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moccahobi · 1 year ago

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Eek! What a cool first chapter!

As an introductory chapter, I feel you weave so many important points to keep an eye on in this! Altho there was a lot we were learning about the dynamics of the mc and Tae and Namjoon and his friends, the way you wove exposition into the more action focused scenes of moving in was so wonderful!

We got moments of flashbacks that showed the mc's vulnerability and showed prime character points (like Tae saying Namjoon and the MC were "normal" and Namjoon's subsequent comment normal being relative). The characterization that we got to see as readers was shown through actions and flashbacks in ways that feel so much more tangible and reliable than what a character might say (... tae with his normal).

I also love how the conflict/s that might arise were woven throughout the chapter and slowly laid out/hinted at (LIKE WHEN TAE TOOK TOO LONG TO RESPOND AT THE WE THING? BRO U GET THEM ROOMING TOGETHER WTF U MEAN BY THAT SILENCE?).

There are also moments of humor that are shown through this story which helps keep the mood overall light (like the normal comment... sorry i keep harping on it lolol... and like Tae and the MC knowing Jimin was sleeping instead of helping with moving in). This lightness also really helped ease my mind off of some of the questions that are itching my brain.

Who does the mc know in the ot7 friend group? Have they met the members through Tae? Or will Namjoon also introduce them? Did Tae intentionally not introduce the mc to the members? Why isn't the mc close to them?

How does this theme of loneliness play out further? What will happen next for the mc? How will they grow? Will we see something in Namjoon as well that might need some care as well?

I am HOOKED! And can't wait to continue this series (in 5-10 business months because i am such a slow reader it is tragic... BUT I WILL READ IT!)

My live reation is under the read more.

I feel the living with a man. I don like the idea of it unless I know them well!

Oooof. That's tough! Not being able to room with who you wanted can be so challenging!

"Actually a good plan" 🤣🤣🤣 I love taes sas!

Their heart ran wild when tae offered his couch???? Do I sense unrequited love??

RIPPPPPPPPPP THEY DEF DO! I HAD JUST ASSUMED TAE TAUGHT THEM FRIENDLY LOVE BUT NOOOOOOOO

Tae bear is such a cute nickname!

😬😬😬 dysfunctional friendship??? What are u alluding to here!?!?

"It'll warm up before fall comes in full force". Ah yes. The autumnal foreplay

Too much stuff! 😭😭😭MEEEEEE

EEK! THEIR MEETING! I'd so do what Namjoon did with knocking too. Just to announce yourself. Esp when norms aren't set yet.

Love how tae said to both of them that the other is normal! 🤣🤣🤣 AND THE SUBJECTIVITY OF NORMAL!

The good person face! 😭😭😭 also I am namjoon awkwardly asking for a number

Inchresting comment abt boredom tae. I wonder if Namjoon would disagree or if I'm projecting 🤔🤔🤔

Oof. The emptieness of a place u just move into is so real! I relate so much.

Oh! I like how Namjoon and the mc have common friends outside of tae! It might make stuff harder if the mc confesses to tae and he lets them down... but that's just an if ówò

THE DOOR OPEN POLITICS! I feel this so hard with like how much it can affect housing dynamics.

YOONGI WIRH THE YOURE WRONG LINE ONGG

I feel the jumping! Also why is he on the floor???

Why did tae take so long after the WE?!? HUH??? HUH???

The awkward "you guys are close" comment 😭

Oof. Taes past relationships sound like they've taken quite a toll on the MC

Oh! Interesting question about how tae sees the mc!

I love how you tie their friendship with tae to loneliness. It really broadens the conflict past unrequited love and to the question of belonging! Which is such a cool and complex one!

I. Your Wild-Running Heart || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

When your roommate bails last-second and leaves you completely in a bind for the new school year, your best friend Taehyung mentions that his friend Namjoon needs a place off-campus, too.

Section Warnings: language

WC: 7k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Friday August 28

“Please, no,” you beg. “Please tell me this is a joke. I can’t live with a man. Do you know what men are like?”

Taehyung, quite a specimen of man last time you checked, cocks an eyebrow at you. “Y/N,” he says flatly. “You’re doing it again.”

It meaning being dramatic, and you resent that implication.

You whine, shuffling your feet unhappily. “But Tae,” you say - okay, you whine. “If my roommate is a guy, then I have to wear a bra in the apartment, like, all the time.”

“Oh my god,” he says, throwing his hands in the air, completely over you. “Do you want my help or not? What are your other options right now?”

How nice of him to ask.

You’d been so excited to lease an apartment off-campus for your final year of university, even more excited to share it with a girl in your writing program named Penny. You hadn’t thought twice about putting the lease in only your own name, but when Penny texted you - the audacity of her to not even call - to say she wasn’t going to return in the fall after all, you were stuck with the responsibility.

So, since Taehyung asked, your options are this: pay the entire rent by yourself (impossible), or find a roommate, fast.

“Namjoon’s a really good friend of mine,” Taehyung tries again. “I am personally vouching for him that he’s not a weirdo or a creep. His building flooded and he’s in a bind - just like you. He’s nice, he’s smart, and he’s normal.”

“What about clean?” you prod.

Taehyung shrugs. “Cleaner than me.”

You sigh. You know Taehyung is right - you need someone quickly, and at this rate you’re bound to only find creeps. At least this guy - even though he’s a guy, which is your main issue - has been vetted.

“You’re not very clean,” you tell your best friend.

He grins at you, guilty as charged.

“Could we talk first?” you suggest, nerves churning. “Like, can I meet him?”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at you. “Did you think I was going to drop the key off at his place and say ‘okay, have fun!’?”

“Maybe!” you cry, feeling a little hysterical.

Taehyung rolls his eyes at you. “Want me to see if he can swing by the place tomorrow?”

The plan for the next day was originally for you two to load up your car through the morning, grab lunch somewhere, and then start moving your stuff into the apartment after you ate.

“Yeah,” you answered. “That actually sounds like a good plan. Then he can see the apartment, too. And you’ll be there with me.”

“Actually a good plan,” Taehyung parrots with a scoff. “Please.”

After your lunch date, Taehyung drops you back home so you can finish packing. You’d packed a lot already - all of your big pieces of furniture were there already, your bedroom now just a mess of random piles of clothing and your bare mattress on the ground. A lot of what you still had were things you knew you’d need to use again during the days you were starting to pack - toiletries, electronics, that kind of thing. With a sigh, you turn on some music and start pulling hangers out of your closet.

You think about your situation as you work. You’re disappointed about Penny - you’ve lost a roommate and a good friend, somehow. You’re nervous about meeting Taehyung’s friend Namjoon. You’re somehow both excited for and dreading the academic year starting - your final year, complete with a senior thesis course you’ll have to pass in June. And you’re excited for the apartment - your first one that isn’t an on-campus dorm.

No campus security knocking on the doors, no RA going through your fridge for forbidden liquor bottles, no shared hallway bathrooms. With your own bedroom in the apartment, you’re guaranteed a space that is just yours, a sanctuary where you can have the quiet you crave and aesthetic you want, your own four walls that are completely your own.

Taehyung’s apartment, which he shares with two friends, isn’t far from your new one - walking distance, actually. He’d offered you his couch there when Penny first bailed. But even if you took his offer, you’d be charged for breaking your lease, and you’d still have to find something more permanent - which would mean another security deposit, not to mention rent. As long as you kept the optimism that you’d successfully secure and keep a roommate, staying was the cheaper option.

You won’t talk about how you wish Taehyung would offer more than his couch.

You won’t talk about how when he’d said, “You know, you could stay with me,” in that deep, comforting voice of his, your heart had run wild.

Then he’d continued, “That couch isn’t too bad to sleep on, I’ve done it before. And the guys wouldn’t mind. Then you’d have time to find something new, maybe something you can afford alone?”

And your wild-running heart had stuttered, stumbled, caught its footing, stood still.

You can’t even get mad at him. He’s trying to help. It’s not his fault - at all - that he doesn’t know that your imagination leapt off a cliff at his words, was already picturing snuggling in his bed, those strong arms tight around your middle, was already picturing waking up to his sleepy smile.

You don’t pretend for even a second that it’s anyone’s fault but your own.

Around ten pm your Aunt Lin comes and knocks on your open door, looking down at the scene before her: you, sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, surrounded by half-closed boxes, miscellaneous items strewn around the floor around you, clothing piled up like mountains around you.

“You don’t look very ready,” she remarks.

“That’s helpful, thank you,” you say.

Lin has raised you ever since you lost your grandmother, who had taken care of you before that. Your grandmother and Lin are the only parental figures you can really remember, but Lin’s technically only ten years your senior and has always felt more like a big sister than a mother. You can’t fault her for it; she was still quite young when she took over raising you. She certainly didn’t have to take you in, but she had, and she’d done her best.

Lin chuckles. “Why isn’t Taehyung here helping?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s my friend, not my servant. He’s helping me move all this in tomorrow, that’s plenty.”

Lin shrugs, already disinterested. “Okay,” she says lightly. “Well, I wanted to say good luck with the move, and good luck with school this year. Let me know if you need anything.”

You look up from your packing and take in her appearance. She’s in scrubs, a huge thermos of coffee in her hand. She’s got work tonight, then, and won’t be here in the morning when Taehyung picks you up. You should have figured.

“Thanks,” you say.

She shifts, looking down the hall instead of at you, suddenly. Lin’s not great with emotions; it’s where you get it from.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you for winter break? If not before?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah. Definitely by then.”

She nods, tells you goodbye, and heads down the hallway. You hear the front door close, and you’re alone with your boxes. That’s about as mushy as it gets with Lin.

[11:44 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: what time tmrw?

[11:45 PM] You: you drive the car, you tell me

[11:51 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: 10?

[11:54 PM] You: you think that’s enough time to pack up the car and drive there before lunch?

[11:58 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: 🙄 this is why i asked YOU what time

[12:01 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: 😤

[12:02 AM] You: 9:30

[12:03 AM] You: and bring me iced coffee 🤗 plsssss???

[12:06 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

[12:08 AM] You: love u tete

[12:11 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: yeah yeah love you too

You press the top of your phone into your forehead, closing your eyes. Letting yourself pretend, for just a second, that he could mean it the way you do.

Saturday August 29

Taehyung shows up in the morning - at ten, not nine-thirty, but he has an iced coffee for you in his car, so you let him live.

It takes you over an hour to load up the car, the boxes and suitcases and garbage bags squished together, shoved impossibly tight, the world’s most desperate game of tetris. Taehyung declares it impossible no less than five times, bemoaning that he’ll have to make the hour drive a second time in order to fit all of your shit.

In the end, you make it happen. It just takes a little determination.

The drive to your university is around an hour, depending on traffic. You and Taehyung both don big, goofy aviators and blast music as you sail down the highway, the backseat loaded floor to ceiling. The car is so stuffed, you even have boxes between your feet and on your lap.

The sun shines brightly down on you as you and Taehyung sing and groove your way through the drive, and you feel… so content, so sure that this is right, that you’re meant to be next to him, like this, forever. Like everything in the universe just clicked together to give you the perfect snapshot of how things are meant to be.

What if you said it? What if you told him?

Sometimes, moments like now, you just can’t fathom how he doesn’t feel it too.

But you know better. You know he doesn’t - doesn’t want to. Something deep inside you tells you to tread carefully with this best friend of yours. Something instinctual tells you that the dysfunctional friendship you’ve crafted together is a Jenga tower and if you so much as nudge the wrong brick, it’s all coming down.

You eat lunch at a table out in front of a cafe, people watching and basking in the sunlight. It’s the last, trickling days of August, but today’s breezy and cooler. It’ll warm up again before fall comes in full force, you’re sure, but you appreciate the reprieve from the scorching heat, since you’re about to spend several hours hauling boxes up a stairwell.

After lunch, Taehyung drives to your new neighborhood and finds a street-parking spot close to the front entrance of the tall, brick building.

“Okay,” he says. “Now the fun part.”

You giggle. “Have I told you yet that I appreciate you?”

“Elaborate, please,” he says, which is so typical for him. He looks over at you, sunglasses low on his nose.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I appreciate you helping me move in. I appreciate you driving me. I appreciate the afternoon you’re about to spend carrying boxes and shit.”

“You’re forgetting something,” he tells you sagely.

You want to whack him in the belly for being so obnoxious, but you can’t risk him dumping all your stuff on the sidewalk and fucking off to let you deal with the stairs on your own.

“I appreciate you finding me a roommate so I don’t have to sleep on your couch,” you add.

“There we go.” Satisfied, he unbuckles, and you both get out and examine the backseat for whichever Tetris piece seems like it could be removed easiest. Arms full of boxes, you make your way up the steps to the little lobby that houses a wall of mail slots, and then up a second set of stairs to your second-floor apartment.

You set down the box you were carrying and dig out the key, opening the door to your new home.

You really do love this apartment. Through the open space - past the kitchen and through the living room - sunlight streams in through the large front windows that overlook the city block below. You can already see in your mind where you’ll put plants on low tables, or hanging from the ceiling.

You had done the big stuff days ago, with both Lin and Taehyung’s help; Lin had rented a little moving van and you’d loaded up the big furniture. From Lin’s house, you’d taken your bedframe and boxspring, leaving just the mattress in your old bedroom at Lin’s house. You’d also loaded up your low dresser, a nightstand, and two bookshelves. You’d gotten a few pieces from a local repurposing store - a desk to work at and a little swiveling chair to go with it. Your final splurge was an expensive mattress; the one in the store had felt like damn clouds. It was set to be delivered sometime this afternoon.

You’re already looking forward to going to sleep later.

You and Taehyung try to just put boxes where they’re meant to go. Two boxes end up in your bathroom, another two in the kitchen. You split the books between your bedroom and the living room, where a lone bookshelf is the only current piece of furniture. You heave bags of clothes and linens into your closet, determined to deal with them later.

The mattress delivery goes smoothly, the truck arriving as you and Taehyung are about halfway done unloading the car. You leave the building’s front door and your apartment door propped open and both teams do their thing: the delivery guys carrying the mattress up the steps, you and Taehyung behind them with garbage bags full of your clothes or boxes of books.

“You,” Taehyung pants, “have way too much stuff.”

You grin sheepishly, as in the other room your new mattress is removed from its plastic wrap and placed atop your awaiting boxspring. You’re itching to dig out your linens and make the bed; that’s always what makes a room feel ready to you, even back when you were just setting up a little dorm. Once the bed was made, everything else slowly fell into place.

Once the delivery truck rolls away, you throw yourself bodily onto the mattress, letting out a series of happy groans as you let the pillowy goodness envelop you.

“Taehyung,” you call tantalizingly. “Come feel it.”

You hear him drop a box in the living room with an audible oof - it must have been more books - and then he comes into your new bedroom and flops sideways across the bed next to you, the mattress jumping and settling again under his weight.

“Wow,” he says, rolling on his back and then turning to look at you, his legs bending to touch the floor. “This is nice. Let’s trade, I’ll bring mine over.”

“Nope,” you say, smiling. “I bought this one with my hard-earned summer money. It’s just for me.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice wry, “for you and your guests.”

Now you do whack him in the belly. He grunts, hands covering the spot, then lays still again.

“That wasn’t nice,” he comments mildly. “No hitting.”

“What guests?” you pout. “I haven’t had a guest since–”

“Ah, spare me the Great Drought of 2022 story,” he begs. He sits up, reaching into his pocket. As his hand retracts, you realize his phone is buzzing with an incoming call.

“Bro,” he says as a greeting, and then listens. “Yeah, we’re here now. That’s fine. Sounds good. Okay.”

He taps to hang up and looks at you. “Namjoon is almost here. That’s fine, right?”

“I was right here,” you huff. “Yes, it’s fine, but you literally could have asked me.”

Taehyung ignores you. “There’s one more box. I’ll go get it, and then I’ll stay while you meet with Joon, and then I’m gonna go, okay?”

“Oh,” you say, heart sinking a little bit. You’d kind of hoped he’d stick around, just hang out and goof off while you unpacked boxes and organized your stuff. “Sure.”

He reads you like a book; he always does.

“Don’t pout,” he says, and there’s something apologetic in his tone. “I just have to do some stuff today. And I really need to shower, this got me all sweaty.”

Well, you don’t need that mental image. Luckily, you’re saved from yourself by a knock at the front door. This strikes you as so polite, because not only is Namjoon going to literally live here, but also because the door is still propped wide open.

You sit up, fixing your hair from where you laid on it. Taehyung has already made his way through the living room and is giving a one-handed bro-hug to the guy at the door. You make your way over, heart thumping.

You notice a few things right away. He’s tall - taller than Taehyung, and you don’t see that often. His eyes are absolutely striking - there’s sharpness to them, something that makes you want to see the world how he does, something that makes you want to keep looking, something that makes you curious about how he’d see you.

When he smiles, each cheek dimples, the perfect size for the pad of your index finger. He’s all in browns except for a pair of light-wash jeans. He’s got a dark brown beanie tugged low on his head, and even his thin, wire-frame glasses seem to be chosen for the vibe above all else.

“Hi,” you say, sounding a little shy even to your own ears. Taehyung moves out of the way and you reach to shake Namjoon’s hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. Taehyung promised me you’re normal.”

The guy lets out one big laugh, surprised. “He told me the same,” he says conspiratorially, “but really, that’s such a subjective thing.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, and you step back to let Namjoon in, preparing to show him around.

“Kitchen and living room are here,” you say unnecessarily, since he can see for himself. “Your bedroom would be on this side.” You push open the door and Namjoon sticks his head in. The room is completely bare, the empty closet door standing open.

“You get your own bathroom,” Taehyung points out. Namjoon nods appreciatively, still looking silently back and forth across the room that would be his as soon as you pass him a key.

“Is it okay?” you ask, suddenly feeling nervous. If this guy backs out, you’ll be back at square one, and now with less time to solve the problem.

“Oh,” he says, as if remembering he should communicate. “Yeah! It’s great.” He turns and peers at the living room, which is empty but for your lone bookshelf and several boxes of books, unopened.

“I have some stuff we can put here, if you want?” he asks, his tone a little uncertain. “Specifically, I have a couch and coffee table, plus a TV and a console to put it on. It should all fit.”

“That would be great,” you say enthusiastically. “I was already stressing out about saving up enough for a couch.”

He nods easily, looking around the room thoughtfully. Taehyung has wandered over to the large windows and is looking up at the tree that stands right outside, the branches waving lightly in the afternoon breeze. With the sunlight coming in, he looks like a painting.

“I have a rug, too,” Namjoon muses. “Would you be interested in that?”

“Definitely,” you tell him, tearing your eyes away from Taehyung’s back. There’s something knowing in Namjoon’s face as he watches you, and you flush, feeling weirdly caught.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll bring it. What about kitchen stuff?”

“I don’t have a ton,” you admit, pointing to the two boxes - not very big ones - that you’ve left on the kitchen counter. “If you’ve got more, that’s probably good. I don’t cook that often, to be honest. I’m not very good at it.”

Namjoon smiles at you, leaning over a little like he’s letting you in on a secret. “I can barely boil water,” he admits. “So you’re all good.”

You stand together as you discuss how you’ll be splitting the monthly costs for the utilities, not to mention the high-speed wifi that’s getting set up in two days. That leaves you to work out the rent, what day it’s due and how you want to handle paying it. In the end, you decide that he’ll electronically pay you, and you’ll pay the landlord, since it’s your name on the lease. He pays you right there on the spot, and you pass him the key that was meant for Penny.

“Is it okay if I start moving my things tomorrow?” he asks you.

You shrug. “This place is yours now, too,” you say easily. “You can honestly do what you want.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll probably start in the morning then?”

“I can’t promise I’ll be up,” you laugh, “but don’t let that stop you!”

“Should we…” he pauses, adjusts his glasses. “Should we exchange numbers?”

Taehyung makes a face you know well; it’s the face he makes when he wants to laugh or make fun of something, and he’s doing the Good Person Thing by keeping the thought to himself, but he wants to make sure you know by his face that he is holding it in. He wants credit for doing the Good Person Thing.

You honestly hate him sometimes. It’s the only thing keeping you from tipping straight into insanity. Sometimes, I really hate Taehyung.

“Yes, we probably should,” you say, because someone in this room needs to act like they aren’t twelve years old, and it’s not going to be Kim Taehyung, apparently.

You do, and then Namjoon tells you both goodbye, making his way back out to the hallway and down the steps. You can hear his footsteps fall away into nothing.

Taehyung looks at you, smiles angelically. “See?” he says. “I told you he was nice.”

He reaches for his keys on your kitchen counter. You frown, detecting his imminent departure.

“Will you come over tomorrow?” you ask, a little pitifully.

He considers this, and nods. “For dinner?” he suggests.

“Yeah,” you say. “We still won’t have wifi yet. We’ll be bored.”

“Only boring people get bored,” Taehyung says sagely, holding up one finger like a wizened philosopher. Then he comes to hug you goodbye, pulling you into a sweet embrace. You want to live there, in the spot between his arms.

Once he’s gone, you look around your new home. Alone, you decide to put on music and start tackling boxes. You start in the bathroom, finding towels so you’ll be able to shower in the morning, unpacking all your toiletries, setting up your toothbrush just so. You do the kitchen second; the sun sets outside as you find places for your battered pots and pans.

You stop for dinner, getting take-out from a place nearby that delivers. Then you dive back in, setting up your bedroom. It feels cozy already, once the bed is made and you’ve plugged in your little lamps. Calmer, you start folding clothes to put into dresser drawers. At one point you wander out of your room to get some water and you freeze in your bedroom doorway, struck by how lonely it feels.

The rest of the apartment is lit only by the yellow glow coming from your bedroom, plus the thin, white light that filters in from the streetlight below the living room windows. You hurry into the kitchen and turn on the light over the sink, which vanishes some of the bad feeling for you. You pour your glass of water and lean heavily on the counter, looking out at your empty living room, and the dark doorway of Namjoon’s untouched room. You wish Taehyung had come back over, or that some of your university friends had moved back into the area sooner.

You rinse your glass and head back into your room, ready to distract yourself with more unpacking until you’re tired enough to sleep.

Sunday August 30

Bumps and crashes wake you in the morning. It takes you a few minutes to figure out where you are - ah, the cloud bed, in your new room. The morning sunlight is strong; apparently the windows on the front of the apartment face the east. You make a mental note to shop for some good blackout curtains, and check your phone. Not much waiting for you - Lin texted around 1 am asking if you got settled okay, probably while she was on a quick break. You answer her, check your socials, and then lay back, just looking around.

You got a lot done yesterday, but you still have more unpacking to do. It also occurs to you that not only is there no coffee waiting for you in the kitchen, there’s no food of any kind in the whole place, unless you count your container of leftover takeout from last night.

You shower and get dressed, figuring it's best to stay out of the way - you can hear the grunts and huffs and loud bumps that indicate Namjoon’s got some friends helping him move things in. But eventually, the growling in your stomach and your body’s clamoring for caffeine send you out into the living room.

The low entertainment center is in place across the room from you, a flatscreen tv situated on top. There are now two stools tucked beneath the breakfast bar in the kitchen, and a pretty, wooden coffee table sits in the center of the living room.

There’s a guy on the floor surrounded by furniture pieces, a screwdriver, and a packet of instructions in his hands. You can hear a lot of shouting, bumping, and cursing floating in from the stairwell down the hall.

“Hey,” the guy on the floor says. “You’re Y/N? I’m Namjoon’s friend, Yoongi.”

“Hi,” you say, a little bewildered. “What are you… building?”

He sighs, squinting at the paper in his hand. “It’s supposed to be a bookshelf. Eventually.”

You’re about to respond to this when the noise from outside the open door gets infinitely louder. You see Namjoon’s expansive back as he shuffles backwards through the doorway, one end of a faded, grey couch in his hands.

“Okay, you have to turn,” he coaches whoever is on the other side.

The couch makes it through the door, and you’re surprised to see that you know the other person carrying the couch. He’s one of Taehyung’s best friends, and you’ve hung out together as a group plenty of times over the last three years.

“JayKay!” you call happily. “Welcome to my house!”

He laughs, nose scrunching with delight. “Y/N,” he crows. “Where should I put the couch?”

“Across from the tv,” Namjoon answers for you, sounding a little breathless. They shuffle through the room, and you notice for the first time that they’ve already put the rug in place, covering most of the warped, wooden floor of the living room. The couch settles over top of it, and Namjoon slides the coffee table to a more centered position.

One more guy comes through your doorway, carrying a nightstand and a lamp. He’s got quite possibly the widest shoulders you’ve ever seen. He disappears into Namjoon’s bedroom, and you hear the quiet thump as he sets the nightstand down in there.

“Wow,” you say. “You’ve got a whole moving crew.”

“Notice who’s not here helping,” Jungkook grumbles.

You smile to yourself. If you know him at all, you’ll guess Taehyung isn’t even out of bed yet.

“In his defense,” you say, and Jungkook snorts, as if it’s so typical that you’d defend Taehyung, which… it might be, “he did a lot for me yesterday. We had his car packed with my stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook mutters and turns to - presumably - get more stuff from downstairs.

“You have a lot left?” you ask Namjoon, who seems to be catching his breath for a minute, perched on the arm of the couch. “I’d offer to help, but I was just about to go get groceries - there’s very literally no food here.”

“We’re about done with the heavier stuff,” he says, looking at the open door, like he’ll find an inventory there that he can reference. “But still plenty of assembling left.”

“Hooray,” Yoongi deadpans from the floor, holding the instruction packet up in the air like a different angle will help him decipher the directions.

You find your little foldable cart and make your way to the grocery store a few blocks away. By the time you’re done scouring the aisles, you’ve loaded the cart to the top and still have to carry some of the bags. But at least now you’ll have food to eat, things to drink besides tap water.

Getting up the stairs with your groceries sucks, but you make it, panting like crazy as you finally unlock the front door and let yourself in.

You’re greeted with silence; it’s clear the guys are all gone. The living room looks completely different than twenty-four hours ago. The couch and table look great, and it seems like Yoongi’s bookshelf is mostly complete - it’s upright, just missing a few shelves near the top. You set the groceries down in the kitchen next to three unopened boxes - it seems like Namjoon’s gameplan was the same as yours yesterday: get the boxes into the appropriate rooms, do the rest later.

You peek into his bedroom - he’s left the door all the way open, which feels nice, like he trusts you, and you make a mental note that you should probably do the same. You notice that it looks like the furniture is all in place there, too. It doesn’t differ much from yours, actually. The bedframe is put together, the boxspring and mattress leaning against the far wall. He’s also got a tall chest of drawers, a wicker hamper, and in the corner, a desk. Namjoon’s furniture is a lot more modern looking than yours, sleek and matching. You bet he didn’t get half of his from the thrift store.

You put the groceries away and make yourself a small lunch, eating it on the couch in the quiet of the apartment. You’ve got about twenty-four hours to go until there’s wifi and you can stream shows when you’re home alone. You’re just cleaning up your lunch when you hear a key in the lock, and then the cacophony of boys’ voices as they reenter the apartment.

“-far superior, I’m telling you,” Jungkook is saying emphatically. The smell of greasy burgers and fries hits you in the kitchen along with the sound of his voice.

“I hear what you’re saying, and I respect your opinion,” a flat voice responds that you think might belong to Yoongi. “It’s just that you’re wrong.”

“Hey,” Namjoon says, noticing you standing in the kitchen. The guys pass through, heading into the living room, Jungkook already digging in the bag. They surround the coffee table, handing out burgers and fries, filling the room with delicious smells and noisy chatter.

You take this opportunity to head back into your room, sitting on your bedroom floor and opening one of your boxes of books, starting to put them on the small shelf beneath your window. You pop in your airpods and turn on music, losing yourself in the monotonous movement of digging out a new book, then turning to place it on the shelf. Rinse, and repeat.

When you finish, you move into your closet. You put your little wire shoe rack back together and locate your box of shoes, lining them up neatly. Then, you tackle another garbage bag full of clothes that go on hangers, flapping each shirt or dress to relieve it of wrinkles before hanging it up. After that, you find a box of miscellaneous dresser items - jewelry boxes, perfume bottles, headbands - and put those where you want them, too.

By the time you decide you need to sit down and take a break, it’s nearly evening, the light outside reaching that golden hour. You really do love the natural lighting in this place.

You take out your airpods and set them to charge, listening carefully. You’ve had your bedroom door open this whole time, but the guys had left you alone and you’d minded your own business. Now, the apartment is filled with silence again. They must be gone.

You text Taehyung for the first time that day, which strikes you as weird. He must have been busy today, too. It’s odd for you two to make it until almost dinner without speaking.

“Dinner?” you text, and then wander out into the living room.

“Hey,” a voice says from near the floor, and you practically leap out of your skin. You startle so violently that your phone slips from your hands and clatters to the floor.

“Holy crap,” you breathe when you realize Namjoon is sitting on the floor next to his newly assembled bookshelf, an open box of books before him. He seems to be sorting them into piles before putting any on the shelf.

“Sorry,” he says, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to--”

“No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I’m just… a jumpy person. You’ll get used to it.”

You watch him sort books for a minute, then eye your own empty bookshelf, your boxes still closed on the ground next to it. You decide if it’s Bookshelf Hours, you might as well, right? You set your phone on the coffee table and settle in, opening your first box and starting to place books on the bottommost shelf.

“So,” you say, because it feels weird to be sitting four feet from your new roommate and not speaking, “Taehyung said you’re a grad student at the university?”

Namjoon nods wordlessly, eyes on the books he’s sorting. “Yep,” he says finally. “And you’re a senior?”

“Mhm,” you confirm.

After that scintillating conversation, you both lapse into silence as you work. You continue like that for some time - long enough to reach the middle shelf - before you realize you hear your phone buzzing on the table. You stretch to reach for it, missing how Namjoon glances sideways at you, at how an inch of your stomach is revealed as you lean over.

“Hi,” you say, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Took you long enough to answer,” Taehyung gripes.

“Sorry,” you say. “We were putting books away.”

Taehyung’s silence is just one beat too long. “We, huh?”

You laugh, once. “I mean? That’s what each of us is doing? So? Yeah?” From his spot a few feet away, Namjoon glances over his shoulder, frowning slightly.

“Anyway,” you say, “dinner? Do you want to come over?”

“Yes,” he says decisively. “Order us something and I’ll head over?”

“Sure,” you say, already hanging up. You don’t need to ask what he wants; no matter where you order from, you know what he likes.

“Do you want to order with us?” you ask Namjoon mildly as you scroll through the local delivery app. “I was thinking pizza.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says slowly, like he was deep in thought and has to process what you’d said to him. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

The place you’d order from back when you lived in the dorms is actually closer to this apartment than campus, which is the most beautiful, serendipitous thing that’s ever happened in your life. You place the order for delivery and continue putting your books away. Once all the books are on shelves, you’re essentially done - finally, after two days - unpacking.

This gives you exactly one whole day to relax before you have to start going to classes again.

Taehyung arrives before the pizza, knocking on the door in a silly rhythm. You pound back on your side of the door, echoing his rhythm, before opening it, greeting him with a big smile. You’d missed him; of course you had.

“Wow,” he says, genuinely impressed, as he peers around you. “It looks so much different in here.”

“Right?” you ask, filled with joy. Taehyung pokes his head into the kitchen, which is arguably the least “ready” room, as aside from putting your things into drawers and cupboards, neither you nor Namjoon had really done much to it. No hand-towels hanging by the sink, no magnets on the fridge, even the counters were empty, save for the two sets of keys resting there. Taehyung adds his own to the key pile and moves into the living room, which is much more impressive.

“Hey, man,” Namjoon says from the floor. It seems like he’s done sorting his books into piles and has started actually putting them on shelves now. “Looks good, right?”

“It does,” Taehyung answers from the doorway of Namjoon’s room, where he's peeking nosily. “The guys helped you?”

“Everyone except you and Jimin,” Namjoon says innocently.

Taehyung smiles guiltily. “I helped Y/N the entire day before, just the two of us,” he argues. “And what about Hobi? He’s on--”

“--on vacation with his parents,” Namjoon finishes agreeably, “so he’s off the hook. Where was Jimin?”

“Where do you think Jimin was?” Taehyung scoffs, reaching down and touching the rug absently.

“Sleeping,” you and Namjoon say at the same time, both of your voices wry. You smile at him, and he looks away.

The pizza arrives and you all sit around the coffee table to eat. Conversation flows better with Taehyung in the mix; he talks so much, it almost doesn’t matter if anyone else does.

“I was thinking of making a list of things we need for the apartment that wouldn’t necessarily belong to either of us - cleaning supplies, stuff like that,” Namjoon says to you. “I thought I could buy it and we could split the cost?”

“Buy the cheap stuff,” Taehyung advises. “Y/N’s summer money is gonna go fast, especially the way she orders out instead of cooking.”

“Thank you, Taehyung,” you say flatly, shooting him a look. “I start work in like two days. I can handle it.”

After the pizza’s done, Namjoon goes back to working on his bookshelf, obviously wanting to clear the floorspace of his book piles sooner rather than later. You and Taehyung sprawl across the couch opposite each other, his feet resting near your elbow, both of you on your phones.

You stay like that until nearly midnight, talking occasionally but mostly just happily coexisting in your own little bubbles. At some point, Namjoon finishes the bookshelf and wanders into his bedroom, pausing to look at you two on the couch before disappearing. He pushes his door almost shut, leaving it open a few inches. You hear the subtle sounds of music playing from behind the door, but not loud enough to discern what it is.

Taehyung hugs you before leaving, and you snuggle into the embrace, body exhausted from the moving process. He rests his chin on top of your head, swaying you around a little bit.

“Thanks for helping me,” you murmur into his chest. Sometimes the only time you can get Taehyung to be serious for a conversation is when you’re like this; in each other’s arms, your walls come down - in his case, deflecting with humor and sarcasm, brushing off everything like it’s a big joke. In yours, saying what you really mean, and not a more delicate version of it.

“You’re welcome,” he answers, squeezing you a little. “I’m glad everything worked out. It really does look good in here. And I think you guys will get along.”

Once he leaves, you deadbolt the front door and head to the kitchen to wash the plates and cups you’d used for pizza. Behind you, you hear the squeak of door hinges, and Namjoon pads into the kitchen behind you. He pauses, scanning the cupboards.

“I don’t remember which one I put my cups in,” he laughs a little, and then starts opening each one until he finds what he needs. Once he has a glass, he rummages in the fridge, taking out a juice carton and filling his glass about halfway. You finish washing the last plate and turn the water off, rummaging through a drawer for a dish towel to dry everything.

“So…” Namjoon says between sips of juice. “You two are pretty close, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging easily. “He’s my best friend.”

Namjoon hums, nods, purses his lips thoughtfully. If you knew him better, you’d push - ask him what that face means, or why he’d asked in the first place.

But, you don’t need to. You know already. You’re used to being interrogated by others about your relationship with Taehyung. Sometimes people are trying to see if you’re a threat in their quest to worm their way into Taehyung’s heart (or pants) - and in your own weird way, you kind of are, at least for the former.

Taehyung definitely sleeps around, but he’s surprisingly tight-lipped with you about it. You’re not sure if he’s sparing you, or he’s actually just a gentleman. Could go either way. But when Taehyung considers dating someone - rare, to say the least - he always has you vet them first. You never like any of them, surprise surprise.

You’re used to girls approaching you in bathrooms, sometimes aggressively, sometimes meekly, to ask if Taehyung’s your boyfriend. You’ve had girls come apologize, saying they “didn’t know about you”. Once you’d had a girl nearly shove you down a staircase for talking to “her man”, but luckily, said man was walking next to you and helped shut the whole thing down. (You two had had a serious talk after that one about communicating with his partners about his relationship status. Things have never gone that far again, to date.)

Less frequently, you’ll get asked about Taehyung by guys who are interested in you, who are trying to figure out how much of a lost cause it is. That one’s a little trickier. How do you tell the cute guy at the coffee shop that no, you’re not dating Taehyung, but you are secretly so in love with him that it really isn’t worth their time?

Anyway, usually you just tell guys that you’re not dating Taehyung but that you’re not interested in dating anyone. It usually does the trick. It’s not that far from the truth, either.

That leaves the last category of people who ask about you two, and this is where you feel Namjoon falls: the people who watch your weird, boundary-pushing friendship and are just genuinely curious how it could possibly work.

And you get it, you really do. You know how this looks from the outside. Hell, you’re sure that from the outside it’s fairly obvious how gone you are for him. Is it just as obvious to the outside that he sees you more like a sister than anything datable?

Probably.

You’ve had friends ask you what keeps you around. You always say the same thing - regardless of your feelings for him, he’s also your absolute best friend.

Your friendship is precious to you, sacred. It sometimes feels like the only thing you have, in a life where you generally don’t have much. Your family is Lin - that’s it, end of the road. Your girlfriends are nice, but Penny was the closest you had and she’s across the country now. You only have Taehyung. And what you have with him, as special as it is, it’s also precarious.

If you lose him, it isn’t just that you’ll lose him - and trust, that would be devastating - it’s also that you would be deeply alone.

Finished with the dishes, you bid Namjoon goodnight and head back into your room for the night, planning to change into pajamas and wait for Taehyung to text you that he made it home safely, wait for Taehyung to text you goodnight. Namjoon murmurs goodnight, but you feel his calculating gaze on your back until you close your door softly behind you.

Next ->

Thank you so much for reading! I started writing this in August, it feels amazing to finally postttttt. Please consider some type of feedback - I'd love to hear anything you want to share! Section II will post on Friday, January 27th - hope to see you there!

#lillia recs #bwcbookclub #mutuals

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moccahobi · 1 year ago

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Ok! I am so happy I got to revisit this series with BWC’s bookclub because if you all like supernatural aus, this is such a wonderful fic to read! I absolutely loved getting to help Courtney with this fic and let me tell you why this fic holds my heart!

1. Courtney is a master of world creation. If you want immersive worlds and beautiful descriptions click on ANY of her fics and you will be taken to a world of wonder and terror. This fic especially jumps right into weaving information about the world, supernatural creatures, and our characters.

2. Speaking of characters, they’re absolutely so LOVEABLE! Like Jungkook is so sweetly characterized and I love the tension that Courtney weaves into Yoongi’s character. Like his anxiety is so palpable and so relatable (well not fully since he’s a vampire). We all yearn to be loved and yet... we are all scared of reaching out. Either because of past actions, long term messages of who we are and our worth, or something else. There is so much that can bring a barrier between us and others and Yoongi’s conflict so beautifully characterizes this.

3. THE ACTION! THE ACTION! IF YOU LIKE ACTION IN YOUR STORIES PLEASE READ THIS EHEHHEHEHEHE I love the tension around Yoongi’s past coming back and in trying to keep his loved ones safe. And Courtney did such a wonderful job in describing the action. Fights and high intensity scenes are so hard to do and I am just in awe at how Courtney managed to keep the tension present, the action up, and keep it all diverse in what was happening. Truly so masterful!

Human (1)

Vampire!Yoongi x female reader; BFF Werewolf!Jungkook x female reader; Platonic Roommates Yoongi & Jungkook

Summary: Yoongi is a monster, but there’s always something worse lurking in the shadows. When that something threatens everything he loves, Yoongi is forced to choose: embrace his humanity, or give in to the monster? Genre: “dark fluff,” hurt/comfort, vampire au, werewolf au, supernatural au, roommates, little bit of a slow burn Word Count: 3,568 Rating: T Warnings: (everything may not appear in every part) blood, alcohol consumption, creepy dudes and catcalling, fighting, drinking to excess, implied assault, manipulation, murder

Rating: T Warnings: (everything may not appear in every part) blood, alcohol consumption, creepy dudes and catcalling, fighting, drinking to excess, implied assault, manipulation, murder

Notes: Thanks to @eatjeanjin, @moccahobi, @magicshopaholic, @madbutgloriouspond, and @imperiussexrex for beta-ing and helping me plot out some of the later chapters. And thank you to @missgeniality for the amazing banner.

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The sun was bright. Too bright.

Yoongi squinted and pushed his sunglasses up his nose, tugging his cap down to shade his eyes further from the affronting glare. The evening was crisp, a beautiful spring day winding down. He paused at a street corner, waiting for the signal to change so he could cross. Somewhere in the distance, a bird eagerly warbled, the song of its mate answered only seconds later.

The light turned and Yoongi stepped into the street. Hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket, he kept his eyes ahead, thoughts swimming through his mind no matter how much he tried to block them out. The music playing through his headphones was almost deafening in an attempt to distract him, but it wasn’t helping.

“For someone who’s trying to live like a human, you sure don’t make a lot of effort, do you?”

Jungkook’s voice echoed in Yoongi’s mind, the sound rattling around in his brain, reverberating until it was the loudest thought possible.

“I really do think you’d vibe with her, dude. Just give her a chance.”

Yoongi had snapped at the kid, told him to mind his business and to shut up. But as much as he hated to admit it, the kid was right. That was why they had moved in together, right? To be a little more human?

Yoongi wasn’t sure he knew what that meant anymore.

The jingle of the bell above the door brought Yoongi out of his thoughts. It was a small shop, stuffed to the brim with instruments and other musical necessities. Jungkook sat behind the counter near the door, leafing lazily through a magazine. His hair, freshly dyed, fell into one of his eyes in a honeyed blond wave. Yoongi had only known the kid for a year, but he hadn’t yet seen him repeat a hair color, switching it up every few months just for the hell of it.

The kid looked up just as Yoongi reached the counter. He flashed a wide, toothy grin, and for a moment, Yoongi could see him on the cover of some rock magazine, the line of Gibsons and Fenders behind him the backdrop of some fancy photo set. But the image was gone as soon as Yoongi remembered why he was in the shop in the first place.

“You almost ready to go?” the older man asked.

Jungkook nodded. “Just have to wait for her to come in, then we can leave.”

“Her?”

“You know who I mean.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Jungkook-”

“I wasn’t going to push it. But I told you you’d see her again eventually, bro,” the kid protested. “She works here, too. She’s closing tonight. You’ll-”

The bell jingled again, and a female voice cut through whatever Jungkook was going to say.

“Sorry, sorry!” She sounded cheery as she came around behind the counter. “Sorry I’m late. I know you’re on a time crunch, but you wouldn’t believe the bullshit I just had to deal with.” Finally, she paused, leaning her elbows against the counter. Her eyes met Yoongi’s, a look of brief but unconcerned curiosity crossing her face before she spoke again. “You didn’t tell me you had friends, JK.”

“Um, no, I definitely have told you I have friends, actually,” Jungkook scoffed, tapping his phone and glancing at the time. “Just because you had a bad day doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me.”

You laughed, raising your hands in a peaceful gesture. “We’re testy today. Okay. Good to know.”

“I’m not-”

“It’s fine, dude.” You nodded at Yoongi. “Hey Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. Now that her attention was on him, he could tell that, if things were different, his face would be heating up. Ever since he’d met her, Yoongi had always thought she was pretty, and she was almost as tall as Jungkook, though whether that was her actual height or her boots, Yoongi couldn’t tell. She wore a zip-up hoodie over a faded Biggie t-shirt–one of his favorites on her.

“We should go,” Jungkook sounded suddenly nervous, and when Yoongi’s eyes snapped to the kid, he was looking frantically at his phone.

You waved him off, hopping up on the stool that was behind the counter and typing something into the computer. “Go have fun with your nerd shit. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once they were outside, Yoongi turned to Jungkook. “Nerd shit?”

The kid shrugged. “I told her we had a monthly Dungeons & Dragons session.” Yoongi snorted, but Jungkook turned on him. “What was that about?”

“What?”

“You totally froze when she showed up.”

“I didn’t,” Yoongi argued weakly. “I just didn’t have anything to say.”

“You think she’s pretty.”

“You’re insane.”

“Let me set you up. Just one date. I really do think you’ll-”

“Enough, Jungkook.” Yoongi sighed, exasperated. If he had to hear how much he would vibe with Jungkook’s best friend-slash-coworker, he was going to lose his damn mind. “You know it wouldn’t work. Just shut up about it.”

