Summary: In Which For You, Jungkook Would Commit Crimes And His Mother Would Peel Oranges.

summary: in which for you, jungkook would commit crimes and his mother would peel oranges.

idol!jk x reader | fluff, angst | word count: 9.5k

warnings/content: oc passes out in the shower / jk does something crazy i’m literally insane about this / baby bam cameo 🥺 / stitches >:( / blood draw / mention of speeding / jealous not but rlly jealous oc is pissed owfffff at the nurse who has a crush on jk lmao / jk and his mom loves them to death tho so obv who wins / love is beautiful let’s all cry <3

> in which masterlist!

note: *sitcom sound effect of crowd cheering* I’M BACK 🥰 hope u enjoy the product of my madness during finals season hehehe. and special thanks to my cutieful proofreader rio!! you’re one of my most favorite people i’ve ever met 🥺💕 + my beloveds who came to the rescue when i had medical questions !! i didn’t expect to receive help from soooo many and i’m so freaking grateful i could cri :")

—

“i ordered it the other day. how did it arrive so early?”

jungkook walks back inside the apartment, arms occupied by a stack of boxes that arrived in the mail yesterday.

he arrives at the living room, head tilting to the side in confusion when he realizes that the netflix show he was watching on the television is no longer playing. instead, there is the news channel.

he gasps.

“baby, you’re alive!”

your swollen eyes flicker up to him.

you’re lying on the sofa with your legs lazily dangling on the edge. there’s a toothbrush in your mouth, foam of bubbles between your lips, but your arm barely exerts the energy to make it do its job.

“you were asleep from afternoon to morning. do you know that? you’ve never done that before!” he exclaims, carelessly tossing the boxes on the floor. “i was getting scared!”

you only hum to acknowledge his existence, pushing yourself up from the sofa and unknowingly dodging the hug your boyfriend wanted to greet you with.

he ends up collapsing face first on the empty space you left, hurt and offended.

the bathroom door opens and closes.

he flips over, whining. “yah, we didn’t see each other for a day. didn’t you miss me?!”

still not a single word from you. sleeping that long must not have cured your exhaustion, jungkook surmises. you tend to be glum and cranky when you’re feeling unwell, as is usually the case when you wake up as unrested as before.

he doesn’t always know how to make you feel better, but he always tries anyway.

“our new bedsheets arrived!” he announces from the other side of the bathroom door, making himself loud so that you can hear him despite the shower running. “do you want to unbox them with me?!”

he allows the seconds to pass, but with his hands on his hips, he eventually begins to tap his foot on the floor.

“baby? may i go in?”

he turns the knob, just to be prepared incase the answer is a yes, but it doesn’t turn. a sad pout forms on his face.

huh? why is it locked?

you must genuinely don’t want to be bothered today.

“guess that’s a no.” he mutters to himself before calling out to you. “okay, i’ll wait for you!”

with a crestfallen sigh, he begins to walk back to the living room.

he doesn’t go far, however.

only several steps later, a series of loud crashes is heard from the bathroom and his heart thunders in his chest with a combination of numbing shock and fear.

“____, what was that?! did you fall?!”

he aggressively pounds at the door, extremely desperate this time around. he has no plans on leaving until he knows that you’re safe and sound.

“baby! open this! are you alright…? are you hurt? you’re scaring me. please, answer!”

he pauses, catching his breath as his mind runs a thousand miles per hour.

“____!”

he strikes the door with an open palm one more time, more so to express his frustration that is only growing worse with every tick of the clock. he only ends up hurting himself in the process.

“that’s it! i’m opening the door!”

he frantically whips his head around, racking his brain for the location of the key. there are two copies of it somewhere in the apartment, but in his panicked state, he is unable to pinpoint either of their specific spots. and he can’t fucking afford to waste any more time.

“ah, fuck!” he curses, left with no other choice but to give in to the instinct of breaking down the door with the strength and durability of his body alone.

he would most definitely break his shoulder first before the door.

only after the first try, that much is clear.

and so, with madness inconsiderate of his agony, he resorts to kicking it over and over again.

the repeated loud collisions rattles poor bam from his slumber. not long after, the dog’s barking creates a booming dissonance with his grunts and kicks at the door.

when it finally swings open, the force of his own body sends him stumbling on the bathroom floor, but he doesn’t waste time in bouncing back to his feet.

the twisting of his stomach is instantaneous.

there lies your naked, unconscious figure behind the glass— surrounded by bottles of hair and body products that must have fallen when your hands were searching for something to hold on to.

his voice cracks, breathless.

“baby, no… no, no, no.”

he kneels on the floor, and despite the strong urge to carry you out of there, he tries to calm down. it’s the first rule in every emergency case; professionals reiterate in seminars and news channel segments.

keep calm. keep calm. keep calm.

he won’t be able to forgive himself if he ends up causing more harm than good.

“____, can you hear me?!”

his instinct tells him to inspect every inch of you for any sign of injury, but then his vision becomes too blurry. he curses at the hindrance and forces himself to turn off the showerhead that was left running.

he harshly wipes his face, rushing back to you.

“please, please, please. wake up.” he begs.

he has a feeling that it’s futile. you can’t hear him and he’s wasting his breath. the thing is he doesn’t know what else to do.

“baby…”

he carefully turns your head over, almost relieved because he hasn’t seen blood so far.

almost.

at last, he gets a full view of your face, and he finds blood dripping. this has always been one of his most paralyzing fears— seeing you get hurt. now that it’s become a reality, there’s a part of him that wants to believe this is some kind of twisted dream.

“how- how did this even happen…?” he cries out, his own blood running cold.

for everything that happens after, his body acts on its own. bam is a constant presence in his peripheral, but he is barely in his right mind to acknowledge the presence aside from, “bam, move. daddy might step on you.”

he carries you out of the bathroom, kicking aside the beaten up door. he has made up his mind about bringing you to the hospital, but he can’t bring you like… this.

he lays you down on the bed, all that gentleness switched off in a split second so he can sprint to the walk-in closet. he hastily grabs whatever is on top of your neatly folded stacks of shirts and pants; and then a fresh towel on the way out. the gentleness returns as he pats your face dry, the pure white stained with dark red. he flips the towel and uses the other side to wipe the rest of your body, in a race against time but mindful of treating you like fragile glass.

once that is over, he dresses you in a pair of gray sweatpants, and with some difficulty, an orange t-shirt.

any person with functioning eyes will be able to tell that the shades don’t go together.

if you were conscious, you’d definitely berate him for making you wear this outfit.

but you’re not.

jungkook effortlessly swoops you in his arms— dripping wet hair, his and yours, leaving behind a trail of raindrops from your apartment floor to the cemented parking lot.

—

your body feels like it’s floating.

are you dreaming…?

you must be dreaming.

you hear an uncoordinated symphony of voices, but you can’t comprehend a word. in pursuit of clarity, you force yourself to open your eyes.

the voices grow a little louder. faceless figures hover you; a bright light shines over your face.

your senses must be playing cruel tricks. now it feels like you’re drowning, sinking into the unknown, and your body has succumbed into numbing defeat.

you want to sleep a little more.

you must truly be exhausted. it’s okay.

you’ve fought hard until now. you’ve done enough… has anyone tried in life as much as you did?

just as your eyes flutter shut, you regain sensation of your hand; a soft squeeze and a call of your name.

—

jungkook gently strokes your hair, sighing for the nth time since you got transferred to a private room. he’s relieved that all the scans came back clean so serious head and brain injuries have been ruled out. the doctor also asked him questions and ran some other tests before concluding that electrolyte imbalance caused you to pass out; the culmination of stress and fatigue from work, as well as your strong period, most likely being the main reasons. he didn’t even know about the latter until you stained the white sheets with blood.

it was fucking frightening being in the sidelines as they rushed to check on your vitals and to administer oxygen. even now, it’s unbearable to see you with a needle in your hand and a few stitches above your eyebrow. he already anticipated you not being pleased with having to get stitches specifically either; gasping and sitting up as soon as you heard the word come from his lips post-consciousness. consequently, the dizziness hits you. the doctor wasn’t happy about that.

“this is so annoying. i don’t want a scar.” you whine as you study your face on the camera of jungkook’s phone. “did i have to fall on my prettier side?”

“what are you saying? you’re pretty from any angle.” he interjects. “be careful. the wound might open up.”

you jut out your bottom lip, looking up at him with glassy eyes. the sight instantly tugs at his heartstrings, and he pulls you in for a hug. maybe he’s a little sad that you don’t appear concerned about the fact that you passed out, but god is he relieved to finally hear your voice again.

“ah, i should call the doctor.”

but his face remains buried in your hair.

“they told me to do so.”

“you should-”

“why?!” he abruptly reacts, drawing back. “does anything hurt?”

“chill. you said that they told you to.”

“oh, that’s right.” he sheepishly smiles. he can’t help but to overreact; he hasn’t turned off the alarms in his head. “i’ll go tell the nurse to get her.”

he starts to walk towards the door, but a tug at his shirt holds him back.

you shyly look at him with a scrunch of your nose. “i’m nervous. hug me for five more seconds.”

fuck, he would move heaven and earth to protect you from everything that can cause you harm.

“why would you be nervous? i’m right here.” he scolds you lightheartedly, not hesitating to seize the chance to hug you again. “i love you.”

“i love you more.”

you pull away after five seconds, and he’d be disappointed about you being too true to your words if you didn’t kiss him on the cheek so ardently.

his heart almost jumps out of his chest when you gasp out of nowhere as if you just realized that you left the gas tank open at home. your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“bam!”

oh, right. your child.

“my brother’s house!” he eases your mind.

you breathe out in relief, the heel of your palm pressing against the left side of your chest where your heart lives. “good… i was worried. he was probably more scared because he didn’t understand what was going on. i feel bad.”

you love bam so much; it makes him so happy. you’re so concerned about him even when you’re the one on the hospital bed. you make pretty good parents, huh?

“that’s right. he was worried about you, too. that’s why you need to recover quickly so he won’t be sad!”

—

the doctor kindly asked jungkook to give the two of you some time alone, so he’s been idly sitting at the lobby after buying a bottle of water. he’s pretty much used to visiting the hospital for routine checkups considering the nature of his job, but it always feels strange to be here for the other different purposes of the place.

is there any other building sadder than this?

if you heard him utter this question, he could easily predict what you’d say: but is there any other building with more love?

if he tries hard enough, he could listen to your voice and paint you in his mind.

you see love in every place that you step foot into.

his curious eyes continue to wander around. he spots people carrying flowers, baskets, and containers of food. there’s also a teenage boy in his high school uniform, carrying a teddy bear larger than him.

not that he wants you to stay longer, but if you have to, he writes down a mental note to bring one of your favorite plushies.

he eventually gets tired; considers scrolling on his phone again, but he decides against it when his gaze lands on a little boy sleeping soundly on his mother’s lap. suddenly, he is reminded of his childhood before he moved to seoul.

how simple life can be when you’re innocently sleeping on your mother’s lap, trusting that everything will be alright.

“ah, i miss my mom…” he utters absentmindedly. “i miss my mom so much. i should call her.”

his reminiscing is interrupted when a wheelchair rolls by infront of him. it is leisurely being pushed by an old man who wants to bring his wife outside for some fresh air.

in a parallel universe somewhere, jungkook can imagine them as you and him.

he sits up straight, looking back at the clock on the wall.

how long has it been? he wants to be by your side again.

—

“jungkook!” your face lights up as soon as your boyfriend steps into the room. “what took you so long?”

“i know. sorry, baby. i got a little distracted outside.”

“i’ve been waiting.” you pout. “why? were people bothering you?”

“not at all. don’t worry.”

you pat the empty space beside you. “here.”

“i think the bed is meant for only one person- damn, okay, okay-”

he swiftly gives in upon seeing the hurt on your face, occupying the space you reserved for him. “i love you. don’t be sad.”

you’re aching too much to wait for him to get settled. you wrap your arms around his waist like you’re a magnet attracted to steel, clinging to him for comfort.

if you’re being honest, you don’t know how you feel about being in this situation. overwhelmed? maybe a tiny bit relieved. in the past, it didn’t matter whether you were sick or not. you needed to work or else it was guaranteed that you wouldn’t survive. life is easier now. you have the luxury to use this as a reason to take a break. you have someone who takes care of you as naturally as he breathes.

“how was the doctor?”

“she’s nice… she just asked me about the things i remember before i passed out. then about my work, diet, sleeping schedule… stuff like that.”

you pull away a little, just enough so you can see each other’s face. you squint at him suspiciously. “did you have to get an expensive room?”

he chuckles. “how did you know? they didn’t tell you that, did they?”

“i literally have the perfect view of the fountain from here!” you point at the large window behind you. “i just passed out. i would’ve been fine downstairs.”

“don’t say it like that. it could’ve been so much worse.” he says with knitted eyebrows, palm cupping the back of your head and caressing softly.

he heaves a sigh.

“i was so scared that you injured your head. seriously, i thought i’d go insane if i lost you! i went past the speed limit driving you here!”

the distress he was under is apparent. you can’t help but to be racked with the guilt. you always do this, making him worry himself to death. you don’t usually do it purpose, and that only makes you feel shittier.

“you’re right. i’m sorry.”

“well, i…” he sighs. “it’s okay. i know you didn’t want this either. it’s not your fault.”

you press your lips into a thin line. “it kind of is.”

your lost eyes meet, and a connection is established like it’s a constellation sending a secret message. your heart flutters when he giggles, dimples and starry eyes and crinkled corners.

“stop it. it’s impossible to scold you when you’re so cute and self-aware.”

“then don’t scold me.” you sniffle sadly to kindle pity in him. “i’ve had enough of it from the doctor.”

your brain still works well enough to help you escape from trouble. that’s a good sign, right?

“my poor baby.” he coos, cradling your cheeks.

his hands are warm. you put yours over them; a wordless signal telling him you don’t want him to go away.

“let’s not get hurt again, please. we need to stay healthy and take good care of ourselves so this won’t happen again, alright?”

you nod in obedience. your eyes are fixed on him but you’re not certain if you’re registering what he’s telling you in your pitiful, shaken brain.

“the hospital already did me many favors. if we go back, i might have to build them another fountain as a gift.”

and knowing jungkook, with his golden heart and his black card, jokes become half-meant.

“what do they need that for?!”

he bursts out laughing, yet again, after you chide at him for his ridiculous and unnecessary expenses.

“nothing, i’m just grateful! i was really so scared but i’m relieved now thanks to them. i can’t remember the last time i felt that way.”

“you’re not scared of a lot of things.” you point out.

“that’s right.” he agrees. “only you scare me these days.”

you grimace. “am i scary?”

“you are, sometimes.” he laughs, squishing your cheeks together. “but i mean the things that could hurt you.”

as if on cue, your stomach grumbles and bellows like a monster stuck in an empty cave. your eyes grow twice its size in bewilderment, which then morphs into embarrassment.

“my stomach hurts.” you say quietly.

your nostrils flare as jungkook miserably fails to hold back his laughter. one of his hands leave your face, rubbing your tummy over the thin hospital gown.

“oh no, what are we going to do? where does it hurt? here?” he pouts. “should we go feed you now to make it go away?”

“what is wrong with you?” you slap his shoulder in annoyance. “i’m not a baby!”

“yah, be careful!” he yells, wincing as if he is the one in pain. “be gentle with the one with the iv!”

—

“you know one good thing that came out of this?” you gush out of nowhere.

you’re mixing up the ingredients of your bibimbap bowl with a spoon and a pair of chopsticks.

jungkook noisily drinks the final sips of his banana milk. afterwards, he makes a game out of shooting the box in the trash bin.

“what could that be?” he asks, doubtful.

he sits on the chair beside your bed. you greet him with a delighted grin, licking your thumb stained with gochujang.

“you proved your love. you committed a crime for me.”

he gasps to humor you, body freezing as if he’s currently processing the newly-learned information in his brain.

“oh? you’re right- i did! and you know what? i’d do it again!”

with a mouthful of rice, you shake your head in disagreement furiously. “you’re cute. but that’s the first and last.”

“but how are you sure that it’s the first?” he raises an eyebrow quizically.

silly enough, you envy him for being able to do so.

you hum in thought. “i guess you’ve stolen a few things for me, too.”

“few? you mean a loooot?”

“you’re the one who brings home food and random things.” you roll your eyes. “i never ask you to.”

“you told me you wanted the service bell!”

you feel yourself become flushed with sheepishness. he’s not lying. you’ve always found the object fascinating as a child, so you couldn’t help but to tell him to sneakily take one home after filming a competitive run bts episode.

did you have a silly phase where you and jungkook used it to summon each other just to laugh together about it?

perhaps.

“well, you’re rich. you could’ve bought me one instead.”

“but it was already there.” he reasons with a wide grin, gesturing infront of him. “i wanted to give it to my lover right away.”

his lover?

jungkook has successfully replaced your frown with an enamored smile.

“i made your heart flutter just now, didn’t i?”

a hospital stay has never felt this comfortable— not terrifying. you have stitches on your face and to add to that, this hospital gown feels super unflattering. somehow, your boyfriend’s loving gaze remains steady and you are melting.

“shut up,” you mutter, flustered, handing him the pair of chopsticks. “please eat with me. i can’t finish this on my own.”

—

“why would you let them put the needle in my dominant hand?”

you stomp your feet on the ground as jungkook squeezes some toothpaste onto a newly-bought toothbrush.

“i’m sorry! i was too stressed out so i just pointed! i think i got confused with- with left and right.”

you didn’t realize this while you were eating; that you were unconsciously holding the spoon with your non-dominant hand because the other felt uncomfortable. maybe because it was a simple task, scooping food and bringing it to your mouth. brushing your teeth, on the other hand… can be quite an arm workout.

“eeeee!”

he shows his complete set of teeth, urging you to do the same. you stare at him blankly.

“eeeee!” he repeats with heightened enthusiasm.

left with no other choice— you copy his awkward smile.

“there we go!” he praises you with an over-enthusiastic beam.

he carries on to brush your teeth, gingerly holding your chin to keep you steady as he does his job.

this is the first time jungkook is doing this for you. today is definitely not one of your finest moments. it feels a bit silly to be in this situation, and you feel bad for putting your boyfriend in this position in the first place. you can see that he’s trying his best—unnecessarily focused—and that he loves you, but you just hate giving him a hard time.

with a soft smile, he wipes the bubbles that overflowed past your lips.

“okay, spit.”

you spit out more of the bubbles on the sink. you assume that he’s finished, except he’s making another vowel sound for you to mimic the mouth shape of.

“ahhhh-”

“this is embarrassing!”

“baby, really? this is where you draw the line?” he playfully squeezes your cheeks together. “it’s almost over! ahhhh!”

and you let him do this thing, but not without a glare that is masking the embarrassing truth: you might be enjoying this more than you care to admit.

“see? was that so bad?”

as he tenderly pats your face dry in the aftermath, he says: “i’m sorry. bear with it a little more. let me take care of you so you’ll be healthy again.” and you feel every ounce of his sincerity pierce through the barriers surrounding your soul.

“stop it…” your voice suddenly comes out broken.

you want to put all the blame on your period for the tears that are now brimming your eyes, but jungkook is your biggest weakness of all and that is an explanation enough.

“why are you crying?” he panics. “what did i say?”

“it’s your fault.”

you break down into loud sobs, incapable of even keeping your eyes open. you never understood why we close our eyes when we cry, but right now, you know that you can’t bear to witness his reaction.

“you’re so sweet.”

the towel that was wiping the water from your mouth is now drying the tears from your stained cheeks.

“am i making you sad?”

you furiously shake your head. how could he say such a thing? he is the greatest joy of your life.

“no?”

“no!”

“okay, come here then.”

he wraps his arms around your trembling figure, caging you in the solace of his entire existence. a sense of calmness washes over your system, especially as he runs his hand across your back in gentle strokes. this isn’t his goal though, it seems. you hear none of his quiet shushes beseeching you to stop breaking his heart. he hopes you let go of everything that has been weighing on you, but he has already eased all your pains by loving you.

“ugh, i probably look horrible right now.” you force a chuckle to lighten up the mood, wiping your face with the back of your free hand. “i feel gross.”

“that’s not true.” he gazes at you fondly, brushing your hair with his fingers. “it’s actually infuriating how you look so beautiful still.”

“i know. i’m nice to look at; that’s why you tolerate my attitude.” you conclude in jest.

“yeah, sometimes.” he rides on the joke.

“what…?”

“i’m joking!” he rushes to take it back with a laugh. “of course i’m joking!”

you pout. “are you really?”

“oh, come onnnn.”

he coaxes you with a kiss on the lips— a good morning kiss long overdue. you’ve been spoiled rotten with affection; he knows you need more than one. he interrupts himself several times to kiss you.

“you know i’ll love you until our hair turns white and our skin all wrinkly.”

to be brutally honest, you’re not fond of imagining that far ahead. it’s daunting. you doubt your capability to age with grace. you’re horrified by the thought of having the majority of your life behind you. nostalgia has always been more bitter than sweet. but maybe this memory could be the sweetest of all, if jungkook truly stays by your side until then. in a cottage at the countryside like he said once, or a cabin by the ocean.

you’re both so young; so arrogant when it comes to making promises that are a shot in the dark. so fucking in love.

“me too.” you half-smile, scrunching your nose— a telltale sign of your joy. “now, get out. i really need to pee.”

his face becomes drained of blood. “but you’re st-”

“i won’t lock the door this time.” you cup his cheek, looking at his eyes reassuringly. “we don’t need property damage added to the bill.”

—

“did you not hurt yourself?”

“me?”

“you broke down the door. that’s not easy to do.”

you and jungkook make the best out of a bad deal. you’re squeezed together on the bed, browsing through television channels that seem to never end.

“it was easy because you were on the other side of it.”

that is what he claims confidently, but you are not fully convinced.

“wow, why do they have more channels than we do at home?”

“you didn’t answer my question.” you pout. “did you hurt yourself?”

“i didn’t hurt myself. i’m totally okay. i promise.”

he maintains eye-contact as he speaks. given the assurance, your tight chest unrestricts. jungkook is not a good liar. it’s a trait that causes him inconvenience every now and then, but it helps you to sleep soundly at night.

“should we just watch funny animal videos on youtube?”

“i guess that’s fine.”

it doesn’t show but you feel excitement run in your veins aside from the iv fluids that feel peculiarly cold.

from under your cheek, his chest vibrates with a giggle. “okay, hold on.”

as he pulls up the application, you tangle your legs together beneath the thin blanket. you hear the rapid tap tap tap of the remote control navigating the keypad while he types on the search bar, but your attention is someplace else. you’ve found the crook of his neck to sneak into, lazily kissing every inch of his exposed skin. your lips eventually trail up to his jaw. he smells so nice. you’re addicted.

“baby, someone can enter any minute.”

“i’m not doing anything.” you mumble.

you smile against his lips when he gives you a kiss as sweet as honey anyway.

“i’m curious about another thing.”

“what’s that?”

“did you cry?”

he comes to a still. the answer to that question requires a little time and thought.

“almost…”

“why almost?”

“no time. i had to bring you here, of course.” he replies.

you huff a laugh, exhaling a twinge of melancholia. “don’t cry.”

“i won’t. i’m happy now because you’re awake and fighting with me.”

“ow-”

your cry of pain is silenced when he squeezes you in an embrace that makes it nearly impossible to breathe.

“red panda!”

a squeal assaults both of your hearing as soon as your eyes land on the wide screen infront of the bed.

“i want one so fucking bad.”

the enunciated curse makes your boyfriend crack up in amusement. “that much?!”

—

jungkook opens his eyes to a nurse lightly nudging him awake.

“i’m sorry, i had to wake you up. i need to check vitals and draw blood.”

“shit, i’m sorry.” he panics.

his brain is foggy from the nap, but he still carefully sits up on the bed, wary of the iv line connected to your hand.

“i… was tired and i fell asleep.”

“it’s no problem; don’t worry.”

she smiles at him, but he doesn’t see it.

“you look adorable sleeping.”

“ah, really?” he awkwardly responds, absentminded. “it’s embarrassing.”

he stands on your side, about to disturb your peaceful rest much as it makes his heart ache with guilt, but you’re already stirring due to the absence of his warmth.

your heavy eyelids blink at the nurse in curiosity. “oh… do you need my blood?”

“yes, but i’ll take your blood pressure and temperature first.”

“okay,” you mumble, offering your arm. “it might be higher now because i’m scared.”

she chuckles at your joke. jungkook tries to share an endeared look with her and non-verbally communicate adorable, right?

“i promise i’ll be quick. although we definitely want it to be higher than earlier’s.”

you wince as the cuff around your upper arm goes as tight as it could, and you sigh at the same time that it begins to deflate.

“good, good, good,” she chants with a mumble. “it’s back in the normal range again…”

she brings out a digital thermometer from her pocket.

“you know where this goes.”

she hands it over to you, and you awkwardly place it in your armpit, holding it in place. it’s quiet as you wait for the device to make the beeping sound, except for her pen creating friction with your chart as she takes down notes.

“how’s your stitches? do you feel any discomfort?”

“it’s fine. thank you.”

not long after, you hear the beep. you return the thermometer to her, but not before taking a peak at the numbers displayed on the tiny screen. 36.8°C. you think you’ll live.

“i’ll draw your blood now.”

the nurse’s voice is sweet and reassuring, but it doesn’t quite ease the nervousness evident on your expression. your pupils shake as you watch her disinfect the area, and then comes out the long needle.

another one, jungkook laments inside.

“____, i’m right here.”

you crane your head, whimpering out his name. “jungkook,”

“it will be just a pinch. i’m inserting the needle now, alright?”

you take a sharp inhale.

if only he could switch positions with you, he would do it in a heartbeat. unfortunately, all he can do is caress your hair and whisper that it will be over soon.

“it hurts.” your damp eyelashes flutter, face twisting in discomfort. “i don’t like it.”

really, just a pinch? obviously a lie.

“hey, baby. look at the tv.”

the autoplay was left turned on after you fell asleep together. inside the screen is a puppy rolling around a snow-covered lawn. the wagging of its tail, the wide smile, and the pupils as big as boba balls: they all scream the happiness of an innocent.

“it’s so cute… i miss bam already. can we go to a dog park again?”

“of course!”

that promise sparks your smile. you turn to your side, and jungkook also catches a glimpse of the cotton taped to where you were poked.

“all done. you can go back to resting.”

“thank you. will you need to take blood again?” you inquire at the nurse.

“hm, probably. it depends on the doctor based on the results we get from this one.”

“can’t you just do it while i’m asleep? or is that not allowed?”

“baby…” jungkook snorts, hiding his face behind the palm of his hands.

the nurse laughs at your desperate suggestion. “that is honestly not a rare request, but the thing is… you might wake up in the middle of it and injure yourself. we can’t do that.”

“that won’t be a problem!” you passionately argue your case. “i’m a deep sleeper. seriously!”

“ah, thank you so much for your hard work!”jungkook intervenes, bowing to the nurse out of respect and gratitude. “i’m sure you’re busy. i will handle this!”

“oh yes, yes- thank you. please don’t forget the medicine for after dinner.”

“i won’t!”

“if you need anything, you know where to find me again.”

“yes,” he nods, chuckling. “thank you.”

“then i should leave…? but you’ll see me again later! bye!”

the door shuts, and his attention lands on your unimpressed form: a blank stare and arms folded infront of your chest.

uh-oh.

“did she seriously wink while saying that?”

“what?” he freezes, genuinely clueless. “i don’t know. i didn’t see anything. i was looking at you.”

“i’m right here- i’m the patient. why would you need anything from her? huh? why is she so excited to see you again?” you ramble angrily.

“right?!”

he climbs on the bed, reclaiming his spot next to you.

“that was weird.”

“what if she made it hurt on purpose? that…” you frown, glancing at your arm. “that didn’t really feel like a pinch to me.”

“ey, calm down. she wouldn’t.” he makes a doubtful face, laughing off the accusation. “…i don’t think so?”

you blink, exhaling in disbelief. “are you taking her side now?”

“of course not! baby, i’m just saying… a professional won’t do that.”

“why not? she’s still human. humans do stupid things when they like someone. she obviously likes you.”

“and so what?”

he grins with a spark of mischief, leaving an inch of a distance between your lips.

“i’m obviously yours.”

but you turn your cheek and your eyes fall on your lap, a pout highlighting your downcast mood.

“it’s so annoying.”

the regret sinks in after. he should’ve stuck to the golden rule: agree with everything that you say. there’s no point in having an argument no one will win. does it matter who’s right and wrong if each other’s sadness is contagious in addition to their own? your gut has almost always been right, and he’s old enough to be conscious of not allowing a stranger to put a dent on your relationship.

“are you serious? are you uncomfortable?” he tilts his head to try and get a better look at your face. “should i request for a different nurse?”

it’s quiet for a beat and he feels inclined to fill the silence with whatever enters his mind.

“i love you.”

almost immediately, your features soften and he knows your heart is also melting. the two of you bite the inside of your cheeks to hide a smile.

“no, there’s no need for that.”

but he still can’t help but to be worried. your peace of mind is his top priority. he doesn’t want you to be more stressed out, especially by things that he has the power to solve.

“are you sure?”

“she pissed me off. i need to piss her off too.”

of course, his ever stubborn and competitive lover. he sits up properly, amused and curious.

“and how will you do that?”

“i don’t know,” you nonchalantly shrug. “i’ll come up with something.”

—

“come up with what?”

to your surprise, a voice you haven’t heard in weeks echoes from the door.

“mom…?”

you’re stunned after only hearing yourself react to jungkook’s mother’s unexpected entrance. your head whips to his direction; your eyes wordlessly interrogating him.

“i need to go to work so i called her to watch over you.” he explains.

“why would you do that?” you argue with him as quietly as possible, lips barely moving as you try to hide your face from your mother-in-law. again, not one of your finest moments. “you didn’t have to. i can take care of myself.”

“but you don’t have to because you have us.”

jungkook marks the conversation finished with a kiss pressed to your temple, leaving you dumbfounded. he jumps off the bed and for a split second, you make eye-contact with his mother before he towered over her for a quick hug.

her kind smile is embroidered in your memory; a memory that wraps your heart in a type of warmth only a mother can provide.

“mom! i’m sorry. i really, really, really need to leave now. but! i’ll try to come back early so you can go home early too.”

“aigoo, stop stressing yourself out.”

jungkook receives a slap on the back, somehow more loving can scolding.

“i can stay the night so do what you need to do. you don’t have to worry.”

“it’s not only because i’m worried!”

she sassily puts a hand over her waist. it takes everything in you not to laugh out loud.

“then what else?”

“mom! what else?” he cheekily smiles. “of course i’ll miss ____ too much.”

did your boyfriend just…? to his mother? your jaw becomes slack from the shame.

“i missed ____ too!” she contests. “go to work and give us our alone time.”

you shyly smile when she transfers her attention from her son to you.

“hello, my baby. are you hungry?”

—

“does my son feed you well?”

“he does! but it’s funny- other mothers ask the opposite. are you feeding my son well? do you make sure he’s comfortable?”

you think out loud, transfixed on how she peels oranges with ease. your hands would always be stained by the juices, (and eyes red and teary from accidental splashes) (it’s too embarrassing to even think about) but hers are still magically clean.

“is that so?”

you graciously accept the slice she feeds you. she laughs when your face lights up like a christmas tree one more time. it’s way sweeter than you anticipated. you can’t get over how delicious it is.

“mhmm!”

perhaps you relied too much on dramas when it came to your expectations of what a relationship with your in-laws would look like. you imagined yourself running around like a dog trying to prove yourself worthy of their son, yet for some reason, it looks like they adore you for simply existing. it makes you feel extremely grateful, but you don’t understand.

“mom, i have a question… i know it’s probably too late to ask this now, but…”

“what could that be?”

“are you really not against me and jungkook living together?” you swallow your fear of the possibility of an unpleasant truth. “are you not… worried… that i’m receiving too much from him?”

because you would understand the apprehension. as a parent, one’s main concern would be their child. to outside eyes, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that jungkook is being taken advantage of and he’d be better off dating someone with the same status. sometimes you wish you were that someone too.

she utters your name sadly.

“he receives happiness and love from you. those are the most valuable things you could give to a person.”

she caresses your hair like she wants to erase the anxiety poisoning your mind.

“my dear, how come you’re worried about that until now? haven’t we told you? you’re part of the family. forget about my sister! i don’t welcome her negativity in our house!”

“living together is different. it’s a big deal. it normally happens in a relationship after…” the following words feel foreign in your mouth; they come out quieter than the rest of your sentence. “getting married.”

“then tell me. why did you agree to live with him?”

because you’re selfish. because you want more time that you can have him all to yourself. because you want to be accessible— the first person he runs to when he’s seeking comfort and stability. because you want goodnight and good morning kisses. because you were afraid of the risks but you’ve grown addicted to the thrill of love.

“he said… no matter how hard i push him away, he will stay within my reach.”

you hear your own shaky breathing. that moment— it’s still burned into your memory. you’re still holding on to it. it’s a promise he is yet to break and you pray that he never, ever does.

“i don’t want to push him away. i want to be within his reach too.”

you’re two people loving each other with everything within your means. after the endless pains and the deafening noise, you like to think that’s what makes this relationship worth fighting for.

“does my opinion still matter knowing that? will you let me stop you?”

“no, i won’t. i’d make you change your mind.”

if you had a machine connected to you, she would see how your heart rate has gone off the charts. but you’re known to say whatever’s on your mind and that, much to your dismay, isn’t switched off despite sitting infront of the woman who birthed and raised the love of your life.

you sniffle, pursing your lips nervously. “but i feel like there might be a right answer to that one.”

what you didn’t expect was her to laugh until her belly hurts; placing a hand over her mouth in an effort to calm herself down and keep grace.

“mom! stop, i’m so embarrassed!”

“no, ____, don’t get me wrong!”

she is teary-eyed as she gathers herself together.

“the more time i spend with you, the more i realize why jungkook loves you so much. i’ve seen him show incredible commitment twice. do you know that? first, when he went to seoul to become a singer. second, when he told us he got an apartment because he wants to be with you… of course, as his mother, i’ll admit that he’s young when he made those decisions, but he always proves to me that he’s smart and responsible.”

the urge to cry returns and strengthens as she speaks. you feel your eyelashes become damp with unshed tears. you don’t know how to act. you fiddle with your fingers. you stare at the strings and peels of the oranges you can still taste.

“i believe we both know jungkook’s personality well. he wouldn’t have let me stop him either. i’m happy to know that you’ll fight for him too.”

“thank you…”

“tsk, tsk, tsk- what is there to cry about? jungkook will get angry at me if he discovers that i made you cry.”

she wipes away your tears; however, the unmistakable scent of oranges that has clung to her hands and the affection in her tone bring forth a waterfall.

“seeing this makes me sadder.” she laments, referring to the stitches on your face.

“me too,” you babble in the midst of quiet sobs. “it makes me sad. it’s so ugly.”

—

you can’t remember the last time you felt this alone. perhaps it’s the effect of staying in an unfamiliar building of complete strangers. without your mobile phone, may you add. you managed to persuade jungkook’s mother to leave an hour ago because you didn’t want her to sleep on the uncomfortable couch.

the lights are turned off except for the lamp beside your bed, and with the television muted, you could hear a hairpin drop.

you’re alone and you can do whatever you want.

you dragged the visitor’s chair infront of the window to admire the garden like it’s a painting in motion. you watched people converse, stroll, and drink coffee. you watched them run for shelter when the clouds became too heavy and the sky began to fall. oh, so that’s why you couldn’t see the stars.

at this moment, there’s nothing left to amuse yourself with but the trembling of the leaves and the raindrops forming temporary rings when they fall in the water fountain.

your senses crave for more. you reach over and crack open the window, just enough to allow the sound of the rain and the scent of it permeating the earth to enter your room.

“this is kind of peaceful.” you whisper, amazed by the new lightness carried by your heart.

you close your eyes and you breathe in the petrichor deeply. you want nature in your lungs as a reminder that you’re alive. you welcome the cold wind kissing your face. you can feel your hair touching your neck. you always do, but for once, you’re choosing to acknowledge it. your thumb slowly brushes across the palm of your hand, perceiving the texture of your skin, the softness, and the lines. and your feet, they’re in the clouds, the fluffy slippers jungkook’s mother bought outside because she knows they’re your favorite to wear.

you’ve loved and despised this body for a million different reasons. your mind and heart have accepted defeat countless times, but your body wakes up to every brand new day without fail. your body implores you to live. did it finally give up on you today?

“baby!”

you look behind to search for the source of the sound.

you get your answer from the kiss planted on your lips.

you only saw his face for a split second, but even if you had your eyes closed, you’d know it has to be jungkook kissing you.

you can smell him. you’ve memorized the way the shape of his lips fits with yours.

oh, the sounds of his kisses too. you like to call them the butterfly call because they make butterflies appear in your stomach.

you could trace the scar on his cheek with your finger if you want to.

god, what a privilege it is to experience life in this vessel.

a knock on the door forces you to part too early. the same nurse from earlier enters and you internally scream all the curse words in your dictionary. jungkook acknowledges her with a bow and a quick ‘hello’ before squatting down infront of you.

“i committed another crime for you today.”

“huh?”

your wide, confused eyes take a glimpse at the nurse who is doing something with the controls of your iv line.

hahaha… she knows he’s not serious, right?

“what did you do?”

his smile is so big that his eyes have turned into little crescent moons. you’d make a guess but there is an infinite amount of things jungkook could possibly be this excited about.

…apparently, one of them would be strawberry cake.

you gape at the transparent box he was hiding behind his back all along.

“did you steal somebody’s birthday cake?!”

“it’s a producer’s birthday and he received lots of cakes, so he told me i can take one home.”

“how is it stealing if he allowed you to take it?”

he tosses his backpack on the couch as he sets down the box on the table. he rummages through the bag his mother left behind, successfully bringing out a spoon. meanwhile, you get your blood pressure taken again.

as he opens the box, he sends a smirk your way.

“no. i hid the strawberry cake because there’s so many who wanted to eat it.”

“are you crazy?!”

the nurse clicks her tongue. “don’t talk and stay still, please.”

“oh,” your hand flies to your mouth on instinct. “i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry.” jungkook also apologizes.

you and your boyfriend secretly share a look, exchanging a smile that is stifled laughter inside. your lips remain zipped as the nurse restarts the process of taking your blood pressure. on the other hand, jungkook eats a spoonful of cake, teasingly wiggling his eyebrows at you. you roll your eyes and he tries harder to laugh without a sound.

seconds later, he grumbles about the room being too warm. he wipes the beads of sweat on his forehead using the back of his hand, and he does the worst thing he could possibly do at this moment. he reaches for his back, pulling his sweater over his head. naturally, his inner shirt rides up and allows wandering eyes a peak at his glorious toned abdomen.

passed out in the shower. busted your eyebrow open. front-row seat for a woman flirting and ogling at your boyfriend.

how fucking great.

“hello? i think it’s done.” you snap.

“a-ah, yes.”

you hear her swallow as she removes the cuff from your arm. she may be wearing a mask but she’s hot and red all the way to her ears. you’ve only read about it in books. you didn’t even believe this could happen in real life until now.

“i will check your temperature too.”

“go on.”

you repeat the same process from hours earlier, drumming your fingers on your thigh as you wait for the beep.

“yah, why is the window open? you’ll catch a cold.”

jungkook, yet again, steals the attention of every person in the room when he rises to his feet. his shadow casts over you as he closes the window.

“i wanted to smell the rain.”

“is the room getting too stuffy for you?”

you shrug. “i just wanted to smell the rain.”

you feel the nurse’s stare. you offer her a smile and her nameplate briefly gets caught by your vision. kang ji-woo.

“ji-woo; that’s a pretty name.” you pay her a sincere compliment. “it’s healing, don’t you think?”

