peachjes

He sniffles, the cold night air doesn’t help him as he stands in the guest parking lot outside your apartment. The streetlights attract insects, and doing so little in illuminating the way. The aged apartment stands tall, few windows lit with people going on about their life, and his eyes move to the dark windows sitting on the fourth floor. 

What is he even doing here? After what went down. And just like that he is angry again. 

Seungcheol unbuttons his blue and black checkered shirt, letting the cool breeze do its magic in calming down his heated body. He smoothens the rumples in his white tee from spending an hour in the car, agonizing over his decision to drive here recklessly and with no plan or thoughts, unable to decide if he is an idiot. 

He resumes pacing around the parking lot, kicking the stray rocks. He looks up once at your dark apartment, and turns away, staring at the insects hovering over the street lights. It is not late yet. He can go back to his apartment before you make it back home from the evening walk. Does he have no dignity to come back here after you ended it all? Does he have no spine to toss everything away just the way you did? 

Seungcheol feels restless, covered in layers and it’s just so hot in and out of his body, he completely removes the shirt he has worn over the white tee, throwing it on his shoulder as he leans against his car, watching out to the road. Why can’t he fucking leave? 

He checks the time on his watch, he licks his dry and cracked lips, chewing on his lower lip worsening the delicate skin more. You should be here anytime. He turns around, checking his reflection in the back windshield of his car, smoothening down his unruly hair. 

A light flickers on in some apartment grabbing his attention. He watches the shadows move about, flickering of lights from a screen. He looks up to the dark window sitting on the fourth floor, his tense shoulders slouch as he leans against his car. 

His heart slows down, going back to the normal tempo, he traces the cracks that adorn the building like a decoration, even hosting life in a few spots. The creepers are still young, and still spreading. His eyes flick back to your windows staring longingly. How much time does he have left? Or is he done already? 

The angst in his heart melts away, making way to the true feeling he has been carrying. Betrayed. How can you do that to him? How can you tell the world despite him apologising? How can you not see him trying? 

And still why does he want to see you one last time? If you have truly moved on from him. 

The vibration of his phone breaks the agony in his heart, he pulls out the device from his pocket opening a text from his brother. His brother never sends a message and when he does it’s always bad news. 

An image of his brother on his knee, proposing to his girlfriend. Fuck. 

Seungcheol locks his phone, exhaling through his mouth, done with everything. His phone should be ringing soon, his mother demanding answers from him about his brother’s reckless and disrespectful behaviour. 

He silences his phone and looks at the tiny plant taking life near your window. 

A bark, sounds of paws running across the asphalt and Seungcheol is already on his knees, opening his arms wide. Clementine jumps up and down, licks his face before rubbing herself all over him. 

A golden light fills his heart, a laugh tumbling out before he can have control over his emotions. Clementine is restless over whether to lick him all or just rub herself on him. 

Seungcheol takes it all in with warmth blossoming in his chest. Human emotions are fickle, one moment he feels as if the entire world is showering its love and the next moment there’s a tense feeling uprising inside him. 

He gives one pat on Clementine’s back, and stands up, picking his fallen shirt off the ground.

You are standing in front of him, lips parting in surprise, and closing. Your eyes take in his form, in a slow drag, and do a double take, still unable to believe that he really is here. 

Seungcheol wrings the soft fabric in his hands, stumped over what to say first. It’s been so long since it has been just you and him, where he can look at you with no restrictions, no fear of someone catching his gaze. 

The slow prickle of doubt stabs his heart. His eyes move to your neck, swearing under his breath, why today of all you chose to leave your hair. 

You drop your head, your lower lip held hostage between your teeth. Seungcheol licks his lips, taking a step forward. 

“Are you seeing someone?” Seungcheol winces at his foot-in-mouth move, and before he can stop himself, “is it Mingyu?”

The tranquility in the air shatters. You snap your head towards him, hurt written all over your eyes, intertwined with a hint of disbelief. You look at his lips once as if to see those words left your mouth and not one of your mind plays. 

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head to yourself. Seungcheol holds Clementine’s leash you let go of as you turn away, cupping your face and dragging your hand down your face. 

Before he can blink you are already in his face, a thunderous expression accompanying each push to his chest. 

Seungcheol staggers back, his eyes widening as his right foot stumbles into his left, slipping his control. Clementine runs away, he tightens his grip on the leash, still taking your hits unable to understand your incoherent babbling. 

You grab the lapel of his shirt, dragging him towards you, “you idiot,” you tilt your head, seeing him in the eye for the first time tonight, “you fucking idiot.” You grit your teeth, your nails digging into his skin, hurting, “how dare you—”

“No, no,” you let go of his shirt, walking away, laughing to yourself, “I am the idiot, aren’t I?” Your eyes water, looking at him, “a stupid girl who has been waiting and,” you sniffle, rubbing the sleeve of your sweatshirt against your nose, “you ask me what?” 

Seungcheol marches towards you, “some guy?” Even saying the two words makes him want to scrape the disgusting taste off his tongue, “Of no importance?”

You meet him head on, “are you of importance, Seungcheol?” You push his chest again, “huh? Tell me? Are you? I hate you. I hate you so much,” and again, “so much, Seungcheol, I..”

The unshed tears in your eyes sparkle under the flickering yellow streetlamps. You grab the collar of his tee, stretching it from the sheer strength as you pull him closer.

He plays to the strings you pull, creating a harmony that has you two pause, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You sniffle, a lone tear falling down your cheek, and you brush it off so quickly he can’t understand if you are crying from the hurt or anger. 

Your voice is barely a whisper, “I..”

Seungcheol traces your features, sidetracking from the emotions he is brimmed with, unable to rein in his urge to trail down his attention from the eyes that look so pretty, sparkling like a constellation, the redness on the tip of your nose and cheeks, before he can reach your lips he circles his arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest, done with the long game you two are playing. 

—

You bounce on the mattress, “I am not doing anything with you!” You get on your hands and knees, crawling to the other side of the bed that doesn’t have a man hovering over you. “Mingyu? Mingyu?!” 

Seungcheol grabs your ankle, holding you down. He has access to only one part of you and yet you are grabbing onto the bedding with all your strength, struggling to free your leg from him. “Leave, dickhead, leave. Go back to your place, oh wait, you do have a habit of leaving, how can I forget,” you grit out. 

“Jieun was stranded, a woman was abandoned,” he has you sliding back to him with one strong pull and you are scrambling across the bed, “would you have left her and continued to fuck me if she has reached out to you? Would you do that to Sohyeon and Mina?” 

You turn your head to the side, resting your cheek on the mattress watching him leaning over you. 

“Tell me, will you?” His back presses into yours. 

His weight knocks out your breath, you bury your face into the soft sheets, fingers digging into the mattress as your body comes alive. It takes a moment for you to remember what you were thinking, or feeling. 

“You aren’t getting back with her?”

Seungcheol’s nose brushes side to side against your skin, “no, don’t care about her, even if she’s stranded in fucking Sahara now, I don’t care, not when,” he pulls your sweatshirt down, his fingers tickling as he brushes your hair to the side, baring your neck. His warm lips trail down from your ear, leaving tiny kisses in its pursuit, and stops, his finger pressing into one spot, “hickey, you have a hickey here.” 

The growl in his voice invokes the dead butterflies in your stomach. You curl your knees into yourself, or try to, but he is already climbing on top of you, bringing you both to the middle of the bed. 

His knees are on either side of your thighs, locking all of your movements to wiggle away from him. His chest presses into your back, teeth grazing around your neck, circling one spot. You press your body into the mattress, his sharp canines invoking thousands of feelings at once. Just the way his existence alone does. 

He taps your cheek, a little rough and impatient. You open your eyes, looking at him from the corner of your eyes.

“Did you,” he swallows, “did something happen?”

You blink at his face hovering inches away from yours’ as if he can’t exist if he isn’t touching you. The desperation in his eyes is clear as the cloudless sky. It takes several moments for you to understand his question and not think about his chapped lips. 

Seungcheol shifts, his hips pressing into your body and retreating as if he is electrocuted. He nudges his nose into your cheek, “hm?” 

You grab onto the last of your common sense. “What?”

You swallow before you can drool over the sheets from being squished on the bed, and the awkward angle you are caught in. “Hickey?” You muster all the strength to push yourself up, but he presses down between your shoulder blades. “Seungcheol, I can’t think when you are on me.”

His other hand comes to the spot, brushing over gently, poking a faded memory. “This, where is it from?”

Red fills your vision all over again, burning away the butterflies and jittery feelings. You push him away, finding a sliver of opening, crawling away. 

“Yes, its from Mingyu, we made out and fucked. All night long. You want more details? He has a very good stamina,” you sit at the other edge of the bed, “you wanna know how he did it?”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw once, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and he grabs onto your ankle like a shackle. The bedding comes along with you this time as he pulls you into the middle, hoisting you up and throws you down, your head hitting the pillows. 

“Shut up.” He growls. 

Your ego rears its head. “I bet he fucks good. The best, even.” 

Seungcheol is sitting on his knees, hands on his thighs as he watches your lips, suddenly going calm. You should stop. But it only gets ugly. 

“I think he can make me cum like no one ever did. Makes me feel good, hitting all the right places. And won’t even judge my kinks..” 

Seungcheol gets down the bed, cracking his neck, his back turned towards you. Your heart is in your throat, or in your pussy, you feel it beating everywhere. You have done it. You see the tremble in his hands as he cups his mouth. 

“You aren’t with anyone else then.” His voice is low and deep, calm. 

You gulp. “I’m with—” 

He looks over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, “yes or no.”

You grab onto the sheets in support, a little scared and a bit excited knowing what’s about to come. 

“No..” your own voice is feeble, trembling. 

He gives one nod. You watch him move across the room, holding the handle, “Clementine isn’t fed yet right?” 

You shake your head. He leaves, closing the door behind him, calling out to your dog lovingly. The switch. He babies her, praising her, you catch the hints of the words and the movement of his feet on the floor. 

The brightness in your room makes your skin crawl. It was always dark whenever he is in your room, fucking you. Like a secret that exists only in darkness, and will wither away in light. But tonight he flicked it on when he dragged you here. 

What is he planning to do?

The footsteps near your room. You hold your breath, fingers digging into your palm as you watch the door. His voice clearer now, “good night, baby. Let me go and play with your mom a little, okay? If you hear anything, your mom is just having a good time, okay, baby?”

You press your thighs together, an action done so smoothly like breathing, hearing him say those words. 

The door knob twists, you are already arching your back, he closes the door behind him and locks it. His messy hair falls over his eyes that are staring at you with no emotion. The anger radiates off his body. 

You remember, and you do your best to hold yourself stronger, you are too pissed at him. There’s this burning anger that is waiting for an outlet. 

He struts towards the bed, laidback, taking his time. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, setting it down on the nightstand. The ritual starts. Next comes his wallet, there’s hastiness in his movements now. He unbuckles the metal strap of his watch, you await for him to cradle it with care. Your eyes widen as he recklessly puts it down on the wooden surface, climbing the bed in a second as if he can’t wait one more minute. 

He pushes you down by your shoulder, straddling your hips. He runs his fingers through his hair, giving you one look at his expression before his hair falls back onto his face.  

“What—what are you..” your words die down as he raises his thick eyebrow in challenge for you to complete that question. 

Seungcheol moves down, pulls your sweatshirt up to reveal the elastic of your sweatpants. “You were saying,” he clears his throat hoping it helps with his rasp, “you didn’t have your best fuck yet.” 

You raise your head from the pillow, watching his fingers brushing against the sliver of your bare skin visible, pushing the sweatshirt a little,  revealing your navel. 

He holds your thigh, turning you to the side suddenly, and strikes your ass once. “Answer me, did you forget the rules already?” 

You mewl, burying your face into the pillow. Another slap. It stings as if your skin is on fire. He massages it, realising he lost control over his strength. 

“Must have left a bruise,” he kneads the flesh with a delicacy at first, carrying his apology into his fingers, but the more he continues the stronger his hold becomes, again. You whine. He stops, “sorry, sorry.” 

Even without looking you know you’ll see zero remorse on his face. 

He releases his hold on you, making you rest on your back, letting you adjust. Your ass aches in the shape of his hand making you wince. His fingers are back to the elastic of your sweatpants, playing with the threads knotted in the middle. 

The threads slip through his fingers as he ponders for a moment, “you wanna fuck Mingyu?” 

His other hand is on your shoulder even before you can throw a tantrum or a punch. What is wrong with him today? Why is he obsessed with the idea of Mingyu? 

“Yes or no.” 

He pulls the thread, loosening the knot and drags it until the threads spill free from the binding. He is taking his time, each action crafted with care, gentleness and—he looks up from your pants and into your eyes, waiting—anger. 

“Why do you care?” 

He blinks at your response, thinking, as if he himself doesn’t know why he cares. You are not with anyone else right now, that’s all should matter. That’s all the equation between you two. 

You expect him to drop the topic now. Move on. His fingers slip behind the elastic of your sweatpants, dragging them down, and with one strong pull he yanks it off completely and throws it on the floor. 

The room stills. Whatever emotions you two have carried till now takes a back seat as a new one enters. Seungcheol sits back, his palm resting on your thigh, his gaze centered on your core, hunger swirling in them so much that it has him licking his lips. 

His eyebrows pull down as he takes in the dark colored panties, his thumb brushing along the curve of your thigh meeting your core. You bend your knee, closing your legs at the sudden sensation, his hand trapped between your legs, restricting his movements. 

You should have known you have least control in this room, on this bed, with him. He cups your pussy pushing his agenda despite you trying your best to clamp his hand down. You suppress the moan before it can spill out and give him satisfaction. 

You raise your leg, pressing the foot on his chest, putting your all in pushing him away. Seungcheol looks down at your leg, hasn't even moved an inch, your efforts going in vain, he presses the heel of his hand into your pulsating core that hasn’t stopped ever since he started dominating the room again. 

You press your face into the pillow right on time, muffling the sounds, not giving him any sort of pleasure. He doesn’t deserve it. 

Or so you thought. 

His other hand starts its pursuit. You snap your eyes open, your insides scrambling to grasp onto the emotions you have over him, you have been having over the past few weeks, have been simmering in them. He presses the meat of your thigh, then slides down your stretched leg, his lower lip caught between his teeth worsening the already dry cuts on the skin. 

It dawns on you. He loves this, your little acts of rebellion. 

He holds your ankle, pushing it more onto his firm chest, lets out a small chuckle and pulls it up, kissing once. Your stomach somersaults, or you don’t know, rips open apart from the overwhelming sensations you are feeling. You don’t have much time to dissect the workings of your body as in the blink of an eye, he is gripping your sweatshirt, pulling you up and ordering, “arms up.” 

You follow without second thought, too used to do whatever he demands of you, too used to let go of any inhibitions or thoughts or feelings in his presence, let him do what he wants every time. You hold your hands up for him to slide your sweatshirt off. 

He pushes your shoulder and throws your clothes somewhere in the room. You are blinking up at the ceiling processing what just happened. 

He groans. His eyes are frantically moving across your body, his hand presses down your stomach to the mattress, “stop moving. Let me see.” 

“You-you don’t,” you gasp at his hand slipping beneath your panty, “deserve,” his finger is against your core that convulses around nothing, “any—anythimm.”

“Yeah?” The smugness has your skin crawling but his nail delicately drags down your folds that sucks out all of your thoughts. “Deserve nothing?” 

You give a weak glare. He doesn’t even care, too occupied by the action going on behind your panties. His nail scratches deliciously inside your folds bordering tickling or torturing you can’t decide. 

Seungcheol removes his hand off of you, sliding back a little, his eyes roam all over your body once, his lip caught between his teeth as he tugs your panty down, you jostle, his jaw clenches, both of his hands hold the fabric ripping it in one tug. 

You gasp, rising up from the bed to see if he did what you think he did. Seungcheol discards the scrap of your inner wear to the floor, now eyeing your bra. 

“You idiot—” he lands another spank on your bare ass, morphing your anger into an unbridled moan. If your ass was stinging earlier, now you see stars dancing behind your eyelids. 

“What did you call me?” Seungcheol lands another slap, “hm? Say it again.” 

He massages your flesh, the coldness of his rings a stark contrast to your burning skin, “fuck,” he tends to your skin with utmost care, “so fucking soft.” 

You whine, eyes fluttering, his hands continue its pursuit, grabbing your thighs, he nudges them apart until he can easily fit between your legs. 

The room falls into silence except for your heavy breathing and tiny cries whenever the sheets beneath you rub against your burning skin in the wrong way. Seungcheol bends your knees, pushing your legs further apart, baring you to his watchful eyes. 

His gaze strains on your core, his fluffy hair falls onto his face as he tilts his head to get a clearer view, “I’m,” he sounds strangled, pushing your thighs wider, the cold air hits your sensitive opening, “not even doing anything, and yet, you can’t stop convulsing,” his voice gets hoarser, a wet swipe of his tongue across his chapped lips, his breathing gradually turning heavier, and his hand drags up your thigh, settling on your mound.

The attention is getting into your skin, into your head. His want and need drips through his fingers and actions, building a desire in your stomach that crawls its way to everywhere, shaking your core feelings. The way his hands run down your arms and your legs, with a sense of respect, desire and worship makes you feel the most beautiful being in this world. But it is too much. Too much after a period of stagnancy, of inner conflict and feeling out of your skin. 

What should one do when they are present with such devotion? A starved person can’t eat it all in spite of wanting it all.  

You shut your legs sliding a little higher up the bed, escaping from the hands that are trying to pull you out of your own darkness. It should throw him off, he should be repelled from the fight you are putting in, withholding all of his favorite things. You look down at him, this beast of a man shielding the entire world with his broad shoulders and— why is he looking like a starved man? Why is he following you along crawling on his knees? And why is he—oh. 

“Did I ever tell you,” he peels your legs open gently like talking a kid out of hiding, his hand a shackle now holding you open, “how I love your pussy.” 

Your eyes flutter at the vulgarity of it, the praise humming under your skin, a moan threatening to spill out and you dig your nose deeper into your soft pillows softening any sound that might escape, your legs shaking from the urge to close your legs shut but his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, not letting you do what you want. 

You harrumph, your entire body red, bruised and hot from being bare to his eyes, “Seung..”

His fingers flicker over your mound, a teasing touch as if a soft feather is brushed against your sensitive bundle of nerves, “such a pretty pussy, baby, look at it, fuck, look at it flutter at nothing. So responsive and so good to me.” 

Your back arches, a moan caught in your throat as his nail scratches down your mound to the folds. Your toes dig into the sheets, a flutter of emotions surging past you at the touch. You whine, kicking your feet only for him to seize your movements. Your tantrum is met with his boyish grin. “I have dreams of this, woken up sweaty and so fucking turned on that I had to,” his lips are at your ear, dropping his voice, “you know.”

This devil is enjoying torturing you. To prove your assumptions further, his finger delicately parts your folds, toying with your nub. You whimper, his words and fingers hitting you right on the spot. His eyes shine a new light seeing your mouth part in a silent gasp or plea. The satisfaction in his face reminds you that you are still angry at him, shoving all your feelings into a bin and not giving him what he wants from you. 

Seungcheol presses his fingers on your mound, massaging it. You swear you were feeling this burning volcano angriness a moment ago, you look at the man who is watching you with undivided focus, your eyes fluttering from the knuckles that presses into you, moving around your mound, almost as if he is relearning you. 

Seungcheol’s breathing feels closer, the ragged sound of it hovering somewhere around you. You remember the bits of bitter feelings you were carrying, you try to hold onto them and not to get lost in the feelings of this man fondling with your folds. Why is it hard to stay mad at him? 

“You are pretty in my dreams, so pretty that I have a hard time believing,” his deep rough voice whispers in your ear, “but damn,” he kisses the top of your ear, “you, in my arms, looking at me like I hold stars,” his finger plunges into your opening making you squeak not expecting it, he hums, “making sounds like that looking prettier than anything in this world,” he moves his finger in and out almost touching that one spot that has you seeing stars and moon, “yeah, just like this, you look like a fucking dream, baby.” 

You snap your head away from him, biting on your lip, sinking in all your sounds before it can reach his ears. But he is so close. He purrs, that harsh breathing he has from rhinitis, he keeps following tonight as if he can’t stay away. He kisses on your cheek once, adding another finger stretching you open for him later, you whimper at delicious pain. 

Seungcheol litters kisses all over your cheek, dragging his chapped skin across your soft skin making you shiver. “What’s this? Why are you stopping yourself?” 

The slow drag of his fingers doesn’t help you in withholding. He adds up speed, touching that spongy spot that has you arching your back, your eyebrows knitting together, all you can see is pure white. 

Seungcheol shifts, his leg resting over yours, his other hand sliding beneath your head as he pulls you closer to him, fully touching you everywhere. You look at him watching you with rapt attention as he drags you to heaven, a frown line sits between his eyebrows, eyes on your pressed lips. 

You must be screaming by now, chanting his name over and over while he reminds you what to call him. Tonight, you are playing this game with him, struggling to keep up, but from the pissed off expression on him you seem to be winning. 

“What are you playing at?” 

He pulls out his fingers to see if you are gonna resist. You were so close and he snatched it away from you. He hovers over your face, analyzing each twitch of your muscles, you bury your head into his neck, sinking your teeth into his skin. 

He snaps his hips against your thigh once, groaning. “What’s wrong?” He prods. 

You whip your head away, your nose hitting against his arm that he’s using to hold himself up. His fingers find you again, playing with your entrance giving you shallow thrusts. He is annoyed. You can feel it. You brush your lips against his thick arm, he plunges into your core once before going back to giving shallow thrusts. 

You bite onto his arm, your orgasm stirring in your nether region. He is breathing heavily over you, pulling the strings to his own tune and you can’t help but play along. 

He hisses when you chomp onto his skin harder at a particular deep thrust. He pulls away his fingers again, you break out into a whine as he steals your orgasm again. He grins, going down on your body. 

Before you can even let out all the expletives his mouth is on your pussy, his tongue licking your essence up. Your body keels over as a loud moan escapes the trenches and sits in the room like a fucking win. 

Seungcheol looks up from your pussy, “that’s what I want.” 

He kisses your folds with utmost admiration, he puts your legs on his shoulders, moving near and near, his tongue dipping into your core. He toys with your clit, flicking it and pulling on it, while his other hand snakes its way underneath your bra, and grabs onto your nipple. 

It’s a losing game. You should have known it. His tongue and fingers are relentless in pulling out the delicious sounds he so loves. Your body writhes, begs for a release. He moans into you, lapping up the liquid flowing out of you, his eyebrows raising up at the taste. 

You are undeniably close. Every nerve in your body is lit up, thriving and seeking a way out to release all the pent up desire. At one high whine Seungcheol nods, his nose nudging into your folds, you grab his hair pulling, too much, it’s getting too much. He grunts, shaking his head once not liking your request and nudges deeper into you. 

“Seungcheol!” 

He snaps his eyes open, meeting yours as he bites onto your folds, a warning. You scream at the sting, tugging at his hair hard. 

White fills your eyes as you reach your climax at his relentless persuasion. He laps at your release, pushing into your body to not miss a single drop. Your stomach caves in, your body shaking at the pure bliss and pleasure, at the way he sounds so desperate to have it all. 

The sounds of him eating you out are lewd to even your own ears. You clamp down on your arm to make it less obscene. Seungcheol pauses on slurping to glare at you, he grabs your hands, holding them hostage as he goes back to get the last drops of your release. 

Heavy breaths fill the room, too silent after one rollercoaster ride he took you on. You try to catch your breath, blinking at the ceiling, calming yourself. You feel a delicate kiss pressed to your now probably swollen folds. Your heart swoops in like you just dived into a trampoline. Seungcheol emerges from between your thighs, mouth and chin covered with your arousal as he gently sets your aching legs down on the bed. 

He litters kisses on your mound, your belly button, either side on the curve of your waist as he catches his breath and also lets you have a moment. He kisses the underside of your boobs, shaking his head against them, catching a nipple in his mouth, his tongue coming in to greet it. The rustle of jeans has you wide awake, you push his shoulder stopping him from sucking the life out of you. 

“Condom.” 

Seungcheol, who has been eyeing your nipple that is slick from his saliva, takes a good two minutes to understand what you have just said. “What?”

You inhale shakily, nervousness and determination sitting in the forefront as you repeat, “no condom, no action.”

He sits on his haunches, taken aback, “what? We never,” he gestures his hand between you two, “what? Have you been with someone?” 

For a man he has a pea sized brain. “Not me. You.”

“I told you again and again,” he grits his teeth, “that I have not fucked her. Why are you acting like a brat tonight?” 

You jut your chin high, “no condom, no action.”

He cups his mouth, glaring at you. You are not backing down, make an excuse and just believe in him. Your ex-boyfriends have made sure you learn the lesson the hard way. There’s no way exes can be friends, acquaintances that won’t find their way to their past. Seungcheol isn’t an exception to the fickle human emotions. 

Seungcheol’s eyes roam across your sweaty body, closing his eyes as he groans into his hands. “Such a fucking brat you are today.” He climbs down the bed, grabbing his wallet from your nightstand, he grabs your chin, leaning down, “move an inch, you won’t walk for a week.” He pinches your lower lip before leaving you on the bed with a stinging lip. 

—

You crane your neck watching at his buzzing phone that he forgot on the nightstand. You turn to your side watching the black device vibrating against the wood, you pull the comforter till your neck, cuddle into the softness of the cover. How did he forget to take his phone with him? When he comes will he tend to the unanswered calls and messages? Shoving you to last in his priority list? 

He has assured you countless times tonight, but words are just words. Actions are what will speak louder than anything. A man who doesn’t want you won’t stop everything to get you what you wanted. Condoms weren’t in the equation ever since you and Seungcheol started this, he was meticulous in easing your worries by providing you his test results after brief break periods you two had. 

You could’ve trusted his words, you may have, to some extent, but the anxieties won’t stop whispering and you wanted to piss him off too. The stricken face of his satiates your hunger, it does, but the short pause and his world calling for him, and you are back in square one overthinking your actions. You should have been pliable to him, so he can choose you over everything else, and you would be free from everything. 

The door opens. You startle at the door banging shut, and the lock turning. Seungcheol is panting, sweaty and charged. He frowns at your comforter covering you, he walks towards your bed, throwing a black cover onto the nightstand over his phone, “fucking stores are shut. I had to run down the lanes like an idiot,” he pulls the comforter off of your body, the frown eases, he hums, running the back of his fingers down the side of your chest, “had to search through aisles, and when I found them,” he pulls the white tee with sweat patches off, he smiles down at your face, pinching your cheek, “look at you, baby, drooling already, so perfect.”

You reach over, dragging your fingertips down from the pecs to his soft stomach and the trail of hair into his jeans. How did you go without him for a week? The need is burning hot, throwing you into a restless state, you need him, you need his hands on you, touching you, taking places that have you forgetting the world and only remember the aftertaste of his touch. Seungcheol fucking you is the one activity that you love the most, right next to reading. He knows your body so damn well, and his needs align with yours that if there really are soulmates, he would be yours, and you will be his from the way he is getting turned on from your neediness alone. 

You just know that he loves fucking you too, no man will be treating you like a delicacy, and also going rough at the same time. 

The button on his jeans is undone, you pull the zipper down and look up at him, please. 

Seungcheol reads your eyes, his own rolling to the back seeing the desperateness, he rakes his fingers through his hair, his jaw flexing. Control. He picks the black cover and showers boxes upon boxes on to the bed, you pick a random box, fingers moving deftly as you pull a condom out. Seungcheol is shoving his pants and boxer down by the time you are ready to roll it on him. 

Seungcheol curls your hair behind your ear as you work the condom onto his erection, “my pretty girl.” 

Your hands slip, butterflies erupting in your stomach, you exhale shakily before resuming to complete the task at your hand. Seungchol huffs in amusement, unable to not touch you, his fingers now at your neck, flicking at the marks he left. “But,” he pushes you down on the mattress, climbing over you, his lips hovering over yours, “aren’t you a pretty little brat? Hm?”

Before you can respond, he angles his head kissing your cheek, your nose, “Had me run an entire block with a fucking hard on.”

You moan, closing your eyes as his thigh presses into your core. He presses his cheek against yours, his lips at your ear, “and with you here, naked and wet, waiting for me, tell me, baby, were you waiting for me?” 

You nod, his cheek rubbing against your skin, you wince. 

He tuts, “words, baby, words, last warning, okay?”

“I-I was.” 

“Good girl.” 

You circle your hands around his neck, “put it in, please, Seungcheol.”

He leans back against your wishes, you whine, your nails digging into his skin trying to pull him back, “Seungcheol?” 

You nod. 

He raises his thick eyebrow at your stubborn behavior, “are you playing me tonight? Condoms, not using daddy.” He ponders, his eyes running across your face, a slow grin as he says, “lets play your game, baby, lets see who wins.” 

Your heart thumps loudly once, you reach for his smile, tracing it beneath your fingers. “Let’s—” your words cut out into a squeak as he plunges inside you. “That’s foul,” your voice can’t seem to come down from high pitch as he thrusts hard. “Cheo—mmmph.” 

The devil smiles. 

Your protests breaks into a moan as he bends your knee, opening you wider for him to have more space to fuck you hard. “Slo-slow,” you drag your nails down his back, “that’s not—mmh—that’s not the bet.” 

Seungcheol’s eyes are glazed over, he shakes his head, not breaking eye contact, “missed you.” His eyes flutter as you convulse around his cock, “missed you so fucking much.” 

He grunts at the way you clasp around his erection, not making it easy for him to move, “fuck, baby, don’t,” his cock pulses inside you, he picked up thinnest fucking condoms, “I missed your pussy, always wet and ready for me,” he moans at particular thrust that meets with resistance as you can’t stop convulsing, “my pretty little dirty player.” 

You arch your back, your nipples rubbing against his slick chest making you moan, he growls, his movements faltering at the small sounds of pleasure you let out. 

He presses his lips at your ear, “do you hear yourself? Like a fucking angel singing.” 

You throw your head back, his praises are hymns bringing you alive. Seungcheol grabs your chin, “look at me.” 

He punches in a deep thrust, watching your face into pleasure, tears streaming down your eyes, little squeaks that always follow each thrust of his. 

“Da—” you bite your tongue, almost tasting your blood from the sheer force it took to stop yourself. 

Seungcheol is on alert, his eyes tracking your emotions, never leaving your lips, doing his best to win this game. He almost did. Almost. 

“Brat,” the endearing lilt in his voice has you aching for him, wanting more and more, turning you into greedy and feral. 

Seungcheol meets your eyes, watching you watch him. The time freezes in this moment, only you and him existing, you notice the spark in his eyes, the playfulness almost masking his dominance, almost. 

His thrusts inside you slowly, each slide accentuating the feel of him inside you. His nose brushes against yours, his mouth open as he breathes heavily. If you just crane your neck a little higher you will finally know how he tastes, how the chapped dry lips feel against yours. 

You two are nothing but deflectors. You lean in kissing the mole on his cheek, his elbow gives up, falling on you. You yelp, and Seungcheol laughs, a delicious rasp you want to feel with your hands. 

He regains his balance, a sweat droplet travels down his temple, running down his cheekbone, and falls on your lips. You lick your lips, tongue sliding across quickly to get a taste of him. 

Seungcheol growls, his thrusts picking up pace, “what should I do with you?” 

You are pliant in his arms, letting him pull the chords to his music, and you are enjoying the melody. 

There’s a faint buzz. You feel the energy break, apprehensions seep their way like a creeper between cracked cement. Will he? 

Seungcheol frowns, feeling the change in the mood, whatever he sees in your face he doesn’t like it. He plays with your nipple, dragging you back to the wonderland he has created only for you. And just like that with few more thrusts and his fingers playing with your nipples, you are coming. 

He watches you with rapt attention, his thrusts struggling from your clenching walls, and his lips parted seeing you the way you look at him. As if he brought you the stars. 

“Daddy.” 

He thrusts once and he is filling in the condom, biting your shoulder waiting for you two to land softly. 

—

You are on your hands and knees, gasping for air, drops of sweat falling on the crumpled sheets. The pillows are scattered barely hanging on the edge of the bed, you scoff to yourself finding yourself in the same state as the pillows, just hanging there, you pull yourself up, your elbow shaking almost falling face flat onto sheets that are pulled out from the sheer strength you held on them and the man who didn’t hold back from taking you in every angle. 

It’s gonna take a hell lot of time to bring your room back to its clean state. 

A thunk sound has you looking in the direction of a blurry Seungcheol. He is handling his spent condom, his chest heaving like he ran a race and won. If you were sweating, he looks like he just came out of the sauna. 

He meets your eyes catching you staring at his ass, a flicker of heat passes between you and you know you are not done yet. He walks over, picking up a stray condom packet from the floor. He tilts his head watching you get back onto your hands and knees as he rolls the condom onto his erection.

He squeezes your ass once, chewing on his lip that is bleeding from being held hostage the entire night, you hear a groan before you reach for a pillow and feel him climb on to the bed and thrusting into you, your scream muffled into the pillow. 

The pillow is thrown in the middle by a disgruntled man, your screams answered by your dog barking.  

—

The night eases into dawn. It has to be from the hours he spent drilling into you. 

You muster your entire strength to move your hips, he holds your waist guiding you and extending strength to reach the orgasm that is almost within your grasp, almost. 

“You can do it,” he kisses your neck, honing in on his favorite spot, “one more and we are done, baby.” 

You whine, clasping onto his shoulders—he hisses at your nails digging his skin—as you try not to collapse on him, “too much.” 

It’s a delicious drag, his cock inside you, making the entire play fun that you want to push yourself and give more and more—he cradles your cheek whispering how pretty you are on top of him—and receive more and more. 

If it’s him, you want to do anything and everything. 

—

Seungcheol runs his fingers down your hair, whispering sweet nothings as you struggle to stay awake. Your entire body is shaking, spent and so close to collapsing. 

“Let me go for a minute, baby,” he kisses your cheek as you whine and clasp your hands around his neck tighter. He chuckles, “just one minute.” 

“One minute?” Your voice comes out whiny like a child, all the walls you carefully constructed bulldozed by the man who is trying to suppress his smile. You pinch his back. 

Seungcheol laughs into your neck, his hand resting over the curve of your waist, “you are cute, you know that?” He buries his face in your skin, “yes, one minute.” 

“You are not leaving me, right?” 

He reads the apprehension in your words. “No, just gonna grab pizza.”

“Pizza?” 

He nods, “I know you are gonna get weak from using up all your energy, so got you food along with condoms.” 

Your pussy clenches around him, Seungcheol groans, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, warning you, “don’t.”

He helps you off of him, and onto the bed before the situation gets out of your hand and he starts fucking you, again. 

He is already up, removing and typing up the condom. “One minute. Don’t fall asleep on me.” 

Your eyes flutter close, you hear a distant opening of a door and Seungcheol greeting Clementine with enthusiasm. You frown at his upbeat energy, you were not the only one fucking, he did most of it and yet he is full of life. 

A hand pats your cheek gently, and a voice calling out to you, you turn to the other side going back to sleep. A raspy laugh followed by a cute and the footsteps recede. You are about to enter the dreamland when you feel a wet cloth between your legs, the ache startling you awake. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he tries his best to be as gentle as possible, but you are unable to restrain the cries of pain, “done.” 

Your stomach grumbles as the smell of pizza wafts, you turn to the other side following the smell to see the white cardboard on your nightstand. 

Seungcheol is back even before you can move your leg to crawl towards the food. He sits against your bed frame, pulling you into his lap, and picks up the comforter from the floor, throwing it over your entangled legs. 

You lean against his chest, cheek nestled near his collarbone as you gaze at the food. He snickers, helping you with a slice, holding it to your lips. 

Pregnancy scare

Sore

Caught by Dispatch

Notice

Toxic

Moved on

Distracted

Game Caterers

Recording studio

Sick

Too close

Followed

Running back to you

Caught in 4k

Afterglow

Warmed up

Make it right

Insecure

Hickey

Damn right

Pranking him

Surprise visit

Make a wish

Situationship

Round 2

Inkigayo

Closure

Forbidden from the beginning

Vlog

Expecting

Kisses to my exes

Night before

Anything for you

The little things

Gym buddy

Drunk in love

The art of not caring

Spoiled rotten

One more minute

Pierced

1-800-hot-n-fun

One call away

History

Backstage

Goodbye kiss

AU MASTERLISTS

The penthouse was already buzzing with activity around him. Assistants were sending messages, his phone kept lighting up with emails, and somewhere in the background his schedule for the day was being finalised.

Meanwhile, you were focused on one thing. The fact that he had promised to take you shopping.

"You promised you'd come with me today." Your voice broke through the silence as you watched him adjust the cuff of his watch.

Mingyu didn't even look up at first. "I know."

The dry response only irritated you further. Your eyes narrowed as you set your mug down onto the marble countertop with a quiet clink.

"You literally told me you'd clear your afternoon."

"I did."

"And?"

Finally, Mingyu glanced over his shoulder. "And a board meeting got moved."

You stared at him in disbelief before letting out a long sigh. "Oh, a board meeting." The sarcasm dripping from your voice was impossible to miss. "Of course."

A smile threatened to pull at the corner of his mouth. "You knew I wasn't going to cancel a meeting worth millions of dollars."

You folded your arms across your chest. "Maybe I wanted you to."

That finally earned a proper reaction. A quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're a liar."

The fact that he laughed again only made your annoyance worse. Because he wasn't taking you seriously, at all.

By the time Mingyu was ready to leave, briefcase in hand and suit jacket perfectly pressed, you were still determined to maintain your grudge.

Which was exactly why you were now leaning dramatically over the upstairs railing overlooking the foyer instead of walking him to the door like you usually did.

Your chin rested in the palm of your hand as you watched him from above. Mingyu slipped his phone into his pocket before glancing up. The second he spotted you, his expression softened.

It always did. No matter how busy he was. No matter how many meetings he had. No matter how irritated you were pretending to be. For a moment he simply looked at you.

Then he tilted his head. "That's it?"

You blinked down at him innocently. "What?"

His eyebrows lifted. "You're really going to let me leave like this?"

You shrugged one shoulder. "Looks like it."

Mingyu stared at you for a second before shoving both hands into his pockets. The action was familiar enough that you immediately knew he was about to start negotiating.

"Where's my goodbye kiss?"

The audacity. You nearly laughed. Instead, you simply looked down at him while he looked right back up at you. Waiting.

Like it was the most reasonable question in the world. Like he wasn't the reason you were annoyed in the first place.

Slowly, you tapped a finger against your cheek as though genuinely considering it. "Hmm."

His eyes narrowed immediately. "Hmm?"

You pretended to think harder. "I don't know." A pause. "I don't know if you deserve one."

Mingyu's eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared beneath his fringe. For a second, he simply stared up at you as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard.

Then a disbelieving laugh escaped him. "You don't know if I deserve one?"

You smiled sweetly. The same smile that usually meant you were about to become a problem. "You made me mad."

"Oh, did I?"

"Mhm."

The hum was accompanied by a small nod, as though there was absolutely no room for debate on the matter. Mingyu let out a slow breath through his nose, clearly trying not to smile.

The worst part was that he looked completely amused by the situation.

As if your attitude was somehow entertaining. As if watching you sulk was one of his favourite hobbies. Which, knowing him, it probably was.

