#bts texts

Shuffling in bed, you position your phone so that when Jungkook picks up, he can see your face and chest clearly, maybe only getting a glimpse of the cream-colored headboard behind you.

You check your reflection in your phone camera, touch up your face with some lipgloss from your bedside table, and take a deep breath before hitting “start one-time video call.” 

Heart pounding. Palms sweating. Hands trembling—to the point that you almost press the wrong button. But you don’t, and the phone starts to ring. 

Good thing you already have your “pretty” pajamas on, you think, which just consists of white Brandy Melville booty shorts and a pink skin-tight spaghetti-strap tank top. No bra. 

Fuck. Your nipples poke through a little. You hide, bringing your covers above your chest and tucking them into your armpits as you wait for Jungkook to pick up. 

Does your hair look okay? Do your dark circles show? You clear your throat, shaking your head and trying to calm yourself. He’s just Jungkook. The guy you’ve sexted a few times and may or may not have developed a small crush on and gotten slightly (very) emotionally attached to. 

Yup. Just Jungkook. Any moment now, he’d appear on the screen. 

After five rings, he finally does.

Your breath catches. Holy shit.

Your heart thrashes in your chest, doing somersaults and all kinds of acrobatics when you finally get a good look at him. 

His hair looks fluffier than in his picture, and his features appear softer as well. He’s sitting on what is presumably his couch, wearing a devilishly tight black Nike compression shirt. When he shifts slightly, you can see his grey sweatpants and a sliver of his signature Calvin Klein underwear. 

Unsurprisingly, he is gorgeous. 

What is surprising is how freaking cute he is when he smiles.

“Hey there, pretty lady.”

Oh screw that. His voice is the most pornographic thing you’ve ever heard—soft, low, and manly in a way that doesn’t intimidate but still feels gravelly.

Maybe you’re just losing your mind, but you can almost feel his breath tumbling from your speakers. He also sounds annoyingly smug—so much so that you want to scoff out loud.

“Hi,” you reply, fighting the awkward tinge in your voice. “So this thing really works, huh?”

You wonder if you sound as nervous as you are. 

“Well, we are here, aren’t we?” He brushes his hair back with his hand, which you notice is inked with intricate tattoos. “So princess, do I look as good as I do in my picture?”

He really does—even better, in fact—and that makes you go a little bit insane, but you sure as well aren’t going to show it.

“No comment.” 

He chuckles, huffing out a half-laugh through his nose. “Crumbs. That’s all you give me, princess, crumbs.”

You roll your eyes. “Again, I’m not the service provider, you are. I don’t have to ‘give’ you anything.”

“Fiesty as always,” he says good-naturedly. “Lucky for you, I’m into that. You look really good, by the way. Profile picture doesn’t do you justice—you’re way cuter.”

You try not to be swayed by his kind words. He’s just doing this because he’s getting paid to, you remind yourself.

“Ever the sweet-talker, huh?” You force a neutral—maybe somewhat stern expression on your face. “So tell me, what is it that you needed to say so badly but couldn’t say over text?”

He takes a deep breath, repositioning the camera slightly. 

“Alright,” he sighs. “I guess we’ll get right into it then.”

“Sure. Let’s hear it.”

Curiosity peeks through your voice despite your efforts to sound bored.

“I wanted to tell you about Yumi.” Your lungs stop working for a moment. He continues. “She’s probably my most regular client—and she’s been with me the longest.”

Yumi—the girl whose comment sent you spiralling for a good few hours—is his oldest and most frequent client. Not shocking, but still painful. 

Really, you have no reason to be hurt. This is what you signed up for: a service provider. A boyfriend for thirty minutes. Something temporary and transactional. Of course he’d have other clients. 

But something about seeing another girl claim to have “such a special connection” with him gave you a reality check. You were getting too possessive and emotionally invested over a man that wouldn’t have spared you a second glance if you weren’t putting money into his pockets.

 Yes, it’s true that you are underfucked. Yes, you’ve been particularly lonely recently.

Your last relationship ended with you chucking another girl’s underwear towards your ex and storming out of his apartment in tears, certain that your sexual desires were far too obscene and that’s what drove him away from you.

Your last date ended with you finishing an entire bottle of wine by yourself at some overpriced Italian restaurant, stumbling home with a broken heel. 

Still, that doesn’t mean you can just start falling for some guy who’s being paid to text you. Unfortunately, Jungkook is making it really hard to not do just that.

“But I want you to know that she’s really nothing special to me. I think she likes me a lot because, well, she kind of knows me in real life and we have similar social circles. It’s kind of an unspoken secret between us: the fact that she’s horny enough to use this app and the fact that I’m broke enough to have this kind of job.”

“I see.”

So they know each other in real life. And they probably lock eyes whenever they attend the same parties and gatherings, laughing silently to each other as their sexts from the night before resurface their minds. Totally cool.

“But aside from that, she’s really just another client. A little clingy, yes, but still a client. I’ve never seen her as anything else.”

“Really? Seems like the perfect plot for some trashy smutty Tumblr fanfiction.” Each word feels like biting into a brick. “You sext someone on some dating app and then find them in your friend group the next day and then hook up in a club bathroom afterwards.”

“It’s not like that, I swear—” he cuts himself off to let out an exasperated breath, “—I’ve only seen her in real life like, twice. And I’ve never hooked up with any clients.”

Your heart stutters.

“All she does during our sessions is rant about her life and I tell her to—I don’t fucking know—forget about it and focus on talking to me instead. She likes that, I guess. But honestly, I don’t really care. It’s the same fucking routine every time. But with you—” he stops for a moment to laugh, “—you’re always surprising me. You don’t make things easy. And I like that a lot.”

Although he’s just a moving image behind your screen, you can see the vulnerability in his face and the desperation in his voice. He’s probably infringing on some employee contract, telling you private details about his sessions with another client.

“Why are you even telling me this?”

He gives a half-hearted snicker, leaning back onto his couch with a sigh. The call’s static whirrs as he thinks of a response. 

“I don’t know,” he says. You can tell it’s an honest answer. “But I couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking that you’re just another client to me.”

“If I’m not just another client,” you start, voice almost giving up on you, “What am I?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“I… don’t know,” he finally replies. You’re not sure if that’s the answer you wanted, but his sincerity shakes you nonetheless. “I don’t know what you are to me, but I know that you’re… special. And I wanted you to know that too.”

You shift slightly in your bed, searching for a suitable response. 

You don’t want to give in and tell him how much you look forward to talking to him. You don’t want to admit how much of an effect he has on you. But here he is, pouring his heart out, and what can you even give in return?

“Do you believe me?” he asks.

 What kind of game does he think he’s playing? And why does it feel like he’s winning?

You stare at him through your phone screen and consider your next move as he looks at you anxiously, his composed facade flickering away with every second that you leave him hanging. A part of you wants to let it go and move on, while the darker, more evil part of you wants to make him beg for forgiveness, even though he hasn’t technically done anything wrong.

The latter part prevails. 

So, you choose to be annoying—to piss him off—and make him feel as bad as you did when you saw Yumi’s review and his reply.  Make him consider dropping the whole Boyfriend Hotline thing altogether to pursue you as his one and only client instead. 

Selfish? Yes. Sorry? No.

“I guess I believe you,” you start. “But I hope you don’t start thinking that you’re necessarily anything special to me, though.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Haven’t I told you? I’ve been talking to other guys, too. I only use you when I want a quick fix. I mean, isn’t that what Boyfriend Hotline is for?”

A moment of stunned silence passes. 

Then, he laughs, boyish and low with his head thrown back and Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“You’re really trying to piss me off, aren’t you?” 

“Not particularly trying,” you lie, biting your lip. “Am I, though?”

“I expect nothing less from a brat.” Anger looks good on him, you think. “Are you really that jealous?”

“Jealous? More like offended,” you scoff. “You say all this shit about wanting me so bad only to do the same thing to ten other girls, probably. I’m not a fan of liars.”

You intend to be mean. You want to make him panic. But you’re amused—a little giddy at his previous confession—and it shows in the playful lilt of your voice, which he no doubt notices. 

His eyes darken. 

“I promise, no other girl has turned me on the way you have.” 

“Oh yeah?” You smile slowly. Sinister. Bold. “Then prove it.”

You’ve folded. He’s won. You know it and so does he.

“And how would you like me to do that?”

Fuck playing hard to get. Fuck making him feel bad or guilty or whatever.  He’s right there—eyes glued to you, desperate for your attention—and you want him. Badly.

“Show me.” Your mouth goes dry. “Show me what I do to you.”

His face hardens, staring at you intently through the screen.

“Only if you do exactly as I say, dumb brat,” he finally says, practically grunting. “You want me to jerk off to you? Then give me a show, princess.”

This is really happening. You muster all of the courage you have and ignore the somersaults in your stomach.

“Deal.”

He smirks. You squirm.

“Wait,” he commands sharply, standing up and bringing his phone with him. 

“Where are you taking me?”

You catch blurred glimpses of his house as he walks by. Eventually, he sets you down on a counter and faces you towards tile walls.

“Bathroom,” he mumbles into the microphone, voice tickling your ears. “I’ll be back.”

He disappears for a moment, and you hear the sound of doors opening and closing along with his urgent footsteps. 

Without you realizing it, your covers rolled down mid call, revealing your hardened nipples and the curve of your chest through the thin fabric of your tank top. Lifting your covers, you sneak a hand into your panties, marveling at the slick gushiness that returns. 

Alright, so when the fuck did that happen? You really need to get fucked soon. You can’t be getting this turned on by a man behind a screen.

You hear a door open, and then close. Jungkook enters the frame.

Except this time, he’s shirtless, only wearing his low-hanging grey sweatpants, which have been pulled down even more, somehow, providing a clearer view of his happy trail and white Calvin Klein boxers. 

But even more surprising is his fucking body. Not only does he have a full fucking sleeve of tattoos, going all the way from his knuckles to his collarbones, but he has a full on six-pack, with broad shoulders and biceps that look like they can crush you with a single curl. 

“Like what you see?” He seems amused by your ogling.

From the tiny corner at the top of your phone, you realize that all he’s seeing is your wide eyes as you hold the phone close to your face and gawk at him. 

“Shut up.” You move the camera to show a more respectable angle of your face. 

He grins, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“Never gonna say a nice thing to me?”

“Never.” 

“So cute,” he murmurs under his breath, as if it isn’t meant for you to hear. “Anyways, I have a surprise for you.”

That catches your attention. “A surprise?”

“Mhm.”

You wait. He doesn’t say shit about the “surprise.” 

“What is it?” you finally ask. 

He snorts, beefy arms caging the frame as he leans down. “Well, you’re going to have to earn it, brat. Where’s my show?”

Fuck. Right. 

You’re the one who has to turn him on right now. Why the hell did you say that earlier?

“I can’t believe you always make me do stuff first,” you grumble, sitting up and pulling down your covers. “Worst service provider ever.”

He takes the jab easily. “Alright, alright,” he concedes. “How about I help you get started?”

You nod. “Yes please.”

A slow, amused chuckle. So he finds this cute. 

“Why don’t you start by showing me what you’re wearing tonight, princess?”

God, Jungkook’s voice should be illegal. If he ever switches his profession to an audiobook reader, you think that he can make even your required readings sound interesting.

Gulping, you lay down flat, swinging your covers to the side, and slowly dragging the camera down. 

From his perspective, he’d be seeing your body from a bird's eye view. Your shorts have rolled up slightly, showing off more of your thighs, and your tank top’s equally a mess, straps down, nipples poking through, belly button playing peek-a-boo.

