Tayeerya

Yoongi is the second-most respected person in the room.

He knows it by the way that people go out of their way to come close to his personal bubble of space to greet him. They bow respectfully and give him smiles whenever his eyes meet theirs, some of them meek but never the one to break the eye contact first.

He knows it when people crowd around him to get his attention one way or the other, and even if he barely reciprocates any, not a single person from his audience comes home disappointed.

He knows it by the attention he receives — the entirety of it is focused on him even if he’s not the only one in the room.

Yoongi knows to himself that he’s only the second-most respected person in the room because if he was otherwise, none of it plays out this way.

The most respected person in the room has people clearing out of the way to be given space, even if unasked for. They bow deeply but suck their breaths in whenever they’re in the receiving end of said person’s gaze, instinctively gulping.

If he is the most respected person in the room, his inattention for the people in the room would mean the world to them. His disregard would comfort them endlessly and even lull them to sleep in peace.

Yoongi is not the most esteemed because if he was, he would have all the attention to him even if none of them are looking. He’s not the most eminent because it’s not him whom people bend backwards for to please, nor the one who makes or breaks the atmosphere in the space.

Min Yoongi’s manager is the most respected person in the room and everyone knows it.

“Stop staring off into space,” Yoongi nudges you by the shoulder, a little winded to go all the way because while he’s sat in the foldable makeup chair, you’re the one sat on a leather, cushioned stool right beside him. “You’re scaring them.”

“Should they have anything to be scared about?” you roll your eyes at such a trivial concern that he doesn’t suffer from, a little perplexed at his tiny suggestion that you know wouldn’t change your image at all.

Yoongi swears that he just heard someone’s teeth chatter at your quip.

Years ago, you wouldn’t have expected that people in the modeling industry would label you to be someone so intimidating. Yoongi used to tease you at first because even he thought that those assumptions were a load of shit. He was sure that he knows you to the decimal with how often and how long you’ve been at his side.

It was just at that moment, that one specific moment years ago wherein an intern spilled coffee on his shoes and went on her knees to apologize to him and plead to not tell you that it all made sense. It makes much more sense to him now that even if he wasn’t that big back then, remembering how the room fell to a hush. He remembers you emerging out of nowhere with your angry footsteps, the Yoongi from years ago completely unaware on how you would decimate someone for dirtying his favorite pair of shoes with the hot brew.

Yoongi knows you’re protective of him and he thought it was only normal for everyone’s managers to do the same. He thought it was normal for managers to call casting directors out on their faults and still have a job (or even a better one) after that. He thought it was protocol for managers to fight designers for forcing a diet on him and still be the frontrunner for the collection. He thought every model and artist he knew of would have their managers to be in your standard, but at every shocked and yearning face he sees from people who want to be under your care, Yoongi knew.

“Not that I know of.”

He laughs in reply, covering his mouth sheepishly as he bows his head to the makeup artist working on his eyebrows, willfully ignoring the way her hands tremble as she hears your whole conversation.

“You just like seeing me do my job,” you hum in return, fixing your posture on the chair to see if there’s any nick on his skin from the eyebrow razor that the makeup artist’s using.

He looks the best at the moment with his bare face, a sight that you only see now and then in-between his perpetually packed schedule. His cheeks are shiny and his lips are plump, eyes still a little droopy with how late he slept just this morning.

You’ve already fed Yoongi his favorite burrito early this morning but you know he likes his snacks in between takes so he doesn’t crash with fatigue later on, about to stand up from your seat to fix him a plate from catering when you hear eager footsteps towards your direction.

The perky junior assistant on-site thrusts a plate into Yoongi’s direction, neatly-arranged to the point that when he accepts it from her, he’d be able to feel the sticky note placed underneath the ceramic with her cellphone number on it.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

The girl’s eyes widen comically when she hears your voice, all of her supposedly-lucky courage being flushed out of the drain as soon as you direct your attention to her.

Yoongi coughs to his hand as he puts a hand on the small of your back to just let it go, feeling your hand gently put his back on his lap, making him sink to his seat when he sees you stand up from your chair.

“You trying to kill him or what?” you tilt your head to her once before looking down at the sandwich in sheer disgust, nudging the plate back to her arms and away from Yoongi. “Mr. Min’s allergic to peanuts.”

She stutters her sincerest apologies and it’s not only embarrassment that makes her cheeks redden, the fear in her eyes unable to evaporate with how your eyes stare her down the harshest.

Just when you think that a shoot could go the smoothest without you interfering, someone just had to endanger Yoongi and his airways in an ambitious attempt to flirt. The fact that he could’ve gotten hurt badly still doesn’t fly over your head, even if all the higher-ups of the production team are in front of you apologizing to no end.

You don’t immediately move on from it even if Yoongi’s nonchalant, knowing deep-down that he’s in disbelief as much as he’s relieved for dodging a bullet that comes in the form of a thick, no-crust, slightly toasted peanut butter sandwich.

The worry doesn’t escape your system even if you get him food that would make his mouth water instead of his throat close, keeping a keen eye on him to double-check.

Yoongi’s no stranger to your worrying but if anything, he knows that if not more, you’re just as spooked about the scare as he is, purposely joining you on the one-seater couch to calm you.

"Say ah," he offers his own spoon from his snack, his own mouth open to demonstrate on how you should do the same and not make him wait. He throws an off-hand comment on how his shoulder would act up and it gets you to finally take the bite.

"You're not allergic to fruit cups,” you say with your mouth full, having to yet take another spoon that Yoongi jams narrowly because he hasn’t seen you eat breakfast yet.

"I know I'm not," he mumbles, taking a napkin to wipe at the corners of your mouth before reminding you to chew. “I just wanted to feed you."

( ♡ )

Yoongi tolerates a lot of things.

He tolerates the repetitive questions thrown his way and answers them just as sincerely as the first time around. He’s calm when he’s asked who he wants to work with for the hundredth time, and even calmer when he throws a vague answer to not jumpstart any rumor with a random celebrity the interviewer links him with.

He’s tolerant towards paparazzi and keeps his eyes stable underneath his sunglasses, not a single hint of annoyance present in his expression.

In your opinion, Yoongi is annoyingly too tolerant for the sake of neutrality, that he often overlooks how he’s being taken advantage of.

He’s not afraid to voice his concerns to you because after all, you’re perhaps the only other person besides his family that he’d entrust his life with. He knows how to stand up for himself, even if it means standing behind you.

Yoongi doesn’t like to think that he’s become too dependent on you, much more the fact that he starts to forget what his life was like before you.

He knows how to go to the casting director to correct them for the butchered pronunciation of his name. He knows how, but he’s accustomed to you rectifying the mistake right then and there, regardless of who is around.

He knows how to talk to the hotel manager to remind them that none of the staff posts his whereabouts (especially when he sees an employee discreetly taking pictures of him), but he’s used to you marching to them with a written agreement that his privacy isn’t leaked, with more or less a threat looming on your tone.

You know that Yoongi doesn’t and wouldn’t always need you, but with the way he freezes beside you and his hand almost squeezes your forearm out of instinct, you’re certain that you’re needed.

The swimming pool in the middle of the set grinds the gears in your head, the clench in your jaw unmistakeable that the director who’s come out to greet you stops in her heels.

"This wasn't included in the brief."

You grit your teeth in the absolute stupidity she’s in charge of. The deep water Yoongi’s afraid of doesn’t become shallow under your gaze, but the thought of how you’d dump a bucket of it on everyone responsible remains.

"I don't care if you already poured your whole year's budget just for this concept — change it."

The director, who’s been in this industry earlier than Yoongi did, stutters over nothing. She’s heard some talk about how nothing ever comes past Min Yoongi’s manager, and yet she only dismissed the concerns with a laugh. Sure, it’s far from a miniscule adjustment in the brief, but she even swore then on how you wouldn’t intimidate her in the slightest.

Turns out she’s wrong.

She’s been in this industry longer than you could fathom and it’s only now that she feels genuinely affected by someone’s assertion towards her craft. Even if you aren’t the first manager that defies her, you’re the only one who makes her want to backtrack completely.

"Mr. Min is uncomfortable with what you request of him,” you articulate sternly, about to give her a piece of your mind when you feel Yoongi tug at your arm lightly.

"I think I can do it, Y/N," he mumbles under his breath and it makes you stop. He peers at the indention on the ground with curious eyes, flickering towards yours to get the assurance he needs. “The pool's wide, right?"

Yoongi's a little afraid of deep and narrow waters.

There’s not anything deep behind it other than he feels afraid when his feet can’t touch the floor. He wants to feel grounded, and with the way that he’s lighter underwater but there’s not anything that reminds him of being weighed down? He’s scared shitless. He knows how to swim but it intimidates him unlike any other, his limit stopping when his chin hits the water.

"This wasn't what you signed up for," your voice softens automatically, assuring him that he shouldn’t feel pressured to take on the change.

“The director said it was only a two-feet plexiglass pool," your gaze pierces her at the emphasis of her job. “Why would you switch it to a seven-feet swimming pool suddenly?"

The director expresses her apologies but they just don’t hit the right note with you. If she didn’t want to make Yoongi uncomfortable in the first place, she wouldn’t have altered the brief without getting his approval. It bothers you that no matter how famous or big Yoongi could get, the circle of people who would try to sabotage him doesn’t get any smaller.

You’re silent throughout her words and your blatant lack of acknowledgement just pushes her further, only stopping (although the nervousness never leaves her) when she sees Yoongi pull you to the side.

"I can do it,” he licks his lips, way past the point of convincing himself because his mind’s already set — under one condition. "I-I just need you to get in the water with me."

You only linger for a second longer in front of Yoongi just so you could be sure that he wants exactly what he’s told you, walking to the director who’s glued to the ground at anticipation.

"Should Mr. Min suffer in the slightest because of your abrupt change of plans," your finger points intimidatingly close that it makes her cross-eyed. “I’ll see to it that your publication disappears the next morning."

You should be perplexed. You know you should.

You should be puzzled at the request of your artist, literally pulling you through the water so he wouldn’t feel scared for his job. You know you should be baffled that the lifeguards who are present on the set are gonna need to sit this one out, because the model they were tasked to look over, already has his manager doing what was supposed to be their job.

You should be confused when you let him hold your hand in between takes, even if he asked so he wouldn’t feel that he’s alone underwater.

You dry him off first even when you're dripping wet yourself, not feeling dumbfounded that even when you get your own towel, you add it to the one on his shoulders because he’s trembling.

With Yoongi, you don’t think twice.

.

.

"You have a cold because of me."

There’s the feeling of guilt that makes Yoongi sniffle, the pitiful sound surely not connected to how he’s had to shoot in a cold pool for half an hour.

"Don't take all the credit now."

He sees your eyes narrow at him and for a moment, he hears you chuckle.

He hears you laugh deeply even if the rasp of it is clearly tainted with a cold that he brought to you. Your laugh doesn’t bother him, not at all! What bothers him is the look of confusion that encompasses your features after.

His arms are outstretched and perched on them is a fluffy, burnt white towel. Even if it’s neatly folded, you could see the outlines of the iron and smell the distinct scent of singed cotton.

You’re not confused over why and how it’s burnt; you’re confused over the kindness.

"Don't look at me like that,” Yoongi mistakens your gaze as something that critics his good deed, a smile creeping to his lips in his attempt to explain himself.

"I tried my best to look for warm towels, alright? This was the next best thing."

"You ironed it while it was still damp," your head shakes at the well-thought yet poorly-executed effort, still peering at it because he hasn’t given it to you yet.

Yoongi’s cute. He tries. He attempts to take care of you and although it’s not the best, it’s good enough for you.

"I tried drying it with a fan at first but I couldn't wait because I heard you blowing your nose all the way from the lobby. Sue me."

( ♡ )

Yoongi thinks you’re a lightbeam.

He thinks you’re pure energy that bounces off and passes through whatever material simultaneously. You get through him the most, and he would never deny that.

There’s a certain glow to you that he gravitates towards and he only gets warm and energized at the most, but never burnt. You’re bright but never too blinding for him; you fill all his senses at once but the sensations don’t become overwhelming.

Yoongi’s not a speaker, much less a writer. He can’t enunciate his feelings for you the way he’d want to and it frustrates him endlessly. You do so, so much for him and not once does he comment on his appreciation.

He tries, though. He doesn’t know if it would ever be enough, or if any of his care for you would be equal to what you give to him, but he tries.

“So you just saw this and thought of giving it to me, hm?”

You hum at the article of clothing he’s put in your hands delicately, the soft knit material of the navy blue cardigan calming your strained eyes. It’s new to you — from the way you’ve never seen a knitted cardigan before with tiny sheep on them all over the place, to the way you’re not used to Yoongi gifting you things out of the blue.

“Does it even suit me?” you mumble under your breath, holding it up against your body to look at the mirror. The design of it was cute, unique even. It’s familiar to you for some reason but you don’t dwell on it, chalking it up to how it makes you happy just by looking at it.

“Every color is your color.”

Yoongi scoffs with his arms across his chest, a little huffy that you’d even doubt your image. “I’m not talking bull,” he exclaims a little more loudly when you shoot him a quizzical look, holding up his hands in defense. “I do mean it.”

You know that Yoongi isn’t the best with his words. He could be passive and defensive amongst all his other self-admitted weaknesses with his words in contrast to his actions, but you don’t mind. Yoongi means what he wants to mean, and you get his point every single time.

So when he tells you that he means sincerely that every color is your color, you believe him. You rely on yourself for assurance but with the reiteration coming from him, the (occasionally) least decisive person you know, you know better than to deny.

The halls in the company building aren’t empty but you choose to walk in the dead center of it, receiving courteous smiles from the mix of staff members before they scramble to not be in your path.

Your fellow employees in the company don’t necessarily fear you, but word comes around of what happens. Most of them are in awe of you from what you’ve heard but sometimes they respect the distance that you put. There were only a handful of people in the company that you like being around with and not just tolerate for the sake of it, and it’s more than enough for you. You didn’t come to make friends — you’re here to be competent. With or without them, you’re here for Yoongi, and Yoongi only.

Sometimes for Jimin too.

The actor from the same company has somewhat weaseled his way into your care, his plus points of being Yoongi’s best friend from high school contributing greatly. He’s not difficult to handle and even if he already has someone else as his manager, you wouldn’t mind buying lunch for him if he asked very kindly.

Jimin bumps your shoulder on purpose to walk with you in the hallway, having some time to kill by annoying you before his schedule resumes for the day. He looks awfully suspicious; half-amused and half-shocked to see you.

His eyes flit over your figure up and down like he didn’t just see you this morning, the ambiguous look on his face making your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What are you looking at?”

"Oh?" he exclaims, whistling as he does another once-over that just makes you more irritable than confused at this point. He clears his throat when he senses that you want an answer from him, playing it cool by shoving his hands into his pockets. "Where did you get that?"

He gestures to the cardigan you’re wearing, eyes squinting to make sure his vision isn’t playing tricks on him.

"Yoongi gave it to me,” you shrug carelessly, eyes suddenly brightening since you have the energy in you to tease him. "Why? Do I look pretty?"

Jimin’s face doesn’t fall and in fact, he even giggles in reply. He giggles and yet his eyes feel apologetic for some reason, making your head tilt in curiosity.

"You're pretty for sure," he coos, making your worry dissipate instantly.

The worry dissipates for a second but it comes back twofold when Jimin comes closer to you to remove the cardigan from your figure, the sudden act making you freeze that you just let him do so. "But you shouldn't wear secondhand."

"Yoongi and I share socks, a cardigan wouldn't be a problem,” your eyes roll at his trivial excuse in removing your knit.

The cardigan you’ve only had for a matter of hours is tucked to his arms and you make quick moves to snatch it back, but Jimin is even quicker in turning his body away from you.

How exactly should he break this to you?

"This is Sohee's cardigan."

If Jimin’s learned one thing from you, it’s to be direct and immediately cut to the chase.

"You're wearing Yoongi's ex's cardigan."

The familiarity you’ve once felt over the cardigan is no longer there, turning into the ugly type of affinity instead. It once smelled like Yoongi’s perfume to you but now you realize that it overwhelmingly smells like the forgotten depth of a cabinet.

The navy blue knit now looks patchy to you. It looks like it has the remaining dust of mothballs and the splotches of bleach. The sheep pattern on it looks sad to be even there. The material feels scratchy like a scouring pad and feels even dirtier than it. It’s hideous.

"Don't be mad, pretty," Jimin presses his thumb to the middle of your brows to ease the furrow, dropping in your nickname seamlessly to calm you. “Remember, you didn't hear that from me, alright?"

.

.

Yoongi had forgotten the feeling of someone literally throwing clothes at him (the last time was when he was a teenager and his mom was fed up with him not putting his laundry in the proper basket), but now, he relives the feeling.

"I don't want this."

He peeks through the cardigan you’ve just thrown him, confused on why you would be mad.

It’s rare and come to think of it, Yoongi can’t think of a time that you got angry at him. You get mad at directors who change the brief and casters who mispronounce his name and paparazzi who get in his face — you get angry for his sake, not at him.

"It's tacky. It's ugly," you spat, breaking eye contact to angrily organize his things in time for his next schedule. “It's Sohee's."

Yoongi had never angered you in a way and as much as you retain your patience for him, this one just bothers you like a tick. It just makes you itch and drains your blood and gives you unnecessary pain, the angry slew of words uncontrollable on the tip of your tongue.

"Seriously, why would you even give me something that belongs to your ex?"

"She's not really an ex," he exhales unsurely but he just wants to have the last word. He can’t help not being honest, even if being truthful doesn’t help his situation at the moment. “You see, we're kind of hooking-"

"Quit it!" your jaw clenches at the admission, your eyes about to roll to the back of your head from the raw annoyance that fills you. “Do I look like a charity shop for all the run-downs from your fuck buddy?"

Whichever way he puts it, Sohee’s his ex-girlfriend that cheated on him.

She’s an ex-girlfriend that was seeing someone behind Yoongi’s back and no matter how painful their split was, he still chases her after a lost puppy. Her months-long infidelity was forgiven with only a week’s worth of apologies, and it’s always Yoongi that doesn’t want to break off from her completely.

