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tickle-bugs · 4 years

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Reignite

Summary: Dean stumbles--or is cosmically shoved, more like--back upon the largest loose end in his life. This is one knot he won’t leave untied.

Took me a year (couldn’t resist the dad joke) but here’s my SPNFluffsgiving fic! I ended up writing two fics and frankensteining them together because I wasn’t happy with either on their own, and I think, all things considered, it turned out well!!! Tried something new with the present-tense vs my usual past tense, which was very, very hard for some reason. Anyways, enjoy!

Spoilers for Supernatural episode 15 x 19 through the finale ahead!

“What’s eating ya?” Bobby takes a swig of his beer and eyes Dean sideways.

“Nothin’.”

“We have all of eternity to sit here. Don’t think I won’t.” Bobby flicks the bottle cap at him and chuckles when it bounces off his shoulder.

“I like it here. It’s nice. Quiet.”

“But…?” Bobby looks at him in that very Bobby-like way, that strange blend of impatience and kindness that leaves no room to doubt that he cares.

“Something is just...wrong? I dunno. I felt a little better when Sam got here, but I still have this weight on my chest. Like something is missing. I dunno.” Dean taps his fingers against the beer bottle and slumps down in his chair. He heaves a breath that gets stuck somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“You’re saying ‘I don’t know’ a lot for someone who seems to know exactly what’s buggin’ ya.” Bobby raises his beer in a silent ‘I’ll drink to that’.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” Dean grumbles, kicking a pebble off of the Roadhouse porch. Bobby whips off his hat and smacks Dean’s arm, then his leg, then his stomach which really wasn’t cool.

“Ow! Okay, I’m sorry! Back off!” Dean raises his arms to shield from Bobby’s wrath, biting back a comment about Bobby being a crotchety old man.

“Think about it. Who’s the only person you haven’t seen since you made it here?” Bobby makes a little bird with his hands and raises his eyebrows as if Dean’s first thought wasn’t of teary blue eyes.

“Cas is in the Empty, Bobby. He’s gone. It just swallowed him like--like nothing.” Dean’s voice breaks and he knocks back his beer to hide it.

“Jack must have built this magic box wrong. You’re supposed to feel it when a loved one arrives.”

“What?”

“Cas is here, Dean. He helped put this all together.”

The world shrinks to a pinpoint. The beer bottle slips from Dean’s fingers and his attempt to catch it sends it soaring into the road, where it rolls far enough to qualify as a lost cause. The image of a teary Cas, seconds before destruction, grabs a swift and tight hold of the front of his mind.

I love you.

“Bobby-”

“Are you really gonna waste your breath arguing with me when I just told you that he’s out there? This may be heaven, but I can still kick your ass.” Bobby narrows his eyes at Dean.

Why does this feel like a goodbye?

Because it is.

“But-”

“Go after him, Dean. You made him wait this long already.” Bobby squeezes Dean’s shoulder and shakes him a little, fixing him with those kind-but-tough eyes. Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face, hissing when cold metal pokes him in the eye.

Baby’s keyring dangles from his finger, clinking gently as it collides with his palm. He sighs and shoves it in his pocket, making sure to shake the little ring off of his finger.

Weird.

“Can’t escape what your heart wants.” Bobby gestures towards Dean’s hand with an infuriating little smirk, like he knows something Dean doesn’t.

“That doesn’t mean jack shit,” Dean grumbles.

“Sure, and I’m President Roosevelt.” Bobby rolls his eyes.

“Which one?”

“Teddy, obviously.” Bobby leans back in his seat with a chuckle. Dean scratches at his cheek and grunts when, once again, metal digs into his skin. Baby’s keys jingle menacingly at him, like a pushy set of windchimes, and they don’t budge when he tries to shake them away. He turns his hand upside-down and scrapes the keys off like a stubborn piece of gum, but they reappear in the other hand.

“What the fuck?” He holds them up to eye level and they sway in the breeze, jingling again. He drops them and they zoom right back into his hand, like a lame Mjolnir, and okay, someone has to be messing with him. He shakes them a few times to detect any evil (a foolproof method, in his opinion) and Baby’s car alarm starts blaring much louder than it should.

“Dean.”

“Alright, I’m going!” He trudges away from the porch, grumbling under his breath, and the car’s alarm shuts off with a pleasant chirp.

“Tell him I said hi!” Bobby waves and watches the Impala pull onto the open road, raising his beer until he disappears from Dean’s rearview.

…

Dean cuts the ignition and slides out of the Impala, squinting against the sudden warm breeze. It’s quiet out here. If it wasn’t for the constant tugging on his soul, like a bratty kid demanding attention, it would be nice. Peaceful, even.

He leans against the bridge railing and closes his eyes against the next gust of wind, this one much more powerful than the first. Everything in the vicinity rustles as the wind dances by. He leans his forehead against his hands and sighs.

What the hell would he even say?

There’s no manual for this, no prior experience or family legend to consult. Jesus, he’s like a teenager trying to apologize for standing up a date. He’d ditched Cas at the celestial prom, and now he has to face the music. No more asking Dad to leave early for the next hunt so he wouldn’t have to face whichever girl he dumped. Grown-ass men face their weird, divine love affairs with dignity, not revenge hookups in the girl’s locker room.

Highschool Dean would call Present Dean a bitch for even trying to chase after Cas.

Highschool Dean was a dick, anyway.

Okay, he needs a gameplan. Stay calm, cool, and collected--like he’s working a case. Cas doesn’t need to know about the butterflies rioting in his stomach. Dean would be smooth and chill. They’ll talk like adults--yeah, that’s it. Grown-ass men, and whatnot. He’d just send Cas a message on angel radio, he’d zip on down, and they’d be hunkydory--

“Hello, Dean.”

Shit.

He whips around, his throat already closing up in mutiny. Just seeing Cas is a punch in the gut--he looks just as Dean remembers, if not better. It’s as if not a day has passed since the Bunker, and god, Dean might not be qualified for this.

Cas smiles timidly as he steps forward, hands shoved awkwardly into his coat pockets. His head’s bowed, as if he’s in trouble, as if Dean would scold him for who fucking knows what, and his blood boils at the thought.

“Dean?” Cas tilts his head.

Something grips Dean, something powerful and terrifying in its ferocity. A force he doesn’t understand surges at the bounds of his body, welling up into his throat, his heart, his lungs. Tears spill from him at a terrifying rate but he’s numb and aching all at once. He’s shaking--no, trembling--and he pulls Cas into a kiss before he loses his nerve.

If he could quantify the triumph of nearly two decades of suffocating pining, he’d say it tastes like stale peppermint. He makes a mental note to lecture Cas about his choice in gum later—spearmint is obviously superior.

Dean pulls away when his gross, sticky hiccups start to interfere with the sweetness of the kiss. He feels disgusting but he couldn’t stop crying if he wanted to.

Definitely not one of his highlight moments.

“Cas,” he croaks. Cas, Cas, Cas, loops in his head, interfering with the static everything else he needs to say. A tumultuous wave of words presses against his lips and he focuses all of his energy on getting them out.

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Cas cradles Dean’s face in his hands, swiping away tears with his thumbs, but he’s sobbing so hard that it doesn’t make a difference. His ‘calm, cool, and collected’ plan is effectively blown to hell and he curses himself for it.

“You shouldn’t have gone out like that, man. Fuck, I should have said something-”

“Dean, it’s alright--”

“No, it isn’t. I screwed up, Cas. I screwed up so fuckin’ bad.” Dean blinks at a tear-warped Cas, gripping his forearms as if he’d disappear in the breeze.

“When you said...what you said, I thought it back. It was easier to say in my head but I should’ve said it out loud. You deserve to hear it. You deserve everything.” Speaking his mind is like willingly chugging motor oil. He swallows thickly as his thoughts start to align into some semblance of clarity.

“You deserved more time,” Cas murmurs, and he has the nerve to look upset. He always wanted to give Dean more, so much more than he ever deserved.

“Shut up,” Dean growls. Some switch flips in him, some bristly protectiveness that has him wanting to shake the angel like a margarita until he finally admits his worth.

“Dean--”

“Nope. No more heroic bullshit. You’ve given enough, Cas. It’s enough. You’re enough.” Dean grips Cas’s shoulders and stares him down. Cas opens his mouth to retort but whatever expression is on Dean’s face presumably shuts him up.

