mom’s does, which always looks perfect. When your dad calls your name again, you give up and head down the stairs.

One thing you never question is where in the family your dramatics came from. While you were upstairs snooping, your dad was in the living room, doing the exact same. He would never miss an opportunity to reenact the scene from Twilight with Charlie Swann and his shotgun. Never mind that your dad has never so much as held a gun, let alone threatened with one. Instead of a rifle, he makes do with the wooden cane your grandma left in your garage last Christmas.

Grabbing your coat, you shove one arm through the sleeve. “Don’t wait up,” you call as you pass by the kitchen.

Your mom barely looks up from where she’s dicing tomatoes. “Be safe, honey. Don’t forget your curfew is 10:00, and there are to be no drugs, no alcohol, and no destruction of public property!”

“Cool, cool – private property is fine, though. Right?”

She laughs, never ceasing with the knife. “Have fun, honey,” she adds as you continue down the hall.

Rushing to the front door, you meet your dad halfway, who emerges from the living room with the cane in one hand.

“Dad, no!” you blurt, nearly tripping on your coat in your haste to reach him. “Please,” you beg, skidding to a stop between him and the door. “You are not allowed to embarrass me tonight.”

Adjusting the cane, he places one hand on his heart. “Who, me?”

Not breaking eye contact, you lower yourself and shove your feet into boots. “Yes, you,” you huff, not trusting him out of your sight. “Or are you not the same dad who humiliated me last year before the homecoming dance?”

Your dad taps his chin. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Oh, no? So, when my date showed up with his pants too high, you did not say, ‘One time I thought the dryer shrunk my clothes, but it turns out it was just –”

“The refrigerator!” Your dad guffaws, remembering the punchline. “And your date didn’t think that was funny?” he asks, sobering at the idea of you dating someone with no sense of humor.

Dad humor, that is.

“Honey,” your mom calls from the kitchen. “Why don’t you come help set the table? We can spy on Y/N from the window when she leaves, like normal parents.”

“Why isn’t Bea helping?” you ask, zipping your coat. “Where is she?”

Bea is your younger sister, and most school nights are spent studying at the library, although she’s usually home by now on Fridays.

“Model UN,” comes your mom’s voice.

Before your dad can form a new argument – his expression looks dangerously close – you dart around him and wrench open the door.

“Thanks!” you yell, stepping outside and slamming it shut. “See you!”

Perhaps you slam the door a tad harder than necessary, since when you turn, you find yourself nose-to-nose with your date.

Yoongi blinks at you, his right hand outstretched as though he were about to knock. Slowly, he lowers his arm. “Uh…” He looks over your shoulder. “Shouldn’t I meet your parents?”

Images of Yoongi facing down the barrel of a wooden cane fill your mind, and you visibly wince.

“Nope,” you blurt, grabbing him by the elbow to steer him towards his car. His car, because – swoon – Yoongi is sixteen and already has his license. “We’re fine, let’s go.”

Yoongi looks once more over his shoulder but eventually follows. Shutting yourself in the passenger seat, you balance your purse on your lap. A purse borrowed from your mom, since no fifteen-year-old needs a purse for everyday life.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Yoongi methodically checks his mirrors. When he looks over and meets your gaze, butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Hey.” He smiles. “You look nice tonight.”

Thrilled, you glance down, as though you didn’t spend hours with your best friend Jasmine picking out this very outfit.

“Oh, this?” you say, casually. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Yoongi chuckles and faces forward.

Not bad is an understatement – Yoongi looks devastating. His straight, black hair falls across his forehead and those rips in his skinny jeans must be strategic. Also impractical, since it’s winter in Merriman. Hell, you’re cold, even wearing your peacoat, and Yoongi has on only a dark leather jacket.

Placing one hand on the back of your headrest, Yoongi looks behind you while backing out of your driveway. It takes everything in you not to swoon. As a result, your face scrunches in an approximation of pain, which Yoongi notices when he faces forward.

“Cold?” he asks, reaching to turn up the heat.

“No,” you say, only to realize this is the lesser of evils. It would be weird to admit you were pained by his dating moves. “I mean, uh, yeah. A bit.”

He simply nods, returning his errant hand to the wheel. The two of you drive in silence for a few minutes, until you clear your throat.

“Thanks for driving tonight,” you tell him.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “I didn’t think you had a license.”

Blinking over the console, it takes you a moment to digest. When you rehearsed this in your mind earlier, you pictured him saying something different. The Yoongi in your imagination accepted your thanks with ease, then commented how he’d been watching you from afar.

In a non-creepy way.

But that’s fine. You can be flexible with the best of them.

You manage to smile. “I don’t,” you say. As though you needed another reminder Yoongi is older than you and, frankly, out of your league.

He glances at you. “Then, I’m not sure I had a choice – did I?”

Before you can stop yourself, you roll your eyes. “Just take the compliment, Min.”

Yoongi stares at you for a long moment, then starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking. Some of the tension you felt releases, and you can’t help but smile as you look towards the window. Although it’s December, a layer of snow already blankets the ground, sparkling violet-white under the moon.

A faint buzzing interrupts your reverie. Retrieving your phone from your purse, you glance at the screen and see Jasmine’s name.

Jazzy-Jaz: HOW IS THE DATE GOING [7:06 PM]

Jazzy-Jaz: Wait, don’t answer that [7:06 PM]

Jazzy-Jaz: In fact!! Why are you even looking at your phone?? [7:07 PM]

Jazzy-Jaz: PS I ate all the brownies you made and need more. I am a fiend. You created a monster. Stop being so good at baking [7:07 PM]

You stifle a laugh, beginning to type out a response when the car stops, and you realize you’ve reached your destination. Looking up, you spot the neon sign for Brewsters, the dive-bar-slash-restaurant.

“Oh!” you blurt, lamely. “We’re here.”

Yoongi unbuckles his seatbelt, turning away so you can’t see his face. “Yeah, we are.”

Heat rises when you realize he may have seen you texting. Again, in your daydreams, you never made your date feel like they were unwanted. You’re beginning to realize this whole dating thing might be trickier than you realized.

Hastily, you climb out of the car. “Sorry,” you say, when Yoongi appears from the other side. “That was my best friend. Jaz – uh, Jasmine. Pillai. Do you know her?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not really.”

“Oh. Well, she was just texting me about this date.”

He nods, the gesture tight.

Shit. That could mean anything. Get it together, Y/N, you sternly internalize. “Because I’ve been so nervous,” you explain.

Yoongi’s expression softens and he pauses at the restaurant, one hand on the door. “You were nervous?” he asks. “About tonight?”

“Of course, I was. You’re, well” – seeing how interested Yoongi gets, you fumble a little – “you.”

He lifts a brow. “And that’s… bad.”

“No! It’s good.”

“Good?”

“Very good,” you clarify.

“Very good. Hm.” Nodding, Yoongi pulls open the door. When you pass him, he leans forward to murmur, “For what it’s worth, I was nervous about tonight, too.”

Your brain fills with static, barely able to think as he leads you inside. Five minutes later, you find yourself seated with Yoongi in a booth near the back. To your dismay, what seems like half your high school is already here.

Admittedly, you could have predicted this. There are exactly three places in town to go to on weekends, and two are in hotels owned by your family and Yoongi’s.

That was how you met Yoongi years ago. Your family owns the Rosy Finch, a cozy inn situated in the center of town, while Mr. Min owns the Lodge at Blue Glenn, a four-star luxury resort nested in the Blue Mountains. Despite their differences, your lodgings are considered the best within a one-hundred-mile radius.

You grew up attending conferences with your family and would inevitably run into Yoongi, dragged along by his parents. Mostly, you two ignored each other. Or – well, he ignored you and you pretended to do the same. Lately though, you found yourself watching him, wondering when the Min kid got so damn hot. You were as shocked as anyone when he appeared at your locker last week and asked you out.

It still doesn’t seem real to you as you open your menu – and open, and open, until the entire table is covered.

“What the…” Yoongi trails off. “How many pages is this thing?”

“Have you never been here before?”

His cheeks turn slightly pink. “No. My dad is kind of picky about where we eat.”

Sensing this to be a sensitive topic, you quickly move on. “Here,” you say, reaching for his menu. “The trick is only to order from page three. Pub food is the safe zone – anything else is a risk.”

“Oh?” Painstakingly, Yoongi flips the giant page. “So, you’re saying I shouldn’t get the quesadilla with… holy shit, is that mayonnaise?”

“Oh, wait, no – I actually hear that’s delicious. If you lack tastebuds.”

Yoongi solemnly nods. “Before that though, we should get this onion stick platter. Not sure if that’s a typo, but–”

“Y/N!”

You barely have time to react before fuzzy arms in a cardigan are flung about you. Face squished against Lucy Walsh’s chest, you struggle to free yourself.

“Y/N,” she repeats, yanking you back to hold you by the shoulders. “I thought I saw you back here! Did you get the group text?”

“The… group text?”

It’s hard to focus on what she’s saying with Yoongi across from you. Idly, he flips a page in the menu, as though its contents may have changed.

“The group chat!” Lucy laughs, curls bouncing. “A bunch of us decided to go to Brewsters at the last minute. I assumed you saw the text and – oh!” she says, finally noticing Yoongi. “I didn’t see you there. You’re in my brother’s grade, right?”

Before Yoongi can respond, Lucy adds, “Yes, that’s right.” She snaps her fingers. “You’re friends with Seokjin Kim, right? The mayor’s kid.”

Yoongi frowns. “Seokjin isn’t the mayor’s kid.”

“No, but doesn’t his family like, own half the town? He’s basically royalty if Merriman had royalty, which we don’t but–”

“Luce,” you interrupt, smiling brightly. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

Her gaze bounces between you and Yoongi, and then her eyes widen. “Oh,” Lucy says. “This is a date, isn’t it? Okay, I am so dumb. I just assumed you were here because Jaz is on her way. I’ll make myself scarce. Nice to meet you,” she calls to Yoongi as she retreats.

Yoongi stares at the back of her fuzzy, pink cardigan. Awkwardly, you fiddle with the spoon on the table.

“Um, sorry about that,” you say, forcing a laugh. “Lucy is nice, but kind of oblivious.”

Yoongi returns to you. “It’s no problem,” he says mildly. “Did you want to go and say hi to your friends? It sounded like they were–”

“Hi, there!”

Twisting in your seat, you curse internally when you see your waitress is Annie Summers. Annie is seventeen and gorgeous, which wouldn’t be a problem if she didn’t have the nasty habit of hitting on all her friends’ boyfriends.

Flipping open her notepad, Annie props one hand on her hip. Her smile is directed at Yoongi. “See anything you like?”

Yoongi glances at his menu. “I’ll have the burger.”

“Same,” you say, syrupy sweet as you close your menu.

Annie nods, collecting the menus without looking at you. “Of course. And if you need anything else” – she drops a wink at Yoongi – “you know where to find me.”

Sauntering away from your table, she tucks both the menus beneath her free arm. You glower at her backside until Yoongi clears his throat.

“Oh.” Blinking, you face forward. “Sorry. What did you say?”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then hesitates. He sits back. “Nothing. So – the burger, huh? Should we be worried that technically, it was on page four?”

You laugh and before you know it, a bus boy is dropping two burgers off at your table. For a moment, you think Brewsters has set a new service record, but then you look at your watch and realize you’ve been talking for nearly an hour.

Blinking at your meal, you take this fact in. Ever since Yoongi asked you out, you’ve built this up in your mind. Not only is this your first date with Yoongi, but your first date ever and you admit you may have come in with high expectations. The direct result of your obsession with movies like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and When Harry Met Sally.

Somehow, though, tonight has exceeded them all. Sure, there were a few hiccups at the start – and do you love the fact that Annie keeps hitting on Yoongi? No. But there’s still something about tonight that leaves your stomach giddy, high with anticipation that this might be the real thing.

Yoongi fiddles with the wrapper of his straw, his hand inches away. You watch his gaze dart to your fingers, lingering before he exhales and withdraws.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Annie appears like a bad habit, and you try not to wince. Forcing a smile, you shake your head, no, then look at Yoongi.

His gaze is on Annie. “I’m good, thanks.”

Her smile widens. “Okay, cool.” Before she leaves, she drags her finger along the table. “You’re Yoongi, right? I think I’ve seen you around.”

“Yeah,” he says, then falls silent.

Your fingers begin tapping a rhythm on the booth. You wait, expecting for Yoongi to shut things down, but nothing happens.

Uncomfortable, you sit there as your skin starts to itch. Something about the moment feels… wrong, but you can’t put a name to it. Maybe it’s more noticeable because only five minutes ago, you felt on top of the world.

Right as you think this, the door to Brewsters opens. Your jaw drops when you see two familiar faces, and you jump out of your seat.

Both Yoongi and Annie swivel to face you. “Sorry!” you blurt, grabbing your purse. “I, um, need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Annie’s face shifts to something like pity, but Yoongi looks concerned.

“Okay.” He half-rises. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you add, panicked that he’ll turn around and see the new entrants. “I just, um, need to pee. Be right back.”

Before he can respond, you dart away. Powerwalking to the front of Brewsters, you have a clear view of Jasmine and Namjoon seated at a table. Jasmine withdraws a beanie from her backpack to squash over her hair. Namjoon wears no disguise, although he has on his glasses instead of the usual contacts.

“What are you doing here,” you hiss, dropping both hands on their table. Namjoon, at least, has the decency to look embarrassed. “I am on a date.”

“Exactly!” Jasmine squints from under her beanie. “We’re here as your back-up. You never texted me back.”

“You were the one who told me not to respond!”

Her lips purse. “Okay, that was dumb of me. What if Yoongi kidnapped you? From now on, ignore what I say and send me hourly updates.”

Slowly, your eyes close.

Namjoon chooses this moment to chime in with, “You look nice tonight, Y/N.”

“I know,” you snap, your eyes flying open. “I look nice for Yoongi, not you two clowns, who are ruining my date with your presence!”

“Uh…” Jasmine points over your shoulder. “Actually, I think Annie Summers might be the one ruining your date. Not us.”

Following her hand, your entire body goes still. Annie has taken your seat at the booth, and while you watch, she laughs at something Yoongi just said. A second later, she slides her hand forward to brush against his.

Heat – and embarrassment – claws up your throat.

You knew this whole thing was too good to be true. Yoongi is older, more attractive than you, and he has the whole mysterious, cool guy vibe women go nuts for. It never made sense for him to ask you out, and now you have proof. You’re a nerdy, theatre-loving loudmouth with no significant plans to go to college.

Tears prick the back of your eyes, and you do your best to quell them. Jasmine and Namjoon continue speaking, but you barely hear. All you can do is concentrate on recovering enough to march over and end this. Ideally, without crying.

Squaring your shoulders, you gather yourself. “Okay,” you say. “I’m heading in. Jaz – you have my location on Find My Friends. That should be enough; there’s no need for hourly texts. And Namjoon…” Disappointed, you shake your head. “I expected better from you. You’re supposed to be the reasonable one of this group.”

Visibly, he deflates. “Sorry. Jaz promised me ice cream.”

“In December?” you ask. “Do better. Okay, I’ll text you both later – way later,” you clarify before turning around.

Wiping your palms on your pants, you head towards your table. Annie remains seated and Yoongi’s back is to you, so you don’t see his expression, but clearly, he hasn’t said to get lost before now.

Closing the distance, your heart starts to thud.

Noticing your approach, Annie slides from the booth, but not before sliding Yoongi a pink scrap of paper. “Call me,” she says, not bothering to be quiet.

She moves towards the kitchen, swaying her hips, and you watch Yoongi slip the paper into his pocket.

Your heart plummets. Although your feet are frozen, it feels like the world tilts beneath you. Dizzily, you try to hold on to what you felt before – the way Yoongi made you laugh, the way he confessed his nerves, and the easy way you conversed.

All of it is marred by the image of him accepting that phone number. Mindless, your hands curl into fists at your sides. Somewhere amidst the devastation, a sliver of anger worms its way into your thoughts.

Annie isn’t the problem. Yes, it was shitty of her to hit on your date, but Yoongi is the one who accepted her advance. He could have shut it all down. He could have told her to leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat across from her in the booth and he talked. He accepted her phone number.

The fact hurts worse than you thought it would. Granted, you don’t have much to compare things to, but you didn’t think rejection would feel so wholly tangible. Once, when you were younger, you dared Bea to punch you in the stomach as hard as she could. You nearly threw up, and your mom barred you from fighting, but you can’t help but think of that in this moment.

The idea of staying any longer is sickening, so all you can hope for is to escape with your dignity.

Marching up to the table, you grab your purse. “I’m not feeling well,” you say, also collecting your jacket.

Yoongi half-stands. “Y/N,” he says, then frowns when he registers what you just said. “You aren’t feeling well?” His gaze scans your empty plate. “Was it the burger?”

“Maybe,” you say, buttoning your coat. “I think it would be best if I leave.”

“Okay.” Yoongi scoots to the edge of the booth. “I can drive you.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Yoongi freezes, one foot on the floor.

“I mean” – you glance over your shoulder – “my friends can drive me home. There’s no need for you to go out of your way.”

More importantly, the last thing you want is to sit in a car with Yoongi for another twenty minutes knowing Annie’s phone number burns a hole in his pocket. Meeting his gaze, you watch his confusion morph to something close to suspicion. His gaze travels to fix on a point over your shoulder.

Slowly, his brows lower. “Isn’t that the friend you were texting?” he asks. “Did… you know they were coming?”

“No?” you ask, uncertain where this is heading.

His gaze flickers. “Okay.”

Yoongi’s tone has cooled, and you try not to flinch. It’s at that point you register what this must look like. It must look like you texted Jasmine in the car to come save you. As soon as you realize this though, you bristle, because you’re supposed to be the one with the moral high ground.

Yoongi was flirting with a waitress in front of you.

“Right,” you announce, pulling on your gloves. “I’m going to head out. I’ll send you money for the food, okay?”

Yoongi tenses. “Don’t bother,” he says. “I’m the one who asked you out. I’ll pay.”

“I insist,” you respond, well-aware you’re just being petty, but beyond the point of caring.

Yoongi slowly stands, taking a step forward until you’re inches apart. His chest rises and falls, hands clenched at his sides – fuck, his forearms are vascular. The visual sends heat flushing through you, since all of it is (unfortunately) extremely attractive.

When you move backwards, Yoongi follows. He looks at you down his nose, his gaze almost calculating.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You can’t help but feel this is about more than the drive home, and for a moment, you falter. Yoongi’s gaze is so open that you wonder briefly if this is all some misunderstanding. But then your gaze falls on the now-empty table, and you remember the phone number Yoongi just pocketed.

You lift your chin. “I’m good.”

Yoongi nods. “Okay. Sure.”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

The heat of his chest is practically tangible. Standing this close, you’re aware Yoongi smells of citrus and amber, an intoxicating combo you wish you had never known. His pupils are blown out, leaving mostly black.

Each second that passes brings you closer together – and then your name is called from somewhere behind you. Snapping free of the trance, you turn around.

“Bye,” you choke before leaving.

Jasmine and Namjoon stand beside Lucy, laughing at something her table just said. Appearing next to Namjoon, you tug on his sleeve. Looking down at you, his eyes widen and he swiftly sequesters you to stand beside Jasmine.

“Shit,” she mutters, placing her arm around you. “Do you want to leave?”

Silent, you nod as tears prick your eyes.

“I’ll call my dad,” Namjoon says, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “He should be able to turn around and come back.”

You nod again, wobbling, and Jasmine leads you away to a plate of trash fries. Trash fries are exactly what they sound like – heaped with anything and everything that is bad for your body. When Remmy Quarrels, a senior that every girl hates, hoots and asks where your date went, Jasmine flips him off until he turns around.

Collapsing into a booth by the window, you watch Yoongi’s tail lights leave the parking lot. The slightest hint of indignation stirs in your belly. He didn’t even wait to see if you were okay before leaving.

Anger is a more useful emotion than hurt, so you do your best to hold onto it. By the time Namjoon’s dad parks, your group has landed head-first in We Hate Yoongi mode. Jasmine declares herself captain, insisting skinny jeans will be a thing of the past in less than ten years.

Taking a deep breath, you do your best to convince yourself that tonight meant nothing. No one ends up with their first date from high school. No one ends up with their first date, period. This was merely a moment in your dating timeline, and if you’re lucky, you’ll never have to see Yoongi again.

And from now on, you’re determined to guard your heart better. Never again will you be so easily sucked in. You may be overzealous, but you are no longer naïve.

At least you have Yoongi Min to thank for that.

Present Day

“Oh my god,” Jasmine whispers, way too loud in your ear. “Yoongi looks fucking hot. Doesn’t he?”

It takes everything in you not to punch her in the arm. Instead, you grip your notebook and force a tight nod. “He looks… fine. I guess.”

Jasmine makes a loud snort of objection. Settling in her uncomfortable folding chair, she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she says. “I know you two had that weird falling out in high school–”

“You were there, Jaz. He hit on someone else. On our date.”

 “–but like, damn. Look at that outfit. An open blazer and scarf? Only a hot person can pull that off. I should know – I do it often.”

Your lips twitch, unable to come up with a suitable response. The worst part is Jasmine is not wrong. Yoongi is every bit as handsome as he was twelve years ago – more so, now that he’s twenty-eight and no longer sixteen.

His outfit is, unfortunately, as heart-melting as Jasmine implies. Yoongi has grown out his hair long enough for the ends to curl against his throat. Everything about his look screams expensive – the exact opposite of your outfit, thrifted from local craft stores.

Shifting away from him, you pointedly turn your face towards the stage. Well, stage is a loose term. Your high school musicals were set in a better venue. Every month for town meetings, Larry the janitor sets up a small platform in your town hall. The stage can only hold one person at a time and right now, that person is Judy Relis, town mayor. Judy has been the mayor since you were a small child, although admittedly, her campaigns in your youth had more vigor.

Tapping the microphone, Judy leans in and asks, “Is this thing on?”

Feedback echoes around the room, and you clap both hands over your ears. In the front row, Yoongi and Seokjin do the same. The two have been best friends for what seems like forever; even when Yoongi moved away from Merriman, the entire town knew of his doings through Seokjin.

“Sorry!” Judy beams at the crowd – well, at the approximately thirty people present. “Thank you for coming out on short notice. We have a packed agenda tonight, so I won’t take up too much of your time. I just wanted to thank you all for coming and let you know that tonight’s snacks were supplied by the Van Buren family. Thank you, Melissa and Jeff!”

