The first time he drives to your parents' house, he almost turns the car around.

Three times… scratch that…actually, four.

The fourth time is especially embarrassing because he has already parked. The engine is off. The keys are in his hand. He's committed, and yet his hand keeps drifting toward the ignition like it has its own agenda, like it wants to go home.

He sits behind the steering wheel, staring at your childhood home. The house itself isn't scary. It's just a house with white walls that need repainting. A small garden where your mother has beautiful flowers. A blue mailbox that has your last name on it with faded stickers that are peeling at the edges. Normal things.

Unfortunately, your father lives inside, and your father is terrifying. Not in a dramatic movie way, he doesn't threaten people or is part of the mafia, and he definitely doesn't own weapons or has a scar across his face.

It’s the fact that he looks at people the way professors look at exam papers, as if he's found three mistakes in the first paragraph and is debating whether he should continue reading or just fail you now and save him some time.

Jungkook swallows. His palms are sweating against the steering wheel. This is ridiculous… What if your father hates him? What if he laughs? What if he says no?

Then you'll ask again.

He grabs the box of pastries from the passenger seat and gets out before his courage disappears completely.

The door opens, and your father appears. For a moment, nobody says anything. The silence stretches and Jungkook becomes suddenly, painfully aware of every part of his body. He bows politely. The low and respectful kind of bow that says I come in peace, I mean no harm, please don't destroy me.

The silence grows longer, and our dear Jungkook begins wondering if people can die from awkwardness. If that's a medical condition, and if he should have written a will. Your father stares, Jungkook bows a little deeper. His back protesting.

Finally, your father speaks. "Did my daughter send you?"

"No, sir." Jungkook's voice comes out steady.

A pause. Your father's eyes narrow slightly, scanning him like he's reading a label. "Did something happen to her?"

"No, sir."

"Then why are you here?"

Jungkook suddenly forgets every sentence he prepared during the drive. All those carefully constructed arguments inside his overthinker mind, all those practiced phrases…gone, evaporated.

Wonderful

He manages a nervous smile. It feels crooked on his face, too big, too desperate. "I wanted to talk to you."

Your father doesn't move. "About?"

For a fleeting second, Jungkook considers pretending he came to discuss the weather. The weather is safe, but unfortunately for him, that would make even less sense than his actual reason, and also, he's pretty sure your father can smell lies the way other people smell smoke.

"Sir, I love your daughter."

Your father blinks a few times. "Oh."

Jungkook nods. Encouraged. Maybe this is going well. Maybe the hard part is over. Maybe…it is not going well.

"That's unfortunate," your father says, and steps aside to let him in.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Five minutes later, they're sitting at the kitchen table.

Jungkook has never seen such an intimidating kitchen before. Everything is clean and organized. He is afraid to touch anything. Your father places a cup of tea in front of him. The gesture is kind, but the expression on your father's face is not kind. Not in a malicious way, it’s the expression of someone who has watched young men come and go from this exact house, who has learned that most of them are not worth the time it takes to memorize their names. Jungkook suddenly understands where you inherited your stubbornness from.

"So," your father says.

"So," Jungkook echoes, and he immediately hates himself for echoing. He's not a parrot. He's a grown man. He has tattoos. He pays taxes, and he should be able to handle a conversation without turning into a robot.

"You love my daughter."

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Why? Because you're funny, because you laugh with your entire body, throwing your head back, because you cry during movies and then deny it, because you pretend not to like affection and attention and then complain when he stops giving it, which is confusing and annoying and completely endearing, because loving you happened so naturally he didn't notice it until he was already too deep in love with you.

He clears his throat. All of this is too much to say to your father. "She's amazing," Jungkook says.

Your father's face remains unreadable. "That's your argument?"

Jungkook panics. His brain, which had just started working again, shuts down completely. "No, sir."

"Good."

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

An hour later, Jungkook has somehow been interviewed more thoroughly than a job applicant for a position that requires government clearance.

