guys omg!! thank you so much for all the love on the first part of call me ian <3 i’m currently working on part 2, as well as a masterlist for the fic and a list of all the songs that inspired me to write it! :)) i’ll be posting them soon! take care in the meantime and drink lots of water!! this heat wave has been terrible lately..
summary: grief does strange things to people. for example, it convinces you that spending time with your dead boyfriend’s twin brother is a good idea. jungkook, on the other hand, has convinced himself that being loved for the wrong reasons is better than not being loved at all.
pairing/genre: jeon jungkook x reader. ‘strangers’ to lovers. twin brother au. angst. smut. bittersweet romance. hurt/no comfort. (heh.)
pt1 tags: female reader! small town au. main character jungkook. death, grief, resentment, complicated sibling relationships, mentions of smoking, hints of depression, first meeting, awkward af jungkook, reader is going THROUGH it… i think that’s all!
a/n: first time posting on this acc, kinda nervous... if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know! and if you enjoy the story, likes, reblogs, and replies are highly appreciated. thank you for reading! <3
wc: 5.2k
Jungkook hates mirrors.
He’s been saying it for years now, and it’s the reason there isn’t one hanging on his bedroom wall.
No.
Jungkook hates looking at himself in the mirror.
You would think it’s because of the obvious things, like the catalog of insecurities people tend to hoard and dissect. People always assume he’s avoiding something about himself. They’re not completely wrong. Just not in the way they think.
The problem has never really been his face. The problem is that it isn’t only his. The real reason why Jungkook hates mirrors has a name, and, inconveniently, the same face as his.
Ian Jeon. His twin brother.
Jungkook hates thinking about his childhood, too. He wishes that his memory wasn’t so meticulous and clinged to things the way it does, preserving them in unnecessary detail that feels this cruel.
He remembers Sunday mornings clearly, sitting at the table across from his brother, legs swinging under their chairs, arguing over something trivial—how much juice had been poured into each glass, whose portion was unfairly larger. Their father would laugh under his breath, tsking lightly, amused by the ridiculousness of it, before reaching between them to settle the dispute. Predictably, Ian always came out ahead.
He remembers the sound of the new comic book pages being flicked on their birthday as Ian devoured each panel from the comfort of the sofa, while Jungkook sat a few feet away, crying over not getting a single birthday gift from their grandmother.
He remembers the cheers whenever Ian scored in soccer, how people would crowd around him at the end of the match like moths to a flame, all hands on his shoulders and eager to congratulate him. He remembers how much their mom praised him too, how easily it came to her. And, bitterly, Jungkook remembers that she never once stopped to look at any of his paintings.
He also remembers their father’s hand in Ian’s hair whenever he did well. Remembers the imprint of their mother’s lipstick pressed against Ian’s cheek and how he would complain about it, wiping at it until it smeared.
Jungkook remembers all of it.
Including that stupid, unforgiving mirror in the hallway.
He remembers standing there for hours, looking at himself. His hair neatly in place, his cheeks clean and untouched… no smudged lipstick, no disheveled hair, no evidence that someone had shown him an ounce of affection.
Oh, how much he hates to remember.
He hates the comparison, the jealousy and envy, the resentment that had bloomed against his own brother without ever understanding why.
He wishes he could change that. Wishes he could look back and feel something that doesn’t sit so wrong in the back of his mind or make his heart ache so much.
But even now… now that Ian is dead… He can’t.
Jungkook still fucking remembers.
The voice of Kurt Cobain blesses Jungkook’s ears through his wired earphones. At least, that’s exactly what he would say if somebody stopped him right now and asked what he was listening to as he walks down the street, suitcase dragging noisily behind him.
What the fuck am I even doing here?
He’s been wondering that ever since he got on the plane to Oregon, where his father lives. Everything here is damp. The air, the pavement, the sleeves of his hoodie after only ten minutes outside… Eugh. How is he supposed to get used to this?
After Ian’s death only a month ago, his father had practically begged him to come stay for a while. Loneliness, that’s the word he used. Jungkook wouldn’t call it loneliness though, but rather his father’s desperate attempt to pretend that he still has Ian. Anyone else would probably be upset in his position. Angry, even. And, well… if you squint really, really hard… Jungkook supposes he cares a little too. Enough for the thought to leave a bitter taste in his mouth whenever it resurfaces, at least. But not enough to turn around and get back on a plane home.