Jasmine elbows your side. “That could be you,” she hisses. “The Van Burens brought store-bought goods. Your pastries are way better. And more impressive.”

Shaking your head, you give her a look. No matter how many times you tell Jasmine that you have a job, she pretends not to hear. Granted, you have invested a lot of time in baking as of late, and the town’s patisserie recently moved away, but that’s beside the point.

“First on the agenda,” Judy says, “I want to invite to the stage your new town treasurer, Remmy Quarrels.”

A light smattering of applause fills the room. You and Jasmine pointedly remain silent – as do Yoongi and Seokjin, seated at the front. Twisting, you spot Namjoon next to Jimin at the back of the room. The two launched their travel agency while they were roommates in college and decided to move to Merriman and establish their headquarters. Lately, their main effort has been increasing the town’s exposure.

Flipping open your notebook, you scribble the date at the top. Earlier this week, an email went out to every town businessperson, requesting their presence. Granted, you usually attend the town meetings, but the email explains Yoongi Min’s attendance. He rarely goes anywhere unless requested.

Lifting your gaze, you watch him lean over and whisper something to Seokjin. The two of them smirk when Remmy takes the stage.

You wish you could say they were in the wrong, but honestly, Remmy Quarrels is the worst. It was to your horror that he won the election last summer. Since then, he’s made it his mission to make the town money – often in unusual and unsavory ways. At one point, he approached your dad about a per head tax for children at the Rosy Finch. Your dad pretended not to hear until Remmy left.

“Good evening,” says Remmy, smiling at the room from the stage. “We have a full house tonight. I see those personalized emails did the trick.”

A few attendees laugh politely, but mostly they stay silent. Removing the microphone from the stand, Remmy smooths a hand over his hair. Blonde and thinning, the strands are plastered to his scalp by some kind of gel. Few things about him have changed since high school, including Remmy’s tendency to overuse hair products.

His smile widens. “I have an important proposition to share with you all tonight. I’m not exaggerating when I say this idea could be life changing.”

In the front row, Yoongi loudly coughs. Remmy glances down, slightly thrown, and you unfortunately find yourself rooting for Yoongi. The enemy of your enemy is your friend, as the saying goes.

Although more than a decade has passed, things remain frosty between you and Yoongi. After your disastrous date back in high school, he adopted radio silence, avoiding you at school until he graduated. He went to some rich, fancy college where he majored in hospitality, and secured a job afterwards at a luxury resort far from town.

He only returned to Merriman three years back when his dad died and Yoongi inherited the Lodge at Blue Glenn. The two of you have run into each other a few times since – hard not to, since your family still runs the Rosy Finch – but he retains an air of frigid professionalism.

It drives you insane.

“When you all voted for me as town treasurer,” Remmy continues, breaking into your thoughts.

Jasmine leans over. “I didn’t vote for him.”

“Me, either,” you whisper from the side of your mouth.

“Our town was struggling,” Remmy continues, adopting a serious face. “It was, but we’ve grown since then.”

“He was voted in four months ago,” Jasmine mutters. “Why is he acting like years have gone by?”

A snort escapes you, and you duck your head when Remmy glances your way.

“I promised,” he continues, voice raised, “that as your town treasurer, I would bring us success. New businesses! New partnerships! And in my role as town treasurer, I will –”

“We should have brought vodka,” Jasmine groans, slumping further. “And done a shot every time Remmy says the word treasurer.”

“We would have been drunk.”

“We would not have been bored.”

A true laugh escapes and now, Remmy is flat-out glaring in your direction. Desperate, you slide down in your chair to escape him.

“How many of you have heard of Emerald Corporation?”

Emerald Corporation? Oh, no.

You shoot upward so fast, the chair legs rattle ominously. The Emerald Corporation is a hospitality group headquartered in some giant city. Last year, you heard they bought a bunch of boutique hotels and renovated them extensively. They also fired the original management teams to do so, which escaped the press notices.

Other people in the room nod though, and your stomach churns as you see several grins. Not Yoongi, though. He remains seated in the front row with arms crossed and feet planted.

Remmy allows the excitement to build. “Well,” he says, pausing dramatically, “I recently had a meeting with their head of development, Phil Jones. Emerald Corporation is interested in purchasing the old Tully estate on Mount Bowler and turning it into a luxury ski resort.”

Mount Bowler, named for the ridge around its summit which gives it the shape of said hat, is next to Mauve Peak, on which sits the Lodge at Blue Glenn. The Tully estate is nothing but an empty piece of land. The family bought it decades ago, intending to build a chalet, but lost interest before they broke ground. It’s been for sale ever since.

If only they weren’t planning to sell it to Emerald Corp. Merriman barely has the tourism to keep you and Yoongi in business. A third hotel – let alone a giant resort – would be devastating to bookings. Glowering, you bend over your notebook and scribble Mount Bowler.

When you look up, Yoongi speaks quietly to Seokjin. His face has turned in your direction, allowing you to see his utterly tranquil expression. Annoyingly so.

Remmy continues, “This would be a major investment in Merriman. The Emerald Corporation would position their resort as a top offering, and they plan to spend big on marketing and publicity. All of our businesses would benefit from the boom.”

Your hand shoots up.

Remmy closes his eyes, as though anticipating what you have to say. Eventually, he exhales and points in your direction. “Do you have a question, Y/N?”

“No.” Primly, you fold your hands over your notebook. “But I do have a correction – your proposal would not benefit all town businesses.”

If his lips thinned any further, they might become invisible. “Fine, Miss Y/L/N,” Remmy acquiesces. “You’re right. Most of the town’s businesses – by which I mean the vast majority – would benefit.”

“Except for the two already existing hotels.”

“Yes,” Remmy snaps. “Two businesses, while the hundreds that remain would greatly – ah, yes. Mr. Min, what is it?”

Yoongi has raised his hand in the front row. When Remmy points, he lowers his arm and leans forward. “Two hotels that currently employ over a hundred members of the community, not to mention support many local businesses.”

Remmy’s expression sours. Clearly, he thought, due to Yoongi’s clothing and stature, he would be on his side. Instead, his comment sends a discontented murmur throughout the room.

Glancing around, Remmy adjusts his mic. “I am sure Emerald Corporation would plan to staff their resort with members of the community.”

Your eyebrows shoot upward. That’s a bold promise to make. Based on what you’ve heard, Emerald Corp tends to clean house before they take over.

If Remmy’s promise is real, though, it would make the task ahead of you more arduous. It would be hard to argue against the idea if you and Yoongi are the only two individuals who might suffer.

Luckily, Yoongi seems to be thinking the same. “Have you gotten that promise in writing?” he asks. “My friend owned the Knotted Pine until Emerald Corp took over, and he was pushed out. He said Emerald Corp preferred to bring in their own employees rather than staff from the town.”

Another wave of whispers follows.

Remmy has clearly had enough of this conversation. “Yes, well, there’s plenty of time to work out the details,” he snaps. “The point is this will be good for the town.”

“Debatable,” you mutter to Jasmine, who nods.

“People are noticing us!” Remmy adds, throwing his arms out wide. This brings the microphone away from his mouth, and he hurriedly pulls it back. “People are noticing you, and with more attention like this, we can bring more jobs to Merriman. Speaking of which, we’ve had incredibly successful fall events this year. Tourism is at an all-time high, which…”

Tuning him out, you lean over to Jasmine. “How bad do you think this is, on a scale of wet to dry mac and cheese?”

Jasmine blinks. “Wait, which is the worse end of the scale?”

“Dry, obviously.”

“But… what if it’s wet in a weird way? Like… slimy.”

“Ew,” you groan. “Jaz, why would you put that in my mind?”

“You put it in my mind! And I don’t know,” she admits, biting her lip. “It doesn’t sound good, but maybe it’s worse for Yoongi than you?”

You pause. “Oh. Maybe you’re right? I mean, it’s not like the Rosy Finch’s clientele can afford Emerald Corp’s prices.”

“Exactly.” She nods. “But Yoongi’s resort? Direct competition.”

The Rosy Finch markets itself as a family inn, with prices that fit the agendas of budget-conscious travelers. Yoongi’s lodge caters to an exclusive, luxury crowd who want a well-guarded retreat.

Settling back, you should feel some relief, but instead, your thoughts continue to drift towards Yoongi. After taking over the Lodge at Blue Glenn, he raised its status from four to five stars and utilized his industry connections to cater to the rich and famous. Merriman is far enough off the map that they’re willing to pay top prices to escape.

A gigantic resort on the next mountain would likely put a stop to all that. And although your inn may not be in direct competition, Emerald Corp is not known for being merciful in their strategy. They’re known to undercut pricing to kill all competition, which you can’t afford to match.

Fidgeting with your pen, you do your best to stem the rising tide of anxiety. You’ve never been good at the financial side of the business. The prospect of cutting prices makes your insides wither, since you already operate on extremely slim margins. Unfortunately, that was the part of the business your mom was good at.

Your fingers freeze when the dull pain washes through you. Last September marked ten years since she passed away, but there are still moments when you think of her and it catches you off-guard. The pain is no longer as sharp as it was – more of an ache than a stab – but you aren’t sure it will ever fully fade.

Lowering your head, you distract yourself by taking copious notes the rest of the meeting. Sadly, your penmanship leaves something to be desired and at the end, you find yourself squinting at the third line you wrote. Standing from the hard plastic chair, you show your notebook to Jasmine, the only one capable of deciphering your writing.

“What do you think I meant here?” you muse. “Lax efficiency. Lax – like lacrosse?”

“Tax deficiency, I think,” says a familiar voice right behind you.

Snapping your notebook shut, you whirl around. Yoongi Min stands in the aisle, watching you with amusement. Always amusement – and always directed at you.

He glances at your closed notebook. “If you can’t read your own notes, Y/N, I don’t think you need to worry about me reading them.”

Scowling, you recover and take a step closer. “Nice try, Yoongi, but I’m not falling for that one. You’re probably just trying to steal my Christmas decorations – again.”

Yoongi blinks at you down his nose. “Y/N, there are precisely three holiday decorators in town.”

“Which, frankly, seems like a lot.” Seokjin Kim appears by his side. Adjusting his coat, he smiles at Jasmine. “Is there really enough work for three holiday decorators?”

Yoongi ignores this. “Odds are, our holiday décor will overlap, Y/N. There’s only so much a person can do with red and green.”

“Sure,” you say loftily. “If you’re burdened by the smallest thimble of creativity.”

His lips twitch. “Thimble?”

“Thimbles are small, Yoongi. Didn’t you ever watch Thumbelina? Where she floats down the river and –”

“Anyways,” Jasmine loudly interrupts. “What did you think of Remmy’s presentation, Yoongi?”

His expression flattens. “I think Remmy is full of crap,” Yoongi says, still looking at you.

Most of the room has now emptied, leaving the four of you standing alone in your row. Remmy has also disappeared from the premises – likely in a cloud of sulfur and bullshit.

Surprised, you manage a nod. “For once, we agree on something.”

“Do we disagree on so much, Y/N?”

You wish Yoongi would stop saying your name like that. Purposefully – savoringly – as though the word were melting. It must be distracting to people other than you.

Jasmine has certainly noticed. She keeps glancing between you with an expression you once described as her Emma Woodhouse look. Inevitably, a matchmaking scheme will follow, and you still haven’t recovered from the time she tried to set Jimin up with the woman from the candle shop.

“Do you think the offer is legit?” Jasmine muses, turning to Seokjin. If anyone in town would know, it would be him. “Have you heard anything?”

“No.” Seokjin shrugs. “But that doesn’t mean much, since the sale would be private. I’ll ask my cousin – she works in the mayor’s office. She’ll know of any large property being bought or sold.”

“Okay, cool.”

Returning your gaze to Yoongi, your eyes narrow. “What if the offer is real?” you demand. “What if Emerald Corp does plan to buy land on Mount Bowler? What will you do about it?”

Yoongi seems taken aback. “Doabout it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would I be responsible in that scenario? And what do you expect me to do, egg someone’s house?”

“Please be serious, Yoongi.”

“I–”

“This is a corporation we’re talking about. You would need to egg several houses.”

Jasmine and Seokjin burst out laughing, and you hide a smile, pleased. You don’t know Seokjin very well, since he was two grades older than you were in school. It would seem your humor matches, though, which is nice. Anything which frustrates Yoongi Min is music to your ears.

Unfortunately though, Yoongi doesn’t seem frustrated. If anything, it looks like he’s suppressing his laughter.

“This is typical Remmy,” you mutter, cracking open your notebook to search for something – anything – useful. “You know he tried selling parking permits on Main Street this winter?”

A crease mars Yoongi’s forehead. “Don’t the snowplows go through there?”

“Yep.”

Seokjin seems appalled. “Dastardly. Who would pay for a parking permit they have to shovel themselves out of?”

You snap your notebook shut again. “Hence why the motion never passed. Yoongi, come on,” you groan, stepping closer and poking him – hard – in the bicep. “We have to do something.”

Staring at your hand, he swiftly shakes his head. “There is no we, Y/N.”

Stiffening, you withdraw. Of course, there’s no we. Yoongi made that crystal clear to you in high school, but there’s no need for him to be so emphatic. You get it. Yoongi does not – and will not – ever like you like that.

Jasmine is scowling, likely thinking along the same lines, and you hasten to interject before she can say something embarrassing.

“Do you or do you not,” you ask, “own the Lodge at Blue Glenn.”

“I do,” he says slowly.

“And as the town’s only lodgings, don’t you think we should stick together?”

“Not true,” Jasmine pipes in cheerfully. “Mr. Moldove is renting the room above his barn. I saw an ad.”

Twisting around, you glare daggers at her. “Whose side are you on?”

Holding up both hands, Jasmine takes a step backwards to stand beside Seokjin.

Returning to Yoongi, you cross your arms. “Well?”

His gaze moves between you and Seokjin, who seems to echo Jasmine’s philosophy of not getting involved.

Eventually, Yoongi sighs. “Fine. Why don’t I reach out to Emerald Corporation and ask them for a meeting? We can explain to them our situation and try to convince them to build elsewhere.”

You pause. It’s not a bad idea, although privately, you feel nothing will come from it. At the very least, you’ll be able to say that you tried.

“Okay,” you say, turning to Jasmine. “Ready to go?”

Nodding, she zips her coat up to her chin. “It was nice meeting you,” she says to Seokjin. Her expression turns stony when she beholds Yoongi. “Always a pleasure.”

“I’ll send an email once I arrange the meeting,” says Yoongi, seemingly oblivious to Jasmine’s death stare. “Is your work email okay?”

Stomach plummeting, you realize what this means. Yoongi deleted your number.

Attempting to rally, you convince yourself it doesn’t matter. Not everyone is a hoarder whose contacts section of their phone reads like a who’s who of late-night occupants of Brewsters’ bar bathroom. Yoongi is probably the type of person who reviews their contacts periodically and deletes names he doesn’t talk to.

Well, that’s fine. If Yoongi wants to keep this professional, you can do that. You can be corporate as hell.

Lifting your chin, you scan the recesses of your brain for something relevant. “Perfect,” you say grandly. “Let’s circle back on this.”

Yoongi frowns. “You want to… circle back before we’ve had the meeting?”

Shit. You took a shot in the dark. “Um, no,” you cough. “I just meant, let’s put a pin in this. Find time on my calendar.”

Even Jasmine is looking at you as though you’ve grown a second head. Swiftly, you turn around and head for the exit. “See you!” you squeak, striding towards the doors.

Luckily, Jasmine chooses to follow, and when you burst outside, you find Namjoon and Jimin waiting beside the main door. They stand beneath the streetlight, Jimin loudly complaining about his hair and the static. Despite this being his fifth winter in the mountains, he still complains about the climate.

Without breaking stride, you link your arm in his and begin dragging him down the road.

“Hey, Y/N!” Jimin says brightly, rolling with your antics. “Where are we going?”

“Bar,” you grunt. “Need shots. Now.”

Jasmine laughs from behind, where she walks with Namjoon.

“Uh-oh,” says Namjoon. “Does this have something to do with Emerald Corporation?”

“And Yoongi Min,” Jasmine singsongs.

Beside you, Jimin’s eyes alight with an unholy glee. Shit. You forgot that when it comes to matchmaking, he ranks second only to Jasmine.

“Tell me everything,” he gushes, grip like iron while steering you through the snow.

You make it to Brewsters in record time. Several shots in, things don’t seem quite so bleak. Namjoon points out that no one in town likes Remmy or corporations, so it’s unlikely this whole thing will even come to pass. Jasmine whips out an impression of Yoongi that sounds more like Mr. Darcy, and Jimin falls off his stool from laughing too hard.

All in all, when you collapse into your bed that night, much of the day has been pleasantly dulled. Except for one thing, cutting through the haze like a knife.

The sound of Yoongi Min saying your name.

Early the next week, Yoongi reaches out – via email – to say Emerald Corporation has responded. They’ll be in town Thursday and are open to meeting and discussing their proposed expansion.

Yoongi offered no personal commentary along with the email. He simply forwarded a thread begun by his general manager, Taehyung Kim. Vaguely, you remember Taehyung from high school. He was a grade below and, while also musical, was more into band than theatre.

Trying to make a good impression, you arrive at the Lodge at Blue Glenn more than an hour early. Politely, a woman named Cheryl shows you a cushy seating area before a roaring fire and informs you Yoongi is still in another meeting.

Seated before the fire, you cross your legs and scowl into the flames. Unfortunately for you, the chair is extremely comfortable, and the décor is hospitable. Unwittingly, you feel much calmer.

Eyes wandering the lobby, you must admit Yoongi has done a good job. The few times you visited Blue Glenn as a child you remember the vibe being stuffy and old. Since Yoongi took over, he retained the air of old-world sophistication but renovated the lodge in a way that feels fresh.

Floor-to-ceiling windows look onto the mountain, watching the ski lift bring people up and down the white slopes. The interior looks as though it’s been spit from a Ralph Lauren catalogue – in a good way.

In fact, you’re so busy perusing your surroundings, you do not see Yoongi standing before you for several moments.

“Ah!” you yelp, jerking backwards.

Yoongi lifts a brow, both hands in his pockets. “That’s good. Get it all out before the meeting.”

Scowling, you try to get up from the chair – and sink further down. You attempt this twice more before Yoongi sighs, holding his hand out to help you up. His palm is calloused and warm, sending a brief flutter through you when your eyes lock.

Abruptly, Yoongi releases you and takes a step backwards.

Feeling oddly bereft at the loss, you glance over his shoulder. “Should we get going?” you ask.

He pauses, then nods and gestures for you to follow. “The conference room is this way,” he says, leading you down a long hall.

You fall into step alongside him, keeping your gaze straight ahead. In the email Yoongi forwarded, he volunteered Blue Glenn as a meeting place, and you swiftly agreed. The Rosy Finch is cozy and charming, which in real estate terms means small.

Most of your work is conducted from the tiny back office or your apartment on Bell Street, several blocks over. There is absolutely no space for conferences or meetings, so when you walk into the room, you’re momentarily speechless.

“Whoa,” you breathe, turning around.

The wall opposite you is entirely made of glass, showcasing a different view of the ski runs outside. In the middle rests a long, oval table stocked with pen and paper. The entire back is taken up by a drink console offering water, coffee, and tea.

Making a beeline for this, you pour yourself a large mug of coffee – and add several sugars. Taking a sip, you sigh before turning around.

Yoongi has seated himself at the head of the table, which does not surprise you. What does surprise you is how natural he looks, as though he were born to wear bespoke suits and speak business-ese. In high school, Yoongi was more likely to be dressed in converse and ripped jeans than a Bijan jacket.

Not that anyone in your small town has the money or know-how to buy Bijan couture. As though he can read your mind, Yoongi tilts his head.

“You look nice,” he says bluntly.

You wore what you’ve deemed your work power outfit, which is a pencil skirt and heels. It is also the only work power outfit you own, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Deliberate, you march to the opposite end of the table. “Is that your strategy?” you ask as you sit. “Catch me off guard with a compliment?”

Yoongi blinks. “What would I gain from that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe make a bid for Emerald Corp by yourself. It would make sense,” you add, fingers tapping the table. “Your lodge fits neatly within their portfolio. You could sell to the group and stay on to run things. Why not?”

When this thought occurred to you earlier this week, it kept you awake for several nights. You don’t want to assume the worst about Yoongi, but the fact remains that you’re business rivals, and you had to convince him to help in the first place.

His jaw tenses. “Didn’t you hear me at town hall? Emerald Corp has a tradition of ousting management teams once they take over. Consider me crazy, Y/N, but I plan to stay employed.”

“There are ways around that.”

A dangerous gleam enters his eyes. “I said you look nice because you look nice, Y/N. When I think you look differently, I’ll tell you that, too.”

You stare him down from across the table. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

Anger simmers between you, but beneath it, you think you catch a rare glimpse of hurt. It’s hard to tell, since he shifted to anger so quickly, but it’s possible Yoongi took offense to your assumption that he would sell out.

You open your mouth to apologize when the door to the room opens.

Taehyung Kim pokes his head inside. “Emerald Corporation is here, Mr. Min. Are you ready for them?”

While Yoongi’s attire is appropriate for a board meeting, Taehyung is dressed as though Christmas threw up on him. His holiday sweater has a bright Rudolph nose, and he wears green plaid pants and a red Santa hat. Honestly, unsurprising from what you remember of him in high school.

When Yoongi nods, Taehyung throws open the door. “Come in,” he tells the row of bland suits behind him.

Each of them files in and you stiffen, counting no less than five men. Wonderful. Always a treat to be the only woman in a business meeting.

Yoongi does not stand when they enter, so you do the same.

“Gentlemen,” he says, inclining his head. “Welcome to Merriman. Which one of you is Mr. Jones? We spoke over email.”

The last man through the door lifts a hand in greeting. He deposits his briefcase on top of the table, choosing a seat in the middle. Taehyung winces at the dirty briefcase before he withdraws, shutting the door behind him.

“Glad we could make this happen,” says Mr. Jones. He clicks his briefcase open. “You can call me Phil.”

You choose this moment to jump in. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Phil. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. My family owns the Rosy Finch here in town.”

