#3tan8

Through his actions, his decisions, his words. All of them served as a door, his eyes the windows that couldn’t lie about what they contained. 

You don’t know much still. And you will come to deny a lot more. But one thing is for sure: since you stepped foot inside, you aren’t sure if you’re ready to leave just yet. 

Or ever. 

Fucking hell, your chest feels so hollow it’s a wonder you’re still functioning—

“Yoongi? What are you doing here?” 

Your eyes snap to your open doorway.

“Sup.”

What.

What.

Catapulting yourself out of bed, you’re already warring with yourself on whether to go out there or not. Because what the fuck is happening? 

Why is Yoongi still here?

You skid to a halt at your entryway, as if the edge of a cliff is millimeters from your toes.

It may as well be. You seem to be in freefall already.

Bits of conversation can be heard from where you stand, and you strain your ears to pick up every single word you can grab from down the hall.

“—happening?” 

“Relax. Something went down last night.” 

“What the fuck. Here?” 

“Dalo.” 

“The fuck happened? Why didn’t anyone—” 

“Jimin took care of it.” 

Your brows could kiss from being so close. 

What the hell is going on?

One, why is Yoongi talking so calmly? Two and three and four, why isn’t your brother as loud as you thought he’d be? 

“He was there, too?” 

“Yeah. But she’s okay. I’ll head out now.” 

Fuck fuck fuck your heart is already suffering from how you woke up. Because you never got a chance to say goodbye.

And now it’s gonna happen a second time? 

Do you step out? Do you stay there? Can you handle either one of those options?

Your feet are already moving on their own accord, oversized shirt slightly catching in the wind you make in your approach.

Wait, when did you even put clothes on? You don’t remember a single thing after…

Stop. You can’t worry about that now. Right at this moment, you just need to see him. 

Because you don’t know when you’ll get another chance.

Their voices are a lot clearer the closer you get to the main hallway.

“K. You good?” 

“What? Yeah.” 

“Okay. Thanks for looking out, dude. Fuck.” 

“No sweat. Apparently she didn’t even need us. Almost fought him herself.” 

You freeze midstep as your brother huffs a small sound. 

“That right?” 

“Yeah, Chim was saying something like that.” 

“Good to know. She could whoop my ass if she wanted to, honestly.” 

Yoongi’s hum of amusement is nothing but agreeable. “She should.” 

“Bitch. Outta my house.” 

They both laugh and start saying goodbye, which pulls your feet into the hall completely. Standing. Staring. Probably an absolute wreck but you don’t care. 

Yoongi’s shoulder taps your brother’s before he spots you, and you can tell that he didn’t expect you to be awake. 

All the oxygen is yanked from your lungs as his eyes still on your awaiting form, but you can’t do anything because you get another look and greeting,

“Morning!”

“Morning,” you croak, voice chipped and hollow. 

Eyes sliding back to Yoongi, you wanna say a lot more than that. But words are all competing against each other and clogging up your throat—because you can’t.

How do you thank someone for being so perfect? How do you show what you want to say without confessing something no one else present should hear? 

An entire glossary of terms jams inside your teeth, black letters staining your tongue. In the end, you settle with, 

“Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” 

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Your airway seizes. Ducts burn.

Don’t react. You cannot. No matter how hard your heart is clenching right now, you cannot make this seem like anything more than gratitude.

Despite it being so, enormously more than that. 

You nod, which Yoongi takes as a cue to regard your brother. “See ya.” 

“We’ll catch up later.” 

Your overnight guardian agrees with a nod of his own, and you wonder if he thought about looking at you one more time before departing, or didn’t think about it at all. 

When the door shuts, it’s like a switch that triggers you to spin around and head back to your—

“Hey, come here.”

Goddamn it. 

“Hold on,” you rush out as you back around a corner, palms rubbing your eyes before steeling your lack of any resolve. After seconds, you make your way back to the front.

Only to get crushed in a hug, arms encasing and smushing you into a fresh tee.

Because of what happened, because your heart is in halves, or because of your brother being the stupid, soft idiot he is sometimes, you don’t push him away. Maybe it’s all three and something extra. But you exhale deep, feet still, trying incredibly hard to not to show anymore tears.

“Sorry I wasn’t there.”

Brows pinched, you shift your head. “You would’ve gotten arrested.”

“Did you have a good time before that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good, at least.” 

Though the moment is needed, something feels odd. 

Normally, this would be the part where he goes back to his normal, judgmental, assumptive self. Something about “you were still there” or “you still could’ve avoided it somehow.” 

But he doesn’t say anything like that this time. 

What’s up with him? 

Breathing in, you smell his familiar cologne before asking, “Isn’t this the part where you yell at me.”

“Oh, I’m fucking pissed,” he admits before loosening his hold. “But nah, not at you.” 

“Good. Because I’ll just yell at you, too,” you sigh. After he scoffs, you extricate yourself and add, “If I wasn’t so tired.” 

“You okay, though?” 

“Yeah.” You step away and he lets you, and you use that opening to head into the kitchen. 

Do you feel like cooking? No. But it’ll be a good distraction. From how you feel, from last night, and from this already strange morning.

“You sure?”

Opening the fridge, you take some things out while repeating, “Yeah. Yoongi and Jimin were there.” 

“I heard.”

You set down all your items, moving to fetch a pan as your brother leans against a counter with his arms crossed. Interest somewhat piqued, you wonder why he’s burning holes into the perfectly fine tile. 

Why is he acting like this? Why hasn’t he even asked about Yoongi? 

“What were you wearing?”

“Excuse me?” 

There he is.

“Was it what you wore—”

“You know damn well what I wore doesn’t matter, so quit asking,” you bite, slamming the pan down a lot harder than you intended. Or just as hard.

Infuriating. Even though your brother is overprotective as fuck, he should know better than that. Wasn’t he just asking if you had fun? What did any of this have to do with your outfit?

“Shit, sorry,” he backtracks, face scrunched and a palm digging divots into his forehead. “I just—I’m jet lagged and pissed but you’re right.” 

After chucking some food scraps in the pan, the sizzles that spring forth serve as the only sounds in the kitchen. Hints of hot butter bloom around your cheeks, and you contain your need to aim daggers your brother’s way, knowing that his fuse should run out in due time. 

Both of your attitudes should change as soon as the meal is ready anyway.

Finally sparing him a glance, you notice that he’s still angry with the floor, cheek prodded in deep thought and brows set in a peculiar line.

Hmm. He could just be pissed this happened while he was out of town. 

But something still seems really weird. Odd. Like you have all the right pieces but they’re for a completely different puzzle.

Turning the burner low, you take a nearby electric kettle from its stand. “What’s up with you?”

Your sibling’s eyes follow as you fill the glass container. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Just tired.” 

“How about this,” you offer, back to setting the kettle down and starting it with a click. “I let you eat all the food, and you let me know the truth.”

“About what?”

The conversation you heard between him and Yoongi was way too suspicious. How did he not even flinch at Jimin being involved? Wouldn’t he question it just a tiny bit that both Yoongi and Jimin were with you? At a club, no less? 

Nothing makes sense. 

“About what’s on your mind,” you finally respond, voice heavy with exhaustion. 

It’s a wonder you’re even awake. The lingering effects of last night hang onto you like bricks, both from your body and from your overworked brain. 

Truthfully, you want nothing more but to sleep and forget about everything for the time being. “But if you really don’t wanna tell me, then whatever.” 

Your brother just watches as you divvy the food into two servings instead of one, bringing them to a familiar table backed against familiar windows. When you turn, the slight scrape of a chair follows as he sits at his usual spot, and it’s quiet as you pour some tea.

Just like you have every time he comes back from a trip. 

You don’t know when that started becoming tradition. But it has become instinct at this point. Just one of the few things you do as a family, whether it’s in the early, dewy hours of morning, or when even birds are fast asleep. 

Steam spirals from his cup as you set it down with a heavy clunk. Taking your usual spot adjacent to him, you scoot your chair in. Not particularly doing anything else. 

“Thanks.”

“Mmhmm.”

Neither of you move to eat. 

Work crawls just as slow as your mind does, with the sludge of all your thoughts and worries jamming its various gears. 

What do you do now? How are you supposed to feel after an unforgettable week you can’t get back?

You said yourself that things will go back to normal. But saying something is a hell of a lot easier than actually living it because you feel ridiculously incomplete. One check in the mirror would show that you’re all in one piece, sure. 

But on the inside? 

Your chest is both a lot heavier and a lot lighter than it used to be. Like a significant part of you has been replaced with solid stone.

How that’s possible, you can’t even begin to fathom.

Retreating to the bathrooms, you shut yourself in a stall and fish out your phone, staring at a lockscreen that shows no notifications that have your heartbeat skipping.

Can you even text him?

No, right? Yes? Maybe?

If he’s at work, he’d be way too busy to just text. But if you send something weighty, he may not respond to that, either. If he’s with your brother, that could result in a talk you don’t wanna have yet. 

Ugh.

Why is this even harder now! 

But Yoongi said he’d figure something out. Knowing him—because you’d like to think you do now, to some degree—he wouldn’t just say that for nothing. He wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. 

Still… The mere notion of texting someone shouldn’t make you go through a mental maze. 

Squeezing your eyes in frustration, you decide to let your fingers write for you. 

Only to find out that they’re just as indecisive.

You [typing]: hi

You: 

You: 

You [typing]: hi old man

You: 

You: 

You [typing]: hey

You: 

You: 

You: 

Hearing someone come in, you click your phone shut, sighing before lugging your heavy heart back to work. 

And it’s the most un-Friday Friday you’ve ever been through.

“Door’s open!”

Upon entering Taehyung’s place, you’re immediately hit with the smell of bread.

Is he making his signature sandwiches? You would’ve asked him to make you one if you hadn't arrived with lunch. 

Have to repay him for his favor, after all.

Why does that feel so long ago?

Setting your bag on his couch, you catch sight of him in the kitchen a half-room over. “Hey, Tae. I’m paying up.”