Any excuse is good to put distance between himself and his mother. In a different state, he feels a lot more free. Not that he ever felt particularly trapped before, that would require his mother to have paid enough attention to him in the first place. She never really did, if we avoid using bigger, uglier words for it. CPS had been called on her more than once throughout Jungkook’s childhood, although nothing substantial ever came out of it in the end. Jungkook still remembers the almost tearful relief on her face the day he turned eighteen, like an unbearable responsibility had finally been lifted off her shoulders now that she wouldn’t have to legally deal with him anymore.
Sometimes, he wonders whether she even cared about Ian dying at all, and a part of him wishes he could have been there to watch her reaction when she found out. She had always made it obvious which twin she loved more.
When the court decided, after the divorce, that Ian would move away with their father instead of staying with her, she barely spoke to Jungkook for nearly three months afterward, as if he was responsible for it somehow.
And yes… of course he remembers that too.
But things are looking brighter for Jungkook now. Or perhaps not brighter, exactly. Lowell barely sees the sun. The small town is permanently trapped under a layer of clouds and fog. His father had always loved nature, so it makes sense he ended up settling somewhere like this. A place swallowed by forests, with an enormous lake and a small beach that probably only looks appealing in postcards and tourist brochures. It would be so beautiful if it weren’t constantly raining.
And it really is constantly raining.
The asphalt squeaks under Jungkook’s shoes as he walks down the street, following the route displayed on his GPS.
He couldn’t even come pick me up?
The thought has been percolating in the back of his mind ever since he stepped out of the airport, which he himself finds childish. Jungkookk kisses his teeth in annoyance, he can’t help it. He can’t believe his father couldn’t even make the effort to pick him up himself, especially considering this is Jungkook’s first time visiting him in God knows how many years.
A few droplets of water splatter against his phone screen, distorting the GPS for a second, and Jungkook looks up, squinting one eye at the heavy dark clouds looming above him. The sky looks angry. Thick with rain that seems to have been threatening to fall ever since he arrived.
Another droplet lands directly on his cheek.
“Fuck,” he mutters, hastily pulling the hood of his hoodie over his head before the rain fully starts.
It helps for all of two minutes.
Rain comes pouring down in heavy sheets, drumming against the pavement so loudly that it drowns out the music still playing through his earphones. Jungkook curses under his breath and starts walking faster, stubbornly trying to push through it, shoulders hunched against the downpour.
Bad idea.
Within minutes, his clothes are soaked, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead despite the hood covering his head. He can’t even keep his phone out long enough to check the GPS without water soaking the screen. Eventually he has no choice but to shove it into his pocket.
And, with absolutely no prevision whatsoever, he of course didn’t bring an umbrella. Even though he knew Lowell was like this.
What an idiot.
Jungkook glances around quickly, searching for somewhere to shelter from the rain. Across the street, partially obscured by the heavy downpour, he spots a small convenience store with a flickering bright blue sign glowing through the foggy windows.
Thank fucking God.
He quickly crosses the street, slipping inside the store just as the rain starts coming down even harder. A small bell jingles above the door. The man smoking behind the counter glances away from the TV and gives Jungkook a lazy nod.
“Rain’s comin’ down real nasty out there, huh?” he drawls. He has a thick accent.
Jungkook nods back awkwardly, slightly out of breath as he pushes his drenched suitcase farther inside the store.
“Does it ever stop raining here?” he asks, pulling one of his earphones out.
The man behind the counter snorts softly.
“Boy, y’ain’t from ‘round here, I’m guessin’. This is the nice weather. Come winter, ya gon’ start missin’ this.”
Jungkook lets out a small laugh through his nose, brushing wet strands of hair away from his forehead. Water drips from the sleeves of his hoodie onto the floor. The older man studies him for another second.
“Huh...”
Jungkook glances up. “Hm?”
“Sorry,” the man says, staring at him with visible confusion. “S’just… swear I seen yer face ‘round before. Y’got one’a them familiar faces.”
Jungkook pauses for a second before answering, “Yeah... I have a twin brother. He lives here.”
Lived, he corrects himself silently.
“Ahhh,” the man nods. “That’s probably it then.”
Jungkook’s eyes drift away from the counter, scanning the tiny store aimlessly until they land on the refrigerated sandwich shelf at the back wall.
His stomach growls.
Right.
He hasn’t eaten anything in hours. And considering the storm outside looks nowhere near close to stopping, it probably wouldn’t hurt to buy something to eat while he waits for the rain to calm down.