Slowly, his gaze swings your way. He surveys you once, head-to-toe, then returns to Yoongi. “Then, you must be Mr. Min. My secretary said there would be coffee.”

He speaks without question marks, as though each word of his is a statement to be taken seriously.

Yoongi leans back. “Help yourselves,” he says, gesturing to the back wall.

A man immediately jumps up and pours the rest of them coffee, so you assume he must be an intern or associate. Your younger sister, Bea, interned at a law firm last summer, and you remember her complaining about the menial tasks.

Sitting pin-straight, you wait until they’re settled before speaking again. “Thank you for joining us this morning,” you say. “It was good of you to make time in your busy schedule.”

You may be laying it on a bit thick. Yoongi seems to think so, based on the way his eyebrows raise. Choosing to ignore this, you smile at Mr. Jones. One thing you’ve learned over the years is that women in business need to use every tool in their arsenal. You may lack your mom’s financial prowess, but you’re well-adept at killing people with kindness.

“It was no problem.” Phil takes a sip of his coffee. “We were coming up here already to check the land on Mount Bowler.”

“A good segue,” says Yoongi. “The land purchase is exactly what we want to talk about.”

Slowly, Phil sits back in his chair. “Oh?” He swivels. “I expect you to tell us that the land is bad, Mr. Min? Or maybe that the sun doesn’t hit the mountain quite right? Is that it?”

Yoongi’s jaw clenches. “Not at all,” he says smoothly. “The spot is beautiful. But you see, both Y/N and I run successful hotels with loyal customers. The market is tapped out. I would hate to see the Emerald Corporation waste investor dollars on a purchase.”

The youngest suit seems thrown by this remark, but Mr. Jones never wavers. Holding out his hand, he waits until an associate hands over a binder. Flipping this open, he scans the first page.

“The Rosy Finch,” he reads aloud. “Fifteen bedrooms. Maximum capacity of fifty guests. Average 5% vacancy rate. Not bad,” he adds, sparing you a glance. Mr. Jones flips the page. “The Lodge at Blue Glenn. Seventy-five rooms. Maximum guest capacity of three hundred. Average 7% vacancy rate. Conference room capacity up to seventy people.”

“Your point, Mr. Jones?” asks Yoongi.

“Well.” Closing the binder, Mr. Jones leans back. “You both operate with low vacancy rates, which seems to imply a greater demand than what you can keep up with. The resort we plan on opening will have one hundred and fifty guest rooms for a maximum capacity of six hundred, so we should easily accommodate your current customers plus any surplus.”

You nearly spit out your coffee. “Excuse me?”

Mr. Jones smiles, and the result is not pleasant. “I will be frank, Mr. Min and Miss Y/L/N. Your businesses may be doing well, but I doubt that will be the case once we build our property. And, well – brand loyalty only goes so far. We can afford to undercut your current prices for a few years. Long enough to ensure loyalty from your current guests and close the doors of your businesses. After that, well.” Aimless, he waves a hand. “Who knows what the future will bring? We may need to raise rates to accommodate future costs.”

At the other end of the table, Yoongi has gone eerily still. “So, you acknowledge that demand for a third property is nonexistent,” he says softly. “And instead, you plan to steal our guests and drive us both out of business.”

Mr. Jones chuckles lightly. “I would not put things so crudely, Mr. Min. After all” – he waves in your direction – “we have a lady present.”

It takes everything in you not to give him the middle finger.

“No,” he sighs. “That’s not at all how I would put things. I would say we plan to offer a new service to travelers who already love the area. We will bring our trademark Emerald service at competitive rates. Any impact that occurs to your businesses would be unintentional – and, of course, regrettable.”

“Except you just told us your plan,” you point out. “Which makes it seem intentional.”

Unruffled, he shrugs. “I can’t predict the future, Miss Y/L/N. Who knows what might happen? There could be enough guests out there for everyone to survive, even thrive.”

Yoongi grips his pen tightly. “What you’re doing is unethical.”

“What we’re doing is capitalism,” Mr. Jones corrects. “If you cannot compete, you do not deserve to be in the market. Now,” he says, draining the rest of his coffee. “If you’ll excuse us, we have a meeting to get to with a potential builder.”

Pushing his chair back, he stands and – as though on cue – the other four stand, as well.

“Feel free to send any follow-up questions via email,” Mr. Jones says on his way out the door. “I don’t think another meeting between us will be necessary.”

One of his associates collects the binder and deposits the mugs on the back counter. Once they have gone, you and Yoongi remain seated, neither one of you speaking.

Abruptly, Yoongi swears and pushes his chair back. Running a hand through his hair, he stalks towards the window to glare at the slopes.

Your eyes widen. This is the first time you have seen Yoongi anything less than calm, and oddly, it provokes in you the opposite reaction. You have always been better at navigating times of crisis. The ability to look on the bright side, to see a path through the darkness, has always served you well.

Getting up from your chair, you cross the room and gently touch his elbow. “Hey,” you murmur. “It’s going to be okay.”

He roughly exhales. “Will it?” Yoongi demands. “Because it sounds like you were right from the start, and their goal is to put us both out of business.”

“Oh!”

Startled, he looks sideways. “What, Y/N? What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, poised to move closer.

 “No.” You shake your head. “I’m just stunned that you – fancy hospitality school graduate and town success story – are telling me that I’m right.”

You expect Yoongi to roll his eyes, or maybe even laugh but instead, he slowly frowns. “What are you talking about, Y/N?” he asks. “You’re insanely smart.”

Oh, no. Discomfort wraps around you as you realize you may have been too self-deprecating. Usually, people respond well when you say things like that. It lessens the seriousness of the situation, which is often your main goal.

Forcing a smile, you shrug. “I don’t know. I just… you know, I didn’t go to college like you did.”

If anything, his frown deepens. “But you started running the Rosy Finch when your mom died,” Yoongi points out. “You were barely eighteen. If anything, you have nearly ten years of industry experience, and I’m entry-level.”

You laugh, a strangled sound. “You run this resort, Yoongi.”

“Through nepotism. Exactly.”

This time, the laugh that escapes you is genuine. Somehow, Yoongi has managed to turn this conversation around and make you feel better. Odd. That’s usually your job.

“Well,” you say, struggling to regain your footing. “Regardless, we’re both in the same boat now. Seems like Emerald Corp is full of shitty people.”

“If they’re even people,” Yoongi mutters. “Maybe the lizard-people conspiracy theories are right.”

“You think so?” Visibly, you perk up. “Personally, I think that would be kind of cool. Although, if they are lizard people, opening a ski resort seems like a bad idea. Reptiles can’t regulate their own temperature,” you explain. “They’d freeze.”

Yoongi’s mouth twitches. “Your mind is a fascinating place, Y/N.”

When he turns, you follow him back to the conference table. “Fascinating as in, belongs in a museum? Or a hospital?”

“Why limit yourself?”

You laugh again and when Yoongi hears this, he smiles. Retreating to your side, you grab your notebook to examine your notes from earlier. Something-something-Mr. Jones sucks-something-TAX deficiency-what suit is Yoongi wearing-his eyes are distracting-

You shut your notebook. That’s enough for now, you think.

Draining the rest of your coffee, you set the mug on the back wall with the rest. Turning around, you gaze at the slopes.

“I guess that’s that,” you sigh. “At least we did everything we could.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away, staring down at his notes. Eventually, he lifts his head and says, “Well. Not everything.”

You blink back at him. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you say earlier that we need to do something?” He lifts his eyebrows, waiting for you to catch on. When you do, Yoongi smiles. “What was it, exactly, that you had in mind?”

“No.” Yoongi stares, appalled, over his iced americano. “That’s a terrible idea, Y/N.”

Dejected, you slump in your seat. “Well, you think of something better, then!”

Yoongi’s lips twitch as he settles back to fiddle with the wrapper of his straw.

Merriman caught up with the times seven years ago, turning a vacant building into its first coffeehouse. The Bean Exchange is cute, with comfortable seating and delicious food, and at night it doubles as a wine bar and community space. Jasmine started working here after college and slowly worked her way up to the day manager. Ever since, it’s become your go-to spot.

When Yoongi reached out – via email again – and suggested you meet, it was the first place you thought of. Home turf advantage, and all that.

Not that you need it anymore. You have been thinking a lot since the meeting with Emerald Corp. Not just about Emerald Corporation and their villainous intentions, but about Yoongi – and more specifically, you and Yoongi, together.

It’s been a long time since the disastrous date back in high school. The two of you are older now, more mature and full-grown adults. Neither one of you live with your parents anymore, for example. In fact, last you heard, Yoongi’s mom moved back east to be closer to her sister.  

Sure, Yoongi did something lousy to you in high school, but it was high school. You are no longer the same girl who daydreamed about Yoongi in gym class and at your parents’ conferences. Maybe he wasn’t in the right place to date back then. Maybe he was just sixteen and immature.

Either way, it’s pointless to continue treating him like the boy who broke your heart then. You need Yoongi’s help, and it would behoove you to be effective work partners.

If only he wasn’t so damn infuriating.

Yoongi stares while you sip your Frappuccino. “Is whipped cream the flavor of the Frappuccino,” he asks slowly, “or a nod to the metric ton of whipped cream Jasmine added on top?”

Ignoring this, you swipe your finger through the whipped cream to slide this into your mouth. “Does it matter?” you ask, pulling your finger out with a pop.

“No,” Yoongi says, slightly strangled.

“Anyways.” You continue swirling your drink. “As I was saying – do you have any better ideas?”

The two of you have been at the coffee shop for the better part of an hour, and Yoongi has shot down every one of your suggestions. Granted, not all have been winners, but you really thought you had something with the idea to release a herd of elk onto their property.

“How would we ensure the elk stayed on their property, though?” Yoongi wondered. “And how would we get them there? And then,” he added, “what would they do besides eat some bark?”

“Terrorize landscapers?” you offered, but he had a point.

Now, Yoongi leans back. “We could reach out to Phil Jones’ boss.”

You make a buzzer sound with your mouth. “Terrible idea. Why do you think higher up the corporate ladder will be less corrupt than Phil?”

Yoongi grunts but concedes. He sips his drink again, and you take the opportunity to examine his outfit. This is the most casual look you have seen Yoongi wear to date. It would appear on weekends he allows himself the luxury of wearing jeans. Admittedly, these are paired with a button-down that looks softer than anything you have in your closet.

“Fine,” Yoongi exhales. “What are your other plans?”

Beaming, you tout out your notebook. “So glad you asked. Okay, so you ruled out the herd of deer – right?” you add, glancing at him to check. Yoongi nods and looks pained. “Okay, fine. Your loss. Let’s see… we could pretend to be ghosts and haunt the property?”

“How?”

“What do you mean, how?”

“I’m at a loss for how my question can possibly be misinterpreted.”

“We powder our faces and say ooooo a lot.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “No.”

“So narrow-minded. Okay, what about sabotage? We could block the main road that leads up to Mount Bowler.”

“Again – how?”

You stifle a grin, because you honestly thought his objection would be the legality of the plan, not its logistics.

“Um, let’s see,” you say, flipping a page. “We could cut down a tree. Trees fall down all the time! We just do it on the road and make it look like an accident.”

Yoongi considers. “Admittedly, that’s the best plan so far.”

“Why, thank you–”

“Which doesn’t say much.”

Scowling, you flip the page. “And again, I don’t hear you contributing anything useful.”

“I know, I know,” Yoongi groans, massaging his temples. “I’m terrible at this part of the business. The creative, imaginative side. That’s why I have Taehyung.”

Your stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with whipped cream. Ducking your head, you stare at your drink as though you find the contents fascinating.

“Hey.”

Glancing up, you find Yoongi has shifted closer. His gaze is curious. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” you say on instinct, then pause.

Most men would rather chew off their own arm than admit to wrongdoing, yet Yoongi just offered it freely. An odd sensation rises within you – a desire to tell the truth. Usually, this is deeply repressed by the need not to be burdensome.

“It’s just…” You trail off. “I wish I had a Taehyung sometimes. Not like, in a weird way,” you hasten. “But it must be nice not having to do everything yourself. There are parts of the business I’m not good at, either.”

Yoongi contemplates. “Does your dad help, or…?”

You nod, then shrug. “Well, yeah. My dad helps a lot. We usually divide all the work, but through the curse of genetics, we both end up being good at the same things.” Rueful, you laugh. “I usually end up managing our finances and booking system, both of which I’m awful at.”

“Have you talked to your dad about it?”

“Kind of.”

The answer to his question is a big, fat no, but that’s not something you’re comfortable sharing just yet. Yoongi seems to understand, nodding as he sits back to sip his iced drink.

“You know,” he says. “I’ve always hated the idea that one person needs to be good at everything.”

“What?”

“You know. The idea that one person should be innovative and a hard worker and good with numbers plus a great communicator. It’s an impossible standard,” he says, “designed to make you feel bad, and ultimately, to ensure you go nowhere. It keeps the status quo.”

“That’s… intense.”

“That’s capitalism,” Yoongi responds, managing to keep a straight face.

Your lips twitch. “I didn’t expect to receive a socialist rant today.”

“You should expect that anytime you’re with me, to be honest.”

Unable to help yourself, you laugh. “Yoongi, you run a business.”

“Yeah,” he says, but he smiles, “one in which I pay people a livable wage.”

“Ooh,” you say, mock-shivering. “Keep talking, that’s sexy.”

“Want to hear more about our community garden project?”

“Stop, stop,” you joke, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I might swoon. Where was all this back in high school?”

The moment feels like a record-scratch.

You both freeze, staring at one another while facing the reality of what you’ve left unsaid. Immediately, you wish you could take it back. You had not recognized how fragile this newfound truce of yours was.

The messiness of your past lingers between you, until eventually, Yoongi clears his throat. “I don’t know that much has changed,” he says. “For me, anyways.”

Face hot, you look down, since you know what that means. Yoongi did not like you in high school, and that has not changed. It would be good for you to remember this as you work together. It would be all too easy to fall into the same trap again.

“Right. Okay,” you respond. Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to rally. “What should we do, then?”

When you look upward, Yoongi seems about to say something, but the look on your face makes him change his mind. He frowns, then carefully says, “I don’t know. Didn’t something similar happen in Garland a few years ago?”

Jumping on the change in subject, you reach for your phone. “I think so. A warehouse wanted to build within their town lines, right?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods. “Wait – hang on, no. That land was owned by the town, and they just refused to sell. It wasn’t the same.”

Frowning, you open a search engine. “What about in New York? Wasn’t there a big company that wanted to build their headquarters in Queens but ended up withdrawing? Whatever happened there?”

Yoongi grabs his own phone. “You’re right. Okay – hm,” he says as he scrolls. “In that case, a bunch of state and local politicians opposed the company’s presence. They refused to cooperate.”

“Well, that’s out,” you say glumly. “Remmy has practically made t-shirts with Emerald Corp’s logo on them.”

“I shudder to think of the graphic design elements.”

“Emerald Corp is Coming to Town?” you suggest.

Yoongi can’t help but laugh. “Terrible,” he agrees.

“Wait!” you blurt, stopping mid-page. “This says that the reason politicians objected was due to community backlash. People led protests, made petitions, even camped outside their offices.”

“Are you suggesting we camp in Remmy’s front yard?”

“What you do in your free time is up to you,” you sniff. “I was more thinking along the lines of petitions and protests.”

“That’s a good idea,” he admits. “We can reach out to other small businesses. Go door to door. I bet a lot of townspeople would stand with us.”

“Yeah,” you add, your excitement growing. “Remmy will have no choice but to listen if everyone bands together. He wants to run again for office, right?”

“Well, well, well.” Yoongi tsks, sitting back. “Look at you, being devious.”

“Is it devious?” you ask. “Or simply forcing politicians to represent the will of the people who voted for them?”

Yoongi whistles. “Got me there, Y/N.”

“And what I need to get is more whipped cream,” you say, standing from your chair. “Want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” says Yoongi, opening a spreadsheet on his phone.

Heading towards the front counter serves several purposes. On one hand, you really do need more whipped cream; on the other, it gives you a second to distance yourself.

Yoongi’s words from earlier play in your mind: not much has changed.

He’s wrong, though. A lot of things between you have changed. Yoongi left town, then came back, and now he runs his family lodge. Your mom passed away and since then, your outlook on life has been different. The two of you are no longer the same people you were then, even if you wanted to be.

Uncomfortably, you think about your interactions and realize that, for the past three years, you were the one avoiding him. Yoongi returned with his fancy degree and five-star work experience, and you assumed he would think less of you. Maybe though, that was all self-projection. After all, the two of you never really talked after the disaster date.

If nothing has changed, then Yoongi would not be here now, offering to help. He would not be seated here in this coffee shop, doing his best to brainstorm despite your past differences, and so, things are different.

Which means maybe it’s time you started acting like it. It might be time for you to consider who Yoongi is now, rather than who he was back in high school.

One positive about small-town living is that the total number of businesses in Merriman are less than one hundred. Which makes your task much easier on Friday when you set out to collect signatures. Most of the businesses are located on Main Street, so you start your trek early in the center of town.

Coffee in hand, you march up to the first business and loudly knock. Yoongi squints at the wreath, making a face.

“See, people have gone too far,” he murmurs, careful to keep his voice low. “A blue and orange wreath? That’s not Christmas-y. In fact, that’s –”

“Happy holidays!” you blurt as the door swings open. “Hello!”

Mrs. Larson, the owner of Larson’s Candy and Sweets, beams at you. “Oh my goodness,” she laughs, adjusting her glasses. “Y/N, is that you? For a second, I thought you were your mother. You look so much like her. Come in, come in,” she gushes, stepping backwards. “Come in from the cold.”

For a moment, you freeze, the way you always do when someone compares you to her.

Yoongi steps closer and lightly touches your back. “Hey,” he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

He examines you seriously. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” This time, you manage to smile. “Thanks. Let’s go get that signature.”

Yoongi hovers another moment, then nods and gestures for you to go first. The moment you enter, you find yourself ensconced in sugar and chocolate. Mrs. Larson steps before her main counter, where she readies the daily display of chocolate and candy.

Peering at the tray, you spot a few macarons near the back. “Oh!” you gasp, bending closer. “These are so difficult to make, Mrs. Larson. How did you make sure the top didn’t crack?”

Chuckling, she pushes the tray closer. “I’ll confess, I didn’t make these myself. Macarons are beyond me, I’m afraid. I asked Sara from Garland to make me a few batches to sell.”

You nod, examining them from one side. “I have trouble with the consistency. I think it’s because my oven is…” Trailing off, you realize Mrs. Larson and Yoongi are both watching you. “Sorry,” you say as you straighten. “That’s not what we came to discuss.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, Y/N!” Mrs. Larson smiles. “If you ever decide to start selling your macarons, just let me know. Now” – she clasps both hands together – “how can I help you dears?”

Yoongi takes the first part of your rehearsed speech. “Were you at the last town hall, Mrs. Larson?”

“No, no. Couldn’t get away. Why? Anything fun happen? Did that Remmy Quarrels throw another tantrum when the projector died?”

Hiding a smile, you shake your head. It bodes well for you that Remmy’s ridiculousness is well-known around Merriman. You plan to use this to your full advantage.

“Not this time,” says Yoongi. “But Remmy did share a new proposal for the town. The hotel chain, Emerald Corporation, plans to buy land on Mount Bowler and open a new resort.”

Mrs. Larson seems stricken. “But that’s so close to Blue Glenn!”

“Exactly,” you say, jumping in. “Yoongi and I met with Emerald Corporation to see if we could find a solution, but it didn’t go well.”

Yoongi snorts. “Y/N is being polite. They said they intend to put us out of business and then hike up their resort prices.”

Mrs. Larson’s eyes flash. “Is that so, now?”

“It is.”

“Well!” She sniffs, wiping both hands on her apron. “We can’t have that type of attitude muddying the neighborhood, can we? What do you need me to do?”

Exchanging a swift glance with Yoongi, you contain your enthusiasm (a monumental task). Possibly this will be easier than you anticipated.

“We’re forming a petition,” you say. Handing over your iPad, you give Mrs. Larson the stylus. “We plan to submit this to Remmy before the next town hall. If we gather enough signatures from other businesses, maybe he’ll think twice.”

“Exactly right,” she says, signing with a flourish. “You kids let me know if you need anything else. Nothing fuels a righteous cause like chocolate!”

“Absolutely.” Yoongi nods, helping himself when she holds out a tray. “I’ve always said that.”

Mrs. Larson encourages him to take more, until eventually, you grab Yoongi by the elbow to drag him away. Steering him towards the door, you wave goodbye.

“Thanks, Mrs. Larson!” you call as you leave. “We appreciate your support!”

She waves you off, the bells tinkling overhead when you step outside. It’s still early, so most of the shops are not yet open. Heading in the direction of the next building, you look sternly at Yoongi, unwrapping his chocolate.

Blithely, he pops this in his mouth. “’aht?”

“You know what,” you say, the point somewhat lessened when you start to smile.

Yoongi blinks at you innocently. “I just didn’t want to offend her. That’s all.”

Rolling your eyes, you walk up the next drive and Yoongi follows. 14 Main Street is a cozy bungalow with a low, sloping red roof. Ringing the doorbell, you step back and wait.

Footsteps precede the door pulling open. Mr. Halloway looks between the two of you, spectacles balanced on the end of his nose. “Hello,” he says politely. “How can I help you today?”

You don’t blame his confusion; Mr. Halloway owns a small law firm specializing in insurance law. He likely does not receive a lot of drop-in calls, especially not before visiting hours.

Smiling brightly, you take a step forward. “Hello, Mr. Halloway,” you say. “We are hoping for a minute of your time this morning.”

Mr. Halloway nods and then, seeing Yoongi, his expression brightens. “Of course! Mr. Min, it is good to see you looking healthy. Hope everything is going well with that new car service?”

Yoongi nods. “Good, sir. Thank you for the recommendation last spring. Our guests have been raving about them all summer.”

Waving a hand, Mr. Halloway steps aside and ushers you in. “It was nothing. Are you here on an insurance matter? Or is there something else I can do for you?” he asks, holding out a hand for your coat.

“Y/N,” you supply. “And actually, yes, there is.”

“Oh?”

Yoongi shuts the door. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Emerald Corporation?”

Mr. Halloway frowns, his spectacles slipping. “I have, but I’m afraid I don’t do any business with them. Not many do in my line of work,” he adds with a chuckle. “They have quite the reputation.”

