Phthartic- meaning destructive; deadly

Obviously, you haven’t told him yet what happened between you and Jungkook, not that something happened at all, but something inside you can’t seem to shut the fuck up, screaming in the back of your mind that this nothing is anything but.

“Yeah, because telling our totally rational friend that I’m dating his younger sister wouldn’t leave me beheaded.”

He’s got a point there. You’ve been just as shocked to learn that Taehyung’s been dating Jungkook’s baby sister for a month ago or so, understanding then too why he’s so close with their mom or why he’s been talking to her every Sunday. You guess it’s kind of strange to call your potential mother-in-law weekly when you’ve been in a relationship with her daughter for a hot minute, but you know Taehyung, and you kind of know Jungkook’s mom, and somehow it fits both their characters.

“It’s not like you’ve been going behind his back for ages or anything. He’ll sure under—”

“It’s been two years by now, ___.”

Taehyung’s name leaves your lips in a gasp that has the heads of all patrons in this part of the food parlour turning. But Taehyung seems unfazed, voice still mildly raised as if you both were alone at his place, not in a public place that can’t get any more public than this.

While, yeah, sure, more puzzle pieces fall into place as to why everyone’s acting like they are, you’re somehow a bit hurt that your best friend, second in rank after Jungkook, of course, didn’t tell you either. It’s not like you would have tattled to Jungkook what’s going on behind his back. Or would’ve you?

Doesn’t matter. You’re still a bit sour with Taehyung.

“What? He can be left in the dark for some more years if you ask me.”

“I don’t know. Honesty shouldn’t feel unsafe in a friendship.”

“Oh yeah? So if it is, how about you tell me what happened last night?”

You swear your friend right here is a psychic. Or he just knows you, and maybe the dynamic of your friendship with Jungkook, too well, so predicting that anything and everything’s changed since being ‘therapised’ is mandatory rather than surprising.

Your sigh, paired with a half-hearted “Nothing happened,” comes out uneven, because somehow and deep down you’re sure that last night was not withdrawal or a game well played, but confirmation of something you don’t want to name nor acknowledge in its depths.

Depths so unforgiving that even this small crack has your bones vibrating with a visceral fear too crystalline to take a step further. But Taehyung won’t leave you be. Just like you’ve been pressing him to be honest, it’s his turn now, as he just stares at you, mouth obnoxiously chewing on his beef while some part of you gags in the background of your thoughts.

“We…” kind of kissed. “He…” leaned in. “But…” you didn’t do shit either.

“Oh wow, tell me more, please.” Taehyung tilts his head to the side, a quirk he adopted from Jungkook. You swear sometimes, with just the right lighting, they look kind of alike. Not now, though, as Taehyung’s been growing his hair out and has it permed. You question if it has all to do with Jungkook’s sister.

“We were just lying in bed and… I don’t know. He leaned in but backed away.” You’re not able to look him in the eyes, rather pushing a piece of your broccoli from side to side. “It’s all Namjoon’s fault. Jungkook can’t handle compliments at this rate and level.”

“You just sound like him. DaMn yOu nAmJoOn!”

“Oh, hush.” You throw your napkin his way, which, quite frankly, doesn’t go far, as it falls flat on your dressing, soaking right through. “Ew.” You whisper with a scrunched nose, picking it up with two fingers and placing it as far away as possible. “No, what I’ve been trying to say is: I’m not sure if I’ll be able to face Jungkook tonight. Or even go to our session.”

“How come?”

“I kind of skipped breakfast…dipped before he woke up this morning.”

A gasp with your name, mirrored just like two seconds ago, leaves Taehyung’s full mouth. This time, no one’s turning their heads, not because no one’s listening in, but because everyone’s already listening. How embarrassing.

“You definitely have to go.”

You whine, more dramatically than it truly is, but you’re past the point of contenance. “But I don’t want to.”

“I know. That’s why you need this. You both do. It’s really painful to watch. Just figure it out, and if it takes therapy, then therapy it is.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Thanks, likewise.”

There’s nothing left to say, so you resume pouting, Taehyung mimicking you until both of you laugh. Your meals are finished shortly after, bill paid, Taehyung helps you into your coat when you look outside the large windows.

Nothing really catches your eye more than a second, not the cabs, skyscrapers, or hundreds of people walking by. That is, until you spot Jungkook with his secretary just some shops further down.

And just like that, there’s green poison floating underneath the ice, bleeding into the web of cracks that seem to spread and never stop.

Coats on, you get the last bit of humiliation as you nearly collide with the glass entrance door, eyes still fixed on your best friend in the distance. Taehyung mutters you’re out of your mind as the city’s smog surrounds your recently detoxed system.

It’s not far-fetched that somewhere in the depths of your mind, the part that seems overshadowed by your heart’s screams, is a piece of you that worries quite a lot about the frown lines threatening to become a characteristic of your appearance. Especially when you’re not sure if Jungkook is standing too close to her or not, if he’s got his flirty persona in place or not, and, foremost, if he’s enjoying his lunch break with her more than with you.

Maybe you should start getting appointments at the eye doctor’s office too.

Or maybe you should change your group of friends, seeing that Taehyung’s purposefully walking in the direction of Jungkook rather than your workplace.

“Stop, Tae, no, what the fuck’s wrong with you?!” you hiss as quietly as possible, trying to grab his arm as best as you can, but failing miserably because your acrylics can handle only so much with his stiff wool coat.

“Hush, we’re too close.” He shakes his arm free as he quickens his pace. “Jaykay! Crazy seeing you here!”

Jungkook turns at that, big eyes exploding to double their size as he scans Taehyung and you, full of shock. It must be that he didn’t think he’d encounter you, because it’s anything but unusual for him to spend his break on this specific street.

“Hey… uh…” His head turns between you and his secretary, whose expression, you must say, is not the least bit fazed as she keeps looking at your best friend. Jungkook, on the other hand, you haven’t seen such a forced smile from him in ages.

As Jungkook’s dapping Taehyung, you take your time to get a closer look at his secretary. She’s petite, just like you, but has the most luscious, plump red lips; bright, piercing blue eyes that feel hypnotic. And her hair, gosh, you’ve never seen healthy black hair like hers. 

And when Jungkook turns to you, he hesitates just enough for your mood to sour one notch more but, surprisingly, goes in for a hug that feels way too intimate for just a friend’s hug, pierced lips of his lingering on your now-flushed cheek.

“Siri, that’s my friend Taehyung.” Said man shakes her hand. “And this beauty is my girlfriend, ___.”

While this introduction has cracks big like frissures spreading so fast the green’s replaced by static white in an instant, it’s the fierce kiss against your temple right after that feels like a shot through your brain, leaving you involuntarily in a persistent vegetative state.

Siri’s expression doesn’t drop like you expected. If anything, it softens in a way that screams girl‘s girl. 

“Oh,” she blinks once like she’s recalibrating. “Okay. That makes sense.”

The lack of bite throws you off more than the jealousy did especially when Jungkook doesn’t move away from you nor doesn’t loosen his hold. He even seems to shift closer, his hand sliding down to rest at your hip, casual and familiar but unmistakably boyfriend.

Taehyung clears his throat like he’s allergic to this image of Jungkook as your boyfriend. 

There’s a few words exchanged between Taehyung and Siri, but you can’t seem to listen in as you catch yourself staring at Jungkook’s hand on you, the way his thumb presses lightly as if he’s trying to calm himself. It’s not for show, not now at least. But the way he’s acting like you’re something that could be taken from him if he lets go for a second, unsettles you too much. 

Siri’s beautiful laugh brings you thankfully back to present, focus instantly on Taehyung who shifts his weight and points towards the crosswalk you’ve come from. “We’re going this way.”

Siri nods. “I can walk with you guys for a bit.”

Jungkook’s immediate reaction is a polite but clipped, “You don’t have to.”

Siri glances at you, like she’s checking if you mind. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah, sure, why not.” You nod. 

There’s a squeeze on your side and Jungkook’s eyes flick to you just for a fraction, then he exhales silently and lets it go as the four of you move again. 

Siri walks beside Taehyung, but she doesn’t lean into him, doesn’t touch him, doesn’t do anything flirty. She just looks curious, social, warm, open, as if she genuinely likes people and their company.

It makes you feel slightly guilty for the way you judged her earlier.

Especially when you take a look at Taehyung who‘s keeping his hands in his pockets, respectful distance in place. Not because he isn’t charming, but because he’s not stupid. And because there’s already enough fire radiating off of you and Jungkook without him adding fuel.

Siri tilts her head at Taehyung. “So you and Jungkook have been friends long?”

Taehyung nods. “Since forever. He’s annoying most of the time, but he’s loyal, so...”

That makes Jungkook scoff. “You’re literally the annoying one.”

“See?”

“You guys are cute.” She laughs again.

You feel him pull you a fraction closer as you walk, so instinctive it almost feels unconscious, and it again is doing things to your brain.

“So,” Siri looks at you now. Not predatory, just curious how one can be. “and how did you two meet?”

You hesitate, because the truth is complicated. It’s history and years and friendship and almosts that, you guess, never became anything until now.

“She’s been in my life since I can remember.” Jungkook answers for you. 

“Oh, wow. That’s actually so sweet.”

You glance up at him and find that he isn’t looking at Siri but at you. It feels like he wants you to hear it.

Taehyung watches Jungkook’s face with that knowing expression again that was aimed at you throughout lunch. And maybe he’s right because somehow, even to you, it’s like you all are watching a man step into a role he was always meant to play.

Siri continues, “That explains why you’re so protective.”

“I’m not protective.”

Siri gives him a look. “Jungkook, you’re holding her like she’s going to disappear.”

You feel Jungkook stiffen beside you and expect him to let go, to act normal like a best friend does. But of course, he doesn’t but slides his arm fully around your waist and tugs you into his side, bold enough now that anyone watching would assume you’ve been together for years.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Taehyung coughs into his fist. “Okay, Romeo.”

“Shut up.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry.

Siri smiles, but it’s kind. “That’s really nice.” And after a while, aimed at you, “I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier. I really didn’t know.”

You don’t know that she truly means, not really, but when Jungkook’s left eye twitches at that and before he can say something nasty, you answer first, because you’re not going to let him be rude when she’s being mature. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Thank you.” Her shoulders relax instantly. 

Taehyung nods, supportive. “Yeah. Jungkook just has this… thing.”

Siri smiles. “A jealousy thing?”

Jungkook’s head turns sharply. “What the fuck? I’m not jealous.”

Taehyung raises his brows while Siri looks at Jungkook like she’s studying him like a failed experiment. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s kind of refreshing, right ___?.” Then shrugs, “Most guys don’t care.”

Jungkook’s gaze storms back to you again, like the thought of most guys caring about you or don’t or that maybe he could be categorised as such, makes him want to snap something in half. But still he states rather offended, “I care.”

Your lungs seem to give up at that, last protective wall guarding your heart falling, because it’s not just boyfriend mode anymore but Jungkook choosing a side in public, for the first time ever, without hesitation.

While you can’t process anything for the life of you, Taehyung seems satisfied for once. He glances away, like he’s giving you privacy, but you can tell he’s listening anyway.

Siri’s voice softens like she‘s entering a daydream. “That’s a good thing.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands. Or your face. 

And while it feels like forever there’s just a minute or two of silence where everyone seems to just exist. That is until Jungkook’s whole posture changes the moment Siri smiles at Jungkook, then Taehyung. 

It makes him relax in a way that annoys you, because he only relaxes when he decides the situation is safe enough. And apparently, now that Siri knows you’re his girlfriend, and that she obviously couldn’t care less about him other than a coworker or acquaintance at best, he’s decided she’s no longer a threat.

And with that safety in place, his chaos returns. 

“So,” Jungkook muses, voice brightening in that overly casual way that means he’s plotting something too stupid for everyone‘s liking, “Siri.”

Siri looks at him again. “Yes?”

Jungkook gestures vaguely towards Taehyung, who’s walking on your other side with his hands in his pockets, doing his best impression of a neutral civilian when even he has realised that Jungkook is going to come out with brain-dead nonsense again.

“You and Taehyung should hang out.”

You almost trip while Taehyung’s head snaps towards Jungkook like he’s about to commit murder in broad daylight.

Siri’s eyes sparkle. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s a good guy.” 

Taehyung laughs once, too humorless for your liking. “I’m literally right here.”

But Jungkook ignores him.

You stare at Jungkook like he’s lost his mind, because you know what he’s doing: he’s trying to redirect Siri’s already redirected interest away from himself, making sure he’s safe-safe, by throwing Taehyung into the potential line of fire.

Except he picked the worst possible target.

Taehyung is not available. Taehyung is dating Jungkook’s sister which Jungkook doesn’t know. Taehyung is a walking bomb everyone should stay away from. 

“Taehyung,”  Siri smiles at him full of amusement, “what do you think?” 

Taehyung’s expression goes painfully blank. He glances at you for help like fix this, but you jut keep your face neutral, because you’re not about to out him. Not here. Not with Siri. And especially not with Jungkook standing this close. And how on earth could you even remotely help him if spontaneity and quick-wittedness aren’t really your thing?

So Taehyung clears his throat. “Uh. I’m… busy.”

Siri echos. “Busy?”

“Very,” Taehyung nods like his life depends on it even though it’s anything but convincing. “I have a lot going on.”

“Since when are you busy?” Jungkook squints. 

Taehyung’s eyes flash rather lunatic right back. “Since always, Jeon.”

Jungkook frowns even more, more suspicious than he ever was, because Taehyung is the least busy person alive and you all know it. 

Siri, however, takes it in stride. “That’s okay. Another time.”

But, oh boy, Jungkook isn’t letting it go. “No, he’s not that busy,” he insists, like he’s determined to make this happen. “He’s just—”

Taehyung steps closer, nearly toppling over you, smiling too hard. “Jungkook.”

The way he says his name is a warning. A stop right now before you ruin not only my life but yours as well warning.

Jungkook blinks, reading him. Then, thankfully, it hits him that something is off, that Taehyung’s refusal isn’t normal and you not pushing him too just as much. 

“Oh,” Jungkook’s eyes go wide in thought like they always do, realization creeping in slowly. “You’re hiding something.”

Taehyung’s smile freezes. “No.”

Jungkook turns to you immediately. “He’s hiding something.”

You keep walking, refusing to engage. “He’s always hiding something.”

Taehyung mouths thank you at you which you hush with a soft slap on his coat. Siri watches the exchange with a smile that screams entertained by the group dynamic. You can’t fault her at that, as a stranger, you would be too.

Jungkook’s brain clearly keeps spinning, trying to solve the Taehyung puzzle, but you’re sure, would actually bet your life on it, that he forces himself to abandon it because Siri is still here and he’s still trying to play matchmaker.

“Okay,” Jungkook‘s pivoting abruptly. “Not Taehyung.”

Taehyung exhales in relief. Then Jungkook continues, like he’s selecting a different sacrifice. “Namjoon.”

You feel it immediately: the shift in the air as the most dumb idea spreads around you. Taehyung’s mouth twitches because he too knows where this is going and he, contrary to you, thinks it’s funny.

Siri perks up. “Namjoon?”

Jungkook nods, again too eager now. “Yes. Kim Namjoon.”

Siri’s eyes brighten. “Oh?”

“He’s single.”

Taehyung makes a face like are you sure about that?, but he stays quiet.

Siri turns to you. “You know him too?”

You nod. 

“Is he hot?”

Jungkook opens his mouth—

But she did ask you and it’s bubbling out of you without mercy. Because it’s not even controversial, it’ss just a fact.

“Yeah,” you state simply. “He’s hot.”

The silence after you close your mouth is scary. Mute hit on the city as Jungkook’s head turns towards you so abruptly it’s like you slapped him with your blank palm. 

“What,” he‘s not asking. 

You blink back with your fake lashes. “What?”

“Why do you say he’s hot?”

Taehyung lets out a snort then a laugh, unable to stop himself while Siri looks between you two, startled but not uncomfortable. You kind of like her for that. 

“It’s not that deep,” you frown and try to sound normal even though you really can’t tell what normal feels like anymore. “He’s objectively attractive.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Objectively.”

“Yes, of course.” 

No answer.

Siri, blessed be her kind heart, tries to keep things light. “Okay, okay, no need to fight. I was just asking.”

Jungkook forces his face smooth, but his jealousy is leaking through every pore of his body. “No one’s fighting.” 

“You’re fighting.” Taehyung murmurs, which isn’t helpful at all. 

Jungkook doesn’t even shoot him a glare.

Siri smiles at you. “Do you have his number?”

You nod again, because you do. And because you’re still not thinking clearly to a 100% you continue, “Yeah, I can give it to you.”

Jungkook’s head snaps back to you. Now he looks offended in a new way.

“You have his number?”

You frown. “We’re…friends. Of course I do.”

Jungkook’s stare turns bitter. “Since when?”

You blink at him, because, why would he ask that. “Are you okay?”

Taehyung adds, deadpan, “He’s literally in one of our group chats from college.”

Jungkook doesn’t look at Taehyung. Doesn’t acknowledge him. His focus is locked on you like you just revealed a secret affair when you’re not even a real couple. 

Siri lights up, too eager to really care about the next drama. “Can I have it?”

Jungkook says immediately, “No.”

Siri pauses. “Wait… Why?”

Jungkook’s smile is strained. “Because Namjoon doesn’t date coworkers.”

“I’m not his coworker.”

“He doesn’t date strangers.” Jungkook pivots without missing a beat. 

“Then introduce me.”

Jungkook’s eyes flick to you, like he’s expecting you to agree with him. To back him up. To be on his side.

But you’re not sure what his side even is right now.

He was the one who brought up Namjoon. He was the one who redirected Siri. He was the one who wanted to play Cupid.

And now he’s acting like he wants to gatekeep Namjoon like Namjoon is his private property.

Taehyung watches you with a knowing look, as you finally say as calm and direct as humanly possible, “You literally suggested him.”

Jungkook’s eyes burn into your scull. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d—”

“What?” you cut in. “Confirm he’s hot?”

Siri laughs again. “She’s honest.”

Jungkook mutters, “Too honest.”

Your annoyance spikes as you push off his side. “Stop acting like I did something wrong.”

Jungkook’s hand slides to your waist again, grip so strong it drains your mouth from saliva. 

“I’m not.” he presses out.

Taehyung clears his throat again, stepping in like a mediator. “Okay, so Siri wants Namjoon. ___ has Namjoon’s number.”

“So, can i have it?”

You glance at Jungkook. He stares back, eyes pitch black, clearly signaling: If you do this, I’ll never forgive you.

It’s irrational, it’s so unbelievably stupid and absolutely unfair. But it’s also so nakedly jealous that it almost makes your inside flip. Because Jungkook doesn’t get jealous like this for no reason. But what reason could it truly be? 

You look back at Siri. She’s waiting, still kind, still respectful and not at all demanding or entitled. She’s a girl‘s girl, and you’re one too, or at least you want to be one too. 

And you decide: fine. If Jungkook wants to play matchmaker, if he’s being moronic for no reason, he doesn’t get to act like a possessive crackpot the second it works. Especially not after last night. 

Sisters before misters. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ll mail it to you.”

Jungkook’s face tightens like he just swallowed something bitter.

But Siri beams. “Thank you!”

Jungkook’s voice is flat. “Don’t.”

You look at him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t give her his number.” 

Now his stare pins you entirely, makes you blink, incredulous. “Why are you like this?”

Jungkook’s answer is immediate, blunt, and too honest or too well played. “Because you said he’s hot.”

Are your ears working? 

But even Taehyung’s eyes go wide for a second, like even he didn’t expect Jungkook to admit it that plainly.

You hold Jungkook’s gaze. “So what?”

Jungkook’s eye twitches at that. “Say I’m hotter,” he mutters, nearly whines. 

There’s nothing left for you to do but stare at him while Siri covers her mouth, laughing quietly like she can’t help it and Taehyung’s fully losing it, bending forward with laughter. 

You really should be annoyed beyond limits. But the way Jungkook looks, so serious, so jealous, so stupidly needy you want to tell him he’s a good boy when he’s anything but, hits you right in the gut.

You lean slightly closer to him, voice low so Siri can’t hear.

“Jungkook, stop. Now you’re being ridiculous.”

Jungkook doesn’t blink. “I don’t care.”

Then, louder, he says to Siri, forced politeness back in place:

“Namjoon’s hot,” Jungkook says, like it pains him physically, “but he’s annoying.”

Taehyung wheezes. “He’s literally the bestest.”

Jungkook shoots him a glare while you’re trying to contain your laughter, shoulders shaking violently because you must be having a freaking fever dream. 

“I like annoying.” She snorts. 

Jungkook mutters, “Of course you do.”

And you watch him spiral for the rest of the walk, seeing that his stupidity turned out stupid. Which is exactly what Jungkook deserves seeing that it takes two to tango and he never asked you to. 

By the time evening rolls around, your nerves feel like they’ve been rubbed raw against concrete.

It’s annoying, because you’ve done this before. You’ve done Jungkook in moods, Jungkook in silence, Jungkook in that cold distance that makes you feel like you’re the one doing something wrong even when you’re just breathing.

Still, you can’t shake this unforgiving unease. Not after today. Not after Siri, and the way his jealousy showed its teeth for a second before he shoved it back down his throat and pretended it never existed.

Not after he held you like that in public and then dropped you emotionally like you were nothing the second the audience aka Siri was gone.

Your phone lights up with his text at 7:03.

Outside

No emoji. No punctuation like he’s sending a work memo rather than a cutesy message to his best friend. 

You stare at it for a second too long, thumb hovering over the screen like you’re trying to decide whether to reply to this moron with okay or go fuck yourself.

You pick the third option: nothing.

When you step outside, the city air hits you with its usual damp chill, and Jungkook’s car is already idling at the curb.

He’s in the driver’s seat, hands still on the wheel, posture straight. Not scrolling on his phone, not distracted but staring ahead.

And as you open the passenger door and slide in, you question yourself where your friendship has gone, especially when he doesn’t look at you. 

“Hi,” you say, because you’re not a child.

“Hey,” he answers, and his voice is normal.

You click your seatbelt and wait for him to say something else, anything. A comment about the rest of your day. A joke. An usual complaint about traffic to your place.

He doesn’t, not even when his car pulls away from the curb.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. His jaw is tight, mouth neutral, gaze fixed on the road. You want to strangle him with your seatbelt so bad, you have to claw at your bag. 

You try to breathe through it though, but your brain is already doing what it‘s best at when around him: slipping and spiralling without control. 

Maybe he’s mad at you for confirming Namjoon is hot.

Maybe he’s mad you gave Siri the number.

Maybe he’s mad you didn’t text him back.

Maybe he’s mad because he wanted to kiss you last night and you gave the wrong signal.

Maybe he’s mad because he didn’t kiss you and now he can’t stand the tension.

Or maybe, worse, he’s not mad at all. Maybe he’s simply done. Done with your friendship, and ultimately done with you. 

You hate how quickly your mind drowns there. Hate how your body reacts like he‘s the only thing keeping you alive when under water. 

You stare out the window, watching streetlights smear into pale lines across the glass when a minute passes. Two. Three. 

And you know, you can’t take it anymore. “Did you have a stroke?” 

“What?”

You turn towards him as best as you can whithout cutting your throat on the seatbelt. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You were weird last night. You were weird today with Siri. And now you’re mute.”

“I’m not mute.”

“Then talk.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare, just barely. “I’m driving.”

You scoff. “You’ve driven and talked before. You’ve driven and argued before. You’ve driven and nearly killed us before.”

“That was one time.”

“That was like five times.”

He doesn’t answer, and you feel hot anger bile up your throat.

Because you’re sick of this. Sick of him making you feel like you’re the unstable one when he’s the one switching personalities like fucking outfits.

You lean back in the seat, arms crossing. “Fine. Keep pretending you’re normal.”

“___, I am normal.” He glances at you briefly.

You laugh once, humorless. “Stop fucking gaslighting.”

The car stops at a red light, and the silence becomes heavier because now there’s nowhere for it to hide behind motion.

“I‘m sorry, I… I‘m just normal.” He breaths out. 

You turn your head towards him again. “Why were you jealous?”

Jungkook’s face goes blank. “I wasn’t.”

“Are you actually insane?”

He finally looks at you. “Don’t call me insane.”

“You literally told me not to give Siri Namjoon’s number because I said he was hot.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

Jungkook turns back to the road, light turning green, car moving again. “You’re twisting my words, ___.”

“No,” you snap. “You’re rewriting history.”

He’s quiet again, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry or because he’s trying not to say something he can’t take back.

Then, finally, he speaks “I wasn’t jealous.”

You breathe in, then out, then stare at him. “Then what was it, Jungkook, huh?”

“I just didn’t like it.”

“That’s jealousy.”

“It’s not.”

You exhale sharply, eyes squeezed tight. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Drop it.”

“I’m your fucking friend, Jungkook.”

And while he mumbles something you can’t catch for the life of you, you turn to the window, furious, because you know he’s doing what he always does: denying anything that makes him look vulnerable.

He can be possessive in public, can claim in public you like he owns you, can press his mouth to your skin like it’s nothing, but the second it turns into something that’s too real for pretending, he retreats into silence and denial like a coward.

“Don’t ever touch me again in public.” You breathe through closed teeth, not expecting an answer and don’t receiving it. 

You don’t speak again for the rest of the drive. Not because you don’t have things to say. Oh, you do, lots. But because if you do speak now, you might say something that cracks the ice completely. And you’re not sure you can survive what’s underneath just yet. 

When you’re outside Namjoon’s practice, Jungkook parks, gets out, walks around to open your door. Boyfriend mode on and running as if the last twenty minutes didn’t happen.

You climb out without looking at him, coat pulled tighter around you with irritation, Jungkook closes the door gently, then falls into step beside you as you walk towards the entrance.

His hand brushes yours once, accidental or intentional, you can’t tell, so you keep your hands to yourself even more, anger simmering underneath so hot, it’s nearly scalding you. 

Inside, Namjoon greets you after a few minutes, eyes flicking between you two like he’s already sensing the mood. “Hey, come in.”

You sit on the couch, Jungkook sits beside you, close enough that your thighs almost touch while Namjoon takes his spot, notebook resting on his knee.

He smiles. “How have you been since last session?”

“Fine.” You and Jungkook answer at the same time.

Namjoon’s brows lift slightly, scribbling. “Both fine.”

Jungkook nods once, like that settles it.

Namjoon doesn’t push but just flips a page in his notebook. “Okay,” he nods. “Last time, we talked about compliments. About practicing seeing each other positively, and saying it out loud.”

Namjoon looks at you first. “How did that go?”

“It was… fine.” Because it went well, too well. But you‘re still too pissed. 

“Fine how?”

You keep your face as blank as it can be. “We did it.”

Jungkook adds, “It was whatever.”

Namjoon’s eyes flick to him. “Whatever.”

“Yeah.” 

Namjoon leans back slightly, studying you both. “Interesting.”

“What?” You frown. 

Namjoon’s mouth quirks like he’s trying not to smile. “You’re both minimizing.”

“We’re not minimizing.” Jungkook scoffs. 

