#woosung angst

[kwanisms]

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ⓘ DISCLAIMER :: MONSTER/ALIEN FUCKER ENTHUSIAST ⓘ ©️ kwanisms 2018 - 2025 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[mangowillow]

last to know | ch. 2: as always, even now

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst, hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: mentions of weight loss and a hospital, jeongguk has a panic attack (semi-detailed), problematic parent-child dynamics. let me know if i miss anything and please be kind!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: *peeks into the void* why hello there! let's pretend i didn't disappear off the face of the earth. earlier this year i went to see The Rose live for their dawn to dusk tour and it was so much fun! there's just a lot of things that have happened and continue to do so; please accept my sincerest apologies for being inconsistent! BUT. know that i haven't forgotten about this story. heh.

also a few more things: ♡ to put things into perspective: jeongguk, OC/reader, and woosung are all the same age; that also means they're as old as seokjin and yoongi in this fic. all the other members maintain their age. honorifics may or may not appear at times. if that bothers you, well, can't please everybody! ♡ this fic isn't beta'd nor proofread by anyone. we go rogue, always.

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

fic masterlist

Woosung plants a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek and giggles.

Looking at him, you ask, “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” Woosung teases as he chews on his jjajangmyeon. You chuckle at his candidness and reach out to wipe the sauce that landed on the corner of his lip. The both of you resorted to sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes, using one of them as a makeshift table to place the food.

“I’m really happy you got to come today,” you muse, enjoying Woosung’s calming presence as he delicately places a piece of chicken karaage on your noodle bowl before setting his own down. You haven’t seen him for a few days because he needed to get some new music done in preparation for his application to a recording agency as a performer and a producer. You were more than happy to support him in any way you could, including giving him his space to figure things out. It was also who Woosung was— a quiet soul who liked working in solitude. 

You and Woosung are so much alike.

“Why? Did you think I’d forget?” Woosung teases, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“No, I just thought… maybe you needed more time to prepare for your application. That’s important.”

Woosung gently shakes his head, ready to disagree— “Nothing will ever be as important to me as you.”

A slight pink dusted your cheeks. You didn’t expect him to be this cheesy so early in the morning so you smile and cast your eyes back down to your meal. 

“... I do have news for you, babe.” Woosung starts. He turns his body to face you. Giving your hundred percent attention, you cut the noodles with your teeth and place the bowl down. Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you hum at his statement, “What is it?”

Woosung smiles and looks at you lovingly. You feel a bit self-conscious every time he stares at you so intensely and like clockwork, you feel your cheeks heat up. 

“I got the job, sweetheart.”

Hearing the news leave his lips leaves you surprised— your hands fly to your mouth and your eyes start to water. “R-really?” Woosung nods and chuckles through his own teary eyes, you throw yourself at him to give him a tight hug. “Woosung, oh my god— this is— “ you hold him by the shoulders, explore every inch of his face, elation in both of your hearts— “this is great, oh gosh I am so happy for you,” you hug him again. 

You feel Woosung’s body relax instantly in your hold; it has been a journey, walking with Woosung through his own painful moments struggling with his art and passion. Two years ago, he came to Seoul desperately needing a break from life and music after many unsuccessful attempts to make it into the music industry back home in the United States. Although he and his bandmates have put out several songs in the past, they never really gained as much traction with an audience as they had hoped. Going back home to his roots in South Korea also meant leaving his bandmates behind— they have been nothing but supportive of him and his time as they also needed to re-assess their own lives and figure out what they truly wanted. 

Two years ago, Woosung also met you. Both your lives changed ever since.

“Thank you for all your support, ____… you know I wouldn’t have been able to get through all this if it weren’t for you.” Woosung whispers, tightening his hold on your waist. You feel this, you feel everything when it comes to him— so you wrap your arms tighter around him, too. “This is all you, babe. This is all your hard work.”

You both stay that way for a while. Unspoken words are left hanging, as well. You both know well what might become of all this as you always try to communicate. You believe it is what has sustained your relationship for so long. 

Both of you know that Woosung will always belong to music— it’s his dream and the reason why he took so many risks along the way. It was only a matter of when. The possibilities have always been there— should there be a moment where Woosung would return to his career, to his band, to becoming a global star. The fears that come along with those possibilities were also ever-present: what you and Woosung’s future would look like. 

All of these thoughts come rushing to the both of you, but neither of you said anything.

For now, the both of you are happy. And that is enough.

When you parted from each other, you pushed away some of the hair that fell over Woosung’s eyes. “When do you start?”

Woosung takes a deep breath, “As soon as the higher-ups get settled in. I’ve been told they’ve recently landed in Seoul so it shouldn’t be too long now. I’ll be meeting with the owners and one of them is the lead producer. I heard he was a genius, but also a bit scary. They’ve also given me a signing bonus and a potential collaboration with him… that was new… he said they liked my work so much…”

“Wow, that… that sounds so exciting, baby. How are you feeling about all of this?”

“I’m nervous, for the most part,” Woosung murmurs, readjusting the collar of his shirt. It’s been a while since I talked to someone else about music professionally and… this company— I’ve heard so many wonderful things about it. For one, it was built by musicians, too. So I’m hoping they’re not just doing all of it for the business.” 

You smile warmly at Woosung and hold his hands. “You’re going to do great, you know that, right?”

Woosung draws in a breath and nods before meeting your eyes. 

That night, Woosung couldn’t sleep. He watches over you as you dream and when a strand of your hair falls on your face after moving a bit, he tucks it behind your ear. His fingers lightly dance while grazing the side of your face. Woosung sighs as a feeling of anxiety starts to creep into his heart. He loves change, but he cannot help but feel somewhat scared about it anyway. He gets so lost in his thoughts about you that he doesn’t notice you wake up.

“Baby, hey… you’re still awake.”

Your voice brings Woosung back to the present. Seeing your sleepy eyes under the sliver of moonlight that passes through your window makes his heart do a mini somersault— it always does.

“Hmm… I couldn’t sleep,” Woosung says. You scoot closer to him, his arm going under your shoulders to support your body in an embrace. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” you whisper, eyes closed, inhaling his scent— him. 

“Just… things. I’m not sure how to articulate them yet…”

You hum, “Then I’ll just stay like this with you to keep you warm… warmth helps you sleep, right?”

Woosung nods, bringing your body closer to his. “Hm… especially your warmth.” Seconds later, he feels you breathe deeper, letting him know that you’re about to let yourself succumb to sleep once more. “I love you.”

When no response came from you, Woosung closed his eyes. Then suddenly, in the stillness of the night, he feels your hand squeeze his ever so lightly.

“I love you, too.”

“Hyung, I think that’s the salt—” Jimin starts.

Seokjin snorts, stopping with the shaker in his hand mid-air, “What do you mean, Jimin-ah, I think I know the difference between salt and sugar.” He was about to potentially put salt on the croffle in front of him, leaving Jimin feeling both very nervous and distressed.

“Last time, I remember you put the sugar in a different container because a customer accidentally broke the original shaker. The color of the cap was blue, not red. This—” he pointed at the shaker Seokjin was holding, “— is obviously not blue.”

“Yah, that happened last week, but I already switched them out two days ago—” Seokjin tries to argue.

They didn’t notice Woosung enter the cafe until he spoke, “Why don’t you just taste it?”

“Oh hey, Woosung-hyung,” Jimin greets.

“Hey, Jimin. Good to see you,” Woosung replies as Jimin nods, his eyes turning into crescents as soon as he smiles.

Seokjin scoffs once more before greeting Woosung, but he relents and tastes whatever is inside the shaker. When he makes a funny face, Jimin and Woosung chuckle.

“Told ya, hyung. Tell us I saved your life.”

“I can’t believe this is salt, I knew I already switched it out—”

With possible disaster averted, Jimin doesn’t listen to Seokjin’s monologue anymore, “You’re here early today, hyung. Would you like to order the usual?”

“Actually, I am here to buy a mango parfait… ____’s fridge is crazy cold and the frozen mangoes are, well, too frozen. I might actually break the blender. I also forgot to make her usual overnight oats. We had to move a lot of things very quickly yesterday so she could have a bed to sleep on.”

“I got you, hyung. We just finished making a fresh batch of parfaits. Do you want one, too?” Jimin asks.

“Are there other flavors?”

“Blueberry and strawberry,” Seokjin adds.

“I’ll take one blueberry, then. Thanks.” Woosung gets ready to pay, but Seokjin waves him away. “It’s on the house.”

“You always give us free stuff, Seokjin—” Woosung tries to argue, but Seokjin shakes his head immediately.

“Taking care of my sister is more than enough, Woosung-ah.”

Woosung gives Seokjin a tight smile and nods. Seokjin then asks, albeit softer, “How is she doing lately?”

“She’s doing better,” Woosung reassures. “She has been painting more recently; not just because of her job at the university, but also at home. We’re going to set up her studio today so it should be fun.”

“That’s good to hear, right hyung?” Jimin turns to Seokjin, who nods. Jimin hands Woosung a paper bag with the parfaits. “I put some new desserts we’re experimenting with. Please give them a try.”

Woosung peeks at the paper bag and sees croissants and greenish muffins, presumably matcha-flavored. “Oh wow, thank you Jimin… I won’t take up too much of your time, guys. ____ is still sleeping and I need to clean up the mango disaster I left on her kitchen counter before she wakes up.”

Seokjin chuckles, “You really came all the way here for parfaits when you could have bought these anywhere near ____’s apartment.”

“Ah, but nothing beats your parfaits, Seokjin. A wise man once told me that,” Woosung smiles. He and Seokjin instantly formed a bond the moment they met two years ago, much to your relief. You’ve always been nervous to tell your brother anything remotely new about your love life— and you understand where he is coming from.

“Well whoever that wise man is must be pretty smart,” Seokjin replies. His eyes soften right afterward. “Go. Let’s have a drink sometime, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Woosung waves goodbye to Seokjin and Jimin.

Jeongguk walks the hallway of the recording studio, still groggy from sleep. Hands in his pockets, he stood outside Yoongi’s door, staring at his peculiar mat: a cat with its middle finger raised, the words ‘fuck off’ glaring at him. Figures, he thought. A doormat won’t stop him from ringing Yoongi’s doorbell, though.

“Who is it?” he hears Yoongi call out.

“It’s your favorite person in the whole wide world,” Jeongguk says, sarcasm lacing his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose; a habit he developed in college whenever he felt the exhaustion seep out of him. He hears scuffling from the other side of the door until the sound of the door’s automatic lock rings. Jeongguk sees Yoongi clad in a plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and a gray beanie— his signature style. 

“Dumbass,” Yoongi mutters under his breath before turning his back to return to his equipment. “Good morning to you too,” Jeongguk teases as he closes the door behind him. 

“How are you already set up? It’s barely a day since we arrived!”

Yoongi chooses not to respond. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jeongguk asks in disbelief. “Please tell me you at least went home to get your shit sorted? Or maybe sleep like normal human beings do?”

“I did… for a brief moment, maybe?” Yoongi starts.

Jeongguk shakes his head, “You have to stop spreading yourself thin, Yoongi. It’ll be the death of you.”

Yoongi fiddles with a few knobs on the synthesizer before muttering, “That doesn’t seem so bad— spreading myself too thin, that is.”

Jeongguk throws his hands up in surrender and rolls his eyes.

“Have I succeeded in frustrating you to hell and back, yet?” Yoongi smirks while continuing to flit his eyes through the numerous screens in front of him.

Jeongguk was about to say something but then the door alarm clicked. Kim Namjoon’s head peeks out from behind the door.

“I came to say my welcome remarks,” Namjoon says as he lets himself in. Jeongguk’s mouth falls open because he couldn’t believe Namjoon could just easily waltz in without any resistance. What’s even more astounding was that he knew Yoongi’s passcode— while he, on the other hand, had to ring the fucking doorbell.

“Oh, great. So your boyfriend knows your passcode and I don’t?” Jeongguk asks.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Yoongi states, matter-of-factly. Jeongguk couldn’t help but glance at Namjoon’s way, who seemed unfazed.

“Right, and I’m Neil Armstrong,” Jeongguk plops down on the couch.

“You’re the CEO, Jeongguk, of course, you should know the passcode… right, Yoongi?” says Namjoon, ever the oblivious one. 

Yoongi continues to do work on his computer, his fingers deftly flying across his keyboard, “Don’t encourage him, Namjoon.”

Namjoon looks back at Jeongguk who has now taken an interest in the plant beside the couch. When they met each other’s eyes, Namjoon just shrugged, his dimples showing. 

“How was your flight, you guys? I hope everything was easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Jeongguk responds. “Not sure about Yoongi here though. He looked like he was about to puke.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi retaliates.

“I can’t imagine the both of you tolerating each other while in another country. It’s a miracle this production company is still standing upright,” Namjoon says chuckling. 

Namjoon met Jeongguk first in university while they studied in New York. Although Jeongguk was a business student and Namjoon double majored in music theory and composition, they ran into each other at a frat party-— with Jeongguk being drunk off his ass. He was about to fall into the pool full of piss (which the other frat members thought was funny) when Namjoon saved him in the nick of time. 

Apart from Yoongi, Namjoon also served as Jeongguk’s confidant, especially after things went south between you and Jeongguk. When the dust settled and Jeongguk was sober enough to realize the gravity of his mistakes, Namjoon helped Yoongi pick up the pieces of Jeongguk’s brokenness. As with time passing by, Namjoon and Yoongi started to develop into something more, too. Much to Jeongguk’s delight and envy.

However, neither Yoongi nor Namjoon has admitted their feelings to the other. And truth be told, Jeongguk is sick of them dancing around each other.

But he also knows it’s none of his business.

“Hey, Jeongguk, is that family dinner of yours still happening tonight?” Yoongi decides to ask. Also probably to change the subject.

Jeongguk lets out a deep sigh. “Yes, it is.”

“Ouch. Will you be alright?” Namjoon asks out of genuine concern.

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi inserts. “You just need to work on making the right ones.”

Jeongguk slacks his jaw and runs his tongue across his lip ring. He doesn’t really have an answer to that.

