#this chapter is about as long as the last one but also feels so much: bigger

[kaelidascope]

On one hand, I'm relieved to see that it isn't just me suffering in the engagement department whereas I used to get flooded with comments and the like every time I dropped something. It isn't the only reason why I've moved from fanfic work to original work, but it is part of it. The last round of engagement on the latest MM chapter was abysmal, and while I know it's not a reflection of my quality in writing, I kept beating myself up over the possibility that I took too long to update it and people gave up on it/forgot/fell out of love with my work because I as a creator was not performing good enough. It drove me into a bit of a depression for a while.

On the other hand, this is making me rethink my stance on never telling my favorite authors how much they have inspired me to take off with my writing career. This is going to get a little lengthy but I want to talk about it so bear with me here.

Closed circles know how much of an insane, unhinged fan I am of certain writers, yet I have never actually said a word to them. I think I left one comment on maybe two fics that went unanswered (which is fine. They're not active in the fandoms I'm in anymore and I'm just some guy out of probably hundreds all saying the same thing. They're not gonna reply to me) but apart from that, you wouldn't catch me dead actually admitting how much the works mean to me. But why?

I guess I was far too proud and too terrified of being let down if I exposed myself like that. Despite the fact that these authors were literal catalysts for borderline impossible feats I have done within the last year, WELL RECEIVED FEATS at that, I swore I'd never tell anyone how inspiring they were for me. (Unless a casual friendship has been established. I have had the tremendous honor to able to talk to some of my inspirations one on one but under incredibly lucky circumstances)

I had a scenario in my head that these were the cool kids, and if you ever got picked on at all for admiring anything, you know damn well you never tell the cool kids about your admiration. I was afraid that they'd take one look at the work that was inspired by theirs and laugh at it in their enclosed circles. I wasn't going to risk having my confidence crushed and lose the motivation to continue working on my projects by being a fan.

I know not all authors do this. Every time someone comes to me and tells me I've inspired them to be a better writer, I literally frame it in a collection of screenshots I have saved on a hard drive. Every. Single. Time. And I know anyone else would tell me that if the person I admire would actually be cruel enough to mock an up and coming writer, then they're not worth admiring. Which I agree with! But try telling that to sensitive little Kaeli that safeguards their interests with the fiery defensiveness of a feral bear on cocaine.

But then I see posts like this, and I put myself in their shoes. I don't know them. They could be a jackass but they could also be like me - someone who bases a lot of motivation for project completion based off of whether or not people even care to see it completed.

This is all a very long, round about away to say that who cares if the author you build a mini-shrine for in your brain thinks your cringe for liking their work? Odds are they probably need to hear that you liked it so much, it inspired you to do something with that feeling. We all need to hear it. They inspired you and now you're making something that will inspire someone else. To be a creator is to share that passion everywhere you go. There's nothing cringe about it.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[juustokaku]

Confidentiality - Chapter 8. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

T/W: This story will include talk about mental health struggles such as body dysmorphia, paranoid thoughts and more. Possessive and obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, violence. Dark themes are to be expected. A brief situation of harassment (not by any of the members) in this chapter. A/N: Forgive me for the long wait! I hope the chapter won't be disappointing or incoherent... I like writing this story but my own judgmental thoughts honestly are a kill of joy. I'm happy to receive feedback, be it constructive criticism or positive words. I hope someone will enjoy this <3 Word count: 4 062 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once again, you held the phone to your ear. The sound of the phone ringing was quiet and stable but it did not lessen your anxiety at all. Eventually it stopped ringing, leaving you in heavy silence. 

Jongho hadn’t answered this time either. You had tried to call him at least 20 times in a span of couple days, but it was like he had disappeared from the face of the Earth. Despite being upset at him, you were more worried than you wanted to admit. You also missed him, his stoic nature, and the unexpected moments of sweetness. 

Frustrated, you tossed the phone away. Was Jongho so childish and stubborn that he hid from you on purpose after you had kicked him out of your home? Or could he be in danger? You couldn’t help but feel bad for banishing him. That was how he probably wanted you to feel, but there was nothing to do about the feeling. 

Spring, the season of hope and new beginnings, was near so the weather was warming up. Still, it was already late in the evening. The nights at that time of the year were still cold, and you grabbed a warm jacket; one that did not attract attention. You feared the possibility that some creep would notice and follow you in the dimly lit streets of the little city you lived in. 

Maybe in another life you would have liked walks outside. But this world was evil. If you already hated being outside even in the daylight, when the moon rose on the sky, your senses were heightened to a maximum. 

The walk to Jongho’s place wasn’t practically that long despite it being on a completely different area of the city. He actually lived in a house instead of a crappy, crampy apartment like you did. 

You were always astonished by his house. It was of an appropriate size but screamed how rich he was. A slightly annoyed huff fell from your lips as you thought about how he had said you couldn’t go ice skating for it being too expensive. Dude lived in the most prestigious area of the city but complained about the cost of ice skating. The memory made you smile nonetheless. 

There was a gate separating his yard and house from the street. You rang the doorbell on it, wishing sincerely he’d let you in or at least talk to you. 

The weather wasn’t windy but you still felt cold. Maybe Jongho would see you shivering and let you in out of pity. That is if he was even alive anymore. 

The house stood dark and tall in front of you, and the only thing separating you from Jongho was the gate. Your heart clenched at the unbearable thought of having lost him forever. Losing his friendship felt even harder knowing that you had never had much friends in the first place. 

After 10 minutes, you walked away from the house, steps heavy with disappointment. You had driven Jongho away with your anger. It was difficult to remember in that moment that your anger had been completely justified. You just wanted to see Jongho again. 

As if the situation hadn’t been depressing enough already, small, cool drops of water fell on your skin. Even the sky was crying with you.  

You kept walking, bravely telling yourself that you didn’t care about the rain turning into a downpour. But eventually, it started bothering you too much. It was cold, wet and dark, and you felt yourself getting frustrated. 

You found a shelter next to a small grocery store that was nearing its closing hours. Sure, it would have been wiser to go inside the store to warm up for a moment, but you were just going to stay in the shelter for a moment for the rain to stop. 

Some people walked past you out of the store occasionally but you were too deep in your thoughts to pay attention to it. Then a voice of a man clearly talking to you snapped you out of it. 

“Waiting for the rain to stop, huh?” 

“Yeah,” you glanced at the man quickly, not wanting to give him too much attention. 

Noticing that the middle-aged man was dressed up in dirty clothes and reeked of alcohol made you already uneasy. But the look in his dazed eyes was more concerning; he eyed you up and down, and smiled at you. It was not a kind nor inviting smile. It was a predatory smile flashed at you with yellow teeth. 

“I can wait with you so you won’t be lonely.” 

You felt your heartrate speed up. There was no way that man had good intentions with the way he shifted closer to you. 

“Thanks, but there’s no need to... Your groceries should be taken to your fridge quickly before they get bad.” 

Your attempt to politely refuse his offer didn’t work. 

“Oh, sweet girl. Don’t worry, I don’t have any purchases that need immediate care,” the man grinned and moved closer once again to show the contents of his plastic bag. 

It didn’t surprise you to find the bag was filled with beer bottles. You had to come up with a new excuse. 

“What about your wife? She’s surely waiting for you already.” 

“Hm? You’re prettier than her. Not so wrinkly and not always nagging about my drinking.” 

You felt disgusted on so many levels; the man had no right to talk that way about his wife when he looked like a malformed abomination of a rat that had escaped from the sewers. Hell, no man should talk about their own wife like that, no matter the looks. 

“A pretty girl like you deserves a man like me. Young men nowadays are so feminine and sensitive,” the man smirked arrogantly, “A true man knows his own power and how to use it to his advantage.” 

Your hand slipped inside your pocket. It was not for warmth but for reaching the pepper spray. Everyone used to laugh at you for carrying that because you’d probably never have to use it. But you’d have the last laugh. 

“What are you hiding in your pockets?” the man’s eyes were directed at your hands, a deep frown settling on his face. 

“J-Just warming up my hands.” 

“Bullshit. Are you trying to call the police on me?” 

If you were afraid before, now you were definitely terrified. How could you even use the pepper spray when your hands were trembling in fear? 

“You stupid bitch. What did I even do? Women don’t appreciate compliments these days anymore!” the man shouted angrily, and instead of standing lazily like before, he turned his body wholly towards you. 

You couldn’t freeze in that moment. No way in hell were you going to let that man touch you. 

But as you were about to pull the pepper spray from your pocket, a familiar voice caught both your and the man’s attention. 

“Step away from her.” 

Your head snapped into the direction of the voice, and you noticed; Yunho stood there, firm and commanding. For the first time in your life, you saw him in a good light. The long coat he wore could have been a superhero cloak, that’s how grateful you were. 

“Who are you to command me like that?” the drunkard scoffed at Yunho. 

But as Yunho walked closer, the man seemingly realized how much taller Yunho was, how much at disadvantage the man was. 

“I’m telling you one last time to step away and leave immediately.” 

“Pfft. What are you? A policeman?” the man attempted to assert dominance and show off his fragile masculinity. 

“In fact, I am. Although I’m off-duty, I have a couple weapons with me,” Yunho said, clearly not intimidated at all, “I won’t shoot you but I can guarantee that getting tazed doesn’t feel pleasant either.” 

To emphasize his words, Yunho pulled out a taser and swung it in his hands. The other man’s defiant expression morphed into a pathetic look of fear. 

“Sorry, man. I’ll go,” the man rushed away like there was a tail between his legs. 

You looked at Yunho with admiration. Even the guilt for doubting his intentions and nature before didn’t shake your mind at that moment; you just needed desperately to show your appreciation for him. 

Still, the best you could do was look at Yunho with wide eyes and utter a few words. 

“Thank you.” 

Yunho smiled, looking almost giddy when you talked to him, “I just did my duty.” 

“Your duty as a policeman?” 

“Yes, but mostly my duty as your personal protector.” 

A little giggle left your lips at Yunho’s comment. There was a warm feeling of gratitude in your chest. Yunho had never been a bad man after all although acting quite weirdly occasionally. 

“I’m more than just grateful. You saved me from a dangerous situation.” 

Yunho’s cheeks flushed and an adorable, sheepish smile spread on his lips. Having been always suspicious of him, you hadn’t realized before how sweet he looked every time you talked to him.  

“Let me walk you home. You must be scared after meeting that creep,” Yunho extended his hand out for you. In his other hand he held an umbrella which had a Spiderman print. 

What was the worst thing that could happen if you took his hand in yours? 

You felt like the company of a man who had proven his good intentions would bring you safety on your way home. You grabbed Yunho’s large hand in yours, feeling comforted yet a little nervous. 

“So, you like Spiderman?” 

Yunho chuckled at your question. He seemed overjoyed to walk hand-in-hand with you even though it was raining cats and dogs. 

“He’s what I want to become. A hero.” 

You smiled softly and couldn’t resist the temptation to say something corny, “You’re already my hero.” 

Yunho laughed heartily and glanced at you. His eyes were twinkling, replacing the stars that couldn’t be seen that night due to the clouded sky. 

“What are you doing out this late anyways?” he inquired. 

The air felt a little colder again as your thoughts wandered to Jongho. 

“Jongho has disappeared. I’ve tried to contact him but there’s no answer,” you revealed, “I went to his house tonight in hopes of finding him there, but it’s like he’s avoiding me.” 

Something flickered in Yunho’s eyes for a split second before a thoughtful look set on his face. He squeezed your hand a little. 

“That must be rough. He’s your boyfriend after all.” 

“Well, not anymore. There was an incident that led to me breaking up with him,” you muttered. 

The man next to you nodded and spoke again, “I can help you find him. I’m a policeman, you know? We may not have enough reason to report him as missing, but I have my knowledge of finding missing people as my offer.” 

Yunho’s hand may have been warm but the smile on his face was even warmer; it comforted you. 

When the two of you eventually stood at your doorstep, Yunho’s reluctance to let go of your hand was clear. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern. 

“Are you okay? The man must have scared you badly.” 

You let go of Yunho’s hand to pull the pepper spray out of your pocket. 

“You’re my favorite hero but this one will come in handy sometimes too,” you chuckled. 

Yunho smiled, “Just call me whenever you need help with anything. And I mean anything.” 

You offered your phone for Yunho to type in his number. Suddenly, he frowned. 

“Why is your home screen wallpaper a picture of you and Yeosang?” he asked, voice a few degrees colder than before. 

It was strange to see that sweet man get so worked up over a simple picture. 

“Yeosang is practically my only friend. I like to have a reminder of that now I have someone to rely on.” 

The embarrassment in your voice was clear as you were forced to explain your sad situation of friendships. At least Yunho’s expression softened. 

“I’ll be your friend from now on. Make sure to spend time with me... and change that wallpaper,” Yunho spoke. 

The next week Jongho wasn’t at the group therapy meeting. Just like the week before, he was gone, leaving you worried. But at least now you had someone who would be able to help search for him. 

The room felt so empty without him but no-one else seemed to care. 

Charlotte didn’t even question Jongho’s absence that time, just moving straight to the activities of the day. 

“Find yourself a pair,” Charlotte guided with a mysterious smile, “I won’t tell you what the activity is yet.” 

Wooyoung and San paired up immediately, and Seonghwa and Hongjoong glanced at each other in agreement. They had found their cliques, the person who they got along with the best. It was beyond your understanding though how someone as sweet as Seonghwa could like Hongjoong. 

You didn’t even have time to get up from your seat when Yunho had appeared in front of you like out of thin air. You felt a little intimidated and small while he stood over you, but the fear you used to feel around him was gone. He was just a gentle giant, the hero who had saved you from a situation that could have escalated. 

“Be my pair,” Yunho requested. 

His request was tempting but there was someone else standing a little farther away, looking at you longingly; it was Yeosang. 

“I think Yeosang wants-” 

“Please,” Yunho said, voice soft and almost vulnerable. 

You didn’t want to betray Yeosang but Yunho’s sad look tugged at your heartstrings. It didn’t take too long for you to give an apologetic look to Yeosang and a nod for Yunho. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Yeosang walk over to Mingi and pair up with him. You’d apologize to Yeosang later. 

Yunho sat down next to you, his long legs brushing against yours briefly. Now that he was sitting next to you just like the first time you met, he seemed satisfied. 

“The topic of today is relationships to other people. Discuss with your partner about the person who has the most meaning in your life right at this moment,” Charlotte revealed the task. 

That was the hardest topic for you so far. There had never been much people to start with who would have cared about you as you cared about them. It was a curse to love but to be unable to be loved. Sometimes you wished upon the stars that you could stop caring about people. However, no matter how much you cried after lost friends, the universe just brought more people to lose into your life. 

Maybe that’s why Jongho’s disappearance bothered you so much. Losing another friend was expected but the way he had completely vanished was slowly breaking you apart. You couldn’t help but blame yourself. It had been completely justified to kick him out of your apartment that day he threw the plate on Yeosang’s face; you shouldn’t feel ashamed. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” 

Yunho’s voice brought you back on Earth, saving you from your drowning thoughts. 

You might have lost Jongho’s friendship but you gained Yunho’s. It was just the matter of time when you’d mess up that situation as well. 

“I’m okay. I was just thinking what to talk about in this topic,” your smile was weak yet reassuring enough. 

“If it helps you, I can go first,” Yunho suggested. 

At your nod, Yunho began to talk about the person who meant the most to him. His eyes practically shined like he was passionate about the chance to finally tell you about the love of his life. 

“There’s a woman who stole my heart a couple years ago. I haven’t been able to think about anyone else after she caught my attention.” 

It was honestly adorable to hear Yunho ramble about the woman. A hint of jealousy gnawed at your insides; for someone to love you like Yunho loved the woman was a dream. 

“The way she walked out of the police station, the way she talked to the other officers, scared and needing help... It made me realize the meaning of my life isn’t to protect all the people. It’s to protect her.” 

Yunho was clearly devoted. His words were sweet at first. The way he talked about her was a clear indication of how much she had affected his life. But suddenly his words took a slightly darker turn. 

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy in my arms. It doesn’t matter if I have to burn her house or the whole world as long as she runs to me for safety,” Yunho spoke, his voice loving, the complete opposite of his words. 

“Wow, she’s one lucky girl,” you chuckled nervously. 

Surely Yunho must have meant it as a joke. He was a man of justice, not an arsonist. 

“She’s my lucky girl,” Yunho smiled softly at you, “So, who is the person you hold dear to your heart?” 

You still hadn’t come up with a good answer. The only friends you had in that moment were Yeosang and Yunho, but you knew neither of them well enough. Jongho had grown quite close with you, at least you liked to think so, but he was gone now. 

“I don’t really have people who are close to me,” you admitted reluctantly, feeling unsure if you should tell these kinds of things. 

“Just say anyone.” 

“Well, I think Yeosang is the closest to me right now.” 

Yunho’s encouraging smile turned into a frown. It baffled you; there was always a chance that you could be the woman Yunho loved, but he had mentioned having met her a couple years ago already. 

“Yeosang? Why him?” 

“I think he’s kind to me, and we’ve hung out a lot.” 

Your murmured explanation didn’t satisfy Yunho. It was obvious how hard he tried to control his facial expressions, to hide how upset he was. 

“Haven’t I been kind to you?” Yunho inquired. 

“Yes, you have but-”  

“Did you change your wallpaper yet?” 

“I-I forgot,” as soon as you answered, Yunho grabbed your purse and started going through the contents of it. 

Your eyes widened as he took the matter of changing your wallpaper into his own hands. He was rummaging through your little bag, and you couldn’t let that happen. A woman’s purse was a private thing, especially when that woman was slightly paranoid at the excuse of valued safety. 

“Hey! Give it back,” you reached for your purse. 

Yunho didn’t care and kept taking things out of it, letting them fall to the floor. Some makeup, a hairbrush and wallet were already in everyone’s sight. 

“Yunho, give Y/N her bag back, please,” Charlotte finally tried to stop the situation but her spineless words meant nothing to Yunho. 

You tried desperately to gather your things before anything too personal would be revealed, but Yunho just kept throwing things out. 

“What is this?” Wooyoung grabbed an object from the floor, inspecting it in his hand. 

Your face heated up at the sight of Wooyoung holding something private. Gazing at him angrily from the floor, you were about to demand him to give it back. 

“That’s a woman diaper!” Mingi exclaimed, shocked at the unbelievable, astonishing, mind-blowing sight of a menstrual pad. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. All your stuff on the floor for everyone to see and judge, and now Wooyoung and Mingi had humiliated you with their discovery. 

“No, Mingi. That is called a menstrual pad,” Charlotte spoke softly like talking to a child. 

You wished Jongho was there to knock some sense into everyone. Most likely, he wouldn’t have even done that, but you liked to believe he would have defended your honor. The honor that went down the drain like your appreciation and respect for Yunho. 

San snatched the pad from Wooyoung’s hands, clearly frustrated. With no hesitation he walked to you and kneeled down on your level. 

“Let me help you,” he said quietly and gave you the pad. 

It was just a mere hygiene product, but to you, it felt like he was giving the prettiest flower bouquet ever. In your moment of helplessness, he had wanted to help you. 

San started gathering the objects from the floor to their rightful place, your purse. His lips were pressed tightly together like he was feeling annoyed. 

“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to,” you spoke quietly, feeling exhausted because of the emotional rollercoaster. 

“I want to help,” he looked up a little to give you a gentle smile, “What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t?” 

“Apparently the kind everyone else is.” 

San chuckled at your bitter mumble. You could see he was holding back his own irritation to calm you down. 

Soon, Yeosang joined in to help you and San. You were grateful for those two; the only people in the room you respected. Seonghwa had the potential to be one of those as well, but his friendship with Hongjoong made you mentally avoid him. 

Once all your belongings were back in the purse, you turned to Yunho. It was hard to be angry at people whether you knew them well or not; if you knew someone well, you were afraid they’d leave you and if you didn’t know them well, you were afraid they’d be violent. That’s why expressing your feelings of hurt felt dangerous. 

You snatched your phone away from Yunho. Surprisingly, the wallpaper hadn’t been changed. 

“Why is the wallpaper still the same?” you were gritting your teeth as you spoke. 

“I couldn’t unlock your phone,” Yunho’s expression turned guilty, “Look, I’m sorry-” 

“Save it. I’m going home.” 

You had gone through that terrible moment just for Yunho to not even change your wallpaper. Sure, you should have been glad he couldn’t unlock your phone, but it felt somehow so futile. 

As you rid the bus home, you couldn’t help but think; the group therapy didn’t feel helpful or healing at all. You had found Yeosang and Jongho through it, but at what cost? One of the members was a stalker for God’s sake. 

Speaking of which, you hadn’t noticed much signs of the stalker in the near days. Would it have been naive to think that fake dating Jongho could have scared him away? Probably yes. 

You got off the bus and started making your way back to home. Usually, it was darker at that time of the day, but the seasons were changing. You wished you could change too. You wished you could put an end to your sickness and struggles, to live a normal life, so you wouldn’t have to deal with the sickos at the group therapy. 

Maybe it was time to stop going to the therapy. You’d rather live without the social assistance of the government than step inside the nightmarish room of armchairs and supposedly therapeutic talk again. 

As you arrived at your door, you reached into your purse like you did every day. A twinge of panic twitched inside your chest as you couldn’t find your keys. They were most likely just deeper inside the purse, and you’d have to look again. 

But no matter how much you searched, the keys weren’t there in your purse, jingling like they always did. There was no sight of them even when you emptied the whole purse. 

You were positive you, Yeosang, and San had picked up all the objects from the floor. All your other belongings were with you but the keys were gone. It would have been more pleasant if the damn pad had been left behind, but now you were denied the access to your own apartment. 

It was possible that someone took your keys when they were still on the floor.  

But now the most important thing was to find a place you could sleep at. You didn’t trust your neighbors and you couldn’t afford a hotel room. After some thinking you realized your only option was to beg Yeosang to let you sleep in his apartment. Such a splendid idea to have a sleepover with a man you met in a therapy group for mentally ill.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <- Chapter 7. Chapter 9. -> Masterlist ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist: @devilzliaison @lover-with-dolar-sign-is-a-loser @passerbyforfun @gigikubolong29 @peqchplvto

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 60

Wow we really made it 60 days huh?

Okay so i’m not gonna yap long for this part. You saw the image, you see the read under. This is a small comic adaptation of @vanadisvalentine’s “Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed” fanfic. And it adapts the end of Chapter 4 which is pretty fuckin pivotal in that story. So if you haven’t read that fic yet I’m actually begging you, please read it and don’t let this comic be your first experience.

Second warning, this is going to be a long one. How long? Who knows. I haven’t written it yet, but this Day represents one of the biggest turning points in the whole project for me. 

When you click the read under you’re gonna get just the comic, and then you're gonna get hit with a gigantic fucking wall of text. I apologize in advance for the amount of rambling I’m about to do but I got a lot to say here.

Okay so you read the comic, you ready? Cause not only am I gonna yap about making that comic along with all the behind the scenes stuff, (amidst other tangents), but I’m also going to talk about the fic this is based on. This is probably going to feel a bit disorganized but i’ll try my best to keep this legible. Apologies in advance.

So your first thought is probably “Jem why the fuck did you do that?” and you’re correct for thinking that way. Rest assured, you’re going to ask that question again later but significantly louder and more exasperated in the future. 

Answer is simple though. I wanted to do something big for Number 60, cause every 10 images I wanna do something Big. For Number 50 I came out of retirement and wrote a fanfic and some art to go with it. So I wanted to go up. How do i go up? Well I am a comic artist, and making a webcomic is my general goal in life and what directs me forward. Sooo, why not a comic?

Okay but a comic of what? Well, why not a fanfic? And at the time the real answer was obvious.

There are Three Fanfics made for Junkan that are pivotal to this entire event. Without all three of them combined ya’ll would not be having Junkan art pop up in your feed every day, questioning what the hell is in my bloodstream to make me draw all this. The answer is Junkan, junkan is in my bloodstream.

I plan to talk about all three of those fics in this event, in as much detail as I can muster. That said not only are we going in reverse order, as todays fic “Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed” is the last piece of the puzzle for why I went off the deep end and drew this much Junkan. But also the other two fics aren’t gonna be discussed for a long time due to their placement in the event order. I’m talking within the last ten days. Oops.

But at the time it was, pretty fucking easy to choose this one to adapt. The other two either wouldn’t really fit my style that I had been working with up to that point, or were just not made to be a comic without way more energy.

And as a reminder this was before I had actually gotten to know some of ya’ll. Within the realm of Junkan Val was the only friend I had. I did have other people who liked DR and were on board with Junkan after I showed them my supply and stated my case, but Val was the only person I knew at the time who was as brainrotted for this ship as I am, granted I think she has like, a normal amount of brainrot. I think by the end of the project I’ve fully snapped and now I can’t stop thinking about these two, like I have actually tried to stop thinking about them but they keep popping up. What was I talking about- Right! Point is, you can consider Day 60, or as I would call it in casual conversation “The 22 Page Junkan Comic,” my most excessive thankyou to her for helping me stay motivated throughout the project and playing a massive part in its inspiration.

As for making the comic.

It was a very bold mix of “I’m having the time of my life” and “Hell,” that's the shortest way I could put it. The longest way? Wellll

So by this point I wasn’t just showing these pics to Val alone. I had a few friends even before Val who I showed the art too. I’d get compliments and feedback and all that nice stuff that keeps me going.

As I’ve stated in the past (i think) one of the hardest parts of this project for me was the lack of validation for my efforts. I do not make art purely to be complimented, I make art in order to hopefully bring a smile to someones face. However I do still take a lot of joy when I see my art being positively received, it shows that my efforts were worth it. Seeing peoples reactions helps me remember why I’m doing this and that I’m doing a good job at it. So if I  don’t get a lot of that, especially on something i put a lot of effort into, it can be a little demoralizing. It’s something I’ve tried to work past during this year, but at the time it was a big issue. Day 60 took around 2 weeks to finish, as I was managing other projects and commission work at the time. The whole time I barely showed anyone, Val was obvious because this was a surprise gift for her, however the rest is because I was very adamant about not spoiling the Fic it was based on, and say for a single person amidst the people I would show these pics to none of them had read the fic. So I went from showing a small handful of people these to showing one guy (admittedly one of my best friends) for the span of 2 weeks while grinding away at the comic. It wasn’t until the very tail end that my girlfriend surprised me by reading the fic, meaning I could show her as well finally. 

Was it worth starving myself of a majority of positive feedback for 2 weeks when I haven’t had to do something like that for years? Oh god yes but we’re not there yet I still need to talk about the actual comic.

So when you compare the fic to the comic you’ll notice I skipped a decent portion of this scene, this is mostly just for the sake of not making this take too long, I think I picked a pretty solid starting point but also I won’t lie and say there isn’t a part of me that wishes I took like an extra week or two to adapt the whole scene sometimes. Sometimes.

Mukuro acted as the pseudo cover for the comic, both because it was a small detail noted in the scene that she was watching the door, and because I could call back to the “Mukuro Notes” bit I did on the Vampire Junkan comic, which seemed like a cute call back. I also used this as a way to skip past some of the initial dialogue of the scene in terms of adaptation. I’m really happy with how this page turned out visually, I remember having to fiddle with Mukuro’s anatomy and smaller details for awhile.

As you can probably tell, like usual the art for this was still being done as a sketch which I colored rather than what I do in my usual comic stuff, that being Sketch > Lines > Colors > Shading. I did shade a few of these pages cause I think the extra effort was warranted for some pages. I wouldn’t know this without like, actually time traveling to check but I think there was even a time this would be just uncolored sketches. Clearly that didn’t last because yeah, the chick who’s drawing 100 days worth of junkan art is going to make a 22 page comic and NOT color the whole thing, keep telling yourself that Jem.

Once again since I was directly adapting this fic like with Day 20, I tried to be semi accurate in what I assume Junko’s appearance would be, giving her the bunny and bow clips in her hair. I didn’t go all the way since honestly I think i would have gone a little crazy if I drew both characters in their actual Hope’s Peak uniforms for the whole thing, so I mostly stuck to their killing game designs with that small change to Junko. And yes, I did have to edit Junko’s hair to remove the bear clips multiple times throughout the first few pages because I kept forgetting not to draw them. For the first time having these two memorized was a hindrance. 

If you’ve ever seen me draw a Question Mark with a cross instead of a dot when drawing Mikan, it’s cause of this comic. Val said it was a cute detail so I decided to stick with it when applicable.

I think I have read the segment of the story this is based on like, 30 times bare minimum. Now some of those times were just because I often reread this fic to help me relax before sleeping, but the majority are because I kept looking at this scene over and over again so I could try and get every detail of this perfect. The posing, expressions, and other visuals, while a little rough around the edges were all possible after going over every paragraph to get the vibe as close as possible.

The dialogue is word for word, punctuation for punctuation ripped from the fic itself. Mildly difficult to pull off without having to extend certain pages, but in the end I managed to pull it off.

Page 7 is one of my favorite pages from the experience. Originally the visual was supposed to be Junko in literal chains of despair with Mikan coming in with a key to unlock them, however chains are agonizing to draw. Not drawing them was a form of self care, even if I think it would have been a bit of a stronger metaphor. 

Mikan’s expressions were very difficult to get just right in this, which was half the fun. Do you know how fucking satisfying it was to draw her happy crying??? Very.

Page 10 is another one I’m really happy with. I don’t know exactly what the original plan was beyond the fact that I wanted the shot of Mikan reacting to that being a lot more visually extreme for the colors and amount of space it takes up to make it as overwhelming as possible. But I went in reverse  and made the initial heart stop moment of her realizing that Junko just said that more prominent than the rush of emotion hitting her right after.

There were going to be more visuals of Mikan being cute in the following page, however not only was I struggling for ideas but also my energy was fluctuating to hell and back by this point in the comic.

It took awhile to get the initial kiss to look good because by this point I was still really figuring out how the fuck to do that. I can’t remember if I mentioned it but the kiss in the Vampire Comic is one I actually edited after the fact before the post was scheduled because it looked really weird and pissed me off. Luckily this one doesn’t bother me at all. I remember being super paranoid i made the posing look too sexual, I don’t know what the fuck past me was on about but I’m not here to question I’m here to curse you all with knowledge and funfacts.

On page 15 Junko’s blush and smile are a bit more intense compared to the other panels on this page while she wipes away Mikan’s tears. This is because in future stories by Val it is confirmed a few times that Junko has dacryphilia, meaning she thinks Mikan looks really hot when she’s crying. Yes I’m really working in details from other fics into this comic, you should not be surprised this isn’t even the weirdest thing i’ve put in this whole event.

Peak comedy that I mentioned the question mark with the cross dot earlier and on Page 16 I didn’t do that, immersion broken, back to square one Past Jem!

Junko with no contacts!!! I mentioned during one of the Vampire AU days that while I don’t feature it in that AU alone I like the idea of Junko’s real eye color being red. Something I can never remember whether it’s actually canon or just strongly implied. I think this is the page I put the most amount of effort into, both to make it look well lit, and also to make sure her god damn eyes look as pretty as humanly possible. The end result may or may not be my favorite page of the whole comic? I dunno

I said Mikan’s expressions were hard to draw for this since I wanted to get them just right, she requires a lot more work on the smaller details to make everything feel right. Junko however? Oh no I was thriving by this point, her more lowkey expressions do need a bit more thought and effort, but by this point in the comic I was in my element with her. 

But speaking of expressions, Page 19.

That smile on Mikan in the middle panel took 20 fuckin’ minutes because I had never drawn Mikan looking that happy and I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I did actually edit the page last night (as of the writing of this post), however it wasn’t for the expression. In the original version of the page, Junko looked really fuckin weird in the last panel, like I don’t know how I let that slide but her whole face and neck looked way off. These pages aren’t like, perfect quality but that one was just egregious. Also edited Mikan’s blush in that panel just cause I was already there.

Junko’s surprised face was very fun.

And I think if I were gonna ever redo any page in full for this comic it’d be the last one. I don’t think this one looks bad I just know that I could I could do way better nowadays even if I stuck to just coloring a sketch. Maybe sometime down the line.

And that’s the comic itself! I can’t think of any other fun facts or thoughts on the art itself at this point. Uhhhh, I guess the cover I made last minute for this post is technically a reference to a future day? What does that mean? Oh you’ll fuckin’ see.

So 2 weeks of effort with little feedback and rereading the same scene over and over again, was it worth it?

God yes it was.

When I sent Val the Google Drive folder with the comic I was jittery for hours as if I had too much coffee. I was nervous as shit over whether she would like it or not, since this was when I still was a perpetual nervous wreck with very little self respect who was viewing her as “Coolest Person Ever” rather than “That’s bestie.” I was also nervous because it was the first time I actually asked for a more detailed response rather than just letting her respond in whatever way she wanted.

But when she responded?

I have lived the past several years doing weed, I’ve recently quit (i think by the time this posts it’ll be close to 3 months since I went clean), but that’s besides the point. I’ve had mild highs, crazy highs, bad highs, good highs, sad highs, and highs where I don’t feel anything. 

I severely doubt that any drug or vice on this planet will ever match the feeling of reading that response. I was shaking, I bit my knuckles until it left indents for like a full hour minimum, an adrenaline rush doesn’t even begin to describe what I was experiencing. I rode out the happiness from this moment for an entire week, I worked on comm jobs that would normally leave me feeling aggravated as hell and did so with a smile because I was just that fuckin excited over it. This probably sounds embarrassing as shit but there have been times where I go back to read that response when I just need a pick me up.

I had a fuckin epiphany at that moment. Who fuckin cares?

24 fucking years (25 starting tomorrow) I’ve lived my life as a people pleaser perfectionist with extreme paranoia problems with absolutely no self esteem and a whole wealth of other mental health issues. I would feel like dogshit if I halfassed a comm even if it was a really bad one. My whole goal in life was to make a webcomic that would make EVERYONE happy, be a positive part of their week. I was paranoid about pissing off the wrong people, starting shit, how people perceive me, about what ideas for my comic would be problematic or not. But after this? Who gives a shit?

It ain’t about making People Happy it’s about making Yourself Happy and the People you can reach happy. My goal is still to make a webcomic that people will come across, and look forward to every week as an escape to give them some positive vibes every week, but I ain’t gonna do that if I’m desperately trying to appeal to every single person on the planet while trying to stay as uncontroversial as possible. I wanna make art that makes people happy, and if I make it the way I wanna make it then it will eventually reach the people that it can make happy.

But enough of that shit, the actual big thing that happened because of my complete reassessment of my personal values and entire goal for life is that I fucking finally stopped giving a shit about whether people were gonna throw me in a woodchipper because I shipped Junkan. And it will continue to get funnier and funnier that after all the time I spent scared out of my fuckin’ mind over what people would think, that absolutely fucking nothing happened. It is day 49 at the time of writing this and STILL I have not had anyone give me grief or issues over this whole project, nothing but support and even some new friends over it. You cannot write something funnier than that.

I think if I went back in time and told myself at the beginning of the year that her fears were completely unfounded she would bleed out the eyes and pass out, and I would laugh. I’d laugh so fuckin’ hard.

So yeah, this Comic and the reaction it elicited changed my entire perspective on life and being an artist, I can’t say It’s been perfect or that I haven’t faltered on certain things, but  I think to an extent I have been a lot happier as a result. Is it a little weird that this niche version of a niche ship is now directly tied to a drastic change in my mind? Is it any weirder than the fact that I transitioned into a woman because I binge read like, all of the Tokomaru I possibly could on AO3 and it made me think that wearing a skirt might be cool?

Alright so how’re ya'll holdin up? Drink some water we ain’t done. This is already getting up to 7 pages on the google doc that I prepare these posts on and now I have to like, talk about Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed properly. So bare witness to me trying to figure out how the hell to format talking about what might just be my favorite fic of all time.

But first lemme go reread the entire thing, I know the passage of time doesn’t exist in the context of these text walls but i’ll be back in like, a few hours to a day.

Okay i’m back-

I’m honestly not sure where to start here. Normally with my biggest obsessions I could probably go on lengthy rambles about why I love them so much, but this? I struggle to find a proper place to start, or even how to format this. I don’t want to just give a beat for beat plot synopsis while talking about the things I like, but also how do I talk about something this good otherwise.

So fair warning this might be completely incoherent at points, sorry??

This was not like, the third Junkan fic I ever read despite it being one of the three fics vital to me becoming the inhuman machine of pure Junkan brainrot that I’ve become today. A lot of things are blurred but if I remember right the exact timeline of events was Read a cute Junkan fic which made me think “Wait this ship can be soft and cute???” and then I read Smile by Kayleen, which is funny in hindsight because I really went to tooth rotting fluff to one of the darkest Non-Abusive Junkan fics out there (dark by my standards at least and I think my frame of reference is out of sorts). I think after that I just stopped for awhile, partially because Smile wasn’t finished at the time, partially because I still wasn’t sure how to navigate the Junkan tag to find what I was looking for in the ship.

Smile comes to a thrilling conclusion and I think to myself “maybe this author has more?” which is how I found Kayleen’s series of One-Shots for these two (along with separate three other pieces), I read through those in a day and would continue to check the tag to see if it updated, like, every day.  Eventually after a couple months (possibly way longer), something came over me and I finally started seriously looking over the tag to try and find more Soft Junkan, whether there were others I read before it or not, I honestly can’t remember. 

What I do remember is I came across “The Marvelous Makeover of Mikan Tsumiki” by VanadisValentine. I don’t know how I found that before the fic of today’s subject, if I had to guess I wasn’t reading the tags first on this run through. I was likely reading the name of the fic, and THEN i read the tags to see if it has what I was looking for (I wasn’t a starving animal for the ship by this point so I was a lot more picky with what I was willing to risk my time on). And this fic’s name was slightly more eye catching for me at the time I guess??

Fun fact when I first read this fic I wasn’t even sure if it actually was a shipping piece at first, not until finishing it at least. How? Poor reading comprehension is my only guess lol. Anyway, I finish that, loved it, and made my usual move of checking to see if the author had written anything else like this fic, and oh boy did she. 

This finally brings us to me finally reading “Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed.” Took us fucking long enough.

It was perfect, it was everything. I fucking loved reading it the entire time. It had everything I could have wanted out of this ship without me even realizing what I wanted at the time. The weirdest part that my immediate response after wasn’t to go on an adrenaline fueled binge of the tag like I did for Tokomaru way back when I first got into Danganronpa. The most I did was read the other Junkan fics in Val’s library at the time. Otherwise I just stopped again. 

It was then that I drew the first three days of this event, the original sketches. I kept them a secret between myself and a small few friends, too paranoid to let anyone find out. And things just kinda stayed like that, for awhile. And then sometime in December, of last year I decided to give that same fic another read, and something just kinda, fucking snapped?

I went up and down the Junkan Tag on AO3, reading whatever I could, I was reading stuff I wouldn’t have ever risked reading with variable amounts of success. I only skipped a small handful of fics, including one that we’ll come back to way later in the project. Everything else I was scraping even the smallest crumb of fic to read at times. After that I scoured the tumblr tags, taking in whatever soft art or headcanons that I could, I went to Fanfiction.net, a website I still barely know how to fuckin’ navigate to try and find ANYTHING. I went to Deviantart to try and find any art or fics, no results not helped by the fact that it would include results that were slightly related. And not to sound like a Youtuber with no personality who’s built their career on punching down at whoever they can because otherwise their audience would see they’re a complete shell of a human being, but it being deviantart you can imagine what I was finding more often on that search. 

I even went to Wattpad, and that ones it’s own mini story that I’m saving for Tomorrow because the art for Tomorrow doesn’t have a lot of talking points on it’s own like this one does. But Wattpad had no fuckin results either.

I cannot remember the last time I had ever been this obsessed with a ship, this desperate. So, 100 Days of Junkan began, even if it wasn’t planned to be this big project. All cause of this fic turning a switch in my brain with a hammer.

Hey look we’re talking about the fic again, I told you this was gonna incoherent.

Anyway so the fic is just, perfect? To me at least? Before I had even realized why I liked the ship in the first place it did everything that I love about it at it’s core. It practically set the standard for the ship in my brain, at bare minimum within the context of a Non-Despair AU. And overtime as Val’s continued to write for these two her portrayals of the character are practically just how I view them at this point.

It’s not 1 to 1 but you can likely trace every aspect of how I portray Junko and Mikan whether through art or writing back to Val’s writing, down to even using certain pet names for the characters because of their usage in her work. I’d worry that I’m being way too much, heaping an overbearing amount of praise and respect. But also this fic unintentionally sent me careening into the direction of drawing 150+ Junkan pictures, learning various new skills and techniques as an artist, rekindled my love of writing (despite the horrors of actually having to write), making new friends both in and out of this community including some who I consider close, coping with mental health issues, and then performing this gigantic project at the tail end of the year. So I might actually be underselling this a bit in actuality. And don’t worry when I get to talking about a few other fics later in the project I’ll be doing my best to give equal praise to them as well, it’s just gonna be a bit sdlahfljasdfhas.

I’ve already said it but the fic has everything, at least of the core reasons I love this ship from the non-abusive perspective that this blog has built its foundation on.

To me I love Junkan because it’s two people that could not be anymore different from one another, who arguably should despise one another finding happiness in each other. It adds a new layer of depth to Junko to ponder how someone like her, whether in canon or in a non-despair AU like this could fall in genuine love with a total wreck like Mikan and how that would affect her character. It’s fluffy moments of Mikan getting to be genuinely happy for what might be the first time in her life while Junko showers her with affection. It’s Junko being fucking hilarious while Mikan can barely keep up with her humor and teasing because she’s so flustered. It’s Junko grappling with newfound emotions. It’s Junko and Mikan bringing out the best in each other and inciting positive change through their influence. It’s that perfect blend of hurt/comfort. And so much more beyond that, all contained in this one god damn fic. I might even be forgetting things I like about the ship too, there’s just so much that goes into this!

Obviously this is all specifically in a Non-Despair context, the Evil Girlfriends angle has a myriad of other reasons to enjoy the ship which I’ve become fond of. Especially in some of the parallels it can have with a non-Toxic Yuri angle of things. But that doesn’t really apply for today’s subject and I’m not someone who’s deeply knowledgeable or equipped to sing its praises at the moment. Maybe in the future though?

Is there anything else I can yammer on about with this fic? Uhhhh- Oh. I love how it uses the supporting cast. I think Val has a really excellent grasp on how to write Mukuro and Junko’s dynamic without dipping into the territory of DR3 where it just gets a bit uncomfortable. I think that’s better exemplified in one of her other fics rather than this story, but I still do love Mukuro’s portrayal and role in the story. This was my first time learning who Yasuke was, I hadn’t properly heard of Danganronpa Zero by this point so I was really confused as to who the hell he was. Certainly left a strong impression in the story though. I think Kaede’s sudden appearance and role in the plot progressing towards the stunning climax of Chapter 4 was really good! 

I very often go back to Chapter 1, 4, and 5 whenever I need to go to relax before bed. I’ve reread this fic multiple times as a whole but an absolute fuck ton of times as separated pieces, they’re so god damn soothing on my mind. 

The fact that I haven’t left giant fuckin’ comments on any chapter of that fic is quite frankly one of my deepest sins, but one of these days I’m gonna buckle down and write up on those because they deserve every ounce of praise in my scrawny lil whitegirl body. 

I think I’ve said everything I can for now but even now I feel like I haven’t gotten across how much I love this fic. It genuinely is my favorite fanfiction out there both just for the quality of it’s writing and the comically massive influence it had on my life this year. If you somehow haven’t read it by now, please do, if you like the art I’ve drawn of this ship over the past 60 days I can almost 100% guarantee that you’ll like this story. And read the rest of Val’s fics too! Please! 

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[hannamoon143]

Snow & Sun (Chapter I)

Barista, musician han x Writer fem. Reader

Angst, Fluff probably

Warnings: idk uh rude comments?

⋆⁺₊❅。You are like snow, beautiful but cold ⋆⁺₊❅。

Snow is so beautiful looking, that sometimes people can't resist to touch it. But when their hands and the white crystals meet, they get shaken back to reality. Snow gets to be mesmerizing like nothing else, but it's cold. Ice cold.

Snow & Sun Masterlist

a/n: idk how i like this, but it‘s kinda just getting into the story. I‘m looking forward to the real angst😼

*Sigh* Han put on his shirt, getting ready for another day of work. Another day of endless thinking and boredom.

It wasn‘t that his life was so bad. He was a decent music producer and singer- well not quite there yet, but he was working on becoming one. He had the little, cozy cafe with his best friend minho, that grew close to his heart by time. It was just, everything was always the same.

Han had always been the more quiet kid. When he was still at school he was the weird guy sitting somewhere alone, listening to music, when the other kids were having lunch with their friends. He never really intended to change this though . He didn‘t like being surrounded by many people anyways, and he actually pretty much enjoyed his quiet little life. Well that was until minho showed up in seventh grade and kinda just adopted him. He never protested, and since then, they were best friends. But except minho, and some people that minho introduced to him sometime, he never bothered about getting a more active social life. When he finished school that didn‘t change so much. He went to university, studying music, and in his free time he was either playing guitar or writing songs. Then in last year in university minho came up with the idea to open a little coffee shop, to gain some money while studying, and now, two years later he was still working here. It was pretty nice, to just gain a bit money, while he was working to get a producer and singer.

So yes, he did like his life. But lately it seemed a bit boring. His whole life he didn‘t reallly interact with people much, his parents barely home too. Somewhere deep inside he maybe always longed for a bit more, but he just made peace with himself someday, that he just wasn‘t the type of person people would ask to hangout randomly, and making bonds that would break anyways was pointless.

He left his apartment that he shared with minho, walking to the not so far away cofee shop. It was getting cold again, the last pieces of summer faded by now. Leaves were brown, laying around on the streets. Jisung liked the cold seasons, but he also hated them. Every single one of the earlier so wonderful flowers died then. Sometimes it felt like this for him too. When it was getting colder and cloudier outside again, jisung just kinda always started to overthink more, and he started to feel tired, and empty. Why? He actually didn’t have a single idea.

Minho mostly went to work a bit earlier, to get things ready and open the cafe. When jisung came in, minho was just turning on the „open“ sign. „Ah, see who is here too, after i‘m already here for an hour.“ Minho said sarcastically, but jisung just pat his shoulder and went behind the counter. Minho sensed that jisungs mood wasn‘t the best today, and after all these years, he knew it was better to just give him his space.

Soon customers rushed in, some for breakfast, some for a coffee before work, some students to meet up before school. Jisung liked to watch people, in a non creepy way. He liked to see how they laughed at little things their friends said, or the way people blushed when their partner laid their hand above theirs. He just loved watch humans being humans, as weird as it sounded.

It was these little things that inspired him for songs, or gave him a small reason to be happy. That was probably the reason, why he even agreed to have the coffee shop with minho in the first place.

Today was no different, jisungs mood began to lighten up while watching an old couple come in, being happy about the difference of the cold outside, and the warmth of the cafe, and just laughing at things the other one said. He went to their table to take their order, then hurrying back behind the counter quickly to make them green tea. As he turned to the front again, placing the cups on a tablet the doorbell rang. Jisung didn‘t look up just saying „Minho, you taking the order?“ But minho didn’t respond, seemingly somewhere in the back right now. He sensed the person standing in front of the counter now, so he was about to tell them to wait until he brought the old pair their order. But then he looked up.

Minho always laughed at these scenes in romance movies where suddenly everything is slow motion when someone meets and it‘s „Love on the first sight.“ Jisung never really thought about them, but in this moment, he had no doubt that these movies were totally for real. It was as if the whole world stayed silent for a split moment when he looked at you.

You weren‘t just some pretty girl at the coffee shop, jisung had seen those before. You were mesmerizing. Your eyes were deep like the ocean, and your hair shiny as if you just sprung out a shampoo advertisement. There were other people in the cafe, and it must have started to snowrain outside, but nothing of this, or anything at all mattered right now. There was just you.

He must have stared a bit longer than just a little moment, because you raised your brow, looking at him skeptical. „Are you gonna take my order or are you being paid for standing there like a sculpture?“

Jisung immediately got shaken out of his freeze, mumbling apologizes. You just rolled your eyes and without another word you said „black coffee.“ and you went away, to sit down on one of the tables in the back. Your voice was unbelievably pretty too, it sounded like an angels voice, clear and captivating. Jisung must have stared after you again because suddenly minho was looking over his shoulder, whispering: „Who are we stalking today?“ Jisung jumped and turned around blushing deeply. Minho frowned but jisung just went to get your order, the order of the old cute couple entirely forgotten. Minho hadn‘t seen him flustered like this before, but decided not to think too much into it.

With trembling hands jisung was making your order. What was going on with him? He had crushes before, but they never got him this flustered. And how could he even speak of a crush when he knew you for five minutes only?Not only your incredibly beauty, but there was something else that mesmerized him. But what? He had to be stupid, he didn‘t even know you. Finally, as he was done with your order, he braced himself and walked over to your table. It didn‘t seem like you were waiting for anyone. Instead you had your laptop placed on the table, working something on it. As he got nearer and clumsily placed your coffee on the table (god, he was so nervous, he almost spilled it on you. If he would have, he was sure to die out of embarassment though.) he couldn‘t help but take a look at your laptop. There was a document opened, and you were writing on it, not even giving him thes lightest attention, or thank you.

Jisung had no idea what got into him, or since when he was so brave but he blurted out „What are you working on?“ You didn‘t know him, and he wasn‘t even sure if you had seen he was standing there, but you didn‘t even wince. Still writing on your word document you slowly said: „Why would i give out information of my latest work to a stranger? I‘m a professional,, barista boy.“ Your tone was cold, it sounded like you were thinking he was a total weirdo, but for some reason it made his stomach flutter. The poor boy got very flustered again, and he mumbled apologies, and how he wasn‘t a creep or something. But you didn‘t give him any more attention. So he just walked back to the counter with red ear tips, and the thought that he just embarassed himself in the most stupid way, on his first ever interction with you.

He was so deep in thought that he didn‘t even see minho standing there with a smirk and a raised brow. Jisung ran straight into him, stumbling a bit. Minho just laughed leaning in. „Do you know this woman? Do you like her hannie?“ If somehow possible jisung blushed even more, pobably looking like a tomato now. He was praying that you weren’t seeing him right now. He covered minho‘s mouth, looking over to you, to see if you heard him. But you were engrossed in your work, ignoring everything else. Jisung shot minho a glare and then just walked away. Minho would let him go for now, but later at home he would squeeze every information out of him.

For the rest of the time you were sitting there, not a single time looking up from your writing. You were just like himself, when he was working on a song, jisung thought. Embarassed to the ground, he didn‘t want to take a step near to your table anymore, so minho had to take almost all orders. Then, when you were standing up after almost three hours, of writing, and only a black coffee, you just took your laptop, put your coat on and turned around, walking out the door. Jisung had no idea if he would ever see you again. He wouldn‘t come back here himself if a barista was being such a creep. But still he couldn‘t help but hope. He couldn‘t help but hope to see that beautiful, mean girl with the writing again.

Permanent Taglist: @0omillo0 @darqlys @lina-linny @onementally-unstabel-kid

@idek6758 @kozumesphone @emilywjinnie @sadie-tucker @lezleeferguson-120

Series taglist : @catiuskaa @asherthehimbo @estella-novella @thoughtfularbiternightmare

[admirationandromantics]

Going overboard, 1: Memento Mori

Okay, so first the prologue, and now the first chapter. As I've said before, not all chapters include a Josh-interactions because of accuracy to the game, so you'll just have to live with it. If you haven't read the Prologue, go to my profile, then the masterlist, Josh Washington. You'll find it there. Get ready for tomorrow!

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Chapter 1: Memento Mori

After what happened up on the mountain last year, Josh didn’t stay in touch. At first we all tried to talk to him, help him, but we gave up one after another. He talked with Sam a lot. I think she did the most she could until he cut contact. I didn’t want to put too much on him, and we all were in grief as well, so it probably was the best solution. 

Sam and I had regular coffees. It helped us both. We shared stories about them, and she told me about everything which happened that night. The prank wasn’t about me, nor Josh. Not even Beth, but she still had to suffer the consequences. Poor Beth, and poor Hannah. We all knew she had a thing for Mike, but setting her up like that was not okay. I now despised them all, Jessica, Emily, Mike, Matt, Ashley. Matt was such a sweet guy, I couldn’t imagine him standing there with a camera, recording everything. For me though, Ashley hurt the most. I loved her, I truly did, but I cut contact quickly after I got to know about the evening. She sent me a bunch of texts, begging me to talk to her. She was sorry, she was drunk, caught up in the moment, and everyone was doing it so she felt like she had to. She never knew that the aftermath would be as bloody as it did. I still didn’t text her back. 

A month before the anniversary of their disappearance, Sam got a video message from Josh. He invited her up to the cabin again, stating that this would be a way to honour their memory, and relive the experience, but with a good ending. There would be booze, partying and just making new memories. Based on the video, it seemed like he asked everyone in the old group. Everyone except me. I felt hurt. Betrayed in a way. I was one of the few he talked to, cried to. Our relationship didn’t evolve after the event, but I was still there for him, trying to comfort him. Sam told me that I should come with her, but I declined. If he didn’t want me there, it was okay. She couldn’t understand why, but she kept being insistent, urging me to give it a chance. I didn’t have to be there the whole time, and if I wanted to, I could leave the very next day since the bus went through the area once every day. 

