#namjoon fluff

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

— leaves little reminders of himself around the apartment without realizing it. books stacked beside the bed. hoodies over chairs. half-finished notes in his handwriting tucked into random places :(

— the type to stand in the kitchen late at night talking to you about absolutely everything before he leaves. music, life, fears, dumb observations, future plans. conversations with him always somehow feel endless

— buys you books before tour starts because “you’ll think of me when you read this part”

— definitely writes things in the margins too :( underlined sentences that reminded him of you or tiny “this is us” notes beside paragraphs

— starts sleeping closer to you before leaving. one arm heavy across your waist while he reads until he falls asleep halfway through the page

— acts composed the morning he leaves but keeps pausing before walking out the door like his body physically doesn’t want to go yet

during tour boyfriend!namjoon :(

— sends you long paragraphs at random hours because something reminded him of you and suddenly he has a lot to say

— the type to send pictures of ordinary things instead of glamorous tour stuff. a museum he visited. rainy sidewalks. coffee cups. trees he passed during walks :(

— facetimes you while sitting on hotel floors surrounded by his open laptop, unfinished lyrics, and clothes he still hasn’t unpacked properly

— likes hearing about your day in detail. not just “it was good.” he wants the small parts too. what you ate. what annoyed you. what made you laugh

— sometimes goes quiet after concerts because the adrenaline crash makes him miss home harder than usual

— admits he misses sleeping beside you more than he expected :( says hotel rooms always feel too cold and unfamiliar no matter how nice they are 

— sends voice notes while walking alone at night coming from the gym after schedules. low sleepy voice mixed with city sounds in the background

— keeps one of your sweaters draped over hotel chairs during tours because it makes unfamiliar rooms feel a little softer somehow

— when he can’t sleep he rereads old conversations between you two instead of texting because he knows you’re probably asleep

after tour boyfriend!namjoon :)

— coming home with him feels grounding :) like the entire apartment relaxes the second he walks back into it

— stands in the doorway for a second after getting home just looking around quietly before smiling to himself like “okay. i’m back”

— absolutely the type to pull you into the kitchen while he makes coffee in the morning just so he can stand there talking to you sleepily while sunlight comes through the windows

— domestic routines become sacred to him after tour :) museum dates. grocery shopping together. sitting on opposite ends of the couch reading while your feet touch

— gets soft seeing all your little habits again. the way you organize things. the mugs you always use. hearing you moving around in the mornings

— spends the first few nights back tangled up beside you talking until late because there’s too much he wanted to tell you in person

— honestly looks happiest doing the most boring things with you :) game nights, watering plants together, sitting quietly while music plays from the tv in the apartment

— after tour he loves you in an even steadier way. calmer. deeper. like every time he comes home to you he remembers what parts of life actually matter most

Perm taglist : @kimmynammy @celliez @alphabetically-deranged @m4aimm @raceme2hell @bo-rimmy @mustanggbabyy @divakoo (comment or ask to be added)

-

You didn’t believe Namjoon liked you at first.

He was tall, big, and popular. A dimple smile that made anyone who saw it swoon, he was smart too, top ten in all his classes he took.

You really didn’t think he would notice you.

I mean, you’re pretty positive he had a secret fan club of girls and guys who adored him. You’re also pretty sure the president of the club was Jeon Jungkook, but don’t quote you on that.

You were just happy to keep your head down, pass your classes, and enjoy your college life with your little friend group. You didn’t need to get roped in with the unnecessary stuff like who was popular or who was dating whom.

But that all changed when Namjoon asked if he could sit at the table you were sitting at in the campus library. You were catching up on some assignments, preparing for one that wasn't even due till the end of the month, and suddenly there he was.

Tall, three books in one hand, flashing you those dimples like there wasn’t a free table, two tables to your left.

You had thought it was a one-off situation, letting him share a table with you.

You two had quietly studied together for a few hours without even exchanging a word.

It was honestly very refreshing. And when you had finally closed your laptop, standing up to give a little stretch, you didn't even notice the way his eyes trailed over you.

You simply gathered your stuff, shoving your books and laptop in your bag as he continued to pretend to read. You didn't know he had read the same sentence from the book in front of him five times in a row at this point.

When you sling your bag over your shoulder, you finally look over at him, a soft pink dusting your cheeks with color as you speak up. "See ya in class." It's a simple, small sentence you throw out as you accidentally brush your body against his shoulder to scoot past to leave. You mentally curse the chairs being so close together, feeling your soft body rub against his firm one, while Namjoon is "thanking" whoever designed the building to allow the physical contact to happen.

And you think that's it. Nothing would change in your life other than possibly giving him a head nod in acknowledgment the next time you two were in a class together. But you were sorely mistaken.

-

Namjoon is sitting next to your usual spot in class the next time you see him. He's got his textbook out, pen twirling nonchalantly in between his long fingers as he gives you another dimpled smile in greeting, and you only stumble once while heading to your seat.

"Hey," he greets, and you try not to think about how much you spill into his space. The chairs in most of your classes weren't made for bigger-sized people, and you usually tried to keep your bag in the seat next to you so you wouldn't bother people with how you filled your seat.

But with Namjoon occupying the seat, your thigh is pressed against his, your body squeezing into the chair with a blush. "Hi," you reply softly. You were already trying to figure out how to make yourself smaller. The metal arms of the chair dig into your plush thighs, and you notice that Namjoon doesn't move his leg from yours.

His long legs are spread, his foot barely a centimeter away from your left shoe, and your mind flashes a brief thought: how would it feel to have his arm wrap around the back of your chair? To have him welcome your body into his as you two attend this class.

Instead of diving into that thought any longer than you should, you shake your head clear, not noticing the way Namjoon fails to fight his giddy smile. He tries to keep it cool, bouncing his left knee as his right knee leans into your leg. And you're distracted by Namjoon once again, noticing how comfortable he seemed next to you.

Namjoon mentally sends another "thank you" to whoever designed this college, thankful to have someone so warm and soft squishing into his space. He wonders how much better it'd be if he could just sit you on his lap, and his face flushes all the way up to his ears.

You two don't exchange another word, the professor stepping inside the room with a warm greeting.

And for the rest of the class, both of you blush, pressed into each other, trying to focus.

-

And then it becomes routine.

You would come to your Psych class to Namjoon already seated.

And like the first time, you'd squeeze into your seat, your hip bumping into his until it became natural for him to rest his elbow on the arm of your chair. He did it slowly, building up the courage to get more than just a simple greeting for you.

Eventually, you stopped furrowing your eyebrows, confused why he was sitting next to you, let alone talking to you. And it's not long before you two start passing notes. You easily grab his pen from his hand to doodle something random in the margins of his notebook during the professor's lectures, and it's the highlight of Namjoon's day when you did it.

Your dynamic progressed from notes being passed between you to him offering you a snack, and then, every Thursday, a bag of gummy bears rested on his desk as you two slowly ate them throughout class. He naturally gave you every orange-flavored bear, resting it on your open book while you traded him the pineapple-flavored bears in return. And then finally, he took the next step when the following Thursday came around.

You had figured it'd be the same routine. The class was already going by quickly as you two leaned into each other. But then Namjoon is getting up first once the class is over. He seems a little nervous. You had started understanding his body language a bit better as time moved on. Still, you never seemed to think much of the lingering touches when he borrows a pen or when he slides his notebook over for you to draw random swirls in the top corner absentmindedly.

Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, his eyes not meeting yours as he watches the class begin to empty. "There's a- There's a party tomorrow night."

You blink.

A party? And then you remember.

Yes, a frat party for spring break. It had been the talk on campus this week; everyone was excited for a weekend party to welcome the start of spring break, the small vacation away from classes needed so much for everyone on campus.

And when Namjoon looks down at you, still seated, you're giving him doe eyes as you nod your head - and his heart squeezes.

"I think I'm gonna go," Namjoon adds and then quickly rushes, "to the party. I think I'm gonna go to the party." His fingers twitch, but you give him a pretty smile, your lips curving up in amusement as you nod your head again.

"Yeah?" You stand up and know that if you barely move an inch, you'd be pressed up against him. You give him another cute look as you tilt your head up to look at him, and decide to give him the chance to tell you this isn't what you were thinking. "Maybe I'll see you there?"

You know you're flirting, and you don't know if you should be - you don't know that he's truly catching what you're putting down, but you decide to give him another smile as you leave before him, looking forward to Friday night more than ever before.

And Namjoon groans the moment you're gone, he stands alone in the empty classroom, his brain replaying your coy smile over and over again.

-

You can't believe you're showing up at this party, but then you see his dimple smile flash in your mind alongside all the small moments in class that made you feel warm throughout your body. It's anticipation, it's undeniable now that you have caught feelings, and you feel a little nervous as you walk up Greek Row.

The party is in full swing, with crowds of people lingering on the front porch and lawn as you get closer. The music is already loud from where you stand across the street, and you just know the house shakes on the inside as you watch groups of people spilling out while more saunter in.

Your stomach flips, butterflies fluttering inside your tummy as you really think about this.

If anything, if you read the signals wrong, you can still have fun and tell your friends you officially attended a college party, even if it took you basically four years to do so.

And that's what gets you stepping inside.

The house is packed, and people are everywhere. The entry hallway, the stairs leading to the second floor, the little glimpse of the kitchen you can see towards the back of the house, and the living room, most of all, are packed with dancing bodies. All the couches had been moved along the walls to give space in the middle of the room for people to dance, and a mock DJ booth was set up in the right corner of the living room, where you could see one of the fraternity brothers acting as DJ.

Strobes of lights flashed from purple to blue, red, and green, changing to match the beat of the song currently playing as people bumped and grind already drunk off of cheap alcohol provided from the kitchen. You weren't sure if the smoke swirling in the rooms was from a fog machine or if it came from weed that you knew was being smoked inside another room, but it was the cherry on top of the cake for a classic frat party aesthetic.

It was a little overwhelming, to be honest, and you made your way to the kitchen to get a shot of courage before you tried to see if Namjoon was here.