"Baby."

"No."

"Come here."

You immediately shook your head. "No."

His grin widened. The sight alone should have annoyed you. Instead, it made your stomach do that stupid little flip it always did.

"Come kiss me goodbye."

You pretended to think about it. Again.

Your finger tapped thoughtfully against your cheek while Mingyu watched from below with the patience of a man who already knew exactly how this was going to end.

"Hmm..."

The sound of his laughter filled the foyer. Rich and warm and entirely too pleased with itself. "You're acting like a child."

You gasped. "I'm acting like a woman who was abandoned."

Mingyu barked out another laugh. "Abandoned."

"Yes."

"I'll be gone for eight hours."

"Exactly."

His smile only grew. God. You wanted to be annoyed. You really did.

Unfortunately Mingyu looked unfairly handsome standing there in his charcoal suit, one hand resting on the handle of his briefcase while he looked up at you like you were the most entertaining part of his morning.

"You know," he said casually, glancing at his watch, "I have exactly thirty seconds before I need to leave."

You rested your chin deeper into your palm. "Sounds like a you problem, Gyu."

"Twenty-nine."

"Twenty-eight."

You pressed your lips together. Because he was smiling now. It made staying mad significantly harder than it should have been. Which was incredibly irritating.

With a dramatic sigh, you finally pushed yourself away from the railing. "Fine."

His grin became immediate. Victorious. "Thought so."

"Don't be smug."

"I'm always smug."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. Mingyu's laughter followed you as you made your way downstairs. The entire time you could feel his eyes on you.

By the time you reached the bottom step, he was already standing there.

Like he assumed you'd walk straight into them. His arms opened automatically. Which was exactly why you didn't.

Instead, you ignored the invitation entirely and walked right up to him. Mingyu watched suspiciously. You rose onto your toes. Pressed a quick kiss against his cheek. Then immediately stepped back.

"There." You dusted your hands together dramatically. "Goodbye kiss."

Problem solved. At least in your opinion. Apparently not in Mingyu's.

Because the second you tried to walk away, warm fingers wrapped around your wrist. You barely managed two steps before being pulled back.

"What now?"

The look on Mingyu's face was almost offensive. Like he had personally been wronged.

"That's what I get?"

You blinked innocently. "You asked for a goodbye kiss."

"That was not a goodbye kiss."

"It absolutely was."

You laughed. "Mingyu—"

The protest died instantly when his free hand slid to your jaw. Not rough. Just enough to stop you talking. Just enough to tilt your face up towards him.

Your breath caught. Because the teasing expression slowly disappeared from his face. And suddenly the atmosphere felt very different. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

The look there made your stomach flip. "You think you're funny." You tried to maintain your composure. Failed. A little.

"I am funny."

"Mhm." His thumb brushed slowly across your cheek. "You've been giving me attitude all morning."

"You deserved it."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

The answer came so quickly that it made him smile. His head dipped slightly as he shook it. Then, before you could say anything else, he stepped closer. 

One arm slid around your waist, pulling you flush against the front of his suit. Immediately surrounding you with his familiar scent.

"Still mad at me?"

His voice was quieter now. You looked away for a second.

"A little."

"That's unfortunate."

Your eyes lifted back to his. "Why?"

"Because I hate leaving when you're mad at me."

And just like that, your annoyance cracked. The stupid thing was that he knew it would. He knew exactly what those words would do to you. You opened your mouth to respond.

But Mingyu kissed you before you got the chance. The moment his lips touched yours, every argument you'd been determined to continue immediately lost its momentum.

Not because he was trying to distract you. Well, maybe a little. But mostly because there was something unfairly effective about the way Mingyu looked at you when he was trying to make things right.

Like you were the only thing on his mind. Like the board meeting, the investors, the endless calls waiting for him the second he stepped into the office didn't matter nearly as much as making sure you weren't upset with him.

His hand remained against your cheek while his other arm stayed securely around your waist, holding you close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

When he eventually pulled back, it wasn't very far. Just enough to look at you. His forehead almost brushed yours. 

Your hands smoothed down the front of his suit jacket absentmindedly. Immediately his eyes dropped to the movement.

Then softened. That expression again. The one that always made your chest squeeze. The one reserved entirely for you.

"You know," he murmured, "most people would be impressed by how hard I work."

You scoffed. "Most people aren't dating you."

"Good."

The answer came far too quickly. You laughed. "Babe."

"I'm serious." His arm tightened slightly around your waist. "I don't want most people."

The warmth that spread through your chest was immediate. This was exactly how he won. Every single time. You'd start the day determined to hold onto a grudge and somehow end up staring at him like he'd hung the moon.

It was deeply annoying. And completely his fault. "You're laying it on thick."

"I'm being honest."

"You're manipulating me."

"I'm apologising."

"You bought your way out of trouble."

His mouth twitched. "Maybe a little."

You pointed a finger at his chest. "See? That's not apologising."

"No?"

Mingyu caught your hand before you could pull it away, lacing his fingers through yours. "Then let me try again."

The playfulness in his expression softened. "I know I cancelled our plans."

You stayed quiet.

"And I know you're disappointed."

"I am."

"I know."

He lifted your joined hands and pressed a brief kiss against your knuckles. "And I still hate leaving when you're upset with me."

Before you could think of a comeback, Mingyu leaned down and kissed you again.

Slow. Unhurried. Like he was deliberately taking a moment for just the two of you before the rest of his day pulled him away. One hand settled against your jaw while the other remained secure around your waist.

Your fingers curled into the front of his suit jacket. Immediately he looked pleased with himself. Which made you want to roll your eyes. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks felt warm. Mingyu looked entirely too satisfied.

"There." His thumb brushed across your cheek. "That's a proper goodbye kiss."

You narrowed your eyes. "You're still in trouble."

"I know."

His grin widened. "But you love me."

Unfortunately, you did. And judging by the way Mingyu looked at you, as though you were already the best part of his day before he'd even left the house, he knew it too.

"Go to work."

Mingyu laughed before finally grabbing his briefcase.

"You better be home early."

"Yes, princess."

"You said that yesterday."

He backed towards the door, still smiling. "I mean it this time."

You pointed at him. "Said every liar ever."

Mingyu's laughter followed him out the door. And just before it closed, he shot you one final grin.

"Love you."

Then he was gone. Leaving you standing in the foyer trying very hard not to smile. And failing completely.

~

A couple of hours had passed since Mingyu had left. The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.

You'd spent most of the afternoon sprawled across the living room couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, still pretending you were annoyed with him.

Pretending. Because the truth was that your little argument this morning had barely lasted five minutes before he'd kissed the attitude right out of you.

Still. You weren't about to let him off that easily. Your shopping trip had been cancelled. You had standards.

A soft chime suddenly echoed through the penthouse. The doorbell. You frowned. Turning off your phone. Sitting upright.

You weren't expecting anyone. No deliveries. No friends. Nothing. You heard footsteps from the foyer before one of the house staff answered the door.

Muffled voices drifted through the space. Then more footsteps. More voices. The sound of something being carried inside.

Your confusion deepened. You pushed yourself off the couch and began walking towards the foyer.

Halfway there, you stopped. Because you saw colour. A lot of colour. Your eyes widened.

Flowers. Everywhere. The kitchen island had disappeared beneath enormous bouquets. The marble countertops were covered. The dining table was covered.

There were flowers being carried through the front door by multiple delivery people while your staff attempted to find places to put them all.

Pink. White. Cream. Soft peach. Every single arrangement was filled with your favourite flowers.

Your mouth actually fell open. "What's going on?"

One of the servants laughed. "All from Mr. Kim, Miss Y/N."

You stared. Then another bouquet came through the door. Then another. Then another. "How many did he send?"

The servant looked down at a clipboard. Then back at you. "A lot."

"A lot isn't a number."

"I stopped counting after twenty-seven."

Your jaw dropped. "TWENTY-SEVEN?"

A second servant walked in carrying another arrangement almost as big as she was. "Twenty-eight."

You couldn't stop smiling. Your cheeks already hurt. The entire penthouse smelled like fresh flowers. It looked like a florist had exploded. You knew exactly who was responsible.

A small cream envelope poking out from the biggest bouquet caught your attention. Immediately you reached for it. The elegant black handwriting was unmistakable.

Your smile somehow widened even further. You opened it. Inside was a simple handwritten card.

I'm sorry for making your pretty head annoyed this morning.

Love, Mingyu.

You stared at it. Then laughed. Actually laughed. Because of course he wrote that. Of course he couldn't just apologise like a normal person.

No. He had apparently decided to purchase half of Seoul's flower supply instead. Your phone suddenly buzzed.

You didn't even need to check who it was.

Mingyu ❤️

"Flowers delivered?"

You rolled your eyes. Immediately typing back.

"You're crazy."

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

"Did you like them?"

"There's enough flowers here to start my own business."

"That's not an answer."

You looked around your kitchen. At the ridiculous number of bouquets. At your favourite flowers. At the handwritten note still sitting in your hand. Your heart softened despite yourself.

"Maybe."

A response arrived immediately.

"Liar."

You laughed.

"Maybe I liked them a little."

"Only a little?"

"Mhm."

"Interesting."

"Why?"

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then appeared again.

"Look out the window."

Your eyebrows furrowed.

You walked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

"What now..."

Then you saw it. Far below. Parked outside the building. A familiar black luxury sedan. Your eyes widened. No way. Absolutely not.

Your phone rang before you could even think. You answered immediately. "What did you do?"

His laughter filled your ear. God. You could practically hear the grin.

"Go downstairs."

"Mingyu."

"Go downstairs."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I was."

"Was?"

"Then I started thinking about how cute you looked pouting this morning."

You covered your face.

"And?"

"And I missed you."

Your heart melted instantly. Traitor.

"So." You could hear him smiling. "Come downstairs."

You looked back at the mountains of flowers filling the penthouse. Then at the note still clutched in your hand. Then at the black car waiting below. A grin spread across your face.

"Mingyu."

"Yeah, baby?"

"You are so sweet." His laugh echoed through the phone.

"Get downstairs."

Auntie Lin’s only piece of advice after you announced your acceptance of your first corporate job: Small talk is your best friend. The advice hadn’t registered in your mind until you facilitated a meeting with executive management where the first five minutes of silent judgement nearly made you quit the job until you asked, “Any weekend plans?”

You learned the power of small talk and how obsessed executive leaders were when it came to bragging about their personal lives outside the office. The advice worked so well, management gave you an unprompted promotion two weeks later.

Nothing wrong with being the personality hire if it helps you climb the corporate ladder. 

Okay, well, no, you had history with this company.

Your father’s connection with the talent acquisition management landed you an internship at this very company right out of high school, so you didn’t need to reestablish your rapport after graduating from university.

You’re still a hard worker. Yes … objectively speaking, nepotism played a part in your current successes — you don’t shy away from that fact.

Your charming and curious personality only got you so far, but the magic always stopped with one person.

Jeon Jeongguk.

Hard case to crack and even harder to not stare at when he’s within your vicinity.

He’s polished, well-spoken, and … let’s just say there are things you shouldn’t say or think about in a place of work, let alone towards someone in the senior management team. He hardly smiles and if he does, it’s never towards you.

Right now? You think the least Jeongguk could do is crack a smile at your joke to break the tension in the virtual meeting. No one liked hearing bad news and you became the bearer of bad news as you explained to the client why a deliverable will not be made by the proposed timeline.

Delivering bad news was a manager’s job and unfortunately, your manager entrusted you with this responsibility right before she left for maternity leave, raving about how it’ll build your leadership and communication skills … right, right.

Jeongguk was the other leader overseeing the project. His team met all the deliverables, so there was no real need for his attendance other than pure formalities. 

This was your chance to show him what you were capable of. 

“Mr. Choi, we apologize for not making the deadline. With half the team on leave, the estimated completion date will need to be extended as a result.” You explain.

Jeongguk sits and watches you exchange words with the client. The mic button remained on mute during the many moments you would’ve benefited from his direction or support. You didn’t think you’d have to go through a humiliation ritual the day before your big trip for your best friend’s wedding in Italy. It’s your turn to have your mic button on mute as you let the client chew you out in front of your peers.

“Mr. Choi.” Jeongguk interrupts.

Thank god, finally. 

“The deliverables will be completed by the original proposed due date. I will personally see through that.”

You exhale in relief once the client settles back into their chair, demeanor shifting from their outburst moments ago.

You [3:32 p.m.]: Thank you, Jeongguk.

As expected, he doesn’t reply. 

The meeting wraps up on a positive note thanks to Jeongguk’s interception. Everyone bids each other farewell until you hear a call of your name.

“Stay on the call. Need to discuss a few things with you.”

Confused, you aren’t sure why he doesn’t ask you to walk ten steps to his office to chat privately. You swallow and one by one, all of your colleagues leave the meeting until it’s just you and him. 

He sighs, letting his agitation come out freely now. He loosens his tie and fixes his frames on his nose.

“So …” you begin.

“Do you know what your first mistake was on that call?” He sneers, a complete one-eighty from the well-mannered speaker he was during the meeting.

“I’m–uh, not sure.” You reply honestly.

“‘We apologize,’” he repeats your words, “there is no ‘we’ in this — you were the one that didn’t meet the service level agreement. Learn to take accountability for your own shortcomings.”

Ouch.

He continues, “You also failed to offer any alternatives or incentive for the delay. This is about being reputable — customer experience dictates future collaborations with new clients. If this one goes sour, we lose our clientele.”

Each word morphed into daggers piercing and digging into your self-esteem.

The finishing blow?

“That being said, you will finish what we originally promised the client.”

“But,” your heart drops at the mention of working during your time off, “I’m not going to be in the country.”

“I’m sure there’s internet wherever you’re going.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“And then! He said I’m paid salary, not hourly, so it doesn’t matter how long I need to work — I just need to get it done.” You complain to your colleague, Mina, who happened to work under Jeongguk’s section. 

“Oof, sorry girl.” She pours the coffee into her cup, unsurprised by her boss’ expectations. Setting the pot back onto the warmer, she leans against the counter. It’s just the two of you in the breakroom, free from prying eyes and ears. “So what are you gonna do?”

You groan. As much as you’d like to ramble and moan about how unreasonable Jeongguk’s demands were, you knew he was right about needing to take accountability.

“Well, if I push in some work in the early morning and night the first couple of days in Italy, I should be able to get it done.” You sigh. “Just hate it.”

Mina pats your shoulder and gives you a reassuring smile, which soon changes into a bewildered expression as she digs her fingers into your shoulder.

“Oh, hey bossman, here for a coffee refill?” Mina’s voice strains, projected to the space behind you.

You turn and there stands Jeon Jeongguk in all his glory. While you had the privilege to see him earlier today during the virtual meeting, nothing compared to the real deal. Dressed in an all-black suit, Jeongguk looks ever immaculate. His face is free from his metal-framed glasses, but they leave their small indentations on the sides of his nose. The deadliest combo came in the form of his hair pushed back, exposing his wrinkle-free forehead.

If it weren’t for his wired earphones and outdated iPod you caught him with during his walk, you would’ve never guessed his age. Technically, you still don’t know the exact number but Anna in Human Resources hinted he’s in his mid to late thirties.

Whatever. Age is just a number and hasn’t stopped you from trying to befriend the older man. 

“Yes, my third one today.” He muses.

“Anything the team and I can do to help wrap up things for you before your vacation?” Mina probes.

Wait. You never caught wind of that.

“No,” he shakes his head, “thank you, though.”

Your heart stirs at the low timbre of his chuckle, surprised at his abilities in displaying any other emotions outside his stoic expression. You theorize it comes easier with an established rapport. 

Maybe you’ll try your luck today.

“How long are you going to be out for?” You ask, moving to the side so he has better access to the coffee pot. His scent naturally fills your space — a mixture of fresh laundry and cedarwood. 

“Two weeks.”

“Oh, same here!” You beam. 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that quite a bit this month.”

You warm in embarrassment; though, the feelings get swept underneath the rug at another fact.

He listened — more importantly, he remembered your many musings. 

“I’m going to Italy.” You remark, hoping he’d give a little more detail on his own vacation if you shared a bit about your upcoming adventures.

Jeongguk freezes momentarily and clears his throat before setting down the nearly empty pot.

“That’s nice.”

Seizing the moment to continue the conversation, you throw out details of your trip, namely for the wedding you’ll attend as maid of honor for your best friend.

“And they’re going to have this lovely venue near the beach. It’s going to be great.” You marvel.

“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Mina pouts. “Are you going to be doing something fun during your time off, Jeongguk?” 

You watch him with expectant eyes.

“Tending some family matters.”

That’s corporate lingo for: it’s personal, so none of your business. Everyone knows to back off on the topic at that point.

Taking a sip of his coffee after mixing a pack of Splenda, he offers a tight-lipped smile, “I have to head back to the desk. Enjoy your break.”

Alone with Mina once again, you look at her with defeated eyes.

“He’s just introverted and private, babe. I wouldn’t sweat it.” She waves.

“I’ve been here for over a year and he’s never like this to management or clients.” You sigh. “Maybe I’m the problem.”

It’s hard to not take things to heart being a natural born people pleaser. You want to be liked and if you’re not, at least know why; except, Jeongguk kept things strictly work related with all the little pocket of interactions you’ve had with him. 

If you were brave enough, you’d ask him about it over coffee or lunch — anywhere that might give you a glimpse of who he is outside of work. 

“Don’t mind him. In about twenty-four hours, you’ll be in Italy! Last time you updated, the best man was a little wishy-washy about the wedding? How’s that going?”

“Jihyo said Seojun got it sorted out, so they’re okay.” All you know from the matter is how much of a struggle it was to get a definite answer from his best man. Prick move and unnecessary stress for the wedding party. Had you been in Seojun’s position, you would’ve cut losses and moved forward without the best man early on.

Planning a wedding was difficult enough, let alone dealing with difficult people in the wedding party. You pray he steps into his role as the best man to lessen the to-be-wedded couple’s worries. 

“Good. Wedding drama’s the worst.” Mina nods. “Still haven’t recovered from finding out my cousin’s husband was fucking his cousin.” 

The gossip session goes for another fifteen minutes until you begrudgingly head back to finish up some last minute tasks. You weren’t going to be that coworker who leaves a bunch of unfinished work for your backup. 

Another thing you didn’t want to be was like your father, but you’re no different by the time you finish your pending tasks at 9:52 p.m. You do a quick once-over your automatic out-of-office notice and send out a list of items for your backup to look after before stuffing all your belongings into your workbag.

Going home was always your favorite time of the day, granting you the chance to walk past Jeongguk’s office. Even from where you’re standing, the lights in his office are the only ones still on out of all the managers on the floor.

His door remains slightly ajar throughout the day aside from the times he’s on a call or speaking to one of his employees. An ‘open door policy,’ Mina explained. Wants the folks on his team comfortable coming to him with their needs or questions.

You didn’t need anything, per se. There were plenty of questions floating in your head, but none that would qualify as work-related or professional. Things like … where are you going for vacation? Would you like to grab dinner together? … Are you seeing anyone? 

Your short almond shaped nails tap on his metal name plaque outside his office.

He looks up from his computer, the monitor’s brightness setting doing little to hide his exhausted stare. One brow raised, he cocks his head to the side.

“Come in.”

You take in your surroundings: a shelf containing all his Employee of the Year awards, empty “In” bin as opposed to a stacked “Out” bin, and half-finished cup of coffee. Above all, no pictures of his family or signs of life outside of work.

A stark contrast in comparison to your cubicle full of small trinkets, pictures of your loved ones, and cards you’ve received from both your coworkers and clients.

“Just wanted to say goodnight and thank you again for joining the meeting.” You say. “I followed up with the client with your recommendations and they’re happy with the timeline.”

He nods. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“Well,” You rock on your heels, not wanting to leave just yet, “I’ll see you in two weeks. Hope you have a nice time off, Jeongguk.”

He leans back into his deskchair, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he studies your face. His black dress shirt stretches and expands tightly at a passing thought; at the last second, he makes his resolve in foregoing the notion for simpler words.

“Likewise. Safe travels to Italy.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Despite the two layovers and many near-death turbulences later, you arrive in Venice, Italy in one piece. Your best friend, Jihyo, was the first person you see at the gates, smile lighting up the building when she finally spots you through the crowds. These days, she glows more with her soon-to-be husband, Seojun.

You’ve met him only a handful of times and he’s always been kind. You don’t know him well enough, but as long as your friend was happy, so were you.

Which is why she’s going all out for her wedding — it’s her chance to do what she wants with those who care for her. Jihyo’s parents unfortunately did not extend their support and care. They were so against the idea of her marrying a person of no status, her father threatened to cut off all ties and funds if she were to go through with marrying Seojun. 

“My favorite person is finally here!” She squeezes you in her arms. “How was the flight? Are you hungry? We can go get a quick bite.”

“Jihyo, love, slow down,” Seojun comes from behind and offers you a kind greeting. “You must be exhausted. We can head back to the hotel. Just waiting for my uncle to clear customs.”

“Oh! Do you know when he’ll land?” You ask.

“I think he was on the same flight as you, so he should be out soon.” He pulls out his phone to answer a quick text before scanning the area. 

“Think that’s him.” He squints. “Uncle, over here!” He extends his arm above his head. 

You expected a fifty year old balding man, not senior manager, Jeon Jeongguk. 

Fuck.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

You didn’t think you’d ever ride in the same car as one of your managers, especially one you had a dire crush on. You definitely didn’t think you’d be seated in the back of a rental car with him in Italy for your best friend’s wedding.

This whole scenario has to be straight out a romcom … or, in your case, a horror film.

You open up the notes app in your phone and type out a quick message: Do we tell them we know each other? 

What you really wanted to ask was: Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this being the “family matter” you had to take care of?

He takes your phone from your hand and begins typing something before handing it back to you. Nothing from your original note was edited, but a second later a notification comes through.

Jeongguk [4:56 p.m.]: No. Too complicated. You [4:56 p.m.]: Okay..

“Uncle.” Seojun looks at the rear mirror. “How’s work been?”

“Busy,” he sighs. “But it’s been getting better.”

“I’m glad. Hope these two weeks will give you the break you need. You didn’t bring your work laptop, right?” He presses.

Kind of cute seeing the younger male lecture his uncle — cuter seeing Jeongguk grumble at his nephew’s nagging.

“No promises.”

“Speaking of work,” Jihyo chimes in, “How you coping with work?” She turns her entire body from the passenger seat to look at you.

The passengers in the car go silent for your reply, feeling Jeongguk’s shift from the work status inquiry.

“Fine.” You answer quickly.

“Really? That one manager didn’t give you more shit right–”

“Jihyo!” You interrupt, quickly covering up with an awkward laugh and stiff smile, “ Ha-ha … no, it’s been great!”

“Wha–? But you were venting about having to work during the trip … Honestly, that manager’s lucky he’s hot.”

“Ji–”

“Hot?” Jeongguk asks with a raised brow. There’s a lift in his voice, forcing you to bury and shrink deeper into your seat.

“Allegedly.” Jihyo replies mindlessly. Oblivious to your discomfort of the topic, Jihyo continues, “You still gotta sneak a picture of him when you can, babe. I need to see if his pretty privileges warrant this sort of power trip.” 

You’ve heard summers in Italy were magical. You wish for some of that magic to touch you right now — the kind good enough to make you disappear all together from this awkward conversation.

“Huh.” Jeongguk props his elbow by the car’s window ledge, palm covering his mouth. “I’m curious too.” 

Jihyo changes the topic to the itinerary she made for the wedding party; however, you couldn’t be bothered to tune into the details. Knowing Jihyo, she’ll eventually send the party a spreadsheet of the schedule.

You [5:02 p.m.]: Please ignore Jihyo 🥹

Your heart accelerates at the appearance of the infamous dots signaling Jeongguk’s reply in the making.

Jeongguk [5:03 p.m.]: I’ll try. Power trips make it insanely hard to.

You chew on your bottom lip out of habit, feeling the sweat gather behind your neck. Hand fanning your face, you glance over and notice a slight shake in Jeongguk’s stature. He’s still facing away from you and towards the window, but from the reflection, you can see the corners of his mouth lift.

Endorphins rush through your bloodstream at the thought of making him happy.

While chasing your happiness has always been your life motto, you wouldn’t mind chasing for Jeongguk’s happiness too.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

On Jihyo’s itinerary, she deliberately left Venice off from the rest of the wedding party arriving later at the actual wedding site. The next two days were solely meant to spend more time with the maid of honor and best man.

The first day in Venice naturally got cut short with your arrival time; so, the only thing Jihyo planned was a nice dinner after you and Jeongguk settled into your respective rooms. Dinner rolls by with just you, Jihyo, and Seojun perusing the menu for the umpteenth time. The seat, meant for Jeongguk, remains cold and empty. After about thirty minutes and a couple text messages, Seojun confirms with the waiter to remove the utensils and plate — something about his uncle not feeling well.

“Okay, but he’ll be at dinner tomorrow, right?” Jihyo frowns, eyes full of worry.

“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just old man tendencies and jetlag got the best of him. He’ll be there tomorrow.”

Back at the hotel, you had half a mind to check in on him and just as you built up the courage to knock, the door swings open to reveal a Jeongguk you’ve yet to ever witness: dark grey compression shirt with five-inch inseam shorts. He has his wired earphones in and looks well rested, contrary to what Seojun mentioned at dinner about two hours ago.

“Oh, are you feeling better?” You ask, hand retracted and tucked behind your back.

His brows twitch, fingers removing one of the buds out his ear. “Sorry?”

“Seojun mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Are you better now?”

“Yep.” He answers.

Awkward. 

“Where you headed to? It’s late.” You rock on your heels, afraid you might’ve overstepped with your light interrogation.

“Saw a small running trail nearby, just wanna get some movement in.”

“Would you like—”

“Well, goodnight.” He places the earpiece back in and walks off, the scent of his fresh linen deodorant trails along with him.

“—company?” The end of your sentence comes out in a tiny whisper, the question dying on the tip of your tongue as his figure disappears in the distance.

It was going to be a long two weeks, but you’re optimistic for a chance to change the tides with Jeongguk. Maybe even get to know him a little better or collect more versions of who he may be outside of work before this trip ends.

Arms linked with Jihyo, you walk down the small alleyways of Venice the next day, marveling at the tiny trinkets on display. Seojun and Jeongguk were always a couple steps behind, mainly taking note of the repeating gelato flavors at each stand. Your ears perk when Jeongguk chuckles at Seojun’s excitement of finally finding a stall with a new flavor. His laugh rings deep and rich, something you’re rarely afforded at the workplace.

You hold up two carnival masks to your face. “Which one suits me better?” You preferred the pink one in your left hand, but the green in your right hand spoke to you as well.

“Mm, you know I’ll always favor pink, but is there room in your suitcase?” Jihyo inquires.

Well, no, but you could always buy another suitcase. 

“All going to end up as clutter once you’re home.” Jeongguk mutters to himself, eyeing the other trinkets on the shelf.

Whether or not it was directed at you, you put the mask back with the rest. The shop owner smiles, a little dejected at the missed sale, but with the numerous tourists filtering through the alley, he’s bound to make his daily quota by closing time.

The rest of the day is spent on trying new food — your favorite being the bruschetta flight near the waters. Again, Jeongguk and Seojun were always a couple steps behind, chatting about god knows what while you and Jihyo swap gelatos between every two or so licks. Venice was packed — mainly with tourists, but in a specific alleyway you all decided to turn into held a different kind of danger.

Pigeons. Lots of them. 

One could argue Venice might be the motherland to birds; you’re not in any position to disagree as you cower between the birds staring down at your group from the railings. They swarm around your feet, begging for whatever you’d offer or accidentally drop.

Lucky for you, a shop owner comes and throws out bits of their baguettes. All the pigeons flock over in pursuit of their (probable) tenth snack for the day. You breathe a sigh of relief for the small deterrence, walking quicker to escape from the flock.

“Phew, thought we were goners back there.” Jihyo jokes, looking back at the boys.

At the last second, a seagull swoops in and takes the unfinished gelato right from your hand. You let out a blood curdling scream, hand immediately letting go of the cone. You grab Jihyo by the shoulder and chant for the birds to take her as an offering instead.

Everyone within the vicinity laughed, some tourists offered a sympathetic smile and asked if you were okay. Among the laughter, Jeongguk’s chuckle echoes loudest in your head. It had never been your goal to become the group’s court jester, but you wouldn’t mind making it your life’s sole purpose for this version of him.

Seojun checks his watch. “Jihyo, baby, we still have five more hours to kill before our flight over to Sicily. Should we head back to the hotel? Uncle said he’s tired—”

Smile wiped off his handsome face, Jeongguk nudges the young man in the arm. “Don’t use me as a scapegoat.”

You never realized how much the two men resembled each other, catching you off guard when Jeongguk hooks his arm around Seojun’s neck, and rubs his knuckles over his nephew’s head. Their laughter comes out the same, pairing well with their toothy grins.

“We only have one last item on the itinerary.” Jihyo says, a fond smile at the sight of her happy fiance. “I wanted to do a little gondola ride.”

Most tourists seized the golden hour for their boat ride too, which sent you and your group on a hunt for an unoccupied gondola, eventually finding two docked boats on the opposite entrance of Venice.

“I’ll pass.” Jeongguk says with a hand up.

Jihyo pouts, pointing in your direction. “But she’d be all alone.”

“Oh, um, I don’t mind staying behind.” You smile, doing your best to not sound disappointed at the lost experience. “Can always ride a boat at home.”

“But Miss, when will you ride a gondola in Venice while the sun is setting?” One of the gondoliers pitches.

“He’s right.” Jihyo nods. “Please, Jeongguk?”

He’d rather not waste money on a tourist trap … one look at Jihyo’s pleading eyes in combination with his nephew’s displeased stare has him folding on the spot.

Defeated, he sighs, “Fine.”

Jihyo cheers, skipping over to the first boat lined up where Seojun waits patiently with a hand out for her.

Their boat rows off first and five minutes later, it was yours and Jeongguk’s turn to step into the gondola. He holds out his hand to steady your step, boat wobbling as you plant your first foot down. His hold lingers a little longer even when you’ve successfully made it into the boat. Eyes peering up at Jeongguk’s tall stature, your body heats up under his watchful gaze.

“Steady now?”

“Yes.” You chirp.

“Good.” He lowers you both carefully onto the small seats. Once secured, the gondolier begins his descent through the canals.

Naturally, you strike up a conversation with the gondolier, asking how many rides he averages a day to which he politely answers, ‘too many to count.’ The conversation goes on for another five minutes until Jeongguk sighs, a subtle signal for you to stop and take in your surroundings instead.

Despite the on and off whiffs of the decade old sewage lines rooted in the city, the ride descends to the narrower alleyways one would miss on foot. Water levels rising, the gondolier signals you both to duck at an approaching bridge. You hadn’t realized you didn’t duck low enough until you feel Jeongguk’s warm palm at the base of your head, urging you lower.

His hand rests there until it’s time for you both to lift your heads up again. So warm and thoughtful, unlike how he’s been treating you at work.

You might explode at the silence, finding the need to address the elephant in the room. What were the odds you’d be alone with Jeongguk again? What are the odds you’d be riding on a gondola in Venice, Italy with Jeongguk?

“Do you hate me?” You blurt out, immediately embarrassed at your sudden forwardness. The gondolier peers from the side and looks forward again, slowing his rowing motion with his oar. 

Jeongguk’s brows furrow, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t hate you.”

“It seems like you do. You always are just so …”

“So …?” He trails along.

“Mean.” You frown. Feeling more foolish for your lack of proper vocabulary words for such a serious confrontation, you do your best to explain. “You seem to get along with everyone else at work and even here. You’re nice to everyone but me.” 

He stares straight ahead, tongue probing against his cheek. He doesn’t respond right away and you deflate at your wasted effort in an attempt to understand Jeongguk beyond the cubicle. You only hear the waters splashing against the gondola as the oar steers you both to another quieter route. 

If Jeongguk didn’t hate you before, he probably does right now. So evident in his silence and unwillingness to discuss this topic, you wonder to yourself … were older generations this bad with expressing their emotions and thoughts? Your father was a great example, and while you don’t want to generalize an entire generation, Jeongguk drives a hard bargain.

“How’d you get into Cientra Corporations?” The question rolls out of Jeongguk with no hint of curiosity.

What did your place of work have anything to do with his alleged animosity? 

“I applied for an opening.” You answer.

His chuckles, full of mock and taunt. “When?”

You frown, a little taken aback by the conversation now turned into an interrogation.

“I think a month before my graduation?” Your stomach churns from the unpredictability of his next words.

“Right, of course.” Jeongguk looks to the side, eyes tracing the water stains on the old brick buildings.

“I’ve had plenty of internships during undergrad and I graduated early with honors.” His demeanor only makes you overexplain your qualifications. “My recruitment was done through a fair hiring process.”

“The position was not in the budget.” He rolls his eyes, his crossed arms accentuates his muscular build. If you were more shameless, you’d let your eyes linger at his chest for a little longer despite how his next words batters your pride. “Freshly graduated with little to no experience landing a mid-entry position?”

You’re not ashamed to admit you had a foot in thanks to your connections. Of course, you were unaware a position had been created just for you, but to insinuate you didn’t deserve your place … now, that was not something you’d take lightly.

“I’ve worked hard with all the opportunities—”

“As one should.” He interrupts. “But all your ‘opportunities’ only became yours because they were taken away from someone else. There were at least ten other highly qualified applicants in the candidate pool.” 

You open your mouth, but Jeongguk beats you to it, “One summer internship at Cientra wouldn’t have gotten anyone else into the company.”

Now that shatters you. You had really thought you stood out in the pool considering you had previously applied and interned for the same company. Now you’re rethinking whether you’ve also gotten the job purely from connections.

Fighting through your imposter syndrome, you stand your ground. “At the end of the day, I was chosen and I take my job seriously. I can’t change what’s already set in stone.”

“That’s your privilege speaking.” He leans against the backrest. “I’ll only repeat this once: I don’t hate you.” Extremely hard to believe after your self esteem’s been kicked to the curb. 

And despite the sour mood, you still try to salvage what you can. “Okay,” You breathe, “Regardless of how you feel about me, can we get along for the sake of the wedding?”

“Of course.” He rolls his shoulders, discomfort clear from the small chair setup. “Trying to make this wedding as seamless and pain-free as possible.”

You piece his aversion to the wedding now. The last minute confirmation of his attendance and lack of enthusiasm for the trip’s activities … it all checks. The gondolier rounds to the ride’s starting point and docks the boat where you and Jeongguk need to quickly alter your attitude in front of the unsuspecting couple.

Jeongguk stays behind to tip the gondolier, murmuring his apologies for the tense ride. From a distance, you overhear the gondolier snort, saying something on the lines of how he should be tipping Jeongguk for the soap opera level conversation.

Your act works — neither Jihyo nor Seojun suspected any shift in moods because Jihyo was too busy begging for another cannoli and, of course, Seojun being the exceptional fiance he is, advised you guys to return to the hotel first to prepare for the flight while he ran to the specific stall Jihyo requested for.

“Uncle, you go on ahead with the girls.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”

On the train ride back to the hotel, Jihyo lays her head on your shoulder. “I think Uncle Jeongguk hates me.”

That makes the two of you.

She continues, “I know this wedding was rushed, but I thought he’d warm up to the idea of us by now.”

Very out of character for Jihyo to sulk over the minute things in life. You’re not one to talk, knowing firsthand what it’s like to wish for someone’s approval.

“Hey … it’s been less than two days. And who cares what he thinks? You and Seojun are in this for life.”

“I know, I know. Seojun just adores his uncle, you know? That’s his only family.” Jihyo frowns. Unlike him, she’s grown up in a big and affluent family her entire life — well, now cut in half since her choice to marry Seojun, a man of no title or status. She can bear the disdain from her own family, but she doesn’t want Seojun to lose his one and only family member over their choices.

“I was thinking,” Jihyo begins, suddenly sitting upright with determined eyes. “You know, you’re always so fun and great with people … could you maybe get to know Uncle Jeongguk and put in a good word for me? Just until the time of the wedding at least.”

You’ve never seen her this desperate. You ponder back to the conversation on the gondola and if there were little to no chance of making things right with Jeongguk yourself, how were you going to do it for Jihyo?

You’re no better than Seojun and eventually give into her plea. 

“Okay.” You smile, arms embracing her.

All checked out of the Venice hotel, your party makes it through the airport’s security checkpoint just in time for the flight to the actual wedding destination: Sicily.

Italy is magical and Sicily proved every part of that belief even in the cab ride over to the rental property. Windows down, you let the warm breeze run through your locks, uncaring if the sea salted air clung onto your hair and skin. The tips of your hair unknowingly float over and graze Jeongguk’s arms, marking and reminding him of your presence whether or not he welcomed it. 

Jihyo really went all out and booked the dreamiest villa. The villa had everything: a fifteen minute walk to the wedding venue, close to local shops and restaurants, and here’s your favorite: the beach. It’s perfect … almost as perfect as the living situation Jihyo had planned out. No brainer, she and Seojun would get the main house while you and Jeongguk would occupy the cottage a couple steps away.

“Dinner in fifteen minutes? I have a reservation with the restaurant down the street.” Jihyo shrugs her duffle bag higher on her shoulders to which Seojun immediately takes after he unloaded all the other suitcases from the trunk.

“Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” Jeongguk reads his watch.

“Customary to eat later in Italy.” Jihyo smiles.

Jeongguk checked off all the body cues to decline. His resolve crumbles yet again from another one of Seojun’s stares, ultimately agreeing to dinner after settling in.

The first thing you and Jeongguk noticed upon entering the cottage was the stuffy and warm air from the windows being closed for too long. No matter how hard you push and yank the panes, the windows just wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, a strong source of heat presses against your backside.

The scent of fresh linen only welcomes you after laundry day and whenever you’ve switched out your bedsheets. Your mind wanders around scenarios of being welcomed by this exact scent and warmth in bed, sheets needing to be constantly changed afterwards.

Fuck.

Jeongguk’s fingers pull at the knobs above the window sill. Using way less force and energy, the window cracks open with ease and the crisp crash of waves in the distance meets your ears. Nothing was louder than the beating in your chest — must’ve been your imagination when you thought Jeongguk stayed a beat longer behind, breath sucked in from the proximity.

You replay the scenario in your head even at the dinner table. 

The times you’ve looked up from your plate, you’ve unconsciously caught Jeongguk staring in your direction too. He looks away, suddenly mesmerized by the shoreline. His attention pulls at some clapping in the background, waiters and waitresses nearing your section of the restaurant. Your smile widens as they circle your table, confused but pleased by the grand gesture.

Setting a small cake down on the table and resuming their singing, you peer over at the frosted words: Happy 37th Birthday, Jeongguk!

Jeongguk keeps his smile at a sensible level, not wanting to show too much excitement. 

After the employees leave, Seojun beams, “Jihyo arranged this. Nice, huh?” He has his arm around her shoulder.

“Yes, very. Thank you, Jihyo.” Jeongguk smiles, warm and sincere. 

Bellies full, you all walk back to the property. Everything seems to fall into its natural place. Jeongguk lets you shower first and because you’re self conscious of taking too much time, you cut your usual routine by half. You’re seated at the same window sill again, watching the shoreline. 

