𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚎. ☾

When he was alive, time meant everything to Taehyung. It was one of life’s most elusive luxuries during a period when humanity was far more fragile than it is now. 

Now, he’s been on earth long enough to hardly notice when the sun and moon dodge each other at the beginning and end of each day. It’s a cruel dance, what the sun and moon must perform. Taehyung wonders how much it hurts to see his other half die and be born again. He’s sure his decrepit heart wouldn’t be able to take it. Too much pain has made its home there. 

He’s been on earth long enough to hardly notice that, too. Pain means nearly as little as time. 

He knows he’s lying to himself, but no one can stop him. Well, there is one person. Taehyung doesn’t find his advice agreeable with what he wants, so he ignores him. Unfortunately for Taehyung, it’s a bit difficult to ignore Yoongi. 

Even now, when Taehyung desperately wishes to be left alone, he can sense Yoongi’s presence. The groundskeeper’s keyring jingles as he twirls it around his long, knobby index finger. 

Taehyung tries to tune out the sound, focusing his thoughts on what he sees rather than hears. He sees that dusk is approaching, although dark clouds rolling in from the east threaten to mute the sky's magnificent hues of pink and orange. He sees that the damp grass he’s kneeling on has turned the shins of his trousers a dark green. He sees a chip on the edge of the tombstone in front of him. 

“Yoongi.” 

His throat hurts when he swallows, as though it’s peeling open wide enough to let his voice through. The action makes Taehyung realize he can’t remember the last time he’s spoken to someone. But he knows it won’t matter if he's too quiet. Yoongi doesn’t need Taehyung to speak out loud to hear him. 

The jingle of the keyring gradually gets louder until it stops. Taehyung knows the groundskeeper is standing over him, staring with those cat-like eyes that have become so familiar. He can smell the smoke of the cigarette Yoongi has stuffed in the corner of his mouth before he sees a bit of ash float to the ground beside him. 

“Hyung?” Yoongi waits with his thumbs in his belt loops. 

“This chip.” Taehyung reaches out to touch the bright white spot where the edge of the tombstone is chipped. The jagged chip in the stone is sharp enough to draw blood. Taehyung presses his thumb into it as hard as he can. “It is new.”

Yoongi sighs from above Taehyung, but he doesn’t look up. Instead, he fixes his eyes on the pad of his thumb. His skin is smooth and unscathed. 

“We got a new guy mowing the grass. He’s still learning how to use the equipment properly.” Yoongi drops more ash as the cigarette bobs between his lips. “It happens, hyung. There’s not much I can do to prevent accidents.” 

Taehyung has to give him some credit; this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. After nearly a decade of friendship, Yoongi’s patience has never run dry. He wishes he could say the same about himself. After nearly two hundred years, it may be surprising that the man’s patience hasn’t strengthened. For Taehyung, life both drags on and passes by unnoticed. It’s a strange feeling, nothing he knows how to articulate to anyone. Not that he has anyone to talk to aside from Yoongi. And Yoongi doesn’t ask questions. 

When Taehyung doesn’t respond, Yoongi shifts his weight from one foot to another. Taehyung can feel the motion through the ground beneath his shins. 

“Y’know, maybe you should go out, hyung,” the groundskeeper says after a moment. He mumbles his words, and more ash falls from the sky. “It’s Halloween. There’ll be more of you out there, y’know.” 

From the corner of Taehyung’s eye, he can see Yoongi sweep his hand in the air, motioning toward the large black gates at the cemetery’s entrance. His cigarette sits nestled between his fingers. 

It’s not a bad idea, going out. Taehyung used to do it all the time, especially during Halloween. He’s unsure when he stopped but knows it’s been years. 

That’s a lie. 

He knows when he stopped and knows why he stopped. He stopped going out on Halloween when he decided to stop looking for you. 

With a sigh, Taehyung rises from the ground and brushes off his stained trousers. He doesn’t understand how his clothes can get dirty, but your chipped tombstone couldn’t cut him. 

There are no indents in the grass where Taehyung had kneeled atop your grave. 

“Not this year,” Taehyung declares. 

First, he fiddles with his suit jacket, and when he gets tired of that, he fiddles with the top button of his dress shirt. It’s not what his friend wants to hear, and Taehyung knows that, but he can’t pretend. He’s too tired to pretend. 

Whatever Yoongi has to say behind that is drowned out by a distant shriek. The two men flinch before whipping their heads toward the sound. Yoongi’s tension dissipates quicker than Taehyung’s when the shrieking morphs into cackles of laughter. 

A group of young people loiters down the winding path toward the middle of the grounds. One has climbed on the shoulders of an angel statue, the rest of the group giggling as the climber shows off his athleticism. 

“Dumbass kids,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. His boney fingers grip the waistband of his jeans to adjust them on his hips before he stomps through the rows of tombstones. “Ayy! Get the fuck outta here!” 

They don’t look like kids from here. They’re probably around the same age Taehyung was when he died, although twenty-seven seemed much older then than it does now. His engagement to you is simply one example of how times have changed. When he was alive, the engagement was long overdue. In today’s society, people in their late twenties are okay with being unwed and childless. 

Taehyung doesn’t quite understand what else someone would want to do in life. All he ever wanted was to be a husband and a father. 

When trespassers cause trouble on the grounds, Taehyung lets Yoongi take care of them. There’s not much he can do to help, anyway, nor does he want to help. It’s all ridiculous, cliche, and a bit offensive. The living think death is something to play with and laugh at. Today shouldn’t be any different than all the other days. 

Yet Taehyung gingerly steps around your grave as if he could disturb it. Something compels him to sneak up behind Yoongi. He’s too tall and broad to hide behind him and doesn’t need to. The trespassers can’t see him. No one can see him except Yoongi.

Half of the group has already taken off. Taehyung assumes it’s the more athletic ones of the group that are throwing their legs over the fence by the time Yoongi reaches the statue. The trespassers left behind stand with their heads hanging and hands clasped behind their backs. 

“Please don’t call the cops!” 

The one who looks the youngest is trembling so badly that Taehyung feels sorry for him. He’s got the roundest, brightest eyes Taehyung has ever seen, and his cute front teeth are all Taehyung can look at as he begs for forgiveness. His clothes are torn and bloody, but the ugly rubber mask that looks like a monster in his hand reminds Taehyung that it’s Halloween and the living love to mimic death, too. 

“I swear we weren’t doing anything bad! We were just looking for ghosts or or or vampires. I mean, not that we think they’re real or anything, but it’s Halloween and-” 

An elbow to the ribs makes the young man gasp. 

“Jungkookie, shut up.”  

With an amused smile, Taehyung drops his eyes from the trembling young man, Jungkookie, to the person who has interrupted him. Although the command is hissed rather harshly, this other trespasser is also trembling in fear. He wants to laugh, but his throat hurts from the little talking he has already done. There’s nothing scary about Yoongi. He’s all bark and no bite, but these people don’t know that. 

“Nah, I’m not gonna call the cops. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Yoongi scolds, adjusting the waistband of his jeans again. 

Taehyung wonders if he thinks it’s an intimidating move. 

Jungkookie lets out a loud sigh of relief, but his friend still trembles. Their head is bent, so Taehyung can’t see their face. All he can see is the dark robe they wear. There’s a gold crest stitched onto the front. Taehyung thinks it might be a design from a witch movie he saw many years ago on one of the Halloweens Yoongi convinced him to enjoy. 

Taehyung doesn’t know why, but he wants to see the stranger’s face. He wants to press his fingers against the underside of their chin and lift their head. He could if he wanted to. He can touch people. It doesn’t feel the same as a human’s touch; at least, that is what Yoongi told him. Yoongi says his touch feels wispy and cold, like the chill air that rushes out of the freezer when the door opens. 

His arm extends before he can stop himself, causing Yoongi to give him a side look with eyebrows raised in confusion. But before Taehyung can reach the stranger, they look up, dark eyes seemingly staring straight into his. 

Taehyung gasps despite the air meaning nothing to him. He feels Yoongi tense beside him, but he can’t look away. 

It’s you. 

What little human skepticism is left in Taehyung immediately tells him it’s impossible that this stranger could be you, but he has seen the impossible happen plenty of times. He is a ghost, after all. Isn’t his existence supposed to be impossible? Yet here he is, haunting the cemetery where his betrothed was buried two centuries ago. 

Haunting isn’t the right word. Taehyung hates that word. He’s not haunting; he’s waiting, waiting for you. 

In all the ways he’s fantasized about this moment, Taehyung always assumed you would be like him: a ghost, an apparition, a specter. He thought you were doomed to wander the earth like he was, searching for a love ripped apart unjustly and prematurely. Taehyung once heard humans refer to the wandering as unfinished business. He supposes his business is unfinished. The two of you were meant to be married and live a life of unwavering love until you grew old together. 

But you are standing before him in flesh and blood, breathing air with trembling lungs. 

For a moment, Taehyung thinks you can see him. Perhaps you’ve been reincarnated as a medium like Yoongi. It would be a convenient turn of events, but Taehyung has never been lucky. Little good has come to him, both in life and in death. The only good, he thinks, was you, and you were taken from him.

After getting over the shock of seeing your face, Taehyung looks hard at your eyes and realizes you are not looking at him. Your eyes aren’t focused on the foreground; you’re peering through him. When he turns to follow your gaze, he finds a truck parked outside the cemetery, headlights blinding in the sudden darkness surrounding them. 

Yoongi breaks the silence. “Well, get outta here unless you want me putting you to work cleaning up the mausoleums or somethin’.” 

The two trespassers scramble toward the gates, not sparing another glance at Taehyung and Yoongi. Well, at Yoongi. 

“What was that about, hyung?” The medium flicks his cigarette onto the ground and digs it into the yellowed grass with the toe of his boot. 

Taehyung doesn’t have to ask Yoongi what he’s referring to, but he can barely hear the man over the rush of white noise assaulting his brain. If he could sweat, he knew his hands would be clammy and the back of his neck hot. He bends over at the waist, delicate hands clasping his knees as he tries to regulate his breathing. Breathing! Like as if he needs it. 

“I believe… I may faint,” Taehyung gasps, staring up at Yoongi with wild eyes. 

“Faint?” His friend croaks with concern. “Hyung, I don’t think your body can. Passing out happens due to a lack of oxygen, but you don’t need oxygen….”

“It can; I can feel it. I believe it can.” Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut. Can ghosts vomit? A wave of nausea overtakes him as another round of laughter floats through the cool autumn breeze. The group is still here. You’re still here, just beyond the rusty metal fence. 

Remaining doubled over, Taehyung starts dry heaving, his shoulders tumbling forward in a rocking motion. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi quietly curses. He wraps one arm around Taehyung’s waist and rubs between his shoulder blades. “Hyung, why, what’s happening to you?” 

Taehyung also didn’t think ghosts could cry, but Yoongi’s image blurs when he looks up at him. 

“That was Y/N,” Taehyung sputters. “I must go to her. Yoongi, I cannot stay here.” The declaration is frantic, but at least he’s standing now. 

“Whoa, calm down, hyung, alright? How could that be her? She’s, that person was a human. I know it. You know I would sense something.” 

Taehyung grabs both of Yoongi’s shoulders and does his best to ignore the way his friend shivers beneath his grasp. “Yoongi, please trust me. There is absolutely no way I can possibly be mistaken. There is nothing I am more confident in than her.” 

Perhaps it’s the crazed look in his eyes or the pained edge to his voice, but Yoongi finally nods. Taehyung can find his way back to the cemetery, and there is no danger threatening him out in the world behind the gates. He’s already dead. 

He wants to kiss his friend on the cheek but forces it down. The times are different now, and Yoongi isn’t as affectionate as Taehyung is. There’s also a shameful feeling that licks at Taehyung’s burning throat. He knows his touch will be cold, and he’s tired of making his friend shiver. 

Before Yoongi can change his mind, Taehyung sprints toward the gates. He could float if he wanted to, but something is grounding about how his dress shoes sink into the earth, even if no footprints are left behind. 

The trespassers are climbing into the truck by the time he reaches them. With one last look at Yoongi, his form small in the distance, Taehyung ducks his head and slides into the backseat. He has no idea where he’s going, but he doesn’t care. The only thing that matters is that he sits in the empty seat between you and Jungkookie. 

He doesn’t have a working heart, but he could swear there’s a frantic flutter in his chest as he takes in your side profile. Everything is the same. The delicate features of your face, the curves of your body, even the way you sit with your eyebrows furrowed when you’re deep in thought. 

He wants to touch you so badly. 

You shift in your seat and rest your hand, palm up, against your thigh. All it would take is a slight extension of Taehyung's arm for him to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

“Jimin,” you whine, making Taehyung jump. “Can you turn the heat on? It’s so cold back here.” 

He clasps his hands in his lap and watches you with wide eyes. Your voice is still the same but a bit rougher. People’s voices these days do seem rougher than when Taehyung was alive. Everyone is more casual now. Taehyung likes it. He likes the idea of you being free to express yourself, to be loud and rough. Too many women were made to be demure back then. It never befitted you.

“It’s already on, all the way,” the man called Jimin states from behind the steering wheel. 

Taehyung realizes he’s never been inside a car before. It’s nice, he decides. He enjoys how comfortable the seats are, even though he knows he can only sort of feel them. It’s odd how his body works. He can feel, hold, and sit on things without falling through. But he’s not all solid, not all the time. It’s hard to understand. He’s both here and not, real and make-believe. 

“I’m so fucking cold,” you mumble as you wrap your arms around yourself. “I feel like I’m going to get hyperthermia. Jungkookie, are you not cold?” 

Jungkookie reaches over to rub your arm. Taehyung does his best to sink further into the back of the seat lest Jungkookie accidentally brushes against him. 

“Maybe you got cursed by evil spirits,” Jimin offers. “Cemeteries are full of them. The deranged souls of those who’ve been murdered. Or worse! The murderers themselves.” 

Taehyung decides he doesn’t like Jimin very much.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you scoff as though you’ve had to make this statement one too many times. 

Even though Taehyung knows most people don’t believe in ghosts anymore, hearing his betrothed say he cannot exist still stings. It’s not your fault, though. How could you possibly know? Taehyung cannot expect you to retain memories from a past life. However, he hopes he can find a way to coax them out from somewhere deep inside your soul. He hopes he can make you remember. Remember him. Maybe this was his purpose, why he was trapped here instead of moving on to the afterlife. 

“My love for you has been eternal, beloved,” Taehyung whispers. “I promise I’ll never let you down again.” 

You gasp when you feel his cool breath against the shell of your ear. He knows you can’t hear him, but he watches as goosebumps trail down your arms. 

Your mind might not know he’s there, but your body does. 

By the time you kick off your shoes in the entranceway to your apartment, the cold has settled deep into your bones. 

For fear of freezing even more, you quickly change into warm pajamas, with fluffy slippers and a blanket thrown over your shoulders like a cape. The thermostat is set at the same temperature you always set during this time of year, but you crank it up anyway. 

You shouldn’t have gone to the stupid cemetery with Jungkook and his friends, if you can call them friends. Jungkook can’t seem to understand why you find his so-called friends unworthy of his friendship. They all seem to thrive off of scaring the poor kid, which gets you scared in return because Jungkook can’t do anything without you. Although you love him like the little brother you never had, a level of self-preservation kicks in when confronted with scary things. You’re a firm believer in leaving the paranormal alone. Unfortunately, Jungkook’s friends typically have other ideas. 

“Maybe I have the flu,” you mumble to yourself. Illness is the only explanation for why you feel like you’ve been tossed naked into a frozen lake when the leaves barely fall from the trees outside. 

Even though you sluggishly shuffle into the bathroom, your eyes stare back at you from the mirror so brightly it scares you. You don’t feel alert; you feel as though you can barely keep your eyes open. Yet you’re wide-eyed and blazing in the mirror as you brush your teeth. 

“Jimin just made me nervous, that’s all,” you reassure yourself, pausing to wash your mouth of toothpaste. “It’s just nerves.” 

Your skincare routine is next. If you don’t do it tonight, it will start a treacherous cycle of skipping your daily routine. So, you splash your face with water and start massaging a pale blue cleanser into your skin. 

“It’s so silly. What am I even scared of? Nothing happened.” You pout at the mirror, and it pouts back, somehow looking more judgmental than expected. “So, I’m cold. No biggie.” Your mom always insists that you’re anemic because of how cold your hands get. Maybe you are anemic, and this situation is a sign that you should go to the doctor. 

The thought of doctors makes goosebumps rise and shiver down your arms. No doctors, no hospitals. You’ve dealt with them enough in your life. 

As you climb into bed with your skin clean and tingly, you’re too tired to consider it strange that you have no other symptoms of illness aside from being deathly cold. With heat pumping through the vents and blankets surrounding you, you fall asleep with the confidence that you’ll be fine in the morning. 

Except you aren’t fine. 

Your body temperature isn’t the problem anymore. You wake up warm enough to be somewhat sweaty beneath the mountain of blankets. It feels good to defrost, although your bones ache as you throw your legs over the side of the bed. You don’t get very far, however. 

No, the problem isn’t your temperature. It’s your clothes. 

You know for a fact that you stripped down with haste last night. Exhausted, cold, and admittedly still spooked by the cemetery situation and Jimin’s ghost stories, you didn’t have the energy to put your clothes away. Sundays are laundry days. You planned to throw everything in the wash in the morning—no need to be neat. 

But now, as you sit on the edge of your bed with lips parted, you come face-to-face with your laundry basket. 

It sits beside your dresser on the floor across from your bed. It’s stacked with folded, clean clothes, including the Hufflepuff robe from last night and the all-black attire you’d worn underneath. 

There’s no way you did that. Sundays are laundry days. Today is Sunday, but you just woke up. And you know for a fact that your pile of dirty laundry had been obscenely large yesterday. 

Your fingers sift through the blankets to find your phone. An image of you and Jungkook flashes on the screen when you check the time. You’ve got your cheeks pressed together, Jungkook’s flushed a deep pink, sweat making your faces shine. His twenty-first birthday was a year ago. It was the worst year of your life when your mental health plummeted for seemingly no reason, but taking Jungkook out for his birthday is one of your happiest memories. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you glare at the translucent orange medicine bottle sitting on your nightstand. The antidepressant you take to battle your insomnia can sometimes make you feel groggy enough to be disoriented. Still, you’ve never done anything as extreme as laundry without remembering anything in the morning. 

Wiggling your toes to wake them up, you walk to the cursed laundry basket. It’s ridiculous, you think, how you slowly reach out to press your fingertips against the folded t-shirt on top of the stack. You tell yourself you’re overdramatic, snatching your hand back quickly. 

The t-shirt is warm. 

“What in the fuck,” you whisper amidst a breathy exhale. 

You pray your heart will slow down, but your hands are already shaking. Holding them against your chest does very little to settle the trembling. 

Usually, the smell of clean laundry would comfort you. It reminds you of Sunday mornings with your mother. You’d tiptoe around her in the small laundry room in the basement of your childhood home, hips bumping into each other as you sorted through the clothes. Your little sister always left things in her pockets. When you moved out, you were sure you’d collected hundreds of dollars in coins from inside her clothes. 

There’s not much you can do about the freshly-folded laundry in your bedroom. However, you can set a reminder on your phone to schedule an appointment with your psychiatrist. Clearly, you need to reevaluate your medication. Who knows how many other things you’ve done in your sleep? 

You snatch your phone from the bed and skip over the unread notifications. 

To: Jungkookie 

have you ever slept walked before?

Your gym rat of a best friend is probably getting in his morning workout, pumping iron to whatever hyperpop hits Gen Z is listening to right now, so you’ll have to wait for a response to your text message. 

With a sigh, you shuffle down the hall with the blanket draped over your shoulders. The fear of growing cold again makes you unwilling to part with all the extra layers. 

Rubbing your eyes won't do much for fog in your brain. Rarely do you succumb to coffee, but today might have to be one of those days. You don’t particularly enjoy drinking coffee. It’s bitter, and excess caffeine makes you jittery, but Hoseok left it behind when he moved out. Unfortunately, the part of you that likes to hurt hasn’t allowed you to throw it out. So, you make the dumb coffee and tell yourself it’s not weird that you drink from his favorite mug. 

It’s your second day in a row drinking coffee, and you’re already grumbling about handwashing the mug before you can get your drink. Of course, Hoseok’s favorite mug would be the one you can’t conveniently throw into the dishwasher. At least you’ve gotten a headstart on cleaning today, having miraculously finished laundry in your sleep… 

You’re halfway down the hall when you hear it. It’s the rumbling sound of liquid bubbling, like water brought to a boil on the stove. Behind that sound, you think you can faintly make out water running from a faucet. 

There’s someone in your fucking apartment. 

You freeze, every muscle in your body clenched in terror. Your apartment complex isn’t the nicest out there, but it’s a relatively secure building. Nothing has ever made you feel unsafe. 

The smell of coffee wafts down the hall, and the bubbling sound slowly disappears. The running water has also ceased, but you’re still in the same spot in the hallway.

If someone was here to rob or murder you, would they make themselves a cup of coffee? It doesn’t seem likely, although you vaguely remember your favorite true crime podcast covering a story about a murderer who made himself a sandwich after killing his entire family. So maybe coffee is this intruder’s sandwich. 

A shiver runs down your spine like nails raking into your skin. The thought that the intruder may have done your laundry flickers across your mind, but you swiftly brush it aside. You need to get a grip on the situation. All you have on you is your phone, and there’s not much you can use as a weapon from where you stand in the hallway. However, if you move, you will alert the intruder of your presence. 

You’re fucked. 

With your heart in your throat and bile swirling in your stomach, you tiptoe into the kitchen, fully prepared to launch your phone as hard as possible at the intruder’s face. Perhaps that can buy you enough time to grab a knife. (You try to ignore the recent memory of Jungkook scolding you for letting them grow dull.) 

If you die because you didn’t listen to Jungkook… 

“Get the fuck out of my—”

The kitchen is empty. Hoseok’s favorite mug sits on the counter. Steam swirls from the coffee, where a few bubbles float on the surface, undisturbed. The drying rack on the other side of the kitchen sink is full of clean dishes. 

You could explain away fresh laundry by blaming the medication that makes you drowsy. You could even use the medication to explain the clean dishes you know were dirty when you went to bed. But you cannot explain how a fresh, pipping hot mug of coffee sits on your kitchen counter when you just woke up. 

You chew your bottom lip and twist your fingers into your blanket as the air around you grows cold. You can’t help but think the draft feels like cool fingers caressing your forearm. You don’t have time to linger on the sensation, but you try to hold onto the feeling despite how it makes your entire body shake like a leaf in the wind. Then, just as abruptly as the cold comes, it disappears as though it is being pulled in the opposite direction. 

Your apartment is small. There’s no way someone could have left your kitchen without running into you in the hallway unless they left through the front door. You allow yourself half a second to look to your left; the door chain is still in place. 

The sound of ceramic dragging against marble brings your attention to the kitchen. Jimin’s ghost stories were some form of dramatic irony, you think as you watch the coffee mug slide across the counter toward you. And before you can stop yourself, you’re screaming, the sound ripping from somewhere deep in your chest. 

Your only source of defense goes flying in the air. When your phone hits the coffee mug, it shatters against the floor in explosive, navy blue shards. Black coffee splatters on the tile floor and against the lower kitchen cabinets. 

It takes great care to maneuver around the shards of the ceramic mug, but you barrel forward to retrieve your phone. You don’t realize you’re crying until your voice cracks when Jungkook answers your call after the third attempt. 

“Noona, sorry, I was—” 

“Jungkook, Ineedyoutocomeoverrightnow!” 

“What?”

“Right now!” 

You’re slamming the front door behind you as Jungkook hurriedly promises to drive over as soon as possible. Fight or flight has you crouching on the floor in the hallway outside your apartment. It seems safer being out there, even though ghosts can supposedly float through walls, right? That’s a consideration you push to the back of your mind. Nothing good will come from it. Besides, you’ve still got the grating sound of that mug moving autonomously across the counter ringing in your head. 

Jungkook arrives fifteen minutes later, clad in baggy sweatpants and a hoodie. His cherry-red bangs stick to his sweaty forehead, and his cheeks are just as colorful. 

“Someone’s in your apartment right now?” His inquiry comes out in an exasperated huff. If this was a normal situation, you’d feel bad for the anxiety you know you’re causing. 

This isn’t a normal situation. 

You rub your face with the corner of your blanket and shake your head. “It’s a ghost.” 

To your friend’s credit, it is a ridiculous statement from you. You’re the friend group’s biggest skeptic. When Jungkook’s nose scrunches, and his cute bunny teeth poke out, you try not to get pissed off. 

“A ghost?” 

“Yes, yes, a ghost. Can you just go in there?” You gesture to the front door. 

If Jungkook cares that you have an iron grip on his shirt when you trail behind him, he doesn’t say anything. The need to be protected overrides your disgust for his sweaty back. 

“Where was it?” 

You shush Jungkook, whispering, “The kitchen.” 

Jungkook leads you into the kitchen and comes to a halt in the middle of the room. “There’s nothing here, noona….” 

Peeking around Jungkook’s shoulder reveals to you a pristine kitchen. Not a single drop of coffee remains on the floors or cabinets, and you can’t find even the tiniest shard of the broken mug. 

“B-But, there was the coffee; Hobi’s mug was broken….” You’re babbling, one hand still squeezing Jungkook’s shirt and the other keeping your blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “I’m telling you, JK. There was a cup of coffee here. Fresh coffee. And it moved by itself, but I threw my phone and….” 

Humor drains from Jungkook’s face. The stark difference alarms you, and you turn to look over your shoulder in case he’s seeing something you don’t. 

“Y/N noona.” He takes a slow step toward you, causing you to let go of his shirt. His hand is warm against your forearm. It’s a different sensation than the cool caress you’d felt earlier. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’m so serious, JK. Weird shit has been going on today.” 

Jungkook’s teeth dig into his bottom lip for a moment. It’s easy to get lost in his large, round eyes. Even easier to find yourself being taken apart by them. 

“I just know it was tough for you, seeing Hobi hyung at Jimin-ssi’s party.” 

“This isn’t about Hoseok,” you snap.  

Jungkook only nods. He never takes your outbursts personally. There’s worse you’ve put him through. Jungkook has seen you at such low points in your life that remembering those moments is embarrassing. Regardless, it means he knows how to work with you much better than most people. 

“Can we watch a movie? I was gonna hang out with Ryujin, but we can link up later.” 

You know Jungkook is trying to keep your mind off of the situation. Redirection. It only works to an extent, but you’re thankful for his efforts, no matter the outcome. 

You let him lead you to the couch, pliant as he tucks you into his side and wraps his arm around your shoulders. He’s still sweaty from working out, but it feels good to melt into him. The two of you mold into the couch and stay there for hours. 

Jungkook is good for uninterrupted cuddles. It’s hard to come by people willing to set their phone down, turn it off, and give you their undivided attention for so long. Jungkook has always been that person for you. His kindness makes you hold your tongue when he orders delivery from your favorite ramen place, knowing he’ll refuse to let you pay even though you’ve got a stable job with a good salary and he’s a broke college kid. 

When he finally leaves, once the sun sets and you’re full of ramen and soju, you feel thoroughly comforted. Getting lost in the fantasy worlds of the movies you watch on Netflix helps you momentarily forget that you’re living in an odd fantasy yourself. 

You’ve been called crazy plenty of times, but you know what happened today was real. All you can hope is that whoever or whatever this thing is, it leaves you alone. 

If coffee, clean laundry, and clean dishes are the only supernatural occurrences you need to worry about, you’ll be fine.