Pulling his phone out again, he decides to text his father.
Dad, I’m at a convenience store waiting for the rain to stop. Gonna eat something here.
Do you want anything?
He stares at the messages for a moment after sending them before he shoves the phone back into the pocket of his hoodie.
Just as he starts walking toward the first aisle, the man behind the counter stops him.
“Y’can leave yer suitcase here, son,” he says casually. “Ain’t nobody gon’ steal it. Jus’ cleaned them floors ‘bout twenty minutes ago, though, an’ I’d rather not have that wet thing rollin’ all over the store.”
“Oh,” Jungkook says quickly, glancing down at the puddle his suitcase wheels have apparently been leaving behind. “Yeah. Of course, sorry.”
He pulls the suitcase back toward the counter and carefully places it beside the register in a way that won’t bother anyone coming in or out of the store. Not that there seems to be much traffic anyway. It’s a small town. Jungkook doubts anybody would even bother trying to steal his suitcase in the first place. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything particularly valuable inside. Well. Maybe his blue ‘Salty to the Core’ shirt. That, admittedly, would be a devastating loss.
“Thank ya, son,” the man says with an approving nod before returning his attention to the tiny TV, weather forecast droning softly in the background while rain continues violently battering against the windows outside.
Jungkook nods once more before making his way toward the first aisle, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie as he slowly scans the shelves.
His mouth unconsciously forms tiny o’s every now and then whenever he spots something appetizing, making him even more hungry.
What would Ian buy if he were here right now? Jungkook wonders. I mean, he obviously came here before. The man at the counter recognized me, so Ian must’ve walked through these same aisles at some point, grabbing things from these same shelves.
Jungkook finds himself staring at the candy section. Would Ian go for the chocolate and caramel bars? A bag of chips? Red vines? Or maybe something healthier to pretend he had his life together. Oat cookies or those disgusting protein bars athletes always eat. Gosh, those are so disgusting. How could anyone eat them?
The guessing game continues inside his head despite how stupid it is. Because that’s all it is… guessing. Trying to imagine the choices someone he technically knew his entire life would make while simultaneously realizing he didn’t know him at all.
He has no fucking idea what Ian liked. They hadn’t spoken in years. Sure, there had been occasional texts. Birthdays, holidays... but whatever relationship they could’ve had had slowly rotted away over time, through mutual indifference.
Whenever Jungkook thinks about it, he feels guilty. He should’ve tried harder. Should’ve called more, visited more, been more… brotherly. If that even means anything. Yet, at the same time, the thought irritates him too, because why is all the responsibility sitting on him now that Ian’s dead? Ian never fought for their relationship either. He never called much. Never visited. Never seemed concerned about the fact that they barely knew each other anymore. So why should Jungkook be the only one feeling guilty about it?
The chocolate chip cookies in Jungkook’s hands stare back at him from inside the plastic packaging. For some reason, he’s convinced these are probably the kind Ian would’ve picked. Ian loved chocolate when they were kids.
Before he can linger on the thought further, his phone vibrates, startling him slightly in the quiet of the aisle. Jungkook quickly places the cookies back on the shelf before pulling his phone out.
Dad.
You’re gonna eat there? OK don’t eat too much, I was making roast chicken😆
I don’t want anything thank you
If it hasn’t stopped in 20 let me know and I’ll pick you up OK??
With a sigh, he types back a simple response.
Okay.
He slips the phone back into his pocket just as the bell above the entrance jingles again, announcing someone else entering the store. Jungkook glances toward the front windows.
Who the fuck comes to a convenience store in weather like this?
Then again, he’s doing exactly that too.
He slowly makes his way toward the refrigerated sandwich section, hearing the muffled sound of the man behind the counter talking to someone—a young woman, judging by the voice—about a pack of Marlboros. Jungkook doesn’t pay attention. His focus remains on the sandwiches lined up on the fridge while he debates which one looks least depressing. Eventually, he settles on a tuna mayo sandwich. It has never failed him before.
He grabs it from the shelf and studies the packaging, licking his lips as he does. His mouth feels dry too, now that he thinks about it. Yeah. A cold soda sounds really fucking good right now.
“Y’know, sweetheart, at this point I oughta start refusin’ to sell these to ya.” Jungkook hears the man say as he walks up to the other fridges with the sodas.