"Don't talk about her that way," he mutters, rolling his eyes at your misplaced protectiveness. You weren’t the one who was cheated on and yet you act like it. You’re not supposed to hurt on his behalf, but he remembers distinctly how you said that you would always rally behind him on his happiness.

Sure, being fuckbuddies with his ex-girlfriend isn’t as good as being committed to her the way a boyfriend would, but it makes him happy. You’re not supposed to hurt on his behalf but you do — you’re supposed to be happy with his joy but you aren’t.

"I just thought it would suit you. She left it in my closet and hasn't looked for it since," he sighs defeatedly, already knowing that you’re barely listening to him.

Yoongi doesn’t apologize simply because it’s not in his nature. He’s not sorry that he gave you his ex-girlfriend’s cardigan, but he’s sorry that you feel angry for whatever reason.

Yoongi’s sorry, but he would never say it.

"I wasn't trying to upset you or anything."

( ♡ )

There are only a handful of times that you get to sleep peacefully.

Those instances only happen when Yoongi’s schedule finishes early in the night and starts late the next day. Your body’s used to the work that fatigue only feels like second-nature, the tiredness hitting your system only when you don’t move.

For the first time in what felt like years, Yoongi’s schedule finished earlier than 5 PM today. You were so excited to come home and have time for yourself that you don’t regret rejecting Yoongi’s offer in getting drinks with him. It probably didn’t hurt him as much as his expression fell blank when you declined his offer for bonding outside work, but you already know that he too would kill to have time for himself.

Normally you would just take a night shower and head straight to bed without even drying your hair completely because you’re just that tired, later waking up with a headache. But god, today was just different. You take a shower for enjoyment rather than necessity, taking the time to break out the scrub you have to leave on in order to fully reap the benefits.

You take the time to dry your hair and put your work phone on silent, finally being able to wear the expensive pajamas upper management had gifted you two Christmas parties ago. You’re able to scroll through your watch recommendations without feeling pressured for time, even taking the time to watch trailers instead of blindly clicking a random title.

You have the time to do nothing and be liable for nobody that it all feels so good. You’re ultimately relaxed and go to bed without calculating for tomorrow, tucking yourself in before 9 PM.

Until your personal phone rings so loudly in the middle of the night.

The shock jolts you awake, accepting the call even if you can barely make out anything from your squinted eyes. Your voice is cut off before you could even say anything, the raspy needy register hitting all your senses at once.

"Come over."

Yoongi fills you up as a whole. He’s overwhelming in nature and if you couldn’t be any more delirious with what’s happening, the scent of his perfume fills your room. It’s unexplainable and doesn’t exist but you could swear that you smell his perfume.

There isn’t anything coherent in your mind that you can say but there’s only purpose somewhere in there, just a tiny bit of purpose that wants to be with Yoongi in that way, at this moment.

"I missed you so much, baby."

Maybe he’s drunk. Maybe he went for drinks by himself and only called you accidentally. He must be, because you’re not his baby.

Is this even for you? Maybe he does genuinely just miss you and the endearment is loose on his drunk tongue. Maybe he’s just slurring his words and he didn’t even call you the name, only being conjured up by your rudely-awakened mind.

"I want you so bad right now, Sohee," he practically moans to your ear, hearing his breath heave through the phone. “My cock's so-"

"Yoongi."

The moment his name leaves your lips in your voice is what makes him come out of his lust-driven senses, the beads of sweat on his forehead turning into the sensation of cold water on his flushed body. He was originally lying in bed when he pressed on Sohee’s number at his phone, at what he thought to be his work phone, instead of his personal. Sohee would always be the top-most contact in his personal cell, and his work’s frequent contact would be-

"Y/N?"

The realization makes Yoongi squeak for all the wrong reasons, hurriedly hanging up and unable to look at the phone on his hands that he chucks it to the wall next to his bed.

Neither of you sleep peacefully tonight.

( ♡ )

The shame in his system is what keeps Yoongi this jumpy early in the morning, not the three espresso shots he drank in one sitting.

His coffee intake isn’t the culprit to his heart palpitations and trembling hands, that much he could make out. He’s just so nervous to be in your presence after his innocent mistake last night. The train of events of him essentially asking you to come over while he sounds fucked-out, then calling you Sohee, and then eventually realizing that it’s in fact you, his manager, who he called up at 2 in the morning — it’s a long shot from being innocent. He didn’t mean to call you, but he didn’t mean to unknowingly hurt you either.

Yoongi doesn’t fear you but maybe he does now by the way you don’t utter a single word to him at all, too preoccupied with your job. Had you always been this busy? He knows that you’re busy superlatively but somehow, you’d always fit him into your process. You were the type to have your nose buried in your cue sheets while asking him at the same time of what he wants for lunch.

There’s only four of you in the lounge anyway; you, him, Jimin, and Tiger– the stray cat who ended up becoming the company feline.

“So how did you sleep last night?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, gauging to see if he was the one being asked. You’re sitting beside him but you’re busy nonetheless, leaving the question unanswered. Yoongi’s looking at Tiger now and it’s clear that he wouldn’t answer the question anytime soon, so of course Jimin’s about a hundred percent sure that he’s the one being interrogated.

"Eh. I slept at five in the morning."

Yoongi screws his eyes shut because this is clearly not going the way he wanted to, but stopping abruptly now just seems awkward.

"It's really quiet at 5 AM. How was your sleep?"

Jimin doesn't think about it, really. He doesn’t wonder how Yoongi basically asked him the same question twice. He’s just here answering whatever came to mind, oblivious to the tension (literally one-sided based on Yoongi’s perspective) that was filling up the room.

"Oddly enough, it was deep. Come to think of it, the later I sleep, the more sound it is."

"Jimin, over here!" Hoseok, his manager, hollers outside the lounge that it has him immediately standing up, leaving the two of you alone together.

Three if you count Tiger.

Yoongi feels like he’s fucked now that there’s no buffer state between the two of you, thinking about the next big thing before clearing his throat, petting the cat on his head.

"You should eat well today.”

You’re not clueless to know that Jimin’s already left the lounge. You see clearly how Yoongi looks like a fool talking indirectly to Tiger in order to make conversation with you.

He’s not as swift and smooth as he thinks but you’re sure that he doesn’t realize it, just like how he doesn’t realize loads of things. He doesn’t realize the gravity of your anger even if you’ve already said what causes it. He doesn’t realize that Sohee is the worst thing to happen to him, both in his professional and personal life, coming from you both as a manager and a friend. He doesn’t realize that you’re intentionally not indulging him this time.

"Your sunglasses look nice,"

Yoongi still gets no reaction from you, coughing to the back of his hand. He looks at you slyly, turning his attention back to Tiger to distract him from the overpowering humiliation he feels.

"I'm talking to you, by the way. Not the cat."

You deadpan to your notes, not budging in the slightest bit when you respond.

“You don't say."

You’re angry and sleep-deprived and you’re dangling by the edge on keeping it all together. You already want to call it a day but it’s just barely started. Seeing Yoongi makes you tired and you think that it would pass eventually, the feeling of it only stuck for today.

You pet Tiger lovingly before you leave the lounge, only making the note to come fetch Yoongi when needed. You don’t want to be around him and it’s a rare feeling, but it’s only for today.

It should only be for today.

"Your shoot starts an hour from now."

( ♡ )

Yoongi can’t stand the thought of you getting anything less than what you deserve.

He doesn’t have a weak stomach but it churns when people make fun of you. Your reputation precedes you and in the few times that your cutthroat attitude leaves no room for screw-ups in future projects, you get mocked by people who haven’t even met you.

Maybe it’s because they haven’t seen you in person that they haven’t been humbled yet. Yoongi thinks it’s pathetic of them to make a caricature of someone who carried him on their back, the main reason of why he even got this far.

They wouldn’t know you like he does and Yoongi loves it because that way, he feels special. Your interactions and warmth in general are exclusive to only the two of you. No one would know how talkative you can get and how bright your smile could get — only he gets to see that.

They wouldn’t know you like he does and Yoongi hates it. He hates it because that way, no one gets to know who you are as an individual because being his manager is a bigger identity than yourself. No one gets to know how kind and loyal you are in your true nature.

“They’re looking at your watch.”

He grits his teeth, eyeing the snotty friend group who’s gathered in a tiny circle and are laughing, their eyes constantly looking at you. He knows for sure that you get a lot of looks, but there’s just something about how they each take mischievous glances at you and laugh obnoxiously at the next second.

Yoongi models for a living, of course he’d know how to read people. He knows how to read body language from years of observing and expressing; he knows how to read lips from waiting between glass panes to see if he would be casted back in his rookie days.

“They’re making fun of you.” Either you don’t hear him or you chose not to pay attention to him, but he repeats it more sternly this time. He comes closer to you with a scowl, crossing his arms as he steps in front of you slightly to cover you from their eyes. “They’re looking at your watch.”

You look up from your phone, tucking it into your pocket. You heard Yoongi the first time but now he sounds more urgent than the last, finally indulging him.

“Who?”

He gestures his head slyly to the group that’s not that far from you in the first place, definitely out of earshot but still completely visible to look at their shadows. “Them.”

Not a second passes that you look at his line of sight, boldly staring even if you catch one of them looking at you. She was laughing at first but it registers belatedly that you’re looking directly at her, making her turn her head away. You recognize her.

Yoongi’s eyes widen to realize that you’ve basically just let them know that you’re aware they’re talking about you, the heads-up coming from him directly.

“The one in the red shirt,” your chin points, looking back at Yoongi to see if he’s catching up. “She’s been stuck as the coffee runner for years. She applied to become a manager five times last year and look where she is.”

He could grasp slightly why you’re telling him this, but the point doesn’t completely sink in. He knows that you’re easily one of the highest-paid managers in the whole industry and you could really put the girl in place if you wanted to.

“But she’s making fun of you.”

At his frown, you sigh. The both of you know that he wouldn’t let this go not unless you get redeemed in some way. Whether that some way would be standing up for yourself or him doing it for you, Yoongi simply wanted to have her karma one way or another.

She meets your eyes again, you motion her to come over using just two fingers, and she does.

She looks more catty and arrogant the last time you saw her, even if she is neither of those things when she’s scared shitless in front of you. You don’t remember insignificant faces but you only manage to remember her because the last time you crossed paths (in the same luxury store while you were getting Yoongi’s necessities), she was hurling profanities at the store manager simply for running out of stock of her desired bag.

“Run to the next block and get me twenty drinks.”

She’s dressed poshly in her tweed jacket and yet her eyes blink dimly, tripping over her words. “R-run?” she repeats, “twenty?”

“Do you expect any of us to let you use our company vehicles just to go to the next block? To get drinks?”

“N-no, ma’am,” she shakes her head earnestly, swallowing the lump of karma in her throat. She’s beyond embarrassed to see the glances towards her, most especially her friends’. She was just talking smack about you and the things she’s heard and at the next blink later, she was being summoned by none other than you.

She swallows her pride, internally cussing herself for being so obvious and so dense. It was true what she heard about you — you don’t let anything go past you.

“What should I get for you?”

Your mouth curves into a small smile, nudging the model beside you.

“I’ll let Yoongi decide for me.”

His mouth falls on why he’s suddenly being dragged into this but there’s just something, something that just plasters his mind as fast as it was formed. He’s not necessarily vindictive, but he is fair.

“Vanilla bean crême frappe, heavy cream, half-cup soy milk, with cream in the largest cup they have, no ice, no water, with honey drizzle, protein powder, no whip, with sweet cream, add chocolate chips, blueberry toppings.”

You have to suppress your laugh.

You’re trying so earnestly to keep yourself composed and the way your chuckle tickles your throat is making it hard, opting to bite your lip instead. He’s funny — something about him coming to your side in the form of a serious, obnoxiously long drink order is just so amusing to you.

“A-and uhm, and the other nineteen?”

She’s the only one who isn’t entertained by the situation of it all, eyes widening at the gravity of her own question.

“Ask around.”

Yoongi snickers to himself quietly, waiting to see her go to the other staff members before finally chuckling out loud. He can’t contain himself, shaking his head repeatedly at what you just did.

“You’re evil.”

“And you helped me,” your tongue clicks to the roof of your mouth, laughing alongside him. “Besides, I’m giving her a job to do.”

Come to think of it, you’re not unnecessarily rude. You’re quick on your feet and even more on your tongue but you don’t go to excessive lengths. You could be snippy and snappy but only within grounds. You’re not rude until you’re provoked and Yoongi knows that.

You tell him briefly how you knew the girl and it doesn’t take much explanation why he would do the same if he was in your position, nodding earnestly while you ask him.

“Who’s making fun of who now?”

He laughs breathlessly, smiling to himself before keeping his eyes on the ground. He peeks up at you, eyes glazing your wrist first in deep thought.

“You’re the only manager I know who doesn’t use a smart watch.”

“I’m the only manager you need to know.”

“It’s so scratched up,” he reasons, circling his hand around your wrist to hold it up. He pokes at the hardware, a slight pout on his face. “The clasp won’t even close.”

“It could still tell me the time,”

“You had to replace the batteries twice this week.”

Yoongi surprises you at times. He sometimes renders you speechless with the random things he remembers about you and the mementos he remembers you by. He’s liquid light at your fingertips, always flowing and never stagnant.

He surprises you when you’re oblivious to the fact that his hard gaze on the camera is not to appease the photographer but because he’s actually in deep thought.

He surprises you that in-between takes, he peers at you to see what way he’s going next. He does extra well to have a break called earlier, no longer able to have his thoughts to himself.

Yoongi surprises you while you aren’t looking, unwinding as you eat your lunch before you check in on him again. He take off his own watch from his wrist, swiftly removing your own to replace it with his.

“Wear this starting now.”

“I really don’t care if they make fun of me, Yoongi.”

You mean it sincerely — a random, insignificant person’s opinions on you, much less the watch you wear, doesn’t really matter. You’d continue wearing it whether Yoongi gave you the heads-up about it or not.

You’d fight him on it and return the watch, but with the way he’s just gripping you softly to remind you that his watch isn’t the only thing that’s hugging your skin, or even the way he pleads you silently to accept something of his — you don’t object.

“But I do,” he says sincerely, pocketing your old watch in the meantime. “I care.”

.

.

It’s not everyday that you grab lunch with the company’s CEO, but it’s also not everyday that you have to pat his back repeatedly after almost choking on his food.

“Oh that’s hard.”

Namjoon remarks while you grab him a napkin, his eyes instantly catching the glint of the timepiece on your wrist. He’s casual with you just like he is with Yoongi, seeing to it that his company was just barely taking off when the two of you were signed in. He has an eye for detail and he’s certain he could never forget, head tilting in wonder.

“Didn’t you use to wear a watch that was a little more… shabby?”

The huff leaves you faster than you could repress it, rolling your eyes playfully. You don’t know why it’s such a big deal because at the end of the day, you don’t even flaunt it around. Ever since Yoongi gave you his watch for you to wear, things just felt differently.

“It’s just a watch.”

“That’s a Rolex.”

You sigh in acknowledgement, knowing the brand well considering you’d see the insignia every time you look at the time. “And a Rolex is a watch.”

Namjoon chews through his salad quickly, adamant to correct you.

“No, that’s the Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust watch,” he shakes his head eagerly, holding up your wrist to point out the craftsmanship. He goes about the tangent on what makes it timeless, on his way to his eighth point of defense before you start growing sick of the jargon.

“Are you being paid to say this or what?” you chuckle, snatching your wrist back. “I didn’t buy this anyway. Yoongi just gave this to me.”

You continue eating but Namjoon stops in his tracks, mouth parting open to try and grasp what you just said.

“He did?” he curls his voice, not wanting to believe it at first. He looks back at the timepiece and he could immediately tell what makes it to be truly Yoongi’s, heartily chuckling once it clicks into his mind. “Huh. Interesting. This watch means a lot to him.”

“Yeah, his first paycheck,” you nod, knowing that he knows about the story too, “but apparently not so much. He told me that I needed it more than he did so he just gave it away.”

How endearing.

“I was with him when he bought that watch,” Namjoon pipes in, genuinely surprising you because it’s the first you’ve heard of it. He smiles at your awe, mumbling to himself when he catches you looking at the watch in wonder. “That’s probably why it doesn’t look weird on you. It’s always been yours.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?” you catch his words instantly, your eyebrows furrowing with what he just said, “this watch has never been mine before.”

Namjoon doesn’t elaborate, instead just smiling at you. It isn’t his place to tell, but no one really said that it isn’t his position to be happy watching from afar.

“If you say so.”

( ♡ )

If you’re not worrying about Yoongi’s today, then you’re worrying about his tomorrow.

Sometime between his hectic schedule, there were days that opened up the opportunity for relaxation. By relaxation, you mean his rest.

Perhaps the two of you have been desensitized to working extremely tiring workdays that a slightly less tiring day already feels like a vacation. The motions of caring for Yoongi made you realize that you could never properly rest until you’re working on something, whether it would be peeling tangerines while watching your shows or crocheting while getting your pedicures.

You’re so used to the idea of not allowing yourself to rest and it’s taking its toll on you slowly but surely. You aren’t necessarily in denial because after all you know you’re cut out for this job, but sooner or later, you know that this would end one day. You’ve saved more than enough and as much as you aren’t worried about the financial aspect of taking a break and perhaps retiring early, you’re scared shitless.

There would come a time when you have to stop taking care of Yoongi.

Now is not the time though.

"I have an idea,” Yoongi bursts into your office carrying nothing but a paper bag, his smile too wide that you have to take your eyes off of your spreadsheet to savor it fully.

"Mhmm."

He skips past your tone of indifference, sitting at the chair in front of your desk without his grin faltering.

"I'm gonna dye my hair orange,” he announces confidently without any room for doubt. He cheers, even, “It's gonna look so good on me, I swear. Plus my hair's longer now too!"

It suits him, just now realizing that he had a haircut to give shape to the length he’s been growing out; only his sides being buzzed. His bangs are pushed away from his forehead and he looks too pretty this way. A little more rugged and a little less prim, the silhouette of his hair complimenting his features nicely.

You’re only reminded of how you’ve been too silent for too long when Yoongi tilts his head, prompting you to clear your throat as if it never happened.

"That's not a bad idea," you shrug, thinking far ahead of the reactions when his new look gets revealed. His hair has been a faded blonde for quite some time now, but he was easy on the eyes regardless. “It's been awhile since you did something new with your hair."