Career plans. Finances. Future goals. Emergency savings. Apartment size. Life insurance. Retirement planning. Your father asks about his parents, his siblings, his thoughts on home ownership versus renting, his opinion on private schools versus public schools for hypothetical future children that Jungkook is definitely not ready to discuss but finds himself discussing anyway because when your father asks a question, answering feels mandatory.

At one point, your father asks what kind of husband he intends to be. Jungkook answers honestly. It's the only answer he has, the only one he's sure of. "The best one I can."

Something shifts in your father's expression, only for a second. Maybe it was approval…or pity…or maybe even indigestion. Who knows…Then comes the final question and the most important one.

The reason Jungkook is here, sweating through his nice shirt

His heartbeat speeds up. He sits straighter, tries to look like the kind of man who deserves what he's about to ask for.

"Sir."

Your father waits. He knows what's coming. Jungkook can see it in the set of his shoulders and the slight tilt of his head.

"I want to marry her."

Your father folds his hands and looks directly at him.

And says:

"No."

Like he was declining extra napkins. Like Jungkook had offered him a flyer for a kebab place he wasn't interested in. Like this whole hour meant absolutely nothing.

Jungkook stares. Surely there's more, surely there's a ‘but’ or an ‘unless’ or a ‘however’ waiting in the air, ready to step on stage and save this moment from being exactly what it sounds like.

There isn't.

Your father takes another sip of tea.

Jungkook blinks. His mouth feels dry. His ears are ringing. "Sir?"

"No."

"I understand, but—"

"No."

"Can I ask why?"

Your father nods. "You can."

Jungkook waits. Your father waits too.

Nothing happens.

"...Why?"

"Because I said no."

Jungkook nearly laughs. Not because it's funny, but because otherwise he might cry, and he's pretty sure crying in your father's kitchen would be the final nail in a coffin that's already been nailed shut, buried, and had a parking lot built over it.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

The drive home feels longer. His pride aches took, his heart too…everything aches, actually, in a way that makes him wonder if this is what adulthood feels like. He should probably be upset, and angry, and embarrassed that he poured his heart out to a man who responded with a single syllable.

But Jungkook finds himself smiling, a small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth while he waits at a red light because beneath the frustration is something unexpected.

Your father didn't laugh or mock him or send him out, and he didn’t tell Jungkook to find someone else’s daughter to love and cherish. He didn't say Jungkook wasn't good enough, wasn't successful enough, wasn't worthy. He just said 'no', and then he said it again, and then he kept saying it until Jungkook ran out of questions.  He smiles because for two whole hours, he listened.

And Jungkook overthinks about it… a man doesn't spend two hours questioning someone he doesn't care about. A father doesn't interrogate a future son-in-law candidate unless the answer matters… unless the person sitting across from him is a real possibility.

‘No’ wasn't the end.

Jungkook glances at the road ahead, next Friday isn't far away. Five days, six hours, maybe less if he leaves work early. He can survive five days. He can survive anything if there's a chance at the end of it.

That evening, you're both sprawled across his couch, casually stealing fries from his plate. Your own plate sits untouched, still full, but you keep reaching for his anyway. Not because they're any different, just because they're his. This is the thing that you always do, and Jungkook loves it; it’s predictable and is exactly what he wants to come home to, exactly what he's fighting for.

Jungkook watches you. You glance up, caught, a fry halfway to your mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Suspicious. Very suspicious. You narrow your eyes, and he sees your father in you for just a moment.

"What are you smiling about?"

He shakes his head. He can't tell you. Not yet. Not until he has something real to offer, something earned, something that proves he's serious. "Nothing."

You throw a fry at him. It bounces off his forehead and lands in his lap. You look proud, as if you've accomplished something significant, and your boyfriend laughs. Suddenly, the rejection doesn't feel so heavy anymore, because at the end of the day, every difficult conversation leads back to this. To you, to the future he's trying to build, one Friday at a time.

