#and have my mic ready by 5.30 and then just Wait.

[seagullcharmer]

also thinking abt the one post that's like 'how come when people talk abt time blindness they're only ever late? hurr durr why don't time blind people show up EARLY??' i hate it. i AM the sort of time blind adhd person who shows up early

[wrienne]

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 22: The Bet

Considering the rather intimate scene that had taken place during the night, you hadn’t known what to expect the next morning. At the very least some awkwardness, or dodging of gazes. But Jungkook had already made breakfast and was waiting for you by the kitchen island by the time you had awoken to your shrill alarm tone and managed to drag your sleepy body to the kitchen. He looked completely normal, his hair damp after a shower, and even shot you a teasing smile when you appeared.

Had you perhaps dreamt everything?

Though, remembering the emotional turmoil within you, the pain and the determination, you understood that could impossibly be the case. It had been too real. And so you involuntarily blushed in return of his smile, although you pretended you didn’t.

“Breakfast is ready and done,” said Jungkook as he put two bowls of oatmeal on the island overhang and sat on the bar stool he nowadays frequented the most.

“How early do you wake up?” you asked wearily as you took the seat next to him.

“About 5.30.”

You yawned until your jaw ached. “Why though?”

“Habit, I guess.” Jungkook was already halfway through his bowl. “So, are we throwing down at a karaoke place tonight?”

“Not a chance,” you murmured with spoon in mouth. “I’ll accompany you, and even pay for the expenses. But don’t expect me to touch the mic.”

A memory of one of your “dates”, one of the horrible ones, resurfaced in your mind and you felt your mouth form into a bitter line, which made it kind of difficult prying your spoon back out. And it wasn’t as if though you could tell him, since you had to try and keep everything as distantly away as possible from your engagement and this particular date had been very tightly connected to just that.

The corner of his mouth twitched at your mention of “pay for expenses”, and his expression stiffened if only for a moment, just like it had in the hospital when he had insisted you shouldn’t buy him clothes. But before you could consider it any deeper, Jungkook quickly gathered himself and formed his lips into a taunting smirk. “Afraid to lose, (Y/N)?”

“I will lose,” you said simply, still trying to figure out the reason for his sudden change in attitude. “You might not recall, but you’re a professional singer. People, tons of them, pay to listen to you.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with (Y/N)?” He pointed accusingly with his spoon at you, already having finished his oatmeal. “The girl I grew up with is infamous for her bullheadedness.”

“I’m not stupid, idiot,” you told him as you rolled your eyes.

“Well, I didn’t know you were such a wimp instead. Perhaps I should rename you to ‘Wimpy’ instead of Miss Violent.”

Even though you thoroughly disliked both nicknames, the fact that Jungkook found ways of nicknaming you warmed your chest all the same. It would have never even been a possibility with how your former relationship was. With the amnesia, perhaps now the two of you could become better friends at least. Friends that could talk and banter and give one another bad nicknames. Friends that could have significant others without it ruining their friendship.

Yeah. Friends.

“The odds are overwhelmingly against me,” you said while you mused. “Massively so. Nobody with half a brain would partake in a singing duel against you in my situation.”

“Since when do you care about statistics? Make a leap of faith, (Y/N).”

You shook your head. “I’m the heiress of a multibillion-dollar company, and the biological granddaughter of the founder of that same company. I soon won’t have the liberty to be taking risks, especially when I know better, so I might as well get used to it already.”

You had meant for it to sound like a joke, and even somewhat of an excuse so that you wouldn’t have to sing that evening, but you had - ironically enough - completely forgotten Jungkook didn’t know anything about your ascension to become the official owner of Phoenix Inc.. He and his parents had found that out on a dinner to celebrate your seventeenth birthday, which meant there was a chance he might--

Interrupting your train of thought, Jungkook all of a sudden grabbed his head with his healthy hand and grunted with pain. You saw every muscle tense and vein flare with a dark purple-blue color on the back of his hand and his forearm, and the tendons in his neck stood out like the frame of a tent. He began slumping toward the side, but managed to catch himself on the island overhang using his elbow and his broken arm, though the latter must have hurt quite a bit because he swore out loud.

Your eyes widened, and you spun your bar stool toward him and slid off of it. “Jungkook!” you exclaimed.

