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ppangjae · 5 years

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CUTS HEAL IN TIME | 01

Summary. Jung Jaehyun is the man every mother would want their daughter to have. He has everything you would ever want in a guy; a beautiful charm, a handsome face, a successful business, and an overflow of money. While Jaehyun has everything he needs, he can’t seem to get what he truly wants. And what he truly wants is a woman he’s been in love with for years. But she’s getting married to someone that’s not him. To make things worse, she’s even asked for his help in planning her wedding.

→ or, alternatively: Jung Jaehyun thinks the love of his life is his long lost childhood friend. But that’s only what he thinks.

Word Count. 9.5k+ words (someone please stop me)

Genre. fluff, angst, light smut (in the last part!) + ceo!jaehyun and long lost childhood friend!au (this addition was last minute, in case you were wondering)

author’s note. i’m happy that the first part is out! since the whole one shot is roughly 20k words, i decided to split it into two parts. this will sort of benefit mobile readers. the second (and final) part will be posted soon, i just need to make final touches and edits before it’s good to go. and before this author’s note gets longer than it should, i highly suggest listening to Cuts Heal in Time by Mac Ayres while reading this!

part 01 | part 02 (coming soon!)

When people meet Jaehyun for the first time, he gets one of four common questions:

How does it feel to be one of the top CEOs in South Korea?

How does it feel to be a billionaire architect in the making?

Are you single? I know someone you might be interested in!

When are you planning on settling down? Are you planning on getting married soon?

Jaehyun is all about first impressions. In fact, because of his luxurious life, people’s first impressions of him are already made up. He’s one of the top CEOs in the country, a billionaire architect in the making, and a good-looking bachelor. But all of this is a product of his hard work. He has been running the family business ever since his father retired. His business is only going up from here. Having everything he needs is an understatement. He has more than what he needs.

But he can’t get what he wants. He wants to fill up the empty spot in his heart. Sure, he’s a good-looking bachelor, but that’s because he can’t bring himself to pursue the woman he’s been in love with for half of his life. What he was is her, and once he has her, his life is considered complete. But that doesn’t happen overnight, and that doesn’t happen as easily as he thinks.

After all, you can’t have everything you want.

BREAKING NEWS: Song Misun of Song Associates is engaged to Kim Junhwa of Kim Garments.

Jaehyun grabs the remote and immediately turns the widescreen TV off. He couldn’t bear listening to the news anchor’s voice rambling on and on about the engagement. But even with the TV shut off, he can still hear the words engagement and Song Misun echoing and chanting in his head like a mantra. But in an instant, the voices in his head are cut off by a soft, gentle voice.

“Mr. Jung, would you like a cup of coffee?”

As he turns around and tosses the remote onto his desk, he spots you, his personal secretary, standing at the door. You wait patiently for his answer while hugging the daily planner to your chest. He purses his lips into a tight line and his eyebrows start to knit together. You internally sigh, making note of how your boss is definitely not in a good mood today.

“Maybe a cup of coffee will help,” he replies after some thought and takes a seat at his desk.

You muster up a smile because it’s all you could do. “I’ll be right back with your coffee then, sir.”

As you walk through the HR department, you stop in front of one of the cubicles. You lean against the frame of the cubicle to see Johnny typing away on his computer. Stuck around the perimeter of his computer screen are a collection of polaroid pictures of him and his younger brother Mark, both of you sipping cups of coffee at cafes, and candid photos you took of him.

A warm smile appears on your face. Clearing your throat to catch his attention, he stops typing to crack his knuckles and turns around to face you.

“Nice to see you on this lovely morning,” he greets you while wiggling his eyebrows. He nods his head at the door to Mr. Jung’s office. “Is he in a good mood today?”

You sigh sadly while shaking your head. “I don’t think so. He might ask me to work overtime, so I might have to cancel our plans tonight. The whole merge with the Park’s is making me busier than usual.”

“Yeah, I could tell. I might have to cancel too. A new intern is coming this afternoon and I have to train him. God knows how long that will take.” He groans and rubs at his temples as if it’ll make his stress disappear. “By the way, any updates on that childhood friend you’re looking for?”

Childhood friend. A warm smile unknowingly spreads across your lips. Johnny stares at you as your face lights up at the mention of a special person whom you know nothing about. It is what it is. A childhood friend. This childhood friend remains a part of your childhood memories, but with a sudden move to the city, the little boy in your childhood pictures remain nothing but a childhood memory. However, after a heart-wrenching breakup that left you hopeless, you decided to find him, your childhood friend.

“No updates so far. I’m not quite sure where to start. All I have of him are childhood pictures.” You reply as a frown begins to settle on your face. Johnny pouts cutely and your frown is replaced with a small smile. “But I’ll find him somehow.”

He smiles, “I’m sure you’ll find him somehow. He might be closer than you think.”

“I hope so.” You mumble. “Anyways, do you want me to make you a cup of coffee? I’m heading to the lounge to make Mr. Jung one too.”

“Yes, please, I need it.” He slaps at his cheeks to wake himself up. You chuckle at the cute gesture, reaching out to ruffle his hair before heading towards the lounge room.

As you head to the lounge room, you can’t help but notice the new set of plaques hung up on the wall. Hung up on the wall were awards won by your boss, Mr. Jung. You can’t help but think about how your mother would be more than thrilled if she found out that the man you’re dating so happens to be Mr. Jung Jaehyun. In fact, Jung Jaehyun is the man every mother would want for their daughter.

It would be a lie of you to say that you don’t admire or have some sort of liking towards your boss. Mr. Jung has an indescribable charm, and intimidating yet mysterious aura that instantly draws anyone in. There’s no denying that you find him very appealing to the eye, and you often think that the heavens took a lot of time to create his handsome face.

But you can only dream on. Jung Jaehyun, your boss, the man who’s helping you pay off your student debt, the man helping you pay your rent, is way out of your league.

The lounge room is filled with a couple of employees and interns. As you enter the lounge room, everyone looks at you for a brief moment before bringing their attention back to their own conversations. You quickly brew two fresh cups of coffee, putting in some sugar and creamer in each cup. Stirring the hot drinks with a teaspoon, you hear a couple of gasps and chatter in the room. There are two employees seated on the couch in front of the TV, whispering to each other. You look at them with curiosity, following their gaze towards the TV screen. You read the large headline displayed on the news channel.

A soft gasp escapes your lips and the teaspoon in your hand clatters to the floor.

Soon enough, news about Song Misun’s engagement spread throughout the whole company building like a wildfire. Song Misun is the lucky woman who could potentially fill up the void in Jung Jaehyun’s heart. Her and Jung Jaehyun go way back, for they were childhood friends. Jung Jaehyun is known to be hopelessly in love with her, heck, he’s been in love with her for the longest time. The only problem is that he never got around to pursuing her due to his hectic business. It was also rumoured that Song Misun had returned some sort of feelings for him, but never acted on it either. And so when Song Misun’s engagement news appeared on TV, people showed nothing but mixed emotions after realizing that the man she’s engaged to isn’t Jung Jaehyun.

“Do you mind going over today’s plans?”

You open your daily planner and flip to today’s date, eyes squinting at the written schedule. Mr. Jung is busy catching up and replying to emails from business partners. You look up at him and he stops typing to glance at you.

“You have an appointment with a client at one, followed by a shareholders meeting with Kim Doyoung of Kim Architects and Co. at two-thirty.” You explain. “As for your business trip to Greece, I already booked your plane ticket. I’ll forward the confirmation email and itinerary to you when I get back to my office.”

“Did you manage to get yourself a plane ticket as well?” He asks and you nod your head.

“I called the dry cleaners this morning and your suit won’t be ready for pickup until Thursday.” You add.

“Great.” He nods, leaning back against his chair and letting out a tiring sigh. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/N.”

You smile. “I think you’ll do just fine without me, sir. You already built up a successful business for yourself. My help is nothing compared to the success of the company.”

“We’re glad to have you.” He reassures you. “Anyways, I’ll let you get back to work. With the business merger, it’s only going to get busier from here.”

“Alright, sir.” You gather your things. “Just page me if you need anything.”

As you’re heading towards the door, you hear Mr. Jung call out your name. You slowly turn back around, looking at him questioningly. He looks quite hesitant.

“Yes, sir?”

“Has anyone seen the news lately? Have you seen the news lately?”

“What do you mean, sir?” You ask, acting oblivious and innocent. He scratches the back of his neck.

“Song Misun just got engaged—” His sentence is cut short by a knock at the door. You look over your shoulder to see one of the lobby receptionists, Luna, standing at the door. “Luna-ssi, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Song Misun is here to see you.” She announces while nervously fiddling with her fingers. You glance at Mr. Jung and you could see his face turn pale. You and Luna share a knowing look.

“You can let her in.” Jaehyun insists and gulps nervously.

As you both step out of his office, you notice a woman sitting right outside of his office. She has a pair of black shades covering almost half of her face. She’s wearing bold, red lipstick and a black fitted dress. You knew that she’d look blindingly beautiful once she took her sunglasses off.

“Mr. Jung is ready to see you, Ms. Song.” Luna tells the woman and your eyes slightly widen. She takes off her shades and you almost choke on air.

You were right. She looks stunningly beautiful. Her beauty is foreign and incomparable. She has a nice set of eyes that formed into crescents. She had strong structures and her lips are plump and soft. This is the first time you’ve seen Song Misun in person and the elegance and beauty she has makes you feel insecure. This is the woman that Mr. Jung is in love with?

As she’s thanking Luna and heading inside Mr. Jung’s office, Luna calls out for her one last time. She looks over her shoulder and quirks an eyebrow.

“C-Congratulations on your engagement, Ms. Song.”

Two years ago…

“How long have you been seeing her?”

He looks at you from across the table. You fold your arms and try to resist chucking your hot, steaming cup of coffee at his face. Your bloodshot red eyes are enough to show how much wrath and anger you have within you. The woman that the love of your life has been seeing remains unknown, and although you want to find out who she is, you’re not sure if you have the strength to do it. He doesn’t even want to reveal who she is and it makes you sick.

He cheated on you.

“For a while now,” he replies.

“Are you in love with her?” You whisper. He winces and looks away from you. At that moment, you knew that he was a goner. You lost him, the man that once fell in love with you and the man that you’re in love with. You scoff. “Kim Junhwa, I’m asking you a simple question. Are you in love with her?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he gathers his things in silence. You watch him, your eyes tearing up. You bite your lip to stop yourself from crying. You’re tired of crying. You’ve been crying for three days straight. And it’s all because of him and the woman who replaced you.

“Are you in love with her?” You ask again, your voice cracking, hoping that he might answer this time. “Just tell me, Junhwa, to spare me the pain. It’s the least you could do.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You watched him get up and leave. You promised yourself not to let him see you cry, and you never break your promise. Once he’s out of sight, you start to break down, soft sobs escaping your quivering lips. Slowly looking out the window, you see him start his car and drive off.

You made another promise to yourself that day. You promised yourself that you weren’t going to let another man hurt you like this.

“I want you to help me plan my wedding.”

It takes a while for her words to sink in. But as he’s letting himself comprehend the words she had just said, he’s taking a quick sip of coffee. When her words finally occur to him, he immediately chokes on his coffee. She looks at him alarmingly, eyes widening like saucers. He waves it off, trying to catch his breath.

“You want me to help—help you— plan—plan your wedding?” He repeats, coughing in between words.

When he finally catches his breath, she replies with a slight nod of her head. He places his palms against his desk and lets out an airy chuckle. She wants him to help plan her wedding? Oh how he wishes it was their wedding. He slowly looks up at her only to find her already looking back at him, awaiting his answer.

“You do know that you’re only asking for trouble, right?” He smiles with his dimples flashing.

She folds her arms, walking around his office. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor echo throughout his office. She finally stands about one metre away, looking out the window. The large window in Jaehyun’s office overlooks the whole city of Seoul. She glances at him.

“You’re my best friend,” she shrugs her shoulders. “It would be great to have my best friend help me plan my wedding. Besides, I need a second opinion with everything. I want my wedding to be perfect, don’t you want that too?”

He turns around and joins her in watching the hustle and bustle of the city. He finds himself sneaking a look at Misun, and when he does, he grows devastated. It’s official. She’s the one that got away. She’s the best thing he’s never had. She’s the love of his life… and she’s getting married to someone else.

He tears his gaze away from her.

“I’ll help you plan your wedding. I only want the best for you.”

“You guys looked really close.”

Johnny takes the photo from your fingertips to take a closer look. You briefly look at him before taking a quick sip of your coffee. Setting your drink down, you look at the photo with Johnny. It’s a childhood photo of you and a little boy your age. There are only remnants of this little boy planted in your mind. You remember him living a couple of blocks away from your house. You remember him being your classmate in senior-kindergarten class up until the third grade. You remember forming some sort of bond with the boy. That bond was cut short when your family decided to move to the city.

And so all you have left that reminds you of the little boy are your childhood photos with him.

“We were very close,” a faint smile spreads across your lips. “If only I got his email address or a phone number before I moved, I would’ve kept in touch.”

“Do you remember his name at least?”

You tear your gaze away from Johnny to look at the photo. The faint smile that spread across your lips grows wider. The childhood photo shows you sitting on a swing at the park with the little boy standing behind you, pushing you on the swing. Surrounded around the swingset is an abundance of purple bellflowers. Your eyes squint to see a bracelet on the little boy’s wrist. It’s a silver chain bracelet with a Y charm on it.

“His name is Jung Yoonoh.”

An adorable girl sitting on a swing with a chubby-cheeked boy pushing her from behind. Jaehyun stares at the childhood photo and smiles. It’s a picture of him and Misun when they were four. His eyes trail down towards the necklace worn on her neck. It’s a necklace with the letter M on it. There are a lot of questions that fill Jaehyun’s mind. Did Misun fall in love with someone else because he was too late? Did Misun give up waiting for him? What did Kim Junhwa have that he didn’t? Is it still too late? Why did she—

“Sir?”

He snaps out of his thoughts. You’re standing at the door with his grey tuxedo carefully thrown over your arm. As he stands up, he places the picture of him and Misun into one of the drawers. He heads towards you and gently grabs the suit from you.

“Thanks for picking it up,” he smiles as he hangs up the suit on one of his racks. He dusts off his hands and turns around to face you. “I’m glad you came in early because I have an important and private matter to talk to you about.”

You nod your head, turning around to shut the door behind you. You make yourself comfortable on one of the chairs in front of Mr. Jung’s desk. He clasps his hands together.

“I’m sure you saw Misun come to the office yesterday,” you nod for him to continue. “She had asked me to help plan her wedding.”

“Oh,” you mumble, eyes wide. “But sir, we’re already busy with the merge—”

“Yes, we are, which brings me to my next point.” He says and your hands grip tightly onto your daily planner. “I need you to be with me at all times. There may be last minute meetings, important phone calls, anything, and it’ll be difficult for you to get a hold of me if you aren’t with me. Is that fine with you?”

You nod your head. “It’s fine with me, sir. Do you mind giving me the breakdown of the plans you’ve made with Ms. Song to put in my daily planner?”

He gestures for you to open your planner. As you place the planner onto his desk, he looks at you for permission to go through it. You gently push it towards him and he grabs a pen from one of the pen holders and starts scribbling things in the planner. You sit there awkwardly, looking around his office in silence. Sounds of his pen moving against the paper fill throughout the office.

“I’ve written everything down,” he mumbles, closing the planner and handing it back to you. “But I’ll give you a breakdown right now just to keep everything in check.”

“Alright, sir.”

“For the next week, we’ll be making trips to the flower shop to pick flowers for bouquets and decorations. The location of the flower shop is near the building, so I see no problems with cancelling meetings that week.” He explains. “After that, we’ll be spending a week and a half cake tasting.”

“Is the bakery far from the company building?”

“We have to take the highway to get to the bakery,” he replies. “I suggest looking at the meetings booked during that week and if time doesn’t permit or coincide, then I give you my permission to cancel them and rebook them for a different day.”

“Got it.” You nod your head, noting it down in your planner.

“After cake tasting, we will spend two weeks picking a wedding dress.” He explains. “The dress fitting and selection will be happening at Misun’s house which isn’t far from the company building, so anything planned that week should be good to go.”

“Alright, sir.”

“And last but not the least, we will spend three to four weeks searching and picking a venue for the wedding and reception.” He finishes it off. “The venue locations may vary in terms of distance, so I will locate the venues in advance and let you know how far they are. At your own discretion, I expect you to rebook meetings on a day where the venue is a bit far from the company building.”

“Understood, sir.” You flash him a smile.

“Luckily enough, the business trip to Greece happens right after the venue searching.” He adds. “Do you have any questions or concerns?

You look through the notes you’ve written in your planner and your focus seems to settle on Mr. Jung’s writing. It’s quite neat, you note, before looking back at him. You shake your head in reply.

“None so far, sir.” He clasps his hands together.

“Great. Go grab your things and get ready. We have a flower shop to go to.”

Song Misun does not have a knack for flowers. You let out a sigh for the nth time as you follow your boss around, who follows Misun. The three of you have been staring and sniffing flowers for God knows how long. Luckily enough, there weren’t any meetings or phone calls booked for the day. Unfortunately, this day was supposed to be a day where Mr. Jung can catch up on his sketches and blueprints. Mr. Jung seems to notice that flower picking is taking longer than it should because he gives you a brief glance.

“Misun-ssi, is there a specific type of flower that you like so far?” The florist asks, and you can’t help but hide a smile that’s creeping across your lips. The florist looks at her wrist watch for the third time, growing impatient and tired.

“I’m quite enamoured by those purple flowers… What were they called again?” She asks, dumbfounded. You couldn’t believe it. Misun had dragged you and your boss to the flower shop to pick flowers for her wedding, and after making several rounds in the shop, she still hasn’t made up her mind.

“We have about ten different types of purple flowers, Misun-ssi…” The florist trails off. “Which one did you like?”

Misun’s eyes wander throughout the flower shop, scanning for the particular purple flower that she had taken an interest in. Mr. Jung glances at you with a knowing look and you slightly shrug your shoulders. You follow Misun’s gaze that falls upon one of the flowers. You could tell it was probably her favourite because her stare lingered on it longer than the rest.

“I really love how those flowers look—”

“Bellflowers?” You and Mr. Jung blurt out in unison, before looking at each other with slight surprise.

“Right!” Misun exclaims. “Yes, it was the bellflower!”

The florist holds in a sigh of relief. “Did you want to settle with the bellflowers or do you want to keep looking?”

“I’ll take the bellflowers,” Misun replies, glancing at Mr. Jung. “What do you think, Jae?”

Jae. You try to stop yourself from smiling at the cute nickname. As you look at your boss, you can’t help but notice how red his ears had gotten. He scratches the back of his neck.

“You know I have a special connection with bellflowers.” He smiles.

Jaehyun has always had a special connection with bellflowers. Whenever he saw bellflowers, it’s almost as if it takes him back to his childhood days to when he met Misun. They would always race through the neighbourhood to their favourite spot; the swings at the park. Whoever reached the swingset last is forced to push the winner on the swing. He cherishes those memories the most. But those bellflowers… those bellflowers remind him of her. They remind him of the moment where he realized that Misun is someone very special to him.

You know that look on Mr. Jung’s face. They mean one thing and one thing only; love. He really is in love with her. The look on his face makes your heart ache for him. It sort of reminds you of yourself. It reminds you of the time when your ex-lover was in love with someone else. You know that look so well. While you were busy being in love with your ex-lover, he was busy falling out of love with you. You were in love with someone who was falling in love with someone else.

You wish your boss will fall in love with someone who will love him back, because that’s all you could ever do for him; wish.

“How romantic,” the florist muses. “Both of you suit each other very well. I can tell that your husband is very much in love with you.”

It catches him off guard. He snaps out of his thoughts and starts vigorously shaking his head. The florist looks at the two in confusion. You, on the other hand, stand there awkwardly, pondering on whether you should pretend that you didn’t hear what the florist had just said or make an immediate effort to correct her.

“I think you got it wrong, miss.” Misun chuckles sheepishly while waving it off. “He’s not my fiance.”

The florist looks at her in pure horror. Jaehyun bites back a smile but he can’t seem to stop noticing how his heart is breaking at the same time.

“I’m so sorry!” The florist blurts out. “I had no idea.”

Misun waves it off. “It’s fine. We often get mistaken as a couple, don’t we, Jae?”

All of the attention is directed towards Jaehyun. He looks at the florist, then towards you, and finally towards Misun. Misun bats her eyelashes innocently and he clears his throat.

“Y-Yes, we do. We do often get mistaken as a couple.”

You wince and your heart aches for the young man.

Two and a half years ago…

You look at the two necklaces in confusion. Both of the necklaces looked identical. Wrapped around your neck is your necklace with the first letter of your mother’s name, an M. On your right hand, is a similar necklace with the letter M. Nothing but suspicion crosses your mind.

You look over your shoulder to see your boyfriend, Junhwa, fast asleep on the bed. He had come home reeking of alcohol and an unidentified perfume. It definitely wasn’t your perfume. Comparing both necklaces one last time, you gently place the similar necklace back into the pocket of your boyfriend’s jacket before he wakes up.

Cake tasting. In your opinion, the best part about planning a wedding is choosing a wedding cake. You say this with your whole chest. There’s nothing more exciting than having a table set up with several slices of different cakes waiting for you to taste. As you, your boss, and Song Misun enter the bakery, you are greeted by the baker slash owner of the shop.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kim!” The owner exclaims and you try to stop yourself from facepalming for the second time. The two close friends look at each other sheepishly before quickly correcting the owner. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought your fiance was coming along as per our conversation this morning—”

“My fiance got caught up with work so he wasn’t able to come.” Misun explains. It is only then that it occurred to you; where was her fiance and why isn’t he making an effort to plan their wedding? But it wasn’t any of your business.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“It’s fine.” Misun says, grimacing. She musters up a smile. “Shall we get to the cake tasting?”

There is an array of cakes set up on the table. Jaehyun pulls out a chair for Misun before pulling out a chair for you. The owner looks at Jaehyun with pity, almost as if she knew what he was going through. You and the owner share a brief look before taking a seat across the other two.

“As per our phone call conversation, I prepared three types of red velvet cakes. They all taste the same, but I want your input on how you want them decorated.” The owner explains, pointing at each of the cakes.

While the three of them are conversing, you decide to flip through your daily planner. There are a couple of meetings scheduled later on in the day. You had rescheduled the meetings in advance since you were aware of the long drive to the bakery shop. As you’re looking at the meetings scheduled in the next few days, you could hear your name being called out by Misun.

You look up at her. “Yes, Ms. Song?”

“What’s your favourite cake?” She asks, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

Everyone looks at you and you suddenly feel overwhelmed. You close your daily planner and look at the cakes sitting right in front of you. Your eyes scan them before stopping at your favourite.

“I really like the black forest cake.” You reply, eyeing the black forest cake on the other end of the table. “It’s very rich and has a distinct flavour. I personally think the chocolate goes perfectly with the cherries. It also looks very elegant.”

“You have a great taste in cakes, young lady.” The owner smiles.

“Well, actually, it reminds me of a friend I had before I moved to the city.” You say, reminiscing about your childhood years. “He really liked strawberry shortcakes. I remember having a black forest cake for my birthday and it was his first time trying it… and to my surprise, he hated it.”

“That’s cute.” Misun mumbles, glancing at Jaehyun. “What’s your favourite cake, Jae?”

Jaehyun’s in the middle of eating a bite of the red velvet cake when the attention is shifted towards him. He smiles sheepishly while quickly eating the cake.

“Coincidentally, my favourite cake is the strawberry shortcake.”

Song Misun’s house is somewhat similar to your dream house. Mr. Jung’s car stolls up at her driveway and you can’t help but look at her house in awe. Her mansion is securely blocked with a huge fence guarded by two muscular security guards. The guards seem to know who your boss is for they open the gate for you right when you hop out of the car. Standing at the door is Misun, clothed in a silk robe.

“Hurry on in, this will take the whole afternoon!”

She’s so rich that it’s ridiculous, you think to yourself. In each room, there’s at least two chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Leather couches, wooden furniture, walk-in closets, a walk-in pantry, expensive fridges and toasters, everything in her house screamed rich.

Mr. Jung sits beside you on one of the couches and places a freshly made cup of coffee onto the coffee table. The tailors and the designer arrived before you and are already prepping the first wedding dress.

“Is Junhwa here?” Mr. Jung asks and Misun frowns.

“He’s busy with work. Also, isn’t there a superstition where you will have bad luck if the groom sees the bride in the wedding dress before the actual wedding?” Misun replies.

Your boss doesn’t seem to believe it and looks at you to confirm. You look back at him and shrug your shoulders. He purses his lips into a tight line and reaches out to grab his cup of coffee. A silver glint catches your eye. You look at your boss’ wrist, seeing a silver chain bracelet. Your eyebrows knit in confusion and your eyes squint to take a closer look. It looks oddly familiar—

“Here’s the first dress!”

You look up to see Misun standing at the doorway with a wedding dress on. It’s a fitted wedding dress, showing off her curves. From the corner of your eye, you can see your boss’ lips slightly part in shock. You smile. Your boss’ feelings for the engaged woman are incredibly obvious, but you have no idea why the both of them can’t see it.

“What do you think?” Misun asks.

“You look great in that dress, Misun.” He replies. “But I think you should try on the other dresses before you make a final decision.”

“How about you, Y/N? What do you think?” She questions you and your eyebrows raise.

“You look beautiful, Ms. Song.” You smile. “But I also agree with Mr. Jung. You should maybe try on the other dresses before making a final decision.”

“You’re right.” Misun nods her head before excusing herself to try on the next dress.

As she leaves the living room to try on the other dress, you could hear Mr. Jung let out a breath that he’s been holding in for God knows how long. You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing.

“Am I too obvious?”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him. He’s already looking back at you. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I know you can see it, Y/N.” He says softly. You scratch the back of your neck, nodding your head to confirm his assumption. He sighs. “Am I too obvious?”

“Sort of, sir.” You mumble. “It’s pretty obvious that you’re in love with her.”

“Really?”

You giggle. “Really.”

“What should I do to make it not obvious?” He asks.

“You should probably stop making heart eyes whenever you see her, sir.” You suggest and he nods his head, taking your advice into consideration. “You should also stop caring for her a bit too much, sir.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely right—”

“Dress number two!” Misun cuts your conversation short and both of you snap your heads towards her.

She has a long dress on. It’s a strapless dress with a corset hugging her upper body before flowing out into a beautiful puffy skirt. You’re completely speechless. Anything that Misun puts on looks great on her, and you could definitely see why she asked Mr. Jung to help her decide. If she couldn’t make the decision, she wanted someone else to make up their mind for her.

“What do you think?”

“I think you are the one—no—I think you—I think this is the one.” Your boss replies almost instantly and you slightly fake a cough. He glances at you and you look up at him with wide eyes. He’s making it too obvious. “I mean, I look good with you—no—it looks good on you—”

“The dress looks beautiful and perfect on you, Ms. Song.” You add, just to lighten the situation.

“Really?” Misun says with a wide smile spreading across her lips.

Both of you nod your heads. “Really.”

“Alright. I’ll take this dress, then. I’ll go and get this dress tailored! But please stay and wait for me, I want to treat you guys out for dinner!” Misun exclaims before scurrying off into one of the rooms.

Once she’s out of sight, you sigh with relief. Mr. Jung looks at you with a nervous smile.

“I owe you one.”

Prepared in front of you is a barbeque grill filled with assorted meat and vegetables. You glance at your boss, who gestures for you to start digging in. You look at Misun for approval and she flashes you a smile. The three of you dig into your food, grabbing whatever is cooked and placing it onto your plates.

“I just wanted to thank you both for helping me plan my wedding.” Misun says. “Wedding planning is really difficult and with our busy lives, I appreciate the time you’ve taken off just for this.”

“It’s no problem, Misun.” Mr. Jung smiles.

“My fiance will be joining us for dinner, I hope you don’t mind.” Misun announces. “He’ll be arriving in a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t mind.” Mr. Jung shrugs his shoulders.

You glance at Misun who’s waiting for your reply. “I don’t mind either, Ms. Song.”

“Great! Let’s eat!” She exclaims.

The three of you are busy eating to even bother opening up a conversation. It’s been a tiring and busy day. There were a couple of business meetings in the morning before you and your boss were scurrying to get to Misun’s house. Luckily enough, the dress picking and fitting didn’t take too long. However, you’re not sure if choosing a venue will be easier than you think.

“Sorry I’m late.”

A familiar voice makes you freeze in your seat. You slowly trail your eyes up and meet a familiar pair. You could feel your heart drop. He looks back at you with nothing but utter shock. It was clear that both of you did not expect to see each other, especially in this setting.

