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opaljm · 4 years ago

Text

yours, truly (m) – jjk

⟶ pairing: female reader x Jungkook

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ genres & tropes: angst, future smut; arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, scorned lovers with a past, second chance romance, featuring ceo!jungkook & music producer!reader

⟶ summary: Ten years ago, you had run away from your family to pursue your dreams of becoming an idol. Eight years ago, those dreams were turned into dust and you were forced to beg your family to take you back in. Now, as a part of their agreement for making you a member of the illustrious Min family once more, you were forced to do their every bidding, including marrying the man you hated the most of all.

⟶ warnings/content tags: tension and hostility between Jungkook and the reader, flashbacks, talk of being a runaway teen, alluding to family problems/drama, producer shenanigans, dramatic jungkook, petty reader, this chapter is sfw!

⟶ length & status: 13k words; in progress

⟶ a/n: Hello welcome to Naia’s first (of several) long fics of this year. This is entirely free written which means there’s not really an outline. Outside of whatever chapter I am currently writing and a vague idea of how the only the next chapter after it will go, I am just going with the flow as far as the plot goes. So this is actually the third story of the Marital Bliss universe, however, you don’t need to read the other two fics before this to be able to enjoy this one. I will post the other chapter ones after this before I post chapter two for this fic. Just a head’s up. I plan on having the other two posted in May as well, though so don’t worry. I hope you guys enjoy this! Also sorry for the super long boring A/N at the beginning. You have @chateautae to thank for the surprise early drop lol! I hope you guys don’t mind that it’s not Friday. beta-read by the lovely @hantaev. The masterlist will be linked after all three stories’ first chapters are out!

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"𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚒𝚝

𝙷𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚝

𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑

𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎, 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑,"

𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚎𝚎𝚛, 𝚂𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑

The mansion that the Parks had acquired for the night was certainly magnificent. The chateauesque building was built in the late 1800s, and with its blend of Gothic and Beaux-Arts architecture, it created a massive, ornate space that evoked a sense of splendor and grandeur. The inhabitants of the first floor, that had been completely opened for the celebration, only furthering that impression with the women in their long floor-length gowns, long ropes of pearls hanging from both their necks and ears, and giant golf ball sized stones adorning the rings on their left hands while the men were decked out in three piece dark suits, livening up their outfits with the pointed toes of their leather shoes, and the wristwatches on their right arms often going up to six figures.

You were on the periphery of the wild crush of people, nearly hugging the edge of the room like a wallflower, a wine glass in your right hand, your wrist kept snapping, idly swishing around the burgundy contents of your glass. Your plush lips were wet from the constant sips you had indulged yourself in, stained a deep berry red from what must have been two or three, or possibly even five, glasses of cabernet sauvignon. Your gaze flickered to the starlet of the night, the main reason that all of you have congregated this evening. Little baby Park, your niece through marriage, was in her father’s arms in a petal pink flouncy Dolce & Gabbana princess dress. Her pin-straight black brown hair had been neatly arranged into a cute half down half up do, in one of the few designs she could have due to the short length of her hair, and the updo part was sticking straight up like a fluffy apple stem behind the diamond barrette that was holding it up.

Her parents were celebrating her first birthday with a massive fete, though graciously they had decided to accommodate their guests and make the event on a Saturday, rather than the following Tuesday when her birthday really was, so baby Park wasn’t even a year old. She was an adorable baby you thought to yourself, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. You tried to keep your resentment from taking hold of you: your niece had done nothing to deserve your ire, she was an innocent babe. And yet, jealousy was still so hard for you to break free of, wanting your own little girl as well, knowing that you would probably never get her.

Her mother joined them, the daughter instantly holding her arms out for her mama. Her mother was a gorgeous woman, two or three inches shorter than her husband, creating the perfect height difference between the pair. Other than the similar eye shape and color she shared with your husband, the siblings didn’t have much in common other than their otherworldly beauty that made them the most attractive people in any room they stood in. Every single member of your husband’s family was breathtakingly gorgeous, from your coldhearted parents-in-law, to your disgust, your husband, who turned heads wherever he went.

Based on observation, seeing your sister-in-law and her family in the passing for the last couple of days, you had a feeling that she was the favored parent. You felt like you were in the minority with your belief however, because any time anyone ever talked about your niece, the conversation shifted to how she was her father’s mini-me with plump cheeks, sleepy eyes, and the cutest pouty lips and how that must have also translated into her being a Daddy’s girl.

It wasn’t that Jimin wasn’t a good father and didn’t spoil her needlessly, you just saw past the biased misogynistic lenses that everyone else had adorned and saw that all of the similarities between her and her father didn’t quite translate into her loving her father the most, but rather being just like him, down to sharing the same exact favorite person: the woman who had cozied up by her husband’s side and held her toddler daughter in her arms, a patient look of love and amazement painting her face as she attentively listened to her baby babble to her. But this could’ve all just been your alcohol-addled musings; you had rarely been sober any time you were in the presence of your family members by marriage.

You raised your glass for another sip, frowning against the rim before you could swallow the complex acidic burgundy liquid. If your sister-in-law was in the front with the rest of her nuclear family then where the fuck was－

“There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” your husband said, sidling up to you.

Your frown deepened into a grimace, Jeon Jungkook looked good to your complete and utter disappointment. It was a thought that had plagued you every single one of the rare times he was in your presence. He was wearing a custom tailored suit from Louis Vuitton, his jacket was entirely open showing the bright white dress shirt underneath and his neck was missing a tie. You couldn’t even remember if he had left the hotel with a tie on, so careful were you in your avoidance and ignorance of your husband. He had made the right decision in getting rid of his tie if he had had one initially, you decided, even if his outfit looked a little incomplete. By its virtue of being all black, it went well with your midnight blue Alexander McQueen gown.

“Have you been here the entire time?" Jungkook asked. “You disappeared pretty fast after they introduced us when we came in. My sister wanted to thank you for the birthday present you got, although she thinks we went a little overboard.”

You stared unseeingly into the murky red depths of your wine glass. You felt sick of it, you would surely hurl if you took another sip. You hadn’t even eaten, the waiting staff never quite made their way to the corners of the room with the hors d’oeuvres like they did with the alcohol. Dinner was in half an hour, you thought, but it might have been running late since no one else seemed as eager to sit down and eat like you were.

Jungkook leaned in, his overgrown dark bangs brushing against the side of your head as his frustrated whisper tickled over the shell of your ear. His hair which usually reminded you of a perfectly round coconut or a brown sugar soaked tapioca pearl, or perhaps you were just incredibly famished and hallucinating, had grown out enough that the tresses were wavy and framing his face in a devastatingly becoming manner.

“I told you I was going to take care of the gift. You should’ve listened to me. Did you think I wouldn’t put your name on it? I’m not like that Y/N. At least she didn’t realize that this was a result of a communication error and thinks we just want to spoil our only niece.”

You couldn’t take this anymore. Your eyes continued to harden with barely concealed abhorrence and your teeth were so tightly clenched that your jaw was starting to ache. You simply did not have it within you to play one half of a happily married couple with Jungkook, right now.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” you announced abruptly, cutting Jungkook’s monologue short. You finally managed to dispose of the glass that had been holding your right hand captive for the entire evening by thrusting it at one of the waiting staff who had been conveniently walking by with an empty tray over his arm.

