summary 𓂃⋆.˚ You weren’t looking for anything. Not between deadlines, late nights at the studio, and helping your best friend plan her wedding. Min Yoongi definitely wasn’t either. But somewhere between shared silences, quiet understanding, an unbothered cat and a energetic puppy… something begins to shift.
pairing 𓂃⋆.˚ producer!yoongi x a&r coordinator!reader
word count 𓂃⋆.˚ 4.3k (much shorter than p1 lol)
tags 𓂃⋆.˚ non-idol au, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, strangers to something more, soft tension, mutual pining (eventually), slice of life, studio setting, pet meet-cute, tang the cat, sori the puppy, yoongi is quiet but not immune, reader is stressed and trying her best, found comfort, a little angst, a lot of softness, emotional slow build, he notices everything, she overthinks everything, smut (eventually)
notes 𓂃⋆.˚ thank you for all the love on part one already ♡ i hope you enjoy this next chapter of these two idiots figuring things out
teaser ⋆˚꩜｡ part one ⋆˚꩜｡ part two
The rest of the week unfolded in the familiar quiet ease. All the tension from earlier that Monday had dissolved. You and Yoongi fell back into rhythm.
Only now, it felt… different.
Lighter.
You found yourself lingering in his studio more often, slipping into the now-familiar couch whenever your schedule allowed it. Between coordinating sessions, answering emails, and putting out the usual fires, you carved out small pockets of time where you could just… exist there.
And watch.
Yoongi worked the way you’d come to expect. Focused, precise, completely absorbed. But when Tablo was in the room, something shifted. The atmosphere loosened. There was an ease between them that only came from history, from trust built long before you stepped into the picture. Their conversations flowed between vocal takes, casual but sharp, layered with understanding that didn’t need explaining.
You hadn’t realized how much you enjoyed observing it.
It grounded you in a way you hadn’t expected.
By Friday evening, the building had mostly emptied out.
You sat alone in the break room, a half-unwrapped sandwich in one hand, your tablet propped against the table. The soft glow of the screen lit your face as your finger scrolled through next week’s schedule, adjusting times, double-checking bookings, mentally mapping out everything before it could become a problem.
One earphone rested in your ear, a quiet shuffle of songs playing low enough to blur into the background.
You exhaled slowly, taking a small bite.
Just a few more things.
Down the hall, Yoongi stretched his shoulders as he walked, hands tucked loosely into his pockets.
He hadn’t meant to leave his studio for long. Just needed air. Space. Something other than the same four walls and the same looping melody that had started to sound like it was mocking him.
His steps were slow, unhurried, gaze drifting absentmindedly past open doors and dimmed rooms.
Most people had already left.
Which is why he noticed you immediately.
Through the break room doorway, head slightly tilted down, brows faintly drawn in concentration, completely absorbed in your work.
He slowed.
Paused for just a second.
Then kept walking. Two steps. Three.
He stopped.
There was a brief flicker of something across his expression before he exhaled quietly, turning back the way he came. His knuckles tapped lightly against the already open door.
Your head lifted instantly.
You pulled your earphone out, a small smile forming the moment you saw him.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
He leaned slightly against the doorframe, gaze flicking briefly to the tablet in your hands, then back to your face.
“It’s late,” he said, voice low, even. “Why are you still here?”
You glanced down at your screen, then back up, shrugging lightly.
“Just confirming a few schedules for next week,” you explained. “Figured if I finish it now, that’s one less thing to deal with over the weekend.”
He nodded once, like that made perfect sense. It did.
A small silence settled between you.
But it wasn’t awkward.
Then, he spoke, “You going to the park?”
Your eyes flickered up to him, just slightly surprised at the question. For a second, you just looked at him. Then you glanced at the time on your tablet, huffing out a quiet breath.
“Yeah,” you admitted. “It’s late but I still have to take Sori out.”
He nodded again, shifting his weight just slightly.
“Well,” he said, almost casually, “I’ve got to take Tang.”
A beat.
His gaze held yours, steady.
“…So I’ll see you there.”
You blinked, just a fraction caught off guard by how naturally he said it.
Like it was already decided.
Like this was just… a thing now.
“…Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “See you there.”
Something softened in his expression, barely there. He gave a short nod, pushing off the doorframe.
“Don’t stay too long,” he added, glancing once more at your tablet. “You said you wanted your weekend.”
You let out a quiet laugh. “I’m wrapping up.”
He didn’t respond to that, just gave you one last look before turning and heading back down the hall.
And for a moment, you just sat there.
Staring at the doorway he’d disappeared through.
Your fingers stilled against the screen.
A strange, warm feeling settled somewhere in your chest.
Not overwhelming.
Not confusing.
Just…something to look forward to.
This was the latest you had ever come to the park.
The lamps lining the paths cast soft pools of golden light, but beyond them, shadows stretched long and quiet. The usual daytime buzz was gone. No distant laughter, no clusters of people, no dogs pulling at their leashes in every direction.
Just stillness.
Which made it very easy to spot him.
Yoongi stood a little further down the path, Tang resting comfortably in his arms, her dark fur almost blending into the night. He noticed you almost immediately, shifting slightly as you approached.
And the second Sori caught sight of the small black shape, her entire body lit up. Her tail began wagging wildly as she let out an excited little yip, tugging at the leash like she’d just spotted her new favorite person.
You let out a small breath of a laugh, tightening your grip slightly as you slowed to a stop in front of him.
“I’ve never seen the park this empty before,” you said, your voice softer than usual in the quiet.
“Yeah,” Yoongi replied, glancing around briefly before looking back at you. “This is late even for me.”
“Really?” you asked, brows lifting slightly.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” he huffed, though there was no real annoyance behind it as he bent down, gently placing Tang onto the gravel path.
Sori immediately bounded forward, nose twitching as she circled the cat with endless curiosity. Tang, on the other hand, simply walked forward at her own pace. Calm. Unbothered. Like this was beneath her.
You watched them for a second, a smile tugging at your lips.
“You practically live at the studio,” you shrugged.
Yoongi glanced at you, then back at the path ahead as he started walking, hands slipping into his pockets. Tang followed beside him, leash loose, steps unhurried.
“…Not wrong,” he admitted.
You fell into step beside him, Sori trailing Tang like an overly enthusiastic shadow.
For a while, neither of you said anything. Just the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes. The quiet jingle of Sori’s collar. The steady rhythm of two people walking without needing to fill the space.
It was… easy. You weren’t used to that.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the leash before you glanced over at him.
“…Can I ask you something?”
Yoongi didn’t look at you right away, but you caught the slight tilt of his head.
“Go ahead.”
You hesitated for a second, like you were deciding how to phrase it.
“How did you get into producing?” you asked finally. “Like… how did all of this start for you?”
He glanced at you briefly, then forward again, expression unreadable for a moment.
“…Middle school,” he said after a beat.
You blinked, a little surprised. “That early?”
“Yeah.”
His voice was calm, but quieter now. Not guarded, exactly. Just… more inward.
“I started making music back then. Nothing serious at first. Just… messing around.”
You nodded, listening closely.
“My parents didn’t like it,” he continued. “They didn’t think it was something you could build a life on.”
Your brows knit slightly. “So what happened?”
“I wanted to move to Seoul after high school,” he said. “They wanted me to go to university first.”
You hummed softly. “So you compromised.”
“Something like that,” he replied. “Applied for a music program. Got in. Moved anyway.”
A small pause.
“But I kept making music the whole time,” he added. “Started getting attention. Small things at first. Then more.”
You smiled slightly. “And now you’re here.”
He huffed lightly, almost like a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”
You let that settle for a second, watching Tang step neatly over a crack in the pavement, Sori immediately copying her like it was a game.
“…Can I ask something else?” you said after a moment.
Yoongi glanced at you again. “You already are.”
You rolled your eyes a little, but smiled anyway.
“The rumours,” you said, a bit more carefully this time. “About you.”
He didn’t respond immediately. You saw the shift. Subtle, but there.
“…What about them?” he asked.
You hesitated, you weren’t sure why you brought them up again. Then just said it.
“How did they start?”
There was a beat of silence.
“…I don’t really know how that started,” he said honestly. “I’ve always just… worked the way I work.”
You tilted your head slightly and nodded.
“I’ve just been… focused,”
He glanced at you, just briefly. “I don’t like wasting time,” he added. “Or pretending things are good when they’re not.”
“I think it’s kind of sad,” you admitted. “That people see you like that.”
That made him look at you again.
“Because you’re not,” you added, meeting his gaze. “You’re not like that.”
There was a flicker of something in his expression. Quick. Gone just as fast.
“…What if I am,” he said, tone almost too casual. “And I’m just lying to you?”
You stopped walking. Completely.
Which, of course, forced him to stop too. He turned slightly, looking back at you.
Your brows were drawn together, eyes fixed on him.
“That would be really mean of you to admit when we’re in a park. In the dark. Alone.” you said, completely serious.
A quiet laugh slipped out of him.
Soft. Real.
“I’m joking,” he said, shaking his head slightly.
You narrowed your eyes at him, but the tension had already eased.
“That wasn’t funny.”
“Little bit.”
You scoffed, but there was a smile tugging at your lips as you started walking again.
After a moment, the two of you drifted toward a nearby bench, settling down almost without discussion. Sori curled near your feet, still watching Tang like she was the most fascinating thing in the world. Tang, meanwhile, had already claimed a spot beside Yoongi like she owned it.
A quieter silence settled this time.
“Can I ask you something?” Yoongi said.
You blinked, a little surprised.
“…Depends,” you replied cautiously.
He glanced at you, unimpressed. “That’s not how this works.”
You huffed. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“How did you end up here?” he asked. “In music.”
Your grip on the leash tightened slightly, your gaze dropping to your hands. For a second, you considered giving him something simple. But…
“My dad,” you said instead. “He was a music teacher,”
You continued, voice softening without you meaning it to. “Piano, mostly.”
A faint smile tugged at your lips, distant.
“He used to play all the time when I was younger. I think that’s where it started.”
Yoongi’s head tilted slightly. “You play?”
“Used to,” you said. “He taught me.”
A small pause settled.
“I was pretty serious about it, actually,” you admitted. “I wanted to be a pianist.”
You let out a quiet breath, your smile fading just a little.
“But then he had an accident when I was in high school.”
The words were simple. You kept them that way.
“He’s okay,” you added quickly, almost out of instinct. “He just couldn’t go back to teaching.”
Yoongi nodded once, expression unreadable but attentive.
“And I don’t know,” you shrugged faintly. “I think that was the first time I really understood that loving something doesn’t always mean you can build a life out of it.”
A beat.
“I’m the oldest,” you added. “…I had to be realistic. But, I still wanted music in my life.”
Your fingers loosened slightly around the leash.
“So I applied to a music business program in Seoul with a scholarship.”
A faint smile returned, a little more grounded this time.
“I interned at the label during college.” you explained, “Then after I graduated, they offered me a job.”
You shrugged lightly. “And now I’m here.”
Yoongi was quiet for a second. Then spoke, “Well, you’re good at what you do. You’ve definitely made my life a lot easier these past few weeks.”
Your eyes flickered up to him, “…Thanks. I’m glad to help.”
A brief pause followed, his gaze drifting ahead before settling back on you.
“Since we’re on this topic, I’m thinking of putting in a request,” he said.
You blinked. “…For what?”
“For you to stay on as my A&R.”
The words landed a second late. “…What?”
“They told me my coordinator’s coming back next week,” he continued, tone steady. “But I’d rather not switch.”
Your brows pulled together slightly, still processing. “You mean… you want me to keep working with you?”
He nodded once.
“We’re already in the middle of Tablo’s record,” he said. “Changing people now will just slow things down and cause unnecessary problems.”
A small pause.
“And,” he added, quieter, “I like how you work.”
You held his gaze for a moment, then something in your expression shifted, just slightly.
“…So,” you said, tilting your head, “what you’re saying is, you think we make a good team?”
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed a fraction, catching the tone immediately.
“If you don’t,” he replied flatly, “I won’t bother putting in the request.”
You let out a soft laugh, the sound lighter than before.
“Okay, okay,” you said, shaking your head. “Don’t get dramatic.”
“I’m not.”
“You are a little.”
He huffed quietly. You looked at him for a second longer, something warmer settling in your chest.
“…I’d like that,” you said.
“You’d like what?” Yoongi smirked, leaning slightly closer.
“I’d like to keep working with you.” Your voice softened just slightly as you added, “We make a good team.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Yoongi gave a small nod.
“I think so too.”
Nearby, Sori shifted closer to Tang again, and this time, Tang didn’t move away. Just flicked her tail once, tolerating her presence. You noticed immediately, a small smile forming.
“I think they like each other,” you said.
Yoongi glanced down, watching them for a second.
“…Looks like it.”
Your shoulder brushed his lightly as you leaned back against the bench.
Neither of you moved away.
And for a moment, under the soft glow of the park lights, with your pets settled close by and the world quiet around you, it felt like something had gently, quietly shifted into place.
Yuri’s apartment looked like a wedding had gently exploded inside it.
Fabric swatches in soft pastels were draped over the back of chairs, ribbons curled like sleeping snakes across the coffee table, and a half-open laptop displayed the fifteenth version of a seating chart. Somewhere in the middle of it all sat you, cross-legged on the rug, carefully tying small tags onto what Yuri insisted were “minimalist but meaningful” wedding favors.
Sori was sprawled beside you, chin resting on your thigh like she’d personally clocked in for emotional support duty.
“I still think this is too much,” you muttered, holding up a finished tag.
Yuri didn’t even look up. “It’s not too much, it’s thoughtful.”
“It’s excessive.”
“It’s elegant.”
“It’s going to make people feel guilty for not bringing good gifts.”
That earned you a laugh. Yuri finally glanced over, eyes soft as they flicked between you and Sori.
“Well, at least you’ve got some emotional support,” she said, nodding toward the puppy.
You absentmindedly ran your fingers through Sori’s fur, the motion slow, familiar.
“Mm,” you murmured.
There was a beat. Then Yuri tilted her head slightly.
“…Has there been any update? From the shelter?”
Your hand stilled for half a second before resuming its gentle rhythm.
“No,” you said. “Nothing yet.”
Another pause. This one heavier.
“I’ve actually been thinking…” you started, quieter now, eyes fixed somewhere near Sori’s ear. “About maybe just keeping her.”
That got Yuri’s full attention.
“What?” she sat up straighter, excitement already sparking. “Are you serious?”
You huffed out a small breath, like you weren’t entirely sure yourself.
“I mean—it makes sense,” you said. “She’s already settled in. And…” you hesitated, then shrugged lightly, “I’ve kind of gotten used to having her around.”
Yuri’s expression softened immediately.
“Awhhhh,” she cooed at the two of you.
Sori, completely unaware of the life decision being made on her behalf, blinked up at you and thumped her tail once. You smiled faintly.
“It’s just… nice,” you admitted. “Coming home and not having it feel so quiet. And she’s made friends at the park too. There’s a whole little routine now.”
Yuri was beaming.
“I’d die to see all the little puppies running around the park?” she exclaimed.
“Actually, her favourite friend is a cat.”
Yuri visibly paused.
“…A what?”
You let out a small, sheepish laugh, already feeling heat creep up your neck.
“A cat,” you repeated. “She’s black and her name’s Tang. Sori loves her.”
Yuri stared at you like she was trying to solve a puzzle at lightning speed.
“Is this like a stray cat…?” she said slowly.
You looked down, suddenly very interested in fixing one of the tags that didn’t need fixing.
“No, there’s an owner,” you added, like it wasn’t a big deal.
“Mm-hmm,” Yuri leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “And does this owner have a name?”
You hesitated just long moment, then nodded.
“Um… Min Yoongi.”
“Oh my god! It’s not—” you started quickly. “The producer guy?”
You pressed your lips together, which was apparently all the confirmation she needed.
“IT’S HIM,” Yuri practically shouted, grabbing a cushion and hitting your arm with it. “You’ve been meeting Yoongi at the park?!”
“We run into each other,” you corrected weakly.
“Regularly?”
“…A few times a week.”
Yuri actually squealed. “You’re joking. You are joking.”
“It’s not anything, stop freaking out.” you insisted, even as your voice betrayed you just slightly. “We just walk them together. That’s it.”
“That’s never just it,” she shot back immediately. “This is like a prelude. This is chapter one. This is something.”
“It is not,” you said, firmer now. “We’re coworkers. And… friends.”
Yuri’s eyes dropped to your face, her expression shifting into something far too knowing.
“…Then why are you blushing?”
Your hand flew to your cheek like you could physically stop it.
“I am not—”
“You are,” she grinned. “Y/n, you haven’t dated anyone in what, centuries? Suddenly there’s a mysterious cat-owning producer in your life and I’m supposed to believe this is nothing?”
“It is nothing,” you insisted again, though it came out quieter this time. Because now your brain had decided to join the conversation.
Coworkers. Friends. Walking together. Talking. Sitting on benches maybe a little too close. Laughing more easily than you usually did.
The way he noticed things.
The way you… noticed him.
The way those walks had slowly become routine without either of you ever saying it out loud. Finishing work and subconsciously checking the time. Taking Sori out a little later than necessary just to catch him with Tang. The quiet rhythm you’d fallen into. Side by side, not talking for minutes at a time, and somehow it never felt awkward.
You weren’t like this. You didn’t let people slip into your life this easily, didn’t let them carve out space in your day without questioning it. Work had always come first, neatly organised, controlled. People stayed in their lanes. Boundaries were clear.
But somewhere between Tang lazily circling Sori, his dry comments that caught you off guard just enough to make you laugh, and the quiet refuge of his studio becoming part of your routine, those lines had… blurred.
You blinked, trying to push the spiral away.
“Yoongi is just a friend.” you said finally.
Yuri’s expression softened again, but the excitement didn’t fade.
“I just want you to be happy, y/n.” she said gently.
You exhaled, leaning back slightly, your hand finding Sori again like an anchor.
“I know you do,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. “I promise, I’m fine.”
Yoongi looked down at his watch. You were supposed to meet him at your bench almost ten minutes ago.
Your bench.
The thought sat there for a second longer than it should have.
“Why the long face?”
He looked up. There you were.
A teasing smile playing on your lips, eyes brighter than usual like you already knew you’d caught him waiting. You unclipped Sori’s leash, and the puppy bolted toward him like a tiny, overexcited missile.
Yoongi forced his gaze away from you and down to Sori, who was already pawing at his leg like she had a personal vendetta against standing still.
He’d never considered himself a dog person. Still didn’t, technically.
But he had definitely come to have a soft spot for Sori.
And maybe an even softer one for her foster mom.
He crouched slightly, scratching behind Sori’s ear, earning an immediate, aggressive tail wag.
“You’re late,” he said, glancing up at you briefly.
“Relax,” you shot back, hands slipping into your jacket pockets as you stepped closer. “It was barely ten minutes.”
“Anything can happen in ten minutes.”
Your brows lifted, something playful flickering across your face.
“Awh,” you tilted your head just slightly, “were you worrying about me, Yoongi?”
He rolled his eyes on instinct, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his mouth that he didn’t bother hiding.
“You’re not that important.”
“Wow,” you pressed a hand to your chest dramatically. “After everything we’ve been through. Did you forget you wanted me to stay on as your A&R?”
“Alright. Alright, no need to rub it in.” He huffed out a quiet laugh.
It still caught him off guard sometimes.
This version of you.
Not the composed, tightly wound A&R coordinator who walked into his studio with a schedule in one hand and coffee in the other. Not the one who spoke professionally, measured every word, kept everything in place like it might fall apart otherwise.
This you was… lighter. Looser.
Your smiles came easier out here, less restrained, real enough that your eyes crinkled at the corners. Your laugh, when it slipped out fully, had no filter at all, sudden and bright like it surprised even you.
And somehow, he’d gotten used to being on the receiving end of it.
He straightened as Tang padded on at her usual unbothered pace, immediately ignoring Sori’s attempts to initiate chaos.
You fell into step naturally after that.
No discussion. No hesitation.
Just… walking.
It had become easy. Too easy.
Yoongi slipped his hands into his pockets, gaze drifting ahead as Sori trotted slightly ahead of you both while Tang stayed close to his side.
He’d gotten to know you like this, in the quiet spaces between conversation.
The way you hummed under your breath sometimes when it got too quiet. The way you absentmindedly reached down to pet Sori even when she wasn’t asking for it. The way you’d go from reserved to unexpectedly funny in a split second, catching him completely off guard with something so dry it took him a second to process it before he was laughing.
It wasn’t a version of you many people at work really saw.
But he did.
And he liked it.
More than he probably should.
Actually—no.
He didn’t bother with shoulds.
He liked you.
That was it.
No point pretending otherwise.
His gaze flicked toward you again, lingering for just a second before he spoke.
“You never answered me,” he said. “Why were you late?”
“I was at a friend’s place, Yuri,” you said. “She’s getting married soon, I’ve been helping her plan everything.”
Yoongi glanced at you briefly, interest quiet but present.
“You’re close?”
You nodded.
“Yeah. We’ve known each other since college.”
Beside him, you kicked lightly at a stray pebble before speaking again. “So… I’ve been thinking,” you started, a little more quietly this time.
He glanced at you.
“You’re always thinking.”
You shot him a look.
“Do you want me to continue or—”
“Go on.”
You exhaled, then said it in one breath, like if you slowed down you might overthink it. “I’ve been thinking about keeping Sori.”
Yoongi didn’t even pause.
“I think that’s a great idea.”
You blinked at him, clearly not expecting the immediate response. “…You do?”
He glanced down briefly at the puppy in question, who was now attempting to chew on a leaf like it had personally offended her.
“She’s basically already yours,” he said simply.
Something in your expression softened at that.
“Are you sure?” you asked, and there was something quieter under it now. “I mean—it’s a big responsibility.”
He stopped walking. That alone was enough to make you stop too. When you looked at him, he was already looking at you.
Steady. Certain.
“Well, it’s a responsibility you’ve already taken on. You love her,” he said.
“And she clearly loves you,” he added, nodding once toward Sori, who had now circled back and was leaning against your leg like she belonged there.
There was a brief silence. The kind that settled, not stretched. You looked down at Sori, then back up at him, something warmer sitting behind your eyes now.
“…Thanks,” you said softly.
Then, after a beat, a small smile tugged at your lips.
Your days had slipped into a rhythm so seamless it almost felt rehearsed. Work, park, dinner, sleep. Somewhere in between, frantic bursts of wedding planning with Yuri and the occasional moment where you actually sat still long enough to breathe.
It should’ve felt monotonous.
It didn’t.
Because somewhere along the way, parts of your day had started to… matter more than the rest.
Like the mornings.
Walking into the building, knowing you’d end up in Yoongi’s studio within the hour, tablet in hand, going over schedules like always. Except now it wasn’t just work. It was the way he’d already be there, half-listening but always catching the important parts. The way your conversations drifted off track sometimes, just slightly, before snapping back into place.
Or the afternoons, when you found yourself gravitating toward his studio without really thinking about it. Sitting in the corner, pretending to focus on your own work while the low hum of whatever he was producing filled the space. Comfortable. Quiet.
And then the park.
You didn’t meet every day. You told yourself that was a good thing.
Normal.
But on the days you did, something about everything else felt… lighter. Like the edges of your day softened a little.
Which didn’t make sense. At all.
You weren’t the kind of person who built their routine around someone else. You didn’t depend on people like that, didn’t let them slip into your life in ways you couldn’t clearly define.
Why did seeing him in the morning feel like something to look forward to?
Why did sitting in his studio feel like a break instead of an extension of work?
Why did a simple walk in the park with him feel like the best part of your day?
You exhaled quietly, shaking your head at yourself.
It wasn’t anything. It couldn’t be.
You were coworkers. Friends. That was it.
There was no neat label for whatever this feeling was, no clear explanation, and that alone was enough to keep your thoughts circling back to it, over and over, like your brain was trying to solve something that didn’t want to be solved.
Still, you didn’t hate it. That was the problem.
This week, though, had shattered whatever calm routine you’d settled into. The label had landed a major opportunity. A collaboration with PSY for his upcoming single. And he wanted to work with Yoongi.
As Yoongi’s A&R, that meant your workload had doubled overnight.
Coordination, scheduling, managing sessions, handling communication between teams, keeping everything moving without letting anything fall through the cracks—not just for this project, but for every other artist and producer you were already working with.
It was hectic.
Relentless.
And if you were being honest, it left you with very little time to think about anything else.
Except, somehow, him.
The building had thinned out hours ago, the usual buzz replaced with a kind of late-night hush that made every sound feel sharper. Your footsteps echoed softly down the hallway as you slowed in front of Yoongi’s studio door, fingers hovering for a second before you nudged it open just enough to peek in.
You’d only meant to check if he was still here.
Maybe remind him to go home.
But your thoughts stalled.
Yoongi was hunched forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, one hand pressed to his temple like he was trying to physically hold his thoughts together. The dim glow of the monitor painted tired shadows under his eyes, his hair slightly mussed from what looked like repeated frustrated runs of his hands through it.
Something in your chest tightened.
You pushed the door open a little wider.
“…Yoongi?”
He stilled for half a second before looking up. The shift was immediate. The faint release in his shoulders. The way his expression softened just slightly when his eyes landed on you, like your presence alone took the edge off something.
“…You’re still here,” he said, voice rougher than usual.
You stepped inside fully this time, closing the door quietly behind you.
“So are you,” you replied, brows knitting as you walked closer. “You okay?”
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
“Yeah,” he said automatically.
You didn’t stop walking.
“Liar.”
That earned the smallest huff of breath that might’ve been a laugh on a better day.
You stopped beside his desk, glancing at the screen, then back at him.
“It’s the PSY track?” you asked.
He nodded once, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not… landing the way I want it to.”
Your gaze softened.
A project like that wasn’t just important, it was high-pressure in a way that didn’t leave room for off days. And Yoongi didn’t do things halfway.
“Have you slept?” you asked quietly.
A pause.
“…Define slept.”
You sighed, crossing your arms lightly. “Yoongi.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, but it lacked conviction.
Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before you stepped a little closer, close enough to rest your hand lightly on the edge of his desk.
“You don’t have to get it perfect tonight, we’ve still got time.” you said, softer now. “You’ve been working on this nonstop for days. At some point your brain’s just going to start working against you.”
He looked at you then. Really looked.
And for a second, the room felt smaller.
“You always this gentle with your producers?” he asked.
Your breath caught ust slightly.
“What?”
“You,” he clarified, gaze steady, something faintly amused threading through his exhaustion. “You talk like that to everyone, or am I getting special treatment?”
Oh.
Your brain did not like that.
Why would he say that? Why would he say it like that? Why is he looking at me like that? Is he—no. No, he’s tired. He’s just tired. This is a sleep-deprived man speaking. This is not real.
You blinked, forcing your expression to stay neutral.
“I talk like this to anyone who looks like they’re about to pass out in their chair,” you said, aiming for light.
He hummed, like he didn’t quite believe you.
Silence stretched for a beat. Not uncomfortable.
But… it felt charged.
You cleared your throat, glancing away for a second before looking back at him.
“You should go home soon,” you said. “Get some actual rest. You’ll hear things differently in the morning.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze dropped, briefly, to your hand where it rested against the desk.
Your breath hitched.
His fingers had brushed against yours.
Light. Barely there.
But intentional enough that it sent something sharp and electric up your arm.
Your eyes snapped to his.
He hadn’t pulled away.
“If I listen to you,” he said slowly, “you have to do something for me too.”
Your brain fully short-circuited.
“What?”
His thumb shifted slightly against the side of your hand, not quite holding it, but not moving away either. Like he was testing the space. Like he was waiting to see if you’d pull back first.
You didn’t.
“You’re always the one giving orders,” he murmured. “Seems fair that I finally get something in return.”
Orders?
Fair?
What is that supposed to mean. What is that tone. Why is he—
You swallowed, trying very hard to keep your expression from betraying the absolute spiral happening internally.
“I’m not— I wasn’t giving orders,” you said, a little too quickly. “I was just—suggesting. For your health. And your work. Which I manage. So it’s technically my job to—”
Great. Now you were rambling.
His lips twitched.
Oh, he thought this was funny.
“Relax,” he said, softer now, but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I’m kidding.”
And that was somehow worse.
Because now your brain was trying to rewind the last ten seconds, analyse tone, word choice, eye contact, hand placement—
Oh my god his hand.
Your gaze dropped instinctively.
Still there. Still lightly brushing yours.
You pulled your hand back like you’d just remembered it existed.
“Right,” you said, clearing your throat as you adjusted your tablet. “Yeah. Funny.”
Smooth.
He leaned back in his chair, watching you for a moment like he was trying to piece something together.
“You’re off?” he asked.
You nodded quickly, grateful for the shift. “Yeah. I was just checking if you were still alive before I left.”
“Barely.”
That pulled a small, real smile from you despite everything.
“Go home,” you said again, softer this time. “Please.”
He held your gaze for a second longer, then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I will.”
You lingered. Just for a second.
Then turned toward the door before you could overthink that too.
“Goodnight, Yoongi.”
“Night, Y/n.”
You stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.
Silence.
You stopped walking. Stared straight ahead. And exhaled.
“…What the hell was that.”
Because there was no way that was normal.
Whatever that was…
It was no longer sitting comfortably in the “just coworkers” box.
Not even close.
The moment the door swung open, you barely had time to step inside before you were engulfed in a pair of long arms.
“Y/N!” Hoseok’s arms wrapped around you in a dramatic squeeze, nearly lifting you off your feet. “Look who finally remembered she has friends.”
“I saw you yesterday,” you huffed into his shoulder, though you couldn’t help smiling.
“At work,” he pulled back, hands still on your arms, pouting now. “Which doesn’t count. And even then—” his eyes narrowed, “—I feel like I barely see you at the company recently.”
You rolled your eyes, slipping off your shoes. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy,” Namjoon echoed from the living room, tone slightly teasing. “Yeah. We’ve heard.”
You turned just in time to see him leaning back against the couch, arms crossed, a knowing look on his face. Your eyes squinted at him as your approach, lifting your arms to settle around his shoulders.
“With a certain someone,” he added mid hug, not even trying to be subtle.
“Oh fuck off.” You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it.
“I mean,” Jimin chimed in, grinning as you moved in to hug him, “I have also been seeing you around his studio a lot lately.”
You shot him a look. “I work there.”
“Wait,” Kim Taehyung leaned forward from where he was sprawled across the couch, interest immediately piqued. “I’m out of the loop. What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly, already moving down the line to hug Jungkook and then Seokjin, who gave you a fond pat on the head.
When you reached Taehyung, he was pouting. You exhaled through your nose, “Yoongi’s working on PSY’s new track,” you explained, “The deadline’s tight. I’m his A&R. That’s it.”
Silence.
“Okay,” Namjoon said easily, lifting his hands in surrender.
“Fair enough,” Jimin nodded, already turning toward the living room.
“Food’s getting cold,” Taehyung added, pushing himself off the couch like the topic had never existed.
And just like that, they dropped it.
No teasing. No pressing.
You blinked, momentarily thrown, suspicion flickering across your face as you followed them in. “…That’s it?”
Hoseok slung an arm over your shoulders, steering you toward the spread. “What? We can’t be mature?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Since when?”
“Since I’m starving,” he shot back, already reaching for a container.
The living room quickly filled with the warm chaos you’d missed. Takeout containers from Seokjin’s restaurant were spread across the table, the smell alone enough to make your shoulders finally drop an inch.
“Before we eat,” Seokjin announced, clapping his hands once, “I have news.”
“You’re getting married?” Taehyung gasped.
“Yah—” Seokjin swatted at him. “My restaurant was ranked top ten in the city.”
“Oh my god, hyung,” Jungkook’s eyes went wide. “That’s huge.”
You leaned forward, grinning. “That’s incredible. Jin, seriously.”
“Of course it is,” he said, preening slightly. “Did you expect anything less?”
“Always humble,” you muttered, earning a kick under the table from Hoseok.
“And you?” Jimin nudged Jungkook. “You said you had something to tell us too.”
“Oh—yeah,” Jungkook scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I got an internship. For the summer. Abroad.”
“What?” you blinked. “Where?”
“LA.”
“No way—” you sat up straighter. “Kook, that’s amazing.”
Everyone chimed in at once, congratulations overlapping until it became noise.
“You’ll be gone all summer?” you asked, watching the boy nod nervously. “I’m going to miss you,” you added, softer, nudging his shoulder. “But this is an amazing opportunity. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, noona.”
Namjoon snorted. “Hey! If you meet Halsey, you better get me a video message from her.”
Jungkook laughed. “That’s your priority?”
“Absolutely.”
Everyone laughed.
“And you?” You turned to Jimin. “Mr. Hot Shot Idol.”
Jimin groaned. “Tour prep. I’m tired already.”
“Your fault for being famous,” Hoseok said cheerfully.
“As my main producer it also your fault too,” Jimin shot back.
For a moment, the laughter around you softened into something warmer. You glanced between them all—Hoseok mid-retort, Namjoon already shaking his head, Taehyung leaning back like he was watching a show, Jungkook grinning into his drink—and felt something in your chest loosen.
This.
This was your constant.
No matter how chaotic work got, no matter how much your thoughts tangled themselves up lately, you had this circle—steady, loud, familiar in the best way. You didn’t say it out loud, but the gratitude sat quietly beneath your ribs, glowing.
You were still smiling when it slipped out.
“I actually have news too… I submitted adoption papers for Sori.”
Silence. Then chaos.
“WHAT?” Hoseok practically launched himself across the table. “YOU’RE KEEPING HER?”
“Yeah,” you laughed, a little overwhelmed. “I think so.”
“That’s it,” he pointed at you. “I’m going to be her favorite best friend.”
You snorted. “You’ve got tough competition.”
The words left your mouth before your brain caught up.
“What do you mean competition?” he pouted.
“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, reaching for your drink.
“No, come on, explain,” Namjoon leaned forward.
“You can’t leave us hanging,” Taehyung added, delighted.
You shook your head. “Sori’s absolutely obsessed with a cat we met at the park I walk her at.”
“A cat?” Jimin blinked.
“Her name’s Tang,” you said, already regretting everything. “Her owner walks her at the park sometimes, and Sori likes her, so—”
“A cat being walked? What type of cat owner is this guy?” Jungkook pressed.
You hesitated.
“Um, actually—it’s Yoongi.”
The reaction was immediate.
“What—” Hoseok fell back dramatically.
“Oh my god?!” Jimin pointed.
Namjoon shook his head, smiling. “Of course it’s Yoongi.”
“We just—” you said quickly, heat creeping up your neck. “We walk our pets together, sometimes—”
“How often is ‘sometimes’?” Seokjin asked, joining in on the apparent interrogation that had begun.
“…A few times a week.”
The room exploded.
“Y/N!”
“That’s not sometimes!”
“Girl—”
You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “You guys are overreacting. We’re just friends.”
There was a brief pause, the kind that didn’t interrupt the flow of the room so much as subtly redirect it. Namjoon hummed in acknowledgment, not disagreeing, not agreeing either, just letting the statement sit. Jimin nodded along a little too easily, and Taehyung reached for another bite of food with an expression that was suspiciously neutral.
Jungkook shrugged, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. Even Hoseok, leaning back comfortably, didn’t jump in to argue. They didn’t need to. The air itself felt like it was quietly calling your bluff.
You frowned, lowering your hands slightly. “…You guys are making me really nervous right now.”
“We don’t want you to feel nervous,” Namjoon said, pulling you in with an arm around your shoulders.
Another pause followed, softer this time, like the conversation was circling something without quite landing on it. Then Jungkook spoke again, more casually. “I have a question: isn’t he the guy people say is kind of hard to work with?”
“He is, but—” you said immediately, the response sharp enough to cut through the room. “He’s not like that.”
That did it. Now they were all looking at you properly, and you didn’t even hesitate as you continued, your tone firm, almost defensive without you meaning it to be.
“He can be a bit blunt sometimes. He just doesn’t like to waste time, and yeah, I guess that can come off as intimidating if you don’t know him, but he’s not rude or anything. He’s actually really respectful. And nice.” You slowed slightly toward the end, your certainty softening into something more thoughtful.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full in a way that made you suddenly aware of how much you had just said. You shifted slightly, your confidence faltering under the weight of their attention.
Namjoon tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Sounds like you’ve gotten to know him pretty well.”
Your stomach flipped. “Again, we work together,” you replied, but it didn’t land the way you wanted it to.
Jimin hummed again, softer now, like he was piecing something together, while Taehyung added lightly, “And how did the park happen?”
“We bumped into each other there months ago,” you explained. “Sori fell pretty much head over heels for Tang the moment she saw her.” The thought made you let out a small huffed laugh. “We’ve been meeting up after work a few times a week ever since.”
Hoseok leaned forward slightly then, his tone gentler, less teasing and more deliberate. “Do you like spending time with him?”
“I mean… yeah.” The answer came out before you could stop it, and you froze immediately after, blinking as if you’d just heard yourself for the first time. You tried to recover, your voice quieter now. “He’s easy to be around.”
“Easy how?” Namjoon asked, not pushing, just guiding.
You hesitated, searching for something that made sense, something that didn’t feel like stepping into something bigger than you were ready for.
“…I don’t have to think too much,” you admitted. “It’s just… comfortable.” Your fingers shifted in your lap, restless now, your thoughts no longer lining up neatly. You added, almost absentmindedly, “And he makes me laugh.”
“That is adorable,” Taehyung said, smiling into his drink.
You heard Jimin hiss and lightly smack his arm. Your eyes stayed fixed on your fingers twisting together in your lap, but you couldn’t help the small, subconscious smile that graced your lips at Taehyung’s comment.
You didn’t argue, but your mind had already betrayed you, pulling up moments you hadn’t consciously invited. His dry comments catching you off guard. The way his mouth would tilt just slightly when you said something he found funny. The way he watched you sometimes, not intense, not overwhelming, just… present. The way you’d started to look for that presence without even realizing it.
Hoseok’s voice came again, softer now, almost careful. “Do you look forward to seeing him?”
Your chest tightened, and this time there was no immediate denial waiting to jump out. Just a quiet, reluctant truth that settled before you could push it away.
“…Yeah.”
The word barely left your lips, but it was enough. Something shifted, not in the room, but in you. You stared down at your hands, but now it felt different, like everything was rearranging itself whether you wanted it to or not.
Coworkers. Friends. Walks you didn’t skip, even when you were exhausted. His studio becoming somewhere you lingered longer than necessary. The way your day felt lighter just knowing you’d see him.
Your breath caught.
“…Oh.”
It slipped out softly, almost startled, like you hadn’t meant to say it at all. No one interrupted. No one rushed to fill the space. They just let you sit in it, and somehow that quiet made it impossible to ignore.
You exhaled slowly, shaking your head like you could undo it, but the realization had already settled, clear and steady beneath everything else.
“…I think I like him.”
The words felt heavier than you expected, more real now that they were out in the open, and almost immediately, panic followed close behind. You dropped your head back with a groan. “Oh my god, this is bad.”
“Why is it bad?” Jungkook asked, genuinely curious.
“Because we work together,” you said quickly, sitting up again, your thoughts racing now. “This could ruin everything. Our dynamic, the sessions, the—” you gestured vaguely, “—the park. Our walks, our… whatever this is. It’s good right now. It’s easy. What if I make it weird?”
“You won’t,” Jimin said simply.
“You don’t know that,” you shot back, but there was less conviction behind it now.
Hoseok leaned forward again, steady and grounding. “He likes having you around. That much is obvious.”
Your heart stuttered. “…You also don’t know that. What if he’s just tolerating me because we work together?”
Namjoon smiled faintly. “Trust me, I don’t think that’s the case.”
“And you won’t ruin anything if you don’t let yourself ruin anything,” Seokjin added, more serious now. “Don’t worry so much.”
You deadpanned at Seokjin. “I have no idea what you mean. Me and worrying?”
The others let out light chuckles. Seokjin gave you a really? look, which only made your lips twitch into a small smile.
You let your head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts continued to spiral, faster now, louder, but underneath it all, something had settled into place. Clear. Quiet. Unavoidable.
You like Yoongi.
You were loitering. At least, that’s what anyone passing by in the hallway would have thought. You bit your lower lip, glancing at the door to Yoongi’s studio, fingers hovering uncertainly near the handle. You had just gotten word that PSY loved how the track was sounding so far, and you wanted to tell Yoongi. Maybe help him relax, even just a little.
What you didn’t realise was that Yoongi wasn’t in his studio.
He was walking down the hall toward you.
His brows furrowed slightly when he spotted you lingering outside his door, your hand hovering like you couldn’t quite commit. He slowed, watching you for a second, before stepping closer.
“Hey.”
“Shit!” You flinched, jumping back—straight into him. Your back bumped lightly against his chest, the sudden contact sending your thoughts scattering.
You spun around immediately, pulling your limbs in close, like you were trying to fold yourself smaller.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You shook your head quickly. “No, no. I—I was just coming to find you. I have news.”
Yoongi tilted his head, taking a small step closer. Your breath hitched as his hand reached past you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your side. He was so near you could catch his cologne, something soft and grounding—vanilla threaded with pine.
The door clicked open.
“Shall we?”
You blinked up at him, subconsciously holding your breath as you nodded. You took a small step back into the doorway before turning and slipping inside. Yoongi followed, closing the door quietly behind him.
You retreated to your usual spot on the couch. Normally, you would sink into it, letting out a quiet breath, like everything outside this room simply… didn’t exist. But today, your body stayed slightly tense, shoulders held tighter than usual.
Yoongi didn’t take his usual place at the swivel chair.
Instead, he sat down beside you.
“So… what’s up?” he asked, pulling your attention from your hands back to him.
“Oh—um…” You straightened slightly. “PSY’s management told me he really loves what you’ve done with the track so far.”
“Really?” Yoongi said, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “I still wasn’t sure about it when I sent it in.” He dropped his face into his hands, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Thank god he likes it.”
You watched him, catching that genuine glint of relief, of quiet happiness. You’d seen how hard he’d been pushing himself for this track—late nights, early mornings, barely stopping long enough to breathe.
Your chest tightened, something soft and fond curling there.
A smile found its way onto your lips.
“You should trust yourself more, Yoongi,” you said gently, and he looked up at you, your eyes meeting. “And sleep is very important too.”
His lips curved, slow and real, breaking into that soft, gummy smile that always seemed to catch you off guard. He looked away, nodding once. “Yeah, I owe you for that. You were right. I just needed to rest and everything came together.”
“Don’t act surprised, I’m always right,” you teased.
A quiet, breathy laugh slipped out of him, and it did something strange to you—like it travelled straight through your chest and settled somewhere deeper. Some of the tension in your shoulders eased without you even realising.
“I think we deserve to celebrate then.”
You frowned slightly. “Celebrate?”
Yoongi nodded, glancing back at you. “This is good news and, like I said, I owe you.”
“No, no. Yoongi, you don’t owe me anything. I was just—”
He let out a low groan, cutting you off. “Will you just let me do a nice thing for you?”
You pressed your lips together, looking down, a little flustered now, before giving in with a small nod.
“Good. Friday, after work. Glasshouse.”
You blinked. “Glasshouse? That place is expensive.”
“Y/n, let me do something nice.”
“That place is too nice,” you argued weakly.
Yoongi had already pushed himself off the couch, moving back to his desk. He dropped into his chair, grabbing his headphones.
“I’m going to get back to work now.”
“Yoon—” You stopped yourself as he slipped the headphones over his ears, turning away, already elsewhere.
Silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint thrum of bass leaking from his headphones.
Your eyes stayed fixed on the back of his chair, your mind spinning faster than you could keep up with.
Friday? Glasshouse? Nice?
“Ladies and gentlemen, after years, Ms. Y/n has a date with a human man!”
“Who are you talking to?” You waddled out of your bathroom in yet another dress, the fourth one you’d tried on. Your eyes landed on Yuri. She was standing on your bed with the brightest grin on her face, Sori perched at the edge beside her, tail wagging like she was part of the audience. “And this is not a date.”
Yuri frowned. “You’ve been saying that for two days, but here you are putting in a little too much effort for a ‘not-date’.”
You turned away, your expression tightening slightly as you faced the full-length mirror. The dress suddenly felt wrong. Too much. Not enough. You couldn’t even tell anymore.
You didn’t respond, because Yuri was right.
Your mind had been ping-ponging nonstop since Yoongi asked. Every possible angle, every possible implication. This couldn’t be a date. It was just a celebration. A thank you. A nice thing, like he said.
He never called it a date.
But…
“I don’t think a dress is the way to go.” You turned back to Yuri. She studied you for a second, then nodded slowly.
“Yeah, that’s not a great dress…”
“Hey! Rude.”
“I say that with only love for you in my heart, babe.” You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. Yuri hopped off the bed in one quick motion and made a beeline for your closet. “How about… this!”
She pulled out a white mini skirt you hadn’t worn since college, holding it up like she’d just discovered treasure. “You always looked so hot in this.”
“Yuri!” you groaned, already feeling your face warm.
“Please! Come on.” She pouted, clasping her hands together dramatically. “Fine, it’s not a date. But just in case, I want to make sure you make Min Yoongi forget every other girl he’s ever seen in his life.”
Your head snapped slightly to the side, heat blooming across your neck and cheeks at the thought. The image came uninvited. Yoongi looking at you, really looking—
You shut it down immediately.
This is not a date.
You didn’t say a word. You just reached out and snatched the skirt from her hands, which earned you an excited squeal that echoed off your walls.
Turning back to your closet, your fingers brushed past hangers until they stilled.
A red camisole you forgot you had.
Deep, slightly sheer, soft in a way that felt… dangerous.
Your stomach flipped.
You hesitated for half a second, then pulled it out anyway.
Behind you, Yuri clapped. “Go try it on!”
You exhaled slowly, like you were bracing yourself for something bigger than just an outfit, and disappeared back into the bathroom. When you stepped out again, the room felt quieter for a beat.
Yuri’s eyes lifted from her phone. Her hand, mid-pet over Sori’s head, stilled completely. Her jaw dropped.
You shifted your weight slightly, suddenly very aware of your own body, of the way the fabric sat against your skin, of how different this felt from anything you usually wore. “How does it look…?”
“You’re making me question getting married to Daniel… and my sexuality.”
You let out a mortified sound, immediately hiding your face in your hands, but you were smiling despite yourself. Warmth spread through your chest, soft and familiar. Your brain quietly added another reason to the ever-growing list of why you were so grateful to have Yuri in your life.
And underneath that, a quieter thought.
What is he going to think?
Your stomach dipped again.
“Alright, now sit down.” Yuri slid off the bed, already moving, already in charge. She patted the seat in front of your vanity. “Let me do your hair.”
You dropped your hands from your face, exhaling softly as you moved toward her, catching your reflection one more time in the mirror.
Your heart skipped.
This is not a date.
…Right?
“I can’t believe my best friend is dropping me off at a date—”
“Aha!” Yuri exclaimed, shooting you a victorious look. “So you admit this is a date.”
“No. That was an—” You cut yourself off with a frustrated exhale, giving up halfway through the argument. Because, honestly, the closer you got to Glasshouse, the harder it was to ignore the very loud, very inconvenient voice in your head insisting that this was, in fact, a date.
Which was not helping your nerves.
“Whatever,” you muttered, crossing your arms slightly. “Still can’t believe you convinced me into this.”
Yuri shrugged, completely unbothered. “It’s on my way home.”
“How am I supposed to get home?”
A slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips, her eyes flicking toward you for just a second before returning to the road. “Maybe ask Yoongi to take you.”
“You’re evil.” You pointed at her, scandalised.
She gasped softly, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “No, hun. I’m a mastermind.” Then she winked, easing the car to a smooth stop in front of the entrance. “Okay, now get out and go get your man!”
“Not my man,” you stressed, already reaching for the door.
The night air hit you as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, cool against your skin. The door shut behind you with a soft thud, and Yuri leaned across the driver’s seat just enough to give you an exaggerated thumbs up before pulling away into the stream of traffic.
You stood there for a second, then turned.
The Glasshouse glowed in front of you, its name lit up in soft, elegant lettering. The kind of place that didn’t scream for attention but still held it effortlessly. Your stomach twisted.
You took a slow breath.
Relax. This is just two friends celebrating a job well done.
You pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The atmosphere wrapped around you immediately, dim lighting spilling from warm-toned lamps scattered across the space, casting everything in a soft golden haze. Low music hummed beneath the layered chatter of conversations. To one side, booths held groups of friends leaning into each other, laughter bubbling up between bites of food. The center of the room was dotted with small tables, candles flickering lazily. To your left, the bar stretched out, polished and glowing under hanging lights.
And there he was.
Yoongi sat at the bar, slightly turned toward a painting mounted on the wall, like he’d been quietly studying it to pass the time. One arm rested against the counter, fingers loosely curled around a glass of amber liquid, the ice inside catching the light.
Damn… he looks so good.
He hadn’t noticed you yet.
So you let yourself look.
His hair fell loosely around his face, slightly messy in a way that made it obvious he’d been running his fingers through it. Dark jeans, a simple grey t-shirt, and a black leather jacket thrown over it like an afterthought. Effortless. Unfair.
And suddenly, you felt very aware of yourself.
Of the way the fabric of your top sat against your skin.
Of how dressed up you were.
Relax, Y/n. This is just two friends. Just… friends.
You forced your feet to move. The soft, rhythmic click of your heels against the wooden floor cut through the ambient noise just enough to draw his attention.
Yoongi’s head turned.
His eyes landed on you and he stilled.
It was subtle, but you saw it. The way his gaze sharpened, the way his lips parted just slightly before he caught himself.
You offered a small smile, lifting your hand in a tiny wave. “Hi. Already started celebrating without me?”
Yoongi’s expression shifted immediately, something warmer settling in. “No, no. I just thought I’d get something while I waited.”
“I didn’t keep you waiting too long, I hope.” You nibbled lightly on your bottom lip, the habit slipping out before you could stop it.
There was the briefest pause before he answered, quieter this time. “You didn’t.” His head tilted toward the bartender. “You want something?”
You nodded, sliding into the seat beside him. As you reached into your purse, his hand moved across the space between you, stopping you mid-motion.
“It’s on me. Don’t worry about it.”
You frowned, ready to argue, but he beat you to it.
“Nice thing, remember?”
Right.
The bartender approached, and you placed your order. “A vodka cranberry, please.”
“Vodka cranberry?” Yoongi echoed beside you.
You turned to him, brow lifting. “What’s wrong with a vodka cranberry?”
He shook his head lightly. “Nothing. Just feels like a bit of a boring drink.”
You scoffed, offended in the most dramatic way possible. “Boring? And you are what? Some alcohol connoisseur?”
“Never claimed to be.”
“Well, what’s that then?” You pointed at the glass in front of him.
“Scotch.” His eyes flicked to it, then back to you. “Have you ever had it?”
You shook your head.
That seemed to amuse him. He nudged the glass toward you. “Take a sip?”
“What? That’s your drink.”
“And? You’re not going to down the whole thing, right?” He pushed it a little closer. “Just try it.”
You hesitated for a second, then gave in, fingers wrapping around the glass. You could feel his gaze on you, steady, attentive, as you lifted it to your lips and took a cautious sip.
Immediate regret.
Your face twisted, nose scrunching as the taste hit, sharp and unfamiliar. You shook your head quickly, handing it back as Yoongi let out a quiet laugh.
“Not your style?”
“Not at all.” You let out a small breath, still recovering. “I guess I just don’t like a lot of alcohol. I don’t even like beer.”
“You don’t like beer?” Yoongi looked genuinely wounded.
“And you do?!”
“Hell yeah.”
That did it. You both laughed.
The tension that had been coiled tightly in your chest since the car ride loosened, just a little.
Your drink arrived, and the second the straw touched your lips, you did a small, involuntary shoulder shimmy of satisfaction. Yoongi caught it instantly, the corner of his mouth lifting.
For a moment, he let himself look.
At you.
He’d never seen you like this before. At work, you were all structure and precision, everything in place. At the park, you were soft and relaxed, comfortable in a way that felt natural.
But this was something else entirely.
The delicate fabric of your top, the way it moved with you, the way it revealed just enough to make it impossible not to notice. And then the skirt—clean, simple, sitting low on your waist, the short hemline drawing attention to your legs in a way that felt almost unfair paired with something so soft above. It balanced everything out, sharpened the look, made it impossible for his eyes not to linger a second longer than they should.
It was… dangerous.
“You look beautiful, by the way.”
His voice was quiet. Almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Your breath caught, your eyes lifting to meet his. He was already looking at you, completely unguarded.
Heat spread up your neck, across your cheeks.
“Thank you,” you managed, softer than you intended.
Before either of you could say more, a waiter appeared at Yoongi’s side. “Your table is ready, sir.”
Your head snapped toward him. “Table?”
Yoongi stood, smooth and unhurried. “Of course,” he said, then glanced down at you. “You didn’t think we came here just for drinks, did you?”
Your brain short-circuited for half a second.
You scrambled to grab your purse and drink, quickly following as he trailed behind the waiter. The further you walked into the restaurant, the quieter it seemed to get, the lighting softer, more intimate.
And then you saw it.
A table for two, tucked neatly into a more secluded corner. Crisp white tablecloth. A single candle flickering gently at the center.
Whoa.
The waiter pulled out your chair, and you sat down slowly, still taking it in as he did the same for Yoongi before slipping away.
You shifted in your seat, your fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the table as your thoughts tangled again. The question had been sitting at the back of your mind since you walked in, and now it pushed forward.
“Yoongi…” you started. “Can I ask, how did you manage all of this?”
He looked up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… this place is pretty exclusive. It’s always booked. How’d you get a reservation on such short notice?”
There was a flicker of hesitation in his expression, subtle but there. “I know the owner.”
Your brows lifted. “Really? How?”
Another pause.
Then, quieter, “Do you know about the autism treatment center at Severance Hospital?”
You nodded.
“They have a music-based therapy program that helps kids with emotional and social development. I’ve been volunteering there for a while… and one of the kids I work with is the owner’s son.”
For a moment, all you could do was look at him.
“…Wow.”
The word came out softer than you expected.
“Yoongi, that’s amazing.”
“It’s nothi—”
“No, Yoongi. It’s amazing.” Your smile this time was steady, sincere. “You’re… you’re a really amazing person.”
Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t awkward. Just full.
His gaze held yours for a beat longer before he spoke again.
“You are pretty amazing for what you do too. Fostering is really important.”
You felt the warmth creep back into your cheeks. “It’s nothing like what you’re doing.”
“Don’t say that.” His tone sharpened just slightly, not harsh, but certain. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “There are so many animals out there and not enough shelters. We both know what happens because of that. You’re giving them a chance at a home. At a life.” A small pause. “I’d say that’s pretty amazing.”
“…Thanks.”
You let the moment sit, then added, a little more softly, “Actually, I wanted to tell you. Sori’s adoption just got finalized today. She’s officially mine.”
His expression shifted instantly, something warm and pleased settling in.
“Oh, Tang is going to be thrilled with that news.”
You laughed, the sound lighter now. “I think Tang secretly likes Sori, actually.”
“I do too.” Yoongi nodded. “But she likes to pretend she’s better than everyone.
The night had settled into something quieter by the time you both stepped out of Glasshouse, the city humming softly around you instead of roaring. The cool air brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d been sitting in all evening.
You turned to him first, fingers curling slightly around your purse strap. “I had a really good time tonight,” you said, your voice softer now, stripped of the earlier teasing. “Thank you.”
Yoongi’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, like he was still somewhere inside the evening. “Yeah,” he nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Me too.”
You glanced around, instinctively reaching for your phone. “I should probably—”
“Do you have a ride?” he asked, already watching you.
You blinked, then nodded lightly. “I was just going to order an Uber.”
There was a beat. Then, simply, “Let me take you home.”
Your eyes flicked back to his. “You don’t have to do that, Yoongi. You already—” you gestured vaguely, “—paid for everything.”
“I know.” His tone didn’t waver, calm but firm. “I’d just feel better knowing you got home safely.”
Something in the way he said it made it hard to argue.
“…Okay,” you said after a second, a small smile tugging at your lips.
Yuri: 1, Y/n: 0
The walk to his car was short, but the night air had a bite to it. You didn’t realize you’d shivered until—
“Here.”
You looked up just as Yoongi slipped his leather jacket off, stepping closer. The movement was easy, practiced, but your breath caught anyway as he draped it over your shoulders, his hands brushing lightly against your arms as he adjusted it.
Warm.
And it smelled like him.
Vanilla and pinewood.
You pulled the jacket a little closer around yourself, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your entire system had just rebooted.
He opened the passenger door for you, one hand resting against the top of it as he glanced at you.
You paused, raising a brow. “Who said chivalry was dead?”
His lips twitched. “Get in the car.”
You huffed out a small laugh and slid into the seat.
The drive was easy. Quieter than dinner, but not awkward. Yoongi handed control of the aux over without hesitation. “Play something.”
You blinked at him. “I don’t mind listening to whatever you—”
“I want to know what you listen to.”
There it was again. That simple, steady way he said things. That finality.
So you plugged your phone in.
After a second of scrolling, you picked something—*Japanese Denim* by Daniel Caesar. Smooth, a little dreamy, the kind of song that filled space without demanding it.
Yoongi didn’t say anything at first.
Just listened.
“This fits you,” he said eventually.
You glanced at him. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged slightly, eyes still on the road. “It’s calm. But there’s a lot going on underneath.”
“Are you psychoanalysing me through my music taste?”
Yoongi’s lips twitched, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly as he glanced at you. “Maybe.”
You huffed, shaking your head as you looked back down at your phone, trying to ignore the way your chest had done a tiny, unnecessary flip. “You’re so annoying.”
“Mm,” he hummed, not even a little apologetic. Then added, almost absentmindedly. “You’re cute when you get flustered,”
Your head snapped back toward him. “I’m not flustered.”
“You are,” he said, calm as ever.
“I’m not,” you insisted, even as your voice betrayed you just slightly.
That earned you a quiet, satisfied hum, like he’d proven a point he hadn’t even needed to argue. You looked away again, this time with a small, helpless smile tugging at your lips.
When the car pulled up outside your building, neither of you moved right away.
Then Yoongi was already stepping out, walking around to your side before you could even reach for the handle. He opened the door, offering his hand without thinking.
You took it.
The walk to your building was slow, neither of you rushing it, like the night wasn’t quite ready to end yet.
You stopped just before the entrance and turned to him.
“Thank you,” you said again, quieter this time. “For tonight.”
His gaze held yours. “You already said that.”
“I know,” you smiled faintly. “I just wanted to say it again.”
A small breath passed between you, neither of you moved. The air felt thinner somehow, like something was about to tip.
You didn’t even realise you were doing it at first—your teeth catching your bottom lip, worrying it lightly as your nerves crept back in, as everything about this moment started to feel a little too real.
Yoongi noticed.
His gaze dropped to your lips.
“…You should stop doing that,” he said, voice low, quieter than before.
You blinked, thrown. “What?”
His eyes flicked back up to yours, but only briefly, like it took effort. “Biting your lip.”
Your heart skipped, confusion flickering across your face.
“…Why?”
There was a beat.
“Because it makes me want to kiss you.”
Something in your chest flipped, steadying instead of spiraling this time. You swallowed, but you didn’t look away.
“You want to kiss me?” you asked, quieter, but braver now.
His lips parted slightly as he looked at you, something unguarded settling into his expression.
“So badly.”
It hit you like a spark straight to your core, warming everything it touched. And for once, you didn’t let your thoughts take over.
You stepped closer.
Just enough.
Yoongi stilled, eyes fixed on you, watching carefully, like he was giving you all the space in the world to decide the outcome of the evening.
“Then why don’t you?” you murmured.
His gaze dipped again, then back up, slower this time.
“Are you giving me permission to?”
His hands came up, slow, deliberate, settling at your waist. Warm. Firm. Grounding.
Your breath caught, your hands hovering for a second before you nodded.
That was all he needed.
He leaned in.
You leaned in too, meeting him halfway like your body had already decided before your brain could catch up.
The kiss wasn’t hesitant. The second Yoongi leaned in, it was sure. Certain.
Like the moment you nodded, something in him settled.
His hand tightened slightly against your waist as his lips met yours, firm and warm and devastatingly soft all at once. The breath left your lungs immediately, your fingers instinctively gripping the front of his shirt as your eyes fluttered shut.
He kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for a while.
Like he already knew exactly how he wanted to do it.
Slow enough to savor.
Deep enough to make your knees feel weak.
A quiet sound caught in your throat when he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body pressing against yours through the leather jacket still draped around your shoulders. His thumb moved slightly against your waist, grounding and gentle even as the kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours with a confidence that made your head spin.
And god, he kissed beautifully.
Unhurried. Intentional.
Like he was paying attention to every tiny reaction you gave him.
Your hands slid upward, fingers curling against his shoulders before wrapping loosely around the back of his neck, instinctively drawing him closer. Yoongi responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening just enough to make heat rush through your entire body.
The world around you blurred into nothing. No city noise. No passing cars.
Just him.
The faint taste of scotch still lingering on his lips. The scent of vanilla and pine surrounding you. The steady warmth of his hands holding you like he didn’t want you going anywhere.
Your lips moved together like they’d been building toward this for months without either of you fully realizing it.
Like every lingering glance and quiet walk and almost-flirting moment had led here.
When you finally pulled apart, it wasn’t because either of you wanted to.
It was because breathing had suddenly become important again.
Your foreheads nearly brushed as you both stayed there for a second, close enough to feel each other’s breath, equally wrecked.
A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped you first.
Yoongi huffed out one right after, quieter, like he couldn’t quite believe it either.
And somehow that made everything feel even more real.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, voice low.
You bit your lip, heat rising all over again. “…I’ve thought about it once or twice too.”
He raised a brow slightly. “Only once or twice?”
You let out a soft scoff, lightly smacking his chest. “Shut up.”
He laughed—soft, real, warm. And then you were just… standing there again.
Looking at each other like something had shifted into place.
Eventually, you stepped back, reluctantly untangling yourself from him.
“Goodnight, Yoongi.”
“Goodnight.”
He took a few steps back, then turned toward his car.
You watched him go. Then you remembered.
“Yoongi!”
He turned, eyebrows lifting.
You pointed at yourself—more specifically, at the jacket still wrapped around you.
A slow smile spread across his face.
“Give it back to me on Monday.”
And then—because of course—He winked.
You just shook your head, smiling to yourself as you turned and finally walked into your building.
Your heart didn’t settle the entire way up.
part 3 in the works :) will probably take longer to come out because i’m a student in exam szn
genre: gang au, angst, childhood friends to enemies to lovers
summary: yoongi was twelve when someone dangerous decided he was worth noticing. when you moved in next door, he told himself he could keep you separate from the life that was already closing its fist around him.
he was wrong.
and by the time he realized every choice he made to protect you only pushed you further away, it was already too late.
warnings: drug use, gang activity, gang violence, prison time, wrongful convictions, attempted sexual assault, minor 'character' death, teen pregnancy, pole dancing, unprotected sex (wrap it up please!), soft smut, oral m/f! receiving, angst with a happy ending
✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Situationship, idol!au, angst, smut, coworkers, love triangle maybe
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Across sleepless cities on tour, you and Yoongi cling to each other in an unspoken arrangement neither of you knows how to end until someone new makes you wonder if you should.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: angsty introspections, smut, fluff (kinda), more arirang song references, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, edging!, implied nipple stimulation leading to orgasm, exhibitionist kink (if you squint), mc being dense af, yoongi being dense af, miscommunication or lack of?, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, Madrid OH Madrid
✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 7k
✎ ˎˊ˗ Betaread by: Aqua (this is for you!), Tea, and Catie
✎ ˎˊ˗ Playlist by @angellekookie
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Since you really wanted it...💜 I had to split up the original chapter bec it was getting to 14k it didn't want to end. But the good news is the next chapter is about 80% done atp. Please let me know what you think and enjoy. Taglist to follow because I need to clock in for work in a few minutes. And sorry in advance if I don't get to tag everybody, but I will try! <3
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
You don’t really do casual. Or fuck buddies. Or situationships.
There’s a first time for everything.
Because this is where you currently stand with one Min Yoongi.
Your last real relationship was four years ago. After that, it’s just been a string of dates that never really turned into anything.
The plan was simple: focus on yourself, your career, travel the world.
This was not in the plan.
At least your career is thriving. And you are traveling the world. And maybe that’s how you justify it.
Because somehow, you start to understand why Tiff and Bina and Angel agreed to something like this with the other boys. The work is stressful, the hours are insane, and this arrangement takes the edge off in a way nothing else really does. There’s something about being in the same place at the same time a little too often that makes whatever this is with Yoongi… convenient. Easy.
That’s why it works. Theoretically.
You’re focusing on yourself. Your well-being. And if that well-being happens to come in the form of a chemical-induced haze on the regular—dopamine, not drugs—then so be it.
There’s an easy, unspoken rhythm to it now. Between rehearsals, Yoongi glances at you from across the room. A tilt of his head. You follow. In the evening, a text from him. Midnight. Sometimes as late as 2 or 3 a.m. when he’s still buzzing from adrenaline or when he can’t quite figure a track out. You’re out the door and into his lap.
It’s always him. You don’t really initiate. You don’t have to. Not when he seeks you out first and gives it to you all night.
⊙⊝⊜
Yoongi is a generous lover. This to say, he is a munch.
Now you get why he sings about giving good head every chance he gets. That tongue technology. Feeling the high waves coming. That salt in his tongue. Yeah, that’s your salt on his tongue.
Yoongi knows what to do to make your toes curl. How to pull pleasure out of you like no lover has before. Maybe it’s because of the secrecy, the risk. It heightens everything. Mostly you know it’s him. He’s clocked the hours to up his dick game. There are times you’re bothered by it. There are times you don’t care.
He’s mapped the places in your body that fall apart with his touch. Makes sure he does it again. And again. That’s what keeps you coming back for more.
The part that always gets you though is that brief moment of clarity after the act. The way he pulls you in after like it’s the right thing to do. You know it’s bare minimum. It doesn’t mean anything at all.
But for that stretch of time, danger looms. When your brain conjures a different version of you and him. A version where you’re allowed to ask questions like why he cut his hair. Why he doesn’t eat more. How his cat is doing. Why he keeps pressing on his shoulder like that-Is his past injury bothering him again? Is he gonna do another marathon?
You swallow all of it down. Because those aren’t your questions to ask. They belong to the people Yoongi loves. Jimin, for one. Not you.
Despite the many things you want to say in between the moment you come and the moment you go, you stop yourself because that’s not your role in his life.
Whatever this is has rules. Unspoken, but clear. You’re a big girl. You’ve come to terms with the fact that this doesn’t extend beyond closed doors and dim lights. That this is temporary. A placeholder until he finds something real and true and worth risking his idol life for.
So you draw your own lines for your own good.
You don’t stay the night. Not once. You leave before things can settle into something softer, something harder to walk away from in the morning.
You don’t let him clean you up, either. Never. The first time he brings you a washcloth, you take it from his hand with a muttered I got it, like it’s nothing. Like you don’t want the care. Like you don’t need it.
Every now and then, a casual baby slips from his lips because he must know exactly how much it gets to you. You’re not his baby, you know that, so you never call him anything sweet. It should be enough for him that the world calls him SUGA.
And kissing. None of that. Let him take, let him unravel you however he wants. Just not your kryptonite.
The rules keep you grounded. You hold the line firmly where you can, even if sometimes things feel like they are starting to blur.
Yet, there are moments when they do blur in your favor.
When he’s with you, breath uneven, composure slipping in ways not many get to see. When his hands tighten their grip on your hair as he struggles to stay grounded. When his eyes—usually so guarded, so distant—roll to the back of his head as you give him bliss. When he calls you that one word in a voice so strangled and desperate, and punctuates it with please as you have his warm and heavy cock wrapped tightly around your fingers and he chants your name and curses over and over before white blooms across your skin.
That’s the power you have. It does something crazy to you. Because for all the secrecy, all the restraint, all the careful distance you keep, you know this much is yours.
This version of him that comes undone in your hands. Pretty. Putty. It’s enough for now.
[Busan, SK, June 2026]
“Ughhh…”
You’re backstage, in one of the new costumes created for Festa, and this frickin’ zipper won’t—
“Hold still.”
You know the voice, and you don’t even argue. Yoongi steps behind you, tugging the zipper up in one smooth motion, the back of his hand brushing your spine in the process.
“You could’ve cut your skin,” he lightly scolds you with an eyebrow raise.
“Thanks,” you say, not meeting his eyes, ignoring the thump in your chest.
Down the hallway you hear a gaggle of noise and spot some of the dancers congregating by the catering table. You should probably join them and get something to eat, too. Though you’re feeling kinda…
“Nervous?” Yoongi asks.
“What?”
“You seem stressed.”
You don’t even realize you were showing it. “…maybe a little.”
Yoongi nods once like he’s satisfied that he read your mood. “Why?”
“Uh, my family is watching today.”
“Really?” His eyes widen. “Did you ask to seat them in the suites?”
“Oh, there’s no need for that. They should be okay in the 300s.”
Yoongi plucks his phone from his back pocket and starts tapping away. You don’t even know if he heard you or anything, but suddenly he’s furiously texting someone, fingers flying across the screen.
Since he seems distracted, you decide to bounce.
“I’m gonna go.” You jerk a thumb behind you. “I have to meet with Seung Eun to orient some of the… anyway, bye.”
Yoongi lifts his head and nods absently, before going back to whatever has him occupied.
⊙⊝⊜
Your phone rings and your sister’s goofy smile fills your screen. You swipe to answer it immediately. “Hey…”
“Unnie!!” There’s an unmistakable tone of delight in her voice. “Yo, the seats were amazing! Thank you for the upgrade!”
You pause mid-step, phone pressed to your ear. “…upgrade?”
“We got moved to the sky suite,” your sister gushes. “There was a buffet and everything. It was so cool!”
You stop walking entirely now, trying to piece it together. “Huh.”
Your sister is none the wiser about your confusion, still gushing about her experience. “We even met V, J-Hope, and RM!” She continues, sounding a little breathless. “Eomma introduced herself to RM. She thanked him for helping with her surgery. He was so nice, unnie. And so hot.”
Ah. That tracks.
Namjoon.
Of course it was him. Now you’re not surprised because you might have mentioned this to him one time. Honestly, you can’t remember. But he’s a generous soul. Does thoughtful things and he never expects anything back. Who else would have done this for you anyway.
“That’s great,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “I’ll thank him later.”
“I couldn’t really find you though,” your sister adds sheepishly. “All the dancers looked the same.”
You laugh. “That’s kind of the point.”
“You should come home when you can, okay?”
“How are things with eomma and appa?”
“They still haven’t killed each other.” She chuckles wryly and something pricks at your chest.
“Were they at least happy today?”
“So happy,” she assures. “I’m proud of you, unnie. We are all proud of you.”
Your heart feels like it expanded two sizes. “...Thank you.”
“Come visit when you get back from tour, okay?”
“Yeah… I should be able to after US. We’ll have a short break.”
“Okay. I miss you.”
“Miss you, too.”
You say your goodbyes as you reach Yoongi’s door, still feeling a little frayed around the edges. It seems to be the case anytime you speak to your younger sister these days, who is literally the best person in your life. You wish you could tell her your worries, but she already has enough to deal with at home.
You sigh deeply, trying to reset yourself before you lift your wrist to knock.
Yoongi has asked you to come over that night and there wasn’t really any reason for you to say no. You still had some surplus energy you wouldn’t mind burning off. And it should take your mind off things.
He tells you he just wrapped up a Weverse live with the members and you suspect his body is still high from all of the adrenaline and excitement from today.
One thing about Yoongi is that he always knows exactly where to put all that restless energy.
By the time he’s done with you, your thoughts have gone blissfully quiet, your body boneless beside his.
The room is quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breathing, bodies still warm, the sheets a mess around you.
You’re staring up at the ceiling when he speaks. “Did your family enjoy the show?”
You turn to him, brightening instantly. “Yeah. They loved it. I was on the phone with my sister on the way up.”
Yoongi smiles, soft and pretty in the afterglow. “Your dad must’ve liked the unlimited beer in the sky suite.”
You grin. “I think he did. They really appreciated being there.”
“You’re wel–”
It clicks then. “Oh shit.” You sit up suddenly, clutching the sheet to your chest. “I forgot to text Joon.”
“Namjoon-ah?”
“Yeah,” you say, already reaching for your phone. “To thank him for doing that for my family. That was really thoughtful of him.”
You don’t look at Yoongi.
You don’t see the way his expression stills. Flattens.
He watches you for a second longer, something stormy settling behind his eyes. Then he sits up, reaching for the shirt draped over the chair.
“I need to sleep.” He says as his head pokes through the tee.
You glance up from your phone, blinking as realization hits. “Oh. Yeah, of course.” You take it as your cue, slipping out of bed without question.
This isn’t new. This is how it usually goes.
“Sorry,” you mumble, already gathering your clothes. “I’ll get gone.”
He shrugs lightly. “It’s fine.”
You don’t think anything of it. He doesn’t really kick you out per se. But you guess in the few times you’ve done this, he’s figured out you never stay so he doesn’t expect you to.
You dress quickly and head out the door mumbling a goodbye. He doesn’t say anything back.
⊙⊝⊜
You’re walking down the hallway when Namjoon’s reply comes through.
You smile, opening the message.
Namjoon: Your family was so nice. I’m glad to finally meet your eomma. She looks healthy.
Namjoon: Wasn’t me though. You should have told me they were coming and I would’ve arranged for it.
You read the last bit again. Confused.
Wait, so if it wasn’t him…
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime.
You step inside slowly, thumb hovering over your screen uselessly.
Before it closes, your eyes lift to the door at the end of the corridor, thinking of the man behind it.
Oh.
Your stomach drops.
Could it be…?
You type before you can overthink it.
You: Was it you?
No reply comes.
⊙⊝⊜
Until a week after, where a u free tonight? graces your thread and you’re up and out the door in a green hoodie you copped from the Goyang tour kick-off. It seems like ages ago now, you think, as you pull some loose threads on the sleeve, but it’s really the comfiest thing ever.
You’re back in Seoul now. There’s two weeks of rest and rehearsals before flying out again. Seoul feels strangely still compared to months of constant movement, but it’s nice to come back to this pace after being crazy-busy.
This is the first time Yoongi has messaged you outside the tour bubble, and the fact that he wants to meet at his actual house sends a strange little thrill through your chest.
The lobby of his high-rise is massive, luxurious, infinitely more intimidating than your condo complex. You half expect security to arrest you, but the moment you say your name at the desk, the concierge nods immediately and sends you up without a problem. Still, maybe you should have dressed up a bit? Ah, it’s useless thinking about that now. Yoongi probably just has a random tee and his favorite sweats on anyway.
When you get to his room at the penthouse level, you press the doorbell on the digital screen. The door swings open not five seconds later.
See, Min Yoongi is a menace.
A white ribbed tank clings tightly to his toned chest, biceps completely exposed, the slim-cut brown trousers tapering perfectly against his narrow waist. He smells so good, too. Soapy and musky from having just showered, hair combed back showing his fresh new undercut.
Damn. Okay.
Yoongi chose violence tonight.
“Hi,” you say stupidly, suddenly hyperaware that this is the first time you’ve seen him outside of HYBE, arenas, and hotel hallways.
(Except Hannam. But you don’t talk about that.)
Yoongi leans against the frame barefoot. “Hi,” he echoes, quieter, stepping aside to let you in.
His apartment is exactly what you imagined and somehow not at all.
Minimal. Clean lines. Classy. Smells nice. Huge windows wrapping around the open plan layout of his spacious living room, connecting to the kitchen towards the farther side of the room.