Jungkook frowned. “Just because you don’t have a pulse doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart.”

“And what would I tell her, Jungkook?” Yoongi snapped. “That I get headaches in the sun and don’t eat normal food and oh yeah, I’m 300 years old and could kill her if I slip up even slightly?” He shook his head. “I know you’ve only been dealing with this for a few years now, but use your head.”

A small growl sounded from Jungkook’s chest. “You could make it work. If you really wanted to, you could.”

“You could make it work,” Yoongi corrected. “You’re human 98 percent of the year. You just have to deal with the transformation once a month, for eight hours at most. I’m a monster every single day.”

By then, they were at the train yard, weaving through the dozens of rusted out boxcars stored on the unused tracks. It was quiet. No one tended to wander into the old train yard, not even teenagers looking for dumb fun. It had a reputation for being dangerous. People went missing every few years, and if you weren’t paying attention, it was easy to end up with bruises and tetanus.

“Fuck you,” Jungkook spat, stopping outside one of the boxcars. “You’re 300. So fucking what? You’re not the only one whose life sucks, you know that?” The younger man glared at Yoongi as he hopped up into the boxcar, leaning against the door. “Sometimes I think you don’t actually want to be more human. Sometimes it seems like you just want to mope.” He turned, backing into the shadows.

Silently, Yoongi reached up, pulling the rusted door shut. It was tough–the wheels on the door were probably a hundred years old and weathered beyond normal use–but with a little pressure, he was able to get the door into place, pulling the lever to secure it. Even if the interior lever was still attached to the door, and Yoongi wasn’t so sure that it was, it would be impossible for the wolf to have the dexterity to open it.

He turned, satisfied. It was almost dark, the last vestiges of orange sun peeking out between the buildings. It would still be a little while before Jungkook started to transform, but it was better and easier to lock him away early, both for his safety and for the general populace.

With the door secure, he turned and began to walk away. It would be a long few hours until sunrise, and there was nothing he could do for Jungkook in the meantime. It was easier this way. At least one of them could have a peaceful evening.

As he walked back to the city, Yoongi could feel his hands starting to shake. The exertion of shutting the boxcar door had taken more out of him than he had expected. When was the last time he had really eaten? Last week? Longer? He couldn’t remember. He’d been trying to limit the stash of blood that they kept in the fridge. Jungkook said it gave the groceries a weird metallic aftertaste. But it had gotten away from him, and Yoongi found himself low on blood and having to ration.

A few blocks away in an old warehouse along the water was the Blood Bank. Yoongi found himself wandering in that direction, letting his craving and his shaking hands lead him. The Blood Bank was a safe haven for people like him attempting to make their way in the human world.

The Blood Bank was your stereotypical blood donation center, except for the fact that, in addition to providing blood for transfusions, it also catered to vampires. It was easy enough to go in, flash his fangs, and leave with two bags of blood and a small bottle he could drink on his way back home. Almost too easy. He didn’t particularly like going there, but he was desperate.

He’d barely made it a block away from the Blood Bank when he felt something wrong. Someone was following him. He could hear their steps, timed to match his own almost perfectly. And whoever it was smelled familiar. Yoongi could catch hints of rust on them, masked by an expensive perfume. There would be no shaking whoever was tailing him. So Yoongi stopped, his grip on his bag tightening.

“It’s not polite to follow people,” Yoongi grumbled. He said it quietly, but he knew the person behind him had heard.

“Forgive me. I forgot you’d become one for decorum.” The responding voice made Yoongi’s skin crawl. It didn’t matter how many decades passed, he knew that voice.

“What do you want, Yejun?” Yoongi spoke without turning. His muscles tensed in anticipation. He’d been dreading this.

Finally, the man came into view. His hair was dark like Yoongi’s, and his skin just as pale, though he stood two inches shorter. The man’s eyes were the color of tar, the whites no longer visible from the malice within him.

“I’ve come to bring you back.” He smiled, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Sanghae is awakening. Any day now, we’ll be back at our full strength.”

“I don’t give a shit about your strength.”

“Have you no loyalty?” Yejun had the audacity to look offended. “You should respect the man who turned you, Yoongi. Sanghae raised us like his sons.”

“I don’t give a shit about him, either.”

The other vampire snarled, one hand shooting out to grab at Yoongi’s throat. He caught Yejun’s wrist, felt his eyes dilate as they darkened. In less than a moment, his vision was clearer, sharper. No movement was too small nor too sudden. His fangs lengthened in his mouth, brushing against his bottom lip sharply.

When Yejun moved again, Yoongi grabbed him by the throat.

“Leave me alone,” he growled. “I told you. I’m sick of your games. I’m sick of your lies. I want out.”

Yejun snorted, shoving at Yoongi’s chest. “You know that’s not how this works. He gave you this gift. You can’t just deny him.”

“Watch me.” Yoongi turned on his heel, taking a step away from the other vampire.

“How do you think he’ll react if I tell him about your little human fantasy and your pet puppy?”

“Leave the kid out of this, or so help me god-”

Yejun laughed. “God abandoned us long ago, my friend.”

He was gone in an instant, fled at super-human speed. Yoongi could track him if he wanted, but he sighed. It would be a long night.

Yoongi sighed, allowing Jungkook to drag him down the street. He wasn’t particularly interested in whatever plans the kid had made, but it was the day after the full moon. More than anything, Jungkook was vulnerable, on-edge, and Yoongi had promised him when they’d first met that he would help when the kid was feeling like that.

Apparently, that meant going to some silly trivia night at Jungkook’s favorite pub.

“I don’t know why you hate trivia so much,” Jungkook said softly, leading him through the door to the pub. “300 years, you’d think you would have picked up a little knowledge.” The kid laughed, full and bright, and his face lit up as they rounded a corner.

“Hey!” A bright voice rang out above the din of the bar and when Yoongi looked, a familiar face smiled widely at them.

Yoongi froze. Jungkook hadn’t mentioned you were going to be here. Vaguely, he heard a soft ‘oh Jesus Christ’ before being pushed toward the table where you sat. A strong hand on his shoulder pushed him into the chair beside you.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you said softly, handing him a menu. “We usually order a couple things to share. Pick what you want.”

“Oh, uh…” Yoongi stared down at the menu in his hands. “I ate before we came. I’m not really that hungry.”

You frowned. “Oh, okay. What do you want to drink? I’ll add you both to my tab at the bar.”

“Yoongi doesn’t drink!” Jungkook offered quickly, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. “I’ll go grab my own. I’ll get you something?”

He nodded, reaching into his pocket. Casually, he pulled out his wallet, a small baggie hidden inside. Two blood pills. He’d been keeping them on hand since he met Jungkook, just in case. Apparently, he would finally get the chance.

It was quiet for a moment as you looked over the menu. Or, Yoongi supposed, you were quiet. The bar itself was loud. A few tables over, the couple were arguing over their team name. At the bar, they were out of cherries. Somewhere, someone was having trouble deciding if they wanted to order the spinach artichoke dip or a pizza. But then you circled two things towards the top and sat the menu on the edge of the table.

“I’m going to go on record now to temper your expectations of tonight,” you said softly, playing with the pencil they put on the table for writing down your trivia answers. “Jungkook and I are great at trivia.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

“Yeah totally. As long as the questions are about cartoon dogs and-slash-or ‘90s hip-hop.”

“So you guys do really well on the Scooby Doo, Tupac circuit?” You snapped and shot him finger guns. Yoongi laughed along with you, the sound of your laughter the most melodious thing in the room.

“I’m glad you came,” you confessed softly, smiling at the waitress as she swooped by and took the paper with your order.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We don’t get to hang out often and I-”

“Here you go, dude.” A chilled glass of red liquid was sloshed down in front of Yoongi. He watched, a small pang in his non-existent heart, as a few drops splashed out and onto the table. “Cranberry soda.”

Yoongi sighed. “Thanks.” The kid always had terrible timing.

It took longer than expected for the squabbling to start. It seemed as though the arguments were key to your friendship with Jungkook. It was clear to Yoongi that you were fond of each other–fighting more like siblings than enemies–but that didn’t make it any less awkward to be caught in the middle of it.

He nursed his drink. It was bitter, more than he was expecting. He’d bought the pills at the Blood Bank and hadn’t tried them. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, just more acidic than what he was used to. You and Jungkook were both halfway through your second drinks, which, he supposed, was contributing to the whispered disagreement you were having.

“Pretty sure it was Coke,” Jungkook breathed, using his hand to block his mouth from anyone trying to eavesdrop at the other tables.

“Pretty sure it wasn’t.” You were leaned in so close to Yoongi that, even without enhanced senses, he could have smelled your perfume. “It’s Dr. Pepper. It was invented by a pharmacist.”

“Coke used to be made with cocaine! That was a medicine!”

“Well, sure, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Are we ready for the next question?” the trivia host’s voice boomed through the speakers in the pub.

“Shit, uh…” Jungkook scratched his head. “Just put down something.”

Silently, Yoongi wrote ‘Dr. Pepper’ on the line for question fifteen. Beside him, Jungkook huffed but said nothing.

“Okay. Question sixteen!” He could hear the host shuffling his papers in the next room. “Continuing with the potpourri category. On average, how many pints of blood are in the human body?”

“Ten,” he answered immediately, making eye contact with you briefly.

“You’re sure?” He nodded. “Good enough for me. Write it down.”

An hour later, Yoongi found himself walking the streets slowly. He’d offered to walk you home so you didn’t have to go alone. And it wasn’t like he was regretting it, he just… wasn’t sure what to say. You didn’t seem to mind his silence, though, keeping the conversation going by yourself.

“-and he came in for like… three weeks straight insisting that we teach him how to play the guitar.” You paused at the street corner, pulling your jacket closer around you as you waited for the light to change. You’d been telling him about some of the worst customers you’d had to deal with at the music shop. “Eventually, he came in with his mom and we had to explain to her that we are not music teachers.”

“How old was he?”

“I dunno. Probably… 14? Old enough to know better.”

He snorted. “I’m surprised your boss didn’t ban him.”

You walked together in a comfortable bit of silence for about a block. Yoongi followed as you turned a corner, and almost walked into your back as you stopped in your tracks, swearing harshly under your breath.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi questioned softly, following your lead as you pushed him gently to the side, against the bricks of the building.

You nodded to a group of men milling around about halfway down the block. “You know how I was late yesterday to cover Jungkook’s shift?” He hummed. “They’re why.”

“Creepy?”

“More than you know.”

And for the first time possibly ever, Yoongi could see genuine fear in your eyes. He clenched his jaw. These guys weren’t just creepy. They scared you.

“Come on.” Carefully, he held his hand out, inviting you to take it. “Guys like that are assholes, but they’re predictable assholes. If they think you’re taken, they’ll more than likely leave you alone.”

“You would do that?”

He smiled warmly. “Of course.”

You nodded, your hand slotting into his own. Your skin was warm against his, and if you noticed the difference in temperature, you didn’t say anything. You simply walked closer to him, watching your feet as you approached the group.

“Look up,” he told you softly, squeezing your hand. “Act confident. I won’t let them hurt you.”

It took a second, but your head lifted as you grew closer, your grip on his hand tight.

One of the guys whistled as soon as he noticed you. “Damn, baby, what’re you doing going home so late?”

“I’m heartbroken, babe!” Another called. “You didn’t say you had a man.”

“Nah, he a little too skinny for you, baby. Why don’t you let me show you what a real man can do?”

The third man reached out as you passed, attempting to grab your wrist. You inhaled sharply, moving so that you were practically moulded into Yoongi’s side. He let you, moving from holding your hand to wrapping his arm around your shoulder and keeping you protectively close.

You didn’t let go of him for a while after that, your arm tight around his middle as you walked. Finally, though, you did extract yourself from him, tugging your jacket closer as you paused outside a duplex.

“Thank you,” you said softly. You refused to look at him.

“Don’t worry about it.” Gently, he squeezed your bicep before dropping his hands.

You smiled at him. “You should come to trivia more often.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Jungkook and I are idiots, but you… you’re very good.” You laughed. “It’s like you lived it or something.”

His eyes widened briefly, but he was quickly able to school his emotions into an expression he hoped was more joking than surprised. “Jungkook tells me that I’m old on a semi-regular basis, so…”

You snorted out a laugh. “Every-other Thursday. Same time. Same table.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” You paused, a hand on your doorknob. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Any time.”

For a moment, you were quiet, your feet rooted to the concrete just in front of your steps. “Would you, uh…” You made a face before taking a quick deep breath. “Do you want to come in for a drink? I know you don’t drink, but I have like… tea and stuff.”

He cleared his throat. God, he would love to accept, but… “I shouldn’t. It’s getting late.”

Your face dropped instantly, but you recovered just as quickly, a small smile plastered on your face.

“Some other time?” he suggested hopefully.

“Some other time.” You nodded, and after a second, turned toward your apartment.

He waited until you shut the door and locked it, waving goodnight when you did. But as soon as he heard the lock click, he turned away.

Yoongi retraced his steps with a purpose, stalking the few blocks back. It wasn’t long until the group of men came into view. He clenched his fists just as they noticed him.

“Skinny guy, you’re back!” one of the men called, sauntering over amicably. “Not a lot of time since we last saw you.”

The man who had tried to grab you laughed. “What? She don’t put out or something?”

Yoongi’s fists clenched, his vision sharpening. Shadows lightened, bright lights faded so they weren’t quite so bright. The tips of his fangs brushed against his bottom lip.

“Skinny?” The first guy took a step back. He was nervous. Yoongi could hear his heartbeat start to pound in his chest. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

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As always, your feedback is appreciated. Please feel free to pop into my ask box with questions or comments about the series!

Tag List: @suhappysuho, @cuteipat, @toostressedtothink, @osswinterr, @anjoellamorte, @janeelizabeth1216, @ghostkat23

#bwcbookclub #casuallyimagining

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moccahobi · 1 year ago

Text

Reading this again as an incredibly burnt out high achieving student really hits different. 😭😭😭

"You worked hard to get to where you were, no fresh-faced, innocent, little dipshit is going to take that away from you. You start working even harder, determined to beat him in at least one quiz." This little bit really gets me. I am thankfully not in a college that publicly compares everybody's grades, but the ways in which competition is so deeply ingrained makes it so hard to ever take a break.

I think this shows up when they actually talk because our main character is just so exhausted and is still trying to work. I really enjoyed the ways in which Namjoon shook up their perception of being so high achieving and it honestly read a lot of comfort to me to be reminded of the ways in which high achieving is so differently defined and how easily it can be taken away.

Also their first interaction? Absolutely adorable. I really love how it starts off snarky but then kind of becomes much more soft as the main character decides to give him some kindness.

Dae your fics are always so wonderful!! Thank you for writing!

Pairing: Namjoon x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, e2l, its basically cute idiots

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1818, it got out of hand lol

Summary: Namjoon is cute. You don’t like it. Or maybe you do.

this was written for @btswriters fic exchange as well as July’s monthly theme of ___ 2 lovers! @joonscypher this got out of hand so i trimmed it down and simplified it. i hope u still like it!!

Thanks to @nottodayjjk for reading through for me!!

Rating: General audiences

You prided yourself on being a good student. Perfect grades, perfect attendance, volleyball captain. You were at the top of your class consistently—that is until you reached your second year of college. Then fresh-faced new students poured in.

Keep reading

#bwcbookclub #mutuals #daesukiii #i am finally back at reading #omg school is taking so much out of me tho #18 more days tho

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moccahobi · 2 years ago

Note

Do you like drama? Angst with happy endings? Beautiful prose? THIS IS THE FIC FOR U! AHHH!

We opened the story with our main character who is trying to break the news to Yoongi that their deal is up. There's so many layers to this angst and I love it! They're partially so adamant about this because they believe that they're in a loveless marriage. I think that there is a level of self-sacrificing in this as well since through divorcing Yoongi could in theory find someone who he loves.

Also! The prose? Amazing! There's so much drama drummed up in the prose and so much chaos that happens and is really underlined by the beautiful writing style.

Lastly (altho this is kinda a spoiler), I loved the use of the line "even heaven is not forever". It isn't used in an angsty way and just thinking about it outside of the context of the story my mind goes right to angst. I love how it's used for a cute moment instead!

My live reaction is under the read more.

Ohhhh! What an opening! The tension right away! The questions!

I love the descriptions!

Hoho! What a deal! How interesting.

Aweee. Shame 18 months in and they only became friends... And yet clearly the mc loves Yoongi. 🥺🥺🥺

His upset! 😭😭😭

THEY ALMOST KISSED?!? HOHO!

IS THIS THE END? 🥹😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

HOHO HE TURNED THE TABLES ON THEM HEHEHEHE

Love the emotions in this fight!

Ooof! Pretend!

OOOOF. HES IN LOVE TOO

YES! SPEAK UR TRUTH YOONGI!

THE EMOTION! OMG!

AHHHHH! A KISS! OMG THE EMOTIONS IN IT! I LOVE!

HEHEHEHEHE HEE OMG WHAT AN ENDING OMG! I LOVE HOW U USED THE LINE EVEN HEAVEN IS NOT FOREVER. NORMALLY I WOULD'VE THOT ANGST BUT HERE U MADE IT FLUFF!

Fluff, check! Now it's time to hurt me with some heartbreaking angst lol I'm not ready

Can I request from the angst list #99 “It could’ve been worse, we could’ve fallen in love." with this Yoongi?

Or you don't have to use the picture at all, whatever you do will be amazing I'm sure! 🤩

oh my god mindy!! thankyou so much! 💖💖 i absolutely loved this idea!! i went a lil extraa and it's angsty as hell omg. and i might or might not have used this yoongi cuz honestly, there's no description of his looks. just pure, heavy conversation!!!! here's drabble (almost a oneshot)

i'd rather die || myg

pairing : husband!yoongi x reader

genre : angst, arranged marriage au

rating : pg-13

summary : more than a year has passed and now you need to confront your husband, even if it means endless pain for you, or not?

word count : 2.8k

warnings : swearing, kissing, drinking, crying and shouting.

authour's note : yayy. my first drabble from the milestone game :) this was an absolute treat to write rlly!! still i feel like the end is a little bit rushed? i have not proof read this as i was very tired today :(( anyways. please lmk what you think of it! unedited, as always!

mood : honsool - agust d & 死ぬのがいいわ - fuji kaze

prompt : "It could've been worse, we could've fallen in love." from this list.

mlist | taglist [not doing taglist for requests]

The tears won't stop.

You could feel yourself slipping away and had to take deep breaths to ground yourself to reality. Your mind was whirring with possibilities of what could have been and you try hard to shut them out, to not let them affect you now.

Yoongi was sitting at the bar with his phone in his hand, and swirling the glass of whiskey with the other. He still hadn't noticed you standing at the door with the paper in your hand, he still hadn't registered the heavy breaths coming from your direction.

So, you compose yourself, wipe your tears with the sleeve of your dress and enter the room where he sat all alone.

"Yoongi."

"Hm?" he doesn't look up from his phone and you take painfully slow steps towards him.

"Yoongi." you call out again, in your no-nonsense voice and he finally looks up.

In a still moment, you see various emotions flash through his eyes. From the ease and comfort to the tinge of surprise at last fading into the color of concern.

"Y/N?" not a question of why are you crying, a question of just your name. As if he is asking if you are still there or have already slipped away.

"Mom called."

"And? Is everything alright?" He is on the verge of fretting.

"18 months have passed already." and time stills as you see him straighten up, the look of concern overshadowed by one of realization.

18 months and 7 days ago, to be precise, you had tied the knot with Min Yoongi, the CEO of Min Technologies. Your parents had set you up with each other with the wish of an heir. Yoongi had a very unstable reputation, especially among the chaebols, and you were considered to be an outcast. So the best idea they considered was to put you two together, to save some face.

Your parents had kept your wish of becoming a writer instead of joining their company and you had been grateful for them. But they were no strangers to the ways of the higher class and they knew you needed to do something to retain your position in their circle. People gossiped, talked ill about your family and evidently, the words had affected your parents to a big extent. One that made them put a condition over your wishes to pursue your dreams.

You were meant to marry someone till your 27th birthday, someone who was approved by your family. Failing which they would be taking the matter in their own hands. Two and a half years ago you turned twenty seven, and two years ago they took you to a dinner with the Mins.

The stakes were, as they said at that time, not so high. You both were meant to marry each other, or else Yoongi's position as the CEO would be dissolved by the board, and your career taken away by your parents.

They had also given you an out. Which you don't know was beneficiary to you or not.

You both were expected to conceive an heir within 18 months of the marriage, failing which the marriage would be respectfully dissolved along with your respective careers. So basically, it was a threat.

A threat you failed to take seriously.

As now, 18 months later, you stand in front of each other, heirless, and with no sense of direction with your life.

It wasn't a sad marriage. You had your moments, ones which brought you close to each other. With the first few months spent bickering, you had become friends till your 1st year anniversary. But it was slow paced. And none of you were willing to have a kid in a loveless marriage.

A Loveless Marriage.

Or a marriage with you hopelessly gone for him in every way possible, but still restricting yourself from flinging yourselves in his arms and letting him know.

"Are, are those divorce papers?" his trembling voice breaks you out of your reverie and you look down at the papers clutched tightly in your hand.

"Yes."

He stands up slowly, taking his time. His eyes don't leave yours and you both stand at a hand's distance, his hand still clutching his seat for support and yours the paper for everything but support.

"Y/N." His voice is not more than a whisper, and you will your tears to not fall down.

"Hm?"

One thing which you were not sure about, was what he felt. Yes, you both had almost kissed the night you got high in your balcony, and yes he never forgot to cook you your favorite dishes whenever you were not in a good mood, and yes he even removed all the tulip vases from his billion dollar estate after finding out about your allergy the night of your marriage, but they were all things he did while staying completely closed off.

"We are friends now.'' he had said on the night of your birthday, ten months after your marriage, and treated you to a lovely dinner. But that's what you both ever were, friends. He was like a closed book and you trained your mind to perceive all his acts as platonic.

You look up at him with tears lining your eyes.

"Is this the end?"

All you do is nod. Not able to trust yourself to form coherent words.

In front of your eyes he falls back on his seat, still as a rock but his chest heaving and hand falling limp at his side.

"Really?" his voice doesn't shake this time, but you think you can hear the tremble.

"What other choice do we have, Yoongi?"

Even if for some reason, your marriage is prolonged. But what's the good out of it? You trust Yoongi, but you cannot trust him to not break your heart. You need to put up a strong front to break out of this arrangement, or else you'll be doomed to eventual misery, because even if his feelings for you grow later, you don't know what will happen. You can never be too hopeful and hurt yourselves.

"We can try to pursue them. To not break it off. To-"

"But why?" you splutter with wide eyes. "Why do we need to be together, Yoongi?"

He looks at you as if you offended him and a moment later, his head falls into his hands and he mindlessly starts grumbling at your outburst. You try to catch some words and all you can are 'I will lose everything.'

Now this angers you. You both were going to lose everything. He at least doesn't have to move. You'll have to get your old place back, and meanwhile stay with your parents with them hovering over you like vultures. You will lose the place you had made your home for more than a year, you will lose the job you had to fight everyone for. You will lose him.

"Really, Yoongi? You think you will be the one to lose everything. You think I am also not getting the bad end of the stick? You think it's only a matter of 'I' and not 'We'?" you almost shout at him and take a step backwards.

"Y/N." he looks up at you with his eyebrows furrowed.

"What? I am not getting anything good out of this. I will lose everything. A place to live, a career, my dream, my freedom, every fucking thing. I'll have to go back to my parents' house for some time and endure everything they will put on me for getting out of a marriage they so thoughtfully arranged." Your outburst has you gasping for air and he visibly flinches at the last word.

You take a few steps back, trying to compose your voice. Through your almost blurred, red vision, you see him standing up, his face set into an emotion that screams defense, interrogation, curiosity, and whatnot.

"Yoongi it's not only you who is going to suffer-"

"Then why are you so keen at getting out of this marriage?"

"What?"

"Why" he takes a step towards you and you take one back,"do" one more, "you" he is almost in front of you now "want to get a divorce?"

"So that you can set me free, from this relationship we so painfully call 'marriage'". you say in a level voice and glare at him.

"Weren't you going to lose your freedom, if you'll have to return back to your parents' house?"

"Atleast I won't have to pretend." you finally shout at him, with your body trembling and hands waving in exasperation.

His face blanches at your words. His hand which was pointing at you falls down and now he takes a step backwards. Your heart hurts when you see the same feeling flash through his eyes.

But it's the truth. You're tired now.

"Pretend what?" his voice is again shaky, and a whisper.

"That whatever is there between us, is okay, and we are all good."

"We are not?" you almost don't hear his voice, almost miss the question his completely mute voice asks you, vulnerably.

"Are we? Yoongi?" you take a deep breath when he goes back again, hints of tears lining his eyes and breath frantic.

You notice his fingers twitching at his side and your heart picks up its pace. It's one of his anxious traits you had picked up on. He was nervous, he was anxious, he was fucking on the verge of panicking.

"Yoongi, calm down." you take a tentative step towards him and he looks up at you with pure brokenness.

"Think of this positively," you try to console him and your next words are something that comes out mindlessly and it hurts you to say them.

"It could've been worse, we could've fallen in love."

A thunder ripples through the sky outside the window and the curtains swerve a little bit, letting in cold moonlight and illuminating Yoongi's face in the dim yellow light of the room. His features are shock ridden and immensely contorted into an emotion you vaguely make out to be,

Hurt.

"What?"

"I, we. It's good, it's better, you know." you stumble through your words as a lone year slips out of your left eye, and also his. But still you continue, "If we had fallen in love, it would have been hard to give this up. It's good that emotions are out of the way. Now all we have to pick up are the pieces of our broken dreams and not our," he inhales sharply at your words,"not our heart."

"We, we can get a way out. We don't have to end this. They are our parents. They, they will u-understand if we pursue them." he mindlessly mumbles, frantically, and you feel the oncoming panic once again.

"But why would we do that? Instead, let's find people we love. You can work your way up to the top again, Yoongi. Don't worry."

"You don't understand, Y/N." he is still mumbling and you realize he is drunk. He had been drinking. It's not a good time to have this conversation. You again take a step back.

"What?" cautiously, slowly you ask. Because even if you know his state, the red and blue you see in front of your eyes is way too opaque to let you see through it. You are in a blind state, while he is in a drunk one.

"I, I can't lose this."

"Again you are saying this? It will be okay. Oh my god why don't you understand that-"

"I can't lose you."

A whisper spoken into nothingness but it makes everything around you halt. What did he just say? He can't lose you? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

"Huh?"

He looks away, at the window, tilts his chin up, and smiles wistfully.

You are confused. Very much. But his eyes crinkle at the ends and the air hits his face softly, caressing his hair that falls on his face. Your chest tightens up when you look at him seeming so lost, nostalgic, and in-

"I love watching your smile. It's a habit for me now. I love when you stand up for yourself in front of your parents. I feel so proud. Like yeah," one more tear falls from his eyes and his face contorts into a little bit of pain as he mindlessly points in your direction and continues,"that's my wife."

"Yoongi what-"

"I don't think I'll ever be able to bring tulips into my house again. I'd rather die than smell them and remember your pain-ridden face. If you go, I don't even know how I'll cook again."

The spinning of the world seems to come to a halt. Realization crashes over you in waves and your mind whirs to make sense of the words he has been speaking. If he means what you think he does. If it's real. You don't think you can absorb reality so well. You don't think you can see the one thing you always wished for to be true this painfully. It must be a mirage, yes it m-

"I love you."

You fall down on your knees.

Tears stream down your face but within a second Yoongi is by your side, with a shrill call of your name.

You don't hear anything but your heartbeat loudly in your ears as he wraps his arms around your trembling figure to keep you up straight. He presses your head against his chest carefully while you hiccup into his shirt, gasping for air.

"It's okay. It's okay. You are going, it's okay. We will be good. I'll manage. Don't, don't cry. I am sorry, I am so sorry," he cries and cries,"Y/N, don't cry because of me. I am so sorry for putting this upon you. Please go without any pain or worries. Or anger for me. I beg you to forgive me bab-"

"I love you."

You feel it. You feel how he goes completely still against you. You feel when you snake your hands around his torso, bringing him back to life. You feel when he tightens his arms around you and brings you even closer, if possible. You feel the ringing in your ears. You feel it all too well.

"Y/N?"

"I love you oh my god. I was scared. I thought you didn't love me. And I was tired of pretending I didn't, so I," you whimper and his trembling cheek rests atop your head. So you sigh in his comfort and continue,"I thought walking away would be the best thing."

"I am sorry."

Yet again?

You pull away a little bit to look up at him.

"Why?"

"For making you feel like this."

What does that even mean? You furrow your eyebrows when he tips his forehead against yours.

"You made me feel safe, Yoongi. You made me feel like I was living in a garden with nothing but the sweet essence of the flowers and the cool breeze of bliss. You made me feel like myself."

A tear makes its way down his closed eyes.

"But I also made you feel unsure, insecure. I made you feel like you had to walk away from me for our sake. I am sorry."

You laugh at the irony of the moment. A while ago you were sorry for chaining him into a meaningless bond and now he is sorry for making you feel sorry.

"Please don't-"

Your lips swallow his next words.

His grip on you gets tighter when he comes down from the shock of your lips on his. You tug at him and start moving your lips against him slowly, carefully, worried he might break under your burden if you give him too much of it. He sighs into your mouth and reciprocates your actions with a new found vigor. His actions are similar, slow and careful. But heavily sprinkled with the ingredient love.

Heaven falls upon you as you feel yourself getting lost in his taste. Your tongues are out of the picture but still you feel like you might die by the intensity with which your whole body lights up with fireworks. His lips swallow any traces of pain from yours and his grip on you keeps on getting tighter as if you might slip away any second if he lets you loose. Which you might, cause you cannot feel the ground beneath your knees. You recognise the whiskey lingering over his lips faintly and almost cry out.

But alas, even heaven is not forever and you break away to catch air.

He smiles at you, with traces of tears on his cheeks which no longer are significant. Still, you wipe at them with your thumb as his eyelids flutter shut.

"Love." he sighs as he calls you.

You. His love.

You laugh through your tears when you say your next words.

"You can never get rid of me, hubby."

He opens his eyes and nudges your nose with his endearingly.

"I don't even want to. Wifey."

feedback, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated so please let me know your thoughts :)))

#lillia recs #sugarwithtea #mutuals #bwcbookclub

407 notes · View notes

moccahobi · 1 year ago

Text

Cath once again hits so hard with this fic! I've been meaning to read more from her universe and OH MY I AM SO GLAD THAT I GOT TO READ THIS FIC!

In this fic, we follow Yoongi and a main character named Miso to a family dinner that she is forced to go to. Very quickly we learn that Miso and Yoongi are very much at each other's throats. If you enjoy E2L, I think that this will be a super interesting read for you!

Cath is so skilled at quickly building tension and keeping it high. With each new person we met I was hanging on the edge of my seat!

I probably looked like this as I read, just so ready for the next thing we learned:

Miso and Yoongi's dynamic is interesting and I can see that there is more we've yet to learn. I am so excited to learn more and see what else we will find!

Truly, this is an awesome fic!

My live reaction is under the read more.

Ohhhh! What an interesting opening of tension! I like how quickly you set up the stakes for their dislike.

I like how you transitioned from their first encounter to the fake dating! It flows seamlessly!

Holy shit! She rich! A golf course??? Oml. Ohhhh. The bite leaving her. I like how you show them changing their interactions in this new setting.

Oooof. The bang. And his relief of not having to hear it again... Miso still has to...

The opulence you describe is truly so overwhelming and also disconcerting! I really like it!

MILK 🤣🤣🤣 I mean I'd probably ask that too because I'm lactose intolerant and if I drank milk it'd probably make the start of a partnership... Explosive. 🤣🤣

Oooof. The way you build tension with Sera's cobvo is amazing!

The incident from a few weeks ago??? What incident? 👀👀👀

Ooof. Whose this new guy. 👀 Miso seems so uncomfortable.

Ooof. Leaving Yoongi alone is roughhhhh

👀👀👀 Nuptials?

Aweee. That sounds like such a toxic home environment.

How kind of Yoongi to offer to say for a bit.

Family Matters (Yoongi x OC)

Summary: Yoongi owes you and it's the only reason he's here, pretending to be your date at a fussy family event. Accidentally seeing you as a person was not part of the plan.

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: colleagues; banter, angst

Word count: 7.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, smoking, weed, mentions of parental abuse and bullying

A/N: So this took me a long time to write but I'm finally posting my first Yoongi fic in the idolverse! It's slightly different in tone from the others but it's a storyline I'm quite excited about, so hope you enjoy it :)

Tagging: @bbl32, @dreaming-with-happiness, @meirkive, @quarter-life-crisis2, @ggukkieland, @kflixnet, @k-radio (drop me a message to let me know if you’d like to be tagged)

Listen to: “not if you were the last junkie on earth” by the dandy warhols

yoongi masterlist | main masterlist

Min Suga.

Kang Chanel.

It hadn’t taken more than two words each for the mutual dislike to settle heavily in the air. The pause she’d given before introducing herself, as though evaluating whether Min Suga was worthy of an introduction, had been enough for Yoongi to bristle. The way she’d made herself at home in his studio annoyed him even more, especially when in the course of nearly half a decade, he’d never been asked to work with an assistant producer.

He may not have minded, had it not been for the clear superiority complex she seemed to possess and the way some of the things she said made him feel as though he was being mocked, even though there was nothing he could pick apart in her words. She was articulate; too much so, enough that he’d wondered once or twice what on earth she was doing in the music industry of all places - in his studio.

Of course, rich parents proved quite soon to be the answer to that question. Kang Chanel hadn’t been half as subtle as she’d intended, and by the end of their first meeting, he’d managed to create enough of an impression about her as she clearly had of him. She didn’t think much of his possessiveness over his working environment, he didn’t like her aloofness, and both of them unequivocally detested the fact that they were being made to work together.

In light of all this, Yoongi wonders once again, with a mild resignation, just how he’s managed to end up here a month later, at her house and as her date to a family get together.

The house is just as big as he’d imagined. Granted, he and all his bandmates have swanky apartments of their own, but they’re nothing like this mansion. Large and white, with gardens and gazebos, doormen and gated compounds; it screams old money. As the guard opens the remote controlled gate to let him in, Yoongi can’t help but feel that old, familiar bitterness in the pit of his stomach at this ostentatious display of wealth. When he spots her descending the staircase before walking in his direction, it’s replaced by an exasperation he associates only with her, like the feeling before a maths exam.

Against the calm rays of the sun before it sets, her expression looks unexpectedly dark. She’s dressed in all black, as usual, but a little more refined than what she normally lands up at the studio in. She’s wearing a skirt, for starters, which ripples in the breeze just below her knees, although with thin black stockings underneath, as though determined to show as less skin as possible. The top is long-sleeved and figure-hugging, making her thin and lanky frame look even more so. As she nears him, he realises she’s wearing lipstick. It makes her look human all of a sudden, and Yoongi is forced to bite his tongue before he accidentally comments on it.

“Min Suga,” she acknowledges once she’s close enough, using the name he knows she’s mocking.

“Kang Miso,” he replies, using the first name he knows she deliberately tried to keep hidden.

Miso rolls her eyes and Yoongi feels a faint leap of amusement as he falls into step beside her. They pass under a canopy of trees, all throwing pretty shadows on the ground. He’s absently observing them when she speaks.

“Did you find the house okay?”

He nods, still looking at the ground. “Yeah, wasn’t hard. Besides, most people know where to point when you ask where Kang Jae Sung lives.”

“Lucky you.”

It’s a decent walk back to the house from the gate. When they pass by the gardens, the churning in his stomach returns when he takes note of just how expansive it is. Behind the gardens, unless he’s mistaken, is a golf course, if the flags are any indication. He can spot what he thinks is the garage from here, with the rears of at least four different fancy cars displayed. It occurs to him that he hadn’t made an accurate judgment before, for this isn’t simply a mansion - it’s an estate.

“So, you grew up here?”

He expects a smart comment of sorts; any time he’s snidely brought up the fact that she comes from money, or quite unsubtly indicated that she’s a prime example of nepotism at HYBE, her responses are equally snarky, almost as if she has an arsenal of comebacks from years of hearing similar comments.

Now, however, Miso simply sighs heavily. “Yes,” is all she says.

Yoongi frowns slightly, gaze still on the ground. He isn’t obtuse; he owes her for instinctively preventing him from being photographed outside HYBE with a cigarette between his fingers, and that’s really the only reason he’s here today. It’s openly begrudging on his part, but at no point has he assumed that she’s enjoying this at all either. Her response only confirms it, but it seems less directed at him and more at the fact itself.

At the foot of the steps that lead to the front door, she pauses. She stares at the front door, a huge oak structure that looks like it should fall open like a drawbridge, before turning abruptly to him. “Don’t talk to my mom about us, okay? About… this.” She waves her hand in the space between them and he takes it to mean that she’s referring to this rather flimsy facade of a date they’re playing at.

Yoongi shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Why would I talk to her about it?”

“No, as in -” Miso breaks off, biting her lip and shaking her head. Yoongi tries not to look too stunned, but it’s the most flustered he’s ever seen her look. It’s still less noticeable than most, but he wasn’t even sure anything could faze her this much - that is, until he’d met her father at HYBE.

This is different, though. When her father had appeared, she’d gone stoic, like a child bracing herself for a scolding after getting bad marks. Now, she seems more nervous, almost jittery. It’s incredibly strange - and novel, which is why Yoongi finds himself hoping she’ll cut it out before he starts feeling the need to say something.

“She will talk about it,” she says finally, “and she’ll ask you questions and make comments which are not friendly in nature, much as they might sound like it.” She exhales heavily. “Just… don’t engage, alright?”

Yoongi, who honestly has no intention of engaging with anyone, nods. “Okay.”

Miso nods in mild satisfaction before leading him up the stairs. For a moment, he doesn’t imagine she’ll be able to open the door, for it looks incredibly heavy. But she pushes one of the doors and slides in, holding it open for Yoongi to enter as well before letting it go so it closes with an ominous bang. It gives him the distinct feeling of being locked up, and he’s momentarily thankful he’ll never have to hear it again after today.

If Yoongi had any preconceived notions about her parents’ wealth or her upbringing, the interior of the house only confirms it. It’s all variations of beige, the only splashes of colour saved for antiques and paintings placed strategically around the room. He can’t even really tell what the aesthetic is meant to be, but something tells him that that’s exactly the point.

He tries not to let his face give too much away as he vaguely scans the sitting room, which looks bigger than the entire house he and his family lived in before he moved to Seoul. Off to the side is an immaculately carpeted staircase that, he’s sure, leads to the eight bedrooms and gold-plated bathrooms this house surely has.

“I’ll give you a tour later,” she murmurs dryly, startling him. He turns slightly to see her observing him, looking mildly amused, as though waiting for whatever smart comment he has loaded up. She’s less than a head shorter than him and her arms are folded across her chests as usual. The long black sleeves cover her pale knuckles and her violet nails look darker than ever against them.

“Yeah. And maybe a map.”

Miso nods, satisfied, before slowly walking further into the house, practically dragging her feet across the floor. Yoongi follows her absently, hoping his unease at being here isn’t showing on his face too blatantly. He look up ahead instead at Miso, looking distinctly odd in her dark-coloured get-up, especially surrounded by so much beige. Looking up ahead as they enter what looks like the kitchen, complete with an enormous kitchen island, a fully stocked bar and, for reasons best unknown, a set of couches and arm chairs. Through an archway, he can see a dining table the length of an Olympic swimming pool, carefully being tended to by no less than three people in black and white; they’re clearly part of the catering company. Yoongi feels a strange sense of relief and trepidation.

None of this was part of the plan. When it was made clear to him that he had no choice, even after multiple discussions with his colleagues at HYBE that no, he did not need to work with an assistant producer, Yoongi’s patience with this stranger was already wearing thin. Hoseok, who also had an assistant producer working with him but fortunately one of his choosing, had tried to make him see the bright side.

“Maybe she’s nice,” he’d said, panting and chugging down a bottle of cold water as they finished dance practice a few weeks ago. “Maybe she’ll surprise you.” With a frustrated look at the bottle, he’d paused before splashing its entire contents into his face.

Yoongi had shook his head immediately, not in the mood for Hoseok’s ability to see the best in everyone. “Yeah, I don’t see that happening.”

“It’s not like you have a choice,” he’d retorted, coughing through the water as droplets trickled down his tan neck. “Doesn’t matter how she got there. Just try to work with her or you’re going to end up hating your own studio.”

Those were profound words from a man who’d managed to get water up his nose standing up, but Yoongi had begrudgingly tried to take his advice, gingerly stepping into the studio the next day and muttering a “Hi” to Miso, who was already settled in comfortably. He’d even taken the extra step of bringing her a coffee, hoping it would ease some of the clash that was sure to occur soon. Maybe it would be the steaming hot, frothy start of a better working relationship. Maybe, as Hoseok said, she would surprise him.

All that went out the window the moment he’d actually handed her the cup. She’d taken it with a hesitant sort of thanks, frowning at the cup as though expecting to be poisoned. She’d taken off the lid and sniffed it, before looking up at Yoongi with a completely unreadable expression on her face.

“Does this have milk?”

That had been the beginning and end of any sort of olive branch. Yoongi had been forced to control his seething, instead chucking his bag on the couch and scoffing as he pulled up the tracks they were working on, trying not to even look in her direction as much as possible. It was rare that someone managed to get under his skin to this extent, but Kang Miso, with her quiet arrogance, her narrowed eyes, her famous family name and her infuriating ability to generate good ideas when they worked, had succeeded.

Miso wasn’t a prodigy. She wasn’t even close, but she had a good ear for music. Would she have been here, in Prod. Suga’s studio without her father’s name and connections? Absolutely not. Would Yoongi have missed out on a good suggestion here and there without her, though?

The answer grates on the corner of Yoongi’s mind as he stands in her expansive kitchen, and a loud clang startles him.

“You! Can’t you work quietly?” A loud and livid hiss travels through the kitchen before a woman, who can only be Miso’s mother, glides into the room in a black dress, complete with clicking heels and thin gold jewellery. Behind her, a serving girl scrambles to pick up a fallen ladle and scurries out of the room and out of her sight. At the kitchen island, Yoongi notices Miso straighten instantly.

“Posture, Miso,” her mother mutters anyway, apparently at the mere sight of her daughter. “Are you dressed appropriately for tonight?”

“Um, I think so.” There’s a slight edge to her voice as she surreptitiously smooths a fold on her skirt.

At this, her mother finally stops her bustling around and takes a look at Miso. “No jewellery?” she asks after a moment. In answer, Miso brushes back her hair from next to her face to reveal a small pair of silver earrings, and her mother sighs in what seems to be grudging approval.

“Are you ready for tonight? Can I expect you on your best behaviour? Because, darling, I would really rather not have a repeat of -”

Miso interrupts her at this point. “Mother, this is, uh -”

To Yoongi’s surprise, Miso looks right at him and beckons for him to join her. He takes a hesitant step before walking further into the kitchen and into her mother’s view, feeling rather as though he’s walking into a parent-teacher conference.

“This is - this is Yoongi,” she says when he stops a foot away from her, across the island from her mother. “He’s… I invited him to join us tonight,” she says eventually, looking expectantly at him.

Her mother seems momentarily taken off guard before an expression of deep surprise settles on her face. “Kang Sera,” she says with a sparkling smile, her voice suddenly an octave lower. She bows slightly which he returns in full force, before offering a hand. “I didn’t know Miso was in a relationship. She rarely tells us anything, in fact,” she adds, looking at her daughter as though looking at a wilful child. “Unless it’s to ask her father for a job.” She lets out a tinkling laugh.

