#justarkive

The diner is buzzing today, but you barely hear it.

The hum of conversation, the clatter of plates, the distant sizzle of something frying in the kitchen—it’s all just background noise to the thoughts spinning in your head.

Jungkook rushed out of Nari’s apartment hours ago, muttering something about a last-minute meeting, and you haven’t heard from him since. Not that it’s weird—he’s insanely busy these days, and you’re trying really hard not to let that little fact ruin your mood.

But there’s only three days left.

Three.

When Jungkook told you he had a week left, you didn’t think he meant he was leaving on Friday.

Friday.

And it’s already Tuesday.

And it’s like time is slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold onto it.

You push through your shift, doing your best to keep up with Nari’s usual antics—she’s thriving off your distracted state, making fun of you for staring into space one too many times—but it’s all so much.

Before you know it, the shift is over.

Nari drops you home, pulling up outside your apartment with a tired sigh. “You okay?” she asks, even though she knows the answer.

You nod. “Yeah.”

She squints at you. “Liar.”

You sniff, and she groans, already regretting asking. “Go call your stupid boyfriend.” She teases.

“He’s not my—”

“Shut up, yes, he is.”

You roll your eyes, shoving her playfully before stepping out of the car. And the second you’re inside, you call Jungkook.

It only rings twice before he picks up. “Hey, baby.”

The sound of his voice makes your heart ache. “I miss you.”

A pause. Then a quiet sigh. “I know. I miss you, too.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying so hard to keep your voice steady. “I can’t believe it’s so soon.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t be sorry,” you say quickly. “It’s just… I don’t know. Are you free right now?”

There’s a pause. “Right now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“Shit, baby, I wish—” He sighs again. “I have to be up early tomorrow. I’m seeing my family all day, so I don’t think—”

“You’re not gonna see me tomorrow?”

Jungkook hesitates. “I can drop by in the morning—”

And then— You wail.

Like, full-on dramatic sobbing.

“Noooooo,” you cry, clutching your pillow for emotional support. “Please, don’t gooo, please, Jungkook, I can’t do this—”

“What the fuck—” Jungkook panics. “Baby, stop—”

“Jungkook, I’m gonna diiiieeee,” you wail louder, rolling onto your back. “I can’t live without you for one night, pleaseee—”

“Oh, my fucking—”

“Jungkooooooook—”

“Fine!” he finally yells, defeated. “ Fine, fine, I’ll come, but only for a few hours, stop crying baby I-!”

You immediately stop sniffling. “Really?”

Jungkook squints at his phone. Suspicious.

“Yes, really, but I swear to god, if I show up and you’re asleep, I’ll kill you.”

You beam, wiping your totally fake tears. “Okay, hurry up.”

But then—guilt.

“Oh my god, wait, you don’t have to,” you say quickly. “I’m sorry, you’re probably exhausted, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s fine,” Jungkook interrupts. “Really. I wanna see you anyway. But seriously. Only a few hours, okay?”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

You don’t.

But he doesn’t have to know that.

Just like you predicted, when Jungkook finally shows up, he looks exhausted.

His eyes are heavy, his shoulders slouched, and the second he steps inside, he lets out a long breath like he’s been waiting all day to finally be here.

And suddenly, you feel so guilty. “I’m sorry,” you say immediately, suddenly feeling small as you stand there in your hoodie. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, stop,” Jungkook interrupts, shaking his head as he pulls you in. His arms wrap tight around you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. “I love you, okay? We don’t have much time left, so I’m making the most of it.”

You soften. “Okay.”

“Let’s forget about it for now,” he murmurs against your skin before pulling back. “I’m only staying till twelve, so, three hours.”

You pout, already feeling the time slipping away. “That’s not enough.”

Jungkook sighs, brushing his fingers down your cheek. “I’ll stop by in the morning if you really want me to.”

Your eyes widen. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

You hold out your pinky, and Jungkook huffs a laugh before linking his with yours, pressing a kiss to the side of your hand for good measure.

And with that, you both settle into your bedroom, climbing onto your bed like it’s just another normal night. You talk about everything and nothing at the same time, just enjoying each other’s presence, fingers tangled together on the sheets.

At some point, you get curious. “So, what do you think you’ll get up to in the military?”

Jungkook hums, shifting onto his side to look at you. “I don’t know. I’m definitely not excited, but I guess it’ll be nice to have a break.”

You nod, listening intently as he sighs. “Unfortunately, I can’t be in one of the fancier units, though.”

“Why?”

“Visible tattoos,” he shrugs. “You can’t enlist in certain sectors if you have them. I’ll probably end up in something boring.”

Your brows furrow. “Wait—does that mean you’ll still be working out?”

Jungkook gives you a look. “Why do you sound excited?”

You sit up slightly. “Does this mean you’ll get bigger?”

He squints. “Maybe. Yes. I don’t know—do you want me to?”

Your entire face lights up. “Yes, oh my god, yes—” You bounce on the bed, grinning. “Please!”

Jungkook laughs, grabbing your wrists to stop you from shaking the bed. “I’m already big!”

“But imagine— bigger!”

Jungkook groans, flopping onto his back dramatically. “Why do I feel like you’re gonna make me send you muscle updates when I’m there?”

“Oh, I am,” you confirm, grinning. “Get ready for me to demand flexing videos every week.”

He rolls over, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down until you’re nose to nose. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters.

You grin.

A few minutes later, you’re perched on Jungkook’s lap, lips fused to his, hands in his hair, completely lost in him. It’s like you can’t help it—like there’s this unspoken rule now that you have to touch him, kiss him, hold onto him as much as possible while you still can.

Jungkook clearly has the same thought, because the second you try pulling back, he’s tugging you right back in, hands firm on your hips.

But you just giggle, pushing at his chest. “No, wait. I have an idea.”

Jungkook groans dramatically, head falling back against the headboard. “Baby, c’mon—”

You ignore him, scrambling for your nightstand until your fingers close around a tube of lipstick.

Jungkook eyes you warily. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, you pop the cap off and swipe the color across your lips. Then, before he can react, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. Then another. And another.

“Y/N—!” He squirms, laughing as you attack his face, leaving imprints of your lips across his skin. “Stop, that tickles!”

“No,” you say simply, completely unbothered. “You’re cute.”

