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chimcess · 28 days ago

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⮞ Chapter One: Homecoming Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Hockey Player!Jungkook, Figure Skater!Reader, Hockey Player!Taehyung, Hockey Player!Jimin, Hockey Player!Namjoon, Hockey Player!Hoseok, Figure Skater!Jin, Coach!Yoongi Genre: Hockey!AU, Figure Skating!AU, Olympic!AU, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Self-Discovery, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn Word Count: 19.1k+ Summary: Y/N Y/L/N has always been destined for greatness as a competitive figure skater, her dreams of the Olympics sparkling like the ice beneath her blades. But when a devastating injury sidelines her, those dreams seem to melt away. Just when she feels lost, she unexpectedly meets Jeon Jungkook, a talented NHL hockey player. Warnings: Reader is injured and still using crutches, meet-cute reference to an unhealthy relationship with mom, absent father, parental issues, pining, low self-esteem, reader has anxiety, reader is very stressed out, honestly my girl is just exhausted, very pushy neighbors (but we love them for it), Taehyung is adopted, this is really just an introduction to everyone so not many warnings here... A/N: Happy New Year! Let's kick things off with a new massive series. This one will touch on very heavy topics such as toxic parents, mental health issues, and non-consensual touching. Please proceed with caution. New Chapters every month!

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I never used to think about what came next. Why would I? It felt pointless, like trying to guess the ending of a book while you were still tangled in the messy, middle chapters. Life just kept happening—fast, breathless, one page after another. And sometimes, if you were lucky, you got close to something that felt like a dream. So close you could almost taste it. But right when you reached for it? That’s when life reminded you—books close, lights go out, and suddenly, you’re right back where you started.

Normal? I wouldn’t know normal if it walked up and smacked me in the face. Normal was for people who wore stiff blazers and drank bad office coffee. My mornings started in the dark—lacing up my skates, the air so cold it bit at my skin. Stretch until it hurt. Practice until the moves weren’t moves anymore, just instinct. The rink smelled like sweat and frost and that sharp, unmistakable scent of wanting something too much. It clung to me.

That was my life. Until it wasn’t.

I don’t even remember learning how to skate. I just always had. The ice was the one place that made sense, the only place where my body and my brain felt like they belonged to the same person. My mom, Emily, saw it first. That spark in me. And once she saw it, she never let go. She didn’t just support me—she pushed. Hard. Like a storm rolling in, relentless and all-consuming. Maybe to her, that’s what love looked like.

People whispered about her. Said she was chasing her own lost dreams through me. Maybe she was. But I never resented her for it. Her ambition was like a fire—sometimes too hot, sometimes too much. But it kept me warm. Even when it burned.

She’d been a skater once, too. Until life happened. Until she got pregnant with me, married my dad, Jim, and let go of whatever dreams she had left. Some people move on. She never did. She carried that regret around like a weight, year after year, until all she had left was me. And the ice. I was her second chance.

She met Jim when she was still young and restless, and he was passing through town for police training. They fell in love, or at least, something close enough to it. Then I came along. A courthouse wedding, a move, a slow unraveling. Eventually, Emily and I left for Colorado—chasing the ice, chasing the dream. Jim stayed in Olympia, sinking into his routine until it swallowed him whole. I became the thing in between, stretched between my dad’s steady, distant world and my mom’s all-or-nothing drive.

Michigan wasn’t home anymore. Hadn’t been for years. But here I was.

The intercom crackled to life, yanking me out of my head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We’re beginning our descent into Detroit, where it’s currently five-eighteen p.m. and a frigid fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. Please secure your belongings.”

Fifteen degrees. Typical Michigan.

I stared out the window, my knee aching, a bitter little reminder. I was supposed to meet Dr. Jeon on Monday. People swore he was the best. But I already knew it didn’t matter. The moment my skate caught that rough patch of ice, when my body twisted and my world turned upside down—I knew.

It was over.

I could still see it, clear as a photograph: the rink bathed in pale afternoon light, Swan Lake drifting through the air. I wasn’t even competing, just skating for the sake of skating. My mom and my coach sat in the stands, talking about my next routine. I picked up speed, heading into a fan spiral—when it happened. My blade caught. My leg gave out. I went down hard.

The plane’s landing gear hit the tarmac with a screech, shaking the memory loose. My heart pounded. I gripped the armrest, swallowing against the lump in my throat.

Passengers stood, jostling for overhead bags, but I stayed put. No point in rushing. My crutches were cold in my hands, awkward, unfamiliar. A few months ago, I could glide across the ice like I belonged there. And now? Now I could barely walk through an airport without feeling like I might tip over.

At baggage claim, I stared at the conveyor belt, watching suitcases circle like they had all the time in the world. My hands were full. My leg was useless.

"You need a hand?"

The voice came out of nowhere. I flinched, turning too fast, and there he was—tall, brown-eyed, and looking at me like he could see straight through all my carefully constructed defenses. Before I could respond, someone bumped into me, and my crutch slipped from my grip, clattering against the floor.

I wobbled, reaching out for something—anything—to steady myself. But he was faster. His hands caught my arms, firm but gentle, like he’d done this before. Like he knew exactly how to keep someone from falling.

For a second, the world around us—the airport, the noise, the blur of people—just stopped.

"You okay?" His voice was warm, steady, like it belonged to someone who never panicked.

I nodded quickly, my face heating. "Yeah. Fine." A lie, probably. But what else was I supposed to say? No, actually, I’m currently living my worst nightmare, thanks for asking?

He let go slowly, like he was making sure I wouldn’t tip over again, and bent down to grab my crutch. When he handed it back, his eyes lingered—not with pity, but something else. Something softer.

"Thanks," I muttered, gripping the crutch tighter than necessary.

He smiled—easy, unbothered. "No problem." But there was something behind it, like maybe he had more to say.

The airport rushed back to life around us. People zigzagging past, voices bouncing off the high ceilings, the endless hum of somewhere-to-be energy. But for just a moment, it still felt like we were in a separate, quieter place.

He glanced at the mess of luggage by my feet. "Need help with your bags?"

My pride answered before logic could. "I’ve got it."

Which was a bold thing to say, considering I clearly did not have it. My knee throbbed, like it was rolling its metaphorical eyes at me.

But he didn’t argue. Just shrugged, like it was all the same to him. "Alright. But it’s no trouble if you change your mind."

I shifted my weight, felt the sharp twinge, and sighed. "Okay, yeah. I could use some help."

The words tasted weird in my mouth. He didn’t seem to notice. He just grabbed my suitcase like it weighed nothing, balancing my smaller bag on top.

"Someone picking you up?" he asked as we made our way toward the sliding glass doors, where the cold Michigan air lurked like a villain in a horror movie.

"Nope. Just grabbing a cab," I said, weaving through the crowd. But I was aware of him next to me, solid and steady, like an anchor I hadn’t realized I needed.

"I’ve got my car in the overnight lot," he said, so casually it almost sounded like a throwaway offer. "I could give you a ride."

I hesitated. Too fast. "No, it’s okay," I said, maybe a little too quick, a little too sharp.

Something flickered across his face—disappointment? Or was I just imagining it?

We stepped outside, and the cold hit. Hard. I sucked in a sharp breath, my fingers instantly regretting every life choice that led to me not bringing gloves.

He noticed. His mouth twitched into a knowing smile. "Forgot what Michigan feels like in January?"

"Yeah," I muttered, hugging my coat closer. "Something like that."

I should be used to it. I grew up on ice, for God’s sake. But this cold felt different. It wasn’t just outside—it was creeping in, settling deep, gnawing at something raw.

"So, where were you before this?" he asked, breath curling into the air like smoke.

"Nevada. Before that, Colorado. We moved around a lot." I didn’t even know why I was telling him this. I didn’t even know him.

"We?" He raised an eyebrow, like he already knew the answer but wanted me to say it anyway.

"Me and my mom," I said, my voice quieter now. "She’s not really the ‘stay in one place’ type."

He nodded, like that made perfect sense. "A modern-day nomad. Sounds... exhausting."

I let out a small laugh, more reflex than anything. "Yeah. It can be."

And maybe it was just the exhaustion, or the cold, or the fact that he felt easy to talk to, but this whole conversation was starting to feel less strange. Less like a fleeting airport moment and more like something solid.

"You staying here for a while?" he asked, his dark eyes locking with mine, the cold suddenly not as noticeable.

"For the foreseeable future," I said, surprising myself with how easily it came out.

"Good to know." His voice softened, like it was some kind of inside joke I didn’t know we were sharing yet. And that crooked smile? Yeah. Dangerous.

My pulse did something stupid.

What was I even doing? Standing here, flirting with a stranger in the dead of winter? This wasn’t real life—this was the kind of thing that only happened in bad rom-coms and half-formed daydreams. But with him, it felt real. Too real.

"Maybe I’ll see you around," he said, running a hand through his hair, which—of course—fell back into place in that perfectly messy, I-don’t-care-but-I-do way.

"Yeah, maybe," I said, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

"You live nearby?"

I should already be in a cab. I should be out of this cold, heading toward whatever was left of my life. But instead, I was still standing here, asking questions I had no business asking.

"Detroit," he said, his breath hanging in the air like something unfinished.

"Me too," I blurted out. "Just moved there, actually."

"Downtown?" He asked it like my answer mattered more than it should.

"Royal Oak," I said. "The old houses there... they’re beautiful."

"They are," he agreed, and there was something in the way he said it, like he was noticing things about me I didn’t even realize I was showing. His gaze flicked from my eyes to my lips, and for a second, the space between us felt smaller, thinner, like something was about to snap.

Then the wind did it for us, slicing between us like a blade.

"Welcome to Michigan," he said, laughing, his voice warm against the cold.

And then, before I could react, before I could process anything, he reached down and took my bare hands in his.

His hands were warm. Too warm. Like touching them had flipped some hidden switch inside me.

I felt it. Everywhere.

For a second, I swore the ground shifted.

"We should get you a cab," he said, glancing down at my frozen fingers, his expression softer now. "You’re not exactly dressed for this weather."

"Yeah, I probably should’ve planned better," I admitted with a laugh, but I was barely paying attention to the cold anymore. Just the heat from his hands, the way they made everything else feel less cold.

He waved down a cab like he’d done it a hundred times before, easy and effortless. I stood there, watching as he loaded my bags into the trunk, every movement feeling like a countdown. And then, when he pulled open the door for me, I just... stood there.

At the edge of the moment. Caught between stepping forward and holding still. Between leaving and staying.

“Thanks for the help,” I said, looking up at him, my heart knocking against my ribs.

“Jungkook,” he said, soft, like he was handing me something delicate. His smile was still there, tugging at the corner of his mouth like he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. “I’m Jungkook.”

“Y/N,” I replied, my own name slipping out so easily, like it had been waiting to be said here, in this exact moment, in this freezing air between us.

He repeated it—slowly, like he was trying it on. Like it was something worth holding in his mouth for a second longer. “Y/N,” he said again, quieter this time. And then he leaned in, just a little, like he was about to tell me a secret.

And suddenly, everything else—the cold, the noise, the rush of people around us—blurred out. It was just him, standing too close, that crooked grin making me wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end of whatever this was.

“Yeah, Jungkook?” I asked, my breath hitching, anticipation curling in my stomach.

“My friends and I... we go to this bar on Grand most Tuesdays. Bronx?” He said it like a casual suggestion, but it wasn’t casual. It was a bridge. A next step. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?”

A thrill shot through me—quick and unexpected. He wanted to see me again.

“Yeah,” I stammered, trying to sound normal, trying to sound like my pulse wasn’t suddenly in my throat. “I could swing by. Once I’m settled in.”

“Great.” His whole face lit up, and it was like watching a door crack open, just enough to glimpse something softer behind it. "I’ll see you around then, Y/N."

And just like that, he stepped back, shut the door behind me, and the moment ended.

The cab pulled away, and I turned, craning for one last look. He was still standing there, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, watching me go. When he caught my gaze, he waved, easy and casual, like this whole thing hadn’t just knocked the wind out of me. I lifted my hand in return, but my chest was still tight, my heart still racing.

I slumped back against the seat, pressing my forehead to the cold window, hoping the chill would slow my thoughts down. Because now that I was alone, the doubts started creeping in. The what-ifs.

Would I actually show up at Bronx? Or would I do what I always did—let the moment fade, tell myself it wasn’t real, convince myself it was just a weird, fleeting connection that didn’t actually mean anything?

But then I thought about him. About that lopsided smile. The way he said my name like it was something worth remembering. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder...

What if?

It was a little past seven when the cab finally rolled to a stop in front of my new apartment building. The sky had darkened into that deep, bruised purple, the kind that makes the world feel just a little heavier. The cold hit me full force as I climbed out, my crutches clattering against the pavement.

I was so tired. That kind of exhaustion that settles into your bones, heavy and unshakable.

The doorman noticed immediately—a grizzled guy with kind eyes and the weary patience of someone who had seen a lot of people start over. He moved toward me with the kind of practiced ease that made it clear he had done this before. Watched people show up with too many bags and too many hopes. Watched them leave, sometimes with less of both.

Without a word, he took my luggage, leading me toward the elevator like it was second nature.

Apartment 311 smelled like fresh paint and nothing else. The kind of emptiness that didn’t just sit in the air—it echoed. My footsteps bounced off the bare walls, and for a second, it felt like I was in a storage unit, not a home. No couch. No bed. Just a hollow space waiting to be filled with something real.

I let out a long breath. The cold inside the apartment was different from the cold outside—sharper, lonelier. Like even the air hadn’t settled in yet.

I pulled out my phone and ordered a pizza. Pepperoni and mushrooms, with a side of breadsticks. It felt like a stupidly normal thing to do, like maybe if I just ordered dinner, it would trick my brain into thinking everything was fine. That this wasn’t weird. That I wasn’t standing in the middle of an empty apartment with nothing but a suitcase and a sinking feeling in my stomach.

By the time I hung up, the ache in my chest had settled in for the night. This was real. No backing out now.

I called Emily.

Her voice was a mix of relief and tension, like she wanted to be happy I’d made it but also wanted to remind me that I had things to do. That I had to get back to training. That I couldn’t just pause. But I was pausing. I was standing in an apartment with no furniture, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers. And I just... couldn’t deal with it right now.

After a few strained minutes, I made an excuse and hung up. The silence rushed back in, filling the space like water, drowning out everything else.

I wandered through the empty rooms, my fingers grazing the white walls. The place felt sterile, like a waiting room for a life I hadn’t started living yet. Outside, the city buzzed—car horns, laughter, people moving through their lives like they knew exactly where they were going. I pressed my forehead to the window, watching them pass. Families. Students. Dog walkers. Everyone seemed to belong to something. To someone.

And me? I felt like a glitch in the system. Like I’d been dropped into the wrong life by accident.

Jungkook’s face flashed in my mind. The way he’d said my name, like it meant something. Like maybe I wasn’t as lost as I felt. I let myself picture it—walking into Bronx on a Tuesday night, catching sight of that crooked grin. It was just a thought, a little flicker of something warm. But I wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

The apartment was still too empty, but at least tomorrow there’d be furniture. A couch. Shelves. A coffee table, maybe. The kind of things that made a place feel real.

But the real gem of the apartment wasn’t the kitchen or the big windows. It was the alcove by the entrance—a tiny nook with a built-in window seat, framed by bookshelves. A little space that felt hidden from the rest of the world. I could already imagine curling up there on winter nights, listening to the snow tap against the glass. And for the first time since I got here, I could almost picture it—this place turning into something more than just four walls and an address.

A knock at the door snapped me out of it.

I hobbled over, stomach growling. Pizza. Finally.

But when I pulled open the door, it wasn’t the delivery guy.

It was a girl. Petite, but somehow larger than life, dressed in a black knit sweater dress and a sequined mini that shimmered in the dim hallway light. Her hair was buzzed short, dark and soft-looking, and she had cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. But it was her eyes that stopped me—deep brown, warm, familiar.

They reminded me of him.

“Hey!” she chirped, like we were old friends. “I’m Mina. I live in 312. The pizza guy accidentally brought your order to us, so I figured I’d bring it over and say hi.”

I blinked at her. Processing.

“Thanks,” I said finally, shifting on my crutches. “Would you mind setting it in the kitchen? I’m a little... restricted.”

“Of course!” Mina breezed past me like she’d lived here her whole life, her boots clicking against the hardwood. She set the pizza down and turned back, eyes bright with curiosity. “So... what happened?” She gestured at the crutches.

“Sports injury,” I said, keeping it vague. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Just not the whole truth.

Mina nodded like that was good enough. “Well, I hope you’re healing okay. Must be rough, moving in while dealing with all that.”

“Yeah,” I said, relieved when she didn’t press. “Thanks again for bringing the pizza.”

“No problem! Consider it a ‘Welcome to the Building’ gift.” She grinned, then suddenly froze, her eyes going wide.

“Wait... you don’t have any furniture, do you?”

I sighed. “I’ll figure something out. It’s just one night.”

Mina looked personally offended by this information. Then, before I could stop her, she scooped up the pizza box and waltzed right back out the door.

I just stood there. Staring. Processing.

Did she really just take my dinner?

With a groan, I grabbed my bag and pulled out fleece pants, a tank top, and my track jacket. Changed. Gathered up my toothbrush, phone, and keys. Then, still half-stunned, I hobbled down the hall to apartment 312.

I knocked, my heart pounding for no good reason.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Mina standing there.

It was a tall blonde woman—striking in that effortless kind of way, like she had never tripped over a curb in her life. She had long, golden hair that fell like silk, sharp dark eyebrows, and deep brown eyes that were almost black. Where Mina crackled with chaotic energy, this woman felt like still water. Collected. Unshakable. The kind of person who didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

“Hey, come on in,” she said, her voice low and a little raspy. “Mina said you’d be staying with us tonight.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, stepping inside, feeling weirdly self-conscious. “I don’t want to impose—”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving a hand like my words were actual garbage. “Once Mina decides something, there’s no point arguing. You might as well accept your fate.”

Before I could respond, Mina barreled into the room, now in yoga pants and a t-shirt that looked like it had been washed a thousand times.

“I knew you’d come!” she declared, triumphant.

“Well, you didn’t give me much of a choice,” I said, trying for casual, even though my chest still felt tight. “You did steal my dinner.”

“See? It worked!” Mina grinned, entirely unrepentant. “Trust me, this is way better than eating alone in an empty apartment. You’re smart for coming over.” She paused, eyes widening like she had just remembered something vital. “Oh my God, I didn’t even ask your name. I get so carried away sometimes.”

“Y/N,” I said. “Y/L/N.”

“Welcome, Y/N,” the blonde said, leading me toward the kitchen. “I’m Leera, but you can call me Lucy if you want. And don’t worry—you’ll get used to Mina’s... enthusiasm.”

The apartment was warm and lived-in, a contrast to my own echoing space. I caught sight of the pizza box Mina had stolen—but there were three more stacked on the counter, the air thick with the smell of melted cheese and garlic.

“What’s with all the pizza?” I asked, glancing between them.

“We ordered some too,” Mina said, flipping open a box like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “They just happened to show up at the same time. Fate, obviously.”

Lucy pulled my bottle of Diet Coke out of the fridge and held it up. “Want some ice?” she asked, like she already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” I said. And just like that, I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease.

It didn’t take long to figure out that Mina and Lucy were more than just roommates. Mina was an event planner—weddings, galas, parties—which made so much sense. Her whole vibe was confetti and last-minute ideas and carrying three coffees at once. Her family was originally from Wisconsin, though her great-grandparents had immigrated from Korea. Lucy, on the other hand, was her exact opposite. She worked in classic car restoration, which honestly stunned me. She had the kind of delicate, elegant energy that made me assume she spent her time doing something refined, like designing couture dresses or sipping espresso in a minimalist art studio. But no, she rebuilt engines. She smelled like vanilla and motor oil.

“Most people don’t believe me when I tell them,” she said, smirking as she popped open a can of sparkling water. “But I love it. It’s in my blood.”

Mina and Lucy weren’t just best friends—they were family, their lives so tightly woven together it was hard to tell where one story ended and the other began. Mina was engaged to Lucy’s brother, and Lucy was dating one of Mina’s. It was the kind of connection that felt inevitable, like the universe had put them in the same orbit on purpose. Every time Mina mentioned her fiancé, Jimin, or Lucy talked about her boyfriend, Taehyung, their expressions softened, like even thinking about them made the world a little warmer.

And somehow, I was here too. Sitting at their kitchen island, laughing, eating stolen pizza like I belonged.

By the time I glanced at the clock, it was past eleven.

Somehow, what was supposed to be a couple of awkward hours had turned into something else entirely—something easy. Something that felt suspiciously like belonging.

“Get used to late nights,” Lucy teased, nudging me with her elbow. “Being our friend means you have to be a night owl.”

Friends?

I wasn’t sure the last time I’d used it to describe myself. Maybe never.

Growing up, there wasn’t space for friends. Emily and my coaches made sure of that. My life had been structured and scheduled within an inch of its existence—early mornings, late nights, a constant push toward something bigger, something better. And at some point, I had started pulling away from people before they had the chance to do it first.

But Mina and Lucy? They weren’t waiting for me to prove anything. They weren’t measuring my worth by what I’d achieved.

They just saw me.

And that was almost scarier than being alone.

“So, Y/N,” Mina said, shattering the comfortable silence. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Big day,” I admitted, exhaustion creeping in. “My furniture’s arriving, plus all my stuff from Nevada. I need to grab groceries. Thought about picking out paint colors, but that might be too ambitious.”

Mina’s face lit up like I’d just invited her to an amusement park. “Need help? I’m free tomorrow. And I’m ridiculously efficient. We’ll knock it all out in no time.” She gestured toward my crutches with a cheeky grin. “Especially since you’re a little limited.”

I hesitated. I wasn’t used to accepting help. But Mina had this way of making it seem like it would be more work to say no.

“That would be great,” I admitted. “Thanks.”

Lucy shot me a knowing look from where she stood by the sink. “Just don’t let her bulldoze you. Once she gets going, she’s unstoppable. Your place will look like a West Elm catalog before you even blink.”

Mina gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m just trying to help her create a cozy space. Is that so wrong?”

“I’m just giving her fair warning,” Lucy said, eyes glinting. “You’re in for the full Mina experience.”

I yawned before I could stop myself. Mina noticed immediately.

“Go freshen up,” she said, waving me toward the bathroom. “I’ll set up the couch for you.”

I shuffled off, grateful for the moment alone. As I brushed my teeth and splashed cool water on my face, I felt the weight of the night settle in. When I returned, the couch had been transformed into a nest of blankets and pillows—so much cozier than the cold, empty apartment I’d left behind.

“Thanks, guys,” I said, sinking into my makeshift bed. “This is way better than crashing on a pile of sweatshirts.”

Lucy grinned as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “I’ll swing by around four tomorrow, just in time to rescue you from Mina’s overzealous decorating spree.”

“I’ll need it,” I said, throwing Mina a smirk.

Mina gasped, deeply offended. “You’ll love every second of it. Actually, I’ll call the guys and see if they can help with the heavy lifting this weekend. They’ve got a game in Anaheim on Friday, but they should be free after that.”

“Game?” I asked, frowning.

Mina blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Jimin, Taehyung, and my other brother—they play for the Michigan Red Wings.”

The name rang a bell, but faintly. Like a half-remembered dream.

“Should I know what that means?”

Lucy smirked. “NHL, Y/N. They’re professional hockey players.”

“Oh,” I said. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it. Hockey wasn’t really on my radar. The only time I even thought about it was when Emily complained about hockey players hogging ice time.

“We’ll have to take you to a game,” Mina said, already vibrating with excitement. “They’re mid-season, and the team’s so good right now.”

“Mina, you say that every year,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes.

Mina grinned. “Because every year, it’s true! Even if they weren’t good, it’s still fun. The speed, the energy…” She trailed off, lost in her own little hockey world.

I laughed, but something about all of this—this easy, effortless warmth—felt almost too good to be real. Like I’d borrowed someone else’s life for the night.

“Mina,” I said, nudging her. “You do realize two of those players are your brothers, right?”

She made a face. ��Obviously, Y/N. I’m not checking them out. But let’s be real—they’re objectively attractive. And if you happen to take an interest, there’s plenty of other man candy on the team.”

Lucy chuckled. “She’s not wrong. Her brothers are hot. Not that I’m looking—Taehyung is more than enough—but Jungkook? Yeah, he’s got the looks.”

Jungkook.

The name hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Could it be my Jungkook?

My brain raced back to the airport. The luggage, the easy smile, the way he had helped me like it was nothing. That Jungkook had just been… a random act of kindness. A nice stranger.

…Right?

I felt ridiculous for even thinking it. For even considering the possibility.

My Jungkook?

We’d spoken for maybe fifteen minutes, and I was already putting a claim on him. Maybe I was going crazy.

“He hasn’t dated anyone since he and Sky broke up last year,” Leera said casually, like she was commenting on the weather. “Kind of a waste. A guy like that shouldn’t stay single for long.”

Mina nodded, but there was something a little sharper in the set of her jaw. “Jungkook’s not the type to jump from girl to girl. He’s waiting for the right one, and when he finds her, he’ll know.”

Leera smirked. “Well, that’s not stopping half of Detroit. Pretty sure every girl in the city knows he’s single.”

Mina groaned, flopping back against the couch cushions. “Don’t even get me started on the rink rats. If I have to witness one more girl trying to sneak into the locker room, I might actually lose my mind.”

I laughed, sinking deeper into my pile of pillows. “Noted. I’ll make sure to stay on your good side.”

Mina pointed at me, all faux-seriousness. “Good call.” Then, with a sigh, she added, “I just hate it. Those girls don’t care about hockey—they don’t even like hockey. They just want the bragging rights.”

I nodded, watching the way her protectiveness settled over her like armor. She wasn’t just defending Jungkook. She was looking out for all of them. Her brothers, her family.

“Well,” I said, meaning it, “they’re lucky to have you watching their backs.”

Mina’s lips quirked up like she wanted to argue, but instead, she just said, “Goodnight, Y/N.” She was already halfway down the hall when she called over her shoulder, “Yell if you need anything.”

Leera lingered, watching me for a beat longer. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I said, exhaling, feeling the weight of the day settle over me in the best way. “Thanks again. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

“Don’t mention it.” Leera’s voice was soft, knowing. “I’m up early for work, so sorry if I wake you.”

I waved her off. “I’m used to early mornings.” Too many years of predawn practices had made sure of that.

Leera just nodded, still smiling, before disappearing down the hall.

I sank deeper into the blankets, warmth curling around me like a secret. My body felt heavy, like it had finally gotten permission to stop holding itself together. My eyes fluttered shut, and I didn’t even hear Leera’s door close.

That night, I dreamt of chocolate-brown eyes and tousled black hair.

I woke up the same way I had for the past eight weeks—with my knee throbbing like it had a personal vendetta against me.

I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know today was going to suck. The dull ache had settled in overnight, but now, thanks to yesterday’s cramped plane ride, it had sharpened into something meaner. I pulled my leg toward my chest, stretching carefully, trying to loosen the stiffness. Moving boxes and setting up furniture? Yeah, that was going to be so much fun. Looked like the painkillers would have to make an appearance.

After a few more stretches, the ache dulled to something that felt less like a knife and more like a bruise, and I finally cracked my eyes open. The room was still wrapped in that early-morning darkness, the kind that sits heavy over Michigan in the winter, refusing to budge. I reached for my phone. 5:48 A.M. The apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the radiator trying—and failing—to make the place feel less like an icebox.

I wasn’t going back to sleep, but I also didn’t feel like getting up yet. So I stayed where I was, curled up on Mina’s obnoxiously comfortable couch, staring at the ceiling.

Yesterday came back in pieces. Mina and Leera. The unexpected invitation. And, of course, Jungkook.

Just thinking about him sent an embarrassing little jolt through me, which was so stupid. It wasn’t like I’d never seen an attractive guy before. But Jungkook wasn’t just attractive. He was the kind of good-looking that made you blink twice. The kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second while you tried to process if someone could actually look like that.

Okay. Fine. So he was hot. That didn’t mean anything. I’d talked to him for maybe fifteen minutes. That wasn’t life-changing. That wasn’t even significant.

Except… my body had noticed him in a way it never really noticed anyone. Heart pounding. Skin tingling. That stupid, unsteady feeling like I’d just stepped onto a rink without my skates tied properly. That was significant.

I sighed, scrubbing a hand over my face. It didn’t matter. Even if, by some ridiculous stretch of the imagination, Jungkook was interested, what would I even do about it? Relationships, dating, flirting—those were all foreign languages to me. My parents had been a masterclass in what not to do. My dad stayed, but only in the financial sense. And Emily? Her version of love came with conditions. Perform well, and you got a rare “good job.” Fail, and… well.

I didn’t know how to do affection. It had always felt awkward, like a sweater that didn’t quite fit. Hugs? Hand-holding? Kissing? Yeah, no. Just thinking about it made my pulse do something weird.

I needed to stop. My life wasn’t some tragic sob story. So my childhood had more training schedules than sleepovers—big deal. I had what I needed. Time to move on.

With a groan, I pushed myself upright, my knee protesting the movement. Enough self-pity. Caffeine. I needed caffeine.

The apartment was still dark and silent as I shuffled into the kitchen. I hesitated before opening any cabinets—rummaging through someone else’s stuff before sunrise felt like a weird level of intrusive—so I settled for finishing off the last of my soda from last night. The cold fizz helped a little, at least enough to push through the haze of sleep deprivation.

The microwave clock blinked 6:04 A.M. Mina didn’t seem like the early riser type. No point in waiting around. I could head back to my place, shower, stretch like the doctor said to, and get my life somewhat together.

By 8:30, I felt almost human again. The stretches had helped, the painkillers had kicked in, and I’d even managed to scribble out a to-do list. Groceries. Figuring out where my limited furniture should go. Maybe pretending I had any idea how to decorate an apartment.

Mina knocked just as I was finishing up, looking far too awake for this hour and shoving a cup of coffee into my hands like a peace offering. “Morning! Ready for some fun?”

I took the coffee, eyeing her suspiciously. “You’re a morning person, aren’t you?”

She grinned. “I’m an all-the-time person. You’ll get used to it. So, what’s the plan?”

“The furniture’s supposed to be here at nine.” I handed her my list. “After that, I figured we could set things up, then go grab the essentials.”

Mina scanned the list and nodded. “Super Target it is. We’ll knock this out fast.”

While we waited, she plopped onto the floor with a notebook and started sketching out a floor plan—like, a legitimate floor plan—complete with little boxes for furniture and arrows for “optimal flow.” She rattled on about color schemes and accent pieces like we were designing a magazine spread.

I just nodded along, knowing I was going to have to veto at least half of it. The eight matching throw pillows? Absolutely not.

When the movers showed up, Mina shifted into full drill-sergeant mode, directing the poor guys with a terrifying level of efficiency. The second they left, another truck pulled up with my boxes from Nevada.

For once, something in my life was actually going smoothly.

Mina eyed my stack of boxes like she was waiting for the rest of them to show up.

“That’s it?” she asked, incredulous.

“Yep. I travel light.”

She frowned, like the concept physically pained her. “Y/N, half of these are labeled Books. How do you not have more stuff?”

I shrugged. “Less stuff, less hassle.”

Mina let out the kind of sigh that people reserved for lost causes. “Minimalist doesn’t even begin to cover it. Taehyung’s old dorm room had more personality than this place.”

I smirked. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. But let’s focus on getting toilet paper first before we start worrying about ‘spicing up’ my apartment.”

“Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “But we will revisit this. I’m not letting you live in a place that looks like a bachelor pad.”

“You’ve known me for fifteen hours,” I pointed out.

“And just imagine what it’ll be like in a couple of weeks,” she grinned wickedly. “I won’t hold back then.”

“This is you holding back?” I teased. “You’re kind of terrifying.”

“In the best way,” she said, completely unfazed. “Now, ready to hit the store?”

“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my list. “But I don’t have my car yet—it’s still at the dealership.”

“Good thing I’m your chauffeur for the day!” she declared, already heading for the door with the kind of enthusiasm that made me feel like I was being drafted into something. I sighed, but I couldn’t help smiling as I followed her. Life with Mina, I was quickly learning, was never going to be boring.

“No worries,” she added, whipping out her phone with the speed of someone who always had a plan. “I’ll call Jimin and see if we can borrow his truck.”

A quick call later, we were off—Mina behind the wheel of her bright yellow Porsche, driving like she had a personal vendetta against speed limits. The engine roared as she weaved in and out of traffic with terrifying precision. I gripped the door handle, silently promising to live a better life if we made it out of this drive alive.

By the time we pulled up to Jimin’s place—miraculously in one piece—I had officially retired from being a passenger in Mina’s car. We swapped vehicles, and before I knew it, we were barrelling down the road in Jimin’s truck, off to tackle what would soon become the longest shopping trip of my life.

Two hours later, I had come to two conclusions:

One—I would never, under any circumstances, voluntarily shop with Mina again.

Two—I actually liked her. A lot.

She was everything I wasn’t—loud where I was quiet, confident where I hesitated, effortlessly stylish while I stuck to jeans and sneakers. And yet, somehow, she just clicked with me. Maybe it was her relentless energy, or maybe it was because she bulldozed past the walls I hadn’t even realized I’d built.

As we wheeled our overloaded carts to the truck, I glanced at my phone. Just past noon, and I was already exhausted.

“I’m telling you, Y/N,” Mina said, tossing bags into the truck bed like she was throwing confetti, “those shirts were a necessity. When you find one that looks that good, you have to buy it in every color.”

I smirked, shaking my head. Somewhere between arguing over which brand of dish soap smelled less like a hospital and Mina sneakily adding things to the cart, I had realized something horrifying.

Mina could talk me into just about anything.

And there it was—three identical Converse button-ups in different colors. Cute? Yes. Necessary? Not even a little.

“I’m not sure how you did it,” I said, giving her a sideways look, “but somehow, you got me to buy three of the same shirt. You’re dangerous.”

Mina grinned, completely unapologetic. “You’ll thank me later when you’re rocking those shirts.”

I sighed, shaking my head in mock defeat. “Fine. The shirts are cute. But can we find food now? The gimp needs to recharge.”

Mina laughed, slamming the tailgate shut. “How do you feel about Korean? There’s a great place on the way back.”

“Perfect,” I said, already dreaming about a meal that didn’t involve protein bars or sad, airport vending machine snacks.

On the drive back, Mina launched into a full-on campaign about how we needed to recruit Jimin to help paint my apartment. She was convinced the walls needed a fresh coat before anything else could happen.

I argued. She countered. I pouted.

She finally caved. Victory.

For now.

Once we got back, we hauled everything inside, dumping the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter in a completely unorganized mess. We shoved the cold stuff into the fridge in a way that would probably horrify any reasonable adult, then collapsed onto the couch with greasy containers of food.

As I hobbled over with my takeout, my crutches snagged on the coffee table, making me stumble.

Not once.

Not twice.

Three times.

Each time, Mina gave me a look that was somewhere between amused and mildly concerned.

“You okay there, Y/N?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I sighed dramatically. “I am so ready to be done with these crutches.”

Navigating life on two feet was hard enough. With crutches? It was like trying to cross a balance beam in roller skates. The countdown to my next doctor’s appointment was on.

After lunch, Mina got lost in a wedding magazine she’d picked up from the mail, which left me with a rare moment of peace. I stretched out on the couch, my mind finally allowed to wander.

And, of course, it wandered right back to him.

Jungkook.

I didn’t know much about him—barely more than his first name—and yet here I was, thinking about him like a teenager with a crush. Which was ridiculous. But also undeniable.

He was absurdly good-looking. The kind of guy you noticed in a room. And for some reason, I couldn’t shake him.

Bronx. Tuesday nights. Five days from now.

Could I actually work up the nerve to go?

Part of me wanted to. Just to see him again. To feel that weird, electric thing that had sparked between us at the airport.

But another part of me—the part that had spent years keeping people at a safe distance—was already coming up with excuses.

Maybe he was just being nice.

Maybe Bronx was just a casual recommendation, not an invitation.

But then why mention Tuesday?

The uncertainty gnawed at me.

I sighed, half-wishing life was as simple as those old country songs—Do you like me? Check yes or no.

But it wasn’t that easy, was it?

Before I could spiral any further into my overthinking, Mina’s phone went off—a series of high-pitched squeals that could only mean one thing: bridal emergency.

She groaned, already getting to her feet, phone pressed to her ear before she was even fully upright. “Promise me you won’t touch anything while I’m gone,” she said, pointing at me like I was the kind of person who might start unpacking just to be difficult. “Lucy and I will help you sort everything later.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Satisfied, she turned on her heel and disappeared out the door, already deep in crisis management mode.

For once, I didn’t fight it. I wasn’t about to wrestle with the mountain of bags and boxes on my own. Instead, I let myself sink deeper into the couch, the cushions swallowing me whole. I popped in my earbuds and let my iPod shuffle through songs, the familiar hum of music settling over me like a blanket.

And before I knew it, I was out.

I managed to avoid Mina for two whole days, using jet lag and my aching knee as perfect excuses to dodge any heavy lifting. But, of course, Saturday morning came, and so did she—armed with coffee, muffins, and an all-important battle plan. Today, she declared, was Divine Design Day, and reinforcements were on their way. Jimin and Taehyung were due to arrive at 10:00 AM sharp to help paint and set up the loft. I groaned inwardly at the thought of another long day of projects, but I couldn’t help but feel a little curious about the guys Mina and Lucy had been raving about.

Apparently, Mina had tried to recruit her brother Jungkook too, but he was busy spending the day with the team doctor after taking a nasty hit during last night’s game. I’d heard Mina and Lucy screaming from across the hall—wild cheers when the game went well, furious shouts when the refs blew a call. They’d invited me to watch, but I’d opted for a quiet evening with a book instead. After hearing their passionate recap, though, I made a mental note to join them next time. It sounded like it was quite the spectacle.

“Let’s move it, Y/N,” Mina clapped her hands, already pushing me toward the door. “We need to hit Home Depot for paint before the guys crawl out of bed.”

I dragged myself along, grumbling as I grabbed my coat, purse, and crutches. “Isn’t Lucy coming with us?”

“She threatened to spike my coffee if I woke her before nine,” Mina laughed. “She’ll catch up when we get back.”

“Just don’t go overboard, okay? I don’t need my apartment looking like it belongs on the cover of Better Homes & Gardens.”

“You’re no fun,” Mina pouted, but then a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Okay, fine, how about this: you get veto power, but I promise you won’t need it.”

“Deal,” I sighed, knowing full well this was as good as it was going to get.

We took Lucy’s BMW since it had more trunk space than Mina’s Porsche—which, considering how much Mina shopped, made me wonder why she even owned a sports car in the first place. As I buckled in, I was reminded that I still hadn’t picked up my own car from the dealership.

“You know, I really should get my car sometime,” I muttered as I adjusted my seatbelt.

“Not a chance,” Mina scoffed. “You’re not driving anywhere with those crutches.”

“Well, I’m hoping to be rid of them after my appointment on Monday. I’ve got a new doctor, Dr. Jeon.”

Mina’s eyes lit up. “Dr. Jeon? That’s my dad! I can’t believe I didn’t mention my last name was Jeon.”

“Small world,” I muttered, still processing. “So, your dad’s my new doctor?”

“Yep! And trust me, you’re in the best hands. He’s patched up half the hockey players in Michigan.”

Home Depot was its usual chaos, but Mina, ever the drill sergeant of design, had the entire trip organized to perfection. Armed with measurements, color swatches, and detailed diagrams, she had us in and out in under an hour. The fact that she could pull that off while also looking like she belonged in a magazine made me half-wonder if she secretly had superpowers.

For the first time that morning, I felt a spark of excitement—seeing my empty, bare-walled loft finally coming to life didn’t seem so bad after all.

When we pulled up to the building, Jimin’s truck and a rugged-looking Jeep were already parked out front.

“Right on time,” Mina said, grabbing her phone. “I’ll call the guys and have them unload everything. And don’t even think about protesting, Y/N.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender.

“No, but I know you hate asking for help,” Mina added sweetly, though there was no arguing with her tone. “Too bad. You’re not lifting a finger today.”

“Mina, your dad’s my doctor, not you,” I teased, but she just stuck her tongue out at me while dialing.

“We’re outside—come unload,” she barked into the phone, then slipped it back into her purse with a satisfied grin.

Within minutes, Lucy appeared with two guys in tow. One of them was immediately tackled by Mina, who launched herself at him like a human cannonball. He caught her with ease, laughing as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

The other guy—who I assumed was Taehyung—had his arm casually draped around Lucy’s shoulders and looked like he could bench-press a truck. He was huge, his broad chest stretching the fabric of his jacket, but there was this boyish grin that somehow made him less intimidating. His dark hair was cut close, and his deep brown eyes twinkled with a playful, mischievous glint.

Lucy led him over to me, and Taehyung sized me up with a cheeky smirk. “So, you’re the fresh meat, huh?”

“That’s me,” I replied with a laugh. “Straight off the butcher block.”

“I like this one,” he said to Lucy, ruffling her hair. “She’s got sass. Can we keep her?”

“You’re such an idiot,” Lucy shot back, shoving him playfully.

Taehyung glanced at my crutches. “What’s with the wingmen?”

“Huh?”

“The crutches,” he clarified, grinning. “Your wingmen.”

“Oh, right. Sports injury.”

“A player, huh?” His grin widened, teasing me.

“Not exactly,” I said, laughing.

“I dunno, Lou,” he said to Lucy, “I don’t think she’ll keep up with us.”

“Keep it up, Tae,” Lucy teased, nudging him, “or I might dump you for her.”

“Eh, Jimin can do the heavy lifting. I’ll just carry the cripple,” Taehyung said with a wicked grin, and before I could protest, he scooped me up like I was weightless. A startled yelp escaped me as my crutches clattered to the sidewalk. And just like that, I was cradled in his arms like a rag doll.

“Taehyung!” Mina shouted, pulling herself away from Jimin to storm over. “She’s injured! You can’t just throw her around like that.”

“She’s tiny, almost as small as you,” Taehyung laughed, totally unbothered. “Besides, if she’s sticking around, she’s gotta get used to a little manhandling.”

“She won’t be sticking around if you scare her off by treating her like a sack of potatoes,” Mina snapped, hands on her hips.

Taehyung just grinned and looked down at me. “You don’t mind, do you, Y/N?”

Still processing the fact that I was four feet off the ground in the arms of a complete stranger, I blinked, and to my surprise, I nodded. “Uh, sure, Taehyung,” I muttered, feeling oddly at ease despite the absurdity of the situation. His energy, his laugh, the warmth in his eyes—it was impossible to feel uncomfortable around him.

“See? Y/N’s my homegirl now,” Taehyung said with a triumphant grin, like he’d just won an award for best human being.

“Oh, you know it, G,” Lucy chimed in, laughing like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Chim, come meet my new best friend!” Taehyung called over his shoulder, still holding me like it was the most natural thing in the world—like this wasn’t a situation where I probably should have been, I don’t know, walking?

Jimin, who had been watching the whole circus unfold with a quiet, amused smile, finally made his way over. He extended his hand, his voice as soft and melodic as the warm look in his eyes. “Pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, each word carrying a kind of gentleness that made it impossible not to like him instantly.

Still awkwardly perched on Taehyung’s back, I reached out to shake his hand, the usual wave of discomfort that came with meeting new people creeping up. But something about Jimin’s calm presence, those kind eyes of his, made it easier than I expected. “Don’t worry,” he added with a knowing grin, “you’ll get used to this bunch of lunatics.”

I let out a small laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing just a little. “I’m starting to think you’re right.”

“Alright, enough with the pleasantries!” Mina’s voice cut through, sharp and loud, as always. She clapped her hands with military precision. “We didn’t drag you guys here for social hour. Time to work!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jimin said, snapping a playful salute before heading over to the trunk to start unloading supplies.

I wriggled a bit on Taehyung’s back, trying to find a way down. “Okay, Taehyung, time to put me down.”

“Nope,” he replied, patting my leg like it was a done deal. “I told you, I’m carrying you in.”

“I can walk, you know,” I protested, feeling the need to remind him that I still had two fully-functioning legs, even if they weren’t exactly in peak condition. “And Jimin could probably use your help.”

“Jimin’s got it covered,” Taehyung said nonchalantly, grabbing a bag of paint supplies with one hand while still managing to hold me securely on his back with the other. “Lucy, grab her crutches—aka Goose and Maverick.”

“Goose and Maverick?” I raised an eyebrow, thoroughly confused.

“Your wingmen,” Taehyung explained with utmost seriousness, like I was supposed to get this. “You can’t fly without them.”

“You’re ridiculous, Taehyung.”

“I know,” he replied with a wide, disarming grin. “That’s what makes me so lovable.”

And with that, he hauled us both inside, with Jimin, Mina, and Lucy following behind, their arms loaded with paint cans and brushes.

By the time we made it up to my apartment, I’d stopped trying to escape Taehyung’s “manhandling.” It was clear this “Divine Design Day” was more like a crazy, fun-filled bootcamp than your typical painting party. But weirdly, I didn’t mind. Between the laughter, the constant banter, and the easy camaraderie, I realized something—I was smiling more than I had in a long time. The tension I’d carried around for months, maybe even years, seemed to melt away with every joke and every shared moment of laughter.

As the day went on, I noticed something else: this wasn’t just about painting or setting up furniture. This was their way of pulling me into their world, a world that felt warm and open in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. By lunchtime, I had Taehyung laughing so hard he nearly dropped his paint roller, and I felt myself slipping back into sarcasm, something I hadn’t felt comfortable doing in a while.

Lucy, Taehyung, and Jimin worked seamlessly together, taping off the walls and laying down tarps while Mina orchestrated the whole operation like a general overseeing her troops. At first, I tried to stay out of their way, but before long, I found myself pulled into the action—sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by paint splatters, as they worked around me. It felt oddly comforting, this strange, unexpected bond forming around me.

By late afternoon, the loft had transformed. We’d painted two rooms and were almost done with a third. The place was beginning to feel like an actual home, a place I could settle into. The thought of unpacking didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore, so I decided to start with something familiar: my books.

Jimin carried the three boxes over like they weighed nothing, flashing me a smile before heading back to help Taehyung with the last of the painting. I opened the first box, and immediately, nostalgia hit me like a wave. Books had always been my safe haven. The feel of the pages, the scent of old paper—it was like stepping back into a world where everything made sense. As I started stacking them by genre and alphabetically, a sense of calm washed over me.

“Hey, Y/N!” Mina’s voice called out from the living room, interrupting my quiet moment. “Do you want us to start unpacking these other boxes? The paint’s dry enough now.”

“Yeah, sure,” I called back, not thinking much of it. “There shouldn’t be much in them.”

Mina’s voice got closer as she poked around. “One’s labeled ‘Miscellaneous,’ and the other doesn’t have anything written on it.”

“Huh, that’s weird,” I said, frowning slightly. “I thought I labeled everything.”

“Well, want me to open the mystery box?” Mina asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Go for it,” I said, feeling a small tug of curiosity myself. What could it be?

I heard the familiar sound of tape being ripped open, followed by Mina’s high-pitched squeal that could probably be heard by the neighbors. It echoed through the loft, loud enough to make me jump.

“Geez, Mina,” I muttered, stacking another book on the shelf. “Are you trying to summon every dog in the city?”

“Y/N!” Mina’s voice was filled with barely-contained excitement. When she popped her head around the half-wall, her eyes were wide with mischief, the kind of look that usually meant trouble.

“What is it, Mina?” I asked, wary.

She strutted over, something in her hands, her face lit with that mischievous gleam. And then, she held it up.

It was the plaque. That plaque. The one my mom had made after the 2020 Olympics, with “Olympic Silver Medalist” gleaming beneath my name. My stomach dropped, like someone had yanked the floor out from under me.

Shit.

Everything inside me screamed to grab it, shove it back in the box, pretend I’d never seen it. But I was frozen, staring at that plaque like it had just upended everything I was trying to build here. There it was, in all its shiny, unapologetic glory—my past, casually standing right in the middle of my future like it belonged. Like it had every right to.

“Care to explain why you never mentioned this?” Mina teased, her grin stretching wide like she had just found the golden ticket.

I groaned and rubbed a hand over my face. Of course, of course this would come up now. I wasn’t ready for this conversation—not now, not ever. “Where did you even find that?”

“In the unmarked box,” she said, like that was all the explanation needed.

Of course. The unmarked box. Thanks, Emily, I thought, bitterly. Of all the things my mother could’ve sent, this had to make the trip.

Mina was looking at me like she was a detective who’d just cracked the case. Her eyes were practically burning holes through me, waiting for me to spill the beans. I sighed, knowing I couldn’t avoid it. “Was there anything else in there?” I asked, stalling, even though I already knew exactly what else was hiding in that box.

“Oh, plenty,” she replied, clearly loving this. “Or should I say... Y/N Y/L/N, Olympic Silver Medalist and National Champion Figure Skater? Care to explain why this little tidbit never came up in conversation?”

Her words hung there between us, playful but pointed, and I sighed again. Mina wasn’t mad, not at all. She was just amused—like she’d just uncovered some secret Easter egg in a movie she wasn’t expecting.

“Okay, yeah,” I muttered, feeling the flush creep up my neck. “You got me. I was going to tell you eventually, I just... didn’t want it to be a thing, you know?” I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with the spine of a book. “It’s not like I’m ashamed of it. I just... liked that you didn’t know. It was easier that way. I could just be Y/N, without all the... assumptions or whatever.”

Mina’s face softened, and she lowered the plaque with a quiet chuckle. “I get it, Y/N. Honestly, I do. And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t change anything. Lucy and I? We’re still the same girls who’ve been feeding you pizza and hauling in your groceries.” She gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “And trust me, Jimin and Taehyung? They’re probably the last people on earth who care about figure skating. No crazed fans here.”

Relief flooded through me, but a little bit of that lingering embarrassment stayed in the back of my mind. “Thanks,” I said, my voice quiet. “I’m sorry for not saying something earlier. It just... it felt good to be normal for a while.”

Mina grinned, nudging me with her shoulder. “Normal’s overrated. And you didn’t lie—you just... omitted a few sparkly details.”

I laughed, feeling the tension start to melt. We made our way back to the box. Inside, it wasn’t just the plaque—there were old photos, magazines, medals, and even some of my old costumes, glittering with sequins. It was like a time capsule from a life I thought I’d left behind, packed up meticulously and sent across the country by Emily, my ever-persistent mother.

Pinned to one of the costumes was a note in her unmistakable handwriting: Just in case.

“Subtle, Emily,” I muttered, tossing the costume back into the box.

“Who’s Emily?” Mina asked, plopping down beside me on the floor.

“My mom,” I replied, letting out a long sigh.

Mina nodded, picking up one of the magazines with my face plastered on the cover. She turned it over in her hands like she was still trying to process it. “So... I’m guessing you didn’t pack all this yourself?”

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “I left all my skating stuff back in Vegas. But Emily—she has her own ideas about what’s best. She thought I might need a little ‘reminder’ of my accomplishments.”

“Or a lot of reminders,” Mina said, holding up another sparkly costume, her eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

I snatched the costume from her, laughing despite myself. “Well, I didn’t exactly want all of this here. I’m not sure if I’ll ever skate again, so I didn’t feel like living in sequins and medals every day, you know?”

Mina’s grin faded a little, and she placed her hand on my knee, her touch gentle. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine,” I said, trying to push away the heaviness creeping into my chest. “I’m dealing with it. I just... didn’t think I’d need all this while I’m... figuring things out.”

We sat there in a quiet, heavy silence, surrounded by the ghosts of my past life that refused to stay buried. I glanced down at the shimmering fabric in my lap, running my fingers over the beads, feeling too familiar, too close to everything I was trying to leave behind.

“And that’s exactly why she sent it all,” I added, offering a bitter smile. “In Emily’s world, this injury is just me being dramatic. I should be back on the ice by now, training for my next competition.”

“That’s insane,” Mina scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Doesn’t she know what’s going on with your knee?”

“Emily only hears what she wants to hear,” I half-laughed, half-sighed. “But don’t worry. She can’t push me into anything anymore. I’m in control now.”

“Well, whatever you need, we’re here for you, Y/N,” Mina said softly, her words warm and solid. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

I smiled, a warmth spreading through my chest that chased away some of the darkness. “Thanks, Mina. I know I’m not great at all this emotional stuff, but... I’m really glad I met you. It’s been a long time since I had real friends.”

Mina beamed, knocking her knee against mine. “Best friends, Y/N. Not just regular friends.”

I nudged her back, laughing, my heart feeling a little lighter. “Yeah, best friends.”

We sat there, sprawled out on the floor, amidst the remnants of my past life—photos, costumes, memories of who I used to be. And for the first time in a long time, the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It was easy. And, for once, I didn’t mind the mess.

"Hey, lazy bums!" Lucy’s voice rang out from the bedroom where she’d been helping Jimin and Taehyung tape off the last wall for painting. "Are you two just gonna lounge around while we do all the work?"

"Yep, that was the plan," Mina said, not missing a beat.

"Sounds good to me," I chimed in, grinning.

Lucy appeared in the doorway, her grin already in place as she plopped down next to us on the floor like she had nowhere better to be. "Well, if you’re gonna be lazy, I might as well join you."

Mina shot me a sly look and turned to Lucy. "So, Lucy," she drawled, dragging out the words, "did you know that Y/N here is a big-time figure skater?"

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up for a second before she shrugged like it was no big deal. "No shit? I knew your name sounded familiar," she said, totally unfazed. "That’s pretty cool."

Mina gave me a look that clearly said See? No big deal, and I tried not to laugh at how casually Lucy took it.

"You know, Y/N," Lucy said, leaning back on her elbows, "you kinda kick ass out there."

I couldn’t help but laugh. "Thanks, Lucy."

"Seriously," Mina added, rolling over onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. "The things you can do with your legs... If I were that flexible, Jimin wouldn’t let me out of the bedroom for days!"

I giggled and shook my head. "Please, Mina, you’re giving me way too much credit."

Lucy grinned, mimicking Mina’s pose. "She’s got a point, Y/N. All that flexibility? Total game-changer in the bedroom. Think of the positions you could get into."

"Wow, thanks for the confidence boost, Lucy," I joked, feeling my face heat up. "Glad to know I’ve got you all worked up."

"Not me, you dork," Lucy said, with an exaggerated eye roll. "Guys. You know, the ones who actually matter in this scenario."

"Well, I wouldn’t really know," I said, trying to keep my tone light, though my chest was tightening a little. "But hey, good to know I’ve got options. Stripper? Kama Sutra demonstrator? Naked contortionist?"

Mina suddenly sat up, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Wait a second," she said, her voice suddenly full of disbelief. "Wouldn’t know? Y/N, are you... a virgin?" she asked, as if I had just confessed to being a secret agent.

Heat surged to my cheeks, and before I could even think about how to respond, I shot up like I had just been caught doing something illegal. "Okay, I think that’s enough prying into my personal life for one day," I called over my shoulder, trying—and failing—to sound casual. Embarrassment crawled up my neck like wildfire. "Let’s save the deep dives for when we’re knee-deep in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s at some inevitable sleepover. Pillow fights optional."

"Oh no, Y/N," Mina’s voice rang out behind me, dripping with playful menace. "We’re your best friends now—there’s no such thing as ‘enough prying.’" She paused dramatically, and I could practically hear her smirking. "But fine, keep your little secrets for now. Just know that Lucy and I are official Y/N Y/L/N spelunkers. No secret is too deep, no skeleton too buried. We’ll dig it all up eventually."

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I rifled through the fridge, pretending to look for something—anything—that would change the subject. The truth was, with Mina and Lucy around, there was no way in hell my past was going to stay hidden for long. They were relentless, the kind of friends who didn’t just scratch the surface. They dug. They prodded. They excavated until they hit bedrock. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Monday morning, I woke up before dawn, as usual. But instead of jumping out of bed and rushing straight for the coffee maker, I stayed under the soft feather pillows that Mina had insisted would help me sleep better. I wasn’t sure they had, but for the first time in a while, it felt easier to just stay there, letting the weight of the day press down on me slowly, like a shadow growing across the room.