The reaction is immediate.

His lips part, breath spilling out in a desperate huff, and his eyes go matte, pupils dilating as he leans toward the phone camera with two hands on the sink counter as if steadying himself somehow.

“Like what you see?” you mirror his earlier line.

He acts composed. “Mhm, I really do,” he mumbles, voice rumbling close to the camera. 

The sudden coldness from the absence of your covers gives you goosebumps.

“Want to… see more?”

“Yeah.”

Heart hammering against your chest, you lift up your tank top, letting the cotton pool at your collarbones. Your boobs are exposed, nipples already embarrassingly hard. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Wanna touch yourself?”

Over text, you didn’t have too many reservations about saying dirty things—it was why you downloaded the app in the first place. But now, when your voice carries your thoughts into the open, it feels more real. Obscene. Lewd. Scandalous. And you love it.

“Hell yeah I do,” he says immediately. “But you know what would really turn me on?”

“Hm?” you hum, breathless already.

“If you touched yourself too.” His voice is quiet. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

Fucking hell. 

You hum an affirmative response.

Suddenly, all of the tension and banter from before is gone. Both of you are silent, anticipating the other’s every move. You can barely speak.

A deep breath. 

Okay, you can do this. You set your phone down, propping it against a pillow at the edge of the bed so that it can stand up without you physically holding it. 

He watches as your tank top falls back down, covering your body again.

A show. You have to give him a show, you think. There must be dozens of girls who he’d seen naked before over video call. For goodness sake, he makes girls masturbate for a living.

You want to stand out.  

From the drawer at the bottom of your bedside table, you take out a dildo. His breath hitches, eyes trained on you like a hawk. 

You gulp, your saliva feeling like cotton.

You get on your knees, sit on your heels, and check the tiny corner at the top of your screen to see what you look like to him.

The purple, bumpy dildo is front and center. You’re right behind it, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and chest heaving. Your bed, large with fluffy white covers, serves as a backdrop.

“That motherfucker is huge,” he finally comments. “Are you sure you can take it, princess?”

“How big are you?” 

He snickers. “Bigger than that.”

“Then yes. I can.”

His eyes twitch and stomach clenches. You marvel at the reaction. 

A bulge starts to form at his sweatpants—or maybe it’s been there for a while and you’ve only just now noticed. A small area is splotted dark from his precum. Holy shit. Are you even breathing? 

“Fuck,” he finally leans back, starting to gently palm his cock through his sweatpants. “Take off that fucking top. Wanna see your tits.”

Wordlessly, you comply, pulling it off and inviting the cold that bites your skin. 

He physically chokes out a breath seeing you topless, properly, for the first time. 

You take the liberty to roll down your shorts, as well, ignoring the wet spot at the crotch area. 

The grip on his cock gets tighter.

You see his chest rising and falling faster. The arm that’s still holding onto the sink counter flexes involuntarily. It’s like his whole body spasms with every move you make. 

“Touch yourself.”

The permission is more needed than you’d like to admit. 

“How?”

“Start with those pretty tits of yours,” he says immediately. “Slow circles. Pinch them a little if you want. Tease yourself.”

You nod in response, warmth tingling between your thighs. Electricity at the pit of your stomach.

When you touch your nipples, your head feels light. You can’t help but let out a soft, desperate sigh. Your eyes close, eyebrows scrunching up as pleasure wraps around you. 

“Show me that pussy.” He tugs down his sweatpants and boxers in one go, his dick springing to life and slapping against his stomach. “Been dying to see it.”

You think you’ve seen big dicks before. But, he’s… not just big; he’s girthy, with veins so thick they could probably carve entire canals in your walls. So pretty. So pink. Deliciously leaking with precum. 

You comply, sitting back and spreading your legs, baring your womanhood to the camera. 

“Look at you, talking shit when you’re already this wet.” He stares at you, eyes clouded with desire. “Fucking brat. You’re dripping all over the place for me.”

You don’t reply, instead responding by starting to rub gentle circles on your clit. Your head falls back, a hiss slipping from your mouth. Your other hand comes up to tweak at your nipples, which elicits another whimper.

He spits on his hand—eyes never leaving you for a moment—and he starts pumping his length slowly. 

“Pretty girl,” he coos. 

On the screen, you see him hunched over, one hand on his shaft, and the other pressed on the counter by his phone. His tattooed arm flexes with every pump, abs twitching with every choked breath as he loses himself in the sight of you.

Fuck. You need more. So, you slide two fingers inside. Your pussy welcomes the stretch, but it’s not enough. Not enough when you curl them against your gummy walls. Not enough when you drag them in and out, letting your juices drip down and drench your bedsheets.

But still, Jungkook is watching you touch yourself. And it does something to you. It really does.

“So fucking pretty,” he pants. “God I wish I was there. I want to touch you so bad.”

You imagine how it’d feel—his hands on your body, his nose on your clit, tongue sliding through your folds.

“Yeah?” you reply, feeling breathless yourself, your ecstasy growing with every time you jam your fingers into your throbbing cunt. “What would you do if you were here?”

“I’d fucking ruin you.” He grits his teeth. “I’d suck the life out of those perfect little tits of yours and use my fingers to make you cry for me.”

With three fingers inside now, you curl them against your throbbing walls, arching your back when the pleasure it brings has you quivering. He continues.

“You’d beg me to make you cum. But before you can, I’ll stop, and then I’ll slap you in the fucking face when you complain about it.”

You think of Jungkook slapping you—stinging and leaving a mark—then cupping your face with those huge, warm hands, gently wiping away your tears and calling you a princess. Telling you that you did so good after mercilessly denying you an orgasm.

“And you’ll like it.”

You hate that he’s right.

“Then I’ll make you cry and slobber all over my dick,” he grunts, picking up the pace.

Holy shit.  You can feel your pulse in every fiber of your being, thumb rolling at your clit as you fuck yourself silly with your fingers.

“And after that I’ll fuck you all night until you can’t even remember your own name.”

Holy fucking shit. Your back arches, your skin crawls—you’re already embarrassingly close.

He’s fucking his fist, wet sounds echoing through his bathroom to your speakers. His eyes screw shut for a short moment before he glares at you.

“Don’t you dare think about finishing right now,” he snaps. “You’ll come when I tell you to.”

You all but whimper in response, forcing yourself to slow down. Body twitching all over, you will yourself to stop, pulling your soaked fingers out of your sopping cunt, panting hard.

He spits in his hand one last time, using it to give himself a few more pumps before coming to a halt as well.

A breathless chuckle. His face is flushed, a thin sheen of sweat all over. “I think you earned your surprise, princess.”

Still catching your breath, you watch curiously as he grabs something from behind the camera.

It’s a marker. A permanent black marker. Must’ve been what he went to get earlier in the call.

A cocky smirk dances on his face as he unscrews the cap. Nothing prepares you for what he does next.

He drags the tip of the marker across his pelvis, ink flooding his smooth, pale skin, slowly weaving through his happy trail.

It spells out… your name. 

Messy. Crooked. But yours. He’s written your name on his body. 

“You think I do this for every client?”  

Oh fuck this shit. His voice is rough and needy, maybe a little bit angry, but it’s everything that’s ever been in your wet dreams. You might actually lose it.

Your thighs squeeze involuntarily—which he notices right away—and your pussy clenches, desperate to be filled up with something. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “You’re… insane.”

“You drive me insane, princess.” He chucks the marker away, returning his hold on his shaft. “Now sit on that shit for me and imagine you’re riding my cock.”

How this man has managed to make you so horny through a fucking phone screen needs to be studied. 

The purple dildo seemed intimidating moments before, but now you’re not even sure if it’ll be enough. You lift up your hips and position the head to your entrance, sighing as you sink down on it slowly.

You’re so fucking wet that you manage to take all of it in practically one go.

Eyes closed, you imagine that the bumps on the dildo are Jungkook’s veins. The mattress you steady yourself on is his sturdy chest. The ticklish bedsheet that meets your pelvis is his.

“Shit,” he grunts under his breath, “You’d take me so fucking well, princess. Fuck—” he grips his length harder, “—wish that were me. So fucking bad.”

“Me too,” you mewl. “I want your cock, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” Sticky sounds from your speaker. He’s getting impatient, too. “What do you want to do with my cock?”

“I want it inside me.” You start moving up and down, letting the dildo ease your walls from that beautifully stretched-out sensation, only to sink back down a moment later and nearly break yourself in half. “Wanna ride you all night.”

He groans, pupils blown out. “So fucking hot. God, I want you so bad.”

As you repeatedly ram yourself into the dildo, you force yourself to open your eyes and watch the screen.

Low angle. Clenched abs. Huge fucking dick all covered with his spit. Your name on his pelvis in that messy black ink, like a declaration that he’s yours.

Yours. That gets your heart racing. 

His eyes are trained on you: the way your tits bounce with every rise and fall, the way the sheets are soaked underneath you, and the way your face contorts with every high-pitched whimper. 

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, “I’m really close.” 

You rub frantic circles on your spasming bundle of nerves as you bounce up and down, moans and whimpers spilling out of you as you chase your high. A coil of tension tightens at the pit of your stomach. You don’t think you can hold it in much longer.

“Shit, me too,” he whispers, out of breath. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s heaving—chest quivering like he’s struggling to hold it together.  “Let go for me, princess.”

And you do.

White. Hot. Blinding. Loud. Even you are impressed by your pipes.

Your orgasm comes faster than expected, as if his permission was the final ingredient you needed to let go. You want to hate how well your body responds to him, but you don’t. 

Soon, he too spills out right toward the camera, and you see white ropes dribble down his skin as he lets out several harsh grunts. The ink on his pelvis gets partially splattered with some of his semen—droplets decorating your name.

When you finally slow down and come to a stop, it takes all of your energy to lift yourself off the dildo. It’s a while before you figure out how to breathe normally again.

Your eyes meet. 

Well. He definitely looks like he just had sex, and God, sex looks good on him—hair all tossed up and skin glowing. You’re a clammy mess as well, with sweat all over, your hair sticking to your face, and juices drenching your bedsheets.

Conclusion: he’s a wreck, and so are you. 

He laughs first, delicate. You follow shortly.

“So…” you trail off, “I take it that you like the show?”

“Something like that,” he chuckles, grabbing some tissues to clean up.  “This enough for a raving review?”

He holds the camera over his cock, letting you see the mess you made. 

It’s… everywhere. Dripping down his length to his balls, splattered all over his sink and floor, droplets scattered along his pelvis. You gulp.

He starts wiping himself, muttering when he almost uses up the entire roll of toilet paper, “You goddamn witch.”

You giggle, satisfied, also taking the liberty to clean yourself up with a nearby towel, slipping your Brandy Melville shorts back on. 

A comfortable silence.

There’s a spare hoodie on the floor, which you quickly tug on for warmth. The purple dildo is tossed into your bathroom sink, which you tell yourself you’ll clean later. 

When you return to the phone, you find that Jungkook has taken you to what seems to be his bedroom. 

He’s lying down, snuggled in the covers all cutely as if moments before he wasn’t watching you fuck yourself stupid.

“Hi.”

Oh, so this motherfucker can be cute, too?

You roll your eyes and put your phone on the bedside table. “So this call really never ends?” 

“Nope. I mean, it’s not supposed to, but I’ve never really tested it, either.”

“Has no one else ever used it?” you ask, settling into your bed.

