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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

17 going on 27

summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken. pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england w/c; 22.6k a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t!

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March 19th, 2011

Thirty, flirty, and thriving!

You finger the dog-eared magazine, last month’s issue of a shoddy fashion magazine that featured top actress Jennifer Garner on the front cover. Her caramel brown highlights practically glow on the page, blown out and beautiful. You suppress a sigh, you long to be the radiant young woman on the cover. The headline is glittery, sparkly and just begging for attention.

Swiping a hand through the pages, your eyes are crowded with over-stimulation. Colorful models dressed up in the latest designs, Chanel and Burberry suits you can only dream of, and happy women at the prime of their lives.

Twenty-seven and in Heaven! You smile wryly at the cheesy rhyme that headlines the following pages, but nevertheless the happy model on the spread does indeed look like they’re in heaven.

Sure, you’re no shrinking violet. Heck, you don’t even consider yourself painfully average. You may not be on the traditional spectrum of popularity in high school, but you get around and have a wonderful best friend and an even better boyfriend. However given the social classes that preside, you do get those moments where you second guess your life’s position. Good thing high school has an expiration date, and you’re close to the end.

“Baby Bun, what are you doing?” the magazine is snatched from your grasp, thrown on the table without a care in the world. Jennifer Garner’s hydro-whitened smile gleams tauntingly at you, “reading that junk is gonna mess with your head.”

Your boyfriend returns from his final suit fitting, his outfit for tonight all pressed and ready to go. He pouts at you, pulling you up by the hand to lead you out of the Men’s Warehouse. Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the lacrosse team, flying by high school with a sports scholarship already in the bag. Eats up attention like plants soak up the sun. Secretly loves taking photographs of his dog and watching Netflix animes at your house.

“Aren’t you excited for prom?”

“Excited to listen to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem on repeat?” you guaff, “as if.”

He pinches your arm lightly, “You also forget that we’re gonna tear up the floor to Nicki Minaj’s Superbass.”

You shrug listlessly, crunching the white plastic closer to your body.

Before you can suck all the air out of the garment bag, Jungkook carefully extracts it from your grasp, easily holding it between his one arm so he can thread his other hand through yours. “I am excited! It’s just that… Jimin’s not gonna be there and we’re sitting with the Yearbook committee.”

Looking down at the floor you extract your hand from his, slipping into his parent’s Honda Civic. The yearbook committee, meaning you’d be sitting at a table with head editor Jennie and her group of friends. Friends that are popular and pretty, just like Jungkook.

Jimin is currently on a flight back from Korea due to a family funeral, therefore leaving a seat empty at your prom table. It was only seat that you cared about, other than Jungkook’s. It’s no one’s fault and Jimin of course is doubly upset to miss prom, but without your best friend you’re not sure if you can survive the night.

One of the few secrets you keep from Jungkook is the fact that Jennie and you aren’t exactly friendly to each other. You don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t run the in same friend group or you always win the debate in Civics class, but Jennie clearly expresses her dislike for you as easily as she expresses her love for Jungkook.

Which makes you incredibly insecure, but Jennie and Jungkook have been friends for longer than you and him have been together, who are you to intervene?

Jungkook slips in the driver’s seat, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Right. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend, and that should matter more than his friendship with Jennie.

But the smell of his freshly cleaned lacrosse jersey, his duffle bag overflowing with protein powder and unfinished assignments remind you that you have your world and he has his. A conversation about your insecurities could wait until tomorrow.

“When’s Jimin’s flight?” Jungkook asks, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping on your thigh as he pulls out.

“He’ll be back two hours into the dance,” you report, albeit glumly as you rest your head against the cool window.

“That sucks,” Jungkook replies, a bit of sadness in his tone, “he has to miss out on his prom night.”

You shrug, “Prom isn’t everything, it’s about the people you spend it with.”

“Well then,” he squeezes your thigh, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”

You only have a few hours to get ready until you meet Jungkook at his house for pictures, so when you get dropped off, you tell him that he doesn’t have to get out of the car to escort you into your home. But Jungkook is insistent, putting the car in park and getting out your dress for you with such delicacy that you’re positively sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. Taking the dress from his grasp you wish him goodbye and a promise to meet each other later.

“Wait,” Jungkook is biting his lip, unable to let go of your hand even though you’re already up the stairs. You’re looking down at him, a rarity considering his tall frame.

“What’s wrong, Kook?”

“Uh, I was just thinking,” he’s scratching the back of his head, and you soften. The little quirk he has is a sign of insecurity, being the star player Jungkook is forced to exude confidence to a fault. “Maybe, we could skip the prom thing? You said so yourself that prom is about the people you spend it with.”

Your eyes widen, clutching your dress tighter. “What? Jungkook, that’s ridiculous. Between the both of us we’ve spent a lot of money on the clothes and the tickets.”

“Right,” he forces a laugh, and you put a hand on your hip to think it out but you can’t quite place what’s going on. “Sorry Bun, I just know how the finale of our favorite anime airs tonight.”

“You’re so silly,” you chastise, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Normally he hates it, but you can’t help but melt when he leans into your touch a little more. “C’mon, I know suits are stuffy and stuff, but let’s just do this high school rite of passage thing. Afterwards we can go to McDonalds or something and watch the recording.”

“You’re right,” his face is red, “what was I thinking? Can’t miss out on a night to see my beautiful girlfriend all dressed up.”

He squeezes your hand one last time, a little too tight for comfort. With a half smile he waves, going into his car and driving off.

You don’t have time to dwell on his weirdness (and trust when you say that Jungkook is plenty weird and it astounds you how the rest of your class has no idea) so you fly up to your room to get your hair and makeup ready. Your parents greet you excitedly along the way, telling you there’s a package left for you on your vanity.

It’s a plain cardboard box, already cut and unwrapped by your parents for convenience. The address shows it came from Korea, proudly displaying the name of your best friend on the return address. Inside is a beautiful compact, made of brushed gold and pink metal. The makeup inside is a loose glitter from a brand that you don’t recognize, but since it’s a gift from Jimin, you trust his taste.

I have to be at prom somehow, Jimin’s note on the box reads, don’t overthink and have fun!

You snort, reading the sticky note over and over in Jimin’s voice. Looking over the shade, you can’t help but grimace at the cliché name. Wishing Dust. The color is a little too white and silvery for your taste, but you’ll wear it in honor of Jimin.

The dress, the hair, the makeup all come together little by little. You like the ritual of getting ready, building yourself up to the highest order and feeling closer and closer to the beautiful women in magazines. Surprisingly, your favorite part of getting ready is applying the glitter that Jimin gifted you. The puff enclosed is cloud soft, and surprisingly the color doesn’t look too ashen on your skin. The glitter sinks into your skin like a soft butter, accentuating your collarbones and cheeks as if you are glowing from within.

You smile at yourself in the mirror. A little part of you wishes you could look like this everyday. You wish you could always look and feel this confident, and act mature and graceful.

A buzzing on your desk stops your wishful thinking, and you frown at the message that lights up your phone.

Jungkook: sorry bun, but the civic finally broke down and its on its way to car heaven. Could we meet at the party hall instead? We can take pictures there, jennie mentioned yearbook hired a photographer

Disheartened, you send a quick text back saying it’s fine. Any more explanation on your feelings would reveal your disappointment. You don’t know how you’re going to tell your parents that they won’t be taking pictures with your boyfriend anytime soon. So you suck it in and take solo pictures for your parents and some group selfies. This is just one bump in the night, the rest of it should be smooth sailing.

But when your parents drop you off at the venue your eyes first land on a beat up Honda Civic. You’re pretty sure car heaven isn’t at the prom.

The rest of your entrance is a blur as you go through every corner of the venue, searching for your boyfriend. You’re clutching his matching flower in your hand, a beautiful red rose with baby’s breath circling around it, all clutched together in a black silk ribbon. You wonder what kind of flower he bought you.

But it’s nearly impossible to find him. Not at the photobooth, the appetizer buffet, or in the lobby. It’s not until you’re sweating at the brow and nearing the corner of the venue that you do find him.

Lips locked, kissing Jennie.

The plastic encasing Jungkook’s boutonniere drops, clanging to the ground.

Whispers of you circle the air, meeting your ears and confirming all your insecurities.

“Oh my god, I knew Jungkook was cheating on her!”

“Wow, how pathetic. She ran all the way to prom alone to see this?”

“I thought his girlfriend was a smart girl. How did she not know that their relationship was a bet all along?”

Jungkook and Jennie are on the balcony, looking picture perfect in matching formal attire and flowers. The sun is setting, not taking its time as it sinks deeper and deeper into the horizon. The sky darkens and the air is chilly, much like your heart.

Jungkook's eyes are wide and in shock as he watches you from the balcony, but Jennie’s are sharp and satisfied. Satisfied, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated.

While you can’t hear him because he’s so far away, you can see the ghost of your name on his lips. Your ears are ringing, numb to the laughter of the students watching and the pity that others are throwing at you. You feel dumb. You feel like throwing up. In a bout of anger your heel digs into the plastic of the boutonniere, crushing the innocent rose in its clear coffin.

You don’t make it far out the door when one of your favorite teachers snatches you in concern.

“Honey, any further and you’ll be running on the highway," Mrs. Song jokes, pulling you away from the entrance.

You feel like a newborn deer in your heels and incredibly heavy in your dress as Mrs. Song drags you over to a staff bathroom. It's far, far away from the actual party. Mrs. Song doesn't say anything, and just gives you a sad smile as she let's you go into the single stall alone.

Sitting on the toilet and not giving a care that your dress is probably getting soiled, you bury your face in your hands and finally let the tears flow. Fat, frustrated tears roll down your cheeks without a care in the world.

"Mrs. Song please, I need to get in there."

"Now Jungkook, I think you've done enough for today. Go back to the party and don't worry about it."

You can imagine Jungkook now, he hated it when people told him not to worry. It only made him more annoyed, fists probably clenched under his perfectly tailored suit and his cute teeth uncharacteristically gritted. He cared to a fault, at least you thought he did. He ruined your night, he made you feel so dumb and silly.

But the longer you stayed in the dim bathroom, you could care less. Thank goodness for Mrs. Song guarding the door. Why would he bother to follow you? It turns out all your insecurities are not in vain, and that you’ve been ignoring a gut feeling you’ve mistaken for your lack of trust. You shouldn’t have trusted Jungkook. You shouldn’t have been so tolerable of Jennie.

Goodness, you feel so stupid. You hope that there are other bathrooms for staff to use, because you want to coop yourself in here until the last dance. Mascara drips on your sleeves, your hands swiping at your cheeks to stop any tears from staining your dress even further.

The more you hear Jungkook and Mrs. Song argue, the more you want to disappear. You bury yourself on the floor, uncaring of how dirty the tiles are. Glitter smears across your cheeks and sticks to your hands, and you no longer feel like the thriving young adult you once felt when you walked out the door this evening.

All you can do is cry and pray you can get through the night. And the next day, and the rest of senior year. You don’t want to see Jungkook or Jennie until graduation, when they walk out of the door and permanently out of your life. You wish you could skip the rest of the semester, and fastforward to the life you’ve carved for yourself in your dreams since freshman year. You wish you could be like the woman on the magazine, who has her whole life put together. To be a woman who holds all the confidence in the world and doesn’t have to worry about stupid men.

Just like the cover. Thirty, flirty and thriving. Just like the models in the magazines. Twenty-seven and in heaven.

Just once, do you want to taste the feeling of having life on your side.

March 20st, 2021

Your first thought is that you feel disgusting.

Of course, falling asleep in a random bathroom stall will make you feel those things. Your dress clinging uncomfortably to your sweating form, lulled to the sounds of Mrs. Song’s temperamental voice and Jungkook’s arguing.

But for some reason it’s a different kind of disgusting. The feeling is rotting in your throat, as if there’s a tang stuck to the roof of your mouth. You also feel impossibly dehydrated, as if you’ve run a marathon. And for some reason you’re sore? Especially in the crotch, and you don’t remember experiencing any cramps yesterday.

Your hands come to your body, and instead of feeling tulle and taffeta your hands are greeted with a silky black negligee that hangs across your waist. Panic stings in your bones like a stroke of lightning.

Eyes snapping open, your breath catches in your throat when you take in the room. You’re on a large plush creme couch, large enough to be a bed. The organza curtains are a shade of bottle green and are opened slightly to let the morning sun in. From your view it seems like this is the top floor of the complex, overlooking the city horizon.

You feel the covers shift slightly, and you realize there’s a naked man sleeping next to you. You scream.

The man screams back with an even higher pitch, falling off the couch and clutching the sheets like a lifeline. “What?” he panics, eyes darting back and forth across the room like he’s on a reality television show. “What the fuck? Is there something on my face! Why are you screaming so early!”

The fact that he’s an adult man and you’re seventeen is even more terrifying, and you feel absolutely naked despite the fact that you’re nearly clothed. But what confuses you more is that this man looks awfully familiar.

Familiar in the sense that you’ve seen him in one too many television sitcoms to count. This man in front of you looks like Kim Seokjin, the protagonist of your favorite television show: Sky City. He has the same plump lips and pretty face, only aged up. But last time you checked on Soompi, Seokjin is supposed to be twenty years old and filming the next season in New Zealand. Arguably he could be his older brother, but he never acted and you don’t think he’d be the spitting image.

“Seokjin?” you taste the name on your tongue, “Kim Seokjin?”

Seokjin relaxes considerably, and he finds it appropriate to return to the couch, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “Right, were you really that drunk? You got my name right, but it seems that you’ve forgotten that the only name you called me last night was sex god…”

His plush lips meet the ends of your earlobe, and you squeal at the strange sensation.

You’ve had sex with this man and you can’t even remember it? Furthermore how can a peasant like you be in contact with a celebrity? What on earth happened last night? Shouldn’t you be calling the police or panicking more? Where’s the pepper spray and sharp knives where you need them? You can’t even find it in you to find a sharp weapon at your once cherished-idol, who’s apparently unfazed and drinking in your body like he has a taste of it every night.

“What’s the date?” you push him away, looking around for any signs of where you are and how you ended up here.

“It’s the first day of spring,” Seokjin says easily, stretching out on the couch. “I wonder when the cherry blossoms will bloom. Should we have a picnic with Bogum?”

“Where’s my phone, I can’t find my phone!”

Seokjin doesn’t bat an eye as he digs through the couch, pulling something from under him. He waves it in front of your face. “That’s not my phone,” you deadpan.

“Okay I guess you were actually that drunk,” Seokjin rolls his eyes, forcing the large piece of plastic and metal on your palm. “When you went to the bathroom last night you dropped your old phone in the toilet. We picked up a new one on the way to the next bar. Good thing the new Samsung dropped last month!”

Since when are phones this large? You carry the strange weight in your hands, confused as to why Seokjin thinks this is your phone. You own a beat up 2G that barely gets any reception in the school basement. But when you turn it on, the screen recognizes your face immediately and unlocks. Wow, since when do cell phones do face recognition?

A selfie of you and Seokjin appears on the homescreen, looking totally happy.

Is that you?

No longer do you have acne lining your brows, or uneven skin texture. Your smile is high and prominent. Your visage is clean and done with minimal makeup, highlighting your beauty.

The date flickers on the top of the screen. March 20th, 2021: 7:42AM.

You scream again. Seokjin screams again for the heck of it.

“How did this happen!” you shriek, dropping your phone to step up to the window. You bask in your reflection, mildly impressed and even more so afraid of what’s in front of you. Your body has filled out like an adult, and considering it’s ten years into the future, other things have filled out as well. Experimentally, your hands go out to your chest, squeezing. Yep, those knockers were not there the last time you checked.

“Well, you came back from work completely drained from a shoot and I just finished filming my Everyday Skincare Routine video with Vogue,” Seokjin comes up to you, blanket tied around his waist like a long towel. “We met at our usual bar and do what we usually do when we’re both stressed: bang it out.”

You watch as Seokjin’s hands snake around your slick silk, hugging you from behind like it’s second nature. “Is this a dream?” you ask yourself, because it’s not unlikely that you’ve had a sex dream with Seokjin and this is the aftermath dream.

“Nope,” you yelp when Seokjin pinches your butt, hard. It stings. “This is real life, baby.”

“Are we dating?”

You feel Seokjin’s grip tense, and he shoves your innocent question away with a coarse laugh. “You know both you and me don’t do serious relationships. It’s why we work so well together, you know that.”

“Right,” you reply softly. That doesn’t sound like you at all, and it scares you considerably.

“So, I gotta go,” you panic when he lets go and starts searching around for his clothes. Your face heats up at Seokjin’s perky ass staring back at you, and your eyes dart to a random spot in the corner. “I got a green meeting with Ellen, and lord knows I don’t wanna face her wrath if I’m late.”