"I'll fit it in your schedule," you conclude, pulling up your phone amongst the many devices you have a copy of his schedule in. “Are you free on-"

"Now. I'm free now."

There goes Yoongi again with the endearingly eager tone, the one that lulls you to let go a little. He seems excited about it and as much as you don’t want to spoil the mood, you atleast want to let him know about the downsides before you need to rein him in.

"You're doing it yourself?" he hears you wince, scratching your temple unsurely. "I don't know about that, Yoongs. Box dye makes your hair crunchy. Remember when you tried red?"

"One step ahead of you," he beams, taking out item after item from the paper bag he couldn’t seem to let go of when he first entered. "I got what they would use on me in the salon. They even wrote the instructions by hand, look!"

Cute.

Yoongi’s cute.

"You did something by yourself?" you gasp dramatically, receiving the energy right back because he’s in a good mood.

"Shocker, right?" he hums, purposefully taking out the gloves from the bag as the last item. He pulls them out agonizingly slow, making your eyes squint until you sense the material being pushed to your hands. "Least I could do because you're the one who's dyeing my hair."

"What?" your mouth falls open, “you already went to the salon to get these yourself. Couldn't you let them do it instead?" It’s not like the thought of dyeing Yoongi’s hair repulses you, but it just makes you nervous for a reason. It’s too domestic, too intimate because knowing the difference of your nature from being in the hairdressers, the two of you are close. Conversation flows freely while you do such a thing for him.

Being domestic with Yoongi doesn’t scare you — mistaking his definition of normalcy as your intimacy does.

“Silly," he coos, "I'm making you dye my hair so in case it goes bad, I won't blame myself!"

You thank the heavens that Yoongi is himself.

"Perfect."

It’s half an hour later until you get everything sorted out, turning your office into a makeshift salon for the meantime with your main priority being ventilation, your door already opened with numerous fans turned on.

Yoongi seems giddy — in his salon cape with a drink on his hand, even coercing you to look into the mirror in front of the both of you so he could take pictures.

Before you could even do it, he removes his own cap from his head, placing it on yours gingerly.

"Keep it."

"Why?"

He’s used to you asking why but this time around, there’s no grand motive to it. You’re not shivering from cold pool water nor are you being made fun of for your watch. There’s no cause-effect tangent to it this time.

"No reason. I just feel like giving it to you."

You’re used to Yoongi not explaining.

He could enunciate himself well, you know it. But being with him for so long in a way wherein you’re heavily involved, sometimes, Yoongi doesn’t need to explain. You know what he wants and you know what he means before he could open his mouth, needless for a grand explanation.

"You're either a cat or a crow."

The observation you keep at the tip of your tongue slips seamlessly when you see his eyes closed, looking ahead at the reflection to see that you’re still wearing his cap even if he isn’t looking.

"Are you high?" he peeks one eye open, a snort leaving him at the suddenness of your words.

The chuckle that leaves you is warm enough to soothe Yoongi’s cheeks, automatically making him smile.

"Sometimes you bring me your hunts.” Just like Sohee’s cardigan, or better yet the entire concept of his ex-girlfriend. Yoongi could be the cat and Sohee could be the rabbit, but in all honestly, you can’t really tell who is which.

“Sometimes you bring me shiny things." She grounds him to what he’s used to, and he restricts his flight to all he’s ever known. Somewhere along, you’ve just been the designated feeder of the crow for him to come around at times, dropping shiny gifts on your lap; case in point the very watch you wear now.

Crows and cats don’t have a lot in common but one of their similarities is the love for the game — the hunt for what’s normal. One gifts, and one scavenges.

"One day, you'll be putting a dead rat right on my hands and I won't be surprised."

"Ew. I hate rats." Yoongi almost gags in his mouth, the mention of the rodent making his skin crawl.

"If I were to give you a rat, I won't put it in your hands," he clarifies, taking your own analogy to fit his. "I'll just bring you to the rat instead!”

"How romantic."

"I know right," he grins cheesily, obviously pleased with himself. “That way, you’re surprised with something so off-putting.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi has the eye for spontaneity.

He tends to be on the impulsive side, but as far as he knows (emphasis on as far), none of his rash decisions ever resulted into harm. He only wants within reason and after two minutes of just pure critical thinking, he knows what he wants.

To go to the rest stop just wearing his sleep shirt and pajamas, buy three packs of ramen and two freshly-toasted corndogs, split it with you evenly, and eat and talk with you by the spinning high chairs.

Yoongi rings you only once at 9 in the evening, you pick him up, and by 9:42, you’re already cracking eggs and blowing on noodles.

“God, this just hits the spot,” Yoongi moans against the hot meal. He’d been craving for the specific experience for awhile now, missing the atmosphere on going on late night drives and stopovers. It reminds him of the family trips when he was a kid, thoroughly enjoying it even if he was an only child. His dad would fill up the car, his mom would go to the clerk to get the keys for the bathroom, and he’d finally walk with no urgency on his step once it’s over.

Just like his family, you ask him what else he wants to eat. And even if he says there’s nothing else, you grab additional snacks you know he would like. He would just read labels upon the racks of things he can’t normally see in a grocery store, take note of what he wants to buy later, and reserves a seat.

“It’s good that you called me. I was fucking craving for the same exact thing,” you grunt in delight when the hot meal instantly takes you aback, the first bite of it never failing to hit the mark.

You like evening drives and rest stop adventures. There’s something so warm in seeing car windows fog up because of the airconditioner and doodling on the moisture. There’s something so cool in draping makeshift blankets and cramming your hands inside sweaters as soon as everyone talks about the gameplan to not stay for long in the stopover.

There’s something so homey in Yoongi asking you to join him into a distinct experience you wanted to go through again — even if you never told him how much you want what he wants too.

“You took your earrings out?”

He comments when he waits for you to finish the remaining bits of your meal, looking at your side profile when he noticed the lack of jewelry on your ear.

“Mhmm,” you hum in confirmation, eyebrows furrowing when his fingers pinch your lobes in curiosity.

“Here, have this.”

Yoongi removes his own earrings without a second thought, using the overpriced wet tissues to clean them thoroughly.

Perhaps it’s because you’re already used to him and his split-second decisions that you aren’t surprised when he nimbly takes off his own jewelry while you’re eating, focused on his own task.

Yoongi uses his hand to cup your jaw, keeping your side profile faced to him. He knows that you aren’t hurt with piercings but he takes great care anyway when he puts in his hoops on your lobes. He does it closely that you feel hyper-aware of his warm palm on your chin to turn your head the other way, putting in the last earring for you.

"It's white gold," he chimes, flicking you hoops. “Protects you from all the bad things, apparently."

You distract yourself from the incredible warmth you feel by making conversation, turning your attention to the table first before gaining the courage to return the eye contact.

"Bad things?"

Yoongi nods.

"Evil things. I don't know, things that hurt you, I guess. Just bad things."

"You believe in these?"

There’s no malice to your question to at all, the both of you knowing that you wouldn’t ever cross such ground.

"Correction, my mom believes in all these," Yoongi rectifies, laughing in recollection of the random things he knows.

One time during a trip to the rest stop, when his ramen was unbelievably hot and his mom was cooling it down for him, she told him of the little tidbits about white gold to keep him preoccupied. His family wasn’t well-off but he distinctly remembers how all the jewelry he had growing up was all real and pawnable.

"I think believing in these trivial things don't matter that much, honestly. As long as no one gets harmed, it isn't so bad," he shrugs. It takes one, two seconds before he pinches his fingers, finally admitting. “okay, maybe I do believe a little."

"Your earrings better work on me,” you joke, borrowing his overpriced mirror that he bought at the cashier to look at your earrings. “As long as I wear them, I won't be hurt?"

"Well I can't promise that you won't ever be hurt as long as you wear my earrings," Yoongi rolls his eyes as expected, making you do the same.

"Isn't it bad luck to wear secondhand jewelry?"

You point out in realization, holding out your wrist and gently tugging at your earlobes, waiting to see if he has any more tidbits that he knows.

Cute.

You’re cute.

"First off, I gave these to you and you already know me. You didn't buy them from a stranger," he emphasizes, “it's a bit of a grey area but it's only bad luck if the person you got it from had bad intentions."

"And you-"

Yoongi smacks you at the back of the head before you even get to finish your question, being quite the paradox when he does so.

"Of course I don't have bad intentions!" he exclaims, then soothing the back of your head with his warm palm rubbing in circles. "I'll never hurt you, y'know?"

"Hm," you hum, looking away so he wouldn’t see how flustered you are. “If you say so."

You’re about to eat another bite of your ramen when Yoongi surprises you by taking your utensils, putting the portion closer to him so he could blow off the steam.

You almost burnt your tongue, he reasons, making you part your mouth open to feed you.

"See?" he whispers knowingly, flicking both your watch and earrings that were once his. "Good intentions only."

( ♡ )

Every once in a while, Yoongi takes you along with him to his parents’ house.

He’s being a good son by constantly giving back to his parents and recognizing that their upbringing of him tremendously helped him to remain humble in the industry.

He’s being a good son by indulging their giggly requests if he could sign some things for a friend’s daughter or a colleague’s son, even paying attention to his handwriting.

He’s being a good son by keeping his feet on the ground no matter how high he gets because regardless if he’s in his childhood home or not, he would be still be as humble as Min Yoongi, his parents’ son, before he became the renowned personality he is now.

His parents always gush over you and an interaction never passes without them thanking you because in a way, you made their son grow in ways they haven’t. Through it all, they would never forget Yoongi introducing you to them as his manager — a bright-eyed, headstrong individual who in reality, has never become a manager to someone until Yoongi came along.

He’s a good son who is always sincere but you don’t know anything when he pipes in the dinner table when the focus was shifted to you, being frozen in your seat while the coos remained around.

"Girl of my dreams right here.”

Yoongi speaks to his food as if he didn’t call you the girl of his dreams right then and there in front of his parents.

He says it casually as if he was talking about the weather or going on about his tire pressure. He says it so easily as if he’s extremely familiar about it and it makes you warm.

He makes you warm but you always get stiff as if you’re frozen, your eyes unable to remain still through the entirety of dinner.

You’re not sure if it’s Yoongi staying with his filial son role but as soon as the first drop of the heavy rain hits their roof, until realization hits that you only came here through Yoongi’s car, until traffic updates say that there’s zero visibility on road — Yoongi asks you to stay.

"Just sleep in my room."

There’s no argument to it with the way he sternly looks at you, knowing that you’d always avoid being a “burden” even if you aren’t seen as one in the slightest bit; especially where he is– even in his childhood home.

"Where would you sleep?"

"Guest room," he answers nonchalantly. He takes the opportunity to joke, sensing your hesitancy on staying the night even if you knew it was technically impossible to leave. “Why? Thought I was sleeping next to you?"

He wiggles his eyebrows in teasing and as much as it loosened you up a little, you whine in complaint. "But I'm the guest."

"I'm sleeping in the guest room because the AC is much quieter," he whispers in admission, "My bed here is softer but the downside you have is that," he points to the airconditioning unit, “that thing's a mammoth."

"Oh."

Of course, there’s no other reason behind the room assignments besides Yoongi wanting to sleep in peace and quiet. But he senses the way you’re silent over it, rambling nonsense to fill in the void.

"Like seriously, the room shakes and you'd think the cold that comes out of it is proportional to all its heaving. It's like-"

If he was being honest, Yoongi wanted you to sleep in his bedroom because it would help him sleep at night knowing that you’re safe.

He didn’t want to say it out loud but really, he didn’t want you to sleep in the only guest room they had because he had just found out that there was a leak in the ceiling. He wouldn’t make you go through that (and his parents don’t either) which is why even if he had already given his room to you, the moment you turn into bed, he’d be going with his dad to the garage to see if they could patch it up before morning comes.

"Night, Yoongi."

He smiles, hoping he didn’t hurt you drastically this time.

"Good night."

( ♡ )

A manager should always be on-guard.

It was reasonable to think about the worst of everything and everyone in order to gauge the best you could care for your artist. It isn’t exactly hypocritical to do so considering the stakes at hand; you need to do whatever it takes.

You aren’t sure when your level of complacency started. You’re still on the tip of your toes each time you’re working with Yoongi, your quality of work never wavering. You had no problem living up to your reputation.

Your complacency in thinking that nothing would ever hurt Yoongi is far bigger than you expected it to be. You held both him and yourself to the highest degree — there’s sincerely nothing bad to be said about him. His track record’s clean and you intend keeping it that way.

There was no room for error in your management for Yoongi, that much you knew. You know to yourself that you’re the most thorough, intricate, and nurturing they could ever come.

You just don’t know where you went wrong in caring for Yoongi.

“I need you.”

Yoongi calls you on your rest day at 8 in the morning, his calls relentlessly growing in number when you don’t immediately pick up at the first ring. You were supposed to sleep in but at the sight of his name on you personal phone, you already know that the few hours of additional sleep are down the drain.

“What for?”

“I just need you to come.”

His voice is trembling, panicky even. You ask nothing but the address of where you need to go to, hanging up as soon as he mumbles in a daze of where he is now.

By the time you hung up, you were still in bed. You have every intention to get ready as soon as you can, and you’re gonna stand up any second now! Any second now and you screw your eyes shut, exhaling loudly to attend to him. It’s getting harder to wake up for Yoongi’s needs.

By the time you arrive at the broadcasting building he directed you to, you’re already escorted inside in a hurry by guards who saw you coming. Yoongi already gave them the heads-up to let only you in and no one else, catching your breath when you take the elevator with them.

They’re trained to be professional as it was a given. None of them break a sweat but you could see their chests rising, their earpieces giving feedback every two seconds with the way they respond urgently. It must be serious, you think.

You’re escorted into a dressing room that doesn’t have Yoongi’s name on it, being met with said man when you’re practically pushed inside. Your dressing room’s barricaded and you have no time to think when Yoongi pulls you to the corner, your eyes momentarily fleeting to the people inside.

They’re all unfamiliar to you besides Sohee. Several of them lend their gazes to you but they’re all back to being frantic as it seems; some drumming their fingers nervously on the couch, some pacing around the carpet with their phones pressed to their ear.

“Sohee’s bag was stolen.”

Yoongi announces it to you and he gulps the lump in his throat, putting his hands on his hips while he tries to calm down his breathing. Sohee was in the main studio filming an interview for her upcoming drama, he was watching her from backstage, and the rest of the staff were getting lunch in the cafeteria — in turn, no one being left in the dressing room.

“Sohee’s bag was stolen?” you repeat. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, stating the obvious. “That’s not your bag.”

He nods like he understand but you don’t think he understands. There’s not a single explanation of why you’re called here other than his ex-girlfriend’s bag was stolen.

“How does this concern me at all?”

He squints his eyes, surprised why you’re even questioning him. Normally you just do what you’re asked but his mind’s too panicked at the moment to even call you out for it, resorting to pleading. “Because her laptop’s in it. Please. Y/N, you have to start calling who you need to call-“

You’re still lost and you won’t even pretend otherwise, reaching out to grab his arm for him to stop pacing and start explaining instead.

“The studio’s been on lockdown, there’s no one in or out. The one who took it must still be in the building.”

“She could buy a new laptop for fuck’s sake,” you reply crassly, forgetting that Sohee’s still in the same room as you. You don’t know why you’re even summoned here on your rest day. “Why would you call me for something you’re not even involved in?”

“But I-I am involved in it.”

Yoongi swallows the lump in his throat and he could visibly see how your eyes are much more focused now, the nervousness ticking in his spine while you probe him to go further.

“There’s sensitive information of me, of us, in her laptop.”

Your composure starts the clock for its erosion, sucking in a breath while you try to figure out how you’d go with this. “Bank account details? Your home address? What’s in there?”

“Sensitive information.”

“Tell me specifically,” you counter, trying to refresh your knowledge about the people you could connect with to deal with a possible security leak. You start to look for names in your contacts and search for who could get you a direct link to someone who’d be of great help, waiting on his answer

“It’s just — i-it’s sensitive,” he doesn’t help his case at all by being shy about it, pushing you to become more frantic. This whole ordeal is time-sensitive and if he trips on his words more, the aftermath of it would be far more tensioned than the room is now.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know, Yoongi!”

Yoongi sucks in a breath and he feels tears pricking at his eyes out of the pressure in his stomach, cracking his fingers. He shuts his eyes to try and compose himself, grounding whatever’s left of his sanity by looking at you.

“Sex tape.”

He didn’t know what reaction to expect from you and to be honest, he doesn’t even know if he’d like any of them. Admitting it to you is far more painful than thinking about the possible repercussions of this whole thing.

You don’t know what your face does. You can’t tell if it dimmed with anger or if it fell with disappointment. You can’t discern if your mouth falls open at surprise or if it fell in surprise. You wouldn’t know what you feel even if someone placed a mirror in front of you.

“Sohee and I have a sex tape in there.”

You gather every last bit of your resolve, call out for Sohee’s manager in the room, and go to work.

You go to work immediately about retracing every last person and interaction they have been exposed to; be it Yoongi and Sohee themselves or the staff members. You direct the room and distribute numbers for them to call, under the strict instruction that they contact these people under your name and no one else’s.

You pick up and bark replies at everyone who’s responded to your request for help, Sohee’s staff (who you didn’t even know of until ten minutes ago) calling your attention as soon as they get a definitive answer from their contact.

You direct the building security to look for every cranny that both Yoongi and Sohee’s party went through the moment they went through the studio. You get a radio to be informed about any suspicious movement that went in and out of the dressing room upon their ongoing review on the security cameras.

You ring up Namjoon due to the gravity of the situation. He does the work himself, getting his driver to hightail through the red lights to get to where you and Yoongi were as fast as possible. He calls the people he know on the inside; a high-ranking police officer to speed up the operations in retrieving the laptop and for the upcoming charges, and a bigshot lawyer in case everything goes to shit and the sex tape ends up hitting the internet.

Everything is fast-paced for the next half hour that as soon as you get the acknowledgement in your end of communication, the tension of everything that unfolded not immediately melting even when you get the good news.

“It was a stalker that started working as an intern in advance when he heard Sohee was doing a new drama. He guessed that you’d get an interview here during the promotions because the show you went on is famous. He’s been caught already — he already had previous charges before this.”