“You’ve always had me, Cas. You will always have me. I have never loved anyone the way I love you.” Finally, finally, the words tumble out without a second thought. Dean’s death grip on Cas’s shoulders loosens. He did it.

“I love you too, Dean. I’ve loved you since the very beginning.” Cas smiles, as if it’s simple.

“Gross,” Dean quips on instinct, and he regrets it the second it comes out.

“You’re gross,” Cas fires back, squinty eyes and all, and Dean barks out a laugh that startles them both.

“C’mere.” Dean pulls him into a hug, cradling the back of Cas’s neck with his hand, and resolves never to let him go. Never again.

...

“Dean Novak ain’t bad,” Dean murmurs, rubbing a hand over Cas’s bare shoulder. The angel’s nestled into his side, huffing warm breaths into his collarbone, and he would rather die again than forget the feeling of Cas’s sleepwarm skin.

“Mm. Castiel Winchester.” His lips graze over Dean’s chest in a low effort sort-of kiss.

“You shouldn’t have to carry that name, after everything.”

“Hyphenation isn’t uncommon. Winchester-Novak?” Cas tilts his head up and scoots just slightly, trying to preserve his warm spot in Dean’s arms. He presses a proper kiss to the base of Dean’s throat and hums when he twitches away.

“Sounds less like a name and more like a spell.” Dean snorts, and Cas swats his shoulder.

“I fell in love with you, Dean Winchester, and it would be an honor to carry that name. Even if it is completely ceremonial.” Cas turns Dean’s face down towards him, forcing their eyes to meet. Dean’s a little more than breathless at the way Cas’s eyes catch the moonlight but he still manages to grin.

“Winchester is a dumb name, sorry.”

“You are blatantly disrespecting my fiancé.” Cas squints at him.

“Hmm, am I?” Dean’s eyes flit down to Cas’s lips, tongue flicking against his teeth.

“Yes.”

“Your fiancé is a dumbass for not proposing to you sooner.” Dean cradles the back of Cas’s head, absently scratching his fingers along the scalp.

“He absolutely is. But only I get to say that about him.” Cas’s face settles into a steely neutrality betrayed only by the sparkle in his eye. Dean leans in closer but Cas stops him with a finger over his lips.

“Apologize.”

“Wh--are you serious?”

“Apologize, Dean.” Cas pushes himself up on his elbow and cocks his eyebrow.

“You want me to apologize...to myself?” Dean chuckles in disbelief, waiting for Cas to admit he’s joking, but all he receives are wide, blinking blue eyes.

“Perhaps you need some encouragement,” Cas murmurs, his lips quirking into a smirk. Before Dean can protest, Cas throws his leg over Dean’s and buries his nimble fingers into his ribs.

“Wait, Cas--ahaha!”

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t kind towards yourself, I don’t want to hear them.” Cas leans up to nip at Dean’s ear, burying a few chuckles directly behind it. His fingers trail down Dean’s body, pinching every inch of his ribs and sides.

What leaves Dean next is less words and more a verbal error noise. He arches away, desperately shoving at Cas’s shoulders. All he does is turn himself around, and Cas is very quick to wrap him up in his arms. His fingers press into Dean’s lower stomach and trip over one another like he’s gliding over piano keys.

Dean curls, arms folded over his middle. Cas manages a cheeky pinch to the back of Dean’s thigh and he squeaks--apparently Cas likes that noise because an avalanche of more pinches follow.

Dean doesn’t expect him to find that devastating spot near his armpit on the first fucking try, but Cas is full of surprises and Dean is full of laughter. He clamps his arms to his sides but it barely makes a difference. Fireworks overwhelm his nervous system. In Cas’s arms, he feels like he’s flying--but he can’t tell if it’s the lack of air or the endolphins. Endorphins. Whatever.

“Cas!” His name floats out of Dean, blanketed in crinkly-eyed, heartwarming laughter. It’s all he wants to hear for the rest of eternity.

“You are everything to me.” Cas doesn’t expect Dean to hear him over his near-violent giggles, but Dean squeezes his wrist twice to acknowledge him where his voice can’t. His fingers slow, gently trailing over pinkened skin, and Dean slowly remembers how to breathe.

“We can renegotiate the name thing. Maybe,” Dean wheezes, and his shit-eating grin is nearly audible. Cas rolls his eyes and scribbles at Dean’s exposed hip, following each turn, twist, and twitch. For the first few moments, he’s concerningly quiet, only squirming with strangled noises, but within seconds his laughter catches back up with his brain and he’s cackling into the mattress.

“Maybe? Is that your final answer?”

“Nonono, please Cas!” Dean shrieks, kicking his legs as if it will help. He flails all the way to the edge of the bed but Cas is quick to pull him back into his arms. His tickly touch turns calming in an instant, tracing over muscle lines and battle scars as they both resettle.

“We’ll work on it. Together.” Cas flips him over and steals a quick kiss, drinking up the leftover laughter. Dean’s joy is sweet on his tongue.

“Together,” Dean murmurs, leaning their foreheads together.

Holding his lover—Castiel, his Castiel—in the moonlight is all that Dean Winchester-Novak could ever ask for.

There was happiness in the having, after all.

#my fics #SPNfluffsgiving2020 #SPN #Destiel #ticklish!dean #dean winchester #castiel #bobby singer

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winetae · 6 years

Text

⇁ paper doll | 02

⇁ Jungkook x Reader

⇁ drama, mature, slight angst || idol+singer-songwriter!au, fake dating!au

⇁ 11.6k

When the nation’s little sister, IU, gets into a huge scandal, your agency seizes the opportunity to thrust you into that now vacant spotlight. Your self-composed song Paper Doll becomes an overnight sensation, and soon people are itching to find out who was responsible for breaking your heart. All hell breaks loose once netizens discover that you used to date popular idol, Jeon Jungkook. Little do they know that it wasn’t him who left the relationship unscathed—it was you.

↳ alternatively: a story on the consequences of a hit break-up song

::00::01::02::

↳ in which being forced to date Jungkook wouldn’t have sucked this bad if 1) he wasn’t your ex-boyfriend and 2) he didn’t hate your guts

{ when you say those words to me, tears splatter like ink / you fold me up carelessly until i crease }

“Let’s break up.”

There had been no preamble, nothing to soften the blow. Your words were curt and to the point—as if keeping it short would somehow be less painful, like ripping off a band-aid in one go.

If prime-time SBS dramas had taught him anything, relationships always ended with explosive arguments and waterworks. But there were no mascara tracks running down your cheeks, no redness or moisture present in your eyes. Instead, your face was carefully blank, expression conveying boredom, and your voice was monotone, void of feeling.

Jungkook’s knee-jerk reaction had been denial.

“What’s gotten into you?” Convinced he’d heard you wrong, he nudged your shoulder, the corners of his mouth straining into a smile.

There had been a time when he hadn’t been as sensitive—but that had been before his packed schedule had created a rift in his relationship, before it had become normal to antagonize each other for trivial reasons. The past weeks had been particularly busy for him, his practice more grueling than usual due to the impending comeback, and he could feel the gap separating you from him grow with every passing day a call was left unreturned.

If he was to be truthful, he would admit that he had intentionally ignored your messages and voicemails, preferring to avoid you than to waste what remained of his energy to pick a fight. Sometimes weeks would pass without contact, yet the longer the silence stretched on, the harder it was to ignore how much he had missed you, especially when he couldn’t remember what had triggered the argument in the first place.

Jungkook wasn’t sure when the toxic cycle had started but it had become a routine of sorts—you’d fight over the most insignificant reasons and after days of painful radio silence, you’d pretend like nothing had ever occurred, like the scars you’d burned into each other’s skin never existed.

He was now used to the constant cycle of rinse and repeat, slowly becoming numb to it all. The words ‘I love you’ and ‘I hate you’ had stopped carrying meaning altogether. Somewhere along the way, he had lost himself. He didn’t know what was real anymore... Maybe that was why you kept pushing each other, digging into open wounds. If it hurt, it meant he still cared, didn’t it?

Deep down, he hated fighting with you, even if it seemed like that was all he was capable of doing. The days when everything had been simpler seemed like a distant dream. Yet despite all logic he found himself yearning for the impossible.

So when you had agreed to meet up today, he had taken it as a sign that you were willing to leave everything in the past and start afresh—letting go of old grudges and wordlessly forgiving any barbed exchange that had taken place.