“yes? uh-uhm, y-yes…” she replies, unsure and confused by the sudden small talk. “actually, it’s been linked to a reduction in stress and anxiety levels.”

“thank you! babe, did you hear that?”

“uhuh, think about my stress and anxiety levels.” he leans against the window with his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at you.

so now he’s flexing his arm muscles. cool, cool, cool. you know he’s not doing it on purpose and his entire existence is just naturally hot and it’s infuriating.

“i’ve been worried sick about you all day.”

his statement makes you frown for a new reason. at the same moment, the thermometer beeps.

“could you please tell him that i’m fine?”

“37.3, uhhh- that’s slightly above normal. how do you feel? does your head hurt? are you cold?”

“i feel fine though?”

“okay. please take a lot of rest and stay warm…” her gaze lingers at jungkook who is blocking the window. “keep the window closed. hopefully it won’t be higher when i check again later.”

seriously?! you could cry. you want to go home where it’s comfortable. where it’s only you and jungkook and bam.

but you bet somebody would be happy if you had to stay longer.

“i’ll look after ____.” your boyfriend sighs, pulling out a jacket from his backpack.

“you shouldn’t have kissed me. what if you get sick?”

your blatantness causes the nurse to pause in updating your chart. she awkwardly clears her throat. “yeah… that… that isn’t currently advisable.”

“i’m sorry. i’ll control myself.”

you earn a glare from jungkook, then he fakes a smile which you gladly return.

“before you go, may i request for a new blanket? sorry, i spilled something earlier.”

“sure thing! i’ll come back with that right away.”

—

“she seemed happy to leave.” jungkook remarks. “i can’t tell if you were actually being nice or being passive aggressive.”

you smile innocently, taking a bite off the strawberry you stole from the top of the cake. “i’m a fucking angel.”

damn it, why is he suddenly turned on?

were you serious about the no kiss rule?

“would you rather i be the type to pull their hair?”

he shakes his head with a laugh. “but you did slap someone once.”

“you want to see me that furious again?”

“never in my wildest dreams.”

he kisses the top of your head, producing an exaggerated ‘mmmwah!’ sound that makes you giggle happily.

“here, have some more cake.”

he offers you a spoonful of cake.

no, it’s bigger.

as a matter of fact, the piece could probably pass off as a cupcake.

you gawk at it as if you’re figuring out the logistics of putting it in your mouth. his heart does a flip when you tilt your head and do your best to take in the whole thing. however, in the middle of it, you decide that you can’t, and you end up biting it off a little more than halfway.

oh my god, he loves you. he loves you. you’re so fucking cute.

your cheeks are full as you struggle to chew. you cover your mouth with your hand but they don’t touch. you’re so elegant in your ways and sometimes he wonders how you’re still attracted to him after he acts stupid.

also, plain white nails? that’s new. you always want colors.

“your nails look pretty.”

he is so focused on you that he fails to take notice of another presence occupying the room.

“your mom did them for me.”

“i figured. she wants to do mother-daughter things with you.”

the short break of silence speaks volumes. you look at him, blinking with eyes hinting at a type of joy you’re lost on how to express.

“did you choose white?”

“no. we were watching a drama and it was the couple’s wedding.”

oh, that makes total sense.

“let me guess,” he trails off with a half-embarrassed, half-entertained smile. “she asked when we will get married?”

“why would she ask me that? how would i know?” you scoff.

his heart starts at a thousand miles per hour. fuck, are you hinting at him? are you messing with his feelings again? with you, he always needs to remind himself to be rational.

“i need more time to prove to you that i’m husband material.”

“what? stop it. i don’t care. i don’t need a ring.”

your unpredictableness pushes him to the edge of his seat.

“don’t pressure yourself. you already treat me way better than most husbands do their wives.”

the pride painted on your face is unmistakable. he feels his heart swelling in his chest. has he been doing a better job than he originally thought? after what happened today, he was terrified that he hasn’t been paying enough attention to you.

“i’m so happy with what we have.”

you offer him a delicate smile before eating the rest of the cake that was left on the spoon. he swears there’s a glowing halo above your head.

could your temperature have magically dropped in the past five minutes? would you kill him if he kissed you right now?

“is there anything else i could assist you with?”

and then he is rudely snapped out of his hopeless adoration and daydreaming.

“that’s all! thank you for your hard work!” you chirp.

he turns to the nurse with a lovesick grin.

“please come to our wedding.”

the unforeseen wedding invitation earns him a slap on the chest. he clutches the affected area, wincing in pain.

he hears you mutter. “don’t invite strangers to our wedding.”

the irritated glare he predicted to face isn’t there. rather, you’re wearing the flustered smile he only sees when he knows that he did something to make you fall for him all over again.

before ji-woo left, she tried to subtly reject the invitation by jokingly saying that she’d die to go, but most probably, she’d have to work that day. you know… being an overworked hospital employee and all. you caught her glancing at you with bitterness failed to be guised as indifference. you get it. you’d hate it if another person was in your place. frankly speaking, you could be miles pettier.

your boyfriend wipes the corner of your lips, thoughtless as he licks off the cake frosting from his thumb.

damn it, you wish she was also here for that.

“you haven’t stopped smiling.”

“you love me and you never let me forget that.”

you give an answer despite the lack of a question mark.

you just made his world stop spinning on its axis and you’re not even aware.

jungkook knows the heavenly feeling of knowing that he is loved, but he has never deeply considered the joy and relief when the person he loves believes that he loves them.

“i’m so lucky. i love you.”

you push yourself up to plant a kiss on his forehead. it’s a rarity he treasures and keeps.

“i love you too.”

he cries infront of you.

almost.

he excuses himself to the bathroom and cries in there a little.

you’re so easy to love— that’s why it makes him want to do difficult things for you. like commit more crimes?

crying, they're so precious

sleepwalking ● 25 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, depictions of smoking and excessive drinking, fluff, a whole lot of flirting, some angst. it’s the final chapter, friends!!!! and that’s a warning in itself lol

words: 23.7k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 25 ► can’t promise that things won’t be broken, but i swear that i will never leave, please stay forever with me

The flight to Paris the next morning began quietly, but as was often the case with Rated Riot, it quickly descended into chaos.

Despite Yoongi’s adamant claims that he was “perfectly fine,” he was too hungover to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds at a time. Hoseok, equally plagued by his own hangover, took it upon himself to guide his friend down the airplane aisle. The two of them moved slowly, holding onto seats and, occasionally, the backs of other passengers’ heads. They were, almost literally, the blind leading the blind.

When you stood up to ask where they were going five minutes after the seatbelt sign was turned off, Jungkook gently pulled you back to your seat.

“Leave them,” he said, adjusting his earbud that had almost fallen out when you stood up, pulling on the wire. “They’ll figure it out.”

A soft gasp was heard a few rows ahead when Hoseok accidentally grabbed a woman’s ponytail. Confused and disoriented, he turned to apologise to someone on the other side of the plane.

“I’m not sure they will,” you replied to Jungkook. “They’ll find the emergency exit and try to pry it open.”

“And don’t underestimate them,” he said. “They will succeed at that.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You stood up again. “Give me one second.”

Jungkook grinned but did not try to stop you again.

Yoongi sighed in visible relief when you touched his shoulder. He quickly tried to explain the situation to you, making it sound like Hoseok had led him into a dark, haunted cave, instead of merely managing to guide him—in large, distracting circles—away from the bathrooms by mistake.

Back in his seat, Jungkook wondered about the rest of his friends on the plane. He didn’t know what the other members of his band had been up to after he’d returned to the hotel with you, but he could tell, just by watching Yoongi and Hoseok struggle, that everyone was fighting the after-effects of last night.

Minjun was asleep behind Jungkook, looking rather faded. Jude, meanwhile, had remained in London, where he was waiting for his flight home as he had originally planned.

Jungkook then looked over at Taehyung and Luna, who were seated just behind Minjun. They were pretending very diligently to be engrossed in the film playing on their screens—Jungkook had heard Taehyung cursing earlier as he tried to sync the film for them both—but they were dozing off, too.

Even though not everyone was aware of Sid’s arrest yesterday, it was evident that they all had still unknowingly celebrated the occasion.

“Alright,” you whispered as you returned to your seat after depositing Yoongi and Hoseok in the care of the flight attendants. “If you hear any screams, let me know so I can go back and check if they’re still alive.”

Jungkook gave you an amused look. “You think they’d be screaming if they were dead?”

“You never know with them.”

He chuckled and settled back into his seat now that you were next to him. He picked up a dangling earbud—you had developed a new fondness for wired ones after losing too many AirPods across Europe—and handed it to you, making sure that the one in his left ear was still in place.

You put the earbud back in and leaned back, allowing him to rest his head on your shoulder and resume the Sleep Token song you had been listening to.

“I’m really glad we’re finally on this plane,” he whispered. You turned your head just slightly to hear him better, your chin brushing over his hair, and he was tempted to start speaking in tongues just to feel you even closer in your confusion.

“I know,” you replied. “There were moments when I thought we’d never leave London.”

You felt his head move against your shoulder in agreement.

“Great venue,” he remarked. “But fuck if I didn’t want to get out of there and head straight to Paris.”

You snickered. “You think we’re romanticising Paris just because we won’t have to deal with Sid there anymore?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. He felt uneasy, all of a sudden, as he ran his hand over his thigh, trying not to focus on the unpleasant feeling that Sid's name alone evoked. “I-I’m glad it’s Paris, though. I was ready to pack up to go to the Arctic to get away from him.”

“Oh, penguins,” you said, a playful smile on your lips. “Sounds nice.”

A flight attendant rushed past you in the aisle, on her way to attend to some urgent matter, and even Jungkook raised his head when you began to look around to check if the band members were all in their seats. Yoongi and Hoseok had just returned, bumping into each other and the surrounding seats as they walked back.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, drawing your attention back to him, as he looked out the window, counting, as it seemed, the patches of clouds. “But I didn’t pack a lot of appropriate clothing.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “and I reckon you’d get bored pretty quickly in the Arctic.”

He shifted his gaze from the endless expanse of clouds to give you a very serious look. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you replied, grinning at the genuine concern in his eyes. “Penguins probably don’t appreciate alternative music as much as you do.”

He observed you for a moment, his own lips stretching into a smile as his eyes briefly flickered to your mouth. The song in your earbuds switched to Friday Pilots Club’s newest single.

“Well,” Jungkook said, just a tad hypnotised by your tongue running over your lower lip, “I’m sure I could change their minds.”

“Oh, most definitely,” you said, having no doubts at all that if Jungkook set his mind to it—if he viewed it as a challenge—he could convince penguins to fly, too.

He appeared very pleased with himself for a moment, and his satisfaction only increased when he returned his head to your shoulder, and you leaned your head against his.

“You’d have to come with me,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow but did not pull back. “To the—to the Arctic?”

“Mhmm,” he affirmed. “It’d be just us two and a bunch of penguins. Fucking rocks, come to think of it. Maybe we should go there straight after Paris.”

You tried to stifle your laughter to avoid disturbing the drowsy plane.

“Or how about we go somewhere warmer?” you suggested. “We’re finished with Sid anyway. Let’s leave the penguins alone.”

Jungkook felt his muscles tense once again. He still felt the weight of Sid’s name on his chest every time it came up, despite having “finished” with him.

To be fair, he didn’t expect this heaviness to disappear soon, but he figured he could learn to live with it. Carrying this weight felt like a reminder of everything he’d survived—of the chains he’d broken, if he wanted to be dramatic about it.

“That’s cool, too,” he said. “I like those cuddly ones—what are they called?—those little ones, with sand-coloured fur, love the sun. Sort of a tiny, pointy face—”

“Meerkats?” you offered.

“Yes!” He snapped his fingers, enthusiastic. “Let’s go where they are. They were cool when we saw them at that new zoo near my house, remember?”

You remembered, of course, even though that had been four or five years ago. You couldn’t recall the dates very well, but you always remembered the moments.

“Oh,” you said, “when a lemur followed you around the room the whole time we were there?”

Jungkook pursed his lips. He remembered the lemur, too; he’d felt a little unsettled around it. Not scared, though. He was never scared of living creatures.

“Hmm,” he nodded, grumbling the next word, “right.”

“You can’t go anywhere without an animal falling in love with you,” you teased. “It’s a bit annoying, actually.”

You placed your hand on his and Jungkook turned his palm over, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Why?” he asked smugly. “Do you feel threatened?”

“Should I?”

“No. What I had with that lemur wasn’t serious. It—”

He had to pause because you laughed, and the pride that suddenly swelled in his chest distracted him from his next words. He rarely made jokes these days unless you were in the room to hear them.

“It had crazy eyes,” he continued after a moment, “kind of like Sid does when he’s been sober for a few days in a row. Freaked me out.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding in amusement. “That explains why it followed you. Could be Sid’s distant relative.”

He snorted. “We’ve gone from rodents to lemurs. I don’t know if that’s an improve—”

“No,” you cut him off, no longer joking. Jungkook raised his head to look at you, surprised by the sudden change in your tone. “Sid’s a rat. He wishes he was something more.”

He lowered his gaze, his own expression growing serious for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “Actually, maybe we should have called animal control on him instead of the police.”

The idea brought a wry smile to your face. “He did seem feral the last time we saw him.”

“Hmm. I’m sad that I missed it all.”

“You—no,” you countered again. “You haven’t missed anything. It’s a good thing you weren’t there. Sid didn’t deserve to see you one last time.”

Jungkook knew that. But he still wished he could have seen the look on Sid’s face when he was dragged—kicking and screaming, according to what you’ve told him—into the back of the police car.

“Well, if your plan works as expected,” he said, “I’ll never see him again.”

You noted the hopeful tone in his voice and remembered, suddenly, your conversation in Stockholm, when you had advised Jungkook to find better friends, and he had seemed very remorseful in turn. Back then, he had clung to his friendship with Sid almost desperately, even though the two of them only had their shared history and nothing else in common.

Jungkook had buried it all now—he buried it the moment he realised that there had always been one name standing between him and you, and that name did not belong to either of you—and it still felt strange, but it also felt promising.

“I fucking hope not,” you said. “I hope he gets a fun cellmate and rots in a prison far, far away.”

His smile finally returned. He had been thinking a lot about what Sid would go through once he was arrested.

“I bet he’ll be paired up with someone fantastic,” he said. “When Minjun and I were arrested, we were put in separate cells, and I ended up with this guy—do you remember? He called me ‘sweetheart’, which was very nice. Until I mentioned that we weren’t allowed to smoke here, and he tried to gouge my eyes out. So, the honeymoon phase didn’t last.”

It was remarkable how quickly you laughed. There was a time, not that long ago, when you couldn’t find anything amusing about Jungkook’s arrest at all. You’d been convinced of his guilt and closed your eyes to everything that could have shown even a glimpse of his innocence.

You realised now that you might have just been waiting for Jungkook to do something—a final something—so you could give in to the fear that had been whispering in your ear about the impermanence of relationships since your first date.

I knew it, you had thought to yourself as you headed to that police station. Of course, this would happen. Of course, we’d break up eventually.

Nothing was meant to last forever, that much was true. But now you had come to believe that some people spent their whole lives building their relationship—brick by brick—never growing weary of this never-ending project. You were looking forward to becoming one of those people.

“I remember,” you said, your voice softened by the shift in your memories. “He told me to watch my back when I picked you up. I still don’t know what that was supposed to mean.”

“Maybe he thought I was a proper criminal,” Jungkook suggested.

You scoffed, earning his disapproving glare.

Despite his menacing frame, tattoos, piercings and deliberately provocative clothes, there was nothing truly threatening about Jungkook. He could hold his own in a fight—he was very proud of that—but he had the personality of a gently melted marshmallow. Someone would call his name and his whole face would light up. Someone would make a joke, and he would clap his hands and lean forward as he laughed, even toppling over sometimes—and then he’d do a somersault before landing on his feet.

He was only dangerous if you loved him as much as you did—to the point where it hurt sometimes, but never enough to truly leave.

“You got arrested because Sid set you up,” you said, responding to the scowl on his face with a warm smile. “Not quite as impressive as whatever your cellmate was in there for, I’m assuming.”

Jungkook shrugged, not arguing. “Yeah, it was his fourth time in that cell, he said.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“That week.”

“—fun.” You cleared your throat. “Four times in one week? Why did they keep releasing him?”

“It’s usually small misdemeanours,” he explained. “Urinating on some embassy building, drinking in a public park. That sort of stuff.”

“And,” you said, “he told you about all that while trying to poke your eyes out?”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. "It was very Joker.”

You snorted. “Well, this guy sounds like someone Sid would get on well with.”

“Mhmm,” Jungkook agreed. “I think so, too.”

You turned your gaze to the window on his side. There was something very exciting about the possibility of Sid finally experiencing the kind of harassment he had dished out to others. Revenge wasn’t always the answer, but here it fit.

Just like yours, Jungkook’s desire for vengeance burned fiercely beneath the surface, too. It was too strong, however—and too unrealistic, he knew—to fully quench. He knew Sid might not get the justice he deserved in the end, and he couldn’t help but feel a little dispirited.

“It just sucks,” he said, after fighting himself on it for a minute, “that Sid might find a way to make this situation more comfortable for himself.”

You thought about it, but refused to find anything negative in Sid’s current predicament.

“That’s fine, though,” you said. “It’s really bad for him this time. No amount of luxury he can attain in this position will be enough. His reputation means nothing here, but he fucked it up anyway.”

“So, he’ll be even angrier,” Jungkook observed, still not satisfied.

You shrugged. “Good.”

“And he’ll do everything to retaliate.”

“Well,” you remained unperturbed, “we already know that, right?”

“He—”

“Actually,” Minjun popped his head into the gap between your seats, startling you both. Your heavy gasps forced him to pull back a little. “Sorry. I was—I overheard your conversation. I spoke to my dad this morning; he heard that Sid had been arrested. It’s bad. For Sid’s family, I mean. My dad’s taken a day off today, but Sid’s mother is calling an emergency meeting with their shareholders because, obviously, their image has been tarnished. Everyone’s talking. They’re not pleased.”

Jungkook glanced at you. Your raised eyebrows seemed to reflect the excitement he felt rising within him.

“Oh,” Jungkook said slowly, not wanting to get ahead of himself. Sid had a knack—in the form of several black cards—for wriggling out of the deepest holes he’d dug himself into. “That sounds promising.”

“Yeah,” Minjun said. “My dad thinks that Sid’s mum will have to make a choice. It’s very dramatic, but so fucking funny. You know how Sid’s family is very—well, traditional, right? Sid’s mother is the only daughter, she has four older brothers. Her father doesn’t care much about her. Or about her kid.”

Both you and Jungkook remembered Sid’s grandfather. Although you never met him, you heard stories from when Jungkook and Sid worked on restoring cars from his Chevrolet collection. He was a lenient man, accepting of most things, as long as Sid did not step out of line.

“So, if Sid’s mum doesn’t get Sid out of this situation herself,” Minjun continued, “then no one else will. And if she can’t handle it discreetly—and it doesn’t look like she can, it’s already too late—then her father will likely advise her to distance herself from Sid in order to protect the company’s reputation. So, she’ll have to choose between her son, whom she loves so dearly, and the company that she’s worked so hard to build. Kind of poetic, I think.”

You didn’t realise how wide you were grinning until you tried to speak and felt just how far your cheeks had stretched.

“I appreciate what that implies for Sid in both scenarios,” you said, coughing a few times into your fist to compose yourself.

Minjun was less constrained in his glee. “Right? We’re done here. Sid has much bigger things to worry about than plotting revenge.”

Jungkook kissed his index finger and pointed it to the sky, gazing up. “Merry fucking Christmas to us.”

You laughed as the two boys high-fived over your head. Minjun pulled back then, sliding his headphones back on, and Jungkook turned to you again. He was finally able to inhale something that felt like real oxygen instead of the stale air he’d been breathing before.

“So,” he said, pressing his shoulder against yours as your arms rested on the armrest between you. “Meerkats, then?”

You nodded, an eager smile on your lips. “And penguins later.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back to get a better look at you. “You changed your mind?”

You shrugged. The two of you hadn’t paid any attention to the past three songs playing on the pair of earphones you were sharing.

“I’ll go anywhere you go,” you said—with an ease that made Minjun groan behind you with such a deep dedication to his displeasure that you felt your chair vibrate from the sound.

Jungkook was positively beaming, his eyes shining with all the colours that existed in the world, some of which were yet to be discovered.

“Well,” you said, your expression almost turning bashful, and Jungkook’s whole face seemed to start sparkling, “I think I just made Minjun’s soul leave his body for a second.”

“I know,” Jungkook said. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

“Oh—” your words dissolved into laughter. “I mean, I knew you were into praise, but not to such an extent.”

“Oh, to such an extent,” he boasted. “Tell me how good I am, and how you’ll never leave me, and you’ll really never get rid of me.”

The affection in your eyes turned a mischievous shade. “I already can’t get rid of you.”

His proud expression did not falter one bit. “It’s because I can sense how much you need me.”

“Ah,” you snickered again, “is that so?”

“Yes.” He reached for your hand again, intertwining your fingers. “Really, I’m being very charitable here.”

Your eyes were locked on the smirk on his lips. “Public service, now, is it?”

“Mhmm,” he said. “Paying off my sins by doing a good deed.”

“I see,” you played along. “Trying to get into heaven after you die?”

He placed your hands on his lap, his thumb caressing yours. “Actually, I’m already there.”

Minjun smacked the back of Jungkook’s seat with enough force to dislodge your earbud from your ear.

“Please go back to talking about meerkats,” he asked from behind you, his tone pleading.

Jungkook laughed, and his unapologetic expression made you smile, too. You finally broke and leaned in to press your lips to his cheek, melting, very successfully, all that was still left of his heart.

“I love you,” you whispered with a look in your eyes that he would have gone to war for.

He squeezed your hand and leaned into you, his cheek grazing yours before he connected your lips, whispering into the kiss, “I love you.”

Your hotel in Paris was an intriguing combination of marble floors with opulent chandeliers in the lobby, and peeling wallpaper with questionable stains marking the walls in the corridors outside of your rooms.

The lift was not working—you’ve already grown used to this in London—so you had to haul your luggage up the creaking stairs. Somewhere around the second floor, Jungkook decided to take a break. He sat down on his dark grey, metallic suitcase, and accidentally rolled down at least five steps before grabbing the railing to stop himself from returning to the lobby on his ass.

The commotion caught the attention of a few porters—who seemed in no hurry to assist you with your luggage—and they informed you, very ominously, that several rock bands before yours had been kicked out of the hotel for “disorderly behaviour.”

Everyone in Rated Riot understood the warning, but you were concerned about the expressions on the members’ faces. There was a certain allure to these threats. Jungkook, in particular, seemed thrilled to see how much he could get away with without getting kicked out.

Fortunately, your first night at the hotel was as quiet as it could be, considering that silence was a relative concept for Rated Riot. Taehyung and Luna had accidentally torn the curtains in their room while “getting ready to sleep,” and Hoseok managed to lose a shoe outside his window, but the hotel staff remained blissfully oblivious about it all. You decided not to ask questions, either.

However, when you woke up the following morning, you almost regretted not giving the members an educational speech about good behaviour in any case, because Jungkook wasn’t in the room with you.

He had never woken up before you in all the years you’ve known him—regardless of how late your last night had been—so you were understandably alarmed. Surely, you thought, he was up to something with the rest of the band.

But then, as you pushed the covers off, the door of your room suddenly opened, and Jungkook walked in, alive and seemingly unharmed. He was surprised to find you staring at him, but his face lit up with a grin as soon as the early morning sunlight from the window behind you caught his silver necklace, momentarily blinding you.

“Hi,” he said. “You’re finally awake.”

You were at an unfortunate loss for words for at least half a minute. It was eight in the morning, and Jungkook had never used the words ‘finally’ and ‘awake’ in the same sentence unless he was referring to himself.

“I finally am,” you replied, your voice hoarse. His smile grew wider as he made his way back to the bed. “Sorry I’ve kept you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” he replied easily, plopping down beside you. “Should we grab breakfast before your meeting? Or would you prefer after?”

This relaxed demeanour was a characteristic trademark for Jungkook—although it usually concealed much deeper anxiety—but it felt surreal to encounter it so early in the day.

“Where—why are you up?” you finally asked, rubbing your eyes in a futile attempt to force them to stay open.

He shrugged. “Just excited for the day, I guess.”

You noticed a flicker in his gaze as if your question had intimidated him, and you could tell there was something else going on. But he looked genuinely ready for the day, and you didn’t want to risk stirring any tension that you’d been expecting to find this morning but hadn’t.

“Alright,” you said. “Maybe let’s eat after. Do you want to just stay here for a minute?”

Jungkook wanted to stay here for much longer than a minute, and he scooted back to his spot on the right side of the bed. You leaned back into the pillows, closer to him, and he pulled you into his chest, pressing his cheek against yours before turning his head to place a quick kiss on your lips.

It was a grounding kiss—to make sure you were really in this bed with him—but you still felt your anxious thoughts stop, place their hands in their laps obediently, and settle down in his presence—powerless, it seemed, when Jungkook was in the room with you.

It hadn’t really occurred to you how worried you were about your upcoming meeting—the empty room had worked as a sufficient distraction—until Jungkook’s quiet breaths, muffled by your lips pressed to his, took your mind off everything.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling you into pulling away. Jungkook sighed, having expected the interruption. He was already getting used to never having you all to himself for too long.

You gave him an apologetic smile and leaned over the bed to check your phone—on the screen was a preview of an email you had been waiting for all week.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing your expression.

“I’ll tell the whole band later,” you said—and elaborated before he could insist on being told first, “but I’ve found a new band to open for you guys for the rest of the tour. They just confirmed they’re available and interested. I don’t know if this is the last thing I’m doing as your manager, but if it is, then I’m quite happy with that. I obviously haven’t signed them yet—they’ve only agreed to discuss the details. But I watched all their performance videos tonight; they’re great.”

Jungkook looked—and very much felt—deflated all of a sudden. “Don’t say that.”

You gave him a puzzled look. “No, really, Maggie said she listens to them, and she—”

“Not that,” he cut in. “The other thing.”

He meant you leaving Rated Riot, of course. But after tossing and turning half the night, you had mostly come to terms with what your life would look like if the label decided to revoke your promotion and terminate your position as Rated Riot’s manager once they learned about your relationship with Jungkook. That would make your meeting twice as unpleasant, of course, but you’d figure it out.

You’d fight to stay, but you’d leave if you had no other choice. You’d find something else to do. And if nothing else worked, Nick’s offer with Reconnaissance was still open—you planned to call him today either way.

“It’s okay,” you said. “We’ll see what happens today.”

Jungkook mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

“Also,” he said then, louder, “what do you mean you watched their performances tonight? Where was I?”

“Asleep.”

He frowned, his expression nearing offence. “And you weren’t? And you didn’t wake me?”

He quickly deduced that you hadn’t slept because you were too nervous. He should have known you would be, and he mentally scolded himself for not realising that sooner. He supposed he missed falling asleep next to you too much to worry about anything else.

“You can hardly say anything when you haven’t told me where you were just now,” you pointed out.

He changed his mind about complaining that you hadn’t woken him.

“I—wait, w-who is this band, then?” he asked instead.

You glanced at your phone after it lit up with another notification—this one from your calendar, reminding you, pointlessly, that you had a meeting in an hour.

“Nyx and the Insomniacs,” you replied, swiping the notification away. “You heard of them?”

Jungkook needed a moment to place the name.

“Yeah,” he said uncertainly, recalling the band but not why they sounded familiar. “I-I think Yoongi knows someone there?”

It wasn’t surprising, considering Yoongi seemed to know someone in every band.

Before you could respond, however, Jungkook added a very determined, “and it’s not going to be the last thing you do as our manager.”

“I hope not,” you said. Not wanting to linger on the topic and lose the few moments you had together before your meeting, you lied back down on the bed and turned to your side to face him. “Now tell me why you were awake so early. I mean, really.”

He sighed—sadly, somehow—at your question. He’d promised the rest of the band he wouldn’t tell you anything just yet. You’d find out where he was soon enough anyway.

“No good reason,” he said, carefully tiptoeing around the truth to avoid a deeper conversation about this. “Nervous, I guess. You and I slept in shifts, apparently.”

“Apparently.”

“Why do you keep asking?” he asked, leaning in closer to nestle his face into the crook of your neck. “Did you want to wake up with me that much?”

“Hmm, I’m conflicted about that,” you said, feeling a rapid wave of shivers run down your spine when his lips touched your neck in a tender, almost imaginary kiss. “Y-you suffocate me in your sleep, so it was nice to breathe for an hour or two.”

His laughter was muffled as he kissed your neck again, moving down to your collarbones and holding you tighter when he felt you squirm in his arms at the feeling.

“Breathing is overrated anyway,” he said.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

You turned your head, and he looked up, smirking first—always—and leaning in to kiss you second. He held your lower lip locked between his, believing—very firmly—that if your head wasn’t spinning after he pulled away, he hadn’t truly kissed you. But as he ran his tongue over your parted lips, his stomach clenching in anticipation of your familiar taste, he heard your phone vibrate once again.

Groaning gibberish curses, he rolled away so you could pick up the device, your expression a mix of amusement and guilt.

“It’s the last time something interrupts us, I promise,” you assured, swiping away another notification as soon as you looked at it. You had decided to only respond to urgent emails this morning to avoid overheating your brain and to prevent Jungkook from scolding you about working too much again. “But I have to—I need to start getting ready.”

He suppressed all further complaints he had prepared to delay you from leaving the bed and forced himself to nod.

“I understand,” he said. “Send me the link to your playlist.”

You had already shifted to the edge of the bed and had to turn back to look at him over your shoulder. “Hmm?”

“I’ll listen to it while I wait for your meeting to finish.”

You turned away again, mumbling an exasperated, “God.”

“Come on,” he urged, crossing his ankles as he watched you from his side of the bed. “I’m awake and bored. Who knows what sort of tomfoolery I might get up to if you leave me unattended.”

“I knew I should have enrolled you in kindergarten.”

He snickered, sitting up suddenly. The more you resisted showing him the playlist, the more he wanted to hear it, and he could not stay still.

Thumping his palms on the mattress with every word, he chanted: “Give—me—the—link—to—”

“Fine, fine,” you relented—he made sure to leave you no other option as his volume grew—and stood up from the bed to unlock your phone. “But don’t open it until I’m out of the room.”

“I won’t,” he said, bouncing on his knees. He looked about ready to roll over and play dead, too, as long as you showed him the playlist.

You glanced at him, avoiding eye contact with the green Spotify circle.

“Promise me,” you said—more to delay what had become inevitable than for any other reason.

He tilted his head, his intrigued smile now bordering on absurd. “Is it that bad?”

“We will never speak of it once you listen.”

“Alright, shit.” He sat down, crossing his legs under himself even though he knew he wouldn’t stay in this position very long. He felt like a Christmas ornament—outrageously jittery and tingly. “I promise. Send it to me.”

“Alright.” You scrolled through your library, digging your teeth into your lip. You felt like you were eighteen again, starting this playlist after Jungkook had taken up residence in your mind without having said one word to you. You had never thought you’d show all these songs to him one day. “Let me find it first. Imagine if it’s gone.”

He sneered. “Imagine if I wouldn’t believe you.”

You glared at him over the top of your phone. He maintained his grin with slightly pursed lips, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“It’s here,” you said, clicking on the playlist, but deliberately not looking down at the songs.

“Is the title just a row of pink hearts?” he asked and received another glare in response.

He chuckled. He could tell that you were on the verge of bolting for the door in hopes that he wouldn’t chase after you. He absolutely would.

“No,” you said. “It’s actually ‘why?’ in all caps.”

He cleared his throat, looking away. “I don’t get it.”

You finally grinned.

Jungkook already had another question at the tip of his tongue—one that would undoubtedly result in you tackling him—but his phone buzzed with a text notification from you. Glancing down, he grinned. He’d named your contact “LOML <3” a few days ago to annoy Minjun, and now he smiled every time he saw it.

“Got it,” he said, noting the Spotify link in the preview of the message. “Can I open it now, just to check if you sent me the right—?”

“Absolutely not,” you retorted. “I know I sent you the right link. Don’t click on it until I’m out of here.”

Biting back his amusement, he locked his phone and demonstratively pushed it away from himself on the bed.

“Okay, here,” he said, extending his hands to demonstrate the distance between himself and the device. “I’ll entertain myself by watching you put on make-up, then. That works, too.”

You didn’t object—in fact, he saw a smile flash briefly on your features—and he climbed off the bed, following you to the small bathroom.

It was not a pleasant room: two out of three lightbulbs in the fixture on the ceiling weren’t working, so the perpetually foggy mirror on the wall was useless. Most of the wall tiles were cracked, and the bathtub was an odd shade of yellow. But Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watched you rummage through your cosmetics bag for your toothbrush, and you did not notice any of the flies or the cobwebs by the bathroom window. You did not notice how long you had to wait for the water to turn warm.

At one point, he sniffed your eyeshadow palette—for no reason whatsoever—and began to sneeze so violently and uncontrollably that you had to sit down on the edge of the tub to control your laughter, forgetting all about the awful bathroom and the daunting meeting with the Jett Records’ legal team.

However disruptive he was, Jungkook distracted you from everything that might have brought you down, and you were very grateful to have him here with you.

Sadly, your carefree morning didn’t last long.

Now that Jungkook was no longer with you, you paced outside the conference room on the ground floor of the hotel, obsessively checking your phone. Despite only getting a few hours of sleep tonight, you felt perfectly alert—the stress was great at keeping you sharp—and you noticed the Jett Records representatives as soon as they climbed down from their rooms.

An executive producer, Salma, whom the band had worked with before, showed up in place of CJ’s assistant. She’d left a good impression on you when you first met her, but now she was accompanied by two intimidating lawyers.

The one who introduced himself first—making a joke out of his lengthy full name and asking you to simply call him Reggie—had kinder eyes than the one who talked to you next. He was Duke, and he looked like he ate bricks for breakfast and knit spider webs as a hobby.

Fortunately, Reggie was the one who took the lead in the conversation, promising a quick—“five minutes tops, really”—introduction to the changes in your new contract.

Unfortunately, he ended up keeping everyone in the conference room for over half an hour. The lack of air conditioning in the old hotel, combined with the four of you in the confined space, made the room stifling. You felt yourself beginning to sweat.

“Do you have anything you’d like to ask, or can we move on to some routine questions before we sign the contract?” Reggie asked, pulling out a white handkerchief to wipe his forehead.

“No questions right now,” you replied, restlessly tapping your knee with your left hand under the table.

“Perfect,” Reggie said. “Could we open the window maybe? Would you mind?”

“Oh, actually, I’d prefer it,” you said, and the lawyer let out a sigh of relief. He glanced at Salma, who was sitting closest to the window, and she got up to open it.

It took the producer a minute to figure out the wooden window frame, but once she managed to pull the latch, a gust of eager wind finally blew into the room. The rustling leaves outside and the distant hum of Parisian traffic provided a melodious backdrop, but not even that could ease the knot of tension in your stomach. You felt like you were in the waiting room of a dentist’s office.

“Alright,” Reggie said, setting the papers he had been reading aside and grabbing another stack from the table.

You felt a new wave of heat wash over you, dreading another half hour of monotonous reading, but Reggie blissfully turned to the last few pages.

“We know about your previous job experience,” he said. “But do you have any other sources of income that we should know about?”

“No,” you replied, keeping your responses concise as you flipped through your own copy of the contract to find the page Reggie was on.

He scribbled something down with his engraved Montblanc pen. Duke looked bored next to him as he lazily chewed something—dead bugs, you assumed. Salma, in the meantime, was completely absorbed in her phone.

“Possible conflicts of interest?” Reggie asked, pulling your attention away from the other people in the room.

You took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Reggie turned his pen and asked, without looking up from his papers, “go on.”

“I am in a relationship with the lead vocalist of Rated Riot.”

Gripping the arms of your chair, you held your breath, anticipating raised eyebrows, disapproving glances, and, eventually, a termination of your employment.

But neither Salma nor Duke turned to look at you. Reggie was silent for a moment as he scanned the documents in front of him. You imagined he was searching for a clause outlining the consequences of this particular offence. Your nerves prevented you from checking your own copy.

“That’s already here,” Reggie finally said.

“It’s—hmm?” You straightened in your seat. “Sorry?”

“It already says so here,” Reggie repeated, pointing to a section on his paper and sliding it towards you. “Anything else that we should add?”

You looked down at the text he had indicated. It read, “Private interest of Employee: undisclosed consensual personal relationship without a direct hierarchical link.”

You did not understand what that meant. Skimming the whole paragraph, you caught sight of Jungkook’s name—but Yoongi, Hoseok, and Taehyung were mentioned, too, just a few lines below.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, your hands trembling as you held Reggie’s paper to prevent it from blowing away in the gentle breeze. “The label—it says here that I am in a relationship?”

You felt incredibly foolish to ask for a translation of the words that were written in a language you, technically, spoke, but you couldn’t not ask, either.

“Well, yes,” Reggie confirmed, looking a bit perplexed by your reaction.

“A-and they—how did they—”

Duke was the one who responded to your stuttering.

“HR conducts a background search before they hire someone,” he said as if this was the part you struggled to understand. “This information was included in your contract when you started to work with Jett Records. Didn’t CJ go through this with you?”

He sounded absurdly pleased with himself when he spoke, not even realising how little sense he made. When you joined Jett Records, Rated Riot weren’t signed yet; the band had barely been formed. Your relationship held no relevance to the label. And your position certainly wasn’t important enough to warrant a thorough consultation with the CEO.

“No, he didn’t,” you said, reflexively matching your voice to his condescending tone. “Are you sure this was included in my initial contract? Because Rated Riot weren’t even signed with us when I came to Jett Records.”

Finally, Duke removed his elbows from the table, looking slightly uncomfortable. He seemed to have realised that he had misspoken, and now he’d have to tell you something he wasn’t supposed to.

“It’s, uh—” Duke started to say, then glanced over at Reggie. Reggie glared at him, not willing to help, so Duke tried again. “It—what HR does is more exhaustive than just double-checking everything on your application. They can—if they come across certain information at any point of your employment, and they think it could be, uh, relevant, they inform CJ about it. It appears that he—they probably updated your employee file before you began to work with Rated Riot, that’s why it’s on the contract.”

You kept tucking the strands of your hair behind your ears—a nervous habit that you were too overwhelmed to control.

CJ knew, then. He had an “employee file” about you, and he knew you’d dated Jungkook before he hired you for Rated Riot. You could not understand if he simply didn’t care about your relationship or if said relationship was exactly the reason why he hired you.

“And,” you said, “is there anything else that HR has included in my file?”

This made Duke pull even further back from the table. Reggie sighed. It appeared that they both knew that this—your lack of awareness about how much HR pried into your personal life without your knowledge—could pose a serious problem for the label.

“Well,” Reggie said, skimming over the pages in front of him again, “there’s nothing that could be considered a real conflict of interest.”

“So, we don’t have any problems, then?” you asked, your tone sharper than you’d intended. “Legally?”

The two men across the table from you exchanged a glance.

“Not about the, uh, relationship,” Reggie said, speaking slowly to avoid any further confusion. “Our contracts only prohibit employer-employee relationships. And your direct employer is Christian Jett, not Rated Riot. So, no, in your case, there are no legal issues. And, if anything, from a strictly business perspective, employee relationships, especially those within the band, could be—well, almost profitable, really.”

You continued to watch him, your gaze fading out of focus, and Reggie looked back down at the papers in front of him, very uneasy again. He’d thought he was easing your worries about your relationship being public knowledge, he didn’t expect to make this even worse for you.

Profitable, then. From a strictly business perspective, CJ could have found your relationship profitable, so he hired you for Rated Riot.

You came into this meeting thinking Jungkook was your biggest risk. Instead, your relationship with him was profitable.