You felt awful for eliciting such a drastic and evidently painful reaction, but you couldn’t help but feel successful also. You had managed, if ever so little, to fight back his amnesia. And you were starting to build an understanding of why and how.

You hoped at least.

Jungkook didn’t move or speak. You hesitated from touching him, mistrusting in your capability to resist the physical pull you felt toward him, but you readied yourself should he fall from the stool. You stood next to him, with your torso leaned sideways so you could see his face. “Jungkook?” you repeated carefully. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” uttered Jungkook between his teeth. You couldn’t see his eyes but the shade of his face was worrisomely pale. “I just need a minute to breathe.”

“Do you want something to drink?” you asked him.

“No.”

You swallowed nervously as Jungkook kept his eyes concealed. He barely breathed even though that was what he had claimed he needed, and you didn’t really know what you should or even could do.

“I should probably have brought it up earlier,” you began sheepishly. “Or in a safe environment where you wouldn’t use your broken arm to support your weight.”

“How could you have known something that specific would happen,” muttered Jungkook in response, though a hint of humor brightened his tone. “At least I wasn’t swallowing food.”

“Shoot, that was my plan all along.”

“Too bad, you failed.”

Jungkook inhaled deeply before he lowered his hand. His eyes were a little watery and his face still pale, but he didn’t seem as completely out of it as when it had first happened the day before.

“How does it feel?” you wondered. “I mean, it looks like you’re in pain or something.”

“It hurts, terribly,�� he told you with a grimace. “It feels like someone cleaved my head in two.”

You sank down on your bar stool. “Do you need to lie down for a bit?”

He shook his head once.

“What do you remember?” you asked, admittedly feeling anxious. Though the subject of engagement hadn’t explicitly been brought up, there had been a sort of general knowledge in the air that the two of you would become husband and wife in the matter of years it would take you to finish college.

You really needed to figure out a way to tackle the situation should he remember.

“You’re supposed to become the chairman for Phoenix Inc. after you’re done with your studies,” said Jungkook slowly. “Or chairwoman might be the more appropriate term. Either way, our parents talked about it on your seventeenth birthday for hours probably. We were out on dinner, eating in a famous foreigner’s restaurant, and it was raining outside.”

“Correct,” you said eagerly, glad that he was starting to remember things, even if they were unrelated to his success within the music industry. A time limit of three months didn’t sound too dire anymore. “You can even recall the weather, which I’m thinking is a good sign considering that I don’t. Do you remember anything else?”

All of a sudden, Jungkook glanced at you with an unexpected amount of tenderness. “You wore a dark green dress,” he said quietly, “and you had all of your hair tightly tied almost directly on top of your head.”

“Oh,” you said eloquently, then tried your best to suppress a wave of heat from rolling onto your face. “That hairstyle gave me a headache already at the starter. I hate having everything uptied.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“It’s so heavy.” You draped all of your hair over your right shoulder and sighed as you raked through it with your fingers. “I’ve always said: it’s not me carrying my hair around. It’s my hair carrying me around.”

“I like it.”

Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t refrain from blushing any longer. “You do?” you asked in disbelief. “Why?”

Jungkook reached out toward a wayward strand of hair and twirled it around his index finger. He smiled, and you thought you discerned the slightest hint of rosiness on his own cheeks.

“It’s a part of you.”

You felt your heart stop. Or perhaps it was time itself that ceased to allow your brain the time to analyze and think his sentence through. You were both flattered and utterly confused, and your mind didn’t seem able to comprehend what exactly was happening no matter how fervently the cogwheels spun.

Because, yes, Jeon Jungkook was amnesic. He didn’t recognize his girlfriend that he had loved dearly just a week ago, but he knew he had one. Still - was the bastard actually trying to flirt with you?

You almost sighed. Why was he making everything so complicated? Why couldn’t he remember Park Yi-Jae? Why was he so mean to her?

And worst of all, why were you starting to question your decision of letting him go?

“What’s your plan for today?” you asked abruptly as soon as you remembered how your vocal chords functioned.

Jungkook furrowed his brows, obviously surprised by your poor attempt to change subject, but he seemed to accept it quickly. Strangely, he almost appeared defeated in the way he immediately released your hair and dejectedly averted his gaze. “I don’t know. You have any ideas?”