“Stop calling me cute.”

“You are cute.”

Jungkook groans in defeat, letting you assault his face with kisses while his hands absentmindedly squeeze at your waist.

You grab your Polaroid camera and snap a picture before he can react.

“Hey—!”

Too late. You’re already shaking it, grinning down at the image of his completely kiss-covered face. “Oh, this is going on the wall.”

Jungkook watches as you add it right next to the first-ever picture you took of him—the one where he was buried under your plushies.

The little collection is growing.

You turn back to him. “Okay, take your shirt off.”

Jungkook perks up. “Oh?” He doesn’t hesitate, tugging it over his head in one smooth motion.

You beam. “Good.” Then, you lean down and repeat the process—pressing kisses along his collarbones, his chest, each of his abs—until he’s laughing, trying to twist away from the ticklish sensation.

“Baby—stop, I can’t—”

“Nope.” You snap another picture of him, now covered in even more lipstick stains. “I win.”

Jungkook watches as you struggle to find more space on the wall, eventually just sticking them in random spots. One even goes into your phone case.

“You’re insane,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“You love it.”

He hums, and then, suddenly, “My turn.”

You blink. “What? No—”

Too late. He grabs the lipstick from your hand, rolling you onto your back in one swift motion. “Stay still,” he murmurs, straddling your waist.

“Jungkook—”

“Shhh,” he hushes you, uncapping the lipstick. His touch is slow, careful as he smears the color across his lips. His fingers linger against your jaw, his eyes heavy-lidded as he takes you in.

You’re blushing, gripping at his arm for support.

Compared to how frantic you were before, Jungkook is slow.

Painfully, teasingly slow.

And when he finally leans down, he starts his attack—pressing deliberate kisses all over your cheeks, your jaw, your collarbone, your neck—taking his sweet time.

You squirm, flustered, but he just smirks. “What? You don’t like it when it’s you?”

You grab a pillow and whack him with it.

Jungkook cackles, reaching for your camera. “How do I use this thing?”

You scoff. “Oh, so you’re not a camera expert anymore?”

“I don’t know how to use your kiddie camera.”

You gasp, offended. “It’s not a kiddie camera! It’s a Polaroid, for your information.”

Jungkook grins. “I know how to use it—I just wanted you to teach me.”

You roll your eyes, guiding his hands over the camera. “Like this.”

Jungkook snaps a bunch of pictures of you, grinning at the results. But instead of giving them to you, he tucks a few into his pocket.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m keeping them.”

You pause, realizing. “Will you look at them when you’re gone?”

He shrugs, smiling softly. “Maybe.”

The mood shifts. You’re both curled up in bed now, Jungkook holding you close, rubbing small circles on your back. You feel him shift, checking the time.

“Babe, I have to leave soon.”

You tense. “I know.”

And then it hits you again.

An hour left until he has to go.

Three days left until he’s gone for real.

Jungkook knows you’re thinking about it—he sees it in your face. So he tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I promise I’ll come by tomorrow.”

You nod. “I know.”

“I’ll text you. I’ll update you about everything.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur. “I know you’ll miss your family, too.”

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah. I will.”

And then you realize—it’s not just you he’s leaving.

It’s his family. His members. His fans.

It’s everyone.

And suddenly, you feel selfish.

Jungkook notices the shift in you immediately, his hand finding your cheek. “Hey. You’re okay. I promise.”

You don’t answer. But you do let yourself relax into him, nuzzling into his chest, letting his heartbeat soothe you. Eventually, you drift off—still covered in his kisses.

Jungkook waits until you’re fully asleep before gently rummaging through your nightstand, looking for wipes. He knows what it’s like to fall asleep with makeup on—it always makes him feel gross in the morning—so he carefully cleans the lipstick off your skin, making sure to be gentle as you unconsciously nuzzle into his touch.

When he’s done, he presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another. And another.

He doesn’t want to leave.

Not now. Not in three days.

He debates staying, but then you stir, your brows furrowing slightly, and he knows he can’t.

So instead, he whispers, “I love you so much.”

And even in your sleep, you mewl at the sound of it, your body immediately relaxing, like it’s enough for now.

Jungkook stands there for a moment, just watching you, before finally slipping out of bed.

He takes in the sight of your room—the little details, the chaos, the way it perfectly reflects you—and he finds himself smiling.

His eyes land on your Polaroid wall, at all the little moments captured there.

He debates taking down one of the pictures you took of him earlier, thinking he doesn’t look great in it, but in the end, he leaves it. And just before he leaves, he snaps one last picture of you—fast asleep, peaceful, his favorite sight in the world.

——

Jungkook drives home in silence.

The whole way there, his heart feels full—so much so that it’s almost enough to distract him from what’s coming. Almost.

But then, the second he steps into his apartment, the feeling changes. He goes through the motions—taking off his shoes, tossing his bag onto the couch, getting ready for bed—but it all feels too normal. Like it’s just another night. Like tomorrow won’t be another countdown to leaving.

And the second he touches his bed, it hits him all at once. The sob breaks out of him before he can even stop it. He curls in on himself, gripping his sheets, his chest aching in a way he can’t even describe.

He doesn’t want to go.

He doesn’t want to go.

And before he can even think about it, his fingers are already dialing your number.

It rings once.

Twice.

Three times. No answer.

You’re asleep.

He knows he shouldn’t wake you up, so he stops himself from calling again—but the loneliness is too much, the silence in his apartment is too loud, and before he knows it, he’s calling again.

But not you this time.

Namjoon answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

Jungkook chokes on a sob. “Hyung—”

“Jungkook? What’s wrong?”

And then it all comes out.

“I don’t want to go,” Jungkook cries, his chest heaving as he grips the phone like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His voice is raw, cracking under the weight of everything. “I don’t—I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to leave her—”

Namjoon sighs on the other end, the kind of sigh that carries years of understanding. The kind that says, I know this hurts.

“I know,” he says softly.

“I can’t do it,” Jungkook gasps, shaking his head even though Namjoon can’t see him. “I can’t—I can’t wake up tomorrow and pretend everything’s fine. It’s not fine. I just—” His voice breaks, and the silence that follows is filled with his quiet, shaking breaths.

