#kookooluvr

The entire university is pulsating with the energy of drunk frat boys in capes, girls dressed in skimpy lingerie calling it their costume, and at least three professors who are far too old to be dressed up amongst the students. You, however, are in your true element: large hoodie, fuzzy socks, a half-eaten Snickers bar on your nightstand, and a thick law textbook open in front of you.

Parties aren't your thing. You'd rather be sued than make small talk with a guy dressed as a ketchup bottle. While your roommate, Jieun, spent hours hot-gluing rhinestones onto her platform space boots for her "sexy astronaut" outfit, you politely declined all invitations and instead declared war on your midterm readings. The only spooky thing in your life right now is the growing realisation that you don't actually want to be a lawyer, the thought that you'll probably die single, and knowing you'll be buried in student debt by the time you graduate.

And honestly? That's still more appealing than the campus party.

You take a break from studying around 2am and finally decide to turn off the light and get some rest. Until the door of your dorm room creaks open.

You pause, blinking your eyes open in the darkness of your room. Maybe Jieun forgot her phone. Maybe she brought back a stray alien from the party. Either way, you don't move, not until the unmistakable dip of the mattress under your legs almost sends your soul flying from your body.

Someone just climbed into your bed.

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, your heart racing in your chest. It's pitch black, the only light coming from the little slit under the door.

"Jieunieee," the voice whispers, smooth and far too seductive. "Are you ready for the best dick of your life?"

That's it.

You scream as loud as you can, springing straight up. You grab the bottle of Chanel perfume on your nightstand and spray it directly into his eyes.

"AHHH—WHAT THE F—!"

The stranger falls out of your bed with a loud thud, hitting the floor dramatically like he's been shot in a Western.

"What the hell?!" he groans, writhing on the floor with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding his head. "You maced me!"

"That was perfume!" you yell, feeling your heart in your throat, the perfume clutched tightly in your hand, holding it out in case you have to spray him again. "And why are you in my bed, you psychopath?!"

"I was looking for Jieun!"

"You can't just crawl into beds like a raccoon in the night!"

"I thought this was her bed!"

"Do I sound like Jieun?!"

He blinks rapidly on the floor, his voice strained through his agony. "I don't know, it's dark and I was promised a sexy astronaut!"

You switch on the bedside lamp with the force of a woman ready to kill.

And there he is.

Black leather pants. Tight black shirt. Fake bruises and cuts on his face, presumably made with makeup. An eyebrow piercing. Tousled hair. Ridiculously attractive even while clutching at his eyes like he's just been gassed in battle.

Your brain fills in the blanks before he even says it.

"You're Jeon Jungkook, aren't you?"

He lowers his hand just enough to smirk at you. "And you're ___. The infamous roommate I've heard so much about."

You sigh, flopping back against your headboard in disbelief. "Of course she's hooking up with you of all people."

Jungkook is a campus legend. The boy whose reputation includes at least two streaking incidents, three girls who dropped out of the university due to their heartbreak, and a tongue that's done unspeakable things according to the word on the street.

And now he's on your floor, still very much looking like the kind of man your mother warned you about even after being sprayed in the eyes with perfume.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "For the record, I've had a lot of entrances, but that was definitely my worst."

"You scared the crap out of me!" you exclaim, tossing your pillow at him. "Who just walks into a dorm and climbs into an unfamiliar bed?!"

"I didn't walk," he scoffs, catching the pillow with an insufferable grin. "I strode."

You glare at him.

He grins wider. "Come on, that was funny!"

"You have a concussion, don't you?"

He wipes his eyes with the heels of his palms, settling on the edge of your bed. "Honestly? If you weren't so terrifying, I'd be impressed."

"Excuse me?"

"You're terrifying," he deadpans. "You sprayed me in the eyes and insulted me all within five minutes. That's worse than most of my Tinder dates. Not by much, but still."

You fold your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "Maybe don't go crawling into beds with strangers."

"Technically, you're the stranger," he quips, pointing a finger at you. "And you've maced and verbally abused me. That's a lot for a first impression."

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Unbelievable. Are you always this irritating?"

"I like to think of myself as…persistently charming," he smiles.

You give him a dry look, your eyes narrowing. "You're the human equivalent of an unsolicited dick pic."

"Oof," he winces, placing his hand over his heart. "Okay, that one hurt. But also...kinda hot that you're this mean."

You blink at him. "Do girls actually fall for this crap?"

"Usually," he shrugs.

"Well, congratulations," you scoff. "You've officially found the girl who's immune to your bullshit."

He holds up his hands in surrender, laughing softly. "Okay, you've made your point. I'm sorry I invaded your bed. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I apologise."

Your face softens ever so slightly, giving him a curt nod. "Thank you."

"But also," he adds, leaning back on his hands, "you're hilarious. And clearly not afraid to defend your space. We should be friends."

You stare at him. "What?"

"Friends," he repeats, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You and me. I'm serious."

You narrow your eyes once more. "You literally came here to hook up with my roommate."

"Which clearly isn't happening anymore," he sighs, lounging on your bed like he's at a beach club. "But now I've met you. And I like you."

You scoff. "You don't know me."

"I know you don't care about going to a hot party and hooking up on Halloween night, and would absolutely tase someone if you had the chance. Right?"

You pause. That…is not incorrect.

"I also know that girls like you usually avoid guys like me. Which is fair. But still…" He swings his legs off the bed, standing up. "I want to be friends."

"Why would we do that?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He grins. "Because you're the first girl who's actually told me I'm full of shit to my face."

You open your mouth, then close it again, and he takes that as a win.

"Anyway, I'll see you around," he smiles, walking toward the door. "If Jieun asks, tell her I tested positive for an STD or something."

You roll your eyes. "Get out!"

He's halfway out when he turns back and winks. "Nice meeting you, ___."

"Likewise, Satan," you grumble, gesturing for him to shut the door.

He laughs, loud and boyish, and disappears down the hall. And just like that, your quiet Halloween night turned into something totally unexpected.

You met Jeon Jungkook. And he wants to be your friend.

God help you.

The library is dead silent, but your soul is screaming.

You've been staring at the same paragraph in your property law textbook for the past eleven minutes and it's starting to feel unbearable. You've underlined the phrase "freehold estates" three times in three different colours, and it still means absolutely nothing to you. Your highlighter is on life support, your brain is fried, and you'd sell your soul for caffeine.

But instead of caffeine, you get Jungkook. Perfect.

"Hey, bestie."

You flinch so hard your pen skitters off the desk.

He slides into the seat across from you like he owns it, as if you invited him. As if this is a casual meet-up instead of a sacred study bubble you built with blood, sweat, and overpriced stationery.

"Why," you whisper, your eyes narrowing, "are you here?"

He blinks innocently, shrugging. "Checking on my friend. You did say we'd be friends."

You raise a skeptical brow.

He leans in closer, his voice mock-offended and far too loud for the library. "Which is interesting, because I've texted you three times this week and you haven't replied once."

You open your mouth, then close it, unable to come up with a valid excuse.

"I had to force you to give me your number last week when we ran into each other in the cafeteria," he continues, his arms crossed over his chest. "Do you always ghost your friends, or am I just special?"

You groan, rubbing your temples. "I've been busy, Jungkook."

"You probably didn't even save my contact," he mumbles dramatically. "I'm still just a number. I feel so objectified."

You blink at him, fighting the chuckle threatening to bubble up your throat. "You're so dramatic."

"And you're so avoidant. Classic enemies-to-friends arc," he muses. "We're already ahead of schedule."

You roll your eyes, glancing back down at your textbook. You really don't have time for this, but Jungkook props his chin on his hand and looks at you with that annoyingly charming smile of his, like he's got nowhere else to be. Like being here, distracting you, is the most important thing in the world.

You hate how disarming it is.

"You done soon?" he asks.

"I have a property law test tomorrow," you mutter dryly. "So, no. I will never be done. I will die in this library and haunt the footnotes of this stupid textbook."

He laughs loudly, earning a 'shhhh!' from a student two tables away. "What if I bribe you with coffee?"

You look up, contemplating it for a second before going back to the dreaded textbook.

"Not interested," you mutter lowly, though it's not even convincing to your own ears.

"You're clearly tired," he scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "And cranky. And there's a weird twitch in your left eye. Come on, ___. Take a break with me."

You purse your lips, letting out a deep sigh. The twitch is real. And your head is pounding. And caffeine does sound like heaven right now.

"You're really annoying," you mutter. "I mean it."

"I've been told," he grins, rising from the chair like he's already won. "Come on. Twenty-minute coffee break. Your brain cells will thank me."

Against your better judgment, and possibly because you might actually fall asleep in your chair, you shut your textbook and drag yourself to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Fifteen minutes," you grumble. "If I fail this test, I'm blaming you."

"Fair," he shrugs, grinning as he holds the library's door open for you. "But at least you'll have had the best coffee of your life, so it'll be worth it."

The café is warm and noisy, filled with the comforting smell of espresso and baked goods. Students sit hunched over laptops. A barista is arguing with the espresso machine. Someone's crying in the corner over what sounds like an econ midterm.

You're halfway through the line when Jungkook turns to you, holding two fingers in front of the glass display.

"Okay," he huffs dramatically. "Crucial decision. Strawberry muffin or banana cinnamon walnut?"

You blink up at him, your eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I can't decide," he confesses, peering at them like they're ancient artefacts. "I want both but I can't get both. That's too much sugar and fat and I'll lose my abs. A girl licked whipped cream off my abs two days ago. I need them."

You snort, taking a step forward as the line starts moving again. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm serious," he whines. "Pick one for me. I trust your judgment for some reason."

You sigh in resignation. "Do you want nuts?"

"I don't like nuts," he mutters with a grimace. "But I also don't like not liking things. Feels like I'm limiting my potential."

You stare at him like he's actually insane.

He stares at the muffins.

"Banana walnut it is," you nod.

He looks at you like you just sentenced him to death. "Really? I was kinda hoping for strawberry."

"You said you don't like not liking things. Expand your horizons. Live a little. Face your fears. Eat the nut muffin."

He lets out a groan like he's being tortured. "If I hate it, this is on you."

"Oh relax, you'll live," you scoff, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What if I die?"

"If you die, I get that expensive laptop of yours."

He nods solemnly. "Deal."

After a long wait that's most definitely over fifteen minutes, you sit down at a corner table by the window, both of you nursing warm drinks. He watches you take the first sip of your mocha like you're some sort of science experiment.

"You were desperate for this, huh?" he chuckles.

"Don't judge me."

He laughs and takes a bite of the banana walnut muffin. He chews slowly, his face unreadable.

You watch him, waiting for the verdict.

He swallows, licks a crumb off his thumb, and looks pleasantly surprised. "…Woah. This is amazing."

You smile, sipping your coffee. "Told you."

"Who knew I liked nuts?"

"I did. You're welcome."

He leans back in his chair and smiles over at you. It's soft, genuine, not the usual grin he uses when he's being annoying.

"I'm starting to think we're meant to be," he quips.

You nearly choke. "Over a muffin?"

"Yeah. You just made a decision that changed my life. This is fate."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat up nonetheless.

He nudges your foot gently under the table, slowly sliding the muffin over to you to taste.

"Thanks for coming with me."

You take a little bite of the muffin, nodding at the taste. "Thanks for the invitation."

And just like that, it starts. A small, insignificant tradition that might mean more some day, but for now, it's just comfortable and easy.

Just…friendship.

—

The kitchen is a mess. There's flour on your cheeks, frosting on your elbow, and a criminal amount of cupcake batter missing from the mixing bowl. Your cousin asked you to bake a batch of vanilla cupcakes for her bridal shower and of course, the new pain in your ass decided to come over to your dorm to 'help'.

"Jungkook," you warn, pointing your spatula at him, "if you eat one more spoon of raw batter, I will throw you out. And no, that's not a threat, it's a promise."

"I'm not eating it," he mumbles, his mouth full. "I'm...quality testing."

"You're gonna get salmonella and die."

"I'll die a happy man because this batter's really good," he grins.

You sigh, scraping the last of the creamy batter into the cupcake liners while Jungkook leans against the counter, licking the spoon you gave him to keep him busy. He has cake batter on the corner of his mouth, and somehow he still looks good. Ridiculously good. Stupidly, unfairly rude levels of good. You pretend not to notice.

"You're supposed to be helping," you sigh.

"I am helping," he says proudly. "You said these are for your cousin's bridal shower. What better way to show my support of the union than selflessly sacrificing my digestive system?"

"You don't have a logical bone in your body."

He grins, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "And yet, here I am, in your kitchen, helping a friend who desperately needed me."

"You invited yourself," you deadpan. "As usual."

He shrugs. "You didn't say no."

You sigh and slide the tray of cupcakes into the oven before setting the timer. The warmth of the kitchen hums around you. It smells like vanilla and feels like a comforting hug in the midst of exams and stress and the impending doom of early adulthood.

Jungkook hops onto the counter, swinging his legs to entertain himself now that the fun part—eating raw batter and watching you stress over quantities of baking powder—is over.

"I still can't believe you made all this from scratch," he murmurs, looking genuinely impressed. "These are, like…actual, professional cupcakes."

You wipe your hands on a dish towel, chuckling. "My cousin's paying me, so that's kinda the point."

He tilts his head, watching you intently. "You're really good at this."

Something in you blossoms at the compliment. He says it so casually, like it's obvious, like it's a fact. It feels good, something you're not sure you've felt before.

You smile faintly and sit down at the little table in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the mess around you; edible flowers, mixing bowls, an empty packet of cupcake liners.

"It's what I love," you murmur softly, a look of tenderness blooming in your gaze.

He raises a brow. "Baking?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Always have. Even when I was a kid. I used to make these terrible little chocolate chip cookies that were more like…burnt rocks...but I'd still force everyone in my family to eat them."

He laughs.

You don't.

"I used to dream about owning a bakery," you add, your voice a little softer, more vulnerable. "Still do, I guess."

There's a pause. He watches you, remaining quiet, waiting for you to elaborate without making a silly comment. You don't look at him, but you can feel it, the shift, his attention going from teasing to genuinely trying to understand you a little deeper.

"But…" you sigh, leaning your chin on your palm. "My parents want me to be a lawyer. That was always the plan. It's respectable. Stable. It makes sense."

"Do you want to be a lawyer?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting together.

You hesitate, letting out a deep sigh. It's as if a gate has opened inside your chest because you don't seem to hold anything back.

"No," you scoff. "Not even a little."

The confession feels heavier than you expected. It feels like you're finally being honest with yourself, which is far scarier than being honest with him. You can ignore his teasing remarks, but you can't ignore that little mocking voice in your head that tells you your dreams probably won't work out anyway.

Jungkook doesn't say anything right away. He just keeps swinging his legs slowly, tapping his fingers against the edge of the counter.

Finally, he asks, "Then why are you doing it?"

You roll your eyes, looking anywhere but his eyes. "Because…I'm good at it apparently...and they expect it. I don't want to disappoint them."

He nods slowly, his eyes downcast.

"You know what would be more disappointing?" he murmurs, his smile barely reaching his eyes.

You tilt your head, looking over at him.

"Waking up ten years from now and hating your life," he deadpans. "And never even trying."

Your chest tightens, your head racing with endless possibilities of a future you thought was already set out for you.

"You're so good at this, ___," he smiles, gesturing to the cupcakes in the oven, the kitchen, the part of you he wants to explore further. "Like, actually good. Not just hobby-good. This is your thing."

You swallow thickly, remaining silent. You don't usually tell people this stuff. You don't usually let yourself say it out loud because then it feels too real. Too scary. But for some reason…with him, it doesn't. You've come to realise he makes you feel seen, which is weird, considering he usually forgets girls' names and faces after a single encounter. This is different, though. You're not a girl he wants to sleep with. You're ___, the girl he wants to hang out with at 2am just because. You're the girl he genuinely wants to spend time with because he enjoys your company, your friendship. You like that. It makes this all feel more genuine.

There's a long beat of silence before you begrudgingly admit the thoughts plaguing you. "You can be really sweet when you're not being an idiot."

He laughs, his nose scrunching up in that way that makes your stomach feel tingly and fluttery. "Don't spread that around. I have a specific brand to maintain."

You laugh, loud and sincere.

"I think you'd make a great bakery owner," he murmurs softly, flicking some leftover flour in your direction.

You wave him off like it's nothing and check your cupcakes, but for the first time since you started studying law, you finally believe you're capable of more than settling, all thanks to the boy on your counter with flour in his hair and sincerity in his eyes.

—

It's almost midnight when Jungkook's phone buzzes on the nightstand. He's half-asleep, sprawled out on his bed, wearing nothing but his boxers, one sock missing. He squints at the screen through bleary eyes, seeing your contact name.

He's awake in an instant.

"Hello?" he croaks, already sitting up, his hair sticking up in all directions. He hears the catch in your voice before you even say a word.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, sniffling. "Did I wake you?"

His heart drops. "Are you okay?"

"...Seungcheol...he cheated on me."

Jungkook is already pulling on sweatpants before the word 'cheated' leaves your lips.

Of course. Fucking Seungcheol. You weren't even really looking for love when you met him. He was just a friend of a friend in one of your classes—a smooth talker who carried around a leather briefcase like he was already a full-time lawyer instead of a sleep-deprived undergrad. Jungkook never liked him, always thought he was a bit pretentious, but of course he wouldn't burst your bubble. Looks like he was right about the dick after all.

"I'll be there in ten."

You open your dorm door in your pajamas, eyes red, nose pink. Your expression crumples the moment you see him, and he doesn't hesitate, just wraps you up in his arms, no questions asked.

Even after just seven months of friendship, you cling to Jungkook like a lifeline, like he'll put all your broken pieces together again. Sure, your relationship with Seungcheol only lasted two months but that means a lot to an eighteen-year-old, so there are still a lot of broken pieces nonetheless.

"He said he didn't mean to," you mumble against his chest while you lie in bed together, willingly this time. "Like that makes it better. Like I should be grateful that it only happened once."

Jungkook exhales hard, like he's trying not to yell. "He's a fucking idiot."

"He said I made him feel…small. That I was trying to outsmart him. That I was too independent. That I...made him feel like he couldn't 'be the man', whatever that means."

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes fierce, his hands cupping your face.

"You are smart. And independent. And so beautiful. And funny. And you make the best desserts in this entire goddamn city. If he couldn't handle that, it's not because you were too much. It's because he just wasn't enough."

Your eyes well up again, tears silently slipping down your cheeks.

"He cheated with a really pretty girl. Blonde. Really big boobs," you grumble.

Jungkook's voice softens, his thumbs stroking your wet cheeks. "Don't compare yourself to some other girl. You are...so fucking gorgeous, by the way."

You snort, shaking your head. "Shut up."

"I'm serious." His thumb brushes away another tear. "You walk around like you're not insanely beautiful, and you think no one notices. But I do, ___."

You stare at him, stunned into silence.

He shrugs, pulling you closer to rest your head against his chest. "Just saying. Don't cry over some knock-off loser when you're literally you."

He stays wrapped around you for as long as you need, one hand gently running through your hair. You sniffle into his neck, your eyes eventually fluttering shut from the warmth and safety of it all.

Eventually, you fall asleep against his chest, breathing steady, a hand loosely clutching his hoodie.

Jungkook remains still, simply looking at you, admiring you in all your glory. Memorising the curve of your cheek against his collarbone. The way your lips part ever so slightly when you dream. The way your fingers curl, even in your sleep, like you're afraid to let go.

He's not the guy who stays for too long. Not the guy who commits. He's built his whole identity around not being that guy, but holding you like this, he kinda wishes he was.

He stares up at the ceiling and sighs, a quiet, hopeless sound.

"I wish I could be the man you need," he whispers into the dark. "But I'm not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be."

And even though you're fast asleep, you still mumble something soft and unintelligible into his chest. You still hold on, and so does he.

—

Your dorm room is lit by a single lamp, the soft yellow glow contrasting violently with the hyper-pink DVD menu of Legally Blonde looping on your laptop. You've watched it a million times before but it's a Friday night and you're having a movie night with Jungkook, so naturally, you're introducing him to one of the classics.

Jungkook is sprawled across your bed, legs crossed at the ankles, one hand buried in a bowl of popcorn and the other dramatically thrown over his forehead as if he's on his deathbed.

"I swear I don't deserve this," he groans. "I mean...I know I call her Number Three but she didn't have to ghost me just because I wouldn't be exclusive with her. I was actually planning on seeing her again and then calling it off, like a gentleman."

You blink, glancing over at him. "Number Three?"

He sighs. "We've been over this, remember? The girl from the accounting party. Short. Cute. Gave me a hickey shaped like a continent. I think South America?"

You stare at him, slowly shaking your head. "You're insufferable."

He brightens. "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"You say that," he grins, grabbing another handful of popcorn, "but I feel like you secretly admire my dedication to the craft."

"What craft?" you deadpan. "Being a man-whore?"

He gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me."

"And you wound women," you chuckle.

"Wow. That hurt, ___."

You toss a pillow at him but he dodges like an athlete. Of course he does. Jackass.

Eventually, when the popcorn is half finished and your patience is half gone, you nod toward the laptop screen. "I'm honestly surprised you're not out tonight."

He blinks. "What do you mean?"

"It's Friday," you deadpan. "Your natural habitat is...I don't know...bars, random beds, broom closets. Anywhere but here watching Legally Blonde with me."

He pouts, actually pouts.

"Hey, I like hanging out with you. I cancelled plans to hang out with you."

You scoff, visibly unconvinced. You secretly feel very special and quite flattered, but that has to be too good to be true, right?

He continues casually, "I'm not completely heartless, you know. I have layers. I'm like an onion. A sexy onion."

You snort. "Please never say 'sexy onion' again."

"But it's true!" he insists, nudging your calf with his foot. "I really like hanging out with you. You're fun, easy to talk to, and you don't pretend to be someone else around me."

"And your other girls do?"

"They pretend to like whatever I like, dislike whatever I dislike. It gets boring listening to them just agree with whatever I say."

You roll your eyes. "Poor baby."

He rolls his eyes right back, as if you don't understand how hard it all is for him.

"You know what your problem is?" you ask, adjusting the laptop and pressing play.

"Oh, here we go."

"You don't believe in romance. Or in actual relationships. Or in…anything that requires feelings."

That's not entirely true, but he shrugs anyway. "Feelings are messy. Hookups are simple. Everyone wins."

"Not everyone," you mumble under your breath, your eyes trained on the laptop screen.

He tilts his head, his mouth stuffed with more popcorn. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You ignore his question and push on. "I just…I don't get it. How can you have meaningless sex with someone? Doesn't it feel empty?"

"Actually when I do it, they usually feel very full," he smirks.

You throw a balled-up pair of socks at his face and he catches it one-handed. What a show-off.

"Look," you clarify, sighing, "I'm just saying, I personally...want something real. Someday. Something that actually matters. A person who actually matters."

"Happily ever after, huh?" he teases.

"Maybe," you mutter, growing defensive. "Why not?"

He makes a face as if you just told him the Earth is flat. "Uhmmm...because that doesn't exist."

"You're so dramatic, yes it does."

"You're the dramatic one!" he argues. "You act like the universe is going to drop Prince Charming out of the sky."

"Maybe it will."

"It won't," he laughs.

You sigh, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. "You don't know that."

"I do. I know love ends in heartbreak ninety-nine percent of the time."

"So what? You avoid the one percent just in case it hurts?" you challenge.

"Yes," he chuckles carelessly. "And I'm thriving."

You stare at him for a long moment—this beautiful, aggravating, confusing man who can make you laugh until your ribs hurt and then say something that makes you want to shake him.

He has no idea what he does to people.

Especially you.

Especially because lately you've been catching yourself staring at his hands more when he gestures, or the way his hair falls into his eyes while he plays video games, or the sweet, sincere smile he gives you right before he ruins the moment and says something stupid.

You refuse to acknowledge any of it. Crushes on Jungkook are a disease, and you are absolutely vaccinated.

You distract yourself with the movie. Elle Woods is about to confront Warner. Great scene. Then—

His phone buzzes on the bed. Just once.

You don't mean to look but your eyes flick down instinctively while he rambles absentmindedly about the scene playing out on screen.

There's an unanswered text still waiting on the screen from his friend, Seokjin, asking about some business admin assignment. He didn't bother to respond yet. You're sure Seokjin is used to him taking forever to respond to texts, considering they've known each other since high school and now share a few classes together, which you found out on a tipsy Wednesday night when Jungkook decided to share his whole life story with you.

That's not the text that matters right now. The second text is the one that really catches your eye. The number isn't saved, but you don't have to be a genius to know that it's one of his hookups.

xx - xxx [10:32pm]: i had a lot of fun tonight. same time tomorrow ??

He slept with someone. He had sex with some girl literally right before coming over.

Your stomach drops. It shouldn't—not when you've known him for almost a year and you know him to be this way—but it does anyway. It drops because he said he cancelled plans to be with you, but it turns out you're just leftovers.

And now he's here, laughing with you, acting like you're such good company, when in reality you were the afterthought once again. The backup plan. The safe, comfortable option when he's done with whatever girl came before.

You clear your throat. "Your, uhm...your phone buzzed."

"Oh?" he mutters lazily, not even reaching for it. "Probably Jin. He's obsessed with me," he jokes.

You look back at the laptop screen before he can see your face. Your voice is neutral when you murmur, "You should probably respond. Maybe it's important."

"Nah," he shrugs. "I'm here. I'm hanging out with you."

You nod, forcing a smile.

Something inside you clicks—a silent, sharp realisation. This is who Jungkook is. This is who Jungkook will always be. He's funny, and charming, and a little bit addictive, if you're being completely honest.

But Jungkook will never be yours.

He will never be the perfect man for you. He will never be your one percent. So, you bury the tiny, blooming crush before it can grow roots, and you decide firmly, painfully, that a friend is all he'll ever be to you.

And you're sure you can live with that.

Ten years later...

If someone had told you back in university that the chaotic intruder you maced with Chanel perfume would become your favourite person, you would've recommended they seek help urgently.

And yet, ten years later, here you are.

Somehow, despite Jungkook's questionable life choices, endless line of women, and the fact that he once tried to microwave ramen without water, the two of you grew into something solid. Something constant. Something quietly threaded into every part of your adult life.

You grew up together.

Late-night study sessions turned into late-night grocery runs. His hangovers turned into your "you have to stop being so irresponsible" lectures. Your heartbreaks turned into his "give me his address" threats. You were there to celebrate with him when he landed his first high-paying corporate job and he was there to support you when you were grieving your dad's passing.

You became inseparable. A matched set. A pair of platonic soulmates. And in the past ten years, your life took a path younger you would've fainted over.

Sure, you graduated with your law degree and your family was proud, your grandmother bragged to her knitting group, and you spent several months pretending you were totally thrilled to be entering a profession that slowly devoured human souls.

But the truth? You hated it. The corporate offices. The endless contracts. The panic attacks you had in bathroom stalls pretending everything was fine. Law was stable and respectable, but it sucked the life out of you.

Your dream had always smelled like sugar, butter, and rising dough, so one day, with the determination your professors once called "excessive," you quit your job, emptied your savings, fought with your mom for a full year about your life choices, and opened the bakery you always wanted.

Honey & Hearth Bakery; your pride and joy, your entire heart with an overpriced oven attached. The tiny cake shop that eventually grew into a beloved neighbourhood spot with warm lighting, mismatched mugs, cozy booths, and the smell of fresh bread always lingering in the air.

And Jungkook? Well, he painted the walls baby-pink with you at 1am and drilled shelves with no prior experience. He showed up to your grand opening with an extravagant flower bouquet, three balloons that were far too big and dramatic for a bakery opening, and a promise to always support you and your happiness.

He's been your most loyal customer ever since.

Which brings you to now.

The bell above the front door jingles at 8 on a Thursday morning and you don't have to look up to know who it is.

"Morning, superstar," Jungkook calls out, his voice warm and annoyingly bright for a man who has a meeting to attend in an hour. Working in the corporate world isn't the most thrilling profession in life, but he earns the big bucks and he looks hot wearing a suit, and that's enough for him.

You grin without turning around, already whipping up his coffee. "You're late."

"It's 8," he scoffs, winking at a random woman that walks past him.

"Your usual time is 7:20."

"Sorry. Morning sex happened," he sighs, sliding onto his usual stool at the front counter. "That girl from the bar stayed the night and don't get me wrong, she's hot, but I had to explain the whole 'no overstaying your welcome' rule."

"Is that a part of your 'no back-to-back sex' rule?"

"Yes, exactly," he sighs.

"Isn't that basically the same thing as your 'no more than once a week' rule?"

"No, the 'no more than once a week' rule specifically only works from Monday to Friday."

You scoff. "Oh, so theoretically you could sleep with someone on Sunday night and it wouldn't break the rule if you slept with them again on Monday morning?"

"Now you're getting it," he nods.

You finally glance over your shoulder, listening to him go on a long tangent about his recent sexual endeavours. He's completely different from the mischievous boy who crawled into your bed a decade ago…yet somehow exactly the same. Older now, bigger, broader, jaw sharper, hair perfectly styled. Still stupidly handsome in that infuriating, effortless way.

"Pick one for me," he grins, looking over at the pastry case.

That little tradition certainly didn't end in university. In fact, it's become an every-morning thing. He comes in before work and insists you surprise him with a new pastry to try. Apparently it keeps him on his toes, which he believes is very important in life.

You lean against the counter, your arms crossed. "Hmm. What's your vibe today?"

"I don't know," he sighs, pretending to think. "Handsome. Dashing. Maybe a little mysterious."

"Delusional," you chuckle.

"See? This is why this works," he smiles. "You keep me humble."

"What about a slice of apple and cherry crumble?"

"Nah, I had that one last week," he shakes his head.

"Lemon butter cream cup maybe?"

"Not really feeling a cream cup today," he shrugs.

"Hmmm..." You scan the display of desserts, pursing your lips. "Pistachio croissant?"

"___, come on. You're losing your touch," he teases.

"Okay, okay, uhmmm..." You scan the display once more, picking a popular new item on the menu. "Okay, today you're getting the honeycomb and lavender custard tart."

He lights up instantly, like a puppy being offered a treat. "Yes. Excellent choice. I knew you'd pick that."

"You didn't know anything," you scoff, plating it for him.

"I had a feeling."

"You always have a feeling."

"And it's always right," he grins.

The bell rings at the front door and you quickly turn your attention to the cash register to serve one of your regular customers, Mrs. Park—an elderly woman who always makes pleasant conversation and compares you to her granddaughter. She's incredibly nice and always compliments you on the frilly dresses you wear.

"What will it be today, Mrs. Park?" you smile sweetly.

"My usual, dear," she chuckles warmly. "One of those lovely chocolate eclairs of yours. My daughter tells me I should stop eating them so much because of my blood sugar but what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

You chuckle, wrapping one up for her in a little pastel-pink box, taking her cash with a polite bow of your head. "My lips are sealed," you wink.

She laughs and takes the box before walking off with a little wave of her wrinkled hand.

That brings you back to the man waiting for his breakfast.

"Here," you murmur, sliding the plate and mug of coffee toward him. "Eat and try not to break anything. You already broke two mugs last month and I'm seriously going to start charging you for them."

He takes a big bite of the mini tart and groans in delight. "God, marry me."

"You literally just told me about how you were balls deep in some girl from the bar," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "Besides, you fake-propose to me every morning."

"And I mean it every morning."

You snort. "Please. You'd never."

He leans an elbow on the counter. "Only because you'd divorce me for eating in bed and getting crumbs on the sheets," he sighs, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Correct," you nod, wiping down the counter. "I have standards."

He sets down his mug and straightens up, getting to what he's been meaning to discuss this morning. "So, you busy this Saturday?"

You shrug, mentally checking your schedule. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Because I need you."

You pause. "You do?"

"It's an invitation actually."

"Okay…" you murmur sceptically, narrowing your eyes at him. "To what?"

"My father's engagement party. Shocker."

Your rag pauses mid-swipe across the counter. "Which one?"

"Engagement or father?" he grins.

"Both."

"Engagement number ten. Father number one."

You blink. "Ten?"

"Ten," he repeats, like it physically pains him. "She's twenty-three, gorgeous, has a skincare routine that could bankrupt nations. I think she was in diapers when my dad got married the third time."

You gape. "Wait, who's the one that sold protein powder on Instagram?"

"That was number eight." He takes another sip of his coffee. "This one does yoga retreats in Bali and says things like 'alignment is a mindset'. Ridiculous, I know. And she only wears bags that are made from real baby alligator, allegedly."

"That's disgusting and inhumane," you grimace. "So...why do you need me?"

"Because," he groans, "he's having some fancy dinner-slash-engagement party and he wants me there, and I am not suffering through that circus alone. And my dad likes you. And you make me look balanced and emotionally stable."

"That's a lot of responsibility for one woman," you tease.

He shrugs. "You used to handle lawsuits for fun."

"Yeah but I don't do law anymore," you deadpan.

"You still look like you could send someone to jail," he grins, taking another bite of his dessert. "Anyway, you know how these things go. Everyone's going to ask why I'm still single, and I'll end up getting irritated because my dad's fiancée—who's younger than me—insists on calling me 'sweetie'. I need backup. Please come, ___. I'll owe you forever."

You laugh softly, leaning across the counter. "You already owe me forever, Jeon."

"Yeah, but this time I'll actually admit it," Jungkook mumbles, meeting your eyes with that boyish half-smile that hasn't changed in a decade.

"Fine. I'll go," you sigh, tossing the rag into the sink.

Jungkook beams, and you pretend your stomach doesn't flip.

"You're amazing," he grins and claps once, pushing off the counter with a mouth full of custard tart. "I'll pick you up at seven on Saturday. Wear something fancy. And also maybe emotionally prepare yourself."

"For what?" You chuckle.

He grimaces. "Stepmom Number Ten is…a handful."

You chuckle. "Aren't they always?"

He points at you as he backs toward the door. "Exactly why you're coming with me."

The bell jingles again as he leaves, and your day continues with familiar customers while he rushes through the morning traffic.

Jungkook's father's estate is something you would never be able to afford even if you opened ten more bakeries. Calling it a house would be like calling the Titanic a canoe. There are fountains—yes, plural. There is a driveway long enough to train for a marathon. There's valet parking and a floral arch made of white roses that look like they cost more than your entire bakery.

And there are people. A lot of people. Champagne clinks in the air, soft jazz plays somewhere in the distance, and laughter rolls in every direction.

You exhale, adjusting the strap on your dress. "I always feel very commoner-in-the-palace when I'm here."

Jungkook tucks your hand into the crook of his arm, pulling you closer as he leans in, looking dapper in his black tux. "Relax. You're one of the only sane people here. That automatically makes you royalty."

"Does it?"

"Yes," he smiles confidently. "And when my father inevitably lets me inherit this place, which I'll force him to do, then I'll make you queen of the fountains."

You snort. "I don't want to be queen of the fountains."

"Too late. You've been coronated." He taps your forehead with his finger. "Boop."

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms. He always does that; makes you feel like you belong wherever he is.

Inside, the party is in full swing. There are waiters weaving between people, guests mingling in glitter and silk, the future bride squealing in a voice that sounds like it's powered by helium and Mr. Jeon himself proudly showing off the engagement ring on her finger that could double as a murder weapon. There's even a towering cake on display, five tiers of gold-trimmed extravagance that you can't wait to recreate in your free time.

Jungkook grabs two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and hands you one, taking a big gulp.

The moment his father spots the two of you, his entire face lights up.

"There's my favourite duo!" Jeon Jaehyun sweeps you both into a hug—more you than Jungkook. Jungkook gets a pat on the back like a border collie. You get an affectionate double cheek kiss and a squeeze.

"Mr. Jeon," you greet with a polite bow and a soft smile. You've always liked him. He makes questionable choices when it comes to women, but he's nice and he always treats you like you're a part of the family. It's also clear where Jungkook gets his good looks from, not that you ever look for too long or else he'd make you Wife Number Eleven.

"You look stunning tonight, sweetheart," he beams. "I tell you, if I were thirty years younger—"

"You'd still be making terrible decisions, dad," Jungkook cuts in, unamused.

Jaehyun clicks his tongue. "I'll have you know, son, that marriage is an unpredictable thing."

You glance at the fiancée across the room, who is taking a selfie with the champagne tower, not noticing that she's flashing half the guests.

"Unpredictable, huh?" you echo with a soft smile. Sure.

The fiancée, Seulgi—with a gorgeous face, waist-length extensions and breasts that defy gravity—bounces over.

"Kookieee," she sings. Her voice is airy, like her brain has never had to carry anything heavier than a single thought.

"Kookie?" you whisper.

He grimaces. "Don't."

"Oh my gosh, is this your girlfriend?" she asks, looking you up and down like you're a lost child she found at the mall. "I didn't know my future stepson has a special lady!"

"This is ___," he sighs. "My best friend. Strictly platonic."

Seulgi nods, smiling like she understands exactly none of those words, before turning her attention to her future husband. "Love-muffin," she coos, kissing Jungkook's father on the cheek. "The guests are asking when we're cutting the cake."

Jungkook leans toward you, whispering, "My dad's nickname for her is Sugarpuss."

You almost choke on your champagne. "No."

"Yes," he grins sarcastically.

His father pats her waist affectionately, grabbing your attention. "Isn't she wonderful?"

She smiles. "I got my nails done for today."

She wiggles her fingers in front of your face. They're pink and sparkly and probably cost more than your monthly grocery bill.

You smile, nodding. "Very pretty."

"Thank you!" she squeals. "I got them done at—oh look, champagne!" She wanders away mid-sentence.

Jungkook closes his eyes, groaning. "My latest stepmother, ladies and gentlemen."

Jaehyun gives you both an apologetic smile. "Listen, she's...youthful. Nothing wrong with that."

"She probably can't even spell 'youthful', dad," Jungkook deadpans.

Before Jaehyun can respond, another round of shrieking laughter erupts from Seulgi's direction. Jaehyun sighs deeply, chuckling.

You squeeze his arm, a soft smile settling on your face. "Congratulations. I really hope you're happy, Mr. Jeon."

He softens at that, looking between you and Jungkook. "With people like the two of you around? Hard not to be."

Jungkook, knowing how much of a sap you are, drags you away before you can tear up, but that doesn't stop you from clutching your chest like your heart might physically burst right through it.

The buffet tables are the size of actual battle stations. You and Jungkook each grab cake slices and slip outside, where fairy lights glow over small round tables. You sit at one, kicking off your heels with a relieved sigh.

"Vanilla for you," Jungkook says, sliding your plate over. "Chocolate for me."

"And we share," you remind him.

"We always share."

You scoop a bite of chocolate from his plate. He steals some vanilla from yours. It's instinctual.

While you eat, you glance out at the dance floor. Couples are slow dancing under the lights, chins tucked against shoulders, fingers intertwined, faces soft with something that makes your chest ache a little.

"I love that," you murmur softly.

Jungkook follows your gaze. "What? Dancing?"

"No," you scoff, taking a small bite of the vanilla cake. "The...closeness. The comfort. You know, two people who actually like being around each other."

He snorts, stuffing his mouth with cake. "Boring."

"You literally treat dating like a casual sport," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "You can't even do something as simple as cuddling."

"I could cuddle if I really wanted to," he mumbles defensively, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Jungkook, you once pushed a girl off your chest because she said your heartbeat sounded like a lullaby."

He points his fork at you. "Okay, but after I pushed her off of me, I played her an actual lullaby on Spotify, so..."

You laugh so loudly someone glances over at your table.

He leans back in his chair, studying you. "You should be more spontaneous. You fall in love too quickly and you assume every boyfriend is the one. You ever think maybe you'd have more fun if you didn't plan out every part of your life?"

"I'm not planning," you argue, eating a forkful of the chocolate cake. "I just...I like security and stability in life."

"Or," he counters, "you're waiting for this perfect man who doesn't exist."

You shrug, absentmindedly poking the cake with your fork. "I'm not looking for perfect; I'm looking for someone who sees a future with me, not a guy who 'goes with the flow' because he doesn't know how to commit. Someone I can build a life with."

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you. "One; that's kinda delusional. Two; you're twenty-eight, you still have time for all that later in life."

"Not according to my mom. She believes I should have been married and had babies by now."

"That's insane," he scoffs. "I'm thirty and I'm perfectly fine the way I am."

"We're very different people with very opposing views on relationships, Jungkook," you murmur gently. "And besides, I do kinda agree with her to a certain extent. I want to build something soon and not waste time dating men who only want a weekend. I'll die alone if I don't get a move on."

He softens, almost imperceptibly. "You don't have to rush. It'll happen with the right person when it's meant to be."

You nod down at your plate, dragging your fork through some frosting. "Yeah. I guess."

"Besides, do you want to get married just for the sake of being married? Look at my father who's on his tenth marriage and soon, his tenth divorce."