Jungkook picks up another fry. You steal that one too, quick as a cat, and he lets you. He doesn't even try to stop you. He watches you eat it, watches you chew, and for now, he lets you.

After all, he has bigger battles waiting for him next Friday. And the Friday after that. And however many it takes until your father finally says yes.

Now, 6 Months later

You are folding laundry when your phone buzzes against the coffee table, skittering like an insect that can't decide where to die. It's a text from him.

jk: Still at work, might be late for dinner, don't wait up

 You smile because, of course, he is. He's always at work, or the gym, or somewhere building his body while you eat instant noodles in sweatpants that have a hole in the left thigh. (no shame)

What you don't know is that your boyfriend is not at work. Your boyfriend is currently sitting in his car in front of your parents' house. He's been here before. Many times. 6 months of Fridays, to be exact, which is 24 Fridays, which is 24 times he's climbed out of this same car with his heart hammering against his ribs.

Jungkook checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looks good. He looks great, actually, black sweater, hair styled in that particular way that took him 45 and 3 YouTube tutorials. He looks like a man who deserves a ‘yes.’ He looks like a man who is about to get another 'no', but hope, as they say, is a stupid and beautiful thing that dies slowly.

"Okay," he whispers to himself. "Okay. This time."

He reaches into the backseat for the flowers, peonies this week, because last week your mother mentioned she liked them and Jungkook remembered. He bought pastries again from that French place across town that requires a reservation three days in advance. Your father sees him coming up the walk through the living room window, and he doesn't move.

"Who is it, dear?" your mother calls from the kitchen.

"Nobody," your father says, which is technically true because, as far as he's concerned, Jungkook hasn't earned the right to be somebody yet.

"Nobody" rings the doorbell. Your father counts to ten before he stands. He opens the door.

"Sir," Jungkook says.

"Jungkook," your father says, like he's surprised, like he hasn't been watching the car sit in the driveway for fifteen minutes. "Again?"

"Yes, sir. If you have a moment."

"I suppose I have a moment."

This is their ritual. Your father steps aside to let him in, and Jungkook enters your childhood home. He can smell your mother's cooking from the kitchen. Something with garlic. His stomach growls, which is embarrassing, but your father pretends not to notice because even he has limits to his cruelty.

"Flowers," Jungkook says, holding them out. "For Mrs. … he clears his throat…for your wife."

"She'll appreciate them."

"And these are from Maison Blanc. The almond croissants you mentioned."

"You remembered."

"I remember everything, sir."

This is the part where your father should feel bad. This is the part where a normal person would see the earnestness in this young man's face. Your father is not having any of it. "Sit," he says. "I'll make tea once again."

They sit in the living room. The couch is old, and Jungkook sinks into it the way he always does, while your father sits in his armchair. The tea is green and bitter. Jungkook hates green tea, but he drinks it anyway.

"So," your father says.

"Sir," Jungkook begins, and he sets down his cup because his hands are shaking again and he doesn't want to spill on the carpet. "I know I've asked before. Many times. But I'm here to ask again."

"Mhm."

"I love your daughter. I have loved her for…" He pauses, does the math "…two years, four months, and sixteen days. Not that I'm counting. I mean, I am counting. I have a calendar. That sounds creepy. It's not creepy. It's —"

"Jungkook."

"Yes, sir?"

"Deep breath, son."

Jungkook takes a deep breath. Your father watches him.

"Sir, may I have your blessing to marry your daughter?" The question hangs in the air between them.

Your father takes a sip of tea. He thinks about you,  his daughter, his only child, the person who once cried for three hours because her goldfish died and then forgot about it by dinner time. He thinks about the way you looked at Jungkook the first time you brought him home, like he was made of magic and promises. He thinks about the way Jungkook looks at you, like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he would burn down every building between here and the sea if you asked him to.

He thinks, good.

Then he says: "No."