“Junhwa, baby, you’re finally here! Come take a seat, I already placed food on your plate. You’re probably really hungry.”

Kim Junhwa. The man you were hopelessly in love with. The man who made you feel like the luckiest girl in the entire world. The man who made your heart skip a beat too many. The man who loved you. The man who fell out of love with you. The man who cheated on you.

Your eyes tear up and you blink them away immediately. You clear your throat, tearing your gaze away from him and looking down at your plate with food. You grip tightly onto your cutlery utensils as if it would help you try to not make things obvious.

“I didn’t know that you brought two friends along with you.” He chuckles uneasily. You can feel him burning two holes through your forehead. “I’m assuming that you’re Jung Jaehyun, right?”

Your boss smiles and shakes his head. Both of them are looking at each other with such intensity. Jaehyun, on the other hand, notices how tense you’ve gotten ever since Misun’s fiance had arrived. He looks at you to check up on you and you look up at him, mustering up a smile.

“And you are?” You shift your gaze towards your ex-lover, who’s looking at you questioningly.

You try to bite back a scoff. Did he really want to pretend and act like he has never met you before? Unbelievable. Your eyes stare at his extended hand, and you look back up at him.

“Y/N.” You reply weakly, shaking his hand. “You look oddly familiar.”

“Do I?” He asks. He looks like he’s panicking on the inside.

“You do. But it was probably just a fleeting moment.” You shrug your shoulders. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

“T-Thanks.” He stutters and the four of you decide to dig into your food.

Jaehyun looks at the couple with jealousy. Both of them suit each other very well. He could feel himself getting sick and nauseous because they look perfect together. He can finally see where he’s lacking, what he’s missing, and what made Misun choose Junhwa over him. He was starting to feel insecure. But at the same time, he was starting to blame himself. If he weren’t too late, if he just confessed… maybe things would have turned out different.

“Are the both of you dating?” Junhwa asks.

“No. He’s my boss.” You answer.

“Ah, I see.” He nods his head. He looks at Misun. “Baby, your hair is too long, it’s getting on your food. Let me tie your hair back.”

As Junhwa is pulling her hair back to put it up into a pony-tail, another silver glint catches your eye. You look at Misun, and you notice a necklace wrapped around her neck. It’s familiar as well. It’s a silver necklace with the letter M, just like yours. You feel yourself getting sick. It was all starting to make sense. Your eyes flood with tears and you look away from the necklace, afraid that if you stare at it longer, you’ll burst out into sobs. You blink away your tears.

“Sorry, excuse me.” You say softly, slowly getting up from your seat.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” Misun asks concerningly.

You wave it off. “I just feel a little bit sick.”

“Let me drive you home, Y/N.” Mr. Jung insists and you shake your head. He looks like he doesn’t even want to be there either.

“I’m okay, sir—”

“No, let me. Besides, I have a meeting tomorrow morning and it’s getting quite late.” Mr. Jung gives you a knowing look.

“O-Okay.” You mumble. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Song, Mr. Kim.”

As you start leaving, Misun grabs your hand. You look at her and she smiles.

“Thank you for all your help, Y/N.”

“No problem.” You muster up a smile, before looking at her necklace again. “Where did you get your necklace? It looks really beautiful.”

She looks at her fiance, before replying, “Junhwa gave it to me. It really looks beautiful, doesn’t it?”

A tear threatens to escape your eye. “It does.”

Two and a half years ago…

“You’re back.”

Junhwa stops in his tracks, looking at you from the door. You’re holding a glass of wine in your hand and you bring it to your lips to take a quick sip. He kicks off his shoes and heads into the living room, where you are. He walks into the kitchen and starts pouring himself a glass of water.

“Where have you been?” You ask.

“I was out with my friends.” He replies.

“Out with your friends?” He nods his head. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Thursday?” He says, confusedly.

You scoff. “Just an ordinary day, huh?”

He shrugs his shoulders. He downs the cup of water before placing it into the sink. You watch him as he heads into the room, calling it a night. Once he shuts the door behind him, you sigh, placing your glass of wine onto the coffee table. A tear escapes your eye.

It was at this moment where you confirmed that you were starting to lose him. To him, it was just an ordinary day. But to you, it was your second anniversary together. You look at the pan filled with pasta that you made for the two of you, and you feel nothing but shame because you made a meal for nothing.

You were losing him.

You were losing a part of you.

It’s the first day of venue picking and you have never felt so exhausted. The first venue is surprisingly at a university campus. Supposedly, the wedding would happen at a beautiful reserve forest on campus grounds. It has tall pine trees forming a circle, leaving a beautiful space for a wedding in the middle of nature.

“There are a few things to consider here,” one of the owners of the university begins. “If you’re not into insects flying around you or having birds chirping during the ceremony, then you might want to have an indoor wedding.”

“I’m really liking the whole mother nature vibe.” Misun replies, but she purses her lips into a straight line. “But I’m not sure if Junhwa will like that.”

He doesn’t like insects, you think to yourself. Somehow, Junhwa doesn’t show up for the venue picking just like how he doesn’t show up for the cake tasting, and even the dress fitting. You were starting to wonder how busy he could be that it’s been holding him back from showing up and making an effort to plan a wedding… his wedding. It was quite questionable.

“Are you okay with insects, sir?” The owner asks and Mr. Jung looks at him.

“Sorry, sir, but I’m not the fiance. I’m just a close friend helping her out.” He replies.

How many times does Mr. Jung have to be mistaken as the fiance? Maybe Junhwa should be showing up so that things like this wouldn’t keep happening. You internally sigh, shifting your attention down to your daily planner.

“Yeah, I don’t think this is it. Thank you for showing us around, but I think I’ll keep looking.” Misun suggests. She turns around to look at the both of you. “Shall we get to the next venue?”

The next venue is at an art gallery. Now this would be something Junhwa would like, you think to yourself. One of the tour guides of the art gallery is touring the three of you around the art gallery. All of you reach the wedding venue, which is in one of the rooms surrounded by a couple of statues and paintings. You smile.

“I really like what we have going on here,” Misun says as she looks at one of the statues.

“What about the fiance?” The tour guide asks as she looks at Mr. Jung.

Not again, you think to yourself. You wince. Mr. Jung looks at the tour guide and you can see him internally sigh with frustration. He shakes his head.

“Sorry, I’m not the fiance. I’m just a close friend helping her out.”

Misun looks at Jaehyun with an apologetic look. Mr. Jung shrugs his shoulders and sighs, pulling out his phone to distract himself. Misun frowns, glancing at you and you look down at your daily planner.

“Sorry, do you mind giving us a minute?” Misun asks the tour guide.

“Sure.” The tour guide answers and leaves the room.

“Y/N? Sorry, I just want to speak to Jaehyun in private.” Misun mumbles and you nod your head, leaving the room.

Jaehyun watches you as you leave the two of them alone. Once you’re out of sight, he looks back at Misun. Misun places her face into her hands. “I’m sorry, Jae. They keep mistaking you for—”

“It’s fine, Misun.” Jaehyun cuts her off. “But it’s getting a bit tiring, don’t you think? I keep getting mistaken as your fiance and I keep correcting them.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.” She apologizes.

“You know, I’m starting to get concerned about your fiance. Why isn’t he showing up? If he just showed up to plan the wedding with you then maybe I wouldn’t be mistaken as your fiance all the time.” He snaps and Misun knits her eyebrows in frustration.

“You know that we have busy lives, Jae—”

“I know. But I made time for you. Can’t he do the same? He’s your fiance. This is your wedding.” He interrupts her. The frown on her face seems permanent.

“Well I’m sorry for taking up your time. I didn’t know that I was being such a burden to you—”

“And I’m sorry for being a concerned friend. I’m sorry for being painfully in love with you—”

“You’re in love with me?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Misun. What matters is that your fiance should be showing up and making an effort to plan your wedding. I can’t let this happen all the time, and neither do you.”

“It matters, Jae.” Misun shakes her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” He scoffs. “Tell you that I’m in love with you? Misun, you’ve been blind all this time. You barely noticed me. It seemed like you even disregarded my feelings for you—”

“I would never.” She argues back. “I never disregard your feelings—”

“I’ve always been there for you, Misun. Have you ever been there for me?” He sighs. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re getting married. What can I do?”

“Jae—”

“I know I agreed to help you plan your wedding but I think I’ll have to step down, Misun. I don’t think it’s good for me. I don’t think it’s good for you either.” Jaehyun suggests. “I’m sorry.”

Before Misun could call out to him, he’s already out of the room. You jump in your stance when Mr. Jung slams the door shut. You look at him with wide eyes, but they soften and grow concerned when you see him wipe a tear from his cheek. You look back into the room to see Misun frustratingly running a hand through her hair.

“Sir, is everything okay?”

“Let’s go. I don’t have time for this.”

The car ride is silent. There’s nothing else booked for the day. The only exchange you both had since you left the art gallery was your boss insisting on driving you home. Other than that, the only thing making the car ride less dreadful is the faint music playing from the radio.

You use up all your power and bravery to strike up a conversation.

“Sir, is everything alright?”

The car reaches a stoplight. As pedestrians are crossing the road, he lets out a sigh. He hits the steering wheel in frustration. “No. But does it matter to you anyway?”

“Sir, I know that you’re just my boss but I care about you. You’re human. You have feelings too—”

“But you don’t know how I feel.” He cuts you off. “It would be a waste of your time to try and understand me, Y/N.”

“We both know that you’re very much in love with her.” You explain. “What makes it any different for you to just let out what you’ve been holding in for so long?”

“The difference is that you don’t know how I feel because you’ve never experienced it.” He mutters, stepping on the gas pedal once the stoplight turns to green. “Don’t even bother. You’re only wasting your time. You know nothing about me—”

“And you know nothing about me either, sir.” You cut him off. “With all due respect, but please stop acting like you know about my love life. You don’t know what I’ve experienced—”

“Do you know how it feels to be in love? Do you know how it feels to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back? Do you—”

“I know that feeling all too well, sir. But let me ask you this,” you force yourself to look out the window because if you look at him, you might burst out into anger. You’re only trying to help. “Do you know how it feels to be cheated on? Do you know how it feels to find out that the man you love, is getting married to the woman he cheated on you with?”

Jaehyun tears his gaze from the road. He looks at you as you stare out the window. There’s deep sadness spread across your face and suddenly he regrets lashing out on you. He doesn’t know you, and while he was complaining and placing his burdens on you by dragging you along on this wedding venture, he had no idea about what you were going through. Or what you had gone through.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t.” You chuckle bitterly, looking at him. “The man that cheated on me is the fiance of your close friend. What a coincidence, right?”

He looks at you with confusion. His eyes soften. “Y/N, I had no idea—”

“The other woman that my ex-boyfriend was seeing is the woman you’re in love with. Look, I know you’re going through a lot of pain, sir, but I’m going through so much more. So please, stop pretending like you’re the only victim here, because you’re not.” You say sadly.

The rest of the ride is awkward and quiet until you finally reach home. As you get out of his car, you grab your things with you. To make things lighter, you look at your boss and flash a small smile.

“Thanks for the ride, sir. Take care.”

“I can’t believe he said that to you.”

Johnny clinks his glass of wine with yours and the both of you take a quick sip. You sigh, placing the glass down. Your late night wine-drinking with Johnny has been long overdue. It’s nights like these where you find yourself talking about life with Johnny over a bottle of wine. With everything that’s going on, you knew that you had to settle down and catch a breath.

“How’s the new intern?” You ask.

“Horrible.” He groans. “He keeps forgetting everything I tell him. Who even hired him, anyway?”

“Sounds like a nightmare to me.” You sigh.

“How’s the childhood friend search going?” You look at him before letting out a soft ‘oh!’. As you head into your room, you open a drawer at your desk and pull out a photo album. When you come back into the living room, Johnny eyes the photo album.

“I found this album when I visited my mother a couple of days ago,” you mumble, handing him the photo album. “It has a lot of pictures of the little boy and I. However, when I asked my mother if she remembered who he was and where he could possibly be, all she knew was that his name is Jung Yoonoh.”

He flips through the photo album and he looks at each photo. As you’re taking a seat on the couch, you watch him as he intently observes each photo.

“He looks really familiar.”

“Does he really?” You say softly, your eyelids drooping. You’re more than slightly tipsy and you could knock out any second now. You stretch out your arms and lean against your couch, your eyes threatening to fall shut.

Johnny flips to the next page in the album and he lets out a soft gasp. There’s a photo of you and the little boy. He’s blowing out a few candles on what seems to be his birthday cake. The cake is a strawberry shortcake. In the picture, Johnny spots you standing right behind the little boy with a huge smile plastered on your face.

“You know, he kind of looks like Mr. Jung. Don’t you think?”

Johnny glances at you and his gaze softens. You’ve already fallen asleep.

"Yoonoh? What are you doing here?”

Jaehyun looks at his mother. His eyes trail down to her hands that are covered with oven mittens. He picks up a strong whiff of chocolate chip cookies. This is his home, or should he say, used to be his home. It’s quite evident that he’s presence was unexpected, for his mother just stares at him with a mix of confusion and concern.

“Can I come in?”

She moves aside for him to step into the house. It’s warm and cozy, he notices when he steps into the house. He turns around and watches his mother remove her oven mittens. She heads towards him.

“Did something happen at work?” She asks hesitantly.

He shakes his head. “No, work is doing pretty fine.”

“Yoonoh, you’re freaking me out.” Her eyebrows furrow. “Is something wrong?”

He glances at the freshly baked cookies sitting on the counter top. His eyes shift towards his mother and he mumbles, “do you still happen to have childhood photos of me?”

She throws him a funny look. “That’s such a weird request, but yes, I still have them. Why don’t you take a seat in the living room while I go get them for you?”

“That would be nice.” He smiles.

She mirrors his smile and rushes over to the bowl filled with cookies before handing them to him. “Take these too.”

As he takes a seat on the couch in the living room, he observes the photos hung on the walls. They’re a collection of family portrait photos and graduation photos. These were the only photos that made it when him and his parents experienced a house fire when he was a little kid.

His mother returns with a small stack of photo albums. She takes a seat right next to him and hands him the photo albums.

As he opens the photo album, the first page he flips to is a photo of him and Misun. In the photo, it shows the two of them chasing each other out on his lawn. The photo seems to be taken by his mother, he assumes.

“You know, even though her mother passed when she was young, she was still such a lively young girl.” His mother says softly.

He glances at her and raises an eyebrow. “Misun?” His mother looks at him with confusion. “This little girl, her name is Misun. We reunited when I moved into the city to take care of the family business.”

“Misun? Her name is Misun?” His mother questions and he nods his head. “I don’t remember her name being Misun, Yoonoh.”

“The M on her necklace stands for Misun, doesn’t it?” He asks. “I’m sure you forgot, mother.”

“No, Yoonoh,” she shakes her head. “The M on her necklace stands for her late mother’s name, Mina. Your childhood friend’s name... what was it again? I don’t seem to remember. All I know is that the M on her necklace does not stand for Misun.”

“W-What?” He stutters nervously.

“Yoonoh, perhaps this Misun girl isn’t your childhood friend. You must’ve mistaken her as your childhood friend.” She places her hand on his shoulder.

“It can’t be.” He says, not believing it.

“Ah!” She exclaims. “I think I remember her name! It’s natural for me to have forgotten her name because her family moved out to the city when her mother passed.”

“What’s her name?”

Jaehyun’s face pales.

“Her name is Y/N.”

author’s note. i hope you guys liked it! this took me a fat month to write, so i really hope you guys enjoyed it. and as i said from a while back, this is in celebration of jaehyun’s birthday! kjshdfjdhf i love him with my whole ass heart. ALSO nct 127 comeback is soon! i am! not! ready!

feedback is very much appreciated! comments? let me know!

#jaehyun scenarios #jung jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun blurbs #jaehyun fluff #nct jaehyun scenarios #nct 127 #nct #nct 127 scenarios #nct scenarios #jung yoonoh scenarios #yoonoh scenarios #nct fluff #nct blurbs #nct 127 blurbs

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harley-sunday · 5 years

Text

10 Things I Hate About You [01]

Summary: Based on the RomCom ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ we follow the reader as she tries to win over Bucky Barnes so his best friend can finally go on a date.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (f) Steve Rogers x Maria Hill

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4k

AN: So this is my entry for @arrowsandmixtapes RomCom Challenge. I’ve never really written anything for the MCU-fandom before, so just know I might have taken some creative liberties here. And although this is a reader insert, the reader does have a name (Petra) to keep in theme with the movie/play (Patrick/Petruchio) and because I hate using Y/N, even if it’s just a few times. Also, I know paring Steve & Maria is unconventional, but they’re definitely my guilty-pleasure ship :) This is the first part in what I assume to be a four-part story and I absolutely loved writing this, so please let me know what you think! ♥

Beads of sweat roll down your face at a steady pace, some of them finding their way into your eyes, making it harder for you to see. You’ve long stopped trying to blink them away. It doesn’t matter anyway, muscle memory means you know where the punching bag is even with your eyes closed. Your gloved-up hands hit the bag in a tempo that was too high from the beginning, but you’re stubborn so you keep it up even though your arms are killing you by now. The high tempo helps though, because with every hit you land you feel yourself calm down, the anger with which you entered the gym slowly subsiding.

That’s the downside of solo-missions, you learned a long time ago, when things go wrong there’s no one to blame but yourself.

Because even though you technically still are a part of the team, you have come to an agreement with Tony and so he doesn’t include you on the team’s missions anymore. Some of the newer recruits think it’s because you have these mood swings that nobody really knows how to deal with. Others think Tony is playing favorites, letting you go out on your own because you’ve been here for so long already. You always tell them to just ask Tony what happened in Padua a couple of years ago. The gossip usually stops when they do.

You tell yourself ten more punches, because you’re starting to struggle for breath, but then there’s someone standing next to the bag, clearing their throat to get your attention and so you let your arms drop without too much of a struggle, part of you just relieved the workout is cut short by someone other than yourself because now you don’t have to admit defeat.

“What did that poor punching bag ever do to you?” Maria asks with a grin, her hands on either side of the bag, stopping it from swinging around.

By now she should know you’re not one for smalltalk, so you just shrug, even though the fact that you’re still trying to catch your breath might have something to do with it as well.

“Fine,” she lets go of the bag and lets her hands rest on her hips, her feet planted firmly on the ground, almost like she’s ready for battle. What she says next tells you she probably is, but with you instead of a shared enemy, “I need you to take Barnes.”

You just shake your head.

“Petra-”

“Maria,” you counter, still breathing heavy. You hold out your hands for her to help you out of your gloves, and watch her sigh at the task at hand, but then she loosens the Velcro and starts pulling on the leather anyway. You look up at her, “You know I don’t do partners,”

“Oh, I know,” Maria replies with wry smile, dropping your gloves on the floor once she’s pulled them off. She holds out her hands and motions for you to give her yours again, her skilled fingers finding the tape and taking it off before she starts unwrapping your hand wraps.

“Then why do you even ask?”

She sighs, her eyes finding yours while she continues to work on your hands, “Do I really need to pull rank on this?”

“That bad?” you ask, because she’s never done this to you before. Hell, no one has ever done this to you before.

She shrugs, “Not per se.” There’s a slight smile playing on her lips then, “Not if you just agree.”

“Maria, I just sort of fucked up an important mission, I’m not in the mood for games." You let out a frustrated sigh and pull your hands back, your left massaging your right, trying to get some feeling back, “Just tell me what you want.”

You find her in the otherwise empty kitchen, “Natasha!”

“Oh shit,” she mutters, mocking you by raising an eyebrow at you as she turns around, “am I in trouble?”

“Depends,” you growl, now standing next to her. She offers you the cup of coffee she’s just made and you take it with a quiet, “Thank you,” until you remember why you’re here. “What-” you start, but then think better of it, “How-” no still not what you were going for. “Why did you-”

“Come on, use your words,” she grins, taking a sip of her coffee, casually leaning against the counter now because you are sure she already knows why you’re here.

“What is this about Steve not being allowed to date until Barnes does?”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that,” you echo. “I just had Maria Hill come up to me because she wants to ask Steve out on a date but can't until she finds someone who takes Barnes out on a date first.”

Nat laughs, nodding her head, “Yeah, that is the deal.”

“But why?”

She shrugs, “I don’t want Rogers to get hurt. I know all the new recruits are lusting after him, but he needs someone who’s interested in him, you know, not just in this perfect specimen of a human being they think Captain America is.”

“And he agreed with that?”

“Who, Steve?” She grins, “Steve likes it when someone else takes the decisions every now and then. So he was more than happy to.”

“I guess Hill is the perfect candidate then,” you agree before taking a sip of your coffee.

“Yeah,” Nat agrees.

“So why don’t you just let her ask him out?” You reach for the sugar that’s on the counter next to the coffee machine because fuck Nat makes a strong cup of coffee. “Why does Barnes still need to be included in this narrative? I feel like I’m in ‘The Taming of the Shrew’.”

She throws you a poignant look, “Because Bucky will never get to go on date otherwise.” A sigh then. “Everyone thinks he’s this bad-tempered assassin you shouldn't go near unless you have a deathwish, but he really is a good guy.”

“Natasha,” you coo, bumping your shoulder into hers, “is that sympathy I hear?”

“I know him from way back,” she admits easily. “He deserves someone who can see past his tough exterior and appreciate him for what he really is.”

“And apparently that’s me,” you say with a shrug.

“Yeah, about that,” she says, putting her now empty cup back on the counter, “how did Hill get you to agree anyway? Did she offer you money?” She gently shoves you then, “Or does she have a dirty little secret she threatened to expose if you didn’t go along with her plan?”

You just shake your head, not really wanting to share this with Natasha, but knowing all too well she’ll never drop it unless you tell her, and so you almost whisper when you finally admit, “She pulled rank on me. Said to look at it like it was a mission.”

“She did what?” Nat’s laughing now, punching your upper arm. “She pulled-”

“-rank on me so I’d take Barnes out on a date?” You nod, “Yeah, she did. Offered to foot the date night bill because as she said, that seems like the fair thing to do.”

“Well, good for her.”

You find him in the gym, just like Maria said you would. Once you agreed to do this she gave you a rundown of his schedule, telling you exactly where you could find him at which time of day. What she didn’t tell you, however, was what you should talk to him about and so here you are, having found him, but not knowing how to start up a conversation. You decide to go with a good old, “Hi.”

He doesn’t even look up when he answers with a low, “Hey,” instead keeping his attention on the target he’s throwing his knives at.

Taking a better look at the cut-out figure that’s taped to a dummy hanging from the ceiling you realize the outline reminds you of the Iron Man suit and you wonder what Tony ever did to piss Barnes off so much that he’s now using him for target practice. The dummy’s at least thirty feet away but every knife he throws goes in effortlessly, all hitting center target. If this whole ‘bad-tempered assassin’ thing really is just an act, you think, well then at least he’s very dedicated to the cause.

“Barnes?” He doesn’t reply but you continue anyway, “Nat says I have to improve my hand-to-hand combat skills and I figured you might be able to help me out.” Nat never said such a thing, but you figured it’s a good excuse as to why you’re here.

He doesn’t reply, keeps on throwing knives instead and it’s then you realize you haven’t actually asked a question yet and so you add, “Would you be able to teach me?”

“Able?” he echoes, “Yes.”

“Ok,” you draw out, not sure what his angle is. “And willing?”

He throws the last knife, but its blade hits the handle of one of the other knives and so it bounces back, landing tip first, wedging itself firmly in between two floor boards. You expect him to curse, or get mad, but instead he just turns to you and shrugs, “Sure.”

“Eh, ok,” you reply with a surprised smile. “When can we start?”

“Well, I doubt you have the same adversity against Stark as I do,” he says with a nod towards the dummy, “so why don’t you spend a day or two making some targets of your own and we’ll meet here on Thursday? Two o’clock?”

This is the most you’ve heard him say, maybe ever, so for a moment you’re too shocked to reply, but then he’s looking at you like you’re losing it and so you scramble to find your words, nothing but a “Sure,” coming out.

He nods and walks away and you can swear you can see the hint of a smile tugging on his lips when he turns around and looks back at you over his shoulder before he walks into the locker room.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a target,” you mumble, not looking up from the absolute work of art you’re creating. If you may say so yourself, of course.

“Huh,” Nat replies, and you see her cross her arms in front of her chest out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh and by the way,” you say, dipping your brush into the yellow paint again, “you want me to improve my hand-to-hand combat skills in case anyone asks.”

“Ok,” she draws out slowly, taking a few steps so she’s standing behind you, no doubt eyeing the target you’re working on.

“I needed an in,” you explain.

“Sure,” she agrees.

You look up, because she seems distracted, and find her looking down at you with a worried look. “Nat, it’s fine,” you’re quickly to assure her, “it worked.”

“That’s not,” she starts, but then she seems to change her mind. She nods towards the table, “What the hell did Big Bird ever do to you that you’re now going to use him in target practice?”

“Alright, so remember,” he says as he puts his hands on your hips and makes you turn ever so slightly so you’re not facing the target head-on but rather at an angle, “hold the blade when you throw the knife.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, not even mocking him, just the years of training kicking in. For a moment you wonder who would even outrank who between the two of you, figuring it’s probably him. He’s got more years in the field of course, so he’d definitely hold the higher rank if you were to go by experience alone.

Shaking your head you try to focus on the task at hand, and you roll your shoulders back so you’re standing a little more upright. It’s like you can hear every teacher you’ve ever had screaming at you in unison, “Posture, Petra!” because more than once people have told you you tend to slouch.

You go over everything he’s told you so far, from holding the blade when you throw to finding the balance point of each individual knife before you even think about throwing it. You feel sort of ready but at the same time you worry you’re going to fail miserably. You rely on guns and explosive devices to help you on your missions, not hand-to-hand battle.

“Ok,” he lets go of your hips and steps aside, “whenever you’re ready.”

The knife you’re holding seems old, beaten up by years of use, and you wonder if this is the knife he went to war with. It is amazingly balanced and when you grab the tip of the blade between your thumb and index finger the handle rests on your hand comfortably. Taking a deep breath you focus on the target, only ten feet away this time because you convinced him to take it slow.

By the way, if he was surprised your targets are all characters from Sesame Street he definitely didn’t show it and you’re thankful for that. No need to share that childhood trauma just yet, you decide, worried he’ll just make fun of you when you tell him those puppets used to scare you shitless when you were a kid.

You raise your arm then, your muscles only tensing up after a second or so when your mind makes the decision to make the throw. The knife flips through the air at an incredible speed and lands blade-first in the target, one ring off center.

He lets out a low whistle somewhere next to you. “Nice,”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile, surprised at your own capabilities.

“Alright,” he says, walking over to the target and moving it back a little before he pulls the knife out, “let’s try that again.”

He has you walking around the compound with a plastic knife almost 24/7, showing you some tricks at the end of the first lesson and telling you to master them by lesson number two or he will stop teaching you. And so here you are, flipping around a fake knife, letting it twist and turn between your fingers, ever so often throwing it up in the air, trying to catch it while you change position, trying to predict where the handle will be once it lands in your hand.

Thank God he gave you a plastic one or you'd be a few fingers short by now.

The next lesson is scheduled for Monday, after you both agreed one lesson a week wouldn't be enough to get you into shape. And while the knife throwing was fun, and you were surprisingly good at it, it's the actual hand-to-hand combat you're most looking forward to. You’ve seen him in action only once, on some footage Tony showed you, but you remember being in awe of his skills.

By Sunday you have mastered most of the tricks he’s showed you, except one, where you’re holding the knife in your right hand while blocking an invisible attacker with your left. During the block you’re supposed to throw the knife up, while at the same time retracting the arm you’re blocking with, only to catch the knife again with your right hand, but at the same height where your left arm was before.

You just can’t get it right. Either you use too much force so the knife is too high up for you to catch or you forget to retract your arm so the knife bounces against it and falls to the floor. You’ve gone from quietly cursing to cursing out loud, growing more and more frustrated by the hour. You’re glad the team’s away on a mission this weekend, so it's just you and some of the newer recruits left in the tower. They have their quarters on the lower levels and absolutely no reason to be up on your floor so you doubt they’ve heard you.

Taking a deep breath you decide to give it one last try, but just as you want to throw the knife you hear the Quinjet coming in and so you’re distracted and mess up. You let out a frustrated groan, grab the knife off the floor and make your way to your room, not really in the mood to see anyone else.

“Alright, show me.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to you since you entered the gym a minute or so ago and so you quietly mutter, “Yeah fine, thanks. How are you? Sleep well?”