"Don't be so negative," you murmur with a faint smile. "Maybe this one will be his person."

"My mom was supposed to be his person," he grumbles, picking at the vanilla cake. "This one is just another mistake to add to the list."

"Jungkook," you smile. "Even if you know it's a mistake but it's not your place to intervene, you simply say, 'I'm happy you're happy' and move along."

"Yeah, yeah," he scoffs, bringing his fork up to his lips. "You're always right. I hate that."

You chuckle, taking another bite of his slice of cake. The moment settles between you, and you take it as an opportunity to share something with him that's been on your mind lately.

"Speaking of being spontaneous…"

"Oh no," he teases. "That tone is never good."

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. "No, it's not anything crazy, it's just...I've kinda been thinking about going to London for the summer."

His fork freezes halfway to his mouth, his eyes growing double its size. "London?"

"Mhm. For a short pastry course," you explain. "Three months at this prestigious culinary institute. It's kinda a dream opportunity."

Jungkook is silent, his fork gently clinking against the plate as he sets it down.

"When were you gonna tell me?" he asks softly. He's not upset, just very caught off guard.

"Just now," you shrug. "I was on the fence about it for a while."

"Wow," he swallows thickly. "Three months?"

You nod.

He forces a small smile, the kind of smile he uses when he doesn't like something but refuses to ruin things for you. It's a smile that tells you he doesn't know how to live without you for that long, but he'll pretend like he's totally fine.

"That's…wow, that's amazing, ___."

"Yeah." You pick at your cake some more. "But I don't know. It's expensive and I'd be away from the bakery for months, and I've never been out of the country alone before, and—"

"Hey," he smiles, softly nudging your knee under the table. "You can do it."

"I don't know," you mumble. "It feels like…a big jump."

"You like big jumps."

"No, you like big jumps. I like stable ground, a clear path and preferably a railing."

He grins. "I'll install a railing in London."

You glare at him but your laughter slips out effortlessly.

His smile softens even more. "Seriously. If you want it, go for it. The bakery will survive. The other staff can run it. And you should do things for yourself for once. You're always taking care of everyone else."

You open your mouth to argue, then shut it when you realise you don't have an argument. You hate that he's not wrong.

"I'll miss home," you mutter quietly.

"Home will always be here, ___, it isn't going anywhere," he shrugs. "Seoul will always be your home. Three months in London won't magically change that."

You want to tell him that you'll miss him as well, but saying that you'll miss home is close enough. It's one in the same anyway.

"And," he adds, "if you get lost, I'll fly over and find you."

You roll your eyes. "Right, because you're definitely responsible enough for that."

"Hey, I'd bring a GPS."

You chuckle, leaning back in your chair as warm air settles around you, the fairy lights flickering overhead and Jungkook licking frosting off his fork like it's nothing.

"You think I'll do well?"

"Of course," he smiles, nudging your shoulder. "It's you. You're gonna shine. And I'll visit, or we'll video call...or I'll just break into the institute and steal you back."

You laugh, but your chest tightens. He's trying so hard to be happy for you. You can tell.

"You sure you'll survive without me?"

He scoffs dramatically. "If anything, I'll thrive. I'll become stronger, faster, a new man."

"Right," you chuckle. "You'll last three days before you start texting me pictures of pastries and asking which one to buy."

"I give it two," he admits in defeat.

You laugh, the last of the tension easing as the music swells in the distance. Your face slowly melts into a tender smile, your eyes softening ever so gently. It all feels so warm and intimate, and strangely bittersweet.

"Thank you for always supporting me," you murmur quietly.

"Always," he smiles before feeding you a piece of cake on his fork.

You're mid-bite into your cake when Jungkook's entire face suddenly drains of colour.

"Oh no," he whispers.

You pause, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

He doesn't answer in words. Instead, he subtly tilts his head toward the patio doors.

You follow his gaze. A woman in a tight pencil skirt and glasses, hair in a too-tight bun, is clutching a binder to her chest like it's a bible and she's about to testify. Her eyes scan the place with an intensity that could cut steel.

"Uhm…who is that?" you whisper.

"One of my dad's senior analysts." He swallows, setting down his fork. "Her name's Yuri."

"She looks...friendly," you tease.

"She made a blog about me," he hisses.

Your eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"A blog. It's called 'All Things Jungkook'. Can you believe that?"

You snicker, covering your mouth so you don't get cake everywhere. "You're kidding."

"I wish."

You laugh too loudly and Jungkook shushes you frantically before it can catch Yuri's attention.

"She wrote an entire essay analysing my facial structure," he whispers. "Like, paragraphs. There were diagrams."

You bite your bottom lip to keep from cackling, your face contorting with amusement. "Diagrams?"

"She compared my jawline to Renaissance sculptures," he mutters miserably. "Sculptures, ___."

You wheeze.

"At least she doesn't think my nose is too big or my arms are too scrawny," he adds under his breath, pouting.

You stop laughing, your smile fading.

"Who said that?"

He stares at you.

"You did," he scoffs. "Back in university."

You gasp. "I did not say that!"

"You did," he nods solemnly. "You also said my top lip is too thin."

You slap a hand over your mouth, horrified and amused all at once. "Okay, to be fair, I was an extremely critical eighteen-year-old who was drowning in law textbooks, so I didn't really have a nice thing to say about anyone."

He looks in Yuri's direction, who is still scanning the crowd like a Terminator. "She's gonna see me. She's gonna corner me and ask if I read her four-page analysis about my eyebrows."

You're already laughing again.

"___," he begs, grabbing your wrist. "Dance with me."

"Wait, what?"

"Please," he hisses. "If I'm on the dance floor with someone, she won't approach me."

You arch a brow. "You want me to publicly claim you as occupied?"

"Yes."

You chuckle faintly but stand anyway. "You so owe me."

The music has shifted to something smooth and slow—a romantic melody playing that makes older couples sway like they're reliving their youth. Jungkook places a hand lightly on your waist as you join the crowd. It's familiar but warmer than usual. Or maybe it's the champagne going to your head.

You rest your left hand on his shoulder and your right hand in his palm as you both begin to sway, your faces a lot closer together than they usually are.

"Okay," you smile, "which part of your face did she analyse the hardest?"

"My jaw," he mutters. "Apparently it has a 'mathematically perfect slope', or something like that."

You smile, letting him sway you to the music. "Well, she's not wrong."

He does a double take, staring at you like you said something completely crazy.

"What?" you chuckle.

"What did you just say?" he asks, leaning in closer.

"I said she's not wrong," you shrug.

He squints at you. "You used to call me a pretentious dick."

"That was also true."

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

You grin, then hesitate just a fraction, but he notices.

"What is it?" he asks softly.

You shouldn't say it. You really shouldn't say it, but the music is soft, and the lights are warm, and you're pressed just a bit too close to a man you trust more than anyone in the world, so you blurt it out before you can stop yourself.

"I always thought you were...cute. You know, back in the day. I might've...had a little crush on you..."

His entire body goes still, his eyes growing wide.

"You what?"

"It was a teeny tiny...stupid crush," you clarify. "Very small and insignificant. Microscopic, actually."

Jungkook continues to stare at you, his lips parting in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"You..." he scoffs, smiling. "You had a crush on me?"

"Don't say it like that," you chuckle, growing flustered.

"No, I'm just..." He searches your face, bewildered and—although he tries to hide it—quite pleased. "I thought you hated me in university."

"Oh, please. If I hated you, I wouldn't have wasted my time insulting you."

He laughs, loud and delighted.

"So, all those insults were, what? You flirting?"

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Calm down, Jeon."

"You secretly pined for me," he grins smugly, gently twirling you around until you're facing him again.

"Pined? Relax. It lasted, like, two weeks."

"Mhm, sure," he teases. "I bet you were doodling my name in all your notebooks and imagining what our children would look like."

You give him a deadpan stare. "Don't push it. That ship sailed a long time ago."

His smile falters just enough for you to notice if you're really paying attention, but he recovers quickly, tugging you a little closer as the music swells.

"Right, of course," he mumbles softly, looking past you while you sway to the music.

You clear your throat, feeling desperate to redirect the conversation before the air gets heavy.

"So…London," you murmur softly.

He hums, twirling you around once more before pulling you in close. "London."

"I think it'll be good for me," you admit. "A break. Something new."

He studies you—the bright excitement in your eyes, the uncertainty underneath, the hope, and something flashes in his expression that you don't catch, something soft and affectionate.

"Well," he smiles, his voice quieter than before, "I guess I'll have to see you off at the airport, huh?"

You smile, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

He closes his eyes, savouring the moment, his voice coming out just a tad louder than a whisper. "Fuck, I'm gonna miss you."

You roll your eyes, feeling a warmth bloom deep within your ribs. "You're a sap like me now."

He smirks, the earlier tension slipping away. "Don't tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me."

He dips you playfully, the two of you laughing, brushing shoulders, standing closer than friends should—close enough that the air between you buzzes with something you both feel.

Outside the dance floor, Yuri is still circling like a shark, but Jungkook doesn't look her way once. Not when he's looking at you.

Incheon Airport buzzes with summer chaos; children dragging suitcases bigger than their bodies, couples taking teary selfies, businessmen speed-walking like their lives depend on it. In the middle of it all, you stand with your luggage, passport, and a rapidly beating heart.

Jungkook is beside you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

"So…" he mumbles, rocking back on his heels, "I guess this is it."

You nod, clutching the handle of your suitcase. "Three months."

"Three months," he echoes.

There's a brief moment where the airport noise fades and it's just you and him and ten years of friendship sitting between you.

He reaches out and flicks a piece of fluff from your sweater, even though you're ninety percent sure there never was any fluff to begin with. "You'll text me when you land?"

"I'll text you as soon as I get WiFi," you nod.

"And you'll video call me?"

"Only if you don't answer while you're at the gym and make me look at your sweaty forehead again."

"That was one time," he chuckles.

You grin. He grins back, but his fades first.

"Go be brilliant, okay?" he murmurs softly. "London's waiting for you."

Your chest warms. "I'll miss you."

Something flickers in his eyes but he blinks fast before you can question it.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Me too."

You smile, lightly punching his arm. "I love you, idiot."

He rolls his eyes, his lips twitching at the corners. "Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now go."

When you finally walk toward the gate, you don't turn around, but Jungkook stays in place, watching until you disappear. When he finally walks out of the airport, he tells himself the heaviness in his chest is pride, not anything else.

Definitely not. It couldn't be.

—

London greets you with fresh summer air, the faint smell of rain, and immediate sensory overload. The taxis are louder, the buildings older, and everyone talks like they're narrating a BBC documentary.

And you feel more alive than ever.

Your first day at the culinary institute feels like stepping into a whole new world. The kitchens gleam like they've been polished a thousand times. The finest plates await your creations. The ovens are fancier than anything you could ever dream of using.

You learn laminated dough, the perfect method for chocolate tempering, advanced patisserie techniques, all things you used to watch on YouTube while telling yourself you'd perfect someday.

Now 'someday' is here and it's better than you anticipated.

You snap pictures of everything—your flaky pastries, your fancy meringues, your messy apron—and send each and every one of them to Jungkook, even if he responds hours later because of the time difference or his busy schedule.

Between classes, you make the most of your London summer. You buy dresses and blouses that make you feel like a character in a Bridget Jones movie, you carry around flowers wrapped in brown paper that will sit in the middle of the coffee table in your hotel room, you sip tea at cute cafés and buy souvenirs for Jungkook every chance you get.

A vintage Beatles t-shirt.

A Big Ben keychain.

A tiny corgi plush.

Your classmates take you in immediately and within your first month, your nights are filled with dinners at pubs where everything is fried, rooftop wine with the funny Brazilian girl from your pastry group and late-night tube rides where you and the others fall asleep leaning on each other. You make memories that will last a lifetime, and at one point, you don't even think about everything waiting for you back in Seoul.

It's a quiet Saturday afternoon when you find yourself wandering through the sculpture gallery of the Victoria and Albert Museum. There's a hush in the air, as if the marble statues are asleep and everyone else is just trying not to disturb them.

You stop in front of Canova's "Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss."

It's breathtaking. It's delicate and romantic and heartbreakingly intimate, like stone brought to life. Cupid leans over Psyche, gently cradling her as if she might shatter. You've seen it in pictures before, but seeing it in person makes it that much better.

You step closer, completely mesmerised, but a shutter clicks beside you, catching you off guard and pulling you from your daze.

There's a man standing next to you, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark cardigan and round glasses that slide slightly down his nose. His hair is dark and frames his face, and a film camera hangs from a strap around his neck. He's just taken a photo of the sculpture, and when he notices you looking, he offers a warm, slightly sheepish smile.

"Sorry," he murmurs in a low, honey-smooth voice, the British accent doing something tingly to your insides. "Didn't mean to interrupt your moment."

You smile politely. "You didn't, don't worry about it."

He turns to look at the sculpture again, tilting his head. "It's beautiful, isn't it? There's something timeless about it." He glances back at you. "Makes you believe that it's worth it to wait for a love like that."

Your eyebrows raise, feeling a bit taken aback by the rather romantic stranger.

He laughs softly. "Sorry. That was…dramatic."

"No," you shake your head, smiling wider. "It was really nice...and true."

"I guess that means I'm not being overly sentimental."

"Or we both are," you smile.

"Could be worse," he shrugs. "I'd rather be overly sentimental than chronically indifferent."

You let out a soft laugh. "That's a good line."

"Thank you, I read it in a book once," he smiles down at the ground, fidgeting with his camera.

You both turn back toward the statue, standing in comfortable silence for a beat, watching how the late afternoon light casts golden shadows on the white stone.

"I'm Kim Namjoon, by the way," he says after a moment, holding out a hand.

"___," you smile, shaking it.

"You're not from here, are you?"

You shake your head. "Seoul, South Korea."

His eyes light up. "Really? Me too...well, kinda. My parents are Korean but they met here in England while they were both studying at Oxford. They moved back to Korea after getting married. That's where I was born, but we moved back to England when I was about five. I haven't been back in a while."

You nod, your interest piqued. "And now you…take pictures of sculptures for a living?"

He chuckles. "Not exclusively. I'm a photographer, mostly travel and editorial, but I come here a lot on my days off. It grounds me."

"I get that," you murmur. "Bakeries do that for me."

He looks over at you, his eyebrows raising. "You're a baker?"

You nod. "I own a small bakery back in Seoul. It's kinda why I'm here, actually. I'm doing a summer course at a culinary institute nearby to brush up on my skills. I'm only here for three months."

"That's incredible." His smile is genuine, his eyes shining under the museum lights. "Honestly, I think bakers are like magicians. You turn flour and cocoa into happiness. It's very impressive."

You laugh, nodding along. "That's very nice of you to say, thank you."

"You're very welcome, Miss ___."

He looks back at the sculpture for a moment, then turns back to you, a little more tentative this time.

"I know this is a bit forward, but…do you perhaps have plans after this?"

You feel your heart pound harder, your head shaking almost too excitedly. "No, not really."

He smiles, clearly a little nervous, like he's not used to doing this. "Would you maybe want to grab a coffee with me? I could show you around London if you'd like. There's a place just down the road; very tiny and unassuming but the coffee's good and they have these absurdly large cinnamon buns that are to die for."

He's handsome, has an accent that makes your thighs clench, and he wants to take you to a café. You don't even have to think about it.

"I'd love to."

His face softens, looking like he didn't quite expect you to say yes.

You chat while you walk out together, side by side, stealing one last look at Cupid and Psyche, and somewhere deep in your chest, you wonder if he is a part of the fresh start you've been craving.

—

It all starts with a simple coffee date.

After the museum, you and Namjoon tuck yourselves into a quiet corner of a café near Hyde Park, where he stirs his cappuccino with one hand and nervously fidgets with the strap of his camera with the other. He asks thoughtful questions, listens like he genuinely cares and laughs with the cutest expression that makes your cheeks flush every single time. He walks you home that night—hands brushing, hearts pounding—and from there, it all blossoms at the speed of light.

Your second date is dinner at a tiny Italian restaurant where you end up talking for hours, sharing pasta and trading childhood stories. He shyly admits he once cried when his favourite bakery shut down, and you know then and there that he's your type of person.

On the third date, you sit beside the Thames at sunset, barely an inch between you, and when your head falls against his shoulder, neither of you move. Your first kiss happens in the rain after a trip to a vintage bookshop, hesitant at first—until it isn't. Until his hands are warm on your waist and yours are in his hair, time melting into the taste of his mouth.

You start to crave his presence, his voice, his intellect wrapped in a British accent and kind eyes.

One night, after too much wine and too many loaded glances, you kiss him breathlessly in his hallway and let him lead you to his bed. It's slow and sweet, and he makes you feel like the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes upon. That happens quite often after the first time. You have sex in the shower, the backseat of his car, on the floor of your hotel room, and it's always better than the last.

By the start of August, Namjoon is a fixture in your London summer. He waits for you after class. He carries your shopping bags without a complaint. He reads books aloud when you can't sleep, chuckles at your terrible attempt at a British accent, and takes endless sneaky photos of you mid-laugh just because he loves the way you look when you're at your happiest. He even drives you out to the English countryside to have dinner with his parents.

Somewhere between the late-night talks and stolen kisses, you fall for him harder than you ever meant to. And the scariest part isn't how fast it happens…it's how disappointed you are that it's all temporary.

—

Namjoon unlocks the door to his flat, stepping inside with the same subtle confidence you've come to love. He holds the door open for you—always a gentleman, even when his fingers were just threaded through yours all the way home from the pub, even when his lips were pressed against your neck as you waited for your Uber, even when his voice had dropped into that low, breathy register that made your knees weak.

You step into the warmth of his space. It smells like him, which you've come to love as well. The lights are dim, a large bookshelf lines the wall, vinyl records stacked neatly near a player and a blooming houseplant stands tall in the corner.

He toes off his shoes and reaches for your jacket. "Here," he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek from behind.

You slip your jacket off your shoulders, your pulse jumping as he hangs it up with care. He rests his hands in his pants pockets, watching you as you turn to face him. His eyes flick over your lips, your neckline, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear like you're totally not still nervous around him.

"Wanna watch a movie?" he offers.

You shake your head, smiling.

He nods slowly and takes the hint, cupping your face in his large hands. The kiss that follows comes easily, mouths moving languidly, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. You've kissed Namjoon a million times over the past three months—on couches, in doorways, on sidewalks lit by streetlights—but this time it feels far more gentle and intimate.

By the time he breaks away, you're breathing in shallow little waves.

"C'mon," he murmurs softly, taking your hand in his. He leads you down the hall, into his bedroom. It's minimalistic, very clean. There's no pretence, just him.

He doesn't pull you into bed. Not yet, at least.

He stands beside the low bookshelf near the window, arms folded loosely, watching you run a hand through your hair.

"Is this really just for three months?" he asks softly. "You being in London? You're really going back to Seoul?"

You sigh, realising you'd have to have this conversation eventually. "Yeah. I mean…that's always been the plan, Joon."

He nods slowly. He just needed to hear you confirm it. "Right. Just…three months."

You sit down on the edge of his bed, your hands resting in your lap. "I just...didn't think I'd actually…meet someone here. I just came to bake things and buy overpriced souvenirs for my best friend."

He smiles at that, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

You tilt your head, your eyebrows furrowing. "Why do you ask?"

Namjoon exhales and smiles. "I guess I've just been thinking about it a lot more than I expected to."

He walks toward you slowly, kneeling down so he's at eye level, his hands resting on your knees with the utmost tenderness.

"___, I know we've only known each other for a short while," he murmurs, keeping his voice steady. "But..."

You swallow thickly, sensing a shift in the air.

Namjoon pulls out a small velvet box from his pants pocket.

You freeze, completely at a loss for words. "Wait. Namjoon, is that...?"

He nods and opens it, his eyes moving from the little box to your face. Inside is a simple, vintage ring; an oval-cut diamond set in an antique band. It's timeless and stunning.

"Kim Namjoon, you're insane," you whisper, letting out a soft, breathless chuckle. "You actually bought a ring?"

He smiles up at you, shaking his head. "I didn't buy it."

Your head tilts in confusion.

"It was my grandmother's," he explains. "She wore it for over fifty years. My mum kept it after my granny passed…and last week...I asked her for it."

Your throat tightens, your eyes widening. "You…asked for it?"

He nods, glancing down at the ring. "I called her and told her that I'm serious about you. I told her that you make me feel like I'm a better version of myself just by existing next to me."

You press a hand to your mouth, feeling overwhelmed with a whole mixture of emotions.

"She told me I was a little nuts," he adds with a chuckle. "That no sane man proposes to someone he's only known for three months."

You laugh, nodding. "Your mom's smart."

"She is." His smile melts into something softer, more serious. "But I'm in love with you. And I don't want to wait."

There's a beat of silence, just the sound of your heartbeat roaring in your ears, the hustle and bustle of the city outside his window, and the impossible weight of the moment sitting in your chest.

"I know it's really fast," he says gently, "but when I look at you, it doesn't feel fast or crazy. It feels like I've been waiting for you my whole life without even knowing I was waiting."

You don't say anything right away.

This man wants to marry you. This man who instantly took a liking to you when he met you. This man who's intelligent and kind and effortlessly elegant. This man who just presented you with his grandmother's wedding ring like it was meant to be yours all along.

Namjoon watches your expression carefully, waiting patiently.

Then, cautiously, he smiles.

"Will you marry me?"

—

At first, it all just feels like a mild inconvenience for Jungkook.

You're in a different country, in a different time zone, and of course it's normal that your texts come through while he's asleep or his calls are missed because you're stuck in class. Days pass where your voices never reach each other, just fragments—missed calls, unread messages, half-finished voice notes.

At first, he tells himself it's normal, maybe even healthy. You're living your best life halfway across the world, and he refuses to be the needy friend who holds your back. Still, he finds himself reaching for his phone too often, typing things and deleting them, falling asleep with your chat left open like maybe, somehow, it will make you feel closer.

He goes out a lot in June.

He texts you at 2am after coming home from drinks with Jin and two girls he doesn't remember the names of. The text says, "Miss your dumb face," followed by a blurry selfie. You don't answer until seven hours later with a laughing emoji because you just finished rolling a million croissants and you're too tired to ask how his night went.

He smiles at his phone like an idiot every time your name pops up on his screen, but the more time passes, the more the silence starts to hurt.

In July, he hooks up with a girl he met at a rooftop restaurant. She's beautiful, super tall, wears a silk dress that shows off just enough to have him on edge. She calls him "handsome" and laughs at all the right moments. Her perfume is strong, her lip gloss sticky. He pulls her into his apartment and they undress in a haze of clumsy heat, getting straight to the point of the evening—sex.

Jungkook grunts and squeezes his eyes shut as he thrusts into her in missionary, his head spinning as he desperately tries to focus on the task at hand and not the text he sent you a few hours ago that still hasn't been answered.

When he opens his eyes again to kiss her, he's completely thrown off his game when it's not her face he sees contorting in pleasure—it's yours.

It's the familiar curve of your smile.

It's the sparkle in your eyes when the two of you slow danced at his father's engagement party.

It's the look of longing you had on your face when you said goodbye at the airport.

Jungkook stops moving, his hips halting mid-stroke. The girl moans something but he doesn't hear it, far too distracted by your eyes fluttering in his head. He closes his eyes once more, his breathing ragged, his heart hammering. Once he finally gets it together, he forces himself to finish but it just feels hollow now.

When August arrives, Jungkook decides to soldier on until you eventually get back to Seoul.

He meets up with a different woman on a random Monday afternoon—a friend of a friend. They get coffee, then lunch, then dinner a week later. She's cute and easy company. She asks about the meanings of all his tattoos, kisses slow and rides him fast.

She seems genuinely interested in him, so on their fourth hangout—which he insists on calling it instead of a date because he doesn't want her to get the idea that he's serious about her—he takes her to your bakery.

It's his safe place and it smells like you. It's comforting, and warm, and always welcoming. And maybe he takes her there because some part of him just misses home.

The display case is full of your signature work; dainty cupcakes decorated with edible flowers, fluffy cinnamon donuts rolled into perfect spheres, sticky toffee buns that always taste better each time he eats them.

Jungkook stares at the options, his hands in his pockets. "I can't decide what to get," he sighs, testing the waters. "Pick one for me."

She blinks, her pretty doe eyes filled with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't know, it's kinda fun," he smiles. "Just choose something for me."

She raises a brow, looking at the array of desserts. "Okay…a cookie."

He pauses, glancing at her. "No, like...be specific."

"Okay." She stares at the case, then smiles over at him. "A really big cookie?"

He smiles, but it's so fake it almost physically hurts. "Right. Sure."

She doesn't get it, of course she wouldn't. It's not about the dessert. It's so much more than that.

They end up leaving with one cookie for her and nothing but disappointment for him.

—

The days blur and the nights stretch endlessly.

He scrolls through your texts again and again, reading old ones just to be reminded of how funny you are. He reads the ones where you got into a debate about 'sex weather', in which you insisted that rainy weather is always the best time for sex, or rather "making love" as you put it, because you hate being sweaty while trying to be romantic. He listens to the voice note where you tried to explain a French baking term and got so flustered when you lost your train of thought that you ended it with, "Anyway, I'm a fraud, bye."

He plays that one three times, chuckling to himself in bed like a crazy person.

He wants to call you, to hear your voice and listen to you ramble about oven temperature settings and undercooked soufflé.

He wants to say...well, he doesn't really know what he wants to say. He just knows that no one else makes him feel whole the way you do.

That everyone else feels like a filler. Like static. Never you, though. You feel like home.

He tosses his phone aside and stares up at his bedroom ceiling, running a hand through his hair with a huff. It hits him gently, like a slow wave that unexpectedly knocks him off his feet and drowns him in an instant:

You're not just his best friend or the girl he jokingly flirts with out of habit. You're more than just someone who knows how he likes his coffee or which songs make him cry or why he hates sleeping in certain positions because it hurts his back.

You're it.

You're the one he'll always look for in a crowd of people, the one he still wants to talk to at the end of every stressful, shitty day. The one he hasn't stopped thinking about since the moment you walked through that departure gate—hell, since the moment he accidentally stumbled into your bed ten years ago.

And he doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do with that.

The thud of the basketball echoes through the gym as Jungkook dribbles, sweat clinging to his skin, his heart pounding from exertion. Seokjin's guarding him—kinda lazily—and Wonwoo's near the free-throw line, his sleeves rolled up and jaw set with focus. Mingyu's off to the side, taking his sweet time sipping water and pretending like he doesn't play the most aggressively of all four of them.

Jungkook fakes left, cuts right, and lands the shot. It bounces once, then rolls in.

"Still got it," he grins, jogging back as Mingyu throws him a towel.

"You've got cardio," Wonwoo pants. "Not game."

"Don't need game when I'm playing against geriatrics," Jungkook shoots back.

"Hey!" Seokjin wipes his forehead. "I may be a father now, but I could still outrun you with one baby strapped to my chest and another in the oven."

"You're not even the one with the oven," Mingyu snorts.

"My point still stands," Seokjin shrugs.

They keep playing—passes, dodges, light-hearted trash talk—but somewhere between defence drills and free throws, Jungkook finds himself zoning out. He leans against the padded wall, bouncing the ball absentmindedly, his thoughts far from the gym.

Seokjin notices first.

"You good?" he asks, tossing his friend a water bottle.

Jungkook catches it, hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"That's suspicious," Mingyu scoffs. "When you think too much, you start texting your exes."

"No," Jungkook mutters quietly, shaking his head. "Not this time."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, walking over. "What's going on?"

Jungkook rolls the ball along the floor with his foot, sighing. "I think I'm in love with ___."

There's a silence that stretches just a second too long, the guys all shooting each other a look.

Seokjin's eyebrows furrow, his hands resting on his hips. "Wait, what?"

Mingyu whistles, patting Jungkook on the back. "Holy shit. That's not what I was expecting."

Wonwoo just leans against the wall and crosses his arms, his expression unreadable.

Jungkook shifts, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know. It just hit me all at once. I've been trying to date, distract myself. I took a girl to the bakery the other day and asked her to pick something for me like ___ always does…and she picked a fucking cookie. Just said 'a big one'," he snorts humourlessly. "Didn't even get the point."

"You do realize she's not ___, right?" Seokjin chuckles. "How would she know what you meant?"

"Exactly. That's my point," Jungkook groans. "No one's her, dude. I've been around her for ten years, and I think I convinced myself I'd always have time to figure it out, but now she's in London, living her dream, probably flirting with a bunch of British guys."

"Let's not spiral," Wonwoo mutters.

"I just…" Jungkook exhales sharply. "I don't want anyone else. I want her. And...I actually want to do something about it."

The guys pause before Seokjin grabs his shoulder, smiling. "Well, shit! That's called growing up."

"You're not wrong," Mingyu mutters, grabbing the ball to dribble again. "But don't ask me to relate. I'm good with casual sex and no one touching my closet space."

"You say that now," Seokjin scoffs. "Then one day you're holding a baby while your wife cries watching dog rescue videos and suddenly it's the best moment of your life."

"Wow," Wonwoo deadpans. "That got oddly specific."

Jungkook laughs quietly, glancing down at the floor. "I never thought I'd want that. Not the marriage thing or the kids. I thought I'd stay the way I was forever. Just…you know, vibing."

Seokjin smiles, fond and a little smug. "Now 'just vibing' feels kinda empty, huh?"

Jungkook nods.

"She's different," he murmurs softly. "She makes everything feel like it matters. Without her, everything feels off."

Mingyu makes a dramatic gagging noise. "Can we go back to basketball now? This sappy talk is giving me indigestion."

Seokjin chuckles, giving Jungkook a hard pat on the back. "Tell her when she gets back. Don't wait."

Jungkook nods, determination setting in as he jogs over to play another round.

He's not sure how you'll react to all this, but he's done running from his feelings. He's finally ready. He just hopes you are too.

—

Jungkook listens to your voicemail multiple times when he gets home from work Friday evening.

"Hey…I'm back in Seoul! I've missed you so much. Can we have dinner tonight around 7? I was thinking of going to our usual restaurant. I have so much to tell you. It feels like I've been gone forever. Let me know, okay? Okay, I love you, bye!"

Your voice is bubbly, laced with excitement. You sound like you dialed his number as soon as you got off the plane, the airport noise in the background a clear giveaway.

Jungkook doesn't waste a second. He showers, sprays himself with his most expensive cologne and pulls out a navy suit he usually reserves for weddings and important meetings. He doesn't usually go out of his way to look good for a woman because he's him—he doesn't have to try, but this is you and he wants to leave a lasting impression when he tells you his feelings. Tonight is different. It's significant, and he doesn't want to screw it up.

On his way to the restaurant, he stops at a street vendor and buys a bouquet of peonies—your favourite. He might not be the most conventionally romantic guy on the planet, but he knows you hate roses because you think they're cliché and typical. He knows that you prefer fish over red meat, and that you hate big gatherings because they make you anxious. He knows you better than anyone else on Earth, and he loves you.

The restaurant is buzzing when he walks in—dim lights, quiet chatter, the smell of red wine and garlic butter thick in the air. He spots you immediately, perched at the bar at the far end of the restaurant, laughing at something.

His breath catches at the sight of you.

You look like London. That's the only way he can describe it. You're glowing, your cheeks rosy, your lips stained red. It's different but still you, like something bloomed while he wasn't looking.

He starts walking toward you, a smile pulling at his lips.

But then he sees him.

A tall man standing beside you, dimples on full display like someone's paying him to smile that brightly. He leans in close, says something in your ear, and presses a quick kiss to your lips. It's all a bit too casual, too familiar.

It stops Jungkook in his tracks. When he starts walking again it's fast and panicked. So much so that he doesn't see the waiter passing by until it's too late.

"Sir, excuse m—"

There's a loud crash, a blur of limbs flying about as Jungkook collides into the poor guy carrying a full tray of glasses. Water, wine, forks, the tray itself, it all goes flying as both men go down in a heap right in the middle of the restaurant.

"Shit—!"

"Oh my goodness—Jungkook?!"

You're off your stool in a second, rushing over with wide eyes. The man beside you joins you just as quickly, crouching down to help both Jungkook and the waiter up.

Jungkook winces, pushing himself up to sit.

You're already reaching for him, pulling him up to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? You just...you slammed into that guy—"

"I'm fine," Jungkook mutters, straightening up, brushing water off his sleeves. He glances down at the scattered bouquet now lying halfway under the barstools.

You crouch to pick it up, glancing up at him.

"And you bought flowers?" you ask with a hopeful glint in your eyes.

Jungkook freezes, glancing at the flowers. He clears his throat, then grabs the bouquet and abruptly shoves it into the startled waiter's hands. "No. These are his."

The waiter is taken aback, and so are you.

Jungkook claps the poor guy on the back, offering him a fake smile. "Congratulations on your...anniversary or whatever."

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Mhm," Jungkook nods, his voice tight. "Just clumsy, I guess. Classic me."

You exchange a look with the man Jungkook is still unsure of, who offers your best friend a faint smile. The three of you start walking toward the table—your table, the one you and Jungkook always request when it's just the two of you.

Jungkook doesn't say anything. He sits across from you and watches as the other man pulls out your chair like he's done it a dozen times before, which makes Jungkook's jaw twitch.

And he waits.

Waits for you to explain.

Waits to figure out why he suddenly feels like the only person in the room who didn't get the memo.

You smile and gesture toward the man beside you, your face lighting up at you look at him, a look Jungkook hasn't seen on your face in a really long time.

"Jungkook, this is Kim Namjoon. Namjoon, this is Jeon Jungkook; my best friend I've been telling you all about."

Namjoon leans over with a warm smile and extends his hand to Jungkook. "It's really nice to finally meet you, Jungkook. I've heard so much about you from this lovely lady."

Jungkook forces a smile, reaches out, and shakes it. "Yeah. Nice to meet you too."

His voice sounds normal but his chest feels hollow.

"I've been trying to picture you this whole time," Namjoon continues in that British accent that makes Jungkook's bile rise in his throat. "___'s mentioned you in almost every story she's told me."

You laugh, your cheeks turning pink. "I might've overdone it."

"No," Namjoon murmurs softly, gazing at you like the rest of the world has vanished. "I loved it. Felt like I already knew him."

Jungkook looks down at the table, wishing he could gouge out his eyes with the silverware. "So…what's the deal with you two? You met in London?"

Your smile widens as you nod. "It was so random! I was at a museum, just minding my business, and I was standing in front of this gorgeous sculpture, and then Namjoon just appeared next to me with a camera."

Namjoon chuckles. "She was so focused on the piece, I wasn't even sure if I should say anything."

"But he did," you grin. "He struck up a conversation, and we ended up at a little café for cinnamon buns and coffee, which was amazing, by the way."

"You had cinnamon buns with a stranger?" Jungkook murmurs, trying to sound amused, not crushed.

You wave him off. "Oh please. It just felt so natural. And after that, we just kept seeing each other. Museum dates, dinners, exploring the city. We couldn't stay away from each other."

Namjoon affectionately rubs your back with his palm. "I couldn't help myself, she's irresistible."

Jungkook watches the gesture, taking note of how you lean into it like muscle memory. "Sounds like it all happened fast."

"It did," you admit, your smile softening. "But it felt so right."

He nods, staring at the breadbasket in the middle of the table, and wishes he could crawl into it and disappear.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asks, his voice quieter than before. "I mean…I know we missed a lot of calls but I would've wanted to hear about this."

You shift in your seat, your expression falling slightly. "I wanted to, I really did. But things just got so hectic. Classes ran late, we were always on the move, and then the time difference made everything harder. I drafted messages and forget to send them, and after a while, I figured…I'd tell you everything properly when I got back."

You look at him with so much honesty that it only hurts him more.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

He nods, offering you a faint smile. "It's okay."

It's anything but okay, but he'll suck it up and bite his tongue for you.

Namjoon clears his throat, shifting forward. "I know it's probably a lot to take in all at once, but I wanted to tell you myself. I asked ___ to marry me."

Jungkook's eyes flick up to meet his, his face unreadable.

"And I said yes!" You smile and lift your left hand, showing him your ring. It glints under the restaurant lights, sitting delicately on your finger, mocking him.

Jungkook swallows thickly, a pleasant mask glued to his face. "Wow. It's…beautiful."

You beam. "Isn't it? It was Namjoon's grandmother's."

Namjoon takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. "I figured it could be lucky for us."

Jungkook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, glancing between you and Namjoon. "Yeah. Guess so."

He smiles at all the right moments, pretends like his chest isn't caving in, nods as if he's really listening when you tell him all about your summer with Namjoon, but all he feels is regret and bitterness that some other guy gets to take you home tonight instead of him.

You're in love. You're engaged. You're sitting across from him glowing like a woman who's found her forever. And Jungkook is just the best friend—the one who waited too long to be ready for you.

"So…" you begin, your voice light but a little nervous, glancing at Namjoon. "We've actually already started planning the wedding."

Jungkook looks startled, looking between you two. "Already?"

Namjoon nods, smiling. "We figured there's no reason to wait."

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, looking back at you. "But…you just got back."

"I know," you murmur. "But we're getting married in England in a church Namjoon's dad helped build. It's near their home in the countryside. It's perfect, Jungkook."

"Mm, it's right across from the distillery," Namjoon nods.

Jungkook looks between the two of you, trying to process. "Distillery?"

"Yeah," you say, brightening. "Namjoon's parents own a whiskey distillery."

Of course they do. Of course his parents own a distillery and build churches and probably rescue injured animals in their free time.

"And the wedding is in a month," Namjoon adds.

Jungkook's eyebrows shoot up, his eyes practically popping out of their sockets. "A month?"

You nod, resting your head against Namjoon's shoulder. "We didn't wanna drag it out. It just makes sense, you know? Why wait when we're sure?"

He doesn't answer. He's too busy trying to remember how to breathe. And then, as if the conversation hasn't already taken a sledgehammer to his heart, you turn to him with a hopeful smile that just about finishes him.

"Anyway, I wanted to ask you something," you murmur. "I know it's sudden, and maybe kinda weird, but…Jungkook...would you be my maid of honor?"

His brain flatlines, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find something to say that won't be totally offensive right now.

"I mean," you add quickly, laughing, "knowing our relationship, you'd probably want me to be your best man someday, right? So, it's only fair."

Namjoon laughs softly, clearly charmed by the idea. "I think it'd be perfect, actually. You two clearly have such a strong bond."

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Instead, he stands too fast, knocking his thigh into the edge of the table and spinning sideways just in time to collide for the second time that evening with the same poor waiter from earlier.

The tray clatters to the ground once again. The waiter lets out a yelp of disbelief, flat on his back. Jungkook stumbles, caught between horror and absolute emotional overload.

"Dude, are you serious?!" the waiter yells, throwing a dish towel at his chest.

Jungkook mumbles something that might be an apology, but you're already scrambling to help, wide-eyed and flustered.

"Again?! Jungkook, what is wrong with you tonight?"

Everything is wrong.

Everything has gone so terribly wrong.

—

It's a sunny Monday afternoon in the middle of Seoul and the park is alive with movement—joggers passing through, street vendors preparing fresh teokkbokki, and office workers on their lunch break scattered across benches in a sea of undone ties and styrofoam containers.

Jungkook is sitting on a bench with a hotdog in one hand and a death grip on his dignity in the other.

Seokjin takes a massive bite of his chilli dog, glances over at him, and swipes ketchup off his cheek with a napkin as he prepares to tackle the shipwreck sitting next to him.

"So…" Seokjin mumbles, his mouth full. "You gonna tell me why you've looked constipated since we sat down? I only have ten more minutes left of my break and my boss is already on my ass."

Jungkook stares down at his hotdog, his appetite barely there. "___ asked me to be her maid of honor."

There's a short pause before Seokjin chokes on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth to avoid spraying onions all over the bench. "I'm sorry, her what?!"

"Maid of honor."

Jin is full-on wheezing now. "God, I hope the dress makes your ass look good. You've been squatting for this moment your whole life."

Jungkook slumps further in his seat. "This isn't funny, Jin."

"It's hilarious, dude," Seokjin laughs.

"I'm dying, hyung. She gets back from London and all of a sudden she's getting married."

Seokjin finally reins in the laughter, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Okay, okay. Sorry. It's just...you gotta admit, that's a hell of a plot twist."

"I was going to confess," Jungkook mutters flatly, his voice low. "I showed up in a suit. With her favourite flowers. And then I walked in and watched her get kissed by her fiancé and knocked over a waiter in the process."

Seokjin winces. "Yikes."

"She's getting married at a church across from her new fiancé's family whiskey distillery, in a month." Jungkook groans and drops his head back against the bench. "She even showed me the ring. It was his grandmother's."

Seokjin lets out a soft whistle, nodding. "Yeah, that's a lot."

