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doomhands-jr · 1 year ago

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The Choreographer -- Pt. 15

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader | Jimin X Reader | Yoongi X Reader .

Rating: Explicit (not for this chapter though)

Warnings: angst, smut, protected vaginal intercourse, blowjobs, eating out, emotional outbursts, slut-shaming, burnout, more angst.

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.

Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down.

But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.

________

How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.

Masterlist

______

When you finally awoke, it was nearing eleven o’clock. You didn’t have to be at the venue until two, though part of you wished you could just get the whole thing over with. Rip the band-aid off before you had a chance to let the anxiety fester. You weren’t going to be that lucky though.

You stretched your arms out in a yawn, hand brushing over Yoongi’s in the process.

“Morning,” he grumbled, turning over onto his side and throwing a pillow over his head. You could just barely see his mouth poking out from under it.

“Morning,” you said. You sat up, quickly realized you were not ready to get out of bed yet, and immediately laid back down.

You knew by now that Yoongi was not a morning person. Trying to strike a conversation with him at this time would be futile. This left you with a lot of time to let your mind wander.

At first, you replayed your actions last night. Did you regret what you and Yoongi had done? Certainly not. In fact, you were grateful for the experience the two of you shared.

That being said, you wished it hadn’t played out the way it had.

Hearing Jungkook at the door had been rough. You hated hurting him, but you were also angry with him for letting his jealousy get out of control again. Of course, you understood why he was upset. He was totally within his right to be angry, but causing a scene in the middle of the night like that was too much.

You knew what you were risking when you went to Yoongi’s room last night. You knew this was a possibility, but you also thought he’d been better at handling his jealousy recently.

Evidently not.

You groaned internally and ran your hand over your face. This whole thing had turned into such a mess. And it was about to get so much messier.

There was only one week left of the tour. You were confident you’d be able to make it through this last week, so long as nothing else major happened.

You knew tensions would be high with Jungkook, and he’d probably give you the cold shoulder all week, but you were prepared to deal with that.

What a mess.

Something about last night had done the trick, though. You felt oddly reinvigorated. Definitely dreading seeing Jungkook again, but you finally had the energy to handle that.

There was no point staying in bed. It’s not like you were going to get any more sleep in this state.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you trudged to the bathroom. You didn’t even bother asking Yoongi whether or not it was okay to take a shower. He’d have just chastised you for waking him up with such a stupid question.

The water was nice. You adjusted it so that it was near scalding, which was perfect for a second but then it was way too intense and you had to fiddle around with the settings for several moments before finally landing on the right temperature.

Standing was just not something you were interested in doing at all, you determined. No thank you. You sat in the tub and let the water tumble down over you, finding only the smallest amount of amusement in the drama, before acknowledging that you were indeed about to face probably your biggest challenge yet on this tour.

Fuuuuuuck.

Why?

You knew why, realistically. You had nobody to blame but yourself. And maybe Jungkook a little bit, but honestly this was your own fault, and you knew that your decisions would have consequences you’d have to face one day. You just thought you’d feel more ready when that time came.

You stayed in the shower for at least thirty minutes, if not longer. In that time, you contemplated running back to Korea no less than twelve times.

By the time you got out, Yoongi was awake, and had ordered room service for you both. You poured yourself a coffee and picked at a bowl of fruit, but you weren’t particularly hungry.

Yoongi noticed.

“Worried about today?” he asked. You nodded, not looking up from your coffee.

“Me too.”

“What do you think could happen?”

“For me? Probably an official reprimand. They’ll probably dock my pay. It’ll be a slap on the wrist, if anything.”

“And for me?” you asked.

He didn’t answer, but the look on his face told him he was thinking the same thing you were.

You could get fired for this.

It wasn’t just a distant possibility this time. Jungkook had alerted the entire hallway about his suspicions. Word was bound to get back to the label somehow, and when that happened, you knew the consequences would be severe.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your hand, “no matter what happens, I’m going to be there for you. You know that, right? You’re still important to me, whether we work together or not.”

You had a hard time swallowing the lump that had risen in your throat. Coughing to clear it, you squared your shoulders and held your chin high.

“I knew what the risk was,” you said, more to yourself than to Yoongi. “I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”

“You tell ‘em,” he said.

You contemplated going back to your room, but by that point, the hallway was already bustling with activity, and the risk of you being seen and further incriminating yourself was high.

That meant having to borrow yet another pair of nondescript sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt from Yoongi and hoping nobody would notice you were in men’s clothing. Not that it was too big of a deal, since you regularly wore oversized clothes to rehearsal, but it still had you on edge.

“I honestly don’t know how I could ever repay you,” you said, thanking him. “You’ve done so much for me.”

Yoongi said nothing in return, but let his gaze drop to your chest and bounce back up again. He raised his eyebrows for effect.

You looked down to where his eyes had fixated and realized what he meant, flushing.

“You’re an asshole,” you said, but nevertheless, lifted your shirt. The look of glee on his face was most endearing as he bounded forward and cupped your breasts in his hands.

“I will never get tired of these,” he said, leaning down to nuzzle his face against them.

You moved backwards in unison until your knees hit the back of the bed and you both fell onto it, Yoongi still fully enraptured by your breasts.

“So you’re a boob guy, then?”

He nodded. “At your service.”

He wrapped one of his arms around you while the other massaged the soft flesh. Leaning over you, he took a free nipple in his mouth and began to suck.

You were still sensitive enough that it began to perk up immediately under his touch. You arched your back to give him more access, enjoying the warmth of his mouth.

It was almost enough to prevent you from hearing the knock on the door.

Your eyes widened in alarm. Yoongi held a finger in front of his lips, signaling you to be quiet.

“Are you expecting anyone?” you mouthed as the knock sounded again. Yoongi shook his head no.

“Yoongi?”

Namjoon’s voice.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, voice barely audible.

He paused for a moment, contemplating how he wanted to handle the situation before nodding to himself and pulling you close. Yoongi began sucking a bruise into your shoulder.

“This,” he said.

Your neck flushed, head blooming upwards. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access.

“Yoongi, open up. We need to talk about this.”

“Mmmm, I’m busy,” he whispered into your collarbone. You ran your nails softly over his back and arched into him.

“Look,” Namjoon’s voice came through the door. “I know you’re upset. The label’s been screwing you over again and again, and you’ve been putting in more work than you should have to, but this isn’t the answer.”

“I think it is,” he hummed softly to the air around him, now taking the skin of your neck in between his teeth. You chuckled at his antics.

You knew Yoongi well enough by now to understand that the more he was pushed, the more defiant he’d become. Yes, he probably still wanted physical touch, but this was also very much about him asserting his autonomy, and with the way he was worshipping your body right now, you were more than happy to assist.

“Trust me, I’ve been stressed too. This tour in particular has been stressful, but we have to work as a team.”