In seconds he’s fully clothed in a plain shirt and jeans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Call me beep me, if you wanna reach me,” he sings, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he leaves you in the large apartment.

The door slams with a hard smack and that’s when you collapse on the couch that feels foreign and strange, breaking into tears.

The next time you wake up, it’s the next day. It’s a glaringly bright Sunday and for whatever reason you’re still in this aged-up body. Maybe time travel makes the body really tired. This isn’t a dream. You panic for the second time, walking back and forth around the loft that’s apparently yours. It seems like it’s yours, because the bills that linger on the coffee table have your name and the pictures in the one bedroom are of you and your family.

But the refrigerator in the nook is digital and has fancy ice settings, something you could never imagine owning. Your closet is filled with brand named suits, and with every designer label you pass you mentally rack up the total of just one section. It’s enough to pay for your college tuition if your first choice accepts you.

Wait. You’re apparently twenty-seven, college is long gone.

Lying in your bed feels better, surrounded by familiar pictures of your cousins and family. Your favorite snacks are tucked with care in your nightstand, and it makes you feel a tiny bit better knowing that your favorite chocolate and chips will never change.

What happened in the past ten years? Why don’t you remember anything and are you entirely sure this isn’t some strange fever dream?

Time ticks slowly as you spend the afternoon, glued to your phone. It’s a 25 Note+ and it’s filled with multiple doohickeys and settings that make you feel technologically inept. You never thought you were bad with technology, but clearly these phones have a learning curve attached to them.

You try to call your family, but according to the voicemail left they’re on a Disney cruise that you paid for. Your heart aches at the excited voice of your parents. Why are they on a vacation without you?

The next thing you aim for is finding Jimin’s contact. According to Google Maps, you’re not far from your hometown and you know that Jimin’s always wanted to move to the city so he must be nearby. To your chagrin, his name isn’t on your contact list. Strange, he’s always number two on speed dial.

Clicking on the internet browser, you go to the online Whitepages and search up Park Jimin. There may be a million ones, but maybe you could get a lead. When a picture and an address show up easily with one swipe, you scoff. The internet has no room for privacy ten years later, huh?

The most casual thing you own in your closet is a Free People dress, reaching mid-calf with flowing bell sleeves. Heck, you couldn’t even find a single pair of jeans. You don’t care however, as you swipe your keys from the counter (you gape, you own a Tesla?) and race down to the parking garage.

Jimin’s apartment is on the other side of the city. It’s strange, transitioning from high rises and shiny windows to quaint brick walls and lived-in patio spaces. You feel like it’s a race against time as you make it all the way to his room, knocking feverishly on the mahogany red door.

“What? Who is it?” it’s clear that his room is cheap, the walls thin as you hear his voice shuffle throughout the room. Why are you shaking? It’s just your best friend.

The door swings open and you and Jimin drink each other in. His baby fat has melted from his cheeks, revealing a handsome and charming jawline. His hair is no longer a natural black, but has been dyed to a sandy blond that suits his tan. His eyes, wide in surprise, are still a soft brown but not as bright as when he was seventeen.

“Jimin,” your third round of tears hits you like a truck at the sight of your best friend, and you immediately run into his arms.

But he doesn’t hug you back immediately. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Your name rolls off his lips like he’s seen a ghost.

You pull away, as if you are burned. You flinch at the way Jimin regards you. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he looks at you, crossing his arms, “I don’t know what to feel when your old best friend suddenly shows up at your doorstep after ten years.”

What?

“Why would I do that?” you whisper, bracing your hand against the doorframe to steady yourself.

“Well, after graduation you chose a college at the last minute. Decided to go to a prestigious fashion university in Europe. Shacked it up with some British guys and well, forgot about your past but I guess I can’t blame you.”

“But I couldn’t have left you,” you know you’re not even talking to Jimin, but in fact scolding yourself for being so stupid these past ten years. “I was crying for you that night at prom. All I wanted was for you to be there and hold me!”

That strikes a cord. Jimin pops his head into the hallway, looking back and forth to see if anyone is watching. He sighs when your tears turn into sobs, shaking your form. “Come in,” he mutters, ushering you inside.

Jimin’s apartment feels more like home than your apartment does. Cosy and warm with the scent of jasmine brewing on the stove. The pour of tea soothes you slightly as you relax on the worn leather couch.

Jimin hands you a mug, sitting opposite you against the rickety living room table. “Are you okay?” he asks, showing genuine concern for the first time.

“I’m,” you roll the muddy liquid in your grasp, watching the tea leaves tumble. “I just came back from the hospital, actually. Hit my head drinking last night and I’m suffering from memory loss,” you clutch your head for good measure, feigning injury.

“Memory loss?” he gapes, unable to see through your lie.

“Yeah uh,” you wince, “almost ten years of memory loss.”

Jimin isn’t a man who thinks ahead, preferring to live in the moment. You figure he’s not going to question your excuse. Your former best friend nearly drops his tea in the process, hot drops burning his hand. He hisses, placing the plain mug on the table as he goes to his shelves, pulling out your class yearbook.

“Ten years,” he shakes his head, looking like he’s just stepped into a Korean drama. “Is that even possible?”

“Must be,” you sigh, not wanting to delve into the details of how you ended up in the future, “the first thing I did when I woke up was scream my head off. Then I woke up later and the first person I called were my parents who didn’t pick up, and then I wanted to call you but,” you squeeze the cup in your hands, “I couldn’t find your contact so I searched you up.”

“Should we call the hospital or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around like this.”

“Don’t worry, they said the memory loss is only temporary,” you force a smile, knocking your head lightly with the heel of your palm, “I just gotta y’know, catch up a little bit. I thought you could help.”

Jimin is patient, albeit a little nervous, watching carefully as your eyes glaze emptily over the old yearbook. You’re unfazed at the familiar faces and events that are described to you in detail, unable to recall what happened during the events that followed graduation. There’s barely any pictures of you, so it doesn’t help when he tries to explain as much as he can.

You stop him at the sports section, pointing a finger at Jungkook being carried by his fellow teammates during the lacrosse championships. “What happened to Jungkook?”

Jimin shrugged, “Blew his sports scholarship,” your eyebrows float to the top of your forehead, appalled that your former love would do such a thing, “decided to pursue his passion and went to an art school for a degree in photography.”

So much has changed in the past ten years.

“Hey, can you please stop crying?”

“I’m sorry,” you warble, wiping at your sleeve as if the fabric didn’t cost hundreds of dollars, “I must be making you so uncomfortable by barging in. I’ll get out of your life—”

“No, not that. I just don’t like seeing you cry,” Jimin sighs, squeezing your knee, “of course I was upset when you suddenly upped and left town to study in another continent. But I was still happy for you. On the internet you seemed tons happier since highschool.”

“I can say that’s no longer the case,” you mutter sadly, taking a long drag of your tea. The burn flows down your throat, digging you to reality, “I guess I just woke up and wasn’t prepared to be the person I ended up being.”

“Well, what can your former best friend do to make it better?”

Your eyes widen at Jimin’s uneasy stare, as if he’s wondering whether he said the right thing or not.

“Um,” you bite your lip, “will you go shopping with me? I realized I don’t own any sweatpants or sneakers and I would really like to wear something comfortable right now,” you look despondently on your uncomfortable dress, swinging around the sleeves that seem to snag onto everything.

“Okay,” he nods easily, “will you also buy me new sweatpants and sneakers? And dinner? I really want a New York Strip.”

“What?” you furrow your brows, “can I afford that?”

He chuckles to himself, pulling you up and wiping the tears on your face with a tissue from his pocket. You don’t even care to ask whether the tissue is clean, only focusing on the tender gesture that you’ve missed so much.

“Honey, you’re one of the co-editors of Ego. I’m sure a couple pairs of sweatpants and steak will barely make a dent in your bank account.”

You’re flabbergasted. Ego? The fashion magazine that’s on billboards and commercials? That Ego?

After a couple checks through your bank account, and a triple check with a phone call and trip to the ATM, you’re sure the money is yours. It scares you, but also comforts you knowing that you’ve always been able to make it big.

You barely bat an eye as Jimin tugs you around the city with a familiarity that has you reeling. You struggle to remember the streets you pass and the signs that indicate what part of town you’re in, all whilst Jimin basks in the fruits of your labor. You don’t give a shit, obviously. It makes you happy seeing Jimin slowly melt and grow more comfortable throughout the day.

This is the kind of life you envisioned. One where comfort isn’t discarded for luxury, where the two cultures can marry. Jimin busts a gut when he sees you angrily shove your Free People dress deep in your shopping bags in favor of a black Adidas tracksuit that makes you feel like a soccer mom. Of course, he doesn’t know why you’re so aggressive with all your luxurious items, heck you even make him drive your Tesla, but nevertheless each passing hour brightens you up considerably.

When you two arrive at a fancy steakhouse with a dress code, the manager doesn’t hesitate to chide you and suggest the Applebee’s down the street.

You retort back that you’re an editor of Ego, and in seconds you’d have this restaurant swarmed with bad reviews. You know nothing about culinary review but you’re sure the manager doesn’t know that, and no arguments are placed after that.

The evening puts you in higher spirits, and you’re almost convinced that you’re a successful twenty-something catching up with your former best friend. You’ve always been mature for your age, high school can do that to a person, and it makes it vastly easier to keep up with the new decade.

“So,” you help Jimin get his bags up into his apartment. A little part of it feels like a bribe as you carry all the name brands on your arms, but you chalk it up to being compensation for the last ten years, “who are the people you hang out with now? Anyone I know?”

“Well, Taehyung sometimes drops by if he’s free. He’s traveling the world now, he actually works with you,” Jimin provides the information smoothly, “only he works in the international business column. But surprisingly, the person I hang out the most with is—”

“Jungkook.”

Standing face-to-face with your old high school sweetheart disarms you, and you’re sorely reminded that just you’re a seventeen-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body.

Jungkook looks tired, and he rubs his eyes a bit as if to make sure he isn’t dreaming. You in the flesh, looking purposeful and confident as you hold three bags on each arm, each piece probably costing more than his rent. He’s filled out, what once was lean muscle and minor definition has turned into full muscle mass hidden beneath a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are two sizes too big. His face is still sweet-looking and baby-like, but his hair is overgrown and waving in front of his eyes without a care in the world.

“Did I mention we’re neighbors?” you can practically hear the wince in Jimin’s voice, probably regretting that he hid that chunk of information from you.

Jungkook tastes his name on your lips, and it sounds foriegn and strange coming from the both of you. “Good to see you,” he says, voice low.

You barely formulate a response, replying with an equally nervous “right back at ya” and then you two resume staring at each other. While Jungkook hasn’t seen you in the last ten years, you saw him yesterday. Yesterday, where you started the day all peachy keen and it spiraled downhill shortly after. It’s jarring, knowing that your body doesn’t fit your conscience.

“Well I uh,” Jungkook lifts his indicator to leave, a large garbage bag, “bye.”

Jungkook shuffles out of the small hallway, and you get a whiff of his scent. It’s still the same, fabric softener mixed with his own musk.

“I,” you start off slow, “maybe I should go talk to him?”

“No,” he warns. “You and Jungkook are completely different people now, he’s just gonna think you’re pitying him if you go up and talk to him out of the blue.”

“But we’ve always been different people.”

“You really think that?” Jimin shakes his head, “I know what happened at prom was rough but, I really didn’t think much of your relationship with Jungkook before that. It seemed like you were pretty compatible—”

“Up until the point he was kissing Jennie in matching flowers on the balcony like some kind of romance film?” you scoff, crossing your arms, “right. Super compatible.”

Jimin sighs, as if he’s chastising a teenager. “Prom happened ten years ago, don’t act like it happened yesterday. People change.”

You frown, because in your mind it did happen yesterday.

Sleeping last night was hell. It’s one thing to be completely zonked out of your mind and unsure if you’re in a dream or weird coma, but knowing that you’re going to be stuck here for awhile is painful. Your loft is too big for your tiny body, your mattress cold and empty with just you in it. Without your parents to call and you feeling wholly insecure about your rekindling with Jimin, the only person you can really call is… Seokjin.

And you really don’t want a repeat of your first night.

So you suck it up, spend your waking hours in your office and quickly learning your tasks for work. You don’t even know what time you’re supposed to clock in, but from a sticky note attached to your MacBook it seems that you have a creative meeting at 10AM. You allow yourself two hours of sleep before you get moving.

The one exciting thing about your morning is that your outfit choices are virtually limitless. You feel like Cher in Clueless, all your outfits color-coordinated and organized by season. You pick out a springy Chanel number, a pale pink tweed skirt suit that has you feeling equally parts cute and an independent working woman. You even make time to buy yourself a coffee, because that’s what adults do right?

Your office is gorgeous. Also located in the upper part of the city, the glass desk and high windows fit right in. You have an ideas board filled with various designs, fabrics and models to choose from. There’s a little frilly notebook straight out of the 2000s, all filled with phone numbers and special contacts all at your disposal. You even have your own cold press coffee machine complete with a mini-fridge.

“You’re never this early, nervous for the meeting?”

You squeal, nearly dropping your coffee as you take a tour around your office. You fight the urge to gape and point accusingly at the woman standing at your door.

“Jennie?”

“In the flesh,” she gives you a cool smirk, holding her arms out for a hug. It really throws you for a loop, and you’re left stricken in your spot as Jennie closes the gap and squeezes the life out of you. Her grey pinstripe pantsuit crumples against your softer fabric. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Jennie and you are practically besties,” Jimin sounds a little jealous while saying that, forcing you to scroll through your Instagram page to see the countless selfies of you and your high school rival, “I mean, at least that’s what the internet says. Went to college in Europe together and everything.”

So it’s true. You awkwardly pat Jennie on the back, and she doesn’t seem to mind when she pulls away and tells you to meet upstairs. You mindlessly follow after her to the conference room, wishing a kind good morning to everyone that greets you.

Once you make it upstairs, you flinch at the loud screech of your voice. “My favorite editor!” someone in a plaid red suit runs up to you and throws an arm around your shoulders. The editor-in-chief Jung Hoseok smiles brightly at you, leading you to a seat at the head of the table right next to him. You’re cosy with the editor-in-chief? This is crazy!

“G-good morning Mr. Jung,” you stutter, trying to remain cool.

“Did something happen to you this weekend?” Hoseok jests, pinching your cheek like a long lost sister. “You always call me Hobi.”

“Oh,” you force a giggle, “you don’t even know how crazy this weekend was.”

Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.

“I’m so jealous,” Jennie sing-songs, a manicured finger trailing over the back of your chair, “only the best of the best can sit next to the big boss.”

The comment has you bristling. Are you really friends? Giving her a tight smile, she saunters to another corner of the meeting. On your section of the table is your itinerary and iPad, ready for note-taking.

“One thing that we do at Ego is consistency,” Hoseok pulls up a projection of this year’s editions, all carbon copies of the same cover. “And while that is admirable, I want to put my top editors to the test and come up with the theme for next month’s issue.”

Hoseok sends you yet another pearly white smile, and due to the sheer closeness you know that secret smile is only reserved for you. That makes you squirm in your seat, already feeling the pressure building in the pit of your stomach.

“Take two days off this week to plan. Work out the days you’ll be out of the office with HR, those days you’ll be working in the city, finding ideas and inspiration for the issue. Remember, think outside the box!” Hoseok does a little fist pump, cutting through the air like his life depends on it.

The whole lot of the group continues to stare at Hoseok, waiting for his next instructions. Then, the adults begin to panic, similar to a high school class that’s been told they have a pop quiz that’s worth half their grade. You sigh internally, you suppose high school never ends.

“C’mon,” Hoseok urges, flailing his arms around, “get out there! Make moves, make money!”

But the only moves you’ve made since 2PM are fleeting trips to the bathroom.

Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup.

It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity?

And that’s when it hits you.

Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent.

My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment.

You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue.

Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out.

“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.”

You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily.

“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob.

“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited.

He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?”

You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.”

The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret.

Nevertheless, that was ten years ago.

“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.”

The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings.

“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice.

“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.”

And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago.

He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining.

The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago.

Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook.

Wait, what?

You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants.

He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further.

Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure.

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.”

At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it.

“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?”

“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.”

It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?”

“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.”

Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction.

He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?”

“To a park where you’re not in!”

Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around.

There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.

“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.”

That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness.

You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.”

“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?”

“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer.

Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat.

And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.”

“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?”

His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond.

You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)

You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”

“Um, the car drives itself?”

“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.”

He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.)

You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table.

“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.”

Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight.

But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it.

Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller.

Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room.

Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light.

You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats.

He didn’t leave.

Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom.

“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding.

Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading.

He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”

“Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.”

Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs.

“Do you have work?” you ask casually.

“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.”

“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?”

“Why?”

