Jeon Jungkook is the world’s cheesiest fuckboy, and somehow he ends up tangled in your sheets. You, a quiet straight-A student who has always been too good, but everyone knows that's not entirely the case. You told him from the start you don’t do commitment. He swore he felt the same. That is…until he started falling for you.
please start writing for blood in blood out again, also other Chicano movies but especially for Paco plsss😩 also one shots please anything, no one writes for him😭
Omg yes! I wanna get to it as quickly as possible. I know I kinda abandoned the story of Paco but I have been working on it so there is multiple chapters that will be out when I’m ready!! I will come back and it makes me so happy u want me to write!! I promise I’ll try to release the new chapter on Saturday or Sunday and I also am working on a stand and deliver one!! Pls recommend me some other Chicano movies , I was thinking boulevard nights too. I have a few Paco one shots in the work so be on the look out! 💝
- elemvrs
I’ve wanted to do this for a while, so here it is! It took some time, but it was necessary for me to better organise everything. It will keep being updated. I hope it can help anyone find fics they like. Also, I would like to thank all those amazing authors for giving us such amazing stories! Happy reading🫶🏾
“You're the new florist in town and all your flowery charm isn't a good look on the third floor tattoo shop that has been running as old as time, in all appearances. Neither on the man who hates how his tattoo clients now linger by your shop window before heading up, doesn’t like the smell of peonies sneaking under his studio door. Most of all, he hates you.”
➵ PAIRING: florist! fem reader x tattoo artist! jk
➵ WARNINGS: mature language, stubborn as hell idiots, bantering, vmin, jk needs therapy
➵ A/N: hello!! hii!! When you’re in the who can be the most unpredictable competition and I turn up.. 😨😨 noo because this actually isn’t even supposed to be funny, I can’t follow a schedule or something systematic for the life of me and I’m genuinely sorry if that comes off as frustrating!! I know there are other series I should be updating and giving my time to but I have been complementing this for a longgg time everytime I come across a fun smau on this app I just get this crawling buzz of creating something just as fun!! Now that I’m writing this, i just find it so silly how nervous I’m getting over doing something experimental 😭😭 girl be calm. I’m not even sure what I’m aiming with this but there’s something I may dare confess that I’m out for a family wedding without my lappie (the reason for me being quiet lately) and wanted to drop this little something for my beautiful beautiful girls before I come back 🥺🥺 pls miss me and tell me how is this working out?? I wouldn’t mind continuing this story!!
I'm so sad rn. in the mood for crying.. i would love to read a jungkook fic with heavy angst pleaseeeeee any ficrec y'all
oh bub, please come here, lemme hug you, you deserve to happy, please don't cry. if there's anything I could do for you, just DM me?! if that's okie, I can listen for hours. for your sake, I found these ~
➛ Lonely Night by @spideyjimin
➛ Mnemonic by @solecize
➛ Come Home by @hyungieyoongi
➛ He Forgets by @armywriter2605
➛ Rattled by @gukslut
➛ What's Wrong? by @oddinary4bts
you know, you can still reach out to me and talk. I hope this helps, I could find these for you :)
synopsis: When you had texted your best friend “SOS! TBTAMATPIAAWCSS!! WDID?!?” you were utterly dismayed that she didn’t understand the very clear acronym “Help! The Boy That Annoys Me At The Pool Is Actually A World Class Super Spy! What Do I Do?!” Sigh. Maybe google will have the answers.
⋆.˚𓆝 ♒︎┊: content: secret agent!jin, lifegaurd!reader, bad puns and pick up lines, banter, use of guns, forced proximity, body gaurd!jin, jin is tooth rottingly sweet, explosions, almost-drowning, panic attacks, oral (m and f receiving), brat tamer!jin, brat!reader, battles for dominance, light bdsm, hair pulling, fingering, i honestly blacked out writing the smut, p in v, big dick seokjin, minimal prep, praise, very light degradation, very light breath play (facefucking), subspace, creampie, aftercare king seokjin, reader is bad at feelings but jin helps them, probably very unrealistic depictions of both lifegaurding and being a secret agent, appearances from other members!! -> part of ctrl the cold 2025
⋆.˚𓆝 ♒︎┊: notes: believe it or not, this was meant to be a 4k drabble where reader got sick of fuckboy seokjin’s ways and screwed him in a supply closet, but honesty, as you can see, it spiralled out for control and I absolutely fell in love with this dynamic. officially, it stands as the longest fic i’ve ever written, so I hope you enjoy!!! unedited for now, but it will be soon. please lmk what you think :3 hopefully this makes your winter a little less cold ^>^
18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni
You’ve always loved the bitter smell of chlorine. The tangy bite, submerged in the mix of heat, basking in the summer sun. The true way to know that summer has begun and–
“Help! Save me! I’m drowning!!”
…
Ahem.
You’ve always loved the bitter smell of–
“Heeelp! Yoohoo! Pretty lifeguard! Over here! I’m drowning and I need you to save me!” You should seem more concerned– should be diving into the water at the scream, the call for help. Pull them out of the water, save them. That’s what a responsible life guard should do for an actual victim.
Too bad this wasn’t one. No, the man so rudely interrupting your introductory monologue (like, seriously?!) is simply your self-proclaimed nemesis, not someone actually in need of saving. Aka, the bane of your existence:
“Kim Seokjin– model by day, secret agent by night.”-- or at least, that was the introduction he had given you years ago when he first found himself at your summer job. When he first decided you were too cute not to annoy any second he could manage. Elbows resting on the swim deck, wet hair pushed from his face as he sent you one of his signature smirks.
Even at the memory now, you can’t help but roll your eyes.
“And how, exactly, are you drowning, Kim?”
“I…” He pauses as if he’s in thought– though you doubt he’s ever had a thought a day in his life– before grabbing his foot and holding it close to himself. Bouncing on one leg to stay afloat while he's so obviously drowning. “I’m having a cramp! Owwww! It hurts so bad! I need you to save me! I didn’t wait long enough after eating owww, it hurts so bad!”
You blink at him, unimpressed.
“You’re incredulous.” You roll your eyes, speaking only after a long period of silence. Hoping it would give him the time to realise how ridiculous he looks, though it apparently doesn't do the trick– the most blinding smile you’ve ever seen displayed on his too-plump lips.
This is the game, isn’t it? All about attention– making sure yours is drawn on him every second he can get. And apparently, according to that expression he wears and the way he body swims to your perch, he’s somehow won again.
How he can win a game you don’t (lies) want to play, nor know the rules of, you have no clue. But the face of a victor is the same as he scoops a pink floatie under his pits, paddling his way until his arms rest on the pool-edge right by where your chair sits.
“So you think I’m out of this world?” You glance down at him from under your shades, can’t help but take in the way half of his lip quirks up into a smirk– though not a sleazy one. Unfortunately, you doubt the man blessed with an abundance of beauty could look sleazy.
“I think it’s a miracle you passed your swimming test.”
You swear he’s batting his lashes up at you, “Because it would’ve been so much more fun to save me, obviously. CPR without the chest compressions, right?”
You stare at him for a minute after that line, honestly. Of the pick-up phases he’s used, that has got to be one of the worst ones– and you’ve heard more than you can count. Maybe (hopefully) he’s losing his touch.
“What do you want, Kim?” You state plainly, resuming your scans of the pool for anyone who, you know, actually needs saving instead of just attention from anyone with two legs and a pulse.
“You.” God, you roll your eyes again. Should you be worried about them getting stuck in that state from being around him? Maybe. But you find yourself more worried about the fact that this obvious fuck boy refuses to give up no matter what you do.
Ignoring him? He becomes increasingly ridiculous, shouting your name while he attempts (even attempts might be too generous) to do handstands in the pool. Change shifts? He figures out when your new ones are anyone. Splash him? He moans.
He is utterly absurd. Completely and absolutely.
You know, you still really don’t get him. It’s been 3 years since he’s started playing this summer game of tag, and he still seems to have no end in sight. Normally, whenever guys at university decide to make you a challenge, they give up pretty quickly. Your unattainable streak remaining unbroken because you know what they all really want. You understand games.
A quick lay. Test answers. Money. An ego boost. Never actually you.
You’ve dealt with it all before, and ever since you started attending grad school you’ve decided to never entertain men again. But god damn, you’ve never met anyone as persistent as Kim Seokjin.
“I walked into that one, didn’t I?”
He shrugs, smirk never leaving his face. “Maybe.”
The groan of annoyance that leaves your lips is impressive, honestly, in the dramatic nature of it all. Your entire body throwing itself back on the chair as you make it known your displeasure. In the situation, in him.
Next thing you know, you’re already taking a stand. Your manager won’t get mad at you for taking your break five minutes early, not in the slightest so long as you don’t rat him out to the boss for stealing snacks from the snack bar on company time.
Though, when you try to move… for some odd reason you’re stuck in place. A glance down to your legs would identify the culprit– Seokjin’s hand. Wrapped around your ankle. Halting you from moving any further while his forearm and biceps strain just a little.
It is only then, that you realise, he is a lot stronger than his lean form lets on. And you, you’re only thankful for the sun that can excuse the darker hue on your cheeks.
“Wait! Wait!” He says oh-so calmly. Only a little bit of that desperate whine in his voice that you like a bit more than you would ever admit.
You only glance down at him from behind your sunglasses once more, that same unimpressed expression across your features, “You have ten seconds before I kick you into the pool.” You don’t even know why you’re humouring him, but you are.
“I think that would go against the lifeguard code.” You’re regretting the decision immediately.
“And what, pray tell, do you think this ‘Lifeguard Code’ entails?”
“Saving my life, obviously. Not kicking a beautiful face such as mine into the pool. Probably some other Baywatch-esque indulgences, too.”
“You’ve never seen Baywatch.”
“I have not.”
“Right.” You look at your wrist, arms crossed over your chest. Only really noticing that there is no watch there, but you pretend there is anyway.
“Your time is up.” You add, though really his time had been up for an additional thirty seconds. If he notices, he doesn’t point it out. “I’m going on my break.” You add, but don’t move a muscle.
“Ah~” He kicks his head to the side slightly like he’s annoyed, when you both know in reality it’s just another one of his performances. “Wait, wait, wait!”
His hand squeezes your ankle again, as if to get you to stay. Continuing on with his act like he does every time the two of you get to bantering like this. Meanwhile you– you just have to ignore that little voice in the back of your brain commenting on how big his hand feels. How large his surprisingly calloused hands feel against your damp skin.
“Five.” You count down anyway, his grip dropping from your ankle, “Four.”
“Three.” He adds for you with a smirk, you roll your eyes again.
You continue anyway, “Two.”
“Go on a date with me?”
And at that, the heel of your foot is against his chest. Pushing him back into the water with a hash splash and a cackle of laughter from his lips.
You give him one last glance before turning, legs carrying you away and towards the breakroom. “In your dreams.”
Much to your dismay, he calls back. Spitting a bit of water from his lips as he shakes his head. His wet mop, unfortunately, looking as if it was put perfectly in place. “You always are!”
Of course he had to get the last word in.
Your feet– donned in fashionable, high class bunny slippers– drag as you walk down the often treaded path towards your place of work: Summervalley Pool. Dragging, because you really didn’t want to go, especially in your pajamas. But still moving, because, unfortunately, the snores of your father keep you up at night in your childhood bedroom and you, poor you, forgot your headphones in your work locker along with your phone charger.
You know you won’t be getting any sleep tonight without the two items, so, you force yourself down the road to your work by foot, car still in the shop. Even if the moon high in the sky makes you want to do nothing more than curl up in bed and fall asleep.
Uhgggg. Annoying. But whatever, it is a reality you accepted a long time ago.
You’ve accepted a lot of realities. That a lot of people don’t like women who speak their mind freely. That computer science is a male dominated field that you will force yourself into no matter what. That too many people just want something out of you, not actually like you.
It took awhile to accept those facts, a lot longer than it took to accept your fate that you would be walking to the pool tonight, but cycles repeat. Cycles perpetuate the narrative, and thus ferment themselves into stone.
It’s good though, that way. At least it’s helped you grow a thick skin. Helped you remain firm in yourself and in your own power rather than relying on it from others. So while the cycles may have hurt, they were necessary.
At least, that’s what you’ve chosen to believe.
You sigh, finally reaching the pool gates. Thick metal fence blocks your entrance inside– but have no fear! Your employee keycard grants you entrance!
Hazzah!
A little smile crosses your lips as you scan the badge, thinking you’re more than a little bit funny. Unlocking the back employee entrance before crossing inside and closing it behind you, ensuring it’s locked before trailing further inside the large plot of land that hosts your little neighbourhood pool.
The motion detection lights flash on as you walk towards the employee lifeguard building. A little shack by the back fence attached to the guest showers and bathroom. Across the way from the snack shack, and separated from the kiddy pools by a long shrub on the left.
Your normal, everyday monologue passes through your mind as you make your way. The same monologue you say to yourself every morning. Every, boring, morning.
You hate boring.
Sometimes, you wish something would just whisk you away from the same monotonous drawl of the days you spend stuck in the office, stuck in class, stuck in your lifeguard chair. Save you from the repeated cycle of the office career you practically signed yourself up for when you decided to go to college for programming, and then grad school to get your masters in computer science.
Sometimes, just sometimes. Because honestly, you like the work. You like computers– how they’re essentially little brains in boxes trying to figure out the world just like you are. Trying to guide themselves along to your tune.
The puzzle solving aspect is pretty fun, too. You did have a little stint in high school where you enjoyed trying to figure out how to hack, but that doesn’t make much money. It’s not secure.
It’s unfortunate that the pool pays as well as it does, and that your internship only takes place during the months your school does.
You wish the world didn’t have to revolve around money as much as it does, but it just happens to be another unfortunate reality that you’ve accepted.
You finally make it to the side wall around your building– falling over the shrub in the process that you missed in the dark, but you’re choosing to ignore the leaves in your messy hair– to the lockers which hold your saving grace.
Your glorious, sound cancelling headphones.
Honestly, you wonder if your father may have been a mountain goat or something in a past life. You can still hear the sounds of his sleep from your second floor bedroom when his is on the first, across the entire distance of the house. Like. It’s ridiculous.
The whishhh of summer wind twists around you. A louder than normal hiss passes by as the air passes through the trees and hits the building around you.
You feel a quiet break of air pass through your lips as you twist the combination into your locker. Three to the left, two to the right, then to the final number. Fingers rehearsing their methodology in every twist until you pull down and that little ‘pop’ of victory sounds clear in the air.
It’s only then you, for some reason past explanation, glance over to the locker door to the left. Your eyes pinching as you take in something that certainly wasn’t there that morning.
Your hand lifts, gracing over a small hole in the metal, the material still warm to the touch.
Further to the left, there are even more.
“What the…”
But before you’re even able to finish the thought, footsteps sound to your right. And there, there is the most confusing thing you’ve seen all night.
Kim Seokjin, standing there clad in a pitch black suit, white button up included, panting as he spots you. In his hands, a pistol aimed at the ground. His hair twisting, fluttering in the wind as he looks like some… some sort of movie star, maybe.
You’re only brought out of a stupor due to the call of your name, alerting you back to this reality. Not the movie your brain was trying to make up.
Kim Seokjin. Standing in front of you. With a gun.
Are you dreaming? Fucking god, is he actually haunting your dreams now?
The bang of a bullet on the locker next to you lets you know that you are, not in fact, dreaming and that this is very much, real.
“Shit.” Seokjin cusses, glancing in the direction it came from before making the split second decision of running towards you, grabbing your hand. Pulling you along with him as you stumble– try to figure out how this is actually happening and why the hell you’re getting shot at.
Huh, you never thought you’d be the type to freeze.
“Kim!” You shout, stumbling after him. Tripping slightly as you try to keep up with the gate of his long legs. One of your bunny slippers lost in the process as he tugs you along, shots continuing to fire behind you. “What the fuck?!”
He doesn’t answer until he finally manages to pull you behind the wall for cover. Making sure his body is closest to the free edge with his gun held up high, close to his face now. A constant clatter of bang! Bang! Bang! hitting the corner of the cement wall.
Your hands come up quickly to cover your ears– even though the sound is a lot quieter than you would have expected, it’s still loud nonetheless.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” He asks, pausing in the middle of the sentence to step out from behind the wall to get off a few shots of his own into the dark. You don’t know how he can see a god damn thing, but it seems like he knows what direction to shoot in regardless.
“I should be asking you the same thing, dickhead!!”
Another cuss spills from his lips as he tucks behind the wall again, hair a little askew in the way that makes him look even more attractive. Hand reaching into his pocket to pull out another magazine before skillfully switching his now-empty tank with the fresh one, his voice informing you the entire time. “My company's informant was meant to drop off a package here tonight, it’s evident now that that did not, in fact, go according to plan.”
Your jaw drops open as you subtly take a few steps back. Company? Informant? What the hell?!
“What the fuck are you on about!” You shout, needing answers more than anything else. It feels like he’s talking in some sort of code, his broad back facing you once more as he gets a few more shots out.
Still, when he tucks himself back, he manages to let out a little laugh. Is somehow still able to find humour in this situation. “I can explain all of that when we’re not being shot at. All you have to know is that I’m going to keep you safe and get you out of this. Deal?”
“What? No! No deal! No!”
He snickers again, but his smile quickly drops as a particularly good shot hits the corner of the wall, chipping the brick in its place. Now, you don’t know guns, but you know that bullet had to be big. A lot bigger than whatever you were getting shot with before. It seemed a lot more accurate, too.
“Fuck, it doesn’t matter right now!” He glances back at you for only a second, worry evident in his expression. “Just trust me, okay? Please?”
Now, granted, you don’t have many options here. In fact, it seems the only option is to trust Seokjin with your life. The rational, simple: you’ve known him for three years and he saved you from getting shot at. Whoever is doing the shooting? Seems like they want you dead.
You deflate only slightly as you come to your conclusion, accepting your fate, “Fine! Fine! Whatever, just– tell me what we need to do!”
Another heavy shot fills the air, but he seems content– almost pleased– with your answer.
“Okay, you know this place better than me. I have my friends coming– they’re basically here already. Just– what is the most secure room you can think of?” His eyes are intense as he stares into your own gaze. It makes you want to shrink a little, if you’re being honest.
It takes you a second– definitely not because of how intently he looks at you– to think of something, anything. Your brain scanning the various facilities in the building next to you.
Showers? No, too big and the walls are pretty thin. Plus, there are windows. Windows are probably bad, a bullet can go through those easier than anything else.
Office? Same issue, windows.
Bathrooms? Attached to the shower rooms.
Storage closet?
You blink, looking at him fully as your voice answers for you, "There's a storage closet. All the walls are cement, only one entry point. No windows. Door is heavy– some kind of metal, I don’t know. I have the key.”
He smiles– big, bright. Eyes glancing to your forehead before they land back on your own. “I could kiss you right now.”
“But,” You ignore the comment, “It’s on the other side of the building.” The back of it, instead of the front where you stand now. The high shrubbery halts the idea of going around the right side, so that means the only option is…
Seokjin’s expression pinches as he thinks it through. Analyses the next few steps in his head. You can practically see the gears turn just by watching him– his brain going through various scenarios until he pieces together the right one.
“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen.” He looks back at you, mouthing out the steps in quick succession.
Step one. Run only when the sniper is reloading their gun.
Seokjin steps out from the corner, gun firing bullets freely into the dark, starlit night. Dipping back behind the cover of the wall right before another loud bang sounds out throughout the clouds.
Two bullets left.
He told you that kind of gun can only hold five in a magazine. Two left and you need to be ready to run as fast as you can.
Another bang and a spray of dust signals that the edge of the wall crumbles more. Seokjin looks down at you, his fingers counting down 3… 2… 1… before he’s turning around the corner again.
The last fire of the sniper signaling that it’s time to move, now.
Step 2. Run fast, Run hard. Seokjin will cover you with everything he has.
He takes off first, this time thankfully making sure to maintain pace with you. Making sure his body blocks yours fully as you run around the building.
He had mentioned how the two of you were practically sitting ducks– easy bait as you two stand in the light while your assailants remain under the cloak of darkness. He told you how imperative it was for you to move quick.