“I’ll take you there,” Jungkook said.

With one of your eyebrows raised, you asked, “Why? You’re not a girl. I don’t have to travel in pairs with men to go to the restroom.”

“I know,” Jungkook said with a defeated sigh, tired of your contrariety, “I just didn’t think you knew the layout too well. You’ve never been here before.”

“I’m fine,” you retorted, wrapping the sheer tulle cape that was sewn onto the dress’s shoulders, made of the same fabric and color as the rest of your gown just more transparent, even more fully around your form. You stalked away from him, your body tightened into a hard line as your figure made its way across the vast expanse of the room towards the interior exits.

Jungkook almost let you go by yourself before he realized he hadn’t talked to you all that much today. He quickly started to move, his feet picking up speed as he followed along your footsteps. By the way your nude Kate, Louboutin heels hurried along that much more swiftly, he knew that you had realized he wouldn’t be leaving your side for the rest of the night. The glittering chandeliers overhead did excellent work casting light down on the entire room, the geometric prisms of crystals shining rainbow rays of light over your figures, making you appear angelic. Jungkook was enraptured as he followed in your footsteps, rushing to make sure you didn’t disappear from his sight.

[almost ten-ish years ago]

Dragging the toe of your shiny leather loafers along your left calf to help pull your white stockings back up, that had ridden down, pooling around your ankle, you found yourself lingering in front of the Chun-Ah Arts High School, reluctant to make your way inside, waiting to see if you would be able to see him again. You were sure you two were in different grades so you never really got to see him during school hours and knew that seeking him out then would be futile. But sometimes, you would get lucky in the mornings before he headed to the east where the school gymnasium and fields were and you headed to homeroom since you didn’t have any friends to hang out with in the mornings.

You had run away to Seoul two days after your fifteenth birthday, after getting an offer to become a trainee at a small entertainment company known as Big Shot, much to the displeasure of your rich family living in Daegu. They could hardly comprehend why you would want to throw away a life of security and wealth all on the pipe dream of becoming an idol. When you had moved to Seoul, your family had kicked you out of the will and taken away your trust fund, telling you that you would no longer be associated with the Min’s hotel chain legacy.

The thought of your family made a wry smirk take over your lips; when you had dropped out of the Jeong Finishing School for Exemplary Girls, the first female in your family in generations to leave the school without honors, your family thought you had ruined your future. Little did they know, you would be starting your second semester of sophomore year at the fancy Chun-Ah Arts school in Seoul.

When you first started at Big Shot, you had quickly realized that maybe you had been naive and living in a privileged bubble, having to dorm in a studio apartment with ten other girls. The type of jealousy and backbiting at the agency was different from the kind you had experienced in your all-girls school. Here the fights weren’t about boyfriends or stealing one of a kind Dior sweaters to dump in bright red paint for revenge. The sabotage was more physical, with girls trying to claw their way to the top to be the stand out talent in a group line up. The mind games were more psychological, with girls doing anything and everything to undermine each other’s evaluations, hoping to be that rare, that special individual, who would be considered talented enough to potentially debut as a solo artist.

And then, as more trainees came in, soon there wasn’t enough time for the vocal coaches to teach everyone better vocal techniques, for the choreographers to help the struggling trainees memorize their dances, for songwriters to help aspiring rappers find their flow and improve their lyricalities. You were on the brink of getting cut and being thrown out on the street homeless, when your cousin Yoongi, the black sheep of the family, who was struggling to make his own dreams of becoming a music producer suggested that you apply to Chun-Ah as a scholarship student and make use of their renowned music department where it had famous retired vocalists and dancers as the teachers. With Yoongi’s help you were able to prepare for the entrance exam, excel in the interview and performance portions and even write a heartbreaking story of how you were a homeless youth who had been kicked out of her family for wanting to pursue her dreams.

You had impressed the academy’s admissions panel greatly, allowing you to enter the school midway through the year, but since entering, you kept finding yourself disappointed with how things were at the school. For one thing, you would have thought with how rigorous and extensive the application process was, not to mention how expensive the application, uniforms, and tuition were, your classmates would have been more talented. You weren’t expecting them to be Maria Callas or Joshua Bell or Michael Jackson, but you did think they would be a little more talented than Vine dancers, Youtube song cover singers, and garage band musicians. Especially for individuals whose parents were part of the one percent and could afford to give them the best tutors and tools to excel. But on your second day of school, to your immense dismay, you found a sophomore abusing his 300 year old Stradivarius violin in front of the school’s giant Grecian inspired water fountain by basically grating the bow against the strings with how roughly he was playing﹣no scratch that﹣handling the instrument.

It didn’t take you long to realize the sham that was the Chun-Ah Arts High School. The school created fake competitions with arbitrary rules where they would divide the winners for each category based on the biggest donors to the institute. It wasn’t based on talent at all. And based on these awards and accreditations buffeting their resumes and applications to illustrious foreign universities, the students at Chun-Ah would be able to get into the Fine Arts, Visual and Performing Arts, Theater, and Athletics departments, more easily than they would’ve been able to get into the more exclusive medical, law, or business departments and then easily change their majors once they were already accepted.

If only you had known about the USA college admissions scandal that would become uncovered a few years later, which would reveal some of the more shady things that foreign students had done to get accepted with their American classmates. Of course, not everyone at Chun-Ah was a bad egg trying to take advantage of the system, but there were definitely enough that had you raising an eyebrow. You were sure you would have been angerier if you actually wanted the number one class rank, if you knew about the exam keys that could be bribed off of teachers manipulating the entire class rank system, but you were just here to hone your skills as a singer and performer so you generally left it alone.

That didn’t mean that you were excited to go to school each day though, there was bullying and backbiting at the agency and there was also more of the same at the school. Sure the rich kids and starving artists played by different rules and prized different things, but they all hated you, the common denominator. Every time you saw a girl laugh behind her palm at your ill-fitting uniform or make fun of the fact that you were a scholarship student, you couldn’t help but think to yourself how glad you were to have removed yourself from that life. If they had realized the Min in your last name stood for one of the most powerful families in not only Daegu but the entire country, you were sure they would’ve changed their tone quickly and begged to be your friends. Personally you were glad that your newfound poverty made them remove that mask of civility they donned for other people in their circle.

But then you had discovered the voice, the tipping point of the scale that made you prefer school to the company and lie to your manager that you were taking extra lessons after school. During morning announcements one day, a period where you usually spend your time looking out the window and counting all the falling dead brown leaves in the winter, the school choir had been invited to sing the school anthem before Sports Day. There was a voice that stood apart from the rest. It was a male tenor, whose voice was soft and lyrical, a bright angelic tone following his words and painting it with a soothing harmony. You were immediately captivated, because not only was this your first exposure to real raw talent in the school but also because of the hypnotic beauty to the voice. You immediately found yourself wanting to know who it belonged to, and with a little eavesdropping of your classmates, you found out that it belonged to a mister “Jungkook,” according to Hair Spray Helmet and her minions Excessive Lip Gloss Applier and Overplucked Eyebrows, who all sighed dreamily as they fawned over him.

To your dismay, Jungkook was not only talented but also exceedingly attractive. The male would always wear either a gray or black Comme Des Garcons hoodie under his school jacket and occasionally have a red slouchy beanie perched on his head, in a devastating combination of prep and rockstar. His black gauges and staple wheat colored Timberlands were all it really took to cement your infatuation with him. And as a teenage girl with no family, who had to deal with the struggles of an idol trainee, you would take whatever small joys you would find wherever you could find them.