“Pretty sure that’s illegal,” the girl replies dryly.
“What’s illegal is livin’ off cigs an’ alcohol, young lady.”
Jungkook tries glancing toward the counter, but the shelf beside him completely blocks his view. Not that he cares enough to move and look. Still, he listens. The only thing he can gather about the girl is that she sounds young. Young and unexpectedly soft spoken. Her voice sounds so sweet… Not at all what Jungkook would’ve expected from someone currently getting lectured about chain smoking by the convenience store owner.
“I’m fine, Jerry.”
“Uh huh.” He doesn’t sound convinced in the slightest. “An’ I’m Elvis Presley.”
“Jerry—”
“You gon’ make me start worryin’ for real.”
Silence.
The fridge door hums in Jungkook’s hand as he opens it.
The girl mutters, defensive, “Can I just get the cigarettes?”
“Not ‘til ya grab somethin’ t’eat first.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Jerry clicks his tongue.
“Sweetheart, last actual thing i seen ya buy was that soup couple days ago.” His voice softens. “C’mon now. Jus’ grab somethin’.”
The girl lets out a tired sigh.
“I just want the Malboros. I don’t have enough money on me to spend on food right now.”
“Who said anythin’ ‘bout spendin’ money? Pick whatever ya want, it’s on me. A sandwich, chips... Hell, grab one’a them nasty hotdogs if ya want. M’not arguin’ with ya today.”
Jungkook presses his lips together thoughtfully. Jerry seems like a good man. Jungkook could tell from the moment he stepped inside the convenience store soaking wet and miserable. He thinks he probably would’ve done the same in his position.
The girl lets out another loud, defeated sigh before finally giving in, and a second later Jungkook hears her footsteps moving through the aisles.
After grabbing a soda from the fridge, he finds himself trying to catch glimpses of her through the narrow gaps between shelves purely out of curiosity. He hears the crinkling of a candy packaging right before she makes her way toward the sandwich section.
That’s when he finally catches sight of her.
Of you.
You’re wearing jeans, the soaked hems dragging across the floor after being completely drenched by the rain outside. Your hair somehow looks even wetter than Jungkook’s, and your zipup hoodie looks enormous on you. The sleeves are so long they completely conceal your hands. There’s a pack of red vines under your arm now alongside a sandwich.
You linger in front of the yogurt section, staring blankly at the different flavors, and when you slightly shift your position, Jungkook finally sees part of your face through the reflection of one of the convenience store mirrors next to you.
Well, shit.
She’s beautiful.
Oh, she’s so fucking beautiful.
You look nothing like what he had subconsciously imagined from the conversation at the counter. His own judgment had imagined somebody completely different, built from stupid little societal assumptions he hadn’t even realized he was making until now. He had been so wrong. You look like a freaking angel.
He’s staring at you hard and shamelessly, eyes widening in pure awe at the sight of this unknown girl who has taken his breath away within the span of mere seconds. He can even feel his lips part slightly in shock. And the heat steadily creeping up his cheeks and ears despite the cold soda bottle sweating against his palm.
Jesus Christ. You’re seriously the prettiest girl he thinks he has ever seen. He can’t even remember the last time the mere sight of a woman affected him like this, left him feeling so stupidly swept off his feet. He must be fucking dreaming.
But unfortunately for his dignity, he is very much awake.
The moment you start turning in his direction, Jungkook immediately snaps out of the pathetic trance he had just fallen into and quickly looks away, making his way back toward the register and trying to look as normal as humanly possible.
At least the hood of his hoodie is still pulled over his head, hiding his face… and, thankfully, the catastrophic embarrassment currently written all over it too.
“Find everythin’ alright?” Jerry asks when Jungkook places the items on the register counter.
“Mhm.”
The older man scans the items.
“Seven forty two.”
Jungkook blinks. He hadn’t even realized the man had already scanned everything.
“Hm?” he says intelligently.
Jerry chuckles under his breath.
“Seven forty two, son.”
“Oh. Right.”
Jungkook fishes his wallet out of his pocket and taps his card against the machine. The old card reader takes its sweet time processing it, forcing him to stand there awkwardly.
“So,” Jerry begins, leaning one elbow against the counter, “how long ya stayin’ in town?”
Jungkook shrugs.
“A while, I think.“
Jerry hums, clearly sensing that Jungkook isn’t exactly in the mood for conversation but choosing to ignore it anyway.