What he didn’t account for? Your innate clumsiness– the bang of your head against your locker that you left open. So intent on moving as fast as possible that you completely missed it in your field of vision.
Seokjin halts you up by your collar when you stumble slightly with apparent ease. Damn him and his sleeper build. Damn him.
Meanwhile, the free hand not gripping the collar of your shirt continues to reign bullets in the dark every once and awhile. Whenever he catches the glint of something you can’t even hope to see, you presume.
Finally, when you make it around the other side–
Step 3. Seokjin as bait.
Admittedly, it would be your favourite step if his life wasn’t actually in danger, but whatever.
He drops you off at the door, popping himself back around the other side of the wall, making sure all the attention is on him while you get the door unlocked. Putting himself in even more harm just to get you safe– to keep you safe.
Why? You’re not really sure. You don’t have time to address the question, anyway. Not with your fingers shaking around your keyring as you slide the key into its home inside the door. Your heart hammering with adrenaline as the sound of gunshots continue just on the other side of the wall.
What if he gets injured?
No, he won’t. He’s fine. He’s… trained… in this…?
Wait a god damn minute…
The thought is lost as the door lock finally slides open, your arm pushing it open as you shout out to the man acting as bait for you, “I got it!”
Step 4. Bunker down.
When he sprints back around the side of the building, lights illuminating his back while his lips remain open as small pants fill his lungs, you’re almost certain that you’ve seen an angel, though you’d never admit it.
The illusion is immediately shattered.
Before you’re able to get into the room yourself, Seokjin is shoving you inside. Closing the door and locking it with a loud slam while you find yourself suddenly in a pile of kickboards. Kickboards that the dickhead pushed you into!! What the fuck?!
“What the fuck was that for?!” You gasp, automatically seeing a shade of red not often comprehended by human retinal cones.
He raises one eyebrow, “I needed to get you inside the room?”
Your cheeks puff out, your entire body, brain, entirely frazzled from this situation. From, just from everything.
“Okay! Okay! Answers! Now!” You snap your fingers as best you can, still not moving from your sprawled form among the kickboard.
“I told you already? Did the bullets affect your hearing?” Though his tone sounds concerned, his words only make you want to rip your own hair out.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re actually a fucking secret agent?!” You snip, eyes locked in a piercing gaze on his form.
He doesn’t even blink at your question, jaw still tight. His expression trained on the door he diligently stands next to, pistol drawn just in case, though trained on the floor. You hate that his suit, never mind his hair is still in perfect order, while you’re lying in a pool of kickboard that he pushed you into.
Jackass.
“I told you I was.” He says calmly, jaw drawn tight, keeping watch for danger.
You are, in all sense of the word, bewildered. Completely exasperated, “I thought you were just hitting on me?!”
At that, he pauses for a second. Brown eyes glancing down at your displaced form– you should hit him for still not apologising. “Did it work?”
…Yeah, you’re going to slap the shit out of him the second whoever was shooting at the two of you clears out from the area due to his friends. You hope to god they come soon.
“No?! Obviously not!”
“Ah, I’ll get you next time then.” That smirk is on his lips now, that same one he always sends and you’ve already decided that if the assailants don't get to you two first, you’re going to kill him yourself.
You roll your eyes, finally sitting up from your position with a huff, “So what, are you a model too?”
“What? Of course not.” And for some strange reason, now he’s the one that looks bewildered. Completely confused by your question as if it was the only illogical thing out of this entire situation. “How could I be a model and a secret agent? My face would be everywhere and y’know–” He gestures to himself, “I have to be secret-y.”
“You’d have to be a successful model for your face to be everywhere.”
He scoffs, “Have you seen me?”
“Unfortunately.”
His face changes for a frame, a small little minute change that has you questioning your ability to see in the limited lighting. You swear that his little smirk morphs into a fond smile, a little shake of his head accompanying it as he closes his eyes. His head tilting down just a little.
Yeah, you’re sure your brain made that up entirely because soon, the same neutral mask you’ve come to understand as him analysing the situation outside reappears. Followed by a gentle sigh and a slide down the wall, his knees raised just slightly, the cuff of his slacks raising just a bit.
“I don’t hear shots anymore, or people running. The guys are probably handling it.” Offhandedly, you wonder if ‘the guys’ refer to any of the men you’ve seen at the pool with Seokjin, but dismiss it. The thought doesn’t go anywhere, anyway, and you rather just wipe your hands clean of this situation than learn anything more than you know already.
“Great!” You stand, giving your best too-wide smile as you fake dust off your sweatpants before starting a march to the door. All motions a little exaggerated for dramatic effect, of course. “I’ll be on my way then! This was such a great time. However, as thrilling as it was, I’d rather die than do it again! Please never come to the pool again so I don’t almost die. Thanks so much for making sure I’m not dead!”
He doesn’t stop your little speech until you’re already at the door, more than a little amused with it, if his little head shake again is anything to go by. His large palm grabbing your wrist as it reaches for the handle, “Wait.”
He lets you go, your arm falling to your side as looks down at his watch– stupid fucking spy gadget probably, who even still wears watches in this day and age?! “I haven’t received the all-clear yet. It’s safer if we wait it out in here.”
You hesitate, fingertips itching to grab the handle and pull it open, “Percentage chance I die if I leave here now?”
That same smile as before comes back to his lips, and this time you’re sure you’re not hallucinating. “You know, for someone who said and I quote ‘I'd rather die than go on a date with you Kim’, this is pretty ironic.”
“This isn’t a date?!”
“Could be.”
“....Your balls are a lot closer to my foot than you think.” And for someone who likes to maintain such a cocksure demeanour, you learn in that moment that is laugh is nothing of the sort.
At your comment, he doubles over. A squeaky, high pitched laugh leaving his lips as one hand reaches across his abdomen, holding it close. His whole body moving along with the sound, big lips pulled back slightly to show his joy. His humour.
It takes a full 15 seconds for him to calm down, too, dramatically wiping his eye with the back of his finger to brush back tears that weren’t there in the first place. His face looking up at you still standing there– standing there frozen the entire time, you would like to add.
You’ve never heard his real laugh before and it had you a little… not awestruck, never awestruck because that would imply thinking highly of Seokjin in any regard, but… something similar to the feeling. Maybe befuddled? Yeah, you’ll go with that.
His full smile has you feeling that way a little bit, too.
“Fifty-fifty.” Your eyebrows pinch a little as his voice comes to his ears, trying to understand the meaning behind them. Obviously he wasn’t referring to the k-pop group. Nor Ablume, probably. Did he want you to sing cupid?
“The percentage chance you could die without the all clear.” Annnddd that smirk is back. That stupid, stupid smirk that you have so much ate in your heart for. Contending right along with the fact that he read you so easily.
Who the hell does he think he is, sending it your way like its suave? Double O Seve– Oh. Never mind.
You shake your head, getting rid of the stupor you, for reasons beyond you, found yourself trapped in. With a sigh, you move back to your place across the room. Returning to your place among the scattered kickboards and hopeless dreams of returning to your comfortable bed anytime soon.
“This just had to be the day I forgot my headphones at the pool, didn’t it?” You dismay, imagining a rain cloud around your head. The single bunny slipper left still on your foot kicking along with your leg, its ears flopping.
“That’s why you were here tonight?”
“I mean, yeah. I need them to sleep. Why else would I be here?”
“... to see my handso–” Your eyes shoot up, pinched in a harsh glare that, for some reason, has no malice in it. Interesting. Time to compartmentalise that fact and never think about it again!
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” God, and he’s doing that smile again. The one that makes you not hate him as much.
“But did you see how I hesitated? I was being considerate.” He jokes, and you almost want to laugh.
“If that’s what you want to call it, Kim.” You shake your head, looking away as you will away a little smile from your own face.
When you look back, his expression is set firm, more serious. His eyes making sure that they’re locked with your own. His tone less than playful, “I’d like it a lot more if you just called me Seokjin, you know.”
Your head cocks back a little in surprise, this is just another one of his flirting attempts isn’t it? Probably. So why does that expression on your face have your gut squirming the same way it was when he was shooting that gun?
“Why?” You look away, pulling your knees to your chest as you rest your chin on top of them. Suddenly, the corner with the mouse hole in it seems to be a lot more interesting than it previously was.
“Kim is so formal! I like to think we’re closer than that!” The lighthearted expression of his tone is back to normal, but the comment leaves you feeling somewhat bitter.
Close? You want to laugh. You’re just entertainment, always have been to him. Why else would he bother you every shift he has? Pretend flirt like his life depends on it? He’s just a playboy. Always had been, always will be. Only now with the addition of being a spy on top of it.
“You shouldn’t keep doing this, you know.”
“Doing what?”
Is he being serious? You really need to put an end to this. It’s getting ridiculous. Like, honestly? He can’t be serious? Can he? He has to know. He has to. “Pretending like you like me. I get that it’s fun for you, but at the end of the day you really don’t know anything about me.”
You hear a hitch in his breath. Maybe he didn’t expect you to say that, maybe he’s tilting his head like a confused puppy while his perfectly sculpted brows wrinkle up. Good. You hope he gets wrinkles. “I’d like to think I know a lot.”
Your lips tilt further downwards, “Because you had your little friends do a background check–”
“Because” He cuts you off, his breath suddenly a lot closer than before, his body heat radiating from in front of you, “I pay attention.” He corrects, firm. Stable in what he says. Like nothing could really shake the foundation in his beliefs.
It’s only then that your eyes twist forward, and it's clear your other two senses were right in their perception that he is, in fact, a lot closer than before. Only a few inches away from your face, a few inches away from breathing you in.
His eyes are locked on yours, making sure you don’t shake from his stare now that he has you. To make sure you believe everything he says.
“I have no reason to believe you.” You aren’t sure where you gained the confidence to speak from, but you’re glad you did.
He hovers for a second, impenetrable. Just looking at you. Taking in your expression like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on inside of your head. Honestly, you kind of just wish he would. Then you wouldn’t have to figure it out for yourself.
But, instead of voicing anything you could decipher, he just sighs. His frame plopping down on his butt, legs crossing in front of him as one of his hands stretch out in front of him. The whole scene is a little silly, but you’re glad for it. You didn’t like the heavy note the storage closet seemed to be finding itself in.
“Then let’s start over and I can get to know you properly.” He says, back straight as he gives you a big, genuine smile, “My name is Kim Seokjin. I’m a model by day, secret agent by night.”
You shouldn’t be surprised when you wake up the next morning alone, but you are.
Wait, hold on. Pause. Rewind.
That makes it sound like the two of you slept together (you throw up in your own mouth a little at the thought) which you certainly didn't. But you did– the two of you talked. A lot.
His friends never texted that the area was cleared so… you didn’t really have anything else to do.
After his brief re-introduction that felt all too familiar to the speech he gave you during your first meeting, the two of you talked all night long. About anything, everything. Talked like friends and not like– like whatever you were and you… you thought it was kind of nice.
Well, nice in the kind-of-gross way like when a dog licks your face or you see a too-lovey dovey couple in public. Like, great for them, but really?! Here and now?!
Wait, okay, you’re going on another tangent again. It is clear you have strong feelings about too much pda but that isn’t what needs to be processed right now.
What needs to be processed is the fact that after years of Seokjin claiming that he is your nemesis, the two of you are now… sort of friends…?
Or actually, no. You wouldn’t go that far. But you don’t hate him as much as you once thought you did. And yes, you would concede that some of his jokes are a little funny, even the puns. Plus, his laugh is kind of funny, too.
Yeah, okay. You definitely don’t hate him anymore. You’re… neutral. Right, that sounds good. That’s what you’re going to go with.
The Kim Seokjin Net Neutrality Act has hereby been passed in the courts of your brain but… one glaring thing is still obvious.
Last night he let you fall asleep when he saw you were getting a bit droopy. Said he would keep watch and “keep you safe” because he's "defended presidents before, you know?” And sure, you didn’t really know what that had to do with anything, but whatever.
By the morning he was gone. With nothing other than a note and a really bad– and you mean god awful– drawing of what you assume is him giving a thumbs up. A little ‘Guys finally texted! See you around little miss lifeguard’ with a scratched out pun that he was really the one who guarded your life.
It has you feeling a little bit sour, you’ll be honest. Kinda like a one night stand, but again, definitely without the sex. You wouldn’t touch that fuck boy with a ten foot pole. But… he didn’t even leave his number? After you were sort-of-but-not-really-friends-just-neutral now?
Or maybe spies didn’t have phones, you don’t know. Either way, on your walk back home (headphones in hand, thank you very much) you decide you’re definitely going to give him a piece of your mind the next time you see him.
Like anything has ever stopped you before.
Things have been quiet.
Too quiet, the cheesier side of your brain would supply.
Work had been normal– boring, slow. You haven’t done much. Just sat on your chair, observed the pool in between sessions of slapping sunscreen across your skin. Boring, normal, everyday things that you shouldn’t question in the slightest.
Oh, well, Seokjin hasn’t appeared once in 3 weeks. But you’re deciding not to hark too much on that fact.
In fact, you’re doing a great job at ignoring it entirely. That is exactly why, now, you stand in your room throwing darts at the letter he left you, specifically aiming for the drawing of his face. Clad in your new bunny slippers and pajamas as you aim and fire every single dart for the third time that night.
Like you said, ignoring it completely, just… getting better at your dart skills. Exactly. It’s just simple practice, obviously. Nothing else. Just a normal, everyday night of lazing around your house with the background nose of a helicopter flying by overhead. Perfect, beautiful, content.
You throw another dart at the wall and– dink.
Huh. That doesn’t sound like your dart hitting the board, no, in fact–
You whip your head around at the window, eyes narrowing as you stare.
Dink.
Yeah, you’re not crazy and now you’re for sure that what you heard, and now saw, was real.
Someone is throwing rocks at your window like your life is a stupid romcom. Now who the hell…
One more, albeit louder dink and you’re marching over to your window, slamming it open to look outside, to try and see just who is tampering with your glass. So help whoever it is if they break it and you have to pay to get it fi–
And just like that, you’re reeling backwards. A rock hitting your head instead of the glass in front of it. A hand coming up to cradle the spot on your forehead as you attempt to process what is happening.
Clambering occurs around you, that much you can tell, along with a quiet “Shit” of a voice you recognise all too well.
Oh fuck no. What the hell is he doing here?!
You open your eyes just in time to see him no-so gracefully crawling in your window via a tree branch outside. Form clad in a suit once again as he trips inside, standing up like the action never occurred before quickly rushing over to you to check if you’re okay.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t think you were going to open it.” Your gaze is fire as you look up at him, a pout on your lips and anger in your brow.
“I didn’t expect a jackass to be clinging onto a tree like a sloth outside of my window at,” You glance at the digital clock next to your bed. The one that you still use every morning to wake up even though, yes, it is retro and yes, you could just set them on your phone but those never work as well. “2 am.”
He smiles, that same smile you had to have seen a million times by now, “I see you’re not concussed then.”
“You think that weak ass throw would do enough to do me in?” You scoff, stepping back from him, and removing the hand from your forehead. Not missing the way he winces in the slightest. “What? Is there a mark?”
“Ah…” He sucks his teeth, moving his head from side to side analysing it. A stricken look across his features as he takes a step back and humbly bows, “My apologies, you may be scarred forever.”
“Ha ha.” You mock back, crossing your arms over your chest.
Seokjin, on the other hand, stands back to full height, a playful smile crest on his stupid plush lips. Eyes taking a moment to look around your room as he places his hands in his pockets, observing the space with glee’d fascination.
“This is my childhood bedroom.” You quickly clarify for no reason in particular, "That's why it looks like… this.” You supply, but it doesn’t really look like he's paying attention… in fact…
His eyes are locked on your dart board, a playful tilt of his head and a knowing smile on his face clear from his expression. Oh god.
“It’s nice to know you think of me.” He smiles, cocky. Eyes glancing at you out of the corner.
Mortified. Yep. This is what mortification feels like.
You march over to the board, ripping the note off of the surface without a second thought. As if that, somehow, would save you from him seeing it in the first place.
“I don’t.” You announce, but it's clear by the crumpled note in your hand that your words hold little to absolutely no weight right now.
Wait. Wait a damn minute. He has no reason to be questioning you. You should be questioning him?! What the fuck?!
What the hell is he doing at your house?! How did he even find out where you live?! It’s been three fucking weeks of nothing after leaving you in a storage room and he’s such a jackass! It’s a good thing you don’t have much of a filter, because your questions are voiced immediately.
“Ahh…” The sigh is a little drawn out as his fingers tap at the surface of your dresser. Blunt nails conferring with the wood as he decides the best way to do this.
He wouldn’t be Kim Seokjin if he didn’t choose the most dramatic one.
“Do you remember the men attacking us–”
“You. They were attacking you and you roped me into it.”
“Yes, us. Exactly right.” He continues, “three weeks ago?”
“No, I don’t remember getting shot at and shoved into a pile of kickboards.” He flinches a little at that. Damn, for someone so self assured, that cockiness seems to be lacking in this very moment.
“Right, yeah. Sorry about that, by the way.” Oh boy, an apology after three weeks. The mini-you in your head is giving him two fingers up– whether they’re thumbs or middle fingers, that's a fact for the gods above to know. “Either way, they’re still after me.”
“Ah, so that’s why you haven’t been around the pool.” You cross your arms over your chest, hip cocked out to the side just a little.
All of a sudden, it seems like the air around Seokjin shifts. Once, where he seemed almost a little unsure, he’s now the cocky asshole you know well. The dramatics he knows and loves comes back in a second, and honestly, it’s a little impressive how quickly he turns it on.
“So you’ve been missing me then? You’re admitting it?”
At that, you actually laugh. A little mocking, sure, but it’s real nonetheless. “Fuck no, I was just wondering how I got so lucky.”
“You wound me so deeply, you know?”
“I’m glad.”
“That’s a little kinky, you know?” You’re about to bite back, about to take the bait as it dangles so gorgeous in front of your face. However, you pull back at the last second. Get things set back on track.
Damn, why is it always so easy to fall into conversation with him? Banter flows too freely.
“Wait, wait. What does any of this have to do with why you’re standing in my room right now?”
He smirks, bold, “The kinky part? Damn, I didn’t know you were so forward.”
“Kim.” Your tone is serious, you need answers. Need to know why so many helicopters keep passing over your house.
“Alright! Alright.” He placates, both hands coming up mid air before he turns his body away from yours, one hand held to his chest like he’s the lead in a musical giving his final monologue.
“They know we are associated.” He looks solemn, but you know the sound of amusement in his voice.
Your mouth drops open, eyes widening at the casual reveal. Is he… is he saying that those men with guns are after you now, too?!
“We’re not?!” You shake your head, stepping several feet back. Arms coming up in an ‘x’ over your chest, “Tell them we're not! Unassociate! Un!!”
And for a second, for a second it seems like the drama of it all falls. The sad smile he gives you is evidence enough of how real this all is, how in danger you are. “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, Y/n.”
Now that his jovial exterior has dropped, now that you can’t hide behind the mask of banter and humour, it feels more real. Everything feels just a little bit too real. You start to pace back and forth in your spot. Your fingers already coming up to your mouth, your teeth biting the skin around your cuticles as a result.
“Okay, okay. So a bunch of strangers with guns are after me. That is so cool and great.” Your words are half-hearted, but you still spew them anyway. It’s better than letting silence linger in the space.
“Hey.” You’re not moving anymore, two firm hands pressing down on your shoulders preventing the irreverent walking of your legs. Keeping you firm, solid so you don’t manage to spiral even a little bit.
When you look up from the ground, you’re faced with him. His form bent over, face directly in front of yours. Holding your gaze the same way he did in that closet 3 weeks ago. Making sure you’re with him. Making sure you listen. Making sure you’re there.
“You’ll be okay.” His voice is firm, even. Like he wants to make sure you know it. “I’ll protect you.”
Oh. Oh.
Why is your heart beating like that? Why did it suddenly swell up and bubble in your chest? Why does your stomach suddenly feel like birds are batting around inside of their cage, itching to be freed and brought to the surface? And why, why does your face suddenly feel so hot?
You only realise you’re holding your breath when he takes a few steps back. An exhale leaving your lips as your lungs resume their normal, centripetal inhale, exhale pattern that sustains life.