“You have to,” Namjoon says after a beat, gentle but firm. “You knew this day would come. It’s not forever, Jungkook.”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. “It feels like forever.”

Namjoon hums, thoughtful. “She took you back, right?”

Jungkook nods through his tears, even though Namjoon isn’t there to see it. “Yeah.”

“Then she’ll wait for you.”

Jungkook’s throat tightens. He wants to believe that—he really does. But the fear is suffocating.

“What if she doesn’t?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “What if she moves on? What if—” His voice cracks again, and he bites his lip hard to keep it together. “I love her. I told her, properly this time. At the beach. And she—she looked at me like I was her whole world.”

Namjoon is quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “Then trust her, Jungkook.”

Jungkook sniffles. “But what if—”

Namjoon cuts him off, echoing his words from when he’d given him advice a long time ago, “Then that’s a risk you have to take.”

Jungkook hates that answer. Because it’s not the reassurance he wants. It’s not a guarantee. But he knows Namjoon is right.

His fingers loosen around his phone, exhausted, defeated. “I watched her fall asleep earlier,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “She was just… there. So warm. So peaceful. Like she knew she was safe with me.”

Namjoon hums again, quieter this time. “And you’ll have that again. Maybe not soon. Maybe not next month. But you will.”

Jungkook swallows down another sob. “I don’t want to do this without her.”

“You’re not doing this without her,” Namjoon corrects him. “She’s still with you. And if she’s the one, she’ll still be there when you come back.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply. He just breathes, listening to Namjoon’s steady presence on the other end. It’s quiet, the only sound their breathing, and somehow, that makes it easier.

Eventually, exhaustion wins.

Jungkook drifts off, his phone still in his hand, with Namjoon still on the line

——

When Jungkook wakes up, it’s to his alarm blaring at 5 AM.

His head is heavy, his throat is dry from crying, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it—he has to meet his family soon.

Without thinking, he reaches for his phone. His fingers type out a message before he can overthink it.

Jungkook [5:07 AM]: hi baby, im coming in like an hour. do you want anything?

No response. You’re probably still asleep.

He sighs, pushing himself out of bed, rubbing at his tired eyes. Then, he hops in the shower, letting the water wash away everything from the night before. There’s still some remnants on lipstick on his chest and his abdomen and he scrubs away even if it physically hurts him to.

When he steps out, he doesn’t check his phone right away. Because if you haven’t responded yet, he’s not sure if he can handle that feeling right now. Jungkook gets in his car, barely even processing the motion of turning the keys in the ignition. His mind is elsewhere.

Two days.

Two days is nothing.

Today and tomorrow.

He exhales sharply through his nose, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight as he pulls out onto the road. He knows today is supposed to be for his family. He’s not mad about it—he misses them, and he wants to see them before he goes.

But at the same time…

He’d rather be with you.

He shakes the thought away, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he focuses on driving. Not like it matters. He still has this morning, at least.

His stomach grumbles, but instead of stopping somewhere for himself, he takes a sharp turn, heading towards a tiny, shitty food truck that he knows has just opened for the morning. The kind of place that only locals know about, nothing fancy, nothing overhyped—just good, simple food.

You’d love it.

So he pulls up without hesitation, quickly placing an order for pancakes and waiting impatiently, checking the time on his phone every other second.

5:30 AM.

He still has time. It’s not enough, but it’ll have to be. His fingers tap against his thigh as he debates his next move.

The field.

His chest clenches at the thought.

Fuck it. By the time he gets his order, he’s already made up his mind. The drive to the field is second nature at this point, muscle memory guiding him as he turns onto the small, secluded road leading there.

When he finally parks, he steps out, stretching his arms with a sigh as the cool morning air washes over him. The sun isn’t fully up yet, but there’s a soft golden glow in the distance, and for a moment, Jungkook just stands there, taking it in.

He wonders if you’re awake yet.

He wonders if you’d be mad if you knew he was here without you.

But he doesn’t dwell on it for long—he steps forward, wandering into the field, eyes scanning for the small patches of daisies that always seem to grow in the same spots.

It takes a few minutes, but he finds them, crouching down and picking a few with careful hands, letting the scent of the fresh petals fill his nose.

And then, without wasting another second, he’s back in his car, pancakes in one hand, flowers in the other, driving straight to your apartment.

Jungkook knocks, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he glances down at the bag of pancakes in his hand and the small bunch of daisies in the other.

It’s almost six now.

It takes a bit longer than usual for you to answer, and he figures you’re probably still asleep. He doesn’t mind waiting.

And then, finally—

The door creaks open, and—

Oh.

His heart clenches so hard it almost fucking hurts.

You’re standing there, still groggy with sleep, wearing a t-shirt that barely covers the tops of your thighs, your hair messy from sleep, one eye squinted shut as you rub at it lazily. You let out a soft yawn, blinking at him like you’re still processing the fact that he’s even here.

And then—

Your eyes widen, fully waking up as you beam at him, and before he can even get a word out, you reach forward, tugging him inside by the sleeve of his hoodie and wrapping your arms around him.

Jungkook barely has time to react before he’s melting into you, inhaling the faint traces of your shampoo as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

You’re so warm.

And it sucks.

It fucking sucks that he only has two days left with you.

But for now—for you, and for himself—he pretends that he’s not leaving at all.

Jungkook expects you to pull him into the kitchen like always, maybe tease him for being up so early, maybe sit across from him at the counter as you both eat.

Instead—

You take the bag from his hands, peeking inside curiously. “What’s this?”

He raises a brow. “Pancakes. And flowers. Duh.”

You smile, stepping closer to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, baby.”

His heart stutters.

But before he can say anything, you drop the bag on the counter and—

Take his hand.

And pull him toward your bedroom.

Jungkook blinks. Wait.

He’s confused for a second, expecting you to sit him down or do something—but you just stand there, looking a little sheepish, rubbing at your arm before mumbling—

“Can you just… hold me?”

His chest tightens.

For a second, all he can do is stare. And then, he tugs you in gently, leading you back to the bed without another word. You follow without hesitation, crawling under the sheets as he settles in beside you.

You snuggle into his side immediately, arms wrapped around his waist, face tucked into his chest, your breath warm against his skin. Jungkook exhales deeply, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his arms winding securely around you.

Two days.

He pretends it’s forever.

