Good Night To Him And Only Him 🫶🏽

tae in THIS all black outfit (for @kth1​ ♡)

if I can never give you peace — eight || Jungkook

[Moodboard by @jeonlovescoffee]

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 7.5k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy,  who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then  it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father  decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fights and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): toxic parental relationship, explosion, general angst

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(there is a long author's note under the chapter, feel very free to skip it lol)

“How is everything looking, Hector?” is the first thing you say when you walk though the new building’s glass doors.

The simple action brings you a sense of satisfaction you haven’t felt in a long time, as you take in what you’ve achieved. Of course, the situation is still far from what it was before Mr. X was murdered. The Organization doesn’t own this building, and it’s merely renting one floor from it. It’s also not quite as impressive of a building as you would have liked, but it will have to do, and you know that getting your hands on this place in a couple of weeks is nothing short of a miracle.

But then, knowing which strings to pull and which palms to grease had always been your thing, hadn’t it.

God, it felt good to be back to doing things the way you used to.

“Everything seems to be in order, ma’am,” Hector replies, matching his step to yours as you walk towards the elevator. Despite the fact that it’s still early in the morning, the lobby is already bursting with life. The image you’re giving the group right now is an excellent one. There’s still a lot of work to be done on the floor you’re renting, but that is only temporary and, frankly, you cannot find it in yourself to care about that right now.

“Mr. Jeon should be coming in to check on things in about twenty minutes,” you say as the elevator doors close, his schedule clear as day in your mind. “I want everyone ready.”

Everything won’t be ready by then, even you can only manage so much, but arranging for people to greet him and for his office to be in order should be feasible. You know he won’t be all that impressed by it, can picture his expression of annoyance and vague disgust. Still, it should make it clear that you have everything under wraps and that he wasn’t wrong in giving you free reign in handling the building. As you were taking the steps to do that, you had been able to tell that he wasn’t happy about all of your choices. He’d held back saying anything on that, though.

That was ultimately a good thing, of course, but you weren't sure what to make of it. Before, at least, you knew what you were dealing with. You’d tried to fight back all the paranoid thoughts you’d been having ever since the shift in Jungkook’s demeanor, tried to just trust, for once. That had been— easier said than done. Maybe you just weren't wired that way, maybe you just didn’t have it in yourself.

Knowing, from the looks you sometimes caught him giving you, that the feeling was mutual had brought a surprising sense of comfort.

The elevator doors ding as they open, and you step out on the busy floor. People are rushing in every direction, carrying boxes, chairs, computers, papers, and the occasional plant. Behind a circular desk, directly facing you, a woman is setting up a computer and doesn’t notice you. In fact, no one so much as glances in your direction, and it takes you a few long seconds to find one of the security guards that you’ve hired.

That simply won’t do.

“Who is in charge of watching the elevator?” you ask the man without bothering to greet him.

You see him blink as he tries to figure out who you are. Finally, he seems to recognize Hector and, though he clearly still hasn’t placed you, he must decide that you’re important.

“Sorry, ma’am, we’re pretty busy here, I—”

“One person needs to have eyes on it at all times,” you order. There’s no inflection to your tone, no anger, and yet it leaves no place for discussion. “That is the only thing that is needed of you. Anything, and I mean anything that happens in here must be white noise to you. Is that clear?”

He swallows.

“Yes, ma’am. Understood.”

But you don’t think he does. No matter. You’ll fix it soon enough. Perhaps it would be smart to put one of Jungkook’s men at this spot. You doubt this man truly realizes what is happening here, what this company even is, and, frankly, what he risks, being here. You suppose you’ll find somewhere else for him, and you mentally file the task before briskly turning away from him.

“Mr. Jeon’s office is that way, Hector?”

You barely need to ask. You’ve studied the plans, you've chosen the emplacement for the office, to the point that you already know this place like the back of your hand, even if it’s your first time actually stepping foot in it.

Hector hums in affirmation, following after you as you make your way through the corridor. You don’t miss anything happening around you. You glance at the wide room where half of the desks have already been set up, and at the people who are already there. They’re here to act as the legal front of the business, which really is mostly just a way to launder money. None of them are actually of value, and you haven’t bothered remembering their names or faces, but they’ll come in handy as a group.

You do recognize, in a corner, two accountants that you managed to hire again. You’ll need some more, but these two are capable of actual magic with numbers, and it’s a relief to you that that’s one less thing you’ll have to worry about. One of them looks up, meeting your eyes, and you give her a polite nod, which she returns. The quiet respect of the interaction is one more thing that helps grounding you.

You wish everything could be this simple.

When you walk into Jungkook’s office, you know exactly what you’re going to find. Except what catches your eye isn’t the elegant wooden desk, the leather chair, or the impressive view on the city you have through the picture window. No, it’s the floral arrangement that sits proudly on the desk, and the rich perfume that’s emanating from it.

You don’t know much about the language of flowers. You’ve never had to give it much thought. You do know that you don’t like these colors. Lots of red, dark greens, some unpleasant touches of purple. It’s too intense, jarring, almost tacky. When you take the card that’s planted in the middle, you know exactly what to expect.

‘Jungkook,’ the card reads in elegant calligraphy, ‘I see you keep walking in my father’s footsteps. There are things that we need to discuss. You know where to find me. —A.’

Even though your back is turned to Hector, you only stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the last second, and you want to scold yourself in response to it. If you start letting emotions slip through, you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold them in next time it really matters. You know that. You need to— you need to stop slipping.

The card goes into your wallet. New filing. You’ll have to remember to burn that later.

“Throw these out,” you order Hector. “Take the stairs to avoid running into Mr Jeon, and go out the back. Then try to find out if anyone saw them getting delivered.”

“Are you sure, ma’am? If he finds out—”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

At the finality of your words, Hector just nods stiffly and takes the basket the flowers came in. Not long ago, you would have thought he had an excellent point, would have taken pains to ensure Jungkook wouldn’t find out. It was true that he still wouldn’t be happy about you hiding things from him, but it was— things had changed, too. You didn’t think he would mind that much. He’d probably understand.

Shit. Since when did you work on probably’s when it came to your safety? You needed— you weren’t sure what you needed. To get a grip or to trust him on this?

Anna trying to contact him was undoubtedly bad news, though. Your mind latches to the obvious distraction, all too happy to move away from the dilemma. Thinking of Jungkook's possible reaction to her is enough to make your stomach twist at the thought of what happened last time. You don’t want to have to go find him, all bruised and battered, after spending the night at the Circle. You don’t want to have to see him in that state again. And most of all, you don’t want to think about what he must have felt like, to inflict that upon himself.

You breathe in, slowly. As unreasonable as it is, that is probably your main reason for not letting Jungkook see the flowers and the note. You just, desperately, irrationally, want to protect him. It’s something you did a pretty shitty job at all those years ago, no matter how hard you tried, and it’s something you’d like to do better now, since you have the chance.

That isn’t the only reason, though. You’re also not sure Jungkook can be trusted around Anna. She’s been playing the manipulation game for a long time, possibly as long as she’s been alive, and it’s clear that she still has some form of influence on him. You don’t want to give her a chance at figuring that out — figuring him out. You’re certain that it would jeopardize the Organization, and, again, you don't think that would be good for Jungkook. Falling back into Anna’s arms is the last thing he needs.

Maybe you should put more faith in him, but you’ve been doing a lot of that already, lately. It looks like this is where you find your limits.

You straighten your shoulders, glancing around the room. You cannot stay here immobile, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. Without a doubt, the potent smell hanging in the air is one he will notice. There’s even a strong possibility that that consideration impacted Anna’s choice of flowers.

It certainly would have impacted yours.

You don’t linger on that thought.

In just a few steps, you’re at the window. It takes you a second to get it opened, and when you do, the harsh, cold wind of November comes rushing in. You suppress a shiver, dig your teeth into your cheek to keep them for chattering. To finish the job, you retrieve an air freshener from a nearby closet. You made sure there would be some on hand, considering the fact that a number of hybrids would be working there. While they are not fond of the artificial smell, it’s still better than most of the unpleasant, natural ones that humans don’t necessarily notice.

And, apparently, it can be used when your bitch of an ex-boss keeps trying to sink her teeth in your new one. Like she hasn’t done him enough damage, like she hasn’t hurt him enough, like he won’t forever bare the scars she’s inflicted on him—

You still your movements, mind racing.

You’re used to the gnawing of irritation, the bite of the desire for revenge, the cold feeling of injustice. This white-hot anger is— new. It’s unlike you, frankly, and that fills you with fear. But what you find truly terrifying is the fact that you don’t find completely unpleasant. You should know better. You usually do.

Yet, for some reason, you cling on to this specific emotion.

Why?

“Why the fuck does it smell like that in here?”

Turning around to face Jungkook, the question is yet one more thing that you file away in the complex system that is your brain, making a mental note to come back to it later.

Or not.

“You’re here early, Mr. Jeon,” you say with a polite nod of your head. He’s standing in the doorway, nose scrunched in disgust, black hair falling in soft curls to frame his face and underline that perfect jaw of his. A scowl twists his mouth, no doubt due to the smell he was mentioning. “There was a strange smell in here,” you say flatly, without batting an eye. Not lying but not quite telling the truth either. “I assumed you would rather avoid that in your office.”

He doesn’t question what you say — why would he? — and just lets out an annoyed groan. You’re starting to suspect that it’s just your voice that gets on his nerves. He walks inside the room and looks around critically.

“I suppose this doesn’t look too bad,” he admits after a few second.

“This should only be temporary,” you tell him. “If everything goes well, you should be able to have your own floor.”

‘If everything goes well’ sure carries a lot of weight here.

If he makes it through the next day.

If he’s not horrifically murdered in the next few months.

If you don’t fuck up.

