#[ anyways if you ever want cute little threads to break up the gravity of your own drafts just know i am here ] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

erintoknow · 5 years ago

Text

my body is here and i am inside

fallen hero: rebirth fanfiction Ariadne deals with the aftermath of ‘helping’ Lady Argent find who was responsible for possessing her. ~3.3k words [ao3]

Prev: [maybe it will break and maybe it won’t]

Title from [Panic Attack by Liza Anne]

content warning for uh, suicidal thinking

–––

The wind whips the ends of your jacket about you. Stubbornly hold the halves together rather than zip up. Let the bay air curl around you, toxic smog and all. The Millennial Span Bridge isn’t really meant for foot traffic. There had been plans once, setting up a mini-mall in the bridge supports but the money had dried up not long after the bridge proper was built and the shops never opened.

But the walkway remained. Just had to hop two locked gates. No razor-wire, no electricity. Hardly a real deterrent. By the halfway point you’re high up enough above the water that you can see the occasional boat passing under. The sun is starting to set at this point – it’s been a long day – but you keep your sunglasses on.

Old L.A. would have have never called for a bridge like this, as far as you understand it. But things change when half your geography drops into the sea. There’s a safety railing to run your hand along, because of course there is. No one wants the bad press of your vanity project becoming a hub for jumpers. But it’s half-assed job. Find a joint that hangs down from the river of cars rumbling over your head and you could climb over it pretty easy.

On the other side and there’s even a convenient lip of metal wide enough for you sit on, let your legs dangle over the void. Kicking freely.

Well.

Here you are, Ariadne.

Now what?

It’s been, what? A few weeks? A month? Meeting Ortega in that diner. You haven’t gone back there since. It felt too portentous. And now the rest of the Rangers know you’re here. And you’re ostensibly alive. Hopefully they believe you about being retired. Hopefully Ortega kept quiet about what you babbled on to her about. She’s always been one to understand your need for privacy, but it’s not like she hasn’t screwed up before in the name of trying to ‘help’ you.

It had been a mistaken to listen to her at all. To let her drag you into somebody’s else’s problem. Why? Because you missed her? You miss plenty of things you can’t have. That doesn’t mean you should go for it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And then–

You shudder, hug yourself tight as a wave of nausea washes over you again. God. You’re getting sick of that. Sick of feeling helpless. Sick of feeling powerless. Out of control of your own life. Sick of–

cables, like snakes in the grass,

coiled around your feet. the red threads wrapped

around your wrists pull

tight and move you forward. so much lighter now

that it’s not you that’s moving it

but then who’s driving?

and then there’s herald’s goofy smiling face and

doesn’t he understand that something is wrong?

somebody, anybody, help

Is that what it’s been like for every person you’ve possessed over the past two years? You want to believe Argent just got some unlucky combination; an unusually strong mind and the need to keep her not entirely under. She was just… unlucky. Sorry honey, you rolled snake eyes. Nothing personal, honest.

But Argent is the only mind you’ve actually seen the after effects for. How it has stuck on her like plaque on teeth, eating away at what’s underneath. You’ve never cared before. As long as no one immediately raised the alarm, what did it matter? Possession? Who would believe them? Nobody would. No one’s ever heard of such an ability in all the years the Hero Drug has been around, fucking up humanity.

But the Rangers would believe it.

Because it happened to them.

Because it happened to you.

Because coiled snakes and red strings wormed their way into your head and pointed your own gun at your head. Because the puppeteer tossed you through a window and over the edge.

How many people have you done this to already?

How many will never feel right again for the rest of their lives?

You lean your head back against the metal mesh of the protective webbing that’s supposed to keep you on the other side. Feel the hexagons of steel press against the back of your skull. Cover your face in your hands. You want to cry, can feel it in your lungs. But your throat’s too tight, your eyes are burning, the tears not coming.

Was it that you didn’t know or have you just been running away from the truth the whole time?

This is what you are now. A monster. Or no, a ghost. That’s cute. Maybe that should be your villain moniker. Or fuck it, maybe you won’t bother with one at all. Just roll with whatever the press calls you.

Or maybe they won’t call you anything because your body will have turned up on the beach, another waterlogged victim eaten by the city of devils.

Julia might be sad for a little bit, but it’s hard to imagine. It feels selfish pretending she’d care about you at all. Seven years is a long time. Maybe– maybe the Farm had been lying to you about her, about what she’d done, but that didn’t change the fact that having you in her life would only make Julia’s worse. Any passing pain she might possibly have over your loss again would be worth sparing her what’s coming down the line.

Chen would be relieved, you’re certain. All that talk about being happy you’re alive. You know a sack of bullshit when it’s thrown in your face. He wants you staying far away from his precious Rangers.

Lady Argent would rather just kill you herself. Or would if knew the truth. Maybe you should tell her. Let her have that closure, something you never got. Would that help her or make it worse? You don’t know. And then maybe she wouldn’t actually kill you. Maybe she’d just hand you back over.

Dr. Mortum would be confused about the sudden disappearance of her new favorite business liaison, you’re sure. But she’s been working in the underground for years. People disappear without warning all the time. She’ll have forgotten Jane before the end of the year.

Jane herself… without you to take care of her, she’ll wither and die, comatose as she is. There’s nothing you can do about that. She was a dead woman on life support before you found her. You just staved off the final verdict by a few years is all.

Are you missing anyone? You think that’s everybody. It’s not exactly a compelling list of reasons to stick around.

What reasons do you have to not to step off anyway?

So you can burn the Farm down? Expose the Directive? If you don’t try no one else will. No one else is in a position to even guess at what’s going on like you are. This project has literally been the only thing holding you together since you escaped their clutches two years ago. Sometimes you screw up and fall asleep instead of jumping into Jane and–

You drag your nails against your scalp, force yourself to swallow. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, rapid shallow breaths leaving you lightheaded.

At least out here there’s no one that can see you like this.

A lot more people are going to get hurt before this is over. Unless you stop now.

But if you stop you die.

The water’s far below you. Far enough? You’ll break bones against the water tension on impact. Enough to put you out? You’re not sure on the math. If you live, you probably won’t be in any condition to swim. You’ve always wanted to swim, but you’ve never actually put this body in water, would you float? You don’t know. Would you be able to stay composed until you run out of oxygen or would the animal brain take over and send you in a blind panic?

You don’t want to hurt but… maybe you’d deserve it.

“Enjoying the view?”

You freeze, head in your hands. Slowly you raise your head to find Herald hovering a few feet in front of you. His complete nonchalance at casually defying the pull of gravity feels a little surreal. You stare at him through your tinted lenses, uncomprehending.

Herald tilts his head with an uneasy grin. “Sorry, I was just passing by and thought I saw someone on the bridge. So…”

You close your eyes, breath out. In a way, this is a relief. You can focus all your anger on him instead. He’s obviously lying. ‘Just passing by’. Please. Bullshit. These assholes. As if you needed more proof the Rangers being aware of you now was only going to fill your life with even more problems.

“Are you okay?” Herald frowns and it’s all you can do not to groan. This is absolutely not a conversation you want to go down, and not with goddamn fucking boy-wonder Herald of all people.

“Were you following me, wonderbread?”

“Of course not!”

“D–don’t lie to a telepath, genius. Who put you up to this, Ortega?” There’s a tinge of guilt alright. It’s tempting to delve further, just pry the whole thing out of his head. Is Ortega having you tailed then? You didn’t work with her for five years to not have some idea how she likes to operate.

“Ortega has no idea I’m here, honest.” Huh, he’s telling the truth there. You’re not sure what to make of that. But then, that only leaves on other option.

“Oh. S-so it’s Chen then.” Yep, bingo. “What? Did the Marshal want to make sure I got home safe? How kind.” Why can’t these people just leave you alone to die in peace already?

“That’s– that’s not it,” Herald sighs, you can feel his exasperation. There’s a certain satisfaction in getting to knock that unsettling cheeriness out of his head. “Marshal Steel did ask me to look out for you, okay? But I mean it when I say I was just passing by.”

You open your eyes so you can glare at him.

“To be honest… I… kind of lost track of you three blocks from the building.”

“I don’t a–appreciate being followed.”

Herald dips down before returning back to eye level. “How did you know?”

“Of– of course I knew,” you lie, “I’ve been at this for years.”

“Were you always this cautious, back… uh, before?”

You flinch, scratch your neck as you avoid looking at him. “Y–yeah. Absolutely.” He buys the lie, thank god.

“Doesn’t that get tiring?”

Someone laughs, sharp and bitter and you realize it’s yours. Rub your eyes with the back of one hand. “Look. I value my privacy. O–okay?” You try to emphasize the word privacy, hope he’ll get the hint.

“I can respect that,” says Herald, the man who continues to not leave your presence. “Actually, um…” He hunches down, “I’ve been wanted to asking something, if you don’t mind, Sidestep?”

“Okay first; It’s Ariadne. Second; I do mind, actually. B–buzz off.” You flick your finger at him. God, just, go away already. You’ve got short and shorter futures to compare and contrast.

Herald frowns, shakes his head as he drifts a little closer to you. “Sorry, I can’t do that. Actually, uh–” He looks away from you again, scratching his neck. “You’re kind of technically trespassing now.”

“Are–are you kidding me.” You grip the edge of the lip with your hands, the metal cold to the touch. Would he actually try to catch you if you pushed off? “The Rangers really need to stoop to enforcing fucking trespassing signs?”

“If you need a lift somewhere I could carry–”

You cut him off with a hand gesture. “Absolutely not.” You grind your teeth. What do you need to say to make him go away? “You’re a hero, aren’t you wonderbread? Surely you’ve seen people brooding before.”

The spike of worry as Herald drifts even closer suggests that was maybe the wrong tact to try. “I heard you had a rough time today…?” He ventures, “I mean, from helping Lady Argent.”

“It’s n–n–none of your business.” Pinch the bridge of your nose, pushing the sunglasses back up against your eyes. “In fact, speaking of Argent,” you glare at him, “Shouldn’t you be off taking care of her? Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

That gets Herald to back off a little bit, a sudden backwash of unpleasant memories rushing back against you. “We’re on… a break right now, actually.”

“Probably because your– your priorities are so out of whack,” you snap. And yep, that one stings. He flinches and there’s a flush on his face now.

“She’s… been through a lot, and she just needs her space right now.” The way he talks sounds rehearsed, like he’s parroting what someone else told him. Not so confident now.

“I know perfectly well what’s she’s been through, thanks.”

“Was it… that bad?”

“God, Herald, that’s not my place to talk about. Try asking your partner.”

“I just want to… to understand what she’s going though?” Herald gives you a pleading look and you want to melt through the bridge and die. Is this really going to be your last conversation on earth? Playing therapist to some rich jerkward busybody with girl troubles? Really? This is how you go out? This is pathetic.

You run a hand through your hair, feel all the little knots and curls pull and snap. “You want to ‘understand?’ Then just try fucking listening for once.”

“I can’t listen if she doesn’t talk to me!” The genuine anger gets you by surprise. Herald blinks, and then his face turns beat-red. Ashamed of himself? Huh.