Who knew Seokjin knew how to rob the air out of someone's lungs? He shouldn’t be able to do that. Does he know what kind of power he holds?
Before you know it, he’s standing a lot closer to the window than before. And when sound returns fully to your ears, you realise that the beating of helicopter blades is a lot closer than before, in fact, it sounds like it’s right outside of your window.
“Come with me.” A smile is bright on his face, one hand outstretched as a ladder drops perfectly in time. The edge landing right outside the sill. “I’ll keep you safe. Your family isn’t in any danger, you’ll still be able to talk to them. Just let me take care of you until things calm down a bit.”
You ignore the way your heart pulses harder and the bird’s wings beat brighter.
“Are you seriously asking me to upheave my whole life right now, Seokjin?” You don’t miss the smirk that goes at the use of his first name. The name he wants you to call him.
“Preferably. It’s a pretty good deal, I think.”
It’s not that you don’t trust him, in fact, you probably do more than you should. He’s the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in a long time. Longer than you’d like to admit. But this– what he’s asking you. It’s– it’s completely and utterly insane.
You’d be insane to go along with it. Just as loony as him, actually.
When things are light, they’re easier to manage. Easier to navigate. With Seokjin, things have always been simple, too. His constant flirting and lighthearted nature, along with how handsome he is has always been indicative of his fuck-boy expression. From the beginning, you had known what he wanted. You had always known never to get too attached.
But now… now he’s asking you to run away with him? To commit yourself to his side for weeks– months– so he can protect you?
With your degrees, you had a system. A plan to follow through until the end. You had always known what was expected of you. Always. You had always thought you liked that structure, even if it was boring. Had liked the puzzles regardless of their structured nature.
So why… Why did you find your heart racing with adrenaline rather than fear?
Oh. You have a realization.
Regardless of the bullets flinging and the obvious assault on your life that night three weeks ago, never once did you feel an ounce of fear.
You felt alive.
More alive than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.
More alive than when you won first place at all of your schools coding events. More alive when you saved a man from drowning last summer. More alive than when you cracked into government servers in high school just to see if you could.
Maybe there's something a little wrong with you, because when you look at Seokjin one more time, you make the decision then and there to never feel bored again.
You take one step, then two. And next thing you know you’re running to your window to take his hand. To run away with him while the helicopter's ladder dangles right outside.
However, right when you’re about to push on his chest to get him to move towards it, he stops you. That fond smile you’re beginning to like growing on his lips– “I know I’m just so desirable, but you have time to pack some of your things, you know?”
Oh look at that, your knee is already raising up and you didn’t even tell it too. What a good knee.
Let’s just say, he’s kneeling on the ground holding his crotch while you pack your things into a duffle. A victorious smile on your lips.
Maybe you didn’t get in the last word this time, but you certainly did get in the last laugh.
Growing up, travelling wasn’t much of an option for you. Both of your parents didn’t get paid much money, not to mention the fact that they were home bodies. So, vacationing off to some foreign land was completely out of the question.
When you became an adult and started earning your own money, you still never ventured out much. It was more important to put your head down and work. Work on school. Work for your future. You never gave yourself much time to relax, to just bask in… being you, you guess.
But now, as you stand on a balcony in Boracay, the sea breeze billowing your dress around your form as you stare out at the water, you wish you had done it all differently.
Maybe that wanderlust was always locked down somewhere deep inside of you, hidden behind lines of java and python. Or maybe coding was another sort of escape, you’re not really sure.
Maybe you’ve always just been escaping inside computers to hide from things you’re not sure about. Maybe it’s something like that.
“Enjoying the view?” You wish you could claim his voice is grating like the squawking of seagulls, but now you unfortunately find it sort of… nice?
Over the last few weeks, your view of Seokjin has been… changing. You’ll just put it that way because saying anything further may risk the fragility of your situation. Yeah, you’ll go with that.
But it’s hard to not find your opinions changing, no matter how much you like to try and deny it or cover it up with vacant ideas. The way aunties fawn over him in the shops, the way he treats staff at the restaurants you visit. The way he pays for things without a single question– you glance at anything for too long and he’s already at the checkout counter.
His jokes aren’t… as bad as you originally thought. More often you find yourself actually laughing at them with genuine intent. More often than not you’re beginning to find yourself… oh god, it’s hard for you to even think it… drawn to him of your own accord, rather than his insistence on seeking you out.
He’s just so– he’s been so considerate. So considerate of everything without you even having to ask.
One night in particular, about a week after you arrived at the island's safehouse, he had taken you out to dinner as he normally does– though, you’ve also learned his own cooking is exquisite but you’re still a little bitter about that fact because what can’t he do? Along with dinner was a show depicting traditional cultural dances and oh god it was just so beautiful.
You were enraptured entirely with their movements– the flow of the women’s skirts, the grace they held as they moved across the floor. The combination of the harsh, yet beautiful clacking of the sticks against the ground as they moved between them.
The warm glow of the summer night against your skin, the tinkling stare of the stars above. The gentle scent of the candle on your table whilst the dancers shined with smiles on their faces.
And then came the moment the dancers asked if anyone wanted to join them on stage, to learn the dance with them.
Immediately, your eyes were back on your plate, the last picking of your meal still in place as you moved your spoon around them again. Smiling as you did so, making sure not to draw any attention. You sure as hell weren't going up there. No way in hell.
Seokjin was already standing up.
When you realised that simple fact, your mouth practically fell to the floor. Your head already shaking when he offered you a hand. You already knew you were going to reject the offer, of course you were– you can’t dance. Not like professionals.
So… why did you accept? And why did you have the time of your life, giggling and laughing with Seokjin as the dancers led you through the simplest Tinikling movements.
Locking eyes with him, a bright smile across both of your faces when your duo show actually began– a slowed down version of the real thing, but more than enough for you nonetheless. The moment feeling just, unreal. Like you and him conducting yourself in the same space just had to be fake. A mimic of what could actually happen, rather than what is already in motion by the universe.
He bowed to you, once the show was over and kissed you knuckles like it meant something real.
Many times after that night you had to remind yourself it didn’t mean anything, no matter how much your heart was betraying you saying you wanted it to.
Seokjin is a secret agent. Not just a regular fuck boy, but an international one. And you, you’re just a computer science grad student who will live the rest of her life in a boring office job with no excitement. This is all just, fake. A dream that will eventually come crumbling down when you are no longer in danger.
“Mmm, the neighbourhood kids are playing in the water again.” You explain, ignoring his proximity as his head hovers above your left shoulder. His body close enough that you can feel the heat of it, but definitely far enough that he isn’t touching you.
You can practically hear the smile in the tone, “Your instincts kicking back in again?”
“Shut up.” Your lips curl just a little, your frame leaning back to shove him lightly before returning to your normal position, “It was just nice being young like that.”
He hums in acknowledgement, “I made breakfast, if you want any.”
You want to roll your eyes just a little, “Is it any good?”
“Of course.”
“Hardly believable.” You scoff, but you’re already following him to the kitchen island where he has a meal fit for a queen displayed. There isn’t a queen though, just you.
“I think I remember you salivating the first time you had a bite of my cooking.” He pulls out your chair, waiting for you to make the movement to plop down before circling around the counter. Standing on it opposite of you.
“Oh?” You hum, acting entirely too calm on purpose. Just meticulously filling your plate while pretending your stomach isn’t growling at the mere thought of eating any of it, “Must be thinking of another pretty girl you brought to the safehouse.”
“Mhmm, no. I think I'd remember the moans of the pretty girl across from me.”
Heat is already in your cheeks, calm exterior squashed in a second as indignant takes over you, “I was not! Moaning!”
A squeaky, high pitched laugh takes over the room. His hands raising to placate, but he does nothing of the sort, “Of course not, you definitely didn’t hit me with a spatula afterwards either.”
“You deserved that!” You point a finger at him, raising out of your seat slightly.
He laughs again, his cheeks high and bright. An evil voice tells you to pinch them and coo, but the louder one keeps shushing it down.
It’s getting harder to, though. Shushing it down, that is. Especially the voice that tells you to kiss him.
Your cheeks feel even warmer at the thought, but if he notices he doesn’t comment. Probably thinking it’s just your rage– yeah, obviously it is. Obviously it’s that and not you never wanting this moment to end.
“Totally! Totally did!” He’s still laughing, still looking down at you with that fond expression.
“You did!” Exasperated, you insist, “You challenged me to a cooking competition! You knew what you were doing!”
He gasps, hand clutched over his chest, aghast. “I would never!”
But he can’t hide that smile– he never seems to be able to when he’s acting all playful with you. Another one of the reasons he’s caused your heart to grow weak over these past few weeks.
“You– You!!” You start, yet aren’t entirely sure where the whole thing is going.
Only sure that you never want this moment to end. Any of this to ever end.
“When are you going to stop pretending?”
And just like that, with one simple question from your lips, the entire energy of the mini yacht shifts as it flies through the water. Seokjin at the wheel, you relaxing against the bench seat behind him. Head propped on your arms as you stare out at the water behind you, waves crashing due to the powerful engine.
Today is just as any other would be during your month-long stint on the island. You woke up, went out to the beaches to look at some shells while Seokjin met with his co-workers at the agency. You come back for lunch, he tells you about what they discussed. What they’re doing behind the scenes because he apparently hates keeping even the smallest details from you. Wants to make sure you’re just as involved in him since it is your safety on the line.
Apparently, he doesn’t care so much about his own.
Any other day, you might go to the markets afterwards. Work on some of your coursework online, or go snorkeling in the water as you’ve been working on getting your license for it. But today, today Seokjin wanted to take you out. He had something planned, something fun, he had claimed.
And just a minute ago, everything had been wonderful. He had been poorly singing karaoke behind the wheel (obviously in a joking manner, you’ve heard him sing properly before and know how good he is). Then, the world had been light. Gulls had been calling overhead while the sun set over the horizon. Everything had been… it had been good. It had been peaceful.
What started it, the shift in the energy around you? You’re not sure. You’re not sure, but you have been thinking lately. Maybe thinking too much. Getting in your head, twisting things around.
You had already decided your heart is too involved with all of this. With the man standing in front of you, white shirt billowing behind him. With the idea of being with him long term. Of not wanting him to leave from your own life.
But you know he will. One day or another, this will all be over.
He’s only been acting like this because he put your life in danger, right? Because he feels indebted to you for getting you wrapped up in whatever scheme all of this is? He doesn’t actually care that it’s you here. If it was anyone else, he’d do the same.
Because he’s a secret agent, and you’re just a grad student. And time and time again, people have proven to you that they only want things from you.
No one would freely give the way Seokjin does. Sooner or later, he’ll want something, too.
Sooner or later this dream will be over and you’ll never see him again.
Both of those facts can’t be anything other than true– and you knew that from the start, so why did you let him twist cables around your heart? Spark cables in your head that haven’t seen electricity since you were in college and still had those silly notions of hopeless romanticism wrapped up inside of your head?
You should have left up more walls. Should’ve done a lot more to separate yourself from the polar opposite world you can never indulge in. You should’ve done so many things differently.
You just feel tired. You feel so confused.
You need to know. Need to be done with this whole game.
Seokjin, for his part, pauses entirely at your question. The once carefree nature surrounding him halting in its entirety, confusion swirling in its place as he glances back at you. Not finding your face, only your back as you stare at the horizon line.
Slowly, you feel the boat draw to a halt, hear steps tracing towards you as he sits down on the bench to your side.
“What do you mean?” He asks calmly, traced. Though you’re probably just looking into it too much. You’ve been looking into everything too much.
You only shrug, not looking at him. Keeping your vision trained on the edge of the cove you find yourselves in. Lights from restaurants blearing together as they sit in the distance.
“I can’t understand if you don’t talk to me, you know that.” He urges again in that gentle, guiding way he always seems to do when he knows you're struggling with what to say. Never annoyed or angry, even when you went quiet for 3 days due to your worry over your family back at home, just… coaxing. Caring.
You know if you didn’t respond again, he would accept it. Would just give your leg a little pat, give you that almost sad smile as he tells you that he’ll be there when you’re ready. Would drop it in a heartbeat.
But you didn’t want him to. You’ve been dealing with this internal dilemma in small ways the entire month you’ve been out here with him. You need it over and corrected so you can stop thinking too into things. Can stop imagining things for what they are not.
So instead, you turn to him. Your expression placid as if you’re just talking about the weather, not anything serious. “I just mean, like, when are you going to stop pretending any of this is real?”
His head cocks back a little. His lips souring at the corners as if he’s taken aback.
Why would he be? You don’t get it. You know this is fake, that he’s just been leading you on this whole time because he wants something. Has only been doing nice things because he has something to gain from it. Only hangs out with you because he feels guilty. So why would he seem almost… almost offended?
“What do you mean?” He asks, repeating the same question as before, “All of this is real.”
You scoff, the bitter edge you’ve been attempting to hide bubbling to the surface, “Please, you don’t have to keep lying.”
“I’m not. I’m being serious, Y/n. What are you talking about? What is going on?” Worry is evident in your tone. Where most guys would start to get mad, would get accusatory, of course Kim Seokjin would only seem concerned for you.
C’mon. It’s getting ridiculous.
Now, you meet his eyes, “So you’re telling me, all of this has been real?” You scoff again, unable to hide it as you cross your arms over your chest, “So you’re trying to tell me, every flirt, every time you’ve acted like you’ve cared. All of that has been real?”
“Of course it has been.” The defense is automatic, “Why would any of it not be?”
Your annoyance with this whole thing is only growing. You know you didn’t misinterpret anything. You know it. So why is he acting like a saint? Why is he dragging you through the pits of hell making you– making you feel things? “You’re really not just going to admit it. Really.”
“Y/n. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Sincerity. That’s the only thing you can see in him and it makes you a little worried. Makes your heart beat in a compulsory manner that it never had found itself imploring in ever before.
His hand reaching out, taking your own doesn’t help in the slightest either, “I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I’ve never lied to you. Never.”
The withdrawal of your hand is automatic, a reply rebuttal biting at your lips but… you draw a blank. In all the years, all the summers you’ve known Kim Seokjin, you honestly can’t come up with a single time he’s lied to you.
On your first ever meeting he had introduced himself as a secret agent.
Why the hell would he do that?
“Right, right. Totally.” You’re defensive anyway. It’s the only emotion you can process, the only one that doesn’t leave you swimming in confusion over questions you cannot answer or dipping into resolutions that could never be true. “So what do you expect out of all of this then? What’s the end goal?”
With a wave of your hand around the general surroundings, you can tell his patience is waning. Baseless accusations would do that, you guess. But so would being called out on your bullshit.
“To keep you sa–”
You cut him off, not processing your actions before you’re already acting. Becoming hostile, maybe a little volatile because that’s easier than anything else. Letting your mouth run without thinking has always been the easiest thing,
“Keep me safe, right. Right.” You roll your eyes, your back now up straight, ready for a confrontation, “And then after that? You just dump me back at home and then never talk to me again?”
His face twists even further in confusion, if that were at all possible. His own form still slouched slightly, not at all in the same defensive stance as you find yourself to be.
“What? No– No.” He enunciates twice, making sure he’s heard. That he’s known in his convictions, “That was never the plan. I would never do some–”
You’re tired of this, tired of all of it. Turns out an exhausted heart leads to an open mouth, “Then what was the plan Seokjin?! Because the way I see it, there isn’t another one. I’m going to go home, finish school and you’re going to travel the world and do– do spy shit. What other plan could there be? Honestly. Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not bullshitting!” For the first time since you’ve known him, he raises his voice. The words coming out just a bit louder than normal, though you can’t blame him. The kettle would have to boil over eventually.
Though, he doesn’t keep it up. Not in the slightest. Instead, he takes a second. Breathes in, breathes out. Recenters himself. Takes time with what he’s going to say next while you just… sit there. Sit there and take him in as you finally get yourself to admit the fact that you actually like him.
You like Kim Seokjin.
“Listen, I don’t know what made you think any different, but I would never abandon you. I like you too much for that,” You make a move to cut him off again, but he puts one hand up to stop you. You’re surprised when you listen, “I was going to tell you when we guaranteed your safety, but the plan was for me to offer you a job at the agency. If you didn’t want to join, I would have given you my number either way. I would have made sure we stayed in contact.”
“What?” A job at his agenc– he likes you?! Oh, okay. So this is what it feels like to have a system overload. Okay. Cool.
This is too much information at once.
“We were going to offer you a job?” He repeats, giving you one thing to focus on instead, already knowing your brain.
“How– what the hell would I even do there? I’m not cut out to be a fucking spy, Seokjin.”
“No, but a girl who could have somehow gotten into the NSA servers definitely puts you on the radar of organizations like mine.”
Lips part wide and he closes them with a hand on your chin, worried you may catch flies, “You– What?! How did you know about that?! I was in like– like high school!”
He can only smile, “Yeah, and it took a long time to figure out who you were. Your encryption was top notch for someone so young.”
You fold in on yourself, leaning over your knees as you rest your chin against your hands, “You’re crazy, this is crazy.”
He tilts his head a little, knowing little smirk on his face, “C’mon, you didn’t think it was a little suspicious I hung out at the pool for so long? Only talked to you?”
You shrug, “I thought you just wanted to fuck me.”
“Oh.” A little bit of a pink blush colours his cheeks before he’s waving his hand in the air, dismissing it, “That, too. Also take you on dates but–”
Oh, that sour feeling is back. The one that likes to eat you up inside just a little, “So I was right, then?”
“No.” He clarifies immediately, making sure it’s known, “I was going to confess properly once we got back to the docks and you could see the fireworks I had plann–”
“You planned fireworks?!” Your eyes light up, bright and wide.
“Yes, but–”
“Let’s go! Let’s go now!” You’re already standing. One hand grasping his, attempting to tug him towards the wheel but he’s immoveable, it’s like tugging a pound of bricks.
“Wait, wait. Calm down!” He scolds, though it doesn’t really feel like he means it. With one gentle shake, his hand is dislodged from your own and your hands are crossing over your chest. One foot impatiently tutting against the floor.
“I think we need to talk about why you were feeling like this to begin with before we get into any of that,” He explains and you, you practically droop. Huffing and puffing as you slide back into your seat, position awkward as you’re slumped as far as you can down into the soft cushion.
“It’s important to vocalise them– yeah, yeah. I know.” You humph, staring at a random spot on the floor, “I’d rather not, though.”
“You don’t have to now.” He offers, “Just, sometime soon.”
“I know. But I should now. I should if…” Your cheeks begin to heat again, “I just need to know if you’re playing with my feelings or not. And I need you to be honest. Really honest because that’s what I’m used to and it’s tiring and you’re the first person in a long time I’ve felt something like this about and it’s all just–”
“Too good to be true?” He asks and you just nod, still refusing to look at him. Still acting a little petulant though he knows you don’t really mean to be, “I thought the same thing, too. When I was getting to know you that first summer”
Your eyes slowly trail from the deck floor to the embroidered cushions. To his long legs, up his chest until finally reaching his eyes. The soft expression inside of them, “Really?”
“Really. I would never mess with your feelings. I would never act on something that wasn’t real for me. We’ve been with each other for a month straight now, you know? You’re smart. I know you’ve seen that.”
“... I kinda just thought you were… acting?”
“You think I’m that good of an actor, huh?”
Your eyes roll, “Shut up.”
“Fine, fine.” He lets out a soft chuckle. The sun finally set, the only thing illuminating him being the overhead light of the boat. It feels… the same, in some ways, as that night almost 2 months ago. The fluorescence of the deck light reflecting in his hair the same way the overhead lights at the pool had gleamed.
But now, as opposed to then, he’s leaning just a bit closer. His eyes glancing between your lips and your eyes. A magnetic energy neither of you can really explain pulling him closer, closer.
“Is there anything I can do to prove it to you?” His voice is a hair huskier now. Just a little bit deeper as his breath mingles against your own.
“Ye–”
Ah.
It is rather unfortunate, that over the sounds of your conversation, you both entirely miss the ringing off his phone until it’s too late.
Until the beeping of the bomb on the underside of the vessel has already imploded.