Immediately, he whips his head around. After eyeing the bag you put on his coffee table, a dramatic groan sails out of his mouth. “Damn it.”

“What?”

He looks at you before observing something you can’t see. But it turns out that your assumptions were correct. “I just wasted a shit ton of jelly.”

A laugh escapes as you start taking out what you brought, paper bag obnoxiously loud. “Just leave it for dessert!” 

“Nope. It’s best fresh.”

You pause. “Then have that instead?”

“But I want your food now.”

Damn it, Taehyung. You massage your forehead out of necessity, knowing you will never fully understand this man’s brain. “Okay,” you relent. “Bring it over, I’ll eat it.”

Both of you settle onto his sofa after he grabs some plates. While searching for a movie, he runs through everything you told him on the way from work,

“So he took you back to his place.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Took you home.”

“Yeah.”

“And stayed.”

“…Yeah.”

“Well…” Your friend leans back, raking dark bangs away from his forehead. After a pause so long that it makes you nervous, he breaks, “Shit.”

“I know,” you sigh, staring at the small, weighty to-go rice in your hand. “He did so much.”

“I mean…” While you’re still stewing in contemplation, he hunches forward to grab a hefty portion of noodles. And when he continues, it’s nothing like you expect,

“Pretty sure that means he’s yours.” 

Fuck.

The box in your hand almost hits the floor. Heart beating in over-over-overdrive, you find it hard to process any coherent thoughts. “Be serious,” you shoot out, fingers tight around the container.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“The bar was already low, mister fresh jelly.”

Taehyung simply turns to aim a smirk your way. “You’re the one that put it there, Missus Min.”

And he bursts into laughter when you hide your face behind the rice.

“Shut up, please,” you groan, earning even more hearty chuckles from your best friend. 

“No! You’re so gone, look at you!”

Sighing in a mix of embarrassment and pain, you set the box down and start gathering your own food. “It’s not like that, Tae. We’re not together, remember?”

The sound he makes is enough to show how convinced he is. “I’m not even the one in your situation and I’m swooning. How can you not see what’s happening?” 

“It’s not that I can’t.” 

“Then what?”

“It’s that I shouldn’t,” you whisper, moving stuff around your plate. “Even if we were a thing… we’d have to just sneak around. Like damn kids.”

While you’re wallowing in your own thoughts, Taehyung sits in silence, too. The movie he finally settled on rolls the beginning sequence, but neither of your gazes fall anywhere close to the screen.

After awhile, you hear him comment, “Sneaking around… Ah, that’ll break you.”

There’s a weight attached to his words, and your eyes can’t help but follow them to the floor. 

Why does it feel like he’s talking to more than just you? He’s been acting pretty shady the past week. Or is that just you projecting your own sneaky behavior?

Well. Inconspicuous or not, it’s not going great.

Exhaling, you slowly admit, “Jimin already knows.”

Taehyung’s sudden stare makes you wince.

“I don’t know how,” you sigh onto your food. “But that night, Yoongi just said that he knows. I don’t know how the fuck that happened unless he said something, but. I also don’t see why he’d do that.”

“Umm.”

You turn.

“That’s on me.”

“What?” Completely thrown, your jaw unhinges from betrayal. “You told him? You snitched?”

“No! No.” In his haste to placate, Taehyung bites his lip and sighs, hand patting the sofa in defeat. “Not exactly.”

“Then how…”

“He was here. The night Reia called me.” He claws through his hair, a little rougher than last time. As his bangs sway forward in rebellious waves, you wonder if there’s more to the story he tells. “When I had to cover for you.”

“Oh.”

“It was weird. He was actually flipping out when they said you weren’t responding.”

Wait. Jimin? Why the hell would he do that? If anything, you’d think he would just sit around and watch everything unfold with amusement. “What the? Why?”

“I dunno. I was obviously dealing with a lot so I didn’t really process, but. After I hung up, he kept asking me where you were.” He shrugs. “So I told him where you could be.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much, actually. He looked… Fine? Then obviously he connected the dots, so. Pretty sure he suspects at least something now.” He inspects his nails before choosing one to bite, a habit he still hasn’t grown out of. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you quickly assure, wondering what any and all of this could mean. While some things make sense now, there’s even more questions coming to the forefront. “I’m just confused.”

“Same.”

Why did Jimin react like that? Why did he question Tae where you were? It makes practically zero sense, just like his little tease before the intramural game.

Now you really need to know what the fuck happened there. If you get the opportunity to find out, you’re not letting it escape. 

But first…

You flash a smug look at your best friend.

“So… Jimin, huh?”

And he stops biting to aim big eyes your way. Then forward. 

“It’s complicated.”

You:

You:

You [typing]: thank you

You:

You:

You:

You:

“Oh, my god, hi!” 

“Hey, Yuri,” you sigh into your phone. As you drop your bag onto your bedroom floor, you apologize, “Sorry I didn’t answer earlier.” 

Her voice is enough to penetrate through your other ear, so you set the device on speaker before tossing it on your comforter. 

“No worries! Just wanted to check on you.” 

Comfy clothes. You need to be in comfortable clothes as quick as possible. As much as you love Taehyung, his insistence that you come straight from work meant prolonging your discomfort. 

You shuck your work garments off while halfway responding, “I’m fine.” 

“Okay… You don’t really sound like it, though.” 

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh again, pulling a tee over your head. 

You still haven’t gotten anything from Yoongi. There’s barely any fight in your bones right now. “But it’s whatever.” 

“I’m sorry. Did something happen last night? Do you wanna talk about it?”

Classic Yuri with the onslaught of questions. Always wanting to kn—

Wait. 

What did she ask?

Jimin didn’t tell them?

Huh.

You just figured he said what went down before rallying them to leave Dalo. The fact that he didn’t say anything strikes you as a little out of character. 

Well. Now paired with what Tae mentioned… Maybe something should make sense here.

“Babe? I’m so sorry if I’m being annoying.” 

“Oh, fuck, my bad,” you rush out. “You aren’t. I just thought you all knew.” 

“Well, maybe they know. I was just way too drunk.” 

“Ah, yeah.” A chuckle leaves your mouth. “Damn, you were gone gone.” 

She elongates her agreement before adding a bit of explanation,

“It’s all Rohan’s fault.” 

Exaggerating a sigh, you shake your head as you flop onto your bed. “Do I need to draw swords?”

Her laugh always reminds you of bubbles. Pretty bubbles that fill grassy backyards and playgrounds with pops of delicate rainbows.

“No, I’m kidding. He actually… Umm. He asked me out.”

“What!” Air rushes around you as you shoot up on your elbow, moving to change the call into a videocall instead. 

Another laugh erupts before the call is switched, and you stare right into Yuri’s frustratingly perfect skin as she’s walking down a hallway. “Bitch!” you yell. “When!” 

“Wait, hold on.” Her smile is all you see until she enters a room, and the movements make it through your phone before she answers, “Earlier today!” 

“How?” You’re so delighted that your smile is genuine, ears perked and ready to hear every little thing about how this all happened. “What did you say?” 

“I didn’t think you’d be this invested,” she giggles before sitting on her bed. Propping her phone on what you think is a pillow—or one of her many plushies—she fixes her hair while continuing, “You usually just tolerate stuff like this.” 

“I mean,” you stutter, realizing that she’s right. You never truly bought into all the mushy stuff since your experience with relationships isn’t exactly sunshine. Rainbows? Yeah. But not much sunshine. 

Not until recently, at least. “True, but. I really am happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” she squeals, expression a mix of gratitude and delight. You can tell she wanted to talk about it but held back, which makes her storytelling even more special. “It just— I was so surprised! He took me to this super fancy place, right? And then he even bought me a ring—”

“A ring? When’s the wedding?”

“Okay, I flipped out at it, too, but! He said he just really wanted to get it for me.” 

“Damn.” Your curve is warm. “That’s fucking cute.” 

“I hate him actually,” she whispers, to which you chuckle at while feeling like your chest has suddenly caved in. “Maybe your little mystery man will do something, too!” 

And an overwhelming feeling of sadness swallows you whole. 

“Maybe,” you murmur, heart slowly bleeding out of the cracks Tae warned you about. “Maybe.” 

“Oh, I’m also inviting everyone over tomorrow. Can you come?” 

“Yeah, that sounds—” You stop when you hear the front opening, and your brother’s voice is distinguishable even through your bedroom door. 

Looking at the time to see how many hours you have left to wallow in suffering, you sulk after you count. Desperate and slightly melancholy, you ask, “Actually, can I just come over now?” 

“And spend the night? Duh!” Yuri gets up and goes out of frame, but you can still hear her. “Mom’ll be happy to see you again. And she’s been making mandu all day, so. Hope you’re hungry.”

You could cry.

Dumplings?

Comfort food is exactly what you need right now.

“Starving,” you manage through a half-smile. “I can leave whenever.”

“Then hurry up!” She finally reappears in the frame with more casual clothes, and you wonder if you caught her just as she was coming home from her date. “We aren’t done talking about mystery man. I have so many questions.”

You fake a groan, brain churning with mixed emotions. 

Of course you wanna scream about him from multiple rooftops. But you also just yearn to talk about him openly at all, and the fact that you can’t has you shutting yourself in a proverbial basement. 

“Okay, okay,” you acquiesce anyway—as usual. “Be there soon.” 

After you both end the call, it doesn’t take you too long to pack. You don’t necessarily need to change, either, so you’re vacating your room in no time. 

Voices spill into the hallway as you make your way to the door.

“Going to—”

Stopping in your strides, your bag swings into your thigh while you count four pairs of eyes. Two of them you recognize as people in your brother’s friend circle, and one of them…

Mystery man himself.

“Oh. Hi, guys.” 

They all greet you in varying volumes, with Yoongi simply throwing a look over his shoulder from his seat on the couch. 

How the fuck does he look better each time you see him?

Turning to your brother—definitely not to stare too hard at someone else in the room—you announce, “I’m staying at Yuri’s.”

“K. You eat yet?”

Your hand connects with the doorknob but your shoulders spring up in excitement. “No, but her mom’s making mandu,” you giddily respond, stretching out the ending syllable in singsong. 