“Wow,” you mumble, toeing your shoes off near the entrance. “This is where you live…”
Yoongi snorts softly behind you. “Shut up.”
“Wae? I haven’t even said anything!”
A tiny smile pulls at his mouth as he watches you slowly wander further inside, your fingertips brushing lightly over the back of the couch as you take everything in.
You stop near one of the framed photos on the shelf. “You decorated this yourself?”
“Mm. Mostly.”
You glance around once more, genuinely impressed. “It feels very…”
“Go ahead,” he sighs. “Make fun of me.”
“No, I was gonna say warm.” You look around once more before teasing lightly, “Like a rich man in a K-drama lives here.”
“The lead or the second lead?”
The question catches you off-guard, but makes you grin. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters!”
“They’re not usually both rich, you know.”
“But what if they both are?” He shrugs, still waiting for the answer. “So?”
“Lemme think.” You consider it, making a show of surveying the space like you’re a reality show judge. “The Pinterest touches. I dunno ‘bout those…”
“What do you mean?”
“Yankee candle in Fresh Laundry. Bottle of Rose on the counter with two wine glasses.” You point accusingly. “Succulents.”
The place kinda looks a bit showroom-y, like he got the model unit from the realtor. But there are obvious traces of him everywhere. A pair of ear buds lying on the coffee table outside of its case, shelves of vinyls from many years of collecting, a Spotify plaque for D-day hanging on a wall beside some other accolades, a cat scratching post on the corner.
The one thing making this place feel the most like a K-drama set though is the man standing in front of you right now. In that fit. So fucking handsome. Looking at you with those stupidly hopeful eyes like your opinion of his apartment matters way more than it should.
Hands twitching faintly at his sides, Yoongi seems to be combusting for praise tonight, so you give it to him. It’s the truth anyways.
“Lead guy.”
His mouth twitches. “There it is.”
You smile softly as you watch him pour the wine. The sweet tang of the rosé glides across your tongue, cool and refreshing down your throat while Yoongi leans against the kitchen counter, watching you over the rim of his own glass with far too much satisfaction.
Like he’s pleased you like it here. Like he’s pleased you’re here.
“C’mere,” he mutters eventually, nodding toward the living room.
You follow him deeper into the apartment, eyes trailing after the broad line of his shoulders as he strolls toward the massive couch like he doesn’t realize how unfair he looks in soft pants and that stupid tank top.
He gestures casually toward the sofa. “Sit befo—”
Before he can even finish the sentence, your hands are on him.
“You have no idea how hot this is,” you inform him seriously, shoving lightly at his chest.
“Yah—”
He drops onto the couch with a startled laugh, and you immediately climb into his lap, your knees sinking into the plush cushions on either side of his thighs. His palms slide instinctively up your bare legs, settling at your waist before dipping lower, squeezing at your ass like he can’t decide where he wants to hold you most.
“Why are you wearing this?” you accuse, tugging lightly at the neckline of his tank.
“Why are you wearing that?” he accuses back.
You blink innocently. “Wearing what?”
“That.” He gestures vaguely toward your mouth, already looking annoyed. “The lip thing.”
Oh. You smile slowly. “You like it?”
“Hate it,” he deadpans immediately.
Which means you’ve already won.
You drag your bottom lip between your teeth before licking over the stain deliberately, just enough for it to catch the light, glossy and wet.
“Mm,” you hum. “Tastes good, too.”
Yoongi’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
His hands tighten slightly on your waist. “You know what.”
You tilt your head, pouting playfully now. “No, I don’t think I do.”
His gaze drops to your lips again like he can’t help it. Like he’s actively losing a battle with himself.
“Y/N,” he warns.
You lean closer on purpose, close enough for him to smell the sweet strawberry tint on your mouth. “What?”
He exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darkening in that way you’ve become very familiar with. “I need to fuckin’ do something with my mouth.”
“Is that your way of asking if you can kiss me?” You laugh softly, pleased with yourself, as you deliberately grind down against his length, just once. “You’re so romantic.”
A groan. A slap on your ass. Then a long, suffering sigh. “What if I say please?”
“Oh wow, big bad Agust D wants to say please?”
“Y/N.”
“You know you can’t kiss me, Yoongi.”
Another sigh. Deeper this time, just like the slow drag of your clothed cunt against the ridge of his cock.
His head tips back slightly against the couch like he’s asking the universe for patience while your smile grows impossibly smug.
“Fuuuuck,” he curses. “You’re evil.”
“Just suck on my tits. I don’t care.”
His brow quirks. “You don't care?”
You shrug dismissively.
You don’t know it then, but he bookmarks that as a challenge. Not for tonight, though. He’s already so worked up.
“Lie back,” he smacks your ass again and maneuvers you towards the couch cushions, already halfway peeling your shorts and panties off your legs.
“Show me your tits. Wanna see them while I eat you out.”
You comply, promptly pulling the zip of your hoodie down, showing you’re bare underneath. His eyes bug out temporarily before he shakes his head and drops his gaze between your legs.
He presses his lips to the soft inner flesh of your thigh, inching up to your core. He switches to the other leg, pressing butterfly kisses there to drive you insane.
Then, his tongue darts out to part your folds, gently, shallowly, wiggling it as if to make room.
Your hips arch off from the cushions, chasing his wet muscle immediately. But he holds you down, soft thighs locked against strong arms as he tsks a warning for you not to squirm too much.
He lifts his head and grits, in mock seriousness. “Can I have my meal in peace now?”
God, what the fuck is he saying? No matter, it got you clenching around nothing.
Yoongi lowers his chest further where you’re spread open for him. The warm air from his nose tickles your skin before letting his lips touch yours.
What he does next tracks, because he’s a little shit.
Yoongi makes a show of making out with your puffy lips as if it was your mouth. You prop yourself on elbows to watch him do it, applying the faintest pressure before pulling it with a gentle suck. He licks and suckles noisily and you whine as his tongue snakes between your slit to flick against your clit. Just the first swipe almost breaks you.
Yoongi doesn’t really talk much when he gets into a flowstate. Not before he props a pillow behind your head because he knows you love this show.
“Watch…” he instructs, before your eager nod makes him smirk.
He keeps it soft, steady at first, his fat tongue sliding up and down your aching nub. He takes his time with this, just gives you maddeningly slow, torturous flicks at a glacial pace. The heat pools low on your belly, gradually increasing in intensity as he shakes his head against your mound, tongue zig-zagging against your clit.
You run your fingers through his short hair, scratching his scalp. He purrs when you do that and the vibration makes you shiver.
This is the view you retrieve from your mind palace on nights you’re alone. Yoongi’s dark hair and even darker eyes between your legs.
Fuck. He’s so insanely good at this. He moves lower to lap at the trail of juices leaking from your hole. You moan helplessly when he fucks you shallowly with his tongue, the sharp tip breaching your entrance but just barely.
“God… Yoongi, what the fuck?”
As if he wants to drive you even more insane, he adds pressure to your clit with his thumb and you’re just moaning and panting haplessly now, mind going numb.
Just when you’re about to—
Of course, of fucking course, he pulls back. You tip your head back, chasing the breath that has left your lungs.
“Look at you, baby.” Yoongi admires how his spit and your juices make your pussy all shiny and pretty. Eyes full of stars, he breathes out, “this perfect fuckin’ cunt…”
“Yoongi,” you squirm, biting your lip as he continues to just ogle at you. “Stop teasing…”
“Okay, okay…” he chuckles, giving your clit one quick swipe.
Yoongi takes your hand on the back of his neck and swallows two fingers, wetting the pads. He bites it playfully before telling you to “play with your tits...”
You pluck at your right nipple, swirling his spit around it before pulling it taut and releasing it with a jiggle. You didn’t realize your eyes fluttered shut until you feel the moist heat of his mouth envelop your other nipple, sucking at it greedily to force your eyes open.
“You ready to come?” he mumbles against your chest, kissing the sweat off your sternum.
“Please…” you scratch the tufts of his hair behind his ear, earning you another deep groan as he nuzzles his cheek against the softness of your tits.
He trails gentle kisses down your body as he goes back to his previous position. And you gasp when he does the thing for you. The finishing move. It’s when he sucks your clit in between his soft, pink lips and the tip of his tongue circles it while inside the warmth of his mouth.
“I love it when you do that… shit…”
His brows are furrowed while he hums against you, still suckling like he’s addicted, even moaning indulgently for you.
“Yoongi, please. Don’t stop…”
And just like that…
“Not yet.”
He smirks as he withdraws just enough to look you dead in the eye before stuffing two fingers right through your cunt without warning.
“Fuck!” you cry out, walls clamping tight at the intrusion.
God his fingers. They’re moving so fast and it feels impossible. You’re too close to hold back.
“Not yet,” he snarls, fingers moving rapidly in and out of your sopping hole now. “Not until I say so.”
Everything feels fucking lit. Your skin is burning up, electricity running up and down your veins.
But this is where he likes to play, because Yoongi enjoys edging you. Works you up, but forces you to control yourself as if it doesn’t take every ounce of willpower not to explode. He’s a fucking problem.
“Don’t act like you don’t like this,” he mutters, almost to himself, as he watches you tremble. “I know you do.”
You loathe to admit that you like that sadistic grin on his face when he knows you’re close, but even better, the tiny tilt of his brow when he finally tells you to let go.
Your fingers curl against his bicep, grounding yourself as you start to grind against his fingers. You meet his every thrust, the noisy squelches of your pussy filling the room. You’re writhing, desperate, mouth hanging open to take every ounce of pleasure seeping into your bones and dribbling down your thighs.
There’s something glinting in his eyes when he asks. “You let anyone else see you like this?”
You’re still hyperfocused on rocking against him.
“Answer me,” he says, adding a third finger now as he scissors your gummy walls open.
You roll your eyes, even as your pulse races. “You’re the only one stupid enough to deal with me.”
That seems to satisfy him.
“Good,” he smirks. “Come for me.”
Your brain seems to respond to his voice because suddenly you’re shuddering as your orgasm racks your body, spine bowing towards him, while he continues to piston his fingers inside, your cunt weeping violently in surrender.
His fingers slow, helping you ride out the wave. You sink back into the couch cushions, smiling a little dopey as you stare at the ceiling above.
“I’m not done with you…”
“I’m not done with you, either,” you reply, more breath than your actual voice, still heaving from your release.
He grins all big and cocky, licking your juices clean off his bony digits and you feel another twitch right in the spot where he just left.
You move to stand up, jelly legs still a little wobbly. He catches you by the ass, and you shove his cheeky face back, giggling.
An equal opportunity lover he maintains, but you suspect deep down he’s an ass man.
Yoongi licks his bottom lip while you shrug off the hoodie, eyes on him. He looks chuffed as hell as he palms his crotch, the stiff one underneath the thin material already making itself known.
“Pants off,” you say sweetly, sliding your hands from your sides to cup the underside of your breasts.
A sharp inhale mixes with the shuffle of pants and briefs as it joins your hoodie in a messy puddle.
Yoongi is big. You already know he packs a wallop, but it still surprises you every damn time.
He tugs at the velvety shaft languidly, a tiny bead of white pooling at the tip.
You bite your lip, heart racing, as you watch him spread his cum around his cockhead with his thumb.
The grin he has on his naughty, just one corner lifted up, eyes shining with mischief. “Sup?”
The fucking audacity.
So tonight, you decide to lean into every unfair advantage your years of dancing gave you. You know exactly how to move your body to elicit the right reactions and bring Yoongi to his demise.
You turn around, gathering your hair on one side, then glance at him from over your shoulder as you throw your ass back, just once. Okay, maybe twice.
Yoongi groans appreciatively. “You’re so sexy. So fuckin’ sexy.” He combs his hair back, eyes glued to the soft jiggle of your behind as he gives his cock a few more pumps.
You spank your bum playfully, a pretty shade of red blooming on your skin, before spreading your cunt open for him as you bend forward.
“Holy fuuuck.” Yoongi slurs. “I gotta–”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, just presses his face against your ass so suddenly that you almost tip forward if he wasn’t gripping your hips. Then, you feel him trail his tongue from your glistening hole and up towards the rim. That makes your knees buckle but thankfully he catches you by the waist and plants your ass firmly against his cock.
Yoongi’s already so hard against you and that just makes you want to tease him a bit more. You shift a little so his thick cock sits snug between your cheeks. He huffs a satisfied chuckle at the feeling, rutting up once to stuff himself even deeper into the soft squish of your ass.
You hook one hand around his neck, pulling him forward to kiss the underside of his jaw, tasting his clean sweat as you move your hips in a slow swivel.
“Fuckiiiin’ hell…”
The groan you pull from his throat with each calculated roll gets lower and a little more wrecked with each pass. But when you drag your tongue slowly along the shell of his ear, the sound he lets out is downright nasty. A low, desperate rumble that went straight to your pussy.
Wetness spreads along his cock as you continue to rub against him, a little faster, panting sweet sighs against his ear. You flick your warm tongue along his lobe again, licking along the cartilage before capturing it inside your mouth.
“A-ahhh,” Yoongi chokes out a shudder like he was caught off-guard. “Shit, baby, that’s…”
“You like that?” You hum and continue to lick and suckle, the sensual noises making his dick twitch. It’s the first time you pulled this move on him and you’re satisfied with his reaction.
Hands sliding up to make your breasts spill from his hands, he grits. “I think you need to get fucked hard.”
“Can you do that for me, Yoon?” you mewl as he pinches your nipples between his calloused fingertips, pleasure pricking at your chest. “You wanna fuck me hard?”
“You know I do.” he rasps, voice an octave lower. “Bend over the arm rest, baby.”
You rearrange yourself on his utterly debauched couch as he rolls a condom on himself that he grabs from behind a lamp like he has it at the ready. You can’t even clock him for that because you’re desperate to have him inside you.
Thighs still burning from your little performance, you rest your weight on your belly.
Yoongi stands behind you, lining himself up on your entrance as he lets his fat cock be swallowed inch by inch.
“Fuck, baby. It’s so tight.” he groans, as your pussy flutters all over him.
You moan when he finally pushes himself to the hilt, crescent shapes blooming on the soft skin on your waist.
“Yoongi…” You call his name like a broken plea.
His pelvis bounces against your ass as he thrusts his dick in and out of you at a ruthless pace. There’s no show build up here, just a quick ascent to the top. You claw at the cushions finding something to grip as he slams against you, rough and unrestrained, and you’re reduced to a wailing mess.
He bucks his hips even harder, faster, working himself stupid. You know he’s fucking gone, you can feel it.
“Touch yourself, baby. Fuck, I’m so close…”
You slip your index between your battered cunt, your clit so slippery it doesn’t take much for you to reach your peak for a second time.
You rub quick finger eights and reach cloud nine even quicker, shaking as you cum, your walls pulsing against his cock.
“Where?” he asks when he knows you’ve finished.
“Back.”
He slips out of you so fast, and before you can whine at the sudden emptiness, you feel the warm ropes of Yoongi’s gooey cum splash against your spine as your name leaves his lips.
[Madrid, June 2026]
You should have known that of all the girls it would be Rei who clocks you first.
You’ve barely stepped out from behind the dim green room partition when she narrows her eyes at you. You shift your slightly twisted top and wince as it chafes against your too-sensitive nipples.
After challenging Yoongi with making you come from just nipple stimulation, you found yourself on top of spare music equipment as he decided to grant your wish like some fucked-up genie.
Behind you, he walks out a beat later.
Rei’s lips part, then press into a thin line.
“Wow,” she mutters, low enough that only you hear. “He looks like an evil king.”
You look at Yoongi over your shoulder—and yeahhhh. There’s no denying what just happened. His lips are red, slightly swollen, and his hair? God. You shouldn’t have tugged that hard. It’s sticking out every which way.
“I know Mujin don’t do hair like that,” Rei comments.
You’re still mute, refusing to meet her eyes as she falls into step beside you.
“You doing hair now, sweets?” Rei teases. “I didn’t realize glam was short-staffed.”
“I’ve no clue what you’re talking about,” you say quickly, already walking faster.
She cackles, not convinced in the slightest. But it’s fine. If there’s one person you can trust here it’s Rei.
“Adios, mamacita,” she calls out as you round the corner to find the nearest bathroom.
⊙⊝⊜
Rehearsal runs late. But the minute it’s over you return your eomma’s call.
Your dad and your mom got into a fight.
Something about his pension.
Something about the trash.
Something about him never listening to her needs.
Rei looks over to you, a silent question if she should hang back. The hotel is 10, maybe 15 minutes on foot, so you wave a dismissive hand. You don’t want witnesses to this. Not for this. You can make your way back easily. You just need to get through this phone call.
You let your mom spill her guts to you. You know love is there. But you also know how something can be real and still not work.
At some point, your legs just give out. You’re slumped on the floor, the base of your spine against the worn walls of the dance studio as you control your breathing. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.
Your heartbeat hasn’t fully come down yet, still knocking against your ribs, and this news isn’t doing you any favors.
By the time the call finishes, your skin is no longer tacky with sweat, but your limbs still feel heavy. You think about what your mom said. Not everything, just the last part. That love isn’t always enough.
You drag a hand down your face, pressing your palms into your eyes until you see white. After a few minutes, you push yourself up, roll your shoulders. You don’t want to cry over something you can’t control.
You’re locking up behind you when you see him.
Yoongi’s leaning against the wall like he’s been there a while, arms crossed loosely, gaze unfocused as he chews on the skin on his bottom lip.
“You waiting for someone?” you ask, keeping it light, like your pulse is not racing.
“Mm.”
“…who?”
This time he looks at you properly. Just for a second. You look away, not wanting to show him truths buried beneath your lids. You dig through your bag for your pepper spray, something to keep in hand for the walk back to the hotel.
“Don’t worry about it.”
You scoff softly. “Okay.”
As you start heading out, he pushes off the wall like he’s been waiting for that exact moment, falling into step beside you like it was always the plan.
“My car’s still outside,” Yoongi says, like you should already know what that means.
You hesitate for half a second. But your tired legs are screaming hallelujah as you follow him out.
⊙⊝⊜
Inside the SUV neither of you says anything at first. Personally, you don’t know what the hell you’re doing here. Maybe he wants to fuck in the car? You really don’t know…
You glance over to where he’s seated. The city moves outside in streaks of gold and shadow, streetlights slipping across his profile in intervals. He also looks worn, tired. 10% battery life.
So you let your head fall back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, letting your body finally start to come down from everything.
“Is it okay if we stop somewhere?” he asks when the driver nears the hotel cul de sac.
You turn your head slightly. “Where?”
“Place I heard about.”
You study him for a second. “What if I say no?”
There’s no hesitation. “Then it’s a no.” He sounds serious.
“Relax. I’m kidding.” You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Just pretend I’m not here, I’m wiped.”
He leans over and presses a small button on your armrest, the recliner whirring quietly as it tilts back, letting you sink into the seat a little more.
“Thanks,” you mumble, curling a little to the side away from him, so you can watch the view from outside.
⊙⊝⊜
Tucked into a narrow street, the shop is easy to miss. You never would have gone here not with how small it is, how unassuming. It’s like a Spanish deli. A butcher shop and a little restaurant rolled into one.
You step inside and the smell hits you. Salt, cured meat, something rich and fatty and indulgent, layered over the faint tang of wine and old wood.
Yoongi steps towards the till, pointing to something in the menu. You don’t hear what he communicates except for the faint “Gracias.”
You couldn’t help but snicker at how he said it so cutely.
“I got this for us,” he says, showing you a picture of an open sandwich called bocadillo de jamon.
You raise a brow. “You ordered for me?”
He smirks playfully. “Got a problem with it?”
“Why do you keep bossing me around?”
He shakes his head, a tiny grin playing in his lips, before he tsks. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
“Wha—“ a puff of air escapes your gaping mouth. How dare he.
⊙⊝⊜
Back in the car, the wrappers crinkle softly between you as you take the first bite, grease soaking faintly through the paper, the taste immediate and overwhelming in the best way. It’s salty, rich, and so indulgent.
“Wow,” you gush. “This is so fuckin’ good.”
He nods, a lump on the side of his cheek as he chews thoughtfully.
You glance at him. “You been there before?”
“No,” he says simply. “But it was on the Michelin Bib Gourmand.”
Honestly, you have no idea what that means. But Yoongi is always researching random shit, his knowledge running weirdly deep in ways that constantly catch you off guard, so you assume it’s basically the equivalent of five stars on Yelp.
Yoongi tells the driver to head back to the hotel, but not before he also hands the man a sandwich of his own.
Then, he reaches into the bag and pulls out two tiny bottles of red wine, twisting one open with ease before handing it to you.
“Yay,” you smile, oddly delighted by the unexpected treat.
You glance back toward the little jamon spot as the car pulls away, the warm glow of the restaurant fading slowly into the Madrid night. “That’s the kind of place you see in movies, y’know?” you muse lightly. “Somewhere people accidentally fall in love on the first date.”
Yoongi takes a slow swig of wine, thumb swiping across his bottom lip afterward. He doesn’t reply with words. Just a tiny wine-stained smile.
You take another crunchy bite of your sandwich then take your phone out to snap a quick pic. God, it’s amazing.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks after a while.
“It’s my off,” you say, leaning your head back again. “So, nothing. Sleep. Maybe walk around if I feel like being a human. I know the girls wanna hit the beach.”
He nods. “Mm. You like the beach?”
“Sometimes. You?”
“Nah, I hate water.”
You smirk. He is never beating the catman allegations. “You got plans tomorrow?”
“Sleep,” he laughs.
You snort softly. “Of course.”
The rest of the ride is quiet after that. You part ways at the lobby drop off, where you go down, while the driver takes the private entrance for him as per protocol.
But later, in your room, the silence feels different. You catch your reflection in the mirror as you take the day off with a makeup wipe.
Your mom’s voice echoes faintly in your head. You sigh. You need to call her back in the morning. See if she changes her mind.
You peel your lashes away, letting your eyes revel in relief for a second.
You lick your lips and still taste the wine, the salt. You remember the quaint restaurant.
And Yoongi. The way he waited for you outside the studio. The softness in his face inside the car. The baby-sized bottle of red. Then shake your head lightly.
Was it a–? No way.
That couldn’t be what it felt like.
That couldn't have been a date.
A/N: Hehe <3
Please let me know what you think. Leave me a note, or a reblog with your review. It's the best way you can show your support.
Thank you for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo
Majeeee, you couldn't have given me a better birthday present, I love, love, love. I love the details in songs like Normal haha, and I love that Yoongi literally wants to kiss her aaaaaah
🎹 Pairing: BTS Suga (Min Yoongi) x Reader (Arts Center Founder!Reader)
Min Yoongi calls you after eight months of silence and asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for two weeks. You say yes, because you're apparently that person. The plan: convince his parents, collect the grant funding, don't catch feelings. The problem: you already have them. The bigger problem: so does he. The biggest problem: he wrote a whole song about it and neither of you has said a single word out loud.
Two weeks. A Fake relationship. Real everything else.
🎹 Genres: Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Angst with a dahs of Hope, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Celebrity x Non-Celebrity, Emotional Drama, He has written eight songs about her and she doesn't know it yet, It's a bit of a rom-com, Min Yoongi and his hair, (Yes, that is a genre) 🎹 Short summary: "The deal was twelve days of fake. It ended up being the only thing that wasn't."
🎹 Chapter index: Read Part One Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
🎹 Rating: 18+ (minors DNI)
🖤 THE B-SIDE SERIES MASTERLIST
You have never been good at lying to yourself.
For three and a half years, Min Yoongi was the one exception.
You called it friendship. You called it complicated. You called him the piano guy and never updated the name and filed everything else under things you were not going to examine directly — the lamp, the plant, the forty-seven buttons, the way the careful part of you went quiet every time he was close enough.
You are done lying to yourself.
You told him to come up.
Not with those words exactly — you were in the car outside your building, the studio still warm in your memory, and you looked at him and he looked at you and you said stay and that was the whole of it. He did not need more than that. He never has.
The elevator was not a neutral space.
This is worth noting. The elevator was not a space where two people stood at a reasonable distance and waited for their floor. The elevator was where his hands found your waist and your hands found his collar and by the time the doors opened you were both slightly less composed than when you entered and had made no decisions about fixing this.
The hallway required a brief pause.
Brief.
The code on your door required more concentration than it normally does, which is a new problem, because normally the code is automatic and tonight Yoongi has his mouth at your neck and both hands at your waist and is not helping, he is in fact the opposite of helping, and you mistype the code once, then again, and say his name in a tone that means stop and means don't stop simultaneously and he makes a sound against your skin that suggests he has understood both meanings and found them equally satisfying.
The door opens.
He walks you through it.
He closes it behind you.
And then your back meets the door and he kisses you and he is — smiling.
Not the almost-smile. He is actually smiling, against your mouth, in the way of someone who cannot help it, who has decided something and is so pleased about having decided it that the composure has simply given up for the evening.
Min Yoongi.
Giddy.
You pull back to look at him.
He looks back, still smiling, slightly out of breath, his hands on either side of your head against the door. The controlled exterior nowhere in evidence. The managed surface completely offline. Just him — warm and present and unreasonably, unguardedly happy in a way that you understand, looking at it, is rare. That most people never get to see. That he saves for a very short list of things and has apparently decided, tonight, to spend freely.
You are on that list.
You have always been on that list.
You kiss him again.
He makes a sound against your mouth that is almost a laugh.
You are not filing anything.
You are not filing anything ever again.
You are just — here.
Both of you. Finally.
He set his bag down by the door. He takes off his jacket. He is looking at you across the small distance between you with the focused patience of someone who has waited a very long time for something and is now, finally, in the room with it.
No performance.
No management.
Just him.
You take a breath.
"Seven days," you say.
He looks at you.
"It took us seven days," you say. "Out of twelve. Seven days to figure out we weren't pretending."
Something moves in his expression.
"Seven," he says.
"Seven," you confirm.
"Out of twelve."
"Out of twelve."
He looks at you.
You look at him.
The laugh starts somewhere in your chest and arrives before you can do anything about it — real and warm and slightly helpless, a laugh that looked at the full picture of the last three and a half years and found it both devastating and completely, specifically ridiculous. He makes a sound that is not quite a laugh and is more than the almost-smile — something that starts in his chest and gets into his face before he can stop it.
"We are so bad at this," you say, between laughs.
"We got there," he says.
"Eventually."
"Yes."
He kisses you again.
"Seven days," you say, against his mouth.
"Stop counting," he says.
"I'm going to count," you say. "For the rest of our life I'm going to—"
He kisses you again.
You stop counting.
This is different.
This is what you need to understand first — that this is categorically, structurally, fundamentally different from every time before. The fundraiser. The practice room. The kitchen floor. The office couch. The supply closet.
All of those were real. You know that now. But they were real the way things are real when they are happening underneath layers of other things — the pretending, the filing, the three and a half years of managing the distance. Real but contained. Real but unnamed.
This is named.
This is both of you having said the true thing and standing in it with nothing between you, and the difference is — it is a difference you feel in your chest before you feel it anywhere else. Something that has been careful for a very long time becoming, suddenly and completely, not careful at all.
He is not holding back.
This is the thing you notice first and keep noticing — that the version of him that exists when he is not performing anything for anyone and is not managing anything for anyone and has finally, finally decided to stop holding back is — he is—
He kisses your jaw. Your throat. He finds the place under your ear that he has located before and returns to it like he has been thinking about returning to it, and you make a sound, and he makes a sound back — low, satisfied, the sound of a man who has been paying very close attention and is pleased with what the attention has revealed.
"You make that sound every time," he says, against your skin.
"I do not," you say.
"You do." His mouth moves. "Here." He bites, lightly, and you make the sound. "See."
You grab his shirt.
He is not sorry about this.
He is, you are understanding, not going to be sorry about anything tonight.
You make it to your room.
Eventually.
The path there involves the hallway wall and the doorframe of your office and at some point a decision about the kitchen that gets reconsidered, and by the time you are in your room the clothes have made their own way to the floor — his jacket somewhere near the entrance, your top somewhere in the hallway, the rest of it surrendered in increments that neither of you planned or accounted for.
He is in front of you now and you are looking at him and you think: oh.
Min Yoongi wears clothes that are too big for him. This is known. This is documented. The oversized hoodies and the baggy sweats and the everything-several-sizes-larger-than-necessary that has always read as comfort, as aesthetic, as a man who has decided the clothes are not the point.
The clothes, you are now understanding, were doing a great deal of concealment.
He is not small.
He has never been small.
What he is, standing in your bedroom in the low light, is — the word sculpted arrives and you set it aside because it is insufficient. His shoulders. The line of his chest. The way the muscle moves under his skin when he breathes, when he reaches for you, when he runs a hand through his hair — all of it, every line of him, milky and warm in the lamplight, the kind of body that makes you understand viscerally that this man has been performing on stages since he was a teenager and that it has left its evidence.
You are staring.
He notices you staring.
He says nothing about it.
He almost smiles about it.
"Stop," you say.
"I didn't say anything," he says.
"You were about to," you say.
"I was going to say," he says, crossing the remaining distance, "that you should stop thinking and—"
He does not finish the sentence with words.
His mouth finds the valley of your chest instead — warm, unhurried, the wet press of his lips moving with the patience of someone who has decided there is no rush and intends to prove it. You feel it everywhere. The specific warmth of his mouth against your skin and the specific coolness of the air around it and the contrast of those two things is doing something to your breathing that you are not managing well.
Then he sucks, through the lace, deliberate and precise, and the sound you make is not something you planned.
He lifts his head.
He smiles.
It is not the giddy one from the door. That one was warm and helpless and new. This one is older — the smile of a man who already knew and is simply pleased to have been right. For a half second he looks almost like himself, the Yoongi who sits on floors and keeps camomille plants alive and lets a nine year old tell him his beanie is ugly.
Then his fingers hook into the fabric.
He pulls it down.
The cold air arrives and you shiver and he looks at you and the softness is gone.
What is there instead is feline — there is no other word for it. The dark eyes, the unhurried patience, the slight curve at the corner of his mouth that is not quite a smile and is not quite something else. A cat who has found exactly what he was looking for and has decided, having found it, that there is absolutely no reason to hurry.
He is going to toy with you first.
You understand this.
You are going to let him.
He looks at you like he already knows this too.
"Hi," he says.
Quiet. Conversational. Like he is greeting something he has been thinking about.
You stare at him.
"Yoongi—"
"Hi," he says again, to your chest, with the same tone, and then his mouth descends and you stop staring and stop thinking and stop doing most things that require voluntary cognitive function because Min Yoongi, who wears clothes three sizes too large and says approximately fourteen words per social interaction and has the resting composure of a man who has made his peace with the entire world — is taking his time.
He has always said he would.
He meant it.
His mouth latches onto your nipple — sucking first, then the edge of his teeth, so deliberate, so precise, like he has been thinking about exactly this and is executing the thought. Your hands go to his hair immediately, before you have decided to put them there, fingers threading through it, pulling slightly, and you think distantly that you wish he had kept it longer because you need something to hold onto and there is not enough of it and he is not helping you with this problem, he is in fact making it considerably worse.
His free hand moves.
Slow. Unhurried. Down your stomach, over the waistband, settling over the fabric of your underwear with the patient certainty of a man who knows exactly what he is doing and has decided to do it thoroughly.
He applies pressure.
Just that. Just his hand, just the pressure, just him looking up at you from where his mouth is still doing what it is doing, watching your face with the dark attentive eyes of someone who is running an experiment he already knows the results of.
You are embarrassingly, undeniably wet and he can feel it and you can feel him feel it and the sound that comes out of you is not planned and cannot be recalled.
Your knees go.
Not dramatically — just the simple physics of too much sensation arriving at once, your body making a decision your brain was not consulted on.
He notices immediately.
He always notices everything immediately.
He stops.
Both hands find your thighs — hooking underneath them, lifting, the easy strength of it doing something to your nervous system that you are going to be thinking about later — and he walks you back the few steps to your bed and sets you down on it with a care that is almost gentle and is also entirely deliberate, the care of someone handling something he has decided is precious and intends to keep.
He looks at you.
"I've got you, doll" he says.
You are going to think about that later too.
"I've got you," he says, against your temple. "I'm not letting you go. Not again."
His voice is low and certain and you know that he is not talking about this moment. Not just this moment. He is talking about the eight months and the kitchen floor and the three and a half years of almost and all the distance he put between you and all the distance he is done putting between you.
Not again.
Two words.
A promise.
You pull him closer.
You try to kiss him.
Min Yoongi has other plans.
He has a reputation to uphold — a man of very few words and very specific expertise, and right now the expertise in question has nothing to do with words. He trails his mouth down your chest, your stomach, his hands moving ahead of him, touching and caressing with the unhurried thoroughness of someone who has decided this is the task and intends to complete it properly. Down and down until his fingers find the hem of your underwear and he stops.
You watch him think about it.
You actually watch the thought form — the brief, considering pause of a man deciding between two options, both of which he finds equally appealing, which are: take his time, or abandon taking his time entirely and simply consume you.
He chooses.
The fabric tears.
He looks up at you with an expression that is almost sheepish and is entirely unapologetic — because he has done something slightly unreasonable and has assessed the situation and decided he is not sorry about it.
"I'll buy you more," he says.
You do not reply.
Because Min Yoongi has hooked both arms under your thighs and put his face between your legs and whatever pace he was keeping before is completely gone. He is done taking his time. He has taken his time, he has been taking his time since a supply closet and a confessional and a studio with children's drawings on the walls, and he is now doing the opposite of taking his time with a focused enthusiasm that is — the word that surfaces is dedicated, the word that surfaces after that is devastating.
He licks and sucks and finds every place that makes you say his name and stays there until you say it differently, and when you do he pushes two fingers in without stopping and the combination of his mouth and his hands and his other hand at the inside of your thigh, caressing the sensitive skin there with an attention that says I notice everything, I have always noticed everything — it builds fast and breaks faster and you come with your hands in his hair and his name in your throat and your back off the bed.
He lifts his head.
The look on his face is devilish.
There is no other word for it. Satisfied and dark and entirely, shamelessly pleased with himself — a man who has just proven a point and knows it and is not performing modesty about it.
He gets up from the bed.
He pulls his boxers down.
You—
You have been with this man before. Twice. The first time was dark and you were both somewhere between drunk and desperate and fully clothed and the second time was your desk, behind you, not enough time to look. This is the first time you see him. All of him. In the warm light of your bedroom, standing at the end of your bed, fully and unapologetically himself.
Gorgeous is insufficient.
He is looking at you.
He knows what you are thinking — of course he knows, he always knows, and he is for the first time you have ever witnessed completely shameless about it.
He wraps a hand around himself.
Slow. Deliberate.
His eyes on you.
"I've thought about this," he says, his hand moving in a slow, unhurried stroke, watching your face watch him. "Specifically."
You swallow.
"How specifically," you manage.
"Very." He puts one knee on the bed. His eyes are doing the thing, fully deployed, the melted dark of them landing on you like a hand. "Since the Flower Room."
"That was three and a half years ago," you say.
"Yes," he says, and the yes contains everything — the lamp and the plant and the notebook and all the languages that were not the one you needed, all of it distilled into one syllable said by a man who is done waiting and is kneeling over you now, his hands finding your hips, pulling you down the bed toward him until you are exactly where he wants you.
"Yoongi," you say.
"Mm."
"Stop talking and—"
"No," he says.
You stare at him.
He looks back — unhurried, certain, the expression of a man who has waited three and a half years and has made a very specific decision about how tonight is going to go and is not accepting input on the matter.
"I have things I want to say," he says. "I'm going to say them."
He lines himself up.
He pushes in.
The bedframe finds the wall.
Your vision does something.
And he says them.
All the things he has been saving — not the fast-talking version, not the running-out-of-breath version, but the low deliberate version, the one that exists when he has decided something matters enough to say it slowly. Against your throat. Your jaw. Your ear. Your name said the way he says it when something is serious enough to require the most accurate word.
He says: you are the most real thing I have.
He says: I have been in love with you since a doorway in late autumn and I will be in love with you from every city the tour takes me to and I will text you when I land, every time, wherever I am.
He says: I should have said this three and a half years ago.
He says your name.
Just that.
Your name, in his voice, in the room that is yours, in the warm light.
And you say his.
And you mean everything it contains.
Afterward, you are in your bed and the city is outside doing what it does and the apartment is warm and quiet and everything that has been building for three and a half years has finally, completely arrived.
He is on his back.
You are beside him.
You are both looking at the ceiling.
"Seven days," you say.
He makes the sound that is his version of a laugh.
"Three and a half years," he says. "And seven days."
His hand finds yours. He does not make a thing of it. He just — holds it, the way he holds things he has decided about.
"I'm leaving for the tour in a week," he says.
The thing that has been sitting in the room with you. Said, finally. Plain.
"I know," you say.
"Six months," he says. "And the days before I leave are packed. Schedules, press, the members, and I—" He stops. Starts again. "I just found you. I mean — I've always had you but I just — we just—" He exhales. "I want to make it up to you. I want to make the week count. I'll clear whatever I can clear, I'll make sure that every day before I go we have—"
"Yoongi," you say.
He stops.
"I know what my boyfriend does for a living," you say.
He goes very still.
A pause.
A significant pause.
He turns his head to look at you.
You look back at the ceiling.
"Say that again," he says.
"No," you say.
"Say it again."
"I won't."
"You can't take it back," he says. "No take backs. You said it."
You look at him.
He is looking at you with an expression that is trying very hard to be composed and is not composed at all — the ears already going, both of them, the full set, and underneath the composure something that looks like a man who has just received something he has been wanting for a very long time and is not sure what to do with his face about it.
"You," you say, slowly, with great ceremony, "are my boyfriend, Min Yoongi."
He grabs your face with both hands.
He kisses you.
When he pulls back he is still holding your face and he is looking at you with the real smile — the one his father said was the real one, the one that only comes out when he is not performing anything for anyone.
"Yes," he says. "I am yours." A pause. "And you are mine." Another pause. "This time for real."
"This time for real," you agree.
He kisses you again.
"I still have to leave," he says, against your temple. Quieter now.
"I know."
"Six months is—"
"Long," you say. "Yes. And you're going to have the time of your life while I'm here managing Seojun's tempo opinions alone, which is a lot to ask of one person, I want you to know that."
He makes the sound.
"I'm kidding," you say. "Mostly." You pause. "I expect pictures. And treats. And updates. Every city." You pause again. "Wait — are you going to Mexico?"
He looks at you.
"You need to find a tienda and buy me pulparindo," you say. "It's this tamarind candy. It comes in a little red packet. You're going to think it looks wrong and then you're going to taste it and you're going to understand."
"Okay," he says, with the tone of someone filing this under important.
"And Madrid," you say, sitting up slightly, warming to this. "There's a churrería on Calle del Pez — it has been there for sixty years, possibly longer, the sign looks like it has survived multiple governments, and the churros are the kind of thing you eat and then sit quietly for several minutes because your understanding of what food can be has shifted fundamentally."
He is looking at you.
"And London," you say. "My mother's friend runs a Korean fried chicken restaurant in New Malden — it's a whole neighborhood, actually, very Korean, you'll feel at home — and her chicken is better than anything you will find here and I will die on that hill and I am aware of where here is."
He is still looking at you.
The expression on his face is soft and warm and entirely focused — the way he listens to things he finds worth listening to, from the inside out, all of it.
"Have you lived in all those places," he says.
"Most of them," you say. "For various amounts of time. My mother had opinions about geography."
"You never told me that."
"You never asked."
"I'm asking now," he says.
You look at him.
"I moved a lot," you say. "Growing up. Different cities, different countries, sometimes different continents. It was—" You stop. "It was a lot of things. Some of them good."
He is quiet for a moment.
Then: "Come with me."
You look at him.
"To some of them," he says. "The ones you know. Show me the churrería. Show me the chicken place in New Malden. Show me wherever you grew up, wherever you liked, wherever you have memories that I don't know about yet." He looks at you. "Dani can handle center operations. You have other teachers. Come with me to your favorite places."
You look at him.
You think about this.
You think about being seen — about cameras and fansites and the very public nature of Min Yoongi existing in the world and what it would mean for you to exist in that world beside him.
"If we're seen together—" you start.
He thinks for a moment.
"I'll find a way," he says. Simple. The tone of someone who has decided something is possible and is not asking for a debate about it.
You look at him for a long moment.
"I'll think about it," you say.
He raises an eyebrow.
He makes the sound. The real laugh, almost.
"It'll be fun," you say. "Probably."
"Probably," he agrees.
"And the candy—"
"I'll find the candy," he says.
"And the churros—"
"I'll find the churros."
"And you'll text me when you land," you say. "Every time."
"Every time," he says. "I know."
He pulls you back down.
You settle against him — his arm around you, your head at his shoulder, the city outside doing what it does, Tang somewhere at the foot of the bed having reasserted his position.
His hand moves in your hair.
Slow. Absent. The way he traces things when he is not deciding what to think yet.
"The pulparindo," he says, after a while.
"Yes," you say.
"It comes in a red packet."
"Little red packet, yes."
"And it looks wrong."
"It looks a little wrong," you admit. "But you'll understand when you taste it."
A pause.
"Okay," he says.
You smile into his shoulder.
His arm tightens around you.
Just slightly. Just enough.
You close your eyes.
The days before the tour have a specific quality to them.
Not sad, exactly. Not the countdown-of-a-bad-thing. More like the way the last hour of a very good day feels — you are still in it, still present, still here, but you are aware of its edges in a way you were not earlier, when it felt like it might just go on.
Seven days.
You know how to count seven days now. You have practice.
He picks you up from the center every evening.
This is not discussed. It simply becomes true — you finish your last session, you lock the Dragon Room, you say goodnight to Dani who says goodnight back with the specific serenity of someone who has been waiting for this particular development for a very long time and is choosing not to comment on it, and Yoongi is outside. In the car. Two minutes early, always two minutes early, which you have decided to simply accept as a fact about him rather than continue remarking on.
Sometimes he comes inside first.
Sits on the floor of the Flower Room while the Wednesday group runs their rehearsal — back against the wall, legs crossed, going nowhere. He has decided this is worth his time. He is giving it his time.Jisoo sits beside him — her wrist in its cast, unable to play, which you have noticed costs her more than she lets on. She watches the other kids with the expression of someone who has opinions and is exercising restraint about sharing them.
Yoongi, beside her, is also exercising restraint.
You can tell because his face is doing the thing it does when he has something to say and has decided not to say it — the slight tightening, the controlled neutral, the look of a man watching Park Nari approach the violin as though it has personally wronged her and intends to address this through volume.
You stand in the doorway and watch them watch the rehearsal.
At some point Jisoo says something quietly.
At some point Yoongi says something back.
Neither of them looks at each other. They are both watching the rehearsal with the expressions of people who are not discussing it at all.
Park Nari reaches the difficult passage.
Jisoo winces.
Yoongi closes his eyes briefly.
"She's getting better," Yoongi says, quietly, in the tone of someone trying very hard to be generous.
"Mhmm," Jisoo says, in the same tone.
A pause.
"Better than what," Jisoo says.
"Better than last week," Yoongi says.
"Last week she made Seojun cry," Jisoo says.
"She's getting better," Yoongi says again, with the conviction of a man who has committed to a position and is staying there regardless.
They both watch Park Nari navigate the passage with the focused energy of someone who has decided that technique is a suggestion and passion is the real instrument.
"I could play it better," Jisoo says quietly.
The words come out matter-of-fact and then land differently than she intended — you see it happen, the slight change in her expression afterward, the way she looks at her cast. Just for a moment. Just a flicker of something that is not the seventy-three year old soul but the twelve year old child, the one who lost her parents at eight and got her cast signed by her center friends and has been coming here every week because this is the one place where the music is hers.
She can't play.
Her wrist is in a cast and she cannot play and she is twelve years old watching other kids do the thing she loves most and she is trying very hard to be philosophical about it.
Yoongi looks at her.
He does not say anything.
He reaches over and picks up a marker from the floor beside them — thick, black, the kind the kids use for projects — without saying anything about it, without making it a gesture.
He takes her cast.
He draws.
It takes about forty seconds. You cannot see what he is drawing from the doorway but you watch his face while he does it — focused, slightly entertained with himself, the expression of someone executing a small idea and finding it satisfying.
He finishes.
He caps the marker.
He holds her arm up so she can see.
Tang. On her cast. Rendered in Yoongi's hand — small, round, deeply unimpressed with everything, one ear slightly higher than the other, signed in small precise letters at the bottom: Min Yoongi.
Jisoo looks at it.
She looks at him.
"I could sell this," she says.
He rolls his eyes.
She laughs — the real one, surprised out of her, the twelve year old laugh, not the seventy-three year old one. He almost smiles. They both look back at the rehearsal.
Park Nari has reached the passage again.
They both wince simultaneously.
"Getting better," Yoongi says.
"Getting better," Jisoo agrees, without conviction.
You stand in the doorway and watch him — this man who stood on a stage last week in front of sixty thousand people and is now sitting on a floor drawing a cat on a twelve year old's cast because he noticed she was sad about it and did not make a thing of the noticing.
You do not hide that you are watching anymore.
He knows.
He has always known.
He does not make it a thing.
Dinner with his family almost every night.
His father at the head of the table, the card game inevitable, the Daegu accent surfacing more frequently now — you have noticed this, the accent getting thicker as the visit draws toward its end, like the city he came from reasserting itself as Seoul releases its hold. You find it, every time, the most Yoongi thing about him. The thing that came before everything else. The thing that stayed.
His mother refills your glass before you notice it is low.
Haerin has started smiling at things. Small, unpracticed smiles, the expressions of someone discovering that faces can do this — Jihoon is unreasonably moved by every single one and Eunji has stopped pretending she is not photographing all of them.
One evening — day nine, after the card game, in the specific warmth of the apartment after dinner when everyone is settled and full and nobody wants to be the first to say the evening is ending — you say it.
You put down your tea.
You look at the table.
"I want to say something," you say.
The table looks at you.
"I'm sorry," you say. "For the pretending. For sitting at this table for twelve days under—" You stop. "I want you to know that everything I feel for your family is real. It was always real. The other thing—" You stop again. "I'm sorry."
A pause.
His father laughs.
Not politely. Not the small one. The real one — full, surprised, the laugh that gets into his eyes, the one that is exactly his son's when something catches him completely off guard.
"Kid," he says, when he has recovered enough to speak, "the only two people in this room who thought you weren't in love with each other — were the two of you."
You stare at him.
"We had a bet," Jihoon says, with the energy of a man who has been waiting to say this for days.
"Yes," the aunt says, from the corner where she has been very quietly drinking her tea and waiting for exactly this moment. "And you all owe me a hundred thousand won each."
The table erupts.
His mother has her hand over her mouth. Eunji is making no attempt to hide her delight. Jihoon is shaking his head with the expression of a man who lost money on this and has complicated feelings about it. His father is still laughing, the Daegu in it thick and warm and real.
You look at Yoongi.
He is looking at you.
Both of you are the exact color of the Dragon Room door.
Both of you. The full set. Down to the ears.
"How long," you say, to the table, to anyone who will answer.
"Since the first dinner," his mother says, pleasantly. "He looked at you when you weren't looking at him and I thought: oh. There it is."
"I said two weeks," Jihoon says. "I was wrong. I paid up."
"I said six days," his father says, with great satisfaction. "I won."
You look at his father.
His father looks back at you with eyes that are his son's eyes, warm and knowing, the look of a man who cheated at cards and taught you how to cheat at cards and has apparently also been running a separate operation regarding your love life since the second course of the first dinner.
Then his aunt sets down her tea with the energy of a woman who has been waiting for her moment and has decided it has arrived.
"And you," she says, pointing at you with the confidence of someone who has earned this. "Pretty boy over there, don't think that because your face is on the television and you are very rich you get to forfeit your debt."
The table looks at her.
"Auntie—" Yoongi starts.
"I made a different bet," she says, to the room, with great dignity. "I knew what has happening on the first day. When everyone else was betting on timelines, I bet something else entirely."
"What did you bet," Jihoon says, leaning forward.
"I bet," she says, "that she loved our Yoongi just as much as he loved her."
The table goes quiet.
Not the card game quiet. Something warmer than that.
You look at your hands.
You feel, in your chest, something that does not have a clean word — the specific warmth of being known by people you have not known long enough to deserve being known by, of being included in something before you had earned the inclusion, of a family that decided you were theirs before you had decided anything about yourself.
Yoongi is looking at the table.
Both ears. Full set. Pink from the shell down.
"So," his aunt continues, "you owe me a hundred thousand won." A pause. "And Mrs. Oh as well. She said the same thing. I checked with her this morning."
"You called Mrs. Oh—" Yoongi starts.
"I called Mrs. Oh," his aunt confirms.
The table erupts.
The table laughs again.
You are laughing too, despite yourself, despite the Dragon Room door situation, despite the fact that you have been very thoroughly and publicly known for this entire visit and somehow managed to not notice.
Yoongi is laughing.
The broken-at-the-edges version, the one that is also crying a little, the one you have catalogued and loved and will keep.
His father watches him.
His expression, above the laughter, is the one you have seen before — the one that counts things. Good moments. Full rooms.
You look at him.
He catches you looking.
He winks.
You look at your tea.
You are going to miss him.
You are going to miss all of them.
This is not a thought you were prepared to have, and you have it anyway, and it sits in your chest quietly and you let it.
A routine forms in the days before the tour.
Not discussed. Not planned. Simply true, the way things become true when they are actually right.
Dinner with his family. The walk to the car. Him saying he will drop you off, you saying that is fine, both of you being extremely bad liars.
He does not drop you off.
He comes upstairs.
Every night, in the warm dark of your apartment, he makes love to you like someone who is memorizing something they will be without for six months — every sound, every moment, all of it filed with the same care he has always given to things he has decided matter. And every night you show him — not with words, because you have always been better at the other languages — exactly how real your feelings are. How long they have been real. How thoroughly you are done lying to yourself about them.
You are both, it turns out, very bad at dropping each other off.
You are both, it turns out, very good at this.
The lounge at Goyang Stadium is not what you expected.
You are not sure what you expected — something more utilitarian, more infrastructure, more this is where people wait. What it actually is, is warm and well-appointed and full of people who belong to the kind of life that includes private lounges at concert stadiums. Company artists you recognize from album covers and variety shows. Industry people with lanyards and the specific focused energy of people who are here for work and also very glad to be here. A table of food that is actually good, which you know because you have eaten approximately none of it and are aware of this as a failing.
The view is extraordinary.
Floor to ceiling windows looking out over the stadium — sixty thousand seats filling as you watch, the wave of it, the specific energy of a crowd assembling itself into something larger than its parts. The stage below. The lights above. All of it visible from the lounge in a way that makes it feel both close and impossible simultaneously.
You are standing at the window.
Jisoo is beside you.
Her wrist is in its cast, elevated at the angle Minho specified. She is looking at the stadium below and she is — not memorizing it exactly, not cataloguing it the way she catalogues other things. Something else. Her eyes are moving over the stage, the production setup, the light rigs and the sound equipment and the infrastructure of something this large, with the expression of a girl standing at the edge of a world she did not know existed and finding that it fits the shape of something she has been carrying around inside her without a name for it yet.
You have seen this look before.
Not on Jisoo. On the kids who come to the center for the first time and pick up an instrument and go very still because something has clicked into place that they did not know was missing.
Oh, you think. There it is.
You file it. Not to ignore — to protect. You will talk to Jisoo's sister first, before you say anything to Jisoo, before you mention HYBE's training program or what Yoongi could do with one phone call, before any of it becomes real enough to hope for and therefore real enough to lose. You will do it carefully, the way you do everything for these kids — with both hands, without rushing, making sure the door is open before you tell anyone it exists.
But later.
Tonight, Jisoo gets to stand at a window and watch a dream take shape without knowing yet that it is hers.
Her sister stands beside her — quieter, tireder, but here. You know a little of her story from Jisoo, the way you know most things about your kids — in pieces, offered carefully, the details that surface when trust has been built over time. The architecture internship that finally came through. The three jobs that became two and then one as things slowly, slowly started to go right. She was barely an adult when their parents died and she became, overnight, the only thing standing between Jisoo and a world that does not make space for children who have lost everything. She has been holding that position ever since, without complaint, without asking anyone to notice.
You notice.
Jisoo is funny and old-souled and sharp and loves music the way very few people do — and she is all of those things because someone made sure she had the space to become them. Someone worked three jobs and showed up and kept the lights on and let Jisoo be a child even when she herself did not get to be one.
You look at her watching her sister.
The tiredness is real. So is everything else in her face.
She is a good kid, you think, raising a good kid.
"Stop doing the thing," Jisoo says.
"What thing," you say.
"The finger thing," she says. "You count people when you're anxious. There are three of us. You don't need to count."
You look at your hand.
You are doing the finger thing.
"I'm not anxious," you say.
"You're doing the thing," she says.
"I'm fine," you say.
"You're fine," she agrees, in the tone of someone who finds this characterization generous but is choosing not to say so.
You look at the stadium.
Fifty thousand seats.
Him, somewhere beneath the stage, probably doing the thing he does before concerts — the quiet version, the interior running at full speed while the exterior idles. You know this. You know what he looks like before he performs. You know what he looks like after. You know the face underneath the face and the version that exists when nothing is required of him and the way his ears go pink when something catches him off guard and the specific sound of his laugh when it escapes before he can stop it.
You know him.
"Everyone is here," Jisoo says.
You look at her.
"Who matters," she says. "Is here."
She says it with the serenity of someone who has already made peace with the evening and is simply waiting for it to begin — twelve years old and seventy-three simultaneously, the old soul in the too-big cast with the Tang drawing on the side.
"Okay," you say.
"Good," she says.
She goes back to cataloguing.
Jin's wife finds you before you find her.
This is, you are learning, simply how she operates — she is the gravity of any room she is in, the person things orient around without being asked to, and she pulls you into a hug before you have fully registered that she is there. Both arms. The real kind. The kind that does not ask permission because it already knows you need it.
She holds on for a moment longer than a greeting requires.
You let her.
"I am so glad," she says, close to your ear, "that you are finally happy."
You pull back. You look at her.
"He came for drinks with the members last week," she says, with the expression of someone delivering information she has been saving. "Got properly drunk. Which he never does. And said—" She pauses for effect. "That he was so glad he didn't fuck it up."
You look at her.
"He did fuck it up," she says, pleasantly. "A bit. But I'm glad he got there."
"Me too," you say.
She beams.
Then she looks at something over your shoulder and her expression shifts into the specific warmth of a woman who has been waiting to make an introduction."Come," she says. "There are people you need to meet."
There is a woman standing near the monitor with a cup of something warm, wearing jeans and a white shirt under a coat and a cap pulled low. The clothes are simple, almost deliberately so, but there is something about the way she carries herself — the ease of someone who takes up exactly the right amount of space, no more and no less, like she was simply born knowing how much room she was allowed.
She laughs when Jin's wife starts explaining the story of how you and Yoongi got together.
"I have heard this three times," she says, "and it gets more dramatic with every telling."
"It was dramatic," Jin's wife says, without apology.
"It was," you confirm.
The woman looks at you with warm, curious eyes.
"You built the music center," she says. Not a question.
"Yes."
"Yoongi talks about it," she says. "All the time. The kids, the work, the—" She pauses. "You. He talked about you all the time. Tae used to say—" She stops. Smiles. "Never mind what Tae used to say."
"What did he say," you say.
"That Yoongi talked about the center the way people talk about home," she says.
You look at her.
You think about yellow walls and the Dragon Room and Seojun's sign above the door and a lamp in the corner of the Flower Room that nobody asked for and that was always yours.
"Yeah," you say, quietly. "Yeah, I think that's right."
Jin's wife, who has been listening to this with the expression of a woman who finds all of it deeply satisfying, grabs your arm.
"Okay but wait," she says, "you need to hear how she and Tae got together because I cannot — it is literally the plot of a romantic comedy, they didn't know who the other one was, there is a baby goat involved—"
"There was one goat," the woman says, with great dignity.
"A baby goat," Jin's wife says. "We need to get together and properly talk. All of us. I need you to hear this story."
You look at the woman.
She looks back with the expression of someone who has accepted that the goat is always going to be part of the story and has made her peace with it.
"I'd like that," you say.
"Good," Jin's wife says, satisfied.
You look at her.
"How did you and Jin meet?" you ask.
She smiles.
Not the strategic smile — the real one, the warm one, the one that belongs to someone who is thinking about something they love.
"He stole some bread," she says. "And my heart. The same day." A pause. "Fifteen years later, here we are." She looks out at the stadium, at the stage being prepared below, at sixty thousand seats filling with people who have been waiting four years for this night. "I've watched them go through so much," she says, quieter now. "All of them. The good years and the hard ones and everything in between. And now—" She stops. Looks back at you. "Now they're finding their people. One by one." Something in her face settles into something warm and certain. "I'm so glad to be here for this part."
You look at her.
You think about fifteen years of knowing seven men before the world knew them. Of being there for the hard years. Of making cookies that taste like everything is going to be okay and showing up at music centers and sewing labels into wedding dresses and holding this whole found family together with both hands while never once making it about herself.
"I'm glad you're here too," you say.
She squeezes your arm.
"Now," she says, brightening, "the goat story. You need to hear the goat story."
She is already there when you turn around.
Standing near the wall, talking to a crew member, and the first thing you notice is not what she looks like but how she exists in the space — the way her body is always doing something even when it is doing nothing, a constant low-level awareness of itself, every shift of weight landing with a precision that does not feel practiced so much as deeply, completely internalized. You have seen this quality before, in people who have spent years training their bodies to be instruments. She is one of those people.
She notices you noticing.
She gives you a small nod.
You give one back.
"That's Jiminnie's dance company director," Jin's wife says, appearing at your elbow. "She's been helping choreograph part of the show. She's been here all week."
"She's good," you say.
"She's extraordinary," Jin's wife says, with the specific conviction of someone who knows the difference.
On the monitor, the sound check feed shifts — Jimin crosses the stage, says something to the choreographer, runs a section of movement.
You glance at the woman near the wall.
She is watching the monitor.
Her face does something.
Just for a second. A flicker — something that moves through her expression and is gone before it fully arrives, managed quickly, put away. But you saw it. The particular quality of someone seeing something they are not allowing themselves to see directly.
You know this look.
You have been making this look for three and a half years.
You realize you are staring.
Jin's wife realizes you are staring at the same moment.
"Don't," she says pleasantly.
"I wasn't going to—"
"Don't ask," she says.
She looks back at you with a smile that says: yes. I know. We all know. They are exactly like you two were, possibly worse, and I have been watching it happen for longer than either of them realizes.
She says none of this out loud.
She does not need to.
"Okay," you say.
"Good," she says.
You look back at the woman near the wall.
She has returned to her conversation with the crew member. Composed. Present. The flicker completely gone from her face, the surface held exactly where she wants it.
You understand this.
The seats are just outside the lounge — arranged in a private section, close enough to the stage that the sound will hit you first before you hear it properly, far enough back that the cameras sweeping the crowd will not find you unless they are looking. You settle into yours.
Yoongi's family arrives as the venue fills.
His mother spots you first. A small wave — warm, contained, the two of you in silent agreement about what public means right now. His father beside her, moving carefully. His aunt already scanning the stadium like she is conducting a survey and intends to cover every section. Jihoon and Eunji with Haerin in the carrier, Haerin asleep and has decided that sixty thousand people is not a sufficient reason to wake up.
You wave back.
Small. Careful.
There are cameras everywhere. Industry people with lenses. Fan accounts with equipment. The specific infrastructure of sixty thousand people documenting an event in real time. You are not ready — not for this, not yet, not the public version of the thing that is still so new and so yours that making it visible feels like opening a window on something that needs a little more time indoors first.
Namjoon's relationship is public now — the doctor, the announcement, the internet processing it with the specific frenzy of something it has been speculating about for months. Jin and his wife will be next, you think. The announcement. Times are changing for all of them, the private things becoming public one by one, the world expanding to include what has always been true.
You are not ready to be next.
Not yet.
Soon, maybe.
You look back at the stage.
The woman sitting beside Jin's wife is dressed like someone who thinks carefully about what she wears — not for an audience, for herself, the difference visible in the way nothing is performed about it. Her glasses. The tip of her nose slightly red, the kind of red that comes from crying recently and collecting yourself afterward, the effort of the collecting still present if you know what to look for.
She is holding Jin's wife's hand.
On her other side, the choreographer. Also holding her hand. Her eyes are on the stage feed, not on the woman beside her, but her grip says everything her eyes aren't — firm, present, not going anywhere.
You look at this arrangement.
Two people holding one person up from either side.
You have been on the receiving end of this kind of love — not the dramatic kind, not the kind that announces itself, but the quiet kind, the kind that shows up and holds on and does not make a thing of holding on.
You do not ask.
You sit with the warmth of it for a moment instead.
Minho arrives twelve minutes before the concert starts.
You hear him before you see him — or rather you hear the reaction, the specific ripple of a room noticing something, and you turn around and he is there in a white BTS t-shirt with RM across the back in large letters, a Dodgers cap, lightstick in hand, and the purple light-up headband with BTS 💜 ARMY in silver letters that you last saw at Gwanghwamun and apparently he owns and wears with commitment on top of his cap.
He spots you.
He points at the headband.
He mouths: "I've had it for years."
You press your lips together.
You lose the battle in three seconds.
He makes his way over, settles into the seat beside you with the ease of someone who belongs wherever he decides to be, and looks at the stage feed on the monitor.
"He looks good," Minho says. Conversationally.
You look at the monitor.
Yoongi is on the stage feed doing a last sound check, moving through it with the focused economy of someone who is already somewhere else in his head — already in the concert, already in it.
"He does," you say.
Minho is quiet for a moment.
"I'm glad," he says. "That you're happy. Finally."
You look at him.
This man who loved you for a year and a half with the patient, generous love of someone who knew, somewhere underneath, that he was not quite the right answer but stayed until you both knew it fully. This man who has his own person now — someone you have not met yet, someone who makes him look, you have noticed, like a person who has finally found somewhere to put all that capacity for care. This man in a BTS t-shirt with Namjoon's name on the back.
"Minho," you say.
"Mm."
"I'm sorry," you say.
Not I'm sorry for how things ended. Not the surface version. The real one — the one that has been sitting in you since a restaurant and a mint green dress and a man who looked at you across a table and said go because he already knew.
"I'm sorry," you say, "that I couldn't give you what you deserved. That you were patient with me for so long while I was—" You stop. "While I was lying to myself. You knew. You always knew. And you stayed anyway because that is who you are, and I took that for granted, and I—"
"Hey," he says.
You look at him.
His face is warm. No residue of anything — no hurt, no bitterness, no complicated accounting. Just Minho, who processes things cleanly because he learned how, who decided a long time ago that loving people well means releasing them when releasing them is the right thing.
"Some people," he says, "are just meant for each other. And the people who love them get to be in the room when they figure it out." He looks at the monitor. "I was in the room." A pause. "That's not nothing."
You look at him.
"It's not nothing," you say.
"No," he says. "It really isn't."
His phone starts going.
His phone goes off.
He looks at the screen.
Something happens to his face — small, quick, schooled almost immediately. But you saw it. The thing that happens when someone you love contacts you and you are not prepared for how glad you are about it. You have seen this look on him before, in a hospital corridor, when you mentioned a certain orthopedic surgeon.
You look at the contact name on his screen from the corner of your eye.
My Least Favorite Person 🩺
You look away.
"You should get that," you say.
"I'm going to get that," he says, already answering, "but say hi first—"
He turns the phone around.
She is in LA. It is four in the morning there — you do the math automatically, the habit of someone who has always tracked time zones — and she is awake, which means she stayed up for this, which means she has been awake since approximately whenever the concert started and has been watching the livestream with the focused attention of a woman who is both the head physician of the LA Dodgers medical team and someone with a very personal interest in the ankle health of one specific performer currently on stage in Goyang.
She is in what appears to be her living room, no scrubs tonight, her hair down, a mug in her hand, and the expression of someone trying very hard to appear casual about watching seven men she loves perform together for the first time in four years at four in the morning in Los Angeles.
She is not succeeding at casual.
"Hi," you say.
"Hi," she says. Then immediately: "How is he walking? Any compensation on the left side? Because I watched the sound check footage and I—"
"He's fine," Minho says.
"He's compensating slightly," she says.
"He's fine," Minho says.
"That is not a medical assessment—"
"He is fine," Minho says, "and he is on stage and you are going to watch the livestream and trust me because I am his doctor BEST-friend and I am telling you he is fine."
She looks at him through the screen with the expression of one medical professional assessing the confidence of another and finding it adequate but not airtight.
"Fine," she says.
"Say hi to everyone," Minho says, and turns the phone.
She sees Jin's wife, who waves with both hands. The woman with the cap, who nods warmly. Jisoo's sister, who gives a small wave. Jisoo herself, who waves with her whole arm. The woman with the glasses, who lifts a hand. The choreographer beside her.
You.
"Hi," she says, to all of you.
"Hi," everyone says back.
The phone sweeps slowly across the section — Seoul at a stadium at night, LA at four in the morning, all of it in the same frame for one moment. Jin's wife. The woman with the cap. Jisoo and her sister. The woman with the glasses and the choreographer beside her. Minho in his light-up headband. You.
All of you together In the same place.
Your chest does something that you do not have a clean word for, yet. But you have a feeling you will very soon.
The lights go down.
He said he would come to you after.
He comes.
You are in your apartment. You have been in your apartment for forty minutes, changed out of the concert clothes, made tea you have not drunk, sat on the couch with Tang who has installed himself on your lap with the dedicated permanence of an animal who has decided this is where he lives now and is not reconsidering.
You are not thinking about anything specific.
You are thinking about everything simultaneously.
The rain, three years ago, standing under an awning with your hand over your mouth thinking everyone who burns that bright does. The rain tonight, sixty thousand people standing in it without leaving because some things are worth standing in the rain for.
The first time he came to the center, a black beanie like arriving somewhere they did not expect to find interesting and finding it interesting anyway.
The lamp.
The plant.
Seven days out of twelve.
Everyone is here. He found you.
Your door opens.
He is completely soaked.
Concert clothes — dark, soaked through, his hair doing what his hair does when weather has won the argument, water running off him onto your floor. He has not stopped to change. He has not stopped for anything. He came from the stage to here, in the rain, in the state the rain left him in.
He is standing in your doorway.
He is looking at you.
You look at him.
You look at the floor, which he is making a mess of.
You look at him again.
The lobby is marble, you think. The lobby is marble and the elevator is smooth and quiet and I stood under his awning once in a mint green dress thinking everyone who burns that bright does, and then I walked to my car, and then I drove home, and then I cried.
That was then.
This is now.
He is standing in your doorway drenched in rain and looking at you like you are the only thing in the room worth looking at, which is what he has always done, which you have always known, which you spent three and a half years filing under things you were not going to examine directly.
You are done filing.
You cross the room.
You kiss him.
He is soaking wet and he is making a mess of your floor and he tastes like rain and he kisses you back with the full attention of someone who has been on a stage in front of sixty thousand people for two hours and has been thinking about this the entire time.
"You're making a mess of my floor," you say, against his mouth.
"I know," he says.
"You should shower first," you say.
He pulls back.
He looks at you.
"Come with me," he says.
The shower is warm.
This is, you think, the most ordinary extraordinary thing — standing in warm water with him, the rain washed off, the concert washed off, all of it washed off until it is just the two of you in the steam and the quiet. His hands in your hair. Your hands at his jaw. The specific ease of two people who have stopped managing the distance and are simply close.
He washes your hair.
You did not ask him to.
He does it anyway, his hands careful and unhurried, and you stand with your eyes closed and your back against his chest and think: this is what it looks like. This is the real thing. Not the grand gestures — this. The lamp and the plant and the hair and the text me when you land.
The ordinary things made extraordinary by the fact that he means them.
All of them.
Always.
Afterward, in your bed, in the warm dark of your apartment, with Tang reinstalled between you because he has opinions about sleeping arrangements and nobody asked him and he does not care — you are both looking at the ceiling.
His hand finds yours.
He traces something on your palm. Slow, absent, the way he traces things when he is thinking without deciding yet what he is thinking about.
You look at your phone.
"Jin's wife started a groupchat," you say.
A pause.
"You have a groupchat," he says.
"It's called Very official business, and I did not name it and I am not taking questions about who did."you say.
He makes a sound.
"Tae's person," you say, reading, "is very cool, by the way. She has promised to bring puppies to the center. The kids are going to lose it completely."
"Mm."
"Jin's wife," you say, and you pause because there is a lot to say about Jin's wife and you are not sure where to start. "I already knew her. From the center. But tonight was—" You stop. "How does one person have that much energy. She introduced me to everyone, she knew exactly who needed what, she made sure Jisoo was okay, she held someone's hand, she told me the bread story, she tried to tell me the goat story—"
"The goat story," he says, recognizing this immediately.
"There's a goat," you say.
"There is a goat," he confirms.
"She acts like an older sister," you say. "To all of us. Like she has always been that. Like she decided at some point that this was her family and she was going to take care of all of them and she has just — never stopped."
Yoongi is quiet for a moment.
"She has," he says. "Always been like that. Since before I knew what to make of it." A pause. "Noona is one of the most remarkable people I know." He says it simply, the way he says things that are true and have been true for a long time. "You have to be something extraordinary to match Jin-hyung's energy for fifteen years and still have anything left."
"He does have a lot of energy," you say.
"He has so much energy," Yoongi says, with the fond exhaustion of someone who has been adjacent to that energy since he was a teenager and has made his peace with it. "She matches it. Every time. I don't know how she does it. I have never known how she does it."
You think about her in the lounge tonight — the hugging and the introducing and the bread story and the goat story and the hand-holding and the fifteen years of showing up.
"I'm glad she's in this," you say. "Whatever this is. All of us."
"Me too," he says.
"Hoseok-ssi's—" You pause. "Person. Is also in the groupchat" Another pause. "And the choreographer. The one who's leading Jimin's dance company now." You look at the ceiling. "She's also coreographing something for you, I think."
"Mm," he says, which means yes.
"She and Jimin," you say.
"What about them," he says, carefully.
"I think," you say, "that she is absolutely in love with him. Even if they both pretend otherwise."
He is quiet for a moment.
"We know something about that," he says.
"We know everything about that," you say.
He makes the sound that is his laugh.
"The girl doctor friend—" you say. Yoongi Chuckles at the nickname that somehow stick.
"She sent a very detailed medical message about what to watch for with Namjoon's ankle. Very thorough. Very specific." You pause. "She's also donating a signed Shohei Ohtani jersey to the center's fundraiser."
"How does she have a signed Shohei Ohtani jersey," he says.
He knows exactly how she has a signed Shohei Ohtani jersey. You can tell by the specific quality of the question — not genuinely curious, more like a man who is aware of the answer and has feelings about the answer and is choosing to express those feelings as a question.
"She works with the Dodgers," you say.
"I know she works with the Dodgers," he says.
"So."
"So," he says.
A pause.
"It's going in the auction," you say. "We're going to fund the new equipment room. I'm going to send her a very nice thank you note."
He is quiet for a moment.
"I could get you VIP tickets," he says. "For our concert. For the auction."
You look at him.
He looks back with the expression of a man who has made a reasonable counter-offer and would like it to be considered on its merits.
"That's very generous," you say.
"It's a good offer," he says.
"It is," you say. "It's a great offer." You pause. "It's just not a signed Shohei Ohtani jersey."
He looks at you.
You look back.
You see the exact moment it lands — the slight tightening, the expression of a man who has just been told his VIP concert tickets have been measured against a baseball player's jersey and found comparable but not superior.
You start laughing.
He looks at the ceiling.
"The equipment room thanks you," you say, between laughs.
"Mm," he says, to the ceiling.
"And Jisoo's sister," you say, softer, "somehow got added. She was there today and everyone loved her immediately."
He is quiet.
"She's doing okay," you say. "Jisoo's sister. It's hard. She works so much. But she's — she's doing it. She loves Jisoo so much."
"I know," he says.
You show him what you were actually looking at.
Not the messages. The picture thread — hundreds of them, from the concert tonight, fan photos and fancams and crowd shots and signs held up in the rain. You scroll through them together, both of you slightly laughing at some, both of you quiet at others, the specific warmth of seeing something you were inside from the outside.
And then you find it.
A fan sign.
White poster board. Black letters. Simple. Held up by someone in section twelve, in the rain, surrounded by sixty thousand people.
"YOONGI MARRY ME." You read it and start laughing.
It is a real laugh — surprised and warm, the kind that gets into your eyes, the kind that has been coming more easily lately, since a supply closet and a chamomile plant and seven days out of twelve.
"Oh my god," you say, between laughs. "Look at this one—"
He stops tracing circles on your palm.
"What," you say.
He is looking at the sign.
He is looking at it with the expression of a man whose internal processing has encountered something unexpected and is handling it in real time, which for Yoongi means going very still and very quiet while the interior runs at high speed.
"Yoongi," you say.
"Say that again," he says.
You look at him.
"The sign," you say. "I was reading the—"
"Say it again," he says.
You look at your phone. At the sign. At him.
"You are not," you say, slowly, "taking a fan sign as a formal proposal."
"You said it first," he says. "Technically."
"I was reading a sign—"
"You said the words," he says. "In this bed. To me."
You stare at him.
Something is happening in his expression that you recognize — the thing that happens when Min Yoongi has decided something and is now simply communicating the decision. Not impulsive. Not unserious. The opposite of unserious. He is not surprised by the question. He has been thinking about this. You can tell — the lack of hesitation, the way the words arrive already formed, like they have been waiting for a reason to come out and the fan sign just handed them one.
"I can have a venue by Monday," he says. "I can ask my parents to stay one more day. When did you say your mother was coming back from Alaska?" He pauses. "And my cousin is going to hate me but—" Something moves through his face. "God, you looked so beautiful in that dress."
You look at him.
"Yoongi, you are not serious." you say.
"I have never been more serious about anything in my life," he says. "Unless—" A pause. The smallest pause. "Unless you don't want to. Which is fine. I just—"
You laugh.
You cannot help it — it comes out of you warm and real and completely, you laugh and you reach for him and you kiss him in the middle of the laugh which means the kiss starts slightly wrong and becomes completely right, and he makes a sound against your mouth that is also almost a laugh.
"Normal people date first," you say.
"When have we been normal," he says.
You pull back.
You look at him.
Min Yoongi. In your bed. In your apartment. His hair doing what hair does when it has lost the battle with a shower. Tang between you, deeply unimpressed with the emotional register of the evening. A ring he does not have yet. A tour that starts in a week.
You think about the natural sign.
Cancel everything.
Play it true.
"Get me a ring," you say, "and I'll think about it." A pause. "Pretty boy."
Something happens to his face.
The ears go pink.
Both of them.
The full set.
Then he smiles — the real one, the private one, the one his father said was the real one, the one that only comes out when he is not performing anything for anyone and something has gotten past every defense he has.
You have gotten past every defense he has.
You always have.
He kisses you.
Later — much later, in the warm dark, with Tang asleep between you and the city outside doing what it does and the tour a week away and a ring not yet but I'll think about it sitting in the room between you like a fact that has been agreed upon without being signed yet — you think:
You have never been good at lying to yourself.
For three and a half years, you tried.
You called it friendship. You called it complicated. You called it the piano guy and filed everything else under things you were not going to examine directly.
And then one Tuesday in March his name appeared on your personal phone and his opening line was I need a favor and you said yes — because you always say yes, because you feel things fully and say them when they need to be said and build things out of them when you can, because the feeling was never the problem, the feeling was always the material, and you have always known how to work with it.
You just needed the right project.
The right person.
The real thing.
"Yoongi," you say.
"Mm," he says. Asleep, almost.
"Min Yoongi" you say.
A pause.