Before you can finish the word, everything has changed. Everything in a matter of seconds has changed and there is nothing, nothing that can be done to reverse it.
One second, you’re leaning in for a kiss. The next? You’re fighting against the currents of black ocean water, flaming ship pieces surrounding you as you fight to find the surface for air.
Your head clouded, far away as you try to gain a sense of your surroundings. Your ears ringing high pitched and loud due to the noise, your vision– if you were able to see anything– spotted with flecks of white due to the light.
You’re not thinking– you can’t think at all. Nothing is processing around you. Nothing but the innate urge to find the surface before the air in your lungs leaves you completely. Before you’re swallowed up in the darkness of the night, no one knowledgeable about the cause of the foreign ‘couple’s’ disappearance.
Beating against the current the explosion caused, you force your way up and up and up– though, determining the direction itself is difficult enough. Calming your nerves as they begin to panic more and more is a challenge in itself, but something in your brain forces you to. Something deep seeded– the innate will to live makes you keep moving.
Even when you think you have no energy, even when shock makes your limbs feel numb, you keep fighting.
You always have been a fighter.
But air is so limited under the water– you know that well enough. Your training has made you sure of it.
Time feels slower, but the clock is only ticking more and more as you kick your useless limbs, your clothes weighing you down.
Your lungs burn. Your energy is depleting faster than you could account for. Then anything could account for.
You don’t know if you can. You don’t– Fuck.
Your head breaks though the waves, lungs swallowing up gulps of air as water continues to sweep over your head, keeps trying to pull you back under. But in between each movement of the tide, you breach again, pulling more air into your burning lungs. Swallowing water, spitting it out. Coughing as your throat continues to try and betray you, attempting to let water invade your trachea.
But still, still you continue to fight. Even as your eyes burn, you scan the bay around you, try to spot any sight of him among the burning wreckage. No more than a dark blog bouncing among the waves.
“Seokjin!” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own– horse and wrecked as another wave topples overhead, dragging you under until there is another lull in the tides.
Breaching the surface, another series of hacks leave your lungs, but you don’t pay it any mind. You just keep yelling his name, keep searching for him even though it seems hopeless. Even though your limbs are becoming tired– even though you should be trying to find shelter rather than conducting a fruitless search to find the man in the dark.
But you can’t help it, gods, you really can’t.
Something primal in you, something desperate and scared can’t stop. Something terrible, and scared and almost nauseating causes you to keep searching. Something deep and dark welling in the pit of your stomach, something that you know will eat you whole if you don’t.
The panic attack starts before you’re fully aware of it. Not due to concern for your own safety, of the fear of the waves pulling you under, but for his.
Your breathing picks up, your limbs feel like lead. You can’t hear anything over the ringing in your ears and your own heartbeat. But regardless, regardless of any danger you take a deep breath and shove your head under the water of your own volition.
Your eyes burn as you scan around, as you attempt to see anything in the dark. Stay under until your lungs burn for air once again. Until you’re on the brink of passing out before you surface once more, shouting his name again and again. Desperation on the edge of your voice, tears in your eyes.
You can’t hold it back. You’ve never been one to cry. But now. You sob.
Your entire frame shaking as you still stay above the waves, your voice cracking as it calls for him– screams for him. Your vision spotting with black as your air intake flatlines, your entire body on the verge of passing out as you panic more and more.
You don’t feel hands until they’re on you. You don’t even realise you’re being lifted out of the water until you’re placed onto the floor of a dingy. Don’t process anything until the face of a man is in front of you.
“Hey. Hey!” He’s shouting at you slightly, shaking your shoulders. You guess he’s trying to get your attention. Guess he’s trying to get you to focus on anything but whatever is bubbling out from deep inside of you.
You guess you liked Seokjin more than you were ever willing to admit.
Like. Like him. Because he’s still alive. He has to be.
If you’re still breathing after that, he has to be, too.
Slowly, the tv static fades. Slowly you can see the face in front of you– past the tears bubbling in your vision. Slowly, you can make out the words he’s saying over the tinnitus in your ears.
“Hey!” He shouts again, just as your eyes slowly start to focus. Just as you begin to feel your arms again.
Suddenly, you’re faced with his side profile, his movements a little too fast to process for your current state. His brown hair wiping around as he speaks a timbre, voice a little panicked, too, as he cusses, head turning back to you. “영어를 하지 않나요?”
It feels like your eyes are a camera moving in and out of focus. The figure in front of you blurring and unblurring as he moves around. Moving too quickly, but also in slow motion at the same time.
“Are you okay?” He tries again, one of his hands squeezing your shoulder while his eyes trace over your face carefully. Trying to gauge how much attention you need. “I need you to talk to me!”
Another shake, and somehow, for some reason, you snap back to reality. The fog fading all too quickly, everything feeling too real once again.
“Jin.” You whisper to yourself, eyes focusing on the waves behind whoever is in front of you now.
“What?” They ask again, but you can’t really see them. Hear them. Process him other than the fact he’s standing between you and jumping in the water to keep looking for Seokjin.
“Seokjin!” Suddenly, you’re yelling again. Arm coming up, roughly pushing away the firm body in front of you. Shocking him with your sudden manic state, your body moving past him until you’re holding onto the edge of the boat.
“Seokjin!!!” You’re screaming at the top of your lungs hoping for anything, hoping for any kind of response as the boat continues to speed along among the wreckage.
Hands are around you again, but the sudden adrenaline in you shakes them off. Managing yourself as close to the edge of the boat as your shaky legs would allow. “Fuck! Hyung! Help me!”
There’s a commotion behind you– cussing and stumbling over the deck as you continue to kick and press away. A whole wrestling match you don’t even realise is occurring until there are two strong arms around your waist– bigger than the set before– pulling you back against a firm chest until he falls to his ass, you toppling right along with him.
“A-Asshole!” You struggle, nails gripping into the flesh of his forearms as you attempt to pry yourself away. Kicking, twisting, squirming. “Asshole! Let go of me you fucking asshole!”
“Calm–” He’s huffing, clearing from effort. It looks like even in your ragged state, you can put up quite the fight, “Calm down. We’re friends of Jin-hyungs, we were trying to contact you about the attack– We’re looking for him. Fuck! That hurt! You need to calm–” You see him.
At least, you think you do.
You see something. A blob that looks like something that could be him laying motionless against a piece of wreckage. The burning of a nearby fire enough to set what looks like his black, wet mop aglow.
But it’s enough for you.
Before you know you’re even moving, your elbow is flying back behind you, right into the man’s ribcage with all the strength you have in your body. Hard, pointy– edged with desperation that cannot be matched.
He sputters, coughs as his arms loosen just enough for you to scramble free. Your vision locked on him, gaze is a pinhole that can see nothing but him.
You’re already running forward, past the other man that tries to catch you– tries to stop you on your mission. Just in time, you dodge under his waiting grasp. Body running into a dive off the edge of the ship.
You hear a bit of cussing, a scramble behind you, but you don’t care. You need to get to Seokjin, whose dangles dangerously close to the water's edge face down. You need to check his pulse. You need to make sure he’s still breathing. That he’s alright.
Your arms are flying in front of you, your training kicking in more than anything else as you fly through the water. As you do everything in your power to get to him.
You can only breathe when he’s in front of you. When you lift his head from the water, your legs hardly keeping you afloat. When you see that it is, in fact, him and not just some sort of hallucination.
Your heart feels lighter.
It only takes a second though, for the rest of you to kick back in. The sounds of the boat's engine are nearing, so you won’t have to wait long until he is truly safe. In the meantime, one of your hands check his pulse, the other resting on the debris to keep the impact of your treading legs to a minimum. His head propped on your shoulder, keeping his solemn, slightly blue skin out of the depths below.
His pulse is quiet, struggling. But there.
Your brain continues to pulse providing you with an endless stream of information. The diving reflex would’ve kicked in the second he passed out, but it can only last for so long. If he inhaled any water, you can only hope it was in the moments before you arrived.
He isn’t breathing, but he still has a pulse.
You have time.
You have a few minutes until… until…
No. He’s fine.
When the boat arrives not 3 seconds later, you take charge immediately. Barking out instructions, shouting out what to do to the two men on board. Making sure Seokjin is inside, laying down flat on his back. Making sure you’re right there with him.
“Fucking get us to a hospital!” You lean over Seokjin, eyes glancing over him every which way you can for only a second before you begin to move.
One hand reaches up to pinch his nostrils, to make sure his airway is shut. The other tilting his chin up, making sure his head is extending up at a 90 degree angle. Your lungs fill with air as you inhale deep into the base of your diaphragm.
Your lips encase his entirely as you lean down, inhaling your air into his own body. Giving him one, wait, two, rescue breaths before pulling back. Before tracing your hands right above his heart, making sure the heel of your palm is firmly in place.
You hate this part. But it’s necessary.
You put the entire weight of your body into the chest compressions. Counting along as you do them, performing the beat of a song in your head as you lift up and press down over and over again.
It’s a violent, ugly thing. It always is. The amount of pressure needed to reach the heart is always more than the average person expects– it’s not a rare thing to break ribs in the process, for the person receiving compressions to vomit, either. But you, you don’t even process if you manage to do such a thing. You just adjust, act accordingly. Maybe tilt his head to let anything that needs to come out, come out, you’re not really sure.
Just keep going along with the motions, keep sputtering along between compressions and rescue breaths to make sure he keeps living.
To make sure you can confess to him properly and then hit him for making you so worried.
Even after one haphazard gasp on his own, you keep going. It’s a good sign. One you needed. The extra push you needed to keep going.
Only stopping once he finally takes over breathing on his own, rolling him onto his side with a little force just in case anything else unwanted spills from his lips. Your hand rubbing over his back as you try to bring oxygen into your own lungs, as you watch his expression for any slight change.
At some point, the boat stops at another larger vessel. Another man– a lot scrawnier than the first two– climbing aboard with the heavy briefcase. Bringing his attention to Seokjin immediately.
You move out of the way slightly, but in no way do you leave his side.
A doctor from his company you guess, or maybe hope. No, no. He is. Has to be with the way he begins to check Seokjin over. Feels for a pulse, checking his breathing with a stethoscope properly.
Thankfully, colour already began to return to his expression during the ride. The warm glow of his skin returning, replacing the sickly pale. His fingers twitching ever so slightly whenever your nails scratched softly instead of just rubbed.
He was coming back.
Slowly, but he was coming back.
You guess it could’ve been a lot worse. Are sure of it, especially when Seokjin opens his eyes just a little bit. His hazy expression looking for nothing you.
The corners of his cracked lips quirking just slightly as he lets out a quiet, shaky– but still there, still real, “Hey.”
That is the second time you cry, thanks to Kim Seokjin.
He coughs a few times, sputtering as he takes in a few shaky inhales, his lips quirking up just the slightest bit at the corner “You gave me the CPR, with… with the chest compressions, too, though… That better not… not count as our first kiss.”
And that, that is the thousandth time in your life, that you want to hit him. But instead, you just let yourself feel complete and utter joy.
“Yah! I’m fine, I’m fine!” Seokjin urges, shoving two men out of the door. Taehyung, who you later learned was one of the men on the boat with you that night a week ago, whining up a storm while Jeongguk continues to attempt to force more bags of food into your boyfr– into Seokjin’s hands.
Boyfr, because after his almost-drowning, the two of you haven’t had much time to finally have “the talk” that has been itching at the walls of your house. Between his discharge from his company's medical center, to his friends constant concerned pestering, you haven’t gotten much of a chance of anything with him. Much less the talk.
And tonight, tonight it is supposed to happen. You thank every greater being above for that because honestly, the idea of not knowing has been causing you to want to tear your hand out strand by strand and knit a scarf with it.
You know so many people who like to live in the safety of not knowing, but with Seokjin, you think you’d rather die.
But of course, of course, you’ve been good. So good. So patient even though it’s driving you crazy. The worst part! It seems like the only one who has been able to see it is the doctor, Min Yoongi! You would hate it if any of them were able to see it, but especially him.
That knowing little smirk he gives you whenever your time with Seokjin is interrupted by another one of his 6 friends showing up… He doesn’t even do anything to get rid of them until you’re all flustered up and annoyed!
But you’re being so normal about it, you swear. Even when your sweet reunion after he woke up properly was interrupted by Jeongguk rushing in and hugging him before you could. Or when you two were about to kiss while he was still in recovery and Hoseok walked in demanding his hyung beat him in mario cart.
You’re so normal about it and totally not scratching at the walls of your enclosure because Seokjin deserves to have his loved ones around, and his best friends deserve to have time with him too after the incident took place. Especially when they had tried to warn you about it first, when they had been there in the blink of an eye to save you two.
You guess you owe a little bit of your life to them. So you can’t be mad at them. Not really. Just… you want to be able to call yourself Seokjin’s girlfriend already, okay?!
With the slam of a door and a quiet huff, you’re met with Seokjin’s unfortunately gorgeous face. A calm, placid smile on his lips, though the slight scrunch of his eyebrows meanders about a different story.
Your heart beats hard. Maybe you’re not the only one desperate for a little alone time.
“So, where were we?” He asks, though you can tell his voice is edged with a bit of annoyance tonight. Like he had just been interrupted from the most important thing in the world– something he’s done a million times before– dinner with you.
You’re frozen in your spot for a second, your eyes slowly tracing down his figure. The way his formal suit is pressed precisely, tucked into the waistband of his slacks with grace. The way his arms sit at his sides, his the veins in his forearms expressive as they trace lines under his skin.
The way his fingers twitch, causing the muscle in his arms to pulse. To press against his sleeves rolled up around his elbows.
You listen closely– ears instinctively checking just for a second of any other voices that may be around. The voices that continued to impress against your vulnerable moments with him all week. And for the first time… you hear absolutely none.
… Maybe that talk can wait.
Your eyes trail a bit lower, and yep. Yes, it definitely can.
In a matter of seconds, any reservation you may have had crumbles entirely. In a few decisive steps, you cross the room. You stand right in front of him as you place a hand on his shoulder. Look at him like you’re about to tell him the most treasured secret the world may ever hold.
Instead, with a firm tone of voice, not wavering in the slightest, you utter a few magic words, “Seokjin. If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to burn down this island with everyone in it.”
God, the conviction in your expression must be comical.
Seokjin blinks. Once. Twice. Before he doubles over laughing. Squeaky high pitched sound that you’ve grown to like more than anything else filling the air as he topples over himself. As he lets himself feel the brightest he’s felt since he first saw you upon waking up.
You, on the other hand, your cheeks instantly grow hot as you realise what you've just done.
You’re humiliated.
This blunder will fall to your children, your children’s children. You will be the laughing stock of generations.
“I’m being serious!” Oh god, why couldn’t you just close your big mouth. Why did you have to double down instead of just falling on the sword given to you.
Before you’re able to process it, take it back and run away, he’s stepping closer himself. His chest a mere foot away as one of his hands raises, resting just under the curve of your chin. Tilting your head up just slightly to look back at his own face, little puffs of air still leaving his lungs.
“Ah, my apologies. My apologies.” He smiles, leaning down. Closing the space little by little, inching closer and closer. Closing his eyes, leaning in.
Oh. His lips are on yours.
You’re unsure why you hadn’t processed this as an outcome of your request, but now that it’s occurring, you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything better. Aren’t sure you ever want him to pull away.
Somehow, all at the same time, his lips feel like fireworks dancing among the stars. Like the sea breeze billowing through the safehouse every morning. Like calm serenity and the dance of a thousand stars swirling up inside of you all at once.
You never knew something like a simple kiss after time waiting away was meant to feel like this, but now that you know it does, you could never manage to pull away. Not in your wildest dreams or darkest nightmares could you remove yourself from this moment.
Your hands move for you as they move to press against his chest. Nails twisting into the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, as you stumble backwards slightly. One of his own moving to your hip to keep you steady, to keep you from leaving him.
You’re not sure who makes the move first, but eventually your lips are sliding open slightly along with his, though instead of deepening the kiss, taking it further, you feel his teeth against you. Nipping at your bottom lip, teasing you.
You whine– a petulant little sound. One hand detaching to whack his chest, while his thumb only soothes your hip as if to apologise.
Both of you know he’s not really sorry, but he pretends anyway. Pulling away just slightly, though not backing away enough to leave you fully. Continuously pecking little kisses to your lips while you chase him back. Only becoming more grouchy every time he pulls away.
“Mmm, you’re right.” He mumbles, unable to keep the smile off of his lips as his finger remains under your chin. His head dipping back down to plant another series of kisses against your pout-puffed lips.
“You’re just!” You try, “So mean!” Keep trying, “To me!” You manage out between kisses.
His smile only growing wider. His form leading you back into the primary bedroom slowly coaxing you as he presses into your frame, knocking you just a little bit further each time as you move backwards towards the space unknowingly.
“Am I?” Another breathless chuckle is against his tongue, and you want to scream, “You’re right, I have been mean, huh?”
Oh. Okay. So when the fuck did he have the time between mocking you to let his voice get all deeply and husky?! Soft and terribly sinful?! What the fuck is this shit! You’re going to throw an uprising! He shouldn’t be allowed to act like–
Your thoughts are cut off as your back hits the mattress, the palm of his hand holding the back of your head to make sure it doesn’t land too roughly against the harsh surface. His frame hovering above yours, one knee on the bed between your slightly spread legs.
When… When did he have the time to do this? How.. how didn’t you notice it?
Your tongue suddenly feels heavy in your mouth as you look up at him. That cocky, self serving little grin on his lips like he knows he’s got you.
He does. But you would never admit that. Couldn’t at the risk of his ego growing even larger. You’re not sure the world could survive if it did.
“I– Yes!” You paw at his chest, your voice coming out weaker than you would have intended it to, “You have been! I’ve been nothing but good–” Oh god.
The air is robbed from your lungs at the shift that occurs before you.
His eyelids crest close just slightly, his expression morphing as he pulls the line of his lips just a little bitter tighter. Everything about him appearing just a bit sharper, just a bit more in control.
Are you fucked? You think you might just be.
“Oh?” The sound barely leaves him, no more than a wisp of air, “You like being good? Fascinating.”
He leans closer, one soft kiss landing at your collar bone, the next dropping lower and lower until he’s kissing the top of your breast. At the skin just exposed above the bust of your dress.
You feel hot everywhere.
“You know,” He trails his lips along the lining of your dress, “I always took you for someone who wanted to fight back,” One of his hands, the one that was against the back of your head, now starts at your knee. Slowly trails up until it’s just lightly stroking under the hem of your dress, slowly pushing it up as it moves.
“I guess I was wrong,” The slight shrug of his shoulders almost leaves you feeling defeated, though the gasp of your lips as he touches your upper thigh sends a different, more fiery feeling down your spine. “You’ll be good and listen to me, won’t you?”
The silly, lighthearted Seokjin you once knew is no more. In his place? A man that makes you feel like a doll. A pretty thing meant to be played with. A dominant force that resists being toyed with– that can open the gates of heaven so long as you’re good and welcome it with a smile on your face and a plea in your heart.
A man you want to push the buttons of– to see how far you can poke and prod before he decides to set you on course.
Wait.
No, you want his praise. Want all of it. Want to be the center of his world and his attention and take all he has to offer.
The devils on your shoulder at war as you fight with yourself. Both sides equally valid in their desires. So contrasting as half wants to force him onto the bed and grind against his thigh– use him to make yourself feel good while the other wants you to lay placid and beg him to eat you out.
There are too many decisions and not enough time. Not enough at all.
Hm. Can’t you be a little selfish and have both?
Be just a little bad and beg for forgiveness later?
Yeah, yeah. You think you can. You think you can if you just play your cards– “Ah!”
A moan leaves your lips before you can stop it, your head kicking back harshly. A sharp pressure of pleasure right against your cunt causing both of your legs to kick out. A harsh press of a thumb to your clit sending your mind reeling.
While you were so caught up in your own head, Seokjin had managed to climb higher and higher until he was right against you. Poor little head so lost in too many decisions that it couldn’t even see the wolf moving in towards its meal.
“There you are, pretty. Back with me I see,” The chuckle in his voice is evident and it seems like your decision has already been made because of it, “Got too distracted, didn’t you? It’s okay. I’ll take care of it all, won’t I?”
