ANOTHER TIME | JJK

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst. Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Oral [m/f] Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance]

[Tags: Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark, Kook's a jerk and mean for the earlier chapters]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Note: This was originally a long one-shot but Tumblr's being difficult. So I've decided to break it down to phases. Part 2 to be posted soon.]

[Chapter Word Count: 8k+]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

Summer has always felt like a quiet promise to you. There’s something about the way the morning light slips through your curtains—soft and golden—that makes everything feel a little easier, even the things you keep inside. The heat never bothered you. It felt like warmth you could hold onto, like being hugged by the world when no one else could see you slipping.

Maybe that’s why summer became your favorite.

Or maybe it was him.

Because it was summer when you met Jeon Jeongguk.

You remember the sun that day—how it blazed unapologetically over the shoreline, how the heat curled around your ankles as you sat in the sand, watching yachts slice lazily through the water like moving sketches on a canvas of blue. The world felt slow, easy.

Until it didn’t.

A few feet away, he was there. Camera in hand, lens pointed right at you. Bold. Unapologetic. Not even pretending to look away when your eyes met his.

“What the hell? Are you seriously taking pictures of me right now?” you’d snapped, jumping to your feet, brushing sand off your shorts with all the anger a sixteen-year-old could manage. “Do you even get how creepy that is? You freaking pervert—”

“Wait—wait! No! It’s not like that!” he had stammered, hands raised like the camera was some weapon he never meant to pull. “It’s for a portfolio—college applications! I swear! I was just trying to catch the mix of people and nature, you just—uh—you fit into the scene—”

He’d fumbled with the camera strap, trying to explain between nervous laughs and rushed apologies.

And you? You were mortified. If the ocean had opened up right then, you would’ve let it pull you under without a fight.

But somehow — between his flustered panic and your still-burning anger — he said something about not even knowing if the picture turned out, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

That was the beginning.

That summer, Jeon Jeongguk became your best friend.

It was a summer night when everything smelled like pavement heat and distant jasmine, and all you wanted was to peel off your work clothes and melt into the couch. The kind of night where even your bones felt tired.

You hadn’t expected the light. Not the soft glow flickering from dozens of candles tucked across shelves and countertops, or the trail of flower petals curling like a secret through the apartment. It felt surreal—like walking into a dream set up by someone who had memorized all the quiet corners of your heart.

And then you saw him.

Jeongguk stood in the middle of the living room, his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders a little stiff, like he wasn’t sure how to breathe. He looked like a boy caught between fear and flight, only staying because he wanted this more than he feared the fall.

You blinked. Because for weeks—months—he’d been telling you about a girl.

The girl who made his chest tighten. The girl he wanted to impress without looking desperate. The girl he asked you about late into the night, as if your advice were gospel. And you, being his best friend, had answered every question with a brave smile and a cracking heart. You told him what flowers to bring, what not to say, how to read a moment without overstepping.

You played the part. You always did.

You had been there through all of it—those messy college years with coffee-stained notes and shared deadlines, the victory of your first job offers, the tiny celebrations and the quiet disappointments. You watched girls chase him and get turned away, every time.

And every time, he turned to you, his safe space.

“You’re just easier to talk to,” he’d say, kicking at the floor. “You get it.”

And maybe that’s when the lines began to blur.

You weren’t sure exactly when your chest started to tighten at the sound of his laughter. When his name, unspoken in your head, started to feel different. Maybe it was never a single moment. Maybe it was all of them, stitched together into something steady and impossible to ignore.

So that night, when you stepped into that room—into the flickering candlelight and the warmth he’d tried to contain—you thought, she’s coming. The girl he’s been talking about. He’s going to tell her everything.

You even turned to leave.

But then he said your name.

And three words that didn’t belong to anyone else. “I love you.”

At first, you stood frozen, trying to understand. Trying not to hope too hard.

Then he stepped closer, and from behind his back, he pulled a bouquet of tulips. Purple. Your favorite.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

And in that moment, the world quieted. Not in some big, movie-like way—but in that gentle, everyday pause when everything just feels right. Like letting out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You remember thinking, So this is what it feels like. To be chosen. To be seen without having to ask.

That summer, at twenty-one, with candlelight brushing his skin and tulips in your hands, your best friend had become something else entirely.

The love of your life.

The summer you had turned twenty-three, you expected nothing. Life was moving too fast to pause for birthdays.

Jeongguk had spent almost a year working toward a promotion to Creative Director, buried in late nights and never-ending deadlines. You had just quit your job— nervous but determined—to begin preparing for something bigger, taking over Seora company. Your mother had wanted to retire, and you, with your heart pounding, said yes to stepping into her place.

That year, you hadn’t made any big promises to each other. Just a quiet understanding. Takeout and sweatpants, maybe a quick kiss over leftovers, and the real celebration could wait until life calmed down.

So when Jeongguk texted you that afternoon, “Leaving work early. Be downstairs in ten,” you hadn’t expected much. You figured he’d forgotten a gift and was making up for it with a last-minute dinner somewhere quiet.

What you hadn’t expected was the way he grinned the second you opened the car door, eyes bright despite his exhaustion, hair slightly messy from the wind. Or the way he said, as soon as you settled in, “It’s going to be a long drive,” like he had a secret folded up in his chest.

You spent the first twenty minutes badgering him with questions, poking at his side at every red light, demanding clues. But he only laughed. Reached into the glove compartment. Pulled out your favorite snacks like weapons in an old, familiar war.

“Here,” he said, placing a candy bar in your hand. “Eat this and be quiet.”

It worked.

And somewhere between city roads and country silence, between the music humming low and the smell of tulips that hadn’t yet touched the air—you stopped trying to guess.

You didn’t expect the garden. Didn’t expect the burst of color in the middle of nowhere. The sunset lighting up each petal like it was meant to happen right then. You didn’t expect the table, softly set under hanging lights, or the quiet sound of your favorite song drifting through the air.

You hadn’t even known a place like this existed.

“Happy Birthday, my love.”

Jeongguk’s voice was gentle in your ear, his lips brushing your temple as his arm slipped lightly around your waist. Two years in, and somehow the sound of his soft nicknames still made you melt, still lit up something warm and tender in your chest. It was proof that the spark hadn’t faded. That time had only made it deeper, more real.

Dinner unfolded like something out of a dream, somewhere between romance and playful banter. You’d barely taken your first bite before launching into a full-on interrogation, bombarding your boyfriend with questions, how he found this place, when he had the time to pull it all off.

Jeongguk only laughed, stealing a bite of your food and shaking his head. “Just eat, baby. You ask too many questions.”

You smirked, leaning in as you wiped a bit of sauce from his lip with your thumb. “Look at you evolving. Feels like just yesterday you were panicking about how to flirt with a woman.”

His expression crumpled into mock outrage. “That was my first time! I was going to declare my undying love for you! Had to get it right for the perfect woman.”

That nervous boy, fumbling with his feelings and petal trails—it was hard to believe this confident man in front of you had ever stuttered through a sentence.

“You’re still so cheesy.”

“And you still love me,” The grin that followed, soft and certain.

“I do,” you whispered. “I love you, Gguk.”

By the time dinner was over, your stomach was full and your heart even more so. You leaned back in your chair, soaking in the breeze, the stars above, the warmth of his hand in yours.

Then came another surprise — a small birthday cake, carried over by one of the garden staff with quiet, careful steps. You raised a brow, laughing softly. “You already fed me dessert.”

“Can’t have a birthday without cake,” he said, already lighting the single candle. “Come on, make a wish, baby.”

You smiled, the flicker of the flame reflecting in his eyes. For a moment, everything slowed.

A safe home. A stable career. A loving partner. A healthy life.

What more could you ask for?

And yet, as your eyes fluttered shut, you wished anyway. Not for something new, but for this—this exact moment, this exact love—to last. And if change ever came, may it be the kind that blooms, never breaks.

You opened your eyes, ready to blow out the flame—

But what you saw wasn’t the candle anymore.

Jeongguk. Down on one knee. A ring shinning between his fingers. Eyes locked on yours, trembling, hopeful, sure.

“That day you called me out for being a stalker?” his voice wavered slightly, his smile laced with nostalgia. “That was actually the happiest day of my life.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“It was the day I met you. You were yelling at me, face all red. I honestly thought you were going to explode.” He let out a breathy laugh. “But there I was—sixteen, camera in hand—completely mesmerized by this girl who didn’t even know she looked like she’d stepped out of a painting. Your hair was flying with the wind, and your eyes… they looked like the galaxies. The sun hit just right, and you—” He paused, eyes softening. “You looked like the start of something.”

Your chest clenched, but in the best way. You tried not to smile too hard. Tried not to cry. Tried not to melt under the memory he was bringing to life.

“That day marked the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he added, his voice gentler now. “One I never thought would turn into this.”

Your fingers were damp with sweat; you quietly wiped them on the back of your dress, hoping to steady yourself.

Jeongguk’s words kept flowing, low and sincere.

“You stood by me when I had nothing figured out. When I failed, when I fell short, when I let things get to me—like that time I cried over failing an exam, or losing my camera bag like the world was ending—” he chuckled, and you did too, tears prickling now from laughter and longing all at once.

“You were just always there. You were my calm. My constant.” He looked at you with such deep care it almost ached. “And you cheered me on through everything. Even the small wins—like that two-hundred-dollar incentive I got from pitching that campaign.”

You laughed again, that memory coming back in crisp detail. Jeongguk had burst into your office, practically bouncing, holding up his bonus slip like it was a golden ticket. He hugged you so tight he nearly lifted you off the floor.

Those small wins… they had felt like the peak of the world back then. Not because of the money, but because you’d been in them together.

And just when you thought your heart couldn’t take more—

“You know me better than I know myself,” Jeongguk said, voice steady but eyes a little too bright. “When I can’t figure out which tie to wear, or what shoes go with my pants, you pick them out instantly. And just like that, everything feels easier. You always look after me. Even when you’re tired. Even before we got together, you were already putting me first.”

He reached for your hand then, softly, like he could sense the storm inside you. And oh, how it churned—your stomach tight, your breath uneven.

“I know you think I’ve done the same for you,” he continued. “That I’ve made you my priority too. And I have. Always have. Always will. But deep down…” he swallowed, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “I still feel like I could do more. As your husband. If you let me.”

You froze, your pulse loud in your ears. You told yourself to stay calm—but they gave you away, trembling against his warm hands.

“Today is for your wishes,” he said softly, drawing you closer. “But I have one of my own.”

And just like that, your world shifted.

“I want to be your husband. Your forever partner. To love you endlessly, for as long as time will allow. Will you marry me?”

Tears spilled before you could stop them. Your voice wouldn’t come, not at first. But your body answered for you—nodding quickly, sinking to your knees, wrapping your arms around him like you’d just found the safest place in the world.

He laughed—half breathless, half crying—and pulled back just enough to cup your face.

“W-wait, babe, I need to hear you say it,” he whispered, grinning so wide it almost hurt to look at. “You’re saying yes, right? This is real?”

“Yes,” you finally breathed. “Yes, Gguk. I’ll marry you. I love you. I love you so much.”

Jeongguk threw his head back with a yell of pure, unfiltered joy. It echoed into the tulip fields like a promise. “I can’t wait to call you my Mrs. Jeon,” he beamed. “Or—hell—I’ll take your name. As long as you’re mine forever.”

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t delicate. It was wild, eager, soaked in love. You tasted it in every press of his lips—every wave crashing into you like a vow unspoken.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured again, forehead to yours, as the tulips swayed around you like they, too, were celebrating.

The sun dipped a little lower, casting gold across his skin. You thought time might stop for you both, just for a while.

And somewhere in the soft drift of laughter and love, you found yourselves in another season, another golden evening—one where the air smelled like grilled food and summer fireworks, and Jeongguk’s hand was laced with yours under a different kind of sky.

The following summer, on the day you turned twenty-four, the world felt still in the best possible way.

You and Jeongguk had come a long way since that quiet birthday dinner in the tulip garden. What once felt like a distant dream—building a life together while chasing your own ambitions—was slowly becoming reality.

Jeongguk had earned the promotion he worked tirelessly for, settling into his new role with newfound ease. The stress that once creased his forehead had begun to fade. And you, with steady determination, took over at Seora, walking the path your mother had gently prepared for you.

Everything started to fall into place. The late nights, the risks, the struggles—they all suddenly felt worth it.

You moved out of the tiny apartment that once held all your early memories and into a house that reflected how far you’d come. It was larger than you needed, tucked away in a quiet compound, but it was yours. Every corner felt like a fresh page.

Jeongguk had picked your birthday for the wedding. “It’s poetic,” he once said, lightly running his finger along your palm. “I get to celebrate the day you were born and the day you chose to stay with me forever.”

And he truly meant it. That choice—so thoughtful and deliberate—wasn’t just romantic. It was the kind of gift you’d hold in your heart always, something only he could give you.

And so, that summer day became more than just a birthday celebration.

It became the beginning of something timeless.

The air smelled of sea salt and lavender as the ocean breeze drifted through the half-open window of the bridal suite.

Your dress shifted softly with each breeze. Light ivory silk with thin layers of tulle that floated like water. The bodice hugged you just right, with lace stitched in soft, wave-like patterns that reminded you of all those summers by the Busan shore. A short train gathered behind you like a memory waiting to happen. Your hair was pulled back in a loose, low twist, with a small pearl comb set gently above your ear.

You had been ready for over an hour. And still… you waited.

A gentle knock broke the quiet.

Hobi’s familiar face peeked into the room, his voice warm. “Ready, Mrs. Soon-To-Be Jeon?”

You tried to smile. Tried. “Hey.”

He stepped inside, practically shaking with unspoken feelings. “You look stunning,” he said, placing a hand to his chest. “Like, Jeongguk-is-gonna-lose-it stunning.”

You laughed, barely. Your fingers kept picking at the hem of your dress. “Hobi…”

“Yeah?”

“What if this… changes everything?”

The question hung in the room like fog. He paused, eyes gentle as he stepped toward you.

“What if we ruin it?” you whispered. “What we had. What we have. We've always been best friends first. What if marriage breaks that?”

He walked over and sat beside you at the edge of the dresser bench. Without hesitation, he took your hand — grounding, warm, familiar. His thumb traced slow circles against your skin.

“You’re scared love might erase the friendship."

You nodded. “Or twist it into something we can’t come back from. What if we lose what made us, us?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you with the kind of knowing only someone who had seen every chapter could offer. “You know what I see when I look at you and Jeongguk?” he said at last. “Two people who always find their way back. Every detour, every almost. You always chose each other, even before you knew you were choosing.”

A shaky laugh slipped out of you, soft and a little unsteady.

“And listen,” Hobi continued, gently but firm. “Love didn’t come to take the place of friendship. It grew from it. You really think that’s something that falls apart easily?”

You shook your head slowly.

“No,” he said. “It’s the strongest kind. You’re not losing anything today. You’re building something new — on top of everything that already made you strong.”

And in that moment, something eased in your chest. Just a little. Just enough.

You finally smiled. This time, it reached your eyes. “How’d I get lucky with you as my man of honor-slash-wedding planner-slash-therapist?”

He grinned, already misty-eyed. “No idea. But I’m billing you later.”

The sun dipped low not long after, golden light spilling over Gwangalli. Purple tulips arched overhead at the altar, swaying gently as the sea whispered behind them.

A hush settled over the small crowd as soft music started. You stepped into sight.

And Jeongguk — waiting at the end of the aisle — looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His lips parted, eyes wide and bright, hands shaking just enough to make yours start to tremble too.

You walked to him, everything else falling away. He let out a breathless laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

The officiant’s voice faded into the background — because your hearts had already started speaking.

When it was time for the vows, Jeongguk reached for your hands. His grip was warm, steady, even as tears swelled in his lashes.

“I don’t remember the exact moment I fell in love with you,” he began, voice thick. “Because it wasn’t just one moment. It was all of them. Every inside joke, every late-night walk, every time you looked at me and saw more than I thought I was. Every dumb argument about ramen flavors.” A soft wave of laughter rose from the guests. “You were my best friend before anything else. You still are. And I promise, no matter what love turns into, I’ll never stop choosing you.”

You could barely breathe. Still, you found the strength to speak.

“I never imagined we’d end up here,” you said, voice trembling, “but I’m so grateful we did. You’ve seen every part of me — even the ones I tried to hide — and loved me anyway. I promise to keep choosing you. Even when you leave your ridiculous toe socks all over the house.” More laughter. More tears. “I vow to be your rock, your hope, your home. I’m thankful for every moment we’ve shared and every one we’ve yet to live. I love you — always and forever.”

The officiant didn’t even get to finish. “You may now—”

Jeongguk was already moving, hands cradling your face as he kissed you. Soft. Sure. Fierce with every vow spoken and every one unspoken.

The applause, the waves, the music — all of it disappeared.

There was only you and him.

Still standing. Still choosing.

The night folds around you both like a velvet ribbon — warm, private, endless.

You hardly remember making it to the suite — just bits and pieces. His hand holding yours a little too tightly. The soft thump of your bodies pressing into the door as it closed behind you. The way Jeongguk looked at you like you were his whole world — eyes wide, a little out of breath, his smile unsteady with all the feelings he was struggling to hold in.

You’re laughing when he scoops you into his arms — a clumsy, chaotic lift that has you squealing.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he says, voice rough with awe as he carries you to the bed. The words spill out messy and honest — pure, aching truth. “Finally. All mine.”

He sets you down like you’re the most fragile thing in the world. You’re still laughing, fingers skimming the strong line of his jaw, then the chain of his necklace as it disappears into the hollow of his throat. His pupils are blown wide when he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. Then your mouth — slower this time, savoring.

It feels like the kiss from the ceremony never ended. Like it just melted into this one — deeper, heavier.

“You’re staring,” you tease softly when you pull back, trying to catch your breath.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “Can you blame me?”

His hands find your waist, thumbs tracing small, careful circles against the silky fabric of your dress. He’s trembling slightly, you realize — a tremor in him, delicate and charged, like he’s terrified of doing this wrong.

You brush his hair back from his forehead. “We can go slow,” you whisper. “We have all night.”

His answering smile is boyish, crooked, devastating. “No,” he says, tugging you closer until your noses brush again. “We have forever.”

When you finally pull him down onto the bed with you, there’s a flurry of limbs and laughter — the kind of ridiculous tangle that only happens when two best friends try to be lovers and forget, for a moment, how to breathe.

“Wait, wait,” Jeongguk’s laughing into the crook of your neck as he fumbles with his jacket, then your dress. “I’m doing this wrong. I had a plan. It was a very sexy plan.”