It would be good to talk to Josh, maybe even if he didn’t want to. I was selfish, I knew that, but I had to see him. I wanted to see how he was doing, how he was feeling. This also made me think of Chris. He would probably be there, and I hadn’t kept in touch with him either. I felt bad, but at the same time, we weren’t that close. I knew that he still hung out with Ashley sometimes, and maybe that made me a bit afraid. Maybe she would try to contact me through him? Maybe I wasn’t just selfish. Ashley also needed to talk. Talk to me, clear the air. I would let her. I finally agreed to come with Sam up to the cabin. 

***

The bus is empty, except for Sam and I of course. She didn’t pack much, and I didn’t either. I figured that I wouldn’t stay long. I just needed to talk to people, get some weights off my shoulders. The radio is playing, and no surprise, it’s about Beth and Hannah. I hold my composure, trying not to cry. The trip is long, and I end up sleeping on her shoulder for a good amount of it. Sam is watching something on her phone, but I don’t peek. I simply look out the window. There is an eerie feeling to these mountains. I felt the same last year, but this time it feels stronger. The black trees are covered in snow, untouched by animals. 

Finally we reach our stop. The sign says “Blackwood Pines” and hadn’t it been for last year's events, I would still love the name. Being here for the first time felt magical, straight out of Narnia, joining a winter wonderland of mystery. Now, I feel nervous. The air isn’t as fresh, the ground not as hard and the snow was too white. Instead of smelling winter, I smell something musk, like a dead animal or rotten meat. I look over at Sam, and I think she notices too. 

We start walking in silence, through the gate and up the trail. As we walk, she stops. 

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I whisper, getting anxious. Maybe it’s a wild animal, a wolf or a bear. 

“Hello!?” Sam shouts, and my eyes widen. Why would she do that, what if the animal looks at us as a threat now. I look around, expecting something to pop out, but it’s silent. 

“Sorry, I probably just thought I heard something,” she says, continuing walking. She notices my tenseness. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, absolutely not” I state, looking around again. 

“Hey I get it, this is weird, but we’re doing this for Josh right,” she starts, taking my hand, stopping me. 

“I hate to say it, but you need to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen, and people are just being friendly”

“I know, I know. I just can’t shake off this feeling that there’s something here”

“It’s because of last year. We’re all still thinking about it, so we know how you’re feeling”

I look up at her. She’s right, I’m not alone in this, and we’ve both been there for each other the whole year. 

“Yeah, thanks for the talk. It’s just… well, weird”

“It is, but I think this is good for you. This trip could be a way for you to let go, get some closure. They both would’ve wanted that for you” she says, before pulling me into a hug. I breathe, and some of the tension lifts. Thank God I still have Sam. When we pull away she looks at me, smiling. I smile back, before looking behind her. My mouth opens, eyes widen and my breath hitches. I grab her hand, holding hard. 

“S-Sam, c-c-careful. Stand s-s-till,” I whisper. She holds her breath while searching my face for answers. 

“Boo!” I shout, punching her with both my hands. She screeches, jumps and I feel her pulse in her hand. 

“Got you” I laugh, while she’s still trying to compose herself. 

“Fucking asshole” she says. I can’t stop laughing. 

“You know, you’re going to ‘wolf wolf’ me.”

“I can live with that” I continue laughing, before starting to walk again, her following after. 

“I’m joking, that was out of line, sorry” I say after a while. 

“At least you got to see my ‘frozen’ face”

“Yeah that’s why I laughed” 

We reach the gate, and a piece of paper is pinned on the lock. 

“The gate’s busted, climb over -Chris” 

“I guess we have to climb,” I state, looking at the gate. There are big spikes on the top of the gate, so I look over at the side. It’s a stone wall. 

“Right up my alley” Sam says enthusiastically. Of course it is. 

“I’ll give you a lift first if you take my bag” she says, already taking off her bag. 

“Fine, just don’t throw me over with those strong climber-arms of yours” I reply, taking her bag and making my way to the wall. She puts out her hands and I grab somewhere safe on the wall. She helps me get up, and I jump down the other side, looking up, waiting for her. 

“Gosh, the stones are cold” she complains, finally getting to the top. 

“Should’ve worn gloves” I smile, showing off my red-covered hands in a theatrical manner. She laughs before hopping down. I give her backpack back, and we continue up. 

When we finally arrive at the cable car station, the place seems empty. I see a couple of cars in the parking lot, but don’t want to check who they belong to. One of them must be Josh’s. I walk up to the bench, noticing a backpack and a ringing phone. My curiosity is immense, but I don’t touch it. Sam notices who’s bag it is. 

“Hey Chris!” she yells, looking around for him. 

“Hey guys” he answers, and we both turn around. He seems older, more harsh than the year before, but I don’t comment on it. 

“How are you ladies?”

“Well, as you can expect” Sam answers, still smiling. I smile as well, keeping the mood light. I don’t notice how much I’ve missed him before seeing him now. Something in me breaks a little. 

“Oh, so, I found something kind of amazing”

“What?”

“I’m not gonna tell you got to see for yourself” he smiles, grabbing his backpack and leading us around the house. We get to the other side where we’re met with a shooting range. Barrels and bottles stacked for hitting, as well as bags hanging from the trees. 

“Ta-da! Pretty rad right?” Chris exclaims, loving this a bit too much. Sam forces a smile, guns are not a source of happiness for a pacifist. 

“A gun range on the bottom of a ski lodge” I comment. “How… nordic?”

Chris picks up a gun before looking at me. 

“Well, have you met Josh’s dad?”

“Yeah”

“Then we shouldn’t be surprised” he says before turning and aiming the gun. I hold my breath, not comfortable with this funny clumsy guy holding a death-weapon. He shoots the bags and one of the cans. I’m kind of impressed. 

“Nice shootin Tex” Sam teases, not impressed. I guess it would take something better than shooting to impress her. She fakes an annoyed look before turning my way. 

“Wanna try?”

“You know what, sure. It’s been a while” I say before taking the gun from him, taking off my backpack and laying it beside me. 

“You’ve done this before?”

“Josh has taken me shooting several times, not hunting though, luckily” I smile, remembering how close we felt the first time he showed me how to use it. 

“I bet that’s not the only thing you two have done” he comments, a smirk on his lips. 

“Haha, funny guy” I tease back. Sam holds her laughter. I shoot a couple of bags, stopping when a squirrel jumps on one of the barrels. 

“I guess that’s our sign to start going to the lodge,” I say, leaving the gun and grabbing my bag. 

“Jeez, I wish Josh would take me shooting,” Chris says, and I smile. 

The cable car is coming, and Sam makes her way over there. I use the opportunity to grab ahold of him. 

“Hey Chris, about this year-” I start, but he holds a finger up, signalling for me to stop. 

“I get it, if I were in your shoes I would’ve done the same”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s weird being back, but I’ve been wanting to clear up everything. We should keep in contact, even though you don’t want to talk to Ashley, I understand”

“When did you become such an understanding gentleman,” I tease, punching his arm and start walking. He lifts his arms in the air. 

“Haven’t I always been?” And I laugh at him. 

We all get in the cable car, and it starts moving up. Chris starts talking about how he and Josh met, and I pay close attention. I’ve only heard this story from Josh, and I love getting the different story-perspectives. 

***

We arrive at the top, I stand and try to open the door. It will not open. 

“Uh, guys, I can’t get the door open.” Chris tries, but can’t manage either. His response is to smack the window. 

“Ahh, what the hell!” I hear someone say. Jessica. I compose myself. 

“Jess! Over here, open the door!” Chris shouts. I see her through the window, and I bite my lips from having to look put together. Don’t look like a bitch, don’t look like a bitch, don’t look like you have anything against this piece of scum. I keep chanting in my head. 

She opens the door, and we all thank her. As we walk out, Chris starts whining. 

“Oh my god. I thought we were goners. Another ten minutes in there and I would’ve chewed off my own leg.”

“Aw, sick Chris,” Sam comments. 

“Look, I’ve got a lot of meat on my bones. This is all muscle down there.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Yeah riiiiiight”

“Keep telling yourself that Chris,” I add, clapping him on the shoulder as I walk past him. He lowers his voice to a whisper. 

“Well, we all know who’s bone you want to jump…”

I turn around, mouth agape and eyes threatening. He immediately puts his hands up in defence, walking backwards two paces. 

“Just jokes, just jokes” says, voice cracking. 

“Dickhead”

“Notice how I’m not going to make another joke about that,” he answers. I quickly make a snowball and throw it at him, hitting his chest. Sam places herself between us, arms tense as if waiting for someone to attack. 

Chris uses this opportunity to snatch whatever Jess is holding. 

“Well, well, well… What do we have here?”

“Chris” Sam starts. He opens it, a surprised look on his face. 

“My goodness! Seems like someone has a crush on our good friend and dear class president Michael Munroe.” Shit. That’s not good. 

“Chris,” I threaten. 

“And what kind of sizzling erotica might our Jessica be capable of imagining, I wonder…”

Before he’s able to see more, Jess quickly snatches the item back. 

“If you must know-” she starts.

“Mike and I are together now.” We all look at each other. 

“Drama,” Chris answers. 

“No, pretty cut clean actually. Em’s out, I’m in,” she explains. I look over at Sam. She doesn’t know what to say. Luckily, Chris breaks the awkwardness. 

“Well, we should keep going” 

“You go, I’ll be waiting here for a bit”

“Waiting for Mike?”

“Just go”

We oblige, walking further and leaving her behind. The trail is quite big and visible. It’s comfortable to walk on. As we turn a corner, I see the cabin. The cabin where Josh is, where Ashley is probably waiting. The cabin which was the last place two of our best friends were seen alive one year ago.

[schrijverr]