“Okay. Then tell me what happened. Specifically.”

You hesitate. Because if you say it, you’ll be admitting it mattered, at least to you. And if Jungkook says it, he’ll be admitting he truly cared.

And neither of you seems willing to be the first one to bleed on the vast ice. 

So you shrug. “We complimented each other.”

Namjoon waits.

You add, reluctantly, “It wasn’t hard.”

Jungkook mutters, “It wasn’t easy either.”

You turn towards him sharply. “Oh, so now you can talk about it.”

He looks at you, eyes flashing wild. “What?! I’m talking now.”

Namjoon raises a hand slightly. “Okay. Good. This is good.”

“How is this good?” Your glare redirects at Namjoon.

“Because it’s honest,” Namjoon says calmly. “And honesty is what we’re practicing.”

Namjoon looks at Jungkook right after. “Jungkook, what compliment did you give her?”

“Mr Jeon.” 

“What compliment did you give her, Mr Jeon” 

Jungkook’s lips press together.

Silence.

You can feel his internal fight like heat radiating from miles away.

Then he presses out, so painful you want to hold your ears shut, “I told her she’s… beautiful.”

Namjoon nods. “And did you mean it?”

Pause. “Yes.”

Your chest burns. Why? You’re not sure. 

Namjoon turns to you. “What did you compliment Jungkook on?”

You swallow, hesitate, swallow some more, then answer, “I told him he’s… a good person.”

Jungkook lets out a small scoff, but it’s not mocking but disbelief in its purest form.

“And did you mean it?”Namjoon smiles slightly.

You want to fan yourself. “Yes.”

That earns you taps of Namjoon’s pen against his notebook. “So. You both meant it. You both said it out loud.”

You both nod once, stiff.

“Then why are you acting like it was nothing?”

You open your mouth—

Jungkook speaks over you. “Because it doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You feel your heart collapsing, because this is the part you hate: Namjoon hammering at the ice you’ve both been trying to escape from.

You look down at your hands, nails twisting together, but your eyes snap up the moment Namjoon continues, “What happened after the compliments?”

Silence. 

Namjoon watches you both for a long moment, then nods like he expected this.

“Okay. So we’re blocking.”

“We’re not blocking.”

Namjoon doesn’t flinch after Jungkook‘s bark. “You are.”

“We’re fine.”

Namjoon looks at you. “You’re not.”

“How would you know?” It‘s more air escaping your air than the intended hiss. 

Namjoon’s tone stays gentle. “Because you’re sitting like you’re anything but comfortable.”

You hate that he’s right.

Jungkook shifts beside you, knee brushing yours. You feel it like a splash of cold water and want to scream in his stupid face to leave you be. 

Namjoon’s gaze moves between you two.

“Let’s try something else,” he sighs. “Tell me what you were afraid would happen if the complimenting went well.”

“Nothing.” 

While you role your eyes at Jungkook’s words, Namjoon nods. “Okay. And you?”

Your cue to stare at the floor.

Namjoon closes his notebook slowly. 

“Okay,” he continues for you. “So it went well.”

You feel Jungkook’s body tense beside you, like the words are dangerous in and of itself.

“And you both hated that.” But Namjoon doesn’t let the silence sit for long.

Not because he’s impatient, but because he knows exactly what you and Jungkook do when there’s space: you fill it with avoidance until it vaporises into nothing.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, pen now resting between his fingers like it’s an extension of his hand.

“Okay, we’re going to do something a little more direct today.”

You already don’t like the sound of that, and it seems Jungkook too, as his knee is bouncing once before he forces it still.

Namjoon gestures at the couch. “I want you two to turn toward each other.”

You blink. “Come again?”

“Turn towards each other,” Namjoon repeats, patient.

Jungkook’s head turns slightly sideways. “Why?”

“Because you’re not going to talk about each other,” Namjoon’s tone‘s sharpening now just a little. “You’re going to talk to each other.”

You want to run, especially when Jungkook’s expression goes tight. He glances at you and you feel like your friendship is a problem he doesn’t want to solve but get rid of. 

“Knees facing each other.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “This is insane.”

“It’s therapy.”

That shuts you up.

Lazily, or defeated, Namjoon lifts his pen. “Turn.”

You hesitate, but your body obeys before your pride can stop it. You rotate on the couch until you’re angled towards Jungkook and likewise. 

Now your knees are almost touching and it seems you’re not the only one who notices as Namjoon’s gaze drops to the gap as well. 

“Knees touching.”

You stare at him. “No.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, annoyed. “Bro.”

Namjoon doesn’t react to neither of you. “Knees touching.”

But… You don’t move. And Jungkook doesn’t move.

Namjoon waits, unbothered, like he has all night and you have nowhere else to be.

Finally, Jungkook shifts forward, knee bumping yours. The contact is light. Still, your skin reacts like it’s been shocked as your body remembers too much.

You stiffen, especially when Jungkook’s jaw ticks like he felt it too.

Namjoon nods once, satisfied.

“Now,” he says, “hold hands.”

Your head snaps up. “Absolutely not.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird,” you counter immediately.

Jungkook adds, “Because we’re not like that.”

Namjoon’s gaze sharpens. “You’re not like what?”

You open your mouth—

Namjoon cuts you off. “You’re already physically affectionate outside of here. You’re a couple, right?”

You freeze. Jungkook freezes too, looking mildly horrified about your slip-up and mutters, “We’re subtle.”

Namjoon stares at him like he’s stupid. “Jungkook.”

Jungkook shuts up and Namjoon sets his notebook down on the table.

“Hold hands,” he repeats. “This isn’t about romance. This is about connection. You’re both using anger as a wall.”

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to your hands, then to your face, like he’s silently asking whether you’re going to fight him on this or comply.

You hate that you can read him so easily.

And you hate even more that he can read you back.

With a deep breath and a parched throat that feels like swallowing glass, you extend your hand.

Jungkook hesitates again. Just long enough to piss you off again. 

Then he takes it.

His palm is warm. Larger than yours. Familiar in the worst way because familiarity is dangerous right now. His thumb presses against your knuckles once, a reflex maybe?

You jerk your hand slightly, a reflex as well, you tell yourself, but he doesn’t let go.

Namjoon watches the movement with a calm that makes you want to scream in all of their faces. 

“Good,” he says. “Now we’re going to air it out.”

You swallow again. “Air what out exactly?”

“The conflict,” Namjoon says simply. “The real one.”

“There’s no real conflict.”

You laugh, sharp. “Oh my god.”

Namjoon holds up a hand. “No sarcasm. No deflection. I want you to tell each other what you’re angry about.”

You glance at Jungkook. He’s staring at your joined hands like he hates them. 

Namjoon continues, “Start small. Start superficial if you need to. But you’re going to keep going until you hit what’s really bothering you.”

You inhale through your nose, let it out through your mouth. Fine. You can do superficial.

You can do best-friend angry. The kind that doesn’t cost anything. So you turn completely towards Jungkook, clawing into his hands, forcing your voice steady.

“I’m angry that you’ve been acting like a stranger.” 

Jungkook’s eyes bore into yours. 

“Good. Jungkook, repeat back what she said.”

Jungkook’s brows knit. “What?”

“Repeat it. So she knows you heard her.”

Jungkook looks like he wants to argue, but Namjoon’s stare doesn’t falter. 

So he exhales. “You’re angry because I’ve been acting like a stranger.”

You hate how good it feels to be heard.

Namjoon points at Jungkook. “Now you.”

He looks at you like he’s debating whether to be honest or safe.

But of fucking course, he chooses safe.

“I’m angry that you assume the worst,”

“Oh, please.”

Namjoon’s pen lifts. “No commentary. Repeat it back.”

You grit your teeth. “You’re angry that I assume the worst.”

Jungkook’s eyes stay on you. Something flickers behind them. Like he wants to say more, but won’t.

Namjoon nods. “Good. Keep going.”

You tighten your grip even more on Jungkook’s hands without meaning to. His fingers flex in response.

You hate that your bodies are communicating while your mouths refuse to.

“I’m angry,” you continue, voice mirroring your anger, “that you do things and then pretend you didn’t. Like I imagined it.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “I don’t.”

Namjoon’s gaze snaps to him. “Repeat back.”

Jungkook’s jaw ticks. “You’re angry because I do things and then pretend I didn’t. Like you imagined it.”

Your throat burns with hurt, because hearing him say it out loud makes it better and worse at the same time. 

Namjoon gestures at Jungkook. “Your turn.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare.

“I’m angry,” another exhale, “that you run away.”

Your heart screams in your ears and so you laugh once, bitter. “Run away from what?”

“Repeat it back.”

You swallow. “You’re angry that—”

Jungkook leans forward slightly, still holding your hands, knees pressed to yours now. “From me.”

You freeze.

Namjoon watches closely, but doesn’t interrupt. He’s letting Jungkook hang himself with his own honesty.

Your voice comes out tight. “I don’t run away from you.”

“You literally left this morning without saying anything.”

“That’s not running away.”

“That’s exactly running away.”

You tug your hands, trying to pull free, but Jungkook tightens his hold now like he refuses to let you escape.

Namjoon’s voice cuts through. “Stay connected.”

You glare at Namjoon. “This is insane.”

“Stay connected.”

Your molars clench.

Jungkook’s thumb strokes your knuckles now like he’s grounding himself. Or like he’s trying to calm you down.

It only makes you angrier.

“Fine,” you spit, turning back to Jungkook. “You want to talk about running away? How about you talk about how you act like you don’t give a shit one second after acting like you do.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly, pupils expanding like in fight or flight.

Namjoon murmurs, “Good. Keep going.”

Your voice rises despite yourself. “You do it all the time. You pull me in, you say things, you look at me like…like I’m something you want, and then the next day you’re cold and silent and distant like I’m a fucking inconvenience.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexes so hard, the muscle might burst.

“Repeat it back.”

Jungkook’s voice comes out strained. “You think I pull you in and then act cold. Like you’re an inconvenience.”

You blink. “I don’t think. You do.”

Jungkook’s gaze hardens. “I don’t.”

You lean forward. “Then what was last night? What was today? What was the car ride here?”

Jungkook’s mouth opens.

Closes.

His silence is an answer.

Your anger spikes.

“See?” you snap. “This. This is exactly what I mean.”

Namjoon’s eyes stay on Jungkook. “Jungkook, respond.”

Jungkook swallows. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You laugh, loud and sharp. “I swear to God, I’m going to throw up.”

Namjoon’s tone stays calm. “Say what you feel.”

“I feel annoyed.”

You blink at his words. “Annoyed?”

Jungkook nods once. “Yeah. Because you make it sound like I’m doing this to hurt you.”

“You are hurting me,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Silence number… you don’t even know. 

Even Namjoon stills slightly at that.

Jungkook’s eyes lock onto yours, something authentic breaking through his masked expression.

You regret it instantly. You weren’t supposed to say that part out loud.

“Repeat it back, Jungkook.”

“You’re saying I’m hurting you.”

Your throat is already burning, head hanging under water. You force yourself to keep going, because if you stop now you’ll drown in it.

“And I’m angry,” your voice’s shaking with frustration, “because I don’t trust you.”

Jungkook flinches back, fingers going limp in your hold.

Namjoon murmurs. “There it is.”

“What?”

Namjoon points at you. “Say it again.”

You inhale, chest tight. “I don’t trust you.”

Jungkook’s face shifts from hurt first, to anger last. 

“What the fuck,” his tone‘s rising. “Why wouldn’t you trust me?”

You laugh bitterly. “Are you serious?”

“Stay with each other. Look at each other.”

You force yourself to meet Jungkook’s eyes. They’re dark, stormy, offended. You feel your own anger ignite fully now, the superficial layer burning away like paper.

“Because you troll everyone,” you snap. “You lie to people for fun. You manipulate situations for entertainment. You set people up just to watch what happens.”

“That’s not—”

“You do it to Taehyung,” you continue, louder. “You do it to Jimin. You do it to Hobi. You do it to Namjoon—”

Namjoon lifts his brows. “You do?”

Jungkook ignores him, eyes on you. “That’s different.”

“How is it different?” you demand. “You literally treat your friends like toys sometimes. Like pieces on a chess board. Why wouldn’t you do it with me?”

Jungkook’s face goes still. Like you finally hit the nerve that’s been bugging everyone for years. 

You keep going, voice trembling with rage and something so much worse. Fear. 

“Why wouldn’t you fake all of this? The boyfriend thing. The jealousy. The therapy. Why wouldn’t you do it just to see if you could make me crack?”

Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightens suddenly, almost painful.

“Stop,” he says, voice low.

You jerk your hands again but he won’t let go.

Namjoon’s tone stays calm but firm. “Jungkook, let her speak.”

Jungkook’s eyes won’t leave you, not even when you lean forward, furious tears burning behind your eyes.

“I’ve known you my whole life, Jungkook, and you still scare me sometimes because I don’t know when you’re being honest.”

The room goes quiet, expectant, feeling like it could crush you.

Jungkook stares at you.

Then his expression changes so fast you nearly don’t catch it. Anger‘s draining, replaced by pure blank. 

Shut down. Door slamming.

Namjoon watches him closely. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, he doesn’t look away, either, as he just goes still. 

Your stomach drops, because you recognise this version of him.

The one that retreats so far inward you can’t reach him.

Namjoon tries again, voice gentle. “Can you tell her what you’re feeling right now?”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly. Then he closes them.

A silence that makes you panic. You’ve said too much. 

Namjoon nods slowly, like he’s processing until he says quietly, “Okay. So you shut down when you feel accused.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond.

You feel the guilt wobble its way into your thoughts. But then you remember the car ride. The coldness. The denial. The way he makes you feel literally crazy.

And your guilt hardens back into resentment you never wanted to feel for him. Hands retreating, you sit back facing Namjoon who sits back, pen tapping lightly against his notebook.

“I’m going to give you both homework.”

Jungkook’s eyes flick to him. Minimal reaction.

“You’re both stuck in a trust loop. You don’t trust him because you think he’s performing. He doesn’t trust you because he thinks you’ll leave the moment things get genuine.”

You swallow because you don’t like the sound of it. 

Namjoon looks between you. “So we’re going to force transparency.”

“What does that mean?” You sound defeated. 

“You’re going to swap phones,” he says.

You stare at him.

Jungkook finally reacts. “We what now?”

Namjoon repeats, “Swap phones. Until the next session.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “No. While Jungkook says at the same time, “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s invasive,” you bite immediately.

“And private.”

Namjoon nods like he expected this resistance. “Exactly.”

“That’s not a good thing.” You shake your head. 

“It is,” Namjoon nearly giggles. “Because you two are pretending privacy is the issue when the real issue is fear.”

Jungkook’s mocks as if the last few minutes didn’t happen. “Fear of what.”

Namjoon looks at him. “Fear that you’ll be exposed. That you’ll be seen. That she’ll see you’re not always in control.” Then turns to you. “And fear that you’ll find out he is real, and then you’ll have no excuse to keep yourself safe.”

“This is stupid.”

Namjoon’s tone stays calm. “Then it should be easy.”

You stare at Jungkook.

He stares back.

Neither of you looks amused.

Neither of you looks willing.

And yet you both know Namjoon won’t let you leave without agreeing, because he’s not playing like you are. If you are at all. 

You exhale through your nose. “Fine.”

“What?” Jungkook’s head snaps to you.

You glare at him. “Fine. If you’re so confident you’re not hiding anything.”

“I’m not.”

“Then swap,” you challenge.

His eyebrow twitches as he grits through his teeth: “Fine.”

Namjoon nods once, satisfied beyond measure. “Good.”

You reach into your bag, pulling out your phone with hands that suddenly feel clumsy. Jungkook pulls his out too and immediately stare at the devices like they’re weapons.

Then, reluctantly, you hand yours over and Jungkook takes it. He hands his over and you take it.

The weight feels wrong in your palm. Too familiar and unfamiliar at once.

Namjoon watches the exchange like he just witnessed a peace treaty and continues alll jolly “Rules: No deleting, no changing settings, no posting, no messaging anyone pretending to be the other person.”

Jungkook mutters, “Obviously.”

“You can look. You can read. You can ask questions next session. But you do not punish each other with what you find.”

You blink down at Jungkook’s phone, scared of what you might find. Jungkook’s hand closes around yours for a second, then he pulls away like he remembered he’s angry.

Startling, Namjoon closes his notebook loudly and gets up. 

“That’s it for today. Same time next week.”

You stand on shaky legs, phone in hand, heart pounding.

“Remember,” Namjoon‘s voice follows you as you walk towards the door. “Trust isn’t built by saying you trust someone. It’s built by surviving the truth.”

You don’t look back.

You just walk out with Jungkook’s phone in your hand, feeling like you’re holding a bomb not on solid ground but under freezing water. 

1 • 2 • 3 • ML • 5

permanent taglist: @smoljimjim @jksusawife @09zpzkeonnss @jeonmaleficent

Y/N hadn’t moved. Still frozen at the table, silver gown catching the light like moon on tranquil water, eyes downturned. Pale and Motionless.

Rage split him open. At her, at himself, at all of it. He wanted to believe she wasn’t responsible—but the disbelief anchored him like a stone: she hadn’t warned him. She’d chosen silence. Let the Tigers be double-crossed and trapped.

And still, his body ached to get to her.

It made him sick.

It made him furious.

He turned, firing again, another Lee down. Shouts and gunfire roared like a storm breaking the ceiling down. Namjoon was barking orders, corralling Tigers to cover. 

The pristine ballroom was unrecognizable now. White tablecloths overturned into barricades. Silver cutlery clattering like shrapnel. Women’s screams cut short by steel. Men grunting, dying, dragging each other down. Namjoon’s voice cutting commands above it all like a general in hell.

“Fall back!” Namjoon’s order ripped across the ballroom. Tigers pulled toward the far end of the hall, creating a wedge, defending but retreating. Hoseok’s hand shoved Jungkook with them, but he resisted, gaze still locked across the floor.

That damned silver silk — catching light, catching him, like a trick of glass that makes fools chase shadows. He hated himself for it, hated how his gaze snapped back to her as if pulled by a leash. Like some kitten chasing a laser beam. Pathetic.

For half a second, her eyes finally lifted across the storm and met his own.

Cold. Empty. Or maybe not — maybe there was something there. But he refused to parse it, refused to feed himself illusions. He crushed the thought before it could form.

After all, Park Y/N had never been innocent. Not the night he met her, not any night since. She was a killer bred from killers, her blood the same poison that had gutted this room. If she had wanted to warn him, she would have. And she hadn’t. That was answer enough.

So he wrote her off. Branded her with the betrayal. Filed her face under the same word that snarled in his chest like fire. Enemy.

And still his stomach twisted at the sight of her standing untouched in the ruin she’d helped script.

He blinked and she was gone. Disappeared into the chaos until she was out of sight. Jungkook felt something split inside him. Not just fury—something rawer, more dangerous.

The kind of thing that got men killed. 

But before he could run after her—

“Jungkook!” Hoseok’s voice snapped like a whip, pulling him sideways just in time for a blade to slash the air where his throat had been. Jungkook’s elbow cracked into the attacker’s jaw, gun pressed into ribs, fired. Hot spray, a grunt, the body collapsed.

“Let’s move,” Hoseok barked, already turning his back to guard him.

He let his friend drag him back into the shifting wedge of Tigers. The retreat down the corridor was chaos—gunfire slamming off marble, blood smearing across the floor as they dragged the wounded with them. 

Namjoon was at the front, steady as stone, shouting orders over the din. His hand lifted, signaling them to hold the line at the stone archway—narrow enough to bottleneck the assault.

Jungkook should’ve felt steadied by it, but his chest was a drumbeat of dread. Too much chaos. Too many Ravens, too many Snakes. They were bleeding numbers by the second. 

And then—

A flash of silver.

A blade whistled through the air and slowed everything down.

Jungkook saw it—too late, too far—and his stomach plummeted because it was heading straight for Namjoon’s chest.

«Watch out—» he shouted, but the word never finished, because in the space of a heartbeat—Hoseok moved.

The sound was small. Too small for what it was.

Jungkook almost didn’t register it — the quiet grunt, the flick of black hilt vanishing between ribs. Hoseok staggered like someone had simply bumped him in passing. 

For a heartbeat, Jungkook thought he’d imagined it. His friend was still on his feet, still upright, shoulders square. Hobi always stood square.

Then—the stain spread.

Dark. Wet. Blooming across white shirtfront, spreading too fast and too wide.

The chaos all around seemed to blur to silence. A vision in slow-motion. Jungkook’s stomach dropped. The air ripped out of him. “Hobi—”

Hoseok swayed, coughed slightly and red instantly bubbled at his lips. That was when the denial broke. Jungkook lunged, catching him as his knees buckled. They hit the marble hard but Jungkook didn’t feel it. All he felt was the hot flood soaking his hands. He pressed down, frantic. Too much blood. Christ, too much.

“No, no, no, no—fuck, no.” His voice cracked raw, wild. He shoved his palms harder around the wound, useless against the blade still buried between his friend’s ribs. “You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fucking fine—” It came out like a prayer.

Hoseok’s body shook faintly, breath stuttering in short, rabid bursts. His skin was already paling, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. And still—still—he tried to grin. That crooked half-smile, weaker now, lips streaked red. He cleared his throat. “Got a bad feeling, Kook,” he rasped, breath hitching. “Don’t think I’m walking this one off.” 

The words landed like the knife had skewered Jungkook too. He shook his head violently, eyes burning. “Shut the fuck up!” His vision blurred, throat tearing. “Don’t fucking say—You’re fine—you’re not—” His hands were slipping in the blood. It wouldn’t stop.

“It’s okay.”

The words were barely breath, but they cut through Jungkook’s frantic muttering with the strength of a hammer. Hoseok’s fingers, slick with his own blood, scrabbled weakly until they closed around Jungkook’s wrist. The grip had no real strength behind it — it trembled, shaking, nails barely grazing skin — but it was deliberate. A tether. A call back from the edge.

Jungkook’s head jerked down, wild-eyed, trying to force his palms harder against the wound, trying to hold him here, now. “No. Don’t. Don’t you—fuck, don’t you say it’s okay, it’s not okay—” His voice cracked, the panic of a boy with blood on his hands for the first time, not a man who’d lived with it his whole life.

Hoseok’s mouth twitched, lips curling into that lopsided grin that had always meant don’t worry, I’ve got you. Only now, the grin was ghost-thin, fragile, and it hurt to hold. His breath rattled, short and wet.

“W-we always said w—womb to tomb, right?” he rasped, words catching like splinters in his throat. His eyes, unfocused but steady, searched Jungkook’s face, demanding he look, demanding he remember.

Jungkook froze, chest tight, wrist still trapped in that dying grip.

“Kook—” Hoseok pressed, barely more than air now.

Jungkook refused to even reply. He bowed his head against his shoulder, choking on the memory. Just boys with scraped knees, spitting in their palms, toy guns in their belts, swearing they’d die side by side. He’d never believed the day would come. Not like this. Never like this. « Hobi—« 

He got heavier in Jungkook’s arms, the way living bodies don’t. The warmth under Jungkook’s palms began to cool at the edges.

No. 

No, no, no—

But it was too late. Hoseok’s last breath left him with the faint curl of a smile. As if he’d made his peace long before the blade found him. 

For one insane heartbeat, Jungkook thought he was faking. That he’d sit up with that crooked grin and say, Got you, didn’t I? the way he had when they were kids, playing dead on the gravel with ketchup smeared across his shirt.

But this wasn’t playtime. And Hoseok wasn’t moving.

Jungkook’s chest cracked. “No. No, no, no—” His hands pressed harder into the wound, frantic, desperate, but the warmth under his palms was ebbing, slipping through his fingers like water. “Hyung—”

Namjoon was there in the next breath. Dropping to his knees so hard it jarred.

Jungkook’s chest was splitting open. His hands were slick with blood, useless, slipping over Hoseok’s wound as if he could still stop it, as if pressing hard enough might shove the life back in. “Do something!” he barked at Namjoon, voice ragged, torn. “Don’t just sit there—FUCK!”

Namjoon’s grip didn’t falter. His hand slid up, anchoring the back of Jungkook’s neck. A gesture so achingly familiar it almost gutted him—how many times had he done this? When Jungkook was a boy, shaking from nightmares? When he was a teenager, fists bloody, half-feral with rage? Always Hoseok at their side then, the steady hand, the smile.

God. The three of them.

Jungkook could see it in the blood haze of his mind—running half-wild through alleys, Hoseok laughing too loud, Namjoon scolding them both and giving in anyway. Their first stolen cigars. Their first guns. The three of them spitting into their palms in some back lot, swearing womb to tomb and sperm to worm.

And now—

Now Hoseok lay slack in his arms. His head tipped against Jungkook’s shoulder, lips still faintly curved, as though even death hadn’t managed to wipe the ease from his face

Namjoon didn’t flinch. Didn’t move except to press two fingers against Hoseok’s throat. A pause. Then his jaw set.

“He’s gone.”

The words detonated inside Jungkook. “Don’t!” he roared, his voice breaking like glass. “Don’t you fucking dare say—” He shoved at Namjoon’s chest with one bloody hand, furious at the stillness, the goddamn calm on his brother’s face when the world had just split in two.

But then—

Then he saw it.

The faint tremor in Namjoon’s other hand as it reached for Hoseok’s face. The way his thumb hesitated, just a fraction, before forcing their friend’s lifeless eyes shut. How he looked away as he did it, jaw grinding tight, throat working like he had to force the motion down.

Jungkook froze. His fury hitched, wavered, twisted into something uglier, rawer. Because for the first time since he could remember, Namjoon wasn’t made of stone. He was just a man—his oldest friend dead at his feet, his hand trembling as he forced it still.

Jungkook bent back over Hoseok, choking on the taste of grief. His forehead pressed to his friend’s stiff shoulder, as if refusing to let go. 

Beside him, Namjoon stayed silent. His eyes burned, but he didn’t blink. His shoulders were rigid, every muscle braced like if he allowed himself one crack, just one, the entire room would collapse.

Hoseok had been their sole constant. Their sun. And now he was gone.

And Namjoon—stoic, unshakable Namjoon—was grieving too.

Jungkook barely registered the blood anymore. The world was narrowing, folding itself around the weight in his chest. It was too much—until a glint caught his eye.

The knife.

It lay slick and heavy, still in Hoseok’s body. Jungkook’s fingers closed around the hilt before he’d even thought about it, and he pulled. The sound was wet, obscene. His stomach lurched—but then he saw it.

The blade. The carved raven motif etched into the steel.

His heart stopped. His breath, too.

Slowly—too slowly—his gaze lifted. Across the chaos of the ballroom, through smoke and shouts and glinting steel, a figure stood. Tall, dark, unhurried.

Jaebeom. 

Standing calm while the room tore itself apart, dark suit immaculate, that faint scar slicing his eyebrow in two. Their eyes met. The man’s mouth curved, slow and deliberate, into a smile.

A smug, claiming smile.

Then, he slipped back into the shadows, gone before Jungkook could even draw breath.

Something inside Jungkook snapped. The grief, the disbelief, the helplessness choking his throat—all of it burned into something scorching. 