“Oh yeah, one time.” He rolls onto his back and starts chuckling to himself. “This poor old lady thought she was on an app that would connect her with her old boyfriends. I had a hard time explaining things over text so I asked her to say her safeword so I could explain over call instead.”

“No way,” you laugh, “Did she take it well?”

“She was sweet about it, yeah,” he confirms, laughing himself. “She started telling me about all her past boyfriends and everything, actually. Fun day.”

You reply with some quirky comment about how older people never really get embarrassed about anything. He agrees, sharing stories of older clients being completely unashamed of their desires and younger clients always being a little hesitant at first. 

Somehow, the conversation shifts to discussing sweet old ladies you’ve encountered in your lifetime—like the woman who helped him tie a tie for his first job interview, or your favorite teacher in primary school. That leads to you discussing your kindergarten teacher job hunt and your cafe side hustle. 

This is how an hour goes by, just talking. Really talking.

He shares his useless college days where he studied computer science. You tell him about how education majors actually have hard classes. He laughs at your jokes and you can’t help but find him incredibly charming as he rolls around in bed with that fluffy hair and dangerous smile. 

His bedding is all white like yours, and his room is similarly minimalistic, with light-colored curtains and little to no decor. For a moment, you imagine that his image on the screen can melt into reality.

You imagine him lying next to you, telling funny stories and smelling of some manly scent. Your head would lay on his chest, his arm wrapped around you. You’d laugh into his neck and he’d chuckle into the top of your head, pulling you closer. Holding you tight.

Even though you know it’s a fantasy, you can’t help but entertain it.

“So how’s the bar thing going?” you ask, since you realized that you’ve been yapping about your career prospects for a while now.

“Pretty good,” he responds. “We’re set to open in a month, I think? The place is coming together real nice, now that it’s been constructed and all the contracts and boring stuff has been taken care of.”

“That’s so cool,” you say, and you mean it.  “Why a bar?”

He shrugs. “Friends wanted to do it and I was like, why the hell not. I hated my tech job anyway. So I quit and picked up this Boyfriend Hotline thing to do in the meantime since it’s pretty flexible and makes good money.”

“Is that the only reason? Or were you also just enjoying the female attention?” You mean to sound teasing and curious, but it comes out a bit more accusatory than you’d like. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh come on,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I just happen to be good at it. Not my fault.”

“Sure, whatever,” you grumble, unimpressed. 

He pauses for a second, shakes his head, and asks, “What about you?” 

“Hm?”

“Getting on Boyfriend Hotline,” he supplies. “We haven’t talked about it too much, but you’re here after a breakup right?” he asks tentatively. “You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. But I’m just letting you know that I have two ears and they’re great at their job.”

“You can just say that you’re a good listener, you know,” you snicker.

“I like to be poetic.” His tone is lighthearted, but there’s an underlying curiosity—like he actually cares about your answer. 

You decide to tell him.

“Honestly?” you sigh. “My ex and I always had trouble in the… intimacy department. I always thought I was more freaked out than him—like, I’d ask him to call me a slut and he’d go pale—but I found him kind of cute for that so I just let myself be vanilla for him,” you explained. “But then he went and cheated on me, as you know, and it was with some pretty frilly pink petite mousey bitch who—”

He snorts. You glare. 

“I’m sorry—it’s just the way that you described her—”

“What’s so funny about that?” you pout.

“Nothing,” he says, swallowing back a laugh. He exhales, calming down. “Nothing,” he repeats, softer this time. “Sounds like a bitch.”

You chuckle, amused at how he immediately takes your side.

“She’s… alright,” you finally say. “It’s just that—” you stop yourself, sighing in frustration, “—she’s like the mirror version of myself, but better.”

“What do you mean?” he tilts his head.

“Well, to start, she’s also studying education,” you say. “She’s my age, has a similar sense of style, and… she’s really cute. She wears dresses and always has her hair done in some effortless updo. She speaks really softly and covers her mouth when she laughs. She doesn’t curse and always has a first-aid kit in her bag. She’s just that type of girl, you know?”

In the silence that follows, you think about Mina.

Everyone teased that you guys could practically be sisters with how you were both so soft and sweet. But you knew that you were always just a little bit more rough around the edges. A little more rowdy. You laughed louder. Cussed more. 

Finally, Jungkook says something.

“But how does that make her better?”

You freeze for a moment, unsure of your answer. “Well… I guess people always said we were similar, but it was kind of an unspoken agreement that between the two of us, she was way more suited for teaching kindergarten. They’d say she was born for the job, since she was so naturally sweet and gentle and all.” You laugh dryly. “It just sucks that I wasn’t only competing with her for job positions, but also for my boyfriend, too.”

Because frankly, always being compared to her never made you insecure until your last boyfriend, Jackson Wang. 

He’d only shower you with love when you were… more like her. When you were quiet and submissive and just a cute little thing. He didn’t like it when you talked back. He didn’t like it when you wanted to be called obscene things and actually had an opinion in the bedroom.

So maybe it was no surprise when you walked into his apartment to find condom wrappers and underwear that definitely wasn’t yours on the floor, looking up to find him tangled with her in his bedsheets. 

It was so cliche, you almost laughed—and you kind of wished that you did—instead of losing your shit and throwing things at them before storming off. That only made it more cliche. Didn’t make it hurt less.

“Okay, listen.” He props himself up on his elbows, clearing his throat like he’s about to give a life-changing speech. “I, for one, really like your laugh. I like girls who cuss. I like it when you tell me what you like and when you challenge me.”

His gaze is insistent. You try not to falter under it.

“It honestly seems like he’s just some freak who only likes girls when they’re submissive.” You chuckle a little bit at that. He continues passionately. “He didn’t leave you because she was ‘better’ or whatever—that’s bogus. He left you because he’s an asshole who can’t handle a real, independent woman.” 

At this point, it’s getting harder to control your face. You’re biting your lip, trying to hold back tears. He’s saying all the right things—and you’d be annoyed at how good he is at this if it wasn’t tugging at your heartstrings. 

He pauses, eyes flickering to the side with slight hesitance. 

“But… I can,” he declares. “And as someone who literally talks to women for a living, I’ll go ahead and say that if all of them were lined up against a wall and I could only choose one to hang out with… I’d choose you.”

The bold statement lingers. You try not to break. Just who is he? How can he make you feel this way after having known you for only a little while?

“Thanks,” you finally reply, voice quiet.

He gives a small smile, eyes unwavering and kind. 

“You’re welcome.”

Something has changed. You’re not sure what it is exactly, but you feel it and so does he. There’s tension in the air, tight with a tacit agreement that taking this any further would be really crossing the line.

You hear a buzz from his phone. His face comes closer to the screen as he checks the notification.

“Hey, uh, I think I might have to go now,” he says, a little bit awkward.

“Okay.” You nod, humming lightly. “Your friend?”

He shakes his head. Exhales nervously. “No it’s… it’s actually another client.”

“Oh.” Your stomach drops. 

He looks away. “The safeword thing takes a few hours to work, so I should probably take on a few clients while I can before I’m jobless for the next week,” he jokes, but it doesn’t elicit any laughter.

Right. He’s still being paid to be here. Even if you’re his favorite client—the best among dozens—you’re still a client. Just someone on his phone who he’s being paid to talk to. 

He’s setting that boundary before you start getting any weird ideas.

“Okay,” you reply softly, straining a smile. “This was fun.”

“I should be back in a week,” he says slowly. “Will you request me later?”

There it is. The question. He really does just need you for the money.

“Maybe.”

He chuckles. “So ambiguous.”

You try to laugh, but it’s painful. He notices.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks. “I don’t have to accept every client’s—”

“No,” you cut him off more harshly than you want to. “Go ahead. I’ve already taken up enough of your time, and I don’t want you to be broke.”

You intend to be playful; instead it sounds mean. 

“Alright.” He nods slowly, still not entirely convinced. Your heart pinches. “Are you sure? I can—”

“I’m sure.”

You give an encouraging smile, acting like your whole body didn’t go cold under your covers—like this entire session was purely transactional.  Acting like now that you’ve gotten your needs fulfilled, you’re entirely happy to let him go. 

“Okay,” he finally relents, eyes watching you carefully. “I’ll go.”

You start waving at the camera, giving a soft smile.

“Bye Jungkook,” you say. 

He scooches closer, hand coming up to the phone.

“Alright,” his low voice rumbles. “Goodnight, princess.”

The term of endearment hangs in the air long after he ends the call and your phone screen goes black. You stare at your face in the reflection, unmoving as you gather yourself.

You need to delete the app.

This can’t be good for you—the butterflies, the laughter, and the inevitable heartache that follows. 

You don’t think you can go through this again. With every session, you’ll just keep growing more attached, and you’ll keep getting hurt. It’ll be a vicious cycle that’ll get harder and harder to escape if you let it go for much longer.

With newfound clarity, you sit up straight and grab your phone, fingers trembling as you enter the app for what you hope will be the last time. You should do it while you have the courage.

But before you can press “delete account,” your deranged mind entertains an evil thought.

If he can go play around with other clients, what’s stopping you from requesting sessions with another service provider?

Maybe it’ll give you clarity. It’ll act as a benchmark for your interactions with him. You’ll know what’s normal and what’s not. You’ll learn if everyone is as charming as he is, or if he’s really treating you differently. 

You rationalize why it’d be good for you, but deep down in your heart, a part of you hopes that he’ll find out about you being with another service provider and he’ll feel exactly what you’re feeling right now: jealousy.

You’re not even sure if that’s even possible. But the thought strikes you nonetheless, cementing itself in your mind as the underlying objective behind your next move.

Maybe in a few days, when you’re horny and curious enough, you’ll try it out. Jungkook will be unavailable anyways, right?

You aren’t doing anything wrong, you convince yourself. This is totally fine.

You remove him so that he’s no longer your primary service provider. Click onto the tab where you can look at others. Swallow your guilt with your saliva.  

A few minutes go by as you scroll through profiles. A few catch your eye, a few don’t. You read each person’s blurb, look at their faces, and read their reviews. 

Then finally, you select one.

a/n: *evil laughter* did you guys enjoy!?! let me know pleaseeee i wanna know all your thoughts so bad hehehehe. i went back and forth on this chapter a LOT! i rewrote it like 3 times JFKDSJFLS there was a version with no smut where they just talk actually, but then it got boring because i couldn't describe shit since they are just ON THE PHONE? but im very happy with how the smutty version turned out so! yeah. anyways i dont want to spoil things too much but you can expect smau + written chapters from now on since we are well into the plot now hehe. that also means that updates will be unfortunately slower, but im going to work very hard so that they are worth the wait! thank u sm for being here lovelies!

the two of you went from eating lunch by yourselves on the bleachers of your high school football field to sleeping at each other's college dorms and finally, landing jobs in the same city as adults. as most friendships post grad do, your friendship with jungkook sometimes morphs into sparse meetups and birthdays only. it doesn’t help that he was out of the state fifty percent of the week. of course, being his best friend, you both try to put in the effort - thriving in text conversations - but it’s natural that your schedules constantly conflicted. that is precisely why you loved the month of june, when basketball is on a break.