"I feel like I missed the entire movie and just showed up for the credits."

They sit in silence for a moment, birds chirping merrily around them like little assholes.

Then Seokjin finishes his hotdog, balls up the wrapper, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Listen, it sucks, I'm not gonna lie. But this doesn't have to be the end."

Jungkook gives him a side glance. "You realise she's engaged."

"And you're the maid of honor." Seokjin grins. "Which means you're right there, centre stage. You're planning the whole thing, hearing every detail. You're literally the man behind the scenes."

"You make it sound like I'm in a heist movie."

"You are," Seokjin shrugs. "Except instead of robbing a bank, you're trying to steal a bride."

Jungkook snorts despite himself. "That's so dumb."

"Love is dumb, man," Seokjin scoffs. "I proposed to my wife in a Pikachu onesie, and now we have a kid who chews on HDMI cables. But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Jungkook stares at the sky, feeling unsure. "You really think I should stay close? Not back off?"

"I think," Seokjin says, "if you're really in love with her and not just having a meltdown because someone else got there first, then don't give up on this. You be her best friend. You support her. And if there's even the tiniest crack in her heart, she'll know you were there the whole time, waiting."

Jungkook lets that settle for a moment. He takes a slow bite of his hotdog, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay," he sighs. "But I'm not wearing a dress."

"I will pay you money to wear a dress," Seokjin laughs. "Like, real money. I want full lace. And cleavage."

Jungkook stuffs his mouth with the hotdog to avoid swearing at his friend, but when he leans back again, squinting up at the sky, the weight in his chest feels just a little bit lighter at the reminder that this isn't over yet.

When Jungkook arrives at your apartment Saturday morning, he's met with the familiar comfort of your sweet scent, frilly pillows scattered across the couch, and little trinkets decorating the shelves.

He's spent countless nights here—binging your favourite shows, eating endless amounts of cake as his way of helping you with new recipes, sitting patiently as you give him a faux fashion show of the millionth pair of shoes you bought—and yet this time is not like any of the rest. This time he's here to help you plan your wedding.

"You rang, future Mrs. Kim?" he calls out, kicking off his shoes in the entryway.

You pop your head out from the kitchen with a smile. "You're late, Jeon. You said you'd be here at 8. It's 10."

He takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on your coat rack, rolling his eyes. "You've been engaged for five minutes and you're already a bridezilla."

You scoff, making your way over to greet him with a hug.

He grins at the short embrace, pulling away to get a proper look at you. "Damn, your hair looks good today. Is that a new thing, or is it just the 'I'm-getting-married' glow?"

You roll your eyes, but your smile shows how flattered you are. "Such a suck-up."

"I'm your maid of honor," he says, smiling smugly. "Sucking up to you is literally my job now."

He walks into the living room and settles onto your couch. It feels normal but there's a certain nervous energy in the air today. It's officially the start of preparations for the wedding party, and he's not sure how ready he is for all that. But today isn't about him. It's your day, and he'll support you even if it slowly kills him.

"The bridesmaids are almost here," you murmur, sitting down with him, turning to face him.

"Do I know them?"

"Well, there's Mina," you smile, knowing how well they get along.

"Mina's great, I like Mina," he nods, scooting a bit closer to you.

"And Jeongyeon. You haven't met her yet but she's really chill, you'll love her."

"Okay, who else?" he asks, reaching out and absentmindedly twiddling a strand of your hair between his fingers.

"Uhm..." You sigh, preparing yourself for his reaction. "And Lisa."

His face falls, his fingers pausing in your hair. "Are you serious? She hates me."

"I had to, Jungkook. She's my cousin," you sigh. "And I mean, can you blame her? You had sex with her then ghosted her the next day."

"She almost broke my nose," he groans.

"It was an accident," you chuckle, rolling your eyes as he goes back to playing with your hair.

"She literally punched me in the face," he deadpans. "I told her it wasn't anything serious and she agreed. I can't help that she caught feelings for me."

You smile in amusement, shaking your head at how truly humble he is. "She's wanted to be my maid of honor since we were little, so she hates you even more now."

The doorbell rings right on cue.

You grin and rush over to get the door, welcoming them in. Jungkook isn't sure if the loud entrance is your bridesmaids greeting you at the door or a pack of hyenas cackling. He lets out a huff and stands up as they enter, plastering a smile on his face.

Mina hugs you first; your bakery manager and unofficial work wife. She's organised as ever, carrying a stack of bridal magazines that she's probably had since forever.

Then Jeongyeon, your friend from high school. She's less organised than Mina but equally as excited for you.

And finally…Lisa, your beloved cousin.

Jungkook fights the urge to roll his eyes when he sees her, forcing a smile to remain civil.

She freezes when she sees him, her eyes narrowing into slits.

You smile, choosing to ignore the tension between them for your own sanity. "Jungkook, you remember Lisa, right?"

Jungkook clears his throat, nodding as he sits back down on the couch. "Yeah. Of course. Hey."

Lisa offers a sweet, pointed smile that could kill him if she really wanted to. "Oh, trust me, I remember Jungkook."

The tension is very palpable.

Mina, sensing the shift, gives a diplomatic little nod and walks over to the couch. "Well, we should probably get started, hm?"

You clap your hands together, trying to regain control of the room. "Okay! So, thank you all for coming. Please, sit. I'll go get some snacks then we can start going over fittings, schedules, things like that."

"Can't wait," Jeongyeon smiles, getting comfortable on an armchair while you head to the kitchen.

"I already know this is going to be chaos," Mina chuckles, sitting next to Jungkook, watching as Lisa stabs him with her eyes.

"Some of us thrive in it," Lisa mutters. "Don't we, Jungkook?"

Jungkook scoffs, shooting her a pointed look. "Are we doing that already?"

"Doing what?" Lisa smiles, feigning innocence. "I just meant you're probably used to this; being around a lot of women, multitasking."

You return to the living room before they can start going at each other, carrying a tray of sandwiches and some iced tea before grabbing your wedding binder and sitting down with everyone else, getting right to business. You start listing off dates and logistics—dress fittings, the bridal shower, the family brunch the morning of the wedding—but the air is already charged. Jungkook asks too many questions, honestly, and Lisa's patience visibly deteriorates with every clueless comment.

"Wait, is the brunch before the church rehearsal thing?"

Mina shakes her head, jotting some things down in her planner. "No. The brunch is the morning of the wedding. We've been over this, Jungkook."

"Oh, right. Right."

Lisa laughs under her breath. "God help us."

Jungkook turns to her, raising a brow. "Got something to say?"

Lisa shrugs, taking a glass of iced tea from the coffee table. "Not really. Just wondering how someone who can't even follow a calendar is supposed to help plan a wedding."

"Lisa," you mutter, shooting her a look that says 'behave, please'.

"Well, I didn't know I was going to be graded on my maid-of-honor performance," Jungkook grumbles.

"Well, just fyi, I'd give you an F," she shoots back.

"Settle down, you two," you sigh, gently placing a hand on Jungkook's arm.

Jeongyeon smirks into her drink. Mina, smiling calmly, jumps in before the room ignites.

"Cut him some slack, Lisa. I'm sure he didn't grow up dreaming about tulle and seating charts."

"Yeah, no kidding," Jungkook mutters.

"Exactly," Mina smiles. "So, let's all just be cool."

Lisa takes a slow sip of her iced coffee and doesn't say anything else, but Jungkook catches the flicker in her eyes that says she should've been your maid of honor instead of the man who clearly doesn't know what he's doing.

Your phone rings on the coffee table, Namjoon's name lighting up the screen. "Sorry, I have to take this," you murmur shyly. "It's Joon."

Your bridesmaids all swoon at the mention of your future husband, and Jungkook has to resist the gag threatening to spill from his lips.

As soon as you excuse yourself to take the call in the next room, Lisa jumps into action.

"I've been a MOH six times before, so I'll organise everything that needs to be done, even though I'm not the MOH here," she mutters, crossing one leg over the other.

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, clearly clueless. "What's a MOH?"

"M-O-H," Lisa mutters pointedly.

"It stands for maid of honor," Mina smiles over at Jungkook. "That's you."

"Oh, yeah, of course," he chuckles, ignoring the eye-roll from Lisa.

"Okay, so we've got the bridal shower coming up that Jungkook will plan, our bridesmaid hair and make up trials, shopping for ___'s trousseau," Mina lists off, reading from her planner in her lap.

"Trousseau?" Jungkook's eyes narrow, leaning over to peek at Mina's planner. "What is a trousseau?"

"It's lingerie for her wedding night," Lisa deadpans, looking fed up with his questions that she feels are completely unnecessary. "How do you expect to be a good MOH if you don't even know that?"

"Oh wow, look, she's actually talking to me," Jungkook quips.

"No, I'm not," Lisa mutters quickly.

"You just did."

"Oh, my bad, Jungkook," she smiles sarcastically. "Did I break one of your rules?"

"Okay, that's enough!" Mina whisper-yells. "Can you two stop and think about ___? She's happy with an amazing guy, so could we all please, for ___'s sake, just get along, put a smile on our faces and pretend like everything is perfect?!"

"Okay, fine," Jungkook mumbles, holding his hands up in surrender.

The tension in the room is thick, but you don't notice, too giddy after hearing that deep British voice tell you how excited he is to get home to you later. You return after the call with Namjoon, turning your attention back to the ladies—who seem perfectly fine after Mina's little pep talk, all of them smiling brightly.

"Okay, I'm back," you grin, getting comfortable. "So, while we're all over there, we'll be staying at the Kims' holiday home."

Lisa's brow arches, her interest piqued. "Holiday home?"

"Yeah," you murmur while flipping through your binder. "Namjoon's family has this gorgeous house out in the countryside. I swear it's like something out of a Jane Austen novel. It's got over enough guest rooms for everyone. The garden even has an actual maze."

Jungkook blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it, then clenches his jaw in silence.

Of course Namjoon's family has a spare country mansion lying around. Why wouldn't they? Probably stocked with limited-edition wines and antique candleholders. Maybe even a butler named Charles who plays the violin at breakfast.

He forces a tight smile. "Wow. A holiday home. That's nice."

Lisa snorts. "Bit of a step up from your one-bedroom apartment, huh?"

Jungkook slowly looks over at her, smirking. "You'd know. You've been in my bedroom."

You sigh, taking a big gulp of your iced tea. Jeongyeon's eyebrows hit her hairline, finding this all too amusing.

Lisa gives him a razor-sharp glance, crossing her eyes over her chest. "Yeah. Once. Unfortunately."

Mina cuts in with perfect timing, like she's trained for this. "I think this is all amazing, ___. I mean, talk about a dream wedding."

Jeongyeon nods. "Seriously. And Namjoon seems so thoughtful. You guys make a really sweet couple."

You smile bashfully, your cheeks heating up. "I think so too. It all feels like it was meant to be, you know?"

Lisa hums. "Mhm. Must be nice to be that in love."

Jungkook's lips press into a thin line as he stares at the coffee table, remaining silent.

When you flip through wedding magazines with Mina, gushing about colour swatches and invitation templates, he finds himself tuning you out, not because he doesn't care, but because he cares too much.

Wedding planning has his iced tea tasting more like acid than anything else.

due to the 1k block limit, you can read the rest of the story HERE

Now, normally you love Jungkook talking you through things. Just last night, he talked you through a particularly intense round of sex that almost led to a third child, but you're not really feeling as sexy in the predicament you find yourself in this morning. Not when you're currently hunched over the toilet, blowing chunks for the past ten minutes.

"Shut up," you mutter breathlessly, heaving into the toilet for what feels like an eternity. Your hands clutch the porcelain bowl hard enough to turn your knuckles white while you empty your stomach, despite there being nothing much left in it at this point.

Jungkook nods, pursing his lips and shutting his mouth so you can throw up in peace the way you prefer, his hand resuming its gentle motion against your back.

You're officially eight weeks pregnant and although your second pregnancy is an exciting time for you and your husband, you're in the thick of experiencing some of the not-so-fun symptoms like constant headaches and unexpected mood swings, and the worst of them all; the vomiting.

You cough once when it's over, wiping your mouth with shaky fingers.

"I'm so over this and it's only the beginning," you rasp, your voice hoarse.

"I know, baby." His tone softens impossibly, like he's trying to wrap you up in the comfort of it. "I know."

You sit back on your heels, breathing through your nose, your eyes stinging. Jungkook reaches for the roll of toilet paper, tears off a few squares, and dabs at your mouth.

"You're being…really sweet," you mumble.

"I'm being a husband," he counters, like it's obvious. Then, a beat later, he adds with quiet pride, "Second-time daddy, too. I'm experienced."

You let out a weak laugh that turns into a sigh. "Congrats. Your skill tree is impressive."

He huffs a quiet chuckle and presses the back of his fingers to your cheek. "You dizzy?"

"A little."

"Okay." He shifts closer, sliding one arm around your waist and bracing you carefully. "We're gonna stand up slowly, yeah? Nice and easy."

He helps you to your feet like you're made of glass, steadying you with one hand at your back, the other on your elbow. You sway slightly, and he immediately tightens his grip.

"Careful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're okay."

Your eyes flutter shut for a second, letting yourself lean into him. He smells like laundry detergent and your shared bed, the comforting scent of home.

When your breathing steadies, he guides you to the sink to brush your teeth, which almost makes you throw up again, then out of the bathroom, his palm never leaving the small of your back.

Back in the bedroom, the sheets are still tangled from your frantic escape. Everything looks exactly the same as it did ten minutes ago, but you feel like you've lived a whole day already.

Jungkook sits you down on the edge of the bed, then crouches in front of you like he's about to negotiate with a very stubborn client.

"Okay," he says, gently tipping your chin up. "Water?"

You nod, not because you really want any, but because you know you have to get something in your stomach and stay hydrated for the baby's sake.

He hands you your water bottle from the bedside table and watches you take a few sips; his eyes narrowed in that focused way he gets when he's worried but trying not to worry you.

He knows even water has been triggering your nausea, which has resulted in you not drinking as much as you should, so he makes sure to remind you to take care of yourself, even if it means you'll vomit again in five minutes.

"Are you feeling up for some breakfast?" he asks. "Crackers? Toast? Ginger tea? I can cut fruit. I can—"

"Fruit," you interrupt softly. Your stomach is still unsettled, but the thought of something cold and sweet makes your mouth water a little.

Sweet and cold is all you can stomach during your first trimester. The same applied when you were pregnant with Jungwoo, so you know from experience what to avoid and what to snack on when you can't stomach anything else. Cold fruit, vanilla ice cream, and pineapple popsicles have been keeping you afloat these past few weeks, offering your stomach some comfort from the little 'raspberry' reeking havoc in your womb.

God forbid someone offers you chicken—the main source of your suffering during your first pregnancy, and now your second as well. Two days ago, Jungkook made the mistake of eating a chicken sandwich within a few feet of you, and you couldn't even look at him without gagging.

"Watermelon. And…cantaloupe. Please."

His expression changes instantly, relief blooming in his chest like he's been given a mission he can actually complete.

"Yes, ma'am." He stands and leans down to kiss your forehead. "Stay right here. Don't move. Don't stand. Don't even think about standing."

You scoff, but the corners of your lips fight to lift. "I'm not a toddler, you know."

"You're my pregnant wife," he corrects, walking backward toward the door, raising a brow at you. "Same rules apply."

"Jungkook—"

"I'll be back in two minutes, baby."

He's gone before you can argue, leaving you sitting on the bed in silence, your hands resting loosely in your lap.

You stare at your fingers for a moment, breathing slowly through the leftover nausea before getting comfortable against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling. The house is quiet, with Jungwoo sleeping over at his grandparents' house after Jungkook's mom insisted you get as much rest as possible.

This pregnancy wasn't exactly something the two of you actively planned, but it wasn't a complete surprise either. You both wanted a big family when you got married, and it was only a matter of time before you fell pregnant again. And you're overjoyed to bring another little one into the world, but the first trimester of both your first and second pregnancies have proven to be a firm reminder of how challenging it can be at times.

Your body feels different lately. Not just the vomiting and the change in appetite. Everything—your sense of smell, your skin, your mood, the way your brain functions. It's like someone swapped out the version of you that used to exist before pregnancy and replaced her with a nauseous, sporadically emotional clone. You had all the typical symptoms when you were pregnant the first time, but the second seems to be more intense, everything feeling even more heightened.

Your hand drifts to your lower stomach without thinking. There's nothing to feel yet. There's no bump, no flutter, no proof beyond tests and symptoms and the knowledge that you're carrying a life again.

But it's there.

And it's already changing everything.

In the kitchen, you hear the fridge open. The soft thunk of a cutting board being pulled out. A knife tapping lightly against the counter. Jungkook moving around with that familiar purpose he gets when he's taking care of you—like the world narrows to one simple goal; making you feel better.

A few minutes later, he returns with a plate piled neatly with cold fruit—watermelon slices fanned out like a bouquet, cantaloupe cut into perfect little cubes. He sets it on your lap like he's presenting a five-star meal, then climbs onto the mattress beside you.

"Okay," he announces softly. "Chef Jeon is here to serve."

You sit up against the headboard and pick up a piece of watermelon, the coldness biting pleasantly against your fingers. You take a careful bite, letting out a blissful sigh.

Sweet. Juicy. Perfect.

Your shoulders drop in relief.

Jungkook watches your face with a proud smile. When you swallow without flinching, he exhales through his nose, his shoulders relaxing.

"There she is," he murmurs, smiling. "Is it good?"

You chew slowly, letting the cool fruit settle in your stomach. "This is…perfect."

"Told you," he says smugly. "Second-time daddy."

You roll your eyes, but your mouth twitches into a smile. "You're so proud of yourself."

"Of course I am." He shifts closer, one hand resting gently on your thigh. "How do you feel now?"

"Less like death," you admit. "Still a little gross. My stomach hasn't fully settled but I guess this is the best it's gonna get."

He hums sympathetically, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder—soft and lingering. Then another, just below it. Then he noses at the edge of your shirt and kisses the side of your neck in that slow rhythm that makes your skin tingle even when you feel awful.

"You're so pretty," he murmurs against you, his lips brushing your skin. "Even after you just threw up."

"Flirting with me won't stop the nausea," you scoff, but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.

"I'm not trying to stop it," he murmurs, kissing you again, just below your ear this time, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm just trying to remind you that you're loved and that I'm here to serve you."

Your throat tightens a little, but you keep eating to mask just how mushy you feel.

After a moment, he pulls back and rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you from behind, loose and protective.

"Luckily," he murmurs quietly, his voice gentler now, "your gynae appointment's at 2pm, so we still have enough time to stay in bed for a bit."

You take a small bite of cantaloupe, setting the rest back in the plate.

"Yeah," you nod, glancing at him, your face doing a bad job at hiding your feelings, and he picks up on it instantly.

"You nervous?"

"A little," you admit. "I'm mostly excited, but...I'm also a bit scared. Like, what if something's wrong or they're not developing properly?"

You've always been a bit of an anxious person, but pregnant has definitely heightened your worries. You were the same way when you were pregnant with Jungwoo, and then even worse after he was born, constantly worrying about messing up.

Jungkook's hold tightens just a fraction. "Hey." He kisses your shoulder again, slower. "We'll go. We'll see our baby. We'll hear their heartbeat." His voice softens. "And everything will be exactly as it should be, okay? No unnecessary worrying."

You lean back into him, letting his warmth soak into you. "Okay."

He nudges your cheek with his nose, grinning. "Also, after the appointment, we're getting ice cream at that little parlour you love so much."

You snort. "Even if I throw up?"

"Especially if you throw up," he says firmly. "It'll be a treat for you and an apology from me for knocking you up and making you go through the morning sickness again."

You laugh, small but real, and take another bite of watermelon.

Jungkook presses one last kiss to the side of your neck and gives you a little squeeze, his chin resting gently on your shoulder. "We're gonna have another little one," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Can you believe that?"

You stare at the plate of fruit for a moment, then nod slowly, your heart racing at the thought of doing it all over again. "Sometimes it still doesn't feel real."

Jungkook's hand slides down to lace his fingers with yours and lifts your knuckles to his mouth, kissing them tenderly.

"It's very real," he murmurs. "And I'm so ready for all of it."

You breathe in, let it out, and take another careful bite.

"Yeah...me too."

Outside, the day is waking up. Inside your bedroom, curled under Jungkook's arm with fruit and sunlight and the steady thrum of love, you let yourself soak it all in. Today, you're going to hear your baby's heartbeat for the first time. And somehow, even with the nausea still hovering at the edges, your heart feels as full as it did the moment you found out you were pregnant again.

By the time you finish your fruit, the nausea has simmered down to a dull, manageable hum. Your limbs feel heavy but less shaky, and Jungkook knows just what you need.

"You ready for a warm shower?" he asks, brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

"Yeah," you breathe, smiling.

He stands and offers you his hand, helping you to your feet like he's afraid you'll crumble if he lets go, just like he did when you were pregnant with Jungwoo. He keeps one palm warm and solid at the small of your back as he guides you into the bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the water until the warm steam begins to fill the space.

"Arms up," he murmurs, lifting your shirt carefully off your tired body, kissing your forehead as he does. He's extra careful—soft touches, slow movements, eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

When he slips your panties down your legs and helps you step out, he kisses your hipbone and the barely-there swell of your lower belly, lingering for a second where his baby is growing.

By the time he undresses himself, the room is fogged over with warmth. He steps inside first, holding his hand out for you, waiting until you're under the stream of water with him. The moment you lean back into his chest, both of you exhale at the same time.

Warm water cascades over your hair and down your shoulders, heating your skin and urging the nausea to fade away completely. His arms settle around you from behind, his palms sliding over your stomach.

"You're doing so well this time around," he whispers into your damp skin, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. "I know the first few months are rough but you handle them so effortlessly. It's so impressive, baby."

You let your head rest back on his shoulder, soaking up the praise like a cat getting her chin scratched. "I feel better now."

"Good." He noses along your jaw, his breath warm against your ear. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

He grabs your shower gel from the rack against the wall and squeezes some into his palm before lathering it up and rubbing it along your arms and chest. He gets you nice and soapy, making sure to knead your shoulders and caress your hips and thighs.

"I swear your skin feels even softer when you're pregnant," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

It's gentle and barely firm enough to make you feel anything, but then he trails another kiss lower. And another. And another, right at the place where your shoulder meets your neck and your breath stutters.

He pauses, resting his hands at your hips.

"You okay?" he whispers.

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut as your body leans into him, swaying ever so slightly. "Yeah…you can...keep going."

He kisses you again, slower this time, letting his lips linger on each spot he touches. The warmth of the shower, the press of his chest against your back, the gentle slide of his fingers over your hips and stomach; it all melts together and makes your head spin.

"Turn around for me?" he murmurs, his fingers brushing your sides to steady you on the wet tiles.

You turn to face him, the water splashing between you as your eyes meet his. He studies your face carefully, searching for any sign that you're not up for this. When he sees nothing but need, he lifts his hand to the back of your neck and guides you into a kiss.

It's tender at first, a slow, steady press of his lips to yours. But the moment you sigh into his mouth, something shifts. His lips part and his tongue slides against yours, gentle but hungry, like he's been holding himself back all morning.

It's weird how he can watch you throw up until you pee yourself, and yet, still be utterly and unabashedly attracted to you. The fact that you're carrying his second baby has only intensified his love for you, and instead of being grossed out by the less appealing sides of pregnancy, he's simply in awe of your strength and resilience through it all.

His hands move up your ribs, trailing higher to cup your breasts with soft, deliberate pressure. His thumbs graze your nipples and you gasp into his mouth, your fingers gripping his wet shoulders for balance.

He pulls back immediately, glancing down at you to make sure you're okay. "Too much?"

"No," you chuckle, your chest rising and falling. "It feels good."

"Sure?" His forehead rests against yours. "I need to hear it."

"I'm sure, honey. Just…go slow."

He kisses you again, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip to seek entry once more. His hands stay on your breasts, kneading the fatty flesh carefully, his fingertips rolling your nipples until your knees weaken.

"Fuck, you're sensitive," he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Is it the pregnancy hormones?"

"Maybe," you whisper, pulling him closer by the back of his neck to press your lips to his in another kiss.

His lips move against your in a slow rhythm before moving down to your neck, trailing slow kisses along the wet skin while his hand slides down your stomach.

"Lean back into me," he whispers against your skin.

You turn again, your spine pressing to his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. He keeps you upright with an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand drifting lower, inching closer to your mound before pausing.

"You tell me to stop if anything feels off, okay?"

"I will," you nod, clearly eager to get his fingers between your thighs, your legs parting in anticipation.

His fingers slide down to brush over your mound, gliding between your plush pussy lips. His movements are slow and careful, the first gentle stroke through your folds making your whole body jolt.

"Fuck," he breathes, his lips brushing your ear, "you're already so wet from a few kisses."

His middle and ring fingers glides up your slit with light pressure, collecting your slick to gently massage it over your clit, smiling when you let out a whimper, your hips tilting forward on instinct.

"Good?" he whispers, rubbing soft circles over your bundle of nerves.

"So good," you breathe, grinding your hips against his hand, your head rolling back to let the stream of water cascade down your neck.

He continues rubbing your clit in slow, tender circles, kissing your neck and shoulder in time with his fingers. Water pours over both of you, steam curling in the air, your breath fogging the glass.

His free arm tightens around your waist, holding you exactly where he wants you. When he finally dips his middle finger inside you, you gasp loudly, your hand flying back to clutch at his hip.

"Easy," he coos, nuzzling his nose against your jaw. "I'll just do one. Nice and slow."

He lazily pumps his finger in and out of your pussy, curling it just right, your slick coating his knuckles in a light sheen. His digit is long and thick, enough to have your stomach clenching as it pushes and drags through your pussy's spongy walls, occasionally pulling out to trail through your folds before pushing back in.

Your breath comes out in shaky bursts. "Jungkook, fuck—"

"I've got you," he whispers, adding his thumb into the mix to stroke your aching clit. "Just let me make you feel good, my love."

You whimper softly as he thrusts his finger deeper, the warm water making it feel even more enjoyable, his soft kisses to your neck making heat coil low in your belly.

He feels the way your pussy tightens around his finger, sending pleasure straight to his hardening cock. "There it is," he murmurs proudly. "There you go…"

You grind your hips into his hand, your own fingers gripping his thigh behind you. His cock strains against your ass, hard and begging for attention, but he just wants to make you feel good, so his pleasure is on the back burner for now.

"That's my perfect girl," he whispers, "you're doing so well for me."

His thumb speeds up just a little, enough to push you right to the edge, but not enough to overwhelm.

Your breath catches as the pressure builds in your lower abdomen, the pleasure reaching its peak as his finger curls deep in your cunt. Your thighs tense, your vision going blurry as your body concentrates on getting you to your orgasm. It feels so good it almost makes you drool, your mouth hanging open to let out helpless moans.

His lips brush against your ear, his thumb rubbing your clit harder. "Cum for me. It's okay, baby, I've got you."

And you do, with a loud whine, your body shivering in his arms as pleasure rolls through you in warm, pulsing waves, your pussy clenching and your clit throbbing. Jungkook holds you through it, kissing your neck and whispering soft praises against your skin.

When you finally relax against him, drained and flushed and breathing hard, he wraps both arms tightly around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest.

"You okay?" he smiles, peppering soft kisses along your shoulder.

You nod, boneless and a little delirious from the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm, the pleasure now a dull buzz. "Yeah. Really okay. So...so okay."

He chuckles into your wet skin, loosening his hold on your waist to run his hands along your stomach.

"That's what I like to hear," he murmurs. "Let's get you clean, then dressed, then out the door so we can see our baby, yeah?"

Your lips quirk into a smile, turning around to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his lips.

One moment, he's undoing you with his fingers and the next, he's washing your hair tenderly, kissing your forehead, and helping you step out of the shower like he didn't just make your pussy weep.

He wraps a fluffy towel around your shoulders before you can even reach for one, tugging it snug like a cocoon.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice soft and his hands warm as they guide you by the elbow.

You roll your eyes at the fussing, except you don't really mean it. Not when his care is so natural it doesn't even feel like effort; it feels like love in its most practical form. Truth is…you've always been a sucker for being pampered. You like knowing you're safe enough to let someone take over the little things. You love when he opens doors before you touch the handle, when he pulls your chair out at restaurants like you're his queen and the whole place should know it. You love the small, ridiculous luxuries he insists on giving you even when you tell him you can do it yourself.

Because it's never about whether you can. It's about the way Jungkook wants to. He makes you feel like you're precious and treasured.

And lately—especially lately—you've been needing that softness more than you realised. Even the simplest tasks take on this strange weight, like your bones have turned a little heavier with the responsibility of growing life. So when Jungkook pampers you, it's not just cute. It's his way of saying, 'I've got you. I've got all of it.'

"Come here," he says, nudging you gently toward the toilet.

You settle onto the closed toilet lid while he rummages through the bathroom cabinet for your brush, tongue poking into his cheek in concentration like he's about to do something extremely serious. You would take him seriously if it weren't for his muscles on full display and the towel hanging loosely around his hips.

He taps your knee once—an absent-minded little "stay put"—then positions himself behind you, the brush gliding through your hair with slow, careful strokes.

Jungkook has always been surprisingly good with his hands. You knew that long before the baby, before marriage, before this version of him who looks like he'd happily spend the rest of his life folding your socks if it meant it would make you smile.

He sections your hair neatly, his long fingers combing through the strands, and you feel him lean closer every now and then, his breath warm against your scalp.

"Too tight?" he asks, his voice low.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head. "Perfect."

He hums, satisfied, and starts plaiting—slow, precise, making it neat enough to last through the day without tugging on your scalp. Every time his knuckles brush your cheek or his fingertips graze your ear, your eyes flutter shut.

You don't even have to look to know he's smiling. This is his favourite thing, taking care of you in ways no one else sees.

When he ties the end off, he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Okay," he mutters under his breath. "Comfy clothes."

You shuffle into the bedroom, and he follows, already opening drawers. He pulls out your underwear and your softest set of leggings, the one that sits comfortably against your stomach without squeezing. Then your oversized sweatshirt—the one that practically swallows you whole and still somehow makes Jungkook look at you like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

He tugs on a pair of boxer briefs and jeans before loosely buttoning up a pastel-coloured shirt and messily ruffling his hair.

While you change, he moves around the room packing your bag like a professional.

Your phone and wallet? Check.

Snacks? Of course. Multiple. He's started treating snacks like an emergency medical supply lately. And it has to be something sour to help with nausea throughout the car ride or else you won't eat it. He knows the drill.

Water bottle, tissues, lip balm, hand sanitiser, your little pregnancy vitamins and a paper bag in case you need to throw up again—everything organised in neat little sections as if he's preparing for a trip across the country and not a quick appointment to the gynaecologist.

You just stand there for a second, watching him, your heart silently melting into a puddle.

"Why are you staring?" he asks without looking up, but his voice is amused.

"Because you're…being you," you say softly, smiling.

That makes him glance up before he walks over, his hands settling at your waist, his thumbs brushing your sides.

"I'm always me," he shrugs.

"Yeah," you smile. "But you're extra 'you' lately."

He gives you that smug little smile, looking proud. "Good. That's the whole point. Gotta be a good daddy."

Then he crouches down in front of you before you can even blink.

"Jungkook—" you start, already knowing what he's about to do.

He looks up at you from where he's kneeling, his hands already reaching for your sneakers. "Don't."

You huff a laugh. "I can—"

"I know," he says, calm and unwavering. "But I want to."

You could tie your own shoes. You could pack your own bag. You could do everything yourself like you always have. But the way he's kneeling at your feet makes you feel like a princess in the most embarrassing, heartwarming way.

He slides the shoe onto your foot carefully, making sure it doesn't pinch, then ties the laces into a neat bow with practiced fingers. Then the other one.

When he's done, he doesn't get up immediately. He just rests his hands lightly on your calves for a second, looking up at you like he's trying to memorise this exact moment.

You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat.

"Kook," you whisper, your voice growing soft.

He smiles, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle. "Yeah, baby?"

You reach down and tuck a damp strand of his hair behind his ear, your thumb brushing his cheek. "Thank you...for making me feel so...taken care of. And for being a good father."

His expression shifts—just slightly—like your words hit him harder than he expects.

Jungkook stands, his hands sliding up your legs to your hips, pulling you against him before leaning down to press his forehead to yours.

"Always," he murmurs. "You don't have to thank me, angel."

Then he kisses you—soft, slow, lingering—practically sealing a promise into your mouth. When he pulls back, he brushes his thumb over your cheek, smiling.

"Okay, princess is ready. Bag is packed. Appointment time."

He pulls away to hook your bag over his shoulder and takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as the two of you make your way out.

The clinic smells exactly the same as it did the last time you were here.

Clean. A little too bright. Faintly antiseptic with that strange underlying warmth that all medical offices seem to have. It's oddly comforting in a way that surprises you—like stepping back into a place tied to one of the most important chapters of your life.

Jungkook notices the way you pause just inside the doorway, his hand tightening gently around yours.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

You nod, glancing around the room. The exam table sits against the wall with its crinkly paper sheet. A small rolling stool rests beside the ultrasound machine, its monitor dark for now. Cabinets line the far wall, neatly organised, everything looking exactly the way you remember it. And suddenly, the memories come rushing back.

You were in this exact room when you first saw Jungwoo. Right there on that screen. Tiny. Flickering. Real.

"It feels weird being back here," you admit quietly.

Jungkook's expression softens immediately.

"Good weird?" he asks.

You smile.

"Of course."

The last time you sat in this room, you were becoming parents for the first time, and now you're here again, your family growing in ways you always dreamed of when you met your guy back in high school.

Jungkook helps you up onto the exam table without even thinking about it, one hand steady at your elbow. The paper crinkles beneath you as you sit, and he drags the nearby stool closer until he's practically knee-to-knee with you.

His hand finds yours again immediately. It's automatic at this point. You squeeze his fingers lightly, glancing down at the way your hands fit together so easily.

"You're all jittery," you point out.

"I can't help it," he admits, fidgeting with your fingers.

There's that excited brightness in his eyes again—the one he's been carrying since he found out he gets to be another little one's daddy.

"You look like a kid on Christmas morning."

"That's basically what this is...but better," he grins shamelessly

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Only you would think a gynaecologist appointment is better than Christmas."

"Hey," he grins, squeezing your hand. "Last time we did this we got Jungwoo."

Your heart swells a little at the memory of carrying your son. The way Jungkook had looked that day, all wide-eyed and emotional, staring at the monitor like he was witnessing something sacred.

You wonder if he'll look like that again today.

Before you can say anything else, the door opens and a familiar voice follows.

"Well, well."

Dr. Choi steps inside with a tablet in her hand, her expression brightening the moment she looks up and sees two faces she hasn't seen in a while.

"It's been a while," she says warmly.

You immediately relax. Dr. Choi has always had that effect on you. She's calm and kind, professional without being distant. She guided you through every appointment during your pregnancy with Jungwoo, from your earliest scans to the day you finally held him in your arms. You were so nervous back then, and you probably wouldn't have been able to do it without a doctor like her, so seeing her again feels strangely comforting.

"Dr. Choi," you greet, smiling. "It's so nice to see you again."

Jungkook stands and bows his head, polite as always. "Hello, Dr. Choi."

The doctor glances between the two of you, her eyes twinkling with a warm recognition.

"I was wondering when I might see you again," she teases. "Took you long enough."

Jungkook chuckles softly. "Yeah, we're back for round two."

"Round two," she repeats with a pleased nod. Then her attention shifts immediately. "And how is little Jungwoo doing these days?"

Jungkook's whole face lights up at the opportunity to gush about his boy. It happens so fast you can't even stop the fond smile tugging at your lips.

"He's great," Jungkook grins, like he's been waiting for someone to ask. "He just turned two."

"Two already?" Dr. Choi smiles, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Time moves too quickly."

"It really does," you agree.

Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest, clearly settling in for a proud dad update.

"He talks a lot now," he says. "Like…a lot. Full conversations. It's like he learned how to talk five minutes ago and now that's all he wants to do."

Dr. Choi laughs. "That sounds about right."

"And he's completely obsessed with trucks," Jungkook continues. "Everything with wheels, basically. Trucks, buses, construction vehicles—"

"And dinosaurs," you add.

Jungkook nods emphatically. "Don't get us started on the dinosaurs."

Dr. Choi smiles, clearly entertained by the enthusiastic rundown.

"And how is he handling the news about becoming a big brother?" she asks. "Have you told him yet?"

Your eyes flick to Jungkook and he's already smiling again.

"We told him about the baby because ___ kept getting sick and he started to worry about his mom, but he's super excited," he smiles, glancing back at you.

"Yeah, he doesn't understand the whole concept of there being a baby in my belly but he's already planning on sharing his dinosaur plushies with them," you nod.

Dr. Choi chuckles softly.

"Well," she says, setting the tablet down on the counter, "it sounds like he's already preparing for his promotion."

Jungkook grins at that.

"Yeah," he says proudly. "He's gonna be a great big brother."

The way he says it—so certain, so full of love—makes your chest warm all over again. If there's one thing you know for sure, it's that Jungwoo has the best example of what love looks like.

Dr. Choi glances down at her tablet for a moment, tapping through your file before looking back up at you with the same calm, familiar smile.

"So," she says, settling into her stool, "how have you been feeling?"

You let out a breath that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

"Very pregnant," you mutter rather dryly.

That earns a quiet chuckle from her.

Jungkook, on the other hand, looks personally offended on your behalf.

"She's been really sick," he says immediately.

You turn to look at him. "Baby—"

"No, because you're downplaying it," he says, already in full protective mode. His hand slides over your knee, his thumb rubbing gently through the fabric of your leggings like he's soothing himself as much as you. "She's been throwing up every morning."

Dr. Choi nods, unsurprised. "Morning sickness?"

"More like all-day sickness," you mutter.

"Mm," Dr. Choi hums knowingly. "All normal. Means baby's developing well."

Jungkook gives her a look like he's just getting started. "And she's exhausted," he adds.

You stare at him. "Are you here as my husband or my legal representative?"

He ignores that completely.

"She gets tired really fast," he continues, his voice gentle but firm. "And sometimes she acts like she's fine when she's obviously not. She tries to power through but I know when she's reached her limit."

Dr. Choi smiles, amused now.

"I see," she murmurs. "And how long has your husband been answering questions for you?"

You can't help laughing. "Since the first positive test, Doc."

Jungkook looks entirely unashamed. "Somebody has to tell the truth."

The thing is…he's not wrong.

You have been feeling rougher than you let on. Not because you're trying to be stubborn, but because this isn't your first pregnancy, so there's a part of you that feels like you should know how to handle it better this time. Like you should be more used to the nausea, the exhaustion, the way your body starts changing before anything is even visible to anyone else.

But apparently, second pregnancies don't necessarily feel easier. They just feel more familiar. You know what's coming now, which almost makes it stranger in its own way. You recognise the heaviness in your limbs, the random bursts of emotion, the way hunger and nausea seem to chase each other in circles until you don't know whether you need crackers, a nap, or a good cry.

And because you know all of that, Jungkook seems to know it too. Maybe even before you say anything.

He watches you more closely now, not in a suffocating way, but in that deeply attentive way that makes you feel seen even when you're trying to brush things off. It's not that he thinks you're fragile. It's just that he loves you enough to pay attention.

"Well," Dr. Choi says, looking back at you, "as you know, fatigue is very normal at this stage. Any cramping?"

"A little," you admit. "Nothing severe."

"Any bleeding or spotting?"

You shake your head. "No."

"Dizziness?"

"Sometimes."

Jungkook purses his lips before his words tumble out, as if he just can't hold back. "She got lightheaded in the kitchen two days ago."

You exhale through your nose. "I was fine."

"You sat down on the floor," he mutters flatly.

"Because you made me."

"Because you looked like you were about to faint."

Dr. Choi's lips twitch, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth. She's glad to know you two haven't changed a bit since your first appointment with her over two years ago.

"Any food aversions?" she asks.

You groan softly. "Chicken. It smells so disgusting right now. I can't even think about it without getting nauseous."

"Anything you're craving?" Dr. Choi asks.

You think for a second. "Certain fruit; mostly watermelon. Cold juice. Toast sometimes."

"And fries," Jungkook adds.

You smile. "Yeah, and fries."

Dr. Choi nods her head with a smile, tapping a few notes into your chart.

"And are you taking your prenatal vitamins?"

"Yes," you smile.

Jungkook answers at the same time. "Every night."

Dr. Choi glances between the two of you and gives a tiny nod like, yes, this all tracks.

The ease in the room settles deeper, and it's nice how natural it all feels. No stiff awkwardness, no first-time uncertainty. Just a familiar rhythm. Questions, answers, small jokes, Jungkook hovering like your bodyguard in loungewear.