You and Yoongi exchange another glance. This information could prove useful later.

“Then, you may have heard Emerald Corp plans to buy land on Mount Bowler,” you explain. “We met with their acquisition team last week, and it seems clear they do not have the best interests of Merriman at heart.”

“No, I would imagine not!” Mr. Halloway shakes his head. “That would be reserved for their shareholders.”

“Exactly,” says Yoongi. “Which is why we’re going door-to-door, gathering signatures from other small businesses. We want to show Remmy that–”

“Remmy Quarrels is behind this?” Mr. Halloway interrupts sharply. “Well, then, give me a pen and tell me where to sign. That man couldn’t tell a pebble from a diamond,” he complains, scribbling his name.

And so it goes, the rest of the morning.

By the time you reach the town square, you’re feeling optimistic. Yoongi has collected nearly forty signatures – as the shops began opening, several customers even asked to sign, which was encouraging.

Passing a snow-covered bench, Yoongi exhales and collapses upon it. He groans, stretching his arms and legs. “Let’s sit for a second. It’s nice outside.”

“You’re sounding like a true northerner,” you joke as you sit beside him. “Calling it warm when the temperature is below freezing.”

“Yeah, but after last week’s cold snap, this is nothing.”

“True,” you sigh.

The two of you stare at the snow-dusted gazebo, strung with Christmas lights. Garland has been wound around the spare railings, and even in daytime, the place is a winter paradise. After a full morning of speaking, it’s nice to rest and simply relax.

Eventually though, Yoongi exhales. “Does that ever get weird for you?”

You don’t need to ask to know what he means. Several other people compared you to your mom this morning, commenting about how you looked like her or had her smile. It was enough that, by the end, said smile was plastered unnaturally on your face.

“Kind of,” you admit. “But it’s also kind of… nice? It feels like she’s still here, in some way.”

Yoongi nods. He examines the row of icicles hanging from the gazebo.

Curiously, you look at him and find none of what you’ve come to expect in his gaze. Typically, when people ask about your mom, they expect you to be sad or respond with a platitude that won’t derail the conversation. Rarely do they ask and truly want to know.

If anyone can understand, you suppose it would be Yoongi. His interest seems genuine and what’s more, he seems to be interested in you, not just your mom. It makes you want to keep talking.

“But then again,” you add. “It can also be weird.”

“Why?”

“My mom and I… we couldn’t have been more different.” Roughly, you exhale. “So sometimes, when people compare us, all I can think about are the ways in which we weren’t the same.”

Yoongi waits for a beat. “How so?”

“She was always so put-together. So logical. She could calm things down in an instant, fix anything. And well, running the Rosy Finch was always her dream.”

Breaking off, you stare at your hands in your lap. A lump has lodged in your throat; one you can’t talk around.

Shifting closer, Yoongi’s right thigh presses against yours on the bench. The warmth of him is comforting, letting you know that he’s there.

“And it’s not yours?” he asks, carefully.

On instinct, a door in your mind slams itself shut. One that opens to what you really want to do, who you really want to be.

“I’ve always wanted to continue her dream,” you respond.

Yoongi looks at you like he sees through this, but won’t push you further. Nodding, he sits back and stares at the snow.  

“You’re good at this, you know,” you murmur. “Convincing people to sign our petition. Getting them to believe in our cause.”

The corner of his lips lift. “That sounds like you thought I wouldn’t be.”

“Well…”

Yoongi looks over at you, a subtle gleam in his eye. “You did think I would be bad at it.”

Embarrassed, you shrug. Again, you hesitate, unsure how much to say. “You were always so quiet in high school,” you confess. “It was hard for me to tell what you were really thinking. I just assumed…”

“That it would be the same way with work,” Yoongi finishes for you.

You nod.

He thinks for a moment, then his expression changes. “You thought this about me back in high school?”

“Yeah.”

“So… on our date?”

Your words die again.

Yoongi seems to consider this, turning it over in his mind. “That makes sense. I used to struggle with speaking my mind back then. You were always better at that than me.”

“Sometimes,” you admit. “I’ve always been good at talking, but not so good at speaking my mind.”

Silence falls between you, though not as sharp as before.

“What would you do if you weren’t running the inn?”

Although your lips part, nothing comes out.

The question is a good one. One you’ve thought about often. And then swiftly, you un-think it, not wanting to tempt fate. Your mom died your senior year of high school when you were newly eighteen.

A few weeks after the funeral, you trudged downstairs in the middle of the night – sleeping was hard back then – for a glass of water and stumbled upon your dad. He was speaking on the phone with his brother, and you caught the tail end of their conversation.

“It’s too much,” your dad said lowly, rubbing his forehead at the kitchen table. “Running the Rosy Finch is impossible without her. There just aren’t enough hours in the day to do it alone.”

Stomach sinking, you immediately turned around, not wanting to intrude. You lay awake that night for hours, staring at the ceiling. The month prior had been devastating, but something about the conversation hit you in the gut.

The Rosy Finch had been your mom’s dream. She was not born in Merriman, but it always felt like she had been. When your dad brought her home over Christmas their first year of dating, she fell in love – both with him and the town, your mom liked to joke. She wanted to extend that feeling of warmth to others, and her joy could be felt all over the inn.

Selling the place felt like a betrayal. It felt like removing the last piece of her from your lives.

The next morning, you marched down at breakfast and informed your dad of your intention to stay. He was stunned at first, then in denial, but you eventually wore him down. College had never been your dream. You planned on going, but that was mostly to satisfy your parents’ expectations.

There was no career path that called to you, no job you found enticing, and at the time, the idea of carrying on your mom’s legacy was most important.

Now though, you find yourself wondering if this is still so. Or more importantly, you wonder if by choosing your mom’s dream, you passed over the prospect of having your own.

Shifting on the bench, you glance sideways at Yoongi. “I don’t know. I mean” – a self-deprecating laugh – “what would I even do?”

The way Yoongi looks at you says he, again, sees right through you but understands why you might not be ready to say it aloud. After a moment, you exhale, your breath frosting before you.

Glancing at your watch, you wince at the time. “We should get going,” you say, standing up from the bench. “Let’s continue on this street?”

Yoongi nods, ambling along you with both hands in his pockets. In the sunlight, his black hair has an almost-blue tint. You wonder why you didn’t notice that earlier.

Catching you staring, Yoongi lifts a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.” Cheeks hot, you face forward. Helpless, you search for the easy banter of earlier. “I’m just surprised you stayed out for so long, that’s all.”

His lips twitch. “Oh? Because it’s so cold?”

“Or because you can’t stand me,” you laugh and continue.

It takes you several steps to realize Yoongi has not followed. When you turn, you find him in the same spot, a weird look on his face.

“Y/N,” he says slowly. “What are you talking about?”

You backtrack to where he stands. Brow furrowed, you look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Hearing Yoongi use italics is enough to make you giddy, but you refrain from teasing him. “I really don’t.”

“You think… I can’t stand you, Y/N.”

You frown. “That’s not a question.”

“Okay, fine. Do you think I can’t stand you, Y/N?”

“Well…” Brows furrowed, you shake your head. “I mean, I don’t know? That seems kind of extreme, considering we’ve been hanging out all day.”

His gaze does not waver. “But you think I dislike you.”

“Um. Yeah?”

“Why?”

Your eyes bug out. “Why?”

Yoongi nods, somber and a laugh escapes you.

“Yoongi, come on,” you say.

“What? Tell me?”

Your teeth grit. “Don’t make me say it.”

He continues to look baffled, and you try – but fail – to suppress your annoyance. You aren’t sure how Yoongi can act like you’re the crazy one, when he’s barely talked to you in more than a decade.

“Say what?” he demands.

“Say – okay, fine,” you snap, taking a step closer. Yoongi looks down at you, his gaze dark and challenging. “Yoongi,” you say, speaking slowly. “I think you dislike me because during our date twelve years ago, you hit on another woman in front of me. If that doesn’t scream disinterest, I don’t know what does. Oh, and then you ignored me the rest of our time in high school. And also, when you returned to Merriman. That’s it. The end,” you declare, moving to stomp past him.

Yoongi’s hand closes around your upper arm. Gently, he pulls you about to face him. “That’s pretty damning,” he remarks.

“I agree.”

His brows arch. “Or it would be, if it were true.”

Your jaw drops. “Everything I just said is true!”

“No, it’s not,” Yoongi says, and then frowns. “Who did I hit on in front of you?”

“Uh, does the name Annie Summers ring a bell?”

“No. Should it?”

“Our waitress that night?”

Understanding dawns. “Oh.” His eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you huff. “Now, if you’ll excuse me –”

When you try to leave again, Yoongi pulls you right back to face him. Admittedly, you don’t try very hard, but still – damn. Yoongi may be lean, but he’s strong.

“You didn’t see what you think you saw,” he insists.

“I didn’t get contacts until I was twenty-two, Yoongi. I saw plenty.”

His lips tilt. “No. I mean – yes, Annie was flirting with me. When you left to hang out with your friends, she sat down in your spot. I was… young and stupid. I didn’t want to be rude, so I let her talk. When I finally asked her to leave, she slid me her number. I didn’t want you to misunderstand, so I put it in my pocket –”

“Ha!”

“– and threw it away on my way out,” Yoongi finishes.

“Huh.”

He steps closer. “I wasn’t interested in anyone but you that night, Y/N.”

“But…” You stare at him, trailing off. “You were so quiet with me. You barely spoke our entire date! You let me leave.”

His cheeks flush. “I was nervous.”

“Oh,” you say, starting to feel very silly. After a moment though, something important registers. “Hang on. You said that I left to hang out with my friends.”

Yoongi looks away. “Yeah.”

“When?”

“Which time?”

Your eyes widen. “What do you mean, which time?”

“Well, there was the thing in the car,” Yoongi says in a way that makes you think he’s thought about it often. “And then, when we got there and your friend stopped by. And again, at the end,” Yoongi continues, matter-of-fact, “when you texted your friends to come get you. You left to talk to them, then returned and said they were taking you home. I got the hint, Y/N. Believe me.”

In an unfortunate turn of events, you cannot seem to scrape your jaw from the floor. It takes several attempts before you recover.

“That’s not what happened,” you manage to croak.

“No?” Yoongi demands. “Then what happened?”

“Jaz texted me in the car, but mostly to gush about how hot you were and how lucky I was.”

Yoongi pauses. “Oh.”

This seems to be your shared word of the moment. “Our date was at one of the three most popular hangouts in town, Yoongi, so, yeah – I knew someone there. It was a coincidence. I didn’t plan that.”

His eyes narrow. “And the rest?”

“The rest!” you sputter, barely catching your breath. “Namjoon and Jaz are busybodies, that’s all. They came to Brewsters to spy on our date. I left our table to tell them off, and then I saw Annie giving you her phone number on my way back. That’s why I left.”

Yoongi visibly flinches. You watch his thoughts churn, unusually visible through his calm exterior.

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I bet you feel silly now, huh? All this time you spent hating me, when you really –”

“I never hated you.”

His words stop you in your tracks, and you watch Yoongi, expectant.

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving your face. “I never hated you,” Yoongi repeats. “Even when I thought you hated me, and even when I thought you called your friends to end the date, I never hated you.”

“Oh,” you say, staring back at him.

He fights a smile. “We’ve been saying that a lot.”

“Yeah, well. It seems appropriate when you’re unwinding a pivotal event from your childhood.”

“Our date was a pivotal event for you?”

“It” – flummoxed, you stumble – “well, if you must know –”

“Because it was for me,” he adds, so soft you nearly miss it.

For a long moment, you stand there and simply take Yoongi in. Layering in the new context, you can see how, from his perspective, the events of the night would look different. In an odd way, it feels like the first time you’re truly seeing him.

“So,” you say slowly. “You thought that I wasn’t interested in you. That I called my friends to come get me.”

His cheeks redden. “Like I said, I wasn’t very confident back then. You were so… funny. And fun. And friends with everyone. I assumed you were bored of me, and that was that.”

“And meanwhile,” you say, a slight hitch to your voice, “I spent most of our date wondering how someone as cool and interesting as you would bother asking me out.”

His gaze sharpens. “Well, shit,” he says after a moment.

You laugh. “Yeah.”

Shaking his head, Yoongi glances around the town square. “What was it you said earlier, about me feeling silly?”

“Truthfully, I’m the one who feels silly right now.”

Yoongi turns around. “You? What for?”

“I should have asked you,” you say. “I mean, I saw Annie give you her number, but you’re right – I should have just asked you what happened instead of blowing you off.”

“Would it have helped?” Yoongi frowns. “I could have told Annie to leave earlier. I didn’t want to cause a scene. I was trying… I don’t know what I was trying to do,” he admits. “Let’s call it a draw. We both could have done things differently.”

“Deal,” you allow.

As though this has settled more than just that, the two of you begin walking, resuming your task. Snow crunches beneath your feet, and you wonder how you didn’t recognize how beautiful the town looks this way. Sometimes things sneak up on you, even though they’ve been there all along.

You glance over at Yoongi, wondering if this changes anything for him now.

There is nothing you can do to undo the past, but you meant what you felt earlier at the coffee shop. Things are so different for you now. Neither of you are the people you once were. With the misconception out of the way, you’re forced to admit to yourself what you’ve known for some time now: what you feel for Yoongi isn’t irritation, or annoyance, or even a rivalry.

You like him. You like Yoongi Min, and the more time you spend with him, your feelings only get stronger. Which means if you don’t want to suffer the same mistakes, you need to make sure Yoongi knows it. Or risk missing yet another opportunity at something that could be real.

By the time you finish canvassing, the sun has sunk nearly beyond the horizon. Your dad texted you to stop by for dinner, so you head there immediately and park on the street. Slipping in through the garage, you remove your coat and snow boots, hanging everything up in the mud room and entering through the kitchen – where you’re immediately accosted by your sister, Bea.

“Well, well, well,” she drawls, wine glass in hand. “Look who it is.”

Wincing, you come to a stop. Bea sits at the kitchen table while your dad chops onions at the counter behind her. He looks up, amused by your entrance and Bea’s uncordial welcome.

Unfolding an arm, she points at the clock. “Well?” she demands. “What time is it?”

Knowing you have no excuse, you cross the room to kiss your dad on the cheek. “Sorry I’m a little late. I got tied up. Wait,” you blurt, glancing between them. “If all three of us are here, who’s at the inn?”

Circling the kitchen, your dad drops onions into a pan. “Janine is holding things down at reception, and Drew is on housekeeping.”

“Okay,” you sigh, sinking into a chair. Reaching over, you grab Bea’s wine glass and take a large sip. “Thanks.”

“Hey!” she complains, yanking her wine back. “This wine is for members of our family who actually tell the truth.”

Brows raised, you look at your dad. “And this implies I… do not tell the truth? What’s Bea on about this time?”

Your dad sadly shakes his head. “I’m on Bea’s side, actually. When were you going to tell us about Emerald Corporation?”

You immediately freeze. Shit.

Snapping her fingers, Bea points at your expression. “See!” she declares. “I told you! She did know!”

“Know what?” you protest, voice weak.

Sighing emphatically, your dad returns to the stove. “I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, Y/N, but it seems your sister was right.”

“I always am,” Bea crows. “Okay, so now that all the lies are revealed, you might as well catch us up. What’s going on, Y/N?”

For a moment, you waver and contemplate playing dumb but decide there’s no point. If they don’t know already, they likely will soon.

“Fine,” you sigh. “What have you heard?”

“One of my law school friends used to consult for Emerald Corp,” Bea informs you. “They reached out and asked if I heard Emerald Corp was purchasing land in Merriman. No thanks to you,” she throws at you.

You slump in your seat, staring at the ceiling. “When did you get so annoying? And when did you stop listening to your elders?”

“Law school, bitch.”

“Language,” says your dad, not turning around.

Your heart twinges, since that used to be something your mother would say. After she passed, your dad seemed to feel the urge to take on both roles. You aren’t sure whether you or Bea ever told him he didn’t have to.

Bea is younger by only two years, but to you, it always seemed like more. She was fifteen when your mom died, but it was her dream to go to law school, so you and your dad worked to make it a reality. When she offered to stay home, you always refused.

Maybe there’s a part of you that resents her for this; you were able to convince your dad to let you stay, but Bea never succeeded. When Bea graduated in the spring and passed the bar exam, you wanted her to stay in the city and score a fancy job. Instead, she insists on living in Merriman, and maybe you resent her for that, as well.

You made the choice that made sense at the time, but Bea isn’t like you. She has big dreams, and the limit in Merriman is Mr. Halloway’s law practice. Which is great, but Bea is smart. Driven, like your mom. She deserves the most her field has to offer, and you and your dad are doing just fine.

Mostly. Current situation aside.

“Fine,” you gripe. “At the last town hall–”

“I have got to start going to those things,” mutters Bea.

“At the last town hall,” you repeat, “Remmy announced Emerald Corporation is looking to buy land on Mount Bowler. The Tully property.”

Your dad’s spoon clatters to the counter. “Near the Min family lodge?”

Bea blinks. “That’s an odd choice,” she says. “Why would Emerald Corp want to build a hotel where there already is one? The market is tapped out.”

“That’s what I said!” you blurt, then remember the situation. “Well, yeah. Since then, things have become more complicated.”

“More complicated… how?”

“Yoongi and I met with Emerald Corporation last week.”

“You met with them?” asks your dad, his shock clear.

When you turn, you see the hurt clear in his face before he can disguise it. Swiftly, he begins stirring the onions.

You fumble momentarily, guilt churning inside you. You avoided telling your dad because you didn’t want him to worry, but maybe that was the wrong call. You thought you could control this, fix things before they became real, but now things have snowballed and you’ve hurt them, too.

Bea may not be involved in the day-to-day running of the Rosy Finch, but your dad is co-owner. Admittedly, he hasn’t had the head for issues like this in the past. Your mom always took care of them and then, more recently, you have. Still, you should have told him – he deserves to be in the know.

“I’m sorry,” you say, helpless. “It just sort of… happened.”

An awkward silence falls before your dad nods and returns to his cooking. When you look at Bea, you expect to see disappointment, and you do – only hers is directed at your dad, not at you.

Her frown deepens, and then she turns to face you. “Wait,” Bea says. “Did you say you and Yoongi met with them?”

Heat climbs your throat. “Um… yes.”

Her jaw drops, and you sense more questions coming, but your dad jumps in to save you.

“What did Emerald Corp say?”

Grateful, you turn. “Basically, that they’re buying land on the mountain because of our proven profit. They plan to undercut us and the Lodge, take our guests, and then hike the prices.”

“What the fuck.”

“Bea!” both you and your dad chime in.

Rolling her eyes, Bea pulls out her phone. “I will not apologize for swearing when it’s appropriate. Emerald Corp is the true villain here.”

“Relativism is a dangerous philosophy,” your dad warns, returning to the stove.

Bea and you exchange a look that nearly dissolves into laughter. Your dad loves to do that – say something vague and retreat from an argument. You learned from the best. It used to drive your mom crazy, but you and Bea have grown fond of it. You love to see how far you can push things.

“Anyways,” you sigh. “It doesn’t seem like Emerald Corp can be reasoned with. Yoongi and I have been brainstorming other options.”

“Yoongi and I,” Bea muses, her smile growing. “Is that a thing now?”

“Can we please be mature about this?”

“We can,” she agrees, “once you address the elephant in the room. When did you start colluding with your ex-boyfriend?”

Your dad again drops the spoon. “Ex-boyfriend?” he gasps, and you remember where you got your dramatics. “Y/N, why don’t I remember this? Did Yoongi break your heart? Did you and your mother hide this from me?” he demands, brandishing the wooden spoon.

“Dad, no,” you groan. “Bea is overreacting. Yoongi and I went on one date in high school, and it ended badly. That’s all.”

He squints. “Define badly.”

“This is your fault,” you huff, glaring at Bea.

She places one hand on her throat. “Mine!” she says. “You’re the one who’s igniting old flames, then lying about them to the family.”

“We went on one date.”

“What happened on the date!” insists your dad, brandishing the spoon for emphasis.

“Nothing! It was all a misunderstanding. We’ve cleared it up. An-y-ways” – you speak loudly to drown out their protests – “what’s important is that Yoongi is now on our side, and we’re doing everything we can to take down Emerald Corp.”

Your dad pauses mid-brandish. “You know, the Lodge does have more resources than we do.”

“Exactly,” you soothe. “Honestly, I have this all under control. Yoongi and I went around Main Street this morning and collected signatures against the proposition. People don’t want Emerald Corporation in Merriman.”

Pulling the signatures up on your phone, you show this to Bea, who takes the device and reluctantly nods. “This is a good start,” she admits.

“Atta girl,” says your dad, crossing to the fridge. “So, is there anything your sister or I can do to help?”

“No!”

Bea peers over your phone. “Are you sure, Y/N? I mean, this is good, but…”

“But?”

She glances at your dad’s back, then seems to think better of what she was about to say. “Nothing.” Her lips tighten, and she sets down your phone. “I trust you, Y/N.”

Your dad moves to rummaging in the cabinets. “Y/N, do you know where the olive oil is?”

Standing from the table, you help your dad with dinner, and conversation turns into more mundane topics. Bea appears to forgive and forget, although you know better than to assume she’s fully given up.

In truth, everything your sister said has been quietly simmering under the surface for years. When you began working at the inn, it took several years to work out a rhythm with your dad. He’s good at customer interactions, at schmoozing with vendors and ensuring people return. Usually, your dad works at the front desk or manages business relationships.

Everything else falls to you. A patchwork job of event management (fun!) to building maintenance (less fun!) and financial analysis (an evil you would not wish upon your worst enemy!) has become your job. At the start, it was enjoyable. Each new task was a challenge; a puzzle you had to solve. There was joy you found in being good at something and in being needed.

Slowly though, the joy dwindled. Now, even your current challenge feels like a chore; something to figure out before the next one arrives. You aren’t sure when the change happened but can’t ignore its presence.

“Are you alright?” Bea asks as you wash up after dinner.

“Fine,” you reply, forcing a smile. “Good, even.”

She gives you a look, but before she can respond, your dad is bustling into the kitchen with leftovers. You hand over the dark chocolate pistachio cookies you baked in preparation, and it distracts them enough that you vacate the premises.