Sohee’s manager breaks the good news, making the people inside the dressing room visibly deflate in relief.

“Nothing was touched. Your laptop couldn’t be opened anyway because the battery was out.”

“Was the battery out the last time you used it?” Yoongi asks her just to make sure, the rest of the people listening in because he did make a good counter.

Sohee eagerly nods her head, swiping the sweat from her forehead. “Yeah, yeah! I was meaning to charge it.”

That was the end of it.

That was supposed to be the end of it but Yoongi barely feels relieved.

“That was a close one.”

Namjoon broke the terse silence with the small comment and as if on cue, both Yoongi and Sohee apologize deeply with a bow in front of their staff. None of them had a reason to stay any longer in the building considering what had just happened, Sohee and her team being the ones to pack up earlier.

Namjoon’s bound to have a long talk with Yoongi but he excuses himself for the day, giving him nothing but a stern instruction to see him tomorrow, before leaving.

Yoongi drove on his own to the studio and he could head home right at this moment but he sees you hanging back in the same dressing room, your expression unreadable.

He has every resource and reason to leave right now — to reel back from what happened and save himself from a scolding. He could and can do that right now, but oddly enough, Yoongi feels like he deserves this.

He deserves your blank gaze at nothing in particular before it grows angry at the realization that he’s still not leaving the room.

Seeing Yoongi infuriates you.

He doesn’t know where to start but he professes his honesty first, his stinging tears not holding back this time round.

“I-I have nothing to say for myself,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything. You stay silent and withhold any fibre of attention from him. You can’t even look him in the eye and Yoongi can’t deal with it for the life of him.

“The tape’s from last year a-and we thought-“

“I don’t fucking care if that sex tape was from last year or yesterday.”

You grit your reply through your teeth, every last bit of your patience running out at the exact second he decided to defend himself.

“You’re so stupid, Yoongi!” you exclaim in sheer disdain. “Fuck whoever you want but you do not make a sex tape! You don’t film it in laptops! You don’t film yourself cumming on Sohee!”

You can’t even stomach what had and what could have happened in the last hour. It physically makes you sick and you can’t wrap your head around how come you’re the most shaken of them all, barely able to hold it together.

You’ve held it for the last hour but you can’t even try to pretend you’re composed. You’re the furthest thing from being level-headed right now and your loss of grip makes you spiral, unable to grasp even a single straw.

“Do you know how much this could’ve hurt you?”

Frustrated tears spring out of your eyes and throughout the years he’s known you, this is the first time Yoongi’s ever seen you cry. This is the first time he’s ever seen you so wrecked and upset that his mind blanks on how he could help you. You always know what to do for whatever happens to him, today being a clear example — but you’re crying. You’re crying and it’s a cake walk against all the shit about him you’ve had to solve, but Yoongi can’t do anything.

“Her laptop’s backed up into the cloud, for god’s sake! Anyone could’ve hacked her, even!” you point out further. “Everything would be over for you just because you wanted to film your dick getting wet.”

You’ve never had such a drastic release of emotions. You’ve never cried this hard and this frustratedly to the point you whimper and wail to your hands unintelligibly. You’re so, so spent and for once, you focus on no one but yourself.

You focus on nothing besides the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the sobs you’ve never heard coming from your own mouth wracking your ribs.

You focus on nothing besides the way your head feels like it’s splitting open from all off your accumulated stress.

In respect to the time you last did it in years, you focus on no one but yourself.

“Think, Yoongi! Wouldn’t it hurt to just fucking think sometimes?”

“I-I’m sorry! I already told you I’m sorry!” he cries in between hiccups, trying to get you to look at him.

“You’re not sorry enough,” you grit. “What would you have done if it was leaked, huh? You think I can clean up your mess this time? You think I can just bitch at everyone again so they forget your screw-up?”

You save yourself some dignity by aiming straight for the door, another set of footsteps trying to trail after you.

“Don’t be like this,” he pleads, his voice hoarse as he begs to get you to stay. “W-where are you going? Y/N please!”

“Get out of my way.”

Yoongi is neither a cat or a crow, but he is himself. And as what he once promised, he brings you to the rat; something so off-putting and gut-wrenching.

In your rush to get out, your earrings get caught at a hook by the door. You’re desperate enough to leave that you push through, barely feeling the pain.

Your ear burns and although it's not torn, you feel the sting of the tiny tear of your– Yoongi's earring on your lobe, the warm sensation of red making you shiver for a vague second.

You're hurt.

( ♡ )

For the first time ever, you take a break.

You grab an overdue two-week break you’re entitled to but have never used, and you make the most of it.

Namjoon granted it for you instantly without asking any questions, even going as far as telling you that you could charge everything on the bottomless company card.

Both your personal and work phones were turned off, only responding to urgent situations through email which you thankfully had none of so far.

It’s at a Monday night when you go to a high-end club you’ve only seen from the outside, the scene indoors still as frisky and dirty as other places, but this time with a little more tact.

There’s more than a handful of familiar faces you see but none of the interactions you see now are for the camera. You came here simply to be a part of the environment, not to necessarily get wasted. Oddly enough you crave the busy environment even if the people here aren’t in a rush to go somewhere; and neither are you.

“I know you.”

Someone beside your bar stool chimes and you have to rely on the dim glow of the bar to identify who it was, waiting for the aid of the flashing lights to illuminate the figure.

He’s as handsome as it goes with his sharp, refined features — plump lips and kind eyes with an athletic figure, his jet black hair slicked back prettily.

“I know you too,” you reply just as surely.

He chuckles heartily, his broad shoulders coming along with him as he tilts his head. He’s charming, really.

“You’re the pretty girl backstage who told me someone was taking pictures of me while I was changing,” he reminisces, remembering your goodwill of informing him. He didn’t even know he was having his pictures taken by a perverted intern, but before he could even thank you, you call out the intern loudly and publicly until he gets taken by security. “I only caught your name after I walked the runway. I didn’t get to thank you back then.”

Your eyes glaze at Kim Seokjin’s honesty because the moment he opened his mouth, you thought you would be known for one thing only — you thought he would define you as Yoongi’s manager.

The surprise encompasses you that during your first interaction outside of work, and even throughout, Seokjin would always know you as the one who gave him a heads-up from years ago. He remembered the small act of kindness back when you were a rookie manager and he was a rookie model. In fact, that whole incident almost slipped your mind if not for his memory. Now that you recall, you were only there backstage for Yoongi but in your nature, you couldn’t help but to look out for him too.

“You’re the pretty boy who gave me heat packs in that outdoor shoot.”

It was Seokjin’s turn to be awed, lips curling over the fact that you remember the tiny act of service from years ago. It was after his changing incident, but he didn’t get to thank you properly because your guard dog (read: Yoongi) kept hounding him away from you, so all he managed to do was put heat packs on your lap in a hurry.

In that moment, you didn’t know each other as your reputations.

In Jin’s eyes, you weren’t Yoongi’s manager.

In your eyes, he wasn’t the esteemed rival that Yoongi hated the most.

You knew of their history briefly. From Yoongi’s retelling, they were high school buddies whose friendship turned sour when they were vying for the same big modeling agency who only had one slot left for its roster. Seokjin was the one who got accepted and Yoongi swears to you that his ex-friend must’ve sabotaged his application. It turned out for the better because he ended signing with Namjoon instead (and look where he is now!) but he still won’t let go of what allegedly happened.

Now that you think about it, Yoongi’s dislike for Seokjin just seems one-sided. It was all based on assumption, and you know well how the logic of it is flawed.

You came here to unwind, and just by the karma of goodwill, you come home with Seokjin.

He’s attentive with the way he kisses you deeply, mouth trailing hot against yours and he isn’t shy to show you just how much he wants you, where he wants you, and how exactly he wants you.

He’s addictive to the point you only think what he wants you to, nothing else but your pleasure and him who gives it. He’s selfless with the way he takes his time to not half-ass anything with the pretty girl he came home with, skilled in every which way.

“You haven’t been getting what you deserve lately, have you?”

Seokjin asks in the middle of leaving hickies on the inside of your thighs, his warm palm pressed flat against your clit — rubbing almost lazily to give you a break before pushing you to another high again for the night.

“And what do I deserve, hm?” you ask him to humor you through heavy-lidded eyes, the unreleased tension you’ve harbored finally getting released little by little.

Seokjin thinks you’re hot; admirable. You’re a little mean but he loves it just like that, licking his lips in sincerity amidst lust. “Worshipped.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he fucks you unlike any other, undoing all the sexual frustration you’ve had because of your busy career. He gives you everything in the same way you bare yourself, and you don’t mind if it’s only for the night. “I’ll take good care of you.”

( ♡ )

The plan was to resign, pack up your office, and get your last paycheck from Namjoon.

It was meant to be a smooth transaction, double-checking with him and the stand-in manager that you wouldn’t bump into Yoongi and have an unnecessary confrontation.

You’ve only opened both of your phones now after two weeks and not a second later upon opening them, hundreds of notifications started flooding in. You couldn’t even scroll past without your phone glitching, sometimes even freezing in between messages that get previewed.

You aren’t scared of seeing Yoongi — you simply just don’t want to see him if you had the chance to. Your anger for him no longer remains but you know you can’t stomach the sight of him either.

He became listless starting two weeks ago and just at the signal of a security guard he’s tipped off (to notify him if you enter the premises), he immediately comes to you.

You don’t even get to finish packing your desk and drawers because Yoongi bursts through your door in a hurry.

He looks haggard; way unlike him. He looks distraught and that’s because he truly is, stopping at nothing to try and contact you during the time you’ve been gone. He’s relieved to see you, he really is, but that feeling of solace completely leaves him when he realizes what you’re here for.

“Was that it?” he blurts out, eyes already stinging just from seeing you.

“Was that the plan all along? You take a two-week leave from being my manager and then suddenly, you resign?! You resign and you become Seokjin’s manager?” he says the last part in a whisper, unsure if he hears correctly what he’s even saying. “The whole point of your break is to leave me?”

You’re calm but it doesn’t placate him, the genuine confusion over what he’s last said apparent.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“And that’s the first thing you say for yourself?” Yoongi’s eyes widen. “I’m over here losing my shit because you’re replacing me with the person I hate most, and you’re asking me where’s this coming from?”

He knows where’s this coming from.

He knows that the reason for the feeling of betrayal looming in his chest is a couple of pictures, supposedly a blind item article of Seokjin. Out of all people, he would know how the paparazzi are extremely invasive of celebrities’ privacy. He hates being the center of them and hates reading them even more, but it’s you.

But it’s you and him.

“There’s pictures of you online having lunch with him. You have your mask on but I could spot you from anywhere. What else could you possibly be meeting him for?”

He knows it’s bad of him to jump into conclusions and rely solely on assumptions, but it’s not as if you were denying them now. You know about his distrust for the guy and you’ve been with him for years. Shouldn’t you be on his side?

“I’m not his manager. I didn’t meet him for that.”

He knows he should feel relief but at the same time, the unease that comes with it overpowers. If it wasn’t business, then it was personal. It’s the thought of the latter that makes him weak on the knees, swallowing his fear when he dares to ask you.

“Then what else could you-“ he goes straight in, “you were meeting with him outside of work?”

“Yeah, I was.”

Yoongi always tries to be lovable.

He always tries to not look at anyone the wrong way and makes it a point to be kind, distinguishing himself from the attitude of his manager. Although not once did your attitude get him in trouble, he wouldn’t lie and say that he gets embarrassed to be linked with you sometimes.

Sometimes, he wants to crawl into a hole underground when you confront someone over something he could easily overlook.

There are times when he wants you to just let him take the beating, to let him take the unfairness of others’ actions instead. He doesn’t want you jumping to his defense all the time because he doesn’t want to be known as someone who hides behind their manager’s back.

But now, now that he tastes the bitter feeling of what tastes like betrayal, he’s not so sure if it was right of him to feel embarrassed of you.

“Why would you meet with my enemy?”

There are times when you don’t want Yoongi to be the artist you manage.

He tends to be too full of himself at times, so much so that you get culture shock when you interact with someone who isn’t a celebrity in the likes of him. He associates you with himself all the time and as much as it flatters you, it could be annoying just like what he’s doing now.

You and Yoongi aren’t the same person.

“My problems don’t revolve around your problems, Yoongi!”

“Well they should!” he spits, looking down on you. “That’s the whole reason you’re my-“

“Manager? Again? My whole life should only revolve and stop in the name of yours because I’m your manager?”

The slow build of your anger speeds up at the word. Manager. Manager. You’ve heard it too many times in your lifetime and it’s sickening. It makes you want to throw up in the inside of your mouth and you want to purge itself clean. It’s no longer a title you adored but instead, it’s become an entity with a shadow bigger than yourself.

“My life revolves way too much around you, Yoongi. I’m getting sick of it!”

He swallows the hurt at your insistence of separating your life from his, even if you’ve spent the prime of your years with each other. The both of you grew up too fast but you grew up with each other, your lives getting entangled in the way.

“You don’t get to complain because you stuck around for it. Your job is to take care of me.”

“I know I accepted the job. I know it was my job to take care of you,” you emphasize the past tense but he tries to rectify it quickly, head insistently shaking no.

“Is. It is still your job.”

Yoongi clinging to you used to be a good thing. It used to remind you of how good you are and how compatible the both of you go along with each other, but this was different. Yoongi’s clinging to you because he refuses to accept no other choice, not even seeing past the work you’ve undertaken that’s becomes detrimental to your wellbeing as a whole.

It hurts to say but the words slips out of you regardless.

“But you’re too much, Yoongi. You are too much for me.”

“Oh, I’m too much?”

He’s fighting his tears but he knows he’s not feeling you. You’ve seen him vulnerable too many times to count but he’s stubborn. He’s stubborn and he fights with you because it’s the only thing that would keep you here. tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah, I said what I said,” you reply but your voice trembles. “But you don’t tell me that I don’t have the right to complain because it’s my job to put up with you.”

The offense you take to his words grow bigger because in hindsight, all that you have endured have basically been fit into a single nametag — all the burdens you have gone through and all the hurt you carried being reduced to a job you easily could’ve abandoned in the first place.

“I’m sorry that I complained because I was cleaning up after your messes and you don’t even apologize to me once about what you’ve caused. I’m so sorry for getting frustrated because I could move mountains for you and you wouldn’t even thank me once because it’s my job, right?”

You’re crying and you hate it with the pride you try so hard to protect, but if you were to be honest with yourself, the concept of pride had long been gone the moment you signed up to take care of Yoongi.

“I’m sorry that I got short with you because I was preventing your sex tape from hitting the internet.”

The mention of it hits deep and he visibly recoils, hot tears falling on his cheeks to the point that they get red under the sting.

“You have everyone and everything! I take care of you before I take care of myself. I bend at your will and act for your own good but you can’t even take no from me as answer. I get tired taking care of you and the moment I let myself go, you won’t let me?”

Somehow, you knew the reason all this time of why you felt sluggish every time you wake up. You wake up for your job, for Yoongi. He’s the reason you wake up but frankly it hasn’t been enough for quite some time, the task of being there for him feeling like an obligation more than it is a passion.

“I can’t go home for my mom’s birthday because you need me to deliver flowers to your ex-girlfriend. I can’t take my nephew to school because you need me to fetch your suits for you. I can’t do anything for myself without feeling guilty that I’m not putting you first!”

By now you’re crying like the last time you saw him, but you don’t crumble underneath him. You’re hurt but you’re trying to will your knees in taking the weight of your heart.

“Do you know that I go to work even if you don’t? I take care of you even if you’re on break. I take care of you even if you’re celebrating your mother’s birthday abroad. I take care of you even if I’m not beside you.”

You’re exhausted. You’re spent. You’re burnt out and you can’t see the end of the tunnel. You’re not fire — you don’t ignite all of a sudden after being extinguished just because of a random chunk of ember.

“Wanna know why I met with Seokjin?” you ask him, not waiting for an answer. There’s no weight in admitting it, but your chest oddly feels lighter saying it to Yoongi. “He fucked me.”

“He fucked me silly, and then took care of me good. After that, he took me to lunch, asked for my number, then drove me home.”

Yoongi’s chest tightens and he doesn’t comment because he physically can’t. His throat feels like caving in and there aren’t any words he can force out of his windpipe.

“Seokjin isn’t anyone to me besides a friend but he sees me,” you gently tell him, going awestruck again because after a long time, someone recognized you as your own self, not an attachment to Yoongi.

“He doesn’t know my favorite color but he knows how to apologize when he wakes me up by accident in the middle of the night.”

Sorry I didn’t know you were asleep!!! Just pretend I didn’t call, it’s not urgent anyway. Good night :)

“He doesn’t know my favorite meal but he knows how to thank me when I do even the simplest of things for him.”

You’re unreal :O

Did you seriously find the book that I was talking about??

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUUUUU

“I’m not Jin’s manager but if there was a chance to, I’d take it.”

You whisper in admission and for a fraction of a second, you regret your words.

It takes one, two seconds to look at Yoongi. You look at Yoongi and you see a reflection of you, someone who never stops in the name of his success. You stay behind his shadow even if your care for him surpasses it in enormity and frequency, because even in the dark, you’re there.

But you’re always there.

You don’t want to be in the dark with him anymore.

“I’m tired of you, Yoongi.”

You say outloud and it hurts you unlike no other to admit it. Saying it honestly takes the life out of you and not once did you think you would be ever coming to this; to be stopping at a point. “I’m tired of taking care of you.”

“Yoongi, if you want to eat ramen in a convenience store at night, you don’t look for your manager — you look for your girlfriend,” the sigh that leaves you turns into a whimper, a silent plea to your heart to stop working the way it is now.

“You don’t give away your precious watches to your manager, Yoongi — you give them to girlfriends,” the whimper that builds up in your throat is too big that you have to swallow it down, a pitiful sob breaking out from you.

“You don’t bring your manager to your childhood home, ask her to sleep in your bedroom, and call her the girl of your dreams in front of your parents. You do that with girlfriends, Yoongi,” and finally, the sob you once let out turns into a cry.

“I must be as fucking crazy as you are,” you shake your head, laughing in disbelief.

You must be truly losing it at this point, baring your all to someone who always did to you, but you regret only admitting this now.

“At one point, I thought I was yours.”