Go Ask Daddy, Bud, I’m Napping for a Bit

Divergence from chapter 23, where when Buck is tired in the lead up towards Christmas, he accidentally refers to Eddie as daddy to Chimney. It’s just automatic due to Chris, but it gets some weird looks and attempting to explain doesn’t make it sound better. In trying to defend himself more comes to light.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warnings: discussions of sex

~~~

Christmas is drawing near and Eddie and Buck have been alternating on taking extra shifts, as to not throw off their schedule too much while still saving up.

You never realize how expensive holidays are until you’re an adult. And those expenses increase exponentially when you have a kid. They still don’t know Chris’s Christmas wish, so they’re making sure they have enough for whatever it will be. The kid deserves not to be disappointed.

Right now, however, Buck is exhausted and slightly grouchy about it. His extra shift is a 48 hours that is a 24 hours for both A and B shift. So, his first 24 hours with B shift have rolled into the next with the A shift and he is so, so tired.

He thinks someone on B shift must have said the q-word, because they’ve been running all over town all day. He’s hoping that the curse won’t last into this new one, because that will suck ass. Of course, he’d do anything for Chris, but by god does he want this shift to be over.

The others ribbed him a little about it when they came in, but five calls later, they’ve slowly eased off of him.

They’ve just come back from their latest call and Buck has collapsed onto the couch, fully prepared to take a nap and too lazy to walk all the way back down after climbing the stairs to get a snack. He likes napping on the couch and listening to the hum of the station anyway.

Buck is already halfway asleep, vaguely listening to Eddie and Hen chatting at the kitchen table, when he is interrupted by Chimney asking: “Have you seen my sweater anywhere?”

And later, Buck will totally blame the curse for the way he gestures in Eddie’s general direction as he grumbles: “Go ask daddy, bud, I’m napping for a bit.”

He would have dropped off in the immediate shocked silence that came after that, were it not for Chimney loudly exclaiming: “Daddy?”

It startles him and he blearily tries to open his eyes as he sits up, going: “Wha?”

“You just referred to Eddie as daddy,” Chimney informs him, a mix of gleeful, confused and a little weirded out. “Unless you have opinions about Hen that you didn’t share with the class.”

The words break through the exhausted fog and embarrassment floods through him at the realization of what just happened. The sweater thing was just such a Chris question and he’d been on his mind, due to the Christmas present conundrum, so it had just slipped out as natural in the sleepiness.

A bright blush paints his features and he’s sure everyone can see. Still, he tries to deflect: “Are you sure, man? Pretty certain I said Eddie, you must’ve misheard or something.”

“No, you said daddy,” Hen speaks up and Buck looks over to her. She is raising her brow at him, then at Eddie, who is across from her, also blushing. She continues: “And Eddie here looked over at it without missing a beat.”

“So, it’s normal for you to call Eddie daddy, is it? Hm, curious,” Chimney accuses.

“You’re making it weird,” Buck protests.

“And it’s not?” Hen counters unconvinced.

“No, it’s not. It’s not a thing,” Buck says as confidently as he can anyway.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Edmundo. You’ve been awfully quiet,” Chimney directs himself towards Eddie, who’s been quietly trying to disappear into the background. Buck feels guilty about that, Eddie didn’t ask to be caught up in Buck’s stupid brain fart.

“Uh, I thought he said Eddie,” Eddie defends himself after a beat that last too long to be believed.

“Hm, you thought he said Eddie, did you?” Chimney hums in a knowing tone, which irks Buck to no end. It’s not like he’s wrong, but he doesn’t have to be smug about it, or make it a sex thing – ironic coming from him, he’s aware.

“Oh shut up, it was just a slip of the tongue. I’m tired,” Buck says.

“Freudian slip,” Hen coughs and Buck glares at her.

“I’ve been hanging out with Chris and Eddie a lot,” Buck tells them stubbornly. “He calls Eddie daddy, so you start doing it when talking to him and my brain got it mixed up. You two are making it something it’s not.”

Chimney squints at him, clearly trying to discern whether he’s lying or not. In a way, he isn’t. He has been hanging out with Chris and Eddie a lot and he does refer to Eddie as daddy when talking to Chris because of it and his tired brain did get mixed up.

However, Hen doesn’t buy it, asking: “Really? You say to Chris things like ‘go ask daddy’ and not ‘go ask your dad?’ You don’t do that with Denny. Or Harry.”

Fuck, busted.

“Uh…” Buck starts dumbly, unsure where to go from there.

Before he can say something more incriminating, Eddie comes to save him. He says: “It’s not that big a deal, you guys are really taking this and running with it for no reason.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees immediately. “Like, what do you even want me to say? Want me to confess me and Eddie are having steamy, kinky sex? We’re not. And despite my daddy issues, I don’t actually have a daddy kink. That’s not necessarily how that works.”

His need to please has translated more into being a service switch and having a massive praise kink, but he decides to keep that to himself for now. He doesn’t want to turn the him and Eddie conversation into a sex conversation more than it already is. Buck is pretty sure he will explode if it does.

Chimney and Hen pause at that, likely trying to think of why they’re pushing this the way they are. A part of Buck doesn’t want them to think about it and doesn’t want to think about it himself either. What if they picked up on the way he’s in love with Eddie and that’s why they thought they were onto something?

“You’re sure?” is what Chimney finally says, suspicious eyes going between Buck and Eddie.

Scandalized and annoyed, Buck exclaims: “Chimney!”

“What?” Chimney says defensively.

At that point, Bobby comes up the stairs from where he’d been filling out his reports. He has heard some of the ruckus and when he comes upstairs to find Buck glaring at a defensive Chimney, while Hen and Eddie are spectating – though Eddie with less amusement and more embarrassment than Hen – he asks: “What’s going on here?”

Before anyone else can speak, Chimney answers: “We’re trying to figure out if Buck and Eddie are fucking after Buck accidentally called Eddie daddy.”

“I told you, it’s because I’ve been hanging out with Chris and it’s not like that,” Buck exclaims. “You’re making it something it’s not. We’re not fucking!”

“And we said that it’s a little weird that you went ‘go ask daddy’ and not ‘go ask your dad,’” Hen reminds him.

“Yeah, and you two are being very defensive about it,” Chimney adds.

“Of course we’re defensive, you’re making a brain slip surrounding my kid weird,” Eddie grouches. “And throwing around accusations.”

Bobby hums thoughtfully as he tries to decide how to proceed. All of them hold their breath while they wait to see whose side Bobby will pick, and if he’ll even pick a side or will just walk away and distance himself from it.

Finally, he says: “No one in this house would judge you two, you know that right? If you want to keep things private, that is fine, but you will need to fill in the proper paperwork.”

Outraged as a result of the embarrassment and feeling exposed, Buck cries out: “You too? Why do all of you think we’re fucking?”

“Maybe because you two are making heart eyes at each other every day?” Hen snorts.

“What?” Buck squeaks, because, yeah, he is making heart eyes at Eddie and he kind of gathered he probably wasn’t hiding all that well, but what does she mean ‘you two’?

“Huh, what are you talking about? I’m straight,” Eddie frowns in confusion.

Hen looks taken aback by that. “You’re straight?” she asks disbelievingly, clapping her hand over her mouth the second it slips out.

“Yes!” Eddie says defensively, before his voice gets a slightly vulnerable edge as he adds: “Did you- did you not… think that?”

“Uh, no, I thought you were just low key about being gay,” Hen admits a little sheepishly, looking like she feels bad about bringing it up.

“Wait, but if Eddie’s straight, then why are him and Buck always eye fucking? What have we been witnessing these past few months?” Chimney interrupts loudly.

“Us being friends?” Buck suggests tentatively, unsure if he wants to risk it, but not wanting to make anyone think it’s something other than that.

“And there’s nothing else going on between you two?” Chimney asks suspiciously.

“No, no. No, definitely not,” Buck quickly assures him.

“You’re lying,” Chimney accuses, finger jabbing in Buck’s direction. “We all know you can’t lie for shit, Buckaroo, and that, was a lie! You two are fucking.”

“We’re not fucking!” Buck yells, face as red as a tomato. He’s still embarrassed by the daddy comment, then embarrassed by everyone seeing through him and pointing out how much he wants to fuck Eddie, and on top of that uncomfortably reminded that Eddie will never want him like Buck wants him.

“Then what is going on?” Bobby asks in that kind concerned fatherly manner that Buck usually loves, but right now makes him feel like he’s being cornered.

“Why do none of you believe that there’s nothing going on?”

“Because you’re a shit liar,” Chimney says.

“I can lie,” Buck says defensively, crossing his arms.

“Sure, you can,” Hen agrees patronizingly.

“I can!” Buck protests, before he lets it go, it’s not the point right now anyway. “And even if I can’t, I’m not lying now. There is nothing between me and Eddie.”

“Nothing, huh?” Chimney still doesn’t believe him, but lets him be for now, instead turning to Eddie again and asking: “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

“That you guys are being ridiculous,” Eddie offers. “Me and Buck are friends. Good friends. He’s been a huge help with Chris and he was just tired. It happens. You’re all just seeing things.”

“Hmm,” Hen hums as she studies Eddie closely with squinted eyes. “I can’t tell if he’s lying.”

Eddie sends her deadpan look. “I’m not lying.”

“You see, I want to believe you, but something makes me feel like there is something you’re hiding from us,” Hen tells him as she leans over to look intently at his face, scrutinizing him.

Unimpressed, Eddie also leans over the table so he can look right back at her. “Okay, do tell. What do you think I could be lying about? What are we hiding? Because we’re not fucking, I can tell you that much.”

Buck doesn’t know what Eddie is doing, challenging Hen like this. Eddie is the better liar between them, but inviting them to dig deeper when they’re already uncomfortably close, doesn’t seem like a smart idea. However, Buck isn’t going to get the attention on himself. If anyone is giving it away, it’ll be him. Best to keep to the background.

“You’re either really good at lying, or incredibly codependent with Buck to the point of you two acting married,” Hen finally says. Buck doesn’t see what Eddie’s face does at that, but everyone can hear Hen exclaim: “Oh my god, why did your face go pink when I suggested you two were married?”

Chimney whips his head towards Buck and immediately asks: “You two are married?”

“Noooo?” Buck says, cringing the second he does, because that sounds like a lie even to himself.

“You totally are!” Chimney has wide eyes and his mouth gapes slightly at it.

“That is something that you should have definitely disclosed way before it got to that point,” Bobby frowns.

“Come on, when would we have the time to get married?” Buck deflects, hoping for the best. “Don’t you think you would have noticed us getting married?”

“Right now, I don’t trust anything anymore,” Chimney says.

“Yeah, it could have happened at any time. Bar for that first shift you two have always acted like this,” Hen agrees, then her eyes grow wide and she points between the two of them. “Wait a minute, you’ve always acted like this.”

“What are you saying, Hen?” Bobby asks.

“That they’ve been married this whole time?” Hen suggests, sounding as if she can barely believe what she is saying herself.

“Are you sure? We saw them meet,” Chimney says skeptically.

“Yeah, Hen, that’s ridiculous,” Buck says.

“Then why was Eddie blushing?” Hen counters.

“Because you called our friendship incredibly codependent?” Buck offers.

“Which I only did, because he asked me what you two were hiding after you guys started being weird about us pointing out you two were close,” Hen says. “And the only reason I’m even entertaining this absurdity right now, is because you don’t sound convincing at all when you deny it.”

“Hey, come on now,” Buck protests weakly.

Bobby’s hand appears on his shoulder and he looks up at him. There is a mix of hurt and confusion in Bobby’s eyes as he genuinely asks: “Just be honest with me here, Buck, are you and Eddie married?”

And Buck hates this, because it’s Bobby, who is asking and Buck is already bad at lying, but he’s even worse at lying to Bobby. This whole scheme depended on them not being suspicious enough for anyone to ask directly and now he’s being asked directly. All because he accidentally called Eddie daddy. He’s never going to live this down.

“Okay, fine. Yes, we’re married,” he admits after a beat.

“Buck!” Eddie calls out, as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

“You know I can’t lie!” Buck defends himself. “He’s just looking at me and I- I just couldn’t.”

“Wait you guys are actually married?” Chimney asks.

“Yes,” Eddie sighs, “we are.”

“But you’re straight?” Hen asks in a tone that implies isn’t sure she’s buying it.

“I am,” Eddie glares at her, heckles raised. “It’s a marriage of convenience.”

“So the Buck calling you daddy is…”

“Just like you calling Karen mommy when talking to Denny?” Eddie fills in. “Yeah.”

“That makes you a father,” Bobby suddenly realizes as he looks to Buck.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Buck says, unable to help the prideful smile on his face. “Chris is a great kid. Love him to death. I mean, you met him, you know how amazing he is.”

Bobby’s face does a weird thing at that and Buck can’t place it. It makes something twist inside him, what if Bobby disapproves of him as a father? What if he thinks Buck can’t do it?

However, before he can ask Bobby what he’s thinking, Chimney butts in: “Okay, but how long have you been Chris’s dad – which, kind of weird, not going to lie – because I’m still confused about when you guys met.”

“Yeah, and when did you get married?” Hen also asks.

Buck looks over at Eddie, trying to communicate if they’re going to come clean about the whole thing now that the cat’s out of the bag. Eddie seems resigned and embarrassed by the whole situation. Buck can relate, but he feels bad about Eddie also feeling like that. However, Eddie sends him a reassuring smile, which makes him feel slightly better about the whole thing.

“Well, we got married in 2016,” Buck answers Hen’s question, since it kind of automatically answers Chimney’s question too as being not during their first shift together.

The room explodes into noise at that, which is fair enough considering what they just shared. However, Buck still kind of leans away from the yelling. It’s mostly variations of “2016?!?!?” and “What the fuck!” and “Why would you lie about that?”

When the yelling dies down, because it’s not getting results, since there is no space for them to speak, Buck clears his throat and says: “Yeah, uh, 2016. We did lie about that.”

“Why?”

“What part exactly?” Buck asks, just to be sure.

“Why you lied,” Bobby says at the same time Hen says: “Why you got married.”

“So we can work together,” Buck answers, while Eddie says: “For Chris.”

“Okay, we need order,” Chimney says. “I ask the questions, if anyone has another question, they raise their hand and I will give you your turn.”

“Are you a school teacher?” Hen smirks in amusement.

“No, I’m showing leadership,” Chimney corrects her. “Now, Buckley, tell us why you two lied about being married. Hell, about even knowing each other?”

“Uh, well, we wanted to work together,” Buck explains. “Eddie had gotten the offer from Bobby and we figured that offer would be retracted, if he knew we were married, even though it’s not like that, so we decided not to say, but then we thought it would be weird for me to just randomly know him and not have mentioned him before and then you all would ask questions and I can’t lie, so we thought it would be best to just start from scratch.”

Everyone blinks at him for a second, so he adds: “We realized it was a dumb idea, but by then it was kind of already too late and we’d gotten in too deep.”

“That… is actually very in character for you,” Chimney finally says.

“But not for you,” Hen says, directing herself at Eddie. “Why did you agree with that?”

“Hey, I was doing the questions!”

“Oh shut up, Chim,” Hen rolls her eyes. “So, Eddie. Why go along with it?”

“Uh,” Eddie looks away, cheeks getting redder, as he admits with a mumble: “I came up with it.”

“What?!” both Hen and Chimney choke and even Bobby makes a weird noise. They’re so shocked at the idea that Eddie can be dumb too, which Buck gets, but it’s also so funny and he can’t help but burst out into laughter.

“Don’t laugh!” Eddie exclaims, but Buck can hear he’s starting to crack up too. That makes him happy, he didn’t like embarrassed, walls up Eddie from before.

“It’s funny,” he manages to get out between peels of laughter.

“It’s not,” Eddie says, but he lets out a huff of laughter of his own.

“You came up with it?” Chimney finally finds his words.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie nods, biting away his grin. “It was a strategic sharing of information where relevant.”

“God, you’re just both stupid,” Hen mutters under her breath. Both Eddie and Buck choose to ignore her, because she’s not wrong, but they don’t have to acknowledge that.

Bobby clears his throat and says: “Well, informing me of this, would have been relevant. And I will be informing HR about it and figuring out the paperwork, any disciplinary action, and if you two can continue working together at this house.”

That settles a stone in Buck’s stomach. After the embarrassment of calling Eddie daddy in front of everyone and then the lighter atmosphere of the questions, the real reasons they never told and tried to lie had moved to the background. Until now.

He sees Eddie tensing up and he is off the couch before he knows it. He implores: “Bobby… I- I know, you have to do that. I do. But can you- can you wait until after Christmas? We’re trying to save up for gifts and the holidays are expensive.”

Immediately Bobby’s eyes soften, a melancholic note playing in them, as Buck waits with bated breath to see what Bobby will say. After a moment, Bobby says: “Of course. I can wait.”

“Thank you so much,” Buck says gratefully.

“Yes, Cap, thank you,” Eddie also says.

The atmosphere has changed now and they’re all just awkwardly standing there, until Chimney says in a hushed tone: “I think we just witnessed dad Buck for the first time.”

“I think we did,” Hen agrees, a smile breaking out on her face.

Buck blushes a little, unable to help the flush of warmth that goes through him at being acknowledged as Chris’s father. He distracts from it by playing at offense and swagger as he says: “Hey, I’ve pulled out the dad Buck before.”

“Really? When? You’ve never been mature a day in your life before this, Buck-o,” Chimney grins. It’s playful but gentle, as if he knows he’s handling something fragile here and just acting his role as the comedic relief that he likes to cast himself in.

“I once told you to eat your greens,” Buck reminds him – a mortification from his probie days that, at the time, he thought he would never recover from.

“Oh yeah, you did do that.”

“And have none of you guys ever paid attention to Buck when on calls with kids?” Eddie asks. He’s gotten up and is now near Buck, bumping his shoulder lightly as he grins: “Definitely the papi I know from home.”

“Papi?” Bobby asks, only slightly butchering the word.

“Yeah, Chris calls me that,” Buck says, the blush returning slightly. “Eddie was already daddy, so growing up in a Mexican household meant that labeling me as papi was only logical to his five year old brain.” He shrugs. “It’s become so normal, I don’t even register it as odd anymore.”

“Five years old?” Hen does the math, “That must be right after you gotten married, right?”

“It was. He told a teacher about it and that’s what prompted it,” Eddie says. “Before that it was Evan, though I’m half convinced he’s forgotten that was ever your name.”

Buck nods in agreement.

“So how long were you Evan?” Hen asks curiously.

“Two years,” Buck says. “I met Chris when he was three. I worked on a chicken farm in El Paso and they bought eggs there. I babysat first, then met Eddie a year later when he was back from tour. We started co-parenting because Shannon was out of the picture and I offered to help.”

“And you two got married for Chris, you said. Why? I mean, it might provide a more stable home, but if you’d been co-parenting without it for a year already, why do it? It’s quite a big step,” Hen asks.

They all look at them curiously and Buck looks over at Eddie again, silently asking how much to share about the whole situation. Wordlessly, Eddie tells him to go ahead and just tell everyone. Eddie himself has never been the talker between them, so Buck happily takes the lead in explaining.

“Chris had to have surgery and that’s expensive, so the bills got too high. Eddie re-enlisting was the only way to keep our heads above water, but I didn’t have any legal basis to keep Chris. We were scared he’d get taken and placed with his grandparents,” Buck explains, not trying to go into too much detail about why they would not want that. “So, we looked into me adopting Chris and stepparent adoption was the quickest. We planned to get divorced, but just didn’t get around to it. We have a mortgage, you know. And private school is expensive.”

Everyone is sharing looks that Buck can’t full decipher, he looks over to Eddie, but he seems equally confused.

However, none of them say what those looks are about. Hen just nods as she gets it, saying: “Hence the marriage of convenience.”

“Uh-huh.” “Yup.”

“Daddy and papi,” Chinney shakes his head after he looks between them. “That’s gonna take a bit to get used to.”

“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Bobby says, putting a hand on both their shoulders. “You are two fine young men and I am proud of you both, even if I’m disappointed in you for lying. I know you can be professional, so just continue the way you’re doing and we’ll sort everything out come January. That sound good?”

“Yes, Cap.” “Thank you, Cap.”

“Alright,” Bobby gives them a satisfied nod.

Then the bell starts ringing and Buck groans. He’s still exhausted and he never did end up getting his nap. However, as he rushes to the rig with everyone, he does feel a little lighter than he did before. It feels good to not be lying and continuously live with the feeling of getting found out at any moment.

Still, he could have done without it being revealed the way it did. If he thought he wouldn’t live down the ‘eat your greens’ comment, he’s definitely never going to be able to live down the ‘go ask daddy’ moment.

At least inviting Maddie over for Christmas will be easier now…

~~

A/N:

This is so fucking stupid, but it came to me and I just couldn’t help myself. It’s so funny to me and I just had to. Like, I love them <3

[lost-inthemeadow]

Till I have no choice but to do us part - Agathario

Summary: A 4 part rewrite of episode 9 of Agatha All Along because we deserved so much better than what we got

Features Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal

Chapter one: I stray not from the path, I hold Death's hand in mine

Word count: 2691

Alone in the woods, accompanied only by the corpses of the women who were once her family, Agatha Harkness trembled in the cold of the night.

After her coven had attempted to execute her—having nowhere else to go—she settled down under a tree by the river and tried her best for her sobs not to be too loud, afraid of any nearby animals hearing her.

She was supposed to be dead, gone, forgotten; her power—the one her coven was so scared of—had once again made her the villain. It was not her fault nobody ever bothered to teach her how to control it. From the moment she was born, her mother had been convinced that her existence was a mistake, a sin; all she knew she learned by herself, relying on books and ancient spells.

Now she was all alone, without a coven or anyone to care for her, and it was nobody's fault but her own. Still, under all the guilt, Agatha could not stop thinking about how good the other witches' magic had felt and how unsatiable her need for more was, being now more powerful than she ever had. It was a feeling that terrified her tremendously, but with the recent events, she swore not to let herself near another witch again.

As the sun rose once more, painting her dress with its yellow light, a nearby bush alerted her that she was no longer alone in the vast woods. Agatha sat down immediately, dreading the idea of fighting a wild animal, but instead, she saw a human figure emerge from the receding darkness. As the person approached, the sunlight lit them more and more, first revealing a long and beautiful green dress, then a pair of delicate hands, and then a face. The young witch had to shake her head, for the first thing she saw was a mere skull, but as she looked again and her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she found herself admiring a beautiful lady, with eyes as bright as the moon that looked at her lit with curiosity.

Lady Death herself—the mysterious figure��was hesitant at first, not wanting to scare the young woman away. But there was a certain pull, a certain need in her chest that urged her to get close and investigate why this young witch was alone in the woods, surrounded by so many corpses.

"Hello, little one." Death spoke her first words directed at someone who still breathed in decades. Her voice was soft, and her lips curved into a smile. "Say, what reason could you have to be alone in these woods at this early hour?"

“I could ask you the same."

"I've come for them, of course," she said, glancing at Agatha's breathless companions.

"For them?"

“It's my job to take them to the other side," Lady Death concluded. "Are you responsible for this mess?"

Agatha nodded, unable to look the woman in the eye as she did, ashamed of her actions.

"I like it. It suits you," she said with a complicit smile. Agatha couldn't help but look back at her, expecting everything but the answer she had received.

Lady Death had lost her heartbeat centuries ago—when the duty of death was bestowed upon her—but the moment she saw Agatha's big blue eyes staring at her, the faint feeling of the blood-pumping vessel appeared in her chest again, making it impossible for her to stay any longer.

As Death walked towards the shadows again, ready to collect the souls of the coven, Agatha stood up, quickly cleaning the dirt off her dress.

"Wait!" she called out.

"Yes?" Lady Death stopped for her.

"Will I see you again?" Agatha also felt that same pull in her chest.

"Eventually, everyone will," was the last thing Death said before disappearing into the last bit of night.

After tending to the corpses, Agatha moved deeper into the forest, for the leaves and the dirt were now her home. Try as hard as she did, she could not stray too far from the clearing where she had met Lady Death, afraid she would miss her when she returned.

But a week went by, and she found herself alone every night, sitting under the same tree by the river, waiting for the bushes to alert her of the enchanting presence again. She understood then that Death would only come if she were needed.

Initially, she tried with a decaying owl she found while scavenging, but quickly realized the victim had to be freshly dead, so the next night she offered a skunk she had extinguished that afternoon. Both nights she perked up her ears and squinted her eyes, waiting for the figure to emerge from the bushes, but, once again, she never did.

That's when the young witch finally understood that, if she wanted to see Lady Death a second time, she'd have to offer a human for her to take. The idea brought chills down her spine, but still, she made her way to the nearest settlement and found herself a victim. A simple potion was all she needed, having lured the man to the forest with her beauty.

Under the tree, as the river sang its usual song—with the stiff corpse waiting—Agatha waited impatiently, almost wanting to scream to the moon to call Lady Death to her. It was not until the sun started its trip in the sky that the bushes again rustled, making Agatha shake like the cold of the night never had.

Lady Death was intrigued, wondering what kind of impossible favor the young witch would ask of her, so she approached again. "Is this for me?" she asked, pointing at the dead man.

"Yes. You are Death, are you not?".

"I am. What is it you wish in exchange for this gesture?" she asked.

"Only to see you, m'lady."

"To see me?"

"I figured you needed the company as much as I do."

Lady Death smiled faintly, getting even closer to Agatha. "Speak your name, girl," she ordered.

"Agatha. Agatha Harkness."

"Well, Agatha, I thank you for this offering," she said, removing her hands from her dark green cape. Lady Death offered an empty hand, from which sprouted a beautiful Bearded Iris. "Can I?" she asked, and when Agatha nodded, Death's gentle hands placed the blossom in her hair.

"You are a witch, too!" squealed the young woman.

Seeing Agatha's bright smile warmed Lady Death's newly placed heart, so she made a bed of flowers for her, filled with astounding shapes and colors. They sat down together as Death told the young witch about each and every kind—having never had the chance to discuss her love for them before—until the sun tinted the whole forest alight. By then, her neverending task called for her again, and she disappeared into the bushes like she had that first night. This time, Agatha did not dare to ask if they would meet again, for she would make sure they would.

Every day she would slip into the town at dusk, determined to find a new gift for Death. First, it was the man who dared put his hands on his wife, the woman who tried to poison her daughter, and the two siblings who benefited from the poor's ingenuity. But then she took the old lady who sat alone in her house, the town's widow, and the farmer with only his crops to keep him company. With each kill, Agatha became increasingly enchanted with the art of taking lives, and her daily hunts became not only a treat for Death, but for her as well. Every night Lady Death would come to collect her gifts—each time earlier than the one before—and they would spend their time together laying in a freshly made bed of flowers by the river, where they would talk each other's ears off for hours. They bonded over their wrongdoings and deepest desires, enjoying the opportunity to be fully themselves in each other's company. Agatha told her all about her coven, her awful mother, and that surprisingly good feeling she got every time she claimed a life. Death would talk about her victims, the way she enjoyed staying for a little while when a widow wailed at the corpse of her husband, and the flowers she loved creating.

Lady Death grew fond of Agatha's curiosity, tending her queries with detail and care. She adored looking at the stars while letting the young witch into her secrets, appreciating the attentiveness she was given in return.

"Do you take animals?"

"They don't need it. Only humans have trouble crossing."

"Can you bring people back to life?"

"No. My job is the exact opposite."

"But you can create life," said Agatha, signalling at the flowers around them.

"I can, but only for you," Death replied, causing Agatha's cheeks to burn.

It was not until seven sunsets later that Agatha had been brave enough to ask for Lady Death's name.

"I don't suppose I was ever given one," replied the green witch with a furrowed brow.

"Whatever do you mean? Everyone has a name!"

"I must be the exception. I've had many nicknames, but never a name of my own."

"Well, we cannot allow that to be."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Why, we find you a name, of course."

And so she did. Agatha named her companion after the river that sang its symphony for them every night. From that moment on, Lady Death was not defined only by her duty. She was now Rio Vidal. She was someone. She belonged to someone.

That night, after Agatha made the name official by carving their initials in the tree they both so loved, Rio decided it was time to show herself, to reveal the form she feared Agatha would despise. Lit by only the moonlight, the skull Agatha thought was just her eyes tricking her that first night was in front of her again. Even without skin or muscle, the young witch could see Rio was nervous, so she took the time to trace every bit of bone with her fingers with the utmost care, offering a bright smile.

"Beautiful," Agatha said, taking Rio's face into both hands. Rio went back to her human form just in time for Agatha to join their lips together in a kiss that felt a thousand times better than taking a life ever would. The river beside their flower bed sang its song as they both gave in to each other, and the forest became the first witness of the time Death fell in love with a mortal.

Though the corpses were no longer needed, Agatha still took a life for her lover each day. Eventually, she had to move to a different settlement to find her victims, for her usual one had run dry. And find new victims she did, as a coven of seven witches dwelled near the next settlement she wanted to torment. She remembered her promise not to get near another sister in the craft again but was still overjoyed when she told Rio how the screams of the youngest member filled the air of the autumn afternoon as she took her power for herself.

“Does power feel as good as it looks on you, my love?" asked Rio, running her finger up and down Agatha's bare arm.

"It feels amazing," replied Agatha, her eyes closed as she enjoyed her lover's touch.

"Tell me more about this coven you found. Do they know it was you that took their sister?"

"They do not. She had been sent to gather in the forest, they did not see me take her."

"In that case, we will take their power for you, tomorrow after dawn."

"Will you stay the whole night this time?" asked the young witch, hope mixed with moonlight lighting her eyes.

"Not only this time. My duty is important, but I have no home besides your arms."

"We will have each other. We will be okay," replied Agatha.

The following morning—hands joined—they made the trek down their beloved river—stopping every few minutes so Agatha could pick the flowers Rio grew for her—until they found the witches' encampment. Before splitting up, Rio put all the blossoms together in a beautiful crown that Agatha made sure to wear, then she watched as her lover ran to the other witches—panting and huffing—to start with her deceivement. As the witches inquired about the reason for her troubled state, she apprised them about her coven having been murdered right in front of her eyes by a horde of angry townspeople, and her miraculous escape. The fellow craft practitioners clothed and fed her, offering her all their empathy and comfort.

Rio appeared after Agatha finished her broth, bony form deployed, and all the witches fell to their knees at the sight of her. They dared not look into her eyes and instead rested their foreheads on the dirt, so Agatha followed their lead.

"Fear not, for I have come not to take, but to notify," Rio announced. "Your youngest sister, with hair like corn and skin like syrup, is now with me. Her fret for her coven was so strong that I had no alternative but to come and bear the news to you."

She allowed them a few seconds of shock before she attempted to leave.

"Oh, almighty lady," called the eldest member, not daring to remove her face from the soil. "Is there anything we can offer in exchange for her life? Is there any deal you will take to bring our sister back where she belongs?"

"What is done is done. She is now mine," stated Rio.

"Please, ma'am. We will do anything."

"Look at me," Rio ordered, and all six witches obeyed. "The only way to bring your sister back is to trade her life for another. The balance must be maintained," she stated, her head tilted slightly.

The ruse worked perfectly, for all six of them took only a few seconds of exchanged looks before deciding that the life of the new, stray witch that had only just arrived mattered the least among them, and they all blasted Agatha simultaneously. The young witch received their magic with open arms, ensuring to take every last bit of it.

As their bodies decayed and their magic was drained, Rio's cackle filled the forest, enjoying the view as much as Agatha enjoyed the magic. "Yes, my love! Take it all!" she screamed with a malicious grin.

When Agatha's knees gave out, weak from the blast, Rio was there to catch her. The young witch's hands trembled, but her lips were curved in the biggest smile.

"How did you like that?" asked Agatha.

"I've never seen anything better," Rio replied, lost in the trance of her lover's beauty.

"Take care of this mess," Agatha ordered. Rio obeyed instantly, leaving to guide the witches to the other side.

From then on, Agatha and Rio spent their days hunting for witches to trick, finding new ways to give in to their lust, and loving each other like no other couple in history ever had. It was not every day they were together, for Rio's duty called for her every few days, but they cherished and made use of every second in which they were.

When autumn came to an end and the weather started to cool—despite witches usually living in open settlements—Rio grew the biggest willows, and with them, shaping them to her will, she built a crooked cabin for the two to spend the winter in. However, when the snow melted and spring came, they could not part from it. Death and love danced in harmony as they turned the place into their home, making it a sanctuary for all things they held dear. Unable to rip herself from her lover's embrace, Rio stayed longer each time, even if it meant more days absent, and she gifted Agatha the most beautiful garden to tend to while she was away.

[mimicteruyo]

Okay now there has to be less than 5k to go but also just how long is this chapter going to be?!

[allisonreader]

Laundry is done for now. We'll see if any writing actually gets done.

[godhasforsnakenme]

BOOK REVIEW 📖

This is the one for February – I was reminded of this book half way through the month and decided to reread it again because I couldn't remember how it ended; plus a short mystery is always nice to read (side note: this ended up as an ebook read bc I couldn't remember where in my storage boxes I have my copy – it's in storage because it's a paperback edition and old and I don't want it to die on me yet lol)

[tender-rosiey]

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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do not copy or plagiarize or I will tell @callmemirro

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[fangirl-dot-com]

😾Really Nice Guy Who Hates Only You

*part of the reverse trope series*

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Celebrity!Reader Genre: Fluff/Miscommunication/Humor/SMAU Summary: Oscar was known to be the epitome of a polite cat. His reputation is that he is genuinely nice to everyone. Well, everyone except for you.

*once again, I have loved writing for this series and it seems like everyone loves these chapters (as they have the highest notes out of all of them). I'm really excited for what is to come! I have loved making all the special tweets and other additions to the posts!*

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Oscar had been in a bad mood. The garage could practically feel the cloud that surrounded the Aussie as he walked through the garage on Saturday morning for the sprint. The scrunch of the nose and the constant side eyes also gave it away. 

Normally, Oscar tends to be more on the quiet side. But today, he was even quieter. Gone was the polite cat, and it was replaced by a very grumpy feline. 

“Hey Oscar! Come meet our guests!” 

Oscar let out a sigh as he turned around and put a very fake smile on his face. This is the moment he had been dreading ever since you stepped into the garage. He did, or couldn’t, understand why you were wearing his number on the back of the jersey you wore. 

It disgusted him. 

You were very pretty though, he had eyes. Your hair went very well with the papaya orang and your smile could pretty much kill a man in a 10-foot radius. Except that right now, Oscar wanted your perfect hair to catch on fire and he’d avoid the smile. 

When he finally got closer, he stopped a few feet in front of you, not wanting to get too close. Two hands clapped him on the shoulders as Lando started to shake him. 

“So Os-cah, this is Y/n L/n, 2-time Grammy Award winner and probably the prettiest guest we’ve ever had.” 

All right, so Lando was a gonner.

Oscar fought the urge to roll his eyes right into the back of his head so he wouldn’t have to look at you anymore. But your smile was oh-so pretty. You looked at him with wide eyes as you held out your hand for a shake. 

However, Oscar just looked at it, then looked at you. 

“Welcome.”

Lando reeled back, confused at his younger teammate’s coldness. The two watched as your smile faltered just a bit. (If Oscar had any remorse, he didn’t show it.) You were quick to recover and spread another smile, even if this one wasn’t as real as the first. 

You put your hand down as you greeted, “It’s such an honor to finally meet you! I’ve been a fan for what feels like forever.” 

Oscar grunted. “Can’t say the same.” 

You absolutely wanted to whimper. You had been waiting to be invited to a Formula 1 garage ever since you won your first Grammy. And well, you had other offers from Red Bull or Ferrari, but the McLaren garage is the one you wanted to be your first. So, you had declined and declined until you knew that you could meet the driver that you had been following for so long. 

But now that you finally met him, you wondered why he was such an asshole. 

You pushed down your feelings and continued. “That’s ok. My music isn’t for everyone. But I wanted to congratulate you on your rookie season last year!” 

“Thanks.” 

Ok, Lando knew something was up and he couldn’t take the hurt-puppy-eyes coming from you anymore. The Briton was about to say something, but Zak had decided to interrupt with another celebrity guest. 

“Guys, this is Sabrina, she’s also joining Miss L/n in the garage today. Ladies, we have two headsets for you in the back when we’ll go over some last minute car things if you’d like to listen in!” Zak explained. 

It only hurt when Oscar eyes lit up at your fellow musician, brushing past you to personally introduce himself. Lando was now left with a very sad Grammy winner on his hands. He gently put his arm around your waist to bring you to the side.

When a long sigh escaped your lips, Lando felt awful. 

“Y/n, I swear he’s normally the nicest person on the planet. Oscar always seems to love everyone, no matter the guest.” 

Your eyes flitted over to where Oscar was now animatedly talking to Sabrina about her new album. You let out a scoff. 

“Yeah, everyone but me. Maybe I should have just taken the offer from Red Bull or Ferrari.” 

Lando pouted. He knew that you had been a fan of Oscar’s way back to the start of his F2 season. And then you had purposefully put the word McLaren in many different songs. Hell, your newest album titled “Momentum” was basically a love letter to your beloved team. You even had plans to become an investor once you could make the first payment. 

The Briton felt lost. “I was going to find Max and Charles if you’d like to join me?” 

You took one more look at Oscar, not surprised to see him glare at you from the side. That action made up your mind and you agreed to go with Lando. 

Taking with Max and Charles was like a breath of fresh air. The two were great conversationalists and pretty funny. The Monegasque even invited you into one of the media buildings to look at the behind the scenes, which put you in awe. 

The two rivals, thought, couldn’t understand why you were attached to Lando when you had a giant 81 on the back of your jersey. 

“Have you met Oscar yet?” Charles asked. When you tensed, he knew that he had asked a wrong question. Your expression quickly became sad. 

“Yeah. But I don’t think he likes me very much,” you muttered. 

Max scoffed. “That’s absurd. He’s quiet, but he’s nice to everyone.” 

Lando winced. “But for some reason, he was being really rude and just standoff-ish.”  

You looked so dejected. “At first I thought he might not be a fan of my music, but then he was super smiley with Sabrina and we co-wrote most of mine and her songs. So it’s not the genre.” 

The Briton wanted to try to bring your spirits back up, but he noticed the time and said that you and him had to be back at the garage. You said your goodbyes to the Dutchman and Monegasque before you followed Lando back to the garage. 

On your way in, Oscar sent you yet another glare as he got ready to be in the car. 

Although he had been mean, you still said, “Good luck.” 

Maybe he heard you or didn’t, but he never responded or acted like he took it to heart. 

When Oscar was able to overtake multiple cars and finish the sprint in P2, you were ecstatic. His terrible attitude did not hinder your joy for the Aussie. You didn’t secretly call yourself the #1-Piastri fan for nothing. Sabrina laughed next to you as you hopped up and down, glad that your driver finished well in the points. 

It was sad for Lando who didn’t make it past P5, but the Briton explained that qualifying for the actual race is when it truly counted. 

You watched with stars in your eyes as Oscar walked up after Charles to be interviewed by Jensen Button. 

The former driver asked the first question. 

“Oscar, first congrats on the P2, you did a lot of overtaking. Was that in the strategy?” 

The Aussie laughed, really showing that he indeed was polite to everyone. 

“Well the strategy is always to win, but we were close with all the upgrades. It’s been good and I’m ready for the races to come.” 

A few more questions were asked and exchanged before Jensen somehow brought you up. 

“So we saw that Y/n L/n and Sabrina Carpenter were both in the McLaren garage. And we all know that Y/n is a massive McLaren fan as well as your fan. Have you listen to any of her songs?”

Many people definitely saw the change in facial expression when your name was brought up. The smiley Oscar was replaced with a bored one. 

“Well, I don’t really listen to artists who bash or make fun of my driving.” 

Jensen gave me a very curious look. “She actually praises you in most of her songs.” 

The Aussie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like the one where she said she crashed her McLaren like Piastri.” 

Your eyes widened, along with everyone else in the garage. Those were definitely not the lyrics to one of your songs. Lando also had wide eyes and he was looking right at you, who seemed to be on the verge of a mental breakdown. 

“I would never do that,” you said, looking into Lando’s hazel eyes. The Briton looked puzzled. He had specifically played or sung songs for the Aussie that mentioned McLaren or Oscar. 

You kind of just sank into the background, trying to process what could have gone wrong. Lando on the other hand raced to catch Oscar as he was walking into the garage.

“Mate, what are you doing?” Oscar asked as Lando was directing him to one of the driver rooms. Lando slammed the door and turned to Oscar. 

“What are the lyrics to Y/n’s song?” 

There was another eye roll. “Lando you sung them to me like two weeks ago.” 

Land shook his head. “But tell me.” 

Oscar huffed, “Small talk, big love. Act like you don’t care but I disagree. When I crashed my McLaren like Piastri.” 

“Stop!” 

The Aussie cocked his head. 

Lando continued, “Those aren’t the lyrics you muppet. It’s ‘When I crashed my McLaren like past me.’ A few years ago, Y/n used to wreck a lot of cars at a teen. She got better and decided to buy a McLaren when your seat was announced for 2023. And then she crashed it on accident after she got broken up with.” 

A look of realization washed over Oscar’s face and then a look of dread. A giant sigh left his lips. Lando thought he was going to pass out or something but the second Papaya driver quickly ran out of the room. He stopped short of where you had sat in the back of the garage and quietly started to step closer. 

Your head was in your hands but you looked up when you heard footsteps. You were shocked to be looking at Oscar, who had a guilty look on his face. You shot up out of your seat and began to ramble. 

“Oscar, I swear, I would never back and diss you in any of my songs. You’re truly my favorite driver and I was so excited to meet you. I have put your name in my songs before, but it’s only been praise. I’m so sorry that you’ve been thinking that I’d make fun of your driving and-“ 

Oscar held out a hand to stop you. 

But now it was his turn to ramble, hands flying everywhere. 

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. I’ve been an utter asshole to you all day. That was horrible of me. Lando sung me the song a few weeks ago, but it was pretty mumbled because he couldn’t remember some of the words and I heard Piastri instead of past me and I just thought the worst and…” 

Lando was having a field day watching you watch Oscar with stars in your eyes as he apologized over and over again. 

The Briton pretended to dust his hands off as he watched Oscar pull out his phone and offer it to you. 

“Another day, another matchmaking completed.”  

y/n_l/n has posted

y/n_l/n thank you so much McLaren for the amazing day today! It was truly a dream come true to meet my all time favorite driver! little surprise for everyone else - Florida is yours (inspired by a special someone) 🧡

liked by mclaren, its_papaya, oscarpiastri, landoscar, and 3,205,195 others

queeny/n OH MY GOSH NEW SONG AFTER THE MIAMI RACE??

y/n&f1 wouldn't the song be written for Logan then?

y/nxoscar she said inspired - didn't mean that it's actually about him

oscah81 P2 SPRINT RACE AND POSSIBLE NEW WAG

landonorris I too would like a song pls

charles_leclerc we all know she wrote golden about me ♥️

maxverstappen1 I claim midnight rain then

landonorris ☹️

y/n_l/n it's ok lando - working on one now!

y/nsgrammy to think that Oscar thought she dissed him when she's like his biggest fan ever

oscargirlie y/n get's us with the second picture

oscarpiastri was the second picture necessary? and Florida? when did you have time to write that??

y/n_l/n 1. yes, it was very necessary, 2. I wrote it when you ignored me

oscarpiastri and you still wrote me a song?

y/n_l/n of course! most of my songs had you written in mind ☺️

oscarpiastri so. . . dress?

y/n_l/n 😳🤭

loscar-land your honor I love them

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Please Let Me Live - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think? Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

Series Masterlist

You'd avoided it for so long. For months, your best friend had been pestering you to read the shoujo isekai novel of the year. According to them, it was the epitome of romantic drama, the kind that would "turn your heart into a mess of feelings" and "change your life." So, finally, after a particularly grueling week, your willpower hit rock bottom. You caved. You bought it, poured yourself a drink, and figured, "How bad can it be?"

Turns out, really bad.

You’d barely made it past the first few chapters before your brain began to leak out of your ears. Every overused villainess plot point imaginable was crammed into the story like a contest of "how much nonsense can we fit in here before the reader gives up?" The evil fiancée everyone inexplicably hated? Check. The perfect cinnamon roll male lead everyone adored even though he had the personality of wet cardboard? Double check. The heroine who was so pure that even her sneeze would be enough to unite warring nations who also happens to be the saintess? You had to put the book down and take a moment when she gave a speech about friendship that was so saccharine, your teeth hurt.

Grumbling and filled with regret, you got up to refill your drink… only to slip on bubble wrap you swore yesterday that you were going to pick up later, fall face-first into the kitchen counter, and began to bleed out.

It was a comically stupid way to die. You knew that as you lay there, watching the light fade from your vision, your last thoughts being, This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.

And then, darkness.

You woke up with a groan, your head pounding. As your vision cleared, you noticed you were lying in a very, very fancy bed. Silk sheets, gold trimming on the canopy, the works. And you were dressed in something frilly, layered, and far too complicated for someone who just woke up from a near-death experience.

"What the…"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze as the realization hit you. This was not your bed. This was not your apartment. This was… Oh god, no.

You whipped your head around the lavish room, recognizing it from the novel you’d been hate-reading just last night. The massive mirror above the dresser, the tapestry with an overly detailed family crest, the obnoxiously large bouquet of roses that smelled way too sweet.

You’re in the book.

Panicking, you scrambled out of bed and rushed to the full-length mirror by the wall. The reflection staring back at you was not your own. Instead, you saw an unfamiliar face—her face. The one mentioned once, maybe twice, in the whole novel before being discarded like an old shoe: the betrothed of the villain.

The fiancée who dumps him for the male lead. The fiancée who gets themselves killed in the process.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned, slapping your forehead. “I’m the villain’s betrothed? I’m that idiot who leaves Vil Schoenheit because I fall for the human incarnation of a sugar cube?”

But there was no escaping it. You were now stuck in the body of a side character so irrelevant that even her death was treated as an afterthought. The one who leaves her handsome, ambitious, gorgeous fiancé for… Neige.

No. No, no, no. You were not about to die over a soggy cinnamon roll.

Determined to change your fate, you gathered your wits and opened the door to leave the room. But of course, you ran headlong into a tall figure, knocking you both back.

“Oof! Careful there!” a smooth, yet stern voice said. You looked up—and froze. Standing before you, looking like something straight out of a high-fashion magazine, was Vil Schoenheit. The man whose heart you were supposed to break, the villain who would later descend into madness after you ditch him.

And wow. In person, he was even more stunning than the novel had described. His golden-blond hair shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window, his purple eyes were as sharp as they were beautiful, and his posture screamed confidence.

You blinked up at him, utterly dumbfounded. You’re supposed to leave him? For Neige? You nearly gagged at the thought.

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your wide-eyed staring. “Is something the matter?”

You gulped. Right. You were supposed to be cold and dismissive toward him, weren’t you? But how? This man looked like he could make the heavens weep with his beauty. How had your character ever even considered leaving him?

“No, nothing’s the matter!” you blurted out, a little too enthusiastically. “Actually, everything’s great! You look fantastic! I mean, not that you don’t always look fantastic—because you do—but, you know, extra fantastic today!”

Vil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting strange.”

Abort. Abort!

You quickly cleared your throat. “Uh, I’ve just been… thinking. About us.”

His gaze became sharper. “About us?”

You nodded, plastering on your most sincere smile. “Yes! I’ve realized… I haven’t been very, uh, appreciative of you lately. And I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. So from now on, I’ll be the most appreciative fiancée ever!”

Vil looked at you as though you’d just told him the sun was cold. He clearly didn’t trust this sudden change in attitude. “What exactly brought this on?” he asked slowly, suspiciously.

Time for Plan B. “Oh, you know, just… reflection! Self-improvement! I thought, ‘Why would I ever look anywhere else when I’ve got someone like *you* right in front of me?’ You’re… amazing, really.” You cringed internally at how corny that sounded, but Vil didn’t seem entirely put off.

“Hm,” was all he said, but his piercing gaze stayed locked on you, watching for any sign of deceit.

You were sweating bullets, but at least he wasn’t storming off. Yet.

You knew from the moment you read the back cover that this novel was going to be a dumpster fire of clichés, but you were not prepared for the sheer chaos of it all.

So, first off, we have the heroine—the Saintess—who has somehow never faced a single hardship in her life, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be the kingdom’s beacon of virtue and a symbol of overcoming hardship. She’s engaged to the crown prince, who conveniently disappears on a diplomatic mission and dies offscreen, probably to make room for her new love interest, Neige LeBlanche. Neige. That sparkly ray of sunshine who is so perfect and pure that you feel like you need sunglasses whenever his name is mentioned. Because apparently, what’s more romantic than falling for a guy immediately after your fiancé kicks the bucket?

Then there’s the second male lead, the brooding Duke of the North, who checks all the boxes: tall, brooding, handsome, tragic backstory—yawn. Of course, he’s madly in love with the Saintess, and like any self-respecting second male lead in a trashy romance, he sacrifices himself for her later. Because nothing says “I’m irrelevant” quite like noble self-sacrifice.

And don't even get started on the heroine's best friend. She’s basically there to fawn over the Saintess and then inexplicably fall for Vil, the Grand Duke, after she pressures him into apologizing for insulting the heroine's dress. Like, why? Was his dress critique that alluring?

Now, Vil Schoenheit. The Grand Duke. The guy you’re currently stuck with as your fiancé. He’s actually a decent character—powerful, intelligent, not falling over himself to worship the Saintess like everyone else. But in the novel, he’s wasted. Why? Because he’s engaged to the character you’re now possessing—Miss Mean and Cold—who treats him like dirt because she’s too busy fantasizing about Neige. You know, the guy she has no shot with because he’s destined to fall for the Saintess. Then, when your character eventually dumps Vil for Neige, she dies in a freak accident. Vil, who actually loved her (for reasons no one understands), is so heartbroken that he turns into the main villain.

Yes, that’s right—this whole mess of a plot ends with Vil going full villain mode because the love of his life ditched him for the living embodiment of a children’s snowman and then died in a way that no one can explain. Cue the Saintess and Neige teaming up to defeat him and live happily ever after.

And that’s the story. A tangled web of nonsensical relationships, conveniently dead characters, and more emotional whiplash than you can handle. And the cherry on top? You're stuck in it, watching everything unfold firsthand. It's honestly a wonder the book didn’t end up as kindling.

A few days passed, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to keep up the act. Every morning you would wake up, still half-expecting to snap out of this bizarre isekai nightmare, but instead, you were met with Vil’s meticulous morning routine and the low hum of his voice offering helpful reminders about skincare.

And the more time you spent with him, the more baffled you became.

How the hell could the original character have messed this up?!

Sure, Vil was particular—okay, maybe borderline obsessive—about appearances. His lectures about proper sunscreen application could rival the length of the Odyssey. And yes, the daily inspections of your outfit choices felt a little like going through customs at a royal border.

But… he was kind? Like, actually caring?

Every meal was an event because he made sure you were eating properly and not just shoving random food into your mouth like the gremlin you clearly were before. He listened when you rambled about your day, offering advice with this gentle patience that honestly made you want to weep. How could anyone leave this?

You found yourself in front of a mirror one afternoon, pacing and gesturing wildly at your reflection, as if you could summon the spirit of the character you’d possessed. "What the actual hell was wrong with you?!" you hissed at the glass. “What kind of brain rot would make someone ditch a man like Vil?! Are you missing brain cells, or was your skull just a rental with nothing in it?!”

You paused, glaring at your reflection as if it could offer answers, but nope. It just stared back, helpless.

“Like, hello?!” you continued, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You had a golden opportunity here! He’s literally gorgeous! He’s got hair that looks like it was hand-spun by some ancient beauty god, his fashion sense could kill a lesser mortal, and he—*gasp*—cares about your well-being?!”

You slapped your forehead dramatically. “How did you mess this up? Were you allergic to good things? Did you wake up every day and choose to be a feral raccoon instead of, I don’t know, appreciating this actual masterpiece of a human being? What, did you look at his perfect face and go, ‘Nah, I’d rather yeet myself into self-destruction?’ Because clearly, that’s what happened!”

Your reflection remained silent, offering no help, which only fueled your rant further.

“You absolute donut! You ridiculous bottle of poorly mixed potion! You—” You stopped mid-sentence, running out of sufficiently creative insults to throw at the former owner of this body. Because seriously, what kind of fool would’ve thrown Vil away?

You gripped the sides of the vanity table, leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at your own reflection. "If I find out that you gave up on this because he once asked you to wear a face mask or told you to drink more water… I swear, I'm going to find a way to repossess you just to kill you again for making me deal with this."

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your self-directed tirade. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around to see Vil standing in the doorway, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Talking to yourself again?” he asked, his voice smooth but with a teasing edge. “You know, that’s usually a sign of stress. Perhaps we should revisit that meditation routine I mentioned.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, wondering how much he’d overheard. But then you caught sight of that soft smile he reserved just for you, and your brain short-circuited all over again.

Right. The original character was definitely an idiot.

The first major hurdle hit you when you least expected it.

It all started with what should have been a calm afternoon—a brief moment of peace where you and Vil could actually spend time together, no schemes, no weird confrontations, just enjoying tea. You were finally getting comfortable with each other, slowly building the trust that had been so fragile at the start. Finally, you thought, things were moving smoothly.

Then the overused villainess trope decided to rear its ugly head.

Vil was talking about an upcoming event he’d be hosting, his voice calm, his usual stern features softened just slightly by the moment of peace. You were finally letting your guard down.

That was until the door creaked open and in waltzed the heroine’s best friend, a girl with wide, doe-like eyes and a penchant for stirring up unnecessary drama. Behind her, looming in the doorway, was the second male lead—your eternal source of frustration from the novel. He was tall, brooding, and always, always popping up at the most inconvenient moments. A defeated looking Epel walked in behind them, with a look that screamed 'trust me I tried to stop them.'

“Oh no,” you whispered under your breath, recognizing this scene before it could even play out. You knew what was coming, and you braced yourself for the utter absurdity of it.

Vil’s sharp gaze flicked from the two intruders back to you, his brows furrowing in mild irritation. “What is it now?” he muttered, already sensing the impending nonsense.

The heroine’s friend, ever the bringer of chaos, marched right up to your table with a dramatic flair that could only come from someone who believed they were the only purveyor of justice. “I can’t stay quiet any longer!” she declared, pointing an accusatory finger in Vil’s direction. “Vil, how could you treat the heroine this way?! You’ve been so cold, so distant—and it’s clear that you don’t truly care for anyone but yourself!”

You blinked. Excuse me?

Vil’s lips pursed, the irritation growing on his face. “And what, pray tell, did I do?”

“You know what you did!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms like she’d just delivered the most damning statement in history. “You’ve been ignoring her, brushing her off, and acting like she doesn’t even exist. She’s heartbroken because of you!”

You groaned internally. Oh no, this was that scene. The one where, because Vil once made an offhand comment about the heroine’s poor choice in dresses at a ball, suddenly he was painted as some cruel villain who was emotionally tormenting the delicate heroine. It was such an incredibly stupid misunderstanding that you distinctly remembered wanting to throw the book across the room when you’d first read it.

To make matters worse, the second male lead, standing silently but brooding in the doorway, was glowering at Vil like he was ready to challenge him to a duel at any moment. Because of a comment about a dress.

“Are you serious?” you blurted out, the frustration bubbling up before you could stop yourself.

The heroine’s friend gasped, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?!”

“Let me get this straight,” you said, rising from your seat with a groan, “you’re upset because Vil, what, didn’t shower her with praise at the last event? And now you’ve decided to come in here, storming into our tea time, to complain about it?”

The second male lead’s brooding scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. “Vil has been cruel—”

“About a dress.” You cut him off, waving your hand dismissively. “Vil made one comment about her dress. That’s it. And now we’re doing this whole song and dance like he’s some kind of evil tyrant?”

The room was already tense, the heroine’s best friend visibly fuming, but you couldn’t help it. The words just came out before you could stop them.

“And while we’re at it,” you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence, “let’s talk about that dress. You know, the one you’re all so upset about. I mean, I’m no fashion expert, but who in their right mind thought wearing that shade of mustard-yellow was a good idea?”

The friend’s mouth fell open, but you weren’t finished. “I mean, she walked into the ballroom looking like a sad banana trying to go to a high society function. I get it—saintess and all that—but there’s no reason to dress like the interior of an overripe cantaloupe.”

Vil made a choking sound next to you, and you dared to glance at him. His eyes were wide with shock, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement. Oh, he wasn’t pleased with the crudeness, but he definitely wasn’t going to stop you either.

“And you,” you said, turning to the second male lead, who had been standing there like a silent, brooding statue, just staring at the two of you menacingly. “What’s your excuse? You came in here with all this brooding energy, acting like you’re about to duel someone over the fate of the heroine. But seriously, what’s with your whole tragic hero act? Is your personality just permanent raincloud or do you practice that in the mirror?”

Vil covered his mouth with his hand, and you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. He was losing the battle to keep his composure, but he was trying—for dignity’s sake, of course.

Epel, on the other hand, had completely given up. The moment you’d said “sad banana,” he had fallen off his chair, doubled over in laughter, his face red as he clutched his sides. You weren’t sure if it was your insults or the second male lead’s thunderstruck expression, but either way, Epel was in hysterics.

“I—” the heroine’s friend sputtered, but you interrupted her again.

“Oh, and you.” You looked her up and down with a condescending smirk. “You really want to talk about fashion? Because I don’t know who told you that wearing ruffles with plaid was a look, but they were wrong. You’re out here looking like you got lost in a fabric store and fell into the clearance bin.”

This time, Vil snorted. Actually snorted. The sound was so out of place that it almost derailed your tirade, but you powered through, buoyed by his reaction.

The second male lead looked like he was ready to explode, his aura now bordering on murderous. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, can’t I?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Because it seems like all of you came in here with the intent to stir up drama over something as trivial as a constructive remark. If you’re going to go to war over fashion, at least wear something that doesn’t look like you picked it out with your eyes closed. Scratch that, I couldn’t imagine picking that up even with my eyes closed.”

By now, Epel was rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “C-couldn’t pick it out… with your eyes closed!” he wheezed, slapping his knee.

Vil, despite himself, let out a low giggle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well,” he said, his voice steady but filled with mirth, “I suppose subtlety was never your strong suit.”

The heroine’s friend, now red-faced and flustered beyond belief, grabbed the second male lead by the arm and yanked him toward the door. “This isn’t over,” she spat, glaring at you. “We’ll see who’s laughing when the heroine—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved dismissively, “when the heroine what? Realizes she’s been pining for someone who can't tell mustard from elegance? Trust me, I’m not worried.”

With that, they both stormed out, slamming the door behind them in a huff of embarrassment and frustration. The second they were gone, you let out a breath and sank back into your chair, grinning at Vil, who was now openly smiling.

“You really didn’t hold back, did you?” Vil said, his amusement evident despite his usual calm demeanor. “I don’t approve of such… crude insults, but I must admit—” his lips twitched— “it was rather effective.”

Epel, still recovering from his laughing fit, managed to haul himself back into his seat, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was… that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said between gasps for air. “I can’t believe ya said that right to their faces!”

“Glad to be of service,” you said with a grin, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d actually said all of that out loud. But judging by Vil’s pleased expression and Epel’s ongoing laughter, it had been worth it.

Maybe surviving this trash novel wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You’d barely had time to process how bizarrely normal your life as the villain’s fiancée had become when the next absurd isekai plot point decided to rear its ugly, trope-filled head again.

It all started at yet another lavish tea party. Honestly, you’d begun to lose track of how many of these events you were forced to attend. They all blurred together into a haze of polite smiles, floral patterns, and far too much sugar.

This time, you were seated next to Vil, who, as always, looked like he had just stepped out of a renaissance painting. You, on the other hand, were trying not to spill tea on the new dress he’d insisted you wear. The dress itself was lovely, of course—Vil had impeccable taste—but the whole setting made you feel like you were constantly walking on eggshells. Especially since she was here. The heroine.

Today, though, you were determined to get through it without any drama. Just smile, nod, and let the heroine do her thing. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Everything had been going smoothly, too. The heroine, in all her sunshiney glory, was seated at the table, surrounded by her usual group of admirers. You had been doing a great job of fading into the background until someone—the hostess, perhaps?—brought up your previous adventures.

“Oh, didn’t you once accompany the Grand Duke to deal with that bandit problem on the eastern border?” the hostess asked, fanning herself with interest. “What a thrilling ordeal!”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of too many eyes on you. “Well, I wouldn’t say thrilling exactly…” you began, trying to downplay it, but your nerves had other ideas. “I mean, the heroine here was probably off rescuing some poor lost puppy while I was just, you know, holding down the real danger.”

The air went cold.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. The table fell silent, save for the quiet clinking of teacups being set down. Every eye was on you. The heroine’s wide, eyes blinked at you, full of hurt and confusion. And across from you, the second male lead—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding—looked like he was ready to leap across the table and strangle you on the spot.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Why did you leave your filter at home?

You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could, the second male lead slammed his cup down on the table, the porcelain rattling ominously. “You dare insult her honor?!” he roared, rising from his seat like some kind of vengeful storm cloud. “I will not stand for this!”

*Why did I say that?* You cringed internally, face turning a bright shade of crimson. "I-it was a joke—"

“No,” he declared dramatically, pointing a finger at you. “I demand satisfaction! A duel for her honor!”

You were still too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. A duel? Over this? All you’d implied was that the heroine wasn’t exactly… battle-hardened. Surely that wasn’t duel-worthy? This man was acting like you’d called his mother a turnip or something worse.

The heroine, ever the epitome of grace, tried to intervene. “There’s no need for—”

But Mr. Broody wasn’t having it. “No! Her honor has been besmirched, and I shall defend it with my life!”

Vil, who had been watching this spectacle unfold with an expression of mild disgust, finally rose from his chair. His cool gaze swept over the table, landing on the second male lead with all the intensity of a snake about to strike.

“If anyone’s honor has been besmirched,” Vil said icily, “it’s mine. And I will not allow my betrothed to be disrespected by the likes of you.”