"are you going to bali with her this time? or, is it gonna be somewhere in the pacific?"

jungkook found this nasty dive bar the year that he got drafted to new york - the kind of bar where smoke from the nineties still stuck on the walls. you were both brand new to the city, as you just coincidentally transferred to nyu, and this place was tucked in between other equally gross drinking holes. back in the day, this bar happened to be the one of the only ones that took jungkook’s fake drivers' license and since then, has become your go-to spot.

the man in question winces at your inquiry and instead of answering, calls for the bartender. "hey, frank. can we get two tequila shots over here?"

granted, back then, no one recognized jungkook. when the two of you meet up today, he wears a fairly ordinary outfit of a form-fitting white t-shirt and jeans. a baseball cap nestles the top of his head and he has black tom ford sunglasses to hide his face - you had quipped that the designer shades in the middle of this disgusting bar gave him away immediately. the two of you remain unbothered since sitting down at the end of the bar, but you could feel the double takes and stares every once in a while.

frank, who has been bartending at the bar since you and jungkook first became regulars, nods and grabs a bottle of the brand he already knows that the two of you prefer. every time you come around, he also makes sure that no one even thinks of coming over and intruding, scaring anyone off with a glare before they can even ask jungkook for a picture.

"straight to the tequila?" your eyebrows shoot up. you can tell that jungkook has something to say and truth be told, you may already know what it is. you read him like the back of your hand at this point.

frank slides over two shot glasses filled to the brim with the amber liquid. the two of you thank him and throw the liquor back in one go. when you look back at jungkook, he still remains silent at your question. he just kinda shrugs at you, as he sucks on his lime. some juice drips down his chin and you throw a napkin his way with an eye roll.

a grin spreads on his lips and he mutters a thank you. you still stare at him, waiting.

jungkook clears his throat a little once the initial burn passed. "you see," he says. "mariana and i broke up. two weeks ago, actually."

"jeon jungkook!" you gasped, hand covering your mouth.

you saw it coming, but you still can’t believe it.

truthfully, you’re taken aback at the sudden news, but you’re also not totally surprised. jungkook is a complete lover boy and always has been, unlike some of the dirtbags on his team that had a woman or two for in every city they played in. when he proposed to the girl he'd been seeing for just a little over a year, you were a bit skeptical. mariana seemed like a sweet girl, but certainly enjoyed a lavish lifestyle - at least according to her instagram. you couldn't judge too hard, as you’d only met her a few times, since she lived all the way in los angeles and he would often be the one coming to see her. you just didn't want jungkook to get hurt, but you couldn’t always trust his judgement. you’ve been patting his back and telling him "you’ll get em next time” for years when girls broke his heart time and time again.

evidently, nothing has changed since high school.

he sighs, taking a sip of his water. "it wasn't gonna work out. she and i were just. . .too different." his words were careful, like he was tasting each one on by one.

"koo, you can be honest with me," you respond slowly. "this isn't a press conference."

it’s like he tastes the bitterness of the words on his tongue before he speaks, with the way his facial expression contours.

“well. . .”

you look at him, expectantly.

"she was a gold digger," jungkook lamely admits. "i overheard her on the phone with her friend talking about me and, well, it became this huge thing. then, she wouldn't sign the prenup."

you rub his arm comfortingly. "i'm so sorry, jungook."

even trying to imagine the details hurt. you don’t wanna know the full length because it would just make you upset. you also knew that the last thing jungkook wanted is someone to feel sorry for him.

"this shit always happens to me," he mutters and waves frank over for another drink.

all your life, you've watched girls take advantage of jungkook. you just hoped mariana was the last one. still, this has been happening since the girl who tried baby trapping him right before freshman year. there was even the string of influencers before mariana that just wanted either his clout or his money.

you also order a drink, as you never let your best friend drink alone.

"why didn't you tell me sooner?" you ask.

jungkook runs a hand through his hair. "i was only sure it was over last night." of course he fought for the relationship. he always does. "when she, uh, gave me the ring back."

a dull clank and the ridiculously huge rock drops to the counter in front of you unceremoniously. it’s probably the biggest diamond you'd ever seen in real life. you remember the first time you saw it on jungkook’s then-fiancee's hand and wondered if it was heavy enough to break mariana’s annoying habit of flipping her hair after every sentence.

"fuck her, you deserve better."

and you mean every damn word. you always do. jungkook is a genuinely kind and caring person. he’s loyal, attentive, and frankly, was rich and handsome. you weren't stupid or blind, just uninterested.

"you also deserve better," jungkook grunts, waving over a second round of shots. you don’t try to intervene - you knew he was having a rough night and certainly needed it.

still, you don’t the hide the grimace forming on your face. "gee, thanks."

“what?”

you snort. “this was about you. why the fuck do i have to catch a stray?”

this at least makes jungkook chuckle a little and you’re fine with that, even if it’s at your expense.

"no, seriously. i know i'm making it all about me right now, but i'm sorry you got stood up."

you made a noise of protest, half burying your face in your hand. you were hoping to avoid even talking about it. it’s already more than a little embarrassing to show up to the hangout with what was supposed to be the ‘seduce-the-date’ outfit and you didn’t miss jungkook’s raised eyebrows when he noticed the low cut of your shirt and the way your skirt barely hid your ass.

when jungkook asked you to grab a drink with him over text yesterday, you indicated that it would have to be later in the night because you had a date and deflected the teasing by clarifying that it was a random tinder match. nothing serious - jungkook knows you don’t do that stuff.

of course, when your date never came and you asked jungkook to meet up several hours early, he figured it out instantly.

you shake your head. "it's fine. i'm happy to even make it onto jeon jungkook’s crazy schedule," you reply wryly. "or, i guess i'll be seeing you more if you won't be on your usual romantic beach side getaway this summer."

jungkook flips you off, but can't hide another laugh escaping his lips. you always lighten the mood like that and he never fails to appreciate it after all these years. for whatever reason, he still thinks you’re the funniest person alive.

"see? this is why i keep you around," he teases, dodging a halfhearted smack that you send his way.

in a way, you knew it was true. "everyone else would pity you. you need someone to tell you that it's time to grow some balls," you fire back. "seriously, koo. fuck her. you never needed her."

you don’t dare give jungkook some sort of baby treatment. he’s a grown ass man and he knows that. you never pull punches with him, not back in high school when he didn't get scouted by his first pick school or even two years ago, when you told him off for not calling his mom enough. it’s anything from the little things to the bigger problems, but you are always there to just be real with him in a way no one else would.

jungkook sighs again and lifts his next shot glass to his lips. "i know," he says dumbly. "just thought it'd be different this time. got down on a knee and everything."

he really did care, though. the two of them hadn't been engaged long and jungkook’s last year had been far too busy to host the wedding, but he'd been so eager to talk about it whenever you were able to catch him for a chat. he wanted to have it in the hometown that you both grew up in and bounced off venue ideas as recently as a month ago.

"the right woman will come at the right time," you assure and mirror his movements, knocking back your second shot of tequila. this one goes down smoother than the first and you’re glad it does because you know this wouldn't be the last of the night, with the way jungkook is pacing himself.

it's been a long week for jungkook, you can tell. getting eliminated in the league eastern conference finals last month is one thing, but to have his engagement fall apart not long after is the cherry on top. you’re more than happy to listen to him drone about his sorrows.

“i think i’m over it. for real, this time.”

you pause your movements, lime in your mouth when you do so and it prevents you from blurting anything inappropriate aloud. you try to be supportive with jungkook when it comes to his love life, but he tends to be a little dramatic.

“how so?” you decide to bite, setting the wedge back into your now empty shot glass.

jungkook sighs. “i’m done. done with dating and love.”

this makes you chuckle and you can’t help it. of course, you think jungkook is joking, but you look up and catch the solemn look in his eye.

“you just need a break from it,” you say. “just take a step back and enjoy your life for what it’s worth. you have your dream job and more money than you’ll ever need - lots to be distracted by.”

he says your name. “i’m serious. i think i’m done,” jungkook repeats.

“i'm sure.”

“well, you definitely don’t have a hard time with it. you don’t date.”

you make an unconvinced noise. it’s different for you. you’re just two years out of school, having spent a lifetime working towards your current job as a chiropractor. it’s not like you’ve had the time to even consider anything serious with anyone since midway through your undergraduate degree. you don’t even know if you wanted to do the whole get married and have kids thing. you wanted to run your own clinic, that’s what you know.

“because i have a boring life with boring goals that don’t have room for getting to know a man,” you finally reply, arms folded across your chest.

jungkook rolls his eyes. “doesn’t matter. you still make it work, why can’t i?”

“we’re different people,” you say.

a third round of shots slides your way from frank, along with your cocktails. you didn’t even realize how fast the two of you have been drinking for your cocktails to only come now. jungkook grabs his long island iced tea and you take the first sip of your mango daiquiri.

sugary. strong. tastes like a hangover.

not like it matters. you don’t get opportunities to go out and drink like this often - plus, jungkook obviously needed it. tomorrow is saturday and you get to stay home all day long, beating the heat wave projected to hit new york city tomorrow. it’s one of the reasons why he suggested enjoying tonight as much as possible, when the next day looks to be one where no one should even bother stepping outside.

june always guaranteed those two things: jungkook and the relentless sun.

in a way, it feels like you’ve been trailing after jungkook your entire life. the two of you met in chemistry class in high school and became lab partners. since then, you haven’t left each other’s sides. you both even ended up at duke university after graduating, where jungkook led the basketball team to a national title as a freshman. he became a guaranteed top three pick in the nba draft and went to the new york titans. somehow, someway, you also ended up in new york city after transferring to your dream school - nyu.

it’s an evergreen orbit that you and jungkook exist in, circling in the same atmosphere according to destiny. there should have been many instances where the two of you get torn apart, but have yet to pull away from each other. jungkook hasn’t been traded since joining the titans. you found a job in new york after you passed your chiropractor board exams.

you’ve never considered the idea that jungkook may be trailing after you.

he’s never let go of you. you’re the last person that knew him from the before, even before he knew he wanted to play basketball for the rest of his life. he hasn’t let go and doesn’t know if he can - both figuratively and in this particular moment, physically.

jungkook wakes up to the warm glow of sunlight through his balcony door. it’s not often he doesn’t wake up to a blaring alarm. his life is a comfortable fixed schedule of things that requires him to be up at early hours. gym, practice, games, meetings, interviews, and flights.

it’s also not often that he wakes up with a throbbing headache.

he shifts to rub his temples until he realizes that there’s something on top of him.

jungkook recognizes your scent immediately. vanilla, jasmine and something sharp. it pierces his mind so suddenly that all the memories of last night hit his consciousness immediately.

your legs tightly wrapped around his waist. the taste of you on his tongue. the melodic noises from your lips, filling his room until jungkook couldn’t hear anything else.

he even remembers the promise shared between the two of you, before lines were crossed. the only thing he doesn’t recognize is the ache in his chest, unsure of what it is.

now, he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that it’s your warm body attached to his - so close that it’s impossible to tell where you begin and he ends.

while he’s not shocked, jungkook doesn’t move either. he’s frozen in place and doesn’t dare open his eyes because when he does, that makes everything real. too real.

questions can come later. jungkook instead buries his face into your hair and secures his grip. you don’t pull away in your sleep, only stirring slightly. the weight of your body calmly melts into his, like it’s normal.

because for a minute, he just wants to exist in the orbit with you.

frank doesn’t say anything when the two of you bid him goodbye and he notices jungkook's hand on your hip. it’s subtle, but the man has watched you both for years and has never seen such a thing. his lips curve into an easy smile as jungkook leads you out the door of the bar, like this is something that he’s been waiting on since the two of you first walked into his bar.

there’s a buzz in the air throughout the short uber ride back to jungkook’s condo. the chatter of conversation fills the air, as you and jungkook debate about video games and existentialism. separately, of course. you’re both drunk enough, but jungkook has invited you back to his for even more drinks and you don’t say no.

between a fit of laughter over jungkook’s animated rant on the nintendo switch, you catch his eyes drifting a little too down south. you think you’re mistaken, but his look lingers and you can’t believe it.