Maybe this is your chance. “Look, just leave me alone, okay? Go handle your own shit.”

Herald sighs, sits down next to you on the lip of the bridge. Goddamnit. “Did you and Charge go through phases like this, back in the day?”

You stare at him for a solid thirty seconds trying to process what he meant.

“Sorry, I just, I know you two had a thing and–”

“We absolutely did not!” You voice breaks and can feel your heart pounding in the back of your throat, “We worked together, that’s it.”

“Oh? I guess I got the wrong impression, I’m sorry.” Herald doesn’t met your death glare, the bastard.

You glare at him in silence and then… a morbid curiosity overtakes you. “What in the hell could–could–could have ever given you that impression?”

“Uh…” Herald balks, and suddenly there’s a dozen different thoughts running through his head and you can’t get a read on any of them. Finally he says, “Well, I mean, there had been a lot of rumors on the usenet forum back in the day?” Rumors!? “But to be honest, I never believed any of it until that first time when we were all together at Argent’s request and you and Charge walked in.” Herald shrugs, “And then I was like, ‘oh, well, that makes sense.’”

You don’t have a response to that. Don’t even know how to start parsing it.

It was so much easier not to care when you only knew these people from news reports or memories.

“So, I know you said you’re… fine – and I believe you, honest.” Herald’s lying again. “But in that case, do you mind if I just… hang out with you, watch the sunset? This isn’t a bad spot.”

You take a deep breath. In. Out. Push up your sunglasses while you rub the tears and salt out of your eyes. God. Did you smear your make-up? Are your scars visible? Shadow exposed? You can feel your heart-rate speed up again. It takes an active effort to let the thought go. Who cares? Ortega’s not here.

“Yeah, sure.” You say. “Kn–knock yourself out.”

You don’t give a damn what Herald thinks.

“Thanks.” You can feel Herald relax a little as he sits a few inches away from you. Not crowding, but close enough.

You close your eyes, sag your shoulders as you hit your head back against the metal railing lattice. “I know what you’re– what you’re doing.”

That gets a spike of alarm from him. God, his thoughts are like an open book. You hate it.

“I’m just happy to take a breather.”

“D–don’t bullshit me Herald. We’re both adults here.” You turn your head glare straight at him. “If you breath a word of this to anyone, I will find out where you live and fill your bed with thumbtacks.”

“Okay…” Herald looks away from you, uneasy. “Noted.” He fidgets, hands in his lap. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

You groan. “I can’t stop you,” you lie.

“Why ‘Sidestep’?”

“Huh?” You blink, stare down at the water far below. little waves beckoning you on down. “Oh, well… Why ‘Herald’?”

He cringes, embarrassed? Hah. “It was my management team that came up with it. Focus testing or something? I was just hap–”

“Stop.” You hold up a hand, dismiss the words with a wave. “I d–d–don’t really care that much.”

“Oh. Uh–okay.”

You sit in silence, kicking your legs up and back under the lip. Take a breath. In. Out. “I wanted people to focus on the fighting skills. That it–it was all trained or something. Reading people’s thoughts is… harder if they know you can do it. Th–throw up obstacles, walls.”

“So it was a strategic thing?”

“Well…” You allow yourself a small smile. Still not looking at Herald. “S–something like that. There… there was, uh… person I–I knew around then. Thought it w–was… too dangerous. She asked if I was g–going to to sidestep my way through every fight. So…”

“So it was… a spite thing?”

“Hah! Y–yeah. I guess.”

“How did they take it?”

You frown, trying to think back. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Did it ever come up? There was like, a year between when you started the name and Chelsea left, wasn’t here? It must have. “Wh–whatever. Spite can get you pre–pretty far in life if you use it right.”

“I don’t know about that…” Something’s buzzing just under Herald’s thoughts and you can’t quite get a read on it. Suddenly the boy’s a mystery, go figure.

You stay there for another hour or so, quietly suffering Herald’s little questions about your career, and it quickly becomes apparent he knows way more than someone who wasn’t there for any of it should. You’re not sure how to feel about that. Other then old.

When the sun starts to drown in the ocean, you reluctantly agree to let Herald give you a hand back over to the sane side of the railing. He follows with you back to the foot of the bridge, despite your repeated insistence that you were just going straight home and to buzz off already.

You go through four taxi cabs before you feel confident enough that you’ve lost Herald to actually go home.

Home.

It isn’t much, a singular combined bedroom-kitchenette and a tinier bathroom. Pretty sure the complex had been a tourist trap motel once upon a time. It’s yours though, and there’s something surreal about that. You’ve never ‘owned’ an apartment before. You keep telling yourself you’ll properly decorate one day, but it never happens.

Flip on the lights, greet the cockroach as it scurries under the cabinet “Hi Larry,” stagger over to your bed and fall over face down.

Roll over and grab a pillow, clutch it to your chest, draw your legs up into a fetal position. No more possessions ever again. If you can’t work a mental suggestion or rely on a bribe, you’ll just have to find another way. You’re not inflicting that on another person again.

You bury your head in the pillow.

If Herald hadn’t shown up then, would you be here right now?

You don’t want to think about it.

At least these days, when you don’t feel like being you, there’s a solution.

And you don’t have to worry about Jane being scarred for life; you’re the only consciousness she’s got.

–

next: [the space between the finish and the start]

#fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fhr #fhr/Ariadne #mc #herald #tw: suicidal thoughts

6 notes · View notes

gukyi · 7 years ago

Text

long lost | jjk

⇒ summary: jeon jungkook is famous, talented, and on the hunt for his childhood friend and first love. you are self-deprecating, a little awkward, and exactly who he’s looking for. only, there’s one (1; single, a solo) problem: he doesn’t know it.

⇒ childhood friends!au, celebrity!au

⇒ pairing: jungkook x female reader

⇒ word count: 15k

⇒ genre: fluff, comedy, light angst

⇒ warnings: n/a

⇒ a/n: finally!!! after literally a month of no bts writing, here is this 15k beast that i’ve been hyping up. inspired by true events, kinda. i will work on getting the sorted series out next, so please be on the lookout!

The stuffed tiger that sits in the box filled with the rest of your childhood toys has the same color eyes as he did.

It’s his hair that you see first, running across the dust and the dirt in the heat of the summer. It bounces as the ivy color shines in the sun, and when you look down a little bit, you see his beaming chocolate eyes as he makes his way to you, sneakers lighting up red and blue with every step he takes.

It was your parents who suggested this, really, his mother emailing yours and proposing a meetup at the local fair that’s come to town, the one that takes place every summer in the ungodly July temperatures. You don’t know him that well—he’s just another one of the kids in your preschool class—but you really can never turn down the fair, not as the excitable four-year-old you are.

You wave to him and he waves back as he takes small leaps towards you, little legs carrying him as fast as he can go. You make fun of him in class for being shorter than you, even when he’s wearing shoes that make him a little taller because they’ve got that foam stuff on the inside. Your mothers smile to each other as they begin to enter a realm of mindless adult chatter, and you and Jungkook stand in the middle of the path and poke at each other, as children do.

“Do you come to the fair a lot?” You ask him as he gazes around in awe, overwhelmed by all of the people and the lights and the stands and the food and the smells, too. But in a good way, of course.

“Nope,” Jungkook responds, rocking back and forth on his light-up sneakers. You have some of those, too, but your mother insisted you wear sandals. Poor shoes for running around, as you know you’ll probably end up doing with him.

“Well, your mom asked my mom if we wanted to come with you,” you say matter-of-factly, standing tall and towering over him ever so slightly. If you stand on your tiptoes, your eyes go over the top of his head.

“Why do you have things in your hair?” Jungkook asks, completely off topic (like he normally is) as he points to the barrettes in your hair, little butterfly and flower clips that keep your flyaways from, well, flying away. He’s pressing the pad of his pointer finger against the little decal on the multi-colored clip, pushing down into your hair as you curl into yourself, scrunching your nose as you smile.

“They look nice,” you insist, pouting as he moves his finger away. Reaching a hand up, you make sure he hasn’t moved any of the barrettes out of place.

“They’re red.”

“The ladybug one is,” you say, remembering from a couple of weeks ago when you were coloring in insects that ladybugs were red and black. You might have switched the position of the colors, but it’s alright.

“That’s my favorite color,” he states proudly.

“Red?”

Jungkook nods firmly, pointing towards one of the lights at the corner of a stall. It shines a bright cherry, giving this sort of tint to all of the objects around it. You think it’s a bit pink, really, but you won’t tell Jungkook that.

“My favorite color is yellow,” you say in response. Not that he asked, but no one really asks four-year-olds for their opinions. They just give them, anyway. “Like the sun.”

“Like the sun,” Jungkook repeats, pointing above his head at the star that beats down upon your bodies. Your mother always told you never to look directly into the sun, so instead of allowing your gaze to follow his finger up to the sky, you stare straight at him, into his brown eyes that gleam caramel in the light.

Eventually, the two of you retreat to someplace shady, a lone tree in the middle of the flat field, littered with tents and stands and carts alike. It’s not very far from where your mothers are conversing—they hate it when you leave their sight—but distant enough for them not to listen in on whatever nonsense conversation you’re having.

“Why did you want to go?” You ask him mindlessly, playing with the hem of the pastel dress you’re wearing, a loose thread that your fingers can’t help but gravitate towards.

“Go where?” Jungkook asks, eyebrows furrowed as he scrunches up his big nose, squinting as he turns your way.

“The fair, stupid,” you reply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Where else would he want to go?

Jungkook gasps. “That’s a bad word!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Yes it is!” Jungkook insists, and if you didn’t know any better, it would look like he was on the verge of tears.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” You taunt, a smirk growing on your face once you realize he’s not actually about to cry, just teasing to see if he can get a reaction out of you. “You’re stupid.”

Jungkook pouts, and it’s cheeky and a little rude and very, very cute. “You’re stupid.”

“We can be stupid together,” you declare, taking his hand in yours. Jungkook looks from your eyes to your interlocked hands, and he tightens his sweaty grip on them. It’s a little gross, but being four-years-old is gross in and of itself, so you’re hardly mad about it. From there, he moves his eyes back up to meet yours, and he grins, beaming like the damn sun you were just talking about.

Unsurprising to pretty much everybody, the two of you end up chasing each other furiously, like rabid animals, around the fairgrounds, playing some game the two of you just made up with nothing but your minds and the world around you. You know you keep going out of your parents’ sight, know that they’re probably shouting at you for being disruptive and running into everyone’s way, but neither of you seem to care, having too much fun laughing and shrieking and being young.

When the two of you reach a little clearing, an empty space not filled with bodies and tables and toys, Jungkook abruptly stops, letting his light-up sneakers dig into the dirt as he pauses. You’re still going, and going, and going, until you crash right into his back, sandals unable to prevent you from falling. You topple backwards, but he turns around just in time and grabs your arm, pulling you up in a single move and pressing his soft lips against yours.