You didn't know Namjoon was sitting on one of those couches in the living room, a drink in his hand while he tried to nonchalantly keep an eye on the front door. He had been at this party for a while now, his eyes flickering to the streams of people endlessly coming and going, in hopes it would be you walking through the door.

And when he finally did see you, he couldn't stop the grin from forming on his face.

-

Namjoon is able to catch up with you in the kitchen. You're standing there, a little lost, as your eyes scan all the bottles lined up on the counter. A lot of cheap alcohol, and a punch bowl that was mysteriously filled with a blue liquid you weren't sure about.

"I wouldn't drink it," Namjoon hums, and you twirl to see him on your left. He's giving you that dimple smile again, his body relaxed as he stands close to you. He looks good. He always looks good. But he looks really good tonight.

He's wearing a graphic t-shirt, jeans, with a chained bracelet that went with his chained necklace. It glints in the overhead light of the kitchen, and it's then that you realize you're staring too long.

"And what would you recommend?" You ask, you haven't had a sip of alcohol yet, but you could feel your body hum, slightly leaning closer to Namjoon as he bit his lip. Your eyes flicker to his lips from the action, and your own lips part before you meet his gaze again.

"Nothing," he smirks, and you can feel the heat that comes from him as he tilts his head. "But do you want to take a shot with me?"

- One shot turns into three, and you feel a little buzz thrumming under your fingertips as Namjoon leads you back to the living room. You try not to focus on the way his hand rests on your lower back as he guides you through the waves of people. But you do notice how many people greet him.

It's not surprising; you knew Namjoon was popular, but it was still interesting to see how many people said his name or nodded in his direction as he stayed close to you. It seemed the majority of the people knew him or of him, and silently followed him with their eyes as you two made your way back to one of the couches.

You notice Jin, a friend of Namjoon's, already sitting on one of them. He's nursing a drink in his hand when you two approach and gives you a charming grin. "And how does Namjoon know you?" His lips turn up in an amused grin, knowing eyes flashing from you to Namjoon, whose ears burn red. You sit, smiling at the older friend, and try not to react as Namjoon sits so close to you. But you fail, your thighs squeezing together as you give your own charming smile back to Jin.

"Psych with Volkov."

Jin winces, knowing how tough the professor could be, and nods his head. "Say no more, your next shot is on me."

-

True to Jin's word, your next shot is from him, and you two become quick friends as more of Namjoon's friends come around. And as the night goes on, you become more and more relaxed - leaning into Namjoon as you listen to Jimin talk about the projects he needs to work on during spring break. You would complain too if you had to work on schoolwork instead of taking a break like everyone else.

But soon enough, the couches become crowded, and everyone is trying to squeeze together before Namjoon literally takes you into his hands. "C'mere," he mumbles, and your face flushes from how easily he lifts you and places you onto his lap to make room for more people to hang out. Your weight settles on him, and you're a little drunk but not enough to overthink it.

"Wait," Your blush reaches your ears as Namjoon doubles down by wrapping a strong arm around your waist, keeping you against him as you squirm a little. "Everyone is looking." You mumble out, your back is against his broad chest as warmth pools in your lower stomach, and you are acutely aware of the way his large hand rests on your stomach.

You feel him laugh softly, little warm huffs tickling the back of your neck as he holds you tighter. "Who cares? Everyone's drunk. If they're looking, then they just see how pretty you look on my lap."

He says it so easily, so carefree, like it was only natural that you'd be in his lap. He says it like it's obvious you should be with him, and that makes your head get a little fuzzy from the thought of it. His words echo in your head a few times that you can't hide the smile that dances on your lips, and maybe it's the alcohol that makes your tongue a little loose, but you can't help but turn your head a little sideways to look at him. "Yeah? Are there any other positions you'd think I'd look pretty in?"

-

Namjoon’s eyes are hooded when he looks down at you. He's focused on the way your body squishes under his large hands, molding you to him as he has you lie on your back.

Your legs are straining up onto his shoulders, your full breasts spilling from the sides as your knees bend under the pressure of Namjoon’s body leaning over yours. He was folding you in half, making your thigh muscles burn as your lungs shook to breathe properly. All your rolls and curves were squeezed together under the stretch, and your head spun with the way he was able to manhandle you so easily.

Namjoon had always said he could bench press your weight as a warm-up, but you hadn’t taken it to heart. It always made a soft blush form on your cheeks as you nodded your head during your Psych class, dismissing his comment until he physically proved you wrong now.

Your pretty pussy clenched around nothing as Namjoon smirks down at you. His silver chain dangled between the two of you as his big body draped over yours, and you’re already sucking in another deep breath when you feel Namjoon guide his cock between your plush thighs.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this." He murmurs, his voice almost sounding breathless as he guides the fat tip of his cock between your puffy folds. You can't see the way your pussy drools, mixing your arousal with his precum or that it's glossing his cock with a wet sheen that makes his balls tense from just the sight of it. But you do feel him.

Namjoon is big, just like everything else about him, and you can feel the weight of his cock as he presses his hips forward, sliding his cock between your chubby cunt until the tip nudges your clit. Each time he knocks the head of his cock into your sensitive bundle of nerves, your thighs twitch, and your jaw drops from the tingles of electricity shooting all the way through your body.

You're everything he had imagined and then some.

You're softer, your skin dipping to the hold he has on your body. The weight of your legs on his shoulders grounds him while he gets lost in the way your pretty cunt drools all over his cock. He hasn't even done anything yet, and you're coating him with your sweet slick. He can't wait to taste you, but right now, he needs you first.

Mentally, he promises to take his time next time. He wants to map every curve of your body with his tongue and then his fingers, but when you plead his name with a whine, he can't deny you. He'd been wanting this longer than you probably knew, and it doesn't take him long to lean on his knees, stretching your legs open as his cock notches on your entrance.

Then he's giving you something to really stretch over. The first few inches of his cock pressing in leaves you gasping. Your toes curl, your mouth gapes, and your eyes widen as he bullies his way inside slowly. You can feel every inch, every dip and ridge of his cock maze through your gummy walls until you're grabbing onto his biceps for mercy.

"Oh, oh!" Your head falls back, and Namjoon smirks as he holds one of your legs under the knee to open you up wider as your other leg slips off his shoulder. Your eyes are already glossing over, and he's never been more turned on than right now with you.

You're warmer, wetter, taking him better than he could have imagined, and it makes his stomach flex as he listens to the way you cry for him. Both you and your pretty pussy are talking back incoherently when he finally bottoms out. "Fuck baby, I think we might need to do this every day," Namjoon huffs, and your pussy clenches around him in agreement. "Heh- you'd like that, huh? Do you want to fuck you until your body remembers the shape of me days later, Baby?"

"Oh fuck, please, please-" Your eyes roll back just as his hips push backwards, sliding out until just his tip remains. He leans back to see how shiny you left his cock with your slick before he surges forward, knocking the breath from you once more.

He doesn't have to worry about being too rough; your body moves with his like you were meant just for him. And he tells you that too, as he begins to carve the shape of him inside your pretty pussy as he promised. Shivers run down your spine straight to your sopping cunt, your hole fluttering around his length as he picks up the pace gradually. You take the heavy weight he throws into every thrust with a sweet whimper, your nails digging into his arms as his fat tip smacks into your plush cervix with a filthy kiss.

Your swollen folds meet the tufts of dark hair at his base, and you keen at the way his cock massages all the right spots inside you. Your mouth hangs open, drool forming at the corner of your lips as he abuses the sweet spot that makes you see stars with your eyes open. "You're squeezin' me so tightly, you really don't want me to leave, huh?" Namjoon's words only make your head spin more, your hands clutching to his arms, the bedsheets, his shoulder - anywhere to ground you to reality as he builds the knot in your stomach tighter and tighter.

You never thought that the day you two studied together in the library would end up like this, with Namjoon splitting you open with his cock, his fingers digging into your plush thigh and hip as he fucks you, but you're so happy it did. You can feel his balls slap against your ass, the sounds of skin hitting skin resonating with your whines, and it's too much.

"M'gonna- fuck just like that, just like that!" Your chubby cunt slurps his cock deeper, gripping tighter and making it harder for him to leave as his tip swirls a heart against your sweet spot, and just as your brain realizes what Namjoon has done, your vision whitens. You can barely warn him, "m'cumming - oh fuck - oh my god!"

Your pussy gushes, pulsing around Namjoon so violently that he almost cannot keep fucking into you. Your walls flutter, milking his shaft as your brain blanks; the only coherent thought in your mind is him. Namjoon, just Namjoon, as you tremble underneath him.

Namjoon stares at you in awe, the image of your lewd expression crossing over your face searing into his mind as you cum. And the feeling of your body melting under his as he grinds his hips into yours is something he didn't know he needed until now. He fucks you through your orgasm, praising you for taking him so well, how he's wanted this for so long. He tells you how pretty you look cumming on his cock, that he wants to feel you cum on his fingers and tongue too - and it's not long before your orgasm subsides, only to be built back up as he lets your legs fall apart while his toned hips rut into you harder.

You can only hold onto the bedsheets and his back as he drapes his body over yours. You two are pressed hip to hip, stomach to stomach, as he slides in deeper, his hands resting on either side of your head as he makes your pussy squelch with each thrust. He's got you caged in, making you feel each slide forward until the familiar knot in your stomach twists again, and your brain fogs up. He reduces you to just saying his name like a chant, half-broken between gasps as you whimper, "Joon! Mmph, ngh Joon!"

When your pussy clamps around him the second time, your orgasm triggers his own, and his hips stay flush against your ass as he groans lowly. His cock swells, throbbing as he cums heavily while your walls pulse around him. It makes his own eyes roll to the back of his head, your addictive cunt sucking him deeper.

And you're no better, your thighs twitch around his waist, your breath coming up short while you feel him press his weight onto you. You can feel each jerk of his cock along your gummy walls, and you whimper when he eventually begins to slide out. You can feel the loss of him almost immediately as he slips the condom off, both of you panting as you pathetically squeeze around nothing.