Yeah. The brattiness won. You want to fight back.
You whine out, quiet and high pitched as your hips start to grind against his thumb. The skirt of your dress pushed high against your hips, your thighs acting like they’re a little shaky as you move. Your hands reaching out, tangling themselves into his hair as you urge him upwards towards your lips. “Wanna be good…”
Urge him to face you head on, even if he doesn’t know it yet.
Lucky for you, he concedes, moving up along with the little tugs of his hair, giving you a soft, controlled smile as you tuck him against your neck.
It’s only then that you finally put your plan into action.
In one swift motion, you attempt to take him by surprise– attempt being the key word, because it appears he already knew your plan from a mile away.
When you try to flip him, to press him down into the mattress, he lets you. Lets you think you’ve had your victory. Let’s you hold both of his hands in yours as you sit across his lap, dress skirt splayed across the both of you.
But just when you would call victory, decide your conquest is complete and begin your grinding against his crotch, he makes it known what he thinks of this little… performance you’ve decided to put on. “What are you gonna do– Ah!”
Within one second, you’re on your stomach. Your knees clattering against the ground as your upper half is forced against the mattress, held in place by his large form behind you, trapping you in. Making sure you have no exit while one of his hands pins both arms behind your back.
“Wrong move.” His breath is in your ear, entire frame leaning over yours, making it known just how much stronger he is than you, making it known that he would never do anything to hurt you by the gentleness of his touch against your wrists. “What are you going to do now?”
The answer should be obvious, you should’ve had a plan, but unfortunately for you, it seems like all roads lead to Rome. All roads would’ve led to this outcome, and you had no way out of it.
“Ah…” You pant slightly, body still wiggling, still trying to press out of his grip as you attempt to consolidate your losses, “I-I was just playing Jin! Y-Y’know just playful me, being playful!”
His grip grows tighter around your wrists, and you feel your panties start to become wet with slick. “Wrong again.” He scoffs, a little indignant. A lot more in control than you could ever think he could be. “Do you want to keep lying? Or tell the truth and make this a little better for yourself?”
You whine, continuing to squirm. A lot more turned on than you ever thought you could or would be from this situation, from having him pin you against a bed. Still, your brattiness works against you, makes you want to lie and scheme to get your way out of any messes you’ve planted yourself in, “I’m not lying! It’s the truth!”
“Really?” This time he leans back, but just when you think he’s about to let up, instead he flips your skirt up, exposing your panties to the room. A little wet patch formed right against the center, making itself known as heat burns in your cheeks, arousal at being displayed like this, clear, “Because it looked like to me you were planning on trying to get me all tied up so you could rub this messy little thing against my cock, right?”
He leans in, inspecting your underwear. Pressure on your lower back still ceasing your movement, keeping you still other than the squirming of your hips. The ladder issue quickly resolved when Seokjin’s hand presses firmly down on your ass, locking your knees against the floor.
At his words, your cunt flutters around nothing– you can’t help it, well and truly. Your eyes closing as you try to will it away, to stop from proving him right, but in the end, there’s really no hope.
“Rules.” His voice suddenly cuts through the air, pulling you out of your toppling state. Only drawing you out of your psyche due to the important tone his voice takes on, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin attempting to zero you in, to bring you back to earth. “Do you have a safe word, pretty?”
You nod your head slowly, turning back to look at him. Heat covering your cheeks as you try to will your voice to respond to him. “It’s okay, It’s not embarrassing. I need to know.”
“S-Stoplight system.” You force out, and the soft smile he gives is almost worth it.
“Good. Remember to communicate with me. If you want to slow down and take it at your pace, we can.” He hums, looking down at your panties. At the red fabric stretched taught over your skin. He plays with the hem slightly, testing it. Tugging it upwards ever so slightly, watching it disappear between your cheeks. Wondering how it would look stretched between the lips of your cunt instead. “Contraception?”
“O-on birth control.” You mumble out, breathier than before. The slight tugging enough to give just a little bit of stimulation to your clit. Enough for you to start feeling that pulsing at the base of your spine, that soft soreness in your chest.
Though before you’re given even a second to bask in it, your frame is being jostled. Your spine being pulled up by your hands, your frame spinning before you can even process it. Your body propped up, kneeling on the floor as Seokjin holds your arms up above your head, his crotch right in front of your face.
“See?” He asks, soft. Controlled as his free hand comes down to pet your hair, “You can be good if you want to.”
A part deep inside of you stirs at the praise, another still swims with how quick he moved. Has he always been that fast? You suppose so. Secret agents have to be but… the way he tosses you around? You’re wondering if you can be a part of his training as well.
But then, then Seokjin ‘tsks.’ He kisses his teeth, and his fist bites down in your hair, pulling your hair, tugging your skull to one side as he looks at you like he’s assessing you. Evaluating your worth, seeing if you can still make it up to him while you just look up at him with wide eyes, the pain blossoming into something you enjoy more than hate.
“Too bad you chose the wrong path.” He huffs, letting your arms fall behind your back. Confident with that slightly glassy look in your eyes, you won’t try to move them anytime soon. “Good thing I’m kind, huh? That I can set you straight.”
He leans down to your height, looking into your eyes as he holds your hair tight. A small, sadistic smile dawning on his lips, “You’ll take my corrections well, won’t you, pretty?”
Your head is spinning. You never though the fuck boy at the pool was– that he was anything like this in the bedroom. But you can’t help but thrive in it. Keen under his watchful gaze as you squirm. Want to fight back, to push his buttons even further– to see what you could get him to do.
How far you could take it just to see him crack?
“If I don’t?” You test the waters, looking straight back at him. Cocky expression on your face, smirk on your lips.
“Ah.” He nods his head, keeping that smile on his plump lips, “Then I'd tell you to hit my leg three times if you want to tap out. Or if you can’t breathe for too long. Whichever comes first.”
Your eyebrows pinch up a hair, lips coming together in an attempt to ask him what he means but you’re not given the chance. No, nothing of the sort as he drags his frame back to full height. His fist still locked in your hair, “I mean I’m going to fuck your throat until it’s raw for me. Colour?”
His free hand fumbles with his fly as he gives you a moment to think, to process the series of events and decisions that have led up to this very moment. To process how bad you want to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, to see exactly what the goofy pool kid means when he says punishment.
To see is he’s really all talk.
“Green.” Your response is louder than you thought it would be, your arms working to pull your dress over your head in the small amount of time he’s given you. Wanting to free yourself from the uncomfortable confines, especially if you’re going to get a little messy.
You didn’t account for the fact that you did not wear a bra, your tits now completely on display for him, along with you sitting pretty in your underwear. You’re too turned on to care, but he notices it all.
If you were better, he would’ve taken the time to worship you properly, but you just had to go and try to pin him down.
What a pity.
Next time. He’s sure of it. Next time he’ll take it nice and slow, but right now he really just needs to rob the air from your lungs.
The expression he looks down at you with now is cold, commanding. Demanding obedience where you’ve given him none. His hand releases your hair before coming up to caress your jaw oh-so gently before his palm cradles each side, squeezing your cheeks until you just pop your mouth open for him.
In his other hand, his fish is slowly stroking his cock. The grip of him barely closing around the other side, slowly moving up and down, finishing working himself up while you just stare wide-eyed.
He’s so big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen.
Your jaw aches at the mere thought of attempting to fit him inside. Your thighs squeezing around nothing at the thought of him going lower. The head flushed, a darker shade than the rest of him as a drop of pre-cum leaks from the tip, later pulled down the shaft with the tug of his hand.
You wish you had more time to take in the sight of him. To accept the fact that every park of Seokjin is beautiful, before his cock was forced into the wet cavern of your mouth. His hips cramming in as much of himself as he could manage, hitting the back of your throat in one foul swoop.
It’s too much all at once– your mouth too full, only exacerbating the feeling of realising you’re far too empty anywhere else. The blunt tip of his cock against the back of your throat removing all thoughts from your head as you just try to focus on not gagging. On not scraping your teeth against his length.
“See? If you just took cock as well as you behaved, we wouldn’t have any issues, would we now?” His tone is condescending, but the pulse it sends down to your core is all too real. “Now, just let Seokjinnie do what he needs to– take your punishment well and you’ll get a reward, yeah?”
He begins to move his hips, starting out slow, letting you get used to it just a bit even though the force of his rocks is omnipresent. Reclined yet harsh as drool spills from the corners of your lips, his hand in place forcing your jaw to stay open just the way he wants it to.
His other hand finds its home again, fisting your hair, pulling your head forward with every thrust as you attempt to take him deeper, try to relax your throat as best you can so he can slide deeper inside– the promise of a reward sending flurries deep inside.
You want a reward. You can earn it.
“Remember, pretty girl, no teeth. 3 hits.” He tells you like he’s lecturing you, reminding you of things you should already know, “Gonna fuck you for real now. Pretend this mouth is your cute little cunt.”
He groans, his hand leaving your jaw to meet with the fist at the back of your skull. His eyes still half-lidded as he looks down at you, take in the sloppy expression of your face, the hazed out features of your eyes as he treats you a bit roughly.
See? He knew you were a good girl. Knew he just had to play with you right to get you to move, to sing how he wanted you to, “I’ll show your pussy how I’m going to treat her.”
His hips start rutting against your face in earnest. Hard, powerful, quick trusts as he forces himself inside over and over again. Only about half of his length manages to fit inside as he slowly works open your throat. Presses himself just a little bit deeper inside with every motion.
"Holds himself there for a few seconds every time, steals the breath from your lungs as your eyes grow more and more distant. As you trust him enough to slip away, even during what is meant to be a punishment. Watches as your nails dig into your thighs– hopes a little bit in his heart that you’ll scratch him with the same ones.
When your thighs keep pressing together, rubbing just a little, he almost wants to coo. Ah, you were just so desperate, that's why you were acting up then? Maybe. Or maybe you just like a little fight. He likes the fight, too. Wants it for the rest of your days together.
Hopefully forever.
His hips press close as he counts down from ten out loud. Admiring the handiwork his cock on your tongue allowed. The red swelling or your lips, the little bit of drool at the corners, too. The mess on top of your head from his hard grabbing, his rough fucking into your skull as you attempted to make sounds around him.
Your hands grip against his slacks at 5, your foggy eyes widening only a fraction as he draws out his numbers just a little. As his hips work as slow thrust as deep as he can manage inside, nowhere near even half his cock fitting between your lips, but that's okay.
Finally, finally he pulls away. Lets you suck full breaths back into your lungs as you mean over slightly. Still clawing at his slacks, as you huff for air. His hand having released you completely, now returning to pet you softly.
“I knew you could do it.” A shiver runs down your spine at the praise, and you’re almost entirely sure he can feel it. Can feel every little movement you make, every little motion.
On bambi legs, you slowly stand up. Looking up at Seokjin with a little glare, your caveman brain deciding he has on entirely too many clothes. Letting you fumble with the buttons until they’re undone completely, until the fabric is pushed from his shoulders all while his eyes stay trained on you.
As he admires you.
You know, it’s a funny thing, how he fell for you. How he was just meant to observe you, but something about your energy just drew him in. Back then, he was disappointed he only got the summer shifts– Jimin got to attend your university to keep an eye on you– but now, he wouldn't have it any other way.
It was meant to be.
“Stupid fucking shirt… Stupid fucking..” It seems that despite his best efforts, your bratty tone still hasn’t left. Sure, that part of your brain firmly shut off when he was limiting your oxygen supply, but it seems like now it was back with a vengeance.
It would seem he has his work cut out for him.
Once again, you’re tossed around like you weigh nothing. One second you were attempting to climb the man like a tree, deadset on marking up his next, the second you were laying in a similar position as before. Your chest down against the sheets, your ass now propped in the air thanks to Seokjin angling your legs to keep it as high as he can.
“Wh-what are you–” You try to grumble out, though your throat feels raw. Vocal cords too tired to work properly even as he tugs your panties down your thigh, as a gasp forces its way inside of your lungs. The cold air hitting your folds, making your skin feel even more warm.
“Do you still want me to fuck you?” Is all he asks, though you hear him somewhere behind you taking a knee. Propping your legs up higher, positioning you for him as your thighs burn. As they shake just a little from the strain.
You wait one second, two. To try and make yourself seem a little less desperate, though in reality. You think you might die if you don’t feel his cock inside of you by the end of the night. If you don’t feel him making you whole. “Yes.”
It’s his lips that meet your cunt first this time. Nothing more than a peck of his thick lips against your cute little clit. His breath letting out a quiet disappointed sigh against your sodden lips as he sees the poor little thing practically jump. Twitching from just that little bit of contact, from him.
“You know,” You feel the air against you, every tiny movement sending your overstimulated, underattended core alight, “I was really going to be gentle with you. Take care of you like I should. It’s unfortunate, really.”
His right palm presses against your inner thigh, urging them to spread further for him, give him more room all while his eyes roll, “Further. You know how to balance. You’re not dumb.”
It’s easy for him to say, when he’s not the one bent over the end of the mattress– face down, ass as high in the air as your hips will allow. Still, the response from you is as automatic as they come.
Heels of your feet shifting in either direction, a little whine leaving your lips as he neglects giving you the attention you still think rightfully deserve, even after your punishment, “I-I am!”
His right hand moves up your leg, smooth delicate skin practically pulsing in his palm from anticipation alone. You can feel the rate of your heart, the way your blood moves through your skin.
Warm air hits your cute little cunt when he lets out a huff. His thumb moving to one of your lips, pulling it back. Spreading you, waiting to consume you whole. Eyes focused, watching as your entrance flutters open and closed around nothing. Wanting something, fucking anything to stop the burning of unaddressed arousal in your core.
“You’re lucky I’m even doing this.” He sighs, unimpressed, “I should just fuck you now. Should let that little bit of grinding be all you get.”
Oh. Fuck. Fuck, okay. You know he saw the pulse of your cunt at his filthy words. Hate how warm that image makes your fucked out mind feel. Hate how much it makes your brain want to just slip away and disappear as he takes over everything for you.
Wish he had less patience. Fucking wish you worked him up even more so that he might just do something instead of just leaving you there to flounder. Wish he would just take and take and take instead of letting you flounder.
Soon? Maybe soon? You could only hope.
Fuck, he’s got you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?
It’s a good thing he’s all the same.
Pink turns to red in your eyes as he just continues to stare at your weeping cunt, head lifting up. Crooning back to look at him as best you can with your cheeks puffy, eyes set into an impatient, impertinent glare, “Oh my fucking god! You’re so annoying! Just put your fucking tongue against my cunt before I have to do it–”
Shit, fucking shit. You should’ve known by that little arch in his brow when you whipped your head back that this is what he had been planning– should’ve known he was only going to do something when you were distracted.
Another long, flat, pressing lick from your clit to your entrance has your back arching all over again. Your head returning back to your arms when he circles the entrance of your walls with his tongue. The warm, wetness of it making you forget all too quickly why you were yelling at him– how you were planning on reaching back, shoving his head against your cute little pussy and keeping him there until he made you fall apart.
Yeah, you won’t have to do any of that now. Not with how he moves his jaw.
The motions are almost thought out, concise, yet are entirely unrelenting. Long, controlled laps through your lips. Only pausing to suck one into his mouth for a moment before pulling away. Almost like he’s trying to make sure he cleans every last drop of your arousal from your flushed flesh, make sure he’s the only one he gets to taste it. Gets to feast.
You feel like you’re going insane, especially when that sinful, godforsaken moan leaves his lips.
Breathes coming out hot, heavy. Pants of pleasure leaving your lips whenever he presses down against your clit, whenever he just starts to stretch your entrance with the length of his tongue. Your head turned to the side, eyes just barely open as they try to identify his figure between your legs. Try to see more than just the mused black hair caressing the top of his head.
You want to yell at him, to ride his face properly, but he just won't let you. One hand on your spine, the other circling the puffy skin of your right lip as he holds it open. Leaving you on the cusp of pleasure, of almost feeling something building, yet making sure you also feel entirely unrelieved.
Fuck, you know he’s doing it on fucking purpose, too.
Because just, just when you’re on the brink of insanity, only then does he give into what you truly need. When he already has your thighs shaking from the strain of holding yourself upright, when he sees your hips bucking more and more, seeking out where you need him most, only then does he act with some benediction.
What can you say? Your mouth always has gotten you in trouble.
“Seokjin I swear to go–” His lips wrap around your clit, tucking the little bundle between them. Rolling it over and over with his tongue while he gives just the slightest suck. Fucking makes stars flash in the corners of your eyes.
At the same time, his thumb finally moves in close. The rest of his palm keeping you spread while the finger moves around your entrance. Circling, circling, circling the space until finally, finally, tucking itself inside. Making itself at home, finally giving your clutching heat something to wrap around. To pulse against.
God, and that your walls do. Fluttering around the invading digit, walls attempting to pull it in deeper like his thumb was just a poor replacement for his real cock. The thing that would really stretch you out like you need.
But shit, you really can’t think about his cock right now– you wish you could fixate on it instead, honest, you really do, but you can’t. Your mind is all-consumed. Brain able to do anything but try their best to not let your knees go out from under you, to try and keep up with any single thought in your head while the physical stimulation is much more appetizing to fixate on.
“Be careful, or you get nothing.”
His blunt nails gripping into your ass, his mouth wrapped around your clit– sucking, licking, devouring your pretty little pussy like it's his last meal. His thumb not moving, save for a pressure, a stretch, against the inside of your walls that he knows you always crave. His stupid fucking little grunts, no more than huffs of air, every once and awhile when you squeeze around him, when you let out another one of your cute little sounds.
It’s too much, all of it is too much.
All of your senses feel like they’re starting to go into overdrive. The band in your lower belly pulling tighter and tighter until it’s just ready to snap. Fuck, it really fucking wants to snap.
“S-Seokjin…” You huff out, fingers digging into the sheets of the bed. Entire frame shaking as you try to pull out the words to warn him of your impending orgasm. To warn him like a good girl.
“Yeah?” The rumble of his voice right against your little bundle sends chills down your spine– the accidental brush of his teeth over the too-sensitive nerves almost causing your thighs to fall out from under you.
His tone like a challenge, like a breath giving you life.
But then, right when you’re about to fall off the edge. Right when you’re about to cum, everything fucking disappears.
His hands, his mouth withdraw from you completely. Everything about him is suddenly just gone. Leaving you shaking, practically fucking drooling against the bedsheets. Your form spasming from the loss, attempting to seek out something that is no longer there, something no longer meant for you. “Told you you didn’t deserve it.”
Oh god, oh fucking god. Are you going to cry? You feel like you are. Your eyes feel wet and bubbly, your lungs feel shaky from the orgasm you were denied.
Everything just feels on fire. And you, poor little you, just want to get on your fucking knees and beg.
You think you might just.
“I-I– ‘m so– Mmph!” Either way, it doesn’t matter. Your words are cut off with another whine. A whine of pleasure, of unadulterated joy as Seokjin finally fucking finally gives you something to be happy about instead of just relentless teasing to your poor cunt.
His cock pressed against you, right against your weeping little hole. The thick length rubbing between your lips. Head coaxing itself through his salvia and your slick as it slowly rubs against your clit, then back down to your hole. Pressing against it ever so slightly, begging for entrance that you would give in a heartbeat if he asked.
“You’re what?” He demands, tone just as strict as before. Just as strict as when he had his hand tangled against your skull, forcing your head back and forth against his cock.
It makes you want to beg. To finally give up on that bratty side of you that forces itself to the surface every damn time.
But now, now you really don’t think it could, even if you wanted it to. Not with how fucking big he feels up against you. How full your entrance feels just from the head teasing it. Against your throat is one thing, sure. But with it pressed right up against your core, the world feels looser. Your head feels higher and only a little voice in the back of your brain is wondering if it can even fit at all.
The louder, more insistent one is wondering how big, how full you would feel if he never prepped you at all. If he just got so tired of your antics that he just bent you over and fucked himself in all the way.
You swallow, the thought a little too heavy for your hazy mind to bear– another time. Yeah. Yeah, another one. Because right now, you need this more than you think you’ve ever needed anything in your life. More than oxygen, more than gravity.
More than fucking, fucking anything! You don’t know!