“I don’t know if I like this,” Jungkook comments, and there’s something in his tone that makes you look at him. He’s not really saying this to you, expecting you to react to this information. He’s just— saying it. Sharing his thoughts with you. It throws you off more than you would like to admit. “I’m not going to be running things from behind a desk.”

You bite your tongue, force yourself to think about what you want to say.

“Then think of this as being about your image, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “Ideally, I would prefer if you worked from here, at least until things settle down but,” you keep going, expecting his anger, “I would understand if you didn’t. Still, this place should be safe.” And you add, somewhat self-consciously. “I upped the security.”

He seems puzzled, and then an amused — somewhat mocking, but mostly amused — grin forms on his face.

“As long as you have some hybrids on the team, no one should be able to do what we did.”

You nod politely. You’d thought something along those lines.

“We will ensure that we do.”

“Frankly, even we didn’t think it would be that easy to take you on,” Jungkook adds, burying his hands in his pockets and taking a step towards you. The grin’s still dancing on his lips, and you stare. Is he trying to get a rise out of you?

You realize you’re taking too long to answer, and you look away, though you can tell that he's still looking at you, still smiling. You have no idea what to make of that or what you should reply. So, instead of going down that route, you clear your throat and pull out your phone, looking at it to read the schedule you know by heart.

“There is still work to be done up here,” you say, voice coming back to you now that you’re going down a familiar script, “so most of the appointments you have for today are outside. In the future, we’ll ideally hold most meetings here or in restaurants nearby.” You don’t add that you want to make sure people come to him, in a place where you can be in control, rather than the opposite. You know he wouldn’t like that, and you know he’ll likely keep his habits or going all around town. That is just something you’ll have to compose with.

“Right,” he says, tone just a little too sharp, and you hear all that he doesn’t say loud and clear. You could take issue with it, but you know that he’s making the same kind of effort you are.

You glance up at him and your eyes meet. In that moment, you both choose not to add anything that could get your defenses back up.

“Let’s get it done,” he says, and you nod.

This is something you think you could get used to. Actually, this is— nice, almost.

Almost.

While Jungkook has given you more freedom lately, not forcing you to be on his heels at all time, you are still in his presence more often than not. You are not entirely sure of how much of that is necessary. Since he now actually listens to you, it certainly makes more sense than it used to, but you can’t help but think that there has to be a better use of your time. You did mention, once, the possibility of having someone else filling in for you — someone who would be able to explain the inner workings of the Organization shouldn’t be that hard to find — but Jungkook just let out a dismissive scoff, and you didn’t bring it up again.

You did not want to push your luck, not for something that was ultimately harmless, when it was clear that you had finally reached a fragile truce. You still managed to get things done on your phone while Jungkook did— did his thing, more or less. It involved a lot of talking to people, a lot of handshakes, and many meetings in small offices that you were not always allowed into.

You were familiar with such interactions; Mr. X made sure to meet with the higher-ups at least once a month, and had frequent dinners with them individually. The difference was that Jungkook didn’t limit himself to the higher-ups. They were on the list, certainly, but it wasn’t all that rare for you to have to spend your afternoons in a freezing warehouse while Jungkook was talking with people who were only in command of a small group — sometimes, the meeting involved the whole group.

You did not say a word about it. At this point, you suspected that he knew what your feelings on the matter were, but he didn’t comment on it either. Those were differences that you could accept, especially because you could somewhat see the use in what he was doing.

Mr. X had never done anything to ensure the loyalty of those people and, though you sometimes met with one of your informants in person, neither had you. Usually, fear was enough to keep them in line. But with someone as charismatic and as confident as Jungkook… It was no wonder that that they felt they had a shot.

And, of course, a large number of the people Jungkook met with were hybrids. Some hid their attributes underneath hoodies and gloves; others flaunted them threateningly. You spotted lots of sharp teeth and claws, split tongues, scales, and, on one occasion, additional eyes on the temples of a spider-hybrid, usually hidden behind glasses.

Jungkook fit right in. The way he spoke, the way he held himself, it was obvious that he was seen as one of their own.

The same thing could not be said about you. Your mere presence could offset the balance in the whole room. On the few occasions when you interfered to talk to Jungkook, you were met with glares and even a couple of growls.

While there was no way Jungkook wouldn’t have noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. You weren’t sure what that meant. It seemed unlikely that he was putting you in these situations to make you fear for your life, not when he’d made it clear that you were not to be harmed by his men. That, however, did not help you figure out what his true reasoning was.

You were starting to wonder whether or not there was a reasoning. That was hard to wrap your head around, so unlike anything you had experienced in the years since you had joined the Organization. But then again, Jungkook was unlike anything you had experience since then.

And maybe that was not a bad thing.

During that time, you had started to send Hector do some of your less sensitive work. He’d recoiled at first at the idea of leaving you alone but, for once, he had not seemed too upset when you had insisted. You couldn’t say for sure if that was because he was mad at you or because he believed you when you told him you would be safe. He had simply nodded, and then he’d gotten to work. As it turned out, his heightened sense of hearing was an invaluable ability when he met with people or inspected places. You were always cautious not to send him anywhere too dangerous, of course, and you suspected that he knew that.

Trust might have been growing here, too, now that you thought about it.

Huh.

“This group is in charge of weapons entering the country,” you tell Jungkook in the car. “The government pays close attention to that, so they lay low when there’s no shipment coming in. The recent change in the group’s direction seems to have been well-received, even among the human members.”

Jungkook snorts at that.

“Yeah, ‘cause you would be the first to know if that wasn’t the case.”

“I actually keep a close eye on that group, considering their importance,” you reply, not even blinking at his derisive tone. “I would have heard about it.”

That makes him glance in your direction, raising an eyebrow.

“You have eyes everywhere, don’t you?” This time, he’s not mocking you.

“There seems to have been some movement within the group,” you continue, unwilling to reveal your secrets any more than you need to, “but most of the humans who were there kept their place. If anything, the new arrangement ensures more stability within the group, because the hybrids face less danger.”

You notice a muscle in Jungkook’s jaw contracting at your words, and you know exactly what he's thinking about. While weapons are strictly regulated in the country, humans caught carrying them can essentially get away with jail time, a fine if they’re lucky — or able to corrupt the police. For hybrids, however, punishment could go up to the death penalty. It says a lot about the Organization’s views that the team charged with handling the weapons was mostly hybrids.

So disposable that their lives could be lost to avoid jail time for humans.

“Most humans within the group seem to take no issue with the new arrangements,” you conclude. You’re not sure why you add that; it is an unnecessary assessment. It could be an attempt to ensure that the meeting you’re about to enter will be productive and that Jungkook won’t be out for blood. It could be you trying to stop the situation from worsening.

Or it could be a clumsy way of trying to bring him some comfort.

If that is what you are doing — and you refuse to look into it, refuse to analyze the way you’re feeling right now over something that insignificant — God are you bad at it.

“They better not,” Jungkook just growls.

There is more that you could say. According to your informant, something akin to friendship — comradeship at the very least — has developed within the group. These people look out for each other. Considering what happened in other factions once authority changed hands, you believe this to be significant. But none of this is objective, nor does it actually matter. Factions have been run without any of that for far longer than you've been involved with the Organization.

So you don’t say anything, merely lean back into your seat, and look out the window. The car is smoothly following along the bay, dwarfed by the massive cargo ships entering and leaving the harbor. Despite yourself, you feel your shoulders tensing. You’re always careful when you’re around here — would never set foot in here unless you absolutely had to. It’s too crowded, full of too many people from different factions. The ones that don’t belong to the Organization despise the ones that do. In the best of times, you’re not welcome there.

This is far from being the best of times.

Still, when you get out of the car alongside Jungkook, no one would be able to tell that the atmosphere here makes your skin crawl. Now that you frequently work with hybrids, your control over your breathing has become constant. One less thing for others to pick up on and to use against you; one more thing for you to constantly be mindful of.

You wonder if this should have been harder for you to implement, but the truth is that it only took a few days of effort. The control you have over your body at this point is— absurd, probably.

But even that doesn’t stop your heart from dropping in your chest and your blood from turning into ice in your veins when you spot a familiar face among the small group that is already gathered in the warehouse.

It’s been a while since you’ve last seen him. He’s aged considerably since the last time, grey streaks in his hair, circles under his eyes, and you wonder if anything happened and how he got affected to this job. The last time you had been in contact with him, he was still at the quiet position you had ensured he had, supervising the bouncers in a club that was not so secretly a brothel as well.

You remember the look on Mr. X’s face when you had asked him for the favor, the pleasure he’d taken in seeing you squirm.

You were almost— you were certain that this part of the business had not been affected by Jungkook’s reorganization of things. There was no reason for him to be here.

So then why are you suddenly staring at your father’s face, standing in the middle of a shady warehouse?

Had something happened? Was there an issue with money? Why wouldn’t your family have contacted you and why, why hadn’t you kept better fucking track of his whereabouts, why hadn’t you known—

Your thoughts are interrupted by Jungkook’s voice as he greets the group’s leader, and you immediately try to correct yourself. You can tell that your jaw is clenched too tightly, know that there is probably a tension in your shoulders that looks unnatural. You can only hope that people will blame it on you being a stuck-up bitch; anything that they already believe to be true about you. Anything but the truth.

You barely lay eyes on the man who brings Jungkook in a brief embrace. Hoseok, you’d learned when checking your intel. There are doubts as to what type of hybrid he is. The unnerving smoothness with which he moves makes you suspect snake, but it could just as easily be something else. He shoots you a quick smile, which would have caught you by surprise if you weren’t hyper focused on the situation at hand, wringing your brain in an attempt at understanding it.

The brief speech Jungkook gives is completely lost on you, though, even in that state, you don’t miss how easily he manages to captivate and rile up his audience. Charisma rolls off of him in waves, and no one seems to be immune to it — well, no one but you and your father. His eyes remain bored and he keeps on staring at the ground.