Because once again, Yoongi was right. Not just about the damn family dinner; Jeongguk also knows his best friend’s words run deeper and imply a whole lot more than just feeling forced to sit down with his parents over steak and champagne.

“See you on the other side, then,” Namjoon says as he pats Jeongguk on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Jeongguk mulled over bringing flowers to the family dinner but decided against it.

He knows that the house would be filled with them, anyway. And his efforts won’t matter, either.

As he got out of his car, a chauffeur was already by his side ready to take his keys for him. When the car drove off, Jeongguk took a moment to look at the house he hadn’t lived in for years. It feels odd to come home; it feels even odder to feel numb about all of it.

It took Jeongguk a few seconds to ring the doorbell; for god’s sake, it was his house too, he thought. Ringing the doorbell meant he was a stranger— which he felt was appropriate.

He was greeted by a new housekeeper. He gave her a nod before stepping inside. Almost instantly, his mother appeared at the top of the staircase. They look at one another for a moment, before his mother breaks the silence.

“You finally decide to show yourself.”

Jeongguk doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond, either. He was prepared for a stare-off match with his mother, but that was until his father showed up from the kitchen. With a dish towel in hand, Jeongguk’s father smiled at him as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you, son.”

Jeongguk, once more, doesn’t have it in him to respond.

At the dinner table, the silence was so loud, that Jeongguk thought it could break glass.

“Did you settle in fine, Jeongguk?” his father asks.

“Yes, father, I did.”

“You should have chosen a place that was nearer to us, Jeongguk,” his mother chides.

“Honey…” Jeongguk’s father tries to put out a fire that is about to ignite. Jeongguk, on the other hand, was so tired from the flight and emotionally, that he felt a need to retaliate.

Because why not? Whether he speaks up or not wasn’t really up to him. Between him and his mother, he has nothing to lose.

“I don’t know, mother, I chose that place because I wanted to get away from here as much as possible.” Jeongguk remarks. He knows he hit a nerve because his mother downed her champagne rather than respond.

“How is the company going, son? Everything doing alright?” his father asks, trying to mitigate a conflict that neither of them could recover from.

“I guess. Yoongi and I haven’t managed to burn anything so that’s nice,” Jeongguk eats a spoonful of mashed potato. He knows he really needs to shut up and regulate his emotions, but he just can’t help but be sarcastic.

Once more, the silence won. However, Jeongguk’s mother is the type to not back down.

“You should think about getting married soon, Jeongguk—” she starts. Jeongguk feels himself grow cold as if on instinct. 

“—and this time, we want you to marry someone your level,” she finishes. Jeongguk felt his heart twisting so painfully that he didn’t notice how tight he held on to his cutlery.

Jeongguk swallows the once-repressed pain that used to consume him whole. He knows this is futile because he never dares to face his regrets square in the face. Instead, he allows the pain to make him angry. He allows his resentment to consume him in ways he doesn’t know how to handle and in a pained effort to avoid causing further damage, he remains quiet. Unresponsive. Cold. Withdrawn.

But his own mother is even more cold-hearted than he is. She is the one who made him like this.

It’s her fault.

“You need to marry a good woman who can keep up with your social status. Remember you’re not just anyone, Jeongguk. You’re a Jeon. And you have a legacy to uphold,” his mother condescends. 

Tears start to sting Jeongguk’s eyes, but he doesn’t want to let his mother win. So he keeps still.

“I have a few prospects for you, dear. We should set dates for them, don’t you think so? I chose the most refined and educated—” Jeongguk hates how his mother knows how to push his buttons and hurt him.

He knows that his mother knows his ultimate weakness.

You.

And because his mother cannot contain her insecurities and prejudice, she projects it all on her son. But most especially, you— whether you were in the room or not.

Jeongguk’s mother continues her monologue. His father miserably fails to become the referee (he always does). Heat starts to rise Jeongguk’s neck and he swears he could hear his own blood pumping through his ears. What almost immediately follows is the high-pitched ringing that only he can hear. 

Jeongguk starts to feel dizzy; like he’s about to lose control.

But instead of releasing, instead of crying, instead of getting angry— he does none of them. 

He finds himself standing up, his hands dragging the plate full of food to the ground. With all his might, Jeongguk tries to breathe deeply.

“That’s enough, mom.” Jeongguk croaks. A tear escapes his eye. “Please.”

Jeongguk rarely addresses her as “mom”. But in times of vulnerability and helplessness, it’s the term he ends up using.

“As I expected… you are still weak, Jeongguk.” his mother states with absolutely no remorse.

Jeongguk feels like he is about to throw up. To save himself, he drags his legs to leave the dining area. Housekeepers try to help him, but he brushes them aside. Security guards around the house up until the gate tried to support him, but Jeongguk just waved them all off.

He just needed to get away before his vision completely blurred. He needed to get out of this godforsaken house.

It was a miracle that Jeongguk got far away from the house as he had. But in doing so, he felt physically weaker and weaker. His mind isn’t done with him yet as thoughts of you start to resurface. His chest starts to tighten again. He feels cold and afraid and tired.

Jeongguk falls to his knees on the side of the road; he allows his body to go limp and fall to the ground. 

He barely remembers what happened next.

When Jeongguk opens his eyes, bright, stale lights greet him. 

He hears beeping, faint footsteps, a voice over an intercom.

He feels something brushing his leg so gently that it takes him a while before realizing that someone is standing over him, wiping the edge of his slacks.

Jeongguk squints his eyes to get a better look at the person touching his leg. When he tries to elevate his upper body, the person in front of him feels him moving.

Jeongguk couldn’t believe who he was seeing. His panic attack must still be happening because it was impossible.

It was you.

“Oh… hi,” you start. Jeongguk is at a loss for words so he continues to stare at you.

You immediately feel self-conscious so you start to wrangle the damp cloth you were holding. 

“Are you okay? Hang on, I’ll call the nurse—”

You start to leave, but Jeongguk catches your wrist. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. You look at his hand on your wrist before Jeongguk lets go of it.

“W-what happened?”

“You’re at the hospital… um, I– I got a call from them saying you were here,” you say.

Jeongguk’s eyebrows met. He is still confused as to how or why the hospital would call you. As he looks at you, in the flesh, in front of him, the familiar ache in his chest threatens to overwhelm him again.

You look as beautiful as ever, even more so than the last time he saw you. The last time he did, you were crying to him. He did that to you. That was his fault.

“Are you hurt, anywhere, Jeongguk? I think I need to call your doctor, just give me a second—”

“No… please. I’m okay. I don’t feel any pain.” Except for my broken heart.

“Oh… okay.”

Jeongguk observes you, more particularly your hands. You still have that habit of fiddling with your fingers when you didn’t know what to do, he thinks. 

“H-how did the hospital call you? You didn’t change your number?” Jeongguk is a hundred percent sure his choice of questions was dumb, but he doesn’t have any idea as to why you’re here.

“The hospital told me I was your emergency contact… they uh– they only found your wallet on you and found this,” you explain as you handed him his wallet. Inside was an old piece of paper with your emergency contact number and e-mail address.

“The e-mail address is now defunct, but my number is still the same because I had it reactivated when I came back here…”

When I came back here, Jeongguk repeated to himself. 

Jeongguk wanted to ask you a million questions, but his throat feels dry and he is unable to speak. 

“I um, I also called Yoongi. He should be here any minute,” you continue. When Jeongguk looks at you funny, you give him a small smile— the first one you’ve given him since he woke up. “We talk sometimes.”

There is a lot of information that Jeongguk needs to process but his head hurts a lot and he makes a mental note to interrogate his friend later.

You move to grab and open the plastic bag that is on the bedside table. You pull out a pair of black socks. Jeongguk sees you hesitate a bit before speaking again.

“I got these across the street… your socks got wet from the rain.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk feels really dumb.

“May I?” you tentatively ask. “Your feet will get cold if we don’t—and you have the IV on so you won’t be able to use your hands—”

“It’s okay…” Jeongguk’s response startles you. “Thank you.”

You nod and sit by his feet to put on the new socks. Jeongguk feels the tears again but he tries to hold them back as he feels your touch and your warm fingers graze his bare, cold skin. When you’re done putting them on him, you smile to yourself.

“Does that feel better?” you ask.

Jeongguk nods and hums. He took his time to look at you and to his mild surprise, you reciprocated. A sense of stillness seemed to occur like time stopped just so Jeongguk could fully take in the sight of you.

He hurriedly tries his best to memorize all your features—old and new. Your face is smaller, your cheekbones higher; both indicative of you losing a bit of weight since he saw you last. Your eyes are softer, but also more tired. You also grew out your hair. 

To Jeongguk, you are still so beautiful.

And he missed you so much that his heart hurt again at the thought of losing you.

“How are y—” Jeongguk tries to ask, but the door to his hospital room slid open, revealing a disheveled Yoongi.

“Jeongguk, are you okay? What happened?”

Jeongguk notices you quickly moving aside to give Yoongi room. 

“I’m fine, Yoongi. I guess I just passed out and—”

“You had another panic attack, Jeongguk. That’s the second time this week. Have you taken your medication?”

Yoongi’s string of questions had Jeongguk feeling anxious. He just had the unexpected chance of seeing you again but under the most dire circumstances. Surely, it wasn’t the time for you to hear about his mental health issues.

“Yoongi, can we—” Jeongguk tried to save face, but Yoongi was faster. 

Yoongi turns to you and hugs you. “I’m sorry, ____, you must have been so confused.”

“No, not at all, I’m… I’m glad I could be of help,” you reassure. More so for Jeongguk because you know this must be very awkward for him. 

A bit of awkwardness did happen because none of you spoke for a bit. Your phone ringing was the only saving grace.

“Hello? Oh, okay. I’ll be right out,” you answer the other person on the line. Hanging up, you say, “Um… I should get going.”

“Is someone picking you up?” Yoongi asks.

“Yes, Taehyung’s just a few minutes away,” you answer.

Yoongi nods and pulls you in for another hug. He whispers his thanks and you respond by hugging him tighter.

You also approach Jeongguk a little closer. “Take care of yourself, Jeongguk.” You see the pain in his eyes, but you refuse to acknowledge it to yourself, even if Jeongguk’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears and his nose was already pink.

Jeongguk doesn’t want you to go. But again, he has no choice but to let you.

“You too, ____.”

As soon as you close the door, Jeongguk allows his tears to fall.

As soon as you get into the car, Taehyung asks his questions.

“Why the hell did you just come out of a hospital?”

“Tae—”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? You’re the only one there? What happened?” You can feel the panic rising in Taehyung as he inspects you, but you just chuckle.

“Yah—you laugh?”

“I’m fine, Taehyung,” you tell him but he doesn’t look convinced. “I really am.”

“Then why were you in there?”

“I saw Jeongguk again, Tae,” you calmly respond.

Taehyung freezes. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” you answer.

“And you’re… are you okay?”

“I am.”

Taehyung knows you better than that but he gives you a pass because he could also tell you were tired and your short answers mean that you didn’t want to talk just yet.

“Do you want to talk about it over ice cream and fries?”

For a second, you felt tempted, but you just also wanted to go home. “Maybe some other time, Taehyung.”

Taehyung understands immediately and nods. “Should I take you to Woosung hyung or do I take you home?”

You do want to see Woosung because you know he is what you need, but you also don’t want to burden him with a bombshell of an event so you opt to be alone for the night. “Take me home, please.”

“Okay, ____,” Taehyung answers.

The rest of the car ride was a quiet one.

The short walk in the hallway leading to your home is a heavy one. As you punch in your passcode, you deeply sigh. You want nothing more than to collapse on the bed and ruminate on what just happened over the past few hours.

However, the moment you open the door, a wave of delicious scents welcomes you home. As you take off your shoes, you see a familiar pair. You smile to yourself as you place yours beside it. 

You enter your home further and see Woosung with his back to you, working his way in the kitchen. As if on cue, Woosung turns around and walks toward you. 

“Hey you,” you say with a smile.

“Hi,” Woosung responds, gathering you in his arms and pulling you into a tight embrace. “Did you have a good day, today?”

You feel yourself swallow once before nodding. Woosung, ever the sensitive boyfriend, holds you tighter.

You know you can’t hide from him. So you hold on to him tighter, too.

And you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Woosung feels your body shake and he runs his hand across your back to soothe you. 

He may not know what’s going on right now, but he also knows you will talk to him when you’re ready. So he continues to embrace you; kissing the side of your head after a while.

Woosung whispers against your ear, “You’re safe with me, sweetheart.”

taglist: @whoa-jo @nays2112 @junecat18 @jk97bam @butterymin @smdnai

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

[fairyniceyeah]

🌹🤍 Lifeline (Hajoon Series Bonus)

Part 1: Angel Part 2: Nauseous Part 3: Eclipse Part 4: Take Me Down Part 5: Sorry Part 6: Alive Part 7: Sour Part 8: Time

Summary: Who is your lifeline?

CW: low-self esteem, self-hate

I could, I could, I could be your

I could, I could, I could be your

Woosung was worried. Hell, they all were worried. Something was off with Hajoon and with each day he withdrew more and more into himself. Woosung wasn’t even sure when he had last seen his dongsaeng smile.

Their drummer was a shy person, often the one to look for others for guidance and not willing to speak with strangers if he could avoid it. But with them he had opened up over time, becoming the amazing, kind-hearted and funny person they all knew he truly was.

But ever since he had burned his hand, maybe even since that one concert, Hajoon totally locked himself away. Woosung, Dojoon and Jaehyeong had talked amongst themselves, trying to find a reason for what was destroying their true maknae, but they had never come to a conclusion. And there were the mysterious conversations Hajoon had had with all the members.

It had brought a lot of sleepless nights unto Woosung.

“Woosung-hyung?”, Jaehyeong called from the kitchen, his voice sounding weird. Woosung jumped up from where he had sat on the sofa, contemplating their group, and made his way to his dongsaeng.

Jaehyeong was sitting at the table with Dojoon peaking over his shoulder. Both of them were reading a letter, a frown on both their faces.