Today Jungkook was later than usual and as the first warning bell rang, you found yourself worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, wondering if you should already head into class to avoid getting a penalty mark on your record. As you had finally made up your mind, he ran past you, almost barreling you down as he tugged a much shorter girl behind him. The female looked fragile and angelic, probably the most beautiful person you had ever seen, excluding Jungkook but he was a male. You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood and swallowing it down, you found your gaze hardening in their direction as you made your own way to homeroom, which you were now late to thanks to him.

Fifteen minutes ago, when Jungkook was by his sister’s side and not waiting for his wife to come out of the restroom, he had been congratulating his sister for how well her marriage had been going, only two years in. His sister deserved happiness and she had found it with Jimin and their daughter in their new home. The pair had moved to the States before Jieun had been born as Jimin got an offer to be a Korean American pharmaceutical company’s COO.

“How’s your marriage going with Y/N, we’ve never had a moment alone where I could check in with you,” his sister asked, smiling as she absentmindedly fiddled around with the two row diamond encrusted band of her gold Harry Winston wedding ring. “I know it’s still in its early stages. But, you like her right? So it must be going more smoothly than mine and Jimin’s was at the beginning. And I’m really sorry I missed it.”

Jungkook painted his face with what he hoped was a believable look of happiness and contentment, he didn’t need his younger sister to worry over him. “We’re fine. Y/N is just really busy all the time. You know how she’s a producer at HYP.E, and ever since father has been giving me more and more responsibilities at the company I’ve been busy too. We’re fine, we just haven’t really been able to see each other too much. It’s fine ___, maybe we’ll do a vow renewal one day and you can be there for that.”

“Right of course, that must be why we’ve barely been able to see her this past week without her getting swept away only moments after,” his sister nodded, “A vow renewal, that sounds nice.” Her smile looked a little forced after his answer, but she continued the conversation, “I have to thank you guys for getting Jieun so many presents. Frankly I think it’s a little much, but Jimin’s all for it. He thinks Jieun-ie deserves the world. But in between your presents that you dropped off at the house earlier and the shipments we’ve been getting the past two weeks from Y/N you both went all out. You really didn’t have to. She’s a growing toddler, spending thousands of dollars on shoes and dresses she can’t wear in two months is a little much.”

That must’ve been what you had gotten for his niece. Until this moment Jungkook hadn’t even known you would bother; he had thought to make up for what he thought would be your absence by signing off on gifts in both your names.

“Did Jieun enjoy the toys I dropped off?” Jungkook asked, rubbing his palms together. His wedding band glinted on his left hand, mocking him.

“That tricycle you dropped off terrifies Jimin. He doesn’t want to let her on it, he thinks it’s a death trap.”

“No, no,” Jungkook protested, “It’s completely safe, it just looks badass and is also electric. She’s gonna be the coolest kid in her neighborhood as soon as she learns to take more than two steps without falling and can actually ride that thing.”

“Jimin’s very protective you know,” his sister murmured, a soft smile on her lips, “I think he’ll be more open to the bike in a couple of years.”

“I don’t blame him,” muttered Jungkook, “I would be protective too, if I had so much I cared for.”

“Oh she’s asking for me,” his sister exclaimed, it seemed that even half a room away, her eyes were always on her daughter. “Do you want to come with me? She loves her Uncle Googie.”

Jungkook let out an amused chortle, “Nah it’s fine. I think Jimin’s threatened by how much she likes me.” He stiffened his jaw and put on theatrics, popping his collar in self-admiration.

“Don’t,” she protested. His sister clapped a hand over her mouth, covering up her accidental giggles, that kept easily slipping out. She had missed being able to converse and laugh with her brother, the one downside of moving away from home. “I don’t want him getting into another existential crisis that our children won’t like him. The nine months I was pregnant were hell.”

Jungkook’s responding chuckle was light and airy, “I’m just having some fun. You guys are great parents. Jieun is really lucky,” he admitted. “I think I am actually going to go look for Y/N, she’s missing out on all this familial fun. I’ll be sure to find you later when you’re getting Jieun ready for the cake cutting.”

“We’ll probably end up cutting the cake ourselves,” his sister admitted drily, “I don’t intend to have a knife in my one year old’s hand for longer than necessary. But, when you find Y/N, bring her around. We’d love to get a couple of pictures with the family to mark the occasion.”

But that was then. Right now, he was leaning against the gilded wallpaper that lined the walls of the hallway, a beautiful spread of cloudy white with cherubic angels that were adorned with golden halos and harps. There were multiple powder rooms that had been converted for public use, and you had spent way more time than he would’ve thought in the restroom. He was considering asking the next person to come by to ask you if you were alright in there since you weren’t answering his texts, but for now he would just have to scroll through the barrage of unread emails he still had sitting in his work inbox.

Meanwhile in the powder room, you were making use of the serpentine shaped tête-à-tête that lined the center of the room, providing seating for those who needed a break from the partying, you supposed. It worked out well for you actually; instead of having to sit over an open toilet in your seven thousand dollar dress, not even the fancy toilets in Chateau French le French had lids on them, scrolling through your phone, you could just do it out in the open where sink area had seats in the middle. The smell of linen and potpourri was overwhelming, but you’d do anything to wait out your husband until he got bored enough and left. You opened up the snow app and took a few pictures with the flower halo filter, sending them off to the HYP.E producer group chat you had with your work colleagues, individuals you’d found yourself to consider like friends.

Lee Sunmi Unni ♡: So cute Y/N

Min Yoongi (work): I thought this was a baby shower

Min Y/N: it’s my niece’s first birthday party

You scowled, your cousin was annoyingly and intentionally uncomprehending at times.

Min Yoongi (work): where is baby??

Min Yoongi (work): cake???

POTY Kim Namjoon: I know this is the fun group chat where we try to avoid talking about work things

POTY Kim Namjoon: Y/N you need to put out a fire for the new Stray Together album. They’ve suddenly decided that the second digital single won’t work after all. I’ve tried to help the situation, switching around the lyrics, adding more of a synthe vibe to the song. They hate it.

POTY Kim Namjoon: How soon do you think you could come back?

Finally. An excuse. You sighed in relief although you knew that redoing the second digital single completely from scratch would be a headache and a half this late in the game. But you would rather spend every moment of your waking and sleeping hours in the HYP.E building rather than spending another second in America with Jungkook, pretending you were the picture perfect newly wed couple.

Min Y/N: If you buy me the earliest redeye out of here, I can leave tonight and be back before noon tomorrow.

POTY Kim Namjoon: I’ll let the business manager know and handle the expense. See you soon Y/N.

POTY Kim Namjoon: Sorry for cutting the party short.

Min Y/N: anything for the company

Min Yoongi (work): ::eye roll::

After that message, you slid your cellphone back into the vividly dark blue clutch you had chosen for the evening. Taking a moment to tidy up your dress, the skirt had shifted around while you were comfortably ensconced in the cozy mustard yellow velvet seats of the tête-à-tête, you absentmindedly wondered if you should blot and powder your face, perhaps freshen up that pale pink MAC lipstick you had painting your lips. Anything to get through the tedious minutes at the party until Namjoon’s business manager emailed you the flight confirmation that had the departure time, you supposed.