He growled, the sound tearing raw from his chest, and rose to his feet, Hoseok’s

 blood still hot on his hands. The knife clattered to the ground. He didn’t need it. Didn’t need anything but the fire that tore through him, the promise already searing itself into his bones.

His vision tunneled. Black rage, thick and choking, filled every vein, every muscle. It was sickening, consuming, like poison spilling through his blood. His body shook with it. The grief that had drowned him a heartbeat ago hardened, crystallized, until only one thing remained: the urge to kill.

To tear Park Jaebeom apart with his bare hands.

He staggered to his feet. His vision blurred at the edges, ears ringing with nothing but his pulse. He could still taste blood in his mouth, still smell it in the air, and all of it screamed the same name.

“Jaebeom!”

His roar tore through the hall. Heads turned, but he didn’t see them. Didn’t care. His eyes were fire, his hands fists around his pistol.

“Jungkook.” Namjoon’s voice—low, commanding. A warning. “Not now,” he added, still kneeling by Hoseok’s body, still composed—or trying to be. “We can’t afford it. Not now.”

But Jungkook couldn’t hear it. Not really. His body was already moving, his legs carrying him through the storm.

“Jungkook!” Namjoon’s voice cracked through again. Jungkook spun, wild, half feral, just long enough to see him—his brother, fighting his way through the melee, blood on his sleeve. “Don’t go after him—” the voice was thunder now. “That’s an order!”

But orders were for soldiers. Jungkook was no soldier now.

“Jungkook!”

The shout followed him, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

The rage was everything. A sickness in his blood. A storm in his bones. He would follow it until it killed him.

Because Park Jaebeom had to die.

And he had one bullet left to make it happen.

—

Jungkook ran.

He fought and killed his way through the hall like a machine until the ballroom fell behind him in a riot of sound—shouts, glass, the dull thud of bodies—and then the double doors swallowed it, the noise thinning to a muffled storm as he plunged into the estate’s arteries.

Service corridors. Narrow, tiled, lit with bulbs that flickered as if they, too, were afraid. His dress shoes skidded on a seam of spilled wine, one palm slapping the wall for balance. Pain rang up his shoulder. He didn’t slow.

Jaebeom.

The name was a metronome in his skull. He could still see that smile—lazy, pleased, the satisfaction of a wolf who’d finally got his teeth where he wanted them. Jungkook felt his grip tighten around the pistol until his knuckles hurt. One round left. One. It would be enough. It had to be.

“Hey!” a voice barked—Lee livery, white cuffs—and a man came up in the corridor with a blade held low. Jungkook slammed him into the wall on instinct, forearm across the throat, the crack of bone against tile drowned by the grunt of breath leaving a body. He didn’t look at the face when it slumped. He took the knife, wiped his hand once on his ruined jacket, moved.

Hoseok’s warmth was already fading on his skin, but his hands were still red with him. He didn’t wipe them clean. Let them dry. Let them mark.

He cut through a narrow stairwell. The kitchens bloomed around him—huge, stainless, furious with motion. Someone had knocked a tray of champagne flutes to glitter on the floor; a chef crouched behind an island, hands over his head. 

“Park Jaebeom,” Jungkook growled at a terrified scullery boy as he shoved past, « where is he? » The kid pointed, trembling, toward a swinging door—the kind waiters use when they want to appear in a room like a conjuring trick.

Jungkook shouldered through it hard enough to split wood. A corridor of portraits stared down at him—pale-eyed Lees through a century of powder and entitlement, painted snakes twining in carved frames. 

“COME OUT!” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. “COME OUT AND FACE ME, YOU FUCKING COWARD!”

Nothing but silence.

Then—

Footsteps ahead. He thought he caught a slice of motion—black suit, quick, a flash of a profile. Jungkook leaped, relentlessly until he  rammed through a final door, the wood splintering under his shoulder, and was spat out into the open night.

The air was freezing, knife-clean, so sharp it felt blue. Winter solstice, he remembered dimly—tonight the longest night. His breath burst white, then broke apart and fled. His heart thrashed in his chest—faster, harder, eating itself alive.

He bent, hands braced on his knees, gasping—then threw his head back and screamed.

“JAEBEOM!”

His voice cracked through the night, echoing wild and raw. His throat burned, his body burned, his vision blurred—but still he roared. He was beyond caring who heard.

His hand clenched around the pistol in his hand. The weight of it was steady, heavy. He knew what it carried: one bullet.

One.

That was enough.

That bullet belonged to Jaebeom.

Even if Jungkook had to spill the last of himself into the snow to deliver it—he would.

He straightened, chest heaving, eyes wild under the falling snow. Somewhere in the dark, in the maze of marble and hedge and stone, Jaebeom was out there. Watching. Waiting.

“SHOW YOURSELF!” he bellowed, the sound ragged, almost animal. “COME OUT AND DIE LIKE A MAN!”

His voice tore into the frozen air, breaking, bleeding. His legs shook, his shirt clung wet to his skin, but he didn’t falter.

He had nothing left but the hunt.

And the kill.

The soles of his shoes protested; the ache in his legs announced itself, the slice in his shoulder howled. He barely processed either. His body was an engine running on one fuel: rage.

“Hobi—” he breathed, not a prayer, not a plea—just a shape his mouth made to keep from coming apart. His chest burned so hot the cold could not touch it.

There—again—that flicker at the edge of sight. The back of a head. 

He cut through a pergola strangled by dead vines. Somewhere to his left, boots labored over gravel. He lunged that way, caught a glimpse of a coat disappearing through a hedge arch, followed into the green-dark. 

The entrance to a huge hedge labyrinth.

Without thinking, Jungkook hurried in.

Yew walls, high and close. The world pinched to a corridor of black leaves and white breath. Torches burned here and there in iron brackets, flames muttering to themselves, throwing light in jittering geometry. The ground was packed earth and old frost.

Pain began to have edges: his ribs—he’d taken a hit there; his knee—turn wrong on the stairs, pay for it later. Later didn’t exist.

“Jaebeom!” His voice ricocheted.

Left. Dead end. Right. The hedge scraped his shoulder with a whisper like cloth on teeth. He doubled back, took a fork that looked the same as the last fork, tasted metal at the back of his throat. Snow was starting to collect along the hedgetops.

The maze widened again, then narrowed, then opened without warning onto a straight shot that ran like a throat. At the end of it—a warm glow. 

He tasted the cold on his teeth. His lungs hurt. It didn’t matter. The light ahead tugged at him like a hook.

He burst into the center with too much speed and almost slid past the line where the packed earth became polished stone. His fingers tightened around the pistol in his hand.

The view arrived clear and bitter as snowmelt. His mind had run a thousand versions of this moment on the way in—Jaebeom’s arrogant tilt of the head; Jaebeom’s laugh; Jaebeom’s mouth going slack when the bullet found his throat. Instead—

Instead the maze’s heart opened around him in a white-lit hush: a broad square of marble laid like a chessboard, lamps in four iron braziers licking steady flames up into the cold, snow whirling through them and dying before it reached. In the middle stood a thing of stone, pale and old as the house: a slab, a monument, a sarcophagus with a serpent carved along its edge.

And beyond the monument—a figure waited.

But it wasn’t the raven black attire he’d expected. 

Jungkook took a step, breath sawing, gun firm in his grip, his last bullet suddenly very, very heavy in his hands. The figure did not move. The lamps made a halo of frost and silk around it. He couldn’t yet see the face. But what he could see were the clothes.

No raven black. 

Only ivory.

Lee.

—

The cold hit Y/N like a slap.

One moment she was stumbling down a darkened corridor, the next she had burst through a servant’s door and into the night. The sudden quiet nearly knocked her off her feet. No gunfire, no screams, no chandeliers shaking themselves up apart. Only the hollow thud of her own pulse and the rasp of her lungs.

She staggered forward a few paces, silk tearing across gravel, before doubling over to drag air into her chest. Her gown clung damp with sweat. Her throat was raw.

The night was black and endless, but for the faint silver breath of the moon and—strangest of all—the soft fall of snow. The first flakes of the season drifted down, dissolving as they touched her hot skin.

Y/N tilted her head back, almost dizzy with it. Snow. Silence. The two things that should have meant peace, now twisted into mockery.

Her hands trembled. She curled them into fists, pressing her nails into her palms until pain cut through the haze. She had no weapon. No plan. She didn’t want one. She didn’t want to kill tonight, not again. She was in no mood to get more blood on her hands.

She told herself she’d wait it out. She’d stand in the cold until the screams ended, until the smoke died down, until only silence remained. She could survive silence.

Her breath slowed, visible in the frigid air. Her heart still beat hard enough to shake her ribs. The gardens stretched before her, hedges black against snow, twisting like something alive. She wrapped her arms tight across her middle and closed her eyes.

Then—a hand closed around her shoulder.

She moved before she thought, before she breathed—elbows, knees, fists, every muscle a spark of resistance. She thrashed against the grip, a snarl ripping out of her throat, until the scent of him hit her.

Family.

Jaebeom.

Her blood went cold.

Her brother held her still without effort, tight but not crushing, the way one might pin a hawk to keep its talons from finding flesh. His breath was steady against her face. For a suspended second neither of them spoke. It was a quiet standoff—no words, no explanations, just silence thick enough to smother.

She suddenly ripped herself out of his grasp, eyes flashing toward him, throat tight with the thousand things she might have said.

But before a single one could leave her lips—

A gunshot cracked the night.

The sound of it ripped through the stillness like lightning splitting a tree, echoing across marble and hedge and bone. The sound seemed to shake the snow itself.

And Y/N knew in her marrow, with the clarity of omen, that the echo of that bullet had sealed her fate.

Yes.

The writing was on the wall now, and its script ran blood red.

—

And that’s the end of Book I:  « Writing’s on the Wall. »

Thank you for screaming, crying, bleeding on the marble floors with me — but don’t get too comfortable. The blood isn’t dry yet.

Mansard roofs were quite ugly. They had this abrupt sort of feeling to them as they sloped down on each side of the house. One could even suggest that such a roof be carved out of foam, that was how utterly simplistic the shape was. 

As you stand just short of the gate, you peer up at said disappointing sight. The house before you was plain as could be. White concrete walls run three floors high. All complimented with large windows which appeared to hold no movement inside. A burglar might think the estate was empty and make for a break in. 

Though you were hardly a burglar. There was too much risk going into a profession like that, and you could hardly open a window without fuss, let alone smash one to pieces. No, you were just looking to make some extra money, and starting today — you suppose you could call yourself a nanny. 

The prospect of looking after kids never did entice you if you were being honest. They were cheeky little bastards, always finding new ways to slobber all over important documents or shove non-edible objects into their drooling mouths. 

But your monthly budget was currently stretched thin enough to rip. The hours you spent cleaning tables at the restaurant downstairs to your apartment only gave so much and you were growing all the more desperate for a second income. 

That's when Mr Jeon's advertisement had so conveniently fell into your lap. "Help Wanted — Nanny Position" True to your previous words about children, you had been prepared to brush past the simple post when your gaze had landed on the pay — and holy shit was it too good to pass up on. 

Now, there were two reasons someone paid such a ridiculous sum for the simple act of babysitting. They were either absolutely loaded, or, the kids in question were absolute nightmares. Though judging by the eerie stillness of the house in front of you, your hopes were rising in favor of the former option. 

The note in your pocket had become somewhat crinkled during your journey and you flatten it out in your palm as you read the address one last time. Your eyes flicker between the number on the paper and over to the cursive '7' that sits next to the front door. This was the place. 

Without further contemplation you push the gate open and make your way over to what could potentially end up saving your current financial predicament. 

The three stone steps leading up to the front porch are climbed with ease and you make sure to straighten out your wrinkly coat before ringing the bell. You can hear the soft tune as it carries through what could only be a maze of rooms inside, alerting the residents of your arrival. 

To say that you were nervous would unfortunately be quite the correct statement. It wasn't like you weren't used to meeting new people. The long mornings spent out on the floor of the restaurant had you sure to be greeted with at least two angry customers each day. And yet you find yourself exhaling sharply through your nose as your nails dig into the heel of your hand. 

In front of you wasn't Mrs Lee waiting to argue about the pickles in her food — but more money than seven hours spent cleaning tables would ever get you. This had to go well, for your financial state might just depend on it. 

The wait is long and unbearable when, in reality, it was a mere ten seconds until the door was swung open. Sucking in a quiet breath, your eyes snap up to meet with who you could only presume to be Mr Jeon himself. He's dressed in all black, his hair slicked back to expose his forehead and the thick brows that were already set into a most judgemental frown. 

He doesn't say anything and only when the silence becomes dangerously prolonged to you manage to clear your throat. "Hello, I'm here for the—," 

"You're the nanny," He simply states, not bothering to hear you out as he steps aside to make room for you beside him on the threshold. Talk about a pleasant greeting, you thought to yourself as you made your way inside. 

The hallway is a lot warmer than the unforgiving October air and you let out a shuddering exhale. Somewhere behind you, the sound of a lock clicking into place is heard and before you can blink, Mr Jeon has walked past you and headed down the hall. "Shoes by the door," He gruffly calls before rounding a corner and disappearing entirely from sight. 

You rush to get your old sneakers off, grimacing when you have to place them next to his neatly polished shoes. The carpet is soft under your feet and you curl your toes in an attempt to hide the hole in your sock. There's two pairs of considerably smaller shoes alongside yours, which you could only presume to be the children's. 

Not wanting to waste more time, or money, lingering by the entrance, you carefully start making your way down the hall which Mr Jeon had disappeared. The house was absolutely breathtaking inside, much contradictory to its plain exterior. Its high ceiling had a sparkling chandelier hanging from it and your gaze lingered on the detailed wall trims that ran along both sides of the hallway. 

When rounding the same corner Mr Jeon had just a moment prior, you suddenly find yourself in a grand living room. The space enough made your entire three room flat look pathetic and you almost scoffed as you regard the expensive looking vases that held nothing at all, effectively defeating their purpose. 

The head of the house himself waits by the fireplace, shoulder leaning against the cold brick and his arms folded across his chest. From there, he looked every bit the rich and arrogant upper class he was. "Have a seat," He gestures toward one of the pristine armchairs, and by the tone of his voice, it was clear he wasn't making a suggestion. 

You oblige without complaint, sinking down onto the cushion before folding your hands in your lap. It smelled faintly of lavender, a most soothing scent which you generously inhaled. Letting your gaze wander across the room, your attention lingers on the tall bookshelves, all neatly organized. 

In fact the entire living room was freakishly clean. There wasn't as much as a single speck of dust to be seen, not one feather out of place. You wondered if perhaps he had a hired maid — no way could a home with children be this spotless without a pair of extra hands. 

Mr Jeon shifts where he stands by the fire place, clearing his throat enough to bring your eyes back on him in an instant. "You got my email I presume," He says, not waiting for a response as he continues in a brisk manner, "I won't waste our time by going through the contents." 

He pushes himself off of the fireplace and takes a step in the direction of the large windows which looked out into the garden. His hands find their way back into his pockets, the crease between his brows had yet to ease up. 

"Today's meals are already prepped, they're in the freezer with a note on each," He points vaguely toward the archway leading into the kitchen. "Cassian is lactose intolerant, don't feed him dairy." 

Then he turns and nods toward the TV. You follow his gaze, eyes widening when they fall on the black screen. You had never seen something like this inside a home before, growing up television had been a luxury your family had been unable to afford. But Mr Jeon shrugs it off like it was nothing but an inconvenience. "Feel free to use it as you please when the children are asleep, though they are not to spend time in front of it." 

"Homework hours are between four and five thirty in the afternoon. They study Mandarin for an additional thirty minutes after that. They eat their dinner between six and six thirty before washing up. Have them in bed by seven and turn the lights off no later than seven thirty." 

As you listen to him ramble you recount the details of the email he'd sent you that same morning. It had included a lengthy and detailed list of things the children weren't allowed to do as well as an attached scheduled counted down to the second where not as much as a single moment was spent in vain. 

It all seemed a little… extreme, but you were in no position to judge a father for the way he raised his kids. You were only the nanny, after all. 

Mr Jeon turns back to you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he regards you with dark and calculating eyes. "Any questions?" 

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. "No, I think I've got it. Thank you for this opportunity Mr—" 

"Call me Jungkook," He grunts, arms flexing slightly against his sides. Straight past the formalities it seemed. You weren't opposed, titles did make things awkward after all. 

Before you can proceed to thank him for the position, he's already walked past you and headed for the hall once again. "I'll be at work until nine, you can reach me on the number in the notebook next to the phone." He pauses, throws a pointed look over his shoulder at you, "You do know how to use one?" 

The question makes you splutter and you twist in the chair. "I— Of course I do!" 

Jungkook clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before giving an almost unnoticeable nod that was more a jerk of his head. "The children are in their rooms upstairs," He pauses, "Third floor is not in use so there's no point in you going up there." 

Then he's turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway. A moment later you hear the front door open and close, the sound of the lock mechanism falling into place following shortly. 

The house is eerily silent after that, with only the ticking of the old clock by the fireplace to fill the quiet air. You remain sitting on the armchair a moment longer, thumbs rolling over one another absentmindedly as you glance around the living room one more time. 

He was certainly a character. You could only wonder what his kids would be like, if they were anything at all like their father then you were in for a ride. With a sigh you heave yourself from the comforts of the plush cushion, wandering back down the hall to discard yourself of your coat. 

So far this seemed like an easy enough job — especially considering the pay. All you would have to do was follow the strict plan Mr Jeon— Jungkook, had laid out for you, and leave with your check by the end of the night. Piece of cake, really. 

With that you turn your attention toward the stairs by the end of the hall. Past them awaited the children. You quietly brace yourself as you approach, one hand wrapped around the railing, you begin the journey to the second floor. 

The upstairs did not disappoint. It matches the running theme of the house, an expensive carpet going down the hall where doors lined both of the walls. Two of them were left ajar, the kids' rooms you guessed. 

When reaching the first one you stop to peer inside. The room looked nothing like that of a child's. With plain tapestry and only a bed, bookshelf and a desk to occupy the space. By the desk sits a young girl, her back is turned to you and she's hunched over what you presumed to be a book. From here you could only make out her long, black hair that was gathered into a neat ponytail. 

Hand curled into a loose fist, you give the doorframe a light knock. She turns to face you, big and round eyes meeting yours. "Hi," You smile, stepping over the threshold as you greet her. She doesn't appear surprised by your sudden appearance, in fact she seems almost annoyed with your presence and she quickly turns back to whatever held her attention on the desk. 

You frown, your steps faltering slightly as you regard her backside a moment longer. Jungkook had not bothered to introduce you to his children which you had found odd, but his daughter's lack of response was all the more concerning. 

Walking up to her, you come to a halt beside her chair. "Rayne, was it?" You hum, sliding your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. 

The girl mutely nods, her gaze firmly fixed to the book laid out on the desk. Her arms are folded over the table and tucked against her chest as she reads. "You're the new nanny," She states in a monotone voice without taking her eyes off of the pages in front of her. 

You nod, rocking back and forth on the sole of your feet as you peek at the contents of her book. "That's right," You muse, wondering what could possibly be so interesting that she couldn't spare you as much as a glance. It takes you but a minute to realize that this wasn't a children's book. The words on the page were far too advanced for any child before high school at least to be indulging in.

"What are you reading?" You can't help but ask, leaning just a bit closer as you skim through one of the paragraphs. 

Rayne shrugs, "The Great Gatsby." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be reading something like that one afternoon. 

Your eyebrows shoot high on your forehead, your jaw slacking just a little as your gaze flickers between the open book and her. "Rayne, how old are you again?" 

She sighs, clearly fed up with your questions as she pushes back in her chair. "I'm seven," She simply states, "I'll be eight in December." 

Seven years old and she's reading The Great Gatsby, for fun? Sure, her father seemed strict about the television and you did suppose it was beneficial for kids to be reading rather than consuming mindless nonsense on a screen. But wasn't this a little extreme? 

Rayne peers at you through the corner of her eye when she notices that you're still here. "You should go check on Cas," She huffs, "He's probably getting himself into trouble now that father isn't here." 

"I…" You blink, stunned by the fact that she had just dared give you such a blunt command. "I guess I should." Straightening back up, you throw her book one last skeptical glance before heading back out into the hallway. 

Cassian's room was next to his sister's. And it was just as plainly decorated, save for the stuffed teddy bear that sat on top of his neatly made bed. Repeating the same procedure as you had with Rayne, you give the doorframe a quiet knock before stepping inside. 

Perched on the edge of the mattress, Cassian sits with his legs swinging back and forth aimlessly as his hands pick at a loose thread on his pants. His gaze is downcast but at the sound of your approach he lifts his head to look at you. 

You nearly falter in your steps, eyes widening a fraction as you take in his appearance. He was the spitting image of his father, with the exception of a gentleness to his eyes that his dad lacked. 

Just like his sister, he doesn't seem surprised by your arrival. He gives but a tiny nod when you greet him. "Are you our new nanny?" He wonders, his voice is surprisingly soft, not at all what you had expected after your conversation with his sibling just moments prior. 

"Yes, I am." You smile, crouching down in front of him where he sits. Your attention drifts back to the teddy bear and you reach for it. "This one's cute, does it have a name?" Fingers brushing over the small bow that sat around its neck, you boop the plushie's tiny nose. 

Cassian only shrugs, not sparing the toy as much as a glance when he says, "It's nothing special." 

His dismissal makes you hesitate and you carefully place the teddy bear down. When turning back to him, you find that he's gone back to picking at his pants with his tiny hands. "Don't do that, you'll ruin your clothes," You hum in an attempt to grab his attention. 

He lets his hand drop to his side, dark eyes meeting yours through his lashes. "Your sock has a hole in it," He said, like he was one-upping you for commenting on his fidgeting. 

The remark makes you grimace and you shift slightly where you crouch on the floor. Kids were too perceptive for their own good. Throwing a glance toward the clock on his nightstand, you realize that it was already past four. "How about we go down to the kitchen and do homework?" Slapping your hands on your knees, you prepare to rise from your crouch when Cassian suddenly interrupts you: 

"We study in the library." Is all he says. And with that he jumps off of the bed, walking over to his desk by the window as he gathers a couple of books in his arms along with a notepad and pencil. He doesn't wait for you to follow along as he heads through the still open bedroom door. 

Stunned into silence, you watch after his retreating figure. You had expected him to put up a little more of a fight, given that he was only five, but Cassian seemed indifferent about the prospect of homework. 

You found that the children were awfully independent. They took to studying like it was second nature, never once letting their attention stray from their work nor complaining about the time. On the contrary, you found yourself awfully bored as you sat on a chair beside them for two hours, watching as they worked diligently. You could not remember ever putting that much effort into something so mundane. 

When you had asked them if their dad made them study everyday they simply nodded. Neither of them made an attempt to indulge in any conversation with you. For all you knew, you could have been a ghost in their presence, nothing but a shadow left to linger in a corner. 

Homework finally came to an end by six pm and you urged them downstairs for dinner — eager to have something to do and perhaps get to know them better. 

Though you were quickly dumbfounded when standing in front of the microwave, trying to reheat the meals that were left prepared inside glass containers. Cassian and Rayne are both standing behind you, their eyes boring into your back as they study you silently. 

The frown between your brows only grows and you pull your lip between your teeth as you try to decode the variety of buttons on the damned electric box. How difficult could it be? Just as your finger hovers over a suspiciously round button, Rayne suddenly speaks up. 

"Do you even know how to use it?" 

You scoff, "Of course I do." A brief pause follows before you dare a glance over your shoulder, "It's this button, right?" 

Rayne rolls her eyes but gives a curt nod. You press it and the microwave beeps to life. Breathing out a small sigh of relief, you slump back against the counter. 

"Daddy never cooks our food in the microwave," Cassian suddenly quips from where he stands next to his sister. His lips were pressed into a small pout as he regards the container behind the glass. 

"Well," Giving a small shrug, you turn toward the children, "You'll find that me and your daddy are quite different." 

Neither of the kids seem very impressed with learning that. Instead they wordlessly begin rummaging through a close by drawer for cutlery. They set the table themselves, leaving you to guard the food in the microwave which felt like a completely useless task, though you followed through with it nonetheless. 

The children spoke even less as they ate, with only the sound of knives and forks scraping against porcelain to fill the stiff silence. Their table manners surprised you, both of them chewed with their mouths closed, wiping their lips with the corner of a folded napkin between bites and sipping their water elegantly. 

You found yourself watching them like some sort of wildlife documentary. Their behavior was almost uncanny, nothing at all what you would expect of a five- and seven year old. 

Halfway through their meal, Cassian finally speaks up. "How long will you be staying?"

You frown, "What do you mean?" 

But Cassian has already taken another bite of his food. His sister answers in his place, "My brother is asking how long you plan on working here." She takes a sip of her water before putting the glass down without making a sound. 

"Well I… I don't know. For a good while I hope," You hum. The pay was too good for you to let the offer just slip from your grasp, not that the kids needed to know that. "Why do you ask?" 

The small boy shrugs, picking through his vegetables mindlessly. "Our last nanny came only twice." He sends you a glance, "Will you come three times?" 

Twice? Was he implying that their last caretaker had worked a total of two days before taking their leave? You blink, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you think of a way to answer his question. 

"Father will probably fire her tomorrow," Rayne shakes her head. 

Fire you? Sweat beads on your forehead at the thought of losing your job just as quickly as you had gotten it. What on earth were these kids telling their dad to have him fire their nannies. It had to be only the worst of a child's imaginative mind. "Why do you say that?" You ask, unable to hide the concern in your voice. 

Rayne only sighs, like the answer was written in the stars, "Because that's what he did to the last ones." She sends you an almost condescending look, "What makes you any different?" 

That one snide remark made you walk on eggshells for the remainder of the evening. You brought the kids upstairs, helped them wash up and laid out their pajamas on their beds before fussing with the pillows — all the while Rayne's words kept playing on loop in your head. 

The children were just as obedient when it came to brushing their teeth as they had been with their veggies and homework. Not as much as a frown or a single complaint left their lips and you wondered what kind of military training their father had put them through to have them act like this, with a nanny no less. 

And though you would admit that your knowledge on kids went no further than your own cousins, which you had babysat a handful of times — even you could tell that there was something seriously wrong with these two. 

So you stand outside the bathroom upstairs, arms folded across your chest as you glance up and down the hall whilst Cassian used the toilet. Rayne had already retired to her bedroom, insisting that she would be heading straight to bed and that there would be no need for you to check on her. 

The house is unnervingly quiet. Outside the sun had set, leaving only the chandelier above to light up the long hallway. Your gaze drifts from the shut bathroom door and down toward the window by the very end of the hall. There, to the left, was a door you had yet to walk through. 

You had kept your word and stayed away from the third floor, trusting that it held no more than dust and spiderwebs — which you were not too keen on exploring. But this door was on the second floor, and Cassian was in the bathroom. 

On tip toes you pad over, throwing a glance over your shoulder, you make sure that Rayne was still in her room before reaching the closed door. It looked no different from any of the others, its white paint staring back at you without an ounce of emotion. You regard the doorknob, the invitation waiting on the tips of your fingers. Wrapping a hand around the cold metal, you inhale a shuddering breath before twisting the handle. 