The next day you find the coffee mug on the kitchen counter. 

You pick it up gently, running your fingers over the thin, translucent cracks scattered along the surface. It appears as though someone has glued the broken shards together. You’re shocked even the tiny pieces survived the ordeal without completely shattering to dust. 

Like the day before, there is no one else in your apartment. The draft is still there, a constant cool air caressing your arms and making you want to crawl back into bed, but you must go to work. Looking at the time on your phone (and ignoring a good morning text from Jungkook because you’re not ready to talk yet), you take a hesitant sip of the coffee. 

You’re not sure what you expect to happen. Nothing, maybe. And nothing does. 

The cracks in the mug are proof, though, that this is real. It doesn’t matter that Jungkook didn’t see anything because you have proof. Proof you can hold in your hand, sip from. It’s more than just clean dishes and folded laundry. Although unsure of what you’re fighting against, you almost feel triumphant. Perhaps it’s your skepticism, forced to admit that something abnormal is happening here. 

You finish the rest of the coffee and set the mug in the empty sink. You wish you’d paid attention to all the scary stories so you’d know what to do. But, then again, if there is a ghost from the cemetery here to haunt you, they haven’t done anything malicious like most stories say they do. 

Nothing malicious, yet. 

Clearing your throat, you zip up your backpack and sling it over your shoulder. You look around the empty room, knowing you won’t see anything but doing it anyway. 

“Umm,” you start to speak to the empty kitchen. “Thank you?” 

Fuck, you’re crazy. 

A fresh, hot mug of coffee is on your kitchen counter every morning for two weeks. Fourteen coffees, even on the weekends, as if the ghost knows when you’re about to wake up and rushes to prepare the drink. It’s odd how you’ve quickly grown accustomed to the ghost’s helpfulness. Not once in the past two weeks have you had to clean your dishes; every morning, the dirtied dishes from the previous night’s dinner are clean and out to dry. Your laundry stays clean and folded. You’ve even noticed that the plants in your living room windowsill stay hydrated. 

Despite the thoughtfulness of your new houseguest, you don’t like the idea of there being an invisible entity just there. Doing what? Watching you? Scheming? What if they decide to hurt you? What if they watch you while you shower? 

What if you’re making all of this up in your head? 

It’s all too much for your brain to handle. You’re so far out of your element you don’t even know where to start. You could ask Jimin for advice, but you’re not willing to risk the chance that he makes fun of you. You’re also unsure if Jungkook has told anyone about your outburst. He hasn't told a soul if he’s as great of a friend as you think. 

You roll onto your stomach and stretch your arms out to hold your phone while you lounge on your bed. Then, with the mantra, I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy, cycling through your mind, you allow your thumbs to glide across your phone screen. 

benevolent hauntings

Google tells you that friendly ghosts do exist. They save people from minor inconveniences (you suppose chores are minor inconveniences). Should you trust refinery29.com? Maybe not, but who should you go to for this, anyway? The fucking Ghost Busters? 

Discouraged, you toss your phone to the side and grab your pillow instead, squeezing it to appreciate its pliable fluffiness. Weekend nights are hard for you, even without the stress of an unwanted ghost roommate. Negative, cyclical thinking is most prevalent at night when you’re alone in your apartment with nothing to do. At least during the week, you have work to distract you. Staying well past your standard work hours isn’t uncommon for you, though your boss does his best to push you out the door at a reasonable hour.

“We’re not brain surgeons, Y/N,” Namjoon often reminds you. “We’re not saving lives. Go home.” 

He’s not wrong; you aren’t saving lives. You spend countless hours authenticating and appraising historical documents and archival materials. Then you spend even more hours creating, organizing, and maintaining electronic records of said materials for the museum’s database before handing them over to the curators to handle. Yet, the romantic in you wants to say that you’re at least changing lives because you firmly believe in the importance of society understanding its history. It’s why you studied history in college and got a job at the local history museum once you graduated. Five years later and you’re still happy with the route you took with your career. Even if people told you it wasn’t worth it. 

During the week, you come home at night with only enough energy to eat dinner, watch a few episodes of whatever comfort show you’re revisiting, and pass out. 

But you don’t work on the weekends.

Jungkook used to serve as the perfect distraction. Despite being a few years older than him, the two of you fit together better than anyone you’ve ever met. The ghost situation is the perfect example of his unwavering kindness and calming presence in your life. But you can’t monopolize his time. Jungkook has his own life to live. He’s finishing up his degree. He has a girlfriend now. He’ll start looking for jobs and applying for graduate school soon. You’re supposed to be the older, wiser friend who provides advice and support while Jungkook figures out adulthood. 

Instead, you end up crying on the phone to him more weekends than you’d like to admit. 

There’s a hole. It looks and feels different depending on the day, but it’s always in the middle of your chest. Some days it’s small and perfectly circular, like a cookie cutter was pressed into your soul to extract just the right amount to leave you aching but not debilitated. On other days it is large and jagged, the way you imagine a black hole would look in outer space or how flesh is blown through by the bullet of a shotgun. Unfortunately, you’ve failed to find the perfect suture in twenty-seven years.

There’s nothing wrong with your life. You grew up with loving parents and a strong relationship with your sister. Friends have never been difficult to make or maintain. Romantic relationships have been a bit rocky, but nothing terrible. None of them have been worth the number of tears you’ve shed over such a short lifetime. Yet you’ve lived with a hole for as long as you can remember. 

Your phone vibrates beneath the blankets, but you ignore the call. It’s too late for your family to call you, and Jungkook hates talking on the phone, so you automatically rule out the most important people in your life. So whoever it is can wait to hear from you in the morning when you’re done sulking. 

What’s more difficult to ignore is your buzzer, signaling that someone is attempting to enter your apartment complex. You don’t bother checking your phone to see who called you. It probably is Jungkook. He’s been worried about you after the incident, though he hasn’t mentioned it again. 

You convince yourself it’s him when you use the buzzer to let your guest in without using the intercom to confirm their identity first. It’s stupid. You never let people in without checking, but you’re tired and feel angry and guilty for being depressed when you have nothing to be upset about. Later, you’ll beat yourself up over opening the door without looking through the peephole first. It’s as though your subconscious likes to ruin things for you, likes to hurt. 

Smelling of thick cologne and cheap alcohol, Hoseok stands in your doorway. He’s dressed in black leather pants and a flowy lavender shirt unbuttoned enough to expose his collarbones and the top of his chest. The combat boots he’s wearing look new and remind you of the ones Jungkook likes. 

“Y/N.” He speaks your name like a dirty word and lets it drip off his tongue so sweetly that it turns sour on the way out. 

The hole in your chest morphs into a craggy crater. 

“What are you doing?” 

His glassy eyes soften when your voice cracks, but the red tinge of his eyes prevents him from looking gentle. “Wanted to see you. I miss you… so much. It hurts, Y/N. It still hurts.” 

You step back when he advances, but he’s graceful even while drunk. One hand squeezes your hip lightly while the other grips the back of your head. Despite the cool November air, Hoseok’s skin burns yours. His fingertips are like irons branding the skin on your neck, and his thumb's hot swipe along your hip bone may as well have sliced through your muscle. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you try, but you both hear how weak your resolve is. 

“I should be here, though,” he murmurs. The alcohol on his breath bites at your nose. “We picked this place out together. Our first apartment. You said it was perfect, remember?” 

You shouldn’t look him in the eyes because you’ll give into your emotions, but dropping your gaze means staring at his mouth and seeing how his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. 

Hoseok is the drunk one, but your body feels too heavy and slow to react when his lips slot against yours. At one point, kissing Hoseok was as natural as breathing, and you craved it as though you’d die without it, too. Now, his touch feels nothing like the home it once was. 

It’s not his fault. You were the one who made the relationship difficult. Hospital visits, cycling through therapists, sadness more explosive than any anger either of you could fathom— Hoseok was kind, but no one can be expected to be a saint. Only human, he had needs, hopes, and dreams that seemed incongruent with caring for you. Relationships are a two-way street; you’d created a roadblock spanning both lanes. 

Ultimately, he broke things off, but not without plenty of sobbing and repeated promises that he didn’t want to do it but couldn’t keep living with the stress. Hoseok had struggled to keep his head above water, and you had pushed him down. 

Hoseok should have never felt like home to you. You can’t find your home in other people. 

You wiggle your arms between your bodies enough to rest your palms against Hoseok’s chest. There isn’t any weight behind the pressure— not yet. If Hoseok was sober, you know he’d be distraught over his actions. You can’t let this continue but can’t bring yourself to end it. 

Crack!

For a brief moment, you feel something cold graze your jawline as Hoseok pulls away, but the jarring sound vibrating through your apartment keeps you distracted. It’s electric and powerful, like the way lightning must sound when it splits a tree trunk down the middle. 

“What the fuck was that?” Hoseok slurs. 

The confession that you have no idea dies in your throat when the lights begin to flicker. Three quick flashes, and then the entire apartment goes black. 

“Shit.” 

A few flips of the light switch in the entranceway confirm that the power is out. You groan and press your forehead against the cool wall. All you’d wanted to do was watch Netflix, eat ice cream, and maybe cry. Now there’s no hope of being able to charge your laptop, and there’s a death threat out for your ice cream if the power doesn’t return quickly. 

Maybe you should eat it all before it can melt, just in case. 

“Why’d it go out? The weather isn’t bad outside. Should we check the breaker?” Hosek shuffles behind you but, thankfully, doesn’t reach for you. Perhaps the abruptness of the power outage and whatever the crackling sound was sobered him up a bit. 

“We aren’t doing anything, okay?” You hope your tone is softer than you think it sounds. “I’m getting you an Uber, and you’re gonna go home.” 

It’s too dark to clearly make out Hoseok’s expression since you keep the blinds drawn, but you’re sure he’s pouting. All the better that you can’t see him. You’re not interested in knowing how his pout might make you feel if you look at it head-on. 

You give him a glass of water to sip while you wait for the Uber driver to arrive. Small talk is impossible, so you let the awkward silence envelope you— much like the cold sensation draping over your back and wrapping around your torso. Your body misses the warm security of your favorite blanket discarded across your bed. Despite the slight discomfort, you’d rather not leave Hoseok alone in your kitchen to retrieve it. You're unsure whether it’s because of your invisible roommate or the simple fact that it's Hoseok. 

Luckily it doesn’t take long for the driver to arrive. You find yourself practically pushing Hoseok out of your apartment. Although he’s sober enough to get to the front doors on his own, you accompany him. 

You loved him. A part of you still does. So it’s hard to watch him stumble, knowing you are the reason. 

It’s too cold to stand outside longer than necessary when you only wear a t-shirt and pajama shorts, but you linger on the sidewalk. Hoseok has the car door open, and you’re sure the driver doesn’t appreciate that he’s letting all the cold air in. 

“Y/N…” 

“I hope you have a good night, Hobi.” The smile you give him is tight, but you don’t want to risk hearing whatever he has to say. The anguished look on his face is already too much. 

Taking the hint, Hoseok ducks his head in acknowledgment. As he slides into the car, his “g’night, too” is nearly swept away in the wind. 

You’ll see him again; you run in the same social circles. But something about the slam of the car door feels final. 

Good, you think as you trek back up the stairs to your apartment unit. There’s no reason for Hoseok to waste time pining for you when there’s plenty of fish in the sea. 

Your unbothered, objective attitude quickly disintegrates once faced with a dark, empty apartment. It’s easy to put on a brave face in front of others. Unwavering strength has been expected of you since your youth. You can give people that, and you tell yourself what you do behind closed doors is your own business. So the moment you lock your front door, you slide your back against it until you’re sitting on the floor, curled up with your arms wrapped around your bent knees. The tears that slip down your cheeks are just as hot as Hoseok’s hands were on your skin. 

It’s the first time you’ve cried since the mug incident. A wet, humorless laugh tumbles out of your throat at the thought. 

“What an accomplishment,” you mutter to yourself. Real sad if life is all about keeping track of how many times you cry a week.  

By the time you finish your thought, the power returns. Unlike when the lights flickered out, it’s an immediate change this time. One second, you’re surrounded in darkness; the next, you’ve blinked, and every light in your apartment shines as brightly as ever. Oddly, even the clock on your oven is correct instead of beeping to indicate that it has been reset. There’s no point in questioning your good luck. As you’ve heard your grandmother say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Although you are grateful for the turn of events, the return of power can’t stop the tears. They were never about the power outage. 

“Now playing ‘I Like You (A Happier Song)’ by Post Malone featuring Doja Cat.” 

You yelp at the robotic voice echoing through your empty apartment. The light, upbeat pop song drifting through the air instantly disrupts the quiet. 

You’re breathing hard; however, it’s no longer due to panic and tears. Instead, you’re breathing hard because your Bluetooth speaker is on a loop of the type of love songs teenagers add as background music to TikTok videos about young love. Your Bluetooth speaker… is now operating all on its own. Sure, sometimes when you talk, the voice recognition on the speaker will think you’re talking to it, but you hadn’t said anything when the device announced the song. You were crying, for fuck’s sake. 

Silently you sit, listening to the song’s cliché but cute lyrics, a proclamation of romantic infatuation. You don’t realize you have your arms wrapped tightly around your ribs until you’re throwing them out before you as a cool tingling sensation tickles your jaw.

“Is… is it you?” 

The song pauses. Silence hangs thickly between you and the speaker, with no airy pop music to swirl through the tension. Fortunately, it only lasts for a second before the robotic voice returns. 

“Now playing ‘Go Ghost’ by Jackson Wang.” 

That makes you laugh. You can’t help it; clearly, your paranormal roommate has a sense of humor. Your laughter isn’t much more than a huffed exhale with just the corner of your mouth twitching upward slightly. But it’s a laugh nonetheless. 

“You’re funny,” you croak, grimacing at how scratchy your voice sounds. “I love Jackson’s new album. I’m supposed to see him in the summer. I bought tickets to go with… Well, I bought two tickets.” 

Why are you oversharing with a ghost? You should be scared like you were during the mug incident, but you lack that instinctual fear of the unknown this time. Instead, you’re curious. 

“What do you want?” Even without fear, your tone is laced with insecurity. If this ghost were evil, it would have hurt you long ago, right? 

“Now playing ‘Talk’ by Khalid featuring Disclosure.” 

“You just want to talk….” It’s not what you were expecting, but by now, it’s clear that this ghost isn’t anything like you’ve imagined ghosts to be. Hell, until now, you didn’t think ghosts existed at all. 

You quickly wipe your face dry of tears and scramble from the floor. It doesn’t matter what the ghost wants to talk about. Curiosity buzzes beneath your skin, a slow heat that makes you shiver where you stand at the entrance of your apartment.

“Using the speaker is going to be too hard,” you mumble. 

Trekking down the hall toward your bedroom gives you time to think through how to communicate with the ghost you’ve been living with for a week. You wonder if they’ve followed you into your room and are watching you scoop up your blanket to wrap around your shoulders. It’s a habit they must have observed a hundred times by now. Security is hard for you to come by; the heavy warmth of your blanket can provide that for you. So what if you’re in your late twenties with a favorite blankie? 

Wrapped up in the red fabric, you go to the living room to plop down on the couch. It’s weird knowing someone is there, but you can't see who it is. You don’t know where to look. Is the ghost even in the room with you?

Much like a cool breeze, a sensation glides across the edge of your jaw. The suddenness causes you to jolt. The chain reaction has already begun, though. Goosebumps make the skin of your arms and legs tingle, and you tremble despite how hard you fight to keep still. 

Fingers. It’s fingers you feel pressing gingerly into your skin, applying pressure to one side of your chin to gently coax your face toward the empty space on the couch next to you. 

“Oh…” you say with a breathy exhale. Despite the cold, warmth is creeping along the nape of your neck and simmering in your stomach. You don’t understand why your body is reacting how it is, but you’re trying not to think about it. 

“Now playing ‘Overthink’ by Lucch.” 

The invisible fingers trace the edge of your jaw, starting at your chin and dancing upward until you feel a fingertip lightly flick your earlobe. A tiny part of you cowers deep in your chest, terrified of feeling something you can’t see. Knowing something out there can touch or hurt you without knowing what’s coming is terrifying. Without you knowing what it even is. But another part of you leans ever so slightly into the ghost’s caresses. But, really, you don’t need to think about that. 

“You’re right,” you finally manage to choke out a response when the cool touch disappears. “I’m overthinking.” 

You take a deep breath and focus on why you entered the living room. The ghost wants to talk. A quick scan of the room leaves you still in need of ideas. How do you talk to something invisible? That can’t even speak? At least, you assume the ghost can’t. Otherwise, it would have already. 

Even though you can’t see the ghost, you can feel it watching you. You’re almost embarrassed to admit you don’t know how to help it, but your eyes fall on the bookshelf beside your TV. 

“You can move things!” 

It’s a question that comes out more like an observation because, although you’re asking, you know the answer. There’s no music in response, but it doesn’t matter. You’re already launching yourself off the couch to snatch up what you’d been eyeing on the bookshelf. 

Instead of returning to the couch, you sit ungracefully on the floor beside the coffee table in front of the couch. A thud echoes through the quiet room when you drop a small red box on the table. Removing the lid reveals around a hundred little wooden tiles, each engraved with a letter. 

“Scrabble,” you beam. “I’m so fucking smart.” Dumping out the tiles, you organize them alphabetically to make selecting the correct letter easier. “Have you played this before? Um, actually, don’t answer that; it doesn’t matter.” The sound of the tiles sliding across the table consumes the silence for a moment as you concentrate. “Okay, just arrange the tiles into whatever it is you wanna say, okay?” 

It briefly crosses your mind that this ghost might be illiterate, but you hope the universe is on your side today. 

Leaning back, you sit with your hands trapped between your thighs and try to be as patient as possible. It probably only takes a few seconds for the tiles to begin moving independently, but it feels like a century as you watch with eager eyes. The more tiles that collect to form words, the harder it is for you to keep your excitement bottled inside. The buzz you felt earlier returns tenfold like a violent tickle inside your chest that makes you want to laugh until the feeling subsides. But you keep your lips clamped shut and stare. 

After a long pause, you assume the ghost is finished, so you lean forward with your elbows on the coffee table. 

MY NAME IS TAEHYUNG

The warmth that has settled in your stomach flares back to life as you read the sentence messily strewn together in front of you. 

Taehyung. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Taehyung.” Your voice is tight, but only because you’re trying not to grin at the empty room. You realize he probably already knows your name, but you introduce yourself anyway. 

He. Because this is a person you’re talking to. You think. That’s what ghosts are, right? Dead people. 

The sudden thought of Taehyung being dead makes your stomach twist. However, you don’t have the opportunity to linger on that feeling because the Scrabble tiles are moving again. 

YOU ARE UNEQUIVOCALLY CHARMING 

You choke over your words as you read the sentence out loud, immediately regretting the decision. Yet again, this ghost has done something you wouldn’t have expected. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, but you can’t help yourself. The grin breaks free, and you ignore how your cheeks hurt.  

No one has ever said something quite like that to you before. It’s more than flattering. You ignore what feels too similar to butterflies in your stomach.  

“Oh, um, thank you. You’d win a lot of points for such a big word.” 

You hope you’re not coming off as awkward. It’s such a weird thing to worry about while getting hit on by a ghost. If that’s what the ghost is doing. Maybe your brain has been jostled by the fancy words, and now you’re reading into everything too much. 

The tiles begin to rearrange themselves. You fold your arms on the table and rest your head against them to watch the invisible Taehyung form his thoughts. Again, the idea that you should be scared flits through your mind, but you quickly push it aside. This ghost — Taehyung — made you coffee and watered your plants for a week. So what was there to be afraid of? 

As you tilt your head to the side to watch where you assume Taehyung is also sitting, you realize you trust Taehyung. You trust him even though you know nothing about him. Even though he’s a ghost, perhaps even a figment of your imagination. 

Maybe that should scare you. 

THE PLEASURE IS MINE

Judging by how he “talks,” you assume Taehyung is very old. As it’s impossible to accurately guess, you decide to ask him. 

His answer of TWENTY SEVEN is yet another shock. You laugh a little to yourself, with small puffs of air that shake your shoulders, and consider that this is all ridiculous. If only Jungkook was here to see the Scrabble pieces slide across your coffee table. 

“Same age as me,” you muse. “But I’m guessing you… um, well you….” Died, but you don’t want to say that. “I’m guessing you’re not from this time period, right?” 

Scrabble pieces shift, the rough sound of wood against wood echoing through the otherwise silent apartment. 

ALMOST TWO HUNDRED YEARS 

By this point, you’ve convinced yourself that the worst thing that’ll happen to you is that Taehyung realizes you’re an idiot. How often can you breathily whisper, “Oh,” before he thinks you have nothing inside your brain? 

You wrap your blanket tighter around your body. Its warmth and comforting pressure give you the strength to push forward with your questions. Part of you feels bad for bombarding the ghost, asking him everything from where he grew up (the same town you live in now) to his job when he was alive (a fisherman, which sounds terrible). You’re barely hanging onto the steering wheel of this conversation while the historian inside you tries to take over. Would it be considered rude if you started taking notes? 

There’s one question scratching at the corner of your brain, but you push it back the more the ghost answers your other questions. It doesn’t seem appropriate to ask your new friend how he died while he’s telling you his favorite color is mauve and his best friend’s name is Yoongi. 

You’re not sure how long you sit at the coffee table. At some point, the conversation flips, and Taehyung asks you questions. You never excelled in small talk, but with Taehyung, it’s easy. Perhaps it’s because you can’t see him. There are no social cues or facial expressions to worry about misinterpreting. You can talk to the air, and Taehyung is guaranteed to respond cutely— calling you charming or praising your ability to secure a recent job promotion. 

WHO WAS HE

The question is unexpected, but you’ve already gone over your favorite color and your best friend, so Taehyung likely believes he’s warmed you up enough to start asking the serious questions. 

You don’t have to ask him who he’s referring to. It’s painfully obvious. 

“Um, well,” you’re hesitant as you start. “Hoseok and I used to date. He was a great boyfriend he was. But… it has always felt like I have something missing. No matter how much Hoseok filled me with happiness, I could never keep any of it inside; the hole in me was too big. I couldn’t patch it up. So I thought if I worked on myself and didn’t rely on him, I could patch it up on my own. Now I think maybe happiness is predetermined. Not everyone is destined for it.” 

You’re nearly gasping by the time you finish, and your hands shake as you pull your blanket tighter around you. 

Taehyung’s cold fingers brush the apple of your cheeks, just below your eyelashes. 

“It’s okay,” you say with a light huff of a laugh. “I already cried out all my tears for the day.” 

Although you sit at the coffee table long enough to feel like the bones in your knees are fusing, you can’t find the energy within you to get up. To an outsider, it looks like you’re talking to yourself. But inside, you feel heat spread to the tips of your fingers and down to your toes every time the Scrabble tiles are thoughtfully adjusted. From how the tiles move, you can tell Taehyung is the type of person to think deeply before speaking. 

A certain level of fun comes with watching the tiles and waiting to see what they’ll turn into. Taehyung continues to surprise you, though his next question is what you’ll look back on as the catalyst for your life turning upside down. 

CAN I HOLD YOUR HAND

There should be a logical part of you that convinces you to say no. If that part of you still exists, it doesn’t make itself known. Without hesitation, you place your hand on the coffee table with your palm facing the ceiling. 

The cool touch doesn’t surprise you anymore. Looking back, over the past week, you’ve felt it numerous times. A brush of what you now know was fingertips along your forearm or cheek. Tender, gentle touches that grounded you. You’re too nervous to ask, but you think he even hugged you while you waited with Hoseok for his Uber driver. 

Taehyung laces his invisible fingers with yours and gently squeezes your hand. 

There’s no reason your heart should be beating erratically, but you can’t seem to calm your nerves when you squeeze Taehyung’s hand back. It’s much larger than yours, and although his skin isn’t warm, it’s unbelievably soft. You can feel the ridges of his knuckles and the veins on the back of his hand. He’s solid and real. 

Taehyung’s hand engulfing yours feels right. 

You let out a shaky breath when you feel him lift your hand. Then, a spike of fear shoots through your heart for the first time. It’s the fear of the unknown, the uncertainty surrounding what Taehyung will do to you. 

“Oh,” you squeak with widened eyes and a fluttering heart.

You don’t need to see his lips brush against the back of your hand to know they’re there. Taehyung’s breath is a cool breeze drifting over your skin. His lips feel like they’re parted as they press against your knuckles and then slightly lower until he trails kisses down to your wrist. 

It’s overwhelming, to say the least. When Taehyung flips your hand over to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist, you let out a small whimper. You immediately retract your hand and straighten your back with a quick inhale at the sound. 

“I’m, I’m, I, uh….” You trip over your words without knowing where you’re trying to take them. “I should go to bed.” 

It’s not very late, and you typically stay up on weekends, but you refuse to confront whatever you’re feeling in your chest right now. Is it silly to feel the need to escape an invisible being? It’s not like you can see whatever expression Taehyung is making now. Is he disappointed by your reaction? Hurt? Amused by the fact that he has managed to fluster you? Has he turned his face away, equally as embarrassed as you are about the pathetic noise you exhaled? 

You try not to think about it. 

When you stand, you knock your knee against the edge of the coffee table, but you don’t let it deter you. Even if you have to hobble to your bedroom, which adds insult to injury. With your bedroom door closed, knowing something separates you from the embarrassment you hope to leave behind in the living room is comforting. 

You should have asked Taehyung if he can float through walls. 

Forgetfulness proves irrelevant in the morning, for you receive your answer when you open your eyes. 

You first notice the pill bottle in its usual spot on your nightstand. This is the first time in months that you’ve fallen asleep (and stayed asleep) without being plagued by the usual anxiety-ridden cyclical thinking you’re prone to get lost in when you close your eyes and darkness envelops you. Your embarrassment had been so severe that you’d forgotten to take your medication. So instead of grogginess, you feel suspiciously well-rested as you sink further into your bed sheets. 

However, being well-rested doesn’t mean you’re ready to get out of bed. 

You wonder if Taehyung will make your coffee despite how rudely you left him the night before. Part of you is pained to think he would shun you— or worse, leave you. It’s that thought that pushes you into a bit of a panic. You’re afraid to get out of bed for fear of just that— that there would no longer be a presence to keep you company. Perhaps he’d write you a goodbye note with the Scrabble tiles. But, if you were him, you’d probably leave without a word. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve pushed someone away rather dramatically, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. 

Sighing in an attempt to release the sudden tension built up in your chest, you turn onto your side, away from the confusing pill bottle and your daunting bedroom door, and right into a tuft of seafoam-green hair. The colorful strands are soft, tickling your nose as you inhale sharply. 

No one would be surprised if your neighbors called the cops after the scream you let out. You nearly throw yourself off the bed from the momentum of scooting away from the seafoam-haired man. What saves you is the cool press of a hand squeezing your forearm, long fingers wrapping around you to yank you back to the center of the bed. 

It’s better to believe that sleep still clouds your vision. You don’t want to investigate the gentle glow emanating from the body sleeping beside you. Instead, you focus on the finer details, like the sharp slope of Taehyung's nose and his piercing eyes that slowly soften until you’re staring at eyes rounded with… wonder? Concern? They’re unreadable, and that doesn’t sit well with you, but you’ve never been good at reading people. 