While the other members were resting, passed out from exhaustion, Jungkook had managed to sneak out of the dorms with the excuse of going to the convenience store for a quick bite. On his way over, he had felt immeasurably lighter as if a heavy weight had seemingly lifted from his shoulders.

As his eyes swept over you, he felt something tug at his heartstrings, an odd and displaced feeling of longing washing over him. You were his girlfriend, one of his best friends, and yet as he approached you, the distance separating you from him didn’t seem to close.

So when you missed your cue to laugh your statement off as a joke, he felt himself become rigid as the reality of the situation started to dawn on him. Something about this encounter was different, even if he couldn’t place it. You weren’t saying this to coax a reaction from him; you weren’t just throwing words around so that he could prove he still cared.

Instead of anger or spitefulness tainting your tone, he could see the tired lines wrinkling your brow, the lifelessness in your expression.

His heart lurched dangerously in his chest as you spoke the next words.

“I think it’s best if we break up,” you repeated, almost casually. If he hadn’t known any better, you would’ve almost fooled him into thinking that you were discussing something as trivial as the weather.

He searched your gaze in an attempt to assess how serious your statement was. Blank eyes stared back at him, and no matter how long he looked, he could not find one speck of warmth. It was as if someone had sucked your soul out and left a gaping hole in its place.

The affection that he was used to seeing in your eyes, the same one he had watched dwindle over time, had been entirely extinguished—it was then he knew that all the love you had was truly gone.

Yet the most stubborn part of himself refused to believe what he saw, preferring to deny reality until the end.

“What?” He blinked stupidly back at you, incapable of formulating anything else. Internally, he felt like the world had frozen at his feet and that he was trying in vain to stay upright. His feet kept slipping, only seconds away from tumbling.

It felt too stuffy in his oversized sweatshirt. Pulling at the hem, he fought the urge to take it off—anything to cool him and make it easier to breathe. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he clenched them into fists, his short nails digging into the crevice of his palms. The edge of pain made it easier to focus and make sense of the jumbled mess of emotions inside of him.

Disbelief and confusion gave way to guilt.

If he had treated you better... If he had tried a little harder to mend his relationship... He tried to pinpoint the exact moment that had caused you to tip over but came up short. Maybe if he had been able to spot the warning signs, he would’ve been able to avoid this predicament altogether. Where had it all gone wrong?

As his mind whirled through a loop of should’ve-would’ve-could’ve’s, he noticed how unaffected you appeared, unaware of his internal crisis. Whilst his entire world had turned upside-down by three simple words, why did it seem like you couldn’t care less?

Your attitude rubbed him the wrong way; he could feel anger and frustration overtake him as he recalled the past few weeks. Admittedly, he hadn’t made the most noticeable effort to salvage his relationship, but at least he had tried. All you had done was prod, nitpicking his every flaw, attacking him over matters he had no control over.

“I don’t want to keep you for long... I know you’re busy.” You spoke up after the silence had become too unbearable. “Let’s part ways here.”

Feeling his time run out, desperation clawed at his chest while panic bubbled in his stomach. He said your name, his expression pleading for you to reconsider.

Jungkook knew the relationship had been far from ideal. But he also knew he loved you. Beneath all of the resentment and bitterness, he loved you so much that it had been impossible to envision any outcome without you by his side.

“Please.” He felt his throat close up, the words difficult to get out even when he tried forcing them out. “Just— Don’t do this. We can, I—I can be better, I know I can. It’s been hard but I know things can get better so just, just wait a little. I know I fuck up a lot but... You can’t give up like this.”

Distantly, he could hear his own voice rise in panic, his desperation bleeding through. All of his emotions melded together into one big ball of distress. Words had never been his forte and he panicked all the more because he knew, in his deepest of hearts, that this was a lost battle from the start. “I really, fuck— I don’t, can you just give me a little more time? I just need time to sort things out, but I promise that it—”

“I’ll leave first, okay? Take care.” You cut off his rambling with a jerky nod of your head, raising your shoulder into a shrug as you readjust the strap of your bag.

If he had been capable of speech, perhaps he would have tried harder to dissuade you. As it was, your icy demeanor had numbed his every muscle to the core, rendering him incapable of movement. His tongue felt heavy and useless in his mouth, the muscle unwilling to cooperate with him. He could only watch you turn your back to him without sparing him a second glance. Every step you took felt like a kick to the stomach, yet all he could do was watch and let it happen.

Jungkook parted his cracked lips to call out after you, but your name stayed stuck in his throat like a pill that refused to be washed down.

Eyes stinging from unshed tears, his fingers stretched out towards you in a belated attempt to keep you at his side. His digits wrapped around the phantom of your presence before his arm eventually swung back to where it had been, his hand cold and empty.

Was this what break-ups were supposed to feel like? All he could do was laugh, the hoarse sound barely veiling his incredulity, as he watched your figure become a small dot in the distance, eventually blending in with the rest of the crowd.

You had erased yourself from his life with such ease that he would’ve felt insulted had the hurt drumming in his chest not prevailed. Leaving him with nothing but warped memories and the acidic taste of betrayal, Jungkook swore he had never hated you as much as he had right then.

Little did he know that you would worm your way back into his life despite his best attempts to keep you at bay. He would never stop hating you.

Present day, Seoul.

Finally hidden from the hawk-eyed gaze of your superiors, you felt like you could finally breathe again. With weak knees, you staggered back to lean against the corridor wall, your head falling back in defeat. You felt mentally and emotionally drained, like the meeting had sucked out every last bit of your soul.

If someone were to see you now, they’d reprimand you for not being able to keep up appearances. Do you think you’re the only one suffering now? Get a grip and pull yourself together. But there were no cameras around, no one to criticize your slumped shoulders or the dark expression present on your face.

You allowed the slip in composure as you recalled the evening’s earlier events.

The hands of the clock had moved at a snail’s pace—your nightmare interminable.

Every time you had sneaked a look at your phone under the table, it had felt like staring at a still frame; the digits frozen in time. As the sky outside began to ink into black, the more unbearable the tension in the room had become. The higher-ups had given up on any semblance of courtesy, both camps adamant to reach an agreement in their favor. Although everyone present had been itching to go home, your company refused to settle for less than they believed themselves entitled to.

Stuck in the middle, you had wished for nothing more than to crawl under the comfort of your blankets back home and never come out. Only sheer force of will had kept you from doing so. After all, now would be the worst possible time for a mental breakdown. At the slightest sign of weakness, everyone waiting for you to fuck up would descend on you like a pack of famished wolves, eager to end you before you began. You’d be damned if you let them.

But they certainly made it difficult to remain stoic. For them, this discussion meant graph chart predictions and profit forecasts and stuff you had no real knowledge about. They talked in numbers and jargon you couldn’t keep up with. All you knew was that your future and your reputation were on the line, your entire career at stake. If the wrong decision was taken, would you ever be able to recover? You had no solid fanbase yet, no one to back you up even if you fucked up monumentally.

Knowing that they held so much power over you reminded you that you were but a pawn in their chess game—only a means to an end.

Just because you had always been aware of this fact didn’t mean it had been easy to accept. Nothing in the world is free, you had been told. Your dreams can be turned into reality—but at a price. And like in all fairy tales, you had been willing to trade anything in exchange, no matter the cost, your desires outweighing your fears.

Had you known the stakes would be this high, you might have paused to reconsider. Clearly, you had underestimated your company’s greed.

"We have high expectations,” they had announced, not asking for neither your opinion nor permission. "The buzz surrounding the both of you will be sufficient to draw in the public’s attention. That’s all we need, really. We’re confident enough to say that the song will be a guaranteed success. There is no reason for it not to do well. You see, we've got all the needed ingredients for a hit song already… "

From a marketing standpoint, now was the ideal time to release a duet. It was a bold move, but the executives were confident such a song would generate the most profit and interest. “We need to strike while the iron is still hot.”

But for you, the unwilling designated songwriter, this project was beginning to look like your worst nightmare.

Writing songs about Jungkook had never been an issue; you had dozens of dusty notebooks inked in unsung love letters to prove it. But as you sat across from the muse in question, separated only by a conference table , it became apparent that the upcoming task wouldn’t be as easy as claimed.

Being forced into a professional setting with someone who had previously had his mouth all over your nakedness made your skin crawl with unease. It was uncomfortable enough keeping up a pretense of normalcy in such circumstances... And, on top of that, they expected you to sing a love song of all things with him? God was truly testing your strength of will.