He does not look at you once.

It is not until Jungkook starts talking with people individually that he steps towards you.

“Fred Lucas asked me to relay a message to you, ma’am,” he says.

It’s, objectively, a good lie. He used to work for Fred Lucas, and you’re the only one who deals with him. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook glancing at you, looking annoyed. You doubt he’ll look into it very much.

The word “ma’am” still feels like a slap in the face, coming from him.

You tilt your head towards a corner further away in the warehouse. There is wind blowing through the gate, and with the loud noises of the harbor, you’re hoping it will be enough to cover your voices.

“What is it?” you ask, voice quiet, when you get there. “What are you doing there?”

He clicks his tongue like he’s annoyed at your questioning.

“Don’t you think you switched sides a little too quickly?” he asks you in return. “Nothing’s done just yet, and it’s not looking good for you. Some people might think it was an inside job.”

“Then they’ll think that,” you reply without batting an eye. “The choice was between this and death. What are you doing here?”

You see disapproval flash in his eyes.

“You've only delayed things,” he hisses. “You should lie low until the storm passes. Not everyone will find you indispensable.”

You discreetly flex your hand. His chastising tone brings to the surface parts of you that should remain buried at all times.

“I know you got this opportunity handed to you on a silver platter twice now,” he keeps going, shaking his head, “but you won’t always be so lucky.”

You know this should get a rise out of you. You should get angry. You should have something to reply to his words. Instead, you just feel yourself growing emptier and emptier.

Lucky.

He built the altar on which he sacrificed you, and he’s calling you lucky for it.

He’s jealous, a distant part of you supplies. It’s probably true.

“What are you doing here?” you ask for the third time. You bite back any other question, any offer of moving him, should he need your help. You know he would find it humiliating.

You’re not sure why you feel the need to shield him from that feeling, but you still do.

“It’s an important job,” your father replies dismissively. “Might as well take the opportunity to make a good impression.”

You can’t tell if he means that he wants to preserve his life or if he wants to try to climb the ranks of the Organization. You refuse to let yourself think about it, because if it’s the second option you’ll—

You can't think about that either.

“I see,” you nod. “In that case, you know where to reach me should anything be needed.”

For a second, you consider asking him about the rest of your family.

You think better of it before you act on that. You always do.

“Lie low,” he tells you again as the two of you are parting. “It’ll be better off that way.”

It’s only when you reach Jungkook that you consider the possibility that he might have been trying to look out for you. That is a thought that you could take comfort in, and yet you can’t even do that because, no matter how much you look at it, you just cannot find yourself to believe that.

“What did he want?” Jungkook asks you in the car as you drive away from the warehouse, away from the harbor, away from your father, and back to a place where you have control.

It takes a second for things to click into place.

“An update on the Heaven’s Doors situation,” you respond, though his eyes on you feel heavy in that moment. “Or rather, a lack of update.” A vague shrug. “Fred’s usual antics.”

“Is that it?”

You look up at him, meet his gaze. He’s just staring at you and you're not— You can’t read him. You can’t let yourself think that there's something akin to concern in his eyes. Not right now.

So you just nod.

“I will make sure to let you know if there is any actual development, Mr. Jeon.”

He openly rolls his eyes and, thankfully, the moment passes.

If this keeps up, you will definitely need to find a technique to keep that heart of yours in check.

Though you don’t mind being out and about with Jungkook nearly as much as used to, and though you still regularly have to be in the field yourself, you find immense relief in knowing that you have an office to come back to. As the preparations that you’ve made for the floor you’re renting come together, it becomes more and more of a place you can work from.

Of course, that means that every now and again, you cross paths with people you would rather not see. Some mostly harmless, like Fred Lucas, who you’ve learned how to handle, others clearly trying to determine the importance of your role in the Organization. And then there's Junho, the shark hybrid who you thought was going to be your end, who gives you a bright grin that reveals all of his teeth as you walk past the front desk where he's talking with Jungkook.

There is not an ounce of kindness in it.

You walk by with a mere, polite nod towards the two of them. You’d like to think that you haven’t let anything show — you know you’ve suppressed the shiver, you're pretty sure you kept your lips tightly pressed together — but the truth is you know cracks have formed in what used to be a perfect mask. You’ve caught it a few times now, a twitch of your lips, fingers tapping on your thigh. It’s not much. Most people wouldn’t notice it or care.

Yet it worries you, bubbles in your throat sometimes. If you let yourself slip in front of the wrong people, you could reveal too much about yourself. The thought is terrifying to you; not too long ago, it would have meant certain death. The thought that things might have changed and you might not need this anymore to your survival is perhaps just as scary.

What if you crumble? What if all those things buried deep inside your soul wreck everything you've built as they come back up to the surface?

Worse, what if they don’t?

“I’m out of here,” Jungkook announces loudly, though you’re the only one with him in his office. “Are you staying caged up in here?”

You glance up at him to find him already staring at you, jacket slung over his shoulder, and you feel your breath catching in your throat. You can only pray that your poker face holds up as you do, because all of your self-control is needed not to look away immediately. Once more, while you still can, you bury everything that comes with it, and you reply with a perfectly smooth expression.

“There is much left to be done, Mr. Jeon.”

That is not untrue, but if you were honest with him or with yourself, you would admit that the main reason for your decision is that overexerting yourself and coming home to your apartment only to collapse into a dreamless sleep actually sounds like the best way of spending your time these days.

Jungkook’s lips twist in a displeased expression, but he doesn’t seem angry, just annoyed. You can’t help the curiosity that fills you as you examine him. He seems more relaxed around you than he’s ever been. There’s still tension in his whole body, but it is not vibrating with anger and distrust anymore. In his eyes, you also cannot find the hatred you used to see. There’s a lot swirling inside them, it is true, things that you think you could spend hours deciphering, but—

“Suit yourself,” Jungkook shrugs, “but you won’t be able to stay hidden in here all the time.”

You snap back into focus, in time to press your lips together and nod at him.

“If there is anything you would like me to handle outside, make sure to let me know.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but seems to think better of it before snapping at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, turning around and vaguely waving a hand at you, though you cannot tell for sure if it is a salute or if he is merely dismissing you.

“Certainly, Mr. Jeon.”

The glass door closes softly behind him, and your eyes go back to the spreadsheet in front of you. You’ve stared at the numbers for far too long now, but you want to ensure that they are right before forwarding them to one of your trusted accountants. You could handle it all yourself; you’re fairly good with numbers. If there is one thing you’ve learned over the years, though, it’s that you should delegate whenever possible. The hard part, of course, was finding people that you could trust.

As a result, few people in the company, outside from the bosses, are paid as well as the accountants — and are under as much surveillance.

That is how they got Capone, after all, and you have no intention of seeing Jungkook or yourself go down the same way.

Your phone dings while you’re still staring at the numbers and you check it immediately, having effectively trained yourself to do that over years of juggling the informations given by your numerous informants.

The text is brief, three words to be exact, but it makes your blood run cold.

‘All out war’.

You’re on your feet before you can process it completely. Jungkook has left less than two minutes ago, your brain supplies while you rush to the door and then through the corridors. You should still be able to get to him — but the elevators are both taken. You feel more than you notice people throwing you surprised glances. You don’t have time to think about it, nor do you have time to listen to the voice in the back of your brain that comments on the fact that you’ll need to ensure that an elevator is available at all time for the higher-ups.

You’re running down the stairs before you know it. Hector, you realize at some point, though you can’t tell when exactly, would have been faster than you, but he’s probably getting his coffee somewhere on the floor and it’s too late to go get him. On your phone, you try to get a hold of Jungkook, but he doesn't reply, likely because he’s still in the goddamn building and has no way of knowing how swiftly the situation just changed and— Fuck, you need to get to him.

Based on the text you received, you have to assume your informant texted you in the middle of the meeting. Depending on where they are in the chain of command, the decision could have been made hours, maybe a day earlier. Which would leave ample time for them to plant—

You burst through the door of the lobby, earning yourself surprised looks from the people in there — among which you don’t find Jungkook. Normally you would worry of appearances, but you don’t have time for such considerations, and so you run through the lobby, wincing when your ankle twists unpleasantly, and then, finally, through the glass windows, you see him about to get in his car. He seems to be making small talk with the driver, thank God, and then gives you just enough time to walk through the door and call out to him.

“Mr Jeon!”

He turns around to look at you, surprised, while you wince at the way your voice just cracked.

“Changed your mind?” he asks, and you think you see the hint of a smirk on his lips.

You shake your head. All you can think about is that you have to get him away from the car. You gesture at him to approach, but he either doesn’t understand or chooses to ignore it.

“Mr Jeon,” you repeat, “there is something I need you to take a look at.”

Even from where you’re standing, you know he’s rolling his eyes at you.

“Then show it to me,” he replies. “I’m not getting back in there.”

You swallow painfully, eyes going back to the car. No. You’re not getting close to that thing with Jungkook. The two of you are probably at the very top of the kill list, and even if the blast might not kill you if you’re not inside, you know that is a risk the enemy faction would be willing to take, because it is a risk you would be willing to take.

“Mr Jeon,” you say, once more. “Please.” You try to convey everything you need to say into the intonation, but even to your ears, your voice barely varies. This is not an exercise you are used to — far from it, in fact.

You think Jungkook frowns, takes one step in your direction, before stopping himself. He turns to say something at his chauffeur, which you don’t quite manage to catch. He’s not showing sign of moving, and with each second in the open with minimal protection, you feel yourself growing more desperate. This is supposedly a safe part of town — but realistically, with an open war in the Organization, there will be no safe parts of town for the next few months.

“Jungkook!” you finally hear yourself shouting, and his head immediately whips in your direction, eyes wide. This time, finally, he walks in your direction, and the relief you feel is so overwhelming that you can feel your legs grow weak under you.