You giggle, breathless, reaching for the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. “We’re not doing plans tonight.”

“No plans,” he agrees, voice low and giddy, “just... you.”

He kisses you again, harder now, a little clumsy from how much he wants you. His hands map every inch of you they can reach — shoulders, arms, waist — like he’s memorizing you all over again. Like this time, the stakes are different. Higher.

When he finally peels your dress from your shoulders, he moves slow. Painfully slow. Like unwrapping a gift he’s dreamt about but never thought he could touch. His fingers ghost down your skin, his gaze drinking you in like he’s starving.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t mean for you to hear. His voice is thick, frayed at the edges. His hands shake when he cups your face again, grounding himself with your skin.

“You’re not wearing the socks, are you?” The tease slips out before you can stop it.

Jeongguk snorts against your shoulder, biting gently at your skin in retaliation. “Married five hours and you’re already picking on me.”

“I love your dumb socks,” you promise through a breathless laugh.

He hums, trailing kisses down the slope of your shoulder. “Yeah, well. Tonight, I’m wearing nothing but you.”

The teasing fades into something quieter when he lays you back against the pillows, his body covering yours, warm and solid. You feel every place he touches, every place he doesn’t, like they’re marked on your skin. His mouth moves slowly, in awe — kisses pressed to your chest, the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your hips. Wherever his lips go, his hands follow — stroking, coaxing, making you feel it all.

And God, you do. You feel everything.

You arch into him instinctively, a soft, helpless sound slipping from your lips. His breath stutters at the noise, and he lifts his head just enough to look at you — really look at you.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says. His voice is raw, scraped-down, stripped of anything but restraint. “I’ll stop. Anytime. Anything.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper back. You cup his face in both hands, thumb tracing the soft curve of his bottom lip. “I want you.”

A low sound — almost a whimper — slips from him then, and he nods, lowering himself until every inch of him is pressed against you. His hips shift against yours, experimental, a little awkward.

You both gasp.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, burying his face against your shoulder. “Okay. We’re... figuring this out.”

You laugh again, breathless and deliriously happy. You tilt your hips, guiding him, and he groans — grateful, needy.

The first time is clumsy, achingly sweet. There are moments you miss each other, teeth knocking, soft curses murmured between kisses. But there’s laughter too, and whispered encouragements, and the kind of heat that comes from knowing someone so deeply, so completely, that the vulnerability feels natural — like breathing. Like coming home.

“You’re doing so good, baby."

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking, “say it again.”

You smile against his skin, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “You’re doing so good, Gguk.”

He moves with you, guided by instinct and the quiet understanding you’ve built over years together. Every thrust, every kiss, every shaky moan feels like a new promise — I love you. I want you. I’m yours.

When you both finally fall apart, it’s not with fireworks or grand declarations. It’s quiet, almost sacred — his name on your lips, yours on his, whispered like prayers into each other’s mouths.

Jeongguk refuses to let you go. His arms band around you, tight and unyielding, even as your skin cools and the room settles into a sleepy hush.

“You’re my best friend,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your chin. “And now you’re my wife. How the fuck did I get so lucky?”

You smile, heart so full it aches. “Guess you’re stuck with me... forever.”

He grins against your skin, already half-asleep. “Good. I never wanted to be anywhere else.”

You reach for the blanket draped over the chair, wrapping it around yourself like a shield — or maybe a memory. A soft, bittersweet smile touches your lips as a gentle warmth fills you.

The laughter that muffled into pillows, the way he used to look at you like the world disappeared when you walked into a room. You think of those tangled nights in bed, when wanting each other turned into something deeper, where you'd both go again and again — not for pleasure, but to prove, in the only language you both spoke fluently back then, who loved the other more.

You close your eyes.

And for a moment, you're back there.

You remember the second you stepped through that door. How everything else had faded away.

The house had felt alive somehow, even in its quiet—sunlight spilled generously through the wide windows, the air tinged with fresh paint and the sea salt that clung to Busan’s breeze. It had been perfect. Everything you two dreamed of and bled yourselves dry to build.

You could see it all—lazy mornings tangled in white linen, coffee still warm in hand as the waves crashed just beyond the terrace. No urgent calls from both your jobs in Seoul. No blinking notifications. Just this. Him. The two of you, in your own little world.

You hadn't meant to cry, but of course you did. A single, stupid tear betraying you the moment the front door clicked shut behind you.

Jeongguk noticed before you could pretend. "My love," he’d murmured, pulling you close, thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek like it hurt him to see it. "We did it."

You nodded, burying your face against his shoulder, breathing in the comfort you always found there. "We really did."

He kissed your forehead like he was sealing it in—this moment, this house, this dream you’d both chased until your feet bled. For that second, there was no future to fear. Just him, his hand in yours, and a home filled with quiet hope.

But of course, Jeongguk couldn’t stay soft for long.

"You know we have to break it in," he’d murmured against your lips, eyes already dark with intent.

You’d laughed, pulling back slightly to raise an eyebrow. "Already? We’ve been here for five minutes."

He smirked, cocky and shameless. "Five minutes too long. Been thinking about fucking you in this house since the day we signed the deed."

Your fingertips tailed down his neck. “Don’t remember signing up for this version of you.”

“Maybe I’ve been holding back. Maybe you just bring out the braver side of me.”

You remember how you shoved him playfully in the chest, only for him to catch your wrists and spin you against the wall, pinning you there with his hips. You’d felt him, already hard, pressing between your thighs through your clothes, and it set something wild sparking in your veins.

Your breath hitched. That grin—the wicked one that meant trouble—lit up his whole face. "Obsessed," you murmured.

He didn’t even pretend to deny it. "With my wife? Always."

You slipped away, dancing into the kitchen with a smirk. Jeongguk followed like a man chasing salvation, jeans already undone, tattoos on display as he stalked toward you.

"You think you love me more than I love you?" you called over your shoulder, hopping onto the counter.

"Baby," he said darkly, eyes trailing over your body like a promise. "I know I do."

"Then prove it."

He’s between your thighs in an instant, hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow—and you want them. His mouth crashes onto yours again, messy and heated, stealing every ounce of air from your lungs. His hands work with urgency, tugging at your clothes, until your blouse and bra hit the floor and his tongue is tracing the swell of your breast like he’s worshipping you.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he groans, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum. “So mine.”

You tug at his shirt, yanking it over his head, nails raking down his tattooed arms. “Still waiting for the proof, Gguk,” you whisper against his jaw.

He growls again. Real. Feral. Sinks to his knees in front of you like you’re something holy. His hands slide under your skirt, shoving it up, baring you completely. The first sweep of his tongue over your core makes you gasp, your head tipping back, hand flying to his hair. He groans into you, like just the taste of you is enough to ruin him.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he rasps against your soaked skin.

You tighten your thighs around his head, breathless. “Make me.”

And he does.

His mouth is relentless, tongue and lips working you until you’re writhing on the countertop, whimpering his name like a prayer.

But you’re stubborn. You don’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you surrender. Not yet.

When you finally yank him up by his hair and drag his mouth back to yours, he tastes like you—filthy, desperate—and you wrap your legs around his waist, grinding against him through his jeans.

“You need me that bad, babe?”

“Need you always,” he pants, fumbling with his jeans, too wild to care about anything but being inside you. When he finally pushes into you, it’s fast, almost rough with need, and you both groan—loud and raw—as he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he hisses, forehead pressed to yours as he thrusts deep, slow, savoring every inch. “No one... no one loves you like I do.”

You moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip, nails digging into his back as you meet his thrusts, desperate to match him, desperate to win.

“We’ll see about that,” you whisper fiercely, clenching around him just to hear him whimper.

And he does—beautiful and broken—and it spurs you both on, the pace rough and messy, your moans filling the empty house like a chorus. By the time the sun dips lower, you’ve christened the kitchen counter, the living room sofa, the hallway wall. You’re both half-dressed, half-wild, bruised and kissed within an inch of your lives.

When he finally collapses onto the bed with you tangled in his arms, sweaty and wrecked, Jeongguk still doesn’t let go.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, voice wrecked from moaning your name too many times. “You’re it for me. Always.”

You press your lips to the center of his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart. “Then you better be ready to spend forever proving it.”

His laugh was ragged, but full. "I’ll spend my whole life proving it."

And you believed him. Of course you did.

Because in that house, in that life—you’d been sure you were winning. Together.

Somewhere beyond the walls of your home, Seoul moves on without you – light rain falling in the garden, leaves moving in the breeze, the faint sound of a gate opening somewhere in the compound. In the distance, you heard a neighbor’s dog bark, a car door close.

But in here, everything was still. Silent.

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the quiet ache you didn’t dare name. Either way, your mind slipped, without meaning to, back to another time.

A warmer time.

You could still feel it if you closed your eyes—the sunlight in Busan, the salt on your skin, the weight of Jeongguk’s body against yours, the way he had looked at you like there was no one else in the universe. The way he laughed when you challenged him. The way he kissed you when he thought you weren’t looking.

The memory came back easily. His hands on your waist, the two of you laughing, you playfully refusing to let him have his way even as he kissed every bit of you against the kitchen counter.

You smiled faintly, tracing the rim of your mug with your thumb.

It felt like another lifetime now. Like it had happened to different people.

The quiet pressed heavier on your chest, so you let yourself sink further, slipping into an old memory you hadn’t visited in a long time.

Somewhere in the middle of Seoul, in a small, cozy restaurant he loved because they made the kimchi just like his mother’s.

You had been picking at your bibimbap when Jeongguk put down his chopsticks, cleared his throat dramatically, and leaned across the table with that wide, mischievous grin that always meant trouble.

“Wife,” he said grandly, ignoring the side-eye from the ajumma at the next table.

You arched a brow, amused. “Yes, husband?”

He held out his hand like he was about to make a toast at some royal event. “I have a very important statement to make.”

You snorted, trying not to laugh. “Right now? In the middle of lunch?”

“Very serious. Life-altering.” His eyes were shining. Boyish. So in love it almost hurt to look at him.

With an an exaggerated sigh, you set down your spoon. “Fine. I’m listening.”

He straightened, cleared his throat again—overdoing it just to make you roll your eyes—and then said, with theatrical seriousness. "I do promise you, Mrs. Jeon, that no matter what love turns into, I’ll never stop choosing you.”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the raw sweetness of it.

He wasn’t laughing anymore. Was just looking at you, like he was falling for you all over again.

Your heart stuttered. Then, quick as a snap, you leaned across the table and flicked his forehead.

“Ow!” He jerked back, clutching his forehead dramatically. "This is why people write their vows once and never bring them out again!”

“You’re lucky you're cute."

He pouted, rubbing at his forehead like you’d truly injured him. “See if I ever get sappy with you again.”

Laughter bubbled up, warmth blooming in your chest, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Please. Nothing’s going to change with you until the kids are running around the house. Maybe even until they grow up. You’ll be that embarrassing dad crying at every school event.”

Discussing children felt natural. Familiar. Without even needing to plan, you both held an unspoken promise that when the time came, you’d face it together, ready to give all your love. Even mundane things—like folding laundry—turned into whispered conversations about baby names, arguments over whose genes would dominate.

Jeongguk groaned like you’d stabbed him. "God, you're right. I’m doomed. Gonna be that dad with the 'I love my kid' bumper stickers all over the car. Jeongguk Jr. or Little Ha-yun will have to live with it.”

"Bet you’re going to come up with matching shirts,"

He pointed his chopsticks at you. "If I ever show up in a 'World’s Best Dad' T-shirt, it's on you."

You laughed until your sides hurt, while he just stared at you, like you were the answer to a prayer he hadn’t known he was whispering.

The memory dissolved as the cold, damp present crept back in.

The rain soaks into the loose weave of your sweater, the tea now forgotten and stone-cold in your hands. The hedges bent low under the weight of water. The petals of the camellias you once planted together lay bruised against the earth.

Absently, you pulled your phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up in the muted gray light.

The wedding photo stared back at you. Frozen in time.

There you were, standing with Jeongguk at the altar, laughter bubbling from your lips, his hand linked firmly with yours. His eyes had been impossibly bright that day—full of promises that felt too big, too boundless to ever fade.

You traced the outline of his face on the screen with a trembling finger, wishing you could reach through the glass. Wishing you could fold yourself back into that moment. Hold onto that feeling just a little longer. Maybe if you had clung tighter, believed harder, things wouldn’t have slipped away.

Change is something no one can escape. You knew that well—everyone does.

Still, when it came, it hit hard at thirty, turning you and Jeongguk into strangers.

The rare mornings you find him in the kitchen, he walks past you on the way to the coffee maker. Casual vows exchanged easily over meals, had turned into clipped, tired arguments about who forgot to take out the trash. Whose turn it was to restock the empty egg tray.

You knew when everything changed. You wish you hadn’t.

You knew the exact moment Jeongguk stopped seeing you as the light in his life. When his love for you became a burden, he didn't know how to carry anymore.

You wished you could erase that night. Wished that when he chose you, it hadn't come with the weight of resentment that now lived between you.

Just because he had chosen you.

When the hospital room spun in blinding, sterile white. When the machines screamed warnings and the doctors begged for a decision—he chose you.

He chose you over Ha-yun.

And in some cruel twist of fate, you survived while your daughter didn’t.

You pressed your forehead against your knees, curling tighter on the rain-damp bench. The garden blurred into a smear of color and gray.

The life you had once imagined for the three of you—Jeongguk’s hand around a tiny fist, your laughter filling the house—died the same night she did. And no matter how much he smiled at you after, no matter how tightly he held you while you cried, a wall had already been built between you. Thick. Unscalable. Brick by agonizing brick.

You were no longer his home. You were his reminder of what’s been lost.

It didn’t begin with shouting. It began in the quiet — in the half-finished conversations, the way his hand hesitated before touching your back, the way you stopped asking, just to spare yourself the disappointment.

Then came the nights where he didn't come home at all.

Like that night.

You had only wanted for him to stand beside you. To support you. To be proud of you again. To be that husband who believed his wife would conquer anything if she puts her heart into it.

But even then, you were already losing him.

"Tomorrow’s the contract signing for the Tuan partnership. Hope you can be there. Eomma’s expecting you to," your voice was careful, like walking a thin line that could snap any second.

You wiped your makeup off mechanically at the dresser, your eyes catching his reflection.

His back was turned to you, the bathroom light glowing behind him as he tugged over his shirt.

The distance between you wasn't just physical. It hadn't been for a long time.

"It’s just a contract signing," His tone’s cold, almost bored.

The words stung more than they should have. More than you let on.

Jeongguk knew the weight of this partnership for you. It was more than another business move. It would be a stepping stone to expand your mother’s clothing line to Europe. Tuan Elegante had years of experience in the fashion world. Their reach was global, with a million-dollar-selling line in Italy and Paris. You and your mother had dreamed about this for as long as you could remember.

Yet here was your husband, treating the conversation, like it revolved around what to buy on the next grocery errand.

“It’s not just another event, Gguk.” You held the cotton pad a little too tight, blinking fast to hold back the sting. “I want you there.”

He didn’t turn around. Of course he didn’t.

"And do what exactly?" he muttered, pulling his towel off the hook. "Play the perfect husband? Show off a perfect marriage? Smile for the cameras so they have more to gossip about? Like they haven’t torn our lives apart enough already.”

Your throat burned, but you forced yourself to stay steady. "Could’ve just said no," you mumbled. "I would’ve understood. No need to be such a dick about it."

"I did say no. More than once." The towel hit the floor with a dull thud. "You just never fucking listen."

You whirled on him then, anger rising sharp and fast. “Maybe I was hoping. Hoping that you’d still care enough to show up. That you’d still want to stand by me.”

His laugh was bitter, mocking. "You really think standing next to you in a room full of strangers will fix this?"

"This isn't about fixing anything!" You cried, voice cracking. "This is about you showing up! Being there for once, instead of finding another excuse to stay away!"

Jeongguk’s face twisted, rage flashing for just a second before something else — something worse — flickered behind his eyes.

"You’re not even supposed to be working yet," he bit out. "Dr. Min told you to rest. Told you not to push yourself. But no, you’re back at it again, throwing yourself into work like it’ll patch up everything you lost."

"Don’t," you whispered, chest heaving. "Don’t you dare put that on me."

He shook his head, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. "You never knew when to stop. Even when it meant risking everything."

"Losing Ha-yun wasn’t on me," you said, barely above a whisper. "You had a choice that night. Be a father, or stay my husband. You chose."

Pain twisted across his face, raw and sharp. "If you had just—" he started, voice rising, but he broke off, breathing hard. " If you had just looked after yourself better—”

"Say it," you snapped, fists trembling at your sides. "Say it. Say you blame me."

He didn’t. Couldn’t. Didn’t deny it either.

The silence between you was loud enough to drown everything else out.

“If you regret it that much,” Your words trembled, "then maybe you should have let me go that night."

"Never said I regretted it.”

“Yet you can’t even look at me like you love me anymore."

That was what hurt the most. Not the anger. Not the fighting. The absence. The part of him that had once looked at you like you were the sun shined bright on a new hopeful morning.

Jeongguk stared at you for a long moment — then turned away.

“I’m going out,” he said. Cold. Detached. As if you were nothing more than a ghost. Grabbing his wallet and phone off the nightstand, not sparing you another glance, he leaves the room. Leaves you behind.

Sleep was impossible when tears drowned any chance for you to rest. The argument from earlier echoed in your mind, like a song stuck on loop. 1:00 AM. 2:00 AM. 3:00 AM. You stared at the clock, each tick mocking you. Your heart sank every passing hour.

Where was he? Why hadn’t he come back? The silence weighed heavily in the room, your anxiety only growing. Daylight crept through the curtains, a reminder that sleep was futile. You tossed and turned, anxiety gripping you about the big event today. Preparations demanded your focus.

Arguments with Jeongguk had piled up since you both lost Ha-yun. You'd lost track of how many. Yet, he always found his way back home. You lay side by side, even with the chill creating distance. But tonight was different.

You woke up to an empty side of the bed. Cold and untouched sheets lay there, unwrinkled – a reminder of the restless night you had endured. As you prepared to leave for work, Jeongguk returned from a long night. His presence felt heavy. The harsh words from the previous night loomed over you.

Fear gnawed at you. A reality you wanted to escape. You didn’t want this to become your new routine but you knew this was a change you had to bear with from now on.