Jungkook, that oblivious husband of yours had picked steak for both of your meals for the evening, even though you had abstained from eating red meat at the wedding, due to your sensitivity to red meat. It wasn’t as though you were a vegan but you did avoid eating meat when there were alternatives. There had been a fancy lobster option too, your favorite, but you supposed you would have to have to do with the vegetable medley and creamy potato and mushroom side. As a grumble overtook your stomach, you wondered what the cake flavor was to celebrate your niece’s first birthday. Could one year olds even eat cake? Were they still breastfed? It was a good thing you were never going to let Jungkook touch you. You weren’t completely sure that you would make a great mother. Jungkook and you as parents was a recipe for disaster, your children would end up needing lifelong therapy.

To your utter disappointment, and he knew it too if the instant dimming of his features were anything to go by when he saw the deep scowl painting your face, Jungkook was still there waiting for you when you finally made it out. He peeled himself away from the opposite wall, his hair looking a little softer and more rumpled deeper into the evening.

“Are you okay?” he asked, frowning. “You took a while in there, I was starting to worry. I think I even contemplated asking one of the ladies waiting in line to go check up on you.”

You scowled, your eyebrows turning into an angry vee, with flashing eyes you hissed, “I’m on my period, you asshole.”

Jungkook stilled in embarrassment, “O-oh, I’m s-sorry.” he stuttered, “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to humiliate you. I was just worried that you had gotten injured or you were in trouble or something.”

“In the ladies’ room?” you scoffed incredulously. You sniffed and picked up the pace, heading for the dining area; you knew Jungkook would just follow in your footsteps, like the well trained dog he thought himself to be.

Almost as though Jungkook had heard your condemning thoughts, he lengthened his strides so that he was half a step of you while walking to your left. “We’re sitting with my sister and her family,” he notified you.

He was attempting to take back control, not that you would hand it over so easily.

You stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway at his words. “Tell me something, Jeon, do you think I’m an idiot?”

Jungkook furrowed his brows at you, “Why would I think you were an idiot? Y/N, can you please stop picking fights with me? At least while we’re in public? I don’t understand what I ever did to earn your ire.”

You laughed hollowly, “You don’t, huh? Well let me educate you: I would prefer to live my life pretending you don’t exist, but somehow you seem to be against that idea.”

“Well, of course I am, Y/N. I’m attempting to make our marriage work,” Jungkook retorted.

You held your tongue and started to walk again, just another hour or so and you wouldn’t have to see him anymore, you comforted yourself. When you guys finally found yourselves in the dining area, Jungkook’s sister and her husband were gesturing at you two to go to their table which was placed on a podium that made their seats a little higher than everyone else’s and visible to the entirety of the room. Feeling spiteful, you pulled out your own chair before Jungkook could do it for you. The Parks, excluding the baby, stared at you two in bewilderment as Jungkook sullenly took his seat next to you. Your niece was belted into a high chair and let out a cry when she realized no one was paying attention to her.

“Jieun-ie what’s wrong? You want Appa to hold you?” Jimin asked. You thought he was four years older than Jungkook, though you were not entirely sure as he hadn’t attended your wedding and was usually at work when Jungkook would force you to visit his sister and niece, which would make him about five years older than you, if your math was correct. The male looked dashingly handsome in his head to toe black Prada ensemble, a skinny dark tie contrasted his white button down that only peeked out at the top behind his closed suit jacket. His honey blond hair was slicked away from his forehead revealing a gorgeous hairline. You admired his nerve, rocking bleached hair, dangly Chrome Hearts cross earrings that adorned his ears, and chunky silver rings lined his right hand, leaving his left empty except for its wedding band, two layers of yellow and white gold that complimented his wife's golden ring. Jimin didn’t play by the same rules that the corporate assholes in Korea did, even Jungkook had gotten rid of his gauges when he had accepted his position at Jeon Pharmaceuticals, and you thought it made him look badass. Your niece had lucked out with some pretty awesome parents when they were so rare in the circles that you all kept with.

“Abba no,” Jieun pouted, was that her name? You had honestly forgotten it. The toddler’s plump pale pink lips formed a little chick beak with every word she said as she attempted to enunciate to the best of her abilities.

“Appa,” Jimin said patiently, holding eye contact with Jieun. The tot’s face scrunched up and you felt like she was seconds away from a meltdown; if Jimin said the wrong thing one more time, it would be game over.

His wife sensed it too, which was why she immediately interrupted the silent war between father and daughter, “Or perhaps Jieun wants to have fun with someone new? She must be tired of us monopolizing her all the time, Jimin-ah. Jungkook oppa, would you like to hold her? Or you, unni?” she asked.

“M-Me?” you stuttered in surprise when everyone’s attention at the table went to you, “Um, maybe later when she’s a little older.”

“So, maybe, on her real birthday next Tuesday?” she said agreeably.

“May-Maybe,” you stammered. You didn’t even remember the last time you had held a child. Jieun was definitely the last child you were near, but before her, you didn’t think you had been around one since your cousin Sunye had given birth when you were in middle school.

“Jieun you wanna sit in Uncle Googie’s lap?” Jungkook asked the toddler, focusing his sparkling doe eyes on her. He stretched out his arms and to his delight, Jieun stretched hers out too, babbling “Googie, Googie,” as she stared, enraptured at her uncle.

His sister helped remove her from the high chair so that she could sit comfortably in Jungkook’s arms as the table waited for the servers to come around. But before they did, Jimin stood up and held out a hand to help his wife up so they could thank everyone for coming and give a short toast to their daughter.

When the waiter put the filet mignon in front of you, you sighed glumly and wondered if you had past your threshold of wine for the evening. Sitting in the powder room had sobered you a bit, but you knew that you were going to have a massive hangover the next day. Though Jungkook was distracted with Jieun, it appeared that your sister-in-law had noticed that you were moving your food around with your fork, not really eating anything.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, “Is the filet mignon not cooked to your liking?”

“I don’t really eat red meat,” you admitted, “I have a sensitivity to it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” she worried, “We had vegetarian options too. Would you like me to go to the kitchen and ask the chef if he can wrestle up something for you? I don’t want you to go hungry.”

You smiled wanly, “It’s fine ___, I have to fly out later tonight to catch a flight back home to put out some fires at work. I’ll eat something in the waiting area or in flight.”

You felt Jungkook turn around, his stare burning through you, but you refused to acknowledge him. What did he care if you were going to South Korea early? It wasn’t as thought you two slept in the same bed or kept the same schedule.

“That could be hours from now,” his sister fretted, “Switch plates with me, Y/N. I got the lobster if you enjoy seafood. I had to give up being vegetarian during my pregnancy due to my anemia, and you know, I still struggle with my iron levels, the steak will be good for me.There’s nothing like a well done steak to compliment such an important occasion.”

“Um okay,” you said hesitantly. There was no way you were going to eat your plate and you had been thinking about the lobster all night. Your sister-in-law didn’t look too sad over exchanging plates either. You thought nothing of the exchange, so focused were you on enjoying your meal and avoiding the table’s conversation until she went to talk to the caterers about the cake and Jimin deserted the table, taking Jieun from Jungkook’s arms, to make his rounds as the host, ensuring that everyone was enjoying their meals and interacting with the guest of honor.

