#yeunder

prompt | bgm.

early autumn afternoon finds him in a flurry. 

just minutes before the storm (figurative,) you see the boy making his way out of the classroom and off the school building. it’s not long before he gets swept into the sea of students alike by the entrance, excited spiels of freed souls mixing into the crackly steps on red and yellow maple leaves. yoonil, out of this bustling crowd, is the only one who isn’t doused in after-school’s mirth.

-i’m in front of your apartment.

yeeun’s voice behind the call rushes him through gentle bumps and teetering steps, and he jumbles those half-hearted ‘sorries’ as he glides past the last group of students crowding the street. he barely finds the spare moment to fix the falling strap of his backpack on his shoulder, taking the usual walk (more of a sprint at this point) past the g25 store, ehwa women’s university, then the subway station right around the block of his apartment building. 

“yeeun, what happened?”

“…”

she doesn’t speak for a while, and neither does he. breaths still short on air has him grimacing, hands on waist and waiting. when he can’t fill the time anymore, he crouches down to brush her fringe away. 

“you didn’t tell me that you’re leaving tomorrow.”

she starts with muted resentment in her voice, teary-eyed and untouched. rebellious in the way where she doesn’t lock her eyes on his, and while that prickles yoonil with guilt– he barely stifles a laughter, wiping the tears on her cheeks with the hem of his jacket sleeve. 

“sometimes, it hurts less when the doctor gives you the shot without warning you. quick and painless, you know?”

“that’s such a bad analogy, oppa.”

how about studying abroad, yoonil? he answers with nothing but an inattentive nod, because he knows they only ever hand him rhetorical questions. while his departure doesn’t necessarily give him a heavy heart, the fact that yeeun’s crying because of it does. 

“hey, look. i’ll be back before you know it. you’ll blink once and i’ll be right here.”

“then you better be back with presents, because then maybe i’ll forgive you.”

for @yeunder​ | continued from here, inspired by this.

for a second, for a minute can we go?

daybreak, seoul.

he finds her first in seoul. 

her cheeks are stained pink and there’s dirt under her fingernails. 

“it’s because -- i’m! i’m a florist!”

jungkook doesn’t let her touch his shirt. brushes his hands off on his sweats before offering her his hand again, instead. 

“whatever you say, kid.” 

she huffs. 

she huffs, but takes his hand, still. 

daybreak, london.

he nearly doesn’t recognize her. not without leashes in her hand and dirt under her nails. this time, she’s holding oranges. or, at least, she had been. they’re gone now, rolling down the street. one already crushed on the pavement, pulp and juice a pink-orange in the faint light of the sunrise. jungkook grips her waist tighter. pulls her in, jaw set as he stares in the direction of the cyclist, already long gone.

"my tangerines!”

he nearly drops her at that. the korean is unexpected. in this city, at this time. startled, he glances down. lets his eyes meet hers. it takes a second, and then one more. and then: it’s you! her words, familiar and nostalgic, almost get lost in the stirring city, voice layered under the morning tinny around them. 

“it’s... me?” “you! you broke my flower pot!” “i --” “i tripped and you broke my flower pot!”

it’s an out-of-body experience. london is awake, the morning finally beginning to catch up to them, but jungkook has one foot in seoul and the other out. still, she doesn’t let go. she grips the front of his hoodie tightly, her fingers tangled in the strings. he can smell the citrus staining her palms. jungkook chokes out a strangled laugh, after.

“oh yeah. it’s you. dirt hands.” “what did you just call me?!???”

daybreak, jfk airport, ny.

"if you run into me one more time, i’m gonna call the cops.” “wh -- excuse me???” “so you aren’t stalking me, then?”

she huffs so loudly that her entire seat shakes. jungkook doesn’t bother with manners. throws his head back and laughs with all of his teeth. she pinches his side but jungkook can feel the eyes of his agent on him more sharply, instead. he ignores it. the laughter dies anyway. jungkook settles in, settles back. he’s bone-tired but she still smells of oranges. 

he wonders if it’s a memory. 

he wonders if he just needs some more goddamn sleep. 

“i have better things to do than stalk someone like you.” “i’m sure.” “it’s not my fault if --” “if?”

she pauses. his agent is still trying to eavesdrop from his left but the stewardess’ cart rattles loudly enough down the aisle that he doesn’t think that it’ll matter. he leans in closer. presses his arm against hers over the armrest and raises a brow. 

finally, she shrugs. finally, she leans back in.

“i am a very, very busy person, i’ll have you know,” her voice is low. hushed. as if she’s whispering a secret that she wants to share only with him. “but the universe must have other plans for you and me.”

daybreak, seoul. 

he rubs at his eyes blearily. his back aches from the flight but the girl seems unfazed. she bounces on the balls of her feet as she pushes her phone towards him, her smile bright. 

“my name is yeeun, oppa!” “...?” she pushes her phone further. presses it into his hands and laughs so loudly that jungkook starts to think that the sunrise must be long past, daybreak already long gone. yeeun is nothing but pure sunshine. she chases the darkness away.  

“we should give the universe a hand! for the next time we meet!”

(next time?)

the sunrise is replaced with the sun high in the sky, brilliantly bright. jungkook rubs at his eyes and tries to return the smile. sleepy and small -- but just as sincere. 

“for next time.”

daybreak, wherever you are.

next time, is three months later. the next next time, is two weeks into fall.

he doesn’t bother keeping count after that.

jungkook sees her at corner stores, in the dog park, at subway stations. he sees her in summer sundresses and winter mittens and everything in between. sometimes it’s intentional --

“you wanna come over for chicken?” “are you cheating on your diet again? oooOOooh--”

-- and sometimes, just like today, just like any other day, not so much:

“i told you. the universe is up to something.” “something good?”

she smiles, as brightly as she always does, and jungkook can’t help but think that the sunrise has come early. her legs dangle from where she sits, perched on a swing that’s far too small for him but a seemingly perfect fit for her. faint pinks and oranges peek out from the trees behind the park and jungkook wonders if she smells like oranges, still. 

after a long moment, she replies:

“yes. yes, something good. something very good.”

the words take root like the flowers she sings to in the evenings but jungkook pretends not to notice. brushes it off, like every other meeting, like every other conversation he has with her. fleeting and soft. a whisper of morning before the sun rises in earnest. a moment just for them. a secret that jungkook has done his best to keep. 

(he knows, he probably won’t see her in a few months. he knows, that she has restless feet and he has a bum knee. he knows that she grows flowers from the ground up that are meant to be cut and shared and spread. from city to city, from sunrise to sunset. her flowers are meant for bouquets and airplanes and jungkook has a knee that won’t let him follow. he knows. he knows, but he lets a garden take root in his ribs regardless.)

he’s always been good at keeping secrets, after all.

“yeah,” he agrees. quietly, softly. watches the sun come up and the city begin to stir. the moment is gone and the universe will decide when they’ll see each other again. (at least the daybreak is theirs. at least it’ll always be theirs.) he smiles vaguely. “something very good.”