You gasp on his mouth, eyebrows raising almost comically before you push yourself off of him, cheeks heating up alarmingly fast as you stutter to find words to break the tension. Where did that come from?

All you can do is say his name. “Jungkook!”

“Y/N,” Jungkook responds, significantly shyer.

“What was that?” You ask, still in shock.

“I think it was a kiss,” Jungkook says, a little unsure of himself, and it’s clear that neither of you really know what prompted him to do that.

“What does it mean?”

“It means that I like you.”

Jeon Jungkook is cute but also very good at creating palpable awkwardness. You’re only four, this shouldn’t be a big deal, but when you think you’ve just exchanged saliva with each other and now you’re forced to spend the rest of the afternoon together, it’s a little awkward. Just a little.

Not awkward enough for either of your mothers to notice anything as they accompany you around the fair, chatting about mom things as the two of you walk in front of them. Jungkook keeps trying to grab onto your hand but you don’t necessarily know if you want him to do that.

Does the kiss mean anything? Are you a couple now? Is he your boyfriend? There are all of these things that people don’t tell four-year-olds and you want to know them but you don’t want to ask, and so you settle for keeping quiet and deciding that it’s probably best not to dwell on the thought of them. Isn’t cooties still a thing? Isn’t he scared of whatever it is?

Jungkook manages to convince his mom to let all four of you stop at one of the stalls. When you stand on your tiptoes and peer over the edge of the counter, you see that it’s one of the ones where you aim darts at balloons, try and pop a couple of them for a prize. Before you know it, your parents are dragging over two chairs for you and Jungkook to stand on and darts are placed into your palms.

“You first,” Jungkook tells you as if the fact weren’t already obvious enough. He’s beaming, head propped up on his hands as they lean on the counter, watching you intently. You hate this feeling. Very much.

The result of your clear disdain for this situation as a whole is you missing all three of the darts, poor aim and weak arms only contributing further. They all fall short, sad and sorry as gravity takes over and Jungkook cackles beside you.

“Oh yeah?” You ask defensively, that familiar four-year-old tone reentering your voice. It’s starting to feel a little more normal now. “I wanna see you do better.”

If there’s anything Jungkook takes seriously, it’s a challenge. He is dead serious as he lines up the dart perfectly with a red balloon right in the middle of the wall, shoots it perfectly, and the resounding pop! nearly has him falling off of his chair. You’re already pouting. He’s always been good at everything, really. Somehow, amongst all the excitement, he manages to hit another balloon, the bright yellow disintegrating as he cheers, and the man running the stall happily hands Jungkook a stuffed tiger the size of his torso.

“I told you I could do it,” Jungkook taunts as you begin to walk away together, parents not far behind. “Who’s stupid now?”

“Still you,” you reply cheekily, earning a playful little smack from him.

He stops, light-up sneakers planted firmly amongst the blades of grass, and he turns to you, holding the tiger out right in front of your face. “For you.”

“For me?” You ask, sputtering.

“Take it,” Jungkook insists, and your hands hesitantly curl around the stuffed toy, brows furrowed as your eyes meet his, warm and golden and bright. “I want you to have it.”

Jungkook moved away the next year and you haven’t seen him since, but you’ll never forget him. Not when you’re staring this old stuffed animal right in the face, as if you’re gazing into his eyes once more. Not when he was your first kiss. First boy to ever show you affection, ever care for you. It’s been much too long since that, since that day at the local fair, seventeen years gone, seventeen years filled with dates and sex and heartbreak and school as they repeat, over and over.

But, whatever.

You pick up the dusty box as you make your way outside, pushing open the door with your elbow as you walk towards the tables set up in your yard. It’s high time for a fucking garage sale, really. The buildup is enough, and everyone in your family has shit they need to get rid of. There are already neighbors wandering around in your garden, shuffling through boxes of old magazines and vinyls that your dad doesn’t need anymore, weird knickknacks like this one porcelain hippo you’ve had on your fireplace for as long as you can remember, a standardly creepy doll you hope you can get rid of so you don’t get possessed, stuffed animals from your childhood.

Stuffed animals like the tiger.

You know you won’t miss it—will probably never miss it—but there’s this part of you that’s hesitant to get rid of it, unsure if you’re ready to let go of all of the memories that come along with it. There are so many things that this toy, this mindless stuffed animal, carries with it, that Jungkook holds in his tiny four-year-old hands, clammy and sweaty from the heat. The memory of your first kiss under the blazing sun in the middle of the local fair, the beaming smile he gave to you when he won the damn toy, the softness of the palms that had yet to be worn out from years of labor.

Where did the fucking time go?

You haven’t seen Jungkook for over seventeen years and you highly doubt you ever will, but the image of an innocent, wide-eyed boy with pink lips and bouncy hair still persists.

You know you’re spending too much time dwelling on this, having a fucking existential crisis over a damn toy that you’re trying to get off of your hands for a buck or so, when someone crashes into your back as you linger over the box of old stuffed animals, squeaking out a very soft “Sorry!” before making their way to another table.

Looking down at the empty table, devoid of any goods you are aiming to sell, you begin to unpack the box, neatly lining up your toys like you used to when you taught them how to do math and how to read in your room, playing teacher and house and everything in between. Humming, you grab an index card, fold it in half, write your price (99¢!), and prop it up in a bare spot on the table.

You’re no yard sale expert, but judging by the steady stream of neighbors throughout the afternoon and the quickly-emptying boxes and bins and tables and counters, you make the educated guess that your yard sale is going pretty well. They always say that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

Regretfully, you’re kind of handling the whole thing, running the little box you keep with all of the change and money people give you, bagging any items people might want to carry back to their homes, organizing products and enticing potential customers. It’s a busy job and it has you satisfactorily sweating as the day wears on, sunscreen practically melting off of your face on this spring day.

As the sun begins to bleed into the horizon and the moon comes out to play, soft image of it reflecting in the sky, as evening begins to dawn on you, things settle down. The flow of people has begun to cease, the last few stragglers hanging around to see if they can wrestle any good bargains from your fingertips (you’ll easily give it to them—you just want this shit off your hands, really), and you’re starting to pack up.

Your hand is halfway down a very tall box and you’re gently placing some of the more delicate unsold items inside of it when a little boy tugs on the edge of your shirt. You turn around quickly but gracefully, trying to avoid breaking the thing in your hand so you can try and sell it next time, and see him holding the stuffed tiger right in front of our face. He can’t be more than three, perhaps four-years-old.

“Hello,” you say, leaning down to match his eye level.

“Miss, I would like to buy this,” he declares officially, waving the toy around, wildly gesticulating. He’s so cute, goddamn.

“Okay,” you agree happily, “sure thing.”

“Kyuhyuk!”

You and the boy both shoot your heads up at the sound of another’s voice, and before you can register it, the little kid is shrieking as he runs from you, tiger left abandoned on the table beside you, weaving his way through the remaining tables. Squinting—you forgot your fucking glasses inside—you see another boy, this one probably around your age, jogging over.

“Sorry,” the boy says, and holy shit, he is gorgeous. A Stunning Specimen. God’s gift to this decaying world. Somehow, in the middle of May, he’s wearing a thick leather jacket over an entirely black outfit and has on a cap and sunglasses (it’s evening now) to match, but even under all of that, you can make out a handsome, apologetic smile and very, very nice figure. “He’s a bit rambunctious.”

“I feel like we all were at that age,” you comment jokingly, earning a small chuckle from the boy beside you. Doesn’t he feel like turning into a puddle of lava under all of that material? God, you’re barely wearing a tank and shorts and you want to melt.

“He said he wanted to buy this?” The boy asks, reaching down and picking up the tiger, inspecting it.

“Yeah, just came up to me and said so.”

“I saw,” the boy muses. “I’m really sorry if he bothered you. He’s a bit much, even for me. I don’t know how my brother handles him most of the time.”

“Is he your nephew?”

The boy nods. “How much is this?” He asks, holding out the tiger as he shuffles around in his back pocket for his wallet. When he pulls it out, you can immediately tell that it’s this awfully expensive thing, pristine leather and shiny pockets. Damn.

“A dollar.”

The boy easily tugs out a bill and hands it to you, not even bothering to go and chase after his nephew, who you are assuming is someone he probably needs to keep an eye on. “I used to have a toy just like this one.”

“Really?” You ask, not really caring about what he says but feigning interest, anyway. He’s cute and has a nice voice and even though you kind of want to go inside, you’re down for listening to him talk anyway. No harm in appreciating pretty people.

“Yeah,” the boy says, smiling as the memories overtake him. He keeps his eyes trained on the toy, and it gives you the perfect amount of time to drink in the sight of him in front of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to the human definition of perfection in your life. “I was four, and I gave it to this girl I had a massive crush on when we were out at some carnival, or whatever.”

That sounds awfully familiar. A little too familiar, the more devilish side of your brain tells you, but you shake your head and will the thought to vanish. There’s no fucking way this is Jungkook. He moved. Across the country. He was also not this attractive when he was four-years-old, at least, that’s what you thought back then, but that’s beside the point. This isn’t him. It can’t be.

“That’s sweet of you,” you say, paying much more attention now.

“I know,” he says, a little nostalgic just thinking about it, and normally confidence like that on a man would repel you, but for him, it’s just hot. Everything’s sort of “just hot” on him. “But I don’t remember a damn thing about this girl. Not what her name was, what she looked like, anything. I just remember having a crush on her. She was my first kiss. All I can remember are those damn lips. Those goddamn four-year-old lips.”

You are really starting to hate how the pieces of this puzzle are beginning to slot together.

“Shame. Are you trying to find her again, or something?” You ask, foregoing all thoughts of you actually trying to worm your way out of this conversation and go inside. You’re intrigued now. Your interest: piqued.

“Not specifically. It just bothers me that I can’t remember anything about her, but I don’t care that much,” he shrugs. When he does, you can see how thin his black t-shirt is as it stretches over the tight muscles of his abdomen. Gah. “I can’t spend my entire life thinking about this girl when I have cute ones right in front of me.”

So, he’s flirting with you now? That’s a thing. That’s happening. And you’re not mad at it, not one single bit. It’s actually a little cute, how he didn’t dive right in like all of the other boys you’ve had the displeasure of interacting with, how he didn’t just straight up tell you he was in it for the sex. At least he had the decency to compliment you before doing it.

“Very smooth segue,” you comment, playing his game. “A solid eight out of ten, if you ask me.”

“Only eight?” the boy asks in disbelief, a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I’m hurt. I typically do better than that.”

“I have high standards,” you tease, a smirk beginning to grow on your face. “But hey, that’s the highest score anyone’s ever gotten.”

The boy grins under his boxy, black sunglasses. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

You shrug. “Depends on if you play your cards right, I guess.”

“You live around here?” The boy asks, tilting his head down and peering out over the top of his glasses, brown eyes big and tempting.

Smiling, you nod. This is probably the most wholesome interaction you’ve ever had with a boy your age before, and that says a lot.

“Huh,” the boy says, storing the new information into his mind as he very suavely reaches down to grab one of the folded index cards on the table beside him, picking up a stray pen and writing down what you have a sneaking suspicion is his number. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that.”