A duet? The mere thought was enough to make you nauseous, your stomach rumbling in protest. Only a miracle had kept you from crumbling in on yourself during the meeting as a barrage of questions ran through your mind. How many hours would you have to spend with him recording, practicing, promoting...? You wouldn’t put it past your company to milk your misfortune for what it was worth.

Collaborating with an ex-boyfriend had never been very high up on your bucket list. Especially when said ex wanted nothing to do with you.

To his credit, Jungkook had looked less than thrilled by this suggestion. With a somber expression, he hadn’t cast a single glance in your direction. Hard lines had marred his handsome face and the perpetual frown told you that he would rather gut dried anchovies for a living than be forced to sit through another minute of the meeting.

You wondered if he was set on ignoring you throughout the entirety of this forced arrangement. Maybe it was for the best. If each of you kept to yourselves, lines clearly drawn, then it would be easy to keep your feelings in check. Memories could stay buried in the recesses of your mind, unperturbed. That was what you tried convincing yourself, even though you suspected reality wouldn’t be so kind. After all, how could you possibly regard Jungkook as just another work colleague when the truth was far from that?

“Ah—You haven’t left yet, Jihae-ssi.”

The sound of your stage name roused you out of your musings. Only newer staff members in your company used it; the other ones had had a difficult time adjusting after referring to you by your birth name for so long.

A man in his early thirties stood in front of you, his car keys dangling from his right hand. He smiled politely at you, the muscles on his face slightly strained. You recognized fake courtesy when you saw it, but refrained from commenting. It was nothing new.

Your eyes swept over his nondescript appearance, noting nothing noteworthy or eye-catching. You had a hard time associating his plain features to a name. His face looked vaguely familiar and only belatedly did you recognize him as the staff member following Jungkook around earlier.

“Manager-nim is bringing the car around...” You trailed off, attention diverted as Jungkook, the man responsible for your woes, appeared in your peripheral vision.

He noticed your presence almost at the same time as you noticed his. Eyes rounded in surprise, his movements slowed to a halt as he debated whether or not to acknowledge your existence with more than a look of disgust.

Something about the expression in his eyes made your chest constrict but you hurried to push aside the dull throb from your mind.

His face had always been an open book, easy to read, and you could see how much this was killing him inside. Similarly, you stood frozen, unsure of what to do or how to behave. The current state of affairs put you both in an awkward and uncomfortable position you were not equipped to handle.

If you had run into him backstage at a music broadcast, you would have bowed out of respect because such formalities were required of you, if only to keep up appearances. But now that the lines defining your relationship had been blurred once again, you had no clue how to label him—should you call him a sunbae? An acquaintance? A boyfriend? Your head hurt from thinking about it.

A heavy tension settled between the two of you. His manager shifted his weight from foot to foot, apprehension written all over his face. It was like he expected the both of you to tear at each other’s throats at any given moment.

You debated for a moment, wondering if you should attempt to act like the bigger person and initiate a conversation. You briefly examined your manicure with fake interest, admiring the encrusted rhinestones that glittered under the overhead light. Stalling.

Sometimes it was easier to slip into the persona associated with your stage name and put up a false front. Whenever your emotions threatened to overtake logic, it was easier to pretend to be Jihae, the sweet and polite girl everyone saw on camera. You knew exactly how she’d react in your shoes—what she’d say and what she’d do. Distantly, you knew that taking refuge behind this mask could only be a temporary fix to your problems, that you’d have to deal with the chaos raging in your chest sooner or later, but you conveniently chose to put those thoughts aside for the time being.

The corners of your mouth upturned into a well practiced smile and you tilted your head in greeting. You knew that your expression had been smoothed over, all hard lines from the fatigue that weighed on you pressed away. The feigned sincerity was the result of hours of relentless practice in front of a mirror. You knew that they’d see what everyone else saw—what you wanted everyone to see.

But beneath the veneer of civility, there were cracks that neither time nor wisdom could fix.

It was easy to claim you would move on and put your past behind you—after all, that would be the appropriate, adult-like response everyone expected. But the rehearsed lines lacked conviction, even as you repeated them to yourself for the nth time that day, hoping the repeated litany would somehow turn them into truth.

The truth slowly bled through the fissures, imperceptible to the untrained eye. Jungkook’s dark gaze pierced yours and inwardly you felt your heartbeat kick-start, worry seizing you. He had always been incredibly perceptive when he wanted to be and you wondered if he could still read you with the same ease he used to. A long time ago, he had been the only one in the world to know you inside out. But that had been before you started keeping each other at an arm’s length, secrets slowly widening the gap between you.

His features twisted into a scowl, the lines between his eyebrows creasing. Your eyes flicked to it, recalling a distant memory of you thumbing it over as you tried to comfort him.

Quickly averting your stare, you swallowed thickly. Your cheeks hurt as you maintained a pleasant expression, the corner of your lips twitching from the strain. Which was odd... On any other day, you would have no trouble keeping up appearances, fully capable of blazing through hours of the day without flinching, a smile permanently etched onto your face.

“Don’t you look pleased,” sneered Jungkook, the bite in voice unmistakable. “Although I can’t say I’m surprised. This is what you were after from the start, wasn’t it? Fuck...”

A laugh forced its way from his throat, the sound bordering on hysterical. He ran a hand through his locks, visibly distressed.

“You know,” he wet his lips, his eyes narrowing to a glare. “My company warned me not to date girls like you. Said that dating a non celebrity was a risk I shouldn’t take because you might post shit online to get internet famous or sell me out to the tabloids for some quick cash. I defended you so much back then, got into f—”

“Jungkook.” His manager’s hand was firm on his shoulder; a subtle reminder that they were still in public. Jungkook deflated, the fight slowly leaving him, leaving only resentment in its place.

Inwardly, you seethed.

So this was what he thought of you? You knew that you had parted on bad terms but did he honestly believe you'd stoop that low? Was it the anger talking or did he truly despise you?

Earlier, you had felt bad about getting him dragged into this mess but now that same guilt morphed into anger, black spots crowding your vision as another memory hit you head on.

“What took you so long? You know I can’t be seen in public like this.”

“I got held up again,” you grit out, annoyed.

It was always about him these days, always about his fans and his job while you were left trying to work your way around his schedule. You hadn’t minded, not at first, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to sneak past your teachers. You had never been the world’s greatest actress. They had started doubting you, narrowing their eyes in suspicion as you tried to keep coming up with plausible excuses explaining why you had to leave practice early.

Everything seemed to pile up inside you; the stress, the worries, the doubts. What hurt the most was that Jungkook never seemed to acknowledge your efforts to try to keep your relationship afloat. No matter what you did, you were always in the wrong. It angered you. He angered you.

When you met each other like this, it wasn’t fun or relaxing or romantic. You were always meeting in some holed-up restaurant at unconventional hours of the night. Just eating together was stressful; the weight of invisible eyes reminded you to be careful of your every movement in case someone watching misconstrued the situation.

There was nothing intimate about your dates anymore. Jungkook was always wearing a mask high up on his face, on high alert for possible paparazzi or fans that could have tailed him. You couldn’t recall the last time you had been on a date with Jungkook and not the idol who shared his name.

Sometimes, when you were especially tired and angry, you wondered why you kept trying.

Why had you? You now asked yourself, reflecting. Jungkook was right. Back then, the entire world had been against the two of you being together. There had been threats and bribes on either end but you had both held on, refusing to let go. But why hadn’t you? Foolishly blinded by love, you had dared to go against your company, sneaking off to see him, lying straight through your teeth in a desperate attempt to hold onto the one relationship you treasured dearly.

As your mind oscillated between the past and the present, you struggled to keep your expression agreeable.

Did Jungkook really believe that you wanted this to happen? If you had had a say in this, you would have chosen never to cross paths again. Some things were better left as water under the bridge.

Tremendous relief washed over you as soon as you spotted your manager’s van pull up. Never before had you been so thankful to see the familiar license plate number nearing the curb. You adjusted the strap of your purse, your feet already headed towards the exit before you could think twice about it. Your focus was on establishing a safe distance between you and the one person you never wanted to see again.

Quickening your gait, you fixed your gaze on the car ahead. The cordial nod given to the pair on your way out was half-assed at best. There was no use for pleasantries, not when the other party involved wanted nothing to do with you. If your managers had been around, they would have berated you for your lack of manners. Jihae wasn’t anything less than frustratingly polite. You on the other hand were just thankful that there were no cameras around to record your slip up.