Namjoon throws the condom in the trash, disappearing to the bathroom for a moment before he returns with a wet rag. His breaths are still labored like yours as he gently cleans you up, his fingers massaging your quivering thighs as he does so. When he's done, he easily slides into his bed next to you, wrapping an arm around you to pull you close.

"I meant it."

You blink, turning to face him as your leg hooks over his. His hand rests on your lower back, keeping you pressed against him as you tilt your head up to see him.

"I've been wanting this for a long time." Your heart flutters at his words, and your cheeks darken as he continues. "I also meant it when I said we might need to do this every day."

You smile, giggling, and are thankful that it's spring break because you know Namjoon is going to be true to his word. By the time spring break is over, he'll know how you look cumming on his fingers, his tongue, and any other position he can get you in.

대박 - you made it to the end.

Tell me about it.

Five years ago when you both started dating, you guys agreed to wait until marriage before having any sexual intercourse. It was Namjoon’s idea.

Though he wasn’t exactly Christian, he told you that he believed sex was something meant for exclusive love only and therefore wanted to marry first to see if things were real…before getting in you.

Kim Namjoon was always a smart man and his reasoning was usually logical and fair enough, but this alone was really tough for you, especially since he’s always been quite the hottie.

You honestly wanted nothing more than to dig your nails deep into his thick bare biceps and let him ruin you.

181 cm yet feels much taller, grown out buzzed dirty-blonde dyed hair, plump full lips like a cute heart, thick straight brows, observant dragon eyes that you yearned to see the world through, strong and tanned cozy sleeper build. Great for cuddling. Super sexy man.

And on top of that, he was wise, understanding, respectful and disgustingly reliable. He often read books or brainstormed lyrics since he did songwriting on the side.

Namjoon was always committed to the things he loved and you loved that about him. He was also a leader at heart but had a compassionate side that loved nature, animals and the simplicity of life.

Nevertheless, you guys carried through successfully with his wishes and were very excited to see the outcome.

You knew you wanted to be with him forever and therefore, knew this day would eventually come the minute he said his ramen and chill was just ramen and chill until marriage.

Now, that long awaited day has finally arrived and you were more than excited, practically bouncing around in your wedding gown just to bounce on him more in the bedroom.

As you both walked into the booked hotel that midnight, still in your wedding attire as you both had left the venue, you giggled and skipped happily while eagerly grabbing your newlywed’s sweaty hand.

Wait, sweaty hands? Why was Namjoon still on edge?

In fact, he’d been like this all day.

Before, you’d assumed it was because he was getting married. Marriage can be scary and stressful, especially for someone like the groom.

But now, it was different.

Now, it was just the two of you like always. You and Namjoon. No family was around this time. No friends with cameras were watching.

So, why was he still worried?

Maybe he’s just nervous about having sex for the first time. A normal reaction for something new. You didn’t blame him. This was indeed his first time since he’s been waiting.

But couldn’t he just trust you to help? Couldn’t he also just back out if he wanted?

He should know that you're his wife and wouldn't force him to do anything out of his comfort.

When you both entered the fancy hotel room, his vibe was radiating off even more distant and closed off energy. This was so unusual for him on y’all’s wedding night and he only did this when he was mad at you or hiding something.

You reached for his hand to reassure him, but Namjoon subtly pulled away to get the door.

He was a shy man at heart, but right now, he was obviously hiding something from you.

Curious, you decided to slow down and ask him what was wrong.

“Hey, Joonie.”

You said softly while you placed a hand on his tense right shoulder. You wanted to show him that you meant no harm. No judgement. He could open up to you if he felt uncomfortable.

The large Namjoon flinched and avoided your gaze like a cute clumsy bear.

“Uhm y-yes, love?”

You sighed, realizing just how on edge he truly was still. Choosing to jump to the conclusion and assume your suspicions were correct, you offered something that you thought would hopefully calm his jumpy nerves.

“We really don't have to do anything if you don't want to.”

You spoke to him gently, never taking your hand off his large yet tense shoulder.

Namjoon let out a quiet, deep breath before slowly allowing his dragon eyes to meet yours. They were the darkest of brown and had their kind of large, doe vulnerable gaze that made him look like a nervous little koala instead of a strong man.

“Love, it's not a-about that. It has nothing to do with that actually…” His stuttering deep voice trailed off, leaving silence between you two.

“Then what is it about Namjoon!” You nagged, getting frustrated with him. What could wrong that he was so on edge when you were trying to stay happy for their wedding night??

He quickly sensed your growing frustration and decided to get straight to the point. Namjoon muttered something that sounded like a curse, or a prayer under his breath before he fumbled with the belt of his pants.

You stood there with nothing to say, confused about what he was doing but trusting his motives.

Namjoon undid his leather belt, tossed it onto the hired carpet, and suddenly pulled his pants down to his feet.

You stifled a laugh. What even was his plan at this point?

Namjoon noticed your reaction but chose to ignore it. He was too nervous to even care about your amusement in his unexpected actions.

His black Calvin Klein underwear was then visible, which he quickly pulled down to his feet as well.

“Namjoon, what are you doing?-“

Out sprang his half soft about 8 inch cock, but it wasn't any normal cock, it was robotic like, mixed with metal and human flesh, even having a button on the side to power on. He also had two large metal balls for testicles. You gasped, not able to hide your interest and curiosity.

Namjoon sighed at your wide eye reaction, mistaking it for fear and disgust. The humiliation and embarrassment was clear in his tone as he spoke,

“This…This here, is my Automatic dick. I hate it but I was born this way. As I got older, the doctors said it wouldn't affect my life socially, only if I chose to become sexually active. Hence, the main reason why I wanted to wait until marriage with you…Baby, I'm so sorry.”

Namjoon looked down at the pants and underwear still below him with shame.

He was deeply insecure about who he was and what he was born with. This made your heart break. You really couldn't care less if Namjoon had an abnormal organ or not, you just wanted to be with him.

Plus, you believed riding something like an automatic dick was a blessing. Gives you what you need and is a mixture of a sec toy and human. It was perfect, big and honestly nothing to be ashamed of.

You sighed, your gaze softening to that safe look Namjoon learned to know so well.

“It’s beautiful.”

Those two words were actually what he needed to hear all his life. So simple for a situation so complex.

Namjoon gave a big sigh of relief and slowly started to relax. His shoulders began to slump and no longer tense. His eyes could stay in contact with yours. His vulnerable monolid eyes started to turn into something gentle that grew with their own.

He was starting to realize that he could finally have you, have someone after waiting for so long. Namjoon wasn’t going to let his insecurity get the best of him, especially when you, his wife, accepted him for all of him.

His now, not so soft, 9 inch automatic dick twitched with curiosity at the thought of having you.

You gripped the soft bedsheets as he slowly and carefully inserted his thick cock into your tight hole. You were laid out on the bed with your legs bare open for him.

No lube or foreplay was needed since you were already dripping like a waterfall from the sight of such a girthy, metal beauty.

His huge, veiny hand held both of your wrist over your head, as his large bare body towered over yours, pushing you harder into the comfortable hotel mattress.

Every stretch caused a whimper to release from your lips and this only allowed Namjoon’s metal piece to throb more and grow more.

He started off with fucking you with just his tip. It was already enough to make you cum since the heat of it all was sending you to another dimension, but you remained holding back.

You saw his lower abs naturally flex as he maneuvered his hips to control his slow thrusts. Namjoon also used his rough hand that wasn’t pining your wrist above, to lightly grip your hips as handles.

For an automatic dick, his tip was so warm, and glistened with pre-cum. It was starting to slip in and out so easily despite its size.

Namjoon’s dragon eyes met yours as he finally pushed and settled most of himself into your warmth.

“Mmm yes you feel so good.”

Namjoon then shyly pressed the small “On” button on his left metal testicle, and his automatic dick started vibrating while remaining deep in you.

“Joonie fuck mmm-“

He bit his lip at the sound you gave him. The hand holding your hip then snaked around to gently rub your clit. Your hips unintentionally jerked at the sensation and you cried his name.

“Fuck, you’re so tight and wet for me.”

He slowly started to gently thrust into and let out a loud whimper at the grip you gave him.

“G-goodness, ah, my love.”

Namjoon cried out, catching his breath as he kept moving, in and out, struggling to keep his composure as he picked up the pace.

The vibrations would increase the more he moaned.

You guys had just started fucking, yet you already felt his hard cock hitting that deep spot that desperately needed to be reachedinside of you.

Namjoon started to give you a faster pace with deeper thrusts and you gasped.

You were so close to the edge it wasn’t even funny. Your legs were starting to shake with the effort of holding back, but there really wasn’t use with his merciless pounds.

His eyes never left your face because he desperately needed to cherish this moment, needing to see every expression, hear every gasp, feel every squirm and throb.

The claps from his balls against your skin were wet, messy and loud, but not loud enough to drown out your earsplitting moans and his soft pants and occasional whimpers.

“Jagiya- mmff! S-so, mmah, close already…” he deeply panted.

Namjoon leaned his body closer, chest to chest with you. His hands let go of your wrist and you moved your hands to grip his bare muscular back, sinking your nails into his skin.

“Mmm, mark me love. I’m all yours.”

His rapid heartbeat and heavy breaths synced perfectly with yours. You could smell his intoxicating, but resinous scent.

That made you somehow closer. Throbbing. Not being able to hold back your release any longer. In a ragged deep voice, Namjoon panted,

“Just let go for me, baby. Fuck, I got you.”

His words of encouragement were the final straw.

You couldn’t help but violently squirt all over him, entire shaking from the impact. His sharp eyes widened at the sight before lifting his body up, gripping your waist and pressing your shaky body further into the now wet mattress as he continued to relentlessly pound into you, now chasing his own release.

Everything about this long awaited moment was perfect; The way his cock would still maintain its’ vibrations while it pounded into your deepest spots. The rhythm he struggled to maintain while whispering sweet encouraging words. The way he could fuck you perfectly through your orgasm as you desperately rode him for what was left.