“At some point, I started taking care of you like it wasn’t my job,” you nod to yourself and you’re oblivious of how Yoongi has his face planted on his hands, choking in quiet sobs. “And that’s on me. That’s my mistake.”

“You’ve exhausted every single thing I’ve had to keep wanting you,” your words are out there already, unable to be taken back. “I’m so, so tired, Yoongi.”

There’s no grand ending to your argument. None of you take it beyond far with your yelling. The both of you are quiet, defeated even.

There’s no fight in it left,

or so you think.

“I think I’m outgrowing you.”

( ♡ )

Namjoon’s on the phone when Yoongi knocks on his door.

Yoongi looks more composed this time, seeing to it that he’s wearing new, clean clothes and he has the energy to take a shower. Apart from that, he still looks like a mess. He looks and is fatigued.

“I’m going on a hiatus.”

He announces thickly into the air as if he just relayed this afternoon’s weather forecast, making the CEO lay the telephone flat against the table.

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon enunciates, eyes blinking wildly. “You don’t give yourself a hiatus, Yoongi. That’s not how it works.”

“That’s how it works now.”

He shrugs carelessly, exhaling heavily.

“I’m on an indefinite hiatus until Y/N comes back.”

Namjoon’s not surprised about the ultimatum but he’s curious. His annoyance for Yoongi is trumped by his curiosity. His voice has always been full of conviction but now it’s soft, feeling pity automatically lace his tone.

“If she doesn’t?”

It’s clockwork.

“Then I’m not coming back.”

“If I don’t grant your demand for a hiatus?” his head tilts, gauging just how far he’d go for you.

“Then I leave.”

Yoongi’s unsure why Namjoon would ask these things even if it’s clear as day. He indulges the questions but it doesn’t mean he’s letting the course steer away from his intention.

“I’m only going where Y/N’s going.”

“Look, I don’t know what entirely happened between the two of you. My assumptions could only go so far,” Namjoon professes, running his fingers through his hair in thought, “but it doesn’t take a genius to see that your relationship isn’t strictly professional.”

Anyone could see through it.

Anyone could see how you and Yoongi are in love with each other and how the two of you do nothing about it.

“I’m not gonna go on a tangent about it. You’re my best talent and Y/N’s my best manager,” he reveals his practical sense of thinking. “I’m speaking to you as a friend, Yoongi.”

“You’re putting your career — everything you’ve worked for — on Y/N,” Namjoon says solemnly, treading lightly on his weighted words. “You don’t even know if she’ll come back.”

“It’s only right,” Yoongi surprises him with his answer. If you don’t come back, then neither does he. “I honestly wouldn’t have even worked as hard if not for her. Everything I am now, where I’m at,” he smiles gently, “it’s because she was there.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them, the both of them knowing what would come out of this.

“You’re going in on this blind.”

“I’m as good as blind without her.”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon stress, “what you’re doing is basically penance.”

“Is it?” his head tilts, genuinely curious. “This hiatus won’t hurt me. They’re all nothing but cancelled schedules to me now.”

“Then what are you doing this for?”

“I don’t know what to call it.” For the first time, Yoongi feels at bliss not knowing. “It just feels right.”

“No matter how big I get, it all means nothing to me,” there’s nothing but a clearer truth for him. “Y/N’s my roots.”

Yoongi’s rooted to you, his existence running deeper when you’re there. You ground him in the same time that you make him grow. You make him lose his bearings in seasons but you’re definite in making him bloom brighter after. There’s seasons when he’s dried up and you let him stay that way but you make sure he bounces back to his peak, if not better.

“Okay,” Namjoon concludes. “I’ll have someone draft the announcement for your hiatus this afternoon.”

Yoongi leaves the room lighter than when he came there. There’s no bounce to his step but he walks a little less glumly now; a little less lost.

“Still there?” Namjoon checks up on the other end of the call, a chuckle leaving his throat.

“Yeah,” you confirm albeit a little choked up. “Still here.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s drunk on a Monday evening and it’s Jimin who has to pick up the pieces.

It’s only been a little more than a month since Yoongi went on hiatus. He’s doing better compared to the last time he was on shambles, but he’s just a tiny little insignificant human without a Y/N on his side, so yeah — he does have those off-days.

“Y/N hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Jimin repeats, swearing that this entire conversation had already happened three times before in the span of tonight.

“I’d hate me too,” he agrees, bringing up his shot glass that’s just water Jimin switched it out for. “She’s sick of me.”

“She’s not-“

“She told me,” he whines. “And I said mean things to her. I put her through so much shit and I gave her shit when she was simply just feeling,” he deflates to the cushions, sinking further and further into the stick floors that Jimin has to reel him back in. “I’m so mean.”

Yoongi keeps throwing back shots (read: water) that Jimin keeps giving him, going the extra mile of wincing as the liquid hits (read: hydrates) his throat.

“I’m the asshole,” he points to his face, pouting. “Through and through, I’m the one who hurts her.”

“Have you seen Y/N since y’know... your fight?”

Yoongi shakes his head no.

“Do you know where she lives?”

Yoongi nods.

“Then why won’t you come to her?”

It’s a no-brainer question for Jimin, really. The reason why not doesn’t ever cross his mind and he fears he’ll never get it because it simply makes no sense.

“Because I always come to her,” Yoongi says, a little less drunk but not less sincere. “I don’t wanna upset her further.”

“Don’t wanna hurt her more than I already did.”

“I don’t wanna force myself in if there’s no space for me,” he continues, “it suffocates me to be away from her but this would be better for her sake.”

Jimin has a small smile on his face, already knowing the answer before he asks.

“And who decided that?”

“I did.”

“Why would you?”

“Why would I show my face to someone who doesn’t want to see me?” he sing-songs, the reason being as suspiciously transparent than the “shots” he’s been throwing back. “To someone who thinks they’re outgrowing me?”

“What if she wants to see you too?”

Jimin purses his lips, trying not to give himself away. Yoongi can read through him and one look at him as all it’ll take to sense that he knows something, but Yoongi’s gaze is elsewhere. He’s looking at his lockscreen that’s been set the two of you, already years since he’s last change it.

“Then I’ll crawl back home to her.”

( ♡ )

Half a year has passed and Yoongi emailed you everyday.

When the weather is cold and the car windows fog from the outside, you give Yoongi a call.

Half a year has passed and you find yourselves sitting shoulder to shoulder at the rest stop you last went to, waiting for each other’s ramen to cool down.

The both of you are healthier and look the part, a lot more light shared between the two of you.

Neither of you would lie and say you didn’t feel the passage of time nor the distance because you felt it every single day without fail. Not one of you would pretend and say it’s as if the two of you weren’t apart for half a year.

You’ve felt each month, each day, of half a year.

When Yoongi parks next to your car, the first thing you do is embrace him. You don’t suck in his warmth but instead you add to it, not a single space of the cold air flowing between your bodies.

Yoongi missed you so much.

Halfway through his daily emails, you started to respond from time to time. You’d write back to him to answer questions and acknowledge written apologies until eventually, you start to ask him if he’s eating his meals and if he’s sleeping well. You’ve been lax for the past six months and so has he, keeping up with the flow of his hiatus.

The second thing you do after seeing him is apologize. You’re flawed and you don’t doubt that you’ve contributed your own mistakes to your fall-out, and you own up to it fully.

There’s something so warm in being next to Yoongi whose hands are as cold as ice, bursting out laughing when he resorts to sitting on them to try and have the temperature up. It’s the weighted, needed warmth; neither is it suffocating nor overwhelming.

There’s something so cool in spontaneously buying a blanket from the rest stop (you each have one in your own cars but you intentionally don’t say it) and sharing it between the two of you, draped on your bodies while you sit as close as you could to each other. It’s a gentle breeze (maybe it’s the airconditioner directly above you) but it’s cool on the skin; it’s neither nippy nor bitter.

“When someone’s too vast to occupy the space in your heart,” you speak tenderly, “you don’t call that outgrowing, Yoongs.”

You’re in between sharing your meals that you decide to address all that you’ve been through, specifically your words that have admittedly made a home in the back of his head.

“You call that love.”

Love terrifies you and so does the overwhelming pressure of commitment but with Yoongi, it’s a little less scary.

“You’re a little too much for me, I’m not gonna lie about that,” you laugh playfully and you make sure Yoongi reads your tone, assuringly patting his thigh before pinching his cheek. “But it isn’t so bad.”

“I choose to make space for you everyday.”

The both of you have always known but now feels the only time you deem is perfect to profess your love. There’s no other moment, no other scene fitting to the two of you that’s just raw and genuine as this would come.

Yoongi grins and he finds no need in trying to contain his happiness, scratching the corner of his eyes before he prods you gently.

“Take off the watch.”

“This is mine now,” your eyebrows defensively furrow, instinctively taking the watch closer to yourself because you’ve grown to love it a lot.

“I’m not taking it away from you,” he laughs heartily before trying again, circling his hand on your wrist. “Look closer.”

Yoongi looks at you in anticipation, nodding at you when you give him an unsure look.

“W-well I’ve never had a Rolex before so I’m not really sure what I’m looking at,” you chuckle nervously, curious to know if he’s talking about a defect you don’t know about. Yoongi waits again this time with a knowing look, prodding you to look even closer and just take the second to see, knowing you’ve caught the sight when your eyes suddenly narrow before widening.

“Wait, you had this engraved?”

Your eyes feel deceived for a second because not once have you ever inspected it this closely, a gasp leaving your lips when you look to Yoongi in confirmation.

If lost, return to Y/N.

“Why not you?”

The watch was his, the watch is his. There’s no sense in having it engraved in the name of someone else’s when he bought it for himself.

“Everything goes through you,” he says simply. “And I won’t have it any other way.”

Yoongi loves you more than he can ever say.

“I had it engraved the day I bought it.”

“But that was-“

“My first paycheck,” he confirms with a smile, “years ago.”

You remember the year distinctly, even recalling how Namjoon came with Yoongi to buy something for himself from his first ever paycheck.

How Namjoon said that the watch, specifically in his own words and emphasis, the Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust, doesn’t look weird on you because it’s always been yours.

“Five years ago.”

He nods at your memory, shifting his hand to hold yours.

“Even before we made it big. Even before I had all the proper headshots you’d have in an actual studio. Before anyone even wanted me,” Yoongi laughs, his eyes proving all his sincerity. “Well I didn’t exactly have the money for a watch in those times for me to engrave your name on, but I’d scribble it here and there.”

Here and there — every item he deemed important.

“The corner of my résumé. The back of my portraits. The tag on my wallet. The soles of my shoes. Everywhere,” he giggles at how far he’s went, how far the two of you went.

When you put the black cap he’s given to you under the light, you could see return to Y/N in black marker you’d miss if not for the change of lighting.

When you remove the earrings he gave you, you could see your initials engraved by the inside groove.

When you take the time to look at the luggage tags of every backpack, every duffel, every suitcase he’s ever owned — you’d see the return address as your own instead of his.

Yoongi thinks there's no other time, no other place than now– in a rest stop, sharing an overpriced blanket between the two of you and in the middle of eating ramen– to profess his love for you.

There will never be another Jeon Jungkook in this world — that much you're sure of.

You're sure of it because it feels as if it's a universal truth. An irrevocable and irreversible one that you don't bother verifying because Jungkook carries his presence with finality, obvious that he carries security within himself the most.

If he were to slip away from your grasp for any reason beneath or beyond you, you’d know that he leave a vacuum in his wake. Jungkook isn’t yours for you to lose, but he is yours for you to long for.

You know this because Jungkook is the type of beauty you won't ever grow used to despite spending years, with him and around him. You're both seniors in college and yet you don't feel like it, despite being born just a couple months earlier than him (therefore older) which irks him to this day. You don't feel like it because his presence alone makes you feel like you're in elementary figuring out your heart flutters from square one.

If he were to star in a show, he’d be the mainstay character everyone fawns over. He would be the one to stay in the biggest trailer, have the most doting team, and have the brightest lights on him. If Jungkook was a star, he’d rake in all the money by himself.

If Jungkook were to to be yours, you’d never want for anything more.

“Are you seriously — don’t sleep on me!”

Jungkook’s voice is the first thing that snaps you out of your reverie, reminding you once again that you think of him even if he’s already in your presence, an endearingly-type of new low for you.

“I wasn’t sleeping on you,” you snort with a defensive cross of your arms across your chest, the prospect of rest making you yawn in suppression with your mouth closed, eyes tearing up and your nostrils flaring instead.

“Yeah but you were zoning out on me,” he sing-songs in faux irritation, twirling on his chair with an accusing point of his finger, “and that means I have two minutes left to talk to you before you fall asleep.”

The only reason you’re awake is because Jungkook practically begged to keep you up as emotional (and actual) support for the entirety of the assignments he’s been cramming.

You share a spacious dorm and yet the two of you are cooped up in his room because his mind would overload if he’s in someplace else, eyes surely gonna shake if he were to write essays on the coffee table in the living room or at the bar stool in the kitchen.

“What do you need me for now?”

Need.

It’s nice being needed.

It’s nice being needed that despite Jungkook’s initials on your ring finger that tied him to you as your soulmate, and his unawareness of it, Jungkook needs you.

The initials on one’s left ring finger develops over time. Some take mere years after their birth while others take decades. Starts off faint until they become clear red letters right on your vena amoris, inked on the skin above the vein that’s closest to your heart.

It gets fully-developed when it’s fully-realized. Having Jungkook’s bright and clear on your finger didn’t necessarily mean your initials reflect the same condition on his.

It was personal preference, really — whether or not you choose to cover up the soulmate mark or not. You’ve always chosen to cover your finger up with a ring because you didn’t want to freak your best friend ever since childhood that simply put, the two of you are soulmates.

Jungkook, just like you, chooses to wear a ring. In fact, he even wears the same one that you do because he argues that even if you’ve bought the silver signet ring first with the money you’ve saved up for years (it wasn’t cheap at all), he thought about it first.

That’s where the connection ends; only goes so far for the two of you to have matching rings to cover up your soulmate marks.

Jungkook, adamantly and stubbornly since the start, doesn’t like looking at his ring finger.

Even before there were faint outlines of ink, too vague for it to resemble your initials, eight-year old Jungkook would start having things around his particular digit, whether it’s a two-day old ring pop he leaves in the fridge or a piece of yarn that accidentally almost cuts off his blood circulation.

You remember Mrs. Jeon sheepishly explaining to curious onlookers whenever both of your families would go out for trips and that out of the two youngest members of their entourage, the handsome child with the wide eyes would have some sort of cover on his ring finger at an early age, be it an oven mitten or a headband scrunched up.

“I like not knowing who’s apparently meant for me.”

You’ve asked him multiple times throughout your life, all for Jungkook to be consistent and give you the same answer every time.

The same answer when you were kids as you repetitively flicked the tip of his ring finger with your eyes closed as instructed by him, in panic to make him feel something because he’s covered his mark with yet another ribbon too tightly, and in respect because even he himself didn’t want to see the ink.

The same answer when you were teenagers and you’re getting Christmas gifts together and Jungkook just looked too much like your ideal boyfriend with the way he’s lining up for you on the counter and is watching over all the items, pulling you closer every now and then when the prospect of losing you to the crowd gets higher with every rush.

The same answer now while you’re passing the time on his bed as he’s hunched over his desk, a harmless question included randomly into your series of sleep-induced curiosity; the question of why he doesn’t want to know about his soulmate, asked in the same breath of casualness to whether Jungkook preferred his rice better cooked with too much water or too less of it, or if he’d go home for the holidays with presents already prepared.

“Is that a kink?” you scrunch your nose at his unwavering consistency, knowing you would’ve liked it for any other situation besides this.

Jungkook breathily laughs, shrugging his shoulders carelessly as if the two of you are talking about the weather and he’s admitted that it’s been years since he’s last looked at a forecast willingly.

“I don’t wanna know, really. I still breathe without knowing who they are.”

The way he says it is easy, no underlying malice indicated in his tone at all. He says it in the way as if he’s been asked this a hundred times and his response is natural and well-lived, not once changing.

“I don’t believe in fate.”

Hurt doesn’t even explain half the pain in your chest all this time but in this light with the way you’re simply asking him why he doesn’t want a soulmate, why he doesn’t want you by extension — it’s only an ache.

It’s only an ache that pacifies on your bones instead of gnawing on them. It’s drawn-out yet dull, the pain not striking you enough to the point that you even hum at him to elaborate.

“Because what if I don’t end up loving them? What if the one I end up loving isn’t the one the universe apparently destined for me?” Jungkook goes on, lips in a slight pout. “Love doesn’t have initials.”

You sink further into his pillow, playing with your fingers yet retaining your gaze on him.

“You don’t have to love your soulmate.”

Read: you don’t have to love me.

Additionally: you don’t have to love me because having you in this platonic way atleast gives me the semblance that you love me even by a fraction, but if you love me in the same way I love you, it’d be nice.

“You say that now to make me believe in them,” he snorts, twirling a pen between his fingers with a genuinely curious gaze, “but what happens if you aren’t the one they want?”

You haven’t been doing anything and yet you still stop in your tracks, the question echoing in your mind as you repeat his query out loud.

“What happens if your soulmate doesn’t want you?”

What does happen?

You don’t die. You don’t puke flowers.

There’s no catch to it. There’s no grand consequence to having your soulmate not want you.

It makes you think once of your present situation and rethink twice of every decision you’ve ever made beforehand when your ring finger was still plain and devoid of his initials; when the only person you’ve made plans with and for isn’t just yourself, when it wasn’t him.

Jungkook doesn’t want you.

What’s supposed to happen to you?

“I need you to stop zoning out and help me make this essay!” he whines demandingly and it’s the last thing that pulls you out of your thoughts, sitting up straighter.

“If you start asking now, I can actually start helping you, y’know?”

Jungkook’s in STEM while you’re a literary major, the obvious exchange of help being convenient, yet the only difference is that when you make him answer your worksheets, you don’t wait until it’s three hours before the supposed deadline.

He’s giddy now that he’ll get to finish his last assignment due, eyes scanning back to the instructions because his attention span’s already been spent looking at his phone.

“What's love to you?"

You freeze at the abruptness but you move on just as quick as you were surprised, remembering that it’s just the guideline for an essay and not the turning point you’ve expected it to be for a split second.

“How do you want me to answer that?