So it really is no surprise when the pleas come from your lips, when even more tears well up in your eyes from just needing it all, “Please, please, please, please, please, please please!”
Your rational, human brain is off. Your conscious somewhere up in the clouds as you allow nothing but a string of pleas leave you. Your whole body shaking with want, with anything he would give.
Only able to be brought out of it by a gentle hand tracing down your spine, the soft call of your name urging you to tilt your head back. A soft command obeyed immediately as you find Seokjin standing there, staring down at you.
It’s hard for you to focus, honest, it is. But you’re glad you looked, more than anything.
Seokjin is a complete wreck for no one but you. You know that now as you look at him– take him in even though hazy eyes and a slow brain.
His hair is a complete mess– the strands sticking up at odd angles. His cheeks down to his chest are flushed bright pink in colour. His lungs heaving with air as he still maintains perfect composure. Sharp eyes still trained on you, though just a tad bit soft than before as he checks in, one little question on his tongue.
“Colour?”
At first, for a moment, you sit there confused. Mind working a little slower than normal as you try to catch up, to find meaning behind the single word. And he gives it to you, gives you all the time you need.
When you realise it, you feel warm all over for an entirely different reason. Butterflies flapping their wings in your stomach as you look down, cheeks somehow heating up all over again.
Sure, this is certainly an awkward time to feel like nothing more than a girl with a crush, but his care, his attentiveness makes you want to do a backflip or something.
“Green.” You mumble out softly, though it’s clear he hears, “But… but can we flip? I want to see you.” The question is soft, hesitant, but it only makes him smile all the more fondly.
The dominant persona flipping off for only a second before he slides it back on with ease, “Of course pretty girl, since you took your punishment so well for me, I think you deserve it, don’t you?” You can only blush, give a slight nod to your head as he carefully maneuvers you, repositions your head at the pillows. Hovers over you with your legs wrapped tight around his back.
You almost wish you never asked to move, because this new angle? Seeing him fully in all his glory? It’s truly devastating.
“I’m going easy on you, you know?” He asks offhanded, one hand wrapped around his cock as he strokes it up and down. Slowly positions the head to slide between your lips all while squeezing at the base, “I know I should be. You don’t know the rules, so I shouldn’t punish you for breaking them.”
He stops his slow glide at your clit, letting out a hiss as he presses the head firmly against your clit. Your breath hitching, letting out a mewl all the same, “But I really couldn’t stop myself. When I see a bratty little girl like you, I really can’t.”
“I-it’s–” You try, the words coming out cracked, broken by sounds of pleasure against your tongue, “‘t’s cause you’re mean.”
“Maybe.” He smiles, watching the mess between your thighs as he slowly slides his cock down again, “You’ll forgive me.”
He says it like it’s a fact, like it’s easy. And maybe it is. Maybe it’s more easy than you give him credit for as he finally, finally, begins the press inside of your core.
His hips angling as the head finds purchase against your hole. The slow stretch as he presses himself inside agonisingly slow– making sure to savor it, making sure you feel every single inch as it enters inside. As it fills you to the brim, stretches your cunt to its limit. As every flutter and pulse of your walls courses through your veins, breathing you in, capturing you whole.
Even if you, yourself, haven't forgiven him for being oh-so mean, your cunt certainly has. Your pretty pussy has wanted nothing more than what it is receiving at this moment, has wanted nothing more than to feel the way he stuffs you full. Fucks himself to the brim inside, leaves leaky trails of pre-cum inside of your flutter walls.
Pulling him in, trying to pull him deeper. To feel him at the very depths of your soul.
You wish you could watch– oh, you know the sight just has to be the prettiest thing in the world. To watch his cock slowly disappear into you, to watch as his thighs shake from the strain of holding back, stopping himself from pushing too fast too quick. To watch the strain of his own expression as he watches the sinful sight. To see the sweat on his brow or the gentle lick of his lower lip.
But you, poor you can’t see any of it. Can’t do anything as your body is filled with overwhelming blooms of pleasure and pain– your head thrown back as you close your eyes. Your lips leaking every little cuss you can think of, every drawn own expression of pleasure while your spine arches up against the bed. While your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little crests against them.
It isn’t until he bottoms out that you can finally open your eyes once again. Can finally see the hazy yellow glow of the room peek in, can finally will your head to look down, see his entire cock home inside of you.
“Move.” You whimper, eyes looking up at him quickly. Blinking away tears at the corners as if you truly can not handle a single second more, “Move, please, or I think I’m going to die, Seokjin, Please!”
“Needy thing.”
All of your prayers are answered as he finally begins the withdrawal of his hips, as he finally begins to thrust into you in earnest. As your hips cant up ever so slightly, as your body does everything in its power to keep him in and push him out at the exact same time.
Heaven sent. That is the only thing this feeling could be.
He pulls back, barely exiting at all before thrusting back in again. It isn’t a rough, tortuous thing like you might've expected. No, it’s slow, passionate. As if the movement can spill a thousand words that his mind might want to utter instead. As if you finally crawled through the seven circles of hell to breach the surface and gulp up everything known as Kim Seokjin.
Slowly, his tempo increases. Like he was still being caring, considerate as he stretched you open properly. Made sure you could manage all of him, take him and let it feel good rather than a painful sort of thing. Increased pressure with every rock, every cant of his hips as he bottomed out fully.
“Baby, this cunt– it’s so pretty, you know that?” It’s like his eyes are unable to leave where the two of you are connected, his gaze never wavering from where he disappears into your heat over and over again. “It fits me so perfectly. And to think I was scared I was gonna hurt her…”
There's almost a fond smile on his face as he traces one of his hands down your side, nails gently scratching your skin until he finally lands right over your cunt. A grunt of effort leaving his lips as he taps against it, no more than a love pat before he reaches lower, spreads one of your lips so he can watch the scene properly. Admire you fully.
“But look at that?” You unintentionally clench around him, breath letting out little huffs with every thrust inside, “Darling was made for me, wasn’t she? I’m honoured.”
You want to say something, you know you should– honest, but really, your head is too far gone to formulate real words. Words that mean anything other than cock and cum. So instead you just whimper and whine, let the sounds flow freely from your lips as your nails scratch down his back in earnest. Leave little red trails across his skin so everyone knows just who was causing him to tumble apart like this.
“I know I was so mean earlier, you’re not still mad, are you, my love?” You never knew he could write such songs of disgrace from his tongue, but he proves you wrong once more with everything he does.
The shake of your head is a subtle thing, but one he would never miss. No, it seems like you could never get anything past him.
You wouldn’t want to.
“Ah~ That’s what I thought. I knew you would forgive me.” He leans down, his breath right in your ear as he continues, “I guess you deserve your reward then now, don’t you?”
Though he asks, he doesn’t give you a single second to respond. His hips are already changing their pace, the slight shift in angle from his descent of your body causing hit cock to rut up against that spot inside of you, that little bundle of nerves that leaves you seeing stars.
Meanwhile, instead of the strokes a lover would give, he becomes angled. Precise. Every stroke serving a purpose. Every single one with the sole intent of driving you closer and closer to the edge, giving you no break, giving you no chance to do anything but take it.
So this is what he meant with his words before.
With every thrust, his pelvis brushes against your clit. With every drive inside he lets out a whine of his own into your ear. One of his hands finding its way into your hair, forcing your head to the side as his hips begin their descent upon the column known as your throat.
Bites and bruises, kisses and licks are all pleased among the surface. Your entire frame practically pinned to the bed due to his weight, due to the relentless pressure of his cock filling you fully from the inside out. Your head forced to the side, Your hips only able to squirm, to kick when he allows it to be so.
Your sears filled with the sounds of his cock pummeling into your core, the sound of skin on skin. The sounds of his messy words, now a complete blur behind the haze of your bliss, consuming your ears.
Kim Seokjin consumes all of the senses you possess, and you aren’t sure you even want them to return to your own disposal. You aren’t sure you ever want him to pull away.
Every thrust sends you closer to the edge. Every slight movement of his hips, of his teeth cause that band to draw tighter and tighter. To will it to snap at a single second. To send you hurdling off the edge of a waterfall with no safety precautions or a way down.
“Baby, baby~” His mouth wills sounds that meander him between a moan and a groan, the end for himself coming into sight as well, “You want to cum for me, don’t you? I know you do.” He groans.
“I can feel it, here.” His hand reaches for your own, gently prying it off of his shoulder as he leads you. Trails your combined hands right to your lower belly and presses hard. Presses right to where you both can feel him fucking himself in and out when he applies just the right amount of pressure. “Cum.”
And fuck, you do. Your body follows his order instinctively. Does whatever he asks without a second thought.
You think you can see fucking stars. You’re suddenly thrown off of the edge into an abyss where there is nothing but you and space dust. Where waves of pleasure wrack through your whole body, your walls clamping down harshly around his cock, fluttering with every wave that runs through your core.
Your back pressing up as far into his chest as you can manage, tits squished against his chest. Face burring itself in his neck where your teeth find it within themselves to lock down around the surface, the added tension from his hand fisting your hair only adding to the pleasure. Your hips bucking as much as they can manage, still trying to get closer, to feel more of him.
The fall from grace is slow, as controlled as the rise up to it as he cock works you through it. Speeds up at the exact moments it needs to, lulls into a gentle thrust as you slowly creep down from the waves that had pulled you under. Your frame tensing and untensing, letting Seokjin take the wheel as you find yourself in the plush of the bed once again, his cock still hard inside of you.
“So beautiful.” He mummers, slowly kissing up your throat, still moving his cock in and out of your pulsing cunt, “See? Seokjinnie can be nice, too.”
You let out a whimper in response, hips bucking up ever so slightly every thrust in, overstimulation beginning to kick in just a bit, “Tell me where to cum, pretty, and I will.”
You don’t even think before the words leave your lips, a quiet mumble of “ ‘nside.” Letting him know everything he needs to.
Soon, his hips are working up in their pace again, your eyes pinching closed as you hold him close around his neck. Little huffs leaving your lips as you ignore the slightly painful stimulation he’s causing, yet basking in how good it feels just to have him still inside, how good it feels to make him feel good, too.
“Gods. Angel… Look at this mess I’ve made of you…” He doesn’t have much in him left, after your orgasm, that much is clear. The whole endeavor working him up until he thought he was just about to explode, but forcing himself to remain patient, to remain dutiful so he could work you through your release first.
A dozen or two thrusts and his hips are stuttering. The pace becomes less measured, more fractured. His hips losing their want, their need to thrust as he settles into a rut the closer he gets to his end.
“Perfect cunt.” He grunts, “My perfect cunt. You want me to fill her up, don’t you? That’s what you– ah– said, hm?”
You nod your head quickly, stumbling over your words as your legs lock around his back, “Good. I deserve it.”
And with one final groan in your ear, he’s falling off the edge after you. His cock twitching in your sore cunt as spurt after spurt of cum leaves his cock, painting your inside fresh with his release. Ruts of his hips doing everything in their power to fuck it deeper inside, make sure it fills you up. Makes you don’t stay empty even after he withdraws.
He pants against your neck, mumbling praises you don’t quite make out as he stays inside as long as he can. Not withdrawing until he’s sure he’s done spilling inside. Until he’s starting to go soft– not wanting to pull away from the connection he bares with you.
You, on the other hand, are too blissed out to process much of anything. Sleepiness culminating behind your eyelids as your brain roots itself in place, ready to fall into your dreams. Entirely too fucked out, too relaxed and happy to do much else of anything.
A lick against your core breaks you out of that, a whine leaving your lips instead, “Seokjin! Too much!” There can only be one culprit, after all.
You look down between your legs, as much of a serious expression as you can muster in place on your face– he needs to know you mean business. But he’s returned to the man you knew before you asked him to fuck you, the same one withe cheesy smiles and the shy stare whenever your flirting gets to him a little too much.
“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He raises up, leaning his body over yours once more. Placing a peck on that little kiss-swollen pout on your lips, “I just had to taste it.”
“Gross.” You whine, a half hearted shove planted on his chest.
He can only laugh, scooting off of you once more. Raising off the edge of the bed, scooping you into his arms before carrying you to the bathroom, “C’mon, you need to pee.”
Your expression twists just a little, still trying to conflate how you were once in bed, and now you’re being carried. “What? No I don’t.”
“Yes you do, it’s important so you don’t get a uti.” And already you’re grumbling. Of course when all you wanted to do was sleep, Seokjin just had to be the aftercare king.
On the bright side, it looks like your bratty side is back in full swing.
Regardless, you’re sleepy enough not to argue too much. Letting him do what he needs to do to make you feel cared for. Make you feel loved. Aftercare is as much for one party as it is for the other– you read that online somewhere, so you just let him do whatever.
Let him brush your teeth, let him wipe your core with a warm rag. Let him dress you in one of his formal shirts. Let him pull you back to bed, spoon you from behind as he mutters out soft praises about how well you’ve done, how you’re such a good girl for him. The words becoming less and less distinct, slowly blurring as he drifts off along with you.
Ah… your frame nuzzles deeper into his own. Snug as a bug in a rug.
This couldn’t get any more perfect.
You bolt upright in bed, a realisation dawning on you. The movement distracting from the gentle energy of the room, the satisfaction and contentment drawn out from both of your hazy, almost sleep-gotten forms.
“Mm? What is it?” He huffs, sleep evident in his tone, though he still makes an effort. The hand that was once on your waist now resting against your thigh, the thumb moving to rub delicate circles into the surface.
You look down at him, never feeling more awake than in this moment, “Are you my boyfriend yet?”
The childish nature, and expression of the question does not cross your conscience, only the overly serious, almost analytical motion of your voice. Though at it, he pops one eye open, slowly sitting up with an exaggerated huff.
You can’t help but comment.
“You’re old.”
“Mmm.” He half moans, half agrees with you again. Sleepily wrapping his arms around you from behind. Pulling you close to his bare chest. Letting you feel his heart beat in tandem with his own. “Yeah, well I guess this old man should add you to his will.”
And in that moment, when you blush due to his stupid fucking pick up line, you know that you both were made for each other.
Still, you can’t help but press, “So…?”
“Yes.” You can practically hear the roll of his eyes in his voice, his chin coming up to rest on your shoulder, “I started seeing you as my girlfriend the second I opened my eyes after you saved me. You’re not getting rid of me now.”
You’re glad he can’t see your face in the dark– you’re sure the smile on your face is absolutely dork. It is, however, unfortunate that he can still feel the excited vibrations of your form.
“You know,” His plump, kiss swollen lips trail soft kisses across the expanse of your shoulder, “The aunties always think we’re a married couple when we go to the markets. They tell me that you’re my giliw.”
It’s as if he can sense the furrow of your brows, “My love. My joy.” He can’t help but to smile, and you’re not sure if you’ve ever felt so light, “I tell them you’re just a pain in ass, though.”
The gasp lets him know you’re about to argue back, the turn of your head in his direction allowing him to sneak in a peck, “I’m joking. I would never.”
He lets out a soft chuckle, slowly pulling you back towards the mattress. Adjusting you to rest your head on his chest, one of his hands tangling with yours, letting them rest against the skin. His other resting against the top of your head, keeping you close, “C’mon. Sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Slowly, slowly you settle down. Sure, there are quite a few annoyed gruffs and grumbles in between. But gently, you let the beat of his heart coax you to sleep.
And then, another realisation dawns on you. One a lot bigger than the first.
Your eyes peel open wide, slowly trailing up his chest to look at his peaceful, slumbering face. The delicate caress of his eyelashes over his cheeks, the soft patterns of air leaving his lungs.
Oh god. Yep. Yep. That just confirmed it.
You think you love him.
Your face falls in horror.
This is going to be terrible for his ego. The world may just end.
❆ : Ctrl the Cold 2025 M.List
⋆.˚𓆝 ♒︎┊: notes: AH!! And there it is! First of all, congratulations to you for finishing this whole thing. In my drafts, it counts for 45 pages full of text. As I mentioned before, this fic was just intended to be a drabble-- but then as I was thinking and I was like-- wait what if he wasn't lying about being a spy? The whole thing just started to unfold as the plot laid itself out in front of me. This fic was also such great practice for me with dialogue, as I used to feel like it's one of my weaker points in writing. But with such a dialogue heavy story!! I think it's probably gotten a lot better!!
I hope you enjoyed, and please let me know any thoughts you may have about this fic, or any others I have posted!! I love to yap! Have a great day and see you next friday for the next fic in the event <33
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Smut, Slice of Life, Angst, Slow Burn, Neighbor AU
Sypnosis: Y/N has always believed in structure over emotion, choosing stability over connection. But her new neighbor, Jeon Jungkook, refuses to respect either. Loud, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore, he disrupts every part of her carefully built life. As their clashes turn into quiet understanding, she is forced to question whether control is worth more than the connection she never expected to find.
A/N: Surprise! This was originally meant to be a one-shot, but my brain had other plans and turned it into something much bigger, ending up at 30K+ words. I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed (and slightly suffered through) writing it. Thank you for being here and for always supporting my stories.
You wake up before your alarm. There is a quiet kind of pride in that, though you would never say it out loud. The world has not yet begun moving, and still, you are already ahead of it. The city outside your window lingers in that soft gray hour where everything feels paused. No traffic yet. No noise. Just the distant hum of something waking up far away.
6:00 AM. You don’t check your phone. You don’t scroll. You don’t linger in bed the way other people do, tangled in blankets and thoughts they don’t want to face. You sit up, feet touching the floor at the same exact second every morning, as if your body has memorized a script you refuse to rewrite.
The floor is cold. It always is. You like that. It reminds you that you’re awake. That you’re here. That the day has started whether you feel ready or not.
The curtains slide open with one smooth motion. The light is faint, barely there, but you let it in anyway. Your apartment is small, clean, quiet. Everything has its place. The books aligned neatly. The shoes arranged by color. The kitchen counter spotless, as if no one ever cooks there.
Breakfast is the same as yesterday. And the day before that. Toast. Eggs. Coffee brewed to the exact strength you prefer. You move through it all without thinking, like muscle memory. No music. No television. Just the sound of the kettle, the clink of ceramic, the soft rhythm of a life that runs exactly the way you want it to.
Controlled. Predictable. Safe.
Your phone buzzes against the table. You glance at it, already knowing who it is. Anna. You let it buzz once. Twice. Three times. Then you pick it up.
“You’re awake, aren’t you?” she says the second you answer, her voice too bright for this hour. You take a sip of coffee before responding. “It’s six in the morning.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
You don’t smile. But there’s a shift in your expression, something softer. “Yes. I’m awake.”
“I hate you,” Anna groans. “Do you ever sleep like a normal person?”
“I sleep enough.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
You lean against the counter, gaze drifting toward the window. The sky is slowly turning from gray to pale blue. “You called me for a reason.”
“I did,” she says, then pauses. You can hear the rustling on her end, probably her digging through her bag, already running late. “I need you to tell me honestly. If I don’t show up today, will everything fall apart?”
“Yes.”
A beat. Then a dramatic sigh. “Unbelievable. You didn’t even hesitate.”
“You asked for honesty.”
“I was hoping for comfort.”
“Wrong person.”
Anna laughs, the sound warm and familiar. “You’re so cold. I don’t understand how we’re friends.”
“You talk too much. I don’t understand it either.”
“That’s a lie. You’d miss me.”
You don’t answer immediately. You take another sip of coffee, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be noticed.
“…You would,” she insists, quieter now.
“…Maybe,” you say.
Anna gasps. “That’s the closest thing to affection I’ve ever gotten from you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re still late,” you remind her.
She curses under her breath. “Okay, fine. I’m leaving now. Don’t start the meeting without me.”
“I will.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You have five minutes.”
“I need ten.”
“You have five.”
“Y/N.”
“Anna.”
A pause. Then she laughs again, softer this time. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
“Wow. That’s rich coming from you.”
You hang up before she can say anything else. The silence returns instantly, settling around you like it belongs there. You finish your coffee. Wash your cup. Dry it. Place it back exactly where it goes. By the time you step out of your apartment, you already feel ahead. Of time. Of people. Of everything.
The hallway is empty. No one else on your floor wakes up this early. No one else moves this quietly. You lock your door, checking it once. Then again. Just to be sure. It clicks the same way it always does.