"Mm," he says again. An acknowledgment. The sound of someone who knows what they are being called and does not object to it.
"I love you," you say.
A longer pause.
His hand finds yours in the dark.
"I know, I love you too, doll." he says.
The full version — I know, I have always known, I have been knowing it since a Wednesday in late autumn in a room next to the one where you first played for me, and I love you too, and I have loved you too, and you know that, and we are here, and this is real.
All of that.
From a man who has always known what to do with two words.
You close your eyes.
Tang purrs.
The city does what it does.
You are not pretending.
You have never been good at lying to yourself.
This, finally, is not a problem.
This — the lamp and the plant and the ring that is coming and I'll think about it and the tour and the text me when you land and the seven days out of twelve — this is what it looks like when you stop.
The natural sign.
The note played true.
The real thing.
The end. 🎹
author's note 🎹
I finished it.
I can't quite believe I finished it, but I did, and I need to tell you something before I say anything else — I almost didn't.
These past few weeks have been hard. Really hard. There were days I looked at this story and thought about closing the tab and not coming back. About letting it be unfinished. About walking away from something I love because I didn't have enough left in me to keep going.
And then you would send an ask. Or leave a comment. Or reblog something with a tags that made me laugh or cry or both. And somehow — somehow — that was enough to make me open the tab again.
So this chapter is yours as much as it is mine. You kept me here. You kept this story alive when I was ready to let it go. I don't know how to thank you for that except to say: I know. I see it. Every single one of you.
The silent readers too. The ones who have never sent an ask or left a comment but have been here every time. I see you. You matter just as much.
This epilogue is a love letter. To this universe. To these characters who have been living in my head and my heart and my 2AM conspiracy sessions. To the found family that built itself one story at a time and is now, finally, in the same room.
I gave you a glimpse of what's coming and what has become — all the stories living together, all the threads connecting, all the people finding their way to each other across this city that keeps folding in on itself.
It's okay if you only read this one. It's okay if you read them in the wrong order or skip around or come in somewhere in the middle. Every story is its own. Every story stands alone.
But if you read them all — if you follow every thread all the way through — I just want to say thank you. For staying. For caring about these people the way I care about them. For letting this universe mean something to you.
Jin's story is next. I'm already writing it and I am so happy about it I cannot be normal. That's all I'll say for now.
Thank you for reading me.
Thank you for being here.
I'll see you in the next one. 🖤
— Ria The Real Thing — Complete Part of The B-Side Series
You don't know how much I enjoyed reading this. The character development, the thread the story follows is impressive. I love, love, love. And YOONGI MARRY ME!!!
Note:
well... I kind of disappeared for a while, but I’m finally back again 😭
Before I vanished, I started making member-specific fic rec versions because I realized my original masterlists were getting a little too long and hard to search through.
The fics in the older masterlists and these reblogged versions are the same! This is mostly just a different way of organizing everything, so hopefully it’s easier to find specific tropes, genres, or aus without digging through super long lists ♡
this is Yoongi’s version <3
I’ve already finished the OT7 and Jin versions, which I’ll link below along with my older masterlists in case anyone wants to check those out too:
↠ OLD MASTERLIST
↠ OT7 masterlist
↠ Seokjin's masterlist
↠ Namjoon's Masterlist
↠ Hoseok's Masterlist
I’ll slowly keep working on the rest whenever I can, but for now, I hope you find something fun to read here 🩷
✦ TYPE
• Series
• One-shot
• Two-shot
• Drabble
✦ RELATIONSHIPS
• Friends to Lovers
• Enemies to Lovers
• Strangers to Lovers
• Established Relationship
• Friends with Benefits to Lovers
• Soulmates
• Exes to Lovers
✦ AU / SETTINGS
• College AU
• Hybrid AU
• Royalty AU
• Idol AU
• Fantasy AU
• Office AU
• Social Media AU
• Sports AU
• Mafia AU
• Dad AU
• Racer AU
• Model AU
• Ghost AU
• Cafe AU
• Infidelity AU
• Arranged Marriage AU
✦ GENRES
• Angst
• Fluff
• Smut
• Crack
• Slow burn
✦ TYPE
• Oneshot
• Drabble
✦ RELATIONSHIPS
• Established Relationship
• Exes to Lovers
• Strangers to Lovers
Summary: You were only supposed to help him—cook, clean, and leave. Nothing more. But in a house too quiet and a man too broken, your presence became something he couldn’t ignore… even if he tried. While he slowly begins to see you, you’re already learning how to step away. Because some feelings grow in silence— and some distances are created before they’re too late.
Status: Three-shot | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader
Word Count: 9.4k~ | Full: 25.2k~
Genre: Idol!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Rated: MDNI, 18+ 🔞
Tags: ARMY, Strangers to Lovers, Yoongi is a Jerk, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Posting Date: May 26, 2026
SCC: Ko-fi ☕️ · Taglist 📝
That change… finally became visible. Not something big, not something that instantly turned everything warm—but clear enough for you to notice without having to look for it.
Min Yoongi started to… smile. Not often. Not wide. But enough. And every time it appeared, you couldn’t deny one thing—it was sweet. Too contrasting with all the coldness he had shown all this time.
And that was exactly what made you more uneasy. Because a change like that… is never simple.
That morning, as usual, you stood in the kitchen. Cutting ingredients, adjusting the heat, tasting the food with full focus like you always did.
But today… you weren’t alone. Yoongi sat in the living room. Not just passing by. Not just showing up briefly. He was really sitting there. Quiet. Watching.
You could feel his gaze even without looking directly. You held on for a few minutes. Trying to focus. Trying to ignore it. But eventually, you gave in.
“What are you doing there?”
You glanced over slightly, brows furrowed.
“Usually you come down when the food is ready.”
Yoongi didn’t answer right away. He leaned back casually, his eyes still on you. “Just felt like it.”
That answer was light. Too light.
You let out a soft sigh. “It’s distracting.”
Not harsh. But honestly. He instead… smiled a little. “Then don’t look.”
You went quiet for a moment. Then retur to your cooking. But now… you were aware. Every movement you made was being watched. And that… made you uncomfortable. Not because you were scared. But because you knew—if this continued, the boundaries you kept… could slowly disappear.
In the following days, the pattern kept repeating. You came. Cooked. And Yoongi… was already there. Sometimes sitting. Sometimes standing near the kitchen. Sometimes pretending to be busy with his phone, but clearly his eyes kept drifting back to you.
And you—remained the same. Professional. Neutral. Keeping your distance. Even though inside… you were starting to feel something you couldn’t ignore.
Meanwhile, outside the house—Yoongi’s life started moving again. BTS was preparing for a comeback. Practice schedules became packed. Studio, meetings, choreography rehearsals, recordings—everything filled his days again.
And there… that change also started to show.
“Hyung, why are you smiling to yourself?”
Taehyung’s voice came with a small laugh. Yoongi immediately looked away.
“I’m not.”
“Liar,” Jimin added, stepping closer. “You’ve been different lately.”
“Different how?” Yoongi stayed flat.
“More… alive?” Jimin shrugged.
Yoongi didn’t answer. But his hand had already picked up his phone. Checking the time. Once. Twice. Repeatedly.
“Hyung, do you have somewhere to be?” Namjoon asked from afar.
“No.”
“Then why do you keep checking the time?”
“Just because.”
But it wasn’t just because. Not at all. Because even when they finished practice and someone suggested—
“Let’s eat, we haven’t eaten since noon.”
Yoongi immediately answered without thinking. “I’m going home.”
“Hey, eat first,” Jimin said.
“No, I’ll eat at home.”
“You’ve been eating at home a lot lately,” Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “You’re usually the laziest.”
Yoongi just grabbed his jacket. “Someone cooks.”
The sentence slipped out just like that. And instantly made a few heads turn.
“Who?” Jimin asked, curious.
Yoongi paused for a moment. Then—“Someone.” Short. Cut off. Leaving no room to continue. And that only made them more suspicious.
Meanwhile, at home—you didn’t know any of that. You only knew one thing—minutes before he usually came back, everything was already prepared. And somehow—lately, the timing was always perfect. As if he was really paying attention.
The door opened. Yoongi walked in. His gaze immediately went to the kitchen. To you. And there was one small second—where his expression… changed. Lighter. Calmer.
“You’re done?”
“Yes.”
You still answered briefly. Not lingering. He sat. Ate. Without comments. Without criticism. And you stood there, like always—but now, you could feel something different. Not just from him. But from yourself too.
Because even though you kept telling yourself—this is just work. It shouldn’t be more. The truth was—the more days passed, the harder it became to pretend that everything… was still that simple.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Those days went by… too quietly. But not a comfortable kind of quiet. More like a quiet that held something unfinished.
In Min Yoongi’s mind, your words kept looping—
We need to keep our distance. You don’t belong in my world.
He tried to ignore it. Really tried.
Went back to practice schedules, to the studio, to the routines that used to be his escape. But strangely, now even in the middle of all that… his thoughts kept returning home. To the kitchen. To you. To the little things he never used to think mattered. And the more he tried to hold back—the clearer it felt.
He couldn’t.
Not because he was stubborn. But because that feeling… was already there. And it didn’t leave. So he stopped fighting it. Not in a big way. Not with something that forced things immediately. But… slowly. Carefully. Like someone who didn’t want to ruin something he hadn’t even had yet.
At home, that change started to be felt. You were still the same. Still keeping your distance. Still speaking only when necessary. Still standing on the line you drew yourself.
But Yoongi—started getting closer. Not directly. Not obviously.
That day, you were cooking as usual when you felt someone standing near you. Closer than usual. You didn’t turn right away.
“What are you doing?”
“You can see it yourself,” you replied.
Your tone stayed flat. He didn’t leave. Just stood there. Watching. Seconds. Minutes.
“Are you tired?”
That question… was simple. But different. You paused for a moment. Slightly surprised.
“I’m fine.”
He nodded slightly. Didn’t push. Didn’t continue. But also… didn’t leave.
Another day, you almost dropped a bowl because your hand was a little slippery. Before you could react—his hand caught it first. Reflex. Fast. Close.
The distance between you… was too narrow for those few seconds. You immediately pulled your hand away.
“Yeah, thank you.”
Short. Stepping back again. Like always. But Yoongi didn’t say anything. Just watched. And realized—every time he moved closer, you always stepped back. And that… didn’t stop him. It made him more careful. Slower. More… consistent.
Another night, when you finished cleaning the kitchen and were about to leave—
“Have you eaten?”
You stopped. Turned. “Yes.”
“Liar.”
You frowned slightly.
“I saw you haven’t eaten.”
You went quiet for a moment. Not expecting him to notice that much. “I’ll eat at home.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then—“Just take some here.”
You looked at him. “I’m paid to cook, not to eat.”
“Just take it.”
His tone wasn’t forcing. But didn’t leave room to refuse. You hesitated. A few seconds. Then finally… took a little. Not because you wanted to.
But because you… were tired of rejecting small things like this. And that—was a small mistake that started opening something bigger.
In the following days, things like that kept happening. Small. Almost invisible. But consistent.
He didn’t force conversations anymore. Didn’t look for big reasons. He just… was there. Near you. In a way you couldn’t reject without seeming excessive. And without realizing it—you started to… not always step back. Not always. Sometimes you stay. Sometimes you didn’t move away immediately. Sometimes you let the conversation last a little longer. And that was enough. To slowly change everything.
One afternoon, you were sitting for a bit after finishing cooking. Tang-ie was sleeping on your lap, the house quiet as usual. Yoongi sat across from you. Not speaking. Just watching.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” you finally asked.
He didn’t answer right away. A few seconds. Then—“Am I not allowed?”
You sighed softly. “You’re weird.”
He smiled a little. And again—that same smile. The one that made your chest… uneasy. Not because you didn’t like it. But because you knew—if you started liking it. And that was what you had been avoiding from the beginning.
“You said we should keep our distance,” he said softly.
You stiffened slightly. “Yes.”
“But you’re still here.”
That sentence… didn’t sound like an accusation. More like… a confession. You didn’t answer right away. Because you knew—he was right.
If you really wanted to keep your distance—you would have left from the start. But you didn’t. And that… was something you didn’t want to admit.
“You too,” you replied quietly.
He smiled faintly. And this time… no one responded. Just a different kind of silence. Closer. More honest. And for the first time—you felt something you had been holding back… starting to waver. Not because you were weak. But because he—was no longer pushing you. No longer hurting you. He just… stayed there. Slowly. Consistently. And somehow—that was much harder to fight.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The weekend came, and for the first time in the past few weeks… the house in UN Village felt truly empty.
There were no small footsteps in the kitchen. No warm aroma of food that was usually there even before he truly realized he was hungry. No you.
Yoongi stood for quite a while in the living room, staring at the neat kitchen—too neat. Nothing was wrong, but that was exactly what felt strange. He opened the fridge. The ingredients were still there. But nothing felt… “ready.”
He closed it again. Let out a sigh. And for the first time, he truly realized—not just the food he had been waiting for every day.
That night, he sat on the sofa, phone in hand. The screen was open on a chat. Your name. He stared at it for quite a while. Typing. Deleting. Typing again.
Then finally—
Yoongi:
What did you use…
for what you cooked yesterday?
Sent. A few seconds. No reply. He frowned slightly.
A few minutes later—his phone vibrated.
You:
Which one?
Your reply… short.
Like always.
But enough to make the corner of his lips lift slightly.
Yoongi:
The soup.
You:
Oh. Just standard.
He stared at the screen.
“Just standard” to you… but not to him.
He typed again.
Yoongi:
How do you make it?
You paused for a few seconds when reading that.
Honestly—it was strange. Not because of the question. But because of… who was asking. Min Yoongi. And he… texted you.
You let out a small sigh before replying.
You:
You want to cook?
Yoongi:
Maybe...
The answer was short.
But you could imagine him sitting alone in that house, trying to… fill something empty.
And somehow—that made your chest feel a little warm. That night, your chat wasn’t long. But enough. Enough to make you realize—he was really… looking for you.
Saturday passed. And without you realizing, there was one person who was busier than usual—not in the studio. Not in practice. But on Instagram.
Yoongi opened your profile. Scrolling. Slowly. Not in a rush. Looking at simple photos—coffee, books, corners of a table, small things he had never thought about before. Then—your story appeared. You were sitting in a café, a cup of coffee in front of you, a book open. Simple. Calm. And somehow—he watched it until the end. Not once. Several times. As if that… was enough to make his Saturday feel a little better.
Sunday came. And he automatically opened Instagram again. Looking for the small circle at the top of the screen. Your name. Not there. He waited. A few hours. Still nothing. His brows began to furrow. Strange. This shouldn’t be a problem. But—it felt like… something was missing.
Finally, he opened the chat again. Without much thought—
Yoongi:
Where are you?
Sent.
You, who were at home, reading a book as usual, saw that notification and… stopped. You stared at the screen for a few seconds. It still felt strange. Him. Who used to not even really acknowledge your existence—now… asking where you were.
You typed slowly.
You:
At home
A few seconds.
The reply came quickly.
Yoongi:
Not going anywhere?
You smiled faintly.
You:
No
Yoongi:
Why didn’t you update?
You paused. Then let out a small sigh.
You:
Why are you paying that much attention?
Silence on the screen for a few seconds. As if he just realized… he was too obvious. Then—
Yoongi:
It’s nothing
Short. But you knew—that wasn’t “nothing.” You stared at the screen a little longer. And for the first time—you felt something… different. A feeling you had been trying to suppress from the beginning.
You were also starting to get used to his presence. To that routine. To the fact that every day… he was there. And now—two days without it—it actually felt different. Slightly. Subtle. But real. You took a slow breath. Typed again.
You:
Have you eaten?
This time, you were the one asking. Yoongi looked at that message. And for a few seconds—he just stared. Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.
Yoongi:
Not yet
You closed your eyes briefly. As if trying to hold something back. But in the end—you still replied.
You:
Don’t eat late.
Simple. Nothing more. Nothing less. But enough to make something inside him… feel warm again.
And in two different places—you both sat quietly with your phones. Trying to convince yourselves—that this was still within limits. Still safe. Still… just normal. When slowly—you both were starting to realize. Nothing was truly “normal” anymore.
Monday came faster than usual. Or maybe… it just felt different.
In the big house in UN Village, Min Yoongi was already awake earlier. There was no clear reason—no important schedule that morning. But he was already standing in the kitchen, opening the fridge, then closing it again.
Empty. Not because there was no food. But because you weren’t there yet. He glanced at the clock. Still too early.
He clicked his tongue softly, then sat on the sofa… but not really sitting calmly. His hand opened his phone several times, then locked it again. His foot moved slightly, restless without realizing it.
“Strange,” he muttered softly.
Even he realized it himself. He was waiting. And that wasn’t something usual for him. When the sound of the door finally came—he immediately turned.
You walked in as usual, taking off your shoes, unaware that someone had been watching you since the very first second.
“Morning.”
You greeted briefly. Yoongi stood up from the sofa, too quickly to look casual.
“Yeah… morning.”
You paused for a moment. Looked over. Something was different. His expression… lighter. And somehow—that made your heart feel a little uneasy too.
“You’re already here?” you asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s rare.”
He shrugged. “Just woke up.”
An answer that… didn’t really explain anything.
You nodded slightly, then went straight to the kitchen like usual. But that day… you could feel something. That gaze. Again. And this time… clearer.
You tried to focus. Cutting ingredients. Adjusting the heat. But a few times you unconsciously grabbed the wrong spoon, or paused too long in one spot.
“What’s wrong with you?”
His voice suddenly close. You turned. He was already standing not far from you. Closer than usual.
“Nothing.”
“You grabbed the wrong salt.”
You immediately looked at your hand. True.
You clicked your tongue softly. “Yeah.”
He smiled a little. And that—made you even more unfocused.
“Don’t look,” you said softly.
He raised a brow. “Why?”
“It’s distracting.”
He chuckled softly. And that sound—rare. Warm.
“Now I want to look even more.”
You held your breath for a moment. Then returned to your cooking, trying to ignore the feeling that was starting to… become unstable.
That day passed quickly. And without realizing—the sky turned dark. Rain fell. At first softly. Then heavier.
The sound of water hitting the window was loud enough to make the house feel smaller… closer.
You stood near the door, looking outside. “It’s raining.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi replied from behind.
You sighed softly. “I’ll wait until it stops.”
A few minutes. It didn’t stop. It got heavier. You looked at the clock. It was already quite late.
“I’ll just go home,” you said finally, taking your bag.
Before you could open the door—Yoongi’s voice stopped you.
“Don’t.”
You turned.
“The rain’s too heavy.”
“I can—”
“I’ll drive you.”
Immediate. No pause.
You went quiet.
“No need,” you said quickly. “I can order—”
“No.”
His tone was firm. Not harsh. But clearly… not leaving room to refuse.
“I’ll drive you.”
You hesitated. A lot. But seeing the rain outside… and seeing his expression—you didn’t have many reasons left. Finally, you nodded slightly. “Okay…”
A few minutes later, you were already sitting in his car. And somehow—that felt far more nerve-wracking than it should have been.
The car interior was warm. Quiet. Only the sound of rain and the engine running softly. Yoongi drove with one hand, focused on the road. And you—you couldn’t help but notice.
The way his hand held the steering wheel. The way his jaw tightened slightly when concentrating. The way he occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror. Simple. But… handsome. Too handsome. Even though he was just wearing casual clothes. Your heartbeat became more irregular. You quickly turned your gaze to the window. The rain outside looked blurred. As if trying to calm yourself.
A few minutes passed. Silent. Until finally—
“Sorry.”
His voice was soft. You turned. He was still focused on the road. But his voice… serious. “For everything I’ve done.”
You didn’t answer immediately.
“The way I talked to you,” he continued. “The way I treated you.”
His hand tightened slightly on the wheel. “I know it wasn’t right.”
Silence. Only the sound of rain.
“I’m not asking you to answer now,” he continued softly. “I’m also not asking you to believe me right away.”
You looked at him. Quiet.
“But I’ll fix it,” he said. “Slowly.”
He took a breath. Still not looking at you.
“I’ll make you see it yourself… that I’m serious.”
That sentence—wasn’t big. Not dramatic. But precisely because of that—it felt more real. You looked down slightly. Your heart was still beating fast. Not because you were scared. Not just because you were awkward. But because… you were starting to believe him. A little. And that was the most dangerous part. Because you knew—if you started believing… you might not be able to keep your distance like before.
The car stopped in front of your house. The rain was still falling. You didn’t get out immediately. Just sat for a moment. Looking ahead. Then softly—
“Okay.”
That was all. A simple answer. But enough to make Yoongi finally turn to you. And in between the sound of rain—something had finally changed. Slowly. Surely. And this time—neither of you was really trying to hold it back anymore.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That night should have ended… in the parking area in front of your house. It should have been after you got out of the car, after you said that soft “okay,” everything returned to normal. But it didn’t.
Because a few minutes after you got to your room—your phone vibrated. Min Yoongi’s name appeared on the screen. You stared at it for a few seconds. It still felt strange. Still unfamiliar. Then you opened it.
Yoongi:
Are you in your room?
You immediately smiled a little. Simple. But… warm.
You:
Yes
The reply came quickly.
Yoongi:
Okay.
That was it. You thought it ended there. But a few seconds later—
Yoongi:
Is it still raining?
You let out a small sigh. Strange. Not important. Especially since you were in the same city. Why ask about the same weather? But you still replied.
You:
Yes
Yoongi:
Don’t go out again.
You paused. Staring at the screen. Why were you listening to him?
You:
Okay
And since that night—your chats… didn’t stop. Never anything important. Sometimes completely random.
Yoongi:
If yesterday’s soup is reheated, does it still taste good?
You:
Depends how you reheat it.
Yoongi:
If I do it wrong, will it taste bad?
You:
Yes.
Yoongi:
…
You even laughed softly by yourself in your room.
Or—
Yoongi:
You almost dropped the spoon earlier, right?
You:
You pay a lot of attention.
Yoongi:
Just normal.
“Just normal,” he said. Even though you knew—it wasn’t normal. The following days changed without you realizing.
Every time you got home—
“Have you arrived?”
Every night—
“Don’t stay up late.”
Every morning—
“Are you awake?”
Small things. But consistent. And more dangerously—you always replied. Without realizing. Without being forced. The walls you built so high—slowly… cracked. Not because he broke them. But because you yourself… started opening them.
The next Monday, you stood in front of his house door in UN Village. Your heart—wasn’t normal. Even though this wasn’t your first time coming. But now… it felt different.
You opened the door. Walked in. And as if it was already routine—he was there. Sitting casually in the living room. Turning when you entered. And—smiling.
“You’re late.”
You immediately stopped in place.
“I’m… like usual.”
“No,” he said casually. “Today you’re two minutes later.”
You frowned. “You counted?”
He shrugged. “Just felt like it.”
You immediately walked to the kitchen, pretending not to care. Even though—your cheeks were already getting warm.
That day, as usual, you cooked. And as usual—he was near you. But this time… closer.
You stood in front of the upper cabinet, trying to reach a glass that was a bit too high. Before you could grab it—his hand was already above you. Taking the glass. His body close. Too close. Your breath hitched.
He handed the glass to you. “Here.”
You took it quickly. “Thank you.”
Then immediately stepped back one step. Reflex.
Yoongi saw that. And… smiled slightly. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What?”
“Like you’re avoiding me.”
You immediately busied yourself at the sink. “No.”
“You clearly are.”
“No.”
He stepped a little closer again. “Are you scared?”
You immediately turned quickly. “I’m not scared.”
“Then?”
You went quiet. No safe answer.
He leaned slightly, bringing his face closer—not too close, but enough to make your heart completely lose control. “Nervous?”
His voice was soft. Almost like a whisper. And that—was dangerous. You immediately stepped back again. “Ugh… you’re annoying.”
He chuckled softly. And again— that sound made everything more unstable. “You said you’re not scared.”
“I’m not.”
“But you stepped back.”
You glared at him—or at least tried to look annoyed. When in reality—you just… didn’t know what to do.
“Are you going to help or annoy me?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Help by annoying.”
You held back a smile. Hard. Too hard.
Days like that kept repeating. Small things. Close. Warm. And without realizing—you started waiting for it.
Waiting for him to be in the living room. Waiting for his texts. Waiting for the little things you used to avoid. And that—that was what scared you the most. Because you knew—you were no longer fully in the same place as before. And he—never stopped getting closer. Slowly. Consistently. As if he truly intended… to not let you drift away anymore.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The following days felt… too light for something you were initially afraid of. The changes in Min Yoongi were no longer something small you had to search for. Now… they were clear. And that was exactly what made you even more uneasy. Because he was no longer just “there.” He was truly… getting closer.
That day, you were standing in the kitchen, trying to reach something from the top shelf. Your fingertips almost touched it—but not quite. You lifted yourself slightly on your toes. Still not enough. And before you tried again—two hands suddenly appeared on either side of you. Holding the edge of the counter. Trapping you between his body.
You froze instantly. Your breath caught. Yoongi stood right behind you. Close. Too close.
“What are you doing?”
His voice was low. So close to your ear. Then you turned your body around.
“I… I’m getting that,” you answered, your voice softer than you realized.
His hand moved past your head, grabbing the item you meant. But he… didn’t step back right away. Still there. Still close. Your heart—was already a mess. You could feel his breath. Warm. Slow.
And somehow… everything felt like it stopped. You swallowed slowly. Then—without realizing—you closed your eyes. For a split second. You thought… he would—
And suddenly—a soft laugh was heard. Close. Warm. “What are you doing closing your eyes?”
You immediately opened them. Your face heated up instantly.
“I—I didn’t—”
Before you could finish—he leaned a little closer—and… He gently patted your head.
You completely froze.
Yoongi stepped back slightly, still with a faint smile on his face. “Cute.”
You couldn’t respond right away. Your heart felt… too loud. Too fast.
“Ugh… what are you even doing,” you muttered softly, trying to sound annoyed but clearly failing.
He chuckled again. And this time… didn’t try to get closer again. As if he knew—that was enough. No need for more. No need to rush. And that—was what made everything feel more real.
Since that day, you couldn’t act normal anymore. Every time he was close—you got nervous. Every time he spoke—you became too aware of his tone. Every time he looked at you—you had to pretend you didn’t notice. Even though you did. Everything.
And Yoongi—clearly knew. But he didn’t push. Didn’t force. He just… stayed there. In the same way. Slow. Consistent.
That night, when you finished working and were getting ready to go home—you grabbed your bag as usual. “I’m heading home.”
“I’ll take you.”
Direct. No pause.
You let out a small sigh. “No need, it’s not raining.”
He was already standing, taking his car keys. “I’ll take you.”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“No.”
His tone was casual. But clear. Not something you could refuse. You finally gave in. “Okay…”
In the car, the atmosphere felt… different than before. Not awkward. But not entirely relaxed either. More like—you both knew something had changed. And neither of you wanted to say it first.
Yoongi drove like usual. Focused. Calm. And you—once again couldn’t help but notice.
His hands on the steering wheel. The side profile of his face. The way he occasionally glanced at the road with sharp but calm eyes. And without realizing—you smiled a little.
“What?”
You snapped out of it. “Nothing.”
He glanced briefly. “You smiled.”
“I didn’t.”
He smirked slightly. “Liar.”
You turned toward the window. Trying to hide it. Even though—it clearly didn’t work.
A few minutes later, the car stopped in front of your house. You unbuckled your seatbelt.
“Thank you.”
You were about to get out—but his voice stopped you. “You’re coming tomorrow, right?”
You paused. Turned. The question was simple. But the way he asked—it wasn’t.
“Yeah,” you answered softly.
He nodded slightly. Didn’t say anything else. But his gaze—was enough. And as you got out of the car, walking toward your house—you could feel one thing becoming clearer every day—you were no longer just trying to hold on. You were starting to… fall. Slowly. Without realizing it. And this time—no one was really trying to stop it anymore.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That morning, you still came. Like usual. Even though… it didn’t fully feel usual. Your steps were slightly slower as you entered his house. You still took off your shoes, still went straight to the kitchen, still tried to do everything as if nothing had changed.
Even though your body felt heavy. Your head slightly dizzy. And you knew… you weren’t really fit. But you still came. Because this was your job. And you didn’t want to look weak.
Tang-ie greeted you as usual, but this time you only managed to pet him briefly before opening the fridge. Cold. Too cold.
You stood in front of the fridge a little longer than usual, trying to focus on the ingredients—but your vision was slightly blurry.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Min Yoongi’s voice came from behind. You immediately closed the fridge.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
You tried to sound normal. But you didn’t turn around. And that was already suspicious enough.
Yoongi stepped closer. “You look pale.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You look pale,” he repeated, softer.
You took a breath. “Just lack of sleep.”
You started taking ingredients, trying to ignore him. But your hands trembled slightly as you held the knife. And before you could start—Yoongi immediately took it from your hand.
You were startled.
“Sit.”
You shook your head immediately. “No, I can—”
“Sit.”
His tone was firm. Not loud. But… not something you could argue with.
“I’m paid to cook,” you tried again.
He looked at you. For a while.
“And I said sit.”
Silence. A few seconds. You exhaled softly. And for the first time—you didn’t resist. You walked to the sofa. Sat down. Still feeling uneasy. Still feeling guilty.
Meanwhile in the kitchen—Yoongi stood. Alone. Looking at the ingredients you usually handled so easily.
He stayed still for a moment. Then… started. His movements weren’t as smooth as yours. Not as fast. But enough. He remembered. The way you cut. The way you cooked. The small things that all this time… he had been paying attention to.
Meanwhile, you on the sofa—at first still tried to sit upright. Waiting. Holding on. But your body… wasn’t that strong. Your head felt heavy. Your eyes slowly closed. And without realizing—you fell asleep.
Yoongi finished cooking. Not perfect. But decent.
He wiped his hands, then walked to the living room. And stopped. You were asleep on the sofa. Your position slightly tilted, your hands folded at your side, your face looking… tired. Paler than usual.
He stood there. For a few seconds. Watching. No intention to wake you up. No heart to do it.
He walked closer. Slowly. Sat beside you. Still silent. Just watching. And somehow—his chest felt… strange. Not tight. Not light either. More like… something he couldn’t explain.
A few seconds later—without you realizing—your body moved slightly. A reflex. Searching for comfort. And slowly… you leaned against him. Your head fell onto his shoulder. Warm. Close.
Yoongi froze instantly. For a moment. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop it either. He just… stayed still. Letting it happen. Slowly, he adjusted his position slightly. Shifting his shoulder so you’d be more comfortable. His hand moved hesitantly—then stopped. Not touching you. But close enough. As if ready… if you needed it.
Tang-ie climbed onto the sofa, sitting near your feet, looking for a moment… then staying still too. The room was quiet. Calm. And for the first time—there was no distance you forced. No boundaries you held. There was only you… asleep on his shoulder. And him—who didn’t want you to wake up too soon.
Yoongi stared straight ahead. But his mind… was full. About you. About everything that had changed. About how without realizing—you had already become a part of this place. And maybe—part of him too.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
You slowly woke up. The living room lights were already dim, leaving only a soft, warm glow. For a few seconds, you stayed still… trying to remember where you were. Then you realized—earlier, your head had been resting against something warm. And now… you had shifted slightly.
You turned your head. Beside you, Min Yoongi was asleep. His position slightly tilted, one arm folded at his side, his face looking… much calmer than usual. No cold expression, no distance. Just… peaceful.
You stayed quiet for a few seconds. Strange. All of this felt… too different from when you first met. You glanced at the table. The food. It's already cold. And somehow… your chest felt warm. He cooked. For you.
You took a slow breath, then moved a little closer. “Yoongi…”
Your voice was soft. No response. You hesitated for a moment, then lightly touched his arm.
“Yoongi… wake up.”
He let out a small groan, his brows slightly furrowed, then slowly opened his eyes. For a few seconds… he looked confused. Then—his focus landed on you.
“You’re awake…” his voice was still hoarse.
You nodded slightly. “Yeah. Sorry… I fell asleep.”
He immediately sat up, almost reflexively. “How are you? Still dizzy?”
The question came quickly. Too quickly. You were a little surprised.
“I’m better now.”
He looked at you for a moment, making sure. Then nodded. “Good.”
You glanced at the table. “The food… is already cold.”
He looked too, then immediately stood up.
“I’ll heat it.”
You were about to stand as well, but he stopped you right away. “Just sit.”
His tone wasn’t harsh. But… clear. You finally stayed still. Sitting. Watching him in the kitchen. His movements still weren’t as smooth as yours. But now… there was something different. He was serious. Focused. As if it mattered. And somehow—that made your chest feel… strange.
A few minutes later, the food was warm again. You both sat at the table. Facing each other. And for the first time—eating together like this felt… very different. No comments. No criticism. No rigid distance. Just—warm. Quiet. But comfortable.
You took a bite. And without realizing—smiled. He noticed immediately.
“What?”
You shook your head slightly. “Nothing.”
But—it tasted good. Not perfect like your cooking. But… enough. And more than that—there was effort in it.
After finishing, you stood up slowly. “I’m going home.”
He immediately stood too. “Who’s at home with you?”
You paused slightly. “No one.”
His brows furrowed instantly. “No one?”
“Yeah.”
He stayed quiet for a moment. Clearly didn’t like that answer. Especially seeing your condition today.
“You… should just stay over.”
You turned quickly. “What?”
He hesitated a little now. But continued. “Just stay here. You’re sick.”
You were completely blank for a few seconds. Then… you almost laughed. “That’s absurd.” Direct. No filter.
Yoongi went silent. And for the first time… he seemed aware. “Yeah…”
He rubbed the back of his neck slowly. “It’s… kind of unreasonable.”
You held back a smile. The situation was awkward. But also… funny. In the end—he still grabbed his car keys. “I’ll take you home.”
And you didn’t refuse. In the car, the atmosphere wasn’t as tense as before.
Lighter. Closer.
When you arrived at your house—you got out. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
He was still sitting there, looking at you. “Go rest right away.”
“Yeah.”
You went inside. Closed the door. And a few seconds later—your phone vibrated.
Yoongi:
Are you in your room?
You smiled.
You:
Yeah.
A few minutes—
Yoongi:
Take your medicine.
You:
Okay.
Then again—
Yoongi:
If you feel dizzy again, tell me.
You even let out a small laugh. It was obvious. He was worried. And honestly… it was cute. But also warm.
You went to your room, took a quick shower, trying to freshen up. And without realizing—you left your phone for quite a while.
When you came out—the screen was full of notifications. Several messages. And one… video call. You froze instantly.
“…Seriously?”
Your phone vibrated again. Video call. From Min Yoongi. You hesitated. A lot. But finally—you answered. His face appeared right away on the screen. Hair slightly messy, still in casual clothes, his expression… clearly worried.
“Where were you?”
Straight to the point. No small talk. You almost laughed.
“I was showering.”
He paused for a moment. Then let out a breath. As if he could finally calm down.
“You didn’t reply.”
“You even video called?”
“I was worried something happened.”
Simple. Honest. And that… made your chest feel warm again.
You looked at the screen. Strange. Everything felt strange. But also… comfortable.
“I’m okay.”
He nodded slowly. Still looking at you. As if making sure himself. And you realized—the wall you built… was almost gone. Not because you gave up. But because he—never stopped trying.
“Yoongi…”
You called softly.
“Yeah?”
You hesitated for a moment.
“I’m still scared.”
Honest. He went quiet. Didn’t answer right away. Then—“I know.”
His voice was softer than usual.
“I’m not asking you to stop being scared immediately.”
Silence.
“But I’m serious,” he continued. “I’m not playing around.”
His gaze was steady. Not avoiding. “I’ll prove it.”
You looked at him. Quiet.
“And if you want… we can try slowly.”
He paused for a moment. Giving space. “Together.” That word… fell softly. But it was enough.
And for the first time—you didn’t pull away immediately. Didn’t shut yourself off. You just… stayed there. With feelings you could no longer hide.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
You stayed still for quite a while after the call ended. Min Yoongi’s words kept echoing in your mind—slowly… together. It felt warm. But also scary.
You sat at the edge of your bed, taking slow breaths a few times. This wasn’t a small decision. This wasn’t just “trying things out.” You knew… once you took a step forward, you wouldn’t be able to pretend nothing happened anymore.
Your phone was still in your hand. You stared at the blank screen for a few seconds. Then finally—you typed.
You:
Yeah… let’s try.
You stared at the sentence before sending it. Your heart beating faster. Then—send.
Not even a few seconds later—a reply came. Not long.
Yoongi:
Wait.
“Wait—?”
What you didn’t know, he was already on his way when you hadn’t replied earlier. He was that worried. A few minutes later—the doorbell rang. You froze instantly. Your heart dropped. Slowly… you walked toward the door. Peeked. And there he was. Standing in front of your house, wearing a hoodie, a mask—but still—you knew it was him.
You panicked right away. Quickly opening the door, pulling him inside.
“Yoongi, are you crazy?!” you whispered quickly while closing the door. “What if someone sees?!”
He took off his mask slowly.
His gaze went straight to you. Serious.
“I can’t say this through chat.”
One sentence. And the atmosphere shifted instantly. Quiet. Tense. Too close.
You stood in front of him, still a little shocked, still trying to process—but your eyes couldn’t leave him.
“If you said you want to try…” he continued softly, “I don’t want it to be halfway.”
Your heart started racing again.
“I also don’t want you to think this is just… temporary,” he added.
There was no joking tone. No hesitation. Just… serious. You swallowed slowly.
The atmosphere in the living room became too tight, too full of something unspoken but already felt.
“If you trust me,” he said again, softer now, “I’ll also do my best.”
You looked at him. Quiet. And somehow—this time you didn’t step back. Not like before. Yoongi took one step closer. Slowly. Giving you time… to step back if you wanted. But you didn’t. And that was already your answer.
His hand lifted, hesitating for a moment… then touched your cheek carefully. Warm. Gentle. Your heartbeat went out of control.
“Can I?” he whispered.
His voice was low. Close. You didn’t answer. But you didn’t move away either. And that was enough. He leaned in. Slowly. And when his lips touched yours—everything felt… still. Soft. Warm. Not rushed. As if he was really making sure you were comfortable. And that—only made your heartbeat even more uncontrollable.
Your hand, without realizing, gripped his shirt slightly. Pulling him closer. And from there—everything changed. No longer just hesitation. No longer just “trying.” But something… both of you felt. Close. Real. And impossible to stop.
That night felt long. And too fast at the same time. You didn’t know exactly when you moved. When your steps led toward the bedroom.
When you stopped thinking. What you knew—was that night, you didn’t hold back anymore. Everything felt… warm. Close. And real. Without force. Without the hesitation that used to be so big.
Just two people—who finally stopped hiding from what they felt. Time passed without notice. And when everything settled—what remained was unsteady breathing… and a silence that felt comfortable. Not awkward. Not unfamiliar. Just… close.
Yoongi stayed there. Didn’t leave. As if he never intended to. And you… didn’t ask him to. That night, for the first time—you didn’t feel the need to keep your distance.
Morning came slowly. Light slipped through the curtains. You woke up gradually. Warm. That was the first thing you felt. Then you realized—there was an arm wrapped around you.
You froze for a moment. Then slowly… turn your head. Min Yoongi was still asleep. Close. Very close. His face calm, his breathing steady, and his arm… still holding you like last night.
Your heart started beating again. But this time—not from fear. More like… something warm spreading slowly in your chest. You stayed there. Not moving. Not pulling away. For the first time—you didn’t try to run. And maybe—that was the beginning of something truly new.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That morning came slowly, softly, with light slipping through the gaps in your bedroom curtains. You woke up first. And the first thing you saw—was Min Yoongi. Asleep beside you. Close. Too close for something you once thought was “impossible.”
You stayed still. Watching his face. His hair slightly messy, his breathing calm, his lips slightly parted—and for the first time, you saw him… without all the layers he usually showed the world. No coldness. No distance. Just… him.
And you really didn’t expect—him to be in your bed. Yours. Not in his luxurious villa. Not in a place full of distance. But here. Close. Real. Without realizing it, you smiled softly.
“Morning…” you whispered, even though you knew he wasn’t awake yet.
But he was. A little. His eyes still closed, but his hand moved, instinctively searching for you. Then—finding you. His arm wrapped lazily around your waist, pulling you slightly closer.
“I don’t want to wake up yet…”
His voice was hoarse. Heavy. Still half asleep.
You let out a small laugh. “You have to wake up.”
“Don’t want to.”
And before you could say anything else—his hand moved slowly, brushing against your thigh casually, like a reflex that was too comfortable.
You immediately tensed a little. “Yoongi…”
“Yeah…”
“Wasn’t last night enough?”
The words slipped out faster than you expected. He paused for a moment. Then—eyes still half closed—the corner of his lips lifted slightly.
“Not yet.”
His answer was casual. Too casual. And that instantly made your heart race again. Before you could move away—he had already pulled you closer. His kiss this time felt different. Still soft. But more certain. More… knowing. Not rushed, but clearly not hesitant. And you—who were still trying to hold back—immediately lost your rhythm again.
That morning moved slowly. Warm. Filled with small pauses, soft laughter, breaths colliding, and touches that were no longer awkward. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just two people—who finally let themselves… be close.
After everything settled, the two of you stayed there for a while. Quiet. Calm. And this time… you didn’t feel the need to run from the feeling.
“Is it enough now?” you asked softly.
He chuckled lightly, still with his eyes closed. “More or less.”
You lightly hit his arm. “Hey.”
He smiled. And you realized—you liked seeing that. Getting out of bed felt… lighter than usual.
The two of you eventually went to the kitchen. Still with a slightly awkward but… warm atmosphere. You started preparing a simple breakfast, but Yoongi immediately took over part of it.
“You just sit.”
“I’m already better.”
“It’s fine.”
His tone was casual, but still… protective. You finally sat on the chair, watching him. And again—strange. Seeing him in your kitchen. Cooking. In your house. Like this.
“Where are you going later?” you asked.
“Practice.”
“Oh.”
He nodded. “All day at HYBE.”
You nodded slowly.
“So you don’t need to cook today.”
“So nice,” you mumbled.
He chuckled softly. Your breakfast was simple. But it felt… enough. After that, Yoongi got ready to leave. Before stepping out, he paused in front of you. Looking. As if making sure of something.
“Take care of yourself.”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
And before you realized—it, he kissed your forehead. Brief. Warm. Then he left.
That day, in the practice room—Yoongi tried to act normal. Like usual. Focused. Professional. But… his phone was never far.
During breaks—the screen lit up immediately. Your chats.
Yoongi:
What are you doing?
Have you eaten?
Are you at home?
Jimin glanced from the side. “Hyung… are you in love?”
Yoongi immediately looked up. “What are you talking about.”
“You check your phone every five minutes.”
From afar, Taehyung chimed in. “Seriously, you’re so different now.”
Yoongi didn’t answer. But the corner of his lips… lifted slightly. And that was already enough of an answer.
On the other side—you read his messages. One by one. And without realizing—you smiled. Because now—it wasn’t just him who changed. You did too. And this time—you both knew—this was no longer something that could be called “temporary.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
In the practice studio, Yoongi tried… to look normal. His movements were the same. Focused. Professional. Not talking much like usual. At a glance—nothing had changed. But if you looked longer… it was obvious something was different. He checked his phone more often. Smiled to himself more often. And most noticeably—he looked… impatient.
“So weird,” Jimin muttered while watching from afar.
“Why?” Taehyung asked.
“Hyung looks like he’s waiting for something.”
Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “Or… someone.”
Meanwhile, Yoongi pretended not to hear.
Even though… It was true.
Since morning, his messages to you hadn’t stopped.
And you—who initially only replied briefly—slowly got pulled in too.
You:
Aren’t you tired?
Practicing all day and still going out?
The reply came quickly.
Yoongi:
I want to.
One word. But enough to make you pause… then smile to yourself.
Practice felt longer than usual. Every break, Yoongi checked his phone. Every time it almost ended, he looked at the clock. And when finally—
“Alright, that’s a wrap for today.”
He stood up immediately. Fast.
“Wait, want to eat first?” Jimin asked.
Yoongi grabbed his jacket right away. “No. I’m tired. I want to go straight home.”
Taehyung smirked. “Tired… or in a hurry?”
Yoongi only glanced briefly. “Tired.”
But the way he left the room—was too fast for someone who was just “tired.”
Outside, he got into his car. And before the engine fully started—a message was already sent to you.
Yoongi:
I’m on the way.
You, who were almost asleep, immediately sat up from your lying position. Your heart—felt strange. Different from usual. The minutes felt longer than they should. Until finally—another notification.
Yoongi:
I’m outside.
You almost stood up immediately. Quickly grabbed your bag. Check yourself briefly—then go out. And when you opened the door—the car was there. Dim lights. Engine running. And him—waiting.
You got into the car. And before you could say anything—Yoongi immediately looked at you. “Finally.”
His tone… relieved.
You smiled softly. “You look like you’ve been waiting forever.”
“I have.”
Short. Honest. And that immediately made your cheeks warm.
The car started moving. Not to any particular place. No clear destination. Just… driving around. Because you both knew—going somewhere crowded was too risky.
So your world that night—was just that car. City lights. And roads that kept moving. The first few minutes were quiet. But not awkward. More like… enjoying it.
Until—suddenly Yoongi’s hand moved. Searching for yours. And holding it. You immediately turned. Your heart—shot up.
“You’re driving…”
“I can.”
Casual. As if it was nothing. Even though it wasn’t for you. His hand was warm. His grip not too tight. But enough to make you… constantly aware. You tried to focus outside the window. Failed. Because you were too aware—your hands were still connected.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said.
“So have you.”
“I’ve been looking at you.”
You immediately turned quickly. “Watch the road.”
He chuckled softly. “Yeah.”
But his grip… didn’t let go. The car kept moving. City lights passing one by one. And in the middle of it all—you both… felt like you had your own world.
“Are you tired?” you asked softly.
“Tired.”
“Then you still went out?”
He glanced briefly.
“Because of you.”
Direct. No hesitation. And that—was too honest. You immediately looked down slightly. Unable to hold back your smile. Unable to stop your racing heart either.
“I feel guilty,” you muttered.
“Don’t.”
He lifted your hand slightly. Still holding it.
“This… is better than resting.”
You didn’t reply. Because you knew—if you spoke now, your voice wouldn’t be steady.
A while later, the car stopped on the side of a quieter road. City lights are still visible. The atmosphere is calm. And for the first time—you were truly still. No distractions. No reason to look away. Just… the two of you.
Yoongi turned. Looking at you. Longer than usual. And you—didn’t look away right away. Your heartbeat sounded too loud in your own ears.
“Are you still scared?” he asked softly.
You paused for a moment. Then—“Still.” Honest.
He nodded slightly. “It’s okay.”
His hand is still holding yours. Warm. Steady. “I’m here.”
That sentence was simple. But enough. And inside that car—on that quiet night—you both smiled softly. With the same feeling—light. Nervous. And… blooming, like teenagers falling in love for the first time.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The car finally slowed down. The rounds that had felt too fast… had to stop eventually. The lights in front of your house were already visible, and somehow—this time, the atmosphere felt different. Heavier. Yoongi turned off the engine.
But neither of you got out right away. Your hands were still intertwined. Neither of you wanted to let go first. Silence. Just the sound of the engine fading and the distant city in the background.
“We’re here,” you said softly.
“Yeah.”
But neither of you moved. You turned slightly. So did he. And for a few seconds—you just looked at each other. As if both of you knew… you didn’t want this moment to end.
“Tomorrow…” Yoongi started.
You waited.
“…you’re not coming over, right?”
You smiled a little. “Yeah. It’s the weekend.”
He nodded slowly. His expression shifted slightly. Not obviously sad… but enough for you to feel it. Heavy. And somehow—you felt the same. Thinking about not seeing each other for two days… felt long.
“What if I come to your place?” he suddenly asked.
Direct. No hesitation. You immediately turned. “What?”
“We’ll just stay in. Not going anywhere.”
His tone was casual. But clearly… serious. Your heart immediately grew restless again.
“Yoongi…”
You hesitated. A lot. “That’s risky.”
“We’ll be careful.”
You shook your head slowly. “What if someone sees?”
He stayed quiet for a moment. You continued. “I’ll just come to your place instead.”
He looked at you. Slightly surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
You took a slow breath.
“UN Village is safer, right? Security is tight, outsiders can’t just get in.”
He immediately nodded. Without thinking. “Okay.” Quick. Almost too quick.
You even laughed softly. “You didn’t even think about it first?”
“No need.”
His answer was casual. But clear. “I actually prefer you coming over.”
You looked down slightly. Unable to hide your smile. “You…”
He leaned a little closer. Still in his seat. But enough to make the distance feel smaller again.
“You’re coming tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Promise?”
You looked at him. Then nodded softly. “Yeah.”
And that was enough. His smile appeared again. That one. The one that always made your heart race for no reason.
“I’ll be waiting.”
You slowly opened the car door. Got out. But before you could really walk away—his voice called.
“Y/N.”
You turned. He was still in the car. Looking at you. And without many words—he just smiled slightly. But this time—it was different. More… clear. More warm. More honest. And somehow—that was enough to make your chest feel full.
You smiled back. Then went inside. Meanwhile in the car—Min Yoongi leaned back in his seat for a moment. Looking ahead. And for the first time in a long while—he was truly… impatient for the next day.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The next day, you really came. Your heart still… refused to cooperate. Even though this was already a decision you both made. Even though you already knew this would happen. Still—your heart raced.
When you entered the villa in UN Village, the atmosphere immediately felt… different. Not like a workday. No “work” rhythm. No pressure. Just—Yoongi. Already waiting.
Min Yoongi stood in the living room, casual, wearing a light hoodie, his hair slightly messy—and when he saw you walk in, his expression immediately changed. More alive.
“You came.”
His tone was light, but clearly… happy.
You nodded slightly. “Yeah.”
You glanced toward the kitchen.
“The ingredients—”
“No need.”
He cut you off immediately. You turned.
“I already ordered food.”
You frowned. “Why?”
He walked a little closer. “I don’t want to waste time.”
That answer… was too honest. And it instantly made your cheeks warm.
“You usually take a long time in the kitchen,” he continued casually. “Today… I want you here.”
Your heart—immediately lost its rhythm. You tried to act normal.
“Ugh… you.”
He just smiled slightly. And without many words—you were both already sitting on the sofa. The TV was on. But honestly—neither of you was really watching.
Yoongi sat close. Too close. His hand slowly pulled you a little—and before you realized it—you were already leaning on his shoulder. Quiet. Comfortable.
His arm wrapped loosely around you. Occasionally brushing your arm softly. And you… didn’t refuse. Didn’t pull away. Just… stayed there. Enjoying it.
“This is better than going out,” you muttered softly.
“Yeah,” he replied immediately.
“You’re afraid of getting caught?”
You nodded slightly. “Very.”
He lowered his head a little, his voice softer. “Me too.”
You turned slightly. “You?”
He nodded. “But not because of me.”
You stayed quiet.
“Because of you.”
That sentence—instantly made your heart drop again.
Before you could respond—
Knock knock.
Both of you froze instantly. Reflex.
Yoongi immediately looked toward the door. So did you. Your heart shot up.
“Did you order something else?” you whispered, panicked.
He shook his head. “No.”
Knock knock.
Clearer. More real. You looked at each other. And in one second—panic.
Yoongi stood up immediately. “You… just sit normally.”
“Normally how?!”
He was already walking to the door. And when it opened—you both knew… this wasn’t a normal situation.
His mother. Standing at the door. Holding a small bag.
“I just stopped by for a bit—”
She paused. Looking inside. Looking at you. You immediately stood up. Your heart—completely chaotic.
“Auntie…”
You bowed slightly, nervous. She looked at you. Then at Yoongi. Then back at you.
“Oh… you’re here?”
Her tone wasn’t angry. But clearly… surprised. “Aren’t you usually here on weekdays?”
You opened your mouth. Not knowing what to say. “Yeah, I—”
You immediately looked down, holding yourself back from reacting. That was… absurd.
His mother looked at both of you. Silent for a few seconds. Then—nodded slowly.
“Oh… I see.”
Her tone was… odd. Like she didn’t fully believe it. But also didn’t want to push further.
“I just came to drop this,” she said, handing over a bag of bread. “I won’t stay long.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
You were still a bit nervous. Yoongi stood beside you, slightly too close… without realizing it. His mother noticed. Briefly. And a small smile appeared on her face. Not too obvious. But enough.
“Alright, I’ll go now.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
The door closed. And once it fully shut—you both went silent. For a few seconds. Then—you quickly turned to Yoongi.
“Extra work?”
He looked at you. Then—laughed softly.
You immediately covered your face for a moment. “Oh my God…”
“You were about to say what?”
“I didn’t know!”
The two of you finally… laughed. Softly. But relieved. Yoongi walked closer, pulling you gently into his warm embrace, then pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
Meanwhile outside—his mother walked away from the house. With a wide smile. Wider than before. She shook her head lightly.
“That kid…”
Her tone was warm.
Because it was obvious—her son had been lying. And just as obvious—he was in love. Especially—with you. And that—made her happier than anything.
← Part 1 | Part 3 →
✨EARLY ACCESS✨ | Read the next part before everyone else on my Ko-fi ☕️
Be the first to know when I update → Taglist 📝
Author Notes: Wow! I have to release this part earlier than I expected because it turns out so many people enjoyed this story and somehow it reached 500 likes so quickly. I honestly thought I’d be posting Part 2 around the end of June. Maybe because quite a lot of people reblogged it, more people found it and pressed the like button faster.. I hope you like this part too. Don’t forget to leave a like, reblog, or comment on which part you liked the most.
Summary: Running a small bar in a quiet town near a military base was supposed to be your whole life; long nights, familiar faces, and the weight of debts that weren’t always yours. Love was the last thing on your mind, especially with someone like Taehyung: a charming, intense soldier serving his mandatory service before going back to his idol life. What started as stolen conversations and late-night flirtation quickly turned into something deeper, something that made you believe that maybe you could have more. But in a place where secrets don’t stay hidden and powerful people don’t like to lose, getting close to him might be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done. Can you really let yourself fall when everything around you is trying to pull you under? Or will loving Taehyung cost you more than you’re willing to pay?
Genre: Idol au, strangers to lovers, military era au.
Warnings: I always wanted to write Taehyung in the Special Duty Team, and what was supposed to be just a quick one shot became something with plot. I have been sitting with this story in my head since he enlisted, and I’m now finally able to get it out, since this boy decided to go wild for the Arirang tour. This story will talk about military life, mentions of the loss of a loved one (non graphic), debt, and mentions of mature themes, so be warned. I honestly love this story so much, because it became much deeper than I was expecting it. There’s also a lot of fluff, sweetness and smut along with the angst!
WC: 21k
PART ONE
You had no damn clue how today had gone so bad so fast. It started with Namjoon’s arrival, and it ended with your bar being shut down by the police. Because what else did you have to lose, right?
From what Mina told you as she frantically tried to explain what just happened before you arrived, someone had sent an anonymous tip to the police about the bar not having a permit to serve alcohol; which you knew it had.
But it just so happened to be expired; which you did not know.
You had no doubt in your mind that Mr. Han had everything to do with the call that resulted in the closing of your bar, so he could take away the last straw to break you down completely.
Thankfully, the bar didn't have to be permanently closed. It just couldn't open again before you paid for the new permit and then some more for a new inspection.
Which, at this point, could mean the same thing.
So you told Mina, Sana and Mrs. Kim that you were very sorry about everything and that they should probably start looking for new jobs. You were doing the very same thing at this very moment, alone in your apartment, sitting on the floor because that felt more like home than if you were on the couch.
You weren’t scared of working hard or trying out new tasks, you were just… Severely under qualified for anything that paid well enough for you to survive while paying Mr. Han's growing fees.
Mrs. Kim had texted you an hour ago, suggesting you try to apply for the clerk position at the CU where her husband worked at, which was across the street from the bar, but you knew everyone in that area had seen Mr. Han regularly dropping by, so you doubted you'd get hired.
No one messed with Mr. Han.
Only you, apparently.
And to make matters even worse, the landlord had been coming around knocking on your door from hour to hour, his tone becoming more and more impatient as he said:
“I know you're in there.” he'd sounded more tired than annoyed the last time. “If you can't pay this month's rent by the end of it, I'll need you to find somewhere else to live.”
You never answered, because what could you say to that? What empty promises would be good enough to save your ass for another four weeks?
You stayed in the dark, because not only did it save you some power bill money, you liked the soft light from your scented candle, and the landlord wouldn't be able to see it from underneath the doorframe.
Maybe he wouldn't come back until the next morning.
But then there was a new knock at your door and you were sure the landlord wouldn't give up until he drove you to madness.
When your phone started buzzing in front of you at the center table, your heart skipped all the beats when you saw the saved contact name and you laughed softly under your breath, because of course he'd be calling you right now.
Eh, what's one more person being disappointed with you?
“Please, not tonight, Tae.” you said as you picked up the call because at least he deserved that. “You can yell at me tomorrow, okay?”
“Open the door, hustler.”
Your heart slammed to a full stop in your chest.
For a second the world went completely silent except for the low, familiar rumble of his breathing on the other side of the door. Taehyung was here? After everything, after you’d ripped both your hearts out this afternoon trying to do the ‘right thing’? You were so sure you’d never see him again, much less tonight, not like this–
You pushed yourself off the floor, phone still pressed tightly to your ear like it might disappear if you let go, like this could still be some cruel joke. Bare feet padded across the cold wooden floor and your hand shook as you reached for the lock.
The moment you opened the door, the hallway light spilled in and there he was.
Freshly showered, dark hair still damp and messy from the helmet of his bike, a few strands falling over his forehead. He wore simple dark jeans and a black Celine shirt that looked stupidly expensive, probably worth more than your overdue rent, and somehow he still managed to look like the safest place in the world. You hadn’t seen him in maybe six hours, and already your memory had failed him. No picture in your head had ever done justice to how beautiful he was.
Your hand dropped slowly, phone slipping away from your ear.
“I meant what I said about the yelling, Tae.” you almost pleaded, voice thin and cracked. There was no fight left in you tonight.
But Taehyung didn’t look angry, he looked tired… and scared. Like he was holding his breath, waiting for you to slam the door in his face again. He lifted the pizza box between you like a fragile white flag:
“And I meant what I said about the cheap ramen you keep eating.”
His voice was quiet and rough around the edges, the fear bleeding through just enough for you to hear it. He was terrified you’d take the pizza and send him away anyway.
You stood there for half a second, heart aching so badly it felt bruised, then stepped aside without another word. You couldn’t send him away twice in one day.
Taehyung stepped inside without hesitation, moving through the tiny entryway as if he already knew the shape of your apartment by heart; not that there was much of it to learn. He headed straight for the little kitchen area just off to the right after taking off his sneakers, his presence filling the small space in a way that somehow made it feel less empty instead of overcrowded.
You lingered for a second longer at the door with leftover nerves as you peeked out into the hallway to make sure your landlord wasn’t still lurking nearby. When you saw no one, you quickly closed the door and turned the lock, the soft click sounding far too loud in the quiet.
By the time you turned around, Taehyung had already set the pizza box on the narrow kitchen island and flipped it open. He didn’t say anything about the darkness, about how the only light came from the few scented candles flickering on the center table and the windowsill, casting soft golden pools across the worn surfaces.
The warm, savory smell of melted cheese and greasy wonderfulness rose up between you, and your stomach gave a loud, traitorous grumble. You hadn’t eaten anything since Minseok’s hot dog back at the camp earlier that day, and of course Taehyung knew that too without having to guess too hard.
You moved closer, stopping on the opposite side of the tiny island, the small barrier between you feeling both necessary and ridiculous at the same time. Taehyung lifted the lid fully, revealing the pizza split neatly in half; one side bulgogi, the other plain cheese. And without any ceremony, he picked up a slice and took a bite, chewing quietly like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Something in your chest loosened, just a little. You reached out and took a slice from the meat side, the crust still warm against your fingers. It was fresher than you expected, the cheese pulling in soft, gooey strands, definitely not something that had been strapped to the back of his bike for the ride over.
The realization settled over you slowly: he must have ordered it from downstairs when he arrived, waiting there in the entrance until it came so he could bring it up warm. The thought was so quietly thoughtful, so full of care you hadn’t earned, that the first bite became difficult to swallow past the sudden tightness in your throat.
You both ate quietly, each taking two slices, one bulgogi, one cheese, while your eyes kept drifting toward each other only to slip away the moment they met.
The silence pressed against your skin and you hated it most of all. Conversation had always come so easily between you, light and teasing and warm, and now this careful distance felt unbearable.
All you wanted was to step around the small island and stand close enough that your arms might brush, but after everything that had happened today, even this moment felt like more than you had any right to hope for.
Maybe you were dreaming, curled up on the couch just a couple of meters behind you, imagining the whole thing.
You could have eaten more, the pizza was warm and comforting and delicious, but the thought of the conversation waiting for you made your appetite shrink. So you paced yourself, taking smaller bites until your second slice was gone. Eventually you slipped away to the tiny counter behind Taehyung and turned on the faucet, the sudden rush of water sounding far too loud as you washed your hands.
“Thank you for the pizza.” you murmured after you were done cleaning up, realizing only then that you hadn’t said it yet.
“Thank you for not kicking me out.” there was a small smile on his lips when you glanced back, soft and tentative.
Taehyung turned as well, washing his hands in the same sink. You passed him the tea towel without a word, your fingers brushing for the briefest second. Once he dried his hands, the question finally slipped out, quiet and heavy:
“What are you doing here, Tae?”
He exhaled slowly. “I heard about what happened at the bar. Mina called Ji-hoon hyung while I was still in the room.”
“Oh.” the word fell small between you.
One more piece of your mess that Taehyung already knew about, too. Great.
“I’m really sorry.” he said, and the sincerity in his voice didn’t feel like pity, it felt like he was hurting with you, which somehow hurt more. “Do you know who gave the police the tip?”
You nodded, gaze dropping to the counter. “Only one person comes to mind.”
“I thought so.” his voice softened. “What are we–”
A sharp knock at the door cut him off mid-sentence.
You pressed a finger to your lips, eyes wide, while your other hand reached quickly for his arm, wrapping gently around his wrist before he could speak or move toward the door.
Taehyung froze, brows pulling together in a frown. Another knock echoed through the apartment, sharper this time, and then footsteps slowly retreated down the hallway again, just like they had been doing all evening. Only when the sound faded completely did your shoulders drop, just a fraction.
You kept hold of his wrist, not brave enough to take his hand, and gently pulled him with you toward the living room, putting a little more distance between you and the entrance in case the landlord was still listening at the door.
“Who was that?” Taehyung asked, voice low and full of concern.
“My landlord.” you admitted softly, because there was no point in hiding anything from him anymore. “He’s been trying to kick me out. But if he can’t find me, he can’t serve me the notice.”
“Yn.”
Your name sounded heavy and wrong coming from Taehyung’s mouth like that. You offered him a sad little smile as you lowered yourself onto the couch.
“I’ll figure it out.” you swallowed around the tennis-ball-sized lump in your throat. “I always have.”
Taehyung watched you for a moment, then respected your words for now. He sat down beside you on the couch, leaving enough space that your knees didn’t brush, but his warmth still reached you anyway; soft and comforting, like summer mornings when you were small and the only worry you had was what to eat for breakfast.
“Now will you talk to me?” he asked quietly, turning so his side rested against the back of the couch, fully facing you.
“Tae…” you let out a small, shaky breath, but he didn’t let you finish.
“Because I don’t believe you just had a sudden change of heart after everything that happened today.” he continued, gentle but insistent, like this is what he came here to talk to you about and since you let him in, he would say his piece. You shifted to face him too, folding your legs beneath you. “If you’re really not into me, I’ll understand that and leave you alone. But you’ll have to tell that to your eyes, because I still see the way you look at me.”
“Of course I’m into you– How could I not be? But this is pointless.” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You kept your gaze lowered, unable to meet his. “When all of this is over, you’ll pack your bags and go back to Seoul, back to your real life with the members. You’ll have more options and–”
Your voice cracked. You had to close your eyes for a moment, forcing the tears back down. Taehyung waited patiently, and after a few heartbeats you felt the lightest touch, just the tip of his finger gently caressing the front of your knee, so soft it almost didn’t feel real.
“And I’ll still be here…” you continued, voice barely above a whisper, finally brave enough to look at his face. “Stuck to a responsibility that isn’t even mine, but that keeps me from following you. So can you respect my decision?”
“I could, if those words were actually yours.” he said with a small, pained smile, eyes scanning yours carefully. “You see, someone else told me something surprisingly similar to all of that recently. Pointless? More options?”
You bit down on your tongue, realizing too late that you had echoed Namjoon’s words almost exactly. Thinking clearly had never been your strongest suit when Taehyung was this close.
“What else did he say to you?” when you stayed quiet, Tahyung added: “Please tell me so I can reassure you against all of it.”
“He didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.” you answered, crestfallen. “And that you know too, Tae. You can’t tell me you believe this could be forever.”
“I don’t see why it can’t be.”
“You leave in seven months.” you reminded him, the truth sitting heavy between you. “I’m promised to someone else.”
“You were sold to someone else.” he corrected gently, something dark and troubled flickering across his face. “And I already told you– I’m not going to let that happen.”
Another knock came at the door, louder and sharper than before, and you jumped, heart leaping into your throat. Embarrassment flooded through you so fast it flushed your entire face with heat. You rubbed both hands over your face, frustration and bone-deep exhaustion mixing together until you felt like you might finally crumble.
“Fucking hell.” Taehyung muttered, already pushing up from the couch, obviously fed up.
“Tae.” You reached for him, fingers brushing uselessly against his arm, but he was already moving toward the door with purpose.
“Let me handle this.” his tone left no room for argument, steady and final.
And honestly, you didn’t argue.
You were too tired, and some small, worn-out part of you was simply giving up. You stayed on the couch and watched as he unlocked your door and stepped outside, catching only a brief glimpse of the old man who owned the building before the door clicked shut behind him. You were alone again in the dim, candle-lit apartment, but the mood was all wrong for the cozy vibes it usually brought.
You could hear the landlord’s voice, low and muffled, but none of Taehyung’s. He wasn’t the type to raise his voice anyway, and somehow that made the waiting even worse. You sat there restless, biting at your nails and shifting on the couch, knees drawn up tight as the minutes stretched.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes, yet it felt like ages before the door opened again and Taehyung stepped back inside like nothing had happened at all. You were already on your feet the moment he appeared.
“He won’t be bothering you again for a while.” Taehyung told you calmly.
“What did you say to him?” you asked, arms wrapping around yourself like they could hold you steady.
“That’s between me and him.” he answered, voice gentle but still final. “And you don’t get to hustle me about it.”
The familiar nickname was in there somehow, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, and you didn’t have the strength to push it. You didn’t let yourself think too hard about what he might have done, about Tae possibly paying your overdue rent with money that probably felt like pocket change to him.
Instead you sank back onto the couch, the wave of relief so big and sudden that it pressed heavily against your chest. Your hands came up to cover your face as you tried to steady your breathing, slow and shaky.
Taehyung moved without hesitation, dropping to his knees on the floor right in front of you, the motion so fluid and earnest it made your heart ache. His hands gently pulled yours away from your face, holding them carefully so you had no choice but to look at him.
“Now you listen to me.” he said softly, eyes steady and flicking between yours. “I don’t make empty promises. And if I’m telling you I’m not walking out on you… it’s because I’m not.”
You did what he asked and simply listened, because his hands were still holding yours, because he was right here on his knees in front of you and he hadn’t left. The warmth of his skin against yours made it impossible to pull away. You gave him the smallest nod, barely there, and that was all he needed to continue.
“Namjoon-hyung is wrong, this isn’t pointless. Not to me. And I know you don’t think like that either.” Taehyung said, firm but gentle. His thumbs drew slow, soothing circles against the back of your hands, grounding you, keeping you from spiraling further. “I don’t care about other options. I’m not going to be depressed after a breakup… because that’s not going to happen.”
“I can’t leave, Tae.” you sniffled, voice cracking.
“Not right now,” he murmured, leaning in a little closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “But you will.”
“Kai won’t let me.” the words slipped out heavy with fear and exhaustion, carrying the weight of years you didn’t want to think about.
“I’ll figure that out too.” he promised softly. One of his hands left yours so he could reach up and tuck your hair gently behind your ear, his fingers lingering. “I can’t do anything right now because of this stupid enlistment, but I have a good company behind me. Powerful. With more connections than you might think. I don’t just mean money, my name holds a lot of weight.”
“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be getting involved with me.” you whispered. Still, you couldn’t help leaning your cheek into his palm, pressing into the warmth, trying to memorize the feeling in case this was the last time he ever touched you like this.
“Sucks to be you,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, crooked smile. “Because I already am.”
Your own smile came reluctant and shaky. “You steal hearts and catchphrases, huh?”
Another small piece of your soul clicked back into place just from seeing him smile, from the simple fact that he was still here and you loved him.
Taehyung shuffled closer on his knees until he was right between your legs. He rested his hands on the couch on either side of you, caging you in, but it didn’t feel trapping like everything else in your life. It felt like being held, even though he wasn’t touching you.
“I’m asking you to trust me.” he continued, voice low and steady. “I can buy us time now, and then when I’m off, we can fix this properly.”
“I’m not accepting your money, Tae.” you shook your head quickly. “Even if Mr. Han would let me buy myself back, I wouldn’t sell myself to you either.”
“That’s not what’s going to happen, hustler.” he said, his hands turning to rest warmly on the sides of your thighs, grounding and sure. “I’m already talking to some lawyers about your situation, because this debt isn’t yours. You shouldn’t have been dragged into it in the first place.”
“I still was.”
Then, careful and quiet, Taehyung added: “I also have a detective looking for your uncle.”
“You what–” surprise jolted through you, eyes widening.
“They have a few leads, too.” Tae continued gently. “If we find your uncle, the lawyers can force the debt back onto him where it belongs.”
“I’m not throwing my uncle into the sharks to save my own ass.” you shook your head slowly, caught between the desperate want to reach for the way out he was offering and the stubborn values that felt like the only thing no one could ever take from you. “That would make me the same as him. I’m not like that.”
“I knew you’d say that. But that’s not what’s going to happen.” Taehyung murmured, reassuring. His hands slid a little higher on your thighs, thumbs still moving in those slow circles. “With your uncle back, we can tie the collateral to something tangible, to his assets. The bar will be the collateral, not you.”
You were trying to follow, but it still felt hazy. “Why would that work now? Even if my uncle comes back and signs the bar over to Mr. Han, Kai still wants me. Why would he take the bar instead?”
“Because the moment Kai tries to put a finger on you, this becomes a human trafficking threat.” Taehyung said, like he’d spent hours going over these very questions with his lawyers already. “Then we can file a protection order and a criminal complaint. We get the police involved on our terms.”
The words settled deep in your chest, heavy and bright at the same time. It could actually work… If he was really telling the truth about the lawyers, the detective, all of it, if no one got hurt in the process. For the first time in so long, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself agree.
“Why does this sound too good to be true, Tae?” your final walls were crumbling, eyes filling with salt water.
“Because you’re used to people walking out on you, hustler.” he said softly. “Not people making a point to stay.”
The first tear slipped down your cheek, then the second. Taehyung rose up on his knees, fitting himself against you as you finally let go.
The last time you let anyone see you cry was at your father’s funeral, refusing to show any weakness that could be used against you after feeling so alone in the world. But now you had Tae, and the quiet, messy sobs that shook your whole body weren’t stopping.
He held you through every single one, arms wrapped securely around you, one hand gently cradling the back of your head. Taehyung didn’t try to shush you, he didn’t tell you to stop. Tae simply held you, steady and warm, like nothing you showed him could ever scare him away.
And in that moment, you didn’t feel like you were breaking apart anymore. You felt seen, supported and loved. Like for the first time in years, you were being given something, instead of it being taken from you.
-
-
The warm glow of the bedside lamp bathed your bedroom in a soft golden light.
For tonight, you didn’t have to worry about the power bill anymore, so you left it on without guilt, refusing to turn on the white ceiling light that always made everything feel harsh.
You were sitting cross-legged on the edge of your bed when you heard the small sounds from the hallway, Taehyung finishing up in the bathroom after using the spare toothbrush you’d given him.
“I’m in my room.” you called softly, a smile already tugging at your lips.
Taehyung followed your voice and appeared at your doorway, stepping in and pausing for a moment. You watched, endeared, as his curious eyes moved around the room the same way yours had wandered through his military dorm earlier that day. Was that today? Or did it already count as yesterday?
It felt like so long ago now, after everything that had happened, that your sense of space and time were thrown off.
“Dammit.” he said, pointing at your light green headboard with a playful pout. “I thought that would be butter yellow.”
You laughed, surprised by how easily the sound came even after all the crying. “You pictured my headboard?”
“Amongst other things.” he shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting as he slowly walked further into your space.
You let him look around. You were patient, because this was you, the real you; the swimming competition medals pinned to the wall, the delicate string of fairy lights draped along the windowsill, the old polaroids of your early teenage years taped to the mirror, the scattered makeup on your dresser, even the pile of fuzzy socks next to the hamper.
Not the debts, not the unpaid bills or the people you’d let down. This.
Taehyung turned around to face you fully after taking it all in, and the way he looked at you made something warm bloom in your chest. Because it hadn’t changed at all, not once.
“Thank you for staying with me tonight.” you tilted your head as you finally stopped running from his gaze. “Are you sure you won’t get in trouble?”
“Not at all.” he laughed, low and easy, pushing away from your dresser and walking over to you. “But you’re worth the risk.”
You smiled, teasing. “Just say you want to sleep on a real bed for once.”
He sat down beside you on the mattress, reaching out to press his palm against the soft bedding, testing it with a gentle push. It didn’t creak, it didn’t hurt your back like the thin one in his dorm.
“And here I was thinking you’d send me to the couch.” he tried to sound innocent even though his eyes were sparkling with amusement.
“First of all, I don’t think you would fit on my couch.” you pointed out, and he laughed because he knew it was true. You leaned in a little, voice growing softer, more honest. “And second… the last thing I want tonight is to have you even a room away.”
Taehyung’s laugh faded into something quieter as he leaned in until his nose brushed yours, voice low and warm against your lips.
“I was trying really hard to behave tonight, I swear. This is not why I said yes to staying over…” his gaze dropped to your mouth, then slowly back up. “But you keep looking at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you, Tae?” you asked sweetly, blinking slow and innocent, even though you both knew exactly what you were doing.
“Like you’re about to hustle me already.” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Not tonight.” you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “I do want to take care of you, though.”
Your hand slid onto his thigh, inching higher with purposeful slowness. You leaned into his body, breathing him in, the clean scent of his skin mixed with the faint trace of your toothpaste on his lips. Taehyung’s breath hitched as you pressed closer.
“You’ve been so nice to me all this time…” you whispered, lips brushing along the column of his neck, placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. “And I haven’t kept the promise I made over the phone, did I?”
“W-what was that again?” his voice stuttered beautifully when your mouth lingered on his neck, teeth grazing lightly.
You smiled against his skin, letting your hand travel higher until you cupped the growing hardness beneath his pants.
“I still want you in my mouth, Tae.” you breathed, squeezing gently. “Can I finally have it?”
Taehyung let out a shaky exhale, one hand instinctively sliding into your hair as his hips twitched toward your touch. The air between you felt electric now, thick with want from the both of you, which felt both natural and surprising at the same time.
Taehyung’s fingers tightened gently in your hair, tilting your head just enough so he could kiss you.
The moment your lips met, everything turned electric. The kiss was urgent in the way you both had been holding back for hours, but still lazy and exploratory, like you were learning each other all over again even though you already knew exactly how to drive one another crazy.