Eager to get away, you clambered into the passenger seat without sparing Jungkook a second glance. The car door slammed shut behind you with a satisfying thud. Eager to forget about the catastrophe that was bound to eventually happen, you let your eyes fall shut and sunk back into the car seat, trying your best to erase the past two days from hell from your mind.

"Was that...?" Your manager's voice trailed off, her sentence left unfinished. Surprisingly, she seemed to sense your unwillingness to talk and held herself back from probing further.

Perhaps she felt pity. You were certain you looked the worse for wear with eyebags the size of a small fist and dark shadows that made you look ten years older.

In an attempt to give you space, she reached over to turn on the radio. Soft guitar riffs filled up the silence with a familiar tune you that were sure you'd heard walking down the streets of Hongdae before. As you tried to place the melody, you felt yourself slowly unwind, the stiff muscles in your neck loosening up.

All you needed to do was concentrate on composing a song. The rest... You'd figure it out later. It was easier to handle the burden that had been entrusted to you if you divided your tasks and focused on one at a time.

You'd get through this. You always had. However, some things were easier said than done. You’d soon learn that the hard way.

"I won't beat around the bush. Frankly, what you have isn’t up to par.”

Even though you had readied yourself for the worst, it was hard to ignore the sharp sting of failure.

Maybe because every time you picked up your pen or guitar, you poured a bit of your soul into the lyrics, into the melody. Writing always came from a personal place and this time hadn’t been any different. It didn't matter if the song in question hadn't taken months to write and perfect, you had still spent time and effort to create something that stemmed from honesty.

"Winter has seeped into spring. Our season has turned cold. My heart is heavy from words left unsaid. Time has only left us bitter and angry. If you knew then, would we be different now?" Mr Kim discarded the lyric sheet, not bothering to repress his sigh of discontentment. Usually you never had to interact with him directly, but the race against time had erased all intermediate steps from the production process. "I don't think you've understood the concept we’re aiming for."

You kept your gaze trained on the floor, curled fists hidden in the pleats of your skirt as you awaited the rest of your scolding you were sure was coming. Feedback was necessary for growth but you hated this feeling of not being good enough.

"It's spring. The public is tired of hearing dreary ballads; they want to hear a sweet heart-fluttering tune instead. There’s a reason Cherry Blossom Ending is a national hit... Your song needs to fit the mood of the season. What you’ve written is too depressing. Save this kind of material for next autumn, alright? We need a good duet by the end of the week so please pull yourself together before then."

"Yes, I’m trying—” you meant to argue but he cut in before you could finish talking.

"But it's not enough, is it?” His face softened when you wilted in your seat, visibly discouraged. He patted your shoulder in silent encouragement, movements stiff and awkward. “Look, I know we're working with impossible time constraints, but we need this done as quickly as possible in order to record and move straight into post-production. I know that you’re capable of writing the song we’re all waiting for, you’ve done it before.”

He closed his laptop and gathered his belongings into his leather bag. After gathering to his feet, he brushed off the creases marring his navy suit until satisfied with his appearance. “I’ll come check up on your progress soon, okay? Don’t give up. Everyone’s counting on you. Send me the demo file once as soon as you’ve finished recording.”

You stood up to bow properly, your facial expression a blank mask that hid the anxiety his words provoked.

The moment the door swung shut behind him, you let your expression crumble.

One thing was certain; you had underestimated his ability to get under your skin. Your earlier resolve to remain professional collapsed despite your best efforts. Your managers hadn’t joked around when they warned you that he was notorious for not mincing his words.

But you had no other choice but to suck it up. The pressing deadline loomed over your head like a dark cloud, reminding you of the monumental task your company expected you to accomplish in so little time.

You stared at the sheet music, reluctant to trash the song you had lost sleep over. A groan made its way past your lips.

Starting over from scratch? Was that even possible? It had taken you so long to come up with the last song that you weren’t sure you could produce something of the same caliber in an even shorter amount of time. You also had to consider all the prior commitments you had to uphold... You had a charity event tomorrow, three university festivals this week, as well as the photoshoot in Nagoya on Thursday... You’d be jet lagged and sleep-deprived, working in less than ideal conditions like on the car or on the plane. Not to mention that the earlier rejection had severely tampered with your confidence. Knowing that you’d have to perform the song with him only made it worse.

You knew that reminiscing and picking at old wounds would only be counter-productive but the song writing process forced you to delve deep and remember the past you had hoped to erase away. Bitterness resurfaced the more your mind reeled through the final stages of your relationship.

Words that usually came so easily were hard to find. You penned a few lines, only to stare back at them in disappointment. Another sheet of music gone to waste.

Heart-fluttering? It was ridiculous that they had demanded a sickly sweet love song from you when your relationship with Jungkook was anything but.

All of your songs were based on your own personal experiences and emotions. To write such a song... You’d have to rewind back to a time when your relationship hadn’t been tainted by the expectations of others; back to a time when Jungkook had just been another trainee with big dreams and no fame to his name. Back to when Jungkook and his time had belonged to you.

A knock at the door interrupted your train of thoughts. Taeyi unnie poked her head through, holding up a plastic bag in lieu of greeting. “I got us tteokbokki. You haven’t eating yet, have you?”

Shaking your head, you made space for her at the table by shuffling some papers into a corner. “It smells really good,” you said appreciatively, only realizing the extent of your hunger as the enticing smell wafted through the air.

The sight of food unleashed your voracious appetite. You dug in, eager to finally get your hands on something that wasn’t coffee or nuts.

She made a noise of assent, breaking apart some disposable chopsticks before handing you a pair. “It’s from the store down the street. It’ll do you some good to eat up... Don’t take offense, but you look like... Well, you don’t look at the best of your condition, is what I mean.”

“You don’t have to be careful around me, unnie. I know I look like I’ve been living in a ditch.” You hadn’t thought twice about your appearance before, but now that she had pointed it out, you suddenly became aware of your flaws.

“Well... Maybe not to that extent...” Her lips quirked into a small smile. “But I’m glad you feel well enough to joke around. How did the meeting go?”

You chewed your mouthful of food with deliberate slowness as you replayed the events of the past hours. “The head of A&R hated it...” Your groan came out muffled as you struggled to swallow down your food. “It’s hopeless... I’m back to square one... But I’m running out of time and I really— I’m not sure if I can do it, unnie.”

For the first time since meeting her, you didn’t bother hiding your emotions. Now that you thought about it, you hadn’t let yourself be honest for a long time—with her and anyone else. Your only outlet had been through your music. Off stage no one cared. You understood that sentiment to an extent... Why would anyone feel any sympathy for you? As far as they knew, these hurdles came with along with the job description. No job came without their own set of problems.

Taeyi’s features softened. She gave your shoulder an encouraging pat. “I know you can. I’ve seen you create miracles before. Have more confidence. Lots of idols write songs these days... But they have no story to tell.”

You mulled over her words in silence. Which was...strange, to say the least. Your manager was the type to fill in any gaps with noise. You had gotten so used to her incessant chatting that any pause that lasted longer than a minute put you on edge.

"You aren't eating?" You covered the bottom half of your face as you spoke, chewing your mouthful of food carefully.

She played with the bracelets on her wrist, the silver bangles knocking into each other as she fidgeted nervously. "I ate earlier... Ah, um... I wanted to talk to you about Jungkook-ssi."

The mere mention of his name made your mouth go dry. You paused mid-bite, keenly aware that your manager was monitoring your reaction. Schooling your expression, you set down your chopsticks and reached for a napkin to dab the corner of your lips off.

"As you've previously been informed, our company have made arrangements with a news outlet. They'll be photographing you two on a date today. All you need to do is show up and play pretend long enough for them to get the shots they need. I know... I know that your relationship with him isn't ideal at the moment, but as long as you remember that this is a professional engagement, then you should be fine, right?"

You gave a silent nod of agreement, not trusting yourself to keep your voice neutral. Taeyi unnie pulled out a nondescript black folder from her bag before handing it over to you.

Tendrils of dread wrapped themselves around your spine as you regarded the folder with disguised apprehension. Repressing the instinctive urge to throw it away, you flipped it open and took out the handout, preferring to get it over with quickly. It was useless to drag this on for longer than necessary.