Stepping back inside the house, your heart sinks at the sight of another untouched dinner on the table. Candles burned low, wine glasses untouched, the dinner you spent hours preparing now rests cold and forgotten under the soft glow of the kitchen lights.

Still, a tiny, stubborn part of you dares to hope.

You glance at your phone. 11:40 PM. There’s still time.

Maybe — just maybe — Jeongguk would walk through the door, the way he used to.

Maybe he’d see everything you put together, maybe he’d smile, call you ‘baby’ in that soft, lazy way, maybe he'd pull you into his arms like no time had passed at all.

Maybe you’d sit together and talk about meaningless things — which coffee you picked up that morning, the weather, the fact that you were both overdue for another Marvel marathon even though you could quote every line.

Maybe, for just a little while, you could pretend the distance hadn’t swallowed you whole.

You set your phone down, pressing your hands against the table to steady yourself.

But hope is cruel when it has nowhere left to go. It eats at you — a sick reminder of everything you've lost. Because if your marriage were still alive, you wouldn't need to hope so hard. You wouldn’t be left pleading to the universe for scraps of what once came so easily.

Years have passed since you and Jeongguk celebrated your wedding anniversary, and your birthday. You can’t recall the last time you celebrated his birthday either. Life has often pulled you both in different directions, especially back when your careers were just starting to build up.

But somehow, even through the chaos, you'd find your way back to each other. Maybe after dancing barefoot in the kitchen, maybe falling asleep mid-conversation, but you’d end the day in each other’s arms

That terrible night was a constant reminder that forgetting these moments was part of the change you didn’t want to face.

The first anniversary after it all fell apart, you got a text. 'Happy Anniversary. Happy Birthday.' No ‘love you.’ No pet names. Not even a damn emoji to soften the blow. Just a clinical message from the man who once promised you forever.

Chuseok later in the year came with another lifeless apology. ‘Sorry, can’t make it.’ No explanation, no efforts to make it right. You faced both your families alone that night, forcing smiles, while you quietly fell apart. Scrambled up with excuses to keep them in the dark. To preserve the illusion that their children were still wrapped in that perfect little bubble of an unbreakable love.

Christmas was worse. No calls. No messages. Just a note on the fridge in his rushed handwriting, ‘Will be back late. Don’t wait up.’

And when New Year's came, a foolish hope lit up inside you once more.

Breakfast together — the first in months — and when you asked him to have dinner at Namsan Tower, he said yes.

You clung to that ‘yes’ like a lifeline. You believed.

But belief is brutal when it betrays you.

Because you sat there, alone at a table for two, staring at the unopened bottle of wine and the empty seat across from you.

The fireworks exploded outside the window, showering Seoul in glittering light. The restaurant staff cheered, kissed, laughed.

And you… you cried into your hands, wishing the year could just swallow you whole.

Now, the clock ticks mercilessly toward midnight.

12:00 AM. Another year gone. Another anniversary forgotten. Another birthday abandoned. You pull out a chair and sink down, the untouched meal staring back at you like a cruel joke.

Cruel, how the day you chose him as much as life chose you, has become a reminder of how much you can hold in your heart — and how easily it can break.

“Happy anniversary. Happy birthday to me.”

to build a home | chapter one

pairing: Jungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk x nanny!oc

genre: strangers to lovers. angst. loads of plot. eventual smut

word count: 6.8k (y’all need context okay)

warnings: oof. oof. buckle up. angst, loads of angst! (im sorry), touches on subjects such as: depression (hints), postpartum depression, abandonment, mild prescription medication talk, loads of jk crying :(, loads of crying baby :(, swearing

author’s note: hi! this is a very self-indulgent storyline that sort of came to me and I just had to put thought into paper. well, I ended up really liking the plot and my mind started going places and now it’s all I can think about. i do have to say it’s going to be a bit of a slow burn but! not like this chapter though – this chapter had to be informative to set the context. my mans jk did not suffer for nothing! i hope cute baby / loving dad jk made up for all the angst in this! also! It’s gonna get sexy, ~sexy so just u wait! also! I don’t have a set schedule but this story is coming to me in heavy bursts of inspiration so I might be whipping chapters left and right (cross ur fingers). also! (the last one, promise) I hate Ira too :)

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

Chapter One

The digital clock on the console of his car marks six thirty pm on the dot. It makes Jungkook’s gaze shift to the sky – a synchronicity so perfect the sun begins to set right upon his eyes. Spring is easing into Summer and he can’t wait for the longer days and shorter nights the hot season bestows.

“We need one last look-over the contracts to finalize. I think the visit this weekend will finally see us wrapping this up. And then inauguration one month from now.” Seokjin’s voice fills the enclosed space of Jungkook’s car, a slight echo to his voice coming from the speakers.

“Sounds good, hyung. Good work.” He tells his cousin, right hand and the COO of his company.

“Hey, is Ira coming this weekend?” He asks. His question leaves Jungkook wondering. He assumes she will.

“Haven’t discussed it yet, could be good for her though. We can make a getaway of it.” He replies, head already swimming with ideas of how refreshing a family trip could be for the three of them.

“Alright, kid. Send my love.” Seokjin says, making him let out a light chuckle, before the line goes silent.

In the road ahead, the sun resumes its steady descend. His home comes to view at the very end of the street, the colours of the sky dancing against the sleek white walls. It’s been a long day and he’s tired. Now more than ever, with the inauguration of the new addition to his chain of hotels nearing, he craves the grounding feeling of being home – two familiar faces awaiting. One full of unconditional love.

He parks his cls next to hers, the sleek white shade contrasting against his black one. Grabbing his phone and keys from the cup holder, he exits the car, climbing the steps to his front door and inserting the code that unlocks it.

Home. He takes pride in the need he holds for it, how much he craves it, how much he wants to be the backbone of the one he built. The idea of family gets morphed when you’re brought into an immeasurable amount of wealth. His parents, although good intentioned, lacked the warmth he so badly wants to install in his own roots.

He wants his daughter to grow up in a house that doesn’t look like a showroom, a distinctive smell swarming its spaces, one she’ll hold in the back of her memory until she has kids of her own. Home, never lacking the coziness a touch of love can bring a space, no matter how vast. He wants her mother to be half of that love, more than anything. Because he wants that love for her, more than anything.

He heads upstairs, the house eerily quiet. It’s two hours to bed time and he assumes Ira is winding Soori down for the night.

He reaches the top of the stairs and begins walking down the long corridor, passing a room, then two, until he finally reaches Soori’s nursery. The door is wide open and as he steps in, he sees Ira standing in front of her crib, back to him, almost hovering. He sees Soori fast asleep, blanket covering her tiny body, pacifier moving gently to the in and out of her suckling, a tight grip on her favorite giraffe plushie on her chubby baby fist.

“Hey, beautiful.” He says to Ira, though she doesn’t move from the place he found her in. “Why is she asleep so early? Fun day?” He asks, voice filled with hope. He pictures the two of them by the warm sun, basking in the easiness of the season. They’ve been introducing Soori to the water – the idea of the two of them splashing in the big pool pulling his lips upwards in a soft smile.

It doesn’t linger, the smile. Ira turns around, a sombre look to her face, unable to hold his gaze for more than a second as she redirects her eyes to the floor.

“Jungkook…,” She begins, voice barely a whisper, but ever so stern.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, approaching her, instinctively resting his hands on her arms before they come up as she holds herself, bracing her front.

“I booked a job. In New York.” She says, eyes finally meeting his.

“Ahh! That’s great! That’s amazing, Ira.” Jungkook says, pulling her into a hug she doesn’t return. He knows how badly she’s been craving this. A breakthrough, a taste of independence – the power of knowing she could hold all titles whilst still being mom. “We can make a trip of it! We could all go.” He muses, excitement lacing his voice as he pulls away, eyes scanning for hers.

“It’s this weekend-” She begins, but his words bring hers to a halt.

“Ah, I have that business trip but hey, you take the plane, alright?” Jungkook knows how much Ira hates flying. Long haul flights doing a thing to her nerves that require a dose or two of her therapist’s strongest prescription drug. This all comes ironically, considering her title – It girl, world-renowned model, Ira Sommersmith.

“No, Jungkook. No.” She says, arms coming to rest at her sides, pushing his hold on them away as she takes one step back, creating distance between them. The action is loud to Jungkook, the emotional space between them being too much to bear for his heart and her actions breaking it all over again.

“Bab-” He stops himself, the pet name fresh on his tongue, remembering how she’s come to despise it as Jungkook began adapting it to Soori, too. “Ira.” He says, his voice a plead, a prayer. He doesn’t know what the prayer entails but he’ll start mentally chanting it, bracing himself for impact.

“I’m leaving, Jungkook. I need to- I need to go. For good.” Her voice lacks hesitation, no pause. He simply stares at her, dumbfounded, numb to the effect his body is taking, cold sweats breaking through him. “I’m sorry. This is- you play this role too well, Jungkook. I just can’t seem to follow the script.”

“It’s not a role.” Jungkook says, voice a whisper that makes his words hard to grasp to Ira, but she knows what he said. She knows he would say that. She takes him in, takes one last long look at his face before it breaks her. She’s not scared of backing down from her plan, she’s scared of seeing his eyes full of heart look into hers, a lack thereof.

And she can accept it. She can wholeheartedly confess she doesn’t have the heart it takes to become selfless, to give into the three that makes the whole – Jungkook’s line that he’s adapted to bring hope into the immense cloud of blue that fell upon her when it all became too real. When the idea of three became a reality one morning after he’d gone to work and she stared at the mirror, a bump bulging at the center of her otherwise lean physique. Her first thought wasn’t that of excitement but of confusion. It felt foreign and it took her aback so frantically she found herself calling her OB/GYN, voice shaky as she repeated, “it came out of nowhere, I just- I wasn’t showing yesterday…” Her panic was received by a faint laugh on the other line, reassuring her pregnancy had no fixed agenda and that her “little one” had decided to make him or herself known. She waited for the doctor’s words to hit, for the excitement to follow, but it didn’t. What truly broke her came next as the doctor took her silence for something else and ended her discourse with a, “surprise, mama!”

Ira brought her phone down, staring at the screen before abruptly hanging up. She’d hope the doctor would blame it on poor connection.

She went about her day in autopilot, waiting. Waiting for the new curvature her body was taking on to simply be an add on in the sea of hopes that her pregnancy had brought until that very morning. But it never came. It never came, and the tears that would stream down her face late at night when the world slept and the darkness accepted her thoughts as they came, weren’t due to the impatience of her heart longing to love the life she was forming inside of her. They came out of fear it would.

Ira’s heart wasn’t fragile. Quite the opposite – it lacked the fragility it requires to love unconditionally.

When Soori came into the world, she made her entrance kicking and screaming. Ira understood; the overwhelm of the space was getting to her, too. At least on that they could agree. Her wails filled the room and muffled her hearing, everything in slow motion as shock set upon her. The pain between her legs from delivering her minutes prior subsided as numbness took over. She could hear her cries nearing and she finally came out of her trance the moment the nurse placed Soori on top of her chest. She looked down at her, arms coming up to hold her tiny frame in place. And when she did, dense silence filled the room as she found comfort in her mother’s arms and her cries came to a rest, opening her eyes for the first time. Ira looked down once again and understood the meaning of unconditional love. Soori was warm against her and that’s when she knew she’d never be able to reciprocate said love. Cold shivers ran down every corner of her body, settling into her heart. She understood it, but she couldn’t feel it.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, “I tried.” The last words fade away as she turns around, taking one last look at her daughter, a part of her tries again, focusing on the heartstrings of her soul, waiting for the pull. Nothing comes and she closes her eyes, breathing in, knowing that'd be the last time she'd take in her daughter. She turns around, looking at Jungkook for a split second. He’s frozen in place, gaze lost, fixated on the pastel pink wall in front of him, unable to look at her. “Goodbye, Jungkook. You-,” she can’t tell if he’s listening but she finishes anyway, “you were good to me. Okay? You-,” she needs to get out of there, now. “Goodbye.” And with that, she leaves. Past the door of the nursery, not a beat behind, without second guessing. She leaves and doesn’t turn back to witness Jungkook’s world coming to a slow, quiet shatter. The sort of silence that settles into your bones uncomfortably.

His world stops and, in the numbness, he becomes hyperaware of his senses. He doesn’t miss her steps down the corridor and back, the sound of wheels against the floor distinct this time, down the stairs and finally, he hears the front door close.

Soori stirs behind him, a faint whine leaving her mouth as she begins to wake up.

Jungkook’s legs feel heavy, glued to the floor, and his eyes haven’t left that spot on the wall they fixated in when he realized that watching Ira leave would make it all that more painful. And so, he stands there, mind empty yet hazy with incoherent thoughts he can’t puzzle together. An ominous cloud fills the space as the sun finally sets and the room goes dark around him. For a minute, Jungkook basks in a thought surprisingly comforting: the worst thing has already happened. It takes him in and cradles him as he goes with that narrative.

It doesn’t last long. Soori’s cries from behind him sound distant, faint, for the briefest of seconds before they fully snap Jungkook out of his trance. His baby. He turns around and sees her little figure propped up against the bars of her crib, looking up at him, pacifier hanging from the string that attaches it to her sleeping gown. Her eyes are red and glassy with tears and he wonders for how long she’s been crying.

“Hey, hey…,” his voice is gentle, a soft coo as he reaches for Soori, flushing his chest to hers once he has her in his arms. His free hand coming up to cradle her head as he softly sways back and forth, “it’s okay, baby. I’m here… I’m here.”

Her crying comes to a halt but she fusses in his arms, little whines escaping her mouth as Jungkook settles into the rhythm he knows she finds soothing. It’s then that it dawns upon him – his brief encounter with comfort was a lie his brain told his heart. Delusion a form of survival. His hold on Soori’s head tightens a bit, almost as if to ease the impact his thoughts might have on her. The worst is yet to come. His tears fall freely now, fear and uncertainty tugging at his chest in a way that takes him aback with how physically painful it is. His hands shake and his legs feel weak, like they won’t be able to hold him, or the burden that settles through him for much longer.

He gives in before they give out, slowly lowering his legs as they cross until he can finally feel the soft fabric of the carpet underneath him. Soori’s tears release yet again the moment the swaying stops, the new position on the floor in her father’s arms making her even more restless. He holds her, whispering a string of sorry, sorry, sorry against her ear as he brings her soft cheek flush to his until their tears form an even stream of droplets falling down their faces, settling uncomfortably on their necks.

He loses track of time and he can feel, ever so distinctively, as his spirit weakens by the minute. Mind still in that haze that makes it hard to distinguish between an empty mind and a racing one. He can’t find the words and as soon as his worries fixate on one thing in particular, he swerves around it. Not really letting his brain linger on just one to nit-pick, instead preferring the overwhelm of them all combined, thrown at him together. He rather not know what exactly scares him the most about this situation.

Usually enticed by challenge, this one finds him unwilling. He wants nothing more than to lower his whole body to the floor, hold his baby and close his heavy lids until he falls into a deep slumber. But he knows he can’t. Soori can’t stay still. Soori crawls. Soori is small but mighty and it would take her a matter of minutes to find her way to the stairs. Soori’s cries bounce on the walls, getting louder and louder. He wonders if she had her night bottle. Soori nibbles on her hand the way she’s come to do as she teethes, face scrunched up in discomfort. Soori needs him.

Soori came into the world kicking and screaming and with a healthy shade of pink adorning her tiny body that finally made Jungkook release the breath he’d been holding from the moment he could see her head from his position next to Ira as he held her hand. His first thought was how small she was, he couldn’t shake the fear of having her in his arms, wondering if she’d fit just right. Her cries restored something inside of him he’d long lost when he was very young and the harshness of the world tumbled down upon him, stripping him of an innocence he knew he’d want his daughter to carry for as long as she could. The overwhelm in his heart when he cut her umbilical chord was the sweetest he’d experience; and when she was finally placed in her mother’s chest and he could allow the world to slow down around him to take in his daughter for the first time, he made an unspoken vow. Love would always be stronger. Hope would always prevail. As long as she needed him, those two would be the root of his every action. Strength found its way to a corner of his heart that was growing by the second the more he stared at Soori. He’d take on the bravery of the world so as to make hers softer. And he’d love her in all of his lives.

He gets up, body feeling lethargic but adjusting his grip on his daughter’s body, putting his whole consciousness there. He doesn’t trust his limbs.

“Are you hungry, baby?” He asks her. It’s rhetoric, for various reasons. “Yeah, you are.” He says, even though he’s not sure. He begins the trip towards the kitchen, forcing a mental strain to go about his every step. To wrap around his every thought. To figure out where to go from here.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs, stopping by the living room first to lay her gently on the couch before removing her sleeping gown, setting her free from the restraints and letting her legs kick at him. Her demeanour changed and when he stares into her eyes, slightly envious of how her tears have seemed to dry, she smiles at him. It’s a wide grin that flashes him her two little bottom teeth that are beginning to come through and his heart melts at the sight. His heart hurts but she nurses the wound slowly and he can’t help but smile back at her. It takes him aback at times – how in nine short months he’s come to grow so enamoured with this fun-sized version of a human that demands so much time, attention and energy from him. But it’s moments like these, when she shines light into his dark corners with just a smile, that he understands. She holds more power in her two peeking bottom teeth than half of the things Jungkook thought gave him purpose nine months ago when she made her entrance into the world. Kicking and screaming and pink.

He cradles her in his arms once again as he stands up and positions her to rest at his waist. She instinctively grabs his ear – another one of the habits she’d picked up recently. Jungkook likes knowing he’s able to soothe her, almost mindlessly. Something catches his eye and he recognizes it immediately. Ira’s phone, resting on top of the coffee table. He leans, tapping the screen until it flashes back at him. Her wallpaper is a picture of her and Jungkook, taken three years prior, at the beginning of their relationship. Their happy faces stare back at him – mocking him. He scoffs. Nothing’s funny but he’s laughing because he can’t allow himself a fit of anger right now. And crying sounds too exhausting, his eyes too tired.

It hits him again, not that he needed much confirmation. It hits him that she’s not looking back. It hits him that she left with every intention to not spare them a second glance. It hit him that wherever she is, their realities are so different now. The moment she walked out that door she left nothing and everything that mattered behind. She freed herself from her role and walked steadily into the direction of whatever she deems as freedom. Ira was never one to ease into things. It used to be something that excited him. He looked at her and at times his brain painted flames of fiery orange seeping through her. Bold, confident – fearless.