You felt too dazed to move.

Duke, meanwhile, observed you with a newfound fascination and a slightly raised brow.

“You, uh,” he cleared his throat, “you weren’t aware of this, then? That your relationship with anyone in the band wouldn’t be a—”

“No,” you replied. “I thought I’d need to formally declare it. I didn’t know it was already in my file.”

You didn’t know there was a file at all, actually—because employees weren’t supposed to know.

And now you wondered what else HR has deemed relevant for everyone at the company to know about you. Nick’s call to you about a job opening with Reconnaissance must have made it to the file, too.

“Hmm.” Duke nodded to himself, then turned to his colleague. “Well that finally explains the email, doesn’t it, Reg?”

Reggie clenched his jaw but did not look up from his papers and did not respond. He did not think this was an appropriate discussion to have right now.

“W-what email?” you asked, almost apprehensive.

Duke turned back to you, studying your expression for a moment. He was trying to determine if your confusion was genuine. To his surprise, it appeared to be. And here he assumed you were the one who had orchestrated this.

“This morning, Min Yoongi sent an email to Jett Records on behalf of the band,” Duke said. “It’s quite late over there, but CJ’s assistant saw it and forwarded it to us.”

Duke went on to explain that it was a scanned copy of a formal letter. The members of Rated Riot stated that they understood the consequences of terminating their contract early, but they would leave the label regardless, unless you continued to work as their manager. All four of them had signed it.

You felt, suddenly, like you had just been catapulted to the seventieth floor—sixty floors above the hotel’s tallest floor—and reached the top in about two seconds. There seemed to be cotton in your ears that made the rest of the room sound foggy somehow.

You realised where Jungkook had been this morning before he returned to your hotel room.

“I see,” you said, and then tried, very poorly, to articulate your thoughts, “I was—I wasn’t—I see.”

You remembered Namjoon telling you once that he and the band would not sit idly if they found out that the label made you resign. You supposed that a part of you had thought it was simply a nice thing to say, and nothing more. You hadn’t expected him to really mean it.

Reggie finally looked up, glancing from Duke’s scowl to your uncomfortable expression.

“Okay,” Reggie said, finally returning to the page in your contract where he had paused earlier. “So, are there any conflicts of interest that we should know about?”

You swallowed, your stomach still clenched as you attempted to process everything, not feeling any relief just yet.

“No,” you said. “There aren’t any.”

“Okay,” Reggie said again. “Shall we proceed then?”

“Yes. Let’s proceed.”

“Perfect. We—”

“Actually,” Salma interjected, putting her phone down. “There’s another matter that CJ wanted me to bring up. If you don’t mind, Reg?”

Reggie pulled back from the papers on the table, a little annoyed, but he motioned for Salma to take over anyway. Duke gazed out the window, completely unfazed by Salma’s disregard for him.

“Alright,” the producer said, turning to you. “The leaked album cover, then.”

You blinked, not having expected to discuss the bathtub picture today. You wondered if that would be a conflict of interest, but decided not to ask. It might turn out to be profitable, too.

“I’ve, uh, explained to CJ that it won’t happen again,” you said.

“We know,” Salma replied. “But CJ is thinking if we should sue. Or, at the very least, threaten legal action? If someone’s spying on your servers—”

“Someone—uh, no,” you scratched the back of your neck, “to be honest, we’ve already taken steps to prevent any future breaches. Anything more than that would be a, uh... waste of resources, really.”

You weren’t lying; you had really contained Sid. And there was no need to divulge more information about that, you thought bitterly. Or they might include that in your file, too.

You still half-expected someone in the room to directly mention Sid anyway, even despite not knowing about his connection to the album cover. He got arrested during the band’s show in London, after all. But no one said anything about him, and you didn’t either.

You felt glad that, aside from publicising the bathtub picture, Sid now held as much significance to your life as the random hotel guest singing loudly outside the conference room window: vaguely bothersome, but largely irrelevant.

“Oh, well, I’m happy to hear that,” Salma said, glancing at Reggie across the table—he was reading something on his phone and didn’t notice her gaze. “I talked to Namjoon for a minute after we arrived last night, but he didn’t mention anything. Has the band decided on a release date for the first single?”

This whole meeting turned out to be something you hadn’t prepared for, and your anxiety didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“Uh, soon,” you replied. “They’re still working on it.”

Salma smiled. Sensing your unease, she reached over to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Namjoon said exciting things are coming,” she said. You appreciated her light tone. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah. They definitely are.”

“Alright, well,” Reggie cut in as he put his phone down. His voice sounded a little impatient, but he remained more composed than Duke, who yawned, bored again, and spun in his office chair. “Let’s finish this up, yeah? Still got three more pages to go.”

The three pages ended up taking another half an hour to get through as Reggie went out of his way to explain everything, checking and double-checking every questionable clause, and asking you about all the things that he had initially planned not to ask about. He was still worried about the company’s laid-back attitude towards employee privacy, you could tell. But you were so tired of this that you were almost ready to sign anything just to finally leave this room.

Once the meeting finally concluded—and you did, in fact, have to sign at least ten dotted lines—you found out that Reggie and Duke had decided to stay in Paris to see Rated Riot’s show. Salma promised them it would be great and took them to lunch at a café a few blocks away, giving you a wink as she left. She saved you from more small talk, and you made a mental note to buy her a drink sometime later.

There was another important conversation you needed to have today, and dialling Nick’s number after everything you’ve already endured turned out to be very easy.

You hoped to explain everything to him quickly, maintaining a good relationship with him in case of potential collaborations between the bands you managed. But you ended up being a little too diplomatic: you had to repeat your refusal to join his team three times before Nick understood what you were saying.

He was not surprised. He said that he’d been hearing a lot about Rated Riot every time he went out with someone from his staff, so he understood your decision to stay with them. And then, most unexpectedly, he asked if you could arrange for him and a few Reconnaissance members to attend one of Rated Riot’s final European shows in Italy.

This time, it was Nick who had to repeat himself three times for you to comprehend the request.

You were well aware of the admiration and reverence that Rated Riot had for Reconnaissance; the number of times that the boys had attended their concerts was too inappropriate to mention out loud.

Now, the members of Reconnaissance were interested in attending Rated Riot’s show. And despite your skin tingling with excitement, you were almost afraid to share this news with the band, fearing they might break something—namely, their necks—once they heard about it.

As promised, Jungkook waited until you left for your meeting before he ensconced himself in your empty hotel room, anticipation pulsating a lively rhythm in his chest.

When your playlist loaded on his screen—actually titled, ‘why?’ in all capital letters as you’d said—he checked the duration and briefly considered finding heart drops before he began to listen.

Scrolling through the tracks, he noticed the dates when you added them to the playlist, offering him a clear roadmap of your emotions over the years. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself as he reclined on the bed and tried to relax.

The first song was added about two weeks after the Freshman event where you claimed to have noticed him for the first time. It was a song by Sleeping With Sirens—“My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury, or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer”—and Jungkook accepted that not even heart drops could help him get through this playlist.

When, three songs later, he reached Bring Me The Horizon—“Your voice makes my heart skip beats, so keep quiet before it flatlines”—and realised that he still hadn’t talked to you at this point in the playlist, he felt his hands begin to shake.

It was true, then. You had really seen him for the first time at the same moment he had seen you, and you’ve had a crush on him since then, too.

The lyrics of the next song by Black Veil Brides—“One look and I am sold, you got me on my knees”—were a prophecy, because this was where it all began. You’ve added it just one day after your first conversation outside of class, and it marked the point where Jungkook recognised every word of every upcoming song because he’d experienced them all with you.

Bad Omens’ “Crawl” brought back your first date in the park under the pouring rain, where the two of you had revealed everything that weighed on you, despite only knowing each other for a little over a week. Jungkook recalled a sense of disbelief at how easily the two of you had connected. Logically, there should have been barriers between you, things that you kept to yourselves for fear of scaring each other away. But sharing everything from that very first moment had felt right—it was later that honesty became scary.

Between the city's gates and nowhere is where I'll be, my dear. Ghost of soldiers will greet you and point the way to me, my dear.

Sleep Token’s “Fields of Elation” reminded him of your second date at the carnival, where he had stumbled over his thoughts, attempting to ask you to be his girlfriend. You’d said yes, despite not understanding his jumbled question. He remembered the anticipation he’d felt back then, too: he wanted to kiss you so much that he was nearly vibrating, nearly spinning on an invisible propeller attached to his chest. And when he finally pressed his lips to yours, he thought he’d never pull away again.

Your name is a sin I breathe like oxygen, caught in the careless arms of lust again.

Biffy Clyro’s “Many of Horror” was a song that echoed through every significant moment in your relationship. Jungkook noted that you’d added it a few days after the first time he’d stayed over at your dorm room. It had actually been an accident: you brought him back after a campus party to help him sober up a little, and he ended up falling asleep on your bed. He woke up sometime at three in the morning, and the two of you stayed up talking and listening to music for the rest of the night.

If Jungkook closed his eyes right now, he could still see you watching him as he sang along to the song for the very first time, your hands intertwined on the pillows on your bed. You had always looked at him with something magical in your gaze, and he remembered how long it took for him to get used to maintaining eye contact with you without feeling dizzy.

I still believe, it’s you and me ‘til the end of time.

He reached Paramore’s “The Only Exception” shortly after that, and had to play it twice because the first listen had emptied his thoughts. You’ve added the song—with a line that he could not get through without his breath hitching: “That was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist, but darling, you are the only exception”—at least a month before he first told you he loved you under a canopy of blooming cherry blossoms.

There was also an Architects song on your playlist right after that—“I used to think that I knew better than those around me, but something changed along the way, and you’re the reason I’m wanting to stay”—and he remembered, right away, all the fears the two of you used to have, and all the fears you were still fighting to this day. You had never been sure if you believed in love, and he struggled to accept that he didn’t need to work in order to deserve love. But all of that had seemed trivial back then, almost irrelevant when you were staying up until the sunrise in your dorm room, your eyes bright, your hearts awake. Jungkook could tell, as he listened to your playlist, that you were already in love.

Your communication used to be so effortless back then. It only became harder to keep talking to each other when your relationship grew into the most meaningful aspect of your lives. The fear of damaging it made you both retreat into silence.

Now, you had both grown enough to understand that it wasn’t silence that saved a relationship; it was the willingness to talk about it.

There were a few Reconnaissance songs in your playlist, too, and Jungkook smiled again, knowing he was the reason you’d added them. He remembered the excitement of attending the band’s show for the first time. You’d been there with him, even though you hadn’t heard their music before, and he’d felt elated when you admitted how much you enjoyed it.

It would be beautiful, Jungkook thought in a sudden moment of solemn reflection, if you went on to manage Reconnaissance now. But it’d be equally as beautiful if you stayed with him, allowing Rated Riot to surpass the one band that he had admired for most of his life.

Checking the time on the corner of his screen, Jungkook concluded that your meeting must have already started. Taking a deep breath, he skipped the next few Reconnaissance songs.

Def Leppard’s “When Love And Hate Collide” played next, and Jungkook chuckled at the memory of your first Valentine’s Day together. You had gone to a restaurant for dinner, and you’d both had a little too much wine. This song had started to play and despite hearing it for the first time, he tried very hard to serenade you from across the table: “one night alone is like a year without you, baby.” His tongue kept getting caught on his teeth as he tried to guess the next lyrics, but you were making half-hearted attempts to shush him as you laughed, and he silently vowed to spend every Valentine’s Day with you for the rest of his life.

He doubted he grasped how serious he was about this promise back then. There were only two Valentine’s Days that he had to survive without you—and he drank them both away, understandably—but since you re-entered his life, he had kept his word.

He was drunk when he sent you flowers for Valentine’s Day that first February after you started to work with Rated Riot. He was rarely sober at the time, so this wasn’t unusual, but he had enough brain to leave an anonymous note with the flowers. He knew you might quit on the spot if you learned that the bouquet of roses was from him.

Honestly, he couldn’t explain why he felt compelled to send you the flowers at all. You were broken up for two years at that point, and he prided himself on having moved on. But then he sent you another bouquet the next Valentine’s Day, just a few months before the start of this tour. He didn’t know why he did it that time, either.

He told himself that it was tradition, ignoring the blatant truth that he was still excessively in love with you. Claiming that this was just a habit was simply a good way to justify his actions to himself.

You never mentioned anything, so he assumed you never suspected him to be behind the flowers—and he was relieved. He knew he would have had to downplay it if you confronted him about it, and he didn’t want to. He wasn’t joking. He’d meant every stem, every sharp thorn, and every scarlet petal.

An overwhelming number of Arctic Monkeys songs in your playlist followed your first spring together: double-dates with Kihyun and Chloé, meeting each other’s families, attending campus parties together, and spending nights in your dorm room where you’d study and he’d do everything to distract you.

The lyrics of “R U Mine?”—“Unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days”—reminded him of one night when the two of you were smoking outside of a party, on the corner of the library building. You had used his lighter to burn the first letters of your names on the wall, with a heart in between. You were drunk, of course, but this was the first time he’d seen you break the campus rules by defacing a public building.

A few months later, when you were walking around campus with Kihyun and Chloé, Kihyun had spotted the two initials on the wall of the library, and paused.

“Wait,” he’d said, eyeing the burn marks, “this kind of looks like—”

“Yeah, I did that,” you’d cut him off, and walked away without looking back.

Surprised, Kihyun turned to him, and Jungkook grinned proudly, running to catch up with you. He knew, at that moment, that he would be truly, wholeheartedly yours forever.

Your summer roadtrip songs came next in your playlist, and Jungkook could no longer sit idly as he listened to Papa Roach’s, “you know I love it when you’re down on your knees, and I’m a junkie for the way that you please.” He remembered you singing along and stealing kisses as he drove the two of you down coastal roads in a rental car. He remembered chasing you down the beach, stumbling over abandoned sandcastles, and washing the sand off your skin every night. He remembered every moment vividly and he was very close to tearing the mattress with his nostalgic bouncing.

Bring Me The Horizon’s “Follow You” marked your first anniversary, and it was easily one of the most played songs during your relationship. Jungkook remembered having a dream, months before your anniversary, about renting a convertible and taking you to a restaurant that he definitely couldn’t afford. And he made it happen—even despite some unexpected challenges along the way, like your battle with bugs and the wind in the car. Still, you managed to arrive at the restaurant two minutes before your reservation was cancelled. And all that this experience taught him was that he was perfect with anything, no matter how messy and downright chaotic, as long as you were with him.

So you can drag me through hell, if it meant I could hold your hand.

The Ramones’ “Do You Wanna Dance?” took him back to the days in your dorm room when you were practically living together: you’d come back after class and spend the afternoon eating snacks, watching films, sometimes going out to get groceries and drinks. And you’d dance a lot—although, at first, you merely nodded your head or tapped your feet while he got entangled in the curtains with his ridiculous, extravagant moves. He always pulled you in to join him, sooner or later. And despite your accidental kicks to his shins, you soon found yourself at complete ease. You had never thought you’d dance without getting drunk first, and Jungkook took pride in pushing you out of your comfort zone. He hadn’t yet realised—not fully—that he was your comfort zone.

Do you wanna dance and hold my hand? Tell me, baby, I’m your lover man.

You added Fall Out Boy’s “Homesick At Space Camp” to your playlist during your hospital stay six years ago, and Jungkook had to remind his heart to keep beating as he listened to the song. You had argued so much back then—you were mad that he’d wasted his time by calling an ambulance for you, and he was mad that he had no other choice. You were mad that he’d failed his exam, and he was mad that he couldn’t tell you the real reason he’d failed. But the underlying truth behind all those arguments was that you both cared about each other too much.

The song also reminded him of you fainting on this tour. You protested and complained that time, too. But you’d stayed in bed. You’d listened. And you’d finally accepted, he could tell, how much your well-being mattered to him, and how deeply he regretted taking you for granted.

My smile’s an open wound without you.

Hearing Backstreet Boys in your playlist next made him shake his head to himself. He couldn’t escape the nightmares from the birthday party when he’d performed “As Long As You Love Me”, but he supposed he didn’t really want to escape that much anyway. This night had brought you so much joy. Really, that was the only reason he sang that song for you—he saw the way your eyes glittered, the way you clapped your hands and laughed as he set up the chair for his performance. He would have done far stupider things to see you laugh like that again.

Several more Architects songs, vastly different from the ones he heard before, marked your second Valentine’s Day. That was the year he gave himself a concussion and earned a month-long suspension for “stealing” the laboratory projector. You’d spent that month together in your dorm, and even despite his many blunders, Jungkook could sense from the songs in your playlist that your relationship was still going well.

He scrolled past several uplifting dance hits and slower love ballads, listening to a few seconds of each—just so he could taste the memories of those days on his tongue. Just so he could remember humming these songs in your ear before you fell asleep on his bed, your feet cold against his ankles. And he felt his chest expand at the thought that you were listening to these same songs without him, too. It thrilled him to imagine that you thought of him before falling asleep as often as he’d thought of you.

He found many songs that his grandmother had recommended in your playlist, and his heart warmed as he played Black Sabbath’s “Symptom of the Universe”, Mötley Crüe’s “Helter Skelter”, Corrosion of Conformity’s “Albatross” and several others that the two of you had come to love. He recalled how touched his grandmother had been—almost as much as he was—when she saw your eyes light up at her music collection. You had earned her endless affection when you complimented her taste in music and wrote down the song titles to look them up later.

Jungkook lingered on the first of the several Type O Negative tracks in your playlist, reminiscing about the countless moments when he felt your weight behind him on one of the motorcycles he’d borrowed from Sid to take you on a ride. Although you never played music on his bike, certain songs still revoked memories of your hands tightening around his waist as he accelerated, the city lights blending into a blur around you, the wind catching your hair when he helped you remove your helmet.

Now close those eyes and let me love you to death.

Sleeping with Sirens’ “All My Heart” brought back the summer when he had dyed his hair pink. That summer, the two of you travelled across the country to see Reconnaissance live for the third time. That same summer, you bought him the “JK” keychain (he’d already reattached it to the keys to his Katana). He played basketball with your little brother that summer, too, always letting him win. Actually, he would never admit this out loud, but he’d stopped holding back eventually, because your brother proved to be exceptionally—unfairly, even—skilled. Jungkook had joked and laughed, and hoped you would think he was missing his shots on purpose.

Those late summers we may stay up talking all night. I ask, “you think we’ll ever make it?”, you say, “I’m sure, if it’s right.”

Next came I See Stars’ cover of “Latch”, and Jungkook felt his smile grow wider. You fell in love with the song on your second anniversary when both of you had the flu and spent that entire week in bed in your dorm room. Technically, Jungkook had gotten sick first—but you refused to leave his side, and the two of you ended up celebrating the occasion with cough drops and swollen lymph nodes. You weren’t awake enough to watch any films that week, but you were just lucid enough to listen to music and cough rhythmically.

Now I’ve got you in my space, I won’t let go of you. Got you shackled in my embrace, I’m latching onto you.

He closed his eyes as he listened to the songs that followed, feeling himself return to the days you’d spent baking in the cramped kitchen of his dormitory, the long roads home you’d taken after class just to spend more time together, the many instruments you’d tried to learn and failed miserably.

These were the days you’d wait for him before classes with two paper cups of coffee. The days you’d send him silly selfies and threaten murder if he kept them (he kept them). The days you’d throw notes at him in the middle of your shared lectures, intentionally aiming for his head: you’d draw a heart in the middle of the paper, and nothing else. These were the days that he dreamed about, years later, when he was missing you too much to breathe.

But then, looking down as though caught in some crime, Jungkook realised that there was something else in between these memories. There were nights he’d spend drinking and drag-racing with Sid and the others. There were arguments with you and childish silent treatments. He remembered how much time he’d spent trying to find a way to make it up to you, but never actually did.

Nothing But Thieves began to play “Afterlife” on your playlist, and it reminded Jungkook of the day you went with him to get his first tattoo. He’d gone out with Sid the night before—he usually did back then—and the two of you had argued about it again. But despite the tension, you’d grabbed your bag and left for the tattoo parlour with him.

Looking back now, he realised—with a violent stab in his heart—that this might have been the last good moment in your relationship before it all fell apart around you. You had laughed and teased him that whole day, but he couldn’t forget the look on your face after he’d walked you home later. He couldn’t even touch you then because he was carrying his gym bag in his left hand, and his right one was bandaged to protect the fresh ink.

“You’ll take care of it, right?” you’d asked him outside of your dorm. “Don’t get an infection.”

“I’m not sure I’ll manage,” he’d teased. “You might have to keep an eye on me.”

And you’d smiled, but it hadn’t quite reached your eyes. You’d promised to come over and look at the tattoo for him—and you had, every day—but your voice sounded weary. He’d kissed you before leaving, and you’d kissed him back, but your lips quivered when you pulled away.

He’d seen all the signs, but he had not known what to do.

It was only ever you, it was only ever you, my baby. It feels like a lifetime, oh God, I don’t think I could do two.

Your third-anniversary song was Asking Alexandria’s “I Won’t Give In.” It was significantly less happy compared to some of the previous songs, but your third anniversary was significantly less happy, too. Jungkook had wanted to make it special for you—to make up for all the days that weren’t—so he bought tickets to a special screening of Howl’s Moving Castle at the small cinema outside of campus. He persuaded the lady at the ticket office not to sell any other tickets with a heart-wrenching story about how he was trying to save his relationship—in retrospect, he didn’t think he was lying—so it’d just be the two of you in the theatre.

He had brought you wildflowers that he’d picked himself because he only remembered the flowers halfway to your house. But he had a bruise running alongside his forearm from where he had driven the car that Sid had gifted him into the metal fence of an abandoned factory, and you understood right away what he’d been doing that whole week. You saw his bruises, saw the incessant messages lighting up his phone, and sighed, telling him that you were too tired to go out tonight.

“Maybe another time,” you’d said.

“But,” he’d tried to argue, his voice a whisper, “it’s our anniversary.”

“I know,” you’d replied, and he saw the regret in your eyes when you stopped avoiding his gaze for a second. “Maybe we could stay here instead, and—”

His phone had started to vibrate, cutting you off. He’d glanced at Sid’s name on his screen, then put his phone away.

“Sorry,” he’d said, ignoring the call. “We made plans to meet up later, but Sid can’t tell the time.”

He hadn’t even realised what he’d said—not even when you swallowed and clenched your jaw.

“You’re meeting later?” you’d asked.

“Yeah, but just for a few hour—”

“It’s okay,” you’d said. “You can go ahead and meet up now. I don’t feel like doing much today anyway.”

He had started to protest, of course. He had enough sense to understand that it wasn’t right, he couldn’t just go out with Sid on your anniversary without celebrating it with you first. But you’d closed the door in his face—gently, but the sound of the lock clicking still echoed in his head years later.

When this night returned to haunt his dreams, Jungkook always knocked on your door again. He begged and demanded you let him back inside. He stayed outside your door the whole night, waiting for you to come out.

He’d done none of that back then. He’d turned around and answered Sid’s call.

I gave you everything, I never thought we would end up like this. I gave you everything, if I can’t let you go, save me, please.

Jungkook could see now that he had reached the point in the playlist where every track worked like kerosene on his burning skin. He listened to several Bullet For My Valentine and Invent Animate songs, skipping them after the first verse, not even making it to the chorus, because he knew what the lyrics reminded him of, and he did not want to remember.

However, a Biffy Clyro song that you’d added to your playlist a few days after your break-up made him turn on his back on the bed, every muscle in his body tensed. He would listen to this one because he had to—even though he knew the lyrics by heart.

You can’t understand that I won’t leave ‘til we’re finished here, and then you’ll find out where it all went wrong.

It really did take him years to understand. You’d stayed with him through entire weeks of silence, through numerous break-up songs, and he had been too blind, too paralysed—too fucking distracted—to do anything. He’d convinced himself that if he didn’t acknowledge your troubles, the two of you would be okay. He hadn’t even bothered to think about how bad these troubles were.

You were hoping you’d be okay, too. And you stayed until it was clear that you wouldn’t be.

Your playlist changed after the two of you broke up. And, as he scrolled down a bit, Jungkook noticed a pattern. He doubted you were aware of it, but the songs seemed to progress, like a true textbook case, right through the stages of grief. And his heart sank when he realised that the first stage—Denial—had started while you were still together.

Asking Alexandria’s “Killing You” was the start of the Anger stage, and Jungkook forced himself to listen to at least half of each song, his jaw tightening with every lyric that ripped another splinter from his heart.

Three years of torment and torturous love, stained with tears and mistrust, enough is enough.

As your playlist reached the Bargaining stage, Jungkook felt the room closing in on him. Bad Omens began to sing “The Letdown” and he forced himself to sit up again. This was the song that he’d spent many sleepless nights praying to.

He listened to it now and realised that he’d never gone through Denial or Anger. You’d left him and he moved right into Bargaining, and he’d stayed there for the entirety of those four years that he wasn’t with you.

If I could make it simpler, if I could get back to the start, I would keep you even closer so that I could hear your heart.

He tried to tally up the amount of alcohol he’d consumed through those years without you, and the amount he’d consumed after you started to work with Rated Riot.

And he realised now that a subconscious part of him might have been conditioned into believing that if he drank too much—if he drank just enough for it to be too much—then Sid would call you to pick him up, and you’d come.

So he drank a lot.

There was one night in particular when his drinking nearly killed him: he’d assumed you were out on a date with someone else and he abruptly lost all purpose. Sid had called you that night—of course—and you came to pick him up—of course. Jungkook slurred through a “where were you?” that he knew he had no right to ask you, and you’d said, “I had dinner with the executives. We were discussing your band.” He couldn’t remember what happened next; he must have blacked out. He was hungover for three days straight after that—and you yelled at him every day for the next two weeks—but he felt ridiculously relieved.

Your playlist transitioned into Depression and the air around him thickened. Jungkook listened to Nothing But Thieves again, and he thought he could feel the cold, tiled floors of his bathroom under his feet—the bathroom where he’d woken up on so many afternoons, his head resting against the porcelain of the toilet, the room spinning out of control around him. It used to take him about three seconds to recognise his surroundings and remember the state that his life was in, and he would start seeking a remedy for his throbbing sobriety again.

And now it hurts what we’ve become ‘cause you taught me how to love. It’s me who taught you how to stop.

Your playlist continued and Jungkook recognised fragments of his life—both, after your break-up, and after you’ve started to work together—in every song that played next, starting from blink-182—“I feel like the moon is spinning off into outer space without you, the universe an empty place without you”—moving into Slipknot—“I still press your letters to my lips and cherish them in parts of me that savour every kiss. I couldn’t face a life without your light, but all of that was ripped apart when you refused to fight”—and finishing with Bon Jovi—“It’s been raining since you left me, now I’m drowning in the flood, you see, I’ve always been a fighter, but without you, I give up.”

These were the songs that you used to listen to together, some of them not memorable enough to leave a lasting impression, others not reflecting your feelings at the time. You didn’t add them to your playlist until after you broke up, and the lyrics started to resonate. Jungkook had listened to the same songs when he couldn’t sleep—not to cure his insomnia, but to drown out his thoughts. To have someone else narrate his memories so he wouldn’t have to listen to himself.

It dawned on him just then that you’d come full circle: from waiting a year to talk about your crushes on each other, to waiting several years to talk about all the years that you’d spent not talking to each other.

Swallowing hard, Jungkook continued. He listened to Sleep Token’s “Blood Sport”—“Even if the sky cracks in mourning and the heavens just won’t open up for me, would you invite me in again?”—and hesitated here, afraid of the next song. Here, you were still hopeful. Still bargaining. He didn’t think he was ready to find Acceptance in your playlist.

But “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses followed up next—“If I can’t have you right now, I’ll wait, dear”—and Jungkook started to fidget. He only listened to a few seconds of the song, just long enough to brace himself, and then scrolled down to the very end of your playlist.

He paused it immediately.

The final song on your playlist was “Hollow Crown” by Architects. You’ve added it eleven days before he saw you in the meeting room at Jett Records, with CJ’s arm around your shoulders as he introduced you to Jungkook as Rated Riot’s new manager.

These wounds have bled and pages fly by, the lyrics of the song went. I need to feel you right by my side.

It was truly incredible how quickly the song healed his heart, how quickly it dispelled the thick tar of dread in his stomach—because it wasn’t Acceptance that finished your playlist. It was the same otherworldly sentiment—the one you had refused to name or even acknowledge for years—that started the playlist, too.

You didn’t add any more songs after you started to work together, but you didn’t have to. Jungkook knew what happened next. And now he knew that you’d been waiting for him for as long as he’d been waiting for you.

His phone suddenly vibrated in his hand, and he jumped up, exiting the Spotify app in surprise. It was a text from you, and he stood up immediately.

You were saying you’d meet him in the lobby in half an hour, but he couldn’t sit still for that long.

He went down to wait for you.

Jungkook wasn’t in the lobby when you arrived. You saw him in the courtyard through the window, carefully balancing on the edge of the decorative circle in the stone tiles.

When he caught sight of you in his peripheral vision, he stopped and you paused in the doorway of the hotel, too. The sunbeams danced in his eyes when he turned to you, the silver piercing glinting against his lip as his smile stretched.

You were so in love with him that it shouldn’t have been possible.

He waited for approximately a quarter of a second once he saw you take a step towards him—a reaction speed that could have made Formula One drivers envious—before breaking into a sprint towards you. He met you halfway and wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight embrace that nearly knocked you both to the floor.

He held you without saying one word for an obscene amount of time. He had always struggled to describe what he was feeling, but he usually tried to find something to say anyway. Now he wasn’t trying anymore—and all of his feelings had never been louder.

“You listened to my playlist, I take it,” you said, one hand tracing the contours of his back, the other tangled in the edges of his hair.

Jungkook nodded, attempting to respond, but the wind and the roughness of your jacket against his cheek swallowed his words. So, he held onto you tighter, thinking, all the while, that the only true peace he was able to find in his life was with you. And he’d been scared for so long—terrified right out of his mind—that he would never feel this peace again. That he would never feel you again.

“Why didn’t you show it to me before?” he asked, his hesitant voice reaching you in the form of shivers on your spine.

You gave a careful shrug.

“It’s embarrassing,” you said—but your arms remained around him in the middle of the courtyard, in plain view for everyone inside the hotel to see, and it was a little hard to believe that there was anything you wouldn’t have done with him or for him, embarrassed or not.

He lifted his head to meet your gaze, a quizzical eyebrow arched on his otherwise warm features. “Loving me is embarrassing?”

You smiled, lowering your hands from his hair to the back of the silver chain around his neck.

“No,” you said. “Pining over you is.”

He observed you for a moment, trying to read your expression to gauge how your meeting went without having to ask. You weren’t saying anything, and he immediately assumed the worst.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped back, but kept his hand on your elbow to keep touching you, however faintly.

“So, how was it?” he asked. “When are you leaving?”

He had only given you one option, but he appeared to dread the thought of you confirming his fears.

“Never,” you said, a little amused by his extreme pessimism. “Can you wait that long?”

The sudden fire in his eyes suited him better than any piece of clothing or expensive jewellery ever could.

“Yeah?” he asked, returning to his spot right in front of you, his chest brushing against yours.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a smile that he’d been looking forward to for days. “I’ve signed the new contract. The lawyers are staying here to attend your show. It looks like we’re taking over the world. Life is good.”

“Fuck yeah, life is good!” he shouted, the happiness in his voice reverberating off the buildings around you.

His relief was immense and almost impossible to contain within. You’d already promised him that you’d stay together no matter what happened today, but he wanted you here. And you were here. And now he could finally start righting his wrongs and creating new playlists with you—ones that wouldn’t hurt to listen to years later.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook sneaked his arms around your waist again and lifted you slightly off the ground—just enough to spin you around in a dizzying, ecstatic circle.

“Wait, wait, wait—” you pleaded, but your surprised laughter sent his heart straight past heaven, and he could not wait. “Th-the email. Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

He put you down but kept his hands on your waist to steady you.

“What emai—oh.” His gaze drifted past you, then dropped to the ground. “They got it, then?”

You nodded. “They got it.”

“I assume it made no difference.”

“It made a difference,” you said because that email was the only thing from that meeting that you wanted to remember. Jungkook glanced at you, but the gratitude in your eyes was so intense that he looked away again. “It could have been a huge risk. Why did you do that?”

He shrugged. It was an easy decision. No one in the band had objected when Yoongi suggested it before the last show in London. They hoped that the threat of leaving would be enough, but if it came to it, they were prepared to actually leave the label with you.

“I go where you go,” he said with a soft smile, repeating the words you’d said to him on the plane to Paris. “And my band and I are a package deal.”

You grinned, and even though the sky above you was now the colour of muddy, melted ice—a clear reminder that summer was over—you felt like you had just emerged from a dreadfully long and stressful hibernation. Your skin tingled with an almost insatiable urge to experience it all: the rain, the sunshine, and all that came in between.

“Thank you,” you said. “I want to stay with all of you.”

“Yeah?” He was close enough to touch your forehead with his, his lips curling into a smirk. “But with me the most, right?”

You took advantage of the moment when he glanced down to your lips and leaned in to kiss him—for just a second, before you pulled back to see the surprised wonder in his eyes.

“Of course,” you said. “You’ve always been my favourite.”

In an instant, Jungkook found himself back there again—somewhere in the days between Bad Omens and Biffy Clyro—dancing on the creaking floors of your dorm room, sneaking away to a random balcony during campus parties to steal a moment alone with you, and making up scenarios of what your future together would look like.

He realised that the two of you had never truly left those days; you’ve merely paused them. But the music—your music, together—continued to play.

In a split second, he pulled you as close to himself as he could, and pressed his lips to yours in a proper kiss. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you kissed him back, your taste so captivating, so completely tempting, that he lost several heartbeats on your tongue. He knew that your kiss would kill him one of these days, and he pitied everyone who would keep living.

“Oh!” you gasped suddenly, breaking the kiss and nearly causing him to flinch. He loosened his hold, alarmed. “The label—they thought we were together this whole time, by the way.”

Jungkook blinked, then frowned, then blinked a few more times—frozen for one, two, three seconds before taking a cautious step away from you.

He regarded you with scepticism for a long minute. Then his left eye twitched.

“What?” he asked.

You bit your lip, nodding at the absurdity. “I know.”

Jungkook continued to look like he had just witnessed the second coming of Christ, and it wasn’t quite what he expected.

“So, what was all of this for—”

“I don’t know,” you replied, the clutches of anxiety in your stomach finally easing. “A good song came out of it all, though.”

“A good so—yeah, and a heightened risk of a heart attack at twenty-six,” he snapped, furrowing his eyebrows again. “How do—what do you mean they thought we were—how? The whole time?”

“Yeah.”

He began to pace around you in the courtyard, his hands rising higher and higher with each attempt at a sentence. He seemed to be talking to spirits that only he could see.

“And they—and you didn’t—so we could have just—”

You nodded empathetically. “Mhmm. Seems so.”

He finally stopped and turned to you. “Am I asleep right now? Is this a joke?”

“No, they knew about it all along,” you said. “Actually, it gets worse. It seems that CJ might have hired me for Rated Riot precisely because we had dated.”

Jungkook widened his eyes for only a moment, still appearing a little perplexed, but no longer outraged. He turned away, lost in thought all of a sudden, and poked a loose tile with the edge of his boot.

“What’s—what are you thinking?” you asked, a little concerned about his abrupt silence.

“I—nothing. I’m just—that reminded me of something,” he replied, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “After we signed with Jett Records, there was this, I don’t know, weird moment. We came in for our first formal meeting with CJ, and he kept staring at me. The band had jokingly told him that I was the lead songwriter—which I’m definitely not—so I assumed that was the reason. And then, as we were leaving the room, he shook my hand for a whole minute and said, “I have incredible things planned for you. Let’s make that “Haunting” Part Two happen, yeah?” I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it—I don’t know.”

You didn’t like how quickly Jungkook offered a story that supported everything that Reggie and Duke had told you earlier today, and you frowned, struggling to grasp the multitude of thoughts and questions in your mind.

“That was—“Haunting” was the first Rated Riot song that CJ heard,” Jungkook added.

Although he’d written this song to be as inconspicuous as possible, he never tried to hide that it was about you—if people asked. And CJ had asked.

Jungkook had been vague that time, claiming it was about “someone important” to him, but perhaps CJ got more curious about the meaning of the song than he’d initially let on. Perhaps he’d done additional research.

“It’s the song that made him want to meet the band,” Jungkook continued. “H-he could have—if he knew about us, and he knew that I wrote “Haunting” about you, then he might have hired you for me to—so that you and I—”

“He hired me to give you a jolt,” you finished, “hoping it would inspire you to write songs that would bring the label as much money as he thought “Haunting” would have brought.”

Jungkook let out a breath. “Yeah. That—that’s kind of fucked up.”

You nodded. That was the regular way to describe this situation – “fucked up.” But you’ve learnt today that, in business, they called it “profitable.”

Although a lot of your previous anxiety was now replaced with irritation, your relief still lingered. CJ’s plotting had caught you off guard, but ultimately, you were right where you wanted to be, and nothing could change that.

“I had some questions about why they contacted me four—five?—months before you even released your debut album,” you said, “but I—well, you know. I was just happy to stop fillng spreadsheets and do some actual work. Even if it meant driving you to the studio every morning, and back home every night. Did you—did you even add any new songs or make any changes to the album after I started to work with you? You said you had most of it done by that point anyway.”

Jungkook swallowed and did not respond.

You were right, the album was mostly finished when CJ offered you to work with Rated Riot that July, but Jungkook wrote eight new songs in the first week of working with you. Three of them made it to the final cut of the album.

“Shit,” you said, his silence a good enough answer. Half-joking to counter your discomfort, you added, “so, it wasn’t destiny, then. It was CJ.”

Jungkook snorted humourlessly. “Yeah. What a waste of fucking time, though. All the fucking—all this time we worried. And we could have just—wow. We could have just fucking been together.”

That was true, you would have saved a lot of energy if you didn’t have to worry about telling the label about your relationship. But you weren’t sure that it would have helped you stop ignoring each other and yourselves.

If you hadn’t received the trial by fire on this tour, if all your fears and insecurities hadn’t been exposed, you and Jungkook likely wouldn’t have ended up here.

“Yeah, this is…” you faltered, searching for the right word. “This is some heavy shit to process right now, but—I mean, we’re fine. We’re okay. You know? We made it this fucking far.”

The courtyard was empty except for a few pigeons pecking at the dark rocks of a flower garden nearby. Jungkook counted the pavement tiles beneath your sneakers before looking up.

“I’m still having a crisis,” he decided.

You laughed—in a way that he didn’t think he’d ever hear you laugh again, and it sounded like a promise to him. A reassurance that things wouldn’t have to go back to the way they once were, because they were better now. In spite of everything, you were better now.

You took his hand and stepped around him towards the street. “Come on. We’ll be fine. Let’s get something to eat.”

“No, but—we wasted so much time!” he protested, but followed you down the courtyard anyway. It was a reflex more than a conscious effort: you went, and he followed. He was far from being embarrassed about others knowing how completely in love with you—whipped, they would have said—he was.

“We didn’t,” you said. “We still have plenty of time.”

“Not unless I drop dead right now,” he mumbled, stubborn.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” you returned. “I quite enjoy having you alive.”

You felt a tug on your hand when Jungkook suddenly stopped walking. Despite your raised eyebrows, he held your hand and simply watched you for a minute, not explaining his thoughts.

“Do you remember,” he said then, “when we were in Amsterdam, and I asked if you thought we’d ever be here?”

You nodded, not yet following his train of thought.

“What about this?” he asked.

“Paris?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Us. Did you ever imagine we’d still be together, seven years after we met? Did you imagine that some old guy would start an entertainment company, and seek us both out, one after the other, so we could work together and make him money?”