“jungkook, are you staring at my tits?”

considering that you first expected your night to begin with a tinder date, you chose your outfit carefully. the top you threw on is a leopard print halter top with an open front and a gold clasp in the middle - not exactly leaving much to the imagination. even the tiny denim skirt isn’t exactly what jungkook is used to seeing you it, at least when you hang out with him.

jungkook’s movements are slower with the liquor in his body, so he doesn’t even bother denying it. “yeah,” he says simply.

you smack his arm without hesitation. “god, all you men are the same.”

“ow - what? it’s not like you’re an ugly hag or something,” jungkook retorts and the statement doesn’t fly past your head.

he’s not wrong and you know that. still, you’ve always assumed that it’s the same case for jungkook as it is for you. not stupid nor blind, but simply uninterested. this shared mindset is what makes your friendship work as an attractive man and an attractive woman. everyone around the two of you has questioned it at least once - if you and jungkook ever saw each other in that way.

the answer has always remained the same. the two of you are friends and anything else has never been on the table simply because it’s never come to mind.

so, you brush off his staring.

soon, you’re standing in front of jungkook’s front door, watching in silent amusement as he fumbles to open the door.

“you do know that you live here, right?” you quip dryly and it earns you a glare from your best friend.

it seems like forever ago when you made your first visit here. you were the very first person that saw jungkook’s new condo, purchased once he signed his rookie contract with the titans. the building itself left you breathless and that was before you even stepped foot inside. it’s a five bedroom behemoth of all marble with a wrap around balcony and high ceilings, easily worth a number that you probably couldn’t even dream of. after all these years, it’s still strange to see jungkook, the annoying boy you ate lunch with everyday in high school, with this much wealth. there were well off people where you came from and then there’s people like him, who have a boundless amount of money. it never changed jungkook, he’s never been that kind of person, but you often forget how different your lives are now.

there are a lot of memories in this place. you can remember every lavish party that jungkook has thrown over the years, where dozens of guests filled the surroundings to the brim. you also remember the quiet nights where it’s just you two, watching movies and eating dinner. quiet nights, like tonight.

you kick off your heels once he gets the door open, as does jungkook before he makes a beeline for his mini bar.

“if you wanna smoke, there’s some prerolls in my room,” he calls out, amidst the clinking of bottles and glasses.

knowing jungkook, that isn’t a suggestion - especially with the way the night has gone. poor guy probably needs it. you’re not necessarily opposed to the idea anyways, so you make your way into his bedroom, squinting because he keeps his condo so damn dark. the walls are dark and his lights are dim, as if he lives in some sort of dungeon.

you flick his lights on and as usual, his bedroom is a mess. jungkook has a habit of just throwing things everywhere and has always been this way since you guys were teenagers.

muttering to yourself, you shake your head. “at least he keeps the rest of his apartment clean.”

it doesn’t take you long to find the pack, sitting on top of his bedside table. by the time you do so, jungkook’s footsteps approach and he appears at the door with two glasses with ice and a whole unopened bottle of whiskey. normally, you would object to mixing liquors and claim that you’re too damn old for that shit, but tonight could be an exception. jungkook is mostly cheered up compared to when you first sat down with him at the beginning of the night, but a little more fun couldn’t hurt.

surely not.

“balcony?” you both say at the same time and both let out a tipsy giggle.

you have to lead the way because jungkook’s hands are full, but not before popping into his walk-in closet and snatching the first hoodie that you see. it may be june, but it’s still nearly one in the morning.

“don’t spill your drink on that sweater, that’s one of my favourites,” jungkook warns and follows you to the sliding door connected to the balcony from his bedroom.

as a new york city transplant, you’re still in awe of the skyline every time you see it - especially from as high up as where jungkook lives. the lights spread out across you endlessly, rolling out before you in dots and streaks and flashes for what seems like a thousand miles. you didn’t think it was possible for the sky to be so bright in the middle of the night until you moved to the city. you and jungkook used to count stars on his mom’s roof and that used to be the brightest sky you’ve ever seen.

even at this hour, the city is alive with noise. from the floor you’re situated on, you can only make out faint noises of cars of the street, but there’s still a hum in the air that never quite goes away.

“careful,” you remind jungkook, opening the door for him to step through.

he thanks you with a lazy grin. “i really doubt you’re gonna get cold, but there’s a blanket on the smoking couch if you need it.”

the smoking couch is a self-explanatory piece of furniture that jungkook actually got from you. even at his big age and salary, he asked for your couch a few years ago when you mentioned offhand that you were getting rid of it for a new one. jungkook complained it would be a waste of a perfectly good couch, but you had a feeling that he was too attached to the memories of it and how he would nap on it every time he visited your shoebox apartment.

its patchwork green and brown fabric doesn’t match any of jungkook’s other furniture, all of which are on the more modern and minimalistic side and worth several times the price, considering you found it for fifty bucks on facebook marketplace a few years ago. he has it out on his balcony with some plants and a little table for an ashtray. you plop right on the couch, tucking your feet underneath your knees and you do grab the blanket, but only to cover your lap and the tiny ass skirt you had on.

jungkook sits next to you and pours your drinks. “at least now that mariana’s gone, i don’t have to throw away this couch,” he muses, still trying to deflect the pain away. “she always said it was ugly.”

you laugh. “that’s becuase it is ugly.”

he flips you off and the two of you fall into conversation again, while sipping on your whiskey on the rocks. it’s easier to rant than earlier and the alcohol goes down smoother, too. jungkook continues talking about mariana and the faults in their relationship, while you patiently listen and give your two cents only when asked.

“then go find a pretty girl to sleep with,” you scoff when jungkook starts complaining about being lonely already. “you say you don’t wanna date, fine. i’m sure you’ll find a willing and able body to spend a night with you. you nba players have a reputation for a reason.”

jungkook rolls his eyes, pinching your leg at the comment. you squeal and slap his hand away. at this point in the night, it ends up being him who gets cold and demands for you to share the blanket with him. the summer heat has certainly died down in the night time and although it isn’t chilly, there is a slight wind. you begrudgingly scoot closer and do so instead of handing it to him because there’s no way you could take it off your lap.

“pft, you make it sound so easy,” he remarks.

you give him a look. “you’re jeon jungkook,” you deadpan, wondering if he has lost his mind. “i haven’t gotten laid in literal months, but if i was a rich and famous basketball player -”

“woah,” jungkook begins to laugh and holds his hand up. “months? you’re joking, right?”

“i’m glad my suffering is giving you a good laugh tonight,” you shoot back.

you find the forgotten prerolls and take one out, placing it in between in your lips to search for a lighter in between the couch cushions. jungkook digs into his pockets and pulls out one for you, clicking it and bringing it to your lips. he leans in when he does so and you can smell his woodsy cologne, mixed with the liquor on his breath.

“just surprised, that’s all.”

the tip burns amber and you inhale deeply, letting the weed travel into your head space. you open your eyes and clouds curl around your heads, as you pass the joint over to jungkook. as courtesy, you unzip the sweater you stole from him and fling it to the side, so it doesn’t end up smelling dank. the sharp air hits your chest and you’re feeling a little exposed, but you just let it be. you open your eyes and clouds curl around your heads, as you pass the joint over to jungkook.

you snort. “can’t imagine what it’s like?”

“no,” jungkook admits with a laugh, bringing the joint to lips. “don’t you, you know. . .get frustrated?”

too much information doesn’t really exist with jungkook to a certain extent. you don’t talk about things insanely detailed, but you’re adults about topics like sex. it’s not in your nature to give information to jungkook about anything beyond what you wouldn’t tell a female friend anyways.

you just sigh dramatically, tilting your head back to look at the sky. “yeah. why do you think i was disappointed after my date cancelled?” you snap. you normally wouldn't have gone for a dating app to fulfill your needs, but the drought was getting desperate.

“damn,” jungkook whistles and shakes his head in the same disbelief.

“tell me about it.”

“well, what do you wanna do about it?”

it’s an innocent question at first. but, the air feels strange around you. the liquor burns hot underneath your skin and smoke warms your cheeks, the silver of it dancing around you in a haze. you feel light from everything swirling in your body, but the atmosphere is heavy. jungkook’s heavy lidded glance is casual at first, but it's like there's something’s he’s holding back.

you know where you are before you open your eyes. metal tickles your belly and it's jungkook’s rings, as one hand splays across your torso and the other arm tightly wrapped around your waist. you can hear a low hum coming from the living room, likely his housekeeper vacuuming. his balcony door is left slightly ajar and the morning traffic fills your ears.

his balcony. last night. you left it open, last night.

the realization is slow and ludicrous, as if you're in a cartoon. you even comically open a single eye to confirm your suspicions and that you aren't imagining things.

you’re in jungkook’s bed.

he’s pressed up behind you and when you finally make a movement, you notice that you’re naked under his sheets.

the third realization is actually the realization of everything that occurred last night. most of it comes back to you, at least the important parts. some of the fragmented moments are lost with whatever liquor you downed. but, his words echo in your head - the promise made between the two of you. it plays back in your head on repeat like a sick jokes and the wicked headache throbbing in your ears doesn’t help. you knew you’d be hungover today, but this isn’t how you expected to wake up.

you shift slightly and your heart drops when you feel the rumble of jungkook’s chest, as he groans when you move.

by this point, you’re pretty much in shock. you’ve accepted the fact that you are definitely naked in your best friend’s bed and that there’s a certain ache in parts of your body that you can’t ignore. not like you could deny anything because, unlike the movies, you remember how this came to be. you just don’t know what to think.

“don’t run.” jungkook’s muffled voice mutters lowly, his face pressed into your hair.

jungkook thinks for you with these words and he’s right. you wanted to run. this insane and that’s the only option here. in that very moment, you’re sure that over a decade of friendship just went down the drain because neither of your desperate asses could keep their hands to yourselves. still, he doesn’t let you go and even pulls you closer against his back.

“jungkook -”

“ - it’s fine.” he yawns lazily. “we’re cool. chill out and stop moving.”

you still. your mouth opens, trying to find the words to reply, but you then hear a low snore. bastard. it seems like jungkook wasn’t even looking for a reply. he just wanted to go back to sleep.

when you experimentally try to peel his arm off, he bristles in his sleep and tightens his grip again.

there’s no escaping. you let out a huff. maybe he has a point. even if you try to leave, it doesn’t change anything. he said you guys are cool. you figure that means he isn’t making big deal out of things and you shouldn’t either.

jungkook said the exact same thing last night. all of the lingering questions in your mind deplete at that and you have no choice but to sink into his embrace, at least for the time being. your head pounds, but the lull of sleep begins to circle you again. his arms are too comfortable and the scent of his fresh sheets calm you down.

a part of you wouldn’t admit it, but you’re okay with that. for now. if what you agreed on last night remains true, then this is. . . okay. there shouldn’t be any questions that follow. you ignore the unknown sinking feeling in your stomach and close your eyes.

jungkook nudges for you to turn around and you do, without even thinking twice. he pulls your into his chest and your head rests in the crook just underneath his chin. you breathe in deeply and you let sleep take over again.

the blanket leaves your lap when you crawl on top of jungkook, straddling him. it comes without thinking twice after the two of you looked at each other dead in the eye, saying this should be fine. you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself against the buzz of liquor in your muscles.

he chuckles at your clumsiness, but he grips your hips to keep you in place.