The room is quiet.

Neither of you really sleep. You just lay there, wrapped up in each other, lost in silence. Jungkook keeps his eyes on the ceiling, willing himself not to cry. He counts his breaths, focuses on the steady rhythm of your fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against his ribs. Every touch feels like a memory being burned into his skin.

He swallows.

Two days. And then, he feels it.

The slight tremble of your body against his. The way your breath starts to hitch. Jungkook’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head to look at you.

And that’s when he sees—

The tears slipping down your cheeks, soaking into his shirt.

His stomach drops.

“Baby…,” he whispers, heart clenching as he cups your cheek, trying to tilt your face toward his. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer. You just break.

“Please don’t go,” you sob, gripping his shirt in your fists like it’s the only thing keeping you together. “Jungkook, please, don’t—please—”

His chest caves in.

“Baby,” he whispers, his own voice shaking now, his throat burning as he tries to hold it together.

But he can’t. Not when you’re begging like this.

Not when he has no choice but to leave.

He tightens his grip around you, presses his face into your hair, kisses your temple between ragged breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Because what else is there to say?

You keep crying.

Jungkook just holds you tighter, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, neither of you will have to let go.

Jungkook exhales shakily, his forehead pressed against yours, his own tears mixing with yours. Your breath is uneven, your body trembling against his, and he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to make this better.

So he kisses you.

Soft, at first. A silent plea, a desperate apology. His lips catch your cries, drinking them in like they’re the last thing he’ll ever have of you. He feels the way your hands fist into his shirt tighter, pulling him closer like you want to crawl into him, like you never want there to be space between you again.

And then you kiss him back.

It’s messy, wet from tears, but you don’t care. Your lips move against his with urgency, with something bordering on desperation, and Jungkook groans softly when you press closer, shifting in his lap, making it impossible for him to think of anything but you.

You break away for a moment, but he doesn’t let you go far. He chases after you, lips brushing yours as he breathes out, “Y/N—”

And then you’re kissing him again.

Harder, needier.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepens the kiss, one hand slipping under your shirt to press against the warm skin of your waist. His thumb traces over your hip bone, slow, teasing, grounding himself in the feel of you.

Because this—

This is what he wants to remember.

The way you taste, the way you sound when he swallows down another whimper, the way you need him like he needs you.

And when you shift again, rolling your hips against his, your hands slipping beneath his hoodie—

Jungkook loses himself completely.

Your hands tremble as they push his hoodie up, fingertips trailing over the warmth of his skin. You’re not just touching him—you’re memorizing him, pressing your palms flat against his stomach like you can carve the shape of him into your skin, like you can hold onto him in a way time won’t steal from you.

Jungkook shudders beneath your touch, a sharp breath stuttering against your lips. “Baby,” he whispers, voice wrecked, pleading, but he doesn’t know what for. For you to slow down? To never stop? To let him drown in you until he forgets he ever has to leave?

He doesn’t know.

But then you’re kissing him again—slower this time, softer. Like you’re trying to soothe the ache neither of you can put into words. Your lips are swollen, warm, and Jungkook melts into you when your fingers slide into his hair, pulling, tugging, grounding him.

His hands roam too—sweeping over your back, gripping at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. He feels the way your body moves with his, how perfectly you fit against him, and it makes something inside him snap.

“Please,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. “Jungkook, please.”

And he knows what you’re asking for.

His hands shake as he peels your shirt off, as he presses reverent kisses down your throat, over your collarbones, his lips mapping out every inch of skin he can reach. His name leaves your lips in a breathless sigh when he takes one of your breasts into his mouth, his tongue slow and worshipful, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to hold himself together.

But it’s useless.

Because you’re moving against him, rolling your hips in time with the soft sucks of his mouth, and his resolve is crumbling.

You tilt his face up, guiding him back to your lips, and when your thighs tighten around him, he knows he’s lost.

Your fingers tremble as they trace the shape of his face, committing every dip and curve to memory. The slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the sharp cut of his jawline. You look at him like you’ll never get to again, and the thought alone makes fresh tears sting your eyes.

Jungkook notices. Of course he does.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice thick, strained. He lifts a hand to wipe at your tears, but before he can, you’re leaning in—pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He stills beneath you.

He’s always the one giving you forehead kisses, tucking you close, making you feel safe, adored. They’re your favorite—always have been. But now, it’s you pressing one to his skin, letting your lips linger against the warmth of him, as if you can pour all your love into this one kiss.

Jungkook exhales sharply. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, like he’s trying to hold back something thick and uncontainable. But you don’t let him—don’t let him retreat into that quiet sadness.

Instead, you kiss him again. And again.

Soft, lingering presses of your lips along his temples, down to the curve of his cheekbone. Then his nose. His jaw.

“I love you,” you whisper between each kiss, voice trembling but sure. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Jungkook shatters.

His hands tighten on your waist, like he wants to pull you in, fuse you to him, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. Just lets you continue, lets you map out every inch of his body with your mouth.

You kiss down his throat, feeling the way it vibrates as he exhales shakily, his pulse hammering against your lips. You don’t stop. Your fingers slide beneath the hem of his hoodie, peeling it away from his skin. The fabric lifts easily, exposing the smooth planes of his chest, and you waste no time pressing your mouth to the skin there, too.

His collarbones, his shoulders, the firm stretch of his arms—everywhere you can reach, you kiss. Slow, reverent. Worshipful.

By the time you’re tugging at his waistband, Jungkook is a mess beneath you—his chest rising and falling rapidly, his fingers digging into the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

And when you press a final, lingering kiss to the inside of his thigh, Jungkook exhales a shaky, wrecked, “Baby…”

Like he’s already breaking.

Like he doesn’t know how to survive this kind of love.

Jungkook’s hands tremble where they grip your waist, his breath ragged as you press kiss after kiss into his skin—his chest, his stomach, the sharp cut of his hip. You’re not thinking anymore, not planning. Just feeling. Memorizing.

Your fingers slide beneath his waistband, tugging. He lifts his hips instinctively, letting you strip away the last barrier between you, and you don’t waste a second. You straddle him, chest heaving, tears still streaking your cheeks as you take him in your hand, guiding him to where you need him most.

Jungkook stiffens. “Wait, baby, you need—”

You don’t let him finish.