The elevator ride is uneventful. The lobby is calm. The city, however, is no longer asleep. Cars begin to fill the streets. People rush past each other with coffee cups and tired eyes. The world catches up quickly. But you’re already ahead. Work is where everything makes sense. Deadlines. Expectations. Results. There is no confusion there. No uncertainty. You put in the hours, you get the outcome. Simple. Clean.
Your office is already open when you arrive. Lights on. Air conditioning too cold. The faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. You settle into your desk, laptop opening, fingers already moving before you fully sit down. Emails. Reports. Edits. Everything flows the way it should. Until the chair across from you scrapes loudly against the floor.
“You started without me.”
You don’t look up. “You were late.”
“I was three minutes late.”
“You said five.”
“That was a negotiation tactic.”
You glance at her now. Anna looks exactly how she always does in the morning. Slightly disheveled, hair barely cooperating, but still somehow put together in a way that feels effortless.
“You lost,” you say simply.
She drops into the chair, exasperated. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet, you sit next to me every day.”
“Because you’d replace me if I didn’t.”
You don’t deny it.
Anna narrows her eyes. “You’re kidding. Right?”
You tilt your head slightly.
“…You’re kidding,” she repeats, less certain.
“You’re good at your job,” you say. “That’s why you’re still here.”
She stares at you for a moment, then leans back in her chair. “You know what your problem is?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You do. You treat everything like it’s temporary. Like people are just… tasks.”
You return your attention to your screen. “People complicate things.”
“That’s the point.”
“No,” you say, typing steadily. “That’s the problem.”
Anna watches you quietly now. The teasing fades, replaced by something more thoughtful.
“When was the last time you went out?” she asks.
“I go out.”
“Work doesn’t count.”
“It does to me.”
“That’s sad.”
“It’s efficient.”
She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Have you ever even dated anyone?”
Your fingers pause for half a second. Barely noticeable. “No.”
Anna blinks. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Not even once?”
“No.”
She lets out a small, incredulous laugh. “Y/N… you’re telling me you’ve lived your whole life and never even tried?”
“I didn’t see the point.”
“The point is… I don’t know, living?”
“I am living.”
She studies you, searching for something. “You’re surviving,” she says gently. “That’s not the same thing.”
You close your laptop. Not forcefully. Just enough to signal that the conversation is over.
“I have work to do.”
Anna sighs, leaning back again. “You always do.”
“Yes.”
“And when you don’t?”
You meet her gaze. Calm. Certain. “I make sure I do.”
Anna looks like she wants to say more. She doesn’t. Instead, she reaches for her coffee, taking a long sip before muttering, “One day, someone’s going to mess all of this up for you.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Unlikely.”
She smiles, but there’s something knowing in it. “You say that now.”
You turn back to your screen. Your world is steady. Carefully built. Untouched. And you intend to keep it that way. You always do. You don’t notice the moving truck pulling into your apartment building that evening. You don’t hear the laughter echoing through the hallway hours later. You don’t see the door beside yours opening for the first time. For now, your world remains exactly as you left it. Quiet. Controlled. Uninterrupted. But not for long.
The first sound comes at 11:47 PM. It is soft enough to ignore. A dull scrape, like something dragged across a floor. You pause, only for a second, eyes lifting from your laptop screen. You wait for it to end. It doesn’t. Another sound follows. A heavier one this time. A box hitting the ground. Then a voice. Laughter. Full, unfiltered, spilling into the hallway like the time does not matter. Like nothing needs to be adjusted.
You stare at the wall. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, suspended between finishing the sentence you were typing and closing the laptop entirely.
It will stop, you tell yourself. People move in. It’s temporary. One night. Maybe two. You try to return to your work. A burst of music cuts through the wall. Your head lifts again. This time, you don’t try to ignore it.
The bass is low but persistent, vibrating faintly through the quiet you rely on. Another laugh follows, louder than before. Someone says something you can’t quite make out, then a chorus of voices responds.
You exhale slowly, closing your laptop with care, even though irritation has already settled beneath your skin. You glance at the clock. 11:52 PM.
Five minutes. You give them five minutes. You stand, moving to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water. The sound continues behind you. Something drops again. A voice calls out, amused, unapologetic.
“Careful, that’s probably breakable.”
“It’s fine,” another voice answers, followed by laughter.
You take a sip of water. You wait. Five minutes pass. Nothing changes. The music shifts into something louder. The laughter follows. Footsteps move back and forth, uneven, uncontained.
Your routine fractures quietly. Sleep at eleven. Wake at six. Repeat. Simple. Reliable. Not tonight.
You set the glass down. You don’t rush. You straighten your sleeve without thinking, grounding yourself in the small habits that have always kept everything in place. Then you walk to the door. The hallway greets you with light and noise. Boxes are stacked carelessly outside the apartment beside your door. Some are open, some half taped, as if whoever owns them lost interest halfway through. Shoes are scattered near the entrance. A jacket hangs off the door handle like it was tossed there without a second thought. And the door itself is open. Wide enough for the music and laughter to spill out without resistance.
You stand there for a moment. This is new. This kind of mess. This kind of presence. It doesn’t belong here. Not in your building. Not on your floor. You step forward anyway.
Your knock is firm. It blends into the noise. No one hears it. You knock again. Louder this time. Still nothing. Your patience thins, just enough to push you one step further. You reach for the door and push it open. The room inside feels alive in a way that unsettles you immediately. Warm light. Music playing from somewhere you can’t see. Boxes everywhere, open and half unpacked. A group of people sitting on the floor, drinks in hand, laughing like this is the best part of their day.
And then there’s him. He’s standing near the center of it all, one hand holding a box, the other pushing his hair back absentmindedly. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing ink that stretches from his wrist up past his arm, disappearing beneath the fabric. The tattoos catch the light when he moves, detailed and impossible to ignore. There’s a small silver ring on his lip. Another glints at his ear. He turns at the sound of the door. His eyes land on you instantly. And he smiles. Like this is normal. Like you showing up uninvited at midnight is just another part of his evening.
“…Hi,” he says.
The word lands softer than the room around it. You don’t return it. “It’s midnight,” you say. Your voice cuts through the space. Not loud, but sharp enough to shift the energy.
The laughter quiets. Conversations pause. A few heads turn toward you, curious, mildly amused. But he doesn’t look away. He studies you for a moment, as if trying to place you somewhere he hasn’t quite figured out yet.
“Okay,” he replies.
You blink once. “That’s not a response,” you say.
“It sounded like a statement.”
“It’s a problem.”
A faint laugh slips from him, quiet but clear. He sets the box down beside him, giving you his full attention now.
“You live next door?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“That explains the timing.”
“The timing is the issue.”
“Right,” he nods, glancing briefly around the room. “We might be a little loud.”
“A little?”
He looks back at you, lips pressing together as if he’s holding back another smile. “Okay. More than a little.”
You cross your arms. “There are people trying to sleep.”
“There are also people trying to move in,” he counters, not defensive, just matter of fact.
“That doesn’t require this,” you gesture slightly toward the room, the music, the noise, the entire scene unfolding behind him.
He follows your gaze, then shrugs lightly. “It helps.”
“With what?”
“Not hating the process.”
You stare at him. “I don’t care if you hate it,” you reply. “I care that you’re keeping everyone else awake.”
There’s a small pause. Then he exhales softly, running a hand through his hair again. “That’s fair.”
The answer comes easier than you expect. No argument. No resistance. Just… agreement. It throws you off more than if he had pushed back. He turns slightly, addressing the room. “Hey, let’s bring it down a bit.”
There’s a mix of groans and halfhearted responses, but the music lowers. Conversations soften. The space adjusts, not silent, but no longer overwhelming. You feel it immediately. The difference.
When he looks back at you, there’s something quieter in his expression now. Still relaxed. Still easy. But more aware.
“Better?” he asks.
You hesitate, just for a second. “…Yes.”
He nods once, satisfied. You should leave. You know that. The problem is addressed. There is nothing left to say. But you don’t move. And neither does he.
“You came over fast,” he says after a moment.
“I gave you time.”
“How much?”
“Five minutes.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “That’s generous.”
“It was enough.”
“For you, maybe.”
“For anyone who respects basic rules.”
“Okay,” he raises his hands slightly, not mocking, just acknowledging. “I get it. Quiet hours. No chaos. Minimal fun.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what I heard.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. He smiles again. Not in a way that feels mocking. Just… playful. Like he’s testing something.
“You always this strict?” he asks.
“You always this inconsiderate?”
“Only on moving day.”
“And after?”
“Depends,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “Are you going to keep knocking on my door?”
You don’t answer immediately. Because there’s something in the way he says it. Not annoyed. Not defensive. Almost… curious.
“That won’t be necessary,” you reply.
“We’ll see.”
You don’t like that answer. You turn, stepping back into the hallway.
“Hey,” he calls out before you can leave completely.
You stop. “What?”
There’s a brief pause. Then, softer this time, “Sorry.”
You look at him properly now. For the first time, without the noise, without the irritation clouding everything. He looks… normal. Not careless. Not reckless. Just someone in the middle of something new.
“…Keep it down,” you say.
“I will.”
You nod once. Then you leave. Your door closes behind you with a soft click. The silence returns, but it’s not the same. It feels thinner. Like it can be broken now.
You stand there for a moment, listening. The music is quieter. The laughter softer. Still there, but distant. You walk back to your desk, sit down, open your laptop. You try to return to your work. But your thoughts don’t settle as easily. Your focus slips. You exhale slowly, leaning back in your chair. This is temporary, you tell yourself. Just a neighbor. Just noise. Just one night. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t change anything.
But when you finally lie down, the quiet you’ve relied on for so long feels unfamiliar. And for the first time in years, sleep doesn’t come immediately.
You wake up at 6:00 AM. Your body does not care that you slept later than usual. It does not adjust. It does not offer mercy. Your eyes open to the same pale light, the same stillness pressing softly against your windows. For a second, you lie there. Listening. Silence. It’s there, just like it always is. Thin and clean and familiar. You almost convince yourself that last night was an interruption that has already passed. A one time inconvenience. Something you handled, corrected, returned to order.
You sit up. The routine begins. Curtains open. Light spills in. The city wakes slowly beneath you. The kettle hums. The scent of coffee fills the kitchen. Everything falls into place the way it should. You carry your mug to the counter, lifting it just as it happens.
A voice. Soft at first. Then louder. Singing.
You freeze. It’s coming from the other side of the wall. The same wall that held silence for years. Now it carries music without music. A voice untrained but confident. You stare at the wall.“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The singing continues. Louder now. Clearer. He’s not even trying to keep it down. There’s water running too, the faint echo of a shower, steam turning his voice into something softer around the edges but still impossible to ignore. You close your eyes briefly. It’s morning. There are rules for this. There are expectations.
You take a sip of your coffee. He hits a high note. Keeps going. You set the mug down a little harder than necessary. "This is insane.”
You try to ignore it. You sit at your desk. Open your laptop. Pull up your schedule. Your emails. Something that requires your attention. Something that demands focus. His voice follows you anyway. It slips through the walls, settles into your space like it has every right to be there. There’s no hesitation in it. No awareness that someone else might be listening. You press your fingers lightly against your temple. You have lived here for three years. Three years of quiet mornings. Of coffee without interruption. Of thoughts that stayed yours from beginning to end. And now there’s a stranger singing like the world belongs to him.
You last ten minutes. That’s more than enough. You stand and walked to the door. Open it. The hallway is brighter this morning, sunlight creeping through the far window, catching dust in the air that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was. You just never noticed. His door is closed this time. The sound is clearer out here.
You knock. Once. Twice. Nothing.
The shower is still running. His voice continues, completely unaware.
You wait. And wait. And then, finally, the water shuts off. The singing doesn’t.
You knock again, louder. Footsteps. Closer. The door swings open without warning. And there he is. Hair damp, falling loosely over his forehead. A towel slung over his shoulder, another wrapped low around his waist. Water still clings to his skin, tracing down his collarbone, disappearing somewhere you immediately decide not to look.
Your eyes lift instead to his face. To the faint curve of a smile that forms the second he sees you. “Well,” he says, voice still rough from singing. “Good morning.”
You don’t react to anything else. “It’s six in the morning,” you say.
“Yeah,” he nods, glancing briefly behind him like he’s checking something. “That sounds right.”
“You’re loud.”
“You came back.”
The words land at the same time.
You blink once. “I didn’t come back,” you correct. “I never left. You’re just still a problem.”
That smile deepens slightly. “Wow,” he says softly. “That’s a strong start to the day.”
“You were singing.”
“I was.”
“Loudly.”
“I thought I sounded pretty good.”
“You didn’t.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his damp hair. “Okay. That one hurt a little.”
“It was honest.”
“I can tell,” he says. “You seem very committed to that.”
You cross your arms. “People are trying to have a peaceful morning.”
“It’s morning. People are awake.”
“Not like that.”
He studies you for a second, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t like noise, do you?”
“I don’t like unnecessary noise.”
“And you decide what counts as necessary?”
“Yes.”
He smiles again. “Of course you do.”
You exhale slowly. “This isn’t a conversation. It’s a request.”
“Another one?”
“A final one.”
He leans lightly against the doorframe, completely unbothered. “You say that like I’ve been ignoring you for years.”
“It’s been less than twelve hours and I’m already exhausted.”
“That feels personal.”
“It is.”
He looks at you like he’s trying to figure something out. “You always wake up this early?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Even on weekends?”
“Yes.”
“Do you ever sleep in?”
“No.”
“Do you ever relax?”
You hold his gaze. “This is me relaxed.”
He stares at you for a second longer. Then a quiet laugh slips out, softer this time. “That’s kind of terrifying.”
“That’s not my concern.”
“It should be,” he says lightly. “You’re making me feel like I need to fix my life.”
“You should.”
“Wow.” He shakes his head, amused. “You don’t hold back, do you?”
“There’s no reason to.”
“There is if you want people to like you.”
“I don’t.”
The answer comes easily. Too easily. For a moment, something shifts in his expression “That’s new,” he says quietly.
“What is?”
“Someone who means that.”
You don’t respond. Because you do mean it.
“Alright,” he says after a moment, pushing himself off the doorframe. “I’ll keep it down.”
You study him carefully. “You said that last night.”
“And I did,” he gestures behind him. “We’re quieter now.”
“Relatively.”
“I’ll aim for absolutely.”
“You should.”
He nods once, like he’s sealing a deal. "Anything else?” he asks.
You hesitate just briefly. Then you shake your head. “No.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I was running out of ways to apologize creatively.”
You almost react to that. Instead, you turn to leave.
“Hey,” he calls out again.
You stop. You don’t turn immediately. “What?”
“…You never told me your name.”
You glance over your shoulder. He’s still standing there, watching you, expression unreadable now. “…Y/N.”
He repeats it quietly, like he’s testing how it sounds. “Y/N,” he says again, softer this time. Then he smiles. “I’m Jungkook.”
You face forward again. “Try to be quieter, Jungkook.”
“I’ll try to be quieter, Y/N.”
You walk back to your apartment, closing the door behind you. The silence returns. But it doesn’t settle the same way it used to. It feels… aware now. Like it’s waiting for something else to interrupt it.
You stand there for a moment, listening. Nothing. Then, faintly, you hear it. Humming. Softer this time. Barely there. You close your eyes. “This is not happening,” you whisper to yourself. But it is. And somehow, despite everything, despite how much it irritates you, despite how much it disrupts the life you’ve built so carefully, you don’t knock again.
It starts small. It would be easier if it didn’t. If it were one loud night, one careless mistake, one moment you could point to and say this is the problem. This is where it ends. But it isn’t like that. It settles into your days instead. Quietly at first. Then persistently.
Music through the walls. A steady reminder that you are no longer alone in the silence you built. Footsteps at odd hours. Late nights. Early mornings. Sometimes both. You begin to recognize patterns you never asked to learn. The way he moves around his apartment like he has no schedule. The way his music shifts depending on the time of day. Slower in the afternoon. Louder at night. Random in the morning, as if he wakes up and presses play on whatever feels right without thinking about it.
It’s inconsistent. You hate inconsistency. At first, you try to ignore it. You tell yourself it’s manageable. Temporary. Something you will eventually tune out. You’ve adapted to worse things before. You can adapt to this. But it isn’t just the noise. It’s him. Because he doesn’t stop. And worse, he doesn’t seem to care that you’ve noticed.
The first time it happens again is in the hallway. You’re leaving for work, keys in hand, bag slung neatly over your shoulder. Everything about you is composed. On time. Prepared. You open your door. And he’s there. Leaning casually against the wall like he’s been there long enough to get comfortable. One foot resting behind him, arms loosely crossed. His hair is still slightly damp, like he showered and didn’t bother to dry it properly. A black shirt clings to him just enough to show the lines of his shoulders, sleeves pushed up, ink peeking through. He looks up when he hears your door, and smiles. “Good morning, Y/N.”
Your steps don’t falter, but they slow just enough to register it. “You’re in the way,” you say.
He glances behind him, then back at you. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
He pushes himself off the wall, stepping aside with an ease that suggests he was never really blocking you in the first place. “There you go,” he says lightly. “Problem solved.”
You walk past him without stopping. But he follows. Just enough to keep the conversation alive.
“You leave at the exact same time every day,” he notes.
“That’s not your concern.”
“It’s interesting.”
“It’s predictable.”
He hums softly, like he’s considering that. “I think predictable can be interesting.”
You press the elevator button. “I don’t.”
He steps beside you, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed like this moment belongs to him too. “I saw you last night,” he says.
You glance at him briefly. “You saw me knock on your door.”
“No,” he shakes his head. “After that.”
Your expression doesn’t change. “That didn’t happen.”
“You were standing in your kitchen,” he continues, ignoring you completely. “Holding a glass of water like you were deciding whether to throw it at the wall.”
You stare at the elevator doors.
"You were watching me,” he adds.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were,” he says, and there’s no teasing in his voice this time. Just certainty.
The elevator arrives with a soft chime. You step inside immediately. He follows.
“Even if I was,” you say, pressing the button for the ground floor, “it doesn’t mean anything.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“Then stop talking about it.”
“Okay.”
Silence fills the space. For about three seconds.“You looked like you wanted to say something,” he adds.
You close your eyes briefly. "Jungkook.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop.”
He watches you for a moment. Then nods. “Alright.”
And just like that, he does. No argument. No teasing. Just quiet. It should feel like a victory. It doesn’t. Because when the elevator doors open and you step out into the lobby, he’s still there. Walking beside you like this is normal. Like you’ve done this before. Like you will do it again.
“Have a good day,” he says as you reach the entrance.
You don’t stop. “You too,” you reply automatically.
The words leave your mouth before you can take them back. You pause for half a second. He notices. “That sounded genuine,” he says, a hint of amusement returning.
“It wasn’t.”
“Sure.”
You walk away before he can say anything else. But the rest of your day feels… off. Just… slightly out of place. Like something shifted and hasn’t settled yet.
It happens again the next day. And the day after that. Small things. A knock on your door that turns out to be him asking if a package left outside belongs to you. It doesn’t. He stays anyway.
“You should get one of those signs,” he says, leaning casually against your doorframe. “Do not disturb. Or maybe do not exist.”
You look at him flatly. “Why are you here?”
“You opened the door.”
“You knocked.”
“I was hoping you would.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It worked, though.”
You stare at him for a moment. “You don’t get tired of this?” you ask.
“Of what?”
“Talking to someone who clearly doesn’t want to talk to you.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “I think you do want to talk to me,” he says.
“I don’t.”
“You keep answering.”
“That’s called being polite.”
“No,” he says softly. “That’s called staying.”
The words linger longer than they should. You don’t respond. Because for a second, you don’t have one. He straightens slightly, pushing himself away from the doorframe.
“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”
You don’t say anything as he walks away. But you don’t close the door immediately either. And that bothers you more than anything else.
Days pass like this. Interrupted. Shifted. Different in ways you can’t fully control anymore. And the worst part is not the noise. Not the music. Not the footsteps. It’s the way he looks at you like none of it matters. Like your irritation is temporary. Like your distance is something he can step around without even trying. Like you are not as unreachable as you think you are.