He stands in front of the kitchen counter, one handing the process of making Soori’s bottle. Eyes lost, not really following the formula as it goes inside the bottle, the water – its temperature. Too hot? No, too cold. He puts it inside the bottle warmer, pushes the button and waits. He asks himself if he’s surprised or just heart broken. Mentally, he shakes the Jungkook from two hours ago and asks him, “did you not see it coming? Were you trying or were you lying to yourself?” The conclusion he draws feels like not enough. He saw it coming, yes. For over a year now he’s felt like the path he’s been walking went from eggshells to shattered glass – unavoidable, painful, way too fucking loud. So, he knew. He knew his feet would give out. He knew she was going to cut through all of him one day. Yet as much knowledge as he held when it came to his situation, he could’ve never seen this coming. He’d imagine their impending doom hitting him in the face eventually. They weren’t married, she could just leave at any moment. She could leave him at any moment. He’d set her free and he’d still give Soori a home, doubled in love to make up for her parent’s distance and the back and forth she’d have to endure. He would’ve tried. More couple’s therapy, individual counselling, all the help he could muster to get from friends and family. Trips to bond, trips to escape. He did all that and he would’ve done more. Because he loved her. He loves her.

He’s not sure when their love became mechanical, a form of habit. Disappointment tends to do that to people, he reckons. But he still did love her and he tried. Not just because of Soori but because of Ira, too. And because of them. Not the three, but the two they used to be. The same two that rest on top of his coffee table, trapped inside a memory forever, unaware of the future ahead but so hopeful. He loved the love they had and so for that reason, he loved her.

The bottle warmer beeps and he takes it out of the sleek looking machine. Soori bounces in his hold, excited. “Come on, missy. Let’s have dinner.” He tells her and she throws some unintelligible baby noises at him.

He heads back to the living room and sits them down on the couch. He props Soori against a pillow and feeds her the bottle. What are we going to do, he thinks, but brushes the thought away. This weight falls on his shoulders and he makes yet another unspoken vow as he stares down at her. He promises her a soft impact, painless whenever it can. He promises to hold her and coax her through it, to ease the burden and to explain with lullabies when the time is right. He stares at her until her eyes flutter, beginning a sleepy dance as she fights to stay awake, holding her feet in her small hands. A silent tear falls down his eyes and that’s the last sight, slightly blurry because of her long eyelashes, between her heavy lids before she falls into a peaceful slumber.

He paces around the living room. He paces the way he does when ideas are brewing inside his head at work – new locations, new investors, new partnerships. Ideas, ideas, ideas. He’s good at coming up with them. He’s good at quick solutions to whatever problem might arise – it’s what made his father ease so effortlessly into an early retirement after teaching Jungkook the ins and outs of the so-called empire he now calls his.

Soori sleeps on the couch. The pillow she’d been propped up in now besides her, building a barrier between her body and the soft cushions. He knows she’d be off better in her crib but the idea terrified him, made him feel alone.

Ideas, ideas, ideas yet he can’t come up with a single one. A part of him tells him there’s not much left to do. It tells him that it’s been done. That it’s time to move on with his life, with their lives. But the mere idea of taking the leap – of moving on, finds him scared, confused and shatters him more and more. It also reminds him of the way she so casually walked out, like it didn’t matter. She set flame to the fire and didn’t even linger around long enough to watch it burn. It angers him, her carelessness. He’s not like that, never has been, and he’s not going to start now. He knows forcing himself to move on will only repercuss in him breaking even further in the long run. So, his first idea is to face the reality. But he can’t right now, he feels too alone, too small. He has to push his heroic persona aside and admit defeat. And so he does.

His second idea finds him seeking comfort. He can’t be comfort to Soori if he’s just breaking. He knows he’s going to break; he knows this is just the beginning, but he needs there to be more to it. He retrieves his phone from his back pocket, inhaling loudly as he unlocks it. He needs a friend. He has a couple, another thing he takes pride in, but he knows this situation is way too sensitive. He thinks of Seokjin, his contact the most recent call on his phone, but he quickly diverts. Suelgi, his wife, had grown rather fond of Ira and in a way, she’d become her confidant amidst the whirlwind that was motherhood. He doesn’t feel like delivering news that will require him comforting someone else to that extent – he can barely comfort himself, let alone his friend.

His eyes find Taehyung’s name on the screen, also a recent contact on his call history. Yes, good – this is good. Taehyung is good. Him and Mai have been a constant in Jungkook’s life for as long as he can remember. He’s seen them go from high school sweethearts to a painful college breakup that luckily ended up in them finding their way back to each other. It took Taehyung approximately 37 days to ask her to marry him. He’d never seen two people sport a last name with more pride – The Kims. Nowadays they also go by mom and dad. They’re Soori’s godparents and Jungkook’s best friends. He taps on his contact and the first ring against his ear sounds obnoxiously loud. His head pounds against his skull.

“Yo, you’re on speaker phone!” Taehyung’s voice, enthusiastic as always, fills the speakers. Jungkook stays quiet.

“Ggukie, we were just about to call you!” It’s Mai’s voice on the phone now. “Dae is down for the night and we just popped open that bottle of Don Julio 1942 Tae got after the inauguration of the gallery. He had an early mid-life crisis after Monsters Inc had him shedding tears before bedtime.” Jungkook can hear Taehyung’s gasp of offense at his wife’s confession somewhere in the background. He’s unable to make a sound as Mai continues. “He’s insisting we do something crazy to ‘feel young again’ so shots on a Wednesday it is!” she mocks.

“I…,” Jungkook begins – but where does he even start?

Taehyung grabs the phone from Mai, “come on, tell Irie. Soo can sleep in Dae’s old bassinet.”

“Ira’s gone.” He blurts out. It’s abrupt and probably not the best way to break the news but the pet name breaks him and he doesn’t think he can stay in their bliss for a second longer.

“Gone where?” Taehyung asks innocently and even though his question makes Jungkook’s temple throb in pain he doesn’t pin it against him.

But silence is all he can offer.

“Oh…,” Mai starts – intuitive as ever. Her voice is soft, and already Jungkook releases a bit of tension in his shoulders, knowing she understood. “Oh, Gguk…”

“I just-”

“Come over, Gguk. Or we can go – as you wish. Just say the words.” Mai comforts.

“No, I’ll go. I need to get out of here.” And those are the surest words that leave his mouth that night.

He’s gentle with Soori as he straps her into her car seat. She’s a heavy sleeper, just like him, but he still holds his breath as he settles her down and gets her ready for the road. He double checks the diaper bag and when everything ticks off his mental list he heads for the driver’s seat.

Soori sleeps and he tries to focus on the road and just the road. No music on the stereo. Just full focus on what he can see from his windshield as he takes turns on the wide streets of his neighbourhood and mental turns in his head, swerving all the painful thoughts away.

The quiet lasts maybe a total of three minutes before Soori’s wide awake and back to inconsolable crying. She’s not a whiny baby – her demeanour often praised for being so peaceful, big eyes taking in the world around her as she graces it with her softness. But she’s been in and out of sleep, out of schedule, and Jungkook knows she misses Ira.

Because when Ira said she tried, she wasn’t lying. She tried, she did. She breastfed until it was physically painful. She did the exhausting night feeds right alongside Jungkook and then what felt like ten years with no rest as Soori was sleep training. She gave her baths, took her to Thursday brunch with her friends, read her books before bedtime. When they took weekend trips to get away from routine, Ira got this aura about her – something bordering on happiness that she carried so effortlessly. It would leave Jungkook hopeful – but his hopes would crash the moment they settled back home. Her therapists’ suggestions for bonding with Soori all made sense to Ira. In fact, they were so good she almost believed them. Sometimes they would have long days in the sun, fun family gatherings where the affection Jungkook’s parents would give Soori would fill her with something that almost felt like pride. They would sit in the grass of their big garden and watch her play with his family dog and a glimpse of hope would knock on the closed doors of her heart. Those days felt so good, but the sun eventually set and the air would feel sombre again as they drove back to their house. Totheir lives. Deep within, Ira wished she could enjoy the day without having to take it back home with her.

The love Ira gave Soori was also mechanical. But Soori didn’t know better – all she saw was love. And warmth. And the smell of her mom’s clothes as she rocked her to sleep. The sound of her voice as she begged her to, ‘please be good. Please don’t cry. I can’t take it anymore,’ when Jungkook would leave and she’d have a whole day ahead of a life that felt like a chore. All Soori heard was lullabies because she doesn’t know better.

“We’re almost there, baby. Shh, Soo. You’re alright, pretty girl.” He says, but he doesn’t think she can hear him with how loudly she’s crying.

Soori misses her mom.

Jungkook cries, too. And, taking advantage of her high-pitched mewls that fill the confined space, he sobs too.

Jungkook parks behind Taehyung’s car in their driveway. He grips the steering wheel, afraid the moment his friends take them in it will all become too real. He sits there – Soori’s cries less sporadic this time, almost like she gave up on getting her father’s attention. He opens his door, welcoming the soft breeze inside his car for a brief moment before he’s closing it and heading towards the backseat.

Mai had been standing next to her window for the past fifteen minutes. Heir brain had been running around in circles, wondering how exactly things escalated, how they got to this point. She fears for her friend’s sanity, knowing Jungkook had been walking a thin line for as long as her memory remembers her very own excitement over Soori’s prompt arrival.

She sees his car drive in front of her house, taking a swift turn until he’s finally parked in her driveway. She can’t see much but she can paint a mental picture of Jungkook just sitting there, lost – an expression she’s seen him adapt more and more lately. She perks up at the sight of him but her face falls into a frown the minute she sees him walk back to the backseat.

“What-?” she whispers to herself. “Tae, Gguk is here. With… Soori,” she says, watching her little head come out of the backseat of his car.

“Soori?” Taehyung asks, confusion lacing his voice, a frown adorning his face.

Mai walks quickly to the front door, opening it before Jungkook reaches it. His eyes meet hers and he sighs. He notices her eyes fixated on Soori, who’s own are red and swollen from crying, whimpers still leaving her lips. Her breath is erratic and Jungkook feels her little body jolt as she begins to let out another cry. Mai’s confused expression lets Jungkook know that of course, his friends were expecting Ira to leave him. They were expecting Soori to leave him, too, by pure default. That’s just how the narrative usually unfolds, doesn’t it?

But the narrative isn’t catering to Jungkook’s best interests. Their narrative is far from what you would consider normal.

“Come in, Gguk. What-,” she begins, but opts not to bombard him with the hard questions right away. “Come in.”

Taehyung immediately reaches for Soori who falls into his arms seamlessly. “Hey, princess. Hey, you’re alright Soori girl. Come here.” He coos and she begins to soften at his voice, “that’s a big girl. Stop growing up.” He tells her, his last request a whisper, as he brings her cheek to his, holding her in embrace – comforting her.

Jungkook steps inside their home, its warmth embracing him immediately and he’s glad he came here.

Taehyung and Mai got an unexpected influx of money before Dae was born. The gallery they’d been running attracting a different sort of crowd all of a sudden. The curiosity and modernity of the curation they’d put their hearts and souls (and savings) into attracting a crowd of curious yet wealthy collectors, investors and sole lovers of the craft. One turned into two galleries, then three and now recently, four. They amount their success to the faith of the people, the artists and the consumers and the ones that were simply driven by the passion for it. Mai was seven months pregnant when they upgraded from their small one-bedroom apartment to their four-bedroom, white picket fenced home. The very first materialization of that first taste of big-time money.

The first words she let out when she stepped inside were, “I can’t wait for toys to litter these shiny floors.” And litter them they did, giving it a feel of family Jungkook admired and promised himself his own wouldn’t lack. Ira hated clutter though.

“Let’s sit down, okay?” Mai says calmly, holding onto his arm. His steps are a bit hesitant and wobbly – if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was drunk.

“Okay.” He returns.

Taehyung follows behind him, a quiet Soori nuzzled against his shoulder, breath fanning the crook of his neck that grows steadier within the second. Now more than ever, Jungkook is grateful for the soothing effect he has on her.

He sits down, Mai occupying the spot besides him. Taehyung stays positioned on his feet before them, gently swaying Soori from side to side as her body grows limp, temping sleep.

His head comes forward, gaze fixated on his shoes. He breaks. “She left us. She just… left. Said she’d booked a job in New York. I thought she’d be gone for a week at most. But then she said she’d be gone for good. She,” his words get stuck in his throat, pain unleashing inside of him all over again at the fresh memories, “said she tried. Took one last look at Soori and then just… left.”

As soon as his recollection of the story comes to an end, he realizes just how short it was. His life came to an abrupt stop and then took a 180 degree turn in the span of what Jungkook deems to have been five minutes.

He never wants to utter the words she said again.

He’s crying and Taehyung wants nothing more than to hold him, let him know that it will all be okay. But he’s finding it hard to believe it himself, so he leaves the words of comfort to Mai. His arms instinctively wrap tighter around Soori – heart breaking at the realization she’d been abandoned, too.

“Come here,” Mai says, wrapping her arm around him and letting him cry, head against her shoulder, his own shaking as silent tears spill from his eyes.

“Do you think she’ll come back, Gguk?” Taehyung asks, even though he knows the answer. He’s always found it easier to console after knowing the facts, not believing in the whole ignorance is bliss bullshit.

He shakes his head. His voice is quiet when he says, “No. She left her phone behind, her half of the closet was empty. I’m not even sure it’s New York where she was headed.”

Mai shakes her head in disbelief. Her motherly instincts take on flight or fight mode as she tries to grasp just how someone could do something like that.

“Okay…,” Taehyung begins, sitting down next to him. “Listen to me,” but Jungkook’s gaze is still transfixed to the floor. “Jungkook-ah.”

“Huh?” He says, voice distant, eyes still lost.

“We’ll figure it out. Okay? You and Soori- you’re not alone. We’re here and we’ll figure it out. You’ve got us, the both of you.” Jungkook nods at his friends’ words. Taehyung rests his head on top of his shoulder. He’s grateful for his reassurance, even if he doesn’t fully believe it.

They don’t press on any further, well aware this is not the time to dissect the situation. He lets Mai pull him to his feet. She asks him a couple of questions that he can’t fully follow so he shakes his head at every single one of them. With Soori asleep in Taehyung’s arms, he lets himself disassociate.

He follows Mai up the stairs, Taehyung right behind them. He doesn’t complain when the darkness of their guest bedroom impairs his sight slightly, finding comfort in its density. The feel of the bed against his aching body lulls him into something that almost feels like peace – senses calming down slightly, as if telling him the day has finally come to an end.

Taehyung is detaching Soori from his body, lowering her down towards the bassinet besides the bed. Jungkook jumps from his resting position in the bed, startling Mai who tries holding him back instinctively.

“No. Put her here. She- she needs to sleep with me, she-” His voice is frantic.

“It’s okay, Gguk. Look, she’s here.” Taehyung places her in the bed next to her father who follows the baby’s movement as his own head hits the mattress.

Mai builds a makeshift fort of pillows that surround Soori’s tiny frame, stacking one on top of the other for good measure. She makes a mental note to check up on her throughout the night.

“Baby monitor. Just in case he doesn’t wake up.” Taehyung says, placing one of the devices in the bedside table.

“Tae,” Mai starts but she doesn’t really know where the sentence was going. Shock settles upon her.

“I know.” He says.

“Fuck, Tae. What is he-,” Mai makes sure to hear for Jungkook’s soft snores before she finishes, “Soori’s only nine months old. How could she just leave?”

Taehyung wraps his arm around Mai, bringing her close to his chest as the same fear she’s feeling begins taking over him, too. He shakes his head. “I don’t know, baby. I- we’ll figure something out. It’ll be alright.”

Soori twitches in place, letting out a loud sigh that has Mai sure will be followed by another restless string of sobs. But Jungkook places his hand on her tummy, eyes still closed, gently rocking her as he lets out a soft coo, something so faint they can’t quite make up his words. But his daughter relaxes against his touch, falling back into a peaceful sleep.

Fear plagues him but Taehyung is sure of the words that fall past his lips next.

“They’ll be alright.”

~------------~

i hope you enjoyed! stream butter to mend those hearts if you’re hurting as much as me over this mess! if you liked this I would love to know and to chat all about it – or about whatever u want, i want army friends :) lots of kisses!!!! xxxxxx

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koorosie

3 years ago

to build a home | chapter three

pairing: Jungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk x nanny!oc

genre: strangers to lovers. angst. loads of plot. eventual smut

word count: 9.2k

warnings: angst. swearing. mentions of alcohol. mentions of abandonment. mentions of death.

author’s note: hi again <3 i am in love w this chapter. time is speeding along everyone – hearts are healing?? babies are growing?? and these two fools?? mutual pining mode on 🤧🤧🤧. i don’t want to give much away but oc and jk had my heart in a frenzy in this one!! i truly hope you enjoy, it’s been so rewarding to read your kind words and feedback so from the bottom of my heart thank u <3!

p.s. softly by Clairo. that's their song.

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

Texts in bold + italic resemble a recollection of past events.

Chapter Three

Blue-jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band…

You groan. A single eye, the one not smushed by your pillow, opens half-way. It’s 6:15 AM and Elton John’s soft vocals are waking you up to the dreamy beat of Tiny Dancer. Why would you want the dreadful tune of Marimba doing the job if you can have this?

“Five more minutes, Elton.”

Pretty eyes, pirate smile, you’ll marry a music man…

You smile, soothed by what feels like a lullaby. Your body relaxes against the mattress once again and your eyes close – you’re not asleep. Just easing into consciousness.

You drift.

Hold me closer tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway…

Elton all but screams at you. Well, that has you jumping from the warmth of your bed.

6:18 – time to wake up. You’re not a morning person and neither are you a night owl but, a sudden burst of inspiration found you sat at your desk until way past midnight. By the time you went to bed it took you a good thirty more minutes to fall asleep. Constantly disrupted by the drunk party goers that were making their way back home from wherever the night had taken them. Youth and Tuesday nights, you remember those. You could’ve just closed the window but the chilly breeze coming from it felt like summer. You did it in the name of nostalgia.

So, it is due to your late night writing à la Bukowski that you find yourself running into every piece of furniture you stumble upon, eyes still half closed, incessantly rubbing at them to let them know it was time to adult. You try to wake your brain up, too, but all it does is demand coffee.

And coffee you shall get. The smell hits your nose before anything can hit your eyesight but already, you’re lazily smiling at a blurry vision of Lucy from behind the kitchen counter. Her computer is in front of her and her eyes never leave the screen even as she feels you come in.

“Jeon Jungkook.” She half sing-songs, half affirms.

Are you sleep walking?

“Huh?”