The lights in the room turn on and you startle. Looking back, you catch a half naked Jeongguk drying his wet hair with a small towel. Bare torso on full display, you gulp at the sight while unknowingly clenching your thighs together. 

Thirty-seven looked good on Jeongguk.

You hope you looked this good at that age, but you have a long way to go. At twenty-two, you know your two little tattoos, one on your lower back and the other on your forearm, will look completely different in fifteen years. They’re nothing like Jeongguk’s, especially with all the intricate tattoos going up his arm, stopping at his chest — both old and new ones. In the office, you’ve only seen a snippet of his tattoos on his forearm, now you’ve been granted full access. Which you’re reminded that everything that happens in Italy will have to stay here. Water break chatter with Mina will exclude these details, saving these memories just for yourself on lonelier nights.

Jeongguk sucks in a breath, surprised at the sight of you. Should be in bed and knocked out from today’s festivities, but you’re there in your silk pajamas, shorts riding dangerously high in your seated position with your knees hiked up to your chest. His jaw clenches, fixing himself a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Hips pressed against the sink counter, he drinks the water, letting a couple droplets dribble past his chin and sharp jawline.

Summers in Italy were magical, but were they usually this hot?

You edge closer to the window sill, praying for the night breeze to snap you out of whatever spell you caught at this hour.

“Jetlagged?” He asks, rinsing the cup. You blink at his question, a little confused at his initiation. It warms you, but you know better than to latch onto this small exchange. 

“A little.” You let out a disgruntled sound as you get up. You think you must’ve hallucinated Jeongguk’s frustrated exhale at your change of position. “You?”

“Mhm. Not as bad as the first night. The run helped.” He replies.

You have all the reason not to get along with him, let alone strike a normal conversation; though, you bare your warmest and genuine smile, “That’s nice. I’m glad.”

“Yes. Well. Goodnight.” He clears his throat.

The lock on your door clicks first, back pushed against the door for some grounding and support. Your bones click against the hard surface, ears cluing in for any sounds from your temporary roommate on the other threshold. His door shuts too, followed by a deep sigh.

There’s some shuffling followed by a drop of what you assumed were clothing. Hot and consumed by your thoughts, your mind spirals at the image of him in nothing but his briefs.

God, this was going to be a long trip.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The internet connection in this villa was probably the worst thing Jeongguk has ever encountered in his life — even worse than the time he went abroad for school during his prime. It was another neighboring country, but still … how hard was it to get an adequate signal? 

He’s tried everything. Sitting in odd places, being closer to the router — nothing’s worked. 

He looks out the same window you were seated at last night, hoping to find an answer before he hurls his laptop out. 

Until he sees you.

You’re seated outside near a lemon tree between the two accommodations, laptop perched on the patio table while you tug at one of the nearby branches for a quick sniff at the fruit. Your eyes shut in bliss, lemon distracting you with its fresh scent.

You’ve done well to distract Jeongguk from his work too. As much as he’d like to hold onto this vendetta, he knows the grudge was misdirected and undeserving. He also knows a part of his hesitancy with you is who you are. Knows the reasons why you were hired aside from the connections you had. And although you had a good personality, he can’t call you a personality hire if you knew how to do your job.

He won’t deny your accomplishments in school, allowing you to graduate with high honors by the time you were twenty. You were an adequate worker, but again, only because you were given unfair advantages — tools and resources that were taken away from someone else more deserving and eligible. 

His grudge stretched beyond that, having been on the other receiving end of losing opportunities because of his upbringings. So yeah … maybe he’s biased.

You, on the other hand, want to hurl your laptop for other reasons. The laptop sits on top of the patio table, waiting for you to begin your long half day of work.

The metal legs of the empty chair across from you scrape against the concrete floor.

“Mind if I join you?”

You straighten from your slouched posture, surprised eyes meeting his neutral expression. Vacations were meant for fun, not the work you were trying to escape from. With Jeongguk here, you really can’t slack off. You quickly clear your items from the small table and gesture for him to sit.

“Terrible connection in the cottage.” You remark. “Gave me problems all morning.”

He hums, typing away on the laptop to make up for the lost time. You fall back into your work too seeing that there was a good motivator.

On your left side, there’s a small bowl of olives paired with the wine Jihyo delivered to your shared cottage. Jeongguk stares at the bowl, following one of the olives held by your fingers and popped in between your plump lips.

A small puff of air escapes through his nose at your winced expression from the initial burst of flavors, washing it down with a swig of wine.

“Would you like to try?” You push the bowl towards him.

“Didn’t look all that good.” He stares up, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Though small, you detect a teasing tone in his comment.

“It was … different. But!” You perk, “When will we be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working?”

Answer? Never.

Such a ridiculous thought that he reaches into the small ceramic bowl to plop an olive into his mouth. The bitter tang of the small fruit amplifies on his tongue from your expectant stare.

Not unpleasant, but there were plenty of other cuisine choices in Italy worth trying. 

Though, when will Jeon Jeongguk be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working with your melodic laughter resonating in his ears as you scoot your wine glass over to him?

Tongue no longer graced with the olive’s bitterness, a new type of bitterness spreads as Seojun and Jihyo announce they’re headed to the beach.

“How much longer do you need to work?” Jihyo pouts, hands on her hips as she peers down at your laptop. She’s not reading anything you have opened, deeming them unimportant especially when you should be spending time with her.

You offer a sheepish smile, afraid to voice your true thoughts in front of management. Jeongguk keeps his face trained to his screen, brows twitching in an attempt to hide his bemusement.

Had it been anyone else in front of you, you’d throw your hands in the air and say ‘Fuck it.’ But it was Jeongguk … one of the higher-ups you’d always admired — whose opinion you immensely cared for. 

“Uncle …” Seojun frowns. “You promised you weren’t going to work.”

“Code red. Need to take care of this.” Jeongguk explains.

Seojun sighs, the expression resounds his frustration to his uncle’s work habits.

In the short span of time working at the company, you’ve never seen Jeongguk falter; yet, the man seated across from you wavers at his nephew’s disappointment.

“It’ll be quick.” He remedies.

You also know Jeongguk took his time. He’s meticulous and wants everything right the first time around. It appears Seojun knows this too, not taking his promises too seriously, and grunting a small ‘okay’ before he takes Jihyo’s hand to lead them both to the beach.

Jeongguk purses his lips, a vexed expression he doesn’t let linger for long. You shouldn’t meddle with family affairs, but you couldn’t help thinking back to the missed dinners, absent parent recitals, and text messages telling you to not wait up late from your father. 

“Work’s never that important.” The words slip past your mouth before realizing it.

Jeongguk isn’t afraid to voice his response too, seemingly prepared for your judgment. 

“Easy for you to say.” His eyes narrow. “Some people aren’t afforded breaks.”

You take another bite of the olives, hoping the flavor would conceal the shame. The invisible wall between you and Jeongguk grows higher and thicker, making it impossible to penetrate. You refocus on the task at hand. 

Three hours pass with the sound of birds and ocean in the background — the sounds would have been enough for anyone to relax into their work, but all it does is make you yearn for fun. Makes you think anything might be better than being with the man seated across from you. Which is so unlike you when just a week ago, you’d do just about anything to be closer to him in the office. 

Every five minutes, you have to look at the shoreline and the people enjoying the summer rays. It was a good distraction until the envy sets in.

Another deep sigh.

“Go.”

“Huh?” You look up from your laptop. 

“I have access to your document in the shared drive. You won’t be leaving any time soon at the rate you’re moving.” He takes off his glasses, index and thumb pinching and rubbing to relieve himself of any tension. “Go spend some time with Jihyo.”

You almost think it’s a test until he looks at you questioningly for not having moved. You scramble to close out everything after a quick thank you before going back into the cottage to change. You shouldn’t feel guilty as you slip into your swimsuit and cover-up … shouldn’t feel guilty exiting the property, sneaking one final look back at the patio.

You shouldn’t ache the way you do for Jeongguk’s content smile when he nears the lemon tree.

Even Jeon Jeongguk needs breaks too.

You blame the aches from having laid down in the sand for an hour and not at the image of him back at the villa taking on your unfinished work. He made his decision, so why are you still feeling this way? 

“Uncle!” Seojun beams. “You made it.”

At the acknowledgment, you lift your head up and it’s none other than the man who’s plagued your mind since you’ve left the villa. He’s changed into lighter clothing, a short-sleeve button up over his white tank top with some beach shorts. The tight tank top hugs around his figure, ab ridges outlined from his small chuckle. The contraction intensifies when he looks down at you and over your stringy two-piece bikini.

He clears his throat. “Was able to wrap up what I needed to get done for the day.”

“Good.” Seojun replies. “Should enjoy our time while we can.”

Jeongguk’s face falls; immediately, the moment’s swept away when Jihyo calls for Seojun to help her take pictures. 

The older male settles next to you, mindful to not kick up any sand in the process. The couple eventually go to get some refreshments, leaving both you and Jeongguk under the rays of the sun.

He doesn’t say much … actually, he doesn’t say anything as he stares out to the bluest waters. 

“Thank you, Jeongguk.” You say. “You didn’t have to.”

You wonder if your father had acted the same at work, taking on additional workload he didn’t necessarily have to at the expense of missing out on moments in your life.

Jeongguk isn’t your father. He didn’t have obligations to you. Didn’t need to sacrifice his own time for your sake.

The center of a candy was usually the sweetest — perhaps if you keep at it, you’ll discover more of Jeongguk’s sweetness too. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Being around Jeongguk has been a tad more tangible now that you’ve spent a few hours together the next couple of days working in the morning, ending the nights over dinner with the couple. 

The next evening, Jihyo has you all crammed in a kitchen for a cooking lesson with a private chef. You’re on garlic peeling duties with Jeongguk, fingers sticky from the essence of the individual cloves, so sure this scent was going to linger on your skin.

Jeongguk remains unaffected, diligently peeling away. At the sight of you rubbing your sticky fingers together, he chuckles.

“Just wash your hands in between.”

The advice works. While you’ve barely peeled half a clove, Jeongguk was already on his second. 

“Did you have ‘pro-garlic peeler’ on your resume?” You try teasing.

He pauses, a small smile on his lips as he continues peeling the cloves.

“My sister had me on garlic peeling duties whenever we cooked.”

As far as you’re aware from Jihyo, the topic of Seojun’s mother was unspoken … only knowing she passed when he was very young. 

You work a little harder peeling the leftover cloves, running your hands under the faucet to rid yourself of the stickiness. The stickiness retained in your chest whenever Jeongguk peers over at your pile of perfectly peeled garlic. It’s retained throughout dinner and the glasses of wine served during and after a meal, following you as the group takes a walk on the beach the night before the rest of the wedding party was scheduled to meet for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.

Jihyo yawns and announces she’ll head back to the villa to rest. Naturally, Seojun follows along. You expect Jeongguk to do the same, but he sits on the brick wall staring out at the beach.

You tuck your hair behind your ear and a strong, pungent scent greets you. Hand discreetly at the front of your face, you sniff.

“The smell doesn’t leave for a bit.” Jeongguk says. “My sister always recommended lemon juice and a little bit of soap.” 

“Have you tried it?” You ask, tucking your hands underneath you to hide the excitement of Jeongguk initiating a conversation with you. 

He shakes his head, “I like the smell of garlic.”

Be it from the glasses of wine served over dinner, you’re bolder as you ask about his sister. And he’s just as loose-lipped as he recalls memories of her. You learned she was four years older than Jeongguk, her first job was at their aunt and uncle’s convenience store, and they were ultimately left to fend for themselves the moment she had Seojun at eighteen.

Every story, small chuckle, and silence of the memory of his sister only softens the hard, jagged edges around Jeongguk.

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was,” he concedes, “Would’ve loved Italy too.” He speaks into the sea-salted air. He leans back, hands anchoring himself up as he looks up at the clear night sky. “Maybe give her son an earful about marrying too early.” She’d know firsthand how she lost out on her own developmental years as a result of having Seojun early with a man that wanted no part in fatherhood. Though, a small part of Jeongguk knows his sister would’ve adored Jihyo.

Back at the villa’s garden, you make a quick detour to the lemon tree, picking one from the bottom branches.

The lemon doesn’t get used quite yet when you both enter into the stuffy cottage. You and Jeongguk reopen all the windows to let some fresh air in.

You eye the unopened wine bottle — the night’s gone too well to end like this. Lemon placed on the counter, it’s spared and unscathed for the time being as you pop off the cork. 

Wordlessly, you pour and slide the glass over to a receptive Jeongguk.

One glass turns to three over the course of the night. The alcohol loosens the year’s worth of work tension, eyes blinking slowly as he swirls the glass around.

“Do you plan to stay with the company until retirement?” You ask.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If I have to keep overseeing project leads who can’t make their deadlines.”

Had you both been less drunk and not seated on the high stools of this lovely cottage in Sicily, you’d be more offended. Eyes bemused and lips curved at your exaggerated gasp, Jeongguk brings the glass of wine to his mouth, red staining and deepening the natural shade of pink on his lips.

You’ll take this. It’s a development in comparison to what you’ve experienced in working with the company … not to mention the ride on the gondola. You like this Jeongguk. Where he isn’t going on a tangent about deliverables and Key Performance Indicators.

“What about you?” He asks.

You swallow the last of the wine in your glass. “I’m not sure.”

Honestly, you thought you’d be at another place of employment after your one year anniversary at the company. Yet, you’re still here.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Answered like a person with one foot out the door.” He shrugs.

“I don’t mind the company.” You pout.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re young. There’s more out there.”

“You’re staying.”

“Never said I was.”

Wait … you hadn’t accounted for the fact of Jeongguk leaving one day. He has so much more years of experience than you, so having a promotion elsewhere would be a cake walk. One of your incentives to stay might disappear one day without warning and it frightens you. 

“The benefits are nice.” You reason. “It’s worth staying for.”

“The benefits are standard. Hm.” He purses his lips. Then, an expression you’ve never once witnessed stretches across his face. “That hot manager Jihyo mentioned can’t be enough incentive to stay.”

“She’s lucky she’s my best friend.” You groan. 

He laughs through his nose, “You’ll know if a company is worth staying for. Don’t be afraid to venture out.”

Friends and family have often told you to look for a higher paying job after every promotion — never concerned whether you’re content with where you’re at.

You find it hard to believe just a couple days ago, Jeongguk was grilling you for being a nepo-baby, and now he’s mentoring you over wine. You take in his words, letting them swirl in your mind before shaking away thoughts of the future. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nods, taking another small sip, “If only Seojun listened more like that. That brat.” He lowers his head with a fond smile, orbs glimmering like the wine glass caught in the light.

You should hold off from asking any overbearing questions and end tonight on a high note, but that just wasn’t your style.

“Do you not support their marriage?”

“It’s unfavorable.” He sighs. “I’m sure Jihyo’s nice—”

“She is.” You interrupt.

“But she’s reckless and so is my nephew. They didn’t think this through.” A pause. “Doing things out of love only gets you so far.”

If life wasn’t about love, then what could it possibly be about?

He chuckles and mumbles to himself, “She’s too much like her.”

“Huh? Who?” Your brows scrunch from the cryptic words, trying to decipher who he was referring to. Foolish of you to think he’d answer as he gets up and empties his glass of wine into the sink, eyes locked on the counter where the lemon resides.

You were going to ask if he’d like to use the lemon too; though, he beats you to your question when he tucks in the stool.

“Get some rest, we have a long day tomorrow.”

You exert all your energy into the lemon, squeezing and wringing out the halved fruit to distract you of the confusion. Have you pushed for too much? Were you out of line wanting to know more about Jeongguk? You hope the lingering thoughts of your cottage mate disappears with the garlic stench after a thorough soak. 

After your shower, you take one last peek at his door and the light emitting from the small slit persists even through the late hours. Was he still working or also plagued with the thoughts of tonight’s conversation?

It’s a little past midnight when you emerge into the kitchen again to get a glass of water only to notice a slightly ajar front door.

101 Dumb Ways to Die would commend you and your efforts to close the door. Your fingers touch the doorknob, ready to twist and secure the locks. 

You die a little inside when you spot a figure outside near the lemon tree.

Jeongguk. 

He sits there, staring at his hands before he lifts one of them up to his face. A small sniff, then his hand falls onto his lap again.

You lean against a nearby wall, hand clutching the glass of water close to your chest.

He bends down from his seated position and grabs a fallen lemon, uncaring if it came from the top or the bottom branch. Suddenly, he stands up and makes his way back to the cottage again.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, scrambling to go back to your room but your foot catches onto your other ankle and you’re sent flying to the floor with the glass of water held close to your chest to brace the fall and potential damage.

Aside from a wet shirt and the bruise forming on your knee, the glass was still intact. What wasn’t intact was your pride as Jeongguk opens the door to find you laying on your side.

His eyes widen, immediately crouching down to check your conditions. “Are you okay?” 

You could fake an episode of sleepwalking and walk back to your room, wet shirt and all, but then you’ll be labeled as the colleague who sleepwalks.

“Oof,” You grab his extended hand, the one without the lemon, and pull yourself up to a sitting position. “Y-yeah, um, just wanted some water.” You peer down at the pool of water around you and flush harder.

He grabs a nearby cloth to clean up the mess and when he’s done, he holds his hand out again, “Can you stand?”

You nod, hand engulfed in his warmth as he tugs you up along with him. You walk stiffly next to him and thank him after he hands you a spare towel in the kitchen. 

You should return to your room to nurse your broken pride; yet, your feet stay planted as Jeongguk gets out the cutting board.

“Oh, there’s still half a lemon in the fridge.” 

Nodding, he retrieves the lemon and he squeezes the sliced half with ease. He dips his fingers in first, spreading the juice all over his hands and in between the crevices just as you did. You watch his fingers spread the juices all over the top of his veiny hands, light from the kitchen emulating the glisten on his skin.

A tingly sensation starts at your fingertips and you clench your fists tightly before it travels up your arms, unsure why your body is reacting at the simple act.

God, did you hit your head on something during the fall? 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your daze.

You blink, body automatically moving around to check for any soreness. High knees in place and a twist to your side, you confirm your health condition. You do one last stretch, intertwining your fingers and reaching up to the ceiling.

All’s well, so it seems.

Actually, no.

The action lifts your camisole, exposing the lower half of your stomach. Jeongguk’s gaze dips to your full hips and areas where the sun can’t fully reach. 

“Yeah, all good.” You swallow, arms coming down and holding your hands behind your back.

Lights shut off, you and Jeongguk make your way back to your bedrooms, steps heavier as you near your door. 

Suddenly, your hand reaches out, weak fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looks down at you with a raised brow, unmoving, so you tighten your grip around him. 

“I saw you outside.” You confess, voice small and hesitant. “Are you okay?”

Jeongguk didn’t owe you an answer. But after all the time spent leading up to this moment, you think something should’ve changed by now. 

His jaw clenches, eyes swirling with a mixture of uncertainty and discomfort as he considers the option of being honest.

He purses his lips and shakes his head no. 

Be it your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe or your innate desire to fix a troubled man, your fingers tighten around his wrist.

“Is there something I can do–” The latter part of your question gets cut short at another shake of his head. 

Your default solution is to deflect and lessen the embarrassment with cynicalism and a humorless laugh. “I know you hate me and all–”

He laughs, too — the dullness masking the irritability behind your unfinished statement.

“I don’t hate you.” He pauses and ponders his next words. “Whatever I’m going through right now has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

Maybe … if you do make it about you, Jeongguk might forget about his bigger worries. The day has gone so well and all your effort’s about to be undone with what you do next. You step closer, gleaning at his reaction and any indication of his repulsion from your proximity.

“If we didn’t work at the same company, how would you feel about me then?” You ask.

His stare darkens. Pattern recognition from all the other fleeting moments in Italy only pushes you to do something you’d never have the courage to in a professional environment where you’d both break all code of conduct. 

What happens in Italy, stays in Italy … right?

“We’d get along.” You answer for him.

“We’d be strangers.” He corrects. “I don’t need twenty year old friends listening to my problems.”

Good thing you’re not twenty and good thing you don’t want to be friends with Jeongguk. In the span of this conversation, you and Jeongguk now share the same air and warmth as you press your front to his hard chest. He doesn’t pull away from your softness whether it be through the silky camisole, your nature, or exposed skin … he lets himself soak in what you offer him.

And when you tip-toe closer to his face, he doesn’t move, allowing you to do as you like despite all signs in his head telling him to turn you away.

“We’d get along.” You repeat, eyes bold and hopeful as you stare into his hooded ones. “You’d let me help you forget about your problems.”

Cause you’d create new ones for Jeon Jeongguk as you press your lips to his. 

The original hold you had on his wrist ceases as your nimble fingers find refuge on the ends of his cotton shirt. Your thighs tense from the vibrations of his small groan, the pleasure pangs intensifying when his hands cup your jaw. Lips soft and so rightfully slotted on yours, your eyes flutter shut and embrace the abundant hues of yellow and green similar to the villa’s lemon tree. 

The crisp citrus scent from his fingers warms and melts you further into his lips. He parts his mouth slightly, and for a moment, just a moment … you hope he’d run his tongue on yours.

Your hope gets wringed out like the used lemons residing in the wastebin the exact moment he says your name and pulls away, chest moving in tandem with his strained breaths. 

“This isn’t right.” He breathes, swallowing as he steps back to create some space between your bodies.

“I–”

“Goodnight.”

His door shuts, no different than how he shuts you out of the life you hoped to get a better glimpse of. Your fingers trace your lips, remembering how he felt against you before he took everything including your pride with him. You also shut your door, only bringing humiliation and rejection back in with you.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

You barely slept. 

Instead, you chose to put in the extra work you needed to meet your deliverables for your client. You locked yourself in the bedroom — rather brave through the shitty internet connection until it was time to meet up with the rest of the bridal party who arrived last night.  

“So,” Yebin starts, “I hear the best man is a hottie and you’re staying in the same cottage as him?”

You splutter into your drink, quickly grabbing the napkin on your lap to dab away the cascading liquid on your chin.

“Uh, wha–”

“Jihyo mentioned it in the group chat. What? Been too busy with him to catch up in the thread?” She wiggles her brows with a playful grin.

You push your body forward to give Jihyo a tiny glare. She sits prettily at the top of the table, the only person wearing white while the rest of you were in different variations of yellow to match the wedding theme.

“What?” She says with a mouthful. “He is objectively handsome. Not a surprise, I mean, look at my Seojun.”

“Isn’t he in his forties?” Another one of the girls asks.

“Thirty-seven.” Jihyo corrects. “We celebrated his birthday recently.”

“Basically forty.” Yebin retorts and turns back to you. “So what’s he like?”

You’re thankful for the soft breeze in the midst of Italy’s humid summer — helps you cool the sweat sitting uncomfortably on your skin, both from the rising afternoon temperatures and last night’s memories. 

“He’s … fine.” You pause and try to come up with other adjectives to better describe him, ultimately coming short and resorting to a foolproof excuse. “We haven’t really spoken.”

“Oh, please. Aside from his nephew, Jeongguk’s more friendly with you than he has been to me.”

Yeah, ‘cause you also work in the same building as him forty hours a week for the past year, but no one here needs to know that. The conversation eventually shifts over to Jihyo’s wedding itinerary, makeup and hair plans, and what the other girls plan to do after the wedding dinner rehearsal. You enjoyed your time in the smaller group, but you also valued the community the other girls brought in this part of the trip. You visit the nearby boutiques, splurge on things you could most definitely find back at home, because … when were you going to be in Italy with your girls again?

“Remember, be there at 8 p.m. The venue’s gates close five minutes after.” Jihyo reminds.

“Yes, ma’am. Got it marked down in our calendars.” Yebin yawns, still slightly jetlagged and ready for a much needed nap after the day’s festivities. You and Jihyo drop off the girls at the front of their hotel and begin the walk back to the villa. Would’ve been quicker to take a cab, but Jihyo wanted to walk off her second gelato and you didn’t mind not being in the same vicinity as your cottage mate all that soon.

“You nervous for tomorrow?” You ask, steps slowing as you both near the villa.

“No,” she smiles fondly at a passing thought. “But I am anxious for the future. Don’t know how long it’ll be till my parents want to talk to me.”

You’ve thought about the times you’ve fought with your parents — nothing as big as marrying someone they didn’t approve of. Hopefully Jihyo’s parents will come around. Love, from a parent at least, should be unconditional. 

She reads your thoughts with a chuckle and nudge to your shoulder. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s me and Seojun against the world.”

“They’ll come around.” You reassure. “You also have your friends too, so you’re never alone.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“And then, the maid of honor and best man will walk here.” Violetta, the wedding planner, points down the long stretch to the altar. 

She looks over to the group, trying to single out the girl with that title since Jeongguk was the only male aside from the groom. You step out, having avoided Jeongguk all day with the wedding party, there are just some things you can’t avoid.

You avoid looking at the older man, keeping your stares locked on the wedding planner and aisle markings.

“Oh, to be maid of honor.” Yebin mumbles jokingly and the group of girls erupt into a small fit of giggles.

Jeongguk pays no mind and extends his arm for you to hold. Practice. Yes, this was still a rehearsal. You might’ve imagined his tense inhale as you press your body closer, breast pushing against his arm to see if the action could produce a similar sound or reaction.

Nothing.

After the rehearsal, you and Jeongguk still avoid each other like the plague, unwilling to address the elephant in the room. You try to sleep, tossing and turning all night until you made the executive decision for some much needed fresh air.

Part of you worries Jeongguk might also be outside, claiming the lemon tree as his area of respite. Can’t be his if you claimed it first. Unfortunately, the spot was occupied … not by him at least.

Pulling the metal chair, Seojun looks up, startled, but relaxes at the sight of a familiar face.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks.

“Yeah. Too stuffy in the cottage.” You lie, unwilling to admit the actual source of your unrest. “You?”

“Yeah.” He looks into the distance, worries swirling in his orbs. “I think my uncle’s right.”

Your brows pull together, head tilting in confusion.

“We’re too rash. Jihyo’s parents might never speak to her again and it’s all my fault. And I,” Seojun begins to crumble at the weight of his realization. “I don’t know if I’m enough for her to lose everything.”

You know more than anyone that there are some things money and power can’t buy. Jihyo wasn’t risking anything because Seojun was everything. Because if life wasn’t about love, then what was it about?

“You’re enough for Jihyo.”

“Uncle said–”

“Screw what Jeongguk thinks.” You interrupt, gasping at your sudden abrasiveness. “Wait, I don’t mean any offense to your uncle …”

His laugh could’ve woken up the entire villa, but you’re thankful to see this side of him in comparison to how he was a moment ago. 

“No, no,” he chuckles, “I know he’s not the most likeable person.”

“He’s not … awful.”

Seojun nods, tilting his head down to conceal a tender smile you’ve witnessed whenever he was around Jihyo — now you understand those were reserved for his loved ones. “He used to be different … lighter, does that even make sense?”

You agree, waiting for Seojun’s next words.

“Uncle was fun.” You learn how Jeongguk would take little Seojun to the zoo every year because his mother would be too busy with work, along with the late night video game sessions he would partake in despite his busy university schedule.

“He was in his second year of university preparing to study abroad … I don’t know much, but something didn’t work out and another student was chosen instead of him. Mom worked hard so that she could support uncle and his dreams.”

“Worked too hard — damn workaholics.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know he means well not wanting me to rush into things without a proper safety net.”

You think back to a younger Jeongguk navigating life alone with a young child … he couldn’t have been any older than you — a baby raising another baby with no one to turn to.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Seojun shakes away some thoughts, “I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. I’m sure you’re tired–”

“No, no,” You wave your hands. “I don’t mind. You’re marrying my best friend and whether her family or Jeongguk approves, it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen how happy you make her — how relaxed she is around you.” You offer a warm and comforting smile to which Seojun returns at the mention of your friend. “We’re both in this for Jihyo’s happiness. You deserve to be happy too.” 

“Yeah, we do.” He replies, shoulders sagging in relief.

You linger outside a little longer after Seojun’s departure, begrudgingly going back into the cottage. Before entering your room, you take one look at Jeongguk’s room, noting the small sliver of light from underneath his door.

You remember all the late nights waiting for your father’s lights to turn off … wondering when you’d be enough for his attention. And as you shut your door to your room, you hope that was enough to garner Jeongguk’s attention too. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Jihyo loved everything about yellow. Loved the song by Coldplay and loved her flowers yellow — thinks she saw yellow when she met Seojun. Her bridesmaid dresses had to be yellow, as with everything in the wedding.

You see yellow everywhere too: the sand in the distance, wedding favors in the form of bagged perle di sole candies, and the boutonniere pinned on the left side of Jeongguk’s vest.

Yellow blurs around you during the ceremony, tearful gazes exchanged with the other bridesmaids. 

Jihyo had always centered her world around her friendships — no man has ever been enough to pull her away from that value. Though, as she stands across from Seojun, her hands in his, it seemed as though nothing could’ve pried them apart from each other’s gravitational pulls. Your eyes peer over the wedding attendees, taking in their expectant stares and proud smiles — even Jeongguk seemed to have softened at the sight. 

When it was time for the vows, you hand them over to Jihyo from behind, who took them without turning around, eyes still locked onto her soon-to-be husband.

She takes a steadying breath before speaking: “Seojun. These past years with you have been the happiest of my life. I could’ve never imagined meeting anyone like you. Now, I won’t call you my best friend, because that spot is taken and I think my lovely maid of honor might have some things to say about that–” The wedding party sounded a collective chuckle. You smile to yourself, eyes instinctively finding Jeongguk’s, who had already been looking your way in confirmation of your title.

“But I’m so happy to have found you, that I’m able to call you my friend, lover, and now, husband. I know a lot of people thought we were rushing into this, and they might be right. It is early, but I’ve never been as certain about anything as I am about wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Seojun, you are the most wonderful and kindest person — better than I can ever hope to deserve, I love you.” Her voice had become increasingly more unstable as she went and she quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting to ruin her bridal make-up. Seojun wasn’t fairing any better, softly cupping her cheek and kissing her lips, whispering a small gratitude to her.

“Excuse me?” The officiant interrupts. “We’re not quite there yet.” 

Laughing, the pair separates and refocuses their attention back to the ceremony. You turn to your fellow bridesmaids after hearing a quiet sniffle from Yebin. You carefully lean back into her, nudging her shoulder in comfort. 

“Jihyo, you son of a bitch.” The girl mutters, dotting the corner of her eye with a tissue. 

You chuckle, moving back into your position after assessing everyone’s conditions.

When you find the confidence to check on Jeongguk, he’s just as affected and politely turns away from the couple to hide his emotions.

At the wedding reception, you watch Jihyo and her husband dance to every song on their playlist, joined by their guests, eventually being the last ones standing as the night progresses. The ache on the soles of your feet grow by the hour, and you find yourself sitting alone, nursing your drink and watching your best friend soak in happiness.

Yellow persists in the form of strung lights on the small dance floor. Though, a new opponent, green, enters when you catch some wedding guests approaching an unsuspecting Jeongguk.

As the maid of honor, you should stay for the night even if it’s nearing 2 a.m. Selfishly, you can’t bring yourself to. You tell Jihyo you’re not feeling well and that you’re going to walk back to the cottage to rest. She looks at you with concern, but she nods and asks you to text her once you’ve made it back.

Ten steps out the venue, you hear some whistles and chuckles. Shit. You walk quicker and a slimy hand wraps around your wrist.

The men smile at you, saying something you can’t really decipher. If all fails after your persistent ignorance to the Italian language, your heels make an excellent weapon of defense.

“C'è un problema?” A familiar voice says in the distance.

Immediately, the man releases your wrist and holds his hands up. The group of men shuffles away, mumbling to themselves as they look back at your savior.

“You okay?” Jeongguk asks.

“Yep.” You answer quickly, steps resuming in the direction of the villa.

Jeongguk follows closely behind you, silent as he has been all night.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the bride? Maid of honor duties.”

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the groom? Best man duties.” You retort with no malice.

“Touché.” He contemplates his next words. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

Your brows furrow, and an immature part of you assumes you’re the reason for his early departure. He quickly follows up with, “There’s a fire I have to put out at work.”

The bitter memories of your father leaving for work resurfaces again. Would it be so awful to not think about work and be with his loved ones?

You wave off those feelings and express your gratitude instead. “Thanks for helping me back there. You never mentioned knowing Italian.”

Would’ve come in handy during the ample times you all had to order food, but this was not the right moment to joke. 

“Studied some basic phrases before going abroad. Didn’t end up in Italy though.”

You freeze a little, remembering the small detail Seojun mentioned the night before about Jeongguk’s missed opportunity. 

Silence takes over and continues even as you both face your bedroom doors.

“Jeongguk.” You say, before he enters his room. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t impact our work. Please forget it happened — I’m truly ashamed and sorry.”

He nods, jaw clenched and tense. 

“Have a safe flight home. See you in the office.” No other words are needed in your retreat back into your room.

The knot at the back of your neck strains and you can’t wait to finally shed your makeup, tight bun, and dress.

You [2:18 a.m.]: Made it to the cottage 💛 Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: GOOD Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: JEONGGU SAI HES HEDIN TO COTT TO Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: ILY Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: im drun

You smile at your phone, typing a quick reply and before you hit enter, you hear a knock on your door.

Door swung open, your eyes widen at the sight of Jeongguk, tie loose around his neck and hair tussled as if he ruminated for an eternity before knocking your door.

“It’s been nice with you in Italy.” His arm from behind comes to the front with a small object. You remember it from your last day in Venice: the green masquerade mask. “Safe travels home.”

You take the little green mask in your hands, frown deepening at the sentiment.

“Why would you get this for me?” You ask.

His tongue probes against his cheek, eyes coming down to look at your figure in your yellow halter dress. The same fleeting stares you’ve grown accustomed to in the time spent in Italy, unaware these glances have always existed without your knowledge back at home. He laughs through his nose and shakes his head.

He brings his eyes back to your face. “You’re a smart girl, graduated with honors and all … so think a little harder for me.”

You shake your head, afraid of the aftermath of another wrong move that could jeopardize your heart.

“I don’t know if I can …”

Leaders take initiative — you’re nowhere near that point in your career and life. Jeongguk recognizes this too, which is why he walks you backwards into the room. His fingers trace the intricate beadings on the mask still in your hands.

“Here, we’re just two people who met through the people we love. No roles or responsibilities. I only know you as Jihyo’s friend. You’re just … you, and I’m just Jeongguk.”

“And who are you, Jeongguk?” You place the mask onto a nearby dresser, eyes never leaving the man in front of you.

He looks down at you again, a type of stare only capable of burning and tainting every inch of your being. He’s afraid to admit who he really is — what he actually wants, knowing he can’t fully have even if it was ready for him to take. Though, with only a couple hours to spare in Italy, he wants to use what little time he has on an experience he would never let himself indulge in back at home.

It’s what vacations are meant for, right?

“Someone that wants your help. Someone that wants to finish what you started two nights ago.” He answers.

It doesn’t make sense with you — he doesn’t make sense with you just like when he leans down to press his lips on yours. The kiss is punishing, no colors of yellow like the kiss from two nights ago. Yellow is only meant for lovers and Jeongguk is no lover. Would be the only logical reason you’d now see black and blue  — colors of old bruises and wounds left unattended for too long, and Jeongguk has far too many to count. 

“Fuck,” He says in between kisses, shrugging off his vest, “Tell me to stop.”

You whimper, shaking your head and looping your arms over his neck to bring him closer. He pushes his tongue past your lips, savoring the way you moan around and suck on his wet muscle. 

The only thing that makes sense is how your dress, the only yellow left, needs to come off. Your hands move behind your neck to undo the tight knot, letting the top fall down your front. Taking Jeongguk’s large hands, you take note of their softness, like sand — so malleable and so much harder to hold. You place them on your breasts instead. 

He groans, the sound so painful and full of want to give into his desires.

“This can’t mean anything.” He says through a harsh breath. “You know that, right?”

“It’s okay.” You reply, moaning again as the pressure from his hands increases. “I’m … I’m okay with that.”

You’re not and Jeongguk knows this too. He’s aware of the subtle glances in the time he’s worked with you, your shift in demeanor when he enters a room, and how your eyes search for his approval when none was ever needed. He knows you won’t be okay with this just being a one night stand or quick fuck, but it has to be because you and Jeongguk don’t make sense.

Not under the dull fluorescent lights of the company building, not in Italy.

His teeth grazes your skin, leaving a trail of pain and pleasure behind its wake. You quiver and his body presses harder against yours in panic that if he leaves any space in between, the distance would only grow should he second-guess. 

Dress bunched up at your midsection, he turns you away, eyes immediately landing where your mistake from your teenage years resided right above your pert ass. 

Was this going to be another mistake too?

Your hands brace yourself on the dresser, arching from his hand tracing down your back and down your ass. He pauses and waits for your nod to proceed. Palm up, he runs his hand over the pathetic cloth you’d call your underwear now completely soaked through and scrunched to the side of your pussy.

He sucks in a breath, “Kissing gets you like this, hm?”

You shudder, praying he eventually moves. His middle finger probes gently at your sodden folds, gathering your arousal. He stays doing this for a couple minutes, listening to your soft sighs, wondering when you’d begin to beg for him to continue.

And when you don’t ask for more, it aggravates him realizing he’s the one who needs more out of something that’s supposed to be meaningless. As the older adult, he should be the gentleman with better restraint, but he’s here in your room seeking something he can’t find anywhere else:

A distraction from all the buried guilt and pain — for once, he wants to win.

He somehow gets you perched on the dresser, head between your thighs as he eats you out both as a punishment and reward. The bottom half of your dress hangs over the side of your hips, thighs spread wide open as Jeongguk thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

He knows this is just sex … worse that you’re a younger colleague whom he has vehemently denied his attractions for. But he’s here in Italy where he’s tasted olives, rinsed his memories of past loved ones with citrus … he should enjoy this trip — enjoy you. Because when was Jeongguk going to be in Italy again fucking you in a shared cottage?

“Jeong–fuck, m-yeah, right there.” You cheer, fingers carding through his hair.

Your encouragement only spurs him on to work harder, lapping over your swollen clit until you tense and cease all noise in concentration for the impending orgasm. It’s all over when you fight his hold and win the battle with your legs clamped tightly around his head. You cum with a small sob, thighs shaking around him as he continues to eat you out.

He replaces his tongue with two fingers, lazily pumping his digits in you while he kisses your lips with the taste of you still on his tongue. Meanwhile, you fumble clumsily with his buttons and zipper, jaded by how much you want him.

He’s just as eager, moaning and grinding his cock into your hand when you’ve finally freed him of his confinements. 

Hoisting you in his arms, he brings you to the edge of your bed, groaning at how you automatically spread wider on the softer surface. So ready for him to do more with you until he realizes:

“Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

You hold yourself up with your forearms, legs still spread wide open for him despite his hesitance to move forward. His teeth sink onto his bottom lip, troubled dimples appearing as he stares at your glistening pussy clenching around nothing. 

“I’m on birth control.” You assure and add, “You can pull out if you want.”

What’s another bad idea added into the pile?

He strokes over his length, squeezing harder at the tip and lines himself up. You whine and circle your hips from the hard poke at your entrance, arousal coating his bare cock. He doesn’t push himself in just yet, watching as a bead of precum smears at your opening … a silent territorial marking. 