“What the fuck?” he growls in a low voice when he reaches you. Normally, you’d try to figure out exactly what is going through his mind then — if he’s angry, if he’s surprised, if you’ve made a mistake — but right now, all you can do is exhale in relief.

“It’s war,” you say simply, voice low. “You need to get inside, and we need to call reinforcements for this place.”

You shouldn’t be surprised when Jungkook doesn’t budge and simply looks at you like you've just grown a second head, but it does take you aback. This kind of information would have been enough for you to formulate a dozen instructions — it was enough for you — and you curse yourself quietly for not realizing you needed to express it differently for him. Letting your emotions get the best of you like that… There was a reason why you didn't do that.

“What do you mean, it’s war? I thought you said they were lying low since you started hunting them—”

Your eyes keep darting between him and the street, trying to figure out where the threat is going to come from — because you don't doubt there is going to be a threat. Any second now.

“I was wrong,” you interrupt him. “You need to get inside, Mr. Jeon, please, until we figure out—”

“Don’t bullshit me, if it’s war I won’t be doing it from here, I’ll be—”

You tune him out when you hear a honk. A car arrived behind Jungkook’s. You see the drivers shouting at each other, before Jungkook’s driver gets in his. Quietly, you pray that you were wrong.

The car has moved less than a meter when it blows up.

Then it's chaos. People shouting and running, a burst of flames shooting up in the sky, the smell of burning gasoline.

Jungkook turns around slowly, shouts a name that you don't recognize but that you have to assume refers to the driver. He starts moving in the car's direction, but you regain enough control over your body to catch him at the last second. Your fingers wrap around his arm, and that makes him pause. He looks lost when his eyes find yours.

“Jungkook,” you say, barely more than a whisper, and he likely wouldn’t hear you if he wasn’t a hybrid, “you need to get inside.” Then your voice gets quicker as urgency replaces fear in your veins. You start saying out loud what your brain is processing in the moment, both because you need him to understand the severity of the situation and because you likely won't have time to fill him in later. “They just blew up a car in one of the richest areas of the city. Either they don't care about repercussions by the police, or they’ve already bought the police. Even if you weren’t in there,” thank God he wasn't in there, “they've sent a clear message. They won't stop at anything now. Either they will die in this fight, or—” You swallow, throat suddenly dry. “Or we will.”

Jungkook just stares at you for a few seconds longer. His jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth, and then, slowly, his face hardens. His fingers close around yours, just a second, before he takes your hand off of him.

You hadn’t noticed you were still holding him.

You do, however, notice that the very tip of his fingers linger on your skin, and the gentleness of the gesture.

You choose to make nothing of it.

Once more, he looks at the car, before he looks at you again. He doesn’t look lost this time. He looks resolute.

“He’s dead already,” he tells you. “Let’s get inside and do— whatever it is you said to do. Call— whoever you need to call.” You nod, having to rush to follow his long strides back inside the building. “Let’s show those bastards.”

As the elevator doors close on the two of you, you find yourself staring at the burning car. It is a strong blow, to be struck in front of your headquarters. But Jungkook is alive, standing next to you, and filled with such determination that you want to believe in him against all hopes. So, instead of keeping your thoughts to yourself, you nod decisively.

“Certainly, Mr. Jeon.”

standard author's note: i'm sorry it took me so long, i hope you still enjoyed seeing oc and jungkook after all this time, i hope you'd missed them a little bit and you enjoyed their dynamic, and i hope you liked the chapter :) if you did, it would mean the world to me if you would reblog, comment, or shoot me an ask, everything is welcome! i wish you all a great day and i'll see you in the next one.

lengthy author's note: sooooo, it's been a while. if you've followed my blog you know i've been struggling with various stuff — first finishing my master's thesis, and then just. life in general and writer's block in particular. on top of that, with this story there's such a slow burn that everytime i step away from it, i'm afraid i'll pick things up 'wrong'. you know, if i make them too close/if i make them a step back, if i repeat myself too much (repetition of oc's thought-process is intended but only to a certain degree), etc. i hope this stil works. i'm also... idk, i guess i'm afraid of disappointing people after all this time. it's scary to think that people have waited for so long and might go 'oh, i waited all that time for this'.

and most people have been very sweet about the time i was taking to write the chapter and i'm not saying this to be all 'woe is me' or to get sympathy!! please know you don't have to read this and feel bad for me or comfort me lol, and vice versa if you didn't like the chapter it's all good lol. it's just... that's the kind of things that can make writing harder.

thank you for reading all that, genuinely seeing the continued interest in iicngyp on my blog and continuously getting asks about it by people who were so invested in the characters played a huge part in getting me to write and finish the chapter and i'm endlessly grateful for that. hopefully i'll see you a little sooner next time, and i wish you all the best!

— Conversations about Home (At the Deportation Centre), Warsan Shire

[text ID: My body is burning with the shame of not belonging, my body is longing.]

“If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.”

— Vincent van Gogh

            ✩      𝒕𝒂𝒆𝒉𝒚𝒖𝒏𝒈 (𝒃𝒕𝒔) 𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒏       !!⠀     

☆̲̲: 𝑏𝑡𝑠 (𝑅𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑚 ) 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑠

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dextrocardia | 14

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 9.7k

warnings: a LOT of bodyshaming and fathobia and sexism

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 14/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

“I hope you know that I appreciate all the things you’ve been telling me. I know it can’t be easy, all the things you’ve gone through. So I appreciate it, even if I unfortunately…”

“Don’t have much to say?” you smile at him as you turn to close his bedroom door behind you.

“Yeah. It’s a lot different than when I’m talking to someone who maybe just got out of a… situation because, while that’s always hard, you just have to listen and assure them they did the right thing, going to the cops and that we’ll guide them through the rest and hopefully help them get justice. That it wasn’t their fault, you know? But you know all that already, and I’m not much help; in fact, I was a big part of your problem and going to the police probably made it worse in your case because we let you down instead of helping you.”

It’s sad, the way he says it, reaching for the collar of his t-shirt at the back of his neck. He pulls it over his head before he suddenly stops, the shirt stuck across his lowered arms. You meet his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and see how it dawns on him that despite explaining earlier that he wants to keep his shirt on–at least with you in the house?–he hasn’t actually been committing to that promise. You wonder if it had anything to do with his scars, if he wanted to spare you from seeing them or just not risk you being uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, take it off,” you comment casually, “but do know that I might warm my cold feet against your skin.”

He grins, finally removing the shirt entirely and throwing it onto the chair in the corner. “Feel free.”

Flicking the lights off, Jeongguk joins you in the dark, getting under the duvet and getting comfortable.

It’s silent for a while, and you’re halfway between sleep and consciousness when Jeongguk says something you definitely weren’t expecting.

“Are you still scared of me?”

You roll over to face him, even though the room is almost pitch black.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I think that I will always be aware… of what you can do. Even right now, if you in this moment decided to hurt me, there would be nothing I could do about it. I can spend my days in the gym but odds are a vast majority of men could overpower me anyway. If I were to trust my gut, it would say that you’re a… good guy, but I know that most women murdered by a man they knew or even their male partners didn’t fall for someone openly abusive. They’re sweet at the start, and then they change. Hoseong was like that too; kind until he wasn’t. I know you know that because he fooled you too.

“When it comes to you, I think the only reason I’m here with you is because of what you did that night. I would’ve found any reason to believe that you were still playing a game of making me trust you, just waiting for the right moment to strike, if I hadn’t seen you fight them. No matter how talented of an actor you are, they were prepared to kill you, and you… were prepared to die.

“And this…” you move your hand under the sheets, tentatively finding his chest and the scar. “I don’t like looking at it, and it feels like it’s my fault your mom almost lost her son, but it’s also… almost a relief. I don’t have to second-guess if you really want to help me or if it’s just a long con to… finish something. But like I said… just because you haven’t tried to kill me yet doesn’t statistically mean you won’t. I don’t think you will, but then again, there are a lot of dead women who probably wouldn’t have imagined their murderer being someone they knew.”

Jeongguk places his hand over yours on his chest. “For what it’s worth, I could never hurt you. I know I did; that I hurt you emotionally and scared you, but not even when I thought you were the most selfish person on the planet would I have physically hurt you.”

“I will let the fact that I came to live with you speak for how I feel about you, or at least want to feel about you. Also the fact that I’m sleeping in your bed with you.”

“That you find me entirely irresistible, dying to be close to me at all times?”

You roll your eyes, however, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good that we’re on the same page then, cause I’m kinda stuck on the fact that you kissed me.”

Inevitably, your cheeks warm up further, but it’s okay since it’s dark anyway.

“I did. It was a good kiss.”

“Yeah. I totally wouldn’t hate it if you did it again. In fact, I am open to kisses anytime, just as I am hand-holding.”

“You’re sure? Even from me?”

You hate that you have to ask, but… you do.

“Absolutely.”

You consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to trust his words, at least tonight. Empowered by the dark, you move your hand from his chest. It travels over his warm neck before it reaches his jaw. Your heart beats so hard you’re almost convinced he can hear it, but you ignore it and move closer. Despite the dark, you see his face and how he’s smiling, patiently waiting. It’s both a blessing and a hellish curse how handsome he is; he truly takes your breath away. 

Using your hand, you move your hair away, and you lean down to connect your lips. His are so soft, and he kisses you back so sweetly, letting you set the pace. You move your mouth against his, pulling back an inch just to do it again. Jeongguk lets his hand hold your waist, and even though kissing him is… a dream, you’re reminded that there’s a limit you’re not comfortable crossing.

So you pull back, but you still let him hold your waist.

“There.”

You fall asleep quicker than the nights before. A few hours later–and a few hours before morning–you blink your eyes open, finding yourself entangled with him. You’ve got your arm thrown over his middle, your cheek resting on his naked chest, right below his chin, and one of your legs lies between his.