Today was the day my path would be decided. I might have been being melodramatic, but it was hard not to be when the appointment felt like the turning point. The moment I’d have to choose which way to go. I’d been stalled at this fork for too long. It was time to pick a direction, any direction.

A lot of that decision would depend on the new doctor. Dr. Banerjee back in Vegas hadn’t been hopeful. He practically told me not to get my hopes up. Would Dr. Jeon say the same? Emily had made it clear she thought I was just milking the injury, playing the drama queen. And sometimes, I wondered if she was right. Was I just dragging this out? My knee still throbbed when I pushed it too hard, but maybe I was just being weak. Maybe I needed to toughen up, ignore the pain, and push through.

Enough lying in bed. The answer would come soon enough.

I climbed out of bed and started my usual morning stretches, paying close attention to how my knee felt. The lack of soreness gave me a little spark of hope. My flexibility was still there, too—thankfully, I hadn’t lost that during the months of inactivity. That was what had made me stand out on the ice, those long, graceful spiral sequences. If I could still do them, maybe I could skate again. And if I could skate again, I’d need to get back to my Pilates routine, pronto. The longer I waited, the harder it would be to regain the strength and flexibility I’d need.

But for now, all I could do was stretch and hope. The future could wait a little longer.

The truth was, I missed the rush that exercise always gave me. The kind of energy that made my limbs feel electric, the burn that felt almost like a reward. Sitting around, doing nothing, had turned out to be more suffocating than I’d imagined. The first week after surgery had been kind of a relief—like a forced break from the rigid schedule that had ruled my life for so long. I had sprawled out on the couch, devoured three Jane Austen novels in a row, only stopping for food, bathroom breaks, and the occasional nap. It was pure bliss.

But then... the days started to blur. By mid-December, boredom had sunk its teeth in, and I could feel it gnawing at me. Emily, of course, decided I needed a “push.” So, she dragged me back to the rink to “knock some sense into me,” as she put it. The rehab exercises Dr. Banerjee prescribed weren’t enough for her. She complained that it was all taking too long, and after one mortifying demonstration where she shoved me out onto the ice and I immediately fell flat on my ass, she finally stopped insisting I skate.

That didn’t mean she backed off, though. Oh no. She still had me show up every day to “consult” with Yoongi, my coach, about what came next. But it only made me feel trapped. Like a prisoner pacing in the perimeter of a shrinking cell. That was when I started thinking about leaving. With Emily always there, it was like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t hear myself over the sound of her voice barking orders and issuing demands. If my career was over, I needed space to figure out what came next, and staying in Vegas wasn’t going to give me that.

Dr. Banerjee had mentioned a few specialists in Michigan who had experience with my kind of injury. As soon as he said it, I latched onto the idea of moving back. The doctors would satisfy Emily’s need for reassurance, and the distance would give me the space to breathe, to be. She didn’t like it at first—said it was a waste of time, of resources—but when she saw I wasn’t backing down, she caved. Not without conditions, of course.

She found the apartment, bought the car, booked the doctor’s appointments, arranged the flights. The only thing I cared about was leaving as soon as possible. So, I did. I boarded a plane, said goodbye to the warmth of Nevada, and didn’t look back.

And here I was now. Sitting at the edge of a decision. Despite the tight knot of anxiety in my stomach, I had to admit, moving back was starting to feel like the right choice. There was something about Michigan that felt more like home than anywhere I’d been in years. It wasn’t just the cold air or the city’s winding streets; it was something deeper, something about being away from the noise of expectations, the pressure to constantly prove myself. Here, I could just be Y/N, and for the first time in a long while, that didn’t feel like a hollow title.

I went through the motions of getting ready—showering, drying my hair, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I wasn’t sure if the routine was helping calm my nerves or just delaying the inevitable. I ate a lemon poppy seed muffin, wiped the crumbs off the counter, and tried to ignore the tension creeping up my shoulders. My mind kept drifting back to the appointment. What would Dr. Jeon say? Was I still Y/N Y/L/N, competitive skater? Or was I about to become someone else entirely?

A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts. Mina’s voice floated in, cheerful as ever. “Morning!” she called out as she let herself in. I’d given her a spare key yesterday—mostly because she insisted, and I hadn’t come up with a good reason not to.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt, as she waltzed into the kitchen, all bright-eyed and grinning.

“Happy Lose-the-Crutches Day!” she proclaimed with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“You’re weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t tell me you’re not excited to ditch your flyboys.” She shot a glance at the crutches leaning against the wall. “Maybe with fewer appendages to trip over, you’ll stop bumping into things so much.”

“Doubt it,” I replied, holding back a smile. “I’ve always been a klutz. Kind of ironic, don’t you think? Champion figure skater who trips over air.”

“Not ironic,” Mina said, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “You were born to be on the ice. That’s all.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, a little skeptical. “You really think so?”

“Definitely,” she said, her tone sincere, her eyes steady. It made me pause. “I’ve seen you skate, Y/N. It’s like watching something otherworldly.”

I’d heard words like that before—usually from articles or fans—but hearing it from Mina, with that quiet belief in her eyes, felt different. It felt like maybe I could believe it too, if I let myself.

I cleared my throat, avoiding her gaze. “Thanks, Mina.”

She grinned, brightening up. “Come on, babe. Let’s get going. Grab Goose and Maverick and let’s jet.”

I rolled my eyes at the ridiculous names she’d given my crutches but grabbed them anyway. The sooner this was over, the sooner I’d know what came next. Mina and I headed out, slipping into her car as she cranked the heat.

“Thanks for chauffeuring me,” I said, trying to make light of the anxiety gnawing at me.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” she laughed. “I’m happy to do it. Besides, it gives me an excuse to pop in and see Dad. Makes me look like the ‘good child.’”

“I have a feeling you don’t need much help keeping that title.”

“True,” she said, her voice filled with fondness. “But I like stopping by the hospital now and then. It’s funny how different we all are—my brothers and me—but we’ve always been close. Taehyung’s a tank on the ice, and Jungkook’s fast as hell, but they’ve always looked out for me. And growing up with them... well, let’s just say I’ve had a lot of practice handling troublemakers.”

"How did they end up playing on the same team, anyway? Doesn’t that kind of thing usually not happen?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the knot tightening in my chest.

“It doesn’t,” she admitted. “Taehyung wasn’t a big name in the draft picks. Being a hometown boy helped, but once the Red Wings saw him play, they knew they had a hidden gem. Then Jungkook came up the next year. Having Taehyung already on the team definitely helped his chances. Plus, it’s good PR—two hometown brothers in the NHL.”

“Guess I’ll have to learn a little more about hockey,” I said, offering a half-smile.

“Y/N, trust me. You’re in Michigan now. It’s practically a requirement.” She winked at me as we pulled into the hospital parking lot. The knot of anxiety tightened in my chest again, but it didn’t feel the same. The difference now was, for the first time, I felt like I had a little more control over where I went from here—even if I had no idea what the next steps would look like.

The uncertainty was still there, but it didn’t feel like a shadow I had to run from. For now, it was just another stretch of ice I’d have to navigate. And if I stumbled a bit along the way, well, I could live with that.

“That’s pretty cool,” I said, and Mina’s face lit up, her voice picking up speed as she launched into more stories about her brothers and their love for hockey.

“Yeah, they’re living the dream. Mom and Dad were all in on their decision to go pro. A lot of the hockey parents we knew were pulling their kids out, saying they should focus on school or get 'real' jobs. But my parents never did that. They always cared more about us finding something we loved, not just something practical.”

As she kept talking, sharing memories of their childhood, I could practically feel the warmth of the Jeon family’s bond. It was one of those things you could almost touch, the kind of closeness that felt familiar and distant all at once. Taehyung, I learned, was adopted. His birth mother had been Mina's aunt—Yuri's sister—who’d passed away when he was a baby. The Jeons had taken him in, raised him as their own, and made him the oldest son.

There was something comforting in the way Mina talked about them. It was like hearing about a life I’d never had but always kind of wished I could. A life where family wasn’t just a word, but a real, tangible thing.

We pulled into the parking lot of St. Joseph’s, and I felt the weight of it settle over me. Signing in at the front desk felt like signing away the last of my denial. And when the nurse called my name five minutes later, the nerves hit, deep and clawing at my chest.

In the exam room, everything smelled like antiseptic, cold and sterile, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones from the linoleum floors. The nurse did her usual routine—height, weight, blood pressure—and then left us alone. Mina sat in a chair next to the exam table, and I perched on the edge, my hands folded together so tightly that my knuckles were almost white.

It was ridiculous how fast my pulse was racing. I’d been through so much worse before—competitions where the world was watching, where one slip-up could cost everything. But this... this was different. This was my future, maybe even who I was, dangling on a thread. Figure skating didn’t give you time to waste. I always thought I had more. Now it felt like the curtain was coming down, and I was stuck in the dark.

My foot started tapping a nervous rhythm against the cabinet. I bit my lip hard enough that it almost hurt. Mina leaned over and gently placed a hand on my foot, stilling it.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I nodded, but it felt like a lie.

Before I could say anything, the door swung open, and in walked a man I assumed was Dr. Jeon. If this was Mina’s dad, then he was definitely proof that some people aged like fine wine. He had salt-and-pepper hair slicked back in a way that looked effortless but somehow stylish. His brown eyes were warm but sharp, taking in the room with a kind of calm authority that made me wonder if Michigan doctors all looked like movie stars instead of regular people.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” he asked, his voice shifting from professional to something warmer as his gaze landed on Mina. “Oh hey der, Mina! Didn’t see ya there!”

I almost snorted. Did he seriously just say ‘hey der’? I felt like I’d stepped into a Michigan stereotype, except, instead of flannel-wearing folks talking about fishing, everyone here looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine.

Mina jumped up to give him a hug, and the bond between them was clear. The way his arm slid around her shoulders, the way she grinned so wide her eyes sparkled as she introduced me.

“Y/N’s my new neighbor! Thought I’d bring her by to say hi,” she said, practically bouncing.

“Well, that’s just great! Hope she hasn’t been driving you too nuts already,” Dr. Jeon said, the playful gleam in his eyes making me smile, even though my nerves were still jittering.

“No, Mina’s been great, Dr. Jeon,” I said, but my voice came out a little tighter than I wanted.

“Please, call me Suho,” he said with a grin. “Any friend of Mina’s is a friend of mine. And if you’re hanging out with her, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Oh! That reminds me,” Mina interrupted, her eyes suddenly wide with mischief. “Are you and Mom going to the game on Friday?”

“You betcha! Wouldn’t miss it.”

Mina turned to me, practically glowing. “Y/N, do you want to come to the Red Wings game with us? Lucy and I are going, and we always meet up with the guys afterward. It’s a blast! Please say you’ll go?”

“Mina, you’re pulling out the puppy lip,” I warned, though I felt my resolve weakening.

“I know! It works every time. Come on, please?”

I sighed, feeling the last of my resistance crumble. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Yesss!” she cheered, her excitement contagious. “This is going to be so awesome. Oh, and can I pick out your outfit?”

“Alright, Mina,” Suho interrupted with a chuckle. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I need to actually, you know, consult with my patient here.”

“Oops, right,” Mina said, sheepishly. “I’ll be in the waiting room. See you Friday, Dad!” She kissed his cheek before bouncing out of the room, leaving behind a silence that felt almost too loud.

“She’s always been like that?” I asked, half-amused, half in disbelief.

Suho chuckled, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yah, she’s always been a bit of a firecracker. But she means well. Now, let’s take a look at that knee, shall we?”

The fluttering in my stomach kicked up again as he flipped open a manila folder. “Your doctor in Nevada sent over your records,” he said, drawing out the ‘a’ in Nevada in a way that made me bite back a smile. He caught my look and grinned. “What’s the matter? My Michigan accent getting to ya?”

I let out a breathy laugh, the tension starting to ease. “Sorry, I’m still readjusting. It’s been a while since I’ve lived here.”

He leaned in like he was about to share a secret. “Oh, don’tcha worry. We’ll have ya speakin’ like a northerner again in no time, ya betcha.”

The exaggerated drawl pulled a groan out of me, but it was hard to stay tense with him grinning like that. The atmosphere in the room felt lighter, easier to breathe in. Maybe it wasn’t just the change of scenery that would help me adjust. Maybe it was moments like this.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” he said, flipping open my medical records with a practiced flick of his wrist. His voice shifted, more serious now. “Looks like you tore your ACL pretty badly back in November and had surgery not long after. I see you also had a concussion from the fall?”

I nodded, the words tight in my throat as the memory of that day washed over me. The fall. It was one of those moments that replays on a loop in your head, like a nightmare you can’t escape. Every time I closed my eyes, there it was again.

“The good news is,” Suho continued, “it looks like the concussion’s healed up nicely. And your knee—well, it’s a long road, but you’re making progress. Any soreness left?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted. “It still aches if I’m on my feet for too long. I’ve been doing the rehab exercises, but it’s slow. Really slow.”

Suho nodded and gently moved my leg, testing the range of motion. “That’s to be expected. Recovery from something like this doesn’t happen overnight. It’ll still be sore. It might even throb as you rebuild strength, but you’re healing. You’re making progress. I think we can start transitioning you off the crutches. Take it slow, though—walk short distances without them at first, see how it feels.”

His words hit me like a lifeline I didn’t even know I needed. “So... does that mean I can skate again? Not right now, but... eventually?”

Suho met my eyes. His face was serious again. “If you stick with the rehab, listen to your body, and don’t rush it, then yes, I think it’s possible. But it’s going to take time. Patience is going to be key.” He paused, his gaze anchoring me. “We can start you on the treadmill by the end of the week. Slow, steady walking, just to get your knee used to the movement again. Maybe—just maybe—if everything goes well, we can start with some light skating. No jumps, no spins—just laps.”

Relief hit me like a wave, a warmth that spread through me like the first hint of daylight after a long night. It wasn’t a promise, but it was something. And right now, that was enough.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice fragile, barely holding it together.

Suho smiled, kind but firm. “One step at a time, Y/N. You’re not in this alone.”

I sat there, absorbing the weight of his words. This wasn’t the end. It was a new beginning, a different kind of fight. But it was mine.

He flipped through my records, his voice settling back into its practical tone. “Keep up with the therapy. Let’s schedule a follow-up in early April to see how you’re doing. Any questions?”

One question burned in my chest, the one I’d been too scared to ask for months. My heart pounded in my ears, and I swallowed hard, trying to push past the lump in my throat. What if he said what Dr. Banerjee had said? That the damage was too severe? That I’d never skate again? That I’d never compete again?

“Yes, Y/N?” Suho’s voice was calm, patient, his eyes urging me to ask.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to speak. “Will I be able to compete again?”

For a split second, he didn’t answer, and in that pause, the whole world seemed to hold its breath with me. Then he exhaled slowly, his voice careful. “That’s a good question. It’s possible. A lot of athletes come back from ACL tears, some even making a full recovery. But a lot depends on how well the next few months go. You’ve got to retrain your knee without overdoing it.”

He leaned forward slightly, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. “The next month is crucial. You’re going to start feeling like your knee’s back to normal, but that’s when you’re most at risk for re-injury. It’ll be tempting to jump right back into your routine, but you’ve got to stick to the plan. If you can do that, we’ll reassess in April.”

I nodded, my mind spinning with all the things he was telling me. There was so much to process, and the fear—God, the fear—still lingered like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of my hope. But then Suho’s next words broke through that darkness.

“Y/N, I don’t want you to lose hope. I know it’s frustrating, but mental determination is going to play a huge role in your recovery. If you stay patient and committed, there’s every reason to believe you’ll get back to where you were.”

A tiny spark of hope flared in my chest. “Really?” I asked, barely daring to believe it.

Suho smiled, a warmth in his eyes that made me believe him just a little more. “I can’t guarantee anything, but if you stay the course, there’s a good chance you’ll be back on that ice—maybe even as an Olympian again.”

The weight I’d been carrying for months felt a little lighter. A little. I felt like maybe—just maybe—there was something to hope for. “Thanks, Dr. Je—uh, Suho,” I corrected myself, sheepish at the grin he shot me.

“No need to thank me,” he said with a chuckle. “This one’s all on you. Just don’t push yourself too hard. There’ll be plenty of time for that later, once you’re healed.”

I gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

We wrapped things up, and as I grabbed my crutches to leave, Suho gave me one last smile. “See you Friday night... at the game.”

“Oh, right! See you then.”

The cold January air hit me as I stepped outside, sharp and biting, but I didn’t mind. Not today. Hope had a way of making everything feel a little warmer, even when the world was still so cold.

After the appointment, Mina insisted on lunch, and we made our way to our favorite café. The kind of place where the staff knows your name, and the menu’s practically burned into your brain. Then, she drove me straight to the dealership where Emily had promised my new car would be waiting.

As we pulled up, my stomach did that familiar drop when I saw it: a shiny Mercedes Benz SUV, gleaming under the dealership lights like it was posing for a magazine cover. It screamed luxury—so Emily. So her. I mean, of course it was a Mercedes. Nothing less for someone like her. But to me, it was just... a reminder of how little she really understood me.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but there it was—the familiar weight of disappointment settling in my chest like a stone.

I reluctantly climbed into the car, too shiny and new, the leather too pristine beneath me. As I pulled out of the lot, my phone buzzed—Emily, of course. She’d been waiting for me to finish the appointment so she could call and get her feedback. Normally, I’d answer right away, quick to please. But not today. I hit decline, sending her straight to voicemail. If she got upset later, I could always claim I was driving, still getting used to the new car.

We arrived back at the apartment just as Lucy was pulling in, practically radiating her usual excitement. As soon as she saw us, she bounded over, brimming with that energy that made me laugh even when I wasn’t in the mood. The two girls—always together, always bouncing off each other—decided it was the perfect time to test out my "sea legs" with a walk around the block.

“Guys, it’s January. In Michigan. And you want to go for a walk?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

“Come on, Y/N, you’re a figure skater! Don’t tell me you can’t handle the cold,” Mina teased, already bundling up in an impressive number of layers.

“I’ll manage,” I said, surprised at their enthusiasm. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could handle it, but they seemed so excited, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

“It’s twenty-two degrees. Practically a heat wave!” Lucy laughed, wrapping a scarf around her neck like she was about to conquer Everest.

We set off, no real destination in mind. It felt surprisingly good to walk without crutches, to breathe in the sharp winter air, to move like I had control again. Like I wasn’t just waiting for my body to catch up with me.

Less than a block in, my phone rang again—Emily. I sighed and quickly muted it before either of them could notice.

“Who is it?” Mina asked, glancing over at me with a curious look in her eye.

“My mom,” I shrugged. “I’ll talk to her later.”

“You were living with her until last week, right?” Lucy asked, her voice full of that inquisitive, "I-want-to-know-all-about-you" tone that she never quite managed to hide.

“Yeah,” I said, glancing up at the sky, trying to gather my thoughts. “My parents split when I was a kid. Dad’s in Washington now, and Emily and I—well, we bounced around for a while.”

“That sounds exciting!” Mina said with wide eyes, like I’d been living some kind of glamorous life. “You must’ve traveled to so many cool places with skating.”

“Sort of,” I said, smiling a little. “I’ve traveled a lot, but mostly it’s arenas and hotel rooms. They all kind of blend together after a while.”

“Really? You don’t get to sightsee?” Lucy asked, surprised.

I shook my head, feeling a little embarrassed. “Not really.”

“That kinda sucks,” Lucy said bluntly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, a little. I mean, I’m lucky to have had the opportunities, but it’s not all glitter and lights. Mostly it’s just ice rinks and gym time.”

“Not much of a social scene, huh?” Mina asked, clearly intrigued now.

“Nope,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just a lot of catty, ultra-competitive girls and their stage moms.”

“Ever seen anyone pull a Tanya?” Lucy asked, her voice suddenly teasing, the mischievous glint in her eyes impossible to miss.

“Harding? Nah, usually the sabotage is a little more subtle than a baton to the knee.” I giggled, feeling a little lighter. The past few months had been so heavy, and for a second, it felt like the weight was finally lifting.

“That’s not how you got hurt, is it?” Mina’s voice softened, the concern slipping into her tone as her eyes searched mine.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I just... fell during practice. Stupid. My skate caught on a rough patch of ice, and down I went. Concussion and a torn ACL.”

“Ouch,” Lucy winced, looking at me like I’d just told her about some medieval torture device.

“Yeah, it wasn’t great,” I said, feeling the sting of it even now, even though it was months ago.

“There wasn’t much news about it, though,” Lucy added, brow furrowing in thought. “I didn’t even know you were off the ice.”

“Oh, come on, Lucy!” Mina teased, rolling her eyes. “Y/N’s a big celeb. It was bound to be news eventually.”

“No, it’s okay,” I reassured them, wanting to avoid feeling like I was in the spotlight. “My mom’s my manager, and she kept it quiet. She was hoping I’d bounce back quickly and didn’t want the press all over it. I’m sure once I don’t show up at Nationals, something will leak.”

“Is it weird?” Lucy asked, her curiosity obvious. “Having your mom as your manager?”

“I never really thought about it,” I said, shrugging. “It’s always been that way. When we moved away after the divorce, she was already handling all my schedules and practices. It just sort of... evolved from there.”

“Do you miss her?” Mina’s voice softened, no teasing, just a gentle curiosity.

I sighed, the question catching me off guard. “Honestly? It’s been nice having some space. She couldn’t stop talking about my knee, about how I needed to get back on the ice. It’s like she doesn’t know what to do with herself if I’m not skating.”

“That would get old fast,” Mina agreed with a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah, it really did,” I said, appreciating the distance from it all. For the first time in a long while, I could breathe without worrying if I was letting someone down.

The conversation shifted after that, and soon we were all laughing again as Mina told us about her latest wedding-planning disaster—because, of course, there’s always something.

Before I knew it, we were back at our building, heading up in the elevator.

“So, it’s Monday night,” Lucy said, her grin widening like she was about to make a really good point. “None of us have to work tomorrow, and the guys are busy. You know what that means?”

I shook my head, clueless, watching as she and Mina exchanged a look.

“Girls’ night!” Mina squealed, her excitement practically vibrating in the air.

“Girls’ night?” I echoed, frowning slightly, still trying to wrap my head around what that actually meant.

“Oh, you have no idea what you’ve been missing,” Lucy teased, flinging an arm around my shoulders like we’d been friends for years instead of days. “It’s sacred. We eat junk food, drink cocktails, and watch chick flicks until we pass out from a sugar coma.”

“And this is… fun?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be intrigued or terrified.

“Uh, yeah!” Lucy said, like I’d just asked if the sky was blue.

“I’m not really much of a drinker,” I admitted, feeling a little awkward all of a sudden.

“Lightweight or just don’t like it?” Lucy asked, her curiosity sharpening like she was about to dissect me.

“Neither, really. I just… never really had the chance. Training and alcohol don’t mix, and I was always in bed by nine.” I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, my embarrassment showing through the words.

Mina’s eyes went wide, like I’d just confessed to living under a rock. “Wait, you’ve never had a drink?”

“Not really,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling like I didn’t belong in this conversation at all.

“No moral objections or anything?” Mina asked, her voice teasing but still full of genuine curiosity.

“No, I just… never got around to it,” I said, trying to brush it off but already feeling the weight of my own weirdness.

Mina grinned, practically glowing with excitement. “Well, no bedtime tonight! You in?”

I hesitated. The idea of drinking for the first time made me nervous. But the way their enthusiasm was lighting up the room—well, it was kind of infectious. “Yeah, okay,” I said, even though I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

“Great! We’ll be right over with the provisions!” Mina practically dragged Lucy into their apartment, leaving their door wide open as they disappeared inside, their voices floating back out into the hallway.

"Mina, let’s get the movies! What’s the vibe?" Lucy’s voice called from inside, pulling me into their whirlwind without even asking.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a grin. Lucy was already ransacking their kitchen, piling snacks and bottles into a laundry basket like she was gearing up for some epic battle. “What kind of movies do you like?” she asked, still rummaging around, not even looking up.

“I’m not picky,” I said, laughing at how absurdly fast she was moving.

“Perfect! Chick flicks it is!” she declared, holding up a bag of chips like she’d just discovered treasure.

“Wait, are we really watching all of those?” I asked as Mina emerged from the bedroom with a stack of DVDs taller than her head. It looked like enough to keep us glued to the screen for a week.

“No, but it’s good to have options,” Mina said with a wink, tossing the cases into the basket like she had it all figured out.

“Alright, give us a sec to change into some sweats, and we’ll be over,” Lucy said, already heading to her bedroom with her spoils.

“Sweats, Mina?” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “Do you even own any?”

“It’s girls’ night, Y/N. Concessions must be made,” she replied, pretending to be scandalized.

Back in my apartment, I changed into fleece pants and my old Team USA hoodie, pulling on a pair of fuzzy slipper socks. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for whatever this was, but I was definitely curious. The second I stepped into the living room, I was hit with the full blast of their “party zone” transformation. Mina was fiddling with the DVD player, while Lucy was already setting up the counter with snacks and drinks, making a delightful symphony of chaos in the kitchen.

A wicked grin spread across my face. Emily would flip if she saw this junk food carnival. Tonight was about firsts—first girls’ night, first chick flick binge, first cocktail, first indulgence in all the things I’d never let myself have. I was ready to enjoy it all.

“So, what’d you start us off with?” I asked, as Lucy tossed a bag of Doritos to Mina, who caught it in mid-air with a triumphant grin.

“Well, we’ve got to save our tearjerkers for later,” Mina said with a mischievous smile. “I thought we’d kick things off with How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Gotta get the laughs and the man candy going early, you know?”

“Mmm… McConaughey…” Lucy sighed dreamily, stretching out like a cat. “That man makes me miss Southern boys.”

“Hey, you could’ve snagged yourself a Texan. You and Jimin both went to Texas Tech,” Mina giggled, throwing a pillow at Lucy.

“Taehyung more than makes up for the lack of an accent,” Lucy shot back with a smirk.

“Uh, speaking of accents…” I chimed in, still trying to shake the sound of Dr. Jeon’s voice from earlier.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Mina burst out laughing, catching on immediately. “I should’ve warned you about my dad. Isn’t his accent hilarious? I’m used to it, but even now, sometimes it catches me off guard.”

“That man is like sex on a stick at the State Fair,” Lucy added, already heading back to the kitchen for more drinks.

“Lucy!” I exclaimed, feeling my face heat up like a furnace.

“Just admit it, Y/N—Dr. Jeon is drool-worthy,” Lucy teased, her grin so mischievous it was practically glowing.

“Yeah, he’s good-looking,” I stammered, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “But isn’t he, like, practically your future father-in-law?”

“Exactly,” Lucy said, holding up her drink like she’d just won a gold medal. “Gives me a glimpse into my future, and it’s looking damn good twenty-five years down the road.”

I blinked, trying to process the absurdity of the conversation. “I’m sure Mina doesn’t appreciate you associating her father with… well, that.”

“Stop being such a nun, Y/N. I know my dad’s a DILF,” Mina said, so casually I almost choked.

“A what?” I asked, horrified but somehow intrigued.

Mina and Lucy exchanged a knowing glance. “Oh, sweet summer child,” Lucy sighed dramatically. “DILF stands for ‘Dad I’d like to—’”

I choked on my chip before she could finish, coughing like I’d just swallowed a firecracker. My face was even hotter now.

“Didn’t need that visual, thanks,” I muttered, half-laughing, half-wincing.

Mina patted me on the back, giggling like she couldn’t contain herself. “Oh, Y/N, you’re just too much fun to corrupt.”

“You underestimate the power of the Dark Side,” Lucy added, her voice dropping into a low, Darth Vader impression, complete with heavy breathing.

“Mina, there is no place for Star Wars geekery at Girls’ Night,” Mina interjected with a mock-serious tone, like she was the gatekeeper of some sacred tradition.

“Mina, there’s always a place for Star Wars geekery,” Lucy shot back, turning to me for backup, her eyes wide with earnestness. “Right, Y/N?”

“Uh, sure?” I replied, suddenly feeling very much like I was in a conversation I hadn’t quite signed up for.

“You’ve seen it, right? Star Wars?” Lucy asked, her disbelief written all over her face.

“Actually… no,” I winced, bracing for the fallout.

Lucy gasped like I’d just told her I’d never seen the sun rise. “OH. MY. GOD!” she screamed, the force of her voice almost knocking me over. She dropped her drink onto the counter with a clang. “Are you kidding me? Mina, go get my special editions! We need to fix this now!”

“No way!” Mina shot back, hands on her hips like some kind of movie-critic superhero. “Girls’ Night equals chick flicks, not galactic battles.”

“Hey, The Empire Strikes Back is very romantic,” Lucy protested, her voice full of conviction.

“Yeah, until someone gets their hand sliced off with a lightsaber,” I countered, feeling a little bolder now.

“Whatever, you uncultured heathen,” Lucy rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Soon, Y/N. I’ll fix this, I swear.”

Lucy handed each of us a glass as she emerged from the kitchen, and Mina reached for the remote. “We ready?” Mina asked, settling in next to me, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“Yup, everything’s prepped,” Lucy said, raising her glass like she was about to make a grand speech. “Alright, ladies, a toast—to the first of many Girls’ Nights with our new BFF, Y/N.”

“And to getting Y/N tipsy enough to spill all her secrets,” Mina added, making me laugh mid-sip.

“Cheers!” we clinked glasses, and I took a cautious sip of what I thought was water but tasted like pure fire. The burn hit me so fast, I practically choked.

“That’s disgusting! How do you guys drink this stuff?” I gasped, pushing the glass away as my throat burned like it had just met lava.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Lucy said with a grin, clearly enjoying my suffering. “Next round, I promise something fruity.”

Mina snapped her fingers at Lucy. “Make the woman a Kami!”

“So demanding,” Lucy sighed, but a few moments later, she handed me a frothy, pink drink. “Try this. You’ll like it.”

I took a cautious sip, surprised to find it actually tasted good. The burn was still there, but it was wrapped in this sweet, tangy burst of raspberry. I took another sip, feeling warmth spread through me like I’d just been wrapped in a blanket of comfort.

“Good, right?” Lucy prompted, watching me carefully, her grin not quite hiding her excitement.

“Really good,” I nodded, a little more confidently this time, taking a bigger drink.

“Just pace yourself,” Mina warned, raising an eyebrow. “There’s more alcohol in those than it tastes.”

Hours flew by in a blur of movies, laughter, and progressively more ridiculous makeovers. By the time we finished Clueless, I was sprawled across the couch, my head resting in Lucy’s lap with Mina snuggled up against my legs. The room felt warm and familiar, and—surprisingly—comfortable. Like I belonged.

“The night’s still young! What’s next?” Lucy stretched, her voice muffled by the pillow she was hugging to her chest.

“Leo!” Mina shouted, her eyes practically sparkling. “The night isn’t over until we’ve seen Leo!”

Lucy popped in Titanic and grabbed another drink from the kitchen, moving just a little slower now, like the alcohol was finally starting to catch up. “Anyone else?”

“I shouldn’t—” I started.

“Nonsense!” Mina interrupted, poking me in the side with a wicked grin. “You’re still way too coherent for a proper Girls’ Night.”

Rolling my eyes, I accepted the glass she handed me. “Fine. But if I pass out, I’m blaming you.”

By the time Jack was sketching Rose, I’d stopped keeping track of the drinks, and the night had dissolved into fits of laughter and way-too-drunk confessions. At one point, Lucy and Mina reenacted the “I’m flying” scene, nearly knocking over the wine bottle in the process.

But as the movie stretched into the early hours, I found myself comfortable—maybe too comfortable, considering how much I’d indulged. As the credits rolled, Mina turned to me, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Okay, real talk, Y/N. Never?” Lucy asked, her voice serious but with that mischievous gleam in her eyes that I knew meant she was circling back to the topic she was clearly obsessed with.

“Nope,” I said, crossing my arms like some sort of rebellious fortress. I wasn’t budging.

“That’s just... so wrong,” Lucy groaned, her eyes practically rolling out of her head. “Your lady business must be staging a rebellion.”

“There are plenty of people who make it to twenty-four without sex,” I said, rolling my eyes like I was offering them the most obvious truth in the universe.

“Yeah, but you’re hot!” Mina chimed in, her hands waving around like she was making a dramatic point. “Guys should be lining up for you!”

“I’d jump you,” Mina added with a grin, her finger lazily plucking at the fuzz on my pants like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Thanks, Mina,” I laughed, genuinely amused. “That’s true friendship right there.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, her expression pure contentment, like she’d just solved world peace.

“I don’t know what to tell you guys,” I admitted, my thoughts briefly flickering to Jungkook. “I just never really had the opportunity.”

“There’s gotta be at least one hot male figure skater you could’ve, you know, jumped in the weight room,” Lucy teased, her tone teasing but somehow still playful.

“Lucy, some people actually use the gym for exercise,” I shot back, feeling like I was dodging a slow-motion car crash.

“Oh, believe me, Y/N, I use it for recreational purposes,” Lucy quipped, her grin devilish. “My idea of ‘recreation’ just doesn’t match yours.”

“Perv,” I muttered, laughing, trying to shield myself from her shenanigans.

"Proud to be one!" Lucy declared, her laughter echoing through the room like a contagious wave.

“We need to find you a guy,” Mina said suddenly, tapping her chin like she was a mastermind concocting a plan for world domination. “Lucy, who do we know?”

“No way!” I held up my hands defensively. “You are not setting me up with anyone.”

“But, Y/N!” Mina protested, as if this was a criminal injustice.

“I can find my own guy if I want to,” I insisted, my thoughts unwillingly drifting to Jungkook. I bit my lip, and it was like they could read me like a book.

“Oh, look at that face!” Mina practically lunged at me. “You met someone, didn’t you?”

“No!” I shot back a little too quickly, feeling the heat of embarrassment climb up my neck.

“You can’t fool us, honey,” Mina said, her voice full of mock disbelief. “That face has ‘crush’ written all over it!” She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Who’s the guy? Is he hot? Is he here? Did you kiss him? Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Her questions were coming at me like a machine gun, and I was about to implode.

“There’s nothing to tell!” I mumbled, sinking deeper into the couch, wishing I could just disappear.

“Y/N!” Mina cried dramatically. “We’ve been with Chim and Tae for years! We need to live vicariously through your romantic escapades!”

“What romantic escapades?” I shot back, trying—and failing—to sound cool and detached.

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her look knowing and challenging. “You’re hiding something boy-related. Spill.”

“Fine!” I groaned, throwing my hands up in defeat. “I met a guy at the airport. We talked for a few minutes while he helped me with my bags. That’s it. Can we move on now?”

“No, we cannot move on!” Lucy said, her eyes practically popping out of her head. “Was he cute?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent, but the truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“You guess?” Mina echoed, her brow almost disappearing into her hairline.

“I wouldn’t really call him ‘cute,’” I muttered, my face burning as I tried to downplay it.

“Well, what would you call him then?” Mina’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Hot? Sexy? Drop-dead gorgeous? Fuckhawt?”

“Uh… all of the above?” I finally admitted, which sent them into a squealing frenzy that could’ve shattered glass.

“Did you kiss him? Did you give him your number? When are you seeing him again?” they fired off at me, like they were in some kind of interrogation scene in a rom-com.

“No, I didn’t kiss him, and I didn’t give him my number,” I confessed, biting my lip as I fought to suppress the butterflies. “But, yeah, he suggested we meet up again. That’s all.”

Mina looked at me, her expression downright disappointed. “Why didn’t you give him your number?”

“I don’t know, Mina!” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I have no clue what I’m doing when it comes to guys. He didn’t ask for my number, and I wasn’t about to throw it at him if he was just being polite.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t just being polite, Y/N,” Lucy said, her tone dripping with conviction, like she knew something I didn’t.

“Whatever,” I sighed, trying to steer the ship away from that topic. “He was gorgeous and sweet, and yes, he gave me butterflies, but I’ll probably never see him again, so can we please talk about something else?”

Mina leaned back with a dreamy sigh, her eyes practically glowing with unspoken wisdom. “Don’t worry, Y/N. Your butterflies are still out there. You just have to catch them.”

Taglist: @smartkookiee @knightofmidnight @mar-lo-pap @jjeonjjk7 @somewhatjungkook @lovingkoalaface @jimineepaboya @iswearimover5feetall @blissingtaehyung @futuristicenemychaos @kooloveys @jenniebyrubies @8thmuse @beattiestreet @tatzzz-25

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fics-lovebot · 7 months ago

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bts fic recs

main masterlist

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

i´ll be constantly updating this list so make sure to check it out often for new recs

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

LAST UPDATED: 25/01/2025

here you can find jungkook ´s m.list

poly / ot7

love octagon? - ( @whyse7vn ) this was just too funny to me fsdfhsd, i always read it when a want to lift my mood

lovesick - ( @angelicyoongie ) yandere ot7, soulmate au, stalking, harrasment, you got 7 soulmates you don´t know about the you deff know about you, this is an on going series, hopefully i´ll be updated soon bc i loved it

seokjin

tba

yoongi

yoongi joins you in your bath and you talk about your days - ( @borathae) fluffy, vampire!yoongs, this is so wholesome :(

bewitched - ( @borathae) smut, fluff, vamp!yoongi, witch!reader, you put a spell on him so he cant cum till you say so, ON MY SOUL I FELT THIS ALL THE WAY TO MY TOES, the smut is gewwwd and the fluff is amazing ughhh, loved it

i´ll float away - ( @ppersonna ) angst, hea. idol!au. LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING RIGHT NOW,, THIS IS THEE BEST YOONGI ANGST IN THIS WHOLE SITE, POINT BLANK PERIOD, TRUST. a wHOLE 2020 banger. It has STRONG topics so read the warnings

namjoon

namjoon loves creampies - ( @euphoricfilter ) smut obv, he is an ASS gUY as he shouldd, he luvs him some reverse cowgirl position, obssesed with watching cum dripping outta you, he´s just laying there thinking nasty stuff while watching you ride or die, its TEW MUCHHH

belly bulge -( @euphoricfilter ) ,,,,,do you even have to ask what this is about?, ITS A LOT GOING ONNNNNN, talking about big beeffy thick wide strong bear built namjoon and his big ol dicc, who wouldnt like this??, he jerks himself off throught your stomach...

forg_tful - ( @joon4eva ) established relationship, angstt, fluff, this one makes me cry every tIMEEEE, he forgets something important for the 2394823948th time so reader thinks he just doesn´t care, he doesn´t like being away from her :((((, but he owns it up bc he is a grown mature emotionally stable man, we love it

love language - ( @rmnamjoons ) soulmate au, mute!reader, non idol au. THE FLUFF IS BEAUTIFULLLLLLL, i love joons pov before meeting her, and the day the meet???? i died, it was so cute

blushes from a rose - ( @army-author ) fluff, supernatural au, popular witch!namjoon, shy forest nymph!reader, so like,,i need a movie of this asap

hoseok

tba

jimin

split - ( @sombreboy ) smut, snake hybrid!jimin, he has a fORKED tongue and TWO cocks!!!! :D NOW THIS, i remember reading it a long time ago and thinking it was the best hybrid!jimin fic out there, i´ve read about him being a cat, a dog, etc but a SNAKE??? now that´s new, loved it

faded love - ( @jamaisjoons ) angst, fluff, cheating husband!jimin, ceo!jimin. "he doesn’t need to say it. because you can feel your husband, park jimin, falling out of love with you." ANGST FESSSTTTT, another one for my personal collection, i love this sm

taehyung

devotion - ( @borathae) smut, vampire!tae, period sex, multiple orgasms, period blood licking, its a LOT GOING ON I- wow, pls just read it

These Things Take Time - ( @laughing-with-god ) yandere! supernatural tae, gaslighting, gore, horror, ex bf jimin, this is written so well , ghost? tae but not really, doppleganger kinda thing, loved it

let love be enough - ( @jingabitch ) ex-husband!tae, cheater!tae, divorce au, you meet again after 20 years on your daughter´s wedding. YUPPP this is an angst fest right here, probably my favorite tae angsty fic out there, i LOVE IT

the curse of a crush - ( @army-author ) fluff, supernatural au, down bad witch!taehyung, witch!reader, he´s so in love with you he thinks you´ve cursed him with a love potion, SO CUTEEE

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alexlwrites · 9 months ago

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𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Alpha! Hyung line x Omega! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty."

The one where you find your fated alphas, but they can't find you.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, ABO, Soulmate AUs.

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: Should I be writing another fanfic when I have not finished a single one of my works? No. Does my brain understand that? Also no.

Anyway enjoy, like and subscribe and ignore any mistakes as english is not my first language and i dont proof read anything in my life.

P.S: This is heavely inspired by the book Pack Darling, so shoutout to that duology give it a read, yall!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This is a 18+ work! Minors, please do not interact. Also, there will be mentions of violence and abuse.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi if you enjoy my work <3)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

You didn’t know how long you had been running, nor how far you’d gotten. The skies had darkened and then lightened again since the moment of your escape and you assumed you had a few more hours before your absence was noticed, but you didn’t have it in yourself to stop, steps only briefly faltering from exhaustion but still fueled by fear.

You had to keep going. No amount of distance was enough between you and what you had left behind.

Still, there was only so much your body could take in its malnourished state and after a while your legs slowed down on their own, feet too hurt to continue carrying your weight. Yet you stumbled forward through unknown woods, watching trees and shrubbery blurr past you as you dragged yourself towards what you hoped was west - towards the coast.

You had never left the walls that surrounded your family’s home, but had seen the maps that covered the walls of your father’s study enough to remember the outlines of the charted land and the sprawling expanse of the coastal city near the territory you lived - the closest and the only one you could get on foot, even if you were unsure what your next step would be once you got there.

Adamas - the capital of diamonds - laid hopefully ahead of you, filled to the brim with marine vessels and royal ships that you could maybe sneak in and let yourself be carried far away from the claws of your family, running until you found somewhere quiet and reclusive where you could spend your days alone and free from your own status and its implications.

But that dream seemed further and further away as your body shivered and withered, unable to continue your journey, faltering until you gave out and found yourself lying atop a pile of leaves on the cold forest floor.

You sighed, a tortured breath escaping your exhausted lungs. Maybe it was the best you’d get - not the solitary cottage you yearned for, but the swift death by the hands of nature. Still an escape, death. Still freedom from that was always expected of you, from the destiny that awaited.

You closed your eyes and waited, giving up on the weight of consciousness. Any moment now, you thought. It would all be over. As the edges of your mind started to become hazy, your tired lungs pulled one more labored breath and with it a scent that reached out to the deepest parts of your soul with a calming, friendly touch and released the tension from your body.

This is heaven, you thought, and allowed yourself to sleep.

***

There was an unconscious omega in his lands and King Namjoon was unsure on what to do.

Omegas were rare within the wolf genes - they were the smallest of the packs, the caregivers and kindest diplomats, made to become nursing figures within each family dynamic and bring balance to the usually violent and short fused nature of alphas, despite their positions as providers and leaders. But omegas, gentle and fragile omegas, were far and few between and from a very young age Namjoon had been taught to treat them with the utmost care.

With that being said, Namjoon was also taught to be wary of trespassers and this tiny, wounded omega was somehow within his borders.

How did you get there, he wondered. There were no roads leading to the back of the castle where he usually strolled through in the early mornings, only thick woods that would be almost a day on foot before you got to any sort of path.

In the end, his instincts spoke louder, dynamics drilled into his brain and pulling him towards the tattered frame on the ground. With all the kindness he could muster from his large frame, he gathered your body in his arms, gently cradling your form.

As he walked, he let his eyes access you: small, disconcertingly thin, with hollow cheeks and dark circles marring your lovely soft features. You had no mating mark on your neck and no distinguishable scent - and that was what confused him the most.

When an omega reaches maturity, their scent would evolve into something unique that would eventually be used to attract a mate and potentially even identify a fated scent match - a partner made by the heavens, your perfect half.

But despite looking past the age of maturity, you smelled clean, neutral with just a hint of sweetness to classify you as an omega.

What on earth could have happened to you, he wondered, worriedly scanning your bruised body and jutting bones.

And what on earth would he do with you?

***

Sometimes Hoseok couldn’t understand his leader.

He watched as Namjoon paced up and down his office, heavy steps echoing around as he stomped in contemplation.

From the day they met, decades ago, when they were both babbling toddlers, Hoseok had accepted the younger man as pack. Both sons of monarchs, born in allied families, they were thrown together in royal play pens as soon as they could hold the weight of their own heads.

Hoseok always considered it a privilege to watch his brother in arms grow into his position - a natural born leader, a king. And Hoseok never once doubted his ability to rule fairly and successfully.

But every so often he couldn’t help but question his friend’s common sense.

“Namjoon” he called to his still restless friend “You cannot possibly be considering throwing the omega in the dungeons?”

“She is technically trespassing” his friend argued stubbornly.

“She’s an omega!”

His own mother being a rare omega, some rules had been drilled very early into Hoseok’s young mind: omegas are to be treasured, his father had said, it is your job as an alpha to protect them should you be blessed enough to find one.

He hadn’t actually seen the omega. He had barely woken up when a maid ushered him to the king’s office where Namjoon had asked for his council while burning a hole through the carpet.

“She could be dangerous. Some sort of trap, maybe?”

No threat could scare Hoseok more than the idea of his father finding out he had allowed some poor omega to be thrown into their underground cells and so he pleaded “Put her in one of the guest rooms and set my guards in the exits. When she wakes up, I’ll interrogate her myself.”

Namjoon considered the offer for a few seconds, examining the face of the captain of his guard and one of his closest friends. At last, he nodded and settled down in a nearby chair, calling a guard to give the order to move you from the infirmary to the guest aisle of his castle as soon as possible.

Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, Hoseok asked his shaky leader after a few seconds of silence “What is she like?”

There was a gleam in Namjoon’s eyes Hoseok couldn’t explain and doubted his king could either “Small,” he let out quietly “black and blue all over, all skin and bones like she hadn’t seen a plate of food in days”. Hoseok closed his fists on an impulse and had to force his fingers to relax. Could he blame this sort of reaction on his instincts?

He thought Namjoon wouldn’t say anything else, but after a few more seconds of silence his king continued “Pretty” he said softly at last, almost like an afterthought.

Hoseok couldn’t help himself, having never met another omega besides his own mother, and asked “And… The scent?”

“Clean.”

Hoseok blinked “She’s a child?”

“No. Full grown. Can’t be more than a couple years younger than us.”

That’s odd, Hoseok thought. From what he was taught, a healthy adult omega should have developed a signature scent - like his mom, with her easily recognizable roses and clear meadows.

Right as he was about to ask to see you, his fascination with the idea of a scentless omega getting the best of him, a maid rushed into the room to announce your awakening.

Both men rushed out of the room, elbowing each other to leave first through the door, impatient to get to where you laid, barely avoiding toppling the poor maid on their way.

The infirmary was a wide room with tall ceilings and large windows that let in the morning light from most angles. That same light illuminated your figure as they walked in, eyes drawn to the only bed occupied in the room.

Oh. You were in fact pretty, Hoseok concluded, watching you blink owlishly at the sunlight invading the space. You had a soft looking kind of beauty that was barely overshadowed by your debilitated state that caused a stirring of protection in both alphas. Who could’ve left you like that, he wondered, and how quickly could he wrap his hands around their necks and twist…

“You’re awake” Namjoon pointed out, catching your attention.

That seemed to be the wrong course of action. When your eyes landed on where the men stood by the door, they widened to the size of saucers. Something about their presence sent you scrambling out of your bed, falling onto the ground with a dull thud as you rushed to put some space between yourself and the imposing males.

“Hey, hey, hey” Hoseok raised his hands, palms facing forward to indicate his intention to cause no harm, your terrified expression keeping him far “Be careful, little lady.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept cowering further and further away until your back hit a wall and you winced in pain.

“Stand up and get back to your bed” Namjoon commanded roughly and Hoseok could see your fighting against the urge to submit to the alpha’s orders, causing him to elbow his friend “Please” he added “You are hurt and weak and shouldn’t be out of bed’ he continued in a much gentler tone.

Slowly, you moved yourself back to the mattress, shuffling to hide under the blankets, bringing them over your nose and leaving only your panicked eyes visible.

The last thing Hoseok wanted at that moment was to interrogate you when you were so clearly distressed, body shaking under your burrow. But he had duties to uphold and your presence raised questions that just staring at your disarmingly cute face wouldn’t answer.

“What’s your name, little lady?” he asked.

You mumbled your name so quietly he almost didn’t catch it, the sound stifled by the fabric covering your lips. When he did hear it, he did not recognize it.

“How did you manage to get into the castle’s grounds?”

You gulped. “The castle?” you repeated in a whisper.

“Do you know where you are?” Namjoon asked and you shook your head fearfully “Do you know who we are?”

Sinking deeper into the safety of your blankets, you shook your head once more.

“I’m Jung Hoseok, head of the royal guard” and just when Hoseok thought your eyes couldn’t get any wider, they did, panic seeping further into your gaze “And this is Kim Namjoon” the words had your face paling until devoid of any color, yet he continued “the King of Adamas.”

Both men watched your face for a reaction, seeing you gape in shock, eyes rolling back to your skull as you promptly passed out.

***

You woke up to a churning stomach and a pounding headache, both hunger symptoms that you were very familiar with. How many days had it been since you last ate? You couldn’t tell, the night sky outside the windows of the empty room signaling the end of another day. And at that moment, your starvation was the least of your problems.

The king - the fucking king - was your mate. And so was the head of his guard.

When you first opened your eyes to sunlit room, regaining consciousness after Gods knew how long, their scent hit you like a brick to the face, sending you flying off the bed on the brink of a panic attack.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. You were so close!

You looked for their reaction, trying to gauge if they were feeling what you were - this life changing pull in your core, this prickling feeling underneath your skin, fingers twitching at your side to reach for your alphas.

But there was nothing, not a flick of recognition, only wariness and mild concern.

These were not your alphas - these were your king and his most trusted guard. And you were just an omega on the run, worth only the money you could be sold for.

You remembered the first offer your father had received once the neighboring towns heard about his siring of an omega. Up until then your father had never seen much value in your existence. Before you, he had only had alpha boys - three, to be exact - older, stronger and meaner than you, built for leadership roles and bringing his legacy to another level.

But you? What use did he have for small, needy, whimpering you? None, he had told you many times over. Your father had never been afraid to remind you of your place in the household: the burden.

Until you became the pot of gold.

You weren’t sure how, but someway or another the news of your existence reached the next town and then the next town over, and so forth until your father was reminded that even though he saw no value in housing an omega, the rest of the world did.

5 million. That was the first offer he received, when you were only fourteen.

And for a moment you believed that could be your way out of your father’s cruel claws - get yourself a husband far away and live happily ever after, pampered and taken care of by some alpha knight.

But those daydreams died soon enough when you learned from the maids what happened to sold omegas.

Imprisoned. Trapped. Breeded. Discarded. Rinse. Repeat.

There was an audible crack in your heart, a rift in the fragile rivulet of hope you had for a future of better days. Since then, the only thing you could hope for was an escape. You daydreamed of far away lands and open fields with no civilization for miles, only an ivy covered cottage for you to hide away from the world.

Alas, that dream seemed further and further away as you got older. You knew your father was just waiting for you to present, hoping that whatever scent you developed would up the price with its enticement and your late blooming was a constant reason for his frustration. Your development was the only thing between you and your sale to the highest bidder.

And if you had any say in it, you would never present. In order to do so, your body needed to be healthy - and you just never were.

Starvation, overexhaustion and overworked muscles had been your saviors since you realized they could delay your maturity. So from the day you turned 16 - about the age omegas started presenting - you began restricting your meals to about one every two days. You ran around the property’s grounds until your feet screamed in agony and your knees gave out. Your sleep schedule was messy and insufficient and so your body remained fragile and unchanged.

And that worked up until your 22nd birthday when your father got tired of waiting.

And so you ran, climbing on the back of a supply carriage that you had visited one day and letting it carry you as far as it could. And then you sprinted, like you had been doing for years.

And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty. You were, as your father always pointed out, too small, too weak and too soft to carry on a legacy, a kingdom.

You had to get out before your ticking bomb of a body turned against you and distanced you once more from your peaceful cottage dream.

You just needed to figure out how.

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts #min yoongi #jung hoseok #bts scenarios #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #min yoongi x reader #kim seokjin x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim namjoon x reader #bts abo

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yooniivrse · 2 months ago

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hating you, craving you | ksj

summary. you don't exactly remember how the man you hate most ended up between your legs, but you're not complaining.

pairing: seokjin x afab reader

genre: co-workers to ??, implied enemies with benefits, smut

word count: 1.1k

warnings: cursing, explicit sexual content, pussy eating, petnames (princess), oc gives seokjin blue balls lol

notes: this has been in my drafts since the day jin's office concept pics dropped :3 comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333

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main masterlist

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Seokjin is a very unlikeable man.

He's arrogant, lazy, overconfident, selfish, and oh — did you mention arrogant? He wears that stupid smirk on his face constantly, using it as a leverage to get everything he wants. It was a pathetic sight, watching your co-workers stutter and stumble over their words in front of him while their skin grew deeper in the familiar shade of embarrassment.

You've always been the one person exempt from his charms — you're pride refusing to let you kneel to him like everyone else.

Which is why he’s the one with his knees digging against the hard, wooden floorboards, and his head between your thighs.

How you ended up in this position, you honestly have no idea. But none of that matters right now because fuck, did Seokjin’s mouth feel heavenly against your pussy.

His lips suck and lick at your cunt softly, his tongue delving in and out, exploring all of you. The fabric of your tight, pencil skirt is hastily bundled up at your waist — both of you had been too impatient and too worried about the lack of time you had to properly strip.

Seokjin’s fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping your shaking legs steady on the ground.

Your hands tug at his hair every time a shiver of ecstatic pleasure courses through you, followed by a lazy attempt at muffling a moan by pressing the back of your hand against your mouth. You can practically feel his lips curl into a smirk against your pussy when your actions go in vain.

“That good, huh princess?”

You look down to meet his eyes — pupils completely glazed over either lust.

“Sh-shut up.”

A muffled chuckle vibrates through your cunt and the feeling has you pressing his head closer into you. Your throbbing in his mouth, your back arching up as you feel your orgasm build up.

A plethora of curses fall from your lips; sinful pleads and lewd slurps filling the air of the almost-abandoned storage room. Any moment, the door could open to expose your little rendezvous. More arousal than worry fills you at the thought, and your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Seokjin seems to be drawing out the alphabet with his tongue all over, taking his time to bring you over the edge — time that you were pretty sure neither of you could afford. But you were so fucking addicted to his mouth on you that you couldn’t bring yourself to protest.

“Shitshitshit. ‘m so close.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and one of your hands move from Seokjin’s hair to grip on to the side of the table, the pads of your fingers turning white from the force. His lips latch and lock against your folds, coaxing the knot in your stomach to come undone.

“C’mon, princess. Wanna taste you.”

Your orgasm washes over you like a strong tide, making your walls clench around nothing in steady waves. Seokjin eases on his pace, letting you ride out your orgasm in his tongue.

Your chest rises falls rapidly, small pants dropping from your lips. He licks a long strip along your cunt, collecting your juices on his tongue. Your hand snakes its way to the nape of his neck and you pull him up for a messy, sloppy kiss.

You clean the wet arousal that coats his chin and mouth, tasting a mixture of you and his saliva. His hands wrap around your waist securely, and you ease your weight off your buckling knees.

“When do you have to get back?” you ask, your voice breathless and your mind still fuzzy from the pleasure.

A kiss. “Don’t know.” Then another. “Don’t care.”

You giggle. “Wow, so professional of you.”

“Mhm. Don’t act like the idea of being caught doesn’t turn you.”