“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom.

Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home.

He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City.

When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness.

“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.”

“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.”

What is wrong with you?

“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.”

“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”

Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you.

You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it.

Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer.

But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder.

“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?”

“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.”

“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!”

“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?”

“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you.

With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time.

“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait.

“What is it now, Jungkook?”

He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment.

“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.”

The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.”

He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong.

“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”

Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.”

“Well why are you upset at yourself?”

“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.”

Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn.

“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?”

“Five-hundred a week?”

“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?”

Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you.

“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun.

Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle.

“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.”

“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.”

“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles.

“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.”

“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.”

“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?”

“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.”

“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well.

“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.”

“Alright, who are your models?”

“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.”

“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.”

“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?”

“I’m not modeling.”

“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”

“Partners.”

“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?”

“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!”

“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!”

The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego.

But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit.

“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”

“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!”��

“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”

“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts.

“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!”

If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.

“Babe, everything alright?”

Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other.

“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. “I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—”

“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.”

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?”

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.”

You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread?

This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade.

But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.”

“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined.

Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.”

“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers.

It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear?

“Jungkook, I–”

“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment.

You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day.

However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin.

You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then.

By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium.

Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot.

The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym.

“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit.

“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater.

The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!”

Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions.

“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!”

Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life.

Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters.

Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap.

“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.”

Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—”

“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!”

A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!”

The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours.

And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!”

At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board.

“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!”

The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile.

And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most.

“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face.

“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate. Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible.

The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying.

“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.”

“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.”

“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.”

“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.”

You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks.

Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?”

“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.”

“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?”

“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down.

“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.”

He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick.

You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk.

“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.”

“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.”

“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!”

“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?”

“You little–”

Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away.

If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake.

“Why are we here?”

“For research purposes.”

“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?”

“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.”

“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back.

“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.”

The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm.

Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park.

He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach.

“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.”

You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.”

Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it.

“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.”

“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly.

You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age.

Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school.

“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating.

“Do we have to?”

“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?”

“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.”

“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem.

“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up.

“Why?”

“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.”

You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.”

“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.”

You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out.

“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further.

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.”

“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff.

“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.”

Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head.

“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.”

You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?”

“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.”

“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?”

“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.”

You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.”

“I didn’t mean you—”

“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.”

“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?”

You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits.

There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car.

Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab.

Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went.

“Bun, be careful!”

The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat.

“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead.

Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.”

His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake.

You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear.

You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way.

The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile.

Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots.

“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?”

“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.”

“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.”

“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.”

He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?”

“That sounded oddly sexual.”

“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera.

“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.”

You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you.

“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.”

A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face.

The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.)

It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight.

At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date.

It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week.

This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning.

“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.”

The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away.

“Wait—”

You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you.

You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.

Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.

He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin.

“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face.

“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway.

Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven.

Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you.

Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font.

Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans.

Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear.

You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions.

“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.”

“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.”

The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said.

And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth.

Needless to say, the issue is yours.

You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.

“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned.

Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.”

“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.

Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half.

“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.”

You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?

The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture.

“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.”

Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck.

“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.”

“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.”

So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating.

You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute.

But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.

A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom.

“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?”

It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at.

“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.

Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby.

“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?”

“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?”

“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.”

At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down.

Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment.

No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on.

And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you.

“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.”

“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.”

“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.”

So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine.

“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring.

Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?”

“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!”

The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension.

Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!”

Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile.

“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?”

Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably.

You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe.

“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed.

With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.”

He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?”

“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.”

Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.”

When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?

These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard.

“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew.

“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.”

Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs.

“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.”

You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done.

There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway.

“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.”

You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.

“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished.

“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.

“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.”

You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs.

Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds.

Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room.

Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go.

But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.

You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between.

When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.

You scream.

Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them.

It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand.

If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process.

Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue.

It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress.

He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”

“Jungkook, I want to break up.”

You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared.

“What?” he wilts, “why?”

“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.”

The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag.

“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.

“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?”

“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.”

You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier.

Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab.

“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.

“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”

“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.”

He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.”

So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years.

Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch.

Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car.

“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!”

You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.”

“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.”

“Things change.”

Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He’ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit.

Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.

“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car.

“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.”

“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.”

“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.”

You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.”

“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.”

Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.”

“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”

“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”

You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.”

Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile.

Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.”

You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage.

The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come.

It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future.

“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.”

He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.”

Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—

“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!”

You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?”

He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.”

“Okay. Good night, Kook.”

“Good night, Bun.”

Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note.

Some time later.

“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.”

The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.”

You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control.

“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.”

“Oui, oui.”

“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?”

“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.”

"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt.

He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight."

So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place.

Ten years later, it's exactly that and more.

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst

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nephilim-problems · 3 years

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Hi guys! This is a new fic I came up with where the reader is Barry Allen's ex-wife and she moves to Virgina and becomes a part of the BAU. It's basically a cross over between The Arrowverse and Criminal minds. Let me know if you want more 🥰

I had been working at the BAU for 3 years and I felt like I was in a family but what type of person keeps secrets for their family? Everyone is the answer but I felt guilty for hiding a whole half of my life, and my slight crush on my boss. I mean it was only a slight crush I found him very attractive but he of course was my boss and he would never go over that professional barrier. I tapped my pen against my desk, feeling like I had read the same line on the same report 7 or 8 times. This job was great except for the paperwork. The paperwork was always the most boring part.

“Guys we have a case,” J.J said walking into the bullpen.

I looked up and saw Hotch wasn’t in his office and Rossi wasn’t either. They were probably already at the round table. Morgan came around my side as I push my chair in.

“He’s probably already at the table sweetheart,” Morgan said putting his hand on the small of my back. “We should probably head there too.”

“Yeah we should,” I sighed letting him lead me away.

“There goes my weekend,” Prentiss said taking a seat next to Rossi.

“You had plans this weekend?” Morgan asked sincerely as we sat down. “I stopped making plans years ago.”

“I still like to try,” She smiled.

“We wanted to take Henry to the zoo this weekend but I guess Will will have to go alone,” J.J said, sending a text I guessed to her boyfriend.

“I actually didn’t have plans so,” Reid replied, making me chuckle.

“I wanted to go check out that new restaurant down the street, but I guess there’s always when we get back,” I laughed as Garcia set a case file in front of me.

“Happy friday my darling profilers you are going to central city, Missouri, 3 women found dead all dumped by the side of the road going into the city. All 3 showed signs of torture and rape and then there is this, which is why the central city police is calling us in,” Garcia spoke but all eyes wen wide after we saw the pictures.

“He removed their tongue,” J.J said looking disgusted. “That’s new.”

“Actually this is the second time we have seen this. The last time was when Holis Walker killed 4 people in order to promote his book,” Reid replied.

"So rage maybe?" I said. "Maybe these women mean something to him."

"He shows remorse with the way he dumps the body," Morgan replied. "But he's so angry when he kills them."

"Either Way we have 2 days to find this girl alive. Wheels up in 30," Hotch said, collecting his case files and bolting out of the room.

I started to collect mine when Penelope, Emily, and J.J sat around me. They had left all their stuff on the table where they were sitting and they were all staring at me.

"So when are you going to tell Hotch you have a crush on him?" Emily asked, staring into me.

"I-I don't have a crush on Hotch," I chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "He's my boss, that would be completely wrong."

"You think you can hide that from some profilers?" J.J asked, smiling at me.

"I am not hiding anything," I laughed when suddenly I saw Morgan coming up behind Penelope.

"Baby girl, why are you picking on her," Morgan asked, setting his hands on her shoulders.

"Oh we're just teasing little miss (Y/N/N) about her crush on hotch," Emily said causing everyone to laugh.

"And I just said I didn't have a crush on Hotch," I said standing up.

"Sweetheart we all know, its okay," Morgan laughed, making me uncomfortably shuffle towards the door.

"I definitely do not have a thing for Hotch," I replied walking towards the door. "I have to get my go bag before anyone else starts in om my supposed crush on hotch."

I heard laughter from behind me but ignored it and ran to grab my bag. I quickly scooped the bag up and ran to meet the team.

Soon we were sitting on the jet discussing the case when the pilot announced we would be landing in 10 minutes. That was Hotch's que to start handing everyone a job.

"Rossi, you and agent Prentiss head to the abduction site, Reid, you and Agent Allen head to the dump site, J.J, Morgan, and I will head to the police department," Hotch finished then Morgan cut in.

"Reid and I were actually hoping to head to the police department," he said and Reid looked suspiciously at him then turned back.

"I wanted to start the geological profile," Reid smirked unconvincingly.

"Okay I will go with Rossi, Prentiss, you head to the crime scene," Hotch replied, sighing and looking over the file.

"Actually, sir, I would like to go to the abduction site if that's okay with you," Emily smiled.

"I'll go to the dump site then. We will meet back at the station when we're done,"Hotch replied.

The rest of the team smiled at each other before looking at me. I rolled my eyes at them and crossed my legs. They were absolutely right though, I did have a massive crush on Hotch. It started as just thinking he was hot and wanting to feel him thrust into me then I found the comforting side of him. I had gotten kidnapped while on a case Morgan joked it was a "rite of passage". It wasn't terrible. He had cut me a bit but when the team had broken open the door to his house it startled him enough for me to wiggle out of my restraints and attack him. Eventually I had to stab him just as Hotch broke in. He doted over me for weeks making sure I was okay and that he was always there if I needed to talk. It was very cute and it made my feelings for him grow more intense; however I was going to deny it until I was blue in the face. Even if it was no use because I was lying to a group of profilers.

It was an uncomfortable ride to the dump site. I was trying to focus on the file in front of me but it was unbearably hot in the humid Missouri weather and for some horrible reason the a/c wasn't working. I was closer to using the file as a fan than actually looking it at. Hotch had taken his jacket off and loosened his tie which had me on edge. It looked as hot as I felt. I couldn't take my eyes off him but I didn't want him to see me.

Soon the car was stopping and I was hopping out thankful to be out of the car but somehow it was hotter outside.

"Hotch I can see the body was from here," I said standing on the other side of the car.

"So he wasn't trying to hide her," he replied.

I followed him down off the street and across the crime scene tape.

"He has to have stayed here awhile. Posing on the victim, her hair is brushed, and her fingernails are painted. But he could be seen from the road," I said, throwing my hands in the pockets of my pants.

"So he doesn't stand out," Hotch replied.

"Or he parked his car and hid himself from view."

"Then the car was plain enough not to raise alarm."

"We're in Central City Hotch. I lived here for a bit, the locals are helpful. If they saw a car parked here at night they'd probably stop to ask what's wrong."

Hotch actually looked a bit stumped for the first time since I had started working at the bau.

"Then he has to have a van or truck," Hotch said.

"That's big enough to conceal her and him but something you wouldn't stop on the side of the road to help," I said stepping around the scene. "What about city or park trucks?"

"They're large enough to block traffic from seeing him," Hotch paused. "Let's head to the station to meet with J.J, Reid, and Morgan. Hopefully Reid has something with the geographical profile."

With those words Hotch was off with a phone to his ear I assume to Garcia. I followed close behind and slid in the car with him and we took off to the station. It wasn't far. We talked about the heat mainly and Central City. When we pulled up to the station I got queezy. This meant I'd have to see Joe and Barry again. It was a life I was hoping would never clash with this one.

Hotch parked and we walked up the steps to the central city police station. It looked just as I remembered it, beautiful. J.J came fast approaching and stopped in front of Hotch.

"Hotch, Captain Singh may have brought us in but the officers aren't cooperating. Detective Joe West was the officer assigned to this case." J.J said, stopping us in our tracks.

"Is he cooperating?" Hotch replied.

"For the most part yeah," J.J said tapping her thighs which she only did when she was frustrated.

"They won't cooperate because of the flash," I piped up and they all looked at me confused.

"Who is the flash?" J.J asked.

"He's a vigilante from Central City. The U.S government has kept a handle on any information about him to keep from a vigilante crisis," Hotch replied.

"If central city has the flash, why are we being called in?" J.J asked.

"The flash is good at catching people but he isn't a detective. He can't find these women like we can," I replied.

"I don't care about the flash right now, the only thing we should be focused on is finding this girl in the next 40 hours," Hotch said walking by J.J and into the bullpen.

I followed and saw Joe talking to Reid and Morgan in a small glass room on the other side of the bullpen. I basically ran over and opened the door so excited to see Joe again. Then I saw Barry standing with them.

"(Y/N)," Joe called out.

"Joe," I smiled as he grabbed me into a large hug.

"It's so good to see you," he said, squeezing me tightly.

"It's so good to see you too," I smiled, parting from the hug and pulling Barry in. I hadn’t realized how much I missed his hugs.

"It's been awhile (Y/N/N)," Barry said and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah, I've missed you Bares," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"I missed you too," Barry mumbled as I pulled away.

"You guys know each other?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah, I was in college and I lived with Joe, Barry, Wally, and Iris," I said feeling a bit happier.

"Barry has been helping us with the forensic side of things," Reid replied.

"How far did you get with the geographical profile?" I asked

"Not very far," Reid said, making his nervous smile.

"Don't tell Hotch that," I smirked and patted him on the shoulder.

"We're thinking male, white, late 20s early 30s, sexual sadist," Morgan said, throwing the file down.

"Hotch and I think he might work for the city or parks. He's got a truck that gives him enough privacy to pose the victim and brush her hair," I said. "And the only thing we could think of was city and park vehicles."

"I already called Garcia to check for white males in their late 20s early 30s that have access to city or park vehicles," Hotch said standing over me.

"That's almost anyone," Joe replied. "Anyone who works for the city, parks and recreation, police, or even just rich CEOs who donate."

"Can you get me a list of all those people?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah," Joe replied and started walking. "Barry, I'm going to need your help."

"Coming Joe," Barry replied. "(Y/N/N) you s-should come by for dinner. Iris would love to see you."

"I'll make time for it Barry," I smiled and squeezed his arm as he left.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us you were from here?" Morgan asked.

"I'm not from here," I laughed trying to brush him off. "Iris, Barry, and I went to college together. We've kept in contact the best we can but things have happened."

"Oh yeah what things?" Morgan laughed as Emily and Rossi came in.

"The victim put up a huge struggle," Emily said and I silently cheered. "She threw anything within reach at him. We found bullet holes in the walls. We think she had a gun."

Suddenly Morgan pulled out his phone.

"Hey baby girl it's Morgan," he said and we all knew he was calling Garcia. "I'm going to put you on speaker."

"Hey Garcia, did Alyssa Smith have a gun registered to her?" Emily asked, putting her hands on the table.

"Yes she did own a gun. She also had a hunting license," Garcia replied.

"Did any of the other 3 victims?" Hotch asked, setting his hand on the lower of my back. It sent chills down my spine as I tried to focus.

"Yes, all 3 victims had gun licenses and hunting licenses," Garcia replied.

"Thanks baby girl," Morgan said.

"Anything for you my love," Garcia replied as Morgan hung up the phone.

"You know, cases where victims have and use guns scare the shit out of me," I said, taking a step back and feeling slightly sad when Hotch took his hand off of me.

"Thats our only pattern," Reid sighed.

"I don't know if you've noticed but central city isn't exactly a hunting gun owning town. Most people don't own a gun unless you work in law enforcement," I replied.

"Detective West said law enforcement was on our list of people who had access to the vehicles we are looking for," Hotch said. "Get Garcia on the phone. I'm going to see if I can check on that list."

"I'm going to talk to Barry and see if he has any contacts who saw anything," I said, starting to walk towards the door.

"J.J make sure this doesn't get leaked to the press," Hotch said following. "Agent Allen, I need to talk to you."

"Uh, yes sir," I said walking out and standing on the side.

#aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #hotch x y/n #barry allen x reader #arrowverse #the flash #barry allen #au #crossover

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eryiss · 3 years

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Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hi everyone. It's time for one of the most important chapters. Prepare yourself for more dreams, more unfortunate situations, and some real conversations! Hope you all enjoy. Also, there's mentioned homopobia in this chapter, so be aware before you progress.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Seven - Resting

Day Six: Saturday

Metalicana had often talked to Gajeel about the culture of Dragons. He has explained folklore, rites of passage, and the day to day lives of people of the time. One such aspect of his culture which had always stayed with Gajeel was the Draconic perception of a soulmate.

Minn Maðr. My Person.

Gajeel had been told that every person had a specific group of people who they were destined for. A group of people linked to them by fate. Unlike other interpretations of soulmates, the Draconic culture didn't limit their relevance to a romantic partner. They could be a lover, a friend, or an enemy. Their influence on the person's life was only rivalled by the passion they would feel for each other. A Minn Maðr was someone who brought your emotions to a boil, and made your mind explode.