“What’s up?”, Woosung asked, immediately worried at their expressions of distressed confusion.

“We found this letter in the mail, it’s addressed to Hajoon-ah”, Dojoon said and held it out for Woosung to take.

“Why are you reading Hajoon-ah’s mail?”, Woosung asked. He didn’t know what to think – while yes, privacy wasn’t something they were used to and they all knew each others passwords after all, they had never opened each others mail. What were they thinking?

“It … it’s from a University”, Jaehyeong said, his voice trembling, “I thought it was just a mistake but it … just … just read it.” Woosung rounded the table to take the letter from his hand.

“Dear Lee Hajoon,

we are happy to congratulate you on a successful application to our University for a teaching degree. In order to proceed with this full-time study starting on October 1st, please adhere to the following steps…”

Woosung couldn’t read any further. He felt sick.

“Why didn’t he say?”, Jaehyeong asked in a small voice, “we knew something was up but …”

Dojoon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until then, interrupted him: “Did he … did we …? He can’t do that, can he? Without ending his contract?” There was more pain in his voice than Woosung felt was fitting the until now uncertain situation. Maybe Dojoon knew something else. Before he could ask, the door opened behind them.

Hajoon was home from his walk.

You don’t gotta say all the bad things

Sipping on your brain like it’s codeine

At least they would get answers. This back and forth had been going on for long enough. Today they would get answers, whatever they were. It – whatever it was – was breaking them apart. As soon as Hajoon rounded the corner, Woosung couldn’t hold himself back anymore from asking the dreaded question: “Hajoon? The fuck is this?”

The younger man stopped dead in the doorway, still in the motion of taking off his jacket. There was a flurry of emotions dancing over his face until Hajoon wore an expression of hurt and anger. Woosung had not expected that – but then again Hajoon had been unpredictable for weeks now.

So Woosung just watched as he tore off his jacket to throw it to the floor and lunged across the table. In their positions Woosung was easily able to hold the letter out of his reach.

“Why are you going through my mail?”, Hajoon questioned, eyes wild and … scared? Was he scared of them? There was anger too. Hajoon never got angry, he probably was the most patient out of all of them.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault”, Jaehyeong answered Hajoon’s question, taking all the blame. They would have to rectify that at some point. “I was confused why you got mail from an university. So, since Leo and I thought that didn’t match up and they probably put on a wrong address on the letter we wanted to see if we could find out the real owner.”

“It never crossed your mind that I might get mail?” Hajoon’s voice was dripping with disbelief.

Woosung didn’t fucking understand. Why was Hajoon so angry?

“No, we didn’t think you would get mail from an university. You didn’t say you considered studying again”, Dojoon tried to save everything.

It was probably time that Woosung spoke up, explain their confusion and get the much needed conversation started. But first they needed to understand what Hajoon was thinking. The idea of studying sounded so … rash, maybe. Not well thought-out. Random, even.

Why was Hajoon throwing his career, their careers into the wind? After all they had gone through together, Hajoon had never seemed unhappy until lately. Maybe he had realized that he wanted to go back to University, which was no problem. Idols did that all the time. But why hadn’t he talked to them about it? All major decision they had talked through in the past. It was so uncharacteristic of Hajoon to not come to them with his issues. There was something they were missing.

Woosung was stumped. He just wanted his dongsaeng, his Hajoon back. Not this angry, distant and miserable version of him.

“What confuses me even more why does it say you were accepted for a full-time study?”, Woosung decided to ask, trying to keep his voice soft and unassuming, “You don’t have time for that with our work. We’ll be outside of Seoul too often. Besides how do you think you will have time to study and do band-practice, song-writing and other stuff at the same time? Why didn’t you talk to us about options? You’re our drummer, we need you.”

Woosung was entirely unprepared for the next words coming out of Hajoon’s mouth.

“I really hope you find a different drummer soon. I quit. The documents from the lawyer should arrive within the week anyway”, Hajoon spat.

So pick any way you like

And take a second for the city lights

Woosung always had thought that the saying “the whole world turning upside down” was just a figure of speech. Now, he knew it wasn’t. Everything was spinning, his heart, his mind, his thoughts, his world. Hajoon was leaving. Their amazing and kind drummer, their baby wanted to leave. Woosung didn’t fucking understand.

He clutched at the table, feeling like his knees were about to give up under him. The letter was crushed in his other hand, his fingers balling into a fist in the tension felt in his whole body.

“What?”, Woosung gasped, feeling like his lungs weren’t cooperating. It felt like he was drowning on dry land.

“I quit. I’m done”, Hajoon said again, tears trailing down his cheeks.

Why was he crying when he was destroying their world?

“You’re joking, right? This is just a joke. Tell us that you are joking. This isn’t funny, Joon-ah”, Dojoon whispered, a prayer in his words. It was a defence mechanism, Woosung knew. He hoped as much as Dojoon that maybe they had missed something. Maybe it was April’s Fools. Maybe Hajoon decided to prank them.

Deep down, Woosung knew it was a futile hope. 

“It’s not a joke, Dojoon-ssi”, Hajoon said, his voice wet, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t know. I’m done.”

“But … but why? Pretend what? Hajoon-ah, why?”, Jaehyeong asked, sobbing, “we can’t be The Rose without you.” Woosung probably should comfort his crying maknae but it was like he was frozen in place. ‘I quit. I’m done kept’ playing in his mind on repeat. Dojoon had mercy, rubbing Jaehyeong’s back before their youngest could start hyperventilating.

You don’t You don’t

You don’t gotta hurt baby

“We should probably sit down and talk”, Hajoon suggested, saying what Woosung wasn’t capable of doing, so he just agreed.

Woosung rubbed Jaehyeong’s shoulder for a moment, wanting to give some reassurance. The eldest heavily fell into his chair, feeling like his legs would have given out if he had stood any longer. Hajoon sat down next to him in the chair he had sat in since day one. Woosung felt sick at the thought that maybe soon he would be alone across from Dojoon and Jaehyeong, a Hajoon-shaped hole amidst everything they had.

“What is this all about, Joon-ah?”, Dojoon asked. Woosung hear the fear and desperation in his voice and he felt the hurt as much as the younger when Hajoon flinched away from his touch.

“I … I know I’m the superfluous member of The Rose, the least liked member. I know you don’t want me around and I’m easily replaceable. Black Roses wouldn’t mind if I left and I’m sure with a new drummer who doesn’t keep fucking up you can reach new highs. I know you’ve been looking for a new drummer. I’m sorry for the inconvenience of leaving now but I don’t think I can stay here any longer. I love you and I know leaving is the best thing I can do for you”, Hajoon whispered, not daring to look at them.

With every word he spoke Woosung felt all their hearts breaking.

How had they missed this? How had they not seen how much Hajoon doubted and hated himself? How … how could they even call themselves friends – brothers – when one was hurt so deeply and the others had no idea how his mind spiraled.

I know what it’s like being hopeless

Bruises on your mind like it’s broken

Woosung didn’t even notice he was crying until he tasted salt on his lips. His hands were trembling in his lap. He had never felt so helpless before. Hajoon was so fucking depressed he was on the verge of throwing his whole life away because he thought people hated him. Woosung didn’t know what he meant with searching for a new drummer but his thoughts were torn to his other members by a sob. Jaehyeong. The bassist was crying his heart out, probably as scared and confused as Woosung felt. Dojoon seemed absent, staring at the table below him as if it held all the answers to their problems.

Woosung felt a burning gaze on him and he turned to look to Hajoon, meeting his kind but broken eyes filled with tears.

His baby had been hurting so badly and Woosung had not known. He hated himself so much at the moment his chest felt tight as if he was about to have a panic attack.

But right now, it was not about him.

It was about Hajoon.

And with that in mind, Woosung was finally able to speak. He would fight for his dongsaeng, until no more tears rained and any hurt was healed.

“Baby, where did you get all of this from? We never … we … we knew something was going on. But this? Hajoon-ah, we love you so much and I don’t think any of us would want to be The Rose without you. We need you, not just as a drummer, because we need you. Our loveable true maknae who keeps telling bad jokes and is obsessed with One Piece. The amazing man who grew with us by our side, who we all go to talk our problems through and who is the reason we are even popular. Without you, without your skills, we …”, Woosung whispered, the words tasting sour on his tongue.

As Jaehyeong had said, there was no The Rose without Hajoon. There was no doubt in Woosung that if they lost him, they would all be lost. Alone the thought of standing on a stage without the reliable talent beside them, choked Woosung to the point that he couldn’t continue.

Why had Hajoon ever started to doubt their love, their affection? Why would he think they wanted to get rid of him? They needed him.

“Woosung-ssi?”, Hajoon asked, his voice small. God, how had he not noticed that Hajoon kept addressing them in formal speech? He had given Hajoon permission to call him hyung the day they had met. Sure, there had been moments of teasing and moments of sincerity where Hajoon and Jaehyoeng switched into a more formal -ssi ending but how had Woosung not noticed every single interaction had been laced with the unneeded and unwelcome formality. And with what Hajoon had said, had implied … the reason why broke Woosung’s heart. Hajoon had thought they hated him. Hated their lovely and kind baby. No, Woosung needed to remind Hajoon of that, needed him to know that Woosung – no matter what happened – would always, first and foremost, be his hyung.

“It’s hyung, Hajoon-ah”, Woosung whispered, his heart harshly beating in his chest, “fuck, I never even noticed how you just kept addressing us in formal speech for weeks. I thought you were teasing but ... Is this why? You thought you needed to speak formally to us because …” Woosung was unable to finish the sentence, say the words.

Hajoon nodded.

Woosung didn’t think he had ever been in so much pain before. Not when he had dislocated his shoulder in high school and all his dreams of becoming a professional football player had been shattered. Not when he had left his mother to start his career in Korea. Not when he had said goodbye first to Dojoon, then Hajoon and then at last Jaehyeong for their military services. Not during all the time waiting for them to come back to him.

“But I heard you talking about how I made so many mistakes that night after the concert some time ago, that it couldn’t go on with me? That I was weird. And I understand, I am a liability if I keep making mistakes. I can understand if you want to kick me out and replace me with somebody better…” Hajoon’s voice was unbelievably small when he spoke, like he was scared that voicing his thoughts out loud might make them real. Might make the three of them reconsider their protests.

If the world is comin’ down,

I won’t let you drown

Woosung startled when Dojoon abruptly got up and rushed to kneel down next to Hajoon. There was a desperation in his eyes that Woosung had never seen before and never wanted to see again. Woosung felt incredibly guilty – he had initiated the conversation back then and he couldn’t quite remember what they had said but apparently it must have been ambiguous enough for Hajoon to doubt them.

Self-hate choked Woosung and couldn’t breathe.

Woosung was so, so thankful that Dojoon was able to say the words that he wasn’t even able to form into coherent thoughts. “Joon-ah, you overheard but you misunderstood. I’m sorry. We were so worried for you that night. You made so many mistakes and you were so out of it after the concert. We tried to figure out what was going on with you because we love you. We wanted you to be okay and we never talked about replacing you, we were looking for a way to help you. I promise. We will not replace you, that is just stupid. There is no The Rose without you, angel.”

That should have been it, shouldn’t it have been?

“But … but you were looking for a new drummer, weren’t you?”, Hajoon asked, confusing them all, “Leo, I saw your laptop screen. You were on the drummer forum and chatting with drummers, I saw.”

While he was sure there was a very good explanation to what Hajoon thought he had seen, for a moment Woosung felt blinding anger at Dojoon. It wasn’t warranted, it wasn’t fair but it also wasn’t rational.

Woosung listened to Dojoon’s explanation when he suddenly was approached by Jaehyeong who must have felt lonely on the other side of the table. Right now with everything that was happening it sure felt like the distance of the Saharah. The maknae, still crying, dropped to the ground by Woosung’s side and for a moment Woosung was worried that he had fainted until Jaehyeong buried his face in the leader’s lap, seeking closeness and comfort. Running his fingers through the younger’s hair did help calm Woosung down and reduced the tremor in his hands. As he heard Hajoon sniff, he looked up to watch Dojoon comfort Hajoon in the gentlest way.

“So … you really don’t hate me or want me out of the group?”

Woosung shook his head but Hajoon’s eyes had such a distant look in them that Woosung doubted he actually saw the kitchen at the moment. As he opened his mouth to speak up, reassure the younger, Hajoon continued in a flat voice: “But you … you three fit together so perfectly. I don’t know who I am in this band anymore. I always felt so distanced from you – whenever we are on stage for sound checks or something it’s just you three and I barely know what to do with myself. You all seem like one being and I barely get to stand beside you. Whenever I tried I was pushed to the back. And … and in the studio? Why did you want me at band practice when I wasn’t able to play if not to show me a soundtrack is as useful as me and show me anybody else could do my job? Why would you want to me to stay with you when there are so many other people to choose from, people who are better than me?”

Woosung didn’t think anything could hurt more than anything that has been said today but the left-over hesitation and fear that still seemed to shake Hajoon to the core shattered Woosung’s heart into a thousand pieces.

Even if you start to lose your hold,

I won’t let you go, no

That day at the studio had been one of the worst days in their careers. Watching Hajoon, who had already been so fragile the day before and had broken down crying in the kitchen to their utmost worry and shock, force himself to play with his injured hands … no, that had been terrible to watch. Of course, with his explanation it made sense now. But that it had escalated to that stage was because of Woosung. Woosung had forgotten to speak with Hajoon about options before – he had wanted to catch the younger after lunch but had been distracted by a call from his mother. Due to his stupidity and forgetfulness Hajoon had suffered. He didn’t know what to say, guilt like a knife in his heart.

Woosung felt Jaehyeong lift his head from his lap and finally the maknae seemed to have found the strength to comfort his chingu.

“Hajoon-ah, we’re sorry you felt like we didn’t want you or felt pushed away on stage. It’s stressful up there but that is no excuse. Just, you have always been so shy. I remember you saying all those years ago that you were glad to be hid behind your drums. We know you aren’t easily comfortable with new people and are rather shy – our only motivation is to make you feel safe and protected. I’m sorry if that made you feel like you were pushed aside. We will do better from now on and not just assume. You will always be our first choice, I promise.”