Nothing happens. 

Puzzled, you try the doorknob again. But the door is locked. That was odd. Jungkook had not mentioned anything about any locked doors, nor had he forbade you from going inside any of the rooms, long as they weren't on the third floor. 

In the midst of your confusion, you fail to catch the sound of a toilet being flushed and the running water of the sink. A moment later the bathroom door is swung open and tiny feet pad down the hall. 

"Miss, what are you doing?" 

Whirling around, you nearly give yourself whiplash as you turn to face a wary-looking Cassian. He takes a couple of steps toward you, small hands drying themselves on the pants to his pajama as his dark eyes flicker between you and the locked door. There was a deep crease between his brows, showcasing his suspicion toward you. 

"Oh," You exhale, wiping your clammy hands on your thighs as you swallow. "I was just—" Gesturing between yourself and the door, you send him a smile you hoped convinced him of your innocent intentions. 

When Cassian remains silent, you take it as your window to shoot a tentative question. "What's behind that door?" You didn't expected him to even respond, he was scarily smart for a five year old — undoubtedly seeing right through you. 

He regards you a moment longer, the frown between his brows deepening. Finally he sighs, giving a small nod in the direction of the locked door. "It was mommy- and daddy's room," He simply states, bringing his mother up for the first time since your arrival. 

Taken aback by the mention of her — you almost brush over one of the key details he'd used. "Was?" You echo, arching a brow just enough to disclose your interest. 

Cassian nods, his expression betraying nothing of what he felt. "Daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore." 

He yawns then, stretching his tiny arms over his head before blinking up at you tiredly. "I need to sleep now," He murmurs before turning on his heel and heading down the hall toward his own room. 

You're left standing with a gaping mouth as your gaze flickers between the child and the door which you had just attempted to break through. Shaking off the confusing thoughts that Cassian's statement had left behind, you turn to follow him inside his room. 

It's silent as you tuck him in, your hands moving gently across the blanket when you pull it over his tiny frame. Cassian sinks back against the pillow and you can feel his big eyes on you as you fiddle with the corner of the duvet. 

"Will you be alright?" You hum, glancing over at him where he lays hugging his teddy bear. For a second it looks as though he's about to say something, his lips are parted and there's an almost anxious edge in the way his gaze darts around the room. 

A moment later though, he's nodding his head, murmuring a quiet 'yes' as he snuggles closer to the plushie. Choosing not to prod further, you settle for a gentle pat to his cheek before flicking the bedside light off. 

It was seven forty five and even though you had the entire house to yourself for at least another hour, you found yourself curled up in the same armchair you had been sat in just a few hours earlier. Having busied yourself with cleaning up after dinner and scrubbing the kitchen until it was spotless — you now had nothing left to distract your thoughts with. 

Could it really be that Mr Jeon would fire you that following morning? Had you not done a good of enough job — perhaps the children were dissatisfied with you, would they tell him that? Chewing anxiously on your bottom lip you walk yourself through all kinds of possible scenarios, each one of them ending with your possible termination. 

Your mind wanders back to the locked door by the end of the hall, Cassian's words resurfacing the longer you thought about it. "Daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore." Neither him nor Rayne had brought up their mother at all today, come to think of it, Mr Jeon hadn't either. 

Had she passed away? Would that be insensitive to ask? Probably. It would be best to refrain from prying, you tell yourself as you settle back against the cushion. 

The hour ticks by faster than you would have hoped. None of the kids come down — and when you went up to check on them, they were both peacefully asleep in their respective beds. Perhaps you had nothing to worry about after all?

By nine pm sharp, the sound of keys rattling inside a lock can be heard. Shooting up from the armchair, you turn toward the hallway as you listen to the front door opening and closing. His punctuality was quite terrifying. 

You make your way out of the living room, turning down the hall just in time to see Jungkook hanging off his coat. He crouches down to undo the laces on his shoes, a few loose strands of hair falling down his forehead. Quietly approaching, you come to a slow stop next to the dresser on which the phone rested. You had yet to call him all night, mostly because nothing eventful had happened — you could only hope he wasn't upset with you for not being in touch. 

But Jungkook appears indifferent as he places his shoes next to the children's' with a small huff. He straightens up, then he turns to you. "Everything went okay?" He phrases it like a question but when it reaches your ears it hardly sounds like one. 

Nodding, you hum out a small 'yes' as you rock back and forth on your feet awkwardly. It is then you remembered the book Rayne had been reading previously that afternoon. "Rayne was reading The Great Gatsby", You say, unable to mask the frown that crept its way onto your face. 

You expected him to be at least slightly surprised, but Jungkook simply shrugged when he heard that. "Then that's good," He muses as he fishes up the car keys from his pocket and throws them onto the dresser — that was probably the biggest mess the house had seen all day. 

"You're not… worried?" You ask, turning to follow him with your gaze as he walks past you. 

Jungkook scoffs, "Why should I be? Kid's just reading." 

You wanted to argue that his seven year old daughter was reading literature someone her age should not even think about touching. Not to mention the fact that his two children were behaving like tiny adults, you hadn't seen either of them crack as much as a smile all day — and they hadn't even suggested playing with any kind of toys at all. That was not normal. 

And yet you keep silent. Because for all you knew, this could cost you your job. That, you were not ready for. 

Jungkook had disappeared down the hall, leaving you to wallow in silence for a moment before he returned with a small envelope in one hand. He comes to a stop before you, close enough to where you could pick up the musky scent of his cologne. Wordlessly he hands you the envelope and you take it with a nod. It feels heavy in your palm — your promised payment rewarding as it rests between your fingers. 

"I need you to come by around noon tomorrow," Jungkook says as his hands slip inside his pockets. 

That makes you pause, your gaze lifting from the envelope and over to meet his dark eyes. "Noon?" You splutter, perplexed by the idea of arriving nearly four hours early the day that followed. That wouldn't work, because outside of working part time at the restaurant under your apartment, you were a med student. It just so happened that noon tomorrow was in the middle of one of your three classes a week. 

Jungkook cocks a brow, "Is that a problem?" 

Ah. Well. You rub the back of your neck sheepishly, avoiding his piercing gaze to the best of your abilities. Now might be a good time to mention the last bit of his lengthy email — the one tiny, tiny paragraph stating that he would not hire a high school graduate.

Suppose you might have stretched the truth a little when you called to apply for the position… You justified the lie by telling yourself that you desperately needed the money, that any sane person would do this, that the idea of refusing to hire someone simply because they were a high school graduate was ridiculous. And it wasn't like you didn't have a degree. You would have it. In about eight months. That still had to count for something, right? 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you quickly shake your head. "No! No, no, not at all. Noon is perfect for me!" You give an enthusiastic nod, silently praying that he couldn't see the inner turmoil soaring through you. Noon would be just fine — when you figured out how to attend both class and watch over his children at the same time without surgically splitting yourself in half. 

But then you're reminded of the heavy envelope in your hand. Your fingers curl a little tighter around it. Think about the money. Think about the money. You could figure this out, you would figure this out. 

Day 6

You wake to the sound of your own name, the most porcelain but loving version, as if it has been kept quiet carefully for decades, and equally warm all night. 

Except, Jungkook doesn’t say it. It’s just the idea of it, the memory of it in the space where your cheek rests against his clothed chest, heartbeat laid wide open, beating against your eardrums as you try to take it easy on your own heart. 

Pretend that there’s still hope in the waters surrounding you both, pretend that you can bring yourself to swim in it, alongside him where, truthfully, there is just a void. 

Pretend the rise and fall of him is a never ending tide you never were in love with. 

You keep your eyes shut because you aren’t built for the truth first thing in the morning, don’t want to surface just yet. So, you take it easy on yourself while you count the flutter of his pulse under your untouched mouth and the hiss of the small fire that should have gone out hours ago but didn’t, because easy is the only way when you were and still are so deeply stuck in your ways it hurts. 

You keep your breath slow and eyes closed, lashes sticky with the dried remnants of last nights tears, hiccup somehow still screaming in your throat to be released but forced to stay mute. 

You try and try again to take it easy on your heart. But how could you when you can’t help but to think of your old matching heartbeats that are now out of sync, how once you could tell his mood by the pace alone.

You reckon It’s easier to lie with your body than with your face or voice, so you keep still a little longer, heavy-limbed and broken-hearted you let the old lines bleed between what’s real and what you wish it was. How his heart stumbles once every few measures like it always did when he was on the edge of sleep, the salt at the hollow of his throat when the faint sheen of sweat at his temples though the air is bitter. 

Once you would have kissed that away without thinking. Once you did things like that with the careless grace of someone who thought time would never run out. But now opening your eyes would mean facing the shape of your choices, the wreckage of your and his hearts lying right here. 

His scent is everywhere though, and you breathe in too deeply and hate yourself for it the second the molecules enter your system, for the way your lungs shudder as if even they still long for him. 

But the body beneath you shifts faintly, blanket scratching your shoulder just a little, his breath more punctuated than before, the twitch of a muscle under your palm. You know instantly: he’s awake. Maybe he has been for longer than you have. Maybe he’s been holding himself as still as you, caught in the same silent trap.

But then he starts humming, ever so beautifully, sucking you into a routine you thought long forgotten. 

And as you let the memories of tender years cascade for the last time, seeing that last night wasn’t the spring of a new story of him and you, you open your eyes to the place where his collarbone breaks the line of his throat and up to his face.

And just like that, the sight of Jungkook breaks you more than anything or anyone ever could.

Hollowed-out eyes. A mouth that looks like it’s been thinking all night, now even stopped humming. Tired in ways that aren’t sleep, never could.

“You look wrecked,” your eyes, too soft to be anything but honest in their notion, flit over his angelic face that’s tortured so heavily you want to cry for absolution.

“Stayed up,” he answers with a voice as ruined as both of you probably feel. “Uh… I’ve watched the door. Fire. Wind was trying its luck.”

You nod against him and make yourself get up because that’s what you do when your heart starts breaking uncontrollably and words and thoughts fail, you move and run and bolt. And yet again, no one’s stopping you, not even the unmistakable ache of longing to stay near Jungkook.

There’s the quick drill of your cold fingers and clumsy layers. Thermals you wore the night before and that stick to still damp skin get covered with wool. Socks with the wrong heel. 

Jungkook sits up and turns away without really needing to while you button, zip, maybe even brace, as if absolute modesty is a standard you’re not willing to break anymore. He pulls on his jacket just as silent, not needing extra layering like you do, and checks the window like he can stare weather into mercy. 

You try to look past him from the distance through the frosty glass, seeing that it’s quieter outside than it should be after a night like that. The storm has rolled its shoulders and moved along, leaving drifts piled like sleeping animals and a sky bleached thin.

With one last shared glance, boots strapped tight and boards in hand, Jungkook opens the door for you. The snow’s piled up way above your waist, small indents of the door’s ornamentation visible in the small wall of snow.

A low sigh escapes Jungkook as he mutters something under his breath you’re too scared to ask, so you step or rather crawl out first, the cold slapping your cheeks and brain clean. Boards under arms, gloves in teeth, you trudge and sink and heave to the packed edge through the small line of forest where the slope tips down into morning.

Your eyes can’t help but keep glancing to Jungkook, making sure he’s following, making sure you’re not alone when it feels just like you are.

You clip in. He clips in. You look down and it looks like choice and consequence cosplayed in the same white cloth, making your bones vibrate with fear you thought you’d overcome by now.

Crazily enough, because you were so unbelievably sure Jungkook and you would never utter a word to each other ever again, you startle just a little when Jungkook’s voice, now less wrecked but indifferent and cold as if he’d won the title of best Elsa imitation, reaches you.

“I’ll follow your line. Wide S. Don’t fight the board, ask it.”

Ask it. As if your mortification about snowboarding after yesterday’s events is a thing that might answer back, kindly at that. But still, because trust can’t be broken where none is found, you push off.

The snow is chalky, loud, a music you haven’t learned the words to. You let the nose drift into the fall line and then you yank your heel edge like a handbrake and you slide sideways, too fast, too loud, legs electric with panic. He arcs now beside you, patient, a dark comma written on the slope, looks sideways, nods, shows you the shape again.

You try to draw it. Your arms go even more stiff, your breath goes mess, your thoughts freefall: hold on, let go, hold on, let go.

The hill screams decide. Your body whispers neither.

Because you’re you, and you can’t change, nor does he, so you pick up speed you don’t want. The burning stitch of fear in your ribs pulls tight and you can hear nothing but wind in your ears and your own mind going no no no.

Jungkook glances downhill, and his posture changes dramatically, the shrug of someone who’s just seen a deadline. You clock the cluster at the base too late to make sense of them. Colours, movement, a shouting that’s more joy than warning ever could.

He leans into it, accelerates, and for one blind second you think, of course, he can’t wait to be rid of you, off he goes, and it hurts in a way that isn’t fair to either of you.

Haven’t you lost enough? You scoff to yourself, think who are you kidding, as if someone can measure the pain.

To not only your friends but your confusion, Jungkook sprays to a hard stop short of the group, turns, plants himself across your line, both arms wide out like a human fort. You don’t have the finesse nor the quick reflexes to feather a stop; you barrel into him with a dull, nearly lethal thud.

But Jungkook takes the impact, feet shoot, board skitters, and you fall together, your body folding into his like it still remembers exactly where to land. His grunt is more surprise than pain while your helmet knocks his shoulder. His big gloved hands are already around you, old habit or instinct, you can’t tell.

“Got you,” he breathes, maybe even enamoured, and it’s the sort of sentence that, after all those years, after all what happened, still doesn’t know what tense it belongs in.

“Jesus Christ,” someone yells, you think it’s Taehyung, his relief like a flare. “They’re fucking alive!”

You roll off Jungkook, clumsily and embarrassed like a teenager getting caught by their parents, and the slope stops tilting because your friends are there in a blizzard of arms and breath and noise.

Taehyung, in his padded coat, is scooping you and then Jungkook into bear hugs like he’s trying to crack walnuts for Christmas Eve. Jimin’s laugh is high and hysterical and breaks once like a sob. Hope is already taking your board, checking the bindings, swearing under his breath about ice and visibility and idiots though you’re sure you see him wipe a tear from his face.

But Hara’s palms are on your face, redirecting your focus, warm just like her eyes are bright with fear bleeding out into happiness.

And Yoongi. Yoongi’s got you before you can stand properly, hands on your shoulders, then around you and you fold into him without thinking because this is, instinct or habit, what your body does when it’s scared and full of adrenaline, when it screams for home and then goes for the oldest room in the house.

“You okay?” he whispers into your helmet.

“Yeah,” you lie, you tell the truth, you don’t know. “I think so.”

“Let me see.” He leans back, scanning you like you’re his child rather than his cousin. You try to smile, but gosh, you fail so miserably a hiccup escapes your lips.

But all attention that’s focused on you and Jungkook gets shaken when Jimin tilts his head, eyes narrowing in thought you’ve never seen before, and then the betrayal arrives, cheerful and cruel and absolutely uncalled for. “Uh, not to be that guy, but is that a hickey?”

You don’t need a mirror. You feel it flare under your scarf, a fucking sun under skin. The circle of you holds breath the same way air does before thunder.

Yoongi freezes as his eyes fall dangerously from your eyes to your neck, face draining clean. He looks from your neck to Jungkook and the expression on him is not cousin, not producer, not friend.

It’s red, crimson when you look closely. But most of all, it’s old. It’s a line he doesn’t cross unless someone drags him. 

You see his jaw set. 

You see him taking a step, shoulders squared the way they are in rooms where men who should know better forget themselves.

And the worst of all: you see that Jungkook doesn’t flinch. He stands there like a man who deserves a hit either way.

“Don’t,” your voice whittles down to its blade.

But Yoongi doesn’t listen.

“This isn’t how we do this,” you match the volume in his head, not his violence, knowing better, knowing Yoongi. And so, you put your body in the way of his body because you will not add this scar to a story that already has too many.

There’s a beat where everyone waits to see what shape the day will take when it‘s barely begun. Then Hara’s hand lands on Yoongi’s forearm like a mother‘s, not pleading, just present and calming the last of anger while Tae exhales like a punctured tyre and mutters something about egos and avalanches. Jimin, delighted by drama and equally committed to you not dying today, chirps as Hope shakes his head and passes you your board like the anchor you need, “Right, that’s enough testosterone for the morning. Let’s go.”

The walk to the car is all the things you don’t want to think about nor say stitched between the crunch of boot on ice. Jungkook falls back, then forward, then nowhere at all. You keep your eyes on the path because if you look at him too long you’ll do something that will cost you your sanity for the rest of the week if not your whole life.

And of course, no one talks on the drive and so you stare out at a town that is already forgetting last night’s violence, fairy lights still ridiculous in daylight, steam rising from Jimin‘s bakery roof. You want to go back to before the hut, before the storm, before the fat stupid tenderness of a body you know by heart and the way it undid you.

You loved to the point of despair, even did it yesterday still. Funnily enough, regret won’t catch you, not even now.

At Dionysus you’re out of the car and inside before anyone can be kind. Down the corridor it goes, way pastt the bell that refuses to stop chiming in your chest. And finally into the suite. 

Next stop: bathroom door, lock, water on full.

You strip violently like you’re pulling skin off and step under the spray that can’t decide if it wants to be hot or not. But it doesn’t matter as you put your forehead to the tile and let yourself shake. You try to cry quietly and fail. It’s an animal sound, short and shocked, and then it’s just sound. You whisper the truths you’ve been hoarding like hard sweets when you were a child: you’ve already lost him, it happened years ago on a night where you said a sentence you can’t take back and he allowed you to say it. He let you go like an adult, and then he kept the door unlocked like a child.

You reach for the shampoo because doing anything physical when emotions crash, feels like sanity. The bottle is Yoongi’s, heavy, dark green, the one you bought him because you thought he’d never spend thirty quid on nice hair out of principle. You pop the lid and breathe in like a superstitious idiot as if scent could time-travel. It doesn’t smell like Jungkook. It smells like Yoongi and incense and some herb you truly cannot stand. You laugh, ugly and wet and full of tears, because your brain is a brilliant saboteur and masochist all at once.

You cry again because you wanted one small mercy and the universe said no like it always does when it’s teaching you that mercy is not for those you truly don’t want it.

The water runs and the room fogs and your hands go numb as you wash yourself like you’re making a case for being allowed to start over. When you’re done, showering, not crying, you wrap in a towel and sit on the closed loo because standing is a lie just as you are one.

Desperately, you press your palms to your eyes until fireworks go off behind them. You breathe. It’s not enough and also it’s the only thing you can do as tears stream and stream and never crease.

Eventually, much later in bed, when the hiccups feel just as such and emptiness moves in next to the ache that resides inside your heart for years by now, the duvet is a poor apology of a hug even though it’s more plush than the one of last night.

Yoongi slides down beside you, flat on his back and hands on his stomach like a corpse he sometimes resembles too much for your liking. The wind outside whistles. The corridor murmurs with people who don’t know or pretend not to know they’re walking past a scene.

“Can’t believe you shagged him.”

The disapproval in Yoongi’s tone is out of love, you know this much. Still, it forces the wound a bit wider, gushing pathetically, just a bit more. Words seem to leave you with your cousin now too, especially when he chuckles dryly, and then…

“That fucker still loves you,” Yoongi puffs as he scratches his elbow out of habit, a nervous tic he got when his parents disapproved of his career choice as a teen.

“No,” you croak out, not stubborn, just tired. “He loves the past. He loves an idea. He loves a version of me I didn’t know how to keep alive.”

“Then why’s he out there patrolling your air supply?” Yoongi doesn’t turn his head. He stares at the ceiling like it’s Jungkook himself.

You strain your ears, willing the screaming whistling of fatigue to subside just for a minute and listen to what’s going on around you. And true to Yoongi’s words, you faintly hear Hara and Jungkook’s voices outside your suite. Hara, it seems, is scolding the living fuck out of Jungkook, and while her voice is too muffled through the closed wooden door you make out “can’t believe… now you want to talk… where were your balls… you’re leaving her alone… disappointed in you.”

Yoongi then continues where he left off. “Men don’t stand around doors for memories.”

Now you’re just being petty as you grumble, rolling onto your back as well. “Men do a lot of stupid things for pride.”

“True,” he concedes. “But his pride bleeds when you’re not in the room. You know that. You can’t unknow it.”

You want to tell him all the ways he’s wrong because you need someone to be wrong so you can be right about leaving, about closing off yet again and not being way too dramatic. You say nothing. Sometimes the only power you’ve got left is silence.

And you hate it.

A soft knock, the slow kind you learned that’s just so Hara, that politely asks permission instead of assuming it, lets you and Yoongi both look at the door and then at each other, and you lift the duvet with two fingers because politeness has kept you alive this far.

Hara slips in, the warmth of the hall following her, sits on the edge of the bed where you’re lying as if she’s visiting a patient. Her hand goes to your knee, light as air but comforting nevertheless as it caresses you like your mother did when you were down with the flu.

But Hara, so contrary to your mother, isn’t careful with her face; you can see she’s been crying too, and it embarrasses you how much that makes you feel less alone.

“I’m so sorry what happened to you both.” It should be trite. It isn’t. It lands in the hollow of you with weight, sparking a tiny flame of love you’ve been missing lately. “He’s in his room now too.”

And your mood sours so dramatically, you can’t pinpoint why exactly. “That’s not my problem anymore,” you snark, because the shape of a boundary feels like scaffolding in your mouth.

“Maybe not,” she allows gracefully, “but you’re the only person he tries to be brave around.”

Yoongi snorts. You huff. It’s almost a laugh and it isn’t, thinking back to when he couldn’t even utter one word last night. “Brave? Really?”

“I think he’s frightened he’s ruined it.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and then, as if you offered her tea and a sofa instead of a bed and a headache, she adds, “We had the scan.”

Your brain, happy for a different line to follow, shifts, excitement bubbling over like Mentos in Coke. “Do you know?”

She smiles, small and private and huge. “A boy.”

The word swells the room. It’s a weather front you know too well. You swallow and it hurts, because fuck, why do you want to be pregnant too. “He’ll be loved,” you fall around her neck, and it is the truest thing you’ve been capable of in days. “He’ll be stupidly adored.”

“By too many idiots,” Yoongi mutters behind you. “Poor kid.”

Hara laughs, the kind that lifts some of the heavy air and moves it along. “Exactly. So he’ll be fine.”

You nod and let your fingers play with the edge of the duvet. You want to mean your next question as neutral and it comes out like a confession. “And you’re… good? With… everything.”

“Exhausted. Hungry. Sick of wee. Deliriously happy.” She shrugs. “And also worried all the time for people who are not me because apparently that’s my life now.” Her eyes soften. “I know it’s not simple, ___.”

“No,” you sigh. “Not really.”

“Then don’t pretend it is, yeah? Let it be messy and then decide.”

“Yeah, it’s always darkest before the dawn.”

You hum in approval to Yoongi’s words, staring at each streak of the seam in your hand.

“Hearts aren’t made of stone.”

Wait. Are these song lyrics?

And just as you side-eye Yoongi, seeing his smirk, he gets another out. “Time heals everything.”

“Are you citing lyrics?!” You shove him, eliciting a soft chuckle from him that shakes his shoulders and bed more than his vocal cords.

Not waiting for an answer, Hara squeezes your knee and stands. At the door she looks back like she might say the thing that will unspool all the knots, but she doesn’t lie to you. “Sleep. Sleep will make you braver.”

The door clicks. The room goes back to its own breathing. Yoongi shifts onto his side to face you now, eyes wider than usual, mouth still a bit uplifted.

“Namjoon says if you cry on his nice pillow again he’ll put you on cleaning rota.” 

“Tell him to invoice me,” you mutter, sinking further down, getting comfortable.

“You couldn’t afford it,” he clicks his tongue, and you both snort because that wound is already scabbed over with the transfer and the argument and the promise you’ll figure it out.

You stare at the line where the ceiling meets the wall and it looks like a horizon you can’t reach. “What if I can’t survive this again, Yoongs? What if it changes me forever?”

“It won’t. And you can,” he reaches for your hand, though the touch is separated through the duvet. “Or you won’t. It’s not a prophecy. It’s a trial. Eat. Sleep. Don’t do coke. Wear a helmet. The rest is bonus.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“That’s what family is for.”

He closes his eyes. You close yours because there’s nothing left in today for waking. At some point your thoughts wander calmer. At some point the noise outside the window becomes the sort of quiet that only mountains in the dark can make. You listen for footsteps in the corridor that don’t come and imagine a door across the hall with someone on the other side not sleeping either.

When you do slide under, it’s quick, like falling through a trapdoor you weren’t expecting. You take with you the weight of his arm from the hut, the heat of his chest from the minute you pretended to be asleep, the shape of his mouth when he said got you, the bruise on your neck that says you were not a dream.

You take Hara’s boy and Yoongi’s blunt mercy even if it’s not the universes, and Jimin’s tacky horror and Tae’s ridiculous, huge heart and Hope’s car heading for a petrol station and the knowledge that none of this is simple and that you do not need it to be to keep breathing.

You fall asleep wanting him like you always have: wanting, not begging. Wanting as an action, not silence, not a wound. Wanting as a full-bodied, bloody, ordinary human thing.

And in the last thin second before sleep stops listening, when yet again a tear escapes the edge of your eye, running down the slope of your nose until it unites with your pillow, you let yourself imagine before cruel morning wakes you with a reality you don’t want to see, you imagine his hand on the door, then away, because sometimes love is not an entrance.

Sometimes it’s just standing guard and never leaving. 

ML

<prev • next>

a/n: thank you for reading! please let me know your thoughts 🤍

Sunny, who lived three blocks over but somehow always felt like she belonged in your house, at your table, and more painfully, in Jungkook’s orbit. She was bright from the moment the three of you met—shy but warm, soft-spoken but radiant. If Jungkook was the moon tugging at the tides of your shared childhood, Sunny was the sun he constantly leaned toward.

You? You were happy just to stay in his shadow, warm enough in the comfort of what you had. Mostly.

College hasn’t changed the dynamic much, except the three of you now share a campus, a group chat, and apparently—as of this afternoon—a car ride to a café off-campus because Sunny suggested it and Jungkook would walk barefoot through fire to fulfill any suggestion she makes.

Which is why you’re currently buckled into the back seat of Jungkook’s car, watching him and Sunny talk in the front like they’re starring in their own romcom while you accidentally landed the role of “supporting character no. 3.”

Jungkook starts the engine, music drifting low from the speakers—one of Sunny’s favorite playlists, naturally. Warm sunlight spills across her as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling at him.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, turning halfway in his seat so you’re included. “Everyone good? You guys have your seatbelts on?”

You snort. “Ever the safety guy, aren't you?”

"It's character development." Sunny giggles as she presses her seatbelt into place. “Remember that time he almost bungee jumped before they clipped him to the safety line?”

"Oh my god, that was actually so scary." You shivered upon the recollection. "Your mom yelling at you in the video really topped it off."

Jungkook flushes. "Well I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Unfortunately." He glares at you.