You smiled wryly at the quick—and very accurate—summary. But there wasn’t much to think about here, not really. There was a reason you held onto this relationship for so long that first time, even after it became clear that it was coming to an end.

“I didn’t expect the old guy,” you said. “But I did imagine us together.”

“Despite everything that happened,” he continued, “and every wrong decision that we made over those years?”

You swallowed, finding everything that he’d heard in your playlist reflected in his question. You understood why he needed to ask, but you had no doubts about your answer.

There were times, years before you met him, when you’d feel an abrupt longing—so intense that it would lock you in bed, squirming desperately as you tried to shake yourself out of it. There was no apparent reason for it, no action on your part that could have explained the oppressive heartache that felt a lot like forceful separation from something crucial for your survival. Your heart screamed for it back.

You thought you were in love with him before you even met him.

“Everything that happened still led us here,” you said slowly—unaware that Jungkook was holding his breath as he waited for your answer. “Every time we messed up, every time something went wrong, we were on the way here. And—I mean, I don’t know. I think we would have ended up here one way or another. Actually, it might have taken us longer to get here if everything that backfired on us hadn’t backfired. You know what I mean? We’re a mess.”

His grip on your hand tightened as he watched the smile on your face. He remembered this—you telling him what a mess the two of you were when he kissed you outside of the hotel on your first night in London, right after you’d decided to be friends.

“Do you really think that,” he asked, “or are you just saying it so I don’t have a heart attack?”

You squeezed his hand back.

“I do really think that,” you said. “But also, please don’t have a heart attack.”

Finally allowing himself to breathe, he took a step closer to you. He lifted his hand—the one holding yours—to his chest, and leaned in to kiss you. You could feel his heartbeat under your fingertips when your lips touched, the warmth of his hands melding into yours.

“I love you,” he said, slowly pulling back.

“I love you,” you replied and leaned in to touch his lips with yours again.

Hearing these words over and over again—and feeling you draw him closer to prolong the kiss over and over again, too—seemed like a prospect so delightful that he feared it was a little manic. He was convinced there were fairy lights beneath his skin and fireworks in his chest.

He kissed you fervently, but quickly. A moment later, he was already pulling away and leading you towards the pedestrian crossing.

“Let’s get coffee,” he said in response to the disappointment in your eyes.

“Wait,” you resisted his pull, attempting to slow down his brisk pace, “what’s the rush now?”

“The label thought we were together for two years,” he explained, his grip firm as he paused at the busy street, waited for the light to change, then guided you across it. “We have so much to do to make up for lost time.”

You stepped over the curb but still struggled to catch up as he careened down the street. “And you plan to do all that in one day? Starting from this?”

“This is not even the beginning of what I plan to do,” he replied, winking at you over his shoulder. “If you know what I—”

“If you finish that sentence,” you warned, “we’re going to have our first fight as a couple.”

“Oh, so many new firsts to experience.” He sighed wistfully. Your eyebrows remained comfortably raised as you listened to the reminiscent tone in his voice. “Do you remember our actual first fight as a couple?”

“No,” you replied. “We had so many.”

“Right, but the very first one?” he prodded, finally slowing down so you could match his pace. “I broke your window. You threw a potted plant at me.”

You gasped in protest. You remembered the broken window: it was the result of a three-night drinking binge that he went on without you, only to make a dramatic return through your fire escape, smashing the glass of your window with his elbow. It was an accident, he’d meant to open it the regular way, but he figured this would work, too.

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“You did!” he argued, amused by your selective memory. He was drunk that night, but he remembered the flying pot—and what remained of it after it hit the wall behind him. “It was an Aloe, I think.”

“I’d never throw a plant at you,” you insisted. “I love my plants.”

He looked at you, offended. “Okay. Hello? I’m your boyfriend.”

“I know,” you said, your lips curving into a smile. “Somehow, you require a lot more maintenance than plants.”

“Ah, now I see your point,” he said, turning back to face the street ahead, “we really are about to have our first fight as a couple.”

You chuckled and tugged on his hand to indicate the signboard of a café in the building on your right. “Coffee first?”

“Oh, yeah.” He took a step back to return to your side and kissed your cheek. “Definitely.”

You managed to organise a quick meeting before the show that night to officially announce your promotion and all that it meant for the band. You didn’t get to mention the new opening act, however, because the members erupted into deafening cheers.

Their follow-up reactions—after you brought up the email they had sent to the label—seemed almost comical. All four of them stopped shouting as if on cue and glanced around the room, avoiding your eye and desperately feigning nonchalance.

“We—we’re family,” Yoongi finally said. He struggled to mask his discomfort at your gratitude the most, because you looked at him the most—he was the one who had suggested the email. “One for all, and all for one. Or whatever.”

You nodded with a grin. “Or whatever.”

Hoseok was the first to extend his hand, and the rest of the band followed, stacking their hands on top of each other. You placed yours on Jungkook’s, and with a loud battle cry—an anthem for the band, at this point—all five of you broke apart. The boys hurried out of the room to escape any more sentimental conversations and to get ready for the show.

The first concert in Paris was a dizzying spectacle of flashing lights and intoxicating sounds. You were a little astounded at how Rated Riot still managed to captivate you as if every night was your first time watching them live.

However, for the first time since the start of this tour—it was a miracle this hadn’t happened before, actually—two people in the audience fainted.

You had to run backstage to speak with the venue staff and demand air conditioning, then climb up to the side of the stage to warn the band to control the pit. It was the rhythm section intermission—where Taehyung and Hoseok engaged the audience with sounds that were nearly hallucinogenic—and the barricade was shaking.

You attempted to get Yoongi’s attention because he was the closest to you. But it was Jungkook who noticed you first, climbing off Hoseok’s podium and jogging over to you. You gave him a quick update on the situation and asked him to keep an eye on the crowds. This wasn’t the first time the show got a little too hot, and there were enough paramedics available for first aid, but you still wanted to prevent future accidents.

Jungkook nodded, then turned back to the stage—but stopped, suddenly, as though realising something. You barely managed to part your lips in confusion when he walked back to you in three determined strides, gently lifted your chin and pulled you in for a quick kiss. Then, just as swiftly, he returned to the front of the stage to thundering screams from the audience.

Stunned, you watched Jungkook fall to his knees in dramatic support of the band’s instrumental break. He raised his head to look at you, very proud to be able to do something that caused the dazed look in your eyes, and it took you another minute to force yourself to turn around and return backstage.

Fortunately, by the time the show ended, everyone was alive and well.

You were late to the gathering backstage because you had stayed behind to listen to Seokjin yell—he claimed it was a “peaceful lecture”—at the venue staff about cutting off the air conditioning in the middle of the show. You had to gently coax him to let it go when the local stagehands began to respond to him in aggressive French.

Upon returning to the waiting area, you both noticed that Rated Riot’s dressing room was eerily quiet. Naturally, you started to worry that someone in the band had killed each other. But once you two peered through the gap in the door, you discovered something worse: Hoseok was standing on the table, tapping his lighter against the rim of his glass to get everyone’s attention. He was about to make a toast.

“For those of you who don’t know,” he began as you entered the room, “our manager just got promoted. She’s still our manager, but she’s cooler now. She’s Head Manager.”

Your hopes of finding a drink before you started to feel embarrassed were dashed as the room broke into applause, Namjoon and Jimin leading the way with unnecessary whistling. Cringing into yourself, you nodded in uncomfortable gratitude and made your way to the bottles of beer on the windowsill across the room.

“Our team is expanding,” Yoongi took over then, but he did not join Hoseok on the table, “which naturally, means we’re growing, too. That’s nice and all, but I really hope we can keep fucking drinking like this after every show, even after we sell out Wembley.”

“Wembley next year!” Hoseok cheered, and the rest of the room joined in, raising their glasses. “Here’s to getting drunk every night no matter where the fuck we are!”

It was a loud affair once the band set their contagious excitement loose, but you enjoyed watching their never-ending energy spread to the rest of the room.

“Congratulations,” someone suddenly said from behind you.

It took you a moment to realise that someone had spoken over the noise in the room, and the person touched your shoulder just as you were turning around.

Despite your discomfort with the unexpected attention, you were very happy to see Namjoon. He was beaming proudly as if he was the one who had been promoted tonight, and you extended your hands for a quick hug.

He laughed, patting your back and whispering a soft, “you deserved this.”

“Thank you,” you said, pulling back. “The meeting didn’t go the way I expected, but, uh, all’s well that ends well.”

He nodded, a little dejected. You’d texted him a quick summary of your meeting right after it ended. This time, even Namjoon was surprised about CJ’s ulterior motives.

And he worried, just a little bit, how you would react. He remembered how disappointed you were when you assumed that the offer from Reconnaissance was what prompted CJ to promote you. It had taken you a while to accept that it was your efforts, and not Nick’s call, that had brought you here.

Namjoon knew that there was not much that he could say to convince you of your worth if you focused too much on CJ’s primary reasons for hiring you for the band. It very simply had nothing to do with your skills—but you’ve turned it all around, and every ball that CJ thought he’d hoarded was now in your court.

“Yeah, I’m very excited that you’re staying here,” he said, “but I, um—I’ll admit I don’t know how I feel about CJ exploiting your relationship like that.”

You pursed your lips. You haven’t decided how you felt about that, either. But likely for the first time in your life, you felt too excited for all that was coming to dwell on all that had already happened.

“It was a far stretch, though, wasn’t it?” you said, surprising him with your light tone. “I wonder what he would have done if Jungkook and I had killed each other. Or if every song he wrote was about Sid instead, for example.”

Namjoon smiled, but shook his head. He didn’t think it was a far stretch. He’d encouraged Jungkook to write about real experiences, too, and he was the silent partner on “Haunting.” He’d always known what the song was about.

“It worked out, though,” he said, because you were joking, but he could see the look in your eyes. Being used like this did not feel good. “I mean, for you. Probably not so much for CJ, since you bullied him into giving the band 50% of their last album sales revenue. And then you proved so indispensable that he had to promote you, to stop you from leaving to work with a bigger band.”

You turned away. “I didn’t bully him.”

He grinned, remembering the chaos at the executive meeting after CJ announced the changes in Rated Riot’s royalties. The CEO was on the verge of suggesting that you had a gun pointed to his head to explain why the band’s percentage had doubled.

“I recall there being threats,” Namjoon said.

“Well,” you tsked, “he deserved those. If he only hired me to provoke Jungkook, then he doesn’t deserve the full profit of anything Jungkook creates.”

Namjoon appeared even prouder now, his dimples prominent on his cheeks.

“I agree,” he said. “And you made sure that the label can’t afford to lose you. That sounds like a pretty cool payback for CJ’s questionable decisions.”

You glanced at him, then at the carpeted floors underneath your shoes.

Regardless of how you joined Rated Riot, you and the band have come so far. You’ve endured all that the industry had thrown at you. It shouldn’t have been surprising that the members loved you as much as you loved them, but their support today still felt breathtaking.

It was them, more than anyone, who had made sure that the label couldn’t afford to lose you.

“Did you hear about the email the band sent today?” you asked Namjoon.

“I did,” he confirmed, his grin growing wider still. “They picked up that tactic from you, I think.”

You shook your head, but a small smile had made it to your lips. “No. I think I’m the one who’s learning from them. And from you.”

“Either way,” he said, ignoring the appreciation in your voice and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re all doing great.”

You finally met his warm gaze and nodded. You weren’t going to fight him on this anymore; you knew that Rated Riot had worked hard to get to this point, and you had, too.

Namjoon was thrilled to see this determination in your eyes. You and Rated Riot together were a force to be reckoned with, and he was happy you’ve finally allowed yourself to accept that.

“Thank you,” you said. “Wembley next year, and the rest of the world the year after that, right?”

“Oh.” He laughed and gestured somewhere in the direction of the window, where the collection of alcohol was. “I’ll drink to that.”

A few minutes later, after the Jameson bottles—a kind gift from the promoters—had been emptied, the room seemed to ignite. The people around you began to move much more easily while the music that Seokjin had chosen played in the background, an interesting mix ranging from Kid Cudi’s classics to Coldplay’s latest album.

You and the Rated Riot members found yourselves in a haphazard circle in the centre of the room, each with a new bottle in hand.

“Nick mentioned that some Reconnaissance members are interested in seeing you play,” you told the band. “So now I’m trying to get them in, even though all your upcoming gigs are not just sold out, but already over capacity. That’s a problem I didn’t think we’d have so soo—”

“Hold on, hold on,” Yoongi interjected, holding up his hands and the already-empty bottle of beer. “Reconnaissance want to see us?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, watching the members exchange glances, their eyes gleaming all of a sudden—another source of light in the room. “I called Nick to decline his offer and update him on everything, and he said—”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Yoongi interrupted again, placing a confused palm over your hand, “so not only did Reconnaissance miss out on the best manager in the industry, but now they want to see us play?”

You caught a glimpse of Jungkook’s grin out of the corner of your eye. He took a quick swig of his Heineken to hide it.

“Well,” you said, still not drunk enough to accept praise without overwhelming discomfort, “if-if that’s how you want to—but yeah. They are coming to see you.”

Yoongi looked simply dumbfounded: his mouth was open, the corners of his lips upturned, his eyes squinting. It was a beautiful sight. You met Luna’s gaze behind Taehyung, and she, too, was beaming as she joined your circle.

For a long time, the members of Rated Riot had measured their success against Reconnaissance at their age, and they had always felt behind. And despite the extended tour, despite moving onto bigger venues, now was the first time when they felt like they were catching up.

“I can’t believe this,” Hoseok said, the exhilaration in his voice prompting the other boys to start high-fiving and exclaiming passionate ‘hell yeah’s.

“Well, so, what—uh, what’s the consensus?” Yoongi asked, snapping out of his daze. “Do we fucking rock or what?”

“Well, I don’t know!” Hoseok played along, the pitch of his passionate voice rising. “Let me check the latest data,” he paused dramatically for two seconds, “alright, the numbers are in. We fucking rock!”

Loud cries followed as the band broke into excited laps around the room. Seokjin, Namjoon, and Jimin—clearly entertained by whatever ritual they’d assumed the band had just held—joined in by attaching themselves to various members: Seokjin picked Jungkook, nearly choking him with an iron grip around his shoulders, while Namjoon and Jimin flocked to Hoseok. Yoongi was already huddled between Taehyung and Luna, repeatedly high-fiving them both.

You were right to feel anxious about telling them about Reconnaissance because the sudden burst of their already intense energy was a little dangerous. Even Yoongi—who was usually as lively as a well-trained turtle—was spinning in the middle of the room. He smacked into you as he whirled, already dizzy, and you grabbed his arm to help him regain his balance.

“I can tell,” you said, chuckling as Yoongi ran a hand through his hair and returned, swaying his drunken hips, to his spot next to Taehyung, “that the rest of this tour is going to be even more exciting.”

“I’m actually not sure if that’s even possible anymore,” Taehyung said, grinning as Yoongi leaned into his side to catch his breath. “After everything that’s already happened.”

He was alluding to more than just the positive excitement of the night—and Jungkook tensed as he made his way to your side—but you pointed your beer bottle at him, disagreeing.

“To be honest, we’re not doing too bad this time around,” you said, moving closer to Jungkook to make room for Maggie and Minjun in your circle. “Last time you guys were on tour, Jungkook got a concussion and dislocated his shoulder.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, caught off guard by the sudden attack.

“There was also,” Yoongi said, still breathing heavily, “the dancing incident in New York.”

The rest of the band chuckled—still holding their laughter back—while Jungkook groaned loudly enough for the people outside the room to hear.

“And Taehyung left the tour for a short while,” Hoseok added. “It was a new mess every day.”

You noticed Taehyung’s gaze drop. Luna had mentioned their brief breakup to you before, so you knew why Taehyung had suddenly left that time.

“Jimin got airsick one time, remember?” you offered your own addition to divert the topic. “So, you guys performed without functioning in-ears. Was that in Boston? You—”

“Oh my God, yes,” Maggie joined in, gripping your forearm in her excitement at the memory. “All the photos I took at that show were worthless. They were all staring at the ground the whole time as if that would help them hear better.”

Laughter filled the room as Jimin grumbled about leaving the band instructions for their in-ear monitors—which they cheerily failed to follow without Jimin guiding them every step of the way.

“Oh, and we lost Namjoon once, too!” Hoseok said, laughing even before he finished the sentence.

All eyes turned to the producer, but before Namjoon could offer an explanation, Seokjin scoffed indignantly.

“He was the one who lost us,” he declared. He had been responsible for looking after a drunk Namjoon that night in San Francisco, and he would never admit how poorly he handled that very simple task. “I looked away for one second, and he was gone.”

“He’s like a little kid when he’s really drunk,” Yoongi reminded him. “You should have known that.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes.

“You found him passed out,” you said, remembering the frantic phone call you’d received at three in the morning, “on top of the slide at some nearby playground, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin said, sending the band into a screeching fit of laughter. “I called his name, he opened one eye, and his body just slid down the slide. Fucking comical, and he’s not even trying to be funny.”

You snickered when Hoseok smacked Namjoon on the chest, holding onto his shoulders for support as his knees wobbled from laughter.

“Alright, then, how about the time we thought Yoongi’s guitar was malfunctioning during one of the shows,” Namjoon said, eager to deflect before the tips of his ears turned any redder, “but it turned out that he actually forgot to plug it in? No one even noticed it until the third song on the setlist.”

Maggie had already begun to wheeze when Luna interjected, “wait—wasn’t the third song, technically, Hobi’s drum solo?”

Hoseok looked very impressed that she remembered, and she gave him a smile and a nod. His drum solo used to be one of her favourite parts of the early Rated Riot shows.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, snorting. He was no longer bothered by the incident. “I strummed a few chords backstage, and it made no fucking sound.” He suddenly glared at Seokjin. “You convinced Jimin to put me in time-out for not plugging it in.”

“You know very well you deserved that,” Seokjin returned, finishing his drink.

You joined in the laughter. Seokjin and Jimin had relaxed some of their strict policies this time around, because they discovered that the tour couldn’t function if three-quarters of the band were standing in different corners of the venue, waiting to be taken out of time-out before they were supposed to go on stage.

“What about Hoseok personally buying everyone drinks after each show?” Jungkook suggested. “He practically spent half our earnings in random bars.”

Agreeing nods and murmurs followed, and Hoseok merely shrugged, not denying the accusation.

“And what about you finishing most of the drinks that Hoseok bought?” Minjun bit, grinning at Jungkook.

Minjun, unlike Sid and Jude, had actually been invited to join the band for drinks sometimes—although, by the end of the night, he was usually forced to babysit Jungkook.

“What about it?” Jungkook shot back. “I can hold my liquor.”

Jimin blew the air out through his mouth, almost spitting as he half-wheezed, half-scoffed.

“You literally cannot,” he said. “Remember that time in Chicago when you, me, and Seokjin spent hours searching for a public bathroom after you finished five bottles of—”

“I told you I could have used the one that was closed!” Jungkook interrupted before Jimin could finish.

“It wasn’t closed. It was chained,” Jimin retorted. “Did you want to get arrested for trespassing and public urination?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Who says I would have gotten arrested?”

“Are you kidding?” Seokjin chimed in. “You were shouting the lyrics to Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” as you rattled the chains.”

“That doesn’t—”

“In the midnight hour,” Seokjin demonstrated, shouting over the noise in the room and vigorously shaking his hands, “she cried more, more, more.”

Everyone was laughing so passionately at this point that it was impossible to hear the music in the room.

“Fine, fine,” Jungkook muttered, shuffling on his feet and moving partially behind you—his refuge from the teasing. “I get it.”

You didn’t know about this particular incident, but you remembered feeling relieved whenever Jungkook would leave the venue with the band members or someone from the staff, rather than his friends.

Sid had been omnipresent during the band’s first tour; he’d stayed even when Minjun and Jude had to return home. And during the only week that Sid wasn’t here, you’d had one of the most meaningful conversations with Jungkook—and certainly the longest—since your breakup.

It had been in Los Angeles, were Rated Riot were set to perform three shows that week. One night, you had found him alone, seated on one of the road cases outside the concert hall, a bottle of beer in his hand. You’d called his name, and he looked up at you with a gaze so familiar that you seemed to forget about all the months you had spent avoiding direct conversation with each other.

You’d been looking for him that night because you suspected that something was wrong—you didn’t know about his grandmother yet, but it was her condition that bothered him the most in those days.

“I’m fine,” he’d said after you asked him what was going on. “Just tired.”

So, you sat beside him on the road case, grabbed his bottle, and took a long swig. And he had watched you, completely mesmerised, just as he was watching you now.

That night, as you handed the bottle back to him, you’d asked him about his goals and what he wanted to achieve with the band.

“The whole world,” he had replied. And you’d smiled, making him smile, too. Your reaction convinced him that reaching the whole world was a completely feasible goal.

He hadn’t dared to ask why you’d agreed to work with Rated Riot, although you’d expected him to. Instead, he asked about your family, evading questions about his own. He asked how you’d met Luna, where you’d gotten the scar on your knee. He tried—you could see it now—to fill in the gaps of all the years you’d been out of touch.

And you remembered struggling to fall asleep that night in Los Angeles after you and Jungkook returned to the tour bus—because you’d finished that bottle of beer together. Because he’d given you his jacket as you walked back to the bus, even though it wasn’t very cold and the bus wasn’t parked very far. Because your hands had brushed as you walked side-by-side. Because he’d offered you a cigarette and you had declined, and your heart had started to hurt for seemingly no reason.

A year later, you raised your head, bringing your thoughts back to the present moment in the dark red dressing room of Cabaret Sauvage in Paris, where your family was laughing around you and your heart was beating next to you.

You turned to look at Jungkook and met his smiling gaze. He still stood behind you and, quietly, while everyone else continued their conversation, he lifted your linked hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“I remember when Taehyung had the flu, too,” Hoseok said, returning your attention to the group as they burst into shouts of agreement again. Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing your back to his chest, and took another sip from his bottle.

“When he started to walk in his sleep?” Luna asked—she’d taken the brunt of that time her boyfriend was sick and refused to stay in bed. Everyone else was very grateful they didn’t have to handle his fevered tantrums.

“Yeah—he scared the shit out of me,” Yoongi recalled, shaking his head. “It was like four in the morning, I looked up from my bunk, and he was just standing there, staring right at me. I went, ‘what the fuck?’ and he just said, ‘the pipes broke’, then turned around and walked away.”

Amidst the laughter of the group, Jimin wheezed, “what pipes?”

Taehyung clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“I had a fever,” he said. “And it was nowhere near as bad or annoying as Jin actually stealing all of our socks from the bus back in Atlanta.”

Seokjin was opening his next beer bottle and did not feel fazed by the attention at all.

“You stole their socks?” Maggie voiced the question of the group.

“Now, listen,” Seokjin said, his tone relaxed, if only a little annoyed to be bothered about this. “We had a deal. I told the guys to stop after one encore, but they went on to play three. I need to sleep, you know. Can’t stay up dismantling the stage until six in the morning every night.”

You closed your eyes and leaned back into Jungkook’s embrace, calm and unreasonably content as he gently rocked side-to-side, both of his arms around you.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense,” Maggie replied. “But why socks?”

“I thought it’d be the biggest nuisance,” Seokjin explained simply. You smiled. The band members had come to you back then, complaining about someone messing with their belongings, and you had to buy socks in bulk until Seokjin returned them. “I was going to go for underwear, but I know that some of you don’t mind not wearing any, so socks seemed like a safer option.”

You opened your eyes to catch Seokjin giving Jungkook a meaningful glance over your head.

“I—” Jungkook began, but did not get much further than that.

“What?” Namjoon asked with a groan. You turned to see his nose wrinkled in blatant disgust. “Please tell me you’re all wearing underwear under your stage outfits right now.”

Yoongi, Taehyung, and Hoseok all shrugged and gave nods with varying degrees of conviction. Jungkook, meanwhile, snorted indignantly.

“No,” he said. “I prefer to wear mine over my stage outfit.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the unnecessary wit, but Seokjin was quick to down his beer and begin sparring.

“Is that your new costume?” he taunted. “Would fit well with the pirate eye patch.”

Jungkook inhaled sharply. “We do not speak of the eye patch.”

“Aye, sir,” Seokjin replied, grinning as he exaggerated his Rs. “We wor-rrr-ship the eye patch.”

Jimin’s laughter erupted in hiccupping waves that sounded oddly like a screeching cat in heat, and it was unnaturally infectious. He turned away to catch his breath, but you and Maggie had already succumbed to fits of giggles.

Jungkook, irked that this amused you so much, tightened his grip on your waist. You craned your neck to look at him upside down, traces of laughter still evident in your expression, and he placed a quick kiss on your forehead before turning back to his friends. You lowered your head, flustered by his abrupt affection—and Jungkook felt very happy again.

“No, no,” Namjoon was saying in between waves of laughter, “what we really worship is the mythical ramen Taehyung had promised to make us for dinner every night, but I’ve only tried it once so far. What’s that about? Did you think we would forget?”

Taehyung straightened and looked at Luna for help. She only smiled and shrugged, knowing better than to interfere with the band and their food.

“I never said I’d make it every night,” he replied, although somewhere at the back of his mind he vaguely recalled promising this very thing.

“You lost the bet,” Seokjin reminded him, “so you have no choice. You owe us five pots at this point, probably.”

You raised your eyebrows, but Luna beat you to the question. “There was a bet?”

“Of course,” Seokjin said, pausing to take another swig from his bottle. “There usually is.”

“What did you bet on?” she asked.

“This was in Oslo. All three of you,” he gestured towards you, Maggie, and Luna, “had gone out. We bet that Taehyung couldn’t go one hour without texting his girlfriend.”

You grinned while Yoongi gave Taehyung a comforting pat on the back. Jimin finally turned back around to face the group, and even Minjun had to bite back his laughter at the sight of Jimin’s wet eyes, tears of laughter still visible on his cheeks.

“I lasted ten and a half minutes,” Taehyung gloated—as though this was the best he could do, and this record was already so incredibly impressive that he wouldn’t even attempt beating it. Luna kissed his cheek, further encouraging his smugness.

“Ten and twenty-five,” Jimin, who had kept the time, corrected him, rubbing his fingers over his eyelids. “You were terrible. Complained the whole time.”

Taehyung grimaced but resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. “I’m nowhere near as bad as Jungkook, though.”

Jungkook blinked, caught by surprise again.

“What?” he asked, growing defensive once he understood the accusation. “I would have easily lasted an hour without texting my girlfriend.”

Just as you lowered your gaze to control your expression—you’d known Jungkook for seven years; surely, you would stop shivering at the sound of your relationship status some time soon—Hoseok reached over to press a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My friend,” he said, bowing his head, “you wouldn’t have lasted two minutes.”

The group launched into a series of examples to support Hoseok’s claim—with Minjun taking the lead, of course—and Jungkook couldn’t keep up with the barrage of playful accusations. They were correct, each and every one of them, but he still felt the need to explain himself.

“Alright, come on, leave him be,” you ended up interjecting, your tone light. You reached up, blindly finding Jungkook’s face behind you and gently patting his cheek. “We’re all very dependent on each other here anyway.”

Jungkook closed his eyes to focus on your touch. He felt pride first and foremost, but he also felt stunned that you’d defend him so openly: you were surrounded by your closest friends here, that was true, but they were also your co-workers. Yet you stood up for him and leaned into his embrace as the cheerful conversation continued around you.

He thought he’d finally done it. He reached the goal he’d once told you about – he had the whole world right here.

“You know, speaking of you two,” Seokjin said, swivelling to face you. “I know you drank my champagne in Amsterdam.”

Surprised, you pulled back from Jungkook and instinctively glanced at Hoseok—who had dragged Minjun away to help him bring the group more drinks.

“That was Hobi’s,” you said, remembering Hoseok’s party and the puddle of champagne on the bathroom floor—immortalised in Rated Riot’s upcoming single—after you and Jungkook discovered the hidden bottles and decided to have some.

“Please.” Seokjin scoffed. “You think he would hoard champagne? It was mine. And you two—”

“We only drank one bottle,” Jungkook interrupted, preemptively stopping you from denying the whole incident.

“Only on—you drank at least two,” Seokjin said, his unsteady legs wobbling slightly. You wondered how many bottles of beer he’d finished tonight—the extraordinary focus he was paying to enunciate every word indicated double digits. “That was my special champagne.”

He seemed to believe he was merely tipsy as he continued to watch the two of you with a look that he must have assumed was stern. Really, it was cloudy and obviously out of focus.

“What makes it special?” Jungkook asked.

“It was mine,” Seokjin replied, banging his palm against his chest a few times. You waited for him to elaborate on what he would have done with six bottles of champagne all by himself, but he decided he’d said enough.

“We’ll pay off the debt,” you offered. “Two bottles?”

“Two,” he confirmed, then cleared his throat. “But since I’ve had to wait so long for you to admit your wrongdoings, I’ve suffered emotional damage, too.”

“Ah, emotional damage, of course,” you repeated, exchanging a smile with Jungkook. Even drunk, Seokjin was an expert negotiator. “Two and a half, then?”

He pretended to consider it. Everyone else in the room had started a conversation about Yoongi’s sleeping habits—particularly how he stayed awake for three days straight and then slept for a whole week—and it distracted him for a second.

“Three,” Seokjin finally decided, “and we’ll call it even.”

“Alright, three bottles,” you agreed, turning to Jungkook again. He gave you a nod and unfastened himself from you, taking your hand instead.

“We’ll go out to get them right now,” Jungkook said, leading you to the door of the dressing room.

Seokjin seemed surprised when you gave him a quick wave.

“No, you—” he began, then hiccupped and shook his head at the interruption, “—you don’t have to go now.”

“But we must,” you said, pouting your lips very empathetically. “Can’t let you suffer because of what we’d done any longer.”

Seokjin looked as if he wanted to respond, but his intoxicated mind was too sluggish. Still, you saw the hint of a grin tugging at his lips as the door of the room closed behind you; Seokjin knew exactly why you were so eager to leave. It was how you’d found his champagne back in Amsterdam: the two of you would take any and every opportunity to be alone together.

And so, you and Jungkook found yourselves alone on the dark streets of Paris, walking around the park that surrounded the venue, supposedly on a mission to find three bottles of champagne.

It became apparent rather quickly that you’d have to walk quite a distance from the venue to find a shop that was still open. You did not mind that.

Jungkook glanced up as he walked, and you followed his gaze to the sky. In the quiet corners of the cobblestone alleys, right between the streetlights, you could see the stars.

You’d seen these stars before, almost a month ago, when you went to Kihyun and Chloé’s wedding. You’d taken a detour because Jungkook wanted to show you the Champs-Élysées, and you remembered that night in explicit detail: the way the curls in his hair had looked, damp from the rain. The way his eyes had sparkled with an innate, undying excitement, playfully reflecting every street light around you. You remembered the feel of his hands when he instinctively touched you to guide you across the street. You remembered the scent of his cologne as he gestured wildly, recounting the stories about Paris that his grandmother had read to him when he was younger. His voice had sounded wistful, yearning.

The stars had looked beautiful back then—they had to. Really, you didn’t have many chances to look up at them. Jungkook had been right beside you, smiling, with gentle creases of delight by his eyes, and you didn’t even consider looking away.

The sky glittered with the same lights now, a never changing, constant presence over you. And again, you lowered your eyes to watch the reflection of the stars in his eyes instead. The night sky was no longer your favourite thing in the world.

“I think,” Jungkook said, “this is what my grandma meant when she said that she’s always wanted to visit Paris.”

You looked at the street ahead of you. It was hidden from the main paths of the park by dark, menacing buildings, and it looked like just about any other street in the world.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“She wanted this,” he explained, raising your intertwined hands. “What we have right now. Strolling through these back alleys, forcing every streetlight to flicker and every gust of wind to change direction.”

You felt everything he’d mentioned in your chest—the silence of the alleys, the flickers of the lights, the gusts of the shifting wind—and you held his hand tighter.

“What does Paris have to do with this?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t have to do anything, it’s just there for us to walk through it. But this isn’t really about Paris. It never is.”

You looked down at the pavement in a poor attempt to hide your smile. He could still see it. If you were smiling, he’d always make sure to see it.

“That would sound far more romantic,” you said, “if I hadn’t just seen a dead rat across the street.”

Jungkook threw his head back in sudden laughter. He’d seen the rat, too, but he didn’t want to say anything. You had just looked up at the stars in the sky; he thought it’d spoil the moment.

“I know,” he said. “This is why I said that Paris is overrated. I’m just trying to make it sound better.”

“It’s still beautiful despite these things, though,” you said as the two of you took a turn past the canal that ran across the park. The dark water reflected the dim lights of the streets and the persistent stars, too. “Despite the dead rats and unbelievable amounts of garbage everywhere.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook could not control the size of his smile or the sounds in his chest. “You think so?”

“Mhmm,” you said. “These things happen sometimes, I guess. You care about something so much that not even dead rats can ruin it.”

You’d clearly stopped talking about Paris, and he had to turn away from the look in your eyes before he accidentally led you right into the canal. The two of you turned a corner instead, leaving the reflections in the water behind you as you entered another sleeping street, the cobblestones stirring awake under your feet.

Squeezing your hand as he walked, Jungkook looked up at the numerous wrought-iron balconies on the building to your right and felt, for just a moment, as though the faint lights in the windows were watching the two of you. He hoped they were. He loved you so much that he wanted everyone to see.

“I think it’s a metaphor,” he said.

You turned to him. “What is?”

“The dead rat.”

That wouldn’t have been your choice of words to describe the rat, and you continued to watch him, bemused. “It’s a metaphor?”

“Yeah,” he said. “For a new beginning.”

You looked down to avoid twisting your ankles on the uneven street stones.

“I assume the dead rat represents Sid’s demise, then,” you said.

“Precisely,” Jungkook replied, and you turned another corner in the labyrinth of Parisian streets.

“I’ll take it,” you said. Then, nearly laughing, you nodded your head at the shadows ahead of you. “I think I see another one.”

He turned his head and squinted.

“Shit,” he murmured, spotting a pair of panicked, beady eyes. “That one looks alive. Maybe we should cross the—”

“Oh,” you pulled his hand to gesture at the rodent ahead, “you don’t want to say hi to Sid’s uncle?”

“That’s his cousin, I think.”

Laughing—nearly hysterically—the two of you crossed to the other side of the street. Another turn led you back to the canal, right on the edge of a bridge stairway. The massive abutment on this side of the canal and the wall of a parking lot next to it were decorated with years and years of graffiti history, and the two of you stopped momentarily to catch your breath and to analyse the art.

Most of the tags here had something unique about them—lizard tongues spewing out of the Os, crazy-eyed devils holding the letters. You noticed a few love declarations, too, when you leaned in closer. And you wondered, as you smiled at the hearts drawn around unfamiliar names on the grey bricks, if the initials you’d burnt into the library wall on your campus were still there.

“Smells like shit here, too, actually,” Jungkook remarked, breaking the spell.

You laughed again, pulling back from the wall.

“That’s good,” you said, returning to him so that you could continue down the road, curving slightly under the bridge. “Means it’s seen things.”

“It’s seen shit.”

You glanced at him, grinning. “So have we.”

“That’s true,” he said. Then, as soon as you emerged from under the bridge, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes slightly widened. “Hey, maybe all of this means that we were really meant to be here. You and me.”

The sudden epiphany he seemed to have had confused you. You looked around at the buildings towering on each side of the canal and the loose bags of trash flowing in the wind, scattering empty soda cans across the pavement.

This night did not seem special in any way, but Jungkook was looking at you like it was, and it took one glance at the hopeful smile on his lips for you to believe in the magic, too.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Maybe we were.”

He was smiling at you—for you, really—and you knew that you would forget everything about your trip to Paris again: all the sights, the people, the concerts, and the drinks. Instead, you’d remember the way he was looking at you right now—and that was all that you really wanted to remember anyway.

During this tour, there were many moments where you felt like you were dreaming. You convinced yourself that what happened couldn’t have been real because it simply shouldn’t have been.

You and Jungkook had taken so many left turns where the only way was right. You’d caused childish problems and faced unnecessary challenges. It was practically impossible for you to still find each other at the end of the day.

But you were awake. And however impossible or unlikely it was, you’ve found each other.

It had been raining the last time you were in Paris, but the sky was clear tonight, and now you and Jungkook could walk down these streets, laughing and swaying your hands, and no longer lying to yourselves.

The truth was, your souls, like your hands, had always been intertwined—even when you tried to pretend they weren’t.

FIN.

chapter title credits: sleeping with sirens, “if i’m james dean, you’re audrey hepburn”

we're done, friends! 🥹 if you have read so far, i truly love you more than words can describe 🤍

if i had to explain what my life was like while i was writing this fic, it would turn into an ao3 author's note that's like "hey guys, sorry i didn't update, i was in prison" so i'm very grateful to have received your feedback and support over the past few months 🤍🤍

hopefully there will be more things i can share with you in the future, but for now, thank you and good night 🤍

prev ○ END.

hotter than hell | jjk. (m) 02

banner by the lovely solaris @jamaisjoons​ <3​

➵ summary: jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

↳ part of the namkook moonrise masquerade collab hosted by @jamaisjoons​ 

➵ pairing: fallen lucifer!jungkook x human!reader

➵ genre: supernatural/fantasy!au, romance, e2l, road trip, angst, fluff, eventual smut

➵ rating: 18+

➵ word count: 23k 

➵ warnings: swearing, angst, semi-accurate biblical depictions of angels and demons, fantasy-based story-telling, mentions of emotional trauma from an ex (not severe), depictions of action, violence & injury, sexual content, dom/sub undertones, heavy making out, petting, finger sucking, pussy fondling, finger-fucking, dirty talk, marking, biting, mentions of nudes, t e a s i n g, steamy sexual tension <3

➵ a/n: AHHH it’s finally here!! i’m so sorry for the wait that came with this part, but so many things came up. i hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to the next 🥺💓 feedback is always appreciated <3

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | final. |

Jungkook’s the one who drove you two to the charming retro diner of your choice. It wasn’t exactly far, but lengthy enough your hotel was out of sight.

You sit opposite of each other now, predominantly silent as you both eat, but with the occasional mumbles of observations or questions Jungkook couldn’t help but ask. You snap looks towards him from your phone as he eats his mammoth of a meal, fighting back an eye roll at just how much he inhales. 

You’re surely going to go bankrupt because of his monstrous appetite. Whatever, the poor guy hasn’t eaten food for centuries.

Seguir leyendo

Can't wait for next chapter omgg

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 1 — JJK

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always knew your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, (eventual) smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 17.8k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bff!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, mature language, this chapter's pretty tame (for now) but theres a lot of FLIRTING, envision the jk on the cover, if u squint this story is a mosaic of every shows i love lmfao, for the apartment complex just imagine the nami villa from the kdrama fight for my way

NOTES hello im back!!!!! remember the jk in tech xmas fic i told you about last year? this is it except its not a xmas fic anymore lmfao. had an idea to make it a full blown story and im just sooo excited to share it with u guys on this platform!!!!! if ur from wattpad, the chapter system is gonna be a little different here but the content is not <3 anyway let me know what u guys think!

READ ON: WATTPAD | AO3

You never settled your relationship with the summer season. To put it simply, it was a love and hate sort of thing; you liked that it was dry, and the air always felt like it was filtered and healthy even though you were well-aware of the current shit-state of the Earth's ozone layer. There were beams and sunlights and street vendors and people lying on the park's ground. Summer felt nostalgic, like the first time you bought a vinyl in highschool and listened to Fleetwood Mac in secret because your mom was certain they peddled cocaine and all sorts of illegal drugs, and with a highschool friend you no longer talk to, not because of a friendship-breaking betrayal but something more melancholic than that like drifting apart as you got older — the ambience, generally, was what you loved the most about it.