Last time, everything felt bigger somehow. More intimidating. The appointments, the information, the waiting. You and Jungkook had both been so excited when you were pregnant with Jungwoo, but there had also been that undercurrent of fear that comes with doing something life-changing for the very first time.

Now, there's still excitement and awe, and even a bit of nerves, but it's steadier, a little softer around the edges.

You know what an ultrasound feels like now. You know the dim lights, the cold gel, the way both of you will lean toward the screen the second your baby appears. You know Jungkook will hold your hand without even thinking about it. You know he'll ask at least one question like he isn't already half an expert after going through this once before.

There's comfort in that familiarity.

Dr. Choi finishes typing, then looks up at you again.

"Any severe body pain?" she asks.

You shake your head. "No."

"Good. And emotionally? How have you been doing?"

You blink at that, then glance down at your lap.

"A little all over the place," you admit with a sheepish smile. "I cried because the grocery store didn't have the bread I wanted."

Dr. Choi nods as if that is completely reasonable. "Also normal," she smiles warmly, reaching out to gently pat your shoulder.

Jungkook, traitor that he is, looks delighted.

"She cried at a diaper commercial too," he snorts.

You turn to him with a scowl. "Do you ever shut up?"

His grin is immediate, soft and smug all at once. "It was so cute, though."

"It was embarrassing."

"She was crying and eating sliced peaches on the couch," he says fondly. "It was adorable."

Dr. Choi laughs under her breath, and your face warms, but there's no real embarrassment behind it. Not with them. Not like this, when being cared for this openly has become one of the quiet joys of your life.

Dr. Choi sets the tablet aside at last, looking satisfied.

"Alright," she says warmly. "Everything you've described sounds very typical for eight weeks. Uncomfortable, yes, but reassuring."

You feel yourself let out a little breath, feeling more relaxed at knowing you're well on track. Beside you, Jungkook does too, though only slightly. His shoulders ease, but his hand stays on you, protective as ever.

Dr. Choi gives you both a familiar look then, one that says exactly what comes next.

"Well," she says, standing. "Since you two already know the drill…"

Jungkook's mouth immediately curves into a smile. Your stomach flips, not with nausea this time, but anticipation as Dr. Choi jumps into action.

"Let's take a look at your baby, shall we?"

Dr. Choi moves toward the ultrasound machine with the easy confidence of someone who has done this millions of times, and yet the shift in the room still feels significant. She dims the overhead lights, but the lamp nearest the monitor stays on, and the room settles into that familiar low glow you remember so well.

Jungkook's hand finds yours as you adjust yourself to lie flat on the exam table, his fingers intertwining with yours as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Dr. Choi pulls her stool closer and gives you a small, familiar smile. "Alright, let's see what this little one is up to."

When you glance at Jungkook, he's already looking at the monitor, laser focused and bright-eyed.

Dr. Choi squeezes some cold gel onto your stomach and starts the scan, moving with practiced ease, and the screen flickers to life in grainy shades of black, white, and grey.

For a few brief seconds, the image shifts and glides as she tries to get the right angle. Then it settles, revealing the tiny speck of a baby. Your baby. Tiny and curved and impossibly small, tucked into that familiar darkness, a little bean-shaped life that somehow already feels so deeply known.

Your breath catches before you can help it. Beside you, Jungkook goes completely still.

It's always a little surreal, seeing a baby this early. At eight weeks, there's not much to make sense of in the poetic, storybook way people imagine. No chubby cheeks. No obvious features. Just something small and miraculous, all potential and promise and quiet proof that life is happening where you cannot yet hold it.

But because this is your second time, neither of you need it to be translated to you. You know what you're looking at, unlike the first time you did this. You think back to another tiny shape on another screen. Another early appointment. Another moment in which your whole world shifted on its axis.

Jungkook's fingers tighten around yours.

When you turn your head, he's staring at the screen like he's trying to burn the image into memory. His lips part slightly, and you can see the emotion land in him all at once—silent, deep, overwhelming in the gentlest way.

His eyes flick to yours and there's so much in that one look. Wonder, love, a little disbelief, even now.

You smile at him through the sudden sting in your eyes, and he lets out the smallest breath of a laugh, his hands shaking.

Dr. Choi adjusts the angle slightly, steady and unhurried, and then she points at the monitor.

"There's the heartbeat."

You see it immediately; a tiny, rapid flutter. It's small but unmistakable. A quick flicker where your eyes keep returning again and again, as though looking long enough might actually help you feel it.

And then Dr. Choi turns on the sound. The room fills with it; fast and rhythmic. A tiny rushing pulse, steady and alive.

For one suspended second, nobody says anything as the heartbeat seems to echo in every corner of the room. It's such a distinct sound, filling your eyes with tears almost immediately, your hand flying to your mouth before you even realise you're doing it.

"Oh my," you whisper, your voice breaking around the syllable.

Beside you, Jungkook inhales sharply. You turn your head toward him, and that's when you see it—the shine in his eyes. He blinks once, hard, like he's trying to hold it together, but it doesn't quite work. His lower lashes glisten, and his mouth presses into that helpless little line he gets when emotion catches him off guard.

It wrecks you instantly.

Your fingers tighten around his, and Jungkook lets out a quiet, shaky chuckle under his breath before letting out a deep exhale.

"Baby," you whisper, your voice almost too quiet to hear over the sound of the heartbeat.

He smiles, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

"I know," he murmurs, his voice rougher than before. "It's so beautiful."

His thumb rubs over your knuckles because he needs the closeness more than you right now. His other hand comes up to his face, quickly brushing beneath one eye with the side of his finger, not subtle enough for you to miss the way his whole expression has softened into something boyish and achingly tender.

He looks completely gone by a little person you haven't met yet.

Dr. Choi smiles to herself, like she's seen this exact reaction from him before and was half expecting it.

"The heartbeat sounds excellent," she says gently, giving you both a second to bask in it. "Nice and strong."

Jungkook nods immediately, though he still can't quite seem to trust his voice. You, on the other hand, let out a relieved chuckle and wipe beneath your eyes with your free hand.

You think of what that heartbeat will become. A baby in your arms. A toddler racing down the hallway. Sticky fingers and toothless smiles and the complete reordering of your entire life around someone small and beloved.

Dr. Choi takes a few measurements, jotting everything down into your file with a satisfied nod.

"Baby is measuring right on track," she says calmly. "Right around eight weeks. Everything looks healthy, strong heartbeat, good placement."

Relief settles warmly in your chest. Even though you know there was nothing to worry about, hearing those words still lifts something off your shoulders.

Jungkook nods quickly, clearly satisfied.

"Good," he says softly. "And you'll tell us immediately if something is wrong, right?"

Dr. Choi smiles at him knowingly.

"You asked that same question during almost every scan with Jungwoo," she chuckles, but nods nonetheless because of course she'll let you know if anything changes.

Jungkook looks mildly defensive. "Just making sure."

"And you will probably continue making sure for the next eighteen years," she smiles teasingly.

You laugh, wiping the last traces of tears from your cheeks.

Dr. Choi prints a few ultrasound images from the machine, the printer whirring softly in the quiet room. When she hands them over, Jungkook takes them carefully and studies them immediately.

"So small," he whispers to himself.

You sit up to lean closer and look with him, your shoulder brushing his.

Dr. Choi glances between the two of you with quiet satisfaction, feeling proud that she gets to do all of this with you a second time.

"Keep taking your prenatal vitamins," she smiles, standing up to adjust her coat. "Try to stay hydrated, and rest as much as you can. I'll see you again in about four weeks, so take care in the meantime, okay?"

You nod.

"Thank you, Dr. Choi."

She gives you both one last warm smile before stepping out.

Jungkook keeps staring at the ultrasound photos, his mouth curved into a big grin.

"You're gonna wear holes in those if you keep looking at them like that," you tease gently.

He looks up at you, his eyes soft and shiny.

"Baby, can you blame me? I'm excited. We got two down and ten more to go."

That earns him a swat to the chest.

By the time you pull up outside Jungkook's parents' house, the afternoon sun has turned everything golden.

It spills across the quiet street, warms the garden wall, glints softly off the car windows. The house looks exactly the way it always does; lived-in and welcoming, with potted plants crowding the front steps and the faint sound of some old radio drifting from the backyard.

The second Jungkook parks, you can already feel that familiar sense of comfort settle over you. His parents' house has always had that effect.

It doesn't matter how many times you come here, how often you've sat at their table or curled up on their couch or listened to his mother fuss over whether you've eaten enough. There's something so unshakeably warm about this place, about the people in it. It never feels like visiting. It just feels like returning.

That's part of why you love being here so much. Not just because it's Jungkook's childhood home, or because it's filled with little pieces of the boy he used to be. But because his parents have loved you so thoroughly, so naturally, that somewhere along the way, being their daughter-in-law stopped feeling like a role and started feeling like second nature.

Jungkook's mother opens the front door before you even make it up the path, like she's been waiting for the sound of the car.

"There you are," she says warmly, smiling the second she sees you.

Jungkook, already walking ahead of you, dips his head to press a quick kiss to your temple before stepping inside.

His mother's eyes, as always, go to you first.

"How did it go?" she asks immediately, her voice full of concern and excitement all at once.

You smile before you can help it.

"It went well."

Her hand flies to her chest. "Really?"

You nod, already reaching for your bag. "Really, eomma."

"Where's dad?" Jungkook asks.

"Backyard," his mom sighs. "He's fixing something on the car again."

"Of course he is," Jungkook mutters fondly.

From the backyard, you can hear the clink of tools and the low scrape of metal. His father is out there; most likely bent over some part of the car he's been determined to "fix up properly" for weeks now. You hear Jungkook call a quick greeting in his direction as he disappears down the hallway, no doubt going to find Jungwoo before anything else.

That, too, makes your heart ache in the best way, because if Jungkook was excited to see the baby on the ultrasound, he's equally excited every time he gets his hands on his first-born baby.

You pull the ultrasound photos carefully from your bag and hold them out.

His mother gasps.

"Oh my," she breathes, already stepping closer. "Let me see."

You stand shoulder to shoulder with her in the entryway, both of you bent over the tiny printed images like they're priceless little treasures. Which, really, they are. The black-and-white shape is still small, still more miracle than person in any obvious visual sense, but his mother looks at it with the same complete awe you'd expect if you'd handed her a portrait.

"My goodness," she murmurs. "They're so tiny."

You laugh softly. "I know."

"And everything looked good?"

You nod. "Dr. Choi said the heartbeat sounds excellent and baby is measuring right on track."

The relief on her face is immediate and tender. She reaches over to squeeze your hand, still looking down at the photo.

"That's wonderful, ___," she says. "Really wonderful."

Then she glances at you properly, her eyes softening even more.

"And how are you feeling?"

That question always lands differently coming from another woman. From a mother. From someone who knows what it costs to grow a baby and still keep smiling through it.

You give a little shrug. "A bit sick. Tired. Emotional."

She clucks her tongue sympathetically at once. "Of course you are. Poor thing."

It isn't pity. Just understanding, and maybe that's why you instantly feel a little more fragile under it.

"He's been taking good care of me," you add quietly, meaning her son without having to say it.

His mother smiles like that pleases her deeply. "He'd better. He may be a grown man now, but I can still whip him into shape if I have to."

Then, without missing a beat, she slips right into the kind of loving insistence that has become second nature to her.

"I'm coming over in a few days," she announces. "I'll bring fresh kimchi, and I'll make some things that'll be easy on your stomach."

"You don't have to do that," you murmur automatically, even though you already know it's useless.

She gives you a look.

"I know I don't have to. I want to." Her voice softens. "You need proper food, sweetheart."

There are moments when her affection catches you off guard, even now. Not because it's new, but because it's so wholehearted. So uncomplicated. She loves you with the same warm certainty she loves her own son, and there are days when that still feels like one of the greatest gifts your marriage has given you.

Before you can answer, Jungkook reappears carrying Jungwoo on one hip.

Your son is clutching a little toy car in one fist, his cheeks flushed and round, hair slightly mussed from playing. The second he sees you, his face lights up.

"Mommy!"

"There's my big boy," you coo, already reaching for him even though Jungkook keeps him perched securely against his side.

Jungkook grins, stepping in close enough that Jungwoo can lean toward you and plant a sloppy little kiss against your cheek.

You almost melt instantly, but before you get the chance, Jungwoo spots the ultrasound photos in your hand.

"Baby?" he says, pointing.

His grandma chuckles, raising her eyebrows in amusement.

"Yes, honey," you tell him gently. "It's the baby in mommy's belly."

Jungkook shifts him higher on his hip and presses a kiss to the side of his head. "That's your baby brother or sister."

Jungwoo looks at the photos, then at your stomach, then back at the photos again with all the solemn concentration of a tiny person trying very hard to understand something huge.

His grandmother puts a hand over her heart.

"Oh, he's going to be such a sweet big brother."

Jungkook's smile turns soft and proud. "I know. The best."

—

A little while later, after another quick chat and a promise from his mother that she'll call before she comes over with food—though everyone knows she probably won't bother warning you much—you say your goodbyes.

Jungkook's father waves from the backyard, one hand smudged with grease, the other lifting a wrench in place of a proper farewell. Jungwoo waves back enthusiastically from Jungkook's arms, almost smacking him in the face in the process.

"Okay, okay," Jungkook laughs, catching the flailing hand before it can do damage. "Violence is not how we say goodbye to grandpa, Woo-Woo."

The drive to the ice cream parlour afterwards is filled with the pleasant chaos that seems to define your life lately. Jungwoo chatters from the backseat in broken toddler logic, occasionally kicking his feet against the back of Jungkook's seat and repeating words he likes the sound of. Jungkook keeps reaching back at red lights just to touch his knee or pass him a little smile through the rear-view mirror. One of his hands stays on the wheel, and the other keeps finding yours.

It's a small habit, but one that never fails to make something flutter in your chest. It might be another wave of nausea, but you'll deal with that after you have your sweet treat.

You stop at your favourite little ice cream parlour with outdoor tables shaded by big umbrellas, a spot that always smells faintly of sugar and waffle cones. The late afternoon air is cooler now, touched with a soft breeze that lifts the ends of your hair.

Jungkook orders while you and Jungwoo get a table, carrying the tray of ice cream back to the table like he's delivering something ceremonial.

Strawberry shortcake for him. Chocolate for Jungwoo. Mango sorbet for you.

The second he sets yours down in front of you, he gives you a look that's half teasing, half unbearably fond.

"For the pregnant lady."

You snort. "Thank you, sir."

Jungwoo is already chanting, "Choco, choco, choco," while kicking his legs beneath the chair, and Jungkook laughs as he settles him properly with a little spoon in hand.

For a few minutes, the three of you just eat. Then Jungkook scoops up a spoonful of his own ice cream and holds it out toward you.

"Taste."

You lean in, letting the strawberry shortcake melt cold and creamy on your tongue.

Your eyes widen. "That's really good."

He looks smug, taking another bite of his dessert. "I know, right? I knew you'd like it."

From beside him, Jungwoo pushes his own cup toward you with urgent little hands.

"Mommy. Mommy."

"You want me to taste yours too?" you ask.

He nods with extreme seriousness, so you take a small bite of the chocolate and Jungwoo watches your reaction like this is a deeply important test.

"Mmm," you hum enthusiastically. "So yummy, baby."

He beams, delighted with himself, and Jungkook laughs under his breath.

"You're spoiled," he chuckles. "You've got two men feeding you now."

"As you should," you quip, spooning another bite of sorbet into your mouth. The cold sweetness is perfect. Bright and fruity and easy on your stomach to manage your nausea.

For a moment, Jungkook just watches you eat, his expression quiet and soft. Then he glances at Jungwoo.

"Hey, buddy," he murmurs gently. "You know how there's a baby in mommy's tummy, right?"

Jungwoo looks up from his ice cream, his cheeks messy, the little plastic spoon clutched in his fist. He blinks at both of you, then points at your stomach with his sticky spoon.

"Baby sleeping, daddy?"

You and Jungkook both let out the same fond little laugh.

"Maybe," you smile. "The baby's very tiny right now."

Jungkook leans forward on his elbows, and Jungwoo mirrors his dad. "Baby's growing big and strong."

Jungwoo considers this with a frown of concentration, then nods once like he has accepted the information.

"Okay."

That makes you laugh harder than it should. Only a toddler could respond to the life-changing concept of a sibling with such casual approval.

Jungkook reaches over to wipe a little smear of chocolate from the corner of Jungwoo's mouth with his thumb.

"When the baby comes," he says softly, "you get to be a big brother."

"Big bruvver," Jungwoo repeats, a little clumsy around the word.

Your hand flies to your chest. "Oh my God."

Jungkook looks equally wrecked. "Did you hear that?"

"He said it so cute," you whisper, already emotional all over again.

Jungwoo, unaware of the devastation he's causing, takes another bite of his chocolate ice cream and swings his little legs.

Watching the two of them together does something almost unbearable to your heart. Jungkook with his strawberry shortcake, his forearms resting on the table, his face open and soft with fatherhood. Jungwoo with his messy mouth and bright eyes.

It's nothing dramatic, just some ice cream on a sunny afternoon, yet it's something you could have only dreamed of when you first started your life with your husband.

Jungkook catches your eye then, like he's thinking something similar before smiling and nudging his cup toward you again.

"One more bite," he grins.

You laugh. "You just want me to admit yours is the best."

"It is the best."

Jungwoo shoves his chocolate forward too, determined not to be left out.

"Mine!"

You grin and lean forward between them, dipping your spoon into each cup and taking a bite from both, humming before pressing a soft kiss to Jungwoo's cheek.

And sitting under the fading afternoon sun, tasting strawberry and chocolate between bites of mango, listening to your son mumble about the baby in your belly while his dad pulls out his sibling's ultrasound photos, it hits you that your little life is becoming just a little bit sweeter.

PART 4 | PART 6

Mrs. Jeon beams beside her. "You should be proud, Haewon. We all are." Then she glances at you, her eyes going soft as they always do whenever she looks at you for too long. "You've worked so hard for this, sweetheart."

Heat creeps into your cheeks, and you duck your head with a grin, pretending to be very focused on drying a soup spoon. "I just graduated and you're all getting mushy already."

Mrs. Jeon laughs, light and bright, while your mother waves you off for being so nonchalant about it.

Across from you, seated at the kitchen island with one elbow propped beside an empty glass of cola, Jungkook watches the whole exchange in silence.

He's been quiet all evening.

Not in a way anyone else would notice, probably. Jungkook has always been quieter than most people—never one to fill the room with noise unless he has something worth saying, but you know him well enough to feel the difference. Usually, when your families get together like this, he sits close enough to be part of whatever conversation you're having, even if he mostly lets you do the talking. He'll mumble a comment here and there, roll his eyes when you get dramatic, or kick your shin lightly under the table when you start exaggerating a story for effect.

Tonight, he's barely looked at you.

He's sitting there in a plain black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, fresh from changing out of the suit he wore to graduation earlier, his dark hair still a little messy from the quick shower he took before dinner. One of his long legs is stretched out beneath the island stool, his fingers tapping idly against the condensation on his glass. Every now and then, Mrs. Jeon tries to pull him into the conversation, and every time he just gives a small shrug or a short answer before retreating back into himself.

You notice it because you always notice him. That's how it has been since the sixth grade.

Back then, when your family first moved into the neighbourhood, you were loud in every possible way. Loud voice, loud laugh, loud opinions, loud dreams. You showed up on the Jeons' doorstep wearing a crooked ponytail and grass-stained knees because your mother dragged you over to "meet the neighbours properly," and before the adults even finished introductions, you'd already wandered into their backyard and found a quiet, wide-eyed boy crouched beside a flowerbed, trying to coax a ladybug onto his finger.

Jungkook blinked up at you with solemn, startled eyes.

You planted your hands on your hips and asked, "Do you wanna play?"

He stared at you for a second like he wasn't sure whether you were real, then nodded once.

And that had been that.

Your mothers became best friends almost as naturally as you and Jungkook did. Playdates turned into sleepovers, afternoons at the park turned into evenings spent doing homework side by side at the Jeons' dining table, and somewhere between scraped knees, shared snacks, and long summers spent racing bicycles up and down the street, his house became your second home.

You had always been the one in front, dragging him toward the next thing, the next game, the next adventure. And Jungkook, shy and soft-spoken and so painfully easy to fluster, had always followed a step behind you like he belonged there.

Like he belonged to you.

Even now, years later, there are pieces of your childhood tucked into this house. A faded scratch on the hallway wall from when the two of you tried to bring your scooters inside during a thunderstorm. A tiny burn mark on the patio table from the time you convinced him sparklers were safe to wave around if you were "being careful." A whole shelf in his bedroom probably still crowded with things you'd left behind and never taken back.

You've changed a lot since then, and so did Jungkook.

He shot up sometime in ninth grade, all awkward limbs and broad shoulders that he didn't quite know what to do with. His voice dropped. His eyes got darker somehow, sparklier. He stopped trailing behind you so much, though he still looked for you first in every room.

And in the eighth grade—though he never had the balls to tell you to your face—he started carrying something fragile and dangerous in his chest whenever it came to you.

An embarrassing, pesky crush.

The kind that made his ears burn whenever you leaned too close. The kind that had him lying awake at night replaying every time you laughed at one of his jokes. The kind he buried deep because the thought of ruining your precious friendship was worse than the ache of wanting more.

Jungkook slips his shoes on by the front door, his fingers fumbling slightly at the laces.

You turn toward him, your voice soft. "You heading out too? I thought you'd stay for a bit."

He nods, glancing up at you with a tired smile from where he's crouched down. "Yeah. Don't wanna overstay my welcome."

That's certainly not normal for him, but then again, nothing about this situation is normal for the two of you. Usually he'd stay, you'd talk about his latest fling while pigging out on pizza and wine, but your nights now involve dinner with another man, and his involves listening to sad songs while fantasising about killing said man.

You grin, rolling your eyes. "You've never cared about overstaying your welcome before. In fact, I've had to beg you to leave me alone before. What's so different now?"

He chuckles, shrugging like it's no big deal. "Wedding planning's tiring. You need your rest."

You can't exactly argue with that. You've been losing sleep over flowers and wedding cake flavours and dress designs. And if it's not wedding planning keeping you up at night, it's Namjoon getting you accustomed to his Big Ben—

"Mm, I guess you're right." You lean against the wall near the door, your arms loosely crossed over your chest. "Hey…before you go, there's something I actually wanted to ask you."

His fingers pause on his shoelaces, his attention flicking back to you.

"My mom and grandma want to have a girls' day with me tomorrow," you murmur. "You know, catching up, reminiscing, probably crying over old photo albums."

He smiles softly, straightening up. "Sounds nice."

"Yeah. But, uhm, Namjoon doesn't really know anyone here in Seoul except me, so I was wondering if maybe…" You trail off, your hopeful eyes locking with his. "Would you mind keeping him company? Just for the day?"

Jungkook's face doesn't immediately betray his internal panic, but there's a flicker of hesitation, so brief you almost miss it. He doesn't want to be difficult, but the idea of playing buddy-buddy with your fiancé feels like swallowing a whole lemon with the rind still on.

"You want me to hang out with your fiancé?" he asks slowly.

"I know it's a weird ask but he's away from home and I don't want him to feel left out or lonely while I'm busy. Maybe go to the gym together, let him meet the guys or something. Just let him feel included. You're my best friend, and he's…well, you know." You shrug sheepishly. "It would mean a lot to me if you two could get along. And he's going back to England in a couple of days anyway for wedding prep, so I want him to enjoy Seoul while he's here..."

Jungkook would ship the guy back to London if it was up to him, but he knows this would make you happy, and that's all he ever wants. So, he exhales slowly, nodding. "Alright."

Your face lights up. "Really?"

He nods once, his face remaining stoic. "Yeah. I got it. I'll take care of him."

You don't hesitate to wrap your arms around him in a warm, grateful hug. He stiffens only for a second before relaxing into it, his arms circling your waist, pulling you closer.

He closes his eyes, letting himself breathe you in. He lets himself hold you like this, knowing that in a few weeks, someone else will be calling you his wife. But right now, you're in his arms. And that's enough. Or at least, he tells himself it is.

You pull back just slightly, smiling up at him. "Thank you, Jungkook. It means a lot to me."

He swallows, smiling. "Yeah. Anytime."

And before he can do something stupid—like kiss you or beg you not to marry Namjoon—he steps out the door, hands shoved in his pockets, pushing his feelings deep down into his chest to deal with another day.

—

Namjoon comes home just after seven, shoulders relaxed, jacket draped over one arm and his camera slung around his neck. You hear the door unlock and turn to see him standing in the entryway with that sweet dimpled smile, and a bouquet in his hands.

Roses.

Still wrapped in the thin plastic from the supermarket down the street, a barcode sticker on the side and baby's breath tucked in like an afterthought.

"For you," he says, stepping into the kitchen to kiss your cheek. "Saw them on my way home and thought of you."

Your heart softens immediately because the gesture itself is sweet. Because he thought of you and there's something undeniably tender about a man who buys you flowers just because he wants to.

"They're beautiful," you murmur, taking them from him. They're a deep red, the petals velvety and full. Romantic in the way movies insist romance should look like.

But still.

Roses.

You're not upset or ungrateful. The thought means a lot and the roses are pretty. They're fine, a classic. Roses are what people buy when they're in love.

But as you look down at the bouquet, your mind betrays you. It pulls you backward—uninvited and vivid.

That night at the restaurant; Jungkook walking in, hands slightly unsteady as he held a bouquet wrapped in brown paper.

Peonies.

Soft blush petals. Full and a little imperfect and fleeting—their season short, like they're meant to be cherished quickly.

You remember blinking at them in surprise before he collided with an unsuspecting waiter. He shrugged the flowers off like they weren't his but you know they were. You know he knows you've never been a rose girl.

You shake the memory away before it can settle too deeply and turn toward Namjoon, who's watching you with fond eyes.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," you smile, shaking your head. "Thank you. They're lovely."

You lean in to kiss his lips, letting yourself appreciate the sweet sentiment, letting his hands skim your sides, his lips moving against yours like a practiced routine. He's attentive, and affectionate, and intentional. Everything he does is good. And yet, somewhere deep inside, you wonder why the flowers matter at all. Why a detail this small manages to echo so loudly. Why you wish so badly that they were peonies instead.

You pull away to set the roses in a vase on the counter, letting them rest while you finish rolling kimbap at the kitchen island. Namjoon's jacket is already hanging on the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up, collar undone, the stiffness of the workday slowly melting off him. Working on a Saturday is especially draining for him, but he loves his job more than anything.

"Sit," you insist, nodding towards the couch while you plate everything up. "I'll bring it over."

"Yes, chef," he smiles, obediently wandering over to the living room.

You join him a moment later, balancing a tray with a large heap of neatly sliced kimbap, some kimchi, a small dish of dipping sauce, and two shot glasses with a cold green bottle of soju.

His eyes widen. "You look like you're feeding a whole village."

You drop down beside him, tucking one leg under you. "Consider it re-training your stomach for life in Korea."

He laughs. "I'll never complain about that."

You pour the first round of soju, handing him a glass and holding yours up. "To…adjusting."

He clinks his glass against yours. "To adjusting," he echoes, and then you both wince and hiss through your teeth as the first burn of the night goes down.

He grabs a pair of chopsticks from the tray and digs in, dipping the kimbap in the spicy sauce, nodding at the taste of tuna-mayo, seaweed and fresh vegetables.

"Look at that," you tease. "Your stomach can handle something that isn't fish and chips."

"I'll have you know," he mumbles between chews, "I have eaten kimbap before. My mum just stopped making Korean food when I was little. But there are Korean restaurants in London."

"British-Korean food does not count."

"It counts in my heart," he chuckles.

You snort and pop some more kimbap in your mouth. The tv plays in the background, some loud Korean variety show full of canned laughter and silly sound effects. He doesn't fully understand everything because his parents raised him on mostly english, but you pause here and there to translate the best jokes, and he laughs in all the right places.

It feels domestic—your body pressed against his, his arm resting along the back of the couch behind you, both of you reaching for the kimchi at the same time. It feels like the actual start of your life together.

"Careful," you warn, refilling your glasses. "Soju with Korean tv is a dangerous combination. Next thing you know, you'll be yelling at the screen like my parents."

"Looking forward to it," he grins, downing his shot.

Later, after you've eaten too much and drank enough soju to make your brain a bit fuzzy, you sleepily shuffle into the bathroom together to get ready for bed, crammed side by side at the sink.

You tie your hair back and he squeezes toothpaste onto both of your brushes without asking.

"Thanks," you mumble, brushing your molars.

He bumps your shoulder with his, smiling at you in the mirror.

You brush, spit, rinse, and turn to lean back against the counter for a moment, watching him. The overhead light is harsh, but he still looks soft around the edges—sleepy eyes, mussed hair, the faintest flush on his cheeks from the soju.

"So…" you start casually, crossing your arms over your chest. "About tomorrow."

He glances over, toothbrush still in his mouth. "Mm?"

You smile. "I asked Jungkook if you could tag along on his boy's day. Him and three of his friends always go to the gym to play basketball on Sundays, so I figured you could hang out with them while I spend time with my mom and grandma."

He spits, rinses, then raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? I can't imagine he was wildly enthusiastic about me joining them."

You sigh, looking down at the ground. "He's just shy."

Namjoon snorts, rubbing moisturiser onto his face. "I met him once and I'm pretty sure 'shy' is the last word I'd use."

You grin despite yourself. "Okay, fair. But it matters to me that you two spend time together. He's been in my life for ten years. You're going to be my husband. I just…want my worlds to fit together, you know?"

He studies you for a moment, then turns fully, resting his hands on your hips. "Yeah," he murmurs softly. "I get it, love."

You look up at him, chewing your bottom lip. "It's silly, but I worry that this is all weird for you. That he's too much. Or that you'll feel like an outsider. He's just so…woven into my life."

Namjoon hums thoughtfully, shrugging. "It's not weird. Unexpected, sure, but not weird." His thumbs rub gentle circles into your sides, lightly brushing under the hem of your top. "He clearly cares about you. Anyone with eyes can see that. And if he's that important to you, then he matters to me too."

That definitely calms some of your anxiety.

"You're really okay with it?" you ask.

"I won't lie," he mutters with a faint chuckle. "I'm a tiny bit intimidated. He's…a lot. Not in a bad way. Just...a lot to take in."

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. "He's practically an overgrown golden retriever with tattoos."

"Exactly," Namjoon scoffs. "But the dog still has teeth that could bite, so I'd prefer to be on his good side."

You tilt your head, grinning teasingly. "Did you just call my best friend a dog? Only I can do that."

"An affectionate dog," he clarifies. "A loyal dog. I want to see the version of him you see."

That eases you.

You lean into him, resting your forehead against his chest. "Thank you," you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist. "For trying."

His arms fold around your shoulders, his chin dropping to the top of your head. "I'm not just trying," he smiles. "I'm investing, sweetheart. In your life. Our life."

He presses a kiss to your hair, squeezing you tightly. "Let me handle the chaos tomorrow. You have your day with your mum and granny. I'll survive the guys."

You pull back enough to look up at him. "I hope so."

"I've survived British pubs during football season," he grins. "I can handle four Korean men and a basketball."

You laugh, and he leans down to catch your mouth in a slow, steady kiss that tastes faintly of mint and soju.

You crawl into bed together, the apartment finally dim and peaceful, the only light a soft glow from the streetlights outside slipping in through the curtains. Namjoon lies on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other open for you like always.

You fit yourself into his side, head on his chest, your fingers tracing little shapes across his shirt. His heart is steady beneath your ear—solid and dependable.

You close your eyes but your brain doesn't seem to cooperate.

Instead of fading out, your thoughts start stacking like dishes in the sink. The guest list. The seating chart. Your mom's expectations. His parents' opinions of you. Plane tickets. Dresses. Flowers. The church. London. Seoul. All of it swirling together until your chest tightens instead of loosens.

It's a while before Namjoon eventually notices.

"You're so stiff," he murmurs, his fingers sliding up and down your arm. "What's going on in there?"

"Nothing," you lie.

He snorts softly. "You're a terrible liar."

You sigh, staring at the ceiling. "I just…keep thinking about everything that could go wrong."

He turns his head to look at you properly. "Like what?"

You shrug, feeling a bit silly. "I don't know. Flights being delayed. Dresses not fitting. The cake falling over. People judging how fast we're moving. All the little things that could ruin it."

Namjoon is quiet for a moment, then murmurs gently, "There's no real reason to worry, ___. We've planned everything. We'll double-check what we need to. It'll all be perfect."

You chew the inside of your cheek. "You don't ever...get nervous?"

"Of course I get nervous," he chuckles. "But not about us. Not about the wedding itself. We're doing this right. We're prepared. There's nothing to be anxious about. Don't be silly."

You know he means well. You know he's trying to reassure you. His logic is neat; his perspective is level. He wants to airbrush your doubt away with reason. But somehow, it doesn't undo the knot in your stomach.

Usually when you're like this—mind spinning, body wound tight—Jungkook would notice instantly. He'd turn to you and say something utterly unserious like, "Okay, that's enough existential crisis for today, let's have a thumb-war," and hold up his hand until you lace your thumb with his.

He'd play stupid little games with you: I-spy, rock-paper-scissors with bizarre stakes, 'guess the song from three seconds of humming', and he'd either cheat very obviously or let you win then whine dramatically about it.

He never tries to convince you that there's no reason to worry. He doesn't necessarily believe in perfection. He just makes room for the imperfections to simply be.

Namjoon, on the other hand, is steady. He smooths things down. He likes long-term plans and sensible solutions. When you spiral, he tries to organise your brain into folders.

"Close your eyes," he mumbles sleepily. "Take a deep breath. You're overthinking something that doesn't need overthinking. Everything's under control."

You inhale, then exhale, nodding slowly.

You're grateful, truly. There's comfort in his stability, in his certainty that things will be perfect. He's sturdy, like concrete.

Jungkook has always been water.

He flows. Around problems, through them, sometimes sloshing messily over the edges. He'd probably say something like, "So what if the cake falls? We'll eat it off the floor. Floor-cake is still cake." And you'd laugh, and it wouldn't actually fix anything, but it would make everything feel easier to bear.

You hate that your mind keeps holding them up like two sides of a scale.

Namjoon, firm and straight-lined and focused on making things right.

Jungkook, crooked-smiled and chaotic and focused on making things enjoyable.

It feels wrong to compare them, like some cruel internal test they never signed up for. Namjoon hasn't done anything wrong by getting you roses from the supermarket or by telling you not to worry. He's trying. He's here. He loves you enough to put his grandmother's ring on your finger.

And yet, your brain flickers back to peonies lying on the restaurant floor. To Jungkook in a suit, falling to his doom when he saw Namjoon beside you. Or the silly smile and total trust he hands you when asking you to choose something off the bakery menu for him. Or the way he'd drop whatever he's doing—no matter the time or situation—if you asked him to.

You don't know why you're thinking of him so much tonight.

Maybe it's because he's taking your fiancé out tomorrow and you want it to go well. Maybe it's because the wedding is barreling toward you at full speed and your heart is trying to cling to every familiar thing it knows before everything changes.

Or maybe it's because of those stupid roses on the kitchen counter, all red and perfect and not what you really love.

Namjoon kisses the top of your head, obnoxiously oblivious to your internal battle. "Get some sleep, darling," he murmurs. "Everything's going to be fine."

You nod against his chest, closing your eyes and forcing yourself to focus on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You don't want to let yourself think about how you'd normally be texting Jungkook right now: "Can't sleep. Panic-brain is back. Help." And how, without fail, he'd reply: "On my way." Or, "Okay, first question: do I have to kick someone's ass? Second question: if you could have any superpower, what would it be and why?"

You press your face into Namjoon's shirt and force your thoughts to quiet to allow yourself to sleep.

No matter how hard your brain tries to change things, the roses will still be there in the morning, and you'll still be wishing they were peonies.

The gym's basketball court smells like rubber, sweat, and faintly of cheap body spray. Jungkook bounces the basketball lazily as he waits near centre court, Seokjin stretching half-heartedly, Mingyu doing too much for a casual run, and Wonwoo absently shooting free throws as a warm-up.

The double doors creak open and Namjoon steps in, a little out of place but trying his best not to look it. He's dressed simply—black shorts, white t-shirt, hair pushed back with a plain headband. No showy accessories, no theatrics.

Jungkook begrudgingly notes that even in gym clothes, Namjoon looks like he's about to shoot an editorial for 'Thoughtful Men Who Read Books and Respect Women Weekly'.

"Yo," Jungkook calls, lifting a hand. "Over here."

Namjoon gives a short bow and a warm smile, walking over to drop his gym bag near the stands. "Hey, guys. Thanks for inviting me."

Behind Jungkook, Seokjin leans over to the others, whispering as Namjoon starts tying his shoes.

"He seems…polite," he murmurs.

"And hot," Mingyu nods. "I'm straight as an arrow but I'd hit if I were into butt stuff."

Wonwoo tilts his head. "He seems nice. I like his shirt."

Jungkook doesn't turn around to look at them, scoffing. "Yeah? Go be his best friends then."

There's a beat of silence and then muffled snickering as they gather at centre court.

"Okay," Jungkook says, spinning the ball in his hands. "So, we usually just play 2v2, nothing serious. You cool with that?"

Namjoon nods. "Totally. Full disclosure, though…I've never really played. Not properly, anyway."

Jungkook's lips twitch. He doesn't want to show how happy that makes him, but he can't help himself. "Like…at all?"

"I know the rules," Namjoon chuckles. "But don't expect anything impressive."

"Oh, I won't," Jungkook mutters, grinning smugly. "We'll go easy on you."

Mingyu mutters, "He says that now," under his breath, nudging Seokjin, who simply laughs.

They divide into teams—Jungkook and Mingyu versus Namjoon and Wonwoo, with Seokjin playing lazy ref. Jungkook is vibrating with excitement. He's going to destroy this man. Outplay him. Outshine him. He's going to be the alpha in this situation even if it kills him.

"First to 21," Jungkook calls. "Let's go."

They start off casual—Mingyu checks the ball to Namjoon. Namjoon bounces it once, twice, like he's testing the feel of it. He looks cautious, a little stiff, and Jungkook knows he has this in the bag.

Namjoon passes to Wonwoo. They move slowly, kinda awkwardly. Jungkook steals easily, breaks into a sprint, and goes up for a layup just to warm up.

The ball sinks through clean.

"1-0," Seokjin announces. "Our Lord and Savior Jungkook opens the score."

Jungkook grins, jogging back. "You good, Kim?" he calls to Namjoon, who just chuckles, his breath puffing.

"Yeah, yeah, just getting used to it."

The next few plays go similarly; Jungkook and Mingyu dominate at first. Jungkook gets cocky, tossing look-away passes, talking shit like the arrogant player he is.

"Yo, you weren't kidding about not playing," he teases after Namjoon fumbles a pass.

Namjoon grins good-naturedly, wiping sweat from his brow. "I said I'd try my best, not that I'd be good."

He's almost too humble, too nice. It grates on Jungkook's nerves more than it should.

It's like the universe is just not on Jungkook's side because something shifts drastically around the 6-2 mark.

Wonwoo passes Namjoon the ball again near the three-point line. Jungkook's guarding him, loose and relaxed, not even bothering to get too low on his stance.

Namjoon bounces once. Twice. Then without warning, he steps back and shoots. It's clean. Smooth. The ball arcs up in a near-perfect curve and snaps through the net with a satisfying swish.

Seokjin lets out a long, dramatic, "Ooooooh!"

Even Wonwoo raises his eyebrows.

Jungkook blinks, nodding like he's impressed, which he isn't. "Okay…nice shot."

"Beginner's luck," Namjoon shrugs, his cheeks slightly flushed.

But then he does it again.

And again.

He's not wild or flashy—just quietly efficient—in that annoying way that makes it clear he knows exactly what he's doing now that he's warmed up.

"Namjoon, I thought you said you don't play," Mingyu calls, half-laughing, half-offended.

Namjoon's smile is sheepish. "I really don't. I just…learn fast, I guess."

"Of course you do," Jungkook mutters, rolling his eyes so far back they almost stay there.

Things really fall apart for Jungkook when it happens—the dreaded dunk.

Namjoon gets the ball off a quick steal from Wonwoo. He dribbles down the court, long strides eating up space faster than they expect.

Jungkook recovers and leaps up to block him near the rim.

For a split second, Jungkook thinks he's got him.

Then Namjoon jumps.

It's controlled, intentional. He rises just that little bit higher, a big hand palming the ball like it's nothing, and slams it through the hoop with a clean, resounding thunk.

He doesn't yell or celebrate. Just lands, a little startled at himself, laughing as his feet hit the floor.

The whole gym echoes, the guys screaming like it's an actual NBA game.