For a while, you listen to his breaths, thinking about what it is that you’re doing. He’s so warm, and he feels so… safe, but there’s still a certain thought in your head.

When you wake up the next time, you’re once again alone in Jeongguk’s bed, and the first thought crossing your mind is how unnecessary boarding up your window really was when you’re practically almost always sleeping in his bed these days. Also, does he count on being able to hear a potential intruder trying to break in through his window? Because there is one, and it’s definitely not boarded up.

Your curiosity grows when you hear Jeongguk move throughout the house, and the sound of a…. what is that?

Rolling out of his bed, you yawn as you open the bedroom door to almost run head first into a stressed-looking Jeongguk. The sound you heard you identify as the now turned off blow dryer, something you’ve borrowed yourself but never seen him use. Looking up, you realize that, yeah, his hair is still wet from a shower and blow drying it means that he either doesn’t want to wait for it to air dry or he can’t.

“You’re going to the station?” you ask, noticing that he is actually indeed wearing his dark blue, almost black uniform.

“Yeah, uh, multiple trafficking victims on their way. Want to be there before they arrive.”

A very specific feeling moves through your chest; an uncomfortable sadness that someone has most likely been through hell, but there’s a warmth there too, for Jeongguk.

“What are you looking for?”

He looks around, patting his pockets, “Uhm, I have my phone, wallet, house keys. I need the… bike key and the helmet. The helmet is probably in the garage, but I’m not sure where the key is.”

You blink, trying to remember what jacket he was wearing the last time you recall him using the bike. The leather one, right? You step up to the coat rack, looking through the jackets until you find it. Swiftly, you search the pockets until… 

“Found it. Do I put it in your uniform jacket?”

“Oh, thank you. Yes, please,” he says over the sound of the blow dryer that he grabs once more.

You watch him dry his hair, incessantly running his fingers through it to speed up the process. A few minutes later, he turns the machine off and runs his fingers through the black hair one last time, “It’ll have to do.”

Then, he’s gathering his stuff, taking the jacket from your hands and heading toward the door leading to the garage as he throws it on. “Not sure when I’ll be back, it might take a while cause I don’t know how many they are or what they’ve been through, but I can update you?”

“Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Come here for a second.”

Confused, he takes the four steps until he’s in front of you looking down curiously but a little stressed at you.

You smile at him, at how pretty and caring he is. “Be careful.”

He grins, a little surprised. “I always am. But it’s mostly just letting them talk and writing it all down, and–”

“I meant on the road. With the bike. I know you can handle the case.”

“Oh. Will do.”

For a millisecond, he looks at you, his bottom lip bitten. Then he’s pulling you closer by your waist, pecking your lips sweetly.

“I’ll see you later.”

With warm cheeks, you watch him enter the garage, thinking of his kind, brown eyes. You don’t know what to feel.

When Jeongguk returns, he’s angry. He doesn’t say much except frustratingly relaying that apparently, one of the women had called the police about a creepy neighbor appearing to watch her house six months ago. The two officers sent did absolutely nothing at all. Couldn’t offer any protection, didn’t talk to the neighbor, couldn’t even give the woman any advice, just left. Two weeks later, the neighbor takes her. You understand Jeongguk’s frustration toward the system, but when he’s spent two hours in the gym without any kind of break, you decide to check up on him.

You hear the brutal beating of the punching bag long before you spot him.

“How are you doing? You’ve been in here a while…”

Jeongguk stops and looks at you from behind the sand-filled bag, breathing heavily. He’s shirtless, and there’s sweat covering his skin and wetting his hair.

“I’m alright.”

But you can tell that he’s frustrated by the turmoil in his eyes. Although it’s hot to see him work out, you don’t like seeing him like this. It has an uncomfortable feeling growing in your stomach.

“You’re doing what you can.”

“Yet there’s always more to do. It never ends, and it’s never enough.”

He’s definitely right about that, but does it help to be so worked up about it? Or are you the weird one, more likely to go apathetic when reminded of the injustices of the world these days?

“But you did your part today, and I know you made an impact in their lives.”

He looks disappointedly at the sandbag, as if your words didn’t affect him at all.

“Hey,” you call softly. He looks at you.

“If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

‘Right now’ as in alive.

“But I–”

“If you never transferred, they would’ve gotten me at this point.”

“Bare minimum,” is all he mumbles.

“It meant a lot to me. Everything, actually. And I’m really grateful.”

At that, he finally smiles a little, and you find yourself dangerously lost in his eyes again.

Thirty minutes later, at nine p.m., the power goes out. You stop what you’re doing, your hand, holding the kettle frozen in mid air over the mug. Even the very, very low humming of the fridge and freezer stops. You put the kettle down, glad that you probably managed to fill your mug with enough tea water.

Where is your roommate? Last you heard, he was about to take a shower. 

“Jeongguk?” you call, but the moment you peek out into the hallway, you run straight into him, still wet from the shower and with a towel around his hips, you think. 

“What happened?” he asks, his hands steadying your elbows.

“Uh? I don’t know? I was pouring tea and the lights and everything went out.”

“Oh? So that means it wasn’t our doing. I’ll check if there’s a blown fuse; you never know.”

“Okay,” you pat the pockets of your sweatpants, “Here’s my phone if you want a flashlight.”

“Thanks,” he nods, grabbing it from your hand.

He taps the screen to turn the flashlight function on, the light pointed down immediately illuminating every little crevice in his abs and the glints of water still on his skin. The white towel hangs low, exposing a bit of a happy trail.

You look away, and Jeongguk, seemingly none the wiser, turns around to find the fuse box somewhere other than in the kitchen, guided by your phone.

Sighing to yourself the moment you’re alone again, you go back to your tea, removing the bag from the mug. Opening the fridge, you’re once again reminded of how dependent on electricity you are when the open door doesn’t trigger the built in light. Still, you find the milk, and you manage to pour a little bit into the mug and put the container back in the still chilly fridge.

By the time you finish stirring the tea spoon around, you hear Jeongguk’s steps approaching you, and you see the ray of light illuminate the floor in front of him.

“No blown fuses. I’m gonna see if there’s anything on the provider’s site or else I’ll give them a call.”

“Are you gonna get dressed as well, or?” you joke, watching him smile cheekily. 

“Yeah. I was just barely done washing my hair when the light went out.”

“I can see that; you’re dripping all over the floor.”

“Sorry,” he says and shakes his head like a dog, launching drops of water at your clothes and face. 

 “Jeongguk!”

Laughing, he leaves the kitchen and steps out into the dark.

“What if I slip and fall?” you call after him, wiping the drops from your face before returning to your mug to take a test sip. It tastes good, but you’ll definitely try to remember to buy honey next time you go grocery shopping because you’re a sucker for a little sweetness.

Half a minute later, you hear footsteps approaching, and when you turn around from the sink, Jeongguk is drying the floor with the towel he was just using, now wearing what looks like a pair of sweatpants of his own. He doesn’t say anything, just makes sure the floor is dry and then he leaves again, much to your amusement. Like you said; you’re a sucker for sweetness.

While he’s gone, you use your phone’s flashlight to pour the rest of the water into another mug in case Jeongguk wants some tea too. Then you venture carefully into the living room, trying not to spill the hot contents. It goes without accidents, and so you set the mug down onto the coffee table before reaching for the remote. Which doesn’t work. 

“Fuck, no TV,” you mutter to yourself. And you’ve used your laptop without the charger all day. Even more fuck.

“Jeongguk, is your laptop charged?” you call out, praying to the gods.

“Uh, yeah,” he appears behind you, having matched a black hoodie to his gray sweatpants.

He’s holding something in his arms, a lot of smaller things. Candles, you realize when he leans down to gently dump them onto the table. From his pocket he then produces a lighter.

“You wanna watch something?” he asks, lighting the candles one by one, the coziness factor doubling with every flame added.

“I was gonna watch this documentary, but my laptop isn’t charged,” you pout. “Oh, and also, the Wifi won’t work.”

Jeongguk chuckles. “Mine should be fully charged. And we can use my mobile data.”

Wow, way to flex.

“Great. I made tea, do you want some?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

While he goes to grab his laptop, you return to the kitchen to fix his mug of tea as well, returning as he’s setting everything up, the screen illuminating his face where he sits on the couch. The flickering candles are doing their best too, casting a more yellowy glow across the room.

“Thanks,” he says once more when you place the mug in front of him. “Here.” 

You accept the laptop, navigating to the specific streaming site and the documentary released just last week about the development of the space shuttles. Due to the size difference between Jeongguk’s TV and that of his laptop, you take your seat closer to him than usual.

Jeongguk sips his tea, but the moment he’s put the mug back safely on the table and is leaning back against the couch and watching the screen, he slowly lets his hand find yours. 

In turn, you find yourself moving closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. He smells nice, and he feels nice. And it’s suddenly like someone started some kind of wordless game. You don’t say anything, but there’s also a kind of tension that builds, no less in your body. 

Perhaps also feeling the… electricity building, Jeongguk makes his next move, this time slowly lifting his arm to put around you, making you lean against his chest instead. The action has his hoodie riding up just a little, exposing a sliver of his stomach.

When it’s your turn again–and you feel your shared anticipation grow–you try to psych yourself up. He likes you, he likes you. 

So, you place your hand on the exposed section of skin, caressing it carefully with your thumb.

Besides the documentary, it’s quiet, although you’re almost positive Jeongguk can hear your heart beat erratically; it’s definitely beating loudly in your ears. For his next turn, Jeongguk somehow both swiftly and slowly pulls you onto his lap, and before you know it, you’re straddling him, staring down at his smiling face.

The narrator speaks in the background, but you can only focus on Jeongguk and how your heart might soon beat its way out of your chest. 