You ask lightly, humorously even, as you stand up from his bed, running a hand through your hair and working the knots of out of your neck before you get to work.

“I want you to answer it in the sense that I have a paper about love due tomorrow. At 12:00 in the morning.”

“Why?” Jungkook giggles additionally, nudging you with a shit-eating grin and a playful glint on his eyes. “How would you have wanted to answer that?”

“Nothing else,” you smile faintly, scooting him to out of his seat and switch positions so he could sit on his bed while you type for him at his desk. “I’m answering it in the sense that you would be lost without me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

It’s only meant to be a tease but it hits home nonetheless. Maybe it’s because you’re in your soulmate’s room underneath his lights and you’re visible to him. Maybe it’s because your mark pulses just ever so slightly underneath your ring, irritated and itchy underneath the silver as much as you feel hurt.

“Lost without me in the sense that you’d fail your subject if I don’t help you with your essay now."

( ♡ )

Anyone who’d meet Jungkook for the first time is likely to think of three things.

He looks clean. Handsome in a way that he looks effortless even if he wears the same oversized black shirt every guy wears outside, enough to garner second glances for himself. He’s tidy in the facet that he looks like he takes care of himself but not vain, far from annoying prep kids he scoffs at.

Jungkook looks rich and is rich. His family doesn’t come from generational wealth and yet they thrive from their own holdings, learning early-on that they owned a cottage near the beach and rented it out as they moved next-door, and the next thing you know is that at present, they own multiple properties and ventured out into food business that make absolute bank.

He carries himself with the stature that he knows what he’s doing, back sometimes slouched but dignified nonetheless, the air of importance surrounding him. Jungkook was raised in comfort but he’s humble, that much you’d bet your whole life into believing. He was the type to have pocket money whenever he goes out but he spends it in the same way you do, calculating his expenses mentally as if the bills in his wallet wouldn’t pay for the video games he’d want and even have some change afterwards.

He’s aware in the sense that he doesn’t forget where he comes from, admitting to you numerous times that his family having much disposable income sometimes bothers him. Jungkook thinks there’s an itch behind his ear whenever his dad proposes to eat at a five-star restaurant for dinner; that there’s a guilty pout on his face when his mom takes the initiative to buy him new sets of clothes because his shirts look too lived-in, even if he knows to himself that his wardrobe needed a change.

He’s down-to-earth and it reminds you of the way he’d forego all of his Fisher-Price toys just to try and plead to you if he could borrow your hand-me-down stuffies from your older siblings. Mr. and Mrs. Jeon are nothing but humble in the same way that they raised their child, despite the fact that in rare times, they have the taste for the finer things in life.

Mrs. Jeon’s beyond generous during the holiday seasons and you recall her gifting your mother the expensive casserole you’d catch her looking at in adoration whenever both your families had dinners, customized to her favorite color and attached with a heartfelt letter from Jungkook’s mom. Mr. Jeon practically adores your dad and looks up to him like a younger brother would, always taking him to fishing trips just and buying two pairs of the same things so the two of them could match.

Jungkook was raised-well and if it’s even possible at this point, he gets much more endearing in your eyes.

“Why would I not walk you home? We live together, if you haven’t realized.”

He says it when he sees you in campus as he drops everything to walk you home, even if your shared apartment isn’t his destination for the time being. He goes out of his way to ensure that if you stay home while he goes about his plans, there should be food in the fridge and cupboards that you’d actually like. He’d lock the door and try to budge it open from outside, and once he’s assured enough that it remains secured, he’d go about his routine of texting you to call him if you need him.

“You can have mine. I’m full anyway.”

Jungkook says it whenever the two of you end up ordering new items from menus and you end up liking your dish, offering you his plate nonchalantly. He insists that it just tastes average for him, and if he sees you hesitating on stealing some from his portion, he’d go as far as telling you that it tastes horrible so you wouldn’t feel guilty.

“Look! My mom sent you these! I told her you liked them.”

He calls you over every time his family’s goodies for him for the month arrives at the mail, laying the package on the floor as he waits for you to unbox it with him because he knows just how much you like going through things and organizing them. Mrs. Jeon always made sure to include something specifically meant for you in Jungkook’s box — whether it’s the family-sized portion of your recent cravings or your favorite hair treatment in bulk.

“Hey, wanna go on a drive with me?”

He asks you whenever he sees you too absorbed and frustrated in your studies in conjunction with whatever work gig you have at the time, heart panging to see you struggling to take care of yourself because he knows you have the tendency to try and finish everything as fast and as good as you could, not stopping even at personal circumstances. He’d simply put your pair of house slippers on the floor for you to wear, pull you up by your armpits to urge you to come with him, and he’d just drive. Would go through a drive-thru and take off from there, not pressuring you to open up to him at whatever cost.

Jungkook can’t sense you in the same way you do, like a soulmate would, but he cares for you in the way that he can tell when you don’t feel like functioning at all and you’re shutting down; you’re shutting even him off and that’s when he knows that something’s bothering you to no end even if he can’t decipher what is it.

Whatever’s in his power, Jungkook sits next to you, lies on top of you, and does almost everything to invade your personal space whenever you shut down — just because he doesn’t want to give up on you like how you do with him.

If anyone were to meet Jungkook for the first time, they’d know he’s uniquely himself.

He cleans up extremely good as he wears a suit to the grand opening of his family’s café, a dream of her mother ever since she was a teenager that became fully-realized and he can’t be any more happier seeing his parents content.

He greets people left and right with genuine happiness to see all of them ecstatic and supportive, eagerly shaking their hands with a full smile on his face. He draws everyone in effortlessly as if he’s inertia itself, well-aware that it can’t only possibly be you that looks at him with this much reverence.

There’s a red string of pull and you feel it when Jungkook stumbles on his feet on his way to you, feeling your body being slightly tugged downwards but you pull yourself up just as quick, playing it off by pretending that there’s a speck of dirt on your shoes.

He’s been looking for you for the past five minutes because it’s his mother’s fault that she wanted two floors for their café and it’s packed immediately on opening, pointing at you eagerly as he weaves through people. “There you are!”

It’s not your first time meeting Jungkook but you feel the same three things each time, heart swelling in size in familiarity of the person who inhabits it the most.

Jungkook giddily laughs and takes his position beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders and making conversation with your parents for the umpteenth time, your head instinctively bending to lean against him. He looks every bit the part of the person you love the most in this world, despite being unsure if you even deserve to in the first place. He looks every bit of the guy that makes you realize you can’t deal with having anyone else’s initials on your finger, the words slipping out of you naturally.

“You look like someone’s first love.”

( ♡ )

You’re flawed.

You’re flawed and you don’t need anyone to tell you so in order to give yourself a wake-up call.

You’re flawed in a way because you feel dumb being so lovestruck and devoted with little to no point of salvation. You pride yourself in not being selfish but you’d be lying if you say don’t once hope that Jungkook would look at you in the way that you do. Every now and then would you feel the urge to demand from him insistently every second of the day that he should love you. That he owes you atleast that for the years you’ve spent helplessly trying to put him first rather than your own sanity.

But it feels wrong. It is wrong.

Jungkook doesn’t owe you anything and you know that much.

He doesn’t owe you anything and you shouldn’t expect for him to pay attention to you even if you’re his designated driver for the night, celebrating the end of the stressful semester by unwinding at a club.

He doesn’t owe you an explanation when you see him not fending off the countless girls that go up to him and get their hands on whatever they could; doesn’t owe you an apology when you see him leaning down fondly to kiss someone who isn’t you — someone who isn’t his soulmate.

You would’ve been alone in your booth and the club in general (your soulmate’s out of the equation because he looks like he’s in a different realm entirely) if not for Hoseok, someone who’s perhaps your second best friend right after Jungkook.

It’s merely a coincidence that the both of you are here at the same time, him being the one to easily spot you as he weaves himself in your company seamlessly because he’s been meaning to escape all his frat brothers who annoy him more these days.

“I have something to say to you.”

Hoseok breaks into your worrisome silence, beckoning you over even if the two of you are sat right next to each other with your shoulders bumping.

“No. no. Come closer,” he insists and it makes you roll your eyes at what he could be playing at this time, indulging him by putting the side of your face right against his playfully.

Hoseok’s even more rational and realistic than you could be. In fact, he’s followed your gaze the entire night and he wonders how you haven’t grown tired. He knows about your helpless pining for your soulmate who doesn’t even want to know about you nor your existence, and all he can do is watch.

“You’re insane if you think this whole thing wouldn’t end up anything but extremely painful.”

His words are in a harsh whisper but it feels as if he’s yelled at you right to your ear, making you flinch away from his softly with a defeated pout on your face.

His words come out of nowhere but the rational part of you, the one that disappears whenever you’re vulnerable in this state longing after Jungkook, already knew that you’ve had this coming for a long time.

Hoseok doesn’t sugarcoat his words and it’s what you need almost all of the time. He’s harsh and unforgiving and it reminds you that you have a friend who isn’t Jungkook — someone who isn’t as gentle or kind; someone who grounds you rationally whenever you get too far up your head.

“Let me live, Hobi.”

“What you’re doing isn’t living, Y/N.”

He thinks for a second that he’s being too harsh but he realizes that maybe, just maybe, you need the truth no matter how cruel it could be. He figures that maybe you’d need someone to call you out instead of pitying you over what they could clearly see. “Tell me,” he murmurs, crossing his arms as he looks at you whose eyes are avoiding his gaze.

“Do you live for yourself first?” he nudges you by the shoulder, lightly tapping your ring with his finger. “Or do you live for Jungkook?”

Do you live for yourself first,

or do you live for Jungkook?

You’re dead silent and it’s the type that Hoseok doesn’t want to hear, mumbling to yourself before leaning to his neck to sniff whatever remnant he has on.

“God, what are you on?” you’re deflecting and you know it, cracking your knuckles at the process. “Let me have a hit of it.”

“I’m serious over here.”

Hoseok sees right through you and you feel like crying, recognizing the familiar solemn look on his face because like everyone else who has even the faintest idea of your situation, he pities you.

“And I’m telling you this as someone who cares for you,” he lightly swipes underneath your eyes that are welling up with tears before they even get to fall, effectively prying them out. “Let go of him while you still can.”

“How do I do that?”

You’re breathless in exhaustion but it’s not as if you’ve done anything physically strenuous to be in such a state. You haven’t done anything but it feels as if the wind is knocked out of your lungs and it doesn’t come back to you even if your sail blows.

“How do I do that if Jungkook asks me what do I want for dinner?” there’s trepidation underneath your tone and Hoseok recognizes it, the tremble in your fingers visible even if you have them clenched. “How do I do that if he holds my hand when we cross the street and shields me in crowds?”

“How do you expect me to do that when he calls my parents on weekends and tells them that he’ll always look out for me?”

You’re not scared of letting Jungkook know but rather, you’re scared of your inevitable fall. You’re not scared of the white hot pain you anticipate to feel when the moment finally comes that he says it straight to your face that he doesn’t love you; you’re scared of what happens to the two of you after and what’s left of it.

“How do you expect me to stop loving Jungkook when he acts like he loves me back?”

“He doesn’t.”

“And I know that.”

You’re flawed in the way that you’re self-aware. That you’re painfully mindful of your own emotions and multitudes. You hate that you’re as logical as you are emotional and for once, you just wish you didn’t know better.

You wish that you’re insensitive and reckless. You wish you were more cunning in the sense that you disregard Jungkook completely and stop at nothing to try and get him to look your way with a different gaze.

You wish that you’re anyone but yourself, someone who’s deserving of Jungkook.

“What do I do now, Hobi?” you lean into him because you can’t support yourself and he knows it, the weight of your heart being heavier than your head on his shoulder.

You’re flawed because you suppress a coo at the back of your throat when Jungkook stumbles over to your booth and immediately wraps his arms around you, drunken babbles leaving him as it’s a sign for you to take him home.

You’re flawed because you hear your soulmate speak as you bid goodbye to Hoseok for the night, only smiling when you hear his words. It’s a pain that doesn’t encompass you, rather, it’s a pain that’s hot enough to burn your flesh yet just warm enough to quell the pain in your bones.

“You're my best, best friend in every universe. Y’know that?” he hiccups, eyes completely glazed and rubbed raw as he looks at the side of your face while you haul him to your car. “I hope you know that.”

( ♡ )

Your door opens up before you even realize it.

Actually, Jungkook opens your door before he even realizes it.

He’s woken up in a rush with a single text from his dad that they’re coming over to visit and normally it wouldn’t bother him. Waking up abruptly in the morning isn’t a problem to him and so is making a game plan in cleaning everything up to make sure it’s spotless to his mother’s standards.

What is a problem is that when he entered the bathroom to brush his teeth without a shirt on, he sees the reflection of his hickies from the night before glaring right at him.

However, what an even bigger problem than that is when he tries to wake you up by knocking on your door with the pleads of helping him cover his marks up, it automatically opens when he twists the knob.

“Y/N, no! Why’s your door unlocked?”

His eyes widen in panic and worry, wondering why it wasn’t even locked in the first place. Better yet, has it never been locked ever since? When he leaves you alone in the apartment, do you go out of your way to unlock the main door that he secures closed on the way out?

“And why aren’t you even moving out of bed when someone’s inside your room? What if it isn’t me? What if it’s someone else who did the exact things I did?”

Jungkook’s more worried than he is mad even if his tone’s jittery, hands on his hips as his mind makes up for the whole nine yards. Seriously, does he regard your safety more than you do with your own? Leaving your door open is beyond unsafe. Were you being more forgetful these days? Does he not look over you enough?

You’re oblivious to his panicked state as you burrow yourself deeper into your sheets, eyes remaining peacefully closed because it doesn’t surprise you anymore when he suddenly inserts his presence into your vicinity.

“But it’s you,” you sleepily mumble, half-coherent with the way you hug your pillow closer. “Aren’t you the one who kept knocking at my door?”

He scoffs because you do make a point even if he refuses to admit it, but it just ticks him in a way that you regard his concern for you so lightly. “That’s different and-…”

“And now you’ve opened it yourself and invited yourself into my room.”

“Yeah and that’s okay because it’s me!” he gestures out but he forgets that you’re not even looking at him, unaware of how he looks genuinely upset and worried at the moment. “But what if it was someone else, hm?”

“Like who, an intruder?” you suggest even if you don’t know where this conversation is taking you, your careless words leaving you before you even realize because you don’t have half the realization to think about them deeper. “You’ll protect me if there is one, right?”

Jungkook freezes in his tracks and he suddenly feels no point in trying to berate you further, the stark suggestion that was only meant to be light-hearted painting him a grave image he wasn’t even trying to conjure, trying not to snowball for the worst possible scenario.

He should always be there for you, that much he knows.

“Fucking idiot, of course I would,” he huffs that you even doubt his prioritization for you and it makes you snort because you clearly hear it, turning to face the other side as you make no move in shooing him away and instead try to go back to sleeping. “But starting now, promise me you’ll lock your doors and wake up immediately when someone knocks, alright? You hear me?”

“Hmm.”

“Cross your heart on it,” he says it out of habit even if he knows you wouldn’t do it anyway, sitting on the vacant side of you bed as he tries to shake you awake. “Anyways, I need a favor from you.”

It’s never been lost on you that unlike every other time, Jungkook wouldn’t willingly come to you this early into the night without needing something from you for his own benefit. You don’t get your hopes up that perhaps this time, he comes to your bed just to hold you in warmth amongst his embrace because it’s something only a fever nap could do for you; clearly not sick enough to see that image.

“What do you need me for now?” your eyes start blinking open as you shift to look straight up at the ceiling, casting a glance on Jungkook who has a sheepish pout on his face.

“Please cover up my hickies. I’m begging you."

You don’t even flinch once and he’s nervous at how it seems like you didn’t even hear what he said, prompting to explain himself further. “Mom and Dad are visiting and they’re already on the way.”

You’re used to this.

There shouldn’t be any surprise factor to know that the time Jungkook wakes you up outside for the purpose of not making you late to your classes or to your errands, it would be for his sake. He wakes you up for the sake of himself, asking of you to cover up his hickies because he’s ever the angel to his parents and he can’t do it himself.

Jungkook wakes you up for you to see marks that link him to another woman, even if it’s just for a night, while he covers up the only marks he has of you on his finger and he doesn’t even know it, completely devoid of the only linking thing you have with him.

“Get me my makeup bag.”

He immediately knows where it is and he manages to mumble out a rushed thanks, sprinting back to where you lay. In fact, you have a separate concealer in Jungkook’s shade already that you don’t even need to turn the light on to know it’s a perfect match.

You sit up lazily and cover up his hickies like it’s routine. You see him everyday as he belongs to everyone but yourself, and the physical proof of it doesn’t hurt you as much as you expected it to be.

He lays down on your lap and neither of you talk.

You skim past the hues of pink and purple on his neck as if you were born simply to see them on your soulmate’s neck, as if you were conditioned all your life to be the one to cover up hickies on Jungkook’s skin as your sole purpose. You do the process of covering it up over and over again until you get rid of the marks that remind him he isn’t yours at all, right until he sits up to admire your handicraft.

“Woah, it’s like it wasn’t even there! This is so-“

“Now get out.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen as he gets whiplash from your hostile tone, but he probably chalks it up to you being sleepy, him interrupting your rest, and you desperately wanting to get back to it.

He’s out of your room to now clean up the entire place but your tone doesn’t leave him still, making him sigh out loud while he tries not to overthink it.

You’re just sleepy.

You’d never get mad at him.

Jungkook’s eyes blink once, twice as he resumes wiping down the counters, slower and more thoughtful this time.

You’d never get mad at him, right?

( ♡ )

The day is slow and so is the pain in your heart.

You can’t put a finger on it exactly, but being with Jungkook in any other form besides a soulmate doesn’t hurt you as much nowadays. The hurt is there but it’s never really left anyway. The vacuum in the shape of Jungkook from within you has been there for so long that the hurt you feel seems like a routine at this point.

You look for him in the way when there’s a misplaced decoration on the shelf; a single magazine missing amongst a row of books. You look for it, but you come to accept it. You don’t look for Jungkook in the way when you realize that an heirloom is missing from your possession and you tear around the whole place to seek it.

Having Jungkook away from your grasp feels as normal as you have him within yours platonically, the two weighing the same amount of harrowing.