The boy glances over your shoulder. “Kyuhyuk! Come on, let’s go home.”

The little boy pops his head out from somewhere and soon joins up with his uncle, grinning obnoxiously when he sees that the boy has bought him the tiger. The older reaches down and holds out a big hand for his nephew to take, the mere sight of the two of them leaving you swooning. Together, they begin walking to the sidewalk at the end of your front lawn, when the boy turns around to face you, flashing a smile.

“See you around, I hope…?”

“Y/N,” you finish for him, assuming that your name is what he’s looking for. “I’m Y/N.”

“Alright then.” The boy nods. “See you around, Y/N.” You hate how you like the way your name sounds, rolling off of his tongue.

The moment they’re past your yard, you drop everything and rush up to the index card on which the cute boy wrote his number down, eager to type it into your phone and then avoid texting him for the next two days to avoid being “needy”, but something stops you in your tracks.

On the index card, right under the 99¢ sign that you’ve written, is the word JUNGKOOK in big capital letters. Below it, a phone number.

You nearly topple over at the sight of his name, almost fall onto the grass as your brain registers it. It’s him. It’s really him.

He’s back.

You don’t really know what to do with yourself after coming to this realization. Do you tell him that it’s you? The girl he had a crush on when he was four? His first kiss? You don’t know what the hell would change if you told him, how things would be different if he knew. Is it even worth it when he doesn’t remember you at all?

Clicking away at your phone, still a little shellshocked, you enter his number into your contacts. There are lots of things you do not know about him and a couple of things that you do, and so you gather the remaining things still left outside, the items you will have to wait until next time to try and sell, and you head indoors.

Jeon Jungkook has somehow, someway—by what you believe to be a very meddling external force, a greater power of some sort that’s probably laughing right now—made a reappearance back in your life, only he doesn’t know that it’s a reappearance. To him, you’re just a cute girl with a quirky attitude that makes him want to get to know you better.

To you, he’s a stranger that you’ll never forget.

You work up the nerve to actually contact Jungkook a day after the yard sale, psyching yourself up to just press that goddamn send button and let the text message go through. For some reason, you just keep finding yourself hesitant to get in touch with him. It’s a weird mixture of “you don’t know that I was the girl you had a crush on when you were four but I do” and “I don’t know if I should tell you that or not” that has you a little wary, but fuck it, the message is delivered.

Jungkook gets back to you almost instantly—something you are most certainly not accustomed to, considering the fact that every boy you’ve ever had the pleasure of coming in contact with always only responds to your texts after four days. You’re thinking that you’re probably just going to chat it up for a few days, ease yourself into the very obvious chemistry that exists between the two of you before doing anything dramatic (like a date!), but it looks like Jungkook has other plans. He always did like going out of the box.

Jungkook [11:34AM] I think that the butterfly exhibition is in town this week Wanna go this afternoon?

You [11:36AM] Sounds fun!

Jungkook [11:36AM] Nice. Pick you up at your house at 2?

You [11:37AM] Sure! How much money should I bring to pay for my ticket?

Jungkook [11:37AM] It’s no big deal really you don’t have to pay Is 2 good? We could maybe go for a walk around the city afterwards If you wanted

You’ve never seen a man with so little qualms about double-texting. Hell, it looks like Jungkook doesn’t even have a problem with quadruple-texting. But you’re not complaining. At least he’s forward.

You [11:38AM] What the heck let me pay!!!!

Jungkook [11:38AM] You can pay for whatever we do for our second date

You [11:40AM] :O What makes you think there will be a second date???? You still have to do some impressing to do Mr. Jungkook Sir

Jungkook [11:41AM] Is 2 okay?

You can practically visualize him chuckling to himself as he reads your indignant texts, soft childish smile on his face, the same one you always had the privilege of seeing when you were just kids.

You [11:43AM] Two sounds wonderful

And there you are, sitting on your couch with a box filled with knickknacks and paddy-wacks, giddy with anticipation. Just like old times.

The first thing that alerts you of Jungkook’s arrival outside your door is a low rumbling sound that can only be the mark of a very expensive car parked on the curb by your house. When you peer out of your front window, you confirm your suspicions. Jungkook’s just getting out of the driver’s seat, the juxtaposition of him emerging from this ridiculously sleek black car while wearing an oversized bright pink hoodie leaving you only the slightest bit speechless.

You see him walk the stone path up to your front door and immediately dart away from the window, not wanting to be caught staring at him. He politely knocks on the wood, and you stall for a few seconds just to seem like you weren’t anxiously waiting for his arrival. As he catches a glimpse of your face when the door opens, he grins, clearly happy to see you.

You lean back to glance at the digital clock from your television. “Two on the dot? Very punctual,” you say, pretending to be impressed with a single eyebrow raised.

“Just trying to leave a good first impression,” Jungkook shrugs.

It’s then that you stare down at what you’re wearing, a very nice top with some of your fancier jeans, all done up and ready to go out, and compare it to what Jungkook is donning, an obnoxiously-colored hoodie two sizes too big and slouchy pants. Either you’re overdressed or he’s underdressed. You don’t like not knowing which is the correct one. How the hell are you supposed to dress when going to a butterfly exhibition?

Jungkook appears to read your mind. “Oh, believe me, you look way better than I do, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes but let your lips crack a smile anyway, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “If you say so.”

“Ready to bounce?” Jungkook asks, rocking back and forth on his toes with anticipation. His hands are shoved deep inside the baggy pockets of his pants, and he looks like an overgrown child. A very attractive overgrown child.

Jungkook takes your hand and leads you to his obnoxiously pristine car, one you don’t feel like you can even breathe on without ruining. This is probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid eyes on (besides your goddamn college tuition), and to be completely honest, you feel like you’ll dirty it if you lay a hand on it. Jungkook opens the passenger door casually for you to step inside before jogging around to the driver’s. You tentatively sit inside, trying to keep your hands and all other body parts to yourself as much as possible, feeling like a fish out of water in this thing. Jungkook must have no college debt. What a life he’s living.

“You good?” Jungkook asks as he revs the engine, letting the car warm up beneath his fingertips.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you insist, not wanting to worry him. “I’ve just… I’ve never been in a car like this before.”

“It’s a bit… eccentric, to say the least,” Jungkook says. “I’ll be honest, I have almost no use for it since I’m always busy doing other things. I just wanted to impress you.”

“Mission accomplished,” you say, a little breathless. You feel like one wrong move and you’ll end up destroying the vehicle, being forced to pay for repairs that will only add onto the already monstrous pile of debt you owe because college sucks. “Do you not take this out much?”

The car comes to a screeching halt as Jungkook just barely makes a red light, tires probably leaving streaks on the tarmac as he quickly switches gears. The both of your bodies are flung forwards, seat belts the only thing from preventing your chests from colliding with the dashboard, and Jungkook laughs.

“Guess that answers my question,” you say, readjusting yourself.

“Oof, maybe I should learn how to drive better before I can take you out on a real date,” he says, wincing a little.

“You sure do know how to keep a girl on her feet, I can tell you that much,” you say as Jungkook begins to drive again, the red light flickering above your heads changing to a dimmed green.

You look around his car some more on your way to the exhibition, note his absurdly pristine windows and windshield, like not even a speck of dust has taken residence on the glass. Discover a pile of CDs in his console, some of which you’ve listened to a thousand times and others that you’ve never heard of. This car looks brand new, though, so you don’t exactly know how Jungkook managed to get a vehicle with a CD player in it. Those are so early-2000’s.

“Do you not want to put on music?” You ask, looking down at the hodgepodge of CDs in between the two of you.

Jungkook looks at what you’re talking about for a very brief moment so as not to keep his eyes off the road for more than a millisecond, and he shrugs. “I thought we could talk, or something, instead. I also don’t want to listen to music because, in case you didn’t already realize, I’m a mediocre driver who really wants to impress this cute girl beside me with his A-one driving skills, and right now I don’t think I’m doing so hot.”

You laugh, pleasantly surprised at Jungkook’s words. It’s always nice to see a guy that doesn’t think he’s hot shit all of the time. It grounds them. Grounds you, too. Keeps you from floating off into space, dreaming of your Perfect Man.

“Between you and me,” you begin, leaning over the console to murmur in his ear, “you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Jungkook doesn’t fuck up the rest of the way.

The parking lot is abnormally packed, which is surprising, considering the fact that butterfly exhibitions at two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon shouldn’t be attracting a big crowd. Jungkook manages to find a tiny little corner space an obscenely long distance away from the entrance to the museum, but it’s better than having to pay those rude street prices. His car sticks out like a sore thumb among all of the minivans and beat-up Kias, a sparkling Rolls-Royce that could probably get robbed in a second if Jungkook wasn’t careful.

“Didn’t think it’d be so busy,” Jungkook comments as he gets out of the driver’s seat. You notice how he makes his way over to open the door for you, but you save him the trouble and get out yourself. “I tried to pick a day where I didn’t think we’d have to wait a long time, or anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say, shrugging it off. “I’m sure there must be something else going on.”

“God,” Jungkook says, a little exasperated as he locks his car and you begin to take your leisurely stroll to the museum, “this date is not going how I need it to go. All these fuckups are ruining my chances.”

“All of these fuckups are actually kind of adorable,” you say, making his cheeks tint pink. “Except the car thing. You should really pay more attention to the road.”

Jungkook snaps his finger. “Damn. I’ll try harder on the way back.”

“You better.”

“Have you been to a butterfly exhibit before?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic. The two of you are slowly but surely approaching the entrance to the museum, big banners all over the damn place alerting you of the very exhibition you’re on your way to see.

“This would be a first,” you respond, trying to pay very little attention to the way Jungkook’s fingers toy with yours, too afraid to actually hold your hand but bold enough to let you know that he wants to.

“Me too, so we’re gonna see how this goes. Watch me, I’m gonna walk into the exhibit and all of the butterflies are going to fly so far away from me, the employees are going to escort me off of the premises,” Jungkook says, laughing at the mere thought of that.

You smack his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure that won’t happen.”

“I’m very intimidating, you’ll see,” Jungkook says, trying to make his expression aggressive, but you can’t take him seriously with that damn hoodie enveloping his body. It’s practically down to his mid-thigh. He could wear it as a dress, if he wanted to.

“You know, butterflies are attracted to bright colors,” you say, poking his shoulder to remind him of the clothes he’s got on. “You’re gonna be a bug magnet when we get in there.”

“Don’t ever call me a bug magnet again,” Jungkook playfully orders. “Mosquitos already love sucking my blood.”

“But you’re gonna be a bug magnet in a good way,” you remind him, winking as you reach the entrance. “A Positive Bug Magnet, if you will. An Aesthetically Pleasing Bug Magn—”

“Okay, I get it,” Jungkook says, interrupting you and making you laugh.

As he opens the door for you to step inside, you realize that’s it’s not that busy in regards to this exhibition in particular. There must be some more important, more exciting thing going on at the museum that neither you nor Jungkook are blessed enough to know about, but that’s alright. More butterflies for you. Physically and metaphorically.

