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. (4:30p) jungkook: are you safe? you’re not at home. (4:30p) jungkook: it’s tuesday and you’re usually home when i get here. (4:30p) 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. (4:32p) y/n: you’re being incredibly dramatic. i’m at work. very alive and well. making money to keep feeding us well. (4:34p) jungkook: objectively incorrect. i buy all of our food? (4:40p) 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. (4:41p) jungkook: will you make it in time for dinner or another long night? (4:44p) 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. (4:45p) 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. (1:08p) 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. (1:09p) 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 him, much to your dismay. Because if he’d just shut up for a moment, they 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, pink lips begging and beckoning. “So, you’ll make dinner with me and consent to romantic affiliation?” He asks, 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.

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