Everything about Freed had brought out the intensity inside of Gajeel. First, it had been rage. Then, something new. Something unfamiliar. Something that made Gajeel take note of Freed's smile, that made him worry about the demon living in his soul, that made him able to perform a fucking unison raid!

Maybe Metalicana was right? Maybe Freed was a Minn Maðr.

But they'd only really know each other for a week. Half of that week, they'd both been unwittingly influenced by a demon that was meant to make their moods shitty. He couldn't be sure of his own feelings. He couldn't be sure of anything when it came to Freed.

He really should listen to his own damn advice and not think too much about this.

Like that was easy! His magic had merged with a stranger, and left Freed covered in piercings. Gajeel hadn't exaggerated when he said he wouldn't be able to remove them; they looked like they were merged with his skin. Sure, Freed claimed he had a weird sense of excitement at what had happened and Gajeel felt the same way at the runes now on his body, but he couldn't know how Freed was actually reacting. Unless he was pushed to his limits, Freed was a pretty closed book.

Fuck, this wasn't helping. It was three in the morning, Gajeel was thrumming with energy even after doing sit-ups and push-ups for nearly an hour, and his mind was a mess. He jumped up from the floor, rolled his shoulders back and walked to the standing mirror and assessed his new look. He couldn't help but smile.

Did the runes mean anything? Did it matter?

Metalicana had also told Gajeel about his inner dragon. It wasn't a literal thing, like Freed's demon, but it did exist. It was like a voice in his head, or a gut instinct. Gajeel had learnt that he should listen to the dragon, and right then the dragon was preening with delight at the runes. Every time he looked at the runes, it felt like he'd been wrapped up in a blanket and given a mug of tea, but also like he'd had the best, roughest fuck of his life. It wrecked his body in an indescribably amazing way.

Standing naked, he wondered what it would be like if his whole body was covered in runes. It would be like Freed's magic was coiling around him, sending an undeniable message that he and Freed were linked. That thought was too damn appealing, and he would look hot as hell.

Maybe Freed would do it. Maybe he'd let Gajeel cover him in more piercings. Gods, the thought of getting more of his iron in the man made his cock pulse with excitement.

Fuck! How the hell were his feelings for Freed such a mess so suddenly?

Sleep would solve it all. He was tired, on a magic high, and it was messing with his mind. It didn't help that he hadn't jerked off in over a week, which was probably why his thoughts were so fucking horny. He just had to sleep, get himself off in the shower tomorrow morning, and deal with the issues as they came. That's what they said they would do, and if a guy like Freed - who Gajeel expected would overthink everything - could do that, then so could he.

As he patted his slightly sweating body down with a towel and slipped on his briefs, he looked to the overflowing bookcases that occupied his room. Freed really must have a lot of books, because he definitely had a study full of them and still had wall to ceiling shelves in his spare room, and Gajeel decided at least one of them would lull him to sleep.

One book, well worn and without dust, caught his eye.

It was a gay romance novel, and Gajeel smirked a little. Not only did it basically confirm Gajeel's suspicions that Freed liked men, it also told Gajeel that Freed was into the cheesy, cliche page-turning crap that was at odds with Freed's persona. That would be fun to piss him off about; just because they might be soulmates didn't mean Freed didn't need to be knocked on his ass from time to time.

He'd look fucking cute blushing. Gajeel wanted to make him blush. Make him squirm just a little. Then kiss him and make it all better.

That was a train of thought he couldn't explore, so he walked to his bed, got under the covers and started reading the well-worn book. He tried not to think too hard about the man gently snoring on the other side of the wall, and allowed the story printed before him to fill his mind and distract him from everything happening.

——

When Gajeel eventually woke, it was to three sharp raps on his bedroom door.

It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why. The comfortable mattress and pleasant natural light slipping in from the closed curtains certainly didn't belong in his dingy, back-alley apartment. He pushed himself off the too-comfortable pillow and looked around, the smell of bacon, eggs and coffee filling his senses and making his stomach grumble a little. He blinked away the sleep and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, then walked to the door when he remembered someone had knocked on it.

When he had gotten to sleep, it had been filled with dreams about Freed. Maybe reading a romance novel before bed, because his mind had been swimming with romantic cliches that his sleeping mind put Freed and him into. He'd dreamt about going to dinner together, dancing together, living together.

He'd been given a glimpse of what a life with Freed might be like, and it seemed great.

Not all of the dreams had been good, though. In one - nestled between the good dreams - he had been trapped in Freed's runes, unable to escape. Magnolia was nothing but rubble, with the bodies of his guild-mates scattered around in the destroyed buildings. Only a handful of the wizards remained, and they were all attacking Freed, trying to kill him.

Freed had been taken over by his demon. He had no control, and Gajeel couldn't help. He was trapped, forced to watch as the demon killed and destroyed. The remaining Fairy Tail mages were doing what they could, but they couldn't stop Freed.

Gajeel knew he should have been helping, but couldn't.

He wanted to break down the damn runes, smash through them and help Freed, because he was still in there dammit! He was trapped in his demon and scared and trying to fight back and if he could just get to him then Gajeel knew he could help. But he was trapped and forced to watch, unable to do anything no matter how much he was trying to destroy the walls around him.

Just before the dream had ended, the demon looked right at him. It smiled a sadistic smile, blood dripping down it's body, Freed's clothes torn off his body. They were all that remained of Freed, and it made Gajeel sick to watch.

"He's mine," The demon growled. "And I will have him."

Before Gajeel had been able to say anything - to tell the demon that there was no way in hell he or anyone in Fairy Tail would let it take Freed's body and use it for destruction - the dream ended. There was a moment, unknowable in length, where Gajeel still slept but didn't dream, and felt as though he was going to hurl. The darkness of his subconscious felt all consuming, and was suddenly replaced by a dream of him and Freed cooking side by side. The emotional whiplash would have fucked Gajeel up, but he was so desperate to forget the horrors of his dream that he buried himself fully in the dream and Freed's charming comments as they cooked.

Rather than allowing himself to drown in the implications of all those dreams, Gajeel shook his head awake and gently patted himself in the face. It was probably Freed on the other side of the door, and he couldn't see how messed up Gajeel was. More awake now, he opened the door.

Freed was crouched down, placing a plate of food and a mug of coffee on the floor. When he looked up, he was eye level with Gajeel's crotch, and Gajeel quickly realised he was wearing briefs and nothing else. If Freed's blush was anything to go by, he had noticed it too.

The blush was cute.

Fucking emotional whiplash. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this shit?

"Shit," Freed whispered, standing up again with the food still in his hands. He really did look good with a blush. Especially with the piercings. "Sorry. I didn't mean to- I made you breakfast."

"Thanks," Gajeel said, taking the food offered. "We ain't eatin' in the kitchen again?"

"I assumed you wanted some time alone," Freed's voice was intentionally calm, but his cheeks still tinged red. "Since you've been awake before me all week, I thought that you needed some time to yourself. I didn't want to intrude so I was going to leave it here but, well, you opened the door and so… well, you saw what happened, didn't you?"

Gajeel wanted to tease him, but instead said, "I ain't avoiding you. Just slept in."

"Oh, right," Freed said, voice a little quiet. "Perhaps I should have guessed, given-"

He cut himself off, and the way his eyes quickly roamed over Gajeel's sleep worn and half naked body made the dragon slayer smirk. It was clear he'd just gotten out of bed with how much of a mess he looked, and that was the point Freed probably wanted to make, but it was much for entertaining to imagine Freed had gotten distracted by his body.

Well, maybe he had, because his eyes were lingering on the arm with his runes on it. Gajeel couldn't pass up the chance to have a little fun, so flexed his arm as he ran his hand through his hair. Freed followed the movement, and turned red again when he noticed Gajeel smirking at him.

Oh yeah, he was gonna be making Freed a lot from now on.

If they spoke after the week ended. Gajeel hadn't considered the possibility that they wouldn't.

"Well, I should leave you to your morning routine," Freed spoke up again, gazing at the door frame rather than on Gajeel. He was biting his lip, and Gajeel grinned. "I'd recommend eating before you have a shower, I don't expect it would taste good cold. Although, don't feel the need to rush, we've pushed ourselves a lot this week and we will again tomorrow, so I thought today could be a rest day."

"Sounds good," Gajeel nodded a little. "If we ain't in a rush, I can eat with ya. You ain't eaten yet, right?"

"No, I haven't," Freed answered.

Gajeel reached for one of the robes hung on the back of the door and wrapped it around him, tying it tight around his waist. He made sure not to cover too much of his chest, just in case Freed wanted to sneak a peek at any point. He pulled a hair tie from his dresser and wrapped his mane up in a high ponytail, and stepped out of the bedroom, holding his plate of food again. Freed seemed a little shocked by Gajeel's actions - hopefully by his lack of clothes, too - but quickly recovered.

They started walking down the hallway, and Gajeel was given an unhindered view of Freed's ass. He filled his pants out excellently, and Gajeel couldn't help but keep looking back. He wondered what it looked like out of the clothes. Perfect, Gajeel was sure of that.

He really should have jerked off last night.

Still, it was too late to change things now, and given that it was right in front of him, he allowed himself to indulge. It was slightly humiliating when he was too engrossed by checking Freed out that he shoulder-barged a wall because he wasn't concentrating. It was even worse when he looked at Freed to see the man smirking at him, clearly amused. Had he caught him out?

That thought made Gajeel blush a little. He couldn't find the energy to be bothered by that.

They walked to Freed's kitchen, where another portion of eggs and bacon was sitting on the small table beside a mug of coffee. Gajeel placed his own meal at the seat opposite and sat down, his inner dragon almost purring at the intimacy of Freed sitting across from him. This really was a pretty sweet situation. Freed was a damn good cook, too.

As he ate, he kept glancing towards Freed. The man was fighting back yawns in an annoyingly cute way, while eating and sipping his coffee with a straight back and perfect posture. Perhaps Freed was showing manners because he had a guest, but Gajeel hoped that was how he always ate; Gajeel liked a man with quirks,

The overhead lights glinted on Freed's piercings, and Gajeel smiled. This was a pretty nice end to a week that had started off so shittily. Breakfast with a handsome man who was decorated with his iron, with the two of them just existing together.

He could get used to this.

——

"You wanna tell me where yer taking me," Gajeel asked, with a towel over his shoulder.

The afternoon was turning to evening, and Freed was guiding Gajeel through his back yard. They were going further than they had when fighting the mimic, and towards the mountains that the property backed on to. Gajeel had no idea where he was being taken, nor did he know why he needed a towel. Freed had been oddly evasive about what was happening.

All Gajeel had wanted was a bath. He didn't have one in his en-suite, so had asked Freed if he had one in the main bathroom. Freed had told him to follow him, and Gajeel had trusted him. Now, he was simply confused as to what was happening.

"You'll see soon enough," Freed said, still not answering the question.

He didn't push the subject, and frowned a little when Freed climbed some of the rocks, and squeezed himself between two boulders. Gajeel followed him, grunting a little as he pushed the two rocks aside and followed Freed through a small passage in the rocks, which was illuminated by the runes plastered onto the walls. He saw Freed ahead, and decided to remain quiet.

Before a minute had passed, they reached a clearing in the cave, and Gajeel halted a little in shock. The cave was as large as Freed's expansive yard, and most of it was submerged in water. Crystals decorated the walls, and when he looked up Gajeel could see through the mountain to the sky. It was an underground lake, but it felt almost ethereal in nature. Gajeel looked around in wonderment, taking steps forward.

"It's not exactly a bath," Freed said, and his eyes glowed. Runes that were planted around the lake came to life, and the water began to warm. "But it's close."

"You own this?" Gajeel asked, looking around still.

"Not technically, no," Freed laughed, and the gentle sound echoed through the cave. "But the only way in is part of my property, so I see it as mine."

"Fuck," Gajeel chuckled, which also bounced around in an echo. "Yer team are idiots," Freed frowned at that, and Gajeel grinned. "Yer house is amazing, you've got a space to train, and you've basically got a hot spring in yer back yard, and they didn't wanna live here? If I were them, I'd be beggin' ya to let me stay."

Freed smiled an honest smile, if only for a second. "They don't actually know about it."

"Really?"

"I quite enjoyed having the place to myself," Freed shrugged. "If they knew about it, they'd always be here. No doubt I'd always find them sneaking around my yard trying to come here without me knowing. Or maybe they would insist on being here when I wanted some time alone."

"Why d'ya show me then?" Gajeel frowned.

"I don't know," Freed thought for a moment. "Perhaps I'm a hypocrite."

"Maybe you are, but I ain't gonna complain," Gajeel grinned.

"I'll leave you to it," Freed said, apparently feeling like he had been dismissed. Gajeel didn't like that.

"I wouldn't mind some company," Gajeel shrugged. "If you ain't planning on doing something."

Freed considered. "I would enjoy that."

"Great," Gajeel grinned.

"I should get a towel, then," Freed shrugged. "It shouldn't take long, if you'll excuse me."

Freed walked towards the corridors, and once he had turned a corner a light purple lit up the space. Gajeel was pretty sure Freed had teleported back into the house, and grinned a little. Maybe he was wrong, but he was pretty sure that Freed was enthusiastic about this. Gajeel was too.

He removed his clothes pretty quickly, placing them on a dry stone before walking to the lake. He placed a foot in - the temperature was incredible - then climbed in entirely. There seemed to be natural seating carved into the stone, and he sat with his chest under the water.

Fuck, this was good. He was gonna have to convince Freed to let him do this again.

A minute or two after Gajeel had climbed into the water, Freed returned with a towel. He was still wearing his full outfit - coat included - and Gajeel pouted a little. The pout went away when Freed unbuckled the belt of the coat and removed it. Good, he hadn't changed his mind then.

As much as he wanted to watch the man strip, he wasn't going to be that much of a creep. He kept his eyes on the rocks opposite him, even if the sound of rustling fabric was torture. His resolve didn't last long, and he glanced towards Freed only for a second.

One mystery was solved. Freed's naked ass was fucking indescribable.

He looked away before Freed turned, and kept his gaze away from the very naked man as he climbed into the water. When he let out a satisfied groan, Gajeel had to clench his fists to stop himself from reacting. Freed naked, groaning and about ten feet away from him was too much temptation for any man. Gods, he had wanted a bath to relax. This was making him more tense, and he needed to distract himself from the naked man of his desires.

"Why d'ya dress like that?" He said before his better sense told him not to. Great, he'd insulted the man. Before Freed could get pissed at him, he continued speaking. "It ain't a bad look, you pull it off. Just meant it seems kinda restrictive for fighting," What a shitty excuse. "Sorry, I didn't wanna insult ya. It's just-"

"I'm not insulted, and you're not the first person to ask," Freed chuckled, and Gajeel turned to see the man looked quite amused.

And naked. Fuck, his muscle definition was to die for. Gajeel wanted to lick it all over.

"As for why I dress like I do, the simple answer is that I like it," Freed shrugged a little, lowering himself in the water so his shoulders were covered. "You can probably guess I grew up in aristocratic circles. I didn't particularly like my life when I was part of the elite, but I did enjoy the clothes. For a while, after I ran away, I dressed more conventionally. I saw it as rebellion, you see. But eventually I decided that I liked formalwear - that the clothes I left home with were some of my most prized possessions - and that I wouldn't allow my parents to take something else from me because I wanted to spite them."

"Makes sense," Gajeel agreed. He was quiet for a moment, but spoke again. "You don't sound like yer fond of yer parents."

"I detest them," Freed said with feeling. "They're bad people, and have done many bad things," He was quiet, before looking to the surface of the water. When he spoke again, he sounded sad. "They're the reason I was possessed."

"They possessed you?" Gajeel exclaimed, shocked.

"Not intentionally. Honestly, it's rather a funny story," Freed chuckled, and Gajeel looked at him as if he had grown another head. "Perhaps funny isn't the correct term. But it was a farce."

Gajeel wasn't sure how to react, so he stayed quiet.

"When I was fifteen, I met a boy. Charming fellow, a little rough around the edges at the time, but I fell head over heels for him," Freed chuckled, looking into the middle distance. "He would sneak into my house whenever he could. We started to date, you see. I suppose we were one-another's first loves, so we couldn't get enough of each other. We tried to keep our relationship a secret, but we got sloppy about it. My parents walked in on us kissing in my bedroom, and they weren't best pleased."

"Shit," Gajeel whispered. He couldn't exactly sympathise; Metalicana had stated often that a connection mattered more than a gender when it came to finding someone to love.

"They were religious, to an extreme degree," Freed explained, still looking away. "We had a chapel in the home, so the Gods would be present with us always. Well, they saw their only son with a man and saw it as an atrocity. They were cliche, almost. They spoke to our town's priest, who convinced them I had been possessed by a demon, and that I needed an exorcism."

"And he was right?" Gajeel asked.