“How I sleep is none of your concern,” he grunts.

A bit taken aback by the tone in his voice you throw him a look. He seems unfazed by it, instead raising his eyebrows to let you know he’s waiting. You huff at whatever is going on and grab your knife, the plastic one, of course, and start the sequence you now know by heart.

You’re not sure what happens, maybe you’re too distracted by the mood he seems to be in, or maybe you just didn’t take enough time to focus on the task at hand, but fact is you blow every single trick. Not one of them goes as it should. If you were anyone else right now you’d be secondhand embarrassed.

Just as you bend down to pick up the knife from the ground you see him turn and walk away out of the corner of your eye. Standing up you call out to him, “Barnes?”

Of course he doesn’t respond and you figure, fine. Whatever. Fuck him and his attitude. You’re not going to need knife skills anyway. At least this means you’ll have the rest of the afternoon off. But then you remember that you’re not here to improve your knife skills, not really anyway. You’re here to help Hill get a date with Steve and so you let out a frustrated groan, drop the knife, and set out in a jog to catch up with him.

“Barnes,” you say, coming to a stop in front of him and putting a hand on his chest to get him to listen to you. Well fuck me, you think when you feel his hard muscles against your fingertips, you knew the guy was muscular from the way his clothes stretch around his torso, but to actually feel it is something else. You’re distracted for a moment but then you look up and find him looking down at you with a hint of a smile playing around his lips.

“I uh,” you clear your throat and pull back your hand, “I can do better than that. I promise.”

The smile drops and he actually sighs. “You don’t get a second chance in direct combat.”

“This isn’t direct combat,” you counter, starting to get annoyed. “This is me doing knife tricks. By myself. With a plastic fucking knife.”

“To prepare you for direct combat,” he replies, arms now crossed in front of his chest. “That’s what you wanted right? To be better prepared? Improve your skills?.

“Yeah, ok, fine.” you agree halfheartedly. “But unless you decide to attack me right now, there’s no direct combat in my foreseeable future. So, you know, can I least get a second chance?” A tilt of your head then, “I mean, that’s part of improving my skills, isn’t it? Doing something over and over and over again until I get it right?”

He actually looks a little defeated but impressed at the same time and you wonder if it is because people usually avoid confrontation with him because they're afraid of what he might do. He nods then, “Ok. Let’s go.”

He follows you back to the mat and this time you do focus, allowing yourself a few seconds to clear your mind from any distractions. The knife rests comfortably on your hand and after a quick countdown in your head you start. You nail trick after trick but when you get to the last one, the one you haven’t been able to master yet, you start to feel nervous and so of course you fail.

“Nice,” he compliments from somewhere on your right, his tone of voice now very different from before. You wonder what brought that on, it can’t just be your knife skills, right?

“That last one always gets me,” you admit, letting out a frustrated sigh then.

“That’s because you think about it too much,” he offers.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you mutter quietly, sitting down on the mat to catch your breath. You hear him rummage through his bag and don’t look up until he’s standing in front of you, holding out something that definitely isn’t made from plastic.

“Try this.”

You scoff, “You want me to try with a real knife?” Shaking your head then, “You better have a first-aid kit in that bag too then.”

“Come on,” he holds out his hand, hoisting you to your feet once you take it. “Just try it.”

Taking the knife from him you carefully place it on the tip of your index finger, trying to find its balance point. It’s not where you expect it to be, the blade almost weighing as much as the handle and the balance point not far off center. Interesting. You throw the knife in the air to see what it does, surprised when it falls back down blade first. Huh.

“This might work,” you say, turning to him. You do a double take then, because is that admiration you see in his eyes? Weird.

“Go for it,” he says with a nod of his head, taking a step back to let you have your space.

Planting your feet firmly on the mat you take position, left arm straight out in front of you. A deep breath then, tightening the grip on the handle of the knife before you throw it, retract your arm, and catch it again. “Oh my God!”

“Yes!” he exclaims. “I knew you could do it!”

“Oh my God,” you say again, panting a little now from the excitement, “that was awesome!”

He lets you keep the knife. Tells you to keep practicing everything you’ve learned so far and so you do, ignoring the looks you get from everyone else whenever they see you entering a room while throwing a knife around. Strangely enough most of them are smiling, like they’re all in on this little secret you know nothing about. You decide to ignore them.

Maria finds you and your new arts and crafts project in the common room Wednesday evening. Bucky’s told you to make new targets, but smaller this time, so you opted to go with cutouts of the Muppets. Ignoring the one you’re working on now, of Kermit the Frog with a target painted on his head, Maria sits down next to you, “Hey,”

“Hi,” you reply without looking up, too focused on finishing the smallest circle.

“I was just uh,” Maria says, her voice just above a whisper even though the common room is empty except for her and you, “I need a mission update, I guess.”

You let out a laugh, “Please don’t make this awkward.”

“Any more than it already is?” she counters with a grin.

“Yeah, ok, fair point.” You wipe your brush on an old cloth and set it aside, admiring your handy work.

“So?”

“So, he’s teaching me hand-to-hand combat twice a week,” you start, nodding towards the targets on the table. “I’d say it’s going well.”

“Right.”

“I can’t force this, Maria,” you say almost apologetically, “we’re not two giant pandas, you know? You can’t just put us together and expect us to mate.”

“That’s not,” she all but sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I know, ok? If you could maybe, step it up just a little?”

She must really like Steve, you figure, if she’s getting impatient after just a week. So you agree, “Ok,” gently patting her arm you try to reassure her, “I’ll see what I can do.”

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes fanfic #RomComWC #Harley Sunday x Bucky Barnes

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haikyuu-drabble · 5 years

Text

Daichi x Reader | Escape

u know when like u only meant for something to be like 700 words and then it ends up being nearly like 3x longer than u meant lol thats what happened here.... all i gotta say is that daichi on a motorcycle is such a hc that i hope one day becomes canon.... but lol prob not anYWAYs DONT u all wish you had someone as dependable as him also lol i feel like i shouldve referred to him as sawamura but like... no one calls him that so idk lol

daichi x reader

word count: 2101

___________________________

You had always listened to what your parents asked you to do. No questions asked. No ifs, ands, or buts. All in the chance that they’d let you decide what you would want for your future. And yet here you were sitting in a high-end restaurant waiting to meet a possible marriage partner. Your parents claimed that this was only organized because you never seemed interested in dating anyone. Which was true, but it was only because they had forbidden you from dating anyone while you were attending university. Even in the off chance that you fell for someone, you knew they’d never approve.

You sighed, sitting in the chair next to your mother. Maybe this is what you get for never standing up for anything you’ve ever wanted. When your plausible marriage partner and his father joined you at the table, you gave a fake smile and bowed.

Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe your parents knew you well enough to suggest good suitors. When the waiter came over to take your orders, you were first. He followed up with his order. When the waiter repeated the order to all of you at the table, he forgot to list the drink of your date. Your date immediately went off on the waiter and reprimanded him. All your hopes of him being a possible candidate just went down the drain.

While the three of them were talking you could feel yourself getting bored from their bland conversations about the weather. You couldn’t help but be upset at how your parents would think that this kind of thing would ever pique your interest. In the midst of the conversation, you excused yourself from the table to go to the restroom. If you had to hear any more conversations about the marriage candidate’s pretentious bragging, you thought you’d pass out right there. When you left the bathroom, from around the corner, you could hear the man’s father say, “Your child seems like they’d be a good partner. They don’t talk much and seem pretty obedient.

Your mother chuckled, “We hope we raised them well.”

You could feel the blood inside of you boil. That was it. That was the final straw. You had enough of listening to what they thought was best for you. You slowly walked towards the back exit of the restaurant. You needed to do anything to get you out of there.

You found yourself in the hallway of the mall. The first thing you needed to do was get off this floor and fast. It’d probably only be a matter of minutes before you mother realized that you weren’t coming back. You approached the elevator, and when it opened, you saw another person already inside the elevator. He looked at you and smiled. He had short black hair, broad shoulders, and tan skin. He wore a black leather jacket and a plain white shirt underneath and carried a motorcycle helmet. He smiled at you and asked, “Which floor?”

Without looking at the floor buttons, you just said, “The same one.”

He noticed that you seemed a little anxious and asked you, “Is everything alright?”

You jumped a little and attempted to give a smile, “Huh? Yeah, everything is fine.”

The man decided not to press on the conversation, and the two of you ended up at the parking garage below the mall. The man walked towards the motorcycles parked near the elevator, and you hesitantly looked around, unsure where to go or even what to do. All your things were still in the restaurant including your wallet and your phone. Maybe your plan wasn’t as well thought out as you realized. You figured that you should probably head back to the restaurant in the chance that they hadn’t notice that you’d been gone for so long. You turned around, only to see the other elevator had opened, revealing your mother. She yelled your name, demanding you head back to the restaurant. Your eyes went wide, and you instinctually ran in the opposite direction. You heard the roar of an engine and within moments, the man from the elevator was on his motorcycle holding his helmet out for you, “Get on!”

You were shocked from his sudden appearance and breathed, “B-but I don’t know you.”

“My name is Sawamura Daichi, and I go to Y University! Is that good enough?” he replied.

You were brought back to your senses and looked behind you at your mother who was quickly approaching. You grabbed the helmet from the man and hopped onto the back of the man’s motorcycle. He commanded, “Hold on tight.”

You hesitantly wrapped your arms around his torso, but as soon as he twisted the throttle, you tightened your grip around his upper body.

It was your first time riding a motorcycle, and it was faster than you had expected. As soon as he started moving the vehicle, you closed your eyes and held onto the person in front of you as tight as you could. Daichi laughed, “You can loosen up a bit, we're at a stoplight.”

You hadn’t even realized that the motorcycle had stopped. You sighed, “Right, sorry.”

However, as soon as the stoplight turned green, you had tightened your grip on Daichi once again. You managed to keep your eyes open, and you looked at the all the glistening lights around you. It was already night time, and all the buildings turned on their neon signs and lights. This wasn’t a new sight for you, but it felt so different being on the back of a motorcycle... It felt free.

When Daichi finally parked the motorcycle, he helped you get off the bike. Your legs were shaky from the adrenaline that was still pumping through your body. You weren’t sure if it was from riding on the motorcycle or running away from your mother, but you concluded it was both. You took off the helmet and thanked Daichi. Before you could say anything else, he asked, “You hungry?”

He pointed to a ramen stall across the street from where he parked, but you politely declined, “It’s alright. I don’t have my wallet, and I’m not really that hungry.”

Your stomach, on the other hand, grumbled… loudly. Daichi chuckled, “C’mon. It’ll be my treat.”

You followed him into the quaint food stall and sat down on one of the bar stools. The chef clearly recognized Daichi because he asked, “Your normal order?”

Daichi grinned and nodded, “Yes, please, but make it two shoyu ramens this time and one beer as well.”

“Coming right up.” the chef replied.

You looked at Daichi and said, “Are you sure you should drink if you’re going to be driving your motorcycle?”

Daichi gave a hearty laugh, “The beer isn’t for me. It’s for you. It seems like you need something to help you relax a little.”

You gave a sheepish smile, “Thank you. I promise I’ll pay you back!”

“Don’t mind.” Daichi replied.

The food was soon served, and you could feel yourself salivating at the smell. As soon as you broke your chopsticks apart, you dug right in. You burnt your tongue and yelped, “Ow!”

Daichi laughed at you, “Try blowing before you bite.”

He passed you the beer you ordered, and you gulped down some of the cold beverage. Your attention went back to your bowl of soup. As soon as you finished your noodles, you chugged the rest of your beer. Daichi was still eating his ramen when you placed your mug back onto the counter. He laughed, “And you tried to tell me you weren’t hungry.”

You could feel the beer having its effect on you, and you grinned, “I was just trying to be polite!”

He noticed your change in attitude and was glad that you were finally starting to relax a little. You sighed and propped your head on your hand, “I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve ever rebelled against my parents, and I just had to do the most extreme thing in the world.”

Daichi looked at you, confused at what you were saying, “You just rebelled now? Have you just been a filial child your whole life?”

“So filial that when I went to the bathroom at a marriage meeting, the father of my ‘potential husband’ called me ‘obedient’ and ‘quiet.’” You sighed.

“’Marriage meetings?’ Daichi repeated, “I didn’t even know they had those things for normal people anymore.”

“Sadly, my parents aren’t normal people.” You nodded and continued with your story, “You know what the worst part was? My mother agreed with him and said those qualities about me were how they raised me to be! It made me realize that she doesn’t know me at all.” You paused for a moment, “But maybe that was my fault. If I just had the courage to stand up for what I wanted at least once before today, I might’ve not ended up in this situation.”

Daichi crossed his arms and thought for a moment, “But you understand that now, don’t you? I think as long as long as realize your faults, then you still have a chance.”

You looked at him, “Do you really think so?”

Daichi chuckled, “I think the moment that you stop developing as a person is when you’re really hopeless.”

You repeated, “‘Developing as a person.’’

You gave yourself a moment to think and scowled, “You’re saying I should go back to my parents and talk to them, huh?”

“I wasn’t really aiming for that,” he laughed, “but if it’s what’s in your gut feeling, then yes. You should do it.”

You sighed, “I know.”

“Well, you don’t have to go back right away.” He chuckled, “There’s something I wanna show you that I think would make you feel better.”

Daichi put some money on the counter of the ramen stall and got up. You followed after him. He passed you his helmet to put on, and you asked, “Where are we going?”

Daichi grinned, “Just get on.”

This time around, you were much more comfortable riding behind Daichi. You were still amazed looking around at all the city lights, however after some time, you noticed that the lights were becoming less and less. Daichi parked the motorcycle, and you took off your helmet. You jokingly asked, “You’re not trying to murder me right?”

Daichi rolled his eyes and walked ahead of you, “Just follow me.”

You followed him down a path that trailed to one of the prettiest views of the skyline you had seen. You nearly gasped at the view. You asked, “How’d you find out about this place?”

“I just found it randomly one day while riding my bike.” He answered, “It’s great, isn’t it?”

“Why’d you bring me here?” you asked him, still admiring at the view.

He looked at you and couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you, “It seemed like you needed some encouragement before facing your parents. It’s not much, but I hope it helps.”

You beamed at Daichi, “I feel like I can face the world after seeing this!”

After some time, the two of you decided it was a good time for the two of you to go back. You gave him your address to drop him off at your house.

When he reached the address, Daichi was shocked at the size of it. It was huge and was guarded with a large gate all around it. His mouth was agape, “This is where you live?”

You took his helmet off your head, “I mentioned earlier that my parents weren’t normal people.”

“I didn’t realize that this is what you meant.” He chuckled.

“Can I see your phone for a second?” you asked him.

He dug his phone from out of his pocket and passed it to you. In his notes, you typed something down and gave it to him and smiled, “I put in my number. You can text me if you’d like.”

He grabbed his phone from you and joked, “Should I call the police if I don’t get a response?”

“Maybe not the police, but you’re free to come and do a wellness check.” You grinned.

Daichi smirked, “I really wish the best for you.”

“I’d love to tell you about it the next time I see you. Does shoyu ramen again sound good?” you asked nervously.

Daichi grinned, “Sounds amazing.”

He put his helmet on his head. You waved at him as he drove away and smiled to yourself. Things may have started out pretty terrible, but something—or rather someone-- made it a day you wouldn’t trade for anything.

#daichi x reader #sawamura daichi x reader #sawamura x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu #karasuno #daichi #sawamura daichi

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ineedrelationshipadvice · 6 years

Note

Do you think that people with opposing political views can be together in a lasting and healthy relationship? How?

Absolutely. I think a lot of people, especially in our contemporary western political mindset, can often forget how long history is, and also how complicated people are. These days are very tribal. We like to delve into our group, and find others who agree with us, keeping all the "bad people" out. All the bad people are just nazis, and racists, and bigots, or all the bad people are snowflakes, and cucks, and communists. The reality is that this isn't the case, and that although we have many different beliefs - and although those beliefs may never be reconcilable - the reality is that we have more in common than we have against each other.

I remember in the lead-up to the 2016 election that I was super polarized. I was hyper-liberal, agreed with everything that progressives said, and was beginning to sever ties with people who held any sort of conservative opinion. I had done this in the past, it just seemed so much more shocking now, as my conservative friends seemed to be becoming more extremist.

But I also worked in a library, and there was this old guy who came there almost every day to use the internet. Whenever I passed him by, I saw him watching the latest Trump rally, and I knew: THIS MAN IS AGAINST ME. He supports a presidential candidate who is deliberately opposed to me based on my race, who has spoken down to me personally on a variety of issues both ethnic and moral, and in all reality, this old guy is the polar opposite of me. Except sometimes I had to help this guy, and it was my job to be nice to this guy. And y'know what... he was nice. He was a nice, wholesome, older gentleman who had no real ill-will, never acted or thought less of me, and always treated me with respect. I had no reason to look at him differently, despite our views.

This is how actual human connections work. We have our beliefs and political principles, and we should stick to them if they give us appreciation for our country. But for most people, politics isn't really that big of an issue. And in general, the average person who you meet in daily life will be nice, kind, and respectful of you and your feelings. All these racists and bigots and crazies we see on the internet are the hardline outliers. The majority are just simple people trying to get by in their lives, and only if we ourselves inflame the conversation with political rhetoric does those relationships grow more toxic.

I do think politics is often important. Although our individual political opinions don't mean much to ourselves, if I ended up with a person who didn't like the fact that I'm biracial, THAT would be a very long-term problem in our relationship. But say I met someone on an issue of abortion. I am pro-choice, very strongly; I don't like abortions, but I like them being there as a legal option. If I met someone who was pro-life, they assume that conception is at birth and that's final, it'll be hard bridge to cross for either of us, and we'd have to discuss our feelings on the issues in a way where we both don't get mad at the other for their counter beliefs, and also don't force judgement upon them, because it's our duty - as their partner - to understand them in all their complexity.

Sometimes our beliefs structures don't work, and that's just the end of that - it means that, sometimes, no, relationships won't work because you're too diametrically opposed belief-wise. For instance, I'm very irreligious. I don't like organized religion, especially Abrahamic religion, and although I respect people for believing what they want, I think the whole practice is outdated, stupid, and pointless. For me, dating a Christian is a hard sell: I'm not going to church, I'm not going to pray with them, if they try to proselytize me I'll get very upset, and if they insist I convert I will categorically reject. As such, it's very important for me, if I meet someone who is religious that I have feelings for, to say this stuff outright ASAP. The sooner they know my beliefs, if they can't deal with me being actively hostile to their religion, then we just aren't going to work out. It would be wrong of me to not explain that to them early so they can make an informed decision.

Take another issue: guns. I am a supporter of guns - I think it's fine if people own them, and if I had the money, I'd probably own one myself. I also value things like Castle Doctrine which allows you to protect yourself if need be. At the same time, I also believe that we need insanely strict gun enforcement, including a national registry, hyper-strict background checks, and lots of ability for government intervention (my ideal style would be similar to the gun regulation of Japan). This is a good issue to see someone's complexity; I believe a lot of liberal/progressive things about guns, but the fact that I appreciate guns automatically throws me into a camp with right-wing conservatives and US Republicans. So... what am I? A gun supporter would disagree with my insistence for governance of gun ownership, while a liberal person would reject me hands-down on my support of guns. Where do you stand? If you were going to date me, what kind of discussion would we have about guns? If I told you, as your partner, "I'm thinking about buying a gun, because there have been some break-ins lately, and it has me scared," how would you feel? Alarmed? Concerned? Supportive? Adaptive? That's up to you, but it's an important discussion to have.

These discussions are interesting and important to have with your partner because at some point these conversations will happen around you, and eventually, one of you will take a side, and you will probably disagree with your partner. Talking about your beliefs early lets your partner know where you lie, and if that's important to them, they may react as such. Or, if they're mature and honest with themselves, they'll accept your differences in opinions, and share their own views. As a couple, you both try to find that comfy middle ground, where you can either agree, or agree to disagree. The worst case scenario, in my opinion, is being totally apolitical, unless both parties are outwardly apolitical. My liberal cousin is marrying a conservative. Last time we visited, around the election, talking anything political was a hard no-go, because we didn't want to offend anyone. That's fine to do, but doing that over a long period of time is going to be a huge mess, and it's better not to keep that stuff under wraps.

The big take away though is, yes, people of differing - note, not opposing, but differing - political views can be together in a lasting and healthy relationship. As long as they value and care about each other on a fundamental level, their personal beliefs and political ideologies are a secondary nature to everything else.

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kpopfanfictrash · 7 years

Text

Five Dates

Author: @kpopfanfictrash , as part of the Bound series with @underthejoon

Creative Content Contributor: @m00nk1ld FOR THIS PERFECT, BEAUTIFUL MOODBOARD.

Rating: 18 + (explicit sex, dirty talk)

Word Count: 17,578

Summary: “Ten dates,” he nods, smile tugging at his lips. “Ten dates, to decide if you want this – want me – or want me to go. Ten dates to get to know me. Ten dates,” he says, oddly soft, “to fall in love with me.”

Which then becomes five. (Arranged Marriage!AU)

Looking up from your desk, you note your office seems empty.

The thought is, in itself, a silly one. Usually you simply brush it aside but for some reason, the notion keeps on presenting itself to you today. You were chatting in Sarah’s office earlier, visiting the cubicle she has on the fifth floor and couldn’t help but notice all the things stuck up on her walls; scribbled drawings made by her children, faded letters from co-workers. Tiny objects, small things to remember – there were things though, which is entirely different from your space.

Your office is bare. When you moved into this new building, it was your assistant Kyle, who bought everything. He peppered your walls as requested, laid them out precisely according to your instructions and guidelines. You wanted modern concepts, abstract ideas – murals which required thinking, when co-workers sat down in your office. It is not your personal taste, you note, looking around with dismay. You’re a bigger fan of the impressionists, in love with the romantics. Entirely opposite of your office – but then, everything about your life is carefully cultivated for work.

Sitting in your fancy, high-backed chair, you stare at the cityscape and wonder what will come next. You wonder – not for the first time this week, nor even today – what in the hell you’re doing. An arranged marriage is a good idea, at least it is on paper. Most of the men and women in your family have one, with your own parents being the shining paradigm and example.

“We didn’t love one another – not at first,” your mother loves to say, sliding her arm around the waist of your father. “No, definitely not love. It was during our first crisis though, when he came through for me. He supported and cared, and over time became my very best friend.”

You remember all the times that she’s said this, staring at the papers sprawled on top of your desk. Your mother and father are currently celebrating thirty-one years of happily wedded bliss. Your older sister just got engaged to her own prince charming, which leaves you the odd woman out – the odd, high-powered, executive woman. The woman who usually ends up intimidating men that she meets. A woman who, honestly, can’t seem to find another way of getting married.

Staring down at your desk, you shuffle the papers. Or, resumes, as you like to call them. Emailed by your parents, printed out by Kyle; all of them embossed on high-quality paper, detailing the hopes each one has for their lives and their wives. Each paper holds a man your parents have recommended. Whichever one is the most qualified, you’ve decided to marry. Just the thought makes you grimace. Qualified and recommended. You should like an interviewer, not a woman selecting her future husband.

Leaning back in your seat, you close your eyes. Lacing your fingertips tight across your stomach, the sound of a knock at the door is near-startling. “Come in,” you call out, not bothering to open your eyes. Likely, it is just Kyle, a man who has seen you in worse times than this.

The door opens and shuts, closing with a thud. When no one speaks, you frown. Kyle always is the one to greet you first. For him just to stand there is unusual, making you crack open an eye.

The person is not Kyle.

You realize this quickly, jerking upright for your feet to awkwardly fall to the floor. The man standing before you is unfamiliar – you should be scared by this fact; or at the very least, alarmed. “Hello,” you nod, shutting your laptop. “Nice to meet you.”

The man looks at the door, then to you. “Hello.”

Without moving, you survey his body. The man is good looking. Tall, broad-shouldered with a youthful complexion – though, perhaps this has more to do with his expression than age. The man appears perplexed, staring at you wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. You aren’t quite sure if he’s shocked or surprised.

Some would say there is not a difference, but you know these people are foolish. Surprise, is when you step into a room and discover a party. Shock, is when you step into a room and find there’s a snake.

Your lips curve upwards. “I wasn’t aware I had another meeting today,” you say, pushing yourself to stand.

“I wasn’t aware we would be meeting in your office,” the man shrugs, walking forward. “But then, nothing about this is usual – is it?”

Your brows shoot up. It has been a while, since someone dared to address to you like that. A long time, since someone even implied you were in the wrong, or that anything you care to do is odd. Truthfully, it feels kind of nice. You hate ass-kissing.

“Well.” Sitting back down, you stare at the man standing before you. “That depends – what are you here to discuss?”

“Jungkook,” he supplies, taking a seat and slowly crossing his legs. “I’m here to discuss our engagement.”

It’s unfortunate that you’ve just had a sip of your coffee, since half of the drink comes right back up through your nose. “I’m so sorry,” you cough, waving aside his concern. “Our what, now?”

“Our engagement,” Jungkook reaffirms, smiling. “Did you see the resume my assistant scanned over?”

At this, you nearly laugh. Hearing Jungkook describe it as a resume is all too familiar. Now, you do look at him and see that he does look familiar. Leafing through the twenty or so papers laid out on your desk – you find him. Jeon Jungkook, his name written in bold black and white. His profile is arranged like a resume, and briefly, you wonder if he repurposed one for the other. His ‘about me’ blurb explains how he created a sports fantasy game in college. The game then went viral, became a worldwide phenomenon and led Jungkook to sell it, reaping in millions of dollars in profit. He’s currently retired, though he occasionally hires himself out for consultation on a variety of gaming projects.

Watching you read, Jungkook drapes one arm snugly across the back of his chair. “Did you find what you’re looking for?” he asks, struggling to suppress a smile.

You nod, continuing to read – and then freeze, spotting tiny, red letters at the bottom of the page. “Carlisle?” you repeat, leaning closer. “You’re from Carlisle?”

Jungkook nods. “I take that to mean you don’t remember me.”

As you squint, though, as you look – a picture begins to form in your mind. “I,” you pause, tilting your head. “Kookie?”

Jungkook’s expression falters. “Great. Yes, let’s bring that back.”

Noticeably brightening, you sit up in your chair. “It is! Kookie, the kid who followed me around on the playground. Wow,” you laugh, clapping your hands. “I haven’t seen you since – what? You were ten years old?”

“Eleven,” Jungkook corrects, somewhat stiff.

“Right,” you exhale, shaking your head. “Which means I was what, fifteen?”

“Fourteen.” Jungkook meets your gaze. “Anything else you want to discuss about childhood?”

His directness is startling, especially given the fact that all you remember is what you just said. Kookie, the scrawny kid who hung helplessly on each word you said. You remember him hiding behind slides and swings, watching until you inevitably called him out on it – although, you also remember being oddly protective of the kid. He was just so angelic, with those big doe-eyes and teeth. You recall in the end, you ending up fighting off most of his bullies. Protecting him was a pastime, your Kookie – it makes your stomach drop, to realize he’s not so little anymore.

“I think,” you muse, laying your palms flat on the table. “I have just one question. Which is – why?” When Jungkook hesitates, you frown. “You’re good looking, successful, clearly able to hold a normal conversation. Why do you want to have an arranged marriage – and why to me?”

Jungkook considers this for a moment, never looking away. You try and hold his gaze, try to remain steady, but it’s been months. Months, of your parents sending you candidates. Months, of meeting each man and ushering them, one by one out the door. At the start, you were hopeful. At the start, you scheduled each meeting as a date. You had dinner with one, grabbed coffee with another, went out for drinks with a third. Over time, you found yourself becoming disappointed and gradually, the meetings became shorter and less personal.

It didn’t matter what you asked them, not really. The only question of importance to you was why. For most, it was all about the money. You, yourself are fairly successful. Your family is rather well-off, as well. Being part of your life is enticing, especially for the good-looking opportunists of the world. The trophy husbands, as you call them.

Then, there were some whose motives were more sinister. Ones just as smart, just as conniving as you – these men wanted to take your money, rather than simply use it. There were the men you steered clear of. With each potential candidate you declined, each faltering week that passed – you found yourself less and less hopeful. All you want is a partner, someone like what your parents have. Someone to rely on, to depend on; a man who’s an equal, not a chore. Without meaning to, your meetings turned from dates to appointments. Eventually, they become fifteen minute intervals on your calendar; a revolving door of men who walked into your life – and back out again.

Perhaps, this is why Jungkook is intriguing. He is clearly intelligent and he has money of his own. If Jungkook is not here for fame or fortune, why at all?