Seokjin is especially hyped up, looking excited enough for Jungkook to feel betrayed. "AND HE DUNKS! THE BRITISH CAMERA MAN DUNKS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

Jungkook just stands there under the hoop, chest heaving, staring at him with silent venom.

Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, looking a bit embarrassed despite impressing everyone. "Sorry. That was…kinda a fluke."

"Yeah," Jungkook grumbles faintly. "Total fluke."

It's most certainly not a fluke.

By the end of the match, the score is close—too close—but Namjoon and Wonwoo snag the last few points, Namjoon landing another dunk for the win.

"21–18," Seokjin announces. "Victory goes to Team Big Ben and Silent Assassin."

Wonwoo lifts a hand and Namjoon slaps it while laughing, bending over with his hands on his knees.

"Man, I thought I was going to be useless," Namjoon smiles, completely breathless. "This was fun."

Jungkook bounces the ball against the ground a little too aggressively, smiling bitterly. "Yeah. Super fun."

They all head to the locker room after drinking some water, sweat-damp and exhausted. The air is thick with steam from the nearby showers, dumb jokes bouncing off the tiled walls as they peel off their shirts and toss towels around.

Mingyu is still talking about that dunk, sitting on a bench with a towel around the back of his neck. "I mean, I'm just saying…no one casually dunks like that. That was a violation of the unspoken 'I don't really play' code."

Namjoon laughs, untying his shoes. "Okay, maybe I used to mess around as a kid. I really haven't played in years, though."

"Guess you're just naturally perfect," Jungkook grumbles under his breath, tossing his sweaty shirt into his gym bag.

"Hmm?" Namjoon asks, pulling his own shirt off as well.

"Nothing," Jungkook says quickly, smiling over at him.

He turns to his locker, yanking open the door a little too hard. He tries to breathe through his frustration. It's totally fine. So the guy can play ball. Whatever. He's still just a guy.

He exhales, grabs a towel, and turns—and that's when he sees it.

Namjoon pulls down his shorts and boxers and steps into a shower stall, gracing them with all eight inches of him. His dick is just…there. Long and thick. Hangs like a threat. It practically has its own personality.

It's brief and completely accidental, but it's enough to make Jungkook hate him even more than he thought possible.

He snaps his gaze away, his jaw clenched, a fresh wave of jealousy washing over him.

Seokjin, changing on the bench next to him, catches the whole thing. He bites his lip, fighting a grin. "You good?"

"No," Jungkook mutters dryly. "No, I'm really fucking not, actually."

Mingyu is humming to himself at the lockers across the aisle, speaking soft enough so that Namjoon doesn't hear him over the stream of water. "Man, this guy's tall, nice, good at ball…I bet he's great in be—"

"Do not finish that sentence," Jungkook warns, heading to the showers as well.

The air is comfortable while they change, the others chatting about the week ahead, food, and schedules. Namjoon makes a point of thanking them for letting him join. He's absurdly gracious about it all, like he didn't just rock Jungkook's shit in one afternoon.

As they're heading out, Seokjin lingers by Jungkook's side, keeping a bit of a distance from the rest of the guys to allow them to talk more freely.

"Hey," he mumbles quietly. "What's up?"

Jungkook runs a hand through his damp hair and laughs humourlessly. "He's good-looking, he's polite, he's rich...he can dunk. And now the universe has informed me that he has a huge cock."

Seokjin presses his lips together, clearly trying not to burst out laughing. "Right. Unfortunate."

"He has everything," Jungkook mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Everything. And he's marrying her."

Jin exhales, shaking his head. "Still doesn't mean he's her person."

"Feels like it today," Jungkook mumbles pitifully, feeling increasingly sorry for himself.

As they walk out into the daylight—Namjoon laughing with Mingyu up ahead, his phone already out to send you a text about how fun it was—Jungkook feels that bitter cocktail of jealousy, insecurity, and something too close to heartbreak burning in his chest.

It's one thing to lose a basketball game, but it's another to feel like he's losing the girl he loves to a guy who just keeps accidentally winning at everything.

—

Incheon Airport drop-off is quite busy a few days later—cars honking, luggage rattling, people rushing past with neck pillows and overstuffed backpacks. You're in the back seat with Namjoon, his hand resting over yours on your lap, while Jungkook grips the steering wheel like an underpaid Uber driver.

Namjoon's flight is in a couple of hours. He's heading back to England to help his parents prepare the house, finalise some things at the church, talk to caterers, things like that. You're staying behind for a while, enjoying your last days in Seoul as an unmarried woman.

Jungkook pulls up to the curb and puts the car in park, glancing at Namjoon in the rear view mirror.

"Here we are," he mutters, his voice overly neutral. "Departures."

Namjoon squeezes your hand, smiling. "Guess this is me."

You unbuckle your seatbelt and follow him out. Jungkook stays in the driver's seat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and watching through the windshield.

Namjoon opens the trunk, grabs his suitcase, and sets it down with a soft thud. The two of you stand face to face in front of the drop-off entrance, saying your goodbyes until eventually meeting again in England.

"Text me when you get home," you murmur quietly.

"I'll call you before boarding," he promises. "And when I land. And whenever you need me in between."

You smile, fixing his shirt's collar for him. "I'll miss you."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek, leaning in. "I'll miss you more, darling."

And then he kisses you. It starts soft, gentle. But then he tilts his head and you angle closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck and your fingers curling into his shirt. The surrounding noise fades as his mouth moves against yours, deeper, slower, like he's trying to stretch this moment out as far as he can.

In the car, Jungkook stares begrudgingly.

"Damn," he mutters to himself. "Are you trying to eat her face?"

He looks away, then looks back, then looks away again, his jaw ticking, trying not to really watch but also unable to fully tear his eyes away.

Finally, you pull back, breathless and flushed. Namjoon presses one last kiss to your forehead before turning and dragging his suitcase toward the entrance. He glances back only once, mouths a quick 'I love you', then disappears into the crowd.

You stand there for a moment, exhaling, before heading back to the car and sliding into the passenger seat. Jungkook doesn't look at you right away, just pulls away from the curb and merges back into traffic.

The city gradually thins out as Jungkook drives toward the quieter part of town, where Grace Church sits tucked between tall sycamores and stone walls.

You scroll absently through your phone, then glance over at him. "Thanks again, by the way. For today. And for…you know...looking after him."

He keeps his eyes on the road, nodding. "Yeah. No problem. Just doing my maid of honor duties."

"Did you guys have fun at basketball?" you ask. "He said he had a good time."

Jungkook's grip tightens just a little on the steering wheel. "Oh, he did, huh?"

"Yeah. He said your friends were really nice."

"They liked him too," Jungkook mutters. "Apparently."

You smile, relaxing against your seat. "That makes me happy."

He doesn't answer, just keeps driving.

You shift the topic, sensing he doesn't have anything to say. "So…Reverend Choi. He's the sweetest man. He married my parents thirty-five years ago and insisted on flying to England to do our ceremony."

Jungkook nods slowly, smiling faintly. "That's nice of him."

"Yeah, you'll love him."

As you pull into the church parking lot, the mood softens. Grace Church is beautiful—cream-coloured brick, large green hedges, tall arched windows catching the afternoon light. You've spent holidays here; weddings, funerals, everything in between.

"Ready?" Jungkook asks, parking the car.

"As I'll ever be," you nod, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Inside, Reverend Choi's office smells like old paper and lemon polish. The walls are lined with books—bibles in multiple languages, commentaries, worn novels, a few random history texts thrown in.

He stands up when you and Jungkook walk in, his face breaking into a wide, wrinkled smile.

"Ah, ___," he murmurs warmly, his arms open. "My goodness, look at you. All grown up and getting married. When did that happen?"

You smile brightly as you step into his hug. "Hello, Reverend. It's good to see you."

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes shimmering with pride. "Your mother showed me pictures of your bakery. You've done well. Your father would be so proud of you if he were here."

You bow your head, clutching your head in gratitude. "Thank you."

Reverend Choi then turns to Jungkook, smiling even wider. "And this must be the lucky groom," he says, holding out his hand. "Handsome too. Good. You'll make beautiful babies."

Jungkook chokes on his own breath, his heart stuttering.

You blink, your brows shooting up. "Oh! No, no—this is Jungkook. He's my…maid of honor."

Reverend Choi pauses, then chuckles. "Ah, I see. Wonderful. We actually have many gay and lesbian members of the congregation. Love is love, yes?"

Jungkook's eyes nearly pop out of his skull. "I...uhm, no, I'm not—"

You pat his arm, smiling. "He's not gay, Reverend. Just my best friend."

"Ahh," Reverend Choi chuckles, nodding in understanding. "Well, please, sit."

He gestures for you both to take a seat on the worn arm chairs across from his desk. He pulls out a notepad and pen, sliding on his reading glasses.

"Well then," he sighs. "Let's get to know this love story, shall we? I'll need some details to work into the vows, the sermon, the blessing. Something that reflects who you are—not just as individuals, but together."

You nod, smoothing your hands over your knees. "Sure."

"Let's start simple," he smiles. "Tell me about your relationship with your groom."

You smile, the memories of London rising like a gentle tide. "We met at a museum in London and we were instantly drawn to one another. It was a whirlwind romance, it all happened super fast."

Reverend Choi smiles, his pen poised. "Mm, love at first sight?"

You flush. "I guess you could say that..."

He chuckles. "Good. So...what is it that you love about him? The little things. The things that are…'so him'."

You open your mouth, but it's like your brain just empties on the spot. Not because there's nothing there—of course there is. You love him. You know he's kind and thoughtful and everything nice, but the words feel vague. Hard to pin down under the pressure of a blank page and an expectant smile.

"He's…" you start, then stall. "uhm…he's very…calm?"

Reverend Choi nods. "Calm. Good. In what way?"

You scramble. "He's...patient. He takes his time on things...well, despite proposing so soon."

Reverend Choi writes that down, humming. "And what else?"

"He loves his work," you add. "He's passionate about photography. And...he treats people well. Waiters, staff, my mom. He's very respectful."

"Excellent," Reverend Choi nods. "And what is something only you would know about him? A small habit or story that feels unique to your relationship. Something that shows your bond."

You blink, and for a split second, your mind flicks to the man sitting beside you instead of your fiancé.

To him always ordering your favourite flavour of cake so that you can sneak bites from each other's plate. To his ridiculous laugh when you make a dumb joke. To him never letting you walk on the outer part of the sidewalk, even if it's subconsciously. To the way he can tell you're spiraling just from one choked word over the phone.

You quickly drag yourself back.

"Uhm," you murmur slowly. "I...uhh...sorry, I'm kinda blanking...uhm..."

Jungkook sits silently beside you, his hands clasped, watching you closely.

Reverend Choi smiles, nodding slowly. "No worries, ___, we can go over that some over time. What about your shared history? Inside jokes, perhaps?"

You open your mouth again, feeling your face heat up. "Shared history…well…we haven't known each other very long. Just a few months. We just…clicked quickly."

Jungkook shifts slightly, then leans in, his voice casual and easy.

"Reverend," he murmurs, "maybe you should ask Namjoon some of these questions too. Get his side. Stuff only he would say about her. Their little things, you know?"

Reverend Choi brightens. "Oh, absolutely. I'll be meeting with him separately over in England."

"And you'll want to ask very specific stuff," Jungkook continues, his tone light but edged with something sharper. "Stuff like…does he know what she's truly afraid of? What she does when she's really stressed out. What cheers her up after she's had a bad day. The weird little habits only someone who's really been around her would catch."

You look at him.

His eyes flick to you, then back to Reverend Choi.

"Those details make the best vows, right?" he adds. "Not just 'she's kind and pretty', but…things like 'she learned how to ride a bike when she was in high school and always sobs at dog commercials'. The real stuff. The history."

Reverend Choi chuckles, resting his chin in his palm. "You speak like a man who's been paying attention, Jungkook."

He shrugs, smiling. "Someone should."

You swallow thickly, looking down at your lap.

Reverend Choi turns back to you. "So then," he murmurs gently. "___, why don't you tell me what your idea of true love is—"

"You could include Modigliani in the vows," Jungkook blurts out.

Both you and Reverend Choi turn to look at him.

"Modi…what?" Reverend Choi frowns.

"Modigliani," Jungkook repeats, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The painter."

Reverend Choi tilts his head, growing intrigued. "Go on."

Jungkook glances at you, then looks back at the reverend as he speaks.

"The summer after graduation," he murmurs, "she dated this investment banker. You remember, right?" He flicks his eyes to you again. "The guy with the Porsche and mommy issues."

You let out a startled little laugh. "Oh, don't remind me."

"He asked you to move in with him," Jungkook continues, his voice taking on a softer tone, "but you were having doubts. That was around the time you discovered Modigliani."

Reverend Choi nods along, getting his pen ready.

"You became obsessed with one of his paintings," Jungkook says. "It was of a woman wearing a blue scarf, holding a baby. You said that painting captured the essence of that woman better than any photograph could."

You scoff in disbelief, your eyes narrowing slightly.

"I can't believe you remember that."

Jungkook looks at you for a breath, and there's something in his eyes that tells you he remembers everything you've ever shared with him, ever.

Then he turns back to the reverend.

"I also remember," he says quietly, "that she freaked out afterwards because she realised she felt more passionate about that painting than she did about Mr. Investment Banker...and she wondered if she'd ever meet somebody who could make her feel as passionate as that work of art."

The room goes completely still.

Reverend Choi's face shows how impressed he is. His pen scratches across the page as he repeats under his breath, "Yes…good…Modigliani…perfect..."

You continue to silently stare at Jungkook, your heart doing something strange in your chest. He feels it, but doesn't look back this time, his gaze remaining firmly on the reverend.

Reverend Choi finishes writing and sets the pen down for a moment, his eyes moving between the two of you thoughtfully.

"Well," he scoffs eventually, a small, knowing smile forming on his face. "Now I understand why you picked Jungkook as your maid of honor."

Jungkook just smiles politely, mentally patting himself on the back.

The bridal shower is exactly one week later.

You're standing outside Jungkook's apartment door draped in a pretty dress and mild anxiety. You can already hear laughter and the clinking of glasses inside as your nearest and dearest friends and family mingle and gush over your fiancé.

You knock once and the door swings open almost immediately.

"Look at the bride-to-be," Jungkook sings, leaning against the doorframe with a grin. He's wearing a cream-coloured button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and matching slacks, his hair styled just enough that it looks like he didn't try that hard, which means he tried very hard. "You look beautiful as always. C'mon in, everyone's here."

Your eyes widen as you step inside.

"Oh my goodness, Jungkook."

His place is unrecognisable. Soft pink and white streamers drape elegantly from the ceiling, tied off in neat little bunches. Paper lanterns and balloons hang over the living room, there's a "BRIDE TO BE" banner draped across a large empty wall, and a big white armchair in the corner that's clearly meant to be your 'throne' for present-opening later. The kitchen counter is covered in dainty finger foods on tiered stands: tea sandwiches, mini quiches and artfully arranged cheese platters. Mina even made some of your bakery's signature cupcakes and pastel macarons.

On another counter are pitchers of pink lemonade, sparkling water, and a dangerously pretty mimosa bar with cut fruit and champagne flutes. Someone even tied little white ribbons around the stems.

"You did all this?" you ask, turning slowly as you take it all in.

Jungkook shrugs, trying to play it cool. "Had a little help from the guys. I owe Jin for making him fold fifty napkins and making his fingers cramp up."

You laugh, your heart swelling. "This is…so beautiful. I can't believe you did this for me, Jungkook."

His grin widens even further. "What? You thought I was gonna serve you stale chips and beer in front of the tv?"

"Honestly? Yes," you tease. "At best, I expected white plastic cups."

He clutches his chest. "Wow. The disrespect."

You grin and step closer, lowering your voice so it's just for him. "I mean it, though. You did really well. This is…perfect."

His smugness shifts into something softer for a second. "Yeah?" he smiles. "You like it?"

You nod, your eyes bright. "I love it."

He soaks in the look on your face like sunlight, saving this moment for him to fantasise about later.

"Come here," he says, nudging you gently toward the hors d'oeuvres table. "I ordered a whole bunch of food. You need to try this one."

The table is a Pinterest board brought to life. Tiny crackers with artful dollops of mousse, cucumber cups filled with whipped feta, mini tartlets, all arranged like a magazine spread. You look over the options, giving him an impressed nod.

"Since when are you this fancy?" you chuckle.

"Since I became a maid of honor," he shrugs. "Now watch, let me elevate your palate."

He picks up a small round cracker topped with a dark, velvety-looking mousse and a little herb on top. He holds it out to you, opening his own mouth for you to mimic. "Try this one."

You don't even hesitate. You lean forward and pop it into your mouth, chewing slowly.

"Mmm" you hum, your eyebrows furrowing at the taste. "That's…what...what is that?"

He pops a cracker into his mouth too, chewing thoughtfully.

"Oh, it's black pudding mousse," he mutters casually. "Made of pig's blood. It's a British delicacy."

You freeze.

The flavour that was, seconds ago, rich and savoury suddenly coats your tongue in horror. Your eyes go wide, your jaw moving in slow-motion as your brain fully processes his words.

You grab the nearest napkin and spit it out so fast you almost choke.

"Jesus Christ," you cough, your face contorting in disgust. "Why would you feed me that, you psycho?!"

He looks the picture of innocence, as if he was simply trying to introduce you to your future husband's culture, but you know damn well all he wants is to freak you out.

You grab another napkin and wipe your tongue, dramatically shuddering. "I don't care if King Charles himself made it. I'm never eating that again."

"It's the thought that counts, right?" he grins, popping another cracker into his mouth. "Namjoon's British. You have to embrace his ways, ___. Gotta start incorporating things like this into your life."

"I'm gonna incorporate my foot into your ass," you mutter, grabbing a glass of pink lemonade nearby and chugging it, trying to erase all trace of metallic aftertaste from your mouth.

Just like that, your appetite has officially left the apartment.

Your family is all present; your mom and grandma, your cousins, your mom's sisters and cousins, even women you haven't seen since your childhood.

Your aunts take turns pulling you aside, hands clasping yours, kissing your cheeks, talking a mile a minute. You smile, nod, chuckle when they expect you to, riding the wave of their excitement even when it feels like too much.

Jungkook is restocking the hors d'oeuvres table, rearranging sandwiches like they're soldiers in a neat row, when Lisa appears at his elbow.

She looks far too pleased with herself, but he can't be bothered to ask why.

"Hey, Maid of Honor," she mutters. "Where do you want Sharon to set up?"

Jungkook wipes his hands on a napkin, glancing at her. "Sharon? Who's that?"

Lisa gives him a look as if to ask if he's dumb. "The entertainment? The tarot lady? I told you about her at ___'s place two weeks ago, remember?"

He frowns for half a second, then snaps his fingers like he remembers—well, he sorta does. Lisa pulled him aside that day at your apartment to tell him about Sharon, who apparently reads palms and tarot cards at bridal showers. She insisted on hiring her because she was at Jeongyeon's bridal shower as well and you loved her.

"Right, yeah. Sharon. Of course."

"She brought her stuff," Lisa continues. "She just needs a table where everyone can gather for the demo."

"Demo?" Jungkook repeats, but she's already turning and strutting away.

"It'll be perfect," she tosses over her shoulder.

He nods slowly. "Okay…yeah. We can use the table near the sliding doors that lead out to the balcony."

A few minutes later, Sharon arrives. She's wearing a deep red dress and a smile that's…a bit too seductive for a bridal shower. Her voice is low and smoky when she greets everyone.

"Hello, ladies," she purrs. "Congratulations, bride-to-be."

You smile politely. "Thank you."

Jungkook helps her carry in a large box. It's heavy enough that he has to brace it on his hip. He sets it down on the table near the balcony, where a small crowd of guests begins to gather.

You frown, feeling both confused and very curious, making your way over.

"What is this?" you whisper, tugging Jungkook's arm as Sharon fusses with the lid.

He grins, looking rather proud of himself. "You know, Sharon. I know how much you loved her at Jeongyeon's bridal shower."

Your eyes narrow, your head quirking sideways. "What are you talking about? She wasn't at Jeongyeon's shower."

He freezes. That's not what he was told.

"But...Lisa said—"

Sharon claps her hands lightly, drawing everyone's attention.

"Alright, everyone, gather around," she calls out, her voice rich with theatrics. "I'm so excited to be here to help celebrate this beautiful bride."

The women crowd closer. Your mother and aunts linger at the edge, curious but cautious. Mina stands behind you, Jeongyeon at her side, Lisa leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a wicked little smile already forming as she steals glances at Jungkook.

You have a bad feeling about this.

Sharon lays one palm dramatically on the top of the box. "Now, I do readings," she says, "but for bridal showers…I like to offer something a little more…"

Her eyes narrow dramatically, her voice dipping low.

"...pleasurable."

She lifts the lid and instead of tarot cards or palmistry charts, the box is filled with…silicone.

Brightly coloured silicone.

Vibrators. Dildos. Harnesses. Things with straps. Things with buttons. Things with remote controls. Things that look like props from a sci-fi movie. The entire table is a neon sea of sex toys.

For a moment, the room is silent. Then your youngest cousin gasps. One of your aunts almost chokes on her mimosa. Someone whispers, "What the hell?" in a half-horrified, half-fascinated way.

You feel heat crawl up your neck so fast it makes you dizzy.

Sharon beams. "We're going to have so much fun today," she says, lifting a sleek pink toy from the box. "I brought a variety of options to talk about—different speeds, shapes, textures—everything a modern bride might need. Then we can discuss prices."

You stare at the toy, then at Sharon, and then at Jungkook. His eyes are huge, lips slightly parted, complete horror dawning across his face in slow, painful clarity.

On the other side of the room, Lisa is watching him with a satisfied, viciously amused grin.

She set him up. She absolutely set him up and he can't believe he trusted her to actually help him with this.

"You hired a sex toy saleswoman for my bridal shower?" you whisper to Jungkook, your voice strangled.

"I...I thought—Lisa said—tarot—" he stammers.

"Oh, we'll get to the big stuff later," Sharon says cheerfully to the room, entirely unaware of the meltdown taking place in your soul right now. "But first, this model is excellent for both clitoral and internal stimulation—"

Your mother's eyes widen, two of your cousins pull out their phones like they're about to take notes, and you can't even look in your grandmother's direction to see her reaction.

Of all the people in the world to accidentally hire a sex toy hostess in front of your entire family, it had to be Jungkook. Your maid of honor. The man currently turning a shade of red that could be named 'Crimson Shame'.

You can't breathe, feeling like the floor has dropped out beneath you.

"I need air," you mutter as you turn on your heel and march to the balcony, yanking the door open and stepping outside, closing it firmly behind you. The muffled sound of Sharon's sultry sales pitch follows you out, but you're far too upset to pay her any attention.

The second the balcony door shuts behind you, Jungkook's moving. He mutters something to Sharon about "taking five," ignores Lisa's smug little smirk, and slips outside, closing the door softly behind him. The muffled buzz of laughter and vibrator-talk is cut off, leaving just the quiet hum of traffic below and your harsh, uneven breaths.

You're gripping the railing, staring out over the buildings in the distance, your cheeks burning and your eyes brimming with tears.

"Hey," he murmurs softly. "You okay?"

You whip your head around to glare at him. "What do you think?"

He flinches a little at your tone. "Okay. Fair."

You shake your head incredulously. "I cannot believe you did that, Jungkook. My mom is in there. My aunts. My grandmother. And you...you hired a woman to sell vibrators to them in my honor?"

"I swear I didn't know," he says quickly, his hands raised. "Lisa hired her. She told me—"

"Oh, save it," you snap. "Lisa did this? Why was Lisa hiring people in the first place? Why was she doing your job as my maid of honor?"

He frowns, stepping closer. "Can you just let me—"

"No," you cut in. "I don't want to hear excuses. This is my bridal shower, Jungkook. You're my maid of honor. You were supposed to make this special and meaningful and…and all about me, not…whatever that circus is in there."

He visibly deflates a little. "I was trying."

"Well, you failed," you shoot back, your voice cracking slightly. "Spectacularly. So...well done."

He swallows, his jaw tensing. "I was trying to give you something fun. Different. Lisa said she did tarot, palm readings, energy stuff. She said you loved her at Jeongyeon's shower, so I thought—"

"She lied," you scoff sharply. "And you let her do this. You didn't think to check with me? To confirm?"

He opens his mouth then closes it, because no, he didn't think.

You run a hand through your hair, pacing a short distance across the balcony. "I'm so embarrassed, Jungkook. They're in there right now, talking about...dual stimulation and remote control...things! And they probably all think I'm some kind of freak. And Namjoon's mom is probably gonna hear about this eventually, you know that, right? She'll be disgusted!"

He winces at that. "Okay, yeah, that part is…not great."

You glare, shaking your head in disbelief. "That's it? Not great?"

He exhales, feeling frustrated with himself. "I messed up, ___. I get it."

"It was stupid of me to ask you to be my maid of honor," you scoff. "You don't even believe in love."

"I—" Jungkook stutters, running his hand through his hair. "Maybe I do, ___. I—"

"I'm going home," you mutter firmly.

His head snaps up, his eyes wide. "What? No, come on, you don't have to leave. We can pivot. I'll tell her to pack up. We can—"

"I can't walk back in there and act like everything's fine," you cut him off. "Not right now. I can't look my mom in the eye after sitting through a demo on vibrating butt plugs."

He flushes, smiling meekly. "I don't think she got to that part yet—"

"Jungkook."

He shuts up.

You take a deep breath, adjusting your purse strap on your shoulder. "Please just…tell them I wasn't feeling well. Or that there was an emergency at the bakery. I don't care. I just need to leave."

He looks at you like you've just kicked him in the chest, his eyes pleading you to stay.

"___, please..."

"I trusted you," you murmur softly, and that lands harder than the yelling. "And you made this whole thing about something that has nothing to do with me. Or us. Or what I wanted."

His throat works around the words he wishes he could say to you.

You turn toward the door, then pause, a hand on the handle. You don't look back when you say, softer but no less hurt, "You're supposed to be my best friend. I thought you knew me better than this."

He watches through the glass as you move across the living room, avoiding eyes as best you can. Mina calls after you, looking deeply concerned. Jeongyeon shakes her head in disappointment, and Lisa, from her corner, just takes a sip of her lemonade, her eyes glittering.

He's never felt more like the villain in his own story.

—

Twenty minutes later, after he's helped Sharon pack up early, lied through his teeth about you "not feeling well," and watched your family filter out with awkward smiles and forced jokes, Jungkook finally sinks onto the couch and pulls out his phone.

He scrolls past your name in his contacts—not ready to face the read receipt he might never get—and taps Seokjin's instead.

The line barely rings once before he picks up.

"Hyung..."

"What did you do?" Seokjin answers immediately.

"How do you know I did something?" Jungkook scoffs.

"Your tone," Seokjin deadpans. "You sound like my daughter after she knocks something off the counter."

Jungkook drags a hand over his face. "I ruined her bridal shower."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Okay. Sounds dramatic. Start from the beginning."

He stares at the lonely vibrator that's been tossed aside on his coffee table; a gift left by Sharon for the 'gracious maid of honor'.

"I got the wrong...entertainment."

"You what?"

"She was supposed to be a tarot reader," Jungkook mumbles miserably. "___'s cousin recommended her. Said ___ loved her work."

"And…?"

"And she was not a tarot reader."

"Oh shit," Seokjin sighs. "What did she do?"

"She sold sex toys to her entire family," Jungkook mutters. "Like, an actual live demo."

On the other end of the call, Seokjin bursts out laughing, his voice ringing in Jungkook's ear.

He groans, throwing his head back. "It's not funny, hyunggg!"

"It's extremely funny," Seokjin gets out, still laughing. "Okay, no, you're right, it's a disaster, but from a storytelling perspective—"

"She left," Jungkook cuts in. "She walked out. She was so pissed. Said she can't even look her mom in the eye out of embarrassment."

Seokjin quiets down, feeling bad for laughing when you're so obviously distraught.

"I really screwed up," Jungkook sighs, staring at the balloons he hung for you. "Like...super screwed up. I think I'm just not cut out for this maid of honor thing."

There's a rustle on the other end, like Seokjin's moving to another room.

"Alright," he mutters. "We're gonna fix this."

"How?" Jungkook scoffs exasperatedly. "She doesn't even want to hear me explain. She thinks I just...booked a dildo show for fun."

"Give her space, let her cool off tonight," Seokjin murmurs. "Then tomorrow, go over to her place and apologise properly, no jokes. Tell her the truth and tell her you messed up trusting the wrong person instead of just doing it yourself."

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, staring off into the distance of his living room.

"And then?"

"And then," Seokjin pauses, "we turn you into the best damn maid of honor she's ever seen."

Jungkook exhales slowly, sounding resigned. "I'm in love with her, Jin. And I really screwed up. What's the point of still continuing on as her maid of honor if she's anyway just gonna marry some other guy? It's hopeless at this point."

"Hey," Seokjin mutters firmly. "I don't know you to just give up. If you want something, you fight for it. ___ is your best friend and you're not gonna abandon her right now. If you love her...you'll stick beside her and show her the lengths you're willing to go for her."

That shuts Jungkook right up.

"Maid of honor boot camp starts tomorrow night. Got it?"

Jungkook wants to argue and insist that it's too late, but then he imagines your face—how hurt you were when you left—and he reminds himself why he even agreed to go through with this in the first place. He wants to be with you, and he'll stop at nothing to redeem himself.

"Yeah," he sighs, nodding. "Okay."

—

The apology comes first.

Jungkook shows up at your apartment the next morning with your favourite order from the bagel shop you love, and a sincere sorry. There's no deflection or excuses. No charm. Just red ears, pleading eyes, and a stomach full of guilt.

He stumbles through it—actually saying the words, "I'm sorry, I was wrong, I should've asked you first," and "I trusted the wrong person instead of trusting my gut." You're still a little hurt, still flushed with humiliation, but the sincerity in his voice is like nothing you've ever heard from him before. You don't fully shake it off, but you can see he's made a lot of development, so you let him back in. A little.

He leaves your apartment knowing one thing for sure: If he's really going to fight for you, he can't half-ass this anymore.

That brings him to Seokjin's house later that evening.

Empty pizza boxes litter the coffee table. Three laptops are open. There's a whiteboard propped against the wall with the title, "OPERATION: BEST MAID OF HONOR!!!" and the subheading, "Steal the bride."

Jungkook sits on the couch, hunched forward, his hands clasped between his knees. Seokjin stands like a professor at the front of the 'class', a marker in hand. Mingyu's sprawled on the floor with his phone, and Wonwoo's got a notebook open like he's really about to take minutes.

"This is stupid," Jungkook mutters.

Seokjin taps the board, raising a brow. "This is us helping you get your girl."

Mingyu looks up, nodding. "This is your training arc, dude. Every protagonist needs one."

Wonwoo laughs, writing that down.

"You guys are not normal," Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head.

"Alright," Seokjin announces, clapping his hands together. "First; duties. You signed up as maid of honor. That is not just a silly title and a sash. That is a job."

He gestures to the laptop on the coffee table. "Mingyu, show him."

Mingyu turns the screen toward Jungkook. A quiz is open, titled, "Are You Ready To Be The Perfect Maid of Honor? (Take This 25-Question Quiz To Find Out!)"

Jungkook squints, leaning forward to get a better look. "You're kidding."

"Question one," Wonwoo reads, ignoring his friend's protest. "Who is responsible for coordinating the bridesmaids' hair and makeup schedule on the wedding day?"

Jungkook frowns. "Uh…the hair...people?"

Seokjin whacks him lightly with a rolled-up magazine. "You are. ___'s job is to stay calm and look pretty. Your job is to make sure no one shows up half-curled and crying."

Mingyu scrolls down. "Question two; What goes in the maid of honor's emergency kit?"

"Condoms," Jungkook blurts out.

They all stare at him.

He throws his hands up. "What? I panicked."

Wonwoo writes slowly in his notebook, "Do not put condoms in ___'s wedding emergency kit."

Seokjin sighs. "Think more along the lines of stain remover, safety pins, painkillers, tissues, band-aids, breath mints, pads, backup lipstick, sewing kit—"

"Snacks," Mingyu adds.

"Snacks," Seokjin agrees. "She could get low blood sugar if she's too nervous."

Jungkook's brows pinch. "She could?"

All three of them look at him.

"Bro," Mingyu scoffs. "Do you know nothing about women? Keep up, playboy."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, reluctantly nodding. "Yeah, okay. Snacks."

"Preferably non-bloody snacks," Wonwoo snorts.

Jungkook throws him with pizza crust. "I said I was sorry about the black pudding."

Seokjin scoffs. "It's gonna be a long week, boys."

Over the next week, boot camp is in full swing. On day one, they run him through every online maid of honor article they can find, quizzing him for hours on end.

"Who organises the rehearsal dinner timeline?"

"Who makes sure the bride eats on the wedding day?"

"Who gives the emotional speech?"

Each time, the answer is the same: You, Jungkook.

He groans, but he writes it down anyway.

Day two is scenario practice. Seokjin sits on a chair, pretending to be you in a veil made out of a dish towel. "I hate my hair," he whines in a shocking falsetto. "Should I call off the wedding?"

Mingyu, playing the bridesmaid, goes, "The cake is the wrong shade of white, and no one can find Namjoon's shoes!"

Wonwoo, from the corner, closes his book. "The florist is stuck in traffic. Half the flowers are missing. What do you do?"

Jungkook rubs his face, groaning. "Throw myself off a cliff?"

"Wrong," Seokjin deadpans. "You fix it and you support her."

"I already do that," Jungkook shrugs.

"Not just as her friend," Seokjin sighs. "As the person who's standing closest to her in the most important moment of her life. You need to show her that even if everything falls apart, you won't."

Jungkook takes that one home with him and keeps repeating it to himself as he lies in bed.

Day three is emotional preparation, which Jungkook finds the hardest of them all.

Wonwoo pours everyone soju at his kitchen table. "Time for the real problem," he says. "You love her."

"Well...yeah," Jungkook mutters.

"So what's the plan?" Mingyu asks. "When are you planning to confess? It can't be at the actual wedding. It'll just cause a scene."

Wonwoo sighs. "Please do not ruin a church ceremony."

Jungkook stares at his glass. "I...I don't know. I didn't really think that far ahead."

Seokjin drinks his shot of soju and pours himself another. "Do it before the wedding."

"So…" Jungkook starts, his eyebrows furrowing. "If I'm gonna confess my feelings for her before the wedding, why the hell have you people been training me so vigorously for maid of honor duties?"

"Honestly, it was just really fun for us," Mingyu shrugs.

"Look, Jungkook, just tell her how you feel when you're sure you're doing it for her, not for your ego," Seokjin says softly. "You don't confess because you want to 'win'. She's not a prize to be won. You confess because she deserves to know what's real. And you're ready to accept whatever answer she gives."

That lands heavy.

Wonwoo exhales. "Damn. That was deep, hyung. Why did I never know you were this romantic?"

"I'm married," he shrugs. "I had to be romantic to bag my lady. She's vicious, man."

—

The mall on a Saturday afternoon is like a battlefield. It's stuffy and loud and too overstimulating, but with Jungkook beside you and a barcode scanner in your hand like a gun in battle, it feels weirdly fun.

"Okay," he says, looking down at the wedding registry checklist on your iPad. "We've got plates, glassware, cutlery, pots, pans, and miscellaneous kitchen gadgets you'll never use but absolutely need. Perfect."

You snort. "Like what, an avocado slicer?"

He points dramatically. "We are absolutely scanning that."

You roll your eyes, but when you pass the display, he grabs the ridiculous multi-function slicer/masher/spiralizer combo and holds it out. "___, it's twelve-in-one. It's a Swiss Army knife for vegetables. Scan it."

"You're going to be the reason my cupboards are full," you mumble, but you dutifully beep it with the scanner, watching it appear on the little registry list.

The bed and bath section is next. Towering stacks of towels, pillows, and duvet covers surround you like fabric mountains. Jungkook runs his hand over a ridiculously soft blanket and whistles.

"Okay, you definitely have to register for this," he nods. "This is the type of blanket people have spiritual experiences under."

You laugh. "You just want something cozy to steal when you come over to bother me."

"Correction," he says. "When I come over to keep my best friend company...and her British butler too, I guess."

You scan the blanket, laughing. "Don't call him that. He's my soon-to-husband, not butler."

He grins, checking out a nice wooden nightstand. "You call him what you want to and I'll call him what I want to."

You roll your eyes, but your smiles stays on your face.

He takes the scanner from you at some point and starts "helping."

"You need this," he mumbles, scanning a set of measuring cups.

"Okay, practical."

"You need this too," he adds, scanning an unnecessarily large popcorn bowl.

"Less practical."

"I wonder if we can scan this too," he scoffs as he leans over toward a nearby mannequin and tries to scan the barcode printed faintly on its stand.

You snort. "I don't think that's for sale."

"I'm just checking," he grins, pretending to study the display card. "What if you want a life-size fake friend to take with you to London for when Namjoon's away? An emotionally supportive mannequin. We'll name her Sharon."

You burst out laughing, swatting his arm. "Too soon."

He chuckles, thinking back to the dildo saleswoman. "Yeah, you're right. Too soon."

He points the scanner at your forehead suddenly and beeps you.

You smack his arm, giggling like you did when you were eighteen in the university's library while Jungkook got shushed by nearby students.

"You're such an idiot, you know that?"

He looks stupidly pleased with himself.

You go through bedding, towels, bathmats, even a rather expensive set of knives that he insists on scanning "for the aesthetic, or if you want to murder your husband someday." He takes his role seriously, leaning into the bit of being an over-involved maid of honor, and it really does help with the stress and the looming reality of forever. With him there, it feels less like a grown-up obligation and more like a silly little game.

By the time you're heading back toward the escalators, your arms are a bit tired and your brain is full of thread counts and brand names.

And that's when you pass it—the lingerie boutique. The soft lighting, blush-pink window displays, mannequins wearing satin slips and lace sets.

You slow down. Jungkook follows your gaze and immediately feels his soul leave his body. Not today. He can't do this. He can't shop for lingerie with the woman he's in love with, who is ultimately going to wear that lingerie for someone else!

"Oh no," he mutters.

"Ohhh, Jungkook, this is perfect," you gasp, stopping in front of the window. "Let's get this out the way while we're here."

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Right now?"

You look at him like it's obvious. "Why not?"

He groans, realising he appears more disgusted than deeply conflicted about seeing you pick out skimpy little panties. "I just—shouldn't Namjoon be with you for that? Or…your mom? Or, I don't know, literally anyone who isn't me?"

"You're my maid of honor," you remind him. "This is literally on your list of responsibilities."

"I'm pretty sure 'help her pick out lingerie' is not in the official handbook," he mutters weakly.

You grin, already walking ahead of him. "You're the perfect person for this. You've seen hundreds of women in lingerie. Let's put your whoring to good use."

He actually sputters. "Wh—excuse me?!"

You shrug. "You've dated half the city, Jungkook. You know what looks good. Might as well use your expertise for something useful."

He wants to argue, but...you're not wrong. And the way you say it—teasing and lighthearted—makes his chest twist with the familiar mix of annoyance and fondness he always gets when you call him out on his shit.

He sighs, throwing his head back in defeat. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"That's the spirit," you smile, already tugging his sleeve toward the entrance.

The store is all gentle pop music and whispers and delicate lace that looks like it would disintegrate in a washing machine. You're greeted by a cheerful saleswoman who spots your ring instantly.

"Bridal?" she asks, smiling.

You nod. "Yes. I'm looking for something…special for the wedding night."

She beams. "We have a bridal collection in the back. White, ivory, blush, some bright colours if you want to break tradition. Feel free to browse, and I can help with sizes when you're ready."

Jungkook shoves his hands in his pockets, doing everything in his power to keep his eyes above shoulder level, trailing after you like a very nervous shadow. You look through racks of lace and silk, humming thoughtfully.

"What do you think?" you ask, holding up a pretty white set with thin straps and tiny embroidered flowers.

"I think I might get a stroke in the middle of a mall," he mumbles.

You roll your eyes. "Just answer the question."

He swallows, nodding. "It's...nice."

"Nice," you repeat flatly. "Wow. Useful insight there, Casanova."

He makes a face, pouting. "What do you want me to say? 'Yes, that will definitely turn your fiancé into a puddle'?"

You sigh. "You're useless."

You end up grabbing a few things to try: a white lacy set, a blush pink one that looks deceptively innocent, and a darker, skimpier piece that makes Jungkook briefly forget how to breathe when you hold it up.

"I'll just try these on quickly," you murmur, heading toward the fitting rooms. Then you pause, turning back. "Don't run away."

"I might," he mutters. "To church to repent for the thoughts I'm currently having in this store."

The saleswoman giggles. "You can take a seat over there while you wait. We'll call you if she wants your opinion."