Jungkook nods. He expected this, but something in his chest still sinks, still curls up small and wounded. 25 rejections. 25 times he's asked.

"Can I ask again why, sir?"

"Because," your father says, and he leans forward, and Jungkook recognizes this posture. This is the posture of a man about to deliver a lesson. "You still flinch when I say no."

"I … what?"

"You flinch. Your shoulders go up, your eyes go down. You look like a dog that's been kicked." Your father's voice is not unkind, but it is firm. It is the voice of a man who has spent thirty years teaching high school English and knows exactly how to make a point land. "If you want to marry my daughter, you need to be able to hear 'no' without breaking. You need to be able to hear 'no' and keep standing anyway."

Jungkook stares at him. "You want me to… you're testing me??"

"I'm teaching you," your father corrects. "There's a difference."

"How long?"

"Until you stop flinching."

"And if I never stop flinching?"

Your father smiles. "Then you're not the man I thought you were, and my daughter deserves better."

They sit in silence. From the kitchen, your mother's voice rises in a question about dinner, and your father calls back that they'll be a while.

"You can go," your father says. "Unless you want to stay. Daeun made enough for three."

Jungkook should go. He knows he should go. He's supposed to meet you in two hours, and he needs to shower, and he needs to practice his smile so you won't know that he's been here again, that he's been rejected again, but the smell of garlic is making him dizzy with hunger, and your father's face has softened in a way it never has before, and something in Jungkook makes him stay.

"I'd like to stay," he says. "If that's okay."

Your father nods. "Set the table, then. You know where the plates are."

He does. He knows where everything is. He's been here enough times to have memorized the layout of your childhood home. He knows your father takes his coffee black and your mother hums when she cooks.  He knows these things because he loves you, and loving you means loving where you came from, even when where you came from keeps telling him no.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

You just got out of the shower when he texts again.

 jk: “omw saved you some dumplings. It was a coworker's bday today.”

Y/n doesn’t question anything. You don't know about the tea, or the conversation, or the way your father's eyes went soft when Jungkook finally laughed at one of his jokes. You have no idea that somewhere in your childhood home, there's a drawer where your father keeps the cards Jungkook has brought. And you definitely have no idea that your father talks about Jungkook to his friends, calls him "that persistent kid" with something like pride in his voice. You don't know that your boyfriend is learning how to be the kind of man who doesn't flinch. You don't know that his heart that's been broken so many times and still beats hopeful.

He thinks about you. He thinks about the way you look when you first wake up, he thinks about the way you laugh, he thinks about getting down on one knee and offering you everything he has, which is not much, which is everything. Because many months ago, he made a promise to himself that he would do this right, that he would have your father's blessing.

You text him

You: hurry up, I'm hungry, and the TV show just started!! <3

Three socks and a suspicion

You are standing in front of your open sock drawer when you realize something is wrong with your boyfriend. Not wrong-wrong, not cheating-wrong or lying-wrong or has-a-secret-family-in-a-whole-different-country-wrong.

Jungkook has been... off.

Not distant, if anything, he's been more present than usual, texting more, calling for no reason, showing up at your apartment with food he claims is "leftover from the guys" but is clearly freshly bought because since when does Namjoon eat salmon with lemon dill sauce? Since when does anyone in that dorm eat vegetables that aren't covered in cheese? (again, no shame)

You hold up three socks. None of them match.

"You're thinking loudly," Jungkook says from your bed, where he's sprawled on his stomach, scrolling through his phone. He always knows when you're thinking. It's one of his most annoying qualities as a boyfriend.

"I'm not thinking," you lie.

"Your forehead does this thing." He finally looks up, and his eyes… those big, dark eyes that you fell into like a well you never wanted to climb out of… crinkle at the corners. "It wrinkles. Right here."

"Maybe I'm just getting old."

"You're 23."

"24 in three months."

"Ancient," he agrees, solemn as a funeral. "Should I buy you a cane? Or maybe one of those chairs that lifts you up?"