At that, somewhere inside Yoongi, a line had finally been crossed. He brought his mouth up to yours and sucked your bottom lip in between his teeth, pressing his whole body into yours. He raked his fingers through your hair, releasing a low groan. His hands roamed down your body, clawing at the soft flesh of the back of your thigh.

“Yoongi,” you breathed across his tongue. It had begun roaming across your bottom lip. He released it from between his teeth, leaving a stinging sensation from all the blood that had rushed to the surface. “You’re not worried about Namjoon?”

“Namjoon’s full of shit,” he whispered, nibbling your earlobe and cupping your breast with his hand. “He talks about working as a team, but,” he said pausing his lips near your ear to nuzzle along your jaw, “what he really means is that I need to do what I always do and,” he planted a kiss, “bend over backwards again because it’s easier to get me to,” he nipped at your skin, hand snaking down your waist, “swallow my feelings than to ask Jungkook to deal with his.”

It made sense to you then, why Yoongi was so eager to break the rules with you. He was tired of the injustice of it all. He could handle his feelings better than Jungkook because he had to. And rather than making Jungkook learn how to deal with frustration and anger in a constructive way, they asked Yoongi to take it on. Because it was easier.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. Not only were they failing Yoongi, but they were failing Jungkook. Neglecting healthy emotional development in favor of keeping the peace.

Namjoon must have given up, because he didn’t say anything after that, and it wasn’t long before one thing led to another, and the two of you were undressed once again, Yoongi unrolling a condom onto his hardened shaft.

He entered you slowly, taking his time since the two of you still had a couple hours to kill. There was no point in denying yourselves any longer, and you wanted to get as much as you could out of the time you had left before you had to face the consequences.

The second time was just as good as the first, though less suspenseful and with less crying. This time, you came while straddling his lap, rocking back and forth with his arms around you. Once you’d come down from your high, Yoongi repositioned you so you were face-down, ass up. There, he gripped the back of your neck and pounded into you with as much force as he could muster, until he too came with a whimper.

You collapsed back onto the bed, kissing lazily as you both returned to your bodies. The simple skin-to-skin contact was almost enough to make you feel whole again.

Almost.

You stayed in bed for another twenty minutes, just enjoying each other’s touch. Eventually though, you both knew you had to face the world again.

You left thirty minutes earlier than you needed to so that you could hopefully avoid anyone in the hallways. You and Yoongi opted to take the stairs to the first floor and out a side exit where Yoongi had a driver waiting to take you to the venue.

Upon arriving, you spotted a few crew members, but nobody spared you a second glance—they were all too busy with tasks.

You made a beeline for the makeup room and found it mostly empty, save for a few of the stylists. Jia was there setting up her supplies. You tried to strike up a conversation with her, but she wasn’t very responsive, offering only single-word replies when necessary.

After a few tries, you gave up and went back over to Yoongi, who was sat in a makeup chair in front of an empty counter.

“Jia’s not speaking to me, apparently.”

“Any idea why?” he asked. You shrugged. “You don’t think she knows, do you?”

“You think word has spread that fast?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Jungkook was pretty loud. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall heard. If she was with Taehyung last night, it’s more than likely she did.”

You sighed.

“Great.”

“Hey,” he said, touching your hand. “It’ll be okay.”

Yoongi’s touch was warm and comforting. Subtle enough to not be noticed by others, but tender enough to do the trick.

The brief moment you shared together was suddenly cut short however when you heard a commotion out in the hallway.

Raised voices, talking—shouting over each other. They grew closer.

“I am begging you, don’t!”

Taehyung. He was shouting at someone. Deep in your gut, you knew who it was.

Jungkook stormed into the room, his energy consuming it. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at him. He was headed straight for Yoongi.

“What did you do,” he snarled, halfway across the room and getting closer.

Without thinking, Yoongi held out an arm to block you, half-stepping in front of you.

Namjoon jumped up from where he sat. Hoseok surged forward. Both men tried to hold Jungkook back but could only slow him.

“Don’t do this Jungkook,” Yoongi said quietly.

“What the fuck did you do?!” he shouted, voice in hysterics.

You couldn’t move. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you could only watch.

Jungkook’s fingers curled into fists, right arm halfway in the air, cocked and aimed at Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi’s eyes widened, knowing what was about to happen.

Before Jungkook’s fist could connect with its target, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Hoseok had jumped into action. It took all three of them to wrestle Jungkook to the ground.

“Jungkook! Stop. This is an order.”

Jungkook continued to struggle under the weight of the older men. Yoongi’s hand went to his face, wiping off the spit that Jungkook had lodged at him.

“Did you fuck her?!” Jungkook shouted up at him from where he had been wrestled to his knees.

“We will discuss this when you’ve calmed down,” said Yoongi.

“No! We’re discussing this now. Did you fuck her?!”

Yoongi clenched his jaw, refusing to speak.

“You did. I know you fucking did. I heard you! Admit it, you coward!”

Jungkook’s words were like a knife through your gut.

Yoongi was silent. That was more than could be said for you. In your rage, you marched up to Jungkook and slapped him hard across the face. It echoed around the room, and for a brief moment, Jungkook stilled.

When he finally looked back up at you, his face was stone cold, until the whisper of a grin ghosted across him.

“You know,” he said, voice low. The entire room hung on his words. “I’d expect nothing less from a slut like you.”

Mere weeks ago, Jungkook’s words would have cut into you like a knife, but after everything you’ve dealt with, they held no weight. This was just him throwing a tantrum.

“Jungkook—,” Namjoon started, voice low and laced with warning.

“Enough. You can’t talk to me like that,” you cut in.

“I’m just stating facts,” he replied. “The whole tour already knows. Want to tell everyone how you got this job?” Jungkook continued.

Your heart leapt to your throat.

“What did you just say?” you asked.

“You heard me,” he said, voice filled with venom. “The only reason you’re here is because you fucked way into this role.”

You looked at Yoongi. He seemed just as surprised as you did. You scanned the room, spotting Jia in the far corner. She stared at Taehyung, who stared at his shoes.

“Jungkook! That is a serious accusation. You need to stop right now,” said Namjoon.

But it was too late. You looked back once again at Yoongi. He held your gaze for a few moments while the single thread that had been holding you together finally snapped.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. The realization washed over you like a warm, gentle wave. Sad, but freeing. There was nothing tethering you here anymore.

Yoongi took your hand in his, squeezing it, before nodding in understanding and letting go.

The room was silent, except for your footsteps.

You were calm as you caught the shuttle back to your hotel.

Calm as you packed up your bags.

Calm as you hailed a taxi to the airport.

Calm as you purchased a ticket back to Seoul.

Calm as you composed your letter of resignation.

Calm as you hit send.

*****

It was three days before you allowed yourself to feel anything. You’d returned to your apartment, the energy within it stagnant from it having sat empty for the last few months. You’d gone grocery shopping, purchasing as many ready-to-eat meals as possible, along with your favorite snacks.