You blinked up at Vil, stunned. “Wait, you’re going to duel him? Yourself?”

Vil turned his piercing gaze to you, and though his face remained calm, there was a glimmer of something softer in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I would never entrust such a matter to anyone else. Besides…” His lips curled into a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve put an upstart in his place.”

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. Was it getting hot in here?

The second male lead, apparently unaware of just how screwed he was, smirked triumphantly. “Very well! Let’s settle this once and for all.”

The duel was set for the next day in your estate gardens. You spent the time leading up to it pacing back and forth in your chambers, wringing your hands in nervous anticipation. Somewhere along the way, you’d decided that you needed to do something—anything—to support Vil. So you had spent hours learning how to embroider a handkerchief, your fingers aching from the effort. By the time you finished, you were practically shaking, but you were proud of the result.

You didn’t expect Vil to be touched, let alone notice that you’d worked so hard. But when you handed him the handkerchief just before the duel, his eyes widened in surprise.

“You made this?” he asked, holding it delicately between his fingers, as if it were some priceless artifact.

You nodded sheepishly. “I figured, you know, for luck. Or to rub it in his face after you beat him. Whichever.”

Vil chuckled, his usually sharp expression softening. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. He then noticed the small needle marks on your hands and frowned. “You hurt yourself.”

You quickly hid your hands behind your back. “It’s nothing! I mean, I’m fine. Just a few pricks here and there.”

Vil’s expression softened even further, and for a moment, he looked almost… touched. He carefully tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

You didn’t swoon. Well, maybe just a little.

The duel was, in a word, ridiculous.

The second male lead strutted around like a peacock, his sword gleaming in the afternoon sunlight as he swung it dramatically for the small crowd that had gathered. “Prepare yourself, Schoenheit!” he bellowed, pointing his sword at Vil.

Vil, on the other hand, looked utterly unimpressed. He barely glanced at the man before calmly removing his coat and handing it to you. “Hold this, will you?”

You took the coat with a nod, trying not to pass out from how effortlessly graceful he looked even in the midst of preparing for a fight.

The second male lead lunged forward with all the finesse of a drunken ox, his sword clashing loudly against Vil’s. For a moment, it looked like a real duel—until Vil, with a single fluid motion, disarmed the man in one clean strike. The second male lead’s sword went flying, landing in the bushes several feet away with a pathetic thud.

The crowd gasped, and you had to stifle a laugh. It had barely been five seconds, and the duel was already over.

The second male lead stood there, stunned, his hand frozen mid-air where his sword had been. He blinked once, twice, then turned bright red with embarrassment. “W-what?!”

Vil, ever composed, didn’t even break a sweat. He sheathed his sword and gave the man a cold, dismissive look. “This duel is over. Consider your demand for satisfaction... fulfilled. Now, kindly leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle as the second male lead sputtered and tried to come up with an excuse, but it was clear to everyone that he had been utterly humiliated. Even the heroine, standing off to the side, looked like she was struggling to keep a straight face.

As the second male lead stumbled off, defeated, Vil turned to you and offered his hand. “Shall we go?”

You took his hand, still trying to process how easily he had won. “You were amazing,” you blurted out, your heart fluttering as you gazed up at him. “Seriously, that was… wow.”

Vil smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Of course I was.” He then leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I expect a proper reward later for defending your honor.”

Your face went beet red, and you were pretty sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Yep, you thought as he led you away, his hand still in yours, surviving this trash novel might not be so bad after all.

It happened at one of those overly extravagant banquets the royal court liked to throw. You spotted Neige from across the room, all bright eyes and an innocent smile. He was the epitome of purity, as if his very presence could summon woodland creatures to frolic at his feet.

And you hated him on sight.

You watched in disbelief as everyone around him melted into puddles of admiration. He was practically glowing, and his overly cheerful, squeaky voice was grating on your ears.

The overly saccharine male lead stood there, looking like a cross between a baby bunny and a sentient cupcake. Everything about him screamed "pure-hearted." You nearly gagged on your drink, hoping no one noticed your grimace.

Vil noticed your sour expression and leaned in. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s him, isn’t it?” you said through clenched teeth. “The one I used to follow around?”

Vil followed your gaze, and for a moment, his lips twitched in the faintest show of amusement. “Yes. That’s Neige.”

You snorted. "I can't believe anyone in their right mind would prefer him over you."

Vil's lips curled into a smirk, and he tilted his head slightly. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice was silky, dangerously low, but you could see the flash of satisfaction behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you muttered, still glaring in Neige's direction. “I mean, look at him. He’s so… good. And not in a ‘wow, what a decent person’ way. It’s like he’s one bad haircut away from sprouting fairy wings and breaking into song.”

Vil let out a low chuckle, right next to you ear, (Lord, have mercy) the sound sending shivers down your spine. “I never thought I’d hear you speak this way about him. You’ve been fawning over Neige for as long as I can remember.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up. “That was the old me. The dumb me. I mean, have you seen you?” You gestured dramatically toward him. “How could anyone even look at Neige when you exist?”

Vil was quiet for a moment, watching you intently. His violet eyes glinted with something unreadable, but you could tell he was pleased. Oh, he was very pleased.

“You certainly have changed,” he murmured, the smirk never leaving his lips. “And I must admit, I find it rather… delightful.”

Before you could respond, a very familiar voice rang out from behind you. “Ah! What a beautiful reunion this is! A moment filled with l’amour, sparkling like the stars in the sky!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Rook Hunt appeared seemingly out of thin air, his hands dramatically clasped together as he beamed at you both. “I have seen many couples in my lifetime, but none quite so radiant as you two.”

You blinked, trying to recover from his sudden appearance. “Rook… were you just… hiding in the curtains again?”

Rook, ever the dramatist, placed a hand on his heart and smiled wistfully. “Ah, but how could I stay away when the beauty of your love draws me in like a moth to a flame?”

Vil raised an eyebrow. “Rook, you’re not helping.”

“Non, non, mon ami,” Rook insisted, twirling in place with a flourish. “I am merely basking in the glow of what is surely a love for the ages! The way your eyes meet, the subtle tension in the air—it is magnifique!”

You sighed, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help but chuckle at Rook’s antics. Meanwhile, from the other side of the ballroom, Epel was watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement. He caught your eye and shot you a grin, raising his glass as if to say, Good luck with this.

But the fun wasn’t over. Oh no. Neige, the human embodiment of a children’s choir, started making his way toward you. As he approached, his bright eyes locked on yours, his smile so innocent and wide that you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.

Almost.

“Good evening!” Neige greeted you, his voice as sweet as sugar. “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to properly meet.”

You stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

Neige blinked, clearly taken aback by your lack of enthusiasm. He probably wasn’t used to people not immediately falling at his feet. “It’s truly wonderful to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You squinted at him. “Mm-hmm.”

Vil, standing beside you, looked positively elated. You could practically feel the smug energy radiating off of him. He wasn’t even hiding his smile anymore.

Neige continued, oblivious to your complete disinterest. “I’m so glad we’ll have the chance to spend time together in the coming months! I hope we can—”

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” you interrupted, turning away and pointedly ignoring his very existence.

Neige blinked again, looking like a lost puppy. You almost felt a little bad. Almost.

Vil, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. His arm slipped around your waist, his touch gentle. “I must say,” he murmured into your ear, his voice laced with amusement, “I’ve never enjoyed one of these balls quite so much.”

Yup, maybe this novel isn't that trashy after all?

Everytime you think this novel might not be that bad, it manages to prove you wrong.

The day had finally arrived: the Founding Day Ball. The event to end all events, where the kingdom’s most distinguished were honored in a grand ceremony. And, of course, at the top of the list of honorees was Vil, who might as well have been carved into the actual history of the kingdom itself with how perfect he was.

As his partner for the evening, you were dressed to the nines, dripping in elegance you didn’t even know you were capable of. When you caught your reflection in one of the massive ballroom mirrors, you had to do a double-take.

"Who is that?" you whispered, eyes wide. "Oh. It’s me."

Honestly, if there was a chance of impressing anyone here, you were impressed with yourself.

The ceremony went as expected. Vil was awarded the highest honors, his name met with thunderous applause as he gave a speech that left the crowd swooning. You found yourself half-clapping, half-gawking, wondering how this man kept getting more perfect. Like, was he actually human?

But as the evening progressed, the dreaded scene you despised the most crept into the evening, like a bad smell at a gourmet dinner.

After the ceremony, it was time for the opening dance. Naturally, Vil, being the epitome of grace and nobility, was the prime candidate to lead it. You were fully expecting him to ask you, but before he could even turn in your direction, the heroine — yes, that heroine — appeared out of nowhere, like she was materializing straight from the pages of the worst romance novel ever written.

“Vil,” she said in a voice that sounded like honey and broken promises, “I trust you’ll grant me the honor of the first dance.”

You blinked. *Excuse me?*

She said it so confidently, as if it were a foregone conclusion, like she was used to the world revolving around her whims. It was the equivalent of someone just cutting the line in front of you at the store and expecting applause for their audacity.

Vil, for his part, didn’t even flinch. His expression was as cool and elegant as ever, but you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m afraid,” he said, voice smooth and polite, “I already have a partner for the first dance.”

The heroine’s face froze in a way that almost made you choke on your own breath. “W-What?” She blinked rapidly, as if her brain couldn’t process the fact that someone had just told her no.

You, too, were a little stunned, for a seperate. Was she actually planning on throwing a tantrum right now? In public? At a literal state function?

“B-But you always dance with me,” she stammered, voice rising in disbelief, her face turning an alarming shade of pink. “I’m supposed to be your first dance!”

You physically had to stop yourself from snorting. Always? He has never even looked at her for longer than five seconds! You couldn't recall a single time Vil had given her anything beyond basic pleasantries. The only reason she’d be in his line of sight was because she was constantly putting herself there.

Vil’s lips twitched slightly, though whether it was out of irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “I don’t recall ever dancing with you,” he said calmly, as though she were discussing someone else entirely.

The heroine blinked, clearly taken aback. “W-What?”

Vil’s voice dropped to an even icier tone, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “In fact, I dislike the very idea of it.”

The heroine made a strangled sound behind you, like a baby bird trying to scream.

You looked around the room, half-expecting hidden cameras to pop out, because this had to be a prank. Who acts like this?!

And as you floated onto the dance floor with Vil, you couldn’t help but marvel at the absolute insufferable nature of the scene you’d just witnessed. This was, without a doubt, the moment that solidified your hatred for the trash-tier novel world you’d been trapped in. People like her actually existed here?

Behind you, the heroine stomped her foot like a petulant child, completely ignored by the crowd. It would’ve been almost sad if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

And as you twirled under the chandeliers, feeling Vil’s warmth beside you and the heroine’s tantrum echoing faintly in the background, one thing became crystal clear:

This novel may have been trash, but at least you were the one dancing with the prince of perfection.

It hit you like a ton of bricks one day—completely out of nowhere. You had been sitting in Vil’s study, watching him work. He was meticulously going over some documents, his brow furrowed in concentration, his golden hair falling perfectly in place despite him having been there for hours. You were supposed to be reading through some kingdom protocol book, but instead, your gaze kept drifting over to him.

He’s so… beautiful.

You blinked, the thought suddenly snapping you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

Wait…

Your eyes widened. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

You slammed the book shut, startling Vil from his work as you stood up abruptly. “I-I need some air.”

Vil raised an elegant eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden panic. “Something the matter?”

“No! Nothing’s the matter!” you said, far too quickly, your voice an octave higher than usual. You stumbled over your chair in your haste to get out of the room, nearly tripping on your own feet. “I just—need to—um—fresh air, yes, exactly!”

Before Vil could say anything else, you bolted from the study and down the hall, your heart racing as though you’d just run a marathon. You darted into the nearest empty room and pressed your back against the door, your mind swirling with confusion.

Am I falling for him?

You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified by the realization. “No… no, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m in love with a character from this awful, brain-numbing novel?”

You slumped against the door, groaning as the full weight of the situation sank in. How could this happen? How could my first true love— you gagged at the phrase —be from this trash novel?

There was no escaping it now. The butterflies in your stomach every time Vil looked your way, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled, the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be close to him… it was all painfully obvious.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die of embarrassment in this ridiculous world.”

And the worst part? It wasn’t even one of the good isekai novels. You’d somehow gotten stuck in what could be considered objectively the worst one, and yet here you were, head over heels for a character who—against all odds—turned out to be the most amazing person you’d ever met.

“Oh god,” you muttered to yourself, sliding down to the floor, your head falling back against the door with a thud. “I'm in love with Vil. I’m doomed. Completely doomed.”

“Mon Dieu! What a revelation!” a voice suddenly rang out from the shadows.

You yelped, whipping around to see none other than Rook Hunt—perched in the corner of the room like some kind of overly dramatic bird of prey, his hat casting a mysterious shadow over his eyes. His entire being radiated excitement, and you swore you saw actual sparkles in the air around him.

“Rook?! How long have you been there?!”

“Long enough, my dear,” he said, voice hushed with reverence, as though you had just confessed your deepest, most tragic secret. “Ah, love! The torment, the longing! The exquisite despair you must be feeling!” He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm. “But fear not, mon ami, for I, Rook Hunt, shall be your faithful cupid! Together, we shall make Vil see the truth of your affections!”

You blinked, stunned. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s—"

“Ah, but you must!" Rook declared, swooping down to kneel dramatically before you. “Love, once realized, must be pursued with all one’s passion and determination! Do not let this opportunity slip through your fingers like sand in the wind! I shall assist you!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sheer intensity of his expression made you falter. Rook was looking at you like this was the most important mission of his life.

Honestly, what did you have to lose at this point?

With a deep, exhausted sigh, you muttered, “Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Help me, Rook.”

Rook’s grin stretched so wide it was borderline terrifying. “Excellent! This will be an adventure for the ages!” Before you could even process what you’d agreed to, Rook leaped to his feet and clapped his hands together. “But we will need more help. A certain someone with a youthful spirit and just enough mischievousness to add that je ne sais quoi to our plans.”

Oh no.

Cue Epel.

“What the hell are you ropin’ me into?” Epel grumbled as Rook dragged him into your predicament not five minutes later.

“I have volunteered you for a most noble cause, mon petit pomme,” Rook said, not even breaking stride as he swept Epel into the room. “Our dear friend here is head over heels for our Vil, and we are going to help them win his heart”

Epel paused, blinking at you in disbelief. “Wait, Vil? That Vil?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Vil’s office was.

“Yes, that Vil,” you said flatly, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this point.

Epel gave you a dubious look. “And you agreed to let Rook help you?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, fine. I’m in.” Epel shrugged, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it big.”

Thus began the most absurd, over-the-top, and borderline catastrophic schemes in an attempt to prove your love to Vil Schoenheit.

It started innocently enough. You wanted to make Vil his favorite tea. Simple, right? But Rook insisted that it couldn’t just be any tea. No, it had to be presented with an air of mystery and allure.

“Bring it to him while reciting a sonnet of devotion!” Rook suggested. “Declare your admiration with each step, so that he understands the depth of your feelings!”

“I’m not reciting a sonnet, Rook.”

Epel, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. “Or you could just… write him a note and leave it with the tea?”

That seemed normal. Rational. You’d take Epel’s advice. So, you snuck into Vil’s room, left the tea and a note on his desk, and slipped out before anyone noticed.

The next morning, Vil eyed you suspiciously over breakfast. “Did you leave tea in my study last night?”

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but you swore you saw the corner of his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I see. How thoughtful.”

Then came Operation: Compliment Vil at Every Opportunity.

Rook, of course, insisted you be poetic. “Tell him his beauty rivals the very stars in the sky!”

“I’m not saying that.”

Epel chimed in with a much more straightforward approach: “Just tell him his hair looks nice. It’s always nice.”

But Rook’s enthusiasm was contagious, and before you knew it, you found yourself blurting out, “Your radiance is blinding today, Vil! Truly, I must shield my eyes from such ethereal beauty!”

Vil, who had been in the middle of inspecting his reflection, froze. His eyes darted to you, and he gave you a strange look.

“Are you… feeling alright? Did you perhaps get bitten by a stray Rook?”

You shook your head vigorously, your face heating up from how ridiculous you sounded. “Totally fine! Just… appreciating your beauty! Yep. Normal stuff.���

Vil didn’t say anything, but you could see a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked amused—and maybe a little pleased—but more than anything, he seemed confused.

At least he didn’t think you’d lost your mind. Yet.

You were convinced this novel had it out for you from the beginning, but this? This was a new low. The memory loss trope, the final attempt to make your life as ridiculous as possible, had arrived—right on schedule.

You knew how it was supposed to go. You’d hit your head (a complete accident, obviously), wake up with no memory of Vil, and immediately make the worst decisions possible, like falling for that knockoff prince, Neige. Cue dramatic heartbreak, public humiliation, and eventual abandonment. Classic trashy novel shenanigans.

But apparently, the universe—or whatever cosmic force was in charge of your suffering—had decided to take a vacation after all the work it had been putting in. Because when you opened your eyes and saw Vil leaning over you, worry etched into his perfect face, instead of forgetting him, you were… immediately smitten?

What?

And it didn’t stop there. When he took your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles in that heartbreakingly tender way, it was like a light switch flipped. Your memories came rushing back, completely bypassing the whole convoluted plot about amnesia and bad decisions.

Because of course in this disaster of a novel, the solution to everything was true love's kiss. The most overdone, eye-rolling cliché in the history of romance, and yet here you were, living through it.

You almost laughed out loud. Of all the tropes this novel had thrown at you—evil fiancées, jealous heroines, duels for honor—this had to be the funniest. It was as if the universe had taken one look at your situation and said, “You know what? Let’s skip the suffering and go straight to the ridiculous happy ending.”

True love’s kiss. Really. This novel is mocking me at this point, you thought, fighting the urge to scream. But hey, at least you didn’t have to deal with more drama. And as Vil’s concerned gaze softened into a relieved smile, you couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this was one trope you didn’t mind after all.

You'd almost given up on confessing. Maybe you'll just live like this forever, your fate was sealed. The novel clearly doesn't want you to tell him how you feel.

But there was another ball (because apparently that's the only place that nobility had be at in this novel. What was this? the 108th ball of the year?) You'd decided that you'll ask him for a stroll under the moonlight and just tell him.

Of course, the novel is not on your side. What's new?

The ball was going well—well, for you and Vil, anyway. You’d just finished dancing, and he looked absolutely stunning, as usual. You were basking in the afterglow of all the whispered praise and envious stares. That is, until you overheard someone bad-mouthing Vil.

Of course, it had to be the heroine’s best friend, who was apparently using this grand occasion to air her grievances.

“I just don’t understand why Vil is always so cold to her,” she whined, loud enough for everyone within a three-mile radius to hear. “She’s the saintess! She deserves kindness and adoration, not disdain.”

Cue the dramatic gasps from the crowd. Ah, here we go.

You shot Vil a look, but he merely shrugged, rolling his eyes. He clearly didn’t want to start any trouble. But you? Oh, you were about to flip the table on these idiots.

“Excuse me,” you began, stepping forward, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as you made your way over. “I couldn’t help but overhear your incredibly loud complaints about my fiancé.”

The heroine’s best friend froze, clearly not expecting you to get involved. You smiled sweetly, but your eyes were throwing daggers.

“Let me set the record straight. Vil isn’t cold to her because she’s the ‘saintess,’” you air-quoted the title, “He’s cold to her because she’s an insufferable brat who’s so used to getting her way that she throws a tantrum every time someone says ‘no.’”

More gasps from the crowd. You could see Neige stiffening across the ballroom, already sensing where this was going. But there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me started on you,” you pointed at the best friend, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re out here defending her honor like you’re some knight in shining armor when, let’s be real, you’re just as bad. You fawn over her like a lost puppy, expecting her to shower you with praise when all you do is enable her delusions.”

Vil, somewhere behind you, was probably trying not to laugh. But you weren't done.

“And as for your precious Neige over there?” you tilted your head toward the prince-wannabe, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. “He’s not some perfect angel either. He’s just a guy with an unsettling talent for showing up at the most convenient times, with that same doe-eyed, clueless expression, making everyone feel sorry for him.”

You didn’t stop at Neige.

"And as for you," you said, spinning toward the brooding Duke of the North, the infamous second male lead, who had been leaning against a pillar, looking every bit the tall, tormented, handsome cliché. “You’re not fooling anyone either. You’re the king of melodramatic entrances. Always lurking in the shadows, trying to look mysterious, but really, you’re just sulking because no one’s paying attention to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—are you brooding? Again? Let me guess, you’re thinking about some dark secret that you’ll drop at the most inconvenient moment to make things worse for everyone, right?” You mimicked his deep, serious voice. “‘It’s the burden I must bear… alone.’” You threw your head back in mock agony, hands dramatically placed on your chest.

He straightened up, clearly offended, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“And stop pretending like you’re some tragic hero,” you added, lowering your voice with a sharp edge. “You’re just a guy with commitment issues who sacrifices himself because you can’t handle the fact that the heroine doesn’t want you. Let it go.”

There was dead silence. You half-expected a chandelier to drop just for the dramatic effect. Even Vil had to look away for a moment, probably to hide the fact that he in tears, about to burst out laughing.

The heroine was slack-jawed, her best friend looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, and Neige… well, Neige just looked confused. As always.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and turned back to Vil, who was looking at you with a mixture of shock and awe, as if he’d just witnessed some divine intervention.

You let out a satisfied huff and turned to leave. "Come on, Vil, I can't stand to be in the same room as these second-rate characters any longer, let's bounce"

Once outside, you saw Vil was still recovering, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I think you may have traumatized half the ballroom.”

“Good,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “They deserved it. Especially that brooding Duke. ‘I sacrifice myself for the greater good.’ Ugh, give me a break.”

Vil chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist. "Still, you didn’t have to go to such lengths for me."

You stopped in your tracks, spun around, and looked him dead in the eye. “Of course I did! I love you, Vil. I couldn’t just sit there and let them trash you like that.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. Oh. Well. There it was.

Vil’s eyes widened, a rare, unguarded expression crossing his face. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in your words. Then, without a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, soft but sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had.

When he pulled back, his smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You love me,” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, a bit breathless from both the confession and the kiss. “Yes, Vil. I love you. Even with all your ridiculously high standards and obsession with skincare.”

Vil laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Vil pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your waist, and asked with a quiet, almost teasing tone, "Well then, since you love me so much... should we get married?"

You blinked, your brain taking a second to catch up. "Wait—what? Married? Like, right now?" You stared at him, heart racing, before suddenly, an idea lit up your face like a firework. “Oh my god, yes! Let’s do it. Let’s get married ASAP. Like, today. Right now. Do we even need a ceremony? We can find an officiant and—boom—done. Just tell me where to sign!”

Vil’s eyes widened, taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “Are you… serious?”

You grabbed his hand, absolutely buzzing with energy. “Of course, I’m serious! Why wait? This dumbass universe keeps throwing garbage tropes at us, and honestly? Getting married right now is the perfect way to flip the script! Take that, fate!"

Before Vil could respond, an overly excited voice erupted from behind a nearby pillar. “Oh là là! Mon cœur can hardly handle this romance!” Rook leaped out from the shadows, practically sparkling with joy, as if he had been waiting for this very moment all his life. "The passion! The declaration of love! And now, a spontaneous wedding? Magnifique!”

“Rook!?” Vil’s voice was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Have you been spying on us?”

“Spying?” Rook gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Non, non, Vil! I was merely ensuring your well-being as any devoted friend would!” He gave a wink, clearly pleased with his role as an unintended audience.

“Me too!” Epel poked his head out from behind another pillar, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, who’d wanna miss out on somethin’ like this? Y’all are gettin’ married!”

Vil let out a long, tired sigh, but you could see the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s happening,” you said, grabbing his arm again and dragging him forward. “We’re doing this, and it’s going to be the best wedding in this entire stupid book, Rook, Epel, you’re both invited. Wait, scratch that, you’re both in the wedding party now!”

“C’est incroyable!” Rook twirled dramatically, hands clasped together, already imagining his outfit for the occasion. “I shall be the most loyal and stylish groomsman! Oh, l’amour!”

“And I get to wear somethin’ fancy, right?” Epel asked, already envisioning something much cooler than his usual attire.

Vil was now fully grinning, his initial surprise turning into genuine amusement as he looked at you with sparkling eyes. “You really are something else.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna be your something else forever.” You beamed up at him, still holding onto his hand like you might drag him to the altar yourself right now.

“Well then,” Vil sighed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Let’s get married.”

Before you could even start plotting where to drag Vil to find someone to officiate, Rook suddenly gasped, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Mon dieu! How could I forget? I am more than prepared for this moment!"

You and Vil exchanged puzzled looks. "What are you talking about, Rook?" Vil asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Rook grinned, remviong his hat and and dramatically pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "Behold!" he announced, waving the paper with a flourish. "A certified license to officiate weddings. I took the liberty of acquiring it long ago, knowing that one day I’d be the one to unite you and your beloved. C’est le destin!"

“You’re… licensed?” Vil blinked, looking at Rook like he had officially lost it. "And you're walking around with the license in your hat?"

Rook nodded with a dazzling smile. “Why yes, I’ve been preparing for this glorious day! Every flower petal, every gust of wind, every glance of love I’ve witnessed between you both has been leading to this fated moment!” He struck a pose, the parchment still dramatically held aloft.

You stared at him, then back at Vil. "Okay, I know this is ridiculous, but honestly? This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I kind of love it. Let's just let him do it."

Vil put a hand to his forehead, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Are we really doing this?"

“Yes!” you declared, squeezing Vil's hand. “If we’re going full chaos, we’re going all the way. Rook, officiate the hell out of this wedding!”

Epel, watching the entire spectacle, burst into laughter. “Only in this house, I swear…”

Rook practically sparkled with joy, bouncing on his feet. “Oh là là, it will be my greatest honor! I’ve been rehearsing my officiating speech in front of the mirror for months”

“Months?” Vil repeated, a mix of disbelief and exasperation in his tone.

“Mais oui! Every day, I’d wake up and say, ‘Today could be the day!’” Rook sighed dramatically, already tearing up. “And here we are. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Now, shall we begin? I have the vows prepared, unless you have your own?”

You leaned into Vil, barely holding back laughter. “I have zero regrets about this. Absolutely zero.”

Vil sighed again but couldn’t stop smiling. “Only you could make something this absurd seem perfect.”

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Okay, this became way longer than I expected it to be but to be fair, i was on an extreme caffeine high and i'd just finished an assignment that had been beating my ass

[taegularities]

colour me in: the starry night | jjk (m)

Summary: You anticipated the trip to Jungkook's hometown with a thrilled yet nervous heart – and upon your arrival, your emotions prove justified: because as the days pass, you realise that gentle joy awaits just as much as ancient pain.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluuuuuff, smut ➳ warnings: fluff fluff fluffluffulfufluf, flirting, daddy issues, arguments with his father, his dad is pretty much an ass and almost as bad as oc's mom, but his mom and brother are <3, ria <3, oc being a light in the dark, oc learns many new things, cursing, fighting, a lot of crying/tears, neglect, mental breakdown, panic and anxiety, anger, insecurities, too many mentions of nostalgia lmao, jealousy, mention of therapy, nara, christian yu lmAO, WEDDING TIME!!!, oc is so pretty (that jk loses it), alcohol/drunk stuff, more confrontations, making up, he loves loves loves her, childhood coping mechanisms; explicit sexual content: kissing, making out, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, eating out against the wall, bit of wall sex, drunk sex, manhandling omg, impatient koo, big dick!jk, dom!jk but this timeeee also sub!jk lowkey!!, tears of pleasure, masturbation, fingering, handjob for a bit, squirting, creampie, literally their orgasms are a MESS phew it's kinda hot lmao, moany/whiny/super turned on jk; no 'the ending' warning this time… just the whole chapter 🥺 ➳ word count: 45.9k lmfao pls do still read it tho ➳ a/n: this was supposed to be 30k i can just never shut up lol sorry <3 but this chapter honestly got me good. i cried sm writing it and i love them and i never want this story to end :') i hope you love it, too. thank you for supporting me at all times <3 i can't wait to hear what you think 🤍 ➳ listen to: dance me to the end of love by the civil wars (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s going to be okay — Jungkook’s hand gently clasping your thigh wants to convince you of this, you know.

But you can’t deny that the presence of the family you so long awaited is affecting you — your pulse is quickening to a heavily uncomfortable pace. You know his mom; you don’t fear his brother; but his father… his eyes are inscrutable.

They scare you to no end. There he is; the power continuously shattering your boyfriend’s heart. And Jungkook must be well conscious of your distress; because a mere moment later, he of all people, the one who's supposed to seek comfort, says—

“Angel? Breathe.”

Your eyes swerve to the side and remember to blink; you only now feel that you're jabbing crescent moons into your palm, just when you realise the sharp impact. You uncurl your fingers and nod, letting him cover the faintly scarred skin with his hand.

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” he says, nodding, as if he’s practised and polished this answer over the years, “nervous, but… it’ll be okay.”

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

You pull the handles on your respective sides at the same time, setting foot onto the stranger soil for the very first second in your life. You can’t quite discern your gut feeling right now, but you hope it’s not the last.

Waiting next to the car, you watch Jungkook round the vehicle, squinting your eyes; the noon sun is burning right above you. He heaves the suitcases with a faint groan and you join him right away to fetch the rucksack you brought.

Holding it between your knees, you flash his family a smile and a slight wave, awkward and unsure about what to do until his mother steps down the porch and towards you. She’s elated, and you see the same sprinkle in her eyes as in her son’s when she closes in enough for an embrace.

Her arms are comforting around you; somehow, you’re startled by it. Takes you a second to reciprocate the hug, hopefully not long enough for her to question your receptiveness. But then you put your chin on her shoulder, shutting your eyes for the briefest of seconds until you open them to a side hug between Jungkook and his brother.

In the slowly cooling weather, she feels warm, a motherly love that blasts heat to your cheeks until she lets go. “Finally a woman, huh?” she breathes, her voice so sweet and kind. “A great alternative to all the testosterone.”

“I can imagine,” you respond; the thought isn’t too much of a stranger to you. “I spent most of the week amongst men. They’re barbarians.”

She laughs, just in the moment that Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother advances towards you. He offers you his hand and a radiant smile that resembles your boyfriend’s. In fact, he does look quite a bit like his younger sibling. Lopsided smirk, fluffy dark hair, handsome features.

Not a lot older. Kind as he greets you with a, “Miss Novaura herself, yes?”

The name makes you beam, inundates you with pride. You appreciate that he doesn’t revert to Charmante as most people have done throughout your life, but sees you as what you are and what you do now. The manager of Novaura, damn it.

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

“And Miss Novaura meets the second Jeon himself!” you respond, but as he grimaces, you bite your tongue immediately. What did you say?

“When,” he starts, overly dramatic, a little like Jungkook, yet somewhat more extroverted, “was I demoted to the second Jeon?”

“Oh, I’m…”

Jungkook clicks his tongue from the side, shoving his brother aside in the most sibling-like manner you can possibly imagine. Then, he threatens, “Don’t do this, or I’ll take her away from you guys again.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

“It means,” Junghyun interjects, “that everyone’s been dying to meet you. Mom and I even told Jungkook not to spill too much about you, so we can see ourselves.”

Oh, the pressure. The nervousness from the past couple of weeks skyrockets. Yet, your charming self conjures, “Then I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Jeon Junghyun speaks on, babbling something reassuring that you’re certain could warm your chest if you had the capacity to listen. But you drift off quickly as the side of your eyes follows a movement in the back: Jungkook timidly, almost fearfully nearing his father.

You’re alarmed and you can’t tell why — perhaps because you don’t truly know their situation yet. You haven’t seen them interact. But at this very moment, you’re surprised when Jungkook and his dad share a light side hug, too.

The occurrence is frigid, but somehow, you expected even more frozen behaviour. Rare glances, absolute ignorance. Your mind envisioned a world that harboured true enmity, but you don’t think that’s quite what these two have been maintaining over the years.

In some sense, it’s worse.

Because rather than pure silence, there’s a deep distance that is still disguised as a surface level of closeness in a family. Faking it might just be more difficult after all.

There’s no conversation between them. Nothing much as Jungkook comes back to his mother to give her a warm, genuine hug, a rainbow to a drizzle in comparison. As if to receive what his father didn’t provide.

You follow.

You’re not entirely keen on a too affectionate interaction between his dad and you, but you still smile when he lifts his hand, shaking it kindly. From here, as the corners of his lips raise, wrinkles around his eyes that he passed onto his next generation, he looks like a terribly nice man.

He gestures into the house and you follow, listening as he asks, “Was the journey okay?”

You nod joyfully, mustering up all kindness for somebody you know hurt someone you love for so long. After all, Jungkook has done the same for you, no matter how many times your mother shattered you.

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

“Oh, yes, pretty pleasant,” you answer, clearing your throat when you hear the formal tone in your voice. “We took turns driving. And since I fell asleep, I guess I can still seize the rest of the day… if you want to?”

You turn to Jungkook as the sentence fades out and he nods with raised, stirred eyebrows. “Yeah! It’s what we’re here for.”

His father smiles, a flat hand signalling towards the living room to invite you to rest for now. Matters seem normal so far; for a moment, you allow yourself to believe he isn’t so neglectful after all. Even with all your trust in Jungkook, you try to imagine a scenario in which he perceived his father’s distaste as something wrong.

You’re incorrect.

It doesn’t require more than a couple minutes and a bit more mingling until you recognise amidst the smalltalk that he doesn’t behave the same with his younger son as he does with Junghyun. There’s lightness in the way he converses with the latter.

Jungkook only moves around you and his mother; no particular intention to really connect with his dad. Understandably so. Their gazes barely meet.

Not even when his father’s tone drops as he approaches Jungkook, uttering a seemingly obligatory, “You alright? Is the job good?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

The interaction is awkward and quiet, yet too noisy for the lovely room. You focus on the homely furniture and small-town-vibed interior as you wait for the brief dialogue to conclude. You’re not at a place to intervene yet.

There are pictures of the family, yet fresher if you could judge. The ones showcasing memories are probably somewhere you can’t see yet; you’re buzzing to finally skim through his childhood pictures.

You listen in. Quiet again, conversation already at an end.

Jungkook’s fingertips graze yours, giving a short head tilt, wondering what you’re thinking about. His beam is different when he looks at you now, a much more blissful alternative to the timid words he voiced just a couple seconds ago.

But you can’t really answer when his mother emerges in the room to wave you towards the kitchen, eager to converse, yet suggesting, “If you want, you can freshen up before dinner.”

But you reject the idea kindly, flashing your best smile as you respond, “I’m excited to be here, so we can just talk a little for now. I’ll go wash my face after dinner!”

She nods slowly, politely, a the-guest-is-king-sort of gesture before you add, “How have you been?”

The family joins at the dinner table one by one; nobody interferes or barges into another’s turn. Only listens. You’re used to chaos from events and parties you used to attend, everybody dying to have the last word, to outsmart another.

This family is as patient at a conversation as you’ve witnessed in your boyfriend. They’re lively, interested; maybe there’ll be more of an ecstatic family tumult when you get used to them or when more people join. At the wedding, probably.

You’ve seen something like that with your friends, too. Especially on this vacation. You did fall into disorder quite often.

Yet, it differs from your usual experience. No discomfort. No fear of odd questions.

The Jeons aren’t out to reveal your little secrets, but to understand you as a person; so you appreciate the natural flow of the dialogue when Jungkook’s mother answers, “Just tired. The wedding preparations are tedious, and it’ll probably only get worse.”

“Yeah? You’ve been helping out a lot, yes?”

“Yes, somewhat. The bride… Gayoung, she’s close with us and relies on us a lot. And on top of that,” she shakes her head at this point; rolls her eyes as she turns on the stove, stirring and heating up some meal, “she’s getting cold feet.”

“Oh man,” Jungkook adds, chuckling a little, unsurprised, “wedding is definitely on, though. She always gets nervous. Almost missed her first day at work years ago,” he turns to you, “she’s a vet, and she was terrified of hurting the pets, but… everybody trusts her with their pets’ lives now.”

“Awh,” you voice, “I can imagine how stressful that must be. I’m pretty good at managing stuff, though, so if you need any help—”

“No way, you’re not here to work. You can do something else?” His mother looks over her shoulder, pondering. “Paint?”

“Oh, I do paint sometimes, but I’m not very good at it.”

“She is,” Jungkook argues, hand lifting to rub your back, “but she’s an even better writer.”

His father chimes in, arms folded, “Oh, I think you can get a ton of inspiration here, then. There’s a flower field nearby if you’re interes— what?”

Stopping when Jungkook interrupts with an exhale, he tilts his head at his son, and you follow his gaze, watching thick eyebrows kiss. “I already took care of that, but… way to spoil a surprise.”

Ah. You see the hostility increase with each second. You wish you could diffuse the moment; tell Jungkook to ignore everything that might irk him.

Instead, you only sneak your palm to his knee, imitating his rub to calm his nerves. He must be tense. He always must be.

“I wasn’t spoiling,” his father argues, “was just an idea.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you intervene, patting Jungkook’s thigh. He looks at you just briefly, but it suffices for some of his muscles to relax. “I don’t know much anyway. Spoiler-free zone!”

It’s the best you can do. So you keep trying; diverge the topic to other aspects of your life when Junghyun asks about your job and the efforts connected to it. About the joys and hardships of it. About how your parents are doing — burdensome topic, yet a must to master. 

Then they speak about the passage of time in the city, and how it compares to this place; how the family perceived the differences and how their current life differs from their past here.

You learn that they still feel more connected to their hometown; obvious when considering the fact that they spent most of their years here. Initially uncertain about moving, they still decided to be closer to their children and the world’s opportunities.

The city called and it kept them.

You know it kept Jungkook the most; or maybe it was you who shackled him there, too.

“Apart from the obvious differences,” you start, “I can’t comment much on it yet, but… I’ve been really interested in being here. Super nervous.”

His mother coos, scrunching her nose the way he does, assures that there’s no need to be nervous; that this wedding might end up being the kindest you have ever been to. Adds, “Speaking of. Brought a pretty dress?”

“Oh, of course,” you say; your toes curl in excitement. “I’d show you right now, but I promised to keep it more or less a secret from Jungkook.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “He’s seen it, but not me wearing it.”

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

She steps closer as the dish simmers, playing with a couple strands hanging in Jungkook’s eyes. His lips twitch upwards, and his cheeks colour in a blush when she says, “Well, knowing this guy, you’re out to give my boy half a nervous breakdown, I see.”

“I’m trying to, really.”

Your answer is light-hearted, but a mere moment late. You can’t help but wonder what she means by knowing this guy. Then again, you presume a mother usually witnesses her children’s lives; watches them fall in and out of love.

You don’t like how the realisation makes you feel, but you smile it away either way.

And it doesn’t help when Junghyun seems to catch onto her statement, too, saying, “By the way… I’ve heard that at the wedding, we—”

But the interruption is sharp. Unnatural, abrupt, his mother’s voice strange when she interjects, “Ah. Listen. Let’s serve dinner, and we can talk more when we eat. A hand?”

You don’t know what it’s about, but you attempt your best to not be nosy. You can’t even guess it, so it’s probably easiest to let it go. To only stand up to help a little, Jungkook and you handing things around until you’re seated again.

She still scolds Junghyun silently, eyes wide when she sits next to him; perhaps it’s a surprise for Jungkook or for you.

You won’t spoil it. Focus on the food.

And despite the early tension, you survive dinner, albeit occasionally cut by things Jungkook’s father remarks and by Jungkook’s responses of retaliation. Like—

“Honestly, you not liking these is a perk,” Junghyun comments when Jungkooks puts the green beans aside, snatching them immediately.

His father is quick to deduce, “Didn’t you love them?”

Jungkook’s smirk is immediate, accompanied by a shrug and a click of his tongue, and a somewhat passive aggressive, “Yes. Fifteen years ago, though.”

It’s odd, the mixture of anger and fear. He reveals his agitation in his short answers, but he never extends them to something that might provoke a bigger fight.

His father then says, “I’ve never seen you put them aside.”

To which Jungkook mutters, “Should’ve looked more then, right.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

But you get it over with, breathe and touch through it all until the plates are cleared, stuffed in the dishwasher, the clock ticking. Jungkook leads you to the porch that his family greeted you at earlier. You intertwine your fingers deeper, hoping for some solace between the irate words exchanged.

His shoulders stand slightly higher than usual, eyes a little unfocused. You squeeze his palm, and he laughs when you bump your shoulder against his. Tapping his foot against the porch, he says, “This is where we were having a barbeque this summer. Remember when I called you?”

As if you could forget. Those calls got you through messy, forsaken summer days. He lets go of your hand to tug you into his side, tight in his embrace, and your voice grows a pitch when you answer, “Yeah. You were drunk.”

“I was.”

“And you still called me. Burned your finger, right?”

He scoffs. “I barely remember that. I just remember seeing you on the video call and… missing you really bad.”

You glance into his face, opting him to do the same. Eyes half on his lips, half on his pupils, staring to and fro, you ask, “You don’t miss me now, though, right?”

“Hm… I don’t hope I’ll ever need to again.” As he presses into your arm, you cuddle in. He nods towards the small front yard, “They were playing Linkin Park here. And way back, when I was like seventeen, I’d smoke here sometimes.”

Your eyes blow wide; you can’t imagine his gentle fingers holding a cigarette between them, but then again, you kind of can. He laughs at your surprise before he continues, “I know. Rebellious phase. It was stupid, because Mom would smell it right away and then ground me.”

“Damn, Kook.”

He nods, lifting a shoulder as if to say my bad, and then kisses your temple. Asks, “You feeling good?”

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Good,” you echo, just for him to do it, too.

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

Because the feast of interruptions continues still. A sudden, shrill call of his name reverberates across the streets, and you flinch, following the sound on the right before detecting somebody walking up to you.

You haven’t seen her yet, but she’s glowing; hair open behind her, just the top half held at the back with a butterfly claw clip. The breeze swirls her bangs, and just from the exhilaration in her voice, you can tell who it is.

Jungkook lights up equally when he squints his eyes and recognises her, loosening his grip around you as he exclaims, “Hey!”

“Helloooo!”

And then he lets you go. You watch the endearments unfold. He says, “Didn’t expect you here today.”

“Me neither,” she says, and he laughs; you join in, already curious. “I was going to binge some show, but Junghyun texted saying you’d arrived.”

She catches up with a somewhat heavy breath, widening her arms when Jungkook steps down from the porch and engulfs her in a firm, heart-warming hug. Loving, decades old.

They oscillate on the spot, and she rubs his back until they let go. She doesn’t waste a minute until her eyes drift to you; they’re so expressive, dark yet glimmering. They prove your assumption when you see her joy towards you immediately.

The moment begins a little awkwardly as the stranger approaches you with uncertainty about what to say, but then she asks, “Is it okay if I hug you, too?”

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

And you’re delighted to the bone. Her touch is warm, inviting. They all are. You’re not used to it; why does it make you sentimental? You don’t know her. You’ve never spoken to her. Why the clump in your throat?

Weird.

“Ria,” she introduces, “I’ve heard so much about you. Really, it’s a common thing to say, but I’ve been really excited like… man, why did you come so late when he was sooo whipped in the summer already and—”

Your face heats up impossibly; this thought of a passed summer that called upon a million unknown emotions and words and encounters and yearning… you might never get over it.

Jungkook gives her a playful whack on her clothed arm, eliciting a prolonged Owhhh. You lift a protective arm over her to jest back, and she gasps, infinitely pleased. It helps her open up more, because it seems that she doesn’t need more than this to suggest, “Can I take her?”

Wrinkles form on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows in confusion, and she, nearly jumping at her spot, explains, “Show her around a bit. We’re having dinner soon and then I won’t be able to move, so…”

Jungkook blinks, unsure, looking between her and you until you urge, “It’s okay. You drove most of the time, too, so try and rest a bit.”

Your reassurance helps; either way, you don’t think you would’ve gotten to much more today anyway, no matter how much you hoped to seize the evening. You’re beat from the last day and the terrible night and the tiring journey and the filling meal.

Taking a walk is all you can imagine to do right now.

Maybe he’s on the same wavelength as you, because the nods come slowly but surely. “Sure. Go. I’ll come later to bring her back.”

Ria places a sweet hand on your back, urging you forward and speaking back, “Gotta make sure I don’t kidnap her, what?”

Her house is nearby. The first of the conversation goes by similarly as it did in Jungkook’s house, but the moment she announces the arrival at her own home, your calm demeanour changes to a rather terrified one.

She’s not going to…

No.

Because she promises, “I’m not taking you inside, no worries. I wouldn’t overwhelm you like this.”

Your chest relaxes. You guess meeting one family officially, as if you’re being evaluated for marriage, might suffice. While sure her family’s as lovely as the other, you don’t want the overstimulation.

So instead of urging you inside, she takes you to the small cottage next to her house. Their property is a little bigger, the area spacier. You soon find out that the little house she’s taking you to isn’t some guest thing, but houses dozens of farm animals.

You didn’t think there was something to the cliché you heard about small towns; yet, the reality is much more endearing. How oddly cheerful the animals seem, even though you know the fantasy is just a fabrication of your mind.

You don’t know what they’re thinking or feeling.

One of the hens clucks as Ria picks it up, looking at you with big eyes as she says, “I thought you guys would come early in the night and then just sleep. I didn’t know you’d arrive so much earlier.”

“Oh yeah!” you say, hands in the back pockets of your jeans, “We left the hotel at noon.”

“That’s crazy.”

She bends, letting the hen go, and the little thing instantly rushes away. You flinch, stepping back. You’ve never done this before; you try to keep your cool, but you’re so inexperienced, mesmerised by your surroundings.

This place is so different, so much quieter, more serene. You understand the nostalgic vibe of romance movies set in towns like this. You’re suddenly thrown into The Notebook and into Footloose. Into everything that evokes warmth.

“What is?” you ask.

“Just. It’s so nice to meet you. We have so many guys here, so it’s cool to be with a girl for once.” She takes a deep breath. “And I love Kookie and I trust his judgement. So when he told me about you, I told him to get you here right away. It took you so long.”

Her tone is frisky, but you feel bad. Not quite because you let her wait, but because of why you waited yourself. Because of the breaks and pauses and the split hearts that you needed time for to sew again.

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

Something in the pit of your stomach stirs at the memories; you can’t believe you’re standing where he fell for you first, despite the distance. Where he reached for you through the rain and the clouds and the stars, and called to listen to your tears and your pleas to return.

You can’t believe it. In fact, yes, you believe it as little as her.

“I get it…” you say, “we have quite a few guys in our group, too.” You wait, watching her nod as she inspects the last of chickens running into the cottage. Then you ask, “What did he tell you about me?”

“What he told me? Mmmh. I mean, it’s difficult to say. He spoke of you highly, but I think his main focus was on not hurting either of you. Very, very worried about how things might play out.”

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

You don’t answer; shift your eyes to the grassy ground. You hear her voice lift a pitch as she says, “Man, too many guys is simply too much, though, seriously. And then having to deal with Kook all the time must be so exhausting, too.”

Laughter erupts out of you, and you shake your head, “I mean, he’s a brat sometimes. But he’s the best man I know.”

“He is a good guy, yeah? I’m so glad.” She nods again, affirmative and positively confirming. “He’s always been. It sucks sometimes that he lives so far away.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, but she shrugs her shoulders, waves off your concerns. “I take it you’re not interested in living in the city?”

Her eyes narrow when she looks into the distance, met with the lowering sun as if it entails the entirety of her beloved town. It’s probably part of it, though; the one sun she’s known all her life, despite the same star rising and setting everywhere in your vast world.

“Not really,” she says, “I like it here… Even though so many left.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

You can imagine. Two faces flash into your mind, at least. Not that you like half of the thought; but it’s automatic, and so is your statement, “I feel like I know at least two.”

She seems surprised. Tilts her head, blinking, hands on her hips. “Really?”

“Yeah, well…” You avert your eyes, fearing an abundance of transparency. “Jungkook and Nara.”

“Oh.” Ria’s blinking fastens. She didn’t expect this; neither did you. But in some sense, it was inevitable, dropping Nara’s name here. “You met Nara, huh?”

“You say it so… weirdly.”

Her hands lift and she immediately works on objecting to your assumptions, “No, I mean. She’s nice! I liked her growing up. I just wouldn’t have mentioned her unprompted. There’s no need…” She studies your face. “He doesn’t either, you know? Talks about you mostly.”

You don’t know what to say. You gathered this much; but a very strange feeling in your chest presses against your heart, and you can’t quite decipher why. You shove it aside as best as you can, and then breathe it out, thankfully admitting, “That’s relieving.”

“There’s no need to worry. I think he and you will have a good time here and bond more than ever.”

You nod. You don’t feel like responding; not because you don’t like her or don’t want to. Your throat is tied, and you can’t really think of or form a productive thought. So you just keep nodding, smiling until a hen pops out again.

Ria, pushing away a stray strand of her dark hair, points to the little, excited animal, wondering, “Hey, have you ever held a chicken?”

“No!” Ah. Good tactic to distract you, considering how many times you mentioned this minor wish in the past weeks. “But I want to! Told Jungkook like a hundred times.”

“Okay,” she waves you closer and you dare to approach, hoping to neither hurt the hen nor yourself. You have absolutely no clue about these things. “Come here then. It’s not hard.”

It’s not. In fact, the process sounds logical, facile; but your hands are shaking, and often enough, animals seem to understand negative emotions when targeted. But Ria proves a good teacher.

Shows you to near the hen calmly, moving slowly to not startle her. She instructs you to soften your voice as much as possible, kindly noting that you’re soft-spoken enough to not worry about it. And then, once close enough, she demonstrates placing a hand around the tiny body, securing the wings to prevent flapping.

You imitate. Or try to, at least. It doesn’t work right away, your nervousness intruding; but at some point, you manage. You use your other hand to support the body, lift the hen gently. Hold it close to your body to give her a sense of security, much as Ria lectured.

Ria is patient, amazing, despite having done this probably a thousand and million times. Adjusting to your lack of knowledge, praising you, acknowledging your effort.

Her giggle is mellifluously sweet as she watches and hears you gasp; she applauds, but stops right away when she detects the third presence amongst you.

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

Your eyes follow hers, heart lighting up as you hold up the chicken carefully and nearly shout in uninhibited excitement, “Kook, look!”

His hands are in his jeans’ pockets; his walk idle. One of his eyes is squinting shut until he steps into the shadow, a tender smile playing around his lips before you realise that it looks… sad. Doesn’t reach as far. No crinkles around his eyes.

“Aren’t you the cutest, munchkin?” he responds before dropping into a crouch next to you. He seems brighter upon seeing your face, but you still keep wondering… What just happened in the house?

You don’t know. You don’t want to ask yet either.

So you only set the hen down, lowering her until she’s balanced and waddling — waddling? — away. You wrap your arms around him, providing a flicker of warmth. You don’t know what made his face fall like this, but you want to at least attempt to lift his chin again.

God. What a start to the first day. Is it odd to feel scared?

“Wanna go?” he asks, a thumb brushing the corner of your lip.

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

“Then we can go and rest? And sleep if you want to.”

It’s early… but laying down and staring at the ceiling doesn’t sound too bad right now. Maybe he needs it, too. So you agree, pressing Ria to your heart once more and promising to return to her.

She’ll be at the wedding, too. You guess you’ll see everyone multiple times anyway; but as rude as it may sound, the thought of warming into this man’s body doesn’t allow you to bother with the world right now.

His steps are slow as you walk to the house. Eyes drooping. He might not notice; he’s been here so many times. But his presence, combined with the things you see, make your heart swell.

Maybe because you want to be there for him; maybe because you still can’t believe you’re here. But you perceive everything as if for the first time.

The cosy garden and the flower beds. A small-town house sitting on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s more on the simple side, painted in warm hues, a light beige. Charming. You remember everything being charming.

The snug living room, the tender, partly wooden and partly modern kitchen, the clearly old and handmade dishes. A fireplace. Wooden floors. 

You haven’t seen the rooms yet, but as he leads you upstairs, you imagine him doing the same this summer as he approached his bed. He walked these same steps, a narrow and short hallway, opening the door to an inviting childhood bedroom with you present in his device.

Yearning.

But the man from the summer isn’t all you see. In fact, the place reminds of time travel; you soon recognise just how signature Jungkook everything is.

Because the moment you enter, you see him in everything. Like, in the soft quilts on his bed; he wouldn’t use them today, but you imagine a shy Jungkook and you imagine big eyes, small hands pulling the sheets over his body to cuddle into a warm night.

The window overlooks the backyard; the sunlight filters through the sheer curtains. It’s still just the middle of the evening. But you find it hard to want to leave this simple comfort. Lived-in, sweet.

Reminiscent of a youth.

Like a soft tune of a ballad. You don’t know what it is that makes you feel this way.

The cosiness? The pictures on shelves? The slightly tilted roof of the room? Or the posters reminding of a world a decade ago. It hasn’t been this long, if you think about it, but to you, all of this still tells a story.

“What’s this?” you ask, opening a random drawer and grazing rolled up paper, large, stowed away.

“Posters, I think? I haven’t seen or opened them in ages. Maybe we can—”

He pulls and rolls them out, glancing for a bare moment before he undos the action with a sudden bright red on his cheeks. You try to catch a glimpse, “What?”

He doesn’t answer, so you take the poster from him, only needing to open it halfway through to see a pretty face, followed by a swimsuit and a snatched body. Ah. Is this…

“Victoria’s Secret?”

“Shut up,” he instructs, and you hold yourself back, watching him, blinking until—

You puff out some air, nearly spitting as you laugh, teasing, “You were that type of guy, yeah?”

“Shut up,” he repeats, prying it out of your hands before he throws it into a corner. “I had this up for like two weeks. Forget it.”

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

He scratches the back of his head, a tilted smirk on his face, and you can’t help but want to keep annoying him. But he needs far more than this right now, and you’re not here to get on his nerves. So you walk up to him until determined arms wrap around his waist, kissing his chin.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Well…” He’s quieter than he’s been in the last few days and it disheartens you. Somehow fatigued, eyes halfway closed. “You know.”

You do know. Or perhaps, you don’t, but you can well imagine.

You’re not sure how he took all of this day in, day out for so many years, but you understand the weight of the situation a lot better now. Of course your mind would be rewired if you hurt this much all the time.

Whatever you’re seeing now is a fraction of what he experienced.

“It’s going to be okay,” you remind him again.

“Yeah.” He sniffles. “Hey. I have a little surprise for you tomorrow. It was spoiled a bit, but you’re right.” A peck to your nose. “You don’t know anything yet. But you’ll like it, I think.”

You don’t doubt it; you guess it helps, not being aware of much at all. Waiting for the surprise.

But then again…

When you look at him again, excitement flickering in those tired eyes of his and a hand pushing against the small of your back lightly, you think that you know a couple things at least.

“Okay. Hold on. You’re definitely going too fast!”

“This is too fast? You should’ve seen Junghyun and me racing years ago.”

You lower your head in an attempt to hide it from the wind, seeking his sweater; it’s impossible from this angle. You’re at the front, surviving between his arms as he navigates the bicycle recklessly. 

The wind slaps your face, cooler this noon than yesterday. The bike writhes on the road, and you yell out, “Man, I’ll die!”

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

His laugh is louder than the gust as you hold onto his moving thighs and then realise it’s of no help. You shift your hands to the front of the cycle, wondering when it’ll hit an unforeseen rock and tip over.

“Hey,” he tries again when you only scream back, “have you never been on a bike before?”

“Of course I have!” You resist the urge to add a curse. He’ll kill the two of you. The streets are steep, probably a hill, going downwards. “Just never two people at once.”

“I did it a lot! With friends, and mostly with Gureum.”

Gureum… his dog. You have yet to meet him.

“Gureum?” you repeat.

“Yeah! He’d sit in the basket and… and enjoy the wind. Eyes closed.” He pants between cycling. “I told you, no?”

But your thoughts are elsewhere, chin dropping to your clavicles as if not looking could save you. “Fucking hell—”

“Okay. Okay…”

The bike stops abruptly, and you yelp, shutting your eyes tight and preparing yourself to die. But death doesn’t come; a tap to your hip does. His fingers hold you, calming you, words the opposite as he orders, “Alright. Get off my bike. You can walk the rest of the distance.”

Between the sniffling and the reclaiming of control of your trembling legs, you register the surprising command, and mumble, “What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart. I’ll wait at the flower field.”

You dare a look over your shoulder. His expression is serious, an eyebrow cocking. You want to retort something snarky, tell him you’ll stay on if he just slows down, for the love of God; but instead, you look ahead, and decode the view immediately.

The grass is high and the place wide. You’re right where the field begins, the road more narrow here, only really enough for cyclists and walkers. You roll your eyes, getting off as you tell him, “You’re terrible. We’re already here.”

He laughs, dropping the bike to the side carelessly before he reaches for your messed up hair. Fixes at least the front of it, flattening it in the back. You’re glad there’s no mirror around.

Then, he proceeds to grab your hand, a finger pointing to the place and says, “Look around.”

You do. It’s widely open and empty. A decent amount of flowers; you imagine a plethora of them in the summer and the spring. Now that fall is in full effect and it’s a little colder here than on your coastal vacation, you reckon that this isn’t usually all how the field looks.

But it’s beautiful. In the far, far back, you see the forest expand. Slightest traces of autumn foliage. The leaves will fall and entirely bare the trees soon.

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

“I mean,” he cards his fingers through his hair, but as he grabs the willow wicker from the larger cycle basket, the mane is blown back into his sight just a moment later, “yeah. But the actual surprise is a bit further down the field. Come.”

He guides the way, and you put your all into deciphering what he might be hinting at, only for him to say, “Don’t look so hard. You will see it in a moment anyway.”

The laugh he elicits is sweet, a thumb touching the back of your hand. Your shoulders drop in relaxation, and you shift your attention to the grass and the flowers, trying not to stomp on any of those that are still left for this fall.

A couple feet forward, you tell him, “You know I still need to meet Gureum.”

“I know. He was with Ria since we can’t really take care of him when we’re away.”

“You could take him to the city.”

“I’d do anything to be able to. But Gureum is… a free dog. He wouldn’t enjoy life in a smaller apartment after running around for so long.”

Ah… You feel the opposite still; jumped from a large cage into a homey, sheltered cube happily. But you get it; the freedom here doesn’t compare to a crowded city, does it?

“But,” Jungkook continues, “Ria said she’d bring him over this noon, so he should be there when we get home.”

“Damn. Why am I more excited about this than necessary?”

“Oh, you should be. I am, too… he’s my old boy.”

The oxymoron grants you a smile; to a parent, a baby stays a baby. Most of the time, at least. Jungkook feels something for Gureum, and even a stranger, lost and unknowing, could piece this bit together within a heartbeat.

“He’s old?” you wonder.

“He’s twenty years old. A bit slower now but… the same amount of love in his heart.”

One shall learn how to love and be kind from Jeon Jungkook. Then again, he’d be an excellent example, but a bad teacher. Wouldn’t know what to say. Wouldn’t be able to really pick out what makes him so pure-hearted.

He just is… He just is.

“I can’t fucking wait,” you say, inspirited.

The sight changes along with his expressions as you walk down the field. From happiness to a smile to excitement and then contentment. The flowers mostly disappear, giving way to something you don’t really recognise.

Orderly rows, bright green leaves and… more plants? As you inbreathe the air, however, you swear you recognise the sweet and fresh scent. Even from here, it’s distinct and special.

And when you trudge closer, finally glancing down, you understand.

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

You see them low on the ground, clustered, ripe and red. Pretty. Enough to warrant a dozen adjectives; yet, you only whisper, “Wow.”

He waits… then waits more. Lets your eyes scan the area and the fruits, permits you to take in what he probably reckons you’ve never seen before in this form. And he’s right — you haven’t.

“You like it?” he questions. “I was unsure, like… maybe you’re underwhelmed?”

Your head turns towards him at light speed. “What? I’m not. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” you confirm, repeating your thoughts, “I am definitely not underwhelmed. This is… this is something my younger self craved.”

“Oh— Really? How so?”

You hum. Think back to late nights in the back of your bed, a room larger than what you needed, yet smaller than your imagination. Smaller than your heart.

“I read stories,” you tell him, “fairy tales. Watching tales of love in the countryside. We don’t have these places in the city, do we?”