One of the guys shouts from his chair, “Hey, bring some back!”

“No!” You laugh as your brother does, because he already knows what you’re gonna say. “I never share dumplings.”

“It’s true.”

“Dumplings sound good as fuck.”

“Why do you think I want some?”

“Okay, I’m really leaving now,” you huff through a smile before sparing one last glance at Yoongi.

And the slight, upward lift of his mouth makes your pulse jump. 

Good sign. That’s a good sign, right?

You really hope they don’t notice how incredibly shy you become. “Have fun.”

“See ya!”

“Bye!”

“Later!”

With their goodbyes on your ankles, you head out the door, exhaling like you just ran a marathon.

The night at Yuri’s is refreshing, with her mom doting on you and having you eat until you can’t move from the dining table. After a comforting, talkative meal, you’re able to speak somewhat freely about things in the plush castle that Yuri calls her bed. 

You tell her what happened at Dalo, to which she hugs you tight enough to squeeze out some tears. And you tell her about your so-called mystery man, if only to bring her out of the sad funk your scare put her in. 

And with each wholesome scenario, you see her perk back up to normal. There’s still some lingering pity and understanding in her eyes—understandable and relatable—so you decide to tell her more than you initially intended.

Remembering everything the two of you did together, though, it’s no wonder you feel a vast emptiness in your chest. Whatever happened during this week will be remembered for years and, even if that is all you get with Yoongi, it can be enough. More than enough.

Or can it?

An outright squeal causes you to retreat into your shell. “You’re so in love!”

“Shh!” 

“What! You totally are.”

Covering your entire face with one of Yuri’s plushies, your muffled reminder is the same you gave Taehyung, “We aren’t even a thing.”

“Yeah, right. You’re practically married.”

The stuffed hamster quickly ends up in her face. 

Giggling, she clutches it in her arms while being downright ridiculous. “I bet you even picture yourself having his kids.”

What? 

Your mind fizzes, bubbling with a million scenarios you hadn’t even thought of yet and all of them are giving you grief.

Could you really? Something like that? Why is the answer already solidifying in your mind? 

You’re so caught up in Yuri’s earlier statement that the next one almost goes unheard. 

“Mystery guy would do anything for you. And I don’t blame him at all.” She runs a couple fingers through her hair, eyes viewing stars beyond her canopy. “He probably would’ve lost his shit if he saw—”

Her pause ends when she turns your way. “Oh, crap. Sorry if—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You’re probably right.”

“Sorry. I’m still upset just thinking about it. I would’ve lost my shit, too.” 

“Jimin was there. As far as mystery man, I dunno.” You readjust yourself on your side to face her, but your eyes stay glued to her sheets. “All my exes moved on pretty damn quick, so. Who’s to say he won’t.”

“Probably him.”

It’s so spot on that your breath catches in your throat. 

How are things so obvious to her? Are they this obvious to everyone else and you’re simply the only one blocking yourself from what’s really going on?

This is some mental punishment for consistently being told or shown you’re not worth someone’s time, isn’t it? Isn’t it?

Why the fuck do all your exes get this much power over you?

Voice tiny, you finally whisper, “If you say so.” You go to grab another plushie, hugging it and finding comfort in its fluff. “I’m just still unsure about the whole thing.”

“I was, too. But… Rohan saying something first made me realize that I could’ve done the same. And we probably would’ve been happier a lot sooner.” 

“Why didn’t you before again? He’s older or something?”

Yuri sighs before brushing nonexistent hair on her plush. “Mm, that was part of it. Really, I was just worried people wouldn’t, umm. Accept him? I guess?” 

As she laughs to herself, she doesn’t see the look on your face. “But honestly… Who really cares, anyway? He’s a good guy. And why should I care, you know?”

If only you were as strong. You feel like you’re witnessing a champion, cheering Yuri on from the sidelines as she overcomes all obstacles to break the final ribbon. 

Because she’s gone through shit similar to yours. So to see her conquer her past makes your future just a bit brighter. “I’m happy for y’all.”

“Thanks!” She grins, adorably puffing her cheeks on her beloved hamster. “I’m rooting for you both, too.”

Swallowing, you only nod, not a single word daring to run out of your mouth. 

Can you also do it, though? Make it to your own finish line? 

Maybe. 

But you don’t even know if you have one yet. 

You:

You [typing]: i

You:

You:

You:

You [typing]: sgskgskdl 

You:

You:

You:

The neighborhoods in your town haven’t changed much. 

Aside from the trees being taller, almost everything else is the same. Cracks still residing in the same sidewalks; kids still riding the same bikes; one random elderly on their front porch still eyeing everything with suspicion.

Even the people seem to have stayed. You still recognize a good amount of them as you and your friends currently traverse down one of the worn, sunny sidewalks. 

While Reia and Yuri laugh about something together up ahead, you and Dom lag behind to people watch.  

“Mm, there goes Missus Gata again.” 

“Is it really still Missus?”

“It is. But are you surprised?”

“No.” 

Both of you politely raise your arms in greeting, watching as the older lady moves on to water another rosebush. 

From your friend’s hard angles and posture, you can tell that she isn’t done with you after your alarming confession to her and Reia. After they arrived at Yuri’s, it wasn’t long before you were told to let them know what happened, since apparently they weren’t briefed on it, either. 

But you don’t expect her to talk about it so soon—and in broad daylight.

“So that really happened? At Dalo?”

“Yeah.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I am not.”

Though her mouth forms shapes, she doesn’t offer anything else, shaking her head and biting her lip instead.  

You use the heated pause to point out, “I’m just shocked Jimin didn’t say anything.”

“Honestly? I’m a little glad he didn’t. Because I would’ve hunted that motherfucker down.”

“Hey!” 

The two of you look ahead to see Yuri wave before pointing, and you follow her hand to one of the small playgrounds dotting the area. 

It seems even that area hasn’t changed. You still see the familiar swing set, jungle gym, and seesaw taking residence there. 

Since it’s currently vacant, all four of you walk up to different structures, with Reia and Yuri taking the swings and you and Dom the central climbing gym.

Heart heavy, you wonder if you can say what’s been plaguing your mind since yesterday. The others are far enough away to not hear what you’re about to disclose, right? And Dom would know to keep it down.

But is outside really the right place for something like this?

You make a decision as your friend steps onto the first couple platforms. Feet planted, you squint up and admit,

“That wasn’t everything that happened.” 

Immediately, Dominique turns to face you, brows scrunched in waiting.

Huffing, you grab onto a pole to lift yourself onto the steps. The metal is warm instead of scorching hot, and you briefly wonder if the paint is new. 

Focusing, you continue as you follow Dom up to the top level of the gym, “He took me back to his place. Made sure I was good.”

“Mm. How’d that go.”

Over the creaks of swings and loud laughter, you give your friend a rundown of how the night went. How Yoongi never left your side until you said it was okay; how he told you it wasn’t your fault; how he drove you home and surprisingly stayed the whole night. 

You leave out the more intimate parts, but Dom is still rooted in her opinion.

“What did I tell you? It’s far from over.”

Looking down at the rest of the playground, you lean on a bright railing and sigh, “He hasn’t said anything since he left.”

“Have you?”

You wince. “…No.”

A snort pings off your shoulder, and you watch as Dom joins you, looking at the others with sun-narrowed eyes. “Well. I’m no expert on his type, but. I don’t think he’s gonna say anything until you do.”

Your lips purse as you agree in silence. That’s what you’ve been thinking was the case, which makes your indecisiveness even harder to deal with.

And yet, you still haven’t gotten rid of the little devil wedged deep inside your ear. “But what if he’s just… I dunno, moved on already?”

“Oh, come on. Really?”

“Fuck, okay. Fine,” you easily bow out, knowing your doubts are getting less and less traction. Things are finally starting to sink in, especially after Dalo—and your conversations from yesterday. 

Pushing off the metal, you grip it until heat permeates your palms. “But it’s complicated. Like, I know there’s something there. But I also don’t get it, you know?”

“Oh, you get it. You just don’t want to. Cus you’re scared of what it really is.”

“Maybe,” you muse, leaning forward again as a merciful cloud blocks the Sun. “But. It’s not like anything can happen anyway.”

“Why not? Look at me and tell me why you both can’t just date already.” 

You freeze, the words said aloud enough to ignite your entire body. A brief skip or two punctures your chest, and you feel every limb liquifying into mush all at once. 

Finish line. Is that your finish line?

But no one else is in your situation. So no one else would understand why your course is a bit more complicated than others.

Turning, you nudge your chin into the crook of your elbow. “Because… Well, what if it doesn’t work out? What if there’s a fallout and my brother gets involved?” Sorrow overpowers hope on your tongue as you avert your gaze. “I don’t want them to suffer because of me.”

“What if it does work out? What if everything is completely fine?”

You flash your eyes back upward.

Dom sighs before she crosses her forearms. “Listen. I’m gonna need you to fight that stubborn ass head of yours and think about this for a second. Yeah, it could be messy. But is that enough to stop you from trying?”

Well. Your head is undoubtedly stubborn. 

But it’s even more difficult when it goes by precedence. 

“All my exes have been messy. I don’t want to do that to him, too. What if it’s me?” 

Your deprecation is knocked off the climbing gym by a scoff. “What? Girl. What are you even saying? That dude blew off the entire neighborhood. For you.”

“Dom, please,” you beg as she straightens. “I don’t—”

“Do you miss him?”

“What?”

“Don’t what me. Do you miss him.”

Your eyes once again find the playground floor, drifting over to the untouched seesaw.

If only your mind was that still. 

Sighing, you answer, “Yeah.”

“Exactly. And it’s been, what, two days?” You hear nails tap the railing in fed up metallic pings. “How would it feel if it was a month? Fuck it, a year? What then?”

“I’d…” You let your answer fade, not knowing how it was going to end anyway.

Because before, you were completely okay not hearing about Yoongi for months at a time. Seeing him once while back home was just a passing event—albeit a handsome one—so the time between didn’t really affect you. 

But now?