Even if you wanted to investigate the look in his eyes, you’re distracted by the freckles and other beauty marks scattered around his face. They make an otherwise stern face look kind and approachable. The rest of him is just as confusing as his expression. Tailored dress pants and a buttoned shirt topped with a sleek blazer, and finished off with dress shoes— the man’s attire certainly isn’t sleep-appropriate. Your body shudders at the thought that this stranger is wearing shoes in your bed. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Your whisper is laced with accusation, and you don’t do anything to fix your curt attitude. There is a strange man in your bed. 

This situation has a million and one terrifying outcomes, but you can't move. You feel like a bug stuck to flypaper, glued to the spot to wait to be plucked and ripped apart. All you can hope is that Jungkook doesn’t think his attempts to teach you self-defense went to waste if you’re murdered in your bed without putting up a fight. 

The man now appears fully awake. He lifts his hand to brush his bangs away from his eyes, and something feels… odd when you meet his gaze. Instead of fear, there is something gentle that settles in your chest. It’s relaxed and rhythmic, like the waves of the ocean lapping at your toes as you slowly sink into the sand. You can practically smell the salt in the air, maybe even taste it if you poke out the tip of your tongue from between your lips. Your town is near the coast, but the ocean is at least an hour’s drive from your home. The air you breathe here never smells or tastes like the ocean. 

Something deep inside of you tells you it’s the seafoam-haired man’s doing. 

He slowly sits up to mirror your position, the two of you facing each other, sitting crossed-legged on the bed. The distance between you is close but respectable. It’s only when he adjusts that you are hyperaware that you’re only in a long t-shirt and underwear, whereas he’s dressed as though he’s meant to attend a wedding— pocket square and all. 

You start at the boxy smile that blossoms on the man’s face, stretching so wide it puffs up his cheeks and squints his eyes. His teeth are as bright as a full moon and just as impressively large. The sincerity makes the corners of your mouth twitch, even though you have nothing to smile about. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” 

If you were standing, your knees would have given out from hearing your name uttered by the smoothest voice you’ve ever heard. Yet, somehow it matches the waves in your chest. 

“How do you know my name….” 

The man reaches forward before you can react. Even if you had the time to move, you couldn’t. You sit frozen as he tickles the skin on your forearm, long fingers leaving cold touches that make your entire body shiver. 

Cool, barely-there touches. 

He gives you a knowing look, and you feel your heart plummet into your stomach. 

“Taehyung?”  

Somehow, his smile grows. “Mmm, a version of me, yes.” 

You don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but you’re more focused on the sudden realization that you can’t bring yourself to tear your gaze from his. Dark brown eyes glitter in the slivers of morning sun shining through the blinds. 

“How? How can I see you? Why are you here? Why didn’t you just talk to me before?” You huff your way through words, only vaguely aware of Taehyung’s fingers tracing patterns into your skin. Too many questions swarm your mind like a colony of angry wasps. 

Why does my body feel different when I look at you? 

“May I?” At your consent, Taehyung’s hand slides down to loosely grasp yours. “In all candidness, I am unsure of the answers to your questions. I have my questions, as well.” He pauses for a moment to lace your fingers together with his. 

You’re reminded of how his lips felt pressed against your wrist's delicate skin. 

“Yoongi was sure you were not a medium. Therefore, you should not be able to see me. But…” Taehyung pauses again to avert his gaze from your linked hands. Those strikingly dark eyes focus on the full-length mirror hanging on your wall. 

You wonder if seeing his reflection surprises him. When he doesn’t continue speaking, you lightly squeeze his hand. It’s nice being able to see his hand while you hold it. Still just as large and certainly more beautiful than you could have imagined. 

“But?” You coax. 

If getting to know Taehyung has taught you anything, it’s that you don’t know anything about ghosts. So when he turns back to you with glistening eyes, you realize you have no idea what to do to console him and why he’s upset. And now you’re learning there is more to this world than ghosts. A medium was never something you’d have ever associated yourself with. 

“I would like to show you something,” he whispers. Holding in unshed tears strains his voice, but you swear it’s still the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. 

Remaining silent is the best way to stay sensitive to the fragility of the moment. Nodding your head, you let go of Taehyung’s hand so he can search through his blazer pockets. He only takes a few seconds to find what he’s looking for. Whatever the object is drowns in the palm of Taehyung’s hand. Aside from seeing a flash of gold before his hand is fisted closed, his hand engulfs the item, so you can’t get a glimpse of it. 

“I told you I was a fisherman when I was alive.” Taehyung brings his palms together, trapping the gold object between them. It remains out of view. “In a way, my occupation led to my death.” 

“Taehyung, you don’t have to-” 

“No, please listen. I must share this with you,” Taehyung pleads, glistening eyes wide in what you believe is desperation. 

“I was engaged,” he begins solemnly. “It was hard for… her when I went away. It was for a few months in a poor fishing town far from our home during our peak fishing season. Brutal months. Cold and dreary. Hunger and homesickness sat like a rock in my stomach. Though she suffered much worse, being left alone. It seemed she was always waiting on me due to work or our relationship. I did not have the money to marry her immediately, which weighed on her heavily.” 

Taehyung takes a deep breath, and you wish you were still holding his hand. 

“There was a disease. We did not know how to understand it. The children died first, then the elderly. Few fell and survived. She was… she was strong, but I believe the emptiness I left inside her made her susceptible.” 

Your heart clenches in your chest. It doesn’t take a psychic to know where Taehyung’s story is headed. Silently you wish it wasn’t true, that you’re wrong. You wish for a different ending than the one you know he’ll tell you. 

“She died two days before I returned.” 

Somehow it hurts worse than you anticipate, but you’ve always known life to operate that way. Planning for the worst-case scenario provides a false sense of safety. It doesn’t matter how much you prep yourself for pain; it comes no matter what. And no matter how familiar you are with pain, things never hurt the same way twice. 

You watch as he places his closed fist in the middle of your palm, though he still doesn’t open his hand. 

“I also fell ill, though I am unsure if it was the disease or a broken heart. Sometimes I wonder if I suffered longer than the others, months of withering away, decaying while still alive, as punishment for not being there when she needed me. Perhaps having been banished to wander the earth like this,” he gestures to his body, “is also part of my punishment.” 

You want to tell him that can’t be true. Taehyung seems so soft and caring. The love with which he speaks about his fiancée sounds so pure and true that every word forces another crack into your already broken heart. 

When he removes his hand from yours, what’s left in your palm is cold and heavy. A gold locket sparkles in the warm morning sunlight. 

“My mother buried me with this locket. It is the only item I have to remember her by.” Taehyung gives you a slight nod when your eyes flit up to meet his, seeking permission to explore further. 

Bringing the locket to eye level reveals an etching on its surface: initials that you realize are Taehyung’s and— 

“My initials,” you say quietly. It’s not a question, and Taehyung doesn’t provide you with an answer. 

Like the conclusion of his fiancée’s life, you know what the locket will tell you before opening it. Yet, you don’t know why it doesn’t scare you even as the gentle waves in your chest abruptly turn into a tumultuous tsunami. 

The locket makes a slight clicking sound when you slowly pry it open. It’s so unbelievably old, and the sentimental significance of it makes your palms sweat with the fear of breaking it. Luckily, you open it without any trouble, and you’re immediately met with a tiny, faded, colorless photo of Taehyung. He looks exactly as he does now, although his hair is dark brown or black rather than seafoam green. You’ve always wondered why most people didn’t smile in photographs back when photography was first invented. Even without a boxy smile, the man’s beauty is unparalleled. You chide yourself internally at the thought that floats through your mind: Taehyung’s beauty is otherworldly. 

Despite that fact, Taehyung’s photo isn’t what makes you gasp. 

Opposite Taehyung’s photo, on the left side of the locket, is another portrait. The second portrait is just as old as the portrait of Taehyung, faded and monochrome. Familiar eyes stare back at you. A familiar frown Jungkook would call your resting bitch face greets you. 

The ocean's roar is deafening as it rumbles in your ears, shaking your eardrums until you’re sure the sound is vibrating deep inside your skull. 

Only one sound cuts through the noise. 

“It is utterly impossible for me to express how painful waiting for you has been.” Taehyung’s voice is only a choked-out whisper, but somehow it overpowers the mess inside your head. “Seeing you… It has been nearly two hundred years, Y/N. I ached, and now I feel complete.” 

“I don’t understand...” Except you do. You just need to hear him say it. 

“You must feel it, don’t you?” Taehyung gives you a timid smile. “Our souls— we have finally found each other. It is like all the pieces of me have fallen back into place.” 

Looking away from Taehyung, you look down at your portrait in his locket. You’re not sure what you feel, but you feel something. The crash of waves against a shore inside your chest feels familiar like you’ve woken up tossed onto the sand many times before. The violence of it subsides as you watch Taehyung’s hand find yours once again. He interlocks your fingers and brings your hand to his mouth once again. Seeing his lips press softly against the back of your hand makes your skin tingle even more than when he kissed your hand the night before. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you lock eyes with Taehyung as he presses his lips against the inside of your wrist. Your fingers twitch on their own, and you feel the tingling sensation shoot straight to your lower belly. 

“Taehyung…” 

With his hand pressed against the back of yours, he slides your palm along his jaw until you’re cupping the side of his face. His cheek is freezing. 

“You have always felt empty. A piece of you lost. Or perhaps never existed in the first place, yes? You believe happiness is not meant for everyone.” He speaks with his eyes closed. His face tilts slightly so he can press further into your warm skin. “Do you still feel that way?”

A part of you wants to challenge him. How could the existence of a ghost you’ve known less than two weeks possibly cure you of the hole you’ve spent nearly thirty years attempting to patch up? 

Yet he’s right. What was a jagged crater in your chest now feels as small as a pinprick. You’re not sure when the hole started to close. Perhaps every light caress Taehyung left against your skin when you were sad, every grounding touch reminded you that you weren’t alone— even if you didn’t know who it was that did small acts of service to make your life a bit easier. You can’t be sure, but you remember how horrible it felt for the hole to be ripped back open by Hoseok’s impromptu visit. And you remember how quickly you’d forgotten about it the moment Taehyung began speaking to you through music. 

“The emptiness… it was because of you. Missing you.” Can you miss someone you’ve never met in this life? 

You watch Taehyung, follow the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks and the quirk at the corners of his mouth. You’re once again reminded of how beautiful he is. 

“Mmm, it was.” Taehyung’s eyes open. “You deserve happiness, Y/N. You deserve to feel whole.”

Is it insane to believe in ghosts? Are you crazy for being so willing to accept that you may be the reincarnated version of Taehyung’s long-lost love? How unrealistic is it to feel connected to a man you don’t know so quickly? And with very little reason to be? You feel crazy as you look into Taehyung’s eyes and find nothing but love and adoration. The desire to cling to that look and its promises is so strong you can't breathe. 

You let your hand fall in your lap when Taehyung lets go of it. You miss the feeling of his skin on yours immediately, but you don’t have to wait long for his touch to return. Now it’s your turn to close your eyes. You don’t realize you’re crying until Taehyung’s thumbs carefully wipe away the tears on your cheeks. 

“Please don’t cry, beloved,” Taehyung whispers. He scoots closer to you on the bed, close enough that your knees bump into each other when he leans forward to hold your face in his hands. 

“I feel insane,” you whisper back. It’s as though the two of you don’t want to speak loudly for fear of somehow breaking the other. “I shouldn’t feel so comfortable with you. I don’t even know you.” 

Taehyung lets out a low hum to acknowledge your concerns, but he takes a full minute to respond. The only thing keeping your nerves in check is how he smooths out your tear streaks with his thumbs. 

“Would you feel more secure if you spoke with Yoongi?” 

When you open your eyes, Taehyung is watching you with the same adoration he’d worn on his face when you closed them. You keep waiting for the catch— when he turns this back on you, admits that this was all a joke, or realizes you are crazy. Isn’t that what everyone has always said? You’ve always been lost in your head, making something out of nothing and expecting everyone else to play along. Or so you’ve been told. 

Taehyung seems adamant about making you feel safe and validated. It’s unequivocally unfamiliar. The only other person you trust to give you a sense of security is Jungkook. 

This is why you end up in the front seat of Jungkook's car, fiddling with his aux cord, while Taehyung is crammed in the backseat with gym bags, stray mismatched sneakers, and yoga mats. You think you saw a few jump ropes wrapped up like nesting snakes on the floor when you slipped inside, but you were too busy explaining to Taehyung how to use his seatbelt. 

Initially, you’d assumed Jungkook wouldn’t be able to see Taehyung. A strange, selfish part of you wanted to keep Taehyung your little secret. However, it was clear that you wouldn’t be getting your wish when Jungkook parked outside of your apartment complex and gave Taehyung the dirtiest look you’ve ever seen come from your sweetheart of a best friend. 

“He creeps me out,” Jungkook quietly huffs into your ear once Taehyung is secure in the backseat and the two of you still stand outside. 

You don’t have time to deal with that right now. 

“So, you want me to take you… to the cemetery… that we got kicked out of….” Jungkook is speaking to you as he gets comfortable in the driver's seat, but you can tell he’s got his eyes on Taehyung through the rearview mirror. 

“Yoongi will let you return,” Taehyung pipes up from the backseat. 

Jungkook raises an eyebrow as he pulls out onto the street. “Yoongi?” 

“Mm, he is the groundskeeper. You met him on Halloween.” 

Jungkook shoots you a sideways glance, eyes narrowed. You don’t know Jungkook to be such a defensive person, but something about Taehyung is rubbing him the wrong way. 

You twist in your seat to take a look at the seafoam-haired man. He sits straight back, his hands clasped together in his lap. You wonder how often he explores the town or if he leaves the cemetery at all. How familiar is he with cars? With the modern buildings and the little nature left in your town? You wonder if seeing the town change over the years hurts him. Something tells you that his pain doesn't have much to do with his surroundings— but more so with what isn't here. 

“How the fuck do you know that?”

Jungkook’s question makes Taehyung flinch, drawing his eyes away from the window and toward the front of the car. Despite his discomfort, when his gaze meets yours, Taehyung visibly relaxes. He gives you a small smile. It’s boxy; you hadn’t noticed before. It makes your heart clench even tighter.

“He was there, weren’t you, Taehyungie?” You match his smile. It may be the first time you’ve genuinely smiled at him, and that fact isn’t lost on Taehyung. His eyes widen, and he fervently nods his head. 

“Yes, I saw you both. And Jimin.” 

A loud snort shoves through your nose at the disdain written on Taehyung’s face. You’re happy you’re not the only one skeptical of Jungkook’s friends. 

Jungkook isn’t having any of it, though. “Where were you, then? I didn’t see you,” he pushes. 

Taehyung shrugs. “I am dead. I would not expect you to have seen me.” 

You have to bite your bottom lip to hold yourself together. The look on Jungkook’s face is nearly too much for you to bear. 

"What's your name again?" 

"Kim Taehyung. It is a pleasure to meet you, Jungkookie." The diminutive nearly makes you choke. If Taehyung is discouraged by Jungkook's rough tone, he's doing a fantastic job of masking it.

"And how do you know Y/N?" 

"College!" Taehyung opens his mouth, but you interject before he can speak. "We went to college together." Jungkook is young enough to not have known you while you were in college, so the excuse works perfectly. 

"Oh, okay." Jungkook loosens his grip on the steering wheel. "What did you study?" 

For a brief moment, Taehyung's eyes flick toward yours in a panic. He's smart, though, and he hardly misses a beat when he responds, "Marine Biology." 

"Oh, seriously? That's really dope! As a kid, I went to Jeju with my parents and saw a ton of dolphins. Did you study them?" 

Taehyung knows a great deal about marine life. You shouldn't be surprised; he lived in fishing towns for months at a time while he was alive. He was bound to learn about more than whatever fish he caught, you assume. 

While Taehyung and Jungkook talk about their favorite fish species, you distract yourself with your phone. The cemetery is close, so you spend the rest of the car ride rereading your text conversation with your boss, Namjoon. You texted him shortly after asking Jungkook to drive you to the cemetery. Although you trust Taehyung (more than you probably should), the historian and skeptic in you need to know more. 

To: Joonie

SOS

From: Joonie

Oh god. What is it now? 

To: Joonie

can you do me a favor? 🥺

From: Joonie

… That depends on many things.

To: Joonie

i just need you to check the local databases for me. there’s a person i want to look up

From: Joonie

Name? DOB? 

ASL?

Sorry, Jin hyung told me to send that, and I regretted it immediately.

To: Joonie

omfg you’re both weird

kim taehyung

i don’t know the exact date, but the mid-1800s?

From: Joonie

You’re lucky there aren’t a ton of Taehyungs from around here. I’ve got an obituary, a few handwritten letters, and a banknote. The scan job is shit. You know how the librarians are with the records they get from City Hall. Not much, but I’ll email you. What did you want them for?

To: Joonie

i’ll tell you later

As efficient as ever, Namjoon’s email is in your inbox as soon as you close out of your messaging app to check. Skipping the obituary seems like a good idea. The banknote doesn’t tell you much; it’s faded, and the font is hard to read. That’s fine, though, because you’re most interested in the letters. 

The cursive elegantly sprawled across the page in neat black wisps is Taehyung’s; you know this without even needing to check the bottom of the page to see his signature. Of course, you don’t know why you’re already privy to this fact about him, but you suppose that doesn’t matter. 

My dearest Hanbin hyung, the letter begins. Chunks of the writing are illegible due to water damage and tears. From what you can make of it, Hanbin is — was — Taehyung’s older brother. Your thumb drags along your phone screen, leaving smudges from how clammy your hands become as you read. 

Kun hyung delivered the locket to eomma. Thank you for requesting it so quickly. I plan to present it to Y/N once I return. I do hope she—  

Per Namjoon’s email, the letters seem to have been preserved for a historical collection of letters to and from significant government officials. Hanbin must have been someone very important. It makes sense, then, that he would have the money to pay for a gold locket. 

You only look up when Jungkook clears his throat. He’s parked the car, but you hadn’t noticed. Embarrassed, you slip your phone into your pocket and twist around to check on Taehyung. 

The cemetery appears more inviting in the daylight. It's relatively early, so the sun still passes through the morning clouds. The sun casts gentle rays across the still-foggy cemetery grounds, glistening the dewy grass and tombstones. Your gaze shifts between the solemn serenity of the cemetery and the otherworldly glow of Taehyung, and you can't imagine that such a gentle soul would be banished to wander the empty grounds with no one but a grumpy groundskeeper to keep him company. 

"Sooo... does he live here?" Jungkook bobs on the balls of his feet with his hands shoved into his pockets. 

"No," Taehyung scrunches his nose as he denies the inquiry. "Yoongi lives in an apartment complex nearby but should be in the visitor center." 

It only makes sense for Taehyung to lead the way. You follow close behind, shivering only slightly from the cold that drifts from his body the nearer you get. It's worth it, though, when Taehyung reaches his hand behind his back. His palm faces the sky, and his fingers stretch out, beckoning you. You don't bother considering what Jungkook may think as you slide your hand in Taehyung's and curl your fingers around his. You only let go once you step through the visitor's center. 

The lobby looks precisely how you'd expect a cemetery visitor's center to look. The carpet is gaudy, a deep burgundy with a pattern of faded gold swirls. There isn't much room to stand at the front desk because the room is crammed with wooden furniture: sturdy chairs in the corners; dressers with intricate designs carved into them, and weary-looking flowers in vases sat atop them; and a few floor lamps whose shades cast a sickly yellow glow. Stacks of maps and brochures for funeral arrangements sit on the front desk. 

"Yoongi?" Taehyung calls out as he leans against the desk. 

It only takes a few seconds for the man to appear from the backroom. His eyes light up when they rest on Taehyung but quickly grow hard when he sees you and Jungkook standing behind him. 

"Dumbass Halloween kids,” Yoongi says with a sigh. "If you think I'm gonna let you run around and play pretend graverobbers, you've got it all wrong."

"No, no," you blurt out, standing beside Taehyung against the desk. "Taehyung brought us here. I want to..." You turn to look at Jungkook, who is struggling to keep up. It doesn't matter now. Ever since Taehyung showed you the locket, you've thought about how to approach this situation. "I want to know how to bring him back to life." 

Taehyung lets out a strangled noise, something in between a gasp and a choke. "Pardon?" 

You ignore him, instead focusing on the dark orbs of Yoongi's eyes. If his inability to keep his eyes locked with yours says anything, you wonder if it means he's conflicted. 

"You can see him?" Yoongi is hesitant with his question. 

This may be Jungkook's breaking point. He throws up his hands and lets out a loud huff of air from his chest. "Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on? Why are we here? Why is he green?" 

"I told you. I am dead." 

Jungkook stares at Taehyung in disbelief, which makes wrinkles appear on his forehead. "Fine. Whatever." He sinks into one of the wooden chairs and glowers at the ugly carpet. 

The rest of you ignore Jungkook's sulking. It's for the best; you know he'll get over it eventually. You've kept him in the dark, so it wouldn't be fair for you to expect any other reaction from him. So instead, you focus on Yoongi and try blocking Taehyung's protests. 

"Is it possible?" 

You practically lean over the desk to get into Yoongi's space. It doesn't matter that you don't know Yoongi. It doesn't matter that you only know Taehyung from the silly game of 20 questions you played with him through Scrabble or the emotionally-charged conversation you had that morning. Your soul knows Taehyung. Logic won't explain it. Following your heart is something you've kept yourself from doing for a long time— if ever. But your heart settles with the calming waves in your chest, each brushing against the shore, washing over the darkest parts of you until nothing but light shines through. You've never felt so at ease before. 

Yoongi looks down at your hand intertwined with Taehyung's. The gentleness of his hold on yours is so natural that you don't even know at what point he'd reached for you. 

"I don't know," the groundskeeper finally admits. "I'm a medium, not a witch. I can see those who've died. Talk to them. But I don't know anything else. It's not like you can learn this shit in school." Yoongi's fingers twitch at his sides, nails digging into the seam on the outer thighs of his jeans. "You don't think I woulda brought him back already if I could? Never woulda left him here like this. It's a half-life. He doesn't fucking deserve it." 

"Yoongi..." Taehyung murmurs softly. 

The intimacy the two men hold in each other's gazes is so intense that you avert your eyes, not wanting to intrude on something that isn't meant for you. You're reminded that Taehyung has spent all of his afterlife in this cemetery, befriending groundskeepers over the years— well, those that can see him. Yoongi is one of the few, and by far the kindest, according to Taehyung, even with his gruff attitude. It's love, you now realize. 

"Sorry," Yoongi grunts, his eyes eventually finding yours again. "I wish I could help. I don't even know why he's... like this." 

"Maybe it's because Y/N believes in him." The three of you turn in unison to face the corner of the room. Jungkook sits with his arms crossed against his chest. His scowl has melted into a look of determined concentration. "Y'know, like Tinker Bell." 

Taehyung makes a quiet humming sound. You understand that this is his way of indicating that he's confused, even though you don't know how you know this. You lean closer to his left ear, somehow knowing this is his good ear. "Tinker Bell is a character from a children's story. She's a fairy, and fairies must be believed in, or they will die." 

Taehyung nods. It's unbelievably endearing how he bites his lips, folding them into themselves as he thinks through what you've said. You try not to linger on how he wets his lips with his tongue once he's released them or how pink and perfectly bowed they are. 

"She believes in me, which makes me more real," he surmises. This makes Jungkook perk up. 

"Exactly!" Your best friend has apparently decided to accept Taehyung for what he is. Either that, or he's simply playing along with whatever game he thinks this is. Then again, he has always been one to believe in ghosts. "The longer you go, the more real you are. Until..." 

"He becomes human again?" You don't mean to whisper, but you're struggling to maintain control of the unshed tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks.  

Taehyung intertwines his fingers with yours, and you let the cool breeze of salty air calm the storm inside your chest. 

“I don’t know, maybe? I’ve believed in him this whole time, though….” Yoongi frowns at Jungkook. His gaze softens when he turns to Taehyung, and you think it must be impossible for anyone to not be charmed by the seafoam-haired man. “I guess it’s a waiting game.” 

Taehyung stands with wide eyes so soft and innocent that your heart nearly crumbles with how deeply you ache for him. 

“I’ll wait.” You’re resolute with your words. 

The draw that pulls you to Taehyung isn’t a coincidence. All the pieces are there; you just need to assemble the puzzle. The longing for a wholeness you could never find, the portrait in the locket, the locket’s initials, the way your heart flutters every time Taehyung gifts you with his small, hesitant smile— it’s all too perfect. No matter how bizarre this entire situation is, you know you were supposed to be here, right now, at this moment. This was supposed to happen. 

Squeezing your hand, Taehyung says, “I would like to take you somewhere.” 

His eyes fall on Jungkook, although he’s speaking to you. Your friend’s mouth hangs open as if Taehyung had interrupted him before he had a chance to speak. Taehyung must be in tune with your thoughts because you aren’t interested in hearing Jungkook question your decision. 

As Taehyung leads you into the hallway, you don’t see Jungkook stand up to follow after you. Nor do you see Yoongi splay a hand across Jungkook’s chest or hear him whisper, “It’s okay.” 

“Yoongi is fond of you,” Taehyung admits as he leads you down the hall. 

“Really? I’ve done nothing but harass him with questions he doesn’t have the answers to.” 

Taehyung looks over his shoulder to give you a boxy smile that makes your stomach do something weird. “That is no reason not to like you.”

You wrinkle your nose in disbelief. “How do you know?” 

The two of you stop in front of a closed door at the end of the long hall. You let out a small gasp as you watch Taehyung’s hand disappear into the door. He twists his wrist a few times, and the sound of metal grinding together rings through the empty hall. He’s unlocked the door from the inside. 

“We can hear one another’s thoughts when we’re nearby,” Taehyung finally responds with a shrug that feels too casual. He doesn’t give you a chance to question this new information before he pulls you into the room. 

The room is small, just big enough to be an office or a storage room. A metal-frame daybed is shoved in one corner. In another is a tiny desk covered in books and loose sheets of paper. Despite no bodies of water nearby, the faint saltiness of the ocean permeates the room. It reminds you of childhood trips to the beach when long, hot days splashing in the waves ended with tracking sand into hotel rooms. There is something comforting about the smell of salt and sunblock on your skin, even when your skin is gritty with sand. 

It isn’t until Taehyung sits on the edge of the daybed that it all clicks. 

“This is your bedroom.” You let your eyes roam a bit longer, taking in the familiar cursive scrawled across one of the pages on the desk and a pencil sketch hanging on the wall of the flowers outside the cemetery gates. 

“Mm, yes,” Taehyung hums, watching you with the adoration you can’t believe is truly meant for you. “I do not need to sleep, but Yoongi insisted I have a space for myself. It's nice,” Taehyung muses. “Especially when it rains.” 

You don’t want to think about Taehyung having to hide out in random buildings when the weather gets bad. 

“It’s really cute,” and you mean it. It’s simple, but it feels warm. You’ve found that Taehyung feels warm, even when his touch makes you shiver. 

Like now, as he gets up to stand in front of you. You lift your chin slightly to look him in the eyes, but he isn’t looking at you. Instead, he looks down, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the locket again. 

“I was meant to give this to you when I returned home,” he explains softly. You don't think he’s tearing up, but his voice is rougher than you’ve grown used to. “It was meant to be my last courting gift to you before we married.” Taehyung lets out a shaky sigh and finally meets your gaze. “I would like you to have it now.” 

You find yourself unable to speak. You step to the side with a slow nod so Taehyung can stand behind you. His elegant fingers bring the locket around your neck. You can feel the faintest of cool touches tickle the back of your neck as he secures the locket’s clasp. The weight of the gold feels grounding as it sits against your chest just below your collarbones. 