You almost orgasmed again. The agressive sounds of the creaking bed, the loud slaps of his metal balls, and the feeling of his pulse beating aggressively against your skin.

Your favorite part of all this though, was the way he would moan, deep and yearning, like all his life he has wanted to experience something as close and intimate as this.

He wasn’t afraid to get loud and messy around you, and you loved that.

Then, it happened.

Namjoon finally broke.

He started to quietly cry, salty tears of pleasure streaming down his soft cheeks as he felt you throb around him, still shaky from your previous orgasm.

It was an automatic dick, but he could still feel your every clench, throb and shake from you. He tried to keep his rhythm steady, but he just couldn’t with all the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Every-time his thick member slipped out, it was like the perfect kind edge that made your pussy desperately grip for more.

He’s never felt or been in anything like you before. Well of course he hasn’t. All he’s experienced before you was his hand and his pillow at the thought of you.

You would think he would have slowed down after getting emotional, but he only thrusted harder, sharper, like he was angry he was insecure and made you both wait five years to have sex.

Quickly, his balls painfully hardened with the threat to release in you. Your hands shook and nails trailed to his lower back, leaving painful, bruising scratches on his skin.

Then it actually happened.

His legs shook. His grip on your wrists and his grip on your hips grew weak. His pants and moans turned into a pathetic gasp and deep cry. Thick ropes of sticky cum filled the inside of your womb and you could feel the hot substance spread.

Namjoon automatically pulled you close against his large warm chest, grounding body enveloping you completely as he quietly cried into your shoulder, holding onto you like the world would die if he let go.

“Never leave me.” He desperately pleaded with a whisper.

It hadn't just come as a surprise to the media, the recording academy, or the fans, it had even caught you off guard, despite being his girlfriend for years. You had witnessed firsthand how hard they'd worked for that award, fighting their way into the biggest category, determined to win it, determined to break through every barrier the language had placed in front of them.

'BTS Withdraws from the Grammys.'

At first, you thought it was just another gossip site trying to stir up controversy. Then you saw their instagram stories. Your boyfriend's story, too, with that ridiculous photo he'd taken while filming the 2.0 music video. The caption, entirely in korean, carried one unmistakable message:

They refused to let the Academy box them in.

This time, the feeling was different, calmer... happier.

You couldn't even stop yourself from laughing out loud at the thought that they'd turned down the biggest music awards in the industry simply to make a statement.

And they'd done it in their fucking native language.

You moved faster than you ever had before, clearing the table, rushing to your bedroom to change into something better suited for the weather, clutching an old pair of sneakers in your hands, ready to run to the studio Namjoon had told you he'd be working at until late that night.

"Shit, my battery's almost dead," you muttered, grabbing your charger. There'd probably be an outlet somewhere in the building, you just hoped your phone lasted long enough to get there.

Your eyes stayed glued to the screen as you searched for the address on your map, trying to figure out which route to take. You were so absorbed in your own little world that you didn't hear the front door close just a few steps away, followed by the dull thud of shoes hitting the floor and footsteps making their way toward the bedroom.

"Hey."

Your fingers froze over the screen, and your head immediately lifted to find the owner of the voice.

It was strange, in a way, how you'd lived beside this man for years, yet he still managed to reveal new sides of himself every so often. Some better than others, but every single one of them belonged to the man you'd fallen in love with.

The man who still made your heart melt every time he smiled.

Only now, his shoulders were slumped, his smile held together by nothing more than politeness, and the sparkle that always lit up his eyes whenever he looked at you was gone.

A much rawer version of Kim Namjoon.

"I saw the news," was the first thing you managed to say, setting your things aside so you could give your boyfriend your full attention. You watched his hands clench and unclench at his sides, his breathing slow and deliberate.

"How are you feeling?"

"I... I'm okay, I guess," he answered, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside you, though he still couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes. "We've been talking about this for a while... but now that it's actually happened... it feels real, you know?"

You couldn't think of a response.

It was hard to find the right words for something you'd never experienced before. This wasn't like turning down a promotion at some office job. They'd just put themselves at odds with the academy, an institution that practically ruled the music industry, at least in the united states.

"Do you think... Do you think we did the right thing?"

Hearing his voice crack hurt far more than you wanted to admit.

Namjoon wasn't someone who cried easily. He always held himself together, counted to ten, breathed through it, gave himself time to sort out his emotions. Whenever that façade finally cracked, something inside you always broke too. How much had he been carrying these past few days? How long had he forced himself to stay strong in front of the members just to keep up the image of the dependable leader?

"Joonie..." you whispered, stepping in front of him and gently cupping his cheeks. There weren't any tears yet, but you could see them threatening to spill over. "I've never been prouder of you. Of all of you. Was this the smartest decision? Maybe not. Maybe you risked too much. But it was the decision you believed was right for your music... and that's enough."

"They'll probably ban us for life."

"They might." You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "But at least the whole world knows it was your decision, not theirs. Besides I'm pretty sure the public's going to love this."

"You really think so?"

He rested his forehead against your stomach, his hands sliding up to your hips to pull you a little closer. You took that as your cue to thread your fingers through his hair. His blond strands barely caught the dim bedroom light. They'd grown much longer since the tour had started, and somehow they suited him even better now.

"Honey," you murmured, "that was the most badass thing you've ever done. I'm willing to bet people are going to treat this announcement like an early christmas present or something."

"You're only saying that because you're my girlfriend."

"I'm saying it because, besides being the love of my life, you're one of the smartest and bravest people I've ever known." Gently, you tugged at his hair until he looked back up at you. This time, the dimples decorating his cheeks were genuine. The heaviness you'd seen when he'd walked through the door had finally disappeared. "None of you need that ugly little megaphone to prove you made the best album of the year."

"It's actually a gramophone."

"Same thing."

The two of you stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. Not the loud, uncontrollable kind you'd share in a room full of friends after an evening spent eating and drinking together. It was quieter than that, the kind of laugh you exchange in secret with your best friend when no one else is watching. The kind that only exists in moments too intimate to share with anyone else.

"You're right," he whispered against your shirt, leaving a soft kiss just below your navel. "Who needs a fucking grammy when you've got the most beautiful woman in the world waiting for you at home?"

"Just beautiful?"

"I could spend the entire night listing every wonderful thing about you if you want."

You rolled your eyes at his cheesiness, though it didn't surprise you in the slightest when his hands slipped behind your knees, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap.

You gave him a moment to settle in, his palms wandering slowly over your thighs, your hips, your waist, while yours traced the lines of his chest, slid over his shoulders, and finally came to rest around his neck.

"Thank you, babe."

You smiled as the words left his lips, gently guiding his face toward yours before kissing him. It started softly, his lips barely moving against yours as his hands tightened around your waist.

Little by little, the kiss grew more frantic, clumsier, more desperate, interrupted every so often by smiles that neither of you could suppress, followed by quiet laughter and whispered I love yous shared against each other's lips.

At least for tonight, if only for a few hours, he'd be able to forget about the world outside those four walls, forget the consequences of that announcement. Forget everything except the one thing keeping him grounded through it all; you. The person who really loved the man behind the idol.

That night, your apartment felt far too quiet.

Not because there was no sound beyond the window or because the rain that had been falling since the afternoon continued to slowly soak the balcony, but because for the first time in years, your phone had truly stopped being the thing you constantly waited for. It had been one month since your relationship ended. Thirty strange days, because breaking up with Kim Namjoon didn't feel anything like the movies filled with tears, shouting, or doors being slammed shut. None of that happened. There was only a brief conversation in the middle of the night when you finally admitted that you were tired.

Tired of waiting.

Tired of understanding.

Tired of always being the one who said, "I know you're busy."

At that moment, Namjoon stayed silent for a long while before answering in such a calm voice that it only made your chest ache even more.

"If that's what you need right now... I'll respect it."

There was no plea for you to stay. No "don't leave." There wasn't even an attempt to convince you that everything would get better.

He simply accepted it.

Ironically, that acceptance hurt far more than if he had begged you to stay.

From that night on, the two of you truly stopped contacting each other.

You went back to work as usual. Waking up early, going to the office, coming home late, occasionally having dinner with coworkers, watching a series before bed, then repeating the same routine the next day. Little by little, your life returned to normal—or at least, that's what you kept telling yourself every time thoughts of Namjoon appeared uninvited whenever you looked at a bookshelf, a warm cup of coffee, or heard the songs the two of you used to listen to in the car.

You learned how to live without waiting for his notifications.

Learned not to open the news app just to check which country he was in.

Learned to stop calculating time zones every night.

And the hardest part...

Learning to accept that maybe your relationship really was over.

So when your phone vibrated at around eight that evening with the name that hadn't appeared on your screen for the past month, your entire body froze.

Namjoon.

Your heart was pounding far too fast before you even opened his message.

Namjoon: Are you free tomorrow night?

You stared at the message for a long moment.

Then another one appeared.

Namjoon: Eomma wants us to have dinner. Her birthday is next week. She wants everyone together before I start my schedule again.

Your brows immediately furrowed.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for almost a full minute before you slowly typed.

You: Joon... We already broke up.

You deleted it.

Then typed again.

You: Have you not told your mom yet?

Message sent.

Not even five seconds later.

The read receipt appeared.

Then the chat bubble moved again.

Namjoon: No.

Just one word.

You let out a slow breath.

Of course.

Of course he hadn't told her.

You had already started typing another reply when another notification appeared.

Namjoon: Because we never broke up.

You stopped breathing for a few seconds.

Your eyes reread the sentence over and over again, hoping you had somehow misunderstood it.

But no. The words remained exactly the same.

You: What?

Your reply was sent almost immediately. Namjoon answered even faster.

Namjoon: I never considered us broken up. I was just giving you time.

Your brows knitted together even tighter.

You: Namjoon, I literally told you we were over..

Namjoon: I remember. I remember you crying when you said it. I remember you saying you were tired. But you never said you stopped loving me.

Your chest suddenly felt tight.

Your fingers began typing faster.