She clears her throat and starts reading, “This year’s most eye-grabbing addition to Forbes 30 Under 30 list belongs to twenty-eight-year-old Jeon Jungkook. The young entrepreneur is the heir of the luxury chain of hotels, The West End.” Now you’re awake. She continues, “The high-end resorts have an ever-growing list of locations taking up the most coveted, bustling destinations all around the globe. Jungkook inherited his family’s legacy at the young age of twenty-four and has often been praised by his sharpness and boldness when it comes to business. His first duty as CEO and Chair of The West End Collection proved him more than capable, as he went on to re-brand its various hotels, location by location. His diligence and cut-throat ideas earned The West End a spike in stocks of up to 200%-”

“You are,” you interrupt her, fingers pressing at your temples for emphasis, “the nosiest person. Ever.”

“Okay so he’s rich. And smart. And in Forbes. But when where you going to tell me he looked like this?” She spins the laptop around in her hold, shoving it in your direction for dramatic effect.

And there he is, in all of his glory. Black suit over a black dress shirt. His hair a bit more tamed than it usually is on his day to day.

“I did tell you!” You protest.

“No, you did not. You said he looked like an angel. This man is a God.” She scoffs.

“Is this for me?” You ask, pointing at the cup of iced coffee sitting pretty on the kitchen counter.

“Well, it’s not for me.” She remarks, eyes still glued to the screen as you take a sip. “I found the baby mama, too.” She blurts out so fast it takes you a second to register it.

“Lucy.”

“What? It wasn’t that hard! She’s a model or something, if we’re going by anything Vogue has to say.”

At this, you give into the snooping. Your eyes divert to the screen and surely there she is. She looks just like what you’d expect at hearing her name alone. Ira Sommersmith. She’s beautiful, and the word alone cuts it short. Long blonde hair, dazzling smile, eyes looking away from the camera in that lost gaze model way. You’d look like a fool if you even attempted it. And you know because you’ve tried.

“Look, here’s them together. At some rich people party. Why is everyone wearing white? That’s a recipe for disaster if I’ve ever seen one.” Lucy says before changing the tabs, a picture of the two of them on the screen.

They look happy. He’s smiling at the camera and she’s smiling at him. It’s dated from two years ago. What happened? You can’t help but wonder.

“Wait a minute. Soori looks nothing like her. I don’t think she’s the baby mama,” you say, imitating the tone of suspense Lucy takes on when in conspiracy theory mode.

“No, no. She might be all daddy but that’s her baby. I read an article about it. Apparently, Ira went all MIA on social media shortly after the baby’s birth. She also went on a modelling hiatus.”

Her words sink into you. You try really hard not to pry, you do. You contain it as much as you can. But your brain can’t stop running in circles, that avid writer’s imagination of yours doing you no favours to inflict any sort of self-control.

“I want to go on a hiatus, too.” Lucy says, earning a loud cackle from you. “Not you, though. Come on, can’t be late for hot, heir, angel God, daddy Jeon Jungkook. Emphasis on the daddy.”

“Lucy!”

You’re in the bus on your way to the Jeon abode. Every morning dulls into afternoon in somewhat an identical rhythm. You don’t mind, though. You’ve come to find it comforting.

The bus ride is relaxing – there are not many people heading to the residential part of town this early in the morning, allowing you the commodities of not one but two seats all to yourself. You read, write or listen to music. Out the window, you start to make out the proximity of your destination as the pretty houses start to breeze past your line of vision. Every time the bus halts at a stop you’re able to take them in, full detail. You wonder if you’ll ever make it big enough to live in this side of town, in a pretty house of your own.

Your mind starts to float into that cloud of pink you call daydream. You picture a family. Do you want a big one?You don’t know. Kids are expensive. But, then again, if you can afford a house with more than one bathroom you reckon you could afford a couple of kids.

You picture Soori. As a reference, you tell yourself. She’s a cute baby, why wouldn’t you want a cute baby like her?

“But I don’t want this exact house!” You tell Lucy. A sea of magazines spread out around the two of you.

You’re in your tiny living room, coffee table pushed to the side as you invade the floors with glossy paper cut outs. You’re in vision board making mode, and even though you haven’t quite grasped the idea, it’s a fun Friday night activity. Also, you’re wine-drunk. Cheap wine-drunk.

“It’s for reference, ___.” Lucy says, accentuating every consonant, “it doesn’t have to be exactly what you want, as long as it encompasses the same energy.”

“You’re doing that thing where you throw big words at me when I’m drunk.”

“You’ll be fine as long as you don’t do that thing where you nod and pretend you understood. This is important, okay? We’re manifesting.” She returns.

Manifesting is her new favourite word.

You grab a wrinkled picture of a very shirtless Brad Pitt. The whole look of the image feels vintage. You had grabbed a bunch of old magazines from the library that were due to be thrown out for the longest time now.

“So I won’t get 2003 Brad Pitt but!,” you start, shoving the picture in her face, “I will get a sexy, toned, tall, tanned and successful man that can sport low rise jeans like this?”

“Exactly.”

“Let’s manifest, baby!”

Reference. It’s important.

Sometimes it worries you how when you think about your future you don’t hold an ounce of desperation regarding it. People talk about goals and dreams but they never do it with the softness something promising should hold. It’s always with edge. Fear, uncertainty.

But you think you can amount your bliss to your lack of knowing. Truth is, beyond writing, there’s nothing that passions you enough to pursue. And society has already installed the notion in you that writing careers are in extinction. You’re not above fears. You just mentioned one. You just don’t attach your future to them. You’ll never stop writing, though. That’s your one sure-thing.

Your future doesn’t have to be panned out for you. You can dream by reference.

You’ll never own a touch screen doorbell, though. That’s just presumptuous.

You press on the screen of said reference you are not taking after. It’s 7:15 sharp – you’re a legend for this one, considering how much time Lucy’s snooping took out of your morning routine.

Every morning Mrs. Chae opens the door for you and this one is no different. Her sweet smile matches her sweet voice. Overall, she’s a sweet lady and you can tell Jungkook has a soft spot for her. She’s the one getting the big smiles around here, not you. But let’s not rush into that just yet.

“Good morning, ___.” She greets you with a tender smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Chae. How are you today?”

“Oh, just wonderful. Come in, come in. Have you eaten?” She always asks you this, even if your answer is always the same.

“Yes, Mrs. Chae. Thank you for asking, though.”

“Young people these days!” she begins, “you don’t give breakfast the importance it deserves. Mr. Jungkook only has that coffee of his. And half of it is ice.” She whispers the last bit, almost as if she was letting you in on a secret.

“I’m sure Mr. Jungkook compensates with lunch, though.” You tell her and she smiles, nodding at this. You both know Mr. Jungkook can eat.

By the time your brief, but almost always comical, morning chat with Mrs. Chae is over, Jungkook is usually making his way inside the kitchen. This morning is no different either.

“Good morning,” he says, a pyjama clad Soori resting at his hip, giraffe plushie in hand that she repetitively smacks into her father’s chest.

“Good morning, Mr. Jungkook.” Mrs. Chae says, placing a tray in the kitchen counter in front of him, a single glass of iced americano.

“Morning,” you say, making your way to him. “Morning, pretty girl.” This is directed at Soori, who jumps excitedly in Jungkook’s hold at your words. She lets out some sweet unintelligible baby babble, “I agree.” You tell her and she giggles, her pacifier falling from her little mouth.

“She had her bottle about two hours ago so she should be ready for breakfast any time now.” Jungkook informs you, passing her to you, hand coming to caress at her little head once she’s in your arms.

“Perfect.” You turn to her, “what’s for brekky today? What about oatmeal? No cinnamon this time, promise.” Jungkook smiles. But it’s not directed at you. It usually never is.

Now, let’s not put him in total bad lighting. He’s civil, polite even. But he never humours you. And you’re funny. I mean, yes. Your track record is babies and toddlers and an easy-hearted Lucy but come on.

Soori laughs though, and it’s all that matters.

He’s almost done with his coffee. That was way too fast. You wish you could tell him but then again you wouldn’t. You still can’t decipher what’s worst – the attitude he was giving you on the day of the interview or the indifference he gives you every day.

You don’t think he necessarily hates you. In fact, you don’t even think he dislikes you. You just think he’s not very happy with the world right now and it reflects on pretty much anything that hits his line of vision.

Everything except Soori, though. She gets all the big smiles and praises and cuddles. So many cuddles.

Jungkook goes to the office most days but there are days when he stays home. He’s usually locked inside his office, immersed in paper work. But he always makes sure he’s out just as Soori starts getting fussy with hunger.

He makes her a bottle and lays her down in a plush pillow that doesn’t quite match the décor of the sofa. But it’s the Soori pillow, so it stays. She drinks her bottle, eyes glued to his as he talks to her. Most of the times you can’t make out what he’s saying but one time you did hear him give her a run-down of a business call he’d just had, his voice never losing the softness he saves for her. His Soori voice.

Sometimes both their eyes begin to get heavy with sleep and he rests his head next to her tummy, nuzzling his nose into it until she giggles and jerks under him.

It’s cute. And it tugs at all of your heartstrings. So much so you have to fight with every pull to not walk in front of him and tell him, ‘Hey Jungkook! You’re such a good dad! You’re doing great. Don’t be sad. Ever again, please!’

But you remember where you stand with him: sole professionality. You keep telling yourself this is fine by you. You still get to play with his cute baby for a living so who’s the real winner here?

You walk with him all the way to the front door so Soori can spend as much time with him as possible. He never asked for this but you started doing it anyway and you know he appreciates it.

“Alright, baby. Be good, okay? I love you. So much. I’ll see you soon.” You know the words by memory now. He litters kisses all over her soft cheeks, tickling her until she hides in the crook of your neck. He pulls away.

“Say bye-bye!” you tell her. She makes grabby hands at him. Bye-bye is a dreaded set of words.

You see him try to fight it but he breaks, grabbing her and hugging her to his chest. More kisses, this time all over her face.

“Okay. Daddy has to go. I love you.” He says and hands her back to you.

Her little mouth forms the most endearing pout, chin wrinkling and you know she’s about to cry. But you’re faster – your baby voice in full mode when you say, “No cry, Soo. Daddy will be back soon.”

Jungkook has turned around by the time the words leave your lips so, naturally, you miss the way his eyebrows come up so high they nearly touch his hairline and his steps falter a bit at your words. At the word.

And so, with that, your work day begins. It’s easy and you’re lucky – you know you are. You spend time with Soori, who happens to be a great companion. She’s easy going and tooth-ache inducing as her big starry eyes, courtesy of her father, are glued to you throughout the day.

You play with her and read her books you bring from the library, she’s a good source of research when it comes to testing out book club options. You already tried sticking to her age range but figured she’s advanced.Well, maybe you’re biased but she does get through the baby books fast, promptly losing interest. So, you read her the big kid books and that’s when she stills – her full attention on you as you read to her, putting on a show as you dramatize every scene.

Nap time usually finds you a bit bummed out that you have to part ways with her as you exit her nursery, lit only by twinkling stars adorning her ceiling, imitating a starry night sky. It’s pretty cool, you sort of wish you had one, too. You wonder if she’ll ever grow out of it. You hope she doesn’t.

You tidy up, read and write during this time – it stretches as plenty and you keep yourself entertained enough until it’s time to do it all over again.

You’re lucky, you think, realizing just how much you look forward to doing it all over again.

Jungkook is fond of you. He comes up with this conclusion as he parks his car in his driveway, the ignition coming to a stop as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

Jungkook is fond of you and he knows you don’t know that. He also knows it’s completely his fault. Hell, he even doubts his own friends still know he’s fond of them, if he’s being honest.

The thing about pain is that it doesn’t put other people’s happiness on hold. It doesn’t magically put a halt to the collective joy of the world just so one person can experience it in peace. A very far-fetched concept of peace, anyways.

He’s in pain but the world around him is sort of hitting him with an abrupt, ‘and what about it?’

It’s been four weeks since Ira left and the world has stopped suffering with him. His friends have gone back to their normal lives, his family stopped asking questions and Mrs. Chae stopped walking on eggshells around him. Even Soori has resumed her normal scheduled programming. She sleeps through the night, eats like she never made Jungkook cry in the bathroom more times than he’s willing to admit, and keeps growing up. Doing new things, leaving him in awe as she wonders about the world, taking it in.

She’s a happy baby and he knows it’s because she has a happy you by her side. So, he lets her bask in your aura, mirror your essence and that is enough for him. That is all that truly matters to him – her happiness.

As for him, your aura inflicts more heartbreak than it does healing. He doesn’t resent you for it or anything but he doesn’t give you the opening to shine your light into him either. He doesn’t know if its guilt or suffering – maybe it’s both. All he knows is that there is something about you that makes him feel profoundly unpreparedto start living again.

So that’s why he remains impassive as you hand Soori back to him, ruffling her silky hair before giving her a kiss that has her keening at your touch.

“Bye, Jungkook.” You tell him, a smile adorning your face as always. Soori’s hold on your finger pulls you into them.

You stumble forwards and he takes a step backwards.

“Goodbye, ___.”

If it weren’t for his friends, Jungkook’s weekends would be spent stuck at home, sulking in between trying to keep Soori entertained with screen time she should not be consuming and his lame train of thought he sometimes shares with her. He runs her through his list of chores, movies he wants to watch, endless options of what they could have for lunch. You name it, she listens.

And that was all good at first – his friends had given him the space to mourn his loss, cry his tears and settle into his new dynamic as a family of two. But they wouldn’t be any good of friends if they’d let it drag on the moment they found him getting a little too comfortable with said sulking.

So now Jungkook tags along family outings that require him and Soori leave the house and put on outfits that are more weekend-casual, as opposed to the suits and pyjamas they sport throughout the week.

It’s easy to dress himself but Soori, on the other hand, is a feat that challenges his three-coloured-palette fashion senses. Her wardrobe is so colourful, filled with pastels and different prints. It suits her, it does. But Jungkook has no idea how to make all her clothes harmonize into one simple outfit. It used to be Ira’s job – one of the few ones she actually enjoyed.

He takes one last look at her before he unbuckles her seat belt, picking her up from her car seat before they start walking towards Mai and Taehyung. The streets are busy today – a sunny Saturday that has the city full of people, restaurant tables officially propped outside to welcome in the warmer weather.

Today’s attempt at matching has Mai throwing her head back in laughter as she takes in a very happy and oblivious Soori in. A pair of baby pink denim pants, green Kermit the Frog shirt Jungkook had gotten for her during a trip to New York and a yellow sweater. But the cherry on top of the cake was the shrunk down version of Jungkook’s favorite Balenciaga sneakers adorning her tiny feet.

“What?” Jungkook says, even though he knows exactly why she’s laughing.

Mai takes Soori from him, smacking her lips into her cheek in a loud kiss. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, Soori girl.” She beams at Mai’s affection, “is daddy on a steady road down colour blindness?” She still has her baby voice on. Soori laughs, a full pair of bottom teeth in full display.

Jungkook giggles at the sight but Mai doesn’t let him have it.

“Kermit the Frog? Really?” she says, voice lowering at him.

“She can rock it.”

“I agree,” Taehyung steps in, taking Soori from Mai’s arms. He throws her in the air, hands catching her swiftly at her descend. Loud baby giggles fall past her lips.

“That’s because you are actually colour blind.” Mai says.

“Baby, I’m not? I literally dress better than you.” He retorts, words not matching his sweet tone as his lips form a signature pout.

Before Mai can protest Jungkook steps in, “that’s enough, children. Let’s go get Dae, I’m starving.”

“Library’s around the corner, but it’s still five minutes ‘til pick up. He doesn’t like it when I’m early,” Mai returns.

“Yeah, because it’s not his super cool uncle picking him up.”

“Good point.” She gives in – it’s good to hear his witty remarks again, even if they run scarce.

As they turn the corner the library comes into view. They step inside and a peaceful silence fills the air. Jungkook finds it comforting. He thinks about how he hasn’t stepped foot inside a library since his college years. That can’t be good. Soori has been extra keen during bed time stories. She’d usually fidget a lot in his grasp as he swayed her back and forth in her rocking chair – it almost felt like a bonding moment he had to force into her. But lately she just lays back in his chest and listens to his voice as he narrates the stories. He’s also aware this is because of you.

He’d expected to see you but it still takes him by surprise. Maybe it’s the change in setting. This is the first time he’s seeing you outside his home. How you manage to grasp the attention of six children at the same time is beyond him, but there you are, reciting a story about crayons going on a strike. He spots Dae, mouth agape in awe as he listens to you attentively.

Mai walks forwards, hiding behind a book shelf and observing the sweet scene that unfolds as the kids discuss the story.

“That’s your nanny?” Taehyung says, voice a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, your life has always somewhat resembled a movie but this is beyond.” He laughs, a little too loudly, earning himself a scowling from Mai as she looks back at them.

Jungkook frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Your nanny’s hot.” He tells his friend, unabashedly, “you are allowed to acknowledge objective attractiveness, you know?”

But before he can answer you’re wrapping up today’s session, turning to the kids and asking them if they enjoyed it. The loud cheers startle him a bit – he turns his head around as if making sure he was still in a library. The commotion is followed by a chorus of, ‘Yes, Miss ___.’

“Miss ___...” Taehyung sing-songs in a mock sultry voice, waggling his eyebrows at Jungkook.

“Shut up,” is all he says.

The kids get up, beginning to disperse, some coming to you for hugs or to sit at your lap to tell you things Jungkook can’t quite make up from a distance. They hand you books, offering their suggestions for next week’s book club and you accept them with a smile. You seem genuinely happy and excited – he finds it refreshing for some reason he can’t pin-point. Your nails are painted all a different colour, Jungkook notes. Toned down shades of yellow, green, blue, orange and pink. Maybe his colourful choice of an outfit for Soori wasn’t that far off. It looks good on you.

“Uncle Jungoo!” Dae’s voice breaks him from his trance and he comes to his knees, arms wide open as the little boy runs towards him. He picks him up in a hug once he crashes into his chest.

“Hi, buddy. Missed you.”

“Missed you, too.” His voice is sweet and Jungkook feels recharged already, his mood lifting. “Hi Soori Blue,” he says, turning to Soori.

“Soori Blue?” You ask, coming to stand in front of them.

“Hey, hey-” Taehyung is startled as Soori throws her entire body weight towards you, free-falling. Your reflexes don’t fail you and, thankfully, you catch her quickly. “Phew. You should be a baseball player.”

Jungkook is relieved to see her in your arms. For various reasons.