You’re his for tonight.

His thumb lands on your clit, rubbing it up and down. You keen, eyes shutting to concentrate on the added stimulation around the bundle of nerves.

“You’ve always been too rash on your decisions.” He pushes the tip of his cock into you, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. “Gotta work on that.” As if he’s not about to make an irrevocable mistake himself.

“High risk, high rewards … r-right?” You stammer through a shaky breath as he pushes more of him into you, uncaring that there’d been little to no prep. But that doesn’t matter, all your fantasies were coming true at this very moment and you’ll take whatever he gives you.

He gives you two more orgasms. One with your ankles by his ears. The other one where you lay on your side, memorizing the way his fingers dig into your skin as he pumps his thick shaft into you. You hike your knee closer to your chest to allow him to sink even deeper into you, hitting a specific spot repeatedly to burn figments of stars behind your lids.

The room’s hot and musty — didn’t help that neither of you remembered to air out the cottage upon arrival, but no one cared about that at the moment. Your sweat gathers behind your knees and drips down the slope of your thighs as Jeongguk continues fucking you into the mattress with an intense need.

“Gonna cum.” He announces, jaw going slack as his balls grow heavy with the need to release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Want you to cum for me.” You nod, and the slapping of his skin on yours grows as he moves quicker and harder. 

You moan, brows scrunched in anticipation for Jeongguk to pull out and the feeling of being stuffed full by him will cease all together. And through your past experiences with other men, sex typically ends once they cum, so you ready yourself for the mirage to end — ready yourself to face reality again. Your lower half relaxes, waiting for him to turn your body so that he could unload everything on your stomach.

Two things happen.

He pushes deep inside you, stilling as he fills you with his arousal.

Hands soft as sand, cradle your jaw for a searing kiss to conceal words he shouldn’t utter to a colleague, let alone a direct report.

Minutes pass like this and you come to find out: sex doesn’t stop when Jeongguk finishes inside you.

He lays down next to you and hoists your body on top of his, movements swift in slipping his sensitive cock back into your cum-filled hole. He hisses, fighting through the overstimulation in acceptance of the punishment for all the terrible acts he’s committed with you. Again, both a punishment and a reward as he lets you ride him, watching the way your hips roll smoothly over his. Your mixed juices trail down his length and over his balls the more you move and bounce.

He doesn’t tell you to give him another orgasm, knowing you’re working hard to get there again. 

“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna do this with you all night long.” Your breath hitches as the pleasure shifts into a type of pain no one can see. And no matter how you try to fight the physical effects of the hardest orgasm of your life, your body gives into the exhaustion and slumps over Jeongguk’s sweaty body.

In your slumber, you feel the sand, the breeze, and the absence of another human body. The next morning only proves your reality when you wake up clothed and sore from last night’s affair … with Jeongguk nowhere in sight.

You frown, tucking the sheets closer to your chin and watching the tree branches scrape against your opened window. The air in the room was no longer stuffy, ridding any evidence of what you and Jeongguk did.

Summers in Italy were magical. 

Though, the fact stands: magic was nothing but illusions, deluding you from the truth. And you feigned indifference when Jihyo tells you Jeongguk had gone home for an important project — you ignored the hurt and betrayal. You had never been enough for your father to come home, so it was easy to turn a blind eye at the heaviness in your stomach from the thoughts of hoping you’d be enough to make Jeongguk stay.

Another couple of days in Italy go by with those illusions till the truth sets in the day you return to work.

A couple coworkers stop you on the way to your cubicle, asking you for a trip recap. Your debrief takes longer as intended — half due to wanting to avoid work and the other half as a result of your efforts to leave out key details of a certain someone. 

You could’ve taken another path to your desk — one that kept you from the usual ajar door. Perhaps the magic followed you back home and you’ve alluded to think Jeongguk’s stares trail after your figure when you walked past his office.

The magical illusions continue as you settle into your cube, a bright yellow sticky note on your keyboard with a familiar handwriting reads: Lunch at Romano’s. - J

Even if the center of the candy happened to be sour, you have to see through it — you want to see through it.

fin.

a/n: missed me? cuz i’ve been missenU. ahh, ahh?? 🥹 i’ll see yall in about 1-2 months with something new! in the meantime, go send your well wishes to the bday girlie!! toodles ♡

also s/o to my bestie @takeitawaykenny for beta’ing!! love ya pookie

┈┈┈┈ 「 moodboards 」

Reader/Pixie

Jeon Jungkook - alternatively

Additional

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┈┈┈┈ 「 musings 」

itf breakdown/makings

beta comments

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analysis 1 // analysis 2 // analysis 3

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note: i wish i could include every feedback but the list would be endless. just know that i love you all IMMENSELY and your engagement with this series is so precious to me. i reread my asks, reblogs, and comment sections whenever i wanna do away with writing 🥺🫂 your reviews are forever cherished ♡

"I'm here to see my children."

The air inside the hallway crackles and it had nothing to do with the cold winter air. One hand on the doorframe, your other fiddles with the keys as you survey the woman in front of you. It would be a lie to say that you hadn't imagined what the children's mother might look like — the woman who held Jungkook's affections for so long. 

This was not what you had expected. Her frazzled appearance, the nervous edge to her every breath as her eyes continued to dart toward the driveway, almost like she was expecting someone to turn up. Her arms tighten across her torso and her attention flickers back to you, "Can I come in?" 

You could tell that she was anxious to get inside and your heart aches when you thought of how cold she must be where she stands. But your concern is not loud enough to quiet the underlying suspicion that settles in your stomach. Something was wrong. How could you trust that she is who she claims to be? Was letting a stranger inside a house that wasn't even yours such a good idea? 

Another minute passes and the woman on the front porch grows increasingly agitated with each second, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Empathy wins out in the end and you give her a reluctant nod as you step aside, "Sure. Come in." 

She doesn't hesitate when granted permission — hurrying past you without as much as thanking you. Luckily she ventures no further than the dresser, studying the tidy space as though she was seeing it for the first time. 

The front door shuts behind you once more and you turn to her with an awkward but friendly smiles. "You can put your shoes right here," you gesture toward the shoe rack. 

"Oh," the woman blinks, like she had just remembered the ragged sneakers on her feet. She pulls them off with trembling hands, setting them alongside your own newly bought ones. When she straightens up she immediately loops back to what she had come here for. "Where are the children?" she turns to glance over her shoulder, "Upstairs?" 

Your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, blood rushing to the tips of your fingers as you swallow. Shit. You had completely forgotten about Cassian and Rayne who'd gone to retrieve his beloved Frank. The sound of their footsteps were now echoing down the hall above you, undoubtedly headed back to the bottom floor. 

"How about…" your hand finds her elbow, and the woman jumps slightly, "You wait in the living room and I bring them?" 

She frowns at that, lips parting with an objection she never voices out loud. Then she turns and heads down the hall toward the living room — clearly familiar with the layout of the house, which only further unsettled you. 

The moment she's out of sight you jolt into action, moving for the staircase as fast as your legs would carry you. Climbing two steps at the tine, you haul yourself up only to be stopped halfway as you nearly go crashing into both children, who'd been descending the stairs. 

Cassian was now hugging his beloved dinosaur plushie, their coats buttoned up and ready to go. He makes a confused face when you appear in front of them. His sister stands just in front of him, her gaze dragging across your frame with a raised brow. "Was there someone at the door?" she asks, undoubtedly having heard the voices coming from downstairs just moments ago. 

You hesitate, teeth shredding the inside of your cheek as you think of a plausible explanation. "It was… The postman!" humming softly, "Yeah. He needs a package to be signed, it shouldn't take long." 

Rayne looks far from convinced, her dark eyes flickering to a spot over your shoulder before returning to you. Though before she gets the chance to interrogate you on the matter, you place a firm hand on her arm. "I need you to take your brother upstairs and wait inside your room. Can you do that?"

She doesn't answer to that right away, sending Cassian a quick look before letting her brows furrow deeply. "But it's just the postman—" 

"Do as I say." You cut her off, something you would've never done under different circumstances, and Rayne catches on quickly as the crease on her forehead grows all the more prominent. "Go to your bedroom, close the door and don't come out until I get you, understood?" 

Cassian makes a small disgruntled noise behind his sister but nods in her place, already tugging on her coat sleeve. The latter holds her ground for another ten seconds before letting out a sigh as her shoulders slump. "Okay," she says, turning to lead her brother up the stairs without looking back. 

You watch them take their leave, exhaling the breath that had been trapped within your lungs for the past minute. When heading back downstairs, you do so with a racing heart, approaching the living room as quietly as possible. 

The woman was seated on one of the sofas, her restless hands placed on her lap as she takes in the area silently. You clear your throat, making her twitch in her seat as her head snaps in your direction. "Are they—?" 

"They'll be a minute," you tell her, flashing her the most convincing smile you could muster. She seems to be put at ease by your reassurance, relaxing against the couch ever so slightly with a tilt of her chin. 

She was their mother that much was clear. If not for her eyes that resembled so much of Rayne's, then be it the, now slightly matted, curls her son inherited. Part of you feels guilty for keeping her from her own children — the other doesn't trust her to see them. 

Jungkook had made little notion of her during the three months in which you had been working under his roof. But when he, or the children, did, it was always followed by unspoken tension. You did not know what had happened between them, whatever it was, it had left permanent scars. 

"I never asked your name." 

The woman's sudden question pulls you from your thoughts and you blink. Something about her makes your throat dry up and you barely get the introduction past your lips as you shift by the doorway. 

She doesn't seem to notice the waver to your voice, simply humming to herself. "I'm Yelena." No handshake follows, she doesn't seem to keen on initiating one and neither are you. 

Yelena. 

It feels strange to put a name to the woman you had only been hearing about in short, sporadic bursts. A beautiful name it was. And though she looked… rough, you still imagined her to be a gorgeous woman underneath the eye bags and sickly pale skin. 

Jungkook crosses your mind for the first time since her arrival, his absence had been loud after your last conversation but now it was blaring. You glance down the hall, then back to Yelena who hadn't said another word. "Can I uh, get you anything to drink?"

She turns her attention back to you, it seemed to be straying a lot. "Water," is all she says, not bothering with any pleasantries as she goes back to studying her cuticles. 

You nod, quickly spinning on your heel as you head for the hallway again. Time was sparse and though you hardly believed her to be counting down the seconds, you knew that taking too long would raise suspicion. 

The telephone sitting on the dresser becomes your salvation and you pick it up without hesitation. Next to it sits the sticky note Jungkook had left all those weeks ago, in case you ever needed to get in contact with him whilst watching the kids. You had never called to his office, you'd never needed to. 

And yet here you are, frantically typing in the number with trembling fingers. You bring the phone to your ear as you wait, chewing on the blunt edge of your nail to ease your nerves. 

There's nothing but static to fill the oppressive silence around you and for a long while you think he might not pick up at all. Could you blame him? But then the call connects and you breathe out a sigh of relief as Jungkook's voice comes through on the line. "Hello," his tone is flat, devoid of any emotion at first, but when you don't respond it grows concerned, "Are the children alright?"

Your heart twists in your chest and you throw a glance at the stairs, nodding as though he could see you. "Yeah. For now at least," you murmur, pressing the handset a little closer to your ear as you speak directly into the transmitter, "You need to come back." 

Jungkook sighs, "What?" And you could perfectly picture his brows drawing together across his forehead. 

Sucking in a quiet breath, you dare a peek toward the archway which you had just emerged from, lowering your voice into a whisper, "There's a woman here. She says that she's here to see her children…" You gnaw on your bottom lip, worried that she might come looking for you — or worse, the kids — if you didn't hurry up. "Her name's Yelena." 

The line goes silent. 

You listen for Jungkook, catching only that of his steady breaths, they sound mechanical, like he was forcing each one past his lungs. "Jungkook, did you hear—"

"Did you let her inside?" His voice is cold now, much colder than it had been even during your last conversation — it makes a shill crawl down your spine. "Answer me!" He sounds upset when he repeats himself only a second later, "Did you let her inside the house?" There was a frantic edge to him, and in the background you heard the sound of a briefcase snapping shut. 

You grip the telephone a little tighter as you brace yourself. "Yes," it felt like confessing to a crime, "She's in the living room…" 

"Where are the children?" he asks. 

"Upstairs," you're quick to respond, "They don't know she's here. I told them to wait for me." 

Jungkook exhales on the other end of the line, but he did not sound relieved, "Good. I'm on my way." 

"Okay," you say, adding in a quiet, "Please hurry," before he gets the chance to end the call. He pauses at that — perhaps the waver to your voice or the way it had cracked on the last syllable gave you away. 

"I will." 

The static returns and you're left all alone in the far too big hallway. You stare down at the phone in your hand, clinging onto it even though Jungkook was already gone. Then you remember that Yelena was still waiting for you, and if she hadn't mulled over your absence yet — she was bound to any minute now. 

You return to the living room shortly, this time with a glass of water in hand, only to find the couch where you had left her to be empty. Your pulse jumps in your throat, dread washing over you until you spot her by the fireplace. 

Yelena's fingers were tracing the edge of the mantel clock slowly. "This one is new," she hums, more to herself than anyone else. Her gaze darts across the room and over to the coffee table when you set the glass down, then it continues across the walls behind and around you. "Tapestry is the same." 

She would go on like that for another two minutes, counting each change in the room under her breath. "Not the same pillows, old carpet, brown bookshelves…" Her feet barely make a sound as she pads around the sofa you sit on, and you avoid looking her way as you instead watch your own hands. 

You weren't scared — nervous maybe. She appears harmless but her presence still unsettles you deeply. And Jungkook's reaction certainly hadn't helped. You could only hope he was keeping his word and stepping on the gas to get here. 

The couch in front of you creaks and your attention pivots over to her as she sits down on the cushions opposite you. Even whilst seated, she was moving. Her leg bouncing restlessly, fingers picking at the sleeves of her fleece as her eyes dart around the space despite having examined it closely just now. 

It was impossible not to notice the signs in front of you. The way she kept wetting her lips, reaching for the glass to chug half of it before setting it down again. Her consistent shifting, how she keeps adjusting herself like she couldn't find a comfortable position. 

The fact that she was in some sort of withdrawal was clear — and that made you sweat. 

"Where's Jungkook?" she suddenly asks, her gaze fixating on you for once. 

That was the first time she'd mentioned him, and judging by the way she kept biting her tongue, she was anxious to hear your response. 

"He's at work," you tell her, leaving out the fact that he was currently racing home. You're glad that you did, for Yelena instantly relaxes a fraction, her shoulders slumping as she nods. 

"Ah," she hums, "That's good." Her fingers untangle, coming to rest flat across her knees as she straightens up against the sofa. There's a calculating look in her eyes now, a new sharpness that slices through the dull brown. "How do you know my ex-husband?" 

Your blood runs colder than the air outside and you hope she doesn't notice the way you struggle to take down your next swallow. Never had you wished so intently for Jungkook to just step through the door and spare you of the conversation about to unfold. 

"I uhm—" scratching the back of your neck, you send her a sheepish smile, "I'm the kids' nanny." 

Yelena's brows rise on her forehead, the corner of her lips tugging into a frown that she does little to hide. "A nanny?" She gives you a long once-over, "We've never had a nanny before…" 

You didn't linger on her statement, too caught up in trying to figure out why she was here now. What had compelled her to return after so long? According to Jungkook over a year had passed — so why now? 

But Yelena does not give you time to ponder the matter for long. She's already rising from her seat, brushing her pants with jerky movements as she turns her head in the direction of the archway behind you. "The children are taking long," she says, "Perhaps I should go check on them." 

Without waiting to hear your opinion, she steps forward, intent on heading upstairs herself to see what was prolonging their arrival. You shoot up from the couch, putting yourself in front of her as you exhale a shaky breath. "They'll be down in a minute," you assure her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She was freezing cold. 

Yelena jerks back at the touch, surprise striking her features before it morphs into something almost offended. "I'd like to see my kids," she huffs, trying to move around you toward the stairs. 

You match her stride, blocking her path once more as you give a strained shake of your head. "Let's just sit back—" 

Down the hall, a lock twists, the front door opening a second later. Jungkook was back. Never had you thought you'd be so relieved to hear that sound, especially not given your last talk in his study. Yelena seems to register the newcomer as well, her already pale face draining its last bit of color. 

She sends you a quick accusing glance but the footsteps were already moving down the hall quickly. Jungkook appears in the doorway just then, his dark hair is a mess, strands falling down to meet his brows, which were pulled together deep enough to form one. He pauses when he sees you, eyes landing on your hand resting over her shoulder. 

Yelena is pulled from her trance and she takes a few steps back, leaving your fingers to hover in the air uselessly before they drop to your side. Jungkook pays her little mind, crossing the distance between you in three long strides. His hand brushes your elbow, the touch far too tender for this moment. 

"Are you okay?" he murmurs, loud enough for only you to hear. 

Nodding, you remain silent, not trusting yourself to speak — or take your attention off of his ex-wife who'd gone back to picking at her fleece. Jungkook's gaze stays with you, searching your face and body for any signs of deceit. He exhales, nostrils flaring slightly as he releases you. 

"Go to the children," he instructs and when he reads the hesitation on you, he adds, "Now." 

You did not dare argue with him and without another word you head in the direction he'd just came from, slipping around the corner and savoring a long breath once you're finally out of sight. 

The stairs are right in front of you, Cassian and Rayne waiting just beyond them. You push off the wall you'd been leaning against, taking a step forward when suddenly, Jungkook's voice can be heard from the living room. 

"What are you doing here?" 

His tone is demanding just as it is void of any warmth. But it is the underlying tremor that he cannot hide, that makes you pause. You stand frozen in the middle of the hallway, fingers stretched for the banister but your feet still planted to the carpet. There you find yourself torn between going up to be with the children like you'd been instructed, or to stay where you were, just in case thing escalated. 

"I'm here to see my kids," Yelena follows his question up a moment later, but even she sounds doubtful of her own words. 

There's a sharp scoff — from who? you can't tell, but if you would have to guess, then Jungkook. "You have some audacity to call them yours," he snaps back almost instantly and it is then you make up your mind. 

Abandoning the stairs, you creep back to toward the archway, resting yourself against the wall as you let your head tip against it. Your palms are flat on top of the tapestry and you shift just enough to steal a peek around the doorframe. 

Jungkook stands with his back to you. His shoulders are tense, fingers twitching restlessly by his sides — the way you so rarely saw them do. He hasn't moved since your exit but Yelena has. She was back by the fireplace, caressing the mantel nervously as she avoids his gaze with a held tongue. 

"Don't lie to me," he bitterly adds. The floorboards creak under his weight when he takes a step forward, only to stop himself halfway of reaching for her, regretting the decision again. Though you could not see his facial expression, it wasn't hard to guess that it carried pain. "Over a year," his voice cracks just slightly, "It's been over a year and you haven't even—" 

He cuts himself short, abruptly turning and you quickly duck behind the wall once more, listening to the sound of his pacing. When you finally dare to glance around the corner, he was standing by the window, this time with one shoulder facing you. The tension in his jaw becomes clear now, it doesn't lessen when he rubs a hand over it. 

"You can't just show up here, especially not when I'm at work, you—" he inhales sharply, realization flickering past his eyes, "You weren't even going to tell me you were here, were you?" He sounds disbelieving of himself even as he confirms it, but he's not bothering to hear her out. 

Yelena doesn't deny it either, simply watching the path her hand takes across the mantel. You understood then that she had chosen a time frame in which Jungkook would be out of the house. Her showing up at the front porch was no coincidence but a planned move. It makes your stomach twist. 

"I wanted to see my children," she continues to push her narrative and her gaze moves up to meet his for the first time since her arrival. "But I knew you wouldn't let me." There wasn't an ounce of guilt within her eyes, as though she'd been perfectly content to do something like this without his knowing. 

Jungkook chokes on a strained laugh that's anything but amused. He rubs both palms over his face roughly, nails digging into his forehead as he breathes deeply. "The children?" he echoes between his fingers, "You really think I'll believe that?" His hands return to his sides and he takes a step back, hip bumping against the window sill, though he hardly seems to register it. 

"You," he points in her direction, "Have had all the time in the world to see them but you—" His lips press into a firm line, silencing whatever he might say next. 

Yelena makes a grimace, somewhere between hurt and offended. But she says nothing and Jungkook's irritation only mounts. "Why are you really here?" He asks, studying the worn clothes that hang off her lanky frame, the hollow of her cheeks, surely noticing the eye bags just like you had. 

"It's been a rough couple of months," she admits in a hoarse whisper, her face morphing into something pitiful, "I just need a little. Just to get me back on my feet."

Jungkook's brows shoot high on his forehead, an exasperated scoff passing his lips. "That's what this is about? Money?" His jaw clenches, "You didn't get enough last time — so what? now you're back for more?" He shakes his head, "Not a chance." 

His blunt refusal only makes Yelena double down as she stumbles forward, causing the former to jerk back. "Please. I promise I'll use them for good," she smiles, a weak and strained smile, "I'm all better now." The lie feels mocking and it slaps even you across the face, you're sure Jungkook feels the same as he regards his ex-wife. 

There's an intimidating scowl plastered across his face, but his hands were trembling by his sides as she approached. 

Your fingers have curled so tight around the doorframe that the splinters were bound to snap under the force, you barely notice it, far too occupied with watching the scene play out in front of you. You follow their every move and your heart pounds loudly in your chest — though not loud enough to mask the creak of wood behind you. 

Whirling around where you stand, you spot Cassian on the bottom step of the stairs. He's clutching Frank in one arm as he, too, listens to the voices coming from the living room. "Nanny?" he croaks, wide and uncertain eyes darting between the entryway and you. 

Quickly straightening up, you rush over to gently grab him by his shoulders. "What are you doing down here, sweetie?" you whisper, reaching down to take one of his hands in your own, "I thought I told you to stay with your sister." 

The young boy slowly nods. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I was thirsty… Rayne told me not to go." He hesitates, blinking once when the sound of Jungkook's voice comes barreling through the thick air: 

"You're insane to think that I'd give you anything!" 

Cassian turns toward the living room, his brows furrowing over his forehead. "Daddy's home?" He looks as though he wants to go to him, to hug his father even though he left less than an hour ago. You stop him, already climbing the stairs he'd just come from as you tug him along. 

"Let's go and wait in your sister's room for a bit." You don't look back, only slowing down enough to make sure that he was keeping up. 

He does so, albeit reluctantly, "But my water…" 

You were thankful that it was his biggest concern at the moment, and you give him a small smile. "I'll go and get you some soon," you promise him. 

The door to Rayne's bedroom had been left ajar and you nudge it open with the help of your shoulder as you pull her little brother inside with you. "Alright, why don't you take a seat right here?" You guide him down onto the edge of her bed, adjusting the dinosaur plushies in his lap. 

Cassian lets you arrange him without complaint, neither him nor his sister question your hurried, slightly unsteady hands when you walk up to close the door firmly. 

Rayne was sat by her desk, her coat hung up on the back of her chair and an open book laid in front of her — though its pages seemed to be forgotten. Their shoes were placed neatly by the foot of the bed, Cassian's outdoor wear draped over the wooden post. 

The air in here was a lot warmer than that of the living room, but even that temporary comfort was quickly shun by the sound of Jungkook and Yelena downstairs. Their conversation had clearly escalated into a full blown argument, loud enough to where you could slowly start to make out what was being shouted. 

Cassian stiffens when the voice of a woman registers — and not just any woman. His gaze meets Rayne's, searching for answers which his big sister refuse to give. "Who is daddy talking to?" he wonders, but receives no response from the older. She only turns back to her book, pretending like nothing was wrong. 

You bite your lip, scrambling for something to distract them both with as the discussion between their parents unfold in the distance. "I know!" Clasping your hands together, you manage to draw the young boy's attention, "Why don't we read something all of us together?" 

Without waiting to hear his answer, you walk over to the crammed bookshelf opposite the bed. No one responds, though Cassian shifts slightly where he sits as he fiddles with his plushie. Another sharp remark from Yelena downstairs makes you bite back a wince and you pull the first title you find from the shelf. 

"Alright, scoot over." You nudge Cassian gently and he obliges when crawling back to rest his back against the headboard. Frank is still pressed against his chest and he clings to the dino when you settle beside him. "Rayne, come here," you pat the spot to your right, giving her an expectant smile which she returns with a displeased frown. 

Any other day you think she might've outright refused, but she was not oblivious to what was going on downstairs and when their voices only grow louder, she finally hops off her chair and walks over. 

The small children's bed was hardly made for three, but you made do as you cozied up together, Cassian nuzzling into your side as his sister sat stiffly. Their bodies are warm against your own and you take a moment to savor the comforting feeling as you open the first page. 

"Which book is this?" Cassian asks against your shoulder. 

"Moby Dick," you tell him. 

"Does it have pictures?" 

"Not this version, no…" 

He scrunches his nose at that, "I don't like it then." 

"That's because you're dumb," Rayne retorts as she adjusts herself slightly. Her brother shoots upright at that, his features twisted into offense. 

"Am not!" 

"Are too," she hums when tilting her chin up. 

"Hey," you slam the book shut with more force than necessary, raising a brow as you glance between them. "Do we want to hear this story or not?" 

Cassian nods, looking chastised as he presses his cheek against your arm. Rayne only sighs, but makes no further remark on the matter. Downstairs, the argument continues and you try to drown out the noise as you begin to read: 

"…I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world." 

You had barely gotten through the first paragraph when Cassian suddenly speaks up, "Why does he want to sail?" 

Reaching a hand up to stroke his curly hair back, you smile. "You'll find out when we keep going." To which he nods and sinks back against you with a quiet 'okay'. 

Not even a full minute later, he interrupts again. "I don't understand," he whine after you had read: "This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship." Cassian had little patience for the much slower pace compared to his picture-books and was squirming on the spot, "And who is Cato?" 

"You wouldn't know him," Rayne says as she tucks her ponytail over her shoulder, causing her brother to pout. 

Shaking your head, you wrap an arm around the small boy in an attempt to still him. "It means," you hum when pointing to the page, "That he goes to the ocean whenever he feels sad, that way he doesn't do bad stuff." 

Cassian mulls over this new revelation for a bit. "More people should go to the ocean then," he finally says. 

You nod, "Yeah. They should." 

The children did settle down after a few pages, the younger's insistent questions eventually stop and soon enough he was dead weight against your arm — deeply asleep. Rayne sits quietly beside you, and when the chapter comes to an end she doesn't question why you stop reading. 

Downstairs, the sound of Jungkook and Yelena's arguing have ebbed out into silence — a silence that is soon followed by the slamming of a front door. It shakes the entire house and for a second you thought it might even wake Cassian, but the young boy only sighs in his sleep. 

Rayne, too, swallows a deep breath, one so heavy that it settles over the entire bedroom. She doesn't look at you when she speaks, her gaze fixed on something far ahead outside the window, something you could not see. 

"That wasn't the postman, was it?" 

Her tone is leveled, certain. It's not a question, not really, and judging by the way she avoids your gaze, you know that she knows. 

"No," you say, closing the book as you place it on your lap, "It wasn't." 

She parts her lips but no words come out, so she seals them together again. You thought she would ask about her mother, demand an explanation as to why her and her brother hadn't been allowed to see her. Was she angry with you? With Jungkook? But Rayne only nods, a slow tilt of her chin as she settles back against the pillows. 

You lift a hand, letting it hover for a moment before gently placing it atop her head. When she doesn't immediately reject the initiated contact you let your fingers brush through her dark, silky hair. Her lashes kiss her cheeks as her eyes fall shut and she lets out air through her nose. 

Ten minutes or so pass, it's not a comfortable silence but it isn't hostile either. After a while her breathing grows heavy as well, and she, too, falls asleep against your side. You stay frozen, simply basking in the feeling of having them close. Had it not been for the thought of Jungkook downstairs, you could've probably stayed where you were for hours. 

The mattress groans when you carefully shift your weight off of it, making sure not to wake either of the children as you drape a blanket over them. The younger curls into his sister's side to fill the absence you had left behind. Rayne lets him, her nose twitching when a lock of curls brush across her cupids bow, then she relaxes again. 

They look vulnerable like this, so small and fragile that it makes your heart ache. You stand there, watching them sleep a little longer before turning to head out of the room, closing the door after you soundlessly. 

You move slowly down the stairs, hoping not to make too much noise as you descend. When passing the large hallway, you find that Yelena's shoes are gone from the foyer, indicating that she really had left. When entering the living room you find no trace of her left in there, save for the glass of water you had provided earlier. 

Jungkook sits on the very same couch she had been not long ago. He cradles his head in both hands, dark fringe falling across his fingers. His elbows rest on his knees, leaving him bent forward as he breathes slowly and deeply. 

You linger by the doorway, unsure if he would want company right now. But leaving him alone like this didn't feel like an option either. 

He doesn't speak when you sink down on the cushion beside him, nor does he look up at you. Hell, you could've been a ghost for all you knew. There comes a moment of hesitation, then you reach up to place a hand on his shoulder, which immediately tenses under your touch. 

"The kids are asleep," you tell him. Normally he wouldn't want them napping during the day — another bullet point on his long list of rules — you think this afternoon might be an exception. 

Jungkook doesn't respond, but he exhales against his palms where his face remains buried. You sit in silence for a couple of minutes. He must know that whatever went down between him and Yelena wasn't exactly a private conversation, their voices had been loud enough to rattle the paintings on the walls and alert the neighbors. Even so, he makes no move to address it. 

"What happened?"

Your question isn't malicious, it's concerned in nature, but perhaps he saw it differently. It sits between you, heavy and loaded, until he finally leans back against the couch. His hands fall away from his face, revealing the tension etched between his brows and into his jaw. "It doesn't matter," he says. 

You frown, twisting in your seat to see him better. "Of course it matters," you press, "The children will asks questions, and I don't know how to answer them—" 

"You don't have to," he sighs, "It's not your job." 

Job. 

That single word stings more than you want for it to. The way he still views everything as a transaction — after all that had happened between you two he still made it very clear that you were nothing but the kids' nanny, and he was nothing but your employer. 

"Alright," you murmur, trying not to let the hurt show, "Will you at least tell me what's going on?" 

Jungkook groans, rubbing his palm over his forehead before letting his hand drop to his lap. "I really don't want to talk right now," he grinds out, fingers digging into his own thigh as he sits rigidly. 

You know that you should give it a rest but you can't help the pang of concern you'd felt at seeing Yelena — no matter how uncomfortable she made you. "She looked sick," you whisper and Jungkook's expression fractures slightly, "Is she going to be okay? Does she have a place to go?" 

Though you knew very little about the woman who had appeared on the doorstep, you could tell that she had come here as a last resort — and Jungkook turned her away. For good reason you want to believe, but it still didn't ease your mind. 

"I have it figured out just please—" He's still not looking at you, but the muscles in his face twitch as he heaves another breath. "Drop it, alright? She's an addict who has no business trying to get in contact with my children." 

He speaks of her with such contempt, his features twisting with disgust as he utters each syllable. And yet, the tremble to his jaw and his glassy eyes betray him in the end. The conversation you'd had in his study earlier feels pathetic and small in comparison to whatever was going on right now — and you shove the feelings it had left you with aside as you shift a little closer, hoping to provide comfort. 

"Do you want me to stay longer today?" you ask him, the hand you keep on his shoulder reaching for his face. "I could see to the children, take them out for a bit when they wake up?" 

Jungkook's hand clasps around your wrist — firm though not painful — as he halts your fingers that were just shy of brushing his cheek. "No," he says flatly, tugging your hand back to your own lap, "I want you to go." 

That cuts deeper than you'd expected for it to. He was rejecting you entirely, he didn't even want you around. And you know that you should be giving him space, it was obvious that the conversation between him and Yelena had upset him greatly but could he not see that you were only trying to help? And what of the children when they woke up? 

You wondered how that would play out before realizing — it wasn't your job. 

So with a defeated sigh you push yourself up from the sofa, nodding as you flatten out your shirt over your jeans. "Okay." Your footsteps echo throughout the room as you make your way across it. Only once you reach the doorway do you pause, turning to peer over your shoulder. 

Jungkook was still sat on the couch, his gaze fixed to the floor. His face holds no emotion but you knew it was there, buried beneath the hardened layers. Your fingers curl into a loose fist before releasing again. "Call me if you need anything," a small olive branch that you hoped he would take, "You know where to find me." 

But Jungkook simply grunts, not lifting his eyes even as you head to leave. The front door shuts a minute later and the house is left in silence. You clutch the car keys in one hand, all thought of taking the children for a ride vanishing as you slump down behind the wheel. 

Letting out a big sigh that had been building in your chest for hours now, you twist on the engine and pull out of the driveway.

The streets are covered in snow, forcing you to go easy on the gas to stay steady. You wonder how Jungkook had managed to get home so quickly without landing himself in an accident… Immediately scolding yourself for letting your thoughts wander back to him, you try to steer your mind elsewhere. 

Christmas spirit was still in the air. Almost each house you drove past had decorated gardens and you spotted trees in almost every home — a stark contrast to the Jeon estate. Families were out with their children, mothers and fathers holding hands, snowball fights taking place in the front yards. A domestic sight, really. 

A big sign advertising fireworks reminds you that New Years was coming up in a short four days, and you still hadn't made any plans. Daehyun was going out with a couple of friends, you could surely tag along if you wanted to. Or perhaps you would spend it cooped up in your apartment, toasting to yourself at midnight before hitting the sack. 

Part of you had hoped that after spending the holidays with them, Jungkook would invite you to celebrate the new year as well. Though that had been before he dropped you off at the train station, before your conversation in his study and before his ex-wife turned up on the front porch. You sigh, giving up on the idea again as you come to a stop by a red light. 

Your fingers drum against the wheel mindlessly, your gaze drifting lazily across the street ahead of you when you suddenly spot her — Yelena. 

She was walking down the street across from you to the right. Had it not been for her disheveled appearance, the thin fleece and mattered hair that made her stick out among the many, you probably wouldn't have noticed her. She trudges forward with her arms wrapped around her torso, shivering with each step and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. 

When the light turns green you don't hesitate to make a sharp turn, cutting off another car who expressed his dislike with a long, blaring honk. Ignoring him, you easily catch up with Yelena, slowing to match her pace as you lean over to roll down the window on the passenger side. 

"Hey!" 

Your voice startles her and she skips to the side as her head whips in your direction, her hair flying everywhere. For a moment she looks confused, then recognition settles over her features. 

"Can I give you a ride anywhere?" You don't know what compels you to make the offer, all you know is that you're eager to get her off the freezing streets. Looking at her now — in the freezing December air — it was hard to think her to be the same woman that had been yelling inside Jungkook's living room. 

You don't find yourself unsettled by her in this moment, even though she was clearly unwell. Rather, you pitied her as she walked down the pavement in nothing but a fleece to protect her from the darkest and coldest month of the year. 

But Yelena doesn't seem to share your feelings. Her brows knit together as she eyes your car warily. "Did he send you?" There's venom lacing her every word and the mention of Jungkook catches you by surprise. 

Keeping one hand steady on the wheel, you glance back at the road before shaking your head. "No. I just happened to drive by and—" 

"Well you can tell him that he's a selfish asshole!" Yelena points a finger toward you, spitting the words in your face. "And I don't need you throwing me a pity party," she scowls, "I know that you called him, you snake." She turns away from you then, spinning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction just to get away. 

You sit in stunned silence for a while, your vehicle barely inching forward as you blink slowly. The chilly breeze sweeps in through the open window on the passenger side but it's not until the drivers behind you start slamming their horns that you finally snap out of your trance. 

Leaning over to hastily roll your window up, you press down on the gas to get them off your back. It seems like no matter what you do — your help was unwanted. With a final glance in the rear view mirror, you catch sight of Yelena's retreating figure in the distance. A sigh escapes you as you turn your attention back to the street before you, bumping the radio up to another lame Christmas Carol. 

Then you drive home. 

── [ ✉️ ] I like this I think. It's so different seeing Jungkook from a different POV after being in his head for so long. Some might think his reaction was a bit underwhelming (?) But trust me, he's going through it on the inside. We already know him to be very quiet about his feelings, but they'll be unfolding as the chapters go on. Please leave me your thoughts I'd love to hear them <3

According to Google, it takes an average of sixty-six days to form a habit. It’s taken you shorter to form a daily habit of talking to Jeon Jungkook; yet, the habit breaks in under a minute. 

Your replies grow increasingly cold and delayed, and when some of his messages in your chat thread go entirely unanswered, his heart sends him back to square zero. He’s in no mood to address your avoidant behaviors over text, but after a week of letting feelings simmer, he’s ready to talk. He doesn’t know if you’re ready to talk and on the eighth day, he decides he doesn’t care. 

His finger taps on the video call button in your contact information.

About four rings in, he has half a mind to end the call, but the dial tone ceases. His once blown out face minimizes to the top right corner, replaced by yours on the main screen instead.

He sucks in a breath, realizing how little he prepared for this call. No script — no notes to follow along. The improv classes he took years ago on a whim would’ve served him well for this moment if he kept at it. Maybe it would’ve helped him segue into such a difficult conversation … better than being rendered speechless at the sight of you since the day you called him in his dressing room. 

Alas, his mind buzzes at the sight of the pretty shade of blush you picked out as well as the curl of your lashes. The camera freezes a little from the poor connection, which is unusual considering you should be home at this time. The lighting of your surroundings is different too. Much brighter, not like the usual soft hues in your home.

“Pixie? Can you hear me?”

“Hey, yes I can. What’s up? Everything okay?”

He frowns. Can’t believe you’re repeating the same shit he said to you a week ago. Unsure if it’s out of pure pettiness or vengeance, Jungkook decides it’s best for his sanity you’re asking out of concern and not spite. 

“Yes, I think so–” He pauses as you adjust the angle of the camera and notices a pristine white bed behind you. He hasn’t seen your bed yet, but from the time spent with you, he concluded all-white wasn’t your style. From the side he notices a hotel logo — the only one within a five hour radius of the city.

You’re not home, meaning you’re farther from his reach.

You barely look at the camera, occasionally jumping in and out of the frame as you bend down to sort some items. Jungkook feels more like a bother now with your lack of acknowledgement.

Skipping over formalities and the usual patterns of a conversation, he states the obvious, “You’re out of town.”

“I am.” You confirm, voice unwavering at the fact.

“You didn’t mention you’d be gone.”

Your movements stop for a second before you resume gathering items in your reach. “Wasn’t aware we had to tell each other our whereabouts.”

Ouch.

He levels his breathing, ensuring the next words he utters don’t come out shaky. “When will you be back in town, Pix? I think we should talk—”

“We are talking now.” You avoid his first question. “I have about three minutes, so this has to be quick.”

Alright, Jungkook isn’t one to lose his temper easily, but this was just plain rude. Whatever he wanted to discuss with you cannot be under three minutes — you both know this.

Unable to hide his emotions, he groans. “P, don’t be unreasonable.”

Your expression falters. Staying mean and angry isn’t who you are, no matter if it was deserved. 

“We can talk when I’m back in town … I just don’t have a lot of time right now.”

Jungkook deduces you’re at another booking. Though, he can’t predict when you’ll be back home. Was he going to have to wait until you’re ready to talk? He doesn’t know if he can do another week of silence without understanding what’s running through your mind. 