“I have an idea,” Jungkook proposes to you over the couch when he’s shouldered dinner and it’s just yet to arrive, passing the time by being around you even if your attention isn’t on him. “What if you look at my soulmate mark?”

You’ve only been endlessly scrolling through your feed and as much as you expected Jungkook to bother your silence with one conversation or another, you didn’t think it’d be this.

Rarely does it cross your mind nowadays that you’re soulmates before you’re best friends turned roommates. In fact, not once did you wander about him today and admittedly in realization, it scares you before it relieves you.

“What for?”

“Shit and giggles, I think,” he replies with much amusement but the determination in his eyes tell you that he’s more than insistent. “Don’t tell me about it though. Don’t tell me even a single clue.”

You will yourself to look back at your phone, to ignore him as if he hasn’t said the stupidest yet simultaneously brightest proposal he’s ever given you because it’s too sudden. You’ve waited for years but now that Jungkook’s asking you to look at his mark in behalf of him, simply for shit and giggles, you worry that it’s too sudden. Too early. That the moment you’ve waited for years is too abrupt and now you’d rather wait for another lifetime for it.

“What’re you doing this for?”

You repeat the question again but you’re equally as serious the first time around, seeing his brows furrow because he feels like you’ve changed the atmosphere without him knowing.

“I suddenly got curious.”

“You don’t get curious.”

“I know, I just get easily influenced,” Jungkook sheepishly admits, scratching the back of his head because it seems to him that you’re cornering him and shutting him down for no reason at all. He doesn’t necessarily know why he feels intimidated by you, but it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try to ease the tension by explaining himself. “Remember when I asked you to cover up my hickies last week?”

“What about it?” your eyes narrow in genuine wonder, prompting you to think just how long Jungkook’s been meaning to ask you this.

“You weren’t wearing a bra that time.”

The words tumble out of Jungkook’s mouth continuously and he only has the mind to look embarrassed by it when you sputter out loud, averting his gaze to suppress a laugh,

“Jungkook-!” your pupils dart wildly, appalled and embarrassed at the same time when you defensively cross your arms across your chest even if what he’s pertaining to has long been finished. “Of course I wasn’t wearing a bra! It was 5 AM and I was still asleep when you kept knocking on my door!”

“And I wasn’t looking!” he defends himself with a laugh, head automatically shaking as he tries to reach out to you but you only swat him away. “I just glanced once because I realized it but I didn’t look again, I swear!”

“Well sometimes, you should keep your mouth shut!” you squeak, rolling your eyes as you try to get away from his further by moving to the opposite end of the couch. “I would’ve been able to live in peace without knowing you saw my boobs through my shirt.”

“It’s normal! Just like you seeing me without a shirt! We live together, stupid. It was bound one way or another,” he argues, earning yet another frustrated groan from you.

You power through the embarrassment because you’d look like such a sore loser if you walk away from him now, hiding your face to a throw pillow as Jungkook gathers his wits while he tries to get closer to you, abandoning his spot on the other end of the couch.

“Not only weren’t you wearing a bra-”

“Watch it,” you seethe when he gets close enough for you to flick his forehead harshly, earning a whine from him in the midst of laughing as he gets choked up.

His cheeks are tinted pink and it’s clear he can’t breathe well with how much he’s entertained, clearing his throat a few times and having to look away from you because your face alone apparently sends him into a fit of giggles.

You think this is the end of it. You think Jungkook’s effectively forgotten about his previous proposal and you’d be able to end the night with a good dinner and no confrontations at all, but your expectation gets spoiled as soon as you started hoping.

“You weren’t wearing your ring too.”

Your heart drops before you even get to digest all of the words, the hurt hitting you before the impending realization.

“W-what?”

Jungkook’s face twists in worry to see you so shaken up when he barely did anything, certain that you wouldn’t look this pale over a few minutes of teasing and banter. He tilts his head at you and it prompts you to straighten up and fix the worry in your features, good enough for him to continue.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t look. Besides, your mark was turned away from me the entire time because you were dabbing on my neck and I was getting sleepy while you did it,” he shrugs carelessly and it’s the first time you could physically feel the relief in your shoulder that melts all away the tension, the feeling so fluid that it feels warm.

“It was still dark too,” he adds in recollection, a faint smile on his face as he gestures to you and motions at your chest vaguely. “All I saw were just like… peaks and shadows.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jungkook,” you snap but there’s no real bite to it. In fact, it even sounds sweet but he doesn’t know how to read between the lines and therefore nestles to your side in rising worry.

“I’m sorryyy,” he drawls out and the moment he feels you pat his nape with your confirmation that it’s okay and doesn’t really matter in the first place, he springs up back to his straight posture against the cushions of the couch, an eager smile evident.

“Anyways, that’s why you have me wondering what’s underneath my ring,” he connects seamlessly, obviously unaware of the way you’ve tensed up beside him. “Now come on, it’s okay! Think of this as me making it up to you. You can go look.”

Jungkook turns his position on the couch to face you, his left hand raised right in front of you and he’s laughing with unknown nerves, the feeling being akin to being tickled because he anticipates it fully, but the sensation feels different every time.

Your mouth dries when you’re faced with the same signet ring that you wear yourself, right on Jungkook’s digit. The shiny silver stares back at you in the eye and you can’t take your gaze away from it, the familiar piece of jewelry looking more unrecognizable the longer you look at it.

You don’t know what you expect from it when he teasingly starts to pull his ring up without any big movements to reveal the ink that’s underneath, but as much as you don’t know what you want to see, the trepidation blooms fully in your chest for you to have the mind in stopping him.

“Don’t.”

Jungkook’s confused and shocked to why you suddenly refused, recalling that just two seconds ago, you were all for his fun little proposal but now you’re no longer on-board.

He’s familiar with the conflict in your eyes, he just doesn’t recognize what’s it supposed to be. He sees the cracks of your hurt, he just doesn’t know the focus of it,

“Why not?” he frowns, genuinely curious to see you avoiding his gaze.

“I shouldn’t be the first one to see it.”

“I trust you, though.”

It’s what hurts all the more because he trusts you to see the initials of what would lead him to his soulmate, to you, but not in looking at you face-to-face for you to become the very thing he doesn’t want.

“Maybe next time, Jungkook.”

The mood is somber and he doesn’t know what to make of it besides the fact that you worry him deeply, bending downwards to have a glance at your face. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He looks down on his ring but now he suddenly feels off-put looking at it, obscuring his mark that makes him curious.

“Does it have to do with your own soulmate not wanting you?” he jokes around lightly to ease the mood and if only he knew that he’s hurting you right where it hurts, he would’ve shut his mouth int the first place.

You’re bitter, harshly biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from crying, voice straining as you try to bring back the playful atmosphere.

“I’ll have you know, I’m easy to love, Jungkook. Try it sometime."

He giggles right to your face — laughs at your hurt, right to your vulnerability and the little pride you have left.

“Silly,” Jungkook ruffles your hair in much amusement, eyes crinkling in giddiness because you’ve bounced back from the minor inconvenience in his eyes just as quick. “I can’t love you.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook’s family has a new house.

What’s different this time is that the house they had built isn’t for business purposes to be occupied by long-time tenants nor short-term guests. The spacious three-floored house is wide in technicality but it feels quaint and warm with all the furniture and personality inside it. Most vacation houses and cottages they had built are neutral, the life of the space completely dependent on its future inhabitants. But this house of theirs is clearly their own, the evidence of the three-member family visible from floor to ceiling.

Your family’s at the top of the guest list for their housewarming and it’d be a lie to say that you don’t feel fold seeing your parents and older siblings’ reaction to the welcome that the Jeon family gives. They’re nice hosts with the way they usher their visitors to the catering tables but they’re even more warm and familial with the way they give you your plates themselves, taking you by the arm as they tour your family around their house way ahead of everyone.

Mr. Jeon gushes to your dad how they have a pond out back and invites him to accompany him next week to buy fish for their deck, Jungkook’s dad insisting that he drives the two of them and they can go for street food right after.

Jungkook takes pride in touring around your mom and your older siblings by proudly introducing them to the other visitors, all along the lines of how you’re all basically like family ever since they’ve moved in next door to your family, their humble beginnings in the form of their original house where they started from scratch.

You stand meekly by the corner, against one of the towering pillars as you watch everyone interact with each other. One thing about the Jeon family is that they’re just the type of successful no one could ever be bitter of because they’re immensely kind and genuine, not a trace of bitterness being seen in any of the faces you see.

You know the last thing you should be feeling at the moment is displacement because as far as you knew, your family’s the talk of the household right after the hosts’. You should know out of all people that you belong in this environment that’s nothing short of familial and supportive, but it’s unavoidable.

It’s unavoidable because you see exactly why Jungkook doesn’t need you.

It’s inevitable to feel out of place because in yet another house that serves as a home for Jungkook, you realize why he finds no need nor significance in having a soulmate because he has everything he needs and more.

He has everything that completes him and balances him perfectly. He stands on his own two feet and is able to be happy without knowing who the universe has assigned for him. He lives and breathes without knowing you and it’s perfectly okay.

It’s perfectly okay for him to not want you and only live for himself because he doesn’t owe you at all.

Jungkook doesn’t owe you the love that you give him and that’s perfectly okay.

Everything should be perfectly okay because he is and yet you don’t know why your eyes are downcast despite everyone else around moving on without you. No one owes you anything and you should know better than to even voice the tiniest bit of sentiments you’ve been repressing all this time because the hurt you feel should only be yours.

All the while, you’re oblivious to how you’ve gained the attention of the woman who knows Jungkook the most before you.

“It’s Jungkook, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Jeon stands before you and your eyes flit to hers in an instant, pupils trembling to see what she could possibly mean.

You think you could salvage the pitiful situation she’s caught you in because of course, there’s no possible way that she could know, right? Even your own family doesn’t know of the initials that are inked on your finger and they’re your own flesh and blood. If anything, they should be the one who’d figure it out first.

The lie you were supposed to tell her gets caught in your throat because from her gaze alone, the same gaze you receive when Hoseok speaks you the truths you always try and make excuses for, you know that she knows.

Mrs. Jeon sees right through you before Jungkook and the realization crosses her face that the two of you only stand parallel.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, the dots connecting in her head much faster even if it’s years worth of all her intuitions, the gravity of it only hitting her now. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You quickly shake your head even if she holds your hands in hers, her eyes wide and glassy to see her son’s soulmate in this light. She’s always treated you as a daughter and at first, she thought it’s because she only has a son. That maybe it’s because Jungkook’s an only child and she’s always wanted a daughter figure in her life. That maybe, she just happens to love you more than any of the daughters her friends have because she’s known you the longest.

She feels so remorseful that she should’ve listened to her instincts more and not just glaze over the fact that perhaps, you were her son’s soulmate. She feels that maybe she could’ve protected you better by saying that sooner or later, Jungkook would outgrow his phase of sleeping around.

She’s not blind to see the makeup that covers her son’s neck whenever she comes over, no matter how seamless it is. However, she’s blind enough to not see that it’s you all this time and how you’ve been hurting far longer than you should’ve.

“But what about you? What happens to you?”

“I’ll be okay, mom.”

She told you to call her that, much like how your mother insisted that Jungkook calls her that too. You reassure her endlessly that she shouldn’t feel sorry at all because it’s no one’s fault, and if it’s anyone whose blame should befall on, it should be you.

“Why did it have to be you?” her lip blubbers and it reminds you of her son, seeing her clench her eyes at the second wave of realization that you must be so hurt beyond salvation. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You don’t deserve the apology but hearing it makes you awed, your own tears welling at your eyes because for once, even if it’s the person you’ve least expected to say it to you, you feel seen. You feel remorse and pity without being looked down on; something you haven’t been able to experience in a long time.

“You deserve someone better than Jungkook.”

She looks up as if it would resolve anything. Mrs. Jeon looks like she’s begging for the universe to befall and it catches you off-guard with how she’s hugging you so tightly.

If she prayed to the universe for a short second, then the universe must’ve loved her enough to grant whatever it is that she wished for. The universe doesn’t befall on you but rather, it marches up to you with a furrow in his brow and his jaw clenched.

“What do you mean better than me?”

Jungkook didn’t mean to eavesdrop in the first place but he couldn’t hold himself back from inserting himself into the conversation that two of the most important women in his life were having, thinking it would be something he’s familiar with given the way the two of you looked shellshocked at each other.

“What are you talking about?”

He harshly whispers and neither of you meet his desperate gaze, not one bit of reassurance trying to confirm nor deny what he had just heard. He looks at his mother clutching your hands, thumb particularly rubbing your signet ring like how she would with a wound to soothe.

The realization and the heaviness that come with it are unlike no other.

“In my room now.”

Jungkook seethes as he doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling you desperately upstairs. He’s fuming even if his grasp on your wrist is gentle. He’s furious at you even if he nudges you inside his room, closing the door behind him firmer than he’d ever think of.

“Jungkook-“

“You are so fucking evil.”

What you could only see at the surface is that he’s mad, the maddest you’ve ever seen him. You don’t know if he’s mad at you directly but you feel the bite of his words nonetheless, catching you in surprise that you stutter.

“W-what?”

His expression can’t be gauged and neither can he discern what he feels. All he feels is that he’s in the dark and he’s disoriented with how blinding the light is that’s focused on him now, voice turning hoarse with how overwhelmed he feels.

“How long have you known? How long were you lying to me, huh?” he has his hands on his hips, looking at you as if he’s never seen you before and all he knows is that he’s angry at you. It feels like he doesn’t know you besides the outline of you that blindsides him. “How many people know that it’s me? How did it happen that my mother knew that I’m your soulmate before I did?”

You’re mad at him too. You’re angry at him because he speaks down to you in the way as if he doesn’t know you and all you’ve done to him is hurt him when not once did you betray him to be treated hostile as such. All you’ve done is give and it feels like Jungkook’s asking you to give him the satisfaction of being angry at you, one that he feels entitled to.

“I didn’t let you know because you didn’t want to. You’ve said it yourself a hundred times!”

“How would I have known that my fucking soulmate was standing in front of me the whole time?” he raises his voice, eyes widening. “Almost my whole life, Y/N! You knew and you didn’t even question my beliefs once?”

“And I know you don’t love me for almost as long as my whole life too. Even if I told you, it wouldn’t have made a difference. You wanted to be free and I let you!”

He scoffs, throwing his head back to mock you. He’s never the one to cry when arguing but the frustration wells up in his eyes because it all feels too much.

“So now you’re holding your heroic act against me? You already know how I feel about soulmates. You already know what I don’t feel about you! You could’ve just left and I would’ve understood!”

“No, Jungkook. You wouldn’t have understood,” your finger points at him and you don’t feel the slightest bit of remorse that you’ve offended him. “You wouldn’t have understood because not once were you in my shoes. I didn’t leave you because you didn’t want me to leave!”

Jungkook would make you cross your heart multiple times for you to never leave him. You were older than him by a few months and at one point, Jungkook must’ve looked up to you. He would’ve made you cross your heart to not leave him in the playground as kids and to not leave him to eat alone at lunch as students. He made you cross your heart to not leave him for longer than necessary as roommates, and cross your heart to lock your doors so he’d be able to sleep securely at night that nothing and nobody can harm you.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have wanted you to leave,” he grits his teeth, looking at you menacingly with stray tears on his cheeks. “But when I said that, I meant that in the sense that you shouldn’t ever leave your best friend.”

“You could’ve left me as a soulmate and I would be okay, Y/N,” Jungkook emphasizes and it’s not lost on you what he’s asking from you now. “But you’re still here! You’re still around me and it’s like you’re expecting me to love you back!”

You’re flawed but you know better than to let Jungkook construct his own truths that the both of you know are lies, persistently shaking your head as your eyes prick in frustration.

“I would never force you to love me back and you know it, Jungkook.”

You mean it with every fiber in your being because it’s tattooed into your mind that he doesn’t owe you anything at all. You love Jungkook simply because you do and you don’t expect it to be requited.

You mean it genuinely when you say that not once have you ever pressured him to love you back but it falls on deaf ears because he goes on, no matter how much you try to get it through his mind.

“I don't have to love you. Goddamn it Y/N, atleast give me a choice here. Don't just chain me to you!"

You resist the urge to grip at your hair as you cry, sobbing frustratedly. His words no longer hurt but what instead hurts you is that he makes you out for someone who isn’t you, the little pride you have left forcing you to stand up for yourself and become rational. “Hey, hey. Listen. Two people can be soulmates and not be in love with each other, y'know? That's possible."

“It’s not-“

“I’m already in love with you, Jungkook! That's the problem!”

You burst as you raise your voice and the little moment of calm gets washed away because Jungkook retaliates even louder, his chest heaving as he points at himself.

“I’m the problem now? You've been begging me all this time to love you back, and now I’m the problem?"

“You're not getting my point, Jungkook!"

“I’m really not getting your point here because you're making it sound like it's my fault that you love me!"

You try to breathe deeply, running your hands through your hair as the words slip out of you. “Maybe it's your fault, have you ever thought about that? You act as if you love me-"

“What the fuck? I’m kind, Y/N. Being kind is different from-"

“Best friends don’t-“

The words get lost on your tongue.

You stop yourself and it’s as if one seed of clarity plants itself in your mind, the sudden silence making Jungkook cease the heaving of his chest as none of you speak a word.

You’re flawed but this is the only time you feel that it’s fine to be as such, figuring that if you want to salvage the tiny bit of whatever compassion you have for yourself, you should no longer try. The tensions melts away from your shoulders and Jungkook feels the way the atmosphere once again changes before he knows it, wide eyes trying to gauge what exactly is happening.

“I’ll stop — cross my heart.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook doesn’t want to lose you.

It’s your university’s semestral break for the holidays and throughout the entire time, you haven’t contacted him.

You don’t contact him even when it’s the day before Christmas and there’s two minutes left on the clock before it’s the 25th.

The two of you are apart this time. You’re in your childhood home while his family stays over in their new vacation house. His parents miss your family beyond measure but they’d overheard your fight and decided that maybe having a different celebration this year, one that’s only the three of them even if it’s not as boisterous and fun being with your household, is for the better.

The wound’s still fresh. The sting’s still there and it’s barely healing.