"I'm pretty sure even if you did jump without the safety thing, you'd find a way to survive somehow," Sunny comments.

"Oh? Is that because I'm just so strong and cool and superhuman?" he asks, leaning in playfully.

"Woah, don't let it get to your head now," she retorts, pushing his head back with the tip of her finger. "You sound like a dork."

"A strong, cool, and superhuman dork?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

"In your dreams." She crosses her arms with a laugh. He laughs too, eyes never leaving her for a second.

You watch the easy banter between them, the way their words fit together like puzzle pieces. It shouldn’t make your chest pinch, but it does—just a small, traitorous squeeze.

“Alright,” Jungkook says, pulling onto the road. “Let’s get this show on the road. Pun very much intended.”

You groan. “Ugh.”

He shoots you a look through the rearview mirror. “Don’t act like you don’t appreciate my humor.”

“I appreciate it in the way I appreciate expired milk,” you say. “Nostalgic, slightly concerning.”

Sunny cracks up, applauding dramatically. “Nice one”

He swerves playfully in protest—just the tiniest wobble. “You two are ganging up on me. This is betrayal.”

“I would never betray you,” Sunny says sweetly.

That same pinch hits you again, sharper this time. You look out the window, hoping the breeze from the tiny crack in the glass will air out the weird flutter of sadness bubbling in your stomach.

“You hear that?” Jungkook teases. “Sunny would never betray me. Meanwhile, you’re actively plotting my downfall.”

“Someone has to keep you humble,” you mumble good-naturedly.

“She has a point,” Sunny says as she playfully flicks Jungkook’s sleeve.

He shoots her a grin—one of those boyish, corners-up, starry-eyed grins he used to give you when you’d run through sprinklers together, when life was simple, when he didn’t look at someone else like she hung constellations across his sky.

You remind yourself you’re happy for him. Truly. Mostly. Kind of.

They fall into another round of inside-joke-laden teasing—something about a disastrous dance routine Jungkook attempted for a talent show last semester, which Sunny witnessed and you didn’t. They reenact it poorly from the front seats, shoulders bouncing as they laugh. You laugh too, because it really is funny. But you feel it again—the slight tug of distance. The way you’re in the car, but not quite in the moment with them.

You’ve always been good at hiding things, though. You lean back, smile when you’re supposed to, offer a quip here and there. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Sunny twists around in her seat suddenly, her smile softening. “Hey,” she says gently. “You okay back there?”

Her eyes are warm—concerned in that effortless Sunny way that makes guilt flirt with your ribs. Has she noticed? Has it been that obvious?

You plaster on the most convincing grin you can manage. “Me? Yeah. Just relaxing. Your reenactment was… uh… eye opening.”

Jungkook laughs. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” you say, “I understand now why that performance didn’t win anything.”

Sunny bursts into giggles. Jungkook gasps like he’s wounded, one hand over his heart. “You’re so mean to me today.”

You shrug. “Tough love.”

“You okay though?” Sunny asks again, softer this time.

You meet her gaze, then Jungkook’s through the mirror. Both of them watching you—one oblivious, one suspiciously perceptive.

Your heart thuds, but you keep smiling.

“Yeah,” you say brightly. “I’m good.”

It’s mostly true. Maybe not the whole truth. Maybe you’re a little left out, a little overshadowed. But this moment—the car full of laughter, the wind through the window, the two people you care about most—it's still warm. Still familiar.

And you decide that’s enough for now.

“Okay,” Sunny says, satisfied, turning back around. “Just checking.”

Jungkook shoots you a quick grin through the mirror, playful and soft. “Good. Because we still need your commentary when we get to the café.”

“You mean my moral support while you embarrass yourself trying to parallel park?”

“Sure,” he says, rolling his eyes in defeat.

And even though the ache lingers quietly in your chest, you lean back, smile to yourself, and let the warmth settle over you like sunlight through glass.

Yes. For now, it’s enough.

...

Finding solace by the pick up counter, you anxiously tap your foot as the minutes tick by until you get dangerously close to being late for your lecture. 

When the sand colored drink finally appears in your periphery, you barely glance down before swiping it and taking a sip. Your face instantly contorts in disgust as the taste of coffee infiltrates your mouth. Surveying the drink with furrowed brows, you give the cup a once over, but before you’re able to deduce why your beloved tea is tainted with coffee, someone clears their throat.

“Uh, I think that might be mine,” an unfamiliar voice comments. 

Your eyes find the source of the sound when you look up. A conscientious looking man is standing before you with a grimace on his lips. He has eye-length obsidian hair and nearly matching doe eyes, only the faintest hint of brown swimming in them. His features are round and soft, save for the sharp jawline outlining his face. Counter to his innocuous demeanor, his eyebrow and lip are both pierced. 

You double check his assumption by holding the cup up so you can see the name written on the plastic. Low and behold, rather than seeing your name in black ink, it’s presumably his.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah,” he affirms.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.” Guilt swarms your system over the mistake. “It’s the same color as my drink and I was in too much of a hurry to check.”

“It’s alright.” 

He shrugs as though a complete stranger didn’t just steal his morning beverage. 

“Here, let me buy you a new one,” you propose.

“No, no, that’s not necessary.” His eyes search the surrounding area before lighting up. He takes the drink from your outstretched hand and pulls the straw out so he can slip a clean one in. “Good as new.”

“Are you sure?” 

Embarrassment and regret still eat away at your stomach because you know how upset you would be in this situation, but Jungkook merely shakes his head with a casual shrug.

A second drink is placed on the counter and he grabs it to check the name. Once he decodes the scribbled handwriting, a soft smile breaks out across his face.

“Y/N?” You answer with a succinct nod. He hands the latte to you while bowing his head, followed by a barely audible chuckle. After returning the gesture, you accept the cup from him and take a sip. Your content hum is evidence enough that it is, in fact, your favorite beverage this time. “See? No sweat.”

You’re thankful for his gracious attitude on this already hectic morning and wave goodbye before traversing through the crowd to reach the door. 

The autumn breeze whips at your face upon exiting the cafe and you curl your jacket tighter around your torso in response. It might’ve been smart to order a hot drink instead, but if you’re going to survive exams, one of your holy grail items is a must. 

Your brief encounter is quickly forgotten when you check the time and realize you need to rush across campus. It doesn’t help that the watch incessantly ticking on your wrist reminds you just how little time you have. When the lecture hall comes into view, it’s just as the hour hand is finishing its lap. Wind blows into the building as you enter through the large door and hurry to find a seat before the professor notices. Your latte is slightly watered down from the ice melting on your way here, but it’s still flavorful enough to satiate you. 

Three classes and two practicums later, you finally find yourself unlocking your apartment door. The sun is long gone by the time you arrive home, so you flip the light switch up before removing your boots and coat.

Your dog Holly ecstatically greets you after rising from the couch. The adorable poodle wags his little tail while patiently waiting for you to pet him and you gladly appease him by scratching behind his floppy ears. 

“Hi baby,” you coo. 

The sound of his little paws follows you all the way into the kitchen so you can feed him. He begins scarfing the kibble down as soon as it hits his bowl and the familiar behavior warms you up inside. You then microwave some leftovers for yourself and eat the food over the sink. Your table is always a sole occupancy, so there’s no point in dirtying it if you don’t need to. 

The dishes call your name as you’re munching on dinner so you load the dishwasher once you’re done. It’s the same, mundane routine of your day-to-day life, including rewatching your favorite shows until the clock strikes ten. It’s a couple hours early for Cinderella, but your midterms aren’t going to study for themselves.

Your fellow students are probably partaking in “thirsty Thursday” by going out to the bars downtown, but you prefer the company of Holly to anyone else. Besides, you’re in the homestretch of acquiring your degree and don’t want to waste time on cheap beer and shitty music.

Coincidentally, the kitchen table becomes your bed for the evening after falling asleep with your head in a book a couple hours into studying. 

You’ve grown accustomed to vigorous graduate classes and assignments sucking up all your time and energy, but you don’t mind because you’ll finally be a psychologist when you finish. A longstanding dream you inherited along with Holly. 

When morning comes, you retrace your steps from yesterday straight to the coffee shop. You’re planning on spending the day in one of their cozy booths to study for your first exam on Monday. Setting up shop in a back corner with your laptop and books, you wait patiently for your drink to be delivered by a barista. You opt for a soul-soothing hot chocolate this time, heavy on the whipped cream. 

Studying goes about as well as one would expect, but you pull your nose out of the books after a few hours to order an iced chai latte as an afternoon pick-me-up. 

While waiting in line, you feel a delicate tap on your shoulder and look behind you to find a tattooed hand hovering just above your back. You follow the limb until your eyes reach his face and immediately recognize him from yesterday. 

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Hi, do you need something?” 

“No.”

Confusion crosses your face.

“Then why’d you tap my shoulder?”

“Oh, I just wanted to say hi,” he explains.

The concept of saying hi to perfect strangers is foreign to you. It didn’t used to be, but you tend to keep to yourself nowadays. 

“Well, uh, hi,” you respond. 

A beat passes and you assume the interaction is over until he pipes up again.

“How are your exams going?”

“They’re going fine,” you answer cordially.

“What about you? Oh, mine are going well, thanks for asking.” An incredulous expression appears when you hear his sarcastic impression of you. Not because it’s insulting, but because you certainly don’t know one another well enough for that type of rhetoric. When he realizes he offended you, his hands shoot up in surrender. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just trying to make you laugh.”

His obviously well meaning efforts are sweet, but you don’t want to waste time explaining why he’ll never be successful. 

“It’s alright,” you assure him.

Once you turn back around towards the baristas, the brief conversation ends and you don’t see him again. At least, you don’t see him again that day. Similar to discovering a new word and suddenly noticing it everywhere, this Jungkook guy magically begins popping up around every corner. Whether at the coffee shop, cafeteria, library, or between classes, his face quickly becomes a familiar sight. 

He’s never not smiling when you encounter him and he often waves at you if your eyes meet. His niceties go unreciprocated, your usual response being a curt bow before scurrying away. Which means you miss the way his cheerful face falls every time you ignore his kind gestures. 

You don’t rebuff him out of malice, you just aren’t used to the behavior and are unsure what to make of it. It’s a mystery to you why he’s so keen to get your attention in the first place. 

The one-sided exchanges persist for a couple weeks before you finally confront him to quell your curiosity. 

It’s quiet today at your favorite morning spot, but like clockwork, Jungkook is there at the same time as you. Once you see him settle into a booth with his coffee, you stroll over with your own in hand. His eyes light up before you even reach the table and it sounds off all the alarm bells in your head. You no longer enjoy having anyone’s attention on you and you feel guilty seeing his face of excitement when you’re unable to share the sentiment. 

“Hey, Y/N!”

You momentarily panic when he says your name before remembering he learned it by reading your coffee cup during your initial encounter. 

“Hi,” you anxiously greet him. “May I sit?” 

He nods and eagerly points to the seat across from him. 

“It’s nice to see you,” he states.

“Well, we see each other all the time, which is actually why I’m here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t understand why you always wave at me and stuff.”

Jungkook chuckles, but the sound is laced with confusion. 

“Uh, isn’t that what people do?”

“Sure, people who know each other,” you retort.

“I mean, I guess, but why not bring a smile to someone’s face whenever you can, you know?” 

Kindness seems to naturally ooze from Jungkook’s veins. Throughout every interaction he’s been nothing but considerate and gentle. It’s sweet, but you worry what his true intentions are.

“Is that really why you do it?” Your question seems to catch him off guard and he licks his lips while debating on the right answer. When he slowly shakes his head after a second, you probe him further. “Then why?”

His eyes shut and he takes a deep breath.

“I do it because you’re really cute and I want you to notice me,” he confesses. “In fact, I was working up the courage to talk to you that morning, but you forced my hand when you stole my coffee.”

His admission sends shivers of terror down your spine. Honestly, you’d be less fearful if he admitted he’s scoping you out to be his next murder victim. It’s been ages since anyone has shown you romantic interest or affection and you plan on keeping it that way. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not looking for a relationship,” you tell him. 

“Are you already in one?” 

You shake your head.

“I don’t do relationships.”

Jungkook frowns as his eyebrows pinch in confusion. 

“What does that mean?” It would take a lifetime to explain the convoluted inner workings of your mind, so you elect to keep it all buried. Jungkook makes a face of realization that you won’t be opening up to him anytime soon and switches gears. “Do you do friendships?”

You allow the idea to roll around in your head for a minute. There’s certainly not a lack of friendship in your life, although none of your close friends live near campus anymore since you’re the only one still pursuing academia. Nonetheless, his self-proclaimed interest in you muddies the water too much for you to consider it a good idea. 

“I do, but not with someone who wants to date me,” you respond. 

“That makes sense,” he regretfully admits. 

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t ever apologize for that. I’m sorry if I pushed any boundaries.” He sends you a customer service smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll leave you alone from now on, Y/N.”

Something about his statement uncomfortably tickles the muscle in your chest. It’s going to be weird not seeing his grin all over campus. 

“You don’t have to avoid me or anything like that. I was just curious, that's all.”

He nods in understanding and you take it as your cue to leave him be. With a small wave of your hand and a subsequent bow of his head, you bid each other goodbye. 

His fleeting presence in your life disappears for a while and you eventually forget about the period of time when you had a benign stalker. You’re sure Jungkook is a great friend, but you also know how men think and it’s better to err on the side of caution. It’s dangerous to spend time together when attraction is involved since most men assume it’ll make you fall for them. Which would never be the case for you and it isn’t your intention to lead anyone on. 

About three quarters into the fall semester, you unexpectedly see him again.

You voluntarily tutor undergraduate students at the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays. There’s a decent amount of fellow graduates who do the same, but no one interacts much since you’re usually busy with your pupils. All that changes when someone rests their backpack on the seat beside you. When you glance up to find the perpetrator, you notice the tattoo sleeve which used to follow you around. 

Jungkook warmly smiles before sitting down in the very seat his bag was a moment ago. He scoots the chair in and rests his elbows on the table, tucking his hands beneath his chin as he looks at you.

“Long time no see,” he greets you.

“Yeah, hi,” you reply. “You’re not… you’re not an undergrad, are you?”

“Oh, no.” He opens his bag to retrieve his laptop. “I’m here as a tutor.”

“Really? I’ve never seen you here before,” you state.

Jungkook nods while typing the password into his machine.

“Right, right. That’s because I’m doing this for extra credit.”

“Ah.”

His eyes flit to you again, his smile never diminishing. 

“Is this alright? I don’t want to bug you or make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him. His welcoming nature appears to be rubbing off on you because you find yourself wanting to continue the conversation. It’s been a very long time since you’ve become friends or even acquaintances with someone new, but something about Jungkook makes you want to try. “What’s your major?”

Jungkook’s eyes open wide from the pleasant surprise. 

“Me? Biology,” he answers. “What about you?”

“Psychology.”

“Well, look at that. We’re practically school twins or siblings, at best.”

You’re aware his comment is supposed to make you laugh or at least break a smile, but it’s all for nought. Unfortunately, his attempts at warming you up will always end in failure.

“Seems so,” you respond. 

His lips twitch downward when you remain unfazed, but he recovers quickly and jumps into asking you about your classes.

You talk for a while until the students arrive and you have to focus on helping them. As it turns out, Jungkook’s a great tutor despite only doing it out of necessity. He’s patient and considerate of the younger students asking for his assistance and they seem to enjoy his company. Witnessing his interactions all night makes you wonder if you made the right choice turning down his offer of friendship some weeks ago. You could use a little positivity in your life and although he mentioned finding you cute, he’s never pushed a boundary or crossed any lines. 

It becomes somewhat of a routine to sit together while tutoring and once the leaves begin falling from the trees and the sun starts setting earlier, he offers to walk you home afterwards.

His offer is rejected thrice before you finally give in because it’s pitch black outside by the time you’re leaving the library. He doesn’t make a big deal out of your concession, which you appreciate more than he knows. Opening up to someone new is difficult for you and you’ll never be able to thank him enough for being so understanding. 

He holds the large, glass door open for you and you thank him while crossing the threshold into the cold, winter night. Following close behind, Jungkook shivers from the harsh air nipping at his skin before catching up with you so he can stroll by your side towards the off-campus apartment building you call home. Besides the sound of crunching leaves beneath your feet, it’s comfortingly quiet until he breaks the silence by clearing his throat. 

“So, can I, uh, ask you something?”

The semester is coming to a close soon, meaning your initial meeting was almost four months ago and you’ve spent the last six weeks consistently spending time together twice a week. You suppose after this long of being acquaintances, you owe him that much. 

“Sure,” you agree.

Jungkook licks his lips and nods assuredly to hype himself up.

“Why don’t you do relationships?” He halts almost the very second the words leave his mouth. “I’m not asking because I’m trying to get with you. I’m just curious, I swear.”

“It’s okay, Jungkook.” A smile appears when you say his name. “I used to, but I prefer being alone nowadays.” 

“Do you ever see that changing?”

“No,” you reply automatically.

“Did someone… hurt you or — I’m sorry, that’s so invasive.”

He shakes his head back and forth like he’s scolding himself for trying to dig too deep. 

“No, quite the opposite, actually,” you answer anyway.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in evident surprise at your nugget of truth. It’s the first bit of information you’ve shared with him regarding something other than school, interests, or hobbies. The gears in his brain appear to be turning before he speaks again.  

“Can I make you a proposition?” You gesture with your hand for him to continue. “What if I could change your mind? Not about the romantic aspect, but about being alone. I truly don’t believe anyone prefers being alone and if you’re willing to let me try, I think I can prove it to you.”

You catch your lip between your teeth as his words permeate your mind. 

“Are you sure this isn’t your roundabout way of trying to convince me I should date you?” 

“No, absolutely not,” he firmly replies.

The familiar brick building is approaching fast and you're thankful your walk is coming to an end because you need time alone with your thoughts before giving him an answer. It sounds enticing and you could definitely use a heavy push into the land of the living, but you’re terrified of letting anyone into your life. 

Upon reaching the door to your apartment complex, you turn towards him to respond. 

“Can I think about it?” Jungkook rapidly nods and the goofy action almost makes you grin. “Okay. Well, thank you for walking me home.”

“Anytime.” 

He bows like a prince, twirling his hand in the air until it reaches his navel before bending over ninety degrees. It still isn’t enough to pull a smile from you, but he’s definitely getting warmer. 

Once inside, Holly enthusiastically greets you and you give him his well earned belly rubs before settling in for the night. 

Jungkook’s question lingers in your thoughts even once your head hits the pillow. It’s been a long time since someone’s shown genuine interest in you so it’s hard not being suspicious of his motives. Nevertheless, a friend is something you could really use right now and by sunrise the following morning, your mind is made up and you agree to his proposal the next time you see him in the library. 

Your now official friendship begins with a train ride. The holidays are fast approaching, as are exams, and Jungkook suggests heading to a town not far from the university with outdoor food and shopping stalls. It’s been forever since you last took a day trip anywhere, so you let him buy you both a train ticket and off you go. 

As you step foot on the locomotive, the first thing you notice is how many other passengers there are. The sight of the crowded train car makes your eyes go wide and your nerves light up, but Jungkook is quick to assimilate and offers you his hand with a gentle smile. After a moment of intense deliberation, you place your palm over his so he can lead you both to a pair of seats near the back. Neither of you speak at first, more resigned to gazing out the window as the lightly snow-covered trees fly by. Your ever yapping neighbor is, of course, the one to break the silence.

“Do you normally celebrate Christmas?” He asks. 

“Once upon a time.” He’s looking at you expectantly to elaborate, so you oblige him. “I was raised Christian, but I haven’t been feeling so cheerful these last few years.”

Jungkook nods in understanding. 

“What were you like before?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, obviously something happened, right?” Although the question causes your anxiety to skyrocket, you subtly nod. “So I’m wondering what your personality was like before whatever happened, happened.”

The question completely catches you off guard, but you suppose it’s fair enough to ask. He is the first person to take interest in you since everything changed. Since you changed.

“I was really sarcastic,” you start. “Like you couldn’t have a serious conversation with me unless you clarified first. And I laughed like a hyena most of the time.” A kaleidoscope of memories swirls in your mind, but they’re all devoid of color. “I was adventurous, passionate, and fairly melodramatic.”

Jungkook is staring at you as though you’re the most priceless work of art in an award-winning museum. He’s smiling softly as you describe the ghost of the girl you once were and his demeanour spikes your curiosity as to what’s running through his head. 

“I would really love to meet her one day,” he states. 

Your eyes involuntarily turn glassy.

“Me, too,” you whisper. 

“Not that I don’t enjoy who you are today,” he clarifies. “I think you’re great, Y/N.”

His response is confusing because in your mind, you’ve been closed off and dull since the moment you met him. You’re genuinely unsure what he enjoys about your company, but you don’t question him about it because you’re slightly scared of his answer. Instead, you listen to him ramble about the different types of biodiversity passing by the train.

Upon your arrival to the quaint town, you and Jungkook immediately head out on a mission to find lunch. His stomach’s been rumbling since halfway through the train ride and you’re not much better off. 

Stall after stall lines the street and fills the air with the most delicious smells, giving you a multitude of flavors to choose from. You decide on a tteokbokki stand and Jungkook graciously offers to pay while you collect the food on the opposite end of the booth. The pair of you find a spot near an electric heater underneath the large tent to eat. 

Jungkook dives right in while you’re still holding a piece between your chopsticks and blowing to cool it down. He looks absurdly uncomfortable as he attempts to swallow the scorching food, his mouth moving in odd shapes to avoid burning his tongue. You don’t realize his actions bring a small smile to your face until you see his own expression. He successfully digested the rice cake, but his mouth is still slightly agape as he stares with wide, starry eyes.

“What?” You ask after taking a bite. 

“That… that was the first time I’ve seen you smile,” he notes.

Have you really not smiled in four months? It’s not necessarily all that surprising, but you’re shocked he noticed when you yourself didn’t. 

“Oh.”

He panics a bit over seeing your face fall. 

“It’s not a bad thing,” he blurts out. “It’s a really, really good thing.” His eyes soften when he smiles at you. “You have a lovely smile, Y/N.”

Hopefully the cold air already turning you pink covers up the blush now tainting your cheeks because of his compliment.

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

You wish you were courageous enough to compliment him in return; to explain in detail how truly thankful you are for his endless kindness, but the meal continues in your normal, comfortable quiet. 

It’s strange how quickly Jungkook snuck up on you to become a staple in your life. Originally, he was merely a stranger you crossed paths with around campus, but now you’re on an adventure together. Seeing him twice a week is suddenly mundane and you know you’ll miss the routine when it ends. Despite your initial hesitation, he’s proven his intentions are nothing but genuine. His only goal seems to be returning the light to your eyes and for the first time, you wonder if he’s accomplishing it.

After devouring lunch you and Jungkook venture towards the shopping stalls to buy gifts for your loved ones. Your list only consists of your parents and a couple friends, whereas his is rather lengthy, but you’ll search for something for Holly, too.

Thankfully, the long street is devoid of enough people that you can walk side-by-side while perusing the trinkets. You make mindless conversation between booths and every so often you’ll pause when one of you notices something, but no purchases have been made yet.

“Are you into jewelry?" Jungkook asks while bending over to admire a gold necklace.

“Not necessarily,” you respond. 

“Oh, I just noticed you always wear that diamond ring on your right hand,” he comments.

Your eyes automatically tilt down to survey your hand. The item in question sits on your right ring finger, a solid gold band with a single round diamond. The gemstone is just under a carat, but its petite size is vastly disproportionate to how important it is to you. 

“Right. It was a gift, but other than earrings or the occasional necklace, I don’t wear much,” you explain.

He hums in response before moving on to the next booth. 

When you stumble onto a shop featuring dog toys and treats, you eagerly enter their tent to look around. Jungkook seems surprised, but follows behind you throughout your search.

“Do you have a dog?”

“Mmhm.” You grab an adorable Santa collar and examine it. “His name’s Holly.”

“His?”

“I didn’t name him,” you reply, fairly used to people questioning the choice.

“Oh, is he your family dog or something?” Jungkook asks.  

He’s fiddling with a chew toy, but promptly returns it after squeezing too hard and causing a loud squeak.

His question unintentionally stops you in your tracks. Not only because you’re unsure how to tactfully avoid telling him the truth, but because of whose face flashes across your mind. 

“No.”

You don’t elaborate further, but he seemingly takes the hint since he doesn’t ask any follow up questions.

About an hour and $100 later, you both have a couple gifts to bring home. You’re pursuing a rumor about dessert trucks being parked in the town square when he hands you one of his many bags. Your eyes widen and you shoot him a questioning glance, so he explains.

“It’s for you.”

“What? But I didn’t get you anything.”

“I didn’t do it for something in return,” he tells you. “I’m supposed to be proving to you that being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, remember?”

Although reluctantly, you take the bag from him and pause your footsteps to open the gift. Once the tissue paper is out of the way, you see what looks to be a tall cup. Gently pulling the item out, you find your assumption was correct and Jungkook bought you a white, shimmery tumbler. 

“Figured you could help the environment by getting your iced chai in this from now on.”

Your mind spirals with emotions previously dormant for years and the only way you can think to express them is by yanking him by his shoulder for a hug. His body goes stiff, clearly not expecting the display of affection, but a mere moment passes before he gladly welcomes it. He tentatively places his hands on your back to reciprocate the embrace and you nod against his shoulder to encourage him. With your assurance, he tightly wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, afraid that speaking too loud will reveal something you don’t want him to see.

“You’re welcome,” he replies at the same volume. 

When you separate after a poignant moment, Jungkook is smiling like a lottery winner and although it’s not nearly as bright, you mirror his expression. 

The dessert rumor turns out to be true and after snagging some sweet treats, you board the train heading back home. It’s too dark to admire the forestry outside, so you find yourself twirling the cup in your hands and observing the white sparkles catching the light. 

“Why white?” 

Jungkook turns his attention away from his phone back to you at the sound of your voice. When he registers your question, his ears go red.

“Oh.” He ruffles the hair just above his nape. “Don’t get mad, okay? You… well, whenever I see you, I always think you… I think you look like an angel.” The truth paints his face to match the tips of his ears. “So, when I saw the white, I thought of you.”

“An angel?” 

The comparison turns your eyes into massive saucers.

“Mmhm. Sometimes I find myself almost calling you it by accident. I’m not sure why, I’ve just always felt that way.”

It feels like another lifetime the last time someone had a nickname for you, which could be the reason you respond as you do.

“You can call me that if you’d like,” you tell him. 

His eyes match yours in size as he surveys your face for any doubt.

“Are you sure?”

When you nod your head in reassurance, he sighs in relief.

“Thank god, I was so worried it would slip out one day and you’d hate me,” he confesses.

“I could never hate you, Jungkook.”

“Me either, angel.”

An unintentional hum leaves you at the initial usage of the name and surprisingly, you don’t mind the sound of it rolling off his tongue. 

Jungkook walks you home from the train station and you make idle chit-chat along the way. It feels odd parting after spending more than half the day together, but once you reach your door, you wave him goodbye from your stoop while he walks backwards away from you. 

“Goodnight, angel!” He calls out to you.

“Night.”