Somehow you know Taehyung giving you the locket doesn't mean the same thing as it would have before, back when you weren't quite you. It's weird to imagine that you had a second life (or, rather, a first life). But, from what Taehyung has told you, there's very little that's different about you now than before. You were happier, perhaps. Although Taehyung still stares at you with sadness as though seeing you reminds him of what he believes was his gravest mistake— he left the past you when he should have stayed. You don't think it's your place to argue with him over his guilt, but it makes your heartache regardless. Could you blame him in any life? Any version of yourself? Holding onto guilt for nearly two hundred years must do something sinister to a person's heart. 

Still, you can't help but wonder if the current you is truly as special as Taehyung believes. You certainly don't feel special; you feel like an utter mess. Even your ideals about life are different. Marriage was never something you’d strongly considered. Perhaps with Hoseok, but the loneliness you felt was debilitating enough that you could never imagine taking on the responsibility of marriage to someone else when you were such a mess. There's no reason to bring someone down into the black hole with you, right? But with Taehyung… 

Something flares in the pit of your stomach when you feel his fingers gently massage your shoulders. And then you feel his lips brush against the nape of your neck, and the flares are full-blown flames climbing up your chest. 

“Taehyung…” 

You don’t know what to do with yourself, where to put your hands, where to look. So you close your eyes and let your body lean into Taehyung's, your back to his chest, your head against his shoulder. You breathe in the ocean and feel the waves carry you someplace you’ve never known but have always been homesick for. 

“May I?” 

You feel his breath against your lips. 

“You may.” 

Nothing else needs to be said.

Taehyung runs his fingers along your throat, eventually stopping to lightly press against the underside of your chin. You follow the movement, allowing him to tilt your face. It’s all happening so slowly, too slowly. You want to dig your fingers into his hair and pull him into you, but he somehow has complete command of your body with just two fingers at your chin. 

As his other hand slides across your waist to firmly hold your hip, Taehyung brings his mouth to yours. 

It’s no surprise that his lips are cold. The feeling is welcomed; your entire body is on fire in anticipation. Yet again, you find that Taehyung balances you out. He keeps you grounded with a secure hand on your hip and guides you into a steady rhythm as his lips move with yours. You twist slightly to angle your face, aiding yourself in deepening the kiss. Every slide of Taehyung's lips against yours sends cold electricity racing through your veins. The cold calms the burn of desire in the pit of your stomach, numbing you so you can dive into Taehyung further and longer. It takes the edge off just slightly enough to drink him in without fearing getting lost in flames. 

Your quiet whimpers are met with his satisfied hums as he swallows everything you give him. You don’t know what kissing was like two hundred years ago, but you’re sure how Taehyung sucks your bottom lip into his mouth would have been scandalous, just like it makes you weak in the knees now.

You’re lightheaded when you finally pull away, your chest rising and falling with enough vigor to make Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Oh no,” he whines. You might die from hearing such a sound come from such pouty lips. “I am so sorry. You need to breathe.” 

Ah, yes. Because Taehyung does not. 

It doesn't help that you gasp as you answer him, "Don't apologize." Because why would something so sweet need an apology? You should be thanking him. Kissing Taehyung feels like being submerged in the ocean in the early morning before the sun can warm the water. It's shocking and refreshing. The sensation is unlike anything you've experienced before. You're worried you won't ever recover from it. 

Needing to see him, you twist in Taehyung's arms to face him. Your arms are slung across his shoulders, and his hands rest on your waist, keeping your bodies at a respectable distance from each other. The expression you're met with is one of such blinding bliss that his beauty makes your heart ache. His grin is so powerful that it squints his eyes, and you realize you're honestly fucked. 

"I know this is strange for you... and likely difficult to believe," Taehyung assumes. The brightness of his joy falters slightly, but he continues to hold your gaze. "And I do not want you to feel obligated to wait for me." 

You open your mouth to protest, but he gives you a small smile and shakes his head. 

"I want you to know you do not need to do this." You expect him to be sad, but his tone is light and kind, like he is terrified of offending you. "You are both her and not. You are your own person with experiences we have not shared, a life that does not include me. I would never take that away from you. I will do whatever it takes not to disappoint you as I did before."  

You never believed in reincarnation, so Taehyung is correct in assuming this is difficult for you. But the connection you have with him, the demanding desire to look after him and keep him close, is enough proof that there is truth to all of this. Why else would you crave his presence and his touch? It's not love; you've known him for barely two weeks. But the feeling that stirs in your chest where the hole used to be is akin to the adoration that comes with love. It's not love, but it could be. It may be remnants of it from a time when Taehyung was yours. 

You lightly tug at the hair at the nape of Taehyung's neck before inching higher. Then, twisting your fingers deeper into his silky hair, you try to use your grip to bring his face closer to yours. To your surprise, Taehyung is pliant under your touch, allowing you to tilt his head at whichever angle you want him in. 

"You are not a disappointment, and I have a feeling you weren't then either," you whisper against his cheek before pecking it lightly. Light pink spreads across his tan skin, so you kiss his other cheek, too. 

His response is another gentle smile, and you feel your heart crumble. 

"Did I ever tell you how great a kisser you are, before?" 

"Yes," he whispers. "But it was long ago, and I would very much like to hear it again." His once wide and innocent eyes have fallen heavy with an intensity you haven't yet seen on him. It's not just his cool skin pressed against yours that sends goosebumps shivering down your arms. 

"Maybe you should give me another demonstration. Just to be sure." 

As heated as Taehyung's kisses are, his passion doesn't show through his body language. He stands still with his hands lightly resting on your waist, maintaining distance between your bodies. He keeps you nearly at arm's length even as you pull him closer to you. 

Although you don't want to push him to do anything he doesn't want to do, you test the waters by leaning further into him. The new position allows you to deepen the kiss, making Taehyung quietly moan into your mouth. It's when your hips brush against one another that Taehyung abruptly pulls away. 

"W-w-we should go back," he stutters. 

"Oh, okay." You blink for a few seconds, waiting for your brain to defog. 

You mindlessly follow him out of the room, only pausing to let him lock the door (with a ghostly hand again). It feels as though you've been away for hours once you return to the lobby, though logically, you know you were gone for maybe twenty minutes at most. 

Yoongi and Jungkook are on opposite sides of the room, sitting on the floor with stacks of maps beside them. When you get closer, Jungkook launches a paper plane across the room. It slices through the air with impressive precision until it lands tip-first into a potted plant, rather than at Yoongi, who you assume was the intended target. 

"You're folding them all wrong," Yoongi chastises your friend. As you and Taehyung approach them, you see even more paper planes littering the floor. 

"Am not!" Jungkook huffs. "These maps aren't good for folding. They feel waxy." 

"Then how's it that mine fly just fine?" 

You clear your throat, and both men look up at you from their positions on the floor. "Having fun?" 

Jungkook grumbles intelligibly, and Yoongi gives you a noncommittal shrug.

You roll your eyes and turn to Taehyung for support, but he's standing at the perimeter of the room. 

"Tae?" The nickname slips out without much thought, but you grow flustered when Taehyung's eyes widen. 

"We should leave." His words mirror the recommendation (or command, really) that he'd given in your bedroom. 

Yoongi launches to his feet and brushes his jeans off as if there's anything to make them dirty. The look he gives Taehyung is indecipherable to you, but you remember that they can read each other's thoughts. Their relationship reminds you that there is still much to learn about this world. 

You wait with Jungkook at the front door while Taehyung says goodbye to Yoongi. It's not as though they won't ever see each other again, but you get the impression that they rarely spend much time away from each other. 

"Ready to go home?" Taehyung asks once he's beside you at the door, and Yoongi has returned to his work behind the front desk. 

His question squeezes your heart, making your blood rush through your veins faster than you're sure it should. At some point, your apartment had become home to Taehyung. You doubt he even realizes what he says. 

The ride back is more relaxed than the ride to the cemetery for you. This time you tune into Jungkook and Taehyung's conversation, this time about what it's like to be dead. It concerns you at first that Jungkook might offend Taehyung, but the ghost answers all his questions with a bit of amusement hinted at in the twitch of his mouth. Many of the questions are ones you have yet to think to ask. It's no surprise; Jungkook has always had an overactive imagination. 

"What's the coolest part about being a ghost?" Jungkook taps his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the song Taehyung telepathically turned on through the car radio. The clever trick launched Jungkook into a new wave of curiosity. 

"Hmm..." Taehyung takes a moment to think. His gaze wanders over to observe the scenery flash by through the window. 

Jungkook isn't the safest of drivers, you'll admit. 

"Invisibility was fun, at times." He returns his gaze to meet Jungkook's in the rearview mirror. A small smile graces his face. "I liked going places others are not allowed in, like seeing how movies are projected at theaters or watching chefs in fancy restaurants. There was so much technology I had to learn." 

"Wow. I thought you would say you spied on people showering or something." 

"Oh my god," you exclaim. You twist around to catch a glimpse of Taehyung's horrified expression. "Jungkook, you're traumatizing him." 

Jungkook spends the rest of the car ride describing all the perks he would take advantage of as an invisible ghost. It feels good to listen to Taehyung laugh at Jungkook's nonsense; you realize it's your first time hearing the sound, and it may as well be the trumpets of heaven calling to you with how freeing it makes you feel. 

When Jungkook finally parks outside your apartment building, Taehyung makes a show of unbuckling his seatbelt to point out that he had, in fact, remembered to buckle himself in (and did it correctly). You laugh at the innocence of it all and try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your stomach when you realize you're about to be alone in your apartment with the ghost of your lover in a past life. 

“Y/N, wait.” Jungkook grabs your forearm to stop you from getting out of the car. 

You raise an eyebrow, aware that Taehyung now stands on the sidewalk waiting for you. “What?”

Jungkook leans back in his seat and gives you a serious look. “I would tell you to use protection, but I get the feeling a pregnancy and STIs aren't things you need to worry about.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, slapping Jungkook in the arm. "You're gross."

"Not as gross as the raging boner your ghostie boyfriend was sporting back at the cemetery." 

"He did not have a boner." 

"He absolutely did," Jungkook says with a grin. "And from what I could tell, ya boy's packin'." 

"Jungkook!" 

Your friend chuckles through the pain of another slap to the arm. Slamming his car door shut isn't satisfying enough. You feel like a petulant teenager storming to your bedroom after a fight with your parents. Except Jungkook is an immature little brat, and you're trying not to think about how he called Taehyung your boyfriend or that you also noticed Taehyung's... 

"Are you okay?" 

Taehyung rolls his lips as he follows you through the front door. It's an adorable habit you've noticed. 

You take Taehyung's hand in yours and squeeze. "Never been better." 

Living with a corporeal Taehyung is just like living with an invisible Taehyung, but more fun. 

He still offers to wash the dishes after dinner, and he's likely the only reason your plants are still alive. When work is stressful or life gets too heavy, your Bluetooth speakers continue to play uplifting music, except now elegant hands aptly twirl you around to the song's rhythm (and sometimes off-beat, but life is more fun when you color outside of the lines). 

You still find a mug of fresh coffee steaming on the kitchen counter every morning, but now there's always a man perched on the edge of the counter, too. You've decided he's always cute, but he's devastatingly cute in the mornings when his hair is messy from sleep and he's still in his pajamas. The shirts he wears are too tight for him because they're yours, but you selfishly like how the sleeves strain around his biceps and how his broad shoulders pull up the fabric to expose his midriff when he lifts his arms. The sweatpants you give him to sleep in are even more dangerous. They're grey and tight in the crotch. You try not to think about it.  

Although Taehyung says he doesn't need to sleep, he starts to become tired at the end of the day. Sometimes you wonder if he complains of fatigue as an excuse to cuddle you at night since you have gotten into the habit of sleeping together. Chivalry nearly puts Taehyung on the couch; you have to fight him to agree to sleep in the bed with you. He finds it disrespectful, but you insist you have little honor to preserve anyway. 

"That is not polite to say about yourself, Y/N," Taehyung often protests. 

He still sleeps in your bed, though. 

Despite your increased closeness, you never explore each other beyond kisses. Though you do plenty of that. Taehyung can't keep his lips away from yours, even when he puts a respectful distance between your body and his. No matter if they're light pecks or heated, kisses from Taehyung leave you breathless and, sometimes, a little sad. Sad because you know he's making up for lost time, and his desperation isn't just because he's attracted to you but also because you know he loves you, even if he has yet to explicitly say it. 

And you are afraid to love. 

What you are no longer afraid of, though, are the weekends. Instead of dreading them, you look forward to the days you can lounge in your apartment with Taehyung attached to your hip— even if all you do is binge all the movies and TV shows Taehyung has missed out on. 

"Should we watch Ghost?" 

Taehyung loudly snorts at your question, offense clear as day on his face. You feel his baritone voice rumble through your body from lying on top of him. He lies on his back on the couch with your head against his chest, both of your faces turned to watch the TV as you sort through video recommendations on your streaming app. 

"I take offense to that," he grumbles and huffs in mock irritation. 

You've noticed that Taehyung has recently started breathing. Your head rises and falls with his chest in a steady rhythm, but you're afraid to point it out. You aren't sure if he's intentionally doing it to feel real or if he is real. 

Hope is something to be afraid of, too. 

"Offense?!" You gasp. "What do you have against Patrick Swayze? It's a classic American romance." 

"About a ghost," Taehyung huffs again. 

You lift your head to look him in the eyes and wrap your arms around his shoulders. "And you are a ghost." 

He averts his eyes to look somewhere over your shoulder. "You need not remind me." 

Fuck. It was the wrong thing to say, and you should've known it. You're not sure why, but Taehyung has been particularly moody about his condition lately. Unfortunately, you aren't doing much to help. 

"Tae," you whine, pressing your face into his chest to hide your shame, if only for a moment. "I'm sorry." 

He's silent, but when you lift your head, he has a sad smile on his face. "No need to apologize for speaking the truth." 

Propping yourself up slightly with your elbows at his shoulders and your knees on either side of Taehyung's waist, you tilt his face to look at you directly. Holding each side of his neck, you rub your thumbs along his jaw and slot your lips with his. 

Taehyung lets you guide him through a slow kiss, almost lazy in how languidly your lips move with one another. Getting him to cuddle with you with so much physical contact has been a journey nearly as slow as the kiss you're losing yourself in, but it was worth it to finally feel Taehyung solid beneath you. He may be cold, and his touch still feels more like a whisper than anything heavy-handed, but he's here. 

"You're my ghost, you know," you say when you finally pull away. 

Taehyung lets out a pleased hum, his eyes still closed. Seeing him like this, so close and vulnerable, your bodies a tangled mess of safety and comfort. It stirs something within you, something you've tried to keep tucked away because you want it and you don't know what it means if you get what you want. 

"I am yours?" Taehyung parrots with closed eyes but one eyebrow raised. You're starting to pick up on how to decode his expressiveness. The eyebrow quirk, along with the twitch of the corner of his mouth, can only mean one thing. 

Determined to wipe off the recent development of cockiness in your new roommate (which you're convinced he picked up from hanging around Jungkook too much), you resort to playing dirty. 

"Do you not want to be?" You tease the question against his lips, forcing him to chase yours when you pull away faster than he can react. 

"I do. More than anything in this world and the next." He lets out a frustrated whine, but you aren't interested in showing mercy. 

Instead, you take a leap of faith that you hope you won't regret. 

"I have a question for you," you admit against the skin of Taehyung's jaw. Before he can respond, you roll your hips to grind against his crotch. Taehyung lets out a low moan, deeper and breathier than you've ever heard come out of him. The sound makes your entire body throb. “Did we ever do this, before?”  

Taehyung shakes his head slowly, a shuddered breath leaving his lips as your mouth latches onto the sensitive skin of his throat just below his jaw. 

“No?” Shock colors your reply. Your tone makes Taehyung rigid, and you immediately regret how freely you let your surprise show. 

“It was customary to wait until marriage,” he admits meekly. “We kissed while I courted you, but that was all….” 

You know it’s not logical to feel bad, but you can’t stop your stomach from twisting when you think back on all the people you’ve had sex with. Taehyung, essentially your soulmate, spent nearly hundreds of years waiting for you — only you — and what had you done? Sucked dick left and right!

“I’m so sorry, Tae. Do you want to stop?” You pull away from his neck to look him in the eyes. 

Taehyung barely pauses to think before he shakes his head once again. “No, no, I want this.” He gives you a small smile. It’s cute how pink his cheeks have turned, and you wonder how a ghost can blush. “You are the only one for me, Y/N. If you will have me.”  

“Of course I’ll have you,” you murmur, keeping your voice low and steady. “We can go slow.” You gently hold his wrists, guiding Taehyung to place his hands on your hips. “You can touch me wherever you want, okay?” 

With his hands almost where you want them, you ease back down until your chests are pressed against each other. Then, your hands return to Taehyung’s neck. You use your hold on him to apply light pressure to his jaw whenever you need to adjust the tilt of his head, manipulating him into the position you need to deepen your kisses. 

“How do you feel?” You shift slightly, so your hips are directly on top of Taehyung’s. You watch his face as you roll your hips slightly, applying more pressure against the growing bulge in his sweatpants, the loose fabric making it easy to feel how hard he is. 

“Ahh,” Taehyung gasps. He instinctually tightens his grip on your hips. "G-g-good."  

It feels incredible to have his fingers digging into your skin. You wiggle your hips, trying to coax his hands further down your body. The movement makes your shorts ride up, reminding you that you're both fully clothed. 

"I wanna see you, Tae," you speak against his lips. Your fingers play with the hem of his t-shirt. When you hear him inhale suddenly, breath hitching in his throat, you take the opportunity to slide your hands beneath the fabric. His stomach is cold, just like the rest of him, but he's soft and smooth. You allow your ego to inflate a bit every time you feel his muscles spasm when you gently drag your nails along his abdomen. 

"Can I take this off?" 

Taehyung nods, eyes glassy and pink lips parted. His fluffy hair gets jostled around as you pull his t-shirt off. 

"And these?" 

He whimpers when your fingers curl around the edge of his sweatpants, catching his briefs, too, so one tug makes him fully unclothed beneath you. 

Jungkook was not wrong in his assumptions about Taehyung's size. You take a deep breath and try not to let your gaze linger too long. This is Taehyung's first time; it's important to you that you make him feel comfortable. Ogling at his dick probably isn't going to help. 

"Y/N?" 

Like a deer in headlights, you snap your gaze up to stare at Taehyung with wide eyes. "Y-yes?" 

"Yours too?" Taehyung reaches out to pull at the hem of your t-shirt. His movements are so endearingly timid that you almost feel bad for ruining his innocence. 

Almost. 

Your underwear is already soaked just from rutting against him, and your clit feels swollen as it throbs. Peeling off your clothes brings relief as much as it further pushes you into delirium from fully pressing your skin against Taehyung's. 

“Touch me, please,” you whisper. 

You reach down to grab Taehyung’s left hand, lifting it from your hip to place it on the back of your thigh just below your ass. Because of how you straddle his waist, your legs are spread apart. Maneuvering Taehyung’s hand makes his fingers brush against your core as his hand wraps around your thigh. Even with as light of a touch as it is, you stifle a moan into the crook of his neck. 

"Tell me if I do anything wrong, please," Taehyung pleads as he wraps his free hand around your other thigh to hold you in place. 

He inhales sharply when he drags his fingers along your lips and finds his fingers coated in your arousal. Seemingly overcoming the initial shock, he massages circles against your entrance, occasionally dipping further between your thighs to brush your clit. 

You lift your face to press your forehead against Taehyung's. "You're doing everything right, baby. I like when you play with my clit." 

It's clear that Taehyung is eager to please you because he takes your words to heart. His nimble fingers rub your clit in slow, intentional circles, maintaining a rhythm that has you grinding against him with more fervor. The faster you move, the bolder Taehyung gets until you're gasping against his mouth when you feel a finger slide inside you. 

"Oh fuck," you moan, rocking back against his hand. The motion makes your pussy slide against Taehyung's cock. "Curl forward like this." You show him how to move his finger, and he watches you with the utmost attention, flawlessly executing your requests. 

Whimpers fall from Taehyung like prayers, and the only thing he's worshipping is you. When he begins stuttering your name is when you finally halt your movements, afraid of pushing him too far too soon. 

"What's wrong?" He chokes out the question, and you nearly lose yourself entirely to the gravelly sound of his voice. He already looks and sounds so fucked out, golden skin flushed and eyes droopy with lust. 

"Nothing, god, nothing at all," you groan, sitting back on your knees to get up from his chest. “Sit up, baby.” 

"Why?" Taehyung questions, but he follows your order. 

With his back against the arm of the couch, you straddle Taehyung’s lap. "Wanna ride you." 

The teasing joke you were going to make about how missionary was probably the only sex allowed back when Taehyung was alive immediately dies in your throat when you see the look on his face. His mouth hangs open, lips slick with spit and swollen from how much you've bitten them. His hands squeeze your hips so tightly it almost hurts, and his breathing is so erratic you're more than convinced it's real. 

Simply put, he looks like he'll cum if you even look at him the right way. Of course, it wouldn't bother you; the guy's a virgin and hasn't had sexual contact with another person in nearly two hundred years. Can you really blame him for losing his cool? No, but that doesn't mean you can't plan to draw this out as long as possible. 

“Tell me when it’s too much, and I’ll stop. I don’t want you to cum yet.” 

Taehyung nods and makes an effort to relax his breathing. You don't even bother with any foreplay; too hard of a yank, and you'll find yourself in a mess of trouble. Instead, you're straightforward in your preparations, lining his cock up with your entrance. Rather than ease yourself onto him, you drop to his thighs in one quick movement. It's a bit of a mistake because Taehyung is big, but the beautiful look of pure ecstasy on his face and how he makes you feel so full makes up for the burning stretch and the sudden assault against your cervix. 

Taehyung chokes as though he's had all the air punched out of him. His eyes close, and his eyebrows scrunch together like he’s concentrating. You watch how his pretty pink lips fall open. The way he puffs out shallow breaths is endearing, knowing he's trying his hardest to keep himself together. 

“Talk to me, Tae.” 

He lets out a breathy groan. You feel it vibrate from deep within his chest. It's not words, but it's something. 

Sitting up on your knees, you swiftly fall back onto Taehyung’s cock. A choked version of your name sputters out of his mouth when your body connects with him again. 

“Ahhh, too much, too much.” But when you pause your movements, Taehyung whimpers for you to keep going. 

Desperation sounds pretty in his baritone voice. He moans your name repeatedly. It becomes a breathy, choked-out mantra every time your pussy swallows his cock and your ass slaps against the tops of his thighs.

Although you’re used to sex being hard and fast, taking things slow with Taehyung is more satisfying than any quick and dirty fuck you’ve ever had. You swear you can feel it more because each glide of his cock in and out of you is intentional. And because you’re in control, you can angle your body to ensure he hits that sweet spot inside you every time, all while creating friction between your clit and his abdomen. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. You can try moving now, okay? Move with me.” 

Taehyung squeezes your waist to help bounce your body onto his cock more forcefully. He bends his knees and tries out a few small thrusts. His dark eyes never stray from yours. It's what leads you to praise him even more. 

“Y-y-yes, fuck, just like that,” you moan. 

You let your head roll to the side as Taehyung thrusts into you. It takes him a few tries before his thrusts match up with the rhythm you’ve established, but soon he’s pulling you onto his cock at the same time he’s thrusting into your pussy. The force turns your whimpers into full-blown moans at such a high pitch they might as well be tiny screams. 

“You sound so pretty,” Taehyung moans, and the thickness of his voice startles you. 

So far, he's been quiet aside from his own whimpers and moans, but real words have been few. You're unsure if that's a blessing or a curse. What he says isn't even dirty talk, but you feel heat bloom across your body at the compliment. Taehyung thinks you're pretty. Of course, he does; he's given you even stronger compliments than that. But this time, you're pretty because you're bouncing on his cock and screaming his name. 

One of Taehyung's hands slides across your stomach to squeeze your tits. When he tweaks your nipples, you let out another pretty moan. He mumbles something under his breath, his voice too low for you to register what he’s saying. 

"Hm, baby?" His pecs are tight and bulge as you dig your nails to steady yourself. 

"I-I-I'm," His voice tilts slightly, the rumbling baritone morphing into something whinier, needier. 

“Close?” You struggle to speak as you pant, mouth dry from hanging open as Taehyung's hips slam into yours. 

He bites his bottom lip so hard you can see how his skin turns white from the pressure. He scrunches up his eyebrows and glares at you. 

“I cannot,” he hisses. 

You know he’s close. You can tell from how tightly he’s holding his body, forcing himself rigid to keep himself under control, but you don’t understand why. 

“Just let go," you whine, digging your fingers into his hair. You tug on the strands at the back of his head, making his face lift up to look at you as you press your chest against his. 

“You first,” he finally manages to grunt out. 

You're convinced Taehyung is the only man in the history of the universe that has lasted long enough during his first time having sex to ensure that his partner cums before he does. To not overwhelm him, you bring your own fingers down to play with your clit as Taehyung continues crashing your hips together. It takes minimal effort to make the coiled spring of heat in you snap and even less effort to have Taehyung follow behind you with a breathy moan that ends in a near sob. 

"Fuck," you exhale one last time before collapsing into Taehyung's arms. "How are you doing?" 

He sits with his head hanging backward off the arm of the couch. Sweat has his bangs plastered to his face, and you're too exhausted to wonder how a ghost can sweat. (Or cum, for that matter.) After a few seconds of silence, he finally lifts his head to look you in the eyes. 

"Incredible," he says with the boxy grin you know you'll never get enough of. "A bit disgusting, though. But incredible." 

"Disgusting?!" You slap his chest, but he clasps your hand in his before you can pull away. 

"In a good way," he insists with apologetic eyes. "Disgusting in a sexy way." 

You roll your eyes, only somewhat understanding what he means. Sex is kind of gross if you really think about it. "We can take a shower and get less disgusting." 

Taehyung nods but refuses to move even after you've gotten up from the couch. 

"Well, come on," you groan, tugging at his arm. "I can feel your cum on the inside of my thighs; that is disgusting." Your whining is overpowered by giggles, though, when Taehyung opens his eyes to give you the most pathetic look you've ever seen. 

His eyes are unfocused and droopy as he speaks. "I cannot move my legs." 

"Can't you just, I don't know, float or something?" You lift your arms to mimic... well, mimic whatever it is you think it would look like if you were Taehyung floating through the air. 

You both fall into a fit of giggles, voices hoarse and ugly from the sounds of sex you're sure your neighbors will complain about later. Somewhere in the mix of pulling Taehyung off the couch and supporting his weight as you tumble into the bathroom, you realize you've never been this comfortable with someone before. 

It's easy to be vulnerable with Taehyung, to let his dark eyes roam your body as you shower without feeling self-conscious. It's easy to joke around with him, even in heated moments when other men would have expected you to be serious and sexy. It's easy to be yourself, something not many people have wanted you to be in a very long time. 

So when you're both clean and dry, tangled up in your bed sheets that night, it's easy to lean into Taehyung's touch. And when he brushes his lips against your ear, whispering, "I love you," it's easy to find yourself whispering, "I love you, too." 

Waking up in love feels different somehow. You don't like to be cliche and say the sun shines brighter and your body feels lighter, and you don't have to because the next morning it's raining and your body feels like you got fucked within an inch of your life. But there is something different about this morning. 

You don't know what it is until you venture into the kitchen, beckoned by the familiar sound of coffee brewing and the sizzle of pancakes (because Taehyung has been obsessed with breakfast foods lately). 

"Good morning, ba—" 

"Fuck—" 

Your phone clatters to the floor at the same time Taehyung sticks his finger in his mouth. The two of you stare at each other, eyes wide and for different reasons. 