"Jeon Jungkook."

"Yes, my elderly girlfriend?"

You giggle and throw a sock at him. "You've been weird lately," you say.

"Weird how?" he asks, and his voice is casual, perfectly casual, too casual.

"I don't know. Distracted. Happy distracted. Like you're not telling me something."

Something flickers across his face. Something that looks almost like panic, or maybe hope, or maybe a little bit of both.

"Maybe I am," he says, and then he smiles and pats the space on the bed next to him. "Come here. I'll tell you, angel."

You go because you've always been weak when it comes to him. After all, he could ask you to follow him into a burning building, and you'd follow. The bed dips under your weight.

"Tell me," you say.

"I can't."

"Jungkook."

"I literally can't. It's not my secret to tell…But I promise it's a good secret. The best secret, and when you find out." He stops and swallows… "when you find out, I hope you'll say yes."

Your heart does something complicated in your chest, a backflip, a small, confused seizure. "Say yes to what?"

"Everything," he whispers.

You should push. You know you should push, but he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world, and you forget how to form words. You forget your own name. You lean in to kiss him because that's the only thing your brain will allow, you kiss him and he kisses you back.

Your mother knows.

She's known since week three, when she came home early from her book club and found Jungkook washing dishes in their kitchen while your father dried. They were arguing about baseball, and your father was laughing. She stood in the doorway and watched them.

"Mrs. Y/L/N" Jungkook had stuttered when he saw her, dropping a plate back into the sink with a splash that soaked his shirt. "I can explain."

"Can you?" she'd asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Not really. No. I'm sorry."

She'd looked at your father, who was doing a terrible job of looking innocent. Your father, who had told Jungkook ‘no’ 13 times at that time, showed no signs of stopping.

"How long?" she'd asked your father.

"13 weeks," he'd said, like he was proud of it. Like this was an accomplishment.

"And how many more?"

"We'll see."

Your mother had sighed then, it's the sigh of a woman who has been married to this man for 22 years and has learned that some battles are not worth fighting. She'd picked up a towel, started drying the plate that Jungkook had abandoned, and said: "He likes the almond croissants from Maison Blanc. But the chocolate ones are better."

Jungkook had stared at her. "You're not... mad?"

"Oh, I'm furious," she'd said, and smiled. "But I'm also hungry, and you two have clearly been eating without me, so you're taking me to dinner. Somewhere expensive."

That was week 13.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Now it's week 27, and your mother has become Jungkook's accomplice. She texts him recipes your father likes. She has, on two occasions, lied to you about where Jungkook is on Friday afternoons, which makes her feel slightly guilty, but she's never seen your father have this much fun. Not at your graduation, not at your sister's wedding, not when he finally beat his brother at golf after 15 years of losing. This ridiculous ritual of weekly interrogation is the most fun he's had in decades.

"He's coming today," your father says now, not looking up from his newspaper. It's Friday. It's 3:30. He checked the clock four times in the last hour.

"I know," your mother says.

"He's bringing those almond things."

"You love almond things."

"I tolerate them," he corrects.

She sits down across from him. "You know you're going to ahve to say ‘yes’ eventually."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Because, despite your best efforts, you like him. You like him more than you liked Minji's husband, and you liked Minji's husband enough to cry at their wedding."

Your father sniffs. "I had allergies."

"You had feelings." She reaches across the table and touches his hand. "When are you going to tell her?"

"Who?"

"Your daughter. The person this actually concerns."

Your father is quiet for a long moment. Outside, Jungkook's car pulls up, and your father straightens his shoulders and puts on his mask of indifference to become the man who says ‘no.’

"When he stops flinching," your father says. "Or when she figures it out. Whichever comes first."

"And if she never figures it out?"

Your father smiles. It's a small, complicated smile, the smile of a man who has spent his life teaching other people lessons they didn't know they needed to learn. "Then she's not as smart as I raised her to be," he says, "and Jungkook will have to keep coming forever."