Thinking about that same scenario feels like how agony must taste. No matter how many times you swallow, you can’t seem to get the suffering out of your mouth. 

So you readily admit, “It would hurt so fucking much.”

“Exactly. And I bet you everything that he would feel the same.”

Dom leaves your high perch after that, and you lift your head before clanging after her to another section of the structure. “He hasn’t even said anything, though.”

“Neither have you! Both of you haven’t.” When she comes to the edge of a sturdy bridge, she looks over her shoulder to add, “At least he has an excuse.”

While you join her on the blocks, you ask what she means.

“He probably doesn’t want your brother catching on or something.” Finding a spot to settle in the very middle, the two of you lean on the rails to watch cars drive past a ways away. “I hate this whole let-them-talk-first shit he’s pulling, but. It kinda makes sense this time.”

Not encased by towers, it’s easier for your voices to get lost in the open summer air. Your mind seems to clear a bit, too, if only to be a little more accepting. 

Because Dominique’s argument has made the most sense thus far. “What do I even say?”

“I dunno. Hi? I miss you? I love you and I’m an idiot?”

And the amount of sense plummets to zero. “Dom!”

“What? I’m right!”

Tripped up by a new phrase that has your heart gasping, you think the bridge is swaying a lot more than it truly is. Swaying, rocking, twisting, looping. You may as well be on a rollercoaster with the array of emotions you feel spiraling across your veins. 

Nope. There’s no way. 

You brace yourself and think about more concrete things. Concepts that you can grasp in the present. 

And suddenly, texting Yoongi doesn’t sound difficult after all. 

“I could just say hi and see what happens.”

Your logical friend turns to look at you before providing more advice, “Don’t overthink this. Just initiate. Every other time, he better commit.” 

A smile finally graces your face as you softly nudge her with an elbow. “Look at you,” you joke. “You warming up to him?”

“I never said that.”

Her laugh joins yours after a second, and the calm silence that follows reminds you of every summer you’ve ever lived.  

When the curve of your grin starts to fade, Dom’s voice floats on the breeze once again. “Look. All I’m saying is… He makes you happier than I’ve ever seen you. And I think that’s cus he makes you happy with yourself.”

Well. 

Fuck. 

Your mouth sets into a bittersweet line, feelings threatening the corners of your eyes. As an impossible memory of another playground comes to mind, you sigh, “He does, Dom.”

She slings an arm around you, tone even more airy and fleeting. “What can I say? I’m always right.”

“Almost always,” you correct, happy to defend Yoongi just as your friend did minutes prior. “Since he isn’t the same as you thought.”

“Y’all! Let’s get ice cream!”

Both you and Dom peer down from your perch before she yells, “Don’t have to tell me twice!”

Voice soft, she whispers to your unsuspecting friends below.

“With you? Yeah.”

You look her way.

“So what does that tell you?”

You [typing]: hey

You: 

You:

You [typing]: how’ve you been?

You: 

You:

You:

You:

You:

You:

You [7:17pm]: hi

After a fun but tiring weekend, you make the trip back home to your brother settling onto the couch. 

Shucking your bag off, you take out a plastic baggie filled with frozen dumplings that you got sent home with. Because no matter how profusely you refused, your stubbornness is no match for a mom’s insistence.

Your sibling throws a look over the sofa. “Damn, how many are in there?”

“I dunno but they’re all for me!”

He laughs before turning back to face the TV, head shaking at your unwavering selfishness. “Well, save those for later. I got food.”

“Yeah, yeah, I was gonna.”

In minutes, your prized possessions fill the freezer and your stuff occupies your room. 

A movie you vaguely remember from childhood is on, but your attention isn’t too focused on it as you grab a plate. Instead, you find yourself staring at your lock screen, conveniently hidden from sight by your thigh. 

No messages.

This really is so much harder. 

“How’ve you been?”

“Ehh, good,” you respond at your untouched meal. “I have an interview soon.” 

He munches while staying fixated on the television. “Oh, yeah? Where at?”

“Downtown.” 

“Damn, nice.” Scarfing down another bite, he continues, “I was wondering if you were gonna go for another gig.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, pushing your food in various directions. Even though it smells delicious and inviting, anxiety about the upcoming interview sinks its talons in your brain. It being a Sunday certainly doesn’t help, either. “I’m just ready for a change. At least you’re smart and found a sick job right out of school.” 

You wish you could be like your brother: successful, uncompromising, also seemingly lucky. To see him finding success at every turn makes you feel unaccomplished, despite having a good amount of achievements yourself. 

He just seems more driven than you. While it’s admirable, it’s also slightly demotivating. Because you feel like you won’t ever reach that same potential. Like an ink stamp of his persona—never fully transferred. 

“I mean, that’s a way to sum it up, but.” He sets his food on his lap, suddenly quiet. “Not really how I saw it.” 

You watch as he adjusts the watch on his wrist, admiring its craftsmanship with a determined stare. “I knew I had to support us somehow. Couldn’t settle for just anything.” 

“I know.”

There he goes again, shouldering everything himself. No matter how much he’s done or how hard he’s worked, he never holds his efforts over your head. 

Truly, the only glaring fault he has is his protectiveness, which even then is hard to argue with considering the circumstances. 

He just needs to know he shouldn’t worry so much.

“And honestly, the pay raise was the only reason I took that promotion. The travel is nice, but…” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” You set your plate down on the coffee table, fully deciding to not eat just yet. “I’m an adult, you know. Survived being away for school, right?” 

“Yeah. But… I just. I feel sick thinking about what happened.” 

“Well. So do I.” You rest your elbows on your knees, eyes burning into the ground. “But I’m here. Yoongi and Jimin… Even if they weren’t there, I would’ve found a way out.”

“What happened anyway?”

“Umm.” You swallow. One would think a story like this should be easy to tell on the third go. But not for you. “All I remember is Jimin getting me after I shook the guy off. Then Yoongi… He brought me home.” 

Trying not to show emotion at a time where your heart isn’t quite operating should be an Olympic sport. You can feel its heavy thumps with every syllable as you finally continue, “And stayed until you got here. Apparently.” 

For a moment, only the movie fills the living room with sound. Both of you sit in weighty silence as ponderous as your thoughts. Thinking, wondering, contemplating.

It’s him that breaks first. “I owe them.” 

“Same.” 

“They could've told me, though.” 

You disagree, looking at the floor and checking your phone in the process. “And had you flipping shit, boarding the next flight for nothing? We were fine.” 

“But what if you weren’t? You know I’d do that shit for real if I had to.” 

“I know.” 

“I got you.” 

When you look up, you find your brother glaring straight through the screen. He’s clearly still bothered. But shouldn’t he just be happy that you’re okay? 

You still don’t know why he hasn’t said a single thing about Yoongi being here. 

Maybe… Just maybe—

You finally remember something. Something that had you raising your brows for a short period of time. Wondering what that could be about, you bring it up, “You said to call Yoongi, too. If I needed anything.” 

That seems to snap him out of whatever headspace he was in. Turning to you, he asks, “I said that?” 

“Yeah. Before you left.” 

“Huh.” You watch as he looks down with furrowed brows. “Yeah, well. He’s my brother, so. Makes sense.” 

Of course. They’re thick as thieves, him and Yoongi. He’s called him his brother multiple times before. 

But it pricks the side of your heart just a bit this time. 

“Speaking of that fucker, I feel like he’s seeing someone.”

You freeze, never having sweat accumulate so fast in your goddamn life. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. He’s been quieter than usual. Just sucked into his phone.”

…His phone? 

“Oh,” you croak before clearing your throat.

What the hell do you say? How would you respond to this conversation normally, let alone having an inside scoop? It’s borderline awkward.

“I mean, he could be busy with work?”

“True. But I usually know if he’s serious with anyone. And he kept dipping out early this whole weekend.” He starts gathering his trash from the table before pausing. “Wait, you know where he works?”

Coughing again, you pivot, ignoring his weird look. “I meant, in general. I assume he’s a contributing member of society.”

Your brother just furrows his brows once before continuing his cleaning. “Yeah, he’s working on big shit, that’s for sure.” As he passes to throw his garbage away, you pick your phone up to flip it over. “Speaking of, I’m hosting another party here on Friday.” 

Confused, your stare pins onto his back. “Seriously? Didn’t you just have people over last Friday?”

“It’s summer? And I have things called friends?”

“Can’t Jimin host?”

“Nah, his parents are back until next month,” he explains before chucking everything in your kitchen bin. 

“Oh.”

“But, what I was gonna say was,” he smiles, walking back to the coffee table to grab his phone. “You’ll wanna be here for this one.” 

“…Why?”

Wiggling his device at you, he vaguely responds with a mysterious, “You’ll see.”

You sigh, hoping it’s not just another excuse for you to stay home and cook. That’s what usually happens during big house parties at your place. 

Well, the few times that weren’t outside cookouts. With a quick thought, you remember that it was usually Yoongi that grilled during those. “Okay… Can my friends come, too?”

“Yeah! I don’t care. A lot of people’ll be here.”

“K.”

“Eat.”

You end up not doing that, instead getting up to go to your room. There’s simply too much on your mind, from your interview to a certain person that you can’t shake off. 

Hearing your brother talking about work didn’t help, either. You wanna be able to help financially, even if he never expressly asks. If you manage to snag this interview, it’s possible that you can start contributing. 

“Hey, listen.”

You turn. “Huh?”

Filling the middle of the hall, he seems to be in the same deep pit of thoughts as before. “There’s something you should know.”

“About what?”

“About th—”

A knock on the front door causes you both to flinch. Eyeing your sibling, you watch as he goes to open it after offering, “I’ll tell you later.”

You furrow your brows but wait to see who knocked, tensing when you hear who your brother welcomes in.

“Hey.”

“Sup.”

What the hell.

This is the second time Yoongi’s appeared at your house—two more times than the amount of chances you’ve spoken to each other since Friday morning.

But you can’t act weird around him. Last time was almost bad enough. So while the door closes, you only ask them out of curiosity and nothing else, “What are y’all about to do?”