You sink down in one motion, gasping as he fills you, as your body stretches to accommodate him, as he presses so deep it knocks the air from your lungs.

Jungkook’s head snaps back against the pillow. His mouth falls open, a choked groan breaking from his throat as his hands fly to your hips, gripping tight like he’s trying to ground himself, trying not to lose it completely.

“Fuck—” His voice is wrecked. “Baby, you—shit, you didn’t—”

You shake your head frantically, cutting him off, pressing a palm over his mouth as your whole body trembles. You don’t care. You don’t care. You just need him.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking, your nails digging into his chest. “Please don’t go.”

Jungkook’s entire body tenses beneath you.

Your hand falls from his mouth, sliding up to cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as you lean in. Your lips ghost over his, but you don’t kiss him. Just breathe him in, feel the warmth of his skin, the way he’s shaking from the effort of holding himself together.

“What am I gonna do without you?” Your voice cracks. A fresh wave of tears spills over, dripping onto his cheeks. “I don’t know how to be without you, Jungkook.”

His jaw clenches, his brows furrowing in raw agony. He shakes his head, like he wants to say something, like he wants to comfort you, but he can’t. Because he doesn’t know how.

Because he doesn’t know how to be without you either.

And then you move.

You roll your hips, slow, deep, and Jungkook breaks.

A strangled groan rips from his throat, his hands flying to your ass, gripping hard, as if he can somehow press you closer, somehow keep you here. His head tilts back, exposing his throat, and you kiss him there, feeling the way he swallows thickly beneath your lips.

You lift yourself up and sink down again, choking on a sob as he fills you, as he stretches you so perfectly it hurts. But it’s good. It’s right. Like he belongs here.

Like he belongs with you.

Jungkook pants beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin, but he doesn’t rush you. Just lets you take what you need, lets you set the pace, lets you use him the way he wants to use you.

For comfort. For love. For something to hold onto when everything else is slipping away.

And when you look down at him, when your eyes meet his—

Jungkook looks ruined.

His bottom lip trembles, his dark eyes glassy, pleading, like he’s trying so fucking hard not to cry, trying so fucking hard to be strong.

And you can’t take it.

You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing against his skin, whispering please, please, please between every ragged breath.

Jungkook presses a hand to the back of your head, cradling you close, his lips finding your temple.

“I love you,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I love you, I love you—”

And then his hands are gripping tighter, his hips rising to meet yours, and you know he’s losing himself, giving himself to you the same way you’re giving yourself to him.

Because there’s no tomorrow.

Not yet.

Right now, there’s only this.

You don’t know how you find the strength to do it.

To lift your head. To force your hands to loosen from their desperate clutch on his body. To just look at him.

Jungkook is barely holding himself together. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his lashes damp, his lips swollen and parted like he’s trying to catch the words before they escape him. But you see it in his eyes.

He’s breaking.

And you don’t have time for that.

You don’t have time for any of it.

So you do the only thing you can.

You push through it. You suck it up.

You exhale shakily, press your forehead to his, and whisper, “Jungkook.”

His eyes flutter shut for half a second, like he’s trying to memorize the way you say his name, the way your breath warms his lips, the way your voice trembles but still holds him.

And then you move.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding on like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart, your fingers slipping into his hair as you rock your hips against him, slow, deep, dragging him into you over and over and over again.

Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hands skimming up your back, gripping tight, his nails digging in just enough to ground himself.

And then he’s breathing it back.

“I love you.”

You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut, pressing your lips to his jaw, his cheek, his temple.

“I love you, I love you so much—”

He gasps, his grip tightening, his head tilting back just slightly, enough for you to kiss down his throat, to feel the way he swallows against your lips, to hear the way his breath hitches.

“Please don’t go.”

Jungkook chokes on a sound that’s not quite a sob, not quite a moan, something raw and shattered and so fucking helpless.

And then his arms lock around you, crushing you against him, as he buries his face in your shoulder, his voice breaking completely.

“I don’t wanna go.”

Your entire body tenses. Your breath stutters in your throat.

“I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go—”

It’s the first time he’s said it. The first time he’s let it slip, the first time he’s let himself admit it—that he doesn’t want to leave you. That it’s killing him. That if he had a choice, if the world would just fucking let him—

He would stay.

Your nails sink into his skin, your hips grinding down harder, desperate, frantic, like you can somehow make him stay, like you can fuse yourself to him, like you can press him so deep inside you that he’ll never leave.

“Then stay,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s breath shudders against your skin, his fingers curling into your flesh like he wants to.

Like he wants to so fucking bad.

He doesn’t know what to do with this, with you, with the weight of everything pressing into his chest like a vice. He’s gripping onto you like you’ll slip through his fingers the second he lets go, like he’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll be nothing but a dream.

“Then stay.”

Your words echo in his skull, looping, endless, clawing at something deep inside him.

He can’t.

He wants to. But he can’t.

And so—he panics.

“Gonna miss this pussy so much,” he mutters, his voice strained, desperate, trying to ground himself in something, anything, trying to fill the unbearable silence that follows his own fucking admission. His hands skim down your back, gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin.

“Miss feeling you wrapped around me like this—”

You inhale sharply, body tensing, and—fuck.

No.

No, that’s not what you need.

Jungkook realizes it the second the words leave his mouth. The second he hears himself, hears how it sounds—like he’s trying to distract himself, like he’s trying to make this just about fucking when it’s so much more.

He hears the way your breath shakes, how your grip loosens ever so slightly, how you start to pull away—

And he panics again.

“Shit—baby—”

His body moves before his mind catches up.

He flips you over in one swift motion, pressing you into the mattress, his breath ragged, his heart pounding, something frantic and terrified behind his eyes as he cages you beneath him.

Your wide, tear-filled gaze meets his, your lip trembling, and Jungkook’s entire body locks up.

Fuck.

He nearly loses it right then and there. Nearly breaks. But instead—he just moves.

He doesn’t know how to make this better. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to fix the mess he’s made.

So he just— Kisses you.

Soft.

Deep.

He pours everything into it, every unspoken word, every apology, every ounce of guilt, every single part of him that belongs to you.

His hands trace up your sides, slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

Like he’s trying to hold on just a little longer.

Jungkook collapses against you.