"No. It was all bullshit. But this is where the farce comes," Freed laughed spitefully. "You see, an exorcism is like opening a door. If a demon lives in your soul, you open the door to shove it out. The issue is that, if a demon isn't living in your soul, you've opened the door for no reason. And that open door can allow something to slip in."

"So, they tried to exorcise you, and they let yer demon get inside you?" Gajeel summarised, and Freed nodded. "Fuckers."

"I suppose they didn't know what they were doing," Freed smiled ruefully. "Not with the demon, anyway. They seemed all too happy to bind me, cut me and burn me in the name of their faith," Gajeel gaped at him, and he laughed. "Exorcisms are rather brutal."

"Bastards," Gajeel growled.

"They are," Freed agreed. "The demon seemed to think so too, if it's any consolation. It took control immediately, you see, and attacked. It killed the priest, paralysed my father from the waist down, and blinded my mother in the right eye. It would have been a lot worse if it knew how to turn my body more demonic, as it was unfamiliar with how to control a human."

"Shame it couldn't kill 'em all," Gajeel grunted, but regretted it. He shouldn't have said that, but Freed didn't seem too bothered by the words. "You fight back against it?"

"I tried, but had no idea what to do," Freed sighed.

"So it took yer body on a rampage?"

"It would have, but it was stopped," Freed explained, absently playing with the water. "At this point, I should tell you that the boy I was seeing was Laxus. He had come to my town on a mission, we had met by chance and he visited most weekends. When my parents walked in on us, he refused to leave the town because he saw their reactions. He sensed the influx of magic so ran to my house to see if I was okay. He saw the demon and I suppose his instincts took over. As I said, the demon wasn't able to control a human body very well, so Laxus managed to defeat it before it could hurt anybody else."

"Were you okay?" Gajeel asked. "After it happened, I mean?"

"It was unusual. I was completely drained of magic so I didn't wake up for weeks. Laxus brought me to Fairy Tail, so Porlyusica was tending to me. She realised that the demon needed to feed off my energy, so stripped me of all the energy I didn't need. Essentially I was kept on the brink of death for a week," Freed looked a little sad. "They considered performing another exorcism, but with the lack of energy it might have killed me. And it was an untested treatment that could make things worse, so they didn't know what to do.

"Eventually they turned to the Wizard Saints, who said runic magic might help. The rune army came, wished to take me away but Makarov wouldn't let them. They wrote runes on my soul meant to suppress the demon. Eventually I was allowed to wake up, and the demon couldn't break free of the runes. Tentatively I was allowed more of my energy, and the demon still couldn't break out. When I was allowed to use magic again, I decided to learn runes so I wouldn't have to meet with the army weekly to replenish the spell. Slowly, I got used to it, and it became part of my life. My parents found me at some point, paid me to disown me and buy my silence, and I began life at Fairy Tail. Eventually, it became normal."

"Fuck," Gajeel breathed, not sure of what else to say. That was a lot of information Freed had trusted him with. He needed to be tactful, but that wasn't his expertise. "Must've been rough."

"It was, but then it got better," Freed shrugged, skin shimmering in the moonlight. "Sorry, I've rather brought down the mood, haven't I?"

"Ain't a problem," Gajeel assured him on instinct, because Freed was hurting and he didn't like that. Freed was still looking at the surface of the water, sad. He couldn't accept that, so spoke again with forced teasing. "So, you and Sparky were together, huh? You still screwing?"

"Gods no," Freed laughed at that, and it seemed genuine. "No. When I was recovering we didn't think it wise to be anything intimate. When I was at a place where I could try something, we had created a friendship we both cherished. We're better platonic than romantic," Freed glanced to Gajeel, smiling a little. "He wasn't my type, anyway."

"What's yer type?"

"Strong willed, principled, powerful. Essentially, I want a man more exciting than my job," Freed shrugged, then looked back to Gajeel for a moment. "A man who's able to set my world on fire."

"You ever found a guy like that?" Gajeel asked, voice a little hopeful.

"I could hardly tell you, where's the fun in that?" Freed laughed, spreading his arms against the edge of the lake. He didn't look away from Gajeel this time, and he was pretty sure Freed was checking him out. "What's your type?"

"Smart, capable, a guy with a great ass wouldn't hurt," Gajeel looked shamelessly at Freed, eyeing his abs through the rippling water. If Freed wanted to drop all pretence of not finding him hot, then he'd do the same. "Maybe a man who knows how to keep me in line when I'm being a dick. But I don't want a square."

"That's rather a contradiction," Freed smirked a little, and his tongue poked out for a moment. Gajeel decided he was going to pierce that tongue one day. "It'd be awfully hard to find a man like that."

"They're rare," Gajeel agreed.

"Have you ever found a man worth your time?"

"I ain't telling you if you ain't telling me," Gajeel laughed, crossing his arms and flexing his biceps.

Freed seemed to think for a moment, and Gajeel grinned. The energy between them had changed yet again, this time charged with a sexual edge. Maybe the change from the seriousness of their conversation to this was drastic, but it was also perfect. Gajeel was sure that Freed didn't tell people about his life if he didn't trust them, so him explaining his past was an expression of their relationship. It was Freed taking Gajeel's advice, accepting the unconventional nature of their relationship rather than thinking things through. He trusted Gajeel for no real reason, but the trust was there no matter what.

This was how the week was destined to end, Gajeel realised. The tension between them at the start of the week hadn't left, it had just changed. Their antagonist side had been replaced with desire. Desire for more, for something intimate and primal.

"What if I showed you?" Freed offered.

"Showed me?" Gajeel quirked an eyebrow. "How d'ya plan on doing that."

Freed didn't speak, but he stood up. Gajeel swallowed, breathless as he looked up at Freed's naked body. He was illuminated by the moonlight, looking beautiful in his nudity. His muscles rippled, hair clinging to his back and he slowly walked towards Gajeel. He was transfixed by the man, unable to look away from the ethereal draw the man had on him.

With slow, teasing movements, Freed lowered himself again. Gajeel let out a shuddering breath when Freed straddled him, cupping his jaw gently. They stared at each other for a moment, wonderstruck.

"You sure this is what you want?" Gajeel whispered.

"Yes," Freed whispered in return, smiling so beautifully that Gajeel couldn't look away. "So very sure."

They moved towards one another at the same time. Their heads tilted and their lips pressed together in a slow, perfect kiss. Freed's lips were rougher than they looked, and the way he melted into Gajeel was incredible. His movements were slow and addictive, and Gajeel wanted more.

His inner dragon was practically purring in delight, and Gajeel could feel his magic running through the runes on his arm. This was right. This was natural. This was inevitable.

His hands laced into Freed's hair, grinning when a little tug got Freed to moan. Their bodies were pressed tight, and Gajeel felt Freed's hand on his lower back, pushing him closer. They leaned further into the kiss, as close to a single being two men could be. Gajeel's eyes had closed in pleasure as he ran a hand down Freed's spine, and cupped his bare ass.

"Gods," Freed gasped when they pulled apart. "That was… Gods."

"Fuck I wanted to do that since the moment I saw ya," Gajeel said, and he wasn't lying. He hadn't realised it was what he'd always wanted to do, but it was obvious now. "Fuck yer amazin'."

"You're beautiful," Freed responded, still breathless.

They looked at each other for a moment, grinning at one another. Freed felt just as explosively alive as Gajeel did, the dragon-slayer was sure of that. This was how they belonged, and all of the fighting and posturing and self-doubting was just a bullshit distraction because they didn't know how to deal with the overwhelming need for each other.

Freed was his Minn Maðr. His person.

"If you'd like, I bet I can teleport us both to my room without breaking a kiss," Freed offered with a mischievous smile that sent Gajeel's blood alight. Gods, this man!

"Fuck yeah!" Gajeel said, unashamedly grinning.

As runes covered their naked bodies, Gajeel felt an overwhelming sense of rightness. As they hit the mattress, he let out a small 'Gihi.'

#Gajeed #Freedjeel #Freed x Gajeel #freed justine #Gajeel Redfox #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #Multi Chap #Chapter Seven #Word Count: 5.4k

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avatarstories · 4 years

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izumi’s birthday part three: sources of wisdom

The next morning, breakfast with the family is awkward. Izumi was a few moments late, having had to stop by the royal seamstress to have the last adjustments fitted for party outfit finished. By the time she arrived at breakfast, everyone was seated, and the only empty chair was between her father and Bumi. Bumi’s stony expression made her want to just be swallowed up by the floor. Maybe she could go find Druk and convince him to eat her. She gives Bumi a sad smile, and he rolls his eyes with a noticeable exhale. Izumi takes her seat quietly trying her hardest to give him as much space as possible.

“Are we going to talk about how Izumi and Bumi are making the air in the room extremely uncomfortable?” Kya says. “Lover’s quarrel?” she jokes.

“Fuck off, Kya” Bumi mutters, looking down at the table in front of him. Kya is across from him and leans in trying to get his attention.

“Excuse me?” she says with a joking lilt in her voice.

Bumi doesn’t say anything. Instead, he throws his tea at Kya and storms out of the dining room. Everyone is silent but all eyes are on Izumi. Having managed to stop the tea from hitting her, Kya bends it back into a cup.

“Well, Happy Birthday, Izumi! What an exciting way to start the day,” Kya deadpans. Zuko looks at Izumi with a concerned expression. Azula looks ready to go to murder. Toph and Lin have their eyebrows raised and are taking a big sips of their mango juices. Tenzin hangs his head and focuses intently at his rice. Izumi notices Katara giving Aang a look that says go after him and when he doesn’t move she shakes her head.

“This looks like a job for a wise old man like me,” Iroh says, pushing his chair back so that he can stand up.

“General Iroh, it’s really ok, Aang can take care of it,” Katara says.

“Uh, I kinda agree with General Iroh,” Aang replies sheepishly.

If looks could kill, the ice in Katara’s eyes would have Aang pinned to the wall. “You are unbelievable,” she says quietly, though the anger and disappointment in her tone are unmistakable. She follows Bumi out the door

“Looks like Twinkletoes is in the polar bear doghouse,” Toph says. Aang groans and then goes after Katara and Bumi.

“Care to enlighten us, Izumi?” Azula asks.

“Not really,” she mutters. “I’m going to the training yard,” she announces quietly, and she walks out the door.

Azula looks between Zuko and Iroh “I would go after her, but I was planning to go boss some staff around to make sure her party is perfect, which I think now needs to be even more perfect,” she says.

“I will see what is bothering our dear Izumi,” Iroh says pushing out his chair once again. He and Azula leave the room.

“Man,” Lin says “I thought mom and I would be the ones to start drama.” At that, Sokka laughs so hard he snorts, and Suki punches him in the side for it. —————————————————————————————————

Izumi is moving through advanced katas when Iroh finds her.

“I have told you before, forms practiced in anger are like tea steeped in unclean water, dear Izumi.”

She finishes the form sending an arc of a flame towards the stone wall with an audibly annoyed exhale.

“Now, are you going to tell me what is wrong or should I guess? Kya suggested a -”

“IM NOT DATING BUMI! CAN EVERYONE STOP THINKING THAT!”

Iroh chuckles. “Everyone used to think the same of your father and Katara when they were yours and Bumi’s ages. When people share a special bond others cannot help but wonder. But of course I did not come here to talk about your father’s youthful affections. It appears you and Bumi are experiencing a strain. Care to inform your old grandfather so he can help you?”

“We had a misunderstanding.”

“I know that I am old, Izumi, but I am not blind.”

“Bumi was telling me about some issues in their family between him and his dad, and I basically told him that he should be lucky not to have the weight of a legacy on his shoulders.”

“So your problem stems from your fear of your future,” Iroh affirms. “Rightfully so on an occasion as momentous as your 17th birthday, but Izumi, you are a kind, gentle, and fair minded young woman, and your father is a picture of health, what has brought about this anxiety?”

Izumi crosses her arms and says nothing.

“Izumi?”

“I overheard some of the noblewomen talking about a curse on the Fire Ladies.”

“And what is this curse?”

“That Fire Ladies who die in childbirth give rise to evil Fire Lords. The spirits make them pay the ultimate price for what they bring into the world.”

Iroh takes in her words. “And so you have applied this to your own birth?” Izumi nods.

“You’re young yet Izumi, but I think you will find that destiny is what you make of it,” he says. “You and your father are the descendants of Sozin and Azulon, but you’re also the descendants of Avatar Roku on your grandmother’s side. There’s light and dark in you, and you will have to chose what nature you will allow to flourish. But knowing you, I would largely place my bets on the light side. And,” he takes a pause, “you can always seek to redeem yourself for your faults. I tried to break through the walls of Ba Sing Se, and then I took it back from the Fire Nation. Your father chased Aang halfway across the world, and now they are best friends. Azula was one of the most terrifying people in existence -”

“She still is.”

He chuckles. “Yes, she still is. But the original fire bending masters deemed her worthy of regaining her power when she lost it and repented, and they even gifted her a dragon egg as they did to your father,” he explains.

“Your father’s legacy was to end a war. Yours will be the equally important one of maintaining peace,” Iroh says. “Now, maybe you should go practice that and make your amends with Master Bumi. I am off to make some tea.”

“What if he won’t speak to me,” she asks.

“Well then your partner dance in front of the court later on at your party will be terribly uncomfortable!” he says walking back inside. ——————————————————————————————————— Bumi does not really know where he is walking to, and he just follows the direction that instinct takes him. He can hear his parents behind him, but he does not stop.

“Bumi please,” Katara calls.

He groans and walks faster. In this instance, he was incredibly pleased with himself because he still remembers some of the secret passageways in the palace that Izumi had showed him as children when they would play hide and explode with Izumi’s Aunt Kiyi and Aunt Azula, so he ducked into one that he knew was coming and hears his parents run right passed. It was slightly dark inside, which made perfect sense considering that usually only firebenders used these hallways and had no need for any other light.

Bumi went off memory and kept his right hand on the wall. If he had to figure this out like a maze in order to get out, that’s what he would do. After about ten minutes in the dark, he feels a variation in the stone that tells him he’s found a door. If he remembers correctly, this one will let him out by the portrait gallery. However, when he opens the door, he’s stopped by a piece of furniture.

“Huh?” he hears someone ask, and soon the furniture is being shoved out of the way and the door opens and bright light blinds him, and Azula is standing in front of him.

She stares him up and down. “I would offer to help you but I will warn you first that if you ruin Izumi’s birthday, not even the fact that your father is the Avatar will save you from me.”

Bumi remains frozen, unsure what to do.

“Well don’t just sit there,” she says, raising a brow. He stumbles into what he realizes to be Azula’s office.

“If you are avoiding your parents who ran after you when you caused quite the commotion at breakfast, then my office would definitely be the best place to hide. Push that back into place,” she commands gesturing to the small table she had just moved.

Bumi has not spent much time alone with Azula. Whenever he would visit the Fire Nation, he and Izumi were attached at the hip. Every summer when Kya would go to the Southern Water Tribe and his dad and Tenzin would go to an Air Temple, Bumi would get dropped off in the Fire Nation for a few months of sword training with Master Piandao. After Piandao passed away, Zuko offered to continue training him since Sokka was busy trying to get Republic City up and running. In all that time, he’d never really gotten to know Azula. From what Izumi had told him, Azula was Zuko’s right hand. She lead his small council and sat in on meetings when he was away on diplomatic trips, which made her an extremely powerful person.

He looks around her office. It’s clean and tidy. There is a small ink portrait of Izumi on the wall to the right of Azula's desk, and vases of Fire Lilies around the room.

Azula studies him while he looks around the room. “Should I ask what’s bothering you or should we pretend this exchange never happened?”

“Whatever you prefer,” he replies.

“I prefer to be well informed.”

“Izumi and I had a fight.”

“I gleaned that,” she says flatly. There’s a pause. “Izumi hates celebrating her birthday. She tells us every year it makes her feel guilty, but the 17th birthday of the Heir Apparent is a rite of passage in the Fire Nation.”

“Why’s that?”

“Traditionally, it’s when the Crown Prince, or in Izumi’s case, Princess, starts sitting on the small council and has to take up a stronger political role than just kissing babies and doing well in school… it’s seen as the last day of childhood.”

Oh Bumi thinks. “That’s why she’s so stressed.”

“Most likely a factor.”

“She never mentioned it.”

“Well, you know Izumi. Unless it’s Zuko, getting her to tell you what’s wrong is like pulling teeth. She is like you in that regard.” Bumi looks puzzled. “I read people very well,” she says in reply to his reaction. There’s a pause as she regards him. “I do not imagine it is easy to be a non-bender in a family like yours.”

“Man, you really don’t hold back.”

She offers him a half smile. “I understand the fear of being a disappointment too. When I was 12 I was so scared of failure and what would happen if I disappointed my father. It was not even two years by the time I self destructed.”