You: Don't twist my words, Namjoon. I'm tired of this relationship.

Another reply came.

Namjoon: No. You're tired of my schedule. That's different.

You bit your lower lip.

Angry. Irritated. Frustrated.

You: It's the same thing.

A few seconds passed without a reply.

Then...

Namjoon: It's not. I already knew this phase would come. I knew that one day you'd feel lonely. I knew you'd get angry because I kept leaving. I knew you'd say you wanted to give up. That's why I didn't stop you back then.

You read every sentence slowly.

For some reason, your irritation only grew stronger.

You: So you did it on purpose? You stayed silent on purpose? You let me leave on purpose?

Namjoon's reply appeared almost instantly.

Namjoon: I let you get all of your exhaustion out. Because if I'd stopped you... You would've only felt even more suffocated. I know you. Once your emotions settle... You would've come back.

You immediately started typing a long reply.

You: Don't act like you know everythi—

Before you could even finish the message.

A new notification came in.

Namjoon: Open the door.

Your brows furrowed.

Namjoon: I'm outside.

Your heart felt as though it had dropped to the floor. Slowly, you turned toward the apartment door.

Silence. There wasn't a single sound. Maybe he was joking. Maybe he just wanted to make you panic. But the moment that thought crossed your mind...

Knock.

Knock.

Two soft knocks came from the other side of the door.

Not loud. Not rushed.

A knock that was so familiar. The same knock he always used so he wouldn't startle you. Your entire body turned cold.

Before you even realized it, your feet were already carrying you toward the door.

Through the peephole, you saw a tall man wearing a black hoodie, a cap, and a mask that concealed most of his face. His shoulders looked broader than you remembered, perhaps because for the past month, you'd only seen him through the occasional concert photos that appeared on social media. A large suitcase stood beside his feet, while his other hand rested inside his jacket pocket as though he had just stepped out of the car without even going home first.

He really had come back from tour.

And somehow… He came straight here.

You opened the door only a few inches.

"Just for a minute."

Your voice came out much quieter than you intended.

Namjoon looked at you through the narrow gap in the door. His brown eyes looked far more exhausted than they had a month ago. There were faint dark circles beneath them that even the apartment hallway lighting couldn't hide. Yet his gaze remained the same. Too calm. Too certain.

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Okay."

His answer came so easily that it caught you slightly off guard.

He didn't insist. He didn't push the door. He didn't raise his voice. He simply stood there.

"You've lost weight."

"I'm fine."

"I know."

"But you've still lost weight."

You let out a long sigh.

"What are you doing here?"

"I..."

"We already broke up."

"I already answered that."

His tone remained flat.

Calm.

As though he were simply stating a fact that, in his mind, wasn't open for debate.

"We didn't break up."

Your patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Namjoon!"

For the first time that night, your voice rose.

"Are you even listening? I told you we're over!"

The hallway fell silent again. Namjoon looked at you for a few moments. Then he gave a small nod.

"I heard you."

"And?"

"I don't agree."

You blinked. "...What?"

"I don't agree."

He said it again. Just that simply. As though breaking up was a decision that required both parties' consent, and he had chosen not to sign anything.

"A relationship isn't a one-sided contract."

"You can't—"

"I can."

Namjoon cut you off for the first time. His voice was still low. Still gentle. Yet there was something beneath that tone that slowly made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"You have every right to be angry."

"You have every right to be disappointed."

"You have every right to hate my schedule."

"You have every right to cry."

"You have every right to ignore me for a month."

"But don't ever say I stopped loving you."

Your chest rose and fell faster.

"I never said that."

"Exactly."

Namjoon's eyes never left yours for even a second.

"That's why I'm here."

Silence settled between the two of you once more.

He let out a quiet breath before continuing, his voice sounding rougher this time.

"I know I was wrong."

"I was too busy."

"I left you to sleep alone too many times."

"I made you wait for calls that never came too many times."

"I know."

"But don't punish me by leaving."

"I can fix this."

You lowered your head. Tears began filling your eyes again without permission.

"I'm tired..."

Your voice was barely audible.

"I know."

"I'm tired of waiting."

"I know."

"I'm tired of always being the one who understands."

"I know."

Every answer he gave chipped away at your defenses even further. But it was his next sentence that made you freeze completely.

"Then now it's my turn to be the one who understands you."

Namjoon took one step closer. He still didn't touch you. He still kept his distance. But he was close enough for you to catch the scent of the cologne that had always lingered on his hugs.

"Come have dinner with Eomma tomorrow."

"Joon..."

"That wasn't a request."

His gaze changed.  It was still gentle. But now there was something much deeper, darker, and harder to read. Not anger, but a conviction so absolute that it was almost frightening. As though he'd intentionally given you space for the past month, but never because he intended to lose you. In his mind, losing you had never even been a possibility.

"I've been away from you for far too long."

A faint smile appeared on his lips. A smile that, somehow, didn't comfort anyone.

"One month is enough."

"I'm not going to make the same mistake again."

"You can stay angry for as long as you want."

"You can complain."

"You can cry."

"You can hit me if that'll make you feel better."

"But leave?"

He slowly shook his head.

"No."

His eyes remained fixed on yours.

"Don't make a habit of telling me we're breaking up."

Because for the first time since the two of you had been together, you saw a side of Kim Namjoon that he had always managed to hide behind his calm way of speaking. Not a man who had lost control, but someone who had already made up his mind and wasn't going to change that decision no matter what happened. He would give you room to be angry, time to cry, even the freedom to ignore him for as long as you needed. But the one thing he would never allow was for you to truly walk out of his life.

"I already told you..."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"...we never broke up."

"And we never will."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Namjoon didn't stay long that night.

After the conversation that left your chest feeling even tighter, his phone vibrated several more times. He only glanced at the screen briefly before letting out a quiet sigh, as though his own body was reminding him that the time he had was never truly his to begin with. There was a flight in a few hours, meetings to attend, filming schedules to keep, and who knew how many dozens of people waiting for him somewhere else. But before all of that, he still chose to stand in front of your apartment door.

"I have to go."

You didn't answer.

Your gaze remained fixed on the floor, avoiding his eyes that hadn't truly left you since earlier. There were so many things you wanted to say, but all of them felt pointless because every sentence you spoke was met with the same unwavering certainty. In his mind, your relationship was still intact. While in yours, it had already ended a month ago.

Namjoon gave a small nod, as though he understood your silence.

"Okay."

He didn't force the conversation to continue.

He didn't try to hug you. He didn't reach for your hand.

He simply took one step closer until only a few inches remained between the two of you. Then, without asking for permission or giving any warning, he lowered his head slightly and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. The kiss was brief, so light it almost felt like nothing more than a soft breath, yet it was enough to make your entire body stiffen for several seconds.

"Get enough sleep."

His voice was low.

"Don't work overtime."

"You look exhausted."

You remained silent. You didn't reply. You didn't move.

Namjoon only smiled faintly at your stubbornness. It wasn't the smile of victory or mockery, but the smile of someone who had known you for far too long. He knew that when you chose silence, it didn't mean you weren't listening. Quite the opposite. You were trying with everything you had not to give in.

"See you tomorrow."

He turned around, pulling his black suitcase as he walked down the apartment hallway.

You didn't close the door until he had completely disappeared around the elevator corner.

That night, you couldn't sleep well.

The lingering warmth of the kiss on your forehead occupied your thoughts far longer than you wanted to admit. You kept convincing yourself that it didn't mean anything, that Namjoon had always been like that. Too calm. Too patient. Too certain. And it was that certainty that irritated you the most, as though your decision meant absolutely nothing to him.

The next morning, just as you were sitting in the office pantry, sipping coffee that had already begun to turn cold, your phone vibrated again.

Namjoon: Seven o'clock. I'll pick you up.

Just two sentences.

No question.

No "Can I?"

No "If you're free."

As though everything had already been decided.

You let out a long sigh before sending a short reply.

You: I can't.

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

Namjoon: Why?

Your fingers paused for a moment.

You: I have work.

Even though you knew perfectly well your schedule was completely empty that night.

A few seconds passed. There was no reply. You assumed the conversation was over.

Until around five in the afternoon, your apartment doorbell rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

You didn't even need to look through the peephole to know who it was.

With sluggish steps, you opened the door. Sure enough, Namjoon was standing there, wearing a simple white T-shirt beneath a light black blazer. His hair was neatly styled, his face still carried traces of exhaustion from too little sleep, yet he still looked far too put together for someone who had just finished a packed schedule. In one hand was a small paper bag from his mother's favorite bakery.

The moment he saw you, he simply smiled.

"I told you I couldn't."

"You lied."

His answer was completely flat.

You let out another long sigh.

"Namjoon..."

"If you really had work, your laptop would've already been on."

Your eyes immediately shifted toward the living room table. Your laptop was still closed.

"And you haven't showered yet."

You rubbed your temple.

"What are you doing here?"

"Picking you up."

"I already said I'm not going."

"I heard you."

"And?"

"Come inside."

He said it while taking off his shoes himself, as though this apartment was still exactly the same as it had been a few months ago.

"Namjoon."

"Come on."

He looked back at you.

"Go take a shower."

You stared at him in disbelief.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"I said I'm not coming."

"I know."

"Then why are you forcing me?"

Namjoon walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water without looking even slightly awkward. His movements were so natural, as though an entire month of never setting foot in your apartment hadn't erased his familiarity with every corner of this place. He took a slow sip before looking at you again.

"Because Eomma is waiting."

That sentence immediately made you fall silent. Namjoon knew. He truly knew.

Out of everyone in the world, the one person you could never bring yourself to disappoint was his mother.

She had always welcomed you like her own daughter. She would send you food whenever you were sick, call just to ask whether work had been treating you well, and had even secretly sent you vitamins once after Namjoon told her you'd been working overtime far too often.

You clenched your jaw.

"That's unfair."

"I know."

"You did that on purpose."

"Yeah."

Namjoon nodded without the slightest hint of guilt.

"You knew I could never say no to your mom."

You let out a quiet scoff.

"Manipulative."