All of his weight, all of his warmth, all of him—pressing you into the mattress, crushing you, suffocating you, swallowing you whole.

And you let him.

Because if he’s on you, if he’s in you, if he’s covering every inch of your body with his, then maybe—just maybe—you won’t have to face the sight of him leaving.

“Fuck—”

His breath stutters against your neck, his voice wrecked, helpless, and the only thing keeping him from fully melting into you is the slow, deep drag of his hips, the way he’s sinking into you like he never wants to leave.

Like he never wants to stop.

“Jungkook—”

His name leaves your lips in a desperate sob, your hands clawing at him, grasping, clutching, threading through his hair, pressing into his back, like you’re begging him to stay.

His jaw clenches, his fingers digging into the sheets on either side of your head, his entire body trembling with the weight of his own emotions.

“I love you,” you whisper, voice breaking, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I love you so much—please, please—”

Jungkook’s body locks up.

You feel the sharp, unsteady inhale against your throat, the way his hips slow, the way his entire frame shudders above you.

And then. He moves. Faster. Harder.

Like he’s trying to drown himself in you.

Like he’s trying to answer you in the only way he can.

“I don’t wanna go,” he chokes out, voice thick, breath ragged. His hands find yours, fisting them into the sheets, lacing your fingers together, grounding himself in the way you squeeze back. “Fuck, baby, I don’t wanna go—”

But he has to.

And you both know it.

You barely notice when Jungkook shifts, when he maneuvers you onto your side with him, pulling you flush against his chest, his body curving around yours like he’s shielding you from reality itself.

But you do notice the way he rolls his hips against you, slow, deliberate, grinding against your soaked, swollen folds like he’s trying to commit the sensation to memory.

And fuck—

Maybe he is.

“Jungkook—”

His name comes out in a breathy whimper, your head tipping back against his shoulder, your hand scrambling for purchase over the strong muscle of his forearm, his bicep—anything to keep you grounded.

Because his cock—hot, heavy, throbbing—keeps pressing against your entrance, sliding through the slick mess of your arousal, teasing, toying, like he wants to sink in but can’t bring himself to do it yet.

Like he isn’t ready.

“Shh, baby—” His voice is hoarse, thick with something unreadable. His lips press against your bare shoulder, dragging over your skin, his nose brushing along your throat as he breathes you in. “Just let me—”

His mouth trails lower.

And lower.

Until he reaches your chest.

His arm tightens around your waist as he dips his head, lips finding the curve of your breast, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there before his tongue flicks over your nipple.

And you swear—

It’s not even lustful.

It’s worship.

The way his mouth latches around the sensitive bud, the way his hand cups your other breast, kneading, memorizing, the way he hums against you, like he wants to take his time, like he wants to savor every inch of you.

“Jungkook, please—“

He shudders. You feel it against your spine, the way his breath stutters, the way his hips jerk forward, pressing his length right against where you need him.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice strained, mouth still pressing kisses over the swell of your chest, over your racing heart. “I know—”

And then he grabs your chin. Tilts your head back—forces you to look at him.

That’s his breaking point.

Because the second your glassy eyes meet his, the second he sees the devastation mirrored in them, the reality of it all crashes into him.

And he crumbles. “Fuck—”

A strangled sob rips from his throat as he buries his face in your neck, pressing impossibly closer, hips stuttering as he finally pushes inside.

And then—

You’re both crying.

Sobbing into each other’s skin, moaning between gasps of breath, holding onto one another like it’s the last time.

Because it is.

Jungkook’s hand slides under your neck, cradling it, supporting your head as he tilts your chin back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat to him. And then—

He pulls you closer.

Flush against him, like he wants to melt into you, fuse your bodies together until there’s nothing separating you anymore.

“Baby—” His voice is broken, wrecked, his breath hot against your skin as he presses his forehead into the back of your head, lips parting against your damp, heated flesh.

And then—

He opens you up.

His hand skims down, trembling fingers slipping between your thighs, urging them wider, needing to feel more of you, needing to bury himself so deep you’ll still feel him even after he’s gone.

And you let him.

You let him spread you open, let him take you, let him push in harder—

Until he’s slamming his hips against you in deep, desperate thrusts, shaking with the force of it, choking on every ragged breath, every shuddering gasp.

And god—

You’re both crying.

Crying into each other’s mouths, into each other’s skin, tears mixing with sweat as you claw at his arms, at the hand cradling your neck, clinging to him, needing him closer, harder, deeper.

“Jungkook—please—”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore.

To stay? To never stop? To love you forever?

But he does.

And it destroys him.

“I don’t wanna go—” he gasps, voice cracking, hips jerking forward as he buries his face in your neck, body shuddering against yours. “Fuck, baby, I don’t—I can’t—”

You feel his tears hot against your skin, feel the way his arms tighten around you like he’s afraid to let go, afraid to leave, and god—

You can’t stop touching him.

Your hands are everywhere—gripping his wrist where it holds your neck, clutching at his forearm, dragging over the sweat-slicked muscle of his thigh, his stomach, memorizing the hard planes of his body the way he’s trying to memorize you.

Because this—

This is all you have left.

Your hands come up—shaking, desperate—gripping his wrists, stopping him from moving.

And then—

You push him.

Jungkook barely has time to catch himself before he’s on his back, chest rising and falling in unsteady gasps as you hover above him, eyes wet, cheeks damp, tears slipping down your chin.

You sniffle, rubbing at them frantically, like if you just wipe them away, maybe this won’t feel so real.

But it is real.

He’s leaving.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

A broken sob spills from your lips as you lower yourself back down, knees pressing into the mattress, hands trembling as you splay them over his chest—warm, solid, here.

And then—

You nuzzle into his neck.

Curl into him like you’re trying to disappear inside of him, like if you press yourself close enough, maybe you won’t have to let him go.

His hands find your hips, big and steady, guiding you gently—up, down, slow, like he’s trying to lull you, soothe you, even as his own breath shudders with restraint.

“Shh,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple, voice thick, aching.

But you can’t.

You can’t stop crying, can’t stop the way your fingers tangle in his hair, can’t stop the way your lips press to his forehead like you’re trying to imprint the words into him—

“I’ll miss you so much—”

A sharp inhale against your skin.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me—please, please don’t do this—”

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, but it’s not enough.