You could kiss him. You could.

He looks at you like he’s hoping for it but not expecting it, and you pray to God he actually does want you to. Because you want to kiss him so badly. 

He’s got his gentle hands on your thighs, and you place yours softly on his face, holding his jaw and rubbing your thumbs slowly over his cheeks. Until you move one thumb and press it even softer against his lips.

This man is too good to be true, he has to be. As you let your eyes admire him, you think about the fact that, even if you disregard how he literally took a sword to the heart for you, he’s done more for you in the short period of time you’ve known him than any other man in your life.

So you move your finger from his mouth, nervously switching it out for your lips. You can’t even describe how much you like kissing him. When it’s sweet and innocent and just lips and a wordless confession of ‘I like you,’ or when you use a little tongue, and he chooses to follow your lead, kissing you back with the same growing heat. But there’s still something bothering you that you can’t ignore.

In the midst, you pull back an inch, eyes glued to his lips to avoid his eyes. “I like kissing you, but… “

“But what?” he wonders, his hands drawing innocent shapes on your thighs. Your heart pumps even harder as you choose your next words.

“I’m not really your type.”

He smiles, looking carefree, “You are. I think you’re a sweet girl.”

Jeongguk kisses you again, and you try not to think about it, but even with his lips against yours, it’s hard. A sweet girl. Letting one of your hands fall from his face, you grab the collar of his hoodie, clumsily placing your hand inside it to touch his chest, feeling for the scar.

Taking it as you wanting it off, he pulls away to yank the hoodie over his head, and it ends up somewhere toward the end of the couch. Even without it, his bare skin is just as warm under your hands, but before you know it, you’re on your back on the couch, and he’s above you. He’s very sweet, and in this moment–with your hands splayed across his back and the scar there–you know he won’t hurt you. 

A sweet girl.

Right?

A sweet girl. You hear the voices and feel the anxiety and fear return to fill you. You go with the flow, unsure of what to think or do. Jeongguk helps you out of your shirt and then your bra, and you watch him sit back to throw them onto the floor somewhere. 

But the moment he returns his attention to you underneath him, he stops. Because you’re covering your naked chest with your hands like your life depends on it, eyes teary and absolutely and helplessly begging him to look anywhere but at you.

He still does, and you can tell he’s surprised, his wide eyes taking in the situation from above you.

So you plead quietly, “Please don’t look at me.” 

It takes half a second, and he’s immediately closing his eyes, turning to feel around for something behind him. Your shirt probably lies somewhere farther away on the floor, and so his black hoodie is what he ends up grabbing, handing it to you still with his eyes closed.

And he of course moves off of you, the only sounds in the room being the documentary, the slight rustling as you’re putting the hoodie on, and your quiet breaths.

When he assumes you’re dressed, he opens his eyes, heart visibly breaking when he sees how absolutely shaken to the core you look, hugging your body and sitting up. You turn your eyes to the documentary on the screen even though both of you know you haven’t been watching it.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he starts to explain, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, wanting desperately not to make a big deal out of it. If you could just will your hands to stop shaking.

“No, I–”

“Jeongguk, please. I’m fine, okay. I’m not… I’m not ready, but… Can we not talk about it, please?”

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes and see the somber worry in them as he watches you from where he’s sitting, still shirtless.

“Okay. If there’s anything I can do…”

You smile tentatively at him, desperate to move on from the subject, “Watch the rest of the documentary with me?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “I’ll, uh, go and change so you can get your hoodie back.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Keep it,” he’s quick to rise to his feet, already on his way somewhere–presumably his bedroom.

The forty seconds he’s gone you use to calm your breathing and stabilize your voice. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t going too fast or not listening to you. He listened to what you gave him; you, yourself only figured out where exactly the line was drawn when it was basically already crossed.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt when he returns, taking a seat next to you and focusing his eyes on the screen, probably more so for your sake than his. “I hope you know that you can tell me anything. And I have no certain expectations you have to fulfill or so.”

You already know that he’s not asking sex for rent, if that’s what he’s wondering. But regarding his first statement… there are definitely things you don’t want to talk to him about.

“Yeah,” you answer regardless.

When the credits roll only a few minutes later, you know that you have two options. If you sleep in your own bed like you ideally want to, you risk there being an awkwardness tomorrow and that you definitely don’t want. Or you sleep in his bed with him like you have the last few days, and sure, it might be a little awkward, but he probably realizes you’re not up for cuddling, and it’ll be easier tomorrow.

“Oh. Finally,” Jeongguk exclaims when the ceiling light flickers on, signaling the return of the electricity. “I was starting to worry about all the food in the freezer.”

Subsequently, he leans over the coffee table, blowing out the small candles one after the other. It’s late anyway.

“So, uh…” he rises from the couch, “I’ll keep my door open, but I’m not offended if you choose to sleep in your bedroom.”

“Okay,” you nod at him, watching as he leaves to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

You stand up too, but no matter how much you want to crawl into bed next to him and have him hold you the entire night, you get ready for bed, and you lie down in your own room. You’re still wearing his hoodie because it smells like him, and it ironically brings you comfort. Still, you lie there in the dark, and you think about his face, and his eyes, and his body. His voice, even, and how he might actually be a good guy. Maybe even everything you want, even if it doesn't matter. And you curl up, a few tears running silently down your cheeks. Because Jeon Jeongguk is so very far out of your league, it’s not even funny.

After waking up, you trudge toward the kitchen, still feeling half asleep. After everything that happened yesterday, you still managed to sleep pretty well, most likely because you were exhausted and sleeping alone.

“Morning.”

You stop, hands mid eye-rub. 

“I… thought you’d be at the station?” you say, redirecting your focus to taming your hair. Jeongguk is sitting at the kitchen table, donning a white t-shirt and black, what looks to be cotton, shorts.

“No, I’ll use today to go over some of the potential leads you helped find. Can do that from here.”

He takes a bite of a cupcake, and you catch his eyes linger a second on your body and how a small smile pulls on his lips before he looks into his phone in front of him. Glancing down, you realize that since you didn’t expect him to be home, you didn’t change out of his hoodie so what he saw waddle into the room was you, swallowed by his hoodie, sweater paws rubbing your eyes.

“It, uh, smells good,” you mumble quietly, realizing way too late that it’s not that great of a defense. “But I’ll wash it and you can have it back.”

It smells good because he smells good.

He waves his hand, still looking almost… fond. “It’s okay, keep it as long as you’d like. I have a ton of them.”

“Okay, uh, thank you.”

“No problem.”

At least the awkwardness was for another reason.

You decide to do a bit of laundry, although skipping the black hoodie and hiding it away under your duvet for a little while longer. Doing the laundry, vacuuming most of the house, and emptying the dishwasher takes you almost an hour, and then you find yourself outside Jeongguk’s office, knocking on the open door and peeking inside. 

“Making any progress?”

He lifts his head from the laptop screen and swivels around in his chair to face you, a pen in his hand. 

“No,” he sighs, “I’m looking into the girlfriend angle and so far, we’ve put detectives on a recent ex of Seunghwa’s and on two of Ryung’s flings, but it hasn’t resulted in anything. Regarding Hoseong… I’m not sure I ever actually heard him mention anyone by name, at least not any name that I can seem to match to anyone.”

“What about… I remember him talking about this Jimin?”

“Who’s that? I think we’ve covered most of his friends?”

You search your memory, but it’s hard to remember details. It’s been years since the conversations you try to recall, and as far as you remember, he only mentioned her in passing. “It was a woman, and I think they were more than friends. Or at least she wanted to be.”

“I didn’t even think of that; I only know male Jimins. Tell me more,” he urges, and you can tell he’s trying to recall if there was ever a mention of a Jimin.

“Well, I heard him complain about her a few times; said she was clingy and honestly a little obsessed with him. He made it sound like he didn’t care for her that much. In retrospect–besides being a very red flag–it sounds like something he could’ve said about me when I liked him.”

“Someone who maybe is mostly just a regular woman and would still maybe help them if they’re desperate enough to ask. Or him, at least.”

“Yeah.”

For a few hours, you and Jeongguk work together in his office, and you nearly forget about yesterday’s mishap, trying to find more info on this ‘Jimin.’ Until you find yourself nearly chest to chest with him after turning around too quickly and not expecting him so close. Instead of meeting your eyes sweetly and slowly lowering his head to kiss you like he probably would’ve even yesterday, he smiles and… backs up a few steps. 

“Hey, should we take a break? Have a late lunch?” Jeongguk stretches his arms out in front of him. 

You continue noting down some last names from your phone onto a paper, using the chair Jeongguk wheeled into his office specifically for you as a table while sitting on the floor. “Uh, you go ahead. I had a late breakfast.”

He stands up. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”

“Mhm, you were already in here.”

“I can wait then, and we can eat together.”

“It’s alright; go ahead.”

He mumbles something you don’t quite catch, but he does leave you to your notes and disappears from the office.

For the rest of the day, it’s just as if you’ve taken two or even three steps back. You don’t… touch a lot, and you definitely don’t kiss. A part of you misses it, but another part is relieved that he’s giving you space. He’s still very, very sweet, of course. You didn’t expect anything else.

Like when you open a cupboard, gaze set on a specific mug of his you’ve taken a liking to thanks to the very big ear that prevents the hot tea from burning your hand even through the ceramic. Compared to your male roommate, you’re lacking a little more in the vertical department and for some reason, whoever emptied the dishwasher placed the mug on the top shelf.

You look at it for three seconds, debating on whether you should grab a kitchen chair and climb or simply admit defeat and choose the next best mug. You’re about to go for the latter option when your hero swoops in, wordlessly and casually picking it down for you, a mug of his own raised to his mouth.

“Thank you,” you take the offering from his hand, a smile growing on your lips.

“You’re welcome.”