He wants to press on, but he knows best what it’s like to work in a sour mood. He’ll spare you.

Still, his teeth worry at his bottom lip. “Okay, just let me know.”

The call ends with a tight-lipped smile and no questions answered. His back hits his couch, stiff and tense. Again, he bought the couch purely for aesthetics, but he wishes for some softness and reassurance — none of which were provided in the short video call. 

Jaw ticking at the thoughts swarming in his head, all sources of comfort point at his need to see and talk to you in person. That can’t wait any longer. He’ll have to be rude and bulldoze whatever wall you’ve set up to keep him out. 

He thinks back to the details of the short call. The logo in the background was unique to the city and even more unique because it’s the only hotel he’s ever filmed at in the past. Hotels don’t support such productions, but with the money the film company offered in their contract, even a high-end hotel such as the one you’re staying at would bend. 

He opens up the Maps application and types in the hotel name. Estimated arrival time was about four hours and fifty-three minutes with minimal traffic if he left right now. He wouldn’t arrive until later in the evening and even so … he’s not so sure when you’d be back from your booking. 

Hell, did he even have the right place? He could be wrong for all he knew.

His leg bobs in place, restless and anxious at every second spent thinking about his next move. He could wait. You will be back in town, but again, he’s just not sure when. Everything’s up in the air. Your location, feelings, and relationship status.

To hell with waiting around for answers. He’s got to take matters into his own hands.

Wasting no more time, Jungkook pushes himself off his couch, quickly grabbing his jacket and stuffing his keys in his pocket.

You can’t fucking focus.

The three-day wedding was booked months in advance and, while you’re not new to traveling overnight for work, you miss your home and bed. You can’t help but feel this foreboding dread at the thought of going home at this point, though. Because … something, no, someone is also waiting for you.

Your frustrations were misplaced and unfair — Jungkook didn’t deserve the attitude you displayed on that call simply because you thought you couldn't do it: separating your pleasure, feelings, and work. 

Certainly, if he had gone back to work and acted as though everything was normal, you needed to as well, right?

Jungkook makes you feel good in all parts of your life. He’s a good friend — he listens, shows genuine interest, laughs at your jokes and makes you laugh even harder at his. He’s also been a great work partner, and a fast learner, causing pride to swell in your chest whenever he treats your every editing advice with care and pure curiosity.

Until you catch this bitterness on your tongue, fighting to swallow and coexist with it. Then, it doesn’t feel as good anymore.

Seeing him in that dressing room unlocked a foreign feeling you don’t know how to face. You couldn’t even properly face him through a screen, the acidity in your mouth making your own words taste sour. Whenever his profession comes in between you, it builds this unavoidable and stubborn nausea.

His belief resounds in your mind: Pleasure, feelings, and work can be separate.

You’re at work right now, knowing full well you should keep these feelings at bay. Adjusting your camera, you zoom into the lovely couple at the altar. This was their second ceremony, a bigger one in comparison to the first one they had with their family and close friends. 

The couple covered your travel costs and lodging, as most newlyweds would. The only difference is you’re not staying at some motel like you’ve been subjected to in the past. A nice upgrade, regardless if it’s hard work; the side perks make up for the difficult nature of this booking. Thankfully, this is the final night and you’re at the midway point of the event.

Just a couple more hours and you’ll be back in your hotel room.

Suddenly, a man comes into your view, stumbling, and he mumbles a quick-whispered apology for lightly hitting your shoulder in the process.

He exits the room and, while you’ve mastered the art of minding your business, his demeanor piqued your interest. Just before the grand doors close, you witness his figure doubling over.

You immediately exit the same way he did, except with much haste and worry.

“Sir, are you okay?” You keep your voice collected, although your eyes widen at his fallen state.

Pale lips, he struggles to take in a breath, let alone speak. You stammer and panic, telling him you’ll go get help, but he shakes his head. He points down at his pocket and you see a sliver of orange before you reach into it.

Fuck, you’ve never administered an Epipen before. Don’t know one damn thing about being a first responder or dealing with someone having a severe allergic reaction. You stall for a second before you’re fumbling with your phone in your hands, quickly looking up the steps while the man wheezes on the ground.

Less than a minute later, you’re stabbing the pen down onto his thigh with a foreign force. He sighs, head dropped to the ground in relief.

You pant, placing a reassuring hand onto his shoulder. “Hold on, okay? Gonna call an ambulance—”

“No.” He breathes, staggered and forced. “Can’t ruin the wedding.”

“But—”

“Please.” He reaches for his phone in his pocket, quickly unlocks it and presses on one of his emergency contacts. You assist by pressing onto the speaker phone.

“Mr. Kim?” A gentleman answers after the second ring.

“Hi, um, the owner of this phone had an allergic reaction and needs to go to the hospital.” You look at your surroundings frantically. Your general sense of direction has always been terrible in new locations, but now it’s even more stunted in a state of emergency. Taking a moment, you remember the venue’s map from the itinerary and hurriedly speak into the phone. “We’re at the south wing of the estate.” 

Within ten minutes, an older man appears, worried and flustered, but he hauls up the rather tall guy and slings his arm over his shoulders. 

Unsure you should join them or go back into the wedding hall, you quickly stand up, wordlessly following behind.

“It’s okay, I got it from here. Thank you, Miss.” The older man assures.

The taller man lifts his head up momentarily, a weak and kind smile on his face before uttering, “Thank you.”

The gratitude settles all the prior buzzing nerves. You take a deep breath waiting for their figures to fully disappear before you rejoin the wedding.

You do your best to shift the crazy events to the back of your head in favor of refocusing on the couple as intended. A part of you is thankful for that particular moment of deterrence. For a brief time, the man and his wellbeing occupied your mind more than the boy at home.

In the last five hours since his arrival at the hotel, Jungkook lived off of cornchips and lobby coffee. Fine, he could’ve gotten a bite, but he was afraid of missing your arrival. Lord knows he’s tried his best to coax the front desk to give your room number. No charm or flirtatious skills worked. It almost did though, he was close, so sure the man nearly cracked and believed his story he was going to propose to his girlfriend as a surprise.

Almost. Part of him eases at the hotel reception’s resilience and inflexibility. Shows their integrity in keeping their guests safe.

He’s out of luck and spent his time loitering around the lobby. Pathetic as hell, though, he has to see through his attempt to right the relationship.

Part of him wonders if he even got the right hotel. The large logo at the main entrance only confirmed his theory, in addition to the sign at the front indicating a special congratulatory message to a newlywedded couple. It checks off all the imaginary boxes in his head, so he’ll chance it. 

11:34 p.m.

He’s never been more excited and anxious for a lobby door opening. His jaw relaxes for the first time at a familiar sight — a familiar figure. You look exhausted, shoulders weighed down by the multiple bag straps, steps slightly thrown off as one of your bags hits the corner of a table.

Fuck. If he already felt like a bother through the phone, seeing you like this awakens a sudden and heightened need to hide, shame humming in his ears at the thought of being an added stressor to your long day. Though, he’s here already, so he must stand his ground. 

You spot him before he greets you, steps coming to a halt with wide eyes.

“Jungkook?” Your strides speed up, heels clicking on the marble floor before you’re in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

“I–” He hesitates with his next words. What the hell was he doing here? He was eventually going to talk to you whenever you were back in town, except he wasn’t sure when you’d be. Jungkook was right to believe you needed someone gentle and patient — characteristics he clearly lacked in this exact moment, which led him to his impulsive actions.

“Pix, we have to talk.” His voice lifts with urgency. “Please?”

You turn your head to the side, noticing the front desk receptionists staring before looking back at their computer screens. There’s no way you’re going to have this conversation here. For starters, you can’t deny your heart seizing at Jungkook’s effort — the long distance he had to drive from home and the even longer wait in the lobby registering in your brain. But you’re also not going to put up a scene which could potentially become part of the desk clerks’ top 100 dramatic things to witness in their time working at the establishment. You were not about to be a part of a group-chat discussion.

Resolute, you nod up at him. “Okay, let’s go back to my room to talk.”

All muscle memory in how Jungkook reaches over to grab the majority of your bags and sling them over his shoulder. They look weightless on him in comparison to how you struggled to keep them leveled moments ago. 

The ride up the elevator is quiet. He looks over at you and by some miracle, you’re also looking at him. You fake a cough, staring straight ahead at the lights on the elevator buttons ascending to your desired floor. 

Jungkook’s glad he came. No matter the tension, he’s glad to finally be near you. Even the current silence is better than the other alternate reality where he’s waiting aimlessly, second guessing your thoughts from afar. Here? You both will eventually need to face the unsaid, festering emotions.

He follows you out the elevator, can’t help his eyes trailing down your backside. It’s instinctive, a habit he’s never broken for anyone. All biological and natural in his gaze at first, but it’s a little different this time around. 

His stare starts at your exposed shoulders, down the curve of your spine, lingers a little longer at the swell of your ass before his lips tug down at the tiny steps you take, nearly waddling the last stretch down the hallway. He gulps, fingers itching to hold your waist knowing you’ve been on your feet all day.

Despite his wants, he’s aware of the shock value in his unexpected appearance. The last thing he wants is to test your limits with his touch. 

You unlock your hotel room with your phone. Fancy shit and honestly a more eco-friendly route for the hotel to do without the old fashion key-card. The door beeps and locks unlatch before you push your way in. 

Generic hotel room; nonetheless, similar to the one he previously filmed in. You don’t do your usual spiel of welcoming him. Your place of lodging was all temporary, just like how he hopes the current status of the relationship is.

Bags placed away, Jungkook leans against one of the drawers as you plop down on one of the stools with a disgruntled huff.

You meet the apprehension in his gaze. “We could’ve talked when I was back in town.”

“You didn’t mention when you’d be home.” He retorts, as though you left him with no other choice.

You look away, teeth biting the inside of your cheek. “So, what is it that couldn’t wait?”

“Us.” He begins. “Are we okay?”

You pause, brain racking up a possible answer. Then, sighing, you lift your shoulders. “Yeah, we are.”

Certainly doesn’t feel like it. He didn’t come all the way out here for a lie. He wants things to get exposed, bare out all the ugly so at least he knows where to start to fix things. 

“Pix, come on,” a different kind of exhaustion filters through his voice, “Don’t do this.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say…” You can’t hold his stare, though you feel it heavy on the side of your face.

“You’re upset.” He deducts. “Tell me why.”

You look at the digital clock on the nightstand reading a little past midnight. Wordlessly, your steps carry you over to your small suitcase as you fumble through for some sleepwear. 

How could anything else be more important than the person who traveled hours to talk to you? The lack of focus and urgency on the matter churns and leaves something unsettling in his stomach. 

He stays quiet, hoping the silence eventually spurs your next words to fill the gaps.

Hands coming to a halt at the last piece of clothing, you let out a tiny breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going back to work?” Your voice cracks.

Jungkook’s breath hitches and a thick silence falls heavy between you, broken by the zip of your suitcase closing. Deep down, he knew this was the main reason for your sudden avoidance — couldn’t be a coincidence you began acting differently right after you abruptly ended your call when you found out he was back to work.

He also knew he should have told you, knew he’d be back on set eventually, precisely because that’s his job after all. He doesn’t know why he kept it to himself, but he knows your reaction sits sour in his mouth because, again, that’s his job. 

He wishes he could say anything else, but a flimsy excuse flows past his lips. 

“I… I didn’t think it was important to know.” Jungkook’s fingers curl on the hardwood panes of the dresser. He jolts at your sudden spring up, heels turning to face him. 

“You asked me to tell you about my day and schedule all the time; yet, you can’t do the same?” Your brows lift. “How is that fair?”

Perhaps it’s been a long day for Jungkook, but he doesn’t feel like backing down. He’s tired of constantly bending for others and maybe for once, he just wants the world to bend for him. 

“So you want my entire schedule? Itinerary breakdown of the different projects?” What he purposefully leaves out to spare you from the ugly truth: list of all the people he’s fucking at work.

Even at his mercy, your eyes fill with angry tears now, threatening to fall at any moment. “It’s not that. It’s the principle.”

“I forgot.” He lies, shrugging his shoulders. “You really gonna hold that against me?”

“You forgot.” You deadpan. “Really?”

His frown deepens. “Why would I hide that from you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You look to the side to avoid his pointed stare.

“Well, I’m here trying to tell you, am I not?”

“Could’ve done this over a call. You didn’t have to drive all the way here … This is all so–” Your chin trembles — another expression he’s grown to dislike. Hates how his fingers twitch by his side, brain screaming at him to comfort even through your hurtful words.

They stung. 

He exhales through his nose. Perhaps his impulsion and effort to resolve the issue with you was a mistake. He should’ve waited until you were ready to talk. Shouldn’t have gone out of his way to come here just to end on even worse terms.

His voice drops lower, oppressed by the ache spreading through his chest. “Then should I leave?”

Your face falls, eyes reading the digital clock. “It’s late. Where would you even go?”

“Home.” There’s nowhere else he’d like to be more at this moment, considering you seem to not want him here with you. Yes, it was late, but the three cups of hotel lobby coffee should hold him through the night.

“No.” You shake your head. No matter how awful the tension was, you’d never want to jeopardize a person’s safety, let alone someone you care for. “You’re not driving home this late.”

Fair, but he wasn’t about to stay in your room, especially since nothing’s been resolved.

This is how you both find yourselves at the front desk asking for a spare room. 

“My apologies, sir. All our partnered hotels around the city are booked out for the night. There is a motel about a twenty minute drive from here.” 

Jungkook wouldn’t qualify himself as high maintenance, but he can’t help the little grimace at the idea of finding odd sheet stains or waking up to potential bug bites. He could only assume the motel’s conditions if all the hotels within the vicinity were booked out and the receptionist defaulted to that recommendation as a last ditch effort. Kind, although, he wasn’t that desperate — he’d choose to sleep in his car at this point.

“Just stay with me tonight.” Though small, your voice carries the offer with command.

Well, between his car or the motel, staying with you is objectively the better option. 

Back in your room again, you let him use the shower first, knowing you’ll be taking a longer one. He places his wallet and phone on the nightstand before walking into the bathroom. 

He does the bare minimum in the shower, too aware of how late it is and how exhausted you must feel after what’s transpired tonight. Quickly drying off, the only thing he has on are his boxers underneath the towel around his waist. He drops his day-old clothes in a pile on a stool near the entryway.

His figure comes to your view again, noticing your visible swallow at the sight of his freshly showered state. 

“All yours, P.”

Shower or him, he doesn’t care for how you interpret his words.

You scurry to the bathroom and Jungkook stares at the bed for another ten seconds before he plops down on the couch, the water at the ends of his hair dripping down his nape. 

What a fuckin’ day.

You come out of the bathroom maybe about forty minutes later. Nothing charming about your old university t-shirt and mismatched sleep shorts, but Jungkook still thinks you’re the prettiest.

Despite the unresolved nature of your relationship, you scoff and snort at the sight of him: long legs well extended over the arm of the couch and his small towel covering his torso as a makeshift blanket. He cracks a smile too, followed by a small ‘what?’

You walk over to one side of the bed, tugging the tightly tucked sheets from the crevices. “Don’t be ridiculous, you can sleep here too.” You pat on the unoccupied space, signaling him to come.

He doesn’t protest, opting to hang the towel on the backrest of the couch and sliding underneath the covers with you. Wordless as you shut off the lamp on your nightstand, your back is turned away from him as you settle on your side of the bed.

He should follow suit like how he has done with his scripts.

But this wasn’t a play — all real life encompassing people he cares deeply for.

Jungkook moves closer, so sure the dip of the bed grows as he nears your warm body. His front touches your back, heat from his bare skin seeps through your thin cotton shirt. When you don’t move or push him away, he takes it as a sign to drape his arm over your torso.

“Didn’t know you’d care so much about my schedule.” He murmurs, taking in your scent — hotel body wash and shampoo. At least having the same scent, albeit just for tonight, was something you guys could be on the same page on.

Voice laced with exhaustion, you reply, “Why wouldn’t I care?”

Swallowing the forming lump down his throat, he holds you closer. “Isn’t it better you don’t know? It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable—”

“Still wanna know.” You turn to him, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. “I care about what’s going on in your life, too.”

This was no Gum and Bubba level of update, but he realizes withholding information from someone you care about is a terrible start to any relationship.

“Are we always gonna handle stuff like this?” Jungkook grumbles into your hair.

“I’ve never been like this with my friends.” You reply, the silent implications left hanging in the air. 

Jungkook lets them sink in his chest, where your hand comes to rest on his beating heart. He doesn’t want to think of what a friendship exactly entails — thinks you two are building something entirely unique at this point, learning every step of the way.

Whatever your relationship could be classified as, he doesn’t want to lose it, wants to constantly strengthen it, and that comes with recognizing and owning up to both of your faults.

“I’ll update you from now on. But Pix, you gotta do better too.” Jungkook speaks with his mouth to your ear, honesty flowing out from his heart and right in your system. “This isn’t the first time you’ve iced me out.” 

You nod, arms finally coming around to hold him. He moves away just enough to plant a kiss on your forehead, but that only makes you gravitate towards him more. You share a knowing glance, one so soft and full of ache, it only makes sense for you to press your lips against his.

If Jungkook were ten years younger, he’d tell you he never wants to fight like that again. Honestly, unrealistic. Having been through a couple toxic relationships in the past, what transpired between you two was a cake walk in comparison. Disagreements are bound to happen, just need to learn and grow from them.

“You’ll tell me if any of this gets too much, yeah?” He mumbles against your lips. Even through his physical and mental exhaustion, he’s never tired of you. You share the same sentiment, melting and molding into whatever is needed to squash the issue at hand.

It’s exhausting to stay upset and even more exhausting to stay away from each other.

Jungkook kisses you, weight of the world lifted off his chest and formed in the shape of you — your body pressed flush against his hard chest. He hides his neediness underneath his greed, wanting so badly to make you feel good. Thinks the only way to win back your favor again is through your pleasure.

“Wanna touch you.” He grunts, hand trailing down your side. He creates just enough room to push his hand between your thighs, palming your covered sex. “Please?”

You shudder, “Can’t.” Jungkook doesn’t hide his disappointment, hand lingering as he waits for your reason.

“On my period.” You explain, thighs clamping around his hand to keep him in place. 

Nothing that a little soap and warm water can’t undo, but he understands your hesitance. Still, he wants you to feel good. Should always feel good when you’re with him. 

Hands wiggling out of your hold, he rolls you onto his front while one of his knees part your legs. You tremble in his arms, settling lower on his thigh.

“Pad or tampon, P?”

His question throws you for a loop. “Um, pad.” You answer.

Suddenly you’re in his ear talking about the benefits of using pads, selling the point of Toxic Shock Syndrome being your biggest fear, which is why you don’t wear tampons. He sits up taller against the headboard, soaking in your musings. He smirks when you give him an embarrassed smile, realizing you’ve said more than necessary.

“You’re cute. Thanks for letting me know.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Was just curious.”

Your brows furrow. “Huh? Why?”

“So I know how much you’ll feel this.” His large hands grasp your waist, the pressure of his fingers digging into you as he drags you against his thigh. You lurch forward, hands holding onto his shoulders as you watch him maneuver your hips to his liking. 

It’s a steady pace, not enough to have you cumming, but enough for you to look at him with pleading eyes to move faster, harder. He pulls and tugs your heat against his muscle, wanton moans leaving your lips as he moves you.

“Oh! Jungkook—” You shut your eyes, head dropped to the side as you try to focus on the growing sensation below. 

He wets his lips, moving in to press them on yours. He’s not sure if it’s you getting better with every time you’ve kissed or his silly head playing up your kisses because he likes you so much. His moans vibrate against your mouth, though, not for long. Your head comes to rest at the crook of his neck, hips grinding slowly on his thigh.

“That’s it, use me. Make yourself feel good.” He husks.

You do your best, but with your pad as an extra barrier and your clumsy rolls, you can’t get the rhythm quite right.

“Need your help.” You whimper in his ears.

Again, he has no backbone when it comes to you. He’s so easily swayed — can’t bear making you work for your pleasure. “Okay, okay. I’ll help you, baby.”

His hand cups the bottom of your ass, guiding and rocking you faster. With the slight flexion of his thighs, the grind is delicious and damn near perfect. You seem to agree with your uneven breaths and nails forming small crescent moons at the back of his nape.

“Missed you, Pix. Fuck, please don’t shut me out like that again.” He pleads, hands slowing down his movements so he could hear you properly.

Your delayed response results in a lift to his thigh, warm palms keeping you in place. You mewl, breath ragged as you grind down on your own. “W-won’t do that again, promise.”

You seal your promise with a quick kiss, mouth parted at a small moan as Jungkook speeds up his movements again. The patterns of your breathing changes and there’s a shiver Jungkook recognizes all too well as you near your end. Head pressed into the crook of his neck, the bottom half of your body tenses and shakes, which only encourages Jungkook to keep dragging down your body the way it needs. 

“You’re there, aren’t you?” He coos. “That’s it, pretty.” He wishes you were bare from below — brainsick desire to feel and see the mess you’d make, period and all.

You whimper, a wrecked sob as the orgasm washes over you. Head lifted, you press your lips to his in a searing kiss.

Pulling away for a needed inhale, your eyes trail down his body and gaze locks on his tented black briefs, a damp patch growing in the center. “Can I make it up to you?” 

He swallows, “How?” He knows exactly how you could, but waits for your response with bated breath. 

You pepper kisses down his body, just like how he did with you. He keens, back bowing off the headboard as your soft lips trail dangerously close to his middle. But you stop, tilt your head to the side, and plant a kiss on his hipbone. 

Jungkook looks down … and perhaps, he shouldn’t have. The image of you staring up at him between his legs is all he’ll think of from now on. T-shirt risen up, he eyes your exposed backside and curves just for a bit, because the main attraction will always be your face — your eyes. So full of wonder and interest. 

It’s everything he’s dreamed of since the day you filmed from your kneeled position. He blinks away the bleariness, excitement and hope taking over at the thought of his fantasies coming true.

“I wanna,” You look away, suddenly embarrassed.

“What, pretty?” He beams, cups your cheek with one of his hands. “You wanna suck me off?”

You nod in his hold, bashful from his forwardness. “I do.” 

God, he nearly cums in his briefs at your admittance.

You continue, unaware of his internal state. “Need you to walk me through it though, that okay?” Fighting your nerves, your hand hovers and rubs his clothed length, stopping momentarily for his response.

“Yeah, Pix, that’s fine. I’ll show you.” He nods, his hand covers yours. 

His large hand presses down your smaller one, groaning from the added pressure. He guides you down past the waistband of his briefs, and shudders from your touch, the bare contact sending an electric shock through his body. A quiet, surprised gasp leaves your lips at the new experience.

He cracks another smile, but the corners of his mouth dip from an invasive thought the moment you take his cock in your hand. “W-wait.” He stammers.

You release him almost immediately, afraid you did something wrong or hurt him. Not wanting to waste his time reassuring it had nothing to do with you, he reaches over to the nightstand to grab his wallet, fingers pinching in between the slot to pull out a small foil package.

“Haven’t had the chance to re-test after the recent project, so just to be safe.” He rips the edge of the package. Taking his length in his own hand, he rolls the condom down to the base with swift precision.

Lips tucked in, you look away after your quiet agreement. 

Of course and again, nothing goes unnoticed by Jungkook. The same hand that rolled the condom down his length, now cups your cheek once more. There’s a sweet fruity scent, paired with the moist touch from the condom’s lubrication. 

“You don’t have to. You know that, right?” He reassures. 

You blink, and whatever nerves or insecurities you previously displayed, gets pushed away. 

“I want to.” You turn your head, kissing his palm — strawberries with a hint of latex.

His cock stirs at the small action. Settling his back onto the headboard again, he tilts his head at you, waiting for you to touch him. There’s no need to tell you what to do so early on, wanting you to explore your own curiosity first.

Your fingers wrap around his length and Jungkook exhales a shaky breath, gaze fixed on your movement, or lack thereof. You’re warm to the touch, eyes jumping from his cock and back to his hazy stare. You begin moving up and down his length, slow and experimental to glean his reactions.

His small uh-huhs and yeahs, requests for a changed grip, faster or slower movements only encourages you to work harder for him. You grow bolder in your touches, focusing more on the head of his cock. You squeeze, thumb swiping over his covered tip.

“God, baby, you—” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyes shutting briefly to focus on the sensation before he peers down at you.

“I remember you doing this in the video.” You confess. “Was that okay?” You ask, swallowing before you lean down.

Hesitant at first, you place a small peck on the underside of his cock. With how soft your touch was, he thinks he might’ve hallucinated it. His doubt gets buried when you place another kiss, head tilted with your nose pressed flush to his shaft. 

“Y-yeah, feels good.” He replies, hand raking through your hair and stopping at the base of your head to urge you closer. 

His lips are well acquainted with yours, and now his cock will also gain the honor of getting to feel them. So lucky with how you pepper your way up and down his length, lashes kissing the top of your cheeks. Secretly, he wishes he didn’t have a condom on to feel your bare lips on him.

Sickly, he grows harder at the thought. 

“Tell me what to do, please.” You mouth against his cock, hand lightly tugging at the base. 

Using his other free hand, he replaces yours around his girth. The tip of his cock is pointed directly at your lips. With a knowing look, his words die on his tongue as you open your mouth. The small opening only pushes him to guide his length through the entrance of your lips, noticing how your jaw widens to accommodate for his size.

Jungkook’s going to die. Well, figuratively. He’s never felt more alive and excited. The hand on your head tightens its grasp, doing his best to break the instinctive habit of pushing your head down. At least, for now.

“Breathe, Pix.” A reminder to himself too. “And,” He moans, cutting off with a quick chuckle, “less teeth, please.”

You hum in compliance, mouth going slack to accommodate for his girth and to tuck your lips. It’s not perfect, but the effort is there. You begin bobbing your head up and down, solely focusing on his tip as the other half of his shaft was currently occupied by his hand, grip tightening every second your lips suction harder around him.

“Tongue, push it against–yes, just like that.” He whines.

Habits stay hard to break, especially when this is starting to get good and he wants to feel more of you. His hips buck with little restraint while he holds your head in place.

He likes your soft moans; though, the small gagging sound you just made might’ve dethroned its ranking on his ‘Things I Like About Pixie’ list.

“Sorry,” His chest stutters, red and flushed. “I–ah-”

You pull away, eyes watery and lips pouty. “Do you always do that?” Your voice cracks mid swallow, the edges of your mouth glisten from your saliva.

“Can’t help it, P.” He confesses with a playful smirk. “You feel so good.”

Naturally, Jungkook’s hand releases your hair in your pursuit to sit back up on your heels. 

“Keep your hands at your side.” You request.

Jungkook scoffs. “Oh, we’re doing that?”

“What’s that?”

He also sits up higher too, hand releasing his cock in the process. He leans forward, close enough to smell the condom’s flavor on your lips. 

Nose touching yours, he grins, “I give you control. Do whatever you like with me.”

“Is that something you like?” You ask with curious eyes. 

Depends on who he’s with. Thinks he could like it with you, but with how you presented the question, he’s not so sure if that was your initial intention.

“Sometimes, why?”

You shrug. “Just want to know what makes you feel good, that’s all.”

While he’s been taken care of plenty of times by other partners, he likes knowing you’re just as dedicated to his pleasure. He kisses you, quick and soft. “Okay, Pix, I’ll keep my hands to myself this time.”

You both settle back into place again. One arm behind his head, the other one rests on his stomach comfortably. He keeps his hands to himself, but that doesn’t stop you from holding the one on his abdomen. Your thumb rubbing small circles brings forward a needier version of him to light, wanting you to ground and indulge his pleasures. 

You take a couple of seconds to find your rhythm again. By the minute marker, Jungkook’s squeezing your hand, fighting to not push your head down all the way down to the base. You’re so warm, so snug when you suck harder around the head of his cock. 

He makes his requests, guiding and teaching you what he fancies. “Baby, use your hand, fuck—so good.” 

You hum and moan through his instructions, the action causing an uncontrolled eye-roll to the back of his head. You do something unexpected, though. The jerking motions from your hand ceases completely when you remove it, now used to anchor yourself on his thigh. The movement is quick — head dropping down low, your lips meet the base of his cock and his tip touches the back of your throat.

“Fuck!” Jungkook looks down, brows knitted and eyes blown out. His hand grips yours harder as you go down once more, gagging around his thick length. Your warm breaths exhaled through your nose hit his pubic bone every time you moved down.

You do this for a couple of seconds, whines and low grunts prompting you to move past the discomfort. He’s so close. Though, like any regular human being, your endurance runs low regardless of your heightened need to ensure Jungkook’s pleasure was reciprocated.

You come up for some much needed air, lips so swollen and eyes glassy. The arm behind his head has long dropped to his side where he fists the blanket as you kiss up and down his shaft again.

“Make yourself feel good — use me.” You rasp, eyes hopeful he complies. 

He’d nearly combust just with how you mimic his exact words. So quick in how he lets go of your hand in favor of gathering your hair in one messy hold while the other hand steadies your jaw. He knows he can’t go too rough on you, so he settles for a pace good enough to get him to the finish line. Doesn’t require additional work on his end when you lock eyes at him as he pushes your head down to meet his hips.

He fights through the times he feels too much teeth for his liking, relishing in the sensation of whenever his tip hits the back of your throat in a frenzy thrust. Both impatient and mindless in how he seeks relief now, his hips jerk up the same time he pushes your head down.

“I’m close.” He stutters, hoping it brings you some comfort knowing he’s nearing his end all because of you. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He curses, each word punctured by his every eager shift. Your hand runs up his torso, stopping at his chest where your fingers close in on his nipple. Eyes squeezed close, white-hot splotches fill the back of his lids as he fills the condom with his cum. He momentarily forgets where he’s at, but he never forgets who he’s with. Whose got him cumming like this. Whose head he has pushed down as he rides out his orgasm. 

You take it, battling through the throbbing and soreness from having your mouth fucked. Know the ache is worth it when he shows you so much concern after he returns from his high. Jungkook wastes no time pulling you up, singing praises of how good you made him feel. And when you cough and giggle, his cock twitches pathetically against your core as he kisses you senselessly. 

Late into the night, Jungkook stirs awake from a sound. His lids flutter open, gaze clearing at a sliver of blue coming from the blackout curtains. Dawn breaks, but not nearly enough to wake up the world. The bed shakes slightly and he’s reminded he’s not home, and the warmth he fell asleep with was no longer beside him.

Another shaky breath followed by a sniffle, Jungkook breaks out of his dream-like state.

“Pixie?” His voice cracks from sleep. He palms for your body and realizes you’re at the furthest edge of the bed from him. He reaches for the light switch on his side only to see your back turned away, shoulders trembling.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He comes closer. When his front meets your back, that’s when you turn to press your tearstained face into his chest.

You shake your head, another round of tearful hiccups escapes as you try to regulate your breathing. “Sorry.”

He’s not sure what you’re apologizing for. Feels awful you’re in this state.

“What’s wrong?” He repeats softly. Voice laced with so much concern, it might be another catalyst to the new round of uncontrolled sobbing.

He’s never seen you like this. Sure, close calls, but never to this magnitude. Nonetheless, he lays there quietly, palm soothing your back as you try to suppress your cries into his chest. Soon enough, your cries are reduced to a somewhat regulated pattern of breathing. Jungkook moves away a little to assess your face.

His heart tugs at the sight of your red eyes and his palm instinctively rubs at your cheeks, making sure to get the fresh tears at the brim of your eyes.

“I’m sorry for waking you.” You say, throat hoarse and voice small. Nimble fingers tugging the end of your shirt, you attempt wiping at the moisture built on his bare chest.

He shakes his head. “‘s okay.” He hugs you closer. “Wanna tell me what’s got you feeling like this?” 

Your voice is muffled against his chest, but it would have sounded tiny in the space between you either way. “Just … I feel bad.”

Well, yeah, that checked out. He waits for your explanation.

“This is all so new and I got overwhelmed. I’m sorry.” You apologize again.

“From what we did tonight?” He swallows. “Or us?”

Your breath fans over his skin, creating another layer of warm condensation.

“I-I don’t know.” You stammer. 

His throat tightens — he wishes he could push his insecurities and guilt underneath the rug; though, they bubble and fester dangerously at the edge. He can’t stand the thought of doing something as bad as making you feel this way. 

Above all, he can’t stand the idea of being a regret — a mistake. 

“But I think this feeling will pass.” You reassure through another forced inhale. 

“What do you mean?” He does his best to keep his voice even. 

You move away. Back flat on the mattress, your head sinks with the hotel’s fluffy pillows just enough to conceal your face. Gravity pulls fresh tears down your temples and past your ears. 

“Safe sex is important.” You say. It is, so why does the statement come out laced with contempt? “I guess tonight made me realize there’s an added layer. I’ll be okay though, just need some time.”

His heart drops to his stomach. ‘Added layer.’ What you fail to put into words is how his job and what he does is an added layer to your guys’ relationship, especially when it comes to being intimate. So obvious how damned this whole ordeal was from the start. He couldn’t help himself — had to know what life could look like beyond friendship.

He should’ve listened to Hoseok … listened to his gut. 

Although time held the possibility for a change of heart, he can’t run on what-ifs. Not when the possibility of hurt overtakes the potential for fun. He cares about you … but he cares about himself, too. 

“Pix …” He begins, words wavering as you look at him with worry and anticipation. He pushes forward despite his better judgment. “Maybe we’re better off as friends.”

The space you create between your bodies is something Jungkook will need to get used to. Just like the hurt and reluctance on your face. Tears well up at the brim of your eyes again. 

“No-no, things will get better. I … I just need time.” You stammer through the shaky promise.

“What if it doesn’t get better?” His jaw clenches, doing his best to keep his emotions controlled and logical.

You blink profusely at the question, and he wonders if you’re finally playing out the different scenarios in your head: blissful love versus looming heartbreak. 

Your mouth parts, “It—”

“I can’t change what I do.” He realizes how little the statement burns him after it leaves his lips. Not nearly as much as the way your brows pull together in anguish — at another unprepared, shattering revelation: you thought you were enough for change.

“P—Hey,” He rushes to cup your cheek, “Come on, think about it. Nothing’s gonna change. We’ll be the same before all of this. I think it will be good.” Words meant to reassure you, he finds the need to verbalize the belief to himself too — speak it out to the universe.

“But we,” Your lips tremble, you take one calming breath, eyes closing to get a better bearing of your emotions. “Promise nothing’s going to change?”

“Promise.” 

Relationships are fleeting, he knows this. But a part of him dies as he’s forced to choose another door. 

He’ll settle for a friendship if that’s all he’s allowed. A kiss to your forehead is all he’s allowed as well, needing to create the physical distance only fitting for friends. Blue hour’s nearly over as the first peek of white light hits the window, but blue fills Jungkook’s entire being, jabbing and mocking him at a predictable loss. 

So it goes. 

Thank god you had a later checkout time. Fortunately for that, Jungkook accumulated a total of five hours of uninterrupted sleep before you stirred him awake around noon.

Lock clicking behind you both one last time, you and Jungkook make your way down to the hotel lobby. 

As promised, nothing’s changed in how Jungkook treats you. The conversations come naturally; the way he smiles at you isn't forced. He tells himself it’s okay, it’s alright. The new—uh, old norm is something he’ll take over nothing.

All your bags, except one, are with Jungkook. He stands on the side, waiting while you do the final checkout with the receptionist.

“And did you find your stay pleasant?” A different worker from all the ones Jungkook encountered asks. Her eyes scans his face before looking back at you. Perhaps this worker was briefed on the drama by her other coworkers.

“Was great.” You smile, eyes still puffy from the lack of sleep. 

Someone from behind clears their throat, “Um, excuse me, Miss?”

Jungkook turns around first, and it’s someone he’s never seen before. A bit taller than him, more built … strong jawline, too. Well, strong everything, appearance wise. Even with his sharp features, his expression holds an abundance of gentleness and patience Jungkook woefully believes he personally lacks. 

Peculiar.

Jungkook nudges your arm. “Pix, think someone’s tryna talk to you.”

You turn, “Uh, wha–” It takes you a moment to register who Jungkook was referring to. But a quick wave from the mysterious man forces the cogs in your brain to move.

“Oh! You were at the wedding, right?”

Jungkook steps off to the side to give you both some privacy, unsure if he’s allowed to listen into the conversation. He’s far enough to where he busies himself on his phone, occasionally looking up to see if you’re done. You’re smiling like you always do, nodding and listening intently to what the man has to say. Jungkook appreciates the view. Prefers you more like this: relaxed and unguarded — diminished qualities you don’t display in the recent time he’s been around you.

Your eyes briefly catch Jungkook, offering an apologetic smile, almost antsy to get back to him. Attention now back on the mysterious man, a phone is thrusted awkwardly in your face and you watch with questioning eyes at what he intends to ask you.

Then, you’re waving your arms frantically. Jungkook nearly walks over to see if his rescue was needed, but you laugh and the man puts his phone back into his pockets, a sheepish smile on his face as he scratches behind his head.

Within seconds, you’re back at Jungkook’s side again.

“Everything good?” He asks.

You nod. “Yup. Just someone I saved at my last booking.”

Jungkook stops in his tracks. “Pix, you can’t just lore drop without any context.”

Your laugh will always be preferred over what he witnessed last night. He needs to keep it this way, another reminder the decision to remain friends was the right thing to do, even with all the conflicting feelings. 

You give him the whole run-down of the encounter with the man. Jungkook listens with intent and marvel as he places your equipment into the back of your car.

“It looked like he wanted to get your number?” He rearranges your bags to face a certain way so it’ll be easier for you to unload when you’re home.

“Mm, he said he wanted to get to know me over dinner.” You mumble, but recover and explain, “I mean, he probably just wants to thank me. You know, for saving him and all.”

“That’s nice. Why didn’t you say yes?” Jungkook questions. As the words come out, he fights against a tone indicating his objection to the idea of you with someone other than him. Fights against the sick greed building up in his stomach — the one that rebels against his morals and beliefs, wanting you happy but all to himself. Yet, he knows the two things can’t happen without one lacking.

Such an innocent but extremely foolish question; regardless, he had to know.

“I have more than enough friends.” You reason, voice suddenly lower.

He scoffs, quietly relieved. “There’s no such thing as too many friends. He seems genuine, so—”

“You know why.” You close your trunk, a sad smile on your face as you look at him. 

At this very moment, he thinks about what Hoseok said: risk management factors. He’s been a constant risk you’ve willingly partook in. Have the outcomes always been good? He’s not so sure.

What he does know is all the uncertainties with him hold you back on your potential to be happy. What he does know is you deserve better. 

You deserve happiness. All of that and more. 

He also knows space is needed to better separate pleasure and feelings in order to be actual friends.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he clears his throat. “Pix, don’t take this the wrong way.”

Your brows pull together, anxious-ridden expression only further confirms his next words.

“I think I’d like some space.”

You frown. “You said nothing was going to change between us.”

“It won’t.” He answers all too quickly with a shake to his head. “I need to get some stuff sorted out. It’s not a punishment to you, I swear.”

You look to the side, eyes once again filled with tears. So different from who you were moments ago and who you were before everything transpired between you two.