He sits on the round upholstered seat outside the fitting rooms, bouncing his knee and staring at the floor like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Muffled music plays overhead. Hangers clink. Somewhere in the back, there are women discussing the difference between a thong and a g-string.

This is fine. Completely, totally normal. Friends do this. Best friends. Best friends who are maids of honor. It's not weird. It's simply helping. You asked him and he's just…being supportive.

He thinks of Namjoon, of the ring on your finger and the impending trip to England.

His face grows hot as he thinks of you in pretty underwear and immediately stops thinking at all. He can't. Not in the mall. He still has to walk out of here afterwards and pretend his dick didn't just jump at the mental imagine of you in lingerie.

That imagine comes to life faster than he has time to emotionally prepare.

"Jungkook?" your voice calls from behind the curtain.

He jerks, standing straight up. "Yeah?"

"Can you come here a second?"

His heart drops into his shoes. "Why?"

You sigh, exasperated and muffled. "Because I'm asking you for your opinion and I'm not walking out there in front of the whole store."

The saleswoman gives him an encouraging smile. "You can stand right by the curtain. I'll make sure no one else comes over."

This feels like a legal grey area.

He walks over, his hands sweaty, stopping just in front of your fitting room. The curtain is drawn, but he can see the faint outline of your body shifting in the light.

"You ready?" you ask.

"Not at all," he mumbles.

The curtain draws open a fraction and then all the way, and for a moment, all the air leaves his lungs. It's like an angel straight from heaven above standing before him. Your body looks incredible, accentuated by soft white lace. The bra lifts just enough, the panties sit high on your hips, elongating your legs, and there's a tiny bow right at the centre that makes his vision blur.

He actually has to stop himself from falling to his knees for you.

Your skin glows under the fitting room lights. You look…unreal. Soft and sharp all at once. Beautiful enough to make his fists clench at his sides.

You glance down at yourself, then up at him, feeling a little shy beneath the bravado. "Well?"

His mouth falls open but no sound comes out. His brain is a mess of words that are deeply inappropriate for this public space.

You shift your weight from your right foot to your left. "Say something, please," you murmur quietly. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"No. Absolutely not."

You blink, your face falling. "What?"

His jaw clenches, shaking his head quickly. "No. He can't see you in that."

You roll your eyes, resting your hands on your hips. "What are you talking about? I'm literally buying it for him."

"Yeah, and I am respectfully voting against it," Jungkook mutters, his voice a little too tight, his eyes resolutely fixed somewhere above your forehead now. "That's…no. Next."

You huff. "You're supposed to tell me if Namjoon will like it, not if you approve."

"Well, I don't," he shrugs. "He doesn't get to—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "It's…too much."

A slow, teasing smile spreads over your face, sensing his inability to look anywhere lower than your collarbones. You never thought you'd see Jeon Jungkook get flustered, but alas.

"Too much for him?"

"Too much for anyone," he snaps before he can stop himself.

You tilt your head, watching him, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.

"Interesting," you murmur.

He clears his throat, taking a careful half-step back. "Try…the pink one," he mumbles. "That's more…PG. Less likely to cause…cardiac arrest."

You bite back a smile. "You look like you're about to pass out, Jungkook."

"I am," he mutters dryly. "Thanks."

You close the curtain again, and he presses his palm to his chest, as if that'll slow down his heartbeat.

You end up buying both the white set that made Jungkook's soul try to exit his body, and the softer blush-pink one he insisted was safer and more 'Namjoon appropriate'.

The saleswoman wraps them in tissue paper and slides the little branded bag across the counter with a wink, glancing at Jungkook. "Your husband-to-be is a lucky man."

You and Jungkook both say, "Oh, we're not—" at the same time, then stop, exchange a look, and give up.

You escape back into the mall, your cheeks warm and pink, and Jungkook immediately suggests ice cream because frankly, he needs to cool his entire bloodstream.

"We have to get some," he says, pointing to a place near the exit. "Mandatory shopping treat."

You roll your eyes but you can't deny how good that sounds right now.

Ten minutes later, you're outside, walking down a busy Seoul sidewalk, each of you with a cone in hand. The sunset bleeds soft golden rays into the glass buildings, the air just cool enough to not need a jacket. You're carrying your little lingerie bag, your purse slung over your shoulder and your skirt fluttering around your calves, the day's chaos distilled into cold sugary cream and city noise.

You walk in comfortable silence for a moment—dodging other pedestrians, the sound of traffic and distant street music filling the spaces between you.

"Just two more days," you murmur quietly, mostly to yourself.

"Until what?" Jungkook asks, licking a bit of melted ice cream off his thumb.

"Until we leave," you remind him. "England. Wedding week. After that, it's all gonna be a blur."

He nods. "Yeah. Big week."

You're quiet for a beat, your feet moving a bit slower than before.

"I've been thinking about what happens after," you mumble, looking at the concrete sidewalk. "After the wedding."

He glances over, licking his ice cream. "Yeah?"

"I'm…thinking of moving to London...for good," you say, the words feeling heavier than you expected once they're out. "It just makes sense. Namjoon's life is there. The house in the countryside is there, and his parents are thinking of giving it to us as a wedding gift. And I…" You shrug weakly. "I could make it work. Find a bakery, or open a new one. We'd be able to live together comfortably instead of hopping between continents."

He stops walking.

It's not dramatic—he just…stops. Stands there on the sidewalk, ice cream in hand, looking at you like someone just told him gravity might not work tomorrow.

"You're…moving?" he repeats slowly. "Like, permanently? Not just trying it out for a month or two?"

"Yeah," you murmur, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear and turning to face him. "I mean, I haven't decided for sure, but…I'm leaning toward it. I can't expect him to uproot everything. It wouldn't be fair."

He swallows, scoffing humourlessly. "Right. Yeah. Makes sense."

You search his face. "Do you think it's insane? Uprooting my whole life for someone I've only known for...four months?"

He chuckles faintly, but it's clear he's anything but amused. "I think...love makes people do insane things all the time."

"That's not an answer," you murmur softly.

He looks away, watching as the sea of pedestrians stroll past, completely ignoring the life-altering conversation being had.

"You really want the answer?" he asks.

"Yes. Please."

He breathes out slowly, nodding. "Okay. Then…yeah. I think it's insane."

You smile curtly, looking away. "Wow. Brutal."

He shakes his head. "Not because of him. Not because you shouldn't chase something that makes you happy. But because…" His jaw tightens, feeling as if his chest is being ripped open to bare his soul to you. "Because I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life if you're suddenly a million miles away."

Your heart squeezes, your eyebrows furrowing as you step closer. "Jungkook..." you whisper, feeling a knot tighten in your throat.

"I'm serious," he mutters, forcing himself to meet your eyes. There's no playful glint there this time—just raw honesty. "I know it's your relationship, your choice, your future. And I'll support you, because of course I will—I'd sooner cut off my own arm than be the reason you don't go after what you want."

He wipes the dripping ice cream from the side of his cone with the spare napkin just to have something to do with his hands.

"But I don't…" His voice dips and wavers ever so gently. "I don't know how to picture my life without you in it the way you're in it now. I don't know how to adjust to you being a plane ride and a time zone away instead of…this." He gestures vaguely between you. "Casual mall trips and emergency cake tastings and you showing up at my place in the middle of the night because your oven broke or your brain won't shut up."

Your throat feels tight, your vision suddenly a lot blurrier than it was a minute ago. "We'd still talk...and visit. It's not like I'd...disappear."

He gives you a small, pained smile. "You wouldn't. But it won't be the same, and you know it."

You look down at your cone, the flavour suddenly no longer appealing to you anymore. "You make it sound like I'm abandoning you."

"I'm not trying to guilt you," he says quickly. "You don't owe me anything. I'm just…" He exhales, frustrated with his own words. "I'm just saying, I don't…have a version of my future in my head where you're not…right there. In the same city. At the other end of a car ride. I never…planned for that."

Your eyes sting a little, your lip trembling. You hate that you picked a public sidewalk to have this conversation, but you made your bed, so you have to lie in it. That's something you've been reminding yourself of a lot lately.

"So what?" you ask, your voice small. "You want me to stay?"

"I want you to be happy," he says immediately, letting out a soft exhale through his nose. "I want you to have this big, epic, stupid love story you've always dreamed about. I want you to wake up one day and think, 'Yeah, this was worth the risk'."

He looks at you like it hurts.

"And at the same time," he continues, quieter now, "I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how I'm supposed to walk around in a world where I can't just...see you. Where I don't go to your bakery and see you at the register, serving old ladies. Where I don't hear your dorky laugh in person, not over a phone. Where you're just...not here, ___."

You swallow, stepping closer. "You'd visit all the time," you whisper. "You'd fly to London for me, wouldn't you?"

"I would," he nods, no hesitation at all. "I'd fly anywhere for you. That's not the point. The point is…I don't know how to be me without you being here. Next to me. Close enough to poke or annoy or cling to."

He laughs weakly, shaking his head. "I know how pathetic that sounds. I'm aware."

"It doesn't sound pathetic," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It feels pathetic," he scoffs. “Realising that somehow, somewhere over ten years, I built my whole sense of…home around a person who might actually move across the world."

You don't know what to say to that. You stand there on the sidewalk with melting ice creams and your little pink lingerie bag, caught between the future you think you want and the present you never want to leave behind.

Finally, you manage to get out in the softest, shakiest murmur, "I don't want to hurt you, Jungkook."

Your tear rolls down your cheek before you can stop it, feeling silly and embarrassed and just plain childish for crying in the middle of a sidewalk.

He smiles, soft and unbearably sad as he steps closer to catch your tear with his thumb. "It might be too late for that."

Your breath catches.

He sighs, looking away into the distance before glancing back at you. "Look, I'm sorry. Just...forget it. I'm not trying to make this about me. This is your life. Your marriage. If moving to London is what feels right...then go. I'll figure the rest out. I always do." He smiles, forcing a lighter tone. "I'm a big boy."

"Jungkook…"

He glances at your ring, then back up at your eyes. "Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"That you won't stay or go because of me and my feelings on the situation," he says. "If you stay, it's because you're sure this is where you're meant to be. If you go, it's because you're sure he is. Don't let my—" He scoffs, rolling his eyes at himself. "—emotional instability interfere with your epic whirlwind romance."

Despite everything, you huff out a tiny, watery chuckle. "You're ruining my mascara by making me cry."

"Yeah, I'm an idiot, I'm sorry," he smiles faintly. "But I'm yours, right? At least for a little while longer."

Your Uber pulls up on the side of the road, headlights washing the pavement in pale yellow.

You look at the car, then back at him, smiling sadly as the moment comes to an end. You slowly open the car door, lingering in your spot just to drag it out a little bit longer.

"Two days," you mutter again, quieter this time.

He nods. "Two days."

"And then London," you whisper.

He holds your gaze, something raw and unguarded sitting there between you.

"Yeah," he smiles. "And then London."

You don't dare ask if he'll be okay. You already know the answer.

You give him a small, wobbly smile instead, then turn and slide into the car. As the door shuts and the driver pulls away, you watch him through the window for as long as you can—standing there on the curb with his half-eaten ice cream, a hand in his pocket, staring after you like he has to cherish the sight before it leaves him for good.

Jungkook stays there until your Uber turns the corner and disappears. He tosses his cone into a nearby trash can and murmurs, to no one at all:

"I don't know who I'm supposed to be without you."

—

Jungkook stands on the front porch of his father's home for a second, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, and wonders if this is a bad idea. Then he hears his dad shout from inside, "Door's open, kid!" and, well, it's too late to run now.

He toes off his shoes in the hall and wanders through the familiar space—passing a bizarre art piece one of the wives picked and no one ever took down—until he finds Jaehyun exactly where he expects him to be.

In the study.

Jaehyun looks up over his reading glasses and breaks into a grin. "There he is. My favourite son."

"I'm your only son," Jungkook sighs, holding up the bottle by way of greeting. "Brought you something."

"Then you're automatically my favourite." Jaehyun whistles when he sees the label. "Oh, you brought the good stuff. Come in, come in. What did I do to deserve this?"

Jungkook steps inside, closing the door behind him. "Guilt offering for not visiting enough."

"Always acceptable," Jaehyun grins, pushing himself out of the chair. He takes the bottle, examining it. "Damn. This looks like some good whiskey."

"Yeah?" Jungkook sighs, dropping into the chair opposite the desk.

His dad nods appreciatively. "Very good. Not cheap either. Where'd you get it?"

"It was a gift from Namjoon," Jungkook scoffs. "His dad made it."

Jaehyun pauses then he snorts. "The British one?"

"He's Korean too."

"The British sounding one," Jaehyun corrects, already reaching for two crystal tumblers. "He seems like the type to gift good whiskey. From what you've told me before, he sounds boujee."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "Can we not make him sound like a limited edition collector's item, please?"

Jaehyun uncorks the bottle and pours them each a generous amount. "I mean, kid, you're the one who walked in here with a literal symbol of his generational wealth."

That grinds Jungkook's gears because he—who also has a disgustingly wealthy father—never got anything handed to him. He had to work hard for the things he has. Hell, he worked multiple part-time jobs throughout high school because Jaehyun insisted he learn the value of money. Unlike some people who can waste their time taking silly photos all day and not have to worry about anything because their parents are paying for their grand wedding and giving them a countryside mansion as a wedding gift.

Jaehyun hands Jungkook a glass and settles back into his chair, studying his son over the rim as he takes the first sip.

"So," he starts, after the burn warms both their throats. "You heading off to England soon, yeah? For the big show."

"Two days," Jungkook sighs, staring into his glass. "Wedding week."

Jaehyun hums. "You excited?"

Jungkook's lips tug in something that isn't quite a smile. "That's one word for it."

His father's eyes narrow just slightly. "Huh."

He sets his glass down with a soft clink and leans forward, folding his hands. "Alright. Tell me why you actually came over. And don't say it's just to share whiskey. You're sentimental, kid, but you're not that sentimental."

Jungkook huffs out a breath. "Can't a guy bring his dad fancy alcohol without an interrogation?"

"No," Jaehyun laughs. "Why are you really here?"

Jungkook stares at the bookshelves for a second. At the framed photo of his father in a tux at one of his many weddings, smiling like he believes in love every single time.

"It's about ___," he says finally.

"Obviously," Jaehyun scoffs. "I assumed that the second you stepped in the door looking all depressed and haggard."

Jungkook glares half-heartedly.

His dad just lifts a brow. "You want to try talking or should I start guessing?"

"You know I agreed to be her maid of honor, right?"

"The world's most committed best friend?" Jaehyun scoffs. “Yeah, I heard. I was very proud and mildly confused. I know you kids are progressive these days but isn't that usually a woman's job?"

Jungkook groans. "That's not the point right now."

Jaehyun tilts his head. "Why did you say yes?"

"What?"

"Why?" his father repeats. "Why did you agree to that? You could've said no. You could've been a regular guest and avoided all the drama. Why'd you say yes?"

Jungkook swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber cling to the sides.

"Because," he says slowly, “I wanted to be close to her. Make her happy. I thought that if I was the one standing beside her, it would…hurt less than watching from the back row."

Jaehyun nods, listening.

"I wanted to give her everything I could," Jungkook continues his fingers tightening around the glass.

"And now she's marrying this guy who is…" He grimaces. "Practically perfect."

Jaehyun snorts. "No one's perfect."

He takes another sip, savouring it.

"Although," he adds thoughtfully, raising the glass, "I must say, this whiskey does come pretty damn close."

Despite himself, Jungkook smiles.

Then it fades.

"She's thinking about moving there," he murmurs quietly. "To London after the wedding. She told me earlier today."

Jaehyun's brows lift. "Really?"

"Yeah." Jungkook nods. "I don't know why but I always just assumed they'd live here in Seoul but apparently I was wrong. And I was planning on confessing to her before she goes through with the wedding, but..."

He tips his head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling.

"I've lost her already," he sighs. "In my head, it's already done. She'll go and build her life there, and I'll just be the idiot back home sending her memes at 3am and pretending it's enough."

"That's a bunch of crap," Jaehyun mutters flatly.

Jungkook looks bewildered. "Thanks, dad. Super helpful."

"I'm serious," Jaehyun says. "You haven't lost anyone. She's not a set of car keys. She's not gone. She made a choice that might be right for her. Might be wrong. But you sitting here acting like someone cut off your balls is bullshit."

Jungkook bristles. "What am I supposed to do? Chain her to Seoul? She's getting married to someone she loves, who loves her. I can't keep being selfish—"

"'Maybe I should set her free'," his father cuts in, mimicking him in a whiny voice. "'Maybe it's better if I let her go'. You hear how that sounds?"

Jungkook scowls. "Like someone trying to be a decent human being?"

"It sounds," Jaehyun mutters, jabbing a finger at him, "like something said by a pussy and used by pussies everywhere."

Jungkook chokes on his whiskey. "Jesus, dad."

"I'm old, not dead," Jaehyun scoffs. "I can say it. Don't sit there and dress up cowardice as nobility. 'Setting someone free' doesn't mean disappearing or giving up without ever telling them what they actually mean to you."

Jungkook's jaw clenches. "What, so you think I should just ruin her wedding? Make it harder for her?"

"I didn't say ruin anything," Jaehyun replies calmly. "I said don't lie to yourself."

He leans back again, studying his son's face.

"For what it's worth," he murmurs quietly, "I get it."

Jungkook frowns. "Yeah, right. You've been married how many times now?"

Jaehyun waves him off. "You're looking at a man with an impressive track record of commitment problems. But…" He swirls his drink, his eyes going distant for a moment. "Out of all the women I've married, I've only ever truly been in love once."

That catches Jungkook off guard.

Jaehyun's voice softens, the edges smoothing out. "She was the most amazing woman in the world, my best friend. I met her when I was young and stupid and thought love would always…wait for me to grow up."

Jungkook's heart starts to thud harder.

"So...I messed it up," Jaehyun says plainly. "I ran. I flirted and cheated and drank too much. I told myself there would be time to fix it later. Among my very long list of mistakes," he lifts his glass in a mock-toast, "that was the greatest."

Jungkook swallows. "Who…was she?"

"Your mother," Jaehyun smiles.

The words feel like a punch to the chest.

Jungkook grips the arm of the chair, his throat tightening. He doesn't talk about her often. Neither of them do. It's always been easier not to. You're probably the only person he's ever opened up to about his late mother.

Jaehyun hums, staring into his glass. "When I finally realised how stupid I'd been and decided to fight for it, it was already too late. She wouldn't take me back. She was right not to. And then it really was too late."

He doesn't say when she got sick. He doesn't have to.

"I loved her," he murmurs. "And I didn't show it the way she deserved until the clock had run out. That's on me. I live with that."

He looks up again, his eyes sharper now. "Don't turn into me, Jungkook. Don't wait until you're standing in a doorway watching the love of your life walk out—holding someone else's hand—and only then decide you're ready to be brave."

Too late, Jungkook thinks, images flooding his mind—your grin across a restaurant table, your hand in Namjoon's, your ring glinting in the light. It was already too late then and it's too late now.

"I think I already did that," he mumbles hoarsely.

"Then don't do it twice," Jaehyun quips. "You still have time. She's not married yet. She's alive. She's here. You're flying to another continent to stand next to her. If you're going to be a pussy and let her go...do it with the truth between you, not some vague noble silence you'll end up resenting for the rest of your life."

Silence settles between them, heavy but not suffocating.

Jungkook stares at the whiskey in his hand.

"You know...she always says I don't tell you that I love you enough," he murmurs suddenly, smiling to himself.

Jaehyun snorts. "Oh I know. Girl throws 'I love you's around like confetti."

A real laugh slips out of Jungkook. "Yeah. She really does."

"She told me once," Jaehyun smiles, "that you feel it but you just refuse to say it. That you get stuck somewhere between your heart and your mouth. But I told her not to worry, that I know you love me without you having to say it. That's just us."

Jungkook shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. "It's...hard sometimes."

Jaehyun nods. "I know."

He taps his glass. "Practice on me."

Jungkook wrinkles his nose. "What?"

"If you can tell your washed-up father you love him," Jaehyun grins, amused, "telling ___ you're in love with her shouldn't be that hard."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "That's not how that works."

"Try it," Jaehyun insists.

Jungkook hesitates, his face heating up. "This is stupid."

"Absolutely," his dad agrees, grinning. "Do it anyway."

He sighs, staring into his drink. "...You know I do."

Jaehyun lifts a brow. "You mumbling into your whiskey is not the emotional breakthrough we're aiming for, son."

Jungkook groans. "God, I hate this."

"Be a man and say it properly," his father mutters. "You might not get another chance. Take it from someone who knows."

Jungkook stares at him. At the man who gave him tough love for most of his life but would rather walk through hell itself than abandon his son.

"I really do love you, dad," he murmurs quietly, the words feeling strange and heavy but right on his tongue. "Ten marriages and all."

Jaehyun's mouth twitches.

"Well...make that ten divorces too."

Jungkook blinks. "Wait, seriously? Already?"

"Paperwork went through yesterday," Jaehyun sighs. "I was going to tell you over dinner, but I'll accept this version too."

That's...not shocking in the slightest.

"I love you too, kid," he says simply, raising his glass.

Jungkook's chest aches, but in a good way this time.

Jaehyun downs the last of his whiskey and sets the glass down with a decisive clink. "Now, go steal ___ from that British crumpet."

Jungkook huffs. "Right now? My flight's in two days."

"You know what I mean," his dad waves a hand. "Go to England and when the moment comes…" He points at him. "Don't be a coward."

He leans back, his eyes warm, his voice rough but fond.

"Go get her, you pussy."

read the rest HERE

When the Kims' holiday home finally comes into view, the whole van goes silent for a second.

It's absolutely stunning.

A huge, sprawling country house built of pale stone, ivy crawling up one side, tall windows, a dark slate roof, chimneys. There's a gravel driveway that curves around a fountain, with manicured lawns stretching out on either side and trees lining the edge of the property like something out of a period drama. Rose bushes. A little greenhouse. Actual stone steps leading up to a big front door with black iron hardware.

"Holy shit," Jeongyeon whispers.

Your mom grabs your hand, her face lighting up. "Honey," she breathes. "This is really all gonna be yours after the wedding?"

You swallow, nodding. "Yeah. I guess so."

The front door opens and Namjoon steps out with a grin, jogging down the steps to meet you. He looks perfectly at home here—wearing a thick sweater, the sleeves rolled up his forearms, hair a little messy, that easy confidence in his stride.

He pulls you into a hug the second your feet hit the gravel, spinning you once before kissing you hello. "You made it," he murmurs.

"Barely," you tease. "The countryside has too many cows and not enough rest stops."

He laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before greeting your mom, helping with luggage, and making everyone feel welcomed.

Behind you, Jungkook drags two suitcases out of the van and looks up at the house again, his jaw tight. Of course it's gorgeous and cinematic. Of course it's the type of place where people like Namjoon grew up learning how to swirl wine and talk about the quality of soil.

Lisa saunters over to where Namjoon is talking with your mom and gently slides into the conversation.

"So," she smiles brightly, looking up at the house. "You don't happen to have a brother, do you?"

Namjoon chuckles faintly. "Uh...no. Only child."

"Tragic," Lisa sighs dramatically. "If you ever find a rich cousin lying around, give him my number."

Everyone laughs, including Namjoon.

Jungkook rolls his eyes so hard he almost sees his brain.

Inside, the house is even more ridiculous. High ceilings with dark beams, two big fireplaces with stone mantels, shelves full of old books, big worn leather sofas, framed black-and-white photos of the distillery and family gatherings. The floors and doors creak in that charming way expensive old houses do. Everything smells faintly of wood polish, coffee, and something roasting slowly in the kitchen.

Namjoon leads everyone into the main sitting room where two people are waiting.

"Everyone," he smiles, slipping effortlessly into host mode, "this is my mum and dad."

Mr. and Mrs. Kim step forward with polite smiles.

They're Korean but their accents are unmistakably British—crisp, rounded, that particular London softness. His father wears a wool vest over his shirt, his hair neatly styled, glasses perched low on his nose. His mother has pearls, a silk scarf, and posture that says she's been to a lot of charity galas.

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you all," Mrs. Kim says, hands clasped together. "We've heard so much about you."

Your mom bows, looking a bit nervous and very proud. They exchange slightly awkward, very earnest greetings. Mr. Kim shakes Jungkook's hand a little too firmly, sizing him up in that 'who is this handsome young man hovering near my future daughter-in-law' way.

"You must be Jungkook," Mrs. Kim says, smiling. "The famous maid of honor."

Jungkook's ears turn a subtle shade of red. "Uh...yeah. That's me."

"Well," she smiles kindly, "we are very grateful to you for looking after ___ all these years. She's a lovely young woman."

He smiles, small but sincere. "She sure is lovely."

You feel that hit you straight in the heart.

Namjoon starts explaining room assignments like a tour guide while showing everyone the rest of the downstairs area. "So! The house is big, but not infinite, so we had to get creative. My parents are in their bedroom. ___, you and I are in the second biggest room at the end of the hall upstairs. Your mom is two doors away. Everyone else is scattered along the same corridor and the one across."

He glances at Jungkook. "You're just down the hall from us. Second door on the right after the stairs. It's a bit small, but cozy."

Jungkook nods. "Sounds good."

You all traipse upstairs, suitcases bumping against the old wooden steps. The hallway is long and bright, with a runner rug and framed sketches on the walls, doors on either side and a big window at the far end.

Namjoon opens your room first, letting you step in. It looks like something out of an interior design magazine—light-grey walls, a big bed with a wrought iron frame and white linens, a window seat overlooking the garden, a little vanity in the corner. It's romantic without trying too hard.

"This is…" you start, turning in a circle to admire the whole room.

"Nice?" Namjoon offers.

"Insane," you chuckle. "In the best way."

He laughs and sets your suitcase down. "I'll let you settle in. I'm going to show Jungkook his room."

You nod, smiling over at him. "Okay. I'll just...freshen up."

Out in the hall, Jungkook waits with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, acting very interested in a framed drawing of the house.

Namjoon gestures down the corridor. "Yours is here."

He opens the door to a smaller room—still nicer than any place Jungkook has ever stayed at voluntarily. There's a double bed, a desk, an armchair in the corner, and a small window that looks out over the back garden and fields beyond.

"Wow," Jungkook scoffs. "Horrible. Really. Just awful."

Namjoon chuckles. "Sorry we couldn't put you in the tower with the moat and the dragon. We're on a budget."

"I'll survive," Jungkook shrugs.

He drops his bag on the bed and steps back into the hallway, watching Namjoon disappear into your room at the very end with a flirtatious grin.

He stands there for a second, listening to the muffled sound of your laugh drift out when Namjoon says something he can't hear. He hates that you're close enough to hear yet too far to touch.

He takes a breath, shoves his hands into his pockets, and forces himself back into his room.

Wedding week has officially begun.

—

The house settles early the first night.

Jet lag hits everyone all at once, so after a big family dinner of roasted chicken and glazed vegetables, and Mrs. Kim insistently offering second helpings, people start peeling off to bed one by one.

Your mom disappears to her room to read her book for a while before hitting the sack. Mina and Jeongyeon head up to theirs as well, already talking about who gets the side of the bed closer to the outlet. Lisa announces she's "absolutely dead" and vanishes to get her beauty sleep.

You and Namjoon retreat to your room at the end of the hall too, the door closing behind you with a soft click and muffled conversation.

Jungkook feels restless. He scrolls aimlessly on his phone in his own room for a while, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, listening to the quiet creaks of an old house adjusting to new guests. Before he knows it, it's already 1am. He can't settle down, probably because the countryside silence feels heavier than the city. No honking, no neon glow. Just the wind outside and the distant cry of some animal Jungkook assumes is a horse or a cow.

His muscles ache from travel, his brain buzzes, and he feels like he's still wearing three layers of airport air. It might be time for a shower.

He grabs his toiletry pouch and steps out into the hallway in search of the bathroom, which he finds after a minute or two.

The upstairs bathroom is big and old-fashioned, with vintage tiles, a clawfoot tub, and a glass shower. He locks the door, turns the water on hot, and lets himself stand under the spray until his skin turns flushed and the last remnants of airplane stiffness melt off him.

For a few blissful minutes, it's just steam and water and nothing else, his brain empty and his body relaxed. He scrubs his hair, washes the day off his body, and tries not to think about what you're up to in your bedroom at the end of the hall.

When he finally turns off the water and steps out, the mirror is completely fogged over. He towels his hair dry, then wraps the fabric low around his waist, water still dripping down his chest, feeling human for the first time all day.

He reaches for his toiletry bag, zipping it closed.

Then freezes.

He looks around the bathroom. The counter. The radiator. Hooks on the back of the door.

No underwear.

No pyjama pants.

Nothing but steam, tile, and one embarrassingly thin bath towel separating Jeon Jungkook from a public indecency charge in a rich person's house.

He closes his eyes, groaning. "Fuck."

For a second, he considers sleeping naked and calling it a night. But his room is down the hall, and this is not his house. With your mom and Namjoon's parents and you all sleeping within a twenty-step radius, that feels…deeply unsafe.

He takes a breath, tightening the knot on the towel.

His plan right now is just to move quickly and be quiet. No one's awake. No one will see. Three seconds from bathroom to bedroom, tops. He can do it.

He cracks the bathroom door open slowly, peeking out into the hallway. It's dim, the lights turned low. The house is quiet, just faint shadows and soft moonlight spilling through the window at the corridor's end.

He steps out carefully, bare feet silent on the wooden floor, every sense tuned to the possibility of a creak or a door opening.

Jungkook shuts the bathroom door behind him with a gentle click, his heart thudding, walking as if he might step on a landmine any second now.

Across the hall, you can't sleep. Your thoughts are buzzing—too many emotions, too many things happening all at once—and even with Namjoon peacefully dozing beside you, you feel a little…off. Not in a bad way, just restless. With the wedding days away and everyone settling into this picturesque countryside house that will soon be yours, everything's beginning to feel a bit surreal. You just want something familiar. So, like muscle memory, your brain goes to Jungkook. You always talk before bed—about the dumbest things or the deepest things or whatever floats to the surface—and for a second, you want to find him and just chat about absolutely nothing, the way you always do. Maybe it'll help you breathe a little easier. So, you slip out of bed quietly and open the door

You slip out in your nightgown, the wood cool under your feet. You pull the door shut behind you and turn, and your heart drops to your stomach the second you see him.

He's right there, halfway between the bathroom and his room. Hair wet and pushed back off his forehead, droplets of water running down his firm...broad chest. A thin towel slung low around his hips, his v-line teasing your brain to wonder what rests lower. Bare arms, bare shoulders, bare abs, everything on display.

You both freeze. For a second, no one moves or even breathes.

His eyes go wide. Your hand stays on your doorknob like it's the only thing keeping you upright. The hallway suddenly feels ridiculously small.

Your mouth falls open before your brain catches up. "What are you—"

He blinks. "I, uh...I...forgot my pyjamas." He gestures weakly toward his door. "Took a shower, didn't plan ahead, I guess."

Right. Clothes. That's a thing most people wear.

You reluctantly drag your gaze back up to his face, trying very hard not to look at all the wet, warm, very naked skin before you.

"Oh," you murmur. Your voice comes out a little breathless. "Well. Congratulations on…basic hygiene."

He huffs out a tiny, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, his bicep muscles flexing.

You want to scream.

"And you?" he asks quickly, desperate to focus on literally anything other than his little predicament. "Why are you out of bed? Thought you'd be dead asleep already."

Your brain scrambles.

"I was just—" you pause, trying to come up with a lie. "Going to…get a glass of water."

He nods slowly. "Of course. Water. Very responsible."

You're close enough to see the droplets of warm water on his expertly carved collarbones, close enough to notice how the veins in his forearms stand out when he grips the edge of his towel a little tighter. His bedroom door is a few steps ahead of him and yours is right behind you, but neither of you have moved yet.

You are an engaged woman. You are in your fiancé's family's home. You are absolutely not thinking about ripping that towel from your best friend's hips while your fiancé is asleep ten feet away.

You tear your gaze away as if it burns to look at him, your heart absolutely hammering against your ribcage. "Well...uhm...enjoy your…underwear."

He scoffs, his cheeks blooming with a red flush. "That's...that's not a sentence we ever have to say again."

You nod, refusing to look back at him.

"Goodnight, Jungkook," you whisper, because you can't trust yourself to stand there another second.

"Night," he mutters softly.

You duck back into your room, shutting the door a little too quickly, leaning your back against it as if holding back a wave of emotions.

The room is quiet and peaceful, a stark contrast to the situation going on in your chest...and frankly speaking; between your legs.

Namjoon is still asleep on his side of the bed, one arm curled under the pillow, breathing slow and even.

You press a hand to your chest, feeling your heart do somersaults.

It was just surprising, that's all. You've seen him shirtless before. You've been on beach trips, and you've seen him in even worse states in university dorms. This is just jet lag and wedding stress. And a lot of confusing hormones you haven't felt in a while.

Except your skin feels too tight and your stomach is twisting and your brain is replaying the image of him in the hallway over and over like a glitching loop.

Towel. Droplets. Muscles. His startled eyes. The way he looked at you like he didn't know where to put his hands.

Guilt pricks at you immediately. You have a fiancé—a very loving fiancé who you are very much attracted to. A fiancé you would much rather channel this sexual frustration into.

Perhaps to also mask the guilt eating you alive? You're not sure.

You push off the door and carefully crawl back into bed, looking down at Namjoon's sleeping face. His lashes rest upon the tops of his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted. He looks so peaceful, so dry and clothed.

"Joon," you whisper, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. "Baby, wake up."

He stirs, his eyelids slowly fluttering. "Mm…what time is it?" he mumbles, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Late," you murmur. "Sorry. I just…"

He peers blearily at you, slowly rubbing his eyes. "Is everything okay?"

You hesitate, the guilt blooming fiercely in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm fine," you murmur quickly. "I just…can't sleep."

He shifts, trying to sit up a little, still very groggy. "Do you need tea? Or melatonin? I can—"

You cut him off with a kiss.

He startles for a second, then kisses you back slowly, still half-asleep. You deepen it, your fingers curling in his t-shirt, trying to drown out the lingering phantom image of Jungkook in the hallway with something real. Something that belongs to you.

Namjoon pulls back just enough to ask, "Sweetheart…what's gotten into you?"

"Let's have sex," you whisper against his mouth, blunt because if you're not, you'll overthink it and crash back into a guilty spiral.

His brows raise. "Right now? It's the middle of the night."

"I know," you mumble, a hand sliding under his shirt, searching for warmth. "I just…I'm really excited for the wedding. My brain's all worked up and I can't sleep and I just…want you."

You hear yourself lie and you hate how easy it sounds.

He softens, the confusion in his expression melting into something fond and pleased. "Yeah?" he chuckles softly. "You're really that excited?"

You nod, kissing along his jaw. "Yeah...'m so excited, baby..."

He laughs quietly, sleep fading from his voice as his hands find your waist. "God, I love you."

You swing a leg over his lap to straddle him and lower your mouth to his once more, trying to convince yourself that if you pour all this restless energy into the man you're going to marry, the noise in your head will quiet. At least for tonight.

Your mouths move slow and insistent, your hands braced on either side of his head. He tastes like sleep and warmth, like safety and a lifetime of stability. He lets out a small, pleased moan against your mouth when you adjust your hips and press down against his crotch, just enough to feel the thick outline of his cock through his pyjama pants.

"Mm," he hums, his lips curving into a sleepy smile. "This is one way to wake a man up."

You huff a breath of laughter into the kiss, but your chest feels tight. You don't want to think. You don't want to see a hallway or a towel around a slender waist or familiar brown eyes in your head. You just want something simple.

Your fingers trail down his chest, over the thin cotton of his shirt, until they reach his stomach. You feel the muscles there twitch slightly as you slip your hand lower, brushing over the soft fabric of his pants, finding him already starting to harden beneath your palm.

He inhales sharply. "Baby…"

You pull back just enough to look at him, your thumb rubbing a slow circle over his cock head through his pyjama pants.

"Can I make you feel good?" you whisper, slowly palming him.

"Yeah," he nods, his voice a little hoarse. His hand slides up your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently. "Do whatever you want to do."

You lean down to kiss him again—slower and deeper—before you start to shift back. His hands glide along your sides as you move, as if he doesn't want to let you go too far away.

You slip down his body, your knees sliding along the sheets, your nightgown riding up your legs as you go. You press small, distracting kisses along his chest and stomach through his shirt, feeling him tense and relax under your lips, under your palms.

By the time you settle between his legs, he's fully awake and almost fully hard as well.

He lifts his head a little to look down at you, his eyes dark, hair messy, t-shirt rumpled. There's so much trust in his expression it makes your heart twist.

You lower your gaze to how tight the fabric of his pants is, the way he shifts slightly as you rub his cock through the pyjamas. You take your time, working him through the thin cotton, exactly how you know he likes it when you're easing him into the moment instead of rushing it.

His head falls back against the pillow with a quiet exhale. "Is this gonna be a regular thing once we're married?" he chuckles faintly.

You don't answer. Instead, you tug his waistband down, watching as his hard-on springs free against his lower belly, thick and aching to be licked and sucked on.

"Take your time," he breathes. "You know I love it when you—"

You do.

You take his length into your hand and lift it to press a slow, tender kiss to the tip, then another, and another, your tongue peeking out to gently tease the sensitive underside of the head before puckering your lips and letting your spit dribble down his shaft.

"Just relax and let me make you feel good," you smile, getting to work.

You stroke him slowly at first—just enough to let the anticipation stretch and simmer between you. Your thumb circles the head, mixing your spit with his precum as you jerk him off. Your eyes remain on his face, watching as he sucks in a sharp breath, surrendering to you completely.

Namjoon takes ahold of your chin, lightly trailing his thumb along your bottom lip and slowly, deliberately, pushes it past your lips. He watches as you lick the digit, sinfully wrapping your lips around it while you pump your fist along his cock, twisting your wrist at the tip, feeling his precum coat your palm. Your tongue curls around his thumb, sucking just enough to make his breath hitch sharply.

"Fuck, I love you," Namjoon whispers, letting out a soft moan when you replace his thumb with the head of his cock, your lips wrapping around it delicately.

You meant to say it back, but for some reason you just can't right now, so you focus on something you can do—sucking him off.

"Oh my...f-fuck—" His voice breaks, turning into a gasp as you swirl your tongue around the swollen pink tip, sucking. "That's it. Just like that."

Your left hand drifts down your own body, slipping between your thighs, your fingers rubbing your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. You moan softly against him at the contact, hips rocking just a little.

Namjoon notices instantly.

"Are you touching yourself?" he moans, lifting his head enough to watch.

You nod, taking his cock deeper into your mouth, your throat growing tighter at the stretch. You concentrate on feeling good, on making him feel good, fighting the urge to disappear into your own head again. This is about him. About you and him, no one else.

"Shit…" His hand trails through your hair, gently massaging your scalp, his fat cock sitting heavily on your tongue, the mushroom head brushing along the walls of your throat. "You're so fuckin' sexy."

You moan at the praise, the vibration sending a sharp shudder through him. His hips jerk involuntarily, his breath coming out in broken gasps as you suck him a bit harder.

Every quiet moan he lets out feels like fuel. Every soft curse. Every whispered please. Every time his fingers twitch against your scalp while your lips move up and down his thick shaft sends shockwaves through your aching pussy, making your hole clench.

You hollow your cheeks and bob your head, focusing on breathing through your nose to avoid gagging. Your panties are wet and slightly uncomfortable, but you can't find it in yourself to care when his cock hits the back of your throat so deliciously.

"Fuck, ___," Namjoon whimpers softly, fighting to keep his hips from thrusting up into your throat. "That feels...a-amazing—"

He tries to stay quiet for the sake of decency, of the old house and the family sleeping down the hall, but a low groan still slips out when your left hand leaves your pussy to wrap around the base of his cock, stroking what you can't fit into your mouth before sliding it down to massage his heavy balls.

"Sweetheart, I…" His voice cracks, his fingers flexing against your scalp. "I'm so close…"

You feel the moment he gets close to cumming—the way his breath stutters, the way his hand tightens in your hair, the way his hips threaten to thrust before he forces them still.

"___," he warns softly, his voice strained. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"

You pull back before he can finish his sentence, wiping your mouth as you watch his chest rise and fall, his cock twitching against his lower belly, the tip red and glistening, begging for release.

"That was so mean," Namjoon chuckles weakly, feeling his orgasm slowly slipping from his reach. "I was so close to cumming."

"Oh, 'm sorry, baby," you smile, crawling back up his body, bracing your hands on either side of his shoulders. "I want you to cum in my pussy, not my mouth. Is that okay with you?"

His eyes light up at that, the corners of his lips twitching. "Oh...o-okay...please proceed..."