“I’m not going to self destruct,” he mutters.

“Then you might need some help carrying that weight on your shoulders around.”

He is quiet for a minute. “What if there’s no one to help me?”

She glances down at a small ink drawing of her mother, Zuko, and herself that sits on her desk. “From my experience, you can often find help in very unexpected places, but you have to be open to being helped.”

AN: you cannot convince me Azula didn’t get a redemption arc and a lot of healing and become a strange source of wisdom. you just can’t. azula redemptions are a peak of feminist literature.

I imagine redeemed Azula serves Zuko in a position similar to the hand of the king from GoT.

#avatarstories #izumi #bumi #azula #zuko #aang #katara #toph #lin #kya #iroh

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girls-scenarios · 4 years

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Maybe It’s Not So Bad

Idols: Minju and Yujin (IZ*ONE)

Prompt: Kim Minju, the princess of the drama club and the most beautiful girl Yujin had ever laid eyes on, was standing in her living room. Could this get any worse?

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: This was my fic for the Girl Crush Fic Exchange, you can also find it over on AO3 if you’d like to read it there!

For parents, Chaeyeon and Sakura were usually pretty cool. Not only were they famous enough that the kids at school always asked Yujin about them, but they were also funny and laid back. They always supported Yujin and her younger sister Wonyoung, from letting them participate in all the teams and clubs they wanted to buying them the latest fashions to letting them know that they could talk to them about anything. When her friends complained about their parents not letting them go to parties or not understanding them, Yujin could never relate because she had a close relationship with her moms. Chaeyeon and Sakura encouraged her to live her youth to the fullest and let her be very open with them about her thoughts and feelings. So yeah, Yujin thought they were usually pretty cool.

Usually.

Yujin loved her moms, she really did. But she didn’t understand why they were so embarrassing. They were always so lovey-dovey and loud in public, they said weird and embarrassing things in front of her friends, and worst of all, even though they encouraged her to be a normal teen, they still treated her like a kid sometimes.

Now was one of those times.

Staying home alone over the weekend was a like rite of passage for normal teenagers (at least, that’s what the dramas on TV made it seem like), so when Chaeyeon and Sakura told both their daughters over dinner that the two of them would be going to a resort over the weekend for their anniversary, Yujin was immediately excited. It wasn’t like she was going to throw a big party or anything-she wasn’t brave enough to trash the place-but she had imagined inviting her friends to sleep over and play video games and eat junk food late into the night without anyone to tell her not to. She had imagined having one of the best nights of her life doing whatever she wanted to do with her friends and was already planning who to invite over and what takeout to order as they spoke.

And then her moms had crushed her hopes and dreams for the perfect weekend.

“A babysitter?” Yujin stood from her seat, her eyes narrowed and her hands planted firmly on the table as she stared at her moms, her mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief. “You got us a babysitter? I’m a junior in high school and I’ll be a senior in a few months, I don’t need a babysitter!”

“I wouldn’t call her a babysitter, although I’m sure she’s done that before too,” Chaeyeon said calmly, as if her two daughters weren’t so mortified they were about to melt into the floor. “She’s the daughter of a family friend and we’re just asking her to come over while we’re gone.”

“That’s the same thing as a babysitter,” Wonyoung complained, putting down her chopsticks and frowning. “Why do we need someone to stay with us? We’re home alone while you two are at work all the time.”

“This is different.”

“How?” Yujin demanded, crossing her arms.

“For starters, neither of you have ever spent the night alone without a parent or adult in the house,” Sakura said, glancing over at her wife before fixing her daughters with a small amused smile. “Second, if we left you alone, who would cook all the meals? I don’t want to come back to a destroyed kitchen.”

Yujin huffed, knowing that she had a point but not wanting to admit it. She was a danger in the kitchen and all Wonyoung knew how to cook was instant noodles, because Chaeyeon and Sakura loved cooking and were always the ones to do it. Still, she wasn’t about to back down. “We could just order takeout.”

“For breakfast, lunch, and dinner two days in a row?” Chaeyeon raised her eyebrows, then sighed and leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “Listen girls, you’re both great and we trust you not to throw any crazy parties or do anything bad. But trusting the two of you to cook, clean, and not mess anything up while we’re gone is another story. We just feel safer having someone else here to make sure the two of you don’t blow the house up on accident.”

“How would we blow up the house? We aren’t that stupid,” Yujin said, to which Sakura laughed.

“Yujin, you almost microwaved a spoon just last week.”

Blushing, the oldest daughter huffed and slumped back down into her chair, fuming internally and glaring down at the plate in front of her. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.

“How old is the babysitter?” Wonyoung asked, a pout evident on her lips even as she apparently accepted the situation. Yujin’s frown deepened. Of course it was easier for her to accept, she was only in middle school so it wasn’t as embarrassing for her.

“She’s eighteen.”

“So she’s barely older than me!” Yujin threw up her hands in frustration. “This is dumb!”

“Yujin.” Chaeyeon fixed her daughter with a cool look, causing her to freeze. Her mom only used that look when she was dead serious. “We have already made up our mind. Nothing you do is going to make us think any differently. Now, please sit up straight and finish your food before it gets cold. We can talk more about this when you calm down.”

Grumbling, Yujin sat up in her chair and picked up her chopsticks. She couldn’t believe this was happening. This was a new level of embarrassment, even for her moms, and she could only hope that the “babysitter” was someone she didn’t know. Otherwise, she would have to immigrate and change her name to avoid the embarrassment of people at school finding out that her moms got her a babysitter at seventeen years old.

Later that night, after fuming in the shower, Yujin wandered into Wonyoung’s bedroom and flopped down face-first onto her younger sister’s big pink bed. Annoyed, the younger girl kicked at her shoulder, peering at her over her phone and letting out a whine when she saw her.

“Your hair is still wet, you’re going to get my blankets wet!”

“Shut up,” Yujin grumbled, her voice muffled by the blankets as she swatted her sister’s foot away. “We have a bigger problem on our hands than your blankets getting wet.”

“Huh?”

“Did you really forget that our moms are getting us a babysitter this weekend?”

“Oh, right.” Wonyoung frowned slightly and put her phone down, leaning back against her bed frame and picking up her fluffy pillow to hug it to her chest with a sigh. “I mean, you heard them, it’s not like we can do anything to change their mind.”

Yujin rolled over and stretched out her arms beside her, pouting up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe this is happening right now. They should have at least let me plead my case.”

“You can’t cook or clean and you almost blew up the microwave,” the younger girl pointed out, “you wouldn’t have been able to say anything.”

Yujin turned to frown at her. “Okay, sure, but do you really want to have a babysitter at your age? What if your friends find out?”

Wonyoung thought for a moment, pressing her lips together. “I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing,” she admitted, “but I would have had you telling me what to do anyway. Plus, I don’t think my friends are the type of people to make fun of me for it.”

“It’s not my friends I’m worried about. What if the babysitter girl is mean and tells the whole school she was hired to babysit me even though she’s only, like, a year older than me?” Just the idea was enough to make Yujin groan and cover her face. “I’d actually die!”

“You’re so dramatic,” her sister complained, then sighed again. “But I do hope she’s nice. I’d rather stay home without a babysitter, but it would be awful if she was strict and actually treated us like we’re kids.”

“I won’t listen to her even if she is strict.” Yujin rolled her eyes. “She’s only a year older than me, that’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb,” Wonyoung replied, picking back up her phone. “I’m not going to do anything that will get me in trouble. It’s not like being rude will change anything, you might as well accept it.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re siding with our moms over this.” Yujin sat up and huffed dramatically as she flipped her still-wet hair over her shoulder, splattering her sister with water and making her gasp. “I’ve lost my only comrade.”

“Yujin! Now everything is wet!” Wonyoung’s eyes flashed as she picked up the pillow next to her and the older girl screamed, jumping off the bed and making a run for the safety of her room as her sister chased after her, yelling something about her being annoying.

The pillow hit her door as she slammed it closed behind her and she could hear Chaeyeon call up the stairs for her not to slam things, but she just stuck out her tongue at the door, feeling uncharacteristically rebellious. Maybe it was because she was upset that her moms were treating her like a kid or maybe it was because she was hurt by their lack of trust. Whatever it was, it made her stomp over to her bed, grumbling under her breath about stupid parents and rules as she pulled out her phone to distract herself with dance videos, wishing, for once, that the weekend would never come.

Usually, Friday would find Yujin rushing home after dance practice, excited to stay up late watching dramas and playing video games with her sister. But today Yujin’s feet dragged underneath her and she stared down at the sidewalk, kicking at the small pebbles and leaves in her way as she headed home. Wonyoung walked just as slowly beside her, her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie and her lips curved down into a pout.

“Do you think the babysitter is already there?” Wonyoung asked, her shoulder bumping against Yujin’s as she avoided a crack in the sidewalk.

“I don’t know. I hope not. I hope she never shows up.” The older girl frowned and kicked the pinecone in her path extra hard, sending it skittering down the road. “We don’t have to stay with the babysitter, right?”

Wonyoung blinked and looked over at her. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. There should be no reason that we have to stay home on Saturday. We should be able to go out with our friends, right? So we don’t have to see the babysitter until that night.”

“My friends did ask me if I wanted to hang out this weekend.” The younger sister perked up. “It should be okay, right? I mean, they let us go out on the weekends all the time.”

“That’s what I’m saying. They can’t make us stay with her all day.” As the two of them approached their house, Yujin stopped and reached out to grab her sister’s arm. “You aren’t going to abandon me with the babysitter, right?”

“Why would I abandon you?”

“I’m just making sure. When we were little you would always make me look bad in front of the babysitters too.”

“That was forever ago!” When Wonyoung saw that Yujin was serious, she sighed. “I won’t, I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” The younger sister reached out to curl their fingers together for a brief moment before breaking from her sister’s grasp. “Come on, let’s go inside now. Otherwise our moms are going to get onto us for being late.” She led the way up the stairs to the door and Yujin reluctantly followed with a huff, her eyebrows furrowed as she went through all of her complaints in her head.

Only for them to die on her lips when she stepped inside and saw the girl standing next to her moms.

Oh god. Kim Minju, the princess of the drama club and the most beautiful girl Yujin had ever laid eyes on, was standing in her living room. Her mouth went dry as she froze at the door, clutching her bag in her hands even as Wonyoung kicked off her shoes and cautiously walked inside, letting her bag fall off her shoulders.

“Come inside, Yujin,” Chaeyeon called, and Yujin swallowed as Minju turned to look at her with a small smile. The older girl waved and Yujin hesitantly waved back before quickly taking off her shoes, her head spinning. Was this really happening? “Girls,” Chaeyeon said as Yujin shakily approached, “this is Minju. You remember our friend Eunbi, right? This is her and Hyewon’s daughter. She’ll be staying here for the weekend to help you guys with food and cleaning. Please make her feel at home.”

“R-right,” Yujin stuttered, her rebellious phase disappearing as soon as it had appeared as she tried to come to terms with what was happening. Minju, the girl Yujin had been crushing on for years, was her babysitter. Could this get any worse? A giggle from Wonyoung reminded her that it could, in fact, get worse and she tried to force herself to get it together. She couldn’t make a fool of herself in front of Minju, even if her parents had already embarrassed her. So she flashed her signature cool smile and greeted the other girl. “Hey, I’m Yujin.”

“I know,” Minju said, making Yujin short circuit, blinking at her.

“Huh?”

The older girl laughed, but there was nothing mean about it. “I know who you are. You’re on the dance team at school. You guys are incredible, I come to watch every performance!”

“Really?” Well, so much for getting herself together. Yujin felt as if she were floating, or maybe swimming, through the air, the oxygen escaping her lungs as her heart pounded in her ears. Was this the gay panic she’d heard so much about? Her thoughts were scrambled, but she managed to force out a reply that didn’t make her look like a total dork. “Thanks! You know, I watch all of the drama club’s productions. You’re a really great actress!”

“Thank you, I’m flattered to hear that you think so.” The other girl smiled, sweet and shy, tucking a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear, and Yujin could feel herself blushing as her moms looked between the two of them.

“Oh, you two know each other?” Sakura beamed and clasped her hands together. “That’s great! I hope you all have lots of fun together while we’re away.”

“Not too much fun, if you know what I mean,” Chaeyeon said with a wink, making both of her daughters groan.

“Mom you’re so embarrassing,” Wonyoung complained, crossing her arms as Yujin stared down at the floor, letting her hair fall into her face and wishing it could hide her from the world. Why was this happening to her? She didn't think Minju was a bad person, but what if she told her friends? She’d never hear the end of it. Just the thought mortified her to her core and she swallowed, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. Maybe she could bribe her not to tell or something….

“We already went over all the rules,” Chaeyeon said, handing a notepad to Minju. “The fridge and pantry are fully stocked and you can make anything you want. If you want to get a snack or drink for yourself that’s okay. The spare bedroom is all yours while you’re staying here, everything has been cleaned and set up for you so make yourself at home.” She turned her eyes to her daughters and fixed them with a stern stare that made them both stand up a little bit straighter. “Girls, make sure you’re nice to Minju, I know you’re both getting older but you still have to listen to her if she asks the two of you to do something. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” both girls responded in unison, and when Yujin glanced over to her side, she saw Minju stifle a laugh. Was that a good or bad sign? She really didn’t know.

“We’ll be back on Sunday morning. Don’t burn anything down until then.” Sakura stepped forward to give both of her daughters a hug, followed closely by Chaeyeon. At first, Yujin was stiff, but she hugged back reluctantly. Was it normal for teenagers to hug their moms? She really didn’t want to embarrass herself any more than her moms already had.

“We love you girls,” Chaeyeon said as she picked up the last of her bags, blowing them exaggerated kisses. Sakura laughed and followed suit, and this time, Minju did let out a little giggle.

“We love you too,” Wonyoung replied, and Yujin waved with the most genuine smile she could muster.

“Have a good trip!”

After a bit more cooing from Sakura, their moms were off, waving as they drove away. For a moment, an awkward silence fell over the room and Yujin worried at her bottom lip as she slowly let her hand fall to her side, watching her mom's car until it disappeared around the corner. This was really happening, and she had never once in her life been shy, but she had no idea what to say or do, just standing frozen in front of the window, too nervous to turn and look at the beautiful girl standing beside her.

Thankfully, Wonyoung cleared her throat, interrupting the awkward atmosphere and making both of the older girls turn to look at her “So, uh, what should we do for dinner?” The youngest asked, glancing at her older sister. There was the hint of a teasing smile on her lips, and Yujin narrowed her eyes as if to tell her sister not to say a word. Beside her, Minju (thankfully oblivious to the silent battle between sisters) checked her watch.

“What are you guys in the mood for?” She asked, “I can make just about anything as long as I have the ingredients.” She smiled that same shy smile as she shrugged her shoulders. “I might not be as good as your moms, but I’ll try!”

Wonyoung’s grin grew as she gestured to her sister, turning Minju’s attention to her. “I don’t know, what are you in the mood for, Yujin?”

She was going to kill her sister if she didn’t die from embarrassment first. The older girl turned her pretty smile to face Yujin, her eyebrows raised slightly, waiting for an answer, and the younger girl faltered for a moment before her dumb gay brain started to work enough for her to form sentences again.

“Um, I’m really okay with anything,” she forced out, and Minju let out a small giggle, making Yujin wonder if she was nervous too. If she stopped agonizing over every detail of the experience from her point of view, she could see how babysitting two teenagers could potentially be a bit terrifying. Still, being the babysitter was not as bad as being the baby-sat teenager, so she didn’t linger much on the thought.

“Well, you guys have to choose something for dinner, otherwise I won’t know what to make.”

“Then how about tteokbokki?” Wonyoung asked with wide eyes, taking advantage of the situation to suggest one of her favorite foods. Minju smiled, visibly relieved as her shoulders relaxed a bit.

“I can make that.”

“Awesome! I’ll be upstairs, just yell at me when it’s done. Oh, and don’t let Yujin near anything hot, she almost blew up the house using the microwave. Have fun!” With a satisfied grin, her teasing complete, Wonyoung turned and skipped up the stairs, leaving Yujin to blush and glare after her, running through ideas for revenge in her head. She was so going to get her for this later.

For a moment, there was once again awkward silence, until Minju cleared her throat. “Do I want to know how you almost blew up the house using the microwave?”

“I almost microwaved a spoon,” Yujin mumbled, ducking her head so that her short hair fell over her face. “But she’s exaggerating, my moms caught me before I could even turn the microwave on.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I almost did the same thing last year.” Minju giggled and Yujin finally dared to look up at her. There was a dusting of pink on her cheeks as she recounted her own near disaster. “I was really tired and forgot to take the spoon out of my soup after I stirred it. I would have blown up the microwave if my mom didn’t reach around me to yank open the microwave door. I got a pretty big lecture after that.”