“it’s just one time, right? everything goes back to normal after?” you repeat for maybe the third time, needing the assurance in this unbelievable situation. you didn’t even consider this as an option and yet, you’re sitting on jungkook’s lap.

you think it’s the alcohol, but you’re not nervous. he isn’t either. for you, you still don’t think that this is real. but, when you look up at jungkook, he’s calm and moving easily. he has an air of confidence that you’ve never seen up close, only from the wall during college frat parties when a classmate would pull him to the side to flirt with him. you’ve also seen it during interviews, when he plays up his personality for the fans. it’s attractive and it’s not a debate.

jungkook nods, eyes drifting to the way your legs are parted above him. “everything goes back to normal. one time.” his hands slowly graze lower, to the hem of your denim skirt. “nothing serious. just stress.”

that’s what this is. you’re both stressed out and this is an outlet for you let it all out. there’s no other reason for the uncomfortable wetness in between your legs. your breath hitches when his fingers trail further down, until he palms the flesh just underneath your ass.

“okay.”

“you sure this is okay?” he has to ask again, too, just like you. his eyes burn into yours, searching for any doubt.

you don’t verbally answer. something comes over you and instead, you experimentally lower yourself into his lap - enough for you to finally feel the hardness bulging out of his jeans. with a roll of your hips, jungkook hisses and your mouth hangs open. the message is clear and both of you are too deep in to take any steps back.

jungkook brings his lips to yours and kisses you slowly, like he’s savouring the taste of you on his mouth.

he’s a good kisser. a great one even.

he sucks on your tongue and you feel your heart stutter. you make him hear it, too, when you whine at his boldness. your grab his chest more firmly now, feeling the hard planes of muscle underneath his shirt.

you kiss him back with vigour and he also responds with a tighter grip of his hands, now on the curve of your ass. he squeezes a generous handful, earning another rock of your hips. you move without even thinking, grinding down into his clothed erection.

jungkook pulls back, only to reattach his mouth to the column of your throat. you think you’re floating.

“fuck -” you sigh, feeling your skin tingle with each nip and kiss jungkook brings to your skin. it’s intoxicating, the way he feels.

he moves like he knows what he wants. now that he has your permission, he can do it. you bite your lip when you see jungkook undoing the clasp at the front of your shirt. when your tits come free from your top, he pauses for just half a second and hopes that the groan he involuntarily makes isn’t as desperate as he thinks it sounds. you don’t even know that you’re aching for it until he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, flicking his tongue skillfully against the bud.

you tangle your fingers in his hair as he draws circles against your nipple, grinding up to meet the rhythm of your rolling hips. jungkook decides he’s had enough and releases your tits with an obscene popping sound to suddenly stand up with you in his arms.

jungkook doesn’t struggle a single bit to carry you back into his bedroom, abandoning everything on his balcony. he hungrily captures your lips again when he does so, effortlessly leading the way without letting go. he kicks the sliding door open back into his room and steps carefully back inside.

a gasp leaves your mouth when he practically throws you onto his bed.

your eyes are smoldering, watching jungkook yank his shirt off. you’ve seen him shirtless many times throughout the years, but it feels different tonight. your gaze trails down and memorizes every curve and vein and muscle lined with ink. you also fully take your top off, chucking it to his floor, and he climbs onto the bed - looking like a predator stalking his prey.

he finds your lips again as he shoves his hand up your skirt, making a strangled noise when he finds your panties completely soaked. it’s almost embarrassing how wet you are for jungkook. you whine and he moves the lace to the side, slowly dragging a single finger along the outside of your folds - just enough for you feel, but not enough to be where you really want him. your hips jerk slightly and you pull away from the kiss to fumble with the zipper of his jeans.

“off,” you pant, feeling dizzy as though your breath has been physically knocked out of you.

jungkook only stops teasing you to kick off his jeans and when he turns back to you, your mouth goes dry at the sight of how big the bulge in his boxers is. you don’t have a moment to react further because jungkook pushes your legs further apart and presses soft kisses up your thigh. he sees the arousal in between your thighs and he knows what he wants. what he needs.

he looks up at you with darkened lips, wet with saliva. “gonna eat you out now,” jungkook rasps and his directness alone almost draws a moan out of you. “tell me if i do anything you don’t like.”

you nod rapidly. his mouth finally approaches your core and you can feel your knees buckling from just the ghost of his breath. jungkook licks a languid stripe up your pussy and through the lace fabric of your panties, burying his nose into it. you cry out, fisting a handful of his hair again and he enjoys it, groaning your name when you do so.

he finally hooks his thumbs underneath and drags your panties down your legs. you begin to reach for the zipper of your skirt when his hand shoots out.

“no. keep the skirt on, it’s hot.”

you bite your lip, clenching around nothing from his words alone.

jungkook’s mouth connects with your body again, noisily letting you know how much he’s enjoying it. your back arches off the mattress with each lick and suck, as he focuses on your puffy clit and the sinful noises that it draws out of you.

a single digit eases its way past your walls and you’re so wet that there’s little resistance. he curls the fingers once and you whimper, desperately needing more.

“please,” is all you can babble, mouth hung open.

he listens well, slipping a second finger inside and moans when he does, like he can’t get enough of you. the two fingers plunge deep and his thumb circles your clit with precision, palm slapping wet against your cunt.

he growls against your thighs , mostly to himself. “fucking hell, this pussy is so noisy for me -” and returns his mouth back to your clit, wrapping his lips around it.

jungkook adds a third finger and the sweet stretch is all you need to finally see stars. it comes all at once, dizzying and hot, taking over your vision and all you can do is pull jungkook closer by the hair. you cum on his mouth, swearing incoherently, and he doesn’t let up - pumping his fingers into your greedy hole and swirling his tongue around your clit until you’re too sensitive to take more.

you’re given a moment to catch your breath, chest heaving because you don’t remember the last time you came so hard. jungkook is caught off guard when you yank him in for another kiss, palming his clothed cock when you do so. you taste yourself on his tongue and he moans into your mouth, the vibration deep, not letting up when you finally slip your hand under the waistband of his boxers.

jungkook is big. you could already tell by the imprint of his erection, but feeling him is another story. he makes quick work of the remaining clothing on his body, as do you - clothes haphazardly thrown across his bedroom.

you try to sit up onto your knees, stroking his thick cock, when he stops you.

“no, no,” he chuckles darkly, pinning you back down by the hips. you give him a look and jungkook shakes his head. “i won’t last if you do anything.”

he spreads your legs and you almost miss it, but he pauses for half a second to admire how pretty you look. jungkook brings two fingers to your lips and you open them without having being told to so do. you wrap your lips around the fingers, sucking gently, and it elicits a deep exhale from jungkook.

his fingers ease into your pussy again, sinking into the wet heat and your thighs tremble. you sigh, as you anticipate jungkook’s next move. you’re visibly a bit nervous - it’s been a while since you’ve been with anybody and he’s impressive. you could tell that it’s going to be a slow adjustment.

jungkook notices and kisses your forehead, as if to reassure you. it’s sweet - a little too sweet for the moment and the circumstances - but, it still relaxes you.

“i need you inside me. now.”

he groans at your words and doesn’t hold back any more. lining himself up with your entrance, your eyes nearly roll back to the back of your head from just the tip dragging inside your walls. he’s teasing you purpose, barely getting the tip wet and so, you dig your nails into his back.

“fuck, okay,” jungkook chuckles darkly and pushes in, the stretch more than what you’re used to. “you still whining?”

you don’t have it in you to curse at him because of the way his thick length is burying inside your pussy. your clenching walls have dissolved whatever teasing jungkook has left in him because he’s now a moaning mess.

“god, you feel so good,” he breathes, trying to will himself to still and prevent himself from losing control.

“more,” you choked with big eyes, as you adjust to his length.

he can’t deny you for long. jungkook finally bottoms out and your back arches off the mattress at the feeling of being so full.

he fucks into you, abs contracting with each rough thrust, and you love every second it. you make it known that you don’t want him to hold back, whispering dirty pleads into his ear.

the pace he sets is brutal - like he’s starving. his hips snap ruthlessly, as he watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust. the way he’s completely and utterly pussy drunk is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life, watching the way his face morphs into complete bliss at the way your slick covers his length every time it disappears into your cunt. he brings a thumb to your clit and you mewl desperately, feeling a knot build in your stomach.

jungkook leans down, dipping his tongue to your collarbone and up to your ear. “you’re taking me so well,” he grunts and the praise goes right to your head.

“fuck - i’m gonna -” you cry out, as the pressure builds and you know you’re close.

you’re taken aback when jungkook grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“don’t close them. i wanna watch you while you cum on my cock.”

nearly screaming, you reach your second climax with jungkook gripping your face. his eyebrows furrow and his jaw clenches as he chases his own release, his eyes never leaving yours. your vision is white hot and you see double for a few moments, arching off the bed again. the way your walls flutter around his cock sends him over the edge.

his mouth falls open and with a shudder of your name, coats your insides with his release. you wrap your legs around him when he does, feeling every twitch and pulse of his heavy cock, completely filling you up.

“shit,” jungkook pants into your neck, still buried deep inside you.

you whimpers when finally pulls out slightly a few moments later, when you both catch your breath. jungkook looks down and hisses at not just near the loss of contact, but the way his sticky seeds spills out of your entrance before he’s fully out.

the noise that comes out of your mouth seems to be one of protest. he isn’t far off either, as he grows half hard again inside you at the sight of the mess he’s made in your pussy.

neither of you have to say anything. instead, jungkook flips you over so that you’re now on top.

“think you have the energy to go again?” you tease, hands steadying yourself by placing your palms flat on his muscular chest.

you don’t know what comes over you. you’re needy, hot, and you know you could go for hours. the smirk on jungkook’s face mirrors yours and you can tell he’s thinking the same thing. he doesn’t answer, only lands a harsh smack to your ass. it elicits a moan out of you and unconsciously, you sink all the way down on his cock again.

you and jungkook don’t break promises. vows are sacred in your friendship and always have been. he remained your prom date even after several girls chased a 'yes’ out of him during your senior year of high school. you never missed any of his games in college, even the exhibition bouts and away face offs miles away from campus. the two of you never lied to each other nor missed any milestones. you remember when he rushed back to new york after a six game road trip in the west coast, exhausted and sleep deprived, just to make your graduation ceremony.

we’re cool.

that’s how you end up eating scrambled eggs at jungkook’s island counter, while he sips on coffee and finishes cooking the last of his gross sausage-slash-cottage cheese situation. you wear one of his oversized t-shirts and shorts that go up to below your knees, half paying attention to the show playing on your phone.

it isn’t awkward, but the air feels slightly charged. maybe it’s just in your imagination because he whistles happily as he moves his breakfast around in the frying pan. he doesn’t usually make his breakfast, preferring meal prep, but today is an exception to a lot of things . . .like sleeping with his best friend.

still, the promise from last night remains and the two of you carry on as best as you can without making things weird. you try to push any thoughts away to uphold his promise alone, pretending like it’s any other morning. you’ve even fallen asleep in his bed with him a few times before in the past - long ago, before mariana, at least - so, you try and make it seem like one of those nights.

it’s a slow paced morning since peeling away from jungkook’s body when you woke up - until he gets a call.