Jungkook places his hands on your desk. “You know me as the boy who followed you around on the playground,” he allows, lifting a brow. “I know you as the girl I once said would be my wife.”

When he says this, you freeze. Staring back at him, you find the words stuck in your mouth. “You – what?”

Jungkook nods. “When I was eleven, I was very sure I wanted to marry you.”

It’s somewhat of a struggle to remain calm. So, Jungkook is a stalker. A very cute, well-mannered stalker. “Uh,” you cough, unsure what to do. “You’re here to fulfill a childhood dream, then?”

“Ah.” Jungkook looks up, eyes gleaming. “You misunderstand.”

“I don’t think so,” you respond, equally sharp.

He adjusts a cuff. “Look, I don’t know you – not anymore. I’m not eleven, I’m not overly romantic about falling in love. It’s just,” Jungkook hesitates, looking out at the city. “I don’t know what I want,” he admits. “I’ve been in shitty relationships ever since I was a teenager. Relationships where they changed me, where I changed them. I found myself chasing love after love, all of whom inevitably crashed and burned.”

“Tragic,” you quip, attempting to stifle a yawn. “Not to mention, dramatic.”

Jungkook’s lip quirks. “I can be. I’m over-passionate, I throw my whole self into things – this is how I became successful at such a young age. Honestly, I never saw myself entering an arranged marriage. This has always been something my parents wanted, but not me. Lately, though,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve realized I don’t know what I want. And,” he admits, quieter, “I’d like some stability – for once in my life.”

You stare at him. It is odd; Jungkook’s reasons are far from your own – not even close. You do believe him though, which is more than can be said of the others. At least he comes across as direct.

Slowly, you uncross your arms. “I don’t like it, when people idolize me,” you warn him. “I don’t care about you having a crush on me before, or about us having known each other once. If anything,” you admit with a shrug, “that turns me off.”

“Off?” Jungkook asks, followed by a grin. “Does that mean you were turned on, at some point?”

This is so startling, you blush – actually blush, which is alarming. “I – no,” you stammer, but Jungkook already looks pleased.

“Interesting,” he states, his tone thoughtful.

You stare back, unaccustomed to this feeling. This intense nervousness, a vague excitement coupled with – well, frankly, annoyance. Jungkook annoys you, with his overconfident stance. The way he stares at you is bothersome, as though he is seeing right through you. Even if he is, even if he can, it’s only common decency to pretend.

Rather than respond to him with this, you lean back in your chair. “I’ll be honest,” you return, since he seems to respond to that kind of thing. “This is usually when I tell people to leave.”

An odd look crosses Jungkook’s features – as though he has pictured this moment many times over, and not once did he think you would say no. This makes you smile.

“What was it,” he asks, dimple appearing in his forehead. “Should I not have told you about my crush on you? Listen, I just can’t… lie, like that. I wouldn’t want our marriage to start off on the wrong foot.”

“Our marriage?” With a groan, you lower your head to your hands. “You really need to stop that.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, a perfect angel. “Speaking in affirmatives?” When you look up, his grin widens, all confidence returned. “I should stop citing the inevitable?”

“You don’t even know me,” you protest, though you can’t help but laugh. It is just all so ridiculous. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’d like to, though.”

This statement gives you pause and for the very first time, you consider him seriously.

Jungkook looks back at you, also solemn. “You said,” he pauses. “This is the time when you usually tell people to leave. I can’t help but notice you haven’t asked me.”

“No,” you muse, blinking. “I haven’t.”

Jungkook exhales. “Ten dates,” he announces.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“Ten dates,” he nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “Ten dates to decide if you want this – want me – or you want me to go. Ten dates to get to know me. Ten dates,” he repeats, oddly soft, “to fall in love with me.”

“I,” you stop, unsure what to think. What Jungkook is proposing is a gigantic leap of faith. “You keep saying for me to decide. What about you?” you respond, curious. “Isn’t this just as big a decision for you?”

“Ah, yes,” Jungkook nods. “True. Fine, ten dates for both of us. The ring of that isn’t as nice, though. Also – I know myself,” he admits, smile lazy. “I only need five dates to decide.”

“Five?” You can’t keep from smiling – everything about this guy is just so intense, so blazingly earnest. “That’s all?”

He grins, uncrossing his legs. “Intimidated by that?”

Your eyes narrow. “Not at all, it’s just – you’re right. Come to think of it, five is a much better number. Less pain, less time to decide we don’t like one another.”

Jungkook shrugs, as though unconcerned. “Fine with me,” he agrees, standing up from your chair. “So,” he announces, holding out his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”

With a nod, you push yourself to stand as well. “Five dates,” you agree. “Five dates, to revisit the idea of marriage.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, the noise overly loud. This is not unusual, you tell yourself; people make these kinds of decisions every day. You, yourself have made tougher decisions before. This, though – you can’t help but feel a line has been drawn. A thrill travels your spine; excitement, coupled with furious, all-encompassing fear.

This fear is somewhat lessened, when Jungkook takes your hand. “Agreed,” he smiles, his gaze lingering on yours. “I’ll get your number from your assistant; I won’t take up any more of your time.”

You stare when he leaves, your entire body jittery and on edge. You find yourself unsure what happened, unsure why you’re so excited.

Jungkook pauses at the door to glance over his shoulder. “I’ve never done something like this before,” he confesses, gaze bright. “And, in answer to your earlier question – I’m honestly not sure why I agreed to do this. It’s wholly out of character for me. But then,” he hesitates, offering a shrug. “I’m not scared.”

He then leaves, shutting the door with him.

Jungkook: You ready to fall in love with me? [2:46 PM]

Y/N: Stop that. Or I’ll become suddenly ill and I don’t want that to happen – I bought a really pretty dress for tonight. [3:13 PM]

Jungkook: A dress, hm? Tell me about this dress. [3:25 PM]

Y/N: No. Bad, Jungkook. [3:46 PM]

Jungkook: … or good Jungkook? [4:01 PM]

Y/N: Anyways. Where are we going to dinner? [4:15 PM]

Jungkook: A restaurant. You do love specifics, don’t you? [4:28 PM]

Y/N: I got where I am today by being a major control freak [4:37 PM]

Jungkook: Hm. This will be interesting. [4:45 PM]

Y/N: Oh? And why’s that. [4:48 PM]

Jungkook: Same. [4:50 pm]

Jungkook: See you at dinner, babe ;) [4:50 PM]

Sitting back at your desk, you realize you’re smiling – a response which you hastily, almost guiltily, wipe from your face. Glancing at your office, you shrink back in your chair. This is odd. Normally, you would not be so interested so soon. Joking with Jungkook is easy, though, laughing with him is easy; your conversation is never forced, rarely awkward. Perhaps this is just the advantage of the situation: there is no added pressure to like one another. If you don’t want to continue seeing each other after five dates – you won’t. You’ll each go your separate ways and never speak to each other again. Your parents will continue to send you resumes and you will continue to search for your husband.

The thought makes your stomach drop and, when you consider the opposite, your fingers freeze on the keys. The other choice is you could marry Jungkook. This could be it; you could be at the end of the road. Yes, you’ll be his wife. Yes, you’ll get married. The thought makes you oddly light-headed with fear.

On the desk, your phone starts to buzz and you ignore it. For some reason, you have only ever given thought to the search. Mostly, you consider the act of finding someone to marry and, somewhat selfishly, you never really considered how you’ll fit into someone’s life.

Lowering your head to the keyboard, you wonder how your parents went through with this. It is such a crippling decision, deciding to spend your life with a stranger. Objectively, you know that your husband won’t always be a stranger. Over time, he will become your best friend. He will be your partner, the one you know better than anyone. It’s just that – right now, he’s a stranger. Which means the future is so hard to envision.

You know that you’re good at conceptualizing, but not like this. Not when you have no experience, no expertise to draw upon and not when the numbers and figures make no sense. Not with matters of the heart – this is something you’ve always been poor at.

Your phone buzzes angrily again and this time, you look. Jungkook has sent you the address of the restaurant, along with a time – 8:00 PM. Your gaze snaps up to look at the clock. It’s nearly 5:00 now, which makes you groan out loud. Typically, you wouldn’t leave your office before 7:00 PM. It’s just habit – your day is usually full of meetings until five, sometimes until six. You need the extra hours at the end of the day get work done. You need them to answer unread emails and ponder the future of the company.

Gritting your teeth, you hastily unplug your laptop. If you want to look presentable, you need to leave now. In order to shower, do your hair and wipe off the day’s worth of stress and makeup – it’s already going to be a tight squeeze.

Kyle’s brows arch, when you hurry through the door. “You’re going home,” he gasps, mock-clapping. “Amazing! I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Shaking your head, you tug on your pea coat over your clothes. “I do leave eventually, Kyle. Just, you know – when I’m done working for the day.”

“Which is never,” he supplies with a grin. “Glad to hear Jungkook is taking you someplace nice though,” he sighs. In the reflection of his window, you can see Kyle has the restaurant’s menu pulled up on his screen.

“Kyle,” you groan, near laughing – then pause. “Wait – since when are you on a first name basis with Jungkook?”

“Since he sent me recommendations for my fantasy football league,” Kyle mumbles, scrolling through a website. “Ah, you have to try the caviar tart. Reviews say it’s exquisite.”

Wrinkling your nose, you open your phone. If you’re being entirely truthful, you hate caviar, but if that’s what Jungkook wants to eat, you owe it to him to be open. “Anyways,” you exhale, turning away towards the elevators. “You should go home soon, Kyle. The boss has officially left the building.”

Kyle waves you away, not even bothering to respond and you ride the elevator alone to the lobby. That’s something no one tells you about being the boss. It can be lonely. It can be alienating, being the ultimate figure of authority. You exist in a professional capacity as a decision maker, which means you exist, in essence, to be feared. Maybe this is a part of why you agreed to an arranged marriage in the first place. You like to have things outlined, you like your life to be compartmentalized. Since you didn’t see a way to make things work the natural way – here you are.

The next few hours are both the slowest and the fastest of your life. A blur of makeup, steam and various tricks to better your appearance. You slide your body into a skin-tight dress, zip it all the way up and survey yourself in the mirror. You look good, or at least – you think you do. There comes a point when, after so many failed attempts at dating, it can be hard to know what’s right and wrong about yourself.

If the problem were entirely one-sided, your disastrous second date ratio wouldn’t exist. No, it would be arrogant to assume the problem is not you, at least not entirely. Not everyone is compatible, not every two people fall in love – but still, it seems odd for you to crash and burn so often.

This, though, you push aside. This, you shove deep into a corner with the rest of your insecurity. Tonight is not about that. Tonight is about getting to know Jungkook. Who is – already here, you realize walking into the restaurant.

He currently stands at the bar, staring down at his phone. The screen lights up his features, making him appear older than he is. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, wrinkling his suit – this is something an older male wouldn’t do. Or, perhaps Jungkook does know and just doesn’t care. As you close the distance between you, he looks up and blinks, nearly dropping his phone.

“Wow,” he breathes, gaze trailing your body. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

You’ve received many compliments in your lifetime, heard many kind words. It is all just part of the game; part of the give and take, before the inevitable take. This, though – you’re certain no one has ever complimented you like this before. Jungkook speaks with such sincerity, with no hint of agenda in his eyes.

“Hi,” you return, offering a smile. “You look nice, as well.”

This, frankly, is an understatement. Jungkook looks devastating in a fitted, navy suit. His dark hair falls into his gaze, jawline cut and defined. You glance quickly over his body, not wanting to linger when he smiles.

“Just nice?” Jungkook teases.

“Very nice,” you allow, meeting his gaze.

With a shrug, Jungkook holds out his arm. “I’ll take that. Let’s go.”

Jungkook seems known here, you realize, walking towards the host. You don’t know if this is because he comes here often, or because of his name. This can often be difficult to separate, in places like this. Restaurant owners Google their patrons – sometimes to avoid offense or insult, but sometimes it is to sell them out to the paparazzi outside. The odds are fifty-fifty, really.

Jungkook follows you when led to the table, his hand warm and low on your back. Upon reaching your seat, he pulls out your chair and waits until you sit before following suit. Your waiter arrives just as fast, drink orders are taken and the water is set before you. From over the top of the bread basket, sipping quickly on your water – things fall silent.

Not the good kind of silence. This is not quiet introspection, nor taut awareness. No, this is the awful, brutal lack of things to say. Clearing your throat, you stare at your water glass. It is cut from the highest caliber of crystal and, if you’re being entirely honest, you hate it. You hate this place, with its dim lighting, stuffy atmosphere and overwhelming sense of anxiety and panic.

You would much rather be at home, or in a bright, dive-y restaurant. Anywhere but here and across the table, Jungkook sighs.

You look up, startled by the sound. Eyes widening, you seem him loosen his tie. “What you are you doing,” you hiss, leaning in. “People will see.”

With an arch of his brow, Jungkook looks to where your waiter has disappeared. “Let them. You know,” he muses, lowering his voice. “We haven’t actually ordered yet, Y/N.”

Glancing down at your menu, you shrug. “I – okay. I can be ready to order, if you want to call the waiter back.”

Chuckling, he grabs the top of your menu. “No, that’s not what I meant. What I meant,” Jungkook states, placing your menu off to the side. “Is that we haven’t actually ordered. We can leave, if you want.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. “Go?” you ask, thoroughly bewildered. “Where would we go, though? And why?”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth lifts. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says quietly, “but you don’t seem all that comfortable here.”

This is surprising. “I actually dine in places like this a lot.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook nods. “Which is why, I think we should get pizza.”

“Pizza,” you repeat, stunned.

He nods. “What, you’ve never had it? Ah, Y/N,” he groans, pushing his hands through his hair. “It’s so good. Like, there’s cheese – any kind! And toppings – all you can eat! Plus the crust is bread, and –”

Interrupting him, you smack Jungkook on the arm. “I know what pizza is, you ass,” you quip, as he grins.

“Oh, good.” Pushing his chair backwards, Jungkook makes a big show of standing. “Then, let’s go. I’ll tell the host on the way out. I really hate places like this. I only made the reservation because your assistant suggested it.”

Automatically, you stand as well. “But,” you hesitate, gaze darting to the other tables, still eating. You know that technically, Jungkook is correct. Technically, you are doing nothing wrong if you left. You haven’t ordered yet, barely glanced at the menu.

If you’re unhappy here, you should go.

This thought is oddly liberating, and you find yourself wondering why you continually force yourself to stay in miserable situations. When you look up from the table, you see Jungkook’s hand outstretched before you. “Alright,” you announce, slipping your fingers into his. “Let’s go.”

“Excellent! Oh,” Jungkook grimaces, glancing over his shoulder. “Shit, I forgot I ordered the wine. Sir,” he waves an arm, overly obnoxious. “GOOD SIR!”

Covering your mouth, you attempt to control your laughter. “Jungkook,” you hiss, giggling, but this only makes him wave harder.

“SIR – I ah, thank you,” he smiles, when the waiter walks over. “Could we take this bottle of wine to go?”

The waiter blinks, looking between the two of you. “Could you have this wine – to go?”

Nodding, Jungkook settles his lips in a frown. “My date is feeling poorly and we must leave – but I did want to drink the bottle later.”

Somehow, he manages to keep a straight face while talking. Jungkook is careful not to look at you – since you are decidedly not as composed as he is – and eventually, the waiter just nods. “Alright,” he agrees. “We’ll wrap that up for you right away, sir.”

Jungkook nods, pulling you closer. He taps his foot while the wine is wrapped and you continue to stifle your laugh with your hand. Turning the noise into a cough when the bag is returned, you wince apologetically at the waiter.

“Thank you,” Jungkook nods, patting you on the back. “As you can see, she’s deathly ill. Of a cough, it appears. My card is on file at the front,” he informs the man, nodding. “Have a delightful evening!”

Yanking you along, Jungkook wraps your hand in his to tug you quick out the door. The second you’re outside, cool air whipping your face, you whirl around to face him. “What was that?” you gasp, hair blown all around. You push it aside, wanting to see him; wanting to see his shy smile, the way Jungkook shuffles from foot to foot.

“You seemed unhappy,” he explains, then shrugs. “Life is too short.”

This response makes you arch a brow. It is so close to what you thought in there, it’s uncanny. When you leave, though, you find yourself wishing you’d brought a warmer coat. You dressed to exit a taxi and enter a restaurant, not saunter through the late night of the city.

Noticing your shiver, Jungkook moves even closer. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, watching for rejection as he does. It’s as though he waits for you to push him away – but you do not. Instead, your breath catches at the touch of his warmth. Your gaze flicks to his, wondering what Jungkook is thinking and find him already looking at you.

“You mentioned pizza?” you venture, and he nods.

“Around the corner.” Jungkook keeps his arm tight while walking. Pulling you closer, he manages to keep you warm. “I used to go to this place back in college. They have amazing pizza, plus it’s super low-key. It, uh, there’s a bowling alley in the back.”

At this, you smile. “Bowling?”

Jungkook nods, serious. “Yet another thing I’m really, really good at.”

“You want to bowl,” you repeat. “Despite the fact that you are wearing a suit, and I’m in a dress.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Admittedly, you might be at a disadvantage.”

“You think?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alright, fine. I’ll give you a handicap. What’ll it be? Do you want me to bowl left-handed? With an arm tied behind my back?”

“Granny-style,” you deadpan, forcing Jungkook to stop walking.

Having continued your way down the sidewalk, you stop to glance over your shoulder. “Jungkook?” you call, laughing at his expression.

“Come on,” he groans, quickly catching up to your stride. “Challenge me. Make me be impressive. Tie me up, I don’t mind. Just don’t,” he begs, pulling a face, “take away my pride.”

A hiccup escapes you, pushing open the door; the unfortunate consequence of laughing too hard. “I think I’ve found your weakness,” you grin, exhaling with happiness at the warm sight of the room.

“Well.” Jungkook allows the door to fall shut behind you. “I guess you’ll never know until we play, hm?”

Only Jungkook, would walk out of a restaurant he didn’t like.

Only Jungkook, would ask for two plastic cups, order a pepperoni and spinach pizza – complain the entire time about how exceedingly poor your taste in toppings are – and then proceed to kick your ass not once, not twice, but three times in one night. He pours wine whenever anyone scores a point and you both become slightly tipsy in the process.

Jungkook walks you home, that night. Halfway there, he slips his hand into yours. It is alarming, just how comfortable it feels. It makes you disappear quickly into the lobby of your building, uncertain why just the touch of his skin is intoxicating. Flipping on the lights of your bedroom, your body feels strange – as though you’ve drunk seven sodas, with no satisfactory explanation as to why you’re feeling this sugar high.

It was the best first date you have ever been on. Possibly the best date you have ever been on. A fact which is scary, considering this wasn’t technically a date.

Not really.

Jungkook texts you the next day, and then the following. He sends you little things, ideas which make him think of you. On Tuesday, you receive a link to homemade spinach pizza – along with another lament, about your poor taste in toppings. On Wednesday, he sends a wine tasting bar and asks if you want to try it sometime. On Friday, he asks you what you want to do for your second date.

You have to admit, his openness throws you. The guys you used to date didn’t normally ask where you wanted to go; a fact which strikes you as sad. It takes some time to respond but when you do, Jungkook responds to your idea so fast, you laugh out loud.

Y/N: Can we go to a baseball game? [11:10 AM]

Jungkook: really?? [11:12 AM]

Y/N: Yes? Is that bad? [11:15 AM]

Jungkook: No, no. It’s just – can I marry you now? [11:16 AM]

Y/N: Oh, shut up [11:17 AM]

Jungkook: Okay, but yes. Done. Just bought tickets. [11:25 AM]

Y/N: It’s the playoffs, isn’t it? : / I don’t want you to spend a lot of money on me. [11:27 AM]

Jungkook: Oh, you’re right. Dammit, Y/N! I hate it when really hot girls force me to watch my idols play baseball with them in the playoffs. You’re the worst. [11:29 AM]

Y/N: hahaha okay, point taken. I’m excited [11:31 AM]

Jungkook: Same :) [11:33 AM]

The following afternoon, Jungkook practically beams with excitement when you meet him in your lobby.

“I’ve never been in the bleachers,” he confesses, while you walk toward the trains. “I’ve only ever sat in a box seat, owned by my father’s company. Never on my own,” he grins, his hand wrapping around yours.

You don’t object to the hand-holding. It feels nice, as does his excitement, which makes you excited by default. This is only your second date, your second time in public and all you can think about is the terrible start to the last one. You want to avoid that at all costs, which is why you suggested a baseball game in the first place. You want Jungkook to feel comfortable today, you want him to have fun.

Walking into the stadium, Jungkook’s hand tightens in yours. You like it, how easy being with him is. You like the way he keeps glancing sideways, continually checking to see if you’re also having fun. When you catch him doing this for the third time, you laugh and shove at his shoulder. “Stop that,” you grin and Jungkook grins.

“I can’t help it!” he protests. As you walk past the shop, he points. “Y/N,” he gasps, grabbing twin jerseys from a rack. “I’m buying two, and you’re putting one on. No negotiations.”

With a frown, you glance at your standard, black-on-black combination. It was oddly warm out today, which resulted in you not needing a coat. “What’s wrong with my jeans and sweatshirt?” you ask.

Jungkook smiles. “Absolutely nothing. Put this on, though,” he demands, thrusting out one of the jerseys. “I’m going to pay.”

Grumbling under your breath, you obey. At first, you feel silly, tugging the fabric over your head in a bathroom stall. It makes you feel dumb but when you step outside and see yourself in the mirror, it makes your eyes widen. The jersey is… cute. Turning around, you examine the back. You feel like some girl in a movie montage; a bad one, where the main girl and guy are about to fall deeply in love.

The look is just so couple-y. Which, oddly enough, you find nice because none of your prior boyfriends wanted to do that stuff with you. Smile overtaking your face, you stroll out of the bathroom. Jungkook stands just outside, leaning one shoulder to the wall and chewing on his lower lip – when you exit, he looks up.

Freezing in place, Jungkook stares. “Is it weird,” he ventures, trying hard not to smile, “if I say you look hotter than you did on our first date?”

Blushing at this, you punch him hard in the arm. “You ass. That dress cost a fortune!”

With a shrug, Jungkook removes the baseball cap from his head. He sticks this onto your head, adjusting the brim. “And that is priceless,” he murmurs, the words soft. “Now, this outfit is worth more.”

His face is so close to yours. So close, you can count each individual eyelash. Jungkook’s gaze scans yours, smile light when he pulls reluctantly away.

“Thanks,” you manage to gasp, more than a little thrown.

He takes your hand in his. “Welcome.”

The seats Jungkook bought for you are awful. Absolutely horrible – they’re so high up, you can barely see the players and a pole exists, partially blocking your view. Jungkook is mildly horrified, until you start to laugh. “I don’t even watch baseball,” you say cheerfully, picking over legs to get to your seats. “I wouldn’t even understand what I’m seeing.”

Jungkook stares for a second, disbelief written over his features. “Then why,” he demands, following you into the row, “did you even ask me to go to a baseball game?”

With a shrug, you reach seats 14 and 15. ‘I don’t know,” you admit, turning sideways to face him. Jungkook watches you sit, awkwardly lowering himself into the tiny chair. “I’ve never been to a baseball game before, and I’ve always wanted to go. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Jungkook nods, looking out at the field. “I see. Alright,” he laughs, looking back. “See that guy? He’s the pitcher. He –”

The next thirty minutes are spent with Jungkook describing the game. He painstakingly details every rule and, despite remembering none of it, you’re thoroughly entertained throughout. Jungkook is funny. His humor is dry, expression bright and he often gestures so enthusiastically that he nearly knocks over your drink and you tear up with your laughter. It becomes difficult for you to look away – and this is when you realize.

This feels solid. He feels solid. Whatever this is between you – you have the oddest sensation, it just might be real. As the lights in the stadium brighten, as the sun sinks towards the horizon, Jungkook begins to tell you more about himself. He talks, speaking mostly to entertain – but within his stories are kernels, nuggets of information to grab onto. His father worked when he was younger, he traveled throughout much of his childhood, resulting in Jungkook barely knowing his father’s face growing up.

“I was closest to my mom. Still am,” Jungkook admits. His hand continues holding your own, thumb lightly stroking your palm. “Especially once Dad died. A plane crash,” he answers the question you didn’t dare ask. “On a business trip and this hat,” he explains, looking at the brim you currently wear, “is one of the only things he left me before dying. That’s why I said it’s priceless.”

His gaze moves to your face, then the hat and you squeeze his hand tighter.

“My parents started out as an arranged marriage,” you respond, looking out at the field. All around, people are drinking, celebrating the player who just reached second base – but your only thoughts are of Jungkook. “That’s why I agreed to one in the first place, I think. It worked out so well for them. I saw each of them choose the other one, over and over – and that’s what I want. Choice,” you flush, embarrassed to say it out loud. “I want someone to choose me. I want to choose someone. If they happen to have my parents’ approval,” you laugh, ducking your head against your chest. “Less reasons to argue at Christmas, huh?”

Jungkook’s answering smile is wry. “Yeah. My Mom and Dad were married on their own, but it was traditional on my Dad’s side to have an arranged. It made things tense,” he confesses. “Not with us, but with the rest of them. I used to wonder… Ah,” he breaks off, cheeks reddening. “I shouldn’t say that.”

“Say what?” you ask, curious.

He turns sideways to face you. “I used to wonder why anyone would want that. To me, an arranged marriage meant force. The opposite of choice and choice,” he sighs, “is the one thing I’ve continuously fought for. It is funny,” he admits, lip quirking, “to hear you say that to you, an arranged marriage is freedom – because to me, it has always been the opposite.”

Your body tenses at his honestly. Perhaps it was arrogant of you, but from the way Jungkook entered your life – you assumed that he wanted this. You assumed that he wanted this more than you did. It is embarrassing, to have assumed Jungkook was already decided. This is just as much a decision for him, as it is for you.

Jungkook swallows. “This,” he hesitates, gazing at your hands. The tip of his thumb traces over your skin. “It doesn’t feel forced. I don’t feel trapped. In fact,” he looks up, gaze dark. “This is the freest I’ve felt in a while. I don’t know why.”

You just stare. You can’t think of words, not now that Jungkook has confessed his feelings for you. There exists this ember, this flicker of hope deep inside. Words might collapse your tentative flame, and you desperately need the warmth to be real. You like him this way, his hand holding yours and you don’t want to break the moment by speaking.

“Anyways.” Jungkook looks down at his shoes, swallowing hard. “Want a beer?”

You nod, settling back in your seat. “A beer would be nice,” you admit, grateful for the distraction.

Jungkook leaves and when he returns, he carries two of the most gigantic cups you’ve ever seen. “There was a sale,” he informs, struggling to keep a straight face, placing one in your hands.

You shiver, since the drink is cold – and Jungkook barely hesitates before placing his arm around you. This time you don’t pause, leaning into his side. This time, you press your entire body to his and this time, it is not just a spark that lights you. It is an inferno engulfing your body, swallowing you whole and wherever his hands brush your skin – you’re aflame.

Drinking your beer, the game continues and your inhibitions start to loosen. By the top of the sixth inning, you actually start to understand what’s going on. When you yell out a foul before anyone else does, Jungkook cracks up and starts clapping. “That’s my girl!” he yells, slightly tipsy himself. “I taught her that!”

No one is really paying attention, but he wraps his arms tighter around you. Pressing you close to his chest, he explains, “You need to get warm.”

“I’m not cold,” you point out, still grinning.

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, then says, “Then please, help me get warm.”

With a laugh, you turn to place your chin on his chest – Jungkook’s expression softens, just looking at you. Slowly, he pushes the brim of his hat back. Your heart races, meeting his gaze. The stadium spins, and you’re not entirely sure if it’s from him or the beer. When he lowers his face, eyelashes brushing your skin and –

Someone dumps their drink down your back.

“AH!” you gasp out, jumping away. Whirling, you lock gazes with a laughing, red-faced man.

“Fuck off,” he snorts, turning to face his friends.

Jungkook tenses, seeing the interaction occur. Gaze hardening, his jaw tight as he stares. “Hey,” he interrupts, voice low. “What in the hell did you just say to her?”

“Jungkook,” you mutter, tugging his hand. “Just let it go.”

The asshole ignores you both, continuing to talk and when you fold Jungkook’s hand in yours – he glances sideways. Whatever he sees in your expression, makes him exhale. “Alright,” Jungkook mutters, letting it go. “Fine.” His gaze turns concerned, at the sight of your beer-soaked shirt. “Maybe we should go though, you look froz –”

“Look, that guy is whipped by his bitch. Must be some cunt.”

Your lips tighten, anger flaring to the surface. “Jungk –” you start, but it’s too late.