“Why did you do that,” Jungkook asked coldly, “You could have told me you didn’t like red meat when I was signing the RSVP. Look at their plates, she hasn’t touched the beef at all.”

You looked up from where you were dipping a piece of lobster into the delicious butter sauce, “You never asked me. You assumed what I wanted, just like you always assumed what I wanted. We had steak for our wedding luncheon too. I never ate a bite of it. But of course you never noticed it.”

There was a tiny pinprick of guilt in your gut when you noticed that her plate had been pushed towards her husband’s. Jimin had finished his filet it appeared, and was trying to help his wife with hers so no food was wasted. There was a piece of steak still speared to her fork and you noticed that her knife was lying next to where she had made the cut into the filet mignon. The center of the meat had a reddish hue to it. You blinked, it was medium rare. Hadn’t ___ said she was looking forward to eating your well-done steak? Ah, there it was: the deepening remorse you had been desperately trying to avoid earlier. You suddenly realized that she must have gone to the caterer’s not only to talk about the cake cutting time but also because she was famished and wanted a little something to nibble on.

“It’s not my fault,” you sniffed callously, “___ offered it to me.” You were not going to let Jungkook blame this on you.

“You’re leaving tonight,” he asked.

“I am not talking about this with you right now,” you spat, “we’re at a party.”

Jungkook’s jaw hardened until there was a stubborn set to it, his lips were pressed tightly together, that little mole underneath his bottom lip contrasting sharply with his pale skin, “I am not letting this go, Y/N, you are not leaving before we talk about this, even if the conversation has to take place in the car before you’re dropped off at the airport.”

“It would be more convenient for you to ride home with your sister’s family. Haven’t they offered you a room while you stick around for Jieun’s actual birthday?” you drawled, “you’re only wasting your time if you get into the car with me, Jeon.”

Jungkook glowered, a lock of his dark hair falling over his eyes, “Actually no it wouldn’t be, because you turned down their offer to house us and I couldn’t stay with them, leaving my new wife in a hotel by herself, unless I wanted them to think that my marriage was already in trouble. Did you forget the person you are sharing that large suite at the Ritz-Carlton with?”

You let out a faint snort, “Our marriage is in trouble. By the way did I tell you? I want a divorce.” You laughed again mockingly, “Although, it’s never been consummated, so truly we should really be seeking an annulment. But I doubt you want that news to get out. So a divorce, it is. I’m tired of this bullshit, I’ll deal with whatever fallout there is, after the fact. I refuse to be shackled to you any longer,” you spewed venomously.

Jungkook stared at you; doe eyes giant in their surprise, mouth gaping in shock with bunny teeth visible in between thinned lips. Before he could so much as retort, the host’s table was suddenly full again with the Parks presence.

“Who wants to eat some cake?” Jimin asked, holding a sheathed knife adorned with a bow in his hand. Two waiters were pushing a multi-tiered rustic cake adorned with fruit and bare of frosting on the sides. A naked cake you scowled, how disgusting. Why would they make a child eat a boring concoction of dry vanilla chiffon, probably sour unripe fruit, and deflating whipped cream? Where was the rich german chocolate and fudge frosting that you, yourself used to yearn for as a child and did so even now.

“Actually,” you interrupted, patting your mouth dry with a napkin and standing up, “I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave a little earlier than expected. I’m sure I’ll have another opportunity to enjoy cake with you all in the future.”

“Uh, yes of course,” your sister-in-law faltered, she looked in between you and Jungkook for answers, trying to catch either of your eyes, but you knew she would not gain any insight, definitely not from you and not now from Jungkook. She would have to at least wait until after the guests had left at the very earliest, for a moment when she could have a bit of privacy with her brother.

“Would you two be a dear and drive him home after the party? Oh actually,” you mused, in seemingly deep thought, “Could you two take him home with you, I’d feel awfully guilty about Jungkook staying all alone in our giant hotel room after I’ve left.”

“Yes, of course,” agreed ___. “Jungkook oppa, spend the rest of your time here in our home! Jieun would love to get to spend more time with you before you had to leave for Korea. And you know, I would love it too.”

“Well it looks like that’s settled,” you fixed a giant fake smile on your face, “You all have to get together with us the next time you’re back in the country. Saengil chukhahaeyo, Jieun-ie. Bye bye, sweetheart.” Your farewell was for the darling child and Jungkook knew it from the frown that got deeper and darker, although your sister-in-law and her husband would just think that you were doting on your husband.

You left without looking back although you knew that despite you getting further and further with each step of your nude Louboutins, Jungkook’s hard glare to your back never faltered.

[eight-ish years ago]

Jungkook hated university. His parents had turned down his offers at Seoul National, Korea, and Yonsei universities after the half of dozen acceptances that he had gotten from schools abroad. The most prestigious of the batch? Stanford University, where Jungkook had gotten into the business program, which had a heavy conversion rate of students then getting into the university’s MBA program for graduate school. As the son of the CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in South Korea, and soon of all the four tiger countries if the expansion went as his father planned, Jungkook was expected to follow in his footsteps. After flying through his school courses at an accelerated rate, he was expected to move back to Seoul and take over the mantle at the company, just like his father wanted. His father would remain on the board of directors to keep Jungkook firmly under his thumb, but the plan was to have Jungkook take over the CEO position before he turned twenty-five.

But he hated university so vehemently. Getting a 110 on his TOEFL, acing his SATs, and even being on International Baccalaureate hadn’t really helped Jungkook understand the nuances of English language outside of an academic setting. And even though he understood 80-85% of what his classmates were saying to him, he didn’t always understand the slang, which would leave him scratching his head. Stanford undergrads did not speak the way his English tutor did, but then again the man had been a middle-aged Oxford graduate with a PhD in British Literature, who had moved to Korea after having a midlife crisis that had him chasing Asian women half his age in his spare time.

His roommates were also kind of mean, although Jungkook wasn’t entirely certain if it was intentional or not. They talked too fast and when he would try to converse with them, they would stare at him blankly, making Jungkook stammer into a stop, self-conscious of his accent.

He didn’t know why they hated him so much. At first he had thought it was racism, but then Jungkook had realized that one of them was an engineering student who had a full-ride scholarship and the other was a firmly middle class economics major that had taken out excessive student loans to attend Stanford. So in his attempt to be a more understanding roommate, sympathetic to their socioeconomic struggles, Jungkook had started offering them meals out on his dime or trips to San Francisco, where Jungkook would drive them and pay for everything they did. If anything however, that had just made the resentment build even more. Jungkook seemed to have hurt their pride.

Outside of the cold front that existed in his dorm suite, Jungkook was struggling a bit with his courses. He liked math the best because it was all numbers, no words. Nothing could get lost in translation there; there was nothing he could possibly misinterpret. But the first essay he had written, he had gotten back with an angry red C+ on the front. He had been horrified; in all his IB courses he had never once gotten anything less than a 92%. He hadn’t thought that his high school teachers had ever graded him more leniently. He had always done well in the written portions of his standardized tests too. But this professor who he was dealing with, was unaccommodating, even when Jungkook went to every single office hour. He was just about to start pulling his hair out in frustration. The professor didn’t understand how determined Jungkook was to do well in this class; he also didn’t understand what would happen to Jungkook if he didn’t do well in this class.