Hearing that Minju - the most perfect person Yujin had ever laid eyes on - had also made the spoon mistake made her feel a little better, enough to laugh and rub at the back of her neck. “I’m glad to know that I’m not the only clumsy one, then.”

“Definitely not. I’ve had more mistakes in the kitchen than I’d care to remember.”

Yujin raised her eyebrows, a teasing smile creeping onto her lips. “We’re safe, right?”

The older girl waved her arms in front of her, as if to wave away Yujin’s mock concern. “Totally safe! I haven’t had a kitchen accident in at least a year. And if anyone is in danger, it would just be me.” The two of them laughed and Minju let out a sigh of relief. “By the way, I’m glad it’s you.”

Well, the blush was back. Yujin wondered if her eyes were as wide as they felt and, if so, how dumb she looked. “What? What do you mean?”

“When my moms told me that their friends wanted me to stay with their teenagers, well…. I was really nervous.” The older girl twisted her hands together. “I mean, it’s embarrassing on both sides, but I was kind of scared that the person I was staying with would lash out at me because their parents wouldn’t let them stay at home alone. So I’m glad it’s you.”

“Oh.” Yujin felt a bit ashamed, knowing that her plan had been to be as annoying as possible until the moment she walked in the door. But she swallowed, shoving her hands into the pockets of her uniform skirt because she wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “It is embarrassing,” she said slowly, “I mean, if people at school found out that my moms got me a babysitter, I’d be mortified.”

“I would never say anything,” Minju quickly assured her, waving her hands in front of her. “You don’t have to worry about that!”

“Thank you.” The younger girl let out her own sigh of relief, then smiled a real smile, most of the tension that she’d been holding in her chest since her moms told her about their trip washing away. “I’m glad it’s you too. Don’t worry, I won’t be too bad. I’m sure I’m not as bad as a toddler.”

Minju laughed, and Yujin let herself get lost in the sound of it for a moment, amazed that she was actually hearing it up close instead of from across the cafeteria. “Thank you, I'm relieved." After a pause, the older girl nodded towards the kitchen. "Want to help me with dinner? I'll make sure not to give you any dangerous tasks." Her face was hopeful and inviting as she pulled her chestnut hair back into a low ponytail, and Yujin wouldn't have been able to say no even if she wanted to. Minju was so pretty that she would have followed her into the sea had she asked.

"Okay," she said, her heart inching into her throat, wanting nothing more than to make a good impression. "As long as you don't think I'll be in the way of anything."

"You'll be okay, I won't let you get hurt."

Yujin had never been good in the kitchen. Maybe it was because she was clumsy when it came to anything other than dancing, or maybe it was because her moms had always cooked for her so she'd never had to learn for herself. Whatever the reason, she was sure that she was never supposed to step foot in a kitchen. Whenever she had tried to help or make things for herself in the past, disaster had always struck. Even just standing there seemed to bring bad luck, as Sakura always seemed to drop something or hurt herself when Yujin was in the kitchen. Of course, this could have been due to Sakura's own clumsiness, but still. She didn't have great experiences in the kitchen, so she couldn't help but be nervous when she followed Minju into the kitchen, obeying her instructions of "pull back your hair" and "wash your hands."

Thankfully, Minju was smart enough to keep her away from the oven and any potentially dangerous knives or boiling pots. Instead, Yujin became her helper, showing her where everything she needed was located and getting the ingredients for her when she called for them. The older girl did all the hard work (at least, as hard as making tteokbokki could be) but for once, Yujin didn't feel completely useless in the kitchen.

Instead she almost felt… comfortable. Minju liked to chat as she cooked, sometimes pausing to stare in concentration at what she was doing before jumping right back into the conversation after she was satisfied with her work. It was a cute habit and it made Yujin smile as she watched her, leaning back on the counter because her work was mostly done.

“Do you like cooking?” She asked after Minju paused again, this time to add the cheese to the top of the dish.

The older girl brightened, nodding her head. “I do! I’m kind of clumsy too, but whenever I’m stressed, I find that cooking calms me down. Plus, when I cook something for someone and they smile and tell me that it’s good, it makes me feel really happy. And it’s amazing to be able to cook whatever you want, whenever you want.” She turned to look back at the other girl, tilting her head. “I’m guessing you don’t?”

Yujin laughed. “It’s more like it doesn’t like me, honestly. I’ve tried but I can never get the hang of it. I always end up turning the whole experience into a disaster. My moms don’t even trust me to peel my own oranges because I almost chopped off my finger with the peeler when I was fourteen.”

“Woah, really?” The older girl raised her eyebrows, the hint of a teasing smile on her lips. “That’s almost a talent, then. I’ve never heard of anyone hurting themselves with an orange peeler.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s me.”

“That’s kind of funny.” As she turned her attention back to the almost completed dish, Minju shrugged, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “Though if it’s any consolation, I didn’t think this experience was a disaster. It thought it was fun.”

It took Yujin a moment to realize what she was talking about, and when she did, she froze, her fingers clutching at the marble countertop as she felt her face begin to heat up again, a wonderful dizziness encompassing her entire being. She felt as if she had just stumbled off a roller coaster, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she watched the tips of Minju’s ears turn a light pink and did her best to hold in the urge to let out a giddy scream into the nearest pillow. The older girl had already turned off the stove and moved the pan to the cool burner by the time Yujin was able to form words again, finally pushing away from the counter to wipe her sweaty hands on her uniform skirt so that she could finish her job as helper and grab the plates from the cabinet beside the oven.

“I-I thought it was fun too.” The words stumbled a bit on their way out, but she was rewarded with a bright smile from Minju nonetheless, making her world spin a little faster. For the briefest of moments, time seemed to stop, the sun freezing in the sky outside the window as Minju turned to face her, so close that Yujin could smell her floral perfume. It would be so easy to hold the older girl’s hand, and the way she was looking at her made Yujin feel like maybe Minju wanted all the same things that she did.

The older girl opened her mouth, parting those pretty pink lips with a flush on her cheeks, but Yujin never got to hear what she wanted to say.

Instead, she heard Wonyoung asking loudly if the food was done, effectively shattering the moment. The sun dipped down beyond the windowsill and she spun around to give her younger sister a glare as Minju cleared her throat and stepped back, turning her attention back to the almost forgotten dish on the stove.

“We were just about to call you,” Minju said. Wonyoung didn’t look like she believed her, looking between the two of them with mild amusement, but she didn’t say anything, just skipping past Yujin to grab a plate. The two of them didn’t move until she was finished, finally glancing at each other as Wonyoung sat at the table and put in her earbuds, blocking them out. The air was charged, but it didn’t feel… bad. Still, Yujin wasn’t sure what to say or do, and she kicked herself for suddenly becoming so awkward again as she gestured to the tteokbokki.

“Um, I guess we should eat too?”

“Yeah.” Minju let out a shy giggle and bumped her shoulder against Yujin’s as she picked up a plate, a silent reassurance that helped settle the nerves bundling in the younger girl’s chest. “I guess we should.”

An hour later found Yujin sitting beside Minju on the couch as Wonyoung scrolled through Netflix from the beanbag, asking them what they were in the mood to watch. After neither of the older girls gave her an answer (Yujin was having a hard time thinking about anything other than how close Minju’s hand was to hers) she shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, since you guys aren’t going to choose, we’re going to watch Hyori’s Bed and Breakfast.”

This snapped Yujin out of her gay stupour and she groaned in protest. “Again? But you’ve watched that at least a hundred times!”

“Because Lee Hyori is the queen. You snooze, you lose,” her younger sister replied with a grin. This interaction made Minju giggle and just the sound was enough to convince Yujin to stand this one down, not wanting to embarrass herself yet again in front of the older girl. Still, she huffed as she settled back into her seat. She would have crossed her arms, but she didn’t want to pull her hand away from the couch, just in case Minju decided to hold it.

“Fine. But we’d better be watching the episodes with IU in them.”

As it turned out, Hyori’s Bed and Breakfast was the perfect choice, both because it kept Wonyoung too occupied to do any teasing and because it was the perfect amount of funny. At some point, one of the guests made Minju laugh, and between high-pitched giggles she fell against Yujin’s shoulder, her hair tickling the skin at her neck as her body shook with laughter. She didn’t sit back up, even after the funny scene was over, and Yujin wondered if the older girl could hear how fast her heart was beating as she relaxed under the new weight, shifting so that her shoulder was more comfortable.

Slowly, she started to loosen up. She allowed herself to laugh loudly and lean back into Minju, allowed herself to rest her head on top of Minju’s, and even allowed herself to scoot a bit closer, pressing their thighs together under the blanket she’d pulled from the arm of the couch when Minju shivered halfway into the first episode. When Minju buried her face in her neck, getting what Yujin could only assume was second hand embarrassment from some of the guys on screen, she grinned and reached up to playfully pat her back.

“There, there, you can hide in my shoulder anytime” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice and Minju giggled again, gently hitting her thigh.

“Shut up,” she replied in a whisper, but she didn’t sound like she meant it and Yujin only grinned wider.

“Cute.”

“Shhhh,” Wonyoung hushed them, sending them a pout before turning her attention back to the TV, and both of them had to stifle their laughter, leaning back into each other with shaking shoulders.

For all the bragging she always did about being the hottest one in her friend group, Yujin had never been with a girl before. She hadn’t even cuddled while watching TV before, but somehow doing it with Minju felt natural. Once she’d gotten over her initial gay panic about the prettiest girl in the world touching her, it felt natural to throw an arm over her shoulder or to grab her hand when something funny happened on screen. Minju’s perfume filled her senses, enveloping her in a warm hug that she never wanted to leave.

Eventually she had to, but she was slow to untangle their limbs when Wonyoung yawned and turned off the TV, announcing that she was going to bed. Minju seemed just as reluctant to pull away, yawning and slowly sitting up without letting go of Yujin’s hand. For a long moment, they just sat there, Yujin watching Minju as the older girl gazed down at their intertwined hands, a comfortable silence settling over the living room.

Words lingered at the tip of Yujin’s tongue, but she couldn’t find a way to force them out, afraid to tell the truth just yet. It all felt so fast, and she would have whiplash if it wasn’t for the way Minju rubbed her thumb over the skin of the back of Yujin’s palm in slow, sleepy circles like she was meant to be there.

“Are you sleepy?” She asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft, breaking the silence when she saw the older girl yawn again. With a cute smile, Minju nodded, running her free hand through her hair.

“I am. But I also don't want to get up. This is nice."

Yujin's heart jumped and skipped around her chest and she put on her best smile (the one her friends said made them fall for her), settling back into the couch and tugging Minju's hand as a sign for her to follow. It didn't take much convincing. The older girl easily fell back against the couch with her, her head right back on Yujin's shoulder like it was meant to fit there.

"We don't have to get up yet. There's still plenty more episodes to watch."

It was one in the morning before the two of them finally made their ways to their separate rooms, reluctantly separating their fingers and closing the bedroom doors. That night, as Yujin closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, Minju’s laughter echoed in her ears and her perfume lingered on her skin, and she dreamed of a field of flowers dancing around the most beautiful girl in the world as she whispered sweet nothings into her ears.

Waking up to the smell of breakfast wasn’t really a new thing for Yujin. Chaeyeon and Sakura loved to cook a big breakfast on weekends, so she often woke up to the smell of french toast and coffee and the sound of her moms singing along to the latest Red Velvet song at full volume. Still, when Yujin woke up to the smell of waffles the next day, it immediately felt different than a usual Saturday. She’d never been so excited to eat breakfast before.

After washing up, she padded into the kitchen to find Minju humming softly along to the Dean song playing from her phone speakers as she opened the waffle maker. The older girl moved her shoulders and hips to the beat, doing a small dance that Yujin couldn’t help but find cute.

“Nice moves,” she said, making the older girl jump a bit and turn to her with wide eyes, pressing the hand not holding the waffle maker to her chest.

“You scared me!” Minju whined, letting out a small laugh as her cheeks colored pink, and Yujin grinned.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” It only took Yujin a few steps to cover the space between the two of them and she immediately made herself useful, pulling the plates from the cabinet as Minju pulled the now finished waffle from the waffle maker. “Breakfast smells amazing, by the way.”

The older girl huffed, but the smile on her face made it obvious that she wasn’t actually upset. “You know what? You can make your own waffle.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Wonyoung said as she turned the corner, making both of them jump apart. “Wow, deja-vu. Didn’t this same thing happen last night?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yujin replied, lifting her chin and shooting her sister a look. Wonyoung just grinned and shrugged past her to grab the first waffle.

“Whatever. I’m going over to Yuri’s house today, you two have fun!” With that, she skipped away, munching at the waffle in her hands and leaving the two older girls frozen, staring after her.

“Middle schoolers are scary,” Minju finally said as she turned to check on the next waffle, making Yujin burst into laughter.

“Right? I really never know what she’s going to say next.” Running a hand through her hair in what she hoped was an attractive way, the younger girl leaned back against the counter. “Are you doing anything today?”

Minju seemed surprised at her question, but she smiled and shook her head as she placed the second waffle on a plate, sparing her a quick glance before concentrating on pouring the batter in again. “I didn’t have any plans. I was going to just try and stay out of your way, since I didn’t know if you guys would want me around.”

Yujin couldn’t fathom a reality where she didn’t want Minju around, but she tried to be nonchalant as she spoke. “If that’s the case, do you want to go to the mall with me?”

Once again, the older girl’s eyebrows rose, but her smile grew brighter, making her look so cute that Yujin’s heart skipped a beat. “That would be great! I’d love to!”

“Awesome.” Yujin grinned as relief washed over her, happily taking a bite of her waffle. She had successfully invited her crush on a date. Well, she hadn’t exactly called it a date, but it was basically a date, right? She wasn’t going to think about it too much. “I was hoping you would say yes.”

Minju’s giggle filled the air as she stepped just a bit closer to Yujin, a blush on her cheeks, their shoulders brushing once again. “Like I would say no to you.”

Yujin does her best to pretend that statement doesn’t make her heart do backflips in her chest.

The mall was crowded, just like it was every Saturday, full of families and high school kids with nothing better to do. Still, as the two of them stepped inside, Yujin found that she was glad it was so busy and loud; that way, none of the awkward silence from before could come back.

“Did you want to come for anything in particular?” Minju asked her over the noise as they avoided a group of excited children, sparing her a curious glance. Yujin shrugged her shoulders and grinned.

“Not really, I just wanted to hang out with you.”

“Oh.” Pink colored the older girl’s features again as she smiled shyly and looked down at her feet, clasping her hands together in front of her. Yujin was totally going to scream to her friend Nako about this afterwards, but in the moment she managed to keep the giddy feeling in her chest down enough to speak without her voice wavering.

“Anywhere you wanted to visit?”

“Well….” Minju turned to her with big, hopeful eyes. “There’s a new store here that my friends said has really cute clothes. I’ve been wanting to check it out for a while now.”

God, Yujin was already whipped for her smile. “Then we’ll go there first.”

The store did, in fact, have plenty of cute clothes, along with an array of other cute things. The sheer amount of pink almost assaulted Yujin’s eyes as they walked in, but Minju lit up at the sight of it, and she was reminded that the other girl had dyed her hair pink at some point during her junior year, so this was totally her style. While most of the clothes were much too cute for Yujin’s taste (she was sure her flannel, band tank top, ripped jeans, and converse were making her stand out) she had to admit that they would look amazing on Minju. But then again, the older girl could pull off anything, including the simple floral shirt and jeans she had on.

At some point, as Minju pointed out a cute pink backpack purse, her hand found Yujin’s, and it struck the younger girl how much this felt like a date. She tried not to think about it too much, though, because just the thought made her heart pound in her chest and her mind spin a bit.

“Oh, what do you think about this?” Minju held up a striped pink and white sweater, then gasped as she saw a white beret with a pink rose design on the side. “That’s perfect!”

“It’s cute,” Yujin agreed, nodding her head. “I think you would look good in it.”

“Really?” Once again, Minju brightened, her smile widening as she dropped Yujin’s hand to grab the beret. “Do you mind if I try them on?”

“I don’t mind. Take your time.”

“You’re the best,” Minju said, reaching back to give Yujin’s hand a quick squeeze before skipping off towards the fitting rooms, leaving Yujin to internally freak out by herself.

The older girl ended up trying on a few more outfits, stepping out of the fitting room to do a little twirl for Yujin before looking at her with wide, expectant eyes. The only problem was that everything looked amazing on Minju, so Yujin’s answer was always the same: “you look great!”

“You can’t just say that every time,” Minju said with a laugh after she stepped out of the fitting room in a jean overall dress, and Yujin playfully raised her arms.

“But you look great in everything, I’m just telling the truth!”