"Yeah."

"Annoying."

"Yeah."

"But you're still going to take a shower."

His answer was so calm that it made you want to throw a pillow straight at his face.

Twenty minutes later, you finally stepped out of your bedroom wearing a simple outfit. Namjoon, who had been sitting on the sofa reading a book the whole time, immediately looked up. His gaze lingered on you for a few seconds before the corner of his lips slowly lifted.

"Beautiful."

You immediately looked away.

"Don't start."

"Okay."

He stood up and picked up your bag that had been lying on the table.

"Let's go."

The drive to the restaurant was filled with silence.

Namjoon didn't force you to talk. Every now and then, he would simply glance at you from behind the steering wheel, making sure your seatbelt was fastened properly or that the air conditioner wasn't too cold. The little gestures that once felt so ordinary now only made it harder for you to decide whether you should keep holding on to your anger.

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, the private dining room door was already open.

"Oh, you're finally here."

That warm voice greeted the two of you immediately.

Namjoon's mother was the first to stand, wearing the same warm smile as the last time you had seen her. Beside her sat Namjoon's father, smiling kindly as he closed the menu, while Namjoon's younger sister immediately waved the moment she saw you.

"You've lost weight."

His mother immediately took both of your hands.

"You've been working too much, haven't you?"

You could only offer an awkward smile.

"Yes, Eommoni."

"Then make sure you eat a lot tonight."

She didn't seem to know anything at all.

Or maybe...

She had simply never been told.

Namjoon pulled out the chair beside him before you even had the chance to choose your own seat.

"Sit here."

You hesitated for a moment. But Eomma's gentle gaze eventually made you give in.

Throughout dinner, Namjoon acted exactly as he always had. When the waiter placed down a bowl of soup that was still too hot, he instinctively slid it farther away from you.

"Careful."

A few moments later, he gently tucked the loose strands of hair that kept falling across your face behind your ear.

"Here."

The movement was so subtle that only the two of you noticed.

When you accidentally choked because you drank too quickly, his hand gently rubbed your back.

"Slow down."

Everything felt so natural. So familiar. As though the word "breakup" had never been spoken a month ago. Every now and then, his mother smiled as she watched the two of you.

"I'm so happy you both could make it."

You lowered your gaze.

Your chest felt heavier and heavier. Not because of Namjoon, but because the woman sitting in front of you looked genuinely happy. And you simply couldn't bring yourself to be the one who ruined that smile tonight.

After dinner ended and Namjoon's family headed home first, the two of you drove back toward your apartment.

Once again, the car was filled with silence.

The lights of Seoul reflected one after another across the window as a light drizzle began to dampen the streets. Namjoon drove with one hand while the other occasionally tapped softly against the steering wheel in rhythm with the song quietly playing on the radio. Neither of you spoke until the car came to a stop in front of your apartment building.

You unfastened your seatbelt first.

Before getting out, you finally gathered the courage.

"Joon."

"Hm?"

"This..."

You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead.

"...can't happen again."

Namjoon didn't answer immediately.

"We already broke up."

Your voice came out much softer than before.

"I only came tonight because of your mom."

"Not because we're back together."

Silence.

A few seconds passed before Namjoon turned off the engine completely.

He turned his body toward you. His gaze was exactly the same as it had been the night before. Calm, warm, and somehow so unwavering that it was impossible to shake.

"That's fine."

You frowned.

"That's fine?"

"However long you need."

He spoke quietly.

"Another month."

"Two months."

"A year."

"I'll wait."

You closed your eyes for a moment.

"Namjoon..."

"I'll wait until you're no longer exhausted."

"I'll wait until your anger fades."

"I'll wait until your disappointment slowly disappears."

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

"Not because I'm stubborn."

"Then why?"

"Because I never planned a life without you."

Those words made it impossible for you to turn and look at him.

"You can keep saying we're broken up."

He continued, his voice so quiet.

"You can say it a hundred times."

"You can say it every single day."

"But my answer will always be the same."

He looked at you without the slightest hesitation.

"In my dictionary..."

"...we're not broken up."

"And we never will be."

For some reason, for the first time since all of this began, it no longer felt like you were arguing with someone. It felt more like standing before a wall that couldn't be broken—not because it was hard, but because it had been built from a conviction far too deep to be shaken. Namjoon wasn't trying to force you to love him again. In his mind, that love had never truly left. All he saw was someone who had become exhausted and chosen to step away just to catch her breath. And as long as your breath found its way back to him someday, he believed there wasn't a single reason to say goodbye.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The days after dinner with Namjoon's family fell into almost the same pattern.

Every morning, there was always a message from him. Sometimes it was just a good morning text, sometimes a photo of the sky from whichever city he happened to be in, sometimes simply a reminder not to forget breakfast. Never long. Never demanding. And you, with a stubbornness that was beginning to exhaust even yourself, always replied with the bare minimum. One word. Two words. Sometimes just a sticker. Sometimes nothing more than a reaction to his message. Yet strangely enough, Namjoon never complained even once.

As though no matter how brief your reply was, he still considered it a small victory.

Because at least...

You were still replying.

That afternoon, after a meeting that seemed never-ending, you came home completely drained. Your shoulders ached from carrying your laptop all day, your mind was filled with work revisions, and all you wanted was to take a shower and go to bed early. The elevator finally stopped on your floor. You slowly walked toward your apartment door, searching for your keys inside your bag while letting out a long sigh.

But your steps came to an immediate halt. A pair of shoes you knew far too well had already been neatly placed in front of your door.

You closed your eyes.

"...Oh my God."

Only then did you remember. You had never changed the PIN to your apartment's smart lock. Not because you meant to.

You just...

Hadn't gotten around to it. Or maybe...

You hadn't truly had the heart to.

The moment the door opened, the aroma of warm food immediately filled your senses. The scent of seaweed soup mixed with roasted chicken and freshly steamed rice spread throughout the living room. The apartment lights glowed warmly, the television played nothing but soft instrumental music at low volume, and on the dining table sat two neatly arranged plates with cutlery already set.

Namjoon stepped out of the kitchen, still wearing the gray apron he used to wear whenever he cooked in your apartment.

"Oh."

He smiled faintly.

"You're home."

You stood there frozen for several seconds.

Then all you could do was let out another long sigh.

"Joon..."

"I bought dinner."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"You probably haven't eaten."

"I could've ordered something myself."

"I know."

It was always the same answer.

Always calm. Always leaving you with no reason left to stay angry.

Without thinking, he took your work bag from your shoulder and hung it by the door, just as he had always done before. There was nothing excessive about his movements. No attempt to touch you more than necessary. He didn't even try to hug you. All he did was help, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Go take a shower first."

"I'll heat up the food."

You stared at him for a few seconds.

"Why..."

Namjoon looked back at you.

"Hm?"

"Why are you still like this?"

He only gave a small shrug.

"Because I miss coming home."

The sentence was simple. Yet somehow, it made your chest tighten all over again.

After changing into more comfortable clothes, the two of you ate together in an atmosphere far calmer than it had been over the past few days. Every now and then, Namjoon told you stories about the last city he had visited on tour, about a museum he had managed to visit during a two-hour break, about the book he had been reading on the plane. He never forced you to join the conversation. Even when all you did was nod or answer briefly, he continued talking in the same warm tone.

After dinner, you automatically carried the dishes into the kitchen.

The moment you turned on the faucet, Namjoon was already standing beside you. Without being asked. Without saying a word.

He picked up a dry towel and began drying the dishes one by one, just like the routine the two of you had shared for years.

You washed. He dried.

You rinsed. He put everything away.

Nothing had changed. And somehow, that only made you even more confused.

You let out another sigh. Then another. And another.

Namjoon heard every single one of them. Of course he did. But he didn't say a word.

He simply continued what he was doing, occasionally glancing at you from the corner of his eye. He looked far more exhausted than usual. The lack of sleep was no longer something he could hide, and even his shoulders seemed heavier than before. The tour wasn't over yet. His schedule was still packed. His body was clearly begging for rest.

Yet every time he had even a little free time...

He chose to come here.

To the apartment that, in your mind, was no longer his home.

Once the kitchen was clean again, the two of you moved into the living room. Rain fell softly beyond the window. You sat at one end of the sofa. Namjoon sat not too close, giving you space. Just as he had been doing lately.

"I'm tired."

You finally broke the silence.

"I know."

"It's not just about your schedule."

Namjoon nodded.

"I know."

"It's not just about waiting."

He nodded again.

"I know."

"You always know."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

You looked at him in annoyance.

"You're not even going to defend yourself?"

Namjoon slowly shook his head.

"What's the point?"

"Because I'm the one who brought you to this point."

You lowered your gaze.

"And then?"

"Then I listen."

"And after that?"

"And after that..."

He paused for a moment.

"...I stay right here."

Your eyes slowly met his.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me right away."

"I'm not asking for everything to go back to normal tomorrow."

"But I'm not going to leave you alone to go through this."

Silence settled between the two of you once again. Only the sound of rain could be heard outside.

You didn't even realize when your eyes had started to fill with tears. Maybe because you were exhausted from holding up the walls you had built yourself. Maybe because the man sitting in front of you still chose to stay, even when every reply you gave him consisted of nothing more than one or two words. You knew you weren't easy to deal with, yet he had never once used that as an excuse to answer your pain with anger.

Namjoon watched you for a few moments.

Then he slowly raised one hand.

"May I?"

You didn't answer.

He gently tucked a few loose strands of hair behind your ear, moving so carefully as though he was afraid of pushing you even farther away. His fingertips lingered against your cheek for a few seconds before slowly falling away. There was no force in his touch. Only the gentleness that had always been both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness whenever it came to you.

"You're beautiful."

He whispered.

"Even when you're angry."

You looked at him for a long time.

Then, without realizing it, the distance between you slowly disappeared. Namjoon didn't move first. He let you decide.

When your breaths were already mingling together, you finally closed the remaining distance yourself. The first kiss was slow, filled with the uncertainty that had consumed both of your hearts over the past month. There were no words, only longing that was quietly finding its way home. Namjoon kissed you back with careful restraint, as though he feared that one move too sudden would make you pull away again.