The doorbell rings. Your mother gets up to answer it, leaving your father to his newspaper and his anticipation and his strange, stubborn hope.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Jungkook is not flinching today.

He's thought about it all week, actually, ever since your father said those words like a challenge.

He's practiced in the mirror. He's practiced in the shower. He's practiced saying ‘no’ to himself, which felt ridiculous but also necessary.

He stands on your parents' porch with lilies-of-the-valley in one hand and chocolate croissants in the other. He switched because he suspects your father is tired of pretending to like almonds.

I will not flinch, he thinks.

Your mother opens the door. "Chocolate," she says, looking at the box. "Smart boy."

"I have it on good authority that almonds are overrated."

"Your authority is correct. Come in. He's in his usual spot."

The living room is the same as always. The couch is waiting to swallow him. The armchair is waiting to judge him. Your father is waiting to break his heart, gently.

"Sir," Jungkook says. He doesn't sit. Not yet.

"Jungkook." Your father folds his newspaper. "You're early."

"I couldn't wait."

"Eager to be rejected?"

"Eager to try."

They sit. The tea is prepared, black today, not green, which Jungkook takes as a good sign, or maybe just as your mother intervening on his behalf. The chocolate croissants are placed on a plate.

"So," your father says.

"Sir," Jungkook says, and he sets down his cup, and he looks your father directly in the eyes, and he does not look away. "May I have your blessing to marry your daughter?"

Your father opens his mouth to say ‘no.’

Jungkook does not flinch or move, and your father notices. Your father notices, and something shifts in his expression like seeing a student finally understand the lesson.

"No," your father says.

Jungkook does not flinch.

"Okay," Jungkook says. "I'll ask again next week."

Your father leans forward. "Why?"

"Because I love her. Because I want to do this right. Because… because you saying ‘no’ doesn't change what I want. It just changes how long I have to wait."

Your father is very still. From the kitchen, your mother is listening, holding her breath, ready to intervene if necessary.

"And if I never say yes?" your father asks. "If I keep saying ‘no’ until you're old and gray and she's moved on to someone else?"

"Then I'll keep coming," Jungkook says, and he means it. "I'll keep coming because this isn't about you. It's about her. And she deserves someone who doesn't give up just because it's hard."

Your father looks at him for a long time. "You're not flinching," your father says quietly.

"No, sir. I'm not."

Your father sits back. He picks up his tea. He drinks it, slowly, thoughtfully, like he's tasting something new. "The chocolate croissants are better," he says finally. “Do you think I’m being cruel to you?”

"No, I understand you’re being careful."

"Do you?"

"I have a sister," Jungkook says. "She's younger, if someone wanted to marry her, I'd want them to work for it. I'd want to know if they were serious." He pauses, chooses his words carefully. "I don't think you're cruel, sir. I think you're scared. And I think that's okay. Because I'm scared too."

Your father laughs. It's a short, surprised sound, like a cough that turned into something better. "You're scared? Of what?"

"Of not being enough. Of messing up. Of all of it…marriage, forever, being someone's whole world. What if I'm bad at it? What if I hurt her? What if I try my best and my best isn't good enough?"

Jungkook realizes he's said too much, but your father doesn't attack. He just nods, slowly, like he's hearing an answer to a question he didn't know he was asking.

"So that's why you flinched," your father says. "Not because of me. Because of the fear."

"Yes, sir."

"And now?"

Jungkook thinks about the fear, which is still there; it will always be there, he knows that now. He thinks about the future, which is uncertain, which is terrifying, which is beautiful because it contains you.

"Now I'm scared," he says, "but I'm here anyway."

"Next week," your father says. "Bring the almond croissants. I changed my mind. I like them better."

"Yes, sir."

"And Jungkook?"

"Yes?"

Your father turns around and smiles, "Stop calling me sir. My name is Seojun."