Still, you feel Bea’s eyes on you as you pull away. You may have everyone else in the town fooled, but if there is anyone who can see through your bullshit, it’s Jaz and Bea. Which means if you want to figure Emerald Corp out by yourself, then you need to do so – and fast.

The next morning, you meet Jasmine at Brewsters for brunch, a monthly ritual that began in your early twenties. At night, Brewsters may be a dive, but in the morning, they have a surprisingly edible and extensive brunch menu.

A menu you have been staring at for the past five minutes, prompting Jasmine to wave her napkin in your face.

“Y/N,” she calls. “Earth to Y/N – hello?”

Jerking to life, you swat the fabric away. “I’m fine. Just… a headache. I’ll be fine soon.”

“Good.” Settling, Jasmine drops her napkin into her lap. “Namjoon should be here soon. He was running late this morning.”

Nodding, you glance out the window at the parking lot. Mostly empty today, thanks to the snow last night. Only a few cars are clustered, including your own, and several maintain a light layer of snow.

A few minutes later, Namjoon bursts into Brewsters, glancing around and removing his hat. Spotting you at the back, he heads in your direction.

“Hey, guys,” he says, collapsing on the bench beside you. “Anything new on the menu?”

“Unfortunately.” Jasmine pulls a face. “Raf has been experimenting in the kitchen. His latest creation is creamed mushrooms and eggs.”

Namjoon frowns, then pauses and tilts his head. “You know what, that might not be terrible.”

Primly, you open your gigantic menu. “I’ll stick to my usual. The sausage breakfast sandwich with hot sauce.”

“A classic,” agrees Jasmine. “The same?” she asks Namjoon, who nods.

Jasmine leaves to go find your waiter. Her cousin works here on weekends and chooses to ignore your table until you’re ready to order.

When she disappears, Namjoon turns to face you.

“What?” you ask, sipping your water.

“Nothing.” He pauses. “Which is the problem. How did signature collecting go? We’ve gotten no updates.”

“I know,” you groan. “It felt like too much to update you over text.”

You launch into a description of yesterday’s canvassing, repeating the entire story when Jasmine rejoins you. You avoid replaying the talk with your family, which feels more private than the rest. Never mind that you confessed more intimate things to Yoongi yesterday.

“Besides all of that…” You shrug. “I have a shift at the inn this afternoon. Suzy is sick, so I’m working the front desk, which is always a nightmare. Yoongi and I need to grab some remaining signatures tomorrow, and then… we’ll see.”

Namjoon nods, and Jasmine asks a question, but you barely hear her, too distracted by the commotion at the front of the restaurant.

Remmy Quarrels has entered, speaking to none other than Bob Schwartz, owner of the Holly Jolly Toy Shop. You and Yoongi missed Bob yesterday, which was a disappointment. The Holly Jolly Toy Shop has a sizable online presence, and they ship all over the country.

They end up being seated at the next table, though neither one notices you. As a result, you hear Remmy’s pitch, crystal-clear.

“All I’m saying is that you should keep your options open,” says Remmy, pulling out a chair. “There’s no need to petition Emerald Corporation until you hear their full pitch. They’ve promised me they’ll keep local businesses in mind – and just think of the tourism boom, and what that would mean for your shop!”

Bob slowly nods, as though all this makes sense.

In the booth, your hands white-knuckle your silverware, and you can practically feel the steam coming from your ears. Namjoon and Jasmine are listening, too, rapt and incensed.

“I knew it,” Namjoon mutters. “Jimin said he saw Remmy parked on Main Street last night, but we didn’t know what he was doing. I just knew he was up to something shady.”

 “Remmy was parked on Main Street?” you ask, dazed. “So… he was just walking behind us the entire time, countering our ask?”

Jasmine makes a noise close to a growl.

“Seems like it,” says Namjoon.

“That little snake,” you hiss.

Abruptly, you stand.

Namjoon looks up in alarm. “Y/N,” he says, trying and failing to catch your forearm. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to –”

“Oh, I think this is the perfect time,” you declare, marching away.

Remmy sees you coming first, his eyes widening comically over Bob’s head. When you stop beside them, smiling politely, you can see him sweating.

“Hi, Bob,” you greet. “Hi, Remmy. Hope your day is going well.”

“It is,” says Bob. He glances behind you. “Are you here for breakfast?”

“Mhm,” you say, your gaze sliding to Remmy. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation about Emerald Corp. Did Remmy share with you the conversation Yoongi and I had with their head of development?”

Bob blinks, then looks at Remmy. “You didn’t tell me Y/N and Yoongi had already met with Emerald Corp.”

Remmy, who has been glaring daggers, quickly stops to nod. “Oh, yes,” he says. “I mean – yes, it would seem they did. I didn’t know. How did things go?” he asks, turning to you.

“Extremely well,” you say sweetly. “That’s why Yoongi and I are gathering signatures to stop Emerald Corp from building here in Merriman.”

Bob guffaws, slapping his knee. “The same humor as your mother,” he chuckles. “She would have cut down a tree on the mountain road, or something by now.”

“That’s what I said!” you blurt, beaming at him.

Bob smiles back.

Jasmine appears at your side with your breakfast sandwich. “Sustenance, milady,” she says, then scowls at Remmy. “Oh, you’re here.”

Remmy’s expression looks as though he has swallowed something sour. This worsens when Bob turns to him, a frown on his face.

“What was that you said about Emerald Corp supporting local businesses?” he asks. “It doesn’t sound like that’s the case if they’re blatantly ignoring the concerns of our town hotels.”

You can practically see the wheels turning in Remmy’s mind. “Look,” he sighs. “I will admit, this deal has pros and cons. The con is what Y/N just said – most likely, Emerald Corp will end up as the town’s main accommodation. On the plus side though, their lodge will be able to host more than double the occupancy of Y/N and Yoongi’s buildings.”

Bob considers this. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” The look Remmy gives you is triumphant. “They also have substantial connections in the tourism industry and have promised me 100% capacity during the holiday season. Think of what that would mean for your sales, Bob! To the toy shop. Or the coffee shop,” he adds, pointing outside.

Jasmine crosses her arms. “I think I can speak for the Bean Exchange when I say we’re doing just fine.”

Namjoon stops beside her. “My company also has significant connections in the tourism industry,” he points out to Remmy. “I don’t see how that’s a large selling point for working with Emerald Corp.”

Remmy chooses to ignore him. “This is what I promised to do when I became town treasurer,” he says, practically a growl. “Find new opportunities for growth! Find the net positive, even when there are some negatives!”

Slowly, your anger begins to build. Thus far, you have been able to suppress it and keep your speech civil, but Remmy seems hell-bent on riling you up. Still, you do your best to stay calm.

“And what about when Emerald Corporation forces Yoongi and I out of business, Remmy?” you ask him. “Then what? What will your next idea be? A Barnes and Noble to replace Brooke’s Nook? A Target,” you add, throwing in the kicker, “to replace the Holly Jolly Toy Shop?”

Bob blinks, as though the thought had never occurred to him, and Remmy turns vaguely purple.

“I have had enough,” he huffs, pushing himself to stand, “of you running around, sticking your nose in where –”

A familiar silhouette steps between you. “Is there a problem?” Yoongi asks, sounding bored while holding his coffee.

Although he seems calm, you notice the stiff set to his shoulders. It seems that Yoongi has tells, and you now know him well enough to decipher his feelings.

Whatever Remmy sees on Yoongi’s face confirms this fact, and he swiftly sits down. “No,” he says. “Of course, not.”

Bob picks up his menu, although his expression is troubled, so you count this as a win. Nodding in his direction, you turn around.

“Well,” Jasmine says, grabbing Namjoon by the arm. “Our food is getting cold. Joon, let’s go wait at the table.”

Although Namjoon protests, he is swiftly dragged off. You try to follow but are stopped when someone lays a hand on your arm. Expecting Yoongi, you turn and find Bob.

He glances between you and Yoongi, who still stands beside you. “Well,” he says slowly. “Y/N, it was a real pleasure to see you. I’m thankful you stopped me and said what I needed to hear.”

“Oh,” you falter. “You’re welcome.”

Bob looks over his shoulder. Remmy has vacated their table, and when you look out the window, you see his car’s taillights.

“If I might return the favor,” Bob says, stepping closer. “You should know that Remmy and his team have been meeting with many of the town business owners. I think he’s convinced a large group of them – not me, anymore – to back his idea, and offput your signatures. They feel the increase in sales may be worth it.”

Slowly, the anger in your chest begins to deflate.

It was one thing to hear Remmy – slick-talking, unlikable Remmy – not care about you or your business. It is another thing entirely to hear the same being said from your neighbors and colleagues.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Thanks.”

Bob looks like he wants to say more, but Yoongi steps forward. “Thanks, Bob,” he says. “Can we reach out to you if we have any questions?”

“Yes, of course.” Bob fishes around for a business card. He hands this to Yoongi and walks away, patting you on the shoulder once as he leaves. “For what it’s worth, you two have my vote,” he says. “Happy holidays!

“Happy holidays,” you mumble.

Staring at your breakfast sandwich in hand, you begin to unravel. Remmy has been going around to undo all the hard work you accomplished. If Namjoon’s intel is correct, he was steps behind you all day, swaying opinions you thought you had won.

Worst of all, you are starting to wonder if maybe Remmy is right. Maybe you are being selfish in your plan for the inn. Maybe it would be better for the town to increase their tourist capacity through the Emerald Corp.

“Okay,” says Yoongi, breaking through your train of thought. “Let’s get out of here.”

Startled, you look upward.

Yoongi is standing before you, brows furrowed. His nose is red from the cold, matching the stripe down his puffy jacket. He must have come here for food and now, because you look rattled, he’s immediately suggesting you leave.

Warmth suffuses your body. “Get out of here and go where?”

Yoongi shrugs. “How do you feel about surprises?”

“Badly.”

“I know a spot,” he responds, failing to elaborate further. “You look like you could use a distraction.”

The warmth spreads even further, tingling your toes and your fingertips. “Alright,” you say, only to wince. “Wait – no. Your coffee! You must have come in here for coffee or food, right?”

He gives you a half-smile. “I can take it to go, Y/N.”

“Oh. Right.”

As though on cue, Jasmine’s cousin jogs up with a white paper bag. “Here you go,” he says, thrusting this at Yoongi. “Y/N, Jaz said you forgot your coffee on the table. She said you should uh, text her every hour so she knows you haven’t died.”

Starting to laugh, you give Jasmine the middle finger and turn to face Yoongi. “Well?” you say, grasping your coffee. “Let’s get out of here. Distract me.”

His smile takes your breath away. When Yoongi opens the front door and gestures to his waiting truck, the sense of déjà vu feels somehow freeing. “After you,” Yoongi says, and you follow him out.

◆ the one you found covered in sweat ◆

On a rare day off from both school and work, you lock yourself in your room, slide your headphones on, and sketch because that’s your idea of a day well-spent. Sure, you could be grabbing lunch with a friend or hanging out by the pool in that new cute bikini you bought, but that’s not really the way your introverted self works.

The relationships you’ve built never extend past where they’re established. You adore your clients who continue to cover their bodies in your art, but you don’t have anything to do with them outside of your parlor. And even when you vibe with a classmate, no one extends an invitation to hang out outside of class. You’re fine with that, though. You like to think you just haven’t made a connection that’s worth investing your personal time into.

You have no real reason to believe it’ll be any different with Jeon Jungkook. For all you know, he treats you the exact same way he treats anyone who sits across from him. After all, he has 100,000 followers whom he’s found a way to charm, one way or another.

Still, you can’t seem to shake the feeling of him being even slightly intrigued by you and your art. The faded bunny tattoo on your hand is a constant reminder of the warm yet playful exchange that went down on the first day of the semester. That was nearly a week ago, and yet, it’s still very much on your mind.

“Y/N, hey, we need to talk,” a voice calls from outside your door with a sense of urgency. “There’s a rumor going around, and I think we need to address it.”

What rumor could a lowkey person like you possibly be involved in? You swear you haven’t done anything problematic or buzz-worthy as of late… or ever, for that matter.

You swing your door open to find your friend & roommate, Kim Seokjin, with a lemon iced tea in one hand and his phone in the other.

“What rumor? Spill the tea,” you demand while pointing at his beverage.

Seokjin takes a long sip of his tea to see if you’ll crack under pressure and fess up to something you didn’t do. When you don’t, he drops the bomb on you. “You’re allegedly dating Jeon Jungkook.”

Of course the ridiculous rumor involves the closest person to a celebrity on campus. You resist the urge to set the record straight before getting some answers. “What makes you say that?”

“He was the first person to follow your new Instagram before I even realized you made another one.” Seokjin flashes his phone screen in your face as if you weren’t already aware of your own IG account. “And the only two accounts you follow are Jungkook and some rando’s art.”

“He sits across from me in art class and said he liked my art.”

“Who? Jungkook or the rando?” Both. You’re surprised Seokjin never considered the possibility that Jungkook and the “rando” were the same person. But then again, Jungkook doesn’t really paint himself as an art student on his @ArtOfKooking account.

“The one I’m allegedly dating,” you say.

“Ah, it makes sense now,” Seokjin nods.

“What makes sense now?”

“You were looking for any excuse to drop that art class before the semester even began,” he says. That’s true. The thought of familiarizing yourself with new people in a new space terrified you. “But since that first day, you’ve been leaving early for class with a big fat smile on your face. If you ask me, I’d say you were more excited to sit across from Jeon Jungkook than to spend the afternoon tattooing a mega celebrity like Park Jimin.”

Seokjin isn’t wrong about how your mood has completely shifted after your first encounter with Jungkook. It’s a lot easier to roll out of bed in the morning when you know there’s at least one person you feel comfortable around in your class. You didn’t realize you were making it obvious enough for your roommate to pick up on, though.

“Most of that is true… except for the rumor itself.” You try to laugh it off, but it doesn’t exactly feel great to be involved in a rumor that others might take as a joke. “Where did you even hear this from?”

“Oh, I made it up five minutes ago after your new account popped up as a suggestion for me to follow,” Seokjin taps his head and grins like he’s some sort of evil genius. To his credit, he really had you fooled. “I just called it a rumor because I knew that was the quickest way to get you out of your room.”

You don’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed by your roommate’s antics, so you just glare at him until he feels obligated to say something else.

“So you might not be dating Jeon Jungkook, but it sounds like you caught feelings for him, right?” Seokjin’s tone switches from menace to supportive best friend, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s getting a little too carried away by this sudden development in your social life.

“I can’t develop feelings for someone I’ve only known for less than a week.” You tell this to both your roommate and the irrational half of your heart.

“Okay, what if we just said you’re interested in getting to know him better?” Seokjin asks. That sounds a lot more reasonable at this point in time. Besides, you’ve already gotten a small taste of what Jungkook is like, and it’d be close to impossible to stop there without further investigation. He’s the perfect hook to any essay, song, or story.

“Let’s go with that,” you nod.

“Excellent.” Seokjin makes the high-pitched sound of an unidentifiable creature as he pulls you out of your room. “If you don’t have anything planned for today—which seems to be the case, given you locked yourself behind that door—you should slide into someone’s DMs and see if he’s down to hang.”

“No thank you. I highly doubt that would end well for me.” You don’t even want to consider that as an option for today.

“Does he know about your tattoo work? I’m sure a tatted-up guy like him would love to get a DM from @snowsleeve, an incredible artist who always seems to be completely booked with appointments.”

“He is indeed one of @snowsleeve’s 507,296 followers, but I haven’t told him I’m that person yet.” It’s not a secret identity that you protect with your life, but it’s also not something you just casually bring up to anyone you meet. They either have to snag an appointment or earn your trust in order to experience the viral tattoo artist in her true form—a sleeveless college kid with an unassuming appearance. “I just don’t want that to be the reason why he’s willing to give me a chance, you know?”

“Aww, Y/N, that’s such a noble thing to say,” Seokjin makes a pouty face and brings it in for a hug. “It’s no wonder why you’re still single.”

You roll your eyes at Seokjin’s savage jab at your relationship status, but he does have a point. You’d have much different interactions with the people around you if they knew you were a tattoo artist of all things, let alone one with such a reputation. Life would probably be a little easier that way, but perhaps you aren’t trying to settle for an easy life. You hate yourself for that.

“Anyway, Jungkook’s probably too busy doing whatever the heck guys like him do. Working out or whatever.” You squirm your way out of Seokjin’s embrace and take one step back toward your room where art & solitude await you.

Just before you can get back to sketching, your roommate catches your hand and says, “We should work out too.”

“You hate working out.” You raise an eyebrow at the menace in front of you. “Are you trying to get me to go to the gym with you in hopes that we run into Jungkook there?”

“No, no, I’m just trying to get you out of your cave for an hour and into a place where you might meet a cute boy,” Seokjin clarifies.

“That’s literally the same thing.”

“C’mon, Y/N, what’s the point of designing tattoos in your room all day if you don’t have a boyfriend to put them on?”

“It’s because I spent my entire life creating art in my room that there are other people who want it etched into their skin.”

“Exactly. I think you can afford to spend one day being a little adventurous at the gym.” Your roommate really doesn’t like taking no for an answer, especially when he knows he’s right. “And besides, even if there isn’t a Jungkook sighting, we can work on our abs while you tell me all about this boy.”

“Okay, fine,” you sigh, shutting your door for some privacy to change into leggings and hide the smile you’ve been sporting a lot recently.

After going a little too hard on the ab bench, you decide to walk it off on the treadmill while Seokjin keeps at it with a surprising amount of fire in his eyes. Maybe he likes the gym after all. And if that’s the case, you’ll gladly accompany him again for future workouts because that’s the least you can do for your supportive roommate, even if Jungkook isn’t a regular at this gym.

“Nice hand tattoo.” You immediately identify the owner of that smooth voice and watch him jog toward the treadmills in a black muscle tank that should probably be illegal. Of course Jeon Jungkook is a regular at this gym.

“Thanks, I know a talented tattoo artist,” you say, waving hello to the boy as he steps onto the treadmill to your right. From the corner of your eye, you see him take another peek at your right hand where his faded mark on you still resides.

“I didn’t know you were into working out and stuff.” Jungkook does a not-so-subtle job of eyeing you in your little white crop top and leggings. You figure he thinks either your outfit is cute or you’ve never stepped foot into a gym before. Most likely the latter.

“I’m not,” you admit, even though it’s pretty obvious from the way you occasionally stumble on the treadmill. “I’m just here while my friend is sculpting out a six-pack.”

The boy next to you glances in the direction of the ab benches, not that he’d know what to look for without a visual description of your friend. “Aren’t you bored?” he asks.

You shrug, doubtful that there’s any way to actually make the gym less boring. You’ve accepted your fate at this point, but Jeon Jungkook isn’t a bad consolation prize either.

When it doesn’t appear that anyone else is coming to rescue you from the monotony of the treadmill, Jungkook hops off and presses a button on your machine to slow you to a stop.

He does a quick count on his fingers before cocking his head. “I can think of at least three things that would be more exciting to do at the gym than jogging on a treadmill.”

He waits for you to take a hint, follow his lead, and ditch the treadmill. When you finally do, he brings you over to where everyone is grunting and lifting well above their weight.

Jungkook points to the young man lifting 200 pounds over his chest. “You think you can do that, Y/N?”

“Yeah, totally.” Your eyes shift from the barbells to dumbbells to equipment you’ve never seen in your entire life, still taking in the intensity and motivation that surrounds you. If Jungkook hadn’t called your machine of choice boring, you’d probably be back on the treadmill by now. “So what are the three exciting things you were talking about?”

“Well, this is one of them.” Jungkook slaps his hand down on an open bench. You and Jungkook must have two different definitions of “exciting things” because bench press isn’t one of them for you. A better word for bench press is “intimidating.”

The boy must see the fear in your eyes because he squats down beside the bench and motions for you to do the same on the other side. The room suddenly feels smaller and more intimate, like it’s just you and him. Once you’re directly across from him, he plants his left elbow into the bench and holds his hand out in competitive fashion. This gives you an excellent view of a newly discovered tattoo just above his tricep.

“We can start out slow by arm wrestling. That way, I’ll have an idea of your strength and how much you can lift,” he says, wiggling his fingers for you to clutch onto. The way he holds onto your hand is strong and comforting as opposed to the suffocating grips of the muscular folks deadlifting in your vicinity. Somehow, he makes you feel safe in a place where injuries are the norm. Moreover, you feel accepted where you couldn’t be more out of place.

“Okayreadygo!” You slur your words as fast as you can and start to push in an attempt to catch the boy off guard. Unfortunately for you, the combination of the sneak attack and your full strength is not enough to move Jungkook’s hand from the starting point.

“Are you even trying, Y/N?” he asks, even though he can very clearly feel the shakiness in your arm. Rather than pushing back and putting an end to your struggle, he lets out a small chuckle in response to your valiant effort. He’s the one who isn’t trying.

When all hope seems to be lost, you decide to reevaluate your situation. Maybe it’s time to play dirty.

“Is it cheating to use my other arm?” It couldn’t hurt to ask at this point.

“No, go ahead.” His offer feels as though it’s out of pity instead of kindness. Your theory is quickly proven to be true when his generous smile morphs into a mischievous one. “You can use all the help you can get.”

Your response to his taunt is more nefarious than using your other arm to make it a 2v1. Without warning, you slide a curious finger across the inked skin between his tricep and deltoid. You feel a few goosebumps sprout beneath your touch.

“Found a new one,” you say, eyeing the details in the thin strip of art that wraps around his upper arm. At first glance, it looks like a simple band with the same little skeleton dude dancing all the way around. But upon further review, you notice there are subtle differences with each of the skeleton’s poses. They vaguely resemble letters. “Does this say something?”

When Jungkook turns his attention to his arm, he’s focused more on your touch than the art beneath it. As you trace each of the tiny skeleton silhouettes, his eyes follow your finger like a cat locked onto its prey. His muscles are relaxed, meaning the ongoing arm wrestling match is probably the last thing on his mind right now.

Before he can answer, you summon all of your strength to push his vulnerable arm down, flat against the bench in one clean swoop. Who would’ve thought it’d be that easy to defeat Jeon Jungkook at arm wrestling? There’s a half second delay in Jungkook realizing what the heck just happened.