As much as it hurt inside your chest - it felt like someone had tossed your heart into the fiery pits of Hell, of course with the assumption that you could still feel your heart should it be detached - you didn’t even flinch. You tried to smile politely, though you could bet your grandfather’s heritage that you probably looked a bit touched in the head. Fortunately, Jungkook didn’t look at you. “Try and do whatever it was you were doing all day yesterday in hopes that you remember something else? Or even check if you can get into your computer?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll handle the dishes,” you told him and glanced at the digital watch on the microwave. “I have to get ready for school.”

“Sure,” said Jungkook simply and left.

You watched him exit the kitchen and remained staring into the empty hallway until you heard loud music from the living room. With a sigh, you rose and took the bowls and spoons to the sink.

You had already determined you would help Jungkook get back to his pre-amnesic self despite your own conflicting emotions. You would try your very best to get him back with BTS, his company and, most importantly, Park Yi-Jae. It had been your resolve already from the beginning, when you first saw him after the accident. And though this goal initially had seemed like a long path of unsurmountable obstacles, you were starting to see a bit of light at the end of the tunnel. Sure, it was a very, very faint light that you discerned only if you figuratively squinted. But you genuinely had hope. You could do this, you could help him.

But you were going to have to face a problem on a whole different scale if Jungkook somehow had gotten feelings for you. And well, yeah, “somehow” might not be the right word here since he had tried to kiss you barely seven hours ago. It was happening, and it was happening now. And the reason why this problem was so much scarier, so much bigger it made all the other hindrances seem like mere hurdles, wasn’t because you thought he was a bad person whom you would like to have absolutely no romantic connections with. It was the opposite, truly.

You liked him. As ridiculous as it was, you did. And it wasn’t just a slight flutter like when you saw a really good-looking guy on the street or in school and he happened to perhaps smile or talk to you. It was many layers deeper. It was the combination of knowing and growing up with him, having heard and seen his outstandingly brilliant and charismatic performance on stage and having talked about his… private issue with his parents, his father in particular.

You wouldn’t mind kissing him, or allowing him to kiss you.

And therein lied the issue. The great dilemma with Jungkook liking you in return was the fear, and honestly the risk of falling for temptation. Because it wasn’t right. Nothing about it was. The situation was as wrong and twisted as could be, and an intimate relationship born of something like that couldn’t bode very well, be it for the present or the future.

Yet, it was so, so, so incredibly hard resisting Jeon Jungkook.

“What did I do in my past lives to deserve this?” you muttered as you finished up the dishes. “Did I slay a king or run away with his daughter? Did I drown my firstborn or perhaps betray my family and kin?”

You were deep in thoughts for the rest of the morning. Jungkook didn’t respond to your goodbye when you left, and though it most likely was due to the loud music you instantly felt like you were to blame. You should perhaps have told him just then and there, when he had touched your hair, that he was crossing a line you were doing your bestest to uphold.

Then, perhaps, that evening might have not become so eventful.

After school - and making sure Se-Eun and the rest of the gossip world didn’t know Jungkook’s real location - you stumbled upon Jungkook in the kitchen by the time you arrived at home. He smiled at you and waved, his mouth busy drinking water, and you returned the gesture, though much more hastily.

“Are you sure you want to head out to town wearing that?” you asked as you skeptically eyed him up and down. He was wearing the same sweatpants he had for a few days now, and a white t-shirt. “I know we’re only going to a karaoke place, but still.”

Jungkook lowered his glass of water so quickly that a drop of water escaped and trickled down the corner of his mouth, then his chin. “Are we heading out now?” he wondered as he wiped the water away with the back of his hand. “But it’s only five.”

“I’m hungry,” you said with a shrug. “And I would prefer us getting a nice room.”

“Give me a moment, then,” said Jungkook and put down the glass. He entered the hallway where you stood, then started toward your room. He raised an eyebrow when you followed him. “I thought you were afraid of naked men.”

“Idiot, I’m getting a different bag,” you told him, even as your face reddened. “I can’t be bothered to carry around this backpack if I’m not at, going to or getting home from school. Don’t forget to cover up by the way. We don’t want nosy paparazzi or keen-eyed fans to catch sight of your pretty face.”