His tongue slid against yours, slow and deep, coaxing the softest moan from your throat. You answered by sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, savoring the way he tasted, a little minty from the toothpaste, completely him. The kiss grew wetter, more sensual, tongues stroking and teasing in a rhythm that made heat pool between your legs.
You could feel every little hitch in his breath, the way his hand flexed in your hair, the quiet sound he made when you tilted your head and kissed him even deeper.
All the while, your hand never stopped moving. You palmed him over his jeans, squeezing and rubbing with slow strokes, feeling him grow thicker and harder under your touch. He was getting so hard so fast it made you dizzy with want.
Taehyung moaned into your mouth, low and broken. The sound was so pretty it made you squeeze him a little firmer. He tried to keep kissing you, but he couldn’t anymore, his head fell back with a heavy exhale, lips parted, eyes half-closed as he gave in to the feeling of your hand.
That was your cue.
You slipped off the bed and settled on your knees between his spread thighs. Taehyung looked down at you, breathing hard, one hand reaching out to cup your cheek tenderly. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip.
“This is still something you want, right?” he asked, voice already rough, clearly remembering this would be your first time doing this. You nodded right away, eyes locked on his. “Thank god.”
He laughed, soft and relieved, the sound melting into a groan when you smiled up at him.
The little laugh that escaped you was full of nerves and excitement as you reached for the waistband of his jeans. You worked the buttons open and started tugging them down his hips and Taehyung lifted his hips to help you, watching every movement with dark, hungry eyes.
“Will you tell me if I do it wrong?” you asked, a little shy but mostly eager. “Or show me how you like it?”
“‘course, baby” he rasped, already sounding completely fucked out, and you hadn’t even touched him properly yet. His hand stayed gentle on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin like you were something precious. “I’ll show you everything.”
You stayed on your knees between his spread thighs, heart beating hard in your chest. With gentle hands, you finished pulling his jeans down his long legs, then pushed the fabric aside on the floor. His boxers were next. You hooked your fingers into the waistband and tugged them down carefully, slowly, savoring the moment you’d finally see all of him.
When his cock finally sprang free, heavy and flushed, you froze.
Because fuck.
Taehyung was bigger than you’d imagined even after feeling him through his clothes; thick, girthy, curving slightly upward, the head already glistening. The sight of him made your mouth water instantly.
Taehyung let out a low, smug chuckle, tilting his head as he watched you stare, knowing what was going through your mind. His voice was cocky, dripping with amusement and arousal as he teased:
“It’s not even in your mouth yet and you’re already drooling, huh?”
Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t look away.
“You’re so big…” you breathed, genuinely impressed, almost overwhelmed. “I don’t even know how…”
Taehyung didn’t move to rush you or push you. Instead, he watched you with that dark, predatory tilt to his head, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. You could see the way his chest rose and fell a little faster, the way his cock twitched under your gaze, but he kept his voice gentle when he finally spoke again.
“You can start by touching it, baby.”
His tone was soft, but you could hear the strain underneath, the clear want threading through every word. One of his hands came down to rest lightly on your cheek again, thumb stroking your skin in slow, soothing circles, even as his other hand flexed against the bed like he was trying not to grab you.
Your fingers were gentle at first, almost tentative as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock. He was heavier and thicker than anyone you’d ever held, for sure. Your fingertips barely met around his girth, and the realization sent a fresh wave of heat through you. It seemed they kept coming.
You explored him slowly, learning. Your thumb brushed over the smooth, flushed head, spreading the bead of precum that had gathered there, then dragged back down in a lazy circle. Taehyung’s breath hitched. You tried a gentle twist just beneath the head and his thigh tensed hard beside your shoulder.
Encouraged, you started stroking him properly with long, languid, upwards strokes, letting your palm glide over every inch of him. Tae was so responsive... Every time your thumb pressed against that sensitive spot right under the head, his stomach tightened, the muscles flexing beautifully under golden skin. Low, breathy sounds kept slipping from his throat, and the more vocal he got, the bolder you felt.
After a few slow strokes, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his inner thigh, savoring the smooth, heated skin. You could smell him here too, clean skin, faint soap, and something unmistakably masculine that made your head spin. You kissed higher, open-mouthed and unhurried.
“Don’t be a tease, hustler…” Taehyung moaned, the words rough and desperate.
“I like touching you, ‘s all,” you mumbled, voice sweet and a little shy.
Still, you brought your face closer, letting your warm breath fan over his cock. You wanted this, you wanted to try, even if you took your time and figured it out as you went. You knew he wouldn’t be upset if you decided it wasn’t for you.
So you started simple.
You pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his length, right at the base, then dragged your lips slowly upward. He was so long that halfway up you had to smile against his skin, almost laughing at how far you still had to go up.
Taehyung let out a breathless chuckle, though the sound was strained. He was watching you with dark, tortured eyes.
“At least you’re having fun…” he rasped, looking like it was taking everything in him not to buck up into your touch.
You kept kissing along his length for a moment longer, working up your courage, then parted your lips and carefully took the tip of his cock into your mouth.
The first feeling was… strange. Definitely not bad, just new for you. He was so warm and heavy on your tongue, the skin silky soft over hardness. You had been lowkey terrified he might taste bad, but he didn’t. It was a clean, slightly tangy taste; skin and precum, but still nothing unpleasant. The unfamiliar fullness in your mouth made your cheeks flush hotter.
The moment you closed your lips around him, Taehyung let out the most beautiful moan, low, rough, and completely unguarded like he hadn’t been able to be when you were at the dorm. The sound shot straight between your legs and made you want to hear it again. And again. And then some more.
You focused on the head first, swirling your tongue around it slowly, exploring. When you licked right beneath the ridge, right where you’d felt him twitch earlier in your hand, his hips jerked and another deep moan spilled from his throat.
“Fuck… just like that, baby.” he breathed, voice raspy. His hand stayed gentle in your hair, not pushing, just resting there. “Use your tongue a little more on the head… yeah, like that. Good girl.”
The praise and the way he told you exactly what he liked made heat flare in your stomach. You found it ridiculously hot, the way he was guiding you so softly, so patiently. You wanted to please him more than anything, so you obeyed instantly, swirling your tongue with more confidence, licking every spot that made his thighs tense or his breath catch.
Taehyung’s head tipped back for a second before he looked down at you again, eyes dark and hazy.
“Suck a little harder on the tip… not too much. Just– ah, yeah… just like that.” his fingers flexed gently in your hair. “You’re doing so well already. Look at me, hustler.”
You lifted your gaze while keeping him in your mouth, lips wrapped prettily around the head, tongue still moving. The eye contact made his cock twitch hard against your tongue.
“Shit.” he groaned, the sound wrecked. “You have no idea how pretty you look right now.”
You kept working the head with your tongue, sucking a little harder like he’d told you, and Taehyung’s moans were getting deeper, prettier. You were starting to enjoy this more than you ever expected, the weight of him on your tongue, the way his sounds filled the quiet room, the feeling of power every time his hips twitched because of something you did.
“Use your hand too, baby.” he rasped, voice rough with want. “Stroke what you can’t fit… yeah, just like that. Squeeze me a little more– fuck, good girl.”
You wrapped your fingers around the base and started pumping him in time with your mouth, squeezing the way he liked. The combination made his abs clench hard, thighs trembling on either side of you.
Taehyung’s hand tightened in your hair, giving it a gentle tug. The light pull sent a spark of heat through you and you moaned around his cock. He hissed sharply at the vibration.
Tae’s other hand came down to caress your cheek, thumb stroking tenderly even while his voice stayed wrecked.
“Think you can bob your head for me, baby?” he asked, breathing hard. “Or do you want me to help?”
You pulled off him with a wet pop, surprised by how slick and shiny his cock looked now, covered in your spit. You kept stroking him with a closed fist, twisting your hand around the head as you answered, a little breathless:
“Can you show me how?”
Taehyung looked like he was losing his mind. His cock throbbed hard in your hand, leaking more precum that you used to make your strokes smoother and wetter.
“Come here,” he murmured. Tae held both sides of your face gently but firmly, guiding you back to his cock. “Open for me, baby. Relax your jaw… tongue flat against the bottom– that’s it.”
You parted your lips again and he slowly guided your head down, helping you take more of him into your mouth. He was careful, patient, but you could feel how much he was holding back.
“Just like that… nice and slow,” he praised, voice thick. “Hollow your cheeks a little when you come back up– ah, fuck, that’s good.”
He started guiding you properly then, moving your head up and down in a steady rhythm, showing you exactly how he liked it. Every time you did something right he rewarded you with a broken ‘that’s it’ or a soft ‘good girl’ that made you moan around him.
You were getting wetter by the second, completely lost in the feeling of him filling your mouth and the way he was teaching you. And Taehyung… he was falling apart, head tipped back, lips parted, breathing ragged as he watched you take him deeper with every careful stroke of his hands.
You grew bolder with every stroke of his hands guiding you. Soon you were moving on your own, bobbing your head with more confidence, taking him deeper each time. You couldn’t fit all of him, he was simply too big, and this was your first time giving head, but you still pushed yourself, sliding him toward the back of your throat just like you had with his fingers earlier today.
The wet, filthy sounds filled the room: soft slurping, the occasional gag when you took him too deep, and the quiet, desperate moans vibrating around his cock. You swallowed around him, throat tightening, and Taehyung’s grip in your hair suddenly turned firmer.
“Fuck– baby, I’m gonna cum,” he warned, voice strained and urgent. “Show me those tits–”
It was the only warning you got, the only you needed.
You pulled off him quickly, spit connecting your lips to his glistening cock for a second before you yanked your pajama shirt over your head and tossed it aside. The cool air hit your bare breasts just as Taehyung wrapped his hand around himself and started pumping fast.
He came with a deep, broken moan, the prettiest sounds you’d ever heard from him. His baritone voice dropped even lower with pleasure as thick, heavy ropes of cum painted your chest. He kept stroking himself through it, groaning your name under his breath while pulse after pulse landed warmly on your breasts, some of it already dripping down your skin.
Taehyung looked completely wrecked, chest heaving, eyes dark and hazy as he stared down at you, at the mess he’d made, at the way you were still on your knees looking up at him with flushed cheeks and shiny lips.
“Shit…” he breathed, still catching his breath, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
“Was that good?” you asked softly, still on your knees, hands resting on his warm thighs as you looked up at him.
Taehyung was breathing hard, chest rising and falling, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. His cock had softened just a little after his orgasm, but it was still heavy, thick, and far from fully soft.
He let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “Was that really your first time giving head? ‘Cause I almost can’t believe that.”
“I swear.” you smiled, proud.
Your gaze dropped to your own chest, streaked with thick white lines of his cum. Curiosity got the better of you, as usual, so you dragged a finger through one of the streaks, playing with it, spreading it messily over your skin. Then you brought the finger to your mouth, slipping it between your lips and licking it clean.
The taste was different than you expected, sticky, slightly salty, heavy on your tongue, but still not bad. You hummed thoughtfully, deciding you could definitely get used to it.
When you looked back up at Taehyung, the expression on his face made your breath catch.
He looked completely fucked-out… and absolutely feral. Hungry. Eyes dark, pupils blown wide, like he was two seconds away from devouring you whole.
“You better come up here right now, hustler.” he growled, voice low and rough.
You giggled, the sound light and giddy, and reached for your discarded pajama shirt. It wasn’t the best option, but it was what you had at hand. You quickly wiped your chest clean, then pushed yourself up on slightly wobbly legs.
Taehyung stood too, towering over you the second he was on his feet. Without a word, he grabbed the hem of his own shirt and started pulling it off. You helped him, eager hands sliding over his skin as you tugged the fabric up and over his head, finally getting rid of the last piece of clothing between you.
You took a small step back so you could really look at him.
Taehyung stood completely naked in the soft glow of your lamp, and the sight of him stole whatever air was left from your lungs. His skin was beautifully tanned, smooth and glowing, stretched tight over the strong, thick muscles he’d built from months of hard military training. Broad shoulders, powerful chest, narrow waist, thick thighs, every single part of him looked like it had been hand-carved with care. He was breathtaking.
Your eyes drifted lower, because of course they did, how could they not? His cock hung heavy between his legs, still glistening from your mouth, already starting to fill and thicken again.
You wanted to playfully ask him to turn around so you could admire his ass too, but the thought made you bite your lip and stay quiet. Instead, you stepped closer again.
Your hands rose to his shoulders first, sliding slowly down the firm muscle. From there, your palms traveled over his chest, brushing across his peaked nipples and Taehyung’s breath hitched. You leaned in and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to his pectorals, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips.
Your fingers kept moving lower, careful when they passed over the faint bruise on his ribs. His stomach tensed under your touch as you traced every ridge of his six-pack, then followed the soft line of fine dark hairs that led downward from his belly button. His cock twitched visibly as your fingers got closer.
Taehyung slid one big hand to the back of your neck and pulled you into a deep, hungry kiss that caught you by surprise. His tongue met yours instantly, slow and filthy, tasting himself on you. His free hand settled on your side, right below your breast, fingers splayed wide as he tugged your body flush against his.
The kiss grew hotter, his fingers tangled tighter in your hair and gave it a firm tug, exactly the way he’d already learned you liked. A needy moan spilled from your mouth into his. Tae smiled against your lips, then let his other hand move up to cup one of your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh. His thumb brushed over your nipple, still slightly sticky from his cum, flicking it gently, then rolling it between his fingers until your knees felt weak.
Your back arched into him as you kissed, pressing your bare chest against his. The height difference felt even more noticeable now that you were both barefoot and standing, and he had to bend down to reach you properly, and something about that made you throb.
Your hand found his cock again, gently cupping the heavy weight of him before stroking slowly, coaxing him back to full hardness. You weren’t even close to being done, which you both clearly agreed on.
Taehyung moaned into your mouth, the sound deep and needy. He kissed along your jaw, then pulled back just enough to look down between your bodies, watching your hand drag lazily up and down his length.
“I fucking love how you touch me.” he groaned, eyes fixed on the way your fingers moved. “Can never get enough of this.”
“Good thing I love touching you.” you whispered, lips brushing his. “You look so big in my hand…”
Taehyung mumbled something incoherent when your hand slipped lower, gently cupping and massaging his balls. His whole body trembled.
“Such a fucking hustler.” he breathed out, finally grabbing both of your wrists and pulling your hands away from him. His eyes were squeezed shut, chest heaving.
You let out a quiet, proud little giggle. “I also love how easy it is to make you cum.”
Taehyung’s eyebrows twitched as he tried to pull himself back together.
“You try going without a single touch for months,” he gritted out. “And then meet the love of your life who just so happens to be really good at this.”
The words landed deep inside your chest, soft and warm. You didn’t think it was a slip of the tongue either, because Taehyung was intense, but he was also honest. He wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t mean it, even in the heat of sex.
Completely unaware of the way his words had affected you, he gently turned you around so your back faced the bed. He walked you backward until your legs hit the mattress, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sleep shorts and slowly pushed them down your legs. He knelt in front of you as he did it, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right below your belly button.
“Lay down for me, yeah?” he looked up at you, eyes dark and full of hunger. “My turn to have a taste.”
You fell back smoothly onto the mattress, scooting up until your head and shoulders rested against the fluffy pillows. Your heart was racing as you watched Taehyung stand at the edge of the bed for a second, tall and beautiful, before he climbed over you.
His cock brushed hot and heavy against your lower stomach as he crawled up your body, then he leaned down and kissed you; quick, but deep and breathtaking, tongue sliding against yours like he couldn’t help himself. Then he started moving lower.
He nosed down your sternum, your navel, and the soft skin of your stomach, gently pushing your legs apart with broad hands.
“You know your neighbors well?” he asked suddenly, voice low and amused.
You frowned, still dazed. “Just the nice old lady to the right… Why?”
Taehyung shrugged, a wicked little smile playing on his lips as he settled comfortably between your spread thighs.
“Let’s hope her hearing isn’t as good as it used to be.” he pressed a slow kiss to your inner thigh. “‘cause I’m about to make you scream.”
“Oh, sh–”
The rest of your words died in a broken whine the second his mouth was on you. Taehyung didn’t tease, which you were expecting. He went straight in with broad, slow licks of his flat tongue, dragging it all the way up your pussy in long, delicious strokes that made your back arch off the bed. He licked you like he had all the time in the world, wet, warm, and confident, focusing on every inch of you. He swirled around your clit with the tip of his tongue, then flattened it again to give you those heavy, pressure-filled licks that made your thighs shake.
Oh, he was good. Really good. And you were in big fucking trouble.
Taehyung alternated between long, lazy strokes and tighter circles around your swollen clit, humming softly when your hips jerked. Every time you clenched hard around nothing, he pressed his tongue firmer against you, like he could feel exactly how desperate you were getting. The wet sounds of his mouth were filthy and loud in the quiet room, mixing with your increasingly uncontrolled moans.
You had always been vocal during sex, but never particularly loud. Taehyung was quickly changing that.
Every broad lick, every swirl of his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves pulled louder and needier sounds from your throat. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, hips rolling against his mouth as pleasure built fast and heavy in your core.
He groaned against your pussy, the vibration shooting straight through you, and you couldn’t hold back the loud, shaky moan that escaped you.
“More… Tae, please…” you pleaded, voice shaking with desperation.
Like he had only been waiting for you to beg, Taehyung pulled his mouth off you. You didn’t even have time to whine at the loss before he lifted his hand to his lips, spit onto two fingers, and brought them down hard, slapping your soaked cunt with a wet, filthy sound.
The sudden pressure on your swollen clit, combined with how dirty the act felt, pushed you over the edge instantly. A small, surprised orgasm crashed through you as you pulsed and clenched, letting out a broken moan. It wasn’t a big one, but it still left you trembling. Taehyung smirked, clearly pleased with himself.
“And I’m easy, huh?” he teased, voice low and smug.
“Shut up.” you moaned, still breathless and fluttering.
“So mouthy.” he shook his head, amused, before pushing those two wet fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust.
You cried out at the sudden fullness. He didn’t give you time to adjust, Tae started fucking you with them right away, deep and precise, while you were still pulsing.
He looked absolutely gorgeous between your legs, lips swollen and shiny from eating you out, dark hair messy from all your pulling, eyes blown wide and dangerous. His fingers worked you open beautifully, stretching your pussy while your wetness dripped down his hand and onto the sheets.
“Again.” he instructed, voice rough.
Then curled his fingers upward, pressing perfectly against that sweet spot inside you like he’d already memorized your body.
You were crying now, actual tears of pleasure, when he added a third finger. The stretch burned so good, then his mouth was back on your clit, sucking hard while his fingers pumped and curled relentlessly.
“Oh god– Tae–”
The orgasm hit you like a freight train.
It was loud, messy, and overwhelming. Your whole body shook as you gushed around his fingers, soaking his hand, his wrist, and the sheets beneath you. You didn’t even understand what was happening at first, it was wetter than it had any right to be, but it felt so fucking good you couldn’t stop moaning and twitching through it.
Taehyung groaned against your clit, refusing to pull away, milking every last second of your orgasm until you were a trembling, whimpering mess. You were still shaking, thighs trembling, when the realization hit you:
You just squirted.
It was the first time it had ever happened to you. Your eyes widened in genuine surprise, cheeks burning, but not from embarrassment, just pure shock.
Taehyung, on the other hand, looked incredibly cocky and proud as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, watching the way you were still dripping onto the sheets.
“Fuck… that was so hot.” he murmured, voice low and satisfied.
He reached down to the floor, grabbing your discarded pajama shirt, and used it to gently clean his chin and chest first, then carefully wiped between your legs and along your inner thighs. His touch was so soft and attentive it made your heart squeeze.
He climbed up your body, kissing a slow trail up your stomach and between your breasts, whispering sweet, dirty praise against your sweaty skin.
“Never made anyone squirt before.” he admitted between kisses, lips brushing your collarbone. “But it makes sense it happened with you.”
You smiled, still a little dazed, as he settled beside you. He half-covered your body with his own, throwing one thick leg over yours, caging you in. One of your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders while your fingers lazily dragged your nails up and down his back and sides.
“I think your deaf neighbor heard you.” he teased with a soft laugh.
You giggled, drunk on him and the afterglow even if that shouldn’t be funny at all.
“I think the whole building did.” you paused, then added playfully, “You might have to pay my landlord more than what you already did.”
Taehyung opened his mouth, then froze as your words registered. He looked both a little sheepish and concerned, realizing that yeah, you knew what he’d done and how he could get the landlord off your back so easily.
“I didn’t want to offend you.” he said quietly, scared you might be upset.
“I’m not.” you assured him, lifting your hand to caress his cheek. “Not tonight. Not right now.”
Maybe tomorrow, when your head was clearer, you’d feel strange about it. Maybe you’d feel cheap or like you owed him something. But right now? You just felt taken care of. Like someone had finally thrown you a life vest while you were drowning. For once, you could breathe.
“Damn, I should have made you squirt sooner.” he joked, but his smile was incredibly soft.
“Yes, you should.” you agreed with a breathy laugh. “But now come here and let me taste it.”
Taehyung hummed, shifting higher so your faces were close again. He hovered just above you, not closing the distance, making you work for it. You didn’t mind at all.
You slipped your fingers into his messy hair and pulled him down a little, sticking the tip of your tongue out to lick his parted lips with small, coy flicks. Then you pushed your tongue into his mouth, tasting yourself on him, a little sweet, a little tangy. He finally leaned down the rest of the way, covering your mouth with his in a slower, deeper kiss.
This one was softer than before, but just as sensual. You breathed each other in, tongues sliding lazily, his hand gently cupping the side of your face. Taehyung was clearly giving you time to come back down from the two intense orgasms, holding you like you were something precious.
Your breathing grew heavier, your pussy was already throbbing again, aching for more, and you started squirming under him without meaning to. You didn’t want to sound greedy, so you stayed quiet, but of course Taehyung noticed everything. He smiled into the kiss, then pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and knowing.
You turned your face away, embarrassed that you still wanted more so soon. Taehyung chuckled softly and leaned down, pressing his mouth to your exposed throat. He took a little bite of the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.
“Why are you getting shy on me again?” he teased, lips brushing your neck.
“I don’t wanna be too much.” you admitted quietly. “Others have complained before.”
“They sound like assholes.” Tae’s hand splayed possessively across your ribs, pulling you closer. “You’re mine now. You can be as much as you want.”
The words melted you. You nodded, letting the insecurities slip away before they even settled, finally allowing your body to ask for what it craved. And judging by how rock hard his cock was, pressed hot and heavy against your side the entire time, he wanted it just as badly.
“There’s also something you should know.” he mumbled, bringing his mouth to your ear. His voice dropped lower. “I like it rough, hustler.”
“Fuck…” you moaned.
And then he asked: “Think you can handle that?”
“I know I can handle you.” you looked him straight in the eyes, conviction burning in your gaze. “I want all of you.”
Taehyung hummed in approval. He moved to climb fully on top of you, kissing along your jaw before catching your bottom lip between his teeth. You parted your legs for him immediately, letting him settle between them. His cock brushed against your soaked pussy, the thick head sliding through your wetness. Both of you made soft, needy sounds at the contact.
Then he stopped. “Shit… Please tell me you have condoms here.”
“Bathroom, bottom drawer.” you breathed. “I’d be polite and go get it, but I can’t feel my legs.”
Taehyung laughed and kissed your cheek sweetly before climbing off the bed. You watched shamelessly as he walked away: broad shoulders, the strong lines of his back marked with red scratches from your nails, the dip of his waist, those perfect dimples at the base of his spine, and god, his ass was even better than you imagined.
You sat up a little, waiting as you heard him rummaging in the bathroom.
“Check the expiration date!” you called, suddenly a bit worried.
“We’re good.” he replied, already walking back in as he ripped the foil packet open with his teeth. “They’re a little smaller than the ones I usually get, but I’ll make it work.”
You snorted at the casual flex, but you couldn’t deny it, he really was a lot bigger than anyone you’d been with before. You watched, mesmerized, as he rolled the condom down his thick length with those long, pretty fingers.
“That should not have looked as hot as it did.” you told him honestly.
Taehyung laughed, the sound warm and bright, as he walked back to the bed. He was fully hard, cock heavy and ready.
“Turn around for me, hustler.” he ordered, voice low and commanding. It made your heart drop in the best way. “Let me see that ass.”
You turned around right away, getting on your hands and knees for him. Taehyung climbed onto the bed and knelt behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight, but it still didn’t creak, which you knew he appreciated.
“Arch that back for me.” he said, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “That’s it… You’re so good at doing what you’re told, huh?”
His hands roamed up and down your thighs and over the curve of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh hard enough to make you moan.
“Spread your legs, baby.” he told you. “Let me see this fucking pussy.”
You obeyed instantly, widening your knees. Taehyung pressed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you down until your cheek rested against the mattress, ass up high for him.
“Will you tell me if I’m too rough on you?” he asked, voice serious and careful even through the heat.
You nodded quickly, but he wasn’t satisfied. Taehyung made that clear when his full palm came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting sharp enough to make you jolt and cry out.
“I need words, hustler.” he said, gripping your hips and pulling you back into the exact position he wanted.
“Do your worst.” you breathed. “I can take it, sir.”
Taehyung let out a dark, affected laugh behind you. “Oh, you have no idea what you just got yourself into.”
His fingers returned to your pussy, slipping inside easily to check how wet you still were, how stretched. He hooked the digits, collecting your slick, then stroked it over his condom-covered cock, making himself nice and slippery. You felt him scoot closer, the thick head of his cock brushing up and down your folds, nudging your swollen clit before sliding all the way up to your entrance.
He pressed against your hole teasingly, just enough for you to feel the stretch, then pulled back and dragged the head up to your tighter hole, rubbing slow circles there too.
Your next breath came out shaky as your hands grabbed your sheets.
“Shit, I can see you fluttering all over, baby,” he groaned. “Bet you’d let me fuck you everywhere, huh?”
“At the same time.” you mumbled, so lost in pleasure your eyes were fluttering shut.
Taehyung cursed under his breath, clearly affected by your answer. He lined himself up again, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. He gripped both sides of your hips firmly and pushed in with one long, steady thrust, stretching your walls around his considerable girth.
You winced at the initial burn, but it melted almost immediately into deep, overwhelming pleasure. He stopped once he was fully buried inside you, hips flush against your ass, letting you feel every inch of him.
“You’re taking it so well… fuck.” he groaned, voice rough with restraint from holding back. “Squeeze this pussy around me– shit, just like that.”
Tae stayed completely still, buried to the hilt. The fullness was almost too much, your lips were parted, face scrunched in pleasure as your walls fluttered and clenched harder around him, trying to suck him even deeper.
“That’s it.” he praised, hands kneading your ass. “Take what you want. Let me see this sweet little pussy swallow me whole.”
You started moving then, pulling your hips forward and then slamming back onto his cock, fucking yourself on him. The wet sounds filled the room as you rocked back and forth.
You watched Taehyung over your shoulder, his eyes fixed on where your bodies were joined, his jaw clenched.
“Cute.” he said, the word a little mocking, a little fond. “But if you’re done playing… I’m ready to fuck you for real now.”
“Oh, yes, please.” you begged, voice already shaky.
Taehyung’s grip on your hips tightened, holding you firmly in place so you couldn’t move. Then he started fucking you, slow, but brutally hard and deep. Each roll of his hips drove his thick cock all the way inside you, the head kissing the very end of you with a heavy, blunt pressure that made your toes curl and your breath catch.
You felt so full it was almost overwhelming, like he was rearranging you from the inside out. Every slow, punishing thrust made your walls flutter and squeeze around him, the wet, obscene sound of your pussy taking him echoing in the quiet room. Your eyes were already watering from the intensity alone.
He kept that devastating rhythm for a few more strokes, letting you feel every single inch dragging along your walls, before he shifted. Taehyung planted one foot flat on the mattress beside your knee, using the new leverage to drive into you harder and faster.
The change was immediate and devastating.
Now he was fucking you with real power, hips snapping forward with sharp, relentless force. The new angle let him hit even deeper, pounding against that perfect spot inside you over and over until your whole body jolted forward with every thrust. Your arms gave out and your cheek pressed harder into the mattress, drool slipping from the corner of your parted lips as broken moans poured out of you.
Tears were streaming down your cheeks now, not from pain but from the sheer overwhelming pleasure of being completely wrecked by him.
Taehyung groaned low behind you, one hand coming down hard on your other ass cheek with a loud, stinging smack.
“Fuck, listen to this sloppy little cunt.” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “Taking every inch. Been dying to ruin this pussy since the day I met you.”
Another hard spank landed on the same spot, the sting blooming hot across your skin. Then his hand soothed over the mark, rubbing gently as he hushed you softly, almost tenderly.
“Shhh, I know, baby… I know it’s a lot.” he cooed, which somehow made it worse while making it better. “But you’re gonna take it all for me, aren’t you?”
You could only sob and nod against the sheets, completely lost in the feeling of him absolutely wrecking you.
Taehyung pulled out of you slowly, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Your body felt limp and boneless, but he handled you with ease, strong hands lifting and turning you exactly how he wanted. You let him move you without resistance, clenching around nothing as you watched the display of his strength.
He positioned you on your back with your head near the edge of the bed and your feet toward the headboard. Then he was on top of you again, pushing your legs wide apart and sliding back inside your soaked pussy in one smooth thrust.
Your hands flew to his shoulders, then slid up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair. Both of you were breathing hard and choppy. You were clenching around him hard before he even started moving again.
“Got tired of looking at my ass?” you asked quietly, a little breathless and teasing.
Taehyung smiled crookedly, eyes dark. “Your face is pretty nice to look at too.”
He leaned down and kissed under your eyes, gently brushing away the tears still clinging to your lashes. The tender gesture felt so caring and hot at the same time that you smiled and clenched hard around him again.
Tae pressed his body flush against yours, one hand holding your jaw firmly. His thumb swiped across the corner of your mouth, spreading the drool over your chin and lips, making an even bigger mess. Then he pushed his thumb into your mouth. You took it immediately, sucking on it while looking straight into his eyes.
“You’re so addicting.” he groaned, hips rolling once before stopping again, buried deep. “I can’t fucking get enough of you.”
You hollowed your cheeks around his thumb, bobbing your head once as you sucked. Taehyung gasped, groaning low:
“You suck cock once, and now you’re a tease?”
You pulled off his thumb with a wet pop and smiled up at him. “Just needed to try yours. Now my life has changed and I want it all the time.”
Taehyung’s eyes darkened with raw possessiveness you weren’t expecting. His fingers flexed around your jaw.
“Glad you like it so much, hustler,” he growled. “‘cause that’s the only cock you’ll have from now on.”
“As long as my cunt is the only one you’ll have too.” you shot back, swiveling your hips to grind on him. “And my mouth. And my virgin little asshole–”
Taehyung cursed sharply, clearly shocked and extremely turned on by the filthy words coming from you. You loved that reaction, he was the only person who ever got to hear this side of you.
Then he was kissing you, sloppy and wet, at the same time he started fucking you again, this time with slow, deep rolls of his hips. It felt even better than the rough pace from before, hitting every sensitive spot inside you.
Your thighs wrapped tightly around his waist as he kept that sensual rhythm, kissing you messy and deep, full of little moans and gasps shared between your mouths.
Taehyung kept that slow, deep grind, rolling his hips in a sensual rhythm that made you feel every thick inch of him dragging along your walls. Then he pulled back from the kiss, pushing himself up on one arm. The position made his bicep bulge and a thick vein stand out along his forearm, the sight so unfairly attractive it made you clench around him again.
His eyes roamed all over you; your flushed face, your chest rising and falling, your soft stomach, and especially where your bodies were joined. The look in his eyes was pure love mixed with raw obsession, and you knew you were staring back at him the exact same way.
Suddenly he glanced sideways, cursing under his breath. His hips stuttered, like he’d almost lost control for a second.
Tae’s hand, still gripping your jaw, turned your face toward the side he was looking at. That’s when you saw it, the big mirror on the other wall perfectly reflected both of you from this angle. You could see everything: your messy hair, tear-streaked cheeks, swollen lips shiny with spit, and the way your bodies fit together so beautifully. You could even see the clear handprint mark he’d left on the side of your ass.
You had no idea how he could find you beautiful like this… but at least he was the one who made you look like this.
Taehyung lowered his body again, but kept your face turned toward the mirror. When you tried to look at him directly, his grip on your jaw tightened, holding you there.
“I want you to see how pretty you look when you cum for me, yeah?” he murmured hotly against your cheek, eyes locked with yours in the reflection. “Then maybe you’ll understand why I’m so fucking crazy about you.”
Taehyung started fucking you again, deep, hard, and relentless, but still with those slow, sensual rolls of his hips that made his pelvis grind perfectly against your swollen clit with every thrust. The pleasure was overwhelming. You both stared at your reflection in the mirror, completely mesmerized by the sight.
You could really see everything like this: the way his thick cock disappeared inside you and slid back out, shiny and glistening with your wetness, stretching you open so beautifully.
Your hands roamed desperately over his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles, the heat of his skin, touching everywhere you could reach as he drove into you again and again.
“I’m gonna cum, Tae.” you whimpered softly, voice breaking.
Your tits started bouncing with the increasing pace as he fucked you harder, chasing your release. Taehyung’s eyes stayed locked on your face in the mirror, one hand sliding down to wrap firmly around your throat, squeezing with the lightest pressure, holding you there possessively.
“Cum for me, hustler.” he growled, voice low and rough. “All over my cock.”
The command, combined with the relentless grind against your clit and the sight of him fucking you so deep in the mirror, pushed you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashed through you hard and sudden. You cried out, walls clenching and fluttering wildly around his thick length as you came, soaking his cock.
Your whole body shook, thighs tightening around his waist, nails digging into his chest while you watched yourself fall apart in the reflection, mouth open, eyes glassy, tears still clinging to your lashes.
Taehyung groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your throat as your pulsing heat dragged him over with you. His hips stuttered, thrusts turning sloppy and desperate for a few more strokes before he pulled out with a wet sound. He quickly ripped the condom off, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking himself fast.
With a broken moan that sounded almost pained, he came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum painted your stomach and chest in heavy spurts, some of it landing on your tits and dripping down your skin. He kept stroking himself through every pulse, eyes fixed on the mess he was making of you, breathing ragged and shaky.
Taehyung leaned down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the side of your neck where his fingers had been, right over the faint marks he’d left. His sweaty hair tickled your nose and you let out a tired little giggle, the sound surprising even you.
He smiled against your skin, collapsing beside you. Taehyung slid one leg between yours and folded one thick arm under his head to use as a pillow. You were aching all over in the best possible way, your body deliciously sore, skin still marked with his handprints and streaks of his cum across your stomach.
For a while, you just lay there catching your breath, faces close, staring at each other in comfortable silence. Taehyung’s fingers traced lazy patterns through the mess on your stomach, dragging his cum around like he was drawing something.
“What are you doing?” you asked, half weirded out, half too tired to actually care.
“Writing my name.” he beamed, completely serious.
You burst out laughing and weakly batted his hand away. “You’re such a weirdo.”
Your laughter slowly faded into soft smiles. Your eyes were growing dangerously heavy, but you fought to stay awake, content to just stare at him like this. You didn’t know when he’d be allowed to sleep outside the base again, so you wanted to memorize every second.
“Tae…” you started softly. He hummed, already looking at you with those warm, patient eyes. “Did you really mean what you said?”
“Which part?” he asked lazily, completely unaware of the storm in your chest.
“The part where you’re not leaving,” you admitted, voice small even though you were scared of what his answer might do to you.
Taehyung’s expression softened. He shifted a little closer, brushing his nose against yours.
“I am leaving, hustler.” he said gently. Your stomach dropped, then he continued, voice steady and sure: “But I’m bringing you with me.”
-
-
“I’m going crazy here, hustler.”
Taehyung sighed against the phone in his ear, already laying in his bed and under the covers of his creaky bed, but the lights of the room were still on, so his hyungs didn’t mind he was still talking to you. Minseok was listening to music on his contraband MP3 player –the old school kind–, Woo was above Minseok reading a book on evolution, and Ji-hoon was on the bunk above Taehyung’s, being annoyed that Tae got to the phone first.
“I’m not gonna make it.” Taehyung said, hating that his pillow felt even more uncomfortable now that he’d tried out yours.
“Don’t be dramatic, Taetae.” your voice was sweeter than he remembered, your laugh like the most beautiful melody. “It’s only been two weeks, four days and… Two and a half hours.”
That made him smile. “Oh, good, you’re as insane as I am with all of this.”
“Of course I am.” you were smiling on the other side, and Taehyung clenched because this damn phone was so old he couldn’t even video chat you to see it. “But I also know I brought this on myself.”
“We both did.” he nodded, agreeing. “But I won’t be grounded forever.”
Taehyung wasn’t exactly allowed to sleep out of the military base just because he wanted to, he wasn’t even supposed to have left the base after the summer festival; and he knew all that when he sneaked out and went over to your apartment so he could talk to you and find out just exactly what happened for you to walk away from him like that.
And he didn’t regret doing any of it, because now it meant he got you back, and you trusted his word that would never give up on you. Even if it meant Taehyung lost all privileges and time off for a whole damn month. Which meant he couldn’t see you for that long.
“Just another week.” Taehyung said, to himself as much as he wanted you to hear it.
“I really hate this.” you mumbled on the other side of the line and Taehyung knew you’d be pouting. He’d be kissing it right now if you were here. “But at least you get to call. Tell Ji-hoon he’s really nice for letting you use his hidden phone.”
Taehyung pulled his legs from the thin, scratchy blanket and kicked the wood planks of the bed above him, making Ji-hoon complain with an annoyed ‘yah, shibal–’.
“Hyung, my girl is saying thank you for letting me use your phone.” Taehyung relayed the message immediately, proud of himself for being the maknae and the menace in this room.
“Your g– dude, she has a name, you know?” Ji-hoon complained, like Taehyung’s love annoyed him when he couldn’t move past the friends-with-benefits label with Mina.
Taehyung grinned regardless. “That’s her name.”
“Yeah, then tell your girl she has five minutes with you, because I need to use that phone too.” Ji-hoon said through a whisper shout, so no one outside the room could hear.
But you still caught it. “Noooooo! Don’t go–”
That was when Taehyung heard it; a loud, sudden noise on your end, something mechanical, an overlapping of voices, too loud for him to hear you properly anymore. As far as Taehyung knew, you were supposed to be home, but that noise might as well mean you were in a club, or in a stadium during a concert.
“What is that noise?” he asked, already sitting up straighter, the thin blanket pooling around his waist.
“Ugh, not again.” you raised your voice so he could hear you over it. “That’s my TV.”
“That loud?” he was fully sitting up now, feet swinging off the bed.
“Yeah, it turns on by itself in the middle of the night sometimes. It’s really annoying.” you sounded normal about it, but something in Taehyung’s gut twisted. “Hang on, let me go turn it off.”
“Hustler, wait–” his voice was calm and firm, but you were already moving. The line went muffled for a second.
Taehyung waited with his heart on his throat, and then the TV noise cut off abruptly. For half a heartbeat Taehyung relaxed, picturing you turning it off with a huff and pulling the plug out of the energy outlet.
Until your scream tore through the phone, raw, terrified, blood-curdling.
It was followed by the sound of something crashing, furniture scraping, and then… silence. The worst kind.
Taehyung’s blood turned to ice in his veins and his heart slammed against his ribs so hard he could feel it in his throat. He was already standing, bare feet on the cold concrete floor, ready to run out of the room in his pajamas and get on his bike to go after you.
“I’m telling you, boss, there’s no one here.” a male voice came through the line, calm but irritated.
“I swear I heard her talking to someone.” a second voice answered, closer to the phone.
“We haven’t seen anyone else come in here in maybe two weeks.” the first man said. “I told you she was alone.”
Taehyung didn’t recognize the voices, but he was listening to every single word, training kicking in even as panic clawed at the edges of his mind. Behind him, Minseok had already pulled one earbud out, noticing something was wrong. Ji-hoon and Woo were also climbing down from their bunks.
“Where do you want us to take her?” the first voice asked. “Are we going straight to the airport?”
“Not tonight.” the second man’s voice was closer now. “Kai is waiting for her at the basement.”
Taehyung’s playful grin from seconds ago vanished the instant the line went dead. The fear hit him like ice water, but he swallowed it down hard, forcing his voice to stay steady as he turned to the three faces now staring at him from the middle of the room.
“They have her.” Taehyung said, direct and firm. “Kai and the sharks.”
The shift in the room was immediate and efficient as soon as the words left his mouth. Minseok was already pulling his pajama shirt over his head, Ji-hoon’s expression hardened, Woo moved with optimized productivity. All four of them slipped into training mode without a word, the same focused energy they carried during surprise overnight drills.
Their uniforms were already in the strategic spots they were forced to keep them, easy reach, always ready, and for the first time Taehyung didn’t mind the rigid system at all. This was the most stressful situation he had ever been in, because it was you. He had no idea where you were, if they had hurt you, if you were scared–
Taehyung stopped the thoughts cold, pulling his emotions back the way he had been trained to do. His hands stayed calm as he shoved his legs into his black pants.
“They are taking her to the airport tomorrow.” Taehyung continued, voice leveled. “But tonight they are going to a secondary location.”
“Let’s go.” Minseok said, already dressed.
“Okay, where are we going exactly?” Ji-hoon asked as he laced his own boots. “Do we actually have a plan? Because Yn is a civilian, we can’t just start a rescue mission with our assets. The captain will tell us to call the police–”
Taehyung understood his friend meant well, protocol was protocol. But now was not the fucking time for ‘what ifs’. Taehyung wouldn’t even hesitate if this was Mina and Ji-hoon wanted to go to hell on earth to find her.
But that was the difference, Ji-hoon didn’t love Mina the way Taehyung loved you.
“We’re not going to the captain,” Taehyung said simply, socks on and pushing his black boots onto his feet. “We’re going to Lieutenant Jung.”
“Leut– have you lost your mind?” Woo looked genuinely terrified. Lieutenant Jung was the last person they should go to with something like this.
If you weren’t you.
“He knew her father.” that was all Tae had to say for the room to go quiet for half a second as everyone remembered exactly who you were. Suddenly the three of them were on board.
“What else did you hear?” Ji-hoon was moving faster now, the first one out the door once they were all dressed in black. “Where do we start?”
“They are taking her to the basement of her building–” Tae started, but Ji-hoon stopped walking.
“Wait, what did you hear exactly?” Ji-hoon turned, hands landing on Taehyung’s shoulders. “Did you hear them mention her building at all?”
“Not tonight. Kai is waiting for her at the basement.” Taehyung recited the words exactly.
“She’s not in her building anymore.” Ji-hoon’s eyes moved quickly, thinking hard. “I know The Basement. It’s an old underground warehouse on the east side– used to be a major drop point for the drug scene a few years back. Supposed to be shut down. I didn’t know Han and Kai had anything to do with that side of things, but it makes sense. Their connections go deep.”
“Are you sure it’s the same one? Because we won’t have another shot like this.” Taehyung was already calculating their chances in his head.
“I don’t know for sure… but it’s the only lead we’ve got.”
-
-
Well. Fuck.
As you sat in the middle of a dusty room full of old boxes that may or may not be hiding illicit drugs or the dead bodies of shark’s enemies, you made a mental note to yourself that you would never ever say that things ‘couldn’t get worse’.
Because when you’d already lost your bar, your uncle hadn’t been located by the country’s best detectives, and you hadn’t seen Taehyung in weeks, you had now been kidnapped like an idiot.
That wasn’t to say only idiots were kidnapped, far from that, but you weren’t meant to be a victim. You were a hustler, you should have been more attentive, you should have noticed how the door of your apartment was no longer locked by the time you made it to the living room, you should have seen the shadows of the men hiding behind your counter when you turned the TV off.
And, god, you wished you hadn’t given them the pleasure of hearing you scream.
There was an ache at the side of your head where you were positive a bump was already forming. You were still wearing your sleep clothes, which thankfully were sweatpants and an oversized shirt, and not the skimpy little shorts and top you picked when Taehyung went over last time, because those would not have been practical tonight. Your elbows were scrapped, and the soles of your bare feet were burning a little from being dragged around until you were placed on this uncomfortable folding chair.
To make matters worse, the zip ties placed around your wrists, bounding your arms behind your back, were way too tight and would start cutting off your circulation in a couple of hours. You could break free from them with a little struggle, sure, but if you were right about this whole thing and who brought you to this abandoned space in the first place, then you needed to act like the weakest person in the building.
You might be the smallest, you might be unassuming, but you refused to be the weakest. You just didn’t want people to know that yet.
The sound of a heavy metal door creaking open made you freeze. You looked over your shoulder, but you were yet to figure out where the entrance of this room was. You heard steps next, then Kai stepped into your line of sight, unsurprisingly and anticlimactic, but you still made sure to widen your eyes.
He looked almost relieved to see you, like this was some long-awaited reunion rather than a kidnapping. His eyes moved over you slowly, taking in the oversized shirt, the sweatpants, the way your arms were pinned behind the folding chair; with the way his eyes were on you, you might as well be naked. A small, almost tender smile touched his lips.
“There you are.” he said softly, voice gentle in a way that made your stomach turn. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”
“Kai–” you breathed out, feigning surprise, a frown between your brows.
“I told you I’d come get you.” Kai continued, circling around you like a shark. You had to bite your lips to point out the irony of it all. “You didn’t have to make it so hard on yourself.”
You shook your head, tone a little desperate: “Wait, no– I still have time, your dad said–”
“Sorry, sweetheart, dad is off the game now.” he told you, and that sent a real shiver down your spine because his words didn’t leave anything to second guess. “He was making me wait too long and I was losing patience.”
“What?” you swallowed dryly.
“I didn’t like that someone else was getting too close to my favorite girl, so I had to speed things up, didn't I?” Kai was in front of you again, crouching down in front of you. “It also didn’t have to be this way, but I must say, you look rather pretty all tied up.”
“I’d look prettier without a concussion.” you said, to keep him talking and because the side of your head was pounding.
“Did my men hurt you?” he sounded genuinely concerned, you’d have to give him credit. Kai held your chin, turning your face this side and that to inspect you like you were something new he just bought and wanted to check was in good condition. “I told them not to.”
“I guess your men don’t listen to you as well as they did to your dad.” you said, pulling your face away from his hand, but the jolting movement made your forehead throb. “You should really fix that if you’re gonna be the new big shark in town.”
“I always like this about you, you know? Ever since school, you had a bit of a bite.” Kai clinked his teeth like he was taking a bite of the air, making you cringe. He stood up then, looking down on you. “I knew I’d be the one to tame it out of you eventually.”
“Is that what you think is gonna happen?” you challenged, if you probably shouldn’t.
“You’re tied up in front of me, aren’t you? You’re mine now, baby, and nothing is taking you from me.” he grinned, touching the side of your face with the back of his pointer finger. “By this time tomorrow we’ll be on our way to sunny California, where your little soldier boy will never find you.”
You swallowed, because that was a development you didn’t see coming. Kai was planning on taking you out of the country? Shit… That meant actual kidnapping and taking you across the world where you didn’t know anyone and you didn’t even speak the damn language!
Hustler.
Taehyung’s voice was in your head. He’d tell you to focus, to stop panicking, because that wouldn’t help you right now. Your father would tell you the same thing, so you settled your heart.
At least until you heard Kai’s next words:
“Although I am hoping he somehow comes for you, I think it would be rather fun if the last thing he sees is you at my feet.”
“Sorry to break this to you, Kai, but no one will be coming.” you didn’t have to fake the tremble in your voice, when the threat he was hinting at actually hurt that soft, most vulnerable spot inside you. “You really need to get new men to tell you things, because Taehyung and I are done.”
Another lie you had to tell, because if by any chance in the universe Taehyung could somehow guess where you were taken, you could sidetrack Kai into not expecting an attack. Because you knew Taehyung would never think you hung up the call without saying goodbye, and maybe it was a good thing you screamed, in the off chance he heard you.
Another good thing you didn’t plan on, was the fact Taehyung was grounded and couldn’t leave the military base, so for the last almost three weeks you hadn’t been seen with him, which meant Kai could believe you were done and Tae was no longer a threat.
“We broke up weeks ago.” you could buy yourself some time.
“Pity.” Kai looked genuinely surprised by your words, not fully sold on it, but like he didn’t have any proof to disagree, so you knew someone had already reported Tae’s absence to him on some level. “We still have to cleanse you, though. I know he touched you and I can’t have something used, can I?”
“Huh?” you blinked. Cleanse?
“It won’t hurt much, I promise.” Kai smiled with his teeth, a look you did not like to look at for too long. Then his fingers ever so gently traced down your arms, leaving bad shivers at their wake. “Just a few little cuts, enough for the bad blood to come out, and pure blood to replace it.”
You sucked in a breath, like you could already feel the blade pressing to your skin and cutting you deep.
“You’re a psychopath…” you whispered, the fear in your stomach too real for you to pretend it didn’t exist.
“Oh, I won’t be doing it myself, baby.” he said, as if that made anything better. “The Shaman will be here in a few hours. You’ll be a virgin again by the time he’s done.”
“Oh you’re absolutely insane–”
The word had barely left your mouth when Kai’s hand cracked across your face, sharp and sudden. The slap snapped your head to the side, the sting blooming hot across your cheek as the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth where your lip had split against your teeth. For a second the room spun, your ear ringing, but you forced your eyes back to him, refusing to cower even as fear coiled tight in your stomach.
“And you will learn to speak to me with some respect.” he greeted, that fake gentleness no longer there.
“Sir?” a second voice came from somewhere at your back, and you knew it belonged to one of the men who took you tonight.
“What?” Kai rasped, without taking his eyes from you.
“Your mother is on the phone…”
“Ah, of course. I haven’t had time to deal with her yet.” Kai’s shoulders loosened and his finger was back to the cheek he just slapped, caressing it like nothing happened. “And our guest?”
“The shaman is on his way, sir.”
Kai nodded. “Tell him to hurry up.”
-
-
The fluorescent lights in Lieutenant Jung’s cramped office hummed overhead, casting sharp shadows across the metal table. Taehyung stood at one end, shoulders squared, jaw locked tight as he stared down at the printed satellite images and floor plans of the old warehouse complex. The paper still carried the faint chemical smell of fresh ink.
His heart hammered against his ribs, but his hands stayed perfectly steady on the edge of the table.
Fifteen soldiers filled the room, his core SDT team, plus a handful of trusted men Lieutenant Jung had quietly pulled in. They stood at attention, faces focused, the air thick with the low hum of readiness.
Lieutenant Jung leaned over the maps, older eyes sharp despite the late hour. He wasn’t going into the field with them, age and rank had kept him behind a desk for years now, but his voice carried the same calm authority it always had when he spoke.
“Main entrance is too exposed,” the lieutenant said, tapping the east side of the plan. “Minseok, you take your subunit on the loading dock. Quiet entry. Suppress any guards before they can raise an alarm.” His finger moved to the next section. “Ji-hoon, your team comes in through the south ventilation shaft. It’s narrow, but you’re the smallest and fastest. Clear the lower level and secure every exit.” He looked at Woo. “Woo, your subunit takes the west stairwell as backup. You support Taehyung’s primary breach team and cover any runners.”
Taehyung listened, absorbing every word, every assignment. The familiar adrenaline was already there, sharp and focused, the same buzz he felt during drills, only this time it was real. This was what they had trained for, what most enlistees never got to experience outside of simulations. A chance to put every painful repetition, every lesson, into something that actually mattered.
Lieutenant Jung’s gaze finally settled on him.
“Taehyung, you lead the primary breach team through the west side stairwell. You go straight for the upper storage rooms. She’s most likely being held there.” the older man paused, then added quietly: “I’m trusting you to bring her home.”
No one argued.
Taehyung nodded once, throat tight. “Yes, sir.”
The room filled with the quiet, efficient sounds of preparation after the plan was laid down. The click of magazines sliding into place, the rustle of tactical vests being strapped on, the low murmur of final checks. Taehyung’s fingers worked automatically, tightening straps, checking his sidearm, but his mind kept circling back to you.
You were somewhere in that building right now, scared, alone. Maybe hurt. The thought made his stomach twist, but he shoved it down hard, the way he had been trained to do. He couldn’t afford to feel it right now. Not if he was going to get you back.
Ji-hoon finished securing his vest and looked up. “We doing this clean, Lieutenant?”
“As clean as it needs to be.” Jung answered. “No unnecessary force. But you protect your own. Understood?”
“Understood.” the room answered in unison.
Minseok was already at the door, always the first one ready. He glanced back at Taehyung, eyes hard with the same mix of focus and quiet fury Tae felt in his own chest. “We’ve got your back, Tae.”
Taehyung met his gaze and nodded.
Lieutenant Jung stepped away from the table, arms crossed over his chest. “You move out in ten. Make it fast. Make it clean. Bring my best friend’s daughter home.”
The words settled heavy in the room. For a moment no one spoke. Then Taehyung turned toward the door, the weight of the vest familiar against his shoulders, the adrenaline thrumming under his skin like a live wire. He was ready. He had to be.
Because somewhere in that dark warehouse, you were waiting.
And he was coming for you.
-
-
When you couldn’t stay seated and just waiting for the Shaman to arrive and cleanse you from your sins, you got up from the uncomfortable chair and started to walk around the room, if not to find a way out of this situation, then at least so you could get your blood pumping.
Since you wanted to keep the illusion of being helpless, you couldn’t exactly break the zip ties from your wrists just yet, but the angle of your shoulders was all wrong and your fingers were covered in pins and needles, which was never not concerning. So you used whatever flexibility you still had from the sports you practiced as a kid and moved your tied arms from your back to your front, simply by passing them under your legs.
This way you were able to use your hands a lot easier when you started to investigate the room.
The door was locked from the outside, and too heavy for you to even try forcing it open. Not to mention, you could see the shadow of someone standing outside the door, probably a lower level shark that Kai put in babysitting duty just in case you decided to be stupid and try anything.
The next thing you checked were some of the dusty boxes, hoping to find something useful to either defend yourself with, or barricade the door so at least no one would be able to get to you. But all you found were old computers that had seen better days, crumbling papers, some old lab equipment that would have no use to you. Sadly you didn’t find a shipment of guns with bullets just laying around.
When you gave up on the boxes, you went to the window next. You tried pushing it open and, much to your surprise, it did. But just enough for you to stick a finger through.
When you looked up, you saw the many iron bars stopping it from lifting all the way.
You tried pushing the window open again, harder this time, but the iron bars held firm. You pressed your forehead against the cold glass, the chill seeping into your skin, and stared down at the drop. You were on the second floor, maybe third. Jumping would mean broken bones at the very best, and you weren’t about to trade one cage for a hospital bed.
If Kai would even grant you the mercy of taking you to a hospital in the first place.
Frustration burned low in your chest and you closed your eyes and tried to breathe through it, forcing your mind to stay sharp instead of spiraling like every nerve in your body wanted it to you.
There had to be another way, you just needed to think. But the longer you stood there, the heavier the silence felt, the more the helplessness pressed in. Then something strange crossed your closed eyelids, not a touch, but a flicker of light, quick and bright. Your eyes snapped open.
A thin green laser beam hovered just beside your head, steady against the glass. For half a second your body wanted to duck, to hide, but your father’s voice cut through the panic like it always did: ‘Green is good’.
You raised your bound hands slowly, one palm open, and held it next to the beam. The laser moved with calm precision until it rested right in the center of your palm, colorful and bright against your skin. Someone was out there.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as you leaned closer to the window, straining to see anything in the darkness below. The ground was too far and too black for you to make out any shapes... But then, in the shadows between two rusted shipping containers, a small white light began to blink.
Your pulse spiked. At first it was just flashes in the darkness, irregular and quick. But instinct made you pause, head tilting slightly as you watched. It wasn’t random blinks. The light pulsed in short bursts, a clear, repeating pattern. Your breath caught as the realization settled in.
Morse code.
Your father had taught you the basics when you were little, drilling the alphabet into your head during long afternoons at the base. You were rusty, sure, and years out of practice, but some things never fully left you. You focused hard, eyes locked on the tiny flickering light, willing your brain to remember.
The sequence started again.
H… U… S… T… L…
You didn’t need the rest of the letters. Taehyung was here, you knew it was him.
A shaky breath left you. You nodded once, sharply, even though you knew they might not see it, and lifted your hands up to the glass window. Your fingers moved in the old military sign language your father had also taught you for a moment like this, even if neither of you ever thought you’d need it:
“Han is dead. Kai took over.” you signed as well as your bound wrists allowed you to, hoping it was enough. “Don’t know how many. More than ten.”
The white light blinked again, steady and quicker.
C… O… P… Y.
The white light blinked its short confirmation and then went dark.
For a second way too fucking long you just stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, then you saw them. Shadows moving low and quick across the ground, slipping between the rusted containers, circling the building in tight, practiced formation.
Your breath started coming shorter, sharper, the edges of your vision going fuzzy with the first wave of hyperventilation. You pressed your bound hands harder against the window frame, forcing yourself to stay focused. This was go time. You couldn’t fall apart now.
But the thought hit you anyway, sharp and unwanted. Your father had died exactly like this, in the middle of a rescue mission, sacrificing himself so the rest of his team could make it out. And Taehyung… God, Taehyung was exactly the kind of man who would do the same thing without hesitation.
The thought of losing him, of watching him throw himself in front of a bullet or a blade for you or any of his men, made something inside your chest crack wide open. He was the only person you had left. You couldn’t lose him. Not like that.
Which meant you couldn’t just stand here and wait.
You forced your breathing to slow, forced your mind to work. Kai was the real danger in this building, not any of the other heavily armed men. He was the unpredictable one, the one with nothing to lose, unhinged enough to kill his own father and convinced that cutting you open would somehow make you pure again.
Taehyung and his team didn’t know any of that. They were walking in blind to how crazy he really was, and that put them at a disadvantage. But if you could keep Kai distracted, focused only on you… maybe it would give the others the opening they needed.
It wasn’t a perfect plan. It wasn’t even a fully thought-out plan. But it was something and the only plan you had.
You stepped through your tied arms again, quick and practiced, sliding the zip tie back behind your back exactly the way Kai had left you. The plastic bit into your wrists once more, the familiar ache returning. Good. You needed to look helpless when he walked through that door.
You crossed the room on bare feet, the concrete cold and gritty under your soles, and stopped in front of the heavy metal door. You lifted your knee and knocked against it twice, the dull thud echoing in the small space.
“Hey! Is anyone out there?” you called, voice deliberately shaky. “Hello!!”
“The fuck you want!” the guard’s reply came muffled through the door, clearly irritated.
“Can you open the door?” you asked, softening your tone on purpose, making it smaller, sweeter.
“No. I have orders to follow.”
“Like the order to not harm your boss’ new toy?” you whined, sounding more spoiled than someone up to something. “How did that go for you, huh?”
A beat. Then two.
The lock clicked and the door swung open just enough for the same guy who had manhandled you earlier to glare down at you, the side of your head still throbbing where he had hit you.
“What do you want?” he spat, looking you up and down like he was assessing a threat.
“I want to talk to Kai.” you said, pushing your lower lip out in a pout.
“Not happening.” he started to close the door again.
You stuck your leg through the narrowing gap, almost getting it pinched as he tried to slam it shut.
“Come on, please?” you blinked up at him, eyes wide and scared, the picture of a girl who had finally given up. “I… I don’t want to fight him anymore.”
The guy paused, still not convinced, eyes narrowing as he tried to read your face.
“I’m not stupid, okay? I know there’s no way out of this for me. I know he wants to marry me, so I… I don’t want to start the rest of my life on a bad foot.” you let your voice tremble, letting the fear show because it was real. “You can even tell him you were the one to convince me and get in on his good graces.”
“You serious?” his eyebrow lifted and you nodded quickly. “You won’t try anything funny?”
“What could I possibly try?” you tried to move your arms, showing him the zip tie still looped behind your back. “I’m just a small girl. You guys have guns and things.”
“Okay.” he opened the door wider and grabbed your arm in a bruising grip. “Walk.”
“Wait, can’t you bring him here–”
You tried to argue, but he was already pulling you out of the room and down the dim hallway, his fingers digging into your skin. Internally you were panicking, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs.
This was bad. This was very, very bad. If you were moving through the building, Tae wouldn’t know where you were anymore. You had only wanted to bring Kai to you, keep him distracted in one place. Now the plan had gone completely south and you might have just made the biggest mistake of your life.
-
-
Taehyung crouched low in the shadows near the west side of the old warehouse, the cool night air pressing against the back of his neck. His primary breach team moved silently around him, nothing but the faint rustle of gear and controlled breathing.
The green laser from one of the spotters had already confirmed the room you were being held in. Taehyung lifted his gaze and there you were: second floor, framed in the faint glow from inside the room. Even from this far, he could see that blood glistened dark along the side of your face, a little on the corner of your lips, and he could see the plastic zip tie cutting into your wrists as you raised your hands.
For one sharp second the fear punched right through Taehyung, wondering whatever else might be hurting you that he couldn’t see, but he shoved it down deep, locking it away where it couldn’t slow him. Mission first. Always.
You stood at the window, right there, but so damn far away when Taehyung wanted you next to him already. At least you were coherent enough to catch the Morse code and reply with military sign language.
That small show of strength made something fierce and proud flare in Taehyung’s chest, even as the rest of him ached at how scared you must be right now. He kept his voice low and even into the earpiece as he told everyone listening:
“Eyes on target. Second floor, west window. Visible injury to the head. She’s conscious and responding.”
The earpiece crackled softly with acknowledgements from the teams and Taehyung held position for one more second, then raised a closed fist, signaling his primary breach team to hold. The night smelled of rust, damp concrete, and distant rain, which matched perfectly the mood for a special mission like this. Boots moved carefully over loose gravel as the subunits deployed.
“Minseok team moving to loading dock.” came the quiet report. “Approaching east side now. Visual on two hostiles outside.”
“Woo team at emergency stairwell. Door’s locked. Cutting now.”
“Ji-hoon team entering ventilation shaft. Ascending. Will report when I have eyes on upper level.”
Taehyung gave another quick hand signal and his team fell in behind Woo’s subunit as they slipped through the newly cut stairwell door. Every step felt amplified in the quiet night, the metal stairs groaning faintly under their weight despite how carefully they moved. Taehyung’s breathing stayed controlled, in through the nose, out through the mouth, even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
Adrenaline surged hot under his skin, sharp and alive and making him sweat more than he had during aunty previous drills, the mask covering his face made it harder to breathe, but easier to focus.
“Full stairwell clear.” Woo reported quietly over comms. “Primary breach team, you’re good to move up.”
Inside the building, the path was already secured as Taehyung’s team moved in on command; two hostiles zip-tied and gagged against the wall, another slumped unconscious after a quick chokehold. Woo’s team had done it fast and clean, no unnecessary noise to tip off the rest of the sharks that something was wrong or that they were under attack.
Just efficient, quiet work as Taehyung stepped over the fallen men, jaw tight, eyes scanning every shadow.
“Storage room, second floor, east corridor,” Minseok’s voice came steady through the earpiece. “Approaching now.”
Taehyung’s grip tightened on his weapon, because Miseok was about to get to you. His friend would make sure you got out safely, and then Taehyung would go find his real target; the man who brought you here in the first place.
“Storage room clear.” Minseok reported, voice flat. But that’s not the news he should have shared. “Target is MIA.”
The words hit like a punch to the sternum and Taehyung froze for half a second, blood roaring in his ears. You had been right there, how on earth were you MIA?! His mind flashed through worst-case scenarios, that you had been moved, that somehow someone noticed the SDT’s advances, that the hostiles had slipped through a backdoor and you were suddenly out of reach again.
But he forced his voice to stay calm, even if inside his chest was nothing but chaos: “Confirm. Any sign of struggle?”
The silence stretched one heartbeat too long. Dread coiled cold and heavy in Taehyung’s gut before the reply came:
“Negative.”
Then Ji-hoon’s voice crackled through the earpiece, low and urgent: “Eyes on target now. Third floor, end of the hall, main office area. At least three hostiles in the hallway. Unknown how many inside the room.”
Relief slammed into Tae so hard his knees nearly buckled for half a second. You were still here, and you were alive, but that same relief was immediately swallowed by a fresh wave of fear, since you were deeper in the building now, and apparently surrounded.
“Moving.” Taehyung replied.
His team picked up the pace right away, moving up to the next floor above, their shadows stretching long and jagged along the walls. They hit the first corner and a quick scuffle followed, the shark’s arm swinging up, a grunt cut short as one of Taehyung’s men drove a suppressed strike into the side of his neck.
The body dropped heavily as another hostile rounded the corner a second later and managed to get a single shot off, the crack echoing too loud in the narrow space, before Woo dropped him with one clean, suppressed round to the chest.
The first shot rang out sharper than Taehyung liked, but it was done now. He stepped over the fallen man, jaw tight, eyes already scanning the next stretch of hallway.
Taehyung’s team stacked up outside the heavy metal door at the end of the hall, waiting for him to give the signal, two fingers forward, and they moved as one. The breaching charge was small and precise, a muffled thump and the door flew inward with a screech of rusted hinges.
He was the first through and the scene he found made all of the blood drain from his face, his heart dropping to his stomach like a heavy stone made of ice.
Because Kai had you pulled tight against his chest, one arm locked around your waist, the other pressing the barrel of a pistol hard to the side of your head. And you looked so small and fragile that Taehyung wanted to trade places with you.
Blood had dried along your temple, the side of your face was a little swollen like something struck you hard, your lip had a cut that would sting the last time you smiled. You were barefoot, arms bound to your back now. Your eyes met his instantly, wide and shining with unshed tears. Seeing you like this hit him like a physical blow, a raw, protective surge that made his fingers tighten on the rifle, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and pull you into his arms, but he forced himself to stay rooted because any movement could trigger a response out of the man holding you hostage.
“Drop it.” Kai said, voice low and dangerously calm. “Unless you want me to drop her.”
The click of the hammer being pulled back echoed sharp in the small room and you flinched hard against Kai’s hold. Taehyung lifted one hand in a clear signal for his men to stand down, then slowly removed the strap of his rifle from his body. His team followed suit and one by one they were quickly disarmed, their weapons collected by the sharks as Kai’s men shoved them to ward the side door.
“Keep their guns,” Kai ordered his men, eyes never leaving Taehyung. “Tie the three of them up in the next room and deal with them later. I only want the three of us in here. Me, her… and him.”
Taehyung barely registered the movement around him as his gaze stayed locked on you, watching the way your eyes filled with water, the way your lip trembled as you tried to hold it together.
Once the door was closed again, and it was just the three of you in the room, Taehyung pulled the black mask from his face, which allowed him to breathe better, and hopefully allow him to appear less threatening to the other man.
“Are you okay?” Taehyung asked you, voice low and rough, the words slipping out before he could think better of it, but he needed to know.
“I’m sorry–” you started, voice cracking, but Kai yanked your head back hard by the hair.
“So you broke up, huh?” Kai pressed his lips against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness. “I should cut off your tongue for lying to me.”
The threat snapped something inside Taehyung and he took one instinctive step forward, but the gun swung away from your head and pointed straight at his head. He froze mid-step and you shook your head gently, eyes wide and pleading, silently telling him not to do anything stupid.
Taehyung forced himself to stay still, every muscle screaming to move, to get between you and that gun.
Kai brought the barrel back to your temple, finger now resting safely off the trigger. His smile was slow and satisfied as he looked at Taehyung over your shoulder.
“Too bad I have other uses planned for your tongue, baby.” he murmured against your ear, but his eyes were on Taehyung the whole time. “So it has to stay in your mouth for now.”
Kai’s smile widened, slow and unhinged, as he kept you pinned against him. The gun stayed pressed to your temple, but his free hand roamed possessively down your side.
“It didn’t have to be this way.” he said, voice soft and almost wistful. “You could have come to me willingly. I would have been gentle with you. I would have made you mine the right way.”
Taehyung’s jaw clenched so hard it ached as he kept his hands visible and his body still, but every instinct screamed at him to lunge, to rip Kai’s hands off you. He could see the way your shoulders trembled, the way your eyes stayed locked on his, silently begging him to stay calm. The sight of Kai’s fingers on your waist made something dark and protective surge through his chest, hot and violent.
“But now…” Kai continued, pressing his cheek to yours. “Now I have to watch you be purified. The Shaman will be here soon. A few careful cuts, a little blood to let the taint out… and you’ll be clean again. Pure. Ready for me.”
Taehyung’s stomach twisted. The casual way Kai talked about hurting you made bile rise in his throat. This was worse than he thought, because this man sounded crazed, pupils wide and unfocused. Kai was definitely high on something, already sweating out of his skin, but no less dangerous because of it.
“And then it’ll be your turn, soldier boy.” Kai told him, almost conversationally. “You’ll get to watch, and when she’s finally mine… I’ll deal with you myself. Slowly. So she understands exactly who she belongs to now.”
You looked so small in Kai’s hold, scared, completely at his mercy, tears shining in your eyes as you stared at Taehyung like he was the only safe thing left in the world–
Then it happened, so fast that Taehyung would have missed it he blinked.
Your arms twisted hard behind your back, all at once, and the zip tie keeping you bound snapped with a sharp crack, plastic falling to the floor at your bare feet. In the same fluid motion you drove your elbow backward with brutal precision, slamming it into Kai’s stomach.
Kai hunched forward with a grunt from the pain and the surprise of you fighting back. You turned around smoothly, bringing your hands to the back of Kai’s head and your knee up to his chin; efficient, vicious and perfect, in a move that Taehyung’s personal combat instructor had demonstrated many times before during training.
Kai staggered, grip on the gun loosening as it clattered to the floor.
Taehyung charged immediately after that, crossing the distance in two powerful strides, shoulder slamming into Kai’s chest with every ounce of pent-up fury he had been holding back. Then Taehyung drove him down hard, using his weight and training to flip the man onto his stomach, planting a knee in the center of Kai’s back, one hand pinning his wrist behind him, the other forcing his face against the concrete.
“Don’t move.” you gritted, and Kai stopped struggling.
Your voice was ice-cold, steady, every trace of the scared girl gone like she had never even been there. When Taehyung looked up, you had already snatched the discarded gun from the floor and pointed it at Kai with both hands, arms locked, stance perfect.
The transformation hit Taehyung like a shockwave, how it had all been an act before, the tears, the trembling, the helplessness.
His fucking hustler.
Pride swelled in his chest so fiercely it almost hurt, cutting straight through the fear. You weren’t the fragile girl he had been terrified for. You were you, smart, brave, and deadly when you needed to be.
Ji-hoon’s voice crackled through the earpiece, calm but urgent:
“We’re coming in.”
-
-
Things moved in a blur after Ji-hoon and Woo filtered into the room with five other men dressed in full, heavy black from head to toe behind them. Three of them checked the corners and behind furniture, and you let them do their jobs even if you knew no one else was hiding in here.
Ji-hoon and Woo went straight for Taehyung and Kai, removing your captor from your lover’s hold, and your shoulders started to relax then. You lowered the gun, your thumb found the safety lever without looking, pressing it forward with a clean, decisive click that echoed, then you shifted your grip, fingers sliding over the frame the way your father had taught you years ago; thumb on the magazine release, palm supporting the weight.
With a quick, practiced tug you dropped the magazine free; it fell into your waiting hand, heavy and solid, and when the now-empty gun felt lighter, your brain registered that the threat was over.
You let your shoulders drop, the barrel lowering until it pointed harmlessly at the floor and you let it go, the gun clattering to the concrete because you wanted nothing to do with it anymore.
“That was cool as fuck.” Woo broke the heavy tension in the room with his comment, Ji-hoon already way ahead taking a dazed Kai away from you.
The relief hit you all at once, like a wave that had been held back too long. Your lungs expanded fully for the first time in what felt like hours, the fear you had been swallowing down since the moment you were captured came rushing up your throat in a shaky sob you barely managed to choke back. Your hands trembled at your sides, the zip-tie marks burning like fresh rope burns, but the pain felt distant now, almost welcome. It meant you were alive and that meant it was over.
You looked at Taehyung and he was standing a few steps away, already staring at you just as intently, but he didn’t move closer, giving you space in case you were too overwhelmed for it. His chest rose and fell hard under the tactical vest, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, but his eyes were soft and worried, like he was afraid one wrong step would finally be what breaks you.
But you didn’t want him that far away ever again, so you were the one going to him.
Your bare feet slapped against the cold concrete as you walked the few steps it took you to reach him, and Taehyung met you halfway, arms opening wide. The moment you crashed into his chest he wrapped you up so tightly it felt like you couldn’t breathe, but you didn’t care.
You buried your face in the warm, solid curve of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, sweat and musk. His arms banded around your back, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing you closer like he could pull you inside his own ribs. He was breathing hard, chest heaving against yours, his face tucked into the side of your neck as if he needed to feel your pulse to believe you were really there.
“Did he touch you?” he asked, voice shaky and raw, the words carrying more weight than they seemed.
“No, he didn’t.” you assured him quickly, voice muffled against his throat.
Tae pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes scanning your face with painful intensity, his thumb brushed the side of your head where the blood had dried, and you flinched at the sting. He twisted your chin gently so he could see your split lip, his expression twisting with worry and something darker.
“I hit my head, and Kai slapped me, but I promise–” you started, but nothing you said seemed to ease the pain in his eyes.
“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” he threatened, already glancing around like he was ready to give the order to his men.
“You won’t.” you said, pulling his face back to yours with both hands. His skin was sweaty under your palms, or maybe you were the clammy one; it didn’t matter. “I’m free now, Tae. After all of this… we got enough witnesses to get all of them in jail, and with Han dead, most will turn on Kai anyway. He doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Shit…” Taehyung’s eyes widened, like he saw it too.
“You kept your promise.” you sighed and it came out shaky.
“Nah, hustler.” he shook his head, dark hair messy and curling at the tips. “You saved yourself.”
Summary: Yoongi accidentally causes internet chaos during a concert in Mexico, then calls you right after just to get teased for it. Somewhere between embarrassing fancams, late-night flirting, and a random colorful skull from a market, long distance suddenly feels a little harder than usual.
Status: Oneshot
Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader
Word Count: 4.4k~
Genre: Idol!AU, Fluff
Rated: T
Tags: Boyfriend!Yoongi, Secret, Slice of Life, LDR
Posting Date: May 17, 2026
SCC: Ko-fi ☕️ ・ Taglist 📝
That night, Seoul was at its coldest. Light rain had been falling since the afternoon, making the apartment air feel cool and cozy. You had already showered, wearing one of Yoongi’s oversized shirts that somehow had been staying in your closet more often than in his own lately. Your hair was still a little damp when you climbed onto the sofa carrying a thin blanket and a glass of iced americano with almost-melted ice.
The TV had actually been playing a drama for a while, but you weren’t really watching it. Your focus was only on mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Your FYP that night was completely random—people reviewing spicy food, Jungkook gym edits, videos of angry cats getting bathed.
Until suddenly…
A concert video.
The lights were insanely bright. Fans screaming loud enough to burst your ears even through your phone speaker.
And in the middle of the screen—
Yoongi.
You automatically stopped scrolling.
His hair was soaked with sweat, his breathing still visibly heavy after performing. He was wearing a thin white tank top underneath and a black outer jacket that had already fallen halfway open. His face was red from the heat and exhaustion, but he still looked absurdly handsome in the most annoying way possible.
The caption said:
“HE ACCIDENTALLY TOOK OFF EVERYTHING 😭”
Your eyebrow instantly lifted.
“Hah?”
The video kept playing.
Yoongi was seen pulling off his jacket from behind his neck, probably because he was hot. But somehow, the inner shirt got dragged up with it.
And a split second later—
The entire venue literally exploded.
“KYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAA—”
The fans’ screams cracked from how loud they were.