For some reason, Yoongi can’t bring himself to look at Miso next to him, from whom only a stony silence seems to emanate. “Ma’am… Miso and I are not -”

“We’re not dating, mother. We’re just… we’re here as - as friends.”

That’s a stretch. As far as Yoongi knows, he and Miso can barely stand each other. They have next to nothing in common, and it’s been less than forty-eight hours since she rolled her eyes in his studio and suggested to him to try and be less uptight.

“Oh.” Kang Sera gives them an appraising look. “Well. I’m sure that will be acceptable, too. You’re the youngest cousin; it wouldn’t be completely shocking.” She glances at her delicate gold watch as Miso exhales sharply. “You should give your guest a tour.”

There’s a pause and Yoongi realises a moment later that he’s meant to speak. “You have a beautiful house, Mrs Kang,” he says, and the quiet scoff from next to him makes him almost want to smile.

Sera smiles, the same sparkling, borderline artificial one, and nods once. “Thank you. You should see the rest of it. Miso will show you around.” With that, she walks out of the room purposefully, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

There’s a moment of awkward silence before Yoongi turns towards Miso, not surprised to see her still looking down at the kitchen island, seemingly frozen. She looks up quickly, though.

“Well, you heard her,” she says wryly. “You’re going to get the full tour of the Kang estate, Min Suga.”

Kill me now. But he simply nods, only for her to frown slightly. When he slips his hand into his pockets and still says nothing, patiently waiting for her to lead the way, she observes for a moment before passing him and exiting the kitchen.

They walk through the dining room. “You’re going to want one of those,” she says, gesturing to the bar where a bartender wipes down an immaculate slab. “One whiskey on the rocks. Water, not soda.” She looks back at Yoongi, who hesitates but joins her anyway.

“One scotch, please. And… light. I’m driving back,” he adds, responding to her questioning look as the bartender begins making their drinks.

“Oh,” she says after a moment, as though this hadn’t occurred to her. “Try to keep the drink going for as long as you can, then,” she suggests, “or these people will make you get another.”

“Noted.” They wait in silence until they get their drinks, Miso giving the bartender a nod as she picks up hers, and Yoongi muttering a quiet “thank you”.

“So, where do you want to start?”

Yoongi takes a sip. “I don’t know. Probably a coin toss between the indoor basketball court or the private jet.”

Miso raises her eyebrows and takes a larger sip of her own drink. “You’re sorely mistaken,” she says dryly as they head out towards what looks like another living room with a set of French doors. “We just have a tennis court. Hang on, I left my phone at the bar.” She sweeps past him to go back the way they came, the scent of something vaguely flowery in her wake.

When she returns a few moments later, he’s looking at a set of carefully placed photographs in immaculate frames on the mantle. He glances at her before pointing at one of a younger girl in a school uniform, her hair in two pigtails and a plaque in her hands.

“Cute.”

As expected, Miso barely reacts, beckoning for him to come outside, but Yoongi doesn’t move. It’s obviously her; there’s no doubt about it. It’s the same thick fringe parted slightly in the middle, the same thick eyebrows and blazing look. For the first time since he’s met her, he wishes she would smile.

“What?”

He realises he’s still looking at it. “Nothing. You still get that same look on your face.”

She cracks a hint of a smile. “Really? What’s that?”

“The one where you think you’re right about everything.” When she scoffs, he half-grins. “You’ve had it since you were a kid.”

Miso shrugs. “I can’t help it if I’ve always been right about everything.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Really. It’s not fun being right all the time, you know.”

“I feel for you.”

“Are you about ready for that tour yet?”

“Am I ever.”

They step out into the cool evening, the air still warm in August. In the distance, Yoongi sees the party. Twinkly yellow lights, delicate chairs and small tables, a buffet on one end with the dishes a shiny silver, wait staff looking sharp as they move around seamlessly with trays of drinks and appetizers. He can spot Miso’s mother and a few other adults, along with people his own age, looking at complete ease amidst all this finery. The sight makes Yoongi’s stomach roll with an ancient irritation.

“Oh, God.” Miso stops in her tracks. “I’m not ready for this yet. Come on.” Without explaining herself any further, she takes a detour through the lawn, her slender figure dark against the green canopy. They end up behind a greenhouse behind which is the boundary wall. Yoongi spots his own Honda in the middle of the other fancy cars parked across the street where the valet must have taken them.

“What are we -” He stops when he sees her pull out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She places her glass on the windowsill of the greenhouse and slides the lighter out of the pack along with a cigarette before offering him the open pack.

“Aren’t we supposed to be on a tour?”

“Do you really care?” When he hesitates, she frowns. “What is it? I mean, I know you smoke now. And there’s no paparazzi here.”

She makes a fair point, so Yoongi takes one, lighting his own after she’s done with hers and takes a drag. “Minty,” is all he says.

“There is no part of me that wants to go into that pit,” she murmurs after a moment, flicking ash from her cigarette before taking another deep drag.

“You? This is your world.” He taps his cigarette to get rid of the ash. “I felt like a fish out of water even in your kitchen.”

“Aren’t you used to hanging out with people like this, though? Now, when you go to company events or other colleagues’ houses?”

“It’s different, though. Less tours of family estates and more actual, normal people.”

A light gust of breeze blows Miso’s hair off her neck, giving him a glimpse of the silver earrings she’d shown her mother. Yoongi makes it through half his cigarette before realising she hasn’t responded.

“You’ve been to some of those, too, right?” he prods.

“Just one.” Miso nods. “Earlier this year. I think one of your group members was there, too.”

“Possible. They have much more happening lives than I do.”

“No kidding. It’s hard to get a scientist out of his lab.”

She has that same hint of a smile on her face again, like she’s enjoying a private joke, except this time he knows the joke. Out of all the things about her that Yoongi begrudgingly puts up with, the fact that she insists on calling his studio genius lab every time she refers to it gets on his nerves more than everything else put together.

“Do you think this is a fair exchange?” he asks after a moment. “Me, being here in exchange for covering for me with the paps?”

Miso frowns curiously, adjusting her cigarette between her fingers. “I did it out of the goodness of my heart, didn’t I?”

Yoongi scoffs without meaning to. “I meant, I’m returning a favour. But I have to be here for a few hours, socialising with people I can’t stand, drinking the most diluted scotch on earth, and all you had to do was text me because you were in the right place at the right time.”

There’s a pause where Miso stares at the ground before looking up at him. “Then why did you agree to come?”

He taps his cigarette again. “I owed you.”

“You could’ve given me a day off and we would’ve been even.”

“I’m not your boss; I don’t control your schedule.”

She exhales and a puff of smoke goes up into the air. “You know what I mean. It could’ve been anything else. All you had to do was say no to this.”

Yoongi realises only then that he’s been looking at a tree to her left this entire time; in a slow movement, he meets her eyes and feels the momentary urge to look away again. “Your father extended the invitation,” he says.

Miso shrugs. “So? He’s not your father. And you could’ve said you were busy. You are, in fact - don’t you have a company thing to go for after this?”

He bites his lip and nods. The look on her face is mildly challenging. He notices for the first time how sharp her jaw is and is instantly reminded of the photograph inside. He knows what he’s referring to, though, and he thinks he knows what she wants him to say. The incident from a week ago flashes through his mind, however, and he knows he won’t.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says finally, looking away and dropping his cigarette stub on the ground, crushing it underneath his shoe.

“Okay,” she says after a few seconds, her voice lighter. He looks up to see her tilting her head at him curiously. “So how can I do you a favour for the favour you did me… for the favour I did you?”

Yoongi pauses as he processes this.

“Don’t worry, it’s correct.”

Bristling, he holds her gaze. “There are a few tracks that need editing. They need to be cut before the group members arrive tomorrow evening to record.” He waits for her reaction, not surprised at her dry smile as she stubs out her own cigarette.

“Alright. I’ll be there in the morning.”

“Really? You’re okay spending your Sunday morning at work?”

“Well, I’m not okay spending my Saturday night at this thing, so what’s the difference?” She picks up her drink and motions for him to come with, which he does a little belatedly because he’s not sure he likes how she’s comparing work with this stuffy dinner. She turns to give him another one of her unreadable half-smiles. “But apparently I owe you a favour.”

—

The first time Yoongi had met Miso, when she’d been leaning against the wall outside his studio, he’d found himself mildly impressed at her confidence. The first words out of her mouth had put him off, however, and as she’d more or less made herself at home in not only his studio but the entire Hybe building, he’d begun to resent her presence more than ever, unable to understand just where she’d got the confidence from when he, Yoongi, had just about come around to feeling at home here.

It’s a direct contrast to Miso in her own home, among her own family, where she sticks out like a sore thumb. She’s neither social nor very good at faking it, she’s incapable of making small talk, and her default form of conversation seems to be a very deep level of sarcasm that most people, like Yoongi in the initial days, seem to barely understand.

When they finally join the sparkly crowd of people, Yoongi finds himself introduced to faceless socialite after faceless socialite, none of whose names Miso seems to remember, and he realises that somehow, in every trainwreck of a social interaction, Yoongi is the icebreaker between Miso and whomever they’re speaking to. Even worse than the adults are the people their own age, the ones Miso apparently went to school with, whom she simply cannot seem to stand.

“Oh, God,” she would mutter, making a face into her drink, “look who’s finally got his face out of the kegger” or “Look who it is, Seoul’s favourite child bride” in reference to her classmate who married her boyfriend at eighteen, a vision in designer wear with two children skipping at her feet.

With this, Yoongi concludes that her disdain for her schoolmates is neither surprising nor one-sided, and the fact that she spends all her time at the studio suddenly makes sense. Friends don’t seem to be a priority for her; indeed, she seems more than satisfied being the black sheep of Seoul’s elite.

“Kang Miso!”

Before him, Miso, who’s midway through her second drink, freezes. “Incoming,” she mutters, before turning around to face a young man, his white shirt crisp with the first three buttons undone, a navy blue suit, and enough cologne to make Yoongi feel like he’s been slapped in the face with it.

“Hi.”

She says no more and the new person, whoever he is, seems mildly amused by this perfunctory greeting. “Your mother said you were around here somewhere,” he says, and something about the way he says it makes it sound as though it was a lot more than a throwaway mention. He doesn’t even glance at Yoongi.

Miso observes him, a tight hint of a smile on her face. “Yes, well. I live here.”

Again, he seems to be expecting something more and when she doesn’t provide, he gives her that same curious smile, as though she’s a particularly fascinating animal at the zoo.

“You’ve haven’t changed,” he comments, pointing at her with his whiskey. His teeth flash white against his tan skin. “You look just the same.”

Miso frowns slightly. “Was I supposed to?”

“I don’t know. People usually grow, don’t they? Even late bloomers?”

Yoongi has an inkling what he’s referring to and it makes him almost want to scoff out loud in disgust. Meanwhile, Miso tilts her head.

“You weren’t a late bloomer and your shoulders are about a third of the size they were ten years ago. Not enough lacrosse in your father’s factory?”

The man narrows his eyes slightly. “It’s my uncle’s factory.”

“My mistake. This is Yoongi, by the way. Yoongi, this is…” By her tone, it’s clear that this is a name she does remember.

The man straightens up slightly, as though just realising there’s a third person in their midst. “Seojun,” is all he says, shaking Yoongi’s outstretched hand. “Are you her -”

“No.” Next to him, Yoongi wonders if he’s imagining Miso’s suppressed smile.

“Oh.” Then, Seojun frowns. “You look familiar. Have we met?” He raises an eyebrow. “Did you go to our school?”

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his scotch. “Yes,” he answers.

“Huh. Did you play sports?”

“Only basketball. And chess.”

There’s a moment where Seojun looks truly lost before he raises his eyebrows, apparently choosing to believe him before he turns his attention on Miso again. “I heard your father was in the States recently. For a while. Returned… last week, I think?”

“If you say so.”

Seojun tilts his head at her. “Do you and your mom ever get lonely in this big house, all by yourselves?”

For a moment, Yoongi thinks she’s going to throw her drink in his face. But then she takes a deep breath. “We’re fine, thank you.”

Before Seojun can respond, someone else calls out his name from behind them. They all look to see another man their age, with red frosted tips and a brown suit, grinning and waving him over. He’s standing with a group of similarly-aged individuals, all looking far more comfortable in Miso’s house than she does herself.

“Look at that, hunter,” says Miso, not missing the opportunity. She points at the group as Seojun turns around to face her. “Your gatherer is calling you.”

Yoongi fails to suppress his snort this time, fortunately managing to disguise it as a cough while Seojun simply observes her again, that same mixture of confusion and amusement playing on his face before he takes a couple of steps back and retreats towards his people, and Miso exhales.

“Were those the kind of esteemed individuals you went to private school with?” Yoongi mutters, unable to hide the disdain in his voice.

“Unfortunately,” she answers. “Except that one, believe it or not, was also my prom date.”

“Prom?” Yoongi tries not to sound too incredulous. “Like in those American movies?”

“Yep. Our school had prom. And hairspray over there stood me up, not realising he’d done me the biggest favour he could possibly do.” She rolls her eyes. “I think my mother cared more about it than I did.”

“Speaking of…” Yoongi trails off when he spots her, raising his eyebrows at Miso in warning. Uncharacteristically, her eyes widen before she turns around to come face to face with Kang Sera, still looking radiant - and displeased. Unlike Seojun, however, she seems to register Yoongi’s presence.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself, Yoongi. May I speak with you a moment inside, Miso?" she asks, not waiting for either of them to respond before she stalks off inside the house.

Miso stares at her drink before sighing. “Right on cue. Probably a rich socialite friend she hasn’t paraded me in front of yet,” she mutters, before downing the last sip of her drink. “I’ll be back.” With that, she leaves Yoongi in the midst of the rich and powerful, following her mother back into the house.

It’s the last straw, as far as Yoongi is concerned. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said that coming here was possibly disproportionate to the favour he owed her, but now being abandoned here? It’s too much; in fact, it’s enough to make him want to leave right now, without saying goodbye to her, and reach the Honda dinner early. It’s most unlike him, but if he has to speak to one more cocky and privileged debutante with only a last name in place of a personality, he might throw something.

I already have one in my studio every morning, he thinks savagely, finishing his diluted drink and deciding that he, at least, deserves another if he’s going to make it through the rest of this hideousness. But the moment he sees Miso again, he’s going to leave, he decides.

It takes him a good five minutes to find his way back to the house, especially amidst the increasing crowd. He also gets the feeling that he’s starting to be recognised; he gets stopped by a pretty girl at the entrance of the house who starts off by saying “I don’t mean to bother you, but -”, after which she gets interrupted when Yoongi gets a fortuitously timed phone call.

“Sorry, but I have to -” He gestures to the phone and answers, turning away from her as she nods vigorously. It’s Hoseok, asking him when he’s planning to leave and Yoongi wishes, more than anything else, to be able to give him an answer.

“I’ll let you know in a bit,” he says vaguely, deciding that if he can’t find the girl that brought him here, he’s at least going to get another drink. There are far fewer people inside the house, mostly men and mostly grown ups, with a very different tone to the finery outside. While the gardens are light and airy with plastic smiles and forced small talk, the inside is louder and more boisterous and very male, and it’s the only environment Yoongi wants to be in even less than the party outside.

He sidles up to the bar and orders another light scotch before shuffling through the sides of the room, wanting to just be out of this place. It’s easy, for the men barely pay him any attention and Yoongi is fairly noiseless as he moves. As he slips out, though, he accidentally meets someone’s eyes. The man has three others around him, all of them talking loudly, while the fourth and the tallest, holds Yoongi’s gaze and tilts his chin up slightly in acknowledgment.

His unreadable expression reminds Yoongi instantly of Miso; the last time he’d seen him, the older man had been at Hybe, welcomed appropriately as the investor he was. He’d stopped by to see his daughter at work, and an invite to a dinner had been presented to Yoongi, one he wishes now he’d declined but still knows, deep down, that Miso was right and there was no way he could have done so. Yoongi knows he’s locked eyes with Kang Jaesung, and an unexpected shiver goes down his spine.

Fortunately, he looks away then and Yoongi takes the opportunity to slip away fully, realising only belatedly that he’s nearing the kitchen for the second time today.

“... need to say that out loud, Miso!”

“She had no problem bringing up my upcoming nuptials, mother!” There’s a pause where Kang Sera scoffs and Miso makes a sound of impatience. “What nuptials?”

“Not too many people are used to a twenty-eight year old woman who brings a friend as a date, Miso.”

“Would you rather I came alone? The last time I did that, you almost had a heart attack and you told everyone my imaginary date’s car broke down.”

“Well, unfortunately, that is the only other option in your case, isn’t it?” Sera mutters, and there’s a sound of a glass clinking.

Yoongi winces internally, knowing this isn’t a conversation he should be overhearing. Unfortunately, the only other option that remains is to go into that lion’s den he just escaped, and he has absolutely no desire to do that.

“Still better than the losers you set me up with,” retorts Miso scathingly. “Remember Seojun? And - by the way, I can’t believe you invited him tonight.”

“They are some of our oldest friends, Miso. It’s called building relationships. You might want to learn a thing or two about that before it’s too late.”

“Can I, for one night, not speak to those people?”

“You certainly cannot. Introduce him to your date - I’m sure he’ll be very impressed by that.”

“I really doubt it. Mother, why have you called all these people from my high school? Fine, forget Seojun, but the rest of them! Most of them aren’t even family friends!”

“They were your friends, Miso.”

“No, they weren’t! They were my classmates, ten years ago. And believe me, they didn’t like me either.”

There’s a sound of a glass being placed on the kitchen island. “Fine, Miso. Tell me. Which friends of yours should I have called? Give me two names and I’ll concede to you.”

The silence that follows makes Yoongi want to melt through the floor.

“Well, there you have it.”

“I would have been fine with no friends, mother. We don’t have to -”

“And what? Let all your aunts and uncles and cousins see that ten years at that private school led to nothing?” Sera sounds genuinely anxious now. “That you haven’t used your network at all, that you’re working as someone’s assistant while your cousin is a founder of his own company?”

“It’s assistant producer, mother. And, please, if you’re talking about Donghyun then I wouldn’t worry. An app to differentiate real precious stones from fakes doesn’t sound like it’ll take off, especially when his angel investor and actual CEO is his father while he’s banging his secretary in his office every day.”

Her mother exhales sharply. “When did you become so crude? It’s extremely unbecoming, Miso. I blame that Australian school.”

“Mother, I’m not asking anybody to inconvenience themselves. I’m just asking if I can avoid talking to the people I couldn’t even stand in high school, and who definitely weren’t my friends.”

“For god’s sake, Miso. I wish you weren’t making me say this but to have friends, you need to be friendly. Hopefully you’ll learn something about that today.”

“Mother -”

“We have guests to entertain, Miso. Please, for once, think about someone other than yourself.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to realise the conversation is over, and he scrambles to press himself against the wall so as to not be spotted by either of the women. But he needn’t bother, for he hears the sound of Kang Sera’s heels grow fainter and realises she’s exited the kitchen through the other way. He hears Miso swear softly inside and knows that they’d both rather be caught dead than acknowledge that Yoongi was in earshot of that argument. He’s just wondering if it’s worth going back into that testosterone-filled room when he hears Miso leave in the same direction as her mother, making no sound.

Yoongi needs to leave. He has a sponsor dinner to get to, and it always looks bad when the celebrities arrive late. It’s the reason Namjoon always starts herding them early, especially if they’re all in the dorm, and there’s no excuse for Yoongi to be late today. He needs to say goodbye to the host, however, so he follows Miso before entering an empty kitchen and realising he has no idea where she is.

Or maybe he does; he has a hunch, anyway. If there’s one thing they seem to have in common, it’s that neither of them can stomach this evening any longer. Since Yoongi doesn’t know much about Miso or her house, he goes to the only place he knows that won’t be swarming with guests.

“Not afraid of being caught?”

Miso looks up from the rusted bench she’s sitting on, right behind a pane of glass next to where they were smoking earlier today. The area looks smaller in the dark, nothing but the streetlights outside illuminating it. She looks slightly taken aback, and Yoongi wonders if he followed her too soon.

If she suspects he overheard anything, she doesn’t show it. “Haven’t in the last decade. Feeling pretty good about my chances.” She takes a short puff and blows smoke into the air, and Yoongi is suddenly transported to high school. Hesitating for a moment, he takes a seat to her right.

She says nothing for about a minute. “The best goddamn years of my life were when I left this place,” she mutters, before taking a longer drag. “Six years in college before I had no choice but to come back.” She offers him the blunt.

He’s a bit hesitant but takes it anyway, taking a drag and feeling the familiar smoky taste in his sinuses. “It’s a bit light,” he says after a moment.

“Haven’t got a new stash in a while. It’s mixed with tobacco.”

“No, it’s not bad.” Yoongi returns it. “So, your mother is…”

“Insane?” Miso chuckles without humour. “It’s really not fun being right all the time,” she murmurs.

Biting his lip, Yoongi blurts out something that’s been on his mind ever since he’d met her mother the first time.. “Why don’t you just leave?”

Miso exhales. “That’s easier said than done.”

Yoongi doesn’t push. Then -

“I’ll be at the studio at seven tomorrow, by the way. Does that work?”

“What?” Their conversation during their smoke feels like forever ago. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“Why? I owe you.”

“I was kidding. I’ll manage.”

“Yoongi.” She drops the stub on the ground and crushes it with her shoe. “I would really like to be at the studio at seven am,” she states.

Yoongi considers this, realising she hasn’t called him Min Suga. “Okay, then.”

There’s a few more seconds of silence where Miso retrieves another joint from under the bench and rips off the tape, before lighting it and taking another drag. Blowing smoke into the air, she offers it to him.

He shakes his head, though. “Probably shouldn't have any more. I need to head out.”

“Got another party?”

“Dinner with the Honda team. Should be wild.”

“Alright. Need me to walk you out?”

“Nah, I’ll find my way.”

Miso nods. “Cool. Thanks for coming.”

He nods in return but doesn’t get up. “What’s your plan?”

“My plan?” She scoffs, and a flash of a smile appears on her face. “Probably to finish this joint and go back inside for the highlight of the night.” She sighs when she realises he’s waiting for an explanation. “There’s a thing where all the brothers go one by one and their families brag about their latest accomplishments. Since my dad’s the youngest, that leaves me for the end.”

Yoongi winces. “Yikes.”

“Yep. Can’t wait to hear how I’ve disappointed the family this time.” She pauses and takes the blunt back from him. “I’m gonna hang on to this.”

“Do you want to come with me?” It’s unintentional and unexpected, but he waits anyway.

She chuckles dryly. “Three hours as my date wasn’t enough? You want more?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? Even bickering with you is better than socialising with a suit.”

Miso’s jaw hardens a bit. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Believe me, you’re the last person who’s ever going to get it,” he says honestly.

She’s silent for a moment. “Thanks. But my parents will freak out if I leave.”

“What can possibly be worse than listening to that stockbroker cousin of yours tell us about his wins at the stock market?”

“Not much.” She chuckles again, but this time it’s heavier. “You don’t know my father.”

It’s a sinister sort of silence that settles between them and Yoongi frowns, remembering once again that when Kang Jaesung had invited him to a family dinner, it hadn’t been the intimidating investor that Yoongi had been watching, but his daughter next to him. She’d looked like a whole different person when faced with her father, and Yoongi had said the only thing he could think of to make it stop. Admitting this to Miso is never going to happen, but he finds it’s hard to avoid the fact himself any longer.

“You know what?” he says after a moment. “The deal was for me to stay the whole evening. It’s only fair.”

She frowns, a bit incredulously. “What? No. Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“They’ll survive without me.”

“They probably won’t. And the last thing I need is BTS’s Suga to upstage me with his achievements as well, what with the Grammy and all.”

“We didn’t win the Grammy, actually,” he says listlessly.

“My family’s all about Korean pride. They hate the academy for not giving it to you.”

Yoongi pauses for a few seconds. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “More than ever.”

He should get up now. “Will you let me know if Jeonghoon ever makes it to the dentist?”

Miso chuckles unexpectedly, and Yoongi feels slightly less awkward. “Will do. Thanks for today, by the way.”

“I owed you,” he says simply.

“I know you did.”

He stands up and dusts himself off. “Can I have a last drag? For the road?”

She hands it to him. “For the road.”

“Thanks.” He pauses again. “How long will you be hiding out here?”

Miso shrugs. “Until I don’t have a choice but to unhide.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She looks up at him, her face unreadable once again, a hint of amusement on it. “You really want to avoid your dinner, don’t you?”

He sighs. “I’m not good in social situations. I don’t enjoy them, at least.”

Her smirk widens. “Look at that. Something we have in common.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

She cracks a smile. “I’ll make sure to remember that the next time you tell me my instrumental arrangements are outdated.”

“And I may conveniently forget this ever happened.”

She nods thoughtfully, her gaze dropping to the ground before meeting his again. “Goodnight, Min Suga.”

“Good luck, Kang Miso.”

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review. :)

#bwcbookclub #magicshopholoc #mutuals

151 notes · View notes

moccahobi · 1 year ago

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When I say this fic melted my heart, I truly mean it. Fake dating is such a cute and sweet trope that I hold dear in my heart! And Ashley's fic is no different! It's a delectable fic where Jimin works hard to convince our mc that he's the perfect partner for them!

I found myself cooing along at their domestic and adorable interactions even before they started fake dating because they were truly already dating (except not actually).

I loved watching as their relationship didn't change much once they were "dating" and the small ways Jimin showed he was interested in the mc! It was so nice!

If you want a cute read, this is the fic for you!

My live reaction is under the read more.

I like how we open with a ritual the mc and Jimin have!

Ohhhh. Their tradition sounds so cozy! I want that too!

Rippppp. Both their parents are worried abt the same thigggggg

Lol. Love how domestic they are as friends! It's so cute.

👀👀👀 Oop--- he so casually proposed the fake dating! I wonder how long he was stewing on that idea.

"I'm good at keeping secrets" like what Jimin? Ówò

Lolol. Love how immediately the parents are all excited and onboard with the relationship!

🤣🤣🤣 Chocolate chip bags have good cookie recipes! I get why they become the MC's special cookies.

Ohhhhhhh. Tension during movie watching! How fun!

Ahhh. A bath and music is so nice! Love them!

Awwe. Jimin is acting so cute. Me thinks that he wasn't intending this to just be fake dating. 👀👀👀

Oop---

Love the rising tension!

Oh! A watch and a charity donation. What a wonderful gift!

Awe. Jimin gift is so cute!

Ovnenfovndndjvjc the first snow and Jimins ask. Why did I think he was wishing for them to date????? Ah! So cute!

Hehehe. The mistletoe!!!!!! So adorable! I'm giggling!

❄️ pairing: Park Jimin x Reader named Taylynn ⛄️ genre/au: Fluff, Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, romcom, Christmas au 🦌 rating: PG ❄️ wc: 6,346 ⛄️ summary: A cute story about two friends that decide to "fake date" for the Christmas Holiday while visiting family, but with each household they fall for each other. 🦌 an: Thank you @downbad4yoongi and @cherrysoulth for beta reading

Story written for @mrsparkjimin18 as part of the @bangtanwritershq holiday event “Christmas Love”

❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️

Jimin sits across from you in your dining room at the two person table in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. It’s a ritual that no matter how busy life was, you would see each other every Sunday. It just so happens to always start with coffee, whether it be at a new cafe or at your place to have your beloved hand-drip coffee in front of his favorite window. When he walked in today you could see something was bothering him, he wasn’t his normal bubbly self. Usually you could decipher if it was due to a late night of gaming or girl trouble, but today was something different. Lucky for him, you were already baking his favorite homemade pastry to have with the coffee. This would absolutely do the trick to cheer up your best friend.

“Are those your famous cinnamon rolls I smell?” Jimin breaks his gaze from the city view, tilts his head back and sniffs the air with his eyes closed.

“Yep! Apparently, my ‘best friend intuition’ knew you would need them today.”

“You’re seriously the best.”

“What’s up though? What happened?”

He groans, “My parents. You know…it’s that time of year for them to start worrying– or more so pestering– that I’m not married or even in any sort of relationship–” He’s interrupted by the buzzing of your phone vibrating on the kitchen counter. You jump up thinking it was the timer for the rolls, but it’s your mom calling.

“Hold that thought, it’s my mom,” you say to Jimin.

You answer and then put the phone on speaker so you can check the oven. Not to your surprise, she has a similar tune. Your mother has also been on your case about getting married because you’re almost thirty and it would seem the world is ending due to your lack of interest in the subject. You look over to Jimin and you both roll your eyes before you cut in on her concern.

“Mom, while I would love to keep this conversation going, Jimin is over and we’re–”

“Ooohhh, Jimin-ah! I miss you, my son! You know you two would make such a beautiful family!”

“Oh my god! Mom! How many times are you going to keep saying this?”

“I miss you too, Eomeoni!” Jimin shouts from the table. You shake your head ‘no’ so he would stop encouraging her behavior.

“Okay, Mom. Love you. Bye!” You quickly hang up before she says anything else.

You and Jimin have been friends since high school and your mom has always had the biggest crush on him for you. Of course he laid the charm on thick whenever he was around so it made it hard to escape the constant ‘why aren’t you dating’ questions. Jimin was attractive but you never liked him in that way. You two were always great friends who enjoyed each other’s company and neither of you were generally interested in anything more than friendship with each other.

The timer goes off and you pull the cinnamon rolls out of the oven, placing the tray on the stove top. As you carefully move them from the tray to the cooling rack, you see Jimin out of your peripheral opening the refrigerator to get the icing.

“These need to cool off first,” you say as he brings the bowl to the counter closest to you.

“I know. I’ve watched you make them a hundred times. Which is how I know you usually pull the icing out to get it closer to room temperature.” He leans back onto the counter, watching you place the last roll on the rack.

“Ya know, Park Jimin, you just may be husband material for some lucky lady someday soon. You got the beauty and the brains,” you tease as he rolls his eyes. You lay the spatula and tray in the sink and turn to lean back on the opposing counter.

“Taylynn, you of all people know I am just not interested in all that work. I like my job but I’m still a rookie and being stressed about worrying someone else every day is just not what I want. I just want to have fun.” Jimin was somewhat right. While being a police officer was a dangerous job, there were times that you would secretly worry about his well-being. “Also, almost every girlfriend has hated you and that’s a deal breaker.”

“Not true! Me and Sajin got along great! I saw her more than you sometimes.”

Jimin scoffs, “Have you never heard of ‘keep your enemies closer’?”

You gasp at his remark, “What! I thought she legit liked me. No wonder she stopped talking to me when you broke up,” you frown at the new revelation.

“Are they cool enough yet?” Jimin pokes one of the rolls testing the temperature, he’s always been impatient when it comes to eating his favorite pastry. Usually opting to dip the dough into icing instead of making it aesthetically pleasing, he claims it’s less messy this way.

“Yes, impatient one. You can start eating them now.” You grab some plates and hand him utensils to start dishing and frosting the rolls. He dances in tiny back to the table and you follow behind him giggling.

You both chat, catching up from the past week, filling each other in on work drama. You notice he is extra fidgety so you ask more questions to try and pry whatever it is out of him. As you take the last bite, he finally lets it out.

“Maybe we could pretend we’re dating…just for the Christmas weekend when we have to go to our parent’s houses? I feel bad having my mother worry about me all the time. At least this way, maybe she will be comforted a little.”

You slightly choke on your food and tap your chest as if that will help. You quickly grab your coffee to swallow the liquid to clear your throat, but that causes you to wince because it’s still pretty hot in temperature, which then makes your eyes fill with water. This entire debacle, Jimin just sits staring at you with wide eyes. Finally, after a few coughs, you catch your breath.

“Aren’t you like a trained professional to help people in emergency situations?! You didn’t even budge! What if I was choking to death!”

“I know the signs of choking and you weren’t–”

“You could’ve at least pretended to be concerned! And you want to pretend to date? No way.”

“You didn’t even think about it!”

“Right because I almost DIED!”

“Well, it’s not a terrible idea.”

“Jimin! You want us to lie to everyone?”

“More like…role-playing. Don’t you like that kinky shit?” You drop your jaw and raise your eyebrows to the ceiling. “Plus…it’s just a weekend! It’s not like we don’t know everything about each other anyway, it’ll be so easy and then we can have some peace from them.”

“First off, that guy was the one into it. I was just playing along. Second, we would still get a billion questions after the weekend. Do you plan on ignoring your mom for months? Besides, they will totally know! Your eyes tell everything almost immediately.”

“They do not! I’m good at keeping secrets. And we already talk to each other every single day so we would be able to answer those questions.”

“Yes, you keep secrets from escaping as words, but as soon as one is spoken by anyone else, you move your eyes around or start giggling! Immediately signaling that something is going on.”

“I can do a weekend. C’mon, Taylynn, please! I want my mom off my back for a little while. Please, for me?” He pushes his plump bottom lip out into a pout and blinks his eyes. He knows you have never been able to resist his adorable charm.

“Ugh! Fine! One weekend, Jimin! Don’t make me regret it.”

❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️

You follow through with your agreement but instead of two days, the trip gets extended to four days by request of the mothers, two at his family’s house and two at your family’s house. After filling the car with gifts and luggage, you both begin your journey to the countryside together. It’s a two hour drive but road trips are always fun with Jimin. He makes the best playlists to have a car karaoke session which makes the time fly by.

As you pull into Jimin’s parent’s driveway, you see them waiting at the glass door.

“Here we go, babe!” Jimin cheerfully sings, making you cringe but laugh at the same time. “Let’s go in first and then get the stuff out later,” he says while putting the car in park. He comes around and opens your door, which is nothing new, he’s always been a gentleman, but as you step out he grabs your hand and places it in the nook of his arm where your fingers instinctively curve to his bicep, catching you by surprise. You knew he was fit, you just didn’t realize how brawny his arm was.

As you get closer you can hear Jimin’s mom gushing in sweet accolades.

“Aigo,” she says long and drawn out, as you step across the threshold, “I knew you two would end up like this one day! What a sweet surprise just in time for the holidays!” You and Jimin look at each other smiling and then back to his mom as you toe your shoes off and change into house slippers.

“I guess we just had to figure it out, Eomma,” Jimin says. His mom’s eyes are shaped like crescent moons from her smiling so hard. You kind of feel bad for lying to her.

“I hope you two are hungry for lunch, Appa made way too much food.”

“It wouldn’t be Christmas if he didn’t.” Jimin smiles and then guides you into the dining room. He purposely made sure he didn’t make any pit stops for food because he knew his dad was cooking enough to feed an army.

His mother goes on to talk about how she set up the ensuite for you both to stay in for the next two nights. You weren’t exactly expecting his parent’s to be okay with you both staying in the same bed, let alone the same room.

When lunch is ready, Jimin makes your plate with extra sweet potatoes, just the way you like it. He comes back to the table with his plate and sits beside you, then pulls your hand to his lips, taking his time, sending you a wink. You can’t help but notice how warm and soft his lips feel on your skin. You narrow your eyes and then smile in the presence of his parents. After some small talk and stuffing your faces with delicious food, you sat there finishing the meal with a small coffee.

Jimin’s dad talks you into making some of your special cookies while you praise him for the spread. Little does he know, your special cookies are a result of following the directions on the chocolate chip bag and adding a little extra butter. Once the coffee cups are empty, you and Jimin make your way outside to unpack some of the gifts and luggage. At the trunk of the car you quietly talk to Jimin.

“Why are you being so touchy? Stop that shit!”

“It has to look real, Taylynn.” You roll your eyes at his smirk and throw one of the bags over your shoulder.

“Don’t you feel a little bad? Seeing how happy your mom is with this preposterous lie.”

“A little, Miss Dictionary, but I also like seeing her happy. Even if it’s a little white lie.”

Jimin sets the gifts in the living room and calls for his parents so they can open them. You and Jimin had agreed prior to this arrangement that you would only buy each other one gift and open it at your parent’s house. His mother opens hers first and immediately starts crying at the jewel studded bracelet with all of their birthstones from her adoring son. His father opens his gift and gushes at how thoughtful his son is, holding up a book. Jimin had all of the family recipes from both sides of the family made into a cookbook, original handwriting and all.

The rest of the evening is peaceful. You pull out all the ingredients to make cookies once dinner is finished, and like the good fake boyfriend Jimin is, he helps you every step of the way. He reads the measurements off the bag and you put it all together in the mixing bowl. When he’s not looking, you take some of the dough mix and wipe it on his nose. He angrily puffs air out and glares his eyes at you while you snicker.

“Taylynn, you know I hate stuff on my face!”

“Yep! And there’s nothing you can do about it…can you imagine my fake boyfriend getting mad at me in front of his parents? Tsk, tsk. They would surely have a stern talking to their son.”

“You’re enjoying this too much for someone who was so against it.”

“Gotta make the best of it!” You spoon perfect little balls onto the cookie sheet and place them in the oven.

“Just remember, payback is a bitch.” Jimin winks and walks out of the kitchen. You’re not the least bit worried about a payback, he is in no position to piss you off in front of either family.

The night ends in front of the gas fireplace. His parent’s have long gone to bed, but you and Jimin decided to start another movie to get into the Christmas spirit. Earlier you watched The Grinch with his parents and now you’re watching Home Alone. He’s nestled between your legs on the floor with your back resting against a beanbag chair and your hand is softly stroking his head, running your fingers through his fluffy hair. soon realizing this position no longer needs to be held without an audience.

“Dude, get up. We don’t need to sit like this anymore,” you nudge him to move but he doesn’t budge. You call his name and tap on his shoulder, still no movement. You lean over to get a look at his face and just as you’re next to his ear, he turns his head and opens his eyes, locking them with yours. Although his eyes are chocolate brown, the fire highlights caramel swirls trapped within a thick black ring. Suddenly, your temperature rises and you swallow hard before pulling away.

“Sorry, I was just seeing if you were asleep,” you quietly say.

“You sure you weren’t about to kiss me?” he chuckles at his own joke, stands and reaches out for you to grab his hands, which you do, and he pulls you off the ground. He turns the fireplace and television off while you fold the blankets and put them neatly on the couch. He illuminates the dark hallway with the flashlight on his phone and walks toward the bedroom with you behind him.

“Rock, paper, scissors for who gets to shower first?” Jimin asks from the bedside.

“What? No, ladies first.”

“Ladies take too long, come on I’ll be quicker.”

“You’re a terrible fake boyfriend.” You cross your arms and pout.

“You know I can’t say no to that face…” he grumbles and waves his hand for you to go first.

You snicker, blowing him a kiss, then gather your pajamas, skin-care products, and things for your hair. In the ensuite bathroom, Jimin’s mother has laid out resort-like amenities. Small bottles of body wash and lotions. Two beautiful plush robes that look comfy enough to sleep in. She even put fresh flowers in a vase which are very fragrant in the small space. You look over at the freestanding bathtub and notice a bamboo bath tray with scented oils, bath bombs, and candles.

Not wanting any of it to go to waste, you start drawing a bath. You set up your products and select a lo-fi playlist on your phone and set it on the bath tray, then throw in a lavender bath bomb with some rose oil and soothing bubble bath into the quickly filling tub. You pull your hair up into a messy bun and sink into the water. The bubbles sit just below your clavicles as you lean your head back on the pillow, closing your eyes and breathing in the aroma.

The door flies open and you startle sitting up. Jimin’s eyes lock on yours and there is nothing but silence for what feels like an eternity.

You exhale, not realizing you were holding your breath, “What the fuck, Jimin!” You panic and quickly glance down at your body, thankful the bubbles are doing an excellent job covering you up.

“I gotta piss and you’re taking forever.” He looks around noticing all the spa supplies and takes a long, deep breath in through his nose. “What is all this shit? You brought stuff to pamper yourself?”

“No! Your mom set it up. It would be rude not to use it at least once.”

Jimin raises his eyes and head acknowledging your statement then walks into the toilet room and closes the door behind him. Resting your head back onto the bath pillow, you cannot believe he is using the toilet while you’re sitting there naked in the tub. He comes back out and washes his hand. Then sits on the edge of the tub.

“You’re getting a little too comfortable there buddy. Get out!”

“I’ve literally seen you in a bathing suit, not much left to the imagination there.” He touches all the bath oils, smelling each one slowly.

“Jimin, can you please go. This is weird. I know we’re besties but there are some boundaries, no?”

“Hurry up. I want to shower.” he huffs and walks out.

Unable to relax anymore you scrub your body clean and get out. After applying your nightly face products and body oil, you put your pajamas on and throw the robe overtop. When you walk out of the bathroom, Jimin is sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone.

“All yours, creeper.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, walking past you.

The door shuts and you hear him click the lock. As the shower runs you set out clothes for tomorrow and make a mental checklist of everything they have to do tomorrow; the morning will start with coffee, of course, make more cookies, volunteer to deliver meals to the elderly, and then relax with another home cooked meal by Jimin’s dad. You take the robe off and hang it on the desk chair then climb in the bed and get under the covers. Jimin has already laid out extra blankets for him to use over the covers. You scroll through your phone a little but at the first yawn, you place it on the charger and close your eyes.

You hear Jimin come out and he starts ruffling through his suitcase loudly. Turning to tell him to be quiet, you see he also put on the fluffy robe. His wet hair is pushed back exposing his undercut and forehead. For a second, you admire his beauty, but then turn back over choosing not to say anything.

He turns off the light and climbs in bed, scooting close to you under the covers.

“Now what are you doing?”

“I’m cold and you’re already warm.”

“Jimin, just use the blankets you pulled out.”

“Body heat is better.”

“Is it your goal to piss me off in this fake relationship? Because you’re doing a damn good job.” You don’t mind the extra warmth, you just don’t want to blur the lines of your friendship. You do a lot together and share everything together, but something about being this close makes you a little hot and bothered.

“Please bestie, there’s no body pillow and I need something to help me get warm to fall asleep.” Jimin’s soft whine rides a wave into your ear, rousing a slight shiver down your spine.

“Fine,” you submit to his request.

“One more thing?”

“I think you’re out of requests,” you smile and shake your head.

“Will you…play with my hair?”

You turn to look at him and then immediately regret it because just like earlier, your eyes are locked on each other and his glint from the moonlight coming in through the window. Your noses are only a hairline apart, but neither of you move back. His features are sharp but soft, enchanting. His eyes roam down to your mouth as his lips part and his tongue flirts between them. You nibble your lower lip, close your eyes, and nod your head, ignoring the sparks in your chest. Jimin lowers his head to your chest so you can reach his hair.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Your heart sounds like it’s beating really fast.”

“Oh, uh, probably just the extra weight on me. I’m fine though.” Jimin hums in response and falls asleep without any hesitation.

With the weight of his limbs over you, it’s not long before your breath and muscles relax and you can feel sleep crawling over your body. Jimin stirs and buries his nose in your neck, the faint streams of warm air tickling your sensitive skin.

“Jimin?” you whisper, but there’s no response. You can tell by his breathing that he’s still asleep and you have become his body pillow. The extra warmth actually feels good, too good. You try to relax your body again, twisting your upper body slightly away from him, but he grips tighter and moans, mumbling something. “Are you awake?” you whisper again.

“Mmm, you smell so good Tay.” Now you’re sure he’s messing with you. You turn your face toward his, waiting for him to open his eyes and giggle. Slowly and slightly, his hips gently rock into your leg and you feel a lump pressed into you. You bite your lower lip, as excitement races through your veins. You feel his bulge twitch and swell against you, and while your brain is telling you to push him away, you take a deep, shaky breath and gently shake him.

“Jimin. Jimin please, move over.” He grunts and subconsciously does as you request. You let out a sigh of relief but now you’re electrified and wide awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell just went on through your body.

The next morning you wake up as the big spoon with your head pressed into Jimin’s back and arms wrapped around his waist. You quickly pull away and sit up, the movement jostling him awake. You turn to look out the french doors leading to the patio out back and gasp.

“What?!” Jimin sits up abruptly.

“Look! There’s deer at the wood’s edge.” You quickly get out of bed and open the door, walking toward the patio screen to get a closer look. Jimin runs after you with the blanket.