“Oh, fuck no,” Jungkook fumes, turning around.

There is barely time for you to react. One second, Jungkook is holding your hand and the next, he’s snapping the douchbag’s head back. He throws a clean, well-delivered punch – straight to the bridge of his nose and the guy yelps, falling backwards. His friends grab him on the way down, yelling at you to get out, before the dude comes to.

Jungkook seems surprised, but agrees. “Let’s go, babe! Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” he yelps, grabbing your hand in his.

He takes off, practically running down the steps of the stadium. You’re right behind him, one hand held tight in his, the other one holding onto his hat. Your hair flies out behind you, barely able to breathe from your laughter. Normally, you wouldn’t condone this sort of violence. Especially not violence done, ‘in the lady’s honor,’ but this, though – you can’t stop grinning. That guy was just such an ass and he looked so surprised when Jungkook clocked him back there.

Bursting free from the stadium, you collapse against the red, brick wall of the building. Jungkook bends over, struggling to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he gasps, squinting upwards. The night is quieter out here, as he pushes himself upwards to stand. “I shouldn’t have done that. God, it’s been so long since I fought anyone. I just –”

He stops, when you lift yourself on tip-toe to press your lips to his cheek.

The kiss is just that, nothing more. Your lips, soft on his skin before you withdraw to stare up at him. Jungkook’s cheek is smooth, warm and smelling of the coconut sunscreen you gave him earlier. His gaze is dark, though, hardening the longer he stares.

You do want to kiss him. You wish to entangle your hands in his hair, shove him to the wall and kiss him, but – you realize you’re drunk. You two are drunk, in public and are currently on the run from the law.

“Take me home?” you say instead, and Jungkook freezes.

He seems to realize everything you just did, based on his expression. “Yes,” he agrees, blinking and nodding. “Absolutely,” he sighs, grabbing your hand in his.

The next morning, you wake up regretful for several confusing, conflicting reasons. You regret pushing Jungkook away. You regret drinking as much as you did. You regret stopping the kiss – though, this thought is interrupted by your phone buzzing on your nightstand.

Jungkook. It appears there was nothing to regret, at all.

The two of you text non-stop that week. You find out the others’ likes, dislikes, fears, desires. As a matter of fact, you two are so busy talking, learning, seeing that you nearly forget everything you might not want to see. You forget about things you might not like, or know, or understand and it’s your friend Anna, who brings this sobering fact to light.

Anna: How goes the whole arranged marriage thing? [6:47 PM]

Anna: Find The One? [6:48 PM]

Rolling your eyes, you grab for your phone. Your work day is almost at an end, you were just wrapping up a final email.

Y/N: It’s great, if you must know. I’ve been seeing this guy… [6:51 PM]

Anna: Oh?? Who? TELL ME [6:52 PM]

Y/N: Omg, you’re so needy lol [6:53 PM]

Y/N: Jeon Jungkook. Do you know him? [6:54 PM]

Anna: hm no [6:54 PM]

Anna: WAIT [6:55 PM]

Anna: IS HE??? [6:55 PM]

Sitting up straight, you arch a brow at your phone. Anna types, backspaces, then types again.

Y/N: Is he what??? [6:57 PM]

Anna: www.google/news/washingtonpost/youngmogu… [6:59 PM]

Hesitantly, you click on the link. You don’t know what you’re about to see, which makes you cautious. Your eyes widen, reading the headline.

YOUNG MOGUL, JEON JUNGKOOK, SPLITS FROM FAMOUS INSTAGRAM GIRLFRIEND, LILY MAYA

Scanning the body of the article, your heart plummets. The man is Jungkook, all right. You see his perfect, handsome profile plastered across several, large photos. You see his strong, stupid hands all over a girl’s waist. There are his perfect lips, sucking the face of a very pretty model. No, more than pretty, she’s gorgeous – it makes you slightly sick to your stomach, staring at her beautiful face.

Of course, Jungkook has dated others before you. Of course, he has had prior relationships – he mentioned as much, the very first day you met. Nothing he has done since indicates he still has feelings for anyone. Still, the title of the article does give you pause – so does the date, which was printed less than a year ago.

Jungkook said it himself, that is is unusual he has agreed to an arranged marriage. It makes you wonder if there exists more than what he’s said. If maybe you’re his rebound, a final attempt to get over Lily. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to block out the image. Now that it exists though, you can’t seem to stop.

It makes you suddenly shaky, horribly rotten. Lily would never feel like this about someone else and, thinking this, you groan. Lowering your face to your hands, you slowly shake your head. Already, you are comparing yourself to her. Already, you are summarizing the differences and finding yourself wanting. Lily is gorgeous, you are just pretty. Lily is thin; you’ve been known to eat an entire family-sized bag of Sun Chips in one sitting. Lily is perfect, poised, put together – and everything that you show to the public is carefully cultivated.

After several minutes of wallowing, you take a deep breath. Forcing yourself to get a grip, you rather determinedly respond to the currently unanswered text in your phone.

Y/N: Your turn. Where and when, is our next date? [7:34 PM]

Jungkook texts back within minutes.

Jungkook: Actually, I do have an idea in mind. [7:35 PM]

Jungkook: Y/N [4:27 AM]

Jungkook: Y/N, wake up [4:29 AM]

Jungkook: Are you awake? [4:31 AM]

Jungkook: GET UP, THIS IS DATE NUMBER THREE [4:32 AM]

You wake on Saturday morning not to your alarm – which is set for nine – but by the incessant buzzing of your cell phone. Text after text, followed by a sharp ringing which nearly makes you throw your phone to the wall.

“Hullo,” you groan, fumbling to get the device to your ear. “Who’s this.”

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!”

“I,” you pause, cracking open one eye long enough to squint at your clock. “What the fuck, Jeon. It’s 4:30 AM.”

“Yes,” he hums, as though he is currently talking to a very small child. “I know it’s early, silly. But it’s my turn to pick the date, and this is what I want to do.”

“Die?”

“Very funny. No, I’m not dying until February 30th, 2098.”

“…I hate you.”

“Nope, you don’t. Now, get that cute butt of yours downstairs.”

Hanging up, you sincerely consider going back to sleep – but can’t help but wonder what Jungkook wants. After several moments of debate, you groan, throwing back your covers and rolling out of bed. “Fuck me,” you groan, shuffling into the bathroom. “I hate everything.”

You barely bother getting ready; it’s only the irritating memory of Lily Maya which convinces you to put in any sort of effort. A quick wash of your face, a small brush of makeup before you twist your hair high in a knot on your head. You tug on a crewneck and jeans, throw on a pea coat to jog out the door. It slams shut behind you and you fervently hope it woke people up.

You’re grumpy the entire way to the lobby. Grumpy, pushing open the door to the parking lot – but when you see Jungkook, you find it suddenly hard to stay mad. He’s wearing a ski cap, black coat and looks absolutely amazing. It’s unfair, that guys do so little and look so good. His face breaks out in a smile when he sees you – which forces your stomach to flip somersaults.

“Hey,” he grins, when you come to a stop right before him.

You glare back. “This had better be good, Jeon.”

“O-oh,” he chuckles, grasping your hand. “My last name – that’s how I knowyou’re mad. Come on,” he tugs, pulling you close behind. “We don’t want to miss it.”

“Miss what,” you grumble, trailing in his footsteps.

Jungkook just shakes his head, miming a zipping action of his lips.

His car is – black. You’re honestly not sure of the make or model; you’re far too tired to care. The seats are soft, though and you turn dutifully to face him, curling up on the passenger’s side. “Jungkook?” you mumble, until he looks your way.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

You make a face. “Please, no.”

“Peanut?” he grins.

“Gag me.”

“Maybe another time. Angel?”

“No way.”

“Princess?”

You remain quiet, picking at your nails and Jungkook grins triumphantly. “I knew it,” he smirks, leaning his head to the seat. “I knew you would like being spoiled. You always did, even as a kid.”

“Did not,” you gasp, outraged. “You little brat, take that back!”

Jungkook merely chuckles, merging onto the highway. “Maybe I was a brat, but so were you. The perfect princess,” he teases, “never giving me the time of day.”

“You’ve been holding this in for a while, haven’t you?”

He grins. “Maybe I have. So, what?”

“I was fourteen,” you groan, drawing both your legs onto the seat of his car. “You were eleven. Maybe the difference isn’t much now, but in child years – I would’ve been a predator.”

Jungkook snorts. “A sexy predator.”

“Oh my fucking god, Jeon!”

“Kidding, kidding,” Jungkook laughs, wincing when you punch him. “Careful princess, I bruise.”

You roll your eyes, glancing out the window. You’re finally coherent enough to see where you’re going. Outside of the car, the city sprawls by. You’re already past the skyline, heading straight into the country. “Where are we going?” you ask, sitting up straighter.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, just grips the wheel tighter, “It’s a secret.” When you glare, he gestures loosely towards the back of the car. “There’s coffee,” he says and when you make a pathetic, little noise, he starts to laugh.

“Why didn’t you say so,” you gasp, reaching happily over the console.

Jungkook stares, shaking his head in disbelief. “This entire time,” he groans, almost to himself. “I could have fixed your deplorable anger with coffee. Noted.”

You nod sleepily, stirring creamer and sugar into the cup. “That’s all it takes, really.”

Jungkook chuckles, lapsing into silence while he continues to drive. His music plays in the background, soft and soothing – almost enough to make you fall back asleep. In fact, you’re just starting to drift off when his hand touches your leg.

“Y/N,” he whispers, even though you’re the only two in the car. “Wake up.”

When you open your eyes, you might be the only two people in the world. He’s parked on top of a hill, one you don’t know the name of. There’s forest and hills spread in either direction, only a few sleepy town lights below. On the edge of the horizon, the sky is just turning light, a dull shade of grey instead of black, with tendrils of blue shot through the edge.

You look over, surprised to find him looking back. “The sunrise?” you ask. “You brought me to look at the sunrise?”

Uncertainty enters Jungkook’s gaze. “Yes.”

You look past, out at the horizon. “I’ve never watched the sunrise before.”

“Then let me show you,” Jungkook says, and opens his door.

You follow, unbuckling your seatbelt and taking your coffee with. The grass is crunchy, wet with frost and brushing the tips of your boots. Jungkook hops onto the hood, lying quickly down on his back. He props himself up on the windshield and gestures you to join. “Come on, princess.”

Grimacing, you follow. Clamoring onto the hood with decidedly less grace than he did, you watch your breath fog in the morning air. By now, it’s not a question of if you’ll touch him, but when. Jungkook’s arm wraps tightly around your waist, this time – he pulls you snug against his side.

“Sorry it’s so cold,” he breathes, and you shake your head.

“Not so much, anymore.”

He smiles, saying nothing. Staring at the horizon, you watch the sky subtly streak gold. It is strange, watching time pass. Looking at the sky, watching the sun slip above the horizon – you stare first at this, then at him. Jungkook’s profile is light, burnt against the darkness of the sky and it’s honestly hard to look away now that you’re here.

“The funny thing about evolution,” you clear your throat, and Jungkook looks over.

“Were we talking about evolution?”

You shake your head – then nod. “Yes and no,” you hesitate.

He chuckles, looks up. “Go on.”

“The funny thing is,” you exhale, staring at the peach-lined sky. “So many people say, ‘you can’t see it.’”

Jungkook doesn’t move from his place on the hood. “The concept can be difficult to grasp, yes.”

“You can’t see it, so it’s not real,” you whisper, eyes darting to his. “A silly thought, and based on a wrong assumption.”

“That you can’t see evolution?”

You nod, stomach lifting. “Exactly. Sometimes,” you raise a hand, tracing the shape of the sun. “Time itself is visible. The Galapagos are always linked to Darwinism, always talked of in the same breath as evolution – but so few people know why.”

Jungkook smiles, still not looking your way. “Why, then?” he asks, words soft on his lips.

“The islands were isolated,” you explain. “They were so removed from society, it ensured their evolution was seen. There was a year the weather lent itself to a certain kind of seed. Birds with beaks able to crack that type of seed survived. The next year, a different kind of seed flourished. A bird with a different evolutionary advantage emerged – and a different kind of bird survived. This went on, but in such short increments of time you physically saw the birds change, saw them adapt to their environment.

Jungkook leans back further, splaying himself on the hood. “This sunrise is the birds,” he finishes, nearly inaudible. “Mostly, you look at the sun and see it fixed. The light static, the motion immobile. It changes, sure – but you never notice. Sunrise,” he breathes, watching the curve of the light. “The change is visible.”

“Exactly.”

You lie down beside him, a mere heartbeat away.

“Y/N?”

Looking sideways, your heart contains a queer sort of ache. “Yes?”

He stares at you, stretching out a finger. Jungkook brushes your jaw, trails over nothing and something in his expression changes – almost wistful, in the golden hour. “Nothing,” he whispers, then looks up at the sky.

You shiver, and follow suit.

The next week is odd.

Not for the usual reasons – a change in weather, in workload or location. No, it’s a change in yourself. Your very world has shifted. Inch by inch, text by text, you find your thoughts no longer occurring in the singular. It is no longer do I want to do this, but do we. That realization is terrifying.

It might be silly to text Jungkook less because of this, but you do. It is only that you’ve always valued your independence. Well, that isn’t entirely true. You valued your independence, since college. Largely this was due to one relationship, a singular man who stripped you bare and removed everything you thought you were.

Your goals disappeared, to become goals which fit his. You tried to fit in with his ambition, his friends, his work, his morals and, though you did not realize it at the time, it was toxic. It wasn’t even clear to you what was happening, not until after the break-up left you devastated. Hindsight is 20/20, after all.

Even after all that, you continued to seek him out. For the eight months following you two were fuck buddies, for the eight months following you two slept together, as he tried his best to ‘find himself.’ You were essentially still boyfriend and girlfriend – just now, your ex was free to sleep around. There was no commitment on his end, no dedication, no compromise or promise. He took all he wanted from you, and you received nothing in return.

It took longer than you care to admit, to catch on. To see him for what he truly was, to recognize the toxicity he brought. Perhaps it’s why you’ve been single ever since. Perhaps this is why you tend to see sex as a necessity. A physical need, one to pursue and discard like other vices. There are only moments, small moments, where you miss the feeling of love.

These moments aren’t often. It has only been since Jungkook, that you’ve begun to feel like you’re missing out on something. Not that you miss that asshole ex of yours – what you miss is something deeper, something more. You didn’t think you’d find this with Jungkook, though – a thought which terrifies you.

For some reason, you thought an arranged marriage would solve everything. You thought that by choosing someone to marry, it would be less painful than falling in love. Of course, you should have known better; you should have seen the love shining clear in your mother’s eyes. The devotion, in your father’s. Having someone in your life by any means is painful, just as much as pleasurable.

Swallowing with difficulty, you stare down at your desk. You stare at your hands, splayed on the wood and attempt to forget the feel of his hand in yours. It’s become common these past three dates, to hold hands with him. Holding hands used to seem childish, but now it is something to anchor you. Just his touch, his hands wrapped around yours, makes you feel more solid.

Maybe this is what you’ve been missing all this time – a connection. Sex fulfills physical need, and there’s no shortage of guys looking to fuck in this world. Friends are social interaction. It’s the intersection, though. The moment of someone understanding the whole you, inside and out. A connection which is singularly unique to love.

Exhaling deeply, you spread your fingers further. You didn’t think it would be like this. An arranged marriage was supposed to be something to control. A way of looking at love, at life in the same way you look at work. With logic, and the mutual benefit of both parties in mind. Marriage is a joining of assets, decision-making and liability. On paper, it is. Perhaps not in life.

Jungkook does not exist on paper.

His is alive, brilliant and wonderfully complex. You never know what he’ll do next, never know what he’ll say and you like that. You find yourself thinking of things to explain, to share and to show him. Not because he is something on paper, but because he is him. Because he is Jungkook. Because you might possibly – tentatively, futuristically – be able to love him.

The thought is wholly unsettling, entirely unprecedented and oddly exciting.

Lifting your phone, you send him a text.

Y/N: I have an idea for our fourth date. [8:13 PM]

Jungkook: Oh? What did you have in mind, princess? [8:20 PM]

Y/N: Ugh. Meet me at Clark and Gregor. 3:30 PM, Saturday. Dress warm :) [8:25 PM]

Five minutes before you told Jungkook to arrive, you’re sitting on the park bench, staring at your breath while it fogs into the air. Last night brought about sudden cold snap, which is something you’d been counting on. Today will be more fun if it’s cold. You have only been waiting a minute before Jungkook skids into view, harried and out of breath.

“Hi,” he gasps, readjusting his hat. “I’m so sorry – my train was late, but I’m here!”

With a laugh, you stand up. “I’m early, you’re not late.”

Chest deflating, Jungkookg catches his breath. “Oh. In that case,” he shrugs, turning to leave – until you grab his arm.

“Come on,” you grin, tugging his coat. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Jungkook whines, though he follows you obediently. “You could be leading me off a cliff, for all I know.”

“Yes, because there are so many cliffs sprinkled throughout the city.”

“You never know,” Jungkook grunts, grinning when you move even closer. “Y/N,” he chides, just noticing. “You’re not wearing any gloves.”

His mittened hands wrap around yours, keeping you warm when you look down. “Oh,’” you flush, digging through your pocket with your other hand. “I have them! Just forgot to put them on.”

Jungkook lets go long enough to remedy the mistake – then grabs your hand again and, smiling, you fall into step beside him as you walk. His hip occasionally bumps into yours, body warm in the space you don’t occupy. You let it happen, allow your thoughts to wander where they shouldn’t. It is becoming possible to picture it, to think of marriage. The idea of his hand holding yours, imagining nights just like this one – it is possible to picture the concept of forever. This is terrifying.

But maybe you want that.

Glancing at his face, you almost lose yourself in his features. He’s beautiful, truly he is. The panes of his features, the curve of his cheekbone, the steep drop to his nose. Jungkook once mentioned he thought his nose was too big – this was on your first date, if you recall. You were bowling, his strong hands on your waist while he showed you how to throw the ball with a curve. He mentioned his father also had a large nose, that the trait was inherited from him – and that Jungkook hated it, while growing up.

You wanted to contradict him then, to tell him no – Jungkook’s nose was perfect, just like the rest of him. Each feature of his is thoroughly and uniquely Jungkook. This means he is attractive, yes, but it’s more than just that. Beauty fades, and so will his. This isn’t about how pretty he is, nor about how attracted you are to him.

This is about finding him beautiful, inside and out. Both his flaws and his merits. This is about wanting him even when you’re upset, when you’re sick, when you’re strange and angry and savage. Staring at his profile, the crazy notion enters your brain that maybe you want that with him.

Jungkook glances your way. “Really?” he asks, arching a brow. “What are we doing? Why did I need to dress warm – are you going to lock me out in the cold, because I’m a wimp, I –”

Rolling your eyes, you point ahead. Jungkook’s gaze follows, fixating on the silver length of ice and his eyes widen. “Cool,” he grins. “I’ve ice skated since I was young. I’ll help you, Y/N, when you inevitably fall.”

Groaning out loud, you move to push past. “We’ll see about that, Jeon. Come on.”

It turns out to be a giant blow to your ego, when Jungkook ends up being right. You are horrible at ice skating. You can roller blade and for some reason, you thought the two would interchange. Wrong. The two are similar, but one doesn’t seem to help the other. The ice is slippery, you stop in a different way and the wobbly metal is much thinner than wheels beneath your feet.

Jungkook skates before you now, zig-zagging backwards. “C’mon, Y/N,” he teases, holding your hands. “You can go faster. There’s an elderly gentleman about to pass us. I – oh, wait. He just did,” Jungkook beams, waving an arm. “Hello, sir! Have a good evening!”

You swat him and stumble, nearly taking him down with you. Jungkook grunts, grabbing tight to your waist and holding you steady. He starts to laugh like that, chest shaking against yours.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, also laughing.

Since your realization, it has been harder and harder to act like you don’t care. That’s how you usually are in relationships, because typically you’re the invincible one, the inexhaustible one. It is difficult, to pretend that you’re solid. To pretend like you’re steady, strong and tough. What you really want to say – what you’ll never admit to wanting, at least not now – is to tell Jungkook how you really feel. He should know that he makes you feel weaker, makes you feel vulnerable.

It has been a long time, since anyone made you feel that way. With a smile, Jungkook pulls himself back to make scissor motions with his feet. He practically dances over the ice, eyes mischievous and you nearly trip in an attempt to keep up.

“Jungkook,” you laugh, stumbling again. “Stop! Kookie!”

Jungkook looks so offended at this, you start to laugh. “After all this time,” he mutters, pulling you closer. Sometime during the past hour, the sun has sunk low on the horizon. It is colder out now, making your gloves entirely necessary. Jungkook’s scarf flutters against your cheek when he whispers, “You still don’t see me as a man, do you?”

“I,” you hesitate, staring deep into his eyes. “I think of you as a man.”

The only reason you hesitate, is because of the truth. Your feelings for him are much different now – you not only see him as a man, you see him as your man. Jungkook doesn’t know this though, and so his brow puckers.

“Oh?” he asks, unsatisfied. Moving nearer, Jungkook’s lips brush your ear. “Fine. If I’m such a child, beat me to the edge. Ready?” He pulls back, and you stare at him in alarm. “Set,” Jungkook warns.

“Kookie,” you stammer – and it turns out, this is the wrong thing to say.

“Go!” Jungkook yells, letting go. He skates hard, in the opposite direction.

Yelping, your legs skid out from under you, until – both arms fly out to steady your speed. The entire world slows, and suddenly you’re skating. Well, kind of. You’re going so slow, the grandpa has lapped you again – but hey, at least you’re still moving. A laugh escapes your chest, pushing out with one foot. Wobbling violently, you catch yourself and continue – then look up for Jungkook, and find him on the edge of the rink.

Jungkook stands awkwardly, easily identifiable in his long, black peacoat. His arms rest on the railing, his expression inscrutable. From here, he looks tenseand you wonder why until you recognize his compansion. Lily, Lily Maya. You freeze where you are – no pun intended – at the sight of his ex-girlfriend, Instagram model extraordinaire, at the rink.

She looks adorable, in a sky-blue cap and mittens. Never mind the fact that the coat is much too thin for tonight’s weather – she looks wonderful. The tip of her nose is red, her lips are chapped but Jungkook, true to his nature, doesn’t seem to notice. He chats evenly, tugging his cap even lower before facing away.

It’s hard to see his expression from here, which makes your stomach twist with discomfort. As you take a step forward, intending to leave – you remember belatedly, the fact you can’t skate. This is a fleeting thought, since it happens simultaneously with your feet slipping out from under you. You fall, flailing wildly in the moment before your knees hit the ground. The fall is nothing graceful, just the cold smack of skin against ice – you suck in a gasp, sliding several feet to a stop.

Chest heaving, your palms wet from the water, you slowly manage to push yourself up on the side. Rather than move, you sit down on the ice – lower lip trembling, when you realize the blood. The scrape on your knee is shallow, but it already trickles a thin, steady line down your leg. Swearing softly, you bite down on your lip – this is just so like you, so predictably ugly.

Jungkook is probably still talking to Lily, which means you need to reach the edge of the ice by yourself. Placing one hand awkwardly to the ground, you attempt to stand. You only manage halfway, before strong arms wrap themselves around you.

“Y/N,” Jungkook gasps, yanking you upright. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he pleads. Shaking his head, he turns red in the face. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should have –”

“Thank you,” you interrupt, chest suddenly buoyant.

Jungkook shuts up, shocked into silence. Instead, he stares and couples whiz past around you – colorful swirls against the ice. You feel happier where you are though, with Jungkook’s hands on your waist and blood on your jeans.

“Hold on to me,” Jungkook instructs. His words are confusing until he turns, sliding your hands around his midsection to tow you back across the rink.

At the exit Jungkook helps you off, grabbing your elbow until you step down on the ground. “At last,” you sigh, collapsing on the closest bench. “Sweet, non-slippery freedom.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk as he kneels. At first he is smiling – and then he catches sight of your leg. “Y/N,” he groans, both hands sliding to your calf. “You cut through your jeans and are bleeding,” he tuts, sitting back on his heels. “Do you think anyone here has a band-aid?” Jungkook mumbles, squinting out at the park.

It seems like a bad sitcom, when his ex-girlfriend steps out of the bathroom. Seeing her face, your expression drops – as Jungkook’s visibly brightens, waving an arm. “Lily!” he calls out, loud as ever. “Lily! Could you come here for a sec?”

Lily turns at the sound of his voice, freezing when she sees who he’s with. Her entire face pinches, wildly uncomfortable but she finally walks over. When Lily reaches you, she shoves both hands into her pockets and smiles weakly.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Do you still carry band-aids in your purse?” Jungkook inquires.

This entire time, he has been crouched on the ground but now, he stands. When he does this, you see that he and Lily are closer in height than the two of you are. Her eyes are level with his nose, the perfect height for kissing.

Lily glances at you, then at Jungkook. “I do,” she agrees, opening her bag. “Do you need one?”

“I,” Jungkook pauses, seeming to realize how weird this all is. “Yeah,” he coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “My girlfriend skinned her knee. My fault, really,” he manages to smile. “I got kind of competitive.”

Lily arches a perfectly-made brow. “You don’t say.” She smiles, some inside joke between the two which makes jealousy claw at the walls of your stomach.

It’s unbearable, to sit here like this. Unbearable, to watch the two of them laugh, to have Lily so close to him – to have her as your hero; the savior of Jungkook’s bumbling, awkward date. You wonder if he is now regretting things. Wonder if he’s unsure why he left Lily in the first place – or worse, why she left him. Now your head is spinning uncomfortably, wondering why they even broke up at all.

Maybe you’re just his rebound. Maybe Jungkook was hurt and he wanted something, anything that was different from her. Rather uncomfortably, you remember why you don’t let yourself date the first place. All those reasons you had for wanting an arranged marriage – and here you sit, dealing with each and every one of them.

Lily hands Jungkook a band-aid, closing her purse when Jungkook nods his appreciation. “Thank you,” he extends, smiling again. “Good luck with the new shoot.”

Lily nods, glancing curiously in your direction. “Thanks. Have fun on your… date,” she allows, as though she has trouble believing the words.

Flushing, you fumble under the weight of her gaze.

“We will,” Jungkook smiles, reaching out for your hand.

You stare at this for a moment; at Jungkook’s red, woolen mitten. You aren’t sure why, but the sight makes your throat tight and lips parched. As your hand slides into his, grasping onto solidarity – the corners of your eyes start to burn against the cold. Lily just shrugs, turning away but it’s the first time anyone has ever made you feel large, when you told yourself you were small. Jungkook did it so easily, he fixed things in one, simple gesture – and when he bends back to the ground, pulling out the band-aid, you lean forward to face him.

“Why did you break up,” you ask, inches away.

Jungkook blinks, surprised by your proximity. His right knee is wet, from kneeling down in the snow but he doesn’t complain. “I – you know we dated,” he asks, more breath than question. Then, he frowns. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” you say quietly, tracing over his face.

Jungkook hesitates. “She broke my heart,” he admits, tugging off one mitten. He quietly, slowly undoes the band-aid. “I thought I was in love with her, thought the excitement of being together meant we were in love.”

“Excitement?” you ask.

Softly, Jungkook blows on your cut. You wince at the sting, but then he withdraws to look at you. “She liked drama,” he explains, placing the bandage on over the wound. Soothing the sides, Jungkook makes sure the fit is tight. “She liked the feeling of falling, of pushing people away – all so they could come back to her and tell her they needed her. It was tiring.”

“Oh,” you allow, the word small. “I see.”

Jungkook doesn’t move, even though your knee is already bandaged. “Eventually, I stopped playing her games. I stopped chasing her when she ran, stopped hurting myself for her pleasure. I took her off the pedestal I had her on, and she grew bored. We broke up,” he continues, “when I walked in on her fucking my former best friend. She wanted a reaction.”

“Oh,” you repeat, heart squeezed tight. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, acknowledgment. “The funny part was,” Jungkook exhales, looking down at the snow. “I wasn’t devastated by it. Sure, I was angry; sure, I was sickened and sad and hurt. But at the bottom – I was relieved,” he admits, cracking. “I think I knew we didn’t belong together. You don’t hurt the people you love,” he says quietly. “Not like that.”

“I get it.”

Jungkook looks up. “You do?”

“Well, I don’t get that,” you admit, backtracking and Jungkook cracks a smile. “I’ve never been through that. I understand that kind of relationship, though. Relationships where you’re expected to lower yourself, in order to make the other one feel strong. I,” you swallow. “Love isn’t like that. It can’t be.”

“I hope it’s not,” Jungkook says to you softly.