Jungkook’s hand, on your back a second ago, travels up to the back of your neck, touching it gently. “I guess you’d have to find a farm.” He stares ahead where you do, still standing there, unmoving. Then, “Angel?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you went on a field trip to a farm, right?”

“I… can only really remember once in school. Kids were shitty.” You spoke about this once; last month, he promised you’d see Ria’s farm, too. Funny that she actually did show you. “And my parents weren’t really interested in that stuff. Which I do kinda get because many city people aren’t.”

“Mhm, I can understand.” He shuffles his feet, presumably a little sad for you, regarding the long row of strawberries stretching to his right. You’re about to crouch and try without a clue what to do when he, instead of commenting on things much more, asks, “Okay, so. Wanna pick strawberries?”

“Yes!” You rub your hands, taking a step forward, but pausing again; you could start anywhere. “Will you show me how?”

“Of course.” He hums, looking for an easy spot with an accumulation of easy-to-pick fruits; then, he lifts his jeans by a couple inches and lowers his body. “Look. You can crouch or kneel.”

You give your clothes a lookover. Just some everyday jeans; they should be able to take some dirt. In actuality, though, you might’ve joined him on the ground anyway. So you do, kneeling with your hands on your thighs, obediently listening.

“You look so cute.” He chuckles, the back of his fingers barely grazing your cheek for a moment. As he sniffles, his chin nods towards the plants, hands reaching for them. “So. You gently pull the leaves aside and just pick the strawberries. Avoid those that aren’t red, though, okay?”

His pinky touches parts of an unripe strawberry still in the ground, and he explains, “You’ll know that one’s ripe when it comes off easily. Like this,” he tugs at it, “isn’t ripe. Won’t come off so well. Mmmh. Let’s try this one.”

You follow his movements until he settles for a particularly pretty and seemingly juice berry; with ease, he plucks it off by grasping the stem and twisting a little, and says, “See? You could eat this one right now. But… basket?” You shove it towards him and he throws the berry inside. “We’ll wash it before that.”

It’s quiet and sweet here as he works on explaining the process to you. An atmosphere you haven’t ever witnessed anywhere before. It’s probably different in the spring, but you’re alone here; even if someone’s around somewhere, you can’t see them from where you sit.

And it helps you focus: on how concentrated he looks, lower lip pouting, crouching easily with his sweater sleeves rolled up. It’s unusual how his tattooed hand works on the plants. Your first imagination of such a task always involves straw hats and dungarees.

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

He puts a gentle palm on your back as you get up from kneeling, now crouching as he is, and cast about for a couple good pieces. Whenever you think you’ve found one, you seek confirmation in his eyes, repeating, “Is this okay?”

And he always promises, “You’re doing well. Look,” he inspects one of your choices, “picking the best even.”

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

“Sure will. I knew you’d be so good at this.”

You’re surprised; you never saw yourself doing this, even though you yearned for a life so different than the one you lived. Until you stepped off his bicycle twenty minutes ago, you had never come up with such an idea. All the more reason to be thankful to him.

But you do wonder why he’d perceive something like this far before you did, so you ask, “Really? Why?” 

He uttered the words so casually, pupils fixated on the basket; he might not have noticed how immediately you reacted. Because he hums now, looking at you with immense eyes, matter-of-factly spelling out, “Because you’re gentle. This called for you.”

Because you’re gentle. Because you’re gentle.

The reasoning, so clear to him, repeats in your mind. It’s not as obvious to you; it’s been a while since you thought of your qualities, and in the last months, being gentle often meant the same to you as quietly enduring.

So you’re touched, silenced by the lump in your throat; such an easy sentence, but so filled with  knowledge about a person that only truly occurs with the purest of affections.

As you stare at him, you feel the fondness spreading over your countenance as much as the leaves tickling your ankle; you hold the current strawberry delicately as you conclude, “That’s why you brought me here, yeah?”

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

“You can’t do this every day,” he argues, “I want to show you new places and things.”

You graze the vulnerable skin of the strawberries collecting in the basket, watching it fill enough to feed a couple people. Grabbing it, you lift your body with a smile. For a minute, your knee aches from the crouching, and your brain gathers the sensations into one to create another core memory.

Lost for words, you merely tell him, “Thank you, Kook, I…” You heave the basket to your chest, touching his hand as he rises, too. “How do you even come up with all this?”

“How I come up with it? Hmm… I guess you make it easy to do.” He laughs, and you follow, reading your mind as he voices the same thought flashing through your brain. “I know I’ll be so nostalgic about this someday. In ten years, maybe.”

Cheeks hot despite the autumn wind, you register the butterflies immediately. Right under the basket, underneath your skin, like a swarm awaking from metamorphosis. The fact that he thinks ahead like this, paints a distant future with you… wanting you for this long drives you insane.

Jungkook’s voice always lacks uncertainty when it comes to you.

Mellow when he speaks to you, gentle even when he asks, “More?”

“Mmmh… yes. Can do a few more. And it’s fun.” So you do; picking and plucking until you can barely carry the basket anymore, already wondering what to do with the bunch until you pop the idea, “Can we eat some of these?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. It takes you a good moment to find a water tap on the wide field; one only crosses your way when you travel back to where the bike stands, proving as dysfunctioning and broken.

And only once you’ve reached nearly the end of the field and already detect the narrow path that you cycled along from afar, your luck strikes. You wash a handful of your harvest and place them neatly at the top of the rest, right above a handkerchief Jungkook whipped out from his pocket.

The grass isn’t high everywhere; you find an ideal spot for a brief, spontaneous picnic, pleasant and comfortable; a fluffy blanket of nature. You watch ladybugs and ants crawl over blades of grass; not too much more, considering the season.

Jungkook works through the content of the basket, soon holding a piece to your mouth, “Take this,” he says, pushing it through your parted lips; waits until you’ve chewn most of it. “And?”

The initial taste is good, but the aftertaste dramatically makes your world quiver. Whatever you’ve known about food and fruits so far must have been a hoax, because you can’t fake the way your eyes widen and your voice raises in pitch, delighted as you say, “This is… so damn good.”

“Right?”

“They don’t taste like this in the city!”

“Yeah,” Jungkook chooses a smaller one from the collection, throwing it into his mouth as a whole, “these are fresh. No bullshit berries.”

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

“But this is a curse, too!” you exclaim, urging a laugh out of him that he transforms into a kiss to your temple, observing as you munch the strawberries as though encountering them for the first time. And you pout as you say, “ Keep me from eating them all. I want to take the rest home.”

“Sure, don’t worry. We can put them somewhere and take them back on the last day.”

“Hm? Oh. No, I meant today. Home, your house…” You realise your mistake. “Sorry.”

Only, he doesn’t deem it a mistake for a moment. He didn’t think you’d feel this cosy this fast — but it was what he’d hoped and opted for, so it’s a win either way. His family as your home, him as your home.

He thinks, you finally do feel at home. It took you years of endurance, didn’t it?

“Home, yeah?” he mutters. “An apology is the last thing I’d want, angel. You’re home, alright.”

You wish you had an equally meaningful answer; whatever you might babble now, you don’t think you could do justice to the soft tone he settled on. You can’t even outdo his gaze, so round, eyes so big on his otherwise clear-cut face.

What you can do is smile. Draw closer until your shoulders touch. About to taste the strawberry-flavoured, red tinted lips before a sudden motion drowns your plans.

The bunny flits over your feet; you’re sure it jumps onto yours for a moment and then uses them to push itself off into the grass, journeying on. The yelp it elicits out of you merges with the startled sound Jungkook emits.

His elbow lightly hits the side of your breast, and you pull your legs into your chest as self-defence. But it’s gone as fast as it appeared, and barely a second later, you’re watching it hop away, little ears disappearing in the distance.

“Well,” Jungkook breathes, “at least that’s normal. I’ll tell you about my snake encounters later some day.”

A hand on your chest, you exclaim, “Oh my God. You know what?” You calm down your lowkey panting, hand falling back into your lap, “Maybe you were right. We’re home for sure.”

“Oh… yeah?”

“Yeah! Totally looked like you… thought we were back home.”

Jungkook laughs out, head throwing back, and then, amidst his giggle, he throws a “Shut up” at you. The tackle nearly pushes you to the ground before his lips attack your face all over; making out on a countryside field wasn’t on your bucket list, but you sure as hell will add it only to tick it off.

His tongue really does taste like strawberries. His lips are sweet; the hand on your waist careful yet explorative. If the grass wasn’t this cruel, tickling all over your body, you’d probably remain here for the next hour.

Let him strip you bare. Kiss you into the earth. Nobody’s here; you don’t think you’ve ever fantasised of such a moment before, but suddenly, you don’t mind loving him right here.

But maybe he’s fostering the same thoughts as you, pulling back with a little groan when the blades prick his cheeks and closed eyes. Endurance isn’t easy right now; and you have a lot planned for the rest of the day anyway.

So you pull yourself together, and nod when he finally asks, “Wanna go?”

Somehow, it takes you a little longer to get home than it did to reach the field. Perhaps because he’s cycling uphill now, or maybe because the sun is at its zenith, warming the colder day. The comfort makes you want to stay in this moment, have his voice laughing next to your ear.

On a bike swaying when he loses focus, rolling dangerously to tease you on purpose.

And when you get back to his house, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. It’s fluffy and sweet and white like a cloud, living up to its name. A tongue sticks out, tail wiggling, right at the door when Jungkook opens it.

Gureum is small, smiling as far as you’re aware of a dog’s joy. You once heard that upon seeing their owner, the same hormone floods their tiny bodies as a human’s when they fall in love. Gureum must feel much like you do when Jungkook comes home.

You understand.

Understand when Gureum jumps up to Jungkook’s legs, licking his human’s face when your boyfriend picks him up. Jungkook’s voice changes so much that you barely recognise it; you’ve never heard him talk like this. Higher, lovelier, slurred to imitate the language babies speak.

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

Jungkook’s smile brightens until it reaches its maximum, bunny teeth flashing, the laugh erupting so deeply from his chest. Authentic. Eyes nearly closed as he calls Gureum’s name, plays with his face, as if communicating with a child.

Twenty years, and he still thinks of him as his baby. Sometimes, all golden stays.

“Baby,” he says after a while once Gureum has stopped licking his face, introducing, “this is my Gureum.”

You set the basket down next to the door, reaching a careful hand to Gureum’s head; but he’s cooperative. Lets you easily. “Hi Gureum,” you whisper, “nice to finally meet you. You’re so cute!”

“He’s a little sick these days, but,” Jungkook gazes down again, kissing Gureum’s ears. “He gets through it so well, doesn’t he? Yes, he does.”

The laugh is real. The affection is real. Tender and deep-rooted. He smooches him again, and then puts a cheek to his warm fur. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never fallen deeper.

“I missed you so much, too, buddy,” he says, “so, so much.”

You swear you see Gureum cuddling into Jungkook’s chest. Doesn’t move even when you’ve settled in the living room, resting from the journey. You’d drafted plans for the rest of today, but it doesn’t seem they’ll separate, and you don’t want them to.

You can wait. Things can wait.

You sit by Jungkook’s side as he pets him, his head soon on your shoulder, one hand in the white fur, the other holding yours. It’s how you remain for a bit.

In hindsight, albeit never having plucked strawberries before, today wasn’t some grand adventure across the world. You didn’t strike a deal at work or fight off some paparazzi hiding in an unexpecting corner. And you didn’t climb a mountain.

But you guess that’s what you craved all your life. Somehow, this is better than any crazy escapade.

The serenity that comes with a mundane moment. A love that consumes you and a love that helps you commit the most casual of acts to memory.

Maybe this is enough. An old couch lightly creaking as you move; a cloud blinking as you caress its head. Surprises to help you experience saccharine afternoons.

You remain for a bit, and then remain a little longer.

Ria came through the door not too long after you’d returned, ready for the evening plans. She’d promised to accompany the two of you to the centre of the town, giving you a tour of the most important and ancient of places.

You learned about the town’s only drapery seamstress and the best flower shop. Much as it so occurs in 70s and 80s movies, you met the son of a mechanic. He told you he’d be inheriting the company one day, and that it was okay because he never intended to leave anyway.

Ria’s eyes suspiciously widened as she spoke to him, and she lingered for a moment longer than you did after your farewell. The guy had forgotten that there was work to do by the time she finally bid him goodbye.

Jungkook’s eyes squinted at the sight, but not even he could hide his endeared smile. Pressed into Ria’s shoulder with a teasing hum.

You rewarded yourself for the day’s many steps with some soft serve in front of the city hall, talking and delivering anecdotes until the sun started setting.

As the evening concludes, you’re the last to appear at dinner. His family is already sitting here, politely waiting and sweetly welcoming once you’ve washed up and hopped into the dining room with a vibrant smile.

You’re in a good mood. Evidently so; the scent of strawberries and the taste of his mouth still linger, and you’re still coming down from the high when you chime, “I’m sorry for being late.”

“Don’t worry about it at all,” his mother assures, “we just sat down.”

“I really wanted to help, though.”

It’s true. His mother has been nothing but the ultimate host. You wanted to prove productive and useful, but then Eun had called to check in on you and delayed your plans.

“Hmm, you know what?” his mother utters, pouring you some Jjamppong. “The wedding isn’t until one, so we could get up earlier and make strawberry jam in the morning? If you’d like.”

The wedding has been in the back of your mind constantly, slowly sneaking to the forefront with an intense nervousness. You’re timid because of how it’ll turn out, how people will perceive you, if they’ll talk to you. How Jungkook will look at you.

How much love might spread; how much certain people might tone down their resentment.

Learning yet another skill such as making jam might just be the best distraction. So you nod wildly, only interrupted when Jungkook asks, “Can I join, too?”

But you change the movements of your head to a shake, jesting about quality time and whatnot until he surrenders, “Alright. Way to shut out the boyfriend and son, I see you.”

“Speaking of food,” you say, pausing, slurping a big bite of noodles; they’re spicier than you’re used to from city restaurants. Better, too. You point your chopsticks to your dinner. “May I have the recipe?”

As his father and brother indulge in their food, acting as quiet listeners, his mother answers, “I’m sure Jungkook has it. I’m offended he never cooked it for you, since they had it a lot growing up.”

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

“Oh, this?” Jungkook’s eyebrows, hitherto sporting a crease between them — a telltale sign of a well-eating Jeon — relax. “Yeah! I was learning when I was like, what, fifteen?” He seeks approval from his mother, who soon nods. “I fully butchered it when I tried it for the first time.”

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

“Yeah, you refused to help!” Jungkook complains, whining when Junghyun hits his brother’s elbow with his own. “And I burned my wrist and had the wound for ages. Couldn’t do much in P.E.”

Much as yesterday, it seems his father hasn’t learned; because as you feared, it’s only now when he melts and intervenes. You almost surmise he’s provoking on purpose when he queries, “When you were fifteen when? I can’t remember any wounds.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Are you telling me I’m making it up again?”

“No, I’m just saying I don’t remember.”

“That’s because you were at work and didn’t pick up my many calls. Mom was sick that week… It's why I wanted to cook and learn at all.” He nods towards his brother. “Junghyun remembers because he went to a friend and then rushed home to bring me to the hospital. None of it sounds familiar to you, does it?”

Jungkook lists and narrates the happening with a flat voice, as if recalling items still left to purchase for tomorrow’s meal. He’s stirring his soup and his father is stirring everyone else’s, uncaring as he responds, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. You probably didn’t care.”

“Nonsense.”

Another, “As much as the last years,” added to the mix, you opt for his hand under the table again, but he pulls away. You’re left dumbfounded, looking at him in surprise. This has never happened before; he’s never been upset in such a way.

As if to signal, “It’s fine. It’s whatever. Let me deal with this.”

But he can’t deal with it; you see the beginning signs of a rising chest and a decreasing appetite. Nobody just plays with the content of such a rich soup for this long; least of all a foodie like him. He’s busy looking at it, propping his elbow on the table.

You stare for a little longer, and then turn back to your food.

It sounds like it’s over. And it’s quiet; maybe you could interrupt with something else, change the course of the conversation. But his father isn’t done yet.

No. You notice everybody else’s irritation when he opens his mouth to speak again. They sigh, forming a line with their lips when he emits a question that leaves even you in disbelief, “Why are you saying this?”

“Come on,” his mother tries, wanting to ease the tension, but Jungkook is faster.

“What? I mean, I don’t know?” he starts, once again an equal amount of fear and annoyance in his voice. “I barely ever hear from you, Dad.” With each word, he grows more daring, at the end of his capacities when he eventually curses, “We live in the same city, for fuck’s sake—”

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

“What? It’s true. Even the last hundred times, Mom visited alone. Could’ve at least come over and said Hi to my girlfriend.”

“I’m here now and saying Hi, though,” you try, weakly smiling.

“And he’s here, too. How grand of him.”

Fuck.

“Stop the attitude,” his father warns, “you could’ve come over plenty of times, too.”

“Are you hearing yourself? News flash, I did. I tried to talk to you, too. If I was still fourteen, I’d still be apologising. Oh, or is that what you want? Is it what you want?”

“What are you talking ab—”

“I’m talking about how I really wanted to tell you about a shit ton of things. Like when Nara and I broke up,” amidst the already tense moment, your heart pains for a second, “or when I graduated. Or when I was having a really fucking hard time this summer and needed somebody and then when I fell in love and needed to tell somebody, and… where are you all the time anyway? Who fucking knows — I don’t!”

It worsens and worsens. Crashes and burns; every word splits the air in the room. You don’t know how to save the moment anymore; maybe you’re not supposed to. You can only lend him courage. Perhaps he’s supposed to finally say all this.

But it’s hard to listen.

Because as the waterfall of grief cascades, you hear Jungkook’s voice quiver. He’s about to break. Right here, in front of everybody, you’re about to witness the woe this man inflicted on him all his life.

And you see it; see parts of this very torture when his father reveals who he’s become over the decade. The one Jungkook described to you; empty of empathy and understanding.

Because again, he renders you in shock when he speaks again. Fucking nasty, nitpicking and focusing on only one aspect, attacking somebody’s pride.

“Get a grip over yourself! You graduated in arts — you didn’t conquer the world. And you hold a grudge when—”

“I hold a grudge? I do? You’re the fucking one who shunned a kid because of a mistake and—”

“I do not want to hear about this. Not again.”

As their voices grow, so does your heartbeat. The anxiety is unbearable; you can barely imagine the one spreading through Jungkook’s chest. His face is red, neck hot, veins about to pop. If you could, you’d slap your hands over your ears.

But you can’t listen away; can’t ignore the panic, either.

“Please, stop,” you say, moving, but Jungkook frees himself of your grip again, stands. You attempt again, “Stop it, baby.”

But he won’t listen, mind somewhere else entirely.

“You won’t blame me for shit you did years ago, you can’t—” his father insists, but…

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

His father’s face, similarly scarlet as his son’s, grows a shade darker at the shameless counter, and his large hand lifts in slow motion for you. Comes down with a thump, intending to slap the wooden table, but hitting the edge of his small kimchi bowl again.

It flies up inches into the air before suddenly rolling off the table, aligning with you and soon falling onto your lower arm with a painful impact. It topples down onto your knee before it meets the ground and shatters into a handful of pieces.

You gasp and shriek, more out of surprise than pain; but Jungkook’s reaction is immediate. He bolts towards you, protecting you from whatever danger might be left. Pulls you off your seat and away from the shards as dead silence befalls the room.

It’s filled with your shaky breaths and the way his mother and brother shove their chairs back, hands reaching for you. Jungkook keeps you out of their reach. Looks at his father for a couple seconds; then to the kimchi on the ground; then back to him.

You can’t see him properly until you move to glance at him, wanting to keep his anger low, but… you don’t think you can do much anymore.

The fire in his eyes is blue.

And his voice is strained but furious when he finalises through gritted teeth, “You are fucking insane.”

This time, the man doesn’t answer. You hear his wife utter something as if scolding him before she speaks up and offers to clean up the mess. But Jungkook shakes his head, “No need. He can do it.”

Then, turning to his father, he repeats, “You’re fucking insane. You’re a terrible parent and we all know and only you can’t admit it to yourself. I just didn’t think you’d develop into a terrible person, too.”

Still long fingers around your wrist, he moves you towards the stairs, rounding off the fight with one more, “Don’t fucking get near me or her, do you understand? Fuck.”

So many words exchanged, but it was the stupid kimchi covering your pyjamas to make him topple over the edge. You feel guilty, but you don’t. It’s the man downstairs that has so fucking much to reflect on.

God. You wanted this vacation to relax Jungkook, to soothe you, to turn the first painful half of the year into something glorious.

But…

Then again, didn’t you expect this? Weren’t you scared of this?

Didn’t you fear the exact manner in which he now leads you to his room, in which the slamming of the door rings in your ears, his hands in his hair?

He’s let you go and stranded in his room. It’s odd, the way you stand here, clothes dirty and the grief dirtier. 

You walk towards him cautiously, watching him shiver, and reach for his wrists in turn this time. It’s a featherlight touch, but you feel the tremble underneath your fingers. And you instantly notice when he starts coming undone. When his lips shake, too.

Even with his head lowered, you recognise the wet waterline, and how it takes a handful more heavy breaths until you hear the first sob. You hug him. You hug him right away. Hold him close and closer.

You make a weak attempt at pulling him to the bed, but he’s already in the process of breaking down, his body getting heavier, falling. The carpet offers solace as his knees suddenly hit the ground. His arms hold onto your hips and his face buries in your chest.

When his breathing turns irregular, so does yours; you feel like the world is splitting and the sky crashing down. 

His leg comes in touch with your messed up clothes, and when he looks up into your eyes, he’s already crying. A trail of tears courses down his cheeks as his pupils suddenly shake, looking for something, asking you, “Did he hurt you, baby?”

“Kook…”

“Let me see, you must be hurt, you— you were just wearing these thin ass slippers without socks, right? The fucking bowl shattered and…”

“I’m okay, Kookie. I’m not hurt, I promise.”

“No, but… it fell on you, it must— did it bruise your knee?” he continues hectically, inspecting you, never seeing anything. He cradles your face, still crying and sniffling, shoving his pain aside to make sure, “Please tell me if anything hurts, ‘kay? I will get something, I’ll— dunno, fucking smash his fucking face, I’ll—”

His mind is going haywire. A proper downward spiral, and you don’t know how to stop it. What the fuck— what the fuck…

“Jungkook— Jungkook, please,” you try, lowering his hand, but he won’t stop searching for signs of injury. “Baby, please.”

“Why is he like this? I just… man, I am trying, angel.” His voice falls at the last word; your heart fractures at the same time as it tries to keep his intact. “I am trying so hard in life for him to like me, and you… you’re here, so I thought he’d behave and instead—”

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s not, but you can’t say it. Can’t say how much the meaning behind your stained clothes hurts. How much it connects to what the weeping man in your arms feels; how he looked forward to this, planning ahead, a surprise for everyday without anticipating such ruin.

And he’s as clueless as you. More broken than you ever anticipated. Resembling the burst dish one floor beneath you, holding you like an anchor, crying into your chest.

He keeps repeating the same things as you repeat yours, soon mumbling his words of trying and trying and constantly trying. Of wanting to be loved. Attempting to understand if it’s too much to ask for. Is it?

Why can’t he love me?

And you whisper back, He loves you. He does.

It’s easy, falling into such misery. There were moments not too far in the past where you were on the receiving end of such pain, and he was your life vest. You don’t know if you’re keeping him above the surface as well as he did, because you keep susurrating the hopeful mantra to him.

But he keeps believing—

“No… no, he never fucking did. Wh—who treats someone like this?”

“Some people forget, you know… how to show affection. Sometimes, they deem their pride more important. It says nothing about you.” You lift his chin, heartbroken upon detecting his reddened eyes. “Everyone else in this stupid world loves you.”

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

“My mother? The woman who hates literally everyone?” You smile, trying to make him imitate it, but he doesn’t. You brush his cheeks and then his hair. “I do. I love you. I knew who you were even when I was unbiased.”

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

Once again, you try a faint smile. Not for him to join in, but because you’re reminded of a foolish friendship; it had already long bloomed into more when you’d finally named it one.

“Not for a second,” you say.

Break in discussion. He’s still shedding tears, snivelling. Stays frozen like this, all of him unable to move except for his lips. They mutter, “I don’t ever want you to get hurt. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with me, but…”

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“I love you,” he maffles weakly, “I love you. I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

You feel as though offering solace to a child. As if he’s shrunk into what he used to be, in the very room he used to sulk. The trauma still belongs to a kid, and when hurt, he’ll turn him into one, too.

You hate it. Hate that his sorrow still belongs to such a young heart. That he never processed it.

Before you came here, you spoke about it. And once you’re back in the city, you’ll have to figure things out further; the time constraints just before you drove away didn’t allow you to take much into consideration.

You can only cry now, can’t you? Detest the dampness in your own eyes. Stay right here until some sign occurs, lifting you up from the ground.

And it does fifteen minutes later.

The knock is gentle, just two of them, and you tell Jungkook to wait, that you’d be back in a minute. As you stand, his back is bent, his head lowered. As if he’s sleepwalking or slowly fainting.

You shut your eyes for a second; then open them again.

Behind the door, his mother awaits. In her soft hands, she’s balancing a tray holding some food. She lifts it towards you, tells you, “The two of you barely ate.”

Upon a closer look, you realise that her eyes are swollen, too. The view nearly forces you to tear up again, your face seethingly hot. You want to hug her. Want to tell her you’re sorry. Instead, you only touch her shoulder, and mutter a grateful thank you.

“It’s okay.”

She sounds so pained. You wonder if she said something to her husband. Reprimanded him, cried for his son, grieved a childhood and life that could’ve been.

But she doesn’t say any of it, and neither do you mention it. You only agree, “It will be. Are we still making jam tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tell Jungkook he can come if he wants to.”

“Yeah… I was thinking that, too.” You stare down to your food, never noticing how she peeks past your shoulder. Sees her son unmoving on the floor; she knows she can’t do more than you are right now. So she only nods when you repeat, “Thank you so much.”

You wish her a good night, bringing the food to where your boyfriend sits. Put it down in front of him.

“Sit upright, baby?” you ask him, crushed by the sight of swollen cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. His lips are parted, his breathing still stagnant; he only stares at his food until you push the tray closer to him and say, an attempt at a smile, “Let’s eat a bit. Mother-in-law brought it for us.”

No smile back, but a sniffle. The crying subsides just a bit as a shaking hand grabs the spoon, slurping the soup before he can even think of the noodles. He eats a little, slowly, surely. You help when he needs it, feed him a bite, encourage him to one more.

Every other minute, he cries again. You wipe the tears away, try to make him eat more.

His father fucked him up. You knew about the issues and demons Jungkook combatted. Of course his mentality suffered; of course there are parts of him that might never heal… But you never quite understood the full effect. 

His father fucked him up good; got him so bad. Parts of both of them are so ultimately ruptured, aren’t they?

Whenever he winds down, you eat in silence, right there on the ground on top of the old carpet. When he can’t swallow anymore, still some left in his bowl — Jungkook barely ever doesn’t finish his food — you move up to the bed with him.

You kiss his hair repeatedly, as if it could heal him just a little, to even the tiniest percentage. You don’t know how much of an effective bandage you are to him, but you know you’re doing at least something.

Because he whispers another I love you before the gut-wrenching sounds of his sobs have finally faded out, still echoing in the room. His tiny, shrunk voice says, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow with you.”

And somehow, it pains you even more. The hopeful tone; the wish for a day to not hurt.

“Me too, baby,” you say, “it’s nobody but us, okay?”

“Yeah… yeah.”

And that’s it. It’s all you can do for now; understanding the heavy heart the night cursed you with.

But as you drift away, you keep pleading. Pleading and pleading and pleading for a better tomorrow without getting a promise back.

To your chagrin but least of your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t join your jam-making session the next morning.

When you stirred awake for a little bit, eyes still sleep-drunk and body falling, your phone flashed seven thirty in the morning. Not ready to start the day yet and doubting anybody else had gotten out of bed, you cuddled into his body, and he, while deep in his slumber, must still have noticed.

Pulled you in more, smacking his lips and sighing a little, a warm hand at the back of your head. Secured in his embrace, you fell asleep again.

Only to awake two hours later without him by your side. You’re already washed up and somewhat sobered up from sleep, and you’ve looked on the first and ground floor. You can’t find him.

His mother informed you that she and her husband would be leaving to join the wedding earlier, to help out with the preparations and make sure the plans all sit. You offered your help, but she claimed they’d be okay, and that you can still use the morning after the jam lesson to rest.

Perhaps Jungkook has embarked on a journey then, using this time to do something in the early morning. 

Once you’ve walked into the kitchen, greeting his mother with a smile and a good morning, you ask, “Nervous for the wedding?”

“Mmmh, kind of,” she answers, locking the phone she held, putting it aside to sip her tea, “but it should be good since we took care of most of the stuff pretty well. It’ll be wonderful. Except the damn Wedding March — we couldn’t settle on any song but this.”

“I can’t wait. I bet it’ll be beautiful.” You take a seat in front of her, hearing the sounds of the TV and quiet conversations. Among the voices, you recognise two, but his is neither of them. You’re not interested in joining. So you look at her, scratching your temple as you inquire instead, “Where’s Kook gone?”

Her forefinger points downwards, another blow to the tea and another swig. “Basement. I brought him some coffee, but he seemed busy and quiet, so I left him there. But,” her voice grows louder, enthusiastic, “you can go! Maybe he’ll be okay with that?”

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

“I think he was looking for something.” Now, she lowers her tone again, lower arms on the table. “He also just… did that sometimes when he was younger, or after a fight.”

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

You should probably walk down and check — but then again, this has seemingly been a coping mechanism ever since he was younger. So perhaps, you need to let him be for a little; give him a chance to entangle his thoughts and regain some peace.

You repeat your decision to her and she nods in understanding, throwing a glance to a huge jar on the kitchen counter. You’re ready to deliver an answer before she even asks, “Want to help out then?”

“Sure!”

The process is a patient one. Reminds you of when Jungkook told you how to pick the strawberries yesterday; gently, sweetly, with a tender touch and an even more delicate voice.

Jungkook’s mother takes the fruits out of the jar with care, explains to you to mash them and cook the jam with absolute soothing composure. The minutes pass so serenely that you imagine preparing meals with her on a cold winter evening, pleasing your soul to ensure not only a good night’s sleep but lasting quiet of the soul, too.

You add the sugar and lemon juice to your mix, stirring and boiling the delicatesse before you put it in sterilised jars. She shows you how to sterilise them at all; you didn’t think or know that such a step was necessary at all.

The making of it doesn’t take too long; forty-five minutes tops. As you scanned the internet just before entering the kitchen almost an hour ago, it said it takes barely half an hour. But she demonstrated it all to you slowly, unrushed.

You’re thankful.

“Have you ever made jam before?” she asks as you admire your creation.

You shake your head. “No… I don’t think I’ve tried such a thing at all. It’s fun making things on your own. I mean, I do like to cook sometimes, but I’m nowhere on Jungkook’s level, I don’t think.”

She chuckles, nodding as if to confirm. Then clarifies, “Yes, he’s enjoyed being involved in the kitchen ever since he was a teen. Especially before he left town and realised he’d have to cook on his own.”

You giggle with her, like with a friend or a trusted figure. It’s so consoling, talking to her. Fun, smiles intact, still present when she asks, “How are the two of you doing? I mean, you did move in together quite fast, so I’m just wondering.”

Yes; she doesn’t need to spell it out. You get it — you’ve heard about this.

So-called relationship experts claim that taking decisions in the honeymoon phase isn’t too healthy, warping your sense of reality and perception of the other person. You don’t disagree, but you guess in this case…

“Honestly, it’s been good,” you respond. “We have a couple heated evenings where we argue about stuff, but… it’s been healing. And he offered to move in when I really needed it.”

“Yes, Jungkook told me.” Oh. “You weren’t at a very good place before. Please don’t mind.” You shake your head in reassurance, urging her to go on. It’s his mother; it’s fine to tell her if any of you is struggling. “I’m glad you’re there for each other because he wasn’t at a good place either.”

You nearly don’t dare to ask; in a way, she might know her son better than you know your boyfriend. Maybe; maybe not. You fear a disheartening answer when you ask, “Do you think he is now?”

But she, careful as ever, tells you honestly, “It’ll probably take time to get over things, but— it’ll be okay. Things seem a little better, though, if you want my neutral POV.”

“Ah… okay. That helps.” You play with the white-dotted red band around the jar. Your mind circles around a million questions that only she might be able to answer; yet, cautiously, all you query is, “Do you ever… have you ever spoken to him? Or his dad? About all the things…”

You reckon that if he’s talked about the two of you before, he probably mentioned spilling his secrets to you, too. At least from your perspective, it’s obvious that he entrusts her with his heart.

And once again, she affirms, “I have. Often. Even before the two of you came. It’s why I told you to take your time getting here.”

Ah… Makes sense now. So that’s why you had to roam the hotel until noon a couple days before. You sigh.

She continues, “It just doesn’t end well most of the time, so… And I’m not a good talker. I don’t know what to say anymore after so many years. Both want me on their side, though Jungkook never persists on it.”

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

Jungkook has told you for months that he’s bad with words; yet, he comes in with every word ever written by any bard, singing poetry to you and bandaging your heart when needed.

You remember…

I’m not good with words, baby. And I don’t know how to ever properly verbalise something like this.

You sigh again. Tell her, “I understand. I also wouldn’t expect you to go against either of them.”

“Sure. But… It's difficult sometimes. Seeing how broken some of our bonds are.”

You’ve used and formed this word so many times before. Broken. For him, for you, for the world. Hearing somebody else share these sentiments and confirm your fears hurts.

And you’re out of words, wishing for a higher power to grant you a curing skill. If you could lift somebody’s burden with a single touch, just the way you’re reaching out for her hand now, you’d be busy circling the globe at all times.

“I’m so sorry,” is all, however, you can offer.

You hate how helpless she is. You urge to say something more, to hug her and promise that the world always regains its colours at some point. But you remain like this, watching the jam in the jars; hearing her say—

“You know. Jungkook has my number. I don’t know how much you and your mother still talk, but… you can talk to me, too, if you ever need to. I mean, I’m a mother.” She laughs at this part, raising a shoulder to her chin in pride, “And you’re part of him, so you can be part of us, too.”

Your eyes, locked onto the jar until now, flit up to her, and you blink to keep them dry, admitting without another thought, “I might actually cry.”

“Oh. Awh,” she voices, lifting her hand from underneath yours to cover it again. “Don’t. I didn’t mean to be all kitsch. I meant it.”

Gathering your prior thoughts into words, you puff out a breath, sporting a reprimanding look as you say, “You’re so wrong. You and your son, you always know what to say.”

Teeth flash again as she grins; she looks so innocent and pure. “Well, where do you think he got it from?”

Shit…

“Thank you…” you mutter, body already twitching, yearning to bolt forwards until you finally dare to ask, “Okay. May I… Can I hug you?”

“My goodness, love. You don’t need to ask! C’mere.”

You instantly tear up when she pulls you in. Last time you met, she left a fleeting touch. You barely knew her then; in some way, you don’t know her much now, either. But this… this is impactful.

The way she presses you into her; her chin on your shoulder. The slight pat and then the following rub up and down your shoulder blade. So warm; so salving.

One or two more pats, with a little more impact this time, she gently moves you back by your arms again, sucking in a breath as she suggests, “Alright. Wedding time, yes? We should start getting ready.”

“Yes. But…” You hesitate, wonder how much you can interfere. But then you diminish your mental concerns, and simply utter, “If you don’t mind. May I suggest something?”

You walk down the steps to the basement.

The light is on; other than what mainstream movies might suggest, they’ve set up the interior of the basement prettily. The few furniture — a table and a couch chair, as well as a couple common chairs — is a light beige, the wallpapers light, flowery.

He’s in the middle of the room, on the ground despite the many options to sit, sifting through pictures and objects lying around him. When he detects you, he flinches a bit, eyes big, moving suspiciously as if to hide something.

But you guess he’s just startled; and once he catches himself, he calls your name, wishing a sweet, “Morning, baby. Sorry for leaving the bed.”

“Oh, hey. It’s your house, you can do whatever you like. Besides, your mom and I had the time of our lives.”

He smiles brightly. You love, love, the wrinkles around his eyes. “Made some groundbreaking jam, yes?”

“You’ll see when you taste it.” You walk closer, recognising photo albums and frames. Yet, you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

The pictures are flipped, upside down from where you stand, so you round his body, legs folded on the floor. You come to a kneel, and just when you’re close enough, you see the pure sugar spilled in front of him.

It’s in the form of fat baby cheeks. An open, surprised mouth. Then, in form of a photograph of a toddler crying. The same tremendous eyes and the same curve of his upper lip. A tilted smirk on one of them, just the one you know.

They’re adorable. You dissolve at the sight; at seeing him in a red vest, holding a half chewn corndog, tiny fingers forming a peace sign, and an unsure expression as if he’s seeing the world for the first time.

He does this often. Zone off like this.

Not rarely do you tease that he’s trudging through his first life, but he often refutes your theory with an immediate expression of shock. Chuckles back that it never feels like he’s loving you for the first time.

“Why are you looking at these, Kook?” you ask, hands on his shoulder before you settle your chin on one of them, cheek to cheek.

“Just so. I knew there was a picture of my cousin somewhere, too. Look.” He shoves aside some of the photographs on top, fishing out a very old one. “This is her. Gayoung.”

A lovely girl next to him, clearly older. They’re both holding car toys; he’s busy indulging in it, laughing, not noticing the flashing of the camera. But she’s staring right into it, caught off guard, eyebrows high and mouth open.

“I can’t believe she’s getting married today,” Jungkook says. “She’s like a daughter to my parents, but… I didn’t get to talk that much with her anymore when she grew into an adult. Was more with Ria. And then I moved, too. But… it’s still crazy. I still remember her as a young but older sister.”

“Of course. Time’s pace of passing is pretty strange. Very fast.”

“Yeah…”

He throws it back into the pile, shutting two of the handful of photo albums. Humming, he flips a couple pages of a third album; your eyes follow as he combs through them. You almost don’t notice when he pauses, and when you do, you understand why.

It’s another old picture, Jungkook tiny, mouth wide open to say something as he points towards the camera slash photographer. And he’s in the arms of somebody who’s undeniably his father. The man looks more like Junghyun than Jungkook.

But they seem happy here. His big hands are firm on Jungkook’s body, holding him lovingly and smiling at him with even further tenderness.

Jungkook remains on it for only a split second, but you get it.

You replay his mother’s words in your mind, and suddenly, you remember; a revelation clears up like a sunny day after a fog, and God… you remember.

And still, you act like you don’t. Like you haven’t understood that he’s here to reminisce about a life when things were still okay; when he still felt loved. Reliving moments when shit hurt less. Of course he’s here; it makes sense, so directly after a fight.

He seeks comfort in moments he barely remembers to escape the pain he recently suffered.

You’re out of damn words. This shouldn’t be happening to anybody.

You hug him from behind, arms around his chest. Attempting to ease his possibly disturbed soul, you ask, “Hey. Do you know that you’re the sweetest being alive? These pictures cause cavities. Good that you kept them from me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He turns his head slightly, lips grazing your nose, warm breath falling on it. “Coming from my munchkin herself.”

“I mean it! You’re so cute. And look at these cheeks,” your finger gestures towards a chubby baby, “they’re still so soft, by the way.”

You press your face against his, squishing his scarred cheek, and he states under a laugh, “You’re too much.”

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

He clicks his tongue, though playfully. You hear in his voice and see in his beam that he’s delighted, flattered, loving and loved. You ask, “Are you feeling okay now?”

To your relief, he nods. “I’m feeling better, I guess. Looking forward to the wedding. And your dress!”

“Oh, I am, too. I was going to show it to your mom just before, but… I want you to be the first to see it.”

“And then you say I’m not the luckiest man alive.”

“I just said Ashton Kutcher is. Mila Kunis is pretty cool.”

“Shut up.”

You pause, watch him tidy up; after a minute, you tell him, “You should’ve joined when we made the jam. Could’ve been fun, too.”

“Yeah… I mean I thought about it, but. Then I was like, maybe it’d be good for her to get to know you, like, unfiltered. She’s always careful not to be weird around me.”

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

You nod against his cheek; then, drum lightly against his chest, a peck to his ear, getting to your feet a second later as you ask, “So… are you coming up? It’s a little after eleven. We should probably get ready soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in some. You should go first, though. I’ll need a bit less time.”

You’re already taking steps towards the staircase leading up, but you can’t refrain from throwing one last tease, “You sure? Not sure with your skincare routine. Have you even eaten?”

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

You lift your lips to a last provoking, tight-lipped smile before you ascend to his room. The dress is still almost flawless between your clothes. You heavily worried about damage in the few days you travelled, but aside from a few spots that need to be ironed out, it’s as gorgeous as ever.

Flattening out the creases with a borrowed iron, you soon rummage in your suitcase for the curling iron and the rest of your make up. You look at the mess scattered on Jungkook’s table, wondering where to start.

Make up, probably.

Okay. you have one, two chances max to try what you want to achieve. The goal is to remain casual, natural and humble; considering your dress, you cannot overdo it. You don’t want to look excessively over the top. Want to keep your essence under the make up.

So you keep it lowkey, pretty much content with the results before you slip into the dress.

And when you look into the mirror, you nearly squeal. You don’t struggle with your appearance. But while you’ve largely been satisfied with how you look, you did occasionally find things to possibly improve.

Normal. Doesn’t everyone deem certain spots flaws, regardless of whether they actually are?

But today… today you’re sparkling. You’re happy; in love with what you accomplished.

If you could, you’d immediately rush down to him again, show you the results. But it seems you don’t need to — because half a minute later, you make out his voice outside. He’s talking to his brother, laughing about something; seems the rest of the family is leaving. The door shuts just before you hear him moving up the stairs with quick steps.

And… when he finally opens the ajar door to his own room, his body locks at the spot, as if somebody screwed his feet into the wooden floor.

The reaction is easily imagined; most often seen on TV. You didn’t know how real it was, but then again, clichés always have an origin in real life, don’t they?

You’re surprised, a little shy by how he looks at you. And how he looks in general — black trousers hugging his snatched waist and well-formed hips. The white dress shirt is still in progress, collars up, suit jacket not yet on.

And he’s olding something in his hand that you can’t recognise.

He looks breathtaking and mesmerising, despite missing half of the preparation still. Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

Like a statement, not a question. You touch the silky soft material of your dress, widening your eyes as your quiet voice asks, “What?”

“What are you even?”

You burst out into a brief, fleeting laugh at the question, repeating, “What I am?”

“Like, a fairy or something. Shit, it’s as if I’m getting married.”

Another near-squeak falls out of you. But you can’t blame him this time; you chose this attire carefully.

The sheer chiffon fabric, light and airy, sparkling; it called your name the moment you saw it. Floor length, lavender, spilling to the floor like a waterfall; a spicy slit on the side that Jungkook’s eyes remained on for just a tiny heartbeat longer, you know.

And off-the-shoulder sleeves; most of the back bare.

Sheepishly, you ask, “So you like it?”

“Like, I—” he starts, yet stops. He blows a raspberry. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest. Oh my God,” he exclaims, dramatically touching his forehead, “I need to keep other’s eyes off you. Look at you!”

You laugh out loud, a hand on his wrist to keep your balance, no other productive response in your bright pink entangled mind than, “Babe—”

“No, seriously. Okay, I concur. It was right for me to wait to see you in the dress. Getting a heart attack as we speak.”

Your cheeks still glow brightly when you wiggle a finger at him, disappointed that there is no reality show camera pointing at you to hear you say, “If your boyfriend doesn’t react like this, girl, you don’t want him.”

You instinctively move to the buttons of his sleeve, helping out, resisting the urge to give in and fix his collar, too. You want to see the end result so badly, but he’s still missing the tie and the jacket. 

So you settle on merely touching the buttons over his chest, nodding as if approving before you say, “You already look so good, too. You know, maybe it’s you who should hide behind me today. What if some middle school girl crushing on you jumps you?”

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

“I’m kidding.” He lowers his chin, bringing your knuckles to his rosy lips, kissing one or two of them. “Hide me, then.”

“Mhm… Do you need help getting ready? With the tie or something?”

“Oh, it’s okay. You can lean back for a bit, tell me a story or something? I shouldn’t take too long.”

It’s a ritual of sorts. Sometimes, when you wait for the other on a date or dinner night, the faster one acts as the night’s entertainer. Sings songs or tells stories or plays DJ or serves the latest, hottest work tea.

You tell him, “Okay. But before I do,” your hand wanders down to his; it’s stubbornly closed around an object, dangling on his side. You uncurl his fingers. “What’s that you got there?”

“Oh, I…” He comes to life, as if he forgot that he was holding it at all. He lifts it between your faces, straightening his palm, and presents you something incredibly sparkly and nostalgic. “It’s part of the reason I went down at all. With my mom’s permission since she wore it at her prom…”

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

“You were looking for it?” He nods; your heartbeat accelerates as you urge, “And…”

“And I got it for you.”

Words, you notice, are only your specialty when you’re jotting them down and narrating a story from within your mind. When it comes to answering to the grand gestures he always makes you fall in love with, you’re such a zero.

Odd, considering how he, in contrast, has claimed over and over again that he’s not as eloquent as he’d like to be. But you’ve long figured out that if he was to preach the truths he holds in his heart to an audience, the stage would drown in a flood of tears within minutes.

You reach for the shiny, pearly, flowery accessory. It’s rose-gold, a little vintage, clearly older, and so strikingly beautiful. It looks like…

“A comb… for me,” you say. Not the one to untangle your hair. The decorative type; fancy and gorgeous. He nods again, lets you take it between your fingers. “Why?”

“Just,” a shrug of his shoulder, “I wanted to give you a little something to remind you of this place and the love you got here. Besides, it’d look so pretty on you.”

A reminder that you’re loved. You wonder — who thinks of these things? Does anyone else in this universe heat up their girl’s chest like your boyfriend does?

They can tell you what they want; you’re the luckiest being alive. And in return, you want to love him as much as nobody has ever loved before.

You whisper, “Thank you, Kook… Your mom is okay with this?” Another enthusiastic nod of confirmation. “Thank you so much. I— I wish you could see yourself the same way.” You squeeze it in your hand to feel it properly, then open it again. “This is so pretty.”

“It’ll suit you.”

“Yes?” Softly, you hand it back to him, turning to the mirror, with him right behind you. “Do you want to put it in?”

“Ah… I can try.”

“Right there?” You point to the back of your head; to the braid in your loose half updo. “Near the hair pins I used. The comb might hide them well, too.”

And he does his best. Regards your hairdo focused, eyebrows knitting in concentration, so gentle with it. No getting stuck, no intentional tugging.

“Wait,” he then says, tapping his trouser’s pocket, and then fishes out his phone for a picture. He shows it to you; the accessory sits there perfectly, not crooked or ruining a single wisp of hair. “How’s that?”

“You did it so well. Thank you, Koo.” You face him again, smile bright and endless. “Your turn?”

“Yes.” He rubs his hands, looking around. “Let’s get this over with. Give me feedback, okay? And tell me a story?”

You take a seat at the edge of his bed prettily, coming up with a short tale about personified instruments and what they’d symbolise. The guitar for the heart and the love in it, the drums for thunder and the excited pulse of the soul.

“The flute for the breeze and dreams?” Jungkook adds.

And you urge in a thrilled tone, “And the violin for the rain and longing. They’d learn from each other, right?” You sigh. “I’ll think about the piano, too. Can’t figure it out yet… it could be a lot.”

Jungkook nods, distracted and interrupting the story when he asks for brief comments on his progress. Barely any feedback, though; praises largely.

You watch as he slips into the rest of his clothing and gels his hair back — it’s grown quite a bit since the press conference in September. You get to your feet, amped up when he finally claps and rubs his hands in anticipation a bit later, announcing that he’s ready to leave.

And you’re still euphoric when you jump into your car, letting him drive through the streets he knows much better. His fingers wander to the passenger seat every now and then; minutes after the last scolding, you keep reminding him to keep his hands on the wheel.

I want to kiss you so bad, but your damn make up won’t let me today, huh?

A tease here, a flirt there.

You feel like you could do anything. The sky's the limit. And it soon proves that the statement has never rang truer, even if in a vastly different context now.

Because once you reach the wedding — your metaphorical sky —, Ria is already standing at the parking lot, waving the moment she spots the two of you stepping out of the car. From afar, you already see the wedding’s venue; a lake in the back, a huge tent and a field at the front.

The parking lot right next to it, but still a couple minutes of a trek away.

Ria’s parents indulge Jungkook in a conversation about something you barely register right away, and she gestures towards herself, hugging and greeting you with an odd half-smile.

“You look so pretty,” she says, and you beam benignly, returning the compliment.

She’s rocking a dark blue dress, sleeveless, her hair in a loose bun. Wavy strands frame her face. But somehow, she looks demotivated. Worried to the slightest, though still mostly cheerful. So you ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! I just wanted to tell you something. But don’t freak out, okay?”

Well, shit. Doesn’t start as you imagined, does it? You glimpse over to Jungkook. He’s laughing from the heart, button nose crunched; why is she not telling him, too?

Your chest feels tighter; the usual human response to a menacing statement such as hers. You upright yourself, take a deep breath, ground yourself as you encourage, “Yes? I won’t. What’s up?”

“Well… we’re in this town and like, people know each other. And since we’re all in a very close circle here, I just wanted to say that,” her face changes; she kind of grimaces, as if apologetic for something, “Nara came, too.”

Ah.

Ah…

The sky's the limit, and you reached it, and now you’re kind of crashing.

Well. You never thought about this; but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Of course she’d be here. She was part of this town and Jungkook’s life for so many years, so naturally, she’d be familiar with his relatives, too.

Besides, even if she hadn’t been with him… Didn’t Jungkook and Ria already establish with you just yesterday, when you were inhaling your ice cream, that this small town strives on familiarity?

Meetings at the town hall, the shop owners’ affection for most of their year-long customers. The Stars Hollow vibe you already recognised.

Ahhh…

So that’s what Junghyun might have been trying to tell you on the first day, too. You remember his mother interrupting.

How annoying. You did not want to feel annoyed. Maybe it would’ve been better if Ria hadn’t told you; if you’d bumped into Nara randomly and suffered the temporary heart attack. Or perhaps, you wouldn’t have seen her at all…

Come on. Unrealistic.

Fuck, you feel childish. There shouldn’t be any burning in your chest or an uncomfortable warmth in your cheek. You shouldn’t be feeling the urge to run over to Jungkook, to actually hide him behind you.

To rush to his ear, whisper your worries, make him promise that he only loves you and won’t ride into the sunset with her.

Delusional, paranoid concerns that you wouldn’t entertain on any normal, sane day; then again, the news Ria delivered wasn’t going to leave you unbothered anyway. This whole thing around exes really sucks.

“I… I shouldn’t spiral, though, right?” you answer, your voice a little weaker. Ria immediately nods, though still not relaxing the wrinkle between her eyebrows. “I mean, of course she’d be here. This is her place, she was born here and…”

Ria takes your hands in hers, assures, “I promise you it’s nothing too bad, okay? Nara and Jungkook have been here at the same time before and literally nothing happened.”

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

“Uh, like last summer? He only came down for a couple days, though. College exams and stuff.”

Ah… you wouldn’t even know. Back then, you’d only encountered him once, at the blurry frat party that you spent in locked rooms and on tiled roofs. When you sang together and spilled your hearts to each other.

For the very first time.

Whatever he did before or after that… how would you know?

Only, you feel even sicker at the thought that after that party, and after he allegedly met Nara here again without anything literally happening, he still linked with her back in the city. Still shared his nights and sheets with her.

Does this count as nothing happening? What if the time here evoked something? What if it happens again?

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

“What? No,” she exclaims, though instantly lowering her voice, rubbing your arm soothingly, “it’s okay, I promise. He didn’t even think of it. Either that or he doesn’t care ‘cause he didn’t mention her once.”

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

“Seriously. Fuck, I feel bad for saying it—”

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

“Okay, look. It’s honestly fine. She’s nice, she won’t do anything shady; not if she knows about y’all.” Another caressing touch to your shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you. Please don’t feel startled. I’m here, okay? I’ll smash his nose if anything happens.”

She looks to the side. The other conversation has seemingly ended, too, and you swallow as Ria’s parents wave her over. She says, “Okay. Gotta go, but I’ll meet you guys inside and reserve seats, okay? There’s just limited assigned seating.”

She pats your coat-clad arm, and then walks away. 

Well. Okay.

You guess you’ll have to get over this one way or another. You focus on your clothing. Focus on how you look, how Jungkook looks. The weather, the tent many many feet away. Your boyfriend’s gaze on you as he walks back to you, offering his hand.

He pauses when he sees you, asking, “Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” you hum. “Yes. Just nervous, I think.”

“Me too.” He flashes the sweetest grin known to mankind, genuinely excited, childlike joy. Tilts his head at you. “You seriously look so fucking pretty. Like really, really.”

You smile.

Okay…

It should be alright. Jeon Jungkook is so in love with you; damn it, he even peels your oranges for you when you don’t feel like doing it. You need to trust the process; need to hold onto your excitement.

Okay.

You glance at the event warming up in the far. Halfway through, people have gathered, standing on the grass or the man-made path. There’s still a bit of time; so naturally, they’re still busying themselves with conversations.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’ve met her before. This isn’t different.

You look down to where his and your fingers intertwine; put particular attention to the way he holds you. Firmly, as if protecting and loving and keeping you close at the same time.

His smile lifts your spirits a little, the wind enclosing your mind and easing it. You nod only slightly, telling yourself it’ll all be good — and then, let him tug you towards the wedding.

The wedding is as bustling as you expected. It’s bright, colourful, flowers draped over the place in abundance. Even before you enter it, the huge tent leaves you breathless, gasping.

They put so much effort into this; it’s clear as day. Jungkook’s mother isn’t around, but the moment you lay your eyes on her again, you’ll praise her for what she helped mount. Somehow, the beauty nearly makes you forget that you’re among pure strangers.

But that at least one familiar face is roaming here somewhere.

You take a deep breath.

All these people know each other. They probably grew up together, know the ins and outs of the town, have gathered at weddings and funerals and school events. You don’t know how well you’ll be able to integrate, but you do hope for their support.

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

At least not when Jungkook pulls at your hand and the two of you into certain directions, coming to a stand multiple times when he sees a person or two calling him to them. Some are old school friends; some adults he knew when he was a child.

Candy store owners. Somebody who sold him his first scooter. Or a pal he used to share his banana milk with.

The sentiments are clearly there and they bask in them, but none of them ever forgets about you. Jungkook introduces you, tugs you into his side, enskies you with praise. And they respond with kindness and interest; tell you he’s mentioned you before.

You remember. Jungkook told you how his friends spoke about you or saw you on TV, eager to meet you — they react according to the excitement he foretold, and you reciprocate it with ease. Very sweet.

Yet, it seems that even in a small town, or especially in a small town, enmity runs just as deep as affection. Some people remember friendships, others still resent rotten memories.

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

He’s standing near the entrance of the spacious tent; you glance inside, unsuspecting, not a single familiar face in sight. You don’t notice him until Jungkook does, coming to a stand, walk interrupted as the guy exclaims, “Jeon Jungkook! My goodness, Jungkook—”

You meet thick eyebrows, long-ish dark hair, full lips. He’s handsome, his smile bright. 

And his voice is mellow and sweet, and at certain tones, it reminds you of Jimin’s; then again, some syllables come out much deeper. You don’t know who he is; of the pictures Jungkook has shown you, he wasn’t in any of them.

“Hey,” Jungkook greets, somewhat distant. You don’t think standing here is his first choice, but your boyfriend is as polite as can be. Even waves towards the guy, and tells you, “This is Christian. Barom, but he lives in Australia now, so.”

“Hi,” you reach out a hand, “nice to meet you.”

The accent is heavy and somehow cursive when he responds, “Likewise.”

Jungkook is definitely not delighted about him. Follows the touch of your hands, then your gaze up to Christian’s face. You notice it before Jungkook can probably even think of it: the odd look the stranger throws at you.

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

And when Jungkook suddenly does catch it, he intervenes, “You came all the way from Sydney?”

“Yep. And you came over from the city?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook answers. You barely register it, but you’re certain he’s been pushing you behind him inch by inch; but you remain at your spot. You can deal with this. “We were on vacation before, but I was gonna come anyway.”

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

You recall never introducing yourself; but you’re positive he’s figured out your relationship to Jungkook just by the steadfast grip around your palm. But Jungkook still officially voices your name and informs him, “My girlfriend.”

Christian must be seeing or hearing something you aren’t — strange since it was him who asked — but he laughs, teasing, “You’re being defensive.”

“I’m not. I literally just told you she’s my girlfriend.”

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You have not a single clue what’s going on. Jungkook is never really rude, so there must be something about this Barom or Christian — he’s never mentioned him before.

Then again, you guess growing up in a tight space comes with all sorts of relationships. Christian is probably the sort that never earns a mention until actually met with the person themselves.

It’s funny though — in some way, the rejection seems one-sided. As if Jungkook is still holding something against him and Christian remains uncaring; while it might not be a universal truth, you’ve experienced that those utterly calm are often the ones at fault.

And Jungkook isn’t an angry human being. He’s kind. Patient. Needs a reason to be mad.

Christian doesn’t take the hint when he smiles, a heavily tattooed hand patting Jungkook on his shoulder as he suggests, “See you later then? Let’s take a picture or get a drink afterwards.”

Jungkook only stalls for the tiniest seconds, but you know him — he’s probably already made up his mind. You look between the men, baffled by the nearly visible bolts shooting from one pair of eyes to the other.

“Sure,” Jungkook eventually says, your hand still in his, and works on moving to the coat check and then to the chairs without adding anything else.

You don’t inquire yet what this was about as you walk, catching glimpses of the priest, of the stranger guests and of the people lingering at the front of the tent. You’re busy gauging Jungkook’s eyebrows, observing as they relax more the further he gets away from the guy.

And neither do you need to pop the question when you’ve settled somewhere in the middle-ish, you on his right side, Ria on the other. Next to her, her parents that you briefly met when you brought her home yesterday.

Previously turned on her seat, she now uprights her body, hooking her arm with Jungkook’s as she whispers to him, yet clearly enough for you to hear, “Was that Yu Barom?”

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

They nod, understanding each other wordlessly, but you’re still floating in between a couple theories and the actual sentiments. So you lean in; you’ve become one of the gossipers at a wedding, you guess.

“Okay,” you start; the two of them stare at you with the same big puppy eyes. “You don’t seem to like him.”

“Oh, we don’t,” Jungkook bluntly admits.

“Why?”

Jungkook smacks his lips. Eyes drift to the roof of the tent, the polyester fabric swaying in the gust. Then, they shift to his cousin, presumably seeking approval, because she shrugs her shoulders, gesturing with her hand and says, “Oh, go ahead.”

So he explains, “His little cousin was a constant problem for Ria. Same age… harassed her and all. Constant flirting and phone calls and didn’t take the hint, just an uncomfortable dude in general.” He pauses, shaking his head. “I had to threaten him for him to get lost. And Christian didn’t like that.”

Okay, now you definitely feel like somebody indulging in tittle-tattle. Some more and you’ll be one of the aunties. Your mouth gradually opens as he speaks, and you emphasise, “No way.”

“It’s true— the guy was on a break from college for just a month and decided to argue with a fifteen-year-old.”

“What? Did you get into a fight with him?”

“Nah.” He pauses when a group of random three girls in green dresses walks along the aisle, even though they’re barely facing you, sending a perfumed breeze towards you. Then, “Not a physical one. But it was a bit messy. Didn’t like that night.”

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

He’s largely non-confrontational. You’ve learned this much in the time you’ve known him, and have given the fact utmost sense ever since he revealed his innermost fears. Jungkook keeps quiet; he dreads repetitions of a direful past.

Yet, initiating and risking a conflict for his baby cousin increases the respect you harbour for him.

People are cruel; but Jeon Jungkook is good-hearted to his core, no matter how flawed.

You touch the back of his hand, caressing it when he says, “Stay with me tonight, okay? And if you can’t, then do come to me when he nears you.”

“Okay.”

His eyes meet yours, concerned but also suspiciously fiery when he states, “Because like, I really didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

Ah…

“Hm?”

“You didn’t notice?” he asks, his voice higher, thick eyebrows closing into each other again. You lift a thumb, clearing the crease and his stress. “I almost plucked his eyes out.”

Of course you noticed. You just didn’t think it irritated Jungkook to this point.

“Oh— Kook—”

“No seriously,” he stresses, turning his hand to get ahold of two of your fingers, “guy was sweet half his life and then tried stuff with so many girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he approached you again, so please stay away from him, okay?”

“Yes, baby. But I wouldn’t let him do shit anyway. Don’t worry.” You nudge his shoulder. “And don’t be jealous. Have you seen yourself?”

He rolls his eyes at the accusation, but there’s a sliver of a smile on his face and relief in his gaze. You guess hearing you say it does wonders to him; sometimes, you truly praise the connection between you, based on a clear foundation of trust and communication.

Well… at least now.

“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “it was just gross how he looked at you. Fuck this. Not with my girl.”

You can’t help but break into a chuckle, way too loud for your row. You slap a hand over your mouth, careful not to ruin the lipstick, and nearly give into the urge to release his pout. But it’s too sweet — it can linger for a second.

Removing your hand, you near him until your mouth grazes his, assuring, “I love you,” before you peck his lips curtly. He still looks a little grumpy, though. Your man. “It’s okay, baby.”

The grip around your hand intensifies. It doesn’t seem it will vanish for the rest of the night. You sure hope it doesn’t.

And you’re immensely grateful for the luck you’re enjoying. Not only because of this place’s beauty and the palm holding onto yours — but you haven’t seen Nara either. In fact, you become hyper aware of how much you’ve been thinking of her.

Like; what is she wearing? How is she doing? Is she thinking about Jungkook; expecting him here; feeling a sort of way? Is she imagining his smile and how she saw it in this very town so many times, dedicated to her?

And did Christian ever flirt with her, too? Did it irritate Jungkook?