"Why do you—" 

"Can you get me a—" 

You both clamp your mouths shut, eyebrows raised. Taehyung hums around the finger in his mouth as if to say, you go. But you can hardly get your words out because you now know what's different about today. 

Taehyung's hair is brown. 

"Why do you look like that?" 

Taehyung scrunches his nose at you. At first, you think he's angry, but as he pulls his finger out of his mouth, you realize he is trying to smile. 

"I cut myself." 

"That's not what-" you pause, finally taking in your surroundings. There's a pancake getting burnt to shit on the stove. Your usual mug of coffee (in a new mug, not Hoseok's) sits on the counter. Beside the mug is a cutting board with apple slices and a knife resting on top. "You... cut yourself..." 

Taehyung nods with a grin and holds out his finger. "See, look." 

There is a small cut on the tip of his finger, just deep enough to release a few steady drops of blood, but nothing serious. Still, you take Taehyung's hand in yours to inspect it further. 

But then you realize his hand is warm. 

"Y/N," Taehyung speaks your name slowly. "I'm bleeding." 

Your vision blurs as you desperately try to blink away tears. "You're bleeding." 

"I'm bleeding! I do not know how to cook or use kitchen utensils, and I am bleeding!" Taehyung nearly cackles. He wraps his arms around your waist and twirls you around the kitchen, chanting, "I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!" at the top of his lungs. 

"Do you know what this means?" He comes to a stop in the middle of the kitchen. 

You rest your chin on his chest and peer up at him, tear-streaked cheeks and all. "You're alive."

"I'm alive," he whispers. Thinks it over. Whispers it again. "I'm alive." 

Your lips crash into each other with desperation unlike what you'd had the night before. This time you're both desperate for a warmth you've never experienced together before. Taehyung's tongue is hot as he licks into your mouth, and you feel the heat of his cock press against your thigh as it twitches to life in his briefs. He moans when you tug on his chocolate-brown hair, and his breath is hot against your skin. 

Even when the deafening alarm of the smoke detector goes off from Taehyung's forgotten pancake, you struggle to pull away from Taehyung's warmth. 

"Mmm, let me fix this," Taehyung murmurs against your mouth. He walks you back towards the stove, turning it off and switching on the vent to start ridding the room of smoke. "My beloved," Taehyung laughs as he tries to pry your arms from his body. "I am not going anywhere." 

"You better not," you threaten, unwrapping your arms from his shoulders only to wrap them around his waist instead. 

"My love for you is eternal," he declares with a quick kiss on the tip of your nose. "I promise to stay by your side."

And just as you have since the moment he spoke to you through your Bluetooth speakers, you trust him.

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

Having Jungkook as a roommate didn’t necessarily cause you any problems in your everyday life, but boy was he a rather peculiar man from time to time. Sharing space with him was an overall easygoing and even enjoyable experience due to his rather reserved and borderline reclusive nature. He was quiet, rarely had guests, and didn’t pester you. He was also quite domestic, which usually indirectly benefited you. His areas were well-kept and consistently clean. He seemed to enjoy cooking and from time to time, when you were gone for the entire day from morning until night, either at work or shuffling through campus, you would come home to an extra serving waiting on the stove for you even though he was never anywhere in sight. Admittedly, you did eat his extras without permission the first time, but now, he delegates the extras to you. And he wakes up incredibly early every morning, so with you finally consuming your second meal of the day alone in the dimly lit kitchen at 11:30 pm, it never feels like an appropriate time to thank him. So, you would instead leave a sticky note that reads ‘thank you for the food. i ate well.’ on the coffee machine each time, the first place he’d look in the morning. You knew this because every morning around 7:15 am, you were roused from your slumber by the pleasant aroma of coffee beans brewing and clinging to the air, seeping through all the walls. It was a habit of his that cultivated comfort, a sense of home. You didn’t even like coffee, but his routine was oddly like an alarm, a signal to your body that the day was beginning. Shortly after his brew would begin, your eyes were fluttering open, humming contentedly as you took in the scent and stretched the sleep out of your limbs. Jungkook was kind enough, not demanding much of you and asking for a reasonable amount to rent out his spare room. Of all the people and places you could have secured last-minute housing for university with, you were quite fortunate to end up with Jungkook. He was a simple guy, not one for many words, communicating in mostly hums, sighs, and head mechanisms when you actually saw him come slinking out of his bedroom or entering quietly from wherever he spent his day. But despite being mostly pleasant and tolerable, he still had these odd idiosyncrasies that made you quirk a brow at him, utterly perplexed. Firstly, he nitpicked the number of paper towels you used at once. On one of the rare occasions that you both had lingered in the common space simultaneously on a day other than Tuesday, you were washing your hands. Naturally, like any other person, you grabbed paper towels to dry them. You could feel his eyes locked on your side profile as he watched from the dining table. They were shamelessly boring into you, analyzing you, judging you.

You met his eyes slowly, feeling unusually nervous as if you were being heavily and thoroughly scrutinized. “Uh…is everything okay?” “You use a lot of sheets of paper towels at once.” He noted quietly, never tearing his gaze from yours. “It’s pretty wasteful.” He didn’t state it with malice, just moderate concern. When he said it, you looked down between your palms where a bundle of paper towels were bunched up and on their way to becoming waste indeed. You could admit that it was more than you actually needed, but it was just an odd thing to want to observe and take note of. You looked back up at him. “Sorry?” You offered. “Is there a certain amount you’d like me to use at a time?” He hummed, considering. “Ideally, they should only be used for spills and messes, as to not permanently stain our cloth towels. Considering there are 208 sheets in total at an average cost of $5 per roll, making each sheet worth just under 2.5 cents, it’d be objectively more cost-efficient and environmentally friendly if you simply…placed a cloth towel there specifically for you to dry your hands with and just ensure to include it in your laundry cycle regularly. That’s what I do. It…just seems like the most reasonable option.” “Uh…huh.” You said slowly, trying to wrap your mind around why it took a boy who hardly ever speaks so many words to arrive at a very simple conclusion: just put a hand towel there instead. “I’ll put a towel there. I’m sorry for being wasteful.” He nodded. “Thank you for acknowledging my concern, y/n.” You didn’t even get a chance to add a towel. Jungkook did it himself. The next time you went into the kitchen, he had placed an additional hand towel folded carefully and identically right next to his. You laughed very softly, lips tilting up into a grin. What a peculiar boy.

Secondly, he has an odd attachment to very tiny, mundane instances within his routines. Every Tuesday you only had a single class in the morning but you had a day off from work, so you were usually strolling back into the apartment by mid-afternoon. Jungkook was never there when you arrived home and you don’t know much about what he did with his time during the day. He had already graduated college, so you knew he had to be doing something during the daytime. What it was? Uncertain, but he always had a backpack that was full and his laptop was tucked securely under his arm within its protective sleeve. He would arrive back home by 4:30 fairly consistently. You were usually engrossed in a book, spread out on the living room floor studying, or curled up on the couch watching dramas whenever he arrived. You never made eye contact or redirected your attention from what it was already fixated on, but you did always absentmindedly greet him the same way each time: “Welcome back home.” He always gave you a small hello and immediately retreated back to his room without another word. Sometime around 6 o’clock, he would emerge from his room and come to the common space to ask if you wanted dinner. It was the only occasion during the week you could actually eat the things he made fresh after it was made rather than reheated. And you would both sit in an incredibly comforting, idle silence while you ate. There were never expectations to entertain one another or engage in meaningless small talk. You would compliment his meal and tell him you ate well. It was never a lie. Jungkook was an exceptional cook. But on one particular Tuesday in question, he came stumbling into the apartment at 2:45, much earlier than usual, and in an evident frenzy. He came in, kicked his shoes off at the door, and moaned begrudgingly as he shuffled back into his room.

“Welcom-” The greeting died on your lips, hearing his long string of audible dread and looked after him as he scurried down the hall. “Jungkook?” You called after him. You watched his tall figure pause and turn back towards you when he heard you, his eyes round and wide with fear. “Yes?” “Rough day?” You ask softly, trying not to overwhelm him. “You’re home pretty early. And you have this distinct look of terror.” You joke lightheartedly. He sighs, looking down at his feet. “It is a rough day and it’s only going to get worse. I don’t know what to do.” “Do you need help with something?” “I…I think so? I have friends coming over. I’ve never had anyone over here. I don’t…do that. I’ve never made that much food. I feel like I won’t be able to get done in time and clean myself up.” “You seem really stressed out about this. How many people are coming?” “…Two,” he answers. “But additional mouths to feed means more time and honestly, y/n, I don’t have any time. I left work early so I could try to make this happen but now it means I’m going to be behind on the schedule I put together for my project at work and this is…it’s…it’s fucking up my routine. It’s stressing me out. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know I’m just blubbering and prattling right now.” “Jungkook,” you say softly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. I get it. I hate when my day gets thrown off, too. I’m not doing anything particularly important if you wanted some help with making dinner. Is there anything you need from the store or anything? I can go do that while you wash up and relax a bit.” He’s quiet for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to say. He just looks at you with this unreadable expression, nods once, curtly, and turned back toward his room. You didn’t take it any kind of way, knowing that he often responded pretty similarly. You figure he just isn’t used to requesting or receiving help. That’s fine. You can still do it. Later when the two of you were prepping dinner and simultaneously trying to make the apartment feel ‘guest ready’, you kept noticing Jungkook looking at you, but he wouldn’t speak. Actually, he hardly said anything at all the entire time you worked together. And it was such a strange contradiction because he presented himself as shy and reserved because he simply didn’t speak, but when he did speak, he seemed to either talk a mile a minute or be unnecessarily long-winded at an average speed. There wasn’t really an in-between thus far, and you’d lived with him for nearly a year. Unable to endure any more of his silent and blatant gazes, you snap your head to him, eyes a little curious and also frustrated. “Why are you staring at me? Did I do something again?” “No,” his head shakes as he blinks, seeming a bit taken aback by your tone. “I was…thinking that I’m really grateful that you were willing to help me with this. I don’t have enough time to finish all my work. I don’t have enough time to see my friends or have dinner with them. I don’t have enough time to spend with myself. But I’m trying to do it anyway because…it matters, you know? But I was…having an anxiety attack earlier. I get really stuck on my routines. Inconsistencies just make my brain itch. Was feeling really overwhelmed. And your offer to go gather the things I needed just so I could shower and breathe for 10 minutes…meant…a lot to me. So…thank you. I’m sorry…for staring. I have this really bad habit of not knowing what to say so I say nothing or…say everything.”

To his apparent surprise, you giggled. His eyes widened a bit at the sound. “Yeah, I noticed that about you, actually.” You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “No problem. We’ve been here together for a while now, yeah? It’s only natural that sometimes we need to rely on each other. It’s kind of like how you leave me your extras from dinner for when I get home. I…otherwise would only eat once a day most days. I move around a lot. I forget about it. And by the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to make food. I’m grateful for how you’re willing to help me, too.” You hadn’t expected to see his face flush red and him to look down as if looking at his feet will make the bright red tips of his ears disappear. “Yeah…no problem. I guess you’re right.” “So…what is it that you do for work? That’s so time-consuming that you essentially have no life outside of it?” You asked.

Although you were fairly curious about his line of work, you asked him about himself for his benefit, so that he didn’t feel embarrassed about feeling flustered after your exchange. You’re starting to figure out that although Jungkook appears and presents as if his lack of social involvement is a personal preference and choice, being a loner was not a stylistic choice but an inevitable outcome because Jungkook is clearly socially inept. When you guys eat in the thick silence, it’s not because he’s just so comfortable he doesn’t feel the need to speak; he doesn’t know what to say, so he opts for absolutely nothing. Small talk is likely not something he’s familiar with or cares about. He has to be coaxed out of his fretful foundation just to express that he needs help. He communicates in grunts, nods, and sighs because it’s easier than navigating a flow of back and forth in conversation. “I’m a video game designer. I…work on actions and movements mostly. Like, when characters engage in combat or how they interact with certain parts of the environment in open-world games? I’m part of the team that goes behind creating things like that. We give the characters life and motion. It’s…pretty cool considering it’s been my dream job since I was a teenager, but it’s a lot of hard work. We’re working on a really important game right now. It could put our little spot on the map with other big-name game-developing companies like Epic Games and Santa Monica Studio, so I have to do my best. I can’t let my team down.” You hum, impressed. “That’s actually really cool. I kind of figured you were a nerd in some capacity, but you’re a cool nerd with a cool job.” He laughs, light and quiet. “I wouldn’t say I’m a nerd. I have a deep understanding of my personal interests. It doesn’t make me nerdy. Just knowledgeable.” “No, it doesn’t make you nerdy.” A nod of agreement. “But telling someone they use too many paper towels and proceeding to itemize the cost of a single sheet on a whim is…not, not nerdy.”  You explain, clicking your tongue. He pouts. “I thought that information was relevant to helping you understand my stance.” “I would have understood even if you didn’t explain, Jungkook. It’s your apartment and you buy all the paper towels. It’s not wrong for you to, without explanation, tell me to be mindful of my excessive use.” Jungkook looks confused, lips pursed and eyes just staring at you blinking. “But you clearly were bothered by me bringing it up, so that’s why I elaborated like that.” “I wasn’t bothered you brought it up. I just thought you were peculiar. And you still have not been able to escape those allegations, by the way. It’s alright, through. Even if we end up having to indict you for your oddities, I’ll still accept you.” It’s quiet between you both then. Jungkook seems to have nothing else to offer to the little exchange, and that’s fine with you because when you peek at him again as he’s chopping up vegetables, you notice his tiny smile. And you notate that the subtle little smile doesn’t leave for the entirety of the evening. You sit quietly on the opposite side of the room,  midding: uninvolved but happily present, observing him engage with his work friends, Namjoon and Yoongi. He seems…comfortable with them. His speech is fluid, easy, and even exciting. You see a little sparkle in his eyes when they talk about music and how Yoongi would be having a performance soon. He must love music a lot. You wonder if video game development was really the dream or just the dream career, but maybe his real passion was something more creative. Regardless, you can’t help the sheer feeling of pride that swirls around in your chest seeing him like that: engaged, involved, lively. It gives you a subtle little smile of your own. And you notate that the subtle little smile doesn’t leave for the entirety of the evening.

Thirdly, he was far too concerned about how you choose to spend your Tuesdays. It started the week after you had helped him prepare his tiny dinner party with his friends. On one particular Tuesday in question, you never came home after class. 

Your friend and co-worker, Ari, has a date with a boy she’d been flirting with for a while, so you agreed to switch shifts. You’re tired, but you could use the extra money for the week. Today in exchange for a day you didn’t have class and you could stay home the entire day. Fair and even trade. You worked as a waitress at a small restaurant near the university. Most students came here between classes on their lunches so it was a small but popular place. When you would volunteer to work on busy days, your boss would advance you what you made that day at the end of the night. It was a simple job that was doing well at helping you survive through school so your parents didn’t worry and try sending you ungodly amounts of money to secure you because none of them believed you could do this: make it out on your own without your parents’ wealth. You’re not interested in having money thrown at you. It’s nice to earn it. Spending money you made on your own merit feels better and more rewarding anyway. While you were cleaning off the table of a guest that just left, you receive repeated text messages, making your brows furrow. Who could possibly be texting you this urgently? No one ever does. You glance at the time. 4:30. Jungkook is usually wandering through the door around now. Your brows lift with light shock as you see he’s the source of the incessant buzzing. [4:30 pm] jungkook: are you safe? you’re not at home. [4:30 pm] jungkook: it’s tuesday and you’re usually home when i get here. [4:30 pm] jungkook: my routine is thrown off. You roll your eyes reading his messages. He’s being hyperbolic and overdramatic, but for what? Is it really so important that you’re there just to say 3 words he hardly acknowledges and holes up in his room until he’s ready to make dinner? Maybe this is his attempt at humor. You chuckle at the thought of it. So socially awkward his jokes don’t even land; they just float until someone gets it. [4:32 pm] y/n: you’re being incredibly dramatic. i’m at work. very alive and well. making money to keep feeding us well. [4:34 pm] jungkook: objectively incorrect. i buy all of our food? [4:40 pm] jungkook: look. no one was here to welcome me back home and now i'm back but don’t feel an ounce of welcomed about it. You laugh at his response, very heartily, right in the middle of a restaurant, inwardly beaming with pride because he made a joke. And it was actually kind of funny. Only kind of. You start to wonder why it matters so much to you if he grows into himself and becomes comfortable enough to speak freely and easily. Why do you feel so invested in his character development? Regardless, you hope to see him come out of his shell more. It’s becoming of him. [4:41 pm] jungkook: will you make it in time for dinner or another long night? [4:44 pm] y/n: probably not. it's pretty busy and we’re already short-staffed. another long night. aiming to be back by 10 tonight. i have homework due by midnight. [4:45 pm] jungkook: okay…understood. godspeed. Work goes by as it does. It’s always the same formula and equation, just different bodies and times of day. You finally come strolling home at 10:05. You were already tired, but knowing you would still have to finish homework and submit it online was making the exhaustion feel heavier than it probably was. When you head inside, you expect it to be dark, only the light above the stove left on as per usual, but instead, all of the lights are on, the TV is on and playing some kind of variety show, and there’s a spicy, thick aroma in the air that makes you pause briefly to breathe it in. It’s so pleasant. And warm.

As you walk through the door, you look to your immediate left where the open layout kitchen was placed, Jungkook was standing next to the stove, chopping vegetables on the counter. “Welcome back home.” He announces casually, just as you always did for him, but does not tear his attention away from his task. You don’t know what this is, this anomaly in his behaviorial pattern, but you appreciate it because today you had an anomaly of your own within your routine. And you understand it right then: what he means when he says he came back but he didn’t feel welcomed home. You’re always just ‘coming back’ but walking in and being welcomed by him, it feels more like ‘coming home’. And you note that there might just be a difference.    Your voice is warm and content when you speak. “Hey, you’re up pretty late.” He only hums in response. You wander over to him, keeping a good grip on all your belongings. “Cooking dinner at this hour? Unlike you. Your routine really did get messed up.” “Yeah, I worked more when I came home instead of eating. I’m still catching up from last week. But I noticed I was starving and then I realized it was almost 10. So I figured I might as well just commit to a curve in my routine. But…what about yours?” His inquiry surprises you a little. He’s initiating small talk with you. At first, your lips just parted. “My…routine? Uh…yeah, it got thrown off majorly today. I have an assignment due by midnight. I thought I was going to turn it in by this afternoon. But I got paid in advance for this shift, so that was nice.” He stops cutting his carrots then and places the knife down calmly. And then, he just looks at you. It was a very normal look that you could give anyone: stranger, acquaintance, or friend. It was just a simple look, but for some reason, when his eyes meet yours, your heart starts to pick up its rhythm, and you swear you can hear the thump of it crescendoing in your ears. He’s so…handsome. It’s not that you had never looked at him before. It’s not that you weren’t already aware that he was a good-looking man. It’s just that right now you’re looking at him and he seems like his features have changed, like someone raised the saturation and sharpness of his existence. His jawline seems sharper. His brown eyes seem more caramel or honey-coated. His lips are pink, pouty, and curved romantically. He looks like a walking beckoning for affection. His hair is tousled, all in disarray like he’s been running his fingers through tirelessly. His clothes seem to cling to his frame, outlining the definition of his muscular build. He quite obviously works out. You hadn’t noticed before. He’s pretty. You hadn’t looked at him this thoroughly before. “You should make sure you respect your resting day routines. You seem to work really hard with…everything you’re doing.” His voice is soft and caring. Smiling, you nod, swallowing down how flustered you feel inside, hoping the quickening of your breath doesn’t give it away. “I hear you. It was a one-time thing anyway. Now…need help?” It looks like he’s only barely started, likely working on a base for some sort of soup. He has so many scraps everywhere. He clears his throat. “Uh…yeah…yeah, I do.”

“On it,” you say resolutely. “Let me put my stuff up and change really quick. It’ll only take me five and I’ll be back to help.” After that, you didn’t see Jungkook for the rest of the week. Tuesday was really the only day your schedules coordinated enough to even see each other in passing. You did not miss how disappointment settled in your chest every single time you wandered inside at 10 or 11 and you didn’t see him standing there in the kitchen, back turned to you, nonchalantly welcoming you home. You did not miss the way you stopped yourself from texting him and telling him exactly what he told you: look. no one was here to welcome me back home and now i'm back but don’t feel an ounce of welcomed about it. On the following Monday, you receive a surprising notification. [1:08 pm] jungkook: i would like to formally request permanent assistance with dinner on tuesday evenings. unless work or other contractual obligations prevent participation. it is much more efficient with two sets of hands. and since we both eat, it’s ethically the fairest. His formality makes you giggle, as it’s so aligned with who you’ve gathered him to be. Once again, smiling fondly to yourself, you think of what a peculiar boy he is. And his request at its core is perfectly fair. He does buy all the food and cook it but you both enjoy the fruits of his labor, so if it’s a regular thing, you ethically should help him without a single qualm. That’s the line of reasoning you offer for the sheer speed of your response, agreeing to give away your Tuesdays to him: to be fair. [1:09 pm] y/n: sure thing kook. You did not miss the way it was the first time you’d ever called him by or given him any kind of nickname. You did not miss the way you felt nervous to have sent it to him, as if being denied casual exchanges would have a significant impact on your emotions. Now you were the one acting peculiarly. For three weeks, on three consecutive Tuesdays, you and Jungkook rallied together in the kitchen, picked a recipe to follow, assigned your roles, completed your duties, and successfully made meals together in the evening around 6 o’clock. For three consecutive Tuesdays, you sat together at the dining table and ate well, sometimes in silence, but sometimes in comfortable, slow-paced conversation: small talk. “I don’t know how I feel about this recipe.” Jungkook admitted after trying the meat he’d made. “I don’t care for this marinade at all.” You, mouth full and consumption borderline barbaric, look confused. When you swallow, you have to inquire about why he feels that way. It’s quite literally delicious. And you can’t fathom him not liking it considering he ate all of it. “What? You don’t like it? How? I think it’s incredible. Probably your best yet. The meat is so, so tender and it’s very flavorful but not overwhelming. It goes really well with this little sauce we made!” “You enjoyed it?” He asks you. And you notice that he’s biting his lip rather nervously. “Or are you just saying that because we spent a lot of time on this one?” You grin, rolling your eyes. “Why would I lie? You’re a good cook, Kook.  A good Kook.” A self-amused giggle. “But seriously…I’ve never not enjoyed the food you’ve cooked. You did really well on the meat. And judging by your happy plate, I think you know that.” You figured out quickly that it wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but that he wanted someone else to say that he did a good job but didn’t want to ask directly until an opinion was already offered. ‘He even seeks praise awkwardly. How endearing.’

He doesn’t speak, just lowers his head with his subtle little smile you’ve come to find yourself craving the sight of. Admittedly, you enjoy this little tradition that the two of you have created. You felt excited for him to come home, eager for him to finish resting up and come out at six, ready to get started. Moreover, you really enjoyed not eating dinner alone. You enjoyed his proximity even in your settled silence. It always felt more like home when he was here and you were here and you were both parallel or perpendicular to the other. “This is nice.” You tell him warmly. “I like our new tradition.” “Oh,” he says softly. “I…” His head rises quickly and he looks at you, those warm, honeyed eyes you’ve grown particularly fond of now slightly widened. You don’t know if you’re just seeing what your own little, unspoken feelings want to see, but it looks like longing looking back at you. His hand rests on the table and you glance down, only for a fraction of a moment, considering reaching your own out to find the answer to a theory you’ve constructed in the last few weeks: you think his hands might be incredibly soft. “Well, um. I…that’s…good to know. I think that maybe…um, I…” [ Your mind begs you to let it be known that he’s stammering and you’re staring, but your thoughts are ever so slightly somewhere else. ] You noticed when he washes his hands, he pats them dry lightly with his towel. Delicate. And he always opens the drawer below immediately after to pull out a tiny bottle of hand cream. Every single time. He applies a dollop and rubs it all in gingerly. He makes sure to get all the nooks and crannies of his hands, the dips and the divots. Thorough. Patient. Soft. Satin. He seems to care a great deal about his hands, takes good care of them and the things they touch. You lick your lips and look away. “I’m sorry…I…uh…don’t know what to say I think and…” You cut him off. “Is it a mutual understanding?” “What?” “Do you…like our little tradition as well?” A slow, timid, soundless nod. You respond with tilted lips. “Then…you can just say…I like it, too.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you, but the look in his eyes is becoming a little bit clearer. And you can’t look too long or you’ll blush. “I…like it, too.” Humming, you turn your attention back towards your food, looking away, and for the first time, being the one with nothing left to say. All the things you wanted to say had officially teetered off the cusp of amiability and dropped straight into a giant vat of arousal. After a moment, your body became so hot you couldn’t stand just sitting there anymore. Dinner ended abruptly, with Jungkook telling you to leave your dishes and he would take care of them. You nodded and offered a quiet thank you, and a friendly goodnight. Then you wandered off to your room in a daze wondering if he noticed you squirming in your seat. He’s so fucking domestic you were about to cum off the strength of existing in the same house as him. And that’s not good. Because you’re always in the same house as him. The things you’ve watched him do in the kitchen. It was just so…homely. There’s a kind of strength in a man that appreciates homemaking that makes you weak. Telling you to make sure to preheat the oven, putting on his oven mitts to check on the food, setting timers, and tying an apron around his waist. Cutting vegetables. Measuring cups. ‘Slice, y/n. No dice. Here, let me show you. Watch.’ The way his triceps and biceps flexed at the motion of his very intentional cuts, the way he’s always rolling up his fucking sleeves, even when they’re short-sleeved shirts. Like a goddamn tease. Basically begging to be turned into a fucking husband and a father overnight. It was absolutely sickening. You officially wanted him so bad that you wanted to throw up.

The orgasm you had in your room, stifling the sound of your moans and the sound of you quietly calling his name when you did, spelled it out quite clearly for you even if you didn’t want to acknowledge it outright. It was absolutely sickening. On Thursday, another anomaly occurred in your schedule. A few actually. All of them were pleasant. The first anomaly was relaxation. You didn’t have class and since Ari kept up her end of the deal, you have an entire day at home to enjoy your day and your alone time. But, as usual, you wake to the pleasant aroma of coffee. You smile even harder knowing there’s nowhere for you to be so you could move as quickly or as slowly as you like. This meant you didn’t have to hop out of bed and immediately get ready. It meant that maybe you could go have coffee with Jungkook before he left for the day. You don’t even like coffee…but you like him. And that’s more than enough reason to get out of bed, brush your hair a bit, and go sauntering out of your room to ask for a cup of hot liquid you’d never consume. You were more of a tea or hot chocolate kind of girl, but there’s a first time for everything, and maybe having coffee would taste better if drinking it meant spending even a fractal of time with him. That initiated the occurrence of the next anomaly. “Good morning,” You say pleasantly. A yelp. A jolt. A wince and a hiss. A ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’.   A resounding crash. The sound of shattered ceramic. He clearly isn’t expecting you to be up or to greet him. You wince at the sound of glass and lean over to see that he’s dropped and broken a mug he was holding: your mug. Your favorite one. The one your grandmother made for you with her own two hands. There was coffee pooling everywhere all over the floor, and Jungkook was moaning dreadfully. “Shit!” He exclaimed. “You scared the bejeezus out of me. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to break it. I’m sorry, y/n. I really am.” The mug meant the world to you, as your grandmother was much older now and unable to make little crafts for you like that anymore. It was the only one of its kind. The only one that would ever be. And now it was in pieces on the kitchen floor, a little sea of java surrounding the sad, jagged portions of loving sentiment. “I’m sorry I scared you.” You said softly, trying hard not to cry. You didn’t want to make him feel bad. You didn’t want him to feel bad. “It’s okay, Kook. It’s okay. I’ll get towels.” Once you grab towels and come back to help him clean it up, he’s deep in a spell of unnerved groaning, just a long, drawn-out whine that goes on under his breath for a while. “Please don’t be upset.” He pleads, frowning. “I’m so, so sorry.” You smile softly, shaking your head. “I’m not upset, Kook. Are you hurt at all? From the coffee? I heard you hiss.” “I’m okay. It splashed on me, but it didn’t burn me or anything.” You place the two large towels down to soak up all the liquid on the ground. Jungkook focuses on picking up each piece of the broken cup. As you watch him through the top of your eyes, you wonder just why was he using your mug, to begin with. “I’m not used to you being awake so early.” He admits, slightly embarrassed of how a simple good morning resulted in this. “But...good morning to you, too.” You can’t help it. You giggle. Peculiar boy. “If you want…you…you can pick one of my mugs to take in its place.” He offers, biting his lip. You nod and say okay for a few reasons: 1. You absolutely want something of his and that is a microscopic guilty desire you have. 2. He seems like it will bother him a lot if he can’t rectify the situation in some way. You saying it’s okay doesn’t appear to suffice. 3. See reasons 1 & 2. Then combine them.