You worry about him hearing your quiet reply, but the massive grin on his face tells you differently.

The next time you see him is the following Tuesday for tutoring, after which he asks if you want to grab ramyeon near campus. One meal turns into two until it’s eventually an unspoken agreement that you’ll hang out a couple times a week. Other than eating dinner together you go to the movies, visit museums, and even see the holiday zoo lights one Saturday evening.

Spending time with Jungkook is effortless and much to both your surprise, every new outing brings a wider smile to your face. He’s yet to hear you laugh, but after months of dutiful effort, he finally succeeds when you go roller skating. 

You’re busy lacing up your skates while Jungkook is already proudly standing on four wheels. He looks supremely confident in his balancing abilities, even going so far as to place his hands on his hips like Superman to show off.

Just as you’re putting on your second skate, you catch movement in your periphery. 

A flash of color swipes across your vision before you hear a loud thud. Your hand instinctually covers your mouth in shock as you take in the sight of Jungkook on the floor, his legs straight out with a frustrated expression on his face. A cackle escapes before you can stop the sound and soon enough you’re laughing into your palm. 

Jungkook’s irritated features disappear in an instant upon realizing what he’s hearing and his eyes light up while turning into huge pools of chocolate. 

“Ah!” He shouts with his arms straight up in the air. “I did it!” 

The laughter still rumbling through your chest prevents you from fully appreciating his reaction. 

“Wow, it’s been a long time since anything’s made me laugh that hard,” you sigh. 

He stands up with a groan and sits across from you in the booth. 

“Angel, I will literally eat shit every time we’re together if that’s what it takes to make you laugh,” he unironically declares.

Although you appreciate the thought, you beg him to find other avenues of achieving the same goal. 

Once Jungkook’s bruised ego and butt are both feeling better, you roll into the rink together. It’s been close to a decade since you last skated, but you’re still pretty graceful, if you do say so yourself. You leisurely skate around the large oval talking about everything and nothing, but mostly discuss your exams starting on Monday. 

“What are your plans for winter break?” Jungkook asks. 

“Nothing much, just hanging out with Holly. I’ll go see my family on Christmas day most likely.”

“Do they live far?”

“Busan,” you answer. 

Jungkook nearly bites it again when he stops short. 

“You’re from Busan?” You nod. “Angel, I’m from Busan.”

“You are?” 

“Holy shit, this is awesome. Wait, do you wanna drive home together?”

It’s your turn to stop abruptly, although you grab the wall to slow yourself down. As much as you appreciate his offer, you can’t accept it.

“I would, Jungkook, but I have to stop somewhere on the way and wouldn’t want to impose,” you explain.

“Where to?”

You start skating again to distract yourself from who comes to mind because of his question.

“Daegu.”

“Oh, you go there like once a month, right? Is it to visit family?” 

No matter how close you and Jungkook have become, you still aren’t ready to crack open that particular can of worms. 

“About as close as one could get,” you reply.

“Well, I’m going to miss you, angel,” he tells you. 

Despite how scary it is, you want to admit you feel the same. You wish you could tell him his presence in your life is expected at this point and you worry what a couple weeks apart will feel like. Alas, your voice isn’t strong enough for that hefty of a confession. 

“I’m sure the time will fly by,” you say instead.

You roller skate through a few more eighties hits before returning to regular footwear and grabbing some food on the opposite end of the building. 

That’s the last time you hangout before exams season prevents you from seeing one another, but you invite him over once the rigorous tests are behind you. 

Jungkook always chooses the activities you do together, so you figure it’s high time for a home cooked meal at your place. It’s the least you can do when you’ve known each other for five months and he’s spent all of them being the most amazing friend imaginable, even throughout the period of time when you rebuffed him. 

He shows up precisely on time with a bottle of wine in hand. Dinner is nearly ready so you turn the oven off and scurry over to the door with Holly hot on your tail. As soon as the door opens, your little poodle goes absolutely bananas and jumps up on his hind legs. It’s been years since he’s seen anyone but you, so you suppose his excited reaction is warranted. 

“Hi, buddy!” Jungkook coos while bending to his level. 

Holly doesn’t stop ecstatically jumping even when Jungkook gives him his full, undivided attention. The pooch even has the audacity to roll over onto his back for belly rubs. Jungkook happily appeases him and while he’s busy scratching his furry tummy, he looks up at you.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hi,” you greet him with a warm smile as you admire him and your beloved dog.

When Jungkook rubs underneath Holly’s chin, he notices his collar.

“Min? That’s not your last name,” he notes.

“No, it’s his dad’s.” You reply purely on instinct, but immediately clench your teeth in regret. Jungkook glances up with a furrowed brow and you completely avoid his questioning eyes by hiding in the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready if you’re…”

Your sentence trails off when Jungkook delicately grabs your wrist to stop you from transporting the food to the table.

“Angel,” he quietly says. Tears are swimming in your eyes and threatening to fall any second, so you keep your head down. “Angel, look at me.” 

“Jungkook —”

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” The only response you can muster is a weak nod. “I’m here, Y/N.”

“I know,” you whisper. “It isn’t that I don’t want to tell you, I just… can’t.”

“Well, whenever you’re ready, you just let me know, alright? I’ll listen even if it’s three in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook knows you well enough now to understand when to drop a topic, so he steals the plates off the counter and brings them to the table himself. You spend a solitary moment settling your heartbeat before wiping the couple of stray tears away and following him. 

Dinner is thankfully innocuous as your usual, mellow conversations flow freely between you. Afterwards, you give Jungkook a brief tour ending in your living room so you can sit side-by-side on the couch with a Christmas movie on in the background.

Halfway through the film Jungkook seizes the opportunity of a quiet moment to shift the night back into dangerous territory. 

“Can I ask you something, angel?”

There’s normally a weighted question following a statement like that, but the small glass of wine you drank during dinner keeps your anxiety in check.

“Of course,” you respond.

Jungkook adjusts so he’s facing you and reaches for your hand. You recoil at first, but he simply leaves his palm up, allowing you to take the lead. Everything about him is so welcoming that it feels completely natural when you place your hand face down atop his own. Once you do, he grins and squeezes your digits in an unfamiliar rhythm.

“Has it been working? Am I any closer to reaching my goal?”

He’s referring to the proposition he gave you about a month ago and although you haven’t thought much of it since that night, there’s no doubt he’s proven you wrong about being alone.

“You are, Jungkook. I still enjoy time spent with just me, myself, and I, but I definitely don’t mind cutting into it to hang out with you,” you answer.

His smile is utterly breathtaking when he hears your response.

“That’s so wonderful, angel.” There’s a momentary pause before Jungkook squeezes your hand again. “There’s something else I want to ask. It’s more of a request, actually.”

“What is it?”

“I promise, when I first asked you about spending time together, I truly meant it when I said I wasn’t trying to convince you to date me. But I also couldn’t help… falling for you. And you can correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you might feel the same, even if just a little bit. So, if you’ll let me, I’d like to wait for you.”

“Wait for me?”

Jungkook repeatedly nods, nervousness evident in his every movement and expression.

“I know there are things in your past you aren’t ready to talk about. Things that are holding you back, but I’m willing to wait for you to overcome them if it means we can be together.” You want to both metaphorically and physically run and hide. Your anxiety is spiking despite the alcohol lowering your inhibitions because you’re downright terrified of the words leaving Jungkook’s mouth. He notices your negative reaction and grips your hand tighter. “Please, angel.”

“Jungkook,” you plead as your voice breaks, although you aren’t sure what exactly you’re asking for.

“I know it’s scary, and I swear I’m not saying this to pressure you. I just care about you so much and I’m certain we could have something beautiful one day,” he states.

Your head is spinning, making it difficult to even think clearly enough to push a reply past your lips.

“I’m broken, Jungkook. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Yes, I do.” His voice sounds firm for the first time since you met. “I know you, Y/N, and I still want you. I want you more than anything.” He steals your other hand. “I’m not going anywhere, angel.”

“It isn’t always up to you,” you croak. 

There are silent tears wetting your cheeks, but Jungkook releases one of your hands to brush them away.

“All I want is to stay by your side, and if one day my feelings are reciprocated, then great. But if not, I’ll still want to be beside you.”

You’re clutching his hands like a lifeline as various, tumultuous emotions overwhelm your senses. The idea of finding love again is a completely foreign notion to you. Something you didn’t expect in a million years, but now it’s knocking on your door and you don’t know if you’re ready to answer it. You do care about Jungkook. There isn’t a doubt about that anywhere in your body, but terror and dread still haunt every corner of your mind. 

“I… I want that, too,” you confess, both to him and yourself. “But I can’t promise you anything, Jungkook. I don’t know if or when I’ll be ready.”

He smiles encouragingly and lifts your hands up to his lips. After giving them a tender, prolonged kiss, he rests your intertwined fingers against his heart.

“That’s more than alright with me,” he assures you. 

Jungkook grants you reprieve by leaving the subject alone and moving on to discuss the movie still playing on your tv. 

That emotional conversation is one of your last before winter break forces you to say goodbye until the new year. When the first Tuesday rolls around and you don’t see him like usual, it pushes against something in your chest you’re too scared to identify. Time seems to move like molasses and you find yourself counting down the days until spring semester. 

Missing him as much as you do is frightening because you never meant for him to become such a huge part of your life. But no matter how much fear you feel, you’ll never regret befriending him. He makes you smile and laugh when you truly thought you never would again. He’s brought color back into your world, even if it’s still pastel. You hope the courage to vocalize your inner thoughts to him is somewhere within you, but until you locate it, they’ll remain under lock and key. 

You reunite two days into the new semester after returning to campus following the holidays. It’s an accidental encounter brought on by you crossing paths while heading to separate lecture halls. Jungkook notices you first and your attention is pulled away from your phone by a call of your nickname.

“Angel!” By the time you locate the source, Jungkook is already jogging to you. His smile is infectious and you subconsciously return the expression as he sweeps you into his arms. “Oh, I missed you so much.”

He’s so warm you wonder if he’s exclusively powered by pure sunshine. His familiar embrace is nothing but comforting and you curl your arms around his neck to reciprocate the affection. Once Jungkook realizes you’re alright with the contact, he tugs you closer until your heels lift from the ground

“It was weird not seeing you,” you reply and hope he understands it’s your subtle way of admitting you missed him, too.

It seems like he does because he hums in agreement before resting his chin on your shoulder. When you eventually part, he automatically gives you space, but still matches your gait while walking with you to class.

“What are you doing this Saturday?” Your brain freezes and so do your feet, causing Jungkook to accidentally ram into your shoulder when you halt without warning. “Y/N?”

“I can’t,” you state harsher than you prefer. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t pry into your adverse reaction and tentatively follows your lead when you start moving. Neither of you speak again and upon reaching your destination, you bid him a curt goodbye and rush inside. 

Your less than friendly encounter leaves you feeling guilty, but this is unequivocally the worst time of year for you. All you can do is hope he understands the shift in your behavior without asking too many questions.

Saturday comes without you seeing Jungkook again, although you text back and forth a bit as you did over break. You aren’t avoiding him, it’s just that you took the second half of the week off and stayed locked in your apartment with Holly in preparation for today. 

As you have for the past two years, you pack a small lunch after feeding Holly and gather a couple essentials for the long drive. You’ll be traveling for just over an hour to the familiar beach, giving you plenty of time to mentally fortify yourself. The destination is one you once adored, and you suppose you still do, but it’s become just another crumbling pillar of your old life. A haunting reminder of the woman you used to be and the person who once walked beside you along the shoreline. 

It’s no surprise the beach is completely empty when you arrive, since it’s the middle of January and most people don’t enjoy cold or frozen water. 

You place a large blanket near the edge of the ocean since it can’t reach you in its icy state. Once you’re comfortably sitting, you start sipping on the hot chocolate you bought from a nearby cafe. Pulling your knees to your chest, you gaze out at the vast ocean ahead and allow your whirlwind of emotions to slowly settle. 

This day and place always brings you immense pain and sorrow, but bittersweet nostalgia and unwavering love are present, too, albeit more buried within your heart than the negative feelings. 

About an hour later, you hear a twig snap somewhere behind you and your body tenses, but your intuition tells you there’s no need to glance over your shoulder. The presence walking towards you is so vibrant it can be felt a mile away. 

Jungkook quietly sits beside you and mirrors you by pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. Neither of you speak for quite some time; accompanied by only the sound of the wind and your steady breathing. After pondering your limited amount of options for a while, you finally greet him.

“How’d you find me?”

He clears his throat and uses his foot to mindlessly play with the sand.

“Saw an article in the university newspaper about today being the third anniversary of an alumni’s death.” His breathing shakes when he inhales deeply. “It mentioned him being survived by his parents… and his girlfriend.” It’s been so long since someone’s referred to you as such, but you nod in understanding. “Angel, I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“Yes, there is. Y/N, I can’t even imagine what you went through; what you’re going through.”

“No, you can’t.”

Jungkook sighs and readjusts so he’s facing you. 

“Is it alright if I stay here with you? We don’t have to talk, I just want to support you in any way I can, angel.”

Jungkook’s very existence brings you peace and tranquility you never imagined would exist in your world again, so you allow that serenity to speak for you and ask him a question you’ve previously been terrified to say aloud. 

“Can I tell you about him?”

Oh no, I’m falling in love again.

Eight years ago…

You absolutely adore libraries; any library, really, but especially the gorgeous one which resides at the center of your university. The large, circular building is packed with thousands of books spanning from Fantasy to History Bibliographies and everything in between. Ever since your undergraduate career began you’ve been coming here religiously to study or discover a new read. 

The only gripe you have is how tall the bookshelves are. It certainly looks beautiful with the seemingly endless, grand shelves reaching towards the sky, but it’s impractical for vertically challenged individuals such as yourself. 

Which is why you’re currently on your tip-toes stretching as far as your arm allows to reach a memoir on the top shelf. Quiet grunts are leaving you from the effort of snagging just the bottom corner of the book. You promise to give up after one last push and even jump for your feeble final attempt. 

A mere moment before your motivation wanes, someone’s hand enters your vision and steals the book from its home. You huff in defeat and fall back onto your heels. Turning towards the mysterious limb, you see a man beside you holding the item in question.

The best descriptor for him would be kind looking. His black hair is long and he has cat-like, dark brown eyes which are accompanied by plush lips and a button nose. His handsome features are striking and you can’t resist taking time to admire him before indulging in conversation.

“In Order to Live by Yeonmi Park?” 

His voice is beautifully deep, but smooth and warm. 

“Mmhm,” you reply. 

“What’s it about?”

An involuntary smile breaks out across your face because it’s hard not feeling giddy when a gorgeous stranger takes interest in you.

“What’s it to you? You think just because you got to it first that you can nab it from me?”

He chuckles and places the book in the crook of your arm.

“I was just trying to flirt with you, but please, it’s all yours.”

You latch onto his arm before he can fully turn around.

“Wait! I was trying to flirt, too. I’m just bad at it,” you explain. 

There’s a sexy, satisfied smirk on his lips when he faces you again before he crosses his arms and leans against the bookshelf. 

“Actually, you’re pretty good at it. But so am I, and I like a little game of cat and mouse,” he states.

“Whose who?” 

He licks his lips hungrily while his eyes survey your features.

“I’m Yoongi,” he tells you.

“Y/N.”

“Undergrad?” You nod. “I’m a master’s student, a TA, actually. What’s your major?”

“Communications.” He raises a single eyebrow and you roll your eyes. “I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet, alright?”

He chuckles again and gestures with his head towards the book.

“Is that why you’re reading a memoir written by a North Korean woman? You gonna communicate your way to unification or something?”

The comment makes you laugh, but his evident knowledge about the premise of the book intrigues you. 

“No, but I could if I wanted to,” you retort.

“No doubt about it. That pretty face of yours will get you far enough as is.”

His confident demeanor encourages you to match his energy and you step forward while mirroring his stance until you’re only inches apart.

“And how far will it get me with you?”

He smiles with his teeth, and although he’s been alluring up to this point, he looks nothing but endearing when he beams at you. 

“About as far as the steakhouse on Main Street. Dinner? Maybe tonight?”

You nearly drop the cool-girl act in favor of jumping up and down in pure excitement. He’s stupidly good looking, can obviously keep up with you, and older, too. Romance isn’t necessarily on the books for this semester, but you’re not going to say no when it’s right in front of you looking good enough to eat. 

“I’d love to,” you answer.

An exchanging of numbers occurs and you agree on a time before parting ways, but the interaction lingers in your mind all afternoon. You can’t even focus on reading your new book because all you can think about is his saccharine smile and melodious voice. 

You get ready hours before you truly need to because you can’t contain your excitement enough to wait. It feels like when you would sleep with your clothes on the bed the night before a field trip as a kid. 

After a long shower where you shave away nearly every hair on your body besides your head, you lather yourself in lotion and perfume. You’re not one to sleep with someone on the first date, and you aren’t planning to tonight, but you enjoy the confidence it imbues you with.

A hype playlist plays from your phone speaker as you meticulously do your hair and makeup. It’s been a minute since you’ve dressed up and you’re proud of the final result when you glance in the mirror. Although, it takes approximately an hour to decide on an outfit. The steakhouse is definitely nice, but not over-the-top fancy. Eventually settling on a short dress that perfectly accentuates your ass, you give yourself a final once over before proudly nodding to your reflection. 

Yoongi rings your doorbell five minutes early and his punctuality almost makes you moan out loud. A man who doesn’t keep you waiting is simply to die for. 

When you first open the door, his face is obstructed by a bouquet of easter lilies and you gasp in awe, but your breath leaves your lungs entirely once he lowers the arrangement and you see his handsome face. He cleans up so well, with his shiny black hair perfectly styled to match his dapper attire and a faint blush on his cheeks. 

“For you,” he says while passing you the bouquet.

“You really know how to butter a girl up, don’t you?”

He smiles and the dusting of pink on his face darkens. 

“Well, I can’t have you be the only beautiful thing in your home, now can I?”

The flirtatious comment causes you to blush as well, but you ignore the heat and wave him inside so you can water the flowers. His eyes curiously observe your apartment while you’re busy arranging the lilies in a vase. Once you’re done, you proudly place them on your kitchen island. You join Yoongi in your living room and when he notices your presence, he shamelessly checks you out before catching your gaze. 

“Like what you see?”

His hand finds yours so he can pull you towards the exit. 

“Very, very much,” he responds. 

Although you’re merely exchanging pleasantries, the chemistry between you is palpable in the cramped space of the car and you take turns stealing glances throughout the short drive. 

Yoongi offers you his hand after opening the passenger door for you and you gladly take it so you can enter the restaurant together. The establishment isn’t terribly busy, but he called ahead anyway to ensure you didn’t have to wait. As the hostess steers you towards a table for two, he releases your hand to guide you by the small of your back instead. His stabilizing touch fires off neurons in your brain and creates goosebumps on your arms. After taking your seat, Yoongi pushes your chair in before finding his own across from you.

“Whaddaya think?” Yoongi asks as he hands you a menu. 

Surveying the restaurant, you nod in approval as your eyes flit around the room.

“I think it’s a great place for a first date,” you reply. Yoongi hums while sitting back in his chair. “Have you taken many other unsuspecting undergraduate girls here?”

He chuckles.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re so unsuspecting.”

A man who can keep up with your quick wit? You may be in love already.

“No. I’m pretty protective of my heart.”

“As am I,” he states.

“So you trust me?”

You both instinctively lean towards one another, the tension between you about to snap like a rubber band.

“I’d like to learn more about you so I can try.”

A smile graces your lips.

“Me, too,” you admit. “I didn’t ask you what your major is.”

“Psychology.” 

“What made you want to do that?”

Yoongi takes a sip of water before answering.

“I’ve just always wanted to help people, especially children. I volunteer at the hospital nearby on weekends teaching kids with autism how to play different instruments. I’d like to do something like that once I graduate,” he explains. 

Was this man sent straight from heaven or something?

“Wow, that’s wonderful. Do you enjoy it?”

“I love it so much,” he says with a brilliant smile.

“How many instruments do you play?” You ask.

“Piano, guitar, and some various hand-held ones like a tambourine. That doesn’t take much skill, but it’s still helpful for the kids.”

Placing your elbows on the table so you can fit your hands beneath your chin, you playfully bat your eyelashes at him.

“Can you teach me anything?”

Although the atmosphere is still flirtatious, his answer sounds completely sincere.

“Sure.”

The waiter interrupts your small talk to take your orders, but you continue discussing school, hobbies, and interests while waiting for your meals. The conversations flow like water as you effortlessly move from topic to topic. It feels as though you’ve known one another for years rather than hours. 

An hour after finishing your meals and a quarter ‘til the restaurant is set to close, you finally stand to leave, but neither of you are ready to say goodbye, so you propose heading to an ice cream shop down the street. Yoongi takes your hand again as you travel from the restaurant to the little storefront. It’s the first silent moment between you, but it’s just as comfortable as your dialogue.

“Favorite song?” You ask while gazing at his sharp profile. 

He tilts his head as he thinks about his answer. 

“I don’t know if I could ever choose just one.”

“Cop outttt,” you shout into the dark street. 

His responding laugh is bright and his eyes disappear behind his full cheeks.

“What about you, huh?”

“I don’t have one either,” you sheepishly admit.

He gawks and immediately goes to tickle you in retaliation, causing you to screech when his arms wrap around your middle so he can hold you still while wiggling his fingers against your sides. You laugh hysterically as his digits dance along your waist. He doesn’t let go even once the torment ends, just keeps holding you in his arms and eventually rests his head on your shoulder. 

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” He whispers before kissing the exposed skin beside the strap of your dress.

Tracing along his veins where his arms are securing you to his chest, you hum and glance over your shoulder at him.

“If I didn’t before…”

It’s too heavy a confession to utter out loud, so you let him infer the rest of your sentence. It’s clear he understands because his adorable, gummy smile returns when he spins you around in his embrace. Once you’re face to face, he walks you backwards until your spine meets the brick building behind you. 

His head slowly descends to meet yours and it seems like an eternity passes before you feel his mouth against your own. You share a content hum over the initial touch, gently moving your lips in tandem to explore each other’s mouths for the first time. Yoongi caresses your jaw while coaxing your mouth open and tracing your bottom lip with his tongue. It’s impossible to resist smiling into the magical kiss and even harder to part once you run out of oxygen. 

You reluctantly pull away, but he presses his forehead to yours to retain some form of physical contact. You’re both left smiling and giggling afterwards and Yoongi’s thumb continues to run along your cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Me, too.”

After another brief make out, you continue on your journey of finding dessert.

Yoongi holds the door open for you and you graciously enter before perusing the menu. You silently stand beside each other as your eyes parse through many options, but Yoongi interrupts your deliberation.

“Alright, this is a deal breaker,” he announces. “Can we get different flavors so we can each try the other person’s?”

You side-eye him for a fleeting moment, sporting a faux judgemental look before a cheshire grin breaks out. 

“Of course.” He happily nods in success and you tell him which one you’re choosing so he can place your orders. Once he returns to wait with you, you nudge his shoulder. “Next one’s on me.”

“Next one?” His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Who said you’re getting a second date?”

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “I’ve got you wrapped around my finger already.”

Yoongi blushes and tilts his eyes down in an attempt to hide the adorable reaction to your words. He doesn’t verbally respond, but you see him nod his head in agreement out of the corner of your eye. 

Upon receiving your sweet treats, you allow one another to taste test the opposing ice cream flavor before walking back to Yoongi’s car. After throwing away the empty cups and spoons, you slide into your respective seats, but he doesn’t start the car right away. You shoot him a questioning glance while waiting for him to start the ignition.

“Is this the part where you kill me or?”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“No. I’m having an internal battle with myself.” Your eyebrow quirks up in intrigue and you gesture for him to explain. “I really wanna kiss you again, but I’m also trying to be a gentleman.”

“You can’t be both?”

He shakes his head again.

“I won’t be able to stop once I start.”

His words make your thighs clench, but the feeling is mutual and don’t want to take anything farther than it should tonight. 

You place your hand on his wrist to grab his attention.

“How about you drop me off and we can share a chaste goodnight kiss? We can save the hot and heavy for another day,” you suggest. 

He surprises you by tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and tracing your jaw with his fingertips.

“I like the sound of that.”

The night ends exactly as you proposed and following a kiss goodbye that leaves you breathless, you bid each other farewell with deep, pink blush painting your cheeks. 

It’s easily the best first date you’ve ever been on and you’re itching to text him as soon as you settle into bed. He must share the sentiment, because he texts you about half an hour later stating he made it home safely.

Neither of you can resist staying away from one another after that night.

It only takes a couple more dates for Yoongi to ask you to be his girlfriend before having the most passionate, otherworldly sex of your life. You worry you’re addicted to him afterwards and you barely sleep because you just keep going round after round to experience the pleasure all over again.

Waking up in his arms the following morning feels like heaven on earth and you spend the early hours cuddling and smooching before going out on a date around town.

You’re falling fast and hard. Yoongi is everything you could want in a partner: attentive, funny, intelligent, kind, and compassionate. Not only can you have long, meaningful conversations, but you can fool around and make fun of each other as though you’re childhood friends. Best of all, he doesn’t shy away from expressing his emotions, especially the way he feels about you. Which is why he invites you over for the first time about three months into your relationship.

Upon your arrival, you’re not only met by your handsome boyfriend, but an adorable poodle you’ve yet to see in person. You gasp and bend down to his level after giving Yoongi a quick peck. 

“Hi, you!” You coo at his sweet dog.

The pooch jumps up and down in front of you before rolling onto his back with his paws up. The precious sight makes your heart sing and you appease him by rubbing his soft belly. 

“This is my darling Holly.”

“Oh, you’re just the sweetest aren’t you, Holly?” 

He barks in response and rises to his feet again before running away to grab a toy.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Yoongi formally greets you. 

“Hey there.”

As he shuts the door, he uses the position of his arm to cage you against the wood and kiss you. You moan while grabbing his face with both hands so you can keep him right where you want him. If not for the food still cooking in the kitchen, you’re certain the two of you would make love right here in the entryway to his apartment.

“I gotta get our dinner out of the oven,” he whispers with a final kiss to your cheek.

You sigh and pout, which causes him to smile in adoration and squish your cheeks in his big hand. His teasing makes you giggle through your pursed lips, which he kisses before taking your hand to lead you into the kitchen. 

Yoongi is an amazing cook among his many other talents and the meal he makes quickly becomes a fan favorite. His abundant skills never fail to surprise you and you honestly believe he might be a genius.

Afterwards, the two of you curl up on the couch with Holly to watch a movie. Except no one pays attention to the film since you’re busy petting behind his dog’s ears and Yoongi’s staring at you with intense affection.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your hand halts as your mind starts processing his confession. It’s the first time anyone’s told you as such despite having past relationships, but it doesn’t scare you. No, it excites you more than anything in the world ever has. 

When your eyes meet after taking a second to think, you see unbridled devotion swimming in his irises.

“I love you, too.”

His effervescent smile doesn’t last long before he’s pouncing on you to hold your face between his hands as he pours his emotions into a searing kiss. 

“I’ve been waiting so long to say that,” he tells you.