Or how he’ll still open whatever door you run into for you, to the point that it wouldn’t surprise you if he tried to open the automatic doors and hold them open with his hands when he takes you grocery shopping.

And sometimes, you do touch. Whenever he’s quick enough to exit the driver’s seat and open the passenger door for you, he holds his hand out for you, and when you take it, he helps you out as if you can’t step out of the car on your own. 

When you watch a movie, you don’t sit glued to each other, but he’s not scared to gently pull your feet–which you’ve complained all day of being tired–onto his lap to briefly massage them for you. He smiles at you, all crinkle-cornered sparkly-eyed and dimpled. On two short occasions, he holds your hand carefully, something you don’t object to because it feels nice, it really does.

But despite all these things, you still sleep in your bedroom. You don’t lock the door, but you do sleep alone.

Three days after the incident during the power outage, you’ve worked a long day in Jeongguk’s office. Alone, because he had to leave for the station at nine a.m.. You’ve had a lot of time to think, not only today but ever since what happened–and before that honestly–and it’s become very clear that you need to make a decision. Maybe you should simply gather your courage, give it a shot, and tell him how you feel about him, no matter what happens after?

Despite feeling somewhat determined and having some kind of honestly not very thought out plan, you’re anxious, wandering around the house as you wait for him to return. 

An hour before he comes home, you find yourself in front of the washing machine, throwing the black hoodie into it finally. With the machine on, you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of wine. It helps a little, and the remaining nerves that still reside in your chest, you decide to just try to ignore.

The sound of his bike is what notifies you of his return, and you leave the kitchen to meet him in the garage, watching as he swings his leg over the bike and takes the black helmet off, holding it under his arm.

“Hey,” he greets when he sees you waiting, a genuine smile on his face. “How was your day?”

“Uh… good. Narrowed down the Jimins a bit, I think.”

“That’s great,” he grins, his elatedness infecting you too, causing you to smile a little hesitantly despite the nerves devouring you. “Have you eaten yet? I know it’s kinda late but if not; I could cook something?” 

He puts the helmet on one of the shelves that line one of the walls, and then he comes to stand before you. 

You keep your eyes on the jacket with the police emblem on it before you peer up at him. A little hesitantly, you reach for the zipper of his jacket, fiddling a little with it.

“I, uh… actually have something else I want to do. Something I’d like to try… If you’re up for it…”

Tentatively, you reach your hand out, fingers pulling down the zipper of his jacket. He watches you curiously, doing nothing to stop you.

“What is it? That you want to do?” he asks, his warm voice definitely sounding curious but not overly so.

You swallow, deciding to just go for it and slowly placing your arms around his neck, “Well… Do you have any… handcuffs?”

He tilts his head, holding your waist while looking at you, searching. “For me? I do, but we don’t have to do anything; you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but if I really want to? Or maybe you…” you realize that he might just not want to. Like, at all. Oh, how embarrassing.

Seemingly noticing the way you take a step back, lowering your arms from around his neck, he stops you, his hands keeping them there.

“No, no. I’m always willing to let you do whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t mind.”

His encouragement has a more genuine smile pulling on your mouth.

“Meet me in your bedroom then?” you ask, “And bring the cuffs.”

Not waiting for a confirmation, you drop your hands from his neck, and you turn around to head inside the house. Your heart is pounding, going absolutely haywire while you wait for him on the edge of his bed. Maybe you should’ve worn something else? Something other than just a pair of mom jeans and a blue sweater, but it’s too late now, you guess.

He shows up only a minute later, eyes curiously observing the heavy chair you’ve moved from the corner and into the middle of his room. The first thing he does is unbutton the dark blue shirt of his uniform, sliding it down his arms and throwing it onto the bed. You look at his chest and his arms and his stomach, and you see how he notices. This… humble confidence looks so good on him, and it’s so insanely different from how he acted during the mission. You’ve never seen anyone so attractive. 

The next thing he does is approach you where you’re sitting, offering you his hand all while smiling sweetly… but still a little cheekily.

Placing your hand in his, you’re pulled up to your feet, basically chest to chest with him. There’s heat in his gaze, but it’s not scalding; it’s just warm. 

You give in.

“Kiss me?”

He searches your eyes for hidden answers, but you really do want him to kiss you, and so he does. He places one hand on your lower back, moving your body with him as he steps back and sits down on the chair. Ending up sitting across one of his thighs, you open your eyes when he pulls away just enough to speak.  

“I don’t mind you doing… whatever you want to do, if that’s just sitting on my lap or… exploring me. I’m all for it. Do what you want to do. But,” he says, emphasis on that last word. “Only do what you actually want to.”

You nod, and he reaches down to pull something out of his pocket. The handcuffs. You take them from him, pocketing the small key.

“By the way, how did you get out of the cuffs at the house?” you ask, weighing the metal in your hand.

“I went and got another key before. So I threw you one key and kept the other.” 

You feel your forehead crease as you think about what that means. You were only able to relax when you thought he couldn’t hurt you, but he… could? At any point, he could’ve simply unlocked the cuffs himself?

“I didn’t keep a key because I had ulterior motives or anything. I was just worried you might hurt yourself or pass out for real, like, stop breathing and everything, so I needed a way to get to you if that were to happen.”

“I didn’t even think about that,” you admit quietly. It’s true; the fact that you had multiple pairs of handcuffs with you to the house, and they all use the same universal key entirely slipped your mind. “But of course. How stupid of me.”

“It wasn’t stupid. You were under a lot of stress, and I used that to my advantage, hoping you wouldn’t think about it.”

Standing up, you round the chair to kneel behind it. Without having to be asked, Jeongguk puts his hands back and waits for you to cuff them together.

“So I’m tightening these extra hard and making sure I have all keys,” you joke, still fastening them tight enough for him not to be able to slip them off.

“If that’s what you need to feel comfortable. But I hope you know that I’ll always listen to you.”

You nod, maybe more so to yourself when you stand in front of him again. He looks up at you where he sits, shirtless and looking gorgeous and absolutely mouthwatering.

You bite your lip briefly. “Can I… kiss you?”

“Whatever you want,” he grins, a smile that widens when you sit down on one of his thighs again.

“Okay. Close your eyes?”

Without a word, he obeys your request, and you feel yourself get almost hypnotized, looking at him. You’ve truly never seen anyone so stunning, even to the point that you could sit and gaze at him for hours. The best of mankind but still very much a man. You remember how you used to hate him, thinking God wasted this incredible beauty on someone so ugly, but although you’re not entirely sure how you feel about him, you know you don’t hate him.

Carefully, you trace your fingers along his sharp jaw, and despite his eyelashes fluttering, he doesn’t open his eyes. Unable to help yourself and because you truly don’t think he minds, you allow your gaze to drop. His neck is relatively thick, and the veins are only slightly visible compared to when he’s physically active. Your eyes then land on his collarbones. Then his wide, muscular shoulders and pecs. Then the scar, before traveling across his abs.

“You’re so pretty,” you state quietly, looking up at his face just in time to watch him smirk.

“Pretty is for girls; I’m a man.”

You can’t quite explain the emotional wave that hits you as you come to terms with what you have to do–the decision he’s made for you–but you know that you have to hide it, can’t make a sound of hurt in the silent room. Pressing your lips together, you look around the bedroom before you rise from his thigh.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, still smiling and oblivious, his eyes closed.

Already at the window, you untie the white curtain’s tieback and hold it up. “What about this?”

He opens his eyes and looks at the white piece of fabric in your hand, but doesn’t appear too skeptical. “For what purpose?”

“Blindfold.”

Trying to keep a positive and somewhat fear free mindset, it still hurts when you see how he immediately connects the blindfold to how you shielded your chest from his eyes. There’s pain and there’s guilt swimming in his dark eyes.

“You can, but please don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“Okay then.”

With his permission, you place the folded sash over his eyes and tie it in the back, careful not to trap any hairs. When you’re done, you take another second to look at him. There is something so irresistible about him, something that has your heart yearning and your body pulled in. He’s so warm, both body and presence. You bite your lip, using your hand to trace his cheek softly while thinking about how he’s so conflicting. What if you want to stay here forever? Curl up like this where he can’t touch you, and lean your head against his neck where he can’t see you?

Like the time when you kissed three days ago, you touch your thumb to his soft lips, and you let the smile and the mask you’ve been wearing fall. Quietly, you stand up, and you take a step back.

“I thought you were going to kiss me?” Jeongguk jokes lightly.

You don’t know what to say, stuck in your footing to the floor and how he can’t see you. It’s like a weight has dropped from your shoulders, but your heart still feels heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

Not picking up the real meaning behind your words, Jeongguk tilts his head. “Okay. It’s alright. Why don’t you uncuff me and we can maybe order dinner instead?”

“I’m leaving tonight.”

“Wait… what?” he straightens up, struggling to process your words, “Why?”

But you go silent again, unsure of exactly how you’ll ever be able to tell him everything. He calls your name, sounding stressed, and you hear how he tugs on the cuffs.

“You scare me.”

He stops, and you can tell by the way he seems to almost be holding his breath that it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I… I understand that you’ve been through a lot, but I’m never going to hurt you.”

You keep your eyes on him, feeling like he, himself most likely believes what he’s saying. But it’s not that easy.

“I know… that all in all, you’re a good man. You want to help me and others, and I know you said that not even when you thought I was the most selfish person in the world would you be able to hurt me physically. But you had no problem hurting me in other ways.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ve apologized for that, and I’ll keep doing it.”

“I don’t know how to read you,” you add, disregarding what he said because he has apologized, but not in the way that you needed. Not in a way that really matters to you. If this man hasn’t had you broken in a thousand pieces and still insisted on stepping on the remains.