As he’s showing you his plethora of available mugs, you catch yourself smiling because…he has all of these mugs of his own, but…he was drinking his morning coffee out of yours. You survey them all and find this one white, ceramic mug that says ‘create’ on it. It’s oddly shaped, looking nearly homemade. Irregular. Peculiar. It’s the most Jungkook mug of them all. That’s the one you want. You point to it. “I’ll take that one.” You tell him. For a brief moment, he hesitates, pouting cutely, but his lips slowly become tilted upward.  “Of course you will. That one’s my favorite. I made it in my high school art class, but…okay. Okay. A mug for a mug. You can keep it. Drink your coffee out of it well…and frequently…or it might start to feel neglected. It’s an extroverted kind of mug.” If you knew it wouldn’t result in one of the most blatant forms of rejection you’d ever face, because Jungkook is nothing if not brutally honest, you would have kissed him then. You really would have. But, you’ll take the mug and use it well just as he asked, and maybe he’ll try to sneak in a hidden smile by just tilting the corner of his lips, and maybe you’ll spot his dimple because of it, and maybe the sight of it will make your heart flutter and breath hitch, and maybe it (in its own way) could be just as good as a kiss. A homemade mug for a homemade mug. You would keep it indeed. “Want to have coffee before you leave for work?” You ask, even knowing well that you would be wasting perfectly good coffee, even knowing how upset he’d be if he knew. But it feels worth it when he nods, offering you that coy smile you find yourself anticipating nowadays. And you both do, in total silence, sit at the table over a cup of coffee, stealing glances every now and then. When he asks why you haven’t touched your coffee, you lie and say you prefer it with creamer, to which he turns his nose up in disgust. “Creamer is a forbidden substance in this house.” He informs you. “But…if…if it really is a dealbreaker for your coffee enjoyment, I’ll make sure to get you some. What kind do you like?” ‘The next time you go grocery shopping for us, honey? Why don’t you just ask me to pop the question right now?’ You don’t care for coffee. You don’t care for creamer, but you cared very, very dearly about the prospect of Jungkook getting any kind of special thing for you, with you in mind, with the purpose of making an experience better for you. You knew plenty of special things he could give you to make the experience better. And it didn’t even cost money. And he could use his perfect hands as much as he liked. “Hazelnut,” You lie with a smile. “That’s my favorite.” The third anomaly occurs much later in the day when you’re home alone and you’re lounging in the living room, wondering if Thursday will get to be a second Tuesday with Jungkook since you’ll both be home. Unexpectedly, there’s a knock at the door. Your brows furrow. You hadn’t ordered any food. You hadn’t expected a delivery. Jungkook would always tell you if anyone was dropping by. You walk up to the door, peeping out of the hole and you see…a remarkably handsome man standing on the other side. You open carefully, revealing a boy, likely around your age, with dark, shaggy hair, and a smile on his face that seems like it would melt anything in sight that just so happened to perceive it. He had little dimples on his cheeks when he smiled. He, much like Jungkook, was very pretty. “Hi…can I…help you?” You ask timidly, not fully coming outside the door, head and a portion of your torso poking out. He might be gorgeous, but he’s still a stranger. He scratches the back of his head. “Oh…uh, hi!…My name is Taehyung? I just moved into that unit about a week ago.” He explains, jerking a thumb back towards his front door, #1103R, right across from you and Jungkook’s #1104R. Your brows lift in sheer surprise.

“Oh! I didn’t know the unit was empty.” You laugh. “Welcome to the complex…and the hall. It’s fairly quiet, so I hope you aren’t a partier.” Laughing, he shakes his head. “A baker, not a partier. I spend my spare time making sweet treats. You might smell me baking a lot, though. I…uh…I actually was coming to ask if you had butter? Or margarine? I’ve started making cupcakes, but I didn’t get butter at the store, and I didn’t want to leave out to the store…because I already started. So, I figured I could come to introduce myself…and ask a neighborly favor?” He puts his hands together in a small plea. Wow, the boys in this building really do enjoy wholesome activities. Smiling, you nod. “Sure, give me a second, I’ll be right back.” When you come back to the door with an entire package of butter, he smiles wide, making his eyes crinkle. “I hope that’ll be enough.” “More than, I’ll bring back what I don’t use.” He promises. “Ah, you’re a lifesaver. Thanks!”

“Happy to help. Welcome to the building, Taehyung.” Now, the exchange should be complete but he’s still just standing there. “Well…if that’s all…” “What was your name? Did you already tell me?” He asked suddenly, confused. “Sorry, I wanted to say your name, too, because it seems respectful since you said mine, but I was trying to rack my brain for what you said your name was.” “I didn’t.” You clarify, chuckling at his spaciness. “It’s y/n.” “y/n. Hm, I like it. It suits you somehow. Anyway, thanks, y/n the neighbor. Taehyung the baker will see you again soon to return his butter hostage and maybe offer a treat forged of the deepest gratitude.” A lopsided grin and a wink. When he leaves, you close the door and just stand there for a moment recalling the entire exchange. He was devastatingly handsome, a bit spacey, but so friendly…so friendly he was flirty. You’ll never complain about having eye candy for a neighbor, but… But you don’t want Jungkook to get the wrong idea…if he starts talking to you more... You quickly shake the thought away, reminding yourself to return to reality from the depth of your personal daydream. Jungkook is not interested in you in that way by any means. He, at most, wants to become friends, which is understandable for a person he would be living with for an additional year. That’s fair. You want to be friends, too. You just also want him to talk you through his day while he’s fingering you, that’s all. The next anomaly occurs at 5 pm when Jungkook gets home surprisingly much later than he usually does. For him, 30 minutes late is a lot. It throws off his routine. “Welcome back home.” You say casually as he strolls in. You try your best to appear as if you’re as unfazed as ever about his entry. You try not to make it disgustingly obvious that you weren’t just there relaxing anymore; you were waiting. For him to come home. To welcome him back. This time, though, he doesn’t respond shortly as he ducks back towards his room. You hear the rustling of bags as he sets them down on the dining table. He then waltzes over to you and lays a palm on the crown of your head. “Hey,” he breathes. In movies or dramas, this is the moment where your world freezes, just becoming so petrified that even time doesn’t dare to move. You gulp hard, your heart racing even more so than it initially was in anticipation. What were you supposed to do? “Did you…enjoy your day off?” He asks. “Did you rest enough?”

“Um..” Your voice trails, mind still entranced by his hand resting on top of your hand. It was such a gentle gesture, so soft and timid, like him. Such a well-suited affection for his kind of temperament. “I had…a relaxing day. It was nice.” You manage to speak, but you stare ahead toward the door, not bold enough to look at the face he’s making while he touches you. He finally lowers his hand and inside, you’re screaming about it, protesting profusely to the removal of his closeness. “What about you? Was work okay?” You ask, breathing returning to normal as he heads back to the dining table to un-bag his things. The first thing he takes out is a little bottle of hazelnut creamer. Your heart is so warm you think you feel it beginning to melt. “Work was less stressful. We’re close to done with this project, so now there’s not as much silence in the office. Everyone is slowly starting to act like real people again. It was driving me insane. When intense projects happen, it disrupts my routine so much. People stop saying good morning. I don’t feel comfortable saying anything more than I already don’t. And I think the secretary hates me because I kept messing up my report and printing it incorrectly. It created unnecessary work for her and it wasted a lot of paper. I made sure to pick some up while I was at the store to replace it, but…” He stops suddenly and frowns. “Sorry, I just realized I was rambling again.” You couldn’t hide your adoring smile even if you bothered trying. “You’re talking about your day. There’s nothing wrong with that, especially if the person you’re talking to wants to know all the seemingly useless details.” He has this habit of just peering at you at times when you respond to his long-windedness with openness to experience. And boy were you dangerously open to experiencing him. “And…do you…?” He asked slowly, head tilted to the side. “Want to hear even the unimportant details?” You shrugged casually and nodded once. You decide on an endearing response with a touch of humor just to soften the landing for your heart as it’s doing its somersaults. “I don’t mind hearing about your day in great detail…It’s like listening to an audiobook for free.” He rolls his eyes, lips quirking. “You…” A soft shake of the head. “Anyway, what’d you do today? Stay on the couch engrossed in your dramas?” “I cleaned up a bit, did some homework, met our new neighbor, and binged on a drama, yes.” His brows furrow. “We didn’t already have a neighbor?” “That’s what I said. I didn’t know the unit across the hall was empty, but he came by to ask if he could have some butter and introduce himself.” Jungkook’s face scrunches up, slightly disgusted and confused. “Butter? Like…to just eat?” “Kook, what?” You ask laughing. “No, dummy. He’s a baker. He started making cupcakes and realized he didn’t have any. He said he’d bring back the excess.” Again, a revolted display of emotion. “y/n, I don’t want any food back after it’s left this flat. There’re all kinds of new germs and particles on it now. Why would I consume that or allow you to? What kind of person do you take me for? God only knows what he does in that unit. And if he double dips? If he sticks his fingers in his mouth and touches the container without washing his hands? Ew. There’s no way for us to even verify. The number of available and unfavorable possibilities is disgusting in itself. And bakers seem like the ‘lick their fingers clean’ type, so…he can keep the butter. I’ll get more.” You pursed your lips together, clasping them shut to keep your amused smile from showing how endearing you found him to be and to keep from laughing at his sheer seriousness, at how comical all his particularities are but adorable in the same breath. Peculiar as ever. “Okay, if he tries to return it, I’ll reject it.” “That would be best.” He nods curtly. “I’m making dinner in a little while…do you…want to help me? Or will it throw your relaxation routine off?”

You snort. “Kook, I don’t have a relaxation routine. The relaxation is disrupting the routine in a good way. But yes…what are we making?” And there it is again, that little smile that makes you want to clutch at your chest. That was the last anomaly. Making dinner with Jungkook. Having a second Tuesday is another good disruption to the routine. The following Tuesday, you’re giddy as you head home from class. You aren’t sure what moment did it for you, but you’ve settled comfortably into the fact that you like him, that given the opportunity, you’d peel back every single layer of his existence to taste and lick and know every part of him. It didn’t bother you to be just friends and roommates with him, though. You guys lived together. Even if something were to come of it, if it went south, it would really destroy the living dynamic you guys have established, which is quite comfortable. Gentle. Tender. Warm. Homely. Besides, he reserves special kinds of platonic affections for you that suffice. As you approach the building, you see your neighbor Taehyung struggling to balance a tall stack of white, flat boxes while he tries to open the door to the building. You jog up to the door to open it for him to help. “Ah, thank you, y/n the neighbor.” He says graciously. “Saving me yet again.” Taehyung was nice enough but he seemed to be quirky in his own way. You were starting to wonder if it was a prerequisite for being accepted for housing in this place. When he returned the butter, he was immensely offended by Jungkook’s suggestion that he ‘tainted their butter with his baker’s breath’ and demanded that he take back his butter, to which Jungkook’s lip curled up in disgust as he emphasized that he especially didn’t want it then. It ended with Taehyung leaving the butter by the door and sitting it on the ground, both oddballs were unwilling to claim the absurdity. You ended up picking it up and throwing it away. While it was a comical event all around, seeing the two of them standing in the doorway trading glares over the sanitation of butter was one of the strangest, oddest, most random occurrences you’d witnessed. “Do you need help, Taehyung?” You ask laughing. “You look like you’re one, fragile step away from it all crumbling down.” He sighs. “If you don’t mind and it won’t taint your precious hands to touch my baker’s boxes, then yes, you may help me.” “For the record, I have absolutely no stock or stance in the butter sanitation conundrum. I am but an innocent bystander. So, no, your baker’s boxes aren’t at risk of tainting my hands.” You roll your eyes at him. “You’re really dramatic, you know.” “Criticizing me is not helpful.” He notes. “And I’m not certain, but I thought you asked to help.” “Fine,” you grumble, grabbing a stack of the boxes out of his hands. “What’s all this for anyway?” He smiles triumphantly. “I got my first big gig as a freelance baker. I’m making 50 Spiderman cupcakes for a 5-year-old’s birthday party tomorrow.” “Wow, that’s really cool. Congrats on that one. Are you excited?” “Excited…is certainly a word. Maybe not one I’d use to describe this, but a word nonetheless. If you can’t tell by the thick layer of perspiration and sweat gathering on my forehead, everything is great and not stressful at all.” You pout, oddly concerned for his results. “Are you going to be able to pull it off?” “Well, the thing is that…no?”  He laughs and so do you. “My friend Seokjin was supposed to be my helper so I could pull it off, but apparently chasing skirts is more important than making and icing cupcakes for a child’s birthday party. I wouldn’t know since I respect the brotherly code of conduct and would never, but it is what is. I hope he gets laid.” You nod. “Me too…but I hope they have a hard time performing. He shouldn’t have bailed on you. This seems…important to you.”

“Ah, y/n the neighbor is observant, Taehyung notes.” He narrates himself in the third person. “It is pretty important to me. But…just to me.” That upset you deeply. You know what it’s like to have your dream not be taken seriously. All this time, you were in school for anthropology. No one really saw the benefit or believed in what you wanted to do, which is why you were basically out here trying to prove your parents wrong, that you’re capable of developing a strong, steady life without their endless income streams. You hated the idea that he was clearly very passionate about baking, about doing this kind of custom work, but his friends weren’t supporting him, and now he was scrambling. “Do you have to be a talented baker to be a baker’s assistant?” You ask biting your lip. His eyes twinkle. “Not at all! You just need two hands and a decent enough ability to follow a series of simple directions.” Nodding resolutely, you smile. “Then consider me self-appointed as the baker’s elf. Let’s go get these cupcakes made, Taehyung the baker.” To this, he beamed. “y/n the neighbor is starting to seem a bit like a friendly neighborhood Spiderman herself.” Making cupcakes from scratch was no fucking joke. There were so many steps. It really was a series of simple directions, but if those simple directions were off even by a little, it ruined the batch and you had to start again. You hadn’t realized how time-consuming it was. You hadn’t really kept up with the time, but you caught a glimpse of the time on the television. It was already 8 ‘o clock. Your eyes widen. “Shit, I need to go to my apartment.” You tell him urgently. “Are you okay from here or should I come back?” He shakes his head smiling. “You’ve done so much. I just need to finish working on these last 15. I got it. Thank you so much, y/n. You didn’t have to help but you did. It means a lot.” “No problem, but next time, I expect to take home one of my own.” He laughs. “Next time?” “Taehyung the baker seems to need help a lot.” You say with a shrug. “See you later!” You duck out quickly. Even though you’re only across the hall, you feel like you’re going to walk in and be in a lot of trouble. You hadn’t even bothered looking at your phone. When you walk in, Jungkook is sitting on the couch. His head snaps to you immediately. “You’re okay!” He says, relief evident in his voice as he stands to his feet. “Where have you been? I hadn’t heard from you in hours and I got really worried about you.” He walked over to you but kept a small distance between your bodies, looking you over for any sign of harm. Your entire face flushed. You felt yourself shrinking in as your face reddened. “Sorry,” You said, looking down at your feet. “I was across the hall. I was helping Taehyung wi—“ He cuts you off, brows knitting together, lips in a frustrated pout. “The unsanitary baker? Why?” “If you would let me finish…” You snap, giving him a hard look. “His friend bailed on helping him and he got his first big order as a freelance baker. I was home so I helped. I was really busy so I wasn’t keeping track of time well. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is it make cupcakes from scratch.” An exasperated sigh leaves your lips just recounting the last few hours mentally. He’s not looking at you anymore when he speaks next. “You baked cupcakes with him?” He asked. “Like…you baked them together?” You felt confused but nodded. “…Yes? That’s what ‘helping’ would entail in this situation. He was stressed and I felt bad because I know what it’s like for no one to truly believe in you.”

“Fine,” he spits, lips set in a hard line. “I hope it got done. Dinner’s on the stove.” He walks past you toward the hallway then, his back turned. “And please wash your hands before you touch anything.” Then…he just walks straight to his room without another word, leaving you feeling perplexed by his response. His bedroom door closes a little harder than usual and you fear you may have made a grave mistake by hanging out with Taehyung, especially when it was abundantly clear upon the first interaction that they would not get along well. So, maybe he feels like bailing on cooking to hang out with Taehyung then not even letting him know was a jerk move and you agree.

Since that event, the rest of the week was very awkward. And even though you didn’t see each other often on weekdays already, you had this inkling that he was avoiding you at all costs. He even stopped making his coffee in the morning. Just slipped out into the early morning. You woke up close to 10 am, very late, for every day it occurred. An obnoxious disruption in your routine, and he didn’t make dinner at all. You went to bed pouting and hungry. Today, another anomaly occurs when Tuesday rolls around: your class has been canceled. Ever the diligent student, you check your emails daily. When you finally get around to grabbing your phone in the morning, it’s the first thing you do. To your surprise, the one class you had was canceled due to the professor being ill. You took great pleasure in this beautiful disruption because the regular routine was now back in motion and you woke to the heavenly scent of Colombian. You wander out into the living room after brushing your hair. Jungkook was leaning back against the marble counter, sipping quietly from a dark-colored mug. “Good morning,” you announce quietly, making sure not to frighten him. His eyes dart to your presence, and you just pause where you are, unsure if proceeding any closer is safe. “Morning,” a short and dull response. “You’re up early.” You shake your head, playing with your hands nervously. “I’m always up this early. The smell of your coffee wakes me up every morning. I just usually stay in my room and get ready.” “Oh,” his voice is small. After a long pause, he asks, “Is it bothersome?” To answer, you smile lazily and offer another small head shake. “Not at all. It’s actually my favorite alarm. Very quiet and very pleasant. I’ve been waking up late the last week nearly. My routine…was thrown off.”

With all the gall in the world, he scoffs. “Since when do you care about keeping a routine?” “What?” You ask softly, voice slightly wounded and face fluttering into confusion. “What do you mean?” “You skipped out on our routine last week and that didn’t seem to matter to you at all.” He states simply. Your guilty eyes look at your nervously shuffling feet. “So, what is it? Why did you hang out with him and bake with him?” You’re not sure if it’s the irritated tone he’s now choosing to take with you or the underlying insinuation that you, a grown woman, owe him a reasonable explanation for why you exerted autonomy and chose to help him. As if you did something morally reprehensible by helping Taehyung. You’re not even certain Jungkook is actually, fully angry that you bailed so much as he’s angry about who you were with and what you were doing instead, which is still unfathomable why it’s his business. Yes, you should have let him know and you can own that because you know he probably waited a while for you to show back up and you never did, but you’re not going to stand here and let him reprimand you for hanging out at your neighbor’s unit just because he’s decided he doesn’t like him for quite literally no real reason at all. “Um, are you my father?” You ask, your face scrunching up in frustration. “He’s our new neighbor, Jungkook. He needed help. I’m just being kind, and I like hanging out with him. He’s funny an—” He cuts you off. “You like hanging out with him?” “Yes…?” It’s silent between the two of you then, his eyes going blank and glossy. “Why? What’s so special about his place? Why would you prefer spending Tuesday there?” You were genuinely appalled by his response. You expected he might not like the idea of you hanging out with someone he dislikes, but he’s not your parent or your partner, and he’s only become a friend recently. The way you feel like you’re being forced to justify your very simple, very innocent actions of helping Taehyung was absolutely unacceptable because no matter how many times you say it, telling Jungkook you did it because Taehyung needed help and it was important for him to have it was not a sufficient explanation for him. But it’s the truth and it not being enough for him…is not necessarily your burden to bear.

“Jungkook, I don’t owe you an explanation as to why I had a good time hanging out with him and helping him make cupcakes so his first, real order can lead to more. I don’t have to explain anything I choose to do with anyone. I don’t owe you or your ego elaboration.” “Well…” His voice trails and he’s quiet for a minute as his skin slowly reddened and he nervously bites his lower lip. When he looks at you again and speaks, his voice is incredibly soft, unbearably wounded, and pained. “I want an explanation anyway. Because I thought you liked spending your Tuesday nights with me, but you went over there instead of staying to see me and make dinner together.  And you didn’t even tell me. Just left me waiting on you. What’s that about?” The sheer shock and confusion of his confession must be evident on your face. You feel your mouth part as if you want to speak but you don’t. Your brows knit together, trying to make sense of his stance so you can properly answer his question. Your heart is already racing because…it seems Jungkook may have developed feelings of his own…toward you. “Wait…wait…” Your voice trails, you’re still looking up, eyes blinking rapidly and eyes narrowing not in a sinister way but dubious, because as it stands, your current theory that he might have feelings for you, too, is truly unfounded and is permeated by perplexity. “Is…is that why you’re upset?” You ask him. “Because I ended up helping him and missing one Tuesday with you?” He sighs and nods, frustration exuded in his body language as if you've just stated the utter obvious simply to upset him. “You told me you liked our little tradition to cook together, but then picked another guy to make food with the very next week? An unsanitary one at that? And…and…you know what? I want to do that with you. Making dinner isn’t fun on my own. Not on Tuesdays. Not if you’re not here with me, and especially not if you’re not here because you’re over there and want to be there more than you want to be here. With me.” Your question came out suddenly with your tone layered with urgency. “Jungkook…do you like me?” He just stares at you, mouth slightly agape, looking as if you've asked a stupid question. As if he were soundlessly asking ‘You’re not serious, right?’ His next comment confirmed your intuition and also attested to your ability to read his expressions now. “y/n, are you seriously asking me that? Are you oblivious? After all this time? As if it wasn’t completely obvious that I do.” You snort. “Jungkook, if you liked me all this time, it was absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably not obvious.” “I gave you a hand towel that matches mine and placed them next to each other.” He details with a flat voice and a roll of his eyes. You look at him, growing progressively more flabbergasted by his position in the ongoing argument. He lives in a delusional mental world where he thinks his feelings, in all their silent conquest, would be thoroughly known and understood. Even though you've never spoken to him about anything of the sort.

“Jungkook…you do realize you criticized me for the number of paper towels I used, right? I thought you were  just…solving the problem you created.” He has the audacity to groan. “I’ve made dinner for you to eat when you come home since the first time you left me a sticky note apologizing for eating my extras.” “Yes, because you always make excess. That’s what you said!” You huff, arms folding over your chest. He can’t seriously believe he has a little avalanche of decent examples of his ‘liking you’ being obvious. There’s just no way. He would have to be completely disregarding every other aspect of objective reality except his own thoughts and perception in order to come to the conclusion that placing a hand towel on a bar or letting you have the extra food he’d make regardless were his attempts to court you. As if. “I got upset when you filled in for a coworker on a Tuesday instead of coming home and I was only distressed because you weren’t here to tell me welcome home. I told you I didn’t feel welcomed without it!” Now his voice is raising, aghast and disbelieving. You shrug, just staring at him with a flat affect and dawning freshly picked neutrality. “I thought you were joking and finally developing a sense of humor. I was proud of you.” A squeak. He’s watching all his ridiculous reasonings be debunked and he just continues trailing down the list of them, much to your dismay. Because if he’d just shut up for a moment, you can get off the topic of what would have made it obvious and move on to something way more important, much more impactful. Is he going to kiss you soon or what? So peculiar. He would rather argue you down than take his shot with you and watch himself hit a bullseye. “I gave you my special mug to keep for your own because you said you wanted it.” Another eye roll. “You broke my own special mug and told me to pick the one I wanted! I thought it was an eye for an eye. A mug for a mug.” He gestures towards the refrigerator. “I brought creamer, a banned substance, into this apartment for you.” “It’s creamer, Kook, not a confession. Please be serious.” This time, his voice is small and sheepish. “I started giving you…head pats.” “…” You can’t refute the intimacy of that one. You know it. He knows it. The smug smirk on his face not only knows it but is gloating about it. “Fine, you got me there, but that still isn’t enough to infer romantic interest.” “y/n, I blatantly asked you to make it a permanent date with me to make dinner together on Tuesdays. How much more obvious do I need to be?”

You furiously shake your head, protesting his claim. “You formally requested assistance with dinner on Tuesdays. The word date was not aforementioned. You made it seem mandatory, in fact. You said it was only fair.” Now, he’s blushing, the tips of his ears going red. “It’s not mandatory, per se. It’s just the principle. And even still, you say that as a counter, yet you went over to his place instead of coming home to be with me…doing the cooking we agreed on and mutually enjoyed.” You scoff. “But it’s not mandatory to cook?” “Well cooking isn’t mandatory, but it is mandatory that you genuinely like me back if we’re going to be doing domestic things like making meals to eat together. Consistently. And openly. So when you do it with me for weeks and tell me entirely unprovoked that you like doing it with me, it gives the impression you want to be domestic with me. I only spend time at home, so I take that very seriously. I was starting to feel played with.” You won’t lie. All of his nonsense was just that: nonsense. But the idea that you left him feeling like you were giving mixed signals or like you were stringing him along for the fun of it, deeply wounds you inside. Because you also like him. A hell of a lot. You would never go off and be intentionally confusing. “I wish you had said it clearly. We would have been on the same page a long time ago probably. I wouldn’t be spending a single Tuesday there if I knew why you wanted me here.” “I genuinely don’t understand how you didn’t notice.” He grumbles. “I genuinely don’t understand how you could possibly think I would?” You counter, the statement falling from your lips like a question that requires clarification. He steps closer to you, and for the first time, you see something new in his eyes: determination, passion, need, and desire. Your breath hitched in your throat when one hand went to your waist, tugging you closer to him, the other cupping your cheek. Your heart. That’s all you can hear is your heart thumping wildly in your chest as if it might combust. “How is this for being crystal clear? y/n, I like making dinner for you and with you. I like that our hand towels are matching and next to each other. I like that the smell of my coffee wakes you up in the morning…I want to be the one that wakes you up in the mornings. So…with that being said, it’s Tuesday and I want to make dinner with you. If you want to make dinner with me, understand that you’re consenting to romantic affiliation.” “Understood,” It comes out with no hesitation, your eyes glancing between his caramel pools and his pretty, tinted lips begging and beckoning. “So, you’ll make dinner with me and consent to romantic affiliation?” He confirms, a lopsided grin forming. His choice of words begs a chuckle from you. Smirking, you nod. “Kook, are you seriously asking me that? Are you oblivious?” “Can I kiss you now? I’ve been dying to for the last few months, admittedly.” You pout, feigning a great deal of disappointment and concern. “If you don’t know the answer, then maybe I really should go back across the hall…” His grip on your waist tightens, a soft thumb caressing your cheek and that subtle smile you adore. “We’re definitely kissing because you have to be quiet. Like right now.”