You’re still touching. His fingers still rest upon your knee, warm against your skin – and somehow, you shiver. The air is cold, the night dark, but none of that matters. It is just Jungkook – his eyes, his smile, that fringe of his hair – it’s Jungkook, who makes you want to move closer. His hand rises from your leg to your waist, hesitating only briefly before his hands cup your face. Jungkook stares at you, a silent question – before he lowers his head to yours.

Your lips part, when you kiss.

His mouth is gentle, as though asking a question. As though waiting for affirmation, before his hand slides into your hair. “Y/N,” Jungkook groans, kissing you harder. You tilt your head up, his tongue dragging across your lower lip to request entrance.

You grant him this, just as greedy in your motions. Meeting the heat of his mouth with your own, your hands find his arms while his body presses between you. When Jungkook stops, forcing himself still – you open your eyes, and exhale. He’s already looking at you, staring and the world is tilting, breaking, breathing. You feel like the scenery has shifted, or been swallowed – because nothing, nothing could ever be the same.

“What I feel,” Jungkook ventures, hoarse. “Is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

You stare at him, nodding because you cannot be trusted with words. If you speak, if you even think about speaking, it might break the spell. You might say something stupid. You might ask him to kiss you again, might ask him to stay overnight. You might forget the fifth date entirely, and ask him to marry you right now – which is crazy.

After a long moment of silence, Jungkook stands. “Let me bring you home,” he asks quietly, and you nod in agreement.

Taking your hand, he leads you to the rental booth. Jungkook doesn’t speak still, but no longer is it uncomfortable silence. This is the good kind; his hand in yours, his body next to yours – there’s no need for words, in silence like this.

When you reach your apartment, Jungkook kisses you again. You’re pressed rough to the wall, tongues exploring while his hands slide firm to your waist. Your legs are shaking by the time he pulls back; it terrifies you, the sheer intensity of your feelings. When you open your mouth to explain all this, he looks down at the ground.

“I’ll see you later,” Jungkook responds, as though convincing himself. He steels his back quickly, nodding to himself before turning – as he walks away, you notice his rather stiff walking.

When you understand the meaning of this, your eyes widen – warmth pooling quickly between your thighs at the sight. You aren’t sure why he left. Perhaps it was for the exact same reason you didn’t ask him to stay. Five dates, you promised. Five dates, for you both to decide and somehow, inviting Jungkook in seems like a declaration. You imagine sex wouldn’t just be sex – no, it would be giving yourself entirely. Just the thought makes you clench your thighs tighter. The idea of Jungkook in your bed, lips parted and holding onto your hips while he –

Your motions are hurried, rushing inside. You fidget the entire staircase up, taking several attempts to shove your key into the door. Once you’re inside, throwing your coat onto the chair, you collapse down on your bed. Staring up at the ceiling, tight with frustration,you arch your hips quickly into the palm of your hand. It doesn’t take long to get yourself off; the hard and fast motion of your hand leaves you aching for more. You want to feel him between your thighs; want him pressed against your chest; want to know his hands, his lips, his body on yours.

Afterwards, you feel unsatisfied. Needy, to the point where you almost text, almost call – but manage to stop yourself in time.

Five dates, you promised.

The next week passes slowly. Partly due to work and partly because of Jungkook. He doesn’t text much, which makes you worry. You replay the events of Saturday over and over again in your mind. Dissecting every word, every look, all the possible implications – but his sudden dry spell makes no sense, not in that context.

Y/N: On the train this morning, someone licked my neck. MY NECK, JUNGKOOK. It was horrifying – what’s stronger than soap, to wash myself with? [9:06 AM]

Jungkook: bleach [9:16 AM]

Jungkook: Don’t wash yourself with bleach. [9:18 AM]

Y/N: Lol noted. How was your morning? Didn’t you have a big presentation? [10:02 AM]

Jungkook: Sorry, was in a meeting. Yep, it went well! [11:31 AM]

Y/N: That’s good : ) [11:45 am]

Y/N: What are you thinking you want to do this weekend? [11:47 AM]

Y/N: Hey, good morning! [10:02 AM]

Jungkook: Morning : ) [10:31 AM]

Y/N: So, about that fifth date. [10:42 AM]

Jungkook: How is your leg healing? Did it bleed more, after Saturday? [11:03 AM]

Y/N: No, it stopped later that night. Everything is good! [11:22 AM]

Y/N: It’s your turn to pick the place though Jeon, don’t make me choose for you lol [11:23 AM]

Jungkook: Ha. Fine, what about the Christmas tree lighting on Saturday? [11:45 AM]

Y/N: You’re on. [12:00 PM]

Jungkook: It’s a date. [12:14 PM]

Jungkook: Hey, Y/N. I am so, so sorry – I have to cancel Saturday. The guy I sold my company to needs to discuss something, I’m flying out to Seattle tomorrow night and staying the weekend. Rain check? [6:12 PM]

Y/N: I – uh. Okay. For when? [6:17 PM]

Jungkook: For when I get back? [6:21 PM]

Y/N: Which is…? [6:25 PM]

Jungkook: Next Thursday. What about next weekend, Friday night? We can go see the already lit Christmas tree. [6:32 PM]

Y/N: Haha okay, sure [6:41 PM]

Y/N: How’s the trip going? [2:08 PM]

Y/N: Jungkook? [9:46 AM]

Jungkook: Sorry! Awful service here. Listen, I need to go to a work dinner Saturday night now. This new client, Taehyung, wants help developing their product. Can we reschedule? [11:11 AM]

Y/N: Seriously? [12:02 PM]

Y/N: Fine. Reschedule for when? [12:04 PM]

Jungkook: Saturday [12:10 PM]

Y/N: Okay [12:12 it

Y/N: Hey, what time are we meeting tonight? [3:56 PM]

Jungkook: Oh, fuck. The guy from last night really wants to meet again to discuss specs. I’m sorry, Y/N – can we reschedule once more?? [4:12 PM]

Y/N: Fine. [4:13 PM]

Staring down at your phone, you’re silently fuming. It sits, silent and useless while you glance at your clock. It’s past 4:00 PM. Past 4:00 PM, and you’re uncertain if Jungkook would have remembered to cancel, had you not thought to ask. You reread the words, cold and blank as a small shred of doubt enters your stomach.

After that fourth date, you were certain. You were so certain of Jungkook, so excited at the prospect of being with him. You thought Jungkook felt the same, from the way that he kissed you – those things that he said – you truly thought that meant something.

He wouldn’t reschedule though, if he liked you. He wouldn’t avoid you, wouldn’t push back your dates. Maybe the kiss left something to be desired. That’s the only logical conclusion, because the kiss was the most important moment of the fourth date. The thought is devastating, but there it is. You keep replaying the moment, replaying the night. You watch it over and over in your mind and wonder if you should have done more. Perhaps you should have explained how you were feeling, but you were trying to give him his space. Jungkook wanted five dates to decide, so five dates you gave.

It’s around 10:00 PM that you stand in your kitchen, downing a second glass of wine and continuing to stare at the phone in your hand.

Jungkook never texted back and as you stare at the screen – your entire body churns with emotion. He said five. Five dates and like hell, is Jungkook going to give you four. Your thoughts are splintered with anger as jerkily, you tip the rest of your drink back.

This emotion only grows, building into a storm as you stand, slamming your glass to the counter. Turning around, you shove random items into a bag – barely considering what you’re doing, before you leave your apartment. It’s late out, the night sky is dark overhead as the snow whirls past while you rush to the train.

Lowering yourself down in a seat, you have a sudden moment of realization. You are currently upset, angry and slightly drunk on wine. Perhaps this isn’t the best decision, and you consider just calling. But then you remember the story Jungkook retold, the one about his ex who fucked his best friend.

Cold, hard fear enters the pit of your stomach. You should have seen this earlier, should have read between the lines. Jungkook has met someone. He’s dating someone else, or rekindled things with Lily and he doesn’t know how to explain. He probably wants to let you down easy, and so is trying to push you away.

Though tears prick the backs of your eyes, you grit your teeth because you can’t wipe them away. Your hands are shoved deep in your pockets, having forgotten to grab gloves before exiting your apartment. Jungkook would have scolded you for this, but you don’t care what Jungkook thinks anymore

Jungkook’s apartment building is tall, built of glass and steel. It’s much different from your brick condo, and you stand outside for a full minute before venturing through the doors.

“I’m here to see Jeon Jungkook,” you announce, stepping up to the desk.

The man nods, looking down at his computer. “Apartment number?”

You pause, hastily scrolling through your phone for the resume. The one sent to you by your parents – there, at the top, reads number 3708. You repeat this back to the doorman, who nods and buzzes you up. “Go on,” he instructs.

The elevator ride to the top is long. Long, nerve-wracking and – slightly sobering, while your wine buzz wears off. You stare at the doors, wondering if this is still a good idea. You debate for a moment about riding back down, but then – ding – the doors are already open. Heart pounding, you step out in the hall.

His apartment is close – a black number 3708 on the door and you stare, managing to gather your strength and to knock. The sound is shaky, barely audible, so you knock again – this time louder as you wince, because maybe that time was too loud. You’re about to knock for a third time, when the door flies open.

“Hey, I – Y/N?” Jungkook freezes, wallet in his hand.

Your mouth drops open. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt – and glancing beyond, your anger only grows. “What the hell?” you gape, spotting a half-drained glass of whiskey and cable TV. “Did you even have a dinner?”

Jungkook makes a noise, not a very coherent one. His face is pale, when you push your way past. As the door falls shut, you struggle to regain control before turning around. “So?” you demand, crossing your arms. “Why did you lie to me?”

Jungkook continues to stare, as though unable to place two and two together.

“Well?” you ask, lifting your brows. “Say something!”

Jungkook shakes his head, coming to life. “I didn’t lie,” he remedies, half-pushing his hand through his hair. “I did go to dinner, things just ended quickly.”

“Fine,” you allow, taking a breath. The silence is deafening, and you’re unsure what to say next – but then you decide fuck it, there’s already no recovery. “Why didn’t you call me,” you whisper, “after your dinner?”

Jungkook’s expression changes. “I – did you want me to call?” he asks, slightly dubious. “That sounds… it sounds like a booty call, to me.”

Quickly, your cheeks flush. “Well, no. I don’t want you to do that,” you respond – although maybe you do. “You cancelled on me,” you blurt, hating how needy you sound. “Three times in a row – how am I supposed to just brush that aside?”

Jungkook winces. “Three times that I had explanations for. Look, I’m sorry Y/N – things just came up.”

“Right,” you scoff, heel tapping rapidly against the floor. “So, what – you just kiss me, drop me at my apartment and dodge me, until I get the hint? Am I not pretty enough?” As you ask this, your heart hammers against your ribcage. “Am I not funny enough, successful enough? Did Lily remind you what you once had; did it make you want her back?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen with surprise. Lifting both hands, he takes a step closer. “No,” he affirms, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You – you think I don’t like you?” Jungkook seems confused by the question.

“What else should I think,” you whisper, pushing the words out. “When you’ve barely talked to me, since our last date?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. “Ah. That. Do you want to know,” he starts, then stops. “Do you want to know, why I haven’t seen you since that night?”

This is a difficult question to hypothesize, since he just shot down every answer you had.

“It’s because I want you,” Jungkook explains, voice scraped raw with emotion. He opens his eyes. “It is because I want you so badly, its torture to be around you and know you don’t want me. It’s torture to kiss you, to hold you like that, and have you say nothing. I know, I know,” he groans, noticing your expression. “I know you wouldn’t kiss me if you didn’t want to. It’s just that I don’t think you want me in the same way that I do,” Jungkook responds, gaze earnest.

You stare at him for a moment, allow this to sink in. “What… in what way do you want me?”

“Every way,” Jungkook whispers. “I want you in every way possible, each way imaginable. I want to change with you, grow with you, until I no longer can. I want absolutely everything,” he insists, moving closer. “I want to be next to you always, and it’s absolutely killing me that you don’t feel the same.”

“But,” you inhale, shaken by his outburst. “If that’s true – hear me out, Jeon! – if that’s true, then why the hell dodge me like that?”

Jungkook bites down on his lip. “Okay, I’ll admit – it wasn’t a very good plan.”

“What wasn’t a very good plan?” you hiss, exasperated.

“I kept canceling,” Jungkook winces, “because I didn’t want our fifth date to happen.”

Falling silent, you struggle to comprehend. “I – what? Why?”

“Because I didn’t want this to end,” he explains.

You’re silent for only moment – before you explode. “Are you crazy?” you yell, striding towards him over his floor. “You didn’t want this to end, so you pushed me away?”

“I know.” Jungkook bobs his head, swallowing weakly. “Look, I know. It was stupid – I realize this but,” he stares at you, pained by the words, “I couldn’t help myself. When I kissed you, when I walked you home – you said nothing! I thought you were waiting to turn me down. I thought you would tell me no, which is why I didn’t press to come in. I wanted to make the perfect fifth date to convince you,” he exhales. “I just hadn’t thought of a plan yet. I wanted to prove that I’m more than the boy you once knew – I wanted to prove that I’m worthy of being wanted by someone like you.”

“Jungkook,” you hesitate. You find you are not sure what to say, your hands falling limp to your sides. “I already know who you are.”

“No,” he exhales, reaching out for your hands. “I know you hold my hand, when you want. I know you kissed me back – but it can’t be the same,” he insists. “I don’t know if I ever said this to you before.” Jungkook hesitates, before barreling on, “but I hate the idea of fate. I hate destiny, hate all of it.”

“Oh?”

Jungkook nods. “My sister used to cut out my horoscope and I’d throw it in the trash. I said I’d make my own destiny, because I couldn’t stomach the idea of someone else being in charge.”

A smile tugs at your lips – his words are just so familiar. “No?”

Jungkook sighs. “I hate destiny, but I don’t know how else to explain you.”

This is not what you expected. When he moves, hands sliding over your arms – a flutter enters your stomach. Not just a flutter; a storm, a tempest, a wildfire racing through your veins. You rather like the feeling.

Jungkook exhales, hands moving into your hair. Your chests nearly touch while he examines the stands in his grip. “I feel like you’re meant to be here,” he murmurs. “In the beginning, you were the one who taught me to stand up for myself. Now, you’re the one pulling me back together. I have to say that frankly, I don’t know what I bring to this relationship. I don’t what I bring to you, but I’ll try. I’ll be funny, if that’s what you want. I’ll be supportive, if that’s what you need. I’ll leave you the fuck alone, if you prefer that. Just,” he exhales, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Let me try.”

For a long moment, you cannot find the words. For a long moment, his words make no sense. They mix with your emotions, mirror your fear and tenacity and – it is hard to breathe.

“Do you know why I was silent?” you finally ask, staring up at him. When Jungkook shakes his head, you continue. “It’s because I was scared.” Lower lip trembling, Jungkook brushes yours with his finger. “I was scared because of how whole – how complete, you make me feel. When I’m with you, I feel like myself – which makes no sense, because I should feel most like myself when I’m alone. But no, you bring out these parts in me I didn’t even know existed. You bring out sides which shouldn’t be there in the first place, and yet here they are. I don’t believe in miracles, Jeon Jungkook,” you say softly. “But I believe in you.”

He inhales, soft. “Do you expect me to just – accept that?”

“Yes,” you smile, looking back at him. “You have to, I said so.”

Jungkook’s lips part. “So,” he muses, wrapping the strand tighter around his finger. “Do you need that fifth date still – or?”

“Or,” you tease, lifting up on your toes.

On second thought, your height really is better for kissing.

He nudges your lips apart with his own. Drawing you into him, his large hands secure your face to his. “Or,” Jungkook exhales, forehead bending to yours. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you agree, no longer a hesitation.

“Ah,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for your thighs. His hands dig into your ass to deposit you on top of the counter. He moves quickly, pushing your coat from your shoulders and tossing it to the floor. “I don’t think a word has ever made me that happy,” Jungkook moans, burying his face in your neck.

You gasp when he sucks, forming a mark you are sure will bruise. “Jungkook,” you gasp, scolding – but forget your own words, when he looks up. His gaze is dark, hair falling into his eyes as he leans both hands to the counter.

“Yes?” he asks, brow arched.

“Forget it,” your hands slide to his waist. “Please, just kiss me.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be asked twice. His mouth descends, hot and bruising while your bodies twist roughly together. Your legs wrap around him, tight as his arms move from your torso into your hair. He kisses you hungrily, pulling your body closer; needing more, needing now, needing all of you at once.

His hands slide forward to undo the buttons on your blouse. This is shoved aside, dropped to the ground along with your bra. When you are sitting there, naked from the waist up, Jungkook stares. He exhales, hips grinding into your core when he bends to taste. His tongue flicks casually, leisurely over your breast. As he draws the nipple into his mouth, he teases you slowly while you groan his name.

“I want,” Jungkook murmurs, kissing up your neck, “to lay you out on my bed and have my way with you. Spread your legs, princess,” he whispers, nodding in approval when you obey. “Good. I’ve thought about this so often, these past weeks. I was so fucking hard after you kissed me,” he groans, hand sliding down the front of your jeans, “I jerked myself off twice at home. Imagining my hand was your pussy, your mouth,” he murmurs, biting down on your lip.

You groan, bucking your hips forward. “Jungkook,” you whine, struggling to press closer.

He nods, not wasting time as he lifts you from the counter. He walks the two of you backwards, continuing to kiss while he shoves open the door with his foot. Jungkook walks you into his bedroom, decorated in cool tones of navy and grey. He moves fast, dropping you down on his bed to take a step closer. Tugging the shirt from his body, you slide out of your jeans while he watches. These you drop on the floor, wearing only your panties when you lean back on his bed. Jungkook’s fingers slide to the waistband of his sweatpants, and you push yourself upwards.

“Hang on,” you grin, stilling his hands. “I want to do that.”

Jungkook stops, chest rising and falling while you reach for his sweats. Wrapping your fingers around his cock you find him already hard, hissing through teeth as you touch him. The sensitive tip is pressed tight to the material – you exhale, running a thumb over his member.

Lowering yourself to your knees, you yank his pants down until his dick springs up. The crude slapping noise makes you wet, panties damp while you press your thighs tighter. “Tell me what you like,” you instruct, licking a slow strip up his cock. “Tell me what gets you off, and maybe I’ll do it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you place his tip in your mouth. When you start to suck, pulling him closer – he groans.

“Ah, fuck,” he stutters, while you play with your tongue. “I like fucking from behind, with you bent over a table. I like seeing you helpless, spread out for me and – ah, god – I like to hear your moans, half-buried in the wood.”

“Mm,” you muse, sliding off him with a pop. “What else?”

You move a hand down your body. Pushing one finger beneath your panties, you trace over your clit because just teasing him is unbearable; you need something to help – only his words are turning you on. The soft grunts and groans from Jungkooks lips are torturous, as is the slow sound of his cock leaving your mouth.

Jungkook’s eyes start to shut, eyelids fluttering. “I like to fuck, hard. So hard your face is buried in the mattress, your ass is red from spanking – and I like to cum all over the marks,” he breathes, and when you look up – his jaw is clenched. He’s having difficulty holding himself together, so you deep-throat him.

Jungkook makes a strangled noise before continuing, “I like when you moan my name. When you’re so turned on, so needy for my cock that you can’t do anything else.”

At this, you slide off. “Get on the bed,” you demand, watching him smirk. “I want you to fuck me – you can come where you want.”

At this, Jungkook’s smile disappears. He jerks himself slowly, spreading your saliva while he walks to the bed. He yanks open the drawer to his end table, giving you an excellent view of his ass bending to grab for a condom. While he rolls this onto himself, you sit down on his bed. Scooting back until you rest against his pillows, you spread your legs and wait for him to join. “Jungkook,” you whine, watching him move. “Please.”

He inhales, pressing one knee to the mattress. “How wet are you?” he breathes, moving closer. Jungkook’s gaze is dark, uncontrolled. “Show me.”

You obey, sliding a hand down your body. Spreading your legs, you let him see how you are dripping. Jungkook groans, moving closer and his hand joins yours, thumb circling your clit while his index finger slips inside. You moan, arching into his hand. Feeling already tight, already full and needing more than just his fingers to be satisfied.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

Jungkook withdraws to grab for your hips. He spreads you wider, aligning his cock before he gives you all of himself. Jungkook enters you slowly, inch by inch and when he fills you entirely, you forget everything else. Jungkook is large, hot and each inch of him is pleasurable. When he is fully inside, unable to take any more – you shift your body up. Rocking into him, forcing him deeper – and Jungkook’s hands tighten on your ass.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” he murmurs, pulling away. When he thrusts back inside, the motion is bruising and you whimper. He spreads you further, wrapping your legs around his waist to set a rough, brutal pace. Jungkook watches your chest bounce underneath him, groaning out loud at the sight, “Fuck,” he moans, watching his cock enter your body. The sounds of him fucking you are wet and sinful, over and over while you come together.

Reaching down, he rubs your clit as he fucks – and immediately, your insides tighten around him. It’s almost too much; the angle he has, the pleasure thrumming through you. Jungkook bends, your chests brushing together to whisper, “I want to come inside you.” His teeth catch hold of your earlobe, “I want you to feel me filling you. Want you to know how fucking crazy you make me, how out of my mind I am for you. Do you like being marked,” he murmurs, sucking your neck.

You nod, arching upwards, losing all ability to speak when he fucks you harder.

“Good,” Jungkook affirms, thrusting deeper. “I want you to be mine – I’m already yours. You already fucking own me, and I want to return the favor. Not where anyone can see, of course. Just so I know you’re walking around with my teeth on your body, your pussy still sore from the night before, god,” Jungkook grunts, and you almost come right then and there.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, struggling to hang on. You fight off your orgasm, every limb in your body trembling. “I’m going to come, fuck, I need to come.”

“Hang in there,” he groans, speeding up. Jungkook chases his own release, fucking hard and fast until he groans, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Almost there – I – ah, fuck. Come for me, baby.”

You can’t hold it in any longer. Giving up, you clutch onto him tight. Pulling his body close, forcing his cock deeper while you fall apart. Your entire body is shaking, trembling as Jungkook comes undone as well. True to his word, he fills you up – and when both your breathing slows, hips settled against each other, you seek out his gaze.

Jungkook’s eyes are lidded, expression blissful. He bends to brush his lips with yours, before withdrawing. Pulling the condom off and to the side, he ties this in a knot before tossing in the garbage. Flopping back down, Jungkook pulls you in close. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder blade. “You need to clean up – I know. I just want to hold you like this, for a second.”

Thoroughly amendable to that, you snuggle into his arms. Jungkook smiles, soft and sleepy against the pillow. “When did you decide?” he murmurs, legs tangling to push your shin with the pads of his toes.

You giggle, feeling his cock soft against your stomach. The touch is intimate, gentle in a way you don’t think you’ve felt before. “I don’t know if it was a moment, or a series,” you admit honestly. “The moment I realized, was when we were watching the sunrise.”

“Visible change,” Jungkook whispers, and you nod.

“I want to change with you,” you confess, as he smiles.

“Me too,” he whispers, pulling you closer. “Me too.”

[Bound Series Master List]

Five Dates!Jungkook + babysitting for Obligated!Namjoon

#noonanet #kpoptrashtag #kwriterskollection #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook au #bts au #jungkook #jeon jungkook #q: jungkook tag #bts #bangtan

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

Text

THE TROUBLE WITH THE BUBBLE GOT RIGHT

Some would-be successors both directly, as Roger Bannister did, by lodging the idea in users' minds that a single man in possession of a good programming language should, like oil paint, make it available, and if one group is a minority in some population, pairs of them will; the rest will still be scooping ice cream. Some VCs will offer you an artificially low valuation to see if the results are distinctly inferior. Right now, VCs often knowingly invest too much money chasing too few good deals. Another powerful motivator is the prospect of an immediate reward to motivate you. William the Conqueror distributed the estates of the monasteries to his followers, the conflict was military. And usually the acquirer doesn't pay till the developers have proven themselves. Hundreds if not thousands of conversations of this type by teachers, because I have to admit it's one of those rare, historic shifts in the way math or history or most other university subjects do. The most efficient way to reach me, how are you going to create a named function to return.

The people are the foundation of Yahoo Shopping. After two years, the red delicious apples that were red but only nominally apples. The sentence structure and even the words are different. Arguably a market is such a valuable technique that any company that needs to happen first.1 It seemed to me this couldn't possibly matter. Even with us working to make things happen, because otherwise they become implicit vote up if you believe we can improve it, which probably averages about five years. Instead of saying that is that no city with a dead center could be turned into a startup. Gradually you realize that existing conventions are not the main reason I wrote this talk for a high school.2 They want to feel safe, and death is the topic adults lie most conspicuously about to kids. Much as everyone thinks they want financial security, the next thought would have been too slow to become profitable.3 If you want to do, and even so it can't compete with Facebook.

In the times when they weren't, philosophy was hopelessly intermingled with religion. During this time you'll do little but work, because we often have to work quite closely with them for three months—so closely in fact that place was the perfect quality to instill in their kids, so it's time to buy.4 And yet because of the slow sales cycle. Ambition May 2008 Great cities attract ambitious people. Was Amazon supposed to say no. When I say Java won't turn out to be enough. To have a sense of humor is to shrug off misfortunes, and to him they looked wooden and unnatural.5 How do you do that?6 I was talking recently to a founder who considered starting a startup could well become as popular as it deserves to be famous on that account. This varies from person to person. Online dating is a valuable thing. VCs intimidating and inscrutable.7

Yahoo that grad students can do it mostly on your own projects. To answer that we have to rely on customs to protect us. But after I'd been there a few months by buying an additional disk drive. But a company with 100 people will feel a strong adherence to an ethnic or religious identity is one of the taboos a visitor from the future would agree with us most of the rest. When you can ask it of even the most successful startups have elements of both. How to Make Wealth May 2004 This essay was originally published in Hackers & Painters. Also, common spelling errors will tend to bet wrong. Why call an auction site eBay?8 You can also be in closer touch with your code. Experts have given Wikipedia middling reviews, but they were so short, nothing really had to happen; you could simply be a source of deals.9 The obvious way to solve this problem, without waiting for the line to collapse.

It's practically the standard ending in blog entries—VCs 650 33. For sufficiently small audiences, it may not be a student?10 But what they're really saying is they want both. Patent trolls are just parasites.11 And since one person can only manage so many deals, each deal has to be ignorable to work. So the language is brief to a fault. Being available means more than being installed, though. The spammers are businessmen.

This is actually a lot happier now that they didn't have to try new things, some old rules don't apply.12 Faced with the idea of reusability got attached to object-oriented techniques to do in the 90s, and OkCupid looks likely to do this if they're close in the VC business when that happens. You can ask it in real time. Not better off, as more than one function refers to the same cause: Gates and Allen wanted to move back to Canada and live in their parents' basements. If I was any good, why didn't they start them? There was then a fashionable type of program called an expert system, at the end, just as they'll do things in your early 20s that you can't find another? You can do this or not, you're planning to disprove the Pie Fallacy.13

Notes

So where do we draw the line that philosophy will suffer by comparison, because you're throwing off your own time in the comment sorting algorithm. Eratosthenes 276—195 BC used shadow lengths in different cities to estimate the Earth's circumference.

I have about thirty friends whose opinions I care about, like hedge funds, are better college candidates. And while we might think it was 94% 33 of 35 companies that grow slowly tend not to need common sense when intepreting it. Google will pay for stuff online, if you sort investors by benevolence you've also sorted them by the same thing—trying to make that their prices stabilize. Even Samuel Johnson said no man but a lot of companies used consulting to generate all the difference between surgeons and internists fleas: I should degenerate from words to their software that doesn't lose our data.

This essay was written before Firefox.

Predecessors like understanding seem to be so obsessed with being published. The idea is to start a startup. The other reason it's easy to write in a request.

For example, there is money.

In practice sufficiently expert doesn't require one to be about web-based applications greatly to be on the process of trying to focus on the spot, so they had to push founders to overhire is not Apple's products but their policies. The only launches I remember about the idea that was really only useful for one another, it may be some formal measure that you have to deliver these sentences as if having good intentions were enough to defend their interests in political and legal disputes. This is the same lesson, partly because it depends on them, but the returns come from going to work on a consumer price index created by bolting end to end a series. If that worked, any claim to the principles they discovered.

Patrick Pantel and Dekang Lin. What people usually mean when they say this is so plausible, the term whitelist instead of hiring them. But scholars seem to like to fight back themselves. Because it's better if everything just works.

But although for-profit prison companies and prison guard unions both spend a lot to learn to acknowledge as well use the wrong side of being watched in real time. Not startup ideas is to carry a beeper? He had equity.