“Public Relations compiled a list of possible questions you might be asked. The ones that are highlighted will be asked, so make sure to memorize the answers to those questions first. You'll get a more extensive briefing before we gear up for the song's promo, but this should cover the basics. Jungkook-ssi has also received a similar answer sheet." She gave you a moment for the information to sink in before resuming her spiel. “The questions on the second page will be banned. We’re supposed to step in if things escalate, but you can choose not to answer those. It would be in your best interest to avoid answering any intrusive questions."

You couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this was terribly wrong.

The door swung open, the sudden noise startling you. Your head manager, Kim Jino, appeared at the doorway, his expression looking less than pleased.

“Christ. Get some windows open in here, it reeks.” Checking the time on his wrist, he nodded to himself. “Your ‘date’ is in two hours. I’ve been told we’re going for casual—no need to dress up. Should she change?”

Taeyi unnie appraised you. “She can’t go out like this. I’ll get her a new outfit while she cleans up.”

“Okay then. Let’s get ready to leave,” he said, one foot already out the door frame. “We’re on a tight schedule. Oh, and can you get the cleaners in here? It smells like something’s died.”

“Got it.” Taeyi stood up, putting away the barely eaten food into a plastic bag. You helped her clean up by wiping down the table with a spare napkin. “Unnie will go by the store across the street and get you some dry shampoo, alright? We don’t have time to stop at a shop and get your hair and makeup done today so try and tidy up in the bathroom while I get your stuff ready. I’ll call you when I have everything.”

Nodding, you followed her, your belongings tucked into your tote bag.

It was in times like these you appreciated her the most. Even if it was your manager’s job requirement to take care of you, Taeyi unnie always made sure you never lacked anything. She was...nice, for lack of better terms. Managers came and went, but you had never felt any particular fondness for them before. It was hard to feel any affection for people who only saw you as a cash cow.

I shouldn’t think of them so negatively, you grimaced. Maybe you were being too harsh. Most of the time they weren’t that bad. They were the ones who allowed you to go out during your free time unaccompanied. Taeyi unnie did, at least. It wasn’t easy to warm up to Jino. He wasn’t…a caring person, so to speak. He got the job done and he wasn’t abusive, like some managers had been in the past, but he only saw you as a product of the company. Your feelings and opinions would never matter because you weren’t the one he answered to.

You braved a glance at your haggard and unkempt appearance reflected in the bathroom mirror.

No wonder unnie wanted me to freshen up, you thought with a wince, running your fingers through your tangled hair. It would be embarrassing to be seen in public in this state, especially when pictures of you would soon circulate all over the media for everyone to see and scrutinize. You didn’t doubt they’d use any excuse to tear you down further.

The reminder of who you would be photographed with made your blood run cold.

You weren’t one to believe in fate. But maybe immortality had made the higher entities fond of meddling—and you were their newest source of entertainment.

In your weakest moments, you had let yourself dream up various scenarios all involving Jungkook. During the times when sleep hadn’t been able to come to you easily and the loneliness crept in under the cracks of the wall, memories you didn’t usually dare revisit kept you from going numb. Incessant loops of what if’s kept you up all night, your heart yearning to return a time when happiness had still been in reach.

The irony of your current predicament hadn’t escaped you. It felt like fate was mocking you by giving you a twisted, bastardized version of what you had desired. Years ago, everyone had been adamantly against the idea of you two together... And now here you were, forced into a relationship where both parties were unwilling.

“We know you’re seeing someone.”

It had been late into the fall, then. The trees were barren, gold dusting the streets, and people all around had begun to layer on clothes in a bid to stay warm.

“Well? Speak up, girl. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when his group’s popularity had soared. These days, he hardly had any time to rest, let alone spend with you. You wondered how it felt to be that busy. You envied that about him so much your stomach hurt.

The grey walls of the training room seemed to close in on you, like a bird’s cage slowly squeezing the life out of you. How much longer would you be forced to stare back at them, wondering when your time to leave would come?

“He’s an idol, right? I’ve heard the rumors. And if these rumors made their way back to me then you’re not being as clever or sneaky as you thought.”

You hadn’t seen Jungkook in a while. There were times when he forgot to text you back, his incoming messages few and far between. It hadn’t been bothersome, not at first, but as his lapses occurred more frequently, the harder it became to brush aside.

“If you want to debut, then you have to stop seeing him. I don’t want to see you throw away any chances you have. I’m saying this because I like you, ____. You’ve got the talent. Don’t let some boy get in the way of your dream... Or does your dream not matter as much?”

The question hung in the air but you refused to address it. Why did one have to be more important than the other? Couldn’t you have both?

Come winter, you still ignored your teacher’s advice. If you let go of him, wouldn’t you lose a part of yourself? The thought terrified you.

Holding on felt like the right thing to do back then.

The splash of cold water against your face kept you from dissociating. The last thing you needed or wanted was to take a trip down memory lane. You had done enough of that the last few days. Any more unwanted flashbacks and you’d lose any remaining traces of sanity.

Yet no matter how hard you tried, it seemed inevitable. The mere prospect of seeing Jungkook again, face to face, had your heart beating erratically. Your body moved in auto-pilot as you got ready.

Taeyi applied makeup onto your face, her brow furrowed in concentration as she attempted to make you look presentable. You could see her lips move but you stared ahead blankly, your thoughts already occupied.

Fake dating... Those words left a sour taste on your tongue. There had been nothing fake or forced about your relationship back then.

You never had to smooth over your edges when it came to him. Fans all claimed they loved you, but you didn’t delude yourself into thinking that they truly did. They liked the finished product, the polished model, and that person they loved was you, but the best possible version of you, like a photoshopped version that glossed over every imperfection. Jungkook... Jungkook had been the only one acquainted with every facet of your personality, every flaw, every part of you that you were proud and ashamed of.

Years had gone by... How much truth was there left to that statement? You swallowed, not knowing if you really wanted to find out.

“- are you even listening to me?” interrupted Jino. He rubbed his temples in defeat. “What’s wrong with you lately? Stop spacing out.”

“We should head out now. It’s rush hour so we might get held up in traffic.”

“Right, let’s get this over with.”

You settled into your seat, taking out your phone. You had barely looked at it since the dating announcement had made its way to the main page of Naver.

As you scrolled through the comments under your newest instagram post you came to the realization that this scandal would not die down anytime soon, no matter what your agency tried to make you believe.

You had purposefully chosen a picture that wouldn’t be controversial. Pictures of cute kittens weren’t controversial, right? Yet all you spotted in the comment section were people vowing to gut you alive among other threats and insults that weren’t particularly creative.

“This will be beneficial for your career,” you muttered sardonically as you scrolled past another degrading remark. “What a load of shit.”

How boring. Reading the rehashed comments became repetitive, so why were you even reading the comments when you knew what to expect?

The simple truth was that you weren’t completely indifferent. Of course being the most hated person at the moment bothered you, how could it not? You were human, after all. But it didn’t affect you as much as you had envisioned it would. Some might call it ‘having thick skin’ but the truth was you felt somewhat removed from it all. It felt surreal, like you were living the experience through someone else’s body. For all you knew, the hundreds of faceless people accusing you of the most heinous crimes might as well be the work of one person.

It was hard to measure the magnitude of the ensuing chaos from behind your screen; to think this many people had turned their backs on you so quickly was hard to wrap your head around. Just a week ago, public sentiment had been on your side, but the tide had changed in the blink of an eye. A fan’s love sure is fickle, you thought with a grimace.

“They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. That there’s a price to pay for fame.” Jino adjusted the rear-view mirror, shooting you a disapproving look.

“Are you quoting a movie again? You sound so dramatic,” Taeyi unnie chuckled. “Oppa’s kind of right though. I’m sure they’ll get over it once they get used to the idea. It’s not the end of the world. People always react badly to dating news. Especially idols.”

Then why were you dating in the first place, you wanted to ask. You bit down on your tongue, not wanting to talk back to your managers. As sad as it was to say...they were the only ones on your side right now.

“That’s easier said than done when more than half of the country hates my guts,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Sadly, you weren’t even exaggerating. Out of the hundreds and hundreds of comments on your social media account, a nice message of encouragement was proving to be a rarity. It was hard to find even a neutral comment amidst the slew of nonsensical criticism and death threats.

A hate that was, in your humble opinion, unwarranted. If the heated responses were anything to go by, dating was now considered one of the worst possible crimes a celebrity could commit.

What a joke.