“That’s not going to help me choose what to buy though.” The older girl’s eyes were sparkling as she spoke, obviously more happy than annoyed with Yujin.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be any help because I love all the outfits you’ve tried on so far.”

“I’m flattered, really, but you aren’t helping.” Minju giggled and playfully rolled her eyes as she walked back into the fitting room. “I guess I’ll just have to choose on my own then!”

“I liked the sweater!”

Eventually, Minju decided on buying the sweater and hat, and Yujin hung back by the door until she joined her, swinging the bag in her hand and grinning happily. “Thanks for letting me spend so much time there. I know it wasn’t really your style, with the whole ‘cool dancer’ and ‘sporty’ aesthetic you have.”

With a gasp, Yujin pretended to be offended, pressing her hand to her chest in the most dramatic fashion she could muster. “Hey, I wear more than just flannels and sportswear! You just don’t see me outside of my uniform very often!”

“True.” The older girl bumped their hips together, looking ahead of her as she spoke. “We could change that, though.”

Oh, there went Yujin’s heart, flipping in her chest again. She could only hope that her smile wasn’t as big and dorky as it felt. “Yeah, we could.”

At some point, the two of them ended up in the ice cream parlor, sitting near one of the windows looking out at the food court as they ate their ice cream cones, the bags from the stores they’d visited crowded at their feet. Yujin was telling a funny story again (because she liked hearing Minju laugh). This time it was the story of how one of her friends on the dance team almost fell off the stage because he was messing around and how he ended up ripping his pants and having to perform with them ripped because they didn’t have any extra uniform pants. Minju giggled as Yujin recalled how the fact that the pants were sparkly actually saved him from people noticing the rip on the inside of his pants.

“That was during your girl group mashup dance, right? I remember that you were all wearing such sparkly pants.”

Yujin’s eyes widened and she blinked, staring at the older girl in awe. “You… How did you remember that?”

“I told you that I’ve watched every performance,” the senior responded with a sweet smile. “Plus, the pants for that mashup were too loud to forget.”

“True.” Dammit, Yujin could feel herself blushing, and she took a few bites of her ice cream to cool herself down, trying to hide the fact that she once again wanted to let out a giddy scream into the nearest pillow. “I’m still surprised you’ve seen every one.”

“All the performances are so cool, how could I not? Plus, you guys are kind of famous in the school. Our school is known for our drama club and our dance club, you know.”

“I knew we were popular. I mean, we’ve won a lot of contests. But I’m not sure if we’re on the same level as the drama club. The plays and musicals you guys do are amazing.”

“Oh, thanks.” It was Minju’s turn to blush as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess both of our teams are pretty amazing, huh?”

“They are.” Yujin was desperate to change the subject, mostly to avoid getting any more compliments. She usually loved being showered in compliments and basked in the attention, but when they came from Minju they made her feel like she was going to explode. “Is your club working on a new production right now?”

Thankfully, it worked. Minju’s face lit up as she began to talk about the play her club was working on and Yujin settled back into her seat, gazing affectionately at the older girl’s excited smile and falling deeper into her eyes, dark and sweet like cocoa. For once, Yujin didn’t want to be the center of attention. For once, she wanted to stay still and listen.

“What’s your favorite dish?”

They were unloading their bags when Minju casually asked the question, her head popping over the top of her car. Yujin paused, then slowly closed the passenger door with her hip, her hands full of the heaviest bags (yes, she was trying to show off, what about it?)

“Um, honestly whatever you cook will taste amazing.”

The older girl laughed. “Thanks, but I want to make something for you specifically.”

Well, she could feel herself blushing again. “Oh, okay.” She let Minju lead the way inside as she swallowed and tried to think of what she wanted. Then it struck her. “My moms got stuff to make pizza, we could do that tonight!”

“Oh, that would be fun! Homemade pizza!” Minju beamed, a bounce in her step as she walked inside. “Let’s do that. Are you going to help me?”

“Obviously,” Yujin replied, kicking off her shoes before dropping all the bags onto the couch and reaching up to pull her shoulder length hair into a ponytail, smiling her most charming smile. “What would you do in the kitchen without me?”

Her response pulled another giggle from Minju’s lips as the older girl walked past, gently and playfully shoving her shoulder, and Yujin wondered if it was possible to get addicted to a sound.

As it turned out, making a pizza was a lot less complicated than Yujin had previously thought. Especially since her moms had made the decision to buy the premade crust, cutting the amount of work in half. As she pulled out the ingredients, as instructed by Minju, the older girl pulled out her phone and set it on the counter. A moment later, music began to fill the room, and Yujin looked back to see Minju pulling her hair back to the sound of Stephanie Poetri’s “I Love You 3000,” her head nodding along to the beat ever so slightly.

Well, if she wasn’t head over heels already, she certainly was now.

“You have a good taste in music,” Yujin said as she walked over to the counter, and Minju smiled at her, her eyebrows raised.

“Really? You think so?”

“Yeah, I love this song.”

“Me too!” As Minju washed her hands, she started to softly sing, and Yujin’s chest constricted, taking away her breath. She had always known the other girl could sing - she had seen her in plenty of musicals before - but hearing her sing up close…. It was a totally different experience. For a long moment, she stood frozen, her mouth slightly open as she fell deeper and deeper into Minju’s endless charms. Then she swallowed and joined in, her voice just a bit softer than Minju’s as she sang the chorus with her, her arms still full of pizza ingredients.

The older girl turned around, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before her smile grew and her singing got a bit louder. As she sang, she walked over to take the ingredients from Yujin’s arms, and having her sing “baby take my hand” that close made the younger girl’s voice wobble ever so slightly, her heart jumping and stuttering in her heart.

As the song came to an end, the older girl raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, looking up at Yujin. “Are you good at everything? How come I didn’t know you could sing!”

Yujin knew she was blushing to the tips of her ears but she grinned anyways, shrugging her shoulders as she leaned back against the counter. “I’m not as good as you.”

“Yes you are. You know, you should be an idol, since you’ve got it all. The dancing and singing skills, the looks, the height-” Minju looked her up and down before quickly turning her attention back to the pizza pan. “-the charm. Everything.”

“You’re talking about looks as if you aren’t the prettiest girl in the world.” Oh god, she’d really said it. She was so comfortable with the older girl that the words just tumbled out on their own. Immediately, she snapped her mouth shut, but to her surprise, instead of being surprised or weirded out, Minju turned a pretty shade of pink and began to giggle, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

“You really think so?” Her voice was small and shy and Yujin nodded, her entire body full of electricity as her heart pounded in her chest once again.

“I do. You’re seriously the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” As if on cue, Daniel Ceasar’s “Best Part” started playing from Minju’s phone, making Yujin feel like the main character in a coming of age movie. Maybe she could get the girl after all. When Minju finally pulled her hands down, she was smiling the cutest little shy smile. She didn’t have dimples, but her face scrunched up a bit when she was shy, her eyes closing ever so slightly and her cheeks rising in a way that turned her from gorgeous to downright adorable in seconds.

“Thank you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Y-you’re really pretty too.” There was something electric in the air, something they could both feel sparking between the two of them, but it was a bit too much for Yujin’s poor gay heart. She felt light headed again, and apparently Minju felt the same, as she quickly busied herself starting the pizza instead of saying anything else. For a moment, the younger girl struggled to find something else to say, until Twice’s “Likey” started blasting over the speakers, making her laugh.

“We just changed moods so quickly,” she said, her voice teasing as the tension shattered with Minju’s laugh. The older girl reached over to playfully swat at her arm.

“Leave me alone! I love this song!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Yujin grinned and hopped up onto the counter, making Minju gasp at her. “Hey I do too, I just wasn’t expecting it after Daniel Caesar.”

“Do your moms allow you to sit on the counter like that?”

“We aren’t using this one, so I can sit on it.” Yujin stuck out her tongue as she pulled out her phone and Minju huffed, but couldn’t wipe the smile from her lips.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“I know, right? Anyway, who else do you listen to? Let’s jam out before Wonyoung gets home and insults us on our music taste.”

The pizza was amazing, even if the pepperonis were a little all over the place courtesy of Yujin. Wonyoung did, in fact, come home and immediately ask if she was watching her moms when she caught the two of them dancing to Red Velvet, but Yujin couldn’t even be mad, not after she’d had so much fun with her dream girl all day long. And especially not after Minju sat down across from her at the table and rested her ankle against Yujin’s, leaving the younger girl a bit breathless for the rest of the meal. If her sister noticed that she was unnaturally quiet, she didn’t say anything.

Somehow, even though it was only the second time they’d watched TV together, they ended up side by side as if it was natural, their legs pressed together and Minju’s head already resting on Yujin’s shoulder as the younger girl flipped through Netflix. Wonyoung walked in, took one look at the two of them, and immediately shook her head.

“Nope, I’m gonna watch TV in my room tonight. Have fun.” With that, she turned and skipped up the stairs with her bowl of popcorn, leaving the two older girls to look at each other and laugh.

“Well, at least we can choose what we want to watch now, right?” Yujin asked, and Minju smiled, reaching over to hold Yujin’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It looks like we’ve got the whole night to ourselves.”

They didn’t talk much, because they didn’t have to. Occasionally Yujin would make fun of something on screen to make Minju laugh, and sometimes Minju would bury her head in Yujin’s shoulder when a particularly embarrassing scene came on, giggling and saying she hated it, but for most of the night they stayed quiet, enjoying each other’s company in the almost silence. It was cosy, yet overlaid with a thick tension; the tension that had been growing with every glance, every touch, and every interaction they’d had since the first day Yujin walked in to see her standing in her living room.

In all honesty, Yujin had no idea what was happening on screen between the two leads. She’d lost interest after the second episode, when Minju started rubbing her thumb over the skin on the back of her hand. She couldn’t think of anything other than the older girl, that floral perfume overwhelming her senses and pulling her deeper into Minju’s touch. So she wasn’t sure what episode they were on when Minju pulled away slightly, looking up at her with so much affection and want that Yujin wondered if she’d ascended to heaven. All she knew was that it was dark outside, the lights were dim, and she couldn’t take her eyes off Minju’s pink lips.

They didn’t talk, because they didn’t need to. All Minju had to do was lean in and let her eyes flutter closed, and immediately Yujin knew they both wanted the same thing. So she went for it, leaning in and finally pressing her lips to Minju’s like she’d wanted to for so long.

Yujin had kissed girls before. But none of those girls had ever made fireworks explode in her chest like Minju did. As soon as their lips connected, Minju reached up to wrap her arms around Yujin’s shoulders, pulling her even closer and making Yujin’s head spin because her lips were just as soft as they looked. The younger girl’s hands moved on their own, one cupping her face while the other one rested on her hip, grounding Yujin so that she didn’t float away from the pure euphoria flowing through her veins.

She was kissing the prettiest girl in the world, and more importantly, the prettiest girl in the world was kissing her back. And she knew she wasn’t dreaming, because none of her dreams had ever been this good.

When she finally pulled away, reluctant but needing to breathe, she drank in the sight of Minju before her, breathless and pink and glowing even in the dim light of the TV.

“Well,” the older girl said with a soft smile, “that was something.”

“Yeah,” she responded, breathless and grinning like a fool. “It was. Can we do it again?”

“Yes, please.”

That night, Yujin could hardly sleep, her heart refusing to stop skipping and pounding. She could still feel Minju’s lips against her own, and she replayed the quick kiss Minju had given her before telling her goodnight over and over in her head. They hadn’t said anything, though.

For a long time, she laid awake, remembering the taste of Minju’s lips and staring up at the ceiling, wondering why she hadn’t asked Minju to be hers right then and there.

Once again, Yujin woke up to the smell of breakfast. This time, she wasted no time washing up, checking her hair in the mirror before glancing at the mirror. How long did she have before her moms got back? She wasn’t sure, so she quickly put on her nice purple hoodie and a pair of jeans before rushing down into the kitchen in the most casual way she could.

Minju was at the oven, humming to Day6 as she flipped her omelet, and when she saw Yujin, she smiled, her face slightly pink. “Good morning. You didn’t scare me this time.”

“I made a bit more noise so I wouldn’t.” The younger girl ran a hand through her hair as she smiled back, trying to ignore the nerves building in her stomach. Why was being gay and in love so hard? “So, um, I-.”

“Oh that smells good!” Wonyoung turned the corner with a grin, completely interrupting them, and Yujin sighed, stepping back so that she could get her food. Why did her younger sister always come in at the worst times? As the Wonyoung picked up her plate and walked away, Minju looked at Yujin expectantly, her face open and hopeful. Swallowing, she glanced at her younger sister at the table before deciding “screw it” and turning back to grab one of Minju’s hands.

“I wanted to tell you that I like you a lot, and um, to ask you if you want to be my girlfriend.” There, she finally got the words out. Behind her, Wonyoung gasped, but she ignored her, focusing all of her attention on Minju and watching with bated breath as the older girl began to smile widely.

“I like you a lot too, and I’d love to be your girlfriend.” Minju squeezed her hand, and Yujin knew that she was blushing and grinning like crazy, but for once, she didn’t care if it was embarrassing or not. She was much too happy to care, because her heart was fluttering in her chest and electric excitement was flowing through her veins and a giddy squeal was catching in her throat because the prettiest girl in the world had just said that she liked her too.

“Woah,” was all she could say before both of them burst into laughter, leaning into each other. When she was able to breathe properly again, she grinned at Minju and squeezed her hand in return. “I’m glad you said yes.”

“I kissed you last night and you really thought I’d say no?”

Wonyoung gasped again. “You guys kissed?”

Yujin did her best to ignore her sister as she shrugged her shoulders sheepishly. “I thought it might be a possibility.”

“You’re dumber than I thought.”

“Hey!”

“It’s cute, though.” Minju giggled and reached over to pat Yujin’s cheek. “It’s really cute.”

“Can you guys not do this while I’m trying to eat?” Wonyoung whined, finally forcing the two girls to look at her. “I’m losing my appetite.”

“You’ll understand when you get older, Wonyo,” Yujin replied, making her little sister huff and stand from her chair, grabbing her plate.

“Whatever. I’m going to eat in my room. Try not to be too gross before our moms get home.” Wonyoung stuck her tongue out at them as she left, stalking away, but they both just laughed. They still hadn’t stopped holding hands, and Yujin never wanted to.

“Anyway,” she said, turning back to her girlfriend (just the word was enough to send butterflies flying through her stomach). “Want to get lunch with me tomorrow?”

Minju gave her an amused smile, raising her eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to ask for my phone number?”

“Oh right. I might need that.” Yujin quickly pulled out her phone, then raised her eyebrows in return. “Wait, was that a no?”

“No, silly. I was just thinking that you might need my phone number if we’re going to be girlfriends.” Minju typed in her number, then watched as Yujin finished the contact information, giggling as the younger girl erased the simple “Minju” she’d put in and replaced it with “prettiest girl in the world” before saving it. In response, she deleted the simple “Yujin” in her phone and put in “coolest girl in the world” instead, making Yujin grin.

“You think I’m cool?”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Point taken.” She glanced at the clock. “My moms will be home soon. What time were you going to leave.”

“Soon.” The older girl pouted slightly, looking down at the two plated omelettes forgotten on the counter. “We only have time to eat before I have to go.”

“Oh.” Yujin stepped a bit closer, her eyes hopeful and her lips in a soft smile. “Then do I not have time to kiss you once more before you go?”

Minju’s face lit up with her smile as she giggled and leaned in. “I think we can make time for one more.”

Minju ended up leaving before Chaeyeon and Sakura got home, something that Yujin was thankful for, since she could walk Minju out and hold her hand without her moms around to ask any annoying questions.

“I had fun this weekend,” the older girl said as they reached her car. Her smile was sweet as she swung their intertwined hands. “More fun than I thought I was going to have, that’s for sure.”

Her comment made Yujin laugh, big and genuine. “No kidding, I thought this weekend was going to be terrible,” she said truthfully, “but it ended up being one of the best weekends of my life. So maybe getting a babysitter wasn’t too bad.”

“Don’t let your moms hear you,” Minju teased, and the younger girl pretended to be scandalized.

“I would never!”

Both of them laughed before standing still for a moment, gazing at each other in the driveway, both reluctant to let go until Minju sighed.

“Well, I guess I have to go now.”

“Yeah.” Yujin gave her hand one final squeeze before letting it go. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The younger girl stepped back, waiting until Minju had started her car to wave. When the older girl smiled and waved back, she blew her a kiss, smiling in satisfaction when she laughed and caught it before beginning to back away. Yujin watched her drive away then, waving until her car had disappeared around the corner before she let her hand drop and began to grin.

This weekend had really just happened. She was now dating Kim Minju.

With a squeal, she pulled out her phone and ran back inside. She couldn’t wait to tell Nako all about it.