“You’re gonna freeze out here!” He has the blanket behind him like a cape then wraps it along with his arms around you, his body pressed firmly against your back. You feel warm and comfortable, trying to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask him, ready to talk about last night.

“Man, I slept so good,” he says, extending his limbs in a stretch.

“I bet you did with your dick pressed against my leg while you had me pinned under your arms and legs!”

“WHAT! I’m so sorry! I– I didn’t know I was that close.” His eyes open wide and his cheeks have a pale pink tint to them.

“You were talking too,” you say, fishing for any inkling that he may have been awake.

“Wha–what did I say?”

Before you can say anything else, his mother calls your names and announces breakfast is ready.

Luckily the rest of the day was busy, filled with holiday activities that kept you both active and not too close for too long. You laughed a lot when Jimin and his dad got hit on by every grandma in town to whom you delivered meals. By the time dinner came around, things felt a little more normal. Since you have to be at your parent’s house for breakfast, you both spend the evening packing your luggage, leaving the room when each other showered, and sleeping with a wall of pillows between each other.

❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️

On the short ride to your parent’s there is casual small talk mostly reminiscing about high school days. You have fun singing and grooving along to the road trip playlist so it never felt awkward.

When you pull into the driveway, Jimin shuts the engine off but stops you from getting out.

“Hey, Taylynn? I’m really, really sorry about the other night. We haven’t really talked about it, but I can tell it made you uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to cross any lines.”

You feel bad that he’s apologizing. Of course he wasn’t doing it on purpose and you feel terrible that he’s been beating himself up about it for who knows how long, knowing him, probably since the minute you told him.

“It’s okay, Jimin. I guess we can just say we’re closer than ever now,” you joke, “just keep your thing away from me for the rest of the weekend.” You give him a serious look then burst out laughing, rubbing your knuckles in his hair, fraying it in every direction.

“Why would you do that before we go in to see your parents?” Jimin puffs out, checking himself in the rearview mirror, pushing his hair back in its rightful position.

“Because, as your fake girlfriend, I love annoying the shit out of you.”

“I’m telling you…karma.”

You spend the next few hours eating, catching up with your parents, and also filling them in on how you and Jimin started dating. One thing you happened to notice, both sets of parents seem to be completely unphased, but genuinely happy. Like they were just waiting for this to happen one day.

Again you’re making cookies with Jimin in the kitchen. As you’re mixing, you get some of the dough on your finger, but as you sneak up behind Jimin and try to rub the mess on his face, he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand toward his mouth, licking your finger clean. You open your eyes wide and shriek, dropping the mixing bowl. Jimin catches the bowl but not without getting some of the dough on his fingers. He looks at his fingers and then to you.

“Jimin. No! Don’t do whatever you’re thinking!” you backpedal and try to get your socks to grip the kitchen floor so you can run.

He giggles and grabs the strings on the back of your apron before you’re able to get too far. You squeal from being pulled backwards and at the sight of his dirty hand coming for your face. You close your eyes tight as his fingers connect to your cheek and he pulls you closer. You open your eyes just in time to see his face next to yours and his tongue dart out, connecting with the dough on your cheek.

“GROSS!!” you cry, trying to escape.

“I told you…karma.” He lets you go still giggling and crosses his arms over his chest with the biggest smile, he’s so very proud of himself for getting revenge.

“Okay, okay! Even!” you call out while washing your face in the kitchen sink.

“That’s what I thought. Don’t mess with the best jokester there is, Taylynn.”

It’s finally time to open presents; a family tradition to do it on the evening of Christmas because your entire childhood, your parents worked Christmas day to make the extra money. You understood at a very young age that this holiday was about the time spent with each other, it didn’t matter what time of day.

You give your parents a joint gift that they could use together. A complimentary golf day at their favorite place where they won’t have to spend a dime. Everything is paid for, meals, the course, and a spa treatment. When it’s time to exchange gifts with Jimin he wants to open his first. You hand him a small box. As he opens it, his jaw drops.

“What? How did you know I wanted this watch? I’ve been saving up for it,” he runs his finger along the ridges in the brown leather.

“I saw it on your computer one day when I came over to watch a movie. There’s something else in there, too.” You know how much he loves charities so what better than to donate in his honor to his favorite charity, and let him wear the silver locket bracelet to remember.

“You donated to UNICEF? Tha–that’s so thoughtful. Thank you, so much.” Jimin is taken aback at how meaningful your gift is and almost forgets that he needs to get yours from the garage. He sets his gifts to the side and jumps up, skipping toward the door. You're talking to your parents when he comes back in and you see their faces light up. When you look at Jimin you see a huge bouquet of blush pink peonies with sage green stems, wrapped in a brown paper bag, as well as a large gift bag. He hands them both to you.

“Jimin… these are beautiful… and my favorite!”

“I know,” he replies shyly with a small smile.

You’re not sure why you are getting emotional over flowers. Something you often buy for yourself, but coming from Jimin– that makes you feel giddy, overly happy, and shocked. You peek into the bag, sans any tissue paper– true boyfriend style, and glance back at Jimin who looks a little anxious. As you’re pulling the purse out of the bag, you can see the signature Louis Vuitton pattern all over the canvas.

“Jimin…” you know this may have cost a fortune and there is no way you can accept it.

“Please don’t worry about the price, you know I’m a bargain shopper. But when I saw it, it screamed ‘Taylynn’. It matches those sunglasses you always wear and kind of matches the colors of the interior of your car.”

“I–”

“You never buy yourself expensive things so I thought I would do it for you.”

“I love it so much!” You hug the bag and then sniff the flowers. He laughs at how ridiculously cute you look hugging a purse, the smile on his face shining brighter than the sun. You set your gifts down and throw yourself in his arms, giving him the biggest hug. You feel his body relax as he holds on for just a little longer than usual.

A little later, there’s not much going on so you ask Jimin if he wants to make hot cocoa and go sit on the balcony to watch the sunset over the lake. As you're sitting there in the quiet, enjoying the view, it begins to flurry.

“The first snow,” Jimin coos into his mug of cocoa, “make a wish!” You both close your eyes and make a wish, keeping it to yourselves.

“Too bad it’s getting dark and we won’t be able to watch it cover everything.”

“I hope it snows a lot so we can build a snowman and have a snowball fight.”

“You’re such a child sometimes.” You love that about your best friend, even if his jokes can go too far and annoy you.

❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️ ⛄️ 🦌 ❄️

The next morning you wake up alone. You hear everyone talking in the living room so you peak your head out. Jimin looks like he’s about to go visit an igloo.

“Finally! You’re awake! There is so much snow, I already shoveled for your dad so let’s go play! Get dressed!” Jimin declares.

“I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

“I have a thermos filled up for you! Brush your teeth and let’s go!”

You didn’t pack snow gear so you throw on layers of clothes hoping it’s enough to keep you warm. As much as you want to complain, this is Jimin’s favorite time of the year, and he joyfully agrees to do things you like to do all the time.

Outside you watch Jimin frolic around like a deer. The cold air quickly wakes you up and you slowly sip on the coffee he made for you. He makes snowballs and lines them up perfectly, one set for you and one set for him. Then he moves on to bigger snowballs to make a snowman. You run back inside to get rid of your coffee and grab a scarf for the snowman and as soon as you step foot outside, a snowball hits your leg. You look up at Jimin who has fallen on the ground from laughing. You walk the scarf to the snowman and wrap it around its neck, bend down to pick up a snowball, and walk toward Jimin who is now making a snow angel. When you get over him, you drop the snowball on his face.

“I don’t think you wanted to do that!” Jimin jumps up, startling you into a run, he catches you quickly and throws his arms around you in a back hug but pulling you to the ground too. You both land on your sides and he lets go, then straddles you and pins you in the freezing snow. He gathers snow in both hands and holds it over your head, “Say you’re sorry!”

“Never!” You yell and put your ice cold hands on his bare skin under his shirt. His arms instinctively pull into his body while he yelps, the snow dispersing on your sides. He doubles forward, his nose now touching yours. You both open your eyes wide and he pushes himself up to stand, then grabs your hands to pull you up. “Let’s go get warmed up,” he says, noticing your clothes are a little wet.

In the bedroom you’re both drying your hair after changing into dry attire.

“I can’t believe we got to see and play in the first snowfall together.”

“I know. I don’t even remember the last time I witnessed the first snowfall. I usually wake up to the middle or end of it.”

“Do you believe in the superstition?” Your heart speeds up with his question.

“What do you mean?”

“You know… if you witness the first snowfall with the person you like, true love will bloom.”

“Uh, I guess so–”

“Do you think… that could apply to us?” Jimin walks toward you and latches onto your hands.

“What?”

“We should date for real.” Jimin blurts out. You stand there frozen, heart racing, staring into his eyes. “These last few days I have seriously been wondering how I’ve let you be just my friend for all these years. You’re more than everything I could ever ask for in a partner. You made my heart race and gave me butterflies all weekend.” Now it’s your turn to blush in front of him.

“Jimin, I–”

“Before you reject me I need to get it all off my chest. I fall for you a little more each day. It’s actually driving me crazy. When we go back to the city, I don’t want to only see you on Sundays. I want to see you, everyday. I want to spend time with you, every single day.

“I–” you look down and take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves before looking back at him, “I feel the same way.”

“You do?” Jimin says surprised and excited.

“Yeah, I really do,” you simper.

“I love you, Tay.” There’s that nickname again. Your heart flutters and you can feel your face flushing deeper with color. “I think I’ve loved you for a while, but this weekend really put it into perspective for me. I think we could be, should be, more than just friends. We already know everything about each other, no one has ever been so attentive at giving me a gift like you, and no one has ever felt like home more than you do.” Jimin stands there nervous, having just spilled his guts to you.

You look past him and see the flowers and purse he thoughtfully picked out for you. You think about the coffee he made you that tasted exactly as if you made it. The playfulness between you two in the snow and in the kitchen. How you were a team making cookies and cinnamon rolls. The butterflies you felt on a few different occasions. You do love your best friend so what’s the harm in letting him know.

“I love you too, Jimin. This weekend has been fun and I haven’t been this happy in, well, ever.”

“So you wanna, like, be official?”

“You mean, drop the fake title?”

“Yeah…what do you say?”

“I say… let’s do it, Boyfriend.” Jimin smiles so big, his beautiful brown eyes disappear. He suddenly lets go of your hands.

“Hold that thought,” he runs out of the room and comes back with what looks like a plant and some tape, he tip toes in the doorway and hangs the plant. “Come here, please.”

You walk toward him where he stands, “Is this mistletoe?” Your head is tilted back looking up, studying the smooth, oval leaves with white berries. You look back at him and his full lips.

Jimin leans in and softly places his lips on yours, lightly pulling your bottom lip between his. He sluggishly removes his lips from yours and rests his forehead on yours for a brief moment before speaking. “I loved my gifts, but honestly, the most perfect gift is you.”

#bwcbookclub #moonleeai #lillia recs

79 notes · View notes

moccahobi · 2 years ago

Text

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

*cough*

Pardon.

In this fic, readers will encounter many nerd moments! Duh. We go to a comic con! And with this, we get a really cute and fun E2L dynamic of two people in a mutual friend group!

The mc and Taehyung have such a cute dynamic and the way the two fight is a little very adorable when reading back!

Also... The puns... Swoon. The corset. The summary. SUNNY I LOVE! I WAS LAUGHING SO MUCH WHEN I REALIZED THE PUNS!

Lastly. This fic has both a gay relationship and someone who uses they/them pronouns (I say this, as I don't want to assume jimin's identity. Pronouns and one's gender identity while related can be complexly related). I LOVE how Jimin uses they/them pronouns here. In fanfic were able to explore so much of the world and our identities! It is so fun to see exploration of of gender and sexuality in fanfic and to see a character modeled after someone who I really look up to exploring this in a fictional world gives me so much euphoria.

This was such a cute read!

My live reaction is under the read more.

Oh! Love Jimin's description! You do a good job at giving us a clear visual about which Harley Quinn they're dressed as!

Great setup for "him". I like the quick ways you show the tension between him and the mc!

Ohhhhhh! Opposites attract? What a fun bit of exposition showing how opposite they are! Or how opposite the mc sees them as!

😭😭😭 "I'm a rebel". Tae. ADD LOGOS! MAKE IT ALL COMPLEX AND FUN! 🤔 Also. Didn't we rebels wear orange? Or am I misremembering.

"As long as you can breath"... Is that foreshadowing? 👀

Interesting contrast between what the mc says Taehyung is normally like and how he's acting! Did confirmation bias make them see him this way? Or is he acting uncharacteristic? We shall find out!

🤣🤣🤣 Mc knowing not to fight Jungkook. I love

YES MC VENT ABT HIM! GET UR FRUSTRATION OUT!

Oop- the corset comes back with venom! Love the transition!

He's still so cocky abt this. 😭😭😭 Dudeeeeeeee

Tae is switching between cocky and kind... Quite inchresting. 🤔 disorienting too. I can imagine the mc feels similar. To have been laying into him and then wake up to him doing kind stuff and also being cocky. I like!

Sexual tension. Oh Jimin what are you on. ... But also... I think they're right. At least on Taehyung's side.

🤣🤣🤣 Tapping the can first. Love it.

Damn tae! Grabbing the MC's hand!!! Jimin is def right.

🤣 Of course he likes goading them. I wonder how different Taehyung is when he's not goading the mc.

🥴 Of course. Of course tae. That's exactly how u woo someone. Disagreeing with everything. Hot or not... Mite not be the best for a relationship. Lolol

Oh! Love your description of his laugh!

Hehehehe. Mayhaps the mc does like him... Reaction formation is def a real thing after all.

HELL YEAH! U GO MC!

Jimin having an out of body experience. Lolol. I'm laughing.

Omggggg. What a cute ending! I can't stop smiling!

Swoon | KTH

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, non-Idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: swearing, kissing, Tae's wearing his red leather jacket from his Paris trip, we've also got Disco Jungkook and Harley Quinn Jimin in here

Word Count: 3.6k

Disclaimers: None other than obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

A/N: This one's for the amazing @parkdatjimin! Mindy, you picked a great prompt that immediately screamed "TAEHYUNG" and "ENEMIES TO LOVERS" to me. I hope you enjoy!

Also, I don't think this really needs a warning, just a note - Jimin is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns in this fic.

Unbeta’d as usual! Please let me know what you think, I’d love to hear from you! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

“Jimin, come on! Let’s go!” Tapping your foot impatiently, you fidget slightly in your costume. “We’re gonna miss the first panel! What are we waiting for?”

Your roommate shoots you a “calm down” look that frankly would be a lot more effective if they weren’t currently dressed as Harley Quinn. They look phenomenal in their “Daddy’s Little Monster” crop top, blue and red satin booty shorts, and fishnets, tips of their blond hair dyed in shades to match the ensemble. But their serious expression does not jibe with the wild outfit as they sigh.

“Not everyone’s here yet. And they won’t let us hold seats in the hall, so… we wait.”

You frown, glancing at your friends, counting in your head. “Who is missing?”

“Um, well…”

“Oh, please no.” Not him. Not today.

Jimin twirls their baseball bat, not making eye contact, knowing if they look at you, they will instantly disintegrate beneath your fiery expression. “I’m sorry! Kookie invited him, okay?”

Kookie, aka Jungkook, aka Jimin’s boyfriend, aka the sweetest guy you know, glances up from where he’s propped against the wall, eyes going wide behind his oversized blue sunglasses at the mention of his name. You sigh, bubbling anger instantly bursting at his doe-eyed expression.

“Sorry, Noona. He asked if I was going to the convention and I said yes without thinking! I was just excited to talk about my costume.” He yanks on the giant lapels of his brightly colored shirt, other hand unconsciously scratching at the fake goatee that adorns his pretty face. Disco Tony Stark is definitely a choice, but damned if he’s not pulling it off.

“It’s okay, Kookie,” you grumble. Ugh, you’re too soft on him, and he knows it as he flashes you a happy grin. “I just hope he gets here soon, before the hall fills up.” Your favorite film franchise is kicking off the big comic convention today with a sneak peek at the latest sequel, and if you miss a single second, there will be hell to pay. “Or maybe he’ll flake out on this like he flakes out on our game nights.”

“Who flakes out?”

Your eyes automatically close in exasperation as you turn slowly to face the devil you’d just accidentally summoned.

Kim Taehyung. Aka Jungkook’s friend. Aka the massive thorn in your side.

The two of you have been at odds since the day you met. He came into your life when Jungkook and Jimin started dating, and from the jump, the two of you have totally clashed. Where you’re easily excitable, he’s subdued, even deadpan. Where you’re constantly raving about the amazing things you love, he’s always complaining, finding fault with those same things. It wouldn’t be so terrible if he didn’t insist on sharing his every thought with you. It’s like he lives to needle you.

Right now, he wears his standard bored expression, gorgeous face completely blank as he gazes at you, waiting for an answer. You don’t give him one, taking a moment to examine his costume. Tight black jeans, tight white t-shirt, bright red leather jacket. An eyebrow cocks beneath his fluffy dark curls.

“Well? Who flakes out?”

“Who are you supposed to be? James Dean?” you ask, ignoring his question again.

“I’m a rebel,” he informs you.

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes. “Like I said. James Dean.”

“No.” He pulls out a toy lightsaber from behind his back, flipping it on. The blue light illuminates his annoying smirk. “I’m a Rebel.”

“That’s not - you’re not - “

“Taehyung-ah!” In their harlequin makeup, Jimin’s normally cherubic smile looks absolutely demented. “Perfect timing, the first panel’s about to kick off.” They reach down and grab Jungkook’s hands, helping him to his feet. “C’mon, Puddin’, let’s go grab our seats.”

The rest of your friends fall in line as Jimin and Jungkook lead the way. Taehyung unfortunately ends up in lockstep with you. Because of course he does.

“Nice costume,” he intones quietly, and you smooth several of the verdant leaves trailing from your hips, waiting for him to drop the snarky comment that’s likely hanging on the tip of his tongue. Maybe something about how homemade your costume looks… which it is. You’ve been working for weeks on your Poison Ivy cosplay. Finding a corset in just the right shade of green took the longest amount of time.

The second longest came this morning, when Jimin had to painstakingly lace you into said corset. You squirm a little, wishing they hadn’t tied you in so damn tight. But as long as you can breathe, you’ll survive.

It’s definitely the most amount of skin you’ve ever shown at a convention, with your curves overflowing both above and below the constricting bodice. At the last minute, you nearly balked, thinking you’d be too much, until Jimin gave you a pep talk that essentially boiled down to “Own your power.” Somehow, it worked. Overall, you’re very pleased with your costume, which is why you’re expecting Taehyung to burst your bubble about it any second now.

But he merely holds the door to the hall open for you with a hint of a smile. Narrowing your eyes, you waltz past him, taking a seat next to Jimin.

“I have been waiting all year for this day, and I swear to God if he ruins it, I’m taking you out, Minnie,” you declare to your roommate with a deadly serious expression. They don't ask you to clarify who you meant by ‘he.’ They already know.

“Me? But Kookie invited him!”

“Yes, but Kookie’s a muscle pig! I know my limits!” Jimin just tuts as you glare. “God, he’s the worst. He can’t even mash up a costume properly.”

“I think it’s kinda clever, actually. And you have to admit, he looks fantastic in that outfit.” Jimin tips their head in admiration as Taehyung takes a seat, jeans straining to contain his muscular thighs. Not that you noticed. “I wanna thank his mother for a butt like that.”

“No, it’s not, and no, I do not,” you hiss back before falling silent as the moderator takes the stage. “And don’t you dare quote ‘Shoop’ when you speak of that man!”

Whatever brief burst of madness prompted Taehyung to actually compliment you before the first panel doesn’t last. As soon as your group filters out to head to the next session, he’s back on his bullshit. You make the mistake of mentioning how you liked the book better than the first movie, and he pounces, dragging you into a debate. He does the same thing after the next panel, saying just the right (obnoxious) thing to pull you into another quarrel, and again after that. By the time your friends scatter for lunch, between the snug corset digging into your skin, and the irritating man trying to get under your skin, you’ve had enough.

Out of your group, only you, Jimin, and Taehyung want fish skewers, so you queue up in the long line at the kiosk. You’re doing your best to tune Taehyung out as he and Jimin discuss the last event, a Q&A session with one of your favorite authors in which she’d dropped major hints about the identity of the mysterious supervillain from her latest series, to your absolute delight.

Taehyung, naturally, was not impressed.

“I can’t believe she just said that!” Jimin shakes their head as the line slowly shuffles forward. “She basically confirmed it’s been Dr. Choi all along.”

“Nope. There’s no way it’s going to be Dr. Choi!”

Gritting your teeth, you try to focus on the colorful costumes around you. Breathe in, breathe out, ignore the asshole.

“But everything she said lines up with his character! Why else would she say that stuff?”

Taehyung huffs a quick laugh through his nose. You know that sound. It’s his ‘Oh, you sweet summer child’ laugh. So patronizing. Your fingers curl into fists. Forget thorn, he's a giant prick.

“That was clearly just a publicity stunt. In a day, she’ll be all over social media, claiming her comments were taken out of context. Mark my words.” He sniffs. “Her little ploy is as obvious as her plots.”

“Oh my god, will you just shut up already?”

Jimin and Taehyung both blink in surprise as you round on them.

“What did I say?” Jimin asks, looking wounded.

“Not you, Minnie! Him!” You shove your pointer finger directly into Taehyung’s chest. “Just. Shut. Up!”

For once, Taehyung’s impassive expression drops, just as his mouth does as he gapes at you. But you’re too frustrated to bask in the fact that you’ve finally wiped that blasé look off his face, and now that you’ve blown your gasket, you’re going to vent it all.

“I am sick and tired of you always picking on everything! Anything and everything that I like, you just have to come in with your horrible takes and rude comments and just pick, pick, pick! Like some fucking vulture that feeds on joy - you just gotta rip it apart!”

“I don’t - “

“Just let people enjoy things, okay?? You don’t have to like them! Just let them have their fun!”

You’re vaguely aware of your roommate backing away as you growl at Taehyung, jabbing him again and again with your finger. Jimin’s never seen this side of you. You’ve never seen it either. It’s just the effect Taehyung has on you, making your face warm and your chest heave as you continue to lay into him.

“Babe, don’t you think - “

“No! Stay out of this, Jimin.” People are giving you a wide berth now, the line for the kiosk having zigzagged around the three of you long ago, but you don’t care. There’s no stopping the head of steam you’ve built up. “God, why are you even here? Nothing makes you happy! You don’t like anything!”

“That’s not true!” Taehyung finally snaps out of his stupor as you break off, panting for breath. “I like plenty of things! I came here because - “

“Because you wanted to ruin my day! You can’t let me have one day of fun without fighting with me about something, can you? Well, fine! Let’s fight!” There’s a sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. Is it the heat from the food stands that’s making you feel this hot? And why can’t you catch your damn breath??

“Whoa, okay, let’s just put a pin in that, uh, invitation and go outside. Maybe we should get some fresh air,” Jimin suggests in a soothing tone, gesturing to the entrance to the main atrium, “because I think - hey, babe, are you okay?”

Those fucking laces.

The world goes black.

When you reopen your eyes, Taehyung is staring at you. So is Jimin.

And so is an entire crowd of strangers standing in a ring around the three of you.

“What the fuhh…” you trail off, looking around. You’re out in the main atrium, but you don’t remember walking out here. The marble tiles are cold under your bare shoulders and barely covered ass. “Why am I on the floor?”

“It’s okay. You just passed out a little,” Jimin says, a gentle hand holding yours.

“I did?” Your head spins slightly as you sit up. The gawkers begin to start to disperse.

“The event EMTs checked you out. Said you were probably having trouble breathing.” Jimin looks a little abashed. “Guess I tied your laces too tight. Sorry. I loosened them a little before he laid you down.”

“He? He who? One of the EMTs?”

Jimin continues to look chagrined.

Taehyung smirks. “‘He’ as in me.” He straightens up, tossing his dark curls out of his eyes. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Heat scorches your neck. “Trust me, you are the last person whose attention I want!” Jimin pulls you to your feet, but you wave them off when they try to help you walk. “I’m okay, Minnie, I can walk on my own!”

But just as you finish your angry declaration, your knees buckle slightly. Before you can blink, Taehyung’s arm is around you, propping you up. He guides you towards a cluster of chairs by the windows.

“Come on,” he murmurs warmly, voice so unlike his usual aloof tone of superiority. “Why don’t you sit here for a minute? Let me get you a soda. Maybe some sugar would help.”

“Uh. Sure. Thanks.” You glance at Jimin, who shrugs at your confusion, then nods.

“Good idea, Tae. Thank you.”

As soon as Taehyung’s out of earshot, Jimin pinches you.

“Ow! Why?”

“He likes you!”

“What? No, he doesn’t!” You rub your arm where their fingers tweaked you, flabbergasted by their sudden proclamation.

“Yes, he does! How did I miss it?” They run their fingers through their hair, letting the shiny locks flop back into place. “It makes sense now! All that bickering was just sexual tension!”

“Uh, nothing makes sense, especially you right now! And why the pinching??”

“Sorry, I just got excited.” Jimin grins, and you roll your eyes.

“But what the hell makes you think he’s into me? Because he’s buying me a Coke after I told him off?”

Jimin leans back in their seat, still smiling smugly. “‘Told him off’ is putting it mildly. I know I told you to own your power, but damn! No, I’m referring to the way he reacted when you passed out. I’ve never seen someone look so panicked. If I hadn’t been freaking out myself, I would’ve found it cute.”

You clutch Jimin’s hand, giving them a little squeeze. “Sorry I gave you a scare. I really do feel okay right now. But you’re wrong.”

“Mmm, I don’t know. You didn’t see his face when the EMTs were checking you over.” Jimin shakes their head. “He was so worried. I’m telling you, he’s got it bad."

Taehyung strolls back out of the food court, effectively ending the conversation. He holds out a can and you take it with a barely audible thank you.

As if they were waiting for a cue, Jimin jumps up. “If you think you’ll be okay here, I’m gonna go find the others and let them know what they missed,” they announce, barely waiting for your nod before they spin on their heel and skip off towards the main ballroom, baseball bat swinging merrily.

Leaving you and Taehyung sitting in awkward silence.

You tap the top of the soda can before cracking it open. Taehyung notes the action, eyebrow lifting again. “You afraid I shook that up first?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you scowl reflexively before noting the soft smile on his face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Your glare informs him that you don’t believe him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Hmm,” you hum, taking a sip.

“You don’t believe me?” he drawls, looking slightly offended.

“Taehyung. I never believe anything that comes out of your mouth. What makes you think I’m going to start now?” Setting the can on an empty chair next to you, you try to cross your arms, but the corset’s too stiff, so you let your hands rest on your thighs.

He blinks slowly. “Well, I suppose I could show you instead. Seeing is believing, right?” And one of his hands comes to rest on yours.

“Uh…” The feel of his fingers tapping lightly on the back of your hand freezes you completely. For once, you’re at a loss for words. However, Taehyung is not.

“I know we have our… disagreements… but I do enjoy your company,” he states matter-of-factly, as if he’s telling you something mundane like what time it is instead of confessing his true feelings. If you closed your eyes, you’d recognize that tone as his usual detached languor. Except now, staring at his expression, you realize - he’s nervous. And overcompensating by trying to sound as calm and collected as possible.

But his eyes give him away.

“I will also admit that I have perhaps fallen into a habit of goading you. A little.”

“A little!”

He frowns, fingers stilling. His hand is so warm, heat leaching into you where his skin touches yours. “Fine. A lot. I can’t help myself. It’s just… you’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“I’m - what?”

Taehyung leans forward, seeming rather pleased with himself for shocking you with his statement. There’s that self-satisfied smirk of his again. But that glimmer in his eyes… he looks… fond?

Oh god, Minnie’s right, aren’t they?

“Do you remember the first time we met? At Kook-ah’s party?” Speechless, you just nod at his question. “I thought you were so pretty that I got a little tongue-tied. You tried to talk to me and asked me what I thought about some movie that you’d just seen, and I kind of shrugged, because I couldn’t speak. You took that to mean I didn’t like it, and immediately launched into a monologue about how misunderstood the film was and so on,” he waves his hand in the air.

Thanks to an intense flip-cup tournament, that night is mostly a blur, but you do somewhat remember getting into an argument with Taehyung as soon as you’d met him. But you definitely don’t remember him being tongue-tied, not that night or any other since you’ve known him.

“But you’ve never had any problems talking around me! I’d even say you talk too much!”

He laughs, and suddenly he’s smiling at you, this ridiculously sweet, kinda boxy smile, and your heart leaps in your chest.

“That’s because I learned that night how you’re even more beautiful when you’re fired up about something. When you speak with passion…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I actually agree with a lot of your opinions, you know. But I can’t resist pretending to disagree, just to watch you light up. It’s addictive.”

You’ve not noticed until this moment how thick his eyelashes are, as he leans even closer. Or how long and graceful his fingers are as he grasps your hand off the table, cradling it in his lap.

“I’m sorry. I guess I took it too far. I know how excited you are to be here today, so I’m sorry if I ruined it.”

If you weren’t already stunned, that statement would’ve done it. Kim Taehyung apologizing? The two of you are sitting thigh to thigh now, your hand still between his.

“Um. Well. Thank you?”

“You said earlier that you don’t know why I’m here today. Do you really not know?”

Tearing your gaze away from where you were staring at his hands, you glance at his face. You know, all in all, it’s really not a bad face.

You must have a funny expression on your own, because he laughs, this low chuckle that makes your chest hum, like he’s hit a frequency that resonates only there.

“Why are you laughing?” you ask, eyes dropping to his lips.

“Because you make me happy.” He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. “That’s why I’m here. To be near you.”

“Noona!”

As if pulled sharply by invisible strings, you and Taehyung snap apart, his hands dropping yours. Your head swivels in the direction of Jungkook’s voice to see him bounding towards the cluster of chairs, your other friends in tow.

He drops to his knees in front of you, cupping your cheek as his worried eyes sweep over your face. “Are you okay?? Minnie told us what happened.”

Okay, maybe you’re right to be so soft for this kid. “I’m okay, Kookie. I appreciate the concern, though.”

“She’s fine, Kook-ah,” Taehyung mutters, suddenly standing. “Here. Have a seat.”

Dazed once again, you watch as Taehyung ambles off. Jungkook and the rest are asking you questions, but you’re not listening. There’s annoyance roiling in your belly again, but it’s not from anything Taehyung said this time.

It’s for the interruption.

In five steps you’ve caught up to Taehyung, who merely raises his eyebrows when you tug on his arm. He doesn’t say a word as you grab him by the nape of his neck. Doesn’t even breathe as you guide his face towards yours.

But as soon as your lips touch his, he comes alive. His arms lock around you, drawing you in. He tilts his head to bring you closer, pressing more of his mouth against yours. There’s an entire room full of strangers around you, but you couldn’t care less. Eyes fluttering shut, you lean into him, fingers lacing through his thick hair. He lets out a little moan as you accidentally tug on the silky strands and the sound, and immediately you repeat the action, drawing another gentle groan.

He pulls away then, cheeks flushed as he gazes at you. “Probably shouldn’t do too much of that here,” he murmurs in a deep timbre.

“Eh, it’s comic con. I’m sure they’ve seen stranger than a Jedi and a supervillain making out,” you grin as you take his hand, leading him to a quiet corner of the atrium. A glance at your friends finds them all mid-gawk. Jimin in particular looks like they’re having an out-of-body experience.

You know the feeling.

“I thought you were pretty, too,” you admit shyly.

Taehyung blinks. “What?”

“When we met. I - I thought you were the prettiest guy I’d ever seen. And I live with Jimin and Kookie.”

Taehyung’s boxy smile returns. He brushes gentle fingertips over your knuckles. “So, are we okay?”

“We will be. Once you’re made up for all that time wasted arguing.”

The warmth in his gaze overwhelms you. Makes you want to wrap yourself up in it and never leave. “That’s a lot to make up for.”

“Yep. Better get to work,” you whisper before he captures your mouth with his.

Taglist: @babycoffeefire; @/parkdatjimin; @reliablemitten; @yuugehn; @ut-dixisti; @hesperantha; @seokjinger-ale; @bangtanintotheroom; @taeshuworld; @nch327; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @7minsuga96; @dvalitaes; @wonieclub; @thatlongspringnight; @miscelunaaa; @acquiescence804; @itsirisz; @velvetskize; @starbtslove; @ajw05; @bruisedscrewedandtattooed; @minesuga; @greezenini; @aznstoner; @jkkkkkay; @xuxibelle; @soeur-de-ame; @boraborabts; @signmybook; @bbl32; @codeinebelle; @here4btsfics; @itbtoblikethatsometimes; @kookprada; @addictedtohobi; @shatzkrinslinzki; @jaiuneamesolitaiire; @joonjulyagust-d; @highly-functioning-mitochondria; @btsgotjams27; @allamericanuniverse

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#lillia recs #minsugakoobies #bwcbookclub

415 notes · View notes

moccahobi · 2 years ago

Text

Do you enjoy neighbors aus? Complex situations where both sides can be understood and explored? With a cute puppy plot? This is the fic for u!

It's such an adorable story and I rly love the mix of plots! Jo does so well balancing three plots and I absolutely love it! The many plots weave together nicely to give us a well rounded and such a good story! I'm rly curious abt Jimin and their drama tho 👀👀👀

Jo has masterfully woven Seokjin and the MC to be complex and imperfect characters. Both making mistakes and acting from places informed by their pasts. Their journey together is bumpy and imperfect and it makes it all the more realistic!

This was such an enjoyable read! Thank you for writing it! 💜💜💜

My live reaction is under the read more.

Omgggggg. What an introduction to the MC's dog!

Oh! A dog run is quite nice!

Rip! No dog poop bags! 😖

Noooo! Not their shoes!

🤣🤣🤣 The song of her people! Love it

KIM SEOKJINNNNNNN

What a flirty guy! M giggling!

Oop--- THE DOG 😭

Lolol. Jin could most def sell a used tissue. Esp if it's his. 🤪

Caught him? OMG DID THEIR EX CHEAT???

Ooof. What a rough morning!

Oh no! The day is getting rougher! 🥺🥺🥺

Hehehe. For puppy purposes. Sure jan. Sure.

Wish he took more advantage of having the MC's # 😏😏😏

Omg the skill! So proud of the pupper for sitting. Lol

Oh? Why don't they wanna see Jin?

Oh no! I hope their dad is ok!

Awwe. Jinnie being a sweetie trying to be the MC's friend. Cute!

Jin's so understanding 🥺

Lolol thirsting after Jin cooking is so understandable 🤣

THE FLIRTING! I LOVE

Oooof. I so relate to the MC's feeling and reaction abt the good news. It can feel so heavy and reliving at the same time.

I rly like the boardgame reference! Rly adds a bit of comedy to the tense scene.

Jin is so caring. I love 🥺

"Any and all babies" OMG THATS SMOOTH JIN

Love the Convo/time skip in the hike! It gives us good flow and hints at their conversations!

JIN WAS CHEATED ON TOO???? THE AUDACITY!

WANT TO DATE ME?!?!? OMG JIN SMOOTH

Lolol continuing the sale metaphor r we lolol? I love!

Love his flirtieness with the jello legs comment lolol

Oh no! Their dad? What happened?

Oh no! Heart surgery!

Oooof! No! Don't tell Seokjin that! He wants honesty! And he cares! He was there for u earlier! Tell! Share!

Omg! He's ignoring them so much. I wonder if he thinks the MC's brother is another romantic partner in their life???

Jin is rly hurt it seems. 🥺🥺🥺

Ooof. What a tough situation. I rly do understand both sides of it. 🥺

🤔 U know. Idk if I'd say he acted childishly. He didn't go into it much but he clearly is quite traumatized and uncertain about his past relationship. The lying clearly got to him. I rly do get his reaction. He tried to set a boundary during the hike and the mc didn't respect that. I also get the MC's feelings. It's hard to share generally especially with new relationships and heavy topics. It's understandable that they were uncertain. Rly reminds me how much we r all just bouncing against each other and occasionally those bounces lead to breaks.

Communication goes two ways MC! Both of you can grow from this fight. N I hope u both do. 🥺

Oh! Love the color association again!

Lolol stay. What a wonderful last word! I love!

Sit. Stay. || KSJ

(banner by @kth1)

Title: Sit. Stay. WC: 14k one-shot Genre: fluff, s2l, neighbors!au, baby angst for a quick minute?, smut

Summary: Your new puppy, Zinnia, has turned your world on its head. She’s ruined everything from your sleep schedule to your favorite shoes, and you know it’s your own failure to train her properly. When your cute upstairs neighbor tells you about a local obedience academy, he slowly starts to make himself a place in your schedule, your life, and your heart. After your last relationship went up in flames, will his affections be something else you can count as a failure?

Rating: NSFW - Minors DNI, i mean it

Warnings: language, casual drinking, a parent is having heart problems and seeing doctors for it, miscommunication sort of, immaturity lol, kissing, mentions of surgery/doctors/hospitals - but everyone is okay!, an argument, protected penetrative sex, doggy style (i mean how could i NOT), fingering, a nanosecond of nip stim

A/N: Written for the Paw Prints Academy Collab hosted by @kth1fics! Typo-check by @oddinary4bts - thank you, Ella!!!

You’re asleep, dreaming something plotless - your grandmother, long deceased, is there. It doesn't feel sad - it feels peaceful. It feels like, oh, it’s nice to see you again.

And it’s ruined, too early, by a long, high-pitched, inhuman cry. You startle awake, heart pounding as your brain scrambles to make sense of the sound. The whine - it’s a whine despite the loudness of it - dies down and is followed by a series of yips and sharp barks. Every noise seems to pierce straight through your skull.

You haven’t slept through a night in four days.

“Zinnia,” you beg, pushing the comforter off your body and making your way blindly across the unlit bedroom, “you have got to chill. You are not dying.”

Zinnia, an eleven-week old chocolate labrador, yaps even louder once she hears your voice.

You’re reinforcing bad behavior by getting up, a voice in your head reminds you.

You know it’s true, but what’s the alternative? Let Zinnia wake up every apartment on the whole floor?

You open the bedroom door, and Zinnie bounces with excitement in her crate, her tail flapping against the wall of it with a rhythmic thwap-ap-thwap-ap.

You sigh. She’s so dang cute, you can’t even be pissed that it’s two in the morning. “Hi, silly girl,” you say, resigned. She rolls herself in a full circle, going belly up and then back to her feet in less than a second.

You unlock the crate and watch absently as she catapults around your feet, races into the kitchen, slides across the linoleum and crashes sideways into a wooden cabinet door, and then dashes - unphased - back towards you, barreling into your shins.

You sigh again and head back to your bedroom for a hoodie and some shoes. Miss Zinnie needs to run, apparently.

You hook up her leash and grab your keys, patting your pocket to make sure your phone is in there before heading to the hallway. Zinnia zips left and right, tripping you more than once on the way to the elevators.

You take the elevators up instead of down. There are a lot of perks to your high-end apartment building - covered parking, a pool, a 24-hour gym - but the best is by far the dog run, outside on the twelfth floor. You’ve used it approximately sixty times in the days since you brought Zinnia home.

You realize as you push open the glass doors to the rooftop space that you forgot poop bags.

“Zinnia,” you say seriously, “I need you to promise not to poop. Got it?”

Zinnie gags once as she pulls too hard on the leash. You rub a hand over her face and reach down to pick her up, opting to carry her hyper ass the rest of the way to the dog run. You hold the door on your way back in for a tall guy with a baseball cap tugged low over his brow, leading a fluffy, blue-eyed dog back into the building. He nods in thanks and hurries past you. You have to step inside for a second to let him by, his shoulders take up so much of the doorway despite his slender frame.

“His dog isn’t choking itself on the leash,” you point out to Zinnia sourly. You make your way over to the dog run and make sure to latch the gate before setting Zinnia back on the ground and unclipping her.

“Go, you absolute menace,” you tell her. “Go run until you’re tired. Please, for the love of god, run until you’re tired.”

–

You’ve always gotten a mid-afternoon energy slump; Zinnia’s nighttime shenanigans haven’t helped that at all. You’re bent over your desk, trying to inhale the caffeine from your two pm coffee, when your phone pings on your desk.

Your heart sinks when you see the name of the college kid who’s supposed to watch Zinnia on weekday afternoons.

“Please just be a cute picture,” you mutter as you unlock your screen. No such luck. The text informs you that, in your absence, Zinnia chewed through a pair of shoes you’d been stupid enough to leave out.

There is an attached picture.

It is not cute.

–

You get home earlier than normal somehow, letting yourself into the apartment and kicking off your shoes. You immediately pick them back up, cradling them against your chest like they need to be protected.

They kind of do. Zinnia hears you and blasts straight at you, running circles around your legs, tail flopping side to side so hard her whole butt wiggles.

“Hello, silly beast,” you say affectionately, though truth be told you’re still mourning those chucks she’d ruined.

Ry, Zinnia’s college pal, gathers her belongings and tells you goodbye. Alone with your shoe-destroyer, you sigh and head to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Abandoned in the living room, Zinnia begins to sing the song of her people.

“Oh my god,” you huff. “Please, can you let me pee and change clothes? It is okay to be alone for five seconds!”

You ignore her complaints as you do just that, emerging in joggers and a hoodie, and sneakers that aren’t your chucks, since those live in the garbage can now.

You’d been planning on taking Zinnia on a walk walk, but there are some pretty ominous clouds out there. You pull your phone from your pocket and check the hourly - 80% chance that it’s already raining.

A quick trip to the dog run will have to be better than nothing.

You two head to the elevator, and you push the button for the twelfth floor, the ring around the button lighting up red.

The elevator slows to a stop on the eighth floor. The doors open and you spot the dog you’d passed last night, the one with the pretty blue eyes. You raise your eyes to look at its owner, the guy with shoulders the width of the moon.

He’s got a cap on again, but you can see his face today. He lights up when he sees you, stepping inside to let the doors close behind him. He glances at the button panel to make sure his choice is selected - he must be heading to twelve as well.

“We met you last night,” he says slyly, smiling at you. You’re unable to answer for a second; he’s so good-looking you think he must model or something. He’s got a strong brow, beautiful dark eyes, and lips that should be a museum, carved from marble.

“I think we did,” you agree, feeling suddenly shy, completely unqualified to speak to this absolute god.

“We did,” he says confidently. “I’d remember a face that cute anywhere.”

You feel yourself flush, suddenly so warm that you want to strip off your hoodie and maybe your shoes too, just to cool down. Then you realize that he’s looking down at Zinnia, whose tail is wagging so ferociously that she’s almost toppling over as she sniffs noses with the stranger’s dog.

“Is she okay?” you ask suddenly. “Do I need to –?”

“It’s fine,” he says easily, flapping a hand at you. “Blue’s very maternal. She knows a baby when she sees one.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing a little in relief. Being a Bad Dog Owner is bad enough, you’d hate to make a mistake with someone else’s dog in the equation.

The elevator doors open on the twelfth floor, and the guy holds out a hand, beckoning you to go first. You try to exit, but Zinnia is so obsessed with the guy’s dog - Blue - that she won’t budge.

“Good god,” you grumble, reaching down to lift her, stalking out of the elevator with only a scrap of your dignity. You’re pretty sure you hear the guy snicker as he follows you towards the doors to outside.

There’s an elderly lady and a corgi in the dog run, and you and the guy from the eighth floor hurry through the gate and latch it quickly.

Zinnia takes off sprinting the second you unclip her. Blue trots over to the corgi first.

“So,” you say. “You have a dog that listens.”

The grin he shoots you is amused. “I’ve had Blue for almost eight years. You have a baby. A lot of her behavior right now - the energy, chewing on everything she finds - she’ll grow out of.”