Sighing, Jungkook folded up his Samsung Galaxy Book, lunch time was close to ending and then the dining halls would be closed for two hours to prepare for dinner. He wasn’t really in the mood to walk into town to grab something to eat either. He got up from his desk and stretched, their dorm had the worst natural lighting in all of the residential halls, with all of its windows facing another six story building that felt like it was only ten feet away.

He grabbed his key card because one time he had forgotten it, and instead of responding to his texts and letting him into the room, one of his roommates had taken advantage of the fact that Jungkook wouldn’t be able to get in, by having a girl over. Jungkook had ended up needing to ask the floor’s residential advisor to let him in with the master key. The fine he had to pay was nothing to Jungkook, who kept getting weekly deposits to his account from his parents. But the RA had opened the door and the first thing they both could smell was the musty scent of sex, and then as Jungkook walked into the shoebox room, he saw his roommate having sex with a girl on the bottom bunk. The girl had screamed and ran out, wrapping her body with his roommate’s sheets, past Jungkook and the RA who glowered at both offenders and said his roommate and the girl would be getting written up for having the opposite gender in the room and being in the room of the opposite gender with the door closed, just adding to the list of reasons that Jungkook’s roommates hated him.

At least the weather was nice today, he thought, as he walked up the hill to the Stern dining hall. Jungkook was getting really tired of American food; he would do anything for some of his mom’s kimchi and samgaetang right now. The last time he had been able to enjoy Korean food had been the farewell breakfast his mother had prepared for him before his plane ride to San Jose International Airport. He hadn’t ventured out to find the Bay Area’s Koreatown yet for two reasons: the first, he genuinely did not think he would get homesick so fast and the second, he was wary of interacting with NorCal’s Korean population because everyone knew everyone and he didn’t want any form of gossip or news about him getting back to his parents besides what he told them on his weekly phone calls home.

It was the same reason why a month into the fall quarter, Jungkook was still relatively friendless besides the one or two friends he had made for each lecture to study together. His classmates didn’t generally hang out with him outside of that, though he had been making attempts to get closer, and he thought that sometimes it was succeeding. He found out that Bambam liked to play Overwatch like he did and they had talked about playing together sometime, although they hadn’t yet. There was a ready-made group of friends for him in the form of other Korean international students that were in the same circles as him and his family but moving to California was a breath of fresh air and Jungkook didn’t want to restrain himself any more than he had to. But making friends with complete strangers, even when he so desperately wanted to, was much harder, especially when Jungkook was so shy and an introvert.

He grabbed a tray inside of Stern, putting a heavily stacked cheeseburger on it, grabbing a Caesar salad side dish, and some garlic parmesan shoestring fries, he was ready to sit down. Ah, another conundrum, the dining halls were always full of students, with more waiting to be let in, so you would always have to sit with strangers. No one really seemed to mind when Jungkook asked if he could join their tables, but Jungkook preferred empty tables or ones with just one other occupant, it made him feel less like an outsider that was encroaching on a friend group.

“Can I sit here?” Jungkook asked, standing in front of those tiny tables that sat two. The person sitting in the other chair was wearing a monochromatic set of sweats in mustard yellow. He had a half eaten burrito bowl in front of him and was deeply immersed in the book that he was reading. The cover was a soothing amalgamation of natural browns and green, a black bowler hat was levitating above a sepia toned landscape that had a building in the distance. Jungkook squinted trying to make out the title, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, huh.

The male looked up, using his index finger to save his place, “Sure go ahead.”

The two ate in relative silence although Jungkook’s neighbor was reading more so than eating, really. But at one point, he must’ve reached the point he was trying to read to, because he put down the book and returned to his burrito bowl with vigor, his eyes staring at Jungkook, burning holes through him until he decided to look up and acknowledge.

“Can I ask you something?” the man asked.

“Um sure,” stammered Jungkook nervously, he had a feeling that the male was not a freshman like he was, with how relaxed he looked in the dining hall, he looked like he belonged at Stanford unlike Jungkook.

“Do you like Korean food?” he asked, “The food here makes me want to gag, but I had to meet up with my group for a project, and couldn’t eat anything for hours. I felt like I was going to faint. There was no way I could make it anywhere further than here without refueling.”

“Um yes,” Jungkook replied, he had been eating around his burger, avoiding the heavily sauce drenched parts. He had no idea what ingredients made up the reddish white sauce but it was disgusting.

“Cool, you wanna go into Ktown for dinner?” he asked, “I know this great soup place that’s dirt cheap. We all gotta save money somehow.”

Jungkook stared at him, dirt cheap? He didn’t know Jungkook was Jeon Jungkook; he didn’t know Jungkook was rich. “How did you know I was Korean?” he asked instead.

“I didn’t,” he shrugged, “I try not to guess where someone is from. You just looked like someone who would enjoy eating more than just American food day after day. Also, you’ve barely touched your meal.”

The salad was worse than the burger and the fries had tasted old and stale, “Um okay, we can go to dinner,” Jungkook eagerly agreed, “Or we could even go now, unless you’re busy.”

“No I’m fine, let’s go,” he said standing up with his tray, ready to dispose of everything, “My name is Namjoon by the way. Kim Namjoon.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” Jungkook replied, also standing up, watching carefully to see if Namjoon’s face would change as he suddenly realized what family Jungkook was related to. Nothing changed however, maybe Namjoon was Korean American, thought Jungkook, hoping hard he wouldn’t have to lose his new friend.

Namjoon laughed sheepishly, “So here’s the thing about me, I don’t drive and I think the bus won’t be here for another hour or so, so how about we take some bikes?”

Jungkook held his tongue, should he offer up his car? But then sophisticated worldly Namjoon would know that Jungkook was rich and start forming certain impressions of him.

As Jungkook stood there contemplating, Namjoon interrupted his thoughts, “Yeah sorry, it’s not really hyung-like of me to not have a car but I’ll pay for your bike.”

“I guess then I’ll pay for our meals,” offered Jungkook.

“No, I invited you, it’s my treat.”

“But hyung﹣”

When you got off the plane, without even changing, your studio in the HYP.E building was the first place you went. There were a few eyebrows raised amongst the other employees as they saw you walking into the office at ten in the morning dressed to the nines in your fancy Alexander McQueen gown, but they said nothing and you were able to ignore them as you got into the elevator.

Your computer took longer to boot up than you would have liked, but when you were finally able to have the file open, listening over the song you were forced to admit to yourself that there was indeed something lacking about it. The beat was too generic, too safe so to speak. You had no idea how to fix it without looking at Namjoon’s notes.

Fortunately, the man had emailed you a list of things that everything Stray Together’s main team had taken issue with for the second single. You looked over the lyrics for “God’s Hour,” the songwriting seemed to be a little too harsh for the disco and dance beat that was underlying it. The upbeatness of the song was already there and the lyrics seemed to encourage an intense rise to action too, but maybe there needed to be more instruments, a drum beat thrown under the rapid fire pace of Felix’s rapping, more synthe when Taehyun used his honey vocals. Perhaps you needed to lean more into the R&B vibe, play a little more into the hip-hop that the lyrics seemed to beg for, make it less ethereal and disco. The energy would have to remain the same however, this song was nothing if not a pumped up dance track.