You’re rolling your eyes when three sharp knocks rap against the door. The two of you are blocked from view by the rusty shelves, but you still try to make yourself as small as possible.

The door doesn't open, but Jungkook's voice is unmistakable from the other side. “Hyung, you better hurry up. Namjoon’s gonna throw a fit if you don’t find him the file in the next five minutes.”

You keep your eyes on Seokjin, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he lets out a sigh of annoyance. “Tell him that I’ll be there in a bit, Kook.”

“You better.”

Jungkook's footsteps trail off, and you finally let out the breath you were holding.

“Yeah, no. We’re never doing this in here, ever again.”

Seokjin lets out a sigh. “My bad. That kid’s always ruining something,” he groans, pressing his lips to yours again.

“Keep it in your pants, Seokjin.”

He scoffs. “You cannot be saying that right now.”

“You heard him,” you say with a shrug. “You can’t stay in here any longer.” You step away from him, pulling down the fabric of your skirt roughly.

Despite the shivers of ecstasy that still faintly ran between your legs, the events that had just transpired had began weighing down on you; you let Seokjin eat you out during work hours in the file room, and he was never going to let you live it down.

Fuck.

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh — one clearly laced with annoyance. "Fine."

You smoothen down your shirt and quickly fix your hair as he steps off to the side. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his dark pants and leans his head against the wall.

"You coming?" you ask.

"Give me a minute. You go on."

You can't stop the teasing smirk that tugs at your lips and Seokjin avoids your gaze. At least you know that your not the only one affected by his charms.

Your walk off but come to a stop after a few steps. You turn around and his eyes meet yours. The words lie on the tip of your tongue, but you're pride tries to stop you from letting them tumble from your lips.

Fuck it.

"Want me to make it up to you tomorrow?"

A beat of silence passes, and regret instantly starts bubbling in your chest. But before you take back your offer, Seokjin lets out a small laughing breath and nods.

"Text me whenever you want, princess."

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stxrvel · 9 months ago

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injustice (3)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! a lot of curse words, a lot of self-deprecation and low self esteem. no proofread. this is nawt silly writing, we're diving right into the aNgSt. jumpscare? iykyk a/n. hi guys! this was a rollercoaster for me to write, but i hope it doesn't come as harsh as i think it is. pls let me know what you think in the comments!! see you next week!!

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

You had gone through a scenario like that in your head several times. A variety of moments, conversations and looks that always ended in the same unpleasant, inevitable and demoralizing way: you were forgotten by the people you loved most in the world. Only when you reached 18 would you realize how heartbreaking the dull thud of the silence of indifference was, how sharp and icy the loneliness was, how it penetrated and paralyzed your bones; but at that time, at 16, you could still convince yourself that all those things were only in your head and would always be there.

“Now that you're the last to go, you guys are much more likely to forget about me.”

“Of course not! In fact, as soon as I start earning money I'll save up to take you with us.”

Jungkook shook his head, his narrowed eyes judging you as if having insecurities was a sin. You believed his words at that moment, because being the last one still with you, 'cause you were going to graduate from school in the same year, it was the only thing you could do. Hold on to the idea that you really weren't going to be forgotten, because the mere conception of a future without your best friends was inconceivable.

“Jimin-hyung said he was going to try to call more often,” your friend went on, his eyes fixed on the bass on his lap and his important task of leaving it neat before returning it to its holy post in the school's music room. “I haven't talked to them in about three days.”

Jimin and Taehyung had left just a couple of months ago, but thanks to the opportunities opened to them with their incredible willingness, discipline and some string twitching on Namjoon's part, they had managed to get into a great academy to train and fulfill their dreams.

That also brought with it, as irreversible side effects, that your communication with them was drastically reduced. You had to constantly remind yourself and Jungkook that it was out of their control. With their future at stake, there was something for which they had to exert extreme effort and for which to sacrifice some other things.

“It's normal that they don't have as much time as they used to, Kookie.” You lowered your head, noticing the way his hands delicately handled the instrument on his legs. Since Jimin and Taehyung had left there was no time of day when you could tear yourself away from Jungkook, which is why you accompanied him to his extracurricular music lessons when you really should have been studying for the college entrance exam. “Life after school gets really hectic.”

“I've heard that college life is quieter.” Jungkook twisted his lips, wiping between the strings and his fingerprints left on the bass every time he moved it back and forth to clean it. It was an almost irresistible cycle.

“The only one at college right now is Seokjin and even about him we haven't heard much.” You leaned back against the piano, noticing Jungkook's movements pause for a moment as he surely reminisced about the few times he had been able to talk to Jin that month.

It had been two years since Seokjin had graduated and traveled all the way to the capital to study medicine. Needless to say, it was more than clear that communication with Jin would be almost nil from then on, but Jungkook always used to pout about it.

“It's just that Jin-hyung also chose a rather demanding career.” Jungkook twisted his lips, as if suppressing Jin in his head, waving the microfiber towel over the edges of the bass.

“And the others are trying too hard to carve their way through. It can be as complicated as going out to look for a job right after graduating.”

Jungkook nodded, admiring his cleaning job with a frown. He looked so focused that it caught you by surprise when he spoke again.

“You already know if you're going to college, noona? We're graduating this year.”

You blinked once, twice, three times. His nonchalant self went back to waving the towel over nonexistent smudges as you breathed in and decided not to go that route. “Will you?”

Jungkook raised his head, pausing his movements for a moment to try to analyze your gaze. With a sigh, he let out your poorly disguised way of shifting the focus of the conversation to get up and hang the instrument, glowing, on the wall of the music room.

“I don't know yet… Namjoon-hyung says he can help me.”

“Isn't it your dream, why do you doubt it?”

“I'm not sure, noona. What if I don't measure up? What if I fail?”

When your friend turned away, the mirror to his soul showed his vulnerability dancing on the edge of his eyelids. His distrust constricted your heart, a hand closing around your throat at the inner conflicts you knew Jungkook used to have and in the face of which you often couldn't do anything about because he didn't usually share such things.

“Then you try again.”

“Noona…” Jungkook wanted to grumble, it was obvious from the way his eyes moved to the ceiling, his head cocking as if he was about to give you a big life lesson on why you can't survive on motivational phrases.

But Jungkook was a softie about such things, even if he tried to hide it.

“Jungkook, you are literally a golden promise. No process is ever easy, especially in the industry you want to get into, but don't think for a second that you're going to outgrow it. You're one of the most capable people I've ever met.”

Your friend stopped his steps, when after hanging up the bass he was returning to your post in front of you, raising his head as if caught committing a prank. But the vulnerability in his eyes remained, and by the way they shone in the dim light of the room, still blinking to try to contain the emotion, you knew your words had tugged at just that thorn in his heart you were trying to pull out.

“Thank you, noona.”

“I'm just telling the truth.” You lifted a shoulder, shaking your head nonchalantly like it was no big deal, and Jungkook just let out an amused chuckle.

“You do know we'd never forget about you, right? How could we?”

“How could we?”

Yuna shook her head, frowning at her phone, oblivious to the way you cringed at her choice of words.

“She's bringing celebrities into the store and she want us to leave? Don't we work so well that we always take the top employee of the month spot even though it should only be held by one person? Don't we deserve that gift?”

You watched her, marveling at how after just a few seconds so many emotions could build up into an overwhelming knot in your chest. The old notes of an old piano played in the back of your head, bringing to the surface memories of when life was easier; when you thought you had it all and nothing would ever be better than that; when you thought you were enough.

“So what do you plan to do about it?” you blinked, focusing on the notation of bills in your notebook with an invisible hand squeezing your heart.

There was no use thinking about such things after so long.

Yuna pursed her lips, her expression serious and forceful. “I think we should have a sit-in.”

“We should? That sounds like more than one person.”

“Do you disagree with me?”

“I'm happy with going home early, especially on a Friday, you know?”

“y/n,” Yuna came up to your face over the cash register display case, her forearms resting on the glass and her eyes so bright with determination you were sure her head could light the whole store on fire the way she was scheming and scheming, running around like her life depended on it, “we could be close to meeting the seven gods of Olympus, and you think the best thing to do is go home?”

“Just in case you forgot, I have a business to run now.” You reminded her, moving to poke her with your middle finger all over her forehead and push her away from the cash register now that a new customer had come in.

“What business should a business matter when you could meet the reason for existence itself?”

Yuna dropped onto the display case, her body sliding like jelly until only her head was left on the glass. You and the new customer watched her, her arms limp at her sides and her gaze lost. A lone tear running down the bridge of her nose.

“God, you're so dramatic.”

“Does that mean yes?” Her head snapped up like a spring, a big smile scaring the soul out of the customer who ducked behind your friend to run for their order.

“No and stop acting like that, you're going to scare away customers.”

Yuna whined, her exaggerated tantrum leading you to wiggle your feet all the way to the cellar.

“I'm offering you the holy grail, and this is how you pay me?”

The sound of her feet shuffling behind you kept your head sane. Even though his insinuations were baseless, your heart was pounding so hard you felt your ribs throbbing through your muscles and skin.

Your boss had written to Yuna that you two could leave the store early today because she had a private meeting to attend. She asked them to leave everything to Patrick, including clearing the store of customers and not to worry about paying for the shift, because there would be no discount at the end of the month. Yuna was faithfully and blindly convinced that your boss really wanted you to stay, because she spent almost ten minutes with her eyes glued to the screen almost without blinking, watching the 'typing…' appear and disappear under your boss's contact name. 'I'm sure she's debating how much confidence she has in us…', she said as her red eyes missed no detail of that important chat and that primordial moment, ending in an offended 'none!' when her last message came through.

In the same way, Yuna convinced herself that the meeting that would take place in the same place where your feet were planted was going to be attended by the seven entertainment kings of the country. The unmentionables, for all practical purposes. Where had she come to that conclusion? There was no foundation. Had your boss given any hints? None. Yuna had her head in the clouds believing she could meet her idols if she insisted a little longer.

“Would you really prefer to stand your friend up to meet seven men you don't even know for sure will show up here?”

“Well…if you put it that way it sounds like I'm doing something wrong.”

“Mmm, you just figured that out?”

Yuna dropped her shoulders as you took off your apron. Her tactics weren't going to work and it was time to give up. She half-heartedly opened her locker and stood looking at you with puppy dog eyes. You felt as guilty as if you had stepped on her tail by accident.

“Look, if I'm being honest, I doubt gigantically that Sol will tell you that you can stay if you ask her.”

“Not even for everything we've been through together?”

“She's still our boss, Yuna.”

Your friend mimicked your actions with a slower speed, her emotion draining away little by little. When her head cocked to the side, halfway through taking off her apron, you only sighed.

“The worst that can happen is I get fired, right?”

You weren't surprised that she was nevertheless willing to cross that line.

“That doesn't sound like much to you?”

“I can always write her a 'ha, ha, just joking' afterwards and get out of harm's way.”

You didn't contain the irresistible urge to roll your eyes and Yuna took that as her own signal or green light. Next thing you knew she was pulling out her phone and typing animatedly on the screen.

“I really don't think you should do that.”

“I have to try! Can I call myself a good fan if I don't do even the impossible?”

“You don't even know if they'll come.”

“I have a hunch.”

With her hand over her heart, Yuna sent the message and you feared for her life. While Sol was not at all close to the idea and conceptualization of a crazy and ruthlessly demanding boss, she did draw the line at several specific situations that they had both learned to respect. One of those was, of course, private meetings at her place. You and Yuna had set up the place countless times for Sol to sit quietly and chat with her most famous acquaintances, because her office was too formal to deal with them there, but her own home was extremely informal for the same purpose. The cafeteria served as a middle ground, the perfect place to be comfortable when talking business.

“Patrick is coming.” Yuna spoke again and by the way her eyes didn't leave the screen you could tell Sol hadn't responded yet.

“I wish you the best of luck, Yuna.”

“Thank you! Coming from you it's a blessing, indeed.”

“And why's that?”

You finally stood up, closing your locker with your strap bag over your right shoulder. You were ready to leave while your friend was still biting her index fingernail waiting for an almost impossible and inconceivable message from her boss.

“What else can I expect from the writer who blew up overnight and is soon going to be one of the New York Times bestsellers and famous worldwide?”

“Ah,” you turned your head, unable to contain inwardly the way a warmth settled in your chest; you still had a hard time accepting how things had turned out, but as long as you couldn't control the influx of orders that had to take a back seat, “smooth.”

Yuna smiled and when her eyes met yours you swore she was about to tell you one more time how proud she was of you, but her phone vibrated in her hands and the last thing you saw her eyes widen exaggeratedly before her scream shook the foundations of the store and almost the entire city.

“SHE SAID YES!!!!”

Arriving home unleashed immeasurable chaos.

As soon as you opened the front door, a river of books fell like dominoes, with your father's groans and your mother's screams in the background, the sound of your work echoing in your head like lightning as stomping echoed through the house.

“Seojun, I told you to be careful walking…!”The angry expression on your mother's face disappeared the moment she recognized your face, her features softening as she knew it was her daughter. “Honey. What are you doing here so early?”

“Is that y/n?” your dad's exclamation rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes!” your mom yelled back.

The welcome was nice, but things only got more and more tedious from then on. On the one hand, you had your father telling you about accounts, numbers and multiplications of how much you had to take out of your pocket to pay for the prints, how much you would make if you sold all the books you had printed and how much you would get back, and on the other hand you had your mother telling you about the countless publishers who had written to your dm's seeking to sponsor the sale of your books, taking advantage of the boom that had been generated by the phenomenon that was Kim Taehyung.

Seojun, who had decided to move back home for the weekend to help with whatever was needed, was telling you that they had had to hire five different deliverymen -three of them trucks- to be able to deliver as many orders a day as possible, while vehemently hitting your father's forearm to remind him to include that in the accounts.

Your father was in charge of everything related to money, your mother of the direct communication with customers and Seojun of the orders; everything was done by them, with Yuna's help when she was not working, with the excuse that after so many years you just had to sit down and enjoy the fruit of your sowing without any worries.

But at that moment, when they had just let go and thrown all their worries at your feet, they stared at you expectantly.

"We need a loan."

Your mother jumped in her chair. "That's what I said!"

"That's not necessary." Your father shook his head, as he surely would have done when your mother suggested the idea judging by the expression that had planted itself on her face. "Take a loan from my wallet, but don't do business with those bankers. They'll gouge your eyes out with interest."

"Or take a publisher's offer. They'll take care of all this." Seojun pointed out, his long black hair brushing his eyebrows even though he shook it nonchalantly so he could get a good look at the three of them.

"Publishers can be freeloaders too." Your mother counter-argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, yeah? How many publishers have you signed on with to assert that?"

"Wow, careful with that tone, Mr. Lawyer." Your father pointed at your brother, while your mother only raised an eyebrow at him in response. Seojun sank into the chair, barely dragging an apology through his teeth.

"It's not a bad idea either, Dad."

His brown eyes returned to meet your gaze and you noticed the hesitation in them.

"Well, ultimately, it's your decision, honey."

Your mother squeezed your shoulder.

"I say we should listen to the lawyer."

"Hey!" Seojun frowned, straightening up on the chair. "Don't put such a big responsibility on me!"

Your father snorted. "But then weren't you comfortable a while ago giving orders and saying that I don't know what thing you had already seen it in class and that's why you knew what we had to do?"

"Dad…" Seojun elongated.

"Are you ready for such a position or not, Seojun? Tell me to start looking for another lawyer."

Your mother barely contained her laughter, only because of the offended sideways glance her own son sent her way. Laughter blossomed in your chest, too, like a big breath of fresh air in a field of flowers. You didn't know you needed that moment so badly until the tension disappeared from your shoulders as you laughed with your parents and your brother grumbled with his arms crossed.

A new batch of orders just went out - thank you so much for your purchases!

You looked at the story your mom had uploaded to Instagram in the solitude of your bedroom. The rest of the day was spent strategizing and planning marketing ideas that would likely lead you to ruin. In a defeated silence, you admitted that Yuna was really needed.

You had texted your friend a while ago, as the sunset was beginning to paint the sky with colors, but she still hadn't even checked her phone. Her last connection was a few minutes after you left at noon. You decided not to insist, even though you were a little curious about who had finally shown up at the store.

The best thing about that busy rest of the afternoon was that you'd been able to keep yourself busy enough to completely ignore the way you'd been whipped up by a few memories that morning in Yuna's company. A simple question had caused all that. And of course, with a heart as weak as a chick's and willpower almost non-existent, you let yourself be pulled right in that moment of loneliness into the well of memories.

“Jungkookie?”

Your voice pierced the silence and a shiver ran through your body as the darkness greeted you back. A few minutes passed after you plunged into the completely darkened room, walking tentatively and slowly inside, you heard a movement just outside the door you had just entered.

“Noona…”

You couldn't see him, but you didn't need to. The sobs that filled the room were enough to be able to guide you through that darkness, as indistinguishable as coal, and wrap your arms around his hunched figure on the floor beside the door.

The house was alone and as dark as that room the last night Jungkook would be there. Passing through the empty corridors of his house was a torment, but you could only imagine how your friend would feel in his place, unable to stop time as it slipped through his fingers.

Several times he had already told you that he didn't want to leave. You didn't think he meant it.

“They're waiting for you downstairs.”

“I know. I don't want to go, noona.” Jungkook moved his arms to wrap around your waist in a desperate grip, his erratic breathing against your neck breaking your heart. “I want to stay. It doesn't matter if I never become an idol. That's not important.”

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to leave you…”

His halting voice was barely understandable, trying to be muffled by the jacket you were wearing that night when you went to see him off and didn't find him in the car with his parents. The heater seemed not to be a worthy opponent for that cold night.

“Jungkook, you're not going to leave me. We'll keep in touch. Why do you worry so much?”

“I don't want to be like them,” his pained voice pierced your chest; the movement of his body from the way the sobs were attacking him was almost uncontainable. “I don't want this distance.”

“Change is always hard, Jungkookie, but I promise you we'll be in touch always. I'll do my best to make it so.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'll even come visit you as soon as I can.”

“No. I said I was going to pay for your trip.”

“See? You're not going to leave me.”

“Still I'm scared, noona. What if I'm not enough for them? What if I can't raise enough for you to come live with us?”

“You are enough, Jungkook. From the tips of your fingers to the tips of your hair, there's nothing about you that won't allow you to achieve your dreams, understand? You are destined to be a star. I know it's hard to leave behind everything you know in life, but believe me it will all be worth it. You will come out on top and you will succeed.”

“Noona…” Jungkook cried again, burying his face in your neck once more, clinging to you like the anchor that carried him to the surface of the ocean; the ocean shaped by his own tears. “I… don't… want… to… go…”

The hiccups that attacked him from his intense crying made it difficult for him to speak and you hadn't felt such pain even when the other boys left. There were tears shared, promises whispered and hugs that lasted longer than they should have, but no one had clung to your body as if they feared you were going to disappear at any moment and wanted to seize every second before the impending end.

“It's okay, Jungkookie,” you ran your hands up and down his back trying to calm his crying, trying to control your own as treacherous tears rolled down your cheeks with the darkness as your witness. “We'll meet again. You can wait for me. Then we can melt into another embrace and say how much we miss each other.”

Your phone vibrated on the bed, the notification startling you with its aggressiveness. Another vibration followed that one and then another. Turning on the screen, you found that half an hour had passed since you'd last seen the clock, and in passing you came across Yuna's name on the caller ID. You sighed, remembering the effusiveness with which she said goodbye in the afternoon and mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

"Hey," you greeted, mildly surprised that her exclamations hadn't reached your ear first to interrupt your greeting.

"y/n, how were sales today?" her calm voice filled your hearing and a slight wrinkle implanted itself between your brows.

"Mmm, it was all good. We have several domiciliary and the prints are coming out with the deadlines arranged. With Seojun we considered that maybe taking on a publisher wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not sure yet."

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling, shallowly biting your nails, waiting for the moment when Yuna would burst out, but it didn't come.

"Oh, yeah. We'll have to consider that. I'll go early tomorrow morning to seize the day." Yuna answered quietly, with the faint sound of things stirring in the background of the call. Surely she had just arrived at her apartment.

"Yuna?"

"Mhm?"

"How was the afternoon?"

"Oh, it was normal, really," she replied, her voice flat, as if the thought had barely crossed her mind since the moment she'd left the coffee shop. "I didn't see anyone memorable."

"Ah, so your knights in shining armor didn't attend?"

"Sadly, no." Yuna sighed, her unchanging attitude finding a little more sense in your head. She sounded more tired than anything.

You talked a bit more with Yuna before she excused herself to go about her evening routine and finally get some rest, specifically stressing to you how boring the whole afternoon had been and how every second she only thought about going home. You also told her a bit more about the ideas you and your father had half-heartedly spun as marketing strategies, but very earnestly your friend asked you not to do anything until she was there.

When her name disappeared from your caller ID, an Instagram notification popped up at the top of your home screen. The vibration felt like the pounding of a sledgehammer against wood, your sentence handed down with no chance of appeal, the blood in your veins freezing and an endless emptiness in the pit of your stomach.

jeonjungkook97 just followed you!

It was followed by the notification of a message from Yuna.

Unnie | 19:01 holy shit. jungkook just followed you on ig, right?

No fucking way. Another fucking account to block.

It wasn't like you couldn't deal with them. You had been doing it for about ten years. But now they just seemed to want to throw themselves in front of your face one by one and you weren't strong enough to handle that. Maybe your resolve needed to be more forceful; maybe you should be sure you hated them instead of feeling like your body was shaking and you could melt like jelly in the sun every time you felt they were one step closer to you. For a while, that was all you wanted; to find them; to be found. But now…?

The weekend was spent in a hodgepodge of managing your book sales and the seesaw of emotions you had in the face of the estranged but impactful actions of your old friends. You tried not to think about it too much; you really tried, but it was very difficult. It was easier to let the memories wash over you instead of diligently packing up the books on which you had squandered your blood and tears.

Your books, yes, that was the most important thing.

From the posts and hashtags, even though it had only been a couple of days, you could see that some people -those who had actually read the books- were already posting their opinions and reviews and you knew you had had plenty of time to prepare for that moment, but you really weren't ready to face it. You didn't know what it was; whether it was the pollen, the aligned planets, PMS, mercury retrograde… but all of those things were weighing you down too much recently and you weren't ready to hear the opinions.

And you couldn't help but keep asking yourself why? Having spent so much time, between so many experiences and so many personal changes, why now they decided that they would come back into your life? How dare they after ruining your life by completely abandoning you? Many times you wondered what was missing in you; what was never enough for them… sometimes you believed that this was how it was meant to be; just the seven of them, before you came along. It was always them seven first, then you.

Between lows and highs, between sadness and joy, you still had to keep working.

"Get rid of that face if you're not going to tell me what's wrong with you." Yuna crossed the cafeteria in front of you, picking up some glasses and plates on the table as lunchtime approached.

"I don't have any face."

"You've been in a somber mood since Saturday. You look dead."

You clicked your tongue, taking advantage of the fact that the store was nearly empty to do the math. "Don't be over the top."

"I'm just being honest and genuinely concerned about my friend, can you blame me?" Yuna reached the sink and simply left the dishes there to approach the cash register. Your eyes refused to meet hers, unsheathing a strange annoyance in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm fine," you moved the money automatically, doing the math in the back of your head as second nature, "don't worry so much."

"Ok, if you don't want to tell me about it at least try to distract yourself a little, why don't you take an extra half hour for lunch?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Sol would never know."

"I'm not going to do that."

Yuna pouted, dropping her chin onto the back of her hand. You knew she was about to fly you out of that chair the moment all the bills were safeguarded.

A whiplash of pain shot through your chest at the alternative of having to leave the cafeteria, alone, hovering with your thoughts once again, as you tried to shove the food down your throat. But Yuna happily dragged you out of the cafeteria, leaving you in the middle of the street with your little bag and lunch money, wishing you a happy break as she wandered off once more to deal with the sparse crowd of customers alone.

Maybe you should have told her you'd rather not eat than be alone, but…

That was the story of your life.

So you walked to that restaurant a couple of blocks away, where they sold the cheapest food in the area, and waited patiently while answering Yuna's messages to clear your mind.

Going through your social networks, you once again came across the cover of your books in the pre-viewing of a video and felt the bile in your throat. Let's see, you were happy. Or well, you were trying to convince yourself because you still had that bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach that wouldn't let you enjoy this blast like you should and it had a first and last name of its own. But, generally speaking, it was great that your books were selling, forgetting all the other circumstances that led to that happening.

So, standing in front of those videos, you were tormented by not being able to watch them. A self-published author should be prepared for that kind of thing. No, any author should be. Sharing your art with the world implicitly entailed confronting the world's expression in front of it. It was inevitable, of course, and it was also the energy that could start an engine or the fingers that put out the match. At that precise moment, you still didn't want to know what your destiny was.

You hated that. You hated feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why was life so heavy if you had just begun to live it?

Ah, too much pondering for one lunch.

And to think this all started with an Instagram story.

Having an existential crisis because you couldn't stand dealing with the stress and pressure of the extreme demand you were having and because of mixed feelings for a bunch of idiots resurfacing after so many years was one of the last things you thought you'd have to go through that year. Fuck, or ever in your entire life.

Taehyung might have done you a favor as well as a disservice.

But that's how you spent a while longer, as you walked back to the coffee shop, the noise of the city not being enough to quell the bustle of thoughts crashing against each other in your head.

Being in the eye of the hurricane, however, didn't mean you were safe. You barely had a breath of fresh air before the eyewall hit you hard once again.

"Noona…?"

You froze a few steps away from the cafeteria. You feared not only the way you immediately recognized the voice, but the way your body froze, fear, panic and uncertainty clouding your sense.

You were in the alley behind the coffee shop. You didn't usually go in that way, but you had taken a slightly longer way back, only because you were too busy thinking about whether or not your body was up to a longer walk.

You were so close to the door that you could almost hear Yuna's voice on the other side, barely muffled by the beeping that echoed in your ears as panic took over your body.

You didn't want to turn around. Your body was having every possible negative reaction, as if it was fighting an infection, the lunch you had just shoved down your throat seeking to make its way back into your mouth and the feeling of dizziness momentarily clouded you.

Was this how you planned to react if you ever saw them again? Was this how you acted out the scenarios you imagined in your head at night when your memories went back to the last time you saw them?

The only difference between those imaginings and what was happening at that moment was that before you could prepare yourself; you knew what was coming; you had control. Now? Your legs were about to give out, the weight of your body too much to bear.

And you wanted to mock the pathetic behavior you were engaging in. You should turn around, slap him and scream at him that you never wanted to see him again. But your heart was beating and feeling and… how could you deny it anything after so many years of being neglected?

But maybe you were imagining it. The little sleep you had this weekend and all the memories you dragged from the trunk since you saw that Instagram notification must have made you crazy enough that you heard voices, his voice, anywhere… you were still near a busy street, it could be anyone-

"y/n."

And, yet…

You didn't turn around knowing what it would entail to give his voice a face, even though you could madly and frankly recall every line of its length, and you spoke harshly through your teeth even though your labored breathing made your chest heave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Noona… you're really here."

You cringed as you heard his footsteps and clutched with inhuman speed at the lock on the door in front of you.

"I asked you a fucking question: what the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

The silence didn't give you an answer, but you could glimpse it. With your patience on edge and years of emotional repression it was impossible for you to deduce how you would react in such a case, but it didn't seem too far-fetched, even if Jungkook's surprised inspiration said he didn't expect you to be so harsh and rude.

As if you cared.

—Yes you did care, in fact, that's why your heart was beating wildly against your ribs, the choking sensation increasing, the nerves on edge and the tears all over the corners of your eyes, but you had to stand your ground. After so, so long… why, why, why, why?—

"I… I…" Jungkook seemed to be having trouble finding his voice, even though in his profession the words came melodiously and easily out of his mouth. If you turned to look at him, you might have noticed that his face went from happiness to anguish with the speed a bullet goes through a field, "I wanted to see you…"

He sounded so small. The five-foot-ten-plus man, who you're sure was almost a head and a half taller than you, might as well have been a badly wounded puppy behind you. You knew from the way he spoke that he was holding back tears, but you didn't let that sway you. He didn't deserve it.

"Who gave you the right to come here?"

You didn't let him answer, not knowing if he was even going to, tightening the lock on the door you were about to walk through at any moment, bile in your throat making you fear the fall as if you were at the top of a skyscraper.

"How the fuck did you even find me?"

"Well, I-"

"I don't fucking want to know!"

You cut him off, the dryness and venom in your voice making you tremble. You were so sad, so distraught and so angry at the same time.

"And I don't want to see you. So leave."

"Noona…"

"Fucking leave, Jeon, for fuck's sake!"

You moved, almost as if by inertia, opening the door and slamming it behind you, the noise so deafening that it echoed in your ears for several seconds until you heard Yuna's footsteps approaching you and felt her arms wrap around your body.

You didn't know what she was saying, you just leaned against the door and let yourself fall, your body shaking in cry after uncontrollable cry, truly wondering how everything had gone so far; wondering how, after so many years, you still allowed them to have that power over you; a power they didn't deserve and shouldn't have.

You felt shattered in that moment, every piece of you scattered in the hold, every moment of your life replaying on its glassy, sharp edges. Even with half of you staying afloat, Yuna held you until the tears stopped flowing and with renewed resolve you promised yourself that this was never going to happen again.

Jungkook had taken you by surprise, but from now on none of them would ever catch you off guard.

a/n: i dont really know what to think about this chap. sometimes i like it sometimes i dont. i guess thats just how it works. pls letme know what you think! thank u for all the support! <3

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592 @yoongznme @queenbloody @leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison

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jeonsbabygirlsworld · 8 months ago

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REUNION SEX

SUMMARY: Seokjin has been now out from his military service, but he has buried himself with work and you miss him, miss sex.

PAIRINGS: Husband Jin x wife reader.

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

SMUT WARNINGS: Titty sucking over clothes, oral (m,f), fingering, riding, emotional sex at the end lmao, reader is called names( jagi, slut, whore), cum eating.

A/n: yeas, I'm back Hehe lol I hope you like this one I'll get better next time but I hope you like this.

It's been two days since Seokjin has been discharged from his military service, Minjun your son hasn't been happier when he finally knew his dad wouldn't go back, your husband used to come back in between for a couple of days and leave again.

Minjun was about six months old when Jin knew he had to leave and he was not happy to leave his son, you and the army but soon accepting he went ahead and served the country perfectly, occasionally posting on Instagram and Weverse and telling army's he's doing great and is eager to come back and perform.

It's almost 11 pm when Minjun gets ready for his bedtime after playing with his dad for a long time. Jin being the best dad and husband takes over the night duties and puts his son to sleep so till then you could get all ready for bed as well.

About your sex life it's been a while since you've been intimate with him so it is dry and now seeing him all bulked up has your hormones raging up, his shoulders are now lean not that they were in perfect shape but it's just something is stirring up in your mind, his abs are more Prominent and can be even seen over his shirt if he straightened up.

You have nasty thoughts about your husband in the shower while Seokjin also gets ready for bed, a white shirt with grey sweatpants hangs low on his slim waist and when you come out you gasp a bit to see him look this hot.

You both soon get on the bed cuddling each other while you lay your head on his hard chest and your legs all over him, you ignore the feeling of his length on your inner thighs and hum on the things he's saying, his long fingers are tangled on your hair, and he fiddles with them, and you sigh at this feeling.

"Jagi...?" Your husband calls you out of your thoughts and you look out for him and smile and ask him what's wrong "Are you sleepy? should I stop talking?" Seokjin hesitates, thinking he is keeping you up and he knows you are tired from all day keeping up with Minjun taking care of him and also looking after him.

"No Jin don't worry it's all right it's just something going in my head for a while, but it's nothing I know you must be tired we can sleep," you tell him in a low voice and motioning to detach from him, but you get pulled back and now he hovers above you and gasp.

"Tell me baby, what's wrong?" Jin said now completely serious, and you sighed and looked everywhere but him, his arms had now trapped you and you raised your hands and held onto his biceps and rose a bit so could kiss his plum lips and once again you fell for this man all over again.

"Nothing Jin, it's just I miss you, I miss sex, but I don't want to pressure you into it I know you are still tired from the service and all the events you can rest" you tell him and caress his bicep with your thumb and feel him.

"Jagi you could've just told me about it, you know it right I would never turn you down, I'm sorry I haven't been giving you time love, but this pussy for sure misses me, right baby? Jin teases and you nod while giving him a big smile at his teasing.

Jin slowly bends down so he can kiss your lips and you make space for him in between your legs and his now hard length is pressed against your core. The kisses shared are passionate between you and him and you bite out a moan when you feel his hands sneaking up to your clothed breast.

Your nipples harden when Seokjin's fingers circle them and you twitch in his arms because of sensitivity, the short satin gown does a poor job of hiding the print of your nipples and Seokjin bends down just so he comes face to face and licks and sucks you over the fabric, the print is more visible as it is now wet.

"Seokjin please, need more" You gasp at his teasing while he chuckles and stops his antics and is now welcomed by the red lace underwear you decided to wear just in case something would happen, and you didn't want him to be greeted by the normal ones and mentally smile about it.

Your husband smiles at the sight of his favourite red panties coming into his vision and wasting no time he pushes them to the side and rubs the ball of your clit "Try to stay calm y/n I know it's been a while" he says observing your sensitivity and timidness when you try to close your legs.

Nodding at him he gets right back to your pussy occasionally spitting, licking, sucking and slurping your juices and you try your best to stay calm and not make much Noice but you end up failing miserably when his long slender finger enters you "Such a tight fit Jagi, I don't think you can take my dick....already stressing over my finger" just like that his teasing never stops which throws you over the edge and you come silently.

"Such a slut Jagi" he tsks and removes his fingers from your heat and sucks them and hums "So sweet" You stay there breathless for a second until he undresses, and you remove your gown and panties, your eyes bore down at his luscious red tip oozing out some precum and you swear you feel your mouth water.

So, you take matters into your own hands, just when Jin hovers above you, holding on to his bicep you shift him so now you are the one above him and Jin chuckles and gets ready for what is coming for him.

Kissing his lips you go down his neck and paint a few purple hues and your fingers tease his length which is now in between you and your husband, he tries to refrain from moaning and only settles with hums, Seokjin guides you where he needs you the most, yes, his beautiful girthy, thick length and veins prominent and those plum balls, there's a patch of hair at the base but you don't mind and think it makes him 10x hotter than he already is.

You start off by laying kittenish kisses and licks on his length and then going to suck his tip, you hum when the taste of his precum hits your tongue, and you make a mess by spitting on him again, your husband grabs on your hair and tries to signal you that he needs more and wanted to hear you gag around it.

"The best baby, yeah just like that," Seokjin says as his hands now fall on the bed, and you continue to gag over him "So big baby, can feel it in my throat," you tell him to boast his ego feeling few tears falling from your eyes and Seokjin moans at the compliment.

"Yeah, baby just like that Jagi.... right there, I'm going to cum" your husband groans feeling his orgasm hit and then that's when you decide to be cruel and get your mouth off him, "Jagi I'm not even kidding I was so fucking close," Jin says disappointed and you hover over him and sit on his abs and bring your finger on his lips "Be quiet baby, let me do it my way tonight yeah?" you tell him in most sluty way.

Smirking he only nods and lets you do whatever you want, and you rise up just a bit so now that his tip kisses your hole and you gasp and try to take him fully, once you adjust you shriek out because of the stretch and Seokjin groans at the tightness it feels like his dick has been suffocated and you slowly start to bounce, your own hands coming up to play with your tits while his hands come up on your waist and you scream out real loud because of his tip hitting your sweet spot "Yeah baby faster" Jin gasps feeling himself come closer to his release.

"Argh fuck baby right there feels so good, dick so good" You talk to him and chase your high that's when Seokjin pulls you down to his chiselled chest and guides your hips, you feel your eyes water at his move and your right hands comes up to his face to grab and you silently say you miss him and missed this feeling, and your tears finally run down your cheek and you both come at the same time, his cum painting your walls.

"Y/n? Baby, are you okay? I missed you too Jagi like a lot" Jin says his hands now caressing your back "Yeah just missed you a lot and now that you are here it feels so much better" you tell him, and he smiles like a fool and kisses your forehead, after spending a while with his length still inside, you sigh and feel good until it was time for you to get up and clean as you both are sticky from the sex and you both need a bath.

While Seokjin gets up first to prepare a bath for both of you, feeling the cum drip from your pussy, with a wild move you try to collect and suck it off your fingers and give him a wink while you are at it, and he smirks collectively and tsks "so messy baby" and giving him an offended look you tell him it is better than staining the bedsheets.

"Sure, Jagi make excuses, such a whore for it"......

TAGLIST:

@jungk97kwife @kimmingyuswifee @virgodolls @grudge-core

#bts #seokjin #seokjin smut #seokjin fluff #seokjin x reader #seokjin oneshot #seokjin fanfic #seokjin fanfiction #seokjin fic #seokjin scenarios #seokjin imagine #bts smut #bts fluff #seokjin x y/n #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #kim seokjin fanfic #kim seokjin smut

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hueseok · 26 days ago

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can’t stop thinking about frenemy!seokjin, your fellow agent, who still thinks it’s his right to act all concerned towards you whenever you end up appearing battered and bruised.

“tell me the motherfucker’s name.”

you sighed, bringing your head back so that his fingertips would no longer touch your mouth. the sensation felt too nice and you were being too pleased with the fact that seokjin had the nerve to check on you when he heard that you arrived back at the headquarters with a bruised lip and a broken nose.

you and him were civil for the most part (despite the constant bickering and dirty looks being thrown to the other at times), so you weren’t exactly shocked to see him concerned—but what he was showcasing felt more than concern or worry, and it was giving you mixed emotions to let him carry on

“the motherfucker’s already dead,” you dryly answered, going back to what you were doing, which was changing the pieces of dirty clothing you were wearing. “do you think i’d let him get away after messing my pretty face like this?”

seokjin snorted, bringing his hand down on his lap as he looked away when you raised the hem of your top over your head. you typically wore a sports bra underneath to care about unintentionally flashing someone and that annoyed seokjin more than it should. “did you already have it checked? your nose?”

“not yet.”

“and that’s because…”

“can’t you see that i’m getting changed here?” you gestured to yourself.

the changing rooms in the headquarters were co-ed too, the reason why seokjin was able to catch up with you when you got back from your mission. indeed you didn’t go to the infirmary first like you should have—like you always forget to do honestly, seokjin thought—that he didn’t know why he bothered asking.

he didn’t reply again after you said that last retort. however it didn’t take him long enough either to say something again that made you glare at him. “you should have called me for back-up,” is what he told you.

“and why would i do that?” you asked, loudly slipping on your more comfortable shoes that the sound it emitted echoed in the room.

he shrugged. “could have saved your pretty face from getting hurt if you did.”

“oh, and care to explain why?”

“you know why.”

“you were going to be my knight in shining armor?” you mocked, finishing on changing and standing up, closing your locker door.

“a partner was the term i was going for,” he said quickly, standing up when you did. seokjin walked towards you just as you were going to the exit; he purposely blocked your path, stepping in the direction where you went, not letting you get away with his annoying antics until you looked up again to meet his eyes.

his face appeared serious, rigid even, so unlike the seokjin who liked to piss you off with his dumb jokes and his out of place comments. his gaze flickered down to your misshapen nose once more now that you were inches apart, getting a good look on it before it moved to your slightly swollen and bleeding lips.

he sighed, expression contorting into that guise again when he first stepped inside the room and set his eyes on you—it showed irritation and complete anger, expressions that surprised you a bit but chosen to ignore in the end.

“did you give that asshole a good beating before killing him at least?” he asked.

that amused you, both from how he brought the topic up again and how though not worded in the conventional way, you knew that he meant it as disdain to the man who hurt you, wishing the guy got what he deserved.

“what do you think?”

seokjin grinned, nodding approvingly. “we should head to the infirmary then. get that nose fixed.” he led the way this time and you followed, your mouth smirking.

“thanks for the tip, captain obvious.” you said, pausing for a while before you added another phrase. “and thanks for the concern too.”

he glanced at you, smiling in a sort of cocky manner at the showcase of some feelings. “no problem. though next time, try not to finish the guys who hurt you yourself, alright?” he joked. “let me have my fun with them too.”

you halted at that, just for a quick second, the implication getting stronger—but like earlier, just like with every hint that he’s been giving that he cared for you much more than you were grasping—you ignored it, walking again and matching his pace without another word about it.

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writingmeraki · 9 months ago

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bts ot7 + "can you buy me pads?" texts !

¡ pairing : bf!ot7 x reader ( individual )

! genre : fluff,crack and very random 🙏🙏

¡ warnings : cussing.

! a/n : this being my first bts work is wild. anyways enjoy <3 decided to make a ver for all grps I stan hehehe let me know what u think! promising more future works for BTS for sure! already have a jungkook and taehyung wip hehe

svt ver | enha ver

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all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

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hoseok666 · 9 months ago

Text

and they were roommates - ch. 7

pairings: jungkook x reader/taehyung x reader

genre: strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, eventual angst, eventual smut, fluff, pretty much everything . college!jungkook AU, college!taehyung AU, tsundere! jungkook, warm personality taehyung, slowburn

word count: 32.8 k (😏)

series summary: it all started with a rejection from your longtime crush, jeon jungkook. you decided to confess to him on your last day of high school. after a harsh rejection and a rough summer dealing with the heartbreak, you were starting anew once your freshman year of college came. you were going to be sharing an apartment with two other roommates that you don’t even know. what a surprise you’re going to be in for once you find out it’s the one and only: jeon jungkook and kim taehyung.

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7

It’s around 8 in the morning when you wake up from your slumber. You’re greeted with a shock of pain shooting through your head and your body is feeling as if it’s floating on water. “Fucking hangover.” you grumble to yourself. You press a hand onto one of your temples.

You managed to get up from your comfy bed and walk to your desk drawer, where you found a small bottle of pain reliever pills. You pop two of the capsules into your mouth, washing it down with a random bottle of water you had on top of your desk. The hangover wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. After all, you were able to sober up a lot faster than your friends did.

You were about to lay back down on your bed until you felt your stomach rumble. It was making gassy noises and hunger cues at the same time. Great. I have to shit and eat. You open your bedroom door and are met with the smell of a rich, salty umami scent surfing around the apartment floor. The smell caused your stomach to growl even more.

Before you went to check out whoever and whatever was in the kitchen, you used the restroom to release whatever your body wanted to waste out. After brushing your teeth and washing your hands, you applied heavy concealer where Jungkook had left his hickies on your neck from last night. You entered the kitchen and caught the sight of Taehyung stirring a large pot of miso soup with a ladle. Jimin was already sitting on the table sipping the soup. When Taehyung notices your presence, he greets you with his signature grin. “Morning, __. Sleep well?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Woke up with a slight hangover though, so I just popped some pills. Do you guys need some?” you ask the two. Jimin shakes his head, rejecting your offer. “This soup is enough to cure me.” He says after swallowing down the rest of his bowl. “I’m good too but thanks for asking, ___.” Taehyung softened at you just being…you. Considerate, selfless you. It was one of the reasons why he fell in love with you. His stomach flip flops after he is reminded about the realization from last night.

“Do you want some miso? It’ll help with rehydrating yourself.” Taehyung offered. You accepted his offer and joined Jimin at the table. “Can I sip on some of your water?” You ask Jimin. “Go ahead.” You gladly reach his large glass of fresh cold water, and your ‘sip’ turns into you finishing it completely.

“So, I said you could have a sip, not finish it.” Jimin stared at you as if he wanted to kill you. “Relax, I’ll refill it for you.” You chuckle, and went to the sink, refilling the water that you indirectly declared was half yours now.

After Taehyung serves you a medium-sized bowl of miso, he joins the table with you and Jimin with his own bowl too. He chose to sit next to you. You give Taehyung a grateful smile. “Thank you so much for the meal, Tae. I’ll eat it well.” Taehyung ruffles your hair and gives you a gentle pat on your back. “Enjoy.”

As per usual, Jimin rolls his eyes at Taehyung being oblivious to his own feelings. There was a comfortable silence in the kitchen. Jimin was just scrolling through his phone while you and Taehyung were devouring the miso.

While Jimin is scrolling through his Instagram stories, he sees that Namjoon has posted a couple of things on his story. Jimin skips through the ones of him just recording the party, and himself with his friends. Jimin was about to just skip his story entirely until he gets to a post of you and Namjoon posing in front of the mirror together. He had arm around you and you were holding up a peace sign. His eyes widened at the sight. “Wow, not Namjoon already posting you on his Instagram story.” Jimin excitedly shoves his phone in front of you.

When you see the picture, your face heats up. “Oh, yea that happened.” You say sheepishly. Taehyung tried not to get jealous but he’s just naturally a jealous person. It doesn’t feel good for him to see you potentially seeing another guy, especially upon recently learning that Taehyung indeed has strong feelings for you.

“Well? Are you just gonna say that? What else happened?” Jimin pressed. You debated on telling the boys that Namjoon had asked you out on a date later this week. You felt shy to say out loud that you were going on a first date with someone…ever. Namjoon is your first ever real date. You’ve kissed only two people in your life; Kim Seokjin, and one guy you had lost your virginity to when you were a third year in high school. His name was Hwang Hyunjin. You and Hyunjin were not an official couple. It was more like what they call nowadays; a “sneaky link”. Hyunjin was attracted to you, you thought he was hot enough to fuck. The two of you were just horny teenagers and wanted to get your virginities over with. It was just sex and kisses, no dates and no feelings. Hyunjin ended up transferring to a new school for his senior year and you haven’t heard from him since.

You decided that you shouldn't make it a huge deal to hide the date from them. “He, uh, actually asked me out on a date later this week.” You confess. Jimin’s eyes immediately fixated on Taehyung's reaction. Taehyung tried to get himself to say something. Anything. But he felt as if his throat was closed.

“That’s…great, __. Are you excited?” Jimin began. You nodded. “Yeah, I am. He seems nice.” You didn’t want to admit that he was your first date ever because you knew they were going to just tease you for being an inexperienced loser. “He’s supposed to text me later today to confirm the time and date.” You added. You chugged down a large spoonful of your miso.

Taehyung remained silent. He wasn’t heartbroken but he felt challenged. If Taehyung wanted you, he had to get you one way or another. He doesn’t know if he should suppress his feelings or express it the best way he can.

Suddenly, the three of you heard a bedroom door opening. It had to be Jungkook. Your stomach felt as if it was fluttering with anxiety. This would be the first time you would be facing Jungkook since you decided to end whatever relationship the two of you had. Enemies? Frenemies? Whatever the title was, you didn’t want anything to do with Jungkook for right now.

It came to your surprise when it wasn’t Jungkook who entered the kitchen. The three of you made eye contact with a foreign figure standing in the kitchen entrance. It was a girl. A pretty girl. This pretty girl was wearing an oversized black t-shirt. Your stomach and heart dropped in realization when you knew who the shirt belonged to.

“Morning.” she spoke out, giving you guys a short bow. She looked a bit nervous, as if she was meeting Jungkook’s parents. The three of you didn’t verbally say anything; you all slightly bowed back to her. “Would it be alright if I grabbed some water from the sink?” she asks, while playing her fingers. Taehyung motioned her where she could find the cups. “Go ahead.” He said.

She smiled at him graciously, and grabbed herself not one but two small glasses. She filled them both up with water and gave you guys one final bow before walking back to Jungkook’s room. The slamming of the door brought the three of you back to reality.

“Uhm.” Jimin starts. “Yeah..” Taehyung continues. “So, does he do this often?” Jimin asked you both. Taehyung shakes his head. “This is the first girl he’s ever brought back.” He informs. The emotion that was coursing through you was a mixture of pain, jolt, and numbness. “She’s pretty.” You admit. Jimin nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she is but..aren’t one night stands supposed to not interact with household members? That’s like against the law of hookups.”

Taehyung snorted at Jimin’s sentence. “You’re so dumb.” He playfully hits his head. “Jungkook though? He’s really entering his hoe phase now. About time.” Jimin sighs in relief, crossing his arms behind his head as he leaned back into the chair. It was silent for a few seconds. Jimin sat up quickly at a realization. “That’s why I heard moaning when I came home last night. I thought it was Taehyung watching porn.”

You managed to crack out a chuckle at Jimin’s abruptness. Jimin is the comedic relief in this household that you, Taehyung and Jungkook needed.

. . .

When Yeri returned back to Jungkook’s room, he was still asleep. He was snoring quietly, his pink lips slightly parted. He was shirtless and bottomless underneath the covers. Yeri sat on her side of the bed and simply stared at Jungkook. She was in awe at his natural beauty. She could stare at him for hours. When Yeri took notice of him at the party last night, he was all she could stare at all night. His beauty was striking. When Yeri knows she wants something, she gets it. And that’s exactly what went down last night.

Jungkook leant down to whisper in her ear and ask if she wanted to go back to his place. Without even thinking about it, she agreed. Yeri and Jungkook took an Uber back to the apartment. On the way there, the two of them were in a heavy makeout session throughout the entire ride. Poor Uber driver. At least the heavy tip Jungkook left for the driver made up for the trauma. The rest of the night was pure bliss for Yeri. She hasn’t cummed that many times in a one night stand since…ever. Jungkook was a god with his fingers, mouth, and with his dick. Yeri took a glance at her thighs to see if he left any marks on her. He was kissing them like crazy last night. She was met to see no hickies on her thighs, or neck or anywhere.

Yeri knew that Jungkook shared his apartment with roommates but when she saw you in the kitchen with the other men, she wasn’t expecting one of his roommates to be a woman. And Yeri recognized you too. Yeri has only known Jungkook for twelve hours so she knew that it wasn’t any of her concern of what kind of people live with Jungkook. However, when she had seen Jungkook at the party, she knew that she did not want to use him to be any kind of a casual hookup. She wanted more.

Jungkook’s eyes began to flutter open from his sleep. He was a light sleeper so he could feel that someone had been in his room and observing him. When his eyes fully opened, he was met with the sight of Yeri staring at him. He almost screamed, if he was being honest. He wasn’t expecting her to still be here when he awoke from his slumber.

“Why hello there, Jungkook.” She cooed at him. She handed him a glass of water and two pain reliever capsules.

Jungkook stared at her for a bit. He didn’t understand why she was still here and giving him pills and water as if she was his girlfriend or something. “Thanks.” he muttered and hesitantly took the water and medicine.

He gulped it down and placed the empty glass on his nightstand. “How did you sleep?” Yeri asks. She reached down to tuck a piece of his jet-black hair behind his pierced ears. Jungkook shuddered at her touch. Her hands were freezing cold.

Before he could answer, he looked around his bedroom. Their clothes were scattered throughout the floor. The messiest his room has ever been in awhile. He hates mess. He hates anything that isn’t in his order.

When he attempted to sit up, his back instantly began to sting. It was as if his skin was ripped open. He hissed in pain and attempted to turn his head to examine the cause of the pain. Yeri got up from the bed and went to look at his back for him. When she noticed all the scratch marks she left on him, she winced hard.

“Oh..I’m sorry. Seems like I scratched you a bit too hard.” She flashed him an apologetic smile. His mind flashbacked to Yeri riding him and digging her nails, piercing through his skin, from her pleasure.

He cringed at the memory, not wanting to reminisce on what the two of them did last night. He felt awful to admit that he was embarrassed his drunk self caused him to engage into another hookup. Two hookups in one night was an extremely rare occasion for him.

Over the summer, prior to beginning his freshman year at Konkuk, Jungkook decided to gain sexual experience to prepare himself for the college girls. He found girls on Tinder or Hinge that were willing to fuck and fuck only. As much as Jungkook tried to act like he didn’t care about girls and dating, he knew that he didn’t want to waste his college years without any sexual experience. He wanted to have stories to look back on, like Taehyung did. Jungkook didn’t like catching himself trying to follow Taehyung’s playboy footsteps however it was hard for him. Both Jungkook and Taehyung were extremely popular with women and it was overwhelming trying to contain the amount of attention the two of them had.

“S’okay.” he mumbled back to Yeri’s apology. He got up from his bed and reached into his drawer to look for an outfit to change into. “I saw your roommates. They were eating in the kitchen.” Yeri mentioned. Jungkook silently panicked to himself. Everyone met her already? Why would she go into the kitchen and introduce herself?

“Are you hungry? We can join them in the kitchen, if you want?” She continued to talk. Jungkook wondered to himself why the hell Yeri won’t stop talking. He put on a gray plain sweatshirt, solid black boxers and matching gray sweatpants. “I, uh, actually have to be somewhere and am running late.” He indirectly asks her to leave. Yeri gets the message clearly. “So you live with her then?” She asks without any context. Jungkook cocks a brow up. “Who?”

“The girl in the kitchen. I saw the two of you going somewhere in private last night.” If she was upset, she wasn’t showing it. “Oh. Her. She’s just my roommate. Needed to talk about her boy problems and came to me for advice.” He fed another lie. Yeri took a second to process what he said. She had a feeling that Jungkook wasn’t telling her the full truth. She remembered seeing you look annoyed with him and vice versa.

“I see. Just wondering.” she ends the conversation. “So, I guess I’m going home in my Playboy bunny costume then?” She asks rhetorically, expecting Jungkook to give her an outfit to go home into.

“Oh, sorry.” Jungkook went digging into his drawer to find a pair of shorts that he hoped would fit Yeri’s petite frame. He found a pair of biker shorts that should be able to fit Yeri. “Try this on.” She slides the shorts on. They were a bit loose on her waist but the oversized shirt she had on should be able to cover that. Jungkook then went into his closet and grabbed an unused trash bag. “You can put your costume inside this.” “I’ll order you an uber right now too.”

Yeri’s expectations for him were met expeditiously and she gave Jungkook bonus points for the trash bag. “Thank you.” She gives him a soft smile, which he returns back. “I’ll be going now. Hopefully, I’ll see you around to return your clothes sometime?” She asks with desperation laced in her tone.

Jungkook nodded in agreement. He had actually no plans to get in contact with Yeri again. He just needed to release the sexual frustration that was left in him after not being cum from the hookup with you. However, Yeri was wearing his most favorite black shirt so he definitely wanted that back.

“Can I walk you to the door?” he offered. “Of course.” Jungkook opened his bedroom door for Yeri and the two of them made their way to the apartment door. Jungkook took a quick glance into the kitchen as he and Yeri walked past it. You were no longer in the kitchen. It was just Taehyung by himself and he was washing the dishes.

When Yeri grabs onto the doorknob, she gives Jungkook one last look. “See you around, Jeon Jungkook.” She gives him one final flirty smile and exits the apartment. Jungkook breathes out a breath he was holding in.

“So you’re hooking up now?” Taehyung approached him, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, Tae. I know I shouldn’t do that. I won’t do it again.” Jungkook apologized. “What? I’m not upset. I’m beaming with joy! See?” He flashed him a toothy grin.

Jungkook smirked at his brother. “Very funny.”

“So...how’d you guys meet? What’s her name?” Taehyung gave Jungkook a hyped up smile, finally happy that Jungkook is doing ‘regular-guy-things’ and not just sitting in his room doing homework and watching anime all day.

“This is where I stop talking to you.” Jungkook attempted to flee away from his annoying step-brother, but Taehyung wasn’t having any of that. “Bro, just tell me. I promise I’m not gonna stalk her or anything like that. Yet.”

“What?”

“Kidding. Now tell me her name.”

Jungkook sighs in defeat. “Yeri. Just Yeri, I don’t know anything else about her. I literally just met her at the party last night.”

As Jungkook said that, he was on his phone as if he wasn’t paying him any attention. This ticked Jungkook off. “How are you gonna make me tell you stuff about her when you’re on your ph-“

“Got it. I found her Instagram. Lee Yerim. Must go by Yeri for short.” Taehyung interrupted and shoved his cellphone in front of his face. Jungkook didn’t care to look at her Instagram page that was right in front of him. He doesn’t care about Yeri.

“I didn’t ask to see her Insta, dude.”

“You don’t wanna follow her? At all?”