“Two VIP tickets to the butterfly exhibit at 2:45, please,” Jungkook says, whipping out that nice leather wallet of his.

You gasp, smacking his shoulder and making him turn to you in confusion. “No way, José. Nuh uh. I’m not letting you pay like… twenty bucks extra just so we’re at the front of the line. What kind of a date do you take me for?” You say, fumbling in your bag to pay for your own ticket.

He hushes you without another word, a hand on your bag to prevent you from doing anything as he hands the lady his money without any qualms whatsoever. She prints two tickets for you and holds them out, and you sneer menacingly at Jungkook as you snatch one from his hand.

All the tickets do is let you scam your way into the exhibition room faster than you typically would, say you saved those twenty dollars and just waited in line like normal, not-obnoxious people. But it was clear from the beginning that Jungkook’s not one to cower back and hide in a crowd, and he most certainly is pulling out all of the stops possible to make sure this date leaves some sort of positive impression on you. So he guides you through the narrow hallway in an empty line, passing by all of the plebs waiting patiently for their turn with a warm hand holding onto yours.

“I am so getting you back for those wasted twenty bucks,” you hiss at Jungkook as you come to a halt in front of the door that leads to the showroom. You’re just in time—the showroom doors should be opening in a couple of minutes. “They didn’t even do anything.”

“They got us here,” Jungkook says, and it’s like you’re in a damn movie when he does, because the second the words leave his mouth the museum employees open the doors to the exhibit like some magical entrance to this magical world. You and Jungkook are allowed to enter first (“Guess those twenty bucks weren’t so wasted after all,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, making you sneer in his direction) and you begin to scan for the butterflies hiding out amongst the foliage.

All you want to do is explore, glancing around the garden excitedly like a child in a toy store until you spot a smaller butterfly resting at one of the food stations that comes up to torso-height. As it eats, you can spot flecks of blue on outside of its wings, peeking through the undersides.

“Jungkook, look!” You say excitedly, pointing towards the butterfly as you catch his attention. He turns to you in confusion, and you use that brief moment of surprise to your advantage and drag him towards the butterfly.

You order him to be still and quiet, pointer finger over your lips as you lean down to observe the butterfly. It’s fascinating and adorable, and you want to show Jungkook the insect up close so he can bask in its beauty as well. But when you turn around to show him, he’s hesitantly standing three steps away from you, hand on the nape of his neck as he smiles warmly at you.

“Don’t you want to see the butterfly?” You ask him, an eyebrow raised in his direction.

“I’ll scare it off,” Jungkook jokes. “I’m not a very delicate kind of guy.”

“You don’t need to be delicate and soft in order to enjoy nature,” you deadpan, motioning for him to take a few steps towards you so he can appreciate the damn butterfly as much as you.

Jungkook’s steps are hesitant and heavy at the same time, and he warily makes his way towards where you stand with a grimace on his face. Unsurprisingly, the second he reaches you and lets out a great big heave, the butterfly flutters off.

“Don’t leave me,” Jungkook begs, reaching a hand up to the insect leaving his grasp, pretending to be Sad Love Interest Number One in every awful early 2000’s romance movie you’ve ever seen. His acting makes you giggle into your hand, not wanting to disturb the butterflies around you with any boisterous laughter.

“You almost had it, big guy,” you say comfortingly, giving Jungkook’s back a rough pat with your palm. “There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Or, should I say, butterflies in this exhibit.”

“I see butterflies when I look at you,” Jungkook says, staring you dead in the eyes. The action is forward and his words are absurdly romantic—to say the least—and they both have you grinning awkwardly as you try to direct your attention to a butterfly to get the thought of Jungkook off of your mind. It’s your first date, for fuck’s sake. Calm down.

“Come on,” you say, motioning for him to take your outstretched hand as you try to forget the fact that Jungkook is, in fact, nervous to be on this date with you. “I’m getting you to see a butterfly up close.”

Jungkook’s insistence that he’ll just scare off all of the butterflies is a shitty excuse, because all it really takes are a couple of soft steps and a bright pink hoodie for them to deem him worthy of their affection.

You’re reaching up into the foliage of the exhibit’s garden with Jungkook right by your side when a butterfly lands on your pointer finger, casually coming to rest on the digit. You freeze, a smile lighting up your face as you make every effort not to move while at the same time alerting Jungkook. With a soft kick to his shin, he turns to you and sees the deep purple of the butterfly on your finger catch in the light.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, maybe to himself, maybe to you.

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” you order softly, lowering your finger ever so slowly so as not to scare off the butterfly.

Jungkook takes the liberty of whipping out his phone, and in your peripheral you can make out the cobwebbed glass of the shattered screen of what is probably the most high-tech phone on the market. Only Jungkook. Jungkook snaps a photo of you with a beam on your face as you stare at the butterfly, enchanted by it, grinning into his phone as he hits the camera button over and over.

“Your turn,” you say when you’ve had enough of him taking pictures of you, catching him entirely off guard.

“What?” Jungkook asks, mouth dropping open almost comically as his eyebrows raise in bewilderment.

“I’m not playing with you, get over here,” you order. “But be gentle about it.”

Jungkook takes slow, hesitant steps towards you with a puzzled look on his face, tentative and wary as he nears you. His hand outstretched so that his body is as far away from the butterfly as it can be. He looks like someone who is scared of cats, reaching out to pet a cat.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you say, rolling your eyes and sighing. You softly lower the butterfly onto Jungkook’s fuschia-pink clad shoulder, making absolutely sure that your movements are gentle and slow, so as not to disturb the creature on your finger. It climbs onto Jungkook’s shoulder with ease, finding the new location to be quite pleasant.

What the fuck, Jungkook mouths at you as he takes in the whole experience. He doesn’t dare turn his head, not wanting to frighten the butterfly like he insists he will. His shellshocked expression has you giggling again as you tug your phone from your bag, not wanting to let this moment go by undocumented. Now, it’s your turn to snap photo after photo, Jungkook finally working up the nerve to smile at your phone’s camera as you continuously take pictures. The sight in front of you is absolutely adorable, and the deep purple butterfly on Jungkook’s shoulder does a poor job of distracting you from his own beauty. Even with his body tense and brows furrowed slightly, Jungkook may very well be one of the most stunning people you’ve ever had the luxury of laying eyes on.

After a couple of minutes, the butterfly flies off of his shoulder, disappearing into the leaves and branches of the showroom garden, and you and Jungkook move onto a new area, seeking out more. Jungkook eventually realizes that he’s actually kind of good with butterflies, a quality he never knew he possessed. It’s a little annoying, how he can go from scaring off the damn creatures with a single step to becoming an aforementioned Bug Magnet, all while you try your darnedest to attract just one, to no avail.

“I can’t believe you turned out to be some secret butterfly whisperer,” you say, rolling your eyes as Jungkook gazes at the butterfly resting on his finger, a little orange thing. Your camera roll is probably overflowing with blurry pictures of Jungkook with butterflies all around him, like some obnoxious artsy photo shoot, but you find that you just can’t resist snapping away when you see that smile of his.

You almost lose track of time, and you would have, had Jungkook not taken a break from enchanting all of the butterflies in the damn showroom to check his phone.

You’re just managed to coax a butterfly onto your finger, and you’re about to show Jungkook when he beats you to it, coming up to you suddenly and scaring the poor thing off. “Y/N, it’s getting lat—”

“God damnit,” you sigh, looking longingly at the butterfly as it flutters off. You turn to him and shove his chest, his body not even budging despite the force you press upon his torso. It’s like he’s a brick wall, or something, and you’d be lying if you said that the clear display of strength didn’t turn you on even the tiniest bit. “What?”

“My bad, didn’t realize you were flirting with a butterfly for a hot second,” Jungkook jokes. “I was just going to tell you that it’s getting late. If you still want to walk around the city, we should head out now.”

“Oh,” you say, forgetting all about the lost butterfly. “Yes, that sounds nice.”

Jungkook smiles warmly, holding his out out between your bodies for you to take, something you do without a second thought. He traipses the two of you through the rest of the exhibit—there wasn’t much left for you to see, considering you spent a good couple of hours inspecting every section you could stumble across—until you reach the exit.

“What were you thinking we could do when we got to the city?” You ask him as you leave the showroom.

“I mean, walking was my number one suggestion, but—”

A flash goes off. That makes absolutely no sense, considering the fact that the museum entrance hall has a pretty solid amount of natural light. The quick illumination makes you turn your head towards the source, only to be greeted with a very large camera and a man dressed in all black.

“Fuck,” Jungkook says, elongating the vowel as he tilts his head back in exasperation. Is there something you aren’t picking up on? Even in high school, you were always the last one to get the memo.

“Jungkook?” You ask, a single eyebrow raised in confusion. You’re definitely missing the bigger picture.

“How good are you at covering your face and speed-walking out of places?” Jungkook asks quickly, gauging the situation at hand like some sort of secret agent.

“What?” You say, mouth dropping open as your eyebrows practically shoot up to your hairline.

“Alright,” Jungkook says, waving off the question like it’s no big deal. “Let’s just go.”

“What the fuck is happening,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to him. Jungkook and you walk to the exit in the opposite direction of the guy that most definitely just took a photo of you for seemingly no reason, and you watch as he turns around to flash a pose for the man on your way out, making you laugh. Only Jungkook would take a slightly awkward and mildly uncomfortable occurrence and turn it into something goofy.

You both make it out of the museum and to his car without any other major hiccups, though you are satisfactorily bewildered as to what on earth would prompt a random dude to want to start taking photos of you and/or Jungkook. But your hesitance makes you unsure of whether or not you should question Jungkook about the experience or just let it be, because it wouldn’t be the first time you’d ever jumped to conclusions. He might just be a professional photographer doing one of those Humans of New York-esque photo stories. You never know.

“That was… a lot of fun,” you say as you get into his fancy car, less worried about your poor, peasant hands touching such fine leather. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Wow, the people who ask you out on dates must not be very original,” Jungkook comments to himself as he turns on the engine, letting it warm up a bit before he backs out of the parking spot.

“Well, I haven’t been on a date in ages,” you say truthfully, not really caring if he knows The Chronicles of Your Love Life or not. You have better things to dwell on.

“That sounds like bullshit,” Jungkook says. “Why would people not want to take you out on dates?”

“I’ve been too busy,” you sheepishly respond. “I spent the past two years studying abroad.”

“You’re kidding,” Jungkook says, sharply breaking as he turns to face you, halfway out of the parking spot. You shake your head, happy to prove him wrong if he genuinely thinks you’re lying. “No wonder,” he mutters under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear.

“What?”

“Uh,” Jungkook says, doe-eyes wide as you catch him off guard. “Well, that doesn’t really surprise me. If you had been here for the past two years, I would have remembered you.”

You chuckle to yourself, grinning as Jungkook starts the car again and backs out of the parking space. “Smooth.”

“I know, right?” Jungkook says, pretending to flip some imaginary hair off of his shoulder as he drives out of the parking lot and follows the signs to the center of the city.