“Okay.” You reply. If it’s one thing you both have for each other, it’s shared respect. You’d never deny him of his requests just as he’s never done that to you. 

But why does your compliance burn like betrayal? Were you also just as tired with no more energy to fight?

Shaking away those thoughts, he replies, “Take care, alright? I promise I’ll reach out when things settle on my end.” He only hopes you’re also content to talk by then, too. 

You nod with a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t take too long.”

Your joke lightens the mood a little. “I won’t.” He reassures. “Don’t forget about me either.”

“Never.” You reply. 

He’s about to head to his car until he remembers something. Turning on his heels, you’re just as eager to face him, hoping everything transpired in the last twenty-four hours was a fluke and he wants to restore whatever he had with you.

He does, but he can’t. Instead, he grounds himself in his resolve for both your sakes, offering another piece of departing advice, “Don’t sell yourself short, P. Give new things a try, ‘kay?”

Your response lands a bit later, but the wait was worth your smile, warm and genuine. “Okay.”

You’re a bad texter, but it doesn’t mean you’re not thinking of your friends. All you do is think about them: what kind of trouble Taehyung gets into or where your sister from another mister, Candie, has traveled to for the month.

Point is, you think about them just as much as they think about you. Your friends are understanding of your situation and nature — they know exactly when a check-in is needed. 

Jungkook now falls under the same category, but he hasn’t met any of your requirements as a friend. You find yourself thinking about him often. What’s he doing? Where is he at? How’s he doing?

Because you haven’t fared well. Breakups hurt, but they hurt more when things end on fair terms. You’ve hit every stage of grief at this point; thought you’d never leave anger or bargain and instead of moving forward, you’re back at the first stage: denial.

A small portion of the denial comes in the form of the sudden loss of Jungkook. The rest of it stems from the concept of experiencing your first situationship — which, honestly, quite laughable and borderline embarrassing at your age. Taehyung reassures this happens to everyone, older or younger. No one is above relationships not working out between two unfit people.

Were you and Jungkook really that unfit for one another?

He was great to you before, well, when you had to accept the realities of his job. Things seemingly took a turn for the worse when you put both your heart and body on the line. 

He’s not on social media (that you’re aware of), so stalking his whereabouts and life is out of the question. You also don’t want to search him up on those websites; seeing him intimate with someone else would set you back even more on the stages of grief.

While you had all the intentions of being a good friend and checking in on him, you knew better than to reach out to someone who requested for space. The least you can do is honor his wishes.

Still didn’t hurt any less. 

And now, the scales tip back to anger.

He left you to deal with your emotions on your own. Made an impression in your life and left when things got difficult — when things got difficult with you.

People keep reiterating the concept of multiple realities — how they can coexist, meet in the middle, merge together. But the truth is, Jeon Jungkook created this gaping space in your life, leaving parts of it empty, similar to the feeling heaving in your chest. 

The first couple of weeks were the hardest. By month two, you’ve gotten better at distracting yourself, pushing yourself even harder at work. Summer trended a slow down of wedding bookings. While you never minded spending extra time with your beta fishes, life had more to offer than working and missing a certain someone, right? You hated the slow-down, creating more space for unfavorable thoughts worthy of mulling over.

Your top distraction for today was your Facebook Marketplace. Thirty minutes into browsing, you think a nice walk outside your complex may do you better than doom scrolling for endless hours. That is, until you see a small red dot in your notifications.

Huh.

You click. Nothing new in your primary inbox with your loved ones, but the notification persists until you realize the source: your message requests.

Kim Mingyu [Yesterday, 8:43 p.m.]: Hello, I’m so sorry to bother…

You look at the profile picture and immediately remember the person. Weddings were an opportunity to meet new people. There’s always a select few that stuck — Jungkook included. The man on screen is another who made quite an impression at your past booking. 

You could ignore him. Forget about his message the moment you log out of Facebook. But you’re out of commission for the time being, and well, heartbroken too.

A distraction never hurts anyone.

The exchange starts by a message opened on a whim, then awkward small talk about the weather and how work was, then pictures of meals or recipes get traded until one brave soul (hint: it wasn’t you) initiates a dinner invite to which you later found out was a date. 

Mingyu’s good at distracting, replacing your thoughts of a certain pair of round eyes, citrus cologne, and cheshire-like grin. He’s no Jungkook — could never be. Being with Mingyu fell closely to a safety net. Could fall and always expect something to catch you: you were never caught off guard by his intentions with you. Clear as day and patient as the turtle winning the race against the bunny.

You receive a message from Jungkook weeks later, all the grief replaced by acceptance by then, because that’s all that’s left between you two. It starts as a regular check in: he asks you how you’ve been, and you tell your heart and him you’re doing great. The hurt you experienced in the beginning no longer persists at the sight of his message bubbles. And you come to think … maybe he was right — things are better this way. 

Four intentional dates later, Mingyu asked to be exclusive with you. He kept reiterating no pressure on a response; though, the urgency in his eyes begged for an answer even if it came as a rejection.  Nonetheless, he was kind about it, giving you enough time to mull over what a future could look like with him. 

You think back on Jungkook’s words to you at the hotel parking lot … don’t sell yourself short — try something new.

Mingyu comes from a less humble background, but he does his best to stay humble about it. Can’t hide his status whenever he arranges for personal pickups with the same gentleman you encountered at the wedding. Mr. Lee sings his praises about his employer enroute to whatever destination Mingyu chose for the day. Happy employees should be a good sign, right?

He’s also the second person in your life you opened up for physical intimacy. Nothing beyond heavy makeout sessions, of course, which you’re quite thankful for. You don’t mention about your inexperience and Mingyu doesn’t mention about the times you’ve rejected him for more. 

His kindness restrains himself because this relationship wasn’t just about that.

Things with Jungkook have gotten better. You might even say the relationship reverts to the time where you only spoke about editing tips — a stretch, but you get it. No one was left to figure out the dynamics of the relationship. At times, he sends you the view from his massive curtain wall, mostly in the early hours of the day because you’ve already seen how the city looks like at night. 

He doesn’t tell you to come over to see for yourself when you reply how lucky he is to wake up to that every morning.

A dull ache settles in your bones. So, this is the new norm you’ll have to get used to.

The ache fades a little when you finally tell Mingyu you’d like to continue seeing him exclusively. 

“Doll, I can’t have that … peanut oil.” Mingyu frowns as he turns the salad dressing bottle to you. 

“I’m so sorry.” You quickly place the bottle back on the shelf.

Dating Mingyu is great, his gentle giant nature leaving your insides feeling mushy. Though, you find yourself on the edge whenever you see a single peanut with his deathly aversion. Thinking back to the day of the wedding, both him and the cousin, the groom, were not aware of the added ingredient in the appetizers. After his cousin found out, he nearly sued the venue over the mishap. Though a big and certainly deadly deal, Mingyu rejected the idea of moving forward with the legal proceeding. 

He’s alive and well thanks to you. Plus, the catering incident led him to you, so perhaps all was worth it.

No matter how hard you try, you sometimes overlook these things too — not as bad as the catering company. You’re both grocery shopping for tonight’s date. Mingyu’s idea, of course. Thinks nothing is sweeter than doing these mundane tasks with you, as opposed to having his assistant run these errands for him.

He stands behind you, strong arms caging you against the shopping cart.

“Hey … not your fault the world doesn’t bend for my lame peanut allergy.” He tries to joke. “Thanks for understanding, though. I know how limiting food choices are with me.”

It’s not a terrible adjustment, but it does make you more wary of the places you go with him and the ingredients in your own food pantry.

You kiss his cheek. “Not a trouble at all. I’ll be more thorough next time.”

His small dimples peek through in his smile — nothing nearly as prominent as a certain someone’s, but they’re endearing nonetheless.

“Pixie?”

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you about grief. It creeps up on you, reminds you of the gaping hole you’ve tip-toed around. Couldn’t fill the hole no matter how hard you tried. Jeon Jungkook has a way of reminding you of the grief as he stands behind you with a shopping basket in hand. Months of living with the divet in your chest, the edges crumble when he smiles at you, dimples the same and striking as ever. 

“Jungkook.” You breathe. Mingyu creates some distance as he backs away from the cart handle. He stares at Jungkook, eyes slightly narrowing. Not out of malice, but in an attempt to recognize.

Jungkook’s smile changes a little too as he takes in the scene, realizing the significant life changes you failed to mention during the time you both started texting again. He doesn’t voice it, of course. Did he deserve the update? Would he even welcome it?

You blink, looking between the two men before landing on the one you have a date with tonight. “Mingyu, did you want to check out the produce section?” You raise your brows with a smile, already stepping away from him and toward the other man. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

Mingyu agrees with a small smile before nodding at Jungkook, who replicates the gesture.

Once he was out of the aisle, Jungkook’s demeanor relaxes a little. 

“So.”

You inhale. “So.”

Eyes crinkling, his teeth sink down on his bottom lip to suppress his laugh.

Regaining his composure, he tries, “What’s new?” 

“Not much,” you start, ignoring the rapid beats against your chest, “work’s been the same, if anything slower.”

He pauses, waiting for you to continue—to listen to what details you may add on, perhaps details regarding the man embracing you just seconds ago. You don’t, just shrug. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to be bothered, nodding along with the information. “That’s right, you mentioned a slow down during summer holidays.”

He remembered. Breath caught in your throat, you recover with a quick nod, mentally berating yourself to get it together. Your friends should remember what you tell them.

“Yep. How have you been?” Doesn’t take a genius for him to know you were avoiding the topic of work with him.

“Not bad. Busy, but I like that. What’s on the menu?” He looks down at your cart. The conversation rolls off Jungkook with little effort. Envious and ticked by his nonchalance, you reply quickly hoping to match his pace.

“Mingyu wanted to try making lasagna soup after seeing it online.”

“Soup in this weather? Wild night.” He muses.

“It’s not that hot.” You roll your eyes. “Plus, air conditioning exists.”

“Thank god.” He grins. Your eyes trail over his thin cotton t-shirt — much different than his usual baggy shirts he fancied, the tight ones are just as flattering on him, if not more. 

You’re getting the hang of this: the conversation, the relationship — this Jungkook.

“Mingyu, huh?” He raises his brows. “He looks familiar.”

You clear your throat. “Ah, yeah. Remember that one guest from that booking? He found me on Facebook.”

He lets his tongue poke the inside of his cheek for a second before he nods. “Cute.”

Your face remains unmoving; though, your heart pulls at the phrase, forever Pavlov-ed like a fool remembering what love was once like.

He continues, “Facebook Mom meets her Facebook Dad.”

His teasing makes up for the lost time — for the gap he left in your life. For a moment, this was enough … the promise he fulfilled as being your friend, or at least his attempt to. Wit caught in your throat, his phone pings and he offers an apologetic smile before reaching for it.

“Crap, I’m late.”

You wanted to ask for what, but hope he’d tell you himself. He doesn’t, instead, says to you:

“Let’s catch up over text or something, okay? Tell me all about Facebook Dad.” He flashes another smile — not the usual kind you’re used to, but you let the image linger in your mind, locking this memory up until the next time you’re afforded to see him.

“I’ll text you.” You smile and wave.

Finally, he gives you a real smile, the one you longed for these last couple of months.

“See ya, Pix.”

Lasagna soup was a hit. Having about three servings, you didn’t refuse Mingyu’s offer to pack you the leftovers for when you leave. On his couch, he tells you about his work drama … something about finances and numbers, you’re not sure. He senses your confusion and diverts to another story worthy of your attention as he muses about executive management.

“So your boss’ boss slept with his secretary?” You ask, setting down your wine glass and leaning back on his couch.

“Yup.” He places his arm over your shoulder. “The kicker? His wife was his prior secretary.”

You let out a scandalized gasp and he grins. 

Easing further into the couch, he questions, “How about you? Any recent crazy wedding stories?”

You’ve already mentioned your dryspell at work, so neither something recent nor crazy occurred at a booking. You understand if he asks for formalities … but how hard was it to remember?

“Does saving a man from an allergic reaction count?” You tease.

Now, it’s his turn to gasp as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all evening.

“Was he at least good looking? Worth the saving?”

“Mmm, he’s alright.”

Another gasp leaves his lips before he tickles your sides, “Take that back.”

You giggle and squirm away, “Okay—okay, ‘m sorry!”

He laughs along with you, tugging your body onto his lap. Your heart stirs in your chest at the proximity. Skinship is still a new thing for you regardless of the number of experiences you’ve had prior. Mingyu’s strong arm wraps around your midsection. You quiet down as he presses his chin on your shoulder, breathing into your hair.

“Speaking of which,” he mumbles into the tiny space between you. “Who was the person we bumped into earlier?”

You pause at the mention of Jungkook.

“Ah, just a friend.”

He narrows his eyes. “Friend, as in …?”

Your brows pinch, confused, though Mingyu reads your silence easily.

“I only ask because I’ve never heard about him. You only really talk about Taehyung.”

You don’t feel the need to explain your friendship status or tier levels. But you suppose it comes off odd you haven’t openly talked about a friend to your romantic interest. Friendships are normal; yet, Jungkook was a secret you’d like to keep locked up just for yourself.

“I met him through work.” You keep the response vague. “Why?”

“I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.” He ponders.

“He has a familiar looking face.” You lie. No one looks like him. You find glimpses of him in others, but no one would ever compare.

“Hm, on the contrary, no.” Mingyu disagrees. “I just can’t put a pin on where I’ve seen him …”

The hairs on your neck raise as you buy time through another topic, hoping to lead his train of thoughts astray from Jungkook.

“He was with me on the weekend of your cousin’s wedding. Yeah. Anyway,” Ready to redirect the conversation, “Thanks again for dinner tonight. I can cook for us next time at my place.”

His eyes soften at your remark, thoughts of your friend long forgotten now that the main focus was on you and him. “Anytime. Glad you enjoyed. I love cooking for you.” 

His hold on you tightens, one of his arms reaches up your front, large hand cupping your cheek before he turns you to the side. The angle is a little difficult, but you can’t refuse a kiss from Kim Mingyu.

It’s a gentle peck at first, heated second, before his hands are all over you. 

“Can I touch you?” He breathes into the shell of your ear.

Funny how he already was with one hand on your hips as the other trails dangerously close to your center. You whisper a breathy yes, and Mingyu makes his descent down your skirt.

Your legs widen for an easier access, exhaling at the first contact of his fingers on your covered cunt.

His hands are a bit clumsy at first, unable to see your expressions from behind. He knows he’s on the right path when you let out a pretty sigh.  

After multiple dates, both quiet and loud confessions of his adoration for you, you think you might be ready for the next step in this relationship. Your first time should be with someone you cared for and trusted. The belief gets thrown out the window as he lays you down on his bed, doubtful you’ll ever reach that point with anyone. What you’re certain is:

You cared for your body.

You trusted your body.

Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect. 

The mantra you replay in your head as Mingyu pulls out a condom from his nightstand. He opens it between his teeth and rolls it over his length. Relieved, you wait for the sweet scent to arrive — preferably strawberries, but only the rubbery latex fills your senses as he sinks his cock into you. Foreplay ended at the couch and now he fills you, coaxing you through your heavy breaths. Your body’s uncertain if it trusts you with your decision. You squeeze around him, unable to fully relax from the intrusion.

He waits for your okay to move and while you could’ve told him to never move, you nod, thinking the pain will subside. His thrusts are controlled and slow in the beginning, kissing you when you let out breathier moans. Everything burned longer than you liked, but there were about twenty-three seconds of pleasure until you revert to a state of indifference and wonder of when this will all be over.

He mistakes your tear-stained face as sweat, too busy burying his face into the crook of your neck as his hips piston into yours. Your uneven sounds timed with the punch of his thrusts clouded his judgment as pleasure.

As someone who always believed in trying something three times, you can’t expect your first time to be completely enjoyable. Eyes locked at the moving ceiling—well, no, your body was moving in tandem to Mingyu’s powerful thrusts, you chant a new mantra: Be in the moment. Be in the moment. Be in– 

You fall short from the burnt rubber stench permeating your nostrils, mind choosing to slip into other matters like how Gum and Bubba liked their new tanks. Have you received any new booking inquiries? Wow, Mingyu’s chest gets really sweaty. You don’t recall Jungkook ever sweating like this.

Jungkook.

The dull ache returns — different from the ache between your legs.

You know you’re bound to share about your first sexual experience to your friends. Taehyung will be the first to hear, has to be. Plus, he’s been a huge Team Mingyu advocate since Jungkook’s blunder.

Friends. Jungkook is your friend; though, you can’t imagine sharing about this experience with him. Would he want to know? Or is this another secret you’ll have to keep to yourself? Not like he’s never kept things from you.

“Fuck, I’m c-close. You there, doll?” Mingyu grunts into your ear.

Close to cumming? You’re not sure. There, mentally? Also not sure.

But you whine and nod, hoping your body could reach to that desired high if you verbalized it. 

The high never arrives … well, for you at least.

Mingyu finishes shortly in the condom, quickly pulling out of you as he rolls onto his back. He cards through his hair before turning to you with a sweet smile.

“That was nice.” He kisses your shoulder. “Be right back.”

You watch as he goes to his bathroom, squinting as the fluorescent light blinds you momentarily before he shuts the door closed. You lay there for a couple minutes, comforter covering your bare chest, wondering if you should locate your clothing on the floor. 

Sitting up, your face scrunches in discomfort as the stinging pain in your middle travels to your lower abdomen. Before you could attempt to grab your underwear, the bathroom door opens again.

“Your turn. Should go pee.” Mingyu suggests, pulling up his boxer briefs before climbing into bed again.

You’re not sure why, but you comply and wobble into the bathroom after pulling over his discarded dress shirt. You pee as requested, stream coming out not like you’re used to. The burn greets you during the wipe, and you’re too afraid to look at the aftermath below you. Reaching behind, you flush away your worries.

You look in the mirror as you wash your hands. The world around you looks the same — you didn’t acquire new senses or appear any different. Certainly, an angel didn’t gain a new set of wings from your act. Nothing different, just new revelations … discoverings, like the new hickeys on your neck and chest. When did those even happen?

You should head home — you want to go home and be around something familiar.

When you emerge into Mingyu’s bedroom again, he’s scrolling through his phone, smiling as you near his bed, but the curves drop when you start looking for your clothes.

“Did you wanna spend the night?” He asks.

You quickly make up an excuse about a client reaching out for some clips you forgot to send over. Refusing his offer to have Mr. Lee take you home, you order a cab as you put on your clothes. Your shift worries him — confuses him even more when you don't want to wait for him to pack the leftover soup. You feel guilty enough to offer him a quick peck on the lips, telling him you had fun tonight and you’ll text when you arrive home safely.

The travel home was a blur until the locks of your door clicks behind you. You barely make it halfway through the threshold before you lean against the door for some support. 

The back of your lids burn as you press both of your palms to your eyesockets. 

Hot tears. 

Feeling more foolish for these unknown emotions, you let out a quiet sob. Sex was magical, right? So, why do you feel empty? Void of the magic people speak so highly of?

Sniffling, you fish your phone from your purse, fingers automatically clicking into a contact without a second thought.

Before you could press on the call button, a message notification comes in.

Mingyu [7:11 p.m.]: Hope you arrived home safely. Tonight was fun. Mingyu [7:12 p.m.]: Btw … I think you started your period. Don’t worry! Stain’s easy to get out 😀

Heat travels to the back of your neck before you quickly start the call. After the second ring, a laugh blares through your phone speakers and it quells the shakiness in your heart. “Hey! What’s up, kiddo?”

You bite down the tremor of your lower lip. “Hey, I’m sorry to bug you, I know you’re out of town and all—”

The background noises cease within two seconds. “Yo, is everything okay? Why do you sound like that?”

You breathe, sniffling and wiping away at your runny nose.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, voice breaking. “I just came back from Mingyu’s.”

“What? Did you guys fight or something? Talk to me.” He says, gentle and stern.

You shake your head despite knowing Taehyung couldn’t see your action. A fight is something you could put into words at least … not this feeling.

“We had sex.” Knowing your friend, he’d assume the worst if you were crying. You quickly follow up with, “It was fine. I j-just—I don’t know, I don’t feel fine.”

Taehyung’s quiet on the other end, waiting for you to continue.

“I just feel disappointed.”

“At what?”

The question should be rephrased to ‘who?’ Betrayal sets in, wondering why you chalked up sex to be this grand thing only to feel let down. A part of you grieves the unknown—grieves the hope of something magical. Now, you’re just left with the reality and truth: sex wasn’t all that.

You dodge his question by asking another one. “Sex is supposed to feel good, right?” You palm your cheeks.

“Mm, for girls? Uh, I guess not all the time.” Taehyung answers. 

That means it should get better by the third try right? You just need to persevere, figure out what feels good–

“You don’t have to continue having sex to figure out if it’s not something you like, kiddo.” Taehyung cuts off your train of thought as though it could be heard through the line, redirecting it entirely. “I hope you know that.”

“But—”

“Hey,” he interrupts. “Tell you what, go on and take a hot shower, okay? I’m coming home tomorrow evening and we can spend some time with each other—catch up.”

You mumble a quick okay and apologize again for calling while he’s on a retreat. He dismisses your apology and tells you he loves you.

Taehyung’s right. Feeling more refreshed after your thirty-minute shower, you grab your phone to reply to Mingyu only to notice some text messages from your best friend.

Taehyung [8:11 p.m.]: Something’s waiting for you outside your door Taehyung [8:11 p.m.]: App said it’s delivered so HURRY

Ominous, but you crack an opening and peer outside your apartment. A little brown bag with your name sits nicely on your welcome mat. 

The bag crinkles in your attempt to pry the seal apart, finding two pints of your favorite flavors of ice cream. Your eyes water again for different reasons — better reasons.

You [8:15 p.m.]: You shouldn’t have 🥺 Taehyung [8:16 p.m.]: Enjoy, kiddo 😁 I’ll see you tmr

Feet tucked underneath you on your couch, you’re about two spoons deep into the ice cream as you click into your inbox. Luckily, two inquiries came in. A part of you relaxes at the fact of not fully lying to Mingyu about your need to work. The two inquiries were responded to and confirmed within fifteen minutes.

You pay extra attention to Gum and Bubba this evening. Noticing the lack of live plants in their tanks, you seek out your Facebook groups before eventually heading to the local pet store. Clicking on the shortcut in your browser, the first thing you see on your timeline is an announcement from your cohort’s group page:

CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR 9TH ANNUAL SHUTTER AWARDS WINNER: JEON JUNGKOOK

You check the timestamp of the post — made over an hour ago. You gasp, marveling at the submitted images, both ones he took with your assistance and ones you’ve never seen. Were they from his older portfolios or taken in the time you weren’t speaking?

Either way, he did it. He really entered.

… And he didn’t tell you.

You swallow down the icky thoughts of betrayal threatening to invade your mind. Maybe the thought slipped past his head, especially when the submission deadline fell around the time he wasn’t on speaking terms with you. You had a bad habit of forgetting to update him about your life, too. Still, he could’ve said something to you, even at the grocery store today. 

Okay, this shouldn’t be about you. You’re happy for him. You hope your text messages congratulating him highlighted your joy and excitement. Minutes go by and there’s no response. Usually it wouldn’t bother you, but didn’t he say he wanted to catch up?

An idea pops in your head and you can’t be stopped. You don’t bother changing out of your grey sweats, opting to pull a thin cardigan to at least look somewhat presentable. You drive to the nearest late-night grocery store, settling for a decent last-call bouquet sale. As you line up for the cashier, a box catches your attention: persimmons. 

Jungkook’s sentiment rings in your ears — he wouldn’t be able to finish them on his own.

You don’t think you’d be able to help him either. 

About half an hour later, you’re in the lobby of Jungkook’s apartment complex with a bouquet of flowers in hand. The guest entry code changes every month, so there wasn’t a way for you to hand deliver the flowers to him, let alone drop off at his door. The front desk tried reaching him multiple times, but to no avail. 

“You guys run a strict program around here, huh?” You muse at the older receptionist while writing a short note on the tiny piece of paper he graciously provided.

He chuckles, strikes up a conversation with you about how rules keep changing every year and he’s too old to keep up.

You’re just about to hand over the bouquet until you hear a familiar laugh in the distance.

Eyes squinting, you spot Jungkook in his workout gear, bangs stringy from sweat. He’s with another person — a woman. Feeling shy and awkward all of the sudden, you attempt to tell the receptionist you’ll be on your way now.

“Oh, Mr. Jeon!” The older man waves, voice booming in the spacious lobby.

Crap.

You grimace. 

Jungkook and the woman peer over, steps now turned in the direction of where the front desk is — of where you are.

“Lucky we caught him.” The man murmurs to you, smiling as Jungkook and the woman nears. “You can personally give him the flowers now.”

You grab the flowers before Jungkook could notice them, hiding the bundle behind your back.

“Mr. Jeon, this guest is here to see you.”

Jungkook looks back and forth between you and the receptionist, brows twitching in confusion. His perplexity settles, finally accepting you’re in his building of all places.

He smiles at you; although, it doesn’t fully form before hesitation takes over his features once again. “Pix? Whatcha doing here?”

You catch a brief glimpse of the woman behind him. Older, but gorgeous. Were they a family member?

“Ah, uh, I wanted to congratulate you.” You say, feeling slightly underdressed in your oversized lounge clothes in comparison to their fancy workout clothing.

“Congratulate me?” Jungkook tilts his head. His eyes narrow, bemused but recovering quickly as he turns to the woman. “Sorry, Yoona. You can go ahead.”

Yoona gives him a neutral smile — hinting her gratitude in being dismissed. She turns on her heels and heads back to the elevators.

Something familiar brews inside of you: betrayal sits nicely on your chest, just in a different font.

“You got first place in the photography competition.”

His eyes light up and for a second, you’re transported back in your apartment again at a time when it was just you and him exploring the world of film and editing. For a moment, you wished things stayed like that; yet, you would never trade the feelings you’ve experienced with Jungkook.

“Wait, no fucking way.” His smile grows.

You mirror his smile. “Mhm, announced it a little over two hours ago.”

“Holy shit.” Hands on his hips, he tips his head down, concealing his happiness and excitement. “Fuck, I can’t believe I placed first.”

“I can.” You reply. “Knew you could do it.”

He rubs his hands over his face, still in disbelief at the win. He pauses, as if only just now realizing where you’re both at.

“And you came all the way here to congratulate me, Pix?”

“Well,” You look around awkwardly. “Y-you didn’t answer my text message and I wanted to–”

His hand pats the side of his pants at the mention of your text.

“Shoot, no wonder. My phone died while I was at the gym.” He slides the device back into his pocket.

“You can workout to no music?” You question with a small smile.

“Yeah, well, no.” He clears his throat. “Yoona hooked up her music to the gym stereo.” 

Yoona. Well, it doesn’t seem like they’re a relative just by this conversation alone. You’d like to change the topic, unready to open this can of worms.

Jungkook senses the shift and continues, “Anyway, thanks, Pix. I really appreciate it. What a way to end the day.”

You rock on your heels knowing full well the bouquet behind you is far from concealed. Not a bit discreet. The petals poke out from your sides, creating a small border around your frame. Fitting for fairies frolicking in the meadows, if you were one. 

You bring the bundle to your front. “Got these for you. Small gift for your big win.”

You win in the exact moment Jungkook’s eyes light up, joy spreading through his features as his hands engulf yours in the exchange. You lose when you realize you never knew how much you’ve missed this touch—his touch. 

“This is so thoughtful, really.” He holds the flowers with one hand. Ever so subtly, his other hand twitches at his side, unsure if he’s allowed to pull you in for a hug. “Would you like to come upstairs and catch up? I just need to shower real—”

“No, no.” You shake your head with an awkward chuckle. “Social battery’s a little drained. I’m ready for bed.” You look down at your outfit and pull at your sweats.

“That’s right, soup date with Facebook Dad.” He muses, eyes lingering on your face.

While you’re thankful for Jungkook’s ability to remember details in your life, in that exact moment, you felt exposed. Does Jungkook know? Can he sense something different since the grocery store? You must have some sort of invisible sign on your forehead saying ‘I just had sex,’ right? 

Betrayal’s over-welcomed stay gets knocked down a few notches as shame crawls up your spine. You resist the urge to cover your face — as if that’ll appear less shady.

Scientifically and logically impossible to tell; yet, Jungkook’s stare remains, studying and absorbing your every feature. There’s a small tick you’ve realized when he does this — like he’s trying to memorize you, unsure of when’s the next time he’d see you like this again.

He clears his throat a beat later. “Well, I don’t want to keep you too long. Thanks again for this, Pix.”

He offers to walk you to your car, but you’re already backing away, waving and congratulating him one more time this evening to drive home your pride in his win. At the same time, you take your time to memorize him too: eyes softening and lip piercing flipping prettily with his smile. 

You’ve won and you’ve lost. 

Mingyu and you share a mutual love for evening strolls after dinner. 

Even with the warmer weather, he holds your hand as you both make your rounds in his gated complex’s park. It’s safe and clean cut — very similar to Mingyu.

Somewhere between the walk, you unlatch your hand in favor of responding to Jungkook’s invite to his celebratory party at the club next week.

“Would you like to come with me?” You ask Mingyu, phone stuffed into your jean pocket as you grab hold of his hand again.

He hums. “Don’t know, I’m a bit too old for the club scene.”

You want to argue that no one’s too old to be at the club. Plus, it’s not like you’d be participating in any heavy drinking activities. Nothing’s worth busting your knees over on the dance floor either, unless they summon you via “No Hands” by Waka Flocka. Say goodbye to your lower half. Anyway, you’re there to celebrate a friend’s accomplishment.

“It’s that Jungkook friend of yours, right?” Mingyu inquires.

You answer with a nod.

Mingyu hums again and looks straight forward, hand tightening around yours. The moisture gathers as you both continue your hold on each other, unwilling to be the first to let go.

“I did some digging on him. Did you know he does porn?”

Bile gathers at the back of your throat.

“Yes.” You answer, honest and straightforward. There was no dodging of this topic at this point. Jungkook was not ashamed of his profession, and you would never put down your friend’s choices.

“Isn’t that weird?” He shrugs.

“That he does porn?” You question, suddenly feeling defensive at the underlying implication you were weird for accepting Jungkook’s lifestyle. Another thought plays in your head: why the hell was he playing investigator on your friends?

“Well, yeah.”

You let go of Mingyu’s hand, excusing the act as a way to air out your sweaty palm. “Not any weirder than watching porn.”

“That’s different.” He argues. 

You retract your head, “How? There wouldn’t be adult films without their viewers.” Simple theory in economics: supply and demand.

He sighs. “This isn’t something worth debating over …”

“You’re talking about my friend.” You purse your lips.

“I’m not trying to control you or anything,” He starts. Your skin pricks at the words. “I just don’t know if that’s the kind of person you want in your life.”

You frown. “You don’t have to come to the party with me if you don’t want to, Mingyu.”

He stops in his tracks at the same time your steps cease. “I wasn’t planning to. What I’m saying is, I don’t fancy the idea of you being friends with someone like that.”

Clean cut and straight to the point, just like his pursuit to get to know you. He knew what he wanted, and what he wants right now is for you to ween away from this particular friendship. So much for someone not wanting to be in control of you.

Silence drags as you continue your walk, eventually cutting it short under the guise of pesky mosquitos. They were never enough of a derailer in your past evening walks; though, you’ve never been happier to leave behind a conversation.

Two hours and you’ll leave. 

It’s what you tell yourself the day of Jungkook’s event and what replays in your head as you get ready. After you’ve officially ended things with Mingyu two days ago, going out and having fun was the last thing you wanted to do.

Much like how Mingyu was, the split was clean cut and straight to the point — he didn’t want you going to Jungkook’s celebration party, and gave you the ultimatum of ending your guys’ relationship or the friendship with a pornstar. Ridiculous to think those were your choices when your final decision will always center around your autonomy.

Still, the breakup hurts.

You’re an hour into your socializing quota. Neither having a good or bad time because Jungkook’s too busy greeting others and making his rounds. It’s okay, you’ll catch him at the end of the party when you leave. Luckily, you had great company by your side.

Yoongi sits next to you, complaining about the strobing lights and the shitty playlist. He could’ve easily left you to fend for yourself, but he stayed. He keeps a watchful eye on his husband, laughing through his nose when Hoseok’s booming laughter rang louder than the club’s music. 

“You know, I still watch our wedding video till this day.” Yoongi smiles, eyes still trained on Hoseok. “Best day of my life. Can’t believe the easter egg you added at the end.”

You smile fondly at the memory, nodding over to where Hoseok shows off his dance moves. “He was the true mastermind.”

He nods, a tender smile plastered on his lovesick face. Honeymoon’s long over, but there was no expiration for his adoration. “The pictures were a great touch too. Glad Kook had a hand in that.”

Similarly, you match Yoongi’s smile at the mention of Jungkook. Even through the flashing lights and shady hues of the nightclub, you’d always spot him. He stands out way too easily in the crowd with his dark attire, fingers and neck decked out in jewelry. He’s outside with a couple of friends, chatting and laughing. You notice the cigarettes in between their fingers, smoke exiting their nostrils or lips. Can’t exactly tell if Jungkook pinches a burning cigarette in between his fingers too with his arms crossed.

Jungkook spots you and Yoongi from outside, waving briefly. The glimmer from his rings match the single silver cuban links around his neck — still, nothing shone brighter than his smile. 

“I’m proud of that kid.” Yoongi says, eyes following where you’re looking at. “Took him long enough.”

Huh? What does that mean? Is he referring to Jungkook finally entering a competition?

“He signed up for some photography courses. Hopefully he sticks through the prereqs.” Yoongi brings his glass to his lips.

You should feel happy for Jungkook, elated he’s finally pursuing his passion. Your joy could only extend for so long after losing. You lost Jungkook, lost Mingyu, and now you’re losing Jungkook again. You can’t help but feel left behind as you stare at him doubled over at a particularly funny thing one of his friends said.

“That’s great to hear.” You put forward your best smile and the corner of your eyes fight to mimic the emotions you outwardly speak of. You hope you’re convincing enough, but the retired actor has years beyond your experiences of faking it.

Out of respect, Yoongi doesn’t press on. Wouldn’t be allowed to anyway as you excuse yourself to get another drink.

“Another midori sour, please?” You wave down the bartender.

The bartender smiles and makes you a new drink. “I’m glad the special item has a fan.”

Your brows furrow at the statement.

“Host requested to add this on the menu today. Honestly a relic.” She pushes the cup towards you in exchange for your card.

You chug the green drink, glass only filled with ice now and the preserved cherry you’ll save for later. Not even the midori sour’s usual sugary goodness could cancel out the bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Checking your phone, you have about thirty-eight minutes left till you can call it a night. Soon. You’ll be back in your bed. Soon, you’ll—

“Pixie.”

Spoke too soon.

You smell him before you see him. The citrus scent paired with a hint of cigarette wafts in your direction as he sits on the barstool next to you, deja vu greeting you when he orders a highball and adds another midori sour on his tab.

“Sorry, haven’t had the chance to properly greet you.” One of his arms extends out behind you, tugging you in for a quick side hug. “Thanks for coming. Means a lot to me.”

Your senses get overwhelmed by his scent and heat.

Once pulled away and back on his seat, you drink in his figure donned in a black leather jacket and a pair of baggy jeans. You’d argue his silver chains shined brighter under these flashing lights, but who were you kidding? Those darn playful irises always come in first place.

He smiles at you, a slim white stick poking out from the corner of his mouth to which you later realize was a tiny sucker on its last legs.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You smile as the drinks arrive in front of you both. He watches you take the first sip, tongue swirling around his lollipop to finish whatever last bits were on the stick.

Feeling hot under his gaze, you push your drink towards him. “Wanna try?”

He nods, fingers grasping the rim perfectly. Turning the glass, his mouth slots over the same spot with the lipstick stain. Out of all the free spaces, he still chose to claim your specific landmark. 

“Sweet.” He chuckles. “Makes sense why it’s your go-to.”

You nod, taking the glass back, greedy to place your lips over the edges of where his lips once visited. 

He stares at you, letting his eyes take their time as they trace your face, down to your exposed legs. Weather’s warmer, but even in your black halter top and short denim skirt, you burn and melt under his gaze. 

“Where’s Facebook Dad?” His dropped lids keep a careful watch on you as he tips his own glass to his mouth, the white lolli-stick tucked between his fingers. 

“Not sure.” Not here, apparently. Jungkook simply nods, taking the hint of your lack of words. 

“I think I should head out, though.” You begin, phone placed in your backpocket as you stand from your stool.  

He gives you the same stare on the night of the milestone party. This time, he’s more bold in his request.

“We barely hung out tonight. Stay a little longer for me.” He says. “Please?”

You’ve stayed plenty, but this was his special night. You can brave through a little discomfort for your friend. About three drinks in, Jungkook leads you onto the dance floor despite your initial protests. New lollipop in his mouth, he ignores your complaints and brings you into the middle where the fun’s usually at.

Though stiff at first, your body loosens up eventually, feeling the effects of the alcohol seep into your bloodstream. A warm flush builds in your stomach, undetermined whether it’s the alcohol talking or when Jungkook’s entire demeanor matches yours the moment “No Hands” begins playing.

“Aren’t you hot in that jacket?” You ask, eyes trailing down his covered torso. He has a grey top underneath his leather jacket, dark patches on his shirt growing as the night progresses.

“Pairs well with the outfit.” He banters. “Plus, air conditioning exists.” 

You scowl and Jungkook laughs, turning you away from him. Good move on his end. Avoids a childish debate and he gets to dance with you. 

The cigarette scent on his clothes intensifies as his front presses against your back. You’re not a smoker, but you wouldn’t mind smelling like one — like him. At least this is one thing you can bring home with you tonight. 

You sway to the music, the hands on your hips keep your ass and his groin moving at a sensible distance and pressure. Completely normal between two friends. Yup. Should feel normal, should be alright. So normal how his breath fans over the shell of your ear, how his inhale stutters, an exhaled low chuckle the moment you reach behind his nape, keeping him close and secure.

You dance together like this for a few songs, unready to part for the night. Growing restless at the lack of his visual, you turn around and loop your arms over his neck. His eyes soften from the action, an endeared smile spreads at your hesitance to meet his eyes in the moment. Too soon — need some warming up.

“Didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.” You hum, focused on the white stick on the side of his mouth.

“I don’t.” He shakes his head. “Been tryna quit smoking.”

“You never mentioned you smoked.”

His thumb rubs your exposed skin on your hips. Not something any of your friends do, but you allow it for Jungkook. Your eyes stay on his lips as a deep laugh rumbles through his chest and he pushes the sucker against his cheek. “Did you want to try it?”

He pulls out the sucker and tips it to your lips. What he doesn’t show you are the three other unopened lollies in his pocket. He could’ve offered you one of those, but he’s selfish, wanting to claim what’s already his and only offering you what one would consider damaged goods. 

You think they’re just goods. 

No words are exchanged as you wrap your lips around the candy, tongue swirling around it slowly as you take it in. Whether it’s the alcohol buzzing through your system or the constant magnetic pull Jungkook has on your entire being, your gaze lifts to his eyes and how they’ve hyperfocused on your lips. His Adam’s apple bobs, pushing the sucker deeper so every part of your tongue’s coated in the sugary goodness.