The camera recording immediately shook violently. Someone dropped their phone downward. Someone else only recorded the venue ceiling because they got too hysterical.
Meanwhile Yoongi…
His expression was priceless.
He instantly stopped moving, blankly staring for one second like his brain was buffering, then quickly pulled his shirt back down while laughing shyly.
You immediately covered your mouth.
Then burst out laughing alone in the living room.
“OH MY GOD.”
Replay.
Replay again.
And the more you replayed it, the funnier it got because he genuinely looked like it was completely accidental. Even the member next to him turned around with a shocked-but-laughing expression.
The next TikTok appeared from another angle.
One zoomed in on Yoongi’s face.
One was in slow motion.
One used dramatic Titanic music.
Another one had the caption:
“Mexico survived earthquakes but not this.”
You practically collapsed against the sofa laughing.
“Poor him…”
But you still replayed it again.
Honestly, it wasn’t just funny.
Yoongi looked way too good there.
That white tank top clung to him because of the sweat. His arms were full of veins after performing. His black hair fell slightly onto his forehead. And his embarrassed, panicked expression somehow made everyone lose their minds even more.
Your phone even started constantly buzzing.
The BTS group chat instantly became chaotic.
Jimin:
hyung trending 😭😭😭
Hoseok:
I TOLD YOU NOT TO TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET ON STAGE
Jungkook:
Mexico will never move on
Namjoon:
internet is gone
You laughed again while screenshotting several videos.
Then without thinking, you opened Yoongi’s chat.
For a few seconds you were still smiling to yourself before finally typing.
You:
[5 screenshots]
Congratulations
Typing…
Typing stopped.
Typing again.
Yoongi:
I want to disappear
You immediately laughed again.
You:
No seriously 😭
This is so funny
Yoongi:
I just wanted to take off my jacket
You:
And accidentally took off your dignity too
Read.
No reply for a few seconds.
Then—
Yoongi:
You’re enjoying this way too much huh
You:
Very much
Yoongi:
Mean
You:
An entire stadium screamed like they got jumpscared
Yoongi:
I was shocked too
You:
Your face was so funny 😭😭😭
You replayed the video again while grinning to yourself.
Especially the part where Yoongi immediately pulled his shirt back down with an expression like “what the hell just happened?”
You even zoomed in on a certain screenshot.
Oh.
Oh no.
His arms were insane though.
Without realizing it, you took another screenshot.
You:
Btw are your arms even legal?
Yoongi took longer to reply this time.
Maybe he was showering. Maybe eating. Or maybe regretting his life because the entire internet was now filled with fancams of him.
Finally the chat bubble appeared again.
Yoongi:
Are you thirst tweeting now too?
You:
I’m a victim of the timeline
Yoongi:
Delete TikTok
You:
Can’t
The entertainment tonight is too good
Yoongi:
I’m tired
You:
But handsome
Read.
No reply for about a minute.
Then suddenly your phone screen showed an incoming video call.
You instantly laughed before answering.
The moment it connected, Yoongi’s face immediately filled the screen.
His hair was still slightly wet after showering. He was now wearing a loose black shirt with the collar hanging lower on one side. His skin was still slightly flushed from the concert and hot shower. He sat leaning against the hotel sofa while staring at you with a tired face.
“Just keep laughing.”
The second you heard his raspy post-performance voice, you laughed even harder.
“Sorry—really sorry but this is genuinely funny…”
Yoongi closed his eyes briefly while letting out a long sigh.
“I opened my phone and it was pure chaos.”
“Well that’s your fault.”
“It wasn’t intentional.”
“You know people are saying Mexico lost their minds tonight?”
“I want to uninstall the internet.”
You were still smiling widely while staring at the screen.
And damn it, the more you looked at him now, the more you kept thinking about him earlier on stage.
Sweaty. Heavy breathing. Tense arms.
God.
Yoongi watched your face for a few seconds.
Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.
“Oh.”
“What oh.”
“So you were freaking out too apparently.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I was just surprised.”
“How many times did you replay it?”
You instantly went silent.
Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Exactly.”
“…a few.”
“How many is a few?”
“Well… several.”
“You took screenshots too.”
Your eyes widened immediately.
“How do you know?!”
“I can tell from your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“You look guilty.”
You let out a small huff while leaning back against the sofa again.
Yoongi watched you with a faint smile. Even exhausted like that, he still had energy to tease you.
“You seriously…” you muttered quietly.
“What?”
“You made an entire country hysterical.”
“One country is exaggerating.”
“No it’s not. Their screaming was terrifying.”
Yoongi just laughed softly.
And oh my god, that soft laugh.
You hated how easily he made your heart feel weird just from his voice alone.
“You need to see the edits now,” you said while reopening TikTok. “Someone already made a slow motion version.”
“Don’t show me.”
“Too late.”
You played one video.
The second the hysterical fan screams blasted from your phone, Yoongi immediately covered his face with one hand.
“OH MY GOD.”
You burst out laughing again.
“Your expression is so funny!”
“I’m genuinely embarrassed.”
“It’s rare seeing you this embarrassed.”
“Because it wasn’t intentional.”
“You literally buffered on stage.”
“I panicked.”
“It showed.”
Yoongi sighed deeply while sinking further into the hotel sofa.
His shirt shifted slightly higher around the sleeves.
And you… unconsciously glanced again.
Yoongi noticed.
Very noticed.
“What are you doing?”
“Hm?”
“You keep staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You think I don’t know?”
You instantly got flustered.
“Fine, maybe a little.”
“You said it was funny.”
“It is funny.”
“So what is it now?”
You bit your lip briefly before quietly answering,
“…handsome too.”
Yoongi went silent for a few seconds.
Then he smiled very slightly.
A thin smile.
The kind that made your heart melt because he genuinely looked happy hearing it.
“You make me feel confident so easily.”
“Hey don’t get too confident.”
“Why?”
“Or you’ll intentionally take your shirt off at concerts.”
He immediately laughed.
“I’m not that bad.”
“You sure?”
“You’ve already seen it plenty of times too.”
And like someone pressed pause—
You instantly froze.
“…what?”
Yoongi casually leaned back while looking at you.
“Why are you pretending to be shocked now?”
“MIN YOONGI.”
“What?”
“That’s a different context.”
“What’s the difference?”
“AN ENTIRE STADIUM SAW THIS.”
“But who sees it the most often?”
Your cheeks instantly heated up.
“That’s not the point—”
“You literally sleep hugging me every night.”
“STOP.”
“And now you’re embarrassed?”
You immediately covered your face with a sofa pillow while groaning in embarrassment.
Yoongi just laughed victoriously from the other side.
“Finally embarrassed too.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You started it earlier.”
“But now you’re doing it on purpose!”
“Hm.”
“What do you mean hm.”
“It’s cute seeing you flustered.”
You peeked from behind the pillow.
Yoongi was still smiling faintly while watching you. His face looked far more relaxed now compared to the beginning of the call.
And strangely enough, you really loved being the reason he relaxed after a long concert like this.
“You’re really tired huh?” you finally asked, your voice softer.
Yoongi nodded slightly.
“A little.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Drink water?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Yoongi.”
He laughed softly again.
“I drank.”
You watched his face for a few seconds.
His eyes were slightly red from exhaustion. His voice sounded heavier too. But he still called you just because you teased him about that stupid wardrobe malfunction earlier.
Your chest warmed on its own.
“You should sleep later,” you said quietly.
“Later.”
“Don’t keep saying later.”
He looked at you for a moment.
Then quietly said,
“I miss you.”
Your expression instantly softened.
“…it’s only been a week.”
“Long.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Yeah.”
You smiled faintly.
And for a few seconds, you just stared at each other through the screen, both exhausted but comfortable.
Until Yoongi finally spoke again casually,
“But seriously.”
“Hm?”
“You were more excited than the Mexico fans.”
You instantly glared.
“Because that’s my boyfriend.”
“Oh so you were jealous?”
“A little.”
“Aigoo…”
“What do you mean aigoo.”
“You’re cute.”
“Not cute.”
“You’re jealous over an accidental shirt slip.”
“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”
“Because it is funny.”
You huffed in embarrassment.
And Yoongi, who had looked half-dead exhausted this whole time, just smiled even softer while quietly saying,
“The one who sees the most is still you anyway.”
You immediately collapsed backward onto the sofa while covering your face.
“OH MY GOD MIN YOONGI.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
You were still lying flat on the sofa with your face covered by a pillow, while Yoongi’s soft laughter kept coming from your phone speaker.
Satisfied laughter. The kind of laughter from someone who realized he had successfully made his girlfriend malfunction.
“Get up.”
“No.”
“Why are you so embarrassed?”
“Because you said it like that!”
“But it’s true.”
You lowered the pillow slightly, glaring at the screen.
“Yoongi.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t flirt when your face still looks like this after a concert.”
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Why?”
“Dangerous.”
That smile immediately appeared again. Small, crooked, annoying.
“I’m literally just sitting here.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem.”
Yoongi laughed softly while resting his head against the hotel sofa. The dim room lighting made the lines of his face look even sharper. His black hair was still slightly damp and falling over his forehead in a way that looked way too good for someone claiming to be exhausted.
And the thing making your heart race the most— He looked so comfortable right now. Relaxed. Soft. But his eyes hadn’t left you this entire time.
“You seriously…” you muttered quietly while avoiding his gaze, “you just caused internet chaos and still have time to tease me.”
“Because I miss you.”
His answer came too fast. Too honest. Your heart instantly skipped weirdly.
“You usually get clingy when you’re tired,” you said, trying to sound casual.
“And?”
“And right now I can’t hug you.”
Yoongi went quiet for a moment.
His expression immediately softened a little more.
“I know.”
The atmosphere suddenly became calmer.
You were already used to tour schedules. Used to video calls from different countries. Used to falling asleep on call until one of you passed out first.
But somehow this time felt different.
Maybe because Yoongi’s schedule was too packed. Maybe because you had gotten too used to being close before he left. Or maybe because right now he was looking at you like that while seeming like he really wanted to come home.
“You know,” he suddenly said, his voice low and raspy, “right after the concert, the first thing I did was check my phone for your message.”
You instantly looked back at the screen.
“Seriously?”
“Hm.”
“Why?”
“I already knew you’d make fun of me.”
You laughed softly.
“And you still looked for it.”
“Because I missed you.”
God. You genuinely couldn’t handle it when he suddenly got soft like this. Especially when he followed it up with a tiny smile while secretly staring at you.
“Yoongi…”
“Hm?”
“You make it hard to sleep.”
“I haven’t even started yet.”
You instantly froze.
“What do you mean you haven’t started?”
He casually shrugged a little.
“You said I was flirting earlier.”
“And?”
“But I was just acting normal.”
Your cheeks instantly heated up again.
“Okay then don’t start.”
“What if I do?”
“MIN YOONGI.”
He laughed softly again. Not loudly, but low enough to make your stomach feel weird. Then he moved slightly closer to the camera. And god. That was a terrible mistake.
Because now his face completely filled your phone screen.
“You know what the funniest part earlier was?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“You got possessive immediately.”
“I was not possessive.”
“You literally said ‘that’s my boyfriend.’”
“Well he is.”
“And then you got jealous.”
“A little.”
“You really like me huh.”
You instantly glared in embarrassment.
“Overconfident.”
“But it's true.”
You let out a long sigh while covering half your face with the blanket. Yoongi watched you with a faint smile.
“Cute.”
“Don’t call me cute.”
“Why?”
“It just makes me more annoyed.”
“But you’re smiling.”
You reflexively touched your lips.
Damn it.
He was right.
Yoongi instantly looked satisfied.
“I know your expressions by heart.”
“You don’t need to know them by heart.”
“Too late.”
A few seconds later the atmosphere became quiet again. You could hear the hotel AC from his side. Occasionally there were distant sounds from the hallway, but other than that there was only the sound of your breathing.
Yoongi looked really exhausted now. His eyes were half-lidded. His loose black shirt slipped slightly off his shoulder when he moved. And unfortunately it made you remember the earlier video again.
Yoongi noticed again. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re spacing out.”
“I just remembered earlier.”
“Which earlier?”
“You know which one.”
He smiled faintly.
“Oh. The Mexico incident.”
“Don’t call it an incident like it’s a scandal.”
“It felt like one.”
“The internet literally lost its mind.”
“You did too.”
You sighed softly.
“Well how was I supposed to react…”
“Hm?”
“You earlier were…”
You stopped yourself.
Yoongi waited.
And somehow that was worse than if he pushed you.
Because he just quietly stared at you, making you even more nervous.
“What?” he asked again softly.
“…hot.”
Yoongi immediately tried to hold back a smile.
“Oh?”
“Don’t get too confident yet.”
“But you called me hot.”
“You are hot.”
He finally let out a small laugh.
“Wow.”
“You’re not fair.”
“Why?”
“You know exactly what your post-concert face does to people.”
“What does it do?”
“Yoongi.”
“Answer first.”
You covered your face again.
Which only amused him more.
“Aigoo…”
“Stop laughing.”
“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“And you’re so evil when you miss me.”
Yoongi went quiet for a moment.
Then with a lower, softer voice—
“I really do miss you badly right now.”
Your heart instantly dropped. The way he said things like that was always dangerous. Not excessive. Not dramatic. But because his tone stayed calm, it somehow felt more real.
“When are you coming home?” you asked softly.
“Still a few more weeks.”
You instantly pouted.
“That’s too long.”
“Hm.”
“I hate long distance.”
“Me too.”
Yoongi slowly rubbed his face before looking at you again.
“That’s why when I get home later, don’t complain.”
“Why do I suddenly feel nervous?”
“You’re the one who called me hot earlier.”
“I REGRET SAYING THAT.”
He laughed again.
“You can’t take it back.”
“Yes I can.”
“No you can’t.”
“You’re annoying.”
“But you miss me.”
You stayed quiet. Because he was right. And Yoongi knew you too well to the point where he could already see the answer before you even said it.
He leaned back again while staring at the screen for a few seconds. Then casually said,
“After the tour, I probably won’t let go of you.”
Your heart dropped.
“Yoongi…”
“Hm?”
“Don’t say things like that while looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“LIKE THAT.”
He laughed softly.
“I’m just saying I miss you.”
“The way you say it is the problem.”
“What if I was at the apartment right now?”
You instantly went completely silent. Yoongi saw your reaction and his smile became even thinner.
“Hmm.”
“Don’t hmm.”
“I’m just imagining it.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“A little.”
“Yoongi…”
“I’d probably pull you onto the sofa already.”
Your breath instantly caught.
“And then you’d say you’re tired.”
“I am tired.”
“But you’d still come over to me.”
You genuinely couldn’t handle him once he started talking in that low voice. Especially now that his face already looked sleepy and soft. The deadliest combination.
“And then?” you asked quietly without realizing it.
Yoongi’s eyes immediately lifted slightly.
“Oh, so you want to keep listening.”
“Actually, never mind.”
“No. You asked.”
You bit your lip slightly. And Yoongi saw it. Of course he saw it.
“So dangerous,” he muttered softly.
“What?”
“The way you look when you’re embarrassed.”
You instantly turned your face away. Which only made him smile even more fondly.
“Come home soon okay,” you finally said quietly.
Yoongi’s expression instantly softened again.
“Hm.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you more.”
“Overconfident.”
“I’ll prove it later.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The time difference started becoming more and more annoying once BTS began touring in America.
In Seoul it was already evening while the sun there had only just risen. Sometimes you had just finished work while Yoongi was still at rehearsal. Sometimes you woke up in the morning to dozens of random texts from him sent at three in the morning local time because he couldn’t sleep again.
And the longer the tour went on, the more the longing started to settle in too.
Not the dramatic kind of longing that makes you cry every night. But the kind that appears in small things.
Like when you automatically took out two glasses from the cabinet before realizing you were living alone in the apartment right now. Or when you found Yoongi’s black hoodie still hanging over the living room chair and instinctively hugged it for a second because it still carried traces of his familiar perfume and laundry scent.
Or when you came home exhausted from work and realized there was no Yoongi sprawled across the sofa pretending to sleep just so you would approach him first.
That night you were sitting at the apartment work desk while staring at packaging design files that hadn’t gotten anywhere for hours. The desk lamp glowed brightly while the rest of the apartment stayed dim and quiet. Light rain fell outside the window, making the atmosphere feel calmer and lonelier at the same time.
You had just changed the song on Spotify when your phone vibrated.
Incoming video call:
Yoongi.
A smile instantly appeared on your face without realizing it.
You hadn’t even pressed accept yet, but half your exhaustion was already gone.
The moment the call connected, the screen immediately showed a shaky camera moving everywhere. At first there was only a bright sky and the sound of people passing by. Then a few seconds later Yoongi’s face appeared.
And seriously.
He looked way too relaxed for someone who was supposed to be world famous.
A black cap pulled low. An oversized gray hoodie. His mask was hanging under his chin because he was probably too lazy to talk with it covering his face. Black hair sticking out slightly from under the cap and moving with the wind.
He walked slowly while holding his phone low, like he was genuinely just some ordinary person wandering around an evening market.
Even though he was Min Yoongi.
That was exactly what stressed you out.
“You’re outside?” you asked while automatically sitting up straighter.
“Hm.”
Yoongi’s answers were always short when he was relaxed. His voice sounded heavier from tour exhaustion, but there was a lighter tone that rarely appeared whenever he was genuinely enjoying himself.
The camera shifted slightly, showing small stores around him. Everything was full of color. Neon hanging fabrics, hand-painted ceramics, tiny lights, and faint street music in the distance.
You immediately understood why he liked that place.
Because it felt alive.
And because it was exactly the kind of place that would make you stop at every shop just to stare at random cute things.
“You went out alone?” you asked again.
“Hoseok and Jungkook are eating. I got bored at the hotel.”
His answer sounded so casual that you had to stop yourself from sighing loudly.
Yoongi was always like this.
Sometimes he still forgot who he was now.
Not because he was arrogant or intentionally dismissing his own popularity. Actually the opposite. Sometimes he genuinely still thought he could casually walk around without attracting too much attention, especially outside Korea.
Even now?
Even people who didn’t follow BTS would probably still recognize his face.
And you knew perfectly well the other members often said the same thing—Yoongi was sometimes way too relaxed about himself.
“Are you even being careful?” you asked while lowering your laptop volume.
“I’m wearing a cap.”
You stared at the screen flatly.
“That’s not a disguise.”
“I’m also wearing a hoodie.”
“Wow. Incredible.”
Yoongi chuckled softly.
His laugh mixed faintly with footsteps and market noise, but it was still enough to make the corner of your lips lift too.
Even so, you kept paying attention to the surroundings behind the camera. People passed by without caring, but there was still a small nervous feeling sitting in your chest.
Not because you didn’t trust him to take care of himself.
But because you knew what the world was like now. One person realizes that’s Min Yoongi from BTS, and five minutes later there could already be a crowd.
And the funny thing was, Yoongi himself still looked genuinely confused whenever that happened.
“You seriously…” you muttered while leaning back in your chair, “still think you guys are nobodies sometimes huh?”
Yoongi stayed quiet for a second before finally smiling faintly.
“Sometimes I forget.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m just taking a short walk.”
“You say ‘just taking a short walk’ like you’re some guy running the neighborhood photocopy shop.”
He laughed more clearly this time.
And honestly, you liked hearing him laugh like that.
Lately the tour schedule has been too exhausting. His face often looked tired. So every time Yoongi sounded genuinely relaxed and comfortable, you felt relieved too.
The camera moved again, showing rows of tiny colorful stores. Neon-painted Mexico skulls, brightly embroidered fabrics, flower mugs, and strange ornaments that somehow still looked artistic.
“You’d love places like this,” he suddenly said.
And he was right.
Your eyes were instantly drawn to all the colors.
You have always loved bright things. Random tiny objects that were cute and overly crowded-looking. Even your apartment had colorful decorations. Yoongi often mocked for having “too many colors.”
“I bought something for you,” he added casually, as if that sentence alone didn’t instantly warm your heart.
You automatically turned quickly toward the screen.
“Hah?”
Yoongi looked satisfied seeing your reaction.
He was always like that. Sometimes purposely saying things suddenly just to watch your shocked expression.
“I kept seeing it and thinking about you.”
And god.
No matter how simple the sentence was, it still always made your chest soften.
Because Yoongi wasn’t the type to openly act romantic. Which was exactly why small things like “I saw this and thought of you” felt far more special.
You immediately started guessing excitedly.
Maybe a cute plate.
Maybe embroidered fabric.
Maybe a long brightly-colored dress Yoongi himself would never touch but would still choose because “this is so you.”
The more you imagined it, the more curious you became.
Especially because the way Yoongi kept holding back his smile clearly showed he was enjoying this.
“Come on, show me,” you whined.
“No.”
“Yoongi.”
“You’ll laugh.”
“It’s fine.”
He finally stopped walking in front of one of the stores. The camera lowered slightly toward shelves full of colorful ornaments.
Then he picked something up.
At first you didn’t realize what it was.
Until he lifted it closer to the camera.
“…is that a skull?”
Yoongi instantly grinned faintly.
“Yeah.”
You stared at the screen for several seconds with a blank expression.
Out of everything in Mexico…
Your boyfriend chose a skull.
But of course it wasn’t just any skull.
It was a brightly painted Día de los Muertos ceramic skull. Pink flowers, blue lines, neon yellow, tiny bright green details. It looked more cute than scary.
Still—
“Why a skull…”
“But the colors are cute.”
“You’re seriously weird.”
Yoongi actually looked proud of his choice.
He slowly rotated the skull toward the camera like he was showing off expensive artwork.
And the longer you looked at it, the more it really did feel… very you.
Crowded colors.
Weird.
Slightly chaotic.
“You like it, right?”
You tried holding back your smile.
Because honestly, this really was Min Yoongi-style romance.
Not flowers.
Not stuffed dolls.
Not expensive jewelry.
But a random colorful skull he saw at a market and immediately thought of you.
And somehow that made your heart ache from affection.
“You know normal people buy flowers for their girlfriends.”
“I’m different.”
“Clearly.”
“You don’t like it?”
You finally laughed softly while leaning your head back against the chair.
“I do…”
“Exactly.”
“But you’re still weird.”
Yoongi laughed in satisfaction again.
Behind him, the shop lights had started turning on because evening was approaching there. The bright colors around him looked warmer now. And in the middle of that crowded market, Yoongi stood there holding his ugly-cute little skull proudly.
Strangely enough…
That sight only made you miss him more.
Because you could clearly imagine him casually walking from store to store, then stopping the second he saw that thing and thinking:
“This would definitely be something Y/N likes.”
And now you really wished you were there with him.
Summary: Lee Jaerin has everything. Fame. Fortune. Freedom. But five years ago she lost the one person who meant everything to her. Every part of her brain is screaming at her to let Min Yoongi stay in her past, but the heart has a mind of it's own and hers is determined to get him back into her life.
Word Count: 15.9k
Part 2 - Seesaw
Summary: Lee Jaerin and Min Yoongi have everything. They have each other after all. But the pressures of fame are increasing every day and threatening their little slice of paradise. Can they survive it and do they even want to?
Word Count: 16.9k
Part 3 - Life Goes On
Summary: Jaerin and Yoongi haven't seen each other in more than seven years. But life goes on. As they navigate new beginnings in their 30s, the universe brings them crashing back into each other. It isn't done with them yet.
Word Count: 20k
Tags: Idol!Yoongi, rapper!OC, childhood best friends, flashbacks and flashforwards, idolAU, very angsty lol, incorrect BTS lore but I tried my best, tannies being bffs, TRAUMA lol
Warnings: sex work, mentions of sexual assault, domestic violence, alcoholism, death of a parent, poverty, suicide and self harm, psychiatric treatment, gang violence, depression, Yoongi shoulder thing, violence against women, death threats, misogyny (each story and chapter will have its own warnings)
Note: I guess this is kinda my baby. I wrote this when I was 20, abandoned it for many, many years (ao3 curse is real friends) and now I'm back at it at 29. Which is kinda funny in how it mirrors the plot of this story. Had to wait until I hit each life stage I guess to write it lol.
Synopsis: Mrs Min is persistent, she wants her son to get serious about dating and takes the matchmaking process in our own hands. Min Yoongi doesn't think he has the time or the space for a relationship, but it all changes after a few annoying texts from his mother and an elevator ride.
Genre: Idol Yoongi AU, FLUFF, a lot of FLUFF, boyfriend Yoongi, some smut, two people trying to figure out their feelings for each other. Art curator OC, it's just a lot of fluff with some smut because I am terribly single.
Word Count: 25K+
"Mom, I don't want you intervening in my dating life anymore!" Yoongi's voice carries down the hallway the moment his phone buzzes with yet another contact saved under a name like Park Soomin - nice girl, works in finance, very pretty ♥. He stares at it for a long second before tossing the phone onto his bed. "I don't want you to help me find a girlfriend. I don't have time for a girlfriend."
He yanks open his closet and pulls out the last of the clothes he needs to pack, draping them over his arm with the practiced efficiency of someone who has lived out of suitcases for the better part of a decade. New York. Weeks of back-to-back schedules, press runs, radio slots, and performances and his mother was out here playing matchmaker like he was a man of leisure.
"I'm sure they're all great," he continues, softer now, more tired than annoyed. He means it, genuinely. It's never about the girls. "I just don't have the time." He pads out of the bedroom, heading toward the living room where he'd heard her shuffling around not twenty minutes ago, the familiar sound of her rearranging things that didn't need rearranging.
But the room is empty. Yoongi stops in the doorway, a dress shirt still folded over his forearm, and looks around. The television is off. Her reading glasses are sitting on the arm of the sofa. A half-drunk cup of tea steams quietly on the coffee table.
He blinks. "…Mom?"
He walks further in, checking the kitchen, empty, then their bedroom. Nothing. He stands very still for a moment and replays the last several minutes in his head. The bedroom, the closet, the hallway rant. Had she even been home? Had he just been pouring his heart out to an apartment?
He drags a hand through his hair and exhales slowly through his nose. His phone buzzes again on the bed, distant but audible. Probably another one.
Her phone rings for a while before she picks up, “Where are you?” Yoongi speaks to the phone as he continues packing. "I'm at the Lee's place." Her voice is bright, unbothered, the voice of a woman who has done nothing wrong in her entire life. "Their daughter is visiting. You should come over." A brief pause, then, as though it's a perfectly reasonable addendum: "Now."
Yoongi stops folding. "Their daughter," he repeats. "She's very sweet. She works in the arts world too, works as-" "Mom." He sets the shirt down. "I leave for the airport in twenty minutes"
"It won't take long, just come and say hello, what is twenty minutes-" "Why are you even there?" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You went to the Lee's just… did you plan this? Did you leave so I couldn't argue with you in person?"
The pause that follows is a fraction too long. "Their daughter got some amazing desserts from Spain" she says finally, with great dignity. He laughs before he can stop himself, a short, disbelieving exhale and sits down on the edge of the bed amidst the half-packed chaos. "I'm not coming over."
"Just to say hello -" "I'm not coming over, I'm going to New York, and when I come back we are having a real conversation about this." He stands again, reaching for the shirt. "Enjoy the desserts"
"She has a very nice smile, so beautiful, perfect height for you" "Bye, Mom, I’ll see you in two weeks" He hangs up. Stares at the open closet for exactly three seconds, then gets back to packing. His phone buzzes again, information for the Lee’s daughter, like he’s really convinced by the hard sell his mother gave.
The elevator dings and slides open, and Yoongi steps in without looking up, wheeling his carry-on in front of him. He adjusts his mask, tugs his beanie down a little further, and stares at the floor numbers like they owe him something. He does not notice, at first, that he is not alone.
She's standing in the corner with her coat half-buttoned and her bag hiked up on one shoulder, the posture of someone who had also left a situation slightly faster than was polite. She'd walked into her parents' living room an hour ago expecting a quiet visit and had instead been subjected to an unsolicited slideshow. Her mother and Mrs. Min, two women who clearly missed their calling as matchmakers, had walked her through approximately twenty photographs. Career highlights, candid shots, one that looked suspiciously like a press photo with the watermark cropped out.
So she recognizes him from a maternal ambush conducted over barley tea and the good plates. She says nothing at first. The doors slide shut.
"Congratulations on the album," she says, pleasantly, the way you'd say it to a colleague in a lift. "My mother played me three songs from it this morning. Without warning."
That gets him, his head turns. Not just the sideways glance he'd given her when she shifted her bag a proper turn, eyes finding her face with something between confusion and alertness. The look of a man trying to locate the context.
"She what?" "The one with the soft intro," ___ continues, thinking back. "She said it proved you were sensitive. I think that was meant to sell me on you."
There’s complete silence from Yoongi’s side, he just stares at her. She can only see his eyes above the mask but it's enough she watches the exact moment the pieces assemble themselves.
"The daughter," he says slowly. "You're ___ Lee?" he recalls from the last contact information his mother sent. "And you're the son" She tilts her head. "Twenty pictures, by the way. I counted."
He makes a sound that isn't quite a word, more of a groan. His hand moves to the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry," he says, and he means it with his whole chest.
"It's fine." She smiles, and there's no edge in it, just genuine amusement. "Honestly the album part was good. I'd have preferred to find it on my own terms but-" she lifts one shoulder, "-here we are."
"Well, great to meet you." She steps out of the elevator first, one hand coming up absently to tuck a piece of her bob behind her ear before it falls back against her jaw anyway. Her coat is oversized, something vintage-feeling in a warm camel tone.
"I saw you guys in concert in 2019 and now we're being set up." She glances back at him with a grin that's more amused than anything else, fingers brushing through her bob again, a quick, unconscious sweep. "Funny how life works."
Yoongi follows her out into the basement, and for a moment he just looks at her. The way she says it, not starstruck, not awkward, just stating a fact, like it's a mildly interesting observation about the weather, catches him somewhere off guard.
He's used to two kinds of reactions. The overwhelmed kind, and the overcorrected kind, people who perform so hard at being normal around him that it becomes its own thing. She is neither. She's just standing there in her excellent coat, bag slouched on one shoulder, apparently entirely comfortable with the absurdity of the situation in a way that he, who has been mentally managing this airport run since Tuesday, is decidedly not.
"I'm sorry about my mother," he says again, because it warrants repeating. "You've said that already." "It deserves two apologies."
She laughs at that a real one, quick and unguarded, her hand going up to push her hair back from her face. It falls forward again immediately. She doesn't seem to mind. "She means well. They both do."
"I didn't know any of this was happening," he says, and he needs that on the record somehow. "I found out when she sent me your contact details. I was in the middle of packing."
"My mother sent me a voice memo," ___ offers. "Forty seconds. Very thorough." He closes his eyes briefly. "What did she-" he starts, then stops. "Actually, I don't want to know."
"She called you a great catch." ___ says it with complete neutrality, like she's reading from a grocery list. "Said you're the perfect husband material." A small pause. She tilts her head. "She mentioned the cooking specifically. Twice."
Yoongi stares at the concrete floor of the basement parking lot and says nothing for a moment. "The cooking," he repeats. "She seemed very proud of it."
"I made her one birthday dinner-" "Apparently it was very good." ___ is visibly enjoying this now, just slightly, the corner of her mouth giving her away.
He looks up at the ceiling. "I have to go to New York," he says in the tone of a man who has never wanted to board a flight more in his life. ___ laughs, warm and bright in the dim parking lot. "Go," she says, waving a hand. "Your perfect husband reputation is safe with me."
"Please forget everything she told you." "Absolutely not." She hoists her bag up and turns toward the exit, one hand ruffling to find her car keys "Have a good flight, Yoongi-si."
She disappears around the corner, still smiling.
His manager is at his elbow. "The car's ready." "Yeah." Yoongi watches her go for just a beat longer than necessary, the camel coat disappearing around the corner. "Yeah, okay."
The private lounge is quiet in the way airports never quite manage to be anywhere else — insulated, dim, the chaos of Incheon existing somewhere beyond the frosted glass. Their bags are lined up near the door. Someone has already claimed the couch. There's coffee on the table that Yoongi is already on his second cup of.
He sits down, sets his phone face down out of habit, and looks around at the others.
"Are your mothers also aggressively trying to set you up with someone," he says, with the careful delivery of a man who has been sitting on this all morning, "or is something wrong with mine?"
Namjoon looks up from his phone slowly, the way you look up when you want to assess the energy of a room before committing to a response. Jimin, who has been reorganizing his carry-on for the past ten minutes, stops and looks up. "What happened?"
"She left the apartment," Yoongi says. "While I was in my room packing, I thought she was in the living room… I was talking, going on and on-" he gestures vaguely, "-and she was already gone. At the neighbor's place."
"Doing what?" Hoseok asks. "Setting me up." He says it flatly. "Their daughter was there too. She sent me her contact details before I even knew any of it was happening. Then called me and told me to come over." He pauses.
"What did she do to sell you?" Seokjin asks, because he knows how mothers operate and he wants the full picture. "Apparently she played her our music." Yoongi stares into his coffee. "To prove I was sensitive. And she told her I could cook."
"She said I was the perfect husband," Yoongi continues, with the energy of a man reading from a police report. "To a stranger. That she had never met before."
"To be fair," Hoseok starts. Yoongi looks at him, Hoseok closes his mouth knowing when to not fan the flames.
"And then," Yoongi says, "I ran into her. The girl. In the elevator on the way down."
The lounge goes very still. "The girl your mother set you up with?" Namjoon says slowly.
"In your elevator." "Yes." "She was just, there?" "Apparently she left early too." He wraps both hands around his cup. "She must have been flustered by the set up too."
Then Taehyung, who has been sitting in the armchair with his chin in his hand and the expression of someone watching a very satisfying drama, asks the only question that matters.
"Was she cute?" Yoongi opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at his coffee, sets it down, picks it back up, like he doesn’t know what to say or what to do with his hands.
"We're boarding soon," a manager says. “Let’s get going” but none of the members move, waiting for Yoongi’s answer
“Hyung!!" Jimin says, slowly, the way you speak to someone who has already given themselves away. “We should go, board" Yoongi offers as he stands up.
"Was she cute?" Taehyung repeats. "She was- " Yoongi stops to clear his throat, "It was a thirty second elevator ride."
"That's not a no," Hoseok observes. "That's not what I-" He picks up his coffee again even though he's not drinking it, just to have something to do with his hands. "She was normal. She was a normal person. Can we drop it."
"He's flustered," Jimin says to Namjoon, delighted. "I'm not flustered, I'm tired, there's a difference-" "Hyung." Taehyung is grinning now, fully, without shame. "Just say she was pretty."
Yoongi stands up, reaches for his carry-on, and says nothing. Which is, somehow, the loudest answer in the room.
Every month’s second Friday dinners with Sunhee and Wonik are non-negotiable. They have been, for years, the kind of standing plan that survives busy seasons, travel schedules, and the general chaos of three people who probably have no business being as close as they are given how differently their lives run.
They're halfway through the meal when ___ sets down her chopsticks. "I want to tell you guys something," she says, "but you need to swear on your life and mine that you won't overreact."
Wonik looks up. "That is the single most alarming way to begin a sentence." "Swear first." "I'm not swearing on anything until I know the category of information I'm dealing with," Wonik says reasonably. "Is this a work thing, a family thing, or a-"
"Swear." Sunhee is already sitting up straighter. She has the posture of someone whose instincts are firing. "I swear," she says immediately. "Wonik, swear."
"Fine, I swear, I swear." "Okay." ___ picks up her glass, takes a sip, sets it down. "My mother set me up this morning. With the son of her friend Mrs. Min."
Sunhee's chopsticks hit her bowl, the sound is very loud in the small restaurant. "Say the full name," Sunhee says, in a voice that is very carefully controlled. "Say his full name out loud right now."
"Sunhee-" "___." Her eyes are very wide. "Say. The name."
___ looks at her. "Min Yoongi." Sunhee puts both hands flat on the table.
"I met him in the elevator," ___ continues, talking over whatever is happening on Sunhee's face, "for about thirty seconds. It was fine, he was normal, we were equally mortified because his mother had already sent him my contact details-"
"What about you?" Wonik asks. "Did you get his number?" "No." ___ shakes her head. "I mean…he's. You know how famous he is. That's not really something you just-" she gestures vaguely. "I have his mother's number. That's it."
"You have his mother's number," Wonik repeats. "She put it in my phone herself. Before I could leave." "Resourceful woman," Wonik says, almost admiringly.
"You were in an elevator," Sunhee says slowly, still processing, "with Min Yoongi." "For thirty seconds, yes-" "Of BTS."
"Sunhee-" "SUGA!" "I need you to not do that-" "How are you this calm right now? How are you sitting there like that?"
"Because it was thirty seconds in a basement parking lot and then he left for the airport," "Did he seem interested?" Wonik asks, cutting straight through it.
___ opens her mouth and closes it, well she couldn’t see much of his face other than the eyes, and his eyes were more irritated at his mother than interested, "He apologized twice for his mother."
"That's not what I asked," Wonik says. The table is quiet for a second. "He watched me walk away," ___ says finally, very casually, into her drink.
Sunhee makes a sound that is not words, close to a manic laugh. "You said you wouldn't overreact," ___ reminds her.
"I SWORE I WOULDN'T OVERREACT, I DIDN'T SAY I WOULDN'T HAVE FEELINGS-" "Same thing" ___ says with an incredulous laugh as she downs her shot of soju.
"It is absolutely not the same thing!" Sunhee shouts as she downs her drink. Wonik refills everyone's glass quietly, the expression of someone who knew from the word swear that it was going to be a long dinner.
Yoongi thinks about ___ the way he thinks about songs that aren't ready yet, circling it, not touching it, waiting to see if it still feels like something after enough time has passed.
It does. The contact has been sitting in his phone since the morning he left for the airport. ___ Lee. His mother had sent it with a string of hearts he had not acknowledged. He'd told himself he saved it by accident. He'd told himself a lot of things.
He's in the back of a car heading to some schedule. His life is mostly cars heading to schedules, he's come to understand, when he opens the contact and stares at it for long enough that the city outside the window blurs entirely. It's the jacket that does it in the end, or that's what he tells himself.
He picks up his phone, puts it down and picks it back up.
Yoongi: Where did you get the jacket you were wearing?
___ is in Hong Kong, sitting cross legged on her hotel bed with client notes open on her laptop, when her phone buzzes. Unknown number, she frowns at it slightly.
No hello. No name. No context whatsoever. Just that, from a number she doesn't recognize, as if the conversation had already been happening somewhere she wasn't aware of.
___: Who is this?
His response comes quickly, even if it’s pretty late in New York, mostly because he had been on his phone watching something when he couldn’t sleep. Yoongi immediately sits up, realizing what he’s done, just asked about a jacket without introducing himself, of course she’s skeptical.
Yoongi: from the elevator
She stares at that for a second. Then it lands, all of it at once, the basement parking lot, the beanie, the mask, the carry-on, their mother’s voice doing their best to convince her.
She puts her laptop to the side, the client notes can be taken care of later in the day.
___: It's vintage. There's no link I can send you
She has a ghost of a smile as she helpfully types.
___: I can lend it to you
___: No you’re rich rich, buy it from me
In New York, Yoongi reads that last message and something in his face does a thing he's glad nobody is around to see. He is not good at whatever this is, that’s what he’s realizing.
Yoongi: How much
___ reads that and laughs, a real one, sudden enough that it surprises her. She pushes her hair back and looks at the ceiling for a second.
___: I'll think about it
In New York, Yoongi chuckles as he turns around in bed, a real laugh, like he’s amused, like he wants to talk more, like he’s fascinated.
Yoongi: Take your time
He puts the phone on his chest and stares at the ceiling of his hotel room, the city humming its endless New York hum somewhere beyond the glass, and he thinks that this is perhaps the most words he has willingly initiated with someone new in a very long time.
He also thinks that I'll think about it is not a no. He falls asleep twenty minutes later with the phone still in his hand, which has not happened in recent memory either.
___ thinks about that for a moment. The hour it must have been in New York. The fact that he had her number this whole time, sitting there, and this is what finally made him use it. A jacket. An excuse so thin it was practically transparent and he'd sent it anyway.
She wasn't even looking, she rarely is when she finds the best things. She'd ducked into the thrift shop on a whim, killing twenty minutes between a gallery visit and a lunch she was already slightly late for, and there it was. Black leather, clean lines, interesting hardware on the collar. The kind of jacket that looks like it has a history without looking tired.
___ takes the mirror selfie without thinking much about it. One hand holding the phone up, the other shoved in the jacket pocket, her hair slightly disheveled from pulling it on. She looks at it for approximately one second to confirm it's not blurry.
___: Tan will wash you out a bit
___: How about something like this?
She sends the message with the image as she’s already buying the jacket, something in her telling her that she just needs to get this today.
Yoongi is somewhere over the Pacific, when the flight's wifi finally decides to cooperate. His phone loads a backlog of messages and he's scrolling through them automatically, half asleep, when he sees her name.
He sits up as the picture loads. The jacket is perfect. He knows it immediately, the same way he knows when a song is working, something just settles.He stares at the photo for longer than necessary.
In the seat beside him Namjoon is reading, headphones on, entirely in his own world. Across the aisle Jimin is asleep, nobody is watching as he smiles at his phone like an idiot. He makes no effort to mask the smile as he types back.
Yoongi: I like it
Yoongi: Where are you?
Her reply doesn’t come instantly, it comes as he’s being driven home from a long flight, trying to stay up to fight the jet lag.
___: Hongkong for the Art Basel event
___: I was there, now I am at the airport, waiting for my cab to pick me up
___: Do you like it?
Yoongi doesn’t stop to contemplate as he types, Jimin looking at him suspiciously as he does so with a faint smile.
Yoongi: Yes
___: Good, then you can pick it up from my studio when you’re free
He reads that once and then again.
A studio. She has a gallery. She was at Art Basel. He turns that over quietly, this small new piece of her that just landed without ceremony in the middle of his exhausted morning, offered the same way she offers everything, casually, like it costs her nothing, like she isn't handing him a reason to see her again wrapped in a sentence about a jacket.
He's smiling again as he mutters, "I think I've done something stupid," he mutters, to nobody in particular, to the window, to the general concept of his own decision making.
"Yes," Jimin says from approximately four centimeters away, "flirting via jacket is stupid." A beat. "It's also very you." Yoongi turns to look at him. Jimin is gazing out the window with the serene expression of someone who has absolutely been reading every message off the bright screen this entire time and feels no guilt about it whatsoever.
Yoongi: I can come by monday morning if that works for you
Yoongi: Send me the address
He locks his phone for a brief second before it buzzes again.
___: Perfect, but don’t come in too early, I’m useless before 10
Yoongi: I’ll be there by 11 then
Yoongi puts his phone in his jacket pocket and closes his eyes, the city still moving outside, home getting closer. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't particularly try to.
___ spends a bit longer getting dressed that morning, which is not the case on a monday morning when she doesn’t have any clients to meet, she doesn’t even go into work on a monday most weeks. She straightens the pale white dress one last time when she drops her handbag and goes around switching on the studio lights.
“Where are you off too? I thought you didn’t have any schedule” his mother asks as he continues to fix his hair, “Just some work came up, I’ll be back by dinner” he announces as he tries on three different pairs of glasses, landing on the same dainty one’s he’s been wearing for weeks now.
Yoongi is there quicker than imagined, parking the Mercedes quietly as he puts on a mask on, he doesn’t know who all are going to be there, and he’d much rather not have this visit becoming a bigger deal than it needs to be. The studio is located in a quaint neighbourhood, plants all around the glass door entrance as he walks up, coffees hand, he didn’t want to show up empty handed.
The door announces him, not a bell exactly, just the particular sound of glass and marble connecting, his footsteps suddenly loud and deliberate in the quiet of the space. He slows instinctively. His sunglasses are on his head, pushed up to get a proper look, and his eyes move around the room the way they do when he enters somewhere new, taking inventory, settling, trying to understand a space before the space understands him.
"You're early." He turns.
She's coming from the back of the gallery, and he stops. Not visibly, not in any way she'd necessarily catch, but something in him just pauses for a moment and takes inventory of her the same way he did with the room.
The dress is pale linen, short, simple in the way that only works when someone has a very good eye for what suits them. Her hair is pinned away from her face today. She looks entirely at ease in the space, the way people look at ease in places they've built for themselves.
And then he notices the tattoos. He doesn't stare. He notices, the way he notices the jacket, the coat, the glasses she isn't wearing today and darts his eyes away
"Traffic was light," he says. She glances at the carrier in his hand and one brow lifts slightly. "That's more than one coffee."
“Uh yeah, I didn’t know how you take your coffee, there’s an iced americano, hot latte and an iced latte” he explains and ___ smiles, picking up the hot latte for herself. “Thank you” she murmurs and he hums to himself, picking up the americano for himself.
“So, this is my uncle’s gallery, I’ve been working with him for god, ten years now” ___ explains as she walks a few steps ahead of him, showing him around, he hums every once in a while, he’s not very talkative, as she’s noticed.
He does the mental math quietly. She would have been young when she started, almost 20.
"We work with private collectors mostly. Finding them legacy pieces, introducing them to new artists, hosting shows sometimes." She pauses in front of a series of smaller works along the eastern wall, studying them for a second like she's seeing them for the first time. "It's quite fun, actually. Every collection is different. Every collector is different." A small smile. "Some of them are insane, but in the best way."
He looks at the series she's stopped at. Three pieces, related but not matching, a conversation between them rather than a repetition. "How do you find the artists," he says.
She turns, slightly surprised, not that he spoke, but at the specificity of it. Most people ask about the collectors. "Everywhere." She leans against the wall beside the series, arms crossing loosely, the tattoos catching the track lighting. "Art fairs. Studio visits. Sometimes someone sends me something and I can't stop thinking about it." She tilts her head. "Sometimes I find them in thrift shops in Hong Kong."
He looks at her then, and there it is again, that sideways almost-eye-contact, landing just adjacent to direct. The corner of his mouth does something small.
She pushes off the wall and keeps moving. He follows, hands in pockets, in no hurry, taking everything in.
"Your uncle started it?" he asks, after a moment. "Mmhm. Thirty years ago, almost." She stops at a large photograph mounted simply, no frame. "He took me to my first auction when I was nine. I didn't understand any of it." She pauses. "But it did flame the fascination inside me”
He looks at the photograph. Then at her, briefly, the way he does, quick, considered, like he's filing something away.
Yoongi’s phone is vibrating in his pocket, he knows that it’s his manager checking if he’s on the way to practice. They’re currently in the beautiful backyard, what Yoongi’s leart is that this used to be ___’s grandparents home before it was turned into a gallery. She’s on the other end of the bench as she places her empty coffee cup down.
“Anything that caught your eye in there?” ___ asks and he briefly looks at her before he looks away, his eyes falling on her red heels, quite high for a monday.
“A few things” he confesses with a faint smile as he looks around, at anything but her. “I’m not cultured enough to understand art so haven’t bought much as of late” he offers more, he knows that she’s been the one leading the conversation, he doesn’t want her to think that he’s not listening.
"I don't think people need to be cultured to understand art," she says. "There's art in almost everything." She says it without any weight to it, not a lecture, just a thing she actually believes.
He looks back down. At the floor, at the middle distance, briefly at her hands where they rest against her knee, the tattoos more visible from here, something intricate in the design, leaves or maybe something older than that, he can't quite tell without looking properly and he's not going to look properly.
She's in the middle of saying something about the artist, a story beginning to take shape, her hands moving slightly the way they do when she's getting to the good part of something when his phone rings.
Loud with no respect for the moment whatsoever. He pulls it out and silences it immediately, the name on the screen requires no explanation. He closes his eyes for approximately one second.
“You need to leave don’t you?” ___ asks as she stands up, “I do, we have a tour starting in two weeks” Yoongi offers as she leads them back in, her heel slipping in some mud before he catches her briefly.
“Thank you” she murmurs, steading herself as she fixes her posture, all he does is softly smile as he drops his hand from her arm.
“So, the jacket, it’s a vintage Ralph Lauren jacket” ___ speaks as she appears from her office, a bag in her hands. “Thank you, I don’t think I own any vintage pieces” Yoongi shares as she hands him the bag, their fingers brushing just for a second.
“Um, how much-” “Please, no, consider it a gift” ___ says with a soft smile, the smile that is making Yoongi late for practice. He holds the bag and looks at it and then looks at her. She can see him trying to find another angle on this and coming up short.
“We have a few concerts in Goyang, you should come,” Yoongi suggests and she presses her lips together like she’s thinking long and hard about it. “You got me a jacket, let me get you concert tickets, our come by rarely” he brags a bit, trying to sell her on this.
“Sure, but can I get a plus one on that?” ___ asks knowing full well Sunhee would quit on the friendship if she doesn’t get him a ticket. The plus one confuses him, like there’s someone already in the picture and she catches that confusion almost immediately.
“My friend, she’s a huge fan, she wasn’t able to get tickets” she says and he huffs, not quite a laugh but adjacent to one and looks away, and she watches him do it with the ghost of a smile that she doesn't bother hiding because he isn't looking at her anyway.
“Of course, I’ll text you the details?” he asks as he mentally prepares himself to leave. "Thank you," she says. "I really enjoyed the 2019 concert." She turns one of her rings, slowly, around her finger. Then another. He glances at her hands briefly. "And Sunhee fainted, which in this situation I think counts as a good sign."
He looks up at that. "She fainted?" "Briefly. She was fine." ___ pause, looking up at him "Mostly fine." The almost-laugh again, slightly more this time. He looks away before it becomes anything. "Okay." He takes a small step toward the door. "I'll see you. I really, really need to go."
He still doesn't turn around, she notices. "Yes, please." There's warmth in it, no edge. "You're a busy man, Yoongi-si." He turns then, just slightly, and there's something in his expression that she hasn't seen yet, something a little looser than his usual careful composure.
"Let's just -" he starts, stops and tries again. "We should talk informally. I'm not that strict, and not that much older than you"
She looks at him. He looks somewhere adjacent to her, the way he does, the tips of his ears faintly pink in the studio light, and she realizes with some delight that this small thing, dropping the formality, asking for it plainly, has cost him something, not much.
She tilts her head. "Okay," she says simply, no teasing. She gives him that much.
He nods once, like something has been settled. "I'll text you," he says.
"Go," she says. He is almost jogging out of the gallery. The glass door swings shut behind him and she stays exactly where she is for a moment, rings still warm from where she'd been turning them, the studio quiet around her.
Yoongi’s mother has made something good, as promised. The table is full and warm and she is asking about his week with the particular casualness of someone who has decided not to ask about anything specific, which means she is asking about everything specific indirectly.
He answers in the usual way. Fine, busy, yes he ate properly in New York. No he doesn't need her to call his manager about the schedule. His phone is face down beside his bowl.
He picks it up, checks it once, puts it back down. His mother says something about his aunt. He nods. She says something about the weather this weekend. He nods again.
His phone buzzes twice in quick succession. Then once more when he finally turns it over.
___: So I see you sunday?
___: I have to meet this client in Dubai and I fly in late afternoon on saturday, can I come to the stadium with a suitcase?
___: Can’t do saturday because Sunhee has a scheduled c-section for a patient
He reads them once, then again. He's smiling at his phone before he's decided to, the particular involuntary kind, and he catches it and schools his expression back to neutral approximately one second too late.
His mother is looking at him. "What," he says. "Nothing," she says, in exactly the tone she used that morning about the glasses. She turns back to her food with the serenity of a woman who has already won something and knows it.
They've been texting for two weeks now. Properly, not just the jacket, not just small talk, but the kind of texts that start about one thing and end up somewhere else entirely an hour later. She's funny over text in the same way she is in person, dry and quick, and she asks him questions that are more specific than people usually bother with.
He'd much rather call her. He knows that about himself already, that he'd rather hear her voice than read the words, that a call would be easier and faster and better in almost every practical sense. He's not ready to call her yet. He's not entirely sure what that means but he knows it's true.
Yoongi: I’ll have someone from the team meet you, they’ll take care of everything
Yoongi: Your friend is an OB-GYN?
___: Yes, she’s also my doctor, and will be for free for the rest of my life so I gotta treat her right. Also because I love her
He reads that and something about it lands warmly, the easy way she says it without any performance in it. He's about to type back when , "Have you reached out to any of the girls I sent you?"
He looks up, his mother is across the table, expression pleasant, chopsticks down, in the posture of someone who has been waiting for a natural opening and has decided this is it.
"No," he says. "None of them?" "None of them." She considers this with the gravity of a woman receiving disappointing quarterly results. "There was a very nice one, works in finance, you said you wanted someone independent"
"Mom." "And the architect, you didn't even look at her profile-"
"I looked." "For how long?" He doesn't answer that. She sighs with her entire body. "The concerts are this week?"
"Thursday, Saturday, Sunday." "Which day can we come? Me, your dad and your aunt-" "Saturday," he says immediately with no hesitation whatsoever.
She blinks. "Saturday? Not Sunday?" "All the parents will be there on Saturday" Yoongi says this like it’s a sure think which he knows isn’t, but he’s going to have to plan it so that it is.
"Your aunt was hoping for Sunday" He picks up his chopsticks with great authority. "I’ll have to check, but I already have your tickets for Saturday”
“Okay, but what about the Lee’s daughter? Mrs. Lee said she's very busy with work, always travelling, very independent, the hair cut was a disappointment to the parents but she’s still such a pretty woman, and she’s short enough for you” “I’m not that short mom” “It’s my fault, I should have married a taller man” His mother says with complete sincerity and Yoongi stares at her.
"That's" he stops. "What does that have to do with " "Your father is a good man." She picks her chopsticks back up serenely. "But the height. I should have thought more carefully."
"Dad is right there." From the other end of the table, his father, who has been eating in peaceful silence through this entire conversation with the practised serenity of a man who checked out of these discussions some years ago, looks up briefly.
"She's not wrong," his father says. "Dad." "I'm just agreeing with your mother." "You're agreeing that you're too short"
"I'm agreeing that she should have thought more carefully." He goes back to his food. "Very different thing." Yoongi looks between them. His mother is eating with great satisfaction. His father has returned to his bowl.
___ hasn’t changed in a bar’s bathroom before, so this is a first as she slips herself in a black dress right from the airport. Her hair is not the best, but that’s the good part about having a bob, it doesn’t need a lot of styling. What does need help is her face.
“How do you have no makeup?” ___ asks with disappointment as she slides back onto the bar stool, she’s swapped the beer for hard liquor because the dress she packed doesn’t allow for a beer belly.
“I have chapstick, but it’s not hygienic to-” “I have like five lip products but nothing for my face, I need to start carrying around a cushion foundation or a tinted sunscreen or something” ___ says as she she downs her drink, third drink of the night and with the little amount of rest she’s had all week, she knows she’s going to be hitting a wall soon.
“___ are you nervous?” Sunhee finally asks as the food comes, it would be normal for Sunhee to be nervous, but ___ is never nervous. “I don’t know, I am mostly tired” ___ offers as she stuffs her face with the fries, food should help her. She’s about to speak up again when her phone buzzes loudly against the table.
Yoongi: I’ve forwarded your contact to my manager, he’ll find you and get you guys to your seats
Yoongi: I’ll see you after the concert
___: All the best for the concert, I’m sure it’s going to be great
She types as Sunhee pays the bill, ___ might be nervous but Sunhee is anxious to leave this pub and be at the venue as soon as she can
Yoongi: Thank you, I’ll see you soon
___ doesn’t have a change to respond back before her phone is already ringing. It’s all too quick from there, they barely find a cab to the event, which Sunhee spends meditating like she does before operating, this is as she says, a spiritual experience for her.
“Why am I the only one that drank?” ___ asks as they sit down in their seats, the massive crowd all around her leaves her awestruck for a second. “I am on call” Sunhee answers, her eyes wandering, her short answers give her away.
“Come on, chill out, we’re going to be having a lot of fun” ___’s just the right kind of drunk now, the four drinks when everything is amazing and all you can think about is a drunk cigarette. The crowd around her is the kind of happy that's collective and contagious and she can feel it getting into her bloodstream alongside the liquor.
"Sunhee, your hand is shaking." Sunhee looks down at her hand. Places it flat on her knee with great effort. “That's adrenaline," she says. "It's a physiological response, it doesn't mean-"
The lights drop all the sudden, Sunhee grips her arm so hard ___ loses circulation for a moment. The crowd becomes something else entirely, a single enormous sound, and ___ feels it before she hears it, in her chest, behind her eyes, somewhere wordless and immediate. She stops thinking about the cigarette immediately as the music starts playing.
Between the singing and dancing that ___ and Sunhee have been doing, they almost miss Sunhee’s phone going off. She reads the message and is immediately a different person, “My patient just went into labour” she announces to ___ as she’s picking up her bag.
“How’ll you get back?” ___ yells over the music, "I'll call a cab-" "Are you sure-"
"___." Sunhee stops for a second and looks at her properly for one second, the exit forgotten. Her expression does something warm and knowing and slightly unbearable. "Stay."
"I was going to stay-" "I mean after." She squeezes her hand once. "Stay after."
___ opens her mouth and closes it, not able to form any words at the moment. The crowd surges around them as the last few songs begin to play, enormous and bright, and Sunhee is already moving toward the exit, bag on her shoulder, phone to her ear, slipping through the crowd with the quiet efficiency of someone who has somewhere more important to be.
___ sees him, her eyes almost involuntarily finding him every now and then, smiles to herself seeing him so happy on stage, his cute mannerism that she’s finding too endearing. How the crowds cheer for them, the heart that they sing and dance with, this kind of passion could move anyone.
The final note ends, the roar that comes after is physical, a wall of sound, and the boys walk back out for their bow, all of them, together, the stage lights warm on them, and the crowd sends everything it has left toward the stage in one long unbroken wave.
___ stays seated as the people around her continue to gather their stuff and move around, ready to leave. She's not sure where to go or what the protocol is or whether there even is a protocol, the text that said see you after suddenly very present in her mind now that after is here.
She's still sitting when someone appears at the end of her row. Yoongi's Manager, the same one who met her outside the venue, was efficient and unhurried, with the quiet competence of someone who has done this exact thing many times.
"Ms. Lee." He nods once. "If you'll follow me."
She picks up her clutch and stands too quickly, smoothing her dress in one swift motion, she walks as she reapplies her lipstick, hoping this can mask the lack of makeup.
She follows him through the emptying stadium toward the back, the crowd thinning around her, the stage growing closer, the noise of the night shifting into something quieter and more specific the further in they go.
The hallway outside the green room is not what she expected, though she's not sure what she expected exactly. It's busy in the contained way of post-show logistics, staff moving with purpose, and people. Guests, she realizes, a few of them, recognizable faces standing in the particular way that recognizable people stand when they're in a space that isn't quite public, relaxed but not fully, aware but performing unawareness.
Jimin notices her first as they emerge from the resting room, having caught their breaths after the concerts and now ready to greet their guests. His eyes land on her and then move to Yoongi in the same second, quick and unnoticeable to anyone not watching for it. She catches it.
The group collectively greets a few people as ___ stands on the side, not wanting to be in people’s way when Yoongi stops right in front of her.
Still slightly out of breath, towel around his neck, water bottle in hand, his eyes find her sneakers first. They make her considerably shorter than him and she watches him register this, his gaze traveling up slowly before it finds her face.
"Hi," he says softly, a small smile spreading on his face, she’s about to say something when he pulls her by the arm, away, in another quiet room, away from the people.
"Oh my god, you guys were incredible. I think my throat actually hurts from how much I was cheering, which has never happened to me before in my life-" Yoongi sets his water bottle down and disappears behind a curtain at the far end of the room, changing, and she can see his silhouette moving and hear the quiet sounds of someone pulling off a jacket, a shirt, the efficient undressing of someone who just wants to be in normal clothes as quickly as possible.
"-the production, the stage is so massive, and the crowd, every one having the best times of their life, my hearts still beating like crazy, I can’t even imagine what yours is doing” she talks naturally, like a person who had a life altering experience and needs to share it. There’s a faint laughter from his end as he continues behind the curtain.
“Seriously, the scale of this is crazy, you guys were amazing” He says nothing for a moment. She can hear him pulling on something.
He's tired, she can hear it underneath the silence, the particular quality of exhaustion that has gone past the point of showing itself and become something quieter. He performed for three hours, he's been doing this for days and he's here, behind a curtain, listening to her talk about the lighting.
She stops talking suddenly, very aware of how much she’s rambled on, "Sorry," she says. "You're exhausted." “I want to hear everything you have to say ___” he speaks softly as he emerges from behind the curtain.
“I always have a lot to say Yoongi,” she stops, copying the same emphasis he just placed on her name, “You might get tired of how much I have to say” she continues as he stops by a table, dropping all the clothes he was just wearing now that he’s in a simple jeans and black shirt.
Yoongi isn’t just tired, he’s exhausted, exhausted enough to do what he’s done each night after a show, and rush home. But he simply takes a seat on the sofa opposite to hers, he wants to continue listening to her voice.
“Seriously, it was amazing, congratulations, I would have brought flowers or something if I didn’t directly come from the air-” “You have freckles around your nose, they’re um” Yoongi interrupts. It comes out before he's made a decision about it. The exhaustion, probably. The way tiredness removes the small delay between thinking and saying, the buffer he usually relies on.
The briefest pause where his senses catch up with his mouth and he considers his options and decides on honesty anyway. "Very pretty."
The silence between them is the particular kind that has too much in it to be comfortable and too much in it to break carelessly. “Your friend? I didn’t see her-” “Oh her patient went into labour so she had to rush out, but she caught most of the concert and is now probably prepping to deliver a baby”
“Oh” that’s all Yoongi can muster now that the buffer of a friend is gone, when Yoongi was imagining seeing her after the concert, he kept imagining the friend. “Yeah, but I should get going too, you must be tired”
“I am tired, but I can still drop you home?” Yoongi asks, knowing full well that he should have probably asked her for dinner, given the thin smile on her lips. “Please, I can find my way-” “There’s going to be a lot of traffic ___” Yoongi offers and she smiles briefly as he says her name again, the particular softness that he uses.
"It's late," she says. "Which is why there'll be traffic."
"Yoongi-" "My car is already outside." He says it simply. "It's not out of the way." She looks at him for a moment. He looks her straight in the eyes for a second, like he really means this and isn’t offering this out of some formality.
“You don’t know where I live” she says with a teasing tone as they both stay seated, not quite ready to move onto what comes next. “Today I learn your address then”
The car is quiet, not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind where neither of them knows what to say. None of them imagined the string of events that led to this, it almost makes Yoongi chuckle to himself as he thinks about how vehemently against this he was, his mother can’t know any of this yet. Not until he knows why he keeps reaching for his phone for her text back, why he saved her address without thinking about it, why he's sitting in a car at midnight when he should be in bed.
He doesn't know yet. He'd like to figure it out quietly, without his mother's involvement, which is the only way anything survives in its early stages.
“So, the tour, you guys must leave soon” ___ speaks up as they stop at a red light, the traffic is indeed awful. “Yes, Japan, then the US, Mexico, back to US and then back in Korea around mid June” Yoongi hears himself say it. All of it, laid out in sequence, the shape of the next several months suddenly made concrete in the quiet of the car.
Somewhere in the middle of the list he understands, clearly and exactly why he told his mother he didn't have time for a girlfriend. Why he'd meant it. Why it was true then and remains true now regardless of freckles or the jackets or the way she says his name.
He can't do this to someone. The disappearing, the timezone math, the months of existing primarily as a name on a phone screen. He knows what that looks like from the inside and he knows what it asks of the person on the other end and it's a lot. It's always been a lot.
"Mid June," she says quietly, doing the math the same way he just did. "Mid June," he confirms with a long exhale.
"Do you get used to it?" she asks. "The schedule."
He thinks about it for a few seconds, deciding on how honest he should be, "You get used to moving," he says. "You don't really get used to leaving."
The car stops at another light. Somewhere outside a group of people are spilling out of a restaurant, loud and warm on a Sunday night, and she watches them through the glass.
She’s almost thirty two, a gallery she loves, clients she's spent years building relationships with. A life that moves exactly the way she designed it to move. She doesn't need to complicate that. ___ knows this.
She can't quite bring herself to be realistic about this, even if she has been realistic about way less complications in the past.
"What are you thinking about," he says, he needs to know just what she’s thinking because he knows it can’t be good.
She glances at him, he's looking ahead at the road, not at her, but his attention is entirely on her answer. "The tour," she says. Which is true but not all of it.
He nods, something in his jaw shifts slightly, the way it does when he's decided not to say something.
"Yoongi." "Mm."
"It's a long time to be away." "It is," he says, simply with no argument, he knows there isn’t one.
The light turns green. "Do you…" she starts and stops to try again "Is there ever a point where it gets easier? The coming back. Picking things back up."
He's quiet for a moment. "Depends what you're picking back up," he says.
She looks at him. He's still looking at his hand now and the city lights are moving across his face in slow intervals and she thinks distantly that this is an unreasonable amount of person to have discovered in an elevator.
She looks back out her window. "I'm not twenty anymore," she says, mostly to herself.
"Neither am I." "I mean-" she turns her rings once. "I used to be better at not thinking ahead."
"What do you see?" he asks. "When you think ahead." She's quiet for a long moment, outside Seoul continues, indifferent and bright.
"A very long tour schedule," she says finally. He exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh, almost a laugh like he’s had this discussion before, "Yeah, that’s just the first leg" he says quietly.
The car moves through the city and neither of them solves anything and somehow that's alright, the silence settling back around them like something they've agreed to for now, the kind of quiet that isn't an ending, just a pause.
The car stops outside her building and they both get out, the night air cool after the warmth of the car. She tilts her head back slightly to take in the street, familiar and quiet, and he falls into step beside her naturally, walking her to the entrance the way he'd stood up to walk her out of the green room.
They stop at the entrance. The streetlight catches everything, her hair, her rings, the white sneakers. He's still in his cap and mask pulled down, hands in his pockets, adjusting his cap without meaning to, forward, back, forward again.
Neither of them starts the conversation. She looks up at him and he looks somewhere just past her, and the comfortable quiet of the car has followed them out onto the pavement.
"I think we should go on a date," she says. He goes very still as his eyes find her.
"A real one." Even, practical, like she's proposing something with a clear agenda. "Before Japan. Before our rational sides catch up with us and decide this is a terrible idea." A beat. "An experiment. To find out if there's actually anything here before we decide there isn't."
He knows what he should say. He's been doing the math since the car, since she said mid June in the quiet way she said it. He knows what this looks like, the beginning of something, the successful experiment she's predicting, and he knows what comes after that too, what he'd be asking her to sign up for.
___ deserves someone who comes home on a regular basis. Yoongi knows this.
"You know it won't stop there," he says quietly. "If the experiment works."
"I know," she says. "The tour is-" "I know, Yoongi."
"I'm just saying you might-" "I know." She says it gently, firmly, the way she says things when she's already thought them through and doesn't need him to think them through on her behalf. "I'm aware of what I'm suggesting."
He looks at her for a long moment, the way she’s fidgeting with her rings, "Okay," he says.
"Okay?" "One dinner." He holds her gaze. "Before Japan."
She nods once, that's when he looks down.
The height difference from here, standing on the pavement, is… notable. He does the mental calculation of exactly what his mother said and feels the smile coming.
"What," she says immediately. "Nothing." He presses his lips together and fails entirely. "My mother said you were short enough for me."
She stares at him. "She said that."
"Among other things." "Short enough for you," she repeats.
"Her words, not mine" "And what do you think?" He looks down at her from the full, considerable distance of his height, cap crooked, mask around his chin, and says with complete straightness,
"I think she was right." She laughs brightly and he lets himself smile properly this time, all the way, and for a moment they're just two people standing outside a building at midnight laughing about height and mothers and the specific absurdity of how they got here.
She steps back and looks up at him one last time. "Goodnight, Yoongi." "Goodnight, ___."
She turns and goes inside, the door closing quietly behind her, he stands there a moment longer than he needs to. Reaches up and adjusts his cap.
Gets back in the car and looks at the ceiling for a long moment, the city moving quietly around him.
He knows how this goes. He knows himself well enough to know that one dinner won't be one dinner, that the experiment is going to tell them both exactly what she predicted it would, and that she said I'm aware of what I'm suggesting with the confidence of someone who has never actually done this before. Not with someone like him. Not with a schedule like his.
She'll be realistic about it eventually. Everyone is, eventually. He just hopes she is the anomaly in the experiment that his dating history has been.
"-so you just decided, so young, that music was your calling?" "I didn't decide anything." He turns his glass slightly on the table, a small rotation, thinking about how to explain it to someone who hasn't lived it. "It was more like…the decision had already been made somewhere and I was just catching up to it."
She rests her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, the way she settles in when she's properly interested in something. She's been doing it on and off all evening and he's stopped pretending not to notice. "That's how it feels with the work I love too," she says. "Like you didn't choose it so much as recognize it."
He looks at her. "Exactly that." The restaurant is quiet around them, the kind of quiet that Tuesday buys you, a handful of other tables, low light, no one paying attention to anyone else.
"Okay," she says, picking up her glass. "Worst part of the job. Honestly." He thinks about it and she waits, turning the stem of her glass between her fingers, patient.
"The losing yourself of it," he says. "Not in a dramatic way. Just…" he pauses. "You're performing a version of yourself for long enough and you start to lose track of where that version ends."
She's quiet for a moment. "Does it come back?" she asks. "The original version."
"I'm still figuring that out." She nods slowly, like she's filing that somewhere careful. Not with pity. He'd noticed pity immediately and she seems to know that.
"Your turn," he says. "People assume I do this because I come from money," she says, the same even tone she uses for everything. "That it's a hobby dressed up as a career. Something for a well bred woman" She pauses to take a sip of her wine. "I would have done this regardless of the money. The money just meant no one could stop me from starting early."
He nods. That he understands, the specificity of a thing choosing you rather than the other way around. She looks at him for a moment. Something shifts slightly in her expression, a decision being made.
"Can I ask you something personal?" she says. "We’ve been doing that for some time now" Yoongi notes with a light chuckle.
"More personal." He leans back slightly, arms loose. "Okay."
"Do you actually want this? Not the date, not…" she gestures between them. "In general. A person. Do you want one or do you like the idea of wanting one?"
The table goes quiet. He looks at her steadily and she looks back, unhurried, leaving the question exactly where she put it.
"That's a good question," he says. "I know."
He takes a sip of his wine as he prepares to talk, "I miss it," he says simply, like something admitted for the first time in a while, to someone actually listening. "Having a girlfriend. Having someone who… knows your schedule well enough to know when you're tired before you say it. Someone to call when something happens. Good or bad." He pauses. "Someone to just, be there."
She's quiet as she leans in, like she wants him to know she’s listening. "I've told myself that life makes it impossible," he continues. "And it's not untrue. It's hard, it's always been hard." He glances up at her. "But I think I've been using it as a reason not to try. Which is different from it actually being impossible."
"That's honest," she says. "You asked."
"I did." ___ says with a small smile. "Your turn. Same question."
She exhales softly, "Yes," she says, without hesitation, which means she's known it for a while. "I'm not complicated about it. I just want someone, I've always wanted someone." She turns her ring once. "I've just been spectacularly unlucky."
He looks at her., and then her glass, and then the residual of her lipstick on the glass, "Unlucky how?"
She laughs, short and genuine, the kind that comes from a story that has lost its sting and kept its absurdity. "The last person I was serious about decided to move to London for work and forgot to mention it until two weeks before he left." She picks up her fork. "Before that there was someone lovely in every way except that he was still in love with his ex. Which he also didn't mention."
"I have good instincts about art," she continues, "and terrible instincts about men. Which is a very specific combination of traits to be living with” He presses his lips together, like he’s trying to suppress a smile.
"You can laugh," she says. "I'm not laughing."
"You're doing the thing where you're not laughing." He looks away briefly and then back at her, the wine really helping him look at her, "I'm not laughing at you."
"I know." She sets her fork down. "It's tiring, mostly. Being caught off guard by people when you're not someone who gets caught off guard easily."
The table settles into a quiet with something real in it now. The lightness still underneath but something more honest sitting on top as their plates get cleared, signaling a clear end to their date, or at least their time at the restaurant.
"How's the experiment going," he says, after a moment as he quietly places his card in the bill book.
She looks at him, steady and warm. "Terribly," she says with a pleasant smile.
He smiles into his glass. "Yeah," he says. "Same." Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his mask as they step outside, pulling it up with the practiced ease of someone who has done it ten thousand times, adjusting it once.
The street is empty and still. Tuesday midnight belongs to no one in particular. "I'll walk you home," he says, naturally, already falling into step beside her. “It’s a long walk” ___ retorts as they walk, hands brushing every now and then.
“It’s a two minute walk ___” Yoongi offers plainly as he doesn’t move away. They fall into step together and talk as they walk, nothing important, nothing that needs to be, she says something about a show she's been meaning to see, he says something about a track he's been sitting on for weeks, small things, the kind of conversation that exists just to keep the evening going a little longer.
It’s all light and breezy till they reach a crossing, he reaches out and takes her hand. His hand just finds hers as they step off the curb, the way you do something you've been doing for years. Fingers wrapping around hers, already looking both ways, already moving.
She looks straight ahead, hoping her hair masks some of her blush. They cross, but he doesn't let go.
She doesn't say anything. Neither does he. They just keep walking, her hand in his, and she looks at the street ahead with the expression of someone being very deliberate about not smiling and not quite managing it.
He looks at the building and looks back at her. Her hand still in his, the evening sitting between them with nowhere left to go, he leaves for Japan tomorrow, the night air cool and still around them.
She tilts her head up at him. "Do you want to come up?" she says. "I have dessert. Ice cream" she says as she tries to tug her hand to gesture with her hand, which he doesn’t let go.
He's looking at her with the particular expression she's learning, the one that isn't quite a smile but is adjacent to one, the one that lives mostly in his eyes, quiet and certain and slightly devastating at close range.
"Ice cream," he repeats. "Yes."
"What kind?" "Does it matter?"
He considers this with complete seriousness. "Somewhat."
"Yoongi." "I'm asking a reasonable question-"
"Come upstairs and find out," she says, and turns toward the entrance, and this time he lets her hand go, only to hold the door open for her, which she walks through without looking back at him because her face is still doing the thing and she needs another three seconds before she can be a normal person again.
Her apartment is exactly what he would have guessed and nothing he was fully prepared for.
Organized chaos, the particular kind that has a system even if the system isn't immediately visible. Paintings leaning against the walls in clusters, some framed, some not, some wrapped in brown paper with labels in her handwriting. Books on every surface, some closed, some splayed open face down. Magazines stacked in a way that suggests they're referenced rather than decorative.
It's lived in. Genuinely, thoroughly lived in, and it suits her so precisely. They end up on the sofa without deciding to, the way they keep ending up places without deciding to. Her legs tucked under her, turned slightly toward him. Him at the other end, bowl in hand, looking at the painting propped against the wall directly across from them.
They talk. The ice cream disappears somewhere in the middle of a conversation that moves from her uncle to his producing to a collector in Geneva who cried when she found him a specific work he'd been searching for for eleven years. He tells her about what it feels like when a track finally becomes what it was supposed to be. She listens the way she always listens, fully, without waiting for her turn.
It's past one when his phone lights up on the cushion between them. Mom.
She sees it the same moment he does. He reaches for it. "Pick up her phone," she says sternly, the tone of teasing right there.
"I'm not -" "Do not cut your poor mother’s phone, she might be sick and worried" ___ adds dramatically and he huffs and picks up the call anyway.
"Mom." "Where are you?" She’s wide awake, unbothered by the hour. "You're never out this late, are you sick-" "I'm not sick-"
"Have you eaten?" "I had dinner" "With who-"
___ opens her mouth with that same teasing smile and his hand moves before he's decided to move it, swift, certain, palm covering her mouth completely, cutting off whatever she was about to contribute to this situation as he closes the distance between them.