Feeling his heart be just a bit lighter when Jaehyeong took the lead, Woosung added: “And that day at the studio. We didn’t handle it well and I am sorry I got angry but I was so worried that you would hurt your hands more and so scared why you would hurt yourself just to play. We actually thought you could try singing more if you wanted to, I had intended to ask you earlier but I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry”, Hajoon whispered. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Woosung couldn’t let him get eaten up by guilt – none of this was Hajoon’s fault. The younger had always struggled with his self-esteem, like Jaehyeong had said, he had enjoyed being at the back protected by his drums. Hajoon was shy, quiet and thoughtful, an introvert to his core and he was soft. No matter that his resting face looked a bit grim, a bit dark, Hajoon really was just a young man struggling with himself and his place in the world. He’d had his phases of melancholy and sadness, phases of reluctance and fear and there was his past of depression and dark, dark thoughts. They should have known, never should have let him distance himself. Hajoon didn’t ask for help, hadn’t yet learned that to be weak was to be strong. He needed them, like they all needed each other, and Woosung would make sure he never had a day where he would doubt their love for him and his place in the band ever again.

“Baby, you were having a really bad time, a really really bad mental health phase. We will never fault you for that. I think I will never forgive myself that I didn’t push when I saw you were hurting. We thought giving you the space you requested might help but that was the wrong move. We never wanted to hurt you. We all love you so much.”

None of them were that touchy with each other, definitely not cuddly. A casual hand on the shoulder for comfort, a hand on the back to guide another in the right direction, arms ready to hold them when they cried. Hajoon definitely needed the last one desperately, they all did. “Let us show you. Can we cuddle?”

Hajoon nodded and flung himself at Woosung, nearly knocking both of them over in his heartache. Holding tightly onto the younger, Woosung moved them both to the floor – much more comfortable and accommodating for four grown adults. Soon Jaehyeong had wormed himself into Hajoon’s arms like an overgrown teddy bear and Dojoon had all of them in his embrace, his arms clutching at Woosung in his own need of comfort but also to spent it to the oldest. All of them were crying, Woosung felt the itchiness of tears on his face but he would never let go of Hajoon to wipe them, the younger one shaking in his hold and his chest hitching badly as he cried himself out.

But there is a better life in the other side

So pick anywhere you like

After some time they moved to sit on the couch in the living room. Woosung hadn’t ever wanted to leave the embrace but he had to admit his back was starting to really bother him and when Jaehyeong half-laughed and half-cried that his feet were falling asleep they had decided to relocate.

They all had been quiet for some time now, exhausted to the core and all lost in thoughts. None of them felt ready to just go on with their day when they nearly had lost one of their own.

At first Woosung didn’t even quite realized what Hajoon asked in a raw voice, throat shredded from crying. “I really don’t have to leave?”

“You will never have to leave”, Jaehyeong confirmed.

Dojoon added: “You’re our Blue Rose, our miracle. Our angel. You will never ever get rid of us.”

Hajoon looked worried when he asked: “But the contract elimination?”

That was nothing Hajoon should have to worry about. If he was honest, Woosung would never allow him to touch it, too scared Hajoon might make a rash and stupid decision in his mental state. It was time for him to take care of his baby again.

“I’ll take care of it, baby. Hyung will take care of everything. Your only job is to heal and to let us spoil you until you can’t stand us anymore.”

Woosung relished in using the familiar nickname again. It had felt weird and wrong to not call their true maknae his baby. Hajoon would always be the one they all were protective of, even if Jaehyeong was younger than him. It was just how it was and always would be. Right now, there was nothing they wouldn’t do for Hajoon – if he had to Woosung would move mountains, stop a rainstorm and fight his way over the whole world if it helped Hajoon just a tiny bit.

They would go on together with the beauty of flowers and the sharpness of thorns. As four, always as four.

I could, I could, I could be your

The Rose could be your lifeline

Notes: Happy Birthday, Woosung!

[yawn-junn]

♡︎Back To Me♡︎

Special thanks to: The Rose

TW: angst : post breakup : mentions of getting drunk : semi toxic relationship : hella short :

note: I tried my hand at angst for the first time please give me feed back on it

Taglist:N/A

8-13-23

You and Sam haven't seen each other in a few months since the breakup you had was calm clean and heartfelt, nothing too bad you just felt as tho he didn't put as much effort as you did into the relationship

His drinking bothered you the way he put everything over you bothered you how he brushed you off when you tried to talk about your feelings bothered you it seemed as tho everything he did bothered you

You feared you had fell out of love with him or worse never even loved him in the first place. After the breakup Sammy felt the worse he's ever felt he started drinking more and ignoring the rest of The Rose making out with random girls but won't hook up with them as he feels he's letting you down even more than he already has. One night at around 2am Sam texted you what your assuming was a drunk text. You opened it to see a small paragraph and fully typed no typos or anything that resembled drunk texting

Although you were hesitant you read what the paragraph said "I can make you mad. I can make you scream. I can make you cry. I can make you leave. I can make you hate me for everything. But I can't make you come back to me"

[key201303]

THE ROSE MASTERLIST

KEY WORDS:

🐥 -> ONESHOT        

® -> REQUESTED        

🌸 -> FLUFF   

 🤧 -> ANGST              

🔥 -> SUGGESTIVE/SMUT  

💀 -> CREEPY        

❤ -> VALENTINE SPECIAL

❄ -> CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

🎃 -> HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

🎂 -> BIRTHDAY SPECIAL

🏵 -> DRABBLES

🌺 -> SERIES

⏰ -> TIMESTAMPS

🆎 -> NSFW ALPHABET

📱 -> SOCIAL MEDIA AU

You can call me lazy 🏵️🌸

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'Cause we'll make it better 걱정하지 마 🐥🌸

VALENTINE'S DAY X THE ROSE ❤🏵️🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

[taegularities]

you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance. 

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the  lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair. 

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But… 

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause. 

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex. 

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too. 

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You���d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right. 

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

[aikastales]

i’m drunk, i love you (jk)

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: with only a day before graduation, you make a promise that you will not only graduate from university, but also from your feelings for your best friend of seven years, jeon jungkook.

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: film student!jungkook x med tech student!fem!oc (named sola)

𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌: heavy angst, unrequited love, jungkook as an isko agenda, set in the ph 🇵🇭

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: this story is fiction. it does not represent the members of bangtan or any of the idols here in real life. all resemblance to real life characters, institutions, associations, places, events, among others are either purely coincidence or depicted in a fictitious manner only. there’s really no warnings for this story other than it’s a self-indulgent fic to get me back to writing. the smut isn’t that severe. just kissing, nipple sucking, and grinding. this is based on the film, i’m drunk i love you, which i highly recommend you watch. i didn’t alter much of the plot & scenes bc i think they’re already great as it is, but i did tweak a bit here and there. i hope you enjoy! let me know what you think by reblogging/commenting. ♡

𝗍𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 5,784

You were never quite the believer in love at first sight, but what you felt that night was the closest thing to that feeling. 

He was one of the freshmen performers during your orientation, singing Adam Levine’s Lost Stars. Like the entire audience, you were captivated by his heavenly vocals and charisma as he performed on stage with an acoustic guitar one of the seniors lent him. Not only that, Jeon Jungkook wasn’t bad looking either—quite the opposite, really. 

However, after the orientation, you didn’t get to see much of the dark-haired handsome boy. You were studying at UP, the biggest state university in the country, and so your paths were bound not to cross. Until, your older cousin, who was a senior at that time, invited you to eat dinner with him and a couple of his buddies after seeing you strolling around campus alone. When you arrived at the eatery, you not only saw your cousin Yoongi’s friends—Yijeong and Woosung—you also spotted the boy who hadn’t left your mind since you saw him over four months ago at that time. 

You sat across from him and you tried your best not to freak out as Yoongi introduced the both of you. Apparently, he had already known Jungkook because he was the younger stepbrother of his other friend, Namjoon. During the course of your dinner, you and Jungkook didn’t really talk much. But you would muster up the courage to ask him some basic questions such as his program, why he went to UP, if he joined any orgs yet, etcetera. Jungkook was polite enough to answer your inquiries. 

He was a Film major. He went to UP because everyone in his family went to UP so it was the most obvious choice for him and he was a member of the Film society. In return, Jungkook asked the same set of questions. You were a pre-med student, Medical Technology, to be exact, and you went to UP because it was your dream school. You were also a member of the College of Arts and Sciences’ student council. 

After your meal was finished, Yoongi entrusted your care to Jungkook as they were going to meet up with some of their friends and you were both living at campus dormitories anyway. So, you hopped into his old army green Toyota Rav4 and needless to say, the ride back to UP was awkward. So, to get rid of the awkward silence, you asked if you could play some music. He said sure and handed you the aux cord already connected to his stereo. Once you had the other end connected to your phone, you played one of your favorite songs—Waltz of Four Left Feet by Shirebound and Busking. 

To your surprise, Jungkook also knew the song and just like that, the awkward silence was gone and you became inseparable ever since. 

Music became the bridge that connected you and Jungkook. Whenever you would hangout, it was always your topic—your favorite artists, songs, original scores in films, best albums, underrated artists, overrated artists, the current state of music, everything. He also became your gig buddy—seeking out mainstream and indie artists you both liked and going to their live performances downtown bars, jam packed arenas and stadiums. 

But your favorite would always be watching him perform. After his performance at the orientation, he naturally became one of the popular students at UP. He wasn’t popular like a celebrity or an influencer, but heads would turn whenever he walked around campus. Also, he still had the luxury of privacy on his side, but if you looked at the right places, you would find small accounts on social media dedicated to him. He didn’t care for the attention, though, and just went about his day as normally as possible. 

His performance did land him some gigs here and there. You found it cute whenever he’d turn to you to ask if he should accept the invitation or not, and you would always tell him to do whatever he wanted. Most of the time, he accepted, especially if it was at Route 96, a historic venue for aspiring musicians. 

It was here that he performed the first song he wrote by himself called Still With You. It was also during this performance that you began to see him in a different light—quite literally. He was performing with the bar lights off, only the lights on stage and the spotlight illuminated the entire establishment. When the spotlight on him turned purple, you felt a whole new admiration for your best friend. It wasn’t the “Oh god I’m so proud of my best friend” kind, rather it was the “Oh fuck I’m in love with my best friend” realization. 

But like every other story where someone falls in love with their best friend, you kept your feelings hidden, hoping someday it would go away. However, you soon realized, once you fell in love with Jeon Jungkook, there was no going back. It was a rabbit hole. 

The more you spent time with him, the more you fell in love with him and all of him—from the way he smiles to the sound of his laugh, how he would always annoy the shit out of you when you were supposed to be studying to how he would remember small things about you like your favorite snack at the vending machine, how you’d be the first to know his test results to how you’d be his first audience for the short film they needed to produce for that semester, how he would lend you his jacket when you ate bingsu because he knew you’d get cold easily to how he’d send you random memes he found funny out of the blue. 

It was so easy to fall in love with Jeon Jungkook. Thus, everyone else did too. For seven years, you watched on the sidelines as he dated several girls and loved them how you wished he’d love you. 

“In one day, you can finally lay your hands on Jungkook,” your best friend, Mingyu, teased as he took a sip from his beer. 

You let out a sarcastic laugh, head resting on your palm, elbow propped on the wooden table in front of you, a bottle of beer in the other hand. You were bordering on getting tipsy now as you had been drinking since you arrived at La Union with Mingyu and Jungkook in the afternoon. You didn’t even know why you agreed to your best friend’s idea of going to the province for a music festival when you had your graduation—the very graduation that was seven years in the making—on Sunday.   

“Fuck you, Kim Mingyu,” you told the honey-skinned man across from you with a chuckle. 

“What? Let this be your final test before finally graduating. Are you ready?” a lopsided grin appeared on his handsome face. 

Under the orange light, Kim Mingyu was easily one of the most handsome men you ever laid your eyes on. He was also tall, well-mannered, smart, capable, had a stable job while being a med student, and the textbook definition of a walking green flag. In another life, you could imagine yourself falling for him instead of Jungkook. But in the current universe you were in, he was one of your trusted friends who had known about your crush on Jungkook since first year. 

The waiter arrived to bring you your order of another bucket of Red Horse beer. Mingyu took a bottle from the silver bucket and opened it. “Happy horse for the happy whore,” he told you as he handed you the fresh bottle of beer. You gave him a middle finger. He laughed. “What? Am I not right?” 

“You’re the whore,” you replied. “I saw you with that cute chinito by the beach earlier. What happened to Mino?” 

He rolled his eyes at the mention of his ex—or you believed was his ex. You never really know with Mingyu and relationships. He was the complete opposite of you. While you were a hopeless romantic at heart, he didn’t believe in love—or so he says. 

“Seven years,” Mingyu mused, glancing towards the beach. “You didn’t stop falling in love with your best friend. Now, it looks like you don’t even plan to stop.” 

You sucked your teeth, tracing the water around the bottle due to the ice with your fingers. “Do I just throw it away?” You weren’t sure if you were asking Mingyu or yourself. “We make a good pair.” You laughed to yourself. 

“Except?” Mingyu pointed out the harsh reality. 

“Except,” you took in a shaky breath. “He doesn’t love me back. Maybe.” 

Mingyu sighed deeply, looking at his watch. “Time check: you still have your hopes up.” 

“It’s still early,” you argued. “I still have two days. Just give me time.” 

“Give me time?” Mingyu repeated, taking a sip from his beer. “What the fuck are you talking about, Sola? The universe has given you all the time. But you did nothing.” 

You groaned, throwing your head back as a realization hit you. “Fuck, Gyu, I just—I just realized. Is it right that we’re here? Was it the right decision to come here? My mom’s gonna be so mad once she finds out I’m in La Union.”  

“It’s all you. You’re a raging masochist,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway. Let’s just play a game. Let’s enumerate all the things you did with Jungkook. Those are seven years worth of memories, Sola. Game?” 

“Game.” 

“What year did you first meet Jungkook?” 