Jungkook groaned in annoyance. “I’m not like you. I don’t crawl back to every woman I touch.”

Taehyung clicked his phone’s off button and tucked it into one of his pockets. He chuckled at Jungkook’s shade. “When are you gonna meet someone you genuinely care about?” he asked abruptly.

Jungkook was taken aback by his question. “Why are you asking this?”

Tae shrugged. “I just would like to see you experiencing love. Or a crush. Or even tolerate someone.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched a bit. Jungkook can’t remember the last time he felt romantic emotions toward someone. It’s not like he doesn’t do romance, though. It is just not a priority for him right now. He doesn’t prioritize anything that doesn’t benefit himself or his career in any way. Besides, love hasn’t done anything spectacular for his life. Love is like an estranged parent for him: knows it exists, but not familiar to it.

Jungkook is aware that his estranged relationship with love is why he has a cold personality. The closest person in his life that he can confidently know that he loves is Taehyung.

“I don’t have time for love.” He simply answered. Taehyung let out a breath. He knew he was going to say that. Jungkook doesn’t make time for anything that doesn’t have to do with his studies or work.

“Love doesn’t care about timing. You can’t always push the thought of a relationship away.”

“I can do what I want.” Jungkook stubbornly continued. Taehyung rolled his eyes at his brother. “You’re so annoying.” Taehyung walked away from Jungkook and made his way towards his bedroom. “I’m gonna get ready for work.”

Jungkook stared at his figure until he disappeared into his bedroom. After being left alone, he released a long breath of air. Taehyung and his weird questions reminded Jungkook of you. He remembered the question you had asked him a while ago: “Are you content with your life?”

Jungkook still doesn’t know the answer to that question.

. . .

It was the next week, a Saturday afternoon, when you were in the middle of cleaning your room until you heard a ding sound from your phone.

You walked over to where you had left your cell phone charging on your bed.

Namjoon: So how does tomorrow at 5pm sound? Dinner on me.

Your heart quickened at Namjoon finally texting you. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t waiting on his text all day. You didn’t want to respond right away, it would look too desperate.

Instead, you immediately texted Hoseok.

you: guess who’s going on a date tomorrow :)

Immediately, he responded. Typical Hoseok.

hobi: uhm WHAT..

with who???

you: guess 😝

hobi: taehyung ??

You groaned in annoyance. Taehyung and I will never happen.

you: no. -.-

hobi: then i don’t care

you: LOL ur so annoying. Do you remember the guy I was dancing with last night?

hobi: wait him? he’s actually so fine. GO AHEAD 🥸

you: hehe thanks :) I can't wait to see where he’ll take me.

hobi: bring protection <3

you: i don't let them hit on the first date 💋

. . .

“You know Namjoon and __’s date is today, right?” Jimin joined Taehyung in the living room. “Yeah, I do.”

Jimin searched for a sign of jealousy on his best friend’s face. “So, what do you think of the two? Think they’re cute together?” Jimin decided to play with him.

“Yeah, they’re alright.” Taehyung replied dryly. “Hey. Cut it out,” Jimin snapped. Taehyung looked up from his phone and shot Jimin a bewildered look. “Fuck are you talking about?”

“Cut your little act. I’ve been your best friend since we were fucking five. Do you really think you can hide shit from me? I know you like __. Heck, I’m shocked that no one else caught onto it because you make it obvious as hell. When she enters the room, she’s all you’re looking at.” Jimin spat. He was beyond irritated at this point. “Why are you just gonna sit there and let your feelings continue to build up?”

Taehyung remained silent. This time, he didn’t want to lie and say that he didn’t like you when he really did. And he was desperate to talk about it with someone. Someone he trusts.

“She’s my friend,” He starts off. Jimin was about to call him out again until Taehyung continued.

“And I don’t want to ruin the friendship we’ve built together. Plus, she seems happy dating around right now.”

“I don’t understand. Are you admitting that you have feelings for her?” Jimin asked for clarification.

Taehyung takes a deep breath. He’s nervous as fuck. Jimin will never leave him alone once he confirms it to him.

“I do.”

Immediately, Jimin jumps to his feet and runs toward Taehyung, plopping his butt down the couch, next to him.

“Finally! Fucking finally! When did you come to your senses?” Taehyung couldn’t help but to laugh at Jimin’s excitement. He expected Jimin to be happy but not this happy.

“Last night, I guess? I don’t know man. We were just on the way home after the party. And I felt…just so happy doing the most mundane thing with her.”

Jimin smiled in pure genuinity at hearing his best friend babble himself over you. As a good best friend would be, he wanted his best friend to be happy more than anything.

“Wow, this is so crazy, Tae. My boy is in love.” He sings out ‘love’. “Please shut up.”

Jimin topples over in happiness and laughter with Taehyung. “So, what’s next now? You’re just gonna continue being her friend? Even though it'll literally kill you on the inside?”

“For now, yes. I don’t wanna overwhelm her. She’s probably just trying to date around and live life. Doesn't wanna settle down with a simple guy like me yet, right?” Jimin groaned as soon as he finished his sentence. “With that mentality, you will never have a girlfriend. Tae, you have a good personality, good looks, and have a great sense of humor. You have the golden trio! Why not use it to your advantage and get the girl? It’s not like Namjoon is her boyfriend.”

“I just need to be sure that our friendship is ready to go to the next level. I don’t want to just confess, and make it awkward for us if she doesn’t feel the same. Also, you can’t forget that we are literally roommates. It would be a stressful living situation for not just her, but you and Kook would be affected as well. There’s a lot to consider here.” Taehyung rambled on. He knew he was making valid points. Potentially dating your roommate is one of the most awkward and stressful decisions anyone could make. Jimin could see where he was coming from.

“You’re right. Sorry for pestering you about it, I’m just excited to be right about you.” Taehyung snorted at that. “Dickhead.”

“Do I actually only stare at __ when she’s in the room?”

“You literally drool.”

Jimin suddenly had an idea. But it was a bad idea. It was…sort of manipulative. And this idea hit him out of nowhere. Seeing the way Taehyung lit up talking about you, it was something Jimin had never seen before. Like Jimin and all of their highschool population, they all knew that Taehyung used to be quite a player. Therefore, the sight of Taehyung genuinely liking a girl was very new and refreshing. And as his best friend in the whole world, Jimin has the right to do anything to make his friend happy.

. . .

Drip.

A singular droplet plopped on the top of your head. You looked up to the sky, only to be met with incoming dark gray clouds. Fuck. Of course it would rain right now.

As if on cue, one singular droplet turned into two, three, four and many more.

The smell of wet concrete and humidity filled the air. The rain began to drench you. You sighed heavily with great annoyance at this inconvenience. The bus stop you were at had no benches nor a shelter. It was just a pole and a sign. You held your hands up above you, as if you could successfully umbrella yourself on your own.

You checked your cell phone for the millionth time, hoping for a text from Namjoon…again.

Your date was supposed to start thirty minutes ago. You were waiting outside for him, mentally giving him the benefit of the doubt. But you knew he wasn’t coming. He didn’t even have the audacity to call or text that he wasn’t going to make it. You felt humiliated and angry. You’ve never been stood up before and you didn’t know why or if you did anything for Namjoon to ditch you.

You sigh of defeat and begin to make your way home. Even though you were literally at a bus stop, you felt that walking in the rain would match the mood you were feeling. A bit dramatic of you but it was suitable for the situation.

As you were walking, a dark, moody presence was felt behind you. Its presence was so calming yet uncomfortable at the same time. And familiar too.

The rain that was drenching you seconds ago came to a halt.

You were looking down at the ground as you turned and you were met with a pair of black Doc Marten boots. Immediately recognizing whose shoes it belonged to, you looked up and was unsurprisingly met with the sight of Jeon Jungkook, holding an umbrella above you.

You and Jungkook remained in intense eye contact. Your breath was hitched in your throat. This was the last thing you would’ve expected to happen to you. He was the last person you would expect to hold an umbrella for you.

“Hi.” Jungkook spoke. “Hi.” you say back, looking intensely into his soulless eyes.

It was extremely uncomfortable to be alone with him after what happened at the Halloween party. You had been successfully doing your best to avoid him. It was still hard for your mind to wrap around the fact the two of you had hooked up together.

“W-what’s up?” You croaked out. “I’m heading home.”

“So am I.” He said. “Let’s go home together.” Jungkook stood beside you, trying his best to make the umbrella completely cover the both of you. Your heart was beating erratically right now. Jungkook remained quiet as the two of you walked together. “Wait, weren’t we just at a bus stop?” Jungkook halted. You hesitantly nodded. “Then why are we walking? Let’s just head back to the stop. I’m sure the bus will be coming soon.” He said monotonically. You followed him as if you were a lost puppy and the two of you sat on the bus stop bench.

The awkward tension was thick enough to slice your skull open. Your heart’s beating only got quicker and if you felt as if you could faint at any moment. You hated this; why is he here? Why is he talking to you as if nothing went down between you both? You wanted to so badly run away and never come back to your apartment.

The bus finally arrived after what felt like an eternity. Jungkook got up and motioned you to get in first.

You sped away and hopped on the bus and tried to sit as far as you could, hoping that Jungkook would get his own seat.

Unfortunately that did not happen.

“What are you..” You stammer. Jungkook closed his umbrella and readjusted his sitting position.

Jungkook stared straight ahead from his seat, as if he didn't have a single thought running through his head. Soon after, you felt the bus rumbling. As the bus drove away from your stop, you looked out the window.

Just five minutes ago, you were waiting impatiently for your date to arrive, you gave up and tried to go home alone but now you are taking the bus home with Jeon Jungkook sitting right next to you.

It has been a couple of days since the Halloween party incident and you have done a great job at distancing yourself from Jungkook. You hadn’t spoken a word to him since then and have not seen him physically. It drove you a bit mad, though. Not seeing him, not having any contact with him while trying to avoid making the apartment’s tension awkward. You were willing to take the Halloween incident to the grave with you.

“So, I’m guessing the date didn’t go well?”

You snapped your head to face him. “Huh? What makes you say that?” You scoffed.

“If it went well, you wouldn’t be riding the bus home alone right now, would you?”

You scoffed again, completely blown. “This guy..” you mumbled under your breath. “What if I took the bus alon to meet up with him? I’m going home the same way I went. Alone.” you lied. It was for your pride.

“Why would a guy let his date go home alone?” He asked. Why is he asking so many questions? Why does he want to pick on you so bad? Wasn’t the Halloween incident enough?

You decided to ignore him. You weren’t going to feed into what he wants to hear. Silence fell between the two of you for a moment.

Not wanting to sit in silence with Jungkook, you opened your bag and reached your earpods. As soon as you were about to insert a pod into an ear, the annoying boy spoke again.

“Namjoon isn’t a serious guy.”

This got your attention. “What?”

“Going on a date with Kim Namjoon and expecting anything after is like waiting for world peace to happen: impossible. You should’ve known better.” He scolded you. Your eyebrow twitched upward. “Why are you telling me to do better? It was just for fun.” You lied again. You were embarrassed to admit that you were hoping your date with Namjoon would turn into something new and exciting and serious.

“Frat guys are a waste of time. They are not fun nor serious. Don’t waste your precious time with them.” He continued.

This made you angrier. Why does he care so much?

“Well, I got stood up. So, it doesn’t really matter anymore. You won’t catch me trying to hang out with a frat guy ever again.”

You didn’t like that you were venting out your feelings to Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook was the last person to care about your feelings and thoughts on just about anything.

“You can’t just let any guy date you. You have to be careful and selective with whom you choose to date.” Jungkook annoyingly analyzed. You chuckle at him. “What are you, Aristotle? No, he just faked his personality at the party to get himself some pussy.” You shot back. This earned an arrogant smile from Jungkook. “Maybe so.”

“Where did you come from?” You decided to prompt. Might as well try to continue whatever conversation the two of you were sharing. “Just errands.” He cracked his knuckles. Something tells you that Jungkook was doing more than errands. Perhaps he went out with the girl from the party that he fucked last night. You hate the fact that you still feel hurt whenever you think about Jungkook doing things with another girl that wasn’t you.

“Are you okay?” You turned to look at Jungkook. You were shocked to hear him ask you this type of question.

“Why are you asking?”

“Just answer me.”

You gulped down saliva and nodded. “I’m fine. Not my fault that he didn’t have the balls to tell me he didn’t wanna go out anymore.”

Jungkook liked hearing that you weren’t gonna let Namjoon ruin your mood. It made you seem strong. “Was he gonna be your first date?” He continued to ask. Suddenly, this bus ride felt way too long. You didn’t know that Jungkook had such a nosey side to him.

Immediately, you became defensive, like always. “Hey, Jungkook. I’m not this bitchless loser you are making me out to be. I’ve been on dates before,” you lied. “I’ve been kissed before, I’ve had sex before, I’ve done everything, okay?” You said a bit too loudly. You tried ignoring the stares you were getting from other bus passengers. Jungkook stifled back a laugh at your irritated response. “Everything?” He repeated.

You couldn’t help but wheeze out a brief laugh. “Shut up.” You groaned, biting your lower lip to restrict more laughter to come out.

“I am still doubting it. You have no game.” It was as if Jungkook’s favorite game in the world was to get under your skin and you despised how easy it was for you to give him the power to constantly and consistently piss you off.

“Really? Do you remember Hwang Hyunjin? He was one of the cutest guys in our grade,” you looked Jungkook straight in the eyes. He was still facing straight but it seemed like he was listening. “Well, we fucked back then. And when I say fuck I mean actually fucked. Like dick-inside-vagina fuck.” Again, you got more stares from the person sitting in front of you. You returned back a scowl.

Jungkook slowly began to face you. To say that he was shocked was an understatement. Hwang Hyunjin used to be one of the guys that every girl in their school wanted. It was like a competition between him and Jungkook on who was the most popular guy in their grade. Jungkook didn’t give a single fuck about him but Hyunjin constantly tried to belittle him to make him feel better about himself. At first he would try to bully him for being the smartest student in their class and for Jungkook’s preference of sitting alone everywhere. However, Jungkook had to teach Hyunjin a lesson on not to mess with him; a violent lesson.

After that, Hyunjin kept his distance from Jungkook for the rest of the school year; all the way until his transfer to a different high school in the middle of their third year. He was surprised that you were previously sexually involved with Hyunjin. He wasn’t exactly the nicest guy nor was he the type of guy he thought you would go for.

“You…used to sleep with Hyunjin?” He asked. You nodded proudly. “Wow. Maybe you are dumb after all.”

You rolled your eyes heavily and didn’t feel like continuing this conversation with him anymore. “Why don’t I remember seeing the two of you interact?”

“We weren’t in a relationship. Just fuck buddies or whatever.” You mumbled. You have moved on from Hyunjin after he transferred but the memory of Hyunjin’s commitment issues and his treatment towards you still hurts to remember.

You thought that he could’ve been the one. However, he strictly wanted your fling to be sexual only. No strings attached whatsoever. But in your head, Hyunjin was the most ‘thoughtful’ guy you had ever known. He was ‘thoughtful’ enough to worry about you to make sure you don’t get hurt or get led on this situationship. You thought he was careful, articulate, and set on what he wants in life. You thought he cared about you by the way he would caress your body and leave sweet kisses all over you after sex. You thought he cared about you by the way he would give you secret winks at the school hallway, as if he was flirting with you. You thought he liked you by the way he would moan your name and your name only during sex. He would say how good you felt, how good you tasted, how your kisses are the best. You thought he liked you when he would act like he didn’t know you at school. He was just trying to protect your identity, right?

Hwang Hyunjin was not thoughtful. He was not careful, not articulate, and not set on what he wanted. He didn’t care about you nor did he like you. It was all in your head. As if your situation wasn’t any more cliché, Hyunjin was just a popular guy hooking up with a not-so popular girl and he was too ashamed to be associated with you. When in the privacy of your childhood bedroom, that was when he was being his true self. Outside of those walls, he was ashamed of you. Embarrassed of you. He just wanted you for sex and sex only. He used you and a part of you—no—all of you knew that. You just thought, in your little idealized mind, he actually wanted you at all.

And that’s what hurt you in the end. Your fantasies.

After Hyunjin, Jeon Jungkook returned to the picture:

It’s common knowledge that Jungkook was the genius of your high school. He was too focused on his schoolwork to have fun and date around. And you had admired that about him. Jungkook was one of the many school’s heartthrob, but he was the top. The ultimate one, the one that every single girl in Busan knew of and wanted. Due to his prestigious awards and national acknowledgments, your entire hometown knew of Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook was not only idealized by you but every other girl who had a crush on him. You thought he was mysterious, suave, introverted, and humble.

The Jungkook that you know as of right now is still the same introverted intelligent guy but he’s abrasive, cold, and self centered. He’s not emotionally intelligent. He only thinks for and about himself. He’s extremely blunt and honest with his words and he doesn’t know how to read the room. He has the beauty and the brains but you’re not sure if he has the basic foundation of being a good person.

“I’m guessing your type is selfish assholes.” Jungkook spoke. You smirked. “I mean yeah, I used to like you, right?”

Jungkook's eyes darkened at that, slightly intimidating you. “What? Are you not a selfish asshole?” You edged. “I don’t care what you think of me. I could care less of what anyone thinks of me. If you want to think of me as a selfish asshole, then go ahead.” He hissed. He was so irritated with you.

“I don’t have to think about it, I know it. And you’re also someone I was dumb enough to like. You even said so yourself.”

Jungkook looked confused. “You said you don’t like dumb girls, remember that?”

“You’re expecting me to remember any conversations I’ve had with you?”

“I’m not the one who’s trying to engage in conversing with you. You chose to sit next to me and ask about Namjoon. Maybe go sit somewhere else so you can continue to forget about this conversation too.” You couldn’t help your anger at the moment. Jungkook gets under your skin so badly, as if he yearns to piss you off. You’ve never had anyone push your buttons the way Jungkook did.

Jungkook remained silent yet continued to stare at you. A new, indescribable emotion quickly flew through him when he saw the way your lips were pouting softly and seeing the way your eyebrows were crinkled in frustration. He had to hold back a chuckle seeing you so upset with him. You looked as if you were a child that was denied candy. Jungkook kind of melted in a way seeing you in this state. “Didn’t realize you were so whiny,” he continued to tease.

“Jungkook, I swear to god if yo-”

Two small bottles of banana milk and strawberry milk were shoved in front of your face. “Pick one.” He interrupted. You quickly shut up and angrily eyed the two milks. “Why?”

“You don’t want them?”

“No, I do, it’s just…,”

“Just what?”

You gave him a suspicious look. “You poisoned them, right?” This earned a hearty chuckle from Jungkook. “Look at you being a comedian.”

You pouted again as you snatched the banana milk from one of his hands.

“I’m done with boys.” You say out of nowhere. This gets Jungkook’s attention. “What do you mean?”

“I’m done with boys. I’m…not going on another date with a guy unless I truly know him. You know, I’m here to get good grades, make memories and have fun. Not to waste my time on dudes who just want to dip their dick in anything that has a hole.” You vented out once again. “And I meant it when I said that I was done liking you. In case you remembered what went down on Halloween. I don’t know you well, therefore there is no use of me to continue liking you. I hope that we can move forward from what happened on that day.”

Jungkook, stunned, stared at you. He had no idea what to say. He suddenly felt a bit intimidated to be sitting near you. Especially since you brought up that forbidden night between the two of you.

And then, he too, felt pity towards you. The past few months he had gotten to know you had been full of arguing and distance. Here you are, apologizing to him for simply liking him—or liked—him and not knowing him well. Jungkook felt uncomfortable. He didn’t like that you were still being kind to him after everything he’s done to you.

“I’m sorry you haven’t seen the real me yet. I’ll work on that.” He replied.

You gave him a perplexed look. “Real you? You mean you aren’t an asshole?” Jungkook let out a laugh at that, rolling his eyes. “You’re the asshole.” He mumbled.

“Are we on good terms now?” Jungkook bored his doe eyes onto yours. Of course, he’s still gorgeous, that’s never going to change.

“Yeah. Good terms. Good roommates!” You grin. Jungkook rolled his eyes at you again. “Good terms, good roommates. Okay.” And the two of you shared a kind smile with each other.

“Konkuk University.” An automated voice called out the next stop. “We’re home.” You say. The two of you get up from your seats and ride off the bus.

Jungkook felt a sense of satisfaction in his chest after the two of you agreed to remain on good terms. Before, he felt as if he was walking on millions of eggshells around you, trying to avoid the extreme tension between you both. He didn’t want to live in a household where he needed to avoid a single roommate that hated his guts. He didn’t want that energy soaring through the apartment. And so, he needed to reach good terms with you. Not just regular okay terms, it needed to be good for him. For some reason, he didn’t want bad blood between you and him.

It was just you and him walking together towards your apartment. The rain turned into a slight drizzle, pitter pattering on the pavement. Jungkook whipped out the umbrella and placed it above the two of you again.

“It’s just drizzling.” You say.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

. . .

It was one in the morning when Jungkook was interrupted by his studying when he received a text message from a random number. He dropped his pen on the desk and picked up his iPhone.

unknown: what are u doing tomorrow?

He raised a brow up. Who could be texting me? I have everyone’s number saved.

He decided to reply back to the mysterious human. Maybe it was just a bot?

jungkook: Who is this?

Almost immediately, the person/bot responded.

unknown: wow are you seriously asking this

Jungkook was starting to get annoyed. He wasn’t in the mood to play games, he has a fucking exam tomorrow. He thought that maybe his roommates would know who the mysterious number was. Maybe it was a friend of theirs?

He got up from his desk and opened his door. You, Jimin and Taehyung were in the kitchen baking brownies. The three of them offered Jungkook to join but he declined the offer. “Do any of you guys know who the hell this number belongs to?” He showed the contact to the three, furrowing his brows in annoyance.

“No idea, Kook.” Jimin answered. You and Taehyung shook your heads, also not knowing who the number belonged to.

“Seems like you should know who they are.” Taehyung smirked. Jungkook tilted his head, still thinking about who it could be. “I seriously save everyone’s number, brother. It might just be a bot or someth-“ The mysterious number double texted.

unknown: its yeri. We exchanged numbers the other night? lol.

Jungkook’s confused expression turned into a solemn deadpanned look. “Nevermind. I know who it is.” Jungkook sighed.

“Well who is it?” Jimin asked as he licked raw brownie batter off the mixing spoon. “None of your business. I’m going back to studying. Let me know when the brownies are ready.” Jimin didn’t let him walk away so easily. He jumped on Jungkook’s back, causing an uproar from him. “What the-“

Taehyung joined in and grabbed the phone from him while Jimin physically held him back. “What are you assholes doing?” Jungkook shouted. You were stifling back a laugh at the sight of Jungkook being thrown around.

“Well well well. If it isn't Ms. Yeri hitting you up, eh?” Taehyung cooed out. He reread Yeri’s text over and over. A grin spread on his face. Taehyung was happy that Yeri and Jungkook were still keeping in contact. Finally a girl that could make him happy, right?

Your heart admittedly sank at hearing that sentence. It was obvious that Yeri must be the girl that Jungkook slept with from the Halloween party. You could tell that she was into Jungkook at the night of the party but you didn’t think that the two of them would still keep in contact after the party. He must really like her.

Jungkook was finally able to push Jimin off of him. “She’s the one hitting me up. I had no idea she had my phone number.” Jungkook groaned. He took a quick glance at you and Taehyung. And another quick glance at you.

“Well we aren’t gonna let you leave until you respond to her.” Jimin jumped on his back again, causing Jungkook to whimper in pain. “You’re so heavy, Jimin.”

“Quit stalling and text her back already.” Taehyung snapped. “I’m not stalli-”

“Now.”

Jungkook snatched the phone away from Taehyung and quickly replied back a “hey yeri” to her. “Okay, I replied.” The two boys gave a congratulatory slap on his back, grinning from ear to ear. “Look at you! Finally hitting it off with a girl. Don’t they grow up so fast, Jimin?”

“They sure do, Taehyung.” The boy's unseriousness caused you to giggle. “You guys are traumatizing Jungkook.” you say. Jungkook nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re traumatizing me. Why are you two happy that you are traumatizing me? I’m supposed to be studying.”

“Fuck you and your studies and come hang out with us.” Taehyung sneered.

Jungkook wanted to kill himself. It is now close to four in the morning and his three other roommates were up laughing their asses off at a movie Taehyung had chosen. It was supposedly a comedy but it was anything but funny. Jungkook just wanted to desperately go back to his room and continue studying. And it didn’t help that Yeri wouldn’t get the hint that Jungkook didn’t want to be texting her at the moment. He was sending the driest texts and she would still find something else to talk about.

yeri: So what are u up to right now?

Jungkook rolled his eyes. She’s already asked this question like five times now. He caught sight of your eyes drifting back and forth into a slumber. It was as if you were trying hard to fight the sleep away. No one else noticed this but Jungkook.

jungkook: Watching a movie.

yeri: oh cool! What's it called?

jungkook: Idk.

At this point, you were averaging a couple seconds of sleep, and returned back to watching the movie. Taehyung and Jimin still had their eyes glued onto the screen, fully awake, like children who didn’t want to go to bed at all.

yeri: we should watch a movie together! How does tomorrow night sound?

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the text. Yeri boldly just asked him out on a date. He didn’t know what to say. He has never been asked out on a date before. It wasn’t like he was nervous or anything but he hardly knows Yeri. Jungkook debated whether or not he should even agree to the date or not.

Taehyung turned his head over to glance at you. You were in the middle of sleeping. Your lips were slightly parted open, with just a trickle of drool dropping down from your lips. You were snoring as soft as a baby. Taehyung’s heart clenched at the sight of you deep in sleep. This was the second time he had seen you like this. He doesn’t think he will ever get tired of this view of you looking so gorgeous. It’s all he can look at. The movie wasn’t as interesting as seeing you subconsciously away from the world.

And then out of nowhere, you screeched out a heavy snore. Immediately, Jimin yelped at the horrific sound. “What the fuck?” Taehyung bursted out laughing, not being able to hold it in. Jungkook too had a smile twitching from the corner of his lips. “Has she always been a snorer?” Jimin asked in a whispered voice. “Yeah. She snores pretty often.” Jungkook answered without a second thought. Taehyung and Jimin gave him a shocked stare, as if they weren’t expecting him to know that.

“What? She literally lives right next to me? Our walls are thin.” Taehyung and Jimin nodded understandably. Still, Jungkook found his cheeks warming slightly at them being surprised of Jungkook knowing a sleeping habit of yours.

Your loud snores shifted into soft purrs. “Let’s wake her up after the movie ends. There’s a few minutes left.” Jimin suggested. Jungkook kept glancing back at Yeri's text. It was just there staring back at him, taunting for a response. He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to go but he hardly knew Yeri at all. All they did was hookup once and now she’s asking to go out on a date. Okay, so maybe Jungkook wasn’t cool with the idea: He’s a practical guy. He sees himself going out on dates with women he’s physically, emotionally and sexually attracted to. He has to like her looks, like her personality, and see himself sleeping with her at some point. He’s not into wasting his time on just any girl.

Suddenly, Jungkook remembered his conversation with you on the bus earlier. You apologized to him for liking him. Apologized. As if you liking him was some kind of crime.

You apologized for not liking the real Jungkook, just the version you liked in your head. It was at that moment that Jungkook thought to himself that your mentality was more mature than it seemed. You gave up on your longtime crush on him and accepted to be friendly with him, even after the messy hookup the two of you shared on Halloween. He thought to himself that if you can give Jungkook another chance of being “friendly roommates” then he can give Yeri a chance of possibly showing a different impression of herself. Jungkook was ready to reply back to Yeri’s proposal.

jungkook: Okay. When and where?

When he locked his phone after replying, his breath halted at a weird sight in front of him.

Taehyung wasn’t watching the film on the tv screen anymore. He was watching you sleep. He was watching the way your chest heaved up and down. Taehyung was absorbing the view of you sleeping because it was such a precious sight to him. Seeing you so quiet and away from the world was like a new kryptonite unlocked.

Jungkook immediately caught on that the way Taehyung was staring wasn’t like his usual self. He knew that this was different. It was as if he didn’t want to believe the sight that was in front of him was real and happening.

Jimin stood up from his chair and stretched big. “Movie’s over, guys. I’m gonna do my skincare routine and then knock.” Jimin’s voice woke you up. “Damn, I was trying hard not to sleep.” You yawned. Taehyung smirked at you. “You were snoring, by the way.” Your eyes widened and you threw your head back out of embarrassment. “Fuck, you guys should’ve woken me up as soon as you heard me snoring. You know snoring is bad, right? I’m basically choking on my spit.” Taehyung chuckled at your dramatic response and reached out his hand for you to grab, to get you up from the chair.

“Okay, drama queen. Go to your bed. I got to work in a few hours, I need to sleep badly.” Taehyung pulled you up from your chair. You pouted at the nickname he called you. “Fine. Goodnight, boys.” You waved at Jungkook and Taehyung before walking slowly towards your bedroom. It was just the two brothers left.

Jungkook felt uneasy at the moment. He witnessed Taehyung giving you a longing glare as you slept. Taehyung began cleaning up the dishes that were scattered throughout the living room, humming a little song to himself. Jungkook found himself thinking about the way Taehyung looked at you. He can’t seem to think that the way he looked at you was actually sincere; as if it held a meaning to it. With the way Jungkook had studied Taehyung's past history with women, he was feeling a mixture of being bitter and confused. What is it about you that has Taehyung acting not like himself?

. . .

It was around 5 o’clock in the evening when Jungkook entered the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water. He was dressed and ready to head out to his movie date with Yeri. He wasn’t looking forward to it, as expected, but he didn’t want to flake on Yeri.

You were completing an assignment on your laptop at the kitchen table as he was getting his water glass.

“Heading out for the night?” You asked him without looking up from your laptop screen. Jungkook took a large gulp and nodded. “Mhm.”

“Lucky you.” You chuckled. “Are you studying for once?” Jungkook asked. He walked over to take a glance over your screen. You were writing an essay and he saw that you were about 10 pages in. “Wow, ten pages?”

You nodded and sighed in exhaustion. “Yeah, it’s some dumb critical analysis essay I have to write for my women and gender studies class. It has to be at least 15 pages.”

Jungkook's eyes widened. “I don’t think I’ve ever written that much before.”

“Yeah well that’s because you’re a dumb little STEM major. You have to code an entire website and create a whole new periodic element for homework, right?” You joked. Jungkook grabbed your earlobes and lightly pinched it, earning a loud yelp from you. “Shut up, undecided major.”

You rolled your eyes as a response and reverted back to writing your essay. “So where are you going?” You asked. Jungkook hesitated and thought if it was a good idea to tell you about the date. Not because he thought that you would be sad or anything because according to you, you are “over him”, but because he didn’t want you running off to tell Taehyung and Jimin about the date. Knowing them, they would persuade Jungkook to keep seeing Yeri.

However, he couldn’t come up with an excuse. “I’m hanging out with some friends from my internship.” He lied. You snorted. “Friends? Since when did you have other friends aside from Yoongi?” You laughed. “You don’t know my personal life.” He defended. “You’re right, I don’t but I know for sure that you’re too much of an antisocial asshole to tolerate having more than one friend. You can barely stand Taehyung and Jimin.”

Jungkook hated knowing that you were right. Maybe you knew him better than he thought. “Are you lying about your whereabouts, Jeon Jungkook?” You turned to face him. With the direct eye contact, Jungkook found himself stuttering and trembling on what to say. He’s a terrible liar.

“N-No, I’m not. You’re being nosy.” He groaned, chugging down the rest of his water. This caused you to stand up from your chair and you began to face Jungkook directly. “Tell me the truth! Are you going to sell some drugs?”

I wish I was, he thought to himself. “___.” He warned. “Are you going to meet up with someone?”

Before Jungkook could reply, you noticed something sticking out of the pockets of the puffer jacket he was wearing. Immediately, you snatched the mysterious items out of his pockets and inspected it.

“___, give me that!” Jungkook snapped, trying to reach over your shoulder to grab them out of your hands but you were able to run away from his reach.

You glanced over at the two movie tickets in your hands. “You’re going to the movies?” You giggled.

Jungkook pursed his lips together in annoyance and snatched the tickets out of your hands. “You make it hard for me to be nice to you.” He sighs in frustration. “You have two tickets too, so you’re going to see it with someone.” You teased. “Is it with Yoongi? Does Hoseok know? Hoseok will get sad knowing him. He gets FOMO so easily.”

Jungkook decided to tell the truth since he doesn't know what other lies to say since he knows for sure that you would most likely blab to Hoseok about the movie. “No…I’m going to see it with just a girl I met.”

Your eyes widened at hearing that. “A-A girl?” You stuttered. “Like a…date?”

Jungkook nodded. He examined the look on your face however you had an unreadable expression. “Oh geez, sorry about keeping you here then. You should probably head out now, right? Wouldn’t want to keep your date waiting!” You forced a smile on your face and shuffled your way back to your laptop to continue writing your essay.

Jungkook stood where he was, not knowing what to say or what to do next. Jungkook found himself wanting to stay home and preferring to spend his night sleeping in bed, reading his manga or even continuing to stay in the kitchen with you to bug you some more and chat. However, he knew that you were right. He had to leave soon or else Yeri would be waiting for him for too long.

“Just don’t tell my brother or Jimin, please. I don’t want them to bug me about it.” Jungkook pleaded. You nodded in agreement. “I understand.”

Jungkook shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Okay, well I’m leaving now.”

Jungkook was about to leave until he heard you calling his name. “Jungkook!” He slowly reentered the room.

“Good luck on your date.” You gave him a soft smile.

Jungkook simply nodded back and left.

. . .

Jungkook had been gone for over two hours now and you were still stuck on page 10 of your essay. You couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of Jungkook going on a date with someone. It was even harder to swallow the fact that that someone isn’t you.

You hated to admit it but getting over Jungkook wasn’t going as easy as you thought it would’ve been. Of course you are aware of the fact that Jungkook would never like you back and that you only liked an idealized version of Jungkook, however you still held strong romantic feelings for Jungkook either way.

The past two hours, you kept comparing yourself to the girl that he went on the date with. Was she prettier? Was she smarter than you? Did they meet through his engineering classes? What does Jungkook like about her? Was he having a good time right now?

Your heart clenched at the possibilities.

“Hey.” You heard a voice coming from behind. You jumped and turned your head to see Taehyung smiling at you.

Immediately, you returned a genuine smile back at him. “Hi Tae!”

“What are you doing?”

You sighed. “I’m just struggling on this essay. I haven’t written anything.” Taehyung snaked an arm around your shoulder. “Well, when exactly is this essay due?”

“Tomorrow, I think? I was on a roll but now I’ve lost all my concentration.” You pout. “Hm. Maybe some fresh air will do you some good?” Taehyung suggested. He began to snake both of his arms around you, constricting you in a tight embrace.

“If I were to agree to go outside, where would I go?” Your voice cracked from Taehyung’s tight hug. “Maybe to walk to that new sushi restaurant that just opened up by our place? With your favorite roommate?” You snorted at him and pushed his arms off of you. “

I guess my mind would appreciate a nice dinner break.” You hummed in pleasure. “Let’s go, then! I’ve been dying to take you ever since they opened last week!”

You were shocked to hear that. “You were waiting to take me?” Taehyung affirmed by nodding his head. “Oh!” You laughed nervously. “Well, let me go ahead and quickly change into something suitable for our sushi adventure!”

You ran off to your room and changed out of your comfortable hoodie and sweats and transformed into a nice jean mini skirt, oversized sweater vest and into a pair of black loafers.

“Honestly, you mentioning sushi has my stomach already growling like crazy.” Taehyung chuckled at you. “Come on, let’s go.”

As you both walked down the street together, you began to observe the beautiful city that engulfs you. The high-rise apartments, the hustle and bustle of the college town you grew to love living in. Being outside was enough to reduce the inner stress you had going on; the essay, the upcoming exams, and…the unfortunate heartache of Jungkook being on a date with someone. You’ve realized that the feelings you harbor for him were a lot harder to let go than you thought it would’ve. At first when it was just a little highschool crush, you were able to like him from afar. It was more of a physical, vain crush. However, you live with him. You have gotten closer to him in a more intimate way compared to the high school crush. Yes, he’s still an asshole to you. Yes, he’s closed off and doesn’t seem interested in getting to know you past as being his roommate. It hurts. And you’re trying to let go, you really are. What else can you do to help yourself get over him quickly?

“We’re here.” Taehyung brought you out of your endless thoughts. He held the door open for you as you entered the sushi restaurant. The scent of the raw fish, ramen broth, and cooked rice infiltrate your nostrils. “God, it smells amazing here.” Taehyung chuckled at you admiring the restaurant. “Hopefully the food is just as good.”

“Hello, for many?” The hostess asked. “For two, please.” Taehyung answered. “Follow me.”

As the hostess led you and Taehyung to your tables, you hesitantly stared at Taehyung as discreetly as you could. Suddenly, you could hear Hoseok’s voice in your head, remembering all the nonsense he would say to you about Taehyung.

“How haven’t you hooked up with him yet? He’s so good looking!”

“Taehyung seems to care about you a lot”

“You guys are practically Han and Anna from Frozen; always finishing each other’s sentences and getting excited over the littlest things and you both enjoy each other’s company like crazy.”

And then you remembered what Chaeyoung said from a previous phone call,

“___, you’re telling me that you’re just friends with a beautiful man like that?”

Some of your closest friends kept pushing you to get with Taehyung and you just never saw him that way. But why? They were right; Taehyung is good looking, he does care about you, and you guys get along extremely well together. Did you just not allow yourself to see Taehyung past friends for the sake of your feelings for Jungkook? Admittedly, if you had met Taehyung first, he would be the one high school-you would’ve been crushing over. Taehyung is kind hearted, mature, he is beyond artistically intelligent, he cares for others and financially provides for Jungkook. You looked up to him in so many ways, he inspires you to be a better version of yourself. So, why didn’t you find yourself romantically attracted to Taehyung?

Taehyung pulled the chair out for you. “Why thank you.” You giggled. “Absolutely.”

The hostess leaves you both with the silverware and menus. “What sounds good to you?” Taehyung asked as he scanned the menu.

“You.” You smile.

Taehyung chokes on air. You slightly chuckle at his cute reaction and hide yourself in the menu. “How unexpected of you to say, y/n.” He blushes. “I don’t know where that came from, honestly.”

“Neither do I.” Taehyung blushes as well. You could feel your chest tighten at the adorable sight of Taehyung looking shy and awkward. “You look cute when you blush.” You admit. You wanted to see him blush harder and so he did. Taehyung bursted out a nervous laugh and pressed his palms against his cheeks. “You’re making my cheeks burn, y/n.” His box-like smile appears.

“Okay, I’m done..for now.” You give him a reassuring smile and look down at your lap. You honestly don’t know where the sudden flirting came from. You meant in a playful friendly way however you didn’t seem to mind if Taehyung was to take your flirting seriously. Which he didn’t really seem to since he was laughing and smiling along with you.

The thing with Taehyung was that he had an incredibly comfortable aura to him. You felt safe with him, you felt at ease. Maybe that was something you were looking for in an amicable way? You had your two childhood best friends abroad, living their own lives. Sure, you had Hoseok, however he is a busy individual and is often spending his free time with his boyfriend, as he should. You felt lonely and your heart was yearning for someone to confide in, hang with, be yourself with. Taehyung simply checked all those boxes. For now, you had settled with the fact that Taehyung was who you needed for amicable and sanity reasons. Any other feelings would come naturally if it was meant to be for.

Your server approached you and Taehyung and offered you both water and if you guys were ready to order. After ordering your choice of dishes, you were back in a comfortable silence. “Tell me how your week has been going.” Taehyung asks, taking a sip of his water right after. “Mm…not much honestly. Just been going to classes, studying. Nothing interesting.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing interesting’, didn’t you have a date earlier this week with that guy from the party?” Taehyung brought up Namjoon. Your face dropped in annoyance at the memory of him ghosting you so suddenly. Especially when he seemed so interested in you from that night. “Let’s just say that the date didn’t happen. He kind of…ghosted me.” You admit, biting your lip from remembering how embarrassing it was. Taehyung’s eyes widened. “He what?” You nodded, validating his disbelief.

“Yeah, believe me I was in shock too. I have no idea what I did.” Taehyung scoffed at you. “I could bet you a million dollars that it wasn’t anything that you did; it was just Namjoon being the typical frat boy slash fuck boy that he is. He’s a dickhead and I don’t know why I encouraged him to ask you out.” Taehyung spat. “You encouraged it?” You asked in shock. “Yeah, he kept asking Jimin and I if you were single and if it was alright for him to ask you out, since he knew you were our friend.” Taehyung could feel the warmth of anger in his chest as he spilled out what had happened at the party.

You responded with silence. Namjoon’s sudden rejection hurts less now however Taehyung’s anger made you feel slightly guilty. Not because you thought you did anything wrong but because you didn’t want to be a reason as to why Taehyung would hold anger against a good friend of his. Taehyung tried to read your expression. He could tell you had some guilt mixed with embarrassment. “Are you okay?” He asked. He leaned and tried to attempt to reach for your hand but he went against doing so.

You nodded and tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I’m okay. I was able to get over it well.” Taehyung let out a sigh of relief. “It’s his loss.”

You chuckled softly at that. “His loss, indeed.” Taehyung leaned back against his chair and was trying to read your expression again. He could tell you didn’t want to continue talking about this and so he changed topics. “Well, are you interested in anyone else?” You choked on a little water and gently coughed.

“Geez, Tae. Nice change of topics.” You laughed awkwardly. Taehyung shrugged it off and smirked at you. “I’m just in my gossip era.” You rolled your eyes at him and dabbed some water from the corner of your lips with a napkin. “Uh, no. I’m not interested in anyone. I’m trying to enjoy my single life.” You answered. Taehyung could only nod at that. Of course he wasn’t expecting much of an answer from you. He knows you’ve been through a lot with Jungkook and now with Namjoon. He just wanted reassurance that there wasn’t any…competition in his way.

Actually, he wanted to double check if Jungkook was no longer an option for you. “So…anything going on with you and Jungkook?” He asked again. Your eyes widened at his abrupt question. You didn’t expect him to suddenly mention his brother out of nowhere. “Taehyung..” You started off. He locked his dark brown eyes with yours, not afraid of how intrusive his question was. He was set on trying to get you to see how he feels for you one way or another.

“Uhm..” You hesitated. “I mean there was always nothing going on between us. However, if you meant to ask about my previous feelings for him then…I don’t think I like him that way anymore. I see him as just an acquaintance and roommate. I’m sure the same goes for him. And…yeah.” You finished. Again, Taehyung was trying to read your expression, your tone, your body language. From the way you didn’t look directly into his eyes when you answered, the way you fiddled with your fingers, the way you chewed on your bottom lip when you were thinking of your response, and the way your voice sounded defeated, as if you had lost something you didn’t want to lose, was enough for Taehyung to know the true answer lying underneath your surface.

You were lying.

You still harbored feelings for his brother. You don’t see him as just an acquaintance and roommate. He doesn’t know what you see Jungkook as but it is certainly not as platonic as you’re making it seem. He could feel his chest throb in pain slightly at the realization. Taehyung had no idea if Jungkook’s feelings towards you were mutual or not because he never seemed to care to notice or study the way Jungkook was around you. He was certain that Jungkook most likely saw you in a platonic way. From what he knows of, the two of you don’t spend a lot of time together. Nor do you both talk to each other one-on-one a lot. Taehyung thinks that the kind of relationship you and Jungkook have is currently a contractual mutualistic relationship: you guys are supposed to just put up with each other’s antics and that was that.

“I see.” He forced a smile onto his face. “Are you comfortable living with us three guys still?” You laughed at his question and nodded. “Of course. I love you guys.”

Taehyung leaned forward to you again and this time, he actually reached his hand out to yours. You gladly gave your hand to him to hold. “I couldn’t have chosen a better roommate to deal with our bullshit. We love you too, y/n.” Your heart glowed at Taehyung’s sentimental confession. “Awe, Tae..” You cooed softly.

“Okay, I have one family-sized sushi boat and your sides for the lovely couple here.” Your server interrupted and placed a large wooden boat of the gorgeous raw fish onto your table. You and Taehyung gave each other a look and snorted at the ‘couple’ remark. However, you indirectly agreed to go along with it. You figured that couples usually receive free dessert at the end of the dinner either way. “Let’s dig in, shall we?” You eagerly smiled at Taehyung. He returned the gleeful expression and the two of you pigged out together.

. . .

How can a 115-minute movie suddenly feel like an eight hour shift?

Jungkook was feeling incredibly bored out of his mind as he watched the sci-fi movie that Yeri had picked out for them. He looked over at you and could tell that she was very into the movie. Her eyes were locked onto the film and was mindlessly chomping down the bucket of popcorn she was hoarding. Jungkook wanted to melt like the butter on the popcorn and slither his ass out of the theater.

He would rather spend 115 minutes walking barefoot on the asphalt in the middle of the summer than be here on this date he didn’t want to go on. Jungkook had tried to give Yeri a chance to redeem herself but she just wasn’t…interesting. Nothing about her was intriguing to Jungkook. He asked her questions to attempt to get to know her. She’s in college studying to be an actress, she’s a part time pilates instructor at a nearby gym, she’s also a full-time content creator on YouTube and likes to make makeup tutorials and skincare videos. She likes horror and sci-fi movies but Jungkook prefers rom-coms. She likes to spend her free time outside in the city and bar hopping with friends, meanwhile Jungkook prefers staying in and isolating himself in his room. She doesn’t like to fraternize with anyone that isn’t wealthy, socially popular, good-looking, or just anyone that isn’t similar to her lifestyle and interests. She’s shallow and vain and Jungkook wasn’t vibing with that.

When Yeri told him about her close friend circle, it raised a huge red flag for Jungkook. He was familiar with her groupie. They were all influencers that posted beauty and fashion content, only dating within their wealth level and socialite class. They would still talk bad about other students on campus as if they were still stuck in their high school bully era. After getting to know all this about Yeri, Jungkook was quite ready to ghost her as soon as the movie ended.

All of a sudden, a jumpscare happened on the screen, causing half of the theater to scream and throw their popcorn in the air. Yeri was one of the few who screamed and instinctually clenched her arms around Jungkook’s.

“That was so scary, Jungkook.” Yeri pouted and buried her head into his arms. Jungkook responded by rolling his eyes but didn’t mind letting Yeri borrow his arms for a bit. He looked around the theater to see what appeared to be other dates, and the women were grabbing onto their dates like Yeri was. He grew to be even more annoyed with Yeri. He didn’t like how typical she was. She was like every other girl. Nothing special about her. It’s harsh but true, according to Jungkook.

He suddenly found himself comparing Yeri to you. Would you react the same way Yeri did? Would you hold onto him during a scary scene? Jungkook can confidently say that the answer was no.

You wouldn’t react the same way. You wouldn’t hold onto him. No, you would be asleep halfway through the movie and the jumpscare would awaken you from your slumber, and you would jump and scream obnoxiously. You would spill whatever food was on your lap and you would most likely run away from the room. Had you been watching the movie in the comfort of your apartment, instead of running away from the room you would just turn the movie off and change the mood by making an unfunny joke to ease up the tension. That’s what you would do. And for some reason, Jungkook found himself smiling and quietly laughing at the imagination he created in his head.

Yeri could hear Jungkook chuckling to himself and gave him a concerned look. “Jungkook? Why are you laughing? The main character’s best friend just died?”

Jungkook immediately shut up and cleared his throat. “I just thought of something funny.” He answered. Yeri curled an eyebrow up. “What were you thinking about?” She whispered. Jungkook shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s just that this scene reminded me of an inside joke between me and a friend.” He lied. Yeri just nodded understandably and refocused her attention back to the movie.

Jungkook allowed another smile and a snort to escape from his lips before making himself regain his attention back to the “heartbreaking” scene of the death of the best friend.

. . .

“I had fun tonight, Jungkook.” Yeri shyly smiles at him. Jungkook forced a smile onto his face. “I’m glad. I had fun too.” He lies. “Thank you for walking me home.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Not a problem.” He replies dryly. Yeri stops at a large modern looking building. “This is my dorm building.” Jungkook nods in response. “Goodnight, Kook.” Jungkook tried his hardest not to physically cringe at the nickname she decided to give him. He managed to wave at her. “Goodnight, Yeri.” He began to turn around to walk to his apartment but Yeri called out to him and ran to grab his jacket. “Wait,”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to do this again sometime soon? Maybe next week?” She bit her lower lip in anticipation. Jungkook could see a shimmer of hope and a dash of nervousness in her eyes. He genuinely did not know what Yeri saw him and why she still wanted to continue seeing him. He tried his hardest to remain stoic and dry with her to show his lack of interest but she wasn’t getting the hint. He tried to think of a good response that will give a hint of rejection without straight up saying so.

“I’ll see. I have a lot of exams coming up so I’ll let you know when is a good time to meet up again.” Jungkook answered. Yeri remained quiet for a moment before nodding in agreement. “Okay, sure! Text me when you make it home safely!” She waved at him. Jungkook smirked. “I only live about five minutes walking distance from here. I’ll be okay.”

Yeri chuckled, “Alright, fine. But let me know when you’re free again!” She reminded him. Jungkook simply nodded and began to trail away from Yeri. “Bye Jungkook!” She unnecessarily yelled out. He was only a few feet away. He gave an awkward smile and waved back at her, and began to speed walk.

His speed walking shortened the walking distance by half and he was able to make it home comfortably. He entered the apartment and was met with the sound of laughter and the smell of alcohol. He took off his shoes, slid his feet into his house slippers and headed into the living room. He saw you, Taehyung, and Jimin sitting in a circle. It seemed as if the three of you were just talking and spending time together. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of FOMO. He would much rather have spent his night like this than be out on a date with a random girl.

“Hey, Kook is home! Where were you tonight, young man?” Taehyung slurred. “Uh, I was just out with Yoongi.” He chuckled nervously. He shared a quick glance with you, and you gave him a reassured look; a look that said he was okay and that no one knew of the date.

“You need to stop hanging out with Yoongi and hang out more with your brothers and y/n.” Jimin slurred out, taking a quick swig of soju. Jungkook shared another glance with you. He looked confused. “Why are they drinking?” He asked. “Jimin begged Taehyung to share a drink with him and well…one drink turned into many. I’ve just been here giving them company.”

“Jungkook! Come have a shot of soju with us!” Jimin patted on the ground for him to sit. “Uh, I think I’m just going to call it a night. I’ve had a long da-,” Jungkook got interrupted by Taehyung’s loud groan. “Oh my god, we don’t care, come over and sit with us now.”

Jungkook squinted his eyes at his brother in annoyance. You stifled back a laugh at this interaction. “You’re taking a shot with us too, miss y/n.” Taehyung targeted you. You gave him the exact same annoyed look that Jungkook had given him. Regardless, Jungkook listened to his two seniors and sat where Jimin had patted him to sit in. He sat between you and Jimin.

You scooted your body away from Jungkook little by little. “Now, take a shot.” Jimin slammed the shot glass onto the coffee table. “Here’s your shot glass too, y/n.” Jimin handed yours. Taehyung administered the pouring of the shots to you and Jungkook. You both turned to each other hesitantly. “I just wanted to give them company.” you whispered to Jungkook. “And I just wanted to go to bed.” He whispered back. “I’ll take my shot if you take yours.” You suggested. Jungkook just sighed in response. “There’s no such thing as saying no to these two.” He groaned. You both tapped your shot glasses onto the table and then threw the alcohol down your throats, earning a loud sound of approval from the two best friends.

“Let’s go! All of the roomies are getting fucked up tonight!” Jimin yelled. “Uh, I’m just going to take this one shot with you guys. I still have that paper to write and I have class tomorrow morning.” You halted the two boys from encouraging drunkenness from you.

“Me too. I have an eight AM class.” Jungkook added. Jimin rolled his eyes at you both and some fingers through his dark locks. “You goddamn scholars.” He cursed under his breath. “Do you work tomorrow?” You asked Taehyung. “Nope. I’m off from work and I have a late afternoon class so I get to sleep in!” He and Jimin dapped each other up, earning a scoff from Jungkook.

“Hey, by the way, where were you guys earlier today? I came home and the apartment was silent.” Jimin asked you and Taehyung. “Oh, Tae took me out to try the new sushi place that opened up in town! You guys seriously should go sometime soon, it was so delicious.” You were bouncing in excitement as you bragged about the restaurant. “Oh, and if you want free dessert, you should go with a girl. Our server thought that ___ and I were a couple and they gave us a slice of tiramisu cake.” Taehyung looked over at you and you both laughed at the memory.

Jungkook darted his eyes between you and his brother. “He thought that you both were a couple?” Jimin repeated back, laughing along. “I know right.” You cackled. Jungkook remained silent as three of you guys laughed. He began to glance at the way Taehyung looked at you. Lately, he has been picking up way too many weird signs from Taehyung when it comes to you.

Logically, if Jungkook could sense that his brother was acting differently around a certain girl then he would conclude that he is interested in her but Jungkook couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of Taehyung being interested in you. Not that there was anything wrong with you, it was just that he didn’t think of you being the type to sway Taehyung. Jungkook simply thought you two were not romantically compatible. Jungkook may not know you that well but he certainly knows his brother.

“Taehyung, let’s go take a smoke outside real quick.” Jimin stands up from the floor and massages his butt. “Fuck, my ass is so sore.” He mumbled. Taehyung got up and was beginning to follow Jimin from behind until he took a quick glance at you and Jungkook sitting together. He felt a small ache in his chest from the thought of leaving you two alone. Especially with him knowing that you very much still had some feelings left for Jungkook. They’ll be alright.

Taehyung and Jimin go out to the balcony and shut the door behind them. “Since when did Taehyung smoke?” You ask Jungkook. “He occasionally smokes whenever he’s drunk. But I’ve seen him smoke out of stress too. He just does it when he feels like it.”

“Ah, I see. I’m kinda like that too.” You chuckle. Jungkook snapped his head towards you and gaped his mouth open in surprise. “I wouldn’t take you as the type to smoke.” He curled his lips up at your confession. “It’s my little personal secret. I’ve been smoking since I was 16.”

Intrigued by this, Jungkook leans his body back, using his wrists to hold him up. “Now what caused 16-year old you to pick up cigarettes?”

You smirked at him. “My parents were going through a rough patch together. They were literally on the brink of divorce and kept dragging me into their problems. It was way too much stress for me to harbor as a high schooler that was also dealing with pounds of homework and exams every week. Luckily, they were able to work things out because they went to counseling but as of today, I like to puff puff a little bit sometimes to relieve some stress.”

Jungkook nodded understandably. He had no idea that you had gone through some family hardships as well. “I see,”

“So I’m the only one that knows this secret of yours?” You nodded. A part of him was a little pleased that he was the only one who knew.

“I’ve never tried it before.” He says out of the blue. The two of you shared eye contact at that. You were quizzically checking him out, wondering if he was hinting something. “Well, I suggest you not to do it. Once you try it a few times, there’s no going back.”

Jungkook had an idea but it was an extremely bizarre one. He didn’t know where the idea came from or why it was created. But he was amused at the thought of it and didn’t mind encouraging the idea to blossom. “You could do it with me. Just once wouldn’t hurt.” He suggested but it came out more as a question.

Your eyes popped open. “What?”

Bashfully, Jungkook looked away. “Nevermind.”

“Wait, no! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just surprised that you would consider doing it with me. I mean…”

Jungkook made eye contact with you again. “If I was to try a cigarette for the first time, you’re one of the people I’d be okay with trying it with. I’d be okay if I was to do it with Jimin or Taehyung too. You’re my roommate, so I kind of trust you too.”

You nervously looked away and had to release an exhale that was being clogged inside of you. “Oh, sure! Of course, I get it. I trust you three as well.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. By Jungkook admitting that he would want to experience something, anything with you meant that he was admitting that he felt comfortable with you. That he trusted you. Despite your history together, you didn’t think that Jungkook would carry intimate feelings of trust and comfort around you. Was it because he sees you as more than “just a roommate”? He sees you as something more? Like a friend?