Jungkook snorted, but didn’t reply. You darted quickly in and out of your room to snatch a lighter purse from your wardrobe, then waited in the hall for him to get ready. You were done transferring all your vitals from your backpack to your purse and sat on top of the bench-combined-shoe-rack, playing some phone games for about ten minutes before he was done.

All Jungkook had seemingly done was to change into tight black jeans, get a gray beanie over his head and hang the string of a black mouth mask over his one ear. He was carrying a black, fashionable matted winter coat with a high collar in the crook of his arm and pinched a pair of brown leather boots in his healthy hand.

You frowned at him. “What took you so long? Jong-Yeol hates waiting.”

“It’s his job, isn’t it?” parried Jungkook as he tossed the coat in your lap and the shoes on the linoleum. The fabric of the coat felt well-made, expensive, and glancing at the lining, you saw that it belonged to a famous brand. “Besides, it took me a while to find a nice outfit.”

“We’re going eating and then singing in a karaoke place,” you said pointedly.

“I still want to look good.”

“Well,” you began, “all you did was to change pants. What’s so difficult with that?”

“No, I changed from head to toe.”

“Isn’t that the same shirt you wore earlier?”

“No.”

Your frown deepened. “How many white, oversized t-shirts do you own? Do we need an intervention?”

Jungkook sat crouched to tie the laces to his boots. “Since you’re the one who got me my clothes,” he said, “shouldn’t you know the answer to those questions?”

“Touché,” you conceded.

He gave you a crooked smile as he finished lacing his boots and stood. After Jungkook had buttoned his coat, tucked the strings of his mouth mask over both of his ears and, with some help from you, put on a single leather glove, you couldn’t help but admire his appearance. He was tall, made taller by the boots, and all the fitted black clothes gave him a wonderful silhouette with broad shoulders, a slimmer waist and long arms and legs. Frankly, you found yourself staring at him for a moment too long.

“What?” Jungkook glanced down at himself and tried to twist his body to see his back. “Do I have mud or dirt somewhere?”

“No,” you assured him quickly. “I was just thinking how you look like a burglar with all that black.”

A lie. He looked like he was a high-end model, in the middle of an autumn or winter season photo shooting.

“Thanks. I think.”

“Let’s go,” you told him as you beckoned him to follow you out of the apartment. “Jong-Yeol is probably really annoyed, and will get even more so if I tell him we took so long because you wanted to go for the latest burglar look.”

“I’m taking back the ‘thanks’, (Y/N). You know he already doesn’t like me.”

You shrugged. By the time both of you were inside the car, Jong-Yeol was indeed irritated, but you only knew it because you had known him for so very long. Jungkook seemed relieved by the time you and him were dropped off outside the karaoke establishment your parents and their business partners most often frequented, which was the case because it was one of the nicest places in Seoul. “Sing-All” - pronounced like “single” in the meaning of a song - offered rooms that had different themes and had a kitchen and a bar where you could order things to come to the room - the service unsurprisingly called “room service” - and most rooms had at least one private bathroom connected to them. The only downside with the place was also its upside - it was membership only. That meant an additional fee was taken out by Sing-All each month from its patrons, but since you and your family by no means suffered from financial difficulties, this wasn’t exactly a minus despite the significant cost.

“Follow me,” you murmured into your own mouth mask as you trudged your way into the establishment through the heavy snowfall that had begun just that evening. “And try to hide more of your face. The staff won’t even make a squeak to the media, but you never know about the other patrons.”

“Have we been here before?” asked Jungkook as he pulled his mask wider apart, so that it covered more of his chin and jaw as well as his cheekbones and nose. “It’s familiar.”

“We have been here with our parents before you got amnesia,” you answered as you entered Sing-All and brushed and shook the snow off of you. A female desk clerk in perhaps her late thirties gave you a sharp glance, but you ignored her. “Though you didn’t break the record until two or three years ago.”

Jungkook nodded, then focused on something on your face. He bit the middle finger of his leather glove and reached out before you had a chance to ask him what he was staring at, then wiped away something from just beneath your left eye. His thumb felt warm against your skin, much warmer than you had expected.

“A tear,” he murmured jokingly as he held up his now wet thumb.