But regardless of those, summer got hot. Sure, you could forgo layers of clothing and it was always nice to lounge about in short bottoms and strapless tops and sandals, but at the end of the day, you needed to set your AC on the lowest temp, and it cranks up your monthly rent a greater percentage which causes a detrimental result to your monthly pay. (And you always had to reapply make-up every now and then whenever you went outside because if not, you'd be a sweating mess.)

In the grand scheme of things, though, there was nothing more than you disliked than Park Jimin, your best friend since college, asking you to be his plus-one on his mom's birthday dinner. For the second time.

“I told you, Jimin, I’m not doing that anymore. Your mom called me fat and recommended a bunch of expensive skin care products to treat one single zit on the side of my forehead the last time you brought me there. I hid that with my bangs and she still saw it, like what the hell? The baked lasagna might have tasted good but I’m not stepping one foot in your house ever again.” You spat out, rolling your eyes at your friend who just dramatically flopped himself on your bed.

“Okay, so I’m really sorry about my mom. She’s a…” He trailed off, looking at you with meaningful eyes that weighed words you knew he couldn't exactly say without feeling bad, and you sighed. Nodded in understanding. Jimin’s face contorted into a cringed expression at that. “... yeah. But! Please. I swear! This is the last time. I just really need you to be there. They’re setting me up with Heesu, okay? You know that snotty nepo baby of the Kang clan who owns Kang Tech?”

“Jimin, you’re a nepo baby.”

He hit you with a pillow. “I am but I can earn a hundred thousand won without my family’s money. They can cut my credit cards and I'll still be thriving.”

You broke the serious demeanor and laughed loudly at his seemingly confident claim.

“I’m sorry but you could not even get a job at a burger joint without some nepotism let alone have a hundred thousand without your dad’s credit cards. Bitch, you’re just lying.”

“Fuck you. I was employee of the week at Seventh Street Burger.” He backfired, referring to that point in time in your sophomore year where you picked up a part time job during the summer at a burger joint and Jimin just decided to come along randomly. He got it because the owner knew of his dad.

“Yeah, because Sowon had a crush on you?” You said, remembering the owner’s daughter, who was also helping out at the store at that time. She was so smitten by Jimin you almost felt bad for her.

“Okay, fair, point taken. No need to be such a bitch about it,” Your best friend said with a dismissive wave of his hand, telling he was over it. You only laughed at that, boisterously, might you add, just to piss him off for no reason. Jimin deadpanned. “But seriously. I think they’re planning to marry me off to Heesu.”

Your face fell out of genuine concern this time.

“Oh my god, really?”

Jimin once again cringed visibly. “Yeah. I mean from a business lense it makes sense. But me marrying at 33? That makes me – like – a child groom.”

“Oh… yeah…” you trailed off, sympathizing with him. Not that you've ever been in the situation where your parents forced you in a sham marriage for their own wealth because there was no wealth to begin with. But you felt bad for Jimin. You always have, when it came to this particular subject.

You knew how it was with rich people, having known Jimin for almost half your life. It was true that arranged marriages were still a thing, and while Jimin seemed that he could pretty much do everything he wanted because of his free-spirited nature, his parents could still most likely make him marry someone he barely knew. Solely for business.

“Ugh.” Jimin groaned. “Should I just come out at the dinner so they can stop linking me to women? I’m gay as fuck, man. My cousin Park Youngdam would have a field day given that homophobic fucktard has been calling me the f word ever since he learned it in seventh grade.”

You shook your head, visibly cringing at his words. You didn't have family yourself. It was your mom who raised you alone for all your life, until she died five years ago. Didn't know any extended family. But frankly, you thought it was better that way than to deal with a complicated family like Jimin's.

“Nah. I mean if you’re ready, well, do it. But like, your parents are…” You two shared a look together again, and Jimin just slapped his palms over his face, indicating his doom. Your face twisted with another shot of deeper sympathy for him.

“This is it for me. They’ll marry me off to Kang Heesu and we’ll fly to the US and live in Massachusetts to fulfill her white picket fence fantasy. I’ll be a miserable husband and she'll be an even more miserable wife because she’ll eventually find out I’m gay. The neighbors will start talking and the white republicans will shun me out of the town church. We’ll have a surrogate baby and—”

“Jimin, what the fuck!” You hit him hard on his arm as you couldn't keep a straight face anymore at his dramatic monologue. “You’re not gonna marry Heesu and you won't live in fuckass Massachusetts and no one’s gonna shun you out of the town church and you won't have a surrogate baby.”

“It’s a possibility.” Jimin shrugged.

“I feel like you're guilt-tripping me into agreeing to be your date again at your mom's birthday dinner and I think that's very evil of you.” You said, squinting your eyes at him.

“Well, duh? But also, I’m really kind of lowkey highkey scared they’ll marry me off to someone now that I’m pushing forty.”

"You're quite literally seven years away from forty." You countered.

He looked at you with an expression of I know right! And he told you so.

"That's what I said to mom and dad, but they're acting like my sperm will freeze next year. God, I can't stand them!" 

Jimin, for all his jokes and unserious and bitchy behavior, was someone extremely important to you. Yeah, sure, he was rich as hell and he annoys you when he says something that reeks of too much nepotism but he was never intentionally snotty, never thinks he was better than everyone else (Jokes about how he thinks he has the fattest and juiciest ass in the world, though), and he wasn't at all like the rich people you've had the misfortune of interacting with at his mom's birthday party last year. He might be a self-proclaimed bitch but if you put him together with those people, he might as well be one of God's disciples.

For all his crass language and rather strong personality, Jimin was a doting friend who was there for you every single time. You could call him up at 3 am and he’d be at your door bringing Chinese take out and two tubs of ice cream, ready to hear you vent about your stupid job or a guy that you fumbled by being weird and off-putting because you didn't know how to handle a relationship. He was the kind of friend who would defend you in front of anyone else but will mercilessly tell you off and list down all points of your stupidity once you were in closed doors. He was the kind of friend that would ask you to be his pretend partner at a birthday dinner party, but he was your best friend ultimately and even if you had a big problem with his family and their extremely traditional (read: toxic) ways, you didn't want him to be pressured into coming out just so he could avoid to be engaged off to another random heiress. Didn't want him to do something he wasn't ready for. Didn't want him hurt or anything of the sort.

The last dinner wasn't even that bad, if you were to be honest. His parents were shitty, yeah sure, and the other guys in there that consisted of politicians and businessmen and people in the showbiz industry were something taken out of the toilet bowl for how stinky their elitist, better-than-you personalities were, but you both just totally forgot all about it by getting wasted at the local bar right after leaving. Not that his mom’s words didn't sting a bit or didn't make you a little conscious, but at the end of the day, you weren't actually dating Jimin so you didn't care what his parents thought of you.

Additionally, you didn't have something planned for the next two weeks when the birthday would be happening. You were supposed to, but that ship has long sailed when you fumbled a date with the guy at the IT department. For the record, you didn't really like him that much and he talked too much about his job and while you didn't mind that, it was getting a little too tiring. If you wanted IT lessons you would’ve majored in it in college. Still, Shin Taemu was handsome. And he wore those rounded glasses. Was tall. Had nice arms. Too bad he wanted to be the next Mark Zuckerberg. Fuck that guy.

“Ugh, I don't know,” you groaned. “It's just so disgusting to be your girlfriend, okay?”

Jimin audibly gasped. “How dare you? A lot would jump on this ass.” He said with incredulity seeping through his voice, pointing to his bum.

You rolled your eyes. “Not me, obviously. Before you take offense—”

“Offense taken.”

“—it’s just that you're like my cousin and when you call me honey I want to crawl out of my own skin.”

Jimin laughed at that while you looked miserable, remembering those moments from last year. Seriously, how could you have fooled anyone in that party that you were banging? You swore you looked like Ariana Grande and Troye Sivan in that one music video? (Jimin was the one who showed that meme to you, by the way.)

“So I won't call you honey. Just babe.”

“Ew.” You quickly retaliated.

“Ohh, the homophobia is sho-wing.” Jimin sing-sang, ever the mature individual he was.

“Fuck off, seriously.”

Jimin just giggled and then scooted closer to you. “No but like, are you coming? ‘Cause jokes aside, I'm just gonna find someone else if you really don't wanna do it. But you know you're always my first choice.”

“First choice when you do some stupid shit.” you countered, rolling your eyes for the nth time that night. Jimin would be the cause of your eye surgery if ever they got dislocated or something.

“That’s my biggest act of love.”

“I don't want it.”

“I’ll double what I paid you last year.”

“Double it again and give it to the next person?”

Jimin flipped you off. “I’ll give you my nintendo and I’ll get you a card at that coffee shop you love so much.”

That caught your attention. You raised your brow. “On god?”

“When did I ever lie to you?”

You deadpanned. “We won't finish this conversation if I list all the times—”

“Okay, okay, point taken. But I'm really serious. Please, please, please, please be my pretend girlfriend on my mom's birthday party please, please—”

“Shut up. Ugh,” you could already feel the big smile creeping up Jimin’s face when you let out a big sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it. Buy me boba now.”

Jimin tackled you to the bed and hugged you and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you! Best best friend ever.” he delightfully said, grinning widely, eyes almost disappearing in his triumph.

Your face contorted into a disgusted expression while Jimin just laughed as you pushed him so hard he almost fell off the bed.

“You are a disgusting limpy sack of dicks! Also, I’m not your best best friend, you don't have a wide selection. I'm your best friend. Period.”

“Unfortunately.” He waved you off and when you were about to retort something his phone suddenly rang. You watched quietly as he put it over his ear. “Hey, you just landed?”

If it was a private conversation Jimin would've left the room but since he didn't, you decided to stay in bed, kind of listening in to the conversation, but also not, as you turned the volume down of the show you were watching earlier on your laptop.

“Nah, you want me to pick you up?” Jimin sat up on the edge of the bed and you looked at him curiously. “Sure, I’m free, Kook. You have a place to stay? Hotel suite or something?” He nodded to whatever the other person was saying on the other line. “Oh, you're here for three months? Thought you were just flying in for mom's birthday?”

It was moments after they said goodbye that Jimin turned to you to ask, “Well, my cousin’s apparently staying here for three months. Got this job thing going on.”

“Is that one of the non-problematic twenty percent cousin lineage of your very complicated family tree?" You asked, referring to him telling you one time that his family, including the extended ones, was eighty percent shitty and twenty percent decent.

Jimin chuckled at the inside joke. "Well, yeah, he's one of the good ones. Knows I'm gay."

"Oh, nice."

Jimin stood up from your bed. “I’ll get you your boba and head off. Gotta pick cousin up or he’ll start throwing tantrums at the airport.”

“Add extra pearls please.” You told him, watching as he clicked away on his phone to get you your drink.

“I spoil you too much.” Jimin said, clicking his tongue, eyes still on his phone.

“What are you here for if not my glorified sugar daddy?”

“I will kill myself in front of you.” Jimin deadpanned, getting a chuckle out of you.

You didn't know the psychology — or if there even was psychology — behind feeling embarrassed when you were about to cross a path while carrying huge boxes. It was a normal task, and yet, it always felt like a huge walk of shame when you did it.

It was probably because you had to carry it over a flight of stairs, and there was no way you wouldn't trip on yourself carrying two heavy boxes in your hands that were already disrupting your vision.

Maybe it was your fault for choosing the pick-up option when you were checking out these furniture online, all because there was a huge increase on the fee for door-to-door delivery. For the record, there was a huge gap and the boxes were not really that heavy to the point you could not carry them both. It's just a lamp and a portable desk, you thought a week ago when you opted for the pick-up option, I could carry it all the way to the unit just fine — and obviously, your delusion has resulted to this very moment.

As soon as you managed to walk over five steps, you felt as if your oxygen supply just got cut back, panting like someone fresh from a marathon. Damn. You definitely needed to work out a little. Maybe do some squats for your New Year’s resolution, commit to it for three days straight then forget about it for the next 362 days of the year.

You looked ahead of you and a string of curses let themselves out of your mouth automatically as you estimated the number of stairs you needed to get through to get to your apartment.

This day sucked! It was Sunday and you planned to wake up at five am to have a productive day but then you slept through your five alarms and woke up at eleven am instead. You ran out of eggs and you had to go to the convenience store to eat a sad meal of yogurt and kimbap. And now there were these boxes that you needed to carry over what seemed to look like six million of stairs. You weren't Sisyphus! And where were your goddamn neighbors when you needed them?

"You need help, ma'am?"

"Jesus Christ—" you turned to look to your right only to see a man who seemed to own the previous voice.

And Jesus Christ, indeed.

He was wearing a white shirt and some shorts, Nike sliders on his feet and a pair of headphones on. He was wearing glasses. And he had a tattoo sleeve.

What the fuck.

What the fuck!

It has been so long since you thought a man was crazily attractive. Okay, well sure, the guys from the IT department were something else (or you just had a weird eyeglasses fetish, Jimin once pointed out, that you still — to this day — vehemently try to deny) but you’ve never been this taken aback by someone’s face before.

The guy’s lips tilted a bit, some sort of greeting maybe, and you quickly looked away, embarrassed, fearing that he caught you looking at him longer than necessary.

Oh god. This was pathetic! He was a stranger! He was a man! He just had a cute face attached to a very good body with an arm full of tattoos and he was tall but you were sure he wasn’t six feet two. Also, he had hair that looked fluffy from where you stood and a pair of eyeglasses but Jimin was just bluffing when he said you had a fetish for them. Right?

You were performing mental gymnastics until you realized he was asking a question.

"Oh! Uh, no, thank you. It's fine." You said, embarrassed at the way you almost jumped in surprise earlier.

But the whole thing was ridiculous. What, because there was a very fine man across from you the universe suddenly decided to fuck up your fate by making you be seen by that very man struggling with boxes all the way up to your unit? Couldn't it just have been on a day when you did your make-up and dressed up in that overpriced dress you bought hundred bad choices ago?

You fumbled with the boxes a little bit before continuing your way up, nevermind the guy whose response you didn't wait for because you needed to get the fuck away from him before you say something weird and off-putting.

Truthfully, you could use the help. But at what cost? A fine man carrying them? Okay, that wasn’t so bad. But what were you supposed to do with... all of that?

As if the universe was indeed trying to prove to you that you were, in fact, not its favorite creation, you almost tripped. And the guy most definitely saw it.

Fuck.

You turned to the side to see him looking at you, concern etching his face. You wanted to convince yourself that it was genuine concern because you'd commit something that would totally change the trajectory of his life if he was to laugh.

But you thought his own unit must be way up as well, as he was going to the same path as you, and if that was the case, he must have been a new neighbor in the complex because you've never seen the man before.

“Well, it’s not that heavy but…” you trailed off, looking blankly at the cardboard boxes. And then at him. "I could use some help, if you don't mind."

The guy just chuckled. Oh wow, his laugh was very... low.

You didn’t even know what the fuck that meant.

“I’ll get them for you.” He said, crossing the small distance between you and taking over the pile, leaving you with nothing in your hands.

“Oh, no, I’ll have that one. It’s fine.” You said, stepping closer to take the other one but he was already securing it in his hold, with stability this time, ready to take off.

He let out a small laugh again and you bit your tongue to not think about how cute he looked. If he was a new tenant, you hoped you didn't cross paths with him ever again.

"It's okay, ma'am."

He's got to stop calling you that before you do something drastic.

“It’s quite far from here, I'm all the way up to three-three-six.” You uttered, pointing forward, a few steps behind the guy, who hummed at what you said.

You quickly caught up to him. "Really, thanks for doing this."

"No problem, it's nothing." He said, smiling at you. Warm and kind. All cute. "I'm all the way up to four-four-six as well."

Your eyes widened. "No way, that's just across mine."

The stranger, apparently your neighbor now, grinned.

"Nice coincidence, huh?"

A sheepish smile formed on your lips. You didn't dwell on that comment too much. Knew it was just small talk.

"If you don't mind me asking, are you a new tenant here?” You asked out of genuine curiosity. You had never seen someone come out of the unit across from you out of all the four years you'd been here.

He nodded, agreeing with what you presumed.

"Yeah. Just temporary, though.”

“Oh…” A surprised sound. Maybe it was a good thing he was only staying temporarily... “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you or anything. You really don’t need to bring the boxes over to my apartment.”

The man just chuckled, dismissing your worry. “You looked like you could use a hand, these boxes are big. Anyway, I was just out checking 'round town. Settling in.”

From the sound of it, you'd assume he was not only moving in in a new apartment complex, but new city as well. Perhaps country? But he most definitely looked Korean. But maybe he came from abroad. Who knows.

“Yeah, there's a really nice coffee shop three blocks away. You should check it out sometime. Ji—my friend and I are obsessed with their iced caramel macchiato. And the boba.”

His brows furrowed in pure interest. “That must've been the one I passed by this morning. I’ll make sure to try that one.”

“You really should. And the barista gives you a brownie on Sundays if he likes you.” You shared like it was gossip, mentally taking note to visit the cafe sometime this week.

“And I'm sure not everybody gets the privilege?” The guy looked at you funny, and that made you laugh.

"Of course, yes! You have to earn it, I think. I feel like I spent over a million there before he started giving me brownies."

"Hope my charm works on him as well," he said, and it caught you off guard.

What did he mean, "as well"? Like he was speaking from the basis that you had charm and so he hoped he had it as well to get the barista to like him?

"Well. He's strict." Was all you could say, before you spotted your apartment. "Hey, I'll take it over from here."

The guy looked over the plated number on the door, reading three-three-six just as you said earlier. Trudging forward, he set the boxes down on the side of the porch.

"Thank you, really. This was really nice of you."

You extended your gratitude once again as if you didn't spend the walk up to here thanking him non-stop, sounding like a broken record. Thank god the guy didn't seem to mind your over-the-top gratitude, only waving his hand.

"Told you, it's fine. You need help with a few boxes again and just ring me up across," He joked, turning around slightly and looking at the door across your unit, Unit 446. It earned a chuckle from you. His face turned serious now, but there was still a charming smile on his face. “Hey. I’m actually pretty new in this town. I was thinking about visiting a few restaurants downtown, maybe you could recommend me some?”

You didn't mean to, but you took note the way his doe eyes seemed to shimmer even behind the frame of his glasses.

“My favorites are just, like, a ten-minute walk away. There’s this restobar near that drugstore when you turn left from this building, right?” The guy nodded, and you were slightly delighted he knew right away. “Yeah, their ramen's great, you'd thank me forever.”

He chuckled at the way you said it and you smiled.

Your interactions with new people were always a range from pure silence to oversharing; talking to them like they were your long lost friend whom you’ve milked goats with in your father’s orchard. It was probably just a product of introversion; not knowing the right approach to socializing.

“Thanks for the recommendation.” He said, a genuine appreciative tone lacing his words.

“You’re welcome. If I can ring you up to help me with some boxes, you can ring me up for some restaurant recommendation.”

"It's an exchange, then. Deal."

"Why not?" You shrugged, laughing along with him when he did so.

You both stood there for a while until seconds passed. You didn’t know exactly how to end the conversation, not that you wanted to, but there was nothing that went to your head to talk about more. And besides, he was probably headed somewhere, so you began to speak.

“Hey, so I’m going in—”

“What about we—”

“Oh.” You stopped. “Sorry, what was that?”

The guy just shook his head. “Nah, you’re probably busy. Thanks for the recommendation again.”

“No, seriously, sorry I didn't hear it the first time...”

“I was just gonna ask about the name of the restaurant.”

“It’s Midday Miso.” You told him, smiling.

“Midday Miso,” The guy nodded, “Yeah. Got it. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome, and, uh, thanks. For the help.”

You took your keys out from your shorts and you didn’t expect to still see him standing in front of you when you turned around. You jokingly squinted your eyes at him.

“Yeah, you first, get in.” He said with a low chuckle.

It was a little embarrassing and pretty stupid how your heart fluttered a bit at that.

“What a gentleman you are,” You respond with a snort, opening the door to your unit and pushing the boxes inside your apartment. When they were in, you turned to look at the guy again, saying, “Okay, bye for real. See you around. Hope you like Midday Miso if you try it. And the coffee shop. It's called Brown Coffee.”

“See you around.” He did a little wave that made you both laugh before you closed the door.

When the lock system clicked, you stood on your doorway for a little while.

And then fake-cried.

You quickly clicked on Jimin's pinned contact on your phone.

You [5:35pm]: JIMINNNNNNNNN You [5:35pm]: POP EMERGENCY You [5:35pm]: POP EMERGENCY BITCH IF U DONT RESPOND You [5:36pm]: I HAVE A DIABOLICAL CRUSH AND ITS GOING IN THE MEMOIRRRRRR

It wasn’t even one full minute when Jimin replied.

cuntress #1 [5:37pm]: oh my god SHUT UP!!! im at a training program for ghis stupid ass company my fathers been running fir 600 years cuntress #1 [5:37pm]: whats up cuntress #1 [5:38pm]: its always a crush and never a job 😒

You [5:39pm]: yeh so remember when i told u im oacking up my vagina last summer

cuntress #1 [5:39pm]: many such times

You [5:40pm]: 🖕 You [5:40pm]: SO raincheck!!! You [5:41pm]: COZ I just met a fine man at my apartment AND flirted with him You [5:41pm]: i think

cuntress #1 [5:42pm]: ohhhhh OK???? cuntress #1 [5:43pm]: cuntress #2 flirting???? now thats not uninteresting go on while i fake a restroom break 👀

You [5:45pm]: this story is not for the imessages baby get ur ass up and ICE CREAM WITH ME NOW.

cuntress #1 [5:46pm]: omg 😭😭😭😭 cuntress #1 [5:46pm]: i’ll be off 7:30pm wait for me 😭😭😭 cuntress #1 [5:47pm]: i also have #stories to tell

You [5:49pm]: 🤭

There must be a time where you finally grow up and learn to cook.

You were a twenty-eight-year-old woman and yet, your meals sadly ranged from instant noodles, canned goods, and food from the nearby twenty-four-hour provision shop. Sometimes, you had the gall to cook something from scratch—but with scratch you meant scratching off the labels from food take-outs and reheating them in your microwave.

Jimin had told you one time you would die at twenty-nine with your lifestyle. You told him he couldn't tell you shit because he didn't know how to cook either, he just worked out and ate healthy stuff, and you did, too! But Jimin knew you, and in an evil manner, clocked you with, "Buying fresh produce and not consuming them does not count as healthy living."

Anyway, you never understood why you were so bad at cooking. Your mother, as you remembered her, was decent at it but you guessed it was because she never really taught you and you never really bothered, either. In some immature way of thinking, you'd like to think it was a win for feminism as you were battling patriarchal standards by not conforming to stereotypical "female" qualities. But deep inside, you knew cooking should be a survival skill.

Well, maybe Jimin was right and you would indeed die at the ripe age of twenty-nine. On the bright side, at least you wouldn't have to pay off your student loans and your monthly rent.

In relation, not knowing how to cook meant impractical visits to the restaurant, and that was how you ended up at Midday Miso for dinner after your shift.

It was only a little over nine pm when you entered the restaurant, the ahjumma quickly greeting you and preparing your usual, a sign of familiarity that implied your countless visits ever since moving in at your current apartment building.

Regular visits meant usual sitting spot, and in your case, it was the high stools that faced the glass walls of the restaurant's facade where you could see the busy street making that little area of the town alive.

As minutes overlapped with one another, your food was served and you were hit with the waft of the restaurant's delightful signature beef ramen and bibimbap that the ahjumma made sure to add extra beef on.

Eating with a happy heart made you feel like nothing in the world mattered but you and the food before you, so, you didn't pay attention to the person who was coming to your direction and eventually sat beside you, but what caught you off guard was when said person suddenly said,

"Hi."

When you turned to the side to see who it was, your eyes widened as you said in both recognition and surprise, "Unit 446?"

"That's me." He, Unit 446—in the flesh—said with a low chuckle, twisting himself so that he was sat appropriately on the high stool. Still, his body leaned towards you when he continued to say, "Fancy seeing you here."

You grinned, flattered at the casualness of his approach.

"Same to you. I wonder who told you about this local gem."

He pursed his lips. "A nice neighbor across my place... whom I still don't know the name of."

"Oh, shoot!" You'd face-palm right now if he wasn't looking, but truthfully, you didn't even think about that! You've just been referring to him as the Staircase Guy slash Neighbor 446 in your head and when you told Jimin about him. You laughed at the thought. "That neighbor of yours is __."

Neighbor 446 nodded and extended his hand to you

"I'm Jungkook."

It was a little silly but you shook hands, anyway, and knowing it was, indeed, silly, you both laughed together at your joint connection.

Jungkook. Huh. Not exactly a common Korean name, but it wasn't rare either. The name does ring a bell though, felt like you've heard it somewhere before.

You brushed off the familiarity as inconsequential.

Unlike the completely casual attire he adorned the first time that you met him, he was now in some sleek slacks and a white polo which sleeves were ridden up half high, which exposed the vines of ink on his right arm once again. There's a coat that hung around the back of his chair, and he had forgone the glasses this time around, which was a bit of a shame on the part of your brain that might have a silly crush on him.

Jungkook's clothes seemed to mirror your own business casual ensemble, and that made you think about what he possibly did for a living. Maybe he worked a corporate job just like you, and the prospect might have made you down a little—only because as far as you were concerned, corporate people weren't the most pleasant people you could encounter—but it was not something you dwelled on too much because you couldn't care less. If Jungkook was corporate, he sure didn't seem to be one the way he was.

Besides, you wouldn't be the one to bring up the depressing and aggravating conversation about gross grown-up things like... jobs... Eurgh. You both could just talk about the weather or how insane the ahjumma's ramen tasted for eternity.

"Well, hello, Jungkook." You greeted him. All warm and soft, testing the syllables of his name on your tongue. Rolled off well enough. He had a nice name that sure fit his face for some reason.

"Hi, __." He mirrored the soft smile on your lips, and just as he said it, the ahjumma was heading towards your direction to give him his order.

In that usual way grandmas reacted, the ahjumma gasped audibly—and dramatically, might you add—upon seeing Jungkook, but what she said next made you want to dig a hole under your seat.

"__-dear! Is this young man your boyfriend?"

Good thing you weren't consuming anything as of that moment, because it would've entered the wrong track.

"Ahjumma!" You laughed, totally not authentic at all because your face didn't match it, looking at Jungkook who just sent a shy smile her way.

Ahjumma must have seen you both talking to each other and had completely jumped to a conclusion. An insane one at that! 

Shaking your head, you clarified, "This is Jungkook. A friend. He's new in town and checking out all the stuff around here. I recommended him this place."

You saw Jungkook nodding along with your words while he helped her set his table.

The ahjumma just shook her head. "I apologize, then," She looked at Jungkook and as if gossiping with him, whispered in a not very subtle way, "I keep on telling this girl to date already! Such young beauty shouldn't be wasted, you know."

A tsk-ing sound made its way through her mouth, and as much as you were starting to feel embarrassed that she was telling on you on Jungkook—who was literally a stranger to you a day ago and whom you may have a teeny tiny bit of crush on—you knew ahjumma did not have any malicious intent and just chose to laugh the whole thing off.

You heard Jungkook do the same.

This was ridiculous.

"Ahjumma, I told you, you're gonna be the first one to know when I date. For now I'm just a part-time accountant and a full-time promoter of Midday Miso." You pout at her, trying to dodge the topic of romance altogether.

Not in front of Jungkook.

"Ayee," She gave you a side-eye. "Fine. I'll bring over some extra beef."

You mouthed an enthusiastic "yes!" and raised your fist in the air with excitement, and Jungkook looked at the interaction with a smile on his face.

As the ahjumma walked away, you looked over at him.

"I'm glad you came by—" You identified his order to be the same one you used to be obsessed with the first few months you came to the restaurant. "—and ordered their best seller. You sure know how to be a tourist."

"Looked good on the menu. The ahjumma also seems to be nice. Seems like she's a close friend, huh?" Jungkook said.

"Totally."

And it was the truth. There was just something about ahjumma that made you feel reminiscent about the grandmother you've never had. Ever since you moved in and became a regular at this place, it felt like she's taken care of you and your relationship had been special since.

"This is really good." Jungkook commented after having his second bite, and you nodded in agreement. "She was serious about the beef thing?"

You chuckled at the mention. "Yeah, she always gives me extra."

"You just always get free stuff around these areas?" Jungkook joked which earned a hearty laugh from you. You remembered telling him about the free brownie on Sundays at Brown Coffee, a little bit surprised he recalled that.

"Now that you said that, I actually do." You proudly shared. You've been in this town for so long that the various faces just went from familiar to friends.

Jungkook nodded, his face showing amusement.

"I have to learn your ways, then."

"The secret to that is be incompetent at cooking. It means it's either take-out or eat out. Business owners around here have no choice but to see me every three days because I can't cook my own meal."

You could see Jungkook's amusement growing every second, and to add faux insult to injury, he joked, "Oh, bummer."

You decided to ride along with that.

"You mean you're a good cook? That's the real bummer! And here I thought we were bonding." You said, purposefully trying to sound scandalous at his implication of being a good cook.

He shook his head instantly, chuckling. "Okay, nah. I'm not that good. Just decent. But I'll have you know I can make a mean tangsuyuk. Any other complicated stuff is out the window, so there, we are bonding."

"I appreciate that you're under the assumption that I know where to begin with the non-complicated stuff. You're already putting way too much faith in me."

"I seriously doubt that." Jungkook laughed once again.

"You know what my friend tells me? That I'd die at twenty-nine because I don't know how to cook."

Jungkook almost keeled over hearing you say the words, and as much as you were amused at his own amusement, you decided to further add on the joke because you were enjoying this way too much.

"Wow. I wouldn't doubt you'd be an accessory to my murder the way you're laughing way too hard at my impending death. That's next year, you know."

Jungkook reached over for the glass of water and drank it. While he did so, the ahjumma had come over to give you the beef she promised. You did not forgot to thank her as soon as she went away. 

You did hope Jungkook didn't notice the malicious wink she sent your way.

"Fuck, sorry." Jungkook's laughter had gone down this time, but his eyes still showed a hint of mirth when he asked, "You're twenty-eight, then?"

You nodded. "Yep." Unfortunately, you thought.

"Oh, that's actually surprising."

A gasp left your mouth. Jungkook was quick to correct himself.

"I meant it's surprising because I thought you were way younger."

Oh.

"Don't flatter me. I won't share my extra beef with you."

"I thought—" He shrugged. "—Early twenties."

"I'm guessing you are in your early twenties." You joked back.

"Okay, now, don't flatter me. I know how old I look." Jungkook said with a dismissive tone, but nevertheless light-hearted. Just like how this whole thing was going.

God, you were so in awe of how good he was at talking to you that he was practically bringing out the extrovert in you you only ever show to exclusive people like Jimin.

"So, you're like, fifty, then?"

Incredulous, Jungkook burst into laughter. "Wow."

"Sorry, just that you sounded like you were five years from retirement! Anyway, you look like we're the same age?"

He shook his head. "Three years older. Turning thirty-one later this year."

Jaw dropped. Not physically, but mentally.

"Oh wow, you're basically—" a fucking DILF! What the hell!

Thankfully you managed to cut yourself off before Jungkook could think you were way off your rocks and embarrass yourself in front of him for eternity. You could just hear Jimin from miles away telling you off about calling thirty-year-old men DILFs even though you didn't know if they had a child.

What do you mean this guy was thirty and why did that just make him even hotter in your head... He's got to stop this madness before you do something completely incomprehensible.

"—A senior." Was the lame thing you came up with to finish your sentence.

"Ouch." Jungkook said, but his word was completely opposite to the expression he was wearing on his face the way he just couldn't suppress the grin that had been visible on his mouth since you started talking.

You brought your hands up.

"Totally didn't mean that in a negative way."

Which was the entire truth. So far, the things you knew about him was that he had tattoos, a nice body, a nice personality, good ass freaking conversationalist, and that he was thirty! Thirty! As in, the peak of male hotness. The evil psychological concept of most men only getting hotter as they age.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Jungkok nodded. "By the way, are you heading out after this?"

"Oh, yeah. Don't have anywhere else to go. I have a nine A.M tomorrow so..." you shrugged, and he nodded in understanding.

"You work as an accountant, right, from what you told the ahjumma?" Jungkook asked you curiously.

"Yeah... it's a very tedious job." You grimaced a little bit. "What about you?"

He tilted his head a bit, picking up a dumpling on his plate. "I'm a software engineer."

"Oh, that's cool."

You nodded to yourself while you processed what he said.

Works in fucking tech; another thing you just learned about him. 

You weren't actively seeking out guys in tech, but why did they seem to come to you voluntarily? God forbid you saw someone who wasn't in there! Was every man working in tech now? Was Jimin really only being truthful when he said they were exactly your type?

"Have you made any software or is that, like, a wrong assumption about you guys?"

Jungkook merely chuckled at your retort.

"Not entirely, no. I've designed a few software in college—I'm still doing it. I'm just currently doing more business stuff now." He gave you a sheepish smile. "You?"

"Well, it's just... you know—I actually work at a tech company. I'm a junior accountant. And, uh, nothing interesting, really. You get to do cool math like programming, and I get to do boring math like calculating money I don't have. It's always a great day at work." You said, couldn't help the laugh that skipped your mouth at your own sarcasm.

Nothing like joking about hating your job to someone who you just met yesterday.

"Programming and coding are not all that, either. It's tedious and... it's just a really boring job. But... it all pays the bills."

You chuckled.

"Yeah. Totally."

Without minding it, you raised the small glass of soju, initiating a toast, one that Jungkook understood immediately and met you in the middle of it.

The night was still you when you walked out of Midday Miso, but unlike any other nights, it was with Jungkook this time walking beside you.

"So you just—what—hid him for three months?"

"Well, yes! I wasn't about to get a notice for that! And besides, he was really cute. But he's in good hands now, his owner still sends me pictures of him. He's very grown and big."

"That's insane."

You peered at Jungkook who watched you in awe as you told him about the story of Alfredo, the cat whom you rescued on your way home from work a year ago. The landlady obviously had her fair share of rules and regulations in her building, and keeping pets was an absolute no, which was a shame. Definitely wasn't a shame when you first just moved in the complex, but things got lonely sometimes when you were living alone and company was almost a luxury.

Anyway, as told, you managed to keep Alfredo out of the landlady's sight until you found a highly qualified parent on some online forum who you still kept in contact with to this day.

But as you watched Jungkook, you noticed the way his expression fell into something concerning. He looked worried, which made you feel the same way as a result.

"What are you thinking?" You asked him curiously.

"Oh, nah, I was just... thinking. See, I actually have a dog."

"Oh!" You looked at him wide-eyed.

He has a dog; another thing about Jungkook that would qualify him on the regular rounds of hot boy of the month on Twitter dot com. 

"Yeah."

"You didn't read the terms and conditions of the building?" Your eyebrows formed a concerned expression.

Jungkook chuckled and shook his head. "I did. I just—suddenly thought about him, is all. He's being taken care of some place. But, you know, I missed him, and I was thinking about getting him here and showing him around my new place and all that."

"Oh... that's a bummer, then. The landlady's strict, even with the small dogs, can you imagine? Is he small, by the way, your dog?

"He's a Doberman, so definitely a big one."

"He must be really cute. What's his name?"

"Bam." He smiled at you, and you could totally see the pride showing on his face at the mention of his dog. And with a tone that you could only identify as someone who's suppressing his enthusiasm a little bit, he added, "You wanna see a picture of him?"

"Sure!"

Jungkook took out his phone from his pocket and showed you images of a big, chocolate brown dog. Bam definitely wasn't like the other regular Dobermans you'd see around. His ears weren't cropped, and his tail wasn't docked either. You didn't know if the lack of surgery was intentional from his side, but you'd like to think he kept it that way because he knew it hurt the dog greatly. From how you've been knowing him, you were certain he just didn't want to put his dog under unnecessary pain, which was honestly heartwarming to think about.

Jungkook was becoming way too good to be true in you head little by little.

"Awe, he's adorable!" You cooed, especially when he swiped through the picture of his pet, Bam, as a pup in what seemed to be Jungkook's arms based on the familiar tattoos that peeked from the exposed arm as seen on the picture. The tattoos also seemed to be new at that time as well, considering that the skin was still yet to be fully covered like now.

"I'm flattered you think that."

"Where is he, by the way? If you don't mind me asking."

"He's at a... friend's place in New York. He's not very good at flying so I didn't bring him with me here, and I thought, I'll only be here for three months, anyway, so." Jungkook shrugged.

Three months. Well. He did say he was only staying here temporarily.

You nodded. "For business, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"You grew up there?" You kicked the stone that was caught at the tip of your shoe, putting your fists in the deeper part of your coat's pockets. Summer may be hot during daytime, but it sure as hell was cold on nights like these.

"Nah, I'm from Busan. Flew to California for college and have been there since. Until now, that is."

Jimin was also from Busan, you thought. Though he said they only lived there for a few years until his parents moved to Seoul, but he made sure to visit his hometown every now and then. Most of the time, he made you come with him which you never had complaints about. You lived in the city all your life so going there, especially in the more urbanized area where you and Jimin stayed. Felt like fresh air—which Busan had, quite literally.

"My best friend's from Busan too."

"Really? What about you?"

You chuckled before answering, "I, unfortunately, did not come from any interesting place. Born and raised in Seoul, through and through. Though my mom told me she lived in Daegu for many years prior to having me."

"Seoul is an interesting place, though."

"Eh. It's okay." You shrugged, and your nonchalance made you both laugh.

The walk to your apartment building from Midday Miso was not that far. Still, it was five blocks away and while you and Jungkook were currently sharing conversation together and seemingly walking the same path, you weren't sure if you were both walking together there.

As if he read your mind, he suddenly spoke after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"You mind if we walk together to the building?"

You decided to joke to get the jittery feeling out of your system.

"Scared of the dark, Jungkook?"

"Sure... my five-eleven self is."

You squinted your eyes at him. He did not just go there!

"Is that a slight against my height because I'm five-seven, mind you."

Jungkook stopped in his tracks which made you do the same, and you watched as he put his hand on his waist while the other reach up to his face to place a finger over his chin, seemingly assessing you up and down. You looked at him incredulously.

"You're bumping your height to two inches." He seriously said.

You gasped audibly.

"Oh, shut up,"

You rolled your eyes and turned your back at him, continuing your walk as you heard him behind you bursting in laughter at your reaction.

"I'm kidding!"

You first met Jimin at a college party. He was five years older than you, supposedly out of college by the time you attended, but he always had a problem with rebellion–what with his ragged relationship with his parents, he would intentionally flunk his courses as a message to them that he'd always be a black sheep and a proud one at that, hoping it would be enough to convey that they could not force him to be the heir of their company. (Obviously, it had taken him nowhere, given that he was now currently attending a training program to work at said company).

But maybe it was a blessing in disguise that he was set back to five years for graduation. Because you got to know him, and he got to know you.

On the outside, you might look like the total opposite of each other–because Jimin was the definition of extroversion who wasn't afraid to put himself out there–while you, admittedly, were more reserved and usually shied away from any public attention.

As much as you were welcoming to a lot of people, you didn't have a lot of close friends growing up–at least not the kind of friends you'd see on TV shows–but when Jimin came to your life, you clicked so instantly you could not even figure out where you two exactly began.

The instant way you two clicked, you realized, was like your relationship with Jungkook nowadays.

Ever since that night at Midday Miso, you've been seeing a lot of each other. Granted that it was only in the same place, same time. You'd usually arrive past nine and he, a few minutes later. Jungkook, cladded in his slacks and long-sleeved polo, was becoming a usual sight after a shift, and your business casual clothes was turning as one for him as well.

Your usual seating spot became his as nights passed, and ahjumma, thank God, no longer asked you if he was your boyfriend. You were glad that she was slowly getting acquainted with him though, greeting him with a friendlier smile and tone reserved only for customers like you when he entered the restaurant, and Jungkook seemed to welcome the newfound friendship wholeheartedly.