You’d gone to the liquor store, purchased several bottles of bottom-shelf whiskey, along with some wine and a few cases of beer.

You’d done all your laundry and fitted your bed with fresh sheets. After five minutes of laying in it however, you realized it was far too big, and moved to the couch instead.

You put your phone on “do not disturb” indefinitely.

You changed into sweatpants, climbed onto the couch, and curled yourself up in a blanket.

It came on slowly. The tightness in your chest expanded enough to allow the first trickle of tears.

It took ten minutes for you to reach the point of sobbing. Thankfully, you’d stocked up on tissues.

You’d known rock bottom was coming. You’d felt it approaching for a long time, but you’d been putting it off as long as possible.

It had finally arrived. And it was all-consuming.

*****

It was a week before you changed your clothes. Even then, you only changed into a different pair of sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt.

Most days, you slept until late in the afternoon.

You’d wake up on the couch, find something easily accessible to eat (usually a spoon of peanut butter and some ramen), and then take a nap. When you could no longer sleep, you distracted yourself by marathoning seasons of sappy dramas. Sometimes you’d switch it up with reality television. Every once in a while, when you were least expecting it, the group would be referenced on television. They truly were everywhere.

Whenever it happened, your chest would seize up and you’d have to take several deep breaths to calm yourself.

The mess piled up. You had no energy to clean it. You resorted to disposable plates and cutlery, feeling mildly guilty about the waste, but not having enough willpower to do something different.

Once per week, you would go through your living room and bag up all the trash, but that’s as much housekeeping as you could manage.

You didn’t cry every day, you noticed. It was about every three days. You’d cry, and then you’d spend the next few days in an emotionless haze, recovering until you had the energy to cry again.

It was old pain. Deep pain. Pain you’d repressed as long as you could, but no longer had the energy to fight—the only way out was through.

***

After the tour finished, Yoongi came over about once a week to check on you. He was careful not to mention anything about the rest of the members, save for regaling you about how Hoseok had taken over for you during the last week of the tour and had done a phenomenal job.

For the first few weeks, his visits were usually accompanied with weed and sex. Sometimes whiskey, though you found you weren’t drinking quite as much as you had expected to.

After a month or so, sex just wasn’t doing much for you, and you settled into a comfortable companionship.

It was easier to see him when they were on break from the tour, but eventually, his schedule picked up again, and he couldn’t come over as often, which left you with a lot of time to be alone with your thoughts.

You spent a lot of that time reflecting—trying to figure out what factors were at play that had gotten you to where you were now.

You’d made some poor choices, that was for sure. But why? What motivated you to behave the way you did?

Why couldn’t you get it right?

Whenever the tears came, you leaned into them. Whenever you felt like screaming, you didn’t hold yourself back.

You’d spent your entire life working up to that job, and you had failed spectacularly.

You lost everything.

Not because you didn’t care or didn’t take it seriously. But because you simply could not live up to the expectations that were placed on you. You tried as hard as you possibly could, and yet you still fell short.

You failed the moment you let your guard down around Jungkook.

You failed as soon as you accepted the job.

You failed the day you slept with your professor.

Was it possible that you’d failed the moment you wanted to become a dancer?

Was your mother right? Should you have gone to school for business instead of chasing some pipe dream?

You thought that when you landed such a prestigious position, it had meant that you’d proven everyone wrong. You’d succeeded. Everything you’d been through, all the trauma you’d endured had been worth it because you finally made it to a professional dance career.

Now what?

You took another sip of whiskey.

Where would you go from here?

Did you even want to be a dancer anymore?

#the choreographer #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #min yoongi #bts fanfic

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doomhands-jr · 11 months ago

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The Choreographer -- Pt 16.

The Final Chapter.

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Yoongi x Reader

Summary:

You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You'd sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn't want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.

Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you'd allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down. But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.

________

How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic

Masterlist A/N: It's here! The final chapter! I can't believe it's taken so long, but honestly it was a journey for me too. Please let me know your thoughts at the end. Did you like how it ended, or would you have preferred something else? As always, thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story, even when they had to wait months between chapters. I appreciate each and every single one of you and I hope I did this story justice. Without further ado, _____

Jungkook kept his distance.

It had been a month since you’d left. You couldn’t remember a more difficult month. During the first few days, several people had tried to contact you. Hoseok tried first, then Namjoon and Jin. All to ask if you were okay. It was kind of them, but the messages sat in your inbox for weeks, unanswered. You’d asked Yoongi to pass on the message that you were fine, but you needed to take some time to yourself, which he did, dutifully.

Jimin reached out last week to tell you that he was sorry for anything he did that may have contributed. To him, you said honestly that you appreciated him reaching out, but you had no hard feelings towards him. He tried to ask you how you were, but you stopped responding.

How were you?

You supposed you were okay, in that you knew you were coping with everything the best you could and you were being as kind to yourself as possible, but at the same time, were you okay? What did okay mean?

You were surviving. And there was something to be said for that, but holy hell, were you in a lot of pain. Everything hurt, both physically and metaphorically. Your muscles were starting to atrophy. Your body was stiff from having spent the last month on the couch, and you didn’t have any plans in the near future to get off it. Your energy was at zero. You could do nothing. Accomplish nothing. Some days, even feeding yourself seemed almost impossible. Ramen and spoons of peanut butter were just about all you could make for yourself.

Most of the time, you’d order out. The containers piled up and you had no energy to clean them. No energy to wash yourself or your clothes. You felt horrible every time you had to leave the house because you knew how you must have smelled.

Worst of all, this was literally the best you could do. When you cried, you couldn’t tell if it was because you were processing what had happened, or because you felt completely incapable of pulling yourself together.

You remembered all the times you’d judged others for walking around looking unkempt, or for not getting up and working out, or for eating too much junk food, and here you were, doing all those things.

You wish you’d been a kinder person. Your whole life, you thought you’d been so nice. So holier-than-thou, but you’d actually just been an asshole.

No. You weren’t entirely an asshole. Yes, you had your struggles, but you’ve also achieved a lot, especially considering where you’d come from. Neither of your parents had shown up for you the way they should have, and you’ve had to pull yourself up by your bootstraps your entire life.

That had to count for something.

Yes, you’ve made your mistakes. Your moral compass hasn’t always pointed North, but god damn it, you were trying, and you had to give yourself credit for that.

And even though you weren’t capable of fixing everything right away, you knew you were going to try.

“Slow, measurable steps,” you told yourself. And you got up off the couch to fetch a spoon of peanut butter.

_____

From: Son

Sent: March 7th:

I don’t know what you’re going through, but I know it must have been bad for you to leave like this. Can you talk to me about what happened? I feel like it was my fault for putting you in that situation.

We don’t have to talk about what happened if you’re not ready. Just let me know if you’re okay. We’re friends first, colleagues second. Remember that.