Being able to find parking spots literally anywhere within the city on a Wednesday afternoon at rush hour must be part of the package deal that comes with the whole looking good and being charming, you guess as Jungkook easily slides into a spot, shining luxury car standing out amongst the used and the bruised. It’s just as if everything that happens goes his way.

“Don’t you ever get worried that someone’s gonna steal your car?” You ask as Jungkook holds his hand out to help you out of his car and onto the cracking pavement of the city streets. “Like… it’s so new. And expensive. You must have had a really great time not going to the bank and dealing with the loan people.”

Jungkook coughs a little, hand shooting back up to the nape of his neck. “I actually, uh, dropped out of college second year.”

“You did?” You ask, surprised. You can see that it’s clearly not the most welcome of topics between the two of you, so you try not to gawk at him for too long and crack a joke. “Damn, you’re smart. University sucks literal balls.”

Jungkook laughs, happy to see that you aren’t dwelling on the fact that he isn’t a student. Clearly, it’s not his most prized characteristic.

“Are you still a student?” He asks you as you turn a corner together, nearly getting run over by one of those ruthless moms that jogs with their baby in a stroller.

“I’m a senior in the fall,” you tell him, letting your interlocked hands swing in between your bodies. “Busy busy busy.”

“Hey, you have all summer to relax, you know?” Jungkook reminds you, but the joke’s on him, because you’ll never relax. Not for as long as there are responsibilities weighing down your shoulders.

You heave out a sigh, already dreading the thought of wasting away your summer on your couch like you know you eventually will, too lazy to even hit the ‘Continue Watching’ option on Netflix and suffering through the thirty second wait. It’s an endless cycle of “college student who doesn’t know what to do when there’s no more college”, and with two summers of experience, you’re a seasoned veteran.

And then you look at Jungkook, and how he whistles as he walks and swings your hands like it’s nobody’s business, and you think that finally, there might be something worth doing this summer.

“Do you wanna do anything in specific?” Jungkook asks once you’ve finally lost counts of how many blocks you’ve walked since you arrived.

The question posed is how you eventually end up running through the in-ground fountains in the city park, fully clothed and screeching with laughter. It’s kind of the most outrageous thing you’ve ever done for a first date (or any date, for that matter), but it’s also easily the most fun you’ve ever had. Jungkook is relentless, refusing to leave the little area where the fountains reside and even going so far as to try and splash you with the water as it makes its brief but welcome appearance above land. You’re laughing and shrieking and probably attracting lots of attention from disgruntled passersby as they spot the two of you, but it doesn’t matter, because Jungkook is beautiful and beaming and frighteningly close to perfection.

When you’re through with the fountains, moving onto the grass and dripping puddles all over the ground, you insist on staying here to dry for a bit, refusing to go back to his car and get the inside all damp. Jungkook tells you that it doesn’t matter, that he can always just get his car cleaned and you don’t have to stand out here, drenched from head to toe, but you will not let him have his way, just this once.

So you end up camping out on the grass as the sun lowers in the sky, just barely grazing the horizon, letting its rays dry your bodies off. Jungkook mindlessly suggests that you play a round of Twenty Questions, and before you can sigh and think to yourself, damn, it was going so well, too, he asks, “Does a giraffe wear the tie at the top of its neck or at the bottom of it?”

Everything seems to be a surprise with him, really. Even down to the way that it seems like the butterflies from the exhibit have taken up permanent residence in your stomach, and flutter around every time you look at him.

When you wake up in the morning to find a text from Jungkook that says, “Whatever you do, don’t check the Daily Mail’s Snapchat story”, you’re a little concerned. Scratch that, you’re a lot concerned, and you don’t know who the hell Jungkook thinks you are, but if he tells you not to do something, you’re going to do it. It’s just human nature.

You don’t understand what the big deal is with the Daily Mail’s Snapchat story as you mindlessly tap through nonsense tabloid after nonsense tabloid, until you get the one that says, in big bold pink letters, JUNGKOOK’S NEW GIRL?

“Oh my God,” you mutter to yourself, both hands going up to cover your face in exasperation. You tentatively move your fingers from your eyes to your cheeks as you take in the cover snap, blurry photos of you and Jungkook from yesterday as you leave the museum and walk around the city, little pop-ups of close-ups of you. “Oh. My God.”

Damn, you should have figured this out sooner. You can’t help but read on about the story, unable to resist scrolling up to see what the Daily Mail has to say about you, and him, and you and him.

The twenty-one-year-old singer of “Paper Hearts” was recently spotted out with a new girl by his side as they walked around Los Angeles together, laughing and holding hands.

“What the fuck,” you say aloud, not really caring if your parents hear you from across the hall. It’s been seventeen years since you last got to spend time with Jungkook, and in that span, he managed to get himself famous?

You [9:42AM] When did you ever mention the fact that you’re famous?????????

Jungkook [9:43AM] I was trying not to bring it up

You [9:43AM] Clearly

Jungkook [9:45AM] Listen, I just didn’t want you seeing me differently because I was a celebrity and rich and everything I was worried that it would scare you off

You [9:46AM] Well, when you text me at like… 6 in the morning and tell me not to look at the Daily Mail’s Snapchat story, you do a pretty awful job of hiding it

Jungkook [9:46AM] I’ll be honest, I really didn’t think you were going to listen to me

You [9:46AM] You know me so well

Jungkook [9:47AM] I don’t care if you know now We already went out on that date and I already know that you don’t care that I have money to burn on VIP Butterfly Exhibit Tickets and expensive cars and fancy clothes So I don’t mind Unless you do, of course

You [9:48AM] I’m just surprised you managed to keep this from me for a full day without getting exposed somehow

Jungkook [9:48AM] The paparazzi isn’t that fast, trust me

You [9:48AM] I don’t mind, you know. You being famous, and all. You’re still Jungkook the Bug Magnet

Jungkook [9:49AM] Glad to see that things haven’t changed

You [9:50AM] I would appreciate it if you told the Daily Mail to stop posting ugly photos of me on their Snapchat Story, though

Jungkook [9:50AM] Listen, I might be famous, but I can’t work miracles

And even as you’re staring at low-quality pictures of yourself with rumors swirling about your very existence, with hate probably already being sent your way, without fail, Jungkook makes you laugh, like he’s always been able to do.

After a week has passed and the whole Snapchat Debacle has died down (thank God the Daily Mail didn’t know your name, or your social media would never hear the end of it), Jungkook invites you out to the local ice cream place. There’s never a dull moment when you spend time with the boy and there’s nothing too creative for Jungkook to think of as potential date locations. Granted, the local ice cream place isn’t the most original of ideas, but it comes with a spot where you can feed goats and it’s easily better than anything any of your previous boyfriends had ever done. Jungkook just tops everything.

“Aren’t you afraid to be seen out in public with me?” Jungkook asks as you stuff a quarter into the little machine that dispenses food for the goats to eat. He’s got a cone of cookies and cream ice cream in his hand and a stain from it on his nice white shirt.

You twist the handle and a handful of feed—if that’s what you’re supposed to call it—falls from the dispenser into your palm. Standing up, you head straight to the goats—who are fat enough as it is, really; they don’t need any more food—and hold out your hand, letting them slobber all over your skin as they gobble up every last piece. “Not really. As long as nobody knows my name, I don’t really care if your freaky celebrity-life-people see us. If I get to keep being branded as ‘Mysterious and Pretty Girl Who Gets to Date Super Attractive Rich Famous Singer,’ then I have no complaints.”

Jungkook chuckles to himself. “What, are my looks all that I’m good for?” He asks, fake hurt.

You scoff indignantly. “I said you were rich, too. That’s important. I need me a man with money.”

“You’re so shameless, you know that?” Jungkook asks as he shakes his head, coming up to linger by your side as the goats lick your hand clean.

“I know,” you say, shrugging mindlessly with a small grin. You then proceed to wipe the disgusting, sticky goat slobber all over the front of Jungkook’s shirt, just to prove his point. It’s already dirty, anyway.

“I’ve never been so accosted in my entire life,” Jungkook says, a hand over his chest as his mouth opens in a gasp, pretending to be shocked. “This totally beats the time a fan wiped a bunch of honey on me and told me I was sweet.”

“I don’t—I don’t even think I want to ask,” you say, a little concerned, a little intrigued. “Let’s just feed the goats and talk about memes.”

Jungkook is cute and rich and sweet, but he does not have a single coin in that crisp leather wallet of his. All there is is a shiny silver credit card and a couple of bigger bills. Luckily, the one thing you constantly have on you is small change because that’s literally the only money that’s ever in your possession.

“The great Jeon Jungkook has everything, but the one thing he doesn’t… quarters,” you say, shaking your head as you hand him one for him to get himself his own feed.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?” Jungkook asks, a fond smile on his face as he looks up at you, hand filled with little pellets.

“Nope.”

Instead of wiping off all of the spit on each other after the goats have devoured the food in your hands, you go and wash off in the provided sink before finding respite on an empty bench nearby, where Jungkook can eat his cookies and cream ice cream in his spit-covered shirt with you beside him in peace.

“I seem to recall you suggesting we talk about memes?” Jungkook reminds you, a single eyebrow raised in interest. The expression makes you laugh, surprised he took you seriously.

“What sort of memes did you want to talk about?” You quip back, way too amused with the situation at hand.

“I just wanted to let you know how much you meme to me,” Jungkook says without a hitch, and his face is completely serious until he spots the flabbergasted look on yours and lets out the bark of laughter he was clearly holding back.

“I cannot believe you just romanticized memes,” you say, practically speechless. “I can’t be seen with you anymore. We’re done,” you say, a little overwhelmed as you stand up, palm in his face as you pretend to walk away from him.

“Wow, it wasn’t the bad driving, or the cameras, or the Snapchat that took you down. It was my pun. Unbelievable,” Jungkook says, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

Even so, Jungkook is too fucking irresistible for his own good, and meme puns and all, you just can’t stay away from him.

Jungkook takes a wrong turn on the way back from the ice cream place and takes you to his parents’ home, only a couple of streets down from yours in the same cookie-cutter style house. It’s small and cozy and so unlike all of those big mansions you see the celebrities of today living in.

“Have you been staying here?” You ask as Jungkook pulls into the driveway.

“For a little while, yes. My brother and his family are in town and my parents just wanted everybody under one roof, like old times,” Jungkook says, and he must be talking about the brother with the nephew that wanted the tiger. Wait…

Fuck, the tiger. If Jungkook’s parents or maybe even his brother catch you here, they’re going to recognize you. You’re almost sure of it. Especially if his parents are home, because parents always have that weird psychic ability where even if they haven’t seen a child for twenty-five years, they still know exactly who it is just from looking at them.

“A-Are your parents home?” You ask, a little hesitant. You don’t know if you want to tell Jungkook just yet. Or at all. Not now, when you’re already waist-deep into the pool and there’s no turning back now. If Jungkook finds out that you’re his crush from seventeen years ago, everything will just get awkward.