On the consecutive nights you'd spent with him, it was almost as if you lived quite the same life. Though, you didn't know when he went to work. In fact, you didn't see him during the mornings even though in theory, it could be easy, granted that you both lived across each other. But strangely enough, you'd never caught him retiring to his flat to go to the bus station. You assumed he started earlier than you or way later.

You never asked, it never came up either.

Still, there was some sort of tranquility in the thought that you could spend some time with someone after your shift and just talk about whatever–and whatever meant a lot of things. Random at best. You once told him about the first raccoon you met in your life, and he told you all about the lioness he got to watch when he went to a South Saharan trip a few years ago.

Sometimes, the conversation went around what happened in the office that day. Jungkook noticed the little blot of ink on the cuff of your baby blue long sleeves, and you told him about the jammed printer in the accounting department. He'd told you later on about how he almost fucked up a report, said he was nervous because he was taking on a new role in the office.

Those moments were shared in long walks from Midday Miso to your apartment building, because naturally, you both established a small tradition of walking home together after a night of eating your hearts out at ahjumma's restaurant.

It was a rather sweet gesture, if you were honest to yourself. But you chose not to linger too much on the romantic thoughts that floated in your head, especially when you'd notice the way he made sure to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk, and when your fingers got too close the tips almost touched.

Because Jungkook, for how objectively good looking he was, was more than just his pretty face and physique.

He was kind and funny and genuine unlike any other straight men you've met in your life. Maybe the bar was low, but for all the times you've gotten to talk to him, he never showed any signs of ego most men would by the second hour of your meeting.

In the dating scene as an adult, a lot of men would come up to a date talking about how high they were placed at their company's hierarchy and how much they made in a month, and when they hear about yours, they'd always have a backhanded comment about how "you could only go up from there, right?" and those moments were always a bummer. Yawn-inducing, to be more accurate. Men and their predictability was boring and it was the reason why you'd declare to Jimin almost every time you got home from a date that you were retired from looking for them because most men just plainly fucking sucked.

But with Jungkook... was it different.

You found he didn't talk a lot, and one time you asked him if you were doing it–the talking–way too much, but he just chuckled and told you that he didn't mind.

Later on, you learned that he was just more of a listener rather than a talker, and that was not only a pure assumption of yours because he did listen attentively, alright. As for all the random things you've told him about, you never expected him to recall a single thing, not until one time when you passed by a food truck.

"Hey, didn't you say you like sundae?" Jungkook asked, and when you followed where his eyes were, it was at the food truck parked just a few steps ahead from where you both were.

"I do... wow. It's been so long since I saw a food truck around here." You said, following his steps towards the vehicle.

They had tables to dine in, and even if you were still full from eating at Midday Miso that night, the sundae was just too gratifying to decline. Jungkook was the same with the tteokbokki on his small plate, telling you he missed eating at one of these things, as they didn't exactly have anything like this abroad.

After he paid for the food (and of course not without a long, silly, light-hearted argument about it), he came back with two sticks of Melona ice pops which you looked at with widened eyes, animated expression written all over your face especially when he thrusted the purple yam flavor to you.

"Oh my god, how do they have these?"

"I was surprised as well... this is the first time in a while I'm eating this again." Jungkook said and then gestured to the ice pop in your hand, "You like the purple yam, right?"

"Yeah!"

You were about to ask him how he knew, but then you briefly remembered that one time you had a passionate rant about people hating on purple yam ice cream and why they weren't right.

And as you looked at Jungkook, he seemed to remember it all too well.

Jungkook showed genuine interest in the things you'd tell him about. He'd visit the cafes and restaurants you recommended to him as much as he could, and because you've come to exchange numbers with him eventually after almost two weeks of casually hanging out, they sometimes came during lunch break.

1 message received from Jungkook (Unit 446)

That day, you only exchanged contacts the other night, so seeing him on your phone so quickly like that caught you by surprise. It was welcomed though.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:36pm]: I went to Cafe Heaven for lunch and loved their ice americano

As soon as you read the first message, another one came.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:36pm]: This is Jungkook by the way :)

You laughed at his introduction. As if he didn't see you type his name on your phone last night–like he didn't jokingly complain about you putting the (Unit 446) in there but giving in eventually and also adding (Unit 336) to yours in his own contacts.

You [12:38pm]: Hi Jungkook! You [12:38pm]: im glad u went!!! u should also try their fettuccine alfredo

Seconds later, he sent a picture of the dish you just mentioned which put a smile on your face.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:39pm]: i'll get my refund from you if this doesnt taste good

You [12:40pm]: 1 week of friendship and ur already ripping me off 🤐

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:40pm]: 😁 Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:40pm]: first bite Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:41pm]: second bite

What was he on, you didn't know. But you were glad that he was slowly coming around, his jokes getting more... how would you say it... less polite? He just stopped apologizing after he said them! He usually would in the first few days, but now in your newfound closeness, it was like you were out of that stage where you tiptoed around each other still, feeling the other one out, trying to figure them out, all that stuff.

Nowadays, it was just more natural. Smooth-sailing. Paradoxical, almost, because of how the relationship felt more defined as well as loose.

You found you liked it that way. 

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:42pm]: I like it 👍🏻

And to your surprise, he sent you a picture of him, indeed, holding a thumbs up.

You'd like to think you were an expert on going along with the tide because even though you would be classified as introvert by most, you did pretty well in forming relationships with people–granted, most of them were fleeting, at best, hence the lack of bigger circles in most of your life–but you were great with making friends, regardless. 

And maybe it was how you ended up with this whole thing with Jungkook. Because you were friendly and open, although you wouldn't dare to take all credits because as you mentioned before, he was a great conversationalist.

He didn't talk much as you said, but he didn't ever make you feel like you were talking way too much because he made sure that you knew he was listening, and when he talked, it was always engaging; conversations with him transitioned to different subjects in perfect seugue you would never noticed how you jumped from Melona ice pops to the existential dread you fought every morning before going to work.   

When it came to humor, Jungkook's was different from Jimin's, of course, and your dynamic with your best friend could never be replicated with somebody else but Jungkook was close to truly becoming your friend, and for that, it was getting easier to ignore his handsome face.

You may have had an embarrassing moment of panicking mentally at seeing such a man in the first meeting, but nowadays, you could hold a conversation with him without thinking how hot he was.

Dare you say, you were starting to think more platonically about him rather than romantically. As you said, you were an expert on going along with the tide.

Or maybe that was too soon a declaration, because there were moments, like now, when you were certain juvenile flirting insisted on happening between you, steering you clear from completely feeling wholly platonic about Jungkook.

"I certainly have a bigger hand than you."

As if you didn't know that, Jungkook brought his hand up to show you it. Confused but not totally minding the whole thing, you proceeded to extend your own hand towards his, pressing them both together. Predictably, his hand could have engulfed the entirety of your own.

Jungkook laughed at the sight, and you didn't know exactly who broke the physical contact first but you were glad it was over as soon as it started.

But you couldn't have forgotten the electric zap along your spine when your hand got so close like that to his. Couldn't have ignored the hot feeling in your cheeks when you were made aware of what you just did.

Wow.

Were you guys flirting? Was he flirting? It was flirting, right? Juvenile, at best, because this was what kids did in high school! And Jungkook's hand was so...

You never imagined what it felt like–never even crossed your mind until now. Expectations about how his hand felt never formed in your head because you sure as hell never thought about that kind of thing happening in the first place, but Jungkook's hand was the right balance of soft and hard. Calloused in a way most men's hands naturally were, and soft like enough comfort when held and touched.

It wasn't clammy, thank god, but you also wouldn't have thought he had clammy hands, solely because he just looked like he didn't. But god, was it big.

And my goodness, did it make you feel things.

You drank your water fast and cleared your throat, subtly, so that he didn't think too much of it.

"O-okay, but that's just genetics. Doesn't mean you could throw stronger punches."

You said in retaliation to one of your useless debates which now covered the coin-operated boxing arcade machine across the bus station nearby.

Jungkook leaned back against the monobloc chair that was definitely way too flimsy for him.

You were currently hanging out at the dining area of the food truck you came across a few days ago, forgoing Midday Miso for the night. Lately, Jungkook and you have been exploring a few more places other than there. You've tried other restaurants nearby, but ultimately, Midday Miso was still the top favorite and the food truck was becoming a staple in lieu of its convenience and just the overall vibe of eating outside and feeling the breeze of summer night air.

"You got me curious about the boxing machine." Jungkook said, crossing his arms.

"I held the highest score there for like a week, you know? Only did it though to impress the kids who liked to watch."

At that, Jungkook's face lit up in interest.

"We should do that sometime."

"Oh... I see, I see. You wanna impress the kids, too?" You playfully accused, squinting your eyes at him.

He chuckled and waved you off.

"It can be a challenge." Jungkook shrugged and looked at you with a hint of mirth in his eyes.

You let out a puff of breath, amused at his obvious antics.

"What's the catch?"

"Well... free boba delivered to your door for a week if you get the higher score. How's that sound?" He looked at you expectantly.

You chuckled before saying, "I'm gonna rip you off so bad, Jungkook."

"Only if you win, though." He said with a mischievous smirk. 

"Oh, wow. When, you mean. When I win. So what's in it for you?" You leaned your elbow on the table and studied his face.

He looked at you for a while, then, the smirk from earlier was wiped off and exchanged with a much gentler smile.

"Home-cooked dinner at my place next week Friday."

Your eyebrows met.

"You want me to cook you something? Jungkook, do you have a death wish? I may either give you unintentional food poisoning or burn your house down, there's no in between."

"No," Jungkook laughed at your insane conclusion. "Sorry, I should've specified. I mean if you lose, I'll be cooking us a meal at my place."

"Oh."

You were left staring at him, a bit dumbfounded.

He just said he wanted to cook you guys a meal. At his place.

He was inviting you to his place. His personal space.

"It won't be better than Midday Miso but I think I can keep up." Jungkook added with a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head in that seemingly boyish manner.

"Sure..." you responded, a bit delayed, much to your effort of not showing your big surprise at his offer. Before he noticed the way you were not believing what you heard, you chose to quip in a (hopefully) cheeky, "That is if you win, though."

Jungkook only hummed and then nodded.

"If I win."

He said, smiling at you.

This was dangerous.

The whole thing was teetering to something that was not very platonic, and just as you were starting to think this whole thing was!

Jimin always told you that you were bad at flirting, but in your defense, how were you supposed to know, exactly, if someone was flirting with you? A lot of people were friendly like that! Jungkook was maybe like that? Had you shown interest and he noticed so now he was playing into it? But that would be uncharacteristic of him. You didn't think he'd be the type to do something cruel like that...

But the tide was always rising and falling, they said, and the good thing was; you knew how to go along with the current.

So you did what you do best.

"Would you like to donate to the poor?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but there's a chance this card's gonna decline because I am the poor."

The cashier looked you in the eye with an even more impassive look than the one she had before you got your turn on the counter.

"Could've just said no." She said, punching your order away and you had to shamefully swipe your card and leave to go over where Jimin was.

"The cashier just snubbed me for being poor." You complained to Jimin, moving your coat to the next seat and settling in in yours.

Jimin took a sip from his latte and looked at you dead in the eye and said, "I'll call the manager if you want."

"Fuck off." You retaliated immediately. Jimin snorted at your way too predictable response.

See, this has happened way too many times more than what your fingers could count. You could not even pinpoint the exact time when Jimin started to joke about going full-on Karen-mode when you complained about a single little thing at the places you went to.

Anyway, you were currently on a lunch break when Jimin texted to see if you were free. What better way to spend your lunch than with your best friend? The company's canteen food was getting tired and they hiked up their prices. Your office's kitchen also ran out of Solhee's – your coworker – biscuits and so you thought you had to make do of Jimin's money for that day. You told him your motives yourself and as a petty retort, he told you to pay for your own pasta — at a café that was way too expensive for its own good.

You stole a bite off his churros, and predictably, he rolled his eyes at you.

"Why'd you want to see me, by the way? What's up? You don't have training?" you glanced at your wristwatch, reading 12:40pm.

Soon, you were casually taking over his plate of churros. For how ridiculously priced it was, it sure tasted good as hell.

"I got the day off." Jimin shrugged.

You eyed him suspiciously almost immediately.

"Did you really...?"

It was a few seconds before Jimin gave in and took back his plate.

"Okay, no, I ditched the training today but for the record it's for a very important reason."

You put your hand over your chest and contorted your face in an awed, touched expression.

"The important reason being... meeting me?"

"Ew, no," Was Jimin's quick, disgusted, response – which earned a laugh from you as usual.

From your peripheral vision, you saw the waiter heading towards your direction and so you waited for him to come over and serve you your pasta and frappe. After thanking him, you huddled closer to your best friend and asked, "Okay, what is it then?"

Jimi pursed his lips, making your eyebrows meet.

"It's kinda... bummer news."

"You're pregnant?"

"No, you'd be way too happy and I can't be a single dad," He shook his head as if not even wanting to imagine that.

"Namjoon looks like he's gonna take care of it with you." You sing-sang, sipping on your coffee and winking at him indiscreetly – emphasis on indiscreetly because you never knew how to wink properly.

What you did not expect, was the look on Jimin's face when you mentioned Namjoon.

"Well..." He trailed off, and you waited for it curiously; anticipating his impending answer in return because your conversation was always quick-witted like that. But right now, Jimin's expression was devoid of any jokes. 

Not something you expected when you just mentioned his boyfriend.

"I— did something happen?" You quickly dropped the teasing tone and exchanged it with a concerned one, eyes looking at him with worry.

Jimin closed his eyes for a while and let out a deep breath. "See, that's the bummer news."

"Do you want to tell me? Or we can just—"

He cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. But he did it with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes – and this was Jimin. His eyes did not not reach his eyes when he smiled!

"He's going to Italy."

"Oh."

When the pause prolonged for over a minute, with you looking at him mouth agape, Jimin let out a heavy sigh once again and shook his head.

"I know. It's work... and I always understood that. He travels a lot and we're both okay with it. But it was usually just around the country, not another continent. I mean, what did he mean Italy? And that's not even the worst part. He knew a month ago he was going but he only told me two days ago and he's leaving Thursday," Jimin looked at you to take a pause, seemingly trying to look for a reaction.

You thought, that's tomorrow.

As if he read your mind, he nodded, sounding almost defeated.

"I know."

"Oh, Jimin..." You said, not exactly knowing what to say.

Jimin and Namjoon had been together for over a year. At least, officially, because they spent the last three years just casually hooking up on and off. You liked them together and had been more than glad when they finally put a label to it – exactly why you knew Namjoon enough to not badmouth him when you usually would men Jimin usually dated. You knew perfectly well that Namjoon genuinely cared about your best friend and he loved him. So if Jimin was at a loss for this obvious mistake on his boyfriend's part, even more so you were.

"He's been blowing up my phone ever since." Jimin added, glancing at his phone on the table. "Intentionally didn't charge my phone today so I don't receive his calls and texts."

That prompted you to remember the message you received from Namjoon last night.

"Oh, that's why he texted me yesterday. He asked about you, and I told you through text but you didn't answer." Things were starting to make sense now, and as you observed Jimin's face, they were getting clearer. "You never talked since?"

Jimin pursed his lips. He took his coffee back to his mouth and sipped while looking away. "Nope."

"Jimin." You tilted your head.

He looked at you again, and you knew exactly that he was thinking the same thing as you: It was within his right to feel off about what Namjoon did, but regardless; Jimin was being a little petty, and he needed to communicate with his boyfriend instead of giving him the cold shoulder.

There was a pout that formed on Jimin's lips right after.

"I know. I just..."

"He could've told you sooner?" He nodded at your words. You mirrored that. "He should have. Italy is not Busan – it's not just a train ride away."

Jimin sighed, looking exasperated now. "I told him that exactly. I'm not even mad he's going to Italy, I just think I deserve to know right after he was told about it."

You nodded. "You should really talk. It sounds like he wants to apologize, anyway, given that he's now trying to talk to me to get through you."

"Sorry you got caught up in this. I'm gonna talk to him about it."

"Eh, it's fine. Joon and I are also friends, you know?" You shrugged, genuinely not minding Namjoon coming to you. 

You liked Namjoon and thought that he was the perfect match for Jimin. They were cute together and just seemed to... take the best out of each other. You'd go to any lengths to keep them together, as long as Jimin wanted Namjoon and as his boyfriend. You've seen Jimin go from relationships to relationships, some just fleeting and simple dalliances, and most destructive and were just... not good for him. You've never seen your best friend truly happy and committed in a romantic relationship other than with Namjoon, and as someone who cared about him, you'd do a lot of things to make him happy.

"Here's another thing, his flight is tomorrow at 11:30pm in the evening. Mom's birthday dinner is at 10." Jimin usually had his composure everytime, and it was very rarely you'd see him show any worry because he liked everybody to think he was in control of every situation. You smiled. Classic Jimin. He'd only ever show his true nature to you though, and that was exactly why he looked at you with worried eyes and continued to say, "I really wanna be there to send him off."

The call time for his mother's party was at 10 and naturally people would start swarming in way past that time. If Jimin were to sneak out way too early, you knew his mother was not going to be happy about it and his father would give him an even bigger shit for it. Sure, he could cancel, but what would he say? That their supposed cishet son is sending off his boyfriend at the airport for the night? He couldn't reason work either because he didn't exactly have one.

After having his wrongful DUI accusation last spring– which was actually already settled, on the grounds that it was definitely not DUI and the owner of the other car just overreacted to a fender bender, the media was adamant on tactically using that to taint his family's image and it unfortunately succeeded – hence, why Jimin had been laying low these past few months; going to training programs, obeying his parents more than usual, doing what they wanted...

You sighed. Your best friend deserved so much better.

"Don't worry, I'll find a way to get us to leave early." You told him after awhile.

Jimin arched his brow, intrigued.

Waving him off, you said, "I can fake something."

As if hearing some magic words, Jimin suddenly perked up.

"No way you're using the diarrhea card?"

Giving him a dirty look, you shook your head. "Nah, not during a dinner party. It's gotta be something new and less... gross."

"Oh, oh!" Jimin put a finger over his lip. "What about a sprained ankle? Can you pull that off?"

You deadpanned. "Okay, you ought to pay me more if you want me to do that."

"I can, but I won't. Stop ripping me off, I'm your best friend."

"Jimin, I'll save you from your family. I'm great at this." You said jokingly, but you hoped that he knew you weren't just jesting and were serious about it.

With the appreciation masking your best friend's face, though, you knew he got the message right away, but as you looked at him longer, you realize that he was about to say something and you quickly pulled back, shaking your head.

Jimin quickly reacted. "No! You know what, I'm gonna say it—"

"Don't say it." You quickly cut him off, giggling while you shake your cup of coffee.

"You can't keep me from saying I lo—"

"Jimin, I will tell everybody in this place you watch dubbed anime, I'm serious."

He gasped, quite dramatically.

"You did not just go there!" Then, he lowered his voice a bit, arching his brow at you, vindicative when he said, "You wore skinny jeans a month ago."

"How dare you, you wore a fuckass poncho last week. I saw on your IG story."

"That was from Namjoon and he also gave you one, FYI."

You grimaced. "Tell him I love him but I'm not wearing a poncho, Jimin."

"I was gonna tell you I love you and that you're the best person ever but now I have to rethink all of that." He rolled his eyes, and when the banter ended with you having the last words, you laughed at his face.

"God, you're just never beating me at this."

"Please, we both know you write your mediocre insults on your diary every night trying to one-up me, __. But let's talk about something else."

"I'm not even gonna acknowledge the diary thing but, sure, shoot." You said, starting to eat your pasta.

Jimin looked at your food full of judgement and grimaced. "Is that shrimp? Your doctor is growing grey pubes as we speak," He commented, and you knew he was referring to your shrimp allergy so you shushed him.

"This is vegan shrimp. It's tofu."

He just shook his head, disagreement written on his face. But he let it pass, anyway.

"Anyway, how's Mr. 446?"

The pasta suddenly entered the wrong track.

"Girl," Jimin was quick to offer you the glass of water on his side and you were just as fast to drink it. "You okay?"

"I'm sure there are existing cases of people dying because food got on the wrong track while they're eating, but yeah, sure, I'm okay." When you finished the water, you looked at Jimin who was just doing the same thing.

Crossing his arms, he eyed you expectantly. "Well?"

"I mean... what do you want me to say?" you told him, and you could've sworn you did not want to show anything on your face but you were certain there was a huge smile on it and for some reason, you couldn't help it.

Jimin's jaw dropped, expressions of disbelief and amusement when he asked you curiously, "What do you mean by that?"

"Okay, look, Jimin—" You scratched the back of your head, feeling a little sheepish to tell him all about Jungkook. "He told me we'd get dinner at his place this Friday if he wins this... thing."

His mouth was agape by then and you couldn't help but laugh.

"You... slut."

You would absolutely be rolling off the floor if you weren't at a public place the moment he mouthed the word, but still, you couldn't help but retort back.

"Shut up, you can't be the only one whoring around in this friendship." Jimin snorted at that and you both had to stifle your laughter when you noticed a woman from across the room eyeing you both.

This was one of the reasons why Jimin and you didn't belong in public places other than bars or clubs – because you were way too rowdy together for civilization.

"So you're saying you're whoring around?" He eyed you suspiciously.

"Wrong information. It's actually kind of platonic."

Jimin quickly waved you off. "Babe, if a guy invites you to his place, nothing is ever platonic about it. What do you think you'll do together there? Stare at each other for two hours straight?"

God, you hated and loved that he enables your delusions.

"Okay, you're being insane about this. It's just dinner," Trying to fight off the not-so-very-platonic things that suddenly played in your head after hearing his previous remark. To show that you didn't care, you added for good measure, "—And anyway, we had some sort of deal about it so it's not definite."

Your best friend just shrugged. "I'm all for it. But you're sure he isn't a serial killer, right?"

"Jimin, god, no," you chuckled at that. "I mean, I don't really know for sure, but we're friends now and as far as I know, he's never shown signs of psychopathy."

Jimin and you hadn't hung out in a while, so you haven't really told him all about Jungkook yet and the things you got to know about him. He didn't even know his name. As far as he was concerned, Jungkook was still Mr. 446, and you were fine keeping it that way. He had a lot on his plate right now, anyway.

"Just being cautious." He sing-sang, putting both his hands in the air.

You shook your head.

"Anyway, we also need to talk about what we're gonna wear tomorrow," Jimin suddenly said. "You got the Pinterest board I sent you, right? For the inspo."

Grinning, you grabbed your iPad from your bag and got to the link immediately. Your phone died on the way to the café. Good thing you had another device and brought it with you.

"I also added a few things in here. Gold and black's the theme, right?" You clarified, scrolling through the board you and Jimin both contributed to. Your best friend took it upon himself to transfer seats so he could be beside you and look at your screen at the same time.

"You're gonna look so good in Schiaparelli, babe," Jimin said while checking out the pictures you added.

"It's just an inspo, I don't actually need to wear a Schiaparelli." You chuckled.

"Who do you think your best friend is?"

You both laughed at that but it stopped when a notification popped up on your computer. Recognizing the address as your work email, you were quick to hover over it. When you were about to open it to see the full message, your iPad suddenly died.

"Shoot." You looked at Jimin with a straight face. "I forgot to plug it in. Didn't notice the battery."

Jimin grimaced. "Didn't bring any power cable."

"We'll have to do with a phone. Mine died."

You were just about to ask him for his but then you remembered what he said about avoiding Namjoon, hence, his phone was of no use either. 

"We're gonna have to freestyle."

Last year, Mrs. Park's party was held at a theater hall – your first time at one, by the way.

Tonight, it was at their mansion.

You've only ever been to the Park's a total of one time, which was now. Stepping a foot inside here for the first time in your life, the house felt unreal. It was the epitome of money and wealth and everything regal in the world – like a palace of some sort. They had butlers and guards at the gates so maybe that wasn't an exaggeration, but damn, Jimin truly came from money.

Regardless of how shiny the whole building was in both literal and figurative senses though, there was an emptiness to it. It didn't look lived in – which was a fair assumption for a house this big. It definitely did not look like people liked staying here, and maybe that was not a stretch, because as soon as he turned 18, Jimin moved away and lived in his own place ever since. You asked him on your way here and he told you it was his first time this year to visit his own house.

The decoration was sick, though. Granted, they must have surely hired people to do it but at least they'd hired excellent ones. You wouldn't have expected anything less from Jimin's mom.

Jimin and you arrived at 10pm sharp, and thankfully, people were already starting to fill the place up. It was now past 15 minutes to 10pm since you arrived and there really was nothing different that went on from last year; you saw some familiar faces, politicians, and celebrities. Jimin introduced you to some people as his girlfriend, and you got to have quick chats with his model friends.

You knew it didn't actually matter if you thought about it carefully, but there was truly nothing compared to the feeling you get when you see someone in the flesh that you only see on TV all your life. You didn't feel lucky to see them in person, per se, you were just poured over the realization that these people were actually real and they weren't just some sort of simulation to keep the entertainment industry of your country afloat.

Although, you did meet Han Sol – an actress whose works you genuinely admired. Jimin just told you her husband was his second cousin.

It wasn't later that Jimin and you were invited to his family's table, where some of his cousins and immediate family were.

The greetings went pretty normal. Normal as in: Jimin's mom didn't say anything about your weight first thing first. Granted, she didn't try to hide the look of disappointment on her face when she saw you with his son. Probably reeling at the fact that you were still "dating" each other even after a year — she was probably under the impression that it wasn't serious between you two last year. His father, meanwhile, was... quiet. As usual. A man who obviously didn't really say much except ask Jimin about the training program and his siblings' jobs.

Mr. Park didn't really talk to you, just like last year. Like you were almost invisible to him – and you were glad that was the case. He probably didn't like to acknowledge your supposed relationship in the first place. Probably knew that you were working a middle-class job and didn't want to know any further. But at least, he wasn't saying anything. That was nice.

"Where's your cousin?" Asked Jimin's mom suddenly, looking at his son.

"He said he got caught up in traffic. Sent 20 minutes ago." Jimin shrugged. You would ask him about which cousin they were referring to but they had like millions of it at these events so you didn't bother.

Mrs. Park shook her head disapprovingly. "That kid. Always late to the family dinners. Did Junghyun ever teach—"

"Hey,"

Your attention was then focused to the man who just arrived. Black tie, tall... dashing. Jimin was a good-looking individual and his family, as evil as they may be as per his words, were blessed with good genes. If you were to look at the new man that arrived to the table very carefully, you'd say he almost looked familiar.

"Oh, Junghyun!"

Jimin glanced at you and discreetly mouthed, "Cousin."

"Aunt, happy birthday." He said after laughing at Jimin's mother coos. He looked across the table and continued, "Hi, uncle. Jaeyul, Sunghoon, Jimin." They all greeted him back and you could feel the hairs on your nape starting to stand up when his eyes landed on you once again. "And this is...?"

"Oh, that's Jimin's girlfriend, __." Jaeyul, Jimin's brother said.

"Hi." you greeted him, waving a bit.

"Oh?" Junghyun immediately looked at Jimin, eyes not hiding his shock. When you trained your eyes on Jimin, you felt his fake smile. "That's great, man. I didn't know you had a girlfriend. Hi, miss...?"

"It's __." you filled in.

"Nice to meet you, __." He said with a smile. The more you looked at him, the more you could almost pinpoint who he looked like – but that shouldn't really matter.

Junghyun looked over Jimin's parents once again, "Anyway, sorry I'm a bit late, got caught up in traffic."

Jimin cleared his throat.

"How about you, Junghyun? Got a girlfriend yet?" He asked as soon as Junghyun sat on the opposite side of the long table.

You could see Jimin's mother's curiosity peaking at that.

"Tell us, dear. Last time you were dating Kang Iseul, right? The actress. You're still with her?"

Everybody at the table nodded while you almost choked on the smoked quail you were eating. He was dating Kang Iseul? She was a popular actress who announced a hiatus three years ago. That actress Kang Iseul?

Junghyun chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, aunt, that was my brother, and uh, no, I'm not dating anybody currently."

"Oh well. I just wish your brother stops dating that woman. I never really liked that girl. She acts way too self-righteous! I mean, who cut ties with their billionaire father and live independently just so they can say they're self-made? It's ridiculous." Jimin's mother said in that usual snotty tone of hers, and you could not possibly process all of what was going on.

If it wasn't clear to you a moment ago, it was crystal now. Unfortunately, you were a bit chronically online and were there in real time when one random tweet blew up about Kang Iseul being a nepotism baby. But was this guy's brother really dating her? The most important and concerning thing, though, was that: why was Jimin's mom always so annoying about who her family members date? And this was not even her immediate family, mind you.

"Jina," Jimin's father had a warning tone when he called her but Jimin's mom just shrugged him off with a "tsk!"

"Kids are so ungrateful nowadays, don't you think? Anyway, Junghyun dear, you remember the Kang gala I told you about two months ago?" Jimin's mom looked pointedly at Jimin and you bit your lip.

Of course, here comes her passive aggressive disapproval of you. 

"Kang Heesu and her sister Kang Hani will be there. Heesu is a wonderful woman," she chuckled, looking over at Jimin's direction subtly. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Couldn't she be more obvious about acting as a wingman for Jimin and Heesu? But she continued, just like she always did. "I also heard Kang Hani is going for senior partner at Yoon and Yang, you may be interested. Pretty lady."

Junghyun just awkwardly laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jimiin's father suddenly spoke, making everyone look at him.

"Where is that kid?" He said, authority dripping through his voice. Jimin was obviously not close to his father, and who would be? Mr. Park was way too intimidating. You found it funny to think if he ever did anything remotely paternal towards his children.

"We were supposed to go together but he said he had something to finish. He'll be arriving later." Junghyun said, obviously not oblivious to the "kid" Mr. Park was referring to. You were way too uncaring to actually try to figure that out.

"I see." Jimin's father nodded. "How's Jeon and Min, Junghyun? I heard you were just appointed managing partner last week."

Junghyun responded with a "yes" and they started to talk about the law firm – you assumed – and other people they mutually knew related to the business.

You knew Jimin's complicated family tree was composed of all sorts of professionals, but damn, they had lawyers in here too. It was like out of a career day event at grade schools.

"Is it true Gukka's going to be CEO?" Jimin's mother said, joining the conversation.

You were glad they were doing all the talking. Last year, they talked to you like they were interrogating you and that was not nice.

"Well, dad's not giving up the company so soon. Gukka's going for interim CTO first." Junghyun said with a polite smile.

Gukka. That must be the brother of Junghyun, although it sounded more like a nickname than a real name.

"Your brother's a hard worker. He's looking at a CEO position, some are still at training programs." Jimin's father remarked with a pointed tone.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself. You thought it was gonna take awhile for the comparison to start, but it seemed they were determined to beat their record of one hour from last year.

You tried subtly looking at Jimin to see if he was okay or anything, but you felt him squeezing your wrist under the table. His face was devoid of any emotion as he continued with his own food.

Junghyun, meanwhile, was obviously taken aback by the response and also looked over at Jimin. He was quick to recover, though – probably knew that was a jab at his cousin just like every other person in the room. Atmosphere grew tense, and you had to squirm in your seat a little bit.

"Training programs help a lot, though." Junghyun awkwardly laughed. You were starting to feel bad for him as well.

"Well, you're lawyering. Trainings are important. Mine's kinda stupid." Jimin said which made everybody look at him, including you.

"You're learning anything yet, son?" His father pointedly looked at him.

"We'll see."

Jimin's dismissive tone made you feel the eye roll he would've done after saying that.

Look, he rebelled for the most part of his life so him being passive-aggressive towards his family was not a new thing, but to witness it was both nerve-wracking and honestly... funny. His parents were such assholes so they probably deserved his attitude.

Mrs. Park smiled a fake one before looking at you.

"Well, what about you __ dear? You're a... what was that again? How is that going for you?"

Because you wanted to piss them off, you mirrored her fake smile and said, "I got fired six months ago at my accounting job."

"Pft—" you pinched Jimin's arm at his reaction.

Of course he'd laugh at that. You asked him how you could piss his parents off tonight just to get back at them from last year and he told you to pretend to be unemployed or you work a minimum wage job because that was their biggest ick. Jimin didn't know you were going to come through.

"Oh."

The look on Jimin's mom's face looked as if she heard the most scandalous thing ever, and if his father's frown was deep even before the dinner started, his face was now below the ground. It felt satisfying to get those looks on their faces. Good! They were such assholes. Imagine getting devastated at someone being unemployed? Okay – for the record, being unemployed was devastating but these people weren't sympathizing with that, they found it humiliating in an elitist way– criminal almost. 

You nodded, your lips almost getting tired from stretching them too far.

"Yeah. Anyway, I started working at a local burger joint. You should visit us sometime."

"I'm vegan." Jimin's mom said, her face now drained with the fake joy she's worn all night.

"We have vegan options." you quipped. Jimin once again made a sound beside you, hiding his laughter.

"Wait, really? They offer vegan options at a street burger joint?" Sunghoon, the youngest of the Park brothers, asked.

You almost laughed at the genuine curiosity in his voice. He was still in high school and from what Jimin told you, he was a nice kid. He wasn't very close to any of his brothers, though.

"Nah, it's the only one in town." You bullshit one more time, drinking the wine beside you. "Sorry, can I excuse myself for a minute?"

They nodded and you stood up, heading to the bathroom, brisking once you got out of their sight to get there more quickly.

It was now 10:30 pm – meaning, you had to do something to get Jimin out of here now if he wanted to be on time at the airport to send off Namjoon.

Once you got inside, you looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. 

This whole thing was sucking the shit out of your soul, but you needed to get through it.

It took you awhile to finish your pep talk in the bathroom.

If only you could've have locked yourself in there to avoid socializing with anybody, you willingly would. But you were running out of time and unfortunately, you had something to do and that was to fake some illness to get both Jimin and you out of here.

When you got out to approach the family's table one more time, you suddenly stopped in your tracks.

The table was at least fifteen meters away from where you stood, but you could clearly see the side in which Jimin's cousin, Junghyun, sat, facing your direction. He wasn't the issue – no, far from it. It was the guy beside him who wore the same set of black tie as him; the face attached to the body who wore it though, was someone you did not expect to see.

Why the fuck was Jungkook, Unit 446, here?!

From where you were, you could see him engaging with Junghyun and Jimin's parents. You couldn't hear them, of course, but it was clear that they were acquainted – close – even from afar.

Why did he look so comfortable with the Parks? Why was he at the family table laughing and conversing with everybody, including Jimin? Why did he seem like he went to many of these, like this was just another Thursday for him?

There was a waiter who walked past you and you were grateful for it because had it not been the case, people would start to get weirded out about you standing on the same place longer than necessary, looking stoned. That was also an opportunity to run away from the situation without Jungkook possibly seeing and recognizing you.

"I'll take this," You told the waiter and grabbed the glass of champagne and quickly turned on your heels, heading to the opposite side of the family table where the Parks, and apparently, Jungkook were.

You found yourself heading to the bathroom again, your feet seemingly developing a mind of its own as it led you there unconsciously. You knew you'd be in trouble if they found out about you putting the champagne glass in the sink, but you needed to get inside the toilet and think over everything that was happening tonight.

What the fuck. What the fuck!  Again, why the hell was Jungkook here?

As far as you knew, he was just a regular man that happened to be living across from you. He was just supposed to be some guy you were regularly hanging out with nowadays. Your friend. Your crush – whatever! What he wasn't supposed to be is be here at your best friend's mother's birthday party and hanging out with his family!

Your phone dinged, a message notification from Jimin welcoming you.

cuntress #1 [10:32pm]: girl what happened I saw u going back to the bathroom?

You didn't know why it was suddenly too hot, but you felt the balls of sweat starting to form on the side of your forehead.

You [10:33pm]: im going with the diarrhea excuse

cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: tbh idc atp I just wanna go to joon 😔

"Shit!"

Right! Joon. Namjoon. Jimin needed to go to Nmajoon as soon as possible.

cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: also another cousin has arrived u rmr jeon jungkook he's junghyun's brother cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: love this guy but moms starting to compare me to him and I need out right NEOW im justt aking hits after hits jesusssssss

You could just feel the blood draining from your face as soon as you read Jungkook's name in the text.

Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook. Gukka. Kook-a.

That was why the Junghyun guy looked familiar. Because he had the same coloring of Jeon Jungkook. Because they were goddamn siblings.

You started to replay some memories in your head, trying to figure out if you've ever heard Jungkook talk about his family in one of your conversations. But as far as you remembered, he never did. All you knew about him was that he was from the States, and he only got here because of work and he had a dog and as far as you were concerned, his cousin was definitely not Park fucking Jimin, your best friend.

Pacing around the confined space of the toilet, you tried to wrack your brain if you've ever mentioned Jimin to him and in the event that you did, why he never told you that he was his cousin – but you came up blank. Blank because you never told him about your best friend's name... and in turn, Jimin didn't know what Mr. 446's name was, either. They were both genuinely oblivious about the whole thing and couldn't have made you a fool in the situation.

In short, you were the one who was stupid as hell for not connecting the dots sooner.

"Hey, you just landed?"

If it was a private conversation Jimin would've left the room but since he didn't, you decided to stay in bed, kind of listening in to the conversation, but also not, as you turned the volume down of the show you were watching earlier on your laptop.

"Nah, you want me to pick you up?" Jimin sat up on the edge of the bed and you looked at him curiously. "Sure, I'm free, Kook. You have a place to stay? Hotel suite or something?" He nodded to whatever the other person was saying on the other line. "Oh, you're here for three months? Thought you were just flying in for mom's birthday?"

It was moments after they said goodbye that Jimin turned to you to ask, "Well, my cousin's apparently staying here for three months. Got this job thing going on."

"Fuck me." You hissed, remembering that time when Jimin told you about his cousin staying here for three months because of work.

cuntress #1 [10:35pm]: its either ur taking a guinness world record breaker piss there or u really do have diarrhea now and ur shitting cuntress #1 [10:36pm]: anyway get this, jungkook's gonna be interim cto at your company did u know that??????????????????

You almost dropped your phone upon reading the last message.

What the hell did he mean by that?

Heart beating fast as if it wanted to break out of your own ribcage, you closed your eyes and read Jimin's message once again. There was no way he would be shitting you about any of this. He knew where you worked at and you knew your current company was his uncle's, and now that you knew Jungkook was his cousin...

Shit. Was this what they were talking about at the table earlier? About Junghyun saying his brother was gonna be interim CTO? Did he mean Jeon Jungkook all along? Your freaking neighbor?

Suddenly, you remembered the email you received that afternoon that you never bothered to check again because you simply forgot about it. Who even actually checks their work email? Literally no one. You spend your weeks facing your computer while email flew in like porn ads on a shady website, you weren't about to willingly go to the app and check it on your leisure time.

But maybe you should have.

Fingers involuntarily shaking in their wake as you switched to your work email on your phone, you clicked on the recent unread message that was on top from the HR department.

Subject: Invitation to Assembly Meeting: Announcement of Interim CTO Dear Blue Nexus Inc. employee, We hope this email finds you well. We would like to inform you that an assembly meeting has been scheduled on July 29, 2028, 10:00 am at the AVR Hall 5, 12th floor. The purpose of this meeting is to announce the appointment of our interim Chief Technology Officer (CTO), Mr. Jeon Jungkook. As you may be aware, our previous CTO, Mr. Shin Juman, is currently on medical leave recovering from a stroke. While he is recuperating and undergoing treatment, it has become necessary for us to appoint an interim CTO  for an indefinite period of time to ensure the continuity and effectiveness of our operations. Your presence at this meeting is highly valued as we introduce the new leadership to the team and outline our strategic direction moving forward. Light refreshments will be served. Thank you for your attention to this matter. We look forward to seeing you at the assembly meeting. Best regards, HR Department

You knew that feeling when you were just taking hits and hits? This was it.