A smile immediately creeped up on your face. “2017.” 

Mingyu waved his hand at you. “Wow! You can do math! But I just thought of something—instead of just general memories. Let’s make them specific. Let’s list down all the stupid things you did for Jungkook for seven years.” 

“The fuck are you talking about?” you let out a scoff, drinking your beer. 

“What? Now you can’t remember?” he challenged. 

You clicked your tongue. “Fine, you stupid bitch. Ask away.” 

Mingyu grinned. “2018.” 

You hummed before saying, “Jungkook was heartbroken that year. I was back at home and he was at UP. But I rushed into the city to be there for him. I remember because I was supposed to attend this baptism with my parents but I snuck out and got an earful from my mother the next day. I was completely hungover too because Jungkook and I went bar hopping the entire night.” 

“Jesus Christ, Sola.” 

“Don’t judge me. It was my decision, okay?” 

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Okay. 2019.” 

You stared at Mingyu, laughing as you recalled the memory. “2019. Me and Jungkook walked from UP to Aurora Boulevard just to tell me how Song Areum became his girlfriend.” 

He shook his head. “2020.” 

“2020—he was sick. I had an exam that day, but I quickly answered it so I could buy him his favorite, Tapsilog from Tapsi ni Vivian, before it ran out ‘cos it runs out quickly, right?” Mingyu nodded. You licked your lower lip then let out a small laugh. “But when I got to his dorm room, his roommate already told me Areum brought him to the university hospital. And I failed my exam ‘cos I didn’t answer the back part.” 

“2021, go!” 

“I loved him for four years now and counting. Is that good enough?” 

“Okay. I’ll accept it. 2022?” 

“2022—I’ve been in love with him for five fucking years already, fucking shit!” you exclaimed, feeling the alcohol in you boosting your confidence. 

“Okay. We’re in the last year, girl. What about in 2023? What was the stupid thing you did for Jungkook last year?” 

You gulped. “I’m two years delayed.” 

Mingyu exhaled deeply. A moment of silence settled between the two of you. Then, she asked, “Sola, it all boils down to this: when will you end this?” 

You sat up straight, taking a deep breath. “You mean when will I stop with my foolishness?” Mingyu nodded. You purse your lips. “Maybe when I’m done with UP. When I’m done with UP, I’ll graduate from everything—including him. Especially him.” 

When you got back to your shared room with Jungkook and Mingyu, you were already tipsy. You almost fell face flat on the floor when you opened the door, feeling lightheaded, but luckily, your best friend was there to catch you. 

“You’re drunk, Sola,” Jungkook chuckled deeply. You could smell his expensive cologne—the one you bought for him for his birthday last year and it brought a huge grin on your face, knowing he wore it. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

“I’m fine, Guk. I’m not that drunk. But I do need to sit down,” you said followed by a set of giggles as you let Jungkook walk you to the bed you shared with Mingyu, and then you threw yourself on it, back against the mattress, arms spread like an eagle. 

Jungkook sat down beside you. “Are you still mad at me?” 

The question seemed to sober you up instantly. The truth was—you could never stay mad at him. For anything. Sometimes, you’d think he could do the most painful and hurtful thing to you, deliberately, and you would still forgive him even if he wouldn’t apologize. 

“I wasn’t mad. I was just… I just wished you would’ve told me the real reason why you wanted to come here,” you replied softly, biting your lower lip. 

“Would you have come? If I told you I wanted to go here because my ex wanted to reconnect—would you have come?” Jungkook matched your tone, looking over his shoulder to look at you. 

Instinctively, your eyes also darted towards his. The lights in the room were dim, only the lamp, the light coming beneath the bathroom door, and the moonlight outside illuminated the room. Jungkook looked especially beautiful in the dim light—long black wavy hair all messy from his habit of running his fingers through it, hooded eyes staring at you like he was memorizing every inch of you, the gentleness of his features made him look like an angel in this light. 

But then you’d see his dozens of piercings in his ears, eyebrow, and lower lip; his tattooed arm and hand, and the way he looked sexy as hell with his thin white long sleeved, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and his white beach shorts that hugged his strong muscular thighs, and you’d realize he was more of a Greek god than an angel. 

“I’ll go wherever you go,” you told him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You know that.” 

Jungkook lied down beside you and you felt your heartbeat racing. His tattooed arm was brushing against yours. His head was tilted, close to yours. 

“Will you go with me to the moon?” he asked. 

A small smile ghosted on your lips. “I will, Guk.” 

“How about Saturn?” 

“I’ll be with you there, too.” 

“Law school?” 

You turned your head to him. He was already looking at you. “Law school? Why?” 

He brushed the hair on your face aside with his fingers, making you tense. But you kept your composure. “I passed UP LAE.” 

“But,” you began. “What about film? I thought you didn’t wanna become a lawyer like your parents.” 

Jungkook looked at the ceiling. “It’s not that bad. Being a lawyer. Besides, I like studying.” 

“You’ve always wanted to become a director, though.” 

“I’m not good enough for it,” Jungkook scoffed. “All my batchmates are already directing their films and showing them at festivals here and abroad—yet here I am. Still here.” 

You turned on your side, propping your elbow to support your head as you looked at your best friend. It was rare for Jungkook to open up. Even to you. He was always someone who kept all his innermost thoughts and feelings to himself. In the seven years you’d known him, it still felt like there was a wall around him that you never managed to climb on or punch through. For seven years, it felt like you simultaneously knew everything and nothing about your best friend. 

“It’s not the end of the road, Jungkook. So what if they’re showing their films at festivals? You can do it too. At your own pace, in your own time,” you said. You wanted to reach for his face, to make him look at you, but you were scared. “You’re a great filmmaker, Guk. The best direk ever.” 

He looked at you once again. “You’re drunk, Yu Sola. Go to sleep.” 

He sat up, carrying your legs over the bed. You let out a groan. “I’m not drunk, Jeon Jungkook. Why do you always do that?” 

“Do what?” he asked, chuckling. 

“You always cut the conversation when you’re beginning to open up. You always clamp up, Guk. I wish you didn’t do that. I’m your—,” you bit the inside of your lower lip. What right did I have to demand him to open up to me? “I’m your best friend.” 

“I don’t clamp up. I just have nothing else to say,” your best friend replied with a shrug, fixing his hair as he looked in the mirror across from your bed. “Go to sleep. You’ll get a massive headache tomorrow. I’m just going to meet with Areum and her friends.”  

Then, you blurted it out. It just happened. You didn’t even know how. You always had this grand idea in your mind to do it after the graduation ceremony, that way, you could immediately leave. That way, you didn’t have to see him all the time. You would have enough time to move on and move forward in your life. 

But nothing in life truly went according to plan. 

“I love you, Jungkook,” you confessed. Your heart felt heavy and you sat up, head hanging low as you picked on your nails. Tears were beginning to form in your eyes. “I’ve loved you for seven years now.” 

And you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. Then, moments later, you felt your hands being taken away from your face. You lifted your head and saw Jungkook kneeling in front of you, holding your hands. He let one go to wipe away the tears on your face, to tuck your hair behind your ear. 

And then, ever so slowly, Jungkook leaned in and kissed you softly. A tear rolled down your cheek. His lips were soft while yours were chapped and wet from your tears, but he didn’t seem to mind. You were still in shock. This was not the response you expected. Not even in your wildest dreams but it was happening. 

Jungkook held your face, tilting his head as he continued to kiss you more—only this time with more need and passion. Your body reacted. You began to reciprocate his kisses, hands wrapping around his wrists. He tasted of toothpaste and mouthwash. 

He pushed you onto the bed, one hand remaining on your face while the other held your waist. Your fingers curled the ends of his hair. You could feel his growing member on your stomach and feeling it was enough to make your cunt wet. His lips then traveled on your jaw, down to your neck. You were breathing heavily as he nibbled on your sensitive skin, making a soft moan escape your lips. 

His hand made its way under your shirt and your breath hitched, causing Jungkook to lift his head from your neck, and look you in the eyes. 

“You okay?” he asked softly. 

You nodded. “I’m okay.” 

“Okay,” he smiled, making your heart skip a beat. “Is it okay if I take this off now?” 

“I—,” you were at a loss for words. Was this really happening? It seemed too good to be true. But it was happening and you wanted it more than anything else. “Okay. Yes, you can.” 

Jungkook peeled your shirt off, exposing your naked chest. You didn’t wear bras; found it too much of a hassle and you always hated the feeling. Instead, you wore nipple tapes. 

“What are these, Sola?” Jungkook asked with a chuckle, making your cheeks heat up. 

“They’re nipple tapes, you dumb ass,” you replied, smacking his arm lightly. 

“Okay. Do I just take them off, like, tape?” 

He was adorably cute. “Yes, you just take them off like tape.” 

And so he did just that. The coolness of the room and your arousal instantly perked your nipples. Jungkook took your breasts in his hands, massaging and squeezing them, making you arch your back ever so slightly. Then, he dipped his head, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth while remaining to massage the other. 

The sensation was simply divine. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol in your system, your feelings for your best friend, or just Jungkook in general that made you feel so good at that moment. Your hands traced the outline of his toned biceps through his thin polo. 

You were so wet and when Jungkook began to grind his hard cock against your clothed cunt, you felt another wave of wetness. You wanted him—all of him—and so you began to rock your hips against him, making him release a moan. 

He lifted his head, staring at you with those doe eyes you have loved for seven years. “Are you sure?” 

Those three words held so much. Once you crossed the line, there was no going back, and both of you knew that. 

“I’m sure. I want this, Guk. I want you.” 

That was all he needed to hear to make love to you the whole night. Once both of you came, Jungkook laid beside you, chest heaving. For a while, the both of you lay in silence. 

“Will you be here in the morning?” you asked, turning your head on the pillow to face him. 

He did the same. “I will,” he promised. “Go to sleep now, Sola.” 

But he wasn’t. 

When you woke up the next day, the other side of the bed was empty. You sat up, burying your face in your hands. What the hell have I done? What the hell have we done? 

You left the bed, entering the bathroom, and proceeding to take a shower. In there, you cried, because nothing was going to be the same after last night. You couldn’t blame it all on Jungkook either. You also made it happen. You desperately wished it was just a dream—another wet dream you had of your best friend—but the traces of his cum were still on your inner thigh. 

It happened. There was no going back. Everything was going to be different now and most of all, you didn’t know if you still had your best friend. 

When you finished showering and getting dressed, you made your way down to the beach. You had texted Mingyu while getting dressed and he told you he was there with the chinito you saw him with, Wonwoo. Arriving at the beach, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, about to text the honey-skinned med student when you saw Jungkook with Areum in the water, his strong arms that held you throughout the night, now wrapped around her waist. Fits of giggles escaped her lips as Jungkook wrestled with her in the water, a huge grin on his handsome face. 

Your heart shattered. 

You quickly looked away, a fresh set of tears forming in your eyes. As you were about to turn away, you heard Mingyu’s familiar voice which caused you to stop on your tracks. 

“Sola, hey, there you—what’s wrong?” The concern in his voice was palpable. You felt his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you closer to him. 

“I—I finally told him, Gyu,” you said, taking in a sharp shaky breath. “I finally told him.” 

Mingyu didn’t ask for more details. He knew. He led you back to your room, promising Wonwoo to text him later. Once you were back, you just cried on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything and neither did you. He just let you be until the tears finally stopped. 

“I’m sorry I pulled you away from Wonwoo. He seems like a nice guy,” you said after a while, voice raspy from all the crying. 

“It’s fine. We’ll be seeing each other often anyway,” Mingyu shared. 

You looked at him, surprised. “Really?” 

Your friend nodded, laughing to himself. “You know, all those times I teased you about your being a hopeless romantic and believing in love—I think it’s backfiring on me now with Wonwoo.” 

“You love him?” you asked. 

“I don’t know, Sola. But I know what I feel for him is different,” he answered. “It’s terrifying. How quickly someone can change your perspective on something.” 

You couldn’t argue with that. 

“What’s your plan now?” Mingyu asked. 

You sighed deeply. “I think I’m going to head back. My graduation is tomorrow anyway. Do you mind booking the bus ride home?” 

“I’m staying here, Sola. I—I want to be with Wonwoo more,” Mingyu confessed, smiling at you apologetically. 

“Gyu…” 

“Please be a friend to me now, Sola.” 

You pressed your lips tightly. Then, you nodded. You wanted your friend to be happy. 

“I’m gonna pack now,” you announced. 

“Okay. Just text me if you need anything,” Mingyu gave you a hug and kiss on top of your head. “I want you to know I’m proud of you, Sola.” 

Once Mingyu left, you began to pack. You didn’t bring a lot of clothes, but you were still biding your time. A part of you didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay here and never graduate. But that illusion was quickly broken when you saw your mom’s contact flashing on your phone screen. 

You sucked your teeth before answering, “Hi mom.” 

“Sola? Where the hell are you? Why haven’t you been answering my texts? Your graduation is tomorrow. Everyone is looking forward to it!” she exclaimed frantically. 

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m in La Union with Jungkook and—,” 

“What the hell are you doing in La Union?! You better get back instantly, Sola. I’m not kidding. If you don’t graduate now, I really don’t know what I’m gonna do. It’s been seven years! Please let me graduate too.” 

“I’m already packing and I’ll catch the bus home soon. I just—Mom, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it in time for the ceremony ‘cos—,” 

Your phone was suddenly snatched from your grip. You looked up and saw Jungkook standing beside you. 

“Hey tita, it’s Jungkook. Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll take her home. She’ll make it in time. Yes. We’ll be home before the ceremony, tita. Okay. Bye.” 

He ended the call and sat down on the bed across from you, handing you your phone back. You grabbed it from him. “You don’t have to take me home.” 

“I already promised tita I will,” he answered. 

“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, folding your shirt. 

Silence. Jungkook was just staring at you the entire time as you folded your clothes and packed them inside your bag. Then, he said those two words. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You bit the inside of your lower lip. What was he exactly for? For having sex with you? For spending the night with you? For not feeling the same way as you? All of the above? 

As if reading your thoughts, he added, “For everything.” 