“Hey, that was dirty.” The boy tries to sound upset, but his body language says otherwise. He lends both hands to help you up out of the squat position and lays you down on the bench. You squint up at the gym ceiling, blinded by the lights. Like the moon during an eclipse, his handsome face looms over you, shielding your eyes from the harsh bright beams. “I actually believed you were interested in my tattoo.”

“I am,” you say softly, locking your eyes with his. You’re fairly certain he’s just pretending to sulk, but you also want to make sure he knows you’re genuinely intrigued by his body art. You’d hate to lose the one thing that seems to connect you to him. “I still want to know what it says.”

You feel the bench cushion dip right next to your head where Jungkook leans on his left arm and hovers his body over yours. His bicep is practically in your face.

“Go ahead and try,” he dares you. From your lying down position, you identify the letters of your favorite caffeinated beverage on the inner part of his arm.

“Latte?” You have a feeling those aren’t the only letters in the whole tattoo, but it does sound kind of cute.

“Try harder.” He frowns, making no effort to twist his arm and reveal more letters to you. He’s made it clear that he isn’t going to just hand you the answer—he wants you to work for it.

You snake your fingers around the forearm beside you and maneuver yourself up into a sitting position. Not only are you in the perfect position to crane your neck and decode the rest of the letters, but you’re also right at eye level with the boy. You should be studying his tattoo, but the lack of air between you and him is making it hard to breathe and even harder to focus.

“Y/N, I thought you said you were going to be on the treadmill,” Seokjin calls out from somewhere behind you, out of breath from those intense ab exercises. Jungkook takes a peek over your shoulder, and you do the same. Seokjin spots the boy next to you, opens his mouth to say something, but chooses not to address the fact that he basically predicted the future.

You turn your head back to Jungkook, but he’s already fled the scene. Together, you and Seokjin watch the other boy from afar as he grabs one of those long metal bars and two of the smallest weights from the rack.

“Was I interrupting something?” Seokjin leans over and whispers to you.

“Yeah, you saved me from having to bench press 200 pounds.”

“Really? Because it looked like he was ready to bench press you,” your roommate snickers.

“Shut. Up.” You shove his exhausted body but catch his arm when he stumbles.

“Fine, fine.” Seokjin lets out a massive yawn as he stretches his limbs out in all directions. He’d normally bicker with you some more, but you suppose exercising has depleted him of all his chaotic energy. “I’ll meet you at home then. I need to lie down for the next 24 hours.”

Your roommate abandons you before you have time to protest and secure a ride back home. On top of that, now you’re stuck with a boy who’s serious about getting you to bench press.

As Jungkook slides the weights onto the bar and sets up a safe station for you, he directs you on a few simple stretches and laughs when you manage to mess them up. You blame the fact that he’s giving you verbal explanations instead of a more hands-on tutorial.

“Hope I didn’t cause a misunderstanding with your friend,” he says. You can’t tell if Jungkook’s voice is softer or if it’s just the growing space between you and him.

You shake your head. “He was just saying dumb things out of exhaustion.”

“So he’s not your boyfriend?” Jungkook places the assembled barbell on the rack above the bench and motions for you to slide your body beneath it. It’s funny how the day started with Seokjin’s rumor about you dating Jungkook, and now Jungkook’s under the impression that you might be dating Seokjin. You wonder if that’s the reason for the sudden distance between you and him.

You shake your head again as you lie back down on the bench. “Seokjin’s my friend, roommate, and occasional arch nemesis, but I can confirm that he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Good,” Jungkook says, probably without giving any thought about the possible implications. You tilt your head, coaxing him to elaborate further. “I mean it’s good that it wasn’t your boyfriend who just walked in on you eyeing me like that.”

“I wasn’t eyeing you like that.” You almost hit your forehead on the bar as you sit up once more to defend your scandalous actions. He really had the audacity to call you out when you were under the impression that he was the one eyeing you like that. “I was merely admiring the art on your arm.”

“Whatever you say.” His voice is back to being smooth, playful, devilish. He scoots onto the end of the bench and nudges your leg with his elbow. You take that as an invitation to examine the rest of his tattoo.

Along with the already established L, A, T, T, E, you identify the rest of the letters one-by-one. “N, T, I, O, N, T, O, D, E, T, A, I? Lat tent ion to de tai…?”

Judging by Jungkook’s wheeze and the nonsense you just spewed, you can safely assume your guess was a little off. With another look, you move a single letter and it all becomes clear.

“Attention to detail.” Saying it aloud reminds you of a fellow tattoo artist who’s known for subtle details within a bigger picture. And now that you think about it, the art style indeed matches hers. “Is this from Amber?” you ask.

Jungkook looks at you as if you just told him you’re pregnant. “She isn’t really known outside of her tattoo work, so I’m surprised you know of her.”

“She’s a hidden gem.” You leave out the fact that you actually know Amber personally and that she’s probably the closest thing you have to a friend in the industry.

“Well if you like her art, I know a few other artists you should follow.” Jungkook feels around his sweatpants and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He lists a lot of impressive tattoo artists, some of which you hadn’t heard of but would love to know more about. It seems he and you share the same taste and enthusiasm when it comes to body art. Who would’ve thought?

And then he names one artist in particular.

“Have you heard of @snowsleeve?”

Uh oh. You nod.

“I think a tattoo from her would suit you,” he says, scanning your arms for the perfect spot for some ink. “Her signature style is classy yet bad.”

“Bad?” You didn’t realize your art was going to be roasted.

“The good kind of bad,” he clarifies. “Like baddie bad.”

You snicker to yourself because that’s the first time someone’s called your art “baddie bad.” But to Jungkook’s credit, he really nailed the essence of your style as a tattoo artist—tasteful with something dark and sensual behind it.

“You don’t want a tattoo from her?” you ask.

“I do, but she’s always booked with that Post Malone guy or something.” For the record, you’ve never done any work on Post Malone. “She did like one of my IG posts recently, though,” Jungkook casually throws in.

Fuck. He’s onto you. You were really starting to think your one little heart on that post had gone unnoticed. And yet, here he is, still thinking about it a week later. Fuck Jeon Jungkook and his attention to detail.

“She must be impressed by your body art.” While it’s true that you’ve adored every tattoo you’ve spotted so far on his skin, you also can’t deny that your initial physical attraction to him is what led to that impulsive double tap on his photo.

“My theory is that it was on accident.” He shrugs.

“That’s another possibility.” Your theory is that if you just keep nodding, you can get through this conversation without any funny business. Although, if you’re being honest with yourself, nothing about him or the attention he receives is an accident. “Anyway, what’s the third thing that’s supposedly more exciting than the treadmill at the gym? We already have arm wrestling and bench press. And to be honest, I’d much rather do whatever Activity #3 is than bench press.”

Jungkook smirks. “Oh really?”

“What is it?” you ask again. You aren’t sure if you’re bothered more by the lack of an answer or the mischief in his eyes.

“Never mind about it.” He fails to wipe that smirk off his face. You hope he realizes his amusement is only adding to your curiosity. “It’s a bad joke, and I apologize.”

“Well now I need to know. At least give me a hint.”

“Okay, okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jungkook holds his hands up in front of him like he’s expecting you to lash out at him. “It starts with S and ends with X.”

“I change my mind. Let’s bench press.” You take a deep breath and situate yourself beneath the barbell because sex at the gym was not on the itinerary for today.

“That’s savage, Y/N. I’m hurt.” Jungkook takes his spotter position behind you and the barbell. Despite what he says, he’s not hurt by your deadpan rejection at all. He actually seems a lot more focused on your safety than the fact that you opted for a dreaded workout over (presumably) mind-blowing sex with him.

You extend your arms up with just the tips of your fingers grazing the cold metal bar. Jungkook might’ve picked the smallest weights for you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still afraid of being crushed in the process.

“Grip the bar like this.” The boy demonstrates for you first before helping you place your hands properly on the bar. His warm touch is a reminder that you have someone watching over you. Someone who won’t let anything happen to you on his watch. “Okay, now try lifting it a tiny bit above the rack, just to ensure you can handle the weight.”

You give yourself a second and then do as you’re told. The barbell is lighter than expected, but you know it’ll become more difficult with each rep. You place the barbell back onto the rack and glance up at Jungkook’s upside-down face. Perhaps that was enough to satisfy the masculine urge to teach you the one thing he’s better than you at.

“So are we good for today?” You give him your best puppy dog eyes, although they might not have the same effect from an upside-down perspective.

“Do you want to at least try three reps?” Of course Jeon Jungkook isn’t going to let you off the hook that easily. He points out how you still haven’t let go of the bar and says, “You have a good grip.”

“Fine, but you’re responsible for dragging my body home if I’m too tired to move.”

“Deal.” He doesn’t even hesitate to seal your fate.

Without any more complaints, you do exactly three reps and then lie lifelessly on the bench as Jungkook puts the equipment away.

“C’mon, let’s go.” The boy shuffles around for the keys in his pocket while you still pretend to be sleeping. “Unless you’re planning on doing Activity #3 here after all.”

You blink your eyes open. Jungkook is already headed for the exit, so you hop to your feet and scurry behind him.

“By the way, I think we have two different definitions of exciting things to do at the gym,” you say once you’ve caught up to him.

“Is that your way of saying you hate the bench press?” You appreciate the boy’s ability to read between the lines without all the sugarcoating.

“Yeah, it’s not really my thing.” The two of you might have the same taste in art, but the same cannot be said when it comes to working out. “No offense, Jungkook.”

“Well excuse me for being a boring gym buddy.”

“You weren’t boring,” you assure him, even though he doesn’t really need a confidence boost. “I had fun, actually, and that had little to do with the workout.”

“Ah, I get it,” Jungkook nods with that smirk again. “People do say that life is better with me in it.”

“Who says that?” Just this once, you’ll humor his ego. And besides, he’s not wrong. Life isn’t so bad with him around.

“My 100,000 followers.” He watches for your reaction and is pleased with your eyeroll-smile hybrid. “I’m just kidding, Y/N.”

“That’s such an influencer thing to say,” you tease, knowing his distaste for the label. “Are you sure you aren’t an influencer?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He throws his tatted arm around your shoulder, double-checking your expression to make sure physical contact is okay with you. “Influencers can’t do things like this without worrying about dating rumors and bullshit like that.”

“Actually, there was a rumor about me and you going around today,” you say.

“Really? Who said that?” There’s more curiosity than concern in his voice.

“Seokjin came banging on my door this morning. Turns out he made it all up though.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I did the mature thing and told him we’re getting married next week.”

“Haha, very funny.” Jungkook gives your shoulder a subtle squeeze. “For an introvert, you say a lot of weird shit sometimes, you know that?”

“Oh, speaking of weird shit, I thought of an actual gym activity that starts with an S and ends with an X.” You turn to Jungkook with playfulness in your eyes, prompting him to throw out a guess.

“Wait, what’s wrong with sex at the—”

“Shadowboxing.” You square up and do a few jabs in the air.

“Shadowboxing,” Jungkook repeats as he shakes his head with a big fat smile. “It takes a special individual to come up with that one.”

You’ll take that as a compliment.

Art class isn’t supposed to be scary, but that doesn’t stop you from taking the furthest possible seat from where all the chatty people are getting acquainted before the new semester officially begins. Maybe you fucked up. Maybe you should’ve picked a seat closer to all those extroverts, and maybe you would’ve naturally fallen into their circle. Or not. You wouldn’t blame them.

You decide you’re fine right where you are. It gives you the space you need to ensure no one else sees the internal chaos reflected in the whites of your eyes whenever it comes to social interactions. You’re the opposite of a social butterfly, and it’s at times like this when you wonder how the fuck some like you has such a huge social media following—503,448 followers to be exact. It’s not your personality (you’re too much of an introvert for anyone to really get to know you). It’s not your face (you haven’t posted a single photo of yourself on your account). So it has to be your art.

And although you’re a lover of all different art forms, your true love lies with ink on skin. It’s a bit unexpected for someone like you, a soft girl with not a single drop of ink on her own arms. But regardless of your unassuming appearance and quiet nature, you’ve won over countless people who proudly wear your art on their skin. That’s the business you built for yourself from nothing more than a passion you’d always kept close to your heart.

So maybe you should stop worrying so much about making good first impressions. Your art will break the ice for you.

“Is this seat open?” A finger with a fine crown etched into it points at the spot across from you. Your eyes follow a long sleeve of eyeballs, text, and rock ’n’ roll up to a handsome face with too many piercings to count. He fits the description of someone you’d only heard rumors about but never saw in the flesh. Tatts and piercings? Check. Man bun? Check. Hot as fuck?

You take a quick glance at the boy as a whole. Some of his features are surprisingly soft. His eyes are enormous, his nose is adorable, and his lips are the prettiest pink you’ve ever seen—1775 C in Pantone if you had to guess. He even smells nice. Fuck. Definitely hot as fuck but also lowkey cute.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you say while trying to get your heart rate under control. He nods and pulls his earbuds out as he takes a seat. He uses his phone screen to check his reflection, making more of an effort to rub a speck of who-knows-what off his lip than to make small talk with you. This person is someone who clearly doesn’t give a fuck where he sits, and it’s sad that you’re envious of that.

“Hey, nice tatts, bro,” another guy calls out as he passes by your new neighbor.

“Thanks,” he calls back. It isn’t long before he’s back to his phone. You wonder if he’s too absorbed in his own reflection to hear the girls talking about him at the other table.

“I told you we should’ve sat over there.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“That’s Jeon Jungkook, isn’t it?”

Aha. Jeon Jungkook. That name rings a bell. You whip out your phone and search him up. It only takes a few seconds to find that his Instagram @ArtOfKooking has quite a following too. You scroll through his most recent posts but find none of this “art” that he speaks of in his handle aside from what’s visible on his arm. Imagine having 100k followers just for being an attractive human.

Your mindless scrolling comes to an abrupt stop at a black and white photo from a few months back. He weaves his fingers through his long locks with a killer gaze. You take back what you said about the lack of art on his page. It turns out the boy himself is a work of art and he knows it.

You suddenly remember why you’d avoided searching Jungkook up when your friend Seokjin first mentioned him to you a while back. The last thing you wanted was to fall victim to a pretty face with excellent taste in body art—a deadly combination and one of your biggest weaknesses. But it’s already too late. Your thumb double-taps the photo to trigger the little heart animation.

Wait.

You study his profile again and identify a bigger problem than your tiny crush on a boy who’s probably going to get you into a lot of trouble. Jungkook follows your tattoo account, which means he’s going to get a big fat notification that you liked his photo from months ago, which means you must’ve been scrolling through his posts for some time, which means you’re clearly intrigued by him, which means you’re actually fucked.

Thank god your professor finally starts the class. You need some sort of distraction from the first-world problem you currently find yourself in with the fine specimen sitting across from you.

“Let’s start with an exercise with the person sitting across from you.” You already hate this professor. “To get better acquainted with your classmates, I want you to draw whatever your partner requests in your own style. The request can be as specific or vague as you want. Oh, and no dick pics or boobs, please. I was told to keep the first day as clean as possible.”

With the assignment underway, you and Jungkook both pull out your sketchbooks. Yours looks practically new despite being halfway filled. His looks like a dinosaur stepped on it with more than a few pages falling out. Without saying a word, he slides his sketchbook over to you, inviting you to snoop around inside his world and waiting for an invitation of his own. Your sketchbook is too heavy to slide across the table, so he watches patiently as you push your sketchbook to him inch by inch until he picks it up with a silent chuckle. Great, he already thinks your weird.

The physical state of his sketchbook is deceptively sloppy. There are probably more torn-out pages than actual drawings, but you have to admit you like what you find. His style is a tad chaotic yet somehow in good taste. You can easily picture these designs somewhere on his body, and perhaps they already are.

Your favorite detail is that everything is in ink.

“You’re incredible,” he says, flipping through your pages. “You’re like those YouTubers who draw soda bottles and shit as if it's sitting on the page in real life. You know what I mean?”

“Thanks,” you nod. The compliment is oddly specific and not exactly your niche or platform, but you do get what he means. You have a knack for replicating what you see. If you were to copy a barcode line by line, it’d probably fool the scanner. That’s the level of precision in your work.

“Ah, I got it.” He twirls his pen around. “Can you draw my arm drawing whatever you want me to draw?”

“Sure.” Of course Jeon Jungkook wants you to draw him. Sounds on-brand for someone who is quite possibly in love with himself. But maybe you can use that trait of his to your advantage. “I want you to draw your next tattoo.”

You see his eyes shift from your art to your face. He studies you for a moment. If you had to guess, he probably doesn’t believe someone like you is actually interested in his tattoos. After all, most tattoo enthusiasts are identified by the ink they proudly wear on their sleeves. Meanwhile, your version of a sleeve is cozy, knitted, oversized, and void of any ink.

“What if I drew one for you instead?” He places the pen down on the blank page in front of him and stretches his arms up toward the ceiling. The upper section of his sleeve peeks out from his black tee. It's even more intense than his forearm. “I’m kind of over the thrill of injecting ink into my veins.”

“Oh…” That’s most definitely not the response you were expecting. Maybe you shouldn’t have assumed that someone with a lot of tattoos wouldn’t mind one more. How dare you make such a bold assumption. You'll never open your mouth again.

“I’d much rather taint someone else,” he hums. His tone is light but his eyes are dark as they pierce the air between you and him. You’d really like to see him try.

“Art can be tainted by people, but people can’t be tainted by art,” you respond. As introverted as you are, you gain a sense of comfort to speak your mind when it comes to an art form that has defined your life thus far. “Unless they have a tattoo of their ex. Then I guess they’re kind of fucked.”

“Truer words have never been spoken. I knew I liked you.” Oh. His nose crinkles and his laugh is much softer than expected. He picks up his pen and starts drawing heavy smooth lines. “I was just fucking with you, by the way. You can never have too many tattoos, right?”

You nod as if you also have a full sleeve of eyeballs and rock ’n’ roll. That’s when you notice he’s drawing in your sketchbook as if what’s yours is his. Whether intentional or not on his end, you don’t really want to swap back.

“I don’t think the professor intended for us to draw in each other’s sketchbook,” you point out as you follow his lead and start marking up the next blank page in the Jurassic artifact. You outline the positions of Jungkook’s arm, your sketchbook, and the top of his sketchbook from your perspective.

“I like it better this way,” he says. His lines are starting to come together, but you still have no idea what it’s supposed to be. You just have to trust the process. “It’ll give me something to remember you by.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to be dead by sunrise.” You try not to look at the smile that forms on his face when you say that. Instead, you focus on the details in his tattoos and transfer them onto your page. Some of the tattoos match the style found in his sketchbook, and it’s not a coincidence. “How many of your tattoos are your own design?”

Jungkook puts a pause on his drawing to examine his arm and run some calculations in his head. His answer isn’t a number. “I lost track, but maybe you can count them for me.”

He gives you a better look at all the art on his arm. He’s practically asking for your attention, and a part of you hates that you’re so quick to give it. Your innocent soul diligently counts all of the ones you assume to be in Jungkook’s style. You count around five. But then it hits you. You don’t know how many other tattoos are beneath his clothes and where they might be hiding.

“How many others are hidden?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Let me know when you’ve found them all.”

It takes you a minute to wrap your innocent head around what he’s implying. You imagine he might have one on his ribs—that’s the most attractive spot you’ve come across as a tattoo artist. But in what scenario are you going to find a shirtless Jeon Jungkook in front of you? Clients strip down for you all the time in the name of art, but it’s not like Jungkook is aware of your inking business. So the only way you’d ever thoroughly explore his bare body is if—

Your mouth forms a tiny O, but no words come out. In fact, you find it pretty hard to do anything at the moment, so you just watch as the boy continues on with his mysterious design. He definitely knows what he’s drawing, and yet you can’t seem to crack the code.

“You’re fun to tease, Y/N,” Jungkook says, nonchalantly flipping your sketchbook back to the inside cover to make sure he got your name right. Of course you’re That Girl with your name written in fancy font on your fucking sketchbook. And of course he’s going to tease you about every quirky thing you do. “I really hope you aren’t dead by sunrise.”

“Unlikely.” You realize you’ve regained your ability to function properly and point to his work in progress. “But if I am, promise me you’ll get that tattooed on your forehead where everyone can see it.”

“It’s a promise.” He plays along with your dry humor before getting back to work with a cute smile. Wholesome smiles always seem to hit different when they’re coming from the people you least expect.

At some point, Jungkook waits for you to finish drawing his arm so that the two of you can complete his design at the same time. He claims his design is only a few strokes away from the big reveal, but you’re still not seeing it.

As class comes to a close, your page is filled with a beautiful arm, two sketchbooks, and a design that’s apparently “only a few strokes away.” Jungkook takes you line by line until you see it. Very clearly, in fact. It’s a bunny with a tiny carrot tattoo, and it’s been staring you in the face the entire time. The boy drew it upside-down from his perspective so that it’d be right-side up for you. You’re thoroughly impressed.

“Is this tattoo for you or for me?” you ask. While the bunny might definitely be on-brand with Jungkook’s art style, it’s not quite as edgy as his other tattoos.

“Does it get your stamp of approval?” He closes your sketchbook and hands it back to you.

“Of course it does.” You try not to smile too much at the fact that Jungkook’s adorable design is forever inked into your sketchbook. “I love it,” you say as quietly as possible.

“Then it's all yours.” He whips out a black marker and gestures for your hand. You give it to him without question. The hand that holds yours is rough (in that he should probably invest in some higher quality lotion) and gentle (in that you never want him to let go). The subtle caresses engulfing your hand distract you from the marker gliding across your skin. Twenty seconds later, you have a simplified version of the bunny on the back of your hand.

You flail your hand about and blow on it in hopes that the ink will dry before it can smug. “If you ever get your license, this is the one I want,” you say.

“Sounds like a plan.” He takes one last look at your completed drawing and tucks it away safely into his bag. For someone with such a beaten-up sketchbook, you expected him to be a bit more careless with his belongings. But maybe he’s a little different from what you thought you knew about him.

In fact, it’s thanks to this boy that your first day in art class went as well as it did. You made him laugh, and he made you smile. Like everything just felt right between you and him.

You feel like you’re forgetting something though.

“Hey, by the way, do you have an IG for your art that I can follow?” Jungkook pulls out his phone because why wouldn’t you have an account to showcase all of your art? You blink at him because here’s your next mistake: Your only Instagram account @snowsleeve is the one for your tattoo business, the one where your identity is more or less kept out of the spotlight. And you never thought to make a separate account with all of your non-tattoo art under your real name.