“No, they’re working. And my brother’s doing some family thing with his wife and Kyuhyuk—you met him, remember—so it’ll just be the two of us.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Me too,” Jungkook notices, nodding as you approach the front door and he whips out his keys. “God, you would not want to meet my parents like this. They wouldn’t shut up about you, I swear. They’d come up and pinch your cheeks and say mushy things in Korean and it would just be so awkward.”

The Jeon’s home is, strangely enough, exactly how you remember it. You had maybe been here once, if that, when you were four, but it feels like you’ve never left. You remember the burgundy curtains that decorate the windows of their living room, and you can visualize all of Jungkook’s Legos and wooden building blocks scattered on the faded rug by the couch. Everything just feels so… familiar.

“Why did you bring me here?” You ask, taking a hesitant seat on his couch after removing your shoes, just like Jungkook told you to do when you had (probably) been here before. Some things never change, just like the little shoe shelf by the front door.

“Have you listened to my music?” Jungkook inquires.

You wince. “Embarrassingly enough, no. I just haven’t gotten around to it, I’m sorry. I’ll binge-listen this weekend, I promise.”

“No big deal,” Jungkook says, shrugging. “There’s a lot of it, I know. I’ve been in the business for just over two years, now.”

“Wow, you’re so experienced,” you say sarcastically, but you know that Jungkook will take no offense to it.

“I know, I know, don’t get so worked up about it,” he responds in an equally-sarcastic tone, bowing ever so slightly with a hand on his chest. “No, i just asked because I wanted to know what you thought of it.”

“Uh…”

“I wanted to play a song for you, Y/N,” Jungkook says, and before you can stop him, he’s rushing off down the hallway and returning with an acoustic guitar and a pick in his hands, settling down on the couch opposite you and clearing his throat.

“You’re so sweet, Jungkook, I—” You say, touched at the gesture.

“Don’t think of anything,” Jungkook begins to sing, strumming softly as your words die on your lips, left breathless at the first sound that leaves his mouth. “Don’t say anything, not even a word. Just give me a smile.”

You already knew that Jungkook is damn well good at leaving you speechless, but this takes his snarky comments and mindless romantic remarks and obliterates them. This, his serenading you in the comfort of his parents’ home as you watch him in awe, is something completely new, foreign and strange and heartwarming all at once. Jungkook sings like an angel and plays like a genius, sings with emotion in his voice that autotune takes away much too often in a world like this. Sings because he means it. Sings because it’s for you.

Jungkook finishes the last chord and lets the sound of his soft guitar echo throughout the house, reverberate off of the walls as he looks up at you with baited breath, cheeks tinted a rosy pink.

“Jungkook, I—” you say, at a loss for words. “That was beautiful, Jungkook, really.”

“I wrote it the day after the butterfly exhibit,” Jungkook says shyly, placing the guitar gently on the couch cushion as he moves to sit next to you. “For you.”

“I’m… I’m fucking speechless, Jungkook, I don’t know what else to say,” you, panicking as you wrack your brain for any comprehensible thing your mind could possibly come up with instead of the word vomit that your tongue is currently stuck on.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Jungkook says, and then he’s reaching his calloused palm up to your cheek and pressing his lips onto yours.

Easily—almost too easily, really—you melt right into his touch, letting yourself become putty under his fingertips as he pulls you closer. His chapped lips never leave yours, can’t get enough once he’s finally got a taste of the sensation. There’s no ulterior motive behind the kiss, nothing but pure, unadulterated adoration on his lips as you wrap your arms around his neck, yearning to be as close as you can.

This is no carnival kiss, not like the one you and Jungkook shared when you were four and innocent and unsure, but it feels bizarrely like it. For the longest time, you never remembered what it felt like, when he pressed his lips to yours so quickly in the middle of the local fair, but once his lips are on yours again, the feeling is anything but unfamiliar. It feels just like it used to.

When you part, you let your foreheads rest against each other’s as you catch your breaths, soft and labored from what feels like it could have been straight hours of kissing. Of loving each other.

“Do you… do you want me to drive you home?” Jungkook murmurs, still panting the littlest bit.

You nod, and you finally come to rest away from each other, standing up without a single world as Jungkook grabs his keys from the kitchen counter. The whole ride home is silent, but it’s the good kind of silent, where the rest of the world has fallen away for once and left the two of you to just be. The kind of silent where all you can hear is the flustered beating of your own heart and all you can think about are his lips on yours.

Jungkook bids you goodbye with a soft peck on your cheek, making the blood rush to the area as you feel your skin heat up from his touch. Jungkook bids you goodbye with a kiss and promise of tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and every day under the sun that he can spend with you.

Maybe there’s no need for you to tell him that it was you all along. Maybe Fate already had her plans settled for the two of you.

For someone so famous, Jungkook does an awfully good job at staying on the down-low when he wants to. Another week has gone by in the public sphere with him and you have yet to see any Daily Mail Snapchat stories on your secret romance. It must be a celebrity thing, you think as Jungkook invites you out to the local fair, the same one that the two of you went to as kids.

All of these feels like some kind of trick, like you’re being played and Jungkook knows that it’s really you, he just isn’t saying anything to see if you realize it or not, and him inviting you out to the very carnival the two of you shared your first kiss feels like more than just a coincidence.

“I thought that famous people wore sunglasses and big hats if they didn’t want to be seen,” you tell Jungkook as you walk side by side, plucking handfuls of cotton candy from the treat in your hand. These carnivals always give you way too much cotton candy on one thing. Jungkook’s got nothing on except for some ripped blue jeans and a graphic t-shirt that is way too tight. Like, “I can see your toned chest and it’s giving me grief” tight. And no sunglasses, no hat, nothing to prevent him from being recognized by the masses.

“They do,” Jungkook responds almost immediately, mouth blue from the sugar.

“Then what’s up with you?” You ask, motioning to him with stained fingers.

“I don’t really care if people see me with you, to be honest,” Jungkook says. “Let the world know how much I want to spend time with you.” He spreads his arms wide, nearly knocking the cotton candy right from your hand, making you laugh in shock.

“You’re so cheesy,” you say to him.

“Oh!” Jungkook exclaims, an idea popping into his head as he pauses right in the middle of the carnival. “That reminds me. There was a stall selling cheese fries a way back, wanna grab some?”

You’ve been trying to limit the amount of fried foods you’ve been eating, but you’ve been trying to do that for the past five years (to no avail, clearly), so you forgo all thoughts of a diet attempt and nod.

When you’ve got the cheese fries in your possession (in a container that looks to be the size of Jungkook’s enormous palm—how the hell do people eat all of these straight preservatives in a single sitting without getting stuffed?), you take a seat at an empty picnic table and begin eating. Jungkook, despite already consuming half of the cotton candy bag and a funnel cake from earlier, digs in almost immediately, taking three fries at once and shoving them into his mouth.

“You’re hungry,” you say as you take a bite of your own, savoring that sweet, sweet fake cheese flavor on your tongue.

“I know. I don’t know why, but all this food around me is just so tempting,” Jungkook says. You take the liberty of pulling out your phone and snapping a picture of Jungkook with fake cheese on the corner of his lips, just out of reach of his tongue. It’s such a beautiful photo, soft smile on his lips as he dips a fry into the sauce, a bit of it left on his skin. “Have you been to this fair before?”

“Uh, probably, when I was a kid,” you say, staying vague. You’re a few questions and one wrong move away from exposing yourself.

“This was the fair that I won that tiger at, remember?” He says, referring back to the yard sale where you met. “The one that I gave to that girl.”

“Ah, yes, four-year-old Jungkook’s lover,” you joke.

Jungkook smiles. “I’ve been thinking an awful lot about her recently,” he tells you, and you try to hide the way your eyes widen by looking down. “I don’t know, you just remind me of her.”

“Do I, now?” You ask, a small grin growing on your lips as you eat another fry.

“Just a little.”

Jungkook eats the majority of the cheese fries (he paid for it, anyway), and when there’s nothing but a cheese sauce-covered paper tray left in front of you, he points to a stall up ahead. You turn around to see that it’s the same balloon game, where you throw darts to try and pop them in order to win a prize. “Do you wanna play that?” You ask him, eyebrow raised.

“Sounds like a plan,” he responds, and the two of you head over, hands held in between your bodies.

Just like old times, you’re total and complete shit at the game, having learned absolutely nothing during those seventeen years as to how to actually be good at this. Not that you would ever need to improve on your dart-throwing skills, but it’s still embarrassing as your last dart misses entirely, leaving Jungkook cackling beside you.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, appalled as you move away and let him stand in front of the wall of balloons. “I wanna see you do better,” you challenge, pointer finger pressing against his chest.

Jungkook furrows his brows at your words, getting briefly lost in his own world as he zones out for a second. You wave your hand in front of his face to get his attention again, and he shoots back into reality and accepts your challenge boldly, puffing out his chest.

“You’re on,” he says.

Jungkook is cute and rich and sweet, but he’s lost his touch entirely with this game. His aim is totally off, and he doesn’t pop a single balloon, much to his dismay and your pleasure. It’s a little funny, actually, watching him pout as he misses the last dart and turns to you with a frown.

“Oh, shake it off, Jungkook,” you say. “Maybe next time.”

“Damn, I really thought I was going to get you,” Jungkook says, scrunching up that nose of his as he shakes his head.

You stop him, pressing a light kiss to his lips in the center of the grass-covered walkway, since kissing is so much better than just encouraging him with words. Only, this time, when you part, Jungkook looks that much more speechless, mind whirring as he takes in your touch.

“Are you okay?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed and voice laced with concern. “Jungkook?”

“Do you… do you want to go? It’s getting late,” he asks quickly, and maybe he’s just remembered he has some celebrity responsibilities to attend to, or something, so you nod, letting him lead the way back to his car.

The entire ride is silent, but this time, it’s the bad kind of silent, where all you can think about is if you did something wrong, something that doesn’t make him want to be with you anymore, and hear the frantic thumping of your heart as it worries. Jungkook’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, face solemn as he drives you back home. This time, when he bids you goodbye, he does so stiffly, an apologetic goodbye on his lips as you close the door and wonder what went wrong.

You and Jungkook don’t go out on another date for the next two weeks. Not that you entirely blame him, though, because he is a celebrity and he does actually have Famous People Things that he needs to be doing, but he’s responding to all of your texts with one-word answers and never has the time to take you up on your offers to go to the cinema, or the mall, or even the fucking beach. He hasn’t ghosted you, but you think these short texts and stiff responses are worse than that, because you don’t know if it’s him or if it’s you that’s the cause of them. Maybe he is just genuinely busy, but you’ve always been outstandingly good at jumping to the wrong conclusions, and you’re not stopping now.

You’re driving to the grocery store to pick up a few things for your mom, after she asked you to drop by before she gets back from work, when you realize.

Listening to the radio had only become a thing that you consistently did after you got your own car, since whenever you with your parents, they had their own CD’s that they wanted to put on. You’re half-paying attention to the announcer’s voice, mindless chatter about upcoming chances to win concert tickets and new releases from the week, when something captures your focus.