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

You are eating a salad when Jungkook finally shows up, two hours late.

"Sorry," he says, dropping onto your couch with the boneless grace of a man who has been through something and survived. "A meeting ran long."

"Liar," you say, but you're smiling because he's here. He's always here, because even when he's keeping secrets, he's keeping them with such obvious love that you can't really be mad.

"Am I?"

"You're wearing a hoodie. You don't wear a hoodie to meetings."

He looks down at himself, surprised, like he hadn't noticed. "Huh. Guess I'm caught."

"Guess you are. Where were you, really?"

"I was," he says slowly, "learning how to be brave."

"Jungkook…”

"And I think," he continues, "that I'm almost there, almost ready., my love." He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers are warm. "Soon," he promises. "Soon you'll know everything.”

"Okay," you say. "But if this secret is bad, if you're secretly a criminal or you have a twin, I'm going to be mad."

He pulls you close, rests his chin on your head, and you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek. "I love you," he says, like it's a promise, like it's a prayer, like it's the only true thing in the world.

"I love you too," you say..

The Blessing

You are standing in the middle of your apartment holding a spoon when the world changes. Your mother calls, and her voice, when you answer, sounds strange.

"You need to come home," she says. "This Friday. Four o'clock."

"Mom, I have work-"

"Four o'clock," she repeats, "And honey? Don't tell Jungkook."

"Mom...?," you say slowly, "what's going on...?"

But she already hung up.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Jungkook knows something is different. He's known since Tuesday, when your mother texted him with instructions for this Friday that were more specific than usual.

Daeun: Wear the blue shirt, and bring the small box, not the big one. She's suspicious enough already.

He's been carrying the small box for four months. It lives in his gym bag, wrapped in an old T-shirt, tucked between his protein powder and his backup headphones. He's taken it to work, to the convenience store at 2 am, when you wanted ice cream. He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. The blue shirt, your favorite.

Today feels different. Today feels like the last time, one way or another. He drives across town with the box in his pocket and his heart in his throat. He doesn't know you're already there. He doesn't know that your mother finally broke, finally told you everything, finally couldn't stand keeping the secret for one more day. He doesn't know that you're sitting in your childhood bedroom right now, listening to your mother's rushed explanation to you, “Every Friday, for 6 months, he…” with your hands shaking and your eyes filling with tears that you can't quite name.

Are you angry? You should be angry. He kept a secret. A big one. A secret that involved your father and pastries and some kind of ongoing test that you apparently needed to pass without knowing you were taking it. But underneath the anger is something else that feels like being chosen, over and over again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask your mother, and your voice sounds small, like a child's.

"Because he asked us not to. Because he wanted to do it right. And because your father was having too much fun to stop."

"He's been rejecting him? For 6 months?"

"29 times," your mother says. "This will be 30."

"That's…" you stop, because you don't know what that is. Cruel? Romantic?  "Where are they?"

"Living room…waiting."

You stand up. Your legs feel unsteady, and you walk to the door, opening it and hear:

"You're late," your father says.

"Traffic," Jungkook replies, and his voice is steady.

You walk slowly and silently down the hall. You can see them through the doorway. Your father in his armchair, the throne, Jungkook on the couch.

"So," your father says. "This is 30."

"Yes, sir."

"You know what I'm going to say."

"I think so," Jungkook says. "But I'd like to hear it anyway."

"You stopped flinching," your father says. "Week 26. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"I thought that would be it. I thought I'd say ‘yes’ then, and we'd be done with this." Your father leans forward. "But then I realized… flinching was just the first test. The easy one. The real test is what you do after."

Jungkook is very still. "And?"

"And you've shown up," your father says. "29 times. Through my bad moods and my stupid questions and that week where I made you help me clean the garage because I wanted to see if you'd complain."

"I didn't complain, sir."

"Yes, that's right."

You are holding your breath. You realize this only when your lungs start to hurt, when the edges of your vision go blurry. You let it out, slow and silent, and you watch your father's face.