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

Unnecessarily so if Jungkook hasn’t even mentioned her, never sought her out. Instead, he’s busy protecting his girl from past bullies.

In all honesty, you’ll probably cross ways with her still. The guest list isn’t endless; the place vast but not infinite.

But for now, you forget about her, trashing all thoughts and possibilities. Shake your head. Breathe it out. Relieve your chest.

You diverge into conversations about anything and everything, reminiscing about yesterday and the places you saw. Listen into stories Ria and Jungkook tell: about injuries, about pleasant nights and about the fights they had.

Ria was like the sister Jungkook never had; Junghyun was a good older brother, but when seeking another opinion, she was on speed dial. Sometimes, growing up in a certain environment makes all the difference — hearing a girl’s thoughts at all times might have made Jungkook the way he is.

Thoughtful, respectful. You have encountered sexism a million times — not to mention just minutes ago, checked out so shamelessly — but you don’t think Jungkook has such a notion even in any crevice of his heart.

You’re fond and happy when they laugh together; her crinkles match his. Their laugh contagious.

It still echoes and fades, slowly and lovingly when the tent quietens. All heads turn, but you don’t see much from here. Maybe a couple moving bodies at the entrance. Someone coughs, interrupting the silence and lowering their head, and the moment allows you a peek at the sensation.

The bride is waiting, holding a bouquet. Her father is touching her veil to fix it despite having nothing to fix; but she doesn’t notice.

Gayoung is glancing ahead, breathing in. Everyone’s eyes remain on her, but your head turns to follow her eyes. The groom is already standing there in a standard groomesque position, hands folded, upright like a post.

He looks insanely nervous. His shiny boot taps the ground, lips parting and unparting. And he’s blinking; then forming a circle with his mouth, releasing the pent-up tension.

She hasn’t moved yet. The ceremony is yet to begin.

But even before all that, as people indulge in the sight and wait for their eternity to start, Jungkook has already mimicked your turn, fingers still intertwined. When he speaks, you flinch; you didn’t notice his voice this close.

He’s looking at the groom, too, before he settles his gaze on you. Stares with affection in his gems that bursts your heart, splinters your ribs and implodes your chest. You know he’ll say something to fade out the entire crowd before he actually says it.

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

He regards your digits, plays with them. “If you ever choose to marry me…” Your heart stops. “I’ll look just as tense as him.”

“Would you… want to marry me one day?”

“It’s just a thing people do, right?” he questions. “Whether it’s like this or in any other way— I’ll spend my life with you anyhow.”

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

You don’t get to answer when the first tunes of a guitar play. It’s a song you recognise; paints a smile onto your face. The melody is soft, slow, so gentle. They didn’t choose an orchestral track or the usual Wedding March after all.

It’s a song.

Jungkook’s eyes blow wide, and he immediately seeks yours. Mutters into your ear, “Do I know this?”

“You probably do.”

“Wait—” He listens in. Pupils roll up as he ponders. Then, “Didn’t someone sing this in the lobby this week?”

Almost. It’s why it delights you so. You already had half an idea back then, and you managed to somehow incorporate it into this wedding without really being part of these people.

“Yoongi played it on the guitar,” you clarify, “I suggested it to your mom this morning. I guess she liked it enough to forward the request so spontaneously.”

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

You can’t decipher what he’s thinking. His stare is fixated on the passing bride, her slow steps, the beam she wears as she nears whom she’s decided to be the rest of her life.

You can’t peep into his brain, but you notice when he tilts his head. See the tiny gap between his lips and the way he catches the groom blink away tears the moment you do, because Jungkook smiles at just the same moment as you do.

Gayoung lowers her head when she comes to a stand in front of his still-fiancé, and then delivers the most magnificent, most mesmerising grin. She’s happy, you know. You don’t think you’ve seen this intensity of joy a lot of times in your life.

You recognised it when Jungkook woke up still in your bed after the blue night. When he opened up to you, vowed to stay, brought you to his home. When you announced to the world that you’d be his to remain, that you’d do what you enjoy.

When you got home that evening, and he kissed you right against the door, deemed you crazy, deemed you his.

You haven’t seen this very happiness much in your life, but you’ve seen it in him. And you’ve felt it in your chest. Growing, blossoming, never wilting.

The couple at the front speaks its vows like a song. The words are melodic, poetic, and you’re almost entirely sure that they’re not rehearsed. It’s all real. The love in them and the memories in them, accompanied by the liquid bliss swimming in his and her waterline.

No, you haven’t experienced this too many times before. You’ve felt it. He’s felt it.

And you don’t need to know much more than this; don’t need to know what he’s thinking to understand what he means when he says—

“This… this is it.”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit as always!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

[scarlettmurphy]

STARCROSSED PT2 +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT.

logan and y/n — where you are completely in love with a man older then you’re father by a good century or so.. whose completely in love with another.

- content warning age gap (is legal) drinking. explicit. swearing. dirty humour. comfort (an ounce). drugs. nsfw. sick. body issues. sh. angst.. maybe happy endings?! pairings: older!logan howlett x xaiver!reader. logan howlett x jean grey.

spoiler: insane yearning and angst i’m sorry im too far gone ☹️ happy ? where.

note this is part two to starcrossed, prepare for even heavier angst!🫶🏻 i didn’t realise how sad this was until i finished the chapter and realised holy shit this is long. part three is already in the works. i hope u enjoy it! make sure to read pt1. it’s a bit diff from the first one but i hope u like it still. also if you’ve seen the movie ten things i hate about u the mid bit of this might remind u of that one scene if u get me :) song: need you now by lady a cos i was listening to it and jeff buckley whilst reading this? also on the timeline im going for like xmen 2 time i think?

tags — @faceache111 @malfoys-demigod @navs-bhat @dilfismz @thisbipuff-isaswiftie @twinky-wink @thewiselionessss @thecraziestcrayon @awhoreforalotofshows @emily-b @jae48 @cxptainbuck @444st4rg1rl 🫶🏻

[i hope you like it!!]

you’d absolutely love to believe that what you heard last night wasn’t what happened but as your mind goes over the previous night as you fought yourself to stay awake during your fathers little class your brain couldn’t forget the continuous moans and little yells that you heard from a few rooms across from your own at the mansion for a good hour or two last night. you can’t help but figure out that logan most certainly found jean and just thinking about it made you feel sick. scott being the main thing on your brain after you got over the fact logan most definitely fucked jean last night.

she was a cheater. what else could you expect? your thoughts swirling in your brain causing an indescribable amount of heart ache as you kept yourself completely quiet and withdrawn from whatever was going on in this lesson, rogue clearly being able to tell you were off as she glanced at bobby giving him a look you picked up on — him shrugging his shoulders in return as you cursed your sadness for being so obvious.

just the thought of jean and logan staring at eachother hurt you but her touching him, his hands over her skin, her lips on his, his mind only on her in that moment and his gaze locked into hers as she let him take her yet again enraged you to another level it was a struggle not to jump into his mind and find out exactly what happened but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t. your brain fighting with your heart in every way as you felt sick with all those pictures of the scenario you were forming for yourself.

so from that knowledge as you sat in class you knew you needed to stop liking him for good. he didn’t like you, he was throwing it in your face. you heard it all and it hurt you too much to bare. you didn’t even wanna look at him — that single thought of contact sending you crazy. you couldn’t even bring yourself to see him today. you didn’t want too, you couldn’t. seeing jean as you passed through the kitchen earlier was enough to make you nearly cry and immediately stop that tiny breakfast you had made.

you really couldn’t deal with this. one bit. you never did well with emotional pain — physical was something you could endure, yet emotional was always something you couldn’t stomach ever since you were a little girl.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

you'd been avoiding him like the plague. literally. whenever you saw him at the end of the halls you'd turn the other away, force a little smile and act like you had somewhere to go if you were in conversation and it had been like that for two weeks. two weeks had passed since one of your normal conversations, the friendly chats you admired in your brain and made out to be more, the little touches he'd give you that you couldn't comprehend was only a friend thing to do, the way he'd hug you.. the deep conversations, the way he'd sometimes kiss your forehead before you left for bed, watching the rain together and just joking together all something you had put in the past. that had been gone for two weeks and to say it was breaking you would be an understatement.

you could tell others has noticed the practical borderline dissociation within you since you had been a little mute recently not that it was specially due to logan (it completely all was) but you didn't want it to be obvious, you hated that it could be perceived that way so you knew you had to do something about it. who knew heartache for one that didn't love you back could destroy you this badly from the inside out?

.. and today was no different on the logan front. you saw him once today in the halls ushering something to hank — the two in bustling conversation and you made sure not to risk it by going to class, to upset over it all to deal with another short horrible conversation where you were nothing but cold to him as you tried to cut down any romantic feelings you had for him. every time you spoke now you could see the confusion and frustration in his eyes, the mental image to much to bare as you went on hiding in your room and pondering and that’s where you had been since — buried in clothing choices as you tried to stomach down the anxiety that had been growing in you over the fact it was jeans birthday party today and you would have to make an appearance after you had been a hermit since you’d got your heart broken by a guy that didn’t even know. rogue and bobby being the only two people you had really spoke too since the shut down yet their concern had been growing annoying as rogue clearly told bobby about the little crush she could’ve guessed, and got out of you when the two of you were high together a few months ago, you had on logan. bobby actually giving you little options of guys you could date to get over someone which was all you needed to hear when you realised rogue had told him as he literally mentioned hank who they knew you recently hiked with since he had been bothering you over your melancholy, yet you had left before it was a full fledge little argument.

just the thought of having to socialise with him and the others and step out of the hole you’d built for yourself to hide in irritated you especially for jean of all people’s party, your ‘smidge’ of hatred for the woman who had really been rude to you since she’d known you not because of logan, because god on that front she wins and it feels like she’s married to him despite her ties to scott, but on the power front. she knew you had powers incomparable to hers that you hardly even showcased magneto being someone who taught you many things when you were younger, your own parents being raven and charles. of course you had powers which were indescribable.

and most of the time you wanted to use it on that bitch. you were lucky she couldn’t get into your twisted mind to find that fact out.

you let out a little sigh as you decided on the black mini skirt and sweater — you finally having an excuse for the fall outfit and lack of dress because it was october which has always been your favourite season and best time of year yet this year that didn’t apply because you haven’t been hardly able to enjoy it because of isolation you’d forced yourself into.

y/n had to swallow her own self pity down as she leaned over to her perfume bottle on the drawer next to her mirror as she took in the image of her body in the skirt. her shrinking body, a scoff leaving her lips as she wasn’t happy with what she saw in the reflection. she never could be. the aroma of the perfume not masking her feelings at all as she put on some dc martens paired with black tights. the perfect little outfit yet she was sure jean would be outshining her on that front. god she didn’t even wanna imagine logan’s eyes being locked onto jean tonight, the heart ache already unbearable to comprehend as she swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. that aching feeling hadn’t gone away since the start of knowing logan the way she did, maybe that was a sign from the people above about how destined it was.. or how not it was.

these muddled thoughts led her too some early drinking as if she wouldn’t be getting shitfaced later. pregaming alone which is a bit self pity full as she swallowed the burning liquor down her throat, the whiskey hitting her softly and slowly enough to give her the confidence to leave her room twenty minutes later for this party.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

the decorations were perfect, the present corner was overflowing and the students and people were everywhere. jean being clearly the popular girl from the looks of this party, as if y/n already didn’t know that, as the blasting music just made her more aware of the scenario she was in as she fought the urge to look around the room for logan as she went straight over to the bar that had been made. the party was the perfect one a girl, woman, could ask for and y/n could feel the jealously bubbling already that she bit down as she forced a friendly smile to join her lips.

walking through the dancing groups of people, there hardly even being any spaces to walk unless you wanted to bump into a coked up or insanely drunk teenager or wade. who she was lucky to get past without having to talk to yet, no matter how much she did like and enjoy his company she couldn’t deal with his jokes right now which she could guess who’d they’d be centered around, she knew he knew to some extent she was just lucky he hadn’t out rightly said it. that would be too much pity for her to deal with, that coming from wade being another level of pathetic.

the second she leant against the bar she managed to grab the busy barmaids attention giving her a soft nod and polite smile as she didn’t notice the figure beside her as she asked for a coke and vodka.

“thank god you’re showing your face — i thought i was going to have to clone you to get a good conversation.” hank rolled out his tipsiness showing as he pulled y/n into a tight hug when he was sat down on the stool. y/n letting out a low chuckle as she hugged him back nicely, his presence being a little surprise she tried not to seem so bothered about.

“hiya hank.” y/n said softly as the barmaid came over with her drink, placing it next to her. “thanks.” y/n nodded out as hank placed his hand on the stool next to him as she immediately grabbed it and took a swig.

“come! sit.” he ushered in with a drunken smile on his face, a bright one as usual, as he patted the bar stool next to him inviting her to sit and before y/n could even speak up in reply as she slid down on the stool hank bit in.

“where the hell have you been?” he abruptly said bluntly, putting a little look on his face off one that’s pissed off as y/n felt the guilt rush through her as she wrapped her fingers around the glass drowning her truth in the drink as she took a big sip off the liquor acting as if that didn’t taste appalling as she shrugged her shoulders at hanks obvious question which has an obvious answer to that she’d play off as a stupid claim if questioned about it.

“—i’ve been busy! controlling powers— small missions, and that.” y/n lied out.

hank furrowed his eyebrows at his words, giving her a knowing look before he shook his head swiftly at what she said. seeing right through her little lie he truly knew nothing much about what the truth was or not as he took a little sip of his beer.

“i know you but i’m not pushing it— rather you bite of logan’s heads rather then mine.” hank said out lowly as y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at his comment as a look of confusion spread over her face at the mention of him but before she could question hank on it she was met with two hands around her waist, pulling her tightly back purposely.

“hello pretty little liars, you’re aria?” wade said loudly into her ear his drunkenness obvious as y/n scoffed, him clearly stating that because her outfit choice as he squeezed her even tighter y/n’s eyes rolling as she elbowed him playfully back as his hands on her faltered as he playfully shoved her back.

“—elsa! you made it snow yet?” y/n said back to him as she was met with the sound of his laughter as he pulled on the stool next to y/n, making the guy who was sat on it mutter a curse before wade sent him a glare and then went speed walking away clearly a boy as young as fourteen or thirteen who just got the shit scared out him for, wade’s harsh look as he sqt down on the stool as he met y/n’s gaze.

“you know i have honey.” he nodded out with a smirk as hank leaned into the twos space.

“shots anyone?” hank rolled out, fixing his glasses as wade enthusiastically said a quick yes, y/n adding to the fire. “—very much needed.” y/n drove out as wade sent her a little look of knowing yet he held back the urge to call her out on it. he was being a ‘good’ friend in his eyes anyway, he didn’t wanna hear her say things about logan when he knew a few things himself on how the other party felt.

hank calling the barmaid over as wade pulled y/n’s stool closer to his that knowing look still present on his face as he played with the knowledge he had a bit just in a little playful way.

“you seen the birthday girl yet?..gave her a gift?” wade said sarcastically knowing the two didn’t really see eye to eye on a LOT of things as y/n gave him a little glare, him having been present for many of their little disagreements.

“luckily i haven’t, as i’ve brung nothing.” y/n rumbled back as wade nudged her playfully with her words as hank grabbed the tray of shots from the barmaid— y/n’s eyes widening once she saw how many shots he had ordered. “fifteen?” y/n broke out with a raised eyebrow as hank chuckled as he took one, downing it straight away before grabbing another as wade spoke up cockily.

“who’s pants are you trying to get into?” wade rolled out, his voice sly as he grabbed two for himself as y/n leaned over and took one ready to get shitfaced, maybe that’d stop her mind from falling back onto logan every other second her longing heart internally hating this situation more and more as she yearned to see him but she bit back the urge to even look around for him. halting that urge by taking a shot.

“preferably anyone with a pulse and no dick between their legs.” hank said right as y/n took another shot, her nearly choking on the burning liquid which was a horrible mix of vodka and god knows what.

“i can tuck.” wade said lowly as this made it worse, y/n nudging wade, shaking her head as she held back her laugh as she swallowed the shot she just took. “disgusting!” she rolled out as she took another, downing it before placing the shot down on the table.

“ah! sweeties jealous.” wade spoke up sarcastically with that all familiar cocky smile on his face with that teasing glint in his eyes as he handed another shot y/n’s way as she took it gracefully as they all cheersed their glasses together. that being just one of the about eight times they did that within the next thirty to sixty minutes as y/n bit back her thoughts with copious amounts of shots and soon enough they had gone through a good four or so tray off shots and a few drinks each.

every passing minute y/n felt her mind get closer and closer to the edge as every time she felt that aching feeling grow she’d swallow it back with another sip of liquor or large shot — wades jokes passing the time and hanks yapping and her own occasional drunken chime in making her mind a mess as hank got another row of shots.

the songs and wade and hank’s voices becoming a blur in y/n’s mind as she swallowed nothing but the truth with those shots. every sip feeling like more heartache she couldn’t stop having.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

y/n was practically stuck too the bar stool, her eyes scanning the crowd occasionally (by occasionally around five times if not more a minute) as she looked for him. her mind lingering on a certain someone as it always tended to do the liquor just amplifying those feelings as hank spoke up.

“you know— you look like your mum.”

his words caused y/n’s attention to snap over to hank as she raised an eyebrow, wade making a little ‘oo’ in the background even if he couldn’t help but agree with his comment as he sipped on the cocktail he had ordered a few drinks previously that had just been laying there on the side. the bartender making a fuck ton of profit from these three miserables.

“very dead?” y/n said sarcastically as hank gave her a little look — clearly a little annoyed she didn’t take the comment seriously as he leaned a little closer to her.

“beautiful you idiot.” hank added out, his words making her eyebrows furrow a bit as she took in his drunken words as she gave him a little a smile — swallowing the depreciating joke she was close to making as she took a sip of her drink.

“thank you hank.” y/n nodded out calmly as wade butted in.

“—fucking hell, incoming for angry jacob twilight wannabe.” wade cursed out as y/n’s gaze moved over wade following his eyes to where he was looking, her heart feeling as if it was flipping and twisting in her chest as she watched logan walk into the bar games room as she furrowed her eyebrows at the sight of jean following him angrily. her looking perfect as ever.

yet before y/n could think another thought she locked eyes with logan from across the room — their eyes meeting as she felt a weight lift immediately onto her as she swallowed a lump that formed in her throat at just the sight of him. it felt as if time has frozen just as they looked to each other , his eyes taking everything about her in as she did the same his way.

he practically immediately walked over, more like stomped over, as he seemed clearly agitated. more then usual as his eyes dawned onto wade and hank before resting back to y/n as he stopped in his tracks in front of the seated three.

“who thought getting a teenager shitfaced was a good idea?” logan nearly growled out, giving wade a glare as y/n’s eyes lingered back on jean who saw who he was talking to and turned away her being even more pissed then him, y/n holding the urge to go into her mind and find out why as she brung her gaze onto logan after seeing jean walk off somewhere else in the room, her patience clearly wearing thin. her wanting to make a little childish comment about how she wasn’t when wade spoke up.

“gods probably.” wade rolled out in reply as logan scoffed at what he said.

“y/n.” logan said, her eyes meeting his own as she took in his appearance. her eyes lingering on the chain that was wrapped around his neck — one he told her was something jean gave him when he first became an xmen, something he hasn’t worn in months, this fact only making her feel a number of horrible thoughts as she grabbed her drink and took a mean swig. swallowing her own building self pity as she forced a fake smile logan immediately knew to be fake.

“hi.” she said swiftly after she put her drink back down on the table — his eyebrow raising a little at her hostility as he looked to wade, hank the back to her.

“uh—“ logan spoke up, trying to find the words to say as he looked at her a bit lost for words at how she was acting as he swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat — feeling his frustration rise as he tried to control it, “where have you been?” he said lowly, hank raising his eyebrow at how this little conversation seemed weirdly tension filled. wade knew why, he could’ve called her little feelings for him back when she first met the guy but now he couldn’t help see how serious it was because off the way she was looking at him and how it was affecting her.

he couldn’t even brung himself to but in as he buried himself in his drink. hank doing the same.

“i’ve been busy. but i’ve been around— i saw you two days ago.” she said quickly, shifting in her seat a little as his eyes almost felt as if they burnt through her.

“you didn’t stay,” he said taking a pause as he looked at her, taking in just how intoxicated she seemed as he tried to analyse it, “like you uh- normally, do.”

his words touched a nerve on y/n as she felt that all familiar heart ache grow y/n trying to act as if the feeling inside her wasn’t killing her right now and ripping her to shreds as she kept her gaze on him, his eyes on her making her think and feel a number of things she hated.

“—had somewhere to be.” she replied quickly, his eyebrows raising at her bluntness to her reply as he knew something was off. he sensed it, the drunkness only adding to his worry as he went to step closer when he was cut off by a voice behind him.

y/n eyes dawned on the sight off jean, a tight silver dress on showcasing her curves as her red hair flowed down by her side as she looked at logan who hadn’t even brung himself to met her gaze yet. y/n immediately being hit with a truck load of insecurities just with a glance to the older women who had the only guy she’d ever loved wrapped around her finger.

y/n’s heart feeling as if it was stepped on as she kept her gaze on him — time feeling a little slow motion.

“logan—now.” jean said harshly.

“lo- logan.” she said again, y/n not leaving logan’s gaze as he swallowed his own spit as he eventually brung his gaze over to jean.

“logan— he knows.” she said harshly, her words a little quiet as they were clearly just meant for logan’s ears yet y/n heard them. “now! come on?” she questioned out frustratedly, saying that to grip his attention as logan looked to jean then back to y/n, wade and hank watching like it was a drama.

the air felt thick with some sort of something as y/n swallows, her eyes on him as he bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“be careful kid, remember to slow down.” he rolled out before he turned away with jean going right to her side as y/n scoffed as he walked off turning her attention back to the barmaid — not feeling logan’s eyes burning back to her as he took a long glance her way before disappearing off with jean into the party to sort whatever was happening.

y/n rolled her eyes the second she turned her attention back over to the bar as she looked down at the bar table, swallowing her thoughts down with the rest of her vodka as she felt the others eyes on her. they sensed on the tension — it was impossible not too.

“so they’re fucking again.” hank commented lowly and cluelessly. his words being like a gut punch to y/n as she bit down on her tongue as she called back over the barmaid, leaning over and ordering a couple shots as she sat back down in her seat.

“mm, most definitely.. hell for scott.” wade ushered out lowly, feeling a sense of guilt as he saw the way y/n’s eyes fell as y/n tried to mute out their conversation in the background as she welcomed the shots with open arms as she pulled the tray closer to her as she heard wade and hank whisper behind her as they leant over to gossip about the rumours of jean and scott being over as y/n’s heart felt as if it was plummeting and beating as fast as it ever had with every shot she took. the information she was hearing just making her internal pain grow worse as she tried to drink it away every shot seemingly enhancing her hurt as the metal images she were getting hurt her brain as she felt the urge to do something about it.

her mind full of relentless unlimited thoughts that were screaming at her as she placed the last empty shot glass she had down — the shots helping limit the voices to some extent as the barmaid came over and refilled them without another word most likely sensing her anguish as y/n nodded to her with as much of a smile she could muster up as she thought back to the conversation with logan.

“we’re going to dance— you coming?” wade spoke to y/n as that brung her out her gaze with the bottom of the shot glass as she shook her head, “no—thanks,” she slurred out as hank gave her a small nod and pat on the shoulder before they disappeared of into the crowd leaving her alone after saying their be right backs— her lips immediately around another glass as she finished the rest of the drinks thay were laid out in front-of her.

y/n either needed fresh air and a sick bucket or the man she loved and craved, and she was going with the latter. her desires only heightened which was making just about everything worse due to the mess the alcohol had started to cause her brain and body.

her heart pounding as she stood up, everything going messy and spin like as she stumbled through the crowd. her mind on one thing and one thing only, one person, as she got pushed around a bit by the dancing people as she made her way out the bar room she was in. her eyes searching the place as she looked for him in every corner, in every face, every person, every laugh, every grunt and every noise. she was searching for him like she had been doing within her heart ever since she’d know the man.

yet what she didn’t expect to see when she turned the corner was him right there. logan right there in his bubble of perfection as she saw it. her eyes taking him in as she saw him in the hallway — a smile joining her lips as she started to walk over to him planning what she was going to say in her brain. how she was going to do any of this? she didn’t even know what she had planned, she just wanted to speak to him. she needed to see his smile. she missed it. she wanted to make him laugh like usual, she wanted to kiss him, feel his touch. she needed it, it was destroying her to not have him. why was she ignoring him for the past two weeks? she should just tell him. nothing bad could hap—

“mine.” she swore she could make out logan saying, her eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as she took one little step closer to where he was as her eyes dawned on a certain red head with a killer smirk on her lips as she had a tight grip on his chain.

and with that every thought she just had was crushed within the space of five or so seconds as she heard jean’s light hearted chuckle next, her voice grating against y/n’s mind as she swallowed her own spit back down as she made sure she couldn’t be seen by them. feeling the sick feeling rising in her as she watched logan’s hands wrap around jean’s waist as she pulled him closer to her in a teasing action that broke y/n’s heart in two.

she was frozen in her tracks, watching as the one she loved was with the one he loved.

“you’re mine.” ringing in her ears as she just made out what he had said to jean as his words sent a chill through y/n’s body as she felt the tears start to boil in her eyes as she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene. her mouth fallen gap as she watched as he roughly had her against the door jean’s hand going down to the handle of said door as y/n watched as jean pulled him in the room with her roughly.

the door slamming behind them as she felt her beating out her chest, her breath shaky and hitched as she swallowed.

and when she heard a little squeal come from the room over the music a few seconds or minutes later, she couldn’t tell how long had passed, that’s when she knew she needed to go before she turned into a public laughing stock as she turned on her heel — shakily making her way through the crowd again, unbeknownst to the tears dropping down her cheeks as she fought her way through the dancing crowd as she tried to get the hell out of here as she thought she was fighting back her emotions, yet she really wasn’t doing too good of a job with it.

“watch it!” someone yelled out over the music to y/n as she shuffled past them quickly, stumbling out and disappearing through the back door as she made her break for it. her heart feeling broken to an extreme it hadn’t felt before which was only amplified by the alcohol as she felt her brain chemistry formed for logan be destroyed within a matter of moments. seeing it in front of her own eyes being completely different from assuming it had happened.

the fact they were doing that right now she just couldn’t and didn’t want too comprehend it. it hurting her so much she felt as if she was going to be sick, she could feel it to the extremist point that when she managed her way to the end of the courtyard where her little spot was with her childhood swing set, where she’s surprised she even remembered the whereabouts off in this state, she couldn’t stop herself from leaning down into a bush shakily.

her mouth watering, her throat burning with liquid as y/n threw up into the bush her heart pounding ridiculously as she felt the tears burning against her cheek as she didn’t even notice the feeling off two strong hands holding her hair back. her body shaking as she kept being sick, feeling the acid burn her throat as she felt a strong hand round her hair pulling it into a ponytail and another hand around her fragile body to keep her up.

her body flinching a little at the touch as the person leaned a little closer as y/n was sick some more, “it’s okay—“ a low voice ushered out as y/n couldn’t help be sick again, leaning down closer into the bush nearly tripping into it as the person held her upright. their hand snacking onto her waist as y/n leaned back into their touch. basically tripping into it as she let out a shaky breath as she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her top.

her eyes moving up onto an all familiar face and she instantly cursed in her brain as he managed to move her over to the swings, sitting her down in one of two seats as she clung to the chain of it leaning her body against it freely as she let out a little cry.

“you’re good.” scott said softly his voice low as he spoke into a comforting tone that didn’t completely soothe her as she felt the tears trail down her cheek as he kneeled down — his hands stabilising the swing that was rocking a little as he looked up at her making sure she was okay on the swing. the cold air hitting the twos faces as the moon shone down on the courtyard, the faint sound of pop music from the mansion being completely distant to both of them.

“scott.” she managed to say, him being able to tell how far gone she was by the way she slurred her words as if her crying and throwing up didn’t prove that enough. his eyes on her as he moved her hair out the way for her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear as she held back a little sob which wasn’t held back that well as she let out a shaky whimper.

“w-why— doesn-t he love me?” she spoke out quickly, her breath shaky and her voice high pitched as she let out little sniffles in between words, the weight of those making a sad smile tug on scott’s lips as he kept his hand on her face trying to keep her upright which was sort of impossible as he kept his comforting warm hand against her face. just trying to make her feel okay.

“—he—“ scott cut himself off before he moved closer to her, trying to keep her calm, “he does love you okay?”

y/n shook her head at scott’s words as she let out a muffled sob against her wrist, shaking her head as scott wiped the tears from her cheeks. “not like i want him to.” she rolled out in a slur, scott feeling his heart beat quicken at her little admission as if he didn’t know how she felt over him before as he moved his finger across her cheek in a soft circular motion, his hand cupping her jaw.

“hey- he does okay?” scott said quickly as he moved her jaw down so she met his eyes again, his tone soft as he moved himself to the other swing next to her — the second he was sat him moving his swing closer to her own. tangling the chains of his swing up a little in doing so.

“he does.” scott added out again, y/n not believing him at all as she swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat as she leaned herself again the hand that was cupping her face as she nearly tumbled off the swing.

her biting down on her tongue as she let out a little squeal as scott placed his hand on her back supporting and holding her up as a little chuckle left her lips as she leaned forward a little. scott not letting his hand move as worry was evident on his face as y/n turned to him a sad smile on her lips, tears still evident on her face.

“i wish.” he heard her whisper as he swallowed, his own voice breaking a little, “come on. okay? he doesn’t know what he’s missing right now.— he doesnt see you liking him.” scott said softly, giving her a little playful nudge as y/n started to lose the energy to even speak off it as she felt another tear slip down her cheek.

his words were taking the weight off her shoulders as she moved in the swing a little, scott’s comforting hand on her back which was now sort off around her waist making her sure she wasn’t going to fall as she moved a tiny bit closer to him on her swing. their swings touching a little.

“you deserve better then jean-y bitch.” she managed out lowly, scott not being able to help the chuckle that escaped his lips at how she put it as he looked out at the mansion in front of them. the moon present in his red tinted glasses.

“yeah— i’m starting to realise that.” he chuckled out as y/n gave him a drunken smile in return as she locked eyes with scott. someone she’d hardly noticed was this nice mostly due to the words logan remarked about him all the time as her smile couldn’t help but grow as she looked at him. the air softening between the two as y/n felt tiredness fall over her as she leant against the chains a little as she slowly moved her gaze over to the moon.

a few moments of silence passes before scott spoke up.

“y/n?” scott managed out trying to grab her attention as he saw he eyes wondering a bit. his eyebrows furrowing when he heard no answer in return, her silence scaring him as he nudged her.

“y/n?” he quickly said out once again, nudging her a little as he saw how limp her body was and noticed her closed eyes.

“fuck— y/n.” he ushered out quickly as he stood from his seat and went right to her side as he kneeled down, tapping her face to try and catch her attention. y/n stirring a little at his action as he stood up, pulling her up with him as he placed his hand around her waist as he tried to shake her a little which did the job as her eyes fluttered open to meet his own.

a drunken smile joining on her lips as a tear dropped down her cheek that she didn’t even notice as she chuckled a little, leaning close to him as she swayed a little.

“scott.” she said lowly as scott gave her a low chucke as she placed her arm around him drunk on, him wiping the tear of her cheek softly something he’d done a number of times since being in her presence tonight.

“okay it’s time to go sleep— im taking you to bed.” he explained softly as y/n looked at him with a little furrowed brow as he started to walk, helping her walk alongside him her hardly even able to realise she was walking as she leaned against his touch.

“you’re good.” he said calmly to her as they walked through the dark courtyard, the illuminated by the moon field of grass between them and the bustling school /xmansion being the only light to guide them. his grip on her tightening softly when she nearly tripped over her own feet, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he realised just how long of a walk it was to the mansion. him sighing as he held her upright. “nearly there.” he muffled out as y/n leaned to him.

“—‘m gonna be sick.” she quickly flushed out before throwing her head over in the other direction as scott patted her back and stopped in his tracks at her words as she was sick again — him holding the urge got to be sick too because the smell as he focused on helping her. his heart skipping a beat bit as he felt his anger growing over logan putting her in this situation where she was so drunk she was being sick or the fact that she was being sick just thinking about logan it made his blood boil as he felt his jaw clench — his eyebrows twitching as he helped her get it all out, whispering little comforts as he soothed her back.

“good girl. “ he said lowly as y/n brung her gaze into him once more him giving her a small sad smile as he placed his hand back around her waist to guide her, “cmon, bed.” he whispered out to her as they started walking again. having to go through the party definitely going to be a difficult task as scott tightened his grip around her waist as they walked past a couple people hanging around the outside area of the building as the music met y/n’s ears as once they got into the building scott called for people to move out the way as he made y/n stay close to him. her eyes wondering over everyone in her drunken haze as scott helped her over to the staircase which was through a couple wide, filled rooms.

her swearing she came across wade and hank in the corner with two twins and colossus’s doing a certain something to wade, her eyebrows furrowing at what she believed to have just seen as she shook it off as she met scott’s words.

“you need to be carried or are you okay?” scott asked as if he was babying her which sent a wave of comfort through her body as she let the question hang in her brain as she tried to form answer to it as she leaned herself against scott.

“‘u—‘i can—“

“scarlett?” logan roughly called out in a raised voice towards scott as he came over out of nowhere. scott rolling his eyes as he quickly picked y/n up, y/n being in scott’s arms as her eyes fluttered open to see logan to the side of them. scott’s jaw immediately clenching as he continued up the stairs without cracking a word to logan as he rushed after the pair. his own anger frustratingly high as he tried to control himself and stop himself from doing anything stupid.

“scott?” logan said harshly, his anger growing as he didn’t get an answer as he tried to get the man to look at him.

“lo-“ y/n slipped out, her voice muffled as she leaned into scott’s arms more as he carried her bridal style up the stairs. her realising his presence, logan’s eyes casting onto y/n and then back to scott. his eyes darkening.

“what have you done to her?!” logan rushed out, his voice cracking with worry as scott ignored his words as he made it to the top of the stairs and continued on down to where he’s pretty sure her room is.

“scott!” logan shouted again trying to get his attention as scott opened the door with his back, giving logan a harsh glare as he walked right over to the bed where he placed y/n down carefully on it. her drunken self pouring the cover over her figure as she rolled over in bed. letting out a little muffled whimper as her head laid on the pillow.

the second scott having let go off y/n he immediately turned to logan scott not giving logan another chance to talk before he connected his fist with his jaw, logan been taken aback a little as he raised an eyebrow, scott looking right at him as logan pushed him back harshly.

“what the fuck did you do?” logan cursed out quickly, scott scoffing as he held back taking his glasses off because of the fact it was a party, not logan’s funeral even despite how much he wanted it to be.

“you should ask yourself that, prick.” scott said harshly. logan’s eyebrows raising at his words as scott pushed himself past logan without another word.

logan immediately grabbing scott’s arm harshly, his claws aching to come out as he met his gaze.

“what do you mean by that?” logan said quickly, his eyes locked onto scott’s as so many questions flowed his brain. his thoughts enlaced with y/n and the worry he had for the girl as scott harshly brung his hand back to his side after shaking logan’s grip off — giving logan a stern look as he looked him up and down judgementally, “god, you are so stupid. you’d think being born in the 19th century would make you slightly smarter then a twenty nine year old.” scott scoffed out lowly, his words only angering logan more as he shoved scott against the wall.

his claws extending as he pressed them close to his throat — his threat there as scott swallowed.

“tell me.” he said harshly as scott couldn’t help a certain look cross his face. completely frustrated by logan, his heart aching for jean in this moment as he stared at what she had clearly picked over himself that enraging him yet also y/n and what she had just gone through herself. the heart ache something he could relate too and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. yet right now he would logan however.

“she saw you and jean you idiot. meaning i did too. meaning— fuck you.” scott said quickly as he clicked his visor getting the right aim, logan jumping back as scott lazered his chest. his beam going right through as a loud grunt escaped his lips as logan in immediate retaliation clawed scott in the side, scott pushing back the whimper threatening to leave his lips as logan as he got ready to take another shot at the man.

logan raising his eyebrow as the two stared eachother down, “i’ll heal,” logan rolled out his words only angering scott worse as he went to raise his glasses again as logan roughly placed his hand on his chest to stop him, his claws retracted back in.

“i wish you wouldn’t.” scott bit out harshly as logan scoffed at his words, keeping his anger limited as he rolled his eyes.

“jean only needed someone to talk too—“

“you mean fuck.” scott said out harshly, jean crossing logan’s mind as his jaw clenched his gaze darkening as he couldn’t bring himself to shake his head. not that he was thinking about scott’s feelings — right now his mind pondering on another.

scott saw how logan couldn’t even fight back with words — tutting as he pushed him back. logan’s hands falling to his side as the two didn’t break eye contact.

“you know we’re engaged.” scott spit out like venom, his words causing a look of surprise to wash over logan’s face as his mouth fell open, “well we were.” he added out.

“you were— what?” logan fumbled out, confusion written on his face as scott rolled his eyes at his reaction. not that he cared deep down, but it felt like he did right now.

“great.. she didn’t tell you. like she didn’t tell anyone,” he said lowly, “not that it makes it any better what you’ve done,” scott casted out as a few seconds finding passed as he tried to find the words which only come out anger filled, “she’s a caniving cheating bitch.” scott cursed out, logan not bringing himself to react to the words scott ushered about jean as he looked at scott.

logan was about to say something to scott when the sound of y/n’s soft little snores filled the room which made the tension even higher as scott and logan glared at eachother.

“maybe just think next time before you fuck someone else’s girl, again.” scott managed out as he pushed past logan to leave the room.

“i don’t think she’s your girl.” logan called back out before he left as scott’s jaw clenched at his words as he opened the door.

“not anymore. you can have her.” he said harshly as he paused as he knew he had to say something.

“—just think about how y/n feels, because i know hurts.” scott spoke lowly as he left without another word clearly implying a certain fact.

logans heart skipped a beat at his words as the door shut behind scott, his mind feeling as if it was in a war as the tension built in the room immediately. the air feeling thick as he swallowed his own spit not bringing himself to call something back to him as his words couldn’t even bring themselves to form right in his brain yet alone out loud.

his eyes dawned back onto the sleeping girl y/n laying there. looking so soft and innocent, completely sound asleep and his heart couldn’t help twang a little as he bit down on the inside of his cheek — many bustling thoughts cursing his brain as he wished he had never thought of them.

his mind lingering on the thought of jean and what just occurred within him and scott as he came down from the pain that was inflicted on him his chest rising rapidly to a more normal flow as he healed. as he focused his gaze on y/n as he furrowed his eyebrows over what scott had said, trying to wrap his brain around it.

logan’s eyes dawning on y/n. guilt seeping through him as he felt his heart gain that aching feeling y/n had been riddled with since the day she first realised she was in love with the man as he sat on the foot of the bed. his mind feeling melted as he placed his hand on her own his big, gruff and rough feeling hand taking the soft touch of her hand into his own grip. her hand being half if not less of his size as he soothed her. her touch being another level of comfort he didn’t recall experiencing since he was a young boy that feeling sending memories flooding through his brain he couldn’t focus on now.

feeling all the emotions boiling up he’d been fighting to push down as he looked down at her asleep body. what was all of this? she had been distant, almost rude and very cold and scott’s words were making that why question he had on his mind for the past two weeks clearer.

the implication of scott’s words hung in his mind as he looked at her. him eventually bringing himself over to the spare place next to her in the bed not wanting to leave her alone for the night too worried about how drunk she was and if anything could happen in the night.. or anyone else drunkily walking in. but he couldn’t help deep down in knowing that those were just excuses to stay within her presence. asleep or not.

carefully building a gap between the two of them as he laid down — no matter how strong the urge to hug her and comfort her was — as he let out a rough exhale as he closed his eyes.

only to open them three seconds later to look at her. his eyes not leaving her peacefully asleep body for the rest of the night.

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (14) - FINALE (JJK)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption; arts, business/property devt, and book publishing talk that’s probably inaccurate; mentions of trauma & family drama; lots of fluff; explicit sexual content (lots of making out, oral (m & f receiving), body praise, un/protected sex)  (18+)

Chapter Word count: 32.8k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: And then it ends! Please bear with the length of this final chapter - it felt right to finish the series with all this 🤭 This was so satisfying to write despite the emotional roller coaster, and I just want to thank you for sticking with me through this and showing me/it so much love. It's a fanfic writer bucket list of mine to write boss JK! I hope you enjoy! 🥰 Like I've said before, I have plans for season 2, but I don't know if I'll actually be able to write it so 🤞🏽

And like always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight for listening to me talk about this for months. 💕

## 

Your heavy eyes flutter open before they close again, and for the briefest moment, you think you see Jungkook smiling at you, his doe eyes gazing at your sleeping form. You do it again, and right after your eyes fall shut, you feel soft lips on your bare shoulder, his warm breath heating your shivering body. 

His absence causes you to quiver, but you’re too tired to move. Even if you weren’t, you probably wouldn’t be able to pull the covers over you, not when you have the said man leaving kisses down your spine and then back up to peck on your exposed cheek. Yet no matter how tempting it is to return them, your mind decides it just needs a bit more time to wake up, and so does your sore body that feels like it ran a marathon that you just weren’t trained for.

Because much as you took on Jungkook’s challenge last night about being able to have sex all night, as it turns out, you’re the one who couldn’t do it.

He first had you on top of him, kneading your ass and directing your movements while he pounded on you from below. The way he felt from that angle had your stomach in knots, and when he wrapped his arms around you to keep you steady while he tried to go deeper as he sucked and licked your neck, you were a goner. 

You were on your back before you knew it. And while he aided you in coming down from your high through languid kisses and licks on your mouth, it wasn’t long before he had you keening again. His tongue lapped up your folds and swirled around your sensitive nub, and despite your mind feeling numb by then, your cunt throbbed for him. It wasn’t long before he was inside you again, thrusting into you fervently before slowing the pace and taking you more gently. 

The way he grunted as you whispered for him to come suddenly rings in your mind. Coupled with his morning kisses all over your body, you moan in pleasure, and he hasn’t even done much yet. 

Perhaps it’s also because of these luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets that are making you feel like you’re in heaven. Or the fact that they smell so good, too, like fresh laundry but more delicate, and all you want is to drown in this softness. So you do something close and bury your face on the pillow while you remain flat on your belly. You take a deep breath and release it with another moan.

“Sounds like someone slept well, huh?” You hear him chuckle, his mouth now detaching from your skin. 

“You tired me out, Jungkook,” you hum, your eyes still closed as you bask in the comfort of his bed. “Why are you even awake?”

“Because I always wake up early. And it’s past 10,” he reasons. “I went for a run then hit the gym. I figured you’d be awake by now and well… you aren’t.”

“I—”

Your mind slightly catches some life as you hear that he’d just done a workout, so you take a peak and the sight doesn’t disappoint. He stands by the bedside with only his track pants on, his hands in his pockets with damp hair while he looks on as you slowly twist and turn on the bed. 

“I—” you repeat.

“You don’t have to get up if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I woke you,” he says softly. 

You catch on to his apologetic tone and it’s what forces you awake. You know he’s used to starting his day early and you… you’re used to burying yourself in your bed until you have to get up to eat. Having someone to spend your days with is probably something you’re both gonna have to start getting used to.

Your eyes finally open and stay that way, and despite his sweat having dried already, Jungkook still looks like he’s glowing against the late morning sun that’s shining through his bedroom window. You shift yourself and sit up, suddenly hyper aware of how naked you are… in his bedroom, and for a brief moment, you think it was all in your head. 

With the sheets finally covering your body, you look at him, prompting him to sit on the edge of the bed and smile at you. You take his hand and caress the fingers that held you, that gave you pleasure, that traced patterns on your skin that you feel are now etched in its memory. 

“Last night wasn’t a dream,” you utter, as if proclaiming it to the universe, as if claiming this reality for yourself. 

“It better not be,” he laughs, softening when you do. “You, uh, you found me.”

“Well, you did tell me where to go,” you point out.

“Yes, unlike you,” he counters, recalling how your letter had just told him to find you with no instructions of where.

Your pout makes him laugh and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, one you didn’t know when you’d hear again. But you give him a pass because he’s right, and all you want to do is make it up to him for making these past few weeks quite unbearable.

But he gets to you first, as he kisses your cheek. There’s adoration mixed with shyness in his eyes and tenderness with his every touch. You wouldn’t say it’s something you didn’t expect despite his usual detachment, but it strikes you just how much of this softness has been hiding underneath. You’ve seen him be protective of you and be caring, but this side of him is new. You suppose being mellow and giggly comes naturally once he’s allowed himself to be vulnerable and open up. Maybe it’s also just a result of last night’s events.

He removes the strands of your hair that had stuck to your face, and it dawns on you again that it’s morning and you had indeed just woken up. You whine that you’ve got crusty eyes and morning breath so you create some distance, but he just laughs and says he doesn’t care one bit.

“You’re pretty even in the morning,” he adds.

Jungkook watches you nibble your lips as you try to suppress a smile that you make anyway. When you’re bold about what you want from him, something inside him stirs, a certain kind of desire that explodes because he wants to fulfill your need, to make you feel good, to let you know that you affect him the same way. 

But when you’re shy the way you are right now, as if you’re still trying to wrap your head around your new reality with him, giggling and grinning like a schoolgirl with a crush, he wants to just hold you in his arms and keep you there. Something softens in him because you - strong and stubborn you - gets flustered because of him. The competent and confident woman he knows suddenly doesn’t know what to say when he calls her pretty, which he’s glad he’s able to verbalize now. It used to be a thought that just constantly rang in his head, but one he tried so hard to quell. He gets to say it to you with confidence from now on and he’ll be able to say it everyday. 

Once your face settles with a comfortable smile, he sighs in contentment, once again feeling like that dark cloud that hovered over him for years has gone away. Things used to feel so heavy as he wandered around an unknown place he's been in for so long, not knowing where to go. It’s as if the days just passed him by and he’d forgotten how he spent them because there wasn’t really much that he looked forward to. 

Now he does, and he realized it when he woke up this morning and found you lying next to him. You were in deep sleep with your lips just slightly parted. Your hands were curled under your chin as you laid on your side, and there was this calmness on your face that gave him so much relief. 

He felt light; he felt the darkness subside, too, and the unknown place he’d been wandering about suddenly looked familiar, yet it was still somehow new. There was that feeling of safety, of clarity, like he could do or be anything with you around. Those were things you gave him when you were still his assistant, and he gets to feel them again now that you’re so much more than that. 

“What?” You ask, nudging him with your foot as he briefly zones out just thinking about all the things he wants to do with you. 

“I was just savoring the look of you being flattered,” he hums. “It’s kinda cute.”

“Oh shush,” you laugh. “I’m just not used to it.”

“Well, it’s not like I could just say you’ll looked pretty when I was still your boss,” he points out. 

“True,” you nod. “Good thing you aren’t anymore, then.”

“Exactly. So you’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

He looks at you as if it’s a warning, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Noted, Mr. Jeon,” you whisper to tease.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I want to kiss you right now.”

“Don’t tell me that turned you on!” You gasp, giggling now as he shakes his head.

“Only if you say it like that!” He whines, the sultry tone of your voice echoing in his ears. “You know what, I’m gonna take a shower.”

“And I’m gonna brush my teeth so you can kiss me all you want!”

“I’m gonna have to get used to that, too,” he smiles.

“Well, it’s not like I could say that to you when I was still your assistant,” you repeat his words.

“And good thing you aren’t anymore, Ms. Cho,” he laughs, not wanting to get carried away right now.

You laugh as well before he leaves to take a shower. You give yourself this quiet time on your own to process where you are at this moment. You’re in a room you used to enter everyday, and your mere glances made you curious about what Jungkook kept in his personal space. 

You’re here now, and you see that there’s really not much, other than a floor-to-ceiling window, a television, a bar cart, and a couch. He’s got an interesting light fixture and abstract art on the wall. His decorative pieces consist of small sculptures and framed buildings, but there are no photos or other mementos. You suppose he’s not really the type, and that just makes you hope that you can help him add a bit of personal touch so that his room could feel more comfortable, or maybe add a bit of warmth to an otherwise cold, monochromati space. You decide that’s something you’ll eventually figure out. 

You take your phone from the bedside and finally reply to your mom and your friends with more details about last night. You merely told them that you and Jungkook have made up, but it’s just today that you’re telling them how it happened. 

He converted the archives section to a children’s library, you say in your message. Found him in his office, we talked, and I spent the night at his place. That’s all for now. I’ll talk to you soon.

Soomin’s barrage of excited curses is immediate. Jimin says he’s happy for you. And your mom sends you a heart emoji and tells you to stay happy.

You send a message to Yoongi, too, saying that you found Jungkook and that now you can learn what your heart is capable of. You thank him again, even if you know that those words will never be enough.

Standing from the bed, you head to the bathroom to finally wash up, thinking that it’ll take a while more before Jungkook finishes. You brush your teeth as you face the mirror, seeing his silhouette behind the frosted glass of the shower enclosure from the reflection. He exits before you finish, and you slow your movements once he comes into view, naked and all wet, and somehow even more breathtakingly handsome than usual. 

You try to act unbothered as you wash your face, only glancing up to see him with a towel around his waist and another one that he uses to dry his hair. The flex of his tattooed arm brings back memories from last night when it was propped up on your side, supporting his body while he thrusted relentlessly inside you. You gripped that arm when he went deeper, and it was the same one that held you when you started drifting off to sleep. 

He stands behind you and gives you a boyish smile before wrapping his arms around your waist. You jerk a little in surprise but soften when his chin rests on your shoulder, and the way he looks comfortable and content has your heart soaring at this side of him - bold and vulnerable as he expresses the things he feels for you in action.

“Can I do this?” He asks as he buries his face in your neck.

“Jungkook, we’ve done a lot in the last 12 hours,” you remind him. “Why are you asking permission to hug me?”

“I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

You turn around to face him and look at him questioningly, unable to follow. You’d think that given all that you’ve both done, simple affection like this is far from overwhelming. 

“What I mean is… Sex is sex. With you, it’s meaningful and intimate. We’re so lost in the feeling of desire and all that but this…” he says, wrapping your arms around him as if to explain. “This… this is a different kind of intimate. Waking up next to each other, morning kisses, random hugs… they say something else.”

“And that is?” You ask after a beat of silence, needing that quiet to take in his words.

“That I want you beyond all that lust and that high,” he answers. “And this… This takes more from us. And I know that because this used to scare me. This… I don’t know, vulnerability I guess? Having someone next to me while I sleep, being the first thing they see in the morning, doing ordinary things with them like taking a shower or something. Holding their hand. Hugging them because it just feels right. I don’t know if I’m making sense but—”

“You are,” you interject, knowing exactly what he means. 

You used to say how you were intimate with the men you dated but you couldn’t say that you shared intimacy with them. It was such an abstract concept for you. That familiarity, that emotional connection, that feeling of safety and belongingness, and of certainty and clarity seemed so intangible. 

There’s a reason why you never had them over at your place, why you could sleep and wake up next to them in their homes but prefer to spend the rest of the day by yourself or with your friends. There’s a reason why you were cautious about the personal things you shared, about your dreams and fears, why you never let them close enough to know how to love you. Something was always lacking and a part of that was because you never allowed yourself to give them more than what they could touch. Your body was as far as they could go; your heart was a restricted place that no one could enter.

Until Jungkook, and suddenly that intimacy is something tangible. You can feel it when his arms are around you, you can hear it in his giggles, you can see it in his smile, you can smell it as he stands a breath away, and you can taste it in his mouth, one that welcomes you in when you kiss him tenderly. You know there’ll be more ways that it will be tangible to you, that it’ll be something real and definite, something your mind could at least try to grasp. And he’s right - doing this takes more from you than sex for the sake of it ever could. 

You’re letting someone into a place you’ve kept to yourself for so long. And that itself could be quite disorienting and overwhelming. He gets it because it’s something he’s probably done before, and he’s doing it again now.

You tell him with the way you kiss him that you get it, too. You tell him by the way you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer that that’s where you want him, and that he’s settled in your heart so suddenly yet so certainly that you don’t want him to go anywhere. 

You’re content with this. You feel your need for pleasure heighten, you feel that slight throbbing of your cunt and the need for friction, you feel that desire course through your veins but you’re satisfied with this intimacy you share. You say it with how tenderly your fingers graze his face, with how your hand gently rests on his bare chest, and with how your movements remain slow, focused on the feel of him more than anything else.

He understands your contentment, too, and he says it with how he follows your pace, with how he softly palms your bare thighs, and with how he nibbles your lips in affection. You both pull away to get some air but he tells you, too, through his soft kisses on your cheeks and your forehead before a final one on your nose that this is enough, and that right now, this is all he needs. 

“I bought breakfast,” he tells you as he takes your hand in his then leads you out of the bathroom. He grabs a pair of shorts from his closet while you watch on. “I got those street toasts and some pastries. I’ll warm them up and heat the coffee. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” you respond, giddy at the thought that he bought those for you. You mentioned in passing last night that you’ve missed eating them after being at your mom’s place for much of the week. “You still don’t have anything in your fridge or your pantry.”

“Exactly. So uh, I was thinking we could go do some groceries today and I can make something for you for a change, and no, the eggs on toast that one time don’t count.”

You’re endeared by the shy look on his face, and it’s not really one you can say no to. 

“Sure, that would be nice,” you smile. 

“I was hoping you’d, uh, stay the night again. And again. I canceled work for the team on Monday but I have to meet Hoseok and my father. Maybe I should cancel that, too.”

“And tell them, what? That you’re gonna be with me?” You chuckle. “That’s not happening. This… this can’t come between you and your job, okay?” You remind him, as you don’t want your newly formed relationship to negatively affect him, especially after all the work he’s done to be what he is now. “Work comes first. I’ll always understand.”

“It goes both ways,” he hums, as he sets the food in front of you. “So, when do you start your new job?”

“Next Monday,” you answer. “Which reminds me… I have to shop for trousers and dresses.”

“So, a wardrobe change, huh?” He asks, placing the cup of coffee and glass of water on the table before taking the seat next to you. 

“Sort of. The pencil skirts feel restrictive. Plus, every time we ate out, I was always scared that the zipper would pop or something,” you laugh. 

“It always felt odd that that was the recommended outfit for assistants,” he says. “I liked them on you though… respectfully speaking.”

You playfully shake your head at his statement, but he defends that they always paired well with your pastel-colored blouses that he claims bring out the color of your eyes. 

“Well, I’ll still be using those. I just need to pair them with something else less formal.”

“We can go shopping today then,” he suggests. “Not unless that’s something you want to do on your own. I understand if it is. I mean, I… I don’t want to impose.  I… I didn’t even ask you what you wanted to do today.”

“I didn’t really have anything in mind. My weekends are usually just spent doing chores and errands or watching stuff at home or in my local theater,” you say. “Not unless my friends visit or I go home. Other than that I just… do whatever I feel like on my own. And you? What do you usually do on weekends?” 

“Work, gym, drink, watch sports, sleep,” he chuckles, recalling those days of loneliness and nothingness, which really wasn’t that long ago. “Meet my parents if I have to, hang out with my friends if I’m in the mood.”

“And go to the clubs?” You cock an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he hums, knowing what you’re alluding to. “I do it less frequently now, though. I just go there to catch up with them then I go home. Don’t you do that, too?”

“Only when Jimin and Soomin are here. Socialite stuff, you know?” You explain.

“I guess,” he shrugs. “But we can do anything you want today. It’s up to you.”

“Okay, then shopping it is,” you smile at him, thinking it’s something fun that you could do together. 

You think anything with him would be, and it excites you to know that many of the things you used to do alone is something you could now share and do with him. Maybe you could even do something new, like some outdoor activity or go to the arcades or even do a ghost tour just because.

But something ordinary like going to the groceries and shopping for new clothes are things you want to experience with him, too. They’re those intimate acts that he talked about earlier - simple and mundane, yet special and comfortable. 

As you watch him in his plain shirt and shorts with his legs spread out as he sits on the chair beside you, and with him asking if you’re full and if there’s anything else you want, you think about all the days you’d spent on your own. There was always a certain kind of peace you felt then; you were alone but you weren’t lonely. 

There were days when it got to you though, as you thought that it was probably nice to have someone to share a meal with, to laugh with as you watched your variety shows, and to lay next to as you talked about your day. You dwelled on the scenes that played in your head only briefly, knowing that there wasn’t anyone in your life then that you wanted to do those simple, mundane things with. 

But with Jungkook here with you now, sharing those with someone does seem to require a level of vulnerability you hadn’t really thought about. You’re letting him in a space that’s always just had you in it, doing things that gave you peace, that gave you energy, that gave you those bits of happiness. He’ll no longer just be getting a peek into the world you carved for yourself; he’ll now truly be a part of it. And you want him to know that even if it may seem like it’s overwhelming, you welcome him completely.

“What you said earlier about not wanting to overwhelm me,” you start, “I… I appreciate that. This isn’t just a new side of you I’m experiencing. This is also a new side of myself that I’m getting to know, that I’m going to get used to.”

“I know. And I understand that,” he responds, turning to face you now. “People bring out parts of ourselves that we didn’t know we had. Or forgotten we had.”

“I guess. I’ve just… I’ve just never had a proper relationship before, you know? I’ve dated people but there were sides of me I didn’t wanna show, and there were things that I couldn’t really bring myself to do.”

“Such as?”

“Lingering,” you say after a beat of silence. “Little forms of affection that you mindlessly do,” you continue, fiddling with his fingers. “And meeting the parents. That was always too much for me.”

“Well, you’ve met mine,” he points out. “You knew them before you even knew me.”

There’s no bitterness in his voice but you’re reminded of the secret you kept, and that it’s something you still haven’t really acknowledged.

“I’m sorry about keeping that from you,” you bow your head. “I didn’t plan on deceiving you or anything. And I didn’t think it mattered. It only did once I started liking you. And I got too caught up with what I felt that I didn’t tell you right away.”

“Hey, you had your reasons,” he nudges your knee so you’d look at him. You look up and see the softness in his eyes. “And I’ll never fault you for them. You did what you had to do and I’m just glad you stayed long enough for us to meet again. I admit I… I thought that maybe you mistook your feelings for loyalty. That you cared because you thought you had to. And I’m sorry I did.”

“You had your reasons, too,” you answer. “And I’m sorry that’s what you thought after I kept it all from you. But it wasn’t hard to care about you, Jungkook,” you smile now. “What was hard was stopping myself from doing so. Even your parents noticed that. I guess I don’t have to prove that to them anymore. I’d like to think that with all the talks I had with your father, they already approve of me being with their son.”

His shy smile makes you feel giddy, as he bites his lip and the little dip on his cheek turns up. 

“Well, I hope that your mom approves of me being with her daughter after that one talk with her,” he says worriedly. 

“After expressing your feelings for me like that? Of course she does,” you giggle. “She told me not to go back to the house unless I’m with you so… yes, she definitely approves.”

“That’s a relief. I mean, after everything I put you through?”