“She’s getting too fearless.” You say, shifting her around until she rests at the crook of your waist.

“I’m Taehyung, nice to meet you.” He extends his hand and you shake it.

“Nice to meet you, too. Dae has told me a lot about you.”

“Oh, likewise.”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, putting Dae on the floor.

“Uncle Jungoo, you know Miss ___?” The little boy asks, looking from you to Jungkook and back.

“Yes, buddy. She takes care of Soori when I’m away at work.”

“Wow, how cool!” He says and you smile at him.

“Come on, let’s get your backpack so we can go have pizza!” Taehyung says and that’s all it takes for Dae to run off excitedly.

“Kermit the Frog?” You ask, pulling down at Soori’s shirt to get a better look.

“Everybody keeps saying that.” He says, slightly irritated.

“I think it’s cool. But that’s because you’re the coolest. Aren’t you, Soo?” You coo at her.

“It’s her middle name,” he says, answering your previous question.

“Blue,” you state, looking at Soori. It fits her. “Cute.”

He simply nods.

Mai comes to you, warm smile adorning her face, “look who found you!” she tickles Soori’s tummy.

“A more than pleasant surprise,” you flush her plump cheek to yours.

“Hey, I love your dress.” Mai says. You look down at what you’re wearing. It’s a plain lilac dress. You thank her anyways. “Maybe you can give Ggukie some pointers.”

Dae calls for her and she excuses herself, leaving you and Jungkook alone once again. He’s a sight to behold today, that’s for sure. Out of his usual dark suits and dress shirts he looks even more youthful. A plain white shirt, somewhat oversized, resting a bit low over his collar bones. You have to mentally scold yourself for staring at his neck for that long. Light wash blue jeans with cuts at the thighs – Jeon Jungkook can dress his age.

Your next remark is inevitable.

“Ggukie, huh?” On a common day you wouldn’t dare joke around with him, let alone in such a condescending manner. But today you can’t help yourself.

“Miss ___, huh?” He jokes back. It leaves his mouth before he can process it and he regrets it immediately. What if you think it’s inappropriate?

But you laugh, chest fluttering a little at the fact he bit back. You give into the joke fully and say, “now who’s in charge?”

Jungkook hates how your words make his brain short circuit for a second too long. But he can’t help himself when his gaze meets yours and he gives you a smile. A big, genuine smile. Bunny teeth and everything. What a day.

He stares at you, taking you in. Taehyung’s words echo in the back of his head. He observes you with that objectivity he was talking about before. He sees it. It’s in your smile, he thinks. You smile with your whole face – it starts at your eyes, opening wide before they close in crescents, making the sides crinkle a bit. Your whole expression softens before it finally falls on your lips. Your lips which, objectively speaking, are full and cherry red. A natural pout to you that throws endearment into your every expression. You never fully look annoyed, he realizes. And it’s because of that pout.

But he knows there’s more besides objectivity when it comes to you. And before he allows his eyes to linger down your face to your body, he stops himself.

He cuts your moment short and gets back to business.

“I wanted to ask you if you’d be able to work this weekend?” He says, face back to his normal nonchalant expression it takes on around you. You pretend to ignore the way your heart sinks a little.

“Uh, sure. My friend Lucy can cover for me here at the library – the kids love her.”

“Great. It’s a short trip from Friday to Sunday. I have to attend the inauguration of my new resort. It’s only two hours away by plane.”

You don’t even have time to control the way your mouth drops, staring at him in utter confusion.

He remains unfazed.

“Jeon Jungkook is taking you on vacation?” Lucy asks, mouth parted in surprise.

“Lucy, no-” you start, but it’s to no avail.

“To the beach?!”

You haven’t even made it past the living room yet. Bag still over your shoulder, keys in hand. Lucy is buzzed for the early stages of a Saturday afternoon. She’d been perfecting her French baguette recipe and she simply could not not pair her success with an experience. So, she made a charcuterie board out of it. Red wine and everything – your glass had been placed in your hand the moment she opened the door.

“It is not a vacation. It is the inauguration of his new hotel. He wants Soori there so that throws me into the equation. By default.” You explain.

“Uh… it’s not even 1 pm, stop throwing his sexiness in my face by reminding me he owns hotels!” She huffs, pointing her index finger at you in a scolding manner.

“So, being drunk by noon is acceptable but don’t we dare throw sex in there?”

“Who said anything about sex?” her grin is wicked, to say the least.

“Lucy.”

“Hey, I am not to blame for the places your mind goes! But I’m also not one to blame you. I wouldn’t be any better at the prospect of seeing Jeon Jungkook in swim shorts.” You roll your eyes at this.

“I hate flying.”

“You’ve flown twice.”

“And I hated it.”

“You’re probably going to fly first class, courtesy of Mr. Jeon.”

“No,” you say, mind still fixated on your fear of heights, “we’re taking his plane.”

“What the fuck, ___?!”

Jungkook doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so quiet. And it’s not only the way you’re not trying to make small talk every chance you get the way you usually do. You’re eerily still, which is even more abnormal.

You’re both standing at the gates of the private airport, waiting for the SUV that will take you to his plane. Soori’s in his arms but she keeps trying to get your attention, offering you her plushie. When that doesn’t work, she attempts to hand you her pacifier – that doesn’t work either.

All through the short car ride you only get more nervous, leg bouncing in place as you stare out the window. A plane takes off in the distance and your eyes widen. You’re way too close. What if it just… fell down? You frown at your morbid thought.

As you step outside the SUV, you’re met directly with your means of transportation for the day. It’s a decent sized plane, creamy white with dark blue stripes grazing the middle. There’s a blue mat by the stairs that lead you to the entrance of the plane – the words The West End Collection written in white cursive letters. If your mind wasn’t too preoccupied with thoughts of how you feel like your life is nearing its end, you’d be able to form a witty remark on how presumptuous that is. But instead, you’re thinking about sending your mom a dramatic goodbye text. You know, just in case.

You hold tight onto the railing as you climb up the stairs, a bubbly air-hostess greeting the three of you as you step foot on the plane. The furniture in here looks more expensive than all of your belongings. Witty until the very end, you’ll claim that one.

“Welcome. Good morning, Mr. Jungkook. Miss Soori, long-time no see,” the air hostess coos at her. If Soori can do this, then you can, too. Right?

“Morning, Lydia. How’s the forecast looking today?” Jungkook asks, sitting Soori down in one of the cushiony seats.

“Blue skies ahead, Mr. Jungkook. A bit of wind up north will probably have us experiencing some turbulence through the second half of the trip, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

You gulp. It’s loud enough to have them turning their heads, puzzled expressions searching for yours. You avoid their gazes.

Lydia senses your discomfort, though, and she walks over to you, motioning to one of the seats for you to sit down. You smile at her, unable to form many words. “Is there anything I can get you,” she asks.

“Huh?” You look up at her, eyes still a bit lost.

“Two iced americanos, please, Lydia.” Jungkook’s voice brings you back.

“Coming right up,” she says before turning around, making her way to the small kitchenette at the front of the plane.

Jungkook thinks about heading towards the back seats, his favourite single-sofa waiting for him. But he can clearly see the uneasiness you’re in and so he takes Soori in his arms, plopping them both in the seat in front of you.

“You okay,” he asks, looking for your gaze that seems to be fixed on nowhere in particular.

“I hate flying,” the words come out of you at speed lighting. “Well, I hate heights, more so.”

“Ahh,” but before Jungkook can find the words to calm down your nerves you hit him with a set of loaded ones.

“I also read somewhere that private flights amount to more deadly crashes than commercial ones do. Small planes are, statistically, more dangerous. As opposed to the big planes that are even safer than cars. Did you know that?” You’re word vomiting, something you do out of nervousness after your brain can’t tolerate stage one of fright: speechlessness.

Jungkook raises one brow at you, a small smile tugging at his lips and then he chuckles. Out of all your attempts at humouring him, this is what gets to him? He must be a sadist, you conclude.

“If Google says so…,” he says, a playful ring to his voice.

“It was a very reliable source.”

“They’re right.”

“What?” your voice shakes, you were hoping him and his big brain would refute your theory.

“Statistically, I mean. They are right. A lot of the crashes are due to poor servicing, though. We service our planes monthly, and always right before flying. So, unless the odds are not in your favour today, we should make it there in one piece.”

“The odds are never in my favour.” This has him full on laughing now and you have to admit the sound eases your nerves a little.

“Here, can you hold her for a minute?” You nod, reaching for Soori who falls into your arms effortlessly. You watch him head to the front of the plane.

You bounce her in your lap. She’s calm and unbothered and it eases you a little – your shoulders relaxing, releasing tension you didn’t even know you were holding.

Jungkook comes back after a bit – two iced coffees in his hands. He hands you one before he settles back on his seat. You thank him and he hums in return, letting his body melt into the cushions. His elbow rests on the armrest next to him, fingers coming to his lips as he observes you. You take a sip of your coffee and wince at the taste. He laughs.

“What is this?!”

“Iced americano,” he responds, feigning innocence, but the smile on his face gives him away.

“It is not.” You retaliate.

“Fine. Iced americano, pump of scotch.” His nonchalance astounds you.

“Jungkook! I’m- Soori-,”

“Relax, I’ve got her. No fun coffee for me. Plus, it’s not enough to have you seeing stars. Just enough to take the edge off.”

“This is not very appropriate work hours behaviour.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Now, you try. You try really hard to not fall into the cliché that is Jeon Jungkook. You try really hard to not take his words as anything other than what they are. In retrospect, he’s never even given you enough rope for you to second guess his actions. But seeing him in less impersonal contexts like this one, or the library last week, is playing dangerous games with the left side of your brain. You know, your rationality.

Being out-of-office suits him. His whole demeanour slows down, becomes a bit more mellow. He’s easier, to put it bluntly. He wears baggy, comfy clothes. His hair looks ruffly and you notice how soft his features look when he’s well rested. His duality is, pardon your French, mind-fucking. And so as much as you try, you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit Jeon Jungkook has officially crossed the line of ‘yes, he’s attractive but also your boss’ to ‘yes, he’s your boss but he also sends a whole troop of butterflies straight to your tummy every time he throws that slow blink, tendered smile at you.’ And it might be the scotch but you’d also be lying to yourself if you didn’t acknowledge that you, in all of your cliché-loving glory, are in trouble.

He looks to the side, eyes falling to the window next to you. He reaches for it, bringing the panel down.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” he says, settling back into his seat, legs spreading as he makes himself comfortable.

So much trouble.

Jungkook’s less than conventional recipe to cure fear of flying seems to have worked for you. By the time the plane had taken off you were a bit more relaxed and, needless to say, hazy minded. It was quite amusing to see you fall into the effects of a little bit of hard liquor in the early stages of the morning.

Soori had fallen asleep soon after, the white noise coming from the plane’s engine getting to her. She now rested peacefully in a travel bassinet in the seat next to him.

The lights in the cabin grew dim and the both of you went into airplane mode. Headphones in, falling into a comfortable silence. Jungkook can’t quite remember when was the last time he’d fallen into comfortable silence with someone. And by someone he means an adult. He found himself enjoying it in a way that eased him. Jungkook has never experienced fear of flying – or heights. But he supposed the nervous edge you’d carried could pretty much resemble the one that had settled upon him the moment Ira left. That fear that convinces you that the end will see you crumbling – crashing. The type of fear that has the odds against you. So, when you fell back into that tranquillity that characterizes you, he felt himself relaxing, too. It wasn’t conscious but he welcomed it. He was tired of fighting so as to keep his pain comfortable.

He fidgets in his seat, eyes closed as he tries to fall asleep, but his attempts are failing. He’s not necessarily tense so he should be drifting – the white noise usually gets to him, too. Maybe he’s not comfortable enough, or warm enough. Or maybe his mind can’t stop thinking about the last thing he witnessed before closing his eyes. Your weight had shifted to the closed window of the plane, a dark brown leather journal propped on your knee, pen gliding against the ivory pages as you wrote away. You hadn’t paused once and he couldn’t help wonder what had your thoughts running at such a rapid pace. Plane crash statistics, probably.

His inability to fall asleep has him feeling restless so he finally gives in, opening his eyes. You’ve remained in the exact position they’d last left you in. He stares, taking advantage of how hyper-focused you seem to be. Your hold on the notebook is delicate and he notices how well-lived it looks. The soft leather has wrinkled at the corners and you’ve inked a couple of phrases he can’t quite make up into the fabric. He notices a little star in blue ink, slightly lopsided. Before he can stop himself, his lips form a smile. It lingers, softening his expression.

You feel it. His eyes on you. Your eyes leave the page, gaze shifting up, though he can’t tell your eyes are on him. You feel nervous at first but his smile pushes that feeling aside. It’s contagious so you mimic it, enjoying the built-up fuzzy feeling at the pit of your stomach. You’re not sure it’s inhabited by sole butterflies anymore. Something else makes way inside of you, a feeling which you keep unnamed in hopes you can tame it by doing so.

He breaks himself out of his trance, looking up. His eyes meet yours and his smile falters a bit. Yours doesn’t, though. It doesn’t lose its warmth, its welcoming nature. So, he lets his lips move to the beat of your actions once again.

You break the little eternity your exchange held, hand resuming your stream of consciousness. He lets himself watch you for a couple more seconds – lets himself indulge in your light, the same light he’d been avoiding.

His eyes flutter a couple of times before sleep settles upon him.

You’re the last thing he sees before he fully drifts.

You wouldn’t say you’re seasoned when it comes to hotels stays. Let alone five-star ones. The last time you stayed in one you and Lucy feared for your health to such extent you ended up showering with flip flops on.

The West End is nothing like anything you’ve experienced. Not only is it top-notch luxury and comfort from as early as stepping into the lobby but, you also get to experience your first taste of said luxury with the benefits rooming with the owner brings you. Not to mention the fact that the hotel doesn’t technically open its doors until inauguration tomorrow night – leaving you, Jungkook and Soori with an entire hotel to yourselves with the exception of the staff, of course. Staff who also happen to be at your service twenty-four-hours a day. Their words, not yours.

Well, there is another exception. It comes in a pair of five-inch heels and hair so sleeked back it’s giving you a headache.

“Mr. Jungkook,” her voice is the definition of cool, calm and collected. All of her, really.

“Kaya, nice to see you,” he retorts. You don’t miss the way he takes a less formal tone with her.

“Likewise,” she looks at Soori, who’s head is resting in her father’s shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart. Did the plane ride get you sleepy?” her voice softens but not enough to lose its sharpness. Soori gives her a loopy smile.

“Kaya, this is ___.” Jungkook turns to you and you proceed to shake her hand.

She smiles, nothing but politely. “Ah, yes. We’ve talked on the phone. It’s nice to finally meet you.” For some reason, said phone conversation had you picturing her as a stern lady well into her forties. A brown suit, short hair. Kaya can’t be any older than Jungkook and her black suit looks designer. She’s beautiful, too. In that femme fatale way.

“You too,” at this, she gives you another tight-lipped smile.

Jungkook starts walking absentmindedly, eyes scanning the lobby. He seems pleased. He turns to Kaya as he says, “so, give me the run down, Kay.”

Kay?

“We’re meeting with the event organizer in twenty to run through some last-minute details for the reception. After that, you have an appointment of the outmost importance with none other than rest and relaxation,” he shoots her a smile – a dazzling, boyish smile. She nods and continues, “your friends are arriving at nine tomorrow, the plane’s already on its way back to the city to pick them up. Brunch at ten, don’t be late. Your parents will be here at 1 pm, sharp. Lunch will be served at 1:15. Your father wanted a seaside view so you’ll be eating by the cabanas.” He rolls his eyes at this, “you know I don’t fight the man. Anyways, we’ll give them an official tour of the premises at 3. Reception begins at 6, we’ll cut the ribbon at 6:15, dinner at 7 and then the beach party. The plane will be ready for you on Sunday so just let me know when they can expect you and I’ll pass the message along.” She finishes, letting out a breath as to finalize her previous statement.

“You’re a Rockstar,” is all he says before you make your way to the elevator.

A Rockstar?

The elevator ride is quiet. Kaya types away on her phone at superhuman speed. Jungkook stands in the middle of the two of you, eyes penetrating the doors. Even Soori is quiet – falling in and out of sleep in her father’s arms.

The corridors are wide and long and it’s quite a walk to get to the room. Kaya stands in front of the double doors and taps the room key into the card reader. The doors come open and to say you’re impressed is an understatement.

The room is not quite a room. The first thing you see is the ocean. The balcony seems to be never ending, illuminating the space, and you’re so high up it feels like you’re at sea level. There’s a full kitchen to the side, marble island and everything, and a dining table that gives way to the living room. The finish of the room is in that impeccably clean and modern aesthetic you’ve grown used to since working for Jungkook.

“The West Wing,” Kaya states, pride lacing her voice. “Master bedroom is that way, Soori’s nursery is right next to it and opposite that we have the guest bedroom. Where you’ll be sleeping, ___.” She says the latter with an edge to her voice you don’t miss.

“Perfect. Thank you, Kaya. I’ll see you downstairs in ten?”

“You got it, Mr. Jungkook.” That’s the last thing she says before she turns around, heels clinking on the marble floors, pony tail swaying side to sides as she makes her grand exit.

Jungkook walks over to the balcony, sliding the doors open. The warm, salty breeze fills the space. It’s so nice it takes you a moment to register where exactly life has landed you today.

“Why does everyone call you Mr. Jungkook,” you ask, startling him a little as you come to stand next to him. The vastness of the ocean stands before you. It’s breath-taking.

“Mr. Jeon is my dad,” you nod at this, “plus, he’s still the tycoon around here.”

“All of this is yours, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, a pensative look to his face. “Ours, I like to believe.” He says, looking at Soori who’s just began to fully wake up. You smile at his words. “Hey, the meeting shouldn’t take long. Why don’t you two get changed and meet me by the beach? This one won’t sleep through the night if she naps again.”

“You got it, Mr. Jungkook,” you say, taking Soori from him. He shakes his head at you but you don’t miss the light chuckle that escapes his lips.

“It is an honour to be at your service again, Mr. Jungkook.” Mr. Ilsung bows repeatedly, smiling with pride as Jungkook taste tests the finger food set to be served at tomorrow’s reception.

“I think the honour’s all mine, Chef. This is- mmm,” He stuffs another canapé into his mouth.

Mr. Ilsung beams at the sight.