You were hunched over the desk for hours, working on the song until you noticed that it was almost two in the afternoon on the blinking neon numbers of your digital wall clock. It was a gift from Glitzy, the rookie girl group under HYP.E; you thought it came from their season’s greetings package this year but you weren’t too sure. You hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since you’d inhaled a small bag of cashews right before your plane had landed. Your stomach was growling and letting its presence known.

Where was your intern? Surely the shuffling of the high school and college age interns between departments and producers hadn’t happened yet. It was still the spring, the summer batch hadn’t come in yet. You didn’t want to move, you wish someone else was here to take care of the smaller menial tasks for you. You definitely needed a large to-go cup of scalding black coffee and perhaps you could order a delivery of your favorite vegan ramen from that Japanese place three blocks away.

Your finger was hovering over the submit order page of the delivery app when your door got unceremoniously flung open. Yoongi flopped over the small two seat sofa you had along the back wall for when artists need to come in your studio to work with you, or there are more than three people in the room.

“Can I help you?” you asked, staring at your cousin. He was a grown man, of thirty-one (you had just celebrated his birthday last month) and he was throwing a tantrum in your room like a child.

Yoongi allowed himself a few more moments of flinging his arms around and kicking his feet before he covered his face with one of the cushions and screamed loudly into it. The cushion, a cute one of a blue koala, courtesy of a partnership Namjoon had had with LINE, was still on his face when he grumbled against it, “upper management wants the idols to have more involvement with the album. Says it doesn’t feel raw enough because they’ve barely done anything on the creative side of things.”

You could have been a bitch and played the devil’s advocate, going against your cousin and saying mockingly, ‘Well isn’t that good? The artists should play a role on the producing side.” But you knew what Yoongi meant. Most of the songs were around 70-80% complete, they just needed a couple of finishing touches, letting the idols mess around with them now could make everything have to go back to the drawing board and start afresh if any of the songs got any worse after their participation.

“Bang Chan was heavily involved with the songwriting for God’s Hour,” you offered, “Why don’t you let them work on their songwriting. Or you could do what I do. I just have Soobin sit in the room with me while I work on their album. He offers suggestions and I try them out. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t but it’s enough to get him listed on the credits as a producer.”

Yoongi sneered, “Ah yes, why don’t I have a bunch of teenagers just consolidate in my tiny ass studio and have them give me suggestions. What could possibly go wrong when Beomgyu and Minho are in the same room.”

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t be so disagreeably obtuse. You know what I meant. Get Yeonjun or Jisung to do something.”

“Hmph,” sniffed Yoongi, “Why are you still wearing that? You should go change.”

You glared at him but he was right; it had been bothersome getting your feet pinched by your red bottom high heels and though the dress was made of a comfortable material, it’s shape didn’t allow you to have a wide range of motion. You went to the invisible cabinets that lined one of the walls of your windowless studio. You usually kept a change of clothes or two due to the amount of time you spent at the company. You even slept here when you were particularly in the zone.

“I’ll be back, but maybe you won’t be when I am,” you rudely suggested, urging him to silently leave.

“Or maybe I will,” Yoongi grunted, tossing the pillow over his head again. His long legs were hanging over the sofa’s arms so you took the chance to kick his shins as you passed.

You stopped outside the door, your phone in your hand. You couldn’t remember if you had actually submitted the order to the restaurant and were trying to check it when you overheard the conversation that was flowing towards your direction from the two people that were walking down the hall.

“Ah Ryujin, you really got the bottom of the barrel this time for concepts didn’t you?” tutted Yun Benzo, one third of CEOs of the company, and in your opinion the most irredeemable and misogynistic one.

“Ah, sajangnim, I don’t think that,” Ryujin commented politely, “The company always picks great concepts for every comeback, I’m very thankful.”

“Still,” murmured Benzo, “You look horrible, that hair is too short. You look like your boyfriend broke up with you after leading you on with the promise of marriage for years. It looks like a poorly executed revenge cut.”

“Ah, well I don’t know about that, I think I pull off short hair relatively well,” Ryujin effused, trying hard to balance her tone between humility and confidence, striving to sound charming enough to not be seen as conceited by this sexist prick.

They were passing you when you blurted, “Hello sajangnim, Ryujin. Is that your new look for the mini album? It really suits you.”

“Oh unni! You’re back!” cheered Ryujin, “Will you be watching our countdown stage?”

“Of course I will,” you assented, “I worked hard on that album.”

Benzo looked you up and down icily, “I don’t know if you should be taking beauty advice from her. Ryujin, ask your coordinators and stylists if you can get extensions for that big stage.”

The fake smile on your face froze and you hugged the bag with your change of clothes. “You know I think I actually forgot something in my studio. It was good seeing you both,” you inclined your head in a show of respect before turning back to the door.

Yoongi looked up at surprise, “That was fast, how did you﹣oh,” he abruptly trailed of his train of thought, noticing that you were still in the same clothes.

“I forgot something,” you insisted. And then you walked over to your table where you had ceramic containers holding copious amounts of stationery. Your fingers looped through the holes of the scissors you had left in your pencil holder and always had forgotten to take back home. Well, it would now become useful again.

Yoongi’s eyes squinted in confusion but he said nothing as you made your way to the door again.

In the ladies' room, you changed into your oversized baby blue sweater and comfy Off-White cream track pants, sliding your Louboutin heels off one by one so you could pull up white ankle socks on each foot before sliding them into a pair of indigo Nike Blazer ‘77s. The corkscrew design, accents of baby blue, and floral embroidery softened your look but your stance was threatening as you stood in front of the sink and stared at the mirror across from you. Raising the scissors in your right hand to the opposite side of your hair, you snipped off a thick section of the hair held in your left hand. For the second time in your life, you were attacking your hair with scissors because of a man. As the dark locks of hair collected in the sink, you couldn’t find an ounce of regret within you.

After a final bit of finagling, you found yourself appeased with the length of your hair, it was a little longer than chin length and was actually very symmetrical all the way around, even in the back. It made you feel like a weight had been lifted off your chest, getting rid of all that hair you had to grow out for the wedding and photos, the hair that you had to keep even after getting married just because it made you look softer and more feminine, because it was more wifely.

You carded your fingers through your hair, raking it back so that it wouldn’t fall into your face, once you were satisfied with the way it looked, you gathered up all the loose hair and threw them away in the trash bin under the paper towel dispenser, slightly surprised that no one had come and interrupted you in the midst of your impromptu decision when every ladies’ room in HYP.E saw a lot of heavy traffic. Folding your dress over your arm and holding your nude pumps by their backs in your other hand, you were finally ready to leave. You pushed your back against the door to have it open and ducked out, inhaling sharply when you saw the two gentlemen walking in your direction.

A scowl took over your whole face when you noticed the white plastic generic ‘Thank You’ bag, embossed with red letters in one of their hands. An uneasiness settled in your stomach as the thought that it was probably your food hit you. Sighing, you made your way to them, deciding to pick the battle field and have the fight be on your terms.

“Oh Y/N, there you are,” Namjoon grinned, his dimple poking into his cheek as a giant smile took over his entire face. “Jungkook and I were at Tokkijung for a meal, we noticed an order getting ready to be delivered to the office while we were paying and it turned out to be yours. What luck, right?”

“What luck indeed,” you groused sarcastically, tucking one of your short new locks of hair behind an ear.