As Yoongi looks right at you, your sibling replies—way too nonchalantly, “Got people coming over soon.”

“Tonight, too?” Why! Since when was your house the hottest one on the block? Did they always go this hard while you were away?

You check your phone while commenting the obvious, “It’s Sunday!”

Undeterred, the boys move into the living room, and you trail after them as your brother asks, “And? It’s not like you have school tomorrow or some shit.”

“I work? And so do you?” 

“Relax. It’ll be chill this time.”

You have no damn clue what chill means to him, but if people are already coming then you can’t exactly argue anymore. 

Plus. Yoongi’s here now—which, quite frankly, is already making you feel better. 

It’s magical, really. How he’s able to make you feel more at home in your own house. 

Eyes rolled, you find compromise, “Fine. At least lemme make something so I can eat in my room in peace.” 

“Uh uh, you just made a plate!” 

“I don’t want that.”

“Wow.”

You dismiss him with a flick of your wrist. “I’ll put it in the fridge, don’t worry.” 

“Whatever. Hurry up and cook then. They’ll mooch.”

“Of course they will,” you scoff, already walking into the kitchen. “Crackheads.” 

You finally hear a small huff of amusement, and your mood perks from that one, comforting sound alone. 

God, you miss hearing that as often as possible. Which was strangely a lot, considering it’s Yoongi. 

How long has it been? A mere two days? 

According to your heart, it’s been weeks. 

Maybe that’s why you aren’t afraid to address the both of them when you ask over running water, “Actually, can I get a little help?”

Yoongi lifts his head to regard you immediately, while your brother cranes his neck from beside him. “Really?”

“Uhh, yes? Y’all would get some, too.” Catching sight of Yoongi’s expression, you think you see something in his eyes. Something unexplainable, but yet so, strangely familiar. 

It’s almost enough to send your words tripping over one another as you dry your hands. “I just, umm. I don’t want anyone else eating my food so I wanna hurry.” 

“Our food,” your sibling corrects as he watches his friend walk up before he does. “Yoong, you can chill.” 

“It’s cool.” 

“He’s a better cook than you,” you chide from the fridge, giddy that Yoongi’s taking your offer but wait oh fuck did you really just say that out loud goddamn it—

“Hey, that’s not fair! That’s only cus he hogs grilling duty every time.” 

“Could’ve always helped, you know.” 

“Nuance.” 

Good. So either your brother didn’t catch that or just figured you knew from those cookouts and parties. Totally not from cooking alongside his best friend for the better part of a week. Cool. 

Clearing your perfectly fine throat, you set some foodstuffs on the island with dull thumps, letting both of them know what you want done with each part of the meal. 

“Damn! You aren’t feeding the whole party?”

“Nope.” You hope Yoongi realizes what you’re about to make, and you smile at the same ingredients you used to cook what he brought to the studio. “Just us.” 

When you spare him a quick glance, there’s something in his expression. It’s small. It’s subtle. But it’s there. 

And it’s enough to know that he might be missing you, too.

“Are y’all done cutting?”

“Yeah, almost.”

“K. Ready when you are.”

While they’re both busy by the sink and talking about various things, you’ve been nursing the pots and pans on the stove.

In typical you fashion, you did end up caving, deciding to make a lot so that more people could eat. Cooking and serving usually go hand in hand, and you do enjoy seeing when someone likes what you made. 

Plus, you need an excuse to see Yoongi’s reaction this time, since you were robbed when he ate at the studio. You aren’t asking for much, right? All you have to do is stick around for a bit so you can get some closure.

A vibration could be heard from the island, and all three of you turn from your makeshift stations. 

It’s your brother’s phone. “Ah, shit. Lemme take this.”

You watch as he wipes his hands before swiping his device, squashing it to his ear with a shoulder. As he passes you, he just tilts his head,

“You can put mine in.”

“You could’ve just—” 

“Hey! Y’all coming tonight?”

Your scoff follows him around the corner. 

Why do you even ask him for help? He always does this! 

Whatever. 

You move to grab his stuff only to see Yoongi a few steps away with it already.

“Where do you want these.”

Oh.

All you have to do is answer him. Truthfully, you could just point and that would be enough. 

But you can’t. You can barely take another breath with him looking at you, dressed in a set that has you weak with bangs lingering dangerously over his eyes. 

He’s right there. 

And you feel like he couldn’t be further away. 

Swallowing your misery, you finally move and gesture to a pot. “This one.”

Without pause, Yoongi walks up next to you, sliding everything in and putting the cutting board down with a clunk. 

Spices fill your nose as sizzling tickles your ears, but all of your focus is on wondering what he’s gonna do next. 

Is he gonna walk away now? Keep acting distant? Tell you to stop blatantly staring when your brother could walk back in at any—

“Sesame.”

A blink. “Huh?”

He turns to look at you before shifting his eyes to a slim bottle on the counter. “There’s sesame oil this time.”

Ah. 

You didn’t put that in last time because he didn’t have any.

How the hell did he remember? Even you didn’t think about that.

Lip bitten, you face your pan, shyness now accompanying your sadness.

Of course he would remember. Of course he would point that out. It’s so inherently him that your heart almost slips into the pan in front of you. 

If only it were just the two of you still. You wouldn’t have to be on edge or worry about where you stand with him. 

Though Tae’s label and Dom’s question still ring in your ears, those are going to stay nothing more than a dream. A wonderful scenario you can keep imagining at night, or during a confession scene, or simply while driving to a job you aren’t happy with. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, hearing your brother’s voice move further across the house. “There is.”

“Fuck it, come here.”

You don’t even get to question what’s happening before your chin gets tugged and your lips seized, breath sucked all the way into your lungs while shoulders meet your ears. 

Colors burst as Yoongi lets you go as quickly as he claimed you, and your vision spins as he darts his eyes between yours. 

“You staying?”

Stars. Stars. Your eyes are stars. “Huh?”

“When they get here.”

“Why?”

Unwavering, he admits as plain as day, 

“I wanna see you.”

He what? 

Stunned, you start to say his name before you feel him squeeze your ass, tugging you flush against him and causing your stomach to backflip off a top rope because what the fuck?

“Also.” A bit of teeth shows behind his curve as his greeting glides out in a low, smug as fuck,

“Hi.”

…What the hell! What is he doing!

His laugh while you panic shove him off is aimed at the stove instead, and you’re left to gawk at his side profile for what feels like hours. And hours.

Yoongi did not just do that in your own house. No way. Absolutely no way.

As he spares you a quick glance again, his eyes roam across your face before he quietly hisses in mirth, grabbing a spatula and stirring what he dropped in the pan seconds—hours?—earlier.

Your breath finally returns when you hear your brother’s voice enter the hallway again. “Yoongi…”

“Hmm?” When he sees you watching him, his expression drops in a way that has you melting. “Shit, too much?”

“No, no. I just—” As much as you would replay that tiny moment over and over again, it only reminded your heart of better things. Of easier times. And it’s banging against your chest like an animal to the point where it physically hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts.

Fuck it.

Launching forward, you tug him back in for another kiss—rushed, desperate, simply not enough. Your nails dig into the soft material of his shirt, as if the animal inside of you is claiming prey after absolute starvation. 

His lips are just as—

Footsteps and goodbyes sound off around the corner. 

Retreating with all the willpower you have left, everything you’ve wanted to say over the past fifty or so hours comes out in three loaded syllables,

“I miss you.”

And you have to move away as your sibling enters the kitchen, eyes welling impossibly fast and lungs on fire. 

“My bad! Got carried away.”

“Who was that?”

“Rohan.”

“He’s not coming.”

“Nah, he said he was.”

“Uh huh.”

While they converse, cold fridge air snaps you back into normalcy, and you pretend to rummage around for nothing before shutting it with a small thump. “Took you long enough,” you snip as you go to grab Yoongi’s cutting board, since he took your brother’s instead. “We’re almost done!”

“Ah, damn. I thought you’d be finished already.”

“Lazy!”

“Hey, I helped!”

“Useless.”

“What!”

A small snort leaves your nose as you bring Yoongi’s cuts to the stove, mind a little clearer despite his surprise attack. 

Because even though your heart wants plenty more than whatever the hell just happened, your worries have retreated for now. 

He kissed you. 

He wants to see you.

Dom, as always, has been right this entire time.

You feel like you could fly with how light your shoulders feel. Even the food smells better and looks more appetizing. 

Eyeing your brother across the kitchen, you ask with newfound glee, “Would you rather be lazy or useless?”

“Doesn’t matter if he’s both.”

“Bitch! Move over, I’m doing the rest.”

As your brother shoves into his friend’s side, he meets resistance as the latter pushes right back with a strained laugh. 

Immediately, you back up as they struggle over the utensil, laughing in earnest and then some.

“Gimme the spoon!”

“No! You’re gonna fuck it up!”

“I’ll make it better if you just—”

“Hell no! Fuck off!”

Fools. Both of them are complete fools! Your cheeks legitimately hurt from seeing them wrestle over a goddamn spatula, so much so that it’s hard to form words. 

It’s only when your brother knocks the pot a little too hard that you intervene with a string of sounds, “Stop, stop! You’re gonna knock it over!”

Both of them cease while you walk up to Yoongi’s other side. “How about you both fuck off and I finish by myself, yeah?”

Before either of them responds, the doorbell does, and your brother leaves immediately. “Coming!”

Which leaves you alone with Yoongi for mere seconds.

And he uses them to his complete advantage.

“Show me that sometime.”

Something is placed in your hand before you fully register what he means, and your jaw drops before he walks away with a goddamn smirk.

Motherfucker, he didn’t have to wink, too!

Breathing in, you curse him out before looking at the spatula you now possess, curling your fingers around the warm handle. 

He wants to see you?

Texts be damned.

Greetings flow out of the entrance as a group of people arrive, and you smile while busying yourself at the stove. When you hear your name being called, you turn to say your hellos and let them all know food’s almost ready. 

One of the guys almost steps foot into the kitchen to see what you’re making, but both Yoongi and your brother halt and spin him with light touches.