“I actually don’t… but it’d probably be beneficial for me to make one.” You’re embarrassed that this is your reality. You’ve utilized social media to build a strong reputation for your business, and yet you totally failed to get your real name out there in the art community. Because perhaps someday, you won’t want to be known solely for your tattoos.

“Well, make one and add me,” he says. “I’ll be your first follower.”

“What’s your account?” Of course you’ve already tracked him down at @ArtOfKooking with your subpar sleuthing skills, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s @jjkINK.” He pulls the account up for you to view. All of the art missing from his other account can be found here, and his face is nowhere in sight. Maybe having multiple accounts is more common than you thought.

“Wow, 30,000 followers? I didn’t know I was in the presence of an influencer,” you gasp and make it extra dramatic. After all, 30,000 is a big following for someone who isn’t a celebrity or well-known figure.

“I’m not an influencer.” He laughs and waves off your dramatic performance. “I’m just someone who shares his art with others. It’s really not that impressive, you know.”

“Well I’m impressed,” you say. And you mean it. You find it interesting how he doesn’t just dump all of his art into his @ArtOfKooking account with over three times as many followers. You imagine it’d be pretty tempting to do that for the sake of more exposure.

Once you’ve set up an alternate account under your real name with @Y/NsArtCorner, you hit the follow button on Jungkook’s art page and leave it at that. A few seconds later, you get a follow back from @ArtOfKooking.

“Oh, that’s my main account,” he explains. “I don’t post any art on that one, so you don’t really have to follow—”

You hit the follow button on that account too. “104,343 followers... Are you sure you aren’t an influencer?”

“I haven’t influenced anyone to do anything, for your information.” You feel like there should’ve been a hmph at the end of his sentence. He points to the bunny on your hand and says, “Well, except for you getting that rad tattoo.”

“Hey, don’t go thinking your bad boy self is a bad influence on me,” you say, holding your wrist close to your heart. “I’m totally not against the encouragement of getting something permanent branded into your skin.” You play it off as sarcasm, but that’s how you make bank.

“Would you really get one?” His eyes lock onto your body, identifying it as the perfect blank canvas for whatever he’s imagining.

“How do you know I don’t already have one?” You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms, still careful not to smudge the precious ink on your hand.

Jungkook tilts his head and squints as if he’s trying to see through the knitted holes of your slouchy sweater. As far as he can see, you don’t have any. But maybe that’s the point. Any tattoo you may or may not have would have to be hidden somewhere on your bare skin beneath your sweater, your lingerie, and most importantly, your soft smile. And the thought of that puts a curious little gleam in the boy’s eyes.

“Wait, how many do you have…?” He needs answers.

“Hey, can I get another drink?”

You glare furiously at the already pretty wasted Jimin asking you to help him put more alcohol in his system. He tries the puppy eyes — doesn’t work, you’re immune to everyone’s but Jungkook’s — and when it fails, he turns around, pouting. You’re sure he’ll be back when you won’t be guarding the table.

Yeah, okay, maybe the frat house isn’t as horrible as you’d first thought. When Jungkook — nerdy, shy, first year Jungkook, who you’d become close friends with — had told you he wanted to join, you’d been ready to throw hands with any asshole who would be a dick to him there.

Well, not really, but you’d have filed a strongly worded complaint to the administration, for sure.

Except Jungkook had thrived there. And you were happy for him, really. You’d watched him blossom into this muscular, tattooed, confident version of himself, and you couldn’t have been more proud of him. You might even have said something sappy about it to Namjoon.

You hadn’t realized you’d fallen in love with him until it was way, way too late.

“You wanna dance?”

You’re ready to will someone else away with just your eyes, but you simply melt when you see Jungkook, giving you his wide bunny grin. He always comes to check on you every once in a while. You wonder if he knows how miserable you are at those parties. Probably not. He wouldn’t invite you if he did. He’s too kind for that.

Yet another reason why you’re head over heels for him.

Normally, you’d say yes. You like dancing with Jungkook. You revel in his proximity, the heat of his chest, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, how his hand carefully closes around your waist.

But you’ve had a really long night. You hate these parties. You hate how loud they get, how they make you want to hide in a corner, how obvious it is in those moments that you’re barely part of his world anymore and you just— You want to go home.

“Sorry, Jungkook,” you smile apologetically. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

His face falls, and your heart drops. He nods and gives you a small smile, and you know that he understands, but also you’re immediately flooded with the urge to explain yourself. Before you can open your mouth to do that, though, he’s already said “I’ll walk you home then,” and that doesn’t leave much room to try anything.

“Hey,” you mumble as the two of you are walking side by side, silence stretching on for a little too long, “you know it’s just because I’m really tired, right?”

Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh.

“I know. Don’t worry.” And then, under his breath, voice so low he either didn’t think you’d hear or didn’t realize he was saying it at all, he adds “It’s just not fair.”

You blink.

“What’s not fair?”

He tenses at the question.

“Forget it.”

“Kookie, what’s not fair?”

He looks hesitant, conflicted, but when you give him a questioning look, he folds almost immediately. Under the streetlights, you can tell that his face is turning red.

“It’s not fair because I— I need you around. All the time. My heart just breaks every time you leave and you— You never notice.”

Say what now?

He lets out a brief, so obviously hurt laugh as you stare at him open-mouthed that you can feel your own heart shattering.

“Sorry. You can just forget I said anything, alright? I’ll— handle it on my own.”

He’s already turning around to keep walking, and you know he’s still going to walk you home, because he wouldn’t let you do it alone, no matter how many times you insist that it’s perfectly fine, that big idiot.

Your big idiot.

You jog to catch up with him, and, trying to ignore the loud beating of your heart, you slide your hand down his arm, reaching for his hand, buried in the pocket of his jacket.

He tenses, glancing at you.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

“No, really, you don’t—”

“I know.”

“No, but, if you do that, it’ll— It’ll hurt so much more when I don’t— When I don’t have you anymore.”

You look up at him. You don’t know where to begin. Don’t know how to explain yourself when he didn’t leave you room to do that.

How do you even say ‘I love you’ again?

“I love you,” you say quietly. “I’ve loved you since you invited me over to your place for a Lord of the Rings marathon.”

“When Jimin interrupted us and made fun of us and you called him a himbo?” Jungkook asks, clearly skeptical.

“You even gave me an opportunity to call Jimin a himbo. Just when I thought you couldn’t get more perfect.”

He lets out a bashful laugh, looking down at his feet.

“You love me,” he repeats. He sounds delighted. And then he looks up, more determined than you’ve ever seen him. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You grin.

“Do your worst.”

It’s not that you’re stupid, or bad, or even not good. It’s just that when Yoongi’s around people like him, like Namjoon, like Hoseok, you can’t keep up. And you understand that you shouldn’t feel bad about it, but there’s something that hurts when you find yourself unable to participate in their conversations. When he goes where you can’t follow.

And when Yoongi makes it big, which he is so, so close to, you’re not sure he’ll even need you around anymore.

“I got you something to drink,” Yoongi says. You glance up at him, surprised, and accept the cup of coffee he’s handing you without really looking at you, as is common for him whenever he does something nice.

He has big dark circles under his eyes. The second you’ve taken the cup, thanking him quietly, he’s back at the mixing table, and you feel your shoulders falling. It’s like he lives here, these days. You can’t count the times you’ve found him asleep on it, and you suspect he’s spending more time here than at his apartment.

He’s turned completely monosyllabic recently — and even then, you might the person he talks to the most. The others can only elicit vague grunts from him.

You stare at him for a while, his slender frame, his bony shoulders. It’s fascinating to you, the immensity that he contains. You wouldn’t guess, looking at him, that he has the whole world on the tip of his tongue.

Well, you suppose you did. That’s why you took a chance on him that first day.

But in moments like this, when all you can do is look at his back, he feels so, so far away.

“You should take a break,” you say. “Get some actual sleep.”

He doesn’t reply immediately. It often takes him a while to— come back.

To come back to you.

He sighs, leaning back on his chair to look up at you, and your heart skips a beat when you meet his black eyes.

That’s what makes it all worth it, you think. Moments when he looks at you like that. Moments when he really, truly sees you. Maybe that’s why you’re still around, after all this time.

Yoongi isn’t affectionate, exactly. It took him quite a while to open up to you, and even then you hadn’t realized he’d done that until you met Namjoon who’d told you he’d heard a ton about you. Yoongi’d just rolled his eyes. And he has his moments — a brief hug when he’d gotten a call back from a big label, soft-spoken words of encouragement when you hadn’t, and, mostly, discreet acts of kindness. Like when he got you a coffee, having memorized your order.

But it’s when he looks at you that you feel it the most. That you think that the two of you have something. You’re not sure what exactly, but it’s a start.

“Alright,” Yoongi finally says, which takes you by surprise. You didn’t really believe you’d be able to get him away from the mixing table at this point.

Turns out, it’s because you aren’t. He gets up, only to immediately fall on the couch, where you’re sitting. But even then, he lets out a relieved groan.

“Fuck. I needed that.”

“You know, I worry about you sometimes.”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he replies “I know.” And then, lower, “Thanks.”

“Just fall asleep,” you urge him. “I’ll keep an eye on— You know. Stuff.”

And you’ll keep an eye on him, too. As long as you have to.

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even, and in the moment that follow, you abandon your spot to go get him a blanket. You cover him with it, and then you stay there a little longer, studying his face. He looks so softin those moments, so easy to reach, and you can't help but trace his jaw with the tip of your fingers.

Maybe it’s cowardly of you, to use this moment to say out loud what you’re thinking.

“You’re just never going to notice how much I need you, are you?”

There’s no answer, because of course there isn’t, and you sigh. But just as you’re pushing yourself back up, a hand grabs your wrist, and you find yourself pulled in. You land against a hard chest, and two arms wrap around you.

“I need you too,” a sleepy voice mumbles into your hair. “Now stay quiet. I’m trying to sleep.”

Well, you suppose you could use the rest, too.

Yoongi has four chances left.

Four is an even number by literal definition but he feels that it's odd. It’s a number that’s unfair and unforgiving and he just realized today how much hatred he could have for a damn digit.

Was it a smart move that he immediately asked you out two seconds after he proposed the offer of getting to ask you out for only five times? Not really. But in actuality, Yoongi would’ve thought it was the smartest move if only you accepted. Yet of course, you rejected him (he can’t blame you) and now he realized how dispensable he really is.

He’s never really chased someone per se. Never really been the type to question nor prod but he feels like he’s the nosiest being ever when it comes to you — you, who isn’t all that crazy for him nowadays.

And he understands! Yoongi truly understands where he went wrong and as much you assured him that he’s not obligated to like you back, he still gave you motive and means and that atleast has to count for something.

He’s paying the price, that much he knows. He’s filling in your shoes and even if you’ve stood countless of times next to him, only for him to look down and see how your work shoes are smaller than his, he feels like it’s an infinite void he’s stepped into.

“You know that Y/N’s my oldest friend, right? Knew her before I knew you?” Jimin asked him as soon as Yoongi spilled the beans on how his interaction went with you, adding in a half-ass apology of how he threw him out of the breakroom.

“Mhmm. Is this the part where you give me the guy best friend speech?” He snickered but he feels the worry in his tummy, not admitting to how Jimin may be younger but he can truly intimidate him from time to time.

“Close,” he chuckled, putting a spoonful of the ice cream you’ve treated him to out of the blue. “But I just want you to know that I know her the most, and I know that she doesn’t forget. Doesn’t really give in that easily. Doesn’t really budge when it’s not needed.”

Yoongi’s lips pursed at that. “How do you want me to take that?”

Jimin’s intentions are pure. Not ill, but rather honest. It’s his way of telling his friend that chasing after his other friend wouldn’t be easy. Not exactly futile but it’s close to it, having had the knowledge that when you give up, you truly give up. “You take it however you want to.”

It’s that small interaction with your closest friend that pushes Yoongi to suck up a breath and let himself be embarrassed, knowing that you’ve done it numerous times before for him.

“Good morning.”

Yoongi chirps from behind you and all the remaining grogginess from your short nap you take before opening gets detached, resisting the urge to yawn.

“Hi.”

Dr. Min tries not to smile when he sees you blink away the sleep-induced tears rapidly but he fails anyway, learning that he has nothing to hide.

His morning routines are different to say the least. He buys his own coffee now and only throws his bag when he sees you within the crowd of a staff greeting him, regardless if you’re the one who catches it or not.

He doesn’t go straightly to his office but instead he aims straight for the breakroom and if you haven’t arrived there, then he’d wait. He knows not to impose on your routine that you’ve set but there’s no harm in trying to slightly impose, just enough to make his presence known.

He waits for five minutes and tries to just casually give you his treat of the morning, just as casual as if he woke up from bed and suddenly decided to buy himself cocoa crepe cake and accidentally bought one more slice, and even more hauntingly, accidentally packaged it up in a lunchbox with your name on it so it would retain its form and coolness.

All accidental and casual of course.

Yoongi, the easy-going guy he is, puts an all too-familiar cup in front of you — something that only Jimin could know how frustrated you get when you try to find it in the chiller aisles.

"The grocery was all out of this. Where did you find it?"

He smiles to himself for yet another job well done, suddenly feeling his skin prick with nervousness when you twirl the cylinder with your fingers.

Oh god, did he give you a damaged one?

Was this not your favorite flavor of pudding?

Better yet, do you even eat it at all?

It clicks in your memory why the expiration date is familiar, the pudding obviously not yet spoiled but it's the exact one you've seen before.

"How much did Jimin charge you for this?"

It's from Jimin's fridge from the grocery trip you embarked on with him just last week ago, remembering snagging the last two packs for each of you to take home. It's routine that the both of you get your groceries together despite living apart — it's routine for him to drive the cart and chuck the items from both of your lists, and it's routine for you to check the expiration dates since he clearly doesn't.

Yoongi can't find it within him to be annoyed that you found him out so quick because the entire situation itself is humorous, sheepishly scratching his nape.

"Thrice the price, I think."

You chuckle in amusement, not entirely sure if it's because Jimin managed to sell your favorite pudding for thrice the price, or it's because Yoongi bought it despite being ripped off. "Is it worth it?"

He knows you only mean the question at surface-level but he can't help to look at it a little more deeply, shrugging as what seems to be the obvious answer.

"Well you're smiling now and you're getting a spoon, so yeah, of course. I think it's worth indulging Jimin the part-time scalper."

It's nice seeing you laugh because of him. He figures that he probably must've hurt you in ways he wasn't even aware of but he tries not to dwell on it, instead looking at you face-to-face.

"Do you want more of those?" he tentatively asks and you're clueless to how his voice became meek, putting his hands behind his back as he practices the smooth flow of words in the back of his head.

You snort at the question despite sounding like a lure, answering truthfully the moment you let the pudding engulf your tiny spoon.

"I'd actually gatekeep it if I had the chance to."

"I called around," Yoongi starts off and all the shakiness has disappeared from his voice, a solid front as he risks one of the four chances that he's entitled to. "I have this close friend who owns a restaurant. He has whole tubs of these and he said he'd give it to me for free."

Your eyes widen considerably and he takes it positively, a huge relief that he has so many connections that are seemingly in his favor each time.

"Do you wanna go to the restaurant? I'll pick it up with you so I can see too why you love it so much."

He sees you eat a spoonful with your eyes twinkling, no joke at all when Jimin swore up and down that this is your favorite. He shoves down the hope he feels because second tries don't always end up victorious because they don't even rhyme at all.

"No thank you," you hum, shaking your head. "But can I have the number of your friend though?"

Yoongi's eye twitches and he tilts his head at your reply that simultaneously involves him and not at all at the same exact time.

"For uh, f-for pudding purposes, right?"

"Gatekeeping your friend now, Dr. Min? Why, is he handsome?"

You joke but the concept of it doesn't sit snugly on his bottom lips because it weighs it down considerably into a frown, his eyebrows scowling as he thinks of a family friend with the name of Kim Seokjin.

The despair he feels is short-lived because it's replaced with annoyance, the tiniest bit of green tinting his vision. "No. Definitely not. He's unattractive. Undesirable. His only personality trait is that he's friends with me. Stop asking."

Dr. Min's answer is too blunt to the point that you find yourself coughing, looking at the cup in front of you while you talk in passing.

"I assume he's friends with Jimin. I'll just ask him then."

Yoongi snaps out of his jealousy-fueled reverie and he physically shakes the thought away from his mind, mumbling at first. "What? No, no, don't do that. I'll just-" he feels for the car keys in his pocket, making a mental note to drive to the restaurant right after closing.

"I'll bring it to you myself tomorrow. No need to ask for his number."

( ♡ )

Hoseok has no interest and didn't really mean to, but he thinks he's unconsciously memorized and met the entirety of all the personalities that the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator could ever come up with.

He thought it was stupid at first but now that there's been five separate clients who went to the front desk to ask for some more magazines while in reality, they were just chatting him up in attempt to have their slot moved earlier, it's not all so stupid anymore.

What he's been doing is giving the same magazines each time with a different page opened, all with a customer service smile saying that it was new.

"Do we have a lot of patients today?"

He almost grits his teeth at yet another client but he's relieved when he looks up and it's just Yoongi, lazily leaned against the counter with a bored look on his face.

"Yeah, like a hoarde. I don't think I'd even be able to use my phone in-between."

"You use your phone during your shift?"

Hoseok merely scoffs despite being flustered that he just admitted to his boss that he's not all that attentive and uses every second of his time in using Excel and arranging patients' charts.

"No you use your phone during your shift. I don't know what you're talking about."

Yoongi doesn't add onto such a childish remark from his childhood friend that only calls him Dr. Min when there's actual people around, unbothered enough that he diverts the conversation smoothly.

"Is Jimin in? All the other doctors are here too?"

"Of course he's in. Of course all the other doctors are in," Hoseok furrows his brows and stops typing on his keyboard that's greased up with his hand sanitizer. "Yoongi you literally own this place why do you — this is routine already. What's with you?"

"Nothing," the guy in question huffs, crossing his arms as he pathetically throws back the question. "What's with you?"

Hoseok's clueless on why Yoongi's chatting him up in the front desk when it's clear that the clients in the waiting room could clearly see their doctor doing everything else besides accommodate them, a little lost for words.

"Long queue for me?"

He exhales at how Yoongi still won't budge and leave his front desk, definitely certain now that once the doctor leaves, he'd be hounded again by impatient clients.

"You have the longest one today. Beat Jimin only by two patients more," he mumbles, making it the official verdict for the little competition that the two owners and main doctors have of which would get the more clients.

"Cool, cool," he's only slightly amused by his win of the day because it's clear that his mind's in other places, looking at his back slyly before turning to Hoseok again. "Assign Y/N only to me today."

His secretary actually deadpans at him as if he's not surprised at all but still insulted nonetheless. "But the clinic's busy," he motions to the hoarde of people that are a mix of appointments and walk-ins. "All the nurses are free game to the doctors because it's hectic."

Yoongi sucks in a faux gasp, motioning to Hoseok to come close to him so he could whisper.

The younger guy rolls his eyes but he knows that Yoongi won't leave him alone until he doesn't, begrudgingly coming closer across the desk.

"I own the clinic."

Hoseok gasps lewdly to indulge the guy, making him roll his eyes in return. He beckons him back closer so he could cup his hands around his ear, eyes wide to make it look like he's never been more serious of anything in his life.

"Do you want me to buy you a collar so you could wear it for Y/N?"

Yoongi would've smacked Hoseok at the back of his head if only you hadn't made your appearance known at the front desk with a frantic gaze, making him straighten his posture immediately.

Hobi smiles at you like he always does and you wave at him before you speak to Dr. Min, unnerved at the daggers they send to each other during the split second you looked away.

"Doc where have you been? Ms. Seri keeps looking at her Rolex."

Right. Seri, of course. Yoongi's reminded of why he came out of the procedure room in the first place with the excuse that he's getting the materials even if you've already brought in the cart.

He's reminded of how he's the best in the game and that's why Seri, his ex-wife's nosy best friend that's just dead-set on dipping her heels in every occasion, was awkwardly left alone with you in the procedure room until you had to excuse yourself because Dr. Min's taking too long.

He walks lethargically back into the room and you have to slow down your pace every now and then because it'd be rude if you walk ahead of the doctor, even if he's intentionally taking ages to stroll.

Botox on the forehead. Enclosed room with Seri and Y/N. Less than twenty minutes.

Yoongi inhales to soldier through it all, carelessly opening the door to see the immediately inquisitive gaze of Seri who looks more than excited to see him again.

"Disinfectant, please."

He wastes no time into making Seri lie down to get it all over with, making you fumble for the pad as you swallow down the guffaw when Dr. Min cleanses the area a little more vigorously than needed, seeing the pinkness that's blooming on Miss Seri's glass skin.

She hums at it but Yoongi knows that she already has a question blooming underneath her tongue, only a matter of seconds before he's cornered.

"How's Jihye?"

There it is.

If you're shocked to hear the name, you definitely don't show it because you barely even flinch. You only have an inkling of who's connected to who, but you don't have the faintest idea how Miss Seri's closely related to Miss Jihye as a token nosy friend.

If Yoongi's annoyed to hear the unnecessary mention of his name, he definitely shows it.

"Marker, please."

He only bites gently as he looks at you with worry that you can decipher, a look that baffles you for all the wrong reasons because he looks apologetic even.

He quietly marks Seri's skin as you hand her the mirror to observe, only leaning back slightly to see the symmetry. It's quiet besides Seri's hums, the default explanation Dr. Min has to do when it comes to botox not being uttered because the girl already knows it enough for the amount of times she's been in this chair

"Jihye and I are divorced now, Seri. You were like the third person to ever know."

He's met with a knowing chuckle because she was indeed one of the first people to ever know, knowing that he wouldn't be surprised at all when someone tells him that she was the one who leaked the news to the press because it's not far-fetched at all.

Seri's more than satisfied with the markings, handing you back the mirror. "Jihye's single. You know that right?"

"Numbing cream, please."

Yoongi isn't interested at the slightest bit and it shows with how his eyes look sleepy, his hand waiting for you to hand him the container as he doesn't even chuckle at the unwarranted input of his patient.

"Hmm, she is? Good for her," he sing-songs but it sounds the furthest thing from entertaining, feeling compelled to slather on a whole lot of cream to the point Seri wouldn't even be able to feel until the next month.