“That’s a relief,” you say, thinking of the ruined chair legs under your kitchen table. You’d had that kitchen set for a decade and Zinnia left it covered in teeth-marks within the seven minutes it took you to switch laundry loads.

He shrugs. “Some of it has to be trained out, though,” he warns you.

“Damn,” you sigh. A raindrop hits the back of your hand; instinctively, you raise your eyes to the clouds. Beside you, the guy does the same. On the other end of the dog run, the older lady calls her corgi over and clips its leash, ready to head in.

“You better pee fast, you monster,” you tell Zinnia, who doesn’t hear you and wouldn’t care even if she did.

The guy laughs quietly under his breath, then whistles once. Blue stops sniffing the ground and trots over immediately. Either his competence is really sexy, or you’re biased by his face.

“I’m Seokjin, by the way,” he says, looking up at you as he bends over to clip the leash back on. “Most people just call me Jin. This is Blue.”

As the rain starts to patter more strongly, you tell him your name, and then point at your bonkers puppy, who is currently trying to wedge herself under the metal beam below a bench. “That absolute disaster is Zinnia.”

He smiles and repeats it. “We’ll see you around,” he says, heading back in towards the building, leaving you and your puppy in a suddenly steady rain.

–

You stagger like a zombie to the elevators in the morning, hands clasped around a travel mug full of hot tea. Inside, you lean heavily against the wall, willing your eyes to stay open as you descend.

You’ve made it down two floors before you even register that another human is in there with you. One more before you register that you know that human.

“There she is,” he says brightly, when he sees that you’ve clocked him, finally. “Good morning!”

“Sorry,” you say, smiling ruefully. “I’m exhausted.”

He nods understandingly. “New puppies will do that,” he says, still cheerful. “Are you crate-training her at night?”

“Trying to,” you grumble. “It’s not going great.”

He seems like he’s going to answer, but the elevator stops on floor three and four more people shuffle in between you. When you’re released into the lobby, he nods goodbye from the opposite side of the small crowd as you make your way through the front doors.

–

You barely make it through the work-day without taking an illegal nap at your desk, but somehow you do. When you get home, Ry slipping out your front door the second she hears you, you want nothing more than to collapse on the couch and close your eyes.

Instead, you leash up Zinnia - without even changing clothes first - and head up to the dog run. You figure if she handles her business now, it might buy you a few hours of couch time.

You also wonder if the guy - Jin - is usually out there right around now. He was yesterday, after all. Maybe that’s his normal schedule.

He’s out there before you, this time. Your hunch was right. You unclip Zinnia and lean back against the fence, hoping you don’t fall asleep on your feet like this.

Jin sidles up beside you and you can’t deny the warm, pleased feeling that rises up in you.

“Tough day at work?” he asks.

You can’t fight the smile off your face - you don’t even try. “Normal,” you say. “Yours?”

He shrugs. “Normal.”

You wait a beat, two beats. Jin leans comfortably next to you, his eyes watching Blue as she runs happily alongside someone’s doberman.

“What do you do?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

He gives you a sideways look that you can’t decipher. “You’ll be disappointed,” he says, sort of like a warning.

This surprises you. “Disappointed? Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s pretty boring.”

Your smile turns a little knowing. “And you don’t like looking boring?”

His mouth twists to the side. “I don’t like feeling boring. But anyway - I’m a salesman. I work at a sporting goods store. I do consultations for certain equipment, but most of the time I’m just trying to make commission.”

I think with that smile you could probably sell me a used tissue, you think unhelpfully.

“That’s more exciting than mine,” you tell him, hoping it cheers him up. “I spend all eight hours behind a desk.”

He grimaces. “Do you hate it?” he asks.

No one’s ever framed the question like that before. You ponder this as, across the dog run, Zinnia happily harasses a pair of doodle-mixes.

“I don’t hate it,” you say slowly, weighing the truth of the words. “It’s just… monotonous, sometimes.”

“So you got a puppy to break up the monotony,” he guesses.

Now it’s your turn to grimace. “I got a puppy because my boyfriend moved out.”

He turns to look at you sharply, expression stricken. “I’m sorry - I didn’t -.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “I kicked him out. Caught him - well - it doesn’t matter. The point is I wasn’t sad to see him go. And I’d been trying for a long time to talk him into getting a dog, so. I gave myself a few months to get back on my feet and then I got myself a damn dog.”

And now she’s eating everything I own, you don’t add.

“Sorry you went through that,” Jin says seriously. You wave him off.

“It’s ancient history,” you tell him. “Besides, I’d trade him for Zinnie any day. Even when she pees inside.”

He laughs at this.

You stand chatting for a while - long enough for the doodle-mixes to get taken inside, and for a whole herd of dachshunds to come, chase circles around Zinnia for thirty minutes, and leave again, shepherded out by a middle-aged man. Long enough to learn that Jin went to college in the city, has an advanced degree in Business Management that he’s never used, adopted Blue when he was twenty-one. Long enough to learn that his parents live on the coast, that he can do most board-centered sports well, that he likes food and video games more than he likes most people. Long enough for him to learn your answers to the same questions.

“I should probably take her in,” he says finally, as dusk settles around you. “We both need dinner.”

“Sure,” you say. “I should, too. Zinnie! Zin! Zinnia, come!”

Jin snorts as Zinnia happily ignores you.

–

Your Friday is off to a bad start. Not only did Zinnie scream through the night, until you caved and let her out of the crate and spent the rest of the night on the couch so she wouldn’t feel lonely, but you break a heel on your way out the door.

The sudden break sends you sprawling onto your carpeted entryway floor. Your thermos of tea rolls away - thankfully sealed tight - but you feel your tights tear on your knee where you land. And your face ends up almost under a kitchen chair, eye to eye with a delightful little gift that Zinnia must have left you sometime while you were trying to get dressed.

You pushed yourself to your feet, eye your ripped tights and then the clock, and burst into tears on the spot. “Zinnia!” you wail. “I do not have time to go change! And I definitely do not have time to scrub the carpet right now!”

You do both, shooting the puppy death-stares as you scoot out of the apartment twenty minutes late with a blotchy face. You’d better not meet Seokjin in the elevators today, like this.

Luckily you don’t - but that’s about the last good thing you can say about the rest of your day. You get a nasty email from your boss for arriving late, you realize once you get to your office that you’d left your thermos of tea back on your kitchen table after you’d tripped, and Ry texts you to say she’s got a flu and she can’t take Zinnia out to pee after lunch the way she usually does.

You can’t leave early to handle it; you’re already in hot water for being late. You have to accept the fact that you’ll be going home to a mess - Zinnia can’t be expected to hold it that long, and it’s your fault, not hers. You just hope that, without someone there to play with her, her tiny, baby bladder is the only mess you’ll find, and not more ruined furniture.

It sucks, and you feel horrible - hoping she doesn’t cry and bark all afternoon, alone - but there’s nothing you can do about it.

When you get home, it’s about what you expected. You spray the carpet, hurry to change clothes, then come out to scrub where the spray had been sitting. You clean this up, and then the shreds of paper towel from the paper towel roll that Zinnia somehow got from the kitchen table, and face the puppy, utterly exhausted and at wit’s end. Somehow, you find yourself wanting to cry again.

“Maybe,” you tell her, as she looks up at you expectantly, “I am just not meant to be a dog parent. Maybe you need someone who knows what they’re doing. Or works from home. Or has a roommate to help. Something. Something that isn’t this.”

Oblivious to your emotional spiral, oblivious that you’re questioning your place in her life, Zinnia lays down and yawns, pink tongue curling and paws stretching as far as they can reach.

You skip the dog run. You think she probably needs an actual walk since Ry didn’t play with her this afternoon, and you don’t think you can face Seokjin in your current mood. He’ll either be friendly or sympathetic, and you can’t handle either of those with grace right now.

You strap Zinnia into an actual harness, not trusting her on just a clip-leash off the apartment property, and head towards the river. You detour through the park on your way, hoping the fresh air, exercise, and sunshine will work their magic.

They don’t. You fight back tears all the way to the riverside, Zinnia trotting along at times, pulling the leash towards passersby and random garbage at others.

Near the river, you spot a restaurant with outdoor seating. A few tables have brought their dogs; they lay on the pavement next to their humans’ tables happily, causing no fuss.

“What do you think?” you ask Zinnia wryly. “Can you be good long enough for one drink?”

You don’t give her the choice, getting yourself a table and tying her leash securely to your chair. One drink turns into two, then somehow you’re working on a third, your chin resting in your hand, a little stormcloud brewing above your head.

You’re startled when a body drops into the chair across from yours. You reach for Zinnia’s leash, alarmed, and then you realize it’s only Jin.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, at the same time that he says, “You look miserable.”

You stare at each other, not sure who should address what first.

“I was on my way home,” he explains. “The subway stop here isn’t that far from our place, so I’ll take it sometimes when the weather’s nice.”

You nod, accepting this. Then you decide to address what he’d said. “I am miserable,” you admit. “I am the worst dog owner on the planet. Come see me in five years, I will have one hellion of a dog, and exactly zero unruined square inches of apartment.”

Jin looks at you with an expression that’s both amused at your hyperbole and a bit sympathetic. You don’t know what you expect him to say, but it isn’t this - he leans forward, brows furrowing seriously, and asks you, “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Please,” you say, somewhat desperately. “I will take any suggestions.”

He sits back, the intensity leaving his face. “I have a few friends who work at this place in town? It’s called Paw Prints Academy.”

You chuckle. “Is it for bad dogs?”

He flashes you a smile. “Their secret, unofficial motto is there are no bad dogs, only bad owners.”

“Sounds like the place for me,” you admit.

“They’ve got it all - obedience classes, experts to run your questions by, groomers, boarding, day care.”

“It sounds great,” you say. “I obviously need some expert help. I’m a disaster.”

“I’ll send you their website,” Jin promises, and then pauses, his hand halfway to his phone. He seems, suddenly, less sure. The tips of his ears are suddenly red. “I… that is… if you’re okay with giving me your number?”

You hide your smile behind a hand. “Sure,” you say, trying to bite back the grin. “You can have my number.”

“For puppy purposes,” he clarifies with a cheeky smile. As if you both know that’s a lie.

“For puppy purposes,” you reassure him, feeling your little stormcloud start to dissipate.

–

Seokjin doesn’t abuse having your number. He sends you the website to Paw Prints Academy, and adds, “my friend’s name is jimin, tell him you know me” and then you don’t hear from him again. You call the academy and get Zinnia registered for obedience courses. You also sign yourself up for a seminar called New Puppy 101.

Slowly, things actually start looking up. It happens in a trickle, so gradually it’s barely noticeable. You don’t notice - until the first morning your alarm goes off and you realize with a jolt of terror that Zinnia hadn’t woken you up in the middle of the night, even once.

But when you trip over your own feet in a panic, throwing open your bedroom door, terrified of what you’ll find… you find Zinnia lying peacefully on her side in her crate. She begins to thump her tail happily when she sees you, and you nearly sag with relief.

Things improve for you at work, too; it’s almost like getting a full night’s sleep makes you more productive or something.

You go a full five days without scrubbing your carpet or throwing away any shoes.

And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that you meet Seokjin and Blue up in the dog run nearly every evening after work.

It’s during one of these unscheduled, yet oddly routine instances that Jin points out Zinnia’s progress.

You’re leaning against the fence together, watching absently as the dogs run around, as you have almost every day lately. Sure, you take Zinnia up as soon as you get home from work for her sake. But the coincidence that Jin is usually there around the same time doesn’t hurt.

“She seems way better,” he observes, turning his head to watch Zinnia zip by. “I can’t believe how big she’s gotten, too.”

“I know, right?” you explode, responding to both observations at once. But you can’t help it - you’re proud. “Watch this! Zinnia! Zinnie!”

And Zinnia, your wild baby, stops running and turns to look at you eagerly, waiting.

“Sit!” you call.

And Zinnia sits.

Seokjin whistles low, appreciative.

“Jimin’s a miracle worker,” he says. “I’m glad you called them.”

“Me too,” you admit. “Did I ever thank you for sending me their info? Because, seriously, I think you saved my life.”

Jin laughs, full and deep.

It scares you how much you like the feeling of making him laugh. It makes you want to sprint out of there, with or without Zinnia, hopping the fence if you have to.

–

The next afternoon, you get home and get ready to head up to the dog run. It’s a beautiful day, but you barely notice as you rotely go through the motions - change shoes, clip Zinnia’s leash, grab your keys from the countertop, head for the elevator. You keep your phone in your hand, hoping for a vibration, terrified of the vibration.

The dog run is empty when you get there; normally you’d be a little bummed that Jin isn’t there with Blue as he is almost every weekday evening, but today you’re relieved that you don’t have to try to carry a conversation. You unclip Zinnia, who darts away, and give a heavy sigh, leaning heavily against the fence, your phone still between your white-knuckled fingers.

Your relief is short-lived, because the building door opens less than two minutes later and Blue leads Jin out into the sunshine.

He smiles when he sees you, loping over and taking his now-familiar spot next to you as Blue sniffs the ground next to the metal bench to your left.

He’s chattering at you, and you think you’re answering, but it all kind of flows around you. After a few minutes of this, he pauses mid-sentence, brows furrowing.

“Hey,” he says kind of softly - there’s a definite change in his tone, which is honestly the thing that grabs your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer on instinct. “All good.”

There’s something sharp in his sideways glance. “You sure? You seem distracted.”

You wave the hand holding your phone a little, nodding your head toward it. “My dad’s at a cardiologist appointment right now. I’m waiting to hear if everything is fine… or if everything is not fine, in which case I probably need to go pack a bag and look up train times…” You trail off. Seokjin is listening intently, his face serious. You feel a flush of embarrassment anyway. “Sorry. I shouldn’t unload on you. We’re practically strangers.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepens with his frown.

“Well, now my feelings are hurt,” he complains.

You blink back at him, surprised. This was not the response you were expecting.

“I thought we were friends,” he continues, an exaggerated pout creeping into his tone and onto his features. “I don’t keep a steady schedule at the complex’s dog run for just anybody, you know.”

Your heart trips over its own feet and faceplants in the dirt. You feel your eyes go wide as he puts words to something you’d suspected but had been afraid to assume - that you’d both been coming here at the same time on purpose. Not just you, but him too.

The playfulness melts away with the fake pout, and he’s back to looking at you seriously. “Have you had dinner?” he asks. There’s something gentle about the way he says the words; you feel something warm drop to your toes, intoxicating. “Let me cook for you.”

“You cook?” you blurt.

He smiles warmly, a touch of amusement in it. Like he’s thinking, but is too polite to say, how much you don’t know about him. It’s definitely what you’re thinking.

“Come on,” he says, heading around you towards the gate, giving your elbow a gentle touch on his way by. “I’ll make you something good.”

–

Jin’s apartment is cleaner than you’d expected, to be honest. He sets you up at his breakfast bar with a generously poured glass of red wine and gets to work in the kitchen.

“Is Zinnie okay?” you ask him, looking over your shoulder anxiously as Zinnia sniffs his couch frantically, like the fabric is holding every secret the universe could ever hold. “She tends to… chew. It’s been better since we started classes with Jimin, but nobody’s perfect.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Jin says, waving a hand at you. “Blue did her share of damage to my stuff when she was a baby.”

You watch him in comfortable silence as he dices vegetables, a pot of water heating on the stovetop. Maybe it’s the wine talking, but it’s lowkey pretty sexy how he works a kitchen knife. It’s almost enough to distract you from the churning pit of anxiety in your stomach as you tap your fingers absently on your darkened phone screen.

“So it’s been going well with Jimin, huh?” Jin asks over his shoulder, and you tear your gaze away from your phone and try to catch up to the conversation.

“Oh,” you say, once you’ve processed. “Really well, actually. I think he’s a dog genius.”

Jin laughs at this, lifting the cutting board to slide what he’s chopped into the pot of water. Then he comes over to his side of the breakfast bar and picks up the other glass of red wine, still untouched.

“He’s good at his job,” Jin agrees. “I don’t know about genius. Did you know he’s secretly a cat person?”

This makes you giggle a little, your eyes falling back to your screen. Again, Jin tries to pull you back.

“Is she following any other commands now?” He eyes you over the top of his wine glass as he takes a long drink from it.

You smile a little, well aware that he’s distracting you on purpose, well aware that you aren’t sure you deserve this level of care from him.

But apparently you’re friends.

“She’s pretty good about here, and sit,” you say. “Not so good with stay. It’s a work in progress.”

Jin grins at this, something sparkling in his eyes.

“She’s sleeping in her crate at night, too,” you add.

“Wow,” Jin says, eyebrows raising. “That must be nice.”

“I don’t know how I was surviving before,” you tell him seriously, and he laughs again as he turns back to the stove to handle something.

You chat like this, in starts and stops, until the meal is done. Jin slides a steaming bowl before you and sets up a few sides before coming to take the seat to your right. Zinnia appears underfoot, nose sniffing wildly.

“I agree,” you tell her seriously. “It smells amazing. Who taught you to cook?”

His smile softens, going a little sideways. “My grandfather, actually. Weird, right? He was widowed when my dad and my aunts and uncles were all pretty little, so he had to learn, had to feed all those kids.”

“That’s not weird at all,” you tell him. “It’s actually kind of beautiful.”

Emboldened, Jin continues, the fond smile remaining on his face. “He’s a brilliant cook - we’ve told him forever he should have a cooking channel.”

You laugh a little. “People would probably be into that. Especially if you were the assistant.”

This comes out of your mouth without you realizing; the second you register that it has, you feel yourself blush furiously. And, dammit, Jin clocks the whole thing.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, that soft smile turning razor sharp. “Why’s that?”

You’re saved by your phone buzzing on the table, the screen coming to life, illuminating with the notification from your messaging app: Mom.

Frantically, you swipe to open the message, eyes flying across the screen as you read her update. Then, you close your eyes, pressing your forehead to the breakfast bar, the fake granite cool beneath your skin, letting out a shaky exhale.

You feel Jin; he’s instantly in your space, one large hand resting lightly over your shoulder as he hovers closer to you. Aside from his hand on your back, comforting, he’s not touching you at all. But somehow it feels like he’s surrounding you.

He says your name quietly, inquisitively.

You reach out blindly, your hand finding his knee. “It’s okay,” you say, taking a deep breath and sitting up. Your head spins. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes and take another deep, bracing breath. Seokjin’s hand stays on your back. “It’s good news.”

You hear Jin exhale beside you, his fingers twitching against your shoulder blade, almost like he had the reflex to squeeze you and fought it just a second too late. It strikes you, deeply, that he’s relieved. He doesn’t know your parents, has no real stake here. But his relief is palpable next to you; your worry had become his own.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Your problems shouldn’t be his to bear. “I know I wasn’t great company tonight.”

He shakes his head, following your lead and placing his hand back on his own legs, as if wanting to cover the spot on his knee that you’d left vacant. “I enjoyed your company,” he says openly. “I’m glad you came over.”

You sit in silence, both sneaking glances, neither knowing what move to make yet. You feel like you’re playing Chutes and Ladders and a chute just sent you sideways around the Peppermint Forest and dumped you seven spaces ahead when you don’t really belong there yet. Or maybe you’re mixing up your board games.

“I should probably go give them a call,” you say reluctantly. “Can I help you clean up? You cooked.”

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. Both dogs look up at this familiar word, gauging if they’re the ones in trouble. This makes you smile, and it breaks you out of the weird headspace you were in. “I’ll clean up.”

You rise, calling to Zinnia as you grab her leash. You clip her up and head for the door. Jin trails behind you, walking you out. You pause near the door, looking at him balefully.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Seriously - for everything. For… caring about my problems. For the delicious food. For cooking and cleaning up. You should have let me do the dishes.”

He smiles at you, sunlight spun into the quirk of his lips, the soft wrinkle at the edges of his eyes. “If you’re that worried about it, I know how you can make it up to me,” he says, his voice a little teasing.

“Oh?” You quirk an eyebrow. You’ve got emotional whiplash; in the last three hours you’ve gone from flirting to panicking to soft to awkward to flirting again and you cannot keep up.

He leans against the wall, crosses his arms over his chest, that smile turning sharp again. God, you like his face so much. You like him so much. “Mhm,” he says, mock seriously. “I found a trail I want to check out with Blue, but as a general rule I don’t do mountains alone.”

“Sure,” you deadpan. “You need an Adventure Buddy.”

“Yes,” he says eagerly, snapping his fingers in excitement. “Exactly. So, what do you think? This weekend? The weather’s supposed to be great.”

“Can I let you know?” you ask. “Text me the details.” Truth be told, you want to look up the trail first and decide if it seems too challenging.

Jin slips out of that teasing, flirtatious mode easily. “Sure,” he says, all casual again. He’s so hard to keep up with, you think you’ll never get used to it. “I’ll text you.”

You open the door, tripping over Zinnia a little as she pushes past you into the hallway, but you’re stopped when Jin says your name one more time. You look back over your shoulder, curious.

“I’m glad your dad’s okay,” he says, giving you a rueful smile.

You give a tiny smile back before Zinnia bodily tugs you further away, spurring you into movement. “Thanks,” you say, and turn to go.

–

[9:19 PM] You: idk about this trail…. looking at the elevation… do you think it’ll be too hard for Zinnie? she’s just a baby :’)

[9:21 PM] Seokjin: the elevation’s misleading, it’s honestly not that bad

[9:22 PM] Seokjin: you’ll be totally fine

[9:23 PM] Seokjin: oops i mean “Zinnia” will be totally fine 😏

[9:23 PM] You: … what exactly are you implying here

[9:24 PM] Seokjin: just that any and all babies will be fine :)

[9:25 PM] You: …….i think we’re fighting

–

Seokjin drives you - and the dogs - to the trailhead early Saturday morning, the low rising sun dodging in and out between buildings as they pass you by. The forecast calls for a beautiful day - bright and clear, not too hot to hike, but not so chilly that you’ll shiver the whole first leg.

As Seokjin parks and organizes his backpack, you stand next to the car, shielding your eyes and peering at the top.

He laughs when he notices, the sound alive and as bright as the weather. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he promises, coming close, looking at the top with you. His presence, so close to you, feels thrilling - like electricity, like a promise.

“You keep saying that,” you deadpan, “but if Zinnia conks out on me, you’re carrying her up the mountain and back.”

“Have some faith,” he teases, and heads for the place where the trees split, the path tamped down from many feet, leading into thick forest.

Zinnia keeps up pretty well, actually, and you and Seokjin set a steady pace up the trail.

About a half a mile in, he asks, “How’s your dad?”

It startles you, and you look over at him kind of wildly. He looks back at you like it’s nothing - like it’s nothing that he remembered and thought to ask - waiting for your response.

“Fine,” you say, a habit. Then, reconsidering, you add, “I mean, the same. He’s got more tests and stuff lined up, but the verdict from the cardiologist was that there’s no immediate concern. So… that was a relief. His primary care doctor looked at his EKG results and said to go immediately, so we were pretty scared.”

“I’d be scared, too,” he admits. “I’m glad you got good news. I would have been a wreck.”

You continue talking as you walk - about your families, your parents, your siblings. This moves into a conversation about things you both remember from growing up, until the conversation has delved into you both laughing too hard to get a sentence out as you manage, “Wait - wait, do you remember -?”

This takes the conversation to old movies you remember fondly.

“Can you believe my ex had never even heard of those?” you ask a little indignantly, before registering that maybe that was a weird thing to say.

But Seokjin takes it in stride. “The one who cheated on you? We’ve established his poor taste already.”

This makes you giggle. “Yes, that winner.”

He looks over at you, as the trail veers left and sharply steepens. “I’m sorry you went through that,” he says evenly. “I can kind of relate. It’s not fun.”

You peer back at him, not sure how heavy this conversation is going to, or should, get.

Hesitantly, you ask, “Do you want to tell me about it? I don’t want to… y’know. Pry.”

He shrugs. “At the end of the day, there’s not much to tell. My last girlfriend… I don’t think she cheated - or, well, I never had proof that she did.”

“You suspected?”

He wiggles his head, indicating a maybe. “I think it was heading that way with her and a co-worker. It’s possible that I ended things before it got to that point. But she started lying to me about him - about little stuff, stuff that shouldn’t matter. And I just… I’m a pretty understanding, easy-going guy, but I’m not going to tolerate someone lying to my face.”

You continue in silence for a few minutes, weighing these words in your mind, adding this new knowledge to the idea of Jin that’s in your head.

Then, he flashes you a cheesy grin and says lightly, “And that’s my sales pitch! Want to date me?”

You laugh out loud, mostly in surprise. But he’s still looking at you, and you feel your eyebrows raise.

“Was that a real question?” you ask, a little disbelieving. God, he’s the most unserious person you’ve ever met.

“A little bit,” he admits.

Stunned, you manage, “You might need to do a harder sell.”

His brows furrow dramatically. “Please, I’m a catch. Didn’t you taste my food the other night?”

“That’s true,” you muse. “The food was bomb. I’ll think about it. Gotta decide if this purchase will break the bank or not.”

While you’re just going along with his little bit, it kind of feels like code. You do need to consider if you can afford dating Jin - emotionally. Mentally. Are you ready for a relationship again? Would that even be what he wants?

“That’s fair,” he says easily. “Crunch some numbers and let me know.”

You think with anyone else it would be awkward the rest of the way, but Jin doesn’t allow it to be. He carries the conversation onto the next topic - gossip about your dog-trainer, Jimin - without a hitch.

You follow the conversation somewhat absently, still in your head, questions rising up to stare at you like Marley’s ghost, covered in chains. What do you want? What are you ready for?

You aren’t sure - about any of it. But Seokjin’s presence feels like warm rays of sunshine, warming you from a chill you didn’t know you had, and his laugh feels like the toll of city bells, telling you it’s time to come home.

–

Zinnia doesn’t conk out on her way up the mountain, but she definitely slows. Jin ties the girls’ leashes to a low branch near the trail and fishes a collapsible water bowl from his backpack, filling it with water and setting it down.

“Wow, that’s fancy,” you marvel, as Zinnia attacks the water bowl with vigor, water splashing the rock beneath, painting everything a darker shade of grey. “If we’re gonna keep doing this, I might need to get one of those.”

But Jin’s attention isn’t on the dogs anymore - it’s on the view. He’s wandered to the edge of the flat expanse of rock, where grey meets the green of far down below. You join him, and he puts an arm around your shoulders, glancing at you to make sure this is okay. You look out at the view, and it is beautiful… but your mind is too busy to appreciate it.

“Jin…” you say slowly, and he looks down at you, hand tightening against your shoulder almost reflexively.

“Hm?”

“If I were interested… what exactly are the terms of sale?” you murmur, feeling kind of shy.

Jin laughs, delighted, throwing his head back with it. His hair falls away from his face and he uses the hand that’s not on your shoulder to push it back. “What do you want them to be?” he asks, and you feel a tingle down to your toes at the dangerous undercurrent that flows along with the question.

“I’m not totally sure,” you admit quietly. “Is there any kind of… trial period? Any way to start is slow and see how it goes?”

Seokjin gives you an understanding squeeze. “Listen, as much as I love the bit and your dedication to it, I really want to communicate clearly about this. So - just to be very clear - I’d really like to date you. If you’re more comfortable starting slowly, I’m okay with that.”

You press your lips together, reaching a hand up to gently touch his fingers where they rest on your shoulder, considering.

Seokjin watches your face, then says, “I know a great burger joint on the way home. Let me buy your dinner, and we can call this a first date. What do you think?”

You turn to face him, looking up and up into his warm eyes, and his hand shifts from your shoulder to the center of your back, holding you loosely enough that you don’t feel held in place, feel free to go if that’s what you choose.

“That’s a pretty good first date,” you say seriously. “But it’s really gonna depend on how the burgers are.”

He grins, cocky. “They’re pretty good,” he says. “But, honestly, mine are better.” Then, he presses the knuckle of his index finger gently to the bottom of your chin and kisses you gently - again, so gently it’s barely there, so gently it would have taken just a breath of space for you to pull away if you wanted to.

You don’t; instead you press forward, pressing your lips more firmly against his, your hands coming to rest on his upper arms, feather-light. Behind you, Zinnia begins yipping - loud, insistent, each sharp sound piercing the silence around you.

You pull away from Jin, flushing, pleased to see a smile on his face. “She’s just jealous,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Please. She gets to kiss me all the time. She can share.”

Laughing, Jin heads for the dogs, ready to head back down to the cars. “Come on,” he says over his shoulder. “Let’s go get some pretty good burgers.”

–

They are good - better than pretty good, you think, and you tell Seokjin so after a beer and a half at the burger joint’s outdoor patio. The mountain you’d tackled looms in the distance, blue and shadowy.

“I’m telling you, mine are better,” Jin insists. “I have a secret method.”

“Yeah?” You tease. “Taking it to the grave?”

“You say that like it’s a joke,” he says seriously. “But I am.”

On the wooden deck beneath you, Zinnia lays on her side, eyelids fluttering and paws twitching as she dreams.

“We really knocked her out,” you observe.

Jin laughs, reaching his arms over his head to stretch, the movement causing his shirt to ride up just enough to show a slip of belly before it falls back into place. You try not to look, try not to remember kissing him at the mountain’s top.

“That’ll be us in a few hours,” he jokes. “I always knock out after a hike like this.”

“I’m going to be sore for days,” you agree, rubbing your calves in anticipation of the aching muscles you’ll have tomorrow.

“I have a suggestion,” Jin says, voice low. You flush, expecting him to flirt, to offer to rub your tired legs or something suggestive. Instead he says, “You ever try epsom salts?”

You blink at him, bamboozled. You just can’t predict him - he zigs when you expect a zag every damn time.

“I have, yeah,” you finally stammer. “I don’t think I have any left, though.”

“I have a huge bag,” he tells you, finishing the last of his second beer in one long draught. When he sets down his glass he tells you, “I’ll bring you the bag later. It’ll help a lot, I promise.”

You look him over. “You’re a guy with a lot of solutions, huh?”

He coughs, averting his gaze. You notice the tips of his ears turning pink and you hide a smile behind your hand. So cute.

“I try to be solution-oriented, yes,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

There’s no sign of that - the pink ears, the averted eyes, the mumbling - when he shows up at your door about twenty minutes after you arrive home. Zinnia is passed out on the floor behind you, having first lapped up her body weight in water from her silver bowl in the kitchen. As for you, all you’ve managed to do so far is shed your sneakers, your jacket, and the tshirt that had been sticking to your back, leaving you in athletic leggings and a sports bra.

Jin’s gaze sweeps you from head to toe and then settles determinedly on your eyes, like he’s got to work at it. “I brought the epsom salts,” he tells you unnecessarily, holding up the bag.

“I see that,” you murmur, feeling warm under his gaze. “Thanks.”

You reach to take the bag from him, but he tugs back on it a little, effectively pulling you to him. You trip into his arms willingly, ready for it this time when he kisses you.

He walks you backwards into your apartment, out of the threshold, letting the door close behind him. You hit the wall of your entryway, let him cage you in against it, his lips insistent against yours. When he runs a hand softly up your arm, summoning a wave of goosebumps in its wake, you sigh against his lips.

He takes advantage of the opening, teasing your bottom lip with his tongue before venturing further. You open for him happily, leaning back against the wall, reveling in the feeling of his strong arms on either side of you, the feeling of his tongue sliding against your own, the feeling of his hair between your fingers - when had you grabbed his hair?

You kiss him until you’re dizzy, until your legs feel weak beneath you, until you feel his hand travel from between your shoulder blades, to the small of your back, to the side of your ribs.

You break the kiss gently, nearly panting for breath. You can feel Jin’s pulse jumping as he does the same.

You look at each other for a long moment, communicating silently, weighing options.

You could invite him in. He’s here already, Zinnia’s unconscious, you’re holding a bag of bath salts (wait, no, the bag is on the ground - when did you drop it?). But something in your stomach tugs, tells you not yet. So that’s what you tell him, on a whisper, your teeth coming to toy with your swollen bottom lip as soon as the words are out - not yet. I’m sorry.

“Hey,” he says, cupping your cheek with a hand, so soft. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything. Don’t apologize.”

You glance around the room, desperate for a distraction, but nothing comes. “I, um,” you say, looking anywhere but him, “I think I’m gonna try the salts now. My legs are like jello.”

He gives you a tiny grin, and you roll your eyes. “From the hike!” you protest.

He gives you a playfully disbelieving look but backs off, giving you some space again. “Sure, of course,” he says, smirking.

You bend to pick up the discarded bag, holding it in your hands, feeling along the rubber zipper. Then, you cross Jin’s path and open the front door again, looking up to find him still watching you.

He gives you a playful smile. “I had a nice first date and a half,” he says, losing the fight against a pleased smile.

You huff out a laugh. “This was the half?” you clarify.

“I don’t kiss like that on the first date,” he sniffs in mock indignation.

You giggle, following behind him as he heads to the hallway. “Goodnight, Seokjin. Thanks for the salts. And the date and a half.”

–

You soak away your sore muscles and sleep deeper than you have in months.

Your days continue this way as April’s grey and rainy afternoons give way to sunshine, bright afternoons, trees starting to bud as the temperature grows milder. You meet Jin at the dog run every afternoon unless you text to make different plans - sometimes a walk with the dogs through the park nearby, sometimes dinner out, sometimes dinner in.

Dinner in usually means more kissing.

Sometimes, dinner out does, too.

In retrospect, you should have known. You should have known that as you fall for Seokjin little by little something else must be coming. Things can’t just be bright sunshine and Seokjin’s laugh, Zinnia’s wagging tail and linked fingers under starry skies.

Your brother shows up at your door, unannounced, almost a full month after your first date with Jin.

You almost don’t recognize him; it’s not that you haven’t seen him in that long - you have. It’s just that he’s still a kid in your head, a gangly, acne-prone teenager with earpods and a scowl. The man who stares at you, a rolling suitcase in hand, is in a suit. He looks put-together, and grown.

You say his name nervously, and he sort of grimaces at you.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” he says. “I’ve been on the phone with Mom and the doctors.”

“Doctors?” you echo, backing up to let him inside.

He gives you a look as he wheels his little suitcase inside. You don’t like the look. It says something bad is coming.

“It’s Dad,” he says.

–

You end up going out to grab dinner - you have no groceries to cook him a meal, and you’re a terrible cook anyway.

Your little brother fills you in - that cardiologist appointment over a month ago had ended with a positive outcome. They’d told your parents not to worry, there was no immediate danger, but there were certainly concerns.

Concerns that had worsened in the following month, apparently.

“They’re going to see a cardio team at the hospital here in the city,” your brother explains. “Mom was going to call and explain all of this to you, but I told her I was coming here anyway. She can focus on them - getting a hotel set up, packing, all that stuff. It looks like he’ll probably need surgery - they’ll decide at his appointment tomorrow. If that’s the case, they’ll stay in the city for a little until he’s recovered enough to go home again.”

You feel like you’re in shock; it’s a lot all at once. Your whole family suddenly in your city, under terrible circumstances. Surgery? Heart surgery?

“I’ll get a hotel, too, if it turns out they’ll be here a long time,” he says.

You come back to earth sharply. “You don’t need to do that. You’re welcome with me and Zinnia as long as you need, okay? Seriously. I’ll talk to Mom in the morning. We’ll get everything figured out.”

Just like that, the toughness drops out of him. Somehow he’d been the one your mom had called, the one responsible for relaying the information, the one responsible for making and supporting medical decisions. You’re the elder, it should have been you. As soon as you take the reins again, he folds, pressing his hands to his face and letting out a shuddering breath.

You feel horrible, instantly. He’s the baby, he’s not supposed to have to shoulder the responsibility.

“Hey,” you say softly. “It’s gonna be fine. Dad will be fine. We’ll find out tomorrow what his treatment plan is, and how long they’ll need to stay. You’re fine staying with me, okay? It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” he says, uncovering his face and reaching for his water glass. “You’re right.” Then, quieter, “You’re right.”

At the end of the meal, walking back to the apartment, you stop near the door and give him a hug, your brave little brother.

“You did well,” you assure him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

He hugs you back, holding you like he’s been drowning and you’re a buoy. It breaks your heart to think that may sort of be the case.

Neither of you notices Seokjin and Blue pass by, glancing at you curiously over his shoulder on his way into the building.

When he texts you that night, not long after you’ve set your brother up on your couch and crated Zinnia for the night, it’s not entirely unexpected, considering you’d skipped your normal trip to the dog run earlier, and you’d been too spun in circles to text him an explanation.

His message lights up your screen - “missed you earlier. everything ok?”

You hesitate, nibbling at your lower lip as you consider. What could you really tell him right now?

Not really, my baby brother showed up unannounced and emotionally hanging by a thread, and we’re waiting to find out tomorrow if a team of surgeons will be opening my elderly father up for heart surgery.

Not really a text message conversation, right? Honestly, you’re not sure it’s an in-person conversation, either. The relationship - if you can call it that without having discussed exclusivity yet - is still new, blooming, fragile. Is it too much, too soon? Would you be better off telling him later, when things are settled, when you can tie up the story nice and neat?

We had another health scare with my dad, but it’s okay now. He’s recovering.

Isn’t that less heavy? Your problems should not be Seokjin’s to carry, and you know he’ll try to carry them. He’s wonderful that way, always doing. There’s something scared and snappish inside you that wants to keep him far away from this until you’re sure you can look brave, until you’re sure you won’t fall apart in front of him.

In the end you send back, “all good! just got busy. how was your day?”

It strikes you as a little weird that he hasn’t answered by the time you go to bed. But as soon as you’re up the next day, you’re completely focused on your parents. You call them before you’re even out of bed, checking up on where in the city they’re staying, what time your dad’s appointment is. You call out sick from work, glad you hadn’t wasted sick days back when Zinnia was keeping you from sleeping - even though you’d definitely considered it more than once.

You and your brother both go to the cardiologist appointment, you two and your parents squeezing into the little consultation room as the surgeon examines your dad’s results on his computer screen.

Your heart hammers as you wait. You see your mom’s foot tapping, tapping, tapping, and you reach to hold her hand, hoping to comfort her, calm her down.

The surgeon removes his glasses and looks at your father seriously. “I do think surgery is the best course of action,” he says calmly. Your heart drops. The doctor continues, “It’s a pretty routine procedure, as far as these things go. Nothing to worry too much about. I’m confident that a stent will work.”

You lock onto the words minimally invasive, listening eagerly as the doctor continues to outline the plan he thinks will work best.

“I think it’s best to admit you today and schedule the surgery as soon as possible,” you hear the doctor says, and the rest of the day is a blur - signing papers, answering doctors’ questions, running back to your parents’ hotel to throw together a bag of personal items for your dad, running to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee that has been your only meal all day, more papers, waiting room after waiting room after waiting room.

When you finally get home, long after dark, your brother trailing wordlessly behind you, you’re so mentally and physically exhausted, you could cry. Zinnia waits for you in her crate - Ry had luckily been around when you texted, and came to take her outside a few times while you were gone. You let Zinnia out of the crate and collapse on the couch. Your brother takes the recliner, staring at you like you’ve both emerged from a warzone.

As you unwind, try to unclench your brain and your jaw and your shoulders, you think to check your messages. Part of you hopes Jin’s sent you something.

But your messages are empty. Your heart sinks with disappointment. You plan to go to work tomorrow; your dad’s surgery should end midafternoon and you can go straight to the hospital from work. It’s another day that you’ll miss Jin at the dog run. You think about texting him with an explanation, but that last message you sent him still sits there, unanswered, calling you a fool. So, instead, you slide your phone into your pocket and ask your little brother if he wants you to order delivery.

–

It takes you two more days to really get the message - Jin’s silence is deliberate. Your father’s surgery goes well, and if all goes according to plan your family should be heading back home in just a day or two. Crisis handled, on the day after surgery you swallow your pride and send Jin, “Sorry I’ve been MIA - family thing. All good now. What’s new with you?”

Not only does this go unanswered - like the one before - but another three weekdays go by and your trips up to the dog run at 5:15pm remain devoid of company.

Your father heals. Your mother takes him home. Your brother packs up and leaves just a folded up blanket on the couch he’d occupied for almost a week. April turns rainy, like the children’s rhyme says. And you… you slide back into your old routine, sans Seokjin.

You’re sad - of course you’re sad, you liked Jin. He was funny, charming, and so ready to do for you. You’d gotten used to having him around - his windshield wiper laugh, his great cooking, the way he’d carry the same joke or bit with you for a whole day before letting it go, the way the monotony of your day to day seemed interesting again once he was in it.

And you missed Blue, too.

But it wasn’t that deep - not yet. You’re not sobbing, heartbroken, into your pillow or anything. You feel disappointment above all else - disappointment at the loss of what could have been something.

You really do think it could have been something real.

You also feel… confused. What had happened? Had Jin seriously gotten mad at your silence for a few days and just ghosted you? You replay your last few conversations in your head, scour your last few text exchanges for anything that would make sense, but nothing does.

Some little part of your brain niggles, suggests that you’ve been wronged, somehow. That something had happened to you that you didn’t deserve. It’s enough to start just the tiniest flicker of anger, deep in your belly.

Thursday brings rain - relentless, cold, the kind of rain to make you wrap up in a jacket and tell Zinnia to hustle when you bring her upstairs to pee.

For the first time since the day your brother showed up at your door, you run into Jin and Blue. Jin is coming in from outside, both he and Blue soaked from the rain. His jacket sticks to his chest, his drenched hair pushed away from his face. He pauses as Blue shakes the water from her fur, and that’s enough time for your eyes to catch his.

You freeze, not sure what will happen - will he talk to you? Should you say hi?

His face, already blank, somehow slides blanker, like something falls away from it and leaves it even more empty. Then he pulls his gaze away from you, orders Blue to his side with a single, muttered syllable, and turns on his heel to walk to the stairwell at the end of the hall.

He’ll take the stairs, you figure, so he doesn’t have to walk past you to get to the elevator.

That little flicker of anger builds into a flame, and even the mid-April downpour can’t put it out.

–

It rains for days, your apartment cast in grey. You don’t know if it contributes to your mood or if it’s just mirroring it, but you feel grey, too. You quit using the dog run and start taking Zinnie on loops around the block, instead. After her walks, you lay on the couch, cheek pressed against the soft material, dramas playing on the screen without your attention.

Zinnia lays on the floor against the couch, occasionally whining and licking your hand. Sometimes she digs out toys - rubber kongs, plush ducks she’s practically decapitated, rawhides - and drops them at your feet, looking at you hopefully. You toss them for her or play tug each time, but you think she knows your heart isn’t in it.

Later, when you try to remember April, all you can think of is grey and rain.

–

It seems, though, that you’re not the only one who gave up on the dog run. On the first weekend in May, on a day that is - yes - grey, but thankfully not rainy, you run into Jin on the sidewalk a few buildings down from your own.

Blue wags happily when she sees you, but you feel yourself frown, already sliding your gaze to the ground. You don’t want to watch his face go ugly again, like last time. You can’t bear it, you think you might snap. That indignant little flame tickles in your veins.

You have to pass each other unless one of you turns around, so you grit your teeth and push on. It feels like an imminent collision, tension and anxiety building in you the closer and closer you get - and then Zinnia decides to make it an actual collision, zigging sharply towards Blue at the last second, knocking you off-balance right into Seokjin’s space.

His hands take you by the upper arms, steadying you, placing you back on your feet. There’s something tender in his touch, you think, and then you glimpse his face. That blankness again, the flatness nastier than any scowl he could send your way.

His hands are off you quickly, and he’s pushing past you, not a word spoken.

That flame bursts from a tickle to a storm.

“Hey!” you shout, the word tearing from your chest like it had to detach from something, burning up your throat like the burn of liquor. Seokjin turns, that flat expression starting to border on a defensive sneer. “What the hell is your problem?”

Now it is a sneer. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me!” you shout, stomping closer. Zinnia follows, her tail down, sensitive to your tone. “What exactly is the problem, Seokjin? I’m dying to know.”