When the two of you finally wrapped each other in an embrace, every emotion you had been holding back slowly began to melt away. There were no more arguments that night. There were only two people who were equally exhausted, equally homesick, and who had quietly realized that home was still something they found in each other. The night continued in warm silence, and when the two of you finally lay down in bed, Namjoon simply pulled you into his arms like he always used to, letting your head rest comfortably against his chest.

The room fell quiet. Only the soft rhythm of Namjoon's heartbeat echoed in your ears.

His strong arms wrapped securely around you, firm yet gentle, as though he wanted to make sure you knew he was there without having to say it over and over again. Every now and then, his fingers slowly stroked your back with the same familiar rhythm that had always managed to calm you whenever your thoughts became too overwhelming.

After several minutes, Namjoon finally spoke.

"If you're still angry..."

He gently kissed the top of your head.

"...then stay angry."

You didn't answer.

"I can wait."

Silence.

"A week."

"A month."

"Even longer than that."

His arms tightened around you just a little more.

"I'll go through it."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He took a slow breath before continuing in a voice barely above a whisper.

"I only want one thing."

"What?"

You finally asked softly. Namjoon smiled faintly.

"If one day you get tired again..."

"...don't leave."

"Just come home."

Because to him, a broken heart could still be mended together. The one thing he could never accept was letting the person he loved most continue believing she had to carry all of that exhaustion alone.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

That morning began like the few mornings before it.

You woke up first, while Namjoon was still asleep beside you with one arm unconsciously wrapped around your waist. The bedroom curtains weren't fully open yet. The morning sunlight had only just begun slipping through the narrow gap between them, filling the room with a warm golden glow. For a moment, everything felt like it used to. As though the past month had never happened, as though neither of you had ever hurt the other, and as though waking up beside each other was still a simple part of your everyday life.

But the moment your memories settled back into place, your chest tightened again. The two of you hadn't truly resolved anything.

Last night there wasn't an answer.

Last night was only a pause.

Carefully, you lifted Namjoon's arm off your waist so you wouldn't wake him. The moment your feet touched the floor, his husky voice came from behind you.

"Where are you going?"

You stopped.

"The kitchen."

"Hm."

There was no objection. No request for you to come back to bed. Just a quiet murmur before he closed his eyes again. An hour later, the aroma of coffee filled the apartment.

Namjoon had already showered and changed. A freshly ironed white shirt fit neatly around his frame, while his hair, still slightly damp, made him look younger than usual. Two cups of coffee and a few slices of toast he'd thrown together sat on the dining table. The sight felt so familiar that you almost forgot only a few days ago you had been insisting your relationship was over.

"I have to go."

He said while checking his watch.

"I've got practice."

You gave a small nod.

"Okay."

Your reply was still short. Still flat. Still keeping your distance. Namjoon only smiled faintly.

He finished his coffee, washed his own cup, then picked up the bag he'd left beside the sofa the night before. Before leaving, just as he had done over the past few days, he turned to look at you for a moment.

"I'll text you later."

"Okay."

There were no extra words. No smile. No lingering gaze.

The apartment door finally closed softly. And for the first time since he had returned from tour… You noticed his shoulders sink ever so slightly as he walked toward the elevator. The rest of the day went as usual. Namjoon sent you a photo from the practice room.

You replied, "Good luck."

He sent you a photo of his lunch.

You replied, "Okay."

He asked if you'd eaten.

"I have."

That was it. Nothing more.

That night, after his entire schedule was over, Namjoon sat alone inside the van taking him back home. His manager had already fallen asleep in the front seat. The streets of Seoul shimmered with lights reflecting across the windows, while his phone still displayed your chat.

Your last reply.

"I have."

One word. He reread it nearly ten times. Then he locked his screen. A few minutes later, he unlocked it again. Read it again. Not because he didn't understand the message. But because he was trying to convince himself that one word was still better than no reply at all.

The following afternoon, his schedule ended earlier than expected. Without giving it a second thought, he headed back to your apartment. This time, he wasn't carrying food. He wasn't carrying flowers. He wasn't carrying anything except a backpack that looked much heavier than usual.

You opened the door after hearing the PIN.

The moment you saw him standing there, you let out a quiet sigh.

"Come in."

You said shortly. Namjoon smiled faintly.

"Thank you."

There wasn't much conversation that afternoon. You worked on your laptop at the dining table. Namjoon sat on the sofa reading a book.

Every now and then, he made you tea. Every now and then, he asked if the air conditioner was too cold. Every now and then, he quietly placed snacks beside you without interrupting your work.

The apartment remained quiet. But little by little, that silence began to feel heavy.

As the night grew later, you finally closed your laptop. The moment you looked up, you truly noticed Namjoon's face.

His eyes were red. Not because he had been crying. Because he hadn't been sleeping.

The exhaustion on his face was far more obvious than it had been a few days ago. His complexion looked slightly pale, and several times he rubbed the back of his neck as though his muscles had been overworked for far too long. For the first time, you realized that you had been so busy holding on to your anger that you'd forgotten to notice the condition of the person sitting in front of you.

"Tired?"

You asked softly.

Namjoon nodded.

"Yeah."

"You could go home."

"Yeah."

"Then why are you still here?"

He stayed quiet for a few seconds. His gaze fell to the floor. Then he smiled faintly.

"I am home."

That answer left you speechless.

Namjoon slowly rubbed his face.

"I know you're still angry."

"Yeah."

"I know you're still disappointed."

"Yeah."

"I also know..."

He paused for a moment, as though choosing the right words.

"...that lately, I'm starting to get tired too."

You immediately lifted your head. That was the first time. The very first time since all of this began, Namjoon admitted he was tired.

Not tired because of the tour. Not tired because of work. But… Because of everything.

"I'm tired of waking up every morning thinking..."

He let out a quiet laugh.

"...how many words you'll reply with today."

You fell silent.

"I'm tired of finishing a concert..."

"...then automatically opening our chat."

"Even though I already know your answer will probably just be 'yeah' or 'okay.'"

He didn't sound angry. That was exactly what made your chest hurt even more.

"I'm tired of sitting on an eight-hour flight..."

"...while the only thing on my mind is getting here as quickly as possible."

"Because to me..."

He looked at you.

"...my home is here."

Your eyes began to fill with tears.

"But every time I get here..."

His smile faded just a little.

"...I have to pretend I'm not sad when you're still pushing me away."

Silence.

The living room was completely quiet. Namjoon wasn't crying. He wasn't raising his voice. He wasn't blaming you. He simply sat there in front of you, his shoulders looking heavier than you had ever seen before.

"I don't regret waiting."

He said quietly.

"I'll keep waiting."

"That won't change."

"But..."

He let out a long breath.

"...can I..."

His sentence hung in the air for several seconds.

"...at least get a sign from you once in a while that I'm still allowed to hope?"

The tears you'd been holding back finally fell.

One drop. Then another.

Namjoon didn't move from where he was. He didn't immediately pull you into his arms.

He simply sat there quietly, allowing you to feel every emotion the two of you had been keeping buried for so long. For the first time, you realized that his patience didn't mean he wasn't hurting. He had simply chosen to carry everything by himself so you wouldn't feel guilty. Behind all of his calmness was someone who also came home exhausted every single night—and the only place he had ever wanted to come home to was you.

As your tears continued falling harder, Namjoon finally rose slowly to his feet. He walked over and stopped right in front of you before hesitantly lifting one hand.

"Can I hug you?"

The question was so simple. So careful. It wasn't the question of someone trying to force their way in.

It was the question of someone still asking for permission to come home to the place he had always considered his home.

This time… For the first time after spending an entire month holding up those walls… You gave a small nod.

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The hug lasted much longer than either of you realized.

Namjoon didn't say a word. His arms simply stayed wrapped warmly around you while his hand slowly stroked your back in an unhurried rhythm, gentle enough that your sobs gradually faded on their own. He never tried to stop your tears. He simply let you sit on his lap and cry until you had nothing left to hold in, just as he had always done whenever you were overwhelmed by your emotions.

Several minutes later, you were the first to pull away.

Your eyes were still swollen. The tip of your nose had turned red. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at him for very long.

"I..."

Your voice was barely audible.

"...I'm sorry."

Namjoon only tilted his head slightly.

"Hm?"

"I was mean."

You let out a small laugh between the sniffles that hadn't completely disappeared.

"Really mean."

He remained silent, letting you finish everything you wanted to say.

"I know you're tired."

"You travel all over the world."

"Your schedule never stops."

"You must barely get any sleep."

Your tears began falling again.

"And every time you came home..."

You bit your lower lip.

"...all you got was me being cold to you."

Silence.

"I kept replying with short texts."

"I ignored you."

"I kept saying we were broken up."

Your voice grew quieter.

"Even though..."

You wiped your own cheek.

"...I know you didn't deserve to be treated like that."

Namjoon still didn't interrupt.

His gaze remained gentle. Still full of patience. As though he had come that night with the sole purpose of listening to you.

"I'm sorry..."

The words finally came out with a trembling breath.

"I'm really sorry."

For several seconds, the room fell silent again.

You waited for his response. Maybe advice. Maybe something wise. Or maybe... he would finally admit that you'd gone too far. But instead, Namjoon let out a quiet sigh before leaning back against the sofa.

"Okay."

You blinked.

"...Okay?"

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

You immediately frowned.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

You stared at him in disbelief.

"Joon."

"Hm?"

"Why aren't you mad?"

Namjoon thought for a few seconds.

"Because..."

He genuinely looked as though he was considering his answer carefully.

"...I'm calculating."

"Calculating what?"

"A debt."

You became even more confused.

"A debt?"

"Yeah."

Namjoon nodded firmly.

"You owe me."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"Huh?"

"Yeah."

"Owe you what?"

Namjoon put on an overly serious expression that immediately made you suspicious.

"One month."

"Yeah?"

"One whole month."

"Yeah."