So not only was Jeon Jungkook Jimin's cousin, he was also gonna be the interim CTO of the company you were currently working at. He was technically going to be your boss, and you would be both working in the same place all the while living across each other where he would see you taking out your trash every Sunday morning in your worn-out highschool PE shirt and pants. He was going to be your boss working at the company you complained to him about on the nights you walked together to your shared apartment complex.

You flirted with Jungkook. You flirted with the guy who was the son of the owner of your whole company building – and not only that, he was your best friend's cousin, to add salt to injury.

You [10:38pm]: jimin we need to get out of here

cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: ive been saying

You [10:38pm]: but i cant go out there again. Just tell them i had a problem in the bathroom??

cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: ok on it  cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: im kind of convinced u shitted in there tho????????

You rolled your eyes, but at the same time found an opportunity in that. Jimin can't know the truth.

You [10:39pm]: u cant judge me for having a very human experience fuck u the cake i ate earlier was giving cake boss

cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: KJAHFKGSIDFHDSHASFHSKJBF

You [10:39pm]: im literally doing this for u and joon

cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: IKNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!thanks to ur stomach problems cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: im going there

You [10:40pm]: make sure they don't see us again to really sell the whole im-embarassed-thing

cuntress #1 [10:40pm]: ON IT! Were going out the back door I don't think they'll notice

You couldn't even find it in you to laugh a little bit at your silly exchange and scheme, because you were way too stressed about what you just found out.

You let out a controlled, heavy breath, leaning your back on the door and shut your eyes aggressively.

"What the hell am I gonna do after this?"

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

Supercharged | JJK - Masterlist

Now Completed!!

🗲summary:

It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens?

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲overall word count: ~80k 🗲genre: angst, action, slow burn, enemies to lovers, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, weapons, swearing, arguing, injury, past trauma, mentions of death (these are general warnings; chapter-specific warnings are listed per chapter)

Teaser

Character Moodboards/Bios: Jungkook | Yoongi | Hobi | V | Jimin | Jin | Namjoon | You

Supercharged Playlist

Chapter 1 - The Light Dies He’s the hero. Unfortunately for you, you’re not the villain.

Chapter 2 - Reign of Mercy There’s a whole world here, where your curse can start to bloom…

Chapter 3 - Figure it Out You become Jungkook’s problem.

Chapter 4 - We aren't Heroes, Honey A chaotic arrival turns everything on its head, and the boys are ready to let you in on their real game.

Chapter 5 - Scared of a Little Lightning With the threat of Bolt rising, so do tensions within the base.

Chapter 6 - Burn Out When things get ahead of you, your powers aren’t the only things to spill over; some truth is ready to breach the surface.

Chapter 7 - Spark to Life “We don’t have time to argue” “No, we don't”

Chapter 8 - On the Force Jungkook smiles at you for the first time (and the second).

Chapter 9 - Thank me Later Our villains get their moment in the sun (well, the fire…)

Chapter 10 - Is This Not Control? You’re forced to come to terms with the danger – and the beauty – in the way your powers burn.

Chapter 11 - Right Beside You Jungkook has you to thank, if only he knew how.

Chapter 12 - Into the Depths If you aren’t cut out to be part of the group, then you’ll just have to go it alone.

Chapter 13 - One of Us Jungkook doesn’t seem to be angry for the reasons you expected.

Chapter 14 - Cover Me An unprecedented strike at the heart of bangtan leaves you baring yours.

Chapter 15 - Powerless It’s time to make the fight on your terms.

Epilogue - Sweet Taste How it all boiled down.

Updates every Sunday! To be on the taglist, send me a message, ask or comment!💜(now closed as series is completed! but comments are always still welcome)

THIS IS SO CUTEEE

tell me that you love me | joshua hong {part two}

SYNOPSIS. in which you and joshua are simply different in more ways than one, yet only seem to find a common ground in struggling to chase your dreams. so why does life keep throwing you two at each other, despite your different worlds, and why does it feel so terrifyingly right? PAIRING. musician!joshua hong x deaf-artist!reader (ft. cafe owner!jeonghan, musician!seokmin, best friend!seungkwan, best friend!wheein, producer!jihoon) GENRE. fluff, slice of life, kdrama romance-esque, mild angst, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn WARNINGS/TAGS. cursing, shua and reader has some self-doubt issues :(, someone makes insensitive comments about reader, mention of alcohol (beer), mention of cigarettes, everyone ships them, kissing, terms of endearment, Softie Domestic Joshua™, it conveniently rains when they're together, this is 85% fluff and 15% plot and the brainrot was giving me an existential crisis, honestly there's not much warnings it's just a love story <3 WORD COUNT (FOR PART TWO). 17k WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC). 37k

notes: for some reason even tho this whole part is almost as long as the first part it still feels rushed asf lmao. there are a bit of time skips between most sections, and prob a noticeable decline in quality the more u read HAHA. idk what else to say other than i hope you all enjoy and thank you for joining me on this journey <3 your feedback and reblogs mean the world to me !!

part one | part two

The taste of the salty breeze is sharp on your tongue. Sand raids onto your sandals and crawls playfully up to your ankles as you step foot on the expansive beach. 

“Ahh, it’s been a long time since we’ve gone to the beach!” Wheein exclaims proudly while running up to you and locking arms with yours, her hair tied back in two french braids, the carefree grin to her face infectious as ever. “No sad thoughts today. We’re here to have fun, ‘kay?”

She grabs you by the shoulders and eagerly shakes your body before you have the chance to respond. Wheein is right𑁋no sad thoughts today, it is. Seungkwan dashes up from behind as well, carrying with him two plastic bags full of drinks and snacks when the three of you stopped by the convenience store earlier. You carry a large blanket in your grasp as you all make your way to a spot a good distance away from the water. Ah, and you’ve brought your camera along too. 

It turns out that Wheein and Seungkwan had planned a surprise trip to the beach solely to celebrate your art being selected for the museum. But even though that didn’t happen, they still wanted to cheer you up and lift your spirits (meaning, they stood by your front door for nearly half an hour and constantly shone their phone flashlights to get your attention inside, practically dragging you out of bed. You still love them either way). 

The beach isn’t that busy at this time in the late afternoon during a weekday, so finding a quiet spot is easy. You lay out the blanket on a patch of smooth sand, making sure it's free of any debris. Seungkwan sets down the bags of snacks and drinks, and Wheein helps arrange everything neatly.

The water laps calmly up the coast, stretching for miles under the soft glow of the sun. As you settle yourself on the blanket, you catch sight of a trio of seagulls flying peacefully overhead while feeling the warmth of the sand below you and the cool breeze hitting your skin. 

It’s hard not to look at the picturesque scene right before your eyes. A sun, sunrise, or sunset on the beach is something you’ve painted many times before, but you probably wouldn’t tire of it. There’s a variety of colours that the sky contains𑁋from fiery oranges and bright blues to soft pinks and purples𑁋and many people would say it’s the easiest background to capture on a canvas. But you know better. 

Taking a hold of the camera around your neck, you adjust the lens and frame the seemingly endless skies right within the small viewfinder. The shutter clicks a few times as you capture the vibrant hues of the sunset slowly but surely beginning to take its course, freezing a moment of beauty in time. 

After taking a moment to review the photos, you bring the camera back up to your eye again and whip your head around with the intent of taking some candid shots. However, you certainly don’t expect to capture the face of Joshua mid-laugh. He's not looking at you, or the camera, but at Wheein and Seungkwan who seemed to have quickly dropped their belongings in order to greet him. There’s two other boys behind him too𑁋Jeonghan was one of them, the other one you weren’t able to put a name on, but the wide grin on his face was enough to tell you all that you needed to know. All of them are too far for you to be able to read what they’re talking about.

Happiness looks good on them, You think. 

Zooming out just slightly, a singular click is all you need to capture. It’s like everything that you need in a small, rectangular frame𑁋an encapsulation of pure joy. You lower the camera and take a few seconds to admire the candid show, the way the sun casts a golden glow on their faces, and the unguarded expressions of happiness that make the photo more than just perfect. 

Bringing your camera back around your neck, you stand up from the blanket and slowly approach the group. Joshua is the first to notice you come up, as he always is, and his face doesn’t shy away from seemingly brightening up. He’s wearing a plaid button down shirt with a few of its buttons undone, a seashell necklace around his neck, and a pair of black shorts. You also notice his guitar case slinging on his shoulder. 

You muster up a surprised look towards Wheein and Seungkwan about the guests you weren’t aware that were invited𑁋not that you’re complaining at all. 

Wheein waves a hand in front of your face, directing your attention towards her. 

“They’re here to sing!” she tells you, signing animatedly to you.

You lift a brow, letting your hands move in the air as if you’re conducting. “Sing?”

“I thought it would be a fun touch!” Wheein exclaims, then she steps closely right in front of you, seemingly lowering her voice and signing briskly so the others wouldn’t see, “I’m doing you a favour here.” 

“Y/N! This is Seokmin,” Seungkwan gestures to the boy who finally has a name standing right next to Joshua, spelling out the letters of Seokmin’s name with his hands.

Immediately, Seokmin switches whatever he was holding in his right hand𑁋a microphone stand?𑁋to his other hand before extending it out to you for a handshake in perhaps the most humourously, gentlemanly way possible. The goofy grin on his face is enough to make you giggle as you shake his hand firmly. 

“Nice to meet you,” You sign to him, and Seokmin’s eyes light up in awe at the way your hands move. He turns towards the others with a questionable look, and when they tell him what you signed, his grin widens even more. 

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Seokmin exclaims, the enthusiasm bouncing off him. Then he briefly glances between you and Joshua, wiggling his brows and adding, “I’ve been told a lot about you.” 

Glancing over at Joshua, you notice the way he brings his head down to his feet for a moment, but then he lifts himself back up and meets your gaze with a fond smile.

“Okay, you guys can go set your things up. Seungkwan and I will set up the snacks and drinks,” Wheein says. “I say we go in the water after the performance. Who’s in?” 

Right away, the remaining five of you come to a simultaneous agreement. Jeonghan, Seokmin, and Joshua begin to move towards a spot a little further down the beach where they can set up their equipment. Wheein and Seungkwan grab the bags with the food and drinks to set them up near the blanket, leaving you behind to soak in the sight of the beach once more. 

“Right here is good.” Joshua motions to a spot on the ground where Jeonghan sets up the speaker for the microphone. “Did you bring the extension cord?”

Jeonghan pleasantly rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he whips out the extension cord and connects it to the speaker with ease. “You really don’t believe in me, don’t you?” Then he glances past Joshua’s shoulders, smirking faintly to himself. “Target incoming. Six o'clock.”

Joshua turns his body around, wiping away the sand from his hands, and his eyes land straight on you approaching up to him. The corners of his mouth turn upward at the sight of you, dazed eyes lingering on the way you carry yourself quietly toward him. The sunlight catches in your hair, and the backdrop of the ocean makes you appear like a painting that had come to life. He quickly clears his throat.

When you come up to him, you hold out your phone towards him.

Didn’t expect to see you here today

Joshua stifles a half-hearted laugh, plucking the phone from your grasp to type right below your line. 

Is that a bad thing? 

As you read the message, you could only scowl playfully, before taking your phone back.

How did you even know about this anyway?

After scanning your message, Joshua glances around before pointing at something behind you𑁋to Wheein and Seungkwan, who were both dashing away from a wave that was washing onto the shore. 

“Your friends are really adamant about cheering you up,” he remarks teasingly. “I couldn’t just say no.” 

You could visibly see the utter panic in Wheein’s face from afar when Seungkwan nearly stumbles into the wet sand, her hands coming to grab the younger boy’s arm to pull him up. Then their faces shift into a fit of laughter. You really don’t know what you would do without them, honestly. 

“Thank you,” You sign to Joshua when you turn back to him. 

Joshua’s eyes roam over your face with a soft, contemplative expression. Then he motions down to your phone that was in your grasp, and you hand it to him, your fingers briefly brushing against each other.

A thoughtful look spreads across his features, before he types a response on your phone, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and you read his message:

You look beautiful today.

The words on the screen seem to glow brighter than usual, and you feel a rush of affection flood into you like the waves at high tide. Your hand nearly goes limp, almost dropping your phone into the sands below, your heart stuttering in your chest as you regain your composure. For once, even communicating with your hands feels clumsy, inadequate. 

But before you can say anything, a damp hand lands at your shoulder, and you whip your head around to see Wheein standing there, hair dripping wet and chest heaving with exhaustion. 

“If we don’t start, I’m going to kill Seungkwan,” Wheein says while exaggeratedly signing, face scrunched up in annoyance. 

You scratch the back of your neck bashfully before turning off your phone and averting your eyes away from Joshua. You drag Wheein away to help her dry off while the others set up the rest of the equipment. 

By the time everything is set up, there’s a small gathering of curious beachgoers nearby who seem to be drawn by the preparation going on. Some were sitting on blankets spread out on the sand, while others stood in small groups at a respectful distance. 

You find yourself sitting on a blanket with Wheein and Seungkwan right next to you. The two of them were conversing with each other, and all you could do was watch Joshua. He takes out his guitar from the case before sitting on a folded up plastic chair. He runs a hand through his hair and seems to strum a few notes, probably checking the sound levels𑁋Jeonghan sends him a thumbs-up from the side. Seokmin also sits down in a chair right next to him, adjusting the microphone to his mouth and tapping a few times on its head. 

“Hello, everyone!” Joshua announces into the microphone. He’s too far away for you to read his lips properly, but he’s still signing for you, for you to understand even when you’re not directly in front of him. Did he practice all of this beforehand? “Thank you all for stopping by to listen.” 

It’s hard to fully catch what he signs next. He might be nervous, you think, but that’s still endearing in itself. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the beach, as Joshua begins to strum his guitar. Seokmin fixes himself up to the microphone, fingers tapping beats against his thigh. His face shifts into focus, eyes closing to the music taking over that you can feel reverberate through the fresh air. 

Joshua's fingers dance across the strings, then Seokmin's voice joins in. You watch their performance unfold, catching glimpses of their expressions𑁋Joshua's focused yet occasionally glancing your way with a reassuring smile, Seokmin's eyes closed in immersion with the music.

At the corner of your eye, you see Wheein and Seungkwan swaying to the music. When Wheein turns towards you, she reaches down to grab your hand into hers and lifts it up into the air with a grin, swaying your hands together from left to right. She also does the same with Seungkwan, and it’s just the three of you moving your bodies enthusiastically to the music as it swarms throughout the lively atmosphere of the beach. The small gathered audience around seem caught in the moment too. 

When the first song ends, you clap along with the others, feeling the exhilaration of the performance blossom within your chest. Joshua lets his eyes roam around, briefly settling in your gaze for a moment, and the sight of your genuine joy only encourages him even more. He nods to Seokmin, who flashes him a thumbs-up, and then they dive into the next song.

It’s an emotional one this time. You could tell from the pensive looks on everyone's faces𑁋Seungkwan seems like he’s even about to cry𑁋and it only makes you think what they’re singing about. But you don’t let it bother you; instead, you still slowly sway your body, closing your eyes and letting yourself immerse in the moment. 

Grains of sand slip through the cracks of your fingers. The sun has almost fully set at this point, merely just a golden half-circle sinking into the horizon. Water drips down your hair and skin onto the towel below you, goosebumps crawling its way up your arms from the night breeze that was beginning to settle in. You have no idea what time it is right now𑁋the beach is probably going to close soon, you think. 

The others are still wading in the water, except for Jeonghan who might be passed out on another blanket not that far away from you. The events from the past few hours have started to rain down on you, a small yawn leaving you as you use the towel below to dab at your legs. 

However, you feel something encase around you suddenly, and you perk up to the warm feeling of a towel being draped over your shoulders. Looking up, you see Joshua standing right above you, a towel of his own in his hands. He places himself down right next to you as if it was the most natural thing to do, and you let him. You like… being close with him like this. 

Joshua dries off his hair with the towel, and you have to take your gaze away from the fact that his arms are exposed because of the sleeveless black top he was wearing. His hair comes out in a loose mess, wet strands sticking to his forehead. He glances over at you for a second, sending you a brief smile, and again, you avert your eyes away, moving your neck around to ignore the heat creeping up your body. 

You don’t suppress the smile passing over your own face, though.

A light nudge at your side blinks you back to reality, making you turn to see an illuminated phone screen right in front of you.

Tired? 

That was all to make another yawn leave you once again. Joshua just chuckles at the way you angle your face away from the phone screen, trying to hide your weariness. He brings the phone back to type something else before showing it to you. 

Feeling happy though? 

You almost want to scoff at that, but you don’t. It’s hard to not notice the way you feel happy right now. Maybe you’re glowing or something, maybe the pain that you feel in your cheeks is from all the smiles that was plastered on your face throughout the day. Whatever it is, you can’t deny it𑁋yes, you feel happy. 

Joshua sees it too. There was probably no use in asking. The answer blooms on your features, perhaps brighter than the first stars beginning to twinkle above. 

And so, you simply nod. 

When Joshua retrieves his phone back, there’s a subtle shift in his face that was noticeable in the light. His fingers start typing across the screen, but then it stops, starts again, and stops. 

He turns to you, expression turning serious. “Is it okay if I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.” 

You huddle more into the towel and meet his gaze with a curious tilt of your head. His eyes flicker between you and his phone. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he hesitantly shows you the screen.

Have you ever wished that you could hear again?

For some reason, Joshua expects for you to be taken aback by the question, maybe even awkward or offended. But, instead, a relaxed look graces your features, a subtle curve at your lips, and you shake your head. Then you take the phone, typing out: 

Not really. When I lost my hearing at 7, I used to cry to sleep knowing I won’t be able to hear my parent’s voices again or enjoy watching my favourite shows. But over time, I don’t let it bother me. It’s a part of who I am. It doesn’t make me any less than anyone else. It doesn’t make the world any less beautiful than it is now. There will always be challenges, like missing out on a joke or an important announcement. But I’ve learned to find beauty in the little things. Like feeling music through vibrations, or how sunlight hits my skin and tells me that the day is beautiful. I could read people’s faces and feel their excitement or their sadness. These are sounds in their own ways. So no, I don’t really wish I could hear again. I’ve found my own way to listen and be heard. 

You even feel out of breath after typing all that out, but you feel lighter. Your heart feels completely vulnerable right now, all the thoughts swirling around you seem easy to catch in another’s hands. But Joshua is gentle with those thoughts, as if he’s placing them back down on the ground for you to navigate them together. You notice a flicker of something akin to awe wash over his features as he quietly reads your words to himself, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. Then, he starts to type. 

For me, I’ve been surrounded by sound all my life. Voices, instruments, the noise of the city. It’s kind of hard to imagine going through life without it. I’ve learned to grow up analyzing tones, pitches, chords, and notes. And because of that I get afraid of being the one off-key. But I like being quiet with you. And I like talking to you. And I like getting to know you. There’s a part of me that thinks I wouldn’t get tired of looking at you. I don’t know if it’s the silence that helps me focus, but I just know it helps me focus on you. 

You swear you don’t even blink when you read over his words, once, twice, five times over. There’s a tugging at the strings of your heart, a sweet ache spreading through your chest, a sensation much to the pull of the ocean’s tide. When you draw your eyes away from the phone and to Joshua, his gaze meets yours in the middle, a hesitant question lingering painted over his features. 

He brings his hands once more. He points to himself first, then faces his hand towards his chest, putting his thumb and index finger close to his chest with the other fingers extended out. Next, he slowly moves his hand forward, bringing his thumb and index finger closer together. And finally, he points to you, like you’re the last piece of the puzzle.

“I like you.” 

A lump forms in your throat, and that familiar flutter of butterflies takes flight in your stomach, but it’s demanding this time and impossible to ignore. Letting your eyes drift over his face𑁋from his somewhat damp, tousled hair and down to the curve of his lips𑁋you know exactly how you feel.

Without hesitation; without doubt, you kiss him the next moment. It’s a tentative touch at first, making Joshua’s eyes widen in surprise and you pull away with uncertainty. For a second, he could only gaze at you, but then an adoring smile blooms across his face, an admiring sparkle in his pupils. Then he tilts his head just slightly, almost in a teasing manner, and leans back in to capture your lips against his once more. 

Even when your eyes flutter to a close, you still feel his smile against your skin, matching the warmth that spreads through you like strokes of paint on a canvas, like music that fills a silent space. Something comes to cover over your hand on the towel𑁋Joshua’s hand rest over yours, warm and securely, thumb coming to reassuringly rub over the skin there. 

When you pull away, you have the urge to bury yourself in the towel wrapped around you or run away in a fit of panic. You end up doing the former, burying your face further in the soft cotton. But Joshua doesn’t let you completely disappear, a shy chuckle of his own leaving his lips as he reaches out to gingerly tug the towel down just enough to reveal your eyes.

“Hi there,” he says softly, before some worry stretches across his face. “Are you okay?” 

You loosely release yourself a bit more from the towel’s grasp around you and meet his eyes with a small, reassuring smile. 

“I meant what I said,” Joshua continues. His hand still rests on yours while he lifts the other one to sign again, “I like you. I really do.” 

Glancing down at your laced hands, you absentmindedly brush away a few grains of sand that stuck to his knuckles. His skin is warm to the touch, and the intimate gesture makes you take a shallow breath. You lift your gaze back to this, and he follows the way you bring your hand up. 

You stick out your pinky finger, almost like a promise, and extend out your thumb as well, before moving your hand back and forth to sign,

“Me too.” You continue to run the tips of your fingers over his hand. I like you too.

“Did Seokmin tell you about Jihoon?”

Joshua sprays a bottle of disinfectant on a table before grabbing the rag that was hanging loosely on his shoulder. “Who?”

“The producer guy.”

The smell of the chemicals sends an unpleasant crinkle to Joshua’s nose. He pauses his cleaning for a moment. “Haven’t heard of him.”

“Well, he’s a producer apparently. A fairly new one. I think Seokmin mentioned that he went to high school and university with him𑁋wasn’t entirely close to him, though. Just a name that was sort of tossed around.” Jeonghan stops to take a loud bite out of a bag of chips. “But I’ve heard he’s got a studio opened now somewhere. So maybe…”

Joshua lightly chuckles. “You know I’ve gotten scammed from this type of stuff, right?”

“I’ve done my research.” Jeonghan promptly sits up in the chair (yes, he’s not helping with cleaning at all). “No heinous crimes have been committed. If anything, the only thing I could find on him is𑁋”

“Yo, Jeonghan! Where do you want this box of shit?” 

Jeonghan turns somewhat annoyedly towards the source of the voice: this guy named Wonsik that he had hired recently since having Joshua as the only other worker around was proving to be insufficient. Joshua can’t say he’s exactly a fan of him though. His attitude is a bit… brash, to say the least. 

“Just leave it in the storage room,” Jeonghan says, pointing in the direction with a chip in his hand. 

After wiping off the final corner of the table, Joshua feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. As he takes it out and catches a glimpse of the notification, he can’t help but smile to himself.

Joshua takes off the apron he’s been wearing, neatly hanging it up on a hook by the door that was designated for staff.

Jeonghan catches him mid-chew. “Curfew time?” 

“Yep.”

“Gross,” Jeonghan mumbles sarcastically while crumpling up his bag of chips. “You know, just because you’re in a relationship now doesn’t mean you get to slack off on closing duties.”

Joshua rolls his eyes playfully. “Whatever, I’ll make it up tomorrow.”

Wonsik emerges from the storage room, catching Joshua’s attention with his loud, assertive footsteps and nearly running into him, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him. He mumbles something about finally finishing taking in all the boxes, carrying the last one labeled with supplies, his expression a mix of boredom and disdain as he spots Joshua preparing to leave.

“Finally taking off, huh?" Wonsik sneers, eyeing Joshua up and down. “Off to be the hero for your little deaf partner?”

Whatever politeness Joshua had to his features had faded away in an instant, his jaw clenching tightly to the words. He adjusts the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder and meets Wonsik's arrogant gaze evenly.

“Watch your mouth,” Joshua says sharply, a warning edge to his voice that cuts through the room like a knife. 

“What? I’m just saying it must be hard to deal with them, that’s all. Like how do you even communicate? Doing your little hand stuff? Must be an ass to handle all that shit.” 

Joshua's nostrils flare at that, sensing his patience wearing thin at Wonsik's blatant insensitivity. His fists clench at his side momentarily, but he keeps in his anger, knowing that losing his cool most definitely won't help the situation at all. Taking a deep breath, he meets Wonsik's eyes with a steely glare.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Joshua replies firmly. “Don’t you have some human decency and respect in you?” 

Wonsik just scoffs haughtily. That dumb, conceited smirk on his face widens even more as he leans casually against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. "Hey, I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. It's not like I'm wrong, right? You could do so much better, man. You’re just pitying them because you feel bad.”

Just at that, his words strike a nerve in Joshua. “Y/N is more than capable of handling themself. They don’t need anyone else’s pity, least of all mine. So why don’t you mind your own business? Learn some respect while you’re at it, asshole.”

Wonsik shoots Joshua a final contemptuous glance before turning on his heel, shoving past Joshua, and disappearing back into the storage room, muttering something under his breath that Joshua isn’t bothered to decipher. 

Heading back into the main area of the café, Joshua stops right before the door to turn towards Jeonghan. “Do me a favour and𑁋”

“Don’t worry,” Jeonghan interjects, waving him off dismissively. “He won’t come back tomorrow.”

Joshua’s shoulders visibly relax at that. “Thanks,” And when his hand lands on the door handle, he stops again. “I’ll do that thing, by the way.”

“That thing?”

“Mhm.” Joshua just nods. “I’ll ask Seokmin about Jihoon.”

Joshua hums quietly after every pluck of his guitar string, twisting the tuning pegs at the head of the guitar with every note deemed off-key. The sounds leaving his guitar bounce off the walls of your apartment and blend with the smell of leftover ramen that lingers in the room. 

You sit across from him with two steaming cups of tea in your hand, carefully placing them on the coffee table in front of him. He glances up from tuning his guitar, eyes softening as they meet yours. Resting the guitar against the arm of the couch, he gratefully takes the mug that was waiting for him on the table, taking a quick sip of the jasmine tea you had prepared.

You peer at him worriedly, forming a claw shape with your hand and moving it downward to sign, “Hot?”

Joshua shakes his head, sipping once more and setting it back on the table. 

“It’s perfect,” he tells you reassuringly. 

Placing the guitar back on his lap, he positions his arms comfortably over it as if preparing to play something. Yet he catches the way your eyes watch his fingers glide over the strings. Joshua fixes his posture and presses his back against the couch behind. 

“Do you want to try?” he asks. His fingers rest lightly on the strings, demonstrating a chord before letting them hover, waiting for your response.

The hesitation within you is shunned aside from the subtle hope of his invitation. Warily, you shift closer to him, settling between his legs as he positions the guitar in your grasp. His hands cover over yours, guiding your fingers over the frets and showing you how to press down on the strings. The wood of the guitar is smooth under your touch, vibrating weakly as you pluck the strings a few times tentatively.

His breath fans over your skin as he leans closer to help adjust your grip on the guitar neck. You have to turn your head in order to see if he’s saying anything to you. His face is so close to yours now that you can see the fine details in his expression. There’s a slight tiredness in there too, but you don’t comment about it. 

Joshua's fingers move dexterously as he shows you another chord. This time, you press down with more confidence, and the sound resonates more clearly. He watches your face light up, and you can feel the vibrations of the strings through your fingertips. It’s a bit ticklish and you can’t help but giggle softly at the sensation. His hands still hover over yours for a few moments, but then he pulls back to give you a bit more space.

The chords you're playing aren't perfect𑁋they come out off-pitch and you aren’t able to tell, or the strumming patterns are a bit uneven𑁋but Joshua doesn’t mind. He doesn’t seem to notice or care about the mistakes. 

After some time, you cautiously set the guitar on the floor, letting it lean back against the couch. By the time you finish taking another sip of your tea, Joshua is already holding out his phone to you.

If I wanted to get your attention without accidentally scaring you, how could I do that?

A feeling of déjà vu slithers down your body at the question, and you could tell Joshua feels it too. Briefly, you think about the first time the two of you met. It’s quite surreal how far you’ve come already. 

You grab his phone to type:

I wouldn’t worry about scaring me like before, since I know that it’s you. I’m familiar with you. A small tap on the shoulder is okay, or you can flash your phone light. Wheein and Seungkwan do that to get my attention if they’re outside the door

Joshua reads your response, then shoots an understanding look, a thoughtful curve to his lips. The next thing that you catch is a yawn leaving him, which he tries to cover up with a sheepish smile.

“Tired?” You sign to him. 

“A little bit,” he replies meekly. “Just some things on my mind.” 

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity piqued at that. 

Joshua practically melts into the couch, the exhaustion in his posture evident as he stretches out his legs and lets out a soft sigh. 

“Work has been picking up a bit, people are ridiculous sometimes,” he starts, a twinge of frustration to his features. “I haven’t been able to go busking recently either, but… I think an opportunity came up. For music.”

Your eyes widen with interest, and you lean forward slightly, encouraging him to continue.

But he only hesitates. “I just don’t know if it’s worth pursuing. There are so many people out there who make big promises, but not all of them deliver. I don’t want to get involved in something that could turn out to be another dead end.”

A frown crosses its way across your lips. You can sense his apprehension and understand the reason behind it, but you also recognise the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Slipping out your own phone, you type:

You should go with what your heart is telling you to do. I’ll be there to support you either way :)

Your words drip of care and affection, feeling the uncertainty in his heart soften when he pinpoints the sincerity in your eyes. For a brief second, his gaze flickers down to your mouth before returning back up to your gaze. Without another word, he leans in, letting his lips brush against yours in a fleeting kiss. 

Even in the few weeks the two of you have been together, moments like these will take some time to get used to. It’s both intimidating and exhilarating, comforting and thrilling all in one. But it’s undeniable that it feels… right, natural. 

As cheesy as it sounds, that is what his heart told him to do at that moment𑁋to kiss you as a way to say thank you. A shy, boyish grin tugs at the corners of Joshua’s mouth when he pulls away. He takes a visible deep breath, as if drawing strength from your closeness, attentive eyes roaming over your face for any discomfort, but he finds none. The tips of your ears feel like they’re on fire, if anything. 

“Cute.” He lightly taps the bud of your nose, causing you to scrunch up your face in response. “Thank you. I mean it.” 

You only smile and nod under his gaze, signing with a simple, “I know.”

You lose track of time in front of the canvas when a yawn of your own leaves your mouth. Admittedly, it’s been hard motivating yourself to paint lately ever since your rejection at the exhibition, but somehow this time around, the colours on the canvas look more… livelier. 

You glance between the unfinished canvas and to the candid picture that you took that day at the beach of your friends’ smiling faces. If this is how you’re going to encourage yourself to get back into painting, then so be it: painting a moment that you could simply define as happiness. 

When another yawn leaves you, you swirl your paintbrush in a murky cup of water to clean it off before setting it aside. You stand from the chair and stretch, feeling the stiffness in your muscles from sitting in one position for too long. When you shift your gaze behind you, the sight that appears before you sends a leap of surprise through you.

Your eyes land on a sleeping Joshua, whose head rests against the arm of the couch, relaxed body slumped against the cushions, and one of his arms dangling off the edge. Tiptoeing over to him, you grab a blanket that Wheein had crocheted for your birthday from a nearby armchair and drape it over him. He shifts slightly at the movement but doesn’t wake, instead settling more deeply into the couch with a soft, contented sigh. 

You don’t have it in to wake him up, because this feels right𑁋him at your place, falling asleep, and a sense of peace floating through the air. 

If Seokmin didn’t come along, Joshua would probably have turned around on his heels by now and declined the offer. 

Apparently Jihoon’s studio was located in a somewhat sketchy part of the city, and it took only one tumultuous month later to finally set a date to meet up. Joshua glances around the area, taking in a few worn-down buildings and graffiti-covered walls, wondering if this is really the right place.

“This place better not be a dump,” Seokmin mutters under his breath, scanning around nervously. “I swear, Jihoon has always been a bit of a mystery, but he’s got talent for sure. He was practically the maestro of the entire music program back then.”

“And you reunited with him… how?”

“At the gym,” Seokmin answers, but it’s more under his breath as if he was a bit embarrassed by it. The sly laugh that leaves Joshua makes him jut out his bottom lip. “I wanted to know his workout routine! I didn’t even recognise him after all these years.”

Joshua just rolls his eyes, the lighthearted banter lessening some of his nerves. 

It would be his first time to walk into an actual studio. Somehow, Jihoon’s place was a good size to accommodate a variety of sound equipment and a living space at the same time. Compared to the gritty exterior, the inside certainly had more of a calming ambience. Neon lighting illuminated the room, casting a warm glow over the sleek equipment and musical instruments. Records lined the shelves and posters of artists decorated the walls, all bringing more character to the place. 

Jihoon himself was the epitome of calm and collected, bringing an aura of meticulous confidence that caressed every inch of the studio. He’s been working independently this entire time, and according to Seokmin, he's been steadily putting a name for himself in the underground music scene right after graduating from university. 

“So,” Jihoon starts, spinning around in the chair he was sitting on. Even when he was wearing a simple pair of sweatpants and a black tee, he still appeared effortlessly cool. “you’re a singer?” 

Joshua looks down at himself for a moment as if questioning his own presence here, fingertips gliding steadily over the strings of his guitar. “Yeah. Been busking for the past year or so. Played guitar for my entire life. I’ve written some of my own songs, too.”

Surprisingly, this is enough to convince Jihoon. “Alright, then. Show me what you got.” 

In its entirety, it was a surreal experience, and there’s just this inkling, this pinch of hope in the space between the tips of Joshua’s fingers whispering to him that he’s finally on the path to accomplishing his dreams. He’s never heard the sound of his voice so clearly before. Unlike the studio, there are no walls surrounding him when he busks𑁋only the open air, the street sounds blending with his music. But in the studio, the environment is different. 

It’s as if his music is finally being given the space it deserves to breathe and thrive, just like he had always wanted for it to do. 

The excitement is even evident in the way he’s gripping your hand as the two of you are walking back to your place together later that same night. Walking together has always been routine between the two of you, yet now there’s a certain lightness in the air knowing you both share the same love for these moments together. 

Joshua feels the way you squeeze his hand, and when he looks at you, you’re holding out your phone for him to read.

So are you planning on seeing him again next week?

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it doesn’t take long for the corners of his lips to curve up. 

“I think so,” he answers, eyes lighting up with optimism. “I think I might be getting to where I want to be, you know?” 

The excitement that trickles down his body flows through your interlaced hands, and you find yourself smiling alongside him. You love knowing you get to be a witness of this pivotal moment for him. You love seeing him happy just as much as you love being happy around him. 

When you reach the entrance of your apartment building, your hand still hasn’t left his. Joshua gazes past your shoulder towards the door, and then back to you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asks, a teasing tilt to his head. “Even for just an hour?” 

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, only giving him a simple shake of your head. 

“Hm, am I that much of a distraction?” he muses, stepping just a tad bit more closer to you, and you know you’re digging yourself more into the ground at this point. “I love watching you paint though.” 

You attempt to power through the way his words send a jolt through you, stubbornly standing your ground with the most serious expression you could muster. It’s not that you don’t want him to stay with you a little longer𑁋because you might quite possibly set everything aside for him without a doubt𑁋but you’ve made it a goal to get back into painting on your own terms and slowly but surely regain your confidence. 

After putting on a small pout, Joshua’s gaze just softens. “Promise me you won’t stay up late?” 

You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern and signing, “Promise.”

He still doesn’t let go of your hand, his thumb coming to caress tenderly over your knuckles. Joshua’s eyes flicker to your lips, and he leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you don’t. Then he leans in and pauses once more, nose briefly brushing against yours, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Goodnight,” he signs when he pulls away, running a hand down your arm before reluctantly stepping back.

You could never get over the satisfying wave of relief that hits you whenever you complete a painting. 

The first time you finished a painting was when you were eight years old. It was a simple watercolour painting of your family house, distinctively placed on a large hill instead of being surrounded by your neighbouring homes. Your mother had stuck it on the refrigerator for as long as you could remember alongside other family photos until it got too worn out from being taken down and put back up so many times, even being forgotten at some points when other mementos covered it. The fridge seemed so empty without it.

Seeing that painting every day reminded you of the joy of creating something with your own hands𑁋filling a space with something beautiful and meaningful, just like you had envisioned it in your mind. It’s not just about copying the photograph you used as reference; it’s about translating those fleeting, joyful moments into something real. You want people to look at your painting and feel the same happiness, the same warmth that you felt in that moment. It’s about capturing a moment in time and making it last forever. This is what art means to you. 

“This is stunning, Y/N!” Wheein exclaims when you stand right next to her. “You made the sand look so real! And you used such a gorgeous gradient for the sky. You gotta give me some tips later! Have you thought about showing this to your teacher?”

You frown a little at that. You haven’t exactly been putting in the effort to show up at all. The sting of that rejection at the exhibition still lingers, making you hesitate to put yourself out there again. You’d rather put on a show for yourself before determining whether or not it’s worth sharing with others. 

“I don’t know,” You answer.

“That’s okay!” Wheein says brightly. “But whenever you’re ready, let me know. We can make a killer portfolio together.”

You let out a laugh at that, mentally taking note of her offer for the future. Wheein just nudges you lightly on the hip with her own.

“You seem so much happier lately,” she acknowledges teasingly, a sly smirk crossing her face. “probably because of a certain someone…”

You feel a light flush creeping up your cheeks, and you glance away with a smile that you can’t quite hide. It hasn’t even been that long since you and Joshua have been together. Yet even though you can call him your boyfriend, he still gives you the space to grow, to dream, and to be yourself, just as you do with him. And in those times you two are together, reveling in the quiet language of your hands, letting your guard down has never felt this easy. You could share a simple smile with each other and the world seems a little brighter, a little more colourful, and a little more hopeful and meaningful. 

“Oh my gosh, you’re smitten!” Wheein exclaims amusedly. “If that’s not love in your eyes, I don’t know what is.” 

Love. What a silly, little word𑁋so small, yet carries so much in between its letters. 

You just chuckle to yourself, savouring the way the word swirls around you.

[07:15 PM | y/n] are you nearing the place? I’m waiting by the front 

You turn your phone off and bring it down, searching around for any sight of Joshua. Passerbys fill up your field of vision, all of them rushing past or casually walking by with their own different lives, but you don’t see him among the crowd. You check the time again, noting that he’s already fifteen minutes late, but you remind yourself that he’s been at Jihoon’s studio for the majority of the day and has probably been busy. 

As you continue waiting, the slight chill of the evening air runs through your bones. It’s getting noticeably colder outside as winter is approaching closer and closer. You glance at your phone again, but the screen remains dark. Another ten minutes pass, and you could feel the worry creeping up your spine. It’s not like him to be this late without a reason.

The vibrant evening around you slowly begins to lose its charm, the excitement within you boiling down into a pit of disappointment, and the thought of standing alone any longer becomes unbearable. So, with a heavy sigh, you decide to walk away, pushing away the disappointment with every step that you take.

[07:28 PM | y/n] I’ll be heading home. let me know when you’re finished at jihoon’s 

You slip your phone into your pocket, feeling a twinge of sadness as you start walking towards the nearest crosswalk. Above you, the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement below and swallow the lively colours of the evening. 

Approaching the crosswalk, the signal light shines a deep red, instructing you to stop and wait. A crowd of people all stop behind you as you wait for the light to change, and you become acutely aware of their presence surrounding you. 

Your eyes wander across the street, where the traffic light turns red, and cars begin to slow down. Anticipating for the light to signal for you to cross, a sudden flash catches your attention from across the street. It looks like a flashlight, and it was flickering in a deliberate pattern.