You nodded. “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” you told him. “It’s not your fault you don’t love me the same way.” But why did you kiss me? Why did you make love to me? 

Jungkook lowered his head. You zipped your bag. “Let’s go. I still have a graduation to chase.” 

“What’s this?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed when you saw Areum standing beside Jungkook’s car with her luggage and bag. 

“I’ll drop Areum on the way,” Jungkook announced, grabbing her luggage and putting it at the back of his car. 

You pressed your lips in a line. “Fine.” You stepped into the back passenger seat, quickly grabbing your phone and earphones from your bag, and plugging it in. 

Lowering yourself on the seat, you rested your head against the window as Areum stepped into the passenger seat while Jungkook sat on the driver’s seat. You caught him glancing at you from the corner of your eyes, but you didn’t look back. Instead, you turned the volume up. Moments later, he began to drive. 

You decided to sleep the entire ride. However, when you woke up, you immediately realized Jungkook wasn’t driving in your hometown. “Where are we?” you asked, taking one of your earphones off. 

“I’m dropping Areum first,” Jungkook replied. 

You frowned. “I’m the one chasing a graduation, remember?” 

“Shh, just go back to sleep. Here,” he threw something at you—your favorite candy, Butterball, landing on your lap. 

You grabbed it, tempted to eat it, but you threw it back at him and went back to sleep. By the time you woke up again, you were at Areum’s house. She turned to look at you, smiling. 

She was really beautiful and kind. You began to feel guilty for hating her so much the entire time. “Congrats on your graduation, Sola. I’ll see you around, okay?” 

“Thanks Areum.” 

After Jungkook walked her to her door, he came back to the car. “What are you doing there? Come here,” he said, patting the passenger seat. 

“I’m fine here,” you replied. 

“Sola, come on. Please? I drive better with you beside me.” 

For the rest of the ride to your home, you sat beside Jungkook. Unlike before, where your car rides were filled with music and random conversations, tonight it was silent. You didn’t plug your phone into his stereo and you kept your eyes closed the whole time, listening to your music. Once in a while, Jungkook would try to make small talk, but you would only give him short replies, then went back to sleeping. 

When you arrived at your family house, you stayed with Jungkook outside for a bit, both leaning against his car. 

“It’s your graduation in four hours.” 

“Are you not going to come to yours?” 

“I don’t see the point,” Jungkook replied. 

You nodded and pushed yourself off his car. “I’ll head inside. Thanks for the ride, Jungkook.” 

He grabbed your arm before you entered the gate. You stared into his eyes. You couldn’t quite place what held them right now. Maybe you never really knew Jeon Jungkook after all this time. 

“I’m sorry, Sola.” 

“Why do you keep saying sorry? I told you—it’s not your fault and I’m fine. I’m over it now. See you around, Jungkook.” 

You head back inside. Graduation was in four hours. 

You wore a traditional Filipiniana dress, a pair of white heels that were already scraping the skin at the back of your feet, your mother’s pearls, and your sablay when your name was called. You came up on the stage with your excited mother, shook hands with your Dean, and finally grabbed your diploma. You always imagined graduation to be something so spectacular, but the moment you received the piece of paper that confirmed you had, indeed, graduated—you just felt the same. 

After the ceremony, you went back to your house where almost all your relatives from your mother’s side were waiting for you. A tarpaulin with your graduation picture and the words, “Congratulations Yu Sola!” printed on it and hung outside your gate. You greeted everyone on your way, telling them thanks, before retreating in your room to change out of your dress and into more comfortable clothes. 

While you were slipping on your shirt, your phone buzzed on your nightstand. When you grabbed it, you saw Jungkook’s message on the lockscreen. 

Let’s go, it said. 

You knew it meant one thing: a beer and butterball at Route 96. There was still a part of you that wanted to go because you always went when you received a message like that from Jungkook. It was always a yes when it came to him. But now that you confessed, something shifted, whether he admitted to it himself or not. 

So, you put your phone in your pocket, and went down. But as you do so, you felt your phone vibrate again. You pulled it out of your pocket and Jungkook texted you another message. 

Please? One for the road. I’m outside. 

You bit your lower lip. Then, you made your way out. There, you saw Jungkook wearing his barong and sablay, leaning against his car like hours ago. He smiled as soon as he saw you come out. 

“You still have it,” he pointed to your shirt. 

You looked down on it and realized you had picked his shirt of all things. It wasn’t anything special; just something he bought at a boutique. But it meant a lot to you because he gave it to you after you spilled beer on your shirt years ago. 

“You attended your ceremony?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. He nodded. “I thought you didn’t see the point.” 

“I changed my mind.” 

You wished you were just as quick in having a change of heart. 

“One for the road?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. 

You took a deep breath and nodded. “One for the road.” 

“Shit, I forgot it’s Sunday. It’s closed,” Jungkook sighed, seeing the steel gate at Route 96. 

“It’s fine. Let’s just go,” you told him, grabbing the beer he bought beforehand and making your way up to the bar. Jungkook followed behind. 

You both leaned in the railing before you, beer in hands. Another silence. 

You couldn’t believe this was the culmination of the seven years you spent loving Jeon Jungkook. You thought, after confessing, you would never speak again. He’d distance himself from you but here you were—having a beer with him at your favorite place in the world. You wished you knew what was going on in his mind right now. You wished you could dissect his mind and learn every thought he had ever since you confessed. 

Because you never really knew Jeon Jungkook. You were just so in love with him and idealized who he was over the last seven years. Suddenly, all the stupid memories you shared with Mingyu flashed in your mind and made you laugh. 

“What’s funny?” Jungkook asked, chuckling. 

You shook your head, drinking your beer. “Nothing.” 

He nudged your side. “Come on, share it.” 

You took a deep breath and for the first time, you looked at Jeon Jungkook and saw him for who he was; not the man you have loved for the past seven years. 

“I graduated, finally.” 

↪˚ author’s note: if you want to donate to me via kofi or gcash <33 i would appreciate it a lot. thank you & see you in more fics later on.

↪˚ permanent taglist: @whoa-jo @kookieandjoonberries

all rights reserved. 2024. belovedguk.

[coffeedepressionsoup]

Somebody does love | MYG - They Meet

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where the two meet for the first time. Part 2 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 3k+

Warnings - lil swearing, SMOKING IS INJURIOUS TO HEALTH! nothing else I can think of

Ratings - 13+

A/N - Apologies for the late update. But do let me know in the comments what you think of the chapter and what direction you want to see the narrative flow in. Also, this is not proofed, please excuse typos, tense, and grammar errors. And if you liked it, please please please engage with the post. Comment, like, repost. Your engagement is the sole reason I am pushed to write. 

Your flight landed with a two-hour delay at 5 pm at the Incheon airport. After collecting your baggage and going through customs, you shot a text to your friend and waited near one of the cafes inside the airport for the crowd to die down. In about 10 minutes you lugged your bags behind you, pulling your mask further up your nose and pulling the bucket hat to right above your eyes. 

It didn’t take long to spot Sammy. Dressed in all black, he had a casual gait that only he could have. It also helped that he carried a little cat poster. You could see his eyes crinkle with a smile as he saw you walking out, which mirrored your own.

“Oh it’s so good to finally have you here!” he said while hugging and slightly managing to lift you off the ground.

“I know. But I am so hungry and nervous and I have such a bad headache,” you mumbled into his jacket shoulder.

“Let’s get you washed, fed and rested. Come on,” he chuckled patted your back and took one of your bags before starting walking towards his car. Ah! His car. A black 2022 Maserati Ghibli Modena. One that he has been yapping about for months on end. 

You honestly found it ridiculous. The inordinate amount of money people would pay to procure “luxury” items always confounded you. Sure, wealth commands a certain amount of comfort- Your brain stopped as soon as you sat down on the passenger’s seat of the car. Your ass was far more comfortable than it has ever been on any bed or couch that you have ever owned. Maybe you can allow yourself to see why someone would spend hundreds and thousands of dollars on a car. 

Sammy closed the back of the car, with all your bags safely tucked in, and walked over to the driver’s seat. He saw you leaning back onto the seat with your eyes closed. He smirked behind the mask and sat down, swiftly starting the car.

“Still think this was an unnecessary splurge?” his mask had come off and he had that wide eye-crinkling smile.

“Maybe not,” you smiled to yourself. “How far is your place from here?”

“About an hour, with the school and office traffic now, some more.”

“My dead body will enter your residence, Kim Woosung,” you groaned and pulled at the seatbelt in annoyance. Both your mask and hat were now on your lap. Your head felt like the persistent beating of 500 drums all at once.

“Try to take a nap, I will play your sleep playlist,” he suggested. 

You could not move another muscle to bother with a response. His reply was like a command. With your eyes shut, you shifted your shoulders to place your neck relatively comfortably. The last thing you remember is the comforting, low hum of white noise filling up the space around you.

_______________________

You walked out of the SNU campus, your colleague and friend Samairah in tow. She is the reason you are in Seoul in the first place. You met at an academic conference in Edinburgh when you were still PhD researchers. Dr Samairah Nazli is now a full-time professor of Gender Studies at the prestigious Seoul National University. 

“It is just a contract for the coming academic year, Y/N! Come on! You will also get to spend time with Sammy.” You had scoffed back at your friend over the video call last November when she said her department wanted to invite you as a Visiting Professor for their newly-introduced Feminist Economics course and the existing Gender and Media course that a now-retired professor used to handle. 

But a week later when you found yourself in a virtual meeting with the Dean, Department Head and the Vice Chancellor, the opportunity did seem intriguing. They did want to eventually offer you a full-time position. You would be tenured at 32! Also, you can work with Samairah again, after working on your first book together, you knew you would work together again. 

And of course, you get to spend time with Sammy. One of your best friends. Kim Woosung of The Rose. But only Sammy to you. Crazy to think that you only met him about three years ago, at Friar Park of all places on the planet, but lord, did you love that dude to bits.

“Wanna grab a drink?” Samairah asks, as you both head towards the subway station.

“No, meeting the broker again.”

“This will be the 8th place she’s showing you?”

You shook your head as you dug in your pockets for the cigarette case. “No. Ninth.”

You lit a cigarette and said, “I really want to finalise a place and settle down before the semester begins.”

“Tough to do all that in what- 12 days now?” she counted the days mentally and grabbed the smoke you held out for her to counter.

“I wish I were a millionaire at times like these,” you took back the smoke and gave it a long drag as you stopped at the crossing. Samairah would go straight from here to catch her train and you will take a left and meet Hwang Seul-gi. Your realtor. Broker. Currently, the most important person in your life.

You could have opted to stay at the Siheung-Si staff residence for part-time and visiting faculties, but that would mean you would spend half the day in transit. And you hated transit. Motion made you sick. So yes, car trips with you are absolute joyrides for your friends. 

You also wanted time to work on the manuscript of the next book you are planning. And you want enough time to sleep. God, you wish to have a carefree night of sleep soon. Not that Sammy’s guest room is bad, it is comfortable, and luxurious even when you consider the free cuddles from Woolfie, but it still is not a place of your own. 

Although Sammy argued the opposite back when you told him about your year-long relocation to Seoul. He wanted you to live as roommates. Even offered you to pay for house-sitting in mirth, for all the times he would be away on tour. 

Again, you loved the guy. But his social butterfly stages of self are something you could take in small doses. You knew what his schedule was like, how many people dropped by for work at his home studio, and even just because to share drinks. But a whole year of it would drive you mad. So Sammy finally gave up trying to convince you and connected you to Seul-gi.

The lovely Seul-gi who yet again showed you a wonderful place, reasonably near the campus. But the deposit itself would require you to sell both your kidneys, maybe an eye and even a good chunk of your liver.

It was almost 7:30 by the time you left the apartment complex and headed towards Sammy’s place. You could take a cab, but the crisp late February air made a nice weather for a walk. You were passing through a park, almost deserted at the time, when you heard a noise that alerted you.

It sounded like someone was struggling. Some animal. You could hear low grunts, probably a puppy or a kitten, but you looked around and saw nothing immediately. The noise continued so you stopped and tried to follow the direction of the sound. 

You reached a bush at the side of the pathway and were sure that this was the location. But the sun was already down. Dim yellow lights sparsely lit the park pathway, enough for people to look and walk, but not enough to see within the bushes. 

By the noise you could now tell that there was also a metal scraping noise, but barely so. You turned on your phone's flashlight but still saw nothing. You looked around but saw no one. Trying your best to not step on any of the plants, you entered the bush and squatted down with the flashlight.

“Hey, are you okay?” a low but heavy voice from above you startled you and the phone almost dropped from your grip as you stood up to see who it was. A man donning all black with a mask, a cap and a hoodie looked right back at you. Only his eyes were visible and the eyes were filled with concern. In the commotion of your entry into the bush and stomping around, ever so mildly within it had now increased the noise. 

It sounded like a distressed kitten. You looked back down and could see one of the drainage grills under the dense foliage of the bush. You looked back up at the stranger and said, “I think a kitten has fallen into the drain.”

Before the man could respond, you squatted back down again and saw the drain and beady little eyes inside it clearly this time. You put down your bag beside you on the ground and put all your effort into pulling the iron rungs up. You could feel it move a little, but not enough to dislodge it. 

“Hey baby, don’t worry. I will get you out of there,” you cooed through your laboured breath. By now, the stranger had joined you. You both exchanged glances and without saying a word you went in and pulled at the grille together at the same time. It seemed a lot easier with the two of you having pulled at it. With one arm, the stranger shifted the grille aside. 

You peered down the drain and extended your arm to grab the kitten. The poor being was scared and cold and probably even more traumatised by all the strange and sudden commotion. You leant down completely, with your stomach on the ground and lowered yourself into the opening up to your shoulders to grab the kitten with both your hands.

The man next to you extended a cautious arm as if to make sure you don’t fall in. Well, the opening was not big enough for you to fall into. But you could get weirdly stuck. But soon he saw your body lifting up and his extended hand hovered over your body, never touching, but ready to help if needed.