“what’s up, garbanzo?”

garbanzo is the ridiculous nickname that jungkook’s agent goes by and to this day, you seriously can’t recall that man’s government name. jungkook answers the call on speaker since he’s cooking and you tune out most of the conversation, until you pick up some discussion about the olympics.

that’s why you love the month of june. you get jungkook all to yourself no matter what and even though he may not have a tropical getaway in sight with his now ex-fiancee, he still has an obligatory trip to paris to make. team usa needs him badly and he’s been itching for a gold medal since the start of his career. he really only has these few weeks to relax until he has to step up.

garbanzo runs jungkook through his schedule prior to the start of the olympics and it sounds jam-packed.

“we’ll need you in vegas for the 29th to check in before training camp,” he says and you notice jungkook sigh. “then, we only got a few days of practice before the exhibition showcase stretch and the last of prep - get you used to fiba rules and letting coach run through all the lineups and systems. the team is expected in paris on the 24th. any questions?”

jungkook stops cooking at some point to search for a pen and paper. you’ve already walked over from the living room and you slide his notebook over. his scatter brain never remembers anything unless writing it down. he gives a lopsided grin when you do so and mouths a ‘thank you’ while holding the phone in between his cheek and shoulder.

that’s his life for you. it’s like he’s a machine and he still somehow has time to pour into his personal relationships, like trying to figure out his love life and making time to see you, his best friend.

when jungkook hangs up, much of the earlier tension lingering from what you and he did last night has dissipated. he’s too visibly stressed out to even be thinking about that stuff and so, you also push it away.

“you’re leaving soon,” you say, sipping of the glass of orange juice that he poured for you earlier.

“i am,” jungkook replies, shoulders sagging. “not like i wasn’t expecting it - i signed up for the damn thing. it just feels like i’ve barely gotten any time off.”

the emergence of small talk is enough to let any of your nagging thoughts about last night vanish.

you nod in understanding. you know that he still needs to go home and visit his parents before training camp. a part of you wanted to come with, at least to see your own family, but you just have too much going on at the clinic with one of your coworkers away on vacation.

"bring me a nice souvenir back from france, okay?”

“what, like a chanel bag? their paris boutiques are the best.”

rolling your eyes, you reply, “i was thinking of something more like an eiffel tower figurine.” your tone is dry and unamused. the difference in wealth between you and jungkook has always taken a backseat to your friendship, but it’s moments like this when you remember. it’s not strange at this point in your life, but you still get taken aback by how casual jungkook can be about it. you don’t blame him, though, as you’re sure that he’s just used to spoiling his parents and his little girlfriends in the past.

he just chuckles a bit. “okay, okay, fine. wish you would be able to make a game, though.”

to this day, you really do try to make all of jungkook’s games. he’s gifted you season tickets at madison square garden and when you can, you travel for many of his playoff games. whenever his parents are able to make it to an important away game, it’s likely that you’re seated right next to them. you’ve confused broadcasters and have been called his relative a few times due to the frequency of your appearances, despite the fact that you and jungkook look absolutely nothing alike. going to paris, though? not only out of budget - you refuse his offers to fly you out to a totally different continent, which is much different than him getting you a hotel room out of state - but, again. work. it’s taken over your life.

“i’ll be cheering you on from my shoebox,” you say, shaking your head.

jungkook doesn’t know it now, but this is the last time he can catch you before he heads off to training camp. he promises to you that everything is fine and normal that morning, but nothing is fine and normal in his head after. the memories of the night you shared swarms his head, stuck there like a square peg in a round hole. the next month and a half are agonizing and it has nothing to do with his trip to the olympics.

he doesn’t understand why. he’s slept with women casually on countless of one night stand occasions in the past and forgets their names right after. he’s made promises with you since the beginning of your friendship that he’s never broken.

yet, jungkook can’t forget you and struggles to keep the promise he made to you. that everything will go back to normal afterwards.

you seem to fare well enough. you continue to call and text him throughout his stay in vegas and his journey to paris for the games, no matter how overworked you are with everything else going on in your life. you keep the promise well enough, at least in jungkook’s eyes.

when he finally comes to a realization, the texts and calls from you stop.

you go almost radio silent by the first week of august and jungkook nearly misses it because of the hectic schedule of the olympic games. jungkook’s mind is set on the tournament and pushes the conversation he wants to have with you to when he returns to new york. team usa fights through the quarterfinals and semifinals in the span of two days and the only contact he receives from you is a bland congratulation after each bout. no calls, no memes, no everyday small talk.

he only recognizes the drop in communication from you after team usa captures the gold medal. you send him another congratulations text and when he reads through your text thread, jungkook notices that you have said nothing else but that and immediately sees that something is wrong.

then, his fears kick in again. he just can’t lose you, too. jungkook pushes away the nagging realization to the bottom of his heart and tracks you down because you’re his best friend. nothing else.

JULY

it’s hard to avoid jungkook when you live in the same city, even if it’s as big and bustling as new york. you’ve never had to avoid jungkook in the past, so you grow nervous when the olympic games come to a close and athletes return back to their home countries. you don’t know how much longer you can dodge his increasing calls and texts, which start off casual. jungkook double, triple texts you on multiple occasions. he asks how you’ve been, if everything is alright, and repeatedly tries to make plans with you. there’s about a month or so until nba training camp starts and the titans need jungkook back in their facilities, so he’s trying his best to catch you before then.

still, you try your absolute best to ghost him - at least until you can figure your shit out.

once jungkook left in june, you did your best to maintain your usual friendship, even after what happened. it’s easy to not think too much about it when the man in question was missing for the majority of the summer and you figure that, by the time he comes back from paris, it’ll all just be a faint memory.

your plan goes swimmingly well, until you find yourself heaving in front of a toilet every morning come late july.

“are you. . .seeing anyone?”

around this time, your older sister, layla, comes to new york for a visit. she lives and works upstate, so she tries her best to see you as often as possible. it doesn’t take long for you to make a run for your bathroom after letting her in through your door.

it’s impossible to hide, especially in your little studio apartment - you’ve refused to even think about having another sloppy roommate since getting your job, so you settle for the tiny unit. you make her some coffee, as you go over your plans to grab food with her, until you feel a familiar queasiness in your stomach. it’s the fourth day in a row where you’ve vomited violently into your toilet, but you couldn’t cancel your sister date because of some stupid stomach bug.

“what?” you ask hazily, hunched over on your bathroom floor. you’ve been so fatigued lately and any sudden movements, like running to make it to the toilet, leave you feeling lightheaded.

she follows you into your bathroom, privacy be damned when you run off in the middle of a conversation and the sounds of your vomiting become too loud to ignore.

layla raises an eyebrow at you. “you heard me.”

it’s another hot summer day and the denim of your jean shorts dig into your waist, making you even more uncomfortable. you adjust your tank top over your stomach.

“no. i’m not,” you reply, still confused at the question, and change the topic. “can you please grab me some pepto bismol? it’s in my medicine cabinet -”

“pepto bismol?” layla interrupts with a laugh. “why would you need that?”

“for my stomach bug?” you say, feeling irritated at the way she’s laughing at you.

layla is older than you by eight years and has lived by the whole older-sister-knows-best mantra since you were babies. the age gap was a pain growing up because she never hesitated to boss you around, but as you’ve grown older, it’s evolved into more worldly advice and looking out for you. she’s the glamorous first born daughter, who’s put together and has worn the same shade of red lipstick since she was a teenager. you’ve always silently understood that she does, in fact, know best - at least until now.

she crouches down next to you, smoothing out your hair and tying it back with the extra scrunchie that she always keeps on her wrist. “babe, you do not have a stomach bug,” layla urges.

“what?”

“how long have you been throwing up in the morning?” she asks.

in that moment, you realize what layla is alluding to. it hits you like a truck, but you still try your best to stave it away with the best of your defenses.

you falter slightly. “a few days.”

layla helps you to your feet, hooking her arms under yours and bringing you up with brute force. she puts the toilet seat down for you to sit on, as she leans against your bathroom sink. the room feels cold, in spite of the blazing heat spreading throughout new york city. your fluorescent lights seem to sting your eyes all of a sudden.

“when was your last period?” the question comes hesitantly when she sees the expression tugging at your face, looking scared and unsure.

in the span of five seconds, you go through all the possibilities of anything but this one. you also quickly figure out that you’ve missed your period for this cycle. it’s an internal bargaining with yourself, convincing yourself that it could be anything but this. you have to be sick. it’s what you’ve been telling yourself for days - have you known for that long? the idea never even crossed your mind because it was so preposterous.

layla can see it in your eyes and a thin smile spreads on her lips, the kind that is knowing and pitying.

you finally speak. “layla, there’s no way. absolutely none.” your voice is slightly shaky and you want to believe that it’s from vomiting your breakfast into the toilet a few minutes ago.

“do you want to go pick up a test?” she asks, so gently.

there aren’t anymore questions that follow, at least in the next little while when you and your sister go to the pharmacy across the street for a pregnancy test. the trip is almost silent because you don’t know what to say. layla isn’t expecting some sort of loaded explanation, but you debate on telling her about what happened in june with jungkook. you don’t, not until you’re sure.

it’s a cruel thing - you’ve spent all month trying to forget about that night because it was supposed to just be one time and that’s it. you’ve pushed it away with every text and call to jungkook in paris, who’s at the tail end of the games and needs focus now more than ever.

the heat of new york city sinks into your skin with each footstep outside and a certain daze floats in your head, dizzying you with fear and disbelief.

you take a test and you take another. three, even, just to be sure. layla doesn’t need to be there at all, but you ask her to sit on the floor instead of wait outside the door. you force yourself to not even think about jungkook during the process, completely in denial.

so, you pee in a cup, while your sister tries to distract you with hometown gossip. she tells you about the neighbours getting divorced and about the girl in your graduating year that had a baby before high school ended. you try your best to listen and give your two cents, but at some point, the waiting has to come to a stop.

six lines in total. two of them for each test.

“are you sure that’s two lines?”

you stare back at each test, hoping that at least one of them says otherwise, just enough to fuel the certainty in your mind that screams that this isn’t really happening.

layla grimaces and looks over your shoulder. she places a hand there, calmly. you try to ground yourself in it, but the tears have already started to fall.

she shakes her head. “you’re pregnant,” she says, getting straight to the point. there’s no use in beating around the bush, especially when the evidence is crystal clear in front of you both.

all your life, you weren’t sure what your future would look like when it came to family and love. your parents divorced when you were so young that you didn’t know what a healthy marriage would look like. you’ve dated casually, but it’s never gotten far and you only have yourself to blame. you’ve only ever wanted to be successful in your career and make money. you never wanted to get married and thinking about kids wasn’t even on the table, especially when the topic never even came up with your exes.

now, you’re pregnant.

you’re also still crying, burying your face into your hands as you sit on the toilet. it crashes upon you when layla utters those words because it’s suddenly become reality. you don’t even know what you’re crying over, whether it’s the dumb decision you made to sleep with your best friend or the embarrassing scene you’re making in front of your sister.

you cry everyday until your doctor’s appointment. like everything else in your life, you’re on top of it. you schedule it the same day that layla comes to visit and you take the tests. you needed answers as soon as possible, while all these thoughts float over your head.

how do i tell him? do i tell him? do i keep the baby?

as this happens, you watch jungkook on your laptop, streaming his games every single time. you text him each congratulations, short and almost empty. you don’t say anything else because you can’t bring yourself to lie to him in any capacity, so you create distance. that’s the easiest thing to do in your mind and always has been. when trouble comes, you run. you could only hope that jungkook doesn’t notice, even though you know damn well that he knows this about you better than anyone.

when layla comes back to the city on the date of your appointment to accompany you, it’s obvious to her that you’ve come to a decision.

she sits across from you at the coffee shop next to the doctor’s office. the two of you walked here in silence after your appointment, where the doctor explained how far along you are and the options that you have. it’s now the beginning of august and jungkook has won his first ever gold medal, expected to come back to new york sometime in the next few days.