"Jungkook," your father says.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you love my daughter?"

"More than anything."

"Will you keep loving her? When is she difficult? When she's tired? When she's been your wife for 20, and the newness has worn off, and you're left with just, with her ordinary flaws?"

Jungkook doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Will you keep showing up?"

"Every day," Jungkook says, and his voice breaks slightly, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't look away. "Every Friday. Every Tuesday. Every day that ends in Y, I'll keep showing up until you believe me, and then I'll keep showing up so you don't forget."

"Jungkook," your father says.

"Yes, sir?"

"My name is Seojun."

"I know, sir. I mean — I know, Seojun."

Your father stands up. He walks to Jungkook, who stands too, automatic, respectful, ready for whatever comes next. He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder.

"Yes," your father says.

Jungkook's face crumples for a blink…the relief, the exhaustion, the pure happiness of finally being enough.

"Thank you," Jungkook whispers. "Thank you, sir. Thank you-"

"Seojun," your father corrects, but he's smiling. "And you're welcome. Now…" he steps back, clears his throat "…you have a question to ask, don't you? Might want to get to it. She's standing right behind you."

Jungkook turns.

You are crying. You didn't realize you were crying, but your face is wet, and your hands are shaking, and you can't seem to make your mouth form words. You look at him. at your boyfriend, at this stubborn, persistent man who loved you enough to endure 29 rejections just for the chance to propose properly.

"You…" you start, and your voice breaks. "You idiot. You absolute…why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to- " he starts, and then stops, because you're walking toward him, and then you're in his arms.

"I would have said yes," you mumble into his shoulder. "Week one. I would have said yes."

"I know," he says.

"Ask me," you say.

"What?"

"Ask me. You came here thirty times to ask him, now ask me."

Jungkook's hands are shaking. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the small box. It's worn from being carried, from being hidden.

He gets down on one knee. Your mother appears in the doorway, raising the phone to record this, to capture it, to prove that it really happened.

"Okay," Jungkook says, and he's crying now too; you realize the tears tracking down his face in the most undignified, most beautiful way. "Okay. I've been practicing this. In the car. In the shower. In my head, about a thousand times." He opens the box. The ring is simple, exactly right, exactly you. "I love you. I've loved you for two years and four months and thirty days. Your father told me I wasn't ready. But I think- I hope- I'm ready now. Will you…" He stops, swallows, starts again, " …will you marry me? Will you let me keep showing up? Will you be my family, officially?"

You look at him. You look at your father, who is wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and pretending he's not. You look at your mother, who is crying, who has been waiting for this for weeks when she first saw Jungkook washing dishes in her kitchen.

You look at Jungkook.

"Yes," you say. "Yes, you idiot. Yes, I'll marry you. Yes to all of it. Yes, forever."

He puts the ring on your finger.  He stands up, and he kisses you.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Later, after the crying and the laughing and your father insisting on opening the good wine that he's been saving for something important, you sit on the porch with Jungkook, your hand in his, the ring catching the light.

"30 Fridays," you say. "You came here 30 times."

"29 rejections," he confirms. "One yes."

"Was it worth it?"

He looks at you. He looks at you like he looked at you the first time, like he'll look at you when you're old and gray and arguing about whose turn it is to take out the trash.

"Every single one," he says. "I'd do 30 more. 300. However many it will take."

You lean your head on his shoulder.

Inside, your father is telling your mother that he knew Jungkook would make it, that he never doubted, that he was just testing him to be sure. Your mother is rolling her eyes and pouring more wine and smiling in a way that says she knows exactly what really happened. That her husband has already accepted your boyfriend somewhere around week twelve, and has been pretending otherwise ever since.

But that's their story.

This is yours.

The future is waiting.

It's going to be exhausting and beautiful and completely worth it.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▱▰▱▰▱

a/n: i might have cried a little

hope you enojyed !! >.<