“Let me know when you would want to do so.” You said. Jungkook nodded. “Sure.” A slight comfortable silence fell upon you two. “Do you want to take another shot?” You asked. Jungkook thought about it before he agreed. “It’s not like they’ll know we took another one.”

“But this is actually my last one. After four or five shots, I’m done.” You warned. “Four or five? You’re such a lightweight.” Jungkook teased. “How many shots does it take for you to get wasted?”

Jungkook calculated in his head for a moment. Taehyung used to throw parties whenever their parents were out of town back when he was in eighth grade so they’ve both had a bit of experience with alcohol. “I’d say around ten is when I’m beginning to feel a buzz.” Your mouth dropped. “Ten? For a buzz? That’s borderline alcoholic.” Jungkook smirked at that. “Yeah, well when you’ve been drinking for as long as Taehyung and I have then you’d know.” “Well then tell me how long you’ve both been drinking for.”

“Since I was thirteen. For Taehyung, since he was fifteen.”

“Thirteen? Fifteen? That’s insane.”

He shrugged. “Well, our parents were barely around to notice. If they were around, I doubt that they’d care.” You gave him a sympathetic smile. “Also, we went to a rich private school so a bunch of kids like us began drinking at an early age. It was the privilege and the fact that almost all of our parents were wealthy assholes that didn’t give a fuck about us.” You groaned at Jungkook. “You’re being such a downer. You’re making me sad.” You whined. Jungkook let out a chuckle and ran fingers through his hair. “Alright, I’ll stop ambushing you with my depressive lore.” You both laughed together.

You liked this. You liked being able to be civil with Jungkook and laugh about things together. You liked whatever kind of moment was happening between you both.

You hesitated on whether or not you should bring up his date. You didn’t want him seeing that you cared to know about every single detail that happened tonight and you didn’t want him seeing that you were a little bit jealous too.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s phone buzzed. He reached his hand into his pockets and brought the phone out. It was an Instagram notification from Yeri’s account. He clicked on the notification and saw that she had tagged Jungkook onto her story and posted a picture of their two drinks and the singular bucket of popcorn and she had captioned it with a heart.

Jungkook let out the most irritated groan of his life. How did she even find his Instagram account? He never followed her and she never followed him? His username was very discreet, it did not explicitly say his name. It was actually an extremely long username: @abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz.

“What’s wrong?” You asked as you finally took your second shot. “Nothing.” He mumbled. “What? Tell me.” You edged.

Jungkook debated on telling you. He didn’t know if you would be a good confidante for this certain situation for many obvious reasons. However, you both agreed to remain just friends right? A civil relationship with each other? Once he had decided on telling you, the patio door opened and Jimin and Taehyung stumbled back inside the living room.

He gave you an apologetic look. Maybe you didn’t need to know and it was the universe telling him so.

Taehyung took a quick glance at you. You looked annoyed. Not at Jungkook, not at Jimin, and not at himself. It seemed as if you were annoyed with yourself. You were looking down at the ground and picking at the rug on the floor. “Are you okay?” Taehyung asked, placing a hand on your knee.

Jungkook and Jimin peer over at this, with Jimin smirking to himself and Jungkook keeping his eyes glued to his brother’s hand. You fixed Taehyung with a brief smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just going to call it a night, I’m getting tired.” You fake-yawn. Taehyung nodded understandably and withdrew his hand from your knee. You get up and stretch. “Goodnight guys.” You wave to the three roommates and begin to drag yourself to your bedroom.

Jungkook watches you as you disappear into the doors of your room. He could tell that you weren’t being truthful with the way you quickly came up with an excuse. You didn’t appear to be sleepy a minute ago. He didn’t want to stay and hang out with Jimin and Taehyung alone for the rest of the night. He knew that they would pressure him to drink more and he would eventually oversleep his classes, his job, and it was also a weekday. There was no need to be drunk this early into the week. “Be right back.” He muttered to Jimin and Taehyung. Jimin watched Jungkook leaving. He didn’t think too much into it. He turned his attention to Taehyung.

“I saw you placing your hand on ___’s knee earlier.” He cheesed. Taehyung groaned a jumble of words that Jimin couldn’t comprehend for the life of him. “I didn’t understand a single word you just said.” Jimin laughed. “Sorry, it’s just all those shots we took back to back that are catching up to me now. Everything’s spinning. All I can think about is ___. Where is she? Is she here? Does she know?” Taehyung rubbed his hands all over his face as an attempt to get himself together.

Jimin laughed even harder. “You’re a mess. She’s not here, it’s just you and me. Keep your voice down.” He chuckled. “Since when did your tolerance get better than mines? Fuck, I’m so out of it.” Taehyung groaned even louder. “Where did Jungkook go?” Taehyung asked. Jimin looked towards his bedroom door, which was where he assumed Jungkook went. “Probably went to bed. He said he’d be right back but you know he didn’t want to hang. He’s spiritually an old man.”

“Does ___ know?” Taehyung mumbles again. “Know about what?” Jimin scooted closer to him.

Jungkook opened the door of his bedroom and was heading towards the bathroom until he heard Taehyung’s constant repetition of “does ___ know?”. He stopped in his tracks, and stood right outside of the bathroom door. There was a wall blocking and separating the living room from the hallway that contains the bathroom and the bedrooms, therefore Jungkook couldn’t be seen from where he was.

“Just say yes or no, Jimin.” “Taehyung, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Be specific.”

Taehyung let out an irritated groan. “About you-know-what. About me. About me and her.”

Jimin shushed him, in case either Jungkook or you could hear. “No, man. No one knows except me. I’m the only one. No one will ever know between us two.”

Taehyung’s drunken eyes looked up to meet with Jimin’s exasperated expression. “You promise?” He slurred. “I promise.” Taehyung smiled in satisfaction. “I’m sorry for being a mess right now.”

Jimin snorted. “You’re always a mess.” “Says the one who is a college dropout and is crashing at their best friend’s place.” The two of them laughed together. Jungkook remained where he was, in confusion. What was Taehyung talking about? What was going on between you and him that you didn’t know about? That he didn't know about?

“Should we go to bed?” Jungkook heard Jimin asking Taehyung. Without hesitation or thinking, Jungkook ran back to his bedroom, no longer needing to urinate. He heard the shuffling of their feets dragging on the floor. Jimin put Taehyung to sleep and walked back to the living room.

. . .

It was a week into Christmas break when Taehyung had the idea for the group to go ice skating. “The place is open until 10. We can get food from the convenience store afterwards. Come on, it’s only 6:30, we have time to get ready!” He eagerly said. You sipped your peppermint tea and thought about it. “I mean, I haven’t properly enjoyed myself ever since the semester ended. I’ve been rotting in bed ever since I submitted my last final. I’m down!” You agreed.

Taehyung smiled at you and then turned his head towards Jimin and Jungkook. “I’m down too. I have nothing better to do tonight.” Jimin said. “Why is it that it’s down to you for the last vote? Why do you always have to be such a grandpa?” Taehyung pestered his brother. Jungkook couldn’t hide the smile that crept to his face. “This grandpa was planning to go on a jog before dinner and bed.” He ran a finger through his now silky dark brown hair. He dyed it dark brown last week after feeling like he needed a change with his appearance.

“Well now you can spend it with ice skating instead. Come on, you can even bring Yeri with you! You two have been inseparable ever since she came over for our Thanksgiving dinner.”

You couldn’t help but to shudder at the mention of her name. You didn’t expect for Jungkook to continue dating her after the movie date but he is. She’s been coming over to the apartment almost every single day. Your bedroom was right next door to Jungkook’s and you could hear her giggles, their conversations, their snores when they slept. It was as if you were given a sneak peek as to what hell must feel like.

Jungkook looked down at his phone and opened his text messages with Yeri. She had been begging to hangout today and do something. She was texting him nonstop and kept mentioning how bored she was and how she missed him as if they didn’t see each other less than 24 hours ago. Having a girl like Yeri by his side was tiresome. He knew that he'd rather go ice-skating and bring Yeri than have to hear her blowing up his phone with whines and complaints of wanting to do something throughout his peaceful jog, his peaceful dinner, and his peaceful bedtime.

“Sure.” He said. Taehyung smiled, in shock seeing that he actually agreed. He thought that having Yeri in his life was causing him to become more social. “Let’s leave around 7.”

Jimin immediately got up to get ready with you following behind. Taehyung looked at Jungkook and smirked. “I see Yeri has your shell opening up. I like that.” Jungkook rolled his eyes. “She isn’t opening my shell. I just feel like ice-skating.” Taehyung shrugged. “You’re still going out more ever since you started dating her.”

Jungkook didn’t care to explain anything to him. He doesn’t know what goes on in his mind and what goes on between him and Yeri. He doesn’t need to know that they only have a sexual relationship and that Jungkook doesn’t harbor an ounce of romantic feelings towards her. He doesn’t need to know that Yeri is in a one-sided situationship with him. Taehyung doesn’t need to know anything.

“If you think so.” He bites the inside of his cheek and stands up. “I’m gonna get ready.” He walks past Taehyung and texts Yeri to get ready.

Why do I feel like I will never be able to understand him, Taehyung thinks.

. . .

You fell on your ass for what felt like the fiftieth time. “I can’t fucking skate!” You cried out, holding back a laugh. Jimin skated towards you and reached his hands out to pick you up. “Why do you keep falling? Stop embarrassing us.” Jimin teased, causing your laugh to burst out of you. “I’m trying!”

You were having a great time. Seeing families, friends, couples being together made you sonder with happiness. Something about being able to be silly and kid-like without embarrassment made yourself feel as if you were on cloud nine.

You attempted to continue skating after Jimin had helped you get up. Each time you attempted, it got easier for you. You didn’t mind falling, you liked the “trial and error”-ness. You looked ahead and saw Jimin and Taehyung holding hands and skating together. You giggled at them. Seeing the two having fun together made you miss Jihyo and Chaeyoung. Every winter break, the three of you would ice skate, sled, drink hot chocolates, bake cookies together, and rewatch all your favorite holiday movies. You spent more than half of your life with them and this was the longest you have been apart and with minimal contact too with the time difference and busyness.

You knew that Chaeyoung was coming home in less than two days and Jihyo would arrive the day after to spend Christmas with their families. No plans were fully confirmed since they would also be busy during their holiday break with their family. Your prior blissful mood transitioned into disappointment.

You decided to attempt to catch up with Jimin and Taehyung to get your mind off of your dear friends. You attempted to skate faster and successfully did so.

Taehyung felt you bump against his back. “___!” He reached an arm backward to pull you from his behind and place you next to him. “You got better at skating.” He complimented. “I think I got the hang of it this time. I always remember during the season but then once winter is over, it’s like I get rusty for a bit.” Taehyung nodded understandably.

You heard a loud giggle coming from behind you. You turned to check quickly but was met with the sight of Yeri and Jungkook skating together. He was holding her hand to keep her steady but her legs were wobbling like crazy. “I can’t do it, Kookie!” She yelped out. You internally cringed at the nickname she gave him. You also internally winced at the inevitable heartache seeing him like that. Seemingly happy with the small smile that curled up on his usual inexpressible face.

He looked happy. He looked like he was enjoying himself for once. You studied his smile to question whether it was genuine or not. You felt terrible wishing for the latter. He deserved happiness. He deserved to be with someone that made him feel out of the world. He deserved good things and good people in his life, despite all the shit he emotionally burdened you with.

You hoped that his relationship with Yeri would eventually cure you with the hopeless crush you still held onto him. You forced yourself to look away after what felt like an eternity watching them.

What you didn’t notice was that Taehyung was watching you watching them. He noticed the hurt that was gleaming in your eyes. The yearning, the pain was written all over you. He was so pleased with Jungkook putting himself out there that he forgot to take account of your feelings towards them. He didn’t want your mood to be sour for the rest of the night, he wanted you to have fun. He wanted to see you happy.

“Hey you.” Taehyung nudged. You looked up to meet his eyes. “Wanna race?” He suggested, raising his brows. You smiled and nodded. “From where to where?”

Taehyung hummed, calculating where to end. “Let’s stop at the exit door. Loser buys the winner hot chocolate.” He pointed at the hot chocolate stand that was just outside of the rink. “On the count of three.” You say.

“One,” You start

“Two,” Taehyung continues

“Three” You shout. Taehyung is already speeding ahead of you, causing you to shout curse words at him. He laughed and looked behind to see you failing to catch up.

“Is that Taehyung and your roommate racing each other?” Yeri asked Jungkook. Jungkook turned his head to where he could hear the commotion going on between you two. You had a beaming grin on your face and was attempting to pull Taehyung backwards to make him lose the race. Taehyung’s box-shaped grin was plastered onto his face and he was giggling non-stop. “___, you’re cheating!” He laughed hard.

Jungkook couldn’t look away. He didn’t know why or what was making him not want to look away but he felt as if his eyes were glued onto you and Taehyung. He felt that same uncomfortable feeling washing through him. He felt a knot forming in his stomach and a sense of unease at the same time. Jungkook couldn’t comprehend for the life of him as to why he couldn't shake the unexpected pang of–whatever it was that he was feeling– away.

Yeri eyed Jungkook as he watched you and Taehyung racing. She noticed the way his jaw was slightly clenched and the way his hand that was gripping onto her arm to help her skate was tightening around her. “Jungkook?” She nudged him. His attention resumed back to her. He tried his best to give her a smile. “Hm?” He said.

“You okay?” She asked. “Yeah, I was just looking at them racing. Seems silly to race on ice. They could get hurt.” He lied. She only nodded, not knowing what else to say. She looked over at you and Taehyung again and caught sight of you both already off the rink, and were removing your skates.

Taehyung reached for your hand and dragged you to the hot chocolate and pastry stand that was outside of the rink.

“Don’t you think they could be cute together?” Yeri asked Jungkook with a playful smile on her face. Jungkook couldn’t help but to scoff out loud at that. “She’s not Taehyung’s type.” He clarified. Yeri gave him a confused glare. “What do you mean? She’s pretty. And they seem to get along well.” Yeri explained. She studied his face again but she couldn’t make anything out of it. It seemed as if he was in deep thought yet at the same time it looked like he didn’t care about the topic. His stare was completely blank yet it could be interpreted in many different ways.

“You don’t know Taehyung like I do.” He defended. Yeri decided to leave the conversation at that. “Wanna get hot chocolate too?” She asked, looking at him with pleading eyes. Jungkook shook his head. “Not in the mood.” He said dryly.

He felt bad being suddenly passive-aggressive towards her. He didn’t understand why he was being like this either. “Let’s sit for a bit.” He began to hold Yeri’s hand and pulled her to the benches.

Yeri begins to scroll on her phone meanwhile Jungkook’s eyes automatically drag itself to observe you and Taehyung again. The two of you were sitting on a bench across from them. You were showing him something on your phone. Whatever it was that you were showing, he was laughing at it. His laugh was contagious and it made you laugh harder. “I was dying at that video for a good hour yesterday.” You breathed out, trying to catch your breath. “Send that to me, send that to me.” Taehyung said.

Jungkook didn’t miss that Taehyung was slowly attempting to scoot closer to you, to the point where your left knee and his right knee were practically touching and your shoulders were a good millimeter apart. “Oo, let’s take a picture to post on my story!” You squealed. You hold your phone out and Taehyung doesn’t hesitate to close the minimal space that was between. He presses his cheek against yours and poses with his eyes squeezed shut and a peace sign held next to the other cheek.

You beam at him and post the story. “You look so cute!” You squeal again. Jungkook couldn't help but to laugh to himself at the sight that was in front of him. He was in denial for the longest but he admits now that Taehyung was indeed attempting to flirt with you. He knows his flirtatious tricks and anyone with a human brain can comprehend that he is blatantly flirting with you. He knows you’re too oblivious to this because you are an oblivious person in general. Jungkook knows you’re too naive to understand that Taehyung was being a little too touchy for someone he considers to be “just a friend”.

Just because Taehyung was flirting with you doesn’t confirm that he’s doing it out of a genuine romantic interest, Jungkook thinks. It could be because he is simply in a flirty mood or maybe he just wants to see if you would fold for him like how other girls do. That's what the old player Taehyung would do.

Jimin interrupts Jungkook’s thoughts and plops down next to him. “Are you ready to go? I’m starving.” Jimin sighed out. He reeked of cigarettes. “You’re smoking too often.” Jungkook lectured him. “I got nothing better to do with myself. I’m in my flop era or whatever the kids say these days.” He runs a finger through his hair. Jungkook chuckled at him. “I think you’re doing whatever you can to cope.” Jungkook comforts. “I’m ready if they’re ready.” Jungkook nudges his chin toward you and Taehyung that were still in the middle of a deep conversation, probably not even noticing Jimin and Jungkook right in front of them.

Jimin chuckles and sighs in amusement. “They’re so silly together.” Jimin mumbles under his breath but Jungkook picks it up. Jimin searches for a piece of gum in his pockets. He shoves a piece into his mouth and throws the wrapper to Taehyung’s head, getting your attention. “Let’s go eat.” Jimin shouts. Taehyung looks at you, inverbally asking if you are good to go. You nod in agreement. “Convenience store right?” Taehyung confirms.

“Yes!” Jimin jumps. Yeri checks out Jimin walking towards you and starts to poke your body, just to tease you. Taehyung joins along and starts to pull onto some strands of your hair. You attempt to shove the boys off and fall into a fit of laughter. Yeri couldn’t help but feel jealous seeing how well you got along with them. Yeri was aware that Jimin and Taehyung were extremely close to Jungkook and desperately wanted to get close with them, as a way to make herself feel accepted into his circle.

The three of you were already walking ahead, leaving you and Jungkook behind. Jungkook was just staring at the bench where you and Taehyung were sitting a second ago. “Let’s go, Kookie.” Yeri nudges him. He simply nods and stands up. “Sure.” He walks ahead, leaving Yeri alone.

She grew irritated with Jungkook. A while ago, Jungkook was being gentlemanly with her and was seemingly having a good time with her. She doesn’t understand what suddenly went wrong with him for him to be so cold and distant now.

Jungkook stops in his tracks and turns behind to see why Yeri wasn’t following him yet. “What’s wrong?” He asked. She shakes her head, not wanting to bring it up. “Nothing.” She gets up from the bench and catches up with him.

The rest of the night was spent with a brief convenience store run, a brief ‘dinner’ together inside of the apartment, and a brief conversation before everyone went to bed for the night.

. . .

“Are you sure you don’t wanna spend Christmas and New Year’ with us, ___?” Taehyung asked for the millionth time. You nodded. “I’m very sure, Tae. I’ll be okay. I’ll make sure to enjoy my week alone.” You reassured. Taehyung clenched his jaw, feeling hurt that you were going to spend the holidays alone. Your parents went on vacation in Bali, wanting to spend the holidays with just them two.

You and your parents were never that close when it came to quality time. They were supportive, attentive and loving parents but when it came to family-bonding quality time, it was practically nonexistent. It was what you grew up with. This was the norm for you. It was disappointing, of course, but that’s how it was.

Jihyo suddenly came down with a terrible cold and was unable to come down and spend the week with you and Chaeyoung’s family dragged her down to Busan to spend the holidays with her grandparents. To be honest, you were kind of expecting her to offer you to spend the week with her and her family since they know you well and love you but she didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t on her mind and you didn’t want to burden her to make her feel as if she had to ask and invite you.

It was Christmas Eve and Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin were on the way back home to Busan to spend their holidays with their family–Jimin spending it with the brothers’ family. Although Jungkook didn’t verbally express it, he too felt bad leaving you alone for the holidays. He didn’t know much about how your family functioned but he was curious as to why you weren’t going to be spending it with them.

Jimin gave you a pitiful look and hugged you. “Okay, well we should be leaving now. Our bus departs in 30 minutes.” Jimin said. You hugged him and chuckled. “Go on then! Let me know when you guys make it safely! I’ll be sure to update you guys on what I’ll be up to so you guys won’t be too worried.” You pulled away and nodded. Taehyung didn’t say anything but gave you a forced tight-lipped smile. “Alright. Merry Christmas, ___.” Taehyung walked over and hugged you tightly. You returned the tightness. “Merry Christmas.” You whispered.

After Taehyung finally pulled away, you glanced over to Jungkook. He was glaring at you back. You weren’t able to understand the look on his face but you could swear it seemed as if he too had a look of pity. “Merry Christmas, Jungkook.” You said. You didn’t know if Jungkook wanted a hug from you as well so you decided to just wave.

“Merry Christmas.” He replied, holding a hand up. After a slightly uncomfortable silence, Jimin goes ahead to open the front door and heads out first. Taehyung gives you a final smile before he follows behind. Jungkooks remains where he was for a little bit.

“Let me know if you need anything.” He gives an actual wave and exits. He closes the door slowly and softly.

You were now finally left alone for the entire week and you had no idea what to do now. The void of being alone hasn’t hit you yet and you hope it doesn’t ever or else you would end up crying yourself to sleep.

. . .

“Boys, over here!” Jungkook heard his mother calling out to him. His mother and Taehyung’s father were standing next to their large black SUV, waving at them. “We’re home, Kook.” Taehyung mumbled sarcastically to him. Jungkook smirked, shaking his head at him. “So glad.” He replied back.

Jimin ran up to their parents and hugged them. “It’s been so long, Mom and Dad!” Jimin cheered. He liked to call their parents mother and father since they practically raised Jimin along with Jungkook and Taehyung.

“Oh, Jimin! You get so handsome every time I see you!” Jungkook’s mom pinches his cheeks.

Taehyung’s father pulls Taehyung in for a hug and pats his back. “My son, welcome home.” He smiles. Taehyung fakes a smile back. “Missed you, dad.”

After greeting Jimin, Jungkook’s mom pulls him in for a hug and kisses his forehead. “How have you been, my son?” She grins at him. Jungkook thinks to himself that being away from college has made his mother and Taehyung’s father extra affectionate with them. “I’ve been good. How have you been taking care of yourself?” He asks. She shrugs. “I’ve been picking up on yoga and pilates. It’s been relaxing me from my usual heavy workload.” She smiles.

Jungkook noticed that there wasn’t a driver to pick them up like usual. Everyday, on his commute to school or anywhere else, he would have a driver to drop him off and pick him up. “No driver today?” Jungkook asked his parents. Taehyung’s father shook his head. “We both had the afternoon off and decided to get you guys ourselves.” He smiled.

Jungkook and Taehyung looked at each other in surprise. “I see.” Taehyung said. “Come, let’s go have lunch.” Jungkook’s mother held onto him and pulled him to the car. Jungkook certainly wasn’t used to the sudden physical touch his mother was giving him and the sudden quality time as well.

. . .

It was now dinnertime and Jungkook, Taehyung, Jimin, and their parents were all sitting at the table together.

“Tell me about your living situation. Are you guys enjoying living together?” Jungkook’s mom asked Jungkook and Taehyung. Taehyung nodded. “Yea, I’ve trained Jungkook well. He cleans up after himself, he’s a great cook, and he likes to hang out with me and Jimin whenever he isn’t busy.”

Jungkook’s mom darts her eyes between the three. “Jimin?” She asks. “Mhm. Jimin is living with us for the time being.” Taehyung clarifies. Jungkook’s mom mouth gapes open and turns her attention to Jimin. “Oh really? Jimin, what happened to your schooling? Are you not going anymore?” She asks.

Jimin debates whether or not he should be honest with them. Taehyung and Jungkook’s parents were a lot like his parents in the sense of needing their children to attend prestigious universities, getting good grades, and getting a good job after graduation.

“I’m taking a short break from school. I was feeling a little overwhelmed with the strict academic regulations that came with being a pre-med student. I feel like I need to be mentally prepared and confident with my decision to study medicine and I was not.”

Taehyung’s father nodded understandably. “Of course, studying medicine is a serious decision. You’re going to be saving lives. You made the right decision, son.” He boasted. Taehyung gave a quick glance to Jungkook. He was already returning the same look he had: shock. What was going on with their parents? Had Taehyung or Jungkook told their parents that they wanted to take a break from school, they would most likely faint or die from a heart attack.

“Do you like living with our sons?” Jungkook’s mother asked, giving Jimin an amused smile. Jimin chuckled, looking at the two. “Yeah, they’re the best. They and ___ made me feel very welcomed into their humble abode.” He smiled.

Their parents gave him a perplexed look. “Who’s ___?” Taehyung’s father asked. Jungkook stopped chewing his food and only stared ahead at his mother who was giving him a confused look. Taehyung turned his head to Jimin and silently cursed him out. He explicitly told him during the busride to not bring you up to them. He knew that his parents wouldn’t be okay with a woman living with him and on top of that, they would know that Taehyung was struggling to make ends meet when it came to rent. It was their decision to cut them off financially, therefore they had no need to know what was going on in his life financially-wise.

“Uh-,” Jimin stuttered. One thing about Jimin was that he was a terrible liar. He couldn’t lie for the life of him. “____ is Taehyung and Jungkook’s next door neighbor! She comes over often and hangs out with us. She’s very nice.” He spat out. Jungkook let his silverware clang onto his bowl of soup and groaned out loud. Taehyung blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

“What? Are we not allowed to know about the kind of new friends you’ve made in Seoul?” Taehyung’s father protruded. “Yeah, tell us about ___. We would love to get to know your new female friend that is very close with you guys.” Jungkook’s mother chimed in. Taehyung chuckled nervously. “No, of course we can talk about ___. Like Jimin said, she is very nice. She’s a good friend of ours. She goes to Konkuk with us.” He explained.

Jungkook’s mother nodded. “What is she studying?” His father asked. “She’s studying to be a doctor.” He lied. If he was to expose that you were an undecided student, their parents would immediately disapprove of you. It would be worse than being a gap student, like Jimin.

Taehyung’s father nodded in approval. “Smart girl.” He smiled. “Yes, very smart indeed. Is she originally from Seoul?” Jungkook’s mom leaned close to the table, seemingly very interested in learning more about you.

“She’s from Busan like us. She actually went to the same school as Jungkook.” Taehyung nudged him. Jungkook choked on the soup he was trying to swallow. “What?” He muffled. “No way! What a funny coincidence! Jungkook, is she a good friend of yours too?” His mom grinned.

He tried to swallow the rest of the liquid and pondered on the question. “Uh, I guess, yes.” He answered. “That’s so nice. We probably know her parents well.” Taehyung’s father nodded. “Oh, I don’t think so. She doesn’t come from an affluent family. She’s kind of…regular.” Taehyung said.

He winced at the usage of “regular” to describe you but it was the only word he could think of for his parents to understand you and your background. It was the only word they’d understand.

“Oh, I see.” She nodded. “She must be pretty, right?” This caused Jungkook and Taehyung to both choke on their food and Jimin to snort out a laugh.

“What did I say?” she asked, worried as hell.

Taehyung’s father chuckled at his sons. “They’re blushing, love. She must be very pretty indeed.” He teased. Taehyung dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and cleared his throat. “Why do you guys care?” He said with a muffled voice.

“We’re just curious.” She edged.

Taehyung tried to brush off the question but Jungkook’s mother kept pestering. “She’s as pretty as every other girl in the world.” He tried to play it off. His father chuckled at his choice of wording. “To me, that translates to she’s pretty to you. Do any of you boys like her?”

Jimin laughed harder. “Dad, stop.” Taehyung hissed. “Is she in Busan for the holidays? We would love to meet her, you should invite her to spend New Year’s with us!”

Jimin answered for them. “She stayed home for the break. Her parents are out of town.”

“Jimin-,” Taehyung warned. “So you mean to tell me that she’s alone for the holidays? Why?” Taehyung’s father asked, with concern. “No idea. We had asked her to spend the holidays with us too but she insisted against it. The three of us didn’t want to leave her behind too.” Jimin continued to yap on. Taehyung pinched his leg and he yelped from pain.

“Taehyung, Jungkook? Do invite her to come down and spend the week with us. We would love to have her here.” Jungkook’s mother suggested. “I-I think she will be okay. She might have other plans made and we shouldn’t disrupt that.” Taehyung said.

“But-,”

“Mom, just drop it. She’s busy with another family that lives in Seoul. She told me herself. Don’t get worked up over it.” Jungkook chimed in. His mother remained silent but nodded. “I just think that no one should be spending the holidays alone. I recommend you guys text her and make sure she has company of some sort. Especially since she’s a woman living alone. Who knows what could happen to her.”

That was probably the last thing the three of them wanted to hear. Although they felt reassured enough by you that you were going to be okay alone, they should’ve considered the fact that you were still a woman residing alone for a week and any weirdo could possibly hurt you and if not that, you were going to feel lonely regardless. Why would they just be okay with leaving you alone?

The three of them remained silent for the rest of the conversation. Taehyung’s father got the hint that they were now preoccupied with the thought of you being alone and decided to change the topic for the rest of dinner.

“Are any of you boys seeing someone?”

Jimin turned to look at Jungkook. “Jungkook, are you seeing someone?” His mother gasped. Jungkook kept his head down at his soup and remained silent some more. “You are?”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” He lied. “Who is she? Who are her parents? Where is she from?”

Taehyung chuckled at him. “Her name is Yeri. They’ve been seeing each other for over a month now. She’s nice.” He answered for him. Jungkook kicked his legs under the table and Taehyung let out an abrupt chuckle.

“I can’t believe how grown our son has gotten. He has his first girlfriend.” His mother cooes to her husband. “We would love to meet her whenever you’re ready to introduce us to her. I know it won’t be for a little while longer since it is still so new and fresh.”

Jungkook suddenly felt hot with irritation. Where was all this coming from? His parents suddenly showing an interest in his life? To Taehyung’s life? Why are they abnormally understanding of Jimin's drop out situation? Why now? Why now after he’s been gone for months that they suddenly want to act attentive and caring?

“What’s going with you both?” He asks. They give each other a perplexed look. “What are you talking about, son?” His mom asks innocently. “You know exactly what I mean. Why are you guys being like this? What did we do? What do you want from us?” He hissed.

Taehyung wanted to attempt to control him but to be honest, he was quite relieved that he took the initiative to say something. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic with his parent’s sudden switch up.

His parents remained quiet and uncomfortably looked at each other. Jungkook and Taehyung could sense tension oozing off of their silence. They knew that something was actually going on.

The father cleared his throat and dabbed the corner of his lips with a napkin. “I think it’s time we tell them.” He said sternly. Jungkook’s mother didn’t react. She instead responded by taking a long chug of her red wine.

Her sweet mother demeanor switched into a cold yet seemingly anxious attitude. “Tell us what?” Taehyung asked.

“I’ll say it.” Jungkook’s mom spoke up. Her voice was deep. She darted her eyes between her son, Taehyung and Jimin. Her eyes softened as she glanced between the three boys she deeply cared for and loved.

“Two months ago..,” She started off.

“Two months ago…I got diagnosed with stage two cancer. Breast cancer.” She stated.

All of a sudden, Jungkook felt as if his chair was sunken into a black void that was hungry to capture him. He felt as if he was disassociated from where he was. Is this a dream? Is it reality? Is he somewhere in between? Did he hear her correctly?

Is this actually real life?

With the silence in the room, you could hear a pin drop. You could hear thoughts.

“Your mother has her first chemotherapy session scheduled about two weeks from now. Doctors say that it is still possible they can remove the tumor inside.” He spoke up.

Taehyung slightly turned his head to Jungkook, if he could figure out whatever was going through his head. If he even had anything going through his head at all.

His face was as white as the wall, lips as white as him. His doe eyes were a combination of grief, anger, shock, and nothing at the same time. Jungkook could throw up at this very moment.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me this sooner?” He whispered to her. She looked at him with regret and with pain. Pain for her only child having the bear this kind of news.

“I figured it could wait. I didn’t want this to distract you from your studies.” She said matter-of-factly. Jungkook slammed his silverware to the table.

“It took for you to get cancer to suddenly care about me? Care about my feelings? Consider me into your life for once?” He spat out. She jumped from the sudden harsh words he said to her.

“Now that you’re sick, you want to suddenly act like you have a son to talk to?” He continued. He tried to fight the tears that were threatening to spill but he couldn’t bear it anymore. He was destroyed. He was furious. He couldn’t even look at her without wanting to say bad words.

“Jungkook-,” Taehyung’s father tried to get him to stop but Jungkook seriously could not manage to stay in the same room as her. He stands up from his seat and storms upstairs to his bedroom.

“Jungkook, come back please.” His father yelled out for him. Taehyung watched him as he left. He understood where this was coming from. It was a mixture of grief of the devastating news and it was a mixture of him genuinely being furious at how his mother was acting like everything was fine between them when it just wasn’t.

Jungkook slammed his door and sat onto the side of his bed. He expected the rest of the tears to fall out but it felt as if he finally became mentally strong enough to block it. He was struggling to catch his breath, to catch a single ounce of a breath to exhale. His chest felt as if he swallowed a flame, growing hotter and painful to withstand.

He didn’t have the capacity to think rationally, act logically, and be stable. He was dealing with a surge of insanely different emotions and didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to see his mother, he didn’t want to see his step-father, he didn’t want to see Taehyung or Jimin or have either of the two come to his bedroom to confront him. He didn’t want to be here. Not at this home, not in Busan, all he knew was that he wanted to be as far away from here as possible.

Without thinking, he grabbed his duffel bag,–which luckily hasn’t been unpacked yet–his phone, keys, and wallet and immediately left his childhood bedroom. He stomped down the stairs, not caring if they could hear him coming down, and headed straight towards the front door.

The nearest bus station was a 30 minute drive, about a two hour walk from his house, but he didn’t care. He stormed outside of the house, ignoring the calls from his mother and father.

Taehyung remained where he sat, knowing that Jungkook would be too stubborn to listen to him. He knew that Jungkook was just in shock and just wasn’t handling the news in the best and mature way.

“Where could he possibly be going at this time?” Jungkook’s mother breathed out heavily. “Relax, he probably went on a walk to clear his mind. Give him some time to breathe.” His father soothed.

“Taehyung,” His mother called out. He managed to look up from his plate and made eye contact with her. “Please call Jungkook if he doesn’t return within an hour.” She pleaded. Taehyung nodded in response.

“Promise me? It is almost sunset, he shouldn’t be walking in the dark all alone.”

“I promise.” He croaked out. Jungkook’s mother places her head into her palms and lets out an exasperated sigh. The table was filled with a painfully awkward silence. Jimin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was suddenly missing his own home—the home where he is disowned from.

“I’m going to get Mirae to clear our plates if we are all done eating now.” Taehyung’s father spoke up. Mirae was the housekeeper.

“Mirae, come please. We’re all done here.” He called out, after using the silence as a collective response.

. . .

After an hour and a half of speed walking, Jungkook finally made it to the bus station. His shoulders were aching, his legs were throbbing, and he was sweating like crazy. He felt pity for the people around him that could smell his sweat from walking over 20,000 steps across town.

He approached the guest service desk. “Good evening, do you have an available ticket for a bus to Seoul? Soonest one, preferably.”

As he was walking to the station, he decided he would head straight home to the apartment. He didn’t want to spend an entire week with his mother and pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t. He didn’t want to spend Christmas and the New Year’s and pretend that he was having a good time when he wouldn’t.

“The next bus to Seoul is arriving in twenty minutes. You’re lucky, there was one available seat left. Would you like to purchase it?” The attendant asked. He immediately reached for his wallet and handed his credit card, not caring about the price of the ticket.

After purchasing his ticket, he sat at the nearest bench and closed his eyes.

All he could replay in the back of his mind was the sight of his mother at the dinner table. He didn’t realize how frail she appeared, how deepened her wrinkles grew to be, and how pale her skin was. Her hair was thinner and grayer. She barely touched her dinner as well. How could he have not noticed how sick his own mother looked? His own mother was sick with cancer and he didn’t even notice it.

His guilt shifted to resentment; how could she suddenly want to repair their damaged relationship now? Why now? Why after being diagnosed with a sickness does she suddenly want to make things better between them? Why didn’t she care prior? Would she have still reached out if she was never sick? Would she still care about him?

He refused to let the tears that were pooling fall. He didn’t want to care about this. He didn’t want to admit that he is still a hurting child inside. He is still a young boy that misses and needs his mom. He didn’t want to be that boy anymore. He wanted to be the 20-year old man that was a college student, living on his own, and heading off into the real world.

Jungkook suddenly felt his phone vibrate in his hands. Taehyung was calling him.

After letting the phone ring for several moments, he decided to pick up.

“What?” He said.

“Where are you?” Taehyung asked. He sounded as if he was keeping his voice hushed, as if he didn’t want anyone to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Jungkook debated for a moment if he should just straight up tell him. He decided to lie. “I’m going to Yeri’s.”

“Yeri’s? What, why?” He stuttered. “I, uh, don’t think I can handle being around my mom right now. Yeri’s with her family in Seoul for the holidays, so I’m just going to spend the week with her.”

Taehyung sighed against the speaker. “Kook, your mom is sick. She…she needs you right now? Don’t do this.” He said quietly. Jungkook assumes that his mother is nearby and Taehyung didn’t want her to listen to the phone call.

“She’s got you, your dad, and Jimin. She’ll be fine. She didn’t need me before and she certainly doesn’t need me now.” He spat out.

Taehyung remained silent on the line, not knowing what to say to convince Jungkook to come back. He didn’t know what to say in general.

“Alright. Do what you want. Should I tell our parents you’re with Yeri?” He asked.

“I don’t care. Tell them whatever you want, I couldn’t give a single shit.” Jungkook hangs up without letting Taehyung say anything back. He swallowed the guilt he felt after talking to Taehyung so harshly. He knew that he shouldn’t take his anger out on him. Jungkook didn’t know how to handle this situation at all. He just wanted to leave Busan. He wanted to be home.

. . .

It was 11 o’clock at night and you were awake, with a sheet mask on, painting your toenails, and were on your third glass of red wine. Faye Webster was playing on your speakers in the background and you were humming along to the lyrics as you lightly brushed your pinky toe white.

You were in a blissful mood; tipsy with wine, good music and good wine. Your chicken you ordered for delivery was on the way. Maybe this week alone wouldn’t be so awful after all. Maybe a week to yourself was what your soul was craving.

Your phone was on DND, the LED living room lamp was cozy and warmly yellow. You were in paradise. Although at the same time you did miss the boys. You missed the chaotic energy they brought. You missed the Friday night movie watches, the constant bickering, the smell of Taehyung cooking dinner, the gossip you shared with Jimin, and the rare presence of Jungkook.

You could only hope that they were enjoying their time at home. You missed Busan like crazy and wish that you could be back in your hometown too.

You chugged down the rest of your wine and immediately began pouring yourself another glass. Being wine drunk was the move for tonight’s solemn mood.

Your last toenail was painted and you placed the toe dividers in between. You sighed in delight and sipped your wine gracefully, still humming along to the song playing.

Your relaxed mood was paused after hearing the sound of someone knocking on the door. You perked up, knowing that your fried chicken had arrived. You waddled over to the door, and eagerly opened the door.

Your breath was caught in your throat as you were not met with the sight of the delivery man. You were met with the sight of Jungkook.

“Jungkook?” You gasped, still in disbelief that he was here right in front of you.

“Hey.” He said.

You couldn’t manage to say anything else. You could only just stare at him. He looked physically exhausted. His hair was disheveled and looked greasy. His lips were cracked and dry and his eyes had dark bags hanging underneath.

“Come in.” You said but it managed to come out as a question. He entered the apartment and removed his shoes. He walked straight to the kitchen right after and grabbed a glass cup. He poured himself water from the sink and chugged it down in one second. You were still staring at him in disbelief.

“Um…can I ask why you’re home so soon?” You asked. He observed your shock-ridden face that was being covered by the sheet mask you had on your face. Your hair was tied up into a low bun and was pulled back by a plush headwrap with kitten ears attached to it. You had on your pink gingham patterned matching pajamas and he looked down to your freshly painted toenails and the toes being separated by the divider. He let out a chuckle at your relaxed appearance.

“Sorry for interrupting your self care night.” He smirked at you. You embarrassingly walked away and headed back to the living room. Jungkook followed you. “Whatever.” You mumbled to yourself. Your solo night was now ruined by Jungkook’s random return.

You reached for your wine glass and took a large gulp. Your palms were suddenly sweaty and your heart was beating fast. You were nervous. You were now no longer alone in the apartment. It was just you and Jungkook.

“Why are you home?” You asked again. Jungkook shrugged. “I didn’t want to be there anymore. I felt like coming back.”

You stared at him down, still extremely confused. All you could think to yourself was why. Why, why, why? What happened?

“Does Taehyung know you’re here?” You asked. Jungkook shook his head no. “He doesn’t. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell him I am. He thinks I’m somewhere else.” He shoved his pants into his pockets and kept strong eye contact with you. He knows you’re confused and that you must have thousands of questions running through your mind right now.

You nodded in agreement. “Are you going to stay? The entire holiday break?”

Jungkook nodded. “Oh.” You manage to say. You couldn’t hide the disappointment laced in your voice. “Again, sorry for interrupting you. I should’ve told you I was coming.” He ran his fingers through his greasy hair.

“Don’t apologize. This is your home too. You can come and go as you please.” You chuckle nervously. You were extremely nervous to be alone with Jungkook for an entire week. This reminded you of the time when Taehyung was gone for a weekend to go interview for his candidacy as a recipient of the ‘best film’ award. You and Jungkook were in a heated argument, like usual, and you remember how awkward it was to be alone for a weekend. Now, it was for a whole week. Seven days.

“You want to join me? I’m just drinking wine and listening to music.” You offered, trying to break the awkward tension that was brewing. Jungkook debated for a moment. He didn’t know if he was in the mood to socialize anymore for the day. He was on a crowded 4-hour bus ride, and desperately craved to be back in his bed after a long day of commuting.

Despite that, he felt bad to decline your offer. “Sure. Do you mind if I shower first? I’m pretty gross and greasy right now.”

You immediately reassured him. “A-Absolutely, go ahead and shower and do whatever you need to do. No rush!” You blabbered. Jungkook gave you a curt nod and dragged his duffel bag and himself ahead to his bedroom.

You breathed out a long stressed out sigh. You reached for your phone and tracked your chicken which was beginning to take too long to arrive. The driver was five minutes away.

You groaned into a pillow, not caring that you were staining it with your sheet mask serums.

. . .

After forty-five minutes passed by, you were gnawing on your third chicken leg with Jungkook devouring the food as well. He didn’t realize how hungry he had been. He barely ate the entire day.

“This is some of the best chicken I’ve ever had in my entire life.” Jungkook said with his mouth full. You chuckled as you were chewing. “This is my go-to chicken restaurant. They never miss.” You dabbed the corner of your cheeks with a napkin and rinsed the chicken down your throat with a nice cold beer.

You shouldn’t be mixing alcohol right now but you forgot that you had ordered beer with the order and didn’t want to mix fried chicken with wine; it wasn’t a good match. You were slightly past tipsy and entering drunk territory.

Jungkook was also drinking his beer of the night. A fresh hot shower, fresh pair of pajamas, a cold beer, and crispy Korean fried chicken was the perfect way to end his shitty long day.

The two of you were devouring the chicken in a comfortable silence. Faye Webster was still playing quietly in the background. “I like Faye Webster too.” Jungkook said.

Your eyes widened. “You listen to her too?” He nodded. “I like to play her music whenever I study or read. Keeps me focused.” He said. You couldn’t help but to smile at that. “That’s so cool. I haven’t met anyone that also listened to her. She makes great music.”

Jungkook nodded in agreement. “Same here. Sucks that she probably might not ever tour in Korea.” He sighed, tossing a chicken bone into the box.

“Never say never.” You wagged a finger at him.

The two of you were sitting quite far apart; both sitting on each end of the couch. He was freshly showered and the entire living room was filled with the scent of his shampoo. He smelled like fresh and clean laundry. You admired the way his damp wet hair stuck to his forehead and how his ends sprung and curled outwards.

Another comfortable silence fell upon.

“So, how was your short time with your family?” You asked, trying to make some conversation. After all, you did invite him to hang with you.

Jungkook took a gulp of beer and pondered on how to respond to your question.

How straight forward should he be? He has come to the conclusion awhile ago that you are someone who is trustworthy and someone easy to confide problems with. You are good at comforting others. However, he constantly mentally struggles whether the two of you are considered to be ‘friends’ enough to discuss any dilemmas with. The two of you have a weird so-called friendship.

However, despite all the complications, he’d rather communicate honestly to someone who wasn’t biased to his family for once.

“If I had to describe it in one word, it would be: weird. It was weird.”

“How come?” You pestered.

He sighed. “They were being abnormally…nice for once. Like they were trying to act like actual parents and wanted to know what we were up to since we last chatted. Immediately, that was a huge red flag for me because since when did they care about that, right? What other way was there to describe that other than weird? It was so weird.”

You cocked your head to the side. “I see.” You nodded. Jungkook continued on.

“It was such bullshit. They picked us up from the bus stop themselves and actually sat down to eat dinner with us.”

You were in shock hearing at how distant and fucked up Jungkook’s relationship with his parents was. The fact that he was shocked that they ate dinner with them said a lot.

“Eventually, I made them stop the bullshit. I asked them why they were acting so differently and comes to turn out that my mother has fucking cancer.” He said nonchalantly.

Without hesitation, you immediately got up from your spot and sat right in front of Jungkook. “I’m sorry, what? Your mom has cancer?” Your eyes were wide open, with your heart thumping against your chest from the shock.

“Yeah, stage two breast cancer. She’s known for two months and broke the news over dinner.” He chugged another gulp of beer. He could feel his chest burning from the emotions arising again and his eyes stinging from the tears threatening to form.

“Oh, Jungkook…” You cooed. You hesitantly placed your hand above his hand, debating whether you should touch it out of comfort. You decided to just place your hand over his forearm.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, I’m truly so sorry.” Your eyes met with his and Jungkook could easily read the immense sympathy you had for him. Your eyes looked glassy, as if you were going to cry.

He shook his head and let out a cold laugh. “Is it bad that I’m so fucking pissed at her, ____? I’m genuinely so furious with her. Why is it that now after finding out she’s sick, she wants to become more present in my life and start wanting to know how I’ve been? She has never cared before so why should she switch up and care now?”

You allowed Jungkook to continue venting. You knew he had more to let out of his system.

“Am I a bad son for storming out after she broke the news? Was I supposed to get over it and stay for the rest of the break and be there for her? Am I in the wrong for being upset?” He was fuming. His nose was turning pink from his arising emotions and he continued to withhold the tears. He refused to cry. He refused to cave in.

“You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel. I think you have every right to feel this way,” You started off, beginning to rubbing circles on his forearm with your fingertips. Jungkook looked up to make eye contact with you.

“I also think you’re in shock and this is you reacting out of shock and the lifelong resentment you hold against your mom. The shock is coming out of worry and fear. And you carry worry and fear over your mom’s news because you love her despite the resentment. You love your mother and you’re scared to lose her. You also have so much reason to be furious at her as a secondary emotion.”

“I don’t want to worry about her, she’s never worried about me. She practically let me raise myself. Taehyung was more of a mother to me than she was.”

You stopped rubbing circles and removed your hands from his space.

“Do you want to hear advice or do you just want a friend to listen to you? I can do whatever you need.” You asked. Jungkook could only stare into your soft and kind eyes. He didn’t know how to answer that. He’s never been asked that before.

The fact that you called yourself his friend comforted him slightly. He needed a friend by his side.

“I don’t want to talk about her anymore.” He firmly stated. Jungkook’s an avoidant person. When he struggles with an issue, he pretends it doesn’t exist.

You could tell Jungkook was truly hurting from this. You could see the pain tattooed in his eyes. You also didn’t want to force him to talk about something that was distressing him and that he was clearly still in the process of accepting to believe.

“Let’s finish this bottle of wine together, yeah?” You smiled at him. He tried to suppress the smile that was trying to respond to yours but he couldn’t. It’s something about the way you always manage to get his soft emotions out of him that he can’t hide well.

. . .

Throughout the week, you and Jungkook were co-existing well. The two of you would accompany each other during breakfast and dinner, and occasionally grab iced Americanos for lunch.

There was a holiday market on campus and you invited him to tag along. The two of you spent a good hour at the market and checked out everything together; even playing the Christmas-themed arcade games provided.

You continued your Christmas tradition of watching classic holiday movies in your coziest pajamas while eating fresh baked cookies and hot chocolate. Normally, you would do this with Jihyo and Chaeyoung and had assumed you would continue the tradition alone this year but Jungkook surprisingly joined you.

Jungkook was beginning to grow comfortable with considering you as an actual friend and not just someone whom he likes to bicker with. He liked your company. He liked how you used him as Jimin’s replacement to discuss any gossip and how you used him as Taehyung’s replacement to become the chef of the household. He cooked everything for you; breakfast and dinner. He realized while he was cooking breakfast one morning that one his love languages for his friends was doing acts of service. He liked cooking for you, he liked helping Yoongi out with any assignments he had trouble with, he liked doing extra household chores to make Taehyung’s day easier whenever he had a busy day of working and going to school, and he liked tagging along with Jimin to the gym to spot him during their weight lifting sessions, even tags along without Jimin asking.

He didn’t regret leaving Busan. He knew he needed time away to process and needed time apart from his mom to understand her and her reasoning on why she did what she did. After all, she can’t just ignore the emotional negligence she’s done to him since he was a child. He was enjoying his break back at home.

It was New Year’s Eve morning when you and Jungkook were sitting at the table and enjoying each other’s company as per usual.

“I forgot, will Tae and Jimin come back tonight or tomorrow morning?” You asked Jungkook. “I think tomorrow morning. My parent’s usually like to throw New Year’s parties and probably want the two to celebrate with them and their asshole friends.” Jungkook sipped his tea.

You chuckled at how nonchalantly he insults people. “Do you want to come with me to Hoseok’s New Year’s party? He texted me about it last night. It was a last minute he and Yoongi made.”

Jungkook immediately nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been missing Yoongi like crazy.” You gaped your mouth open. “Are you actually missing someone? That’s crazy.”

Jungkook tossed a raspberry at you. “I’m not an emotionless psychopath, ___.” He rolled his eyes. You groaned in annoyance. “I don’t know why you can’t admit that you indeed are an emotionless psychopath.”

“Just because I’m not nice to everyone doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart.” He argued. “I think it means you have unsolved trauma you need to get through.” You argued back, causing Jungkook to snort at you.

“Therapy is expensive, being an asshole is free.”

You laughed at him, shaking your head in amusement. “Let’s leave at around 10:30.” You suggested. He nodded in agreement and went back to reading the news on his phone.

You suddenly got a Facetime call from Taehyung. Excitedly, you answered quickly.

“Good morning, ___!” Taehyung beamed at you. This was the first time you were seeing his face after he left to go home. The two of you continued to text everyday but this was the first time he called to Facetime after being gone throughout the week.

“Tae! What’s up! I’ve missed you a lot.” You smiled at him. Jimin popped his head into the screen and waved at you. “Jimin! Hi, I’ve missed you too!” You grinned at the two.

“We just wanted to say hi on the last day of the year. We miss you too. Wish you were spending the New Year’s with us but we’ll be back tomorrow morning. We were supposed to be back today but my parents want Jimin and I to stay and hang with them and their asshole friends.” Taehyung said. You choke out a giggle, remembering how Jungkook said the exact same thing a minute ago. A reminder of how closely similar they can be.

A text from Jungkook slides to the top of your screen:

jungkook: Remember, they don’t know I’m here.

You quickly text back a thumbs up emoji and return back to the video call.

“So, where’s Jungkook? Is he still asleep?” You asked. “Oh, he’s not here in Busan. He went to spend the holidays with Yeri and her family. I have no idea where in Korea he’s at.”

Your face fell at what Taehyung said. You peered over to look at Jungkook and he was still just reading the news on his phone, as if he didn’t hear Taehyung.

You felt so stupid to remember that Jungkook had a whole girlfriend. He’s barely mentioned her the entire time he’s been home.

“Oh, right. Well, I’ll probably text him to wish a happy new year’s after midnight. How have you guys been, what were you guys up to all week?” You quickly dismissed the Jungkook topic.

Jimin groaned. “Tae’s dad asks us to play golf and tennis with him every morning at the country club he goes to everyday. Then, in the evening, Jungkook’s mom asks us to go to her pilates and yoga classes with her. We’ve literally been exercising every single day. Three entirely different sports and exercises everyday. At night, Tae and I try to sneak out and get drinks and go to clubs to let loose.” Jimin whined. You giggled at them.

“That actually sounds like a lot of fun, I wish I could attend pilates classes for free. It’s such an expensive hobby.” You chuckle. “At least we burn so many calories a day that we have extra space to drink our sorrows away.” Jimin groaned again. Taehyung chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“Wish you were here, ___. How have you been spending your break? Enjoying the silence in the apartment? Do you keep the door locked every night?” Taehyung pestered you.

“I’ve been having a great time alone. I spent Christmas with Hoseok and plan to spend tonight with him again. He and Yoongi are throwing a party.” You lied. You didn’t want Taehyung to have the idea that you spent Christmas alone like a lonely loser.

“Ah, I’m so glad he’s giving you company. Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m always here for you.” Taehyung urged. Jungkook tried to hold back a scoff at his obvious desperate attempts to woo you over.

“I promise, Tae. See you tomorrow, okay? Thanks for calling to check in.” You smiled and waved.

“Taehyung and I are gonna head out to the club with his dad now. Wish us luck. See ya, ___.” Jimin hung up on the call before you had a chance to say something back.

You sighed in happiness, realizing that you truly missed the two and enjoyed seeing their faces and hearing their voices after so long.

“Why do you look so happy? You missed Tae-Tae?” Jungkook mocked you. You rolled your eyes at him, already annoyed. “I miss both of them, not just Tae. What’s with everyone thinking I like Taehyung or something?” You groaned.

Jungkook snapped his head up at that. “Who thinks that?” He asked. “Literally, everyone. Hoseok and my friends Jihyo and Chaeyoung, too. Hoseok even has the audacity to think that Taehyung has some kind of crush on me. Ridiculous, right?”

Jungkook kept quiet for a second but laughed it off. “Extremely ridiculous.”

For some reason, this annoyed you. “‘Extremely’? Is it that weird if someone like Tae was to like me? As if I’m so unlikable or something?” You spat. Jungkook laughed again, not expecting you to get so heated at that.

“Did I say that? Tell me what exactly I said that hinted at that?” He snickered. You scoff at him. “You said ‘extremely’ really honestly. I could tell by the way you dragged out the word. You said ‘extreeemeleey’.” You mocked.

Jungkook was growing to be more amused with you. He didn’t know you had a dramatic side to you. “As if you are such a catch yourself! I’m surprised you even have a girlfriend that can handle you.” You pick on him.

It took Jungkook a second to remember who you were even talking about. He hasn’t thought about Yeri since the ice-skating date. He doesn’t even remember if he’s replied to the last text she sent.

Admittedly, Jungkook felt bad that he cared little about Yeri. He knows that she’s a nice girl and genuinely deserved better than the treatment he’s giving her. It’s clear she wants more than sex from him. He made a mental note to have a chat with Yeri about their relationship after the New Year’s. He knows that he can’t be the one to give her the kind of relationship she’s seeking for and that it was shitty of him to lead her on like this for so long. Maybe he really can be an emotionless psychopath.

“Didn’t highschool you harbor a big ass crush on me? Clearly, I must be a catch.” He teased. Everytime Jungkook mentions your stupid crush on him, you mentally kill yourself. What in the world made you think it was a good idea to confess to him on the last day of school? Why were you so confident that you wouldn’t run into him again after graduation? You should’ve known that you were going to lose your freshman dorm and end up living in an apartment with him and his brother somehow.

“Why don’t you go tease your girlfriend instead of teasing me all the time. Do you even know what she’s up to lately? You’ve barely even talked about her and haven’t heard you talk to her on the phone or anything.” The bickering continued.