Sparing a glance at your sibling calling him impatient, you wonder if he knew Yoongi did the same thing. 

But more and more people start coming in, and soon music fills the house to compete with pops of conversations. 

Wasn’t tonight supposed to be relaxed? You don’t even think there’s enough food for everyone. While your brother starts pulling alcohol from the counter, you question with heavy judgment, 

“This is a chill night?”

He looks out into the living room with a tsk. “Meant for it to be. Guess people just tagged along.” Grabbing a bag of solos from a cabinet, he apologizes, “Sorry.” 

“Kick’em out early, please.” 

“Yeah, I can.” 

Everything you prepared smells divine. You even hear someone comment on the smell from a room over while you’re finishing up. After getting out disposable plates—because you can cook for people but you are not cleaning up after them—you announce that the food is ready.

“Thanks!”

“I’m starving.”

“You better not hog everything again.”

“It was one time.” 

Standing at the bar, you watch as all your brother’s friends congregate in the kitchen, observing everyone’s conversations and keeping to yourself as much as possible. 

Some of them you recognize from his team, and some of them you’ve known for quite awhile. It’s a lively bunch, and you admire your sibling for keeping up so many friendships all these years. 

“Y’all better thank her. She made all this shit.”

Oh, god. So many eyes on you. 

After the cacophony of gratitude and comments on the food, you smile without teeth. “Just leave a little for me. I’m still hungry.” 

“K!” 

You don’t trust hungry crowds, but at least you still have your brother’s leftovers in the fridge. 

The doorbell rings again and, since you’re the closest, you vacate the bar and head to the front. 

To your surprise, it’s Jimin waiting on the welcome mat—the man you need to thank for Dalo.

“Hey,” you greet instead, letting him in. “Anyone else with you?”

“Hello, love.” His smile is always so charming, and it currently contrasts with the all black fit and cap he’s sporting. “Just me.” 

“There’s food in the kitchen,” you offer as the door closes with a thump. “If you’re hungry.” 

Thank him, too. Just say thank you for what he didn’t need to do but did anyway. 

“I just ate, thank you—hey!” 

And your chance evaporates.

You watch as he starts his routine, saying hi until he’s gotten to everybody. The habits of a true host, you figure. He could run for council one day with those mannerisms, especially with a force like Taehyung by his side.

You really hope whatever they got going on works out. 

Well. Maybe you can catch Jimin some other time tonight. There’s no point in doing it now.

When you get back to your spot at the bar, you see that another plate has materialized next to yours. 

Did anyone take your seat? Is this someone’s food?

Glancing around, there isn’t anyone else other than someone getting their own portions. All the other people are scattered about the house or backyard. 

Huh.

Despite feeling like a fly on a wall, sticking around is somewhat enjoyable. Not having to socialize too much takes some pressure off your shoulders, and sparing glances at Yoongi wearing one of his beloved tracksuits is always a plus. 

Your brother said he’s been sucked into his phone often, but you haven’t noticed that tonight. He’s mostly been talking and listening to people, even smiling and joking a bit, too. 

“Wait, didn’t one of y’all tag that abandoned pool before?”

“No?”

“Yes, you did! Wait, no. It was Yoongi!”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Oh. I swore it was. It was sick, too.”

“Okay, maybe it was me.”

Laughter erupts as he grins into his cup. 

“You and Jimin, man. Troublemakers.”

The latter lazily points in defense. “Doesn’t count if you don’t get caught.”

“That’s even worse.”

“You guys were terrible.”

“Hey,” Yoongi pipes up, room hinging on his set brows and waiting on his argument. But, after a pause, all that comes out is confident agreement, “We still are.”

And more laughs pierce the surrounding furniture.

Even from your position a ways away, you hunch forward in your amusement. But there’s another reason for your grin.

He’s so handsome when he’s happy.

Has he always been like this around his friends? You know Yoongi’s not the extroverted type, but to see him so comfortable around people makes you feel at ease. 

Except when his eyes shift to you.

Because it feels like you’re the only person he’s acknowledging in those moments, which throws all thoughts and feelings into a stew that rivals what you made tonight. 

All the times before, you’ve turned or scurried away. 

But now, you decide to exude pure joy from your lonely spot on a wall, and you see a brilliant spark take root in his eyes. 

A half hour later, you still wanna thank Jimin for what he did, and you finally get your chance when he enters the kitchen to refill a cup. 

Coming up next to him, you grab a little liquor of your own before you blurt over the music,

“Thank you.”

Jimin looks your way, eyes watching over the lid of his solo. 

“For Dalo.”

Straightening, he shrugs. “No need.”

“But I’ve been wanting to.”

“Not surprising,” he says through a smile. “You and your brother. So stubborn. You can text me, you know.” 

Laughing, you take a sip and let the subtle burn slide down your throat. “I think he’d interrogate you if you were texting me.” 

“I can take him.” 

Jimin will forever be Jimin. It’s admirable, really. If he was the one you were seeing, who knows how many texts would have been sent since Friday. 

But he’s not. 

The one you’ve been seeing is a room over, someone you haven’t been able to approach since he stole oxygen from your lungs. 

You thought watching Yoongi having fun would be enough. But with each passing minute, you found yourself increasingly incorrect. Yearning took over like a weed, quickly overrunning your chest and making it hard for you to accept being a mere wallflower.  

Just like the sear of alcohol, something else settles into your stomach. And it’s not pleasant, or wanted.

Even if you dated Yoongi, how the hell could you navigate that? There’s no way things can just change and suddenly you’re sitting right beside him at parties. Or anywhere. At least, not without his friends giving you strange looks or past hookups chucking malice your way. 

Some of them can even be here right now. Which you would rather not think about, so your next sip is bigger than the last.

Because all you’ve been is a younger sister. Not really part of their group or age or whatever else that separates your world from theirs. 

People say to look at the bigger picture.

But you don’t particularly like the way yours is turning out. 

Fuck, your heartbeat is super, super loud right now.

“You okay?”

“Huh?” 

Instantly, sounds and voices reach normal clarity. The heavy thumps you hear aren’t your pulse, but bass from the music instead. When you blink, Jimin is already regarding you with curiosity, a hand on your arm in concern. 

Shit. How long were you just standing there? “Oh. Just thinking.”

“About Dalo?” He slides his palm off, leaving a million questions in its wake. “It’s okay, really.”

“No, not that,” you sigh, nostrils singed from your drink. Staring out the kitchen windows, you respond as airily as the smoke that drifts over your back porch. “Not that at all.” 

“Basketball? Ah, yeah.” 

Huh?

You whip your stare to his, which causes his jaw to shut in an instant. 

Because either he really just wanted to bring that up again, or he misheard you terribly over the music. 

Miraculously, your opportunity presented itself. So you are not letting it slip by this time. “What about it.”  

“Nothing.”

Fuck that. Frowning, you don’t back down. “What do you mean, Jimin. You said you would tell me.”

“I figured you would’ve known by now.” 

“No one’s told me shit.” 

Unblinking, you watch as he licks his lips in thought. You hear a few feet on the kitchen tile, but nothing can stop you from getting this information now. Not stares, nor whispers, or even your brother. 

And he seems to pick up on your determination. He’s the one that called you stubborn, after all. Eyes shadowed by the rim of his hat, he sighs in defeat, “I’ll tell you, but. I feel like either of them should instead.” 

You find that your fingers actually grip the side of his shirt. “Please,” you whisper. “Now I’m starting to get worried.” 

Because what in the hell could be so significant about that day? It’s better if your brother or Yoongi tell you instead? What the hell does that mean?

After several grueling seconds, Jimin waits until the last people leave the kitchen. You observe the way his eyes covertly scan, and you peer over your own shoulder to gauge the room. 

Finally, his voice drifts through the empty air when he surrenders, “Okay. After you left… Something went down.” 

Your hand drops from his side. “What?” 

“Uhh.” He steps back and fixes his cap, eyes storming with conflict. “Fuck, I really shouldn’t be the one telling you.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

Because now? Now you need to know. Your heart is pounding and you’re pretty sure the next song is good but you can’t exactly hear it. All you’re focused on is what he is going to tell you. Because he gave you a bite and now you’ll fight for the entire course.

But no further coercion is needed. Jimin continues, seemingly unable to look your way. “Some dude made some threats.” 

“Threats? To who?” 

He glances at you before sighing. And you have to answer yourself.

“Oh. Me? What the fuck?” 

“I told you—” 

“Jimin… Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me?” 

“I can’t speak for them, but. They probably just didn’t want you to worry.” 

“Were they really that bad?”

He prods a cheek before divulging the last, most crucial part. “He threatened to find this house, so. Yeah.” 

Well. That’s definitely a lot worse than you thought. You can take empty threats; everyone goes through shit like that. But for someone to threaten to find an address? Were they really… That…

Serious?

Hold on.

Hold on hold on hold on.

Your words feel like suspense itself on your tongue. 

“Wait, so… That whole time…” 

Jimin just stares—stares, and stares, and stares—while everything hits you like a train. 

The whole week.

That entire time.

Yoongi was keeping you safe. 

The key. The goading you into coming over. The way he kept looking over his shoulder while you walked at night. Telling you that Jimin knows.

This also explains why Jimin freaked out at Taehyung’s place. When he overheard that you weren’t responding. 

A chill pops in your chest like dry ice, freezing everything over in seconds. 

You heard Yoongi saying something went down when your brother came home. Voice shaking, you ask Jimin even though your heart knows the answer, 

“Was… Was the guy at Dalo…?” 

He sets his cup down before gripping the counter in both palms, and he doesn’t need to say anything else. 

“Almost lost our goddamn minds.” 

You start feeling your fingers tremble before a hand clamps over your mouth. 

Fuck. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck. 

No wonder the fucker looked familiar; no wonder it felt so off; no wonder Jimin’s heart was racing as much as yours was.

Everything in your brain is spinning, thoughts leaping from one end to the next and bumping and screeching and popping and—

You need something. You don’t know what. Yoongi. Your room. To be alone. His place. Nowhere. Is it stuffy in here? You need space. Space. 