He's still catching his breath when you swing your leg back over his hips, settling into his lap again. His hands immediately find your thighs, sliding up under your nightgown, thumbs stroking over warm skin like he can't stand to not touch you.

You hike the silky fabric up around your hips, bunching it at your waist with practiced motions. Your panties drag against your skin as you hook your fingers in the elastic and pull them aside, baring your wet folds to him.

Namjoon's gaze drops to your pussy, his throat working as he swallows. His hands shift, one gripping your hip, the other lightly kneading your asscheek.

"You sure?" he asks, his voice low, his eyes meeting yours.

You nod, kissing down the column of his neck while you reach between your bodies to line him up. "I need you, Joon."

You sink onto him slowly and a shudder rolls through his spine, his strong arms tightening around you as he gasps out your name, his breath catching in his throat.

"Fuuuck," he groans, his head tipping back. "You're so warm and...tight...fuck—you feel so good."

You pause once you reach the base of his cock, your chest rising and falling as you adjust to his size, the stretch sweet and satisfying.

His hands grip your thighs, desperate and helpless, trying not to thrust up into you too quickly. He's already trembling, his resolve paper-thin.

"Please," Namjoon whispers, his hips twitching, "you have to move. I can't take it...feels too good."

You roll your hips slow and deep and his eyes squeeze shut at the pleasure of having your pussy wrapped around his cock, his thick shaft fitting nice and snug, your clit grinding against his pelvis.

He's a lot more submissive and pliable when he's a bit tired, let's you do whatever you want with him.

"Fuck—"

You rock your hips, your wet folds dragging along his cock at a steady rhythm, your hands pressed to his chest, his muscles taut under your touch. His eyes are half-closed, lips parted, whispering breathless praises that hit you like sparks.

"You're so sexy," you breathe, moving your hips in a slow, sensual grind. "Always so sweet for me. You love when I use you like this, don't you, baby?"

He groans again, his cheeks flushed, his fingers digging into your thighs. "Yes, my love. I love it—I love you."

You lean down and kiss him again, this time deeper—your tongue licking into his mouth as you fuck yourself down onto him harder, your thighs starting to shake.

"God, I love your pussy," he breathes, fighting to stay composed as your inner walls suck him in repeatedly, leaking down to his balls.

You rock your hips a little harder, a little deeper, your lips parting at the way the thick, familiar sensation curls through your belly. Each slide up and down his cock makes a wet squelching sound, making your walls clench around him.

You don't speed up much; you don't need to. The slow, steady pace feels almost overwhelming on its own, each stroke drawn out and thorough. It gives you time to enjoy the heat and pressure, the way every small shift changes the angle, the pleasure of having him inside you.

You focus on Namjoon's hands on your thighs and hips, his voice whimpering and moaning as you rise and sink back down on him again, the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palms.

You tell yourself that this is right. That this is how it's supposed to be.

You ride him with determination, your eyebrows furrowing and your eyes falling shut as you chase your high, the pleasure growing tight in your core, your toes curling as the tip of his cock nudges your sweet spot over and over.

"Ju—baby, I'm c-cumming—" you gasp, feeling the coil in your gut start to unravel.

When the pleasure finally crests, it comes like a tidal wave—rising rapidly and crashing over you. You let your head fall forward into the crook of his neck, fingers curling into his shirt, your hips stuttering as your pussy clenches and pulses, your orgasm consuming you completely.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" Namjoon breathes, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace.

You feel him tense beneath you a moment later. He lets out a broken, desperate moan—your name and a curse all wrapped into one—as he bucks up into you with trembling thighs, spilling deep inside you.

You cling to him a little tighter, squeezing your eyes shut as he thrusts up into you to empty himself in your pussy, chasing the last of his high before his limbs slowly fall limp beneath you.

"Shit," Namjoon whispers breathlessly, chuckling. "Feel free to wake me up like that anytime."

You chuckle softly, slowly mustering up the strength to lift your hips and let his cock slide out of you, collapsing onto your back next to him.

"C'mere," he mumbles, turning to wrap his arms around your waist, but you're already getting up to go to the en-suite to clean yourself up.

"Where are you going?"

"To clean up," you mumble, walking away on weak legs. "Your cum's already starting to leak out of me."

He smiles over at you with sleepy eyes, looking far too comfortable to get up. "Run us a bath. I'll come join you in a little bit."

You look back at him, nodding before disappearing into the bathroom.

While you wipe yourself clean, you feel your heart race, your chest growing tight as the realisation hits you that in that last blinding rush—right when your body tensed and your orgasm hit—it wasn't Namjoon's face your mind conjured.

It was damp hair and big brown eyes. A hallway. A white towel hanging too low on narrow hips. It was Jungkook in that moment, Jungkook's body beneath you, Jungkook's cock inside of you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, guilt slamming into you so hard it actually hurts.

You fill the bathtub with hot water and some nearby bath salts. When you get in, the water is too hot—your skin practically on fire—but it's what you feel you deserve. You sit in the hot water and reflect on what just happened, Jungkook's face blurring with Namjoon's in your brain.

He comes to join you a little while later, getting in behind you and pulling you to rest your back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. He trails his fingers along your stomach under the water, completely unaware of the storm in your head.

"I love you," he whispers into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I can't wait to marry you."

You swallow, your throat feeling tight.

"Love you too," you murmur, your voice quiet and airy, your eyes distant as they stare at nothing in particular.

You can't wait to marry Namjoon. You just…really wish you hadn't cum with someone else's face echoing in the back of your mind.

The house is surprisingly quiet at 8am for how many people are crammed into it.

You can hear faint sounds far off—footsteps on gravel outside, muffled laughter from one of the sitting rooms, a door closing somewhere upstairs—but down here in the kitchen, it's just you, Namjoon, and a rather obscene amount of breakfast.

The kitchen looks like it was pulled out of a magazine spread; big farmhouse table, copper pots hanging from a rack, a huge window over the sink letting in pale English sunlight and a view of the garden.

On the table between you sits a full English breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, beans in a little dish. Namjoon insisted that you have the full experience but you ended up cooking almost everything because, well, his cooking skills only goes up to opening the tin of beans.

You spear a bit of tomato with your fork, trying to ignore the nagging guilt curled up like a stone in your stomach from last night.

"So," Namjoon says casually as he reaches for the jam to spread across his toast. "My mum heard back from the last of the RSVPs."

You brighten. "Oh, great. Do we finally have a final number?"

"Yeah." He spreads his jam, staring down at the toast. "It's a bit more than we originally thought, but everything's sorted. You don't have to worry."

You pause. "How much more?"

He shrugs, taking a bite of his toast. "Like…eighty? Maybe ninety more."

You stare at him. "More?"

He glances up, a little sheepish but mostly unbothered. "Her friends, some extended family, a couple of business people from the distillery. Sponsors. That sort of thing."

Your fork lowers slowly. "Joon, we planned for…like...one hundred max. Just close family and friends."

"I know," he says quickly. "And we're still covered. My mum's taken care of all of it. Extra tables, extra chairs, catering adjustments. You really don't need to stress about it."

"That's not the point," you mumble, trying to keep your voice even. "I just…didn't know. And I thought we agreed on something small."

He gives you an apologetic look, taking a bite of his eggs. "It's still small. For my parents, this is small. You know how they are. And they're helping with the cost, so..."

You pick at a piece of your bacon, trying not to sulk. "I just wanted it to feel…like us. Not like your mom's event."

"It will feel like us, darling," he insists, reaching for his coffee. "You'll see. There'll just be…more eyes appreciating how gorgeous you look."

You let out a soft exhale, not quite a sigh, and take a bite you don't really taste.

There's a brief lull; just the clink of cutlery, the crackle of the fire in the corner.

"Oh, and," he adds casually, like he's mentioning the weather, "I talked to the caterers yesterday. We swapped the main for the reception dinner."

You look up from your plate, letting out a real sigh this time. "Swapped what?"

"Instead of salmon, it's steak now," he smiles. "Fillet. With some kind of jus. It sounded good."

You blink, your lips parting. "Wait. We…what?"

He frowns slightly, confused by your tone. "We just changed the main. It's not a big deal."

You set your fork down slowly, your eyes trained on him. "I asked for salmon."

"I know," he sighs. "But most people prefer steak. Especially with drinking. It made more sense. They'll probably still have a fish option for people who ask."

"The bride is people," you scoff. "You know I don't like red meat that much."

He smiles, trying to make it light. "Just this once, ___. It's one dinner. You can eat fish every other day of your life. Let the guests have steak."

You feel something in your jaw tick.

"It's not about the steak," you mutter quietly. "I just wish you'd told me before you changed it. That's all."

He reaches across the table and caresses your wrist. "I didn't want to bother you with every little decision. You have enough on your plate."

You nod, but it doesn't quite settle right. Your plate doesn't feel very full right now. It feels…taken over.

The kitchen door swings then, letting in a brief draft of cooler air.

Jungkook steps in, his hair still a little mussed from sleep, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that clings to his chest in a way you're still trying not to think about. He pauses in the doorway when he sees you two at the table.

"Morning," he murmurs, his voice rough with leftover sleep.

"Hey," you mumble, feeling grateful for the distraction. "There's food. These people eat a feast for breakfast."

"Perfect," he grins, scratching his head, messing up his hair even further. Not that you think it has ever looked bad.

He moves to the counter to pour himself some coffee, but his eyes flick back to you and Namjoon, picking up on the weird stiffness in the air.

"So...your mom invited how many extra people exactly?" you ask Namjoon, unable to stop yourself.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "Sweetheart, we've talked about this. It's all handled."

"We didn't talk about this," you scoff. "We talked about wanting it to feel small and intimate."

Jungkook's shoulders tense almost imperceptibly as he pours his coffee.

"And the steak thing—" you start.

"Can we not do menu planning first thing in the morning?" Namjoon groans, growing a little frustrated. "We have meetings all week. I promise, it's going to be fine."

You open your mouth, then shut it, avoiding the argument you would much rather have.

Jungkook grabs his mug, takes a sip of the coffee, and wanders over to your side of the table. He glances at your plate, then at you.

"Are you gonna eat that?" he asks casually, nodding at one of the sausages.

You sigh, shrugging. "Probably not."

"Fantastic," he smiles, and with the ease of a thousand shared meals, he leans in and picks it up off your plate.

You don't even flinch. Just watch him do it, familiar warmth cutting through the tension for half a second.

Namjoon's hand stills around his coffee cup. He doesn't say anything, doesn't make a scene, but there's the tiniest pause. A blink. A flicker of something in his eyes as he watches your best friend casually steal food from your plate like it's the most natural thing in the world.

He clears his throat. "Help yourself, Jungkook."

"Thanks," Jungkook nods, popping the sausage into his mouth. He chews, then tilts his head. "These are good. If I lived here I'd be three times my current size."

"You'd jog it off," you say automatically. "You'd force me to run with you and then laugh when I almost die."

"You say that like it hasn't improved your stamina," he shoots back.

You snort. "Debatable."

Namjoon watches the back-and-forth, sipping his coffee. He doesn't interrupt, but you feel the difference—where you and Jungkook flow, his edges are cleaner, firmer. He believes in lines. In plates you don't touch. In decisions that stay made once he's made them.

Jungkook settles into the chair beside you, coffee in one hand, fork in the other, and steals a grilled mushroom this time too.

"So," he murmurs, glancing between you and Namjoon, "what did I miss? Just woke up and felt a disturbance in the wedding force."

"Just guest lists and menu tweaks," Namjoon smiles, but it's a bit forced. "Nothing major."

You look down at your plate—the eggs now cold, the bacon no longer crispy.

"Right," you mumble softly. "Nothing major."

Jungkook doesn't call it out.

But he doesn't miss it either.

—

The afternoon rolls in slowly, the sky turning a milky grey.

You're in the garden with Mina and Jeongyeon, bundled in light jackets as you wander the grounds—admiring the rose bushes, peeking into the greenhouse, laughing at Lisa trying to get a good selfie with a very unbothered stone lion.

Namjoon's cousins and a couple of his old school friends arrive in twos and threes, all tall and broad and annoyingly wholesome-looking, with those rich British laughs and muddy trainers. There are back slaps, hugs and loud greetings.

Someone mentions touch-rugby and suddenly everyone starts getting riled up.

"We always play when we're here," one of Namjoon's cousins says, a rugby ball tucked under his arm. "Good way to burn off breakfast."

Another pipes up, "The lawn's perfect today too. Not too wet."

Before long, there's a loose group drifting toward the wide stretch of grass beyond the house—Namjoon, a few of his cousins, two of his university classmates, and, inevitably, Jungkook.

He trails after them, hands in his pockets, eyeing the oval ball suspiciously.

"I don't think I'll be any good," he mutters as you and Mina lag behind the pack, heading toward the edge of the field. "These dudes look like they eat whole cows for dinner."

"You'll be fine," you smile, bumping his shoulder. "You're good at everything. It's annoying."

"Basketball is not rugby," he throws back. "Rugby looks like American football decided to join a gang."

"It's touch-rugby, it's not half as dangerous. And you don't have to play," you offer. "You can sit with us and provide running commentary."

He considers it. He actually does, embarrassingly.

Then one of Namjoon's friends looks back and grins. "You joining, mate?"

There's a challenge in the question. Friendly, sure, but Jungkook hears it loud and clear.

He straightens. "Yeah. Maybe. Just…gonna watch a round first."

"Fair," the guy chuckles. "You'll pick it up quick."

You, Mina, Jeongyeon, and Lisa settle on the sidelines, perching on a low stone wall overlooking the grass. It's a great vantage point; a clear view of the whole improvised pitch.

Namjoon peels off his jumper and tosses it carelessly in your direction. You catch it and put it in your lap, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around you.

Jungkook sheds his hoodie too, tugging it over his head and dropping it next to your feet before jogging a few paces onto the grass, far enough to observe without committing.

You resolutely do not look at the way his t-shirt rides up when he pulls the hoodie off, exposing a flash of taut stomach.

One of the cousins does a quick rundown of teams—no tackling, just touch, light contact, nothing too wild. They stretch, shake out their arms, pass the ball around.

The game starts and Jungkook watches intently from the side lines—how they pass backward, how they run in arcs, how they dodge and weave. There's shouting, laughing, a couple of close calls with near-collisions and one very dramatic dive that results in grass stains and loud groaning.

You glance at Jungkook occasionally.

He's tense at first, posture defensive, arms crossed tight over his chest, but slowly, something in him shifts. You can practically see the athletic brain kicking in: eyes tracking movement, gauging speed, reading spacing. The hesitation is still there, but curiosity starts slipping in.

Beside you, Mina whistles when one of Namjoon's cousins sprints down the field, weaving between players and grounding the ball at the far end. "Damn. He's fast."

"Am I allowed to say British men suddenly got hotter?" Jeongyeon grins.

Lisa snorts, shaking her head. "You're married."

"Not blind," Jeongyeon mumbles.

You laugh, but your eyes drift back to Jungkook. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, running his tongue over his teeth, watching the play reset. Someone calls his name.

"Jungkook! You in next game?"

He hesitates.

'You really don't have to' is on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. He hates feeling like the odd one out.

He glances at you and you just raise your brows.

"Well?" you call out. "Gonna sit here and look pretty or actually play?"

His mouth curves. "You think I look pretty?"

"That's not the point."

"It is to me," he mutters under his breath, then takes a few steps forward towards the group

"I'll join the next match!" he calls. "Just…don't kill me."

Namjoon grins, a little flushed from running. "We'll go easy on you. Maybe."

"Zero faith," Jungkook mutters, but his eyes are already scanning the field, mapping out where he could fit into this unfamiliar dance.

He cracks his knuckles, rolls his shoulders back, and starts jogging in place to warm up, feeling both wildly out of his element and stubbornly determined not to look like it.

A fish out of water? Definitely. But Jeon Jungkook has never met a game he didn't try to win.

The second match starts with a debate over teams, which somehow turns into shirts vs. skins, which is also how you end up watching your fiancé and your best friend strip in front of you like this is some sexy sports calendar.

Namjoon pulls his t-shirt off, laughing as one of his cousins makes a comment about his muscles. He looks good—solid, lean, familiar. You smile and wolf-whistle just to embarrass him. He shakes his head fondly, his cheeks pink.

Then Jungkook peels his own shirt off.

Your brain does a little Windows error noise.

He yanks the fabric over his head in one smooth motion, the muscles in his arms and back flexing with the movement. The afternoon light hits his chest—broad, defined, a light sheen of sweat already making his skin glow. His stomach is all cut lines and hard planes, abs contracting as he tosses the shirt in your direction. There's a hint of that stupid, distracting happy trail disappearing into his shorts, and his thighs—

Yeah. His thighs should not be allowed in public.

He jogs into position, and you have to physically remind your tongue to stay in your mouth.

You tear your eyes away and clap your hands. "Let's go!" you call out. "No concussions! I don't have time to fill out hospital forms!"

The whistle—or Namjoon's loud cousin yelling "GO"—blows, and the game kicks off.

You start out watching Namjoon. You track the way he runs, the way he calls out to his teammates, the concentration in his face. You cheer when he makes a clean pass, when he evades a tag, when he laughs after nearly colliding with one of his friends.

But gradually—inevitably—your gaze drifts.

To Jungkook, of course.

He looks like he was born to do this, which is annoying because he literally learned the rules thirty minutes ago. His movements are quick and explosive, instincts kicking in even if the tactics are new. He figures out the backward pass like it's nothing, darting in and out of space, reading people's momentum and cutting across angles like he's been doing it for years.

The first time he really opens up into a sprint, you feel your heart race.

His legs power across the grass, thighs flexing under his shorts, calves working, his whole body a smooth line of speed. He tucks the ball in, leans into a turn, and you swear you can feel the wind shift from where you're sitting.

"Holy shit," Jeongyeon mutters, watching him. "Okay, I get why you liked him back in university."

"Shut up," you mumble, but your lips twitch.

There's a lot of shouting and a fair bit of swearing, but it's all friendly. Someone yells that Namjoon's offside. Someone else yells that he doesn't even know what offside is. There's light shoving, a couple of dramatic falls onto the grass, someone getting tagged a little too hard and pretending to be mortally wounded.

Jungkook takes a bump, stumbles, laughs it off, and then five minutes later, he's the one doing the tagging, hand slapping onto a cousin's shoulder as he lunges, muscles flexing.

He scores his first try almost by accident—grabs a pass, sees the gap, goes for it.

You hold your breath as he bolts down the makeshift pitch, someone lunging for his arm and missing by a hair's breadth. For a moment, it's just him and open grass. He drops the ball over the line, breathless and grinning.

You whoop, clapping hard. "Let's gooo!"

The other team groans. Someone yells, "He's never played before, this is rigged!"

Jungkook jogs back, his cheeks flushed, his hair sticking a little to his forehead, chest rising and falling. He looks toward the wall and catches your eye, and you're already looking at him.

A tingle runs through your spine, traitorous and uninvited. You rip your gaze away, pretending to adjust your jacket.

Two guys on the shirts team hurt their ankle and knee, so Namjoon decides to switch teams to balance things out, now playing against Jungkook. The game intensifies after that. More competitiveness, more smack talk.

"Thought you said you'd go easy on the new guy," one cousin chuckles, stretching his shoulder.

"He doesn't need it," Namjoon calls back, a hint of a grin there. "Clearly."

Jungkook scores again late in the game—a beautiful little play where he supports a teammate, takes a backward pass at full speed, and cuts inside two defenders. When he grounds the ball this time, he lets out a loud whoop, fist pumping the air.

You laugh, clapping again, and this time you don't even pretend you're just cheering for everyone.

Mina elbows you lightly. "If you drool any harder, they'll have to hose down the lawn."

You glare at her, your face burning hot. "I am supporting my best friend."

"Sure," she nods. "With full-body enthusiasm."

By the time they call it, Jungkook's team is ahead.

Everyone gathers in a huffing, puffing circle, hands on hips, sprawled on the grass. A cousin declares that his lungs have given out. Someone else complains about being too old for this at thirty-two. Namjoon flops onto his back for a second, staring at the sky, chest heaving.

Jungkook stands there, hands on his knees, grinning like a maniac.

"Alright," Namjoon mutters, pushing himself up and clapping his hands together. "We're officially even."

Jungkook looks over, still catching his breath. "Even?"

"Basketball," Namjoon reminds him. "I won that game. You won today. Balance restored."

Jungkook scoffs. "I can live with that."

He glances instinctively toward the wall where you're sitting.

You're talking to Mina, but he notices the way your eyes flick to him more than once, the quick way you look away when you realise he's looking back. There's something in your expression—pride, amusement, something else he doesn't let himself define.

Namjoon notices too.

He's not blind. He sees the way your gaze lingered during the game, how loudly you cheered when Jungkook scored, the way your whole face lit up. He tells himself you're just impressed. Jungkook's good at basically everything; of course it's…impressive.

Of course it feels weird to watch his fiancée watch someone else like that, but he pushes the thought down.

As everyone starts to drift off the field—laughing, groaning, arguing about rules they definitely made up—Jungkook jogs toward you.

He's still very shirtless, his skin gleaming with sweat, his chest rising and falling, his hair pushed back messily from his forehead. You're mid-laugh at something Mina said when his shadow falls over you.

"Did you see that last try?" he pants, grinning, his eyes bright. "Tell me you saw it."

You open your mouth to tease him, but you barely get a sound out before he hooks his arms around your waist and hauls you off the low wall like you weigh nothing.

"Jungkook—!" you squeal, instinctively looping your arms around his shoulders as he spins you in a quick circle.

The world blurs—grass, sky, house—and for a second it's just you and him and the feeling of his solid, sweaty body pressed against yours, your laughter ringing out across the lawn. You can smell grass and soap and victory. Your fingers curl a little tighter at the back of his neck without thinking.

He slows and sets you back down carefully, his hands lingering at your waist half a beat too long. "MVP, right?" he grins, still breathless, eyes searching yours.

You're still smiling, your cheeks warm. "You did good," you nod, soft but sincere. "Show-off."

He's about to say something back when Namjoon appears at your side, his jumper pulled on, damp hair curling a little at his temples.

"Well, clearly I've been replaced," he says lightly, sliding an arm around your shoulders. "My fiancée's running off with the star player."

"You lost," you remind him, bumping him with your hip. "Consequences."

He hums, exaggeratedly thoughtful. "Hmm. I think I need something to make me feel better then."

Before you can ask what, he tilts your chin up and kisses you. It's playful on the surface—smiling, lingering just long enough to make a point—but there's an undertone there, something a touch sharper. His cousins immediately pick up on it.

"Oii, get a room!" one calls.

"That's a husband right there!" another calls out loudly, laughing.

Namjoon deepens the kiss for half a second, just enough that you feel a little dizzy when he pulls away. He tucks you closer under his arm, looking over your head at Jungkook with a faintly smug little curve to his mouth.

"Better," he declares.

Jungkook's face is carefully neutral. Too neutral.

"Congrats on the win, man," Namjoon adds, his tone light. "You were great out there."

"Yeah," Jungkook mutters, forcing a half-smile. "You too."

He wipes his hands on his shorts, suddenly very aware of the sweat drying on his skin, of the way you're tucked into Namjoon's side now instead of his arms. The moment from thirty seconds ago already feels like it happened on a different planet.

"I'm gonna go, uh…clean up," he murmurs, jerking his chin toward the house.

"Don't use up all the hot water!" one cousin yells after him.

He lifts a hand in acknowledgment without turning around and heads back up toward the house, his jaw tight, the roar of his own heartbeat louder than the lingering laughter behind him.

Namjoon leans in to kiss your temple, watching Jungkook leave. "You cold?" he asks, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

You smile up at him, slightly startled out of your thoughts. "I'm okay."

"Come inside soon," he mutters, pressing one last peck to your lips. "We can take a shower together and I'll make some tea."

The rest of the week passes in a blur of champagne tastings, final dress fittings, family dinners, and last-minute flower arrangements. The countryside air is calm and tranquil, the evenings filled with autumn breeze and the distant sound of laughter drifting through the house. You barely have a moment to breathe, let alone check in with yourself, swept up in a whirlwind of family and friends and 'I can't believe you're getting married's.

Jungkook, for his part, keeps trying to pull you aside—to tell you how he feels, to try and sway you—but each time he gathers the nerve, someone calls your name, or Namjoon appears at your side, or another task whisks you away. With every missed opportunity, Jungkook finds himself spiraling further into frustration, torn between fighting for you and respecting your happiness.

By the end of the week, he's at a loss, clinging to the hope that maybe—just maybe—he'll get one last shot to say what he needs to say before you get married in less than 24 hours.

The air feels heavier the night before the wedding—less laughter drifting through the living room, fewer footsteps in the hallway as everyone rests for the big day.

You're brushing your teeth in the en-suite when Namjoon comes into the room, already half-changed for bed. He pauses in the doorway, rubbing at the back of his neck like he's about to tell you something mildly embarrassing.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmurs gently.

You spit, rinse, and glance at him through the mirror. "Hmm?"

He hesitates. "Mum asked me to sleep downstairs tonight."

You blink, your eyebrows raising. "What?"

"Yeah," he sighs, giving you a helpless little smile. "She's big on…traditions. The night before the wedding, no sleeping together, all that. It's bad luck, apparently."

You stare at him for a second, then let out a short laugh. "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard."

"I know." He crosses the room, coming up behind you and resting his hands lightly on your hips. "But it's one night. It'll make her happy."

You meet his eyes in the mirror. He looks calm, steady. Like this is all simple. You want to borrow that steadiness.

"Fine," you mumble, because you don't want to start anything tonight. Not with the wedding in the morning. "Go appease your mother."

He kisses your temple, smiling. "I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah," you whisper. "In the morning."

He lingers for a beat, like he wants to say more, then seems to decide against it. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and slips out, quiet as possible, leaving the room smelling like his cologne and the faint sweetness of the candle you lit earlier.

The door clicks shut and suddenly you're alone once again.

You get into bed a little while later and stare up at the ceiling. At first you tell yourself it's just nerves. Anyone would be restless the night before their wedding. Anyone would feel a little floaty, like they're standing on the edge of a cliff and trying not to look down.

You shift onto your side, fluff the pillow and close your eyes. Your brain, however, refuses to shut up. It replays moments from the week like a highlight reel you didn't ask for—Namjoon's mom gently taking over decisions, the guest list ballooning, the steak over the salmon, the way Namjoon waved you off, insisting it would all be fine.

It's not even that any of those things are unforgivable. It's just…small cracks you can't stop noticing once you've seen them.

And then, because your brain is cruel, it shows you other things. Jungkook in the hallway in a towel. Jungkook on the rugby field, shirtless, laughing. Jungkook's voice that day in Seoul, saying he doesn't know how to be him without you.

Your chest tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe. This is ridiculous. You love Namjoon. He is good. He is kind. He has made you feel comfortable the moment you met him and he adores you in a way you've always dreamed about.

So why do you feel like you might throw up?

You sit up abruptly, pushing the covers down. Your heart thuds, not from excitement—something sharper, more panicked. You need to talk to someone. Not your mom or Mina or Jeongyeon. Not even Namjoon.

You need...normal.

You need the one person who knows how to talk you down without trying to make everything perfect. The one person who will let you be messy and unsure and human without smoothing it over.

You need your best friend.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you swing your legs out of bed, tug on a sweater, and pad quietly into the hallway. It's dim and deadly quiet. You can hear the wind outside and the old house settling.

You walk to his door and knock softly. There's a short pause before the door opens a crack.

Jungkook looks like he was half-asleep, his hair messy, his t-shirt rumpled, his tired eyes blinking slowly until they land on you.

He freezes.

"What—" he whispers, his voice rough. "Are you okay?"

You force a smile that doesn't quite stick. "I can't sleep."

His gaze flicks over your face, searching. "Did something happen?"

"No," you say quickly. "Not…like that. I just…I'm restless."

He opens the door wider, stepping back to let you in, then stops like he remembers the house has a thousand ears.

"Namjoon?" he asks quietly.

"Downstairs," you murmur. "His mom doesn't want us sleeping together tonight. Because of 'bad luck' or something."

Jungkook's mouth twitches. "Ah. Ancient superstition. Love that for you."

You let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh but slowly morphs into a sigh.

He catches it—whatever that was—and his expression softens immediately. "Hey."

You swallow, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Do you wanna…go out for a bit?"

His brows raise, not expecting that to come out of your mouth. "Out?"

"Just—" you gesture vaguely, like you can't find the right words. "Somewhere. Maybe we could get a drink. Some fresh air. I just…I need to get away from everyone for a few hours. I want it to be…me and you. Like normal. Before everything changes tomorrow."

For a moment he doesn't move, like your words physically hit him, then he nods once, slowly. "Yeah. Okay."

Your shoulders sag with relief.

"I can drive," he adds, already reaching for his jeans. "I'm not drinking much. I need to be sober enough to get back, and—" His eyes flick to yours. "—I want to remember tonight. You know, before..."

Something flutters painfully in your chest.

You look away first, nodding. "Okay."

—

The pub is small and warm, tucked on the edge of a village road. There are fairy lights in the windows and the smell of fried food and ale hits you the second you step inside. It's cozy but loud enough that you wouldn't accidentally be overheard by anyone you know.

Jungkook leads you to a booth in the corner, the two of you sliding into it like second nature. In Seoul it would've been your restaurant, your usual table, your comfortable routine. Here it's different, but it still feels like you.

He orders you something sweet and fruity because he knows you pretend you like bitter beer but you don't. He orders himself one drink and then switches to soda, claiming he's "being responsible," but you catch the way he watches you over the rim of his glass, his gaze looking anything but responsible.

For a while you talk about nothing special; the week that's passed, Lisa being Lisa, the rugby game, the way English people say 'aluminium'. Jungkook makes you laugh—really laugh—and it's like someone loosened a knot in your ribs. Then you go quiet, your fingers tracing the condensation on your glass.

Jungkook's voice drops. "Okay. What's actually going on?"

You open your mouth, close it, and then let the truth slip out in a whisper.

"I'm scared."

His eyes soften immediately. "Of what?"

You swallow, leaning your head back against the booth. "Of…getting it wrong."

Jungkook doesn't interrupt. He just leans back, giving you space to say it without being talked out of it.

You stare at the table. "Everyone's acting like this is the most romantic thing in the world. Like it's fate. Like it's perfect. And I want to feel that. I thought I did. But sometimes…I feel like I don't even know if Namjoon really—" You shake your head, looking frustrated. "Like he loves me, obviously. But I don't know if he knows me."

Jungkook's jaw tightens slightly, like he's holding back an "I told you so" that he would never actually say.

You keep going, your voice trembling slightly. "This week…with his mom inviting people and changing things and him just letting it happen. And the steak—God, the stupid steak. It's not about the steak. It's about how easily he decided it didn't matter what I wanted."

Jungkook's eyes don't leave your face.

"I feel like I'm being folded into their life," you mumble softly, "instead of building one with him."

That finally makes something flicker across Jungkook's expression—anger, maybe. Or protectiveness. Or both.

He reaches across the table and covers your hand with his, warm and familiar.

"Hey," he murmurs quietly. "Look at me, ___."

You do, and his gaze is so sincere it catches you off guard.

"You're not crazy," he shakes his head. "And you're not dramatic. If something feels off, you're allowed to feel it."

Tears prick your eyes, and you hate yourself for it.

Jungkook's thumb brushes over your knuckles. "I know I always used to tell you that you're picky for wanting the kind of love that feels…specific. But you're not picky."

His voice drops even lower, so intimate it feels like it belongs to the booth, not the world.

"You're just you," he murmurs. "And no one gets to treat what you want as a suggestion."

Your throat tightens. "I don't know what to do."

Jungkook inhales slowly, like he's choosing each word with care.

"No man," he says softly, his eyes locked on yours, "is ever going to know you and care for you the way I do."

The air between you changes immediately. It's not a confession. Not technically. But it lands like one anyway.

Your breath catches, your heart doing that stupid painful stutter it's been doing all week.

Jungkook seems to realise because his hand flexes around yours and then loosens—like he's afraid he's already said too much. He clears his throat, trying to drag the moment back into safer territory. "I'm not saying that to—"

"I know," you whisper quickly, even though you're not sure you do.

You stare at him, your eyes shining, and for a second you think you might actually ask the question that's been circling your throat for a while now.

Do you love me?

But you don't. Because tomorrow is your wedding and Namjoon is waiting and you're not sure you can survive the answer. So, you pull your hand back gently and take a sip of your drink like you can swallow the feeling down.

Jungkook watches you do it, something crossing his face that looks a lot like pain.

At some point you excuse yourself to the bathroom, mostly because you need a minute to breathe. The pub bathroom is tiny and smells like soap and faint mould. You stare at yourself in the mirror and try to make sense of the girl looking back.

Bride-to-be. Engaged. Heart in two directions.

You splash water on your face, pressing a hand to your sternum and whispering, "Get it together, ___."

When you step back out into the hallway, the pub noise spills over you again—laughter, clinking glasses, a football match playing somewhere in the mix.

And Jungkook is right before you. He's standing just outside the doorway like he's been waiting for you, his shoulders squared, eyes dark, face set with that look he gets when he's decided something and he's terrified of it.

You stop short, glancing up at him. "Jungkook—"

You don't get to say anything else.

He crosses the space in two strides, one hand bracing against the wall beside your head, the other finding your waist. Before you know it, he presses you back into the secluded stretch of brick near the hallway corner where no one can see.

Your breath leaves you in a single startled exhale.

"Jungkook, what are you doing?" you whisper, but it comes out like his name is a plea.

His eyes search yours for a fraction of a second, like he's asking permission without words.

And then he kisses you. It's not soft or careful. It's hunger and restraint fighting each other—years of unsaid things packed into the way he holds you, the way his lips move against yours like he's been dying to do this and hates himself for it at the same time.

Your hands fly up automatically, gripping his arms. For a heartbeat, you kiss him back because it's Jungkook and it feels like home and disaster all at once. Because your body is betraying you and your heart is already too deep in the mess.

You whimper softly as his lips caress yours, his tongue licking the seam of your lips to seek entry into your mouth.

Then reality slams into you like cold water.

Namjoon.

Tomorrow.

The ring on your finger.

You pull back abruptly, your breath shaking. Jungkook's chest rises and falls hard. His forehead rests against yours as if he can't let go yet.

"___," he whispers, his voice wrecked. "I—"

He tries to say more. You can feel it. The words are right there on his tongue, pressing at the seam of his composure.

"I—" he starts again.

You panic, putting your hands on his chest and pushing gently—not away with disgust, but away with desperate necessity.

"Don't," you whisper, your eyes wide, your voice trembling. "Please don't."

Jungkook freezes, looking like you just slapped him.

"I—" he tries one last time, softer. "Just let me—"

"No," you breathe. "We can't. We can't do this right now."

Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts. You shake your head, trying to steady yourself. "We have to go back to the house."

Jungkook stares at you, his jaw tight, his eyes shining with a hundred unsaid words.

"Right," he says finally, his voice hoarse.

He steps back, his hands dropping to his sides, like he's forcing himself to become your best friend again in real time.

You look away, feeling too ashamed to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry."

His laugh is barely there. "Yeah."

You don't know what to do with your hands, with your mouth, with the fact that your lips still tingle. So you do the only thing you can; you turn before you can change your mind.

"Come on."

Jungkook follows you out into the night, quiet as a shadow, driving you back to the countryside house with both hands on the wheel and his eyes fixed on the road because if he looks at you for too long, he'll break. And when the house finally comes into view—dark and enormous and waiting—you can practically feel the weight of tomorrow looming throughout the car.

Jungkook parks, kills the engine, and sits there for a few seconds while bracing for impact.

You don't look at him. You can't. You shove your door open and climb out, the cold night air slapping you awake. Gravel crunches under your shoes as you hurry toward the front door like someone running from a crime scene.

"___," Jungkook calls softly behind you.

You keep walking.

"___, wait—"

You reach the door, slip inside, and take the stairs two at a time. Your heart is a drum in your throat. You don't even slow down when you reach the hallway. You reach your room, twist the knob, step inside and close the door a little too hard behind you.

The click of the latch sounds final.

You lean your forehead against the wood for a second, breathing hard. Your lips still burn. Your ring feels too heavy. You slide down the door until you're sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, eyes squeezed shut.

You can still feel him—his hands at your waist, his mouth on yours, the years of almosts and not-quites collapsing into one reckless, perfect, devastating kiss.

Tomorrow you're supposed to walk down an aisle. You're supposed to say vows and become someone's wife. And yet here you are, trembling on the floor because your best friend kissed you like he's been starving for you for years.

You press your fingers to your lips like you can erase it but it doesn't help.

Jungkook stands in the hallway outside your door for a moment, staring at the wood like it might open if he wishes hard enough.

He doesn't knock. He can't get himself to do it. Not after the way you shut him down. Not after the way you looked at him—panicked, guilty, torn in half.

He swallows hard, his jaw clenched so tight it aches, and turns away. He silently walks to his room, closes the door behind him, and leans back against it. For a second he just stands there, breathing. Then he drags both hands down his face and laughs—once—quiet and wrecked.

"Okay," he murmurs to himself. "Okay. Get it together. Be a man. Grow some balls."

He paces the room, his dad's voice echoing in his head telling him to do it before it's too late. He thinks about you against that pub wall. The way you kissed him back for that split second. The way your hands grabbed his arms. The way you pulled away like the world was ending.

Time is slipping through his fingers. Tomorrow happens whether he's ready or not. Tomorrow you marry someone else, and that kiss becomes a ghost he'll carry forever.

"No," he whispers. "No, no, no. I'm not letting you shut me out."

He straightens up, his heart hammering, and starts talking under his breath like he's rehearsing.

"I can't let you do this if you're not sure," he mutters. "I want—"

He shakes his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"Not like that," he tells himself. "Don't make it about you. Make it about her."

He tries again.

"You deserve someone who knows you—"

He stops, swallowing thickly, his hands shaking.

"Someone who chooses you," he whispers. "Someone who—"

He hesitates on the words he really wants to say.

"Someone like me."

His hands tremble harder but he forces them to be still.

"Okay," he breathes again. "When she's calm. When she can listen. I'll—"

A knock cuts clean through his thoughts.

Jungkook freezes.

There's another knock. Louder.

He turns toward the door, his pulse spiking.

"Yeah?" he calls out, his voice unsteady. "Who is it?"

A giggle answers and his stomach drops. The door swings open before he can stop it, and Lisa slips inside like she owns the room.

She's a mess, to say the least. Her hair is loose and wild, her eyes glossy, her cheeks flushed. She smells like wine—strong, sweet, unmistakable. She's wearing a bra and tiny pyjama shorts like she got halfway to bed and then thought better of it.

Jungkook just stares.

"Jesus," he mutters flatly. "What the hell are you doing?"

Lisa grins, swaying slightly. "Looking for you, duh."

His spine goes rigid. "Get out, Lisa."

"Oh, don't be like that," she purrs, stepping further in. "It's only me."

He holds up a hand like a stop sign. "Lisa."

She rolls her eyes and pushes past him to flop onto the edge of his bed like it's the most natural thing in the world. "I found the Kims' wine cellar," she announces proudly, as if she just discovered fire. "Do you know how much wine rich people keep? It's disgusting."

Jungkook doesn't laugh. He stays by the door, arms crossed, his face looking anything but amused.

Lisa's gaze drifts over him—slow and devilish. "You look good," she grins.

"Don't start that shit."

"Why?" she asks, her lips curling. "You're not a monk."

He clenches his jaw. "What do you want?"

She huffs like he's being difficult on purpose. "Okay, fine. I'll just say it." She sits up straighter, her eyes bright and reckless. "Let's just have sex again. For old time's sake."

The words hit the room like a bottle breaking.

Jungkook stares at her as if she's started speaking another language. "Absolutely not."

Lisa blinks, then laughs. "You're turning me down?"

"Yes," he deadpans.

"Why?" she whines, scooting to the edge of the bed. "Don't act like you didn't have fun. You were literally the best I've ever had."

Jungkook's face hardens. "Lisa, enough. Stop it."

Her expression twists into something irritated. "I still hate you," she mutters. "But I'm also…really pent up, and I'm bored, and everyone in this house is in love and it's making me sick."

Back in your room, you've tried everything. You've stared at the ceiling until your eyes hurt. You've fluffed the pillows. Drank water. Checked your phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. You've laid in Namjoon's empty side of the bed and told yourself to be normal about what happened at the pub, but it didn't work.

Your chest feels too tight and there's something unfinished sitting between you and Jungkook like a live wire. You can't stand the idea of carrying that kiss into your wedding day like a secret you're choking on, so you swing your legs out of bed and slip into the hallway.

Jungkook exhales slowly through his nose, forcing patience he doesn't have.

"This is not happening," he grumbles, his voice low. "Go back to your room."