Should’ve known how territorial he is. Claiming your glass rim and now wanting back the sucker lodged in your mouth. Soon enough, he tugs the lollipop out and pops it straight back to his mouth.

“You’ve been keeping things from me.” You say, teasing with a hint of bitterness despite the sugar sticking on your tongue. “Yoongi tells me you started photography courses.” 

The photography classes, competition, smoking … the laundry list of things Jungkook failed to keep you posted about only further shuts you out of his life.

What other things don’t you know about Jeon Jungkook? 

He breathes out a laugh, finally taking the wrapper in his pocket to place the unfinished lollipop in it to save for later. A little late to remind himself of the hazards of dancing with something in his mouth. “Yeah, well, I wanted to tell you when we caught up. Not easy being the only thirty-something year old in class too.”

“It’s a scary transition, but I’m proud of you.” You always have been, which is why you didn’t have a second thought in ending things with Mingyu.

“Thanks, Pix.” Smiles so prettily and sweet, you wonder if Jungkook’s mouth is all sugary like yours right now.

You try your best to shut down these thoughts. Hard when he tips his forehead against yours, sweaty bangs also on you. He stays like this as you both dance to the music, never pushing for more. You gave him flowers as a congratulatory gift … was he willing to accept something else from you? 

In your drunken stupor, your true thoughts come to light: you missed Jeon Jungkook. And perhaps because of this reason — because of the liquid courage, you move in. Nose slotted snugly against his, you’re so close. So close to home and what you’ve wanted to come back to all these months. 

He says your name, pained and strained. Close, so close … so—

The journey back home never arrives. Jungkook removes the pathway along with the hope and dreams of respite, pulling away at the last second. 

He told you the space he needed wasn’t a form of punishment, so when is it going to stop feeling like one? Crushed, by the sweetest lips you’ll never kiss again — you can’t kiss again — and the warmest touch you’ll always miss. 

“I’ll go get us some water. Wait for me, ‘kay?” He detaches from your body.

And when he returns with two slightly bent cone-shaped water cups, you’re nowhere to be found.

a/n: beta’d by @lovieku & @takeitawaykenny ty as always to my #1 supporters, brainstormers, and hype crew. they get me and this story like no other. aside from their big brained feedback, i should rly show yall the funny cmmts they be dropping LOL i love em

heh anyway, lmk your thoughts! … a roller coaster of a part, huh? homestretch, my beloveds!! next and final (🥺 WAHH!) update will be in june at latest. lots of life stuff happened and i’m doing my best over here. nice thing is, writing is one of the many things keeping me afloat. seeing all the positive feedback during these wild times makes this lil thing called life more tangible. ty all ♡

gentle reminder: no taglist

Auntie Lin’s only piece of advice after you announced your acceptance of your first corporate job: Small talk is your best friend. The advice hadn’t registered in your mind until you facilitated a meeting with executive management where the first five minutes of silent judgement nearly made you quit the job until you asked, “Any weekend plans?”

You learned the power of small talk and how obsessed executive leaders were when it came to bragging about their personal lives outside the office. The advice worked so well, management gave you an unprompted promotion two weeks later.

Nothing wrong with being the personality hire if it helps you climb the corporate ladder. 

Okay, well, no, you had history with this company.

Your father’s connection with the talent acquisition management landed you an internship at this very company right out of high school, so you didn’t need to reestablish your rapport after graduating from university.

You’re still a hard worker. Yes … objectively speaking, nepotism played a part in your current successes — you don’t shy away from that fact.

Your charming and curious personality only got you so far, but the magic always stopped with one person.

Jeon Jeongguk.

Hard case to crack and even harder to not stare at when he’s within your vicinity.

He’s polished, well-spoken, and … let’s just say there are things you shouldn’t say or think about in a place of work, let alone towards someone in the senior management team. He hardly smiles and if he does, it’s never towards you.

Right now? You think the least Jeongguk could do is crack a smile at your joke to break the tension in the virtual meeting. No one liked hearing bad news and you became the bearer of bad news as you explained to the client why a deliverable will not be made by the proposed timeline.

Delivering bad news was a manager’s job and unfortunately, your manager entrusted you with this responsibility right before she left for maternity leave, raving about how it’ll build your leadership and communication skills … right, right.

Jeongguk was the other leader overseeing the project. His team met all the deliverables, so there was no real need for his attendance other than pure formalities. 

This was your chance to show him what you were capable of. 

“Mr. Choi, we apologize for not making the deadline. With half the team on leave, the estimated completion date will need to be extended as a result.” You explain.

Jeongguk sits and watches you exchange words with the client. The mic button remained on mute during the many moments you would’ve benefited from his direction or support. You didn’t think you’d have to go through a humiliation ritual the day before your big trip for your best friend’s wedding in Italy. It’s your turn to have your mic button on mute as you let the client chew you out in front of your peers.

“Mr. Choi.” Jeongguk interrupts.

Thank god, finally. 

“The deliverables will be completed by the original proposed due date. I will personally see through that.”

You exhale in relief once the client settles back into their chair, demeanor shifting from their outburst moments ago.

You [3:32 p.m.]: Thank you, Jeongguk.

As expected, he doesn’t reply. 

The meeting wraps up on a positive note thanks to Jeongguk’s interception. Everyone bids each other farewell until you hear a call of your name.

“Stay on the call. Need to discuss a few things with you.”

Confused, you aren’t sure why he doesn’t ask you to walk ten steps to his office to chat privately. You swallow and one by one, all of your colleagues leave the meeting until it’s just you and him. 

He sighs, letting his agitation come out freely now. He loosens his tie and fixes his frames on his nose.

“So …” you begin.

“Do you know what your first mistake was on that call?” He sneers, a complete one-eighty from the well-mannered speaker he was during the meeting.

“I’m–uh, not sure.” You reply honestly.

“‘We apologize,’” he repeats your words, “there is no ‘we’ in this — you were the one that didn’t meet the service level agreement. Learn to take accountability for your own shortcomings.”

Ouch.

He continues, “You also failed to offer any alternatives or incentive for the delay. This is about being reputable — customer experience dictates future collaborations with new clients. If this one goes sour, we lose our clientele.”

Each word morphed into daggers piercing and digging into your self-esteem.

The finishing blow?

“That being said, you will finish what we originally promised the client.”

“But,” your heart drops at the mention of working during your time off, “I’m not going to be in the country.”

“I’m sure there’s internet wherever you’re going.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“And then! He said I’m paid salary, not hourly, so it doesn’t matter how long I need to work — I just need to get it done.” You complain to your colleague, Mina, who happened to work under Jeongguk’s section. 

“Oof, sorry girl.” She pours the coffee into her cup, unsurprised by her boss’ expectations. Setting the pot back onto the warmer, she leans against the counter. It’s just the two of you in the breakroom, free from prying eyes and ears. “So what are you gonna do?”

You groan. As much as you’d like to ramble and moan about how unreasonable Jeongguk’s demands were, you knew he was right about needing to take accountability.

“Well, if I push in some work in the early morning and night the first couple of days in Italy, I should be able to get it done.” You sigh. “Just hate it.”

Mina pats your shoulder and gives you a reassuring smile, which soon changes into a bewildered expression as she digs her fingers into your shoulder.

“Oh, hey bossman, here for a coffee refill?” Mina’s voice strains, projected to the space behind you.

You turn and there stands Jeon Jeongguk in all his glory. While you had the privilege to see him earlier today during the virtual meeting, nothing compared to the real deal. Dressed in an all-black suit, Jeongguk looks ever immaculate. His face is free from his metal-framed glasses, but they leave their small indentations on the sides of his nose. The deadliest combo came in the form of his hair pushed back, exposing his wrinkle-free forehead.

If it weren’t for his wired earphones and outdated iPod you caught him with during his walk, you would’ve never guessed his age. Technically, you still don’t know the exact number but Anna in Human Resources hinted he’s in his mid to late thirties.

Whatever. Age is just a number and hasn’t stopped you from trying to befriend the older man. 

“Yes, my third one today.” He muses.

“Anything the team and I can do to help wrap up things for you before your vacation?” Mina probes.

Wait. You never caught wind of that.

“No,” he shakes his head, “thank you, though.”

Your heart stirs at the low timbre of his chuckle, surprised at his abilities in displaying any other emotions outside his stoic expression. You theorize it comes easier with an established rapport. 

Maybe you’ll try your luck today.

“How long are you going to be out for?” You ask, moving to the side so he has better access to the coffee pot. His scent naturally fills your space — a mixture of fresh laundry and cedarwood. 

“Two weeks.”

“Oh, same here!” You beam. 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that quite a bit this month.”

You warm in embarrassment; though, the feelings get swept underneath the rug at another fact.

He listened — more importantly, he remembered your many musings. 

“I’m going to Italy.” You remark, hoping he’d give a little more detail on his own vacation if you shared a bit about your upcoming adventures.

Jeongguk freezes momentarily and clears his throat before setting down the nearly empty pot.

“That’s nice.”

Seizing the moment to continue the conversation, you throw out details of your trip, namely for the wedding you’ll attend as maid of honor for your best friend.

“And they’re going to have this lovely venue near the beach. It’s going to be great.” You marvel.

“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Mina pouts. “Are you going to be doing something fun during your time off, Jeongguk?” 

You watch him with expectant eyes.

“Tending some family matters.”

That’s corporate lingo for: it’s personal, so none of your business. Everyone knows to back off on the topic at that point.

Taking a sip of his coffee after mixing a pack of Splenda, he offers a tight-lipped smile, “I have to head back to the desk. Enjoy your break.”

Alone with Mina once again, you look at her with defeated eyes.

“He’s just introverted and private, babe. I wouldn’t sweat it.” She waves.

“I’ve been here for over a year and he’s never like this to management or clients.” You sigh. “Maybe I’m the problem.”

It’s hard to not take things to heart being a natural born people pleaser. You want to be liked and if you’re not, at least know why; except, Jeongguk kept things strictly work related with all the little pocket of interactions you’ve had with him. 

If you were brave enough, you’d ask him about it over coffee or lunch — anywhere that might give you a glimpse of who he is outside of work. 

“Don’t mind him. In about twenty-four hours, you’ll be in Italy! Last time you updated, the best man was a little wishy-washy about the wedding? How’s that going?”

“Jihyo said Seojun got it sorted out, so they’re okay.” All you know from the matter is how much of a struggle it was to get a definite answer from his best man. Prick move and unnecessary stress for the wedding party. Had you been in Seojun’s position, you would’ve cut losses and moved forward without the best man early on.

Planning a wedding was difficult enough, let alone dealing with difficult people in the wedding party. You pray he steps into his role as the best man to lessen the to-be-wedded couple’s worries. 

“Good. Wedding drama’s the worst.” Mina nods. “Still haven’t recovered from finding out my cousin’s husband was fucking his cousin.” 

The gossip session goes for another fifteen minutes until you begrudgingly head back to finish up some last minute tasks. You weren’t going to be that coworker who leaves a bunch of unfinished work for your backup. 

Another thing you didn’t want to be was like your father, but you’re no different by the time you finish your pending tasks at 9:52 p.m. You do a quick once-over your automatic out-of-office notice and send out a list of items for your backup to look after before stuffing all your belongings into your workbag.

Going home was always your favorite time of the day, granting you the chance to walk past Jeongguk’s office. Even from where you’re standing, the lights in his office are the only ones still on out of all the managers on the floor.

His door remains slightly ajar throughout the day aside from the times he’s on a call or speaking to one of his employees. An ‘open door policy,’ Mina explained. Wants the folks on his team comfortable coming to him with their needs or questions.

You didn’t need anything, per se. There were plenty of questions floating in your head, but none that would qualify as work-related or professional. Things like … where are you going for vacation? Would you like to grab dinner together? … Are you seeing anyone? 

Your short almond shaped nails tap on his metal name plaque outside his office.

He looks up from his computer, the monitor’s brightness setting doing little to hide his exhausted stare. One brow raised, he cocks his head to the side.

“Come in.”

You take in your surroundings: a shelf containing all his Employee of the Year awards, empty “In” bin as opposed to a stacked “Out” bin, and half-finished cup of coffee. Above all, no pictures of his family or signs of life outside of work.

A stark contrast in comparison to your cubicle full of small trinkets, pictures of your loved ones, and cards you’ve received from both your coworkers and clients.

“Just wanted to say goodnight and thank you again for joining the meeting.” You say. “I followed up with the client with your recommendations and they’re happy with the timeline.”

He nods. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“Well,” You rock on your heels, not wanting to leave just yet, “I’ll see you in two weeks. Hope you have a nice time off, Jeongguk.”

He leans back into his deskchair, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he studies your face. His black dress shirt stretches and expands tightly at a passing thought; at the last second, he makes his resolve in foregoing the notion for simpler words.

“Likewise. Safe travels to Italy.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Despite the two layovers and many near-death turbulences later, you arrive in Venice, Italy in one piece. Your best friend, Jihyo, was the first person you see at the gates, smile lighting up the building when she finally spots you through the crowds. These days, she glows more with her soon-to-be husband, Seojun.

You’ve met him only a handful of times and he’s always been kind. You don’t know him well enough, but as long as your friend was happy, so were you.

Which is why she’s going all out for her wedding — it’s her chance to do what she wants with those who care for her. Jihyo’s parents unfortunately did not extend their support and care. They were so against the idea of her marrying a person of no status, her father threatened to cut off all ties and funds if she were to go through with marrying Seojun. 

“My favorite person is finally here!” She squeezes you in her arms. “How was the flight? Are you hungry? We can go get a quick bite.”

“Jihyo, love, slow down,” Seojun comes from behind and offers you a kind greeting. “You must be exhausted. We can head back to the hotel. Just waiting for my uncle to clear customs.”

“Oh! Do you know when he’ll land?” You ask.

“I think he was on the same flight as you, so he should be out soon.” He pulls out his phone to answer a quick text before scanning the area. 

“Think that’s him.” He squints. “Uncle, over here!” He extends his arm above his head. 

You expected a fifty year old balding man, not senior manager, Jeon Jeongguk. 

Fuck.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

You didn’t think you’d ever ride in the same car as one of your managers, especially one you had a dire crush on. You definitely didn’t think you’d be seated in the back of a rental car with him in Italy for your best friend’s wedding.

This whole scenario has to be straight out a romcom … or, in your case, a horror film.

You open up the notes app in your phone and type out a quick message: Do we tell them we know each other? 

What you really wanted to ask was: Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this being the “family matter” you had to take care of?

He takes your phone from your hand and begins typing something before handing it back to you. Nothing from your original note was edited, but a second later a notification comes through.

Jeongguk [4:56 p.m.]: No. Too complicated. You [4:56 p.m.]: Okay..

“Uncle.” Seojun looks at the rear mirror. “How’s work been?”

“Busy,” he sighs. “But it’s been getting better.”

“I’m glad. Hope these two weeks will give you the break you need. You didn’t bring your work laptop, right?” He presses.

Kind of cute seeing the younger male lecture his uncle — cuter seeing Jeongguk grumble at his nephew’s nagging.

“No promises.”

“Speaking of work,” Jihyo chimes in, “How you coping with work?” She turns her entire body from the passenger seat to look at you.

The passengers in the car go silent for your reply, feeling Jeongguk’s shift from the work status inquiry.

“Fine.” You answer quickly.

“Really? That one manager didn’t give you more shit right–”

“Jihyo!” You interrupt, quickly covering up with an awkward laugh and stiff smile, “ Ha-ha … no, it’s been great!”

“Wha–? But you were venting about having to work during the trip … Honestly, that manager’s lucky he’s hot.”

“Ji–”

“Hot?” Jeongguk asks with a raised brow. There’s a lift in his voice, forcing you to bury and shrink deeper into your seat.

“Allegedly.” Jihyo replies mindlessly. Oblivious to your discomfort of the topic, Jihyo continues, “You still gotta sneak a picture of him when you can, babe. I need to see if his pretty privileges warrant this sort of power trip.” 

You’ve heard summers in Italy were magical. You wish for some of that magic to touch you right now — the kind good enough to make you disappear all together from this awkward conversation.

“Huh.” Jeongguk props his elbow by the car’s window ledge, palm covering his mouth. “I’m curious too.” 

Jihyo changes the topic to the itinerary she made for the wedding party; however, you couldn’t be bothered to tune into the details. Knowing Jihyo, she’ll eventually send the party a spreadsheet of the schedule.

You [5:02 p.m.]: Please ignore Jihyo 🥹

Your heart accelerates at the appearance of the infamous dots signaling Jeongguk’s reply in the making.

Jeongguk [5:03 p.m.]: I’ll try. Power trips make it insanely hard to.

You chew on your bottom lip out of habit, feeling the sweat gather behind your neck. Hand fanning your face, you glance over and notice a slight shake in Jeongguk’s stature. He’s still facing away from you and towards the window, but from the reflection, you can see the corners of his mouth lift.

Endorphins rush through your bloodstream at the thought of making him happy.

While chasing your happiness has always been your life motto, you wouldn’t mind chasing for Jeongguk’s happiness too.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

On Jihyo’s itinerary, she deliberately left Venice off from the rest of the wedding party arriving later at the actual wedding site. The next two days were solely meant to spend more time with the maid of honor and best man.

The first day in Venice naturally got cut short with your arrival time; so, the only thing Jihyo planned was a nice dinner after you and Jeongguk settled into your respective rooms. Dinner rolls by with just you, Jihyo, and Seojun perusing the menu for the umpteenth time. The seat, meant for Jeongguk, remains cold and empty. After about thirty minutes and a couple text messages, Seojun confirms with the waiter to remove the utensils and plate — something about his uncle not feeling well.

“Okay, but he’ll be at dinner tomorrow, right?” Jihyo frowns, eyes full of worry.

“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just old man tendencies and jetlag got the best of him. He’ll be there tomorrow.”

Back at the hotel, you had half a mind to check in on him and just as you built up the courage to knock, the door swings open to reveal a Jeongguk you’ve yet to ever witness: dark grey compression shirt with five-inch inseam shorts. He has his wired earphones in and looks well rested, contrary to what Seojun mentioned at dinner about two hours ago.

“Oh, are you feeling better?” You ask, hand retracted and tucked behind your back.

His brows twitch, fingers removing one of the buds out his ear. “Sorry?”

“Seojun mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Are you better now?”

“Yep.” He answers.

Awkward. 

“Where you headed to? It’s late.” You rock on your heels, afraid you might’ve overstepped with your light interrogation.

“Saw a small running trail nearby, just wanna get some movement in.”

“Would you like—”

“Well, goodnight.” He places the earpiece back in and walks off, the scent of his fresh linen deodorant trails along with him.

“—company?” The end of your sentence comes out in a tiny whisper, the question dying on the tip of your tongue as his figure disappears in the distance.

It was going to be a long two weeks, but you’re optimistic for a chance to change the tides with Jeongguk. Maybe even get to know him a little better or collect more versions of who he may be outside of work before this trip ends.

Arms linked with Jihyo, you walk down the small alleyways of Venice the next day, marveling at the tiny trinkets on display. Seojun and Jeongguk were always a couple steps behind, mainly taking note of the repeating gelato flavors at each stand. Your ears perk when Jeongguk chuckles at Seojun’s excitement of finally finding a stall with a new flavor. His laugh rings deep and rich, something you’re rarely afforded at the workplace.

You hold up two carnival masks to your face. “Which one suits me better?” You preferred the pink one in your left hand, but the green in your right hand spoke to you as well.

“Mm, you know I’ll always favor pink, but is there room in your suitcase?” Jihyo inquires.

Well, no, but you could always buy another suitcase. 

“All going to end up as clutter once you’re home.” Jeongguk mutters to himself, eyeing the other trinkets on the shelf.

Whether or not it was directed at you, you put the mask back with the rest. The shop owner smiles, a little dejected at the missed sale, but with the numerous tourists filtering through the alley, he’s bound to make his daily quota by closing time.

The rest of the day is spent on trying new food — your favorite being the bruschetta flight near the waters. Again, Jeongguk and Seojun were always a couple steps behind, chatting about god knows what while you and Jihyo swap gelatos between every two or so licks. Venice was packed — mainly with tourists, but in a specific alleyway you all decided to turn into held a different kind of danger.

Pigeons. Lots of them. 

One could argue Venice might be the motherland to birds; you’re not in any position to disagree as you cower between the birds staring down at your group from the railings. They swarm around your feet, begging for whatever you’d offer or accidentally drop.

Lucky for you, a shop owner comes and throws out bits of their baguettes. All the pigeons flock over in pursuit of their (probable) tenth snack for the day. You breathe a sigh of relief for the small deterrence, walking quicker to escape from the flock.

“Phew, thought we were goners back there.” Jihyo jokes, looking back at the boys.

At the last second, a seagull swoops in and takes the unfinished gelato right from your hand. You let out a blood curdling scream, hand immediately letting go of the cone. You grab Jihyo by the shoulder and chant for the birds to take her as an offering instead.

Everyone within the vicinity laughed, some tourists offered a sympathetic smile and asked if you were okay. Among the laughter, Jeongguk’s chuckle echoes loudest in your head. It had never been your goal to become the group’s court jester, but you wouldn’t mind making it your life’s sole purpose for this version of him.

Seojun checks his watch. “Jihyo, baby, we still have five more hours to kill before our flight over to Sicily. Should we head back to the hotel? Uncle said he’s tired—”

Smile wiped off his handsome face, Jeongguk nudges the young man in the arm. “Don’t use me as a scapegoat.”

You never realized how much the two men resembled each other, catching you off guard when Jeongguk hooks his arm around Seojun’s neck, and rubs his knuckles over his nephew’s head. Their laughter comes out the same, pairing well with their toothy grins.

“We only have one last item on the itinerary.” Jihyo says, a fond smile at the sight of her happy fiance. “I wanted to do a little gondola ride.”

Most tourists seized the golden hour for their boat ride too, which sent you and your group on a hunt for an unoccupied gondola, eventually finding two docked boats on the opposite entrance of Venice.

“I’ll pass.” Jeongguk says with a hand up.

Jihyo pouts, pointing in your direction. “But she’d be all alone.”

“Oh, um, I don’t mind staying behind.” You smile, doing your best to not sound disappointed at the lost experience. “Can always ride a boat at home.”

“But Miss, when will you ride a gondola in Venice while the sun is setting?” One of the gondoliers pitches.

“He’s right.” Jihyo nods. “Please, Jeongguk?”

He’d rather not waste money on a tourist trap … one look at Jihyo’s pleading eyes in combination with his nephew’s displeased stare has him folding on the spot.

Defeated, he sighs, “Fine.”

Jihyo cheers, skipping over to the first boat lined up where Seojun waits patiently with a hand out for her.

Their boat rows off first and five minutes later, it was yours and Jeongguk’s turn to step into the gondola. He holds out his hand to steady your step, boat wobbling as you plant your first foot down. His hold lingers a little longer even when you’ve successfully made it into the boat. Eyes peering up at Jeongguk’s tall stature, your body heats up under his watchful gaze.

“Steady now?”

“Yes.” You chirp.

“Good.” He lowers you both carefully onto the small seats. Once secured, the gondolier begins his descent through the canals.

Naturally, you strike up a conversation with the gondolier, asking how many rides he averages a day to which he politely answers, ‘too many to count.’ The conversation goes on for another five minutes until Jeongguk sighs, a subtle signal for you to stop and take in your surroundings instead.

Despite the on and off whiffs of the decade old sewage lines rooted in the city, the ride descends to the narrower alleyways one would miss on foot. Water levels rising, the gondolier signals you both to duck at an approaching bridge. You hadn’t realized you didn’t duck low enough until you feel Jeongguk’s warm palm at the base of your head, urging you lower.

His hand rests there until it’s time for you both to lift your heads up again. So warm and thoughtful, unlike how he’s been treating you at work.

You might explode at the silence, finding the need to address the elephant in the room. What were the odds you’d be alone with Jeongguk again? What are the odds you’d be riding on a gondola in Venice, Italy with Jeongguk?

“Do you hate me?” You blurt out, immediately embarrassed at your sudden forwardness. The gondolier peers from the side and looks forward again, slowing his rowing motion with his oar. 

Jeongguk’s brows furrow, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t hate you.”

“It seems like you do. You always are just so …”

“So …?” He trails along.

“Mean.” You frown. Feeling more foolish for your lack of proper vocabulary words for such a serious confrontation, you do your best to explain. “You seem to get along with everyone else at work and even here. You’re nice to everyone but me.” 

He stares straight ahead, tongue probing against his cheek. He doesn’t respond right away and you deflate at your wasted effort in an attempt to understand Jeongguk beyond the cubicle. You only hear the waters splashing against the gondola as the oar steers you both to another quieter route. 

If Jeongguk didn’t hate you before, he probably does right now. So evident in his silence and unwillingness to discuss this topic, you wonder to yourself … were older generations this bad with expressing their emotions and thoughts? Your father was a great example, and while you don’t want to generalize an entire generation, Jeongguk drives a hard bargain.

“How’d you get into Cientra Corporations?” The question rolls out of Jeongguk with no hint of curiosity.

What did your place of work have anything to do with his alleged animosity? 

“I applied for an opening.” You answer.

His chuckles, full of mock and taunt. “When?”

You frown, a little taken aback by the conversation now turned into an interrogation.

“I think a month before my graduation?” Your stomach churns from the unpredictability of his next words.

“Right, of course.” Jeongguk looks to the side, eyes tracing the water stains on the old brick buildings.

“I’ve had plenty of internships during undergrad and I graduated early with honors.” His demeanor only makes you overexplain your qualifications. “My recruitment was done through a fair hiring process.”

“The position was not in the budget.” He rolls his eyes, his crossed arms accentuates his muscular build. If you were more shameless, you’d let your eyes linger at his chest for a little longer despite how his next words batters your pride. “Freshly graduated with little to no experience landing a mid-entry position?”

You’re not ashamed to admit you had a foot in thanks to your connections. Of course, you were unaware a position had been created just for you, but to insinuate you didn’t deserve your place … now, that was not something you’d take lightly.

“I’ve worked hard with all the opportunities—”

“As one should.” He interrupts. “But all your ‘opportunities’ only became yours because they were taken away from someone else. There were at least ten other highly qualified applicants in the candidate pool.” 

You open your mouth, but Jeongguk beats you to it, “One summer internship at Cientra wouldn’t have gotten anyone else into the company.”

Now that shatters you. You had really thought you stood out in the pool considering you had previously applied and interned for the same company. Now you’re rethinking whether you’ve also gotten the job purely from connections.

Fighting through your imposter syndrome, you stand your ground. “At the end of the day, I was chosen and I take my job seriously. I can’t change what’s already set in stone.”

“That’s your privilege speaking.” He leans against the backrest. “I’ll only repeat this once: I don’t hate you.” Extremely hard to believe after your self esteem’s been kicked to the curb. 

And despite the sour mood, you still try to salvage what you can. “Okay,” You breathe, “Regardless of how you feel about me, can we get along for the sake of the wedding?”

“Of course.” He rolls his shoulders, discomfort clear from the small chair setup. “Trying to make this wedding as seamless and pain-free as possible.”

You piece his aversion to the wedding now. The last minute confirmation of his attendance and lack of enthusiasm for the trip’s activities … it all checks. The gondolier rounds to the ride’s starting point and docks the boat where you and Jeongguk need to quickly alter your attitude in front of the unsuspecting couple.

Jeongguk stays behind to tip the gondolier, murmuring his apologies for the tense ride. From a distance, you overhear the gondolier snort, saying something on the lines of how he should be tipping Jeongguk for the soap opera level conversation.

Your act works — neither Jihyo nor Seojun suspected any shift in moods because Jihyo was too busy begging for another cannoli and, of course, Seojun being the exceptional fiance he is, advised you guys to return to the hotel first to prepare for the flight while he ran to the specific stall Jihyo requested for.

“Uncle, you go on ahead with the girls.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”

On the train ride back to the hotel, Jihyo lays her head on your shoulder. “I think Uncle Jeongguk hates me.”

That makes the two of you.

She continues, “I know this wedding was rushed, but I thought he’d warm up to the idea of us by now.”

Very out of character for Jihyo to sulk over the minute things in life. You’re not one to talk, knowing firsthand what it’s like to wish for someone’s approval.

“Hey … it’s been less than two days. And who cares what he thinks? You and Seojun are in this for life.”

“I know, I know. Seojun just adores his uncle, you know? That’s his only family.” Jihyo frowns. Unlike him, she’s grown up in a big and affluent family her entire life — well, now cut in half since her choice to marry Seojun, a man of no title or status. She can bear the disdain from her own family, but she doesn’t want Seojun to lose his one and only family member over their choices.

“I was thinking,” Jihyo begins, suddenly sitting upright with determined eyes. “You know, you’re always so fun and great with people … could you maybe get to know Uncle Jeongguk and put in a good word for me? Just until the time of the wedding at least.”

You’ve never seen her this desperate. You ponder back to the conversation on the gondola and if there were little to no chance of making things right with Jeongguk yourself, how were you going to do it for Jihyo?

You’re no better than Seojun and eventually give into her plea. 

“Okay.” You smile, arms embracing her.

All checked out of the Venice hotel, your party makes it through the airport’s security checkpoint just in time for the flight to the actual wedding destination: Sicily.

Italy is magical and Sicily proved every part of that belief even in the cab ride over to the rental property. Windows down, you let the warm breeze run through your locks, uncaring if the sea salted air clung onto your hair and skin. The tips of your hair unknowingly float over and graze Jeongguk’s arms, marking and reminding him of your presence whether or not he welcomed it. 

Jihyo really went all out and booked the dreamiest villa. The villa had everything: a fifteen minute walk to the wedding venue, close to local shops and restaurants, and here’s your favorite: the beach. It’s perfect … almost as perfect as the living situation Jihyo had planned out. No brainer, she and Seojun would get the main house while you and Jeongguk would occupy the cottage a couple steps away.

“Dinner in fifteen minutes? I have a reservation with the restaurant down the street.” Jihyo shrugs her duffle bag higher on her shoulders to which Seojun immediately takes after he unloaded all the other suitcases from the trunk.

“Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” Jeongguk reads his watch.

“Customary to eat later in Italy.” Jihyo smiles.

Jeongguk checked off all the body cues to decline. His resolve crumbles yet again from another one of Seojun’s stares, ultimately agreeing to dinner after settling in.

The first thing you and Jeongguk noticed upon entering the cottage was the stuffy and warm air from the windows being closed for too long. No matter how hard you push and yank the panes, the windows just wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, a strong source of heat presses against your backside.

The scent of fresh linen only welcomes you after laundry day and whenever you’ve switched out your bedsheets. Your mind wanders around scenarios of being welcomed by this exact scent and warmth in bed, sheets needing to be constantly changed afterwards.

Fuck.

Jeongguk’s fingers pull at the knobs above the window sill. Using way less force and energy, the window cracks open with ease and the crisp crash of waves in the distance meets your ears. Nothing was louder than the beating in your chest — must’ve been your imagination when you thought Jeongguk stayed a beat longer behind, breath sucked in from the proximity.

You replay the scenario in your head even at the dinner table. 

The times you’ve looked up from your plate, you’ve unconsciously caught Jeongguk staring in your direction too. He looks away, suddenly mesmerized by the shoreline. His attention pulls at some clapping in the background, waiters and waitresses nearing your section of the restaurant. Your smile widens as they circle your table, confused but pleased by the grand gesture.

Setting a small cake down on the table and resuming their singing, you peer over at the frosted words: Happy 37th Birthday, Jeongguk!

Jeongguk keeps his smile at a sensible level, not wanting to show too much excitement. 

After the employees leave, Seojun beams, “Jihyo arranged this. Nice, huh?” He has his arm around her shoulder.

“Yes, very. Thank you, Jihyo.” Jeongguk smiles, warm and sincere. 

Bellies full, you all walk back to the property. Everything seems to fall into its natural place. Jeongguk lets you shower first and because you’re self conscious of taking too much time, you cut your usual routine by half. You’re seated at the same window sill again, watching the shoreline. 

The lights in the room turn on and you startle. Looking back, you catch a half naked Jeongguk drying his wet hair with a small towel. Bare torso on full display, you gulp at the sight while unknowingly clenching your thighs together. 

Thirty-seven looked good on Jeongguk.

You hope you looked this good at that age, but you have a long way to go. At twenty-two, you know your two little tattoos, one on your lower back and the other on your forearm, will look completely different in fifteen years. They’re nothing like Jeongguk’s, especially with all the intricate tattoos going up his arm, stopping at his chest — both old and new ones. In the office, you’ve only seen a snippet of his tattoos on his forearm, now you’ve been granted full access. Which you’re reminded that everything that happens in Italy will have to stay here. Water break chatter with Mina will exclude these details, saving these memories just for yourself on lonelier nights.

Jeongguk sucks in a breath, surprised at the sight of you. Should be in bed and knocked out from today’s festivities, but you’re there in your silk pajamas, shorts riding dangerously high in your seated position with your knees hiked up to your chest. His jaw clenches, fixing himself a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Hips pressed against the sink counter, he drinks the water, letting a couple droplets dribble past his chin and sharp jawline.

Summers in Italy were magical, but were they usually this hot?

You edge closer to the window sill, praying for the night breeze to snap you out of whatever spell you caught at this hour.

“Jetlagged?” He asks, rinsing the cup. You blink at his question, a little confused at his initiation. It warms you, but you know better than to latch onto this small exchange. 

“A little.” You let out a disgruntled sound as you get up. You think you must’ve hallucinated Jeongguk’s frustrated exhale at your change of position. “You?”

“Mhm. Not as bad as the first night. The run helped.” He replies.

You have all the reason not to get along with him, let alone strike a normal conversation; though, you bare your warmest and genuine smile, “That’s nice. I’m glad.”

“Yes. Well. Goodnight.” He clears his throat.

The lock on your door clicks first, back pushed against the door for some grounding and support. Your bones click against the hard surface, ears cluing in for any sounds from your temporary roommate on the other threshold. His door shuts too, followed by a deep sigh.

There’s some shuffling followed by a drop of what you assumed were clothing. Hot and consumed by your thoughts, your mind spirals at the image of him in nothing but his briefs.

God, this was going to be a long trip.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The internet connection in this villa was probably the worst thing Jeongguk has ever encountered in his life — even worse than the time he went abroad for school during his prime. It was another neighboring country, but still … how hard was it to get an adequate signal? 

He’s tried everything. Sitting in odd places, being closer to the router — nothing’s worked. 

He looks out the same window you were seated at last night, hoping to find an answer before he hurls his laptop out. 

Until he sees you.

You’re seated outside near a lemon tree between the two accommodations, laptop perched on the patio table while you tug at one of the nearby branches for a quick sniff at the fruit. Your eyes shut in bliss, lemon distracting you with its fresh scent.

You’ve done well to distract Jeongguk from his work too. As much as he’d like to hold onto this vendetta, he knows the grudge was misdirected and undeserving. He also knows a part of his hesitancy with you is who you are. Knows the reasons why you were hired aside from the connections you had. And although you had a good personality, he can’t call you a personality hire if you knew how to do your job.

He won’t deny your accomplishments in school, allowing you to graduate with high honors by the time you were twenty. You were an adequate worker, but again, only because you were given unfair advantages — tools and resources that were taken away from someone else more deserving and eligible. 

His grudge stretched beyond that, having been on the other receiving end of losing opportunities because of his upbringings. So yeah … maybe he’s biased.

You, on the other hand, want to hurl your laptop for other reasons. The laptop sits on top of the patio table, waiting for you to begin your long half day of work.

The metal legs of the empty chair across from you scrape against the concrete floor.

“Mind if I join you?”

You straighten from your slouched posture, surprised eyes meeting his neutral expression. Vacations were meant for fun, not the work you were trying to escape from. With Jeongguk here, you really can’t slack off. You quickly clear your items from the small table and gesture for him to sit.

“Terrible connection in the cottage.” You remark. “Gave me problems all morning.”

He hums, typing away on the laptop to make up for the lost time. You fall back into your work too seeing that there was a good motivator.

On your left side, there’s a small bowl of olives paired with the wine Jihyo delivered to your shared cottage. Jeongguk stares at the bowl, following one of the olives held by your fingers and popped in between your plump lips.

A small puff of air escapes through his nose at your winced expression from the initial burst of flavors, washing it down with a swig of wine.

“Would you like to try?” You push the bowl towards him.

“Didn’t look all that good.” He stares up, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Though small, you detect a teasing tone in his comment.

“It was … different. But!” You perk, “When will we be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working?”

Answer? Never.

Such a ridiculous thought that he reaches into the small ceramic bowl to plop an olive into his mouth. The bitter tang of the small fruit amplifies on his tongue from your expectant stare.

Not unpleasant, but there were plenty of other cuisine choices in Italy worth trying. 

Though, when will Jeon Jeongguk be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working with your melodic laughter resonating in his ears as you scoot your wine glass over to him?

Tongue no longer graced with the olive’s bitterness, a new type of bitterness spreads as Seojun and Jihyo announce they’re headed to the beach.

“How much longer do you need to work?” Jihyo pouts, hands on her hips as she peers down at your laptop. She’s not reading anything you have opened, deeming them unimportant especially when you should be spending time with her.

You offer a sheepish smile, afraid to voice your true thoughts in front of management. Jeongguk keeps his face trained to his screen, brows twitching in an attempt to hide his bemusement.

Had it been anyone else in front of you, you’d throw your hands in the air and say ‘Fuck it.’ But it was Jeongguk … one of the higher-ups you’d always admired — whose opinion you immensely cared for. 

“Uncle …” Seojun frowns. “You promised you weren’t going to work.”

“Code red. Need to take care of this.” Jeongguk explains.

Seojun sighs, the expression resounds his frustration to his uncle’s work habits.

In the short span of time working at the company, you’ve never seen Jeongguk falter; yet, the man seated across from you wavers at his nephew’s disappointment.

“It’ll be quick.” He remedies.

You also know Jeongguk took his time. He’s meticulous and wants everything right the first time around. It appears Seojun knows this too, not taking his promises too seriously, and grunting a small ‘okay’ before he takes Jihyo’s hand to lead them both to the beach.

Jeongguk purses his lips, a vexed expression he doesn’t let linger for long. You shouldn’t meddle with family affairs, but you couldn’t help thinking back to the missed dinners, absent parent recitals, and text messages telling you to not wait up late from your father. 

“Work’s never that important.” The words slip past your mouth before realizing it.

Jeongguk isn’t afraid to voice his response too, seemingly prepared for your judgment. 

“Easy for you to say.” His eyes narrow. “Some people aren’t afforded breaks.”

You take another bite of the olives, hoping the flavor would conceal the shame. The invisible wall between you and Jeongguk grows higher and thicker, making it impossible to penetrate. You refocus on the task at hand. 

Three hours pass with the sound of birds and ocean in the background — the sounds would have been enough for anyone to relax into their work, but all it does is make you yearn for fun. Makes you think anything might be better than being with the man seated across from you. Which is so unlike you when just a week ago, you’d do just about anything to be closer to him in the office. 

Every five minutes, you have to look at the shoreline and the people enjoying the summer rays. It was a good distraction until the envy sets in.

Another deep sigh.

“Go.”

“Huh?” You look up from your laptop. 