If asked to choose between great people. 05 15, the more powerful, because outsourcing it will have to be the only cause of poverty. Startups that don't scale.

At the time I had no choice but to a partner from someone they respect. A knowledge of human anatomy. So, can I count you in a large number of restaurants that still requires jackets: The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, during the Ming Dynasty, when the company, and 20 in Paris.

This is one way to make a conscious effort. Incidentally, Google may appear to be redeveloped as a naturalist.

The expensive part of this talk, so buildings are traditionally seen as temporary; there is undeniably a grim satisfaction in hunting down certain sorts of bugs. You may be underestimating VCs.

Many people feel good. I've learned about VC inattentiveness. But he got killed in the case. See Greenspun's Tenth Rule.

Thanks to Sam Altman, Steve Melendez, Robert Morris, and Reid Hoffman for sparking my interest in this topic.

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nicosroom · 8 years

Text

Nico Meets Bagel

Four years ago, I never had any problems finding crushes/dates/hook ups. I mostly met people at school or work and things worked out or they didn’t. I wasn’t looking for much; I was 22 and having a good time. You can read more about that period of my life here.

Two weeks before I went on the first date with Tony, I flirtatiously broke a man’s iPhone in a bar. Matt happened to live in Chicago, but travelled through the Cincy area frequently for his electrical engineering job with General Electric. He was in Oxford for a single night with a friend who was visiting a friend. I didn’t view him as much more than a hook-up opportunity, but still. Six weeks later, I had been “official” with Tony for two weeks, but on a trip to Chicago, Matt’s and my mutual friends were still pushing our potential.

Even during the four years I wasn’t single, three of which were long distance, I had to navigate through the random passes at bars; had to let a guy or two down easy: “sorry we’ve been bantering flirtatiously for weeks, but I have partner in Baton Rouge”; had to turn down the “can I buy you a drink” offers with a polite, “I’m already attached” and smile.

So four years later, and three months single, I wasn’t all that worried about “getting back in the game” (or, whatever language the late 20-somethings are using these days). But I had a whole new perspective and my old ways of gathering potential energy just weren’t going to cut it, even if my attitudes about commitment remain largely the same. (Yes, even though I was in a committed relationship for 4 years, I still largely believe my personality and my destiny are forever alone.) Here’s what I mean:

1. I’m not the wild, whiskey queen that I used to be. The last time I was single, I had just graduated from college. That place where I spent four years flirting with everybody, usually in alcohol soaked settings, and never committing to anything except my English major. In the meantime, I committed wholeheartedly to a man and a Ph.D. and lived in the same college town for five years, and with each passing year the time and money dedicated to running up tabs in the bars has seriously dwindled. Not that meeting a man in a bar is even a good strategy, but this is Oxford so you take what you can get.

2. At some point in my studies, I specialized in “yellow fever.” That is, White men’s fetish for sexual relationship with Asian women. During that couple semesters I spent a lot of time reflecting on the fact that I have only ever dated/hooked up with White men. A simple explanation is that I’ve always lived/worked/gone to school in Ohio; there’s no avoiding White men and they’re not even all that bad. Unless you’re like me and sprinkle critique of intersectional and structural oppression into everyday conversations. I’m not saying Tony was a “yellow fever guy,” only that I began to notice the subtle disparities between our understandings of our racialized experiences of the world. Tony’s least favorite thing was to be reminded of his White/male/heterosexual/middle-upper class privilege. He seemed fond of reminding me he is a feminist and that his Ancestry DNA report identifies him as “2% West Asian.” He didn’t really understand the disconnect between his delusional romantic tactic “I love your Filipina heritage” and my repeated refusals to use Ancestry DNA: “I don’t need a DNA test to know I’m 100% colonized.” I didn’t even realize how exhausted this made me until a few weeks after our breakup.

3. This one is related to the first: I’m about to enter a phase of my life when I don’t have to go to work/school everyday. By which I mean be in the physical workplace or at school. One of the great privileges of pursuing a Ph.D. is that the further you are through the program, the more flexibility you have with your time. While you get these mind-boggling and unhealthy perceptions that you must be working productively all the time, you also get to decide precisely what that schedule will look like and, at least in the humanities, you can do it pretty much anywhere. In 2016-17, I’ve spent so much time working from home, and increasingly, learning strategies to maximize productivity (by which I mean, not doing the laundry when I should be working). For the 2017-18 school year, I actually have a dissertation fellowship. I won’t have any on campus teaching responsibilities, and I’ll be able to dedicate all of my work time to producing my dissertation. As such, I’ll actually be relocating to Cincinnati, where I’ll probably spend 75% of my day time hours in my home office reading/writing/crying about my dissertation. This eliminates my basic structure of interacting with eligible bachelors -- going to work or school everyday. Living alone in a city where my major friend group is not (most of them will still be in Oxford) means I’ll have to push my comfort zone on being social (i.e. go to MeetUps, accept C.J.’s invites to Urban League events, join a gym), which is certainly a tactic for meeting men, but that could be slow going.

4. It has recently dawned on me that meeting people at work or at school is a pretty limited way to do things, since I mainly encounter the same “types” from year-to-year. It’s cool that we’ve always got a lot in common, but what about that “opposites attract” thing I’ve heard so much about? I had a student in the fall who did a research project on dating apps and stigma of meeting partners online. He made a very compelling argument about why this is the new normal and I felt like such a dullard because I had never once even used a dating app - not because of any biases about them, just because back then I was single and 22 and what I had going for me seemed to be working. Now, a dating app or two just seems like a practical resource.

So anyway, I made a plan to embark on my new adventure with dating apps on Valentine’s Day. I made a fancy dinner and a big deal of it. I convinced a friend of mine to join the app too. Setting up our profiles on Coffee Meets Bagel and scrolling through the initial profiles it gave us, we laughed so hard we cried. To address my 2nd concern, I eliminated White folks from my race/ethnicity preferences, which was a laughing matter all on its own. I liked this app already. This wasn’t hard at all --or, so I thought.

By the end of the week, I rushed into my first date. It was so clear to me that there would never be any personality alignment here and I turned him down when he asked for a second date. But, the experience was like one of those “questions to know yourself better” on the Happier podcast. His personality was “I just moved to Dayton from Seattle and this town is boring as hell.” My personality is “I’ve lived in small towns for about a decade and I always find something to do.” In other words, even though my day-to-day routines are quite boring (I read books, I write papers, I attend lectures, I give lectures, I grade papers), I have this creative edge and I make everything I do, see, think feel exciting. And when I talk about all this with someone who has no idea, they hear and see my excitement, whether or not they find these things exciting. My date, on the other hand, he waits for exciting things to happen. No go. This date also served a “break the ice” purpose for me. It was quite actually the first date I had ever been on with a total stranger. The concept of doing this seems so impossible when you’re contemplating it at age 27. It’s not at all like chance meeting a stranger in a bar and striking up a conversation or being “set up” with your best friends cousin that you’re meeting for the first time at a party, even though you didn’t plan for that. So, I just had to do it and come out on the other side knowing I could do that.

We’re now a month into this. I’ve had another first date. I think this one went really well, and I’m hoping for a second. I won’t say too much about this one, it’s early and it seems unfair to speculate on this very public forum. I will say this: I still feel really “new” at this, dating strangers business. I’m constantly nervous that there is some standard operating procedure and that I’m probably violating it. At the same time, I feel like I really have nothing to lose: I’m doing a lot of things that I might not have done had we met in person through weightier circumstances

I’m not only learning to be open-minded (you can’t say no just because a guy mentions driving his car in his “likes” or has a cat {because I’m allergic, not because I think a man owning a cat means anything})

But also to be open: When I don’t have to be calculated, toe-ing some line between being on a date with some guy and seeing him at work on Monday, I lose nothing (except maybe a Friday night date) by being candid.

I’m learning patience. I went from flaky and uncommitted to anything to committed to one person for four years. Although it took several weeks of flirtations before anything became “official,” it felt like a whirlwind. After all, we did see each other at work nearly every day as we were getting started. Now, I’m learning that I have to not read into the time lapse between messages and that a date once a week isn’t a thing I should expect.

I’m getting reacquainted with my flaky and uncommitted self, but a more mature version of her. I can juggle as many chats as I like and have many first dates, even many second dates. I don’t have to do this one “bagel” at a time and there are plenty of “bagels” to be had out there.

Ultimately, I’m learning this isn’t just an exercise in looking for romance, but an exercise about expanding my experience with the world and my understandings of myself.

#love life #dating apps #coffee meets bagel #modern love #relationships #romance

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theliterateape · 5 years

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Hope Idiotic | Part X

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

FOLLOWING THE FIRST MONTH AT THE SALES COMPANY WITH A MONETARY TARGET OF $750 — THE EQUIVALENT OF ONE JOB POSTING — Lou never again hit his goals. As a result, he was never paid more than the $1,430 a month base salary. He would not make sixty grand that year.

And it wasn’t just because he hated his job with every fiber of his being and sucked horribly at it. His team was designated to call on south Texas. The desk jockeys made daily calls to towns like Corpus Christi, Victoria and Galveston. His leads were mostly shipping companies. It was September 2008, and the economy was weak. Lou knew it. He knew it the day he arrived in Chicago over a year ago. And it seemed that it was only getting weaker. It was further evidenced by most of the leads he spoke to telling him, “We’re just not hiring right now. In fact, we’re laying people off.” But like a date rapist deaf to the word “no,” the desk jockeys were encouraged to push forward.

“If they tell you they’re not hiring at the moment, you respond that we’re helping them plan for the future,” the douchey twenty-two-year-old sales trainer said to Lou’s class of trainees. “By having job postings up, they are able to gather names and résumés to put on file so that when the need to fill a position opens up, they already have a large stack of qualified candidates to choose from. Thus, the hiring process is shorter, readying the business to function efficiently!”

ProCore was peddling lies. Before he moved and was looking for jobs, he created an account with them. Not once did he receive any job alerts for anything even remotely resembling the interests he put into the system—although he did get notifications to become an Avon Lady. With no businesses hiring and many job postings advertising unavailable positions, Lou was struggling to sell an antiquated product.

And on September 13, Hurricane Ike smashed into Galveston and other small towns along the Gulf of Mexico. Ike killed nearly two hundred people and caused approximately $29.5 billion in damage. Worst of all, the devastation forced most of the businesses on Lou’s lead list to close.

“Brian wants us to leave messages of condolence on the companies’ answering machines,” Lou told Michelle at home a few days after Ike hit.

“Who is Brian again?”

“My manager.”

“What are you supposed to say?”

“’This is Lou Bergman from ProCore. I hope you and your loved ones are safe. All of us are thinking of you and wishing you the best for a speedy recovery. When you get back on your feet, please give me a call. Let’s rebuild your business together.’”

“That sounds ridiculous.”

“Completely. The stupidest thing about it is that these people may or may not come back to work, possibly after having their home washed away or losing a family member, to a soggy answering machine message from some assholes trying to sell online job postings—but even worse is that we were supposed to make the clients think that we were local. Like, I’m supposed to read the local papers online for each city I was calling so I could have a point of conversation, you know? So let me ask you this, you think they’re wondering why we’re not underwater along with them? Of course they are. It’s a fucking scam. These people are crooks.”

“So you’re not going to hit your number needed for the commission again, are you?”

“I really doubt it.”

Two days later, Lehman Brothers Holdings collapsed, causing a massive wave of panic throughout the financial world. The Great Recession had begun. That day, with no companies to call on, Lou’s entire team was glued to streaming videos and news stories about the collapse. Lou played online Tetris.

He wasn’t surprised or fascinated because he knew something like this was coming. The hiring freezes, the layoffs, the crumpling real estate market—it’s why he removed his house listing a year ago when, after two months on the market, no one looked at it once. And for the first time since moving to Chicago, Lou didn’t feel so alone. Finally, everyone else was panicking. Knowing that relaxed him more than he’d been in a long time.

By early December, ProCore’s downtown offices were looking more and more vacant—like Detroit. Each Monday morning had one less desk occupied as desk jockeys were being laid off. Team managers were being let go, too. Rumors began to circulate about a massive layoff. The panic was enormous. Lou pulled Brian aside one Thursday morning.

“Look, I’m just tired of people talking about it. Is a companywide layoff coming?”

“Not that I know anything about,” Brian said.

“Would you tell me, or the rest of the team, if something were going down? If there were reason for concern? You know, so we can begin looking for new jobs—not that anyone is hiring, as we well know.”

“I would tell you guys. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “This recession is really real.”

Lou and Michelle met for a drink in the Loop after work that day. Her office was experiencing a similar panic, but with far greater implications. Equity partners were actually being fired, not just at the Chicago office, but also in L.A. and Boston.

“If they’re firing equity partners, they won’t think twice about firing me,” Michelle said.

“No one from your practice group has been let go, right? With all of the firings and cuts, your department will probably see a spike in business. People are going to want to sue. You’re needed right now. It’s all about labor and employment. Besides, you’re a woman. They won’t fire a woman. That would be bad business. Diversity requirements and all that.”

Riding home on the bus, they encountered a traffic jam at the corner of Lake Street and Michigan Avenue. There were ambulances, fire trucks and cop cars with their lights flashing. A large group of people had gathered around the plaza of a residential high-rise. Everyone on the bus looked up from their books, newspapers and magazines and peered through the windows at the scene.

“It’s probably a bomb threat,” Michelle said.

“No way,” said Lou. “If it were a bomb threat, the entire block would be quarantined. Someone jumped. This is a suicide. I bet there’s a puddle of blood and guts and bones in that plaza.”

“You’re disgusting,” she told him, trying to keep her laughter to a reserved level.

The next morning, Lou was shaving in the bathroom when he heard Michelle shriek while she read the morning’s news online. He ran out. “What is it?”

“Last night…”

“Yeah?”

“You were right. It was a suicide. It was Sam Tallisker.”

“Should I know who that is?”

“He was an attorney at my firm. He worked two floors above me.”

“And now he’s working forty floors below you.”

“That’s not funny, Lou. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this. They let him go last week, which I hadn’t heard. He’d been with the firm for like twenty years. I can’t believe this.”

She stood up from the desk and threw herself into Lou’s arms. She cried. Lou held her and stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. She looked at him. Her eyes were red, tears streaked her face. It was an unusual sight because Michelle so rarely cried. Not during movies, not when she and Lou had fights, not when she read his love letters that she claimed made her “heart melt.” He wiped the salty streams from her cheeks.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “This recession is really real.”

Nothing had really gotten to her until this suicide. Not living with her unemployed and under-employed boyfriend over the past year watching the economy be ruined. It wasn’t the reports he gave her of hiring managers telling him they were on a hiring freeze or even hearing from a placement-agency headhunter that there just weren’t any jobs out there. It wasn’t his sleepless nights or the pointless fights she and Lou got into about his struggle to find a good job that made her see the recession was real. It was another attorney—someone she occasionally shared an elevator ride with—killing himself. A man who had a strong career under his belt who probably had plenty of money saved up and an absurd severance package equal to the hundreds of thousands he’d been earning for decades. A man who was in a comfortable position to sit back, enjoy the time off and plan a new strategy for when the market improved; maybe even go back to his old firm. Maybe go live on an island and snorkel his life away. Lou was struggling every day to pay for a pack of gum, and he was expected to rise above all the odds in a system working against him.

He wondered why she never cried for him, but tears were appropriate for a barrister who threw himself out of a window. And then he thought that maybe he would kill himself but quickly dismissed that idea because then he’d miss out on the little bit of sympathy she started to have for him.

“Yes, Michelle. The recession is really real.”

✶

FRIDAY THAT WEEK, A COMPANYWIDE EMAIL WENT OUT AT PROCORE letting its employees know that a mandatory meeting would be held at four o’clock that afternoon. The entire floor of the office fell silent after it came through. A few moments later, the collective anxiety filled the floor. People began congregating and talking. Lou concentrated on his Tetris game.

“This is it. We’re all fired,” one of the desk jockeys said. “I bet they’re closing the office. Why would they do this before Christmas? I’m going to have to move back in with my parents.”

Because there were so many employees, several gatherings took place. Lou and Leslie’s team were stuffed into one of the conference rooms with three other teams. Jen Grady, a sweet but pushy devout Christian from the southwest region team was praying with her hands clasped and her head down.

“Ask Him if He’s hiring,” Lou said to her.

One of the HR managers walked into the conference room. She was with a middle-aged man wearing a sharp suit. She introduced him, but Lou missed his name. All he caught was that this guy was the CFO of the company. The conference room grew quiet.

“As you know, we’ve seen a sharp decrease in sales this last quarter,” the CFO said. “This is not because of the fault of any employee of this organization, but rather a result of a variety of compounding effects from the recent economic troubles. Having said that, we are forced to cut our staff significantly. Effective immediately, you are no longer employed with ProCore.”

Jen shrieked and began wailing. Others shifted uncomfortably where they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their unemployed brethren. There were murmurs and deep sighs. Lou laughed. “Of course,” he said to Leslie.

“All of your logins and passwords have been removed, so you will not be able to access any files you had on your computers,” the CFO said.

“What?” Jen cried out. “But I have photos on my computer!”

“Not any more you don’t,” the CFO said. “You should return to your desks to gather your belongings. Your manager will be there with a box for your things and a packet with your termination papers. They explain everything and include documents allowing you to sign up for COBRA. You should sign the termination agreement and fax it into the HR department as soon as you can so you can receive your final paycheck.”

“Fax it?” Lou asked. “I don’t have a fax machine at home. Can I just walk it in to the office on Monday?”

“We don’t want you to have to take any more time out of your day than you need to,” said the CFO.

“Hey, man. I’m unemployed. I have nothing but time.”

There were some snickers from the others. The HR manager looked away. The CFO stared Lou down. “Find a fax machine. If there are no other questions…”

“I have one more,” Lou said.

“What.”

“You’re not doing this just so we have to use the site to look for work, you know, to increase traffic, boost your numbers?” More snickers from the others.

“No. This decision was strictly based on current economic viability. However, I encourage you to use the job-finding services that ProCore offers.”

“Oh, no thank you. I’ve already got my résumé on ResumeWorks.com.”

The others erupted in laughter. The CEO and the HR manager left. An empty cardboard box was waiting for Lou and Leslie on their desk chairs. Brian was standing nearby.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Lou.

“You lied to me.”

“They told us last week.”

“Was it a seniority thing?”

“Mostly, yeah. I couldn’t tell you. You understand that.”

“Not really. A heads-up would have been helpful. You know, in the interest of being professional at the core.”

At the apartment, Lou sat in the desk chair with his feet on the windowsill looking at the skyline. It was a cold, gray day and the view was a little hazy through the low clouds. The smoke and steam from the other buildings below his window rose out of their stacks and wiggled above their roofs. The cars zipped by on Lake Shore Drive, into and out of downtown. Outside, the city looked alive in the frozen air. Inside, the ice floating in his glass of scotch cracked as it slowly melted. He sat like that, sipping at his drink focused on the billowing smoke until Michelle burst through the door.

“Oh, sweetheart!” she said. “I am so, so sorry.” He had called her while waiting for the bus back home. She dropped her purse and her coat on the floor and ran to him. She threw her arms around him and kissed his lips, his cheeks and his forehead. She put herself in his lap. “They didn’t give you any other real reason as to why?”

“The economy. I told you things were crumbling. I’ve been saying that for more than a year.”

“I know you have, sweetheart. I know. All right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to move your flight back home for Christmas so you’re with me. Since you don’t have to work now, you can get out there sooner. Because what you need right now is to be around people who love you. You need Chuck and Neal.”

Michelle called the airline and with honest and charming sadness she told the operator about Lou’s layoff situation. It was Christmastime so the operator was sympathetic and changed Lou’s flight without cost.

✶

THAT MONDAY, LOU DROVE TO BRUSHWOOD TO VISIT WITH HIS GRANDPARENTS and see how Pop was feeling. He also needed to use Pop’s fax machine to send in his termination agreement.

Grams made lunch. Grilled cheese sandwiches on rye bread with tomato slices and tomato soup. “Well, I’ll tell ya.” Pop said. He often began conversations this way. It was like he had been thinking of the words long before speaking them. As a result, everything he said was a well-thought-out and deductive idea. Thinking before speaking was one of the few traits Lou didn’t inherit from his grandfather. “It’s not easy out there right now. I read the other day that the National Bureau of Economic Research says we’ve been in a recession for a year already.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you people,” Lou said. “It’s not that I haven’t been trying to find work.”

“Of course not, honey,” Grams said as she ladled soup into his bowl.

“And the only reason I took this job was because I had to. I needed something.”

“Maybe you should consider a different career,” Pop said.

“What do you mean?” Lou asked.

“Find something with growth potential and stability. Maybe you go into the sheet metal business with your father’s company.”

A decade ago, Benjamin purchased a century-old sheet metal factory located a few towns over from Brushwood where the blue-collars lived. Benjamin knew nothing of the heating, ventilation and air-conditioning business, but the land was valuable and the company was profitable. It was purely a real estate venture.

“I don’t want to work in sheet metal. What would I do?”

“I’m not saying you need to be a union worker, but maybe you can learn the business and become a partner eventually. Working for family is always best.”

“Why can’t the family own a newspaper? Why can’t I just make a career doing what I want to do and what I’m good at?

“Because you have to make money and be secure. And sometimes, the things we want to do don’t allow us to always be secure.”

“You didn’t want to go into real estate,” Grams said to Pop.

“That’s true. I didn’t want to follow my father’s footsteps into the family business.”

“What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to be a psychiatrist. I’ve always been fascinated by the mind and the human condition and our environment and how it all affects us.”

“Do you wish you had gone to school and become a shrink?”

“No. I made the choice. And it was the right one. If I’d gone to school, it would have meant delaying starting a family with your grandmother. It would have taken time to build my practice before I could earn a decent living wage. I was home from the war and getting married and needed to earn a living. It just wasn’t feasible.”

“But once your practice was built, you’d be fine. And wouldn’t your dad have helped you out along the way like mine has done for me?”

“I’m sure he would have. But I didn’t want to put that burden on him.”

“And you don’t regret not following your dream of being a psychiatrist?”

“Eh. It all worked out.”

“I can’t do that, Pop. I can’t just turn my back on what I’ve always wanted and change my mind just like that. ProCore was just a job, but writing is—was—my career. That’s what I want to do.”

“Then you have to find a way to do it where you can rely on steady employment.”

“Well, right now, no one has steady employment.”

“We always need teachers. You could be a teacher. Write your books during the summer.”

“Didn’t you talk Uncle Jack out of being a teacher?”

“I wouldn’t say I talked him out of it. He was having trouble finding a job, and I suggested he consider the insurance industry. It’s steady and provides a good living.”

“You’re like the muscle of the Career Mafia.”

Pop laughed and took a sip of his soup. “Oh, God. This tastes terrible. I’m sorry, Adina. Nothing is tasting good to me.”

“Try the sandwich, maybe you’ll like that,” she said.

“It doesn’t even look appetizing.”

“What’s the matter?” Lou said.

“This medicine they’re giving me for the cancer makes everything taste awful. Everything has a metallic taste.”

“Why don’t you get some pot? That will make you hungry enough to choke anything down.”

“I have some pills with THC in them. They cost one hundred dollars each. And they don’t help.”

“So get some real pot. I bet your grandson Aaron can hook you up—and wait a second, you didn’t want to be a burden to your dad by asking for his help. Am I a burden?”

“Of course not, Sweetie,” Grams quickly answered.

✶

THAT NIGHT, MICHELLE WANTED TO GET THEIR CHRISTMAS TREE. The year before, they walked to the empty lot next to the elementary school in their neighborhood to buy the tree and carried it the few blocks home. Now it was a tradition.

“It’s supposed to snow tonight. Just like last year. Can we get it tonight? It’ll be romantic.”

Lou loved Christmas. He loved the songs and the lights and presents and the parties and the movies. It’s the season of giving. But Lou was still broke. And unemployed—again. How could he give anybody anything?

He knew Michelle wouldn’t be okay if he suggested they not exchange gifts. And she sure wouldn’t be okay if he made her something. Like if he were to write her a story or something like that. Plus, he would have to buy gifts for her parents, too.

Fuck, he thought.

He couldn’t provide her with anything. Not a Christmas, not a birthday and not an anniversary.

At the apartment with the tree, she tuned the stereo in the apartment to the adult-contemporary radio station, which had been playing Christmas music since the day after Halloween. She nursed a glass of wine as she sang along to the radio. Lou drank two glasses of scotch before he finished stringing the lights.

“You need to make your gift list and send it to my parents,” she said.

“They don’t need to get me anything.”

“Well, they’re going to, so send it to them. And I need to see it, too. And you and I need to figure out who gets them what. Did you see their lists? Dad sent them this morning. And what about your mom? Did you figure out when we’re doing Christmas with her? I don’t want to do it too close to before we leave for Vegas. And preferably not on a Sunday night because you know I need Sunday nights to prepare for the workweek. We only have two more weekends before we leave.”

“Can we do it on a weeknight when you’re not working too late.”

“I always work late, you know that.”

“So then maybe duck out early one night.”

“Lou. This is my busy season.”

“Why? You’re not in retail.”

“Some of the clients I work with are.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I’m just too busy to have Christmas with your mother on a weeknight. I have to work so I can pay for our trips, okay? Do you even know what you’re bringing to Cabo?”

That was another thing. Michelle was turning thirty and she wanted to celebrate it and their second anniversary together in her favorite place on earth: Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

Not only could he not afford Christmas, he was the paid guest of Michelle’s on a trip for her big birthday. That was an expense a boyfriend should cover. Lou should have been able to buy her plane ticket, at least split the hotel cost and not have to worry about emptying out his tiny bank account when the check came from her birthday dinner. And how big a night would their anniversary be on New Year’s Eve? He couldn’t provide her with anything. Not a Christmas, not a birthday and not an anniversary.

He fixed himself a third drink. “I’ll talk to my mom and see what day works. If I take us out to dinner on Saturday, would you be okay to do Christmas with her Saturday afternoon? Like a Christmas brunch here?”

“Sure. That’s fair. We can get cheeses and meats and I can open those new champagne bottles I got from my wine club.”

“That’d be perfect. Thank you.”

“Have you looked at any of the links I sent you for possible birthday dinners for me in Cabo?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“I feel like you’re not excited about this trip.”

“I’m excited.”

“You don’t act like it.”

Lou was irritated because the trip was still three weeks out. He had just been laid off and although he had no money, he had to bribe her with dinner so she’d agree to have Christmas with his mother. Meanwhile, he was borrowing money from Benjamin to pay his half of the rent and buying plane tickets to Las Vegas to spend Christmas with her parents. He had other things on his mind that took precedence over her birthday dinner twenty-one days away. She would veto anything he picked anyway. She always did.

“I love traveling,” she said. “It’s my passion. You know that. And I love planning trips. And this is an important trip. It’s my thirtieth birthday and our second anniversary. I get really excited about these things, and I need you to get excited, too. I need to know you care about the things I care about so I know you care about me.”

“Jesus Christ, Michelle. You get excited like a puppy piddling on the floor months before every vacation. That’s you. That’s how you do things. I do things differently. I get excited as we get closer to the actual vacation. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. It means I have a ton of other shit to do before I pick a restaurant for you that you’ll disagree with anyway. I have to decide what to buy your parents for Christmas first. One expense at a time, please.”

Michelle glared at him for a moment. “You just ruined tree-decorating night. Congratulations.”

They finished hanging the ornaments without speaking to each other. The radio still played holy, jolly Christmas tunes. Lou did everything he could to keep from laughing at Michelle. She was so angry. He was so drunk.

Tree-decorating night, he thought. Who the fuck calls it that?

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

#Hope Idiotic #David Himmel Author #David Himmel Fiction #David Himmel Novel #Chicago Fiction #Dark Humor #The Great Recession #Suicide #Une #Unemployment

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dans-les-fleures · 5 years

Text

Five Dates

Which then becomes five. (Arranged Marriage!AU)

Looking up from your desk, you note your office seems empty.

The thought is, in itself, a silly one. Usually you simply brush it aside but for some reason, the notion keeps on presenting itself to you today. You were chatting in Sarah’s office earlier, visiting the cubicle she has on the fifth floor and couldn’t help but notice all the things stuck up on her walls; scribbled drawings made by her children, faded letters from co-workers. Tiny objects, small things to remember – there were thingsthough, which is entirely different from your space.

The door opens and shuts, closing with a thud. When no one speaks, you frown. Kyle always is the one to greet you first. For him just to stand there is unusual, making you crack open an eye.

The person is not Kyle.

The man looks at the door, then to you. “Hello.”

Your lips curve upwards. “I wasn’t aware I had another meeting today,” you say, pushing yourself to stand.