Space.

“Thank you,” you rush out. “For telling me.” 

And you quickly excuse yourself, almost missing the pair of eyes watching your hasty exit to your bedroom.

Everything’s completely blurry when your door shuts behind you. Cursing, you run your hand across your nose before a storm of thoughts jolts your body. 

It’s too much. 

The feelings swirling in your chest have no place to go but out of your ducts, pinging onto your floor and into your clothes.

Are you overthinking this? No. You think and think and think but by god you are pretty damn sure about this one.

Why would he do that? No one has ever gone these lengths for you. At least, no one other than your brother, who’s had it ingrained in his blood since forever. 

But Yoongi didn’t have to go this far. Neither did Jimin, for that matter. They both could’ve just passed it off as a bluff, or forgotten about it as soon as the next day rolled around. 

Fucking hell, how they must’ve felt at Dalo.

There’s an unspeakable pang in your chest just thinki—

Your phone’s vibrations scare the shit out of you, and you check to see who texted before another hot batch of tears roll down your face.

Yoongi [10:04pm]: What’s wrong, doll

Goddamn it.

What do you even—why did he—how are you supposed to answer? All you want to do is wrap yourself in his embrace and never leave. You wanna walk past everyone in your house and stand in front of him, if only to tell him a thousand and one thank-you’s by catapulting yourself into his arms.

But you can’t do any of that. And it sucks. 

You [10:06pm]: he told me

You [10:06pm]: about basketball

You stumble to your bathroom, bracing yourself on your counter before removing all the gunk from today in a wash. 

It’s not like you’re going back out there. Not after looking like a legitimate trainwreck. 

After you’re done, you see that he texted back, throat constricting at his continued concern. Always his concern. Always his effort. 

Holy fuck, his effort.

Yoongi [10:09pm]: Talk to me

You [10:17pm]: i really fucking want to

You [10:17pm]: but i can’t

Yoongi [10:18pm]: Gimme ten

What? He’s not gonna leave and call you, is he? It’s late but it’s not super late. If he dips out now, wouldn’t that be too early?

Well, your brother did say he was leaving early all weekend. Probably to work on something.

But regardless. You can’t position yourself as someone that makes him leave just out of selfishness. He can still have fun while he’s here. You can wait. 

After what you heard, you can wait as long as he needs. 

You [10:20pm]: what no. you don’t have to leave 

Yoongi [10:20pm]: I know  

A sniffle.

What the hell did you do to deserve any of this?

As you settle into the cold of your sheets, you let out a few more tears.

Because now, more than ever, you wanna run right for that godforsaken finish line.

Though it’s been more than ten minutes, you don’t mind. If anything, Yoongi’s given you time to process everything, tears hardening on your cheeks and soaking into your pillowcase. 

Even before he gave you that key, he was protecting you in his own ways. For fuck’s sake, he even came over the day your brother flew out, probably just to check on you. So many things. So many nights. 

Recalling how you joked about walking home, now you feel downright awful if you scared him somewhat. 

When he finally calls, your throat tightens, but you answer the phone regardless.

“Hey, doll.” 

His voice is a salve for your wounds. “Yoongi… Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

You hear a long sigh, the low hum of his car filling the space right after.

“Fucking Park.”

“I made him tell me,” you defend. “Since no one else ever said anything.” Waiting, you trace your fingers along one of the divots in your sheets. And you’re unsurprised when you realize it’s in the spot he took residence before.

“I’d rather you worry about normal shit.”

You freeze.

“You don’t ever need to worry about that.”

The entirety of every language you know escapes you. For his explanation renders you speechless. 

Jimin was correct in his assumption. But it doesn’t take away from how you feel. How grateful, how terrible, how indescribable you feel. 

That’s a long time to shoulder something and not say a word about it. And from his reaction, you don’t think he planned on saying anything at all. “But that whole time… You…”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

He’s downplaying. Why is he downplaying? From the way Jimin spoke, those threats weren’t light. And Yoongi cannot tell you it was nothing considering how he acted after Dalo.

Fuck. 

After Dalo.

How he was the whole night after suddenly cakes your throat to the brim.

Because it was already enough to make you rethink some things. But now? After knowing the whole truth?

Fucking hell, Min Yoongi.

A wave of emotion cradles you into its swell, and you feel something warm spread throughout every fibre of your being. It’s comforting, it’s peaceful, it’s healing. 

Suddenly, even the normal shit doesn’t seem worrisome at all.

Breath shuddering, your chest aches so much that you almost consider sneaking out of your window to follow him back home. “He told me,” you whisper into the line, tears threatening to splash onto your screen. “The guy at Dalo.”

A curse shoots out before you’re back to hearing the ambiance of the drive. 

Yoongi really didn’t want you to know that part, it seems. 

And truthfully, you get it. You don’t think you would’ve told anyone something like that, either. 

“Jimin knew not to let me get you. You haven’t noticed, but. I still have a big ass bruise from him shoving me into the bar.” 

“Yoongi.” You have to know. It’s not enough to know what happened. Now you need to know something deeper. And it’s not even out of worry; it’s out of pure curiosity. “Why?”

“Because we were asked to.”

…Huh?

You didn’t know that was the case. Your brother was the one that asked them? There couldn’t be anyone else that Yoongi was referring to.

How did that guy get out alive if he threatened you in front of your brother? What all actually happened?

“And I was gonna anyways.”

Breathing in, you still can’t believe it. You can’t believe anything that’s been said or revealed to you in the last hour or so. 

Fuck, even your brother having people over makes sense. He wants to be home instead of leaving you in the house.

They all did so much. So much more than you even realized. “You even stayed... That night.” 

“I wasn’t gonna leave you alone.” 

Oh, it hurts. Your chest hurts like it’s never, ever hurt before. It’s hard to even form the right sentences, when all you can think about is him. “Yoongi… Thank you.” 

“It’s all good. When’s your interview?” 

Disbelief shoots from your mouth. 

That’s what he decides to talk about now? After this massive revelation that he didn’t speak a word of for a week? 

Who knows. This could just be a normal, everyday happening that Yoongi is used to. It may not mean much at all in his grand scheme of things. 

But to you? To you, this means more than everything.

So much is choked up in your throat that it leaks out of your eyes. When you finally respond, you hope that he can’t tell you’re crying.

“It’s… It’s on Tuesday. After work.” You can’t help but let a sound slip. How the fuck can Yoongi be so normal about all of this? You feel like you can barely function. “Still nervous as fuck.” 

You know he knows you’re crying. But he doesn’t comment on it at all. The only thing that comes out of his mouth is assurance. 

“You’ll be fine.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Just cus.” 

Unbelievable. And yet completely him. Your palm comes up to wipe gratitude and a myriad of other emotions from your eyes. 

This entire time.

You don’t think you’ll ever stop thinking about this. 

And you have a pretty fucking good excuse to not overthink about him anymore.

“That’s a really lame answer.” 

“Did it work?” 

“A little.” 

“Good.” 

A tiny hum escapes through your clogged throat. If only he wasn’t driving further and further away. Wasn’t he the one that made you comfortable here?

You think you understand how. Maybe a part of your heart left with him after he stayed the night. And maybe, just maybe, the rest of it is packing up and fighting to escape your rib cage.

“You should go, doll.” 

“No.”

His slight laugh is comfort in a sound.

“At least go back out for a sec. Get some water or something.”

“Okay…” 

Despite agreeing, you find that you’re far from being done. How could you be? You wanna stay as long as he lets you. Brain whirring, you grab hold of anything you can use as an excuse to keep him on the line. 

And you end up settling for something safe. “Wait, where’s my copy of your album?” 

He responds with amusement again, but immediately takes the bait. 

“I don’t even have the masters yet.” 

“Liar. You must have at least one.”

There’s a brief pause before he admits, 

“Okay, maybe I have one.” 

“I knew it!” 

“You caught that way too quick.” 

“Yeah, you better watch out.” 

“Agreed.” 

“You know.. This whole time,” you start, rueful puffs of air fanning onto your receiver, “I’ve been wondering if I could talk to you again.” 

“I thought you just forgot about me.” 

“Huh?” 

Quite possibly the most untrue statement in history.

“You never texted, so. I never knew when it was a good time.” 

He laughs, seemingly to himself. 

“Then a whole weekend passed.” 

Staring into your ceiling, you frown. “You’re joking.” 

“Dead serious.” 

“Wow.” 

“I almost called you. Like three fucking times.” 

“Really?”

“For nothing, too. You know I had a cat at my door two days in a row?” 

“Nu uh. A stray?”

“Think so. I left some water out but didn’t have any food. Fuck, I need to go to the store.” 

You hear Yoongi get out of his car, and you wish you were there with him walking to his apartment. You’d probably be able to see his newfound pet. “You know you have a cat now, right?” 

“No.” 

“Yeah.” 

“No chance.” 

“It’s there now, huh.” 

The silence on the line is your answer.

“Listen—” 

“See—” 

“It is. But it’s leaving now.” 

“Is it really.” 

You hear a shuffle of sounds, and in your heart of hearts you know he’s bending down to pet the damn thing. 

But his pride makes his answer noncommittal. 

“Mm.” 

“Oh my god, another lie! Such a liar.” 

Mirth fills your speaker, and you can hear his smug ass smile. 

“Nu uh.” 

“I can’t with you. I’m hanging up.” 

You hear the distinct jangle of keys, and that one sound alone breaks your facade.

“I lied. I don’t wanna go.”

His door shuts, and you can imagine him padding through his place after slipping off his shoes. He had really nice ones on today, so they’re probably going into those neat, clear bins he uses for more coveted pairs. 

“Just call me later.”

“When?”

“When he’s passed out.”   

“Okay… Do I have to go now?”

“Mm. I’m almost done with something I wanna show you.” 

“Really?” 

“Uh huh. And you’re distracting me so hang up.” 

“You called me!” 

“So?” 

“Wow. Goodbye, babe.” 

There’s a quiet moment. Then a quiet, rueful huff of breath. 

“Talk later, doll.” 

And the phone is suddenly silent. 