“Me, too,” you confess between kisses. “I love you so much, Yoongi.”

He shakes his head while still kissing you senseless.

“Not nearly as much as I love you, doll.” 

If your lips weren’t sufficiently preoccupied, you would argue against his claim. 

You end up spending the weekend at his place. He cooks for you, kisses the air right out of your lungs, and fucks you until you can’t walk straight the following Monday. All while repeating over and over again how much he loves you. Your relationship blossoms alongside the spring and you both do your part watering the budding love affair so it grows into something strong and beautiful. 

Which it does, evident by you still being together two years later. 

Yoongi’s been the most supportive partner in the world the last couple years while you worked tirelessly to acquire your degree. It’s now the morning of your college graduation and although you’re still unsure about the future, he’s patient with you while you decide on a career. He always assures you these decisions take time and not to rush down a certain path. 

You’re getting ready for your commencement ceremony at Yoongi’s after spending the night there. He took you out for a celebratory dinner and subsequent night out, so it made more sense to stay with him than go home afterwards. You sleep at his place nearly every night anyway. The two of you still can’t get enough of each other even after all this time.

“Yoon?” 

It takes a couple seconds for the sound of your voice to travel across the apartment and reach him in the bedroom. 

“Yeah, sweets?” 

“Have you seen my necklace?” 

A moment later your boyfriend emerges with a gold chain dangling between his fingers.

“This necklace?” You nod excitedly and turn around while lifting your hair so he can fasten it. Yoongi bought the pretty trinket as a first anniversary gift and you wear it every chance you get. Once it’s secure around your neck, he kisses your bare shoulder. “You look so beautiful.”

Twisting towards him, you circle your arms around his neck and give him a chaste smooch.

“You’re only saying that because you’re in love with me,” you retort.

He rolls his eyes and kisses you again.

“No, I’m in love with you because you’re so beautiful.” 

You scoff in faux disbelief. 

“So you’re only dating me for my looks?”

His face turns serious, but you know him well enough to see the mischief in his eyes. 

“Of course. What else do you have to offer me, huh?” 

You giggle while lightly smacking his arm in retaliation before grabbing the last few items you need in order to head to the football field for the ceremony. 

He readjusts your cap and gown on the stoop of his apartment and once he deems you perfect, he gives you a supportive thumbs up and you walk hand-in-hand down the steps. The stadium is just across campus so there’s no reason to drive and it’s a beautiful summer morning ideal for a stroll in the sunshine.

“Do you know how proud I am of you, sweetheart?” Yoongi ask. “You’ve worked so fucking hard.”

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you,” you tell him.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” You momentarily stop to take both his hands. “Yoongi, you’ve supported me in every decision, downfall, success, and misstep since the moment we met. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

He hums and runs his hand across the bottom half of his face as if he’s pondering something. 

“I think I know a way you can make it up to me.” Your eyebrows rise inquisitively. “You could move in with me. Let me see that pretty face of yours more often.”

Your jaw drops open and you gasp in both shock and elation. Before you can even verbally respond, you start jumping up and down.

“Really?”

His huge smile is simply to die for.

“Really.”

“Ah!”

Throwing your arms around his neck, you continue bouncing on the balls of your feet while hugging him tight. He returns the embrace, holding you by the waist and pulling you as close to him as humanly possible. You continue walking shortly after so you aren’t late for your own graduation, but take the time to give him a passionate kiss before joining the other graduates.

Following the ceremony you meet him, your parents, and his parents near the entrance of the stadium for pictures and to head to dinner. Yoongi tells them the good news over appetizers and all four of them are ecstatic for you. His parents have become a second mom and dad for you as have yours for him. It makes the day feel all the more special as the six of you celebrate together.

After saying goodbye and watching the two pairs of parents drive off, you and Yoongi head back to the apartment together, your apartment. 

As soon as you cross the threshold, he’s grunting as he lifts you over his shoulder, making you squeal and kick your feet while he carries you towards the bedroom. Holly barks at your antics, but he’s unfortunately cut off from the action when Yoongi kicks the door shut behind him.

Once inside, he gives your ass a generous smack and then tosses you onto the bed as you giggle.

“We should spend the night celebrating, don't you think?”

You admire his long fingers unbuttoning his dress shirt before replying.

“Didn’t we do that last night?” 

He smirks and places one knee on the bed.

“You live here now, doll. We’ll be doing it every night.” 

If that isn’t sinful music to your ears. 

Yoongi kisses you while locating the zipper of your dress so he can quickly strip you down. As his hands pull the fabric away from your body, he groans in delight despite it being a sight he’s witnessed a hundred times over the last two years. He even rises to his knees so he can appreciate you in your entirety.

“How the fuck did I get so lucky?” He muses aloud.

As much as his statement makes you blush, you don’t acknowledge the sweet words because you’re busy ridding him of his belt.

He interrupts your efforts by hovering over you to kiss and suck on your neck. It momentarily delays you as you pant in ecstasy because of the way he’s ravishing your sensitive skin, but you eventually succeed in pulling his slacks down so you can palm him over his boxers. The friction on his cock makes him hum amorously and he bites into your jugular in response.

“Wanna suck your dick, Yoon,” you announce.

His deep chuckle makes the wet spot on your lace underwear even worse. 

“As long as I get to taste you afterwards.”

That particular quid pro quo is one you’ll never refuse, so you push him by his shoulder until he’s upright and secure your hair in a ponytail before pulling his boxers down. You don’t waste time with teasing because it’s been two years of giving your boyfriend blowjobs, so you have it down to a science at this point. 

Yoongi combs through your hair when you begin stroking him, his cat eyes turning sharp as he admires you working his cock from above. Once he’s fully erect and twitching in your hand, you kitten lick his tip and he groans while looking towards the ceiling and tightly gripping your strands between his fingers.

“Oh, sweets.”

The tip of your tongue circles his head without ever going lower, purposely torturing him a bit while your hand moves along his warm shaft. 

Yoongi’s cock is so pretty, just like the rest of him; long, veiny, and the ideal thickness to stretch your lips and pussy. His velvet skin and hot, pulsing veins feel amazing in your palm and even better when they’re deep in your cunt. It’s seems you’ve been granted a miracle in the form of someone with not only a stellar personality, but god-like skills in the bedroom.

“You gonna come down my throat, handsome?” You ask by gazing up at him and battling your eyelashes. 

He tsks at you.

“No, doll. I’m gonna fill up that tight pussy of yours.”

Ironically, that’s exactly what you were hoping he’d say because there’s nothing more satisfying than feeling his warm seed seeping into your pussy.

Fully wrapping your lips around his cock, you steadily take him inside your mouth inch by inch. He enthusiastically moans while you gradually sink down until his tip reaches the back of your throat. You parry the moan as you choke on his length before sticking your tongue out and moving back to coat him in saliva.

“That’s it,” he sighs.

Like the pro you are, you bob your head along his cock with expert precision, but at a slow pace so you can repeatedly kiss his pubic bone with your nose and gag around his tip as it bruises your esophagus. As you move his dick in and out of your mouth, you alternate between licking and sucking to provide him the most pleasure possible, which you’re clearly succeeding at given his noises of ecstasy.

“Fuck, sweets. Your mouth feels so fucking good.”

Yoongi is a quiet man, which is one of the many things you love about him, but he’s the most talkative in the bedroom. He usually praises you nonstop while you’re making love and it always causes your head to spin. His deep voice, the evident strain on his vocal chords, and his filthy words are the perfect recipe for a euphoric concoction. 

After a while of languidly gliding along his dick, you speed up and suction your lips around him for a tighter fit. He reacts with an instantaneous and exuberant moan that makes him tug on your ponytail. Sensing he wants more, you breathe through your nose to maintain the steady tempo while your hands grip his thighs for support. When you look up, you see a beautiful vision of his throat as he pants with his head thrown back. 

He unfortunately doesn’t let you continue for much longer after that, gently pulling on your hair so he can unsheath himself from your mouth. 

“Boo,” you pout. 

Yoongi shakes his head at you, but there’s a smug grin on his face. 

“My turn,” he states. 

He unceremoniously grabs you by your thighs and shoves you further up the bed, which you assist him with by maneuvering yourself to the center of the mattress. When he climbs between your legs and settles on his stomach, his face hovers mere inches above your covered cunt and the anticipation of feeling his tongue in your folds drives you wild. 

Your boyfriend is a goddamn prodigy when it comes to eating pussy. His tongue is something he must’ve inherited from the devil because it moves in downright sinful ways and sends you straight to Hong Kong. 

Rather than immediately diving in, he teases you by tapping an unknown melody along your calves and thighs with his fingertips, bringing an undeniably sexy smirk to his lips as he watches your chest rise and fall with eager, labored breaths.

“Gonna make you scream my name, doll,” he whispers before kissing your hip bone.

“You always do,” you argue.

Yoongi nods in agreement where his face is still resting on your skin. He kisses your abdomen and trails his lips down your thighs where he bites into the supple flesh before finally draping your legs over his shoulders. You have him right where you want him now and he finally pacifies you by leaning in to kiss your clit through your underwear. 

“Mm, you smell so good.”

Both his words and actions have you blushing bright pink as you watch him reach up to pull your panties aside before sinking his two middle fingers into your hole. There’s a squelch when his digits penetrate you and your head falls against the pillows in delight. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

He starts slow, only fucking his fingers into your pussy while alternating between staring at your tight hole stretching open and admiring your erotic expressions. The relaxed pace is tortuous, but it allows you to feel every knuckle and ridge as his digits repeatedly sink into your cunt.  

Your pussy is leaking essence all over his hand as he works you open and if he wasn’t the love of your life, it’d be slightly embarrassing how your body reacts to just his fingers. 

“I could do this all fucking night. Just fuck you slow and watch the way you take me.” He kisses your clit again and it causes you to jump. “My fingers, my tongue, and then my fat cock.”

“Yoongi,” you breathlessly moan.

“Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Please, handsome, I want you so bad.”

He hums in satisfaction and agreement before taking pity on you and flattening his tongue over your clit. You cry out from the intense pleasure and he has to hold you down with his free hand because your hips erratically twitch beneath him. 

His tongue is fucking lethal as he harshly licks your clit while picking up the pace of his fingers to synchronize the rhythms. The wet muscle soaks your nerve endings in drool and provides unbelievable friction to your most sensitive area. 

Your mind spins in a million directions even though this is just one of many times Yoongi’s eaten you out, but he never fails to make it feel like the first time. 

“Yoon, holy shit.”

He proudly laughs into your pussy and the vibration makes you scream. Tears prick at corner of your eyes, but you blink them away to focus on the gorgeous sight of him between your legs. 

“You always taste so fucking good, doll,” he praises. 

His words go unrecognized by you because you’re too busy wallowing in the throes of pleasure. 

When he removes his hand from your cunt and moves down to kiss your slit and push his tongue into your hole, your legs shake as your hand grips his hair like a lifeline. 

The newfound pressure on his scalp has him grunting as he fucks you with his tongue. He’s licking and swirling his tongue inside you to taste your inner walls and you swear, he always eats you out like a decadent five course meal. It may be a filthy act, but he makes you feel revered. 

“I’m close, handsome.”

He moans and dramatically slurps your juices into his mouth.

“Gonna swallow every last drop, sweetheart. Come for me,” he pleads.

Sometimes his words almost send you over the edge faster than his tongue. 

Within a single breath, you’re crying and convulsing as a powerful orgasm sends ripples of pleasure through you. Yoongi moans in triumph and forces your cunt closer so he can drink your cum with ease, making sure to lick you through the entire climax before pressing a final kiss to your mound. He kisses up your torso to meet you at your mouth and you whimper for more when he teases you by merely biting your bottom lip.

As your tongues finally tangle together, you taste your own desire on his lips, causing every sensation to feel that much more erotic.

Yoongi slips his fingers in the waistband of your underwear as you lazily make out so he can pull the garment down your legs. His hands continue onward to explore your waist and hips despite having your every curve memorized already. Although, you do the same as your fingertips traverse his biceps and shoulders before twisting into the hair at his nape and tugging on his black strands.

“Tell me what you want, sweets,” he whispers.

“I wanna ride you, Yoongi.” You trace his collarbones and press a kiss to his skin. “I love how deep you feel when I’m on top.”

He smiles while flipping you both over until you’re comfortably resting in his lap.

“Go on then, doll.” He sinks a hand into your hair and forces your face down to his, where he whispers his next command. “Show me how well you ride cock.”

His deep voice makes your head lull back and you begin shamelessly grinding on his dick in appreciation. His hand drops to your neck so he can gently choke you and the wave of ecstasy his tight grip causes makes you pick up the pace. He’s sporting a devilish smirk as he watches your hips move back and forth over his lap, but once he tires of not being inside you, he spanks you and squeezes your throat.

Sometimes your bratty nature seeps into the bedroom, but right now you want the same thing he does. So, you kneel and position his cock under your hole before sitting down on his thighs. He always effortlessly fills you up and the familiar stretch has your nails scratching at his chest.

“Oh fuck, Yoon.”

“Yeah? That feel good?” When you only respond by nodding, he spanks you hard. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“So good, Yoongi. You have no fucking idea,” you pant. 

His dick is a perfect fit and reaches your g-spot with every rock of your hips.

He continues to choke you while you set a steady cadence by bouncing up and down on his thighs. Yoongi knows precisely how to restrict your air supply without hurting you and the sensation of his hand around your throat with his cock deep in your cunt makes your mind go blank. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes turn into thin slits as he stares at your pussy sucking him in over and over. His gaze travels to your tits swinging in front of his face and before you know it his free hand is massaging one of your breasts by tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I can’t wait to put a baby in you one day and see these fill up with milk,” he comments.

It isn’t the first time Yoongi’s alluded to a breeding kink or you two having children. He adores kids and it’s something you mutually agreed on early in your relationship. You know you’re still too young, but there’s nothing in the world you want more than to give him a child or two. 

“Me, too, Yoon. God, I want that so bad,” you confess.

He smiles before leaning forward to delicately kiss your sternum. 

“One day, my sweetheart.” You hear a chuckle as he rests against the pillows. “For now, let’s just keep practicing.”

You momentarily share in the laughter until he tilts his hips up to send his cock deeper inside you and you choke.

His dick is sinking further and further every time your pelvis meets his thighs, a loud clap following each movement and filling the room with the sensual sound. It feels amazing as always, but the thought of you fucking in celebration of finally moving in together makes it all the more special. 

All it takes is some more diligent rolls of your hips for you to come together. Especially because his pubic bone is applying friction to your clit and his heavy balls slap your ass with each bounce. Yoongi shoots his cum into your cunt while groaning and squeezing your throat and you simultaneously cream his dick, turning it white as you continue fucking yourself on him through the high.

Once your nervous systems simmer down, you gasp and fall forward onto his chest. Yoongi responds by humming in content and wrapping his arms around you so he can soothingly caress your spine.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he whispers into your hair.

You smile and kiss his shoulder a couple times. 

“I love you, Yoongi. I always will.”

The night ends with you falling asleep in one another’s arms after cleaning up the remnants of your intimacy. Although you’re sore the next morning, you both head to your place after breakfast to pack your many possessions into boxes and transport them to the apartment. 

Despite requesting a music lesson on your first date, it isn’t until a couple months after moving in together that you finally sit at a piano bench for your first class with professor Min. 

Yoongi is mindlessly playing notes while you adjust the music book he handed you so you’re able to read it clearly. Luckily for both of you, you already possess the skill to read music due to classes in high school. 

“You ready, sweets?” When you nod your head, he smiles and tucks some loose hair behind your ear. “Alright, we’ll start with a scale.”

Your boyfriend is a fabulous teacher even though you fumble nearly every step of the way, which makes sense given his job is to help children learn the same thing. Honestly, the kids are probably better at this than you are. Being able to read music doesn’t assist you at all when you can’t place your fingers on the keys correctly or simultaneously move your hands at different speeds to play the right notes.

Alas, your gentle, kind, and patient man simply repeats the instructions as necessary and waits while you figure it out.

“Yoon,” you giggle. “I’m so hopeless.”

It’s been just over an hour since you played your first note.

“No, you’re not.” He stands up to move behind you so he can place his hands over yours. “You just need more practice, doll.” His fingers squeeze yours and you allow him to take control of your movements. He makes it seem effortless as he plays the simple melody a couple times so you understand how it should feel. “See?”

“My love, I understood none of that,” you sheepishly admit.

He laughs and rests his cheek on your head.

“Maybe tambourine is a good place to start?”

You shove him off you in response to his teasing, but you still share in the laughter.

On your fourth anniversary, Yoongi surprises you by finally taking you with him to the hospital where he works. You’ve been begging him ever since you started dating, but he didn’t want to impose by asking the staff if he could bring you along. But now he’s the head psychologist of the neurodivergent children’s ward and it’s entirely up to him who comes to visit. 

Some of the children don’t handle visitors well, so you promise to stay back while admiring him rather than engaging too much. Regardless, he assures you it won’t be an issue and that any children who may not do well won’t be in the room while you’re there. 

You’re elated to see him in his element today since you’ve been witness to his excitement and passion while talking about work for the last four years. Today is your day off from your journalism job, so the timing couldn’t be better for you to come to work with him. 

Whether or not journalism is your forever career is still yet to be determined, but it pays the bills and makes you happy. 

Yoongi leads you through the many winding halls of the large hospital until you arrive at the children’s wing. After dropping off your things in his office, he takes your hand so you can go greet the kids together. 

As soon as he opens the door to the classroom, you hear multiple voices of little boys and girls chattering in excitement. When he peaks his head inside nearly all of them stop what they're doing to greet him. 

“Mr. Min!” Some of them shout in unison while running over to him.

Yoongi has the most beautiful smile on his face as the children scurry across the carpet.

“Hi, guys,” he calmly greets them and bends down until he’s eye level with them. “Remember how I told you I was going to bring someone special to meet you?”

“Yeah!” A couple of them shout.

“Well, this is Ms. Y/N and she’ll be here with us today.”

“I thought you said we would be meeting Mrs. Min,” a young girl argues.

Raising your eyebrow at your boyfriend, you watch as he instantly blushes deep pink.

“No, Sana, I told you she’s the future Mrs. Min,” he corrects her. 

All the kids snicker at his statement while it makes you react the same way as him, your cheeks turning bright pink as your brain spirals from the idea of being Mrs. Min one day. 

“Hi, everyone,” you cheer.

Their big eyes eagerly turn towards you and before you know it they’re descending on you to ask questions or vehemently request you play with them. Yoongi affectionately smiles and gestures for you to go ahead when a couple girls begin pulling you towards a small table. You spend the day coloring, finger painting, and listening to them explain their favorite instruments. Yoongi observes the children for the first half of the day, but joins you when it’s time to read a fairytale out loud just after lunch. 

It’s truly one of the most special days of your life and you feel nothing but warmth in your soul as you drive home together that night.

After devouring a home cooked meal courtesy of your beloved boyfriend, you cuddle Holly on the couch while Yoongi finishes his reports for the evening at the kitchen table. You eventually get antsy and kiss Holly on his little head before rising to join your boyfriend. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you bend over to kiss his cheek and he hums while squeezing one of your forearms.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

“You almost done?”

“I am done, actually,” he informs you. 

Yoongi tugs on your arm to bring you in front while scooting away from the table so you can sit on his lap. Once you’re snug up against him, you circle his neck and play with the black hair at his nape.

“Thank you for today, handsome. It meant the world to me,” you state.

He smiles and rubs along your outer thigh where your legs are draped over his lap.

“It meant the world to me, too. I loved seeing you with the children today.”

“Probably made you wanna put a baby in me, huh?” You tease.

Despite your light tone, Yoongi looks totally serious when he looks into your eyes.

“It absolutely did,” he replies. “I can’t wait to marry you and start a family, doll. That's all I want.”

You bury your face in his neck to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks. 

“Me, too, Yoon.” His hand lovingly massages your back in large circles, but he stops when you lift your head with a mischievous gleam in your eye. “Do you wanna go to the beach tomorrow?”

It’s Friday and neither of you work on Saturdays, so it’s the perfect way to start your anniversary weekend.

“Our beach?”

“Of course! It’s been so long since we’ve gone,” you pout.

He agrees without hesitation, as if he’s ever been able to say no to you even once throughout your entire relationship.

When you first discover the beach in question, it’s actually by accident. You consider yourself fairly adventurous and one day during your first year together you beg Yoongi to go for a long drive. There’s no particular destination you have in mind; you simply want to choose a direction and travel until you find something worth seeing. Yoongi appeases your strange request after only mildly complaining while he’s putting his shoes on. 

You stumble upon the beautiful little beach about an hour east of the university. The very moment you arrive, you hop out of the car to run towards the water with your arms out as Yoongi affectionately sighs and follows suit. Before thinking twice, you’re kicking your shoes off and splashing around in the low tide. Your boyfriend clicks his tongue, but joins you anyway and trudges through the wet sand to chase after you.

When he nabs you by the waist and spins you in the air, you kick your feet while squealing for him to put you down. His laughter fills your ears along with the soothing sound of the waves and you swear your heart’s never felt so full. 

He attacks the side of your face with kisses before putting you down so you can splash around in the shallow water. You successfully avoid getting your clothes too wet and spend a couple hours there at most, eventually lounging on the beach while sitting between Yoongi’s legs to watch the sunset together.

The special spot becomes a staple of your relationship as you often travel there whenever either of you needs a break from the world. Sometimes you even bring Holly with you so he can swim and run along the shoreline.

You don’t realize the trip there for your fourth anniversary will be your last until much later. 

The day your life changes forever begins just as innocuously as any other. You and Yoongi wake up a couple minutes apart and start preparing for your respective workdays. It’s the middle of winter, just after the holidays, making it pretty difficult to find the motivation to leave your bed, but Yoongi pulls you up and leads you under the warm water of the shower. 

It certainly helps that he joins you; your early morning, steamy make out sufficiently waking you up and giving you a boost of energy to start the day.

By the time you’re walking out the door, it’s borderlining on you two being late for work, so you give each other a quick kiss goodbye and repeat “I love you” before going your separate ways. 

Work is irritatingly boring, as it always is in the winter since most people stay inside rather than flooding the streets for events and farmer’s markets. You still force yourself to be as productive as possible by making it through your to-do list and scheduling some interviews. 

Upon arriving home, Holly greets you at the door and you spend some quality time petting him. Once he’s seemingly satisfied, you grab his kibble from the kitchen to feed him his dinner. You’re about to search for the ingredients to make dinner for you and Yoongi when your phone rings. 

When you glance at the caller ID, you’re surprised to see Yoongi’s mother’s name. She doesn’t call often despite the two of you being so close, usually opting to text you with various emojis to express her ideas.

You answer the phone immediately and hurriedly press the phone to your ear, an eerie feeling creeping in the longer you wait.

“Mama Min? Is everything alright?” 

Your boyfriend’s mother is softly crying on the other end of the line and your heart stops beating in your chest.

“Y/N, dear, you need to come to the hospital. There’s been an accident,” she states through shaky vocal chords.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It’s Yoongi, dear. Just come quickly.”

“Yoongi…” You aren’t sure if you can feel your heart in your chest at all anymore. “Is he alright?”

“I’ll explain everything when you get here,” she tells you. 

The immense feeling of urgency coursing through you is far too great to beg her for further explanation. Instead, you grab your coat and bag before sprinting out of the apartment. The drive to the hospital is egregiously long despite the building only being ten minutes down the road. 

Anxiety and fear are pumping alongside the blood in your veins as you rap your hands against the steering wheel and force yourself not to believe the worst, but you can’t shake the sensation that something is very, very wrong. You and Yoongi have a connection like no other, and there’s a pit in your stomach telling you the red string of fate which ties you together is being stretched thin.

When you reach the emergency room, you bolt inside and ask for his room number while still panting from both your nerves and the running. It feels as though you’re moving on autopilot, but it’s your only option when your mind is sinking into a deep, dark abyss. 

You notice Yoongi’s parents as the nurse leads you towards the waiting room and they look like zombies. Their normally cheerful faces are pale and expressionless, causing your already extreme emotions to spike off the charts.

“Mama Min?” You call out to her.

She looks at you with sorrowful eyes and tear stained cheeks. Yoongi’s dad doesn’t even glance up, burying his face in his hands instead as if he can’t bear to witness what’s about to happen.

Yoongi’s mom calmly stands and walks towards you before taking both your hands and squeezing them.

“Y/N —”

“Where is he? Can I see him?” 

She grimaces as more tears collect in her waterline.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

That’s all she needs to say for you to know. In fact, you don’t think you can handle hearing it out loud. You can’t hear the words you’ve known to be true since the second she called you. 

“No,” you cry.

“Y/N, dear —”

“No. No. No.” Your knees give out and his poor mom has to catch you before you fall to the floor. You scream and sob into her blouse, desperately clutching the fabric as you struggle to breath. “No! Not him! Please, anyone but him!”

She attempts to comfort you and keep you upright, but your loud weeping only worsens as the heavy weight of reality crushes your very soul. You can’t feel anything. Not your heart, your head, or your body. It’s just anguish, pain, and despair suffocating you in a blanket of darkness. 

When your wailing finally simmers into broken whimpers, you collapse into a chair as your eyes attempt to focus on the world around you, but it’s entirely devoid of color. Like a film from the nineteen-twenties, everything is monotone and blurry around the edges. Ironically, it gives you a small glimmer of hope that it’s because this is merely all a horrific nightmare. 

The world is spinning too slowly and too fast all at the same time. The doctor asks if you wish to see him before he’s transported to the morgue and the question itself breaks your heart all over again. His parents saw him before calling you, so you’re the only loved one left to visit him. 

At first, you can’t bring yourself to answer the man. Nothing feels real enough to say yes or no. 

Eventually, your consciousness returns to earth and you respond by nodding and following him into another room. There’s a white sheet covering the steel table, but you can see the familiar outline of the body you know better than your own beneath it.

“He has some cuts and bruises on his face from the accident,” the doctor warns you. 

You nod again to express that you understand. 

He peels the sheet back just enough for you to see Yoongi’s face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he’s asleep. He’s always been pale and the cuts and bruises are minor. His peaceful expression nearly tricks your brain into thinking everything is alright, but when you brush your fingers along his face, he’s cold and hard as stone, causing you to break down again.

“Yoongi,” you weep and caress his cheek. It doesn’t matter that he isn’t warm and soft anymore. He’s still yours; still the man you love. “Please, Yoongi, you can’t leave me.” Your head falls to his chest as you sob into the white cloth. The heartbeat you're so used to hearing is silent. “Please, my love.”

You know for certain he’s gone because Yoongi would never not give you what you’re asking for. If he was able, he would spring up and return your embrace; kiss your hair and tell you everything’s going to be okay. That’s the type of man he was and it makes perfect sense all the vibrancy is gone from the universe. 

The doctor is kind enough to give you all the time you need before escorting you out. As you walk back to the waiting room together, he explains what happened. 

No one else was involved or injured. His car hit a patch of ice, causing it to spin out before colliding with the median on the highway, killing him on impact. That’s all there is to it. The tragedy which stole the love of your life from you wasn’t caused by anyone or anything but mother nature. 