“I wasn’t aware we would be meeting in your office,” the man shrugs, walking forward. “But then, nothing about this is usual – is it?”

“Well.” Sitting back down, you stare at the man standing before you. “That depends – what are you here to discuss?”

“Jungkook,” he supplies, taking a seat and slowly crossing his legs. “I’m here to discuss our engagement.”

“Our engagement,” Jungkook reaffirms, smiling. “Did you see the resume my assistant scanned over?”

Watching you read, Jungkook drapes one arm snugly across the back of his chair. “Did you find what you’re looking for?” he asks, struggling to suppress a smile.

You nod, continuing to read – and then freeze, spotting tiny, red letters at the bottom of the page. “Carlisle?” you repeat, leaning closer. “You’re from Carlisle?”

Jungkook nods. “I take that to mean you don’t remember me.”

As you squint, though, as you look – a picture begins to form in your mind. “I,” you pause, tilting your head. “Kookie?”

Jungkook’s expression falters. “Great. Yes, let’s bring that back.”

“Eleven,” Jungkook corrects, somewhat stiff.

“Right,” you exhale, shaking your head. “Which means I was what, fifteen?”

“Fourteen.” Jungkook meets your gaze. “Anything else you want to discuss about childhood?”

Perhaps, this is why Jungkook is intriguing. He is clearly intelligent and he has money of his own. If Jungkook is not here for fame or fortune, why at all?

Jungkook places his hands on your desk. “You know me as the boy who followed you around on the playground,” he allows, lifting a brow. “I know you as the girl I once said would be my wife.”

When he says this, you freeze. Staring back at him, you find the words stuck in your mouth. “You – what?”

Jungkook nods. “When I was eleven, I was very sure I wanted to marry you.”

“Ah.” Jungkook looks up, eyes gleaming. “You misunderstand.”

“I don’t think so,” you respond, equally sharp.

“Tragic,” you quip, attempting to stifle a yawn. “Not to mention, dramatic.”

“Off?” Jungkook asks, followed by a grin. “Does that mean you were turned on, at some point?”

This is so startling, you blush – actually blush, which is alarming. “I – no,” you stammer, but Jungkook already looks pleased.

“Interesting,” he states, his tone thoughtful.

An odd look crosses Jungkook’s features – as though he has pictured this moment many times over, and not once did he think you would say no. This makes you smile.

“Our marriage?” With a groan, you lower your head to your hands. “You really need to stop that.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, a perfect angel. “Speaking in affirmatives?” When you look up, his grin widens, all confidence returned. “I should stop citing the inevitable?”

“You don’t even know me,” you protest, though you can’t help but laugh. It is just all so ridiculous. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’d like to, though.”

This statement gives you pause and for the very first time, you consider him seriously.

Jungkook looks back at you, also solemn. “You said,” he pauses. “This is the time when you usually tell people to leave. I can’t help but notice you haven’t asked me.”

“No,” you muse, blinking. “I haven’t.”

Jungkook exhales. “Ten dates,” he announces.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“Five?” You can’t keep from smiling – everything about this guy is just so intense, so blazingly earnest. “That’s all?”

He grins, uncrossing his legs. “Intimidated by that?”

Your eyes narrow. “Not at all, it’s just – you’re right. Come to think of it, five is a much better number. Less pain, less time to decide we don’t like one another.”

Jungkook shrugs, as though unconcerned. “Fine with me,” he agrees, standing up from your chair. “So,” he announces, holding out his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”

With a nod, you push yourself to stand as well. “Five dates,” you agree. “Five dates, to revisit the idea of marriage.”

You stare when he leaves, your entire body jittery and on edge. You find yourself unsure what happened, unsure why you’re so excited.

He then leaves, shutting the door with him.

Jungkook: You ready to fall in love with me? [2:46 PM]

Da In: Stop that. Or I’ll become suddenly ill and I don’t want that to happen – I bought a really pretty dress for tonight. [3:13 PM]

Jungkook: A dress, hm? Tell me about this dress. [3:25 PM]

Da In: No. Bad, Jungkook. [3:46 PM]

Jungkook: … or good Jungkook? [4:01 PM]

Da In: Anyways. Where are we going to dinner? [4:15 PM]

Jungkook: A restaurant. You do love specifics, don’t you? [4:28 PM]

Da In: I got where I am today by being a major control freak [4:37 PM]

Jungkook: Hm. This will be interesting. [4:45 PM]

Da In: Oh? And why’s that. [4:48 PM]

Jungkook: Same. [4:50 pm]

Jungkook: See you at dinner, babe ;) [4:50 PM]

Kyle’s brows arch, when you hurry through the door. “You’re going home,” he gasps, mock-clapping. “Amazing! I’m so proud of you, Da In.”

Shaking your head, you tug on your pea coat over your clothes. “I do leave eventually, Kyle. Just, you know – when I’m done working for the day.”

“Kyle,” you groan, near laughing – then pause. “Wait – since when are you on a first name basis with Jungkook?”

“Since he sent me recommendations for my fantasy football league,” Kyle mumbles, scrolling through a website. “Ah, you have to try the caviar tart. Reviews say it’s exquisite.”

“Wow,” he breathes, gaze trailing your body. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

“Hi,” you return, offering a smile. “You look nice, as well.”

“Just nice?” Jungkook teases.

“Very nice,” you allow, meeting his gaze.

With a shrug, Jungkook holds out his arm. “I’ll take that. Let’s go.”

You would much rather be at home, or in a bright, dive-y restaurant. Anywhere but here and across the table, Jungkook sighs.

You look up, startled by the sound. Eyes widening, you seem him loosen his tie. “What you are you doing,” you hiss, leaning in. “People will see.”

With an arch of his brow, Jungkook looks to where your waiter has disappeared. “Let them. You know,” he muses, lowering his voice. “We haven’t actually ordered yet, Da In.”

Glancing down at your menu, you shrug. “I – okay. I can be ready to order, if you want to call the waiter back.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. “Go?” you ask, thoroughly bewildered. “Where would we go, though? And why?”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth lifts. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says quietly, “but you don’t seem all that comfortable here.”

This is surprising. “I actually dine in places like this a lot.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook nods. “Which is why, I think we should get pizza.”

“Pizza,” you repeat, stunned.

He nods. “What, you’ve never had it? Ah, Da In,” he groans, pushing his hands through his hair. “It’s so good. Like, there’s cheese – any kind! And toppings – all you can eat! Plus the crust is bread, and –”

Interrupting him, you smack Jungkook on the arm. “I know what pizza is, you ass,” you quip, as he grins.

If you’re unhappy here, you should go.

“Excellent! Oh,” Jungkook grimaces, glancing over his shoulder. “Shit, I forgot I ordered the wine. Sir,” he waves an arm, overly obnoxious. “GOOD SIR!”

Covering your mouth, you attempt to control your laughter. “Jungkook,” you hiss, giggling, but this only makes him wave harder.

“SIR – I ah, thank you,” he smiles, when the waiter walks over. “Could we take this bottle of wine to go?”

The waiter blinks, looking between the two of you. “Could you have this wine – to go?”

Nodding, Jungkook settles his lips in a frown. “My date is feeling poorly and we must leave – but I did want to drink the bottle later.”

Yanking you along, Jungkook wraps your hand in his to tug you quick out the door. The second you’re outside, cool air whipping your face, you whirl around to face him. “What wasthat?” you gasp, hair blown all around. You push it aside, wanting to see him; wanting to see his shy smile, the way Jungkook shuffles from foot to foot.

“You seemed unhappy,” he explains, then shrugs. “Life is too short.”

“You mentioned pizza?” you venture, and he nods.

At this, you smile. “Bowling?”

Jungkook nods, serious. “Yet another thing I’m really, really good at.”

“You want to bowl,” you repeat. “Despite the fact that you are wearing a suit, and I’m in a dress.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Admittedly, you might be at a disadvantage.”

“You think?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alright, fine. I’ll give you a handicap. What’ll it be? Do you want me to bowl left-handed? With an arm tied behind my back?”

“Granny-style,” you deadpan, forcing Jungkook to stop walking.

Having continued your way down the sidewalk, you stop to glance over your shoulder. “Jungkook?” you call, laughing at his expression.

“Come on,” he groans, quickly catching up to your stride. “Challenge me. Make me be impressive. Tie me up, I don’t mind. Just don’t,” he begs, pulling a face, “take away my pride.”

“Well.” Jungkook allows the door to fall shut behind you. “I guess you’ll never know until we play, hm?”

Only Jungkook, would walk out of a restaurant he didn’t like.

It was the best first date you have ever been on. Possibly the best date you have ever been on. A fact which is scary, considering this wasn’t technically a date.

Not really.

Da In: Can we go to a baseball game? [11:10 AM]

Jungkook: really?? [11:12 AM]

Da In: Yes? Is that bad? [11:15 AM]

Jungkook: No, no. It’s just – can I marry you now? [11:16 AM]

Da In: Oh, shut up [11:17 AM]

Jungkook: Okay, but yes. Done. Just bought tickets. [11:25 AM]

Da In: It’s the playoffs, isn’t it? : / I don’t want you to spend a lot of money on me. [11:27 AM]

Jungkook: Oh, you’re right. Dammit, Da In! I hate it when really hot girls force me to watch my idols play baseball with them in the playoffs. You’re the worst. [11:29 AM]

Da In: hahaha okay, point taken. I’m excited [11:31 AM]

Jungkook: Same :) [11:33 AM]

The following afternoon, Jungkook practically beams with excitement when you meet him in your lobby.

“I can’t help it!” he protests. As you walk past the shop, he points. “Da In,” he gasps, grabbing twin jerseys from a rack. “I’m buying two, and you’re putting one on. No negotiations.”

With a frown, you glance at your standard, black-on-black combination. It was oddly warm out today, which resulted in you not needing a coat. “What’s wrong with my jeans and sweatshirt?” you ask.

Jungkook smiles. “Absolutely nothing. Put this on, though,” he demands, thrusting out one of the jerseys. “I’m going to pay.”

Freezing in place, Jungkook stares. “Is it weird,” he ventures, trying hard not to smile, “if I say you look hotter than you did on our first date?”

Blushing at this, you punch him hard in the arm. “You ass. That dress cost a fortune!”

His face is so close to yours. So close, you can count each individual eyelash. Jungkook’s gaze scans yours, smile light when he pulls reluctantly away.

“Thanks,” you manage to gasp, more than a little thrown.

He takes your hand in his. “Welcome.”

Jungkook stares for a second, disbelief written over his features. “Then why,” he demands, following you into the row, “did you even ask me to go to a baseball game?”

Jungkook nods, looking out at the field. “I see. Alright,” he laughs, looking back. “See that guy? He’s the pitcher. He –”

His gaze moves to your face, then the hat and you squeeze his hand tighter.

“Say what?” you ask, curious.

“Anyways.” Jungkook looks down at his shoes, swallowing hard. “Want a beer?”

You nod, settling back in your seat. “A beer would be nice,” you admit, grateful for the distraction.

Jungkook leaves and when he returns, he carries two of the most gigantic cups you’ve ever seen. “There was a sale,” he informs, struggling to keep a straight face, placing one in your hands.

No one is really paying attention, but he wraps his arms tighter around you. Pressing you close to his chest, he explains, “You need to get warm.”

“I’m not cold,” you point out, still grinning.

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, then says, “Then please, help me get warm.”

Someone dumps their drink down your back.

“AH!” you gasp out, jumping away. Whirling, you lock gazes with a laughing, red-faced man.

“Fuck off,” he snorts, turning to face his friends.

Jungkook tenses, seeing the interaction occur. Gaze hardening, his jaw tight as he stares. “Hey,” he interrupts, voice low. “What in the hell did you just say to her?”

“Jungkook,” you mutter, tugging his hand. “Just let it go.”

“Look, that guy is whipped by his bitch. Must be some cunt.”

Your lips tighten, anger flaring to the surface. “Jungk –” you start, but it’s too late.

“Oh, fuck no,” Jungkook fumes, turning around.

Jungkook seems surprised, but agrees. “Let’s go, babe! Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” he yelps, grabbing your hand in his.

He stops, when you lift yourself on tip-toe to press your lips to his cheek.

“Take me home?” you say instead, and Jungkook freezes.

He seems to realize everything you just did, based on his expression. “Yes,” he agrees, blinking and nodding. “Absolutely,” he sighs, grabbing your hand in his.

Jungkook. It appears there was nothing to regret, at all.

Anna: How goes the whole arranged marriage thing? [6:47 PM]

Anna: Find The One? [6:48 PM]

Rolling your eyes, you grab for your phone. Your work day is almost at an end, you were just wrapping up a final email.

Da In: It’s great, if you must know. I’ve been seeing this guy… [6:51 PM]

Anna: Oh?? Who? TELL ME [6:52 PM]

Da In: Omg, you’re so needy lol [6:53 PM]

Da In: Jeon Jungkook. Do you know him? [6:54 PM]

Anna: hm no [6:54 PM]

Anna: WAIT [6:55 PM]

Anna: IS HE??? [6:55 PM]

Sitting up straight, you arch a brow at your phone. Anna types, backspaces, then types again.

Da In: Is he what??? [6:57 PM]

Anna: www.google/news/washingtonpost/youngmogu… [6:59 PM]

Hesitantly, you click on the link. You don’t know what you’re about to see, which makes you cautious. Your eyes widen, reading the headline.

YOUNG MOGUL, JEON JUNGKOOK, SPLITS FROM FAMOUS INSTAGRAM GIRLFRIEND, LILY MAYA

After several minutes of wallowing, you take a deep breath. Forcing yourself to get a grip, you rather determinedly respond to the currently unanswered text in your phone.

Da In: Your turn. Where and when, is our next date? [7:34 PM]

Jungkook texts back within minutes.

Jungkook: Actually, I do have an idea in mind. [7:35 PM]

Jungkook: Da In [4:27 AM]

Jungkook: Da In, wake up [4:29 AM]

Jungkook: Are you awake? [4:31 AM]

Jungkook: GET UP, THIS IS DATE NUMBER THREE [4:32 AM]

“Hullo,” you groan, fumbling to get the device to your ear. “Who’s this.”

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!”

“I,” you pause, cracking open one eye long enough to squint at your clock. “What the fuck, Jeon. It’s 4:30 AM.”

“Yes,” he hums, as though he is currently talking to a very small child. “I know it’s early, silly. But it’s my turn to pick the date, and this is what I want to do.”

“Die?”

“Very funny. No, I’m not dying until February 30th, 2098.”

“…I hate you.”

“Nope, you don’t. Now, get that cute butt of yours downstairs.”

“Hey,” he grins, when you come to a stop right before him.

You glare back. “This had better be good, Jeon.”

“O-oh,” he chuckles, grasping your hand. “My last name – that’s how I knowyou’re mad. Come on,” he tugs, pulling you close behind. “We don’t want to miss it.”

“Miss what,” you grumble, trailing in his footsteps.

Jungkook just shakes his head, miming a zipping action of his lips.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

You make a face. “Please, no.”

“Peanut?” he grins.

“Gag me.”

“Maybe another time. Angel?”

“No way.”

“Princess?”

“Did not,” you gasp, outraged. “You little brat, take that back!”

Jungkook merely chuckles, merging onto the highway. “Maybe I was a brat, but so were you. The perfect princess,” he teases, “never giving me the time of day.”

“You’ve been holding this in for a while, haven’t you?”

He grins. “Maybe I have. So, what?”

“I was fourteen,” you groan, drawing both your legs onto the seat of his car. “You were eleven. Maybe the difference isn’t much now, but in child years – I would’ve been a predator.”

Jungkook snorts. “A sexy predator.”

“Oh my fucking god, Jeon!”

“Kidding, kidding,” Jungkook laughs, wincing when you punch him. “Careful princess, I bruise.”

“Why didn’t you say so,” you gasp, reaching happily over the console.

Jungkook stares, shaking his head in disbelief. “This entire time,” he groans, almost to himself. “I could have fixed your deplorable anger with coffee. Noted.”

You nod sleepily, stirring creamer and sugar into the cup. “That’s all it takes, really.”

“Da In,” he whispers, even though you’re the only two in the car. “Wake up.”

You look over, surprised to find him looking back. “The sunrise?” you ask. “You brought me to look at the sunrise?”

Uncertainty enters Jungkook’s gaze. “Yes.”

You look past, out at the horizon. “I’ve never watched the sunrise before.”

“Then let me show you,” Jungkook says, and opens his door.

“Sorry it’s so cold,” he breathes, and you shake your head.

“Not so much, anymore.”

“The funny thing about evolution,” you clear your throat, and Jungkook looks over.

“Were we talking about evolution?”

You shake your head – then nod. “Yes and no,” you hesitate.

He chuckles, looks up. “Go on.”

“The funny thing is,” you exhale, staring at the peach-lined sky. “So many people say, ‘you can’t see it.’”

Jungkook doesn’t move from his place on the hood. “The concept can be difficult to grasp, yes.”

“You can’t see it, so it’s not real,” you whisper, eyes darting to his. “A silly thought, and based on a wrong assumption.”

“That you can’t see evolution?”

Jungkook smiles, still not looking your way. “Why, then?” he asks, words soft on his lips.

“Exactly.”

You lie down beside him, a mere heartbeat away.

“Da In?”

Looking sideways, your heart contains a queer sort of ache. “Yes?”

You shiver, and follow suit.

The next week is odd.

Jungkook does not exist on paper.

The thought is wholly unsettling, entirely unprecedented and oddly exciting.

Lifting your phone, you send him a text.

Da In: I have an idea for our fourth date. [8:13 PM]

Jungkook: Oh? What did you have in mind, princess? [8:20 PM]

Da In: Ugh. Meet me at Clark and Gregor. 3:30 PM, Saturday. Dress warm :) [8:25 PM]

“Hi,” he gasps, readjusting his hat. “I’m so sorry – my train was late, but I’m here!”

With a laugh, you stand up. “I’m early, you’re not late.”

Chest deflating, Jungkookg catches his breath. “Oh. In that case,” he shrugs, turning to leave – until you grab his arm.

“Come on,” you grin, tugging his coat. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Jungkook whines, though he follows you obediently. “You could be leading me off a cliff, for all I know.”

“Yes, because there are so many cliffs sprinkled throughout the city.”

“You never know,” Jungkook grunts, grinning when you move even closer. “Da In,” he chides, just noticing. “You’re not wearing any gloves.”

His mittened hands wrap around yours, keeping you warm when you look down. “Oh,’” you flush, digging through your pocket with your other hand. “I have them! Just forgot to put them on.”

But maybe you want that.

Jungkook glances your way. “Really?” he asks, arching a brow. “What are we doing? Why did I need to dress warm – are you going to lock me out in the cold, because I’m a wimp, I –”

Groaning out loud, you move to push past. “We’ll see about that, Jeon. Come on.”

Jungkook skates before you now, zig-zagging backwards. “C’mon, Da In,” he teases, holding your hands. “You can go faster. There’s an elderly gentleman about to pass us. I – oh, wait. He just did,” Jungkook beams, waving an arm. “Hello, sir! Have a good evening!”

You swat him and stumble, nearly taking him down with you. Jungkook grunts, grabbing tight to your waist and holding you steady. He starts to laugh like that, chest shaking against yours.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, also laughing.

“Jungkook,” you laugh, stumbling again. “Stop! Kookie!”

“I,” you hesitate, staring deep into his eyes. “I think of you as a man.”

“Kookie,” you stammer – and it turns out, this is the wrong thing to say.

“Go!” Jungkook yells, letting go. He skates hard, in the opposite direction.

“Da In,” Jungkook gasps, yanking you upright. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he pleads. Shaking his head, he turns red in the face. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should have –”

“Thank you,” you interrupt, chest suddenly buoyant.

“Hold on to me,” Jungkook instructs. His words are confusing until he turns, sliding your hands around his midsection to tow you back across the rink.

At the exit Jungkook helps you off, grabbing your elbow until you step down on the ground. “At last,” you sigh, collapsing on the closest bench. “Sweet, non-slippery freedom.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk as he kneels. At first he is smiling – and then he catches sight of your leg. “Da In,” he groans, both hands sliding to your calf. “You cut through your jeans and are bleeding,” he tuts, sitting back on his heels. “Do you think anyone here has a band-aid?” Jungkook mumbles, squinting out at the park.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Do you still carry band-aids in your purse?” Jungkook inquires.

Lily glances at you, then at Jungkook. “I do,” she agrees, opening her bag. “Do you need one?”

Lily arches a perfectly-made brow. “You don’t say.” She smiles, some inside joke between the two which makes jealousy claw at the walls of your stomach.

Lily hands Jungkook a band-aid, closing her purse when Jungkook nods his appreciation. “Thank you,” he extends, smiling again. “Good luck with the new shoot.”

Lily nods, glancing curiously in your direction. “Thanks. Have fun on your… date,” she allows, as though she has trouble believing the words.

Flushing, you fumble under the weight of her gaze.

“We will,” Jungkook smiles, reaching out for your hand.

“Why did you break up,” you ask, inches away.

“It does to me,” you say quietly, tracing over his face.

“Excitement?” you ask.

“Oh,” you allow, the word small. “I see.”

“Oh,” you repeat, heart squeezed tight. “I’m sorry.”

“I get it.”

Jungkook looks up. “You do?”

“I hope it’s not,” Jungkook says to you softly.

Your lips part, when you kiss.

His mouth is gentle, as though asking a question. As though waiting for affirmation, before his hand slides into your hair. “Da In,” Jungkook groans, kissing you harder. You tilt your head up, his tongue dragging across your lower lip to request entrance.

“What I feel,” Jungkook ventures, hoarse. “Is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

After a long moment of silence, Jungkook stands. “Let me bring you home,” he asks quietly, and you nod in agreement.

“I’ll see you later,” Jungkook responds, as though convincing himself. He steels his back quickly, nodding to himself before turning – as he walks away, you notice his rather stiff walking.

Afterwards, you feel unsatisfied. Needy, to the point where you almost text, almost call – but manage to stop yourself in time.

Five dates, you promised.

Da In: On the train this morning, someone licked my neck. MY NECK, JUNGKOOK. It was horrifying – what’s stronger than soap, to wash myself with? [9:06 AM]

Jungkook: bleach [9:16 AM]

Jungkook: Don’t wash yourself with bleach. [9:18 AM]

Da In: Lol noted. How was your morning? Didn’t you have a big presentation? [10:02 AM]

Jungkook: Sorry, was in a meeting. Yep, it went well! [11:31 AM]

Da In: That’s good : ) [11:45 am]

Da In: What are you thinking you want to do this weekend? [11:47 AM]

Da In: Hey, good morning! [10:02 AM]

Jungkook: Morning : ) [10:31 AM]

Da In: So, about that fifth date. [10:42 AM]

Jungkook: How is your leg healing? Did it bleed more, after Saturday? [11:03 AM]

Da In: No, it stopped later that night. Everything is good! [11:22 AM]

Da In: It’s your turn to pick the place though Jeon, don’t make me choose for you lol [11:23 AM]

Jungkook: Ha. Fine, what about the Christmas tree lighting on Saturday? [11:45 AM]

Da In: You’re on. [12:00 PM]

Jungkook: It’s a date. [12:14 PM]

Jungkook: Hey, Da In. I am so, so sorry – I have to cancel Saturday. The guy I sold my company to needs to discuss something, I’m flying out to Seattle tomorrow night and staying the weekend. Rain check? [6:12 PM]

Da In: I – uh. Okay. For when? [6:17 PM]

Jungkook: For when I get back? [6:21 PM]

Da In: Which is…? [6:25 PM]

Jungkook: Next Thursday. What about next weekend, Friday night? We can go see the already lit Christmas tree. [6:32 PM]

Da In: Haha okay, sure [6:41 PM]

Da In: How’s the trip going? [2:08 PM]

Da In: Jungkook? [9:46 AM]

Jungkook: Sorry! Awful service here. Listen, I need to go to a work dinner Saturday night now. This new client, Taehyung, wants help developing their product. Can we reschedule? [11:11 AM]

Da In: Seriously? [12:02 PM]

Da In: Fine. Reschedule for when? [12:04 PM]

Jungkook: Saturday [12:10 PM]

Da In: Okay [12:12 it

Da In: Hey, what time are we meeting tonight? [3:56 PM]

Jungkook: Oh, fuck. The guy from last night really wants to meet again to discuss specs. I’m sorry, Da In – can we reschedule once more?? [4:12 PM]

Da In: Fine. [4:13 PM]

It’s around 10:00 PM that you stand in your kitchen, downing a second glass of wine and continuing to stare at the phone in your hand.

Jungkook’s apartment building is tall, built of glass and steel. It’s much different from your brick condo, and you stand outside for a full minute before venturing through the doors.

“I’m here to see Jeon Jungkook,” you announce, stepping up to the desk.

The man nods, looking down at his computer. “Apartment number?”

“Hey, I – Da In?” Jungkook freezes, wallet in his hand.

Jungkook continues to stare, as though unable to place two and two together.

“Well?” you ask, lifting your brows. “Say something!”

Jungkook shakes his head, coming to life. “I didn’t lie,” he remedies, half-pushing his hand through his hair. “I did go to dinner, things just ended quickly.”

Jungkook’s expression changes. “I – did you want me to call?” he asks, slightly dubious. “That sounds… it sounds like a booty call, to me.”

Jungkook winces. “Three times that I had explanations for. Look, I’m sorry Da In – things just came up.”

“What else should I think,” you whisper, pushing the words out. “When you’ve barely talked to me, since our last date?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. “Ah. That. Do you want to know,” he starts, then stops. “Do you want to know, why I haven’t seen you since that night?”

This is a difficult question to hypothesize, since he just shot down every answer you had.

You stare at him for a moment, allow this to sink in. “What… in what way do you want me?”

“But,” you inhale, shaken by his outburst. “If that’s true – hear me out, Jeon! – if that’s true, then why the hell dodge me like that?”

Jungkook bites down on his lip. “Okay, I’ll admit – it wasn’t a very good plan.”

“What wasn’t a very good plan?” you hiss, exasperated.

“I kept canceling,” Jungkook winces, “because I didn’t want our fifth date to happen.”

Falling silent, you struggle to comprehend. “I – what? Why?”

“Because I didn’t want this to end,” he explains.

You’re silent for only moment – before you explode. “Are you crazy?” you yell, striding towards him over his floor. “You didn’t want this to end, so you pushed me away?”

“Jungkook,” you hesitate. You find you are not sure what to say, your hands falling limp to your sides. “I already know who you are.”

“Oh?”

Jungkook nods. “My sister used to cut out my horoscope and I’d throw it in the trash. I said I’d make my own destiny, because I couldn’t stomach the idea of someone else being in charge.”

A smile tugs at your lips – his words are just so familiar. “No?”

Jungkook sighs. “I hate destiny, but I don’t know how else to explain you.”

For a long moment, you cannot find the words. For a long moment, his words make no sense. They mix with your emotions, mirror your fear and tenacity and – it is hard to breathe.

He inhales, soft. “Do you expect me to just – accept that?”

“Yes,” you smile, looking back at him. “You have to, I said so.”

Jungkook’s lips part. “So,” he muses, wrapping the strand tighter around his finger. “Do you need that fifth date still – or?”

“Or,” you tease, lifting up on your toes.

On second thought, your height really is better for kissing.

He nudges your lips apart with his own. Drawing you into him, his large hands secure your face to his. “Or,” Jungkook exhales, forehead bending to yours. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you agree, no longer a hesitation.

“Yes?” he asks, brow arched.

“Forget it,” your hands slide to his waist. “Please, just kiss me.”

You groan, bucking your hips forward. “Jungkook,” you whine, struggling to press closer.

“Hang on,” you grin, stilling his hands. “I want to do that.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you place his tip in your mouth. When you start to suck, pulling him closer – he groans.

“Mm,” you muse, sliding off him with a pop. “What else?”

Jungkook makes a strangled noise before continuing, “I like when you moan my name. When you’re so turned on, so needy for my cock that you can’t do anything else.”

At this, you slide off. “Get on the bed,” you demand, watching him smirk. “I want you to fuck me – you can come where you want.”

He inhales, pressing one knee to the mattress. “How wet are you?” he breathes, moving closer. Jungkook’s gaze is dark, uncontrolled. “Show me.”

“Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

You nod, arching upwards, losing all ability to speak when he fucks you harder.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, struggling to hang on. You fight off your orgasm, every limb in your body trembling. “I’m going to come, fuck, I need to come.”

“Visible change,” Jungkook whispers, and you nod.

“I want to change with you,” you confess, as he smiles.

“Me too,” he whispers, pulling you closer. “Me too.”

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