While your head is as loud as can be.

A couple hours pass before you hear your brother finally knocked out. 

After hanging up earlier, you did venture out of your room to get water. Of course, you made yourself presentable and not snot-nosed before leaving. Couldn’t let anyone immediately wonder if you were okay or not. 

Because while you got closure about what happened, it’s still so full of emotion that you think you’ll break if you have to speak about it again. 

Jimin spotted you before you stepped back into your room, but he only offered a smile after your mouth curved upward in perpetual thankfulness.

In that moment, you decided to give your brother some credit, too. 

For everything that he’s done thus far. And for picking an elite group of close friends. 

Inching up against his door, you place your ear on the wood, hearing the rush of air before telltale snoring rumbles through. 

So it isn’t long before you’re back in your room, calling back the man you will never get over as long as you live. 

“I didn’t think you’d do it.”

“Really? Why?”

“Fully expected you to chicken out.”

Huffing in pride, you settle onto your sheets. “I like proving you wrong.”

“I see that.”

“So what were you gonna show me?”

“Huh? Nah, I’m still not done.” 

Giving your phone a weird look, you note, “You said to call back.” 

There’s a mix of scratching sounds on the line, and you wonder if he’s at his desk or in his bed.

“Yeah.”

“So…?”

“Just felt like making you come.”

Fuck!

“Yoo—” You slap a hand over your mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”

The grin in his voice can be heard for miles.

“You don’t wanna?”

Is this man for real? Yes, you’ve spoken on the phone when your brother was here and yes, you want to jump his goddamn bones. But this is definitely crossing into dangerous territory. “I…I do, but—”

“Then do as I say. It won’t take long.”

“Cocky son of a bitch,” you whisper, already frazzled to no end. It seems your lips get a lot looser, more unfiltered the more caught off-guard you are. 

You wonder if Yoongi’s caught onto that. Judging from the chuckles you hear in your speaker, he probably already has. 

“You ever done this before?”

“No.”

“Then trust me.”

Settling far under your covers and placing pillows around, you whisper, “Fine… You better not charge me for this.”

A hum buzzes the line. 

“I’m surprised you’re not asking me to pay up.”

“Oh. Good idea. I will now.”

“Gonna run me dry, huh?”

“Mmhmm. Plus interest.”

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“Just missed you.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Keep whatever shirt you got on, forget the rest. You’re gonna need it in a sec.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, slowly reaching down to slip off your bottoms. Your heart is already racing, and the warmth under your covers is increasing bit by bit. “They’re off now.”

“Good girl.”

Air leaves your lungs, but it’s what he says next that causes you to outright flinch.

“What did I tell you to show me.”

Shuddering, your hand is already palming your mound, but all you can think about is how much better it would be to have him there. “Yoongi…”

“Careful, doll. Neighbors can’t know my name just yet.”

Lip bitten, you admit, “I just wish you were here.”

“Fuckin’ same. But do what makes you feel good.”

Swallowing nothing, you dip low, feeling your essence coat your fingers even though you haven’t even started yet. 

This man can probably make you come from his voice alone. 

But you don’t need to admit that to him.

“You wet, baby girl?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good. Keep going for me.”

Swirling your fingers over your clit always works, but the thoughts and images running across your eyes are what really get you bothered. 

The way Yoongi’s fingers feel in your cunt instead; the sounds he isn’t afraid to make in your ear; the roughness he unleashes on you in those moments he lets go. You can practically hear his grunts, feel his thrusts, taste his sweat.

And this is the same man that kept you safe?

It’s all so overwhelming that you don’t even notice how hard you’re breathing.

“Sound so fucking hot.” 

A whimper escapes.

How can he say that when he sounds like sin incarnate?

Everything he’s said to you, whether in his right mind or not, comes washing over you in waves. Your fingers find a rhythm as you run through the whole week, and you throw in a few scenarios that you dare not bring up. 

Well. Maybe you will now. Frankly, you want to be under his mercy more than you ever have before. It’s as if his selflessness unlocked a deep, dark part of you, begging to be addressed. 

The things that are coming to mind. They’re gathering on your tongue, pooling into thick saliva that’s threatening to spill out the side of your mouth. “I miss…” 

“Hmm.” 

Let it all out. 

“I miss being your slut, Yoongi.”

The deep curse on the line sends jolts to your core, and his next words rumble out like thunder. 

“My slut, huh?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Tell me something then.”

Your fingers slow down their pace as your ears perk. “What.”

“No lies.” 

“Okay.”

“What does my needy girl want?”

Fucking hell, he can’t just say stuff like that with no warning! Immediately, you let out a tiny whine as your digits glide against your slick. “Choke me.”

“Knew you’d love that shit. What else.”

Admitting the first was a lot easier than the second. You can’t even bring yourself to utter it in a whisper let alone loud enough for him to hear. Truthfully, just imagining it right now is enough to get you close to the edge. Your voice comes out extremely strained as you whimper, “I can’t say.”

“You can.”

“Nu uh.”

“Then stop.”

Your hand grinds to an agonizing halt. “What?”

“You heard what I said. Until you tell me, you’re done.”

No! No no no you were so fucking close! “Asshole!”

“Me? I’m letting you off easy.”

“Fuck. Okay… I…”

“You..”

He isn’t helping.

Gulping, you feel your cunt pulse around your fingers as you finally shudder out, “My mouth.” 

“Uh huh. What about it.”

“Umm…” Say it. Just say it and get it over with all you need to do is just say it. 

So you do.

“Spit in my mouth.” 

Only to face complete silence on the line. 

Blinking into darkness, you almost take your hand away from your center before you hear his voice grind over boulders,

“Don’t make me climb through your fucking window.” 

A whine slips between your closed lips. If he came into your room now, you wouldn’t have cared if every deity in existence overheard what would happen. The amount of lust and something scarier you’re carrying for this man is at an all-time peak. “Don’t tease me. I want it.”

“I just might, fuck.”

“Yes,” you pant, knowing exactly what he means by his broken speech. “Yes. Oh, fuck, I’m close. Yoongi, please!”

“Shirt, doll.”

“What?”

His voice sounds like he’s barely holding on when he grits out,

“Bite that shit you’re wearing or I’m hanging up.” 

“I—mmph—”

“I’d shut you up with my dick, but. That should do.” 

Fuck! Your squeal is incredibly high as your fingers keep up a stunning pace, the shocks of pleasure tightening your legs. 

You hear a condescending laugh on the line, and you don’t know the logic behind it turning you on so much, but it does. 

“Goddamn. It’s like you want everyone to hear you, baby girl.” 

You shake your head, breaths shallow and fast, knowing damn well he can’t see you. 

“You’re getting off on this, huh.”

“Mm mm!” 

“Uh huh.” 

Another stupid, unnecessary laugh punctures straight into your cunt.

“Getting off on doing something you shouldn’t.”

“Mmm!”

“My girl’s so dirty.”

“Yoough—”

You can’t take it anymore. At a label you didn’t expect to hear, your dam bursts, gushing out onto your fingers and spilling from your core. 

It’s massive. Unrelenting. All of your pent-up feelings come in waves, washing you ashore only to drag you back in. The harsh groan you sink into your shirt makes Yoongi react, and your legs threaten to close before he orders,

“Uh uh, keep going, baby. Since you wanna slut it out so bad.”

“Fughk!”

“God, you probably look so fucked out right now. Miss that shit.”

You rip the soaking shirt from your mouth, already close while you keep your fingers wedged inside. Your body thrums with each hard pulse, and imagining him fucking you deep is enough to set you off. “Yoongi. Baby. I’m close again.”

“Then shut the fuck up and come.”

You moan his name into the thick material of your top, hoping to every higher power that it’s muffled enough. 

Your walls pulse wildly around your fingers, and you feel so fucking euphoric that your eyes see sounds in the back of your head. 

But your back snaps into place again as you settle back onto your mattress, muscles aching and filled with a lingering soreness. The only thing you can do is breathe heavily into the receiver, hoping Yoongi’s just as satisfied as you are.

“Feel better?”

“Much better,” you rasp out as the wet material slides down your neck. “You?”

“I’ve been waiting for this since you kissed me. So yeah.” 

Ever since then? That was hours ago. 

You need to inhale before offering, “Do you… Do you wanna come, too?”

A chuckle. 

“I got what I wanted, doll. It’s cool.” 

“I take…” You gulp in a breath. “I take cash or card.” 

A loud bit of laughter punctuates your phone, and your grin is lopsided from exhaustion. Sweat coats every single part of your skin, some of it rolling off your legs in spent drops. 

“God…” 

“So pay up.” 

“How about this. Come over when you’re done with that interview.” 

“Mm?”

“Then I will.” 

“Mm.” 

What he offered finally registers in your brain, and it’s like a humongous light switch. Suddenly alert, you clarify, “Wait. You sure?”

“I am.” 

Is he really offering that? You both know your brother is back. And your interview may end during late afternoon. Around the time he gets off. 

Yoongi has to know all of these things. 

But if he’s truly serious, who are you to deny his offering? When you find yourself caring less and less? “K… Guess I’ll go clean up now.”

“Mm. I’m gonna pass out soon anyway.” 

“Wait.”

“Hmm.”

A grin spreads your face so wide that it starts to hurt, and excitement to hear his reaction tingles you before you joke, “Where’s my kiss?” 

He laughs, knowing exactly what you mean. 

And your smile is impossibly wider when he responds,

“Good luck, babe.” 

This whole weekend. 

This entire weekend, you’ve been worried about various things. Bogged down by a past that clings to your feet like quicksand, dragging you away from wonderful, tender things you’ve been told. 

But it seems like you found a step of solid footing. One sure, stable piece of foundation that has probably been there for longer than you’d known. 

Besides. Walking to a finish line is just as significant as running. Because if you get there, you get there, and that’s a win.

“Thank you. Seriously.” You pause, gazing at the empty space that you want occupied for an uncountable amount of nights. “For everything.”

“I meant what I said, doll.” 

Your smile is warm.

“Anytime.” 

-

-

-

tbc. :) 

-