His face falls a little and you’re starting to learn that he needs assurance every once in a while. So you give it to him, as you surprise him by sitting on his lap and cupping his face with your hands. 

“We put each other through a lot but we’re together now,” you remind him. “We’re done with being idiots.”

“We are,” he chuckles, agreeing with Yoongi and Mr. Ri who fondly and frustratingly called you that. “But your mother might be serious about not welcoming you back there until I’m with you so let’s schedule that trip, okay? Maybe I could meet her husband, too?”

“They’re not actually married,” you sigh, shifting so that you’re leaning on his chest now. “They’ve been together for over 10 years and Min-woo has even proposed but she doesn’t think marrying is necessary. They’re committed, they’re happy, she treats Yoon-chae and Yeo-jin like her daughters. This… this family is all they need, not a marriage. Plus, it’s quite expensive to do that and she’s just being practical.”

 “Do you agree with her?”

“I guess,” you shrug. “I mean, what else is stronger than love? Than committing your whole self to that person?”

“Committing the rest of your life to them,” Jungkook responds.

He knows it’s not easy though. He’d seen his parents drift apart but he also saw them stand by each other after all that. Maybe they had to because that’s what commitment means - it’s an obligation, a duty; it gives the person no choice but to stay. But then again, after speaking to them more regularly these past weeks, he’s seen their little acts of care and support for each other, of understanding and trust. Perhaps commitment is also that devotion, that promise and constancy, that tangibility of connection and permanence.  

“Maybe,” you hum. “I think it’s just a fear that she never really got over. Her parents divorced. My biological father had plans of marrying her only to leave before I was born. She says she doesn’t want to taint what she already has with Min-woo over some symbolic act that’s hurt her twice before. And I don’t blame her. Things hurt us and then… we just get scared. It’s human nature, I think.”

“That’s true. I… I’m proof of that,” he whispers, as if in shame. 

“So am I,” you utter, shifting now so you can look at him again in assurance. “It wasn’t even my pain I carried; it was hers. But that still kept me from accepting good things. I was scared to open myself up, I was scared to love…”

Love. It’s a foreign word to you in the context of romance. It’s something that seemed easy to understand but you realized that feeling it isn’t. Nor is finding it. You know you’ve never felt anything like how Jungkook makes you feel, and you wonder if love is something like this, and if it’s something that he feels, too.

“I get it,” he looks away. “It’s not easy to do nor is it easy to take. You never know if you’re good enough for it or if you deserve it. I learned that the hard way, and I still don’t think I…” he trails, shaking his head, as if it’s too much or too soon for him to say. 

You suppose it is. You don’t know much about his relationships but you do remember Taehyung mentioning an ex-girlfriend before, someone whom Jungkook seemed to have loved so much, given the heartbreak he suffered through after the breakup. You wonder if he’ll ever talk about her, or if it even matters. He’s already let you in, and you don’t want to give him a reason to shut you out or feel like you’re intruding. Your relationships are hard to talk about, too, not because they hurt you but because you feel ashamed of them. There are crevices in your heart that you want to leave untouched; you suppose that so does he.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, hoping he’d look at you again. 

He eventually does, the softness on his face returning when you tell him you understand. He nods and smiles, pulling you close for a languid kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as you match his slow place. 

Jungkook feels you smile against his lips. Whatever heaviness he felt earlier as he talked about love, something he’s been afraid to have again after he shunned it away, disappears. 

That’s what kissing you does to him, he’s learning now. It makes the pain hurt less. It makes him forget about his burdens. It makes him feel something he hasn’t in a long time. It makes him hope that he’s capable of doing right by you this time. 

And with how you hug him tightly after you pull away to breathe, he knows that kissing you gives him that strength to face whatever it is he’s still afraid of, and that you’ll stand by him until he’s ready.

You watch Jungkook from next to your closet as you wear your slip-on dress, a practical outfit given your shopping plans this afternoon. You’ve gone back to your apartment for a change of clothes and to bring some back to his place, and you left him in your living room as you packed your stuff from several meters away. 

He stands by your couch, hands in his pockets as he looks at your photos on the shelf. He has a faraway look in his eyes, one that’s different from the times he zones out and temporarily escapes to somewhere in his head. You wonder what specific photo he’s focused on and what he’s thinking, so you walk over to him and stand on his side. 

It’s the one of you in your uniform during your first day at your new school in Busan. You don’t remember much from that day but your mom said you were shy to make friends. She told you that she was going to just be around because she worked there, too. You smiled just like she asked as she knelt down next to you while a moment marking your new life in a new town was being memorialized. 

You don’t recall taking that many pictures growing up but apparently she did, as she gave you a box of them when you moved back to Seoul on your own. They were all memories from a past you either couldn’t remember or tried hard to forget, but somehow she kept the good ones, perhaps to remind you that in the midst of all that nightmare, she did her best to keep you safe and happy.

“You have your mother’s smile,” Jungkook says. “It’s very warm and encouraging. I get it now, why my father thought you were just like her. You’ve always had this tenderness ever since you were young.”

“I guess,” you hum. “Who’d know the pain underneath all that, right?”

“I’m sorry for what you had to go through,” he turns to you, feeling that tinge of pain in recalling what you experienced as a child. 

“And I’m sorry for what it did to your family,” you sigh, an apology that took you this long to give.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he responds, turning his gaze back to the photo. “I let the resentment get to me. I guess… my parents didn’t deserve that.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you were hurt, Jungkook. Your parents will always carry that with them. But they… they saved us. They helped us get away,” you remind him. 

“I know. You get to be next to me because of them and that… that’s helped me alot,” he admits. “It helped me understand and forgive.”

“That’s good. I’m sure that means everything to them.”

There’s silence as his eyes remain focused on the photo, and you wonder what else he’s thinking, if there’s anything else he’s sorry or thankful for.

“I’m trying so hard to remember meeting you that day,” he finally says, with a hint of desperation in his voice. “I’ve buried so many memories and this is the one I wish I kept but I… I can’t because it’s gone. I hate that it is.”

“I’ve been trying to remember you, too,” you respond. “I almost didn’t believe my mom when she said that we’ve met before. She never told me about it but she said it slipped her mind. It was a long time ago and so much happened that day. Seeing you with that chocopie triggered that memory, I guess. We don’t really talk about that time anymore. And I hate that it’s buried somewhere in my mind. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” You turn to him. “We met all those years ago and we never knew. But I kept you with me in the form of a dessert that I still absolutely love, that I eat whenever I’m sad or alone or upset. Connections aren’t fleeting, I’m sure of it now. You’re proof of that.”  

He returns your look, one of sadness but acceptance. It’s one of those things you’re both going to have to deal with, as all the truths about your past come to light. You hope you can just focus on the good things from now on, and with how his lips slowly turn up in a smile, you think that so does he.

“That’s true,” he hums. “You stuck it out for me without even knowing. That’s… that’s pretty special.”

“It is,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist for a hug and hearing him release a breath when you do. He returns the affection immediately, and realizing that it’s something you both naturally give to and receive from each other makes you smile. “It’s as if there was some invisible string that kept pulling me towards you. It’s kinda stubborn like me, I think.”

It’s a thought you hold close to your heart. You’re not really one who believes in fate, but with Jungkook, it’s easy to fall into it. You can’t help but think that beyond the debt you felt you had to pay, you unknowingly stayed in the company for another reason, and perhaps that’s so you could meet him and remember it this time. 

You held out so you could build something with him, so you could learn to want to be free, and then want it enough to finally put yourself first. You’re only able to be with him because of that choice, and despite what it took for you to get here, it’s that same string that’s keeping you from regretting all your decisions. 

He responds with a soft kiss on your lips, one that you quickly melt into. The tender moment is slightly disrupted when he kneads your ass, something you’re also learning he’s quite fond of doing, causing you to yelp in surprise and laugh in response. But he just giggles and says he can’t help it. He buries his face in your neck, the feel of him so close warming your insides as he seems to crave that proximity, too.

His phone ringing prompts him to pull away, and you let him go once he greets his mother on the other line. 

“Hello, my dear,” she chirps. “How are you feeling today? Your father told me that you left the Arts Center quite early last night.”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” he hums, sitting on the couch now while he watches you finish your packing. “I was just tired from all the socializing.”

“I understand. I can imagine how exhausted you must feel. Were you able to get some rest?”

“Sort of,” he answers, smiling internally at how the night went. 

Sure, there was a bit of rest, if he counts the four hours of sleep he had because he just couldn’t get enough of you. Even when he was spent from all that you did, he’d just take you in his arms and all you had to do was smile at him or softly kiss his lips and then he wanted to go another round. 

He supposes that all the built-up tension and months of holding himself back had just exploded, and he wants every opportunity he could have to show you how much you mean to him.

“Well, even then, I was hoping you’re free for dinner tonight,” his mother says. “Think of it as a celebration now that your big project is completed.”

“I, uh, I’m kinda busy tonight,” he responds. “Maybe we can have dinner another time?”

“What else could you possibly be busy with this time?” She asks, but she doesn’t sound offended. 

There’s a tone of acceptance in her voice. Jungkook knows she’s used to this, but he doesn’t want this to continue being a norm. He genuinely wants to make time for them, and it’s something you encouraged him to do, too. But he’s still caught up with his new reality with you, so he decides to be honest instead.

“Being with ___,” he admits. “We finally talked and we, uh, we spent the night together. And we’re going out today.”

“Oh, that’s amazing news,” she sighs in relief. “Your father can breathe easy now. And he can finally claim to be a matchmaker,” she chuckles.

Jungkook hears his old man in the background say that it took 20 years but he’ll take it.

“Is he next to you?” Jungkook laughs. 

“He is,” she responds. “He said he saw ___ last night and she was looking for you, but he wasn’t sure how to ask you how it went. So he asked me to invite you to dinner and see if you had plans and well, we’re glad you do.”

“Yeah, we just have a lot to make up for,” he explains, glancing at you. “If you were serious about a celebratory dinner then we can have it another day. Is that okay?”

“Of course, my dear,” she responds. “What about next weekend?”

“I’ll confirm with her and let you know.”

“Alright, son. Well, we don’t want to keep you,” his mother says. “You and ___ have a good day, okay? We’ll see you soon.”

You watch Jungkook smile through the conversation with his parents, something you assume hasn’t happened in years. It’s nice to see him slowly start to mend their relationship. And though you want him to spend time with them, you also can’t help but want to have him all to yourself, and staying in where he promised to cook you his speciality for dinner is how you want to spend your Saturday evening.

The thought excites you. Everything that happened last night just intensified your desire for him. For months, the affection you felt towards him slowly developed. And for months after, you tried to downplay it and hold yourself back from all you could feel. Now, you get to have him in all the ways you want, and it’s overwhelming. What once was a battle of conflicting emotions in your head and heart has been replaced with an overflow of them - all good ones, and it’s a new experience. 

It’s a new experience being able to talk about the things that hurt you, that scared you, that you dream about, just like you did last night while you sat on the couch. It’s new being entangled with someone under soft sheets and actually wanting to stay. It’s new sharing a meal with someone while you talk about your plans for the day, and then holding their hand while they drive later on. It’s a new experience welcoming someone into your home and imagining spending days with them here. 

It’s also a new experience being able to openly ogle them, like what you’re doing now as you gaze at Jungkook sitting on your couch, phone still in hand as he now talks to Seokjin on the phone. 

He’s donned in a pair of jeans and plain white shirt with a baseball cap on, a casual ensemble that still has you melting because of how comfortable he looks. The thin, silver chain is an unexpected accessory, and he said it’s something he’s always had but rarely wore. But upon seeing your satisfied look, he said he’ll wear it from now on. The way he smirked at you plays in your head, and with how he’s got his legs splayed out and his hand behind his head, you start to feel that familiar knot in your belly. You turn around before you get tempted to do anything. And while you’re free to do so, some self-discipline wouldn’t hurt. 

You’re not pressed for time so you let him continue with his call. Based on what you hear, he’s updating his best friends about what happened last night, and his groans tell you that they’re probably teasing him about it. Affectionately, you assume. 

You decide to water your plants while waiting. It's been days. Some leaves have started to dry up so you remove those, too. You’re focused on what you’re doing and jerk in surprise when you feel Jungkook’s arms wrap around your waist. But you settle in his hold immediately, leaning on his chest and humming in contentment now that your plants look better and more alive. 

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” he says, his chin resting on your shoulder now. 

“It’s alright,” you reply. “How did the talk with your parents go? And your friends?”

“All fine. My parents want to have dinner and the guys want to go to a club,” he sighs. “But I said you’re my priority right now and not them, so they just have to wait until I’m free, which probably won’t be for a while since we have plans and all.”

“And what are those plans?” You turn around and ask. 

“I don’t know, we’ll just have to make them.”

You playfully shake your head and lay your hands on his chest, a habit you think you’re going to develop with the way he constantly pulls you close. 

“We could make plans with them,” you say softly. “Not unless you, uh, don’t want to.”

“Don’t be silly,” he frowns. “Of course I do. I just don’t want to impose and have you spend time with my family and friends if you don’t want to.”

“Why won’t I want to?” You frown back. “Plus, that’s part of being with you, isn’t it? Spending time with the people you care about?”

“It is,” he smiles. “So, uh, what do you think about next Saturday? We can have dinner with my parents then go out with the guys and then say we’re tired so we can leave early?”

“That’s… that’s quite the plan,” you laugh. 

“Or we could just reschedule time with Seokjin and Taehyung. They’ll understand.”

“I’m fine with that, too,” you nod. “And then maybe we could also, uh, make the trip to Daegu and I can properly introduce you to my family?” 

“That sounds good,” he nods. “And what about your friends? That is, if they want to spend time with me. And by they, I mean Jimin.”

You snort in response to Jungkook's statement, which he’s not wrong for making. The last time they were in the same room together, you felt the tension through the roof. 

“He’s just being protective, as he should,” you explain. “He’s seen me date men who turned out to be shitty and he just wants to make sure I’m treated well. And that I’m happy. And I am, so he’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” Jungkook questions.

“Yes,” you assure him. “We’ve been best friends for 20 years. It’s natural to be cautious about people. At least he is because I’m clearly not.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll make plans, then. And then we can go to one of our properties in Gwangju. And Jeju. And anywhere you want to go to. We could fly to Japan or Europe or wherever, really.”

“Alright, one at a time,” you chuckle, the mix of excitement and nervousness filling you up. “Let’s not forget that I have a budget and limited leaves.”

“Which we’ll work out,” he says, adding that he’s definitely not going to make you spend a single cent. “But we could also just stay in or go to a park or watch movies. Anything, really.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes that you recognize, like this admission of longing that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. You soften as you caress his face, wanting him to know that whatever it is he wants to do, you want to do all of those with him, too.

“I… I don’t know when the last time was that I actually looked forward to the weekend,” he admits. “I didn’t actually like it, only because I was forced to not work. And I always wanted to work. It… it made me forget how lonely I really was.”

He looks away, as he reveals a part of him that he’s never shared to anyone. 

It wasn’t always like this. His teenage years were filled with holidays with his parents and weekends in their scenic properties despite the distance he felt from them. But he couldn’t wait to grow up, to be independent and live life his way. He studied hard and by the time he was in university, he was working at the company already, eager to learn and earn money, something he continued to do when he did his postgraduate studies in Singapore. 

But he had Chaerin then, and his life was filled with excitement and happiness. There was always something to do, something to look forward to, until he lost it all and became a shell of who he was. There was so much void within that continued to get larger the more he spent time on his own after the breakup. 

He worked even harder because he didn’t know what to do with his time. He bought useless things because he didn’t know what to do with his money. He went to clubs and slept around because he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, only so he wouldn’t be faced with the reality that he wasn’t happy, that all the things he wanted - a sense of purpose, a hand to hold - were out of his reach.

The Arts Center was his saving grace. It gave his life meaning, as he sought meaning through it. And that’s what allowed him to be here with you. In building something for others, he realized how strong his desire for intimacy was, and how much he wanted to experience the world with someone, to share in its joys and difficulties, to learn what more he could give and get from it. And you’re everything tangible that used to just be a blur to him.

In building something for you, he realized how much he wants you to be happy, how much he wants you to always be safe. And he gets to be that person who makes it happen. 

It’s barely been a day but he supposes it’s why he can’t get enough of you, why he constantly reaches out, needing to know you’re next to him and not some image he conjured in his mind. It’s why he wants to make all these plans, so he could experience all the things he’s wanted but was always afraid to feel because of the fear of losing it one day. 

“There are so many places I want to explore and I want us to do them together,” you whisper, tilting his chin so he faces you again. “There are all these things I want to try and experience, even some things I usually do on my own that I want to share with you. I get you, Jungkook. I let days pass me by. All I did was look forward to something I didn’t even know. Now I know what I want, and that includes having them with you.”

His eyes soften as you utter the words, with your fingers tracing his face as if to see if he’s real, too, and if happiness is something that you can finally touch. 

“You don’t have to feel alone anymore,” you continue. “And I don’t have to feel that way, either, because you’re there. I want you to always be there.”

“I will,” he smiles, gently pressing his lips onto yours. “And we can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. A ghost tour is on my list,” you say, thinking to lighten the mood.

“It is, huh?” He laughs. “I mean, sure. I can definitely protect you.”

“You mean, I can protect you,” you counter. 

“___, I’m scared of thunder, not ghosts. I think I’ll be fine,” he chuckles. 

“And I’m scared of the living, not the dead, so I’ll be fine, too,” you point out. “I’ve always wanted to try it but I didn’t want a spirit to latch onto me because I was alone.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes,” he playfully shakes his head. “But sure, we can do that. Anything else?”

“Hmm. Something outdoors? I… I really liked it when we were at your lake house and we sat on the rocks by the stream,” you reminisce. “It was very peaceful and it was just nice being out there.”

“Did you like it when you had your arms around me during the ATV ride, too?” He smirks. “Because I did.”

“It was bumpy,” you pout. “I should drive it next time and you can be my passenger.”

“Gotta learn how to drive first,” he teases. “How come you never learned?”

“Because it didn’t seem practical to learn and not have a car to drive,” you reason. “I’ll just forget it so I never bothered. Probably when I’m in my forties and I can afford to buy one.”

“Or I can get you one.”

He looks at you like he’s serious, and he probably is. So you draw the line before he thinks it’s okay for him to do that.

“You won’t. I will not accept it,” you say sternly. “And you will not buy me anything of that kind.”

“Fine. But I can buy you other things like jewelry and clothes and—”

“Jungkook, you know I don’t like you for your money, right?” You frown. “I know we’re leagues apart in terms of wealth and I—”

“I know,” he says, pulling open your crossed arms and wrapping them around him again. “I’m just saying that I want to buy you things because I like you. It’s… just a way for me to show you how I feel. No cars, I promise.”

“Good. I’m not gonna be able to drive it anyway,” you laugh.

“I can always teach you,” he says. “It’s still a good skill to have, you know?”

“Hmm, maybe one of these days,” you smile. 

“So in the meantime, I can get you something else. Maybe something for work? Please?”

He uses his doe-eyes to convince you, and it doesn’t take much. You suppose that for someone who’s not always good with words, buying you things is a way for him to make up for it. He built you a library, after all. You’re not always good with words, either, but perhaps accepting what he gives is a way for you to show him how you feel, too, among other things. 

“Fine,” you give in. “Just one thing.”

You find yourself hours later in a boutique shop on a quiet street in Incheon. 

You and Jungkook agreed that doing your shopping in the neighboring city will keep you from running into people that you don’t want knowing about your relationship at this point, such as the management support team or anyone else, really. 

You went to a shopping center after the hour-long drive. You opted for mid-range brands that offered comfortable basics, stocking up on slacks and tops to match the blazers and coats that you already have. You picked some flowy skirts and dresses, too, while Jungkook convinced you to get some of the statement pieces that caught your eye. 

He was an engaged companion, carrying your basket as you walked around and then finding you when you wandered too far. He gave approving nods whenever you showed something to him, surprising you when he’d comment that you already have a similar colored top. He looked embarrassed then, when he explained that you had outfits that stuck with him. You admitted that so did you, with his charcoal and navy suits as your favorites. 

He sported that shy smile again, a sight you never thought you’d one day be spoiled with. It always gave you a kind of comfort that you’ve never felt before, and you suppose it’s why you wanted to keep seeing it. Doing this with him today has given you that same feeling, especially when he’d look at you satisfied and say that he really likes how the outfit looks on you. 

You passed on the premium outlet shopping center, stating your case to Jungkook that you’re not one to wear luxury brands to a place as constant as your workplace. And while you agreed to him buying you something, you said you preferred it to be one of quality, and not just because it was expensive. Which is why you’re currently in this local boutique store selling the prettiest shoes you’ve ever seen.  

The name sounds familiar, and you remember going through some fashion magazines at Taehyung’s shop and seeing this listed on a best new brands list. Deservingly so, it seems, as the collection before you boasts of a variety of simple and statement designs that look soft and comfortable, too. You’re particularly drawn to the colored ones, since you could never wear those styles before. Your recommended outfits only allowed basic and muted colors, so your black and nude pumps were your go-to. And while you’ll still be wearing those, you definitely want a pair that would stand out. Or two. 

“See anything you like?” Jungkook breaks through your thoughts. 

You turn to him with a sparkle in your eyes as you nod shyly. 

“See anything you really like?” He chuckles as he walks towards you and you nod again. 

“Tell me,” he urges.

You get the ones that caught your eye - a pair of orange satin pumps and these olive green suede heels with ankle straps. You love the hues and how they’ll contrast some of your neutral-colored outfits, but right now, you don’t know which one you want more.

“I can’t choose between these two,” you say, scrunching your eyebrows. 

“Easy. We get both of them,” Jungkook replies as he asks the staff to get your size. 

He stands in front of you as you try each pair, his eyes following you as you walk around the store and check yourself in the mirror. He softens at your smile as you look at your reflection. There’s wonder in it, and he’s glad that he’s able to give this to you, of all things. It’s cliche but those shoes will take you to places; he looks forward to being next to you when they do. 

He giggles when you wear one of each pair and keep turning positions to see how you look in them. 

“Hey, I’m serious,” he says. “We can get both of them. You can even get more.”

“But I don’t want you to spoil me,” you pout. 

“But I will,” he insists, standing in front of you now. “I liked the smile you had earlier. I want to keep making you smile like that. And no, I don’t think you’re being materialistic or anything,” he adds before you unnecessarily defend yourself. “They’re pretty things and I want to give them to you.”

“Fine,” you pout again. “Do you like them, at least?”

“They’re nice,” he compliments.

“Just nice?” You frown. “That’s what you said the first time you saw me in a dress.” 

Your teasing smile makes him laugh, but it somehow comforts him. He remembers that day clearly, when you accompanied him to Taehyung’s shop to fit the suits made for him, and you tried on the gowns that his best friend made for you, too. Seeing you in that burgundy attire made his heart drop, and that’s what’s been happening every single time that he sees you all dressed up. He didn’t think you’d remember but apparently, it stuck with you. 

“It’s not like I could say that you looked stunning then, now could I?” He cocks an eyebrow. 

“So that’s what you thought, huh?” You nibble your lower lip.

“Always,” he responds. “It’s been hard keeping myself together ever since.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks at his confession, and for all the times you cursed yourself for being unprofessional for finding him attractive, you at least don’t feel too bad now that he thought the same. 

“That makes both of us,” you smirk, liking how he playfully shakes his head and turns away.

He wants to kiss you right now but he knows it’s not the time nor place. 

“So, both of these shoes, then?” He confirms. “Are you sure you only want two?”

“Yes. You’ve spoiled me enough already,” you state. 

He concedes, even if he really wants to buy you more. He wants to shower you with so many things but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you with that side of him just yet, so he’ll take things slow for now. 

He walks with you to the counter where he pays for the shoes. He sees the sparkle in your eyes when he takes the shopping bags from the staff and there’s something so wholesome about how you look that has his insides warming up. 

“You like them, too, right?” You ask as you both walk out the store to head back to the car. 

“Of course,” he hums. “They’re pretty and you like them. Plus, I saw the reviews that said the shoes are comfortable and sturdy. And you need that. I can’t have you tripping yourself because of unstable heels and then falling into the arms of some man again. I won’t be there to catch you anymore.”

“Hey,” you pull his arm to get his attention, frowning at him when he turns to you at the reminder of that Arts Center incident. “That was one time.”

“You trip on yourself when you’re on the ladder, too,” he points out. “And I’m always there breaking your fall.”

“And why are you?” You cock an eyebrow. “You always had your eyes on me, didn’t you, Mr. Jeon?”

“Couldn’t help it, even if I wasn’t supposed to,” he says. “I just found myself always looking out for you. And you just happened to be tripping a few of those times.”

You laugh in response because he’s not wrong, but it’s also a way for you to tell him it’s okay. You suppose you weren’t the only one paying attention because he seemed to do that a lot with you. And the more you think about it, the more you realize that the feelings you once doubted were sincere have been present all this time. But he held himself back, just like you did. He tried not to cross the line because he knew it wouldn’t be right until you did, and all he wanted was to keep you close so he could be there for you. Because the moment he knew what was keeping you there, he made the difficult decision of letting you go. 

You smile at the thought, learning now that when it comes to you, Jungkook is attentive. He’s protective and he wants to make you happy, to shower you with gifts, to make you experience good things in life because it’s his way of expressing his feelings. You may be starting a new job that requires you to be apart from him, but in his own ways, he’s still looking out for you. 

You want to carry him with you as you take on a new challenge, too. And you’ll look back on today as a way for you to do that. It’s in the shoes that he bought for you; it’s in his company and patience as you went around looking for clothes earlier; it’s in the experience of doing something together. 

A sigh of relief escapes you as you settle in the passenger seat. It’s been tiring but also really fun, and you smile again at the thought of being able to do this for yourself. 

Since your first visit at Rkive Publishing, you’ve been envisioning how you’d look and how your days were going to be. It filled you with excitement seeing that image of you in your mind - dressed in clothes that made you feel comfortable but powerful, in an environment that was challenging but exhilarating, in a place that didn’t make you feel stuck or constrained. It truly feels like a new beginning, and you didn’t realize that the simple act of shopping could make you see yourself differently, that it could make your approach to work feel more relaxed.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed shopping that much,” Jungkook says. “Guess we’ll have to do that again.”

“I didn’t know, too,” you chuckle. “But I think it’s more than that,” you turn to him with a soft smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever really shopped for a full wardrobe before. All my office clothes were hand-me-downs from my mom when I started working and I just gradually bought my own over the years. But now I get to buy all these new things for what I feel like is a new chapter in my life, you know? It sounds silly but I’m pretty sentimental about it.”

“It’s not silly,” he replies. “You’re doing something that you chose, that you’re happy with. That means everything.”

His eyes soften and you realize that you haven’t really talked about your resignation. And with all your excitement for your new job, the last thing you want is for you to think that you felt burdened by working for him.

“Jungkook, I… I’m sorry for resigning when I did,” you start, earning you a shake of his head. “I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t happy working for the company. Because I had great moments, and you were one of them,” you explain. 

He nods as he takes in your words, and you take his hand to tell him you mean them. 

“It was hard at first but I stuck it out because it felt ungrateful of me to leave,” you continue. “Things got better when I was under Hoseok but there was always that feeling that I didn’t deserve everything, even if I was giving all of myself to the job. And that was all on me. I realized that I was the one who couldn’t move on from my past. And I just constantly felt stuck. Working hard was all I knew how to do until I didn’t know myself anymore but you… You helped me realize what I was missing. You helped me realize what I could be.”

“How?” He asks.

“The Arts Center,” you say. “Learning about why you wanted to build it showed me that it’s what I wanted, too - to create meaning, to connect people to something, to experience something tangible that could stay with us. You were so passionate about it and I wanted to be passionate about something just like you. And I’m sorry I had to leave because of that. And well, I also really like you and it didn’t feel right to stay any longer after what happened.”

“I didn’t realize that it meant that much to you,” he responds, caressing your hand now. 

“It did. It still does. Being there last night made me feel so many things, especially the library,” you say. “I think I’ll need time to really soak everything in.”

“We can do that tomorrow,” he suggests. “It’ll be open until late all weekend and we can go around if you want.”

“I’d really like that,” you smile at him. 

He smiles back but there’s still that tinge of sadness in his eyes, and you continue looking at him to urge him to say what he wants to say. 

“I should’ve asked you why you wanted to leave instead of asking you to stay,” he sighs. “I probably would’ve understood. I mean I… I’m working for my family and it’s all I’ll ever do. I’ve lost myself in it, too. I know it’s not the same but I guess that’s why constructing the Arts Center mattered that much to me. It was different. I felt like it was the only way I could find meaning in what I was doing, something that went beyond my duties to my family. I… I learned what I wanted to be for someone, too, because of you. So I understand why you have to do this for yourself, ___,” he turns to you with an assuring look. “After everything settled, I knew that leaving would be the only way for you to be truly happy because then, you get to do something for yourself. And I just want you to know that I really want this for you, too. I’m just glad I get to be next to you like this.”

You feel your eyes turn glassy. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear that from him. And given all the new experiences and challenges you’ll be facing, having someone to hold your hand and tell you that things will be okay makes it more meaningful. You won’t be going through things on your own anymore. And you get to tell him that he won’t, either. 

His smile tells you that he understands, and it’s one that you mirror.

“Your new boss seems nice,” Jungkook says as he looks back on the road. “He called me one day and asked about you.”

“Namjoon did say he spoke with you,” you respond. “And yes, he’s very kind. He rambles a lot but he’s just very passionate about books and literature. I’m sure I’ll learn so much from him.”

“That’s good. It’s a new industry so it’s important to have a mentor like him,” Jungkook hums. “Just, you know, don’t trip and fall into his arms or something.”

“That is not going to happen,” you laugh. “Are you jealous?” You nudge him. “Are you the jealous type?”

“No,” he frowns. 

“Good. You have nothing to be worried about, okay? He has nice dimples but I like yours better,” you tease. 

He pouts at you but you just kiss his cheek to appease him, your own affection surprising you. You find yourself constantly showing it to him, wanting him to know how you feel instead of words you don’t think you’ll be able to say. 

“Are you the jealous type?” He asks now.

“I actually don’t know,” you wonder. 

Your past relationships weren’t really exclusive so you didn’t have a reason to be jealous. 

“We should go to a club and see,” he says. 

“Hey,” you whine. “All the women will flock to you.”

“And who says the men won’t flock to you?” He arches an eyebrow. “You’re the one that people fall for.”

“And you’re not?”

“___, I’ve slept with women but let’s not pretend they wanted to be with me,” he chuckles. 

“Maybe they did, and you just never gave them a chance,” you reason.

“Well, I never let them stay long enough to know,” he shrugs. “It’s not something I do, and it’s not something I ask of them.”

But you asked me to, you don’t say. You remember the look of rejection in his eyes that night at his office and how you turned him away. Perhaps to him, you’re also someone he was willing to crawl out of his walls for, and for a time, he thought you didn’t want him enough. 

You promise yourself that you’ll make it a point to show him that you always do, whether it’s through words or actions but especially through your way of opening up yourself to him completely. 

You nudge his hand that’s still in yours, prompting him to look at you. 

“I’m here to stay,” you tell him, wanting him to feel the weight of your words because you don’t do that for anyone, either. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You say it almost in a whisper, like it’s a promise you want him to know you’ll always keep. He lifts your hand to his lips and he kisses it, a way to let you know that he’s not going anywhere, too. He’ll keep holding your hand wherever you or he goes because he knows that right next to you is where he wants to be.

It’s a very intimate act, and it’s barely been a day but he’s done so many of those already with you, including expressing his honest and sentimental feelings. He supposes it’s all the time he’s held back. Or maybe all the years that he kept himself from feeling and showing any of that. 

But you have each other to share those with now and he hopes that however he chooses to show them to you, you’ll understand and accept them and like you said, you’ll stay and not go anywhere. 

You spend the rest of the car ride back to Seoul talking about the posts and articles being written about the Arts Center. You go on social media and read them out to Jungkook, warming at how softly he smiles with every compliment from the visitors and artists. Even if you weren’t there during the ceremony last night, you’re glad that you’re at least able to celebrate with him from this day forward. 

You arrive at a supermarket and let Jungkook take the lead. But while he’s buying to fill up his fridge and pantry, he’s taken it upon himself to make sure you have everything you need and want, too. 

He picks up the coffee pods and grounds that you mentioned you like. He asks you for your preferred snacks and desserts on top of the chocopie that he gets boxes of. He lets you choose your skincare and bath products. He grabs containers of side dishes and an array of meat and vegetables, as well as a sack of rice. There are other ingredients he gets and before you know it, you’ve got a cart filled to the brim and a satisfied man pushing it to the counter. 

He pays for his purchases and you realize just how much he’s actually bought.

“Are you throwing a party that I don’t know of?” You tease, as he hauls all the groceries in his trunk. “That’s a lot of shopping for one person.”

“I, uh, I was hoping to have you stay over during the weekends,” he says shyly. “I mean, we can also stay at your place if you’re okay with us being there. But I just thought about buying a lot of what we want when we stay in and stuff.”

“Are you bribing me with food so that I’ll spend more nights with you?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Yes? Well, I’d like to think I’m good company, too,” he chuckles. “And that you’d, uh, want to spend time with me. Is it too much?”

“Of course not,” you say. “It’s sweet actually, how you’re making a space for me in your home. And you don’t have to bribe me, you know? The place is good, the company’s good,” and whispering in his ear, you add, “the sex is good. I… I’d like to spend time with you, too.”

“That’s comforting,” he laughs as you both head inside the car. “Although I’d prefer for that last one to be more than good.”

“Hmm. Good thing you have tonight to show me, then,” you teasingly smile. 

He groans as he playfully shakes his head, this bold version of you still flustering him. But he wants to tease back, so he turns to you and pulls your face close to him. He gives you a deep kiss before booping your nose with his.

“Just make sure to keep up, yeah?” He answers. 

“Rude,” you gasp, earning you a laugh. “It’s not my fault you don’t get tired.”

“It’s not my fault that you do.”

Your pout makes him want to erase it with a kiss so that’s what he does again, and he likes that he can do this over and over, as many times as he wants. 

“I’m kidding. I’ll do whatever you want,” he smiles. “Just as long as it makes you feel good.”

You’re only able to nod now, not wanting to provoke him any further because another word of him telling you what he can do is gonna cause you to spiral. 

The sun is still out by the time you arrive at his penthouse with everything you bought for the day. He insists on having your clothes washed - a perk he has as owner of the building, and you give in. He says it’s so they’re all ready for you next week, and you’re once again reminded of this thoughtful side of him. Sure, money helps, but you suppose it’s easy for a rich man to just think of what conveniences him but not others. In many ways, he’s shown you that he’s more than that. You’re able to see it all up close now, and you can’t help but like him even more. 

After he hands your bag of clothes to the butler, he heads to the kitchen where he says he’s going to prepare dinner. You follow him and look on curiously as he brings out a few of the ingredients you bought earlier.

“What’s on the menu?” You ask, sitting on the counter right next to where he’s got his work space laid out.

“Buckwheat noodles with my special sauce,” he answers. “And some boiled pork.”

“That sounds delicious,” you hum. “And here I thought you hire people to cook for you.”

“Can’t really call someone over at 2AM to make me dinner, can I?” He laughs. 

“Why would you have dinner at 2AM?!”

“Because it’s how I am,” he shrugs. “I mean, sometimes I have dinner out. Some nights I’m so tired from work so I take a nap and wake up at odd hours, or I’d just work all night and realize I haven’t eaten so I make something then. Meat is easy to grill, noodles are quick to make, but for you, I’m making special versions.”

“I feel special already,” you giggle. “But that’s not healthy, Jungkook,” you turn serious. “Meal time is meal time and rest time is rest time. You always work so hard, you need to take a break and not overdo yourself.”

“I know. You used to tell me that all the time,” he smiles softly. “It was nice to hear, and I listened to you. I guess those were the only times when I let myself take a breath. You were pretty stubborn about it.”

“Because you were a hard-head about it,” you frown. “So much for being protective of me when you couldn’t even look out for yourself.”

“I know, that’s why you were there,” he points out. “And you were the same, so that’s why I was there for you, too. We, uh, I guess we complemented each other that way.” 

“I guess,” you smile now. 

There’s some sadness in that thought, though, at how you both went on years just focusing on your respective jobs individually and not having much you share with others. Sure, you had your friends and so did he, but in the silence of your own homes, you lived through every day just waiting for the next, not knowing what to look forward to about it. 

You suppose that’s what happens when you share only the most shallow parts of yourself to someone - your body, your time, your energy - but even those were limited. Now, you get to feel what it’s like to share more of them, in ways that require more. But you’re willing to do all that, and you can see that so is he.   

Jungkook boils the pork in some spices and says that it’ll take some time. He gestures towards the balcony where you see the sun about to set. You’ve never seen it from this high, and he says that he hasn’t watched it from here in months because he’s been getting home late. His office doesn’t offer this same view. 

You head out and take a seat on the couch where he follows. He positions himself next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer until you’ve got your legs on his lap and your head on his chest. Being with him like this, you feel comfortable again; you feel safe. 

The sky is beautiful and it’s another version of it that you get to share with him. You know there’ll be more of this that you’ll have, and you’ll keep this in your memory just like all the other times that you did. 

His free hand draws patterns on your knee and you try to decipher what they are, recalling those days of watching him doodle on his leather notebook and wondering what’s on his mind. 

It’s something you ask him and there's a beat of silence before he answers.

“There’s a lot of things I think about,” he says. “Most times I don’t know how to make sense of them or express them so I just draw whatever I feel like. They’re mostly figures and structures because they at least make sense to me even if my feelings don’t.”

“What about now? Do your feelings make sense?”

“A little bit,” he hums, but he assures you it’s not a bad thing. “You always felt familiar. I think that’s why I was so hesitant to get to know you and why I felt like I had to keep my distance. It wasn’t right to feel that way for my assistant. I know now why that was. We crossed paths a long time ago and I guess we made each other feel something that we couldn’t find in others or that we couldn’t find ourselves. It’s familiar but it’s all new. Isn’t it contradictory?”

“Maybe. But it also could be that we felt something like that before and we lost it along the way. And we met again and so we’re feeling it again, but in a different way,” you try to explain. “Familiar but new. Do you doubt it?”

“Not at all,” he shakes his head. “I just couldn’t help but think about it because this version of myself feels different but it’s still me.” 

“I get you. I’m not really like this, either. I’m not fond of affection. I’m not this giggly or this… honest or this bold. I’m terrified of many things so I’m also not this brave but you… you bring all that out of me, Jungkook. And it feels really good.”

“I’m not this honest, too. I don’t know where my words come from,” he chuckles. 

“I was about to say that you’re able to express your feelings just fine,” you smile. 

“That’s barely scratching the surface,” he says. “There’s still a lot I don’t know how to say.”

Regret is one of them, Jungkook thinks. And guilt and fear and an overwhelming joy and clarity that he can’t fully express. There’s still hesitation somehow but vulnerability, too. There’s a feeling of inadequacy and a desire to give you everything he can.

“Me, too,” you sigh. “We can always just keep showing it to each other in different ways. I know that’s not always easy, but we can… we can keep trying. I held so much of what I felt for months and I’m just glad I don’t have to do that anymore.”

“I held back for a year,” he blurts, surprising you. Your questioning eyes urge him to continue. “I… I thought you were pretty. And you put me in my place, you’re honest and caring, you’re so good at what you do, you’re… someone I wanted to be around, even if it didn’t seem like it. And I’ll always be sorry for how I treated you.”

“I have a lot of shortcomings, too, Jungkook,” you admit. “I judged you before I met you because you never smiled during the times I saw you. And then I constantly compared you to Hoseok and I shouldn’t have.”

“Well, look at me now. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this much,” he chuckles. “But it’s okay. We… we were getting used to each other.”

“We were. And I… I like seeing you smile. There would be nights when I’d fall asleep thinking about it,” you confess. 

“Here I thought I was the only one doing that,” he laughs. 

“We’re so ridiculous,” you laugh back. “We’ve said too much. Now we can kiss.”

“You like doing that, huh?” He smirks, pulling you to sit on top of him now. 

You shift on his lap and find a position that has your heart racing. You moan when his hands guide you in grinding against his slowly hardening length. And he watches you move before his eyes flit to meet yours, the desire heightening and the tension building.

“I do, very much,” you whisper, bending down to graze your nose against his before you kiss him. 

It starts off tender but with the feel of him underneath you and his tongue amorously entangling with yours, it gets rough soon enough. You’re thankful that you’re seated closer to the door, leaving you less exposed than if you were near the railings. It’s enough privacy that he’s able to sneak his hand under your scrunched up dress without you minding, and you moan louder when he pulls your bra so he could flick your nipple that’s clearly screaming to be touched. 

You return the favor, untucking his shirt so you could touch his chest, too. It reminds you of how you’d mapped this out last night, the tautness of it making you imagine all the ways you could pleasure him there. But you settle with your nails grazing against his smooth torso this time, knowing you have all of tonight and perhaps tomorrow to do it. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles against your lips. “Baby, we’re gonna have to take this inside,” he says, although he doesn’t stop nor let you go. He continues to kiss you and drag his hands all over your back.

“We should,” you say, not stopping either. 

It takes a few more nibbles on each other’s lips before you finally pull away, heaving in pleasure and wanting more. But you remove yourself from him before you get into it again. Walking back inside, he surprises you with another squeeze of your ass, prompting you to turn to him. 

“You like doing that, huh?” You repeat his words. 

“I do, very much,” he hums. He hugs you from behind and says, “this, too,” as he nuzzles your neck.

You only laugh in response but deep down, there’s this warmth you feel at how much affection he’s giving you and how much you’re accepting and returning it. You weren’t big on intimacy with your exes. You weren’t the type to hold their hand or cling to them or caress them outside of sex. They weren’t natural for you, and you suppose those kinds of acts required more openness and emotional closeness that you didn’t feel for them.

But with Jungkook, it’s as if it’s all you want to do, and it seems to be the same for him. You didn’t realize how holding his hand could be so assuring, or how feeling him wrap around you could relieve you of your tiredness, or how kissing him could make time stop yet you still feel there’s not enough of it when you’re with him. 

And as he stands by the stove, pan frying dumplings for your appetizer while the pork continues to boil, all you want to do is watch him be. 

You’ve always admired him for his dedication to his craft. You’ve sat through countless meetings, watched him draft blueprints and plans and present them, and listened to him put together ideas and designs. He’s creative, rational, and very smart, and it always impressed you how much technical knowledge he has. He always had such confidence in his abilities and that also made him very attractive to you. 

But seeing him in a domestic setting in his casual clothes while cooking your dinner ignites something else within you. It’s this desire to see and experience all sides of him, and to be welcomed in every nook of his big heart. 

He arranges the dumplings on a plate and mixes the dipping sauce, then places the dish on the counter for both of you to enjoy. He takes a piece, blows on it, then feeds it to you, and you laugh to yourself because this is something that you used to tell Hajoon that you could do on your own so he doesn’t have to. But with Jungkook doing it now, he triggers a swarm of butterflies in your belly that has you giggling. 

He just smiles, the warmth in his eyes telling you that this is something he wants to do for you and you let him. He’s told you he wants to take care of you and you want that, too. You want to show him that you can do it as well.

Jungkook gets a bowl and starts making the sauce while he boils the buckwheat noodles. It’s something he came up with one late evening, adding perilla oil and egg yolk to the different condiments he had on stock. You feed him dumplings while he mixes the ingredients, which he eventually pours over the noodles then sprinkles seaweed on top of it. It looks creamy and delicious, and partnered with the boiled pork that he plates on a wooden board, your mouth starts to water.

It’s all surprisingly delicious, as you tell him that you didn’t think that just putting a bunch of sauces together would create something that good. You enjoy dinner over beer and then insist that you���ll clean up while he takes a bath. 

It’s an hour later when you exit his bathroom, your heart skipping a beat at seeing him sitting on the bed, his back across the frame with the covers over his legs while he scrolls through his phone. He doesn’t have a shirt on, leaving his toned upper body in full display for you to stare at. You’ve already seen this last night; ran your hands all over them, even, but somehow you know it’ll always take your breath away. 

He looks up when he senses you’re back, and he smiles seeing you donned in one of his oversized shirts. He likes you in his clothes. There’s something so domestic about it, even if he’ll end up taking them off of you anyway. 

And that’s what he does, as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed while you remain standing in front of him. He caresses the sides of your thighs while he looks up at you, before pulling up your shirt that you help him remove. 

You giggle when his lips immediately plant themselves on your torso, where he kisses and sucks the soft plane of flesh that has you moaning in pleasure. His hands travel around - kneading your ass, sliding up then fondling your breasts, before they’re removing your underwear and then cupping your bare cunt.

“Jungkook, baby,” you whine, feeling the sensation all over your body. “Want you, please.”

It’s the words he loves hearing from you, knowing the desire comes from somewhere deep. It’s because you’ve allowed him to a place that no one’s ever been to before, and it’s a place he wants to stay in for as long as you’ll let him. 

And he takes it to heart. He wants to feel you feel good; he wants to hear it, to breathe it, to let your pleasure course through his body and let it linger, and that’s the only way he’ll feel good. It’s not just about chasing his own high like it used to be. With you, it’s always more.

He switches places with you, lays you on the edge of the bed while he kneels on the floor for that angle that lets him taste all of you. He laps you up and he feels your clit pulsate against his tongue, your breathy curses complementing the way your body screams for him. He increases the pressure to build you up then slows down to prolong it. 

You seek him. Your hands pull him forward, your cunt thrusts against his face, you yell out his name, and when you come, his lips are what you want all over you, all over again. 

You’re eager. The short second it takes for him to stand up, you’re pulling his boxers down and stroking his length; you’re swallowing him whole before he could even catch a breath. But it’s everything he wants, as your warmth coats his aching cock and he pushes into you, hearing your obscene sounds as you take him in. 

“You feel so good,” he grunts, your tongue swirling around his slit. “Fuck, baby, just like that.”

He manages to open his eyes, and the sight of you eager to please him sends shivers down his spine. You fondle his balls, you play with your breast, you thrust against nothing while you moan with your mouth full of him. He softens for a while, tucking the damp strands of hair behind your ear, before he pulls away then guides you to flip over with your hands and knees on the bed.

You’re able to take a breath while he puts on his condom, but you're already dazed, your mind completely hazy from everything that Jungkook makes you feel. 

The way he fills you up is heavenly. He hits your deepest spot, and the pace of his movement has him grazing every inch of your walls. He pushes your waist down with his every thrust, making both of you feel the sensation in a mind-numbing way.

Your knees are trembling but you don’t mind. Your knuckles are probably turning white from how hard you’re gripping his sheets but it’s your only anchor for now. Your neck is straining and you’re breathless as he relentlessly bucks his hip against you but you don’t want him to stop. 

He switches it up, both his hands on your waist now to keep it steady while he drags himself in and out of you. You clench around him and push against his movements, and it has him moaning curses with your name. His pace becomes erratic, and that’s how you know he’s close.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he instructs you. “Come with me. Fuck, fuck, I want you to come.”

You do as you’re told, reaching down to stroke your clit while he pounds you from behind. And when you hear his deep breaths and a prolonged moan, you quicken your pace until you’re coming once again.

He pants, all the energy being drained out of him, but you still feel him gently kiss your shoulders, then your spine, then your ass cheeks before he lays in bed next to you. 

He breathes heavily but he manages a soft smile that mirrors yours, and all you want to do is wrap him in your arms until you both fall asleep. 

“Sex just good?” He teasingly asks. 

“Were you trying to make a point?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he huffs.

You shift your position, your arm now supporting your body as you lay on your side. Your hand traces his bare torso, which still rises and falls from the ordeal, and he hums in satisfaction. 

“Did you like that?” You whisper in his ear, biting your lip in anticipation of his answer. 

“Uh-huh,” he breathes out. “Fuck, you feel so good. You take me so well, baby. That was just…”

“I want to keep making you feel good, Jungkook,” you moan, liking how he’s at a loss for words. “And I want you to keep fucking me like that.”

Your vulgar words contrast the tender way you graze your nose against his neck, and it somehow makes his mind even more hazy. You’re everything he wants, and he’ll do everything to keep you next to him. 

“I will,” he promises, turning to his side to face you. “I’ll do that and more.”

And he does, as he cleans you up and tucks you under the covers with his arms around your body. You’re cradled in his, and the clarity you feel after such a mind-numbing experience is so satisfying. 

You suppose this is what intimacy is - feeling that high and then landing on a soft field of everything beautiful, and you decide that this is the only place you’ll ever want to be in. Jungkook smiles at you and you just know he feels the same way you do.

You wake up with Jungkook next to you this time, your limbs entangled with his under the comforts of his soft blanket. Your eyes flutter open and you see him propped up on his tattooed arm, smiling at you.

“Were you just watching me sleep?” You mumble.

“Maybe,” he teasingly shrugs. “It’s nice to see you resting well.”

“It’s your sheets,” you say, earning you a laugh.

“Guess I know what to spoil you with next time,” he winks. 

“What time is it? And why aren’t you working out?” You ask, knowing it’s how he always starts his day. 

“11,” he answers. “I’m surprised I didn’t wake up earlier. But when I did I just thought to sleep in with you.”

“Hmm, good decision,” you grunt, your mind still half asleep but awake enough to appreciate his half naked form next to you. You scoot closer and hug him, causing him to lay flat on his back while he wraps his arm around your bare body. “This is better than a workout.”

“Well, I kinda had mine last night,” he giggles.

And he’s not wrong. After he tucked you in bed, you spent another hour or so just talking and cuddling and that led to another round of him pounding into you from the side, and then another one with him over you. He went so hard that he had to take another shower at 3 in the morning and he’s probably done his arm and core exercises for today. 

You don’t even know how you managed to withstand all that, but you did, and you loved every second of it. You loved how he bit his lip in pleasure and how his neck veins popped out as he pounded into you intensely. You basked in his whimpered sounds and the kisses he showered you with as he came down. 

And now you’re in his embrace, curled against him. You'd do this all day if you could.

“But this is nice,” he hums, as he strokes your back while also combing your hair with his fingers. 

He kisses the top of your head while you moan in satisfaction, a kind of soft pleasure that relaxes you, that makes you feel like you’re floating but also enveloped in pure warmth. That’s what hugging Jungkook feels like, as his toned but smooth arms wrap around you. His rough fingers tenderly roam your body, and it eases your tired being; nuzzling his neck, you feel like you could fall asleep again. 

But you’re quite hungry and you assume that so is he, so you slowly disentangle yourself from him and say that you’ll be cooking lunch when he whines. 

“I told you I’ll make something for you this time,” you say, appeasing him with a kiss on the cheek. 

“Fine,” he concedes, stating that he’ll go over the interview questions that a few reporters have sent over for him to answer while you’re cooking. 

He follows you to wash up in the bathroom - then gives you a deeper kiss right after - and then to the kitchen. He sits on the stool by the counter while you cook rice and seafood pajeon, something you boasted about last night. 

“Babe, you think you could help me with the questions?” He asks, catching you off guard with the pet name that he uses in a different context for the first time. 

“Sure,” you hum. “Read them out loud.”

So he does, and you spend much of the hour going through them and sipping your coffee, with him pulling you for a hug when you wander to his side. 

You eat lunch while watching sports highlights on TV, then you spend the afternoon laughing over the variety TV show episodes that you’ve missed these past weeks. 

It’s 5PM when you both start dressing up for dinner that  he’ll treat you to for your first official date, he’d said, insisting that he likes eating at nice places. He has you to share the experience with this time, and he doesn’t want you to worry about expenses of any kind. He wants to eat at your favorite noodle houses, too, and that’s a plan for another day. 

You have on a skirt and top outfit that thankfully matches your new pumps. Once you finish putting on your makeup, you head to Jungkook’s walk-in closet to check on him, your throat drying up at seeing him in an all-black denim ensemble. He’s sexy enough as it is, with the skinny jeans accentuating his ass and his thick thighs. But when the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows and when the buttons are undone just up to his chest to show the tank top he’s wearing underneath, sexy becomes too simplistic. Even more so when you spot the silver chain around his neck again, simple and classic but definitely dangerous.

He turns to you and takes in your look before he smirks. But just as you expect him to compliment you or even kiss you, he instead reaches out for your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours when you take it. 

“Let’s go,” he says, leading you out. 

He doesn’t say much on the way to the car. He just gazes at you then smiles when you look at him. It’s during the drive when he kisses your hand, surprising you, and there’s that warmth that you feel again. You listen to the soft sounds of the radio this time, sharing in the silence the way that you used to, and it’s far from uncomfortable, especially with him thumbing your hand that he’s not letting go of. 

You make it to the restaurant where you’re seated by the window, able to appreciate the setting of the sun. The food is delicious, with the variety of tender meats causing you to silently moan at how good it is. There’s an array of dishes that Jungkook orders, and you spend the rest of dinner talking about your favorite food and the other places you want to try. 

Satisfied from the meal, you both head to the Arts Center. You know you’ll have another time to fully explore. You’ll remember how the areas looked before renovation and you’ll look on in pride at how different they are now. There’ll be opportunities for you to check every exhibition and watch performances here. When the Center hosts some of the international film festival events in two months, you’ll definitely attend and pay attention to the halls and other spaces. You’ll come during the day and appreciate the light coming through the windows, and you’ll be able to gaze at the art installations outdoors.

But tonight, you want your focus to be on the children’s library, the one that Jungkook had built for you. 

The Center closes late on weekends so you have time to savor it. You want to remember the feeling of being inside it with him, as if you’re making him part of the memory, as if you’re including him in the best moments of your childhood. 

You finally enter the grand library, appreciating the details and the grandness of it. You ask Jungkook where the archive section is now, and what the process of moving it was like. 

“I had to incorporate it in the main area instead of separating it,” he explains. “Yoongi and I found a corner to establish its presence and then scattered the pieces beyond that, putting them in glass enclosures around the desks and on the walls. I think it’s better that way; visitors become intrigued and want to learn more, so they could go around and end up exploring more of the library.”

“That’s strategic,” you say, appeased that there were gains in making the change. You stand at the entrance of the children’s space and then to him. “So, what made you decide to do this?”

He talks about his late afternoon jog one weekend and discovering a park that reminded him of the playground that his father built for him. He tells you about all the apologies his old man couldn’t make, and all the words left unsaid that Jungkook realized had held them together despite the distance and the detachment. 

“I thought about all the times that you needed someone and I happened to be there,” he continues as he follows you around inside. “And then the times when I wasn’t or no one was. I don’t ever want you to feel alone. I thought that if I’m not in your life anymore, I could at least build you something that would make you happy, that would protect you, the way you said your old neighborhood library made you feel.”

His words leave you speechless. You suppose that for someone not good with them, he finds the right ones when he needs to. You were overwhelmed with emotions the first time you saw this, and you couldn’t fully grasp how he could make something like this for you. 

That playground mattered to him, the way your old library did. Only he would understand how a space or a structure could comfort you, how it could take your fears away, and how that feeling could stay with you for a long time. He wanted you to continue feeling that whether you found your way back to each other or not, and now that you have, you feel that happiness and that safety even more.

You run your fingers across the murals then sit on the couch with the fluffy teddy bear next to you. The more you look around, the more you realize that this isn’t just meant for children. The seating areas are big enough for adults, so is the activity space at the back. It’s where those with child-like hearts and minds can stay - to reminisce perhaps, or to make new memories. You think you’ll be doing both.

“Is it close to how your library looked?” He asks, as you both walk past the shelves and you scan the books they have. 

“Jungkook, that was a semi-rundown library that used to be someone’s house. It had chipped wallpapers and creaking wooden floors,” you giggle. “This is definitely much prettier but I see so much of the old one in here. The warm lights, all the colors, the different areas to read and draw and color. The paper dolls,” you squeal. “It’s… familiar but new, just like everything with you is. I… I don’t know what else to say.”

“A thank you is fine,” he smiles, pulling you close to him. You’re behind one of the shelves, and with no one else here this late Sunday evening, he wraps his arms around your waist. “I wouldn’t mind a kiss, too.”

“You deserve more than all that,” you whisper, kissing him softly. “Thank you, Jungkook. I’ll be spending weekends here. Or when I have a tough day at work. Or when you’re away and I’m missing you.”

“Good. That way I know that when you’re down, you have somewhere to go so you could feel better. And less alone.”

That’s all he hopes, after all - that on days when he can’t be what you need, there’s a place that he built that will make you feel better. 

He treasures your smile and the way your eyes shine as you go through the picture books that have their own row of shelves. He beams at how beautiful you look being enamored with the space that reminds you of the best parts of your childhood. And he softens when you look at him with so much adoration, words seemingly not enough to express how you feel. 

You don’t say much as you walk back to the car though. When he drives to his penthouse, you hold his hand. But something inside you stirs so you guide his palm to your thigh, smiling when he caresses it. He sees you bite your bottom lip at the act, and though he’s tempted to do more, he decides that tracing your skin is what he wants to do for now.

The feel of Jungkook touching any part of your body is electrifying. He ignites a kind of desire in you that you’ve never felt before, whether it’s simply holding your hand or stroking the inside of your thigh.

Being back in the library made you feel many things. It brought back memories and made you imagine all the new ones you’ll make. It also filled you with an overwhelming need for him, as you think of all the ways you could show him your appreciation. Including one that you could do tonight.

So after making it past the door of his apartment, and after briefly watching his impeccable figure walk down his hallway, you don’t hold back. He turns around and you don’t even hear what he asks. You just head towards him and kiss him.

You kiss him hard and deep, your hands wrapping around his neck to pull him as close as you can get him, even as you guide him towards his living room, knowing where you want him. He moans when you bite his lower lip, your fingers desperately gripping his shirt now as you want more. 

You pull away to catch your breath, your intense eyes saying everything you want to do to him. He caresses your cheek but only briefly, as his thumb traces your lips before pushing it past them. The sight of you sucking his finger - gentle at first before you do it desperately - has his cock throbbing, impatient to feel your mouth wrapped around it.

“Fuck. Good girl,” he says under his breath, as you lick his thumb teasingly to tell him what you want to do. 

You kiss him again, your fingers now eagerly undoing his buttons. He removes his shirt then you pull his tank top off him before you push him to sit on the couch. You stand before him and stare at him shamelessly, as he sits comfortably and stares back at you. His hands are behind his head now, with his taut arms in full display for you to salivate over. 

But it’s his chest that you want to pay attention to rigjt now, all perfectly toned and every bit breathtaking.

“Take your clothes off,” he says before you can make your move. 

“Is that an order, Mr. Jeon?” You breathe out, knowing how the name affects him. 

“Yes,” he huffs. “An urgent one.”

You smirk as he plays along, and you take your time in undressing. You watch his eyes move with you, his breaths deepening now as you bare yourself in front of him. 

“Don't touch yourself. I’ll do that,” you instruct. “And that’s not a suggestion.”

He chuckles in response but he seems to enjoy it, relaxing in his position. You take that as your cue, settling on his lap and then mapping his torso with your hands as you lick and suck his neck. He angles it to give you more space, and he hisses when you take advantage. 

Your mouth travels south, leaving kisses on his collarbone and sternum before twirling your tongue around his pert nipples that are aching for attention. He starts to pant and you decide to take your time, wanting his pleasure to build up so you could hear him beg for you this time. You moan as you nibble his buds, but your own pleasure builds, too, and with your hand feeling his thick length underneath those jeans, you suddenly can’t wait any longer.

“You like that, baby?” You whisper in his ears. “You like it when I do that?”

“Fuck, yes,” he wails. “Fuck, baby. That’s so good.”