He opens his mouth to answer you, but you cut him off with a bitter laugh. “No, seriously,” you say, that same bitterness marinating every word. “I’m dying to know. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I can’t. So please, enlighten me. What did I do?”

Your body sings with adrenaline, your chest heaves with quick breaths as your body tells you it’s ready to fight.

Seokjin lets out a single huff of a laugh. “What did you do?” he echoes sarcastically. “Literally the only thing I consider a hard no.”

You don’t follow. “What?”

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe that you don’t get it. “I saw you hugging that guy,” he says evenly, “and then I texted you to see what -.”

“That was my brother,” you blurt furiously, eyes narrowing. “Is that what this was all about? You didn’t strike me as a jealous, jump-to-conclusions kind of person -.”

“I don’t care about that,” he says over you, tone stoney. “You lied to me - right to my face.”

You stare at him blankly, trying to put the pieces together. He’d seen you hugging your brother, and then he’d texted you “everything ok?” and you’d said… “just busy”. It was a lie, sort of - barely.

You laugh - actually laugh. “You’re out of your mind,” you say coldly. “You dropped me over that? I had things going on that I didn’t want to get into. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t care,” he says, not cruelly, just truthful. “It was a lie.”

You heave a frustrated breath, casting your gaze at the full clouds above you. “Seokjin,” you say slowly, “you’re not being fair.” It feels suddenly very important to you to defend yourself, to explain it all away - even if he still walks away after, you want to be sure he knows he was wrong. “I wasn’t lying about, like, where I was, or who I was with. It was just… omission. The situation felt… too heavy for whatever this is. Whatever this was,” you amend.

He just looks at you silently, but you can see the changes in his expression - that flatness melting away almost imperceptibly, making way for something chagrined. You take this as a good sign and continue, explaining what had happened - from your brother showing up, to the surgery, to your family heading home again - leaving your space emptier than they’d found it.

Finished, you look at him silently, watching him process. Then, everything off your chest, you move to continue on. You feel, suddenly, like you have nothing else to say to him. “We were just casually dating,” you point out as you take a step away. His ears are red again, but he hasn’t tried to speak. “At no point did I lose the right to choose what to tell you and what to keep to myself. You acted like a child when you could have just communicated with me.”

You give Zinnia a gentle tug and she follows as you head back to the apartment’s front doors. You don’t look back; you don’t think you can.

–

Upstairs, you unclip Zinnia and sink into a kitchen chair, head in your hands. It felt good to yell at him, felt good to find out the reason for his silence. You’d made your peace already with losing him - so why do you feel worse now?

You’re there only minutes when you hear a soft knock on your door. You sigh, knowing exactly who and what it is, and forcing yourself to rise anyway. All the anger you’d felt outside seems to have leaked out of you; now you just feel resigned.

Jin’s ears are still bright red. “You’re right,” he says in greeting. Then, he waits, leaning against the door jamb as you process, as you decide how to respond. Blue stands just behind him patiently, the leash slack.

Mouth twisting, you look at him flatly. “Care to elaborate?”

“Ah,” he utters. He looks embarrassed, one hand still absently on the back of his neck, eyes on the ground. “I owe you an apology.”

When you still say nothing, he continues.

“You’re right - you don’t have to tell me your business. I’d like you to - or, I’d like to feel like you can - but you’re not obligated to. I… overreacted. And then I was being too rigid to look closely at what was going on. I just…”

He trails off and looks at you balefully. “I’m not trying to make an excuse,” he tries to explain. “I know I was wrong. I just made myself a promise years ago to never let anyone lie to me again… hoping I’d never feel so stupid again… and I let it… take over. I’m sorry.”

You consider this, foot tapping nervously. “Okay,” you say finally.

Something hopefully breaks over his face; he moves minutely closer to you. “I feel horrible,” he admits, voice hushed suddenly. “You were going through all that, and I absolutely made more problems for you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice echoing a little flatly to your own ears. “I forgive you.”

He takes a step back, like the unbending insincerity of your words actually knocks him off balance.

“Okay,” he says, his voice somehow small. He starts to back away from your door, Blue scurrying out of his path, but his eyes remain on you. “I’ll, uh… I’ll probably be at the dog run tomorrow? Normal time?”

The way he says it, a question, asks if you will too.

“I don’t know,” you answer, even though he didn’t technically ask. “I don’t know yet. Maybe. We’ll see.”

You agonize over it all night. You’re mad - mad that he reacted childishly, mad that he added stress during a hard time for you, mad that he doubted you and judged you and didn't give you a chance to explain yourself. Mad that he let you down.

But, something logical inside you counters, he’s apologized. He’s taken accountability for it, admitted he’d behaved immaturely. Didn’t people, generally, deserve second chances? Didn’t you want to give him a second chance, regardless?

By the time you get ready for work the next morning, you still aren’t sure. Your stomach churns with indecision all day. When you get home, you sit on the couch, still in your work clothes, and eye Zinnia thoughtfully. She sits and cocks her head to the side, almost quizzical. Like she’s asking, okay, boss, what’s the plan?

You still don’t know. With a sigh, you change out of your office attire and take Zinnia out. At the elevator, you stare at the buttons: physical embodiment of this choice.

In the end, you hit down, taking Zinnie out through the lobby and heading down the street. The idea of Seokjin up at the dog run, eyes on the glass doors - hoping to see you, makes you hunch your shoulders up against a wave of guilt.

You feel like now you’re being the childish one. You know you want to give him another chance. Pretending otherwise just to punish him for hurting you… it’s not a good look, and you know it.

When the knock on your door comes, several hours later, as the sunset casts your apartment in deep blues and shadows, you feel like you were expecting it the whole time. You feel like it’s your own second chance.

“You didn’t come,” he says, frowning adorably.

You sigh, taking a step backwards to let him inside. He does, the door shutting behind him.

“Why are you here?” you ask; not demanding, not to fight - you want to know. You want to know what he’s hoping for right now, what he wants to happen, so that you can decide if you’re game or not.

He seems to understand, seems to hear the question for what it really is. He says your name, still hushed, like if he says it with too much force the letters will blow away like dead autumn leaves in a November squall.

“Well?” you prod.

“Please,” he says, something so desperate playing on the notes of the word.

“What?” you repeat, hating that your voice is choked. “What do you want, Seokjin?”

He closes the space between you, one hand coming to cup your jaw so light you aren’t sure he’s actually touching you or if you just feel the warmth of proximity. “Forgive me,” he whispers. “I want you to let me try again. Let me do better.”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, but you lean into his touch, closing your eyes. He strokes your cheek gently with his thumb, then pulls his hand away and cups the back of your head, guiding you close enough to press his lips to the top of your head, the kiss lost in your hair.

“I promise,” he whispers, “I won’t fuck up like that again. I want to try again - I like you so much, I want to do everything right for you. I feel like such an idiot for wrecking it.”

“You are an idiot,” you say, and you feel him smile against your forehead before he laughs.

“Never again, Jin,” you say sternly, leaning back to look up at him. His hand slides down to the back of your neck, resting comfortably. “I don’t do bullshit like that. We’re adults. We have to communicate. We have to speak -”

Behind you, Zinnia barks once, sharp and proud.

You and Jin both dissolve into giggles, both of you praising Zinnia for following the command.

When you turn back to Jin, he’s looking at you warmly, eyes shining with fondness. He dips his head to kiss you, and when he feels you kiss him back he tugs you closer by the small of your back, grunting into your mouth when your bodies collide.

He breaks the kiss and whispers against your jaw, “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, tilting your head to give him more room as his lips go from whispering his desire to kissing your pulsepoint, teeth barely there before his lips soothe the spot.

You fist your hands in the fabric of his shirt, holding on tight, relying on him to hold you upright as his mouth makes you dizzy. When his lips make it back to yours, you tug on his shirt and walk him backwards towards your open bedroom door. You giggle against his lips when he kicks it shut behind him.

You’re kissing again as you shed layers in tandem, breaking apart to pull shirts over your heads, kissing messily again as you balance on one foot at a time to remove socks, giggling as you lean back to get a good look at him as he undoes his belt. Would it be crass of you to whistle in appreciation? His shoulders are just... so… wide.

When your leggings pool on your carpet next to his blue jeans, he backs you up to the bed, where you sit heavily. He crawls over top of you, mouths clashing again as he holds himself over top of you. You feel like you’re spinning - you cling to his shoulders, focus on the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours, his fingers tracing the outline of your breast, the insistent press of his clothed erection hot against your thighs.

He kisses you like he’s devouring you, like he’s claiming you, like he’s pouring out every frustration into his lips and teeth and fingers and tongue and they’re all spinning you in bigger and bigger circles, ever widening.

Then the spinning crashes to a halt, because his fingers are meandering lower and lower, skimming your last rib, skating over your lower belly, sliding over your cotton panties and hovering just out of reach from where you want him the most.

He presses kisses down your jaw, down your neck, goosebumps rising up your arms as his breath ghosts along your throat. His fingers skim your slit over the damp cotton, making you moan shamelessly against the top of his head, but his hand travels back up, fingers sliding up your stomach and back to your chest.

“Jin,” you breathe, as he rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger, sending jolts of electric delight clear down to your toes, and he answers you with a low groan before capturing your mouth in another deep kiss.

You’re spinning again.

Then his hand is back where you want it - fuck, you want it everywhere - fingers sliding through your folds before pushing deep into you. You gasp, but your body shifts to meet his knuckles, hips tilting to let him deeper still.

It takes you only minutes before you’re begging for him, unashamed, whispering his name around a litany of please and I need you and more, please, more.

He rolls away from you wordlessly, shifting to dig through his wallet. You hear the telltale sound of foil ripping and then he’s back over top of you, lips marking a path from your stomach, up between your tits, past your collarbones, before latching onto your neck as he gives you exactly what you asked for.

The stretch stings but you don’t care, moving to meet him, to take him all the way. Seokjin buries himself deep with a throaty groan, the sound mingling with your own whine.

He keeps a slow pace at first, content with exploring every new everything - every new sound he can pull out of you, every new spot he can touch that makes you arch your back and moan a little louder, every angle that makes you pitch go high and your nails find his shoulders.

It’s not long before his resolve breaks, his pace quickening as his hips snap into yours, the room filled with the sound of his thighs slapping yours. The tightening ball in the pit of your stomach swells, and your fingers find your clit as you careen towards the edge. Seokjin talks you through it when you crash past the precipice, calling you beautiful, telling you that you feel so good as you clench around him in waves.

Your limbs feel like jelly as you come down from the high, but Seokjin isn’t done with you. He presses kisses to your jaw, your cheek, the space just beneath your ear. Then, he whispers, “Can I go behind you?”

You nod - words are still too far away, slipping just outside of your fingertips. You can touch them, but can’t pull them close enough to use. Jin uses gentle hands to roll you over and backs up to stand next to the bed; he guides your hips backwards until your knees rest on the edge of the mattress. Still boneless, you fold your arms and press your face into them, moaning loudly when he enters you slowly.

At this new angle, you feel like he’s somehow, impossibly, deeper, and it’s all you can do to dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you and survive. His pace is slow for only a moment, letting you adjust, and then he’s pounding into you again, hands tight on your hips, pulling you backwards to meet each thrust.

You can tell it immediately when he’s close - the sounds spilling out of him turn from deep grunts and quiet gasps to lengthier sounds that verge on whiny. You gasp in time with him as he pumps into you more shallowly, barely pulling out at all, as one last strangled, broken sound leaves his mouth.

You collapse forward onto the bed the second he releases you, your heart hammering. Behind you, he must be handling the condom because when he flops next to you, eyes searching for yours, it’s gone.

“Hi,” he says, smiling.

You laugh. “Hello there.”

He rolls onto his back next to you, radiating happiness. “So?” he asks your ceiling. “Am I forgiven?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t erase the smile from your face. Oxytocin is a bitch. “I guess,” you allow. “But you’re on thin ice for a while.”

He makes a thinking sound. “I’ll have to fix that,” he muses, one arm thrown over his head. He looks over at you. “How about you go shower, and I’ll cook you something?”

You twist your lips, considering. “Mmm,” you say. “I think I’d rather you join me in the shower first.”

His smile grows impossibly wider, and his hand creeps to find yours, his fingers lacing between yours and squeezing tight.

–

When you think about May, you remember pink.

Pink flowers blooming on the trees outside. Pink sunsets as you and Jin walk Blue and Zinnia through the park in the evenings. The pink of Zinnia’s tongue, lolling out of her mouth as she pants happily at your feet. The pink of Seokjin’s ears when you tease him or call him handsome in front of your friends.

You started things slowly - even slower than the first time; you’re nervous that something will happen again, that this second chance was indeed a mistake. But, true to his word, Seokjin shows up for you every day - he misses no chance to remind you that he’s here, and he’s got a score to settle with his past mistakes.

As the month comes to a close, spring teasing at tepid summer, you make a decision. You head to Seokjin’s place before dinner, as you do most evenings lately, letting yourself in with the door’s code. Blue is resting on a dog bed near the kitchen, placed there so she can see Seokjin even when he’s cooking and doesn’t feel lonely out in the living room. Zinnia slips through your hands the second the door opens, zipping into the apartment wildly.

“Zinnie!” you call.

Seokjin’s voice carries out to you from the bedroom - “Yeah?”

You laugh, shutting the door behind you and heading to where you’d heard him from. “I said Zinnie, not Jinnie!” you clarify.

He comes out of the room, laughing at the miscommunication, pausing to kiss your cheek. “How was your day?” he asks, before heading around you into the kitchen, where he had apparently been halfway through chopping some veggies.

“It was fine,” you hedge. “There’s something I was thinking about today, though.”

“Oh?” he says, looking over his shoulder at you as he picks up where he left off with the chopping.

You lean over the kitchen table, palms a little sweaty with nerves. Below you, Zinnia zips around, chasing a rubber ball of Blue’s, barking loudly as if scolding the toy for fleeing.

“I was thinking about us,” you say slowly, and Seokjin stills, setting down the knife and turning to face you, sensing that this talk is serious. His ears tinge pink almost instantly.

“Okay…” he says slowly.

You take a deep breath and push forward. “I was thinking about how I asked if we could do this slowly. How we were taking it one day at a time, not putting a name to it or anything.”

He nods, eyes on you, listening.

You shrug, look away and lick your lips. “I think I’m ready - I think what I want is…”

Behind you, Zinnia’s repeated yaps overtake the room, echoing through Jin’s kitchen.

You try to speak over her, stumbling over your words. “What I’m trying to ask you is… will you…”

Zinnia’s barks get louder; the ball is stuck under the couch and she is pissed. You turn, calling to her, “Zinnia, sit!”

The command works. She plops onto her butt obediently, and silence descends on the room like a sprinkle of snow.

You turn back to Jin, heart racing, to finish your question. “...stay?”

Thank you so much for reading! <3 Please look forward to the other fics in the collab and support those excellent writers as well!!!

#daechitwa #lillia recs #bwcbookclub

773 notes · View notes

moccahobi · 2 years ago

Text

Omg! What a chapter! It is immediately so interesting and pulls you in right away! If you like fallen angel aus or enjoy emotionally charged stories, or revenge, this will be a wonderful read!

Courtney is a master at using the world around the characters to compliment and contrast their emotions and I am absolutely in LOVE with it! It really helps underlie the world around them so beautifully and just adds to much beauty to the prose used!

And the characters are so loveable! Esp Yoongi! They're a little emotionally constipated and guarded (understandably so) and it really does lead to some super interesting dynamics in this chapter! I am so excited to keep reading the series!

My live reaction is under the read more.

What a pretty opening! I really enjoy the way that the world's description blends with the MC's emotions!

Ohhhhh. What an introduction to the Goat! I like his reaction a lot.

How interesting. The descriptions of the Goat are quite stark! It's cool to see how he tries to blend into other unhoused people and also how he stands out.

👀👀👀 What has the mc heard the Goat wants?

Snakes everywhere? Inchresting foreshadowing!

Ohhhhh. Interesting ask of the mc! I'm quite curious how Yoong will manage to ruin their ex!

Awwe. Second time meeting Yoongi. What a sad description we get of him.

Floating past the bar. 😂 What a fun description!

IS YOONGI BLUSHING? IS HE ALREADY WARMING UP TO THE MC? 👀👀👀

OMG THAT SMALL STUFF IS BRUTAL! I can rly imagine them slowly tripping the ex up!

Oh! Another parallel of environment and emotions! I like!

Woah! What a cool power of Yoongi's!

Omg! How messed up of their ex! Screw him! Òwó

You humans are complicated. 😂😂😂 Idk if that's quite an answer to the MC's question but it is quite funny!

WAFFLES! LOVE EM! 🤤 So true abt it being one of the best foods.

Moood MC. Listening to Yoongi talk should be a national/global past time.

Awwe. Poor MC missing Yoongi. 🥺

Oh no! Where is Yoongi? I wonder if he's ok...

GASP! YOONGI!!!

Awe. Pobre Yoongi. Beaten by demons and emotionally constipated.

"It's kind of really fucked up" 🤣🤣🤣 love that line

🥺🥺🥺

Omgggg. He's enjoying the mc touch his wings! How cute!

Awwe. Him seeing a sweater as a lot. 🥺🥺🥺 What a sweetie.

CAN I KISS-- IWNCOQNFOS SOCBWOCBEBDOCHDJFKEBAJ

WHAT?!? MIN YOONGI! HE LEFT?!?

AND NOW DAWOON?!?!? LEMME FITE!

Ruh ro... I don't like this

... What is he going to do??? Ówò

GOOD JOB MC! GOOD JOB! IGNORE THE ASSHAT!

MC STOP TAKING UR ANGER OUT ON YOONGI 😭 HES TRYING 😭😭😭

OMG OMG OMG WHAT AN ENDING OMG OMG OMG

Fallen (1) | myg

Min Yoongi x Female Reader

Summary: If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then where does that leave you? Spurned by your ex-fiance, you seek the one person who can help. But as it turns out, the price of revenge may be a little more than you bargained for.

Genre: Fallen Angel AU, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst

Word Count: 9,208

Warnings: homelessness, abusive ex, manipulation, emotional abuse, forced isolation, major character injury, blood, mentions of critiques of organized western religion, threats of harm, brief mentions of an almost-panic attack, arguing, more to be added later

Notes: Thank you to @daechwitatamic and @madbutgloriouspond for reading through this fic and for listening to me talk about it literally every day. And thanks to @btsmosphere and @toikiii for helping me with the angst.

Fallen Masterlist | Next Part

Everything is grey. Or, at least, that’s how it feels. You rarely come this far uptown, where the trains run on elevated tracks instead of under your feet. You follow the tracks along the river. They said he’d be somewhere around here, under the el between the old Radio Shack and the bodega. Above, a train rumbles past, its speed whipping up a wind that blows your hair into your face.

You pull your jacket closer and step over a puddle.

Honestly, uptown would be nice if it didn’t seem like it died in the 70s. But, at least near the el, everything gives off that decayed vibe. Faded posters still cling to the bricks in alleyways advertising bands that hadn’t toured in decades. Window displays for nameless stores show off mannequins dressed in clothes that would have been long out of fashion by the time you were born.

Something glowing near one of the track supports draws your attention. It’s a metal trash can, its contents ablaze. Just behind the can, leaning against the steel support, is a man. His clothes are tattered, and as you get closer, you can see he’s sucking on a lollipop.

“Goat?” You’re almost in front of the burning can. The man doesn’t answer you, doesn't acknowledge you, he just continues to stare into the flames. “Are-are you Goat?” you try again, taking a step closer. “I’m looking for someone. I was told he’d be here–uptown under the tracks where no one comes. Some of them called him Goat.”

The man snorts derisively, a small, bitterly amused smirk appears on his lips. “Not to my face they don’t.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” you concede. He doesn’t seem to be upset, but you don’t want to push his buttons. “I need to talk to you.”

“No thanks, kid.”

“It’s important.”

The man–Goat, or whatever he’s called–rolls his eyes. “You humans are always so convinced you need my help.” He turns then, tossing the stick of his lollipop into the fire, and starts to walk away. “I’ll give you a piece of advice: you can’t handle it.” He throws the last thought over his shoulder, barely even turning his head.

You walk quickly to catch up. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m stronger than I look.”

As you emerge from the shadows of the el tracks, you’re able to get a better look at him. He’s slight, thin, with barely any visible muscle. His dark hair hangs long into his eyes, which are an intense shade of deep, dark brown. He doesn’t look like much, and for a moment, you think that maybe you have the wrong man. But there’s a quiet power to how he carries himself, as if he could turn into something all-powerful and terrifying in the blink of an eye. You can see it in how he walks, how he carries himself. He’s dressed like just another unhoused person, but there’s a confidence around him that would make it nearly impossible to think he’s anything else than the immovable force that he was.

“You would know a thing about being stronger than you look, I think,” you say quietly.

He sighs and pauses beside a light pole, leaning against it and allowing you to fully catch up to him. “What do you want.” It’s not a question.

“I need something.”

He laughs, eyebrows raising in surprise. “You want a favor?”

“Not a favor. I’ll pay you.”

“You’ll pay me?”

“Anything you want.”

He shakes his head, pushing off the post and continuing to walk. This time, though, it’s much slower, as if he’s inviting you to keep up. You’re intrigued–he’s intriguing–and you aren’t about to give up yet. So you walk with him, up the street, past the dusty old bodega and into an alley.

“I don’t want anything,” he says, eyes focused ahead.

You shrug. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

He stops and turns to you, stepping close, so close that you can smell the smoke from the garbage fire on his clothes, in his hair. He inspects you, dark eyes gazing deeply into yours. “Who have you been talking to about me?”

“Your friends.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“The ones who live down here.”

Again, he laughs, stepping away from you. You can still smell the smoke of his clothes. “They’d kill me if they got the chance.” He continues walking, leading you down another side street. This one looks just as Disco Dead as the previous one. “You should watch your step. There are snakes everywhere.”

You sigh. At this rate, you’ll be dead before you convince him to help you. But you press on. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

“How?”

“You tell me.”

He hums, scrubbing a hand along his chin in thought. He shoves his other hand into the pocket of his oversized, tattered coat. “What do you want, kid?”

“Revenge. On my ex-fiance. He’s…” You shake your head. Your ex-fiance is a lot of things. And you hate all of them.

“Real winner, eh?” He hums, turning from the alley and onto the avenue.

The shops here are just as old, the signs just as peeling and time-worn, but some of these are open. Their doors are propped open and music–a strange cacophony of reggae, latin fusion, and jazz–floats out onto the street from old boomboxes. Judging by the advertisements in the windows, these storefronts were stuck somewhere in the 90s. An improvement, but not quite enough.

Finally, he stops just outside of a run down electronics store. The front window still has a CRT tv that’s hooked up to a security camera filming the street. You and the man are reflected back in the screen. He’s standing so close to you that the sleeves of his tattered coat brush against your arm.

“Sure, okay,” he says finally, the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk.

For a moment, you’re taken aback. That was… much easier than you had expected it to be. Your shock must be evident on your face, because then he says, “What do you need?”

Carefully, you collect yourself, school your face into something you hope is a neutral expression. “I just want him to suffer.”

He whistles lowly, fluffing his hair. “Doesn’t exactly give me a lot to go off.”

“Can you do it or not?”

Briefly, he looks amused. His smirk turns into a smile. It’s soft, and it’s a little cocky, but it sets your mind at ease a little bit. “Might take a bit to get it right, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“I want him ruined,” you say softly, taking a step closer. “Personally and professionally. Just like he did to me.”

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, Goat.” You smile, and he smiles back. A wide, gummy thing that seems to show off all the teeth in his mouth. “Or, I guess…?”

“Yoongi. Call me Yoongi.”

It’s amazing how cold it’s gotten in the span of a couple weeks. It hasn’t snowed yet, but you can definitely tell that it’s going to soon. There’s something about the smell of the air, how the wind feels as it whips its way under the el tracks. The puddles under the track from the water and moisture dripping from the trains look frigid. You step around one and approach the man standing at the burning trash can.

He looks cold, too. He’s wearing the same tattered coat as last time, and now you notice the places where you can see his shirt through the holes. You wonder if he has anything else he could wear, any other layers he could put on now that it’s getting cold. You wonder if he has anywhere to go when the temperatures start to dip at night, somewhere other than huddled around a Hooverville fire.

He smiles as you get closer, much different from the indifferent glare he’d fixed you with the first time, and you warm a little bit. It’s sweet, the half-grin he shoots your way, almost as if he’s excited to see you. You’d tried to keep your distance over the past few weeks, despite the fact that you’d been practically bursting at the seams to know how things were progressing. But that doesn’t mean you hadn’t seen him at all.

He’d wandered past your work a few days ago. You couldn’t be quite sure, but you were pretty sure he’d actually floated past the front windows of the bar. But he’d paused and waved, and you’d waved back only for your coworkers to look at you like you were crazy.

So there was a 50/50 chance that Yoongi was actually just a figment of your revenge-addled imagination. But you know. That’s what happens when you cavort with a fallen angel. C’est la vie.

“Kid. You came.” He greets you cheerfully, his eyes focusing down on the fire in front of him. He reaches down beside him and grabs a small stack of papers–old posters and some trash, from the looks of it–and drops them into the flames. Sparks fly up, and you watch them glitter in his eyes. “I’m a little surprised, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s hard to ignore a creepy text from an unknown number asking you to meet under the el at nearly sundown.” You shrug. “You really should sign your texts. Or, I don’t know. Give me your number.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and scoffs, but you could swear his cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink than they already were.

The wind picks up, touseling his hair and chilling you to your core. You push your bag further up onto your shoulder and shove your hands deep into the pockets of your coat. Yoongi steps closer to the fire, visibly shivering, and again, you find yourself concerned for him. But before you can say anything, he clears his throat.

“I think I’m going to need some more details about what he did to you,” he says softly. You bristle at his words. Brown eyes find yours, and you can sense that he hates having to ask.

You sigh. You’d hoped to be able to get through this without having to tell him about any of it. You’d done a lot of healing in the time since leaving your fiance, but so much of it still stung–and some of it, you were still dealing with the fallout. You’d thought that because of who he was, you wouldn’t have to tell Yoongi anything.

“I thought you could just sense that stuff.”

He frowns. “I can tell when it’s enough to balance out the universe. But I need to know what I’m balancing for.”

“What have you tried so far?”

“Admittedly not much just yet.” Yoongi scratches at the back of his neck. “I started small to test the waters. But between his keys disappearing and his clocks never being the correct time, he’ll never be on-time ever again. I’ve also crashed his computer several times and wiped a few important files. He’ll need them in a few days. He’s currently up for a promotion, but uh… not after his boss finds out that the reports for three of their biggest clients are gone.”

You hum. It’s a start. Your ex-fiance was incredibly dedicated to his job. You’d loved that about him, back when you loved him. So it did give you a sick sense of satisfaction to know that slowly, his job was slipping through his fingertips. But…

“It’s not enough,” you say sharply. “You need to go further.”

“Right. That’s why I was hoping you could give me more information.”

“Well, I…” You sigh. Where the hell do you even start? How the hell do you even start? You look around. The surrounding buildings are still grey, still decaying, still… damp. You can’t see them, but somewhere nearby, someone is rooting around in a dumpster. Suddenly, you’re intimately aware of how cold it is, and how stinging the wind is, and how exposed you are. You rub your arm. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

Yoongi watches you, and some emotion crosses his eyes. But you can’t tell what it is, and it’s gone before you can really even analyze it. Silently, he nods and holds out his hand. You think that maybe he’s going to lead you away again, on a goose chase through the weird eras of this part of uptown. But he doesn’t.

Brown eyes meet yours for the briefest of seconds, and then a warm wind picks up, blowing Yoongi’s long hair into his eyes. Your stomach lurches and then something soft rises up to meet you. You open your eyes–when did you close them?--and suddenly, you’re no longer under the el.

There’s a clatter off to your left, and the ding of a bell. Distantly, you hear someone ask “You want some more coffee, hun?” The surface under you is soft, but not so soft to be mistaken for comfortable. Yoongi sits across from you, a smug smirk on his lips.

A diner. You’re in a diner. It’s fairly busy, too, and for a moment, you’re worried that someone noticed the two of you just appearing out of nowhere in a booth. But shockingly, no one is even looking in your direction.

“How…?”

Yoongi shrugs. “People see what they want.”

“Oh… okay.”

You settle into the vinyl seating, resting your hands against the table. The formica surface is sticky and you recoil in disgust. Yoongi watches you, his cat-like eyes following your movements with curiosity. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the clinking of dishes and the noises from the kitchen.

A waitress flutters back and forth between the tables and the stools at the counter, taking orders and pouring coffee. She either hasn’t noticed you’re there or she doesn’t see you at all. Quite frankly, neither would shock you. Another order appears in the window with a ding and the waitress spins to place the plate in front of a man at the counter.

After a second, she approaches your table to take your order. You aren’t particularly hungry, but Yoongi orders a plate of fries and a slice of cake to share. She pours Yoongi a cup of coffee and promises to return with a glass of water for you and then she’s gone.

“So.” Yoongi clears his throat and leans on his hand. He studies you curiously. His voice is soft when he next speaks. “I really do need to know what he did to you, kid.”

You sigh. It wasn’t surprising, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to talk about. Your fiance had been terrific at first. Loving. Loyal. Kind. You’d known him since college, had seen him go from gangly, awkward first-year to second in his class in one of the country’s most prestigious law schools. You’d watched him graduate, had been there when he was named partner, celebrated every raise and promotion as he climbed the ladder. But slowly, over time, he’d changed.

“He used to be lovely,” you admit softly, dragging a finger through the condensation on the glass of water the waitress sat in front of you. “But somewhere along the way, he changed. Or maybe he was always like this and I didn’t notice. I don’t know.”

“Sometimes people hide who they are.”

“After a while, I realized that I wasn’t myself anymore. There was nothing about me at that point that didn’t revolve around him. I hadn’t seen my friends in over a year. I was completely dependent on him financially. He’d gotten me a job at his firm, we lived in a nice apartment near the river. But I didn’t want to only be Song Dawoon’s wife for the rest of my life. And when I left, I…” You shrug, hands falling into your lap. “Well, he showed me, I guess.”

“He took it all away?”

You nod. “My whole life, gone in less than 24 hours.”

“Your friends?”

“Turns out he’d been feeding them lies.”

Yoongi hums deeply and frowns. And when the waitress returns at that precise moment with a plate of fries, he jumps slightly at the clatter. When she’s gone, he leans closer, no longer resting on his hand. He picks up a fry and inspects it briefly before popping it into his mouth. He makes a face, though you can’t necessarily tell why. You consider for the first time that maybe he’d never eaten before.

Gently, he pushes the plate toward you. “Eat,” he coaxes softly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But now that I know, I can change tactics.” He sighs, his eyes falling to the plate as he traces the edge. “I’ll make sure he gets what’s deserved.”

Things go silent. Yoongi coaxes you to eat again, but other than that, the sounds of the diner take over. Slowly, the fries disappear. You try not to watch him–or, at least, you try not to be too obvious about watching him. He’s warmed up in the diner, his full cheeks no longer bright pink and windbitten, but you worry about when you leave.

What happens then?

Does he have somewhere to go to get out of the cold? Does he stay in a tent in the encampment under the el? Does he go to a shelter? Or does he huddle by the trash can fire through the night? His clothes are so thin, there’s no way they protect him from the cold. Does he even get cold?

You barely notice when the waitress comes to take away the plate and replace it with another, this one topped with a slice of cake large enough for two. Again, Yoongi nudges the plate in your direction, but you let him have the first bite. He practically melts when his lips close around his fork, and suddenly you’re struck with a thought.

You would like to know more about him.

It’s weird, and a little random. But you want to know more about what he likes and what he doesn’t. You’re curious about his past, though you aren’t sure you’d ever be brave enough to ask. But he’s fascinating, you’re fascinated by him, and so you smile gently at him when you stab into your side of the cake. He returns it warmly, and it reflects in his eyes.

The days pass quickly, and soon enough, it’s almost a week later. For reasons you can’t quite figure out, you’ve seen Yoongi for the majority of the days after your impromptu trip to the diner. Or, perhaps seen isn’t the right word. Anyone else, you would say you’d been hanging out with them. But with Yoongi, that didn’t seem quite right.

He’d shown up at the bar. You’d assumed that he wanted to tell you about his most recent attempts at bringing enough justice to Dawoon to rattle his teeth. But he sat down at the corner of the bar and watched you curiously while you served the customers that were there before him. When you finally made your way toward him, he shot you a warm smile.

You’d only spoken a few words to him when it became abundantly clear that you were the only one that could see him. Your coworkers eyed you warily, and the other patrons sitting at the bar were looking at you like you were the drunk one. You whispered a soft “Stick around. I’m closing,” to him and promptly ignored him for the rest of the night.

Which is how you ended up here. With the bar’s sound system blasting late 90s pop while you pile dishes into the dishwasher. Yoongi perches on the countertop beside you, dark eyes watching you curiously as you place cups into the tray for washing.

“Is there a reason why I’m the only one who can see you?” you finally ask. It’d been bothering you all night, and now seems as good a time as any to ask.

He shrugs, and for a moment, you think he’s going to answer, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you hit start on the dishwasher and follows you back out to the bar. “You humans are… complicated,” he says cryptically, as if that’s supposed to answer your question.

You hum. Ain’t that the truth.

He stands behind you as you take stock, checking the bottles behind the bar to see what’s low. Gingerly, he picks up a bottle of bar brand rum and inspects the label. “Why do humans drink this?” he asks, voice quiet.

It’s your turn to shrug. “Celebration. Relaxation. Happiness. Sadness. For fun. To forget.”

“That’s a lot of contradictions.”

“Humans are complicated.”

He grunts and falls silent, putting the rum back behind the bar.

It’s a day later, and Yoongi is following you around once again. It’s weird how comfortable it is. He’s in your apartment, beside you in the kitchen. You’d been right in the diner–he hadn’t tried many human foods. He didn’t really need to eat. But he had a sweet tooth, and that was the extent of his experimentation.

Mercifully, it’s your day off, and you’ve taken the time to expose Yoongi to breakfast foods–waffles, you argue, are among humankind’s greatest creations. You had set him to task cutting up melon, and truthfully, you’re a little worried he’s going to cut his finger off. But it turns out that he’s a natural with a knife, and you aren’t sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But he chats with you while he cuts into the juicy green flesh, the thwack, thwack, thwack of the knife a nice rhythmic background to the conversation.

“It’s why the trains are always late,” he explains, his voice quiet, but sage. Somehow–you weren’t entirely sure how–he’d gotten on the topic of rail infrastructure. You hadn’t exactly been able to follow his logic, but his voice is nice, the slight gravel to it is soothing, and you think that maybe, you could listen to him talk for hours about nothing. Which is a strange thought because a month ago, you hadn’t even known his name.

The waffle maker beeps, and when you open it, the steam swirls out from a perfectly golden brown waffle. You pour more batter in and shut and lock the plates.

“Why do they call you Goat?” you ask quietly. It’s sudden, and his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. It’s quiet, save for the sounds of Yoongi’s knife and the every-so-often ding! of the waffle maker. Suddenly, you’re struck with the idea that maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me.” You can feel yourself clamming up. “I was just curious. That’s all.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay, kid.” He waves you off with a sigh. “Those snakes will do anything to humiliate me. I’m a joke to them.” Yoongi shrugs, his lips flattening into a line. “Goat. Not good enough for the guys up top. Not bad enough for the ones down below.”

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You hadn’t considered that maybe the nickname was mean. “I didn’t know they were making fun of you.”

“How could you?” He shrugs, pushing the sliced melon onto a plate. “They’re assholes, not worthy of my time.”

“Still–I’m sorry you have to go through it. It’s not fair to you.”

The waffle maker beeps again and you pull the last fluffy piece from the plates before unplugging it. You hand Yoongi the syrup and push the slightly cooled waffle in his direction. Warily, he pours some syrup and tears a piece off the waffle. He eats, humming lowly after a second and nodding his head.

“It’s good,” he confirms, flashing you a smile and licking some syrup off his thumb.

You feel yourself stand a little straighter, a small smile spreading across your face. He dives back in, tearing off another piece of waffle.

“Oh!” He finishes chewing before continuing. “I have some updates if you want them?”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“I took what you said, and I gave it some thought. So first of all, he’s now only telling his friends and coworkers the truth. Which is fun. His secretary already wants to kill him.” You nod, no longer interested in your own meal. “And I’m working on slowly rearranging his files. Not the public ones. I’m not trying to get a paralegal fired. But his files and notes. Choi, Park, and Park are very annoyed with him.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“You don’t seem too happy, kid.”

“It’s just…” You sigh. It’s weird. You’re happy that Dawoon is getting what he deserves. So why do you have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach? You shrug. It doesn’t matter. “Humans are complicated.”

You sigh and flop down onto your couch, throwing your phone down beside you. It’s been nearly a week, and you haven’t heard a single peep from Yoongi. You feel a little dumb for how it’s affecting you, but how else are you supposed to feel? He’d spent three weeks practically glued to your side, visiting you at the bar, following you around the city while you ran errands. You’d introduced him to some of your favorite foods. It’s stupid–after everything, you still only barely knew him–but you considered him a friend.

But now, for the second time in as many years, you find yourself alone and frustrated and feeling like the world’s biggest fool. Yoongi doesn’t have the capacity to hurt you as deeply as Dawoon’s betrayal had, but that doesn't mean that it doesn’t sting.

You’d met Dawoon during your first-year orientation in college. He was assigned to your group for the weekend. He’d been squirrely and awkward, and had followed you like a puppy around campus during the tour and all the first-year activities. But by the time classes started that Monday, you were fond of him. By the end of your first year, you were dating. By the end of his first year of law school, you’d moved in together.

He had been your best friend. He’d brought you coffee for every late night study session. He’d held you while you cried when the stress of your senior thesis got to be too much. He’d helped you relax during spring break the year you managed to burn yourself out so much that you considered dropping out. Dawoon had been there for every up and every down, and you’d loved him for it.

You aren’t sure when things started to change. Only that, at some point into your nine-year relationship, they had. You woke up one morning, completely alone, and realized that you weren’t happy. It had been a long time since Dawoon had told you he loved you, and an even longer time since you’d felt like more than just arm candy. When you’d brought it up to him–that you felt like you weren’t an equal participant in the relationship, that you felt like he mattered more than you did–he’d gotten angry. So angry, that he’d almost hit you. So you’d left. Broke off the engagement, packed your bags, and left.

24 hours later, your life was gone, burnt down around you. Your boss, your friends, all tricked by Dawoon’s lies. That was almost a year and a half ago.

You were finally starting to feel like a person again, and Yoongi was a big part of it. And now, he’s gone, too.

At the beginning of the week, you’d been surprised–sad, even–that Yoongi hadn’t popped up sometime throughout the day. But you’d gone to bed that night content in the assumption that perhaps he was busy with your favor or someone else’s, and that the next day, you would see his lopsided smile as he floated into the bar during your shift.

But no such luck. A day passes, and you go from surprised to worried. Where could he possibly be? You hope that he isn’t frozen somewhere, never to be seen again.

Three more days pass, and you find yourself getting angrier–both at Yoongi and yourself. Why hasn’t he even tried to contact you? What could he possibly be doing that he couldn’t answer a single one of your texts? Or one of your calls? Or even just float by the bar when you’re working to let you know he’s alive?

Why hadn’t you offered to buy him a new coat? You knew his was in tatters. You knew the nights were getting colder. You could have offered your couch.

That anger festered, and now you’re pissed. At Yoongi. At yourself. At the world. Thankfully, you don’t have to completely start over again, but there’s something just as crushing about finding yourself alone again. It’s not productive, your anger, so you channel it into something more positive.

You clean. The whole apartment. Top to bottom. Starting with your bedroom and working through the bathroom and the kitchen. You blast the punk music from your early teen years on your phone and set about the living room, dusting your bookshelves and reorganizing the contents.

You’re almost ready to get out the mop and bucket when you hear a ‘thud’ against your door. Just one, and not very loud. You’ve almost decided to ignore it–it’s late, and your apartment is between enough bars that drunks falling into your door is not uncommon–when the soft knock comes, slow but deliberate. It persists, despite your efforts to get back to your cleaning, and finally, you can’t take it any more.

You march to the door, throwing it open violently. “What?” you snap before even getting a look at the knocker.

The person falls forward, and you catch them easily, grunting under the dead weight of their body. Through slashes in the man’s jacket, you can see what you think is blood–golden and viscous against lightly tanned skin–sticking what’s left of a sweater to a bruised and battered body. You hold him carefully, pushing black hair away from his face. Something inside of you knows already, but you need to be sure.

“Yoongi?” Your heart sinks. “What happened? Where have you been?”

He splutters a bit and sags in your arms. You struggle to maneuver him further into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. “Snakes,” he manages, wincing as you nudge his arm around your shoulders.

You frown, helping him slowly hobble out of your doorway and into the living room. Your goal is the bedroom, if you can make it. He would probably be better off on the bed if you can get him there. Snakes. They told you they were his friends. He’d warned you about them. Said they’d kill him if they ever got the chance. You suppose he was right.

Together, you limp halfway through the living room before Yoongi groans. “Gotta lay down, kid.”

“The bed’ll be more comfortable.” He grunts, and you can tell he won’t be able to make it that far. “Couch, then?”

He stumbles, and you almost lose your grip on him, but you manage to keep him upright. “Floor. Please.”

Gently, you ease him to the floor, pushing your ottoman out of the way so he doesn’t have to curl up. You pull the pillows off the couch, kneeling down to lift his head and slip one under so he’s comfortable.

“Do you need a blanket?” you ask softly, rushing out of the room.

He grunts out a ‘no,’ but you grab him one anyway, and a glass of water–though if you’re honest, you have no idea how he’s going to drink it laying face-down on the floor, but it seems right–and then a straw because that makes more sense and rush back. You sit beside him on the floor and place your collection around you so you can reach any of it should he need.

You reach out, hesitating just slightly before your hand touches his hair. You don’t want to hurt him. But then he groans and curls slightly in on himself from the pain, and you think that maybe you can’t hurt him any more than he already is. So gently, ever so gently, you lower your hand into the inky blackness of his hair. It’s wet from sweat and sticky from blood–there’s a gash on his temple that his long hair can’t help but get stuck in–but you smooth it down anyway, away from his face.

You stand and return moments later with a bowl full of lukewarm water and a rag. “They really kicked the shit out of you, huh?” you ask softly, wringing out the rag and dabbing it against the cut on his temple. Yoongi hisses in pain and recoils. “I know, I’m sorry,” you murmur, using your other hand to smooth his hair down. “Who are they?”

“Demons,” he groans, dark eyes barely opening to look at you. “I was doing a job over by the harbor on Wednesday and they jumped me.”

“Wednesday?” you exclaim, washing out the rag and wringing it again. You move to his left shoulder, where three terribly bruised scratches run from his clavicle across his shoulder blade and down his black. “Yoongi, that was three days ago.”

He flinches when the rag hits his skin and you apologize softly. His sweater and coat fall apart in your fingers as you try to clean his wounds. You finish cleaning his back, wiping the dirt and blood and grime out of the scratches. You can see where they’re already starting to heal, where they’re already scabbing over and the flesh is growing back. You imagine that, among the other special abilities he has, he heals faster than a human. Which is good for him, because you weren’t kidding. He looks like shit.

“You good?” You stroke his hair again, pushing it back away from his eyes.

He nods ever so slightly, deep brown eyes meeting yours briefly before he winces in pain. “I’ll be okay.”

“Not gonna die?”

Yoongi scoffs, then lets out a low groan. “Looking to get rid of me, kid?”

“Never.” You fluff his hair and stand. “I’ll be right back. Yell if you need me.”

He calls your name before you’re even out of the room and you turn to him. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

He gestures vaguely, barely lifting his arm from the floor, but you get the idea. For taking him in. For taking care of him. For making him feel like a person.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, and pat the door frame. You disappear into your bedroom before he can say anything else.