It’ll never be enough.

You sniffle again, shaking your head, pressing your forehead against his, tears slipping between your lips as you whimper—

“I miss you—”

And Jungkook breaks. Because you say it like he’s already gone.

A strangled noise rips from his throat as his grip on your waist tightens, arms wrapping fully around you, locking you against him as he thrusts up, rolling his hips into yours, trying to chase something he doesn’t know how to hold onto.

“Baby, please—”

His voice cracks, raw, wrecked, and god—

He’s getting harder.

Because he can feel it—the grief, the desperation, the fucking longing—twisting into something unbearable, something that only makes him want you more, love you more, need you more.

“Please don’t say that,” he rasps, burying his face in your shoulder, breath hot, uneven. “I love you so much—so fucking much—”

And then—

He takes over.

Because your pace is faltering, your body trembling from the weight of it all, from the sheer, devastating force of what you’re about to lose.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook can’t let you bear it alone.

But then—

Jungkook pulls you back.

His hands come up—big, warm, trembling—and they cup your face, fingers pressing into the damp skin of your cheeks, thumbs catching stray tears that refuse to stop falling.

You resist.

You don’t want to look at him.

You can’t bear it.

But he won’t let you hide. “Baby—” His voice is a wreck, breathless and broken, and he forces your forehead against his, holds you there, his grip firm but careful, like he’s afraid you might shatter in his hands.

“I love you,” he murmurs, over and over, lips brushing yours with every shaky exhale. “I love you so fucking much, I’ll be back, I swear I’ll be back—”

And you just shake your head, tears slipping onto his skin, slipping between your lips as you sob.

“But you’ll be gone—”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut.

“You won’t be here—”

His chest is heaving, his entire body shuddering beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin as you whisper, “I’ll miss this. I’ll miss you.”

And then he breaks. “I know,” he chokes, voice cracking, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—”

And then—

“Just—just let go for me.”

It’s not a command. It’s a plea.

Because it hurts—

It hurts to feel you like this, to hear you like this, to know that he’s about to leave you like this.

So you do. You let go. You both do.

You scream.

It’s not just pleasure.

It’s everything.

It’s grief and desperation and love and loss, and Jungkook takes it all, swallows it down as his own release rips through him, as he gasps into your mouth, as he lets go right alongside you.

And then—

Then he breathes.

He breathes into your mouth like it’s his only supply of air, like he’s trying to fill you with everything he has left to give.

Like if he breathes deep enough—

Maybe he can stay.

——

Jungkook is still moving inside you.

Barely.

Just these tiny, barely-there thrusts, like he’s trying to soothe you, like he’s trying to lull you down from everything, from the wreckage of it all.

Your sobs have quieted.

You’re just breathing now. Blank, staring past his shoulder, into the dark, your body heavy against him.

And Jungkook hates it.

He rubs a hand down your back, slow and steady, pressing you closer, whispering soft things against your temple—your name, baby, I love you, I’ve got you.

And then, gently— “Baby, can you lift yourself?”

You just shake your head. Barely make a sound, just this tiny, broken grunt that he feels more than hears.

And he laughs.

Sniffles, still recovering, his chest still shaking from the mess of it all, but he laughs—just a little, just enough.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, voice thick, and then—

He lifts you.

His cock bends in an uncomfortable way, and he hisses, but it slips out, and he doesn’t care—not about the sting, not about the way you’re leaking onto his stomach, not about anything except the way you nuzzle into his neck like you never want to leave.

And then—

“That was really fucking sad.” Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the words cut through the thick, heavy silence, and Jungkook laughs.

Like, actually laughs.

Because, fuck, it really was.

He keeps laughing for a second, shaking his head, still wiping at his face, still recovering, and then—

Then he softens. Then he looks at you, tucking the damp strands of hair away from your face, and says—

“I’m sorry.”

Soft, real.

And then he leans in, kisses your forehead the same way he always does—

The same way that makes your heart ache.

The same way that makes you feel loved.

And you breathe.

You breathe, and you whisper, “I know. I’m sorry for breaking down like that. I don’t know why—”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head, firm. “No, you’re not the one who should be sorry right now. It’s me.”

And for a second, you don’t say anything.

You just look at him—his wet lashes, his swollen lips, the raw emotion still lingering in his eyes—

And then—

You press a kiss to his forehead.

Just soft. Just gentle.

And Jungkook freezes. Because you’ve never done that before.

His breath catches, his eyes flicker shut, and when he exhales, it’s shaky, but so, so full of warmth. Jungkook doesn’t say anything at first. He just breathes, coming down from the high of you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your bare hip, grounding himself in the warmth of your skin.

And then he sees the time.

Shit.

He doesn’t let you notice, though. He forces himself to stay in the moment for a little longer, brushing your hair back, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before he sits up, slipping out of bed.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let him, let him help you into the bathroom, let him be gentle with you. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just wets a washcloth and runs it over your skin, his touch careful, reverent. He presses another kiss to your forehead before handing you a fresh pair of clothes.

“Go eat,” he says. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

You don’t argue, slipping into the kitchen while he gathers himself. When he finally comes out, you’re already halfway through your now cold pancakes, sitting on the counter, swinging your legs absentmindedly.

He watches you for a second, committing it to memory.

Then, finally, he checks the time.

Eight. He’s already late.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Baby, I gotta go.”

You pause mid-bite, your expression dropping just slightly before you school it into something neutral. “Oh,” you say. “Right.”

Jungkook steps between your legs, hands coming up to hold your face. You lean into his touch immediately, and something about it makes his chest ache.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your cheek.

You know he doesn’t just mean tonight.

You nod, forcing a small smile. “You’ll text me?”

“Of course.”

And then he kisses you, slow and lingering, like he’s trying to make it last. Like he wants you to remember.

You will.

Jungkook lingers in the doorway, looking at you like he doesn’t want to leave. Like he’s willing himself to step out, to break the moment before it breaks him.

“I love you,” he says, voice soft.

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

He presses one last kiss to your forehead, squeezing your waist before finally pulling away.

“Bye, baby,” he murmurs.

You swallow hard. “Bye.”

And then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut, and you just… stare at it.

You don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the counter, breakfast forgotten, staring at the empty space where Jungkook just was.