Growing up, Jungkook found himself spending more time in hotel rooms and lobbies than he did in his actual home. It was his father’s tactic to have him grow passionate about the business. It didn’t quite work back then. Instead, it would result in Jungkook sneaking out of his father’s sight, giving way to his many hotel escapades. He would find himself in the most remote of places – crossing every Do Not Enter and Staff Only sign that came his way.

He hid in rooftops and utility rooms but his favourite by far was the kitchen. He met Mr. Ilsung during one of those escapades when he was only seventeen. He wasn’t Chef back then, though. He’d only be assisting in the kitchen but they fell into a fondness that made him feel like family. He’d keep him company and in return, Mr. Ilsung would keep him well fed – treating him to all of his favourite foods, his touch taking on every recipe with a twist.

His wife had fallen ill a year ago, leaving him a widower. Everything happened so suddenly the man found himself walking into an early retirement, too consumed by sorrow. This had made Jungkook feel more nostalgic than he’d imagined possible, which lead him to present the man with an offer that he found himself unable to deny. Mr. Ilsung didn’t have kids, and now with his wife gone nothing was holding him to the city. Jungkook’s idea to make him Sue Chef at his new hotel had him packing up his belongings and starting his life over by the seaside. He was immeasurably grateful.

Jungkook sees one of the cooks walk over, holding an assortment of fruits, chocolates and a bottle of his favourite red wine inside a basket adorned with roses. “What is this?”

“A welcome gift, Mr. Jungkook. The chocolates are for Miss Soori, though.” Mr. Ilsung sets the basket atop the kitchen counter.

“This is very kind, Mr. Ilsung. Thank you very much.”

Jungkook takes one look at the basket and it doesn’t take his eyes long to find it – a greeting note, both his and Ira’s name written on it.

Kaya notices this and she visibly tenses next to him, eyes widening as she begins to apologize profusely.

“Don’t. And don’t give anyone hell over this, Kaya,” he says, narrowing his eyes at her. “It’s not their fault.” She just nods.

It’s not anyone’s fault. Not Kaya’s, not the concierge at the lobby who probably printed it, not Mr. Ilsung. He doesn’t even think he blames Ira anymore. Blame bounces around and he’s come to realize that in the end it doesn’t really do anything to ease pain. On the contrary, it fuels it.

“I will make sure it doesn’t happen again, though,” Kaya tells him and he turns to her, a soft but grateful smile on his lips. “Now go. Go build sand castles with that cute, chubby baby of yours.”

For once, Jungkook puts blame onto something that doesn’t tear at his heart. Quite the opposite actually, it heals him. He blames the ocean.

As he walks down the boardwalk that leads to the beach, he can feel the tiny grains of flyaway sand under his feet. It’s a sunny day and the water is a deep shade of blue, gentle waves breaking at the shore, darkening the once white of the sand.

He thinks you and Soori match the view. You wear white and she wears blue – in solid one pieces that even resemble each other in shape. She plays with the sand, curious as ever before she brings her hand to her mouth, probably swallowing a good amount before you’re frantically pulling her hand away. You laugh, though, and she takes on an expression that goes from fear to amusement at this.

Jungkook can’t help but laugh, too, and at this, you both turn to him. He tells himself you’re only mimicking Soori’s excitement to humour her, wind her up a little even.

“Say hi, daddy!” you tell her, waving her little hand. Jungkook smiles so, so big before he waves back, coming to sit down next to her.

“How’s my beach babe,” he asks, and you have to put actual mental strain to remember he’s talking about his daughter.

“The sand is incredibly entertaining, even after twenty minutes. Especially when we find seashells,” you open your palm, a handful of them coming to view. “Hey, does she like the water? The tide seems calm…”

“She does. Don’t know how she’ll feel about the temperature, though.”

You shrug. “We can try.”

Your hair dances in the wind a little bit and under the bright sun he can see just how soft it looks. His eyes travel down, stopping right below your neck – a silver necklace with a round pendant falls right in the middle, tiny blue jewels make up a star at its center.

“What do you write about?”

You scoff before saying, “will you laugh if I tell you?”

“Am I that much of an asshole?” He’s smiling but you can sense the worry in his voice.

“Language,” you say. “And I won’t confirm or deny without the presence of a lawyer.”

Jungkook laughs. He doesn’t know if he should be laughing at your bold wittiness but he lets himself throw his head back, throaty laugh falling past his lips. Joint with the sound of the ocean it makes for a heavenly sound, you think.

“Tell me – I won’t laugh without the presence of one either, promise.”

“Fine. Feelings, stories… poetry,” your voice comes to a murmur at the last word, gaze falling down.

“Do you turn every feeling into poetry?”

“Kind of, I guess. It helps – to turn feelings into something more. Say pain, for example. Isn’t it comforting to think it can become something other than just pain?” Your question is rhetoric and he doesn’t answer it – but he nods and something in his eyes tells you he’s storing your words somewhere in there.

Soori shrieks at the feel of the water hitting her little toes, but neither of you can tell if it’s in wonder or terror. You kneel down, taking in her expression and you laugh, looking up at Jungkook who’s thumbs are in Soori’s hold, tighter than he’s ever felt it.

“I think she likes it,” you say, salt water droplets falling from your hand to her head and she kicks excitedly at the feel, giggles leaving her mouth.

What if pain could turn into something other than just pain?

Jungkook thinks that’s brave.

He thinks you are, too.

i love them, i do. jungkook’s character development? so sexy of him. they’re so soft and cute and my heart just aaaaaaaaagh for these two. I truly hope u enjoyed. do let me know if u did, i love talking to u guys about it <3 thank u for all the love! chapter 4 is cooking and so are my sexy juices bc ggukie needs some loving methinks. so buckle up buckaroos!!!🤫

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koorosie

3 years ago

jjk; angel’s trumpet | masterpost

Angel’s Trumpet Scientific Name: Brugmansia Order and Family: Polimonailes and Solanaceae Plant Overview: A higher order of nightshade, the Angel’s Trumpet is a show-stopping pendulous flower that hangs like bells. In myth, they were prized as chimes holding magical properties. In modern use, Angel’s Trumpets have occasionally been used to create recreational drugs, but the risk of overdose is so high that these uses often have deadly consequences.

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life.

pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader

genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex

w.c; ~45k

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | final | bonus |

a/n; coming soooooon! i’ve been dedicating the better half of the month to this so i really hope u enjoy my first kpop mini series!! inspired a lil bit by the k-drama W and the avengers!

click under the cut for a preview!

Keep reading

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koorosie

3 years ago

he’s a whole heartthrob

2K notes View Post

koorosie

3 years ago

Good day

Thank you so much. I hope you have a good day as well 🌹

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koorosie

3 years ago

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIM SEOKJIN !

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koorosie

3 years ago

My lucky stars | jjk

pairing: dad!jungkook x mom!reader

word count: 4k (pls this was never meant to go over 2k but I suck)

genre: lots of fluff, domestic, parents au, established relationship, implied smut

summary: it’s been almost two years since your little weekend getaway at the beautiful lake house, the place that granted you memories you hold deeply in your heart. Now, it’s time to visit again as a family of three, and to add more of those wonderful memories to your ever growing collection.

a/n: hi loves! here’s a follow up piece for the wishing for you fam! I guess this can be read as a stand alone, but will make much more sense if you have read the story first, so if you haven’t done so, go check it out! I dedicate this one to my sweet and lovely @vaekth!!🥰 thank you so much for giving me this wonderful idea sweetheart, and for always being so supportive of my work and kind to me! I really hope you enjoy it!!

The scenery outside is just as beautiful as you remember. Just as mesmerizing as it was when you first admired it two years ago. The bright spring sun is reflected in the calm water, surrounded by greenery and pretty blooming flowers of all kinds of colors. The same small canoe docked at the side of the pier making the sight look straight out of painting. It’s wonderful.

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koorosie

9 months ago

girl you've been running through my mind all day

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koorosie

1 year ago

dextrocardia | 08

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: 6.3k

warnings: a lot of talk about assault of different kinds (sexual included), harrassment, sexism, there's blood and very serious injuries, trauma heavy. if you feel very bothered reading stuff like that, please skip this <3

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 8/?

“Answer me. You’re a double agent?!”

You’re too terrified to be embarrassed by the way you’re trembling, sitting on the floor in your pair of black cotton shorts and gray t-shirt, pressing your back against the wall furthest from the door. Not that nor the tears that start to wet your lashes and soon enough roll down your cheeks.

Despite not being too surprised, you’re obviously not any less scared.

“Please don’t,” you beg, your vision starting to become blurry from tears, “you don’t have to do this. Please, Jeongguk.”

You focus on the silhouette of him, the dark blue dress shirt and black pants. “I know what I did was wrong, I know, but I didn’t know what else to do. He was pressing t–too hard, and I couldn’t breathe.”

Tears and fear block your throat, and your heart beats a thousand beats a minute, but you try your best to get the words out, try to convince him even though you know it’s a lost cause.

“I know I’m not im–important or pretty, but I didn’t want to die. What was I supposed to do? My hand slipped out, and I–I just reached for his g–gun.”

Wiping the tears with your wrist, you see how he changes tactics, the way Jeongguk’s eyes have gone from furious to looking worried. How he’s put on his acting face.

“What… what are you talking about?” he asks, voice void of any anger as he takes another step toward you. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice or scare you, I’m sorry, but what… are you talking about?”

Quickly reaching for the razor blade in your bra, you accidentally cut your finger when you remove the blade from its case. Blood drips down your hand as you raise it in a pathetic warning.

“Don’t come any closer,” you try to sound confident, but maybe it is a bit embarrassing how your voice shakes and your hand is so unsteady that you have to support it with the other. “Please, just let me go, Jeongguk? I’m pulling the report, and I’ve apologized. If you let me go, I’ll disappear tonight, okay? You won’t ever have to see me again.”

Your gaze is drawn to the knife still gripped by his veiny hand, and so is his. A second later, he tosses the knife to the other side of the room where it hits the floor with a clinking sound and looks to bounce underneath the bed, closer to you than him, as if he wouldn’t still be able to reach it before you.

“What… report?” he asks, sinking down to one knee, still only a few steps into the room. “What are you talking about?”

But you’re not fooled by those pretty eyes, and it frustrates you how he thinks he can look at you softly and have you forget everything. It lives permanently in the back of your mind. The threats, the attempts, the fear, and now ultimately, the defeat.

“Stop pretending, Jeongguk,” you plead, sniffling. “We both know what this is. If you’re going to do it, just… get it over with. Please. Don’t play with me like this.”

Like he’s thinking hard, maybe even realizing something, his eyes lose focus, and he stands up.

“You’re talking about Hoseong, aren’t you?”

You’re quiet—well, as quiet as a crying, pathetic mess can be—when he looks down at you. You’re not sure what it is that he’s hoping for, if it’s for you to lower your guard and vulnerably crawl into his arms or if he’s deliberately trying to provoke you to get a reaction that he can answer. You meet his eyes with your razor blade slowly lowered, and he waits for something, his eyes searching yours for answers he already knows. But you can’t give them, and he backs out of the room with you still trembling on the floor.

Raindrops smatter against the windshield as Jeongguk drives toward the city.

His phone dings with a text, and he raises it, reading the preview.

He sets his course toward a more specific goal. A bar.

It’s long since dark when he steps out of the car, locking it behind him and looking around. It took him around forty-five minutes to reach the well known destination, and he spent them all in silence, his thoughts loud enough.

The wet pavement reflects light from the streetlights and a few neon signs, and Jeongguk walks with determined steps up to the door and pushes it open, placing the car keys into his breast pocket for easy access.

Inside, it’s busy as usual. People are sitting in booths or on bar stools around round tables or the bar itself, and they’re laughing, chatting loudly and singing along to the music.

Not long after entering, Jeongguk spots them. His friends. There’s three of them, sitting around a circular table.

“JK, hey!” Seunghwan calls, alcohol evident in his flushed cheeks.

Jeongguk nods in a neutral greeting, coming to stand before their table. Hoseong tips his bottle of beer slightly to the side, looking at him curiously.

“Thought you were shipped out? How’s it going?” he speaks loudly over the music. “Can’t believe you got her to apologize, man,” he grins, leaning back.

“Had to ask you a few things,” Jeongguk answers at the same volume, finding it harder than he thought to keep his emotions at bay, “about her, actually.”

Hoseong and Ryung both raise their eyebrows, but Jeongguk continues. “I want to know what happened that night. When you got shot.”

Although looking surprised, Hoseong still lets a smile pull on his lips. “Well, I fucked her. You know that, and she got pissed because I wasn’t interested in being her boyfriend.”

Seunghwan chuckles, but Jeongguk doesn’t find it funny.

“You ‘fucked her?’” he repeats. He knew that, but this time, he’s looking at the situation in a new light.

“Yeah, I fucked her,” Hoseong shrugs, toning it down just a tad, like he’s suspecting where Jeongguk is taking the conversation.

“Well, did she want you to ‘fuck her?’ Did she threaten you with the gun because you turned her down, and you were shot by accident?” Jeongguk stares at the person he thought was his friend. “Or was it intentional?”

For about two seconds, Hoseong just looks at Jeongguk like he’s… assessing something, and Jeongguk isn’t sure how the man in front of him will react.

But he leans back again, rolling his eyes lightheartedly. “Oh, come on, man, don’t be like that. You know how women are these days, they want to be tied up and fucked, but when you don’t want her to call you ‘sweetie pie’ and hold hands, they scream ‘rape.’”

Jeongguk holds his breath for a second, trying to keep his cool. He looks around at the unsuspecting environment. “Let’s talk outside, I can barely hear you in here.”

Before he turns on his heel, heading back toward the exit, he sees Hoseong stand from the barstool nonchalantly.

It doesn’t rain anymore, and the outside air is a lot colder than the sweaty atmosphere inside. Somehow, the difference in sound level makes the situation all that more real. Jeongguk walks away from the entrance to give them some privacy, not to be nice but to maximize his chances of getting the entire story.

“You forced yourself on her, didn’t you?” he turns around, putting his clenched fists in his pockets. Hoseong and Ryung followed, but Seunghwan stayed behind. “You tied her up in the hotel room you were staked out in for that case, and you raped her. She got free and shot you in self-defense. Am I getting close?”

“You’re overreacting, dude. You know she was in love with me, right?”

Jeongguk feels his anger and frustration grow, but he tries to keep calm. “I knew that she loved you, yes, but it doesn’t mean she automatically wanted to sleep with you. She filed a report too, didn’t she? What happened with that?”

Hoseong shrugs indifferently, and it’s unclear if he doesn’t know or doesn’t care. Or maybe he just doesn’t want Jeongguk to know. Jeongguk shakes his head in disbelief and turns around. He needs to leave before he does something stupid.

Ryung calls his name, but Jeongguk is already walking back to the car briskly. He gets into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut, and starts the car, and when he glances back in the rearview mirror, he sees the people he thought he knew standing close together, talking. They’re looking his way.

The drive back is tortuous and slow. Jeongguk navigates back out of the city with ease, but then he’s stuck on the freeway with nothing and no one else but himself and his thoughts. He’s been living a lie ever since he started his current job, and slowly but surely, his brain puts all the pieces together. The pieces he has—some, he’s certainly still missing.

In a fit of rage and despair, he gives the steering wheel three harsh and undeserved hits with his palm, the horn blaring each time.

“Oh, God,” he whispers, shutting his eyes for a microsecond. What has he done? What has he done, what the fuck has he done?

He bites his lip, reaching for the phone he threw onto the passenger side, his eyes alternating between the road and Google, where he’s searching for a phone number.

Your limbs are frozen and your senses both feel like they’re hyper tuned to your surroundings and numb all at once. You don’t know when Jeongguk left–actually, you’re not even certain that he did leave. Sure, you heard the door close and the car drive off, but he could’ve parked it a few houses down and snuck back inside somehow, waiting somewhere in the dark for you to lower your guard. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hear Fenrir bark, but all you can focus on is that dark doorway.

Then, you hear sounds. A car door, then the front door. Fenrir stops barking, and your worry grows. Then, there are steps, and someone is coming for you. Is it Jeongguk? Or did he leave you to one of his friends? Is it Hoseong? Unable to stop them, tears start to flow again. You promised yourself you’d meet your end with at least a bit of dignity, but you’re not that brave, evidently.

It’s Jeongguk who appears in the doorway, his hair and clothes slightly wet. You look behind him, waiting for the rest of his colleagues to come into view, but they don’t.

“Hey,” he greets quietly, looking like he’s trying to appear non-threatening, but you remember hearing him promise his friends to put you in your place, show you that it’s a man’s world you’re living in.

Put an end to it. He’s certainly tried before.

You press yourself impossibly closer to the wall as he takes another step into the room. You’ve cheated death four times–that you know of–but you won’t be able to this time.

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”

It doesn’t matter that his brown eyes look kind and soft, they’re not, and he doesn’t care for you. He thinks you’re ugly, doesn’t think anyone could ever want or love you. He only cares about him, his friends, and their pride. He thinks that you should’ve died that night, and he made you apologize for surviving.

Now he’s just playing with his food.

“Stop, don’t come any closer. I’m warning you,” you panic, raising the blade again.

Jeongguk stops, and his eyes land on your other hand, on the nick in the skin of your ring finger. “You’re still bleeding.”

He takes another slow step, and another. You keep your terrified eyes on him, but you’re sure he can tell that with every step of his, your trembling worsens.

“Please stop playing this game with me,” you plead, tears rolling down your cheeks. He won, they all did, can’t he just put you out of your misery?

“I’m not playing. Here, let me look at your finger.”

He’s so close now that he sinks to one knee and holds his hand out. You’re still gripping the razor blade, but he obviously doesn’t think you’ll actually cut him. You don’t make any move to let him see the hand you’ve put in your lap, so as slow as he can, Jeongguk reaches for it, himself.

You don’t have the courage to fight him. Logically, you know it’s your skin that’s freezing cold, probably due to shock, but his skin is burning against you when he grabs your hand. He must feel every little tremble as well. You shut your eyes. It helps not seeing him, but you still smell him, feel him around you.

“I can’t hurt you. You knew that,” your shaky mess of a voice states your discovery quietly.

Just… any second now. A blow to your head, or a knife to your throat. You made a breakthrough in the case, so he doesn’t need you anymore. He’s going to end your life, plant whatever weapon he uses at the Jung’s, and frame them for your murder. An undercover mission gone wrong–they found out about your real identities and killed you. Jeongguk escaped, and he gets the glory of clearing the case and putting the bank robbers and subsequent murderers behind bars. Not to mention the relief of knowing you’ll take the truth to the grave, and the new chief, whoever they are, will be none the wiser.