The email had been sitting in your inbox for the last three weeks, gathering dust. Today, you were determined to respond. You’d typed up several half-responses before deleting them, finally settling on something simple.

Son,

I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. And thank you for everything else.

In time,

Rookie.

You’d forgotten the name he’d given you when you first started your internship, but it popped into your head as soon as you went to sign off. He’d only used it for a couple of months before he switched to your given name, but it was his way of establishing a rapport. At the time, it felt like teasing, but you realized eventually that it was his way of making you feel included.

You wished you could tell him more. You weren’t ready to talk about it. You hoped he’d understand.

It was Son. He’d give you the time you needed.

----

That was the last anyone other than Yoongi had tried to contact you. On the one hand, you were happy they respected your boundaries, but on the other hand, you missed them. Even if you couldn’t respond right now, knowing they cared enough to reach out had been comforting.

You got it, though. You didn’t have the capacity to be a good friend to them, or to anyone at the moment. And it was you who had walked out on them. That probably hurt a lot. They had every right to be angry with you for the way you had acted, and frankly, the thought that they might be angry with you motivated you to get better.

Rebuilding these friendships was going to have to be your responsibility. And you were determined to get make it right.

As soon as you made things right with yourself.

-------

*BZZZZZZZ*

The sound only half-registered in your sleep state, briefly rousing you before you fell back into deep slumber.

*BZZZZZZZZ*

It rang a second time, this time fully registering. You scrubbed a palm over your face and threw the blanket off you, simultaneously knocking last night’s empty takeout box off your couch and on to the floor to join the rest.

“Who is it?” you asked over the intercom.

“Yoongi. Let me up.” You pressed the button to unlock the front door, eager to see him but wholly unprepared for company. Groggy, you slumped over to your armchair, which held a pile of your clothes. Picking up a bathrobe to sniff it and determine it was clean enough, you wrapped it around yourself and tied it snugly in the middle.

Your apartment was in a very sorry state, you observed. You’d already been aware of that, but you were looking at it with a new lens, now that you had company.

Sheesh.

Take-out boxes littered the floor, the coffee table, and the sofa. Empty wine bottles and plastic cups were strewn about—clothes, tissues, candy wrappers, bags of chips, and an open jar of peanut butter with the spoon sticking out. Not to mention the layer of dust that had been gathering on almost every surface.

You heard a knock on the door.

“Just a minute!” You called, rushing to gather up as much of the trash as you could and stuff it into a bag. It was a mild improvement, but only just.

It had been almost three months since you’d last seen Yoongi. He’d visited once after coming back from the last leg of the tour, but shortly after, he embarked on a “creativity journey,” he called it. He’d been traveling around, looking for inspiration for his music and collaborating with artists all over the world.

You opened the door and greeted him with a hug.

He wrinkled his nose after pulling away. “Really?” you said. “I thought for sure this was clean.”

“I don’t think you can smell yourself anymore, babe.”

“Fair enough,” you said. “I don’t think I have anything clean. Mind if I do laundry while you visit.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You grabbed a trash bag (all of your laundry baskets were already full) and started picking out the highest priority items. Sweatpants, hoodies, and underwear were the main articles, but you threw in a towel as well.

You should probably shower, too, while you’re at it.

“How long can you stay?” you asked.

“I’m free all day.”

“Awesome. How was the trip?”

“You know? I expected it to involve a lot of writing music, but it was actually the opposite.”

“Oh?” you asked, gathering up more items to take to the laundry room downstairs.

“Yeah,” he said, following you around as you picked at and sniffed different clothes around your living room. The bag was already pretty full, but you wanted to make the most of this load. “I mostly just ate, rested, and hung out with other musicians. I don’t think I finished a single track while I was there, other than the few collaborations I did.”

"I actually love that for you," you said, opening the door and walking down the hall. Yoongi followed, his energy bright.

“Weirdly, it was just what I needed.”

He continued to tell you about his trip as you threw the load of laundry in and proceeded back upstairs. He’d gone to the US to visit some of the artists he’d previously collaborated with, catch a few NBA games, and visit some of the landscapes, his favorite having been the Grand Canyon.

“It’s huge!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I knew it’d be huge, but like, you can’t even fathom how big it is until you see it in person.”

“I’m so happy for you, Yoongi,” you said, and meant it. “Keep me company while I shower?” you asked.

“Oh?” he asked, eyebrows disappearing up into his hair.

“Not like that.”

“Oh.”

He followed you into the bathroom, kindly not commenting on the soap scum stains on your sinks and the pile of dirty underwear in the corner and took a seat on the lid of the toilet, while you got in the shower and removed your bathrobe, dropping it on the floor on the other side of the curtain before turning the water on.

“Hungry?” you asked as you struggled to find the right temperature.

“I was until I saw the state of your apartment.”

You opened the shower curtain and flicked some water at him.

“Fair enough. Want me to order something while you shower?”

“Something with pork belly please?” you called out as you began to shampoo your hair, noticing just how many knots were in it. You really needed to stop falling asleep with your hair in a bun. It was getting harder and harder to untangle and the breakage was now significant.

For some reason, self-care tasks became much easier with Yoongi around. Things that seemed almost impossible on your own were suddenly within your grasp in his company; you were grateful for his presence, though you tried hard not to become too dependent on him. It wasn’t fair to him, after all.

“Ordered,” he said. “Should be here in thirty minutes.” “Thank you,” you said, now trying in vain to comb conditioner through your mats. “When did you get back?” you asked.

“A few weeks ago,” he said.

“Really?” you asked, surprised that you hadn’t heard from him. “How have things been at the house? Also could you hand me the comb on the sink over there?”

“Complicated,” he said. You heard him rifling through the assortment of brushes and ointments sprawled around the edges of your sink until his hand appeared through the curtain, holding a wide-toothed comb.

“Thanks. Go on.”

“Well, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Why? What’s up?” you asked. The comb continued to stick in your hair. At this rate, you’d have to cut your hair short to get rid of all the damage.

“Well, as you know, things are still tense within the group. A lot of us aren’t talking to each other.”

“I actually didn’t know that,” you said, finally managing to comb through the biggest knot. You placed the comb back on the shelf and switched over to scrubbing your body with the loofah, hoping to give the conditioner some time to work.

“Really? I thought I told you.”

“We didn’t talk much about the group when you were here last. I think I was still avoiding the subject.”

“Oh, well are you still or can we talk about it now?” he asked. You heard a faint trickling sound coming from outside the shower.

“Are you pissing right now?”

“Yeah.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back a smile at just how comfortable the two of you had become.

“Don’t get it on the seat.”

“What and ruin your pristine bathroom?” he said.

“Ass. Anyway, yeah I suppose we can talk about it now. I’ve had enough time. Just don’t say his name.”

“Noted. So everyone’s all weird around each other now.”

“What exactly happened after I left?”