She goes still as he keeps his eyes forward, continuing the phone call, entirely composed. "With a friend, Mom, I'll be home soon"
___ looks up at him over his hand. She very aware, in the specific silence of having nothing to say because there is a hand preventing her from saying it, of his hands. The size of them. The warmth. The way it covers most of her lower face with a kind of easy certainty that she is finding deeply inconvenient given the current context of a first date and his mother on the phone and her own heartbeat which has made a unilateral decision she hasn't approved.
"You sound strange," his mother says. "I'm fine."
"Which friend?" "Mom -" ___ raises her eyebrows at him. He finally looks at her, briefly, and whatever he sees makes him look immediately back at the painting on the wall across the room.
His hand stays and she stays still beneath it.
"Come home soon," his mother says. "Soon," he confirms. "Go to sleep"
He hangs up with a huff and neither of them moves. His hand is still there, warm against her face, and the apartment is very quiet around them, the painting on the wall offering no commentary whatsoever.
Slowly, with the careful deliberateness of someone making a considered decision, he lowers it. She looks up at him. He looks back at her, right beside her.
"You were going to say something," he says shyly as his hand comes to rub his neck.
"I was going to be helpful," she says. "You were going to be a problem." "Same thing," she says with a smile, and her hands come up without much deliberation and fix his hair which the sudden movement moved out of place.
He goes very still, not uncomfortable. Just, very still. The way he goes still when something catches him off guard in a way he wasn't prepared to be caught. Her hand drops back down, briefly touching his thigh when she leaves them.
He's looking at her now, properly, the full direct version he allows himself in small increments, and from this close it's a lot. “I didn't expect to have this much fun," he confesses, his voice quieterl, like he's admitting something he hadn't planned to. "Not that I doubted you, I just-" he pauses, choosing the words carefully the way he does, "I haven't been on a first date this good in a while."
He looks at her when he says it, waiting for her reaction with the particular stillness of someone who has said a true thing and is now at the mercy of what happens next.
"I know," she says, and there's warmth in it, no teasing yet, just the honest version first. "I was kind of rooting for you to be this brooding, nonchalant musician, actually. Would have made it all much easier."
"Easier," he repeats. "To not like you," she says simply, reaching for her glass of wine. "I had a whole plan. You'd be aloof and a little difficult and I'd think, well, lovely person, interesting work, not for me." She takes a sip. "Very clean. Very uncomplicated."
"I almost cancelled," he says, after a moment. She raises an eyebrow. "Not because-" he stops, tries again. "I almost talked myself out of it. On the way over." He turns his glass slightly on the table, the small rotation she's noticed he does when he's thinking. "I do that. Find the practical reason not to."
"What changed your mind?" she asks. He's quiet for a moment, looks at the table, at his glass, briefly at her hands where they rest near her wine. “I really liked the feeling of seeing you after the concert," he says. Simply, without dressing it up, the way he says true things when he's decided to say them. He pauses. "I kept thinking about it on the drive over and I couldn't find a practical reason that was bigger than that."
She looks at him for a moment, this careful, deliberate man who thinks before he speaks and means everything he says and had apparently spent an entire car ride arguing with himself about her and lost. "The feeling of seeing me," she repeats, softly.
"Yes," he says. He's looking at her now, noticing how she looks in these dim lights.
They talk for a while, about something and nothing in particular, the night settling into the easy rhythm that has become theirs without either of them formally deciding. She tells him about an artist she'd found earlier in the year, eccentric beyond what that word usually covers, a man who'd moved deep into the woods over concerns about wifi radiation and could only be reached by a forty minute hike up an unmarked trail. "I showed up in the wrong shoes," she says, gesturing at her feet like the memory is still personal. "He didn't apologize. Just handed me a cup of something that tasted like tea and started showing me the work." She pauses. "It was extraordinary. The work, not the tea, the tea made me sick."
He's smiling properly now, elbow on the sofa back, chin in his hand, watching her the way he watches things he finds genuinely interesting. "Did you sign him?"
"I'm working on it," she says. "He doesn't have a phone so it's mostly letters." A beat. "Actual letters. With stamps." He laughs, low and warm, and she tucks her feet further under her, satisfied.
He talks about tour, stories that surface easily now in the comfortable quiet of her living room, the way they don't always in interviews or in rooms full of people waiting for something quotable. A night in São Paulo where the rain came down so hard they could hear it over the speakers and the crowd stayed anyway, every single person, standing in it. The particular feeling, he says, quieter now, of standing in the wings before a show when everyone is there together, all seven of them, and the noise of the crowd coming through the walls like something alive.
"You miss them," she says, not a question. "It's different performing without all of them," he says simply. "It'll be good to be back."
She looks at him for a moment, the lamp throwing everything soft and warm, his profile against the dark of the window, the city quiet beyond the glass. She's been thinking about something, something which is a lot to ask on a first date, but asks anyway.
"How does it work?" she says. "A relationship. With you on tour." She says it evenly, no weight of accusation in it, just the genuine question, the one that has been sitting underneath the whole evening. "Practically. What does it actually look like?"
He's quiet for a moment, turning his glass slowly. "A lot of texts," he says. "Voice notes when there's time. Video calls that get cut short because of schedules." He pauses. "Having them fly out for tour dates, as often as I can, as much as they can" He looks at the glass, talking in hypotheticals.
“The hardest part isn't the being away," he continues. "It's not being there for the small things. The ordinary ones." He glances up at her briefly. "Someone has a bad day and you're in a different timezone and a text isn't the same as being there."
She's quiet for a moment, turning her ring. "No," she agrees. "It isn't."
"I'm not going to pretend it's easy," he says, and she can hear the care in it, the way he's choosing honesty over reassurance because he thinks she deserves the honest version. "It asks a lot of the other person."
"It asks a lot of both people," she says. He looks at her then. "You'd be the one leaving," she continues. "That's not nothing either." He holds her gaze for a moment, something shifting slightly in his expression, like she's said something he hadn't expected to be said. "No," he says quietly. "It's not."
It’s about three am when Yoongi yawns for the first time, ___ chuckles as she stands up, they’ve talked for a while, they could keep going, but he also leaves for the tour tomorrow.
“What time do you leave tomorrow?” ___ asks as she walks over to the kitchen and refills her glass, “Around 7 pm” Yoongi says as he checks his watch, very aware of the time. He stands up, swiftly putting on his jacket.
“I should go, we both have stuff in the morning” He says as he stands awkwardly, he isn’t sure how to say goodbye, or if he even wants to.
“Yeah…yeah we do” The silence that follows is different from the ones before. He shifts slightly, hands sliding into his pockets, then out again, like he can’t quite decide what to do with them.
He’s not usually like this, but there’s something about this, about her, that’s throwing off his usual rhythm.
“Tonight was…” he starts, then stops, he exhales lightly, glancing away for a second before meeting her eyes again. “A successful experiment” ___ adds as she walks over, stopping just a few steps away from him.
“___,” he starts again, quicker this time, like if he hesitates he won’t say it at all. “I’d like to see you again.”
The words land between them, steady but unpolished, so painfully honest. “My life is complicated,” he continues, glancing at her briefly before looking back, like he’s choosing not to hide behind anything. “But I feel like we’ve got something good.”
He pauses there, watching her, trying to read her before he goes any further. He continues quietly, “something real”
For a second, she just looks at him, and then her smile grows. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she admits, closing the small distance between them.
Now they’re close, closer than before, close enough that she can see the growing blush on his face, “Because I was about to say the same thing.”
That catches him off guard, just slightly, his expression shifting to relief and something more warm. “Good,” he says, softer now.
“You know,” she adds lightly, her voice dropping just a little, “for an experiment, this went pretty well.”
“Mm.” “Almost like we should repeat it.”
That earns the faintest hint of a smile from him. “I was planning on it.”
Her eyes flick briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, the movement subtle and quick, but not quick enough to escape him, and in that fleeting moment something in him settles, something quiet but certain, like a decision finally catching up to a feeling he’s been circling all night.
His hand lifts again, more deliberate this time, coming to rest at her waist, fingers curling slightly as if he’s grounding himself, or maybe holding onto the moment just a little longer, like he’s aware of how easily it could slip past them if he rushes it.
He doesn’t rush, and he doesn’t overthink it either, which for him is saying something, because there’s usually a pause, a calculation, a reason to hold back, but not now.
He stops just short of her, close enough that the space between them feels intentional rather than hesitant, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, to give her the chance to pull away if she wants to, to change her mind, to set the boundary before he crosses it.
But she doesn’t, instead, she closes that last bit of distance herself, leaning in just slightly, just enough to meet him halfway, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.
When he kisses her, it’s softer than expected, not because he’s unsure, but because he’s choosing to be careful with it, choosing to let it build rather than take, and there’s something in that restraint that makes it feel more intentional, more real.
Her hand comes up almost immediately, pressing lightly against his chest, not to stop him but to steady herself, or maybe to feel something tangible in the middle of everything that suddenly feels a little too charged, a little too new.
And that’s what shifts it, that simple contact. It deepens the kiss, not dramatically, not all at once, but enough to change it from something tentative into something that lingers, something that holds, something that neither of them seems in a hurry to end.
___ didn’t know how to feel when Yoongi sent her the flight tickets. She isn’t even sure if they’re in a relationship, how does one qualify this as a relationship when it went from a phenomenal first date to flying across continents for the second one.
They’ve been constantly in touch with each other, texting, calling, even video calling a few rare times, each sending pictures from their day, and usually ___ would have classified this as something too difficult for 31 and moved on, but he’s just charmed her. His soft laughter, sending her flowers to the gallery, song samples that he genuinely wants her thoughts on.
She's found herself laughing into her phone more than she has in recent memory. While she drives to work and he's somewhere between cities, still half asleep, voice low and unhurried. While he eats dinner and she scrapes together a lunch at her desk, their schedules overlapping in whatever small window the timezones allow. The video call where he talked her through using a power drill for twenty minutes with the focused patience of someone who genuinely could not rest until she could hang the paintings in her living room.
___ pushes all the doubts aside as she moves through the airport, it’s still early morning and a significant amount at the San Francisco airport. ___ spots Mr Shin right away, Yoongi’s manager standing there with a warm smile as he waves his hands to greet her.
"Morning, Ms. Lee." He's quick, stepping forward to take her bag before she's even fully registered the intention. "How was the flight? Did you eat?" "I'm fine, really-" but the bag is already gone, and he's already moving, and she has learned enough about the people in Yoongi's orbit to know that efficiency is a personality trait they share collectively. She falls into step beside him.
The car is black, tinted, parked just beyond the terminal in the kind of spot that suggests someone made a phone call. Mr. Shin rounds the front of it and she follows, and that's when she sees him.
Yoongi is standing on the far side of the car, away from the flow of arrivals, away from the small clusters of people watching the arrivals gate. He's in a cap and a mask, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, she isn’t sure if he’s smiling, but his eyes light up for sure.
She stops for just a second. Then she keeps walking and he straightens slightly, the way he does when he's trying to look like he wasn't just waiting, and she would tease him about it if her own face wasn't currently doing something she'd prefer it didn't.
"Hi," she says, stopping in front of him. "Hi." His eyes move over her briefly, the way they do, quick and considered. “Long flight?" Yoongi asks, almost instinctively taking the massive handbag from her hand, their fingers brush, the simple touch is enough to wake him up.
“Yeah, there was so much turbulence, I didn’t get a minute's sleep” ___ shares as they stand a few steps away from each other, none of them ready to be bold this morning. “How do you look this beautiful after fourteen hours of no sleep?” Yoongi comments, a compliment filled with genuine curiosity.
___ blinks once. Then she breaks into that familiar laughter, the real one, sudden and unguarded, her hand coming up to hit his arm softly. "That's not-" she starts, still laughing, shaking her head. "You can't just say things like that."
"I'm just asking," he says, and he's smiling now too, the full version, the one that takes over his whole face when he's not paying attention to stopping it. "You're not just asking, you're-" she gestures vaguely at him, at the general situation, at whatever this is, and he watches her do it with quiet satisfaction.
“Mr Min, we’re ready to leave” Mr Shin speaks before he gets into the driver seat, they’re in the car quickly, ___ is the first to yawn then Yoongi when she laughs again, there isn’t much being said, both of them just glad to be in each other’s presence.
“Is there anything specific you want to do before you fly to LA?” Yoongi asks after three complete minutes of silence, he has five days before their dates in Stanford, but ___ has combined this trip with some work trip.
“Golden gate bridge for sure, lots of coffee” ___ talks as she looks ahead at the GPS, it’s going to be thirty minutes till they reach the hotel, “and eat all the food we can in Chinatown” she turns to face him, Yoongi is currently taking very serious mental notes, hoping he remembers this all.
"Everything," she adds, because she means it. "Dim sum, noodles, everything." "Everything," he repeats, solemnly, like he's committing it to memory.
The city slides past in the early grey light, the fog sitting low over everything, soft and unhurried. ___'s exhausted in the particular way that crosses the point of feeling like exhaustion and becomes something closer to weightlessness, the fourteen hours and the turbulence and the airport and the adrenaline all catching up at once now that she's finally still.
He's warm beside her, warm and solid and here, actually here, not a voice through a speaker or a name on a screen, and she is tired enough and brave enough that when her head tips sideways and finds his shoulder.
“Is this the shoulder with the surgery?” ___ snaps out of it, lifting her head slightly just to confirm things. Yoongi is still for a second, "No," he murmurs. His arm comes around her, slow and easy, like it's the most natural thing, settling at her back with a gentleness that she feels all the way through the exhaustion.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Yoongi shares a few moments later, knowing she’s fully awake. “Even more glad that you can stay a month” he murmurs softly into her hair as his hand gently rubs her shoulder. Her hand finds the fabric of his hoodie, fingers curling lightly against it, too tired to talk. Yoongi rests his cheek gently against the top of her head and looks at the road ahead with the expression of a man who is trying very hard not to think about how much he already doesn't want this month to end.
___ feels like a zombie dragging herself, barely awake yet fully awake, full of food, desserts and coffee that they kept stuffing each other with. Yoongi walks back to the park bench, water in hand and he too feels like he’s ready to call quits on the day even if it’s only 6 pm yet.
“You don’t look too well, do you have a fever?” Yoongi asks as he hands her the bottle, wiping his hand against his jeans before checking her temperature. ___ almost immediately falls into his touch, her eyes closing, her whole body leaning slightly into his hand like she's been needing to rest against something for a while now and this is close enough.
"I am just-" she starts, then stops, organizing her words with some effort. "I can see how much you've planned, I know you looked things up and I know you had the whole route figured out and I genuinely loved today, all of it, the food and all of it-" she opens her eyes and looks at him, earnest despite the exhaustion, "-but can we just go back to the hotel and sleep." A pause. "You should stay out," she adds, because she means it, "get some air, do something, I just really really need to crash."
He looks at her for a long moment. His hand has moved from her forehead to the back of her neck, resting there lightly, and she hasn't moved away from it. “Let me call a car, we can go to that restaurant some other time” he whispers mostly to himself as ___ sighs with relief, going back to resting against the bench back.
“I promise I’ll be a lot more fun tomorrow morning, I just need to sleep” ___ mumbles and Yoongi can’t help but be fascinated by this new side to her, the extremely exhausted that makes her whiny. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?" he asks, looking at her sideways, and his arm comes around her naturally, his hand finding her far shoulder and drawing her back toward him, her head settling against him with the ease of something practiced.
"I hadn't seen you in so long," she says finally, her voice quiet and honest, the filter that exhaustion removes making everything simpler. "I didn't want to waste time sleeping."
He goes still, not visibly, not in any way she'd catch in the state she's in, but something in him just stops for a moment and sits with that. “Please just tell me the next time you’re too tired” Yoongi pleads as a car rolls in, hoping it’s theirs.
"Come on," he says gently, standing and bringing her with him, his hand steady at her back. She goes without complaint, leaning into his side, and he keeps his arm around her as they walk toward the car, her steps slow and his matching them without thinking about it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything? Room service? Have food picked up?” Yoongi talks as he swipes the key card, “I can’t, I feel nauseous already” ___ answers with great delay as she picks up the pace, walking up to it but struggling to open it.
“Need any help?” Yoongi asks and ___ simply nods walking to the washroom, she is optimizing the time, going straight to washing up while Yoongi finds her pyjamas. He helps her out, wiping her face that she left damp, helping her remove her rings and watch, and is almost fascinated by the speed in which she gets into bed.
Yoongi slips into bed approximately twenty minutes later, hoping she’s already asleep and it seems to be true until she stirs towards him. “I am so sorry” ___ mumbles and Yoongi’s eyebrows knit as she moves even closer, or he does, Yoongi’s not sure.
“___ you flew across continents for me, you’re allowed to be tired” Yoongi speaks softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I know, it’s just that I thought we’d be having sex and instead we’re falling asleep at 6 pm” she speaks against his arm and something in his chest does a complicated thing and he presses his lips together and looks at the ceiling for a moment, and the laugh that comes out of him is low and quiet and completely helpless, the kind that sneaks up on him.
“We have an entire month” Yoongi reassures her, he isn’t sure what the move is, this is technically their second date, but he also wants to cuddle her, maybe even kiss her if he could be just a bit braver. “I counted, and with your work and mine, we only have 17 days together”
He pulls her in, properly, his arm coming around her, and she goes without stirring, fitting against him with the ease of something that has been doing this for years instead of days.
"Seventeen days is a lot," he says softly, into her hair. She makes a small sound, almost agreement, almost already dreaming. “We can still have a lot of fun, just tell me the next time you’re tired like this" he says, quieter now, his head leaning down but ___ seems to be fast asleep against his chest.
Yoongi has rules about this sort of thing. No sleeping in the same bed before the fifth date. No inviting someone on tour before you're actually together. No cuddling before, he looks down at her, well.
He looks back at the ceiling. The rules were built for a specific kind of situation. A careful, sensible situation where feelings arrived in an orderly fashion. The rules had not accounted for ___ specifically, which in retrospect was a significant oversight in the design.
He exhales slowly, a bit scared of how much he’s already feeling but also very excited but it all, no one has been like her, she’s truly the anomaly to the experiment.
“Come here, we should take pictures together as well” ___ gestures towards Yoongi who turns towards his security personnel with her phone. She’s banned pictures on his samsung, something about them just not looking right. Yoongi jogs beside her, the sun peaking through the golden gate bridge, the soft morning glow on her face, he can’t help but smile.
“You look very pretty in the morning” Yoongi compliments her, posing awkwardly beside each other. “You think I look pretty after a 14 hour flight, I don’t trust you” ___ teases as she shifts closer, the security guard continuing to take pictures.
“Well you’re always pretty to me,” Yoongi continues nonchalantly, like this is the most natural thing in the world, ___’s blush growing deeper. “Am I just that, arm candy Yoongi-si?” ___ teases as she looks up at him.
“Well that, also you're so terrifyingly confident and smart, so kind,” Yoongi says, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Wow, I’m arm candy for BTS’s Suga, I’ve finally made it in life” ___ jokes, mostly because she doesn’t want to process the other compliments he gave her.
"Okay," the security guard calls out, "I think I got some good ones." "Thank you," ___ calls back, and her voice only wavers slightly. Yoongi squeezes her hand once, still not looking at her, and starts back down the path, pulling her gently with him, away from the rocky terrain, his grip sure and unhurried.
“So, you fly to LA tomorrow morning?” Yoongi confirms as he drys his hair, he finds ___ staring at her phone intently, like she’s overanalysing something. “___?” he calls her again, walking closer. Yoongi sees her shuffling through the pictures from the golden gate bridge, stuck at one particular one where he’s looking at her instead of facing forward.
He sits down on the edge of the bed beside her. She looks up at him, then at the photo, then back at him. "What are we?" she asks. Not confrontational, not loaded, just genuinely asking, the way she asks things she actually wants answered.
He looks at her with the expression of someone who finds the question slightly puzzling. "What do you mean?" "I mean-" she gestures between them, "us. This. What is this."
"I'm your boyfriend," he says, simply, with complete confidence, the way he'd say something obvious, like the name of a street or the time of a flight. Then he tilts his head slightly, reading her face. "Was that not clear?"
She stares at him, “___ I begged you to join me for the tour, why would I do that? I didn't think we were dating?” Yoongi speaks, the towel coming up to her hair to dry it instead. “So, you’ve not brought girls around when they were just a fling?” ___ deflects again, teasing now that she’s gotten the answer she’s wanted.
“No” he says, flatly, no elaboration, the kind of no that closes a door completely. He keeps drying her hair, unbothered, and she lets him, looking up at him from where she's sitting, close enough now to see everything his face is doing in the quiet of the room.
“Did you really think we were a fling or something, what’s it called now?” Yoongi stops to think for a second, “A situationship?” his amused tone is not helping the laughter escaping ___, her falling flat on the bed.
“You grandpa, how do you know what that even is?” “Jungkook’s love live is complicated” Yoongi answers, pulling her up, but ___ just pulls him with her. She reaches up and pushes his damp hair back from his forehead, slow and deliberate, and he stays completely still beneath it, watching her, and when she doesn't move her hand away he turns his head slightly into it, just barely, just enough.
The kiss starts soft and then doesn't stay that way, his hand finding her waist, pulling her closer with the quiet certainty of someone who has wanted to do this all day and has run out of reasons not to. She goes willingly, her fingers curling into his shirt, unbuttoning his shirt almost immediately as his hands wander, his fingers running the length of her thighs, stopping just to pull her back up.
“Hey, you can’t do that” ___ complaints as Yoongi successfully makes her stand up, they have dinner reservations with the members in less than thirty minutes. “What? I didn’t do anything?” Yoongi answers with great restraint, knowing exactly what he just pulled.
“You know exactly what you just did Mr Min” ___ whines, going back to getting ready, very slowly putting on each piece of jewellery. “I kinda like being called Mr Min” Yoongi confesses as he watches her though the mirror, and the devious smile that immediately graces her lips scares him a bit.
“Oh, do you Mr. Min?” ___ teases turning around, her blouse coming off in one swift motion. She's looking at him with the expression of a woman who has just evened a score and knows it, perfectly composed, completely unbothered.
He looks at her, at the blouse on the floor, at her as she snaps off her bra in one swift motion, just standing there in a mini-skirt. "That's not fair," Yoongi mutters weakly, his eyes trailing all over her, clearly losing this as ___ pushes him back onto the bed.
"Isn't it?" she says pleasantly, her hands moving quickly to unbutton his trousers. “How about, for the little move you pulled earlier, I just do this for a second and get dressed again?” ___’s voice is low as her hands rub against his bulge.
“That’s just mean” Yoongi whines, propping himself against his arm, completely helpless to her whims as her soft hands wander, pulling his briefs low, “No what’s meaner is you pulling away after making me think you’re going to finger me” ___ complaints as Yoongi lets out a soft moan, her hand rubbing down his length.
“I am so sorry okay, but please keep going” Yoongi barely gets the words out as ___ gently kisses his tip. “Now what should we do, should I suck your dick or should we get dressed for dinner?” ___ knows they’re not making dinner when Yoongi moans a quiet please.
Yoongi’s phone is going off on the nightstand, as Yoongi pulls ___ back to the bed, she’s spent far too much time on her knees and he needs to be inside her. “Darling you are so wet already” Yoongi murmurs in her ears as his nimble fingers rub in a circle. “Stop fucking teasing me” ___ whines, pushing his fingers inside her.
___’s breathless, so close to climax as Yoongi’s fingers keep going in a steady motion, no matter how much she wants, he refuses to pick up the pace, taking his sweet time. His phone rings just as ___ is shaking in his arms, the waves of orgasm sending shockwaves through her but Yoongi just keeps going.
Yoongi sighs with frustration as his phone rings once again, “Stay quiet, just for a minute” Yoongi mumbles, his fingers still going as ___ kisses his neck just to keep quiet. “Jimin-ah, we can’t make it, ___’s sick” Yoongi talks with a devious smile on his lips as ___ takes a sharp breath.
“Hyung be better with the excuses at least,” Jimin teases and Yoongi chuckles, “I swear, she’s not well, she’s been in bed all evening” Yoongi talks and ___ lightly bites his neck, so close once again.
“Alright, if she’s sick, I hope she feels better” Jimin talks and all Yoongi does is hum as he ends the call. “You’re going to leave a hickey” Yoongi complains but ___ just cradles in his lap, facing him now, quickly putting on a condom.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped to pick up a call” ___ continues biting where she was as Yoongi thrusts inside her, the motion sending her in a frenzy as he just keeps going, slow and soft. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken off your top” Yoongi teases, steadying her in his arms, the glow on her face, how her hair keeps sticking everywhere, he could get used to this view.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have teased-” ___ stops talking as Yoongi picks up the pace, arching back with pleasure, Yoongi’s takes a sharp breath, “Are you close, I am so-” Yoongi nods, biting her lower lip, kissing her rapidly as they orgasm. ___’s limbs give out, both of them falling back into bed.
She reaches up and traces the line of his jaw lightly, just because she can, just because she's allowed to now, and he closes his eyes briefly beneath it. “I don’t think I can walk Mr Min” ___ teases, pulling the sheets over herself. “You are beautiful” Yoongi notes as he turns to face her, her cheeks still flush as they both continue to catch their breaths.
“So are you” ___’s voice is uncharacteristically shy as he pulls the sheet even higher, “I am beautiful?” Yoongi teases, his breath finally even. “Yes, you’re also so buff, where did those arms come from?” ___ talks, running a hand over her heart, trying to calm herself down.
“Are you okay? Just give me a few seconds and I’ll get you some water” Yoongi mumbles, tucking her hair away, it’s gotten significantly longer since the first time he saw her, reaching her shoulders now. “I am fine, but you were great, really” ___ talks, shuffling closer till she’s firmly resting against his chest.
“And you are so evil, but also so amazing, taking off your top and we just derail our evening like this” Yoongi talks and he can feel her laughing before he hears it. He pauses and looks down at the top of her head. "I had a plan for this evening," he continues..
She tilts her chin up to look at him, her eyes still warm with laughter, her cheek pressed against his chest. "Was this better than the plan?"
He meets her eyes. Looks away and looks back. "Don't," he says. "Was it?" "You're so smug," he tells her.
"Yoongi-si" "Significantly better than the plan," he admits, quietly, which is the most she's going to get and she knows it and takes it anyway, her smile pressing into his chest as she settles back down. His hand keeps moving at her back, slow and easy.
___ goes around the apartment, picking up after herself. She really needs a cleaning lady or move because the mess around her apartment has only grown over the last six months. Her job’s always involved some travel, with a boyfriend on tour she’s been away even more and she doesn’t even remember the last time she was in the guest room.
___’s also cleaning because Yoongi is finally going to be back at home for a month, and the last time he was here he spent half the time helping her clean. She dials his number as she moves through laundry, but when the call doesn’t go through she just assumes he’s flying home, the last concert before the break was yesterday morning.
Yoongi: I’ve sent a few desserts your home as consolation for not being there to celebrate your birthday tonight, he should be there in 20ish minutes
Yoongi: Are you even home?
___: I am home, I’m not feeling the best and my apartment needed some TLC
___: You didn’t have to send anything, you’ll be here tomorrow anyway
Yoongi: Not feeling well? Oh, the first week of the month… you absolutely need desserts
___: Are you tracking my period?
___: It’s kinda cute but I don’t think I ever told you that explicitly?
Yoongi: We started fighting around the same day each month and I connected the dots
___: Are you saying that I pick pointless fights around my birthday? Because that’s rude
Yoongi: Darling, last month we fought about if a window should be opened or not and then you cried when I very gently explained why it needs to be opened for airflow
___: This feels like we’re fighting about a fight, am I that irrational on my period?
Yoongi: I don’t care, all those hormonal changes and pain would make anyone irrational
Yoongi: Just rest till the desserts arrive, I kinda like organizing your mess
___: It’s not my mess, it’s organized chaos
Yoongi: An organized mess where I can’t find the salt in the kitchen
___: okay, it’s a mess
___ goes back to cleaning when her phone doesn’t buzz for a while, Yoongi must have gotten busy with something, so does she as he hauls her laundry over the sofa. She’s mid-folding when the bell rings, for a woman living alone she should have checked through the peephole before swinging the door open.
But she’s kinda glad she didn’t, because the sheer surprise she feels at the view of her boyfriend standing outside with flowers and his carry-on dropped to his feet. “Surprise!” he musters up all his energy for that, engulfing her in a tight hug as he finally takes a deep breath.
“Oh my god, I thought you were flying tomorrow?” ___ talks into his jacket, momentarily lifting her face, only to be hugged tighter. “I didn’t want to arrive tomorrow and be groggy and tired on your birthday” Yoongi talks into her hair, taking a long whiff of her hair.
“So you flew directly after the concert?” “Who cares about the logistics, the important thing is that I am here” Yoongi talks as he finally detaches, taking a long look at her as he smiles widely. ___ intertwines their hands, leading him in and giving him approximately two seconds to drop all his stuff before she holds his face, it’s been too long since they’ve kissed.
"I missed you so-" she says between kisses, soft and unhurried, her thumbs against his jaw, "-so much, and I love you so so much and you're like the best boyfriend ever-"
He makes a sound against her mouth that is warm and amused and tired all at once, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer with the ease of something practiced, and she can feel him smiling into the kiss which makes her smile too, which makes kissing considerably more difficult and neither of them minds.
"Best boyfriend ever," he repeats, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes barely open from exhaustion, red rimmed from the flight and the concert and the night in between. "I also did a bunch of shopping for you at duty free. Does that get me any brownie points?” Yoongi asks his eyes trailing down the white dress she always wears just at home.
His eyes trail down the white dress she always wears at home, the one he's come to associate with her off days, her genuinely-at-rest days, the version of her that exists only in her own apartment with no clients to see and nowhere to be.
"Honey, baby, sugar plum buttercup-" she takes his face in her hands again, very seriously, "-that gets you so many brownie points, but you have got to stop spending so much money on me." She pushes her hair out of her face with one hand, still not used to the new cut, the layers falling everywhere, doing whatever they want.
"Why?" Yoongi says. He pouts, she's too busy dealing with the direct effect of it. "I have too much money to spend in a lifetime. I should spoil my girlfriend after being away for so long."
"Yoongi-" "Six weeks," he says. "Six weeks, one day, and-" he checks some internal calculation, "-about fourteen hours."
She stares at him. "You counted." "I'm just saying the math supports the duty free shopping." He reaches up and pushes the layered hair from her face himself, tucking it behind her ear the way he always does, watching it fall forward again immediately. His hand stays at her jaw. "I like the haircut."
"It does whatever it wants," she says, slightly mournfully. "I know." He tucks it back again, pointlessly. "I like it." She looks at him, at the exhaustion and the pout and the hand at her jaw and the duty free bags presumably somewhere in the carry-on she hasn't let him unpack yet, and she thinks that she has been thoroughly swooned by a man who is barely conscious.
"You're impossible," she says. "I love you” Yoongi states simply, the same way he did earlier this year in Paris. He just blurted it out one morning while leaving for rehearsal, never making a big deal out of it, like it was the most natural thing for him to say.
“Are you sure that you want to go on a trip before the last leg of the tour? You’ll be exhausted from travelling by then?” ___ talks through her airpod, her phone still somewhere in her purse as she continues to get the gallery ready for an event.
“We haven’t just gone on a vacation just for us, it’s always been us trying to piece together a few days between the tour, that’s not a real vacation” Yoongi retorts as he sits down to get ready for the first Bangkok show. “There must be somewhere you want to go?” He continues already having shortlisted a few options.
“Oh this client last week was telling me about this amazing Maldives resort he went to, it’s so beautiful and private” ___ talks, fixing a few frames that still need to be put up. “He? Are you sure he was telling or was he offering?” Yoongi teases and ___ sighs. “I work in art, Yoongi,” ___ says. “Do you know how many men have tried to flirt with me by explaining private islands?”
He huffs out a laugh, the one that always sounds slightly disbelieving, like amusement caught him off guard. She can picture it immediately despite not being able to see him, head tipped back slightly in the makeup chair, phone balanced in one hand while someone fixes his hair.
“And?” he asks. “And what?” “Did the resort at least look nice?”
“Oh, unbelievable.” She bends to pick up a stack of exhibition cards from the floor. “White sand. Crystal water. Villas with pools bigger than my apartment.”
“See?” he says immediately. “You want to go.” She smiles despite how much they shouldn’t do this. “I want to sleep,” she corrects. “You’ll be exhausted, I’ll probably have three openings back to back by then, and we’ll spend the entire trip unconscious.”
“You know,” he says after a moment, quieter now as the backstage noise fades slightly, “I think I miss you best when I’m tired.” Her hands still briefly over the stack of cards.
It’s such a Yoongi sentence, not dramatic or casual. Just honest in that careful devastating way he has. “What does that even mean,” she asks softly.
“I don’t know.” She hears movement, fabric shifting, maybe him leaning back in the chair. “When I’m busy I can ignore it because everything’s moving all the time. Schedules, rehearsals, flights. But when I get tired enough that my brain finally shuts up a little…” A pause. “You’re kind of the first thing I look for.”
“Honey you can’t just say stuff like that when I miss you like crazy” ___ speaks softly, all she wants is to see him, feel him, she’s just been missing him. Something in his chest pulls tight in that quiet painful way longing sometimes does when it lands at the wrong time of day.
“Yesterday I was walking back home and all these couples were out,” she continues, absentmindedly straightening a stack of gallery brochures as she talks. “Getting dinner, holding hands, arguing about where to go, normal boring couple things.” A small laugh escapes her. “And I just kept wishing you were there.”
He looks down at the floor for a second. There’s always a specific kind of helplessness that comes with tour. He’s learned to live with it, mostly. The missing, the leaving, the constant temporary nature of things.
“What would we have been doing?” he asks quietly. She smiles immediately at the question, hearing what it really is beneath it.
“Probably arguing.” “About?”
“You refusing to let me smoke.” “You shouldn’t smoke.”
“You sound eighty years old.” “You cough for three business days afterward.”
“That’s not the point.” She walks toward the back office, lowering her voice instinctively once she’s away from the staff. “Maybe we’d stop for tteokbokki.”
“You always want tteokbokki at night.” “Because it tastes better at night.”
“That’s scientifically untrue.” She laughs softly, and he feels some invisible tension in himself ease at the sound. “And then,” she continues, settling into the fantasy now, “you’d insist on walking me home even though your place is in the opposite direction.”
“I would.” “I know.” Her voice gentles around the words. “That’s the problem.”
The thing about Yoongi is that he loves in practical ways first. Walking someone home. Buying three coffees because he doesn’t know which one they like. Remembering flight times. Sending weather screenshots. Calling managers to make impossible schedules work. But distance makes practical love difficult.
Distance leaves him with words instead, and he’s still learning what to do with those. “I miss you too,” he says finally, the sentence low and steady and entirely unprotected. “More than I thought I would.”
___ leans back against the desk behind her, eyes closing briefly. “Come home soon,” she murmurs.
There’s a long pause on his end, “I’m trying,” he says quietly, and she can hear the exhaustion underneath it now, the real one he saves mostly for her. “I think if I stay away from you much longer I’m going to start doing irrational things.”
She smiles immediately. “Like?” Another pause, she can practically hear him debating whether to say it.
“Looking at apartments closer to your gallery.” Her breath catches before she can stop it. Yoongi rubs his arm, not knowing if he’s said something utterly stupid, “Something for us maybe, I’ve just made one search” he continues honestly and ___ can’t help the tears welling in her eyes.
On the other end Yoongi immediately notices the quiet stretching too long. “Hey,” he says softly, sitting up properly now. “I didn’t mean it like-” He rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly uncertain. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I thought it’d be easier if I was closer to your gallery and then-”
He stops himself, he’s rambling. Which she’s realizing is rare enough from him that it almost makes her cry harder. “It was stupid,” he says quickly, already retreating from the admission. “Forget I said anything.”
___ lets out a wet laugh despite herself, shaking her head immediately even though he can’t see it.
“No,” she says quietly. “No, don’t do that.” He goes still. There’s noise around him again now, staff moving in and out, someone asking about wardrobe changes, but he’s listening to her so fully it’s almost tangible through the phone.
“I just…” She exhales shakily, pressing the heel of her hand briefly against her eyes. “You caught me off guard.”
“With the apartment thing?” “Yes, Yoongi, with the apartment thing,” she says with a laugh threaded through the emotion now. “You can’t casually mention moving in together while I’m actively suffering from how much I miss you”
He thinks about all the versions of them that exist lately only in transition. Her half asleep face on facetime at two in the morning while he’s eating room service in another timezone. Her voice breaking apart through bad hotel wifi. Him landing in Seoul already calculating how many hours they get before one of them leaves again.
This, exactly, was why he didn’t want a girlfriend. Not because he didn’t want love. Because he knew what happened when love had to survive logistics. Because somewhere deep down he understood that eventually another person would have to start structuring their loneliness around his schedule.
He drags a hand slowly over his mouth. “I used to think,” he talks carefully, “that if I never let myself really build something serious then maybe I could avoid doing this to someone.” A small humorless laugh escapes him. “Very logical solution. Very emotionally healthy.”
“Yoongi…” “No, it’s true.” He rubs at his arm absently now, exhaustion making him honest in that dangerous way it always does. “I know what this life feels like from the inside. I know how disappointing it can be sometimes.” His jaw shifts slightly. “Missing birthdays. Leaving dinners early. Watching someone you love get used to being alone.”
The gallery office suddenly feels too small around her. Because she can hear it now beneath everything he’s saying. Not fear of commitment, but the fear of becoming absent.
“I remember telling my mother I didn’t have time for a girlfriend,” he says quietly, a faint disbelieving smile touching his voice now. “And I meant it. I really did.” He pauses. “I think I thought wanting someone badly enough would just make the impossible parts hurt more.”
“And does it?” she asks softly. The room goes quiet on his end for a moment. “Yes,” he says honestly. Then, after a beat, “But not having you hurts more.”
The tears come properly then, silent and immediate. ___ presses her hand harder against her eyes, breathing out a shaky laugh because of course this is happening on a Thursday afternoon between exhibition setups.
“I have to do math before I can even talk to you.” A wet laugh escapes ___. “Do you know how romantic it is calculating if your boyfriend is conscious?” That finally pulls a real laugh out of him, tired and warm and aching around the edges.
But she hears it fade quickly, because they’re both thinking the same thing now. How much work this is. How much wanting each other has become an active sustained effort. “That’s the part I didn’t expect,” Yoongi says after a while, quieter now. “How easy it would be to keep choosing you anyway.”
___’s hand almost absentmindedly plays with the pendant Yoongi got her for her birthday, “Yoongi,” she says softly. “Mm?” “I love you.” The words leave her gently.
On the other end of the line he goes completely still. ___ keeps turning the pendant slowly between her fingers, eyes fixed on nothing now. “I love you when I’m exhausted and irritated and calculating timezones,” she admits quietly. “I love you when I’m angry at tour for taking you away from me.” A shaky breath leaves her. “I love you even when this feels impossible sometimes.”
His chest aches so sharply it almost feels like fear, not of her loving him. Of how badly he loves her back. Because Yoongi has spent most of his adult life believing love had to fit around ambition carefully or it would break beneath it. That eventually someone would ask him to choose.
“I think,” she says softly, almost smiling through the tears now, “that’s how I know it’s real.”
He lowers his head briefly, eyes shut, he wishes she were here so badly it physically hurts. Wishes he could pull her into his lap and bury his face into her neck and stay there until this terrible restless homesick feeling finally settled.
“You can’t say that right before I go on stage,” he says finally, voice rougher now. A soft laugh escapes her immediately. “I love you too, I love you in hotel rooms,” he murmurs. “In airports. Half asleep. Fully stressed. I love you enough that I catch myself looking for things to bring back for you in every country now.” A faint breath of a laugh. “Which is deeply embarrassing.”
Her eyes close tightly. “And I think…” He pauses, searching for the words carefully now because he wants to get this right. “I think loving you stopped feeling temporary a long time ago.” That one nearly undoes her completely.
“Hyung? Are you okay?” Jimin asks as they are once again leaving the airport, Yoongi quietly mumbles a no as they shuffle inside the car. “It’s been an exhausting tour, ___ and I had this big fight last week about something so stupid and god am I tired” Yoongi confesses as the car moves around the highway.
“What happened?” Jimin asks quietly. Yoongi lets out a humorless breath through his nose. “She fell asleep waiting for my call.” Jimin winces immediately. “Ouch.” “Yeah.”
“I know this life is hard,” he says after a while. “I knew it before we started dating. I just…” He laughs once bitterly under his breath. “I think I underestimated what it feels like when the person waiting for you is someone you actually can’t stand disappointing.”
Jimin watches him carefully for a moment. Yoongi has always carried guilt strangely. Quietly. Internally. Like he believes if he absorbs enough of it himself nobody else will have to. “I hate this part,” Yoongi murmurs eventually. “The feeling that no matter how hard I try, eventually my schedule still wins.”
“Hyung,” he says softly, “you know what’s different though?” Yoongi glances at him tiredly. “You’re talking like someone who’s trying to keep her.” Jimin shrugs lightly. “Not someone looking for a way out.”
They’re quiet for the rest of the ride, Yoongi contemplating how he’s going to make it up to her, what he’s going to say. He almost dozes off till he’s being gently shrugged by Jimin, something about them being there.
Yoongi steadies his bag as Jimin nudges his rib cage, hard. “___?” Yoongi can make her out of just her shadow as she leans against a car, they had discussed this a few weeks ago, he just didn’t expect her to be here after whatever yesterday was.
“What are you doing here?” She shrugs one shoulder lightly, though her eyes are already glassy in the parking lot lights.
“I wasn't going to show up just because we fought?” Something inside him breaks instantly at how simple she makes it sound. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening hard enough that she realizes suddenly he’s trying very seriously not to cry.
“You shouldn’t have driven this late,” he murmurs instead because it’s safer than saying what he actually wants to say right now. “You shouldn’t have fought with me from another continent,” she replies softly.
That finally pulls a real breathless laugh out of him and then neither of them can really hold the distance anymore. Yoongi drops his bag carelessly onto the pavement just as she reaches him, and the second his arms wrap around her he exhales so deeply it almost sounds painful. Like his body’s been waiting to do that for days.
“I don’t want to say sorry because stuff like that might happen again and I can’t lie to you” Yoongi speaks truthfully. “I know,” she says quietly.
Yoongi’s expression shifts faintly at that, like he wasn’t entirely expecting this. “I just…” He exhales shakily, forehead dropping briefly against hers now. “I need you to know I’m never not trying.” His voice lowers. “Even when I get it wrong.”
“You know what the worst part is?” she murmurs softly. “What?” “I wasn’t even angry because of the phone call.” His hands tighten around her waist slightly. “I was angry because I missed you so much already.” A weak laugh escapes her. “And then I had to miss you disappointed too.”
Because that’s exactly what yesterday felt like, not conflict, longing with nowhere to go. Yoongi presses his forehead harder against hers, eyes closing briefly. “I hate that you cry because of me.” “You also make me very happy because of you,” she whispers immediately.
“That grammar was terrible.” “I’m emotional.” A tired laugh slips out of him then, quieter now, warmer. God, he missed this too. The way she can pull him back toward something lighter before he disappears too far into guilt.
“Now kiss and make up,” Jimin calls as he walks backwards toward his building entrance, duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. “I can’t take brooding Yoongi hyung anymore. He’s been unbearable all week.”
Yoongi sighs deeply without even looking at him. “Please go inside.” “I’m serious,” Jimin says, grinning now. “He kept staring out the van window like a divorced father.” ___ laughs against Yoongi’s shoulder immediately, the sound finally pulling a reluctant smile onto his face too.
“And he snapped at me because I asked if he wanted ramyeon.” “You asked me three times.”
“Because you looked emotionally unwell.” Yoongi shakes his head tiredly as Jimin snickers to himself. “Anyway,” Jimin says, swiping the card to the building gate, “fix him please”
Then a softer, fond voice follows, “You look better already, hyung.” And with that he disappears inside, leaving the two of them alone again beneath the parking lot lights. The silence settles differently now.
___ brushes her thumb lightly beneath his eye before speaking quietly. “Your parents are still on vacation, right?” He nods once slowly. “They left for Jeju yesterday, come home with me,” he says quietly. Yoongi’s hand slides up slowly into her hair, fingers curling gently at the base of her neck before he pulls her toward him and kisses her like he’s been hungry for her.
His mouth soft against hers as he exhales shakily into the kiss, shoulders finally loosening beneath her hands for what feels like the first time since he landed. “You know,” he murmurs softly, voice rough with exhaustion and affection both, “I think this is the longest week of my life.”
She smiles faintly, brushing her nose against his. “Good thing you’re home now.” His eyes close briefly at that. Home, not Seoul, not the apartment, her.
And maybe that’s the thing that feels different tonight. Not just relief. Not just surviving another stretch of distance. The tour is over. For the first time in months there isn’t another flight looming somewhere ahead of them. No countdown ticking quietly in the background. No rehearsals stealing entire weeks before they can properly settle into each other again. Their first anniversary is in two weeks.
“You’ve been living like this all this time, what do you need a walk in closet for?” ___ complains as she walks around the dimly lit closet, admiring his watch collection. “Come on, lets go to bed” Yoongi whines from behind her, his arms loosely wrapped around her, he’s been clingy like this since they got inside the apartment.
“I have a meeting set with a realtor next week, you sure you still want to live with me, I never put away my laundry” ___ speaks as they finally slip into bed. Yoongi turns toward her immediately.
There’s barely a second of hesitation before he moves closer automatically, arm sliding around her waist underneath the blankets until she’s tucked against his chest like that’s where she’s been sleeping forever. “I’ve seen your apartment,” he murmurs sleepily into her hair. “It’s a mess”
She gasps softly. “That is unbelievably rude.” “You own a chair entirely dedicated to clothes.”
“It’s an organizational system.” “It’s a fabric mountain.” ___ laughs under her breath as he presses a lazy kiss against her shoulder.
“Are you sure about moving in together? We might not tour this year but there might be times when I’m still away?” Yoongi asks as he trails kisses downward. “Yes I am sure” ___ replies confidently as Yoongi bites her boob, knowing exactly where this is going.
“Aren’t you tired?” ___ investigates as Yoongi mumbles a no, removing her slip dress in one go. She doesn’t get an answer. What she does get is Yoongi softly biting her nipple as she arches back. “Another perk of living together, we can have sex any time we want, anywhere we want” Yoongi says as his hand fondles her soft breast, the other hand trailing south.
“We can do it against the glass like we did in Maldives,” she murmurs. That finally pulls a real reaction out of him.
Yoongi groans softly into her skin, forehead dropping briefly against her chest like the memory alone exhausted him all over again. “You almost killed me that night.”
“You were very enthusiastic.” “You wore that bikini on purpose.” A faint smug smile appears on her face. “Maybe.” He looks up at her then, hair messy, eyes dark and sleepy and impossibly affectionate all at once.
Yoongi shuffles around the kitchen looking for a snack, all the fridge has is leftovers and fruit. He settles on an apple as he continues to wash it for a little too long, too lazy to do the whole peeling and cutting thing.
___: Why’d you leave this morning in such a hurry? Waking up all by myself is no fun
His phone pings and he stops mid-way, typing a response immediately, a ghost of a smile appearing the second her name appears. He exhales softly through his nose, drying his hand absently against his shirt as he types back.
Yoongi: I told you, my dad had a doctors appointment, he won’t tell but he wanted me there
Yoongi: I am sorry, I can make up by coming over tonight and not leaving in the morning
___: I have a thing, might not come home
Yoongi: What thing?
___: Work thing
Yoongi: That’s very vague, but okay, I’ll see you on Saturday then? Can we go shopping?
“Who are you talking to smiling like that?” his mother shouts from the other end of the living room, startling him, almost into dropping his phone. It’s been a year and he’s successfully kept a lid on this relationship, the less she knows the better.
“No one, the guys are being funny in the group chat? Where are you off too?” he asks as his mother continues putting on her earrings.
“It’s the Lee’s 40th wedding anniversary and I thought I might bring them something, and ___ is going to be there” he stills not very noticeably, “I just love her,” his mother continues, completely unaware, stepping back into the kitchen to grab the baked goods she ordered earlier. “Too bad you never went out with her.”
He almost chokes on his own breath, covering it with a cough. “…Yeah,” he mutters, because what else is he supposed to say to that?
But his mind is already moving. So, ___ is in the same building as him and didn’t even tell him, is this why she won’t be coming home tonight? The wheels in his brain are going, a smirk almost appearing, “Maybe I also come with you, I was pretty rude last time when I didn’t visit them?”
“When?” she asks almost absentmindedly, forgetting that afternoon completely. “The time you tried to, you know what, I am going to change, wait for me”
Yoongi scrambles around, picking out a soft blue shirt and tucking it in almost instinctively. He fixes his hair next, more carefully than he’ll admit, adjusting it once, then again, like he’s trying to make it look like he didn’t try at all.
“Why do you even want to come, you’re usually not interested in my friends at all?” his mother questions from outside his room, watching him contemplate between two belts.
“That’s not true, you remember when I sent flowers for your friend Mrs Song?” “You didn’t send them, I did” she retorts almost immediately, “Well, I paid for them” he shoots back, not missing a beat.
He tightens the belt, exhaling softly through his nose before grabbing his watch, fastening it around his wrist with a little more care than usual. “I’m just being polite,” he adds, tone deliberately casual, like this is nothing out of the ordinary. “You said it yourself, I was rude last time.”
His mother leans against the doorframe now, watching him more closely. “You didn’t care about being rude last time.” “Well, as I grow older, I am trying to be a better person, come on” he walks right past her, she nods her head in confusion but decides to go along with it anyway.
Yoongi wouldn’t admit it, but he’s nervous. Things have been going well, too well. They move in together in a month, all their free time is being spent decorating their new home. The next natural steps would be to meet the parents, something he’s never done. “Stop fidgeting” his dad comments as he continues to fiddle around with his collar, the shirt suddenly suffocating him.
Yoongi spends the entire elevator ride thinking of what he’s going to say, which isn’t a long time to prepare for something this monumental. What exactly is he supposed to say? Hello, surprise, I’ve secretly been dating your daughter for over a year and we accidentally bought an apartment together?
His mother rings the bell before he can spiral further. The door swings open almost immediately, to his relief it’s ___. For one beautiful second her face lights up instinctively at the sight of him. Then she notices his parents standing there and immediately freezes.
“Oh! Hi, um” ___ stammers, fixing her hair the best she can as she tugs the sweater, well his sweater to be accurate that she stole just last week. “Hi, how are you ___, we just wanted to stop by with some treats before your parents leave for Europe” Mrs Min adds and ___ nods quickly, recovering with impressive speed considering she is currently trying to piece together why he’s here.
“Right, yes, come in,” she says, stepping aside quickly. “Mom and dad are inside.” Yoongi walks past her carefully, close enough to catch the tiny glare she shoots him under her breath.
“Ah, you made it!” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully as she appears from the kitchen carrying coffee cups.
Mr. Lee follows behind her with Yoongi’s father, already mid-conversation about travel routes and airport timing.
For a few blessed minutes, things settle.
Coffee is poured. Pastries are unpacked. The parents fall naturally into conversation around the dining table while Yoongi hovers awkwardly near the kitchen island pretending he isn’t hyperaware of every movement ___ makes.
“I’ve also made some sandwiches, let me just bring those out” ___ adds as she stands up, wanting a few minutes just to herself. “Oh, I’ll help” Yoongi adds and all the heads turn to him, none of them expecting this.
“It’s not much Yoongi-si, I’ll just be a few moments” ___ argues with a tight smile, hoping no one in this room catches onto this tension. “Oh I’m sure my mother’s told you what a great cook I am, I can help” Yoongi can’t help but tease, knowing this is going to cost him later.
“What is with these two?” Mrs Min murmurs to Mrs Lee as the two walk into kitchen, “Maybe he’s interested now, too bad she already has a boyfriend” Mrs Lee comments as they continue to sip on their coffee.
“She has a boyfriend?” Mrs Min asks with shock, she has secretly been hoping for her son to come to his senses all this time. “Well, she hasn’t told me explicitly, but she went to a vacation to Maldives and that’s such a couples destination” Mrs Lee adds and the wheels in Mrs Min’s head are finally going.
“When was she in Maldives?” “Early January I think, she didn’t even send us any pictures-” “Yoongi was in Maldives early January” Mrs. Lee blinks.
Mrs. Min blinks back, silence.
“Oh my god.” “OH MY GOD SHE’S WEARING HIS SWEATER THAT I GOT HIM FOR CHRISTMAS” Mrs Min yells as she rapidly walks towards the kitchen. The closer they get, the quieter they become. Because suddenly they’re not entering casually anymore.
They’re investigating and then they stop dead in the doorway. ___ is standing close enough to Yoongi that their bodies almost touch, fingers gently smoothing down the collar of his shirt while Yoongi looks at her with an expression his mother has never seen him wear before.
Soft and completely gone for her. Like the entire world narrowed down to the woman fixing his clothes in the kitchen.
“Oh.” The word slips out of Mrs. Lee before she can stop it. The couple freeze instantly. ___’s hand is still resting lightly against Yoongi’s chest.
Yoongi turns first and unfortunately, instead of looking guilty, he looks caught in the exact way a man does when he’s deeply in love and interrupted mid-moment. Which is somehow more incriminating.
“How long has this been going on?” Mrs Min asks softly, not entirely believing what she’s seeing. ___ immediately drops her hand from Yoongi’s collar like she’s been burned.
Yoongi exhales slowly, knowing he needs to take the lead in this situation, “A year and a half” he answers, his hand coming up to ___’s waist like he’s trying to tell it all with a show but ___ swats his hands immediately, like she can still talk her way out of this.
There’s silence and immediately there are questions, lots of them. “A YEAR AND A HALF” “Why didn’t you tell us” “Is this why you’ve been working late” “Is this why we couldn’t come to the Paris show?”
Mrs. Min’s eyes widened further somehow. “Oh my god, you traveled to see him during the tour?”
“No..well sometimes-” “How many times?” Mrs. Lee gasps. ___ looks ready to faint.
Yoongi, meanwhile, has reached the point of surrender where he almost finds this funny. “Enough that she has airline status now,” he says honestly.
“Min Yoongi!” ___ hisses in horror. “What? We’re already caught.” “That does not mean volunteer information!”
From the dining room, both fathers have fully abandoned pretending not to listen and are now standing in the doorway too. Mr. Min crosses his arms slowly. “I knew something was going on when he wanted me to check documents to buy an apartment”
The interrogation moves from the kitchen hallway to the dining room because ___ can’t keep standing without feeling like she’s about to faint and Yoongi wanted everyone to eat the sandwiches she made.
“When were you going to tell us that you’re moving in together, after you had children?” Mrs Min asks her son incredulously, she’s still in shock from this all, happy nonetheless. “What you aren’t engaged are you?” Mrs Lee asks as she rapidly reaches for ___’s hand.
“I wouldn’t ask ___ to marry me without speaking to her parents first,” Yoongi says immediately. The room quiets slightly at the seriousness in his tone. Because despite the chaos, despite the interrogation and the absolute catastrophe of this reveal, he means that sincerely.
Across the table, Mr. Lee watches him carefully now and for maybe the first time all afternoon, Yoongi feels genuinely nervous. “I’m not irresponsible,” he says quieter now, gaze flicking briefly toward ___ before returning to her parents. “I know how serious this is.”
___ looks at him softly for a second. Because beneath all the teasing and disaster and accidental exposure, that’s the thing about Yoongi, once he loves someone, he becomes frighteningly earnest about protecting the future around them.
Mrs. Min’s eyes narrow suddenly, too suddenly. “Wait.” Every person at the table goes still. “You said you wouldn’t ask without speaking to the parents first.” She points at him slowly. “Not that you haven’t thought about it.”
Yoongi makes the catastrophic mistake of glancing at ___ for half a second. And unfortunately that alone is enough.
Mrs. Lee gasps loudly. “Oh my god.” ___ blinks between them in confusion. “What?” Mrs. Min sits forward immediately. “You’ve thought about marriage.”
“We’re in a happy long term relationship, of course we have” “Do you have a ring?” his mother throws that question like a grenade in the middle of the dining room. ___ turns toward him so fast she nearly knocks over her water glass.
Yoongi suddenly regrets every decision that led him here. Because the thing is, he does have a ring. Hidden badly, according to Namjoon. Carefully and thoughtfully selected over weeks because once the idea entered his head, it never really left again.
“No,” he says too quickly. Mrs. Min narrows her eyes instantly. “That was suspicious.” “I don’t have it with me.” The second the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s doomed.
“YOU HAVE A RING?” both mothers shriek simultaneously.
___ just stares at him, like her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a second. Yoongi rubs a hand down his face slowly. “Well,” Mr. Min says calmly, sounding deeply entertained now, “this escalated quickly.”
“You bought a ring?” ___ asks finally, voice small in a way that completely destroys him. And suddenly all the teasing leaves the room a little. “We talked about it, we were on the same page about marriage?” Yoongi turns, like he needs to talk about it urgently.
“We did, I just didn’t expect you to actually buy a ring” The vulnerability in her voice hits him square in the chest. Because he understands what she means, not disbelief in them. Disbelief in how real this all suddenly sounds out loud.
Yoongi shifts slightly closer to her instinctively. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you,” he says lower now, like he’s forgotten there are four other people listening. “I just saw it and…” He exhales softly. “It felt right.”
___ looks at him for a long second. “They bought an apartment,” Mr. Lee mutters. “The married couple part was already implied.” “That’s true,” Mr. Min agrees.
“Is there a date on your mind?” Mrs Min asks quietly and that earns another dramatic gasp from Mrs Lee. “Okay,” ___ says finally, standing abruptly before this spirals into someone discussing grandchildren. “I think this is enough for today. Mom, dad, you both need to leave for the airport soon.” Then toward Yoongi’s parents, polite despite the emotional destruction currently occurring in the dining room, “Mrs. and Mr. Min, the desserts were delicious, and I do love your son, so I hope today won’t leave the wrong impression on your minds.”
“Yoongi and I are leaving because apparently we need to have a conversation.” That finally gets his attention fully. Yoongi blinks up at her once. “Do we?”
“Yes.” “Am I in trouble?” “You will be if you don’t get moving” ___ speaks with a smile but Yoongi knows better by now and stands up immediately. She’s quiet as they close the door behind them and it’s right at that moment when Yoongi’s phone rings.
He declines it and ___ sighs as she presses the elevator button with no clear plan on where they’re actually going to talk. Yoongi groans softly this time before answering. “Hi.”
There’s a pause, then his entire expression changes. “Oh.” ___ looks over immediately. “Our mattress is going to be there in a few minutes, they need someone to let them in” Yoongi continues and ___ simply hands him her car keys, knowing where they’re going.
“Oh, hi… that room,” ___ says quickly, pointing them toward the bedroom. They nod and disappear down the hallway carrying it carefully while Yoongi steps aside to answer yet another phone call.
Apparently every single thing related to this apartment needs attention today. “Yes, Tuesday is fine,” he says distractedly into the phone while pacing slowly near the windows. “Yes please early in the day, I’m busy post afternoon”
___ watches him for a second. It still catches her off guard sometimes, this version of him. Not a massively successful musician. Not the exhausted version surviving airports and tour schedules. Just… her boyfriend trying to do everything right with their apartment.
The mattress gets assembled surprisingly quickly considering it took them nearly three weeks to choose one. “So, the sofa will be here on the tuesday so we’ll have enough of a ready home to move in, rest we can tackle once we’re here” Yoongi adds as ___ gets them some water from the fridge, they might not be living here, but they still have a fully stacked kitchen already.
“And I’ve booked a moving company for your place for Sunday, I’ll be there too-” Yoongi continues and ___ shuts him up with a soft kiss. All the tension from today just melts as he helplessly kisses her, his hands all over her till they settle under the sweater.
“You stupid idiot” ___ pulls back just to say that but Yoongi only smiles as he pulls her even closer. “Did you really buy a ring?” she continues and Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against hers. “I swear my mother, can we not make a big deal out of this, it’s not happening that soon, I want us to live together first and you weren’t supposed to find out like this” he explains which only makes ___ laugh more.
“Is it beautiful? It’s not too flashy is it? I know you have money but big diamonds don’t suit me” ___ teases and he groans gripping her waist even tighter. “Darling I know what you like, can we just please drop this?” Yoongi pleads and ___ nods knowing when to give up.
“I didn’t think I’d be doing this with you after our first date, I really wanted to see you again but I wasn’t sure it would work” ___ confesses as she moves around, finally getting the water she wanted. “I really wanted to see you again,” she admits. “But I honestly wasn’t sure it would work.”
Yoongi’s brows lift slightly. “Really?” He watches her carefully now as she hands him a glass of water before continuing.
“And then you kissed me like that,” she says, pointing at him accusingly now, “and just left.” Yoongi looks entirely unapologetic. “I had an early flight.” “You kissed me after the best first date and just left and it felt like a romcom for a few hours till you didn’t text me for 12 hours”
“I was trying to seem calm.” That actually makes her laugh. Because if there’s one thing she knows now, it’s that Yoongi has never once been calm about her. “I was still dazed from the date and the kiss and I was all confused and and I um, was so surprised and I hated that I had to leave even if I really wanted to tour” Yoongi confesses and ___ smiles from the other side of the counter.
“I for a very long time believed that this all, a girlfriend, living together, the eventual stuff, planning a life with someone wasn’t in my books and for the longest time I was okay with it” The apartment falls quiet around them. Suddenly he looks younger somehow. Not physically, emotionally, like she’s catching a glimpse of the version of him that spent years convincing himself wanting less from life was safer.
“You just thought loving someone would mean losing parts of yourself.” That catches him off guard.
Because unfortunately she’s right. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening faintly like he’s still a little uncomfortable being understood this clearly. “Yes,” he admits quietly. “And honestly…” A tiny breath leaves him, almost amused at himself now. “I didn’t expect you to be this stubborn.”
___ smiles faintly. “Excuse me?” “We fought,” he continues, stepping closer again like he physically can’t stay far from her for long anymore. “A lot sometimes. Especially in the beginning.” His hands slide back around her waist naturally. “But you always treated the problems like they were against us.” He pauses, gaze steady on hers now. “Not us against each other.”
Something soft flickers across her expression immediately, because that mattered more to him than she probably realized.
“So, shall we break in the new mattress, take a nap?” ___ jokes and Yoongi chuckles holds her from the behind. “Is this us now, napping? So painfully domestic” he says, his warm hands back under the sweater.
“What’s more tragic is that I really want to nap” Yoongi confesses nuzzling his head into her shoulder. “Honey, we can do whatever we want, nap, look at vacuums, argue if we really want a piano in the living room” ___ teases and Yoongi laughs thinking back to the major vacuum selection fight.
↳ Summary | He is the successor of his family’s business empire, and you are the female heir of yours. After the trouble his older brother had created in the past, he now must face certain requirements needed for the sake of the family’s future and to save his rights of inheritance, and you become his only way out. Everything might seem so simple, just the way they are supposed to. But everything isn’t always what it seems, is it?
↳ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; involving explicit smut/mature scenes, violence and characters death, appropriate warnings will be applied on each chapter whenever necessary.
↳ Status/Total word count | COMPLETED JANUARY 2020 / 263,265 words
➥ Chapters
⇢ Chapter 01 | The Arrangements
⇢ Chapter 02 | Pledge
⇢ Chapter 03 | Secrets Within
⇢ Chapter 04 | The Alliance
⇢ Chapter 05 | The Common Enemy
⇢ Chapter 06 | Secrets
⇢ Chapter 07 | The Truth Unfold
⇢ Chapter 08 | The Hacker
⇢ Chapter 09 | Reverie
⇢ Chapter 10 | Bad Faith
⇢ Chapter 11 | Enlightenment
⇢ Chapter 12 | Tides
⇢ Chapter 13 | Beyond The Walls
⇢ Chapter 14 | Infiltration
⇢ Chapter 15 | Blood For Blood
⇢ Chapter 16 | The Fallen
⇢ Epilogue | The Aftermath
⇢ #001 | When he sneaks up on you in the shower
⇢ #002 | When he has a special way to wake you up
⇢ #003 | When you read him a special bedtime story
➥ Side Stories
➬ Title | G.H.O.S.T: The Hacker’s Tale — Carousel side story
➬ Pairings | Hoseok x OC (feat. Guess who?)
➬ Summary | Always have an escape plan. Jung Hoseok has always been the curious boy, too smart for his own good, and has lived on the edge for as long as he could remember. Living in the shadows, he had operated under the name “G.H.O.S.T” and nobody had ever managed to catch his trail. All except for one man, who had not only given him a chance for redemption, but also a reason for him to survive, and you, the shadow that he had overlooked for a long time, but always ready to come out into the light before he gets far too deep into his own darkness.
[Coming Soon! - Teaser 1 is available on Patreon; read teaser 2 here]
— pairings: Min Yoongi x female reader | genre: Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Princess!reader, Fantasy au, Fairy Tale retelling au, Faerie au, Angst, Mystery, Smut
— summary: A threat against your father’s empire has forced him to send you away from the only place you have known to be your home. From the heaven-like prison which you have always dreamed about escaping, only to find yourself in a new kind of confinement. Haunted by the questions about your father’s past and the dark tales that seem to follow him, the thousand mysterious doors and the secrets waiting for you to unfold, and the mysterious Prince that has been following your shadows between realms, you are off to a new adventure in the Land Far Far Away.
— full fic ratings & warnings: +18 / M for Mature; slow burn (…and I mean, really SLOW), this story may contain classism, threats of assassination, curses, dark magic, rumours about serial killers, mentions of abductions, mentions of arranged marriages, betrayal, manipulation, depiction of war, fantasy typical violence, mentions of blood and wounds, minor descriptions/depictions of injuries, fantasy weapons (swords, etc), mentions/depictions of death, mentions/depictions of domestic abuse, alcohol use — also includes mature and explicit sexual scenes, including: elopement, first time sex, sexual tension; specific warnings will be added into each chapter when needed
— status / current word count / total word count | ONGOING; latest update: chapter xxiii. serendipity-3 (Sept 9th, 2024) — 192,000 words of n/a words
Summary: Running a small bar in a quiet town near a military base was supposed to be your whole life; long nights, familiar faces, and the weight of debts that weren’t always yours. Love was the last thing on your mind, especially with someone like Taehyung: a charming, intense soldier serving his mandatory service before going back to his idol life. What started as stolen conversations and late-night flirtation quickly turned into something deeper, something that made you believe that maybe you could have more. But in a place where secrets don’t stay hidden and powerful people don’t like to lose, getting close to him might be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done. Can you really let yourself fall when everything around you is trying to pull you under? Or will loving Taehyung cost you more than you’re willing to pay?
Genre: Idol au, strangers to lovers, military era au.
Warnings: I always wanted to write Taehyung in the Special Duty Team, and what was supposed to be just a quick one shot became something with plot. I have been sitting with this story in my head since he enlisted, and I’m now finally able to get it out, since this boy decided to go wild for the Arirang tour. This story will talk about military life, mentions of the loss of a loved one (non graphic), debt, and mentions of mature themes, so be warned. I honestly love this story so much, because it became much deeper than I was expecting it. There’s also a lot of fluff, sweetness and smut along with the angst!
WC: 28k
The night started out pretty boring, which didn’t always mean a bad thing in this part of town. You much preferred the quiet and the regular patrons of the bar, instead of the trouble makers who sometimes walked in like they already owned this place. Even if it meant the tips were scarce and that you and the couple of girls who worked with you didn’t have a lot to do.
Two blocks away from the back gate of the Special Duty military base, Guardian’s Rest was the only real place to eat a properly cooked meal or drink for miles. It sat directly across from a brightly lit gas station with a CU convenience store attached, its faded green sign humming faintly in the night air.
Inside, your bar felt worn but cared for in all of the ways that mattered. The wooden floor was swept clean despite the scratches from scraping chairs, the counters polished until they gleamed under warm yellow pendant lights. Cracked leather booths lined one wall, patched here and there with tape, while metal stools stood in a neat row along the bar counter.
The air carried the familiar mix of grilled meat, soju, and a hint of lemon cleaner you used every night. A few framed photos hung behind the bar, old unit shots, men in uniform, quiet reminders of better days.
“Shadow boys incoming.” Mina announced from where she was standing near the front windows, the easy excitement carrying in with her tone.
Well, maybe it was still too early to call this night boring.
Not five minutes later the door swung open with the familiar jingle of the old bell you kept meaning to remove, letting in a rush of warm night air. Four members of the Special Duty Team stepped inside; Ji-hoon, the tall one with the easy laugh who had a major crush on Mina, Minseok, the quiet stocky guy who always ordered extra kimchi, and Hyun and Woo, the two sergeants who never never behaved like their titles demanded.
At least not when they visited the bar.
Walking in behind their loose formation was someone you didn’t recognize: tall, wide shoulders, sharp-jawed, black beret still slightly crooked like he’d just pulled it on. The new man moved with the same confident ease as the others, shoulder-checking one of them with a grin when the Ji-hoon ribbed him about something.
New military faces weren’t really that rare here, every year you got a new surge of fresh young men who thought the SDT would turn out to be just like their video games, most of whom didn’t last the first six months before asking to be transferred to another base.
But the way this new guy blended in so well with the four veterans, you could tell he had at least been around for a while, working hard enough to join this particular team and earning his stripes.
As the five of them walked in, taking their usual round table in the further left, scraping an extra chair so the new guy could sit with them, Mina walked closer to the bar, keeping her voice louder than you’d hope:
“We got new meat.” she chuckled, wiggling her eyebrows and throwing a charming look over her shoulder as one of the boys waved either of you over.
“You’re taking that or should I?” you asked, and before your friend could say anything else, you clarified: “The table.”
“You go ahead, I’m still ignoring Ji-hoon.” Mina shrugged, giving you the go ahead to serve them. “But share the tips if they are good.”
“You really break my bank, you know that, right?” you scoffed, but always agreed.
You and Mina traded places, with her going behind the bar, and you pulling your work phone from your apron front pocket. You might not have a lot of high tech at the bar, but at least you had an app where you could type the orders and they would go straight to Mrs. Kim in the kitchen.
“Good evening, boys.” you smiled sweetly at them as you walked to the table, watching them light up.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of being served by the owner herself?” Minseok offered you a little crooked grin.
“Not the owner yet,” you corrected him with a friendly hand on his shoulder. Then you nodded your head at Ji-hoon. “You can ask that one what he did now, because Mina won’t come near him.”
“That’s not what she was saying last night.” Ji-hoon was already standing up to chase after your friend, making his own groan and try to stop him without any success.
Out of all of the Special Team men that frequented your bar, these boys were your favorites. Yeah, Ji-hoon had a way of going through your waitresses, and Minjae liked to hit on you from time to time, but overall, they had never been anything but respectful to you and all the workers. They even helped paint the outside of Guardian’s Rest last year, without asking for any payment in return.
You could only hope the new guy would turn out to be just as cool.
“I see you adopted a rookie.” you looked at the new man, still leaning against Minjae’s shoulder, studying the new guy with a tilted head.
“That’s Taetae.” Hyun said, which earned him a scoff from the new guy. “He just joined the crew seven months ago.”
“Taehyung is fine, thank you.” the man introduced himself, taking his black beret off and placing it on his lap out of respect.
Then it clicked, now that you were closer, where you knew that face from.
Everyone and their mother would know BTS and you weren’t immune to kpop idols or pop culture, but this bar had seen many celebrities over the years; thanks to the mandatory military service that made sure even the most famous of idols were still forced to serve.
The most impressive part wasn’t that BTS’ V was in your bar right now, but that he obviously chose the hardest branch of the military to join.
“Welcome to Guardian’s Rest, Taetae.” you smiled, and watched his lips falter in a smile he was trying to hide. “Drinks on the house tonight.”
“Oh, fuck yeah–” Woo was about to celebrate, but you clicked your tongue.
“Not for you four, just for him.” you corrected, having a little too much fun with the way they all groaned. “It’s first time hospitality, don’t think your pretty face has anything to do with it.”
“I won’t.” Taehyung laughed under his breath, legs stretching under the table. His chest lifted just slightly, shoulders settling as his gaze drifted back to you. His eyes were dark and warm, with that shadow of mischief that explained how he ended up with this group. You appreciated that even after a full day of training he still smelled clean, like crisp soap and something faintly woodsy. “Do I get your name?”
“Once you earn it.” you told him with a small shrug, watching him lick the corner of his lips and nod slowly like he’d accept that for now. “So what’s it gonna be tonight, boys? Are we doing usuals or mixing things up?”
“Half & half chicken, two orders of kimchi jeon, and some seasoned rice.” Minseok told you their usual order you already knew by heart, making it easier for you to type it on the phone app. “We’ll have five beers with that.”
“Actually,” Taehyung lifted a hand just enough to catch attention, and you really hoped he wouldn’t ask for the expensive, top of the shelves liquor just because you said he could drink for free tonight. “Do you have any flavored soju?”
“I think we have peach and strawberry.” you told him, no judgment from you when the others clearly didn’t agree with the drink choice.
“I’ll have the strawberry, please.”
You finished typing the order just as Ji-hoon returned to the table, the softest smidge of lipstick on the corner of his lips like he was pretending he tried to wipe it off, but still wanted something to show off to his friends. Military men or not, they were still just boys at the end of the day.
You made your way back behind the counter, pulled four cold beer bottles from the fridge and grabbed a bottle of strawberry soju along with a small shot glass. The drinks clinked together as you loaded them onto a tray before balancing them with practiced ease back to the table.
The guys were already loud and lively then, voices overlapping as they roasted Ji-hoon about the lipstick mark. Taehyung leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest of another one, laughing along with the rest while shooting you another quick glance as you set the bottles down.
You didn’t linger any more than you had to, just placed everything in the middle of the table with a small nod and turned back toward the counter.
That was when tires screeched sharply outside, cutting through the quiet night. Your stomach dropped instantly, as you unfortunately knew that sound a little too well. You heard it at least once a month for the past three years, and when that used to be your uncle’s problem, now that the man was gone, it had become yours.
Please, not tonight, you thought, holding onto hope and you sent Mina a quick look. She caught it immediately and slipped behind the counter, disappearing into the kitchen without a word.
The front door opened a second later and Mr. Han stepped inside.
He was dressed in a crisp button-down under a black suit, no tie around his thick neck, with expensive-looking slacks, but his graying hair was slicked back too harshly and his yellow teeth showed when his lips pulled into a thin smile.
Mr. Han walked straight to the counter, his expensive shoes clicking against the wooden floor. He leaned one forearm on the polished surface like he belonged there.
“Evening, Yn.” he said, voice low but carrying. “Month’s payment. I’m here to collect.”
“I paid everything I could last week.” you hated how your voice trembled around the words. “It’s only been seven days since then, it’s not–”
“You didn’t pay the full amount, did you?” Mr. Han pointed out, and you hated every moment he spent in your safe space. “Interest keeps running. You know how this works.”
A few heads turned your way as Mr. Han wasn’t an anonymous figure in this town by any means. And he’d been to the bar quite a few times, with requests exactly like this one, for patrons not to guess what it was about. From the corner of your eye you saw the boys’ table go rigid, Ji-hoon’s laugh cut off mid-sentence, Minseok’s shoulders squared, like both were ready to intervene if this conversation lasted much longer.
“Can you come back in a couple of hours?” you lowered your voice, trying to keep this contained. “I’ll sort it out, just– not right now.”
Mr. Han glanced around the room, clearly enjoying the attention he was getting, and more than happy to make you squirm.
“I’ll just stay and have a drink, then.” he decided, perching himself on a bench by the counter between you. “You know, catch up with the regulars.”