It’s weird.

For the past few months, every single day has had him in it. Whether it was just a text or a call or him physically showing up, he was always there.

And now, in two days, he won’t be.

Your stomach twists, and just as the overwhelming realization starts sinking in—

Your ringtone blares from your bedroom.

You already know who it is before you even check.

You scramble for your phone, pressing it to your ear.

“Hey, bitch, you getting ready?”

You barely have time to answer before your voice wobbles. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

“You sound sad,” Nari says suspiciously. “What’s up?”

And then— The floodgates open.

“I don’t want him to go,” you wail, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

“Oh—”

“I don’t, Nari! I really, really don’t!”

There’s a shuffle on the other end, like she’s sitting up straighter. “Oh, babe…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I just— We just—” You suck in a breath, chest aching. “It was so much. It was—” You shake your head, unable to find the words. “It wasn’t just sex, it was—God, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“Like love?” Nari offers gently.

You let out a watery laugh. “Yeah. Like love.”

She sighs, softer this time. “I know.”

“I can’t believe he’s leaving,” you whisper, staring blankly at your reflection in the mirror. Your mascara is already smudged again. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to wake up and not have him here. I don’t want to go back to how it was before—”

“You won’t,” Nari interrupts. “Even if he’s gone for a while, it’s not the same as before. He’s yours now, isn’t he?”

You open your mouth, then close it. Because… is he?

You’ve never said it out loud. Never defined it. But it feels like he is. Right?

“…God, I don’t know anymore,” you groan, rubbing your hands down your face. “I hate him.”

“You don’t,” she says simply.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

You huff, frustrated. “That’s the problem!”

Nari laughs, and despite everything, you find yourself smiling weakly.

A beat of silence. Then, gently, “You’ll be okay, babe. I promise.”

You take a deep breath, trying to believe her. “I’ve had to redo my mascara, like, seven times.”

She groans. “And you’re gonna redo it an eighth if you keep crying. Now hurry up before our boss has another meltdown.”

You sigh, sniffing one last time. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“…No, I don’t.”

“That’s my girl. Love you, bye.”

You close your eyes. “Love you, bye.”

You hang up, taking another deep breath, shaking off the sadness.

Work. You just have to get through work.

You pick up your mascara again. Round eight.

Nari pulls up to your building, glancing at you with a smug grin. You really didn’t wanna get the bus today, so Nari had kindly offered to take you.

“You look pitiful,” she says.

You groan, throwing your head back against the seat. “I literally just was crying, that’s not my fault.”

“No, it’s Jungkook’s.”

You glare at her. “So are you driving me to work, or what?”

She hums, dragging it out, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. It’s a lot of effort.”

“Nari.”

“Maybe if you beg.”

You groan. “Pleaseeee, oh my god, you know you were gonna take me anyway—”

She smirks, finally shifting gears. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

“You’re a demon,” you grumble, crossing your arms as she pulls out.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Unfortunately.

The drive is short, and Nari makes sure to grab your face before you step out, inspecting you like a concerned mother.

“Okay, you look fine. Let’s go.”

You drag yourself inside, already dreading the day.

The morning is slow, as usual. The diner hums with the same familiar sounds—the coffee machines, the occasional chatter, the soft rustling of newspapers from the old man who sits in the corner every morning without fail.

You’re zoning out, trying to will yourself to get back into your normal routine when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

Jungkook [9:14AM]: are you at work rn? you probably are. just checking in.

You bite your lip, quickly typing back.

You [9:15AM]: yeah, just started. slow morning. where are you now?

It doesn’t take him long to reply.

Jungkook [9:15AM]: im close to my parents house now. kinda excited actually. but i miss you.

Your chest tightens a little.

You [9:16AM]: i miss you too.

You keep texting back and forth for a bit—him telling you about his plans for the day, you filling him in on how your boss has already screamed about a missing bag of coffee beans. It feels normal. Comfortable. Like he’s still here.

The lock turns at 2:47 a.m.

You don’t even flinch. You’re sitting cross-legged on the mattress, folding his laundry—the rare kind of domestic act that means absolutely nothing in this apartment.

Except it does to you. Or it did. Before the perfume hit you first.

You don’t look up when the door creaks open. Don’t move when you hear his shoes hit the wall. You just keep folding the same black t-shirt over and over again.

“You’re still up?” he mutters, voice thick with alcohol. A little breathless. Like he’s been rushing. Or fucking.

Your fingers clench.

“Didn’t feel like sleeping.”

He drops something. A bottle maybe. Then something heavier—his jacket, maybe his hoodie, maybe his pride.

It’s quiet for a beat. Then:

“Why are you doing my laundry?”

You shrug. “Your drawer was empty.”

“So?”

“So I figured you’d want clean clothes.”

He huffs. Bitter. Sharp.

“You’re not my girlfriend, Y/N.”

There it is.

You still don’t look at him. “I know.”

“Then stop doing shit like this.”

You fold the shirt one more time, just to keep your hands busy.

“Where were you?” you ask.

He hesitates. Then laughs, low and cruel.

“Out.”

“With her?”

“Does it matter?”

Your throat tightens. “No.”

He moves across the room in slow steps, shadow moving past the mattress. You catch his reflection in the TV screen. His hair’s a mess. His jaw is red. His zipper’s still undone.

You finally look at him.

And he looks at you—like you’re the one who fucked up.

“You think this is more than what it is?” he asks, voice quiet now. Dangerous. “You think we’re something?”

You blink, but your eyes sting. “No.”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” he says.

And that’s when your heart cracks.

Because you already have.

You nod slowly. Bite your lip until it hurts. Fold the shirt again.

He watches you for a second too long. Then, like something inside him snaps, he crosses the room and grabs your wrist.

You don’t fight him. You never do.

“Come here.”

You let him.

Because what else do you have?

You let him kiss you like he’s punishing you for caring. Let him fuck you on the mattress while his breath reeks of someone else. While his fingers bruise your hips like he’s trying to forget the curve of her thighs.

It’s not love. It’s not anything close.

It’s survival.

It’s almost.

It’s pain you both know too well.

You dig your nails into his back, and he mouths I hate you into your collarbone. You whisper me too against his jaw, even though it’s a lie.

He comes with your name in his throat.

And when it’s over, you don’t cry.