“After you walked out, Namjoon called you-know-who out in the hallway to talk privately. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it must have been bad because he came back in with his tail between his legs and he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. Only talked to Joon for the rest of the tour.” “Damn,” you said. It was cathartic to hear that he had at least some degree of shame. You just wished you could have heard what Namjoon said to him.

“Yeah. Then he asked to talk to both Tae and Jia privately, and they came back looking pretty similar to Jun—I mean you-know-who. He must have given them a real tongue lashing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Then he talked to me.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d that go?”

“It…,” he began, “…wasn’t exactly the best moment of the tour.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how delicately he phrased it. “Go on,” you said, scrubbing at your scalp. The conditioner had done a decent job of masking some of the damage, but you’d have to visit a salon at some point to truly fix it. Another item on the long list of things you needed to take care of.

“He was angry with me for not communicating how I was truly feeling about everything. He said he’d have gladly stood up to the label and advocated for me if I would have said something to him. And if they still didn’t listen, he would have helped me find an appropriate way of coping. Or at least help cover for us if that’s what we needed to do. And he was disappointed that I didn’t trust him enough to care about what I was going through.”

“Fuck,” you said, turning off the water.

“Yeah.”

“Hey could you hand me the towel hanging on the door?”

He did, handing it to you through the curtain without looking. For some reason, you were feeling a bit more shame about being naked around him than you had in the past. Wrapping yourself up in the towel, you stepped out of the shower and truly looked at him for the first time since he’d arrived.

He looked so tired.

“How are you holding up?” you asked.

He shrugged.

“Anything I can do?”

“Honestly just your company would be great.”

“That I can do.”

You toweled off in your room and changed into a sweater you’d found in the back of your closet and a pair of sweatpants that you’d only worn a couple of times. Yoongi accompanied you while you finished your laundry and worked on tidying up your apartment. He relaxed on the couch, smoking a joint you’d given him and watching mindless reality television until the food arrived, when you took a break and sat next to him, exhausted from all the effort you’d spent, but grateful for Yoongi’s presence.

“Thank you for coming over,” you said, taking the first bite of noodles. “And for not judging me. And honestly, for everything else you’ve done. I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.” You finished the rest of your sentence with your mouth half-full of food. Yoongi had the kindness not to comment on it.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, taking a bite of his own. “I needed to get away from the dorms. It was nice to have somewhere to go that wasn’t my studio.”

You both ate in relative silence, save for slurping noises and the occasional clearing of a throat. Once your hunger had been sated, you turned on the couch to face him and leaned your head against the back, once again taking him in.

“What?” he asked when he noticed you staring.

“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?”

“Wow, you’re just gonna hit me with that out of nowhere.”

“Loaded question, I know,” you said, biting back a grin. “Humor me?”

He sighed, contemplating his answer.

“No? I mean, there definitely were consequences to it. And Namjoon was right. I should have talked to him about what was going on. But at the end of the day, I still really wanted to do it. And, for some godforsaken reason, I still think I benefitted from it more than I suffered.”

“I feel that way too,” you said, grateful that he shared the sentiment. “I regret how I went about it, but I don’t think I regret doing it. I loved every second.”

“Even though it ruined things with…him?”

You barked a bitter laugh, which dissipated into a sigh. “I think things were ruined with him from the moment they started.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We were just kids,” you said. “Or at least it feels like we were. Neither of us was mature enough to enter into a sexual relationship. We handled it so poorly.”

“That may be true, but then again, you grew a lot through the experience. Sometimes you have to figure out what not to do before you can go about things the right way.”

“Maybe,” you said. “I still struggle to feel at peace with it.”

Yoongi was silent for a moment. “Do you miss him?”

You nodded, unable to speak as the words caught in your throat. You didn’t want to miss him. And you didn’t want to acknowledge that you missed him, but you did.

Your eyes stung with the grief. “It’s okay to miss him,” he said.

“It hurts,” you said.

“I know, baby. I know,” he said.

You reached your hand out. Yoongi took it and pulled you into a bear hug. You couldn’t help the sob that left your mouth and got muffled in his chest.

“Shhhh. It’s okay,” he said, rocking you back and forth, kissing the top of your head.

You needed this. It was impossible for you to get through all of it alone. And perhaps you weren’t meant to. Perhaps connection was the missing piece. The thing that gave you the energy you needed to heal. You’d been so alone for so long, and while Jungkook had satisfied the physical need of skinship, he couldn’t offer the connection that you really needed. Neither could Jimin. Or Jia. Or Colin. Or any of the other people who’d had access to your body. It was something only Yoongi had given you so far. And maybe, in a way, Son. Though his connection had been an energetic one rather than physical.

Conflicting needs are hard. Everyone has needs that they're trying to get met. Sometimes those needs don't align. Sometimes we look for the wrong people to meet them.

The company needed to make money and keep a clean image. Son needed to take care of his mother. Jungkook needed to feel secure. Jimin needed to feel good enough. Yoongi needed to feel heard. You needed to heal.

It’s great when things work out and everybody gets their needs met—but life doesn’t always work out that way. And sometimes the process of getting one’s needs met is messy and painful. Sometimes you have to hurt someone else in order to take care of yourself.

But people heal. We grow. We learn from our mistakes and find better ways to get our needs met. We're never the bad guy forever. And every once in a while, we get it right. We cause more good than harm. We help someone heal from their wounds, rather than cause them. When that happens, there's a purpose to the pain. A reason to keep healing. Love blossoms where wounds existed, and eventually, with time, they don't hurt so much anymore.

_____

Son looked as if he’d seen a miracle.

“You came.”

“Of course I came. I’d never let you do this alone. Though from the looks of it, you wouldn’t have had to.” You gestured out the window to the full parking lot. People were still clearing out a full twenty minutes after the service ended.

He hugged you with as much strength as he could muster, and you hugged him back just as tightly.

“Can you stay? I want to catch up.”

“Absolutely.”

You had sat in the back row and watched as Son gave a heartfelt eulogy honoring his mother’s life. The funeral was beautiful. Everybody you’d worked with from the past had showed up to support Son as he gave tribute to his mother’s life.

Afterwards, you all went back to his mother’s house and drank together like old times. Son got entirely too drunk while going through photos and ended up bawling his eyes out while the group gathered around him. He ended up passing out on the couch not too long after. You stayed the night to make sure he was okay, having been the only one to not partake so heavily. You’d quit drinking about a month ago, deciding it was time to get healthy.

The next morning, Son made breakfast while you helped clean up after everyone. It felt almost like you were freshly graduated again, interning at Son’s old company before he’d been hired at the record label.

“This feels familiar,” Son said, echoing your thoughts. You laughed, continuing to shove empty beer bottles and solo cups into the black trash bag you were holding.

“Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“I missed you.”

He said it softly into the pan of eggs he was frying up. Almost too soft for you to catch, but you did.

“I missed you too. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

He stopped frying to look up at you.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You really want to know?”