With a few more kisses towards his hips, you move as well, now finding yourself kneeling on the floor and quickly undoing his belt. He lets you do all the work, and you don’t mind. You like how his chest rises and falls in anticipation, and when you finally free his cock, you let out an obscene sound that even you’ve never heard before.

You’ve been graced with this scene these past days, but it still leaves a lump in your throat. He’s thick and veiny and everything you want to taste and have inside you. You pull off his jeans until he’s bare as well. You stroke him once and the moan he makes is all you need. 

With your thumb on his slit, you lick up his shaft until you’re swallowing him whole, his tip hitting your throat that it makes you groan. The vibration has him grunting and it pushes you, so you start moving your mouth and hand up and down his length, with your tongue swirling over his tip and all the other sensitive parts of him. 

Your free hand explores. You stroke his leg and then brush your fingers over his inner thighs. You caress his torso when you go deep and bask in the way he breathlessly curses, over and over again. 

Needing a quick breather, you let your hands do their work. But Jungkook takes this chance to bend over and capture your mouth in his. He kisses you fervently, sucking the air out of you and you don’t really mind running out of it, not when he tastes as good as he does, when he’s as desperate for you as you are for him. He pulls on your hair gently, slowly tightening his grip when your kiss gets more intense. 

He eventually pulls away, leaving you free to tease and suck his cock once again. He moans continuously, cursing under his breath once you let him guide your head to take all of him in. His obscene sounds make it all worth it, especially once you feel his body tighten.

“Fuck, baby I’m close,” he whimpers. “Fuck, I–I need to come inside you, fuck.”

You slowly remove yourself from him, but your hand remains wrapped around his length. You look at him with your glassy eyes, desperate to feel every inch of him possible.

“Come inside me, please,” you whisper. “I want to feel you come inside me. I need…”

You pant, your eyes telling him what you really mean. You don’t want any more barriers. You want to feel him drag against your walls, to release his warmth and fill you up completely. You’ve mentioned being clean and so has he; you said in passing how you’re on implants, too. He looks at you and nods in understanding, just like all the times that you’ve spoken to each other through your gazes. With the way he heaves, he seems to want it just as much as you. 

He pulls you towards him and guides you to sit on his lap. He strokes his cock and drags his tip through your folds, teasing you before slowly pushing it inside you. He feels even more immaculate like this, and your walls embrace him immediately, as if he’s always meant to be there. You get on your knees as you position yourself to ride him, and your gentle movements follow a pace that has you keening, especially when he starts licking your pert nipples that’s been needing his attention. 

You grind against him with his hands kneading your ass to guide you. You feel him deep, and it has you breathless and wanting more.You sit up and wrap your arms around his neck for support as he pounds on you from below, and with his tight grip around your waist and his mouth sucking your breasts, you start to feel hazy.

“You feel so good around me, shit,” he moans. “Fuck, baby. You’re so perfect for me, fuck.”

He continues his thrusts and you’re so lost in the overstimulation. Your body starts to shake as you chase the high, letting it all overwhelm you. 

“Baby, I’m gonna come,” you whimper. “I’m—”

Your orgasm is a loud crash, and you feel it linger. You feel your essence coat him; you feel the slick drip out of you and stick to your bodies, mixed with the sweat from all the work of building each other up.   

He curses again as he feels the wetness all over his cock, and it’s heavenly. Feeling you like this does something to him, and he wants you to do it again. 

So he pounds even harder, not giving you much time to calm down. You moan in response, scratching his back as you hold onto him tightly while he releases all his energy onto pleasuring you and him. He slows his pace and moves in circular motions before he lays you on your back. Your eyes are glassy. Your mouth knows only his name. Your hair is damp and you’re panting. And you look absolutely beautiful as you beg for him to make you come again, and for him to finally come inside you.

Watching you feel all that he can give is what he needs. With his arms propped on your sides to support him, he goes hard and deep. He’s been somewhat gentle these first few times, and he knows that that drives you wild. But he also knows that going a bit rough would make you lose your mind even more, so that’s what he does. 

He pins your arms down as he slowly pushes inside you.

“You like it like this, yeah?” He pants. “You like it when I reach this deep?”

“Yes, baby. Yes, please. Please don’t stop,” you whimper, this view of him with his damp hair and his silver chain hanging over you making you crazy.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head with how good he feels, especially when he hits you at an angle that makes your body come alive but also numb, and it’s a feeling you can’t get enough of. 

He hums in satisfaction, choosing now to suck on your neck while he continues his assault on your pussy. He licks the shell of your ear and whispers how good you make him feel.

“You take me so well, baby. Such a good girl, yeah?” He grunts. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

You can only moan in response, unable to form proper words now. And he senses it, with your mouth hanging open and your erratic breathing escaping it. 

He straightens himself, knowing what he needs to do. So he plays with your clit while his other movements continue, and that’s how you find your voice again. He quickens his pace, his thumb doing its work on your most sensitive spot while your walls pulsate around his throbbing cock. Your legs start to shake until you’re wailing in pleasure, screaming his name as you orgasm another time. He knows enough to focus on kissing you, swallowing your sounds as you come down.

But you want him to reach his peak this time, so you tell him to keep going, to find his spot so he could fill you up this time. He spreads your legs open in response, giving him a view that makes him throb even more. It’s what he needs, as he focuses on his pleasure like you told him. He bucks his hips, finding his pace that quickens then slows down then quickens again, until his erratic movements signal that he’s close, too.

“Yes, baby,” you urge him. “You’re gonna fill me up so good. I want it so bad. Come for me, please baby.”

He does a few more thrusts before he’s spilling his warm seed inside you, with him moaning out curses every second. His cum drips from your hole but he catches it with his tip, pushing it back inside you until so is he. He stays there for a while as you both catch your breaths, with him collapsing to your side while you move along with him. You can still feel his cock pulsate against your walls, and it causes you to moan. You’ve never felt that before, and it’s another intimate thing you share with him, as he wraps his arm around you and languidly kisses you after. 

“That was amazing,” he breathes out.

“It was,” you hum, smiling at him looking spent and content. “I like you here. Stay a while, please.”

He chuckles at your request but he doesn’t mind it either. It’s intimate, as all things with you beyond sex are. He just wants to stay close to you, to hear your soft breaths and revel in the feel of you, sweat and slick included. 

But as much as he could fall asleep here, he knows he shouldn’t. He pulls away and lets you head to the bathroom to clean up. He follows soon after and he catches you on the sink, removing your makeup then turning to him once you hear him arrive.

“My body’s kinda sore,” he says. “Do you wanna have a bath?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” you smile. “But we can’t stay long. You have work tomorrow so you need to sleep soon.”

“Alright,” he nods, walking to the bathtub now. “I’ll try to keep my hands off of you, then.”

Jungkook doesn’t. And neither do you, even when you both head to the shower to rinse yourselves. 

You curl in his arms right when he lays next to you, and despite all the intensity from earlier, you know that this will always be your favorite part - his fingers tracing patterns on your back, his lips constantly finding yours, and his eyes telling you all the other things that words or actions can’t say. He’s your safe place. You think from now on, he’ll always be.

You wake up to your alarm the next morning, the ringing pulling out a groan from you; you haven’t needed it this past week and you suddenly miss just sleeping in.

But it’s Monday, the start of a new week. Jungkook will be off to work and you’ll have to go back to your own apartment and start preparing for your own job that will start next week. You manage to get yourself off the bed and his soft sheets and go to the bathroom to wash up.

Once you finish, you head out and immediately hear his grunts from where you are. You know he’s in the middle of his workout, so you peek inside the gym, finally shameless to be doing it this time. He’s shirtless doing some arm exercise on his equipment, but he has his back turned on you so you stare at it instead, instantly feeling hot at the view of his broad shoulders and slim waist. His muscles contract with every movement and you remember how that felt when you held onto them last night to keep you grounded as he pounded into you from every angle. 

His set finishes and he turns around and sees you, donned in his shirt and standing by the door. He moves to another machine, takes a seat, and starts doing a shoulder press while gazing back at you. Half of you is tempted to sit on his lap and kiss him stupid, but the other half wants to stay rooted on your spot to watch him. 

The latter wins and you stand there, thighs squeezing at the sight and sound of him, as he grunts with his every push of the weights. His eyes don’t move away from you and you just know he’s enjoying this, too, especially when he smirks once your mouth slowly opens. 

“Enjoying yourself there?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You like how I look? How I sound?”

“Oh, shush,” you frown at being teased. “You’re overdoing it. You’re not that loud when you exercise.”

“So you listen to me, huh?” He smirks again, walking towards you now. “How did that make you feel?”

“I used to come here every morning, Jungkook. I couldn’t not hear you,” you cross your arms. “And I just looked away.”

“You’re not looking away now.”

“How can I when you’re teasing like that,” you scrunch your eyebrows. 

“Is it working?”

“Were you always this cocky?” You laugh now.

“No,” he chuckles. “Just now. Only because I see your jaw dropping and your thighs squeezing.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” 

“Oh, don’t challenge me like that,” he warns, caging you against the wall. 

He eyes your lips but he bends down towards your chest instead, biting your pert nipple that’s gotten so obvious under his cotton shirt. He nibbles on it briefly before swirling his tongue around it. You hiss, feeling the sensation all over your body with that small movement, and it’s what urges him to face you again.

“Cute,” he whispers.

He licks your mouth, prompting you to open it and let him inside, and your moan at the taste of him is immediate. Your hands move on their own, pulling him by his neck then caressing his chest like it’s natural. You start to feel the dampness in your underwear and pull away, knowing that you can’t fall into this early in the morning, and not when he has a job to go to.

“Jungkook, you have work,” you say, hating that you have to cut this moment short. “If we start then…”

“I know,” he sighs, given how you both can’t seem to stop once you get into it. “I’ll just do a bit more and then wash up. You can still watch if you like.”

“Tempting, but I’ll be making us breakfast.”

“And what’s on the menu?”

“Fried rice,” you smile.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Now I don’t need to hide how much I enjoy that.”

You giggle and let him go then head to the kitchen where you work on making enough for tomorrow, in case he wants to have it again before he leaves. You brew coffee and work around just like you used to, but with a bit more freedom this time. You hum while you cook and prepare in excitement. You’ve learned that you like doing things for him, and this is one way that you could spoil him.

Jungkook exits his gym after some ab workouts and stretching, his heart racing in a different way when he sees you in his kitchen again. It brings him back to this past year of his weekday mornings and his favorite routine.

But you’re not in your work outfit this time, and it won’t be stolen glances or comfortable silence you’ll be sharing. There’ll be more, and though this won’t be the norm, given your own job that you’ll be starting next week, Jungkook decides this is another favorite of his. He hopes for more moments of domestic bliss where it’s just you and him in his home, sharing meals and hugs and kisses in between. 

He gives himself some time before he calls your attention, wanting to savor this first before he faces a busy week, one he’ll have to go through without you. 

“Enjoying yourself there?” You tease this time. 

“Yes,” he chuckles. “It’s just… nice to start a work week with you again.”

You smile softly at him, knowing that it hurt him to be without this for weeks. You show him the bowl of fried rice you’ve made, and even you’re salivating. Perhaps it’s also because of the man standing in front of you, and the sight of him like this just never fails to take your breath away.

“It’s nice to start with this, too,” you gesture towards the food. “It’s a new recipe but I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” he smiles back, following you to the table and sitting next to you. 

He hums in satisfaction after the first spoonful. You watch him as he eats, endeared by the way he’s enjoying the dish despite looking like a whole meal himself. 

You both finish and you clean up while he takes a bath, quickly dressing yourself then heading to his closet. It’s no longer your responsibility but it’s a task you secretly enjoyed, so you put out a navy blue ensemble for Jungkook and set aside a few outfits that he can pack for his trips this week. 

He walks in with a towel wrapped around his waist, and you stop yourself again from wanting to do anything. It’s hard when he looks as good as he does at any time of the day, but it’s something you’ll just have to get used to. You get to be around while he puts on his clothes now, and he doesn’t seem to mind at all, given his teasing smile and soft laughter. 

You stand in front of him and fix his necktie. His eyes flit from your fingers to your face, liking that he’s able to do that this time.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” he says. “But… I like that you are.”

“It’s intimate, isn’t it? Dressing someone?” You glance at him.

You’ve done something similar in the past, like when you fixed the creases of his suit or the time he put his jacket over you. They were so simple but they stuck with you, and something in you stirs as you do this for him now. 

“It is,” he smiles back, nibbling his lower lip.

You help him wear the coat then fix his tie again. You meet his eyes and then his lips before exiting the room, your gazes saying more than words could. He picks up your bags then you both walk to the car so he could drive you home before he heads to work.

“I’ll see you tonight?” You turn to him.

“Of course. I’ll get to you at 6, is that okay?”

“Yes, I’ll make dinner,” you smile. 

He lets you go after a kiss and you head inside your apartment with all your freshly washed clothes and new shoes. It’s a nice feeling being able to go through them and then fixing them in your closet. It’s nice having this time for yourself, too. While you like being with Jungkook, you know it’s important to not forget how it’s like to be on your own. 

You do your chores for the rest of the morning while talking to Soomin and Jimin on the phone, as you’re finally able to tell them most of what’s happened since Friday night. They’re supportive, as they often are, and they seem to be looking forward to hanging out with him like you suggested. 

You go out for lunch at a small noodle house before settling at a nice cafe where you read the book that Namjoon gave you. At mid-afternoon, you head to the supermarket to buy your groceries for the next two weeks, including tonight’s dinner. Thinking about what you’ll make for him was easy; you just hope you’ll do it justice, considering that it’s one of Jungkook’s favorite things to eat. 

You don’t hear much from him during the day. He messaged you during lunch time just to say he was eating out with Yoongi then asked how you were. He didn’t respond after a few texts, which you didn’t mind. You always felt that he wasn’t the texting type, which is good because you aren’t, either. There’s at least that level of understanding and expectation on both sides. You know of his tendency to hyper focus; he’s also a very busy man, which is why you know that when he’s with you, he’s focused on just you and nothing else, which is really what you prefer. 

He calls when he’s on the way to you and before you know it, he’s ringing the doorbell and you’re being greeted by the said man who still looks impeccable after a long day. He hands you flowers and a bottle of champagne. 

“You didn’t have to but this is lovely,” you smile at him. 

You put the bouquet on a vase then place it on the coffee table. After taking his seat, you serve the dish that you’ve spent the past few hours making, wanting to make sure that the meat is tender and flavorful. The beef looks so soft and the aroma is filling your apartment. You watch him after the first bite, your heart soaring when he smiles and hums in satisfaction.

“This is so good,” he says. “Reminds me so much of the beef brisket from that restaurant near the office.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted. That dish is your favorite,” you explain. “You order it often. It was also the first dish you ever bought for me.”

He stops his movements and looks at you questioningly. 

“It was after the first board report submission,” you recall. “You instructed me to buy the team lunch from that restaurant and this is what I ordered because you always did. I… I treat it as the first meal you got for me and I wanted to try making it for you.”

Jungkook remembers that day. You were surprised that he gave that instruction. You also made sure that the team enjoyed it and thanked him for it. He liked that you enjoyed it as well, but claiming that that was the first dish he got you is technically untrue. And he’s unsure if telling you the truth is a good idea, but he supposes it’s one he can share now.

“It was actually pork cutlets with curry,” he says, prompting you to look at him questioningly. “It was on my first day. I… I made you do so many things and you missed lunch.”

The memory comes back to you. He had you annotate documents and attend meetings and you were starving the whole day.

“Right. I stayed late that day and I think Yoongi got me dinner. How was that…”

You remember more. Yoongi had spoken with Jungkook before he left then came back with a rice bowl. Is it possible that—

“I asked him to get it for you and not say it was from me,” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts. “The pastries during the meeting, too. Those… those were the first things I bought for you, all because I was guilty about how I treated you that day.”

You see the sadness and apology in his eyes. You suppose with how you both started, it’s easy to fall into a cycle of feeling bad about what happened, forgiving, moving on, and then remembering something again. But maybe it’s necessary this time, as you both get to know each other and settle in this new relationship. Mistakes will come up, and it’s on both of you to assure each other that it’s all okay. 

So that’s what you do, as you tell him you’re not upset when he asks if you are.

“I guess in a way, you’ve always looked out for me,” you smile at him. 

“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he sighs, wanting to be positive about it like you are. 

But you don’t want to dwell on the past. You’ve been apologizing to each other for days and you know you’ll have to stop that at some point. 

“You’ve been soft for me since the start, huh?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him in an effort to lighten the mood.

“I was attracted to you from the beginning,” he admits. “You were nothing like I imagined and you kept proving me wrong. I’d zone out when you spoke to me, I’d hold my breath when you were close… so I detached myself from you and that hurt you in some ways. And I knew that was wrong so I fought the feelings and that made it worse.”

“What changed?”

“I hated seeing you have a hard time, whether it was because of me or not,” he says. “One moment it was out of guilt and then the next… it was just about wanting to see you happy and safe. And then wanting to see all of that up close.”

“You get to do that now,” you smile at him. “Happy, safe… that’s what I am.”

“Good. Me, too,” he smiles back.

You continue with your meal while he talks about his relatively quiet but busy day and you talk about yours. It’s nice being able to share mundane things that happened to you with someone who does the same. 

The sadness in his eyes eventually disappears. He insists on doing the dishes this time and you both laugh as he navigates washing in the tiny sink. You sit on the couch with him, the sounds of the TV in the background merely white noise, and with your head on his chest and his fingers tracing patterns on your arm, you think that ending your days like this is a lot more peaceful and satisfying than being on your own.

“What time do you leave in the morning?” You ask. 

“7,” he responds. 

He’s got a busy week ahead - a trip to Incheon then Busan tomorrow to do some promotions of the Arts Center, and then he goes straight to Japan on Wednesday for meetings with culture and tourism ministers. He comes back on Friday evening, and that’s four days without you. It may sound silly, but that’s four days too long. He managed before though, but then again, he didn’t have much to look forward to after other than seeing you once he returned. Now, it’s that and so much more.

“I can’t believe that we just got together and now we have to do LDR,” he shakes his head.

This causes you to laugh. You angle your head and look at him, with your arms wrapped around his waist now. 

“Wow, Mr. Jeon. I didn’t think you were that dramatic,” you tease. 

He’d laugh back because he really does sound silly, but the way your soft eyes gaze at him makes him feel a little more sentimental. And definitely honest.  

“Just wanna be with you, that’s all,” he shrugs.

“You’re clingy and needy and cheesy too,” you laugh, kissing his cheek after every word. 

He groans and you’re endeared by how he pouts at you. He’s definitely been expressive about how he feels, but you’ll be apart for the next few days. You’ll be outside your little bubble of affection this time and now have to learn how to balance your relationship with every other responsibility you both have. But you want to assure him just like you hope he’d assure you.

You climb onto his lap, interlock your fingers with his, then smile at him. 

“I like it because it’s you,” you whisper. “And I like you a lot. And I wanna be with you, too. But you have duties and so do I. So you’ll get through this week and do well in those appearances and meetings, and then I can meet you on Friday for dinner and spend the weekend together. Does that sound good?”

“It does,” he smiles back, kissing your hand that has your heart racing because of how tender he does it. “I’m not really uh, a texting kind of person, but let me know how you’re doing, okay? We could talk at night and you can tell me how your day went.”

“I will. And you can tell me, too.”

You nod in agreement and hug him. You’re flushed against his chest and there’s just so much comfort in this. You exhale a deep breath as you feel relaxed, especially when he starts to rub your back. It’s calming, until his hands slip underneath your shirt and his touch slowly rouses you. You feel his desire as he hugs you tightly, and now all you want is for those hands to touch everything else, and for yours to do the same.

You sit back up then pull him forward for a deep kiss, cupping his face and inhaling him, tasting him, feeling him. You slowly unknot his loose necktie, and you feel him smile against your lips, knowing exactly what comes next. You pull away and let him lean back, giving you the space to unbutton his dress shirt while you’re snug on top of his length, liking the bit of friction you feel while you expose more of him to you. 

You reveal his torso, and he watches you admire him from this view. You’re stunning like this, especially with the desire for him painting your face. Your hands map out his body, and he tries to steady his breathing but to no avail. It’s only been a few days but he doesn’t think he’ll get over how your touch affects him anytime soon, not when it ignites something feral in him. 

But he’ll take his time just like you seem to be doing. Even your kisses on his neck and chest are slow and tender, as if you’re savoring all this, knowing you’ll be without it for a few days. You’ll both have to be outside this bubble of safety while he’s away, and he supposes it’s the start of how things will be from now on. But he’s excited for it, if his week will start and end this way. It’s something he can now look forward to, and that carries with it excitement and relief. 

Your lips trail south, the soft pecks being accompanied by your tongue and teeth doing more now. You start to rhythmically grind against his semi-hard length, and when you guide his hand under your shirt and on your breast, he lets out a low growl that has you biting your lip in anticipation. 

It’s what does it for him, and soon enough, you’re both undressed, moaning each other’s names, and damp from sweat. He’s holding you in his arms by the end of it, both your chests still heaving and minds probably hazy. But this is what he wants with you - this feeling of passion and overwhelming desire, of a kind of intensity that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Or maybe even ever. 

But he has to let you go, and when he does, there’s that comfort he didn’t think that letting you go would make him feel. He’ll go home knowing you’re thinking of him. He’ll go through his days knowing he’ll be hearing from you. And he’ll meet you eventually, knowing that it will be this same desire you’ll be sharing and expressing, and that’s definitely something he can’t wait to do again.

You’re a little disoriented when you wake up in your bed the next morning. It’s not soft sheets that you bury yourself into this time, but then again, the body soreness is quite familiar. It’s something you don’t mind though, not when you know the reason why.

It’s only been a few days but Jungkook just seems to know your body. He seems to really like it, too, with the way he takes his time kissing it, caressing it, and praising it. He knows just how to work his tongue on your most sensitive parts to make you reach your peak. He knows just how much strength to exert, or how deep he should go in what angle, and when to increase his pace or slow down. He knows just what to say, vulgar or otherwise, or when to look at you tenderly or as if he’ll devour you, or when to grip you tightly and when to hold you softly. 

And he’d done all of that last night. While your tiny couch could only make you do so much, you both still knew what to do whether you were on top of him, on your knees, or under him. 

It was definitely a good way to say goodbye, and he would’ve gone another round if it wasn’t for you convincing him that he had to go home so he could pack his things and be ready for an early trip. You don’t want him to be too tired then oversleep, and you’re glad that he didn’t. 

You check your phone and see that he messaged you at 7:15 to say that he and Mr. Ri have already left and are on their way to Incheon. He’ll attend a meeting and then appear at an event before they take the long drive to Busan for another event where he’ll present the Arts Center and make a speech. He’ll spend the night there before an early morning flight to Tokyo. It’s the first of many post-opening promotions he’ll be doing, and you know there’ll be more of these business trips that you’ll have to get used to.

But you don’t mind being alone this time, not when you have your own preparations and rest to do, and not when you know that you’ll be hearing from him at the end of the day. There’s the weekend you’ll be looking forward to with him. 

Your mom had reminded you during a brief call yesterday about making sure you preserve your independence and identity, and you tell her that you always had.

“Yes, because those relationships were different,” she said of your exes. “You did that because you didn’t want to share much of yourself with them. But with Jungkook, you are, and it’s also the first time. Just… make sure to hold onto the things that made you happy before him, and he should, too,” she advises. “Share them, but don’t forget them. Don’t lose what makes you, you.”

It’s wisdom from someone who’d gone through relationships herself, who’d loved and lost and loved again. And it’s a good reminder. 

This is all new to you, and you suppose it’s easy to fall into this trap of dependence with your partner, of the honeymoon stage and the giddy, euphoric parts of romance. At the end of the day, Jungkook still has duties and you have a new path to take on. You’ll both have days of being too busy, too tired, maybe a bit frustrated, too. You’ll need to ground yourself in other ways and like your mom had said, not depend on the other person to always make things better, even if most days they could. 

It’s the same thing that your next-door neighbor tells you when you decide to have lunch with her after she lures you with some grilled fish. She tells you about the encounter with Jungkook and you narrate how you got together. It may all seem too much, too soon and now that you’re apart from him, maybe it is. Maybe it’s also just all the emotions you both kept in finally being expressed. 

And you think that maybe it’s also good that you have this time for yourself to remind you of all the other things you enjoy in life. Now you don’t have to treat them as substitutes for what you really desire because you already have that connection and intimacy you’ve been yearning for. You get to truly feel the joy of immersing yourself in your interests, and you suppose that’s one way to not lose yourself.

So you go back home and tend to your plants. You go to the theater and watch a local film and not feel like you’re escaping your life or anything this time. You bake cookies after your chicken in broth dinner because it’s something you’ve always wanted to try. 

You share all these things with Jungkook later that evening while you’re on a video call with him, including what your mom and neighbor had said. 

“I was a little down that you’ll be away but now I… I’m thinking I shouldn’t be,” you say. “I’ll always miss and think about you but I don’t want to feel like I miss myself when I’m with you. Am I making any sense?”

“You are,” he smiles on the screen. “It’s the same reason why you didn’t want me to miss my meeting with my father and cousin yesterday. I still have a role. Now that I’m with you, I feel like I’ll stop feeling like that weighs me down. It used to because all I was was tied to that title. I didn’t feel like I was anything else.”

You think about his words and how resigning felt liberating for you. Beyond feeling indebted, it’s clear to you that you felt stuck because it’s all you knew to do; being an assistant was all you knew how to be. It wasn’t just the stress or the pressure because you know every job you take will have those. In fact, you look forward to it in your new position. You realize that you like working, you like the hustle, you like the grind. But if it’s all you do, you lose the joy. 

Now, you have a hand to hold and a warm body to wake up to. You have someone to share your days and joys and frustrations with. You have someone to laugh with and cry to. And so days on your own feel like much-needed time to enjoy things you prefer doing by yourself. And work could feel more challenging in a good way, pushing you to be better and seeing what else you could accomplish. Somehow, being with Jungkook makes you feel like there’s so much more you could do because at the end of the day, there’s someone to celebrate with, to share your thoughts with; there’s someone to cheer you on and support you.

You tell him all this and he seems to reflect on it as well. 

“The councils were very impressed with the Arts Center,” he says after a while. “They said it’s a good complement to their efforts of promoting local artists because of the opportunities for exhibitions. At that moment, I felt proud of what we’ve done. And it reminded me of why I wanted to focus on this aspect of the job. I always told my parents that I wanted to be responsible for the creative side of the company and I am but it felt so heavy even if I asked for it. I don’t have to carry that pressure with me all the time. I get to take a break from it when I’m with you and I think that’s made me enjoy it more.”

It’s a realization Jungkook had on the way home after that dinner meeting with a local artist in Busan. She talked about envisioning her pieces displayed in a space like the Arts Center and he felt that joy of being able to create something for others to be a part of. Structures are beautiful on their own, but then the meaning deepens because of what they mean for users; the sense of fulfillment is different. He supposes that he’s able to appreciate that part of the job even more now. 

“That’s good for us, then,” you hum, as you slowly succumb to sleep. “I have quite the day tomorrow and so do you. Rest now, Jungkook. And I’ll talk to you again.”

He says goodbye with such softness in his eyes. You miss him, but you’re happy that he’s able to experience all this on his own, too. Hearing him talk about it is different than witnessing it yourself and that’s perhaps the joy in being with someone. It’s not just about experiencing what they experience; it’s also about being on the receiving end when they try to make sense of it. 

Maybe that’s what partnership is about, and you can’t imagine sharing all this to anyone else but him. And that’s the difference this time. This is a person you admire and who admires you back.  He’s someone you could trust and feel safe enough to be your true self with, and after tonight’s conversation, you feel like you’re that same person for him.

You wake up early enough the next day and manage to send Jungkook a message wishing him well on his flight to Tokyo. He gives you a call as he’s about to board and says he has so many things lined up this Wednesday but that he’ll talk to you again in the evening. It’s a promise of tonight despite the distance, and you suppose that makes all the difference for him this time. 

You go about your busy day, too. You make yourself a simple breakfast and then head to Rkive Publishing for your onboarding. You requested this to be done earlier so that you could focus on your tasks when you start on Monday, and Namjoon gladly agreed to your request.

He introduces you to Won-woo, your co-production officer who’ll be handling projects alongside you, and to the associates and assistants whom you’ll manage to get the books ready for selling. The team seems a lot more relaxed than what you’re used to, and they share your excitement in working together soon.

Namjoon shows you your desk and turns over your laptop. He introduces you to the rest of the staff and lets the HR go through all the administrative matters with you. He gives you a folder with all the existing and upcoming projects that the associates prepared, including the processes and suppliers list, as well as your team’s personnel files. 

You smile at the documents because preparing these used to be your job, and now you’re at the receiving end of it. It’s a different feeling, but being here today excites you even more. 

You join them at a book launch and take notes of how it’s being run. As a small company, planning these events is done by a special team composed of a staff member from every department but there isn’t really someone who manages it. That’s a responsibility given to you because of your background, and it’s a challenge you’re willing to take. You have more freedom this time and you have ideas. You observe how Namjoon and the other managers engage with the author and his team. It’s definitely different from what you’re used to, and you feel there’s more sincerity in these people than the millionaires you had to deal with at your old job. 

You feel accomplished at the end of it, and it’s something you share with Jungkook again that evening when you eat your Chinese takeout while he munches on some dessert over the phone. 

Not wanting to stay home the next day, you go to a park and finish reading your book. You decide to go to the library at the Arts Center and go through the project documents. You walk around, too, able to take in more of the surroundings with the sun still out. It’s a calming place that has you coming up with ideas for book launches, as you take note of the indoor and outdoor spaces that could definitely hold those types of events. You feel fulfilled, and it’s something you share with Yoongi during dinner later that night. 

You share it with Jungkook, too, over a late evening video call after he had drinks with some business partners. He sounds quite tipsy, and he goes on about having your lemon ginger tea that you convince him to ask room service to make. You remind him of his lunch breakfast meeting and afternoon flight, and tell him that you could both meet for dinner after he clocks out of work.

It’s what you do the next day, as you wait for him at a French restaurant that you reserved for tonight. You turn around when he calls your name, and your smile is immediate when he comes up to you and hugs you tightly. He sounded tired when he called on the way here, and you suppose that he hasn’t really properly rested these past few days. He’s been going from one meeting or event to another, and he’s said before how the socializing drains all of his energy. 

You feel that now, as he exhales deeply while his arms wrap around you. 

“Long week, huh?” You say after you both take your seats. 

“Crazy,” he shakes his head. “Talking about the plans was exciting but the actual talking was tiring.”

He goes on about how the rest of his trip went and you laugh at his commentary about all the people he’s met and his observations. You realize just how much is on his mind, and it reminds you of all the times that you’d seen him look detached when in fact, he’d been making notes and plans in his head. 

Once the food arrives and you salivate at the dishes, he says he’ll stop talking about work now.

“It’s part of your day. Why should you stop talking about it?” You turn to him with a pout.

“I don’t want to bother you about it.”

“But I like hearing you talk about it,” you say. “I like knowing what’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours.”

“There’s always too much going on inside it,” he laughs. “I don’t always know how to make sense of them.”

“It’s because you don’t talk about them,” you point out. “I’m here to listen. I always am.”

He smiles and shares what happened today during the meeting he had with the team to discuss all the proposals they’ve been getting with regards to promoting the Arts Center. A subsidiary company is handling operations and marketing, but other than the planned partnerships with the Culture Ministry and the International Film Festival organizers, Jungkook didn’t expect other industries, as well as local and foreign companies and institutions, to want to partner with Jeon Corporation as well, specifically him. 

He had a phone meeting with his father and Hoseok during the drive from the airport about how they can strategically go about this but that requires more canvassing and research. This is something they can tap on, and it’s good for the company image and sustainability. Residential and commercial infrastructure have always been their expertise but they can build on the cultural sides of property development, too, and Jungkook would be at the forefront of that.

“Monitoring the Arts Center is a big task in itself. I’m gonna have to set a plan for how the VP Office is going to handle it, among many other things,” he says. 

“Maybe it’s time to revisit each team member’s portfolio and responsibilities,” you suggest. “Under Hoseok, only Manager Lee and Chin-sun directly handled projects, but they were all small ones so they could handle multiple. Do-hyun and Yohan managed all administrative affairs and I oversaw a bit of everything. Monitoring the Arts Center might require more than one person so maybe Chin-sun could do it with Do-hyun as a form of mentorship. You have the call to give projects to the young ones now, and maybe add another person to help with administration and events planning. Lucas could need that support.”

Jungkook is quiet and you’re afraid you might’ve crossed a line by advising him on what he could do as VP. You may have been his assistant but that doesn’t mean you could just go on and suggest things. You don’t even know if it’s appropriate to do this. He didn’t even technically ask for your opinion. 

You’re about to apologize when he speaks.

“Those are great ideas. I’ll be meeting them about their development and professional goals soon. Maybe I could align expanded responsibilities and portfolios with that,” he hums. “And mentorship is good, too. Hoseok said he planned on doing that but he had to oversee so many projects that it got pushed back so maybe I can institutionalize that now. And yeah, I’m seeing now that we’d need another person to ease the load off the others. I don’t want them to be overworking and actually, neither should I.”

A smile forms on your face as the ideas come flowing. He probably had thought of those already but needed a sounding board outside of the team. That would usually be his assistant but if it’s about them, he’d need another person for it. 

“I’m sorry I’m bringing this upon you,” he shakes his head. “That’s… that’s not your job anymore. You’re not my assistant anymore. I don’t want you to think that I’m using you for that.”

You didn’t really think of it that way but you don’t blame him for thinking about it. You did accuse him of wanting you to stay for the convenience of it, and maybe that’s still weighing on him.

“I don’t mind,” you assure him. “This is new territory for us, I guess, and it’s something we have to learn to navigate but this is important to you, which means it’s important to me, too. If we treat it like that, then it’s all okay.”

You caress his hand to assure him, and his smile says he understands. He’ll seek advice from his father, he tells you, and you’re glad that he’s actively working on that relationship personally and professionally. 

“How are you feeling about your first day?” He asks, his hand on your bare thigh now while you eat the chocolate mousse dessert. “Do you feel like you’re ready?”

“I’m really excited. And I think I’m ready to just get on with it,” you smile. “Being there last Wednesday helped, and I just have all these ideas for the projects we’ve got lined up. I… I even thought of having book launches in the Arts Center. As long as, you know, it’s not a conflict of interest or anything.”

Your shy smile endears him, and he assures you that it’s not a problem. You’re just using your network. At the end of the day, it’s still the managing company’s call and your own boss’ decision. But you end up bouncing off ideas with him, too, like the Arts Center hosting writing workshops or spoken poetry sessions with the authors whose books you’ll be publishing. 

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” He says after you’ve finished dinner and you’re walking to his car. “We’re out here just coming up with these ideas.”

“We work pretty well together so it’s not a surprise,” you smile at him. “I like that there’s no pressure, too. And that we could just share these things with each other, you know?”

“That’s true. I mean, I’m not assessing you or anything,” he laughs. “But I can openly admire you for it. And then think it’s sexy when you use publishing terms that I don’t understand.”

“So that’s what you want, huh?” You giggle. “I mean, I understand. It’s how I am with you.”

“Ah, so you find it sexy when I talk about the blueprints and design stuff, then?” He teases. 

“I do,” you smirk. “A hot guy with a big brain? Of course that’s sexy.”

“Hmm, that’s nice to know,” he says, caging you against the door of the car. 

His eyes soften as he takes you in and you mirror the way he looks. 

“I’m happy I get to be with you again,” he whispers, his lips inching closer to yours. 

“Me, too,” you whisper back. “And I get to sleep and wake up next to you.”

“That’s always a good plan,” he hums, kissing you deeply, something he could definitely do in an empty basement parking that he couldn’t do at a restaurant. 

You fall into him immediately, and all you want is to do this without worry. “Do you mind if we spend the night at my place?” You suggest. “It’s closer.”

He laughs when he pulls away but agrees that getting home as quickly as possible is a good idea. You both enter the car and his palm is glued to your thigh again and you feel the desire heighten now that you’re alone.

Once the door of your apartment shuts, his hands are all over you immediately. You’re undressed by the time you make the short walk to your dining area, and before you could breathe from your rough kissing, you’re whimpering already with how his tongue expertly laps up your sopping cunt. 

You’re bent on the table one minute, coming on his mouth and then the next, you’ve got your leg on it while he pounds you from behind, his mouth on your neck and his hands on your breasts. 

You go another round in your tiny bathroom, and then another one on the edge of your bed before you’re able to properly lie on it. You’re spent after another quick shower, but it’s worth it when he fucks you as good as he does, especially after not seeing him for a few days.

You’re laid on your side, facing him who does the same. The lamp from your living room is the only source of light you have, but it’s enough for you to see his face and the smile that paints it as you explain that your bed is not as comfortable and your sheets are not as soft as his are. He says that he’ll get used to it, but you insist on passing up on your apartment next time because it’s definitely not sex-conducive unlike his penthouse. He laughs at your comments, saying that he could have sex with you anywhere and it would still be amazing. 

But that cheekiness quickly fades away, and the anxious look in his eyes starts to worry you.

It takes a while but you hear it - the pitter-patter on your window that slowly starts getting louder. You turn around and watch helplessly as the drizzle turns to a downpour in seconds, and you rush out of the bed to close the curtains. 

Jungkook looks uneasy - his jaws are clenched, his eyes flit from the window to you, and his breathing starts to quicken. His body shrivels, as he pulls the covers tight around him and you can’t imagine how anxious he feels. You turn on your speaker and put on some soft music to hopefully drown out the sounds. It works only a little, and you’re reminded of all the times that you felt powerless and unable to give him comfort.

But that’s not the case now, as his words prompt you to move.

“Come here, please,” he mumbles. “I need you with me.”

You return to your spot next to him, and he loosens his hold on the blanket to let you in. 

“I’m here, okay?” You whisper, cupping his face and looking at him in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe with me, Jungkook.”

His eyes soften a bit before they close, and you cover his ears with your hands the way you did all those months ago to block out the noise. It works, as his breathing starts to slow down. But his hold on your arms tightens, and you feel that he needs you as an anchor to get through this, so you shift up and let his arms wrap around you. He finds purchase in your neck while you caress his back, and you pace your breathing with his to let him know that you’re with him, and that you’re not letting him go.

The thunder doesn’t come, but you hold Jungkook the entire night to tell him that you’re there to comfort him even when the storm has passed. You drift to sleep once you hear his soft snores, letting his warmth envelope you as well.

You awake the next morning laid on your stomach like you tend to be, with only the warmth from the blanket covering you. You’re no longer hugging Jungkook. He also isn’t next to you. 

You shift on your back and then find him by the balcony, the curtains open now, allowing you to see the clear skies outside. He stands looking out, with a faraway look in his eyes the way he had the day after his nightmare. You watch him for a while, wondering what’s on his mind, if the fear still remains, or if your comfort helped him get through the night.

He senses you’re awake, so he turns around and faces you. There’s a softness in his eyes now and you wonder where that’s from.

“Hey,” he greets. “Did the light wake you?”

“No. The empty space next to me did,” you say softly, sitting up on the bed now.

“I’m sorry. I… I had to exercise a bit to expend the negative energy,” he explains. 

“What did you do?” You wonder. 

“Just some push-ups and lunges. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. You looked pretty peaceful,” he smiles.

“I don’t even know what time I slept. But it wasn’t long after you did. How do you feel?”

“Better. It was one of those nights, you know?”

You nod, suddenly overcome with a wave of sadness and regret. He notices the change in your expression and sits on the edge of the bed facing you. 

“Hey, is everything okay?”

You look at him with a pout. “I asked you to come here. Then it rained. And I know how you like to workout in the mornings and I have nothing to offer here.”

“You know you can’t control the weather, right?” He nudges your knee. “I would’ve asked if we could come here if you hadn’t because it was closer. And you… you were all I needed last night. I held onto you like a lifeline, ___.”

“You did,” you nod, appreciating his words, even if he’s not the one who should be comforting you after what happened. “I’m glad I could do that for you. I guess I’m just… a little ashamed because this is all I have and—”

“Baby, I’m gonna stop you there before you say anything else,” he says, scooting closer to you and tilting your chin so you could look at him. “This is your home and I… I know you don’t just let anyone in. I like being here. I like being with you. And last night, that will be one of many. I know I won’t be going through that on my own anymore.”

“I can’t control the weather, right?” You repeat his words. “What if it happens and I’m not with you?”

“I’ll just imagine that you are,” he hums. “And then I can head to you the next day and I’ll feel better. And that’s… that’s new for me.”

“Okay,” you mumble, thankful that you’re able to give him as much comfort and safety that he does with you. “I’m just here even if I’m not around.”

“I know,” he smiles, leaning close to kiss you. 

You give him a soft one then pout again, saying you still have to brush your teeth, so he lets you go and you scurry to the bathroom. You return to your bed with him lying on his back now, his arm folded behind his head as he gestures to the space next to him. You climb up and lay on top of his chest, kissing him languidly as his arms wrap around your waist to hold you in place.

He’s gentle with the way his tongue rolls around with yours, and with how his hands stroke your back as they’ve snuck underneath your shirt. There’s something about the rare cool morning that has you wanting to just lazily make out with him while you feel each other up.

And that’s exactly what happens. You hum and giggle against each other’s lips, and your hand maps his torso while he palms your waist down to your thigh. 

Laying on his chest now, you turn to him.

“I’m nervous about tonight,” you confess.

“Baby, you know my parents. And you know they like you,” he says, turning to you. “Even you think that they already approve of you.”

It’s true, you remind yourself. They have always been kind to you. You’ve had several conversations with CEO Jeon and he was the one who showed you the library. They also sounded excited about dinner when they called Jungkook last week, but being around them in a different context this time makes you anxious. 

“Approval is one thing but meeting expectations is another, and that’s what I’m worried about,” you explain. “They know me as an employee but not as the woman you’re, uh, currently seeing.”

“You mean dating.”

“Yes, that,” you shyly smile. “I worked for their family and now I’m… dating their son. And there are standards to that.”

“Standards that you already meet,” he assures you. “For all that my parents are, I at least know that what matters the most to them is that I’m with someone who genuinely wants me, and considering how you can’t get your hands off me, I know you do.”

You laugh at this teasing but you don’t deny it. 

“You’re quite irresistible, if I’m being honest,” you giggle. “I’m still getting used to the fact that I could, uh, do all this with you.”

“Well, I hope you don’t get tired of it. Because I won’t.”

“Look at you being good with words and all,” you smirk. “You surprise me, Mr. Jeon. I can’t wait to know what else is inside that heart of yours.”

“Me, too, actually,” he hums, realizing that there’s still so much he doesn’t know about what he’s capable of doing and feeling this time around. “I guess we can find out together.”

You smile at his honesty and think the same. You’re on this journey of learning what your heart can do and he’ll be the one to show you that. 

You lay in bed with Jungkook for the rest of the morning, having short naps and then lazy make out sessions before deciding to wash up. You eat at a cafe for lunch then head to his place this time. He works out for a bit then joins you on the couch as you watch a show before you both prepare for that dinner at his parents’ estate. 

Mr. and Mrs. Jeon warmly greet you when you arrive. They lead you to the dining room and you tone down your amazement at the spread before you. There are all types of meat and seafood and other fancy dishes that get you curious, something Jungkook seems to notice as he fills your plate and tells you to let him know what else you want more of. 

“Don’t be shy, dear,” his mother says. “Have as much as you want. We want you to feel at home and comfortable, okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Jeon,” you smile. 

You try to loosen up but still act proper, not wanting to give the impression that you’re uncultured and ignorant. Their family has so much experience of traveling the world and you want to show that you can keep up, that you’re worthy of sitting and walking alongside them and their son. You seem to be doing okay, but you don’t realize how nervous you really are until you feel Jungkook’s hand wrap around your own and then his fingers interlocking with yours.

He’s warm and stable, and when you tighten your grip, you see him smile from your periphery. You smile as well, wanting him to know that you appreciate the encouragement he’s giving. And it helps, as once you’re asked about your new job, you feel yourself relax in his hold, until he slowly lets you go, showing you that you’re doing well and can hold your own.

You talk with confidence and excitement about the publishing house and your responsibilities. Jungkook watches you beam when you mention your upcoming projects and the things you’re looking forward to learning, and he thinks you’re incredibly beautiful like this. It’s new and exciting for him, too, and it’s at this moment when all the pain and frustration from losing you the first time that it all feels truly worth it. 

Jungkook doesn’t expect to be as engaged as he is once his mother asks about his trips this past week. Oftentimes he’d give simple and straightforward answers, but with you around, there’s this new kind of comfort and feeling of openness towards his parents. Perhaps it’s gratitude that they helped you and your mom all those years ago. Maybe it’s also you, because being around you makes him want to be better. It might be both of that and more - it might also be him, realizing that he’s capable of receiving and returning the love of the two people who've given him the most. 

After dinner, you all proceed to the sitting room outside that overlooks the garden. You settle with a flute of champagne and sit next to Mrs. Jeon, appreciating the moon casting over the grand space filled with big trees and flower beds and a fountain. 

“I’ve added more outdoor lights,” CEO Jeon informs Jungkook as they sip their glass of whiskey. “I’ll show you the new ones.”

Jungkook nods and gestures to you that he’ll just go with his father. You watch them head out and walk around, with the older man pointing to different posts and seemingly explaining the lighting. Jungkook engages with him, and compared to what you’d witnessed in the past, his body language this time is no longer of detachment.

“You’ve done so much for our son, ___,” his mother breaks through your thoughts, prompting you to turn to her. “I hope you never doubt your place in this family. I know it’s all new and it’s just been a week but I want you to feel like you belong here, with him and with us.”

“That’s an honor to give me, Mrs. Jeon,” you respond in gratitude. “Please know that I won’t take that for granted.”

“I feel more grateful that you’re around,” she faintly smiles. “We’re just like most families, you know? I don’t want to be ignorant in saying that but we… We have our troubles. We never say enough, we say things we don’t mean, we let distance keep us apart, we love but we don’t show it the right way. But we try. We try with our sons but it doesn’t always get through. I always feel like too much has happened and we just never knew how to make up for it.”

“I think Jungkook’s seeing that now,” you assure her. “He’s told me about wanting to spend more time with you, to celebrate birthdays and holidays. It might take time but he wants to make plans. He won’t feel so far away from you anymore.”

“And we thank you for that,” she says. “We didn’t know how to make him open up to us and there are still things we don’t know about him. We lost so many years and I… I’ve been hoping that in being back here, he’ll give us a chance and now he has. And that’s because of you. You showed him the good that’s around him and you made him open up to those good things. All it took was you.”

“He did the same for me,” you point out. “I carried a lot of pain, too, and I’ve only started to embrace the good things around me because of him. Your son has such a beautiful heart, Mrs. Jeon, and regardless of what happened, I know he took that from you, too,” your voice cracks now. 

“Oh, dear,” she huffs, taking your hand in hers. “You have no idea how much it means to me to know that.”

She wipes the tears that form in her eyes and you give her a comforting smile. 

“He cares about you, Mrs. Jeon. And he’s slowly learning how to express that.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she smiles. “I hope you always stay by his side, dear. It can get hard sometimes, as it is with all relationships. But… I hope you hold each other’s hands throughout all of that.”

“I’m sure we’ll learn that, too,” you nod. 

You turn to where Jungkook and his father are and see that they’ve gone a bit further down. You ask his mother where they might be and she answers that they’re probably by the playground, as new lights have been installed in that area, too.

“You should go to him,” she urges. “That’s such a special place for him and I’m sure he’d want to show it to you.”

You nod and head out, your heart warming at finally being able to be in his safe space this time. You get there without catching their attention, and you look back at the humble structure before you, seeing the love that created it for a man you hold so close to you.

“That’s such a lovely playground, Mr. Jeon,” you say, prompting both men to turn to you. “Did you build this all by yourself?”

“Oh, I thought you were talking to me,” Jungkook states.

“You’re only Jungkook to me now,” you playfully shake your head, although you don’t miss the teasing way he cocks his eyebrow because you definitely still use the formalities as you please.

CEO Jeon laughs but gets back to your question. “I did. It was the first time I ever designed and constructed one and it took a while to do it. I had to figure out how to hide it from Jungkook because he would follow me out here that I had his mother take him to one of our properties in the mountains for the weekend just so I could finish it,” he laughs at the memory. “But it was all worth it. He loved it as a child and it stood the test of time.”

“It’s because you maintain it, father,” Jungkook points out. “That’s, uh, that’s dedication.”

“I knew how much it mattered to you, and that mattered to me,” the older man hums. “I wanted you to have a place where you felt safe every time you were here. Maintaining it was my way of feeling close to you.”

You watch as both of them share a look of gratitude and acceptance, and though mending this relationship will also take time, you know that with this, it’s starting to.

“Well, I’m sure Jungkook would love to show it off,” CEO Jeon smiles. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

You’re left alone with Jungkook now, and with his hand around your waist, you rest your head on his chest and hug him tight. You imagine a young boy running about, excitedly riding the swing and going down the slide and then sitting at his favorite spot while he draws buildings and the sky on his sketch pad. That same boy stands next to you now and holds you close, in a way sharing those memories with you as you stand in silence and take in the beauty of a humble playground. 

Jungkook turns and kisses you on the forehead. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispers. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“Always,” you smile. “Thank you for taking me here.”

You know that for him, it’s not just about how you managed the evening with his parents. It’s also more than just a celebratory dinner for the Arts Center. Tonight is a way for him to show his parents that he’s ready to receive all the good that they’ve been showing him. 

And it’s his way of telling you that as long as you’re both navigating your pains and your fears together, everything is going to be alright.

You spent the rest of Saturday night curled in Jungkook’s arms as you both watched a horror movie on his living room couch. On Sunday, you slept in and cooked lunch together before he took you to a spa. He insisted on getting a massage to help you relax before your big first day, and with the steam room and afternoon tea included in the couples package, you couldn’t say no. 

He looked happy seeing you satisfied. There was something about the soft kisses and sensual touches that got you relaxed and definitely turned on. You had dinner out after that then he took you home where he stayed until you started dozing off, wanting to spend time with you as long as he can before another busy week. 

Your alarm goes off on Monday morning and you immediately get up, feeling that excitement of your first day rush through you. It’s a different feeling this time - you’ll be establishing a new routine, be around a different set of people, exploring new food places to eat at for lunch, and your days will be filled with new tasks and responsibilities that you can’t wait to get to. 

You’ll learn new things and manage a team this time, and it will challenge you in so many ways. You’ll also engage with authors and artists, and you suppose that's what you’re most excited about - you want to connect with your inner self and your surroundings more, and to find peace and strength in other people’s words. 

Looking at yourself in the mirror after your shower, you can’t help but smile. There’s that joy on your face that’s new. There’s a bit of fear, too, but even then, you wish Jungkook was here to see how excited you look, or maybe to remind you that things are going to be alright. He messaged earlier to greet you good morning and you’ll probably settle with texts for now, as he might be on the way to work with Lucas next to him. 

Wrapping a towel around your body, you head out the bathroom to dress up. But that’s when your doorbell rings, and you freeze for a moment because you’re not scheduled to have anyone this early in the morning. It might be your neighbor. But it could also be—

“Babe?” Jungkook calls from the other side. “Are you still there?”

You immediately open the door to let him in and you stare at him, all dressed and ready for work.

“Hey,” you say, returning his kiss. “What are you doing here? Did Mr. Ri drive for you?”

“No, I did,” he smiles. “I told him and Lucas that I’ll just meet them at the office and I won’t be in until around 9.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s your first day. And I wanted to get you breakfast. And drive you to work,” he explains. “Maybe ease your nerves if you’re a little anxious.”

You soften as you watch him lay out the pastries and cups of coffee on your dining table. You were just thinking about him, and now he’s here, making sure he’s got your first meal and transportation covered on this pretty important day. 

“I’m actually quite excited,” you beam. “And I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Good,” he smiles, taking his seat. “I… I know you’re a grown adult and all but I didn’t want you to go through this on your own.”

You want to hug and kiss him at this moment but doing so while wrapped in a damp towel isn’t a good idea. So you ask for a second and quickly wear your nightgown from last night, then you scurry towards him. You sit on his lap and bury your face in his neck, taking in his scent while your arms wrap around him. 

His arms wrap around you, too, tightening his grip on your waist the more you curl into his body. He adores this giddy version of you, the one that melts in joy when he does something nice. It’s wholesome, he thinks. He always believed you deserved that kind of care and treatment. He’d spoil you with whatever you like, but it’s this tenderness that he learned from you, that he wants to try to keep showing. 

You cup his face with your hands and kiss him softly while he palms your outer thigh as your legs lay on his lap. You pull away before you start to want more, grazing your nose against his instead then going to your seat. 

The pastries look divine and you already feel energized. You thank him again for making the effort to buy all this and drive to you, and his proud smile makes the butterflies in your belly go off. 

“Dress up now,” he says once you finish. “I’ll clean up here and make you coffee to-go.”

“Okay,” you mumble, leaving him to finally get ready.

Jungkook puts away the remaining food and wraps it for your breakfast tomorrow. He uses the coffee machine that his office gave as a farewell gift to make your drink that you’ll be needing to get you through the rest of the morning. He glances at you and sees you choosing between two blouses. You turn to him to show both of them, your eyes asking which one you should wear.

“Blush,” he answers. “Pairs better with the green.” 

He gestures towards the shoes next to your closet, the ones he got for you last weekend. 

“Thought so,” you smile, turning around to put it on. 

He walks towards you as you tuck it in your beige slacks and look at yourself in the mirror. He watches as you tie the knot by the neckline of your top, aligning the bows constantly. You don’t seem to be satisfied, as you pull the tails then do it all over again, straightening the bows once more. He knows you can do this even with your eyes closed, but a bit of help won’t hurt, especially as he senses that something’s causing you to be quite jittery.

“Hey,” he calls out. “Let me.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror then turn around to face him. He tightens the knot and aligns it, and you watch him the whole time he does. Something about the way he’s focused on this makes your heart race, and you smile to yourself at how the roles have reversed. 

But unlike how both of you used to stand still and hold your breaths when it was you on the other side, this time, there’s calmness despite what you’re feeling.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little nervous,” you admit, prompting him to look at you. “It’s just that… so much has happened for me to get here and I want to do it right. I want to do well. I don’t want to fail at this, Jungkook.”

“And you won’t,” he comforts, cupping your face now as he looks at you tenderly. “You worked hard to get here, to have this kind of freedom. You deserve to pursue what makes you happy, ___, and you deserve to want it, okay? You’re gonna go there and impress everyone with your beautiful mind and admirable work ethic and kindness. And that boss of yours is going to constantly be thankful that you gave him a chance and didn’t shut him out when he spoke to you at that bookstore.”

He thumbs your cheek as you slowly smile, and he mirrors your look of adoration. 

“I’ve seen what you can do,” Jungkook continues. “And this new role, this company… they’ll test you but I know you. You’ll make them believe in your capabilities and your vision. Your heart will make them trust you. And you’ll lead them well; I don’t doubt it one bit.”

“Okay,” you nod, feeling the warmth of his words all over your body.

You’re thankful that he decided to come today, as you probably would’ve stressed about so many things and then become anxious right as you’re entering the office. 

But you aren’t. You feel confident and excited and for the first time, you feel like yourself. It’s not because you’re tying your identity and purpose to a job again, which is what pulled you down before. But right now, you don’t feel the baggage of your past. You don’t feel like you’re performing a role. You don’t feel emptiness or disconnection from things and people around you. 

Perhaps this is when you start to really get to know who you are -  as a professional, as a leader, as a potential artist… Maybe as a lover and someone’s partner, too, as you take what Jungkook is giving you. This is when you get to know yourself as a person and what you can give to others and how much you can receive. This is when you get to know yourself outside of what you do and let it be about what you feel and think and enjoy. 

This is when it could be about what you love. And perhaps this is when you learn what your heart could truly do, and you can’t wait to explore all that with him.

“Thank you,” you mumble, exhaling a sigh of relief once you feel his soft lips against your forehead. “I’m glad I’m not doing this on my own.”

Jungkook just smiles, content on seeing that joy and calmness on your face. You stop him when he pulls you to finally leave the house, and you think there’s one thing you can do for him this time.

You align his necktie, and while he’s been doing it correctly recently, you can’t pass up on this part of your routine together. 

He smiles again and kisses your hand in thanks, then he leads you to his car where he drives the half hour to your office, all while your fingers are intertwined with his. It’s calming and everything you need before your big day, one that will start with a meeting to prepare you for your operations planning at the end of the week. 

Jungkook pulls over on the street and faces you. And just as you’re about to kiss him goodbye, he tells you that there’s something he wants to give you as an added gift. 

You look at him in warning because you said you didn’t want anything else.

“It’s nothing grand, I promise,” he chuckles, as he retrieves a bag from the backseat. 

He hands it to you and you excitedly peek in, feeling a wave of emotion as you hold up a snake plant. 

“I heard it’s good for positive energy,” he says to fill up the silence in the car. 

He’s right because you told him that. And he’s been taking care of the one on his office desk, the one that you gave him for his birthday. He also told you the other day that looking at it now makes him feel your presence, as if you’re rooting for him even when you’re not around. You suppose that’s what he’s trying to tell you, too.

“It is,” you smile. “I heard it’s also good at reminding its owner that someone’s always there for them.”

“I can confirm that saying,” he chuckles. 

You lean over and give him a soft kiss. 

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you smile, feeling the calmness wash over you. 

“You’re welcome,” he smiles back. “Now go. You can’t be late on your first day.”

You laugh and open the door. “I’ll see you tonight,” you say before walking out. 

You turn back and wave him goodbye one last time. 

It’s quite symbolic, as you think about Jungkook as happiness, dropping you off at a new place that already gives you another kind of fulfillment. You used to think there was only one way to feel it, that it only consisted of one thing or person. 

You realize that happiness could be in many forms, and that the feeling of connection and intimacy is alive, it’s ongoing, it’s a constant pursuit that’s both tangible and elusive, and it requires vulnerability; it requires strength. 

As you enter your new office and greet your new colleagues, and as you place the plant with the ‘good luck’ note on it on your desk and retrieve the supplies that your former team gave you, you see all the things that connect you to your past and the ones that clarify your new present. There’s so much to learn and unlearn - how to be good to yourself is one of them, and you can’t wait for that, too.

“Ms. Cho,” a deep voice calls out. 

You look at the man in front of you and you both share a brief moment of silence before bursting in laughter.

“It feels weird,” Namjoon says. He straightens himself before turning to you again. “___,” he corrects. “Meeting time, let’s go.”

It’s casual and comfortable and everything you need. You don’t want the formalities either, and it’s this type of environment that you truly believe will make you better. 

You follow him to the meeting room and there’s a wave of nostalgia that hits you, especially once you start taking minutes that you shouldn’t be doing anymore. 

You laugh to yourself. Maybe there’ll always be that person in you, but you don’t pity her anymore; in fact, you admire her. It’s her strength and grace that got you here, and you know it’s the same things that will make you appreciate and protect and fight for all the things that you have now. 

That includes your job. That includes yourself. And that definitely includes Jungkook.

END.

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