Meanwhile your agency was having a field day. Why would they care if they had thrown you under the bus? They only had one thing on their mind—milking you for all that you were worth before your date of expiration passed. That was all you were to them. A product. An investment. An expendable idol that they could replace at any given time.

“Toughen up some,” Jino advised. “When have you ever cared about those keyboard warriors?”

That’s unfair, you wanted to say. When had you ever been forced to date an idol member? When had you ever been forced to date an ex-boyfriend who hated you?

“Jungkook-ssi is probably waiting. We’re running a bit behind schedule.”

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he had waited for you, you remembered but refrained from commenting.

The van reached its destination all too soon for your liking. You didn’t notice you were trembling until Taeyi unnie rubbed her hand on your shoulder.

“It’ll be fine,” reassured Taeyi unnie. She offered a small smile, her words warm. “You don’t even have to stay that long if you really hate it. Just pretend you’re enjoying it long enough until we get an OK.”

You gulped, nodding.

“You can do it. Twenty minutes tops and then it’ll be over and you can pretend like it never happened.”

You appreciated the encouragement. “Are you going to stay?”

“We’ll be around the surrounding area in case you need me. Don’t worry, okay? Nothing should go wrong. It’s a cafe that opened up recently and only locals come visit.”

“Thank you, unnie.” She squeezed your hand one last time before you got out the vehicle.

You weren’t sure who had been the one to fix the location of the date, but you could understand why. There were only three students gathered around a pile of books out by the entrance, the rest of the place looked otherwise empty. You remembered your managers’ instructions and headed up to the second floor, eyeing the art pieces hung up on the wall in passing.

Jungkook was waiting at one of the tables in the very back, near the glass windows. The sun rays hit his face in a flattering angle, highlighting the sharp lines of his face.

You gulped, silently debating how you should approach him. The last time you met things hadn’t gone down so well. And the time before that...

A small part of you didn’t want to ignore it even if logic dictated that you should never address it. For sanity’s sake you’d convince yourself it didn’t mean anything—for you and for him.

Jungkook’s round eyes met yours. You averted your gaze before you could see his gaze flicker down your figure.

“You’re late… I see bad habits are hard to get rid of.” There wasn’t any heat to his words, so you just chose to ignore him, reaching over for the menu. “You could have tried to be on time for our first date.”

“Our first date?” you mused, scanning the menu. The sarcasm was easier to deal with than his anger. Maybe today wouldn’t be hard to get through. For a second you had feared that your meeting would turn into a shouting match. “It’s barely started and already I have a headache.”

The waitress came over once she saw you were ready to order.

“What can I get you?” she asked, finally looking up from her notepad.

Her eyes bulged out once she noticed who her customers were. She tried to be discreet with her gawking but failed spectacularly.

“One americano and a vanilla latte,” said Jungkook, discomfort evident once he realized that she had recognized them. He appeared even more uncomfortable once he realized he had ordered your favorite drink without being prompted.

The girl repeated the words to herself, jotting them down. “Would you like anything to eat with that?”

“No, thank you,” he said politely.

You forced a smile until she left you two alone.

A long and awkward silence filled the space between the two of you. Something was amiss and it was getting harder to ignore. You had known from the start that pretending to be on amicable terms wouldn’t be a walk in the park, but you had hoped that it wouldn’t be this bad.

“This…isn’t going to work,“ he finally spoke, his voice low enough to not be picked up by anybody else but you.

“I know acting isn’t your field of expertise, but you just have to sit here and pretend to like me for fifteen minutes,” you said like you weren’t equally uncomfortable.

He ran the palm of his hands down his thighs, trying to hide his frustration. He stayed quiet, and for once his expression was unreadable to you.

“It’s not easy.”

“Liking me?” The question was laden with unspoken meaning and you felt your heart sway in your chest.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t the same café as back then, but you were suddenly hit with a wave of déjà-vu.

“It’s hard, you know,” you said between sips of your drink. It was too sugary; you could taste the sweetness as your ran your tongue across your teeth.

“What is?” he reached over, pushing back a few strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail. You wanted to lean into his touch but he pulled back before you could.

“Dating you. Anybody would think so.” You glanced over at him only to see that he was watching you intently, drinking in every one of your words, not letting any of them go to waste.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like…” you struggled to find the right words, the ones that would encompass the feelings you felt.

Words never felt like enough. Especially not when it came to Jungkook. It was easier to express emotion through music, where every note could convey a sigh, a smile, a pause. An unexpected modulation, the passing of a minor to major chord, the slowing down of a tempo… There was a nuance that couldn’t be achieved with just words. Words were too constricting, but Jungkook always made you want to try.

“Like a...star. It’s like dating a star,” you explained carefully, as if every word carried weight and meaning. Even back then, you had always looked up to Jungkook. His passion, his drive. He had a purpose in life, a definite goal he strove to reach. In comparison, you felt small and out of place. Anybody would feel inadequate standing next to him. “Not the sun, but… a distant star? One that shines very brightly, but not blindingly.”

“That’s kind of cheesy,” he teased, the corners of his mouth quirking into an endeared smile.

You pouted. “It’s not poetic? That’s what I was going for.”

“I mean, sure,” he laughed, his eyes sparkling. “Then you be the moon.”

“The moon?” You wondered what he meant.

“Yeah, and I can be Earth,” he grinned, leaning forward on his elbows, face dangerously close to yours. “And we can revolve around each other.”

“Okay, that works too,” you said, taking another sip of your milkshake to hide your pleased smile.

It hadn’t struck you, then, that the earth didn’t revolve around the moon.

The waitress came back with your orders, breaking you out of whatever trance you were in.

Everything was too much.

“I need to use the restroom,” you excused yourself, getting up. You felt faint, your head spinning from the constant push and pull. The past and present all melded into a distorted reality you found hard to keep foot in.

“You’re not ditching, are you?” he asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Why? Do girls usually leave your dates halfway through?” Your nails dug crescents into your palms. “If I’m not back in five minutes you can start wondering.”

Jungkok opened his mouth but then closed it, nodding for you to go.

It turned out to be harder than expected to find the bathroom. A group of girls seemed to be following you. It was hard not to notice. At first you thought they might be your fans, wanting a picture or an autograph, but then one of the girls looked at you nastily, a scowl marring her features.

“See, I told you! That is ____,” you heard the short girl urgently tell her friend.

“Hey you,” she called out informally. Instinctively you skidded to a halt.

You turned around, your instinct telling you to flee. You were alone and there were five of them. It didn’t take a genius in math to figure out that you weren’t going to win that battle.

“I’m talking to you! You think you can ignore us because we aren’t celebrities?” she fumed, quickening her pace in order to catch up to you.

Out of nowhere, one of them lunged. The movement was so sudden, so unexpected, that you couldn’t react in time.

She grabbed a fistful of your hair near the scalp and pulled. Hard. Your eyes watered in pain and you bit back a shriek.

“Stay the fuck away from him,” the girl spat, pulling your hair with such force you thought for one second she was going to rip the strands out. “You hear me?”

Another girl held your arms, trying to keep you still.

“Get off!” You huffed, twisting your body managing to break free from the girl’s hold, but your hair was still held in a vice-like grip.

“I said get off!” you let out, not caring anymore about staying polite.

During media training they always warned you about extreme situations all involving stalker fans or antis. You remember being told to stand still and endure whatever was thrown your way and wait for security to step in. Well screw your media training, you seethed, still struggling. There was no fucking way you were going to get a bald spot because of one delusional and entitled fan. The second girl tried to step in again, fingers clawing at your face. You felt her nails scrape against the right side of your face, her manicure digging into the skin with intent.

With an amount of strength you didn’t know you possessed, you pushed her off of you, digging your acrylic nails into her arm, forcing her to let go with a yelp.

Then, not sparing the girls a second glance, you broke into a sprint and ran as if your life depended on it. Your survival instinct kicked in and you panicked, looking for a way out of this mess.

You could hear one of the girls chasing after you. Distantly, you thought how nice a bodyguard would have been. Where was security when you needed them?

Your heartbeat thrummed loudly in your chest. In a last ditch resort, you took refuge in the employee-only bathroom, locking yourself in the stall furthest away from the door. It was kind of pitiful that you were hiding away in a bathroom because some no-name girls unjustly loathed you.

Honestly, what had your life become... Your scalp stung. The shoes on your feet were a half size too small. You wanted to go home.