"You kept sending short replies."

"..."

"Almost all of them."

"..."

"There's a penalty for that."

You stared at him for a few seconds.

Then, without realizing it, you let out a quiet laugh.

"A penalty?"

"Yeah."

"Says who?"

"Me."

"How convenient."

"Yeah."

He nodded without feeling even the slightest bit guilty.

You could only shake your head.

"So what's the penalty?"

Namjoon leaned forward slightly. His expression was still far too serious for someone saying something so ridiculous.

"One short reply..."

He held up one finger.

"...equals one kiss."

Your eyes widened immediately.

"What?"

"The rules are simple."

He started counting on his fingers.

"'Yeah.'"

"One."

"'Okay.'"

"Two."

"'Hm.'"

"Three."

"'Already.'"

"Four."

You lightly smacked his arm.

"Hey!"

Namjoon simply chuckled.

"That's only the first day."

"Kim Namjoon!"

"I haven't even counted the stickers yet."

You tried to hold back your laughter as you hit his shoulder again.

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm serious."

"You're not."

"I am."

"There's no way you actually counted."

"I did."

"No way."

Namjoon picked up his phone. Then he opened your chat. Scrolled. Scrolled again. Then showed you the screen.

"Look."

In his notes app, there really was a list.

Short Reply Project Yeah Okay Hm Later Already Sure Total: 47

Your eyes widened.

"...Joon."

"Hm?"

"You actually counted?"

"Yeah."

"You..."

You covered your face while laughing. "...you're insane."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

Your laughter finally filled the living room for the first time in weeks.

Namjoon watched you as you finally laughed again. His expression immediately softened.

"That..."

He said quietly. "...is much better."

"What is?"

"Your laugh."

"I like that much more."

Your laughter slowly faded. The heaviness that had been sitting in your chest finally began to feel a little lighter.

"So..."

You glanced at the absurd list on his phone. "...forty-seven kisses?"

"Yeah."

"Not happening."

"You can pay in installments."

You immediately slapped your forehead.

"Oh my God."

"Zero percent interest."

"Kim Namjoon..."

"You don't even need a down payment."

You couldn't hold back your laughter anymore.

"Who taught you to say things like that?"

"Yoo—"

He immediately cut himself off. "...never mind."

You narrowed your eyes.

"Yoongi, wasn't it?"

Namjoon pretended to cough.

"I didn't say anything."

You laughed even harder. The awkwardness that had filled the apartment for so long finally shattered completely.

Watching you laugh like that, Namjoon slowly shifted a little closer. Not too close. Just enough for your knees to almost touch.

"So..."

He opened the note again. "First installment?"

You immediately shook your head.

"No."

"Half?"

"No."

"A discount?"

"No."

"Today's special promotion."

"Kim Namjoon."

"Hm?"

"You're so annoying."

"I know."

"Very."

"Yeah."

"But..."

You tried to hide the smile that kept finding its way onto your face.

"...thank you."

"For what?"

"For being patient."

Namjoon looked at you for a long moment. His smile gradually became softer.

"Always."

That single word made the room fall silent once again. Without thinking too much, you slowly reached out and gently grabbed the collar of his T-shirt.

Namjoon froze.

"...Huh?"

"Stay still."

You said softly.

"Huh?"

You gently pulled him a little closer.

"I'm making a payment."

Namjoon's eyes immediately widened.

"You're serious?"

"Hm."

"This is the first installment?"

"Yeah."

His smile instantly spread across his face like a little kid who had just been handed a birthday present.

"Can I smile first?"

You couldn't help but laugh.

"Why?"

"Because I honestly didn't expect such a cooperative debtor."

"Joon!"

"Okay, okay."

He raised both hands in surrender, though the grin on his face was impossible to hide.

You slowly shook your head at his antics. Then, your face growing warmer by the second, you leaned in and gave him a brief kiss. A very brief one. Only a few seconds.

But just as you were about to pull away, Namjoon whispered with a triumphant smile.

"So..."

"Hm?"

"That means..."

"...your remaining debt is only forty-six kisses."

You stared at him for a few seconds. Then grabbed one of the sofa cushions and lightly smacked his shoulder.

"You!"

Namjoon's laughter echoed throughout the entire apartment. And for the first time after a month filled with nothing but pain, the apartment finally sounded like home again—a place where tears were slowly replaced by laughter, and where two people who loved each other were finally beginning to find their way back home, one small step at a time.

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The night grew later, yet neither of you had any intention of leaving the sofa.

The living room lights had been deliberately dimmed, leaving only the warm glow of the standing lamp in the corner of the room. The rain outside had completely stopped, making the apartment feel even more peaceful. You were still sitting comfortably on Namjoon's lap while he absentmindedly played with the sleeve of your sweater, a small habit that always appeared whenever his mind finally began to settle.

"Still don't want to get down?"

Namjoon asked with a smile. You pretended to think.

"Hm..."

"I think I'm pretty comfortable."

"Good."

"Then you don't have to get down."

You immediately let out a small laugh.

"How convenient."

"Yeah."

"This is my favorite seat."

He gently patted his own thigh.

"Seat?"

"Reserved just for you."

You shook your head, amused. "You're unbelievable."

Namjoon chuckled softly. His laughter sounded much freer than it had over the past few days, as though the weight that had been resting on his shoulders was finally beginning to lift little by little. Seeing you laugh like this again turned out to be far more effective than eight hours of sleep or a week-long vacation. He didn't even realize that his smile hadn't truly disappeared once since then.

"Can I be selfish?" He suddenly asked.

"Why are you asking first?"

"Because I'm trying to be the perfect boyfriend now."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Since when?"

"Since I almost lost you."

That answer slowly softened your smile.

Namjoon gently brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers.

"I just want this for a little while."

"Like what?"

"Being close."

"That's all?"

"Yeah."

"If possible..."

He hugged you a little tighter.

"...for a long time."

You didn't answer.

Instead, you slowly rested your head against his shoulder. You could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat right beside your ear. It felt strange—so calming, so familiar—that it was hard to believe the two of you had really spent an entire month without being this close.

Namjoon gently kissed the top of your head.

Then your temple.

Then your cheek.

Every kiss was slow, filled with patience, as though he was trying to make up for the time the two of you had lost. When his face moved closer toward the side of your neck to place another light kiss there, you instinctively flinched.

"Hey!"

Namjoon immediately stopped.

"Hm?"

You giggled as you leaned away slightly.

"Wait..."

"What?"

You gently rubbed the side of your neck.

"That tickles."

"Tickles?"

"Yeah."

Namjoon looked genuinely confused.

"I was being gentle."

"It's not that."

You looked at his face more closely.

Only now did you really notice the line of his jaw.

A faint shadow of facial hair had begun growing around his chin and jawline. It wasn't messy, but it was enough for you to feel it brushing against your skin just now. His face also looked a little duller than usual, as though the skincare routine he used to do every night before bed had truly been forgotten.

You let out a small laugh.

"Joon..."

"Hm?"

"You haven't shaved, have you?"

Namjoon automatically touched his own chin.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Why 'yeah'?"

He smiled sheepishly.

"I haven't had the time."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"And your skincare too?"

"Hm..."

He scratched the back of his neck.

"...sometimes I fall asleep."

You immediately shook your head.

"No wonder."

"What?"

"You look exhausted."

Namjoon laughed quietly.

"I am exhausted."

You gently ran your fingertips along his jaw.

"You always used to look so neat."

"Yeah."

"And now?"

Namjoon shrugged.

"I haven't really had any motivation."

"Why?"

He looked at you for a few seconds. Then answered with a completely serious expression.

"Besides..."

"...there wasn't anyone I wanted to kiss."

You immediately fell silent.

A few seconds later, your cheeks slowly began to warm.

"Joon..."

"What?"

"Don't say things like that."

"But it's true."

He let out a quiet laugh.

"What's the point of shaving..."

"...when the person who makes me want to look nice again was mad at me?"

You covered your face. "Oh my God..."

"What?"

"You're so annoying when you're being romantic."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

You shook your head, laughing quietly. His hand found yours again, gently wrapping around it.

"I promise." You suddenly said.

Namjoon tilted his head. "Promise what?"

"Tomorrow."

"Hm?"

"We're shaving."

"We?"

"Yeah."

"You."

"And I'll supervise."

Namjoon's eyes immediately lit up.

"So..."

A mischievous grin spread across his face.

"...does that mean I can come over again tomorrow?"

You pretended to let out a long sigh.

"Hm..."

"We'll see."

"Huh."

"If you do your skincare."

"Okay."

"Get enough sleep."

"Okay."

"And don't skip your meals."

"Okay."

"Can you do that?"

Namjoon nodded repeatedly like a little kid.

"I can."

"As long as..."

"As long as what?"

He gently rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

"...after that, I get to lie down with you again."

You looked at his face, so sincere and so incredibly endearing at the same time. Behind all the packed schedules, concerts, interviews, and endless traveling, the simplest happiness he wanted was nothing more than this—sitting on the sofa in your apartment, joking about the stubble growing along his jaw, and spending the night together without having to say goodbye too soon.

In the end, you gave a small nod.

"Deal."

His smile immediately widened.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"But..."

You gently pinched his cheek.

"...tomorrow you have to be handsome again."

Namjoon laughed freely before, without thinking, resting his forehead against yours.

"If you're the one telling me to..."

He whispered softly.

"...I'll gladly become the most diligent guy in the world when it comes to shaving."

You giggled as you shook your head, then without realizing it rested your head against his shoulder once more. That night was filled with little conversations that didn't really matter, laughter that came effortlessly, and a silence that finally felt comfortable again—just like a home that had once been lost, then slowly found once more together.

Author Notes: These are actually drabble from my ongoing series, so they’re still connected to the main storyline I’ve been working on. You can check out the full series (Between Collisions). If you liked this story, please leave a comment, I’d love to read your thoughts 🥰💬. Your thoughts honestly mean a lot and keep me motivated to continue writing. And feel free to reblog/share so more people can enjoy it too 🌸✨