Jungkook was damn near hugging the three styrofoam boxes in the bag to his chest when his eyes shot to meet yours at your words. He still couldn’t believe the change in you﹣it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he had last seen you and since then you had managed to chop more than two thirds of your hair off. But still, it looked good on you, almost surprising was the fact that it suited you so well. The blunt cut sharpened your features making you look like a coquettish elven creature. Jungkook’s eyes were raking over your face, taking in every feature before they flitted over the rest of you.

You looked so goddamn good he was almost losing his mind with how quickly his gut filled with lust, his collar suddenly feeling suffocating, and his blood rushing straight down. “I decided to add more food to your order,” Jungkook admitted, “I wasn’t sure if you had really gotten a chance to eat in between the party yesterday and now. I thought we could talk while you ate, and if it’s too much for you, I could help you finish it.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as you reached out for the bag, “It’s okay, I’m really busy today you don’t have to join me. It’s been a day from hell, the less said about it the better.”

Jungkook evaded your hand, stepping back and holding the food closer to his chest, “I don’t mind, I’ll be quiet as a mouse. You can do your thing; I won’t bother you. I’ve hung out at Namjoon’s studio plenty of times.”

“I’m surprised you came back so quickly,” you opined, “What about your niece’s actual birthday.”

“I don’t know that Jieun can tell time yet. I imagine that she thinks her life must either be one long endless day or that she’s trapped in some sort of a Groundhog Day situation with no way out. She won’t miss me. Her attention span is very short,” he snorted thinking of her fondly, “My sister and Jimin hyung were understanding. I don’t think I should be gone from the company so long in the future, so I have to thank you for playing a role in how early I returned.”

“And yet you’re here,” you mumbled under your breath. Namjoon didn’t hear you but Jungkook did, the smile on his face becoming more stilted, his eyes hardening with its bright sheen dulling.

“Hyung, I’ll see you soon,” Jungkook piped up, “I don’t want to waste so much of my darling wife’s time out in the hall when she could be in her studio. We’ll be going now.”

“Of course,” Namjoon looked between you both and seemed to have finally noticed your new ‘do, “Wow, Y/N that haircut looks amazing, American hairdressers are something else huh?”

“Hmm,” you hummed blasély, shrugging. Jungkook’s scowl deepened since he wasn’t in on the secret as well. As Namjoon waved farewell to the two of you, you took off, knowing that Jungkook would follow in your footsteps and not leave you be.

When you reached your room, you glared at the entrance, an acrylic neon sign saying “L.8 Universe” in cursive letters lit up by ice blue light the only decoration on it. Jungkook was an unignorable presence at your back, breathing down your neck ﹣figuratively, your soon-to-be ex-husband was too well-mannered to actually huff at your back. With a sigh, you opened the door just a hairbreadth to duck half your body in and check whether or not your cousin was still there. To your disappointment he was not, though he could have saved you from this pointless conversation about whether or not your marriage could be saved that Jungkook had aimed to corner you into.

You sighed heavily before reluctantly opening the door wider and walking in completely, Jungkook following so quickly in your footsteps that he was almost stepping on your heels.

Sitting down on your ergonomic Sidiz Spiderman office chair, you rotated it around so you faced Jungkook who was putting down your food on the glass coffee table. To your constant state of utter dismay, when it came to him, the male looked regrettably good in his distressed light blue jeans that were hugging the length of his legs in a very becoming manner, revealing the sun-kissed skin of his knees through the giant holes he had worn into them.

The yellow button down he had tucked into his jeans with the sleeves rolled up on made him appear casual yet put together and a black belt was wrapped around his waist, completing the ensemble. His right wrist shone with his two-toned gold and silver Rolex. He even had the audacity to still be wearing his wedding ring, although you had to admit you had forgotten to take off yours, yourself. The draining effects of a fourteen hour flight were nowhere to be seen on his face, in contrast, you were looking worse for wear with your pinched dehydrated skin and chapped lips.

“Jungkook why are you here?” you demanded tiredly, “Did you think that chasing me down would get me to change my mind? Jungkook I don’t care about the consequences. I don’t care about what clauses of the prenup we’ll be breaking by divorcing so quickly. I just want to be free.”

“You are so selfish Y/N,” Jungkook blurted, suddenly. He had always tried his best to be civil with you although you had revealed your distaste for him quite early on into the marriage. “This doesn’t just affect you. I’ll be punished too. And I’ll be damned if I have to reap the consequences for something you sowed. I won’t make this easy for you Y/N. Hear me out before you go through this and make things worse for both of us because I will fight you every step of the way.��

“What do you want Jungkook? Compensation? Fine, it's yours, it’ll have to be a yearly installment because I don’t have that much in liquid, but I’ll get you your money. I don’t want to be married to you. Why is it so hard for you to understand?!”

“You don’t even know me, Y/N,” Jungkook retorted angrily.

“I don’t want to get to know you,” you rolled your eyes. You played around with your wedding band. It was so ugly, not like anything you would have ever picked out for yourself. But you had refused to participate in any of the planning for the wedding, so in the end your mother had been the one to pick out your ring and she had chosen the most gaudy, obnoxious, and chunky piece of bling you had ever seen.

“Don’t you think I deserve better than this?” Jungkook questioned, using his pinky to furiously brush back his bangs.

“Sure,” you agreed easily, “You deserve better than me. Let me divorce you so you can be on your way to a new wife. Perhaps, someone more congenial and straight out of Stepford who would delight in being the picture-perfect Mrs. Jeon.”

“I don’t want to deal with a new wife,” Jungkook grumbled. “Why can’t you just﹣”

“Why can’t I just what?” you parroted, trying your best to oppose Jungkook at every turn..

Jungkook exhaled loudly in frustration, “Stop being so contentious, Y/N, we’re both in the same boat.”

Your glare turned venomous as you thought to yourself, no we really aren’t.

“Y/N please,” Jungkook pleaded, “Just one year. One year more from this date and then we can go separately in our different paths. Just give us a chance. I’m not asking for love, Y/N, you can’t ruin my life over this.”

You narrowed your eyes at Jungkook, glaring at him beadily, “And if I want to ruin your life? I see no reason to continue to stand by you.”

“Don’t pretend ﹣don’t pretend you are a bad person,” Jungkook groaned in frustration, “Just come on, Y/N, what’s one year of your life to you?”

So much, you thought mutinously, especially when I have to give it up to you.

“You don’t know what I’m like when I’m wronged,” Jungkook blurted out, his voice shaky with how anxious he was that you were still going to refuse after it all, “You don’t know what I’ll do to ruin your life and make sure that you end up just as miserable as me.”

But you already were familiar with the ways that Jungkook could destroy you and everything you built. You scrunched your eyes shut as the telltale pinpricks of pain that hinted at a migraine began to flood your head. You were so tired of everything. But, what if you could bargain with him, you thought desperately.

“One year, Jeon?” you murmured, a lethal tone lining your voice.

“Just one,” Jungkook acceded frantically.

“And in return do you promise that when it’s over we will finally, completely be out of each other’s lives?” you asked, “Like we don’t exist for each other?”

Jungkook’s large doe eyes widened even more in his bewilderment, “If that’s what you want,” he agreed hesitantly.

“One year, Jeon,” you conceded, “I’ll be counting down the days.”

“Not more than I am,” Jungkook replied, lying straight through his gritted teeth.

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