So you keep going. “You look sweet–you’ve been sweet, but you look just like him. Hoseong was sweet too, until he wasn’t. And you… you have this desire to hurt, you want to inflict pain on those who wrong you or who you think have done you wrong. What happens if you think I’ve done something you don’t agree with?”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions without talking to you, I’m not making the same mistake again–”

“What if I actually do something you don’t like?”

For a few seconds, he goes quiet. “I’m not going to hurt you ever again, I promise.”

You fiddle with your hands, glancing down at them. “Are you sure? It was so easy for you, using all my weaknesses against me and breaking me down without ever asking me for my side of the story. And it scares me how you, during the mission, showed just how easy it was for you to one moment act like you could stand me–looking just as sweet as you do now–then angrily tear me down the next.”

It hurts in your whole body but the worst pain originates from your chest. You feel small, insignificant, but also like you take up too much room.

“I know that you probably don’t want to hurt me physically, and that you’re a better man than most, and at first when we came back, it wasn’t too difficult to ignore what you…. think of me, but now…? I kissed you, and you kissed me back, and it just… everything is coming back. I’ve been trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t hurt me at all anymore and that maybe you even like me like I like you, but I know that you don’t. Which in turn makes it hard to know why you’re doing all of this. I think maybe you feel guilty or want to be nice? Give me a chance even though I’m not your… type. But I… I like you. I really, really like you.”

It’s easier to admit than you originally thought, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I want to look at you every second of the day and my hands absolutely yearn to touch you all over. But I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to look at me. I don’t want to be perceived at all. I know that if I stay here and show myself to you, you will not like what you see. You will be disappointed.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, not straining against the cuffs anymore but taking on a calmer approach. “It’s not true. I really do like you, and I think you’re really pretty. Please, I apologized for the things I said, and I’ll do it again. I’m really sorry; I just said those things because I wanted to hurt you. “

“You did. You hurt me, and I’m hurt. You apologized for wanting to hurt me, but you’ve never impli–actually, It doesn’t matter. I know what I look like, it’s kinda hard to forget when you’re constantly reminded. You and your friends came for every single flaw of mine, Jeongguk. “

“I only continued because you never seemed fazed by it.”

“‘I never seemed–’”, you stop to chuckle in disbelief. Your eyes are tearing up as you recall the moments you’re about to remind him of. 

“Are you saying that you never noticed that I stopped eating lunch at the cafeteria after what you did? Hoseong said that maybe someone would actually like me if I ‘ate less,’ and you laughed like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. That was the day after you walked past me in the cafeteria, saying ‘leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?’ Jihyo brought cookies for her birthday two weeks later, and you suggested–in front of everyone–that maybe I should do something else with my mouth besides eat. I criticized the fact that no male officer wanted to work on ‘low-rewarding’ cases like my trafficking case, and you… Do you remember what you said?”

Your eyes are already blurry with silent tears, and you feel the humiliation drown you. There’s no way to go, nowhere to hide. People like Jeongguk are watching, inspecting and observing every little part of you. Your bottom lip trembles.

Jeongguk is silent. If he could see, he’d be looking at your feet. You were right to blindfold him because you would’ve never been able to speak so earnestly had you not. Although you like him, and he’s been so kind and sweet to you, you’re back to feeling like nothing in his eyes.

“‘It’s not about the case; it’s about you. You couldn’t pay me to even look at you. In fact, I bet not even the traffickers would take you, otherwise we would’ve definitely traded you.’”

The pain radiates from your chest, leaving no cell of your body unaffected at the implications. You are so ugly and disgusting to him that if he had the chance, he would’ve sacrificed you to a fate no one should ever have to face. 

He doesn’t give you a reaction now either; he just sits there with his head lowered. But this is your one chance to tell him how you really feel. You take a big, shaky breath.

“I was doing okay before all of this. Sure, I’ve always known that I have a lot of flaws, but I was doing okay. But you’ve said over and over again that I disgust you, my body makes you want to hurl, you wouldn’t fuck me if your life depended on it, etcetera. It takes its toll. Eating around men gives me anxiety, even if I try to hide it. I cover up my… shoulders as much as I can because I can hear you describe them as ‘manly,’ and how every man within earshot chuckles. 

“I wear thick bras and tops, especially around you, because you made it a habit to comment on my breasts and how unfortunately shaped and sized they are. I remember how you asked me how on earth I ever expected Hoseong to like me when I had the ‘saggiest tits in the district.’ And I remember the field day you had when you found out they’re a bit uneven, finding a way to lower your rating of me from a 0.5 out of 10 to a 0.1. Then you asked the other men for their opinion and rating. Or how you’ve so kindly informed me that I didn’t have the tits for that pretty, blue dress and that it looked awful on me. Are you saying that you didn’t notice that whatever you’ve commented on, I’ve never worn again? Not even anything similar?

“I don’t wear tighter pants without a longer shirt to cover my ‘misshapen,’ ‘unfeminine’ hips and the ‘weird dips’ you’ve laughed at, and whenever work dress codes require me to, I’ve avoided you and other men the best I could.

“I wore a skirt to work once, and when I ran into you before changing into my uniform, you said that skirts are for pretty girls and that no one wanted to see my… cellulite. You took every chance to remind me that I have myself to blame for being undesirable, and that men weren’t the problem, I am, and ‘how wasn’t I ashamed for thinking someone like Hoseong could ever like me?’

"Believe me, I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you think I never considered just… drinking the poisoned coffee? Or just starting the car even though I knew the brakes wouldn’t work? If there was a way to get rid of one’s body, believe me, I would’ve. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know what he did to me at the time because how I looked never changed. But looking like you do, I get that you don’t understand how it is to walk around, filled with shame for existing in such an unfortunate body, but I can tell that you want to be better. Maybe you feel bad and want to give me a free trial of how it is to be with a Good Man. Or you want to do the ‘right thing’ so that your dad would be proud? I don’t know, but I can’t ignore the fact that I know how you really perceive me and how you are so far out of my league, it’s embarrassing to even stand here and say it.

"So while I appreciate everything you’ve done for me cause I’d be dead and gone without you, I can’t stay here. You want someone to hold hands with and to buy flowers for, but that’s not for people like me.”

Finally done, you wipe the tears that fall, and you shakily swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat.

“Take the blindfold off and uncuff me,” he begs, once again straining against the handcuffs. You know he isn’t getting out of them, and while he could stand up, the chair is too heavy for him to just pull along with him when he’s got the blindfold on and no sight. He knows, just as well as you, that there’s no use.

“No.”

“Then listen to me; none of that was true. You are so pretty, so breathtaking. I like you so much.”

“Forgive me for not believing you. If you really thought I was even remotely pretty, there have been countless opportunities for you to say so. Or even just a ‘hey, you know you’re not actually as revolting as I told you.’”

“I… I didn’t want to overwhelm you or have you doubt my intentions, but I’m telling you now that I’ve always thought you to be beautiful.”

You scoff sadly. “Yeah, now when the consequences of your actions have arrived,” you glance down at your feet, feeling so insignificant. 

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’ve already packed my stuff.”

“Where are you going? You can’t go home; it isn’t safe there.”

Truly, at this moment, your safety doesn’t seem like your top priority. “I’ll be careful.”

“Can’t you stay with someone, at least?” he bargains, “Jihyo or Sana?”

Another tear falls, and your voice goes quiet. “I want to go home.”

You really do. You haven't been home in months, and you feel like a child sleeping over at a friend's, missing your mom so much it hurts and just wishing she'd come and pick you up.

“I know, but you just gotta hold out a little bit longer. Call Jihyo, please. Do you want me to watch your house twenty-four seven, cause I will.”

You consider his words, and if there’s anything you don’t want, it’s to have him so close again. “Fine. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah…”

With nothing really left to say, you pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the Uber app.

“I’ll uncuff you in a few minutes, I’m just ordering an Uber.”

Luckily, a car is only three minutes away, and so with quick fingers you confirm it. You packed your stuff three hours ago in case this would be the outcome, something you’re very grateful for now. Maybe, maybe, if he had said something, you would’ve kissed him and decided to stay, hoping that he was being honest. But you know that you might be a sweet girl to him, but you're not a pretty girl.

A minute passes, and you sigh sadly. “Okay, I’m gonna open the handcuffs, but I’m begging you, Jeongguk, stay there until I’m gone, okay? Don’t remove the blindfold, please?”

It’s his turn to seemingly consider what you’re saying. What you did, agreeing to call Jihyo, was for him and respecting his wishes. So he has to respect yours. He can’t rip off the blindfold the moment you twist the key in the cuffs and try to persuade you to stay, no matter if he wants to. 

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You decide to trust him, and with the key belonging to the cuffs, you round the chair where he’s sitting. Kneeling like before, you manage to unlock one of the cuffs in two seconds, and the metal clinks as it falls off his wrist. Instead of freeing his other wrist as well, you grasp his free hand and put the key into his palm, closing his fist around it.

Though you shouldn’t have expected him to be entirely quiet and still, because while he doesn’t make any move to rise from the chair or remove the blindfold, he does swiftly grab your hand, holding it firmly. Despite being blindfolded, it definitely feels like he’s staring straight at you behind him.

“Don’t believe anything any of us said, please. You really are so gorgeous, and not only that but you’re incredibly smart and hard-working. You’re amazing, and I will regret what I did to you for the rest of my life.”

But you hurt so much on the inside that you don’t say anything to that, you just pull your hand out of his grasp.

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author's note: so.... anyway, uh... like, comment, and subscribe <333

Aria Aber, from Hard Damage; “How to pronounce John Frusciante correctly”

[Text ID: “But how ironic I must be / to have entered a language / wherein I mistake / I will leave you / for / I will love you”]

—mothers

ijeoma umebinyuo // hyatt moore // class of 2013 by mitski // i, tonya (2017) // ? // gustav klimt // ? // lady bird (2017) // i remain in darkness by annie ernaux

richard siken my beloved