“I have access to your document in the shared drive. You won’t be leaving any time soon at the rate you’re moving.” He takes off his glasses, index and thumb pinching and rubbing to relieve himself of any tension. “Go spend some time with Jihyo.”

You almost think it’s a test until he looks at you questioningly for not having moved. You scramble to close out everything after a quick thank you before going back into the cottage to change. You shouldn’t feel guilty as you slip into your swimsuit and cover-up … shouldn’t feel guilty exiting the property, sneaking one final look back at the patio.

You shouldn’t ache the way you do for Jeongguk’s content smile when he nears the lemon tree.

Even Jeon Jeongguk needs breaks too.

You blame the aches from having laid down in the sand for an hour and not at the image of him back at the villa taking on your unfinished work. He made his decision, so why are you still feeling this way? 

“Uncle!” Seojun beams. “You made it.”

At the acknowledgment, you lift your head up and it’s none other than the man who’s plagued your mind since you’ve left the villa. He’s changed into lighter clothing, a short-sleeve button up over his white tank top with some beach shorts. The tight tank top hugs around his figure, ab ridges outlined from his small chuckle. The contraction intensifies when he looks down at you and over your stringy two-piece bikini.

He clears his throat. “Was able to wrap up what I needed to get done for the day.”

“Good.” Seojun replies. “Should enjoy our time while we can.”

Jeongguk’s face falls; immediately, the moment’s swept away when Jihyo calls for Seojun to help her take pictures. 

The older male settles next to you, mindful to not kick up any sand in the process. The couple eventually go to get some refreshments, leaving both you and Jeongguk under the rays of the sun.

He doesn’t say much … actually, he doesn’t say anything as he stares out to the bluest waters. 

“Thank you, Jeongguk.” You say. “You didn’t have to.”

You wonder if your father had acted the same at work, taking on additional workload he didn’t necessarily have to at the expense of missing out on moments in your life.

Jeongguk isn’t your father. He didn’t have obligations to you. Didn’t need to sacrifice his own time for your sake.

The center of a candy was usually the sweetest — perhaps if you keep at it, you’ll discover more of Jeongguk’s sweetness too. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Being around Jeongguk has been a tad more tangible now that you’ve spent a few hours together the next couple of days working in the morning, ending the nights over dinner with the couple. 

The next evening, Jihyo has you all crammed in a kitchen for a cooking lesson with a private chef. You’re on garlic peeling duties with Jeongguk, fingers sticky from the essence of the individual cloves, so sure this scent was going to linger on your skin.

Jeongguk remains unaffected, diligently peeling away. At the sight of you rubbing your sticky fingers together, he chuckles.

“Just wash your hands in between.”

The advice works. While you’ve barely peeled half a clove, Jeongguk was already on his second. 

“Did you have ‘pro-garlic peeler’ on your resume?” You try teasing.

He pauses, a small smile on his lips as he continues peeling the cloves.

“My sister had me on garlic peeling duties whenever we cooked.”

As far as you’re aware from Jihyo, the topic of Seojun’s mother was unspoken … only knowing she passed when he was very young. 

You work a little harder peeling the leftover cloves, running your hands under the faucet to rid yourself of the stickiness. The stickiness retained in your chest whenever Jeongguk peers over at your pile of perfectly peeled garlic. It’s retained throughout dinner and the glasses of wine served during and after a meal, following you as the group takes a walk on the beach the night before the rest of the wedding party was scheduled to meet for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.

Jihyo yawns and announces she’ll head back to the villa to rest. Naturally, Seojun follows along. You expect Jeongguk to do the same, but he sits on the brick wall staring out at the beach.

You tuck your hair behind your ear and a strong, pungent scent greets you. Hand discreetly at the front of your face, you sniff.

“The smell doesn’t leave for a bit.” Jeongguk says. “My sister always recommended lemon juice and a little bit of soap.” 

“Have you tried it?” You ask, tucking your hands underneath you to hide the excitement of Jeongguk initiating a conversation with you. 

He shakes his head, “I like the smell of garlic.”

Be it from the glasses of wine served over dinner, you’re bolder as you ask about his sister. And he’s just as loose-lipped as he recalls memories of her. You learned she was four years older than Jeongguk, her first job was at their aunt and uncle’s convenience store, and they were ultimately left to fend for themselves the moment she had Seojun at eighteen.

Every story, small chuckle, and silence of the memory of his sister only softens the hard, jagged edges around Jeongguk.

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was,” he concedes, “Would’ve loved Italy too.” He speaks into the sea-salted air. He leans back, hands anchoring himself up as he looks up at the clear night sky. “Maybe give her son an earful about marrying too early.” She’d know firsthand how she lost out on her own developmental years as a result of having Seojun early with a man that wanted no part in fatherhood. Though, a small part of Jeongguk knows his sister would’ve adored Jihyo.

Back at the villa’s garden, you make a quick detour to the lemon tree, picking one from the bottom branches.

The lemon doesn’t get used quite yet when you both enter into the stuffy cottage. You and Jeongguk reopen all the windows to let some fresh air in.

You eye the unopened wine bottle — the night’s gone too well to end like this. Lemon placed on the counter, it’s spared and unscathed for the time being as you pop off the cork. 

Wordlessly, you pour and slide the glass over to a receptive Jeongguk.

One glass turns to three over the course of the night. The alcohol loosens the year’s worth of work tension, eyes blinking slowly as he swirls the glass around.

“Do you plan to stay with the company until retirement?” You ask.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If I have to keep overseeing project leads who can’t make their deadlines.”

Had you both been less drunk and not seated on the high stools of this lovely cottage in Sicily, you’d be more offended. Eyes bemused and lips curved at your exaggerated gasp, Jeongguk brings the glass of wine to his mouth, red staining and deepening the natural shade of pink on his lips.

You’ll take this. It’s a development in comparison to what you’ve experienced in working with the company … not to mention the ride on the gondola. You like this Jeongguk. Where he isn’t going on a tangent about deliverables and Key Performance Indicators.

“What about you?” He asks.

You swallow the last of the wine in your glass. “I’m not sure.”

Honestly, you thought you’d be at another place of employment after your one year anniversary at the company. Yet, you’re still here.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Answered like a person with one foot out the door.” He shrugs.

“I don’t mind the company.” You pout.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re young. There’s more out there.”

“You’re staying.”

“Never said I was.”

Wait … you hadn’t accounted for the fact of Jeongguk leaving one day. He has so much more years of experience than you, so having a promotion elsewhere would be a cake walk. One of your incentives to stay might disappear one day without warning and it frightens you. 

“The benefits are nice.” You reason. “It’s worth staying for.”

“The benefits are standard. Hm.” He purses his lips. Then, an expression you’ve never once witnessed stretches across his face. “That hot manager Jihyo mentioned can’t be enough incentive to stay.”

“She’s lucky she’s my best friend.” You groan. 

He laughs through his nose, “You’ll know if a company is worth staying for. Don’t be afraid to venture out.”

Friends and family have often told you to look for a higher paying job after every promotion — never concerned whether you’re content with where you’re at.

You find it hard to believe just a couple days ago, Jeongguk was grilling you for being a nepo-baby, and now he’s mentoring you over wine. You take in his words, letting them swirl in your mind before shaking away thoughts of the future. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nods, taking another small sip, “If only Seojun listened more like that. That brat.” He lowers his head with a fond smile, orbs glimmering like the wine glass caught in the light.

You should hold off from asking any overbearing questions and end tonight on a high note, but that just wasn’t your style.

“Do you not support their marriage?”

“It’s unfavorable.” He sighs. “I’m sure Jihyo’s nice—”

“She is.” You interrupt.

“But she’s reckless and so is my nephew. They didn’t think this through.” A pause. “Doing things out of love only gets you so far.”

If life wasn’t about love, then what could it possibly be about?

He chuckles and mumbles to himself, “She’s too much like her.”

“Huh? Who?” Your brows scrunch from the cryptic words, trying to decipher who he was referring to. Foolish of you to think he’d answer as he gets up and empties his glass of wine into the sink, eyes locked on the counter where the lemon resides.

You were going to ask if he’d like to use the lemon too; though, he beats you to your question when he tucks in the stool.

“Get some rest, we have a long day tomorrow.”

You exert all your energy into the lemon, squeezing and wringing out the halved fruit to distract you of the confusion. Have you pushed for too much? Were you out of line wanting to know more about Jeongguk? You hope the lingering thoughts of your cottage mate disappears with the garlic stench after a thorough soak. 

After your shower, you take one last peek at his door and the light emitting from the small slit persists even through the late hours. Was he still working or also plagued with the thoughts of tonight’s conversation?

It’s a little past midnight when you emerge into the kitchen again to get a glass of water only to notice a slightly ajar front door.

101 Dumb Ways to Die would commend you and your efforts to close the door. Your fingers touch the doorknob, ready to twist and secure the locks. 

You die a little inside when you spot a figure outside near the lemon tree.

Jeongguk. 

He sits there, staring at his hands before he lifts one of them up to his face. A small sniff, then his hand falls onto his lap again.

You lean against a nearby wall, hand clutching the glass of water close to your chest.

He bends down from his seated position and grabs a fallen lemon, uncaring if it came from the top or the bottom branch. Suddenly, he stands up and makes his way back to the cottage again.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, scrambling to go back to your room but your foot catches onto your other ankle and you’re sent flying to the floor with the glass of water held close to your chest to brace the fall and potential damage.

Aside from a wet shirt and the bruise forming on your knee, the glass was still intact. What wasn’t intact was your pride as Jeongguk opens the door to find you laying on your side.

His eyes widen, immediately crouching down to check your conditions. “Are you okay?” 

You could fake an episode of sleepwalking and walk back to your room, wet shirt and all, but then you’ll be labeled as the colleague who sleepwalks.

“Oof,” You grab his extended hand, the one without the lemon, and pull yourself up to a sitting position. “Y-yeah, um, just wanted some water.” You peer down at the pool of water around you and flush harder.

He grabs a nearby cloth to clean up the mess and when he’s done, he holds his hand out again, “Can you stand?”

You nod, hand engulfed in his warmth as he tugs you up along with him. You walk stiffly next to him and thank him after he hands you a spare towel in the kitchen. 

You should return to your room to nurse your broken pride; yet, your feet stay planted as Jeongguk gets out the cutting board.

“Oh, there’s still half a lemon in the fridge.” 

Nodding, he retrieves the lemon and he squeezes the sliced half with ease. He dips his fingers in first, spreading the juice all over his hands and in between the crevices just as you did. You watch his fingers spread the juices all over the top of his veiny hands, light from the kitchen emulating the glisten on his skin.

A tingly sensation starts at your fingertips and you clench your fists tightly before it travels up your arms, unsure why your body is reacting at the simple act.

God, did you hit your head on something during the fall? 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your daze.

You blink, body automatically moving around to check for any soreness. High knees in place and a twist to your side, you confirm your health condition. You do one last stretch, intertwining your fingers and reaching up to the ceiling.

All’s well, so it seems.

Actually, no.

The action lifts your camisole, exposing the lower half of your stomach. Jeongguk’s gaze dips to your full hips and areas where the sun can’t fully reach. 

“Yeah, all good.” You swallow, arms coming down and holding your hands behind your back.

Lights shut off, you and Jeongguk make your way back to your bedrooms, steps heavier as you near your door. 

Suddenly, your hand reaches out, weak fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looks down at you with a raised brow, unmoving, so you tighten your grip around him. 

“I saw you outside.” You confess, voice small and hesitant. “Are you okay?”

Jeongguk didn’t owe you an answer. But after all the time spent leading up to this moment, you think something should’ve changed by now. 

His jaw clenches, eyes swirling with a mixture of uncertainty and discomfort as he considers the option of being honest.

He purses his lips and shakes his head no. 

Be it your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe or your innate desire to fix a troubled man, your fingers tighten around his wrist.

“Is there something I can do–” The latter part of your question gets cut short at another shake of his head. 

Your default solution is to deflect and lessen the embarrassment with cynicalism and a humorless laugh. “I know you hate me and all–”

He laughs, too — the dullness masking the irritability behind your unfinished statement.

“I don’t hate you.” He pauses and ponders his next words. “Whatever I’m going through right now has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

Maybe … if you do make it about you, Jeongguk might forget about his bigger worries. The day has gone so well and all your effort’s about to be undone with what you do next. You step closer, gleaning at his reaction and any indication of his repulsion from your proximity.

“If we didn’t work at the same company, how would you feel about me then?” You ask.

His stare darkens. Pattern recognition from all the other fleeting moments in Italy only pushes you to do something you’d never have the courage to in a professional environment where you’d both break all code of conduct. 

What happens in Italy, stays in Italy … right?

“We’d get along.” You answer for him.

“We’d be strangers.” He corrects. “I don’t need twenty year old friends listening to my problems.”

Good thing you’re not twenty and good thing you don’t want to be friends with Jeongguk. In the span of this conversation, you and Jeongguk now share the same air and warmth as you press your front to his hard chest. He doesn’t pull away from your softness whether it be through the silky camisole, your nature, or exposed skin … he lets himself soak in what you offer him.

And when you tip-toe closer to his face, he doesn’t move, allowing you to do as you like despite all signs in his head telling him to turn you away.

“We’d get along.” You repeat, eyes bold and hopeful as you stare into his hooded ones. “You’d let me help you forget about your problems.”

Cause you’d create new ones for Jeon Jeongguk as you press your lips to his. 

The original hold you had on his wrist ceases as your nimble fingers find refuge on the ends of his cotton shirt. Your thighs tense from the vibrations of his small groan, the pleasure pangs intensifying when his hands cup your jaw. Lips soft and so rightfully slotted on yours, your eyes flutter shut and embrace the abundant hues of yellow and green similar to the villa’s lemon tree. 

The crisp citrus scent from his fingers warms and melts you further into his lips. He parts his mouth slightly, and for a moment, just a moment … you hope he’d run his tongue on yours.

Your hope gets wringed out like the used lemons residing in the wastebin the exact moment he says your name and pulls away, chest moving in tandem with his strained breaths. 

“This isn’t right.” He breathes, swallowing as he steps back to create some space between your bodies.

“I–”

“Goodnight.”

His door shuts, no different than how he shuts you out of the life you hoped to get a better glimpse of. Your fingers trace your lips, remembering how he felt against you before he took everything including your pride with him. You also shut your door, only bringing humiliation and rejection back in with you.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

You barely slept. 

Instead, you chose to put in the extra work you needed to meet your deliverables for your client. You locked yourself in the bedroom — rather brave through the shitty internet connection until it was time to meet up with the rest of the bridal party who arrived last night.  

“So,” Yebin starts, “I hear the best man is a hottie and you’re staying in the same cottage as him?”

You splutter into your drink, quickly grabbing the napkin on your lap to dab away the cascading liquid on your chin.

“Uh, wha–”

“Jihyo mentioned it in the group chat. What? Been too busy with him to catch up in the thread?” She wiggles her brows with a playful grin.

You push your body forward to give Jihyo a tiny glare. She sits prettily at the top of the table, the only person wearing white while the rest of you were in different variations of yellow to match the wedding theme.

“What?” She says with a mouthful. “He is objectively handsome. Not a surprise, I mean, look at my Seojun.”

“Isn’t he in his forties?” Another one of the girls asks.

“Thirty-seven.” Jihyo corrects. “We celebrated his birthday recently.”

“Basically forty.” Yebin retorts and turns back to you. “So what’s he like?”

You’re thankful for the soft breeze in the midst of Italy’s humid summer — helps you cool the sweat sitting uncomfortably on your skin, both from the rising afternoon temperatures and last night’s memories. 

“He’s … fine.” You pause and try to come up with other adjectives to better describe him, ultimately coming short and resorting to a foolproof excuse. “We haven’t really spoken.”

“Oh, please. Aside from his nephew, Jeongguk’s more friendly with you than he has been to me.”

Yeah, ‘cause you also work in the same building as him forty hours a week for the past year, but no one here needs to know that. The conversation eventually shifts over to Jihyo’s wedding itinerary, makeup and hair plans, and what the other girls plan to do after the wedding dinner rehearsal. You enjoyed your time in the smaller group, but you also valued the community the other girls brought in this part of the trip. You visit the nearby boutiques, splurge on things you could most definitely find back at home, because … when were you going to be in Italy with your girls again?

“Remember, be there at 8 p.m. The venue’s gates close five minutes after.” Jihyo reminds.

“Yes, ma’am. Got it marked down in our calendars.” Yebin yawns, still slightly jetlagged and ready for a much needed nap after the day’s festivities. You and Jihyo drop off the girls at the front of their hotel and begin the walk back to the villa. Would’ve been quicker to take a cab, but Jihyo wanted to walk off her second gelato and you didn’t mind not being in the same vicinity as your cottage mate all that soon.

“You nervous for tomorrow?” You ask, steps slowing as you both near the villa.

“No,” she smiles fondly at a passing thought. “But I am anxious for the future. Don’t know how long it’ll be till my parents want to talk to me.”

You’ve thought about the times you’ve fought with your parents — nothing as big as marrying someone they didn’t approve of. Hopefully Jihyo’s parents will come around. Love, from a parent at least, should be unconditional. 

She reads your thoughts with a chuckle and nudge to your shoulder. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s me and Seojun against the world.”

“They’ll come around.” You reassure. “You also have your friends too, so you’re never alone.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“And then, the maid of honor and best man will walk here.” Violetta, the wedding planner, points down the long stretch to the altar. 

She looks over to the group, trying to single out the girl with that title since Jeongguk was the only male aside from the groom. You step out, having avoided Jeongguk all day with the wedding party, there are just some things you can’t avoid.

You avoid looking at the older man, keeping your stares locked on the wedding planner and aisle markings.

“Oh, to be maid of honor.” Yebin mumbles jokingly and the group of girls erupt into a small fit of giggles.

Jeongguk pays no mind and extends his arm for you to hold. Practice. Yes, this was still a rehearsal. You might’ve imagined his tense inhale as you press your body closer, breast pushing against his arm to see if the action could produce a similar sound or reaction.

Nothing.

After the rehearsal, you and Jeongguk still avoid each other like the plague, unwilling to address the elephant in the room. You try to sleep, tossing and turning all night until you made the executive decision for some much needed fresh air.

Part of you worries Jeongguk might also be outside, claiming the lemon tree as his area of respite. Can’t be his if you claimed it first. Unfortunately, the spot was occupied … not by him at least.

Pulling the metal chair, Seojun looks up, startled, but relaxes at the sight of a familiar face.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks.

“Yeah. Too stuffy in the cottage.” You lie, unwilling to admit the actual source of your unrest. “You?”

“Yeah.” He looks into the distance, worries swirling in his orbs. “I think my uncle’s right.”

Your brows pull together, head tilting in confusion.

“We’re too rash. Jihyo’s parents might never speak to her again and it’s all my fault. And I,” Seojun begins to crumble at the weight of his realization. “I don’t know if I’m enough for her to lose everything.”

You know more than anyone that there are some things money and power can’t buy. Jihyo wasn’t risking anything because Seojun was everything. Because if life wasn’t about love, then what was it about?

“You’re enough for Jihyo.”

“Uncle said–”

“Screw what Jeongguk thinks.” You interrupt, gasping at your sudden abrasiveness. “Wait, I don’t mean any offense to your uncle …”

His laugh could’ve woken up the entire villa, but you’re thankful to see this side of him in comparison to how he was a moment ago. 

“No, no,” he chuckles, “I know he’s not the most likeable person.”

“He’s not … awful.”

Seojun nods, tilting his head down to conceal a tender smile you’ve witnessed whenever he was around Jihyo — now you understand those were reserved for his loved ones. “He used to be different … lighter, does that even make sense?”

You agree, waiting for Seojun’s next words.

“Uncle was fun.” You learn how Jeongguk would take little Seojun to the zoo every year because his mother would be too busy with work, along with the late night video game sessions he would partake in despite his busy university schedule.

“He was in his second year of university preparing to study abroad … I don’t know much, but something didn’t work out and another student was chosen instead of him. Mom worked hard so that she could support uncle and his dreams.”

“Worked too hard — damn workaholics.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know he means well not wanting me to rush into things without a proper safety net.”

You think back to a younger Jeongguk navigating life alone with a young child … he couldn’t have been any older than you — a baby raising another baby with no one to turn to.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Seojun shakes away some thoughts, “I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. I’m sure you’re tired–”

“No, no,” You wave your hands. “I don’t mind. You’re marrying my best friend and whether her family or Jeongguk approves, it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen how happy you make her — how relaxed she is around you.” You offer a warm and comforting smile to which Seojun returns at the mention of your friend. “We’re both in this for Jihyo’s happiness. You deserve to be happy too.” 

“Yeah, we do.” He replies, shoulders sagging in relief.

You linger outside a little longer after Seojun’s departure, begrudgingly going back into the cottage. Before entering your room, you take one look at Jeongguk’s room, noting the small sliver of light from underneath his door.

You remember all the late nights waiting for your father’s lights to turn off … wondering when you’d be enough for his attention. And as you shut your door to your room, you hope that was enough to garner Jeongguk’s attention too. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Jihyo loved everything about yellow. Loved the song by Coldplay and loved her flowers yellow — thinks she saw yellow when she met Seojun. Her bridesmaid dresses had to be yellow, as with everything in the wedding.

You see yellow everywhere too: the sand in the distance, wedding favors in the form of bagged perle di sole candies, and the boutonniere pinned on the left side of Jeongguk’s vest.

Yellow blurs around you during the ceremony, tearful gazes exchanged with the other bridesmaids. 

Jihyo had always centered her world around her friendships — no man has ever been enough to pull her away from that value. Though, as she stands across from Seojun, her hands in his, it seemed as though nothing could’ve pried them apart from each other’s gravitational pulls. Your eyes peer over the wedding attendees, taking in their expectant stares and proud smiles — even Jeongguk seemed to have softened at the sight. 

When it was time for the vows, you hand them over to Jihyo from behind, who took them without turning around, eyes still locked onto her soon-to-be husband.

She takes a steadying breath before speaking: “Seojun. These past years with you have been the happiest of my life. I could’ve never imagined meeting anyone like you. Now, I won’t call you my best friend, because that spot is taken and I think my lovely maid of honor might have some things to say about that–” The wedding party sounded a collective chuckle. You smile to yourself, eyes instinctively finding Jeongguk’s, who had already been looking your way in confirmation of your title.

“But I’m so happy to have found you, that I’m able to call you my friend, lover, and now, husband. I know a lot of people thought we were rushing into this, and they might be right. It is early, but I’ve never been as certain about anything as I am about wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Seojun, you are the most wonderful and kindest person — better than I can ever hope to deserve, I love you.” Her voice had become increasingly more unstable as she went and she quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting to ruin her bridal make-up. Seojun wasn’t fairing any better, softly cupping her cheek and kissing her lips, whispering a small gratitude to her.

“Excuse me?” The officiant interrupts. “We’re not quite there yet.” 

Laughing, the pair separates and refocuses their attention back to the ceremony. You turn to your fellow bridesmaids after hearing a quiet sniffle from Yebin. You carefully lean back into her, nudging her shoulder in comfort. 

“Jihyo, you son of a bitch.” The girl mutters, dotting the corner of her eye with a tissue. 

You chuckle, moving back into your position after assessing everyone’s conditions.

When you find the confidence to check on Jeongguk, he’s just as affected and politely turns away from the couple to hide his emotions.

At the wedding reception, you watch Jihyo and her husband dance to every song on their playlist, joined by their guests, eventually being the last ones standing as the night progresses. The ache on the soles of your feet grow by the hour, and you find yourself sitting alone, nursing your drink and watching your best friend soak in happiness.

Yellow persists in the form of strung lights on the small dance floor. Though, a new opponent, green, enters when you catch some wedding guests approaching an unsuspecting Jeongguk.

As the maid of honor, you should stay for the night even if it’s nearing 2 a.m. Selfishly, you can’t bring yourself to. You tell Jihyo you’re not feeling well and that you’re going to walk back to the cottage to rest. She looks at you with concern, but she nods and asks you to text her once you’ve made it back.

Ten steps out the venue, you hear some whistles and chuckles. Shit. You walk quicker and a slimy hand wraps around your wrist.

The men smile at you, saying something you can’t really decipher. If all fails after your persistent ignorance to the Italian language, your heels make an excellent weapon of defense.

“C'è un problema?” A familiar voice says in the distance.

Immediately, the man releases your wrist and holds his hands up. The group of men shuffles away, mumbling to themselves as they look back at your savior.

“You okay?” Jeongguk asks.

“Yep.” You answer quickly, steps resuming in the direction of the villa.

Jeongguk follows closely behind you, silent as he has been all night.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the bride? Maid of honor duties.”

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the groom? Best man duties.” You retort with no malice.

“Touché.” He contemplates his next words. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

Your brows furrow, and an immature part of you assumes you’re the reason for his early departure. He quickly follows up with, “There’s a fire I have to put out at work.”

The bitter memories of your father leaving for work resurfaces again. Would it be so awful to not think about work and be with his loved ones?

You wave off those feelings and express your gratitude instead. “Thanks for helping me back there. You never mentioned knowing Italian.”

Would’ve come in handy during the ample times you all had to order food, but this was not the right moment to joke. 

“Studied some basic phrases before going abroad. Didn’t end up in Italy though.”

You freeze a little, remembering the small detail Seojun mentioned the night before about Jeongguk’s missed opportunity. 

Silence takes over and continues even as you both face your bedroom doors.

“Jeongguk.” You say, before he enters his room. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t impact our work. Please forget it happened — I’m truly ashamed and sorry.”

He nods, jaw clenched and tense. 

“Have a safe flight home. See you in the office.” No other words are needed in your retreat back into your room.

The knot at the back of your neck strains and you can’t wait to finally shed your makeup, tight bun, and dress.

You [2:18 a.m.]: Made it to the cottage 💛 Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: GOOD Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: JEONGGU SAI HES HEDIN TO COTT TO Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: ILY Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: im drun

You smile at your phone, typing a quick reply and before you hit enter, you hear a knock on your door.

Door swung open, your eyes widen at the sight of Jeongguk, tie loose around his neck and hair tussled as if he ruminated for an eternity before knocking your door.

“It’s been nice with you in Italy.” His arm from behind comes to the front with a small object. You remember it from your last day in Venice: the green masquerade mask. “Safe travels home.”

You take the little green mask in your hands, frown deepening at the sentiment.

“Why would you get this for me?” You ask.

His tongue probes against his cheek, eyes coming down to look at your figure in your yellow halter dress. The same fleeting stares you’ve grown accustomed to in the time spent in Italy, unaware these glances have always existed without your knowledge back at home. He laughs through his nose and shakes his head.

He brings his eyes back to your face. “You’re a smart girl, graduated with honors and all … so think a little harder for me.”

You shake your head, afraid of the aftermath of another wrong move that could jeopardize your heart.

“I don’t know if I can …”

Leaders take initiative — you’re nowhere near that point in your career and life. Jeongguk recognizes this too, which is why he walks you backwards into the room. His fingers trace the intricate beadings on the mask still in your hands.

“Here, we’re just two people who met through the people we love. No roles or responsibilities. I only know you as Jihyo’s friend. You’re just … you, and I’m just Jeongguk.”

“And who are you, Jeongguk?” You place the mask onto a nearby dresser, eyes never leaving the man in front of you.

He looks down at you again, a type of stare only capable of burning and tainting every inch of your being. He’s afraid to admit who he really is — what he actually wants, knowing he can’t fully have even if it was ready for him to take. Though, with only a couple hours to spare in Italy, he wants to use what little time he has on an experience he would never let himself indulge in back at home.

It’s what vacations are meant for, right?

“Someone that wants your help. Someone that wants to finish what you started two nights ago.” He answers.

It doesn’t make sense with you — he doesn’t make sense with you just like when he leans down to press his lips on yours. The kiss is punishing, no colors of yellow like the kiss from two nights ago. Yellow is only meant for lovers and Jeongguk is no lover. Would be the only logical reason you’d now see black and blue  — colors of old bruises and wounds left unattended for too long, and Jeongguk has far too many to count. 

“Fuck,” He says in between kisses, shrugging off his vest, “Tell me to stop.”

You whimper, shaking your head and looping your arms over his neck to bring him closer. He pushes his tongue past your lips, savoring the way you moan around and suck on his wet muscle. 

The only thing that makes sense is how your dress, the only yellow left, needs to come off. Your hands move behind your neck to undo the tight knot, letting the top fall down your front. Taking Jeongguk’s large hands, you take note of their softness, like sand — so malleable and so much harder to hold. You place them on your breasts instead. 

He groans, the sound so painful and full of want to give into his desires.

“This can’t mean anything.” He says through a harsh breath. “You know that, right?”

“It’s okay.” You reply, moaning again as the pressure from his hands increases. “I’m … I’m okay with that.”

You’re not and Jeongguk knows this too. He’s aware of the subtle glances in the time he’s worked with you, your shift in demeanor when he enters a room, and how your eyes search for his approval when none was ever needed. He knows you won’t be okay with this just being a one night stand or quick fuck, but it has to be because you and Jeongguk don’t make sense.

Not under the dull fluorescent lights of the company building, not in Italy.

His teeth grazes your skin, leaving a trail of pain and pleasure behind its wake. You quiver and his body presses harder against yours in panic that if he leaves any space in between, the distance would only grow should he second-guess. 

Dress bunched up at your midsection, he turns you away, eyes immediately landing where your mistake from your teenage years resided right above your pert ass. 

Was this going to be another mistake too?

Your hands brace yourself on the dresser, arching from his hand tracing down your back and down your ass. He pauses and waits for your nod to proceed. Palm up, he runs his hand over the pathetic cloth you’d call your underwear now completely soaked through and scrunched to the side of your pussy.

He sucks in a breath, “Kissing gets you like this, hm?”

You shudder, praying he eventually moves. His middle finger probes gently at your sodden folds, gathering your arousal. He stays doing this for a couple minutes, listening to your soft sighs, wondering when you’d begin to beg for him to continue.

And when you don’t ask for more, it aggravates him realizing he’s the one who needs more out of something that’s supposed to be meaningless. As the older adult, he should be the gentleman with better restraint, but he’s here in your room seeking something he can’t find anywhere else:

A distraction from all the buried guilt and pain — for once, he wants to win.

He somehow gets you perched on the dresser, head between your thighs as he eats you out both as a punishment and reward. The bottom half of your dress hangs over the side of your hips, thighs spread wide open as Jeongguk thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

He knows this is just sex … worse that you’re a younger colleague whom he has vehemently denied his attractions for. But he’s here in Italy where he’s tasted olives, rinsed his memories of past loved ones with citrus … he should enjoy this trip — enjoy you. Because when was Jeongguk going to be in Italy again fucking you in a shared cottage?

“Jeong–fuck, m-yeah, right there.” You cheer, fingers carding through his hair.

Your encouragement only spurs him on to work harder, lapping over your swollen clit until you tense and cease all noise in concentration for the impending orgasm. It’s all over when you fight his hold and win the battle with your legs clamped tightly around his head. You cum with a small sob, thighs shaking around him as he continues to eat you out.

He replaces his tongue with two fingers, lazily pumping his digits in you while he kisses your lips with the taste of you still on his tongue. Meanwhile, you fumble clumsily with his buttons and zipper, jaded by how much you want him.

He’s just as eager, moaning and grinding his cock into your hand when you’ve finally freed him of his confinements. 

Hoisting you in his arms, he brings you to the edge of your bed, groaning at how you automatically spread wider on the softer surface. So ready for him to do more with you until he realizes:

“Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

You hold yourself up with your forearms, legs still spread wide open for him despite his hesitance to move forward. His teeth sink onto his bottom lip, troubled dimples appearing as he stares at your glistening pussy clenching around nothing. 

“I’m on birth control.” You assure and add, “You can pull out if you want.”

What’s another bad idea added into the pile?

He strokes over his length, squeezing harder at the tip and lines himself up. You whine and circle your hips from the hard poke at your entrance, arousal coating his bare cock. He doesn’t push himself in just yet, watching as a bead of precum smears at your opening … a silent territorial marking. 

You’re his for tonight.

His thumb lands on your clit, rubbing it up and down. You keen, eyes shutting to concentrate on the added stimulation around the bundle of nerves.

“You’ve always been too rash on your decisions.” He pushes the tip of his cock into you, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. “Gotta work on that.” As if he’s not about to make an irrevocable mistake himself.

“High risk, high rewards … r-right?” You stammer through a shaky breath as he pushes more of him into you, uncaring that there’d been little to no prep. But that doesn’t matter, all your fantasies were coming true at this very moment and you’ll take whatever he gives you.

He gives you two more orgasms. One with your ankles by his ears. The other one where you lay on your side, memorizing the way his fingers dig into your skin as he pumps his thick shaft into you. You hike your knee closer to your chest to allow him to sink even deeper into you, hitting a specific spot repeatedly to burn figments of stars behind your lids.

The room’s hot and musty — didn’t help that neither of you remembered to air out the cottage upon arrival, but no one cared about that at the moment. Your sweat gathers behind your knees and drips down the slope of your thighs as Jeongguk continues fucking you into the mattress with an intense need.

“Gonna cum.” He announces, jaw going slack as his balls grow heavy with the need to release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Want you to cum for me.” You nod, and the slapping of his skin on yours grows as he moves quicker and harder. 

You moan, brows scrunched in anticipation for Jeongguk to pull out and the feeling of being stuffed full by him will cease all together. And through your past experiences with other men, sex typically ends once they cum, so you ready yourself for the mirage to end — ready yourself to face reality again. Your lower half relaxes, waiting for him to turn your body so that he could unload everything on your stomach.

Two things happen.

He pushes deep inside you, stilling as he fills you with his arousal.

Hands soft as sand, cradle your jaw for a searing kiss to conceal words he shouldn’t utter to a colleague, let alone a direct report.

Minutes pass like this and you come to find out: sex doesn’t stop when Jeongguk finishes inside you.

He lays down next to you and hoists your body on top of his, movements swift in slipping his sensitive cock back into your cum-filled hole. He hisses, fighting through the overstimulation in acceptance of the punishment for all the terrible acts he’s committed with you. Again, both a punishment and a reward as he lets you ride him, watching the way your hips roll smoothly over his. Your mixed juices trail down his length and over his balls the more you move and bounce.

He doesn’t tell you to give him another orgasm, knowing you’re working hard to get there again. 

“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna do this with you all night long.” Your breath hitches as the pleasure shifts into a type of pain no one can see. And no matter how you try to fight the physical effects of the hardest orgasm of your life, your body gives into the exhaustion and slumps over Jeongguk’s sweaty body.

In your slumber, you feel the sand, the breeze, and the absence of another human body. The next morning only proves your reality when you wake up clothed and sore from last night’s affair … with Jeongguk nowhere in sight.

You frown, tucking the sheets closer to your chin and watching the tree branches scrape against your opened window. The air in the room was no longer stuffy, ridding any evidence of what you and Jeongguk did.

Summers in Italy were magical. 

Though, the fact stands: magic was nothing but illusions, deluding you from the truth. And you feigned indifference when Jihyo tells you Jeongguk had gone home for an important project — you ignored the hurt and betrayal. You had never been enough for your father to come home, so it was easy to turn a blind eye at the heaviness in your stomach from the thoughts of hoping you’d be enough to make Jeongguk stay.

Another couple of days in Italy go by with those illusions till the truth sets in the day you return to work.

A couple coworkers stop you on the way to your cubicle, asking you for a trip recap. Your debrief takes longer as intended — half due to wanting to avoid work and the other half as a result of your efforts to leave out key details of a certain someone. 

You could’ve taken another path to your desk — one that kept you from the usual ajar door. Perhaps the magic followed you back home and you’ve alluded to think Jeongguk’s stares trail after your figure when you walked past his office.

The magical illusions continue as you settle into your cube, a bright yellow sticky note on your keyboard with a familiar handwriting reads: Lunch at Romano’s. - J

Even if the center of the candy happened to be sour, you have to see through it — you want to see through it.

fin.

a/n: missed me? cuz i’ve been missenU. ahh, ahh?? 🥹 i’ll see yall in about 1-2 months with something new! in the meantime, go send your well wishes to the bday girlie!! toodles ♡

also s/o to my bestie @takeitawaykenny for beta’ing!! love ya pookie

There's a specific kind of loneliness that exists exclusively in university boys who project their fear of intimacy onto women and ruin their perceptions of love solely to keep their fragile egos away from slipping through their fingertips and breaking down like blades of glass. 

Not because they're incapable of being loved. I'd say the situation is quite the opposite, actually. People like them are usually loved too loudly, too quickly. They become socially unavoidable before they become emotionally available— having mastered the art of making people feel personally seen while remaining uniquely difficult to access in return.

And maybe, that's where the actual problem begins.

Charm is easier to preform than vulnerability, attention is more addicting when you've never experienced a form of raw intimacy, and a real conversation probably feels worse than a pair of red, glossy lips. 

Every generation repackages the same socially gifted boy with commitment issues and calls him different names, swearing this one is different than the last.

But surprise, it's not.

This year's version just happens to wear leather jackets and lip rings to nine a.m lectures while also somehow possessing actual analytical skills in addition to social ones— perhaps the most alarming thing about Jeon Jungkook is that he isn't a business major. 

Because boys like Jeon Jungkook learn early that if they remain entertaining enough, nobody will notice how carefully they avoid stillness; as though silence might physically harm them. Does an engineering major make him interesting? Maybe. But does it fuel his hedonistic lifestyle? Not exactly. 

The bass is thudding loud enough to make the kitchen cabinets tremble with every beat, palpitating through the frat house in uneven waves. Alcohol that's cheap enough to poison you on an empty stomach spills over sticky counter tops, and the room reeks with the smell of warm beer mixed with something disgustingly similar to your ex boyfriend's cologne— you're going to throw up.

But you don't. Because, well, you can't. 

So you keep holding a cup of cranberry vodka in your hand despite accommodating a strong dislike for the drink, you keep your smile warm and flirty even though deeply missing the comfort of your bed and wanting nothing more than to rewatch Mamma Mia for the third time this month. And you keep bobbing your head along to the music even though you swear any house beat without proper lyrics would be enough to kill a fly. 

You keep your chin high and your posture straight because you need this. You need something tangible. A reaction, anything capable of sitting inside your palm until you can carry it home and pour into words later. Because you've already wasted at least three hours of your precious friday night here and you are not leaving unless you find something worth pocketing.

Luckily for you, said Jeon Jungkook is standing at the center of it all. 

His back is pressed against the kitchen counter as a girl keeps on kissing him as if the birth and death of her universe lies somewhere between his lips. Her fists are tangled in the collar of his leather jacket, tugging his body closer and closer into her smaller frame like distance is completely unnecessary, like she needs his body to melt and mold with hers to embody the entirety of proximity itself.

A familiar voice shouts his name from the living room, but Jungkook doesn't budge until someone else reaches over to steal the drink straight out of his hand, laughing into her mouth unapologetically.

He pulls away just enough to see whoever it is that's calling him, hands firming up on the girl's waist to stabilize himself. "Give me thirty seconds!" He shouts back casually.

The response is immediate. "You said that twenty minutes ago!"

"Then clearly I'm busy."

The girl in front of him rolls her eyes, hands loosening on his collar before dropping down to his chest. "You're an asshole."

"Mhm, you think?" He asks with a smirk playing on his lips, looking down at her.