Your stomach twisted at that possibility, because that was much worse. Your throat tightened with a lump as you took two steps towards the register, punching the code and watching the old machine open. There wasn’t enough in there to pay all the workers for tonight’s shift as it was, you didn’t know how you’d tell Mina and Mrs. Kim that you had to give whatever little you had to pay someone else’s debt.
But you took the money anyway, along with the small stack of tips you had in your pocket from waiting tables tonight, and slid the money towards the collector.
Mr. Han took it with that yellow smile of his and counted the bills slowly, thumbing through each note as if he wanted you to see his disappointment.
“You know I’m not trying to hurt you here, right?” he looked up after pushing your money into the breast pocket of his suit. eyes flat. “I’m just trying to get what I’m owed.”
You said nothing because there was nothing worth saying and you refused to let him see the tears you were fighting back.
“I’ll see you in two weeks.” he threatened more than warned.
Mr. Han gave the room one last sweeping look, then turned and walked out. The door shut behind him with a quiet click that stayed in the air long after the footsteps faded.
You stood there behind the counter, hands still pressed flat against the wood. The bar had gone quiet in a way that made every small sound feel too loud: the low hum of the fridge, the soft clink of ice in someone’s glass, the creak of a chair as someone shifted. You wanted the relief to come, the chance to pull in one full breath, but your chest stayed tight, the pressure sitting right behind your ribs like something heavy had settled there and refused to move.
Eyes were on you, you could feel them without looking up. Some carried that familiar pity, the kind that made your skin crawl because it changed nothing. Others held judgment, the quiet kind that assumed you must have made the kind of choices that led to men like Mr. Han.
None of them knew the whole truth, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter.
You wanted to run, to turn around, push through the back door, and keep walking until the night swallowed this whole mess. Instead you wiped your hands on the front of your apron, and forced your legs to move with as much grace as you could manage. You kept your head down as you stepped out from behind the counter, the floorboards uneven under your shoes, but they still felt like home.
On your way to the bathroom, you passed the circular table without looking at any of the boys you’ve grown so fond of. You knew they would be watching, you felt the weight of their attention on your back, on the side of your face, but you did not turn. Not even a glance. Your hands stayed loose at your sides even though your fingers wanted to curl into fists.
You pushed the door to the women’s bathroom open, stepped inside, and closed it behind you with a soft click. The lock turned under your fingers and for a second you just stood there, palms pressed against the cheap wood, forehead resting on it.
Then your legs gave out.
You slid down the door until you were sitting on the cold tile floor, knees drawn up. Your hands came up to cover your mouth, pressing hard so nothing loud could escape. The pressure in your chest pushed harder, rocking through you in tight waves. You breathed through your fingers, short and shaky, eyes burning but staying dry. You could not fall apart here. Not completely. There was still a shift to finish, bills to pay, and a room full of people waiting on the other side of that door.
But for this small moment you let yourself feel it. The fear. The exhaustion. The sick weight of knowing two weeks would come faster than you could fix anything.
-
-
“Thank you, both of you. For staying late again tonight.” you walked the two women to the front door of the bar, all three of you knowing they had stayed past hours just to make sure you wouldn’t need to be alone for any longer than necessary. “I’m sorry about the payments. I won’t let it happen again.”
Mina waved a hand, already pulling her coat on.
“Stop that. We’re good, Yn. Really.” she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around you in one of her quick, tight hugs. Her jacket smelled like cigarette smoke and the vanilla lotion she always kept in her locker. “Besides, Ji-hoon left me some decent tips tonight. I’ll be fine.”
“My husband is doing well at the gas station.” Mrs. Kim gave a small nod while buttoning her cardigan, her movements slow but always steady. “They’re talking about a promotion next month. We’ll manage until things settle.”
You knew neither story was completely true, you could hear the careful softness in their voices, the way they tried to make the words sound light, like your bad luck wasn’t harming them at the end of each work week. Still, the thought settled warm in your chest.
“Thank you.” you gave them both a small smile and nodded.
Once they left, you locked the front door with the carefulness you didn’t need once upon a time. The keys felt cold and heavy in your hand as you turned the deadbolt, then slid the extra chain into place. You turned around slowly, eyes moving across the room; chairs were tucked neatly under tables, the floor already swept, glasses lined up behind the bar. Everything sat ready for tomorrow’s noon opening. The sight should have felt comforting, instead it only reminded you how much still needed to stay standing.
You turned off the lights one by one and the main room went dark in stages until only the faint glow from the exit sign and the streetlight outside the front windows remained. In the sudden quiet you walked back to the kitchen, grabbed your bag from the hook by the staff door, and slipped the strap over your shoulder.
Outside, the night air hit cooler than you expected, which made you regret deciding against your jacket when you left home this morning.
You locked the back door carefully, checking the handle twice, then bent down for the two black trash bags you had left by the step. They rustled as you lifted them, the plastic slick against your palms. The bin sat a short way down the alley. You carried the bags over, heaved them inside, and wiped your hands on your jeans.
You were just turning toward the street when movement caught the corner of your eye.
Kai stood leaning against the side wall of the bar, half-hidden in the shadow where the security light had burned out weeks ago. His shoulder pressed to the brick, arms loose at his sides, like he had all the time in the world. He knew your routine, had learned it long enough for you to be uncomfortable. The way you locked up alone, the exact path you took to the trash bins, the minute or two it took before you headed for the bus stop.
Your stomach rolled hard, a sour push that made you swallow fast. You held it down the same way you had held everything since his father first walked in tonight. The taste stayed at the back of your throat anyway.
You were so tired... Your shoulders ached from carrying trays and tension for hours, and now this. You knew what Kai wanted, and you knew what he was capable of when he did not get it. The knowledge sat cold under your skin.
Despite the exhaustion, you were raised to survive and to keep going. Your eyes flicked across the street, to the gas station lights that were still on, bright white against the dark. Mrs. Kim’s small car waited in the usual spot near the pumps, her husband visible through the window as he finished closing.
If you had to, you could scream. You could run. Someone would hear. Someone would look.
“I don't have any more money, Kai.” you told him with a sigh as you kept walking.
“You know that's not what I want.” he said, tone too gentle to match his morals. “I can get you out of this debt, baby, you know you just need to say the word.”
“As much as I appreciate the way out, our time isn't up yet.” you said, and felt the small shiver running down your spine when he started to follow after you.
“You really think your uncle will honor that?” Kai asked, and you hated how you both knew the answer to that. “He hasn't been in town for the past five months.”
“Just because you haven't seen him at the bar, doesn't mean he skipped town.” you lied through your teeth.
Well, you had no idea, actually. One day, your uncle simply stopped showing up to his own bar and stopped answering your calls. Your best guess was that he ran away, leaving you behind to deal with his mistakes.
“We own this town, baby.” Kai gloated, and the only reason you stopped walking was because you refused to give him your back. “Han has eyes everywhere, so unless uncle dearest hasn't left his apartment in five months…”
You wouldn’t put it past your uncle, actually. You loved the man, he’d raised you from when you were fifteen and was the only family you had in this town. But he had his demons and sometimes they made him make bad decisions. Like selling your soul to the local devil and running away before he had to see it taken.
“Why don't you let me make it easier on all of us?” Kai reached you in two steps, and you hated how you stumbled backwards. “Let me collect now, the debts will be cleared by sunrise.”
“And I'll become a slave.” you swallowed, but held your shoulders up.
“That hurts.” Kai placed his hands over his heart, like you were offending one here. “I wouldn’t treat you badly, you know me.”
“Hardly.” you rolled your eyes, already disgusted.
“I can be gentle…” another step. A rough laugh. “The first time.”
“Please leave, I have work tomorrow.” you sighed, holding the straps of your bag so you wouldn’t hurt your palms with your nails.
“Let me take you to dinner,” Kai said, looking at you in a way that made your skin pull tight. “Can’t have you eating leftovers or cup ramen everyday. You need your strength for when I get my hands on you.”
Another voice cut through the night, deep and low: “I’d keep those hands to myself, if I were you.”
You did not recognize the voice right away, so the new sound sent a fresh spike of anxiety through your chest, sharp enough that your fingers tightened harder around the straps of your bag. Then you saw the uniform jacket, the rows of decorations on the chest, and your stomach flipped again.
Taehyung was still here. Or he had come back. You could not think clearly enough to decide which one was more likely.
“‘the fuck are you?” Kai asked, stepping forward. He was not bothered by the uniform. The two men stood almost the same height, same width in the shoulders, facing each other like neither planned to back down first.
“Seargent Kim, special division.” Taehyung answered, voice calm. His posture said something else entirely. “And you are?”
“Her boyfriend.” Kai said without hesitation, claiming something that had never been his.
You scoffed before you could stop yourself, shaking your head. The sound came out tired and disbelieving. Taehyung’s mouth curved slightly.
“She doesn’t seem to agree with that.” he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, looking every bit the warrior the title named him to be.
“She likes playing hard to get, you know how they are.” Kai tried, shifting into that fake friendly tone men sometimes used with each other.
Taehyung did not smile back. He took two steps and placed himself between you and Kai, his back solid and close enough that you could feel the warmth coming off his jacket.
Usually you would have stepped around him and handled this yourself, you had done it plenty of times before. But tonight your legs felt too heavy and your chest too tight. The weight of Mr. Han’s visit, disappointing Mina and Mrs. Kim, everything pressed down at once from all sides.
“I know you should leave.” Taehyung said simply.
Kai stared at him for a long second, his jaw worked like he wanted to argue, maybe even throw a punch, but something made him think better of it.
“I’ll see you again soon, baby.” he looked past Taehyung’s shoulder at you instead. “You better have the money. Han isn’t as nice as I am.”
Kai turned and walked toward his car parked along the sidewalk, got in, and the engine started a moment later, loud in the quiet street, and the headlights swept across the front of the bar as he drove away. The small parking lot stayed dark except for the single motorbike near the side entrance, probably Taehyung’s.
The moment the taillights disappeared around the corner, the air left your lungs in one long breath. Your shoulders dropped and the relief came so fast it made your hands shake a little where they still gripped your bag. Right now you only felt grateful that, for once, you had not been left alone with Kai.
“Did I make it worse?” Taehyung asked, turning around to face you. The sharp edge he had worn with Kai softened the moment it was just the two of you.
He looked younger suddenly, more boy than warrior under the flickering side light of the bar. You shook your head, still feeling a little raw around the edges.
“I don’t think that’s possible.” your voice came out quieter than you meant it to. “Thank you, seriously. You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” he smiled, small and easy, and for a second you got a little lost in it. The way the corners of his eyes creased, the warmth that reached somewhere you had not expected tonight.
“Usually I’m better at handling this, but tonight I just–” you stopped yourself, suddenly feeling a little silly. “Sorry. You don’t care about my rambling.”
“Actually I could use a rambling that doesn’t involve drills and weapons talk.” Taehyung said with a low chuckle. “Or Ji-hoon hyung’s unhealthy obsession with Mina.”
A real laugh slipped out of you, surprising you with how warm it felt in your chest. It was the first one that had felt genuine all night.
You stood there together for a moment as the summer breeze moved through the alley, lifting strands of your hair and pushing them away from your neck. You barely noticed how Taehyung’s gaze followed the motion, settling on the part where your neck and shoulder met, then a small peek of collarbone before avoiding it altogether.
You felt the weight of his stare, warm and steady. You were used to men looking at you, you had learned how to use it for better tips, how to smile just enough without giving anything real. You weren’t necessarily coy by any means, but Taehyung was just so handsome even under this unfairly soft light that you didn’t know how to recover.
“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked, voice casual like the offer cost him nothing.
You nodded toward the bus stop a few meters down the street: “You can walk me to the bus stop.”
Taehyung glanced at the watch on his wrist, checking the time. He thought about it for only a second, then looked back at you.
“Can I drive you home instead, then?”
You didn’t know what it was about a man in that particular uniform, it's not like military men were necessarily always nice or safe to be around. Working this close to the base, you met quite a few scumbags who thought they could get away with being handsy just because of the badges strapped to their chest.
But the special forces were usually a different story.
“I don't want to keep you.” you said, thinking back of the base he needed to go back to, and just how far away your apartment complex was. “Don't you have a curfew?”
“My day off just started fifteen minutes ago.” he told you easily, and you didn’t want to think about excuses anymore.
That’s what made you nod, watching his eyes light up in surprise and satisfaction. Taehyung led you to his motorcycle, keeping his respectful distance and hands at his back.
“I just have one helmet, so you can take it.” the man told you like he suddenly didn’t care about his own safety, taking the one black helmet that was hanging from the handlebar.
“Isn't this illegal?” you halted. “You could get in trouble.”
“I would be in more trouble if something happened to you, trust me.” he clicked the straps of the helmet open, handing it to you. “That lady cook is scary.”
“You wouldn't be wrong.” you laughed, reluctantly taking it.
Taehyung stepped closer and helped you settle the helmet properly on your head. His fingers worked carefully under your chin, tightening the strap until it felt secure. The back of his knuckles brushed your jaw once, warm and steady. When he was satisfied, he gave the top of the helmet a light pat.
“Take this. It gets cold.” he shrugged off his black uniform jacket and held it out to you.
You took it without arguing, you had worn jackets like this before, but the weight of it felt familiar in a way that pulled at something old in your heart. You pushed your arms through the sleeves. The fabric carried his warmth and a clean, subtle scent that settled around your shoulders.
Taehyung pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to you.
“Can you put in your address?”
For one long second you thought he was going to ask for your number instead. The silly assumption made your face warm. You typed the address quickly and gave the phone back.
He strapped it to the visor, then swung one leg over the motorcycle. The black Harley looked smaller under him. His shoulders filled the space, thighs steady on either side of the tank. He twisted the handle, and the engine roared to life, the deep sound making you jump and you laughed at yourself.
You climbed on behind him after that.
There was not much room at all, no choice but to have your thighs pressed against the outside of his, the heat of his body immediate through the thin denim. You rested your hands lightly on his back at first.
“You need to hold on better than that, hustler.” Taehyung chuckled, the sound low enough you felt it under your palms.
The word landed soft in your stomach, after everything Kai had thrown at you tonight, so ‘hustler’ felt different.
You slid your arms around his middle and locked them properly, his body surprisingly solid in all of the right places. When Taehyung twisted the throttle again, the engine rumbled louder. You held on tighter as the motorcycle rolled forward, the night air already starting to move against the jacket sleeves.
The motorcycle moved smoothly through the quiet streets, the engine a low steady rumble under you. Taehyung followed the GPS without hesitation, turning when the screen told him to, his body leaning slightly with each curve. The summer night air filled your lungs and cooled your cheeks as you kept your arms wrapped around his middle, feeling the shift of muscle as he handled the bike.
Even though he was still mostly a stranger, you felt safe in a way you had not expected. Part of your brain kept repeating the same thing: that’s because you knew him. Not personally, but from the news, from the posters, from the way people talked about the idols. Kim Taehyung, or simply V. The name carried weight in this country. Your mind had decided that someone millions of people cared about could not hurt you.
Still, you used to be sharper with strangers, famous or not.
The ride stayed easy, since it was late enough that most lights stayed green and the streets were nearly empty, which you were thankful for since only one of you had a safety helmet.
It was only at that realization that you thought about how crazy it was that he had given you the helmet. That he had decided your safety mattered more than his in that moment. While this man was the one who meant something to millions, and you could count on one hand the people who would even notice if you disappeared tomorrow.
A little while later the motorcycle finally slowed and Taehyung turned into the entrance of your apartment complex and parked near the front steps. If he noticed how lower middle class it was, when he was probably used to high luxury, he didn’t comment on it.
You climbed off the bike, legs a little stiff, and unbuckled the helmet.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” you said, handing it back. “And again, for what you did back there.”
“Don’t sweat it.” he took the helmet with a genuine smile that reached his eyes.
You slipped off the jacket next, hoping it did not smell too strongly of the alcohol you’ve been handling all night and the bulgogi Mrs. Kim had fried at the last hour. You folded it carefully and gave it to him.
“I saw you leave with the veterans.” and… Just because you could not leave it unsaid, you asked: “Why did you come back?”
Taehyung looked at you for a moment, the streetlight catching the side of his face.
“You never told me your name.”
-
-
Taehyung held his tray with both hands, careful enough not to drop any of the food balanced carefully on it, as he ventured around the cafeteria of the base. The familiar midday rush was already filling the long room, with metal trays clattering against tables, voices overlapping in easy bursts of laughter and half-shouted stories; the warm smell of rice, grilled meat, and kimchi hung thick in the air, always smelling better than it tasted.
Lunch was the one stretch of the day that felt almost ordinary, like the base forgot for forty minutes that they were all soldiers ready to go to war if the North decided it was time. Taehyung liked it for that reason, no drills, no orders, just the low hum of people being people.
Taehyung scanned the rows of tables out of habit, eyes moving across the sea of twin uniforms even though he knew exactly where his friends would be. Same corner table by the far window, same loose arrangement of chairs.
Most of the faces around him still looked too young, smooth cheeks and bright eyes that had not yet carried the full weight of the years he had lived before enlisting. Tae felt the difference in his shoulders sometimes, a quiet heaviness that had nothing to do with the pack he carried on marches. A few heads turned as he passed, no matter how many times he’d been seen in this camp before.
Some soldiers tried to hide it, others did not bother to pretend. The stares were the same ones he had gotten since the first week: half awe, half disbelief that the man from the Grammy stages was now just another private carrying a tray of bulgogi and rice. He had stopped minding it months ago. It was easier to let them look than to pretend he was invisible.
Since Tae was the rookie, if compared to his closest friends at the base, the group of veterans that took him under their wing two weeks into serving, it meant he always fell to the end of the meal lines, and by the time he made it to the table, his friends were already there. At least Minseok had the decency to pretend to wait for Taehyung to join them before he started scarfing down his lunch.
“What was up with you today, bro?” Hyun didn’t even wait for Tae’s tray to touch the table top before accusing: “Your time was awful during drills.”
“It was still better than yours.” Taehyung shot back, sitting down with more force than needed, making the folding chair complain.
“I'm older than you.” the hyung shot back, about to scold him for disrespecting the elders.
“By less than a year.” Taehyung said, picking his chopsticks and starting to eat.
Taehyung was used to eating fast, in the Bangtan early days, if he didn’t, he’d go without food because everyone else would finish whatever little food they had to share. Here it was a different kind of feeling. His tray was filled with more food than he’d consumed during a lunch before; when he’d always been worried about staying light and keeping weight off, here he enjoyed bulking up. All of the protein in his tray made sure he was well fed so he could handle the harsh drills.
Like the one today, which he was eight seconds slower than he’d been last week, as his friend so kindly pointed out.
But here, he ate fast for another reason entirely. As soon as he finished his meal, he could do whatever he wanted with whatever time was left. Taehyung could nap, read a book, walk around the camp, sit under a tree. Having the freedom of choice to do what he wanted with his time, when the rest of it was minutely timed by his superiors and packed into schedules that made his muscles hurt.
It was something so trivial and normal, and now that he didn’t have that type of free will anymore, he desperately held on to the fifteen or twenty minutes he managed to save every other day.
“Don't give him too much shit, he's in love.” Ji-hoon said from the other side of Taehyung, between sips of his water bottle.
“What?” Minseok’s eyes were wide saucers.
Taehyung scoffed with his mouth full of rice. “'fuck you on about?”
“You talk in your sleep you know?” Ji-hoon continued, which made Taehyung freeze for half a second.
“What did he say??” Woo leaned forward on the table, like a girl waiting the gossip. “Was he having a wet dream??”
“Ew?!” Minseok made a face and eyes his plate with disgust, like the mental picture was too much, but it only lasted for a second before he continued eating.
“It happens–” Woo looked really offended by the older man’s reaction.
Taehyung ignored them both to ask: “What did I say?”
Taehyung knew he talked in his sleep, especially when he was stressed. Back at home, it happened during comeback preparations and before whatever new album they were working on had to be approved by the company. During the week before their debut showcase, in fact, Taehyung talked so much that Hoseok-hyung almost smothered him with a pillow to get him to shut up.
But here in the military, being stressed was his normal, everyday state, so he hadn’t really been doing it. Not that he was aware of, at least, and Ji-hoon and the other guy he shared a tent with hadn’t complained until today.
“Nothing cohesive, but you did mention the word 'bar' a couple of times.” Ji-hoon said, and Tae almost regretted asking.
“You got a drinking problem we should be worried about?” Woo asked, suspicious.
“Not that I know of.” Taehyung shook his head, shoving pieces of unseasoned grilled meat into his mouth.
And then, ignoring Taehyung’s pleading eyes of ‘shut up now’, Ji-hoon said: “You also mentioned Yn a couple times.”
That was enough for the other three to erupt in cackles and ‘oooohs’ that were too loud for Taehyung’s liking.
“You met the girl once and you're already dreaming about her?” Minseok asked, as if he hadn’t been the one melting under your hand on his shoulder three days ago. “I know we can get needy while we're locked up in here, but damn.”
Because he wasn’t really the type of guy to remember his dreams, unless they involved his grandmother. But you just had a way of getting stuck in Taehyung’s head that he couldn’t tell if his thoughts happened when he was asleep or awake.
Apparently both.
He couldn’t help it when you left such an impression. You were beautiful, yes, obviously so. But it was more than that… You also had a thunderstorm behind your eyes, holding so much on your shoulders, in ways Taehyung couldn’t even comprehend without gathering more information, that he was afraid you might break.
Yet you kept getting up again, every time he saw you.
A hustler if he’d ever seen one.
“What's the deal with that Han guy?”
Taehyung’s question was enough to shut his friends up, which never ever happened. If Tae didn’t think you were in trouble before, he did now. The four hyungs looked at each other, as if mentally discussing amongst themselves who would be the one to answer.
With each second that ticked by without an answer, Taehyung became more concerned.
“He's a loan shark who runs half this town.” Woo started, and Taehyung lost his appetite. “At least the other side of the tracks.”
“Mina told me Yn's uncle owes him a lot of money. Like... A lot of money. More than what the bar is worth.” Ji-hoon continued then, and the other guys paid attention too. “The uncle dipped town so he wouldn’t start losing fingers every time he failed a payment.”
“Jesus.” Taehyung swallowed hard, feeling the meat scratch his throat uncomfortably. “And he left her alone to deal with it?”
“It's worse than that.” Minseok was staring at the table when he said: “She's the collateral.”
The words dropped straight into Taehyung’s stomach. His chopsticks stopped halfway to his mouth, the piece of meat suddenly too heavy on his tongue. His throat worked once, twice, trying to swallow what now felt lodged there. The whole cafeteria noise dulled for a second, like someone had turned the volume down on everything except the tight press of his own pulse in his ears.
Tae kept seeing it in his head... The bar with half the tables empty even on a weekend night. The two lights outside that still needed replacing, their bulbs dark and useless. Your apartment complex under the streetlight, honest and simple, nothing like the places he was used to taking for granted.
He remembered Mr. Han leaning on that counter like he already owned it, forcing you to empty the register and dig into the earned tips. You had done it without fighting back, handing over money you clearly did not have just to buy yourself two more weeks.
And none of it was even your debt. You were paying for mistakes your uncle had made, and if the money ever ran out completely, you would be the final price.
Taehyung pushed his tray forward an inch when the food no longer looked like lunch.
“She's a person, not an item to be given.” Taehyung grumbled, jaw ticking.
“These guys don't play by the rules, if you haven't noticed.” Minseok kept his tone just as quiet.
“What else did Mina say?” Taehyung looked straight at Ji-hoon, who looked conflicted between keeping your secrets and being honest.
“She said that Yn hasn't left town because too many people depend on their jobs at the bar to survive.” Jihoon finally answered. “This shithole isn't exactly bursting with opportunities for the locals.”
“It's a shame her uncle is such an asshole, she's a really nice girl.” Minseok chewed on his cheek, looking younger than he was and his military ranking allowed. “Everyone here likes her.”
“We even thought about creating a fund to help pay the debt, but Han wouldn't take it.” Ji-hoon continued, clearly not happy about any of that. “His son is obsessed with her.”
“Kai?” Taehyung’s mouth moved before he could think better of it.
“How do you know that name?” Woo asked, suddenly concerned.
Taehyung didn’t need to answer for his friends to take a wild guess that he might have run into the guy, even if they didn’t know what he had to watch you deal with.
“Bro. Stay out of it.” Ji-hoon warned. “I'm fucking serious.”
“He's right, Tae, these people are messed up.” Minseok agreed. “You're too valuable–”
Tae shook his head. “Why does that matter?”
“Because if something happens to V of BTS while in the special units, how do you think the country will react?” Woo was back in sergeant mode, lunch was over. “Our name will be dragged through the mud, the fucking government will get involved and this could all be shut down.”
Ji-hoon nodded, even if it hurt. “Duty over matter.”
-
-
You were in big trouble, which was the understatement of the year when basically all aspects of your life were falling apart around you. Mr. Han hadn't been back in two weeks, and you hadn't seen Kai for just as long, but instead of being relieved by it, you couldn’t help but think they were preparing something big.
Your rent was three months late because you just couldn't afford it when every penny had to go into paying your uncle's debt when he was nowhere to be found.
And now you had a fucking crush.
Because sure, what else could make your life just a little harder for you?
Wanting someone so ridiculously unobtainable that just last night you had a pity party for one over the last scoops of ice cream you found in the back of your freezer.
But you couldn’t help yourself! Not when Taehyung kept coming back every two days, whenever his drills and time off allowed, sometimes with the other guys, sometimes by himself just to pick up some food to go and bring back to the base.
Some days their runs passed right in front of the Guardian's Rest, and even in the middle of a hundred other men, your eyes still found him every single time.
That's how you knew you were practically screwed at this point.
Not only was that man attractive as hell, he was also the funniest in a very weird way. And he was kind, soft spoken even when his friends were being loud, an easy company to keep. Being around him made you forget your problems for a few minutes, which was more than you had in months.
You kept catching your heart trying to leap out of your chest every time the bell above the door rang, hoping it would be Tae again.
Sometimes, it was just a few of the regulars or deliveries you also could barely pay for. But other times, like today, it was him.
The bell above the door rang again just after twelve-thirty, cutting through the Monday lunch noise. The place felt busier already than it had yesterday, which was usual for mondays once upon a time, but not recently.
A young family sat in the corner booth, the dad helping the little one with chopsticks while the mom wiped recently spilled sauce from the table. Over by the side, four gas station workers were laughing loud enough to fill half the room, their uniforms still carrying the smell of diesel as they ate lunch. In the far booth, two school-age teenagers had notebooks and textbooks spread out, heads bent together as they worked through homework and stole bites of complimentary fries.
For the first time in weeks, Guardian’s Rest actually felt like a bar again instead of a place just trying to stay open for one day.
At the new bell warning, you looked up from where you were standing in the salon and there they were: just Minseok, Woo, and Taehyung today. It was rare to see any of them on a Monday, especially since all three wore civilian clothes, so you guessed they must be having some kind of day off already.
Taehyung looked particularly breathtaking even in simple jeans and a plain white tee that sat close across his shoulders and chest, the fabric stretching as if trying to fit his new build. He scanned the room until his eyes found you and the smile that spread across his face was soft and open, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.
You smiled back before you could stop yourself, the warmth hit your chest uninvited, quick and bright, but right after it came the familiar twist. Nope, not today. Nuh uh, you could not do this today. Not with him looking like that.
Your heart was already beating too hard against your ribs just from the way his hair was already a little longer, you didn’t need his jeans sitting low on his hips, risking exposing a bit of stomach if he raised his arms too much .
You refused.
The last thing you needed was to stand here feeling stupid and hopeful while the rest of your life stayed messy.
You wiped your hands on the front of your apron and tried to keep your face normal, watching as the boys headed toward their usual table. Taehyung’s gaze stayed on you a second longer than the others, like he was checking if you were okay.
You might never be okay ever again, but you could run away from at least some of your problems.
“Hey, can you take the tables?” you leaned over the counter, right in front of Mina. “I'll cover the bar.”
“You hate covering the bar during lunch rush.” the girl lifted her head to look at you with suspicion written all over her face. “What's up?”
“Please.” you groaned, trying not to use the boss card unless she forced you to.
Mina snorted a little laugh with the desperation she picked up from you, which you’d admit wasn’t a good look, but at least you could say it was unusual. Then she looked around with lines between her brows as if trying to check if there was anything actually wrong, and you could see it in her knowing smile just when she realized what was causing this out-of-character reaction.
“Ohh, I see.” she grinned, giving up on wiping the laminated drink menus. “It’s the new pretty boy.”
Mina didn’t ask any questions, but you answered anyway: “No.”
“Yes it is, she was googling his songs during breakfast.” the voice came from behind you, as Sana passed by with the dirty plates she took from the family in the booth.
“Yah!” you snapped your head at the day-time waitress, wishing you had given her the day off.
“Alright fine, I’ll take the floor.” Mina sighed dramatically, adding: “Just because I know what it’s like to be tangled with a military boy.”
You wanted to point out that there was no tangling happening, and if there was, you and Taehyung would never be as messy as Mina and Ji-hoon. But! No tangles! Just an almost-bar-owner and an idol-turned-special-unit.
You traded places with Mina, already feeling safer back there, as if you were behind a thick wall and not a bar counter that had seen better days. Besides, Mina was a lot faster taking orders and delivering plates than you were, you always found a way to stay a few seconds more and chat with the tables.
You’ve practically lived in this bar since you moved in with your uncle at fifteen, so everyday after school you’d come in and help him with the workload. You knew all of the patrons by name, and they knew you, so it was easy to get carried away with ‘how have you been?’ and ‘little Seungkwan is already graduating? Wow!’.
“Hi.”
His deep baritone came accompanied by the musky, clean scent that followed him around, making you both hate and appreciate the sharp breath you sucked in involuntarily.
When you looked up, Taehyung was already seated in one of the bar stools, making you wonder how long you were zoning out for.
“Hi.” you repeated, brain completely blanking after those two letters.
Get it together.
“Busy day?” Taehyung asked you with that habitual slight tilt of his head.
“Yeah, but I like it. Means it’s louder than my thoughts.” you replied, but grimaced just as the words came out of your mouth. “Damn, that was depressing.”
“A little.” he laughed, running a hand through his hair as if forgetting it was now shorter than it used to be.
“Sorry.” your nose scrunched.
“It's fine.” Taehyung was still smiling and you hoped he’d never stop.
“How’s training going?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“Kicking my ass, that's for sure.” he chuckled, rolling his shoulders as if he could still feel the aching in his muscles. And if you had to guess, you’d say those pains never went away.
“You do know you could have chosen an easier military branch, right?” you said, leaning forward with your hands on the counter, just to have somewhere to put them. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”
“Yeah, but what's the fun in that?” he shrugged, leaning forward from his side, resting both stretched forearms in front of him and you could almost feel the ghost of his touch.
“You chose the special unit because you thought it would be fun?” you asked, equally surprised and confused.
“I chose it because if it's something I'm forced to do, then at least I would get to try something different.” Taehyung explained, like it was no big deal.
You nodded. “That's fair.”
“I didn’t know I'd have to learn how to climb down the side of a building, though.” he admitted with a grimace, pulling a face that still didn’t make him any less handsome. “Terrible for my fear of heights, I tell you.”
“Did you do it?” you wanted to know as you leaned in just a little closer, clarifying: “Climb down the side of the building?”
“I didn't have a choice, you either go down on your own or they push you down.” Taehyung told you with a whisper, as if letting you in on a military secret.
“Seriously?” you decided to amuse him, gasping.
“Oh, yeah.” he said. “They can be very convincing.”
Then you recited what had been drilled into you decades ago: “Swallow your fear and complete the mission.”
“Exactly.”
If Taehyung wondered how you knew that motto, he didn’t ask. It was easy to assume you learned from working so close to the base, when half of your regulars were military men. And he still wouldn’t be wrong.
“Yo, lovebird.” the shout made both of you look at the table where Woo and Minseok were sitting.
“What?!” Taehyung groaned out.
“We'll start without you.” Minseok pointed to the lunch that had just been served in front of them.
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” he waved his friends off, turning back to look at you with a small nervousness that wasn’t there before. “That's uh, stupid nickname they give you at the squad.”
“Sure.” you giggled, because you realized he was suddenly shy.
Taehyung watched your face, and your lips, and then anywhere but your face as he reluctantly got down from the stool. You could tell he didn’t want to go back to the table, but for your sanity, and for his own schedule, he had to.
But not before testing your previous theory about heart problems.
“Hey, so... Are you busy this weekend?” Taehyung asked, hands still on the counter as his biceps flexed unfairly. “We're having a friends and family event at the base.”
“The summer festival?” you frowned slightly, pulling it from memory based on the month. “Is it this weekend already?”
“So you've heard of it.” he moved his weight from one foot to the other. “Will you come?”
“Don’t you need an invitation for that?” something deep inside you fluttered at his question.
“I'm inviting you.” Taehyung said, direct and earnest.
“What about your family?” you asked him, just because you knew the event was a limited people situation and you wouldn’t want to take Tae’s chance of spending time with his parents or siblings that he probably hadn’t seen in months.
“They can't make it.” he told you simply, reading where your mind was going next as he said: “And my members are all serving in other branches, so they can't come either.”
“It could be fun.” you agreed with a grateful smile.
“Sergeant Kim!” Minseok yelled again, which made Taehyung’s posture go instantly rigid and straight, out of muscle memory as if he was about to salute an official.
A second later, realizing it was just his friend being an ass, his shoulders dropped and he said:
“I have to– but I'll see you–”
-
-
You sent Mina home earlier tonight, because she covered the lunch shift, and Mrs. Kim had left twenty minutes ago, her husband waiting in the car with the engine already running.
The bar was quiet for a while now, just you and the low hum of the fridge that started threatening to quit even though it was so not the time for that. You finished locking the front door as usual, sliding the chain and bolt into place, then moved through the room turning off the lights one by one as always.
In the kitchen you picked up the list Mrs. Kim had left on the counter, scanning the items –almost out of onions, cabbage, and the big bottles of soy sauce again– and made a quiet mental note to call the supplier first thing in the morning. Maybe you could negotiate a little more time on the payment.
Your thumb rubbed over the edge of the paper as you tried to calculate how much you could stretch the next deposit.
A sound outside made you jump.
It came from the back parking lot, a low grunt, something heavy hitting the ground, then shuffling footsteps and muffled voices. Your stomach dropped fast and you stood still for half a second, heart already hammering against your ribs, before you reached under the counter and grabbed the old baseball bat.
You pushed the back door open slowly, meeting only darkness at first, since the third security light had burned out again, leaving the lot mostly in shadows. Movement was the only thing that tipped you off of the two figures who were shoving a third man on the concrete.
“Hey, assholes!” you shouted, stepping out with the bat raised. “I called the police! Get out of my parking lot. Now!”
The two men turned to the sound of your yell. They looked younger up close, barely into their half twenties. Their eyes widened when they saw you coming at them with the bat and for a second they froze, then scrambled, grabbing at each other as they ran toward the street like cowards.
“Jesus Christ–” you turned back to the man still on the ground and the word died in your throat. “Tae?”
Taehyung was already pushing himself up into a sitting position, one hand pressed to his side. “I’m good… I’m fine.”
You dropped the bat with a clatter and crouched beside him in the same second. Your knees scraped against the rough concrete, but you could feel the sting of it later. Up close you could see the sweat on his tanned skin, the wet darkness running from his nose and the corner of his eyebrow. Your chest tightened so hard it hurt to breathe.
“You’re bleeding.” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You looked at the way he kept holding his side, like that was where it hurt the most. “Did they cut you?”
“Just scrapes.” he tried to shrug it off, but the small movement made him hiss through his teeth.
Your hand moved without thinking and you held his chin gently, turning his face from side to side under the weak light, checking the split skin. Your fingers trembled slightly against his jaw, but you kept your touch soft.
“What happened?” you asked, voice low as if speaking louder could hurt him, too.
“They were waiting for you.” he told you and your stomach dropped harder, a cold weight that spread through your whole body. “I jumped them before they had the chance, though.”
“You–” the words tangled in your throat. Part of you wanted to thank him, another part wanted to scold him for being reckless. “Two against one?”
“If I’m being honest I didn’t see the second one at first.” he laughed quietly, even though it made him wince.
“Will you let me take a look at you?” the words felt heavy on your tongue because he was hurt because of you, and the sight of blood on his face made something twist tight behind your ribs.
“I have more pride than that.” Taehyung tried to push himself up with a quiet grunt and his balance wavered for a second and he caught himself, one hand braced against the concrete. “I’m fine.”
You stepped in anyway, slipping under his arm so your shoulder fit against his side. Your arm went around his back to support his waist, careful not to press where it hurt or jostle him any more than necessary.
“As far as I know, you can get a penalty for fighting civilians,” you pointed out, keeping your steps slow and steady. “So you can either let me take a look at you or I’ll write a note to your supervisor and have you on onion cutting duty for two days.”
He went quiet. You felt the small jolt of surprise run through his body before he let out a long sigh, half amused and half betrayed.
“You really are a hustler.” his weight leaned a little more into you. “Okay, fine.”
“Let me grab my bag and we can go.” you helped him over to the back wall of the bar so he could rest against it while you went inside.
“Go?” confusion slipped into his voice and he blinked at you like the word did not quite land, and worry flickered through your chest that maybe he had hit his head harder than he let on.
“To my place.” you explained, keeping your tone soft even with anxiety lodged deep in your chest. “I’m not staying here and waiting for those goonies to come back.”
“Goonies?” Taehyung laughed despite the pain, one hand pressing to his side as the sound turned into a wince.
“I like eighties movies.” you shrugged, relieved that at least one of you seemed to be taking this lightly.
-
-
You didn’t think Taehyung had taken a bus in the last decade of his life. Unless you counted the airport shutters to take him from one airplane to another, or a tour bus, maybe.
But here he was, sitting next to you on your way home after you refused to get on his bike with the way he could barely stand on two feet. In the bright lights of the bus, you could already see a small bruise already starting to show under his eye, he definitely had a cut on his eyebrow, and his nose most likely wasn’t broken, but he’d taken a punch hard enough to make it bleed.
Before you left the bar, you’d taken a few ice cubes and wrapped them up in a tea towel, which now Taehyung held against his face to help with the swell. It had earned you a second look from the bus driver, who kept checking on the two of you from his rearview mirror. At least the two of you and an old lady were the only ones taking the bus, and you highly doubted she would recognize him as V of BTS.
The walk from the bus drop off to your apartment complex was short, thankfully, and Taehyung swore he was feeling better and his ribs didn’t feel broken like he feared. He was breathing better now, too, which you appreciated. Still, you stayed close to him the whole time, his arm around your shoulders as you tried to hold some of his weight for him.
You only parted from him once you reached your apartment door, which had a paper stuck to the wood, with big red letters that absolutely mortified you.
‘DEBT NOTICE’.
It’s not like you didn’t know you owed rent, you just didn’t want Taehyung to see it thrown in your face like this. And he was so polite that he didn’t ask, in fact, he pretended not to notice it altogether.
“Just another man asking me for money I don’t have.” you said, trying to joke about it while also wanting to be honest. Because if this man was bleeding for you, at least he had the right to know why.
You pulled the paper out, hating how the glue of the tape was now staining your door until you had time to scrape it off like you had done all of the previous times. Taehyung waited patiently for you to find your keys in the bottom of your bag so you could unlock it and let the two of you inside.
You removed your shoes at the smallest landing known to men, eyes quickly scanning your apartment to make sure nothing was too messy or out of place. Taehyung already saw the testimony of how you did not have any of your shit together at the moment, he didn’t need to see any dirty laundry thrown about.
“You can sit anywhere you want, I’ll be right back.” you told him, letting him do his thing and not feel too pressured to hold back any reactions from seeing your tiny apartment.
Because your home was small, the kind of compact one-bedroom unit you’d find in any quiet town outside the big cities; affordable, unassuming, but undeniably yours. The main room served as both living area and kitchen, with pale wood laminate floors that you kept spotless and a faint, comforting scent of vanilla and warm linen lingering in the air from the reed diffuser on the windowsill.
A soft beige sofa took up most of one wall, its cushions neatly arranged and draped with a simple cream throw blanket you’d picked up at the local thrift store. Across from it sat a low coffee table with a few coasters, a small stack of books, and a single potted fern that somehow still thrived under your care.
The kitchenette was tiny but organized, which you prided yourself in, white cabinets, a two-burner stove, and a small fridge adorned with a couple of handwritten notes and a magnet from Busan. Nothing flashy, just functional.
A narrow hallway led to your bedroom and the bathroom, both doors currently closed. You opened the first one, going into the bathroom and crouching down to search your small counter for the first aid kid you kept around for emergencies.
You really hoped Taehyung didn’t need any serious care, because all you had at hand was the very basics for treating stove burns and kitchen knife cuts.
You stepped back into the living room with the small emergency kit in your hands, the plastic case cool and a little slippery against your palm. Taehyung was sitting on the floor, back resting against the base of the couch, knees bent and arms loose across them.
At least he had turned on the warm lamp in the corner between the wall and the couch; its low glow spilled across the rug and caught on the edge of his jaw. The rest of the apartment stayed dim and quiet, the kind of late-night hush that made every small sound feel close.
“When I told you to sit anywhere, I meant like the couch, or a chair.” you said, the words soft around the edges of a small smile as you eyed him there on the floor.
“Your couch is too clean and my clothes are dirty from falling on the floor.” he answered, voice lower than usual, eyes round and almost innocent in the lamplight. The sharpness from earlier at the bar had smoothed out of him, leaving something quieter, almost careful.
“That’s very thoughtful.”
You hadn’t expected that look from him, or how much the room had settled now that the two of you were alone and away from everything outside. The quiet pressed in from all sides, warm and a little unsteady, but not uncomfortable. You felt it in the way your steps slowed as you moved closer, the way the floorboards creaked faintly under your weight.
You lowered yourself to the rug right next to him, close enough that your knee brushed the side of his thigh when you settled. The emergency kit went on the low coffee table with a quiet plastic click. You opened the lid and let your fingers move through the supplies, checking what you had, buying a second to steady the way your pulse had picked up.
“Can I?” you asked, barely above a whisper so it wouldn’t break whatever new space had opened between you. He nodded once. “It might hurt.”
“‘is okay.” he said, the words almost slurred, tired.
Taehyung turned his face toward you and leaned in just a little, offering the cut along his brow bone, the tiniest cut at the bridge of his elegant nose. The movement brought him closer than you had ever been, close enough that you caught the faint warmth of his breath and the clean salt smell of his skin.
It made the work easier, sure, but it did nothing to quiet the heavy thud of your heart. Your fingers stayed gentle as you dabbed at the dried blood with a cotton pad wet with the bottled saline solution, the cotton pad coming away faintly pink.
“I didn’t know you were like that.” he spoke so quietly you almost missed it.
“Like how?” you asked, exchanging the cotton pad to a new one to clean the dry blood under his nose above his lips, noticing the faint moles he had there.
“Bratty.” he chuckled before clarifying: “When you threatened to tell my supervisor.”
“I'm not bratty–” you gasped at the accusation, which only made him laugh harder and wince from the pain it caused. “I've just been around military men my whole life, the bar is two blocks away from the base. You learn how to deal with guys like you.”
“I can see that.” if he minded what you said, he didn’t show.
Because telling Taehyung that you’ve never met someone like him in your life felt too forward. Too telling.
The ice he had pressed to his face earlier had done its job; the swelling on his cheek bone had gone down, but you could already see the bruise blooming underneath, deep purple at the edge that would darken more by morning.
You studied his face while you worked, letting yourself look longer than you needed to; he had a small mole just below his right eye, too. Your thumb brushed the skin beside the cut on his brow, light as you could make it, checking for anything you might have missed, and you felt the small shift in his breath when you did.
You kept your touches careful, the guilt sitting heavy but quiet in your chest, showing only in the way you lingered a second longer than necessary, the way you made sure nothing hurt more than it had to. He was here because of you, and now he was in your space, tired and close and looking at you like the rest of the world had fallen away.
You didn’t say any of it, you just kept working, slow and steady.
You held the side of his face with careful fingers, just to turn his cheek more fully toward the lamplight. But you couldn’t help but drag your thumb across the smooth skin of his good cheekbone, feeling the faint warmth and the small shift under your touch. You didn’t know when you would ever have the chance to touch him like this again.
The thought made you feel bad, because you didn’t want this if it meant he was hurting. Your hands dropped back to your lap as you decided you were done cleaning him up.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked, the words quiet, almost like the lack of your touch had bothered him too.
“Of course.” you nodded and reached for the kit, fingers moving through the small packets until you found the tube of ointment.
“How do you know so much about the military?” he said. “Because working close to the camp doesn’t explain how you know our mottos.”
“My dad was a Lieutenant Colonel at your camp.” It felt easy to say it to him.
If it had been anyone else, you would have avoided speaking altogether. Taehyung let that sink in, and you could see the way his brain worked as he tried to remember everyone he knew at the camp, the stories he had heard about fallen heroes.
“Park?” he repeated your last name, and you nodded. So he made the connection. “‘The’ Lieutenant Colonel Park?”
“So you heard of him.” you looked down at the ointment bottle in your hand, turning it slowly and pretending really hard to read the expiration date as if it was more important than his recent discovery.
You kept turning the ointment tube between your fingers, the plastic smooth and cool, while Taehyung’s voice filled the small space between you.
“Every member of the special unit has. He’s a hero.” he said, the words warm with clear admiration. Then his tone softened, almost careful: “Was… I’m sorry for your loss.”
The words settled over you, the kindness in which Tae offered them to you.
Your father had been kind in a way that made people trust him without questioning, brave enough to spend his whole life in the military, the kind of man who would have been working alongside Taehyung right now if things had gone differently.
The mission that got him killed had been labeled routine, something easy that he’d done a dozen times before. You had been fifteen when the call came, old enough to understand that he sacrificed himself to protect his squad, but not brave enough to ask for the rest of the details.
And you still weren’t. All you had ever needed to know was that he had died doing what he always did, looking out for the people around him.
“Thank you.” you said, the smile small and genuine because his condolences didn’t feel like politeness. They felt real. “Yeah, that’s how I know so much. I grew up around it.”
Taehyung stayed quiet for a beat, then his voice came again, still soft but carrying a new edge of boldness as he said:
“I was thinking you had a military boyfriend serving somewhere.” he sounded almost playful. “Had hoped it could at least be an ex.”
“No military boyfriend.” you laughed, the sound shy and too full of everything you felt for this man, heat rising fast in your face. “No exes either.”
You reached for the cap for the ointment tube, fingers a little unsteady as you tried to twist it. Before you could manage it, Taehyung’s hand moved over yours, warm and steady, covering it completely. You looked up then, and his face was close enough that you could see the faint flecks of gold in his dark eyes and the way his gaze had dropped to your mouth, open and unguarded.
Your heart fluttered hard against your ribs, making it difficult to pull in a full breath, but the closeness felt right too, like he was sharing his own air with you.
“Don’t look at me like that…” you murmured, the words barely loud enough to be heard.
“Why?” his free hand lifted, brushing the smallest strand of hair behind your ear. His voice had gone low and raspy, the sound brushing across your skin.
“Because I have rules.” you fought to hold his eyes even as warmth flooded your cheeks and neck, the heat making your pulse feel too loud.
“What kind?” he asked, just as low.
“The kind that doesn’t let me get involved with people who leave.”
You didn’t mean that whatever this was had to last forever, you just wanted the possibility that someone might stay long enough for it to matter. In nine months, Taehyung’s service would end and he would go back to Seoul and his famous friends and expensive life. You couldn’t let yourself start something that had an expiration date already written on it.
Taehyung’s thumb kept moving in that slow, careful stroke, his hand still warm over yours on the ointment tube.
“I’m really good at breaking rules, hustler.” he rasped, and that stupid nickname was all it took.
Because when so many people in your life had already left you, what was one more?
You leaned in before you could talk yourself out of it, closing the last inch and pressing your mouth to his. For half a second he went completely still against you, surprised, and then you felt the grin slowly curve against your lips. His hand moved to the back of your neck, palm broad and steady, fingers sliding into your hair as he pulled you closer.
The kiss started gentle, careful, just the soft warmth of his lips meeting yours and the shared, slightly shaky breath between you, but neither of you could keep it that way for long.
The kiss deepened slowly, growing heavier, like the relief of finally giving in was too much to hold back. His tongue traced the seam of your lips and you gasped softly, parting for him without thinking. The first slow slide of his tongue against yours sent heat blooming low in your stomach.
He tasted faintly sweet, and the way he explored your mouth was unhurried, thorough, and hungry, making your fingers curl into the front of his stained shirt. His hand at your neck tightened just slightly, thumb pressing into the sensitive skin below your hairline as he tilted his head and kissed you deeper, slower, like he wanted to learn every part of the way you felt against him.
Your heart hammered hard in your chest and you could feel the steady thud of his pulse too where your bodies pressed closer together, his chest rising and falling against yours.
When Taehyung tried to tilt his head to the other side, his nose brushed yours, and he winced. You pulled back instantly, eyes searching his face.
“That wasn’t you.” he assured you with a chuckle. “My nose still hurts.”
“Sorry.” you said, sheepish, heat still burning across your cheeks. Then, because your curiosity always won in the end, you asked: “Was that your first kiss since you joined the military?”
“It’s been longer than that.” he admitted, no shame in it at all, his lips still brushing against yours with every word. “Could you tell?”
“A little,” you answered, smiling. “But I liked it.”
You leaned forward again and caught his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging gently before letting it go. The sound he made then, a low, surprised moan that vibrated against your mouth, might have been the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. His breath hitched hard.
“Stop hustling me.” he said, sounding completely wrecked and out of breath. You were the one grinning now. “I literally cannot take this teasing right now.”
“Then I probably shouldn’t ask you to take off your shirt, then?” your head tilted in a way you had definitely picked up from him.
Taehyung actually groaned, eyes falling shut for a second like the words had hit him somewhere deep. Somewhere low. When he opened them again the look he gave you was so openly hungry it made your stomach flip. You lifted the ointment a little higher, voice softer now but still teasing:
“I need to take a look at those ribs.”
-
-
The bed Taehyung slept on nowadays was a lot more comfortable than the ones in the communal tents new recruits were put in during their first two weeks at the base, and incomparably better than the sleeping bag he resorted to whenever they had field trips in the forest.
But he still couldn’t find a good position to lay in, when everything around him annoyed him. The bedroom was too empty of the things that brought him joy; there were no paintings on the walls, no other furniture beside the two bunk beds and small lockers where his belongings were shoved into. There was no color besides green and grey, no record collection, no distractions other than the one book he’d stolen from Namjoon, and most definitely no you.
“Are you gonna be sulking all day?” Ji-hoon snorted from the bed next to Taehyung’s as he tied up his boots tight enough so they wouldn’t fall off his feet during training today.
“What do you think, hyung?” Taehyung just grumbled, crossing his arms to his chest and looking annoyed as fuck.
“I think you should be grateful that you got away with a ‘day off’ and not a write up.” Ji-hoon was annoyed about Taehyung’s annoyance, picking the crisp white pillow from Minseok’s bed and throwing it at him.
Taehyung caught it right away, throwing it across the room instead. “It’s not a day off if I can’t leave the camp, is it?”
“Would you rather I tell Lieutenant Jung that you’re feeling well enough to run the drills today?” his friend threatened, and Taehyung held his tongue, because he did have a point. “Maybe I’ll strap an extra 20kg to your bag for almost breaking your face.”
“I was defending my girl, doesn’t that count for shit in this camp?” he grumbled under his breath.
Ji-hoon took a long and hard look at Taehyung then, the kind that told Tae that hearing him refer to you as his girl softened something reluctant in Ji-hoon. Maybe it was that claim itself that finally sold Ji-hoon on the fact that Taehyung was serious about you.
And then Ji-hoon was letting out the world’s longest sigh as he stood up from Minseok’s bottom bunkbed and walked all the way to the corner of the room.
“It does, because that girl is like a sister to me.” Ji-hoon replied. Kneeling on the floor just off to the side of his locker. “Which is why I’m going to show you something, but I swear to fucking god, if you mess this up–”
That had Taehyung’s interest growing exponentially, sitting up so he could watch the other man shove his arm behind the locker and feel around as he looked for something.
“Don’t tell me you have drugs in there.”
“Shut up.” Ji-hoon hissed, then pulled out a brown paper envelope and from inside of it, he produced a cellphone. “This is private.”
“Shit.” Taehyung’s eyes went wide with the thought of his friend hiding a phone in their room, where it was strictly prohibited to have any type of communication with the outside world. “You mean contraband?”
“In here, that’s the same thing.” Ji-hoon stood up and walked back to Taehyung, turning on the phone.
“Why are you showing me this?” he asked.
“Because you won’t be able to see your girl again before the summer festival, and I don’t want to come back here and after a long day and have to hear you complaining about it.” Ji-hoon was not wrong about that, but Taehyung also didn't say that.
Instead, he let hope replace frustration. “So I can call her?!”
“Yeah, but be fucking quiet about it?!” Ji-hoon hushed, looking at the door as if expecting Major Jungwi to come bust their asses at any moment. “We could both get kicked out if they find you with this.”
“Thanks, hyung.”
Taehyung got up from his bunkbed and hugged Ji-hoon, holding the older man's head to kiss his forehead with a smack. It made Ji-hoon complain with a grunt and push him off without real strength, handing Taehyung the phone with one last warning look.
“Her number is already saved there. Just don’t call anyone else.” Ji-hoon warned, walking to the door before he was late. “And don’t fucking look at the camera roll.”
Taehyung laughed. “Would I find Mina’s nudes?”
“And my fucking dick, so it’s up to you.”
Taehyung waited for his friend to leave before locking the door and securing it. If one of the Majors really wanted to get into this room, they would definitely have the master keys, but at least it would give Taehyung enough time to hide the phone before they did.
Nowadays, in his rank and division, Taehyung was allowed a lot more freedom when it came to calls and using his own private phone, but there were still rules about it. Like no phones in the bedrooms, and no unsupervised use while inside the base grounds.
So just by holding this phone right now, Taehyung could go to jail. But at least you'd be his last phone call.
Taehyung was relieved to find the phone had no password, which sounded a little reckless when he thought about it, but it made it easier to go into the short list of contacts and find your name.
A few beeps later, the call connected. At least he thought it did, but you still didn't say anything.
“Hey, hustler.”
“Tae?” you finally replied, along with a breath of relief.
“Forgot my voice already?” Taehyung laid back down against his thin pillow, ignoring how the back bar of the bed dug into his shoulders.
“No, I just…” you hesitated a little, then your explanation made him feel bad. “This is an unknown number, so I thought it could be Mr. Han.”
“Fuck, I should have texted…” he winced at his own lack of common sense. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I’m glad it’s you.” you were smiling on the other side, he could hear it in your tone. “How is it you, by the way? Usually the camp calls go through a landline and they tell you who’s calling before they transfer.”
“I told you I’m good at breaking rules.” the excitement from talking to you like this beat any anxiety from breaking said rules, but he was still careful with the volume of his voice.
“Who’s the hustler now, huh?”
He grinned. “Still you.”
Taehyung looked at the door of the bedroom when he heard rushed footsteps approach, the unmistakable sound of heavy boots he was more than used to against the concrete floor. He held his breath for a moment, but then the steps went away and down the corridor; someone was probably late for drills. Yikes.
“Did you get into too much trouble, with your face and bruises?” you asked, shuffling slightly on the other side of the line.
“Nah, hyung covered for me. Said we were training and I fell from the climbing wall.” Tae chuckled, remembering how he had to act it out for their superiors that his wounds were a few hours fresher than they were.
“That’s good.” a yawn. Damn, it was still early, Taehyung didn’t even think that he could have woken you up. “Did they let you rest?”
“Yeah, I’m having time off.” even if it felt like jail time. “But I can’t leave the base camp, so I’m stuck here.”
“Oh.”
Something in your tone shifted around that tiny sound, and Taehyung couldn’t help it:
“You sound disappointed.”
“Do you want me to be?” your voice was so soft that you couldn’t have been awake for longer than an hour.
“Are you?” he pressed, hoping you might indulge him.
“Yes.” and you did. “But I’m glad you could at least call.”
“Me too.” the hand that wasn’t holding the phone against his ear moved behind his head for extra support and comfort. “I was gonna go crazy just staring at the ceiling all day.”
“Are you at the top bunk?” you asked, curious, and Taehyung looked around as if about to describe the room for you to picture it.
“No, the bottom.” he looked up again, seeing the bottom of Ji-hoon's bunk staring back at him. “So I guess I’d be staring at wood planks.”
“I wonder how much the rooms have changed since I was there last.” you said, and it was easy for Taehyung’s imagination to picture you there.
“Did you ever come here with your dad?” he asked you as carefully as he could manage, given the delicate subject. He didn’t want this conversation to turn sour.
“All the time.” your tone stayed light. “I actually loved it there.”
Taehyung scoffed lightly. “Easy for you to love it when you’re not forced to stay here.”
“Are you looking forward to leaving?”
Your question came out locked and loaded, with so many nuances around it that it made Taehyung sit with it for longer than he should. Did he enjoy this same everyday routine? No. Did he miss his family, his friends and members? Yes. Was he ready to be on stage again? Desperately. Was he looking forward to leaving?
You cleared your throat. “Sorry, that was too much.”
“It wasn’t,” he shook his head for the ghosts in the room. “It’s just that I was surprised by how fast I wanted to say I’m not.”
“What makes you want to stay?” you asked, knowing the answer for it already.
“There you go, hustling me again.” Taehyung smiled, chest lighter than it felt in months.
“I’m just saying, if one kiss was enough to change your mind,” you started, sounding too nonchalant for the words that came out of your mouth next: “How will you feel when I really get my hands on you?”
“Well, fuck.”
Taehyung couldn’t hold back the curse, not expecting this to be the direction this conversation took whatsoever. Like at all. His reaction and little choppy breath made you giggle on the other side of the line, like that was exactly you were expecting.
“Are you at the bar?” he asked, because that information seemed important if you were going to start talking like this.
“Nop. Still in bed.” as if to prove it, you let out a long groan that was followed by the rustling of sheets, as if you were stretching. “Gave myself a late morning today, Sana can open for lunch.”
Taehyung definitely thought you deserved a break, and he didn't need to be a genius to know you didn't allow yourself many of those. You were his little hustler, after all.
And then his mind went places.
He hadn't been to your room last night, stayed in the living room like a good boy, but he wondered if it was just as girly and pretty as the rest of it. If your bed was big enough for everything he wanted to do to you on it.
“You went awfully quiet.” you noticed, too innocently. And then surprised him again: “Won’t even ask me what I’m wearing?”
“I have more class than that.” his laugh was always easy with you, ridiculously so. “And you’re bold over the phone.”
“I’m bold in real life, too, just not with you.” you admitted. “You make me nervous.”
“Good nervous?” he asked, a little too interested in the answer.
You hesitated before the words came, soft and steady. “The type of nervous that would make me do anything you ask.”
He nodded to himself, the movement small against the thin pillow. There was nothing he could say to that without pushing things further, and the last thing he wanted was to pressure you.
Then you took his breath away completely:
“Does your door lock?”
“Yeah,” he said, voice dropping without meaning to. “Why?”
“Because I’ll do anything you ask over the phone, too.”
Taehyung’s body reacted instantly. Heat rushed low in his stomach as his cock twitched hard inside his pants, already more than halfway hard from every teasing word and little sound you had made. He shifted his hips on the mattress, trying to ease the sudden ache, but it only made the fabric pull tighter against him.
“It’s locked, hustler.” he could hear how low his own voice had gone. “Now tell me… what’s going through your mind?”
“Just hoping you’ll kiss me again when I see you next.” you said, the words gentler now. He heard the soft rustle of sheets on your end and pictured you turning onto your stomach, legs shifting under the covers because talking to him like this made you too restless to stay still.
“Is that the only thing you want me to do when I see you?” he wanted to push you just a little, see how far you would let him take this.
“Not really…”
“Don’t get shy on me now,” he said when your answer didn’t feel like enough. “A minute ago you had more words than that.”
“That’s because picturing you in your bed right now is making it hard to think.” your laugh came through the phone, soft and a little embarrassed, followed by more shuffling.
“What is it you’re picturing?” his free hand slid down his own stomach and pressed against the growing bulge in his camo pants, giving himself some slow relief. “I might tell you if you’re right.”
“I don’t have a uniform kink,” you said after a thoughtful pause, “But it looks too good on you, so I think you’re wearing that.”
He glanced down at himself, smiling at your easy guess. “I am.”
“And I also think you’re starting to get hard.” your voice had gone dulcet, almost sweet, and it made his cock jump again under his palm.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he clicked his tongue. “I’ve been hard since you picked up the phone.”
“I also think you’re big.” the words came out like a whine and he bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to feel the sting.
“You think what is big, hustler?” he pressed again, voice rougher now.
“Are you gonna make me say it?” you groaned, the sound sending another pulse straight to his cock.
“If you want to have it next time I see you.” he threatened, low and steady.
Taehyung waited, patient. He had nothing else to do today and the hallway outside had gone blissfully quiet, so he could let you take your time. His body didn’t agree, as his cock jumped inside his pants at every soft breath he caught from your side of the line.
“I think you have a big cock, Tae.” you said at last, the words careful. “And that I might have trouble fitting it in.”
“I’ll make sure it does.” he answered, voice low as he squeezed himself through the fabric, trying to hold back the sudden flash of pushing into your tightness. If he let the full picture form in his mind he would be finished.
“Can I have it in my mouth first?” the plea came soft and open, and his eyes fluttered shut for a second.
“You can have it anywhere you want.” he nodded to the empty room, the motion small against the thin pillow. “Do you like sucking cock?”
“I never tried it,” you admitted. “Guys have asked before. I just never did it.”
A quick, sharp twist moved through his chest at the mention of anyone else being close enough for asking, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the way your voice sounded right now. “Why do you want to do it now?”
“Because it’s you,” you said, and he could hear the smile in it. “And because I heard how you sound when you moan. I bet I can pull more of those with just my mouth.”
“I’ll make you work for it.” he warned, stroking himself slowly over his pants, the pressure enough to make his hips shift on the mattress.
“Don’t you mean you’ll make me ‘hustle’ for it?” you giggled, light and teasing, and Taehyung let out a frustrated groan.
“Damn, that was a perfect one. I can’t believe I missed that.” he laughed again. “You’re making it hard for me to think straight, too.”
“Are you touching yourself, Tae?” his nick name sounded too intimate when you said it like that.
“Just over my pants.” he told you, grimacing at how tight the fabric felt. “Scared I might burst as soon as I touch it for real.”
“You haven’t jerked off since you’ve been in here?” the teasing tone was impossible to miss.
“It’s kinda hard to find alone time in here, and when I have days off I’m still not alone.” another downside of being enlisted that he wouldn’t miss.
“That kinda makes me want to hang up.” you sounded like a little devil. “Save all that pent-up energy so you can paint my tits instead.”
“Fuck–”
The line went silent against his ear, so Taehyung pulled the phone away and stared at the screen. You had actually hung up! He snorted, half in disbelief and half in helpless amusement, then called you back right away. Three long rings passed and his stomach tightened with the ridiculous fear that you might actually stay true to your word and not pick up again.
But of course you did.
“The fuck.” he complained.
You laughed on the other end, clearly delighted with yourself for the little stunt you had just pulled. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”
“That was cute.” he warned. “But don’t do it again.”
“Is that a threat?” there was more shuffling on your end, and he pictured you pushing yourself up to sit against the headboard of your bed. He imagined it in some soft, non-obvious color, maybe butter yellow.
“It’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.” the words hit him low in the stomach.
“Good girl.” he heard the small gasp you let out and filed it away in his mind like something precious. “I might just paint your face instead.”
The moan that left you then was high-pitched and needy, and it went straight to his already aching cock. Taehyung wanted to hear that sound again and again.
“Are you touching yourself?” he asked.
“I have way less self-control than you…” you mused. He could hear your breathing growing deeper, heavier.
“Maybe I should make us even and hang up too,” he tried, though you both knew it was an empty threat.
“You won’t.” you called his bluff without hesitation. “You want to hear me fuck my fingers.”
He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a second, fighting a grin.
“Put me on speaker and place the phone on your pillow.” he waited until he heard the faint click and the change in sound quality. “Now take off your underwear and tell me how wet you are.”
“Shit…” you cursed softly. There was a pause, the rustle of fabric, and then your voice returned. “It’s very wet.”
“Words, baby.”
“My pussy is wet, Tae… Fuck.” you sounded annoyed at having to spell it out, and he found that ridiculously hot.
“Don’t get mouthy on me now.” he said, trying to sound stern even as a wide grin spread across his face.
“Then you better come here and make it busy then.” you snapped back, though the small whimper at the end ruined any real bite.
“I can make it busy from right here.” his head tilted out of habit. “Take those fingers out of your pussy and bring them to your mouth. Let me hear you suck on them like you want to do to my cock.”
You obeyed without hesitation. The wet, obscene sound of you sucking on your own fingers came through the phone, and Taehyung’s eyes slipped shut. The image hit him hard, you on your knees in front of him, pretty mouth stretched wide around his cock, cheeks hollowed, those same wet sounds echoing while you looked up at him with watery eyes. The fantasy was so vivid his breath caught.
He quickly wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, freeing both hands. Fingers worked fast on his belt, the metal buckle clinking softly, then the button and zipper of his camo pants. He shoved everything down just far enough to pull his cock out. It sprang free, heavy and aching, the head already slick with pre-cum that smeared across his palm when he wrapped his fingers around the base.
“Fuck…” he breathed, squeezing hard at the root to keep himself in check.
He was leaking steadily now, throbbing in time with every wet suck and slurp coming from the phone. The pressure built so fast he had to drag in a slow, deep breath, chest rising sharply.
And then you gagged.
The choked little sound went straight through him. His hips twitched up into his fist on instinct, another bead of pre-cum sliding down the length of his cock as he pictured your throat tightening around him.
“Take them out, baby,” he said, voice low and steady. “Slow. And bring them down between your legs. I want you to circle your clit for me.”
There was a soft, shaky exhale on your end as you obeyed. He heard the faint shift of sheets again.
“Tell me how it feels,” he continued, keeping his tone calm even as heat coiled tighter in his stomach. “Is it swollen? How wet are you right now?”
“It’s… really sensitive.” you answered, already a little breathy. “And swollen, yeah. I’m so wet, Tae. It’s embarrassing.”
He smiled to himself, the confession going straight to his cock just like everything else you were doing.
“Nothing embarrassing about it.” he reassured you, just in case you needed it. “Spread that wetness around. Nice slow circles. Just like I’d do with my tongue if I was there.”
A small whine slipped out of you. “Feels good… but it’s not enough. I want more.”
“I know.” he murmured. “Keep going. Tell me every time it feels better.”
While he listened to your breathing grow heavier, Taehyung brought his free hand to his mouth and spit into his palm. There was no lotion or lube in this bare room, and he wasn’t about to start wondering what else Ji-hoon or Minseok might have hidden. Instead he wrapped the slick hand around his cock and started stroking himself in long, lazy pulls, matching the slow rhythm he was giving you. The wet sound of his own hand was quiet, but it mixed with your little gasps in a way that made his thighs tense.
After a few moments he spoke again:
“Now slide one finger inside, baby. Just one. Go slow… exactly how I would.”
You let out a soft moan as you did it. He could hear the faint, slick sound of your finger moving.
“Fuck… it feels nice but–” you complained, voice turning pouty.
“Add another one. Two fingers.” Taehyung chuckled under his breath, still stroking himself in that same unhurried pace. “Curl them up for me.”
You did, and the moan that followed was louder, needier.
“You know… I don’t think I have a g-spot. I think it’s a myth.” you told him out of blue and he couldn’t help the fondness to overtake him.
“It’s not a myth, hustler. I promise you.” he actually laughed, low and amused, hips rolling up into his fist once before he slowed himself again.
“I’ve searched for it before.” you grumbled, still sounding pouty even as your breath kept catching. “No one else– fuck– found it either…”
“Then you didn’t have the right person helping you.” he replied, voice warm but firm. “When I see you, I’m going to prove it. I’ll take my time, keep my fingers right there until your legs shake and you can’t even say my name properly.”
You whimpered at that, the sound turning into a shaky little moan as you kept moving your fingers. He answered with moans of his own, still stroking himself languidly, thumb brushing over the slick head of his cock on every upstroke.
“Faster now.” he told you, his own hand still moving in those slow, lazy strokes along his cock. “Rub your clit while you fuck yourself with those fingers. Don’t be gentle about it.”
You obeyed instantly, the change in sound was immediate; wetter, quicker, more urgent. Your breathing fractured into shaky little gasps that quickly turned into moans.
“Tae…” you whimpered, his name already sounding broken.
“That’s it.” he murmured, eyes half-closed as he pictured you spread out on your bed. “If I was there right now I’d push your thighs open wider and bury my face between them. I’d lick you so slow at first, just dragging my tongue over that swollen clit until you’re shaking. Then I’d suck on it, hard, the way you need it.”
A loud, needy moan spilled out of you. “Oh my god, Tae– please–”
“I’d slide my tongue inside you too, taste how wet you are for me. Keep fucking you with it while my thumb rubs your clit.” he kept talking, voice steady even as his own cock throbbed hot and heavy in his fist. “You’d be pulling my hair, wouldn’t you? Trying to keep my mouth right there.”
“Yes–, yes, I would.” you gasped, the words tumbling out faster. “Tae, I’m so close already…”
Your voice was getting higher, more desperate, every moan and broken breath feeding straight into him. He stroked himself a little tighter, matching the rhythm he could hear in your fingers.
Then he heard the tell-tale hitch in your breathing, the way your moans started pitching up further.
“Slow down.” he ordered suddenly, firm. “Stop moving your fingers.”
“What, why–” a frustrated whine tore out of you, but you still obeyed. “I was so close–”
“I want to hear you beg for it.” he gave his cock one slow tug, then stopped too, letting the ache settle deep. “Come on, hustler. Use that pretty mouth and tell me how badly you need to cum.”
You stayed quiet for a second, breathing hard. Then another small, embarrassed whimper came through the line.
“Please, Tae… I need it. I’m so wet it’s dripping down my thighs and I– I can’t think straight. Please let me cum.”
“Alright, baby.” he said, voice rough. “Fuck yourself harder now. Two fingers, deep. And keep rubbing your clit.”
“Fuck, yes–” you moaned loudly in response, the wet sounds from your fingers growing faster and messier.
“That’s it. Just like that.” he matched you, stroking his cock quicker, fist tight and slick. “When I finally get my hands on you I’m gonna cum all over your tits… Then your face if you’re good for me.”
Your moan cracked into a desperate whine, his name spilling out again and again. The sounds you made, high, needy, and completely unrestrained, pushed him right to the edge. He barely managed to yank his shirt up with his free hand before heat slammed through him.
You came first, your moan broke into a long, shaky cry as your orgasm hit, and the sweet, filthy noises you made tipped him over instantly. Taehyung groaned deep in his chest, hips jerking as he spilled across his own stomach in thick, warm stripes. He kept stroking himself through it, breathing hard, until the last pulse faded.
For a moment there was only the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath.
“Did you cum?” you asked, soft and content, a little smile in your voice.
“All over myself.” he laughed, still blissed out and slightly dazed. “Made a fucking mess I don’t know how I’ll clean up.”
“Sucks to be you.” you giggled, light and playful.
“Come here and clean it yourself, hustler.” he shot back, grinning even as he shook his head.
You moaned again at that, the sound low and warm, and his grin widened.
“Come here and cuddle me…” you told him in return, voice sweet and a little shy now.
His chest tightened, because he wanted that so badly it almost hurt. Stupid fucking rules that prevented him from taking his bike all the way to your apartment complex so he could do exactly that. And then go for rounds two and three.
You both stayed silent for a while, just breathing together through the phone. The quiet felt comfortable, but a small worry still sat in his chest.
“You know I won’t be able to see you before the festival, yeah?” he asked, careful. Taehyung didn’t want you thinking he was avoiding you or that he didn’t want to see you. That was the last thing he needed you to believe.
“Duty over matter,” you repeated the motto softly. “I know, Tae. Don’t worry.”
“The next four days are gonna suck.” he groaned, the tension in his shoulders easing a little at your calm tone.
“I’ll make it worth the wait.”
-
-
The SDT military base was already a little different than you remembered from the last time you’ve been here, the gates seemed smaller and the facial recognition system was definitely new. You were just led through security, along with a few of the many family members and friends that were slowly arriving at the Summer Fest for a day of organized fun. You adjusted the strap of your small crossbody bag on your shoulder, the one they had let you keep after a quick check at the gate.
The morning air still carried a cool bite, fresh wind brushing across your arms and tugging lightly at your hair as you stepped further onto the wide open grounds. The main administration building stood solid in the distance, its grey walls catching the early sunlight, while white or green tents and long picnic tables had been set up across the central field for later lunches and activities. Further to the right you could just make out the familiar outline of the drill course, ropes and barriers quiet for now.
Families moved in small groups, voices mixing with laughter and the occasional call of a name, while soldiers in neat training uniforms worked to keep everything running smoothly or waited near the edges, shifting on their feet as they scanned the arriving crowd for their own people.
The whole place felt lighter today, the usual heavy rhythm of drills replaced by something more alive. Even with all the small changes over the years, the layout still pulled at something deep in your chest, familiar in the way that made your breath catch.
You refused to think about a much younger version of you, running around this space as if it was your own private playground, knowing that the soldier you always came to see in that memory would no longer be here.
You kept walking forward at a measured pace, even though every step felt like it wanted to turn into a run because not too far ahead, a small group of too familiar men stood together near one of the open fields, their laughter carrying clearly across the neat grass.
Ji-hoon and Minseok were easy to spot, both in their darker working uniforms, shoulders relaxed as they bickered about something with easy familiarity. And then there was Taehyung, a little apart from them in his short-sleeved black SDT shirt that looked a size too small on his wider frame, the fabric stretched tight across his chest and shoulders. His muscles shifted visibly under it as he laughed at whatever the others had said, thick arms and neck on full display, veins standing out along his forearms.
If you looked hard enough, you knew you could just make out the faint lines of his abs through the front of the shirt. His dark green camo pants sat low on his narrow waist, the belt cinched tight enough to make his thighs look even more pronounced, and the black combat boots added extra height to his already tall frame.
God, he looked even more handsome than you remembered, face lit up from whatever they were teasing him about, hair a bit messy from the wind.
Nothing about him was fair, if you could say so yourself.
Ji-hoon noticed you first, saying something short to Taehyung, a quick tilt of his head in your direction, and Tae’s head snapped around so fast it was almost comical. His eyes found you almost immediately after that, and his whole face changed to that bright, boyish smile breaking across it like sunlight hitting water.
Your heart started doing drills of its own inside your chest, quick and insistent, the kind that made your steps falter for half a second before you forced them steady again. After four days of nothing but that one phone call and the memory of his voice whispering filth, seeing him in person again felt like the air had shifted.
“Hi, Taetae.” you greeted him with a smile, ignoring the shyness that tried to replace your usually assertive self.
“Hi–” his breath got caught somewhere in his throat as he looked you over. “Jesus christ, hustler.”
“What did I do for you to be calling me a hustler already?” you laughed, shaking your head, but his eyes were already telling enough.
“Your dress.” one of his eyebrows twitched.
“Do you not like it?” you played coy, giving him a little twirl so he could see the whole thing.
The white sundress was innocent enough at first glance, the kind of thing that looked sweet and well-behaved with its short sleeves that covered just enough of your shoulders to be considered respectful, and the tiered skirt that swayed around your thighs.