You have to stop by the restroom to throw up the contents of your stomach before meeting his parents again. 

When you return home in a complete daze, Holly’s barking is the only thing your overactive mind hears. Your eyes land on the poodle at your feet who’s staring up at you without a care in the world and it shatters you. Instantly falling to your knees to scoop him into your arms, you cry into his fur as the clueless animal affectionately licks your face.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you whimper. “Daddy’s not coming home.”

He doesn't understand what you're saying and won’t notice Yoongi’s absence right away, but you tell him regardless because you still need comfort even if he doesn’t yet. 

There’s a massive funeral a couple days later where nearly the entire city comes to mourn your beloved boyfriend. Professors, colleagues, coworkers, and his pupils along with their parents all appear to pay their respects. After the eulogy, his supervisor announces the wing where he volunteered and subsequently worked will be named after him. The dean of your university pulls you aside during the luncheon and informs you that if you wish to obtain your graduate degree, it will be fully paid for in his honor. 

Everyone is so kind and supportive, but you’re too numb to appreciate anything. Your limbs seem to move on their own, going through the motions without a conscience guiding them. 

His mother comes over to organize the apartment the following week after you decide to stay. Despite how awful living here without him is, you don’t want to uproot Holly while he’s still so confused about his dad disappearing. He cries by the door every night and you assume taking him elsewhere will only cause more abandonment issues. It’s also partially for you. This is your home and it’s too difficult to lose both Yoongi and the place you shared at the same time. 

You’re in the living room sorting through his clothes for donation when his mom comes in and sits beside you. She looks sympathetic as she hands you a small box along with a folded piece of paper.

“I found this in his sock drawer,” she tells you.

A questioning expression crosses your face as you take the items from her and open the box. Inside sits a beautiful diamond ring with a single, round center stone. The unexpected sight makes you gasp in shock and awe before clasping your hand over your mouth. Realization dawns on you and crumbles all of your resolve built up over the last two weeks. 

Shaking hands work to quickly unfold the note as you inhale slowly with nervousness and anticipation. 

His handwriting is unmistakable. It covers the entirety of the page along with scribbles and scratch marks where he crossed out phrases in order to rewrite them. 

My sweetheart

Y/N

My Y/N, you know I’m not a man of many words, but the words I use to describe you will always be the most special ones I utter. You make me a better man. I am a better man because of you and regardless of what our future holds that will always be stand true. Selfishly, I hope our future is everlasting, but I know that’s partially up to me. 

That’s why Which is why I want to ask you something that’s been on the tip of my tongue for years. Every time I see you, whether dolled up or dressed down, I nearly say shout it out of pure eagerness to call you mine forever. It’s very unlike me, I know, but that’s what you do to me, sweetheart. 

So, my wonderful girl, will you marry me? will you do me the honor of marrying me?

(note to self – practice until it’s perfect)

You sob into your hand while holding the ring and paper to your heart. Yoongi was going to propose. He was planning on asking you to marry him and if he was still here, you may already be fiancés. His mom attempts to comfort you with a gentle touch to your spine, but it doesn’t help. Nothing will ever stop the pain. 

Oh, I’m falling in love.

Jungkook listens attentively as you explain in great detail about the love you lost, obviously omitting the memories of your sex life. It’s the first time you’re opening up about what happened and during moments that seem tougher for you to explain, he takes your hand and caresses your knuckles, but other than that he remains silent beside you. 

When you finish your monologue with heavy tears rolling down your face and hiccups escaping your lips, he asks if he can hug you. You rapidly nod and nearly crash into his chest with how forcefully you embrace him. He instantly takes you into his arms and pulls you as close as he can, to the point you’re almost in his lap. Deep sobs rattle your rib cage and your sadness soaks his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just continues holding you and comfortingly shushing you for as long as you need. 

You eventually cry yourself to sleep in his arms and Jungkook doesn’t move an inch while you rest from the emotional taxation of relaying your story to him. Today of all days, no less. 

Upon waking up, you slowly observe your surroundings. Being in Jungkook’s arms feels unusual, but not entirely unwelcome. He’s warm and strong; you feel safe in his hold and don’t want to leave his grasp just yet. 

He notices you’re awake and brushes some of your hair away from your face while softly smiling at you. He’s always so gentle with you and you’re not sure how to handle your heart skipping a beat because of it. His kindness seems endless and you know you’ll never meet another soul quite like his in this lifetime. 

“Are you alright, angel?” Jungkook asks while analyzing your expression. You reply by nodding and nuzzling your face in his firm chest. “Let me take you home.”

“I drove,” you whisper.

“I know, but we can come back and get your car another day.”

You don’t argue against his suggestion, especially given your current state. Jungkook helps you up and leads you by the hand to his car parked near your own. He waits while you grab your essentials before opening his passenger door for you to hop in.

The drive is quiet save for soft music playing through the speakers. You appreciate his willingness to give you whatever you need, whether that be silence or conversation. 

About thirty minutes in, he clears his throat before lowering the volume.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you agree.

“What made you want to become a psychologist? Afterwards, I mean.”

His question catches you off guard as it’s been a couple years since deciding to return to school for your degree.

“I went to visit Yoongi’s work a couple months after to see the kids and give them some of his things to remember him by. When I was there, it was so painfully obvious how large of a hole he left. He was this huge light in their life and in the world. So, I vowed to fill it as best I could. Not only for them, but for me, because it makes me feel close to him even though he’s gone.”

Jungkook nods in understanding and offers you a sweet smile.

“That’s amazing, Y/N. I know you’ll do so many wonderful things with your degree,” he wholeheartedly states. “So, those people you visit in Daegu every month, it’s his folks?”

“Mmhm. They still treat me like a daughter even after all these years,” you tell him.

Jungkook hums happily at the notion.

“I’m sure having you in their life is just as important for them as it is for you.”

“I’ve told them about you,” you admit. Jungkook glances at you with wide eyes and a pinched brow. His surprised expression brings a proud grin to your face. “I told them there’s this guy who keeps surprising me… makes me feel things I never thought I would again.” You chuckle while remembering their response. “They told me I can only bring you over to meet them once I ‘buck up and make you mine.’”

Jungkook’s infectious laugh fills the car and makes your heart feel warm. 

“Well, I’d love to meet them once you do that, angel,” he replies.

Although your heart still has a long way to go before then, you like the sound of Jungkook being yours. 

Finally telling him the truth and shedding light on why you’re so protective of your heart changes your relationship for the better. You mutually agree to continue taking things slow, but the passage of time allows for you to gradually form a less platonic bond.

As spring rolls in, Jungoook decides it’s about time he formally asks you out. Technically, all of your hangouts outside of school could be considered dates, but he doesn’t want to pressure you by categorizing them as such. So, he buys you a large iced chai latte and writes on the cup “can I take you out to a ball game? :)”

He receives an answer after you finish the drink and leave the empty cup on his side of the library table with a small “yes <3” written beneath his note. It’s the first relatively flirty thing you’ve ever done and his heart nearly jumps right out of his chest.

It’s the first baseball game of the season and even though you’ve never been much of a sports person, Jungkook’s sheer excitement is enough to make you feel equally enthusiastic. While driving to the stadium, he explains the many traditions of attending a baseball game and ensures you understand that you will be partaking in all of them tonight. 

Therefore, upon your arrival Jungkook buys two foam fingers, hot dogs, and a couple of large beers. He’s thoroughly impressed by how well you drink the alcohol and a smirk appears on his lips as he watches you knock back the drink like it’s nothing.

“Damn, angel,” he comments. 

“What?”

“I didn’t take you for a beer girl.”

An involuntary blush spreads across your cheeks, but you shrug it off. 

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me.”

His smile grows as he nods in agreement.

“I can’t wait to find it all out.”

After chucking your hot dog wrappers in a nearby trash can, you attempt to find your seats. Jungkook laces his fingers with yours and leads you down the many steps until you reach your destination. When you sit down, you realize how close you are to the field and the thought of him spending money on expensive tickets just so your first game and date is special makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Once you’re both comfortable in the stands, he pulls something out of his bag and places it on your head. Your eyes roll to decipher what it is, but then he delicately slaps the bill of the hat and you realize.

“What’s this?” Taking the hat off, you turn it around to find the logo of the team. “Are you giving this to me?”

“Of course! Can’t have that pretty head of yours getting burned in the sun. Besides, the gear is half the fun.” 

He wiggles the foam finger on his hand as if to prove his point and you smile at his antics.

Jungkook takes time explaining the rules of the game before it begins. He’s patient while listening to all your questions just like when he tutors students. As he points out the various positions on the field, your eyes follow his hand so by the time the game starts, you have a decent understanding and can follow along.

Halfway through the first inning, Jungkook rests his arm on the back of your chair. Whether or not it’s an intentional move or he just wants to stretch his limb, you don’t really care. It sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach all the same. 

Being on a date with Jungkook is so different from a date with Yoongi simply because the two men differ so much and yet both outings feel magical. You never thought you’d be going on dates with anyone besides your first love, but if they have to be with anyone, you’re more than happy it’s Jungkook. He’s a picture perfect gentleman, unbelievably handsome, and totally endearing. 

You chat about the upcoming semester with midterms recently behind you while sipping your beers and cheering for the team. Around the seventh inning, you’re busy complaining about an exam you spent nearly forty-eight hours studying for when the crowd grows exponentially loud. The sound returns your focus to the game just in time to see a ball heading towards the stands. Jungkook gasps and lifts his hand in the air, standing up in his seat to seamlessly snag the ball right out of the air. 

Everyone in your section erupts into cheerful hollers, including you as you start stamping your feet on the ground in excitement. Jungkook is giggling as he takes his seat and shows the ball off to you.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I just caught that!” 

You join in his laughter and shake his shoulders.

“You’re so awesome, Kook!” His smile is blinding as he blushes and bashfully bites his lower lip. After spending a moment admiring the ball, he passes it to you. “What?”

“It’s for you,” he says, like it's obvious.

“Huh? No, you caught that all on your own,” you argue.

He shakes his head and places it in your palm before closing your fingers around it.

“It’s your first game. Besides, I have one my dad caught me as a kid.”

The notion of him giving you something so special makes your heart rapidly pound in your chest and you don’t even realize what you’re doing until your lips are on his cheek. It’s a chaste kiss to his warm skin, but firm enough for him to go stiff in shock. 

Jungkook looks at you in absolute wonder, but you merely smile in response and wait for him to mirror the expression. When he does, it’s a huge, bunny-like grin that fills you with pride.

His hazy, heavy-lidded eyes make it obvious that he wants more. He unabashedly gazes at your lips before licking his own, but he knows it’s too soon and that you have to be the one to make the first move. So, he takes a deep breath and turns his attention back to the game. 

It isn’t that you don’t want to kiss him. You honestly do, but you just aren’t ready and you’re thankful he understands that.

The team wins after a couple more innings, ending the game and your first date on an inexplicably high note. 

Jungkook holds your hand and theatrically swings your arm back and forth as you walk to his car together. You truly aren’t ready for the night to end, but you know you’ll be seeing him soon once the school week begins again.

“Thanks for coming with me, angel.”

“Are you kidding? Thank you for bringing me along.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand a couple times.

“Anytime.”

The drive home consists of quietly humming along to the songs playing from the stereo and recapping highlights of the game. Once you reach your place, Jungkook walks you to the door and you thank him again with a tight hug before stepping inside. 

It was your first date in more than eight years and you still feel unbelievably giddy as you reminisce about it while preparing for bed. Unfortunately, the joyous high comes crashing down when you find Holly curled up in your bed sleeping without a care in the world, allowing for immense guilt to creep in instead. No matter how irrational the feeling is, given that it’s impossible to betray someone who’s no longer around, the heavy emotion still threatens to pull you under its dark waves. Tears fall before you can stop them and you tug Holly into your embrace to help soothe the ache in your chest. 

Before Jungkook, feelings like this would drown you and prevent you from building new connections and relationships, but after months of him supporting you, cheering you on, and comforting you, you’ve overcome the fear of letting people in. You spend the night crying your melancholy away, but wake up the next day with his voice in your head telling you to keep going. 

You continue going out on a regular basis, often repeating some of the activities you’ve already done together while throwing new ones into the mix every once in a while. For instance, Jungkook invites you over about a month after your first date to cook for you and it’s probably your favorite date of all. Not only is he an amazing chef, but he animatedly explains every step of the process like he’s the host of a cooking show. 

Once you’ve been dating for about three months, you start feeling terrible after every date that ends without you planting a kiss on his lips. He repeatedly assures you he’s more than willing to wait forever if that’s what it takes, but his words don’t help. Jungkook deserves all the smooches in the world for how often he manages to make you smile or laugh. Nearly three years passed without you feeling an ounce of joy and all at once he’s returned the emotion to you. The least you can do is find the courage to kiss him for all his efforts. 

Tonight you’re heading to his apartment after Thursday night tutoring so he can show you a new movie he thinks you’ll love. Although it isn’t necessarily a date, you enjoy spending time together whether you’re going out or staying in. 

You walk hand-in-hand back to his place while discussing plans for finals season which is already coming up next month. Summer is just around the corner, and you were initially worried about your budding relationship, but Jungkook told you he’s planning on staying in the area throughout the long break. 

He opens the door for you and you stick to the usual routine of dropping your bag by the door before making yourself comfortable on his couch. His eyes follow your movements with evident affection as he sets his own things down to join you. When he sits, he snatches your ankles and pulls you closer so your feet land in his lap. You giggle at the now mundane occurrence and rest your head on the couch cushions to admire him. He’s absentmindedly massaging your calves while searching for the movie and you aren’t sure what it is about him tonight that causes you to finally act, but perhaps it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just him and his wonderful soul that lights up your heart in your chest. 

“Kook?”

“Hmm?”

You inhale deeply.

“Will you kiss me?”

The remote drops out of Jungkook’s hand and his body goes still as a statue. It looks as though he’s avoiding moving at all so he doesn’t shatter the delicate moment. When he finally turns towards you, his eyes are large and sparkling and his cheeks and ears are light pink.

“Are you sure, angel?”

Scooting your way to his side on the couch, your shaking hand comes up to trace the collar of his shirt as you nod assuredly.

His bewildered expression turns entirely soft before he shuts his eyes to slowly lean in. One hand ever so gently caresses your cheek while his other one pushes on your lower back to bring you closer. 

The sparks created by your lips meeting for the first time could jumpstart a car. It’s incomparable to anything else you’ve felt before and you’re positive the sensation is shared between you. 

Jungkook is cautious at first, barely applying pressure as if he’s afraid you’ll run away, but then you nod to give him permission and he grips your face tighter before softly moving his lips against yours. He takes his sweet time with your first kiss, your mouths dancing to the beat of a slow, romantic ballad. You twist the fabric of his shirt in your hands the longer he kisses you, a feeling of desperation to have him closer overtaking you.

Everything about it feels so magical your heart nearly stops. It isn’t just sparks anymore, but an entire array of fireworks going off in your head. Time seems to come to a screeching halt and you almost wish it was standing still so you could remain in this moment. 

Your dreams are crushed when Jungkook pulls away all too soon, but the feeling of his fingers running across your cheek momentarily pacifies you. Blinking your eyes open, you find his big brown ones already staring at you and a twin pair of cartoonishly large smiles start to grow the longer you hold eye contact. Jungkook leans in again but only to rest his forehead on yours while he continues caressing your warm skin. 

You grab his wrist and squeeze tight, a flood of overwhelming thoughts causing you to need something to hold onto.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt anyone but Yoongi’s lips and no matter how amazing kissing Jungkook is, a multitude of negative emotions begin swirling in your chest. You do your best to fight against them; forcing them to stay deep in your gut so you can savor this special point in time.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook whispers to you. His hand on your back brings you in even more until you’re practically in his lap. “I’m here.”

“Will you do it again?”

He pulls back a hair to double check your instructions.

“Angel, we don’t —”

“I want to,” you assure him. “Please?”

He nods while moving his other hand to mirror the one on your face so he can pull you in again. 

The second kiss is still gentle, but filled with much more heat than the first. Your lips move harmoniously as your heads tilt in opposite directions to gain better access to each other. You adjust so you’re holding both his wrists and you can feel his speedy pulse beneath his skin. The evident racing of his heart makes you blush and you’re positive he can feel the influx of heat on your cheeks.

His tongue tentatively licks along your bottom lip and you automatically moan in response, giving Jungkook an opportunity to slip his tongue inside to tangle with yours. The action makes you moan again and before you even realize it you’re straddling his lap. He parrots the noise and quickly releases your face to encompass your waist instead. The new position allows him to hold you tight as you kiss and feeling his heartbeat up against your own is even better than beneath your fingertips. 

“Angel,” he mumbles against your lips. “We don’t have to keep going.”

Shaking your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and whisper your reply into his mouth.

“I’m alright.” 

Jungkook trusts you to know your own limits and kisses you again without hesitation. His hands desperately clutch your back as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish and the sensation of being entirely surrounded by him makes your head spin. 

You take turns groaning and humming in pleasure as you continue kissing for what feels like hours, but in reality must be minutes. By the time you finally stop for oxygen’s sake, you’re both panting and your hands seem to have a mind of their own as they explore previously uncharted territory. It isn’t sexual, but rather ardent and almost wholesome as you massage his shoulders and his fingers feel along your spine. 

“That was even better than in my dreams,” Jungkook whispers.

You smile and nod in agreement. 

“So much better.”

Jungkook smirks in response.

“Oh? So, you’ve been dreaming about me?”

“Well, I’ve been dreaming about kissing. Never said it was you.”

He gawks at you before laughing out loud with his head thrown back. His eyes disappear and his nose scrunches and you don’t think he’s ever looked more adorable.

“Was that sarcasm I just heard?” He tickles you and you squeal while shying away from his hands. “Am I finally getting a glimpse of the real you, huh?”

It seems that after almost nine months of knowing one another, he truly is getting to see you for the first time.

“You are,” you admit. “I apologize in advance, you may not like her very much.”

Jungkook vehemently shakes his head.

“That’s not possible, angel. I completely adore you,” he confesses.

You kiss him again in gratitude, causing him to giggle some more before avidly returning the affection. The rest of the night is spent stealing kisses between shy smiles and laughter and you swear it’s the happiest you’ve felt in the last three and a half years.

Despite your relationship shifting into the realm of physicality, there’s still no label on it. Neither of you feel it’s necessary right now, but it does make explaining who he is slightly difficult when your parents question who you’re spending all your time with. They’re happy for you regardless and you can tell Jungkook being in your life puts their minds at ease after watching you live life alone for the longest time. 

Summer begins once exams are over and you and Jungkook celebrate by going to a drive-in movie about thirty minutes from campus. It’s a first for both of you, so you’re equally excited about experiencing it together. 

Jungkook reverses his car and you pretend him throwing his arm behind your seat to look over his shoulder doesn’t turn you on, but it’s obvious he catches the reaction when a smirk appears on his lips. Once he parks and pops the trunk, you begin laying out the various pillows and blankets you brought along to make the perfect cuddle spot for the film. He adjusts the radio which will play the audio for the film while you grab some popcorn and candy at the nearby concession stand. 

Upon your return, you find him sprawled on his back with his hands behind his head. He’s wearing a proud smirk and you snicker at his expression as you climb in beside him. He kisses you briefly before stealing one of the popcorn bags from your hands and tossing some into his mouth. 

The two of you silently munch on your treats while the previews roll, but once the movie begins, Jungkook loops his arm over your shoulder and tugs you into his side. You happily curl into him and lay your head on his chest, but rather than watching the movie, you end up feeding each other popcorn and peanut m&ms by throwing them in the air and attempting to catch the flying food.

Jungkook is despicably better at it than you and the funny lines, action sequences, and romantic moments go completely unnoticed by you because you’re too busy giggling and sharing kisses. You feel slightly guilty since Jungkook paid for you to actually watch the film, but it certainly doesn’t seem like he minds all that much when he rolls on top of you and cages you in with his forearms. 

He kisses your breath away while hovering above you. His tongue licks into your mouth and you suck on the wet muscle as he groans and presses his lips down with more fervor. It’s a slow kiss, but Jungkook is undeniably passionate in his pursuit to taste you. You hold his face in both hands while one of his traces your outline before finding a home on your hip. His thumb caresses a patch of bare skin and the feeling of his warm hand on you creates goosebumps all across your arms.

“Some movie, huh?” You joke. 

Jungkook snickers while leaving a trail of kisses across your face until he reaches your neck.

“Isn’t this what a drive-in is for?” 

“In the fifties, maybe.”

He places a wet smooch on your pulse point and you keen. 

“Then let’s go back in time, angel.”

His arm loops around you to pull you flush against him and you struggle to suppress a loud moan as he continues painting your neck in kisses. 

This is the most intimate position you’ve been in so far and it allows you to feel all of him; his strong arms beside your head and around your waist, his firm chest and abs pressing against you, and his thick thighs sandwiching one of your own. His presence is all encompassing and truth be told, drives you absolutely insane. You simply can’t get enough of him even though it already feels like he’s everywhere.

The movie quickly becomes white noise in the background of your sensual make out and you’re thankful he chose to park somewhere relatively hidden from the other patrons. 

Your hands traverse his shoulders and back once he returns to your lips and sinks his tongue inside your mouth. There’s a battle for dominance that Jungkook undoubtedly wins, taking control of the kiss and pulling multiple, breathless moans from you in the process. It honestly feels as though he’s trying to consume you whole and you’re more than ready to let him.

“Kook, I want you so bad,” you tell him. 

He groans in satisfaction and gently bites down on your lower lip.

“I think it’s fairly obvious that I feel the same.” You aren’t sure whether he’s referring to his unending affection for you or the evident boner pressing on your stomach. Either way, you don’t think twice and guide his hand to your center, causing Jungkook’s breath to catch in his throat when he feels the pulsing of your core beneath his fingers. “Are you sure?”

You maintain eye contact with him as you nod your head.

“I’ve never been more sure of something.”

His smile is breathtaking as he leans down to kiss you again.

“And I’ve never wanted something more.”

Your teeth clash when you mirror the expression while attempting to kiss him back.

While you continue to lock lips, Jungkook sneaks his hand beneath the waistband of your shorts and instantly finds the wet spot on your underwear. He reactively moans while beginning to play with you over your panties, massaging your covered clit in slow circles as you whine into his mouth. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched by anyone but yourself, and his much larger hand feels amazing even through the fabric barrier. 

When he tugs your panties to the side and touches you directly for the first time, you both gasp in ecstasy. In fact, Jungkook stops kissing you and buries his head in your neck instead. It seems like him finally getting to feel your cunt is almost as heavenly for him as it is for you. 

“You’re so wet, angel.”

He slides his fingers up and down your folds before stopping to circle your hole. 

“It’s all because of you, Kook.”

His idea of an adequate reply is to push two of his fingers into your cunt. You initially whimper at the foreign intrusion, but it turns into a saccharine whine when he starts fucking his long digits into you.

“Oh, Jungkook.”

“God, you feel better than I ever imagined.” 

The praises happen at the same time, your lust-filled voices interrupting one another and causing you both to giggle. Jungkook presses a light kiss to your cheek and leaves his lips on your skin while working to stretch your hole wider. His digits are rubbing along your inner walls, but he simultaneously uses the heel of his palm to create friction on your clit. It makes perfect sense that his attentive and caring nature translates to the way he fucks, but you’re still surprised by how well he pleasures you without ever touching you before.

A squelching sound accompanies each curl of his fingers inside you, but luckily the movie is loud enough to drown out the erotic noise to anyone but you two.

“Look at you, angel,” he whispers directly in your ear. “You're turning my tattoos white.”

To show you what he means, he pulls his hand away from your hole so you can see the way your essence coats his fingers. The sight makes you feel more desirable than you ever have, but it’s gone a second later when he unceremoniously penetrates you again and makes a come hither motion inside your cunt. 

“Fuck,” you whine. 

His fingertips are tickling just the right spot inside you and bringing you to the precipice of an orgasm faster than you anticipated. Then again, nothing about your relationship with Jungkook has been predictable.

He kisses your neck again when he feels your pussy clenching around his fingers and adds his thumb to the mix by rubbing your swollen clit to push you over the edge.

“Come for me.” He licks your neck before biting into your flesh. “Please.”

You don’t think you have the willpower to say no to him, nor do you want to. His deep voice begging you to release all over his fingers is enough to bring you an orgasm all by itself. Couple that with the stimulation inside your walls and on your clit and you’re already a goner. 

The overwhelming orgasm makes your legs shake as your cunt tightens around Jungkook like a vice. He pleasurably groans into your skin as a twin sound leaves your parted lips. 

“Jungkook,” you whimper. 

His mouth travels via singular kisses across your throat, jaw, and cheek until he’s back where he belongs. He continues to kiss and fuck you through the entire high, only removing his hand from your warmth once he feels your body relax beneath him.

He opens his mouth wide to make a sinful show of licking his fingers clean, a mischievous smirk on his lips as he sucks your cum off his skin.

“Fuck, you taste s’good,” he moans as his eyes roll back.

You aren’t sure what it is about his words that causes your heart to split right down the middle. Perhaps his voice sounds reminiscent of Yoongi’s or the phrase itself is too familiar. Either way, your reaction is involuntary and immediate as you curl into yourself and muffle the sound of your cries with your palm.

It takes Jungkook a second to notice the adverse effect his praise has on you, but once he does, he springs into action by scooping you into his arms. He pulls you into his lap and presses his lips to your ear while shushing you and whispering sweet nothings in an attempt to calm you down. 

It unfortunately doesn’t help the situation in the slightest and you desperately clutch his shirt as your emotions threaten to drown you in pitch black water. 

He lets you sob into his chest until you don’t have any tears left to cry and he never once complains or tries to stop you. When the sound of you weeping softens into quiet whimpers, he lifts your chin up and delicately wipes away the remnants of your tears.

“Talk to me, angel.”

You shake your head and rest your forehead against his collarbone.

“I don’t know what happened. I just felt so much despair all of the sudden,” you explain.

“Was it something I did?”

“No, Kook. You’re… so fucking perfect.” He kisses the crown of your head in thanks. “Every time I want more I just get this overwhelming thought that I’m somehow betraying him.”

Jungkook cups your face so you’re eye to eye for his next statement.

“You’re not betraying him, Y/N. Nothing you and I do together will ever take away from what you and him shared.” He tucks your hair behind your ear before softly kissing your cheek. “I know it’s easier said than done, but I hope you can learn to believe that.”

Jungkook has a unique ability to consistently ease your mind with words alone and you show your appreciation by throwing your arms around his neck for a bone-crushing hug. He naturally reciprocates the embrace and you remain in the position for a while before eventually tumbling into the pile of blankets.

You cuddle through the rest of the movie as he continues to soothe you by rubbing your back and you trace miscellaneous shapes on his chest. It feels like your night went from a hundred to zero and it’s all your fault, but he doesn’t make you feel guilty about anything. 

He’s hands down the most patient man you’ve ever met and you’re certain he’s one of a kind.

THIS STORY IS NOT OVER YET, PLEASE CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING (due to tumblr's 1k block limit)