You came back up with a feisty calico kitten in your hands who initially made a few tiny scratches on your palm but was now just shivering. The man beside you promptly took off the work jacket he was wearing over his hoodie and handed it towards you. How many layers is he wearing? A small part of your mind wandered, but you quickly grabbed it from him, giving him a thankful smile and wrapped the kitten up in the jacket and held her close to your body, for maximum warmth.

You looked down at the ground near your feet where your bag was and before you could bend over to grab it, the man swooped in and said, “I got this.”

After you stepped out of the bush, you turned to the man again and said, bowing politely, “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem at all. I have two cats of my own, I know the fear of losing them” he said in a calm but understanding tone. You looked at his eyes more closely while he talked, you could have sworn you had met him before, but didn’t know where.

You shook your head and replied, “Oh no, this is not my cat.” And then you explained the noise you followed. The man nodded his head and looked around probably thinking the same thing that you were. “Do you think the mother is around here somewhere?” you asked.

“If she were, she wouldn’t be too far away.”

You looked back down at the kitten, who had stopped shivering now but was still covered in a considerable amount of mud and dirt. You also considered checking if she was chipped and if the person could be notified if she was already a pet. “Do you know of any vet nearby? I am new here, so-”

“Yes, it’s on my way. I will drop you,” he held his arm out to point in the general direction of where you were headed to go back to Sammy’s. You started walking and the man joined you. Out of the park, and having crossed two traffic signals and taken two right turns, you reached the vet’s chamber. It was reasonably empty. You put your name in the register and waited. 

The man sat in a chair next to you but one. He looked over to see you making conversation with the kitten. Of course, she won’t be able to say if she lost her mother or forgot her way home. But the sing-song voice you used clearly worked. He could see the large dark beady eyes of the kitten staring back at your face with wonder and trust.

He too looked at your face with wonder and felt a strange sense of trust and comfort. When he saw a person climb inside a bush at a more or less empty park on a random Thursday evening, he half expected it to be a madman. But when he peered in and saw the glow of a flashlight, he grew more curious. 

He noticed how a part of your right elbow was scraped slightly, not that you seemed to notice. He also saw the muddy bits on your beige outfit. And then looked again at the kitten wrapped in his jacket, on your lap.

“Y/N,” the receptionist called out. You stood up and turned towards the man and gave him a curt nod. He blinked several times before nodding back at your retreating figure and gulped down a deep breath. Did you catch him staring? Even if you did, you didn’t let it show. Y/N. Y/N. He repeated the name in his head a couple of times. 

It was only after the doctor examined the kitten and told you that she has no chips, and is healthy but is slightly malnourished, that you realised you have so far, that is almost in 30 to 40 minutes’ time, not once asked for the man's name - the stranger in black, now at pet clinic reception.

You just followed a stranger through a dimly lit park and ended up where you are now. When put that way, doesn’t sound like the safest thing to do.

The groomers had taken the kitten to another room to clean her up. The vet wrote up some supplements that the kitten could be given and asked you to wait outside. You walked out and saw the man, right where he was, hugging your bag on his lap, scrolling through his phone. Cap, mask and hoodie - still intact. You went up to him and sat in the seat next to him but one. 

“Thanks for looking after my bag,” you smiled. 

The man looked up at you and held the bag out, you could see the crinkles of his smile near his eyes. “Is she alright?” he asked.

You explained whatever the doctor said. 

“Are you going to keep her then?”

Your eyes widened comically and then it dawned on you. You don’t even have a place for yourself. Where the fuck are you gonna keep her? And if the mother was still around, she would likely not be malnourished, so it is not like you can hope to reunite her with her mom. 

Sammy would not mind, for now, you knew. But Woolfie? How would he react?

Seeing you stunned, the man chuckled, “You hadn’t really thought so far, had you?”

“Not really. My immediate instinct was to just release the kitten. But she’s so small and frail, I cannot possibly let her be anywhere else. But-”

Before you could say anything else, one of the groomers approached you, with the kitten now in a cosy, little carrier, all clean and dried. And he carried the jacket she was wrapped in, in the other hand. 

You thanked him and then turned to the man next to you and looked guiltily down at the jacket on your right hand. “I am sorry about this. I will get it dry-cleaned and return it to you. And also, I am sorry I didn’t catch your name till now. I am Y/N Y/L/N," you draped the jacket over your other forearm and extended your arm for a shake.

“HI Y/N, I am Min Yo-,” he choked on his words before he cleared his throat and said taking your hand and giving it a firm shake, “I am Min Yong-Ho.”

You smiled back and walked out of the vet clinic. “I go this way now,” you pointed towards the left. 

“Oh I go the opposite way,” you could see the hint of a smile but also maybe apprehension.

You had bought cat food worth a week, food bowls, a litter box, litter pellets and a small cat bed. You requested the store to deliver the items to Sammy’s address. In the meantime, you had texted the bare bones of your encounter to him. So he was ready to greet a kitten into his home by the time you went back and for the time being had locked his bedroom door, where Woolfie was fast asleep.

You nodded and asked the man, “So, Yong-ho, how do I return your jacket?”

The man looked around, eyes seeming frantic, almost like a deer caught in headlights. Until finally he pointed at a cafe on the opposite side of the road. “How about we meet at that cafe on Sunday evening?”

“Sure, I will bring back a spick and span jacket, I promise,” you said and asked, “6 PM sounds good?”

“6 PM sounds perfect,” the man nodded and waved back at you as you went your way - the kitten in the carrier in one hand, his jacket in the other and your bag, now draped as a sling across your body. He doesn’t know how long he stood there. But he kept staring your way for five seconds longer after your silhouette disappeared over the horizon.

Taglist: @majiiisstuff, @starlighttaek8, @yoongrace

[secretsecretbunny]

people don't write about Woosung enough, there's like... 8 whole fics for him and they're mostly angst 😭 y'all need to stan The Rose cool thanks 😌

[krp1x1finder]

hello, hellooooo! ✦ poking around for some long-term rp partners. be sure to drop a heart on this post if you're interested, and i'll reach out!

i'm 25+, she/her, and comfortable with muns 23 and older. discord and mewe are my preferred platforms at the moment! my activity will fluctuate during the weekdays, so patience is a huge give-and-take.

things i'm looking for: * bold, from here on out, indicates priority!

✧ enthusiasm and energy, above all (cannot stress this enough!) ✦ world building(!), head canons, pinterest boards, and playlists ✧ oc/au: slice of life, high fantasy/medieval(!), and general angst ✦ general canon compliant(!) semi-au for idols and/or strictly au ✧ mxm, mxf, fxf with a 80:20 split ratio in plot:smut for threads

currently musing members from the listed groups, as well as soloists:

✦ victon(!!!), xeed, onlyoneof, kard (or any group if au/oc!) ✧ woodz(!), dpr live, dpr ian, dean, woosung, loren, yeeun

* ships within these groups are chemistry-based and not prioritized! altogether, i'm only comfortable writing as/against muses who are at least 1998 line and older. 3rd gen is familiar for me, but not required!

third person pov, current/past tense, semi-para to multi-para, willing to mirror length/style/tense while never expecting you to mirror me! i'm usually very plot/thread-focused, so ooc conversation will kept to a minimum. i'm not a stickler about it, though, and welcome positive, chill, funny ooc vibes! even if we're not talking about our plot/muses. please note that passive/seemingly uninterested plotting replies will receive the same energy. if you're not interested in something, please be honest and tell me upfront so we can either switch up the plot or part ways. no hard feelings, i simply want us both happy and excited!

🌸 !

[ao3feed-ateez]

In Between

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/uPSLmhj by TheMoonInAllHerForms Letters Words: 2160, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English Series: Part 2 of The Spaces Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Characters: Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ) Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi (ATEEZ) Additional Tags: sorrow +, Single POV, mingi is a mess, I'm Sorry, teaser, Song Mingi is Bad at Feelings (ATEEZ), Song Mingi Needs a Hug (ATEEZ), Angst, I'm really sorry, Song: Day That I Died (WooSung) read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/uPSLmhj

[kwanisms]

➔ woosung masterlist | back to the rose m.list | back to main m.list

🔞 many of these works contain sexual content (18+ mdni) 🔞 ♤ — angst :: ♡ — fluff :: ♧ — smut ✍ — ongoing :: ⊝ — hiatus :: ⊗ — discontinued :: ✓ — completed

— oneshots

Kinktober '24: Bad Dog, Good Boy ♧ ➥ 5.4k; All you wanted was a quiet, relaxing night to yourself after a tough week at work. One night to relax and unwind. With your clothes in the wash, you decide to borrow one of your roommate’s shirts. Something he notices when you walk back into the living room while he’s taking a break from gaming.

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— drabbles

L O A D I N G . . .

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— timestamps

L O A D I N G . . .

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— miniseries

L O A D I N G . . .

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— series

L O A D I N G . . .

ⓘ DISCLAIMER :: MONSTER/ALIEN FUCKER ENTHUSIAST ⓘ ©️ kwanisms 2018 - 2025 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[mangowillow]

last to know | m.list

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst (who am i without it), hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

author's note: hi!! hello!! remember me? remember this? i am here to deliver. there is no set schedule for new chapters because, in this house, we thrive on unpredictability! the past few months were crazy: i took a national exam, passed it, and then i needed a month to recover from all that jazz. gosh, i missed you all! hop on this train wreck and let's journey through this new fic together ksksks

if you don't know who Kim Woosung is, he is the lead vocalist and electric guitarist for the Korean rock band, The Rose. go check them out! their songs are so heartfelt and great. yes, he will get quite a significant amount of airtime in this fic, but i promise, this is and will be a jk x (f) reader end-game kind of story.

tags for interested readers will be open! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference! ok now we're done with that, let's go!

chapters

⋆｡°✩ chapter 1: haunted dreams (3.9k)

⋆｡°✩ chapter 2: as always, even now (5.9k)

⋆｡°✩ chapter 3: coming soon!

drabbles

coming soon!

[capricornwriter5]

OUR SEESAW - Chapter 16

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female OC

Genre: idol au, Suga X female OC, smut, fluff, angst, college romance, friends to lovers, exes to lovers, happy ending. ⚠️Warning: mentions of mental health affections, drugs, explicit sex

Words: 3k

➳ Prev. Chapter

Chapter 16 - Bulletproof

The first part of her narration had to do with her family life, Emmy did not leave any detail out. At times she had to stop to take a breath and be able to continue, and that's how Yoongi found out what Emmy was carrying inside of her. He listened in silence to the story of how Emm's family had seen his mother-in-law suddenly fade away, how a depression that was never well treated ended up consuming her. And even more painful than that was hearing what came next.

It took Emmy a long time, but she opened up as she had never done with anyone, not even the many psychologists she had seen. The girl completely bared her past and her soul that morning and it was impossible to hold her tears, luckily, Yoongi's hand grabbing hers motivated her to continue, and when she felt that she couldn't take it anymore, the musician let her rest her head on his shoulder for as long as she needed to continue. Thus, Yoongi learned what her childhood and adolescence were like, both plunged into both terrible loneliness and psychological abuse by Seri. He already understood the terrible trauma that Emmy felt towards her sister and her father, the guilt that had accompanied her for as long as she could remember. He heard how Seri tried her best to push any company of Emmy, the only ones that were constant were Woosung, Hobi, and Mr. Siu.

Her father was always an absent figure, he tried to reach out to her a few times, but nothing worked. Her mother, for her part, had tried even more than her father. Emmy had very clear memories of when she was a child and her mother came to visit her in her room. She now understood that this happened when the antidepressants allowed it; yet, postpartum depression would trigger again every time she was with her youngest daughter, so in the long run, the doctor forbade her to keep trying. That is why the girl had taken such strong blows since she was a child, she used to get excited thinking that finally her relationship with her parents would change, but that never happened.

“My adolescence coincided with the time when mum was worse, her pills ended up cutting her off from our family. In those years everything got out of control, and even though Hobi and Woo were with me, it wasn't enough. I… I found another way to deal with everything, something that was temporary, but that cost me dearly. Yoongs, I thought I could control it, but I can't." She said with her gaze fixed on the ground and when the musician tried to take her hand, Emmy moved it while she shook her head negatively, there was no human force that convinced her to look Yoongi in the eyes. “Baby, I can't do this alone, I can't fight this alone, not anymore. I've tried to do it because I want to be okay and be able to enjoy what I have with you. I mean... this has been the best thing that has happened to me, but I can't. I can't stop doing drugs. I thought about leaving. Today, when I woke up, I thought that the best thing was to get away from you and not put you through this, I was convinced to do it because I'm afraid. I'm so scared, Yoongi. And I'm not even afraid just of drugs, I'm afraid of loving you this way, I couldn't bear to lose you like I've lost many people before… not you. I may ignore many things about relationships, but I think I love you, Yoongs. It hurts so bad to think about losing you that I swear there have been times when I can't take it, but I can't fool you anymore. This is what I am.” Finally, the girl was able to look at Yoongi's dark and teary eyes. “I love you, Yoongs, I KNOW I love you. If this is the only time I can tell you this, you have to know how good my heart feels when I have you around. I've adored you every moment since I heard you play for the first time, I've loved with all my soul what we have. Thank you for appearing in my life and changing it in this way. Thank you for looking at me like I always dreamed of being looked at. I wanted to be the person you deserve by your side, but…”

"Emm" he called with a deep and faltering voice. "Stop, please." It was his time to talk.

Yoongi didn't rush things; instead, when he asked Emmy to stop, the musician bit his lower lip and took a deep breath. It was not easy at all, it was not a casual topic and of course, it was devastating to hear every word from Emmy, but fortunately, Yoongi's nature let him express himself properly.

"You are already the person I deserve and want by my side." He said with total and utter certainty, never taking his gaze from hers for a second. “Emm, I'd repeat a thousand times more the day I saw you for the first time. I was limited to living in a monotonous way, and then... I saw you, you smiled and I had no choice but to madly fall in love with you. I changed your life? Baby, you made me know that there are parts of me that only exist when I'm with you, and those parts have made me understand that not everything is wrong with me. Before you… Emmy, before you I was tormented by all kinds of monsters every night, and the only way to keep going was through music. But without even intending to do it, you silenced each one of my demons. Please don't go, freckles. Walking away from the only person I want to try everything with would kill me. Every time I look at you I think the same thing 'Please, let this be forever'. I love you, Emm, you're the first person I tell it to, and the only one I'll tell it to."