“Good place t’be if ya like trees… Ain’t much else besides that.”
The older man says it with so much pride that Jungkook suspects it was supposed to be a selling point.
“Y’know,” Jerry says as he hands him the receipt, nodding toward the front windows, “there’s some tables over there if ya plannin’ on waitin’ out the storm.”
Jungkook follows his gaze.
A small seating area sits by the large glass windows overlooking the street, probably meant for people drinking coffee before work or teenagers killing time after school. Yeah… He’s not walking anywhere anytime soon. The rain outside is still coming down heavily, racing down the glass in thick streams that distort the street outside into a blur.
“Thank you.”
“Take ya time.”
Gathering his sandwich and soda, Jungkook steps away from the register and starts making his way toward the seating area by the windows, thinking about finally sitting down and eating in peace while he waits for the rain to calm down. Only to come face to face with you in the middle of the aisle as you’re heading toward the counter.
Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, he hadn’t expected to run into anyone. Plus, he knows he has the nervous system of a frightened bunny, especially around women… And after spending five whole minutes acting like a complete weirdo when he caught a glimpse of you, this is pretty much the last thing he needed. He can only hope he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels.
Your eyes widen too. The expression that overtakes your face is so sudden and so strange that it makes something uneasy settle in his stomach.
The bottle of soda slips from your hands and hits the floor with a loud crash, spraying dark liquid across the tiles as it explodes open. Everything else you carry follows shortly after, tumbling from your arms while you continue staring at him with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. As though you’ve seen a ghost.
“Ian?”
The name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper just as Jungkook’s eyebrows begin to furrow.
Your eyes have filled with tears. They gathered quickly, spilling over before you’ve had the chance to blink them away, racing down your cheeks.
What the hell is going on right now?
The explanation is obvious, though. You knew Ian. You mistook him for Ian.
Jungkook opens his mouth, preparing himself to explain that he’s not his brother, that he’s Jungkook, that Ian was his twin, that he’s sorry for the misunderstanding and for sticking his finger in the fresh wound without meaning to. But he never gets the chance. Before a single word can leave his mouth, you’re throwing your arms around him.
The force you use almost makes him drop his own drink. Your face disappears into the front of his hoodie as a sob tears its way out of your chest, followed by another, and then another, your fingers clutching desperately to him. Jungkook stands there, completely frozen. Yes, he understands why you’re hugging him. What he doesn’t understand is what the hell he’s supposed to do about it, the situation has escalated far beyond his ability to handle it. He hasn’t been hugged in… Wait, he doesn’t even remember.
You’re crying so hard that your entire body is shaking against his with the effort of holding yourself together. Shit. Jungkook hesitates for a moment, standing there stiffly while you continue clinging to him, sobs muffled against his chest. He’s never been particularly good with crying people, if he’s being honest. Even if he’s tried to be. But right now there doesn’t seem to be anybody more qualified available. So, after a few long seconds, he cautiously wraps his arms around you too, his hand coming up to your back in what he hopes gives you comfort.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, even though he has absolutely no idea whether it’s okay. The words feel useless when they leave his mouth.
Still, he finds himself gently patting your back, trying to soothe you despite the fact that he’s completely out of his depth here.
The soda continues fizzing across the floor, the liquid now spreading under the shelves while the scent of carbonation lingers in the air, but neither of you pays it much attention.
A moment later, hurried footsteps approach from the front of the store.
Jungkook glances up to find Jerry appearing at the end of the aisle, clearly drawn over by the sound of the bottle exploding and, more importantly, by your crying.
The older man comes to a stop. His eyes move from the spilled soda, to you, to Jungkook, who looks back at him helplessly over the top of your head. Surely Jerry knows who you are and what’s happening. Except, judging by the expression on his face, he seems just as confused as Jungkook is.
To you, Jungkook’s arms feel exactly like Ian’s. They’re big, warm and comforting, wrapping around you in the exact same way Ian always used to; both arms around yours, pulling you so close that you’re practically buried against his chest. It feels so familiar that your body melts into the embrace like it’s something you’ve been missing for a long time.
Which, of course, it is.
For the first minute, it doesn’t even occur to you that the man holding you isn’t him. Perhaps it should have. Perhaps that should’ve been your very first thought, considering Ian has been dead a month now, buried under Lowell’s wet dirt and depressing rain. But it isn’t because you’re too busy feeling relieved. Too busy feeling happy. You’ve missed him so much that, for one horrible moment, you let yourself believe this. That somehow all those nights spent crying yourself to sleep were for nothing because he’s standing right in front of you now with his arms wrapped around you.