But the thin strings tied into a bow at the front of the square neckline pulled your breasts together in a way that made them sit full and inviting, and the smocked top cinched snug around your waist before flaring out into soft, flowy layers over your hips. This dress had been Mina’s idea, and you had been reluctant about it at first, but seeing the way Taehyung’s gaze kept drifting down and then back up to your face, you had to admit she had been right.
“I like it a little too much.” Taehyung spoke under his breath, an arm pulling her closer by the waist, kissing her cheek in what should have been a simple greeting if it didn’t land a little too closely to the corner of her glossy lips.
“Behave.” you chuckled, but leaned into his greeting regardless. “All your officers are watching.”
“I can’t believe you really came.” Ji-hoon greeted you next, but kept his distance and his hands to himself. His posture told you he was on full duty today. “We didn’t believe you two were really… Y’know.”
“We’re getting to know each other.” you said, clarifying to Ji-hoon and Minseok.
Taehyung disagreed. “Nah, you’re mine.”
“Oh, really?” you scoffed, because such discussion had never happened, and you were an old school kind of girl.
That apparently involved herself in phone sex before said discussion actually happened, but you never claimed to be perfect.
“He’s been saying you’re his girl for days.” Minseok added with a grimace. “It’s a little awkward if you don’t agree.”
“We’ll see how today goes.” you said, picking up on the boys’ obvious wingman tactics, placing your arm around Tae’s waist when his arm was still around you, too. “Are you working on any of the booths?”
“We’re on hot dog duty later.” Ji-hoon replied, sending Taehyung a pointed look. “Someone else was supposed to be too, but he’s the captain’s favorite.”
“I just beat all of you in training every week, so I earned this.” Taehyung justified his freedom today, and you were happy to know he could be with you all day. Then he looked at you and grinned: “I'm a Special Warrior now.”
“Are you really?” you gasped, eyebrows raising.
“Yeah.” he nodded with a mix of quiet pride and modesty. “I wanted to tell you in person.”
Taehyung’s arm moved from its perch around you so he could show you the side of his sleeve, which had a sown in patch that held his newest title change. You touched him arm to give it a squeeze that was supposed to show your excitement as you said:
“Oh, I’m so proud of you.” then you pulled him into a hug, breathing in his must and smelling the faintest bit of aftershave. “Next time you come to the bar, we’ll all celebrate.”
“I have other plans of how we can celebrate, but okay.” Taehyung shrugged, and your neck went a little hot from the way his hand squeezed your waist.
So he was still just as eager as he’d been on the phone. Just as eager as you. Good.
“Are your family members coming?” you asked the other two, just because going this route with Tae right now was dangerous.
“Maybe later.” Ji-hoon shrugged, his family lived locally, so he saw them regularly already.
“My brother might.” Minseok shrugged, not sounding so sure. Then he asked Taehyung: “He’s serving in the same division as your hyung, right?”
“Namjoon-hyung, yeah.” Taehyung nodded, but his eyes returned to you like he couldn’t get enough.
“Okay, we better go.” Ji-hoon said, looking around as some of the more official looking men started approaching to make sure everyone else was doing their job. “Come find us later, let us serve you, for once.”
“You got it.” you had no trouble agreeing with that.
You watched as the two of them marched away, postures tight and hands on their belt lops, very much into the Military Men persona they had to pull off while inside these grounds and nothing like the friends you were to seeing at the bar.
“What do you want to do first?” Taehyung asked you, giving you the freedom to make the calls today.
Before you could run your mouth and say you’d be down for whatever as long as he was with you, you asked: “What’s on the schedule?”
“Opening ceremony starts at eleven, sharp. BBQ at twelve, I’m slotted for a competition at fifteen hundred.” he relayed the information with the formality of someone who was used to staring at bulletin boards too often. “Everything after that is optional, so we can skip those if you want.”
“Sounds fun.” you smiled, looking around. “Will you give me a tour?”
“I’m sure you know this place better than I do.” he chuckled, slipping his hand into yours. “But there’s somewhere I want to take you to, actually. You up for it?”
“Of course.”
Taehyung led you deeper into the grounds, away from the main bustle of families and activities. The path grew quieter, the fresh wind still brushing across your arms as the sun climbed higher. Behind the main administration building, sitting a little off in an open space, stood a low, concrete one-floor box. It looked bulky and formal, no windows, just a solid wooden door that seemed heavier than the rest of the camp’s architecture. He pushed it open and guided you inside.
It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the difference in brightness.
The room was noticeably darker than the bright summer day outside, cooler too, the air conditioning humming steadily and raising goosebumps along your arms. Soft sconces lined the walls, their light mimicking the gentle flicker of candles. Rows of framed photographs covered the walls, each one paired with a small plaque bearing a name and a list of achievements. The space felt hushed, respectful, the kind of quiet that pressed gently against your chest.
“What is this place?” you asked quietly, already sensing the weight of the room. “I’ve never been here.”
“It’s the honor room.” Taehyung’s hand stayed wrapped around yours, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles on the back of it. “It holds the deeds of those who walked these halls and made a difference.”
“Do you think my dad…” you whispered, the words catching before you could finish.
“Come with me.”
He walked calmly, leading you deeper into the gallery-like space until you reached a more spacious alcove. Only one large photograph hung on the white wall there, a big achievement plaque mounted beneath it.
You stopped in front of it, throat tightening as you looked at the picture of your father in his favorite official uniform. He looked younger than you remembered him, but it was unmistakably him, the same steady eyes, the same quiet strength in his posture. The feeling of surprise and missing him lodged itself in your throat and sank heavy into your stomach. You held it back, never one to allow anyone to see you cry.
Your gaze shifted to the small flower holder hooked to the right of the frame, noticing how fresh flowers sat there, bright and carefully arranged. Taehyung noticed you looking at them, too.
“I, uh. I brought those.” he told you, not like he wanted to boast, but simply to show you respect. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course, Tae.” you noticed how tightly your hand was squeezing his. “But why?”
“I figured I’d introduce myself, since I’m dating his daughter.” he said, looking at the man in the photograph as if they were already familiar. Then he turned back to you and his eyes held yours. “Right?”
“You are.” you smiled, small but real, knowing that fighting both him and the heart in your chest would be easier said than done, especially after this. “He would have really liked you, you know?”
“You think?” Tae looked at you with a hopeful sparkle behind his eyes.
“You’re brave, loyal, and you’re also kind and dedicated to the team. Those are things he valued a lot.” you told him, as sure as the sky was blue. “And you treat me well. He’d value that most of all.”
Ever since he met you, Taehyung had seen more of the ugly parts of your life than you usually allowed people to. It was absolutely not on purpose and he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet… He hadn’t run away yet.
In fact, he seemed to be intent on staying for as long as he could, as much as he was allowed to. And you had no idea what you’d done to deserve his attention and this level of dedication he kept showing you, but maybe for the first time in your life you could let your guards down around someone.
“He really was an impressive man. I mean, he had to be, to have a daughter like you.” Taehyung smiled, and you knew he meant well, but you still felt the sting at hearing that. “I’m sure he’s proud.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” you looked at the floor between you, but Taehyung didn’t allow you.
His hand let go of yours to gently lift your head back by tilting your chin: “What do you mean, hustler?”
“Do you really think he’d be proud of me when I haven’t been able to pay rent for the last three months? Going on four.” you chuckled under your breath, just because laughing at your misfortune meant you wouldn’t cry. “Or how I’m collateral for some old debt and might become a trophy wife to a loan shark’s son? Or how I’m running the bar to the ground and about to leave my employees without a job if I can’t make this work–”
“I think he’d be proud of you for taking on a debt that isn't yours and not running away because you’re not a coward.” Taehyung interrupted you, holding your face with both hands. The touch was gentle in the way he held you, but his eyes were firm like he was begging you for you to listen. “He’d be proud that you’re putting your own life on the line everyday to protect your employees and make sure they still have a warm plate of food every night when you’re living off ₩576 ramen every other day.”
“How–”
“I spied in your trashcan, but that’s not the point.” his thumb brushed your cheekbone, then his lips smoothed the lines between your brows. “And even going through all that, you still offer free food for school kids, and you still give free drinks to new customers.”
“Maybe that’s what’s taking my rent money.” you grumbled, smiling reluctantly.
“Your father would be proud of you.” Taehyung insisted before you could run away from the subject. “And I’m proud of you.”
You let out a long, dragged out sigh, allowing yourself to listen to his words, like he was trying to make you. You didn’t exactly agree with some of the things he said, because those were just the human thing to do, but you appreciated him pointing them out anyway. Because you were just a person trying to do the best with the cards life was dealing her. You didn’t always do well, but you still did all you could.
“You know, you’re not good for me.” you allowed yourself to take a step closer and rest your forehead against his chest, taking this quiet and empty space to be vulnerable.
“How?!” Taehyung laughed, and the rumble of it made you smile.
“I might actually fall for you, and then you’ll break my heart when you leave.” you murmured, but you knew he heard you when his breath caught. “But if I’m going to end up marrying someone I don’t love, at least I’ll experience it with you.”
“Don’t say that.” his hands held both of your arms, firm enough for you to feel the press of his fingers but not enough to hurt. You looked up at him to see the pain written all over his face, and you hated to be the one to put it there again. “I won’t let that happen.”
“You’re sweet for thinking you can stop it.”
You weren’t trying to sour the mood, but since Taehyung wanted to try to have a relationship with you, then he needed to know what he was getting himself into, while he still had the time to back down.
Chuncheon was a small town, and gossip spread fast, so you knew he probably heard by now that you were the promised collateral prize if you weren’t able to pay what your uncle owed Mr. Han. And the old shark was only making it more difficult for you to get out of that debt because Kai had been in love with you since your school years.
“Shouldn’t you be at the opening ceremony, Special Warrior Kim?” a new voice broke the bubble around you both.
The tone and the recognition made Taehyung take a step back and salute, posture snapping straight in the way military men did in the presence of higher officials. Your stomach twisted for a moment, thinking you might have gotten him in trouble, but then you looked at the official and instantly knew who he was.
“Sir, Lieutenant Sir.” Taehyung said, still at attention.
“Uncle Jung…” you greeted softly, almost like a whisper.
This man had been your father’s closest friend since before their military days, the one who had been in the same mission when your dad died, the one to bring his body home. The one your dad had sacrificed himself to save. You had loved him like part of the family, just like your dad had. But ever since the mess with your actual uncle started and you got tangled up with Mr. Han, you hadn’t seen Uncle Jung anymore.
Seeing you standing there with Taehyung was surprising for the new Lieutenant, but his hard stance broke when he recognized you, and he understood quickly why the two of you were both here with your father’s picture right there on the wall.
“At ease, soldier.” Uncle Jung said, and Taehyung relaxed his posture but kept his head slightly lowered in respect, hands clasped behind his back. The man’s tone turned warmer when he looked at you. “You haven’t been back in so long… How are you, Yn?”
“I’m good.” you smiled, bowing to the man in respect and greeting. “How have you been, sir? How’s Yeunja?”
“She moved to Seoul last year. She got a job at a big tech company.” Mr. Jung told you about his daughter, who had once been your best friend. “I’ll let her know I saw you.”
“Please. I’ll text her too. We can catch up whenever she visits.” you lied, when the last thing you wanted was to hear how your once best friend was living out a dream you had shared once, while you were stuck in this town forever.
“And how do you two know each other?” Uncle Jung asked, looking between you and Taehyung.
“If you’re asking as his superior, I don’t know him,” you said. “If you’re asking as my dad’s best friend, he’s my boyfriend.”
“Yes I am.” Taehyung confirmed, more for himself than anyone else.
“Well, then you and this boy you don’t know should get to the auditorium before you miss the opening ceremony.” Uncle Jung was back to his official posture, but the small twitch at the corner of his lips gave him away.
“Yes, Sir!”
-
-
“So this is where you live.” you said, looking around at the barren room.
Two bunk beds took up most of the space, the thin mattresses made up with military precision, and a couple of metal lockers stood against the far wall, their doors closed tight. There was no color, no personal touches, no softness except for the single thin pillows on each bed.
The air smelled faintly of clean laundry and the faint metallic tang of the building itself. It felt temporary, functional, and so unlike him that your chest ached a little at the thought of Taenhyung sleeping here day after day.
“It’s better than what I had when I first arrived, don’t feel too bad for me.” Taehyung was watching you watch the space, his back resting against the metal of his closed door.
“Which one is yours?” you asked as you pointed to the two bottom beds, remembering how he told you had one of those.
“The one on the left.” he nodded towards it, still watching you like you were a threat in the best way.
Like he didn’t want to miss a single movement of you in his space.
It was a little after twelve and the two of you should be having lunch with the rest of the visitors, but Taehyung asked if you wanted to see his room, and your hunger could wait a little longer. You walked to his bed slowly and sat down on the mattress, feeling how hard and creaky it was under your weight.
You really didn’t understand how the government never funded the military in ways that made the living situation better for the men putting their lives on the line for this country every day they spent in here, but it wasn’t exactly something you could change yourself.
Instead, you opened the small, locker style, steel nightstand on Taehyung’s side of the bottom bunk.
The owner chuckled as he asked: “What are you doing?”
“Snooping.” you shrugged, shameless. “You snooped in my trashcan, I can at least have this.”
“You won’t find anything interesting.” Taehyung said but didn’t stop you.
You weren’t looking for anything specific, just acting curious when you looked inside the locker, finding nothing but a book about a library, a nail clipper, reading glasses and a printed picture of a black and tan pomeranian puppy.
“Told you there’s nothing interesting here,” he said. “When you come visit me in Seoul, I’ll let you snoop in my whole apartment. That will be much more fun.”
There it was again, your heart doing the treacherous thing called hope.
“I can see at least one interesting thing in this room.” you said, changing the subject slightly, steering it somewhere a little safer.
Taehyung knew you meant him. His head tilted as he let his gaze travel slowly down your body and back up again, open and hungry. He licked between his lips, and a small metallic click cut through the quiet room. It took you a second to realize he had just locked the door.
Your breath caught.
He pushed away from the door and walked toward you in slow strides, patient and calm. You stayed where you were, even though every instinct told you to move, to run. Tae’s hands settled on the sides of your hips, warm and sure, pulling you closer until your bodies met. You went easily, your own hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing under your palms.
“You’re finally here.” he mumbled, face lowering closer to yours. Your eyes dropped to his lips, lashes fluttering as you waited for the kiss. But his mouth moved to your ear instead, breath warm against your skin. “Do you have any idea how many nights I spent here, thinking about you?”
“A lot?” your voice came out quiet and weak, your breath already heavier.
“More than I could count, if I’m being honest.” one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, fingers gentle as he tilted your face upward. “Especially after that damn call.”
“I really liked that call.” you admitted, looking up at his dark eyes through your lashes.
“I could tell.” his nose nudged yours, close enough that you could taste the faint mint on his breath.
“Tae…”
“Yeah, hustler?” he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting even though you both knew exactly where this was heading. He still didn’t close the distance, leaving just enough space to make your skin crawl.
Your hands moved on their own, sliding up to his shoulders first, then higher, fingers slipping into the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You looked at his face, studying the bruise on his cheekbone already fading to a softer yellow, the cut on the bridge of his nose and the one near his brow healing nicely. He was so handsome and intense like this that you had to use every bit of willpower not to look away, because that would only give him more power than he already had.
Instead, you pressed your front against his, your breasts pushing tight against the low cut of your top, and tugged at the strands of his hair.
That was all it took.
He groaned, low and rough, the hand on your waist tightening as he finally gave in. “Kiss me.” you said, sweet and pleading, barely above a whisper.
He leaned in at once, mouth meeting yours, his tongue slipping between your lips without hesitation. The kiss was slow but deep, sensual in a way that made your head feel fuzzy and your knees a little weak from the first flick of his tongue.
You moved with him, lips parting further, sighing softly into his mouth as he groaned again at the way you kept tugging his hair. The sound vibrated against your tongue, warm and delicious, and for a moment everything else, the sparse room, the rules, the world outside, disappeared completely.
Your hands stayed in his hair, fingers curling tighter as you pressed your front against him, breasts pushing softly into his chest. The kiss deepened, slow and thorough, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made heat pool. You couldn’t help the small sound that escaped you, nor the way your hips rolled forward, seeking him. The hard line of his cock pressed against your lower stomach through his pants, and the proof that he was just as affected made your thighs press together instinctively.
Taehyung moaned into your mouth, the sound turning into a low groan as his lips left yours to trail along your jaw, then lower, right below your ear. He kissed your neck with wet, open-mouthed presses, the occasional scrape of teeth and slow drag of his tongue sending shivers down your spine. Nothing that would leave a mark, but enough to make your skin feel too hot and your breath come shorter. You rubbed your thighs together again, the ache between them growing sharper with every touch.
“I never wanted anyone as much as I want you.” he said against your skin, voice rough and honest.
“It’s just the abstinence from being in the military.” you joked, even as the same desperate feeling settled deep in your chest.
“I’ll prove it to you.” his hand at the back of your neck tugged gently at your hair, tilting your head to give him more room. His mouth moved lower. “Years from now, when we’re living together in the big city, I’ll still want you just as much.”
“Don’t promise what you can’t keep.” you challenged, voice barely steady.
His hand slid from your waist to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze that pulled a soft gasp from you. “I never do, hustler.”
Taehyung pulled back just enough for you to see his face again, eyes dark and serious. Your brain wanted to argue that he wasn’t thinking straight, that this was all heat and fantasy, but you let yourself sink into it anyway; the shared daydream that he could save you from this town and the future already written for you.
You rose onto your toes, pressing your mouth to his again, a tiny nod accompanying the kiss that you hoped he felt. You kept kissing him then, slow and deep, your hands roaming over his shoulders and down his back, squeezing the firm muscle there. His own hands weren’t shy either, sliding over your waist, your hips, gripping just tight enough to make you press closer. Both of you were breathing hard, chests rising and falling against each other, but neither wanted to stop.
“You made a promise over the phone, too.” you moaned against his mouth. “How about you keep that one first?”
Taehyung pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and a little dazed, adorably confused. You were squeezing around nothing, already so aroused it ached, but you waited, watching the moment it clicked.
“I got something to prove to you, don’t I?” he grinned, wide and hungry, and you nodded.
Taehyung’s hands stayed on your hips as he gently walked you backward toward his bed. You caught the hint right away, ducking your head so you wouldn’t hit it on the top bunk, and lowered yourself onto the thin mattress. The single pillow was lumpy under your head and the bed creaked under your weight, the frame digging slightly into your back, but you didn’t care. Not when he was climbing over you, his body too big for the small bed, knees pushing your legs apart as he settled between them.
The ridiculous fit of both of you trying to share the narrow space made you giggle, but he covered your mouth with his hand, warm and firm.
“Remember to be quiet, baby.” he whispered.
You nodded under his palm, then teased against it: “As I remember, you know just how to keep my mouth busy if I’m not.”
Tae groaned, low and rough, and parted your legs wider so he could slot his hips between them. You had a bratty reply ready on the tip of your tongue, but then he rolled his hips forward, pressing his clothed cock right against your pussy. The friction hit your clit even through the layers of fabric and your back arched sharply, pushing your breasts up as you rubbed against him in return.
“God, I love how desperate you get.” he said, staring right at your face. “Never seen anyone so beautiful like this.”
“Tae… No time.” you complained, voice already breathy. “You can praise me all you want later, when we're living together in the big city.
Taehyung smiled at the mention of the future he had joked about, eyes too fond for what you were about to do. His long fingers found the thin strings of your top, giving them small, teasing tugs until the bow loosened and the fabric slipped down.
“This okay?” he asked, voice low.
You nodded, reaching down to pull the top the rest of the way, letting your breasts spill free. Taehyung’s hips stuttered against you as he stared, like he was fighting not to drool.
“You’ve been walking around me in this dress all morning without a bra?” his voice was rough, almost disbelieving.
You shrugged, trying to look innocent even as heat flooded your face. “You could have found out earlier. I wouldn’t have stopped you.”
“Fuck…”
Your hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers slipping into the short strands there as you pulled him closer. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, dark and focused, letting you guide him exactly where you wanted.
You held one breast up with a small hand, dragging your nipple softly against his bottom lip, then pulling it down just enough to tease. His eyes rolled back for a second, a low sound rumbling in his chest. You tapped the side of his cheek gently, surprised by how pliant he was right now, giving you this small bit of control.
He obeyed, parting his mouth and letting his tongue slip out, warm and wet. One of his eyebrows twitched up, and that was when you realized he wasn’t really giving you the control at all. He was hustling you, seeing how far you would take it.
And fuck, that was hot.
Your back bowed again as you dragged your nipple across the flat of his tongue, watching it grow hard and slick with every slow pass. The sensation sent sparks straight between your legs until you couldn’t take it anymore. You laid back against the thin mattress, breath shaky.
Taehyung followed your breasts with his mouth, lips wrapping around your nipple as he sucked, slow and hard. His tongue swirled, teeth grazing just enough to make you bite your own lip hard to keep from moaning too loud. His right hand started moving down between your bodies, fingers finding the damp fabric of your underwear and pressing down with two fingers, firm and sure, right where you needed it.
“You’re gonna make such a mess on my sheets, aren’t you?” he mused, dragging the digits up and down your covered folds. “Everyone is gonna be able to smell you when they come back.”
Taehyung nosed between your breasts, breathing you in as you held them together for him, the soft weight of them pressing against his cheeks. Tae’s tongue dragged slow and wet over one nipple, then the other, while his hand worked between your legs.
He finally pushed your underwear to the side with two fingers, coating them in your slick, and you felt the cool air hit your exposed skin for just a second before his thumb found your clit, rubbing quick, firm circles that made your hips jerk.
You squirmed under him, gasping, and he covered your mouth with his free hand, palm big and warm.
“Shhh…” he mumbled against your skin, the smile in his voice downright filthy. “Don’t make me gag you around my fingers.”
“Please, do.” you chuckled, delirious, the words muffled.
He pressed the tips of two fingers to your entrance, then pushed them in to the second knuckle.
“I think you were right.” he whispered, voice rough as he kissed the side of your breast. “It’s gonna be a tight fit when I get my cock in you.”
The sound of heavy boots on the concrete outside made you both freeze. Your eyes went wide, heart hammering with sudden worry, but Taehyung’s stayed dark and heavy-lidded, completely blown out. The footsteps passed without stopping, fading down the hallway, but the reminder that people were walking just outside the door only made everything feel sharper.
Like a teasing menace, he pushed his fingers all the way in. It didn’t hurt, but the stretch made you clench around him, breath catching. He added his thumb, rolling it in slow circles against your clit to help you relax, the pressure steady and perfect.
The footsteps were still out there, soldiers probably finished with lunch, moving up and down the hall, but with the way he was fingering you deep, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
“It’s so tight…” Taehyung praised, voice low as he dragged his fingers along your walls. His heavy cock pressed hot and hard against the inside of your thigh, twitching every time you squeezed around him.
You desperately wanted to moan, the sound building in your throat, but you knew how much trouble you’d both be in if anyone heard. Instead, you grabbed the hand covering your mouth, holding his wrist as you opened your lips for him. He watched, a little drunk on it, as you wrapped your mouth around his fingers and pushed them deeper, sucking gently.
“Good girl.” he murmured, the words rough. “That’s it. Keep that pretty little mouth full and quiet.”
He kept pressing his fingers inside you, curling and stroking, his thumb working your clit in quick, expert circles. You bobbed your head slowly, licking and making a soft, wet mess around his fingers, the quiet slurping sounds barely loud enough for the two of you to hear.
Then he pressed upward, curling his fingers just right, and a sharp, unfamiliar pleasure shot through you.
“You look a little surprised there, hustler. I told you I would find it.” he looked cocky as hell, tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek.
You drooled around his fingers, nodding desperately as his mouth moved to your ear. “Better keep those fingers in there,” he warned, voice low and filthy, “because I’m about to make you cum nice and hard. Got it?”
You nodded again, pushing his fingers even deeper down your throat. You swallowed around them and Taehyung moaned, low and raspy, right against your ear.
His fingers kept hitting that spot inside you, faster now, his thumb working quick circles over your clit at the same time. You could barely focus on sucking his fingers anymore, your eyes fluttering as desperate little moans and whimpers slipped out around them.
Taehyung didn’t stop, whispering filthy things against your ear, low and rough.
“That’s it, baby… feel how tight you are around my fingers? You’re going to cum so hard for me.”
You didn’t remember ever feeling this good from someone else’s hands, not even from your favorite toy on your loneliest nights.
Then he flicked his wrist just right and everything broke.
Your orgasm crashed through you, sudden and overwhelming, starting low in your belly and spreading hot and electric through your whole body. Your pussy clenched hard around his fingers, pulsing in tight, rhythmic waves that made your thighs shake and your back arch sharply off the thin mattress. A broken moan tried to escape your throat, but his hand over your mouth caught most of it, turning it into a muffled, desperate sound.
Your toes curled, your fingers dug into his shoulders, and for a few long seconds the whole world narrowed down to the relentless pleasure rolling through you in heavy, shuddering waves. Even your vision blurred at the edges as the aftershocks kept coming, smaller but just as intense, leaving your legs trembling and your chest heaving.
He kept pumping his fingers through it, slow and steady, drawing out every last bit until your body finally went boneless beneath him, heavy and warm and completely spent.
“You look like a fucking mess right now.” he mumbled, voice thick with satisfaction. It felt like the highest praise. “How am I going to let you walk out there looking like this?”
You frowned, a tiny pout forming on your lips. “We’re going now? I didn’t even get the chance to suck you off.”
He looked a little embarrassed, cheeks flushed, but the grin that followed was anything but shy:
“I came in my pants as soon as you brought your tits to my mouth.”
“Really?” your eyes sparkled, delighted and still a little light-headed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” he leaned in to kiss your lips, soft and lingering. “But I do need to change my pants before we go.”
“Shit, I have to stay with a damp underwear for the rest of the day?!”
-
-
Given that you and Taehyung missed the actual lunch of today’s program, and then some, you were accepting of the idea that you would have to go hungry for a few more hours before you had the opportunity to eat something again.
But then, as soon as you were sneaking out of the dorms and out into the open again –with your hair up in a ponytail, makeup wiped off after it was ruined, and dress a little more crinkled than when you arrived– Taehyung reminded you that his hyungs were working on the hot dog booth.
And you fed those boys so many times that no one denied you a chunky hot dog, even if they were technically not allowed to start cooking them yet.
“This is really good, my god!” you gushed through a mouthful, chewing on the best bite of hot dog you’ve ever had in your life. “Did you make this sauce yourself?”
You asked Minseok, who was looking the proudest at your praise as he sat on the other side of the picnic table across from you and next to Ji-hoon. The white tent above you made it so the summer sun wasn’t coming down on you too hard, but the cool winds from this morning were long gone.
“Created it in the kitchen here at the base myself,” Miseok nodded, chest puffed. “I worked as a chef during my first months of enlisting.”
“Wow, I’m really impressed.” you nodded, finally swallowing. “Can I buy the recipe to serve at the bar?”
“You can have it for free.” he told you with a smile and a wink. “I’ll text you later.”
“What are you texting my girl for?” Taehyung only picked up on the end of the conversation, making his way back to the table with two soda cans he stole from the kitchen. Or maybe they had vending machines now, you weren’t sure.
Taehyung –now in black pants instead of the dark green ones he would have to deal with later– passed a leg around the long wooden bench to sit next to you, practically encasing your side with his long legs, placing the cans on the table top.
“I’m stealing her from you.” Minseok replied in a deadpan, and Ji-hoon scoffed.
“You had two years to get her, and now that I’m here you think you got a chance, huh?” Taehyung grinned, certain of his hold on your heart already.
And he wasn’t wrong. Especially not when you watched those long fingers that had just been inside you popping the can open with just one hand.
You blinked hard, offering the hot dog to your man. “Try this.”
“That’s his secret sauce, right?” Taehyung asked as he studied the bun and the herbs-green sauce drizzled on top. “You should try it with fries.”
The groan that came out of your mouth as you imagined trying this with french fries was very different from the ones you were letting out thirty minutes ago. Taehyung’s mouth opened so wide to take a bite of the food that you believed for a moment that he was about to take half of it at once.
Ji-hoon looked at his watch, asking: “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the–”
“Taehyungie?”
You didn’t really recognize the voice calling your new-boyfriend, but he clearly did, perking up with surprise as he tried to swallow the giant bite and you worried he might choke.
“Hyung!” Taehyung was getting up right away, swallowing with a tiny cough and running to the man who called him. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
You turned around in your seat, watching as Tae bear hugged the slightly taller man, who was also wearing full military gear, but not the SDT kind. He was hiding from the sun behind dark sunglasses and a cap, but you recognized him soon enough.
“I wanted to surprise you.” Kim Namjoon smiled big and friendly, patting Taehyung’s chest and biceps. “Damn, you’re big.”
“Bigger than you!” Taehyung agreed excitedly. “And Jungkookie too, we’re in a competition.”
“I see that.” Namjoon smiled fondly, his eyes finding your table for a strange second before focusing on his brother again. “How have you been, Tae?”
“Really good, hyung.” Tae followed the look, as if remembering you were still there, and pulled the other man closer. “Oh, I want to introduce you to someone.”
Oh, god! Not when I have sauce all over my face!
You swallowed the small bite you were chewing and cleaned your mouth with a napkin, getting up as the men approached and wiped your hands as you smoothed down your dress. Not that the action made much of any difference.
“This is Yn.” Taehyung started introductions as soon as you turned around and moved off the bench.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Namjoon-ssi.” you bowed politely, hands on your chest so you wouldn’t flash the man when you bent slightly to show your respects.
“Likewise. I heard a lot about you.” the older man just nodded with his head, but his smile was friendly enough at first glance. Then he looked at Taehyung and said: “Jiminie told me you met someone.”
“I told him not to–” Tae groaned, his hand finding the small of your back as if it was already second nature. “I wanted to be the one to tell everyone.”
“Then text us every once in a while, or at least look at the group chat when you’re having time off.” Namjoon nagged him like an older brother, fond and warm.
You quietly slipped from under Taehyung’s arm so you could go back to your hot dog, taking a few more bites and sipping the cold soda. The carbonation fizzed against your tongue, a welcome distraction as you listened to them talk.
You had always known Namjoon and Taehyung were close, they had been in the same group for years, but sometimes those kinds of friendships looked better on camera than they felt in real life. Hearing them now, the easy way they teased and checked in on each other, made it clear this one was real. It made you happy in a quiet, warm way to know Taehyung surrounded himself with good people in every part of his life.
You turned your head whenever Taehyung mentioned you or the bar, smiling as he told Namjoon he had to come by if he stayed longer than a few hours for the event.
You had always thought you were good at reading people, your dad had drilled that into you from a young age, that the world could be unkind even to good people, so you couldn’t help noticing the small off vibe from Namjoon. It wasn’t toward Taehyung, and not even toward Minseok and Ji-hoon, but toward you.
For Taehyung’s sake, you shrugged it off, ignoring the uneasy twist in your stomach.
“Tae, you’re gonna be late for the game.” Ji-hoon called after checking his watch.
Taehyung looked panicked, eyes widening like he had completely forgotten.
“Shit, we have to go.” he turned to Namjoon, grabbing his arm. “Hyung, you have to watch me kick these rookies’ asses.”
“You’re also a rookie?” Namjoon laughed, warm and fond.
“He’s a special warrior now.” you said, proud as you stood up again, brushing crumbs from your dress.
“Oh?” Namjoon looked from you to Taehyung, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “That you don’t mention?”
“It just happened this week.” Taehyung replied, a little abashed, clearly missing the tiny jab you had caught.
You all started walking toward the drills area, the group of five moving at an easy pace. Minseok cleared the trash from the table and grabbed Taehyung’s untouched can of soda for himself, grinning like he had won something. Taehyung and Namjoon fell into step ahead of everyone else, their voices carrying back to you as they caught up on things only they would understand.
You didn’t mind. It made you happy, in a quiet way, that someone from Taehyung’s old life had shown up to support him today.
When you reached the competition area, Taehyung pulled you aside for a quick moment, his hand warm on your lower back. He leaned in and kissed you, soft and quick, but enough to make your stomach flip.
“Keep your eyes on me.” he murmured against your lips.
“They are only for you anyways.” you told him, knowing it sounded cheesy but also knowing he would like it.
Taehyung grinned, then parted from you to go get ready with the other competing boys. When you looked back, Minseok and Ji-hoon had already left to help organize the competition, and you felt a little awkward now that it was just you and Namjoon, but you decided it was a good opportunity to get to know him better.
“Should we go find a place to watch?” you invited, trying to sound friendly.
“Lead the way.” he said simply.
You looked toward the shaded bleachers where loved ones were gathering and started walking there, knowing Namjoon would follow. You climbed up to the second row, apologizing quietly to the people already sitting there, and found an empty spot. Namjoon settled beside you, the shade already feeling much better than the direct sun.
You sat there in the shaded bleachers, watching Taehyung even from this distance, feeling both excited and nervous for him. You knew he would push himself harder today because you and Namjoon were watching.
The silence between you and Namjoon felt a little too heavy while the competition still hadn’t started, so you turned to him, trying to make conversation.
“Did you really hear about me?” you asked, as friendly as you could sound.
“I did.” Namjoon kept looking ahead, not at you. “Which is why I came here today.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you…” you smiled, but it dropped when he sighed and took off his sunglasses. “Right?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, you seem like a really nice girl and all.” Namjoon turned toward you, and you felt your guard come up immediately. “But don’t you think this is all a bit pointless?”
“Pointless,” you repeated, unsure if he was talking about the competition, your small talk, or something else entirely.
“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you. You look smart.” Namjoon’s tone reminded you of a PR person, or even a politician. “He’s gonna leave in a few months.”
“I’m aware.” your voice came out a little flat.
“And as soon as he leaves, we have a job to do.” he continued, serious. “Tae can’t be wasting time moping around from a breakup.”
“So you’re already assuming we’re going to break up once his enlistment ends?” you saw the point he was making, you had run through all those bullet points in your own head too, but you weren’t about to agree with this stranger who was judging you after knowing you for ten minutes.
“Don’t you?” he asked, but it sounded rhetorical. “I’m not trying to be harsh here–”
“You’re just trying to find a way to tell me to stay away from your friend without sounding like an asshole.” you said, your cadence steady.
“Do you think you could keep up with his lifestyle?” Namjoon tried another route. “Or that he’s still going to be interested in you when he has more options?”
His words hurt, because he was saying with full letters that the only reason Taehyung was interested in you was because you were the better choice in this small town, that you were available and right there. It twisted an insecurity you didn’t know you should have, but thinking about Taehyung around models and idols and everything else made the hot dog feel heavier in your stomach than it had five minutes ago.
“Wow, I take it back. You really don’t mind sounding like an asshole.” you said with a short laugh.
“Not if it means I’m protecting my own.” he stayed serious. “Because I know Tae better than you do, and he’s probably already picturing a future with an apartment and kids with you, but that’s not realistic.”
“He can’t have a private life outside of the group?” at this point you weren’t even thinking about yourself or your future with Tae, but protective of Taehyung himself, even if his future wasn’t meant to be with you.
“Absolutely he can, just not–”
“With me.”
“…right now.” Namjoon continued quietly. “He gets into things too intensely, too fast. And then when they don’t work out the way he envisioned them, he crashes hard. Trust me on this, I was there for all of his breakups.”
You sat with the irony that you had been thinking a similar thing, that Taehyung would be the one to break your heart, that you were growing too attached too fast. But you had decided to take a chance because it was Tae and you had never felt this way about anyone else.
And now Namjoon was presenting you with the same facts, but with his best friend’s interest in mind.
Had you been so naive to believe this could actually work in the long run? That you would somehow escape the shackle at your ankle called Kai, that he would ever let you leave just because you found true love?
Yeah. You and Tae were fated to not work out in the end, but not for any of the reasons Namjoon was hinting at. So maybe he was right after all, and you should break things off before you could keep hurting Tae. Even if it meant your own heart would start breaking today.
You sat there in the shaded bleachers, the noise of the competition barely registering. Namjoon’s words kept turning over in your head.
You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right, but he was, and he didn’t even know the full story. If he only worried about Tae being sad after a breakup, he would lose his mind if he found out the type of people you were tangled up with; the debts, the threats, the way Kai had made you collateral in a game you never asked to play.
It made you feel selfish and irresponsible for letting Taehyung get this close to someone like you. He was famous, even if it didn’t feel like it in this small pocket of the world. If word got out about the two of you, about your mess, you would ruin his career.
And you would never forgive yourself for doing that to him.
Your throat tightened, and you nodded to yourself, small and decisive, then stood up from the bleacher seat, brushing your hands down your dress as if that could steady you.
“Thank you, Yn.” Namjoon said quietly.
“I’m not doing this for you.” your voice came out small and choked, but you knew the tears wouldn’t come until you were alone.
You walked off the bleachers, legs moving on autopilot, thanking every higher power that Taehyung was still busy with the competition. You looked back at him one last time, heart breaking a million times over for what you had already done and what you were doing right now.
He was laughing with the other boys, face bright and focused, completely unaware of the storm happening around him. Even now, seeing him like that made your chest flutter in the worst way, happy and aching all at once.
Namjoon would probably tell him something kinder, make you sound like the bad guy trying to take advantage. It would hurt, but in the list of things that could happen, that was the lesser evil. Let him hate you. Let him think you didn’t deserve him. Thinking of you fondly would only make it worse for him in the end.
You turned around to leave, taking a few steps until you ran straight into Ji-hoon.
“Where are you going?” he asked, but his smile dropped as soon as he saw your face. “Hey, what’s going on–”
“Please let me go.” you said, hating how your voice wavered.
“Yn, what–” he tried again, reaching for your arm, but you sidestepped him.
You were trying to leave with whatever dignity you had left, trying not to cause a scene, but people near the entrance were already looking. You felt small and broken under their stares, the kind of attention that made your skin crawl.
Your legs kept moving, a straight line toward the gates that suddenly felt as big and far away as they had when you were a kid.
“Hustler!”
No no no no no. Keep walking. Don’t turn around.
You would crumble if you looked at him.
“Wait–” Taehyung’s hand caught your arm just as you reached the gates, warm and firm, stopping you in your tracks.
Taehyung stepped in front of you, blocking the path to the gates and you pushed a smile onto your lips, but it felt thin and wrong, nowhere near your eyes.
“Shouldn’t you be kicking the rookies’ asses right now?” your voice came out as weak as you felt.
“Ji-hoon hyung said you were leaving.” he looked serious, brows drawn together, the easy smile from the competition already gone.
“Yeah, sorry, something came up–” you tried to step around him, but he shifted with you, gentle but firm.
“Okay, let’s go.” he was already turning, ready to follow without asking twice.
“What?” you shook your head, guilt twisting sharp in your chest as he moved to save you again. This time he couldn’t. Not from this. “No, you can’t.”
“You’re about to cry, so something serious is happening.” he had already decided, eyes searching your face. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, you don’t get it.” your breath was getting harder to pull in, the words scraping up your throat. “You can’t come with me, because… You’re the reason I’m leaving.”
Taehyung stopped then, like you had slapped him across the face. The look he gave you hit harder than anything else had since your dad died, raw confusion and hurt all at once, his shoulders dropping, mouth slightly parted like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.
You knew there was no coming back from what you were about to say, but you said it anyway.
“Listen, Tae… I’m very sorry, okay?” at least that part was true. “Being with you was nice, but it was only a fantasy of what could have been if I wasn’t me and you weren’t you.”
“Where is this coming from?” his hand dropped from your arm, and the loss of his touch made your chest feel like it was already bleeding. “Because you don’t even sound like yourself right now.”
“Miss, are you leaving?” the guard by the entrance called out, voice flat and official. “You can’t just stand in front of the gates like this.”
“Yes.” you answered.
At the same time Taehyung said: “No.”
“Tae–”
“Talk to me, hustler.” his voice cracked on the nickname, pleading now. “Tell me the truth, not whatever this is.”
“You should forget about me.” you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. “It’ll be easier for both of us in the end.”
The gates were already opening, the guard stepping forward with a firm look that said this wasn’t the place for a scene. He walked you out without another word, his hand hovering near your elbow like he was ready to guide you if you didn’t move. Taehyung tried to follow, but the guard stopped him with a single raised hand and a clipped order.
You felt Taehyung’s stare burning into your back the whole way, heavy and confused, like he was still waiting for you to turn around and explain.
You kept walking, one step after the other, even though every part of you wanted to run back to him when this was the worst thing you had ever had to do in your life.
You wondered if it was possible to love someone you had only just met, because it felt like it was. The thought of turning around and begging him to run away with you kept flashing through your mind, but that wouldn’t fix any of the problems waiting for you.
It would only make them worse for him.
So you kept walking, all the way to the bar two blocks away, the familiar neon sign blurring a little as you got closer. You hoped Mina would be there for a hug, or that you could hide in the bathroom until you could breathe again.
Instead, you saw the police cars parked out front, lights on and unmistakable.
— chapter summary | A secret rendezvous forces Yoongi to open his eyes, prompting him to finally make the move he dreads the most—confronting the truth.
— title: Carousel | pairings: Min Yoongi x female reader | genre: CEO!Yoongi, Arranged Marriage!AU, smut, angst
— ratings & warnings | +18 / M for mature; involves delicate themes related to arranged marriage, family legacy, family betrayal/drama, alcohol (drinking).
— word count: 7,196 words
— story masterpost: Carousel | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢
— chapter drop date: May 11th, 2026 | main masterlist | mailbox | feedback | ko-fi | patreon | series taglist
𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚕 𝟸𝟹. 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚛
[Yongguk]: Concluded business at Lacuna office. Making a stop for a rendezvous at Cozy Corner in Gangnam.
[Yoongi]: Understood. Report again if there's any development.
A mixture of relief and unease washes over Yoongi as he reads the text from Yongguk. He has no idea what you’re planning to do for the rest of the day, but knowing that you’re safe—with Yongguk remaining close and keeping watch—is enough to offer him some peace of mind.
For now.
Peace has always been temporary for him—measured in moments before the next complication begins.
Slipping his phone into his pocket, Yoongi continues down the narrow sidewalk, away from the main road. This part of the city isn’t one he visits often. Not since the days when he still tried to live freely—when he wasn’t shadowed by his family name or the weight of the empire tied to it.
He used to like this place. It used to make him feel small in a way that was comforting—before he learned that anonymity is a luxury only the innocent can afford.
The streets around him hum quietly with life. It’s too early for the city’s nightlife to awaken, yet the air already carries the faint echo of what will come—the laughter, the music, the indulgence. For now, the golden hour keeps the chaos at bay, leaving behind only a hollow version of the nights he once knew.
The traffic is light. A handful of pedestrians pass by, their faces washed in amber light. Yoongi counts the cars out of habit—one, two, five—before stopping in front of his destination: a high-end pub that doubles as a small nightclub. Its gleam is dulled under the dying sunlight.
The bright neon sign reading Da Capo hasn’t been lit yet. The usual line of club-goers is nowhere in sight, and no bouncer stands guard at the front. Only one heavy door is cracked open, like an invitation—or a trap.
He doesn’t believe in coincidences anymore. Not after everything he’s seen fall apart by trusting them.
Inside, the soundscape shifts. A low hum of music replaces the muffled city noise. Cool air meets his skin as dim LED lights fade in, guiding him through the tunnelled foyer. The dark red walls, streaked with black swirling lines, almost feel alive as they lead him deeper.
Stepping into the main room, Yoongi pauses.
The pub occupies one side of the wide floor, the bar stretching long and sleek beneath amber lights. The décor leans vintage—plush seats, round tables, and low booths reminiscent of a 70s lounge. A few patrons linger, their quiet chatter threading through the lazy music.
Every place has its rhythm. This one beats too slow, too deliberate—as if waiting for something to happen.
He feels their eyes on him as he walks by, curious, calculating. He ignores them. The faint headache that’s been following him flares with the smell of stale beer and smoke.
Watch your back.
As he feels the pull of those curious gazes following him, Mr. Oh’s voice lingers in his mind, sharp as ever. He has been hearing that advice since he was old enough to lie convincingly. Yet today, those words haunt them deeply like a ghost clinging to his shadows.
His gaze sweeps the space—the empty dance floor, the dim stage stands beyond it. A staff member mops the far corner, while a couple sways lazily to the music, their shadows blending into the darkness. When they turn briefly toward him, he senses the faintest shift—the awareness that comes from being watched.
He continues anyway. He always does.
A heavy door creaks shut somewhere behind him. The lights above the bar flicker to life, washing the bottles in gold and glassy reflections. Behind the counter, a bartender collects empty glasses while chatting and nodding to the two older men sitting at the far end, both seem too weary to notice anything else.
Yoongi’s attention slides past them—to the man sitting alone at the other end who seems just as out of place as he feels. The leather jacket and black cap he is wearing barely hide his presence. A half-finished beer sits in front of him, as if he has been waiting for something.
Yoongi takes the seat beside him without acknowledging his presence and turns to signal at the bartender.
“Black Russian,” he orders quietly, eyes on the counter.
The bartender nods and begins to prepare the drink, his attention drawn away from him immediately.
“Quite early for a strong one, isn’t it, Mr. Min?” the man beside him says, voice smooth but edged.
Yoongi smirks. “I should be asking you the same thing, Detective. Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking on duty?”
A low chuckle comes from the young detective, the edge in his voice thinning, even if just a little. “What I do on my afternoons shouldn’t concern you. But if you must know, I’m off the clock. For now.”
Off the clock. Convenient phrasing for someone who never really stops working.
“I’d say leisure suits you,” Yoongi replies dryly. He lifts his glass as the bartender sets it down, takes a slow sip, and lets the silence stretch before adding, “Though I didn’t realize it would take so much effort just to arrange this meeting with you.”
Jungkook turns slightly, his mouth quirking. “Couldn’t have been harder than tracking you down. I hear businessmen of your stature are difficult to pin.”
Yoongi’s gaze sharpens. “Flattery isn’t your strong suit, Detective.”
“Neither is patience, I assume,” Jungkook murmurs, the smile in his voice fading. “So—what business do you have with me?”
Yoongi sets his glass down with a soft clink. “You’re quite straightforward,” he says evenly. “Was that how you first approached my wife?”
The detective’s lips twitch. “What are you insinuating, Mr. Min?” His tone hardens. “If you can’t trust your wife, perhaps the problem lies closer to home, and I'm not the one you should be talking to.”
The jab lands. He feels it, though he doesn’t show it. People always assume trust is a virtue—Yoongi learned early that it’s an expense.
“What I think of my wife isn’t your concern,” he says, leaning in slightly. “You, however—you’re a stranger sniffing around where you shouldn’t be. Tell me, Detective. What is your purpose in getting close to her?”
Jungkook doesn’t flinch. If anything, he seems amused. “Maybe the real question is how much you know about her.”
“I know everything there is to know about the woman I married,” Yoongi replies, calm but clipped.
“Of course,” Jungkook chuckles. “Just like how you ‘knew’ everything about me before you sat down here.”
He doesn’t deny it, because the detective isn't completely wrong. Knowledge is his weapon, his defense, and sometimes—his only form of control.
It has always been his way to get the upper hand, both in dealing with business and with the people he encounters in his path to claim his place in the world he is walking on. This was something that his grandfather taught him long before he entered the world of business, although he eventually learned more after past experience showed how important it was to know what a person might be hiding behind the shadows.
“You could’ve chosen anywhere else for this meeting,” Yoongi says, breaking the tension that seems to rise after the detective's implication. “Why Da Capo?”
A sly grin rises on Jungkook's face at Yoongi's obvious displeasure. “Why not? Would you have preferred this to be at an official setting? Like your office, perhaps, where you refused to meet me years ago—after your brother’s case?”
The sound of that word—brother—cuts like a shard of glass he’s been trying to ignore.
Meanwhile, Jungkook pauses, feigning uncertainty, before his smirk deepens. "And if I remember correctly, you also ignored my request to speak with you when I came back only a week after your wife's former fiancé died in that convenient ‘accident’, did you not?”
Yoongi’s gaze snaps to him. “If this is your idea of baiting for my reaction, you’ll have to try harder, Detective.”
But Jungkook’s words have already lodged themselves somewhere deep, stirring the ache he buried years ago.
“Then perhaps you’ll return the favour and tell me why you’re here,” Jungkook replies. “Because as far as I can tell, you don’t take risks unless they serve you.”
Yoongi smiles thinly. “Let’s call it curiosity. And a need for answers.”
"So I'm the only one who has the answer," Jungkook surmises with a smile. "Does that mean you'll be answering my questions as well?"
Yoongi leans back in his seat. "I thought I heard you saying something about not being on duty."
Jungkook raises his hand, feigning surrender. "Anything that comes out of me will only be to feed my own curiosity,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “The conversation we share today will be off the record.”
“Off the record,” Yoongi repeats, almost to himself. He stays quiet for a moment, contemplating his options. Once his decision is made, he lifts his glass and clears his drink before signalling the bartender. "A refill for me and this gentleman."
When they’re alone again, he speaks first. “I suppose that would be a fair trade. An answer for any information you give me. As long as you're telling me the truth. Nothing less.”
Jungkook shrugs. “Sounds fair,” he says, meeting Yoongi's eyes. "And I speak only facts."
“Then tell me—what is my wife looking for that she had to seek your help?” Yoongi’s tone lowers, controlled but threatening. “Meeting in secret, at places like this—it doesn’t look like idle conversation.”
Once again, Jungkook takes his sweet time answering. As if testing Yoongi's patience, one that is already wearing thin. Drinking his beer, his eyes flick briefly to something behind Yoongi when something seems to catch his attention. Noticing the way his gaze hardens, Yoongi glances over his shoulder to see the reason why—a man is watching them from across the bar. One of the older men from earlier, who acted as if disinterested, now seems to lock onto their muted conversation. The stranger quickly looks away when caught and steps away from the bar.
The distraction draws a lull. The possibility of their meeting at risk of not being discreet enough hangs between them for a while, and neither says a thing. They both enjoy their drinks for a moment, but when Jungkook finally speaks, his voice is steady. "What would you do once you find out what your wife has been up to? Would you try to stop her?"
Yoongi studies him for a moment. "It depends on what kind of danger she is involving herself with."
Jungkook looks at Yoongi. He seems reluctant to say anything at first. But then, with his voice lowered, he finally says, “Your wife…She’s looking for whoever was responsible for her ex-fiancé’s death.”
Yoongi stills.
The words hit harder than he expected. Not because he’s surprised—but because they confirm what he feared all along.
“And she believes you can help her?”
Jungkook studies him. “She needs information, and I'm the one fortunate enough to be able to give it to her." He pauses before adding, "Maybe she thinks I owe it to Jinyoung. Or maybe she knows I was close to him before the accident.”
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “You were close to him?”
A small, humourless smile appears on Jungkook's face. “Was that quite a surprise to you? Yes, we were closely acquainted, enough that he came to me first when he needed help.”
Yoongi frowns while holding his tongue. It shouldn't be a surprise for him to hear this when he knew that the detective had many connections. He just didn't expect that Jungkook himself would openly admit to having a close acquaintance with Park Jinyoung.
That would explain at least some of his suspicions.
“Why would Park Jinyoung come to you?”
“The same reason why your wife came to me. For information,” Jungkook says simply.
Yoongi leans forward. “Is that so? You seem to know awfully a lot to have different people coming to you for 'information'," he says with an accusing tone. "Who do you really work for, Detective?”
“You already know who I work for.” Jungkook drawls while putting on a mocking grin. “Cyber Crimes Division, Seoul Police Department.”
“The Police Department?” Yoongi scoffs. “The same department that covered half the truth about my brother’s case and started a witch hunt on my family, only because he was connected to us? Forgive me if I have trouble believing that Jinyoung would be running to someone connected to that same department.”
Yoongi's voice sharpens when he continues, "I'm going to ask you again…Who…do you work for?"
"Officially, I work with the Police Department," he says, keeping his voice low. "Unofficially… who I'm currently working with—I'm afraid, I cannot say." Once again, Jungkook's gaze travels around the bar, completely focused and alert.
Yoongi doesn't know why the detective seems to be on edge. But what he says next catches him completely by surprise.
"If you're wondering if I'm working with the same people who placed your brother behind bars, then I'll have you know that I am not," Jungkook says, this time, almost nonchalantly, before adding under his breath, "Not anymore."
Yoongi tilts his head. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“Depends,” Jungkook says. “Would you rather I was working against you?”
Their eyes lock. Neither speaks for several beats.
Yoongi’s pulse ticks once against his wrist—a reminder that anger still lives under all his practiced calm.
"To be able to work with someone, I would need to be able to trust them. And yet, I simply can't find it in me to trust you, Detective, just as much as I've lost trust in the Police Department a long time ago."
Jungkook smirks. "Is that so? Was it because they caught and branded your brother as a criminal and caused disruption in your entire family?" Jungkook sarcastically asks, "Or was it because they played a part in framing him as one?"
Yoongi freezes—not from guilt, but from the audacity of the question.
"What are you implying, Detective?" Yoongi's expression darkens.
“Nothing,” Jungkook says casually. “Just that history has a funny way of repeating itself.”
The way he says it makes Yoongi’s stomach twist—not in fear, but in memory.
"Was it not you and your team who first caught his tracks and proved that he was the one behind the fraudulent business which stole billions from the people who trusted him? You did take the delight of getting that promotion after solving my brother's case, after all."
"You have quite a good memory," Jungkook mutters bitterly, as if he doesn't enjoy being reminded of his accomplishment any more than Yoongi does.
“Is that why you're playing this game, Detective? Have you not done enough damage?” Yoongi’s voice tightens. “My brother, my family—and now my wife?”
“Your wife and I share a purpose,” Jungkook replies evenly. “Park Jinyoung connected us both. That’s all.”
“Then why did he go to you if he didn’t trust the Police?”
“And how would you know he didn’t?” Jungkook asks, eyes narrowing. When Yoongi doesn’t answer, Jungkook’s smirk returns. “Ah. I see I’m not the only one keeping secrets. Does your wife know about these secrets of yours, Mr. Min?”
Yoongi’s expression doesn’t change, but his hand tightens around his glass until the condensation runs cold down his knuckles.
“I thought we agreed on an exchange of answers, Detective,” he says coolly. “But I don’t think you’re holding up your end.”
“Fine.” Jungkook sighs, lifting his glass. “Jinyoung came to me for an exchange—information for information. He became my informant.”
"So he was helping you with something. Did it have anything to do with his death?"
As Yoongi mentions Jinyoung's passing, Jungkook’s gaze hardens. “You tell me, Mr. Min. I think you know more about his accident than any of us do."
Yoongi’s mouth curves in a humourless smile. “I think you’re mistaken. I’m just a businessman worried about his wife.”
“Then maybe stop getting in her way,” Jungkook says quietly.
Yoongi sets his glass down. “I’m warning you, Detective. Whatever you have with her—whatever deal you made—ends tonight.”
“Isn't that for her to decide?” Jungkook scoffs at Yoongi.
“Not when her safety is at stake,” Yoongi says coldly. “Stay away from her.”
He doesn’t realize his voice has dropped lower than before. It’s not anger—it’s something colder.
Jungkook studies him for a long moment. "It would be hard to keep that promise if she keeps searching for me," he says at last. "But I also know that it wouldn't be wise to cross you, so I'll step back. For now."
After saying this, Jungkook looks away, turning his attention to his drink as if Yoongi's presence no longer interests him.
Yoongi isn't pleased, but he knows when to stop pushing it. Having no other choice but to accept Jungkook's promise, he pushes his chair back, ready to leave.
But before he can, Jungkook speaks again. “When was the last time you visited your brother, Mr. Min?”
Yoongi stops mid-step.
“Just like your wife, I’m only doing what I do because I'm looking for the truth, and I'm not going to stop until I find it,” Jungkook says, voice low. “I'm sure it's the same with your wife."
His comment draws Yoongi's attention. Yet he lets Jungkook finish. "These secrets you are keeping—the longer you keep them, the closer she gets to walking straight into the same fire you escaped from.”
Yoongi turns his head slightly, just enough to meet Jungkook's gaze. “We’re done here,” he says. “But I’m not done with you. Expect my call, Detective. I will be in touch.”
With those final words, Yoongi walks away without giving the detective a chance to say anything else as he exits the pub.
Outside, the air feels colder than before. Maybe it’s the night settling in—or maybe it’s the truth, slowly catching up to him.
As he pulls out his phone, Yoongi quietly makes up his mind. As much as he hates to admit it, he knows that Jungkook was right. The secrets he keeps around him will one day bite him in the ass, and that day might come sooner than expected. He needs to resolve this matter before it's too late, and he knows exactly where to begin.
Opening the files Hoseok gave you feels like lifting the lid of Pandora’s box—a quiet, trembling moment before chaos breathes out.
Inside lies your father’s life.
His old university papers. His early research notes. Photos of him in a lab coat, MYG Corp’s insignia stitched over his heart. Newspaper clippings that record both his rise and his ruin, ending with his quiet departure from the company owned by the Min family.
A life that had been erased and rewritten—until Lacuna Technologies resurrected his name.
You’ve been poring over the files since you came home, the hours slipping by unnoticed. Every discovery leaves you a little more hollowed out, a little more awed by how much Hoseok had managed to uncover. It’s almost frightening what he can do.
No wonder Jungkook had warned you about trusting his skills.
The penthouse has been silent all evening, the kind of silence that magnifies your thoughts. So when the door opens, you hear it instantly. You close your laptop and tuck it away before stepping out to meet Yoongi.
You find him standing in the living room, still in his dress shirt, eyes closed as if trying to steady himself. The faint crease between his brows makes you pause—an old signal of fatigue or the echo of his illness returning. His coat lies carelessly on the couch; his shoes set up neatly by the rug.
You approach slowly when he seems too deep in his thoughts to notice you. “You’re home early.”
Yoongi opens his eyes, a small smile curving on his lips. “Did you expect me to come home late?” He shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it aside.
“I just thought you’d stay a bit late to finish some work,” you say lightly. "I know that you always put your work first, so I thought I might have to call Jimin or your driver to make sure that you'll come home once you're done."
He chuckles, drawing you close with an arm around your waist. "Jimin convinced me not to go back to the office after my last meeting. I felt my headache coming back in, so I listened to his advice.” His thumb brushes against your side. “I heard you had a busy day today.”
You try not to react to his words. It should've been obvious that his bodyguard would report back to him at the end of the day. "Not really," you mutter as you lean close, kissing the side of his face. "Just a long talk with my father over tea, met up with some old friends and co-workers at the office while I had the chance, and picked up some coffee on my way home. If you hadn't sent me with a bodyguard, I would've lost track of time and spent the whole day out with my Dad."
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Yoongi gives you a gentle smile. “You should visit him more often.”
Your lips curl into a small smile. “Maybe.”
As you look at him, you remember your father’s quiet admission—that he and Yoongi had been in contact without you knowing. The thought presses at the back of your mind. You have questions, but you keep them to yourself. For now.
Your hand rises instinctively to his cheek. “Your fever isn’t coming back, is it?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Just tired. And—I actually had another reason to come home early.”
Your brow lifts. “Oh?”
“I believe I still owe you dinner,” he says simply, his smile widening. “How about going on a date tonight?”
His offer startles you. Not the idea of it—but how easy it sounds coming from him, after everything that has happened, and after the way both your lives spiralled the past few days. It seems so—normal. “Are you sure? I was thinking of having a quiet dinner at home and then going to bed early.”
“Then let’s have both,” he murmurs, voice dipping low, while his smile looks playful. His arm tightens around you, as if he wants to stop you from running. “Let's lie down in bed and take a short nap first. Then later, we'll go to the movies and grab a quick dinner. Nothing fancy—just us. What do you say?”
You can’t hide the smile that rises. It’s disarming how easily he makes you forget the noise in your head. His offer sounds too tempting for you to refuse, and you know that you need something like this.
Something to make you feel normal. A moment to forget that life is way more complicated than it seems.
“I like your idea better,” you whisper as you take his hand and begin pulling him toward the bedroom.
Yoongi had promised you a simple, relaxing night out, so you chose a soft summer dress to wear tonight.
Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you feel as though you cannot recognise yourself. Your reflection looks composed, though your fingers are cold as you run them down your dress. The invisible mask you've put on still holds—barely.
Warmth still courses through your body. Yet unease simmers beneath the quiet. The short nap you took earlier may have helped you feel well rested, but being in Yoongi's arms only stirred your emotions that still refuse to settle.
Secrets never sit still.
The thought comes like a reminder, spoken by that small voice in your head that has been warning you to be wary.
You have Yoongi to blame. His warmth and kindness have slowly been chipping at your facade, and you know that you won't be able to fight it any longer. You can already feel it; the weight of your secrets pressing down on you, and your heart quietly ready to be free of it.
When Yoongi appears behind you, his reflection appearing in the mirror, you feel your pulse stutter. You've grown used to seeing him in his corporate armour; with suit jackets and tie, and his eyes always looking sharp and steady. Tonight, Yoongi shows you a different look that is just as breathtaking. With a black leather jacket over plain t-shirt, Yoongi looks more relaxed. His smile is easy, his gaze tender as he looks at you through the mirror.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs from the doorway. The way he is looking at you brings warmth to your cheeks, and your smile comes naturally.
"You're not looking so bad yourself, Mr. Min," you tease him with a smile and turn around. "Are we set to go?"
Yoongi returns your smile. "Whenever you're ready."
You finish getting ready right away. You put on your perfume and slip on a cardigan to brave the chilly evening, then link your arm with his. "Show me the way, dear husband."
The drive is quiet, and your unease returns tenfold. Yoongi's presence fills the car as he drives, steady and close. It's hard to ignore it with his hand finding your knee at every red light.
“You’re quiet." Yoongi's voice is calm and soft, yet his words weigh heavily around you.
Brushing your fingers on the back of his hand, you force a little smile. “Sorry. I got lost in my head for a moment.”
He takes a glance at you. “Something bothering you?”
"It's nothing serious, and you should keep your eyes on the road," you tease him, before adding, "We can always talk more later at dinner."
He chuckles, squeezing your knee once more. “Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ve got a few things to share with you too.”
The night unfolds like a dream—which Yoongi fills with tons of surprises.
Yoongi starts the night by taking you to the movie theater for a private screening of the movie you missed on your honeymoon. His quiet grin is the only thing he offers as you whisper in surprise, "I thought they took down this movie over a month ago."
"I have my ways. Now hush and enjoy the movie, love," he smoothly whispers as he takes your hand and kisses the back of it.
A little over an hour later, he then drives you to the city park for a quick stroll to enjoy the evening breeze. You stop at the open food court at the end of the park, where the air smells faintly of roasted chestnuts and cold metal, and a delicate mix of street food being sold by the food trucks lined up at the side of the park.
You find a comfortable spot to sit between the lines of picnic benches while Yoongi walks off to order dinner. Soft, golden hue falls around you from the rows of lanterns hanging above your head. The pretty lights distract you from the cold breeze, but do so little to distract you from your thoughts that keep returning each time Yoongi isn't there to take your mind away.
He returns soon after with a tray of food and drinks. A breeze brushes against your skin while you are helping him set all the food on the table, causing you to shudder.
"Cold?" Yoongi suddenly asks as he moves around the table to get to you.
"I'm fine," you laugh, even as you gently fix the cardigan around your body. "It's just the breeze. I'll survive the night, just let me fill my stomach with food."
Ignoring you, Yoongi slips his jacket off his shoulders and wraps it around your shoulders, instantly enveloping you with warmth. "It's better not to risk it," he whispers, kissing our temple. "I promised you a relaxing night, so you should be able to enjoy your food without feeling cold."
“Thanks,” you whisper, too aware of the warmth he leaves behind as he sits right across the table.
The dinner may be simple; nothing as fancy as the restaurant dinner both of you are used to. Yet it feels lovely. For a moment, it feels easy—just two people sharing dinner beneath the glow of autumn light. For the first time, his presence doesn't feel so intimidating. The music playing from a distance sounds soothing, and the accompanying sound of rustling leaves makes it even more perfect.
Everything slows down as you enjoy your dinner and the light compliments he shares about the food he chose. Until your thoughts drift back to the secrets waiting between you.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
You startle at his voice. He’s smiling, but his eyes are watchful, his gaze lingering on you for too long.
"Looks like you have something in mind," he says, as he puts a piece of cheesy fries into his mouth. "Is something troubling you?"
“Just… thinking about work,” you lie.
He nods. "Want to share? Maybe I can solve it for you."
You lightly laugh as you slowly push around the rest of the food on your plate. "I may not be as experienced as you are in terms of dating, but I personally don't think that business and work are quite the appealing conversation to have during a date."
"We tend to do things differently," he jokes with a chuckle. Crossing his hands on the table, he leans forward to speak to you gently, "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
“I know,” you whisper, though the words taste heavy. You can no longer sit still. Not when he is looking at you in a way that makes you feel as though he can see inside your head.
Noticing your silence, Yoongi tilts his head. “Did something happen at your father’s office?”
"No…no, there was nothing important." Your throat tightens. You sip your drink to buy time.
You think back about how the day went by; Miss Ahn and her guarded tone, and Jinyoung's past work that he kept hidden from you. Despite finding out so many in one day, you realize how little you understand everything. How little you know. You also have no idea what Yongguk may have reported back to Yoongi once he was done keeping you under his watch.
Then you remember the conversation you had with your father. So instead, you ask, “Dad said you’ve been calling him frequently. What do you talk about?”
Yoongi leans back with a smile. “You,” he says easily.
You roll your eyes, laughing. “Be serious.”
“I am.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “He worries about you.”
You cannot help but laugh. "About me?"
Yoongi shrugs. "He's right to worry. After all, he had to let his precious daughter marry someone like me," Yoongi lightly chuckles.
You smile faintly, and just then, your afternoon meeting with Hoseok comes to mind, followed by the files you spent the rest afternoon sifting through while waiting for him to come home. It makes you wonder how much about his father's past that Yoongi knew, or if he had known anything about your father's connection with his family at all.
Curiosity gets the better of you, then—without quite meaning to—you start to ask, “Did our fathers used to be close? Or…would you say that they get along aside from their activities at the Country Club that they'd often go to?”
Yoongi looks surprised. “Not that I know of. Why?”
Taking a deep breath, you decide that it's best to tell him what you know. “I found out today that they worked together. A long time ago.”
His eyes grow wide. “You’re kidding.”
His reaction seems genuine, “No. You really didn’t know?”
“I didn’t. But…” He pauses, his expression shifting. "Ah, that must've been what he meant."
"Who?"
"My father," Yoongi says with a chuckle. "Remember how much he and your Dad drank on our wedding day, and I volunteered to stay with them for a while once the guests had left?"
"I remember," you answer as you recall returning early to your room once the reception was over, leaving Yoongi behind as he joined your father and his at the open bar.
"They talked for a while, and it did seem like they connected easily after a few drinks. After your father left, I stayed with my Dad for a while to talk more. That's when he said something about how good it felt to talk to your Dad again. I didn't think much of it at the time. I just thought that maybe they used to see each other during our school days. But now that you said they used to work together, it makes perfect sense."
You listen quietly as he explains, his tone thoughtful. Somehow, his surprise eases you. He truly hadn’t known.
Still, something itches at the back of your mind. “You never saw them together at the club?”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t around them much whenever I had time to hang around at the club. I talked more with Jinyoung whenever he was there with your Dad.”
Hearing your late fiancé's name steals the air from your lungs. Your throat feels tight. But you swallow the dull ache in your chest down and force your voice steady when you ask, “Were you close with Jinyoung?”
Yoongi's gaze snaps back at you, perhaps realizing too late that he had let Jinyoung's name slip out of his mouth. “Not really,” he says, his voice gentle. "You can say we got well acquainted through the club's activities and events, only because the young members used to be the ones to do the hard work during those times. We didn't talk much outside of work when we saw each other."
You simply nod, not knowing what to say in return. Suddenly, Yoongi reaches across the table to grab your hand. His thumb rubs slow circles on your hand. "Was it at my grandfather's company where our fathers worked together?" He asks you, deliberately changing the topic.
You nod. “Apparently so. I don't really know the details,” you admit with a small smile. "You really didn't know?" You ask him again, and look up to see him shaking his head.
His frown deepens. “No, not a clue. It's so strange. I’ve never heard your father’s name mentioned there.”
You nod slowly. "I can't say I'm surprised. It was long before my Dad started building his own business, so everything related to my father may have gotten lost in time."
Yoongi hums softly. "You seem surprised."
You softly laugh. "You can't blame me for feeling that way. I just found out about it today."
He studies you for a moment. “Is this what’s been bothering you all night?”
"Part of it, I guess," you say with a small smile. “I just have questions, that's all. And it doesn't seem like my Dad would be open to talk about it.”
Yoongi nods. “I could ask around at the main office if you'd like. Maybe there's still some information about it,” he offers.
You shake your head. "Thank you. But there's no need," you reassure him, because it seems doubtful that he'll find anything, even if he tries. If his grandfather truly has a hand on it—or, if he had anything to do with your father's departure from the company—then it's more than likely any record of it has been wiped out or buried so deeply that no one would be able to see it.
The records you saw today showed many reasons why it would be possible. During his time in the company, it seems like your father had amassed plenty of accomplishments and favourable results, which should have been enough to earn him an important part in the company today. But when his fate was completely the opposite of what should have been, then you know that something crucial must have happened years ago.
I should finish sifting through Hoseok's files. The answers might be in there.
"Are you sure?" Yoongi asks you, snapping you back to the present. "I don't enjoy visiting the main company all that much, yet if it's for you, I'd do it."
His offer makes you smile, and you realize that your quiet reflection may have soured the mood. So you try to change the mood by jokingly saying, "You don't have to. I'm sure we'll eventually find out more in the future. All we have to do is invite them for drinks again, and they'll start talking."
He laughs softly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah, you might be right."
You are ready for the date to be over once dinner is done. But apparently, Yoongi still has another surprise hidden up his sleeve.
"There's something else I want to show you before we go home."
Taking your hand in his, Yoongi leads you down a hidden path across the park. The pathway opens between tall green hedges, with a long, winding gravel-covered pathway, and strings of fairy lights hanging above your head. Here, the night glows softly and golden, making you feel like you are walking through a sky full of stars.
You laugh in quiet wonder as you look at your new surroundings. “This is beautiful.”
Yoongi's smile is wide when you look at him, yet he only has his eyes on you. "It is beautiful, isn't it?
Walking slowly down the path with your fingers laced in his, you continue to enjoy this moment, suddenly wishing that it would last—long enough to help you forget for a moment everything that has been weighing you down.. "How did you find this place?"
Yoongi hums softly. “Jimin told me about it,” Yoongi admits. “Said it was perfect for dates. I thought he was overselling it when he told me about it. I can see now that he was right.”
You grin. “So you trusted his advice?”
“Why not?" He smiles when he sees you holding back a smile. "What? Was that so bad?”
“No, it was good, actually,” you tease, yet he still isn't buying it.
"What is it?" He asks, his touch on your waist stopping you from looking away. "What's with that look?"
"Nothing," you tease as you try to escape him, only to fail, as he pulls you closer.
"No, I know there's something. Tell me," he insists, smiling and looking straight into your eyes.
Giggling softly, you finally admit to him, “I thought maybe this was one of your old dating spots.”
He groans. “You thought wrong.” Then, gently—seriously—he reassures you, “You’re the first I’ve brought here. I promised not to let the past touch what we have.”
His sincerity hits you like a soft bruise. You smile, but it feels fragile. “Okay. I trust you.”
Even as you try to answer him with a steady voice, the words sound faint, your voice sounding like it comes from far away. You can feel the weight of your words pulling you down, yet it seems like Yoongi isn't seeing it.
“You should.” His smile returns, small but present, and you can still feel the guilt clawing at your chest. Taking your hand in his, Yoongi laces his fingers through yours. "Come on. It's getting late."
You continue to walk in silence down the pathway, yet your mind refuses to stay quiet. His warmth feels like a steady presence beside you, enveloping you like a protective shield, meant to bring you comfort. Yet his promise continues to echo through your mind, and your secrets grow heavier with every step you take with him, quietly threatening to take over your life entirely.
It’s almost midnight when you return home.
You barely cross the threshold when Yoongi pulls you close and does the one thing you've been waiting all night long for him to do. With his arm wrapped around your waist, he pulls you against his chest, his lips finding yours. The world narrows—just his warmth, his scent, the faint tremor in your chest. The kiss swallows every thought you’ve tried to bury.
You feel his hands peeling the jacket off your shoulders, then your cardigan, then you feel him gently pulling you back until you are pressed against the wall.
When he pulls back, his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
You exhale. “I did. Thank you. It's been a lovely night.”
“You deserve it,” he murmurs. His gaze flickers, unreadable. “You deserve everything. You know that, right?”
The words hit deeper than he knows. You look away, blinking hard. "I'm not so sure about that."
If only you knew how little I deserve.
He tilts your chin back up to look at him. “You believe me when I say you can trust me, don’t you?”
Your throat feels tight. “I do,” you manage to whisper. I want to.
“I want to trust you too, sweetheart,” he says, voice low, a tight smile appearing on his face. “I find it easy to open up to you, and I can see myself sharing everything with you in the future.”
“I think…” You hesitate. “I think I want that too.”
And you mean it. Every word, every part of your being wants nothing more than to be able to trust him.
But reality works differently with you.
For a heartbeat, he smiles. Then something changes. The air shifts—too still, too sharp.
“Really? You mean it?” His tone is calm, but the warmth is slowly fading. His words—for the first time—feel empty. Something is different about him. “Everything I’ve promised you, everything I’ve done—it’s all been for us. For you. The promises I made about keeping you safe and treating you the best I possibly could are all true. Never once have I ever thought about going back on my words.”
The unsettling feeling that has been haunting you stirs, yet you force yourself to ignore it. "I know. You've proven it to me already."
And for some reason, a part of you truly believes that he'll continue to do the same.
Which only makes you feel even worse inside.
"Right," he murmurs, his voice sounds tight. "Then…can I ask you just one thing?"
Chill runs down your spine as you look into his eyes. You swallow hard to ask, "Of course. What is it?"
He takes a slow breath. “Tell me…because I'm dying to know the answer, and I know I won't be able to move forward until I can understand this one thing—”
His voice drops, quiet and cold, each word landing like a blade drawn through silk, tilting your entire world off its axis when he continues to ask,
“Are you still planning to take me—and my company—down, my love?”
Note: bolded urls = unable to tag | Please notify me if I missed your url or if something needs to be fixed so I can tag you in the next part. Feel free to let me know if you want to be removed :)
Please kindly leave a like to let me know that you are tagged and leave comment if you enjoyed reading this. You can help support the story by reblogging it!
Summary: After almost six years together, Yoongi asked you to move in with him. You’re done packing your whole apartment for the move, and he shows up to make sure your last night at your old place is special.
Genre: Fluff, smut, idol au, established relationship.
Chapter warnings: This is porn with plot and I’m not even sorry, just something I put together for someone special (@naptimewithyoongi ). And yall thought I couldn’t write a oneshot!!! UNEDITED, so ignore the mistakes and enjoy boyfriend Yoongi <3
WC: 6k.
MAIN MASTERLIST.
The loud noise of the duct tape didn’t even bother you anymore with how many boxes you taped together over the last several days; well, weeks.
You hated moving, you decided, sitting in the middle of your living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes. Or at least you hated packing to move. But it was time, and you were excited for the future.
As you uncapped the sharpie you’ve been using to label the boxes, you knew you wouldn’t miss the slight stinging smell that came with it, one you had unintentionally sniffed more over the course of this packing process than you had your entire life. In neat handwriting, soft and curved, you wrote ‘Yoongi’s shit’. Which you knew he’d appreciate the curse word on it, and it made you chuckle.