You laugh. “Wow. That one was actually really funny.” “What?” He asks, thrown by your response. “Oh nothing,” you sing. “C’mere, you.” Smiling at your urge to draw him in, he leans down then, no longer willing to waste time being idle with you or just staring into each other until you couldn’t take it. When his lips touch yours, the only thing you can think about is how soft his lips are, how smooth they are, how gently he keeps you against his torso, how shyly his lips move with yours like he just wanted to test you out and know how you felt, like his lips have more to offer, but much like his conversational skill, you would have to coax him out of his timidity. When you both pull apart, you reach your hand up to touch his, tugging very gently on his fingers. He obliges your silent requests for his hand just watching you with an enamored gaze, moving his palm from your face and allowing you to tangle your hands together. You officially loved his hands very much. You felt his hand on your cheek and now wrapped around every space of your fingers. Lastly, the most peculiar thing of all about Jungkook seems to be just how correct your theory was: his hands were like fucking satin, and they took immaculate care of anything they were tasked with touching.

[ note. a small part two will be out soon. 🤎🐻]

| mlist | ask |

“Fourth animal attack this month,” Jae declared, talking rapidly to a point. “It’s not a coincidence, mark my words.”

Jungkook nodded absentmindedly, pulling his backpack straps tighter over his shoulders. He’d read about the animal attacks in the news this morning, another body found on the side of an ill-lit street. It was becoming somewhat of a trend, a new mauling report coming out much too often in their little town of Devil's Kettle for it to go unignored. It was causing a frenzy among everyone, and the college students weren’t exempt. The campus was rampant with the news, it was all anyone could talk about. Including Jungkook’s best friend, Jae. Though Jae had some non-traditional theories.

“Vampire. Has to be.” Jae nodded his head, agreeing with himself. “I read the details of the autopsy, and the marks perfectly match the lore…”

Jungkook let his friend launch into a full blown explanation, complete with annotations and a work-cited page. Ordinarily, Jungkook would be all into discussing lore and the possibility of a supernatural occurrence in the small town. But right now, Jungkook couldn’t be bothered. He was too busy craning his neck and trying to catch a glimpse of your hair as you approached his class’ neighboring lecture hall. He was doing it subconsciously, of course. Not even fully aware of his own actions until he earned a hard elbow in his ribs from Jae.

“Dude, you’re staring again.”

Jungkook forwent the indignation of being elbowed for blushing when you got closer. He ducked his head, making sure you didn’t see him, hiding his reddening face and flopping his hair into his eyes as a shield. His long bangs fell over his bambi eyes, only his cute nose and pout visible. His hands were wrapped in sweater paws, clutching his backpack desperately as he waited for you to enter your class.

“I mean, what else is new? You’ve had a thing for her since freshman year, and still your reaction never wavers.” Jae pointed out. Annoyingly. “I’d tell you to go ask her to the dance, if I knew you wouldn’t get shot down to hell.”

It was Jungkook’s turn to elbow his friend, his face reddening even more. It’s true, Jungkook had developed an embarrassing crush on you since you decided to sit next to him in that one class your freshman fall semester. All pretty and perfect, sitting up straight and pulling your pink pen with the little pom pom on top. Glossy lips turned into a concentrated pout. He found it extremely hard to concentrate each class with your perfume engulfing his senses and turning his brain into mush.

You never spoke a word to him, always slinging your heart-shaped backpack over your shoulder and rushing out before he could get a word in edgewise. Not that he was ever planning on it. Jungkook could barely keep his left leg from shaking everytime you so much as came near him. He was sure if he ever did speak to you, all that would have come out would be jumbles and incomplete phrases, guaranteed to make a fool of himself until he ran the other direction.

But that was a year ago. Sure, you were still in Jungkook’s major. Sure, he still saw you every semester. Lips getting glossier, skirts getting shorter. And sure, Jungkook still hung around outside your mutual classes, convincing himself that he wasn’t waiting for you to show up.

But it had also been a year since that class, and Jungkook wasn’t going to cling to a small crush for the rest of his college life. He wouldn’t, he thought helplessly as he watched your notebook fall to the ground, your arms struggling with the rest of your books. It was like it was in slow motion, slipping and tumbling aimlessly downward. You couldn’t help its fall, trying to keep the rest of your belongings together.

He was quick as lightning, picking it up before you even noticed. Holding it out to you with a trembling hand, he watched as you looked around the side of your overcrowded arms to see his outstretched one, your glittery pink notebook in his trembling hand. Your eyes ran up his torso, over his black t-shirt, and finally at his eyes. Or at least, what you could see of them through his floppy bangs.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You smiled, taking the book with a small, manicured hand. Your long nails lightly scratched his hand as they brushed each other, making a tingle run down his spine.

“Y-you remember my name?” His cute cheeks dusted in rose, the little mole under his lip popping out with the natural pout he wore.

You laughed. It sounded like music to Jungkook’s ears. He was too caught up in you to notice the mean streak it had. “Of course I do, silly.” You trailed your nails over his arm as you spoke, wrapping your hand around his bicep in validation before turning back and heading into class, chatting away with your friend.

Leaving Jungkook standing there, frozen to the spot, watching after you. Until Jae tugged his arm roughly, tugging the cupid-stricken boy into class.

Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the day. As he walked the well-trodden steps from his last class to the auditorium, arriving early, as always, to his job as a sound booth technician for the theatre rehearsals, his mind was filled with you. The tight tank top you wore today, white straps accentuating your collarbone. The sweet perfume you always had on, making him dizzy with devotion. Your pretty smile as you said his name. Jungkook.

His name. He still wasn’t over it. The fact that you remembered. Sure, he’d sat next to you for a whole semester. But you’d never even look his way. The only time ever being when you needed to borrow a pen because yours ran out of sparkly pink ink. Or, you know. That one time you two worked on the group project together.

You had latched onto his arm so quickly when the professor had announced it, almost digging your long nails into his skin in your haste. Be my partner? You’d asked so sweetly, pretty pout on your face daring him to say no and disappoint you. He could never.

So it was settled. Jungkook would work on your project, while you, unfortunately, had cheerleader practice. You’d invite him to come sit on the bleachers, binders and notes in a jumble around him as he struggled to type with his laptop in his lap rather than on a proper desk. But he would never turn you down, or insist that your study sessions take place in an actual library. It was convenient for you, you told him. You, who was so busy with “life and things.” Waving cutely at him at the start of practice with your pom-poms before turning your back for the rest, kicking and flipping in the air while Jungkook rubbed his foggy glasses and tried to keep his notes from flying away, finishing your entire project on his own after waving back with his own sweater-paws.

His keys jingled in the old, busted lock of the sound booth as he tried to unlock it. The door almost always jammed itself, though. The worn thing did not stand the test of time, usually requiring a great amount of force to open it at the worst moments.

Jungkook wasn’t in any rush today, luckily. Arriving early to get started on his homework in the booth and get everything settled, he wasn’t that bothered when he gave a giant heave against the door, slamming his entire weight against it. It didn’t take much, his muscles putting in minimum effort against the door, pushing it open almost immediately.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight—”

“Harder—harder—”

Though the sound of people having sex in the theatre department wasn’t a new confrontation, Jungkook still jumped at the mere lewdity of it all. A boy he recognized from the baseball team, Michael - something? Was engulfing a girl under him, on the floor of the tech booth. Right next to Jungkook’s seat.

Michael’s (?) head snapped back when Jungkook pushed the door open, the force of the loud door booming as it hit the adjacent wall. He watched as Michael’s eyes widened, “Oh shit.”

Jungkook never knew what to say in these situations. It wasn’t okay. He usually just stood awkwardly to the side as whoever it was collected themselves and exited the premise. He resumed his quiet post by the door, waiting patiently for them to go and leave Jungkook alone.

His eyes were glued to the floor, so he didn’t notice you climb out from behind Michael. He also didn’t notice as you whispered something to your partner, letting him shoulder past Jungkook. Or at least try to. Jungkook was as sturdy as a brick wall, as Michael would come to realize. Didn’t budge.

Jungkook only noticed you were in the room when he caught a glimpse of your heart-shaped backpack slung in the corner of the booth, right behind his foot. His eyes widened as your head came into his frame of sight, bending down to pick up your discarded belongings. Lacy panties fallen right next to your backpack strap.

Jungkook trembled as he realized, your skirt rising up over your ass when you bent. Nothing between you and his eyes if your skirt slipped over your hips…

“Ugh, what a meathead.” You rolled your eyes after Michael, pretty earrings dangling with the tilt of your head and the crossing of your arms. “I’m sorry about that Jungkookie.” You put on a consoling frown, taking your time smoothing out your cheer practice outfit. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“It’s okay.” He stuttered out. His breath hitched as you stepped closer, your hand suddenly on his bicep. You cocked your head. He gulped and tightened his grip on his backpack straps.

“Are you going to the dance, baby?” The pet name sent shivers down his spine, filing it away in his brain under all his favorite things. He shook his head, his bottom lip sticking out in his natural pout again.

“Hm,” your hand rubbed his arm comfortingly. “Turns out I need a date, since you scared my other one away.” You nodded out the door to where Michael had exited. “Can you take me?”

Jungkook's heart stopped.

He was in shock. Nevermind that your statement didn’t make any sense to him. If you really wanted to go with Michael, you could have just walked out with him, instead of staying in this booth and torturing Jungkook. You didn’t have to linger behind, that was all your choice. And if not Michael, he was sure there was a line of boys out the door waiting to take you.

“W-why?” He questioned, his mind racing a mile a minute.

You frowned, cocking your head to the side. “You don’t want to?”

“No, I do—,” he rushed out—

“Then it’s settled.” You interrupted. Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you wore a smile as you fluffed your hair and adjusted your shirt to be presentable for practice. He didn’t notice it right then, but there was something serpentine about your expression. You made to leave, but turned back for one final word.

“Pick me up tomorrow at 7 from practice. You still remember where it is right?” He nodded quickly.

“Good. If you’re going to be my boyfriend, you’re going to have to take me out on dates, bunny.” With one glossy kiss to his cheek, you were gone.

Boyfriend.

The word bounced around in Jungkook’s head as he was getting ready for your “date.” As he shakily spritzed on cologne he thought you would like, and drove up to the football field in his jeep. As he sat waiting for you, heart beating against his chest loudly.

Boyfriend.

It’s in his head the whole time you’re both sat at the coffee shop, you’re chattering away while he’s nodding. He doesn’t say much, but you don’t mind. You go on, talking about anything and everything. You smile when he shyly tells you he likes the dress you’d changed into. You told him you’d picked it out just for him, your bracelets jingling as you linked your fingers with his. He turned beet red.

He didn’t understand why people said you were mean. You were like an angel to him. Could do no wrong. You were just popular, that’s all. In your own circle, with your own friends. People must have just been jealous of you to spread the rumors they did. Mean girl with a ferocious streak. He didn’t see any of that. Just an innocent pretty girl, right in front of him—

“Feel good, bunny?” You cooed, as your jewelry-bedazzled hand wrapped around his cock, he could feel your hot breath against his ear as you pumped slowly, easing him in.

Jungkook’s breath hitched in his throat, tiny whines escaping from his mouth. He was dizzy with your scent already, the moment you two sat in his car after the cafe. He didn’t expect the night to go this way, with you asking him to pull over so sweetly, pointing to a relatively dark part of the road. Only to—

“You like that?” Your breasts pressed against him as you left small pecks against his neck, nuzzling your face. Your thumb swiped over the head of his cock, making him buck his hips up into your hand. Jungkook’s first time being touched, and it was in his car, over the control console.

He nodded in response to your question, stuttering out a “f-faster. Please.”

You giggled as you nipped his ear, and Jungkook almost busted right there at the sound of your voice. “You sure you can handle it, bunny?”

He nodded feverishly, big eyes watery. He wanted to be good for you, wanted to make you proud, you who had teased the erection out of him with your hot kisses and iron grips on the collar of his shirt. He wanted to cum so badly in your hands.

You unbuttoned the top of your dress, letting your breasts pop out. Jungkook’s eyes ogled. He’d never seen tits before. And certainly, never ones as perfect as yours.

A glint of jewelry caught his eye, your hand squeezing one tit as you gathered your hair out of your face with the other. There was no mistake—you had your nipples pierced.

“Kookie, hold.” You commanded, guiding his hand to hold your hair back as you dipped your head down. You shot him a devilish smile as you licked up his shaft, reveling in the whine he let out. You inched your mouth down his length slowly, Jungkook’s thighs shaking under you as his grip tightened in your hair.

His hand held your hair like a good boy as you wrapped your mouth around his cock. But the other gravitated towards your breasts, dying to touch the steely silver that perked your nipples up. But one swat of his hand had him retreating back. “Don’t touch.” You scolded, adjusting your legs to cross over one another, shifting slightly in your seat. Your thighs were already clenched together, and him touching your nipples wasn’t helping. This wasn’t about you, you emphasized to yourself before you got carried away.

He gripped his grab handle as you worked his cock, your pretty mouth staining his dick in your lip gloss as you coaxed his first orgasm out of him. At least, the first he didn’t have to do himself. He cried out as he came in your mouth, shooting his load straight into your throat with a strong thrust of his hips.

He apologized profusely after, stuttering out as you lifted your head back up from his lap. You interrupted him with a swift and messy kiss, pushing his cum into his mouth with your tongue. He moaned out as your hand tangled in his hair, keeping him pressed against you, your nails lightly raking his scalp comfortingly. He tilted into your touch, dizzy with your taste. Just one touch from you, and he was crying into your mouth. Only god could save him from your grip now.

“Did you see the new episode of Supernatural last night?”

“You don’t think I’d miss the season finale do you?”

“I can’t believe they ended with that cliffhanger! It wouldn’t make any sense for them to continue the Azazel arc in the second season? It’s repetitive….”

Jungkook’s head dipped again as his eyes closed in fatigue, before he caught himself and his eyes shot open. He almost face-planted straight into his lunch for how tired he was. He’d been up late the past week with plans with you every night, making out in his car till both of you were left breathless with bruised lips and big smiles. You’d insisted on later dates, pouting about how you needed to change for him after class. Resulting in him getting in well past 3 am every night, only to wake up for an 8 am class the next day.

“Jungkook, you missed it last night.” Jae’s hand suddenly shook him awake, making his head snap up and look around wildly. He relaxed once he realized it was just his friend.

“Yeah, we don’t see you anymore. You’ve missed every binge this week.” Kyung, his other friend, mentioned from across the table.

“He’s busy with his new girlfriend. Didn’t take you as the type to ditch your friends, Kook.” Jae pushed his glasses up, shoving the newly cuffed man in question.

“What’s she got you doing, Kook? There has to be a price for her allowing you to take her to the dance.” Kyung asked with a serious raised eyebrow, but there was a teasing glint in his eye.

“Fuck off,” Jungkook pushed them away as they fell into laughter at his discomfort. “None of your business.”

“Ooh, she’s got Kook pussy whipped. Finally lose your virginity Kook?” Jae chaffed. “Is that why you won’t even spare us a minute of your precious time?”

Jungkook’s lip stuck out naturally into a pout, but his eyebrows furrowed. He landed one hard punch to his friend’s arm, ignoring Jae’s loud yelp of pain, “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Jeez, relax Kook. He was just kidding,” Kyung reproached, an incredulous look on his face. Jae sat rubbing his arm in pain, and wincing. Jungkook packed a punch, they all knew that.

“You seem to be in your head. Why don’t you come out with us tonight?” Kyung offered, trying to diffuse the situation. “We’re gonna try and sneak into that crime scene by the river. See if Jae’s theory holds up. Why don’t you come with?”

“What theory?” He asked, now reverting back to his innocuous state like the good boy he was. He didn’t know what had come over him, or why he’d punched Jae like that. Jungkook was a strictly nonviolent person, and he’d never done anything like that in his life. But just the mention of you made his emotions rise up, and struck a chord…

“Haven’t you heard? They found another body. Claw marks and everything, down by the river.” Jae said, having recovered from his wounds. He really couldn’t afford to ostracize Jungkook, two friends dwindling down to one. “Shame, it was that baseball player, too. The one with the big shoulders.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened and he whipped his head around to face Jae. “Baseball player? You’re sure?” Jae nodded. Alarm bells went off in Jungkook’s head. His mind raced as his heartbeat started to quicken. There was no way. Was there…?

“Do you know his name?” Jungkook questioned hurriedly. He had to know.

“Uhm. Michael… something I think? Why?” Jae and Kyung were both looking at the disheveled boy with curious expressions. “Did you know him?”

Jungkook’s heartbeat was thudding in his chest as soon as the name came out of Jae’s mouth. You mustn't have heard yet, judging by your bubbly expression this morning when he walked you to class. You were all chatter and smiles.

His heart sank. You’ll probably be devastated when you hear. He didn’t know how close you and Michael or whatever were. But, you knew each other somehow. And it can’t be easy, hearing about an acquaintance dying like he did. But, he’d be there for you.

Jungkook shook his head. “No, just had him in a class I think.”

Jae and Kyung exchanged looks, but didn’t press on the subject. “Anyways,” Jae continued, “I’m pretty sure he was a victim of a rugaru. The flesh was torn apart and the blood sucked out of the body, but not all of the blood, which rules out Vampire.” Jae explained rapidly, as if his mouth was racing to keep up with his thoughts.

“Yeah a rugaru. Or…” Kyung shared an understanding look with Jae.

“Or…” Jae shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Or what?” Jungkook inquired, now curious as to what the other boys were holding back.

“Or… a succubus.” The words tumbled out of Jae’s mouth quickly, as if he didn’t want to say it.

“C’mon those aren’t real.” Kyung scoffed, but his nervous laugh made it clear that he was really only trying to convince himself. He didn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“They’re real, alright. And if this town has a succubus, well…” Jae pushed his glasses up his nose, checking their vicinity to make sure they weren’t being overheard before leaning in, “We’re all in danger.”

“What’s the difference? Wouldn’t a rugaru be just as dangerous?” Jungkook wondered.

“A rugaru chooses its victims at random, and is usually sloppy enough to get caught. A succubus though,” Jae gave a pointed look to indicate he was serious, “A succubus preys on young men. They’re smart as they are hot, and they’re careful. If this is a succubus, she’s not getting caught anytime soon.”

“Then what makes you guys want to go out and look for this thing at the crime scene?” Jungkook threw his hands up, lightly scolding his friends. He’d known the boys since they were children, but sometimes he didn’t understand them. Why would they choose to go directly into danger when they could just stay home and wrap themselves in a warm blanket and watch anime? The choice was easy for Jungkook, any day.

“He might have a point…” Kyung started, shrugging at Jae. Jae shook his head, launching into his own tirade. “We’ll be protected, remember? We’re taking the garlic…”

But Jungkook didn’t hear another word as a pair of legs came into view, standing right next to his seat.

“Hi Jungkookie.”

He looked up to see you, hand on your hip, and an outstretched hand in his direction. “Buy me coffee?”

Your delicate charm bracelet jingled on your hand as you shook your wrist impatiently, waiting for him to get up and run to your beck and call. At the sound, he jumped up from his seat, taking your small hand in his soft one. When you’d had him in your grasp, you used his hand to tug him close, planting a glossy kiss on his pout.

“Let’s go, bunny.” You turned to lead him away from his friends, and Jungkook followed blindly. He kept his eyes low, unable to meet every gaze that watched the two of you walk through. You were wearing a denim mini skirt today, paired with a pink top littered in red hearts. “I feel like boo boo. Haven’t had a bite all day.”

As you walked, he couldn’t help but notice a small red stain on the side of your skirt. A swipe of scarlet down your side. Hm. Upon closer inspection, he noticed another out-of-place red spot on your tank top. It was too streaked to be a proper heart, and it looked only newly dried up.

“Come on, slow poke.” His head snapped back up to meet your smile as you tugged him next to you rather than behind you. Your hand readjusted to interlock with his fingers. Jungkook smiled back, his previous inspection completely forgotten as your nails slightly dug into his hand. He couldn’t complain, though. He loved the feeling.

All Jungkook could smell was the scent of your sweet perfume, completely engulfing his room and his senses.

“Mm,” you pushed him back further into his pillows, pushing him up to his headboard, never letting his mouth detach from yours. Your legs climbed to either of his sides, effectively straddling him. You took his arm, guiding his hand around your waist, placing it on your ass.

Jungkook had taken advantage of the fact that his roommate was out for the night, listening intently for the front door to shut from his room before texting you and asking you to come over.

When you’d arrived, you were met with a sheepish Jungkook opening the door, sweater paws wrapping around your waist, like you’d taught him to do, as you kissed him in greeting. You didn’t waste any time, pushing him down onto his bed as soon as you’d gotten into his room. You didn’t even give him a chance to compliment the pretty dress you were wearing before it was riding up your thighs as you settled into his lap.

“My good boy,” your hand raked through his hair, gripping lightly, making him tilt his head to look at you. You smiled, revelling in the little whimper he let out, before reattaching your lips to his, not hesitating to push your tongue into his mouth. Of the countless times you’d done this together, Jungkook’s little moans and whines never failed to cease, always kissing like it was his first time. Perfect little pout made you never wanna stop.

His perfectly sculpted thighs served as the perfect seat for you as you tucked his hand under your skirt, leaning forward and encouraging him to explore. “Touch me, bunny.” You breathed against his lips, pressing his shaking hand against your ass cheek. “Make me feel good.”

You watched as Jungkook’s bottom lip stuck out, determined. He’d never touched a girl like this before. And never someone as perfect as you. He flipped your skirt up hesitantly, letting it rest on your hips. You were pressing kisses against his neck, your hand on the other side of his head holding him to you as your kisses trailed up to his face. He looked past your torso to watch as his hand dipped into your thong, pink fabric snapping as he stuffed his big fingers in.

“W-will it rip?” He inquired politely.

You shook your head, never neglecting him of kisses, “Who cares if it does?” You pulled away for a second, devilish expression shining in your eyes, “Don’t you wanna be a little rough with me?”

Jungkook felt his cock harden at the notion, imagining how you’d look under him as he fucked you hard into the mattress and left you in bruises and legs so shaky that you couldn’t walk on the next day. He shook his head.

You giggled, leaning in close to his ear. “Liar,” you whispered, before landing a punishing nip to his neck. He let out a whimper, his hand naturally gripping your ass cheek in automatic response.

“Just like that. Mm, you get me so wet, angel. Now move your fingers lower,” you coached him through as he dragged his long fingers down until he was met with something wet. Giving an experimental swipe of his finger, he grazed over your opening. You let out a hiss, and Jungkook retreated immediately, wide eyes thinking he did something wrong.

“No, put it back,” you commanded, wiggling your hips into his hand. He let you press your wet cunt into his fingers, grinding on your accord.

As your hips moved, you pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it over the edge of the bed. No bra.

“Jungkookie, you liked these didn’t you?” Your hand gripped your tit, offering it to him, referring to your nipple piercing. The small jewelry glinted back at him, enticing him welcomingly. His mouth watered, wanting nothing more but to wrap his lips around it. He nodded enthusiastically, bambi eyes looking up at you pleadingly.

You giggled at his eagerness, guiding the breast into his mouth. You held him steady by the back of his head, letting him open his pout and envelop it. He spent a good amount of time staring at your tits on a normal day, but having it in his mouth was better than he imagined. He felt the hard metal of your piercing against his tongue as he prodded experimentally. He settled for light sucks, his free hand naturally coming up to hold you to him.

“Good job, bunny.” You threw your head back as he sucked on your nipple vivaciously. His other hand escaped your panties, coming up to grope your other tit. He switched his mouth to get a taste of the other greedily, forgetting about fingering you completely as he got lost in a daze with your tits in his face. He was in awe.

You rolled your eyes at the virgin, but his enthusiasm at touching tits for the first time was cute. You pulled him off of you, his mouth releasing you with a pop as you tugged his hair back. He looked up at you with big eyes. “Your turn, bunny.” You told him with a peck on his lips.

Your hands came down to undo his pants, belt flying off quickly with the speed of your hands. Your hands fumbled at his zipper as you tried to get him out.

Jungkook was balancing on his hands as he let you at your ministrations. He bit his lip apprehensively. In all his excitement about your tits, he’d forgotten something that had been on his mind since the moment you’d stepped into his dorm. Something that he’d actually been thinking about since the lunch he’d had with his friends.

He’d told you about Michael that day, mentioning it to you as he walked you to class. Ready for a river of tears and emotional distress, he’d opened his arms to let you into his embrace, offering himself up as comfort. To his surprise, you nodded and said you’d heard about it in the news that morning. It’s sad, you said, little inflection in your voice to indicate your emotions though. Notably, you seemed completely alright with the revelation.

Jungkook figured you must have made your peace with it. Maybe things like that didn’t affect you that hard, or you kept it all bottled in. Alternatively, you might have not even been that close with that Michael guy. Maybe you’d known him on a very surface level, and hadn’t seen him since your escapade that day in the tech booth. Maybe you’d both gone your separate ways, and he wasn’t of any emotional value to you. Maybe it was just sad to you, and you'd moved on.

But, a voice in the back of Jungkook’s head reminded him, you didn’t seem at all bothered. Not even concerned with the fact that there were dead bodies popping up all over your town, especially near campus. You acted like you’d just heard about the weather when he’d mentioned Michael. Not at all worried by the looming threat over your residence.

Your apathy, paired with the small blood stains on your clothes. As well as particular scratches he noticed running up your upper arm later on. It was very faint, almost as if it was healing. But it was there. These facts bounced all around Jungkook’s overthinking head, making him drive himself crazy with paranoia. It hadn’t helped that his friends were discussing the “creature” ubiquitously, constantly debating between a rugaru and a succubus. Jungkook just couldn’t get it out of his head.

This all could have just been in Jungkook’s head, of course. He didn’t know what you really thought. He could have completely misinterpreted your reaction. And that was the hope he clung on to. The one that let his conscience lift freely off of him as he met up with you, day after day. Falling even harder.

Though, he had to know.

“Yn,” He started, small voice doing little to catch your attention. You responded with a distracted hum as you fiddled with the button of his jeans.

“Yn, I-I wanted to ask you about something.” He finally caught your attention as you sat back on his thick thighs with a cock of your head.

“What’s wrong baby?”

He looked down, picking at your skirt as he tried to find the right words. He didn’t think about how he'd ask you. Didn’t think he’d muster up the courage to do it at all, as a matter of fact.

You tilted his chin up to look at you, “What is it?”

“Uhm…” Jungkook gulped. “Michael… the baseball player. H-he was missing for a while before they found his body. He hadn’t been seen since…” he dropped his gaze from you, unable to meet your eyes. “Since…” He gestured towards you.

You huffed. “Since he was with me?”

Jungkook’s eyes were wide, scared of upsetting you. But he nodded hesitantly. You frowned. “What are you trying to say, Jungkook?”

“Well,” Jungkook continued, despite the giant lump in his throat. “If you were the last person to see him alive…”

“You think I had something to do with his death? What the fuck, you’re such a player-hater!” You exclaimed, clearly taking offense to his words. And why wouldn’t you? What he was accusing you of was grave. Murder of all things? You, his pretty girlfriend. Who had been nothing but sweet to him. Who had shown him nothing but affection.