It's clear that he's annoyed and there's no point in covering it up. Even when he was still married, he was already long-annoyed at Seri who does exceedingly well in trying to get under his skin.

She's annoying and he doesn't even know why Jihye still keeps her around. It's not pity that he feels in extension for his ex-wife, but it's just pure-hearted annoyance.

"There's this gala next week, did you know? Jihye's invited and she's also entitled to a plus one," Seri hums proudly even if unprompted. "Not every guest is privy to that."

"Syringe please, Y/N."

Yoongi ignores her all the more as he cusses infinitely in his mind because of all the times he had to cater to who happens to be his ex-wife's friend, it just had to be you who's his assistant.

Yoongi from ten minutes ago would've been happy as he requested specifically for you to Hoseok, but the present version of him wants nothing more than to usher you outside so you wouldn't have to be in the same room and endure a conversation such as this.

"I know there's a gala next week because you're not the first party-goer I've given botox to today," he mumbles as he injects, unblinking when Seri winces slightly despite the numbing cream.

"All the plus-ones are screened beforehand, you know that," she emphasizes and it hurts Yoongi right where it hurts, reminding him well-enough the times he had to walk the red carpet with the woman he doesn't want to do anything with. "Whether they walk the red carpet or not, you can't just bring a random person in there."

Yoongi can sniff from a mile away what Seri's intention is and it frustrates him to no end, a groan brewing at the back of his throat.

"You're trying to get me and Jihye back together and it's a no, Seri," he says it so sternly that it intimidates you even if it isn't directed at you. Yoongi only leans away briefly to cover the next area, looking up at you for a fraction of a second before he injects again. "Besides, my eye's set on someone special already. Lay it off already."

He takes his eyes off of you even before you could register what he said, the blankness in your face wavering at the slightest.

"Is she a model?"

"She could be if she wanted to."

"Dating already?"

"No," he answers straightly and with the way he sees Seri's lips curve as she probably has the intention to relay this to his ex-wife and 99 others, he regrets that he even gave her numbing cream in the first place. "Not yet, atleast."

"Ah, so you're single," she exclaims, her forehead once again being harshly cleansed to remove the markings but she champions through it. "And so is Jihye."

Yoongi reclines the chair suddenly that it almost has Seri recoiling in surprise, removing his gloves to discard them as he points to the door.

"Goodbye, Seri."

Miss Seri rolls her eyes and spares you a glance with her lips pouted as if to get you on her team, directing his gaze to Yoongi one last time to silently signal to you that there must be something wrong with him.

She leaves the procedure room without so much of a fight and it leaves you in the room alone with Dr. Min who's gone silent, sitting on one of the chairs with his brows furrowed in deep thought.

"I'm sorry for that."

It piques your attention instantly because you don't grasp it fully, tilting your head in question. "Why are you apologizing?"

He hangs his mouth briefly, glancing up at you with an inquiring gaze of a puppy who's pondering in misplaced remorse. "Are you mad at me?"

"I have no reason to be mad at you."

You say truthfully as you wipe down the chair, alarming Yoongi slightly because it seems to him that you don't care at all and it worries him to no end.

"A-are you sure?" he asks once again, eyes widening while he tries to look for the barest shift of attention in your eyes.

"Why would I be mad, Dr. Min? I'm not childish to throw a tantrum over your own personal affairs."

Your own personal affairs.

He doesn't know why the mere fact you've stated affects him more than it should. Better yet, it probably wasn't even a dig at him. It's just a casual answer that involved the truth and he's getting butthurt over it because he thought it would affect you.

"Y-yeah. You're right."

He swallows the lump on his throat and he feels the burst of proactiveness in his chest, lips curling as he tries to catch your gaze one more time.

He didn't plan on asking today but he just felt it in the back of his head. He's not entirely sure if it's appropriate for the moment, but it prods at his mind to try.

"If you're not mad, then would you go out with me tonight? I'm closing the clinic at five o'clock exactly."

"No," you chuckle in amusement at the suddenness of the question. "I'm not going out with you, not because I'm mad."

Yoongi tilts his head because this is the rejection he feels for the third time wherein it hits a little closer to him for each attempt that he tries, waiting for your answer still even if you wouldn't reverse it.

"Busy tonight. I need to look for a gown."

"A gown? What for?" his interest grows in your admission, straightening his posture as he knows you're bound to finish cleaning up any second now. "I can come with. I don't complain when there aren't any chairs in the shop."

You only humor him with a snort, exiting the procedure room without waiting for him.

"Next patient, Dr. Min."

( ♡ )

Jimin didn't really know what to do this weekend.

He made no prior plans and his rest day remains unmarked and untouched. He doesn't have the slightest clue on what he should do today, but he knows for sure that this isn't something he'd think about in the first try.

"Hang out with me."

Yoongi says as he's sitting on the other end of Jimin's couch, sprawled while cuddled up to a throw pillow because after all, it must've been exhausting to invite himself over to his friend's house and decide to spend some time with him.

"You already came over, we're already hanging out."

He isn't entirely sure if what he's seeing is correct because as far as he knew, he was the clingier out of the duo. He's the one who comes over to Yoongi's place and buys all the snacks — not this. Not the other way around.

Yoongi must've probably picked up a theme along the way too because he came over wearing matching pajamas and made and off-hand comment of how Jimin's sleep shirt looks ratty, therefore making him change into a set. They're vaguely matching at this point and Jimin just badly wants to know what the hell is going on with his friend's mind.

"No we're not. We're just sitting together on a couch after I had to see you struggling to mirror your phone to your TV."

Yoongi's clingy and if he's entirely being honest, he didn't want to be lonely tonight. Watching replays on his phone didn't satiate him enough and you're not asking him out to go do something in the weekends, so he resorts to the next big thing — crash at Jimin's place so he wouldn't feel alone.

The host huffs because he struggled for atleast ten minutes to mirror his phone, giving Yoongi more than an eyeful of his recent searches and all the photos he's took with neighborhood cats outside the clinic.

"I think your definition of hanging out revolves around talking about Y/N."

"N-no it's-" he stammers over nothing but he gives it up when he's shot with a look that he doesn't sound believable at all, "that's justified."

Jimin decides to let it go because Yoongi dodges the topic of you altogether, probably too sheepish to admit that he only has two tries left and he hasn't made you agree even once, but he knows it nonetheless.

It wasn't embarrassing; if anything, it's adorable. He knows that Yoongi's never the one to chase and it's a little heartwarming to see how determined he is.

Yoongi moves his hair out of the way that's become longer, the blonde being faded at this point. "Why are we watching the gala livestream anyway?"

That gains the younger one's attention instantaneously because he just about remembers to rant, dropping the chip back to his bowl because talking would be the first priority at his list.

"Remember Soyeon?" he asks and the image of the petite celebrity flashes on Yoongi's mind, making him nod. Jimin's relieved to know that they're on the same page because otherwise, he wouldn't have someone to share his sentiment with. "Gave her a rhinoplasty a week ago and I explicitly told her that it would bruise. Like I literally just removed the splint yesterday."

"Yikes," Yoongi winces at the mental image, knowing that the bruising that comes with it isn't subtle at all. "Do you think her team managed to cover it up?"

"The nose? No. Definitely not. She didn't want me to do it subtly," Jimin snorts as he takes a swig of his beer, swallowing bitterly before continuing. "But the bruising? I really wanna see if they did good."

Yoongi turns his gaze to the huge TV in front of him (this has to atleast cover half of Jimin's electricity bill) and sees the numerous faces walking the red carpet, recognizing some of them yet not really all that amazed.

"Mhmm, they really need to pack it in with a sponge. That's gonna take a lot of pressure, especially with the layers they'd need."

He sees people walking left and right and Yoongi's struggling to find interest within it all, only keeping his eyes on the screen to look out for Soyeon because he wants to dish in it too.

His eyesight's clear without the need for prescription glasses yet he feels as if he's being deceived by his own self, unsure if he's even happy to have quite such the skill to spot you in a crowd.

"Is that Y/N?"

The words tumble out of his mouth before he could contain them and he finds himself standing immediately to get closer to the screen, making Jimin fumble for his glasses and do the same.

It's not before Jimin cusses and jabs his finger to the screen that he realizes that it's unmistakably you. It truly couldn't be anyone else and seeing the person right beside you, as much as Yoongi wouldn't want to see him, he's certain that it's you and not anyone else.

"Holy shit."

Jimin's voice borders surprise but he's not in disbelief. He's laughing and chuckling to himself while Yoongi just stays rooted to his position, mouth dry and eyes glazed at the same time.

It's truly you and you're gorgeous in your gown that's silky yet glitters underneath the light. It's clear that you own it right away with how Yoongi knows no one could even come close to giving it the same justice as you.

You're dashing even if the livestream isn't the clearest and it's when you walk away from the red carpet that he's reminded of who you're with, the guy he's seen before wearing a suit that fits the theme of what adorns your body.

"Taehyung's her ex-boyfriend, right?" Yoongi clears his throat and crosses his arms, looking down on his feet as he retreats back to the couch. "What's she doing there with him?"

Jimin looks as shocked as Yoongi is but he doesn't feel conflicted at all. Unlike him, his mind's at peace and it isn't straying to the fact that you're with your ex-boyfriend in a gala that's filled with prying eyes and with no context at all.

Yoongi's no stranger at all to the public eye but something in his stomach just churns that in the first moment you're out there, it had to be with Kim Taehyung the model — Kim Taehyung, the ex-boyfriend.

"I don't know, she told me at first that she wasn't sure if she'd be accompanying him."

And it's true that you've mentioned it in passing to Jimin as you asked him if he knew of any shops with gowns that wouldn't break the bank, with its main purpose only for you to serve as a plus one.

"You knew?" he asks his friend and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth because he feels like he's the only one who didn't expect you to be there. "You knew that he asked her out?"

Jimin realizes the gravity of the situation but he knows there's no real heat to the inquiry behind Yoongi's wavering voice, avoiding his gaze as he plops himself back to the couch.

"Asked her out to be a plus one... yeah."

"Great," he nods once, looking down on his beer that's just as bitter as he is. "That's great."

It's a tense silence that engulfs them both and Jimin, clearly the one who's suffocating in it, doesn't even know his way out. He's just about to add in a little explanation of how he came to know but he's interrupted before he even gets to open his mouth.

"You know this Taehyung guy?"

Yoongi looks at his knees and he doesn't realize that he's bouncing one, drumming his fingers on his thigh in a tune he can't place.

"Not much, but yeah. She introduced him to me before she introduced him to her parents."

Jimin's only attention in adding the last bit was his fondness because you trusted him enough to be the first of your loved ones to know, warming at the thought that he matters to you in such a way.

But god, in the way Yoongi seems to even dive deeper into his blooming insecurities, he wishes he hadn't.

"Does the press know? Do his fans — do people know?" his voice hushes, "do they know that they're exes?"

It's a valid question born out of curiosity. Anyone who knows you and Taehyung remotely would dare to ask.

"Not sure. They dated even before Taehyung got famous," Jimin somberly answers, meekly scratching the back of his ear. "But after this appearance? I'm sure it won't be long before someone digs something up."

It's a coarse silence that even the bitterness of the beer Jimin kept in stock at his fridge isn't enough to corrode it. All he sees and feels is Yoongi who keeps looking at his hands, his unsureness towards himself reeking.

"Right. Of course."

Yoongi brings his phone and texts you silently when Jimin's attention gets whisked away with Soyeon's appearance on the red carpet, only taking a brief look to see that the bruising on her nose wasn't color-corrected at all.

He thinks little of his dignity because he figures that none would be deducted from him at this point, seeing to it that he's compromising on asking you out even if it's not exclusive to only the two of you.

"Are you free tonight? I'm with Jimin right now and I cooked dinner enough for three. Come hang out :)"

He looks at the screen and Jimin, oblivious to his turmoil, points to where you are at the screen. You're already out of the red carpet but you're visible nonetheless with the wide-angle view of the livestream.

Yoongi could only wait.

You're buzzing with unknown adrenaline from having so many people's attention to you all at once that your shoulders sag in relief once you and Taehyung exited the stream of flashes, the puff of fresh air without being crowded by dozens of media in front of you hitting especially.

"You're my hero," Tae sighs in relief as he puts his hand on the small of your back, "and my hero's phone vibrates so loud that it's making my knee tremble."

He pulls out your phone from his pocket because the free clutch that came with your dress could barely fit your hand, handing you the device from the roomy pocket of his dress pants.

Apparently, you're now his hero because you agreed when called you desperately in need. His manager was forcing him to get a plus-one to the event and coincidentally, you were the first person Tae thought of.

He didn't want to be linked to yet another rumor and he instead just decided to call you in hopes you would agree, even if it was a gigantic favor he was asking from you. You're low-key and unproblematic and most important of all, he's comfortable with you! He didn't want to spend the night of what seems to be an important gala with someone he barely knows.

You're his ex (but they don't need to know) and what someone could say a close friend. It's wholesome. It's heartwarming. Warrants no unnecessary hounding from the press.

You open your phone and Yoongi's text is the first thing that greets you. It's sudden and you don't know what to make of it that you even subtly try to look around to see if he's here somewhere, regardless if he's with his ex-wife or not.

It throws you off your rhythm for a short while but you recover, typing in a quick reply before you shove your phone back to Tae's pocket.

Yoongi watches the livestream until he feels his phone vibrate, sinking into the cushions right when he sees the last sliver of you before the stream was taken down due to a report.

"can't :( i'm doing grocery shopping rn"

( ♡ )

There's a weight on Yoongi's chest that he can't put off.

It's a weight on his chest that he can't remove and it comes in the form of the questions that he formulates inside his head, already out in the open since he can no longer keep them burrowed.

He asks it with little to no urgency, honestly. He's curious but it's in the definition of defeat — asking Jimin as his last resort.

"Why did you not do anything when you knew that Y/N had a crush on me?"

The two of you knew Jimin as someone who had a knack for meddling; meddling in the definition of just teasing the boundary yet not actually intervening. It was his way of reminding the other that he knows it's there and although he won't exactly do anything, it doesn't mean that he's clueless.

In all honesty, Jimin's a little choked up at the question because first of all, he's still surprised that Yoongi came into work because he's figured that since last night of you being involved with Taehyung, he needed a breather of some sort.

Although Yoongi doesn't meet his eyes, Jimin knows he's no longer dancing around the topic. No longer dancing around the subject of you because it's out in the open that he wants you and is hurting.

"It's conflicting on my part. I kinda always wanted to play cupid for the day Y/N had like a legitimately huge crush," his voice gets sheepish, "but when I learned that it's you, I uh, I just didn't know what to do or how that would even go."

Yoongi understands it — not fully, but he does have the faintest grasp.

"Is it because of Jihye?"

"Yeah, kind of like that too," he swallows because if he thinks just far enough, he'd recall the day when he stood as best man at his friend's wedding, never having anticipated that Yoongi would end up loving someone he's closely familiar with all this time. "I just wasn't sure that you'd like her back so with me being neutral, in a way, I'd get to save you from the inconvenience and save Y/N from the heartbreak."

The wording is what makes Yoongi look up, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion as he corrects him.

"Y/N's not an inconvenience to me."

He says it with much sternness and he internalizes it in entirety because it is true. You're the furthest thing away from being an inconvenience to him and it's only now that he realizes how he's made you feel like it in the start.

In a way, Yoongi loathes himself because he didn't take the time to look at you for a second longer.

He didn't allow himself to feel the warmth of the coffee you used to give him every morning for a second longer than necessary, and he didn't even utter a single thanks whenever you'd give him what he requested of you.

It hits him in a way he can't explain because as he peers down on the article on his phone, the very one with you and Taehyung in the thumbnail, his arm felt like giving out when he showed it to Jimin.

HE'S GLOWING: How could Kim Taehyung not when his mystery plus-one is the humblest yet brightest in the room?

Jimin's mouth dries when he sees the fuel to Yoongi's insecurities in the form of an article, skimming past the words before he hands it back to him with the screen turned down.

"Did they make a good couple?" Yoongi pipes in, simply curious with no malice behind his question. "They fit right together, don't they?"

Although Jimin already turned off his phone, he finds himself turning it back on again, being met with the thumbnail that glares at him in high-definition.

He sees Taehyung's hand around your waist and he realizes that it's probably because he's slotted it around too many times before that it feels like muscle memory to do so.

That Taehyung's hand probably made a home out of your waist and takes solace in everything else because after all, you have a history that's undeniable.

You have a history and you're still with him in a way, even if it's not of a lover's concern.

"Yoongs, don't do that."

Jimin scolds him the longer he looks at his phone to the point that he's snatched it out of his grasp, no longer wanting to see his friend bring himself down.

He allows it, staying silent. "Namjoon's in cardiology, right?" he thinks of the familiar face he's seen a couple of times when they were still serving in the hospital. Jimin nods mindlessly but he didn't expect an answer directly.

"Good. I need him to make all these pains stop."

Yoongi thinks it's pathetic of him that there's tears forming at the corners of his eyes, thinks it's even more pathetic that he doesn't even try choking them back down.

"Do you think Y/N will like me back?"

"Yoongi."

He exhales at the sound of his name, nodding to himself before he goes out of the room because his large office seems to close down on him. "You're right. I shouldn't ask. I'm putting you in a tough spot by doing that."

He leaves even before Jimin can squeak, the words he couldn't utter because the one who was supposed to hear them is already put. Yeah. I do think Y/N will like you back.

Yoongi's been working in a daze the whole morning that he breezes through clients and doesn't even realize it. All he knows is that he feels overwhelmingly small and unlike himself and he couldn't bring himself out of it.

It's been his habit to go to the breakroom to linger around you that regardless if you were in there or not, he'd stay there during lunchbreak instead of eating out. His lunch routine would be ordering in and getting you your own meal.

It's engraved into his mind to the point that he barely realizes that when he goes to brew his second coffee of the day, you're already sat on the couch — only sinking in that you were there when he hears you muttering to yourself.

"Hi, Dr. Min."

His mouth is slightly agape to see that you've been there the whole time, bringing down his mug as he acknowledges that you're alone in the room with him.

But the words form on their own accord, and he means it wholeheartedly.

"You looked pretty last night."

To say that you're shocked would be an understatement because you gulp before you know it, eyes widening in realization.

"H-how did you-"

"Jimin gave a rhinoplasty to one of the attendees just a week ago and he wanted to have an I told you so moment with the bruising and all that," he easily explains, giving his coffee an extra stir. "You're also kind of in articles."

"I am?" your head tilts in confusion of why there'd even be articles about you in the first place, the individual you accompanied enough of a reminder to make it dawn on you. "Oh, right. Taehyung told me that would happen."

Dr. Min merely smiles in reply and the lack of a retort keeps you alert, unused to the calm look on his face especially after the mention of Taehyung's name.

You twiddle your thumbs together and the sight of Yoongi like this undoubtedly worries you, the urge to get to the bottom of it overpowering you.

"Are you mad?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

Yoongi chuckles at the ridiculous question, the abruptness of it enough to make him amused.

"Because I lied to you," you piece together the text he sent you out of office hours, right when you were out of the red carpet. You didn't question it at first but now it boggles your mind, the slightest bit of guilt being planted at the back of your mind.

He shakes his head no, sincerely meaning his sentiment that he isn't mad at you at all.

"You're not indebted to me. You can do whatever you want, I have no right to be mad."

He thinks about how the article's right and how he barely even focused on anyone else that attended just because whoever wrote it knows just how much you shone that night.

He's lost in his thoughts but he keeps stirring his coffee in the corner until there's bubbles at the top with how much he's been doing it, giving you your space.

"Are you upset?"

The question leaves you before you can even process it and oddly enough, you don't regret asking.

"I am," he admits, "but I shouldn't be."

Yoongi has a weight on his chest and he doesn't know how to relieve it at all. He doesn't know how to move around it nor how it even got there in the first place but his palms move automatically, digging into his eyes as he inhales shakily.

"I'm sorry for springing all this to you. God, why am I even sniffling? Sorry, my mind's just a little cloudy right now."

The sight of him being distraught tugs at your heartstrings in a way you've never felt before, a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.

Yoongi gathers himself enough, just enough to utter his own words without his voice wavering or his eyes watering.

"Please let me down gently."

He knows he basically has no hope at all and he's really trying to come into terms with it. He deserves the pain, he thinks. He's selfish, that much he's sure of, but he pleads that this would be his last time being selfish as long as once you reject him for the final time — it'd be gentle.

"I haven't used my last chance yet and I don't want to expect anything but please, if you're gonna reject me," and the bitter part of his brain thinks you really should, "please go easy on me."

It's a watery silence between the two of you, only being broken when you can't hold yourself back for much longer.

"I haven't used my last chance either," your voice alone brings Yoongi back down, piquing his undivided attention while he tries to make sense of your words. "Do you wanna grab lunch with me right now? Just down the street."

Yoongi's breathless once he realizes the weight of your words, a sudden clarity to his gaze that he nods surely.

"Of course I would."

His voice is still croaky but he clears it to the best that he can, rocking himself back and forth with his feet in place.

It all feels too real when it's just the two of you alone in the breakroom, only a few feet apart but just as close in intention.

"Dinner later? I bought new pots and pans just last week."

The interjection of him using up his last chance to somehow sneak in there that he has new kitchenware makes you giggle, nodding eagerly.

"I'd love that."

"O-okay."

Yoongi knows that he's abandoned his coffee long before he even realized you were in the room, putting his hands at his back as he sheepishly looks at you for what exactly you're going to do next.

"Lunch?"

It's nice. It's more than nice to walk out together side by side. You're toeing around each other when it's clear that the both of you've attempted to cross the boundary for ten times combined, yielding to each other at the last try.

Yoongi tries not to trip on his feet but his eyes widen just the same when he realizes that people are walking with coats and you're not as toasty warm as you'd like with the heating of the clinic, his hands fumbling to make action.

He shrugs off his white coat and stops you at the middle of the street to put it on you because merely draping it on you wouldn't do much justice.

"I don't want you to shiver."

He explains without meeting your eyes but he knows there's warm smile that's been established already, shoving his hands to his pockets as he clenches them out of excitement for yet another tiny victory.

Yoongi feels your hand on his arm, making him peer at you with a curious gaze but he tries not to breathe at all as he walks, too enamored with the way he feels secure.