"i think i want to keep the baby,” you finally utter, hands in your lap and your eyes fixed on your latte. you can’t say it to layla with a straight face, so you look away.

it’s a strange, sudden attachment you feel to the life growing inside of you. the indecision over your pregnancy has bent and willed you to tossing and turning every single night until your appointment, when you finally felt this unknown calm. you looked at the ultrasound and saw the indication of this baby and it melted every wall you shot up since taking the pregnancy tests.

layla doesn’t hesitate. “i know,” she whispers. “i saw the look on your face earlier.”

unlike the past few days, you don’t cry. you’ve wondered if you’ve been crying from confusion or anxiety, but the answer is clear today. the tears are indeed from the fear of the unknown, until you finally came to an answer.

“this wasn’t part of the plan,” you say with a shaky voice.

the plan.

you’ve always been the kind of person who has always known what she wants and you’ve been willing to do whatever it takes to get there. you made it to your dream school after trials and tribulations, got a job, and the next step was supposed to be opening your own private clinic. you don’t do well with uncertainties - as if anyone does, especially with a surprise like this - but it’s different for you. you can barely operate when you don’t know something.

yet, you don’t know at all what’s supposed to come next after this. for some reason, this uncertainty doesn’t thud in your chest or stutter your brain. even though you could easily not go through with the pregnancy, it’s like the option was never even there. the feelings you hold for this unborn child are finite and you can’t even begin to think otherwise.

layla places a hand over yours. “and that’s okay,” she says.

you can tell that she wants to ask so bad. she’s avoided questioning you about the paternity of your child since finding out about your pregnancy, waiting for you to come at your own pace. you’re not the type to randomly sleep around and she figures that there’s a story to be told, when you’re ready.

it’s now or never.

you lean back in your seat, contemplating and tangling the words from your mouth. once you tell layla, it doesn’t just become real, but it effectively breaks the promise you and jungkook made on that june night. everything was supposed to go back to normal after that night, after the one time that you two cross a line. it nearly breaks your heart because this has never happened before.

today marks the first time that you’ve ever abandoned a promise between you and your best friend.

it shatters so loudly in your ears and it’s like everything plays back before you in a film reel. in that moment, you recall the moment that you and jungkook became lab partners in high school. he was so shy and awkward back then, having yet grown into his charms and frame. you became quick friends after bonding over rock bands and video games. you remember him leading the varsity team to a national championship and then again, when he went to duke. over the years, you recall every time he’s defended you and stood up for you for various reasons - like when people question the sincerity of your friendship. it’s happened a lot with girls who wanted to get close with him or people who wanted to be friends with jungkook because of his fame.

you think of other promises, the ones that live in the a.m. and whispered conversations in the dark. he’s promised to never leave your side. you’ve promised to never change, no matter what. the loyalty etched between the two of you runs deep and until now, you were certain that there’s nothing in the world that could shake it off.

when you avoid jungkook for the first week of his arrival back to new york, it’s because you realize that you’re not only breaking that promise from june, but so many more from the years past. you can’t bear to face him afterwards, even though you know you have to talk to him at some point about this.

you’ve ran away from a lot in your life. you’ve ran away from relationships that scared you because of the commitment it involved. you’ve ran from your hometown, where all your trauma and hurt lives in your childhood home, where the walls are stained from the arguments of your parents. you’ve even ran from yourself over the years, throwing yourself into your work because you can’t stand to face your flaws and anxieties about anything outside of it. you tried running from jungkook that morning in june.

this time, you need to stop running. you have no choice.

AUGUST

jungkook notices quickly that you’ve created distance between the two of you. it’s not the kind where you need a few days of space, but he can instantly tell that it’s different this time. he isn’t the type to do so, but he blows up your phone by day three of your avoidance from him. he expected to hang out with you as soon as he landed from his trip to paris, but you didn’t even call once.

he shows up at the clinic where you work and when he does, you’re not even surprised. you’ve been drowning in your agony over the situation, while still coming to terms of the new life that you’re about to enter. this isn’t a light decision that you’ve made, but you still make it and you need to accept it. so, it’s almost as if you’re waiting for jungkook to come to you because everything else is just so damn loud and you can’t do it alone.

a baseball cap covers his eyes, the usual accesstory that jungkook leans towards when he doesn’t want to be recognized in public. he dons a black graphic t-shirt that exposes his tattooed sleeves and baggy denim that falls just underneath his knees. his signature shoe line is what you notice first, the sneakers a bright orange on his feet.

jungkook calls your name from where he sits in the waiting room of your clinic.

you’re still in your scrubs, as you walk out with your bag. the only other people still around at this hour are one of the massage therapists and the receptionist. the latter eyes you, having informed you a few minutes beforehand that jungkook is here, waiting for you.

“hi,” you breathe heavily. even though you were warned that he’s here, the actual sight of him is like you’re being thrown in a loop - disoriented and shocked.

“sorry to show up suddenly,” he says, standing up warily. he’s still not sure why you’ve been avoiding him and you can tell from the softness in his eyes that he’s hurt. your heart aches at that. “i texted you that i’d be coming, but i don’t know if you saw . . .”

you’ve been leaving all of his messages on delivered since he won his gold medal. this is in spite of the fact that you’ve read every single text. everything ranging from updates on his travel to him trying to make plans and finally, jungkook questioning if you’re alright and if something is going on.

it was easy to ignore it all, until he’s standing in front of you like a puppy with wide eyes and slumped shoulders.

you lie by shaking your head, but you gesture for him to follow you outside, so that the others can lock up the clinic. “how are you?” you say, trying to fill this silence.

he doesn’t answer until the two of you are in the underground parking lot of the building. you take the subway to work, but you already know that jungkook has driven here and you wordlessly walk over to where his bmw m8 is parked.

the two of you stop and jungkook leans against the side of his car, eyes fixed on you.

“what’s going on?”

you look at your feet, suddenly at a lost for words. you’ve practiced this in your head so many times, the way this conversation would go. it’s what comes after the conversation that you’re afraid of. you know exactly how jungkook would react. at least you think you do. he would offer child support and your friendship would never be the same because a promise - several of your promises, actually - has been broken. he would be present, but things will change forever.

the answer you give is not the one that jungkook wants. “can we go for a drive?” you answer his question with a question of your own, still not ready to let it all out.

an hour or so later, you and jungkook sit on the hood of his car on the old storm king highway, just outside of new york city. it’s a beautiful three mile segment of a winding, curvy road that’s always been your escape from the craziness of your lives within the city limits. the views of the hudson river at this pullout are breathtaking and for just a moment, you forget about everything.

jungkook fiddles with his hands and doesn’t look at you. he thinks that he’s done something wrong, you can tell, and it spreads a dull ache across your chest. you’ve upset him. it takes everything in you to not wrap your arms around him.

instead, you place a hand over his and he stops fidgeting. he finally looks up at you, eyes still sad.

“i’m sorry for avoiding you,” you finally whisper, trying your best to not cry.

jungkook notices and his expression morphs from despondence to concern. “what?” he murmurs back. then, his fears finally fall out. “if it’s because of what we did, why did you keep acting like everything was fine in july?”

you shook your head rapidly. “it’s not because of that,” you say, even though it’s a half truth. you did want to keep trekking on after the night that the two of you slept together, but then this whole mess happened.

a wash of relief visibly moves over jungkook and he’s comfortable enough to scoot over closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“please, just tell me what’s going on,” he pleads and this time, you reach your limit of running away.

instead of verbally answering - because you’re scared of choking on your words and becoming a crying mess - you reach into your purse and hand him the ultrasound scan from your appointment. a picture tells a thousand words and you can’t imagine what words go through jungkook’s mind when he takes it and everything finally clicks into place.

he stills. he goes silent. he doesn’t react at first at all and this frightens you. you almost want to snatch the scan back and laugh about a good-natured prank. but, the two of you are grown up now. you’re adults with real world problems and decisions to make, long past the days when you were teenagers with nothing to lose.

this is the first moment in your life when such a reality hits you - that nobody is here to hold your hand or tell you that everything will be okay. not even jungkook.

after what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“because i promised you.”

you don’t specify what promise you’re referring to because at this point, you’ve broken so many. the promise back in june, the promise to never lie to one another, all of it. you can’t look at him, so you look out to the river below. a part of you wishes to live in that water, where the stream gently rocks in waves endlessly and nothing truly matters.

jungkook turns to you and reaches out to gently turn your chin towards him. his touch is soft, you let a tear trail down your cheek and it stings so bad. you brace yourself for the worst, but it never comes.

“you want to have this baby, don’t you?” he whispers and it takes you aback.

you thought that jungkook knew you so well that he’d be surprised that you’re willing to go through with the pregnancy. he’s supposed to assume that you don’t want the baby and is supposed to be angry with you for wanting otherwise. you’re the career woman with no time for anyone or anything. yet, he shocks you by immediately reading you and realizing that you, in fact, want this child.

your lips part and you need a second to find your words, even though your answer is crystal clear.

“y-yeah. i do,” you admit, still searching for any sign of anger in jungkook’s expression.

instead, he nods and you see the tears welling up in his own eyes. he leans in and kisses you right in between your eyebrows, lips so careful and light.

“i’m with you. every step of the way.”

there isn’t a universe where jungkook doesn’t say this, not with the way he cares so deeply about you, but hearing the words aloud finally tears down your inhibitions, freeing them to the wind swirling around the two of you. the lookout seems so much warmer now and everything in the world is muted to the sounds of jungkook’s assurances. he means the words, too. he cups your face and makes sure that you know that he means it, with the way he looks at you.

you whisper, “i don’t mean to drag you into this -”

“- drag me?” jungkook laughs a little, shaking his head like he can’t believe his words. “it’s not like this was a one woman job,” he says wryly.

“this is a huge thing, koo,” you reply, shoulders sagging. “our lives will change forever after this.”

his next move surprises you.

jungkook suddenly hops off the hood of the car. you’re about to ask him where he’s going when he also tugs you off the hood, only to drop down to the ground. on one knee. in front of you.

you nearly jerk back in shock, eyes wide at the sight. before you can say anything, jungkook grabs your hand and interrupts you with your name - breathy and sharp at the same time.

“marry me. please.”

the world stops spinning on its axis when jungkook says these words without hesitation. the summer air smells like greenery and a mixture of salt and fresh water from the hudson river below, but you can only smell the fear underneath your skin. you hear cars passing by, but it somehow feels so far away. it’s like a bubble has formed, trapping you and jungkook in a imaginary place where only you and he exist and nothing else matters.

the bubble pops fast. this is jeon jungkook, your best friend since you were sixteen, on one knee in front of you and asking you to marry him. the ultrasound scan is still tucked underneath his arm. and you? you’re unsure of what’s even real.

“what?” you say, jaw hung wide open. if he wasn’t there, in front of you on the ground, you would have sworn you heard his question wrong.

jungkook doesn’t falter. “i want you to marry me.”

all your life, you’ve been making promises to jungkook. somehow, in the span of less than two months, it feels like you’ve failed to uphold every single one. even looking into his big, brown eyes that hold nothing but hope and courage, you don’t know if you even have the guts to make a new one.