“Why do you care though?” Jungkook’s smile grew bigger. You couldn’t help but laugh along with him. The lover girl in you couldn’t help but get butterflies at the grin he’s giving you. It’s rare to see Jungkook smile but it’s even rarer to make him smile. You forget how pretty his teeth are and how gorgeous he looks when he’s smiling.

“Stop smiling at me, you look like a creep.” You lied. Jungkook snorts at you and goes back to reading the news on his phone. You take the opportunity to secretly admire him and his beauty. God, you hated how he still makes you feel like that giddy high schooler all over again. It wasn’t fair.

What will it take and how long will it take for you to get over that stupid feeling he makes you feel? When will it hit you that Jungkook is into someone else, someone that isn’t you? Your heart panged at the constant reminder that Jungkook once had your heart and stomped all over it til it was no longer existent and relevant in his eyes.

. . .

“___! You’re here! And…Jungkook too?” Hoseok gave you a confused glance.

“He had nothing better to do and he said he missed Yoongi so I had no choice but to drag him.” You whispered through your teeth. Hoseok nodded understandably.

Hoseok’s apartment was surprisingly packed. You didn’t realize how many friends he and Yoongi collectively shared. It was around 30 people together inside their large studio apartment.

You and Jungkook had pregamed together before heading out to Hoseok’s. You both took three shots of soju together and made small conversation before leaving. You were feeling happily buzzed right now.

“Let’s take a shot together, my love.” Hoseok handed you a small plastic shot glass of a mysteriously pungent clear liquid. “What is this? It smells so strong.” You scrunched your nose. “Tequila. Don Julio Blanco.” He smiled at you mischievously.

“Oh, you want me fucked up tonight.” You chuckled at him. You both clinked your cups together and tossed the hot liquor down your poor throats and poor liver.

“I’m thankful for our friendship, ___. We only met a few months ago but you’re already one of the most important people in my life. I love you.” Hoseok pulled you into a tight embrace. “I love you too, Hobi. Thank you for being my friend. To another year of friendship.”

Hoseok kissed your temple and leaned down to whisper against your ear. “I have something to tell you but I’m afraid you’re going to kill me.”

You chuckled and leaned into his ears. “Nothing you can do could possibly make me hate you.” You began to mentally prepare yourself for whatever he was going to tell you.

“Promise?”

“Depends on what it is.” You smirked. “Namjoon is here.”

Your smile dropped instantly. How the fuck is he here? “How the fuck is he-”

“Some of Yoongi’s friends spread the word to him and next thing I know, he’s here with them.”

You groaned out of annoyance and stress. “Fuck me.” You sighed.

“I just wanted to let you know in case you run into him.” Hoseok gave you a sympathetic glare. “Thanks, I guess. I mean, I wasn’t really into him like that either way, it’s just going to be so awkward if I was to run into him after he just randomly ghosted me. I don’t know what I’d even say to him.”

“You don’t owe him an explanation. He does. So, don’t feel obliged to make conversation if you do happen to run into him. Just stick by me and Yoongi’s side the entire night, we’ll look out for you.” Hoseok reassures you.

You nod in agreement. “I’m gonna go greet my friends that just walked in, give me a second, okay?” Hoseok patted reassuringly on your shoulder and walked past to greet his newly arrived guests.

You sighed in annoyance to yourself, not knowing what to do as you were left alone. Jungkook went off to find Yoongi. You looked around the room to see if you could spot Namjoon.

Luckily, you couldn’t see him anywhere. Hopefully, he left for the night?

It was creeping to a quarter past 11. You caught sight of Jungkook and Yoongi in the middle of a conversation. You didn’t know how to distract yourself by looking all lonely so you reached your phone and randomly scrolled through different apps.

After a few minutes of doing so, you decided to go to the cooler and search for a drink to emotionally rely on for the time being. As you were searching, you reached for a Wild Basin Mango Mai Tai seltzer. Your hands were grabbing to the can until another hand suddenly reached over the same seltzer can.

You looked up and were unfortunately met with the sight of Namjoon.

“Great.” You mumble to yourself.

“Hey, ___! Nice seeing you here.” Namjoon chuckled nervously. You flashed him a fake smile and instantly stopped reaching for the drink. “H-How have you been?” Namjoon attempted to make conversation with you. You couldn’t help but to scoff and roll your eyes at him. You tried to walk away from him but he chased after you.

“___, wait please. I can explain, okay?”

Namjoon led you to a quiet corner and placed your back against the wall. “Seriously, I can explain.” He pleaded.

“I don’t think I want to hear your excuses tonight, Namjoon.” You tried to walk away but Namjoon gently stopped you. “Seriously, give me just a minute of your time to explain. I promise to leave you alone after.” You held his right hand up, as if he was genuinely swearing to do so.

“You have five minutes.” You crossed your arms.

He breathed out and scratched his neck. “Well, I don’t really know how else to explain it but…I swear I was serious when I asked you out on that date. I had true genuine intentions. I was really into you that night we met but…I was sort of blackmailed to not go on that date with you?” He admitted.

Your heart sunk at that. “I’m sorry?” You asked in disbelief. Namjoon nodded understandably. “I know how crazy that fucking sounds but I swear, I was told to not go on that date with you from a friend of mine. He said he would make the date wouldn’t happen under any circumstance. And he’s a pretty scary guy so I just did what he told me. I know I should’ve told you this as soon as he threatened me but he said not to tell you and … now here we are.”

Namjoon looked genuinely sincere. He had a worried expression mirroring his eyes. He wasn’t avoiding eye contact with you or anything that expressed that he could be possibly lying. You could sense in your gut that he was telling the truth.

“Who told you not to go on that date with me?” You asked.

“___, I wish I could tell you but I can-”

“If you want me to forgive you, tell me who told you, please. Please Namjoon.” You begged.

He remained silent for a moment, obviously mentally debating whether he should confess or not.

“Promise you won’t confront him about it? I feel like he had good intentions with the blackmailing, I genuinely trust that he must’ve had a good reason to do so. Don’t confront him, please.” He pleaded.

You nodded in agreement. “I promise.”

Namjoon sighed, to prepare himself. “It was Jimin.”

You gape your mouth wide open. “J-Jimin? Are you serious?”

Namjoon reached his hands into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He went into his text messages and shoved his phone in front of your face. “Read the texts.”

Jimin: Joon, you busy?

Namjoon: Nah, not really. What’s up?

Jimin: Meet me in front of your apartment in ten minutes. got a huge favor to ask you

“He came over to ask me to not show up to our date. He said it was important and didn’t give a clear enough reason as to why. He just kept emphasizing how important it was and that he would eventually explain why but he never did. I swear to you, ___. I seriously didn’t mean to ghost you like that.” Namjoon explained.

You took a moment to absorb everything. As expected, you had thousands of questions running through your mind: Why would Jimin want your date with Namjoon to not happen? Why would he set you two up together to only make him ghost on you like that? Why would he comfort you as if he wasn’t the reason as to why the date never happened. Why would Jimin do that?

You grew to be extremely irritated. You didn’t want to bring this negative energy into the new year. This was a problem for next year you to handle. Tonight, you wanted to just enjoy yourself.

“Thank you for telling me this, Namjoon. Seriously.” You smiled. He returned the grin at you. “You don’t hate me, right?”

You chuckle at him. “Not anymore.” The two of you chuckle together. “Let’s go back to where everyone is.” You suggested. You pulled on his arm, making him be dragged from behind.

Jungkook caught sight of you pulling Namjoon back to the crowd and immediately felt himself grow to be confused. “Is that Namjoon?” Jungkook asked Yoongi. Yoongi swiveled his head to check out the direction Jungkook was facing. He saw you and Namjoon in the middle of the conversation, drinking seltzers together.

“Yeah, some of my friends brought him along. I guess the frat king had nothing better to do tonight.” Yoongi turned his attention back to Jungkook. He was still eyeing you and Namjoon down. Yoongi knew that Namjoon had randomly ghosted you the day of the date and knew that Jungkook would naturally be feeling slightly overprotective over you. Yoongi knew that despite Jungkook’s cold exterior towards you, you held a soft spot in him. He could tell by the Jungkook’s eyes softened whenever he was around you, the way his defensive avoidant traits have diminished and how he’s become more open and welcoming to allow you in his trusted circle.

“You’re not going to get drunk and shit on her again, right?” Yoongi teased. Jungkook chuckled and swirled his tongue around his inner cheek. “Nah, not anymore. We’re…she’s a friend to me now. I don’t do that to my friends.” Jungkook said, shyly.

Yoongi felt proud of Jungkook. He can see how Jungkook is shifting away from his angsty teenage self and is trying to transition into an emotionally composed man.

It was now five minutes until the New Year countdown. Hoseok had passed out hats, glasses, and glasses of champagne to everyone. After passing everything, he walked over to you and Namjoon. “Nice to meet you again.” Hoseok flashed him his best fake-smile.

Namjoon obliviously smiled at him back and waved at him. “You too! Thanks for hosting this party.” He gave him a curt nod. Hoseok smiled again and nodded. “Of course, thank you for coming! Make sure you get your New Year’s kiss for good luck!” Unbeknownst to Namjoon, Hoseok lightly pinched your elbow, causing you to yelp. You gave him a death glare but he didn’t bother to give you a glance. “I’m going to look for my New Year's kiss partner. See you next year!” He joked, giving you a quick wink before disappearing into the crowd.

You glanced at Namjoon and nervously chuckled. “That’s Hoseok, by the way, if you didn’t know. He’s one of my best friends.” Namjoon nodded. “Of course, I remember him from the Halloween party. He’s Yoongi’s boyfriend or something like that, right?”

“Yeah, he is.”

There was a slight uncomfortable silence between the two of you. All of a sudden, the room was filled with countdown chants.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…,”

“___?” Namjoon faced you. You looked up at him. “Yes?”

“Five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year’s!”

He looked down to your lips and his eyes were asking for permission to kiss you. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol hitting your system all at once or if it was the fact that you had forgiven him for what he did but you decided to not give a fuck and not make the kiss a big deal.

You gave him a single nod and he immediately bent down to plant a gentle and soft kiss on your lips.

It was a sweet kiss. He didn’t try to barge his tongue down your throat nor did he try to slobber your face full of his saliva.

You hummed in pleasure and kissed him back, cupping one of your hands onto his face. Namjoon breaks the kiss after a few moments and flashes a soft smile at you. “That was nice.” His eyes turned into crescents.

You giggled and nodded in agreement. “It was. Happy New Year’s, Namjoon.” You held your champagne glass up to clink with his. “Happy New Year’s, ___.” You felt the need to clarify your intention of the kiss. “That was just a friendly kiss, right? Just so that you could get good luck this year?”

Namjoon’s grin grew wider and nodded. “Yeah, just a friendly kiss.” He understood why you asked the question and felt the same way about you; just friends.

. . .

It was the next morning. The first morning of the new year. You were awake at 7 in the morning with Jungkook. You were slightly hungover but luckily you had remembered to take Tylenol and drink water when you had arrived home at two in the morning.

Taehyung and Jimin would be arriving home in an hour and Jungkook had asked you to help freshen up the apartment with him. Strangely, Jungkook had barely said a word to you all morning. Just a gruff “good morning”.

“What’s gonna be your excuse when they see you home already? You gonna say you came home last night or something?” You asked, as you were fluffing the couch pillows. Jungkook shrugged. “I guess so. I got nothing else to come up with. I’ll say I came home right before midnight.”

“Yeah, that’s smart.” You nodded.

Jungkook continued to sweep the floor in silence. You could sense that something was up with him. He was avoiding eye-contact with you and you felt as if he was purposely physically distancing himself from you. “You okay? Hungover or something?” You asked.

Jungkook snorted at that. “You forget that I have a way higher tolerance than you, ___.” “Right, I completely forgot you’re the king of alcohol, my bad.” You rolled your eyes.

Jungkook was starting to feel bad that he was being moody with his hot and cold emotions towards you. He didn’t want to continue his toxic habit of giving you the cold shoulder and taking his feelings out on you. He wanted to try and actually treat you like the friend you are to him.

“Are you back together with Namjoon?” He finally decides to ask. You swivel your head to his direction and feel yourself become speechless.

“I saw you with him last night. You guys seemed friendly.” He continued to say, without looking at you as he swept the floor.

You mentally debated with yourself. Did he deserve to know or care? He wasn’t even that close with Namjoon. Did he see you two share the kiss?

“He found me at the party and asked me to hear his explanation as to why he ghosted me. I decided to forgive him.”

Jungkook nodded, still feeling unsure. He wasn’t sure if he was okay with you surrounding yourself with people like Namjoon, from the perspective of a friend and the perspective of a man who knows how other men operate.

“Well, what was the reason?” He asked. You instantly got reminded of the fact that Jimin was behind the reason as to why he flaked on the date.

You felt your face turn pale and cold from the anxiety and confusion. You still can’t pinpoint on why Jimin would go out of his way to sabotage a situation that he encouraged to start in the first place? Did Jimin have bad intentions against you? You didn’t know if you should confess to Jungkook and if you did, would he even believe you? Would he gaslight you and claim that Namjoon was making it up and that you were being too gullible? However, you felt that if anyone would truly understand where Jimin was coming from, it would be either Jungkook or Taehyung.

“It’s gonna sound crazy…like really fucking crazy. But he explained to me that he was told by Jimin to not go on that date with me.”

Jungkook shared a similar wave of confusion wash over his face. His eyebrows furrowed furiously with his pink and plush lips gaped open slightly. “Yeah, weird right? I can’t pinpoint a single fucking reason as to why Jimin would go out of his way to do that. I can’t think of anything that's valid enough to hijack a date that he knew I was looking forward to. Especially since he was the one who got us to get to know each other at the Halloween party.”

Jungkook agreed with you. He couldn’t think of anything as well. “Just ignore it, ___. I’m sure Jimin did it for an urgent reason. Forget I even asked about it.” He tried to reassure you. His eyes darted over the clock that was placed on the wall, hinting that Jimin and Taehyung’s arrival is coming near; about less than thirty minutes from now.��

“But–,”

“If I hear anything from Jimin’s perspective, I’ll be sure to let you know, okay? I think the place looks clean enough. Thanks for helping.” He gives you a forced smile and nods curtly.

You decide to go along with Jungkook’s suggestion for the time being. You could tell that Jungkook is trying to avoid the topic. He had a cloud of tense aura surrounding him. After being acquainted with Jungkook for some time now, you knew when and when not to press his buttons.

“Alright…just text me when the boy’s arrive. I’m gonna go shower real quick.” You leave before he could respond.

Jungkook sits on one of the reclining chairs and simply stares at the wall. He gets lost into his thoughts about possible reasons as to why Jimin would sabotage your date. He has this uncomfortable feeling brewing in his gut. It was as if Jungkook’s gut knew the answer but he mentally could not pinpoint it for the life of him. He didn’t like how much he was bothered by this new information.

Jungkook let out a heavy breath and felt conflicted with himself. He knew that he wanted to intervene but also he knew that he shouldn’t. Nothing in this situation required his immediate attention at all. But something in him compelled his need for action. He needed to know and he needed to know now. He needed to help you get closure for this. Thirty minutes suddenly felt like thirty hours. The seconds were going agonizingly slow.

“What’s up, Kook?” He heard his brother’s voice through the speaker of his phone. “Huh?” He said.

“You…you just called me?” Taehyung said, with confusion laced in his tone. Jungkook was in his head about this that he didn’t realize he had unconsciously called Taehyng just to see how far away he was from home.

“Right, s-sorry. I must’ve butt-dialed you.” Jungkook hung up immediately. He felt pathetic. He felt as if he was beginning to go crazy with the way he was so pressed about this. Jungkook decided to go and cook a quick breakfast to welcome Jimin and Taehyung in order to distract himself and to make time go by faster.

During the cook prep and the actual cooking time, thoughts and possible explanations as to why Jimin would force Namjoon to ditch the date plagued his mind: Did Jimin suddenly find out something was wrong with Namjoon? Was he toxic? Did he have an infamous cheating history? Was he protecting you from something? Something so serious that he had to stop the date from happening?

His blabbering thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. He was welcomed to the sight of Jimin and Taehyung stumbling inside the apartment with their heavy luggages.

“Kook?” Jimin grinned. He jumped into his arms and embraced him tightly. “Kook, what are you doing here!” Jimin placed his hands onto his shoulder and pulled him back into another embrace.

“We thought you weren’t gonna be back until tomorrow?” Taehyung didn’t look as shocked as Jimin. He appeared to be genuinely confused and in utter shock.

“Well, I-”

The sound of your squeal interrupted Jungkook’s explanation. “You guys are back!” You jumped into Taehyung’s arms, launching him enough for him to almost fall backwards. “What a nice welcome.” Taehyung chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist. He felt his heart soaring at the fact that you immediately ran to him first and welcomed him in such a wholesome way.

Jimin chuckled to himself at the sight and shook his head. “Where’s my hug?” He fake-pouted. You pulled yourself away from Taehyung’s embrace and pulled into Jimin’s arms, a bit hesitant. Jimin didn’t sense your reluctant energy that was obviously oozing out—at least in Jungkook’s perspective.

“I’ve missed you too, Jimin!” You smiled at him. Jimin ruffled your semi-wet hair and pulled you back into a side hug. “Tell me everything. Tell me how your entire week has been without us three.”

You nervously darted your eyes towards Jungkook for a second before clearing your throat. “It was great, y’know? Got some real needed alone time and spent Christmas and New Year’s with Hoseok, as you already know. Other than that, I had a good time. I’ve missed you guys like crazy.” You tried to steer the conversation away from your so-called “alone time”.

Jimin turned his attention back to Jungkook. “Right, we completely forgot to continue our conversation. When did you come home? Like Tae said, we thought you weren’t gonna be back til at least tomorrow?” Jungkook wasn’t nervous nor was he scared to lie to them.

“I came home last night around 9-ish. Yeri’s family went to celebrate the New Year’s with family in the area so I decided to come home that same night.” Jungkook said. He darted his eyes between Jimin and Taehyung to see if they believed a single thing he said. Jimin was nodding his head, as if he didn't doubt him.

When Jungkook moved his eyes to Taehyung, he seemed bothered. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes were a chilling almost-black color. “So did you spend New Year’s with Yeri’s other family as well?” Taehyung asked.

Jungkook paused. He didn’t bother to look at you because he knew that you were already looking at him, eagerly seeing what he would say. Would he tell the truth or would he lie again?

“No, I spent New Year’s with ___.” He said.

There was a brief silence between the brothers. It was a silence that only the two of them could feel. As if they were the only ones who could feel the sudden tension brewing between them.

Jimin could tell that Taehyung was bothered at the fact that you and Jungkook spent the night together unknowingly. He didn’t really get why Taehyung would feel bothered at that since everyone knows that you and Jungkook would never get along no matter what, right? Assumingly, the night was spent with unstoppable bickering and negative tension.

“You didn’t spend it with Yeri?” Taehyung asked again. Jungkook shook his head. “She wanted to spend it with family and well, I…wanted to accompany ____.” He said. Taehyung’s Adam-apple bobbed up and down.

“Right,” He started off. “I’m glad you kept each other company.” Taehyung looked between you and Jungkook and reached for his luggage. “Breakfast smells amazing, Kook. I’m gonna go settle my things in my room and come back out to eat.” Taehyung rolled his luggage away from the kitchen and headed towards his bedroom.

You could tell that something was off with Taehyung. His entire mood did a whole 180. “Let’s eat, guys.” You suggested, to ease the tension that was beginning to affect you and Jimin as well.

The breakfast between the four quickly aided to resume the usual comfortable vibe with everyone. Jimin and Taehyung filled you and Jungkook in on how their week went in more detail. Their Christmas and New Year’s went by smoothly, they talked about the horrendous bruise that Taehyung got from straining his calves during a pilates session with Jungkook’s mother, how Jimin got along surprisingly well with Taehyung’s father’s golfing buddies, and all the girl’s numbers that Jimin and Taehyung received from their secret nights out clubbing. You shared in every detail how you spent your week except you left out the minor fact that Jungkook had been with you throughout all of those events: the wine nights, the holiday market stroll, watching Christmas movies till you knocked out, et cetera. Jungkook was with you throughout all of that.

The recollection of all those memories as you were sharing them made you unconsciously smile from ear to ear as you blabbered on. You didn’t realize how nice it was to have had Jungkook’s presence with you the entire time. In fact, it made you feel as if you got to know him better in a more intimate and vulnerable way. You were able to fully get along and connect as people, as roommates, as friends. You no longer view Jungkook as the handsome stranger that you just randomly harbored a crush on for years. You knew him as your anti-social yet dorky and nerdy roommate who lived in the bedroom next to yours that had a great taste in music, is a phenomenal cook, a person who loves to provide acts of service for those he cares about, is a genuinely intelligent person when it comes to the books but not so smart when it comes to real-life and its complex problems and people. All of that and more made you start to love Jungkook not in a romantic way but as a person. As a friend.

Breakfast wrapped up nicely, with Taehyung claiming that he needed to take a nap or else “he would die”. You decided to go back into your bedroom and catch up on your current read of the month. “Do you guys need help cleaning?” You asked Jimin and Jungkook. “We’re all good here, ___. Thanks for asking.” Jimin smiled softly at you. You returned the smile, ignoring the slight discomfort as you made eye-contact with him.

After breakfast, Jungkook had volunteered to help Jimin clean up. He decided that this would be the best way to corner Jimin and get him to spill the truth as to why he sabotaged your date with Namjoon. He tried his best to just not give a single fuck about this but he truly couldn’t. Something was gnawing at his gut to fulfill the need to know what happened.

The two were at the sink; Jimin was washing and Jungkook was drying.

“So, did you enjoy your stay with Yeri and her family?” Jimin asked. Jungkook nodded. “It was alright.” He said.

“Do you see yourself getting serious with her? Like full commitment?” Jimin looked at him, giving him a cheeky grin. Jungkook snorted at that. “Slow down there. I don’t even take myself seriously, what makes you think I’ll take someone else seriously?” Jimin chuckled at him. “It wouldn’t kill you if you actually had feelings for someone, Kook. It’s okay to allow yourself to feel sometimes.”

Jungkook ignored him. “How are things going with you?” Jungkook changed the subject. Jimin chuckled again, aware that Jungkook was purposely avoiding the topic. “I’ve been okay. Going back to Busan made me realize how confident I am in my decision to drop school and move in with you guys for the time being. Busan is not for me right now.” Jungkook nodded understandably. “I know we’ve said this a million times but you can stay for as long as you’d like. We love having you here.” Jungkook said. Jimin smiled at that.

Jungkook was having trouble coming up with a way to nonchalantly bring up the topic. “How was the New Year’s party? Did you hang with Yoongi the entire night?” Jimin asked. Jungkook mentally thanked Jimin for bringing up the party as it can lead to the perfect segway to mention Namjoon’s appearance at the party.

“I did, actually. You know me too well. Yoongi’s my only friend.” Jungkook fake-chuckled. “Did ___ have a good time? At least from what you saw?” Jungkook’s immediate thought was the memory of you and Namjoon in conversation.

“I think so. She was with Hoseok and his friends the whole night,” He started off. He decided it was a good time to mention Namjoon now. “I saw her with Kim Namjoon too.” He finally said.

Jimin stopped washing a cup that was in his hand. He paused for a second but remained avoiding eye-contact with Jungkook. “Namjoon was there?” He asked.

“Yeah, I guess word spread real fast about Yoongi’s and Hoseok’s party.”

Jimin nodded slowly. He didn’t know what to say. “___ and Namjoon were talking?” He asked again.

“Yes. It was an odd sight to see. From what I remember, Namjoon ghosted her after a planned date, right? At least that’s what Taehyung told me. He told me not to mention Namjoon in front of ____ anymore out of concern that it would bother her.” Jungkook continued.

Jimin managed to look at Jungkook. “Uh, yeah, he did ghost her.”

Jungkook was debating whether or not to bite the bullet. “Huh,” He said.

“Do you happen to know why he would do such a thing?” He finally asked. Jimin’s face turned slightly pale. If there was one thing Jungkook knew about Jimin after a decade of friendship, it was that Jimin was a terrible liar, especially under pressure. He breaks easily.

“I have no idea. That’s something Tae and I have been wondering too.” He stuttered slightly. Jimin’s sudden change in demeanor confirmed to Jungkook that Jimin for sure had something to do with the sudden ghosting of Namjoon. Namjoon wasn’t lying to you after all.

Jungkook suddenly felt confident enough to continue pressuring Jimin into telling him the truth now that Jimin was vulnerable enough to crack.

“Huh. That’s weird.” Jungkook was fake-pondering. Jimin shared a confused glare. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I mean, I heard something weird from ___, that’s all.” Jimin turned even paler. The water from the faucet was still running and Jimin was holding the same mug from earlier in his hands.

“What did she say?” Jimin asked, with his voice getting low. Jungkook confidently gave Jimin a firm stare. His eyes darkening and his amused mood from earlier was dispersing into a somber glare.

“That you told Namjoon not to go on the date.”

Jimin remained silent. His silence confirmed it all.

He remained speechless for another moment before suddenly turning off the sink. His wet hands gripped onto Jungkook’s wrist and he pulled him to the front door. “Let’s take this outside.” He muttered under his breath.

He dragged him outside of the apartment before softly shutting the door. Jungkook wasn’t scared nor confused. He was eager to hear what Jimin had to say.

“Explain exactly what she said.” Jimin looked afraid and helpless. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were gleaming with fear and anxiety.

Jungkook sighed. “According to ___, Namjoon approached her at the party and apologized for not going on the date. He blamed it on you. ___ told me that Namjoon told her it was your doing as to why she got ghosted.” Jungkook explained.

Jimin ran his sweaty fingers through his hair. “Listen, Kook. I have a good reason as to why I did that. I didn’t do it out of malicious intent towards ____ whatsoever. But I can’t tell you nor can ___ know too. I really can’t.” Jimin pleaded.

Jungkook shook his head. “Look, I know ___ and I aren’t the bestest of friends but I can feel how confused, shocked, and hurt she is. Imagine finding out that one of her good friends was behind the reason as to why her date got ruined. Especially by the same friend that set her up with the guy in the first place.” Jungkook reasoned. “I don’t know if you noticed but ____ has been a bit distant from you ever since you came back home. I don’t want either of us to live in this kind of uncomfortable environment.” Jungkook continued.

Jimin took a moment to absorb everything Jungkook said. He felt extremely conflicted between doing what he should or shouldn’t do.

“Do you know if Namjoon told her anything else?” Jimin asked. Jungkook scoffed. “Is that all you care about?”

“Just tell me, Jungkook.” Jimin snapped.

After a moment, Jungkook shook his head. “That’s all she and I know.”

Jimin placed his hands onto Jungkook’s shoulders. “Listen to me Kook. What I’m about to tell you, you have to swear and promise me that you are not going to tell a single soul about this, okay?”

Jungkook was suddenly nervous. He didn’t know exactly how to prepare himself for the information he was about to receive.

“I want to promise that but it really depends on what it is, Jimin. If I think it’s something ___ should know about then I’ll tell her.”

Jimin shook his head. “I swear to you that this is something that ___ shouldn’t know about. At least for now.”

Jungkook cocked his head to the side, out of confusion. “What is it, Jimin?”

Jimin continued to mentally debate with himself for another minute or so. He kept running his fingers through his hair and letting out exasperated sighs over and over again.

“No one else knows this, okay? Not even Namjoon,” He starts off. Jungkook was listening patiently.

“I…I told him not to go on that date because of Taehyung.” Jimin says. Jungkook’s entire stomach dropped. “What do you mea-”

“Because… of Taehyung.” He repeats. “Because Taehyung likes ___.”

Jungkook felt as if he had dissociated from reality for a second. Was this real? Was what Jimin said real? Was he in a dream? “What?” Was all he could bring himself to say.

“Taehyung is in love with ___.”

572 notes · View notes

raplinesmoon · 3 months ago

Text

Right Person, Wrong Place (KSJ x F!Reader) - Teaser

pairing: Seokjin x afab!reader

genres/au/rating: fluff, smut, some angst, road trip!au, friends2lovers, 18+

summary: This wedding was supposed to be a chance to celebrate love - even if your own for your best friend remains hidden. But what happens when there's a runaway groom, sending you and Seokjin on a journey together through the South of France? Will your feelings stay on the backburner, or will they all come spilling out?

word count: 697 for the teaser

warnings (teaser only): swearing, tension between friends (oooh what could be the reason), mentions cigarettes, shady getaway car

a/n: happy Seokjin day!! no one is more miserable than I that this is all I have to present for it, but maybe this is the kick in the butt I need to finish this damn thing. This was all inspired by Seokjin's Vogue shoot, but elements of this have been in my head for years! I hope you enjoy the teaser, and hopefully the full fic comes soon hehe! also thank you to @aaagustd for the gorgeous banner!

“What do you mean, ran away?”

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose, holding back the exasperated sigh caught in his throat. If he let it out, he’d never hear the end of it.

“I mean gone. Lickety-split. Road Runner style.”

“This isn’t funny, Seokjin!”

Your voice comes out in a hiss, and if it weren’t for the way your face is absolutely redder than a tomato right now, Seokjin thinks that you might have looked beautiful, the butter yellow of your silk dress shining against your sun kissed skin.

But he’d never say it out loud of course. He’d lost that right a long time ago.

“Oh god, we’re fucked, absolutely fucked! What am I supposed to tell Minju?”

Seokjin understands your dilemma – what exactly does a maid of honor say to her best friend to tell them that her fiancé has mysteriously disappeared three days before the wedding? It doesn’t exactly have the same ring to it as “I do.”

Heels clacking against the cold marble of the villa, you storm to the open balcony, and Seokjin’s heart seizes in fear – you were right, what the hell were you supposed to do?

He’s by your side in minutes, his tux-clad figure leaning against the railing next to you. He wants to reach out, hold your hand and tell you it’ll be okay. But he remains stiff as a board, the two of you lost to your thoughts in the faint breeze of the seaside.

An idea lights up inside his mind – an absolutely insane one, but maybe if you could tolerate being around him for more than five minutes, it just might work.

At its best, it was a gamble, playing his odds for the faint chance that this wouldn’t blow up in his face. At its worst, it could mean the end of everything when it came to you.

Seokjin huffs out a breath into the cold air, and makes his decision.

“Do you trust me ___?”

This couldn’t have been it.

Staring down the old, white panel minivan, you raise an eyebrow at Seokjin, trying to stifle your giggle.

“Your grand plan, I see–”

The tips of his ears turn red, and you watch him mutter to himself.

“Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that shady rental place when they said they said they had a Renault available…”

You think it's endearing the way he’s lost in his head, bouncing on the balls of his feet. But then again, you’ve always thought so.

“A car is a car, Jin. We have more important things to worry about.”

“I know,” he rubs at the back of his neck. “I just wanted you to get the full south of France experience, and this soccer mom monstrosity is so not it.”

Sighing, he lifts your carry-on with ease, loading it into the trunk before opening the door for you.

Slipping inside, you wrinkle your nose at the smell of stale cigarettes and — was that bleach? There’s an ugly brown stain on your seat and you’re not sure where it came from, only that you wish it was three days later, and all of this was somehow behind you. Minji would be married, and you would stay far, far away from Kim Seokjin.

Away from the bad decisions you always seemed to make when he was around.

“Where to captain?” His signature smirk is back, face lighting up as he wrestles with the steering wheel that seems locked into place.

“I don’t know, he could be anywhere. Let’s just hope he didn’t make it to Italy. Or Monaco.”

You drum your fingers anxiously against your thigh. How many villages were in between Nice and Cannes? How long would you have to look?

As if he can sense your anxiety, Seokjin’s hand comes down to rest on yours, your face shooting up in surprise.

“We’ll find him, I promise. And we’ll be standing up there at the altar with our two best friends, this whole wedding will go off without a hitch, and we’ll have the time of our lives. I promise you that.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did.

But the past said differently.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

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chimcess · 30 days ago

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Pitch Black || jjk (1)

⮞ Chapter One: The Crash Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon, Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 27.7k+ Summary: Stranded on a barren planet lit by three suns, a group of survivors struggle to survive after their transporter crash-lands. Their situation grows dire when pilot Y/N discovers that every 22 years, an eclipse plunges the planet into darkness, unleashing swarms of flesh-eating creatures. Facing both external threats and internal tensions, the group forms a fragile alliance. As mistrust and secrets surface, Y/N's complicated dynamic with convict and murderer Jungkook intensifies, making the fight for survival against the darkness and the creatures even more perilous. Warnings: Strong Language, Side Character Death, Main Character Death, Aliens, Vicious Carnivorous Aliens, Violence, Blood, Jungkook is a huge prick, Cocky too, Talks About Past Characters Dying, Trauma Bonding, Bickering, Arguing, If Kook is a prick then Lee is a dick, Child Death, Graphic Death Scenes, Sexual Tension, Y/N is just trying her best, Jaded Characters, Religious Themes (I mean no harm and do not want to offend anyone), Bad Character Choices, Peter is Iconic (and a dumb ass), Surviving, Alcohol Consumption A/N: First chapter means it's time for the fun to begin. Or in this case, the catastrophe. Thanks for reading!

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The steady hum of the Hunter-Gratzner was like a heartbeat—a constant, low thrum that seeped through Y/N’s boots and kept her anchored in the here and now. It was so familiar she hardly noticed it anymore—until it suddenly stopped. And that silence wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating, the kind that squeezes the air out of your lungs and makes your skin crawl. Not something you ever want to hear in deep space.

Today, though, the hum was going strong, a comforting reminder that the Hunter-Gratzner was doing exactly what it was built to do. Y/N’s fingers moved across the console with quick, confident precision, like they’d been doing this forever. In a way, they had. After so many hours in the pilot’s seat, it felt less like she was guiding the ship and more like she was part of it—a living extension of its circuits and steel.

A burst of static from the Kordis 12 radio broke her concentration. Flight control’s clipped voice cut through the hiss. “Hunter-Gratzner here,” she answered. “Cleared the last planetary marker.” “Copy that, Hunter-Gratzner,” came the calm reply. “You’re in the primary shipping lanes and cleared for main engine burn. Have a good sleep, H-G. Silas, out.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. Her hand tightened on the lever, then she eased it forward. The reactor’s purr deepened into a low, resonant rumble that pulsed through the ship like some ancient predator settling in for a nap. The ride was smooth—remarkably so, given the sketchy charts of the Tangiers System. No stray debris, no glitches, no pirates lurking in the dark.

Her gaze flicked to the console, scanning the numbers until they leveled off. She did a quick mental calculation of her cut: half a percent. Not much, but enough. Every run, every ton of cargo, chipped away at her debts and nudged her further from the past she was trying to outrun. Out here, in the cold black of space, it was all about survival.

Twenty-eight weeks to New Mecca. That was a long, lonely stretch—but Y/N liked it that way. The emptiness suited her. When the rest of the crew went into stasis, it left her with time to think... or not think. To forget. Forget the faces, the regrets, the ghosts.

She leaned back, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic of her synth coffee mug. The bitter taste brought her back down to earth—figuratively speaking. Moments like this, with the ship’s hum in her bones and the console lights glowing softly, made the universe feel almost small and manageable. But even then, those nagging questions crept in.

Is this enough? Enough to change her life? To change her?

She pushed the doubts aside, focusing on the faint pinpricks of light scattered across the viewport. This was why she chose this path. Not many women signed up for these long-haul routes—months of isolation, heavy responsibility, and even heavier risks. Most took safer roles: cooking, medical, logistics. But not her. She wanted the pilot’s seat, the chance to earn her crew’s trust while hurtling them through the void.

And she’d done it. Earned it the hard way. Respect wasn’t handed out; you had to wrestle it into submission with grit and skill. She remembered the sneers at the academy, the snide comments. They only fueled her determination. By the time she graduated from Helion Prime’s technical college, she wasn’t just “that dock rat.” She was Y/N Y/L/N, Docking Pilot.

Her uncle had been the first to call her that, pride shining in his eyes even as he teased her. “Docking Pilot,” he’d say, guiding her hands over the controls of his beat-up transport. “You’ll go places, kid. Farther than I ever did.”

Back then, Helion Prime had felt like the whole world—shimmering dunes, scorching heat, and so much promise. She’d started in botany, thinking maybe helping things grow would heal something inside her. But the cockpit’s call was louder. Flight school swept her up, derailing her neat little plan.

That’s when she met Jimin Park. His grin could slice through any tension, but it was his quiet steadiness that really grounded her. Like her, he understood loss. They clicked right away—two orphans forging a bond without needing words. He was practically family, so much so that her uncle took to calling him “nephew” without hesitation.

When NOSA balked at hiring a “Helion Five girl,” Jimin used his connections. His voice carried weight on Aguerra, a place where religion was considered outdated and logic reigned. Helion Prime’s faith clashed with that worldview, but Jimin made them see beyond prejudices. He landed her an interview with Director Min, and Yoongi—sharp-eyed and no-nonsense—saw her raw talent for what it was: resourceful, adaptable, unbreakable under pressure.

Joining the Starfire crew felt like coming home. She still missed them all—Jimin’s steady humor, Armin’s wild Earth stories, Hoseok and Val’s constant flirting. They were a real team, which was a rare thing in the vacuum of space. But then came the promotion offer.

Co-pilot. Better pay. Easier hours. The catch? Leaving the Starfire.

It had seemed like the practical move. But practicality doesn’t fill the aching void left by Jimin’s laugh or Armin’s tall tales. It doesn’t replace that sense of belonging you’ve finally found and then walked away from.

Now the reactor’s low rumble hummed in her bones as she stared into the endless night. Choices. They always caught up with her in the dark, when everything was still except the glow of the console and the distant stars. Had she chosen right? Or had she traded too much for the hum of this ship and the lonely stretches of black it carried?

She thought of Koah, how he could turn even the most routine haul into a story worth hearing—always full of humor and heart. He made every shared meal feel like an adventure. They’d built something special, too—trust forged in danger and laughter, in moments where they looked out for each other no matter what.

And now? Now she was stuck with Greg fucking Shields.

Shields wasn’t just a bad fit—he was the kind of guy who turned the atmosphere sour the second he walked in. Even the simplest tasks became ordeals under his watch, every word dripping with smugness and spite. Koah had been the glue that held them all together, but Shields felt more like a dead weight dragging them down.

“Passengers are tucked in,” he announced, swaggering onto the bridge with that grating, self-satisfied tone. “All set for the long night.”

Y/N didn’t look up, her fingers gliding over the console with practiced ease. “Coordinates locked?” she asked, voice clipped and all business.

“Getting to it,” he drawled, dragging out the words just enough to poke at her nerves.

She refused to take the bait, though her patience was already thinning. Shields finally tapped in the last sequence, and the console beeped its confirmation.

“Don’t rush me, Fry,” he sneered, throwing out the nickname like an insult, smirking as if daring her to react. “You want me to fly us into a black hole?”

Her jaw tightened, her hands pausing on the controls. Fry. Once upon a time, that name brought warm memories—Uncle Sean calling her from the docks with pride in his voice. But Shields had a knack for twisting it into something ugly.

Then he muttered, “bitch,” just loud enough for her to hear. It was the last straw.

“You’ve got your coordinates,” she said, her voice low and controlled, like the calm before a storm. “Lock them in and get off my bridge.”

Shields opened his mouth, ready to spew more venom, but a gravelly voice cut him off.

“Greg.”

Captain Marshall’s tone carried an authority that left no room for argument. It was deep, steady, and edged with enough menace to make Shields recoil.

“Take a walk. Now.”

Shields hesitated, clearly tempted to protest. But one look at Marshall’s face made him think better of it. With stiff shoulders, he muttered something under his breath and stomped off, the hatch hissing shut behind him.

Marshall turned to Y/N, the corners of his beard twitching in a half-smile. “You good, Frenchie?” he asked, using the nickname she actually liked.

She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “I’m fine, Cap. Thanks.”

He nodded, studying her for a moment before leaning against the console. “Shields is a pain in the ass,” he said, his voice dropping to a more casual tone. “Don’t let him get under your skin. If he keeps this up, he’ll be shown the airlock soon enough.”

She let out a dry laugh. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Believe it,” Marshall said with a growing grin. “But don’t think you’re off the hook, Frenchie. I need you sharp. And because I’m feeling generous, I’ll spare you the disco tonight.”

She groaned theatrically, rolling her eyes. “Finally! Your music tastes are borderline criminal, Cap.”

“It’s a cultural treasure,” he protested, feigning offense.

Their shared laughter cut through the tension, if only for a moment. It reminded Y/N of easier days—back on the Starfire, before hard decisions and new regrets made everything more complicated.

22 Weeks Later

The ship’s hum had always felt like part of her—it was in her bones. Most of the time, she forgot it was there. You only noticed it when it vanished, and that’s usually when panic kicked in and you started praying. But for Y/N, there wasn’t any warning. She didn’t even get a chance to register the silence before the chaos hit.

Her cryo-locker hissed open and spat her onto the deck as if the ship itself was rejecting her. The air felt like a slap—icy, metallic, and stinking of burnt circuits. Alarms shrieked, overlapping and piercing, and her muscles, still useless from cryo-sleep, gave out beneath her. She landed hard, arms barely stopping her face from hitting the cold metal floor.

The Hunter-Gratzner groaned, a deep, agonized sound like the big beast it was had finally given up. Gravity shouldn’t have been working, but it yanked her sideways anyway. Flickering lights threw erratic shadows across the twisted wreckage of the corridor—jagged metal, ruptured walls, and beyond the cracked viewport, a faint orange glow flickered like a distant fire.

Y/N forced herself up, hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the frost-encrusted console. She was cold, nauseous, and terrified, but a single thought pounded in her head:

Get up. Get up.

She wobbled onto unsteady feet, nearly gagging on the hot, chemical stink clinging to the air. Fighting the urge to panic, she staggered toward the nearest cryo-locker. Inside, the plexiglass was smashed, shards clinging to the frame. Blood streaked the interior in frozen arcs, and the body inside—someone she might’ve known—was crumpled and horribly bent. She tore her eyes away, throat burning with bile.

There had to be survivors. There had to be.

Movement flickered in the next locker. Heart hammering, she rushed over and wiped the frost from the glass. Inside, the Captain was stirring, breathing shallowly but alive. Relief hit her like a jolt of adrenaline.

She slammed her hand against the intercom. “Cap’n, can you hear me? The hull’s compromised—it’s holding, but barely. Thank God you’re alive. Hold on, I’m gonna pop your E-release. Red handle—pull it once I clear it, got it?” Her voice came out fast, shaky. “I’ll try to get the warm-ups running—”

Then she heard it: a sharp, staccato crack. Phat-phat-phat. Thin contrails streaked through the air. A heartbeat later, the Captain’s chest exploded, spraying blood across the cryo-glass. Shards of plexiglass and metal blew outward, embedding in the walls. He jerked once, twice, then slumped, his eyes going dark as sparks shot from the ruined console.

Y/N reeled back, hand over her mouth. She’d been staring right at him—and now he was—

A sudden hiss behind her made her spin around, heart hammering. Another cryo-locker flew open, and a man tumbled out, crashing into her. They both hit the deck in a heap, limbs flailing.

“Why the hell did I just fall on you?” he wheezed, scrambling to get off her. He was clearly still half out of it from cryo-sleep.

“The Captain’s dead,” she blurted, voice rasping. “I was looking right at him when—” She stopped, fighting off the horrific images. “The hull’s shot. Shields are gone. We’re—”

“Wait!” His voice jumped an octave, eyes darting around. “Not Shields! No, no, that can’t—” He stared at her, then pointed to himself in confusion. “I’m Shields, right?”

For a moment, she just stared. Then a short, bitter laugh escaped her. “Cryo-sleep,” she muttered. “Fries your brain. Every damn time.”

Shields nodded, looking shell-shocked. “Sure does.” Then his eyes slid over her shoulder, and he went pale.

Y/N didn’t have to turn around to know something was there. The air felt different—colder, heavier, and alive with a presence that made her skin crawl. Fear twisted in her gut, relentless.

“Get dressed,” she snapped, snatching a warm-up suit from a storage compartment and thrusting it at him. Her voice shook, but her hands were already flying over the console, checking readings.

“Fifteen-fifty millibars,” she muttered. “Dropping twenty a minute. Dammit, we’re bleeding air. Something nailed us, and it wasn’t gentle.”

Shields clutched the suit like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands trembling. “Tell me we’re still in the shipping lane,” he begged. “Tell me it’s just stars out there—endless stars.”

Static crackled on the display as Y/N keyed in commands, her heart pounding. When the screen finally cleared, her stomach twisted. Not stars. Not the vast, empty black she’d hoped for. Instead, a planet loomed—huge, angry, its atmosphere swirling with bruised shades of purple and gray, like a living storm ready to devour them.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed, the words dropping from her lips like lead.

Then the ship lurched, starting its fall. It began with a savage, grinding howl as the Hunter-Gratzner tried and failed to fight gravity. Metal tore, supports snapped, and the deck tilted under her feet. She lurched forward, scraping her hands on the jagged edge of a console. Smoke stung her eyes, the acrid stench of burning wires filling her lungs.

Through the viewport, the planet’s churning atmosphere rushed up to meet them, a hungry predator closing in. Too close. Too fast. She forced herself to move despite the slanting corridors and the crushing pull of gravity.

Her headset crackled: Shields’ panicked voice cut through the screech of alarms. “They taught you this in training, right? Frenchie? Please tell me you remember the drills!”

She couldn’t answer. She could hardly think. Her surroundings blurred—frost-coated walls, blood smears, cables sparking overhead as she staggered through. By the time she reached the flight deck, she half-collapsed into the pilot’s seat, vision spinning.

Sweat slicked her fingers as she fumbled with the harness. She muttered curses under her breath until, finally, the clasps locked. Slamming her fist against the console, she prayed the failing systems would cooperate one last time. Damaged panels flickered, crash shutters groaning open to reveal the storm outside.

It was like staring into a swirling cauldron—red and gray clouds boiling in pure rage. They weren’t just falling; they were plunging, yanked down by forces well beyond her control. Her hands moved on instinct, flipping switches and twisting knobs in a frantic attempt to steer them out of this dive.

“Crisis program…” Shields’ voice came again, high-pitched and unsteady. “We’ve still got oxygen—fifteen hundred millibars. Surface pressure… oh, God.” He paused, his words faltering. “Maybe the ship’s in a good mood? For once?”

She pictured him cowering at his station, knuckles white, fear bleeding through every syllable. It spiked her own terror.

“Shields,” she croaked, her throat raw. “Focus.”

The stick suddenly jerked in her hands, fighting her attempts to level out. A faint hiss sounded, followed by a dull, bone-rattling thunk that echoed through the cabin like doom itself.

“Frenchie?” Shields’ voice cracked. “What the hell are you doing?”

The jettison doors were sliding shut. Her hand moved almost of its own accord, toggling latches with icy precision. Her thumb hovered over the switch that would shift the ship’s center of gravity—along with its passengers. She trembled, staring at the storm outside. She could practically feel Shields’ stare burning into her.

“Too much weight,” she said, voice taut as a wire about to snap. “I can’t keep the nose up. If I don’t—”

“You mean the passengers,” Shields interrupted, his breath hitching. “Forty people, Frenchie.”

Her jaw locked. “So we both go down? Out of some noble gesture?”

The silence that followed was worse than any alarm. It pressed in on her, suffocating, while outside, the storm raged. Her thumb quivered on the switch, a cold piece of metal that felt like an executioner’s blade.

She could practically feel the planet’s pull, like a weight on her chest. She imagined the look on Shields’ face—disbelief, maybe betrayal. She couldn’t bring herself to look back.

The ship’s hum, once so comforting, was gone—replaced by the wail of stressed metal and piercing sirens.

“Don’t,” Shields whispered, his tone stripped bare. It wasn’t a command or a plea. It was the broken voice of someone who already knew how this could end.

Her head dropped, a ragged sob or curse catching in her throat—she couldn’t tell which. The planet was swallowing them whole, the shaking and roaring all around an echo of the turmoil inside her. Forty lives weighed on her, crushing her soul.

With a sudden cry, she pounded her fist on the console, rattling loose screws and broken panels. The switch remained untouched.

The cryo-lockers hissed open in unison, a sound too serpentine, too alive. Frost curled over the plexiglass, twisting into vaporous tendrils that slithered toward the dim lights overhead. The ship shuddered. The deck groaned beneath the weight of its own failing systems.

Lee stirred inside his locker, fingers sluggish as they wiped at the frost. His thoughts felt submerged, murky, as if he were rising from a deep-sea dive. The overhead fluorescents flickered erratically, throwing jagged shadows across the metal walls. Something was wrong.

Across the aisle, Jungkook moved—slow, deliberate. The black goggles strapped over his eyes made him unreadable, but the sharp glint of metal between his teeth turned his grin into something feral. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The tension in his frame said everything.

Lee’s gaze snapped to the digital display blinking outside his locker. LOCK-OUT PROTOCOL IN EFFECT. ABSOLUTELY NO EARLY RELEASE. His stomach clenched.

Farther up the cabin, Y/N’s hands gripped the controls so tightly her knuckles blanched. The fractured monitors cast sickly light over her face, her breath coming fast and sharp. Behind her, Shields paced in tight, frantic circles, like a caged animal sensing a coming storm.

“Frenchie,” he barked, voice ragged with barely leashed panic. “NOSA—”

Y/N spun, eyes flashing. “NOSA isn’t here.” Her words cut like a scalpel, slicing clean through the rising chaos.

Shields froze, his lips pressing into a hard line. “The captain’s dead,” he said. No ceremony, no buffer. Just the truth. “That makes you in charge.”

Her laugh was bitter, jagged. “In charge?” Her fist slammed against the console, the impact like a gunshot. “You think a few hundred hours in a simulator prepped me for this?”

Shields unbuckled his harness, rising slow. Deliberate. “Don’t touch that switch,” he warned. His voice was even. Dangerous.

Y/N’s thumb hovered over it, sweat slicking her skin. The ship lurched. A shriek of metal tore through the cabin. Sparks rained down like dying stars. Her pulse hammered. And then—she slammed the switch.

“I’m not dying for them,” she muttered.

The Hunter-Gratzner bucked hard, carving a fiery scar across the sky as it plummeted. The hull shrieked. The jettison system hissed—then fell silent.

Nothing happened. The cryo-lockers remained sealed. Y/N’s breath caught. The switch was flipped, the call made. But the ship had refused her. Forty lives still frozen in limbo.

Shields cursed, hands a frantic blur over the interface. “Seventy seconds! You’ve got seventy seconds to level this beast out, Frenchie!”

She didn’t answer. Her focus tunneled in, every move muscle memory now. Switches flipped. Levers yanked. The ship groaned in protest, but she forced it to obey, wrenching it into some semblance of control.

Through the fractured windshield, the planet’s surface loomed—a maze of jagged rock, waiting to devour them whole. A metallic screech—louder than anything before—split the air as an airbrake tore loose, slamming into the windshield. The impact spiderwebbed the glass, splintering light into chaotic shards. The ship spasmed.

“What the hell was that?!” Shields’ voice was barely a breath through the comm.

Y/N didn’t answer. Her eyes flicked to the ground-mapping display—fractured, glitching, but still her only hope.

Sixty meters.

The cockpit rattled. The frame howled. Her hands were cramping, locked in a death grip on the controls.

Thirty.

The cryo-lockers exhaled in unison, a chorus of ghosts awakening. Lee blinked against the mist, lungs burning.

Ten.

The ship screamed. And then—impact.

The world didn’t just break. It detonated. The windscreen imploded, glass bursting inward like a thousand tiny daggers. The shockwave slammed Y/N back against her seat, her harness biting into her ribs. The cockpit filled with dust and debris, a choking maelstrom that turned every breath into a struggle.

In the passenger bay, Lee’s cryo-locker ejected with a violent hiss, spitting him onto the wreckage-strewn floor. His lungs seized as he gasped for air, mind reeling. Sparks flickered, casting eerie, broken light over the twisted remains of the ship.

His gaze caught on a massive crack splitting the hull—a wound too deep, too final.

Then—the groan. Deep, reverberating. A death knell. And the tearing.

A whole section of the ship peeled away, sliding free like dead skin. Rows of cryo-lockers went with it, vanishing into the swirling dust outside. Forty lockers. Forty people. Gone.

Shields’ voice crackled in Lee’s ear, raw, shaking. “We’re still breathing,” he rasped. “Oxygen’s holding at fifteen hundred millibars. Surface pressure… survivable.”

The word sounded like a joke. Lee pushed himself upright, legs shaking, ears ringing. The air was thick with the stench of scorched metal, blood, death. Around him, cries of pain cut through the chaos—some sharp and frantic, others weak, fading.

Jungkook’s cryo-locker was open. Empty. A slow, insidious chill climbed up Lee’s spine. His fingers darted to his hip, searching for his holster—gone. The unease slithered deeper, turning his gut into a leaden knot. He raised his flashlight, the beam cutting jagged arcs through the dust-choked air.

Then—a sound. Metal on metal. Rhythmic. Deliberate. Chains. The hairs on Lee’s neck stood on end. His breath shallowed. Slowly, unwillingly, he turned toward the noise. Two feet lowered into view from the shadows above—bare, bound in chains that whispered with each measured step.

His descent was too smooth, too unnatural. The black goggles strapped over his eyes caught the flickering light, cold and alien. The bit clamped between his teeth forced his mouth into something almost feral—not quite human.

Lee barely had time to react. The chain lashed toward him, a whip of coiled steel snapping tight around his throat. He staggered, hands clawing at the cold metal cutting off his air. Jungkook moved with silent precision, tightening the chain with a slow, measured pull. The darkness swayed. Lee’s vision blurred at the edges.

No. Not like this.

His fingers fumbled for the baton at his side. A flick—snap—and it extended, steel glinting in the fractured light.

Swing.

The first strike glanced off Jungkook’s ribs. No reaction. The second hit harder, enough to make the chain slacken just a fraction—enough to breathe. Lee’s instincts took over. He drove the baton up, hard, straight into Jungkook’s throat.

The force sent them both crashing to the floor. The impact rattled the remnants of the ship around them, a chorus of groaning metal and falling debris. Lee pinned Jungkook down, pressing his forearm hard against his throat. His breath was ragged, raw.

“One chance,” he growled, voice rough with fury. “You blew it.”

The dust began to settle. The ship around them was barely holding together—a skeletal ruin of scorched steel and shattered glass. Then, Lee’s flashlight caught a flicker of movement—a woman. He recognized her from when they boarded. The co-pilot. Her name was lost on him. Blood streaked her face, hair matted to her forehead, breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. But she was breathing.

“Over here,” she rasped. Steady. Unbreakable.

Lee stumbled toward her, boots crunching over shattered wreckage. He crouched, hands moving instinctively, shoving aside the debris pinning her down. The ship groaned with each piece he wrenched free, as if it resented his efforts.

And then—her legs were free. He hauled her up, her weight solid against him, but she barely found her footing before the reality of their situation slammed into her. Not just broken. Annihilated.

Her knees buckled. She sank, hands clawing at the scattered wreckage as if she could piece it all back together. Her lips parted. “Shields.” A whisper.

Then, frantic movement. She shoved aside jagged fragments of steel, shattered screens, the torn remains of the captain’s chair—anything, everything standing between her and what she already knew she’d find.

And then—she did. Strapped to his chair. A metal rod—long, jagged—pierced straight through his chest, impaling him like some grotesque marionette. Blood seeped in slow, dark rivers, pooling beneath him.

His eyes flew open. Wide. Wild. Panic-stricken. “OUT!” His scream ripped through the air. “GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Y/N jerked back, breath hitching. Around her, the others stumbled into the nav-bay, voices colliding in chaotic bursts.

“Pull it out!”

“No, leave it! You’ll kill him!”

“We don’t have a choice—just do it!”

The noise. The suffocating stench of blood and scorched wiring. It all pressed in, a heavy, cloying thing clawing at her senses. Her eyes flicked to the wall—where the med-locker should have been. Gone. Nothing left. Her pulse spiked. No anestaphine. No painkillers. Nothing. But she knew that already. She knew.