Lisa walks over to him like she's about to comply and walk out the door, but instead, she grabs the front of his shirt with both hands and pushes—harder than she should be able to in her state—and Jungkook hits the edge of the mattress behind him.

The bed dips under his weight, and before he can move, she climbs onto him like she's claiming territory. She straddles his lap, her knees digging into the mattress on either side of his thighs, her hands braced on his shoulders. Her hair falls forward in a curtain, her cheeks are flushed and her mouth curls in a sloppy, triumphant grin.

"Jesus—fuck—" Jungkook sputters, his hands hovering uselessly in the air like he doesn't even want to touch her to move her. "Lisa, what the fuck are you doing?"

"What I should've done three years ago," she pouts, her voice syrupy and loud. Too loud. "I should've made you stay."

"Get off," he mutters through his teeth, trying to keep his voice steady.

She leans down anyway, her eyes half-lidded. "You were so good," she babbles, the words tumbling out like she's been saving them. "Like…annoyingly good. I still hate you, but you're so good in bed..."

Jungkook's stomach turns.

"Lisa," he snaps, sharper now. "I'm not doing this."

She pouts like a child being told no. "Why?" she whines. "You always do this. You pretend you're better than everyone, and then you—"

His hands finally land on her waist—not gentle, not rough, just firm enough to stop her from grinding against him, which she has definitely already started doing.

"Enough," he mutters deadly quiet. "Get. Off."

And that's exactly when you reach the end of the hallway.

You've been walking with your heart in your throat, rehearsing what you're going to say, telling yourself you're not crazy, telling yourself you just need closure, just a conversation, just something before tomorrow swallows you whole.

Jungkook's door is slightly ajar. You can see the sliver of lamplight spilling out into the corridor. You slow without meaning to. Then you hear Lisa's voice—too airy and flirty—and your stomach drops. You can't hear exactly what she's saying but you know you won't like it either way. You inch closer, drawn by horror and curiosity. And then you see them; Jungkook on the bed, Lisa straddling him, her hands on his shoulders, his hands on her waist.

Your brain doesn't process context. It only processes the image. The shape of it.

Something feels sharp inside your chest, as if you can physically feel your heart breaking bit by bit.

You feel so stupid for thinking this could be something deeper. For thinking the kiss meant more than heat and impulse. For thinking you could turn to him tonight and find comfort.

All you find is Jungkook being Jungkook.

Your vision blurs at the edges.

Jungkook's head turns and his eyes meet yours. His entire face changes in an instant—shock, then horror, then a raw, desperation as he realises exactly what this might look like to you.

"___, this isn't what it looks like—"

He shoves Lisa off of him so fast she yelps, landing on the mattress with a confused, drunken huff.

"Hey, what the hell?!"

Jungkook doesn't even look at her. He's already up, already moving, panic flaring in his stomach.

"___, wait—" he calls out, rushing toward the door.

But you're already backing away, your heart hammering, humiliation scorching your skin. You don't give him the dignity of an argument. You don't give him the chance to explain. You just quickly turn and walk back down the hallway, moving so fast the carpet might catch fire under your feet.

"___!" he calls again, louder now. "Stop, please—"

You don't.

You reach your room, your hands shaking as you grab the knob, slipping inside and slamming the door shut behind you.

On the other side, you hear his footsteps skid to a stop, and a soft, wrecked exhale leaves his lips. And then his voice, right outside your door, low and pleading:

"___, just…please talk to me."

Your fingers tremble on the doorknob.

Outside, there's the soft shuffle of movement—Jungkook adjusting his stance, his forehead pressing against the door, close enough that you can practically feel the heat of him through the wood.

Then his voice comes, quiet and trembling.

"Come on, don't shut me out like this..."

You close your eyes, pressing your other hand to the wood.

"Go away," you whisper, but it comes out weak and unconvincing.

"Lisa and I, we didn't...I didn't—" he starts, his voice tight. "You have to let me explain."

"I saw enough," you snap, harsher than you mean to because anger is easier than humiliation. Easier than the way your chest still aches from the pub. "I saw exactly enough."

"You didn't," he insists, the words urgent. "You didn't see—"

You squeeze your eyes shut harder. "Just…drop it."

On the other side of the door, you hear him exhale—slow and shaky.

"Why did you come to my room?" he asks quietly.

You don't answer.

He tries again, gentler, like he's coaxing a skittish animal. "___, why did you come to my room?"

"Does it matter?" you whisper.

"Yes," he says immediately. "Yes, it matters."

You hesitate, your throat feeling dry. "I…I don't wanna talk about it."

"___," he sighs, and something in his voice makes your heart hurt. It's not anger. It's not pressure. It's just…desperation. "Please. Tell me."

You press your forehead against the door, and your voice comes out small. "I came because I couldn't sleep..."

A pause.

"And?" he pushes softly.

You shake your head even though he can't see it. "And I...I don't know. I just…I needed—"

"You needed what?" he asks. "Me?"

You scoff humourlessly because yes, you fucking needed him.

Outside, he's quiet for a second, and then his voice drops even lower. "Was it because of the kiss?"

Your heart races at the mention of the kiss.

You say nothing. The silence is answer enough.

"Answer me, ___," he breathes.

You force your voice out before you can lose the nerve. "Yes."

It feels as if time has stopped moving, giving you the moment you so desperately needed.

"Yes," you repeat, your voice shaking. "I came to talk about that stupid kiss. Because it's been…in my head. And I couldn't...I couldn't just pretend it didn't happen."

On the other side of the door, Jungkook's voice is so quiet it barely makes it through. "Okay."

You wipe at your eyes angrily, even though there are no tears yet. "But it doesn't matter," you add quickly, desperate to slam the lid back on the feelings. "It was a mistake. The pub was a mistake. That kiss was a mistake."

There's silence. Then, softly, he mutters, "Don't."

"Don't what?" you mumble.

"Don't lie," he sighs, his voice cracking on the edge of it.

You laugh—a curt, bitter sound. "I'm not lying."

"___," he murmurs gently, and you can hear the ache in it now. "I felt you kiss me back. You wanted it as much I did."

"That was—"

"A second, I know," he cuts in, gentle but remaining firm. "But it was real."

You shake your head once more, your face twisting. "It doesn't matter, Jungkook. I'm marrying Namjoon tomorrow."

When Jungkook speaks again, his voice is softer, shaking like he's trying to hold himself together.

"Don't."

The single word is a plea.

Your throat closes, your tears threatening to spill. "Jungkook—"

"Please," he whispers. "Please don't marry him."

The words hit you like a punch. Your eyes sting, hot tears brimming your eyes. "You can't say that."

"I can," he says, his voice breaking, losing control despite himself. "I can because I—" He swallows audibly. "Because you're not sure."

You shake your head violently, pressing your palms to your eyes like you can shove the emotion back in. "I am sure."

"No," he whispers, and it sounds like he's crying even if he isn't. "You're scared. You're forcing it because you think you have to. Because everyone's here and the church is ready and the guest list is—"

"Stop," you choke out.

"But you're not sure because he barely knows you," he says, and even in the middle of his heartbreak there's a tiny tremor of disbelief, a tiny, furious tenderness—like he can't stand the idea of anyone waving you off. "Because he's smoothing you down until you're easier to fit into their life."

You squeeze your eyes shut, your tears falling freely, your bottom lip trembling uncontrollably.

Jungkook's voice drops to a soft whisper. "You deserve someone who actually sees you. Who listens when you speak. Who knows you so well he can tell when you're smiling just to keep the peace."

You press your sleeve to your mouth, trying to muffle the sob you let out.

Outside, his voice is wrecked and emotionally exhausted. "You know I'd never…I'd never treat you like you're too much trouble, ___. You know that."

Your chest aches because you do know that.

"You don't have to do this," he whispers. "Not if you're not sure."

You choke on a breath, your voice almost too quiet to hear through the wood. "I am sure."

He goes quiet for a second, the words physically hurting him. Then he says, so small and fragile, "Then why did you come to me tonight?"

You hate that you don't have an answer that won't give away how unsure you are.

You can't risk it. You can't risk hearing him say what you're terrified he'll say. You can't risk the truth cracking your life in half the night before the wedding. You choose to have control over the crumbling situation instead. You swallow hard and force your voice into steadiness, even as tears continue to slip down your face.

"My mind is made up," you murmur, every word feeling like glass in your mouth. "I'm marrying him."

Outside, there's a sharp inhale.

"___, would you just—"

"If you can't support me," you cut in quickly, your voice trembling, "then you should just leave."

That leaves him stunned.

"What?"

"You heard me," you whisper. "I can't…I can't have you doing this. Not now. Not the night before. If you can't be my best friend tomorrow...if you can't stand there and support me...then don't come."

Your throat burns. Your eyes blur.

"I need you to stop," you mutter. "I need you to let me do this."

On the other side of the door, you hear him shift—like he's stumbled back a step. His voice comes out broken, almost childlike. "You're really going to do this?"

"Yes," you whisper, hating yourself for it. "Yes."

Another long beat passes. Then, so softly you almost miss it, Jungkook says, "Okay."

It's an 'okay' that means none of this is okay at all. It's surrender and grief wrapped up in two syllables.

You lift your head and wipe your tears, sniffling softly.

"Goodnight, Jungkook," you whisper.

There's a pause on the other side, like he really wants to say your name again and can't. Then you hear his footsteps—slow and heavy—moving away down the hallway. And even though you told him to leave, even though you told yourself you needed this…

The moment the sound fades, the emptiness feels like punishment.

read the rest HERE

Jungkook stirs beside you with a sleepy groan, the weight of his arm draping over your waist. His nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and slow against your skin. You smile softly to yourself, already half-awake, shifting slightly to press back into him.

"Mmm," he hums, his voice still raspy, "Don't move. I'm so comfortable."

"You're drooling on my shoulder," you whisper, even though you have no intention of pulling away.

He grins, kissing his way up your neck instead. "Better?"

You giggle and his hand slides over your hip, curling low across your belly with a familiar purpose. He rolls his hips forward, just enough to press the unmistakable outline of his morning wood against the curve of your ass.

You arch your brow, an amused smile plastered across your face. "Seriously?"

"It's been three days," he murmurs into your hair, feigning desperation. "I've been patient. I'm a good man. Let me have this."

You try to scold him, but you giggle too much to make it convincing. "Our child could burst in here any second."

"He's asleep."

"Is he?"

"He should be."

As if summoned by fate, or toddler timing, the door bangs open just as Jungkook slides his hand under your shirt.

"DADDYYYY!" comes the shrill squeal, followed by thunderous stomps and a flash of black hair flying through the doorway.

Jungkook lets out a soul-deep groan and flops backward into the mattress with a pillow over his face. "He knew. I swear he knew I was trying to get it in."

You're already laughing as Jungwoo launches himself onto the bed, wearing mismatched socks, a diaper, and his beloved dinosaur shirt that says 'RAWR means I love you in dinosaur', clutching his favourite green stuffed T-Rex in one hand.

He dives onto your chest, planting a clumsy kiss on your cheek.

"Mommy! Wake uuuup! It's my birfday!!"

You gasp in pretend-surprise, wrapping him in your arms. "What?! Are you sure?"

He nods furiously, his hair bouncing. "I two! Jungwoo's a big boy now, mommy!"

Jungkook peeks out from under the pillow with an amused smile. "You're lucky you're cute, big boy."

Jungwoo crawls across the bed and bodyslams his dad, giggling wildly. "Dino say RAWR! Bite daddy's tummy!"

"Hey, not the tummy!"

You chuckle as Jungwoo climbs on top of Jungkook, growling softly like a tiny dinosaur and smacking his hands against his dad's chest.

"Rawr! RAWR! Dinothaur eat daddy!"

Jungkook pretends to be terrified, his arms wrapping around the little boy with the best fake-screams he can muster up.

Jungwoo giggles at his dad's antics and collapses between the two of you, completely pleased with himself.

You stroke his soft hair back, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Happy birthday, my love."

Falling pregnant was new and exciting, and carrying Jungwoo was a magical experience, but it wasn't always easy. Going through a pregnancy for the first time—not knowing what to do when something went wrong or how to tackle the morning sickness and the aches and pains—wasn't always sunshine and rainbows, but it's already been two years since you birthed your baby boy and you'd do it a million times over if it meant having him.

Jungwoo blinks up at you, his eyes sparkling. "Can I eat...pancakes now? With...blue jam?"

"You want pancakes for breakfast, Woo-Woo?"

He nods, his face lit up with excitement. "Dino shape. Big, big dino! Not little baby one."

Jungkook ruffles his hair, then sits up with a dramatic sigh. "Alright, birthday boy. Let's make some pancakes."

"And choc-chips!" Jungwoo adds quickly, holding up all five of his tiny fingers instead of two, which is what he actually means to do. "Two choc-chips. 'Cause Jungwoo is...two!"

"Fair logic," you smile, slowly getting out of bed to get started on breakfast. "Birthday math checks out."

As the three of you tumble out of bed; Jungwoo chattering excitedly about party hats, dinosaur balloons and the cake he hopes is green, you catch Jungkook sneaking a glance at you. You're smiling at your son, glowing in the morning light, and his heart clenches in the way it always does when he remembers that this, his life, is real.

Two years ago, your world changed, and today you get to celebrate the little boy who made you a mommy. But first; pancakes.

The kitchen hums with warmth, the soft clink of cutlery, the low buzz of the fridge, the occasional squeal of a toddler pretending to be a dinosaur because apparently that's his recent hyper fixation.

You stand at the stove, one hand resting on the counter for balance, the other clutching a warm mug of ginger tea. The steam curls up into your face, and you breathe it in slowly, willing the nausea in your belly to settle. It's not bad, just persistent, this low, queasy flutter that's been following you for the past few mornings. But today is not about you. It's about Jungwoo, so you sip the tea, smile through it, and try to keep your breathing steady as behind you, chaos unfolds.

"Okay, Chef Jungwoo, what do we add next?" Jungkook asks, crouched down to his son's level. The toddler stands on a kitchen chair pushed up against the counter, holding a big whisk like a weapon of mass destruction.

"Eggies!" Jungwoo shouts, triumphant, waving his arms.

"Not yet, buddy!" Jungkook laughs, catching the egg carton just before it topples off the counter. "We don't throw the eggs. Remember what happened last time?"

Jungwoo blinks, wide-eyed and innocent. "Daddy...made a mess."

You snort into your tea. "Of course he did."

Jungkook throws you a playful glare. "Tell your son he's grounded for lying."

"My son?" you echo, turning around with a raised brow.

He grins, egg in one hand, bowl in the other. His black hair is messy and pushed back from his forehead, his sweatshirt's sleeves rolled up, a little flour dusted on his jaw. God, he looks good.

"Okay," Jungkook says to Jungwoo in his dad-voice. "Now we crack the egg. Remember...gentle, okay?"

Jungwoo nods, his face as serious as can be.

Jungkook hands it to him carefully, and you watch with bated breath as your son slams the egg on the side of the bowl with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

CRACK.

A huge chunk of eggshell drops into the batter. Yolk splatters across the counter. Jungwoo looks horrified.

"Oh no…" he whispers, his eyes growing comically wide.

Jungkook gasps dramatically. "Chef Jungwoo, what have you done?!"

Jungwoo drops the egg shell like it's on fire. "It's okay, daddy, don't be sad."

"Daddy's not sad, buddy," Jungkook shakes his head, wiping some splattered egg off his shirt. "Daddy's fine, see? My shirt's not fine, but I'm fine."

You giggle behind your mug, despite the dull ache subtly blooming in your stomach.

"Mommy will make the pancakes," you murmur gently, stepping in. "Why don't you two clean up your mess and pick out toppings?"

Jungkook raises his eyebrows in mock offense. "Are you saying you don't trust our culinary expertise, Mrs. Jeon?"

"I'm saying you got egg all the way on the light switch."

"Touché," he nods.

You turn back to the stove, pouring the batter into the pan, carefully shaping it with the edge of the spatula. Your eyes blur slightly for a second and you blink hard, breathing in another wave of ginger steam.

You're fine.

Behind you, you hear Jungwoo's giggles as Jungkook shakes two jars of jam in front of him; one strawberry and one blueberry, both fresh from your trip to the farmer's market two days ago.

"Do we like the blue one or the red one, chef?"

"Blue!" Jungwoo chirps.

"Correct answer."

You listen to the soft rustle of jam jars, the opening and closing of drawers, the hum of toddler joy. Your heart swells so wide it aches, and when you finally flip the first pancake, perfectly golden and vaguely resembling a T-Rex, you hear Jungwoo squeal, "RAWR PANCAKE!"

You plate the masterpiece in his little plastic Lightning McQueen plate, adding a dollop of whipped cream and a messy splash of blueberry jam.

"Presenting, Jungwoo-saurus Rex," you declare, setting the plate down in front of him with a kiss to his chubby cheek.

Jungkook claps like it's a five-star dish and Jungwoo slaps his hands against the counter, digging in with very little grace, his lips covered in blueberry jam in an instant.

Jungkook leans over your shoulder and kisses your cheek, his hands slowly rubbing along the curve of your hips. "You're magic, you know that?"

You smile, gentle and tired and full of love. "Only the best for my boys."

And you mean it. Even as the nausea simmers beneath your ribs—even as your chest tightens for reasons you haven't had the time to fully acknowledge yet—you mean it, because this day is everything and it hasn't even fully begun yet.

The sun hangs high in a cloudless blue sky by the time you finish cleaning the kitchen. The backyard is bathed in warm light, dew drying from the grass, a light breeze rustling the trees in the distance.

And now…it's go time.

You step outside with a journal in hand—containing a full outline of the party's setup—and a focused gleam in your eye, ready to turn the backyard into a toddler's dinosaur dreamland.

"Okay," you begin, pointing to the far corner of the yard, "I want the inflatable dinosaur slide set up over there, the bubble machine next to the fence, and the gifts table in the shade under the big garden umbrella."

Jungkook, trailing behind you with his hands in his pockets, squints at you affectionately. "Copy that, Commander."

"I'm serious!" you laugh, nudging him in the ribs. "This is Jungwoo's first party with everyone. He's going to remember this forever, honey."

"He's two," Jungkook scoffs. "He won't remember anything except, maybe, which cousin stole his cupcake."

"That's exactly why we take pictures and videos, and make core memories, thank you very much."

He leans in and kisses your temple. "Core memories. Got it."

From inside the living room, you hear Bluey's theme song playing faintly. Jungwoo sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, holding his dino plush and bobbing his head to the music like he's in a trance. You smile to yourself. Contained toddler; check.

"Okay," Jungkook mutters, clapping his hands together. "Where do you want the snack table?"

"By the back door!" you call, already stringing pastel-green and blue streamers across the fence. "But angle it so the sunlight doesn't hit directly. It'll ruin the frosting on the cupcakes."

"Jesus," he mutters, grabbing the folding table, "You're a drill sergeant."

You grin, stepping back to make sure everything is straight and neat. "You married this."

"Unfortunately for me," he jokes, then snorts when you shoot him a mock glare.

He sets the table down where you pointed, then jogs back toward the patio, grabbing the helium tank and the bag of dino-shaped balloons.

"I'm doing the T-Rex balloons now. Just to be clear, T-Rexes are the short-armed ones, right?"

You glance over your shoulder, barely containing a laugh. "You have a dinosaur-obsessed toddler and you don't know which is which?"

"I know that one is blue," he says, pointing to a large balloon shaped like a smiling, cartoony Velociraptor. "And that one looks like me when I haven't shaved in a while."

You giggle as you open a fresh pack of streamers and start winding them around the pergola posts. The subtle pressure in your stomach pulses again, still gentle, but ever-present. You pause, bracing yourself against the wood as the breeze lifts your hair off your neck.

From across the yard, Jungkook looks slightly concerned. "You okay, baby?"

You straighten up and wave him off with a soft smile, getting back to business. "Yeah! Just catching my breath."

He looks at you a beat longer than necessary, then nods, pulling the string on the helium tank. The balloon inflates with a satisfying fwump.

You duck into the kitchen for a moment to refill your mug with ginger tea, and by the time you return, Jungkook has somehow managed to tape four dinosaur balloons to the corner posts, set up the mini plastic chairs, and sort out the party hats into colour-coded piles.

"Look at you," you tease, slipping your arms around his waist from behind. "My little assistant-slash-stripper-slash-dad of the year."

He snorts. "You only love me for my balloons and my abs."

"Not true. I also love your butt," you grin, pulling away to give it a little pat.

Just then, the Bluey theme song ends and you hear the thump of tiny feet hitting the floor.

"Uh-oh," Jungkook chuckles. "The beast awakens."

Jungwoo barrels outside a second later in his tiny Crocs, squealing at the sight of balloons.

"MY PARTY!!"

You laugh as he bounces up and down in excitement, his hair flopping about.

"Dinothaur! Mama, look! It's Jungwoo's favourite!!” he shouts, pointing at the green balloon. "It's T-Rex!! He has big chompers!"

"Big chompers," Jungkook echoes to you, his voice softer and slightly amused.

"And that one's a stegosaurus," you grin, pointing to a different balloon, showcasing your knowledge after reading so many dinosaur-themed bedtime stories over the past year.

He stares at you in wonder, his eyes wide. "You know...evewything, mommy!"

Sure, maybe your stomach turns again. Maybe you press the mug of ginger tea to your lips and take a long sip while your heart flips upside down, but that look on his face—the one that shows just how much your love and care has paid off—is enough to make everything better.

After the backyard is perfectly decorated with balloons floating gently in the breeze, tiny plastic chairs arranged like a tea party council, and the dessert table stocked with cookies and cupcakes, you scoop Jungwoo onto your hip and carry him upstairs for a nap.

He's getting heavier now, his limbs longer, cheeks a little leaner than they were a year ago, but in moments like this, when he melts against you and plays with the neckline of your shirt with sleepy fingers, he's still your little baby.

"Are you ready for your nap, birthday boy?" you whisper, laying him down in his bed and brushing his silky hair off his forehead.

He blinks up at you slowly. "But...my fwiends are coming, mommy."

"They'll be here soon," you promise. "But you need your dino energy first. Can't have you being cranky because you didn't take your nap."

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Will you sing the nap song?"

You press a kiss to his warm forehead and begin humming it before he even finishes the sentence, the same lullaby you've been singing since his newborn days, soft and slow like muscle memory. Within minutes, he's out cold, hugging his green dinosaur plush to his chest, lips parted to let out mini versions of his father's snores.

You stay for a moment, sitting on the edge of his little bed, watching his chest rise and fall.

Then, with the house quiet again, you head back downstairs to shower and change.

Meanwhile, in the study, Jungkook carefully closes the door behind him. The moment it clicks shut, he takes a deep breath, cracks his knuckles, and moves straight to his desk.

He opens his laptop to check the surprise presentation he's been secretly compiling for the past two weeks, double-clicking the folder marked, 'For Jungwoo, from daddy'.

The editing program loads slowly, but when it finally does, the screen floods with thumbnails of memories. Clips. Photos. Voice notes. All of it. Everything from the last two years.

His fingers tremble a little as he scrolls through the timeline, his heart tugging tighter with every second.

He clicks on a random timestamp and the clip starts playing. You're standing in the living room in a loose sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, your bump coming in nicely. The digital camera wobbles slightly as Jungkook giggles behind it, zooming in slowly on your face as you eat watermelon and talk to the bump growing in your belly.

"He's kicking," you whisper on screen, eyes wide with wonder.

"What? Wait, really?" Jungkook's voice behind the camera cracks with excitement.

You guide his hand under your sweatshirt. Your laugh is soft. Then—

"There! Did you feel that?"

There's silence, followed by a choked breath from Jungkook behind the camera.

"…That was him. That's my boy."

Jungkook swallows thickly at the memory.

The next clip plays automatically; you in a hospital bed, sweaty and tear-streaked, your arms cradling the tiniest bundle in the world. You're crying and chuckling all at the same time, your face twisting in the most joy you've ever experienced.

"Hi, sweet boy," you whisper shakily, gently stroking his little cheek with your index finger, your hand trembling. "You're so perfect. Jungkook…he's perfect."

The next cut is of baby Jungwoo crying during his first bath. He definitely took a while to start enjoying those, but once he did, he wouldn't get out the bath, whining to stay in just a little while longer.

There's another clip of Jungwoo at six months old, trying lemon for the first time. His little face crumples instantly into the most comical frown, his eyes squeezed shut, his chubby little hands flapping in betrayal.

Jungkook grins as he remembers filming that one. You both laughed so hard you almost cried.

Then...his first steps. The moment plays in grainy, slightly shaky footage from your living room. Jungkook had been recording a selfie video, talking about how close he thought Jungwoo was to walking when suddenly—

"Wait, baby...are you...? JUNGWOO, OH MY GOD, ___, LOOK AT HIM GO!"

Jungwoo wobbles unsteadily between the couch and the coffee table, takes three shaky steps, then plops down with a proud little cheer.

The screen cuts again to a montage of quieter moments. Jungkook lying on the floor with him after work. Reading picture books aloud in ridiculous voices. Blowing raspberries on Jungwoo's belly. Lifting him high into the air with both hands, laughing with pure adoration.

Every single clip tells the same story. Love. The kind that grows in mundane tasks and explodes in big milestones. The type of love that makes a man want to give his whole world to one tiny, smiling boy with round eyes and dimples and sticky hands.

The final clip shows Jungkook in the nursery late one night with Jungwoo, barely a few weeks old, sleeping on his chest as he rocks slowly in the chair in the corner of the nursery.

The camera rests on the nightstand next to the crib, recording everything in soft, grainy lighting.

Jungkook reaches over to pick it up, letting out a soft sigh, his free hand rubbing circles over Jungwoo's back while he let's out a soft confession.

"I don't know if you'll ever see this, little man, but I just wanted to say…thank you," he whispers. "You made me someone new...someone better. Your mom is the most...amazing woman in the world, and you...Jungwoo, you're the most perfect little thing we could've ever made."

He pauses, glancing down at the little bundle in his arms. "I hope one day you watch this and feel just how loved you are."

The clip transitions into a collection of photos of Jungwoo in ascending order from his birth to the most recent one of him snuggled between you and Jungkook in bed. A soft acoustic song begins to play over the ending slide, which simply reads, 'JUNGWOO: Year 1 & 2. With love from daddy'.

Jungkook stares at the final frame for a long time, his eyes slowly starting to sting. And when he finally exhales, it comes out shaky.

He closes the file and saves it to a USB drive tucked neatly inside a dinosaur-shaped flash drive case—something he found online weeks ago and instantly knew would be perfect.

He's going to surprise everyone with it later, after cake and gifts. But he especially wants to surprise you. You weren’t in most of the clips, not directly. You weren't the certain of attention in any of the clips, and just outside the frame in others, but Jungkook knows how much of this story is yours. He was once again reminded who held everything together while the footage played. So, when the video plays later tonight, he plans to sit beside you, with Jungwoo in your lap, and whisper that everything he is now, everything he loves, all started with you.

By 2pm, your backyard is no longer a backyard. It's a certified prehistoric paradise—'Dinosaur jungle madness' brought to life. There's a bouncy slide that's already been dubbed "Mount T-Rex" and a snack table groaning under the weight of dino-shaped chicken nuggets, sandwiches and veggie sticks no child will actually touch.

The entire neighbourhood might hear the chaos.

Tiny feet thunder across the grass. Colourful party hats fly off heads. Someone is already crying over a stolen toy, and the bubble machine hasn't stopped pumping since Jungkook turned it on.

Your son is having the absolute time of his life.

Jungwoo tears through the crowd of children, his face smeared with jam and frosting, yelling, "Jungwoo-Rex, RAAAWWR!" as he chases his cousins with a plastic claw hand he got from the gift table.

"Careful, baby!" you call, laughing as you hold a tray of cupcakes from the kitchen to the snack table. "Don’t eat your cousin!"

"Okay, mommy!" he giggles, running even faster.

You're halfway to the snack table when you hear—

"HELL YEAH, CUPCAKES!"

You turn and laugh as your best friends, Nayeon, Miyeon, and Jia come waltzing into the backyard like a hyperactive trio at a wine tasting.

"These are adorable," Jia coos at the cupcakes, pulling her phone out for a picture. "Look at the little frosting tails!"

"Wait, are these the viral ones from Tiktok?" Miyeon asks dramatically. "Because if not, we need to make them go viral."

Nayeon pops a dino nugget in her mouth, looking around the backyard in awe. "You're planning my kid's birthday party when I eventually have one."

You roll your eyes but grin as they fawn over your baking. It's very flattering, sure, but it's also distracting because you don't notice the way Jungkook watches you from across the yard.

He's dressed in casual blue jeans and a black tee that hugs his biceps and shoulders just right, his sunglasses perched on his nose, a juice pouch in one hand and a lovesick grin slowly spreading across his face.

You look...dreamy.

The sunlight catches in your hair, your laugh floating on the breeze, your arms full of cupcakes like some kinda barefoot dessert goddess in a dinosaur-themed wonderland.

God, he's so far gone for you.

You bend slightly to arrange the cupcakes on the table—completely focused—and Jungkook nearly drops his juice pouch.

Yoongi stands beside him, grilling hotdogs on the barbecue while keeping his eyes on the kids running around to make sure no one dies from a sugar overdose.

"She looks so good today," Jungkook mumbles, letting out a little sigh.

Yoongi doesn't even look in your direction. "Yeah, ___'s pretty. Now focus. We're in charge of making sure no one falls off the slide...again."

"I can multitask," Jungkook grins, watching you delicately adjust the tray one last time. You brush a lock of hair behind your ear and smile at Jungwoo running by. And just like that, Jungkook's smitten all over again.

"Seriously," he murmurs under his breath, "how did I land her?"

Yoongi snorts, shooting him a side-eye. "You charmed your way into her pants while she was too young to know any better," he teases.

"Wow. Romantic," Jungkook scoffs, sipping on his juice pouch.

Meanwhile, chaos escalates as the 'fun uncles' arrive, not quietly, you might add.

Hoseok DJ's from the patio, blasting a kid-friendly playlist, wearing a dinosaur onesie despite the heat because he insists on committing to the bit. Jimin eats a hotdog while challenging toddlers to dance battles on the lawn, and he's suspiciously good at it. Mingyu and Dokyeom are in charge of games, though it's mostly just them trying to convince sugar-filled toddlers to play duck-duck-goose while being tackled mid-sentence.

Meanwhile, your son is in party heaven, clumsily dancing along to Hoseok's music while you attempt to wipe frosting off his cheek with a napkin.

"You're gonna need a serious bath tonight," you chuckle, watching as he runs off to play with one of your nephews.

Jungkook comes up beside you, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head, his eyes tracing your features.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he murmurs casually, leaning in close so only you hear. "Like...cupcakes and sunshine and everything good in the world."

You blink up at him, caught off guard.

"Oh?" you smile, your cheeks heating up. "That's a new one."

He shrugs. "What can I say. You look good. Also, your frosting technique is unreasonably hot. Just FYI."

You laugh and swat at his arm. "You're crazy."

He catches your hand and kisses your knuckles anyway. "I'm in love."

The sun dips a little lower as more family trickles in. Grandparents. Aunties. Neighbours. The backyard buzzes with laughter, music, and squealing children. You pass out party hats, cupcakes, and gift bags like clockwork.

And Jungkook, despite all the chaos, keeps sneaking glances at you. Every time he catches your eye, he grins like he's falling in love all over again.

And you kinda are too.

—

The sun has begun to dip behind the rooftops, casting a soft amber glow across the yard. Shadows stretch across the grass as children start to tire, their cheeks flushed and fingers sticky from juice and sweets. The chaos has dulled to a comfortable hum, like a record slowing down but still spinning.

"Everyone!" Jungkook calls out from near the speaker. "If I could just have your attention for one second. Uh, Hobi, can you pause the music?"

The laughter and chatter start to quiet. Parents wrangle children onto picnic blankets and patio chairs. Your mom finds a spot on the swing bench with your dad, and Jungkook's mom settles beside them, a warm smile already on her face.

You're standing near the dessert table when Jungkook walks toward you, his dimples flashing. He gives you a little wink and pulls out the outdoor projector's remote from his back pocket.

You recognise that mischievous twinkle in his eye. It's the one he gets when he's about to blow your socks off.

"Before we cut the cake and sing to the birthday boy," he smiles, clearing his throat as he plugs his USB into his laptop and sets it up on the projector, "I wanted to share a little something I've been working on. Something special for Jungwoo…and for the lovely lady who made me a dad."

Your heart starts to race, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Jungkook picks up his son and holds him in his arms, the little boy oblivious to his father's surprise gift.

The screen flickers to life and the first notes of a soft acoustic track hum through the speaker, everyone sitting around to watch.

The video begins. It starts with shaky, low-lit footage of you giggling in the kitchen, heavily pregnant and eating pickles dipped in peanut butter at 2am, and cuts to Jungkook whispering to the camera, "She said she wants hot wings at four in the morning. Pray for me."

Laughter bubbles through the crowd.

Then it shifts, video clips stitched together seamlessly, like a love letter in motion.

Jungkook's first time changing a diaper, looking horrified as you zoom the camera in on his face. Jungwoo looking adorable at the zoo with a little sunhat on his head and the tiniest pair of cargo shorts. Him in nothing but a diaper and Jungkook's sunglasses, dancing to music in the kitchen while you sing backup.

Somewhere in the middle, you feel your throat start to tighten, your hand flying up to your mouth. You glance around and see that Jia is already crying quietly, dabbing under her eyes with a napkin. Hobi's face is scrunched up with a wobbly smile, trying to blink it away. Your mom watches proudly and Jungkook's mom is full-on sobbing.

You don't even realise there are tears on your cheeks until Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist, his lips pressed to your temple.

"Did I do good?" he whispers, pressing a kiss to your skin.

You nod, too choked up to speak.

As the final clip fades, your family and friends burst into a collection of cheers and 'awww's. There's sniffling and coos from your girlfriends, Nayeon leaning over to Miyeon to whisper, "I swear, I need a baby, like, now."

Jungkook kisses your cheek and you turn to him, your eyes shining with a fresh layer of tears. You don't say anything. You just smile, a smile that means 'thank you for loving us like this', and he understands without you having to say it out loud.

"Alright, let's all sing for the birthday boy," your mom calls out, pinching her grandson's chubby cheek.

The backyard turns bright and bubbly while you head to the kitchen to get the candles for Jungwoo's birthday cake. When you reemerge from the house, you scoop Jungwoo into your arms, his eyes hanging low from all the energy he exerted.

Everyone gathers around the cake table, phones out and recording. You light the big '2' candle and hold Jungwoo close to your chest as Jungkook comes to stand beside you.

"One, two, three—HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUU…"

The chorus swells with off-key notes and excited clapping. Jungwoo claps along, beaming at the big candle with wide eyes. As the song ends, he blows at the flame with an exaggerated puff.

"More cake, mommy?" he asks almost immediately and everyone erupts into laughter at his cute charm.

You cut the cake while Jungkook scoops a tiny piece onto a plastic plate for your son, feeding him a forkful. You hand out slices of the delicious vanilla cake to all the guests, chuckling as your nieces and nephews stuff their little faces with it.

As evening rolls in and the backyard lights flicker to life, the party begins to gently wind down. One by one, kids are carried out in parents' arms, sugar-crashed, dirt-smudged, exhausted. Guests hug and wave goodbye. Your friends help clean up, and by the time the sun disappears completely, it's just a quiet, glowing backyard filled with memories of your baby turning two.

Jungwoo is snugly tucked into his bed, sleeping soundly after a long bubble bath and your signature bedtime lullaby. The drool on his cheek shows how much he truly needed sleep, but it was a day well spent, probably the best day of his two years on this earth.

And you?

You're just about ready share a surprise of your own with your husband.

The house is finally quiet.

You stand at the dresser, brushing your hair after your shower while Jungkook finishes folding the extra blankets at the foot of the bed. He hums under his breath, something low and sleepy, a tune you recognise from the birthday video earlier.

"God," Jungkook sighs, stretching his arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to show a glimpse of skin, "our kid has more social stamina than I do. I think I hit a wall around the second verse of Happy Birthday."

You laugh softly. "You still cried during the video."

He scoffs. "You cried first."

"Of course I did. I have a heart."

"You're a softie," he counters, grinning as he lies down on top of the covers. "It was a good day, huh?"

"The best," you smile, setting down your brush.

For a moment, there's only the sound of the sheets rustling as he gets comfortable, his eyes half‑closed. You turn off the main light and the room dips into golden twilight, the bedside lamps making everything feel softer and warmer.

You take a moment to glance toward the en-suite where a little white box sits hidden behind your skincare bottles. You've been thinking about it all day, the news you've been meaning to share.

You inhale slowly.

It's time.

"Hey," you murmur gently, walking over to him. "Can you sit up for a second?"

He opens one eye, raising a brow in suspicion. "Uh‑oh. That's your serious voice."

"Just…sit on the edge of the bed."

"Why? Are we about to have a performance review?"

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile. "Just shut up and trust me, will you?"

He sits up, still grinning, messy‑haired and utterly clueless. "Okay, I'm sitting. Should I be nervous?"

"Maybe a little," you shrug, turning to the bathroom.

He narrows his eyes. "You're being weird."

"I'm not being weird."

"You're definitely being weird." Then, as you head for the bathroom, he calls after you with a sly grin, "Wait, is this about that new sex toy you ordered? Because if you're about to tell me it finally arrived, I am so ready to try it ou—"

"Jungkook."

"Right, sorry. Serious tone. I'll shut up."

He chuckles to himself while you disappear into the bathroom. The sound of the cabinet door opening and closing makes him glance up in curiosity. The seconds stretch long enough for him to shift to the edge of the bed, his eyebrows furrowed, wondering if he should check on you.

When you step back into the room, you're holding a small box. It's plain white, simple. Your hands shake just enough for him to notice.

His smile falters. "What's that?"

You slowly walk towards him and stop just in front of where he's sitting. The air feels heavy, full of something tender and electric all at once. You hand him the box wordlessly, your eyes glimmering in the low light.

He frowns, confused, but opens it anyway.

Inside, nestled on crumpled up tissue paper, is a single pregnancy test.

Two clear pink lines.

For a moment, the world stills. He blinks once, twice, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes flick up to yours, searching, disbelieving but hopeful.

"Wait," he whispers. "Is this...baby, is this real? Are you pregnant?"

You nod, tears already welling up. "Yeah, Kook. It's real."

He exhales a laugh, letting out a breathless sob. "You're...you're serious? We're—"

You nod again, and that's all it takes. He's off the bed in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you almost lose your balance. He buries his face in your neck, his breath trembling against your skin.

"Oh my god," he breathes, his voice cracking. "We're having another baby."

You laugh through your tears, trembling fingers threading through his hair. "Surprise."

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyes glossy, his bottom lip trembling as he fights to contain his emotions. He reaches to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "I don't...fuck, I don't even have words. ___, you're really pregnant?"

"I took two tests," you nod, chuckling as you wipe your tears. "I wanted to be sure before telling you."

He laughs, a breathless, incredulous sound, and kisses you so deeply you swear your heart stops for a moment. He pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, his hands sliding down your shoulders to lace his fingers with yours.

"You're incredible," he whispers. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me...and somehow you keep making my life better."

You grin through fresh tears. "I was worried it wasn't the right time to tell you. You know, with the party and everything."

"Baby," he sighs gently, squeezing your hands, "any time you tell me that you're pregnant is the perfect time."

You lean in to kiss him once more before he pulls back to kneel before you, his hands reaching for the hem of your shirt to pull it up over your stomach, no bump in sight yet.

"Hey there," he whispers softly, his voice shaky and full of awe. "It's your daddy. You don't know it yet, but you already have the coolest big brother in the world. And your mom…" he sighs, glancing up at you. "Your mom's...magic."

Your heart twists.

You sink down to the floor to straddle him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips finding his in a searing kiss. The little white box lies forgotten on the floor beside you, tiny and world‑shifting.

For a while, neither of you speak. You just stay like that, breathing the same air, letting the reality settle, but of course, Jungkook breaks the silence.

"Guess I'll have to start saving for more diapers."

You snort, wiping your tears with the hemline of your shirt. "We should start shopping for paint for the nursery immediately."

"And maybe buy another crib."

"And re‑baby‑proof the house."

He smiles, his eyes soft and overflowing with love for you and your children. "God, I can't wait. We're gonna have another baby. That's crazy, baby."

He kisses you again, slow and deep, like he's promising something wordless—gratitude, devotion, a forever together.

And as he finally pulls away, his voice is barely above a whisper. "We did good, huh?"

You nod, pressing your palm over his heart. "We did so good, Kook."

The house hums quietly around you with the sound of a family that's about to grow, of love expanding to make room for one more tiny heartbeat, another chapter in the story you're writing together.

PART 3 | PART 5