You throw open your closet, flicking through the hangers, searching for one in particular. Somewhere in here’s an old sweater, one of the only things you managed to take with you after Dawoon, stuffed into your suitcase. It’s cream colored, you remember, chunky knit. You haven’t seen the sweater in over a year, but it’s got to be in here somewhere.

You tug it off the hanger in triumph just as a thud sounds in the living room. There’s a flapping noise, like a sheet shaken to remove the wrinkles. Confused, you slowly creep back out. There, lying precisely where you’d left him, is Yoongi. Except now, sprawled to either side of him is a pair of feathery black wings.

“Yoongi?” you question softly, stepping into the living room clutching the sweater to your chest.

His head turns away from you. “I couldn’t keep them in any longer. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I brought you a sweater. Your clothes are ruined.” He grunts. “If you’re feeling up to it, I can help you into it.” Your eyes widen. There was probably a less weird way to phrase that. “Because of your shoulder. It’s kind of really fucked up.”

He snorts, a light laugh leaving his lips, and then winces. “Thanks.”

You sink to the floor beside him, hand finding his hair once again. “Are you… you’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods, and with a groan, rolls onto his side. He’s facing you now, one wing draped over his body and partially in your lap. “Don’t worry too much about me, kid. I’ve been through worse.”

Something about that breaks your heart. Maybe because you can tell. It’s the tone of his voice, but also it’s how mangled and damaged his wings are, and how you could see scars on his back under the scratches from the demons. He’s seen much worse than this.

Your fingertips brush against his wing gently and the feathers twitch away. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He sounds tired, his voice husky and ragged. “No one’s ever touched them before.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh.” His brows furrow. “It’s okay. It didn’t hurt.”

Something about his tone gives you pause. Ever so gently, you run your fingers through the feathers of his wings. It’s purposeful this time, and he doesn’t flinch away. In fact, he practically purrs, a deep exhale leaving him.

You can tell that his wings used to be beautiful. Closer up, the feathers are a dark grey, and most of them are still glossy. It’s just that… there are patches where there are no feathers, and places where you can see the bony protrusions that make up the physical structure of the wing. Some of the feathers are bent and broken, some are crushed, the soft, downy tendrils clumped together.

But despite everything, the feathers are soft and delicate, and they run through your fingers like water. You trace a scar along the ridge of his wing, the tip of your finger dragging through the feathers slowly, and at first, he jumps a little bit, but he quickly relaxes.

“Hey Yoongi?” you ask softly, your focus on the feathers resting against your leg. He hums an acknowledgement. You can feel his eyes on the side of your head. His curiosity is back. He must be starting to feel better. “How’d you…” You sigh and gather some courage. “How’d you fall?”

“Ah.”

“It’s just… you said that you weren’t good enough for them, right? But the demons clearly aren’t…”

“Not my biggest fans, no.”

“So, I just…”

When you finally look at him, you’re struck by how beautiful he is. Not just in a ‘you’re pretty’ way–which, admittedly, he’s that, too. But in a ‘you’re fascinating’ sort of way. Everything about him seems contradictory. His eyes–sharp, catlike, ever observant–sit above a soft button nose, round cheeks, pouty lips. His wings are so beautiful, yet so broken. Even his words, which were sharp when you first met him, are now much softer and friendlier. Sharp and soft. It suits him, somehow.

His dark eyes watch you watch him. And though his face says he’s irritated, his eyes glisten with mirth. He enjoys watching you fumble, apparently, and you recognize that you should be more annoyed by that, but truthfully, you’re happy that he’s feeling well enough to even entertain the thought of mischief. A small smile spreads across his lips, and you find yourself smiling back at him.

“Okay,” he grunts, shifting himself closer awkwardly.

“What are you–? Be careful!” you chide gently, confused by his actions.

He finally seems to settle when he’s laying perpendicular to you. His head lands in your lap and you freeze, arms raised in surprise. Yoongi readjusts slightly to get more comfortable against your thigh. He stretches his wing out–the tips of his feathers brushing against the ceiling–and winces slightly with the movement.

When he’s settled in, he sighs. “I didn’t fall. I was pushed. They don’t really tolerate dissent. Even if you’re right.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s really not that deep of a story, kid. Top brass and I had some disagreements, that’s all.”

“Such as?”

He hums. “Oh you know. Just some minor things.” He rolls slightly so he can look you in the face. “I have these radical ideas where I think people should be kind to everyone and that everyone is worthy of respect.”

You finally drop your hands, and they find the feathers on the ridge of his wing. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of such an extremist.”

“Yeah well.” He grunts, using his arm to push himself upright. He wobbles a little bit when he’s fully vertical, and you reach out a hand to hold him steady. “When the big guy said ‘Love thy neighbor’, he didn’t really leave room for exceptions.”

You hum, your hand falling from Yoongi’s arm when you’re satisfied that he won’t fall over. He stretches, wings folding behind his back with a surprising amount of grace. It strikes you in that moment that he didn’t need to come here, didn’t need you to stitch him up. He could do it all on his own, quicker than you could have ever taken care of him. The scratches on his shoulder are already healed over–they’re still pink and inflamed, sure, but they aren’t bleeding anymore. You wonder how long it took for his pain to go away. So then why…?

“Why’d you come here?” The question is out of your mouth before you can even register it’s a bad idea.

“What?”

“I mean, I’m just a human. I haven’t done shit for you.”

“That’s not true.” His brow furrows. “You brought me a sweater.” He reaches forward to grab the forgotten top.

“That’s not a lot. You did most of the work.”

He shrugs the sweater on, the cream material falling loosely over his torso. Somehow, his wings poke out of the back just fine, even though there are no holes for them. You’re curious, but you also aren’t about to ask him about it. The sweater is big on him, oversized in that two-sizes-too-big sort of way.

“It’s a lot to me,” he says quietly.

Was he always sitting this close? Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of his knee touching yours and how his fingers are barely brushing your own. Deep brown eyes meet yours, his attention flickering quickly downwards before dragging back up to your eyes, like it took a great effort. And then he’s leaning in. Or maybe you’re leaning in. Both of you? It doesn’t matter. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Can he hear it? He can probably hear it.

He’s millimeters from you, you can feel his breath fanning across your face. “Can I kiss you?” He asks it so softly, it’s barely audible, even from this distance.

You don’t even think. You just nod.

His lips meet yours, and it’s like all of the air is sucked from your lungs. It’s quick–he breaks it far too soon–and you’re admittedly a little lightheaded. He doesn’t get far, though, before you’re pulling him closer again, hand cradling his jaw. His lips are slightly chapped, and he moves gently against you. Not too fast, not too forceful. It’s almost as if he’s hesitant. But then he adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls you ever so slightly closer.

When you finally pull apart, your face feels warm. Yoongi’s looking at you, dark eyes swimming with some emotion that you can’t really place. But it’s gooey and soft, and the warmth spreads from your face to your whole body. No one had looked at you like that since… well, since Dawoon, and really, it had been a long time for even that. Yoongi offers you a small smile, and you return it, suddenly very nervous. He stretches his legs out in front of him, hand brushing yours once again.

What in the world are you supposed to do now? You didn’t think you were so far over Dawoon’s betrayal that you were ready to kiss… anyone, let alone Yoongi.

“You uh…” You cough, feeling very awkward, and fumble for the right thing to say. “You want to watch a movie?”

When you wake up, you aren’t sure what time it is. It’s weird. You remember the movie–an old Scooby Doo made-for-tv special from your childhood–and sitting beside Yoongi on the floor. You remember the shuffle of his wings as he got comfortable–the couch apparently too rigid for the sensitive appendages. You remember how he tried to hide his laughter behind his hand, but the shaking of his shoulders gave it away.

What you don’t remember is falling asleep.

But it’s now morning, early light streaming through the windows. The tv is off, and there’s a blanket thrown over your shoulders. Your apartment is so quiet you can hear the foot traffic on the sidewalk outside. Where’s Yoongi? You push yourself up off the floor, squinting as you look around. You check your bedroom, and the kitchen, and the bathroom, and he’s nowhere. He’s just… gone.

You sigh and collapse onto the couch, heart and stomach somewhere in your ankles. You feel sick. This is different from when you were angry and worried about him. Now, you’re just angry.

How dare he? How dare he make you worry about him? How dare he show up on your doorstep without warning like that? How dare he make you care?

How dare he kiss you like that and leave without a word?

Something stings behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut, letting your head fall to hit the back of the couch. How could you be so stupid? After Dawoon, you’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t let yourself get invested like that again. It only led to this. Sitting alone, a mysterious stinging in your eyes, wondering what you did wrong.

You grit your teeth and give yourself another ten seconds to wallow in self-pity. And then you stand. You promised a coworker you’d cover her lunch shift at the bar today. You can’t afford to miss it. Plus, you do better when you don’t have time to dwell on things.

Unfortunately, the bar is dead. You count the glassware at least a dozen times. You wipe down the bar more times than you can count. You wipe down every bottle in the well and on display, double-check the kegs, restock the bottled beer in the fridge. A few hours into the shift and you’re faced with the fact that it’s not as good a distraction as you had hoped. Thankfully, there are at least a couple patrons, and since there are no servers staffed for the lunch shift, you’re forced to take care of them.

You’re grateful for the customers, grateful for something to do, for the outlet. But then the door opens, and you throw a quick “Sit anywhere! I’ll be with you in a sec!” over your shoulder as you pop into the kitchen to grab one of the table’s appetizers. When you emerge, you nearly drop the nachos you’re carrying.

At a table in the corner sits a face you’d rather forget. He’s tall, and handsome–a far cry from the spindly first-year you’d met a decade ago. His black hair is a little shaggy, perfectly styled to be out of his face. He wears a suit, no doubt it cost him more than your entire month’s pay, tips included.

Song Dawoon.

You steel yourself, take a second to plaster the customer service smile back on your face, and step out onto the floor. You drop the nachos off at the correct table without spilling a single chip, despite the fact that your hands are shaking like you’re experiencing your own personal earthquake. You promise to refill the man’s Jack and Coke, and then you take a breath and step toward Dawoon’s table.

“What can I get you?” you ask through your best plastered-on smile.

Dawoon looks up at you, a sickly sweet grin on his face. “How have you been? I didn’t know you worked here!”

Sure he didn’t.

“Sit down,” he suggests, kicking out the chair across from him.

“No thanks.”

“Sit. Let’s talk.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for questions.

Cautiously, you sit. Your leg starts to bounce. Between the anger from this morning and your nerves now, you’re dizzy and nauseated. It’s a big city. You’d hoped that you’d never have the displeasure of seeing Dawoon again.

“The funniest thing has happened to me,” he says, leaning forward, his fingers steepled. “I’ve been having the worst luck lately. My keys disappear. My clocks are all broken. My files are disappearing. And you’ll never believe this, but all of my clients keep forgetting my name.” He hums and shakes his head. “It’s strange. Almost supernatural. Like if someone hired a vengeful spirit. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

You shrug. “Not at all.”

“See, that’s the thing. I think maybe you do.” He beckons you closer, but you don’t move. His voice is dark. You’d only ever heard him like this once before.

The day he swung at you.

“I think,” he continues, voice low, “you know a lot about it. I’m not quite sure how, but if I figure out how you’re ruining my career, you’ll have to pick up the pieces three states over.”

“You know, that’s really rich coming from you.” You stand, the chair scraping from behind you. You take a deep breath. “I think you should leave now.”

It takes everything in you to walk away with your head held high. Your legs are shaking by the time you get back behind the bar, and as soon as you’re safe in the kitchen, you sink to the floor. The cook eyes you warily but says nothing, simply hands you a glass of water and goes back behind the prep station.

The room is spinning. Your chest is tight. Your heart is beating so fast, you’re afraid it’ll pop out of your chest and flop around on the floor like a fish. The door to the kitchen swings open and shut, open and shut, a dull throb that barely registers somewhere in the back of your mind. Your hands shake as you take a sip of the water. Someone pats your shoulder as they pass by.

It takes ten minutes for you to breathe normally again, and another five for your blood pressure to return to that of an alive human being. You stand, give the kitchen staff a nervous nod in thanks, and sneak back out into the bar. By now, Amy–the other bartender–has clocked in. A quick glance around the room eases your nerves. Dawoon is gone. The other patrons are still there, but Dawoon is no longer sitting in the corner.

You lean against the bar and sigh. And then you pull yourself together and finish your shift.

By the time you get home, you’re exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. You’re drained. You want nothing more than to sleep for a week, take a hot bath, and drink an entire bottle of red wine. And not necessarily in that order. You collapse onto the couch, television remote in hand. Despite your exhaustion, you’re still wired.

In the glow of your tv’s home screen, you see something glossy on the floor at your feet and reach down to pick it up. Something soft brushes your fingertips, and when you finally grab it and inspect it, you’re face-to-face to a single dark grey feather.

Your head falls, hitting the plush back of the couch. You feel your eyes start to sting again. It’s all too much.

A noise to your left startles you–the sound of a blanket being shaken to get the wrinkles out. You squeeze your eyes shut briefly. Of course the universe is forcing you to do this now.

When he says your name, it’s barely a whisper–deep, gravelly, it matches the early hour. Stubbornly, you ignore him, your eyes squeezed shut. Maybe, if you don’t acknowledge him, he’ll go away. But then you hear him step closer, and you’re jumping to your feet.

“What are you doing here?” you question him sharply.

“I wanted to check on you, I-”

“Why?”

“Song Dawoon, he’s-” Yoongi frowns. “You’re upset.” He takes a step forward. “Why are you upset?”

You scoff. “Don’t talk to me about him.”

He looks confused, dark eyes clouding over with questions. And for a moment, your heart flutters. But then a part of you–the angry part–reminds you that you’d woken up this morning alone. And an even larger part of you reminds you that Dawoon knows somehow, and you grit your teeth.

“You left me alone.” Your eyes sting again, and you try to blink it away. Now is not the time. “You left me alone and I had to deal with him by myself.”

Something akin to worry crosses Yoongi’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter!” You’re exasperated, and you can feel your heart rate increasing–you try to take deep breaths despite the fact that your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed. “Don’t you get it? He ruined my life because we weren’t in love any more. He took it personally that I wouldn’t stick around and enjoy our perfect, abusive relationship. He told my boss I was selling information to a rival firm and got me fired. He told my friends that I talked shit behind their backs and made them hate me. He took away my entire support system and kicked me out on my ass and he’s still coming after me.” You take a shaky breath and force yourself to stare Yoongi down.

“I didn’t know. You didn’t say-”

“Of course I didn’t! Why would I want to relive the worst months of my life? God, I…” You throw up your hands and turn away. “How useless are you? I thought you were supposed to be able to sense this stuff? Maybe not the specifics, but at least the severity, or… or something!”

“I-”

It’s all too much. Yoongi standing there, looking like a kicked puppy. Him leaving, Dawoon’s threats. You can’t take it anymore.

“You need to…” You take a deep breath, force your voice to steady, blink away the stinging. “Thank you for your help, but unfortunately, I don’t think this will work.”

“What-”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off. “I won’t be needing your help anymore. You can go.”

“But I…” Yoongi’s brow furrows, and you watch as he deflates. His shoulders sag, and something changes in how he stands there. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s there not to understand? I don’t need your help anymore. We never have to see each other again.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Go.”

He nods, black hair falling in front of his face. His eyes are downcast, but you think you see a shine in them that wasn’t there before. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before speaking again. “Okay.” His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Okay. Well… I guess this is it then.”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

He’s gone in a flap of invisible wings, and suddenly, it’s dead quiet in your apartment. You stand there for a moment, silent, unsure what to do next. And then something in you breaks, and you sink to the floor in front of your ottoman. Tears well in your eyes, and it’s barely a second before you’re sobbing into your hands.

He was still wearing your sweater.

Fallen Masterlist | Next Part

thank you for reading. I have no idea when part two will be out--I don't normally do this, but I couldn't wait to get part one out, so I'm still working on the rest. I'd love to hear what you thought about this part! it might even inspire me to finish the fic!

Check Out my Masterlist

#lillia recs #bwcbookclub #mutuals #casuallyimagining

237 notes · View notes

moccahobi · 2 years ago

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HEY YOU! YES YOU! DO YOU LIKE STORIES OF GROWTH AND CHANGE? Do you like seeing two characters growing apart all while wishing that they'd finally start warming up to each other? Hoping they will be together at some point?

This series is perfect for that!

In this fic we mostly get Chaeyoung's perspective of life. Her brother and Hoseok his best friend and her want to be included. I really loved how subtly tension is added and some of it is stuff that even Chaeyoung doesn't even realize. It was tense and angstfull and I am just rooting for Chaeyoung to have the best life!

The ways (kid) Hoseok is so snarky and poor Chaeyoung doesn't realize fully??? Amazing! Angsty. I was yelling at Hoseok so much in this fic. It's amazing. Chaeyoung seems like such a gem and I can't wait to keep reading about her!

My live reaction is below the read more

What a cool opening! I like how you set up Chaeyoung and Chanyeol's relationship as siblings.

Oh! Interesting how Chaeyoung's admiration shifts to Hoseok. I love how you describe it. It's quite an interesting flow!

I AGREE CHAEYOUNG! Being forced to go to Chanyeol's sports day when he didn't have to isn't fair!

Jiwoo being an angel is such a mood. She's beautiful. I am a Jung simp.

Awwe. Poor Chaeyoung. It is so interesting to read how Chanyeol is their parents favorite child and see how Chaeyoung has internalized those thoughts! Love how you're giving us this information!

Oh no! A broken Gameboy. What a good little bit of conflict to throw in! Love how it slowly adds some tension between them!

Awwe. Chaeyoung being replaced by hoseok so quickly. 🥺🥺🥺

Awwe. It's quite sad to see how attached Chaeyoung is to her identify as Chanyeol's sister.

HOSEOK NO HOSEOK BAD BAD DONT BE MEAN

Awwe. Her mom. 😭😭😭😭

CALL ME IF YOU NEED ME?!? HOW SAD N SWEET!

Oof. You're so good at writing the loss of a mother. I'm crying! 😭😭😭

HOSEOK ÒWÓ DONT BE AN ASS

"Aren't you glad your dad's happy?" 😭😭😭😭😭😭 RIP MY HEART OUT WON'T YOU

Awwe. Hoseok leaving. 🥺 How sad for her.

Oh! I love the transition! How Chaeyoung slowly is learning to take control of her life more and more.

HOSEOK BEING AN ASSHOLE!?!? AGAIN!?!? SMH

CHANYEOL!!!!! SO MEAN! 😭

GOOD MOVE ON! SMH REPLACE THE PHOTO! ÒWÓ

😭😭😭 More crying!!!

Oooof. Hoseok being so uncomfortable. And her being so uncomfortable. 🥺🥺🥺 How tense of a scene!

Oh no... Oh no... "Happy couple"... Oh no

TALKING ABT CHAEYOUNG BEING HOT NOOOO SHES A KID!

HOSEOK!!!! NO! BAD!

Hoseok just ruined a perfectly subpar apology! CHAEYOUNG LITERALLY SAID SHE WAS SORRY ABT HER ACTIONS BEFORE. YOU'RE JUS A TEENAGE ASSHOLE

The only time she'd seen his smile? 😭

OHHH! SEOUL! EXCITING!

GOOD! BE UNSETTLED!

DoEs ChANyEoL kNoW??? Viebcowbdohcbe ur so awkward Hoseok

OMG IS THAT IT?!?! IRNCOQNFOSNDJ OMG! WHAT A HOOK!

Double Take (Hoseok x OC)

Summary: Years after telling the neighbourhood brat to get a life, Hoseok does a double take when he realises she’s no longer the skinny kid who worshipped him once upon a time.

Pairing: Hoseok x OC

Genre: Angst, unrequited love

Word count: 11.7 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Parental death, heartbreak, allusions to sex, mentions of alcohol

A/N: It's finally here! I've been waiting so long to finally put this on paper and to get Hobi's storyline up and running. Hope you enjoy one of my favourite OCs and her story. Since this is more of a prologue than anything else, it can be read standalone.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @meirkive, @dreaming-with-happiness, @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: “you can't hurry love” by phil collins

hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

When Chaeyoung was a girl, the best person she knew was her older brother. Chanyeol was everything; he was smart, he was kind, he was fun and popular, he was one of the best tennis players in the school and didn’t so much as have a spat with anybody his entire life. He was perfect; in fact, if there was one weakness he had, it was his little sister.

Chaeyoung worshipped him. He was her protector, her best friend, her role model. Every time her parents told her to be more like Chanyeol, it annoyed her only to an extent because why wouldn’t all parents want their kids to be like Chanyeol? He was perfect. From birth to present day, Kang Chanyeol was perfect.

The shift was subtle but crept up on her quickly. Sometime around the time when Chaeyoung was in her last years of elementary school, her mind began to expand. She observed more, listened more, and even started to question herself, but it wasn’t until the middle school sports day that year that it hit her: if there was one person in the world who was cooler than her older brother, it was his best friend, Hoseok.

She would never forget that day. She’d been dragged along by her father and the Jungs to watch the middle-schoolers partake in various sports. She hadn’t been in a good mood; Chanyeol hadn’t been forced to come to her sports day because he had school, and enforcing the reverse had felt grossly unfair. Still, she’d huffed and silently watched the taller kids run around, begrudgingly cheered for her brother when he’d won his tennis trophy, and even taken pictures of various combinations of their family and friends.

By the afternoon, Chaeyoung was becoming tired and cranky. At six years old, she felt ridiculous sitting among adults all day while the other kids hung around with their friends. The day couldn’t end fast enough and when it was finally only the two hundred metre race that was left, she’d breathed a sigh of relief. All her irritation went out the window once the race began, however, and she’d found herself unexpectedly engaged in how close it was. When it ended with Jung Hoseok running through the ribbon, sweaty and victorious, it was like she was seeing a whole different person.

Chaeyoung had known Hoseok for what felt like her entire life. His family had moved to their street when she’d been five, a little over a year after her mother had died. There was the older sister; she looked like an angel the first time Chaeyoung saw her, descending the porch staircase to jog down to catch the school bus. There were the parents who were welcomed to the neighbourhood by her own father who was gardening while a loading truck was parked by their house.

“Chaeyoung! Come and say hello!”

She’d been startled, for she’d been waiting for her own school bus when her father called, but she’d walked over with the confidence of a five year old anyway - when she’d noticed him. A young boy, no older than her brother, was standing silently by his mother’s leg, but with a bright smile on his face. He was scrawny, and slighter than Chanyeol, but seemed taller. Chaeyoung was still staring at him when her brother joined them and when both boys ran into the back of the loading truck at Hoseok’s father’s request, Chaeyoung followed without a second thought.

“Is this yours?” Chanyeol had been asking Hoseok, a gameboy in his hand. Hoseok nodded, the same smile appearing on his face again.

“I got it for my birthday this year,” he’d volunteered almost apologetically, as though needing to provide an explanation for why he had it.

“Cool,” said Chanyeol, sounding impressed. “I just got one, too. For doing well on my exams.” He’d turned the video game in his hands. “Is this the X400? It’s supposed to have Level 12 of the Alien Invasion version…”

Chaeyoung had been watching Hoseok, how his eyes shone as he talked about his video game, how easily her brother had made a new friend. Most importantly, she’d recalled the moment Chanyeol had received the aforementioned gameboy - and how she’d received nothing, because her report card hadn’t been as good as his. She’d gone to bed angry and in tears that night, until her brother had sneaked into her room with his brand new present after everyone had gone to sleep and let her play with it until she’d had her fill.

But this was not the time to dwell on that. There was not a chance in hell that she would be left out of the group because of a gameboy, or lack thereof, and she’d needed to cement the first impression before that happened. So, without thinking about it, Chaeyoung had skipped forward and snatched the gameboy right out of her brother’s hands.

“I’m really good at Alien Invasion, too,” she’d begun to say, interrupting the conversation and starting Chanyeol. Hoseok had broken off mid-word and was staring at her, which made her lose focus for a moment, and somewhere in the commotion, the gameboy fell to the ground and broke in two.

“No!” Hoseok’s face had dropped and he’d rushed to her feet to pick it up, frantically picking up both pieces and turning them around in his hands. “What - what did you do?”

“I’m - I’m sorry,” she’d murmured, suddenly feeling very small and short between the boys as her brother stepped closer to Hoseok, calmly taking the smaller piece and looking for where to fix it. Chaeyoung had stood there, motionless, while Chanyeol calmly figured out how to slide the loose piece back on the game.

“There,” he said after a moment, shaking it gently to see if it was fixed. “I think it’s okay.”

Hoseok’s face had been white as a sheet as he confirmed it, pressing one of the buttons and swallowing thickly as she screen lit up. “Yeah,” he said finally. He’d looked up at Chanyeol, eyes wide and grateful. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Her brother had then looked down at her and tilted his head. “Chae, you want to say sorry?”

She already had, but at that moment, Chaeyoung had obeyed him. “Oh - um, sorry.”

Hoseok had glared at her suspiciously. “It’s really expensive,” he’d blurted, his voice a little wobbly.

“I - I know. It was an accident.”

He’d looked like he wanted to say more, but her father’s voice had floated over to them then, informing them that their school bus had arrived. Both boys, as though they’d been doing it every day of their lives, walked out together like the cool, older nine year olds they were and Chaeyoung was left to trail behind them, boarding the bus just as the door closed behind her.

She’d been peering at the different seats, knowing that no matter what, she and Chanyeol would sit together. He always let her sit with him, even if his friends were there. “Oppa, where do you want to -” But she trailed off when she looked up, her chest feeling funny as she watched her brother introduce the new boy to his group of friends at the back of the bus. As the group mumbled their names and started chattering about mundane things, Hoseok took the seat next to Chanyeol.

It had taken a few seconds for Chaeyoung to realise that she’d have to find a seat of her own, for the first time in her life. Her eyes fell to the gameboy in Hoseok’s hands; he was still fiddling with it as he listened to the others talk to each other. His gaze had met Chaeyoung’s then, and his wide, friendly eyes immediately narrowed, letting her know he wasn’t about to forget what she’d almost done anytime soon. With a jerk, the bus began to move.

It didn’t take long for Hoseok to become an inevitable part of her life; he and her brother quickly became inseparable, and Chanyeol clearly thought highly of him. He fit in seamlessly at school, he was fun and loud and cheerful, and no one she’d met so far had a single bad thing to say about him.

The only person Hoseok seemed to get annoyed by, apart from his own sister sometimes, was his best friend’s sister. Chaeyoung had noticed how he rolled his eyes every time she tried to hang out with them, how she wanted to be included while they were playing video games or when they wanted to ride their bikes to school. At school, Chaeyoung watched her brother and Hoseok grow further and further away from her, both of them in different buildings of the school, in separate cafeterias and with completely separate groups of friends.

But it was a point of pride for her that despite Chanyeol’s growing popularity, she was still his sister. His friends knew it, her friends knew it - and the only person she allowed to be as close to him was Hoseok, only because he was Hoseok.

At the sports meet, almost a year after the Jungs moved in next door, she felt like she knew what that meant. When she’d seen the waves of cheering for Hoseok when he won the final race, when she watched how his friends gathered around him, how her brother was the first one to hug him, it occurred to her how badly she wanted to be one of them. So, naturally, since no one stopped her, Chaeyoung ran down to the field with the other kids, ready to congratulate him.

She fought her way through, feeling just as proud of him as everyone else seemed to be. She’d known him for as long as she could remember, after all - he was family. With his damp hair, white jersey and infectious smile, it was like she was seeing the sun. He hadn’t seen her yet, though, but once she made it to the front of the crowd, he finally did.

Chaeyoung didn’t think she’d ever forget the moment their eyes met. How, for a split second, the euphoria seemed directed at her and she felt stirrings in her heart she’d never felt before. Her legs moved automatically and she rushed to hug him, noticing only just before she reached him how his face went slack and his eyes went wide with horror.

He stepped back the same moment she reached him, causing her to trip and fall onto him as they both crashed to the ground. It was sudden and unexpected, but Chaeyoung hugged him anyway.

“You were amazing!” she started to squeal, only to be roughly pushed away. She fell on her backside with a soft “oof!”, completely confused for a second until she looked up to see Hoseok scrambling to his feet. His expression was one of immense irritation, a direct contrast to what it was a minute prior, as he dusted his hands on his shorts.

“What are you doing, you weirdo?” he snapped, and it was only then that she realised the noise around her hadn’t died down - they just weren’t cheering anymore. They were laughing.

Chaeyoung sat there on the ground, motionless, too stunned to even cry. It wasn’t at all the reaction she was expecting, until she noticed how Hoseok, his face red, was backing away from the crowd as though trying to make himself invisible. It occurred to her only then what was happening; Jung Hoseok, the coolest boy she knew, was shy.

It made her stomach flutter, that she’d made him shy. Even though Hoseok only glared at her after that and wouldn’t even look at her when their families went out to dinner that night, Chaeyoung knew. She knew she’d seen something on Hoseok’s face she’d never seen before, and she was the only one who’d made him look that way. At six years old, Chaeyoung knew she was in love with Jung Hoseok.

—

Chaeyoung couldn’t remember her mother very well. She hadn’t been barely five when the aneurysm had suddenly been detected. There were some quick hospital visits, the walls white and the sheets crisp, before one evening, her father had come to both her and Chanyeol at the house of the neighbour who’d been babysitting them to tell them that their mother had died.

At the time, Chaeyoung hadn’t quite been able to comprehend it. All she knew was that her father was crying - her father - and Chanyeol was trying his absolute hardest not to. She’d sneaked over to her brother’s room that night to comfort him - after all, he did every time she cried - but when she’d reached the doorway and heard his muffled sobs, she’d broken down as well. It was that, even more than her mother’s sudden death, that had made her succumb to tears that night: the fact that for the first time in her memory, her brother - her tall, perfect nine year old brother - was crying.

As the years went by and Chaeyoung began growing up, she’d realised that losing her mother meant more than just the fact that she would have to dress herself for school. There were conversations with friends, playdates at others’ houses, even casual words between Jiwoo and her mother every time the Jungs came over for dinner, that would give Chaeyoung pause and make her wonder what exactly it was that was lacking in her life without a mother.

Of course, given that she hadn’t really known much about her mother, and remembered even less, there was only so much she could speculate about. Then, about four years after her mother’s death, their father had told them about Seoyoon. He’d been very nervous, she’d been able to tell, but everything he’d said after that made no sense to her at all. Next to her, Chanyeol hadn’t reacted much at all until the end, when he’d simply shrugged when their father asked them if they were okay.

“But what about mom?” Chaeyoung had blurted out, not even realising that from the moment the new lady’s name had left her father’s mouth, these had been the only words in her mind, going round and round on a loop.

Her father had tilted his head and looked at her sadly. “Mom…” He’d trailed off for a moment. “Mom will always be your mom. Nobody else will ever be able to take her place. Even in my life,” he’d continued, and he’d reached out and held Chanyeol’s hand, “no one will ever be able to replace her. But Seoyoon is…” He’d blinked rapidly for a few seconds. “At a certain age, sweetheart… it gets too hard to be alone.”

At the time, Chaeyoung had taken this to mean that this new woman, this Seoyoon, was something of a playmate, someone for her father to chat with on the phone and watch movies with once in a while. It still wasn’t the best feeling but she didn’t know how to put it into words, the feeling of seeing something slip through her fingers and being powerless to catch it. She’d looked up at Chanyeol, who was staring at the ground and finally nodded. A moment later, Chaeyoung nodded, too, for if her brother was okay with it, so was she.

When she went up to her room, she suddenly felt terribly lonely. It was too dark and she felt that if she were to cry as loudly as she could, no one would hear her, and no one would care. She thought of her mother, a face she only knew from pictures, a voice she scarcely remembered, and whose touch she could only imagine. She pictured her mother right beside her, understanding everything she was feeling and murmuring quietly, as quiet as the wind, that everything would be alright.

Call me if you need me.

It was one of the only things Chaeyoung had any memory of her mother saying, a vivid picture of her scribbling her cell phone number next to her husband’s on a piece of white card and tucking it safely inside Chaeyoung’s pocket. It was what she said now, sweetly, silently.

I will, Ma.

It was the first night she dreamed Ma into existence.

Ma stayed after that. She felt like a mother whenever Chaeyoung thought about her, but better than all her friends’ mothers. She never told Chaeyoung to finish her vegetables, she always realised it was unfair when her father would compare her marks to Chanyeol’s, and she always, always took Chaeyoung’s side. When Chaeyoung was annoyed or angry, Ma would be there. Sometimes, even when she was happy, like when she made it onto the football team, Ma was there - not with the other parents in the stands, but right there next to Chaeyoung on the field.

She didn’t know whether to tell Chanyeol. On the one hand, she trusted him more than anybody else in the world - and wasn’t she his Ma, too? But when she tried to broach the topic of their mother once, when he’d been studying and she’d been bursting to tell someone, Chanyeol had been uncharacteristically abrupt with her.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Chae.”

He’d interrupted her when she’d been mid-sentence, and she’d fallen silent. He seemed to realise this, for a moment later he looked up at her and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I just… I really need to study for this test.” When she only nodded and said nothing, he continued. “Also, now that dad has… now that Seoyoon is here, I just don’t think it’s right to talk about mom.”

If Chaeyoung had been older, if she’d realised that her brother, too, was a child who was doing the best he could, she would have seen this statement as evidence that he was coping with the loss of their mother, just like she was. But in her nine year old wisdom, she took this to mean that Seoyoon was the reason no one could talk about her mother anymore.

Seoyoon was invited for dinner later that week, and again the week after that. After that it became more and more frequent, to the point that she was there when Chaeyoung and her brother returned home from school, and Chanyeol at least stopped seeming surprised.

A couple of months later, her father sat them down and told them his plan. He’d looked nervous yet hopeful, until relief washed over his face when Chanyeol gave him a small smile and nodded in assent.

He’s lying! Chaeyoung wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn’t work, not when her father turned to her and his expression changed from relief to anticipation, as though he was expecting a fight. Chaeyoung didn’t disappoint, and even though she knew he’d do what he wanted anyway, she bit the inside of her cheek and exhaled sharply.

“You promised you wouldn’t forget about mom,” was all she said and at nineyears old, it seemed like the crux of the issue. No matter how much her father tried to convince her he hadn’t, Chaeyoung knew that she, at least, would do everything possible to keep her mother with her.

Later that week her father finally pulled the plug and proposed to Seoyoon. The following weekend, he threw an announcement dinner with the Jungs from next door, where Chaeyoung watched this woman throughout. Her stepmother; this new woman who was sitting in her mother’s kitchen, laughing with her father and giving presents to her and her brother like she’d known them forever.

Chaeyoung was too startled to do anything but quietly accept it and echo a thank you along with her brother. No one will ever be able to replace your mom, her father had promised. Chaeyoung didn’t know what that meant anymore; all she knew was that there were eight people in the room, four in each family, and that her mother was not one of them.

Sometime during dessert, when there was music playing and the adults were chatting with drinks in their hands, Chaeyoung slipped out of the front door and sat on her porch. Chanyeol was busy with something inside and, anyway, she had no interest in hanging around with him right now. It was rare but it happened, and right now she simply wanted away from all the music and energy.

It was a reasonably chilly night, and she involuntarily shivered when she sat down on the porch. It was quiet as she waited for Ma, and she closed her eyes in wait. A sudden rustling made her eyes snap open, followed by a groan.

“Chaeyoung?”

Her heart instantly zoomed, which seemed to be the default reaction for her body every time Hoseok entered her mind space. She looked up to see him come into view, standing at the edge of the front yard.

“Yeah,” she said immediately, hearing the forced upward lilt in her own voice.

He sighed loudly. “Seriously? Are you following me again?”

Chaeyoung felt herself deflate. This, too, seemed to be a default reaction every time she entered his mind space.

“No,” she mumbled. “What are you doing out here?” she asked after a moment.

“I lost my keychain this morning. I think I dropped it here.” He sighed, glancing at her begrudgingly. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen it? It’s a Manchester United one.”

Chaeyoung bit her lip. She knew which keychain he was talking about, for not only had she seen it, she had it. She’d seen it fall out of the side pocket of Hoseok’s backpack this morning when all three of them walked to the school bus. As usual, she’d been walking behind both boys, trying to keep up with their conversation as they chattered about something hilarious that had happened during their class field trip yesterday.

Every time she’d tried to interject, they either continued their conversation like they hadn’t heard her, or they would tell her to stop interrupting. When Hoseok finally snapped at her (“Can you please shut up for a second?”), she’d sulked but obliged, feeling rather annoyed again. The final nail in the coffin had been just before they’d been about to board, and a girl in the window - a beautiful, popular thirteen year old girl with pretty curls and blue ribbon - smiled out the window. Chaeyoung had followed her gaze and swallowed as she realised she was smiling at Hoseok - and he was smiling back.

Chaeyoung had felt her heart drop and her teeth grit. As she followed the boys into the bus, she’d spotted something shiny on the ground. Bending down to pick it up, she’d realised what it was and who it belonged to. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pocketed it, knowing that no matter who he smiled at, Hoseok’s favourite keychain with his favourite football team on it belonged to her.

“Nope. Haven’t seen it.”

Hoseok sighed loudly and dramatically, climbing the porch stairs and about to sit down, before apparently thinking better of it. He remained standing, as though afraid of being too close to her and while that would usually break Chaeyoung’s heart enough for her to cry herself to sleep, tonight she simply felt a dull throb and a whole lot of impatience for his snark.

“Why aren’t you inside?” he asked.

“I want to be outside,” she answered defiantly.

“Okayyy.”

“Chan’s talking to Cruella in there,” she muttered after a moment. The image of her brother, smiling and graciously welcoming Seoyoon into the family, made her sick. If she’d spent another moment in there, she swore she would’ve thrown up.

Hoseok scoffed. “Chan? Didn’t you get in trouble for calling him by his name?”

She flushed. “Not trouble. Just… it doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Fine. Whatever.” There was a pause. “Did you just call her Cruella?” When Chaeyoung didn’t answer, he shrugged. “Chanyeol says she’s nice.”

“Well, bully for Chanyeol.”

“God, must you whine?”

“I hate this sweater,” she said, tugging at the brand new gift her father had made her put on. “And I have to wear it because she gave it to me.”

“So? I hate these pants but my mom made me wear them.” He shrugged. “That’s life.”

Chaeyoung rolled her eyes. This was Hoseok’s new thing lately: that’s life. She didn’t know where he’d learnt it, but his eventual response to everything was “that’s life”, which irritated her beyond belief. He especially said it to her all the time, as though she was a child that needed reminding about the facts of the world, and it made her blood boil.

“She’s not my mom.”

“All moms are the same. Your mom would’ve told you to wear it, too.”

“You didn’t even know her,” she snapped.

There was a few seconds of silence as Hoseok presumably processed this, including her unusual tone. “You’re right,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically sober. “Sorry.”

Chaeyoung grit her teeth and hoped she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She would look weak and any hopes of getting him to notice her would go straight out the window. Also, Ma wasn’t here yet and she would only cry to Ma.

“Chanyeol didn’t like her at first either.”

She didn’t know if she’d heard him correctly. “What?”

“Your… Seoyoon. Cruella,” he added, an awkward sort of smile appearing for a second. “Chan didn’t like her when she first got here.”

This was news to hear. “Really? He - he told you?”

“Yeah. Said she talked weird.”

It wasn’t on the list of things that annoyed Chaeyoung, but she took it. It didn’t escape her notice that Chanyeol had failed to mention this to her while confiding in Hoseok about it, but for now, it made her feel just slightly less alone. She turned around to look in through the window again.

“He seems to like her now,” she mumbled.

“Maybe you will, too. Or he’s faking it.”

Chaeyoung snorted. It felt good to laugh for a moment, even if the situation sucked. “I hope he’s faking it.”

“Really? Why?”

She frowned. “Because… I don’t…” She didn’t know how to put it into words that she didn’t want to be the only one missing her mother. “I don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t like her.”

“Then maybe you should try to like her.”

Chaeyoung bristled. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. “I don’t want to like her.”

“But why? I mean, aren’t you glad your dad is happy?”

The way he said it, it sounded like the most obvious thing in the world. But when Chaeyoung turned around to look inside again, for the first time all night, her gaze shifted from her brother to her father. There was something heartbreaking about how happy he looked, but Chaeyoung didn’t know just how to express that while it was a nice sight, it only made her miss her mother even more.

She said nothing, though, resolving only to keep Ma her secret forever. Her dad and brother didn’t need nor want Ma, and Chaeyoung was fine not sharing.

Next to her, Hoseok sighed. “It’s cold. I’m going inside.”

All thoughts of her soon to be stepmother vanished. “Wait!” When he halted and turned around, eyebrows raised, her heart thumped against her ribcage. “Why - why are you being nice to me?”

Even in the darkness, she could see the hint of a blush on his face. But his next words wiped away any scenarios her imagination may have created. “You’re Chan’s sister,” he said, shrugging, his hands in his pockets. “I have to be nice to you.”

—

The day Hoseok left for Seoul, Chaeyoung thought she would die.

Everyone was thrilled for him, it looked like. He was going to follow his dreams, they said. His parents seemed nervous but proud, his sister called from Australia, telling him to take care of himself. Even Chanyeol, who she’d thought would be distraught since he’d be losing his best friend, was irritatingly supportive.

“He’s going to be an idol,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing. They were at the dining table in their house, a week before Hoseok was meant to leave. “He’s meant for it. Haven’t you seen him dance?”

Chaeyoung stared at him, incredulous. Seen him? She lived and breathed him - of course she knew how he could dance, that he was meant to be an idol and whatnot.

“That - that’s not my point,” she stuttered, her chopsticks feeling like water between her fingers. “How is he - his life is here. His school, his friends, his… everyone.”

Chanyeol, now sixteen, squinted at her. “He’ll make new friends. He’s good at that.”

“Yes, but he’s your best friend. Won’t you - won’t you miss him?”

He chewed his food thoughtfully. “I mean… sure. I guess. We’ll text and stuff.” He shrugged.

Chaeyoung blinked. “Text,” she repeated.

“Yeah. What’s the big deal? You’re acting like he’s dying.”

“Chaeyoung,” said Seoyoon, her voice soft and melodic, “it’s okay to miss him, too. He’s like family.”

She met her stepmother’s eyes. “Yeah. Not really what I was getting at.”

Next to her, Chanyeol rolled his eyes, while her father said her name sternly. Seoyoon simply placed a hand on his arm and muttered “it’s okay”, while Chaeyoung was left to silently resent how, out of everyone at the table, including Ma, Seoyoon was the one who had the nerve to say it out loud.

It felt like the worst thing that could happen, and it felt directly targeted at her. His parents would always be his parents, his sister had already left for Australia a year ago, and Chanyeol was his best friend in the world. Chaeyoung was none of these things, however, and it felt like if he left now, he’d be gone from her life forever.

The first night, she cried for hours. It was as though she could feel his absence next door. She fell asleep gazing at a picture of she, Chanyeol and Hoseok on her nightstand, taken during a family trip to Jeju Island. The next day at school, she walked around like a war widow, with puffy eyes and her books clutched to her chest. At lunch, she sat surrounded by her friends, feeling like they would never understand, never know true heartbreak and true pain.

A week later, things were easier. Chaeyoung made the middle school football team, just like her brother had, and after-school practice meant less time to miss the love of her life. Then exams happened, and birthday parties, and before she knew it, it was next year.

Hoseok was forgotten by no one; the Jungs came over for dinner just as often as they did before, but only two kids out of four meant that the dinner was more for the adults to stay in touch than anything else. Chanyeol got busy with applying to colleges, while Chaeyoung, for the first time, had her life laid bare in front of her. With no Chanyeol and Hoseok to follow around, her own friends, her own studies and her own life were suddenly at the forefront.