“Where’s Fenrir? What did you do to him?” you whisper, breathing becoming more difficult by the second as you’re imagining all the ways he could kill you.

Surprisingly, Jeongguk lets go of your hand and stands up, backing a few steps. You chance a glance at him and see that he looks worried–there’s a crease in his forehead and his eyes are wide.

“I haven’t done anything to him. He’s in the backyard.”

So he’s dead then. You don’t comment on it, instead you shut your eyes as another wave of tears runs down your cheeks. Like before, the rate at which you’re breathing increases, and you feel lightheaded, even as you’re sitting down.

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” he mumbles, and the sound of movement has you peeking in fear. “Just… hold on.”

For some reason, he’s backing out of the room, leaving you once again in the limbo of not knowing what he’s planning. The rain beats harshly against the roof, and the sound of thunder makes you jump. You hate storms, nothing good ever happens during them.

You feel yourself going insane, waiting for him, but he’s not gone for long this time. Do you prefer him in the room with you? At least then you know where he is and what he’s doing. It makes you anxious, not knowing. Maybe he’s pouring gasoline over the furniture, waiting to light a match?

Surprisingly, you watch as he returns to round the bed–away from you–and approaches the dresser. He rummages through the top drawer, searching for something, until he finds it and turns around.

It’s when you see him, rounding the bed again–towards you–with the handcuffs in hand that you scramble back along the wall and into the corner. You remember how he teased you about it, arrogantly offering to tie you up, cuff you to the bed. If he’s planning on resuming what Hoseong started…

Noticing your distress, Jeongguk’s eyes grow wider, and he stops and stands in front of the bed with his hands raised.

“Oh, no, no, they’re not for you,” he explains, looking at you, sitting terrified in the corner. His eyes move from you to the silvery cuffs dangling from his hand and back again. “He cuffed you, didn’t he? Hoseong?”

You’re not sure where he’s going with it, but your guess has evolved. He wants to act sweet and like he cares so that you’ll give in and he can do whatever he wants to punish you, gloating about how he managed to trick you. The dumb feminazi falling for it and thinking he cares for her.

“Look.”

You do, watching anxiously as he opens one side of the handcuffs and locks it around his wrist. The other side, he closes around the metal bed frame, leaving about two yards between you. He sits down and throws the key, which lands at your feet.

“I can’t hurt you.”

You don’t think about the fact that even if the bed probably weighs a ton, Jeongguk could surely pull it with him if he wanted to reach you. No, you don’t know what you’re thinking about, if anything, you’re just so overwhelmed and scared and relieved that you barely have time to reach for the empty, gray plant pot before you’re throwing up. It’s just bile, proof that it’s been a while since you’ve eaten anything.

Another thing you haven’t done is sleep. And for your poor, terrified, starved, and sleep-deprived body, it’s too much. As carefully as you can when the room is spinning, and someone is speaking in the background, you lie down, your cheek against the cold floor, and you pass out.

You’re still absolutely exhausted when you come to. It takes a while for your eyes to even open, and you can guess what a mess you must look like. Your head is pounding, surely from dehydration, and your entire body aches. At least some parts of you don’t feel that cold anymore–someone has thrown a duvet from the bed over you, covering your body pretty well except for your left foot and your right shoulder. You’re not trembling anymore, not even as your eyes find Jeongguk.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but he’s still sitting there, across from you with his wrist cuffed to the bed. He’s moved the bedside table away in order to lean his back against the wall. He hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet–after all, you haven’t moved–and he keeps his eyes on his right hand that he rests atop his knees, his feet flat against the floor.

You can’t help but think that he looks like he’s waiting patiently for something, maybe the train, worried that it might be late but understanding that there’s no use in pacing. As you observe him tiredly, you notice something very faintly, so faintly you’re not sure if you’re imagining it. It almost looks as if his eyes are puffier than usual, maybe just a tad bit red too. Like how people look when they were crying a long time ago. Now that you think about it, his hair looks a little messier than usual, and he’s unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt, as well as the sleeves that he’s rolled up a tad.

A chill runs through your body, and slowly, you pull the duvet closer around your body, notifying Jeongguk of your consciousness.

“Are we waiting for your friends?” your voice is so strained, it comes out as a whisper.

He looks at you, smiling the saddest little smile you’ve ever seen on anyone, and he shakes his head. “No, I called Jihyo, and she’s on her way to pick you up. It’ll take her a while to get here but she’s on her way.”

You narrow your tired eyes slightly. He’s lying.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he apologizes gently. “If I had, I wouldn’t…”

It’s the way he looks bothered that almost has you believing him. But you know just how good of an actor he is. He has despised you ever since he arrived at the district, commented on you and your body with disgust. Yet, you’ve seen how he’s capable of holding your hand in his, kissing you gently and like he means it. Only to go back to insulting you.

“Everyone knows,” you state quietly, calling his bluff.

“I didn’t. And I’d never dream of hurting you, I promise.”

“You hate me more than anyone, Jeongguk.”

It really is true. Jeongguk obviously feels immense loyalty to his friends, and he’d do anything for them. He’s been one of the most vocal ones, letting everyone know just what a terrible, disgusting, worthless person you are.

“And I’ve gotten to know you pretty well since you transferred, especially here. You can say how sorry you are and how you didn’t know all you want, but I know you’re lying. I hurt your friend and now, with the chief retiring, I’m a threat. What would happen if the new chief is a woman and our station’s little secret gets out? Pretty unlikely, but not impossible, right?”

You swallow, blinking away tears. “You can lie all you want but we both know I was never going to make it back home.”

There’s something that looks like pain in his brown eyes as he watches you.

“I don’t hate you. I thought I did because–fuck–I thought the chief was protecting you by not dealing with the problem, not that he was protecting him. Us.”

His frustration turns into something reminding you of guilt when he continues. “You have no idea how sorry I am. And I can promise you, it’s never occurred to me to hurt you. Not physically, at least. I know I’ve been a dick to you–which is obviously coming back to bite me now–and I wanted to make you feel bad for what I thought you did, but I’d never want to injure you. No one has any plans on doing so.”

His words make you chuckle even though it’s not fun in the least.

“What?” he looks confused.

“Do you think I’m stupid? Not only have I found the trackers you’ve put on my car, but you’ve tampered with the brakes on it three times in the last months. My mechanic keeps bugging me about filing a report, saying I shouldn’t drive any car for my own safety. How do I explain to her that I can’t exactly go to the police?”

Jeongguk only stares at you, and it makes you all the more frustrated.

“Obviously, I can’t say exactly which one of you is doing it, or who it is standing across the street from my home, just watching, late at night sometimes. Or whose breathing it is on the phone calls. Do you remember like three months ago when I made the mistake of getting coffee and stopping by the printer, leaving my mug unsupervised for three minutes? Who was it that put the fucking cyanide in it? You can tell them that it left a bit of suspiciously chunky foam on the surface.”

“Cyanide?”

“Yeah. Had it tested. You can also tell whoever it is that keeps throwing poisoned meat into my yard that I always check it before letting Fenrir out.”

Jeongguk is quiet, looking like someone just turned his world upside down.

“You really meant it when you said you thought I’d poison your food if you let me cook. That’s why you barely sleep too, right? You’re scared I’m going to hurt you. You brought the razor blades and the dog for me, didn’t you? You’re more scared of me than of the suspects.”

“Why on earth do you think I have a trained personal protection Doberman to begin with?”

Jeongguk puts his face in his free hand, “Fuck, I’m so stupid. I had no idea.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, closing your eyes for a second. You know Jeongguk is only playing with you because there’s just no chance he’s gone so long being besties with a rapist and attempted murderer without knowing. Partaking in harassment without knowing the reason why? No, no way. But does it matter at the moment? No, probably not.

“Why did you agree to come here?” he asks, sounding almost… helpless? “If you thought it was a setup?”

“Well,” you start, pain spreading through your exhausted body. Your lips pull into a small, sad smile. “I can’t exactly decline anything at work or I won’t have a job to go to. With the kind of letter of recommendation the chief would leave me, no one else would hire me. Besides, we both know I wouldn’t be safe just by quitting.”

The smile fades, and a tear escapes the corner of your eyes, dropping toward the floor. “And frankly… I can’t do it anymore. It’s been two years, and it only escalates. I don’t have the energy to always look over my shoulder, or lock and barricade my doors and windows at night. I can’t afford to have my car fixed every or every other month, and one day, I’ll miss something, or you’ll go after my mother. It’s just a matter of time.”

“So you… came here, convinced that… I was going to kill you?”

Slowly, you move a hand to your face, wiping the tear away. “Yeah. I mean, I always hoped things wouldn’t end up this way. Or that, at least I could defend myself from… prolonged pain. But at the same time, I knew nothing would change. And I… I promised myself that I’d try my best to be brave and not fight it cause it’s going to happen sooner or later, but… well, I’m evidently not very brave. I’m a coward, coming here to die but still fighting it and begging you to spare my life.”

Then again, the last couple of days have made you doubt yourself. If Jeongguk came after you with a knife, could you… hurt him? With Hoseong, it was a no-brainer, and you fought for your life on pure instinct, only making a conscious effort not to shoot him where he wouldn’t survive it.

But Jeongguk? He hates your guts, finds you disgusting, and is a man like them all. But as you look at him now, you see the way he held baby Doyun’s hand at the barbeque, and you see him playing and cuddling with Fenrir when no one’s looking. You remember the feeling of his hair between your fingers as he rests his head in your lap, and his gentle hands around your waist. You walked into the trap, and you got trapped. You couldn’t hurt him.

“So, I’m essentially your… terminal illness,” he speaks, looking at you sadly. Your eyes widen. “Eunha told me; said she wanted me to take care of my wife. But you’re not sick, are you?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” he shuts his eyes tightly before opening them and looking straight at you with a pained look, “I know you don’t believe me, but I’ve never regretted anything more in my entire life. I thought I was doing the right thing, but instead, I–fuck, I made you apologize? For–”

He hides his face in his free hand again. “I am so sorry.”

It’s hard not to believe him when he looks and sounds so genuine, but you’ve experienced his talent before. Not only that, but he’s a man–he’s not capable of caring for you.

“You said you called Jihyo?” you speak, ignoring his fake apology.

He removes his hand from his face and nods. “Yeah, she should be here in an hour or so, I think.”

“Okay, say you actually did, why would you? She’d bring unwanted attention and risk unnecessary suspicion. Or maybe you’re just trying to kill two birds with one stone, literally?”

Jeongguk’s face remains soft even as you’re practically insulting him.

“I called her to pick you up because you trust her, and this is no place for you to be right now.”

“But you’re risking the mission. We’ve got a breakthrough but it isn’t all the way through yet, and the bugs still have almost a week’s worth of battery life left. The last thing you want is for them to become suspicious and search for the bugs.”

You don’t know why you’re so intent on letting him know just how thoroughly you see through him. Perhaps you’re simply so used to always having to prove yourself, your capacity and intelligence around men that you can’t let him think you’re nothing more than a dumb girl. You saw through everything, and he needs to know that.

“You think I give a fuck about the mission when I literally just saw you throw up because you’re so scared of me? I’ve handcuffed myself to the bed, but you’re still shaking in the corner, looking terrified.”

At his words, you realize he’s right. You didn’t even notice the return of the tremors, and they’re not because you’re cold underneath the duvet. Thunder sounds again.

“I promise you,” he starts, looking into your eyes with what looks like a determined sort of kindness, “I’ll do my very best to make things right.”

You wouldn’t have known what to say even if you weren’t interrupted by the sound of a car. Worried but still relieved to finally see Jihyo, you carefully sit up, and then you stand, feeling weak but almost… hopeful. Maybe you’ll get out alive, after all?

But that hope is soon replaced by an ice cold chill running down your spine and filling your stomach as you peer out through the window and onto the cars that have stopped below. It’s not Jihyo.

You take a step back from the window right as at least two men are exiting the cars, one holding an aluminum baseball bat.

“You… you called… your friends,” you state quietly, feeling dumb for not foreseeing it. He was stalling, and you fell for it. “You’ll be taking turns until I…”

Jeongguk says something, a few rushed sentences, but you’re already exiting the room, not entirely sure why or what your plan is. The sound of his handcuffs rustling against the bed frame sounds as you’re descending the stairs onto the dark bottom floor.

Should you try to find a way out? Is there one? Jeongguk is stuck upstairs, but you stand no chance against even one man in your current state. Not to mention that you’re unarmed. Where’d Jeongguk’s knife go? Your razor blade? Last you remember, you had it before you passed out.

You’re so in your thoughts that you don’t hear the footsteps closing in on you from behind.

“I confronted them, and I guess they’re mad. We’ll go out back, okay?” a familiar voice speaks quietly right above your ear, making you jump. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you, just come with me.”

You turn around, meeting Jeongguk’s eyes. He holds his hand out, no trace of the cuffs. How did he get free?

“I saw them from the window, and there’s four of them. They’re surely armed with more than just the baseball bat, but we might manage to sneak out through the back if we hurry.”

You look at his hand in the darkness.

“Trust me,” he encourages gently, “I’ve got you.”

For some odd reason, you meet his honest-looking but also worried and stressed eyes. And you put your hand in his. It’s warm, and he starts to pull you with him towards the back door.

However, stopping you in your tracks, one of the kitchen windows has been left open, and hushed voices sound through the crack.

“Absolutely no shots, okay? In and out, basically.”

Well, you guess that’s a good thing? You and Jeongguk exchange glances, and he mumbles something about his own gun being in the car. You’re just about to continue when the front door is unlocked. They have a key? Fuck, they must’ve gone to the station in search of the address and key before coming here.

The door glides open, and in steps Hoseong. And then Ryung with Seunghwan in tow. The last person inside is Junseo.

Hoseong stops when he spots you, a smile breaking out on his lips. “Well…”

“Leave,” Jeongguk orders, pulling you behind his body. A thousand thoughts are swirling around in your head, but you’re none the wiser. Any minute now, Jeongguk could start laughing at how you thought he’d protect you. Or, he could be genuine, but what sucks about that scenario is that there’s no way Jeongguk could take them all. Four against one.

“We can’t. Look, I thought we got each other, Jeongguk? Bros before hoes and all that? Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like you might be causing us some trouble?”

Peeking from behind Jeongguk, you’re really not a fan of how Hoseong twists the bat in his hand, and your heart is freaking out.

“Technically, you caused the trouble all by yourself,” Jeongguk argues, visibly furious.

Then, before you know it, Hoseong lunges, and Jeongguk pushes you back, out of the way before he’s dodging too. Your heart is in your throat as you watch Hoseong swing at Jeongguk multiple times, Jeongguk dodging all of them before finding an opening and delivering a swift blow to Hosoeng’s head. Behind them, you spot Ryung’s dark eyes locking onto you, and you gulp.

All while Jeongguk somehow manages to grab the bat–which is good considering he’s fighting both Hoseong and Seonghwan–Ryung waits for his opening. Junseo, you don’t even know where he went.

Ryung’s chance comes when Jeongguk aims a powerful kick at Hoseong’s side, sending him flying into the kitchen table and knocking two of the chairs over and Jeongguk to the floor. Hoseong wheezes, like he got the wind knocked out of him.

Ryung decides to take the opportunity, setting off for you, but before he can reach you, he’s intercepted, Jeongguk’s wide shoulders knocking him off his path and into the fridge. While he gets back up, Jeongguk bashes Seunghwan’s head against the countertop once, and he falls down, groaning in pain. Jeongguk is about to follow, but Ryung grabs his shoulders, and manages to get Jeongguk on the ground and climb on top of him.

You watch as Jeongguk swings the bat, Ryung catching it, but as his hands are preoccupied with it, Jeongguk uses all his strength and connects his fist with Ryung’s face so hard that you hear things crack and see blood spurt. As a result, Ryung falls off and to the floor, lying on his side.

It’s at that moment you spot Junseo. He’s at Hoseong’s side–Hoseong who’s just gotten up–and is giving him something. Hoseong’s sinister and angry eyes find yours as he accepts the samurai sword.

Then, he’s running.

It doesn’t take more than a split second for you to decide. You shut your eyes, preparing for the pain and the force that will surely knock you over. The force comes first, but there’s no pain, at least not for a while. It’s like Hoseong is… hugging you?

Surprised, you open your eyes, only to see that the person holding you in their arms is not Hoseong. It’s Jeongguk. Then, you become aware of the pain, a sort of… uncomfortable pin prick to your chest, only bigger?

You look down between your bodies. There’s a hole in your t-shirt and you’re pretty sure the wetness on your skin is blood. What happened?

Jeongguk coughs above you, and that’s when you see that the tip of the sword that’s digging into your skin is coming out of his chest.

Even in your shocked state, you recognize the shape of the item he’s shakily stuffing into your hand. The car key.

“You need to…” he starts, his voice strained. He stumbles, and you see blood coloring his bottom lip. “...Get out of here.”

Suddenly, he groans loudly, and you feel the sword scratch your skin before Jeongguk is sinking to his knees. Behind him, Hoseong is twisting the handle roughly. Then, he lets go, letting Jeongguk’s body fall limply to the floor.

“See what you made me do?” Hoseong hisses at you, stepping over Jeongguk.

He’s caught off guard when you kick him, aiming your foot for the exact spot in which you shot him two years ago. He stumbles, his knee hitting the floor, but then he surprises you by grabbing your foot, and you fall, hitting your head against the floor. You groan in pain, lying flat on your back and seeing Hoseong stand up above you.

But before he can end you, there are gunshots.

You’re not looking, but you hear Hoseong shout in pain, then a lot of shuffling and two other male voices you can’t quite place.

All that you’re seeing is Jeongguk. He lies beside you, on his stomach, the long samurai sword he hung on that wall himself sticking out from his back. There’s blood, a lot of it. Some from his mouth and more from his chest and his back. You don’t need to examine him more to know that he’s already dead, that sword went straight through his heart with no chance of missing it, and there’s no surviving that.

A face comes into view above you, and it takes your pounding head a good second to recognize it. Yoongi.

He meets your teary yet defeated eyes, and you open your mouth. “He’s dead.”

It’s both a question and a quiet statement, the side of your hand touching the side of Jeongguk’s. His eyes are closed, his face blank and void of any life, and you feel empty inside.

Through blurry tears, you see Yoongi look Jeongguk over. Then, gently and with a sad crease between his eyebrows, he nods. Abandoning Jeongguk’s lifeless body, he instead focuses on you. He tries to keep you awake, but something wet and warm pools underneath your own head, and soon enough, you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.

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