“Jeon Jungkook just released a surprise new single yesterday, totally unbeknownst to all of his followers, but it’s already shooting up the charts and currently holds the number two spot on iTunes. We’ll have Jungkook in the studio tomorrow to talk about the meaning of it, but for now, here’s ‘Autumn Leaves’,” the announcer says, and suddenly you’re turning up the volume of the speaker in your car, and you’re listening.

“Why can I still not give up on you?” Jungkook sings, and thank God you’re already in the parking space, because you know you wouldn’t be able to drive any further like this.

“I hold onto the withered memories, is it greed?” Jungkook sings, and he leaves you speechless as you sit in your car, stuck listening to the sad, sweet sound of his voice on repeat.

Jungkook writes beautiful lyrics, prose that tells the world how he feels more eloquently than you ever could, but it seems he’s done his job a little too well this time. Too well because you’re getting out of your car, bones rattling and heart pounding, and you can’t stop thinking about his words. About him. Too well because as you approach the supermarket, a tear rolls down your face, and it doesn’t have anything to do with this windy day.

You [3:23PM] Is everything alright, Jungkook? What’s going on?

Jungkook [3:23PM] Come to my house I’ll tell you

When you pull up to the Jeon’s home, only Jungkook’s car is in the driveway. You get out of your car quickly, door slamming shut from the force of the wind alone, and rush along the little stone path that leads to the front entrance. Jungkook opens the door before you can even knock, meeting your eyes with your fist still raised up.

“You got here quickly,” Jungkook comments as he lets you inside.

You merely nod in response, still a little breathless, and take off your shoes.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He asks.

“No, thank you,” you say, brushing off the offer as you sit down on his cream couches. “Jungkook, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Did you hear my new song?” Jungkook asks, and instead of sitting next to you he sits across from you, and you’ve never felt so distant from him than this moment, right here, right now. You think back to the sound of his voice echoing from your shitty car speakers, and you nod. “Did you like it?”

“Jungkook, I—”

“I wrote it after we went to the carnival together, a few weeks ago. That’s why I’ve been so busy,” he tells you. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re busy, Jungkook,” you say, shrugging. “I get it.”

“I think we should break up.”

Silence. The bad kind, too. Jungkook and you lock eyes and you can’t make out a single thing in that brown haze, pupils foggy and indistinct. He can probably make out the apology in yours, already on the tip of your tongue. The confession, hanging on your lips.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says, taking your silence as permission to continue. “I just—I can’t get that girl out of my mind. The one I gave the tiger to when I was four. Her. You remind me of her… so much. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Your mouth opens with worry, and you make to say something, explain yourself someway, somehow, but he beats you to it.

“I wrote that song about her. I figured you, uh, you probably knew that already,” he says, avoiding your eye contact as his hand moves to the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I think I’m in love with you but I can’t—we can’t keep doing this if all that’s on my mind is a different girl. I won’t do that to you. I won’t break your heart like that.”

“What?” You ask, breathless, as his words register in your brain. Not the breaking up part, not the song, but, “You love me?”

“I think you should go, Y/N,” Jungkook says, standing up and heading towards the door, arm outstretched as he reaches for the knob.

“Jungkook, wait,” you say, and you’re desperate, desperate for him to explain himself, repeat himself. Desperate to tell him that he’s got it all wrong, that you’re the girl he’s looking for, that it doesn’t need to be like this.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” Jungkook repeats, and you can see it in his eyes, see how sad he is to let you go, how he wishes that things could be different. How he wishes you could stay. “I didn’t—I don’t know what else to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” you tell him, and there’s no kiss that follows, no promise of forever. You look at him, wistful and wondering what might have been, and you leave, shoes half-on and expression melancholy. You leave, and you watch him from the driver’s seat of your car as you back out of his driveway, watch him standing in the doorway, wishing for more.

Your mother has stopped asking you why you aren’t going out as much anymore, but you haven’t stopped thinking about him. Even the Daily Mail has stopped documenting it, having had one Snapchat a couple days back speculating who this mystery girl is that Jungkook’s song is about and questioning why you haven’t been spotted by him recently, your time in the spotlight brief and unnoticed.

You should have just told him, goddamnit. You should have just confessed right there and saved yourselves the heartache, told him that he doesn’t need to break up with you, that the girl he’s looking for is right in front of him. That it’s you. But you didn’t, because you were too busy thinking about him to think about yourself, and now you’re alone in your house, you’ve binge-watched eight Netflix series over the past two weeks, and you miss him.

You miss him and you wish you didn’t have to miss him, because sitting around and watching the rest of the world go on this wild goose chase to find his long lost love is so fucking pointless and you hate it. Hate it because you’re right here, surrounded by pillows and blankets and empty packets of thin pretzels for all of the world to see, and he’s clueless.

Jeon Jungkook is so much more than your first kiss, first crush, first love. He is talented, intelligent, charming, hilarious, mesmerizing, and everything in between. He is also someone you wish you could explain yourself to. Someone you don’t think was worth losing.

Like clockwork, the next time you hear him is on the radio.

You’re driving, driving anywhere and everywhere, just to get your mind off of him, when the announcer mentions his name.

“We were live in the studio a couple of days ago with Jeon Jungkook, singer of the new number one hit single, ‘Autumn Leaves’, and we were talking with him about the meaning of his newest release. Take a listen.”

“So, Jungkook, new song? Big day, for you,” the host says, crackling recording playing in place of a live radio broadcast.

“Yeah,” Jungkook responds. “I’m glad everyone is enjoying it.”

“It’s such a great song, honestly. It’s got a wonderful melody and I’m sure the people out there agree with me.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell me, Jungkook, what was the inspiration for this song? What inspired you to sit down and write the lyrics after not releasing any music for over six months?”

“I just…” Jungkook begins, and it’s like you can practically see him deflating in his chair as he recounts it all. “The song is about a girl. My first love, actually, when I was four. I kissed her at a carnival that we went to together.”

The announcer audibly coos. “That’s so sweet. Does she know it’s about her?”

“No, actually,” Jungkook says. “I don’t think so. That’s why I wrote the song. To tell her that I’m still thinking of her. And that I’m searching for her, if she wants to be found.”

“Oh, that’s such a touching story,” the announcer says, and goddamnit if his voice doesn’t ruin the mood that Jungkook sets, that Jungkook has always been so good at setting. “Well, have you had any luck in finding her? I’m sure she’d love to know that the song is about her.”

“I do,” you whisper, wishing that he could hear.

“No, I haven’t,” Jungkook says. “But I won’t give up just yet.”

The host congratulates Jungkook on his song once more before the broadcast returns back to being live, and you find that you’re turning around and heading back home before you can even stop yourself.

You won’t give up yet, either.

Knocking on Jungkook’s door, you don’t care who answers. You don’t care if it’s his parents, or his brother, or even him, because you’re telling him, and nothing’s changing that. If he’s not home, you’ll wait. You’re explaining yourself, whether he likes it or not. But when the door opens and you look to see who’s behind it, it isn’t his parents, his brother, or him. It’s Kyuhyuk.

“Hello?” Kyuhyuk asks innocently, eyes wide as he comes to recognize you.

“Hey there, little dude,” you say, leaning down just enough so that he can hear you but not so much as to patronize him. “Do you remember me? The girl from the yard sale?”

“Hmm?” Kyuhyuk says, gazing up into your eyes.

“The one that you bought the tiger from?” You supply, hoping it will ring some sort of bell and that he won’t shut the door on you, like you know most toddlers would these days.

“Oh! Yes, I remember you,” Kyuhyuk realizes.

“Do you mind if I come in? Only for a second, I promise,” you ask him gently. You won’t blame him if he doesn’t let you inside—stranger danger, and all of that—but you’re hoping for the best. “I need to talk with your uncle.”

“Kookie?” Kyuhyuk says innocently, and the nickname itself makes a smile break out onto your face.

“Yes, him. Can I come in?” You ask, and Kyuhyuk steps aside to let you in, taking your shoes off along the way. Kyuhyuk’s about to bound off down the hallway to grab Jungkook, but something makes you call for him to stop. “Kyuhyuk, wait.”

He turns around, doe-eyes big and warm, just like Jungkook’s.

“Do you think you could get me that tiger? Just for a second, I promise that I’ll give it back to you,” you ask, the idea popping into your head.

Kyuhyuk nods happily, skipping along the hardwood floor as he heads to his room, head popping out from around the corner a minute later, tiger in his hands. He gives it over to you gladly, and you pinky-promise him that you’ll give it back to him without a bump or a scratch, before he’s knocking on the door to Jungkook’s room, calling his name.

You don’t know what you’re going to say, how you’re going to explain yourself and fix this giant mess that you’ve made, but you’re willing yourself to do it and so God help you if you don’t.

“Kyuhyuk? What’s going on?” Jungkook asks, and as he turns the corner into the living room and sees you, you make eye contact for the first time in what feels like seventeen years. “Y/N,” he says in shock, hair unkempt and clothes wrinkled.

“Jungkook,” you say, and it’s now or never, you think as you stand up and walk to him, holding the tiger out in front of you and placing it in his palm. “This belongs to you.”

“The tiger? That I bought for Kyuhyuk at your yard sale?” Jungkook says, scrunching his nose up in confusion.

“It’s yours. You won it for me at the carnival,” you tell him, but it’s still not registering. “Where you kissed me. Where we kissed, actually. That tiger.”

Jungkook looks from the tiger in his hands, to your outstretched hands, to your eyes, and it dawns on him, a new day rising in his irises. “It’s you? You’re—”

“I’m here,” you finish his sentence, finally breaking into a smile as your entire body relaxes, relieved to have the weight lifted off of your shoulders.

“You’re here,” Jungkook repeats, and he’s not even mad that you hid this from him, not disappointed or shocked or angry. You meet his eyes and all you can see in them are stars, and all he sees in yours are galaxies, and he kisses you.

He kisses you like he can’t get enough of you, like he’ll never be able to do this again, feel your lips on his and your hands in his hair. Kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to, pressing his lips to yours over and over, savoring every touch, every taste.

“It’s you,” Jungkook says when you finally part, palms holding your cheeks as he looks down at you with love swirling in his eyes. “It’s been you all along.”

“It’s always been me,” you promise, reaching up to wipe away the tear that’s escaped from his swimming eyes and fallen onto his soft cheek.

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmurs into your skin, promises of forever and a day on his lips. “I’ve loved you ever since we were four and falling over each other in the grass, chasing each other around the playground. I have loved you for seventeen years, and I’ll love you for a thousand more.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, allowing your bodies to rock together in the middle of his living room, eyelashes fluttering. “I’ll love you always. It’ll always be me.”

Jungkook presses another kiss to your lips before he breaks into a smile, and finally, you feel at home. Finally, the butterflies know where they belong.

“So, if the tiger is technically mine, then doesn’t that mean you owe me a dollar?”

“Shut up. No returns, exchanges, or refunds.”

“Damn. I guess I’ll have to take you back to the fair next year so you can win something and compensate me for this loss.”

“I guess so, but no promises.”

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

4K notes · View notes