That’s why Jungkook sends you a quick series of texts before his family feasts without you.

i’m sorry for the things i’ve said, i was really rude

i don’t want to lose you

happy holidays btw, we miss you

see you after break :)

( ♡ )

It’s like it never happened.

It’s like Jungkook didn’t cry himself to sleep and feel extremely lethargic because as soon as break was over and the two of you are back into your shared apartment, you act normal.

You act as if nothing changed and it drives him out of his mind for you to be so casual despite everything because it’s like this time, he’s the only who’s affected by the entire situation that’s unfolded. The two of you’ve already exchanged apologies and reassurances that you’d move on collectively but now that he thinks about it, Jungkook never should’ve agreed to move on.

He never should’ve agreed to move on because out of the two of you, you’re the only one who isn’t on a standstill.

He’s distraught that even if it’s the same scenario and scenery before the two of you even blew over, you move on from him faster than he thought you could. Jungkook almost cried himself to sleep when you weren’t home by 9 PM from your classes and you looked genuinely confused to see him pacing by the kitchen, waiting for you to come home.

He feels like he’s losing it by the minute when you wake up by yourself and not without his incessant knocking that you’d be late for class if you stay in bed for a minute longer.

His heart feels like it’s about to break down when you don’t call him over to say hi whenever your parents call you, only getting to hear your conversations through the door as he suddenly feels that he’s excluded from all the things he shares with you.

He reminds himself that he wanted this. He reminds himself that he said he wanted you to leave during his family’s housewarming party, that he then retracts his statement and said he didn’t want to lose you over the holidays, and that all throughout the years he’s been with you — he’s never wanted you.

Jungkook reminds himself that he’s still with you.

He’s still with you, that much he knows.

He just isn’t sure if you’re still with him.

( ♡ )

Jungkook didn’t expect for this to hurt so bad.

He didn’t expect to be so lost into his thoughts that he couldn’t sleep in his room and marches right outside the living room wearing a new pair of socks that he didn’t expect to be this slippery, not registering into his mind that he’s done household chores the whole day to keep his mind preoccupied and that the hardwood floors are squeaky clean with wax.

He didn’t expect that he’d slip and fall on his arm painfully that it makes him wince, groaning at the impact of his body weight crushing his arm and for such a striking pain to travel to his elbow all the way to the tips of his fingers.

Jungkook didn’t expect for it to hurt this much because you don’t come out of your room to help him and he can’t take it, frustrated as he can’t get up that he does nothing but yell out your name multiple times.

All his calls for you effectively summoned you out but you’re more confused than you are panicked, a gasp leaving your lips when you see him lying in pain on the floor.

“What happened to you?” you ask in worry as you try to pull him up without hurting him, making him wince while trying to answer your question nonetheless.

“Huh?” he lets you carry him up to sit him down the couch for the meantime, assessing just how bad his fracture looks like to see if you’d have to drive him to the hospital. “What do you mean? Didn’t you feel the pain?”

Jungkook knows about the red string of pull and his eyes blink twice in confusion because you only realize what he’s talking about belatedly, the genuine confusion in your face making him swallow the lump in his throat.

“Oh. I didn't feel it. There wasn't a pull."

“Stop joking with me."

He clenches his jaw at how you could manage to play with him over such an important matter, even more baffled when you defensively shake your head and even breathlessly laugh.

“I’m not, Kook! I swear, I really didn't."

“Bullshit,” he rolls his eyes casually, deadpanning at you with a gasp emerging from his lips. “You knew I broke my arm and intentionally didn't help me!”

“Jungkook, I swear on my life,” he sees you hold up your hand in the air in a promise, tiny giggles of disbelief leaving you as he genuinely can’t understand where exactly is the humor you find in this.

He purses his lips and tries to look deeper for anything in your eyes that give you away even the slightest bit, pointing at your ring. “Take it off."

He watches intently the way surprise sweeps across your features and he thinks for a second that you’re just lying to him — you wouldn’t really take off your ring because doing so would confirm his hopes that it’s his same initials with the same vivid shade of red, right?

But you do it nonetheless.

Truth be told you’ve only removed your ring once since the incident because you didn’t want to be reminded of whose initials were underneath it, but it surprises you that your compliance gets the better of you and you take it off from him.

Jungkook’s stare falters to see the very thing he’s asked for.

What he could only make out clearly now is the J in the middle of his first and last initial, the two other letters clearly not as prominent. You’re shocked to see the difference from when you last saw your mark, the first J and K by your ring finger fading in contrast.

“You can’t — is this true?” he finds himself swallowing the lump in his throat painfully, taking your finger into his own hands that he barely winces using his other arm, rubbing his thumb against your skin to see if it was just some trick. “Surely you can’t spell my name without the jeon and the kook, right?”

His breathing is too heavy and you don’t speak either. The two of you have heard about this once when you were children from both of your mothers, all blissfully too young and unaware to consider the possibility that it might just happen to the two of you.

“About the mark-…”

“My mom said-…”

The two of you pipe up at the same time but Jungkook lets you go first because even if you haven’t spoken at the same time as he did, he wouldn’t have been able to finish what he was supposed to say.

You say your next words honestly, in a gentle and soft voice but it lands loud and disruptive to Jungkook’s ears, making him want to clamp his ears shut because he refuses to believe.

“It could be because the universe is reassigning me a new soulmate.”

“Y-yeah,” he clears his throat as if it would stop the tears that are threatening to fall on his cheeks, looking down on his lap as he unconsciously hunches on himself. “I remember our moms saying this when we were kids.”

“Mhmm,” you hum in recollection, pointing to him eagerly because the two of you are at the same page. “I asked my mom about a week ago then an hour later, I got put into a groupchat with all the moms of the friends that I have."

Jungkook weakly snorts to match your energy because he’s weak. He’s too weak to raise his head to face how you’re so nonchalant about this and this time, it’s him who’s hurting so badly.

“Everyone's bets are on PJM — Park Jimin! Who would’ve known, right? The J initial makes sense."

Jimin, a family friend of a family friend.

Jimin, the one kid in preschool that always wowed the parents and the teachers because he talks like how a fourth-grader would and knows how to do addition with the carrying.

Jimin, a distant friend who studied abroad for college and whose news broke out that he’s coming back home during his break and plans to settle here in your city.

Jimin, someone who’s theorized to replace Jungkook.

“Don't even joke about that. I’m serious,” he mumbles under his breath and the croak of his voice gives him away, suddenly standing up from the couch and forgetting about his physical pain entirely, bidding you a quiet good night that he could only know is not something that he’d be getting underneath this dark.

“I’m gonna go to sleep."

( ♡ )

Jungkook wishes that his eyesight wasn’t so clear.

He wishes he didn’t heed his mother’s warnings of not looking at screens for too long too closely and his father’s insistence that he takes his vegetables and vitamins.

He wishes that his vision is poor because in that way, he wouldn’t be able to notice how the silver that’s against your skin looks different; how he couldn’t tell that it’s shine isn’t the same that he’s used to seeing and how it’s no longer the signet ring that looks like the same piece that he wears on your ring finger.

“Did you change your ring?"

He asks you one morning when you’re making breakfast. He memorizes seeing the furrow in your brows and the realization in your face as you look down on your hand, his words clicking into your head in understanding.

“Oh yeah, I did.”

Your ring’s now of a thicker design with intricate details and swirls, the band of it seemingly molded into decorative crosses. It looks heavy and of high-quality and Jungkook’s certain that your ring’s more expensive this time, clueless to where and when you got it.

The groove of the silver reminds him of the letter P, and his mind goes to Jimin’s family name instantaneously — and it makes Jungkook pray that he’d rather have his vision tainted than to ever see it on your skin.

( ♡ )

“Where are you going this early in the morning?”

Jungkook can’t bear to sleep in his bedroom anymore nowadays because it feels to confined, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts and insecurities which is why he chooses to sleep in the living room where it’s open and he has everywhere else to look at besides his ceiling.

He hasn’t even been sleeping well in the first place which is why he’s alert from his shallow nap when your door clicks open and he sees you already bathed and dressed.

“My dad told me to join him fishing,” you answer when you move on from the surprise he’s given you, releasing the hand from your chest as you calm down. “He’s fishing with Jimin’s dad.”

You’re too busy packing snacks that you don’t register how there’s pillows and blankets on the couch because Jungkook sleeps out here nowadays, compared to your assumptions that he’s just gaming or doing his assignments. Your back is turned to him which is why you don’t notice his face that looks crestfallen at your further explanation, heart sinking in thought.

“Oh,” he stabilizes his voice as best as he could, eyes set at the back of your head as he tries not to give himself away. “Would Jimin be there?”

“Not sure. I’ll see when I get there.”

He nods once, biting on his lip as he tries again.

“Is my dad coming with?”

“O-oh,” the realization crosses your mind that your dad’s companion when it comes to fishing and perhaps any other activity is Mr. Jeon, only hitting you now that you haven’t heard the mention of his name. “I honestly don’t know.”

That’s the thing of both your dads and Jungkook aches at the thought if his time is over. If his family’s time is over with yours. If it’s too late and the ink on your finger can no longer be traced back to him.

If it’s still him.

“Drive safe, m’kay? Call me when you need me.”

You don’t approach him for a goodbye hug and he feels too odd to only keep to himself as you leave out the door, not looking back even once.

Call me even if you don’t need me.

The words only remain on his tongue because speaking it out loud is pointless. It’s pathetic to be said out in the open because you aren’t there for him to look like a fool in front of. He looks pathetic as he waits for you.

It’s because you don’t call him throughout the day to ask if he’s already brought out the meat to defrost for his lunch or what he wants for dinner because you’re ordering on the way home. It’s because you don’t tell him to text you repeatedly so you wouldn’t fall asleep in traffic and miss out on your dad’s banter. It’s because even if he doesn’t need anything from you; even if you aren’t willing to give and he’s eager to take —

Jungkook will always need you.

( ♡ )

The pain Jungkook feels in his bones simmers before it bubbles over.

It marinates and lulls into his skin warmly before it stings. It’s a soothing type of heat that he mistakes for tension before it starts to sting. The pain he feels in his heart all the way down to the pit of his stomach stings before it boils and bubbles at his skin.

The pain he feels burns him unlike no other.

It’s the type of hurt he feels that no matter how much he rubs at his skin and cries his eyes out, it doesn’t relieve him even the slightest bit. He doesn’t feel the calmness when he goes through every single thing that used to soothe him before, every chance at salvation only for the pain to burn deeper making him more frustrated than the last.

Jungkook cries his eyes out every night and he thinks he’s exhausted all the tears out of himself because he finds himself knocking on your door, waiting for you to grant him entrance as he keeps his breathing at bay.

It’s late at night when you’re buried into doing your requirements that you tumble out of your chair to open the door for Jungkook, figuring that it must be an emergency with the way his knocks are desperate.

His eyes land on you the moment you open the door for him, words crawling out of his mouth as he pleads.

“Let me kiss you."

He’s no stranger to the confusion in your face and it feels as if nothing from the two of you would surprise each other at this point. He knows you’re tired and busy but he can’t stop himself to just reserve what he feels tonight and save it for the morning.

Your mouth flounders in wonder, closing it when you figure that nothing else would be lost from you.

You let Jungkook kiss you.

You taste as sweet as Jungkook thought for you to be and more and he cries. He cries as you allow him to kiss you for the first time and let him knock his forehead against yours as his cheeks are damp with despair, eyes looking down on your finger instinctively.

You know exactly what he’s looking at and it makes you sigh solemnly, pressing your knuckles against your sheets so he wouldn’t be able to see.

“Jungkook-…”

Jungkook refuses to give up because this time, he interrupts you with an even deeper kiss that you accidentally moan into, lost into your senses by the surprise that it makes your eyes close.

He tastes you deeper and longer and he feels like he can’t breathe, inhales feeling heavier and his exhales being fewer that you have to put a hand on his chest to nudge him away from you, a pitiful look spanning across your eyes that makes him shut his.

“Kissing me harder isn't gonna help.”

His initials on your finger don’t magically turn more vibrant, more alive. He thinks he’s exhausted every single tear he could possibly cry but it’s seemingly not over, sobbing into his hands right in front of you.

“Why are you not freaked out that your mark's disappearing?! It's changing! I-it might not even be me anymore!”

Jungkook sobs brokenly when he used to not be able to even have his voice tremble at your presence. His shoulders hunch and give out and you have no choice but to catch him with your hands, fearing that he’d tumble out of the edge of your bed and fall on the floor.

“I thought you wanted this. I’m not consciously controlling this, Jungkook. It's just the same when you had no control of your mark not appearing on you."

His words haven’t left you but so is the remaining little love you have for him, knowing realistically that a single night of confrontation isn’t enough to undo years of loving.

“It's on me now. I-It's showing up on me, but it's disappearing from you."

His sobs wrack his own body and you think for a moment that he’s about to pass out with how much he coughs from getting choked up, springing more tears into his eyes as he feels like puking.

“You started to accept it when I started revoking it."

You mumble to yourself in realization and what pains him is that he’s heard it loud and clear, crumpling into your figure as you unconsciously realize that your hand soothes his back.

Jungkook cries the most in his lifetime, tucking his face into your shirt as he shakes his head back and forth like it was a nightmare he’s just forced to live out, words repeating over and over again.

“Don't shut me out."

He clings onto you more than he’s ever had.

Jungkook looks for you in everything and tries to weasel his way into every day that passes, not the least bit of embarrassment creeping up to him on how he looks like a fool every time you leave him hanging and alone.

He apologizes to you day and night until you grow tired of him; until you roll your eyes at him to give it a rest and just shut up at that point onwards.

He endures the hurt and the rejection you give him over and over again; not even going up to par with half of the hurt he’s unknowingly given you all this time.

Jungkook knows he’s flawed — but he’s certain that he’s not flawed enough to stop trying.

He wakes up to the morning light and goes to sleep at the evening glow with only the prayer that he becomes better, better enough to be deserving of you and better enough to be someone the universe would shift connections for.

He’s flawed, but not flawed enough to think that you owe him your love, regardless of his efforts.

The days are warmer and the gaps are fuller when there’s an incessant knocking on your door. The lights are softer and the nights are kinder when there’s a figure that wedges itself beside your bed, a quiet hum to his voice.

“I told you to start locking your doors.”

Jungkook feels the tiny exhale of breath that leaves you before it turns into a giggle, hugging your pillow closer.

“But it’s you.”

He smiles.

“But it’s me.”

Jungkook lies next to you a little closer, his arms bigger compared to the last months that he now manages to cage you fully and have his hands be able to cup yours without having to stretch further.

There’s nothing cool to the touch because nowadays, you let your ring finger breathe as much as he lets his own mark to be seen.

“There are three types of love, y’know?” he hums to your ear when he knows you’re just about to be lulled back to your sleep, able to see you clearly in the dark because no matter what light the both if you are underneath in, he only sees you.

“I was your first, right? Jimin's the second, I’m sure,” he breathily laughs, taking away the hair from your nape because he knows that it bothers you. “I can be the third. I-I can be your third love. I’ll work for it."

For only a second too long that it’s quiet, your voice cutting through the air.

“You can't be my third love, Jungkook,” you hum just as long as his heart stops beating. “You're my only love."

Your eyes are still closed when you silently profess the love that’s never left you, oblivious to how Jungkook is as stiff as concrete behind you that you feel his shoulders lose the hurt immediately. “I’ve loved you three times through."

Jungkook could only hope that it’s not the sleep talking.

He knows you’re real beyond anything and anyone. You’re tangible and fragile and he’s come to learn it a thousand times more. “I’ll love you three times more."

For the longest time on end did Jungkook feel that he’s been falling but the impact never comes. He would’ve wanted to feel it, but either way, he’d know that it would be fine. That he would be fine. That the two of you will be fine and it’s you who he entrusts to spend all of his infinites with, no matter the hurt.

You tried. You honestly tried everything you could possibly do to get over the boy who had ripped you apart. Those eyes that had clawed their way into you, making a home in your chest between the fourth and fifth rib, snuggling deeper each second that he spent with you. The squeeze on your heart, constricting tighter with each beat until you didn’t have a heart and it was just him, it was just Jeongguk. His voice replacing the one in your head, you know the one that you hear when you think, now all you could hear each time you thought about the grocery list or what you needed to do for university was his voice, specifically the way he called you, his whined baby when he was feeling particularly needy.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he was out there living his life while you were stuck in a permanent cycle. You tried. You tried so hard. Dating was a bust, always thinking about the places you and Jeongguk went together or how Jeongguk would have done it better, the taste not the same, the smile different, his eyes not the same. Not the same voice. Not the same. You weren’t the same. No longer eating the same foods, or listening to the same music. No longer you. Jesus Christ, was it this hard to get over a guy? Locking yourself in the bathrooms at work, you cried again. Feeling your chest hollow out as each sob ripped from your throat, tearing up your insides until you swore you could taste blood. A co-worker had come looking for you, tapping the stall door with a tentative knock and offering help. “He isn’t worth it. Men are pigs” her soft voice tried to soothe you as she ran her hand through your hair, pushing it behind your ears the same way Jeongguk did when you were upset. Except for this time, there were no kisses to make you happy or his funny voices as he tried to make you laugh. It was just a cold tiled bathroom and a small, it’ll be okay before you were left alone again. Alone, always alone. It was selfish of him. Breaking off something that wasn’t ready to be broken. A hushed sorry from behind his hand as he cried, the tears running down his cheeks and onto his chin. Wide eyes now red, his voice cracking and thick with sobs. A broken picture of what he once was. Unable to face him, you dropped your head feeling your heart fall to your feet then pick back up and race double time. A silence fell over the apartment, then his muted footsteps along the plush carpet before you saw the toes of his boots. You started to cry now, tears rushing down your cheeks as you allowed yourself to feel the impact of what was happening. He was leaving you. Leaving for good. Not a month or two where there was still the contact between delayed phone calls and blurry screens, but forever. “I just want you to be happy” pressing a final kiss to your forehead, he allowed his lips to linger on your skin for a few seconds before he pulled away and all but ran to the door. Quick footsteps then a slam. You shattered.

Collapsing to the carpet with a scream, your heart being ripped out of your chest and thrown down the stairs then stepped on then being run over by a truck. Set on fire. Stabbed over and over again. A pain, unlike anything you had felt before.