Yoongi said that last thing, wiping away the tears that fell down his cheeks, but also showing her a tender and honest smile. "I know it's a lot to ask you to believe me and just ignore all your fears, but I'm saying this from the bottom of my heart, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere. I still remember when you held my hand for the first time, I never imagined that it could feel so good, in the same way, I couldn't bear the pain of knowing that you'd never do it again. I beg you, try to trust in us. I know that you love what we have, and that you'd be capable of anything to protect our relationship, but it's not just you who think so, Emm. I'd also give anything to be by your side, to see you happy. Were you really worried about how I'd see you after you told me all this? My love, don't you see how strong and brave you are? Even with your heart broken by everything you've been through, you've loved me selflessly from the beginning. Even with your face full of tears, you're the strongest person I know. What happened with your mom was NOT your fault, you deserve all the love in the world and I'm sure your mom knew that, that's why she kept trying to get close to you despite how she felt. How your father and sister acted and felt has absolutely nothing to do with you. Now... regarding the other issue... baby, you can try to sedate the pain you feel, but that doesn't work, that doesn't stop the bleeding. I understand you, I know how tiring it is to feel low and to feel that you're not capable of dreaming of a better future. But you can, freckles, and you're not alone anymore, you won't be alone anymore."

“Yoongi, do you actually want to continue in a relationship where your girlfriend…?”

“Where my girlfriend is a wonderful person? Of course I want to."

“Yoongs… you know what I want to tell you.”

“Baby, all wounds can be healed when treated properly. It's okay to cry, to feel sad about everything you've been through, but you also need to understand that you're strong enough to get out of it. It won't be easy, it'll be a long and steep road, but you're not going to walk it alone. And if you feel that your world is falling apart, come to mine, I'll always be there for you."

"Aren't you scared?"

"No" He answered completely sure. “I'm worried about you because I want to see you well and happy, but this doesn't scare me. I know we're going to get through it." He assured her with a tender smile. “We'll seek all the help you need and I'll be by your side at all times.”

“I love you, Yoongs.”

“I love you too, Freckles.” He said taking his girlfriend in his arms and hugging her as strong as she needed. "This doesn't define you, baby."

Emmy told him about the Bivouac and how this club was the favorite place of the upper class, not only because of the easy access to drugs but because of the freedom they had in that place to do what they pleased. The girl told him that even those serious politicians who seemed to have perfect families occasionally went there to have their affairs. However, what happened in the Bivouac stayed there and was never talked about. Now Yoongi fully understood why Hobi hated that his friends went there. It wasn't that he was bothered by what Woosung and Emmy were doing with their romantic life, but rather that he seriously cared about everything they had access to. Despite everything Emmy told her boyfriend, she never got a surprised or judgmental look from him. Yoongi's stoic nature allowed Emm to feel completely comfortable with him.

Emmy was very serious about wanting to quit her addiction, but Yoongi was also serious when he told her that he would support her, and that same day he did something that was not common for him, he asked for the day off from all his jobs.

“Yongs, are you sure? You may have problems.”

"Don't worry. We have some things to do and I promised you that I'd be with you.” He responded with a kind smile.

That morning they both found out which doctors were the best to help Emmy. Thanks to the name and influence of the girl, it was not difficult for them to book an appointment for that same day. Talking about her addiction again was not so difficult for Emmy, Yoongi's company during that first appointment was crucial to achieving it. The serenity of the musician and the security that he conveyed to his girlfriend made her feel that she was only going through a difficult time, but that she could overcome it. In addition, it helped a lot that the doctor was a very kind woman with whom Emmy felt comfortable from the beginning.

“The first thing will be detoxification. I try to get the person through the detox on an outpatient basis; that is, that you experience the symptoms at home, in your comfort zone, with timely medical assistance when necessary. But if your circumstances prevent it, you must enter a detoxification unit or center so that withdrawal symptoms don't induce you to relapse. I know you have the financial means to go through this at home; however, I'm concerned that you live alone. You could hire a nurse to accompany you, or you can stay at the hospital. Normally, the process varies between two weeks or a month.”

With a sad sigh, Emmy nodded. She knew she had no choice, but she was terrified of going through it alone in a place she didn't even know. However, her boyfriend was the one who spoke first.

"Freckles, don't even think about it, I'll stay with you."

"Yoongi, that would be great, but we're talking about Emmy constantly needing someone by her side, we don't know how her body and even her mood will react during those days."

"Yoongs, you can't miss your jobs."

“Yes I can do it, and I'll do it.”

"But…"

“Emmy, I'm NOT leaving you alone.”

"I propose this," the doctor commented, "I must go to attend to some administrative matters, discuss this and when I return, tell me your decision."

The couple agreed and as soon as they were alone, Yoongi took Emmy's hands in his and spoke. "Baby, if it is okay with you, I can move in with you those days, at least while the detoxification process lasts."

“Yoongs, would you do that?”

"Of course." He affirmed with a sweet smile.

Although Emmy found it incredible and extremely adorable that Yoongi was willing to go through something like that, she couldn't help but feel something else. However, this time she was not silent and was honest with her boyfriend.

"Yoongs, I'm a little embarrassed that you see me like this... besides, I don't want to put you through something so complicated."

Yoongi couldn't help but laugh in that tender way in which his eyes closed completely. Afterward, he got up from his chair and knelt in front of the girl.

“Freckles, I don't think you can drive me crazier than you already do. Also… I think it's a little late for you to start feeling embarrassed with me, you should have felt like that when you mistook a tomato for a chili on our second date.” Yoongi's comment earned a beautiful smile on the girl's face. “So, if we're past that boring part of the relationship where you're ashamed of silly things, we can be ourselves. Besides… you jumped out of a window to seduce me… I think I've seen enough of your true colors.”

"Oh shut up, I wasn't seducing you!" She tried to defend herself between laughs. Before she could even lose her smile, Yoongi continued speaking.

"You're going to put me through something terribly complicated and painful if you walk away from me, Emmy. Let me come with you, I promise I'll be a good roommate. Think of it like this, I could cook for you and once in a while I might even leave the bathroom door open when I'm taking a shower.”

Oddly enough, Yoongi managed to convince his girlfriend of something between laughs. Normally it was the opposite, Emmy was the one who managed to get everything out of Yoongi between laughs, but now that she was the one who needed it, the musician had taken over splendidly.

“According to the doctor, we can't start today because you must come well prepared. What do you think if today we take care of leaving everything ready? You have to talk to your professors and I need to ask for vacations. Besides... Hobi and Woosung are going to worry if you disappear without telling them something."

“I had already thought about it; after all, they are like my family. Also Mr. Siu. I don't quite know what to tell them."

"Tell them what you feel you can share, they'll understand if you still can't fully open up."

Emmy accepted her boyfriend's suggestion and once the doctor returned and they defined the most important details of the process, Yoongi went to talk to his bosses while Emmy met with Hobi and Woosung. They had both been home when her friend told them it was something urgent. They agreed to meet at Hobi's apartment, since it was the closest to the university and Emmy still had to talk to her professors.

"Guys, I asked you to meet because there's something important that I want to tell you." Emmy's downcast gaze and her concerned expression made Woosung and Hobi anxious and wish she would tell them soon what was going on. "I won't be here for a few days, I still don't know if it'll be just two weeks or the whole month."

"Where are you going?" Hobi asked.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not having a good time guys, I need medical help and…”

"Are you sick? What do you have?" The dancer asked extremely shocked.

For his part, Woosung did not need details to understand what it was about; after all, he had told her that she should tone down the intensity of her consumption.

"Are you going to be alone?" It was the only thing the singer asked.

"No. Yoongi offered to be at my side as necessary."

That shocked Woosung, he did not imagine that someone would voluntarily want to accompany someone during a process as complicated as rehabilitating. Besides, Emmy had told him about Yoongi's economic situation, so being away from his work for so long seemed absurd.

"What's going on? Can someone explain it to me? What do you have, Emm? How can we help you?" Hobi asked on the verge of a crisis.

"I need to stop using, Hobi."

Before Hoseok could ask anything else due to the enormous concern he felt for his friend, Woosung placed his hand on the dancer's shoulder, indicating that this was not the time to go into details.

“You know you're counting on us too, right? Both Hobi and I are here for you."

“I know, guys. I just hope this works. I don't want to go on like this, but I'm afraid."

Seeing Emmy's teary eyes, Hobi and Woosung tried to give her encouragement and reassure her that everything would be alright and that they were sure she would come out of it.

Meanwhile, the musician talked with Jin. He clearly couldn't explain everything, but he did make him aware that it was a serious situation and that he had made the decision to move in with Emmy for a while. Yoongi tried to assure his friend that that didn't exempt him from paying his part of the rent, but Jin became enraged and practically demanded that he accept his help for the first time and not worry about the rent for as long as necessary.

➳ Next Chapter

[kieriositykilled]

The other day I realized I hadn't done a top ten albums of the year list for the past 7 years, and this felt like the perfect year to remedy that. There was so much good music that came out this year, sitting back and taking a look at all of it was a bit overwhelming. I'm sure there's something I missed, but i started with 58 albums, narrowed that down to 16 using a rating system, and from those I found my top 10. And so without further ado, I present my list of the top 10 albums of 2023.

10. Nothing But Thieves-Dead Club City With a great alt/indie rock vibe, this album will keep a smile on your face from start to finish. From smooth tunes reminiscent of the early 80s, to harder deep bass sounds of the 2010s, this album is sure to bring some joy to your eardrums.

my top 3 songs-Welcome To The DCC, Do You Love Me Yet?, Foreign Language

9. Boys Like Girls-Sunday At Foxwoods So although I was aware of their existence, I am not someone who really listened to Boys Like Girls until like....3 months ago. But that means I approached this album with no judgement and no expectations. A fresh perspective. And I really like this album. The songs are modern, peppy, and fun, but they dance around the edge of angst. So even if, like me, you were previously unfamiliar with this band, I think you'd find it easily enjoyable.

my top 3 songs-The Outside, Blood and Sugar, Physical

8. Sleep Token-Take Me Back To Eden I think Sleep Token has been on a lot of people's music radars this year, it was this way that I originally found them. Imagine my surprise when I learned they are a 'progressive metal' band. I haven't listened to a ton of their previous work, but aside from one song on this album (that I always skip) the music is deep, melodic, and beautiful. The lead singer has a haunting and soothing tone, I would definitely recommend giving them a listen (just remember to skip song #5)

my top 3 songs-DYWTYLM, Ascensionism, Aqua Regia

7. FIZZ-The Secret To Life FIZZ is a group made up of 4 seperately successful solo artists (including my personal favorite, Dodie Clark) who have joined together to create a fabulous sound that harkens to movie soundtracks of the 90s, with a dash of flower-power and a sprinkle of queer angst. FIZZ is definitely bringing something different to the floor that I don't hear in a lot of modern bands. A bright sparkling sound that grabs your attention and

my top 3 songs-The Grand Finale, Close One, You Me Lonely

6. Niall Horan-The Show Ok, I do have to say, this album is no Heartbreak Weather (the best Niall album imo) but it's still a great album. I love listening to Niall because he feels like one of those people who will still be doing shows when he's 60 and these songs will be considered classics. These songs make me feel like it's 1974, I'm dancing in my living room, and this album is of course playing on vinyl. Everyone from your little brother to your grandma will enjoy this (even if they won't admit it).

my top 3 songs-Save My Life, Heaven, Must Be Love

5. The Rose-Dual Sadly I missed their show this year, but I always always adore a Rose album. Woosung's vocals are top tier, the blend of genres, and for those of you too scared to listen to Korean music, no worries, all the songs are in English. One of my favorite things about The Rose is the way they sound on their albums is the way they sound in person, and after listening to them for a few years I see so much growth in their music and it's so good.

my top 3 songs-Back To Me, Alive, Wonder

4. No Frills Twins-Aquarius Not surprised if none of you know who this is, but this awesome Australian duo has been on my radar for close to 12 years now. This is actually their first full album and it's about time! Their unique sound and vocals are like nothing you're hearing in mainstream music today or yesterday either. If you need a full emotional escape, this is the album for you.

my top 3 songs-Golden, Heartbreak City, Soft Porn

3. Maisie Peters-The Good Witch What an adorable human being! British singer/songwriter Maisie Peters should be your new favorite, because she certainly is mine. With an ethereal voice and thought-provoking song lyrics, you truly feel like she is telling you a story. I love how each songs has a lovely spritely feeling and Maisie's sweet voice provides you a delightful experience. Recommend if you want some joy in your music.

my top 3 songs-The Good Witch, BSC, History of Man

2. Hozier-Unreal Unearth Oh what can I say about Hozier that hasn't already been said. This album is a theraputic escape. The music is deep and orchestral and gathers you in a warm dark place. I absolutely love that the songs are inspired by Dante's Inferno, music inspired by literature are some of my favorites. I love combining two forms of art. I feel like I don't need to tell you to listen to this album, because you're smart, you've done it. But if you haven't, we all need to cry in car at some point.

my top 3 songs-I Carrion, Unknown/Nth, Damage Gets Done

Honorable mentions-Carly Rae Jepsen "The Loveliest Time", Raye "21st Century Blues", Jungkook "Golden" , Ren "Sick Boi", Dreamfone "postMANIC" and finally...

1.Morgan Clae-Dreamboy If you're on TikTok you may have seen Morgan who went a bit viral for her audition of Poseidon in the EPIC musical. If you haven't, let me tell you, this album was a religious experience. I was stunned to the edge of stunning. Morgan's voice, music, and presence, holds such a beautiful power and she finds such perfect ways to express herself. Not often does an album truly leave me speechless. I implore you to listen to this artist.

my top 3 songs: The Break: Injury, The Hope, The Dream

[key201303]

Guide (COMING SOON)

Masterlist

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