“I do.”

The time had come to tell him your story, and you did. You relayed absolutely everything. From your father’s affair with your childhood dance teacher, to your mother’s disapproval of your career choice and subsequent excommunication of you, to the incident with your professor. And then to the events of the tour (which you censored a bit. He didn’t need to hear absolutely everything.) And then why you left. Son listened intently, nodding where appropriate and giving you the focus you needed to get through the story.

“I’m sorry for leaving,” you finally said. “I just couldn’t handle that environment anymore. I had to get away for my own mental health.”

“Don’t feel sorry. You had every right to leave. I’m sorry for asking so much of you without giving you enough preparation. Ideally, your first tour would have been alongside me. You’d have been able to watch how I operate for the first few weeks before slowly taking on more responsibility. It wasn’t fair to just shove you out there like that.”

“You had such a valid reason though,” you said. “I wanted you to be able to take care of her. She needed that. And so did you.”

He nodded. You saw in him an echo of the grief you’d only just learned how to process.

“Thank you for giving me that time. I’m so sorry that it came at such a cost,” he said.

“I grew through it.”

You sat in comfortable companionship for a few moments before Son turned to you.

“About your professor…,”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you said, brushing the memory away as soon as it arose.

“Can we?” he asked, grabbing one of your hands and holding it in his. The gesture was so sincere that you couldn’t help but humor him.

“I don’t want you to think that you somehow weren’t good enough to get that internship based on skill alone. That man conned you. And last I knew, he was dismissed from the university for having done the same thing to another student.”

You hadn’t kept up with any university news, wanting to leave the memory behind you, but this was an unexpected turn of events. You couldn’t say you were surprised to hear that he’d done it to other students, but it hadn’t occurred to you to come forward about his behavior. You were relieved to hear that others had, and that he’d faced consequences. Still, you were ready to put the memory behind you.

“I guess…I always knew that I had some level of skill, because you took me on as your assistant even after the internship, but I had always wondered if it was just because we were friends.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “I mean, I definitely enjoyed having your personality around, but I wouldn’t have offered you the job if you didn’t also have the skill.”

Son’s words meant a lot to you, but you still couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss over everything. It wasn’t fair that you were robbed of the joy of having made it based on your hard work and dedication. You were ever afforded the confidence. Your position was always tainted with the bitter knowledge that you’d done things you weren’t proud of to get there.

“You know,” he began, hesitant about his next few words, “your old spot is still open for you. If you want it, that is. I’d love it if you came back.”

His words were tangibly hopeful, and the offer was tempting. It would be nice to get back on good terms with everyone you’d left. Still, you knew your answer.

“Son,” you said, heaving a sigh. “I can’t go back. I appreciate the offer, but I just don’t think it’s the right fit for me anymore.”

“Ahh, I suppose you’re right,” he responded. “Worth a shot.”

“I’d still like to stay in touch though. Maybe work on some independent projects together.”

He offered up the best smile he could muster under the circumstances. “You know I’m always down for a collab. Just say the word.”

“I’d like that.”

He turned again towards you. “What will you do now?”

“I have a few things I want to work on.”

-----

Your feet fell to the pavement with heavy thuds. The air burned your lungs. Your ankles were sore and unstable, aching from the extra weight they weren’t used to carrying.

It had been a year since you’d left the company, and this was the first time you’d worked up the energy to go for a run. Almost immediately, you were out of breath. Your limbs no longer worked together the way they had before. They were stretched, as if the threads that had once held you tightly together at your seams had been pulled loose.

You were a stranger to this body.

You slowed down to a light jog. It had been less than five minutes and you were already sweating.

This had never happened to you. You’d always had expert control over your body and its movements. The solid connection between your mind and your muscles was something you’d taken so much for granted that you never even knew it was possible to lose.

Energy had once flowed throughout your body, all the way to your fingers and toes, but you couldn’t feel it anymore. Your movements were sloppy. Your pace was inconsistent, like your body was short circuiting.

This was going to be harder than you thought.

You stopped your movements altogether.

This was the part of healing nobody told you about. You didn’t have the luxury of running in private, so you had to settle for letting out a silent scream. Going through the motions was a trick you’d only recently learned.

You turned around. Your body wasn’t ready to run yet, so you’d have to deal with just walking.

You took one step. And another. Eventually, you found the pace for your body.

So this was rehabilitation.

-------

A month later, you signed up for a gym membership. It had become clear during several ineffectual runs that your body had completely atrophied after spending over a year on the sofa eating nothing but takeout and ramen.

You started with your legs. You were wobbly in your joints and your balance was all over the place. On top of that, you now had almost forty extra pounds you were carrying around.

Rebuilding your strength was slow, but it was also a necessary step if you ever hoped to get your strength back. You were tired of being tired and you knew that the only way to attain energy was to earn it.

On top of that, you were nearing the end of your savings and had to find a job soon or else you’d be kicked out, and you were in no state to work.

Working out became your primary form of meditation. It was a way for you to connect with yourself on a deeper level than you had in a long time.

You had a feeling that this kind of solitude, while painful, may be the best thing for you. You’d spent the year before chasing attention, never once questioning where the craving had come from. Clearly you had some sort of neglection wound from your parents, but superficial sexual attention wasn’t going to fix that. That’s why you kept chasing even after receiving it. It had provided a temporary dopamine hit, but never addressed the root of the problem.

It wasn’t until you had begun paying high-quality attention to yourself that you even became aware of this.

The root of the problem, you thought, as you strained your leg muscles under the weights and stood up, was that you neglected yourself.

------

“I think I was taught to,” you said.

You sat across from a middle-aged woman wearing a cream-colored sweater and thin-framed glasses. She held a clipboard and a pen in hand and scrawled down a note.

“Who do you think taught you to do that?”

“My parents, for one.”

This was your second therapy appointment. You called and scheduled the first once the gym alone was no longer enough to keep the spiraling thoughts at bay.

“What did they do?”

“Well, my dad abandoned us for that dance teacher, and then when that happened, my mother just couldn’t keep it together. It felt like every conversation we had was just an opportunity for her to complain about what my father did. I had to stop talking to her after a while.”

“So she forced you to be her confidant and emotional support system when you were a child, while simultaneously neglecting your own needs.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to say. It’s possible she just wanted to connect over the fact that he had abandoned both of us, and expected me to be just as angry as she was.”

“Were you?” she asked.

“At first. But after a while I was just tired. I wanted to move on with my life, but she stayed stuck in the past.”

“So you had to fend for yourself.” It was a statement, rather than a question.

“Yeah.”

“What do you think that girl needs to hear right now? If she were with us in the room?” You thought about that for a moment. What would you have wanted your mother to say?

“I guess, I’m sorry that he left us. That wasn’t fair, but I’m going to make sure we have a good life regardless.”