Her mind snapped into triage mode, training she hadn’t used since she’d first boarded the Starfire. The H-G had small med kits—scattered across compartments, emergency supplies meant for minor injuries, burns, fractures. Enough for patchwork. Not for this.

A quick scan of the room told her where they were—one in the overhead hatch, another tucked beneath the paneling by the nav station. She didn’t move. Didn’t go for them. Because she knew. Shields was going to die.

It didn’t matter if she used the last of their coagulants, their sterile dressings, their dwindling supply of stim injectors. The rod had pierced deep—a lung, maybe his aorta. If they pulled it, he’d bleed out in seconds. If they left it, he’d drown in his own blood.

There was no saving him. Silence crashed over them. Shields’ breathing was slowing, each rasping gasp a grim countdown. Y/N straightened. Her voice dropped—low, steady. Cold.

“Everyone. Back.”

The others froze, hesitated—then stepped away, shuffling like ghosts. Only Lee lingered. His gaze flicked to Jungkook’s bound form in the corner. Even shackled, Jungkook radiated menace, his stillness more unnerving than motion ever could be.

Y/N barely registered him. Her focus was on Shields. His body trembled beneath her hands, breath thin, ragged. She pressed her palm just above the wound, steadying him. He was shaking. Not from pain. From fear.

His eyes locked onto hers, searching—desperate. “I can’t die like this.”

The words were barely a whisper. Her throat tightened. “You won’t,” she lied. Because that’s what you did for the dying. You gave them something to hold onto. Even if it wasn’t real. She tightened her grip on his hand, let her voice drop to something softer. “This is going to hurt,” she murmured.

The suns hit like a clenched fist, brutal and unrelenting. Twin orbs, one molten red, the other a vicious yellow, scorched the sky and stretched jagged, overlapping shadows across the cracked, barren earth. The heat wasn’t just heat—it was something alive, something with teeth, pressing in, coiling tight around their throats, stealing breath with every shallow inhale. The air was dry, acrid, thick with dust that swirled at their boots, carried by a wind that keened through the desolation like a dying thing whispering its last confession.

The survivors stood in uneasy clusters, their movements wary, shapes distorted against the shimmering horizon. No one strode forward with confidence. Every step was measured, hesitant—like the planet itself might open its mouth and swallow them whole if they made the wrong move.

Daku and Bindi stood apart from the rest, a fortress of two. Daku was stillness carved from stone, his sharp gaze sweeping the alien expanse with the quiet calculation of a man who had survived worse. Bindi, by contrast, was all coiled energy, lean muscle stretched taut over bone, every movement precise. Not panicked. Just prepared.

Peter lingered at the edge of the group, dabbing at his sunburned face with a monogrammed handkerchief that belonged in a boardroom, not here. He let out a brittle, humorless laugh. “Welcome to paradise.” His voice was thin, dry as the air, and it barely made it past his chapped lips. No one laughed. There was no room for humor here.

In the distance, the wreckage of their ship lay sprawled against the cracked earth like the carcass of some great, wounded beast. Twisted metal jutted at odd angles, blackened from the crash, half-buried in the dust like the bones of something the sky had spit out and abandoned. It was silent now, but it didn’t feel still. It felt like it was waiting.

Inside, Y/N moved through the ruins, hands working mechanically, searching through the wreckage for anything salvageable. The silence pressed against her like a second atmosphere—thick, oppressive, wrong. The ship had once been their salvation. Now it was nothing more than a graveyard.

Near the wreckage, the Chrislams had gathered in a tight circle, white robes stark against the dust-streaked ground. Their heads were bowed, their lips moving in silent prayers—or grief. It was hard to tell which. Namjoon stood at their center, broad shoulders squared, his presence anchoring them even as doubt flickered across the younger pilgrims’ faces. Their hands fidgeted at the wooden crosses and crescent pendants hanging from their necks, symbols of faith that suddenly felt like relics of a world too far away to matter anymore.

A boy, no older than fifteen, broke the silence, his voice raw with desperation. “Which way is New Mecca?” His hands were pressed together, pleading. “We need to know where to pray.”

The words hung in the air, weightless, useless. There was no north here. No compass points. No stars to guide them. Just endless wasteland stretching toward an indifferent horizon. Jagged hills clawed at the sky like broken teeth, dark silhouettes against the searing light.

Namjoon lifted his face, squinting against the blinding suns, searching for something—an answer, a direction, a sign. But the sky gave him nothing.

Lee fumbled with a battered compass, flicked it open, watched the needle spin uselessly before snapping it shut with a frustrated hiss. “Even this thing’s lost.” He shoved it back into his pocket.

The ship groaned behind them, a deep, wounded sound, like something exhaling its last breath.

Inside, Y/N sat on the scorched floor, her back pressed against cold metal. Shields’ body was cradled in her lap, his head resting against her chest. The rod that had impaled him was still there—a grotesque, final punctuation mark. His blood was thick and dark against her hands, its metallic tang heavy in the air.

She had tried. God, she had tried. She had shouted orders, whispered reassurances, prayed to gods she never believed in. But none of it had been enough.

The others had moved on, their voices distant through the ruined hull. But Y/N stayed.

Because this wasn’t just a wreckage. It was a grave. And she was the only mourner.

The twin suns poured their merciless light through the jagged tear in the hull, turning dust into molten gold. It shimmered, beautiful in the way cruel things often were—dazzling, deceptive. The light exposed everything. Every failure, every flaw. There was nowhere to hide.

Y/N shifted, her muscles trembling, stiff with exhaustion as she eased Shields’ body to the floor. Her fingers lingered at his shoulder, unwilling to sever that last, fragile tether to the man he had been. The warmth was already leeching from his skin.

Then, slowly, she rose.

Outside was worse.

The heat struck like a hammer, thick, oppressive, pushing against her lungs with every breath. Dust swirled in restless eddies at her feet, the wind sharp as glass, carving at her skin, splitting her lips. A few yards away, the Chrislams knelt in the dirt, heads bowed, lips moving in murmured prayers. Their voices were barely a ripple against the keening wind, but it was the only human sound left in this place. For a moment, she let it fill the cracks inside her, a balm against the unraveling edges of her sanity.

Lee stood apart, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the glare. His jaw was tight, his shoulders locked, a silent fortress against whatever storm raged inside him. When Y/N stepped down from the wreckage, his gaze flicked to her, brief but cutting. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. Some things didn’t need to be said.

The land stretched before them, vast, indifferent. Jagged hills rose like broken ribs, their peaks tearing into the sky. Shadows pooled in the valleys, deep and impenetrable, as though the planet itself was swallowing the light. There was no refuge. No soft place to land. Only the brutal reality of survival.

Y/N swallowed against the rawness in her throat. “We’re on our own now.”

The words weren’t a revelation. They were a sentence.

No rescue was coming. No help would break through this alien sky.

She squared her shoulders beneath the weight of it, forcing one foot in front of the other, because the only way out was forward. Even when everything inside her begged to turn back.

The suns glared down, merciless and unblinking, turning the wreckage into a molten skeleton of what it had once been. Heat shimmered off the twisted metal, a feverish mirage making the debris seem like it was still shifting, still alive. But it wasn’t. It was dead—just like the people who hadn’t made it out.

Y/N climbed the jagged remains of the hull, her boots slipping against scorched metal, her fingers gripping the torn edges of a fractured panel. Her muscles ached, her breath came too short, too shallow. The air was too thin. Too dry. It scraped against her throat like sandpaper, and every inhale felt like a battle she was losing.

Below, the Chrislams knelt in the dust, their white robes dirtied and torn but still stark against the wasteland. Their soft prayers were barely audible over the dry, keening wind—a thread of humanity in a place that had none. Y/N let it wash over her for just a moment, a faint tether to something beyond survival.

Further up the wreckage, the others waited—Lee, Peter, Daku, Bindi, Leo. Their faces were carved with exhaustion, their silence heavier than the heat pressing down on them. Smoke curled from the wreckage behind them, black tendrils rising into the hazy sky. The crash had scarred the earth itself, leaving a deep trench of twisted metal and scorched rock, a wound with no hope of healing.

Y/N reached the top of the wreckage and let her gaze sweep the horizon. The planet stretched out before them in a wasteland of jagged rock and dust, the ground cracked and splintered like old bone. Sharp-edged hills rose in the distance, their peaks like broken teeth against the sky. There was no movement. No color. No life.

Only death, waiting for its turn.

“No one else made it,” she said, her voice low, steady. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an observation. It was a fact, as solid as the wreckage beneath her feet.

Silence stretched between them until Lee finally spoke, his voice dry and edged with bitterness. “They said there’d be a scouting party here.” He gestured toward the empty valley below, his words laced with grim sarcasm. “Guess they forgot the welcome committee.”

Peter coughed, dabbing at his sunburned face with that ridiculous monogrammed handkerchief. “Lovely spot,” he muttered. “Really. I mean, who doesn’t love the sensation of their lungs turning to parchment? Very exotic. Five stars.”

Y/N barely acknowledged him. Her focus was on the facts. The data. “The air’s too thin,” she said, voice clipped, clinical. “Not enough oxygen. Our bodies aren’t used to it. We’ll adjust, but it won’t be comfortable.”

Leo wiped sweat from his forehead, his face pale despite the heat. “Feels like breathing through a straw,” he muttered.

Peter waved his handkerchief dramatically. “Asthmatic here. Literal hell. Can I file a complaint, or is that not an option?”

“Enough,” Daku said, his voice cutting through the noise. His stance was firm, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto Y/N. “What happened?”

Y/N exhaled, rolling her shoulders against the weight of the question. “Debris. A rogue comet. A navigational error. I don’t know.” The admission felt like acid on her tongue. “What matters is that we’re here.”

“And alive,” Bindi added. Her tone was even, but there was something behind it—reluctant gratitude. “You got us down. That’s more than most pilots could have done.”

The words stung. Not because they were meant to, but because they weren’t true. Y/N knew that. They thought she’d saved them. But she knew better.

It wasn’t skill that had brought them down in one piece. It was luck. And luck never lasted.

She led them into what remained of the equipment bay, stepping over shattered panels, ducking beneath dangling wires. The air was thick with the scent of burned circuits and something else—something metallic and bitter. Blood.

Failure.

She knelt by a pile of debris and yanked free a suit, its fabric stiff with scorch marks. It would have to do. Holding it up, she said, “Liquid oxygen canisters. We rip them out. Short bursts, make them last. We don’t know how long we’ll need them.”

The group moved into action, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of survival. Leo lingered near her, watching her with an unsettling calm.

“Is someone coming for us?” he asked, voice steady in a way that made her stomach turn. “Or are we just gonna die here?”

The question hit like a stone dropped into deep water, sending ripples through the group. Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers tightened on the suit, knuckles whitening.

The others had paused, their movements stilled by the weight of the words.

Leo tilted his head. “I can handle it,” he said, softer now. “If we’re not making it out, you can just say so.”

Bindi stepped in, resting a firm hand on his shoulder. “We’re not giving up,” she said, her voice calm but absolute. “Not today.”

Leo hesitated, his bravado slipping just enough to reveal the scared kid underneath. Then he nodded.

The cabin reeked of sweat, scorched metal, and desperation. Shadows stretched long in the dim light, pooling in the corners, turning everything into a graveyard of broken machinery and shattered hope.

Y/N’s gaze drifted to the far side of the bulkhead, where Jungkook sat shackled and still, his presence more a quiet threat than anything else. The dark goggles covering his eyes reflected the dim light, a black void revealing nothing—no fear, no anger, no desperation. Just absence.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t test his restraints. Didn’t move at all. That was what made him dangerous.

Yet, despite the cold knot of unease tightening in her stomach, Y/N couldn’t help but notice—he was beautiful.

Not in the clean-cut, manufactured way of men who knew they were being watched. No, there was something raw about him, something untamed. He was tall, all lean muscle wrapped in pale skin, the sinew of a predator coiled beneath the surface. His inky black hair was too long, falling into his face in uneven layers, the kind of overgrowth that should’ve looked unkempt but only made him more striking.

And then there were the tattoos.

They climbed up his arms in a chaotic symphony of ink, patterns and symbols weaving together into something intricate, something deliberate. Black ink against pale skin. A story written in the language of the damned.

Y/N’s throat went dry. Did they stop at his arms? Or did they go further, trailing over his ribs, down his back, curling against his hips? The thought hit like a static charge, sharp and unbidden. She swallowed, dragging her gaze away before she could entertain it any further.

“What about him?” she asked, her voice low, unsure despite herself.

Lee snorted, smirking. “Big Evil? Leave him locked up.”

Y/N forced herself to focus. “We don’t have forever,” she snapped, frustration bubbling up before she could reel it in. She exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face. “He broke out of a max-slam facility. Do you really think a pair of cuffs is enough?”

Lee shrugged, careless. “Only dangerous around humans,” he muttered, his voice thick with implication.

Before Y/N could fire back, movement caught her eye—a thin, silver thread trickling down the hull, glinting against the harsh twin suns.

Her stomach clenched.

Water.

Everything else vanished.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up, scrambling over the wreckage, boots slipping against warped metal. The sting of sharp edges against her palms didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was reaching the cistern before it was too late.

She wrenched open the hatch, metal scorching beneath her fingers. Sunlight flooded in, illuminating the nightmare inside.

A thin, glistening stream dribbled from a deep fracture in the steel, seeping into the cracked earth below. The ground drank greedily, dark stains blooming where the precious liquid had been only moments before.

Y/N’s breath hitched. A curse slipped past her lips, low and raw. This wasn’t just a leak. This was death.

Footsteps crunched behind her, the others approaching in hesitant silence. No one spoke. They didn’t need to. The truth lay bare before them, glinting in the relentless light.

Y/N leaned heavily against the hatch, her fingers pressing against the scalding metal as if to steady herself. Her gaze stayed locked on the dirt, watching helplessly as the last of the water disappeared, vanishing like hope itself.

The planet wasn’t just going to kill them. It was going to make them watch while it did.

A muscle ticked in her jaw. Her nails bit into her palms until pain cut through the spiraling thoughts. No. There wasn’t time for this—not for despair, not for grief. The planet would take everything if they let it, and she refused to give it that satisfaction.

She turned away from the empty cistern, shoulders squared against the weight pressing down on her. The others were watching, sweat streaking their dirt-smeared faces, fear barely concealed behind exhaustion. They were waiting for her to tell them what to do.

“We keep moving,” she said, her voice steady despite the scream clawing at her insides. “We’ll find more. There’s always something out there.”

The words tasted like lies. But lies could keep people alive. And right now, survival was the only thing that mattered.

The cargo hold reeked of scorched wiring and failure—the kind of failure that clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made itself at home. The air was thick with it, stifling, oppressive. Y/N wiped a grimy hand across her forehead and pressed on, stepping over shattered panels and the twisted wreckage of what had once been their future.

Somewhere in this mess, there were MRAs. Mobile Resource Augmenters. Compact, efficient, life-saving. They were designed to extract moisture from the air, convert it into drinkable water, and they sure as hell weren’t cheap. NOSA wouldn’t have sent them on a long-haul mission without at least a few onboard.

She knew they were here, but no one else seemed to care.

Y/N was used to working with the best—astronauts trained to push beyond the limits of human endurance. On Aguerra Prime, her name meant something. She was a government official, a veteran of deep-space missions, one of the top-ranked astronauts in NOSA’s fleet. She had survived hostile environments before.

This, though? This was worse. Because she was surrounded by people who should have been fighting to survive—but weren’t.

Peter moved through the wreckage with a magician’s flourish, fingers dancing over the lock of a sealed crate like he was about to unveil something miraculous. The lid groaned open, dust puffing into the stale air, and inside lay…

Furniture. Tiffany chairs. Polished bronze lecterns. An entire crate filled with useless, gaudy antiques.

Lee let out a sharp whistle, nudging the crate with his boot. “King Tut’s tomb,” he muttered. “Just what we needed.”

Peter’s face lit up, eyes gleaming as he ran a reverent hand over an antique desk. “This,” he murmured, “is Wooten. A very rare piece, mind you.”

Y/N stared at him, patience fraying like old wiring. “A desk?” she asked, her voice sharper than the heat outside. “Not food. Not water. A desk?”

Peter waved her off, as if she were the one being unreasonable. “Not just a desk,” he corrected, prying open a hidden compartment.

Nestled inside, gleaming like a sick joke, sat a row of liquor bottles. Sherry. Scotch. Vintage port.

Y/N felt something snap. “We’re dying of thirst, and you brought booze?”

Peter stiffened, his hand hovering protectively over the bottles. “Two-hundred-year-old single-malt scotch,” he said, tone dripping with wounded pride. “To call it ‘booze’ is like calling foie gras ‘duck guts.’”

Lee barked a laugh, already reaching for a bottle. The seal cracked with a soft pop, and the sharp scent of aged alcohol filled the air, thick and cloying. He raised it mockingly. “Here’s to survival—or whatever the hell he just said.”

Y/N clenched her jaw so tightly it ached.

She had spent the last hour shifting wreckage, trying to move beams twice her weight, searching for anything that could actually keep them alive.

And these idiots were getting drunk.

Her gaze flicked to the scattered debris. There were still places she hadn’t checked, still a chance the MRAs were buried under the twisted metal, waiting for someone to dig them out.

But as she looked around, at Peter cradling his precious scotch, at Lee tipping his bottle back like this was some kind of vacation, at the rest of them barely pretending to care—she felt the fight drain out of her.

No one was going to help her, and she was done trying to save people who didn’t want to be saved.

She exhaled sharply, the decision settling like a stone in her stomach. Without a word, she turned on her heel, stepping away from the wreckage, away from the lost cause unfolding in front of her.

She had been trained to adapt, to survive no matter what. But NOSA had never prepared her for this. The footsteps came before the words.

Namjoon and his followers stepped into the wreckage, their white robes streaked with dust but still somehow immaculate, like they existed just outside the filth and chaos consuming the rest of them. The Chrislams moved with that same unsettling calm, like they hadn’t yet realized the depth of their predicament.

Y/N barely spared them a glance. She was past caring.

But Lee—still riding the high of finding nothing useful—wasn’t about to let them pass without commentary.

He slammed his bottle onto a metal crate with a hollow clink, his frustration breaking through the haze of heat and exhaustion. “For what?” he demanded, voice sharp. “There’s no water. No food. Just rocks, dust, and death as far as the eye can see.”

Namjoon met his glare without flinching. “All deserts have water,” he said softly. “Somewhere.”

Lee let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Great. You talk to God, then? He got directions?”

Namjoon didn’t blink.

“God will lead us there.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and immovable, like the wreckage around them. Y/N bit down on the retort bubbling up in her throat, but the pragmatist in her screamed louder than any prayer. Water didn’t come from faith. It came from work, from tearing apart this wreck until her hands bled.

“While God’s drawing up a map,” she muttered, turning back to the containers, “we’ll keep looking.”

Namjoon inclined his head respectfully and led his followers away, their murmured prayers fading into the distance. For a moment, Y/N envied their calm. Then Peter’s humming broke the quiet, his fingers trailing lovingly over the polished wood of the desk as if cataloging a museum piece. Her jaw tightened, but she swallowed the urge to snap. Wasting energy on him wasn’t worth it.

Lee pried open another container with a sharp kick, sending a plume of dust into the air. Inside was a heap of torn fabric and broken machinery, tangled and useless. He swore under his breath and shoved it aside, his frustration vibrating in every movement. “This is a goddamn joke,” he muttered. “We’re supposed to survive with this?”

“Keep looking,” Y/N snapped. Her voice cracked like a whip, harsh and desperate. The panic simmering just beneath her surface slipped through. “We don’t find water soon, no one’s making it out of here.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the scrape of metal and the mournful whistle of wind through the wreckage. Outside, the suns continued their relentless assault, the wind carrying dust and the heavy weight of despair. Y/N pressed her hand against the ship’s hull, the heat seeping into her palm. Every moment without progress felt like another step closer to death.

She moved toward the equipment bay, her focus narrowing. Somewhere in the wreckage were the pieces of the ship’s water generator. If she could just find them—just piece it together—they wouldn’t have to rely on the barren, unforgiving land outside. But her concentration splintered, fraying with every glance at the others.

Peter’s oblivious grin. Lee’s sharp frustration. Namjoon’s calm certainty. All of it clung to her like the heat, pressing in, pulling her mind away from the task at hand.

Her fingers brushed against a bent panel, her breath hitching as she caught sight of something familiar—part of the generator’s casing. Relief surged, but it was fleeting. The casing was twisted, its edges sharp and useless without the core components. Her chest tightened as she knelt, wrenching it free, her hands shaking as she turned it over in search of something—anything—that could still work.

Behind her, Leo’s small voice cut through the haze. “So,” he said, too calm for a kid his age. “What happens if we don’t find it? The water?”

The question hit her like a blow, her grip tightening on the casing. Around her, the others stilled, their movements halting under the weight of Leo’s words.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he added, his tone flat, unflinching. “I can take it.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her breath shaky. When she finally spoke, her voice was brittle, scraping against the silence. “We’ll find it.”

It wasn’t an answer. It was a promise. And God help her, she didn’t know if she could keep it.

The ship groaned like a dying animal, its ruptured hull straining against the inevitable. Twisted metal rasped against itself, the sound a constant needle under the skin, an itch that couldn’t be scratched. Dust hung thick in the air, turned to gold by the merciless twin suns that stabbed through the fractured ceiling. Every breath tasted of scorched circuitry and hydraulic fluid, the scent of ruin and slow decay.

Jungkook sat in the shadows, chained to the bulkhead, utterly still. Not the stillness of resignation—but of patience. Of calculation. His wrists, raw from steel cuffs, rested against his thighs, fingers loose, body deceptively relaxed. The dark goggles strapped over his eyes reflected slivers of fractured light, a predator’s gaze hidden behind black glass. The mouth-bit locked over his teeth was meant to make him less dangerous.

It only made him look like a caged beast waiting for the lock to fail.

The ship shifted again, the wreckage settling into itself. He ignored it. The ship was already dead. That wasn’t his problem.

But Y/N’s absence was. Not that he cared. Not really.

But she was the only one in this mess who wasn’t an idiot. The only one who thought ahead. Moved with purpose. Her voice carried weight, her commands cutting through chaos like a blade. That kind of control was rare. Most people shattered when things got bad. She didn’t.

Still, he’d expected more when he first got a good look at her. Too lean. Too sharp. Built for function, not decoration. No softness, nothing extra. Not the kind of woman who caught his eye.

But then she’d spoken. And the way the room shifted around her—the way even the air seemed to move when she did—had made him reconsider.

Not beautiful, but something. And that something was more interesting than pretty.

Jungkook rolled his shoulders, cataloging the weight of his restraints, the tension in his muscles already fading. The nickname he’d overheard while half-conscious surfaced in his mind.

Frenchie. Too small. Too soft. Didn’t suit her at all.

The cutting torch lay just out of reach, its dull gleam a whisper in the wreckage. His head tilted slightly, lips curling behind the bit—not a smile, something colder. The ship was quiet now, save for the occasional creak, but Jungkook had already mapped every fracture, every weakness, every way out. The crack in the hull above him was subtle, barely there.

To anyone else. To Jungkook, it was an invitation. A flaw. A way through.

He shifted, testing the give of his chains. Metal rasped against metal, a whisper swallowed by the ship’s dying groans. He didn’t flinch. He just moved slower, smoother—a shadow moving through shadows.

Then, without hesitation, a sickening pop shattered the silence.

His left shoulder dislocated, tendons twisting, bones shifting in a grotesque ballet of control. Pain flickered at the edge of his consciousness, a distant thing, irrelevant. His breath remained steady.

Another pop. The right shoulder went next.

He exhaled slowly, muscles flexing, and with a sharp, brutal motion, his arms twisted through the narrow gap between his head and the bulkhead. His hands, now free, hung limp at his sides. For a moment, nothing moved. Then, with a precise, measured force, he rolled his shoulders back into place. The snap of bone meeting socket reverberated through the cabin, a sound that made most men sick.

Jungkook barely noticed.

The cuffs slipped from his wrists, hitting the floor with a final, hollow clatter.

He rose in one smooth motion, unfolding to his full height, presence suddenly too much for the cramped space. The air felt different. Thicker.

He stepped forward, moving toward the torch, his bare feet silent against the floor. The chains lay abandoned behind him, the weight of them meaningless now. The torch was warm against his fingers as he picked it up, rolling it once in his palm, adjusting to its feel.

Then he turned.

The goggles hid his eyes, but the smirk behind the bit was unmistakable.

The cutting torch hummed to life in his grip, a low, vibrating growl that filled the silence.

He was free.

The world beyond the wreckage was a graveyard—heat and silence stretched endlessly in every direction, oppressive, unyielding. Twin suns hung in the sky like merciless sentinels, their light leeching color from the landscape until only stark, blinding desolation remained. The ground was a cracked, scorched wound, dust spiraling in restless eddies, threading through jagged rock formations and yawning craters. In the distance, hills wavered like mirages, ghostly illusions rippling in the heat, always there, never reachable.

Lee stood at the edge of the ruin, half in shadow, half in the unrelenting blaze of the suns. The tang of sweat and burnt metal clung thick in the air, catching at the back of his throat. His pistol rested loosely in his grip, a lifeline more than a weapon. A thing to hold onto. A reminder that he wasn’t defenseless, even if the planet seemed indifferent to the concept of survival.

The silence pressed in, heavy. Wrong.

Silence should’ve been relief. Silence should’ve meant safety. But this wasn’t that kind of quiet. This was the kind that watched. The kind that waited.

His gaze swept the horizon, scanning the brittle, broken ground for something—anything—out of place. But the emptiness was deceptive, shifting, playing tricks on his eyes. The wreckage groaned behind him, metal expanding under the punishing heat. The ship was dying, settling into its grave. He ignored it. There were more immediate concerns.

Then—movement.

Not much. Just a glint, half-buried in the dust. A sliver of something reflecting the twin suns. Lee exhaled slowly, crouched, and reached for it, brushing aside the grit with careful, practiced efficiency.

The object came into view. A curved piece of metal. Scuffed. Worn. Unmistakable. His stomach dropped. The mouth-bit. Jungkook’s.

Lee straightened too fast, the bit still clutched in his hand, his fingers tightening around it like it might bite him. His other hand curled reflexively around the pistol’s grip, knuckles bloodless. The planet, empty and endless just moments ago, now felt like a set of teeth closing in.

Jungkook was loose. The realization landed like a hammer blow, cold despite the heat.

Lee had seen what the man could do—shackled. What he could be, even when restrained by steel and sedation. Now, the shackles were gone. The bit that had kept him contained was nothing more than a useless scrap of metal in Lee’s hand.

And Jungkook was out there. Somewhere. Lee scanned the landscape again, but the terrain mocked him. Too much space. Too many places to disappear. Too many places to hunt from.

The wreckage of the ship loomed behind him. The others were still inside—Bindi, Namjoon, Peter. Oblivious. They had no idea what had just been set loose into their already precarious existence.

Lee’s jaw clenched. Like we needed another way to die.

He turned the bit over in his palm, its edges smooth from use, from time, from teeth. He should’ve known. They all should’ve known. But it had been easier to ignore the truth than to face it.

Now, that denial had come at a cost.

The wind kicked up, whispering through the wreckage, sending dust scuttling across the cracked earth. The sound of it sent a chill down his spine, because it wasn’t the wind he was afraid of.

Lee shoved the bit into his pocket, a grim token of what lurked beyond the ship’s broken hull. Jungkook wasn’t just a problem. He wasn’t just dangerous. He was intentional. A force of nature with purpose. Whatever he wanted, whatever he was planning, it wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

He turned back toward the ship, every muscle wired tight, every step measured. The pistol was steady in his grip now, but the weight of it felt inadequate.

This wasn’t over. Not even close. The silence had changed. It wasn’t just emptiness anymore. It was a warning. Jungkook wasn’t watching from a distance.

The cargo hold was a machine of chaos—loud, desperate, and running on the thin fuel of fear. People moved like scavengers, tearing through storage lockers, prying open crates with bloodied hands, dragging whatever they could find into the nav-bay. Metal clattered, plastic scraped, breathless grunts and muttered curses filled the stale air. Dust spiraled in the fractured sunlight slanting through the ship’s wounds, turning the space into a golden, suffocating haze.

Y/N stood on the outskirts, arms crossed, watching. It wasn’t much of a stockpile, but it was all they had.

The room—once a hub of order and precision—now looked like a battlefield before the war even began. Broken panels, exposed wiring, the remains of shattered instruments littered the floor. In the middle of it all, their growing pile of salvaged weapons stood like an altar to survival.

Lee stepped up first. No hesitation, no wasted motion. He crouched beside the pile and inspected his finds: a pistol, a shotgun, a baton. Well-used, well-loved. The shotgun bore the scars of a hard life—scratched barrel, faded stock—but the way Lee handled it left no doubt. The weapon was an extension of him. He loaded it with quiet efficiency, each metallic clink settling into the uneasy silence.

Behind him, Daku and Bindi added their contributions. A battered pickaxe, a handful of digging tools, and an old hunting boomerang—its edges worn, its surface scarred. Daku flicked his wrist, testing its balance. He nodded once, satisfied. Bindi, hovering close, scanned the room with sharp eyes, daring anyone to question their worth.

Then Namjoon stepped forward.

A ceremonial blade. Ancient. Ornate. The kind meant for rituals, not combat. The hilt gleamed under the dim light, its intricate carvings whispering of old traditions. But the edge—thin, honed—was made to cut. He set it down carefully, with a reverence that stood in stark contrast to the chaos around him.

And then there was Peter.

He stumbled into the room, arms overfilled with weapons that didn’t belong on a battlefield. His face was red, breath heavy, but he carried his haul like it meant something. He nearly tripped over a loose wire before dumping his findings onto the pile.

Silence followed.

Polished war-picks. A blow-dart hunting stick. A collection of relics that belonged in a museum, not a fight for survival.

Lee stared. “The hell are these?”

Peter straightened, his expression hovering somewhere between pride and offense. “Maratha crow-bill war-picks,” he declared, lifting one like a trophy. “Northern India. Extremely rare.”

Daku snorted. He picked up the hunting stick, turning it over in his hands, unimpressed. “And this?”

“Blow-dart hunting stick,” Peter shot back defensively. “Papua New Guinea. One of a kind.”

Daku let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, tossing the stick back onto the pile. “Looks like they went extinct for a reason.”

Peter’s face darkened. His fingers curled around the remaining items like they might be snatched away. “Why are we even bothering with this?” he snapped. “If Jungkook’s gone, he’s gone. Why should we care?”

The air changed. The tension turned solid.

Lee was the first to break the silence. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, his voice razor-edged. “First,” he said, his tone like the cocking of a gun, “because he can only survive out there for so long. Sooner or later, he’s coming back—for supplies. For water. For us.”

He let that settle, let them feel the weight of it.

“Second,” he continued, lowering his voice even further, “because killing is the only thing he’s ever been good at. And he likes it.”

No one spoke. No one moved.

Y/N felt the weight of those words settle into her chest, heavy as a loaded weapon. Jungkook wasn’t just a problem. He wasn’t a rogue element in their calculations.

He was a predator. And they were his prey. As if on cue, the group reached for their weapons.

Lee holstered the shotgun, his grip firm. Daku tested the boomerang again, tracing its edges with quiet precision. Even Peter, reluctant as he was, finally set one of his prized war-picks on the pile, his fingers lingering before he let go.

Y/N reached for the ceremonial blade.

It wasn’t made for this, but it would do. The weight of it felt strange in her hand, but solid. Steady. A promise.

The wind howled through the ruined hull, carrying the dry, metallic scent of the wasteland beyond. The horizon remained still, jagged peaks unmoving, but inside the ship, something had shifted.

The air felt electric. Like the moment before a storm. Y/N glanced at the others, their faces cast in flickering shadows. They were ready—or as ready as they could be.

Jungkook wasn’t gone. He was out there. Watching. Waiting. And now, so were they.

The ship jutted from the earth like a rusted blade, its jagged metal edges catching the dying light of twin suns. One burned a deep red, sinking low on the horizon, while the other clung stubbornly to the sky, casting long, broken shadows across the wasteland. Wind whispered through the wreckage, carrying the dry scent of scorched metal and sand, a faint, restless sound in the vast stillness.

Lee perched high on the hull, rifle balanced against his shoulder. His silhouette was razor-sharp against the sky’s bleeding colors. He moved only when necessary, scanning the horizon with a hunter’s patience, the kind of stillness that meant survival.

Then—movement.

A flicker. A distortion at the edge of his vision. His grip tightened. His breath held. What the hell was that?

The words barely escaped his lips, lost to the wind before anyone below could hear them.

On the ground, the others worked against time, piecing together survival from the ship’s remains. Daku and Bindi crouched over a makeshift workbench—little more than a pile of salvaged crates and twisted panels. They moved with careful efficiency, assembling breather units from scavenged tubing and half-broken filters. Each strap tightened, each valve checked, because failure wasn’t an option.

“Try it now,” Daku muttered, handing one to Leo.

The boy lifted it to his face, inhaling tentatively. A soft hiss, the measured release of oxygen. Relief flickered across his face, there and gone in an instant.

A few yards away, the Chrislams worked in silence, layering cloth over their heads, tying knots with practiced hands. Their transformation was seamless—fluid—turning them into nomads, figures that belonged to this land in a way the rest of them never would. Namjoon moved among them, his presence steady, guiding younger pilgrims as they secured their wrappings.

Y/N stood apart.

Her focus was on Shields. Or rather, what was left of him. His body was wrapped in salvaged cloth, the material rough, inadequate. But it was all she had. She tied the final knot, her fingers lingering for a moment, grounding herself in the task. When she straightened, her shadow stretched long and thin in the fading light.

“Namjoon.” Her voice was steady, though exhaustion clung to its edges. “We need to move before nightfall. While it’s still cool.”

Daku wiped a streak of sweat from his brow, glancing up. “What, you’re heading off too?”

Y/N nodded, jaw tight. “Lee’s leaving you a gun. Just one favor—bury my crew. They didn’t deserve to die here.”

Bindi met her gaze, expression soft but resolute. “We’ll take care of them.”

Then the sound came. Faint at first. A whisper. A reverence.

"Namjoon… Namjoon…"

The wind carried it toward them, weightless yet insistent. The group stilled. One by one, they turned toward the voice, rounding the wreckage to see where it came from.

And then, they saw it.

A blue star.

It flared against the horizon—impossibly bright, too large, too deliberate. It rose slowly, cutting through the burnt reds and oranges of the sunset like a blade. The light spread, stretching long shadows across the cracked land, shifting as if the planet itself had taken a breath.

Bindi exhaled sharply. “My bloody oath.”

“Three suns?” Leo whispered, his voice thin with disbelief.

Daku shook his head, his expression dark. “So much for nightfall.”

“And so much for cocktail hour,” Peter muttered, but the joke died the second it hit the air.

Namjoon stepped forward, bathed in the blue glow. The light painted his face in something almost holy. His voice was calm, steady, carrying the weight of quiet conviction.

“We take this as a sign. A path. A direction from God.”

Before anyone could respond, Lee moved.

He slid down the wreckage, boots kicking up dust as he landed. He straightened, brushing himself off, his rifle still slung across his shoulder. His face was unreadable, his eyes sharp.

“A very good sign,” he said, nodding toward the blue star. “That’s Jungkook’s direction.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to him, unreadable. “Thought you said you found his restraints over there,” she said, jerking her chin toward the opposite horizon, where the red sun was slipping beneath the cracked earth.

Lee didn’t flinch. “I did.” His voice was even, final. “Which means he’s moving toward sunrise.”

The words settled like a stone in the pit of Y/N’s stomach. Jungkook wasn’t wandering. He wasn’t lost. He had a direction. A purpose. And it was moving closer.

She looked back at the star, its eerie light shifting the landscape into something foreign, something watching. A slow exhale left her lips, her mind sharpening.

“Then we move,” she said, her voice unyielding. “Before he decides to double back.”

No one argued. No one hesitated. Because the truth was simple. They weren’t just running from Jungkook anymore. They were following him.

The horizon shimmered, a mirage of heat and shifting color, an alien dream unraveling in the distance. The landscape stretched out before them like an open wound, raw and unrelenting, bruised in shades of violet and ochre under the double glare of the twin suns. To stare too long was to feel the world slip sideways, the very fabric of reality twisting under the weight of its own unnatural stillness.

They moved in a thin, fragile procession, their figures small against the vastness, nothing more than a line of ghosts fading into the endless heat.

The Chrislams led the way, their voices rising and falling in quiet, hypnotic rhythm. Their steps were deliberate, measured, faith woven into every movement. Incense pots swung gently from their hands, sending tendrils of spiced smoke curling into the air—an offering, a prayer, a plea for something greater than themselves. The scent tangled uneasily with the metallic tang of dust, the dry crackle of a world long since abandoned to silence.

Lee followed at a short distance, shotgun resting easy in his arms, though his grip spoke of exhaustion more than readiness. Sweat streaked through the dust on his face, his makeshift visor—a jagged scrap of plexiglass tied down with wire—biting into his skin. He ignored it. The pain was secondary. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning the horizon with the wary focus of a man who understood that stillness could kill just as surely as motion.

Beside him, Y/N shifted the weight of Peter’s ridiculous war-pick across her back. The ornate handle dug into her shoulder with every step, a mockery of their situation. A relic in a place that demanded survival, not sentiment. She had given up rolling her eyes after the first hour—exhaustion had a way of dulling even irritation.

Peter trailed behind, his face pink from the sun, his every step labored. And yet, he cradled his remaining artifact like a sacred object, a lifeline to something that only made sense to him.

The sky loomed, too vast, too fluid, its colors seeping into one another like ink bleeding through paper. The heat distorted the air, turning the horizon into something unreal, something that moved even when it shouldn’t. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t mean peace.

It meant something was waiting.

Y/N fumbled with the cloth she had tried—and failed—to wrap around her head. Her fingers, slick with sweat, kept losing their grip, the fabric slipping no matter how many times she adjusted it. The suns beat down, relentless, burning through her scalp, through her bones.

Namjoon noticed.

He didn’t speak. Just stepped closer, his movements calm, measured. Before she could protest, his hands brushed against hers, taking the cloth with quiet certainty. He wrapped it with the efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times, securing each fold, each knot, with practiced ease.

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t used to small kindnesses.

“It’s too quiet,” she muttered, her voice too loud in the stillness. “You get used to the hum of the ship, the engines… then suddenly, it’s just… nothing.”

Namjoon tied the last knot, adjusting the fabric slightly. “Do you know who Muhammad was?” he asked, his voice low, conversational—like they were discussing something as ordinary as the weather.

She blinked at him. “Some prophet guy?”

His lips twitched. “Some prophet guy.” He stepped back, eyes scanning his work before meeting hers again. “He was a city man, but he had to go to the desert—to the silence—to hear the words of God.”

Y/N squinted against the glare. “So, you were on a pilgrimage? To New Mecca?”

He nodded. “Chrislam teaches that once in every lifetime, there should be a great hajj—a journey. To know God better, yes. But also to know yourself.”

A dry laugh slipped from her lips, brittle as the ground beneath their boots. “Sounds terrifying.”

Namjoon just watched her, waiting.

She exhaled. “I grew up on Helion Five,” she admitted, tugging the cloth slightly, testing its weight. “Not as nice as Prime.”

Something flickered in Namjoon’s expression—recognition, maybe respect. “Least religious of all the Helion planets,” he said. “And the poorest.”

Y/N nodded. “I studied botany on Prime. Spent eight years at the technical institute.”

Namjoon’s face shifted, surprised but pleased. “Then you’ve been to New Mecca.”

“I have.” Her voice softened slightly. “Studied under Dr. Abbas.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in wonder. “Dr. Abbas was a mentor to my uncle. I met him once, when I was young. Brilliant man.”

Y/N nodded. The memories flickered behind her eyes—the towering spires of New Mecca, the hydro-gardens sprawling across the academy, faith and science woven together in delicate balance. It had been an oasis of learning, a place of possibility.

A place that should have led her somewhere better than this.

But then Helion Five ran out of money, and so did she. Her funding dried up, and she ended up back in the dirt, scraping by, until a flight school opportunity on Aguerra Prime sent her halfway across the galaxy.

She didn’t say that part.

At least NOSA paid well. At least the benefits were better than anything in the Helion System.

Namjoon studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he said, “You’re full of surprises.”

Before Y/N could respond, Lee stopped. His entire body locked, every muscle wound tight. His breath sharpened. Then—his voice, low, razor-sharp. “Hold up.”

The words carved through the air, snapping every nerve in Y/N’s body to attention.

Lee lifted his rifle, scanning the horizon. His stance had changed—tight, predatory, every line of his body braced for whatever came next.

A ripple of unease passed through the group.

Y/N stepped forward, pulse quickening. “What is it?”

Lee didn’t answer immediately. He just handed her the scope, his expression grim.

She pressed it to her eye, adjusting to the warped, heat-rippled view. At first, she saw only what she expected—the same endless wasteland, stretching as far as the horizon. The cracked ground, desiccated and lifeless. The swirling dust, shifting restlessly in the dry, scorching wind. The emptiness, vast and absolute.

Then—something.

A cluster of thin, vertical shapes disrupted the monotony of the landscape.

She frowned. Her first instinct labeled them as trees, but the thought was dismissed as quickly as it formed. That was impossible.

She adjusted the focus, scanning for details, but the air above the superheated ground distorted everything. Waves of refracted light bent and twisted the landscape, making the objects shift in and out of coherence. She knew how easily the mind could be deceived under conditions like this—optical illusions born from extreme temperature gradients.

Still, she studied them.

They stood upright, dark against the glare of the horizon, irregular in height and spacing. They weren’t moving. Not even a fraction. No branches trembling in the wind. No leaves fluttering. Just still, rigid silhouettes.

Her jaw tightened.

If they were plant life, they shouldn’t be here. The conditions were too extreme. The heat alone would desiccate any surface vegetation in hours—if not outright kill it. Water, if it existed at all, would be buried deep underground, far from the sun’s reach. Any life here would have adapted to that reality. It would stay hidden, evolving in subterranean networks, safe from radiation and exposure.

But these things stood exposed, unyielding beneath a sky that could boil blood.

She exhaled slowly. If they weren’t trees, then what? Rock formations? But they were too slender, too irregular, lacking the weathered smoothness she’d expect from geological structures shaped by the elements.

Her mind cycled through possibilities.

Dead stalks of something that once lived? Artificial structures? Or just a mirage—some trick of light warping the landscape into false patterns?

She lowered the scope, blinking hard, then looked again with her naked eye. The shapes were still there, but less distinct, as if they faded into the background when not magnified.

That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Her fingers tightened around the scope.

"Those aren't trees," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

Y/N lowered the scope, pressing her lips into a thin line. The shapes still lingered on the edge of the horizon, indistinct and unreal, but her mind refused to place them in any known category. That alone made her uneasy.

“They aren’t trees,” she repeated, calmer this time. More certain.

Lee scoffed. “And you know that how?”

She turned to him, pulse steady despite the irritation curling in her chest. “Because trees don’t grow in places like this. Not on a planet this hot, this dry. Any plant life would be subterranean—assuming there’s life at all. Whatever those are, they’re not—”

“We’ll check it out.”

Y/N stiffened. “That’s not what I—”

Lee was already moving, waving for the others to prepare. “Not gonna stand here debating with a pilot who thinks she’s a scientist,” he muttered, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

Her fingers curled into a fist at her side. “I have a PhD in botany, actually,” she said flatly. “Which is why I’m telling you—”

“And I have a gun,” Lee cut in, not even looking at her. “So we’re gonna make sure.”

Y/N inhaled sharply through her nose. Of course. Of course, he was like this. She’d had his type figured out in the first ten minutes—loud, condescending, the kind of man who couldn’t stomach the idea of someone else knowing more than he did.

“You could just listen to her,” Namjoon interjected, stepping up beside her. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was an edge to his tone, subtle but firm. “She’s probably right. We don’t know what’s out there, and heading straight toward something unknown isn’t exactly smart.”

Lee exhaled sharply, turning back just enough to give Namjoon an unimpressed look. “Yeah? And what’s your plan, genius? Stand around and argue?”

“I think his plan,” Y/N said coolly, “is to use common sense.”

Lee barked a laugh. “Right. Common sense is what gets people killed. We don’t assume, we confirm.” His gaze flicked back to her, sharp with challenge. “Unless you’re scared?”

Y/N’s expression didn’t change, but inside, something clenched. Not in fear—just exhaustion. She’d dealt with men like this her entire career. She knew exactly how this argument would play out. She could cite a hundred scientific reasons why approaching those things was unnecessary at best, dangerous at worst, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.

Lee wanted to stomp over there just to prove he could.

Fine. Let him.

“Whatever,” she muttered, shoving the scope back into his hands. “Let’s go, then.”

She didn’t miss Namjoon’s concerned glance, but she ignored it. If following Lee into a potential death trap was what it took to get him to shut up, so be it.

At least when this inevitably turned out to be a waste of time, she’d get to say I told you so.

The wrecked ship knifed through the barren skyline, its twisted metal ribs jutting like bones against the backdrop of twin burning suns. The land stretched endlessly in every direction—cracked, lifeless, shimmering under the weight of an unrelenting heat. The ship’s remains had become a monument to survival, a jagged scar on an already brutal world.

Perched atop the wreck, Peter reclined as if he were sunbathing at a luxury resort instead of stranded on a hellscape. His misting umbrella—a ridiculous contraption of indulgence and pure audacity—hissed softly, releasing a cooling vapor laced with alcohol. The mist shimmered in the dry air, enveloping him in a cocoon of decadence, as if the wasteland were merely an inconvenience rather than a death sentence.

Below, Daku appeared, dragging a makeshift sled across the scorched earth. The thing groaned under the weight of scavenged supplies—tarps, cables, tools lashed together with salvaged wiring. Sweat slicked his skin, dust clinging to every exposed inch, the heat pressing down on him like a living thing. He barely spared Peter a glance before barking out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Comfy up there?”

Peter angled his umbrella, peering down with a lazy grin. “Incredible, really,” he said, voice dripping with mock sincerity. He lifted his polished flask in a casual toast. “Turns out food and water are highly overrated when you have the finer things in life.”

Daku’s scowl deepened, his fingers tightening around the sled’s rope. “Just keep your bloody-fuckin’ eyes peeled,” he muttered, his accent sharpening with irritation. “Don’t need that ratbag sneakin’ up and takin’ a bite out of my bloody-fuckin’ arse.”

He turned and trudged toward the distant hills, the sled dragging behind him with a slow, agonized scrape. Peter smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his flask before pouring a precise splash into a delicate glass—somehow unbroken despite the crash. He lifted it to his lips, savoring the moment like he wasn’t marooned on a planet actively trying to kill him.

Then—the blade. Cold steel against his throat.

Peter’s breath hitched. His body went still, every instinct screaming don’t move. The pressure was light but undeniable, the knife’s edge sharp enough that even the slightest shift could draw blood. The air around him changed, tightened.

Then a voice, soft, almost amused. “He’d probably get you right here.” The blade tilted, just enough to let Peter feel the danger. “Right under the bone,” Leo murmured. “Quick. Clean. You’d never hear him coming.”

Peter’s fingers twitched toward the war-pick resting across his lap, but he didn’t move. He barely breathed. Because Leo wasn’t bluffing.

Peter’s eyes flicked sideways, catching the boy’s gaze. Those too-bright green eyes—steady, unblinking, holding something that didn’t belong in a face so young. The knife didn’t waver in his hand. His grip was sure, practiced, casual in a way that turned Peter’s stomach.

Peter swallowed carefully, feeling the blade shift with the motion. “Aren’t you a little young to be playing assassin?” he asked, voice light, strained. “What’s the story, then? Did you run away from your parents, or did they run away from you?”

A flicker of something dark passed over Leo’s expression—anger? Amusement? It was gone before Peter could name it. The blade stayed where it was.

Then, after a heartbeat too long, Leo stepped back. The knife withdrew with a flick of his wrist, a smooth, deliberate motion. The tension didn’t break—it just stretched, coiled between them, an unspoken thing that settled heavy in the heat. Leo turned and walked away.

Peter let out a slow, measured breath. His hand brushed over the war-pick in his lap—too late, too useless now—but the weight of it felt like reassurance. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the umbrella, tilting it just enough to cast his face back into shade. He exhaled, steadied himself.

Then, forcing his voice back into something closer to normal, he called after him.

“What exactly are you trying to prove, kid?”

Leo didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. The knife in his hand caught the light as he walked, glinting with every step. A warning. A promise.

Peter watched him disappear into the waves of heat, unease settling like a stone in his chest. He lifted the flask, poured another sip of sherry, and swallowed it down. It tasted bitter now.

The edge of the wreckage was quieter than anywhere else, a pocket of solitude carved into the heat and ruin. Leo sat cross-legged in the dust, her back to the others, their voices distant, muffled by the wind that swept across the barren expanse. The shadow of the hull stretched thin, barely offering relief from the twin suns, but she didn’t care.

She just needed to be alone.

The knife rested across her knee, a sliver of light catching on the steel, glinting as if it had something to say. Her hands hovered above it, fingers twitching, uncertain.

Her curls clung to her forehead, damp with sweat, itching at the back of her neck. They’d been a nuisance all day, an unwanted reminder of something she wasn’t anymore. Something she couldn’t be.

The first time she cut her hair, she’d done it with a shard of broken glass in a back alley on Taurus I, shivering, starving, her hands sticky with someone else’s blood. She’d shed her name that night too, left it behind like the curls that littered the filthy street.

Audrey had died there. Leo had crawled out of the wreckage. Now, here she was again.

Her fingers curled around the knife, steadying it despite the faint tremor in her hands. The first cut was clumsy, the blade snagging against a tangle before slicing through. A curl tumbled down, landing against the dust, dark against the pale ground. She exhaled sharply. Then she cut again.

Each slice was an act of erasure. A deliberate, necessary violence.

The curls fell in thick, heavy strands, coiling like dead things at her feet. She didn’t stop, even when sweat stung her eyes, even when her breath came short and fast. She worked until there was nothing left but uneven stubble, rough against her fingertips.

A breeze ghosted across her scalp, cool and startling, and for a moment, she felt untethered. Unmoored.

She stared down at the pile of curls, scattered like broken promises. Pieces of a girl who no longer existed. Pieces of soft hands and warm voices, of braids woven by someone long dead, of a life stolen before she ever had a chance to claim it.

Her throat tightened, but she swallowed hard, shoving the feeling down. Then, with one sharp motion, she ground her boot into the curls, sweeping them away with a harsh kick. The wind took them, lifting them into the air, scattering them across the wasteland.

She watched until they disappeared.

The knife was dull now, the edge dulled by the thick, stubborn strands it had cut through. She ran her thumb along the blade, then slipped it back into its sheath.

Leo stood slowly, brushing dust from her knees, rolling her shoulders back. She could already feel the questions rising in her mind. Did she cut enough? Would it pass? Would they see through her?

No. They wouldn’t. They saw what they expected to see—a wiry, sharp-edged boy, too young to be dangerous, too hard to be soft.

And that’s all they needed to know. She wasn’t going to tell them. Not Daku. Not Peter. Not even Namjoon. It wasn’t about trust. It was about survival.

She knew what happened to girls out here. She’d seen it. Felt it. She knew how softness got twisted, exploited, broken apart piece by piece. Leo wasn’t going to let that happen to her. Not again. Out here, softness wasn’t just a weakness. It was a death sentence.

Her green eyes flicked toward the horizon. The jagged hills stood like teeth in the distance, waiting for them. They would bring more pain. More danger. That was inevitable.

But Leo would meet them head-on. She had no other choice. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back toward the ship. The others would see her return. But they wouldn’t see her. Not really.

To them, she was just another boy. Just another survivor. Another body moving through this relentless, unforgiving world. And that was exactly how she needed it to be. Audrey was gone, scattered like dust on the wind. Leo was all that was left. And there was no space for softness now.

The rise gave way to something wrong.

Y/N had never expected to find trees—hadn’t even humored the idea. This planet was too hot, too dry, too merciless. Nothing should be growing here, least of all something as delicate as surface-dwelling vegetation. If life existed, it would be underground, hidden away from the blistering heat, surviving on whatever moisture remained trapped beneath the surface.

But what lay ahead wasn’t life at all.

It was bones.

They weren’t scattered remains or the weathered fossils of something long forgotten. No, these were enormous, structured, standing like a grotesque forest of the dead. Ribs the size of starships arched toward the sky, their jagged edges worn by time, bleached to a sickly green by lichen clinging stubbornly to their surfaces. They loomed over the wasteland, casting long, skeletal shadows that twisted and bent under the relentless double suns.

The ground beneath them was no better. Littered with shattered fragments, hollowed-out vertebrae, and the occasional half-buried skull, it was as if something had torn through this place—something big, something merciless.

The young pilgrims, Namjoon’s people, had begun to murmur prayers, their voices hushed and wavering.

“Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar…”

Their reverence was tinged with unease, their steps hesitant now, their awe tempered by something much colder.

Y/N lingered at the edge of the rise, adjusting the strap of her pack with a quiet exhale. She had no desire to move forward. Whatever happened here, however long ago it had been, it wasn’t natural. This wasn’t a graveyard. A graveyard implied burial, rest, peace. This?

This was a battlefield.

Lee, of course, had no such caution. He stepped up beside her, his shotgun slung low but ready, his face streaked with sweat and dust. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was sharp, assessing. Always acting like he was in charge. Always acting like he knew best.

"This doesn’t feel right," he muttered.

Y/N barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "No kidding," she murmured, voice dry.

They reached the others just as Namjoon translated a question from one of the younger pilgrims.

“He asks what could have killed so many great things.”

No one answered.

Y/N didn’t think they wanted to know.

They moved deeper, their earlier eagerness replaced by a silent, collective caution. She reached out, running her fingers over one of the towering ribs. The grooves carved into the surface were too precise, too intentional. Not the work of time, nor of nature.

“Killing field,” she murmured, stomach twisting. “Not a graveyard.”

Lee crouched near a pile of smaller bones, picking up a fragment. He turned it over in his hands, brushing away the dust. The surface was smooth, polished by age, but the ends—the ends had been broken.

“Whatever it was,” he said grimly, “it was a long time ago.”

A little ways off, Kai drifted toward one of the massive skulls, its hollow sockets wide and empty, a monument to something long dead. The structure was vast enough to shelter them all, its surface ridged with comb-like formations. Curious, Kai pressed his palm against one of the ridges. The wind shifted, catching within the grooves.

Namjoon, unlike the others, wasn’t entirely lost in the spectacle. His gaze flicked back to Y/N, watching the way her expression remained tight, the way her fingers twitched with irritation.

“You don’t like this,” he observed quietly.

Y/N huffed out a breath. “I don’t like being here at all. This is pointless.” She cast a glance at Lee, who was still inspecting the bones like he was the first person in the universe to ever see a skeleton. “And I don’t like being dragged around by someone who acts like he’s in charge just because he’s loud and armed.”

Namjoon smiled faintly. “That’s just Lee. Cop acting like a cop.”

Y/N snorted. “Yeah, well, I didn’t sign up to be bossed around by some overzealous authority figure with a superiority complex.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a dick.” Then, after a beat, “But mostly harmless.”

She side-eyed him. “Mostly.”

He shrugged, the ghost of amusement lingering.

A pause settled between them, quieter, more thoughtful. Y/N glanced at him, debating, then sighed. “Call me Frenchie.”

Namjoon blinked. “What?”

“It’s my call sign,” she explained, shifting her weight. “Got it when I was working on the docks with my uncle, and it stuck around. All my friends and family call me. You might as well, since I actually like you.”

Namjoon’s expression softened, something warm flickering behind his eyes. “Frenchie,” he repeated, testing the name with obvious care. A slow smile curved his lips. “I like it.”