Jungkook felt sick to his stomach. Why would he be accusing you of any of this? For all he knew, you were scared out of your mind too! Maybe you just didn’t show it.

But you were looking at him with an expectant glare, waiting for his explanation. He felt like he was in too deep now, he had to say something.

“I-I…” He stuttered, word vomit falling from his mouth. “You had blood on your skirt the other day.” He blurted out. “And your shirt. And you always have scratches up your arm. And there was another body they found… after Michael. H-he was in our math class. I’ve seen you talk to him before. And...and…” Jungkook blurted out, throwing out the information all at once before he chickened out again.

“Stop.” you interrupted before he started comparing you to a succubus, full with a mental venn diagram. He shut his mouth immediately.

Jungkook trembled as he looked at your pretty face. Pout as you turned your head to the side, shaking it displeased. He expected you to cuss him out, storm out of his room slamming the door, and effectively end your relationship. He fully expected you to leave his virgin ass in the dust, never looking at him again. Taking you and your perfect body with you.

Instead, you just sighed.

“And what if I did?” You pouted.

Jungkook’s heart thudded, dropping to the pits of his stomach. He felt his blood suddenly go cold, his palms excreting an obscene amount of sweat. Trapped under your body, he had nowhere to go. If he could feel his legs shaking, he was sure you could too.

You leaned in closer to him, ignoring his trembling state. He saw a dark shadow pass over your eyes, turning your orbs into black for a second. Breathing got harder. “He was a total A-hole, Jungkook,” you cooed, nails coming up to trace his pretty features, stroking his cheek. Your voice was so soft, the opposite of the words coming smoothly out of your mouth. “He’d done bad things, trust me.”

Jungkook was fully shaking at this point, and completely helpless. He might’ve had a good chance of taking you, his muscles giving him some sort of vantage, sure. But he was frozen to his spot, letting you run your hands up his body and bat your eyelashes to him. He could feel the danger he was, an eerie cloud settling over his humble college dorm. One inch away from being ripped apart and torn up for your satisfaction.

Something kept him rooted to the spot, though. Whether it was fear or a slight sliver of hope (stupidly) in you, he didn’t know. His hands were trembling, but you take them in yours, rubbing comforting circles. He’s on the verge of tears, afraid for his life. “Bunny, I would never do that to you. You trust me don’t you?”

He can’t help but nod his head, some part of him still desperate to please you. His mind screamed at him to get out, but his body responded to you only.

Your eyes were faux big, “You’re still going to take me to the dance… aren’t you?”

Jungkook saw something ungodly in your eyes, past your soft pout. There was a predatory glint, a bloodthirst that wasn’t quenched. Something so evil a horrified shiver passed through him.

He slowly nodded his head.

The grisly look had disappeared from your eyes as you squealed and threw your arms around him, peppering him in your lips gloss and soft pecks. Jungkook didn’t stop you—not when you kissed him hard, drawing moans out from him. Not when you held his hands until his shake was down to a tremble.

Not when you managed to unbutton his pants, and fish his cock out. Or when you gave it a few pumps before telling him you were going to put it in with a peck, waiting for his fretful nod. Not when you sunk down on him, your wet heat sheathing his virgin cock for the first time, moaning and digging your nails into his thigh as he stretched you out. Not when he cried into your chest as he came, busted in less than three minutes into your cunt. Not when you wiped his tears with the pads of your fingers, and stroked his hair, bringing him down from his orgasm gently.

Jungkook didn’t stop you. And if that made him a monster too, then so be it. He’d accept any consequences, all ungodly sins, if it meant he could be with you.

A week had passed since that fateful night, and Jungkook hadn’t detached from you for a minute. You were always at his place, spending the night after class, and waking up next to him in the morning. He’d try to be cautious of his roommate merely a wall apart, but you didn’t seem to care. Ignoring his warnings to be quiet, and making him moan loudly as he shot his seed up into your walls. It was constant, like rabbits.

Jungkook also hadn’t heard about another dead body since Michael’s. Everything was quiet on that front. No new police reports, no supposed sightings. No more blood on your clothes. Life was good.

Friday night of the dance arrived quickly, a lively buzz through the campus as they escorted themselves into the rec center. Jungkook had gotten ready meticulously before picking you up in his jeep. His words were caught in his throat as you stepped out with a short cutoff dress, a ruffle on the side, riding dangerously high up your thigh. You blinked innocently, big smile on your face as you met him at his car door, where he’d gotten out to open it for you. You’d pulled him in by his jacket, staining him in your lip gloss, before settling in his passenger seat with a You coming?

Now, you were here, sat in his lap, at the dance, chatting away with a friend of yours at the table. Jungkook didn’t know who you chose to sit with, but he didn’t care. His eyes were only for you, thick thighs held still as the perfect seat, staring up at you with big eyes and a pristinely tied bow-tie.

Jungkook is reveling in the fact that he’s here with you. You’re cooing and kissing him all night, making sure to share your attention between him and your other friends. His lips must be glossy by now with your taste. He returned the favor with shy pecks on your shoulder as you talked, once he’d built up the courage.

It all almost makes him forget what you did.

“We’ll be back soon.” He heard you say to your friend. She laughed and called back something about taking it easy on the poor boy. You tugged him, lacing your fingers together. Your jewelry and long nails adorned your pretty hands as you wrapped them around his big ones. He followed you blindly as you dragged him out of the loud, bass-booming dance room and into the dark and quieter hallway.

“Where are we going?” Jungkook pouted, eyes wide.

You didn’t respond, rather pushed him up against a door, gripping his collar, and crashed your lips into his. “I care about you so much, Jungkook. More than I’ve ever had the guts to admit.” You mumbled against his lips.

Jungkook let out a surprised squeak, but his response was natural. His lips curved into a pretty little kiss-shape, the perfect target for you. Your hands were pulling him closer, pushing your breasts against him.

“You’ve been such a good boy for me all night, bunny.” Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling his head down and toward your neck. The command implicit—to which Jungkook complied immediately. “I wanna make you feel good. Will you let me?”

Jungkook nodded feverishly against your skin, where he was sucking in one spot. Something you’d taught him to do.

“I know somewhere we can go. We won’t get caught,” your eyes shined as you spoke excitedly, giddily pulling his hand and dragging him along. Your giggle was cute, echoing through the empty halls. But there was something haunting about the sound. A cold edge to it, almost malicious.

You dragged him all the way outside, down to the field where you practiced. Where he picked you up everyday. It looked different at night, though. A chill creeping up his spine at the haunted scene in front of him. Usually lively and crawling with athletes, now completely barren and deserted.

You tugged him past the field, all the way to the back. A chain-link fence came into view, wrapped around an abandoned swimming pool that Jungkook had never known existed. Once close enough, you jerked his hand with a surprising amount of strength, throwing him against the fence.

“Now, baby boy.” You giggled, a finger in your mouth as you batted your eyelashes innocently. “You’re, like, totally buggin’.” Long gone was the pretty and soft expression you wore when looking at Jungkook. Now replaced with a strange glow of your eyes and a sinister gaze adorned your beautiful face.

“What? What are you staring at? O.M.G, is my left popping out?” There’s a sort of hunger in your eyes as you push your dress down, stepping out of the fabric and closer to him. Left in only your heels and pretty jewelry. There was a strong malicious urge in you, and it seemed to be growing.

“Will you let me touch you again, bunny?”

Your eyes glowed with a red hue, getting more prominent by the second. Even though fear was scorching Jungkook’s body like a fire, there was another venom spreading through his body. Your pheromones. And he was only a man, brought to his knees by the popular mean girl who actually gave him the time of day. If Jungkook was a stronger man, he might’ve gathered his bearings and tried to run. Or resist. Or at least say no to your request. Instead, words tumbled out of his mouth that voluntarily sealed his fate.

“Let me eat you out.” He blurted frantically. You stopped in your tracks, cocking your head in confusion. Your heel one inch away from his feet.

“… what the fuck?” Of all the things you’d ever hear your victims say, you couldn’t say you’d ever heard that one. You especially didn’t expect this from Jungkook. Like all of your sexual partners, he was always more focused on his own gratification. Sure, he’d kiss you and grope your tits. But if you wanted him to touch you in the way you needed to be touched, you’d have to guide his hands and keep them there before he strayed elsewhere.

And you didn’t care, it didn’t really matter to you. As a succubus, you got your energy from his orgasms anyway. You didn’t really need to come yourself to milk him dry.

And besides, you liked it better that way. You didn’t need to give the bambi-eyed boy any more reason to get close to your heart. You’d go down denying it, but there was a reason you were pulled to Jungkook in the first place. There was a reason your senses were so tuned into him, your body reacting automatically in his close presence when he’d picked up your notebook that day. A reason why his semen smelled so sweet to you, like a feast.

Since you’d been turned a few months ago, during the summer, you’d been navigating your newfound urges and hunger with little guidance. Using your powers to lure unsuspecting men, degenerate college boys and lewd drunk assholes, into your net. You tried to restrict your victims to only those who deserved it.

But somehow, you couldn’t stop yourself from pursuing Jungkook. The pretty angel-faced boy who doted on you and followed you around like a pet. Who placed his trembling hand on your ass so hesitantly after you guided it there. Who pouted every time he kissed. You thought you had a moral code, but it was hard to control yourself around him. Jungkook had always been a sweetheart to you, from the moment you’d met him freshman year. And somehow, that thud you felt in your heart from his sweetness that you were able to ignore the past year rose up with your newfound urges.

You felt yourself getting crueler as you killed, but you always tried to keep yourself somewhat human. You knew you’d throw that all away after taking Jungkook’s life tonight. You’d rip into the poor boy, your ultimate feast, your last supper. Right before you fully traded in your humanity for the monster you’d become.

“Please,” he begged. He hesitantly stepped towards you, gently pulling you in by the hips. You raised an eyebrow. In your hunger, your fangs had grown in too. He should be utterly petrified, or running for his life. Instead, you met his doe-eyes as he looked down at your devilish face. Placing a kiss on your forehead, he turned you around, switching your positions and leaning you against the chain-link wall.

You had to say, the boy had gall. You didn’t know what he thought he was doing—perhaps he thought you’d take mercy on him. Naïve. Or maybe he thought he could trick you somehow, running off into the woods as if your superior abilities would let him take a step away from you. Foolish.

You were distracted by the press of his soft lips into your inner thigh. His hands wrapped around your thigh, stroking your skin comfortingly with his thumb. The same way you did when you were fucking him.

He trailed his kisses up, soft pecks leaving a warm feeling everywhere they touched. Once he reached your mound, he pressed the gentlest kiss against your nether lips. You didn’t know why such an action sent a shiver through your body.

You cursed as he opened his mouth and tried to wrap his lips around your nub, licking stripes up your pussy haphazardly, his tongue slipping in between your folds in his eagerness.

You let out an involuntary moan as he found your clit, thumbing at it experimentally. His eyes snapped up at the sound, watching your reaction. He did it again, and you felt your body automatically respond to him. One look at you, and he dove in, putting his mouth on your clit instead.

Your hands tangled in his hair as he sucked, jewelry on your hand dangling as you hung on for dear life. Jungkook’s hand was busy feeling through your folds, finding your sensitive parts and spreading your arousal around, making a mess of your pussy. You were surprised at his fervor; never expected an inexperienced boy like him to be so good at head. But you should’ve known Jungkook was different, the moment you sat on his thick cock and he stretched you to no end. A virgin and he fucked that good the first time? Yeah, he was different.

Jungkook pushed his face in between your legs, getting more hungry in his pursuit of your juices. Lapping up at you, he pushed your folds aside to make room for his appetitive tongue. Feeling your legs start to tremble from the pleasure he was giving you, he threw one leg over his shoulder, keeping you steady.

His hands now naturally came to rest on your ass cheeks, pushing you into his mouth further. You didn’t know what was happening to you. You were sweating, even with the cool night air touching your hot skin. Whimpering and whining as this boy knelt on his knees for you. It wasn’t your first time being eaten out, far from it, but this was somehow different. Your other partners had licked at you lazily a few times, before deeming you wet enough to ask you to return the favor.

Something warm tingled down your veins, sending heat straight to your core. You gripped Jungkook’s hair tighter as you felt pressure build up in your core. Butterflies sprung in your stomach as he settled for kitten licks against your clit while looking up at you. He watched to gage your reaction, but just the sight of his innocent eyes made your heart beat faster.

“F-faster, Kookie. Please.” Jungkook didn’t hesitate at your command, diving back in with as much fervor as before.

You felt a sweat bead on your forehead. You were heating up immensely, suddenly feeling like your blood had turned to fire in your veins. Your legs felt unsteady, even with Jungkook supporting you. Your hole fluttered at the proximity of his mouth, pretty pout kissing you so sweetly.

He’d started to push his tongue into your hole experimentally, gathering up all the arousal he could. You felt him prod at your entrance, before spreading your legs further apart and pushing in. You let out a groan as his nose nudged your clit while his tongue explored the confines of your inner walls.

Your vision started flashing blindingly as he took you straight to your peak. With trembling hands, you hold onto his hair. Unable to speak a single word or warn him before your orgasm loomed over you. God, what was he doing to you? What was happening to you?

You felt a feverish temperature erupt through your body, your other hand gripping the chain-link fence behind you frantically. You whipped your head to the side as your breasts heaved with each breath. All you could do was sputter out the pretty boy’s name as he brought you to edge with just his tongue. A feat you thought impossible.

You felt a shock overtake your body as your peak crashed over you, screaming out his name in anguish and pleasure as you gushed out all over his mouth. Your body started to shake immensely, your vision starting to go completely dark. With a pang in your head, you collapsed to your knees, falling into Jungkook’s arms. Unconscious and breathing heavily, completely spent.

Jungkook held you in his arms, trying to shake you awake with a panicked call of your name. “Are you okay? Please wake up.” His heart started to race. “Oh god, what have I done?”

Jungkook thought he knew what he was doing. He thought those Secrets of the Occult books that Jae lent him held some truth. He thought that he’d done his research thoroughly, spending those few hours you were at practice pouring over endless sources to find all the information he could about succubi.

He thought he was helping you. Jungkook knew he was risking his life coming here to the dance with you tonight, but his answer was never going to be ‘no.’ Though alarm bells went off in his head the moment you dragged him up from his seat at the table, he didn’t refuse. Was willing to put his life on the line, for just the chance that he could save you.

Succubi, he’d read, thrived off of other people’s pleasure. They only feed off the energy they received from drawing out orgasms. Most succubi, especially young ones, didn’t seek their own gratification at all, deeming it completely unnecessary and meaningless. Only, Jungkook had learned, it wasn’t completely meaningless. If a succubi was pleasured, they would render more control over their own urges, and learn how to live with their hunger more easily. Not to mention, their hunger would be satiated much easier, not needing to kill and tear off body parts to feed. It was the difference between a human and a monster.

Jungkook thought he was doing the right thing. Never in any of his books did it mention cunnilingus as a danger to the succubi! Your body grew colder in his arms, dropping down to temperatures below the cool night air.

He bowed his head. All he wanted was you. And now here he was, holding your fainting body. A dying star. A single teardrop fell from his eyes.

“Oh my god, I feel like I just had a vibrator stuck up my vagina.” You stirred, his tear landing on your cheek, trailing down your face. Your hand went up to your hair as you tried lifting yourself, meeting his shocked eyes.

“Jungkook...bunny... you…” Your hand came up to his cheek, soft eyes with a hint of tears, “you saved me.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss against his pliable lips. It was so full of emotion, something you’d never known before. His lips molded to your immediately, kissing you back with tears on his face.

“I-I thought I’d hurt you,” he revealed once you pulled away. “I thought you were gone.”

You shook your head, a small laugh bubbling up in your chest. He cared so much about you, it was sweet.

“No. I was going to hurt you though.” You brought up, looking down into your lap. You couldn’t meet his big doe-eyes, not with the sober mind you had now. Not with what you’d almost done to your perfect boy. “Why did you do that, bunny? Why did you stay?”

It was his turn to look away, fiddling with his fingers and mumbling under his breath. “I like you. Wanted to save you. Or whatever.”

You couldn’t take the fullness in your heart, crashing your lips back into his in lieu of a response. Your heart beat loudly with the adrenaline flowing through.

In the arms of a cute, pouty boy. And you felt vulnerable for the first time since you turned—not just because you were stark naked save for your heels. Maybe his fluffy head smothered in your boobs was your missing piece all along.

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Y/N hated the rain, the subtle trickling down bus windows or the small patting noise it made whenever it hit the concrete streets of New York. Whenever tourists visit the concrete jungle that was this city, many people tend to forget the less modern and lavish part of the state. East Harlem for instance, which is exactly where Y/N lived. Going up the steps of her apartment, grabbing her key and opening her door. She glanced at the mail that had been haphazardly thrown onto her floor, bending down to pick it up before locking the door. A small, heavy sigh left her lips as she looked at her apartment. Small little droplets had begun seeping through the ceiling, puddles beginning to form on her wooden floors. Without much to say, she walked over to the sink and opened its bottom cabinet. Grabbing the few buckets and bowls she usually stored there for this exact problem, she quickly set up her apartment to be rain appropriate before flopping onto the couch. 

“I need a break.” She muttered, feeling bitter about how awful her day had been. Not only did she get yelled at by some elderly women at the grocery store for something she didn't even do, her manager scolded her afterwards as well. To make matters even worse, it had begun raining while she was heading home from work, making her apartment cold and wet. 

If only she still had time to write, but there was nothing she had left. Money was certainly tight at the moment, and she's barely even been able to pay rent. There wasn’t much time left to write. Loosely letting her eyes skim over the few letters in her hand, her eyebrows knitted together as she opened a letter from her landlord. An eviction notice greeting her rather casually, she could just imagine her landlord's grin as she sent off the letter. 

On a more convenient note, a letter from her father was also present. It was packed with information, condolences, inheritance, and a plane ticket to France. Having read the letter, Y/N grieved the loss of her grandfather. He was a very busy man, and they only shared memories from when she was young. But those sweet, short moments, she held close to her heart. Her father must’ve predicted her hesitance to visit her grandfather's manor, which she had inherited, so he had been adamant on her not wasting the money he spent on the plane ticket. 

“It's better than this dump..” It was easier to just move on then to cling to certain aspects of her life. It wasn’t like her apartment and life was worth staying for. With her decision being final, the next few days moved on like a blur. 

She gave in her final notice to her current employer, talked to her landlord, and packed her belongings. It wasn't much, mostly because she didn't own much. Everything she got could fit into one, large navy blue suitcase. One of those add-on strap buckles wrapped securely around it, sure most people used shell suitcases now but this one was a clear hand me down. Having given her luggage away, she went through the security check without a complaint. Now sitting at her terminal, she tapped her boots together as she stared at them.

Everything was changing now, whether she liked to admit that or not. New people, new friends and enemies. It was both an exciting and utterly terrifying feeling, stepping directly into the unknown. The thought brought a heaviness to her shoulders, her body almost insisting to stay seated in the thin leathery seats provided by each terminal.  But then it became boarding time, and her body was still frozen in its place. “Now boarding group C, everyone in group C please come to the front so we may proceed with boarding.” A honeyed voice called out through the speakers, with a glance to her side it wouldn’t have taken a genius to see the fakeness in her tone and smile. She almost felt sorry for her, having to travel in small platform heels, a tight skirt, and cheery red lipstick that no doubt smudged onto her teeth every now and then. All the while her hair was tied into such a tight bun it practically gave her a face lift, it must be the most euphoric feeling to be able to take everything off once their shifts are over. 

“Last call for group C!” The stewardess called out once more, which was the last encouragement she needed to finally get up. Her brown backpack hanging loosely off her left shoulder, she grabbed her phone and scanned her boarding pass before entering the plane. Once seated and her bag snuggly stored underneath the seat in front of her, she turned to look out the window. Mentally preparing for a seven hour flight, she adjusted her neck pillow, pulled her sleeping mask over her eyes, and put on her headphones. Then, she dozed off to sleep.

“Miss.. excuse me, Miss?” A sweet voice called out to her, followed by someone carefully shaking her shoulder. Waking up from her sleep, Y/N was quick to pull her sleeping mask off to look towards the stewardess who had woken her. “Pardon me Miss, but please put your seat up as we prepare for landing.” The woman hummed, before continuing to walk down the aisle. Landing? Oh, right. She had fallen asleep earlier, but she usually never slept through her entire flight. With a sigh, she put up her seat and packed up while they lowered onto French soil. Landing was always the worst part of traveling, if the unbearable pain in her ears wasn’t enough the unmanageable screeching from nearby toddlers and babies wasn’t exactly her favourite either. But with a bump to the plane, its wheels finally touched the ground as the pilot hit the breaks. A few minutes afterwards, people were finally allowed to leave. Grabbing her bag and proceeding to get her suitcase, Y/N eventually stood outside of the airport. 

The good part about busy airports is the designated line for taxis, no one had to compete or call out for one. It was a rather organized affair really, giving the address of her destination while putting her luggage in the trunk, she was soon off on her way to her new home. 

Three short yet utterly agonizing hours later, Y/N paid her taxi driver before getting out of the car. Heaving a heavy breath of fresh air, she rested her hands on her knees as she crouched over. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick…” She muttered, taking a few minutes before finally straightening up. Her eyes finally got the chance to travel along the unfamiliar landscape, a large metal gate standing in front of here. It was partially overgrown by vines who had wrapped themselves around the iron bars, growing more dense where the gate met two stone pillars. “Gosh, why did they let this place get so run down?” 

Sure, Grandpa was fairly old and couldn't exactly take care of the gardening himself, but didn’t he hier gardners? Pushing the gate open, it let out a horrible high-pitched whine, the joints probably being rusted. Now having entered the property, a stone pebbled path leads towards the entrance of the manor. A wide circle leaving room for a water fountain in its center, but a few steps closer revealed an algae soaked paradise instead of a lavish status symbol. “Gross.” 

Y/N scrunched up her nose, walking past the entrance and finally pushing open the two large mahogany front doors. Her hopes about the front yard being the only place neglected soon vanished as her eyes soaked up the sight of her surroundings. Furniture was covered in long white linen sheets, while dust covered the floor like a soft blanket. “Grandpa, when did you last step foot into this place, wasn’t this your home?” Odd. That’s how she’d describe her new home, the floorboards creaked occasionally, and her soft footsteps echoed throughout the entire manor. Exploring was her new objective, abandoning her luggage by the entrance hall, she walked down one of the halls to her left. 

Perhaps it was just the dirty atmosphere, but something felt unnerving about walking around. Her gut tugged itself into knots as she discovered the kitchen, dining hall, a storage closet, and a few other abandoned rooms. Her bedroom seemed to be on the second floor, a grand staircase covered in red carpet leading towards the next layer of her home. The house had an odd number of rooms, places that seemed to lack from her childhood memory. Returning to her luggage, she dragged her suitcase up the stairs and into her new bedroom. “With a little care, I’m sure this place will grow more comfortable in no time.” She sighed, rolling up her sleeves as she walked over to her balcony doors. Swinging them open carelessly, the view of the back garden was just as saddening as the front. 

It looked disastrous, as if someone had meant to restore a wild habit for some jungle animal. But with the chirping of the birds, their distant singsong voices dancing around her garden, the evening breeze kissing her skin. She smiled, an odd welcomed peacefulness washing over her. “Better leave now before it gets too late.” She muttered, swinging around and closing the glass doors behind her. Shuffling through her bag to grab her wallet, she made her way towards the door. 

A freezing, sudden flash of wind hit her. Her skin flaring into a display of goosebumps as she swung around, her eyes locked on the sight of the closed balcony windows. As fast as the feeling appeared, it vanished just as quickly. “I'm starting to freak myself out.”  She shuddered, rubbing her arms as she walked out of her room and down the halls. The lingering feelings of being watched made her uneasiness grow, all the horror movies she’s seen now replaying in her mind. 

“Stop it! The wind was just a draft from the balcony, stop freaking yourself out Y/N.” She coached herself, continuing to walk. The walls seemed to linger after her, her steps quickening as she hurried down the stairs and swung open the front door. She let out a breath of relief as she was outside, hurrying off to leave the property for now. Making her way down the gravel streets as she walked into town, it wasn’t even comparable to the hectic life in New York, but the calmness of the evening seemed almost reassuring.

Small couples were taking their evening walk, mostly edler people if she inspected them closer, chatting contently to their significant other. They waved, the sight of an unfamiliar face most likely being connected to a newcomer. Compared to her home, the town looked so neatly organized, bushes being trimmed to a subtle state of perfection, flowers being arranged to show how complementary their colors were. It looked magnificent. 

Further down the street, there was a decently sized grocery store Y/N was glad to enter. She grabbed a few necessities, such as food and drinks before being held up in the cleaning aisle. The place was an utter mess, so she definitely had to get something reusable. Her hand rested on her chin, her foot tapping onto the floor anxiously as she pondered over her options. 

“I’ve never seen someone look so seriously at a bunch of cleaning products.” A honeyed, but rather raspy voice commented, amusement evident in her tone. Looking to her side to follow the voice, a gentle looking elderly woman greeted her. Her back was slightly hunched, a small floral dress covering her while her short grey hair put into neat curls. 

“Oh, I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do. I’ve just moved in and the place is a mess.” She smiled, looking at the woman who covered her mouth with her gloved hand to hide her giggle. “Oh dear, it seems like you have your hands full. Well, let me give you a suggestion if you don’t mind. I’ve had to clean up my fair share of messes too,” She chuckled, as if a memory flashed before her that was deeply amusing. “This mop is great for wooden floors and tiles, and this duster is washable so you can reuse it too. For actual cleaners..” She mumbled, walking further along the aisle while Y/N moved to pick out the suggested items and add them to her cart. “These ones will do, they’ve even managed to get rid of the messes my grandson makes.” She hummed, and added them to the cart as well. 

“Thank you, this is my first time owning a home so I really appreciate the help.” Y/N hummed, smiling at the kind lady. “Oh well, welcome to our humble town. It might not be much, but the people really share a sense of community here. I'm sure a little fine missy such as yourself will fit right in.” The woman giggled, “What street do you live on now? My house on Oakland is always open to visitors. I’m sure my grandson will be stoked to meet you!” She smiled, while you couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of her trying to hook you up.

A polite smile grazed your lips, “Thank you, I’ll be sure to visit soon then. I live on Grand Rue.” 

As if you had said something awful, the ladys bright sunny expression was now clouded. A look of deep unsettlement tugging at her lips, a seriousness washing over her that deeply unsettled you. “Oh my, I didn’t know they let anyone live there.” She mumbled, scanning over you rather quickly. “My dear, please take care of yourself. That please is rumored too..” She trailed off, as if a mental dilemma sparked inside her. Whether to warn you or let you return to your home in peace. 

But the seeds of anxiousness had already bloomed within you, and your curious eyes wouldn’t dare to waver now. “Rumored to?” You inferred, wanting her to go on.

“Be haunted.” The elderly woman whispered. 

Huh, you couldn’t help but lean back with a sigh. You had expected something more, well, frightening. Like a murder or missing person report, but you didn’t believe in ghosts. There was a scientific explanation for everything, at least that’s what you told yourself. 

“Oh, I’ll be careful then.” You hummed, waving the woman off as you rushed to the checkout. As much as you had liked interacting with the kind woman, she clearly had some screws loose to act so horrified by some simple rumors. 

Paying for your items and carrying your bags up the streets towards your home, the sun was beginning to set. Cooling the air and covering everything in an orange hue, a rather pretty sight. By the time you had arrived at the front gate, you once again push open the doors and glance at your home.