It is only later that you realize how insane that sounds and how impossible it is. He’s dead.
You believe it’s the whiff of Jungkook’s cologne that breaks the illusion, the unfamiliar scent still lingering on his clothes from that morning. You have no idea who this is or what he’s doing here, but you do know that this is not the scent of the man you love.
Embarrassed and confused, you sniff, tilting your head up to look at his face. It’s only centimeters away from yours, partially concealed by the hood of his hoodie, which darkens his features. Even then, he looks soft and sweet, staring back at you with concern through his big, dark, bambi-like eyes. You must be dreaming. That’s Ian. He’s right there. In the flesh.
No… No, no, no.
This person has a beauty mark right under his bottom lip. Ian didn’t. If he did, you would’ve known. You know every inch of Ian’s face as well as you know your own reflection, you have it memorized… And there are the piercings too, glinting on his ears and lip, unfamiliar little details disrupting the face you know too well. He’s not Ian.
Jungkook is talking to you, you can see his lips moving and the growing concern in his expression as his eyes move across your face, searching for answers you’re clearly not giving him. But you can’t hear a word. There’s a high pitched ringing in your ears, drowning out every other sound inside the convenience store.
You feel sick. Sick and nauseous.
“Can you hear me?” he asks, his hands settling more firmly on your arms after feeling your body almost give out. “Hello? Do you understand what I’m saying? Nod if yes.”
Jungkook watches as your breathing grows quicker and quicker, your chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes remain fixed on him. Yet you still haven’t spoken a single word. He has absolutely no idea what to do.
A few minutes ago he was choosing between two different sodas and wondering why the store owner worried so much about the prettiest girl he had ever seen. And now said girl is standing in front of him looking like she might pass out at any given second because she mistook him for his dead brother.
“I think we should call an ambulance,” he says, panicking on the inside as he turns slightly toward Jerry, only now noticing that the older man has moved beside the two of you at some point during the chaos. “She’s not—”
He never gets to finish the sentence. Before Jungkook can even begin to understand what is happening, you’re wrenching yourself free from his grip. You run to the door, your shoulder colliding with his on the way past.
“Hey! Wait!” Jungkook yells, rushing after you.
The convenience store door is already swinging shut by the time he reaches it, still moving from where you had shoved it open seconds earlier. He catches it before it can close all the way, holding it open as a gust of cold wind and rain slaps him in the face.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
Squinting against the downpour, Jungkook cranes his neck, trying to spot you through the thick curtain of rain engulfing the street. The weather had been bad before, but now it seems even worse.
He spots your figure on the opposite side of the street, hurrying down the sidewalk with your head lowered against the rain. Fuck, you’re fast.
You turn a corner and begin to disappear from view, and without really thinking about it, Jungkook makes up his mind. He’s going after you.
He only has the chance to take one determined step forward before his body is jerked backward.
“Whoa there, cowboy.”
Jungkook stumbles as Jerry grabs a fistful of the fabric at the back of his hoodie and drags him back inside the store before he can fully step into the rain.
“What you doin’?” Jerry asks, looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Get back in here and let her go, son.” He says it before Jungkook can even question why he’s being dragged back inside the store in the first place.
Still, the words do very little to settle the sudden urge he feels to run after you.
His eyes drift back to the glass door, hoping to catch another glimpse of your figure through the rain, albeit he already knows you’re long gone by now.
“She’s havin’ a hard enough time as it is.” The older man shakes his head before looking out at the rain too. “Her boyfriend passed away ‘bout a month ago.”
Ian had a girlfriend? Since when?
At this point, he’s beginning to realize there are probably a hundred things he doesn’t know about his brother. Or perhaps a thousand.
Jungkook’s gaze leaves the door and returns to Jerry slowly. The man doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t have to. The look on his face is enough.
Jerry tskes.
“Now I know why ya looked so familiar. M’sorry for yer loss, son.”
Jungkook swallows. He doesn’t know what to say, so he simply nods. The man seems to understand.
After giving Jungkook a brief pat on the shoulder, Jerry makes his way back toward the aisle, reaching for a mop as he goes to deal with the spilled soda, abandoned red vines and sandwich, and everything else left behind in the wake of whatever the hell had just happened.
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
2087
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
dailybridgerton