“Like I would let you see me cry,” you responded, though you were forced to unzip your jacket because suddenly, you were feeling a bit too hot.

It moved underneath his mouth mask, and seeing the humour in his large, brown eyes, you concluded that he was smiling. “You’re right. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry. At least not the last five, ten years.”

Your gaze had caught on the countless of tiny drops of melted snowflakes that glittered on his long, fluttery eyelashes, which distracted you for half a breath. But when you paid your full attention to repeat in your mind what Jungkook had just said, you felt your stomach plunge ten feet below ground.

Because he had seen you cry less than a week ago for reasons you couldn’t ever tell him.

“Yeah, because I’m tough like that,” you said hastily and went to the front desk, waving for Jungkook to follow.

The woman was disinclined to help you and Jungkook, at least until you told her who your parents were and gave you their username and password for Sing-All. She immediately stood and bowed deeply while apologizing, which you hated seeing but had gotten used to over the years. It sounded cynical, but you had found it was easier to just allow condescending people who didn’t take you seriously until they knew your parents’ name to do whatever they were comfortable doing when they had behaved disrespectfully toward you. Explaining that you didn’t take it personal was often regarded as some passive-aggressive move from your side, which only worsened the already unsteady situation. The curse of riches, you reckoned.

After picking one of their smallest rooms, you and Jungkook received a card key like in a hotel with the room number printed on it. It was still kind of early for people to be visiting the place, so it didn’t surprise you that the two of you reached your room without seeing anyone else. The karaoke room itself wasn’t exceptionally particular with its modern, fresh leather and black interior, but you preferred it when you could see and maneuver around without bumping into a lava lamp, strobe light or disco ball that were often randomly strewn about in the more thematic rooms.

“This is really nice,” said Jungkook as he draped his coat on the hanger and shoved his mouth mask into the left pocket. He gestured for you to give him your jacket and you obeyed. “Rich people really do live a whole different life compared to us mere mortals.”

He almost sounded bitter. You eyed him carefully, but he was smiling normally and only seemed to have made a joke. “I guess,” you said, still hesitant, however. “But all people wither and die the same.”

Jungkook shrugged. The room was meant for a party of four and as such “only” had two sofas positioned in one end of the rectangular room, where they, together with a sizable table, formed almost a dining booth. He sank down onto one of the sofas, and you took the seat opposite to him.

“How do you order food?” he asked.

You pulled out a tablet from underneath the table surface, unlocked it with a quick swipe and handed it to him. “Here. You can pick whatever you want. There’s alcohol, too, if you need something to soothe your nerves before the performance.”

“I think you’ll need a glass or two,” replied Jungkook, his eyes glinting with mischievousness.

“I’m not a fan of alcohol,” you said hurriedly. “I have quite the tolerance, but I just don’t like the taste of it.”

“Sounds like you’re playing the tough card,” he said in amusement. “But I think you’re bluffing. You can probably not even hold down wine."

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Want to make a bet?”

Jungkook grinned, and you couldn’t help but feel as if though you had stepped into a trap. The nature of the trap, you didn’t know. At least not yet.

But you could already feel that bad news were coming.

“Sure,” he said nonchalantly. “But let’s bet about something else than how much we can drink. We already know the winner of that competition.”

Even though it went against your instinct, you couldn’t help but take the bait. “How kind of you to back down from the challenge,” you said. “I feel humbled. So, what do you want to base the bet on?”

“Singing.”

“I’ve told you--” you began before you choked on your words.

Jungkook held up your engagement ring.

“I know there’s something you’ve failed to mention to me about this ring, (Y/N),” said Jungkook quietly, his face solemn. “I don’t know what or even why…” His eyes narrowed and you gulped. “But if you win, I swear it on my life that I won’t question what you told me. That I, before the accident, intended to give this to Park Yi-Jae.”

“And if I lose?” you asked, your tone wavering.

Jungkook smiled a smile that was angelic in its innocence, yet thoroughly, annoyingly pleased with itself. And somehow, you knew what he was going to say.

Because of course Jeon Jungkook would choose to make your life the most difficult it can be. That seemed to be his one purpose. And to shorten your breath and make your heart beat unevenly.

“If something as unlikely as that occurs,” he said, his smile widening. “You’ll owe me a kiss, (Y/N).”