Hoseok was still on her mind, though. She looked at the picture on her bedside table every night, kept his Manchester United keychain in her backpack, and told all her friends about the day she would date an idol. “He’ll become an idol and then he’ll come back,” she said, for it seemed incredibly obvious. Her friends, no strangers to her lifelong crush, were part supportive and part envious, which only thrilled thirteen year old Chaeyoung even more.

Chanyeol was right about one thing, though. He and Hoseok texted - and only texted. She hadn’t a clue if and when they actually spoke, and she spent hours daydreaming about the day he’d call her, because as much as he pretended like he couldn’t stand her, one day he would surely wake up and realise how much he missed her. They were family, after all.

He finally did call one day - or rather, he was called. It was his seventeenth birthday, and they were at the Jungs’ house for lunch when Hoseok’s father decided to call his son, putting it on video as everyone said hello and wished him. The first thing that Chaeyoung noticed was how narrow his face was; it was unexpected, but he still looked as handsome as ever and she only hoped that he’d notice her new haircut, too.

It was chaotic; Hoseok was speaking hurriedly, saying he didn’t have much time. The phone was passed down from adult to adult, everyone wishing him and making typical grown-up comments about what a big man he was, living by himself in Seoul. The phone was then swiftly passed to Chanyeol, who simply stood up and began walking away into another room, going “Dude, you won’t believe what happened at Eunwoo’s party last week…”

Chaeyoung knew she had to wait before it was her turn - but it was just so hard. She was almost giddy with happiness; she’d missed him so much. There was so much she had to tell him and so much she wanted to know, including when he was planning to come back. But when five minutes passed and Chanyeol didn’t return, and the adults had moved to some boring topic of conversation, Chaeyoung decided to take matters into her own hands.

Hopping off her chair, she retraced her brother’s steps and found him in the pantry of the house, sitting atop a stool and laughing into the phone as he held it up in front of him. He caught her eyes above the phone and she tried to signal to him to give her the phone.

“- and it was… what?” He frowned before apparently catching on. “Oh, uh… do you, uh, want to talk to Chae? She -”

But Hoseok’s voice interrupted him, shrill through the speaker. “Oh, God, no.”

Chanyeol’s eyes flickered to his sister. “Hey, man -”

“Dude, no, not today. I’ve had a bad enough day so far,” he said, sounding more weary than ever. “Don’t make me talk to your sister right now. Let that be my birthday gift,” he quipped, clearly oblivious to how Chaeyoung stood behind the phone, frozen to the ground.

“Oh, um…” Chanyeol sighed, tilting his head sympathetically at his sister as Hoseok said a hurried goodbye. “Yeah, yeah… have a good day.” There was a beep and the call ended. Chanyeol took a few moments before meeting Chaeyoung’s eyes again.

“I don’t - I don’t understand,” she said, feeling like her voice wasn’t even hers, like it was coming from somewhere else. “Why - why doesn’t he want to talk to me?”

Chanyeol opened his mouth but seemed to think better of it, standing up and moving to walk past her. “Just ignore it. Come on, let’s go back -”

“No, wait.” She stopped him. “Tell me. I - I thought… I thought he missed home. You said he missed being home,” she repeated, hearing her voice tremble. “Why didn’t he want to talk to me?” And why did it look like you understood?

“Chae, just - just let it go, alright?”

“No! I’m his family! Why doesn’t he want to -”

“Because you’re telling everyone that you’re his family!” Chanyeol blurted, looking fed up. “Jesus, Chae! Everyone knows you have a crush on him, but you don’t have to make it so damn public!”

Her face reddened. “I don’t have a crush on -”

“Oh, please. It was okay when you were younger but then you started following him around school and stuff… come on, can you blame him for being embarrassed?”

Chaeyoung shook her head. Nothing he was saying was making sense. “What are you talking about? He wasn’t embarrassed, he was - he was shy. He didn’t -”

“Seriously?” This time, even Chanyeol looked incredulous. “Chae, you told your friends that you were going to marry him when his crew won that inter-school competition in ninth grade. One of them told her older sister and suddenly everyone knew. You really thought that would make him shy?”

It took everything Chaeyoung had in her to not cry. “But - but he never said anything. He - he always…” But that wasn’t true. He said a lot of things. He was perpetually annoyed with her, and every time that she ever wondered why he was so sweet and sunny with everyone but her… it seemed she finally had an answer. “Why didn’t he ever tell me to stop?” she asked in a small voice.

“Because you’re my sister,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What was he going to say?”

You’re Chan’s sister. I have to be nice to you. At the time, it was proof to her of how close their families were, of how they were family. But now she realised it was none of those things, just Hoseok admitting what he and everyone else apparently knew: were it not for his best friend, Jung Hoseok would have absolutely nothing to do with Kang Chaeyoung.

She found it hard to meet her brother’s gaze. There was a stinging on her lower lip where she tasted blood, and then a stinging in her eyes. It was a time in her life when she and Chanyeol weren’t as close as they once were, and she was faced with a sudden and irrational fear that if she cried right now, he would tell Hoseok about it.

Chanyeol took a step towards her. “Chae -”

She started to shake her head when they were interrupted, and she turned to see Hoseok’s father approaching the pantry.

“There you two are,” he said cheerfully, sounding far too much like his son for Chaeyoung to handle. “I need my phone. Oh, Chanyeol, help me bring down the barbecue for tonight, come on…” He brushed past her and patted Chanyeol on the back, who nodded respectfully and made way for him. “Oh, Chaeyoung, your mother was asking where you were - there’s strawberry cream for dessert and she says it’s your favourite…”

Chaeyoung nodded in a daze, turning away from Chanyeol and walking out of the room. The dining area felt miles away and every step made her feel like she was on a treadmill. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she reached the dining table and took her seat. She ignored Seoyoon when she offered her dessert, her eyes on her empty plate the whole time. Even when Chanyeol returned and tried to get her to look at him, muttering “Chae? Are you okay?”, she simply nodded once but didn’t dare look at him.

That night, the first thing Chaeyoung did when she went to her room was take out the picture from the frame on her bedside table and slip it into one of her books. She hunted through every photo album she had and finally chose a picture of her with the rest of her football team, a group of thirteen year old girls holding up small gold trophies and grinning into the camera.

It felt like a step in the right direction, for if she needed to stop embarrassing Hoseok, it needed to begin right here in her bedroom. As she stared at the picture, trying to talk herself into liking it, into realising that these girls, her friends, were more important than a guy who wouldn’t even let her wish him a happy birthday, she felt the first sob wrack through her body.

She imagined what Ma would say. Ma didn’t appear to her like she did before; it was just her voice now, saying things that Chaeyoung wanted to hear. Right now, she imagined Ma would tell her that Hoseok hated her, that there was no point loving someone who hated her. He’s only nice to you because of Chanyeol, she said, her voice soothing and familiar. So why are you nice to him?

“Because he’s perfect,” she cried softly, feeling like her heart would break. She’d never felt this horrible, she knew. Even Chanyeol couldn’t make this better; in fact, he’d only made it worse. How long had he known? How could he have gone all this time, knowing what he did, and continue letting her make a fool of herself? Did he laugh about her with Hoseok? Did she embarrass him, too?

She thought of her father, how he’d sigh at her every time she got into trouble at school. How he and Chanyeol would both give her a look when she didn’t fake it with the stepmother. Hoseok’s face as he rolled his eyes floated through her mind. It was a kick in the gut as she thought it: How many people was she disappointing at once?

—

Bangtan Sonyeondan was a cool name. It was a fact, and even though Chaeyoung was very careful to not let it show on her face, their debut single was really cool.

Chanyeol’s class had long graduated by now. Chaeyoung, at fifteen, was at the peak of her school career so far. While she’d been initially wary of Chanyeol graduating, leaving her completely alone for the first time, it turned out to be just what she’d needed to step out of his shadow once and for all. No one had forgotten him, but they remembered just enough to know she was.

Everyone in the school knew when Hoseok debuted. It was a huge point of pride for the school that one of their former students was now an idol and for a good few weeks, every single person in the school was humming No More Dream. It was catchy as hell, and Hoseok was amazing in it - not that Chaeyoung was noticing.

Ever since the phone call that was not meant to be, Chaeyoung had attempted to distance herself from everything Jung Hoseok. It was the hardest thing in the world at first, but eventually real life took precedence over daydreams, studies took importance over doodling his name, and her real friends ended up being more fun to hang out with than a fictionalised version of him in her mind.

Once she’d managed to let him go, she’d been pleasantly surprised to find how much of a life she was able to have outside of him. It turned out that, for the most part, people seemed to like her. In one of her birthday cards, the most frequent words used by people was “fun” - she was fun, apparently. She wasn’t sure what exactly that meant, until one day in ninth grade when she’d convinced a few friends to skip a class. They’d gotten away with it, and she’d been hailed as “so fun”.

Life continued, fun and everything. Chanyeol left Gwangju for Seoul when he went to college and, she imagined, got back in touch with Hoseok. She still texted her brother reasonably often, whenever they had the time. Now that they’d reached a certain age and stage of their own lives, their initial relationship had started to become slightly more distant.

It wasn’t something that even occurred to Chaeyoung except for in certain moments, like their mother’s birthday. On those days, she missed Chanyeol more than anything. To his credit, he was mostly there for her when she needed him, but to her credit, she tried not to need him too much.

A few months before her sixteenth birthday, Hoseok returned to Gwangju for three days. It was a huge deal, for he’d apparently had to negotiate a lot for even those days off. Chanyeol was back then, too, and naturally both families wanted to make the best of it.

Despite the fact that Chaeyoung, for all intents and purposes, was over her crush on Hoseok by now, it still evoked a sense of quiet excitement in her stomach. She didn’t seek him out, but she made sure not to leave her room until she was perfectly dressed and her hair was impeccable, ready to breeze past him without a care in the world, determined to show him how much she’d grown without him.

As it turned out, she didn’t see him that morning. She didn’t see him that evening after school, or that night. In fact, she didn’t see him all weekend; Hoseok seemed to have a ton of friends to visit, and he and Chanyeol were gone for practically the entire time.

Chaeyoung wished she’d just catch a glimpse of him - not because she missed him or anything, but because the longer it took to see him, the higher the anticipation got. She’d managed to put their last humiliating not-interaction to the back of her mind eventually, but the longer she waited to see him, the more she ended up reliving it.

On Hoseok’s last night, there was a dinner at the Jungs. Unlike the last time he left for Seoul, when no one knew what his future would hold, this time he was leaving as a successful debuted idol. The dinner, therefore, was more of a farewell party, with a few more of his friends invited, all of whom Chaeyoung remembered from school.

Chaeyoung tried her hardest to stay out of everyone’s way. She didn’t trust herself around Hoseok, particularly because now that he was here, actually in the flesh, she was begrudgingly being reminded of everything that she’d once loved about him.

Don’t go down that rabbit hole, Chae, Ma said, as Chaeyoung hovered near the kitchen, nibbling at her nails. Hoseok had brushed past her once or twice, giving her a perfunctory “hi” which only served to make her feel ridiculous, because it was clear that he wasn’t devoting even a fraction of the mind space to her that she was to him.

Towards the end of the night, given that it was a Sunday, Chaeyoung knew that she would be sent home soon. It was a school night and the older kids were chattering about going out for a while longer, so she knew that if she didn’t speak to Hoseok now, there would be no telling if she’d ever be able to get this out.

Finally, around ten pm, when she saw him go upstairs to his room, she followed him. She tried hard to ensure that no one saw her but when she finally reached his doorway, she realised that none of it mattered because she had no idea what to say.

Chaeyoung cleared her throat. “Hoseok oppa?” she said gingerly.

He whipped around, turning away from the bag he seemed to be packing. She didn’t fail to notice how his face fell when he realised who it was; she tried not to let that get to her.

“Uh… what are you doing here?” he asked, sounding almost wary. His eyes darted around the room as though expecting to get caught by someone.

“I just wanted to say hi,” she managed, her heart racing. He looked… incredible. Nineteen became him. He looked thin but fit, and his hair was cut stylishly so it fell across his forehead. Swallowing, she continued. “And… I wanted to apologise.”

“Uh, okay - look. You’re in my room. Anyone can see you,” he informed her. “So you should probably -“ He gave her a knowing nod and gestured towards the door.

It stung, but she held her ground, stepping inside his room and shutting the door behind her. Leaning back against it, she exhaled. “Is that better?”

Hoseok’s look of pure horror was enough to tell her that it was, in fact, not better, but she’d had enough distractions now.

“Look, I don’t need too much of your time. I just…” She looked at her feet, trying to find the courage to continue. “I wanted to… apologise,” she said finally.

Hoseok frowned. “For what?” he asked suspiciously.

“For… everything? I guess.” She swallowed, forcing herself to continue looking up at him. “It was brought to my attention a while back that I may have… embarrassed you.” She paused as the words settled around them, having said it out loud for the first time ever. “I know I was probably a bit annoying and I didn’t - I wasn��t very… cool.”

Hoseok looked more confused than anything now and she couldn’t blame him, for she didn’t think she was making any sense either. But he hadn’t asked her to leave yet, which was more encouragement than she could hope for.

“Honestly, when I think back to some of the things I did…” She trailed off for a moment, shaking her head. “I cringe a little bit. Okay, that’s a lie. I cringe a lot.”

He nodded slowly, and she didn’t know if she’d imagined the fleeting look of amusement on his face.

“So, anyway. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

Huh. Chaeyoung didn’t know what else she was expecting, but his tone made it pretty clear that their heart to heart was over. “Okay, then. I’ll just… go.” She turned to open the door, only to see about four of his friends standing right outside. Chanyeol wasn’t one of them. They were clearly waiting for Hoseok, possibly giving him privacy because of the closed door, but the moment one of them spotted her, his eyes went wide.

“Oh, my -”

“Oh, God,” muttered Hoseok from behind her.

“Dude.” A second guy, Hyungmin, seemed to smile in slow motion, as though he was suddenly uncovering some huge joke. He nudged the first guy and snorted. “The happy couple is back!”

Chaeyoung wrinkled her nose. “What?”

But her voice was drowned out among the hoots, all loud and obnoxious. She turned back to Hoseok, possibly for an explanation, only to see him rolling his eyes before he suddenly glared at her.

“I don’t even know what she’s doing here,” he said stonily, and her heart skipped a confused beat.

“What? I -”

“Hey, Chan, get up here!” One of the other guys interrupted her, leaning over the railing and shouting into the house. “You’ll never guess who was in Hobi’s room - with the door closed!”

“Dude, he’s gonna kill him,” snickered Hyungmin, giving Hoseok a mock-sympathetic look.

“Alright, isn’t this joke, like, a million years old?” he asked, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

“It was, but now she’s getting hot and all,” said the third guy, whom Chaeyoung only remembered as the one who was invited because he had a car. He gave her a side glance and raised an eyebrow. “Now it means all kinds of -

“Dude, what the fuck?” Hoseok groaned, while Hyungmin slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand and hissed, “She’s a kid.”

“Well, she doesn’t look like -”

“Chan is going to kill you if you don’t -”

“Hey, what’s going on up there?” Chanyeol’s voice floated up, interrupting everyone. “Are we leaving or what?”

There was a momentary pause when it seemed as though no one knew how to respond. Then Hoseok rolled his eyes and strode out of the room. “Come on, let’s go,” he muttered, and fortunately, his friends followed his lead. As he passed Chaeyoung, he glared at her.

“How do you manage to ruin everything?” he hissed. “I told you to get out of my room.”

“I - I know.” Chaeyoung heard her voice tremble. “I didn’t think they would -”

“Really? Because it’s so different from what they’ve been doing the last ten years?” He gave her another exasperated look, like she wasn’t worth his time. “Why can’t you just disappear?” he muttered, knocking into her shoulder as he left the room.

Chaeyoung stayed there for a minute, humiliated, her feet rooted to the floor. She didn’t know whether it was his friend’s comments about her, the way they were talking about her like she wasn’t right there in front of them, or whether, after all these years, Hoseok had finally told her the truth.

Why can’t you just disappear?

She glanced into his room again, her eyes running over the taped posters on the wall, the folded bed sheets, a set of clothes draped neatly over the chair. She’d come here in hopes of maybe moving past everything that had caused him to avoid her all these years. Now, she wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

Chaeyoung rushed home after that, not wanting to wait for Seoyoon to croon over at her to do so. She didn’t think anyone even noticed; she ran out the front door, glad for the empty hallway from where she could hear everyone else in the dining room. The night was dark and chilly, and she hopped over the short fence to her front yard, slamming her door behind her before hurrying upstairs.

She wouldn’t cry this time, she vowed, even as she wiped angry tears forming of their own accord. She was sick of it, sick of everything. She was sick of those stupid friends Chanyeol still hung out with, she was sick of how Hoseok instantly became a different person when it came to her, she was sick of her stepmother, her family - but most of all, she completely sick of how, even after all these years, the things Hoseok said still had the ability to hurt her.

She hadn’t grown up at all, clearly. Nothing had changed. She would forever hold a candle for her brother’s best friend, even if, until two days ago, she’d been somewhat preoccupied by the fact that Nam Sehun from the other section had a rumoured crush on her.

She looked up from where she was sitting at the corner of her bed when she heard a faint sound of laughter and a shout. Dragging her feet to the window, she saw a car pull out from the Jungs’ driveway, music emanating from it until it screeched to a sudden stop.

“Hurry up, man!” One of the guys shouted as another leapt out of the car, scurrying back to the house. The party must be over. Before she knew it, everyone else would be back home.

Chaeyoung rolled her eyes and stepped away from the window, too tired to care. As she stripped and retrieved an old t-shirt and pajamas from the closet, she found herself feeling more and more stupid by the second. She’d made more of an effort than she’d realised apparently; even the bra she was wearing was something she’d purposely picked out, possibly in an effort to show Hoseok that she’d grown up - except it hadn’t worked, and the only person who seemed to notice it was Chanyeol’s creepy friend.

Pulling on her clothes, she trudged to the bed, ready to nurse another broken heart and fall asleep forever, when she heard a knock.

“Fuck,” she whispered, not in the mood to face her stepmother and her fake concern right now. The knock sounded again and she swore under her breath. “No one’s home,” she called, hoping she’d take the hint.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s true,” said the voice outside, and Chaeyoung felt a jolt in her stomach. She walked over and opened the door gingerly to see Hoseok, quite possibly the last person she’d ever expected to see outside her room. It suddenly occurred to her how much taller he was; it vaguely intimidated her, until he bit his lip and sighed, looking at the floor.

Chaeyoung was about to ask what he was doing here, but something in his posture made her want to wait him out. So she continued standing there, one hand on her hip and the other on her door.

Hoseok’s eyes flickered up to her and he opened his mouth before he seemingly noticed something behind her. “A colour-changing lava lamp?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a high school girl thing?”

She stared. “You’re wearing a snapback at night. Is that a Seoul thing?”

He paused before sighing and taking it off. “I knew it looked stupid,” he muttered, ruffling his messy black hair.

“No, it doesn’t,” she said automatically, wincing slightly at how desperate she sounded. It was too hard to think straight around him. “I - what are you doing here?” she asked, slightly nervous. “Aren’t you afraid your friends will see you in my room?”

“Uh, no. They’re downstairs.”

She nodded. “That’s… good thinking.”

There was an awkward silence where neither of them looked at each other and for the first time in her life, she wished Hoseok would leave her alone.

“Look, um…” Hoseok began slowly, as though every word was taking a great effort. “About before… I know you were just trying to apologise. I shouldn’t have…” He looked up, as though hoping for a prompt. When he received none, he sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Chaeyoung nodded.

“Right.” After a moment, he spoke again. “Also… Joonho’s an ass.”

She bit her lip and folded her arms across her chest, a little protectively. “Yeah.”

“Anyway… I just came to say that.” He gestured vaguely behind him. “I should head.”

“Sure.”

He turned around halfway before pausing again, squinting slightly at her. “You do understand why I got mad, right? I mean, this wasn’t just about tonight. But it’s like every time that you’re around -”

“Yeah, I understand,” she said quickly, gritting her teeth. The more she looked at him, the less it looked like he cared at all. He didn’t care. He had no idea how much she’d loved him when she was younger, he had no idea how much she regretted her behaviour now, and he had no idea how humiliating it was to stand here and realise that she had no idea who he was at all.

Hoseok looked a little taken aback at her interruption. “Oh? Okay. Uh, good, then.”

“M-hm.”

“I’m gonna go.”

“You do that.”

This time when he turned to leave, Chaeyoung stopped him. “Oppa, wait.” She went to her desk and rifled through a drawer, feeling the cool metal against her fingers before bringing out the object. “I think this is yours,” she said, handing it to him.

He extended his hand automatically, frowning as she dropped it into his palm. “Is this -” He squinted at it. “Oh, my God. This is my keychain.”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat, feeling distinctly lighter all of a sudden.

“I lost it years ago.” He looked up at her. “How - how did you find it?”

“Oh, I - I found it in a box of stuff, in the attic.” She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest again. “You must have dropped it here, I guess.”

“Wow.” He nodded, looking slightly more chipper as he shoved the keychain into his pocket. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” A sudden honk sounded outside and it felt like it was reverberating through her chest. “You should go.”

“Yeah.” He raised a hand halfway, like he was saying goodbye to someone he met in line at a bookstore. “See you around, Chae.”

“See you.” She stepped forward to shut the door, watching him walk out of her room and out of her house. Before she could lose her nerve, she spoke again. “The new single is… really cool.”

He was almost at the foot of the stairs when he stopped and looked up at her. For the first time in her memory, Hoseok smiled at her, a real, genuine smile. It was like the sun had come out, and as he thanked her and continued on his way, it occurred to Chaeyoung that it was quite possibly the only time she’d ever see it.

—

That night was the last time Chaeyoung saw Hoseok for several years. She heard from his parents that he barely had time to eat or sleep, let alone come back to visit his family. He did return for a weekend once, but she’d been away on a school trip with her football team at the time. Apart from that, Hoseok was as far out of her life as was possible.

When she was seventeen, Chaeyoung entered her first relationship. He asked her out by the water cooler after a week of rumours, and their tryst lasted a whole month until she broke up with him in the biology lab, feeling rather smothered by how he insisted on showing up at all her football practices. He didn’t take it well and responded with rumours of his own, following which Chaeyoung’s reputation began preceding her.

Her seventeenth birthday party took place a month before she graduated high school and since she was leaving Gwangju, an unexpected nostalgia caused her to invite every single person she knew. A month later she graduated along with her friends, partied for a week straight until she spent the rest of the summer waiting until she could leave for college in Busan. She did the same a year later for her eighteenth birthday, and since it occurred in the summer, all her friends were back in Gwangju and able to attend.

As it turned out, the only thing remaining that could ensure that Chaeyoung lived her own life with no ties to her brother was leaving Gwangju. In college, she had the opportunity to be who she was. Everyone was figuring it out, and she joined them. She paid attention to the classes she liked, spent nights in the library and in dorms as people quizzed each other, went on weekend trips, had boyfriends, joined college clubs - everything that gave her the satisfaction that she’d made the best out of her college years.

The most stressful time of those years came right at the end, when everyone was applying for jobs. After months of gruelling essays, internships and interviews, Chaeyoung managed to get what she considered her dream job. Her father wasn’t too certain about it; he said it didn’t “sound like a real job” but after her stepmother pitched in during their video call and persuaded him to give it a chance, he gave in.

Chaeyoung didn’t care; it gave her the same vibes as her favourite English movie, The Devil Wears Prada. Condé Nast wasn’t a magazine per se but her job wasn’t exactly that of a secretary either; the role simply said research and while she would’ve liked it to be a bit more specific - maybe columnist - she was willing to pay her dues, especially if it meant getting to live in Seoul, not wearing boring formal clothes to work and possibly working with some truly fancy brands like GQ or Vogue someday.

Moving to Seoul was less romantic than she’d expected; it was a busy, expensive city and no one had time to stop and take a breath, let alone help out a twenty-one year old who’d just moved to the city.

It’s all part of the experience, her inner voice said to her, the one she’d dubbed Ma when she was little. It was less of a coping mechanism and more of a conscience now, and it was what convinced her to move into an apartment in Hongdae with a senior she’d known back in college.

Sungmi was nice and all, but she intimated Chaeyoung a little bit. Her many piercings, her abrupt way of talking and her strange sense of humour always had Chaeyoung on edge. She also had this boyfriend who smelled perpetually of weed and had a cousin he frequently invited over, making it not the ideal living arrangement. Still, even Chaeyoung had to admit that despite the aesthetics, Sungmi had been living in Seoul by herself for nearly a year and was holding onto a good job at a catering company. Most importantly, she was offering her spare room at really low rent, something Chaeyoung was currently giving top priority to.

Plus, the best thing about Sungmi’s apartment was the parties.

“Get, um…” Sungmi moves away from the speaker and asks someone something. “Everything,” she says finally. “Just make sure there’s Absinthe and Bacardi in it and we’ll be good. I’m trusting you, Chaeyoung,” she adds knowingly, abruptly hanging up.

Faced with a plethora of bottles before her in the liquor store, Chaeyoung sighs. She isn’t even fully sure what this party is for, except that vodka and rum are required in large quantities.

“Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder, I guess,” she mutters, holding the plastic basket up as she scans the shelves, feeling a strange sense of responsibility towards her older roommate’s expectations.

Meanwhile, Jung Hoseok is near the fridges, rattling off the different beer brands to Jimin on the phone.

“I feel like wheat beer,” says Jimin thoughtfully, “but think about the calories.” He pauses as someone says something at his end. “And Taehyung wants that fruity soju.” He whines as Taehyung says something else loudly. “Okay, specifically green apple.”

Hoseok stands there, motionless, as Jimin goes through a minor Friday evening crisis. “Got it. Now, Jimin, you have about thirty seconds to make your decision before I leave this place. Beer-less.”

The younger member sighs heavily. “Alright, just get me a six pack of Corona,” he says finally, as though with a huge effort. “It’s always safe.”

Hoseok closes his eyes and counts to five in his mind, hoping he won’t snap at Jimin for wasting his time debating some random Swedish beer before ultimately deciding on Corona. “Will do.” He hangs up.

Once he has everything, he goes through the list on his phone again, hurriedly making sure he has everything for everyone. As he reaches the end of the list, he realises there’s only one thing remaining.

He spots a clerk at the end of the aisle and looks away. He’s managed so far without being recognised; he’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible. He shuffles towards the spirits, peering at the names and hoping the bottle appears all of a sudden when finally - finally - he spots the green label, the only one of its kind.

“Thank god,” he whispers and reaches for it, the same time as another hand wraps around the bottle. He flinches and withdraws his hand immediately before turning to see the only other person in the entire liquor who could possibly need Absinthe.

Something clicks in Hoseok’s brain, like a track being slowed down in post-production. “Wait…”

She raises her eyebrows. “You really don’t recognise me?”

Hoseok chuckles. It’s too unbelievable. “Dude, I think I saw you at more family dinners than my sister. Wow, Chaeyoung,” he says, taking a step back to look at her. Is she taller? “You look… older.”

“I am. Significantly. And you look…” Chaeyoung frowns and bites her lip, as though searching for something. “… blonder.” She nods as he reaches for his cap and pulls it down further over his head, tucking the few loose strands under the cloth.

“Yeah, that’s… work.” There’s a few seconds of awkward silence that makes Hoseok uncomfortable. They were never friends, but he can’t remember ever being this… unsettled around her. It’s almost like she’s a work acquaintance he’s run into, not the kid he grew up next door to.

He realises he hasn’t said anything and immediately scrambles. “Uh, so… what are you doing here? Wait, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a liquor store. I mean, you’re - you drink?”

“Yeah… I’m twenty-one. Almost twenty-two.” She bites her lips and shakes her head. “I don’t know why I said that. I just turned twenty-one.”

It takes Hoseok a moment to process this. She certainly looks older…

“Wow. Twenty-one.”

“I know.” Chaeyoung looks around before her gaze lands on the bottle still in her hand. “Oh, you can have this.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I don’t need it.”

She raises her eyebrows. “No? You don’t need it for, like… a famous person party?”

He chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, no. A friend of ours, Nari, is coming over tonight and she was the only one who wanted Absinthe.”

“Oh, then you can take it for Nari.”

“Nah, she just wants to get hammered,” he replies, shaking his head. “That can be done with anything. She doesn’t get time off from her job so when she does, she likes to go all out and that includes, unfortunately, a lot of vodka, but I’m sure whiskey would do the trick just as -“ He breaks off when he notices Chaeyoung’s tilted head and slight frown.

“I’ll take it,” she says after a moment. “My roommate’s having a party tonight. Many people need to get hammered with this.”

“Roommate, nice. Wait, are you living in Seoul?”

She nods. “Yeah. Just moved here.”

Too much is happening for Hoseok to process in one trip to the liquor store. “You -“ He pauses. “Does Chanyeol know?” he asks in a low voice.

Chaeyoung chuckles. “Yeah, he knows. My dad knows, too.”

It’s the first glimpse he’s seen so far of the old Chaeyoung, the deliberate omission of her stepmother. But he knows better than to acknowledge it. “Wow, you - you really grew up.”

She gives him an odd look and opens her mouth to say something but then closes it, as though changing her mind. “I did,” she agrees.

Hoseok knows he should be saying something more, maybe offering something - for Chanyeol’s sake. But what is he meant to say to someone he can barely recognise? She’s actually taller, from what he can remember. Her hair isn’t in ponytails anymore and she’s standing differently, too, somehow…

But before he can wrack his brain for the right words, Chaeyoung takes a deep breath.

“I should go.” She holds up the bottle of Absinthe. “Thanks for this.”

“Oh, of course,” he says, nodding and stepping aside. As she brushes past him, he frowns again: is she wearing perfume? Chaotic, skinned-knee, football-playing Chaeyoung?

But the moment passes him and so does Chaeyoung. Before leaving, she raises a hand halfway. “It was nice running into you, Hoseok.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, watching her for a moment as he tries to put his finger on why everything seems so strange. His phone pings then, though, and he remembers the errand he was running. He needs to find an alternative to Absinthe now and move on from one of the more surreal experiences of his life.

He takes a couple of steps forward before something else clicks, and he can finally put his finger on at least one thing.

“Wait,” he says slowly, turning around but not even really trying to spot her near the check-out line. “What did you call me?”

—

Thank you for reading. Don’t forget to drop a review :)

#lillia recs #bwcbookclub #magicshopholoc

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moccahobi · 2 years ago

Text

This story follows the mc as they recover from a breakup with Taehyung. And I must say, Ashley does such a good job I quickly making me hate him. He is just so cruel to the mc and it does such a good job of showing the tension and the upset that he's caused with his words. I wanted to fight him every step of the way for this story. 🤣

"He knew you well but that didn't mean you had to forgive him"

This line struck me a ton in regards to Taehyung. I think it strikes me in regards to many. He was an asshole through and through during the story, that he is also one of the few constants that are present. He oversteps boundaries and gives gifts in ways that feel condescending and cruel, yet he is present. Despite him being present, despite him giving gifts to the main character, it still feels very resolute in that he is not who are rooting for as readers and that he is not the main love interest. I think it also is a reminder to many of us that just because people know us or just because people give us occasional kindness with their frequent cruelty, and that doesn't mean we have to forgive them or welcome them back into the our lives.

I also really deeply resonate with the main character for going into a longer-term job that isn't related to their dream at all. While I don't want children, the idea of having to give up or put a pause on my dream is such a saddening and heartbreaking idea. You tap into this so well by tying it so deeply to their break up with Taehyung. It just adds insult to injury in a way that I think does wonders to get the story angsty quickly!

The concept of a comfortless silence is something very interesting to me. Generally, I am extremely interested in words and the ways in which different silences and alone times are and how we label them. I really liked the use of a comfortless silence in this story! I hadn't thought of silence in tandem with the word comfortless before (oten I think of uncomfortable), but the second you said it I knew exactly what you meant. It makes me want to think of other instances that I've experienced of comfortless silence!

This was such an interesting read and I really enjoyed how unique of a story this was! You kept me engaged and rooting for the main character to prove Taehyung wrong, to achieve their dream despite of his cruel words. It was so good!

My live reaction is under the read more.

Oh my! What an opening! I'm trying to tell if it was joking or derogatory. -_-

Oh no! How rude of Taehyung. Dude needs to focus on who he's with. Not his ex. Òwó

HE ENTERED THE MC'S APARTMENT??? COPS! CALL EM!

Bro broke up with the mc because he "wanted them to do something with their life"??? Sounds like there mite be some trauma and lack of communication?

HaVe SoMe aMbiTion? Ok. That feels a bit condisending.

"He knew you well but that didn't mean you had to forgive him". I really like this line!

Taehyung seems like a grade A ass! You do so well at quickly characterizing him as an asshole!

"A comfortless silence" ohh! I like. There are so many shades of silence!

Awwwe. It's sort of so heart breaking how the mc goes into work like that. Dreams take time but to throw yourself into a dreamless situation can be quite sad. 🥺

KIM TAEHYUNG ÒWÓ

SiNcE YoU aCtuAlLy TurNeD yOuR lIfE arOuNd. Stfu

GOOD FOR THEM. GOOD FOR THE MC! GET UR DREAM!

Awwwe. Namjoon is so sweet! I love the contrast of Namjoon and Taehyung!

NAMJOON THANKING TAEHYUNG!!! OMGGGGG 🤣🤣🤣

Namjoon is such a sweetie. 🥺🥺🥺

Get Away

𓆩♡𓆪 Thank you Shaytaree, Sara, and Izza for beta reading and giving this life 𓆩♡𓆪

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

⟢ Fic Pairing: Taehyung x fem reader / Namjoon x fem reader

⟢ Genres: angst, fluff

⟢ Rating: 18+

⟢ Word count: 2,337

⟢ Warnings: name calling, cursing

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

“You look like a whore, too!”

“Thanks Tae Tae! You always were the best with compliments!” You turned and blew a kiss in his direction while your insides felt like they were being squeezed by a giant’s fist. You wrapped your hands around your arms and rubbed up and down to take the chill away. It was a summer night but seeing him with someone else…and hearing those words…your body temperature seemed to be non-existent.

It was Halloween and your friends convinced you to come to a costume party in a racy ensemble. You wallowed in self pity for months after the break up and finally agreed to go out with friends. You needed to feel pretty, feel wanted, and feel alive again. You dressed up as Lola Bunny: tall bunny ears, a white sports bra with matching cheeky shorts, both with blue trim. The top had Space Jam written on the front and a number ten on the back. Your lower half fit with white high dunks, knee high socks, and a fluffy bunny tail affixed to the shorts. You were enjoying yourself at the rooftop lounge until you made eye contact with Taehyung, his face twisted with a foul look. You were quick to turn away but he made sure you’d not just notice him, but notice he was with someone new already. You tried showing interest in the guys flirting with you, taking any drinks coming your way, but in return, Taehyung’s jealousy reared its ugly head, abruptly ending your night. He shoved a guy you were talking to and got in your face, your friends were able to pull you away from him, but that didn’t save your ears from all the menial words he pelted your way. Security dragged him outside and, as you were leaving, he thought he’d get in one last jab. You jumped in a taxi with your friends where they do what they can with your inconsolable, sobbing, trembling self. You remember getting back to your place but nothing after walking into your room.

“Hey— hey are you okay?” The earthquake of a shake was enough to startle you, but the voice…was it really…you rolled over and saw him sitting next to you.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“You never changed your code. I’ve been calling you all morning.”

“And?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

He may have been a jerk at times but he was also a sweetheart. His hurtful words were something you always justified as him being stressed from his responsibilities. But you weren’t letting yourself do that anymore.

“For fucking what Tae!? Last night you looked at me like I was gum on the bottom of your Gucci shoes. Then you called me a whore! Of all things…that’s something I’m far from.”

“I was just jealous.”

“At what? It’s not like I was all over anyone like you were with that blonde. We’ve been broken up for months. Let’s just move on already.”

“I—“ he tried to say more but you interrupted him.

“You haven’t talked to me since you broke up with me. I must have called and texted a hundred times like a crazy person and you didn’t return a single one.” Your voice broke but you refused to shed another tear in front of him.

“I just want you to do something with your life. Is that so wrong?” He tried to rebut.

“Please go now.”

“Come on. Let’s talk. Please. We can work things out if you just…I don’t know, have some ambition.” He turned on his charm, holding your hands and giving the sweetest expression, even though his words were laced with poison, but you realized you couldn’t let him keep putting you down.

“Tae, before I get nasty, please. Please just fucking go.” You grabbed your head, trying to soothe the sudden hammer hitting nails into your skull.

“Fine. I’ll go. I brought you these hangover cures. I know drinking isn’t really your thing.”

You look in the bag of goodies and start feasting on a few of your favorites. After three years of dating, he knew you well, but that didn’t mean you had to forgive him.

“K. Thanks. Bye.”

He sulked out of the room but not before shouting one last insult, “You don’t have to be so bitchy. At least I have determination to do something with my life!” You waited to hear the door close and give the locked chime sound to grab your phone and search ‘how to change code on keypad’, but the hammer returned.

In the beginning he always had compliments; said you were too smart when he proofread your college papers, so cool and cultured from traveling abroad in places most only dream of, and so stylish with every outfit you wore but loved you in sweats. He loved how you weren’t materialistic and thrived off experiences. Always stating he couldn’t want anything more…but people change. He couldn’t accept what you had decided would be the most fulfilling for you. You thought back to the night he crushed your dreams:

A short weekend getaway to the beach, for two separate reasons. You wanted to celebrate your birthday a little early, but Taehyung had something else in mind. Staring up at the night sky, you listened to the waves lapping on the shore line, the crackling of the bonfire next to you, and the trill of bugs collectively making the perfect summer night song. He grabbed your hand and enlaced your fingers.

“Can I– ask something?” You sensed he was holding something back with the question.

“Of course.” You turned your body towards him, admiring the glow of his skin under the moonlight, giving him your full attention to hopefully put him at ease.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“Hmmm, I see us married with kids. Maybe two…or three by then. If you really want five we’ll have to get to work fairly quickly.” You giggled, smiling from ear to ear.

“No, yn. You. Where do you see yourself?”

“I don’t get it, I just told you.”

Irritation laced his tone, “Instead of where you see us, just tell me where you see you.” A brief silence and your eyes began to wander around. Unsure of whatever game this was, not wanting to set him off more, you couldn’t think of any other way to answer except for rewording what you said already.

“I– see– myself married with kids?” It came out like a question instead of an answer.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking infuriating sometimes.” He sat up abruptly. Your chest tightened and all you could do was worry about what was next. How could you fix it?

“Okay…I’m trying. Can you give me some context? I mean, in five years I see us, not just me. What am I saying wrong? How should I be saying it?” You reached for his hand to keep things calm but he pulled away from you.

“That’s the thing…you have no intent on using your degree or having a career. You just want to be a wife and mom.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’ll be hard to work with five kids,” you racked your brain trying to think of alternatives, “I mean do you want to stay home? I’m sure we can find a happy medium.” Your mind swarmed with thoughts and emotions that you just couldn’t seem to swat away. They crowded the cognitive space of your brain and caused confusion.

“We want different things.”

“I– I can get a job with my degree before we get married and have kids, if that’s what the problem is.”

“No.” he said cold and flat

“So– you don’t want five kids anymore?”

“Jesus, yn. I don’t think we’re meant to be together, okay. We’re just comfortable with each other. And it bothers me that you don’t want to be anything more than just a wife and mother.”

“Anything more? I always imagined being a wife and mother as the most rewarding job in the world.”

“Again. We’re different and don’t want the same things. There's no point in wasting each other’s time anymore.”

Suddenly there was a comfortless silence. The bugs were no longer making melodies with the calm waves. The fire went out, causing the cool crisp air to kiss your skin, inciting goosebumps to prickle your skin. Clouds quickly began covering up the glistening stars that littered the sky.

FIVE YEARS LATER

After taking to heart Taehyung’s words which still felt like yesterday, you decided maybe he was right. You couldn’t keep doing part time jobs until your dreams came true. With your Architecture Design degree, you decided interior design and decorating suited you best. After just a year of working for a high profile company, your name soon became as well known as Joanna Gaines. Two years into the game, you were sought after by so many you had to start turning jobs away. Deep down there was always something missing though. This was just filling your time until you could be what you really wanted. A wife and mother.

You were finishing up your last job for a home on the beach. The owner wanted you to be a part of the celebration for their new home and cozy space that you created with all their wishes and demands. This Halloween party was formal attire only, a glamorous event with tasteful tuxedos and flattering evening gowns. You dolled yourself up in an off the shoulder wine colored gown with a high slit on the side, exposing your leg up to your thigh. Hair was in a simple half up style allowing your wavy hair to lay just at your collar bones. As the celebration mellowed out, you excused yourself and made way to what used to be your favorite place. A place in which you hadn’t visited for such a long time. The same beach where your dreams shattered years ago.

You walked down the weathered wooden path and at the end, you halted to take off your heels. Stepping off you lifted your gown, and appreciated the velvety sand between your toes. You perched on a large drift log and slightly slid your toes to the water's edge. Listening to the murmur of the sea, you looked up at the clear sky, a black marble slate embedded with white flakes glistening for all the world to see. A shooting star streaks across your view and you let out a sigh of relief. You did it. You’d been doing it. No longer stuck in his words that haunted you for so long.

“A beautiful lady shouldn’t be out here alone.” You turned and saw Taehyung, also dressed to the nines.

“Uhhh– hi,” you let out.

“What’s the coincidence we meet again.”

“No idea. What are you doing here?”

“I was at a friend's wedding, just got back to the rental house, so I thought I’d go for a stroll.”

“Oh.” You looked down, not really interested in a conversation.

“You?”

“Just finished up with a client’s celebration…also just going for a stroll.”

“Yeah? I hear you're pretty popular now.”

“I guess.” You glanced at your phone, hoping your way out would arrive soon.

“So not just a wife and mom, huh?” Suddenly you feel dissatisfied. Still five years later, he has the same mentality. But little did he know this was your last job…for that exact reason. He continued, “Since you actually turned your life around, you wanna go grab coffee or food? We could catch up…maybe see—“

“Actually, let me stop you there. If you must know, I am a wife and a mother now. I started this job years ago just to fill my time until I could live my dream. I got married eighteen months ago and we have six month old twins, a boy and a girl. Their dad asked me to quit working and devote all my time to them. So yeah…I am just a wife and mom after tonight.”

“I didn’t know you got married…and kids… already, wow?” he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Why would you? We’re of the past. I have someone who gets me and loves me for wanting something as simple as being a devoted wife and loving mother.”

You heard heavy footsteps making their way down the wooden planks and a huge smile came across your face knowing exactly who it was.

“Honey! There you are. My sister is watching the babies so we have a few hours of us time before they wake up. You know they won’t be happy if they don’t see us there.”

You turned back to Taehyung gleaming, “Goodbye, Tae.”

As you walk up the path, your husband gushes, “Baby what is this dress? I swear I’ve never seen this one on you. Please tell me you have pics.” You giggle as your husband's hands find every curve possible in just a short walk. “Wait, wait, wait.” He picks you up and sits you on the railing. Arms tight around your waist and lips graciously kissing the top of your breasts.

“Namjoon, not here! My clients are literally a stone throw away!”

He looks up smirking but obliges, gently bringing you back down and pressed his lips on yours. When he pulled away, he asked, “Who was that guy down there?”

“Remember my ex who dumped me because–”

“You’re kidding! That was THE Taehyung?”

“Flesh and blood.”

“I’ll be right back.” Namjoon kisses your cheek and jogs back to the end of the path.

“What are you–” you are interrupted by his shout.

“Hey, Taehyung. Thanks man.” He gives a sloppy salute and jogs back to you grinning.

“What was that for?!” you ask, confused.

“Honey, how could he let you get away?” he leans down, nuzzling his lips on your neck, kissing every spot of skin he could, “I won’t make that mistake, I won’t ever let you get away.”

#lillia recs #mopnleeai #bwcbookclub

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