She smiled and nodded. “Good. That’s what I want to hear. Now is that a promise you’re intending to keep?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “What do you need to do?”

“I need to make amends with the people I’ve hurt.”

-------

“I guess I was just blindsided by everything, you know? I wish you could have confided in me. I don’t know why you didn’t.”

Hoseok sat across from you, teacup in hand, a look of sincerity in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Hoseok,” you said. “I don’t know why I did the things I did. I judged myself so heavily for what I was doing, and I guess I was just afraid you’d judge me too.”

He grabbed your hand. "I'd like to think I've proven myself to be better than that."

“You have,” you said. “And if I had my head on straight, I would have known that from the start. I just. I don’t know. I didn’t want to disappoint you. And in doing that, I ended up disappointing everyone, myself included.”

Hoseok looked at you with the utmost sympathy. “Please come back. I miss you. We all miss you.”

“Hoseok…,”

“I know,” he said, “It’s just that I really miss having you around. I know things got weird and you got hurt, but you and I had so much fun together. Not everybody enjoys dance the way you and I do, and I miss having your energy around. Plus, we’ve all grown so much since you left. Even Jungkook has been working on himself.”

Your heart shot to your throat at the mention of his name.

“Sorry,” he said when he caught you wincing.

You wanted to ask more questions about him, but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Apparently, that specific wound remained open. “I can’t,” you said. “That’s just not who I am anymore. But we can still hang out and collab sometimes. Just for fun.”

He sighed and nodded. “Promise me you won’t go another year and a half without talking to me?”

“I promise. I’m sorry I took so long. I needed time, but I’ve finally got my head on straight.”

“Doubtful, knowing you,” he teased and you had to smile. “What will you do now?”

“Well,” you began.

------

You entered in the combination the owner had given you. The keypad lit up green and the lock released with an audible “click.”

There was a small foyer with a desk and a short hallway ahead. At the end of the hallway, a restroom on the right, and to the left, a wide open space.

You removed your street shoes and padded across the hardwood, dropping your gym bag on the far corner next to the stereo system. After connecting your phone, you pulled up one of your old playlists and hit ‘select.’ The music echoed through the empty space and you made your way to the center.

Your body was tired and slow. Some of your joints were still stiff and calcified, but your workouts have helped loosen them up. Still, you needed to be extra thorough with your warmup routine and easy on your ankles. You’d lost a fair bit of weight, but you still had about twenty extra pounds weighing your movements down. Some of the fat had been converted to new muscle, though.

Son had put you in touch with the owner of a local dance studio. He’d worked with her on previous projects and gave you a good reference. She agreed to let you rent out the space a few times a week for a very reasonable price (you had a sneaking suspicion Son had something to do with that, too).

The savings you’d built up before you quit had all but run dry. It had been eighteen months of living off ramen noodles and paying your electric bill and rent in installments, but you’d survived. Occasionally, you’d try to pay a bill only to find out that it had already been paid for.

Yoongi swore up and down that he hadn’t done anything, but you had a hard time believing that, considering he knew how much you were struggling and he regularly pressured you into accepting charity, often citing that he had more money than he could ever hope to spend. You were far too proud to accept his donations openly, but you were still grateful for every single utility bill he went behind your back to cover.

Your savings and his generosity had allowed you the time and space you needed in order to heal and get back on your feet. It was time to return dance floor.

You were rusty, but it wouldn’t take long for you to build your basic skills back up. Soon enough, you’d be able to start offering classes.

“Just like riding a bike,” you whispered to yourself as you pushed up off the floor and swung your legs overhead in an aerial. The landing was clumsy and it hurt your knees, but it was a landing, nonetheless.

You could work with that.

-------

Three years later.

“Five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and down, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

You clapped as you counted.

“Yes, Seul-ki , give it some attitude,” you shouted, praising one of the students who had shown significant improvement over the last several weeks. She’d started the class later than the rest of the women, but had picked up on it quickly. There was a determination within her that reminded you of past versions of yourself.

The music ended. The women hit their final pose. They were all very much amateurs and it showed in their dancing, but you had a special place in your heart for this particular class.

All of the other classes were paid. You taught children up through teens after school on weekdays, but Sunday afternoons were your favorite, because you got to give back to your community.

The class was made up of survivors of sexual abuse and harassment, and you teamed up with the local women’s services nonprofit and a few trauma-informed therapists to put together this class.

The goal was to help women reconnect with their bodies through movement. This was the second group of women you’d taught. The first class, while it had its growing pains, was such a success that it had garnered local attention and had been offered a grant from a few other agencies looking to get involved.

You’d already been approved for a business loan, and next week, you had a meeting scheduled with a real estate agent. You were about to begin the process of looking for properties to purchase. It was time to open your own studio.

“Okay, good work everyone. Remember, next week we’re off for the holiday, but we’ll be back the week after that. Enjoy your time!”

You said goodbye to each of the women individually, thanking them for coming and wishing them well as they cleared out.

Once they were gone, you sat in the middle of the floor and massaged your ankles. They’d never been the same since you took so much time off. You’d built up enough ankle strength over the past few years to support them most of the time, but every once in a while, you had to take some time to rest them or else they’d get inflamed again. You were glad you had the next week off.

Shuffling through your phone, you put on of your favorite playlist. You’d created it almost ten years ago, but each song reminded you of the early days of your dance career, when you and Son were at his old company, partying weekends away and never taking life too seriously.

You went through your post-dance stretching and cooldown routine, working on a few moves you wanted to incorporate into your Reconnection class after the break.

You were midway through the move when you looked up and saw a familiar figure leaning against the doorway, softly smiling at you.

Your heart leapt up to your throat. Fight-or-flight kicked in, and you immediately ran over to the speakers to turn the music down and give yourself a chance to catch your breath before turning back around.

“Hey,” he said when you finally did.

“Hey,” you echoed, voice coming out a little breathy. The space between the two of you stretched across the room, filled to the brim with words unspoken. The silence that fell was thick and heavy. Your skin prickled as hairs on your arm stood up.

He was different. More grown up. He had a lip ring now. Beneath his oversized black tee, you could see a full sleeve of tattoos. You knew he’d gotten them. It was impossible to avoid any mention of him in the news, but it was still jarring to see them in person.

“Uh…Yoongi said you’d be here.”

Why Yoongi wouldn’t give you a heads up about this was beyond you.

“Yeah, I, um. I teach a class.”

“I saw.” His voice softened with layers of humility it had never before held.

“Can I come in?” he asked. There was such hesitation in the question, like he was tip-toeing around a land mine. You supposed in a way, he was.

“Sure.”

Slowly he stepped forward.

“It’s a nice space. I read in the news you were offering—,”

“You're here," you interrupted.

"Um. Yeah."

You were still processing that fact. The words had come out of your mouth without you consciously choosing to speak them.

"I didn't expect you to be here," you continued, your brain only being capable of observing the obvious at that point.

"I...well, no. I suppose you wouldn't."