You pulled out your phone and checked to see if it was on silent. You had seen one too many movies where the lead got her location blown because her phone decided to go off. Once that was out of the way, you checked your messages. There were a lot of them but you swiped open the first one which happened to be from Jungkook.

[jungkook] hey where did you go

[jungkook] seriously where r u

Had you been gone that long? You quickly typed back.

[you] in the staff bathroom!!

The response was almost immediate.

[jungkook] wait there

Was he going to send security to help you escape? It would be embarrassing being escorted out of the bathroom and having people know that you were hiding in a bathroom in the first place. But you could deal with that. Anything was better than going for a round two with vindictive teenage girls.

The door abruptly swung open, making you jump. You held your breath as your heard the sound of footsteps approaching. You just hoped they weren’t dedicated enough to stick their heads beneath the bathroom stall to check if you were there. You really wouldn’t put it past them to be that thorough. You’d just have to kick them away if it came down to that.

“Oh she’s not here either. Wow, I can’t believe I’m running around chasing her. I’m too old for this.”

“Can we stay here a bit? I can’t face him right now.“

“Fine. I need to fix my makeup anyway. Here, hold my bag for me.”

You could see two people make their way towards the sinks through the crack of the stall door.

“From what you’ve told me, she’s a bitch,” the older woman said, peering into the mirror to fix her eyeliner. “She seems like a sociopath. ”

They weren’t talking about you, right? You were worried your breathing was too loud, that they would turn around and notice your presence.

“Kookie’s really naive,” the woman continued. Your spine straightened at the mention of his name. “Of course, right now, he might want her back. But soon he’ll see that dating that kind of girl gets tiring real quick.”

“I’m not sure what to think anymore,” the other girl said, tugging on the ends of her hair. “He was so nice to me, and, well, he told me about his ex, how she really played him.”

You froze, realizing that these weren’t ordinary fangirls. You craned your neck, trying to get a good look at the pair, but all you could see were the back of their heads.

“— don’t understand. Why would he date her again? She’s pretty and popular but Jungkook isn’t the type to be superficial. At least, I thought he wasn’t.”

“He isn’t!” her friend quickly interjected. “Everyone thought he was going to d—”

Someone barged in, surprising them mid-conversation.

“Jungkook? What are you doing here?” The lack of honorifics didn’t escape you.

“Noona? Um… There’s an issue with the fans right now.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“ ____ got attacked by two girls. Apparently there was a fight. The fans are saying that she provoked them and hit them, and that they’re going to press charges.”

“What?!”

“So we’re kind of in an emergency situation. ___ is missing.”

“Oh god… I thought this only happened in makjang dramas… Is ____-ssi okay?” the woman’s voice morphed into one of fake concern.

“Uh… she’s unreachable right now. So no one knows. Her manager is going crazy.”

“Let’s go back then,” urged one of the two women.

“Can I just have a minute? It’s hell out there. I just— I need a second,” Jungkook pleaded.

“Go ahead. We’ll see each other back at the company, then?”

“Thanks, noona.”

You waited until they left before unlocking the door.

Jungkook was leaning back, hands on the sink, eyebrows furrowed, and staring at you like you were in big trouble. Unwittingly, your eyes raked his form, lingering on the exposed skin of his arms. His sleeves were rolled up, giving you a perfect view of the prominent veins running down his arm when he flexed.

He looked...good. Good was an underwhelming word, one you knew didn’t come close to describing him. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to seem affected by the sight. It would be so easy to cross over the distance between you. Four steps forward would be all it would take.

His eyes roamed your face with a degree of intensity that had you squirming. He always had the ability to make you feel like he saw all of you, but you didn’t like it so much, now. You dropped your gaze, ignoring the temptation. One time could be written off as a mistake. But twice?

He pushed himself off the sink, approaching you. For a second, you thought he was going to kiss you. You tried not to be disappointed when he didn’t.

“You’re bleeding,” he frowned, his hand reaching up to trail along your cheekbone. The touch was feather-light, almost non existent. If you hadn’t seen his hand move with your own two eyes, you would have written it off as a figment of your imagination.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

You paused, eyes settling on the marking on his left wrist. It was a small crescent tattoo, one that was so achingly familiar. You hadn’t noticed it when he had come over to your apartment, hadn’t even thought to look for it.

You wondered if—like the ink—you ran in his veins, burned in his bloodstream. You wondered if he had thought of you every time he noticed the tattoo staring up at him.

“You still have it,” you whispered, attention still focused on it.

He followed your gaze down to his wrist. Self-consciously he pulled down the sleeves of his sweater to cover it up but there was no use hiding it. You both knew it was there.

He shrugged, trying to seem unbothered.

“You’re not supposed to get them removed,” he tried to explain. “Even if it’s something dumb that you got drunk, no matter how much you regret it, you gotta keep it. So it reminds you not to make the same mistakes again.”

There was a beat of silence as you processed his words.

“You think those people stop getting drunk tattoos?”

“I don’t know—maybe,” he swallowed. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but you could have sworn that you saw his gaze flit down to your lips. “Maybe…they forget they aren’t supposed to get them.”

Were you reading too much in what he was saying? You wanted to press the issue but he stepped back before you had the chance, distancing himself from you.

“We have to go back,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Who was she?” you tried to ask offhandedly, recalling the earlier conversation that you had overheard.

He barely registered your words, too busy making sure the hallway was clear of employees and possible raging fangirls.

“What?” He turned to look at you. “C'mon let’s go, there’s no one out.”

He took the lead and you followed, making sure to keep a reasonable distance.

A crowd of people had turned up at the entrance of the shop with their phones ready to document every single second. You looked at the ground, unsure of what to do. Smiling didn’t seem appropriate in this situation. You couldn’t show your displeasure either or else some attitude controversy might end up adding itself to your ever-growing list of scandals under your belt.

Jungkook took your hand in his and you relaxed momentarily. This was familiar. He led you through the throng of spectators towards his manager that you remembered seeing a few days before.

“I pulled up the car,” he told you both, walking briskly towards the black van parked on the side of the road.

You tried ignoring the people calling your name. They were neither paparazzi nor journalists but their questions were no less invasive, their comments no less degrading. You kept your eyes forward and held tight onto Jungkook, knowing that if you looked at them it would only make matters worse. Whenever you spared those people even a second of your time, they became all the more aggressive.

“Get in!” urged Jungkook’s manager, shoving you forward once you reached the vehicle.

You hurriedly clambered in the van, followed closely by Jungkook. The slamming door did nothing to block out the mayhem outside. Somewhere along the way, Jungkook’s hand had slipped from yours but you could still feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

Jungkook waited until the car started moving to speak up.

“So…who exactly thought this would be good idea?”

You shot him a dirty look, remaining silent. It wasn’t like you had asked for any of this either.

“This is a fucking nightmare and a half,” he complained, throwing his head back as he closed his eyes.

You glanced over, tracing the slope of his nose and the tiny scars on his face. The scars were the same but the proportions different. He had shed off the baby fat, leaving chiseled features in its place. How can someone so familiar feel so unfamiliar at the same time, you thought fleetingly, before turning your head to look out the window.

“I’ll drop you off at your agency Jihae-ssi. I think it’s the safest solution. Please let your managers know. I wasn’t able to get a hold of them.” Jungkook’s manager grimaced.

Humming noncommittally, you fiddled with your phone before deliberately shutting it off. Some things could wait. What you really needed was a nap. Maybe when you woke up you’d realize this had never happened.

Trying to diffuse the awkward tension, the driver turned on the radio.

I’m a paper doll stuck in a game for two

I love you, I love you

This paper heart you’ve ripped —

The manager quickly fumbled with the buttons, accidentally turning the volume up, before finally managing to switch stations.

Paper Doll had always been the song you disliked the most out of your repertoire.

Now you truly hated it. But similarly to Jungkook and the inked images adorning his skin, it was too late to take it back — the damage irreversible.

a/n; ty for waiting patiently for this as i got my shit together;; i reworked the original 4.8k and adjusted the content to fit the new direction i’m taking this fic :) i really want to thank everyone who sent me feedback and support on the first parts... they really kept me from abandoning this fic ! as this is my only real Plot Driven fic i hope that it doesn’t suck too bad. ty for reading !

#me posting this fic : just do it u coward !!!!#anyway i hope it's okay !!!#jungkook #bts scenarios #bts angst #jungkook scenario

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