Y/N nodded, satisfied.

Then Namjoon hesitated. “My mom used to call me Joon.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I haven’t heard it in a long time.”

Y/N looked at him, tilting her head slightly.

“She passed away a few years ago,” he admitted.

Y/N’s chest ached, just a little. She understood that feeling too well. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Namjoon nodded once, accepting, before offering her a small, sad smile. “It’s okay.”

Y/N hesitated, then said, “My parents died when I was little. My aunt and uncle raised me.”

Namjoon’s gaze met hers, understanding passing between them in the space of a heartbeat.

For a moment, they stood there, two people from different worlds, bound by quiet losses and shared irritation for the man currently barking orders at Kai like he had any authority.

Namjoon sighed. “We should probably go stop Lee from doing something stupid.”

Y/N smirked. “Or we could let him and watch what happens.”

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “Tempting.”

But they both knew they’d step in. Because Lee might be a pain in the ass, but he was still on their side.

A low, hollow hum resonated through the bones. The sound rippled outward, vibrating through the air, sinking into their chests like a pulse of memory. It was deep, mournful—a ghost’s sigh.

Kai’s face lit up, wonder momentarily eclipsing fear. “I’ve never heard anything like this,” he said, turning toward the others, his voice tinged with awe.

His smile froze. Something moved in the skull’s shadow. A face—pale and grinning—emerged from the dark. Kai stumbled back with a strangled yelp, his hands flying up instinctively. It wasn’t a monster. It was Soobin.

He stepped from the depths of the skull, laughter bright and sharp. “Got you good,” he said, grinning.

The tension cracked—momentarily.

Lee was already moving, instincts pulling him into the cavernous space of the skull. The shadows stretched long inside, pooling in uneven recesses. Bones littered the ground, but not the smooth, time-worn ones outside.

These were fresh. Chipped. Splintered. His shotgun swept low, the muzzle nudging against a shattered fragment. The air inside the skull carried an edge, something faintly electric—like the charge before a storm.

Lee exhaled through his nose, slow. "Nothing," he muttered, but his gut said otherwise.

Outside, the group gathered near the towering ribs, unease thickening as the wind hummed through the combed ridges of the skulls, filling the air with a sound too unnatural to be ignored. The massive remains stood like silent guardians over a forgotten tragedy.

High above, Jungkook watched. He was a shadow within the bone, his body pressed into the dense curves of the cavernous skull. The faint light filtering through the ridges illuminated only fragments of him—a glint of movement, a slow, steady breath. He didn’t stir. Didn’t make a sound.

His gaze flicked over the group below. He had been tracking them for hours. From where he crouched, Y/N was the closest. She leaned against the skull’s base, fingers twisting off the spent oxygen canister at her belt. The hiss of escaping air broke the silence.

Jungkook’s grip tightened around the bone-shiv in his hand. Its jagged edge gleamed faintly, a relic carved from the remains of this place. His muscles coiled. His breath was measured. He waited. The hunt hadn’t begun yet. But soon.

Y/N shifted her weight, pressing her back against the massive skull. The warmth of the bone seeped through her clothes, and for a moment, she let herself close her eyes. Just a second—just long enough to exhale, to let the exhaustion settle beneath her ribs before she pushed forward again.

Above her, in the hollowed-out depths of the skull, Jungkook did not blink. He moved with the silence of something bred for patience, for hunting. The bone-shiv in his hand hovered steady, his fingers curling around the carved handle as he leaned forward, the comb-like ridges of the skull framing his motion.

Her hair, damp with sweat, swayed just within reach. A flick of his wrist. A whisper of steel. The blade caught a single lock, slicing it away with surgical precision. Dark strands drifted into his palm, weightless, a piece of her claimed without her ever knowing. He studied them for a moment—expression unreadable—before tucking them into the folds of his makeshift belt. A keepsake. A marker.

Below him, Y/N shifted, oblivious to how close she had come to the edge of her life. She pushed off from the skull, stretching out her sore muscles before turning. “We’d better keep moving,” she said, her voice even, but tired.

Lee’s arrival had been perfectly timed—though she had no idea how perfectly. He stood a few feet away, flask in hand, smirking beneath the sunburned grime on his face. “Care for a sip?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t alcohol supposed to dehydrate you faster?”

Lee shrugged, tipping the flask toward her. “Probably. But it makes you care a whole lot less.”

She hesitated, then took the flask anyway. The liquid burned a path down her throat, hot and punishing, but she swallowed it without complaint. She handed it back, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. The boneyard stretched behind them, vast and silent, too silent.

“We don’t want to be out here when it gets dark,” she said briskly.

Lee nodded, tucking the flask back into his jacket as they fell into step. The group ahead was just visible now, their silhouettes shrinking against the dying light.

The crunch of bone fragments beneath their boots was the only sound between them. They climbed the rise overlooking the wasteland, and then—Lee froze. He moved fast, stepping onto a rock, rifle raised, the scope pressed tight against his eye. Every muscle in his body went rigid.

Y/N felt the shift instantly. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her knife. “What is it?”

Lee didn’t answer at first. He adjusted the scope, lips pressing into a tight line.

“I thought maybe he’d double back,” he muttered, voice barely audible. “Could be trailing us.”

Y/N’s stomach coiled tight. “And?”

Lee exhaled, lowering the scope. “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Left the flask as bait. No bites.” He climbed down, his boots hitting the earth with a crunch. “Guess he’s smarter than that.”

But Lee was wrong. So, so wrong. Back in the shadows of the skull, the truth was different. The flask, once brimming with scotch, now sat empty. Its contents had been poured out—replaced with a handful of coarse, reddish sand. Carefully. Deliberately.

Jungkook crouched deep in the graveyard of bones, his body a seamless part of the ruin, woven into the wreckage of something ancient. The strands of Y/N’s hair were still tucked securely into his belt, their faint scent rising with the heat.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled movements, his fingers adjusting the bone shards strapped across his body like armor. He was a ghost. A specter inside the carcass of a long-dead god. Watching. Waiting. And as the group moved farther away, he smiled.

The spired hills rose like shattered teeth against the sky, jagged and sharp, their edges blurred by the feverish shimmer of heat. The ground cracked beneath the weight of the twin suns, a vast, unrelenting plain stretching between the wreckage and the emptiness beyond.

Beneath the meager shade of a tarp strung between two rusted poles, Daku worked in silence.

Each swing of the pickaxe landed with a dull, defiant thud, the ground resisting him at every turn. This planet didn’t want to give up its dead.

A few yards away, the bodies lay wrapped in scavenged cloth. The makeshift shrouds clung awkwardly, shifting slightly in the breeze, as if reluctant to settle. A corner of one cloth lifted—just enough to reveal the curve of a hand, frozen in stillness—before the wind set it back down, as if even the air knew better than to disturb the dead.

Daku didn’t look at them. He didn’t have to. Their presence pressed against his skin, heavy as the heat, heavy as guilt. He drove the pickaxe into the ground again, his muscles burning, his breath ragged. The wreckage of the ship loomed behind him, twisted metal stark against the sky. It felt farther away than it was, separated by more than just distance.

Movement at the edge of his vision made him pause. Bindi stood in the shadow of the ship, watching. She lifted a hand in a slow, deliberate wave. Daku raised his own in return. A small gesture. Too heavy for what it was. But enough. Then he turned back to the earth.

The ground cracked beneath his next swing, reluctant but yielding. The rhythm of digging gave him something to focus on—something other than the weight pressing at the edges of his mind.

“Daku.”

Bindi’s voice carried across the dead landscape, firm but quiet.

He didn’t stop. “You need something?”

She stepped closer, hands on her hips, her presence solid, steady. “You good out here?”

Daku leaned against the shovel, wiping sweat from his brow. His voice came out rough. Flat. “Depends. How good does digging graves in an oven sound to you?”

Bindi snorted. “You could take a break, you know.”

“They deserve better than that,” Daku muttered. No room for argument.

Bindi didn’t try.

She stood there for a moment, gaze lingering, unreadable. Then she turned and disappeared back into the wreckage, leaving him alone with the dust, the heat, and the dead.

Daku worked until his muscles ached, until his hands blistered, until the trench was deep enough to matter.

Then, finally, he turned to the first body. The cloth fluttered slightly as he crouched beside it. Too light. That was the first thing he noticed. The weight was all wrong, the shape beneath the fabric too empty. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t let it settle. Didn’t let himself think.

He lifted the body carefully, arms straining as he carried it to the grave. Lowered it into the earth like it meant something.

A breath. A pause. The world around him held still, as if watching. He swallowed hard, then reached for the shovel.

The first shovelful of dirt hit with a dull thud. Then another. Then another. The sound of finality. The sound of something being buried that would never be dug up again.

When it was done, he stepped back, brushing dust from his palms. It wasn’t much. But it was enough. The sound of footsteps behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Bindi.

“You need help?” she asked.

Daku shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

She didn’t argue. She just stood there with him, both of them framed against the endless, indifferent horizon. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was everything they couldn’t say. Everything they’d lost. Everything they still had left to lose. Daku exhaled, his gaze fixed on the hills in the distance. The sun was sinking, but the heat never left.

“They’ll rest easier now,” Bindi murmured.

Daku tightened his grip on the shovel. “Let’s hope we can say the same for us.”

The canyon yawned ahead, its ribbed spires stretching toward the twin suns like the remains of some ancient beast, clawing at the sky in its final death throes. Heat shimmered off the cracked earth, turning the horizon into something warped and restless. The silence was thick, not the absence of sound, but the kind that pressed in on all sides, heavy with the unshakable feeling that something was watching.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her pack, fingers brushing absently over the worn hilt of her knife as she scanned the terrain. Every step felt heavier, dragged down not just by exhaustion, but by the weight of the stillness.

Ahead, Yeonjun suddenly crouched, his voice low but urgent.

"Captain… Captain!"

Y/N was at his side in seconds, her brow furrowing as she followed his gaze. Half-buried in the dirt was something small and round, coated in dust and split slightly down the middle. At first, it looked like some alien fruit—leathery, weathered, its exposed core stringy and fibrous.

The Chrislams gathered close, murmuring in soft Saramic, their voices tinged with something fragile—hope.

"Could it be food?" one of them asked. "Something edible?"

Y/N brushed the dirt away, fingers tracing the rough, familiar stitching. The realization sank in like a stone dropping into deep water. She lifted it slowly, turning it over in her palm.

Her voice was flat when she spoke. "It’s a baseball."

The murmurs stopped. The small circle of bodies tensed, shoulders tightening, breath catching. The dirt-smudged ball sat in her palm like an artifact from another world. In a way, it was.

Namjoon stepped closer, the usual calm in his eyes sharpening into something watchful. He scanned the canyon’s winding path, his voice measured but weighted.

“We are not alone here, yes?”

Y/N didn’t answer, but her grip on the ball tightened.

Behind her, Lee shifted, his rifle held easy but ready, the sharp cut of his jaw betraying his unease. His fingers brushed the scope, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Never thought we were,” he muttered, the resignation in his tone carrying something else beneath it. Something like readiness.

The canyon widened, opening into a plateau that led toward the spired hills. And there—standing against the base of the jagged rock formations—was a settlement. Or what was left of one.

Rust-streaked shipping containers, stacked into makeshift buildings, leaned into each other like forgotten bones. Tattered sunshades, barely clinging to their rusted poles, flapped weakly in the heated wind, their edges frayed and curling.

The group stopped.

Namjoon moved first, stepping forward with a reverence that didn’t match the decay before them.

"Assalamu alaikum!" Yeonjun called, his voice carrying across the empty space, bouncing off the metal walls.

Nothing. No answer.

Lee peeled off toward a rusted-out moisture-recovery unit, crouching near the battered jugs scattered at its base. He picked one up, shook it. Nothing. Just a hollow rattle of grit inside brittle plastic.

“They ran out,” he said grimly, setting the jug down with finality.

Namjoon’s gaze lingered on the machine, his voice quiet. “Water,” he murmured. “Once, there was water here.”

The pilgrims sank to their knees, hands raised, their voices rising in unison. Allahu Akbar. The sound filled the empty settlement, a prayer swallowed by the bones of a place long past saving.

Y/N watched from the outskirts, the weight of the baseball still heavy in her grip. The prayers filled the space, but they didn’t fill her. Her gaze drifted to the shipping containers. Too still. Too empty. She moved toward one, her steps careful, deliberate. The doors hung crooked, their rusted hinges straining against time. She pushed one open.

Inside, the remains of lives left behind: A tipped-over chair. A rusted lantern. A faint, smeared handprint on the wall.

Y/N dragged her fingers along the broken edge of a table. Her voice was quiet, more to herself than anyone else.

“What happened here?” Lee’s voice, closer than she expected.

“Doesn’t look like they had much of a choice,” he said, gesturing to the scattered jugs, the rusted-out machinery. “This place dried up.”

Namjoon’s voice broke through the weight of the silence. "We search. See what remains."

The group spread out, their movements slow, careful. The air was thick, heavy with something unspoken. Y/N turned the baseball over in her hands, a cold certainty settling deep in her chest.

The air inside the structure was stale—not just old, but abandoned. A vacuum where life had once existed and then receded, leaving only the sediment of its passing. The particulate composition of the dust—fine, unbothered—told Y/N that no one had been in here for years.

She stepped forward, careful with her weight distribution, feeling the floor shift just slightly under her boots. Disuse. Wood degradation. Subsurface rot. The building wouldn’t collapse under her, but it was tired.

She cataloged details as she moved—mental notes stacking like research entries in her mind. The table in the center of the room: wooden, refectory-style, approximately two meters in length. Surface dull with oxidized grime. Deep scratches. Cup rings. The wood had absorbed more than just liquid over time—it had absorbed history.

The walls bore framed images—early settlers, hands dirt-streaked and competent, smiling children, a boy gripping a baseball bat. Domesticity in an unrelenting world. A psychological anchor. And yet, they were gone. The structures stood, the ghosts remained, but the people who built them—who bent this world to their will—had vanished.

Where?

Y/N moved deeper inside, her fingertips trailing along the tabletop’s edge. Oil deposits in the grain. Sweat, grease—human residue. She withdrew her hand quickly, as if touching the past too much might make it real again.

She reached for the wall, searching by muscle memory for a switch. “Lights,” she muttered, though she already knew—futility.

Her hand skimmed rough plaster—no switches, no panels. Not even the residual tackiness of adhesive where something had been ripped away. No artificial power grid at all.

Her mind started turning. She moved toward a window, the fabric blackout blinds stiff under her fingers. Why blackouts? She yanked them back, expecting the room to flood with sunlight—

A face stared back. Y/N jerked backward, pulse spiking. Her breath hitched before recognition caught up. Lee. Standing just beyond the glass, his features cut sharp by the exterior glare. He grinned, bemused, almost lazy.

"Try not to get lost in there," he said through the window, voice muffled.

She exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from her muscles. A short, nervous laugh escaped her as she nodded. "Not planning to," she called back.

Lee gave a small wave and stepped away, disappearing into the light. She was alone again. But the silence inside the building had shifted. A creak from behind her.

Y/N pivoted, knife half-drawn, instincts running ahead of her thoughts. Something in the corner caught the light. An orrery.

It sat on a low table, its frame dulled with oxidation but intact. She took a slow, deliberate step forward. The gears inside clicked, stuttered, then began to turn.

The device came to life. Tiny planets, caught in orbits dictated by age-old mechanics, began to move. Uneven. Jerky. The largest celestial body, positioned where a primary sun should be, pulsed faintly—bathed in a perpetual glow.

Y/N stilled. No darkness. Her fingers brushed the frame. "No darkness," she murmured. "No lights, because… no darkness." Her scientific mind caught the pattern before her gut did. Something prickled at the base of her skull. A realization forming too slow to stop the chill crawling up her spine. She turned sharply, stepped back into the sunlight.

The porch creaked beneath her boots, the glare of the twin suns almost too much after the dim interior. She squinted, eyes scanning the barren land for movement.

Then—a flicker. Far out, something glinted. Not naturally. A deliberate reflection. Her breath caught. She moved fast, pushing past a line of laundry still clinging to rusted wire, the faded fabric brushing her arms as she pushed forward.

The glint again. She broke into a jog.The ground crunched beneath her boots, fractured stone and sand shifting as she reached the source— A skiff. Partially buried in the desert’s hungry mouth.

Y/N’s pulse pounded. The fabric wings, tattered and skeletal, flapped weakly in the wind. The hull, sleek despite its damage, bore faded markings—symbols etched by a language older than the ruins around it.

A vessel. A departure. Or an arrival. Her fingers traced the surface—metal, pitted and worn, but solid. Heat radiated from it, even in the already blistering environment. Residual energy storage? Possible thermovoltaic components? Her heart stuttered.

"Allahu Akbar," she whispered, voice trembling between awe and calculation.

She didn’t believe in miracles. But she believed in science. And the science told her one thing: Someone else had been here.

The others caught up within minutes, their footsteps crunching against the fractured ground, but Y/N barely registered them. Her mind was already dissecting, calculating, breaking down the skiff in front of her.

Namjoon reached her first, his approach slow, deliberate—a reverence she couldn’t afford. He placed a hand on the hull, fingers splayed over the scarred metal, his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. A prayer. A plea. The Chrislams behind him murmured their own, their voices threading through the air like a quiet current of faith. Y/N wasn’t praying. She was analyzing.

Her fingers traced the hull, mapping out the pitting from sand erosion, the carbon scoring along the intake vents, the microfractures spiderwebbing across the surface. Heat residue. That meant energy retention. That meant—

"Think it’ll fly?" Lee’s voice broke through her thoughts. He stood just behind her, rifle slung loose, his gaze sweeping over the vessel with a mix of hope and skepticism.

She exhaled sharply, tilting her head, already formulating possibilities, probabilities, limitations. "I don’t know," she admitted, but the words thrilled her. Not in uncertainty, but in possibility.

Her hands moved instinctively, pushing against the skiff’s frame, testing its stability, density, material integrity. The hull composition felt wrong—light but strong, too smooth to be traditional alloys. Not purely terrestrial. Some kind of composite—low-weight, high-tensile resilience.

The intake vents told her more—angled for atmospheric entry, but the heat scoring was shallow. This thing hadn’t been through a rough descent. It hadn’t crashed. It had landed. Her pulse ticked up, the rush of discovery washing over her, every neuron firing at once.

"This isn’t just wreckage," she muttered under her breath. "It was left here."

Lee frowned. "What are you saying?"

She stepped back, surveying the machine as a whole, not just its parts. "Scorch patterns are too controlled for a crash. The way the sand's drifted against it—it's been here a while, but not long enough for total burial. And the material—" she pressed her palm flat against the hull "—it’s still holding latent heat. That means an energy core. That means—"

Lee caught on before she even finished. His breath left him in a short, sharp laugh. "—it might have power," he finished.

Y/N nodded, her mind already racing ahead. If there was power, there was a chance. The skiff wasn’t just a symbol of escape. It was a machine—a problem to solve, a system to understand, a puzzle begging for hands smart enough to unlock it.

For the first time in too long, she felt the familiar pull—not just survival, not just endurance, but science.

"If we can get inside, if the controls are intact, if we can access the core—" she turned to Namjoon, who was still watching her, still measuring her words against his faith.

"We might not be stuck here after all."

The group fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as if waiting for the verdict. Y/N’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, not in doubt but in determination. For the first time in days, she wasn’t just reacting to survival. She was chasing it.

She looked up, toward the endless stretch of sky. For once, it didn’t feel like a ceiling. It felt like a destination.

Perched atop the ruined ship, Peter reclined in the only way Peter could—utterly unbothered, delicately indulgent, as if this wasteland was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to his standard of living. A toast point rested between two fingers, smeared with glistening caviar, because apparently, nothing—not even being marooned on a hostile planet—could persuade him to lower his standards.

The heat wavered in thick, rippling waves, and yet Peter sat immaculate, his linen trousers untouched by dust, grime, or the creeping dread curling at the edges of reality.

He lifted the toast toward his lips, prepared for the luxury of a bite, when— Scrabbling.

Soft. Imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t listening. A faint, almost instinctual sound. Dirt shifting. Small rocks tumbling. The suggestion of movement.

Peter froze. The toast hovered, suspended between indulgence and survival, as he tilted his head toward the edge of the ship. His sharp gaze narrowed. His hand lowered the toast with slow, deliberate precision onto a neatly folded napkin. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, brushed nonexistent dust from his trousers, and peered over the side.

Nothing. Just the dirt ramp, the heat waves, the small rocks still rolling a little too lazily, as if something—or someone—had climbed up. A muscle ticked in Peter’s jaw.

"This," he muttered under his breath, voice edged with his usual dry sarcasm, "now qualifies as the worst fun I’ve ever had. Stop it."

The wasteland offered no reply. The silence was thick, viscous, wrapping around him, pressing against his skin. The heat crackled off the ship’s hull, and suddenly, the toast and caviar felt obscenely misplaced.

Peter grabbed his war-pick—the ornate, polished relic, absurd in his hands, its weight foreign despite its promise of violence. He descended cautiously, every footstep deliberate, scanning the fractured shadows of the hull.

Still—nothing. His pulse was too fast. He did not like this.

“Leo?” Peter’s voice was low, edged with tension. "Oh, Leo… if this is one of your charming pranks—"

A voice rang out.

“What?”

Peter nearly dropped the war-pick. Leo’s voice was too casual, too far away. That meant—whatever had been up there with him, hadn’t been Leo. Cold certainty locked around Peter’s spine.

His tension sharpened into movement, feet carrying him faster now, deeper into the ship’s fractured belly, where he found Leo and Bindi, elbow-deep in a stubborn storage container, dirt streaking their faces. Both looked up, annoyed.

"Tell me that was you," Peter snapped, his grip tightening on the war-pick.

Leo’s brows furrowed. “Okay, sure, it was me. What’d I do now?”

"You’re assailing my fragile sense of security, that’s what,” Peter shot back. His voice cracked—just slightly—betraying his nerves.

Bindi straightened, her sharp gaze zeroing in. “He’s been right here, mate," she said, unimpressed. "What are you going on about?"

Peter opened his mouth, but— A shadow moved. A flicker across the fractured beams of sunlight slicing through the hull. The three of them froze. The air thickened, pressing in on all sides.

“Daku?” Bindi called, voice tight.

No response.

Leo darted to a narrow crack in the hull, pressing his face to the dusty glass. His breath fogged the surface as his gaze locked onto something.

Daku. Outside, hunched over the graves. Moving slow. Deliberate. Leo’s voice dropped to a whisper. His lips barely moved when he spoke the name they had all been avoiding.

"Jungkook."

Peter went rigid. The war-pick slipped in his sweaty grip. Bindi didn’t hesitate—she ripped the weapon from his hands in one clean motion, her body already moving, her muscles tensed like a spring waiting to snap. Leo followed, boomerang gripped like a lifeline.

The shadows deepened. The air grew heavier. And then—he appeared. Bindi swung first. Her aim was perfect—too perfect. The war-pick sliced through the air— and missed.

“No—!" Leo’s voice cracked. Panic ripped through him.

The man staggered back, arms raised defensively. Not Jungkook. Sunburned skin, blistered raw. A gaunt frame, weak, trembling. He clutched the lever of an emergency cryo-locker, his breath ragged, desperate.

"I thought—" he rasped, voice hoarse. Relief bloomed across his face. His eyes darted over them, hopeful, human, just a survivor—

The gunshot tore through the moment. Louder than the wind, louder than the sky. The bullet hit center mass. Blood sprayed across Bindi’s arm. The man’s body jerked, crumpled. His eyes went wide, confusion etched into his sunburned features before the light in them went out. A single breath. Then silence.

The group turned. Daku stood yards away, pistol still raised. His hands trembled. His chest rose and fell too fast.

"I thought it was him," Daku stammered. His voice cracked, unraveling. "The murdering ratbag. I thought—"

Leo’s face was ashen. His throat bobbed as he whispered, "He was just somebody else."

Daku’s gaze dropped. His hands fell limp at his sides. The pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering against the dirt. His knees buckled. His voice—wrecked, broken, crumbling.

“I thought it was him.”

And in the shadows behind the graves Jungkook watched. Still. Calculating. Amused. The goggles over his eyes caught the light, glinting. For a breath, he lingered, his gaze flicking to the breather strapped to Daku’s chest. Assessing. Weighing. Measuring. Then—like smoke he was gone. Leaving behind nothing. Just the echo of his presence and the weight of a mistake they could never take back.

The skiff crouched on the cracked earth like a carcass picked clean by time. Its fabric wings, once sleek and functional, hung in limp surrender, their edges frayed by wind and heat. The sand had already started reclaiming it, creeping up the landing gear, seeping into every exposed seam. Whatever this ship had been, whatever mission had left it here, was long over.

But it still had answers.

Y/N dropped from the cockpit, her boots crunching against the gritty surface below. She straightened, brushing sand off her hands, her mind already unraveling the mystery beneath the wreckage.

“No juice,” she called over her shoulder. Dead cells, fried circuits, a nest of corroded wiring—this thing hadn’t powered on in years.

Lee stood a few yards away, rifle slung over one shoulder in that lazy-but-ready way of his. He was watching her work, but also watching everything else.

“Controls are fried,” she continued, fingers running over the sun-bleached hull, searching. “Wiring’s a mess, but maybe we could adapt—”

“Shut up.”

Lee’s voice was sharp, cutting through her sentence like a blade. His hand came up, commanding silence. Y/N froze. Not because he had spoken—Lee was an ass, and abrupt orders weren’t new—but because of how he had said it.

His entire posture had shifted. The lazy stance was gone. His body was tight, coiled, head tilted slightly—like a wolf catching the scent of something just out of sight. Predator mode. Y/N’s stomach knotted.

“What?” she asked, voice low.

Lee didn’t answer immediately. His eyes swept the horizon, scanning the jagged rock formations, the dunes shifting lazily under the heat. The air around them felt wrong. Too still. Too heavy. Like the world itself had paused, waiting for something to happen. Y/N’s fingers drifted toward her knife, her pulse accelerating.

“Like my pistola,” Lee muttered.

Y/N frowned. He was hearing gunfire?

No—not gunfire. Something else. Before she could ask, the silence fractured. A sound—soft, metallic, deliberate. Like a latch being tested. Like steel on steel. Like someone was inside the skiff. Y/N’s grip tightened. She glanced at Lee. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He heard it too.

“From the ship?” she whispered.

“Maybe.” His voice was clipped, low. “Or it could be him.”

Jungkook. The name didn’t need to be spoken aloud—his presence was a constant shadow, thick and inescapable. Even when he wasn’t there, he was. A shiver traced down Y/N’s spine, but she swallowed it. Fear wouldn’t help. Answers would. Her focus snapped back to the skiff.

If she could find a serial number, a registry plate, even a manufacturer’s mark, she could start piecing this together. Where had it come from? Who left it here? And more importantly—what planet were they even on? She ran her hands over the hull, searching.

The paint was stripped, the weathering extreme, but beneath the peeling surface, she spotted a faint etching—small, almost invisible, tucked just beneath the intake vent.

Her pulse spiked. Identification markings. Y/N dropped to her knees, yanking out her multi-tool. The tip of the blade scraped carefully over the surface, clearing away grit and oxidation. There. Her brain moved fast.

“PT-221…” she whispered, deciphering the numbers as they appeared. A familiar format.

“This is a personnel transport skiff.”

Lee glanced toward her, but his focus was still half-outward, scanning the horizon. “That mean anything?”

Y/N exhaled hard, her mind racing.

“PT-series ships were manufactured in the Helion System. Specifically” —she brushed away more dirt—“On Prime. However, this one looks weird. An older model from Aguerra Prime or Earth. I'd sixty years, but there's a lot of copycat rebuilds out there. Depending on where we are, it's unlikely that anyone would leave a ship for sixty years with no plan of retrieving it.”

That meant something huge. If this skiff had been manufactured in the Helion System or any of the others that she mentioned, then it had originated from human-inhabited space. That meant they were somewhere mapped. Somewhere reachable. Which meant—they weren’t lost. Not completely.

“This is good, Lee,” she said, voice breathless with revelation. “If I can get into the onboard system—if the black box is still intact—we might be able to pull location logs. Nav data. Even a distress signal history.”

Lee wasn’t looking at her. His grip had shifted on his rifle, tighter. His jaw clenched. Y/N’s excitement fractured.

“Lee,” She barely whispered it.

He didn’t blink. His face was off. For a second, Y/N thought it was just the heat. The pale sheen on his forehead, the way his fingers flexed against the grip of his rifle—subtle signs of dehydration, maybe, or just the endless tension grinding them all down to bone. But then she really looked.

His breathing was wrong. Not labored, exactly, but uneven, like his body was reacting to something before his brain could catch up. His pupils looked a little blown, his skin too clammy for the dry heat pressing down on them. He was sweating, but not the normal kind. A slow, cold kind. Like someone had just ripped a secret out of his chest.

"Lee." Y/N’s voice dropped an octave, sharp with something she wasn’t sure she wanted to name. "What’s wrong?"

No answer. His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched, just once, against the trigger guard. Y/N’s stomach twisted. She barely had time to register it—to react, to decide if she should be worried or just pissed off—before Lee suddenly exhaled hard, shook himself like a man breaking out of a fog.

Then, just like that, his entire expression changed. The tension? Gone. The weird, distant look? Gone. He rolled his shoulders, blinked twice like shaking off a bad dream, then turned toward her with forced nonchalance.

“Sorry—what?” His voice was too normal, too casual, like he hadn’t just short-circuited mid-thought. “Say that again?”

Y/N stared at him. His breath was steadier now. His hand had relaxed on the rifle, no longer clenching like he was waiting for something to spring out of the dark.

But his skin still looked a little too pale under the sunburn. His lips pressed together too tightly. Like he knew she had clocked it. Like he was daring her to push the issue. Y/N narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, she rolled her eyes and turned back to the skiff. "Nothing important, Lee. Just, you know, information that might actually save our lives."

She dropped to her knees again, blade scraping against the etchings on the hull, scanning for anything else. Serial numbers, flight logs—hell, even a maintenance sticker would help. Something to tell her where the hell this thing had come from. Because if she could figure that out, then maybe she could figure out where the hell they were.

The grave site shimmered under the twin suns, the heat so thick it seemed to press against Daku’s chest with every breath. The ground cracked beneath his boots as he dragged the dead man’s body across the dirt, the sled groaning under the weight.

The sound was grating, a harsh scrape against the silence, but the world swallowed it whole. Daku was alone.

The shipwreck loomed behind him, just out of sight, the sun-tarp sagging under the oppressive weight of dead air. The shade did nothing. It just made the place feel more hollow.

He braced himself, hands on his knees, and tried to ignore the way his lungs felt like sandpaper. Sweat burned down his back, soaking into the fabric of his shirt, but he didn’t stop.

The grave wasn’t deep. Couldn’t be. The ground was fighting him, resisting every strike of the shovel like it didn’t want to give up its dead.

Then he saw it. Something in the dirt. Daku froze. Half-buried at the bottom of the shallow grave, nestled beneath the loose soil, was an opening. Not just a crack in the earth. Not a burrow. Something else. Too smooth. Too deliberate.

He knelt, breath hitching, his fingers brushing over the edges of the hole. The walls were lined with something fibrous, a texture that wasn’t quite plant, wasn’t quite animal. Dried husks, webbed together in intricate layers. Organic, but wrong.

His stomach twisted. He reached for the handlight clipped to his belt, flicking it on. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating the tunnel’s slope.

The walls reflected faintly. Not like rock, not like dirt—something else. Something that almost looked wet. Then the smell hit him. Acrid. Chemical. Like something had been burned too clean, stripped too sterile.

Daku tilted the light. The tunnel curved downward, disappearing into a place the light couldn’t reach. And then—it moved. Not the tunnel. Something inside it. A ripple. Small at first. Then again. Daku’s heart slammed against his ribs. At first, it looked like shadow, just the way the light played against the uneven walls.

But then he realized it wasn’t the light moving It was something in the dark. Something that was watching him. Then it lunged.

The edges of the burrow split apart with a wet, tearing sound. Like flesh peeling open. A tendril shot out, fast—too fast. It wrapped around Daku’s wrist, cold, slick, unnervingly strong. Panic detonated through him.

He yanked back instinctively, but the thing was stronger. Its grip tightened, pulling him toward the tunnel. Daku screamed. His free hand fumbled for his pistol, but his fingers couldn’t get a grip. The thing’s skin—if you could call it that—was slick, shifting, like oil trying to hold a shape.

Finally, his hand closed around the gun. He fired. The shot shattered the silence. The muzzle flash lit up the hole for a split second, and in that moment, Daku saw it.

Not just a tendril. Not just something reaching. A mass. It was writhing, growing, expanding from the darkness. Daku fired again, his pulse a drumbeat in his skull. The tendril spasmed, rippling like disturbed water. The grip loosened.

Back at the ship, Peter flinched so hard the toast point in his hand toppled, caviar-first, onto the dusty hull. He stared at it. Then at the horizon. Then back at the toast. Then back at the horizon. His mind scrambled for an answer that didn’t exist.

Leo’s head snapped up, boomerang held tight, his knuckles bloodless against the grip.

“That was a gunshot,” he whispered. Like they needed the reminder.

Bindi didn’t hesitate. She dropped into a crouch, war-pick in hand, her eyes locked onto the grave site. Something had happened. Something bad.

Peter scrambled down the side of the ship, his usual swagger gone.

“Tell me that wasn’t just me,” he said, voice pitched too high. “You heard it, right? I’m not going mad?”

Bindi didn’t even look at him. Her focus was all horizon, all muscle, her expression unreadable.

“Course I bloody heard it.” Her voice was clipped, sharp. “The question is, what are we gonna do about it?”

Leo swallowed hard. “That was Daku, wasn’t it?” His voice cracked. “It has to be him.”

Bindi’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t assume.” Her voice was hard, commanding, no room for argument. She rose from her crouch, grip shifting on the war-pick. “Could be anything,” she said. “Or anyone.” A beat. “We stay sharp.”

Leo’s green eyes flickered with something raw. His grip tightened.

“If it wasn’t him…” His voice was barely audible now. “…Then what?”

Peter opened his mouth, ready to quip, ready to deflect—but the look in Bindi’s eyes stopped him cold. She wasn’t joking. This was real.

He shifted uncomfortably, licking his lips, eyes darting toward the ship. “I’m just saying… maybe we think before running headlong into—” He gestured vaguely. “Whatever that was.”

Bindi cut him off.

“Stay here.” Leo flinched, but Bindi didn’t soften. “If anything moves that isn’t me or Daku,” she said, “you scream like the world’s ending.”

Peter opened his mouth again, but she was already moving, slipping toward the gravesite, war-pick held ready. Leo and Peter watched her go. The heat rippled around her, warping the horizon into something unreal.

Leo exhaled sharply, crouching beside Peter, boomerang in a death grip. “…Do you think it’s him?”

Peter didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His gaze was locked on the grave site. Because something was wrong. He could feel it. Finally, he swallowed, dragging a hand down his face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He glanced toward the horizon, his brow furrowing. “But whatever it is…” His voice dropped. “…It’s close. Too close.”

The second gunshot shattered the graveyard’s silence, the sharp crack tearing through the thick, suffocating heat. The bullet found its mark.

A tendril snapped apart in midair, black ichor spraying outward in a violent arc, sizzling where it struck the dry earth. The air reeked instantly—something acidic, chemical, a stench that clung to the back of Daku’s throat, making his eyes water.

But the thing didn’t stop. The next tendril lashed out, wrapping around his calf before he could react. Then it pulled.

Daku hit the ground hard, his back slamming against the dirt with a dull thud. His breath ripped from his lungs, the wind knocked out of him as he slid toward the gaping burrow.

The thing wasn’t just strong. It was fast. He aimed blind—fired blind, his pistol flashing bright in the gloom. The muzzle flare lit up the nightmare for half a second.

A tangle of limbs. Writhing. Folding in on itself. Not solid. Not liquid. Something in between. The bullets tore through it, but it didn’t bleed right. It shuddered—jerked, rippled like disturbed water—but the tendrils kept coming.

One sliced across his chest, razor-thin but unforgiving, carving deep into his skin. Daku gritted his teeth against the pain, his vision blurring at the edges. His free hand scrambled for purchase, fingers clawing at the dirt, but the earth beneath him was giving way.

The grave was getting deeper. Or maybe he was just getting pulled in. His boots dug into the edge, small rocks tumbling down into the void below. Daku kept shooting, kept fighting, even as his grip weakened.

Another shot. Then—something different. One bullet hit deep. Not just flesh. Something inside it. The thing jerked back for a split second, a violent convulsion rolling through its mass.

Daku felt a spark of hope. But hope never lasted long on this planet. The creature lurched forward with renewed fury, its remaining tendrils snapping around his arms, his waist, his throat.

Everything constricted at once. His lungs spasmed. His vision narrowed. The last scream he tried to release died before it even left his throat.

His gun slipped from his fingers, tumbling into the abyss. Daku was going under. The ground crumbled beneath him. His boots skidded, slipped- Then he was gone. Yanked down. Swallowed whole.

The grave collapsed inward. The dirt settled. The sled sat untouched, its cargo neatly stacked, as if nothing had happened at all.

Overhead, the twin suns burned on. Their heat didn’t care. Their light reached everywhere. Except down there.

Deep in the burrow’s black throat, something shifted. The sound was wet, sickly, like flesh being pulled apart and put back together again. The darkness pressed down, thick and suffocating, as something dragged itself deeper. The creature retreated, its tendrils folding inward, pulling Daku’s motionless body into the abyss.

Deeper. Deeper. The light from the surface faded to nothing. The planet consumed him whole. And the silence that followed was final.

The ground burned through Bindi’s boots, the heat relentless, but she didn’t feel it. She sprinted across the packed, unforgiving earth, her breath tearing from her throat in ragged gasps. The twin suns bore down, their light merciless, the air thick and smothering, clinging to her skin like a second, unwelcome layer.

The makeshift sun-tarp came into view, its edges flapping against the crooked poles, the sound barely a whisper over the thunder in her chest.

She felt it before she saw it. Something was wrong. Bindi skidded to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust. The world tilted slightly, her stomach dropping as she yanked the fabric aside—

And froze. Jungkook was standing there. Still. Silent. Waiting.

He was on the far side of the grave, body eerily relaxed, one hand hanging loosely at his side. In it, a bone-shiv. The blade gleamed faintly, catching the light in a way that shouldn’t have felt threatening—but did.

He didn’t flinch at her arrival. Didn’t step back. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, the slight tilt of his head the only indication that he even acknowledged her presence.

His goggles hid his eyes, but Bindi felt them—felt the weight of his stare like a blade against her ribs. Her gaze dropped and her lungs locked. The grave was empty.

The sled overturned, its contents scattered across the dirt like the remnants of a struggle. Blood smeared the earth, thick, dark, soaking into the fractured ground.

And at the bottom of the pit, something worse. A hole. No—a burrow.

Its edges weren’t normal, weren’t clean or mechanical or natural. The fibrous lining trembled, quivering like raw nerve endings, as if the planet itself had breathed a wound open.

Bindi’s body went cold, even as sweat stung her eyes.

She saw it then- Daku’s boot. Just the boot. Lying a few inches from the grave’s edge. Torn. Scuffed. One lace half-untied, like he’d been dragged right out of it.

Her scream tore through the air. "Daku!" Her voice broke, raw, desperate. "DAKU!" The grave swallowed the sound.

Jungkook still hadn’t moved. The silence around him was louder than her cries, pressing down like a living thing.

Bindi’s hand tightened around the war-pick, both hands now clutching it as though it could anchor her, keep her from falling into the same void. Her chest heaved, her throat aching from the scream, but her rage cut through the fear like a blade through flesh.

Her voice shook, but her fury didn’t. "What did you do?"

Jungkook tilted his head, lips barely twitching. A smirk. Or maybe not. Maybe just a reflex, something almost human, but Bindi knew better. He didn’t answer. Didn’t even acknowledge the accusation.

Her gaze snapped back to the grave—the blood, the torn earth, the quivering maw of the burrow. Something else had been here. Something alive. Something that wasn’t Jungkook.

Her breath hitched, the pieces snapping together in her mind with the speed of pure, visceral instinct. "What is down there?"

It wasn’t a question for him—it was a question for herself. Jungkook finally spoke, his voice low, measured, almost curious.

"Not me."

The words crawled under her skin. Her legs weakened. The hole at the bottom of the grave pulsed faintly. Bindi felt it. Like it was waiting.

Jungkook flicked his head toward the burrow—a gesture so small, so deliberate, it made her stomach lurch. He wasn’t explaining himself. He was telling her to look. Telling her to understand.

Her fingers tightened around the war-pick’s handle. And then—she broke. Her scream ripped from her throat, raw and violent.

"Liar!"

The word shook the air. Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it. He just turned. His body moved fluidly, like an animal slipping back into the shadows, a creature untouched by morality, by fear, by regret. And he walked away.

Bindi stood there, breathing hard, hands shaking, staring at the grave like it might come alive beneath her feet. It already had. And whatever had taken Daku was still there.

Waiting. Watching. Hungry. Her chest heaved, her grip white-knuckled on the war-pick. The silence returned, heavier now, an oppressive weight of knowing. And she thought, for the first time, that maybe the real question wasn’t what happened to Daku. Maybe the real question was— How much time did they have left before it came back for them too?

Jungkook ran.

His body moved like liquid through rock, weaving through the towering spires that clawed at the sky like the fossilized ribs of some ancient, long-dead colossus. The terrain twisted violently, sharp-edged canyons and jagged drops designed to kill the unskilled, but Jungkook flowed through them without hesitation. Every step was measured, every movement deliberate, his muscles adjusting instinctively to the unpredictable ground beneath him.

The planet breathed heat and silence, thick and watchful, as if the land itself was waiting for the inevitable collision between predator and prey.

The boots behind him never stopped. Lee was close. His footsteps were methodical, unhurried despite the speed, a hunter keeping his quarry exactly where he wanted it. Then—

CRACK.

A gunshot split the air, shattering the fragile quiet. Jungkook felt it before he registered the pain—a sharp, white-hot kiss slicing across his shoulder. The impact sent him off balance, his body crashing into the ground in a violent sprawl.

Dust exploded around him, thick and blinding. He tumbled, skidding hard, his skin tearing against the brutal terrain. His lungs seized, inhaling grit as his momentum carried him forward—too fast, too out of control—until his body came to a bone-rattling stop.

Jungkook braced, muscles tensed to spring back up, keep moving, keep running— He never got the chance.

A boot slammed onto the back of his neck. Hard. Hard enough to rattle his teeth. The force drove him down, his face pressing into the burning dirt, the rough grit scraping against his cheek. His fingers twitched, instinct clawing at his spine, screaming at him to fight, fight, fight, but the weight was unrelenting.

Lee. Jungkook didn’t need to look. Didn’t need to see the satisfied smirk he knew was on the bastard’s face. Didn’t need to hear his smug, infuriating drawl to know exactly what was coming next.

“Same crap, different planet, huh?”

Jungkook’s breath came shallow and steady, his muscles coiled like a trap waiting to spring. The heat of the twin suns pressed against his exposed skin, but it wasn’t what burned.

Lee leaned in, his boot grinding just a little harder against Jungkook’s spine. “You’re fast. I’ll give you that.” A casual chuckle, like they were discussing the weather and not locked in a decades-long, vicious game of hunt-or-be-hunted. “But you should’ve figured it out by now—” He bent closer, his breath warm against the back of Jungkook’s neck. “You can’t outrun me.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his breath still even, controlled. Lee wasn’t invincible. No one was.

Lee shifted slightly, his shotgun gleaming in the sunlight, still pointed directly at Jungkook’s skull. “I’ll admit,” he continued, his voice dropping to something almost amused, “for a second there, you almost had me. Thought you might actually make it.” A pause. A beat of silence, stretching taut. “But here we are.” Lee sighed dramatically, pressing just a little more weight into his hold. “Same story, different setting.”

Jungkook’s fingers twitched against the dirt. His mind moved faster than his body, calculating every shift in weight, every possible angle to escape. Lee was underestimating him. Not enough to be careless—not yet—but enough to assume this was over.

Jungkook tested the pressure against his neck, shifting just slightly. Lee noticed. The boot pressed down. Hard.

“Don’t,” Lee warned, voice dropping into a growl.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, forcing his body to still, to wait, to let Lee think he’d won. His lips twitched. A fraction of a smile. Lee’s grip on the gun tightened, the movement subtle—a hunter sensing the shift in the air, the moment before a predator strikes.

He leaned down, close enough that Jungkook could feel the smirk in his voice. “Go on,” he whispered. His breath was warm. His tone was taunting. “Try something. I dare you.”

Jungkook’s body went still. Too still. The silence stretched unnatural and tight, buzzing with something unspoken, unreadable. Lee frowned slightly. Jungkook smiled.

By the time Y/N and the Chrislams stumbled back into the settlement, the twin suns hung low and merciless, stretching shadows across the cracked earth like skeletal fingers reaching for something they could never quite grasp.

And then she saw him. Jungkook. Sprawled in the dirt. His wrists shackled, his body wrecked.

One lens of his goggles was shattered, exposing the swollen ruin of his right eye, a bruise blooming deep and dark beneath the glass. Blood caked his face, dried in jagged streaks along his jaw, pooling at the corner of his split lip. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths—the kind that meant he was keeping himself from making a sound, from showing weakness.

The dirt beneath him was stained with sweat and blood, mixing into the dust like he was being absorbed into the planet itself. And standing over him, fists still trembling, was Lee.

His knuckles were raw, his breathing sharp, his entire body locked tight like a spring stretched too far, too long. He wasn’t gloating. He wasn’t even speaking. Just watching. Waiting. Y/N felt the violence in the air before she heard it.

Lee’s voice came low and razor-sharp. "I don’t play that." His fists clenched again, his jaw tightening like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will. "I don’t play that, so just try again." His breath was heavy, sharp, every word weighted with rage barely kept in check. “C’mon, Jungkook. Tell me a better lie.”

Y/N moved without thinking. She grabbed Lee’s arm, yanking him back hard. "Ease up!" she snapped, her voice slicing through the oppressive silence. The moment her hand connected, she felt how hot he was—burning with anger, with exertion. His pulse hammered beneath his skin, barely contained.

Lee didn’t turn to her. Didn’t move. And then—Bindi screamed. It was raw, guttural, the kind of sound that didn’t just come from the throat—it came from the bones, from the marrow, from something breaking inside.

She lunged.

Her fist hit Jungkook’s jaw so hard his head snapped sideways, blood spattering from his already-battered lip. His body didn’t even flinch, like he had already been beaten past the point of feeling it. Y/N reacted instantly, throwing herself between them, shoving Bindi back with both hands.

“Bindi! Stop!” she shouted, struggling to hold her back.

Bindi fought against her grip, her whole body shaking, tears streaking clean paths through the dirt on her face.

"You bloody sick animal!" she screamed, her voice splintering. "What’dja do with my Daku?"

Jungkook didn’t answer. Didn’t even lift his head. His expression was eerily blank, his face tilted just enough that one shattered lens reflected the fading light like a dying star. Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She turned to Lee, eyes blazing. “Where’s Daku?” she demanded. “What the hell happened out here?”

Lee finally looked at her. His expression was unreadable—too tight, too locked down. His fists unclenched slowly, like it was taking all his effort not to hit something else. With a sharp nod, he gestured toward Jungkook.

“Ask him.”

Y/N dropped to a crouch beside Jungkook, her voice shifting—softer, but no less urgent.

“Jungkook,” she said, staring at the wreck of his face, at the mess of blood and sweat and silence. “What happened to Daku?”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His chest rose and fell, slow and even, like he was holding on to the only thing he could still control. Then, finally—he lifted his head. His cracked lips parted. But all that came out was a rasping sound. Low. Broken. Like the faint whisper of someone who had screamed themselves hoarse.

His eyes flicked to the horizon. To the jagged spires looming in the distance. Then back to her. His lips moved again. A single word, barely audible.

"Gone."

The world tilted. Bindi let out a choked sob, her legs buckling as she sank to the dirt. Lee’s jaw locked, his knuckles going white as his fingers tightened on the stock of his rifle. Y/N’s stomach plummeted. The weight of Jungkook’s answer pressed down on all of them, thick as smoke, suffocating.

She swallowed hard. Forced the words out. "Gone where? What do you mean gone?"

But Jungkook didn’t answer. His head tipped forward, his chin resting against his chest, his entire body folding in on itself like the fight had finally bled out. Like there was nothing left. Like he had already decided—whatever happened next wasn’t up to him anymore.

Y/N and Lee stood at the edge of the grave, their shadows stretching long over the ruined earth. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, the kind that only came after something had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong.

The scene was a crime scene without a body, a massacre without a corpse. Blood streaked the dirt in wild, erratic patterns, like the desperate brushstrokes of a painter losing control. The grave itself was a wreck, its edges collapsed inward, as if the ground had been alive when it happened, twisting, convulsing, devouring.

Nearby, Daku’s sled lay overturned, its contents scattered across the dirt—a mess of supplies, tangled cables, a crushed water jug. A single boot, scuffed and worn, sat half-buried in the dust, the laces flapping lazily in the wind. But Daku was gone.

Not a body. Not a single trace of him. Just this. This wreckage of struggle and silence. At the bottom of the grave, the hole yawned open, its edges lined with something fibrous and strange, something that looked almost… organic. It pulsed faintly in the breeze, like the twitch of a dying thing.

Y/N swallowed hard. It didn’t look natural. Nothing about this looked natural.

Beside her, Lee crouched, his sharp eyes scanning the ground like he was reading a language only he understood. In his hands, the bone-shiv gleamed, its smooth, curved edge catching the last slivers of dying sunlight. He turned it slowly, letting the light skim its surface, watching how it reflected in sharp, fleeting flashes.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “He used that?” she asked, her voice low but tight. She didn’t know what answer she wanted.

Lee didn’t look up. Just kept turning the shiv over, like it was some kind of sacred artifact. “Sir Shiv-a-Lot,” he muttered, dry and detached. “He likes to cut.”

The words settled like poison in her gut.

“So why isn’t it bloody?” she pressed, her voice sharper now, her eyes flicking between the blade and Lee’s unreadable face. “If Jungkook did this—if he killed Daku—then where’s the blood?”

Finally, Lee looked at her. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth, but there was no humor in it—just something cold and bitter, something dark sitting behind his eyes.

“Maybe he licked it clean.”

The joke hit like a slap. Unwanted. Cruel. Y/N recoiled slightly, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge the thought. She turned away from the grave, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, her breath uneven. The wind picked up, whipping dust around them, as if the planet itself was shifting, restless.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. “None of this does.”

Lee stood, brushing the dirt from his hands, slipping the shiv into his belt. He glanced down at the grave one last time, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark.

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” he said, his tone flat, emotionless. He turned to her, his silhouette washed out against the light. “It’s just supposed to scare the hell out of you.”

The cabin felt too small. Too damn small. The walls creaked, thick with heat and the weight of unspoken things. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and the faint, metallic tang of rusted iron—or maybe that was just him.

Jungkook was slumped against the wall, his shackled hands resting lazily in his lap. His dark hair was damp with sweat, half-hiding the wreck of his face. One lens of his goggles was shattered, exposing a swollen eye already blooming in shades of deep purple and red. Blood stained the cut of his jaw, a slow, sluggish trickle from his split lip. He looked like hell.

But he looked at her. And that was what made Y/N hesitate for half a breath too long. She stormed in, boots hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the metal beneath them. She was pissed. But more than that—she wanted answers.

“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the thick, suffocating air.

Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but his stillness was a lie. The tension was there, coiled beneath the surface like a blade waiting to strike.

“I’m serious,” she pressed, stepping closer, her fists clenching. “You told them you heard something right before it happened. What was it?” Her jaw tightened. “Talk, or I’ll let Lee finish what he started.”

Something dark flickered across Jungkook’s face—a twitch of amusement, a shadow of something cruel. And then, in a voice roughened by exhaustion and something else, something deeper, he rasped,

“You mean the whispers?”

Y/N frowned. “What whispers?”

Jungkook’s busted lip curled into something feral. Dangerous. Amused.

“The ones that tell you where to cut,” he murmured. His voice was so casual it made her skin crawl. “Left of the spine. Fourth lumbar down. That’s the sweet spot.” He smiled, slow and lazy, like a man reciting a bedtime story. “Gusher. Every time.”

Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t look away. Didn’t let him see that he’d rattled her. Because that’s what he wanted.

“Stop it,” she snapped. “Just stop.”

Jungkook didn’t. He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded like this was all one big joke. “Metallic taste, you know.” His voice was silk stretched thin over barbed wire. “Human blood. Coppery. But add a little peppermint schnapps…” He dragged his tongue over his split lip, smirking when her expression didn’t change. “Almost palatable.”

Y/N clenched her teeth. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the sweat and iron on his skin. He was playing with her. She wasn’t in the mood.

“Why don’t we skip the theatrics and try the truth?” she said coldly.

For a moment, Jungkook just watched her. His smirk softened—not gone, but different now. Something quieter. Something that almost looked like… regret.

“You’re all so scared of me,” he said softly. “Most days, I’d call that a compliment.” His voice was low, nearly lost to the hum of the ship. “But today…” His jaw ticked, his fingers flexing against the cuffs around his wrists. “Today, I’m not the monster you need to be worried about.”

Something in her chest pulled tight.

She took a step closer. “Take off the goggles.”

Jungkook went still. “No.”

Y/N didn’t wait for permission. She reached out and yanked them from his face, snapping the broken strap with a sharp crack. The goggles hit the floor.

Jungkook flinched, like she’d stripped away something vital. Then his eyes opened. Y/N froze.

His pupils were wide, swallowing the dim light. But it was the color that stopped her breath. A ring of shifting hues, flickering between deep emerald and burning amethyst, like oil-slicked glass catching fire. It was mesmerizing. Unnatural. Beautiful.

Her voice came out lower than she expected. “You did this to yourself?”

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh. “Slam doctor.” He tilted his head. “That’s what we called him.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ve heard about it. Never seen it.”

“Lucky you.”

His lips curled, but the smirk didn’t reach those strange, hypnotic eyes. “You’re locked in max-slam. Barely any light. Your eyes feel like they’re burning out of your skull.” He flicked a glance toward the slats of light bleeding through the metal walls. “Some back-alley butcher says, ‘Hey, I can fix that.’” His voice dropped, mocking. “And then you end up here. Three suns frying you alive. Makes you wish for the dark.”

Y/N folded her arms. “You think this is funny?”

Jungkook’s smirk sharpened. “You gotta laugh, sweetheart. Otherwise, you cry. And crying makes you thirsty.” He tapped his temple with one shackled finger. “Pro tip for desert living.”

Y/N let out a slow breath. “You killed before. You don’t deny that. But this one? Daku? You expect me to believe you didn’t?”

Jungkook went still. For a fraction of a second, something cracked in his expression. Then, it was gone—buried beneath that infuriating smirk.

“No, ma’am,” he said smoothly. “Not this time.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Then where is he?”

Jungkook leaned forward, just enough for the heat between them to become noticeable. The chains at his wrists rattled softly, but his focus was all on her. “Look deeper,” he murmured.

The way he said it—low, deliberate, dripping with something she didn’t like—sent a cold, involuntary shiver down her spine.

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head, studying her like he was measuring how much she could take before she broke. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper—a voice that sent her stomach twisting with something she didn’t want to name—he said, “Wrong questions.”

She swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?”

Jungkook sat back, his expression unreadable. Deadly.

“Daku ain’t the only one who’s not where he’s supposed to be,” he said softly. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

A chill slid down her spine. His words settled in her chest like a loaded gun.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “What are you saying?”

Jungkook tilted his head, his bruised lips curling slightly. “You’ll see.” His voice was calm, certain, almost amused. And then—softer, darker, almost like a promise: “And when you do? You’ll wish you hadn’t.”

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