You were still registering his appearance. Had he always been this tall? Or was it just the boots he was wearing? He was in all-black, save for a dark gray beanie he wore on top of his head. You couldn't read his expression.

“I uh,” he said, clearly struggling with how to approach this. “I wanted to make amends, I guess.”

You blinked a few times.

"...And I guess that's probably not something you're—,"

“—Do you want a cup of tea? I have an electric kettle in the back,” you cut in.

He let out an audible breath of relief, face finally ligtening up into an expression you could read. “Sure.”

He followed you to a small break-room-slash-utility-closet in the back of the studio where you kept a stack of yoga mats, extra dance shoes, and all the cleaning and restock supplies you needed. It also had a small bistro table with two chairs, a microwave in the corner, and a tea kettle on top.

You busied yourself making tea, back turned towards him. It was still tough to look directly at him for more than a second or two, you found.

“How have you been?” you asked, looking down at your hands as they worked.

“I’ve been okay. You?” he said.

You finished filling the cup with hot water and turned back towards him.

“Feel free to sit,” you said, noticing he was still standing awkwardly in the doorway. He paused for a moment and then helped himself to a seat at the table. You set two cups of tea down in front of each seat.

“Sugar?” you asked.

“No thanks,” he said and waited for you to sit. When you finally did, you still found it hard to look at him and settled for staring into the cup between your hands.

“You were saying,” you said, hoping for him to take the lead.

“I had asked you how you were.”

“Oh. Right. You did. I guess I’ve been good? Better than I’ve been in a while, at least.”

“Good,” he said. You glanced up to him and caught a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s amazing what you’ve done in the last few years. I always knew you were a great dancer, but I didn’t realize you had such a philanthropic heart.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. I suppose I didn’t know that about myself. The idea just kind of appeared out of nowhere, you know?”

He nodded, struggling to hide a smile. You felt a blush creep up on your cheeks.

“So,” he said.

“I saw you released a solo album.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “Did you listen to it.”

“Um. No, actually. Sorry.”

He chuckled. “No need to be.”

An awkward silence fell between the two of you once again.

“Jungkook, I—,”

“I’m sorry,” he cut you off.

“Okay,” you said.

“I just had to tell you. I hate the way I treated you. I hate the way I acted, and you never deserved any of that.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ve spent the last four years absolutely appalled with myself. I hate that I pushed you away, and that I lashed out at you, when you were just trying to figure things out, the same as the rest of us. I put so much pressure on you to fill a role in my life. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

A rush of emotion hit you all at once and you hadn't realized just how much you'd been waiting to hear those words. You'd already come to terms with the idea that you'd never get an apology, and you were okay with it. Now that it was here, it was almost overwhelming, but you had to store that away for now, because you had something else to say.

“Jungkook, you weren’t the only one who messed up. We both did. I’m just as responsible for what happened as you are.”

“I don’t think that’s true. That last day, I treated you so much worse than you ever treated me. I had no right to say those things to you. It was despicable, and I am so ashamed. I’m sorry.”

His words were still sinking in.

"I mean, I slapped you."

"I deserved it."

"Debatable."

Truthfully, you’d dreamed about having this conversation with him for the last four years. You were never sure how it would go, but now that it was here, you weren't sure how to process it.

“Why now?”

He looked down at his teacup. When he spoke, his voice was strained.

“I’m leaving for my military service soon. I didn’t want to go without making amends.”

“How soon?” you asked.

“Next week.”

“Oh shit,” you said. He removed the gray beanie he’d been wearing to show a freshly shaved head. Now, looking at him was almost surreal. He barely looked like the same Jungkook.

"Yeah," he said.

"Are you scared?"

"Yes and no. I think it's time I had a challenge like this. It's been so long since I've had to do real grunt work. I could use it. And maybe I need a break from being famous. Just be another soldier in the ranks for a change. Just like everyone else."

He'd never be just like everyone else, but you didn't want to spoil this for him, so you held your tongue.

"If I told you I forgave you, would it help you go into this with a clear conscience?"

He chewed on his lip ring in an effort to hide his smile, but it didn't quite do the trick. "Yeah."

“Yeah. I mean, what you did wasn’t cool. It really hurt and I had a hard time getting over it. But at the same time, it was kind of the kick in pants I needed. I don’t know. It gave me a good enough reason to leave a toxic situation,” he grimaced as you said it, knowing he was partly at fault for its toxicity, “and I feel like I was able to really start living for myself after that. It sucked at the time, but it was a catalyst for a major chapter of growth.”

“So...does that mean there's no hard feelings?”

“Jungkook," you said "you broke my heart. That’s always going to sting a bit. But I’m not going to hold on to any resentment. I know you were acting from a place of pain.”

“I was,” he said. “And thank you for understanding that. I'm sorry for what I did when I was hurt, but I’ve been working on healing, for what it’s worth. Getting famous at such a young age affected me more than I realized. I won’t go into it now, but I know what you mean when you talk about a growth chapter. I’ve been kind of going through one of those myself.”

“I’m glad.”

The conversation trailed off, but you could tell there was something else on his mind by the way his tongue prodded at the inside of his cheek. It warmed you to know he still did that.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, sincerity on his tongue.

“Do you think, like when I get back from war,"

"You're not going to war, Jungkook," you deadpanned.

"You don't know that. War could break out at any time. You know they're running missile tests in the North."

Even if war did break out, they'd never put him on the front lines. He brings in too much money for the country, but you humored him. "Okay, sure. When you get back from war."

"When I get back from laying my life on the line in a very dangerous war for the sake of our country," he continued and you couldn't stop the smile that appeared on your face, "do you see a future where we could ever work on things? Or have I permanently messed up my chance?”

At that, you had to laugh. “Get back from your military service and we’ll talk.”

“Please? Another chance? I’d love to make it up to you. I could make it up to you before I leave, even.”

"Are you seriously trying to get laid right now?"

He smiled, bunny teeth sticking out and suddenly he looked like old Jungkook again. Your Jungkook. “I would never.”

“I cannot believe you! You are such a little shit,” you said in amusement. You got up to rinse your tea cup in the sink in an effort to shut the conversation down, but he followed you.

“One kiss,” he said. "I'll change your mind."

“Go away, Jungkook,” you said, snatching his half-finished tea from him.

“I could die! I could be killed on the battlefield!” he exclaimed, following you to where you stood.

“I would be grieving with the rest of the female population. I’d be first in line, even.”

“A hug then?” he said, catching you by the arm. Your skin burned where he touched and you almost dropped the cup you were holding. You forgot how affected you were by him.

You turned to face him. He was close now, staring down at you. His doe eyes held a familiar intensity that made your stomach flutter. "Please?" he said again, voice low and soft.

“Jungkook, I—,” you began.

The End.

#Jungkook x reader #Yoongi x reader #The choreographer #bts fanfic #Jungkook

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