The moment the signal light turns green, the flashing stops, unraveling Joshua standing on the other side. People brush past you in order to cross the street, yet you can only find yourself frozen. There’s a flash of urgency you catch to Joshua’s features, and your focus narrows on him as he dashes across the street toward you. 

He’s breathless the second he reaches you, and his face is flushed with relief and desperation. 

“I’m so sorry,” he apologises, signing frantically to you. “I lost track of time. I tried getting on the bus to get here faster but the traffic was bad. I…” His shoulders sink in dismay. “I’m sorry.”

You just shake your head dismissively, but it’s not hard to miss the subtle hurt in your face and the way you sign back to him. “It’s okay. I know your music is important to you.”

“You’re my top priority,” Joshua says quickly, eyes intense with sincerity. “Let me make it up to you, okay?” 

His words send a flutter that makes your heart ache in your chest. Joshua reaches down and takes ahold of your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You feel a warmth spread through you as he intertwines your fingers.

“Would you like to have dinner back at my place?” Joshua offers, his lips curling up in a hopeful smile. “Jeonghan is staying at a friend’s place tonight, so it’ll just be us.” 

You look up at Joshua, your heart racing at the thought of spending the evening with him. 

“Okay,” You sign to him. 

It’s been years since the last time you saw a record player. Your parents used to have one in the corner of the living room. It was a vintage piece, and you remember how your father used to meticulously handle the vinyl records, placing them carefully on the turntable before lowering the needle. You didn’t hear the music that came from it𑁋the music that they played before you lost your hearing was vague to memory𑁋but you loved watching the way the needle danced across the grooves of the records.

Joshua has an entire vinyl collection, and you look through each one curiously. You see names like Amy Winehouse, Radiohead, Pink Floyd, Elton John, Frank Sinatra, Nirvana, The Beatles, and even some contemporary artists like Billie Eilish, Boys Like Girls, and Lana Del Rey. The covers of each one are like pieces of art themselves, with their vintage charm and intricate designs. 

When Joshua turns away from the stove, he looks at you, where you’re already peering at him.

“Do you want to play something?” You sign to him, thinking that he might want to listen to something while you’re here together. 

Joshua’s eyes only soften as he takes in your question. “You don’t have to play anything.”

You smile bashfully. “I want to.” 

He feels a tug at his heart at the pleading expression to your face. He briefly checks the food cooking on the stove before walking to where you’re sitting on the floor, his vinyls scattered in front of you. 

“Okay,” he tells you. “Pick whichever one you want.” 

Joshua watches as you carefully pick a vinyl𑁋you end up picking The Beatles, a classic𑁋and with practiced hands, he helps you place the record on the turntable and lowers the needle. You watch as the record starts to spin and the needle settles within the grooves.

You turn toward Joshua, signing, “Is it playing?” 

The sound that comes off the record player is a bit distorted at first, but after some time, it manages to smooth out. Joshua just nods, his face lighting up with a smile at the way you appear so engrossed by the spinning record. 

Dinner comes by in a jiffy. The singular kitchen light hangs above the small table that you both are sitting at, the aroma of Joshua’s cooking wafting through the air. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but the simplicity of the meal𑁋steamed vegetables, grilled chicken, and fluffy rice𑁋makes it all the more comforting. You definitely would have preferred this over restaurant food. 

You eat slowly, savouring the flavours of each bite. You can feel Joshua's eyes on you, and you can't help but smile.

“Good?” he asks. 

You give a few enthusiastic nods, and the sight lights up Joshua’s face even further. 

The record player was still faintly playing music in the background, yet the quietness that he gets to share with you is what he cherishes the most. It’s not awkward or forced; it’s a comfortable silence that pleasantly wraps around you both. The occasional pop or crackle from the record player blends in with the sounds of your contented chewing and the soft clinking of utensils.

Afterwards, you find yourself settling on the couch in Joshua’s living room as you wait for him to come back to the bathroom, and you take the time to peer around his space.

You already know that he’s living with Jeonghan too, so you love how you’re able to easily distinguish the small snippets that belong to Joshua. Apart from the collection of vinyl records, you also see a few microphone stands and a keyboard set up in one corner, as well as an empty guitar stand where you know his guitar belongs. 

Letting your eyes drift, the coffee table in front of you catches your attention. There’s a couple of coasters, the remote for the TV, a cute succulent in the middle. But then your eyes land on something else. 

On it, you spot a book laying flat on the table. Curiosity piqued, you reach over to examine it. The book is a sign language dictionary. You open it to find that it’s filled with detailed illustrations of hand signs, and throughout the pages you see Joshua’s handwriting scattered throughout. Some of the pages are marked with sticky notes, others you spot silly doodles of smiley faces in the corners. 

You hardly ever thought about the amount of effort he put into learning how to talk to you, to understand you. A small part of you feels bad that he has to go through all this trouble to learn sign language. But then you remember that he chose to do this, that this was his decision, not yours.

The spot on the couch right next to you dips down slightly as Joshua sits down. He glances at the sign language dictionary in your hands and glances at you with a soft, curious look, and it makes you look away sheepishly.

Dropping the book in your lap, you fumble for your phone, typing out:

You did all of this for me?

When Joshua reads the message, a small chuckle leaves him. 

“I wanted to get to know you better,” he tells you, your eyes flickering between his hands and his lips. “I don’t regret it at all.” 

As his words wash over you, you feel your fingers struggle to put together how much this is affecting you. You type after a few thoughtful moments. 

It must have been hard. I’m sorry

Joshua only shakes his head. “It was worth it. I promise.” He pauses for a moment, gears turning in his head. “Do you want to know the first word I wanted to learn?” 

You watch as he picks up his right hand, opening it up so that his fingers pointed up and his thumb toward his cheek. Then he fans his fingers across his face, and closes his hand in a relaxed fist to sign the word beautiful. 

“You’re beautiful,” he finishes, his fingers gracefully forming the sign again. “I happened to have thought that the first second you walked into the café.”

You could only stare at him incredulously. Even though it isn’t the first time he’s expressed this kind of affection in your few months of being together, it still takes you by surprise, still sends those surges of flutters shooting down your limbs, still makes your mind go blank and your hands go limp.

Cowering behind a hand of your own, you motion a shy finger at him, before rolling your hand over your face, then forming a Y-shape with your hand, and shaking it slightly.

“You’re beautiful, too.” 

Joshua purses his lip together at that, suppressing the giddiness threatening to stretch across his features.

“Well,” he starts, cocking his head to the side endearingly. He won’t ever get over how adorable you are when you’re flustered. “I say we compliment each other quite well then.”

From there, the two of you let out some shared, heartfelt laughter, and it sounds like absolute music to Joshua’s ears. He shows you the pages he’s gone through in the book𑁋from the alphabet and grammar, to basic common phrases, and to more, nuanced, complex sentences𑁋and it looks like he’s more than halfway done with reading and annotating through it. He eagerly points out the words and phrases he's already mastered, and the ones he's still struggling with. It's cute seeing the little doodles and notes he's written in the margins.

When he places the book back on the table and turns to you, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“I can teach you,” You sign to him, a willing passion in your hands. 

Joshua lifts a brow, copying your movement. “Teach me?” 

When you nod, his face morphs into a pensive look. After a few moments, he brightens back up.

“How about the seasons?” he suggests. “We can start with those.”

You begin with spring. Your hands move as if they’re opening up to new life, the gesture mimicking the blossoming of flowers. Joshua watches intently, his eyes following your movements carefully, before mimicking the motion a few times. 

Next, you move on to summer. You form a fist with your palms down at your forehead, before taking your index finger and drawing it across your brow a few times, almost as if you’re wiping away a drip of sweat. 

For autumn, you use your hands to mimic falling leaves from a tree off your non-dominant elbow, making a gentle fluttering motion. 

Finally, you teach him winter. You simply make a shivering motion, as if you’re cold, and Joshua chuckles as he imitates the sign. You watch in awe as he successfully goes through the signs a few times without a hitch. Giving him a few rounds of claps, he gives a shy, pleased smile, clearly proud of his progress.

“I hope we…” Joshua starts, some unsureness flowing through his hands, but he signs the seasons so easily (unbeknownst to you, he already knew them). “...we get to see spring, summer, autumn, and winter together.” 

Perhaps he could feel the way your heart swells in his hands, because he’s cradling it so preciously as he speaks, and he looks at you with such hopeful eyes.

You want to spend every single season with him. 

Later that night, you find yourself standing in front of the sink in Joshua’s kitchen, washing the dishes because you lost him to a game of rock-paper-scissors. 

As you’re rinsing off the final dish, a light tap lands on your shoulder, making you wince for a second before quickly relaxing. A pair of arms then sneaks around your waist, pulling you close and causing you to nearly lose your grip on the plate. 

Joshua gently rests his chin on your shoulder from behind. His breath hits your neck as he wraps his arms around you. He stays like this for a few moments, simply savouring the closeness of your presence against him. Then, with a mischievous smile that you don't see, he brings a finger up and slowly begins to trace your back lightly with the tip, almost like a whisper against your skin.

I…

Curious and slightly ticklish, you crane your neck slightly to look back at him over your shoulder, scrunching your face up as you try to focus on deciphering what he’s trying to write.

… l… o… v… e…

Joshua pauses momentarily, sneaking a glance at the way you’re standing so still in his hold, before tracing the final letters.

…y… o… u.

Eyes widening, you shift around in order to face him, and Joshua rests his arms on either side of you, hands gripping onto the counter behind and practically enclosing you in. 

He leans in, and the world seems to narrow altogether. His half-lidded eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, as if asking for permission, and you could only anticipate what’s coming next as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Chuckling softly, Joshua inches even closer to you, and you feel his nose lightly brush against yours. But instead of pressing his lips against yours, he first kisses your forehead softly, making you shoot your eyes open in a bit of a confused daze. 

But before you can fully process everything, he’s leaning in once again, and this time, his lips gently meet against the tip of your nose. You crinkle it back as a pout runs across your mouth, and Joshua’s grin widens even more. 

“What’s with the face?” he teases, feigning a hurt look. “Is it because I haven’t kissed you properly yet?” 

You answer with him a shy, petty tug at the fabric of his shirt. 

“Give me a smile then,” Joshua insists impishly. “Please?”

Just from that alone, a shy curve sprouts at your lips, and Joshua just watches with a satisfied look. 

“Hmm,” he hums skeptically, but is leaning in closer anyway. “I’ll take it.” 

Then he finally kisses you, mouth moving with an ardent sweetness against yours that renders you breathless. He playfully chases after you as you manage to escape out of his grasp. But he’s quick to catch up to you anyway, the sounds of your giggles mingling with the soft crackling of the record player as you both collapse on top of the couch. 

You tentatively trace I love you on his back when you’re both settled on the couch together, legs intertwined and your head perched at the crook of his neck. He’s asleep, you consider𑁋you can tell by the way you feel his chest rising and falling against yours. 

Yet after you write those words, a shaky, relieved exhale leaves him that you don’t hear.

“All you have to do,” Jihoon starts, offering a seemingly heavyweight set of headphones in his other hand towards Joshua. “is press play right here, and tell me what you think.”

Joshua takes hold of the headphones as Jihoon scoots a bit of his chair away to give him some room. He places it carefully over his ears, feeling the soft cushions envelop them. Then after taking a deep breath, he reaches over to press the play button on the keyboard, and Joshua can feel his heart racing in anticipation. 

Upon playing, he’s greeted with the familiar sounds of his guitar filling his ears, and then his voice comes in. Hearing himself in such a professionally produced track and not just as raw vocals bouncing off the walls of his room is absolutely unbelievable. He could also pinpoint the subtle layers Jihoon has added to the track𑁋a faint drumbeat and soft vocal harmonies. 

It was a song that was once simple lyrics in a dusty journal and a few rough guitar chords. It wasn’t meant to be anything grand; it was originally a personal project made on a whim in the middle of the night just to channel his feelings and his dreams into something palpable. 

But now, hearing it with such rich yet attenuated production for the first time, it feels as if the song has taken on a life of its own. 

“Holy𑁋wow,” Joshua says the moment he takes off the headphones, staring at Jihoon with disbelief. “Are you sure this is my song?” 

Jihoon chuckles at that. “Positive, man.”

Joshua’s eyes remain wide. He holds the headphones in his hands, turning them over and inspecting them closely as if trying to decipher the magic hidden within. 

“I never imagined it could sound like this,” he admits meekly. “I mean, I’ve always dreamed about this, but... to actually hear it like this? It’s incredible.”

Jihoon nods encouragingly. “You had the foundation; I just built on it. I’m telling you, with the right push, it could really connect with people.”

Joshua leans back in his chair, still holding the headphones in his grasp like it's a sacred bar of gold, and lets out a deep breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“The recording will be on this USB drive,” Jihoon shows off a tiny, ruby red drive in his hand. “I’ll work on polishing it up a bit more, but this is essentially it. You could also gain some attention from your busking gigs. What do you say?”

Well, it’s not like he can say no to that. 

“I’m in,” Joshua replies with a grin.

The minute that he steps out of the studio later that day, a breeze of cold air suddenly nips at his cheek. Joshua brings his head up to see the sky thick with clouds, and to his amazement, delicate snowflakes begin to fall, gently drifting down and settling on his hair and shoulders. It’s the first snowfall of the season.

There’s something almost magical about the way the snow falls, he thinks. As he continues to walk through the streets, there’s a sense of renewal that washes over him, a fresh start, just like the song he’s worked so hard on and the dreams he's held at the tips of his fingers. He takes a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs, and pulls out his phone to text you. 

[05:39PM | joshua hong] Still have time to meet up later? 

Your reply comes in almost instantaneously. 

[05:41PM | y/n] just left the museum :) it’s snowing outside!!!

[05:42PM | joshua hong] Dress warmly ❤️ I’ll meet you at your place?

[05:42PM | y/n] I will. see you soon ❤️

Chuckling to himself, Joshua pulls the jacket tighter around his body and stuffs his hands inside his pockets, quickening his pace at the thought of seeing you.

When the season of spring rolls over, trees are budding with beautiful, bright green leaves and flowers are blooming in a vibrant array of colours. Spring has always been one of your favourite seasons, and this year is no different𑁋especially if you get to see it with the people close to you.

You’ve been coming back to attend your art class at the museum, and you’ve decided to pick up a small side role as a teacher’s aide to earn some extra money since more people have been enrolling into the art programs. So far, it’s been very rewarding and fulfilling, and meeting new people who share your same passions has been a joy. 

Plus, you could proudly say the spark for painting has been getting stronger and stronger each passing day. 

Wheein greets you with enthusiasm when you walk out of the classroom, explaining with annoyance about how one of the girls in her classroom was someone she heavily despised back in high school. Seungkwan shows up when you both step out of the museum, and you have to remind them that you can’t sacrifice your plans with Joshua to hang out with them at the arcade that just opened down the street. 

“They’re in their honeymoon phase,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes teasingly. 

“They’ve been in their honeymoon phase for, like, half the year now,” Wheein grumbles, though her irritation is more playful than serious. “It’s not like they’re going to stop anytime soon.”

“And Y/N is practically dating a celebrity at this point. Have you seen the way people are talking about his music online?” 

Your best friends are boasting about your relationship right in front of you, making you roll your eyes. But you can’t help the way your cheeks colour with a tad bit of embarrassment and… a hint of proudness too, because they’re right. 

Joshua has had a few more songs released under his name, and performing at the busking centre has become a regular part of his schedule, his days working at the café lessening as he’s been focusing more on his music. His performances have been slowly drawing more attention, both locally and online, and it’s clear that his passion is shining through. You’re incredibly proud of him𑁋you’ve always had been.

Your footsteps are as light as a feather by the time you reach the busking centre. There’s already a good size crowd gathered around, and you can see Joshua sitting in the middle, propped on a stool with his guitar. Seokmin is there too, sitting on a stool of his own with a microphone in front of him, and there’s one more person. Judging by the small details that Joshua alludes to𑁋with the man’s distinctive button nose and laid-back stature𑁋you could only assume it’s Jihoon sitting behind the keyboard with a calm and focused expression. 

As you, Seungkwan, and Wheein find a spot at the edge of the crowd, he seems to spot you almost immediately in the midst of singing a song, his eyes lighting up the moment they meet yours. He gives you a small smile, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth spread through your chest. Joshua looks completely at ease as he tunes his guitar, his fingers moving cleverly over the strings.

He looks really, really pretty. The sun seemed to be shining down on him in all the right ways, the sleeves of the white collared shirt that he was wearing pulled up to reveal his forearms, and a dainty pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. The subtle spring breeze rumples his hair just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

The entire crowd is captivated, yet it's as if he's singing directly to you, and in a way, he is. The vibrations fly through the air and hit every inch of your skin and into your chest, each note reverberating in your heart. You watch the way his lips move, the way his eyes light up, and the way the crowd responds𑁋it all tells you just how special this moment is.

As the song comes to an end, the crowd erupts in applause once again, and you find yourself brightly clapping along with everyone else. He looks over at you, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. Then he stands up with Seokmin and Jihoon following, the three of them taking a bow together, before he sets his guitar down and makes his way toward you. 

Seungkwan and Wheein give you knowing looks before stepping aside to give you two some space, leaving to approach Seokmin and Jihoon. 

“Did you like it?” he asks while signing to you. 

You purse your lips together, shooting a musing glance up at the sky, before signing, “You already know what I think of it.” 

“In fact, I do not,” Joshua responds playfully, stepping a bit closer to you. “That’s why I’m asking you, love.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, feigning mock suspicion, and he seems to already know what you’re trying to point out. 

“Of course I’m fishing for compliments,” he adds on with a cheeky grin, endearingly wrinkling his nose that his glasses slide down just a bit. “Your opinion matters the most to me. Winning your approval means that I’ve accomplished the world, you know.” 

You can't help but laugh faintly at his words, though his earnestness warms your heart. Tentatively, you reach out to adjust his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. His gaze follows your movements as you pull away from him slightly, the corners of his lips twitching up even further.

“It was wonderful,” You sign back bashfully. A blush creeps up your cheeks as you realise how cheesy it sounds, but Joshua’s features only soften as he reads your hands and catches a glimpse of a twinkle in your eyes when you look at him. 

He reaches down and takes one of your hands into his. “That was all that I needed to know.” Then he glances at the time displayed on his phone and looks back at you. “The aquarium is still open, right?” 

Your eyes widen at that𑁋that’s right, you were too caught in the moment that you nearly forgot about your plans𑁋and you give an eager nod.

“Perfect,” Joshua chips eagerly, his hand squeezing yours encouragingly. “The painting you did the other week reminded me of the jellyfish exhibit.”

“This awfully feels like a break-up.”

Joshua furrows his brows at that while folding one of his shirts and placing it inside a box. “What are you even talking about?”

“You’re breaking up with me,” Jeonghan retaliates jokingly, fauxing a sulky pout. “and moving out. I thought we had something special going on here.”

“You were the one who wanted me to move out in the first place.”

Jeonghan sighs dramatically, slumping his body against the doorframe of Joshua's now half-empty room. “That was before I realised how lonely it would be without you here. And now you’re spreading your wings and flying off.”

As sarcastic as that sounds, the corners of Joshua’s lips turn up fondly. If it weren’t for Jeonghan taking him in as his roommate from the very beginning ever since moving away, he wouldn’t lie about feeling a little sentimental. 

After packing up the remains of his clothes, Joshua stands up from sitting on his ass on the floor for two hours straight, crossing his arms together and shooting Jeonghan a pointed look. “You know I’m only going to be living like… fifteen minutes away, right? And I’ll still be working at the café.”

“I’m officially putting you as full-time then.” Jeonghan’s lips quirk up in a smirk.

“Screw that,” Joshua huffs with a laugh. “I’ve already got enough on my plate.”

“Right, because you’re so famous,” Jeonghan remarks exaggeratingly. “Heard you signed a napkin for someone the other day.” 

Joshua snorts at that in response. Okay, he’s certainly not as famous as Jeonghan depicts him to be, but apparently famous enough for someone to approach him and ask for his autograph on a napkin. Apart from the gigs in the busking centre, he also has a few social media accounts set up where he can post song covers on occasion and drop updates about his music. 

All he has is his presence, a guitar, and a dream that’s slowly taking shape right before him. He knows it’s a long road ahead, but even with the small progress that’s been made so far, he’s hopeful, determined.

The new apartment is small but cozy. It’s not much, but it’s a place to call his own𑁋his own little corner of the world. He decides it’s not worth the energy right now to unpack everything and instead settles on top of the lone mattress that’s currently on the middle of the floor, feeling both exhausted and oddly content. 

He stretches his body on top of the soft surface and lets out a sigh of relief as he sinks into the mattress, gazing aimlessly at the barren ceiling above him. The remnants of packing are scattered about the place, with boxes sitting in corners and unopened bags lying around. His guitar sits on its stand right next to the window. There are still many things to figure out𑁋how to decorate the place, where to put everything, what this all means for his future. 

But for now, he allows himself this moment of stillness; this brief, quiet pause before turning the page to the next chapter.

After nearly nodding off, a few knocks at the door jolt him awake. He blinks in surprise, pushing himself up from the mattress. Stretching out his tired limbs, he makes his way to the door, opening it to find you standing on the other side. 

You stand there with a bag clutched at your side, suspended under the singular hallway light that highlights the fondness in your eyes. You shake the bag lightly.

“Food?” You sign to him.

Joshua swears his heart drops down to his knees just from that alone, his exhaustion melting away from your simple offer. Then his stomach rumbles, as if in agreement, reminding him that he hasn’t exactly had a proper meal the majority of the day from how busy he was with moving in. The nod he gives you makes you chuckle.

As you step inside his new place for the first time, you take a moment to gaze around at the barren walls and scattered boxes. Like any new, fresh canvas, the space holds so much potential and possibilities. If it’s home for Joshua, then it’s also… home for you too. 

The two of you sit down cross-legged on the mattress while unpacking the bag of its contents. The aroma of takeout food travels through the air. You spread out the food between you, and Joshua seems to light up upon seeing the familiar, comforting dishes.

Sharing a meal together feels a bit different now. You don’t exactly know why, but there’s a subtle shift in the air you haven’t noticed until this very moment. There’s a sense of beginning, of making this place feel like home, and it’s oddly intimate. It's a blank slate waiting to be filled with new memories. New memories that you can’t wait to make with him. 

Joshua feels a nudge at his knee while chewing on a sushi roll, seeing that you’re holding out your phone for him to read. 

Can I show you something? 

He swallows his bite of sushi and looks up at you with curiosity, taking a second to clear his mouth while giving a nod.

Shrugging off the nerves, you set your plate of food down to reach into the bag. You pull out a small canvas, and when you turn it over to show him, it shows a beautifully painted scene of a sunset casting over the horizon. The vibrant hues of yellow and orange blend seamlessly with soft blues and purples. Along with that, the silhouette of a couple sitting together𑁋with one leaning their head on the other’s shoulder𑁋under a tree completes the picture. 

Joshua reaches out to touch the canvas, letting a fingertip caress over its coarse surface.

“This is beautiful,” he tells you. “Did you make this for me?”

You nod, and he watches closely as you type on your phone.

I wanted to give you your first piece of decoration for your new place

Joshua’s eyes soften as he reads your message, the warmth in his chest spreading to his entire body.

“It’s perfect, honey,” he says. “I’ll be sure to hang it somewhere special.”

In your eyes, you can already imagine it hung on the empty wall beside the window, where the morning light will cast a gentle glow on it and bring the colours to life. In your eyes, you can imagine your easel sitting right below it, with Joshua’s guitar propped right beside it…

“I should have the stuff to hang it in one of the boxes. I’m not sure which one though.” Joshua’s eyes flicker between the unopened boxes standing intimidatingly in the corner of the room, letting out a small, airy laugh. “But I’ll find it soon, I promise.”

You give him a warm, reassuring smile, as if conveying that there wasn’t any rush in finding it right now. 

When you both finish eating and cleaning up, you find yourself sitting on the mattress, body turned so that you are staring out the window of Joshua’s apartment, reveling in the stillness of the summer night and the way moonlight filters on the wall. Your silhouette is quickly joined by another one as Joshua settles closely beside you, your shoulders brushing lightly. 

At the corner of your eye, a glowing phone screen catches your attention, on it displayed a message from Joshua. 

What are you thinking about? 

The question almost seems silly somehow, yet you ponder for a few moments, before taking the phone to type back: 

I made a big decision today

Joshua lifts up an intrigued brow, and he tilts his head inquisitively at you, the soft brown tones of his eyes glistening like honey. It makes you lose your train of thought briefly as your fingers drift clumsily across the screen.

I’m going to participate in the upcoming exhibition at the museum. I’ve been thinking of trying again for a while now

“You are?” Joshua’s eyes widen. “When is it going to be?” 

“During fall,” You sign in response.

Fall isn’t that far away. The reminder seems to gnaw uneasily at your nerves, and Joshua notices it right away. 

“Feeling nervous about it?” he asks. 

You nod slowly, the weight of your decision settling heavily in your chest.

“It’s okay to be nervous. I know it didn’t go well last time,” Joshua continues. “But, well𑁋you already know what I’m going to say, right?” 

Now, the nod you give is a bit more confident. You bring your hands up to sign, “I believe in you.” You wonder if it’s his favourite phrase, since he’s said it to you so many times before. It holds a special place in your quiet conversations. 

“Exactly.” He wiggles a playful finger in front of your face, the moonlight makes his eyes twinkle with reassurance. “I believe in you. I’ve seen the way you pour your heart into your art. No matter what, you’re going to shine, love. And you have to believe in yourself too, okay? That’s the most important step.”

Joshua reaches over to grab your hand into his, squeezing firmly, before bringing it up to his lips to place a kiss right at your knuckles. You melt at that𑁋probably into the mattress at this point𑁋and hang your head down bashfully. 

When the silence rolls over again, you lean your head on Joshua’s shoulder, your silhouettes intertwining together on the wall.

Maybe this is where you belong, after all. 

There’s a quiet comfort you find in the palette of fall: the colours of leaves changing to warm oranges, reds, and yellows, the subtle crispness of the air that reminds you of the sweet taste of cinnamon rolls, and the way the sunlight feels a little softer on your skin.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your head. This is it. The moment you’ve been dreading and anticipating for weeks. You toy anxiously with the sleeves of your cardigan as you walk into the museum, the grand hall stretching out before your eyes. 

It’s all familiar just like last year𑁋the same setup, some familiar and new faces. More people are probably participating than last time since the art program has grown exponentially, and the thought fills you up with trepidation, if anything. Wheein is also here too engaging in the exhibition, Seungkwan was going to come later, and Joshua had already texted you that he's on his way after ending his performance at the busking centre early (though you insisted he didn’t have to… yet he did anyway) though you’re unsure when he’s going to arrive.

Along with the other artists in the room, you take a seat as you wait for the exhibition to finally begin. Then you feel a tap on your shoulder, and you perk up to see Wheein quickly engulfing you in a hug before pulling away.

“Jeez, there you are! You’re sitting like a wallflower and I couldn’t find you anywhere,” she rambles quickly that you don’t entirely catch what she’s saying, but you could tell she’s nervous too. She takes a visible breath, and brings her hands up. “How are you feeling? Heard there’s more competition this time.” 

You offer her a small, reassuring smile. “Nervous, but excited. I feel more prepared.”

Wheein nods, her eyes lighting up at that. “Good. You've got this.” She glances around the room before turning back to you. “See you on the other side?”

“Definitely,” You assure her, feeling a surge of confidence flow through you. 

Wheein squeezes your hand with a firm look one last time before moving off to find her own spot. A short while later, the exhibition officially begins with a long speech by the museum director once more. There’s still no sign of Joshua anywhere, but you tell yourself that you got this. 

Ignoring your sweaty palms, you spot your artwork hanging on the wall. It feels like a small part of you is now on display. And for the first time, there’s a feeling of pride that wraps around you comfortably. You feel more prepared than last time; with the help of Wheein, you wrote down some written statements you could present to the critics and the visitors who come by if they ever ask about your piece. 

A few minutes later, an interpreter approaches you𑁋one who isn't late this time, thankfully𑁋and you greet her with a friendly nod. She offers a kind smile to you, and you feel a bit more at ease, knowing that you’ll be able to communicate effectively with any critics and curators. 

As people start to crowd around the extravagant hall, you find yourself observing their reactions from a distance. Some pause to study your piece closely while reading the written statements you prepared. Others seem to take in the scene with thoughtful silence and then move on to the next artist after you. However, before you know it, time seems to slip away fairly quickly, and you’re surrounded by a sea of curious faces willing to engage in discussions about your painting. 

It’s a bit overwhelming having to explain and answer to so many people at once where you can feel their eyes practically boring into you, but you’ve rehearsed this part so many times that you feel yourself becoming more comfortable, more natural in the way you’re confiding in your work. 

As much as art can be interpreted, reinterpreted, and misinterpreted, you know that in the end, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Your work is supposed to continue conversations, not end them. And you hope that yours does just that.

After talking to a sweet-looking old couple, you take a moment to catch your breath. You can’t tell if the stars have possibly aligned for you or if it’s just the magic of the night that’s making everything feel so right.

Just as you're starting to relax a bit, a familiar, comforting sight at the corner of your eye captures your attention. And when you bring your head back up to welcome the next visitor, you find Joshua right in front of you, coming up with his arms behind his back and a playful look on his face. He’s dressed in a comfortable navy blue sweater and a pair of beige jeans, appearing effortlessly handsome and soft as always. 

“Hello,” he greets warmly before stopping in front of you, letting his eyes trail past you in order to roam over the large painting that sat behind. So this is what you’ve been keeping a surprise all this time. “Your painting is beautiful. Can you tell me more about it?” 

You blink in surprise at his sudden performance on being a visitor, biting back a smile creeping up your lips and the affectionate flutters bursting in your stomach. 

Gesturing to the painting, you start to explain as your interpreter steps in to translate to Joshua. You start with the basics of your piece: the inspiration, the styles and techniques you used, and what you hoped to convey, and Joshua listens attentively, though he seems to be more focused on you than anything else. For some reason, him being the only one standing here is making you more nervous than the group of people you talked to earlier. 

“I could see the passion you put into your piece,” Joshua says softly. “It’s admirable. It was the first thing that caught my eye when I walked in here and I could tell that there’s something truly special about it𑁋that there’s a lot of heart in it. So thank you for sharing this part of you to the world. You have a gift, honestly.”

You find every ounce of wanting to thank him shy away as a blush rises to your cheeks. Instead, you give a small nod, head hanging down as if the floor was the most interesting sight in the world, feeling overwhelmed by his words. If you look at him, you’d feel like you would melt into a puddle on the floor.

Joshua chuckles quietly at your reaction before giving you one last lingering look. You watch as his shoes walk out of your line of sight, his presence leaving behind a comforting feeling to settle in your chest, right by your heart. You feel like you can conquer the world right now. 

When you finally bring your head back up, you don't spot him anywhere. For a moment, you scan the large room, looking for the familiar navy blue sweater, but you assume he’s already moved on to another part of the exhibition. 

You let out a breath you hardly noticed you were holding until now. 

As the evening winds down and time is getting closer to the dreaded announcement of results, the atmosphere in the museum starts to shift from the excitement of the exhibition to a more anticipatory hush as everyone returns back to their seats. The tremble in your hands returns back once more as you peer around anxiously, hoping to see some sight of a familiar face𑁋of Joshua, of your best friends, of anything. 

Minutes later, Wheein and Seungkwan run up to you with wide, beaming grins. Joshua isn’t with them, though. Your shoulders deflate slightly.

“They’re about to announce the results!” Wheein exclaims, signing to you with more enthusiasm than you can ever have right now. “How do you feel?”

“I swear I saw so many people gathered at your painting earlier,” Seungkwan adds in. “That’s got to be a good sign, right?”

“Not all the time,” Wheein reassures him with a disappointed tone, but she keeps a light-hearted smile. “Usually it just means people were interested, but hey, it’s definitely a good sign! You should be proud of yourself, no matter what happens, Y/N, okay?”

You force a smile at that, trying to hide the nervousness that’s crawling up your spine. You're not sure if you're ready to hear the results, yet at the same time, there’s a pang of excitement that’s hard to not acknowledge too.

The museum director steps up to the podium once everyone scrambles to return to their seats. You shoot glances around the room, spotting familiar faces, some looking calm and composed, others nervously tapping their feet or fidgeting with their clothes. You can hardly catch up with the way your heart is racing like it's running on overdrive, but you attempt to readjust your focus to the director. 

“Now, I would like to formally express congratulations to all who have claimed a place in this year’s annual exhibition. We had an outstanding number of participants and submissions this year. It was a very challenging time for the judges…”

The director’s voice is steady, yet each word that you watch leave his mouth seems to stretch on as your nerves make the second feel like minutes then to hours. Your palms have become clammy, and you grip your hands into tight fists, your nails digging into the skin of your palm. 

“…the judges have taken into consideration to select the works that stood out in originality, technique, and emotional impact. And now, for the results…”

Your breath catches as the director begins to announce the winners slowly but surely, one by one, heartbeat thumping stronger with each one. The names come and go, each following with a few moments of applause erupting around the room that you echo along with as the artists hop onto the stage to retrieve their certification from the director. It’s like a momentary pause of time before the next. 

The moments that pass feel as if a small weight is being lifted from your shoulders, only to be replaced by a heavier, more pressing sense of anticipation, of dread, of doubt. Déjà vu starts to seep into your thoughts as you bite at your bottom lip and bring your eyes down from the stage, feeling your chest tightening with hopelessness. There’s no point. 

And it’s because you’ve become so attuned to your thoughts that you don’t notice the collective murmur of excitement that ripples through the crowd right before you. You pick up to clap your hands for the name was just called, only to be met with quite literally everyone’s faces on you. Nothing but confusion clouds your mind. 

Are they… clapping for you?

The realisation hits you hard, and for a few long seconds, you’re caught between disbelief and elation. Your body feels absolutely frozen in place; everyone’s mouth is moving too fast for you to fully process; the world around you feels like it’s spinning. The moment seems to stretch into an endless void, and you can barely believe what’s happening. The crowd’s faces blur into a sea of smiles and congratulations… for you. 

Your name𑁋your artwork𑁋had been recognised.

You nearly tumble on the way to the front at the way your legs feel numb underneath you, each step feeling as if you’re floating on air. Perhaps this is really just one, long, tortuous dream, but the way your trembling hands clutch the certificate as you receive it from the director feels startlingly real. 

The director offers you a handshake and an acknowledging smile, but you hardly register it all in your mind. In those short moments, you take the opportunity to swiftly scan the room, catching sight of Wheein and Seungkwan clapping happily for you, and Joshua standing right next to them. He’s clapping along too𑁋is that a bouquet of flowers in his hands?𑁋with a warm, proud smile painted across his features. You consider it more important than any of the applause around the room; more important than the award itself, ironically.

You make your way back to your seat, the certificate feeling both heavy and light in your hands. Every congratulatory smile that the other artists send to you is like a burst of warmth against the cool autumn night.

As the last of the names are called, you find yourself drifting among the crowd, eyes in search of your friends. But it isn’t long for your body to be engulfed by the arms of Wheein and Seungkwan who have managed to squeeze their way through the crowd to find you, their faces glowing with uncontainable excitement.

“Y/N, you did it!” Wheein exclaims, her eyes glistening with joy as she shakes you by the shoulders. “I knew you could! I’m so proud of you!”

“I told you it was a good sign!” Seungkwan remarks to Wheein before facing you with a wide grin. “Shit, I’m about to cry again𑁋I’m so happy for you, Y/N!”

As their words sink in, an overwhelming bubble of triumph grows within you. A shaky laugh leaves you as they continue to shower you with their happiness, heat beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes from how much your heart feels so fully right now. 

Wheein drags Seungkwan by the wrist to greet the other artists, and you’re left standing at the very side of the museum, gazing wandering around through all the faces within your vicinity. You don’t see any sign of Joshua anywhere. Did he get lost? 

With that, you pull your phone out to text him, before your eyes widen in surprise at the way you missed a message from him sent five minutes ago. You were a bit too distracted by everything else that you didn’t feel the notification of his text.

[09:03PM | joshua hong] I’ll meet you outside ❤️

Without any hesitation, you slip your phone back into your pocket and make your way toward the exit of the museum, leaving behind the lively inside and into the peaceful night. The cool autumn air greets you with a refreshing embrace as you step outside, the sky painted with the soft hues of dusk.

Joshua isn’t standing that much farther away from you, spotting him waiting idly by the small gate at the entrance of the museum, a singular spotlight shining down on him from above. As you start to approach him, he seems to notice and turns his body toward you, a smile spreading across his lips. 

“What are you doing out here?” You sign to him curiously.

Joshua’s lips form a thin line in thought, signing back expressively while answering, “Too noisy in there, and I thought you deserved some fresh air. Plus, I wanted to give you something.”

After that, he pulls out the bouquet of flowers from behind his back and extends it toward you with a sheepish look.

“I know you probably already saw them, but I couldn’t hide it any longer,” he tells you. “Congratulations, my love.”

The pleasant fragrance of the flowers float to your nostrils as you take them into your grasp. The flowers themselves are a perfect assortment of colours you find dear to your heart, like each one was personally handpicked for you. The thought and everything else has heat prickling at the corners of your eyes. It’s all too much and just enough at the same time.

Joshua grabs ahold of your hand, pulling you close to him so that one of your arms is wrapped around his waist. He places a small kiss on the top of your head before leaning down to look into your eyes.

“Look at you,” he coos softly, perhaps a pinch of tease behind his words you detect. “You’re glowing.” 

You nearly laugh at that, coming out as a shaky and probably ugly snort instead that makes you bury your face into Joshua’s shoulder. Maybe you are glowing, maybe it’s just the spotlight hanging over, or maybe you’re just too happy to even care. You feel his chest lifting and receding from the laughs of his own as you cling to him. For a moment, everything else fades away𑁋the museum, the crowd, the nerves.

When you pull away slightly, he’s still looking at you, taking the chance to let a finger slowly caress the skin of your cheek. There’s stars in his eyes that you could pinpoint, ones that seem to shine brighter than even the largest of constellations. You feel like you could get lost in them, in him, and for a moment, you do. Your breath hitches in your throat. 

A gentle breeze carries the scent of fallen leaves, the soft rustling of leaves surrounding the two of you. It's as if the world has paused, giving you a moment to simply be with each other.

You bring the arm that was around his waist back to your side. He still holds you by the hips as you bring a hand up to sign.

“I know that I can’t hear,” You start to sign slowly, his gaze flickering down to your hands curiously. “but I can feel your voice when you hold me.”

Joshua nods thoughtfully. He seems to contemplate something for a moment, before bringing his hands from your hips and up to sign. 

“How does it make you feel?” 

You purse your lips in thought, trying to find the right signs to express what you're feeling. It's hard to put into words, or even signs, the way you feel when you're with him.

“Safe… loved…” You draw your fingers graciously through the air, and Joshua’s eyes soften with affection as he watches. “...heard… understood…”

The words fly off your hands and swirl around like a planet orbiting its sun. As you peer into Joshua's eyes, you know he understands. He's always understood.

“I want…” You begin hesitantly, somewhat feeling silly at what you’re about to ask from him. “...to feel you say something to me.” 

Joshua’s eyes widen slightly, and he tilts his head intriguingly, waiting patiently for you to continue. 

You start with taking the fingertip of your hand touching your chin, before drawing it away in the form of a small arc. Next, you point to yourself, then you point towards him. Taking both arms, you cross your arms over your chest as if you were hugging yourself. And then finally, you point back at yourself. 

“Tell me that you love me.” 

A faint hint of a smirk crosses his features, before it softens into a simple look, a simple smile. Joshua just steps back forward and takes you back into his embrace, letting you press yourself against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. 

You swear that if there was one place you could stay in forever, it would be in his arms. And right now, it was only the beginning of something beautiful.

“I love you.”

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