One evening, it happens again. You step out into the hallway, ready to leave, and he’s already there. Of course he is. “Hey,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You sigh quietly. “Do you wait for me?”
“Sometimes.”
You blink. “Why?”
He shrugs. “I like talking to you.”
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
He smiles slightly. “You’ll miss me.”
You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Everyone says that before it does.”
You meet his gaze. Steady. Certain.
“You’re not that important.”
Something flickers in his expression. “Not yet,” he says.
You don’t respond. Because you don’t know how to. And that, more than anything, unsettles you.
It happens without warning. No flicker. No slow dimming. One second the hallway is lit in that steady, familiar glow. The next, everything disappears. Darkness settles fast. You stop walking. The sound of your own footsteps fades into something quieter, replaced by the sudden awareness of everything else. The hum of electricity is gone. The faint buzz of lights above you no longer exists. Even the air feels different, like the building itself is holding its breath.
For a moment, there is nothing. Then a voice breaks through it. “…Well, that’s dramatic.”
You close your eyes briefly. Of course “Jungkook,” you say into the dark.
There’s a soft shuffle, the sound of fabric moving, footsteps adjusting. “Yeah?”
“Stop talking.”
A quiet laugh answers you. Close enough to remind you he’s right there. “I think this is the part where people usually panic,” he says. “You’re supposed to say something reassuring.”
“I’m not here to reassure you.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he replies. “I’m just saying it would be nice.”
You don’t move. You know this hallway. You could probably walk it blind and still reach your door without trouble. But something about the darkness makes you pause. It shifts your certainty just enough to notice.
There’s a soft click. A dim light appears. Jungkook’s phone screen glows faintly, illuminating part of his face. Shadows settle along the edges, catching the curve of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the glint of metal at his lip. His tattoos look darker in this light, ink blending into shadow as if it belongs there.
“There,” he says. “Not completely tragic anymore.”
You glance at the light, then back at the space around you.
“Do you know how long this will last?” he asks.
“No.”
“You didn’t check?”
“I don’t have to.”
He tilts his head slightly. “You seem like someone who always checks.”
“I seem like someone who minds their own business.”
“That too,” he admits.
A door opens somewhere down the hall. Someone mutters something about the power. Another voice answers. The building begins to react slowly, people stepping out, trying to understand what happened. You remain where you are. So does he. “You were going somewhere,” he says after a moment.
“Yes.”
“Important?”
“Yes.”
“Work?”
You glance at him. “Obviously.”
He smiles faintly. “You don’t strike me as someone who has anywhere else to be.”
“That’s because you don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you wake up at six,” he says. “I know you drink coffee like it’s part of a ritual. I know you don’t like noise, or people, or interruptions.”
You hold his gaze. “That’s observation. Not understanding.”
“Maybe I’m working toward that.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it won’t matter.”
There’s a pause. The kind that lingers longer than expected. “Everything matters to someone,” he says quietly.
You look away first. The hallway feels smaller in the dark. Closer. Like the distance you usually keep has been reduced without your permission. You shift slightly, leaning back against the wall.
“So what now?” he asks.
“You wait.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It’s efficient.”
He laughs under his breath. “You really love that word.”
“It works.”
“Does it?”
You glance at him again. “Yes.”
“For everything?”
“Yes.”
He studies you, the light from his phone catching the edges of his expression. There’s something quieter there now. Less teasing. More… thoughtful. "I don’t think it does,” he says.
You don’t respond immediately. Because there’s something in the way he says it. “It works for me,” you say instead.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s enough.”
He watches you for a moment longer, then nods slowly. “Alright.”
The conversation should end there. It doesn’t. Because the darkness stretches. And time, for once, doesn’t move the way you expect it to.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. The building remains dim. The hallway stays quiet except for the occasional voice in the distance. Jungkook slides down the wall, sitting on the floor like he has nowhere else to be. “You can sit,” he says, glancing up at you.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been standing for ten minutes.”
“I’m still fine.”
He shrugs lightly. “Suit yourself.”
You remain where you are for another minute. Then two. Then, without saying anything, you lower yourself onto the floor across from him. The tile is cool beneath you. You fold your hands loosely in your lap, gaze fixed somewhere ahead. He notices. “I won,” he says softly.
“This isn’t a competition.”
“It felt like one.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I don’t mind being wrong,” he replies. “It gives me something to work with.”
You almost ask what that means. You don’t. The quiet settles again. But it’s different now. Less tense. More… shared.
“You always keep everything this controlled?” he asks after a while.
“Yes.”
“Does it get exhausting?”
“No.”
He leans his head back against the wall, eyes lifting toward the ceiling he can’t fully see. “I think it would be.”
“That’s because you’re not used to it.”
“Maybe,” he admits. “Or maybe I just don’t want to be.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is.”
He turns his head slightly, looking at you again. “You really believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Everything is either one thing or the other with you.”
“That’s how it works.”
“No,” he says quietly. “That’s how you make it work.”
The words settle between you. You don’t push them away immediately. That’s new.
“Why do you care?” you ask after a moment.
“About what?”
“Any of this.”
He thinks about it. Not quickly. Not like he has an answer ready.
“Because you don’t,” he says finally.
“That’s not true.”
“You care about your work. Your schedule. Your routine.”
“Yes.”
“But not people.”
You meet his gaze. “People leave,” you say.
The words come out quieter than you expect. He doesn’t respond right away.
“You don’t get attached,” you continue. “You don’t get disappointed.”
“And that works?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as I need it to.”
He studies you carefully now. Not teasing. Not pushing. Just listening.
“That sounds lonely,” he says.
“It’s peaceful.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
He nods slowly. “I don’t think those two things are the same,” he says.
You don’t argue this time. Because for a second, you’re not entirely sure. The silence that follows feels heavier. And then, suddenly, the lights flicker back on. Bright. Immediate. The hallway returns to normal. People step back into their apartments. Doors close. Voices fade. Everything resets. Except it doesn’t feel the same. You blink against the light, adjusting. Jungkook stands, brushing his hands against his jeans. “Well,” he says lightly, though his voice is quieter than before. “That was fun.”
“It wasn’t.”
He smiles faintly. “You stayed.”
You rise to your feet. “I had nowhere else to go.”
“Sure.”
You don’t argue. Because you’re not entirely sure that’s true. You reach for your door, unlocking it with practiced ease. Before you step inside, you pause. Just for a second. Then you glance back at him. "Keep the noise down tonight,” you say.
He nods once. “I will.”
There’s a brief silence. Then, softer, “Goodnight, Y/N.”
You hesitate. “…Goodnight.”
The word feels unfamiliar. But not entirely unwelcome. You step inside, closing the door behind you. The silence returns. But it’s no longer empty.
You have always trusted your first impressions. They are efficient. Clean. Built on observation, not emotion. You see something once, you understand it, and you move on. It saves time. It saves energy. It keeps things simple. Jungkook should have been simple. Loud. Disorganized. Careless. The kind of person who fills silence because he doesn’t know what to do with it. The kind of person who moves through life without thinking about how it affects anyone else. You decided that early. You were certain. And yet, every time you see him now, that certainty slips just enough to make you notice.
The day had been long in a way that lingers. Meetings that stretch too far, conversations that circle without resolution, work that keeps multiplying no matter how much you finish. By the time you step out of the building, the sky has already dimmed into that muted blue that sits between afternoon and night.
You don’t slow down. Your heels strike the pavement in steady rhythm, your mind still tangled in everything you didn’t get to complete. Tomorrow is already forming in your head. Tasks lining up. Deadlines stacking.
You reach your apartment building. Push the door open, and stop. He’s there. Standing beside Mrs. Alvarez. She lives on the third floor. You’ve seen her dozens of times, always carrying more than she should, always insisting she’s fine when she clearly isn’t.
Today, she has two grocery bags in each hand. Too heavy. Too full. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the handles, shoulders slightly hunched as she tries to maintain her balance.
Jungkook is facing her, listening.
“Oh no, no,” Mrs. Alvarez is saying, her voice warm but strained. “It’s alright, I can manage. It’s just a few more steps.”
“You said that five steps ago,” Jungkook replies gently.
There’s no humor in his voice. No teasing. Just quiet insistence.
“It’s really fine,” she repeats, though her grip loosens anyway.
He reaches for the bags, careful, not abrupt, as if he knows exactly how to take them without making her feel like she’s losing control of the situation.
“Let me help,” he says. “You can tell me I’m overstepping after we get upstairs.”
She laughs softly at that. “You’re very persistent.”
“I get that a lot.”
“You remind me of my grandson,” she adds, her expression softening.
“Then he must be a good guy,” Jungkook says.
“He is,” she nods. “But he doesn’t visit enough.”
Jungkook adjusts the bags in his hands, shifting the weight so it sits more comfortably. “Then I’ll fill in for him today.”
The simplicity of it lands somewhere you didn’t expect. There’s no hesitation. No performance. Just… action.
You stand there longer than you should. Watching. Trying to place this version of him next to the one who sings at six in the morning like the walls don’t exist. They don’t align. They don’t even feel like the same person.
He turns then, as if sensing your presence without needing to look for it. His eyes find yours immediately. There is no surprise in his expression. No awkwardness. Just recognition.
“Hey,” he says, like he saw you coming all along.
You nod once. “You’re blocking the entrance.”
It comes out automatically. Familiar. A line you’ve used before. But it doesn’t carry the same weight this time.
He shifts to the side without comment, making space for you without turning it into anything more.
“Long day?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You look like it.”
You frown slightly. “Define that.”
“You walked in like you’re still arguing with someone in your head.”
You pause. Just for a second. Then you step past him. “I’m not.”
“Alright,” he says easily. “Then you’re winning.”
Mrs. Alvarez looks between the two of you, her smile widening. “You two know each other?”
“Unfortunately,” you reply.
Jungkook glances at you, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “She says that every time.”
“Because it remains true.”
“Consistency is important,” he says.
You don’t respond. Mrs. Alvarez laughs softly, patting his arm. “Come, before my ice cream melts and we all regret this conversation.”
He nods. “Lead the way.”
As they move toward the elevator, you step aside. You could leave it at that. You should. But your eyes follow them anyway. The way he adjusts his pace to match hers. The way he listens when she talks, nodding, responding without rushing her. The way he carries the weight without making it look like a burden.
You turn away first. Walk toward the stairs instead of the elevator. Faster. Like distance might fix something you don’t have a name for yet. You tell yourself it was a one time thing. It’s easier that way. But two days later, you see him again.
This time, outside the building. The evening is softer, the air cooler, the sky streaked with fading light. People pass by slowly, conversations blending into the background, life moving at a pace you don’t usually allow yourself to notice.
You’re heading home. Focused. Until something pulls your attention to the side. He’s crouched near the edge of the sidewalk. There are cats around him. Strays. You’ve seen them before, slipping between shadows, keeping their distance from anyone who gets too close.
They’re closer to him now. He’s holding a small paper bag, pulling out pieces of food, placing them carefully on the ground one at a time “Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, steady. “Easy.”
One of the cats inches forward, hesitant. He doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t try to close the distance. He just waits. The cat takes a step closer. Then another. Finally, it eats. You don’t realize you’ve stopped walking until he looks up. Sees you. His expression shifts slightly, surprise flickering for a moment before settling into something more familiar.
“You’re staring again,” he says.
“I’m not.”
He smiles faintly, brushing his hands together as he stands. “It’s okay. I don’t mind the attention.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
You don’t answer immediately. Because you don’t have one that feels right. You glance at the cats instead. One of them watches you carefully, body still, eyes alert.
“You feed them often?” you ask.
“Most evenings,” he says.
“Why?”
He shrugs lightly. “They show up.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is for me.”
You look at him again. There’s no defensiveness in his tone. No need to justify it beyond that.
“You don’t seem like the type,” you say.
“What type?”
“The one who does this.”
He tilts his head slightly. “You’ve known me for a week.”
“That’s enough.”
“Not even close.”
You hold his gaze.
“You’re loud,” you say. “Careless. Disruptive.”
He nods slowly. “That sounds like me.”
“And this,” you gesture toward the cats, “doesn’t fit.”
He considers that for a moment.
“Maybe you’re working with incomplete information,” he says.
You don’t like that answer.
“Or maybe you’re inconsistent,” you counter.
“Or maybe,” he says, stepping a little closer, “people are more than one thing.”
The words settle somewhere deeper than you expect. You look away first.
“Go home,” he adds, softer now. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
He studies you for a moment.
“You walk like you’re carrying something heavy,” he says quietly.
You stiffen slightly. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he insists, not forceful, just certain. “You just don’t put it down.”
“That’s not your concern.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Then stop acting like it is.”
There’s a pause. The city moves around you, indifferent to the shift in the air between the two of you. He exhales slowly, stepping back just enough to give you space again.
“Alright,” he says.
You nod once. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
You walk away. But something follows you this time. Not noise. Not irritation. Something that lingers quietly, refusing to be ignored.
Later that night, Jungkook stands outside his apartment door, keys in hand, staring at the number like he forgot what it means. He’s never been the type to think too much about people. He meets them. Talks to them. Moves on.
Simple. But you are not simple. You walk through the world like nothing can touch you, like everything has already been decided.
And yet… He’s seen the moments you don’t notice. The way your shoulders lower slightly when you think no one’s watching. The way you pause outside your door, just for a second, like you need time before stepping inside. The way you say you’re fine like it’s a habit you’ve practiced too many times. He leans back against the wall, exhaling slowly.
“What is this,” he mutters under his breath.
He doesn’t have an answer. He just knows that this isn’t casual anymore. Not entirely. Something has shifted. And for the first time, he doesn’t want to laugh it off.
Your routine carries you forward the way it always does. Wake up at six. Coffee brewing before your eyes fully adjust to the light. Emails checked before the first sip. Your day mapped out before you even step outside. You open your door with your keys already in hand, mind halfway through a meeting you haven’t had yet. And then you pause. There’s something taped just below the handle. A small piece of paper. You stare at it for a second, like it might disappear if you don’t acknowledge it. You reach for it, peeling it off carefully. The handwriting is messy. Slightly slanted. Like the person who wrote it didn’t care enough to make it neat but still wanted it to be readable.
“Good morning, Neighbor.
You look like someone who forgets to smile. Try it once today. It won’t kill you. Probably.”
There’s a small doodle in the corner. A drawn smiley face with uneven eyes. You stare at it longer than necessary. Then you fold it once. Slip it into your bag. And leave. You don’t think about it again. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.
The second note appears that evening. You’re exhausted. The kind that sits deep in your bones, carried from one task to another until you forget what it feels like to be without it. Work has been relentless. Deadlines closing in faster than you can keep up. Expectations stacking on top of each other until there’s no space left to breathe. You move through it all the way you always do. Efficient. Focused. Unyielding. But today, something lingers. A mistake you didn’t expect. A comment from your supervisor that wasn’t harsh, just… pointed. “You’re capable of more than this.”
It echoes longer than it should. You reach your door, already preparing to step into the quiet waiting on the other side. And there it is again. Another note. You don’t pick it up immediately. You just look at it. Like you’re deciding whether to let it exist. Then you take it anyway.
“You came home later today. That means you worked too hard. That means you should eat something delicious. This is your reminder. You’re welcome.”
There’s another drawing. This one looks like a bowl. Or maybe a cloud. It’s unclear. You exhale softly. “This is ridiculous,” you murmur. But you don’t throw it away. You unlock your door. Step inside. And for the first time in a long time, the silence doesn’t greet you the same way.
It becomes a pattern. A note on a Wednesday morning.
“You walk like you’re late even when you’re not. Where are you going?”
A note on Friday night.
“If you’re reading this, you survived the week. That’s impressive. I almost didn’t.”
Sometimes there’s no message. Just a doodle. A drawn coffee cup. A stick figure sitting at a desk with its head down. A tiny version of your door with a smaller figure standing in front of it. You don’t understand why that one makes you pause longer than the others.
You start keeping them. Not consciously. It just… happens. They end up in your bag. Then on your desk. Then in the drawer you don’t open often. You don’t reread them. You don’t think about them. But you don’t throw them away. And that is the part you don’t examine too closely.
You see him less in the hallway. Or maybe you notice him differently. He still plays music. Still moves through his apartment like time doesn’t apply to him. Still greets you like your distance is temporary. But there’s something else now. Something quieter in the way he looks at you. Like he’s paying attention without making it obvious. Like he’s choosing his moments. You don’t like that. It feels intentional. And intention is harder to ignore.
Work becomes heavier. The kind of heavy that follows you home. You bring it with you without meaning to. Your laptop opens the moment you step inside. Emails blur into reports. Reports turn into revisions. Time slips past unnoticed until your coffee goes cold beside you.
You don’t stop. You don’t slow down. Because if you do, everything catches up at once. The pressure. The expectations. The quiet voice that keeps asking if you’re falling behind. You don’t answer it. You just work harder.
It’s late when you finally stop. The city outside your window has already settled into night. Lights flickering in distant buildings. The hum of traffic softer now. Your shoulders ache. Your eyes burn. You close your laptop slowly, leaning back in your chair. The silence returns. But it doesn’t feel like relief. It feels… empty.
You sit there longer than necessary. Then you stand. Walk toward the door without thinking about it too much. When you open it, the hallway greets you with stillness. And a note. Of course. You almost smile. You take it down carefully, unfolding it under the soft light above your door.
“You didn’t turn on your lights until late. That means you stayed out longer than usual. Or you were sitting in the dark. Either way… You don’t have to do everything alone.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the paper. For a moment, you don’t move. Because this one is different. It doesn’t feel like a joke. It feels like something closer to understanding. And that unsettles you more than anything else.
A door opens. You don’t look up immediately. You already know.
“You read that one longer than the others.”
His voice is softer than usual.
You fold the note slowly. “You’ve been watching me.”
“I’ve been noticing you.”
“That’s worse.”
He leans lightly against his doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s unnecessary.”
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe it’s honest.”
You meet his gaze. There’s no teasing there. No easy smile. Just… something steady.
“You don’t know anything about me,” you say.
“I know you don’t sleep enough,” he replies.
“That’s not your concern.”
“I know you carry your day home with you,” he continues.
“You’re making assumptions.”
“I know you don’t like being seen,” he adds quietly.
You stop. Something in your chest tightens “Then stop looking,” you say.
He doesn’t move. “I could,” he says. “But you’d notice.”
The words land before you can stop them. You don’t respond. Because you don’t trust what might come out if you do.
He exhales softly, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “I’m not trying to make things harder for you,” he says.
“You are.”
“How?”
“You’re… disrupting things.”
“Your routine?”
“Yes.”
“Your silence?”
“Yes.”
“Or the way you’ve decided everything has to be?”
You stare at him. “That’s not your place.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Then stop acting like it is.”
There’s a pause. Longer this time. Then he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says.
You wait for more. For a joke. For something lighter. It doesn’t come.
“I’ll stop,” he adds.
The simplicity of it catches you off guard. “You will?”
“Yeah.”
“Just like that?”
“If it bothers you this much,” he says. “Yeah.”
Something shifts in your chest. Unexpected. Unwanted. “You don’t have to,” you say before you can stop yourself.
He studies you carefully. “You just told me to.”
“I know.”
“Then which one is it?”
You hesitate. Because you don’t have an answer that makes sense. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly.
The words feel unfamiliar. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease. He just nods once. “Okay,” he says.
Another pause. Then, softer, “Keep the notes?”
You glance down at the one in your hand. “They’re unnecessary,” you say.
“That’s not what I asked.”
You don’t look at him when you answer. "I haven’t thrown them away.”
There’s a faint shift in the air. Something warmer. Something that lingers.
“Good,” he says quietly.
You nod once. Then you step back into your apartment, closing the door gently behind you. The silence returns. But it doesn’t feel empty anymore.
The lights go out without warning. One second your apartment is filled with the quiet hum of your laptop and the distant rhythm of the city outside. The next, everything disappears.
Darkness settles quickly. You sit there for a moment, fingers still resting on your keyboard, your eyes adjusting to the sudden shift. The silence feels heavier tonight, pressing in from every corner like it has something to say. You lean back slowly. “Perfect timing,” you murmur.
Your work is still running through your mind. Numbers, emails, unfinished sentences looping over each other without pause. The blackout does nothing to quiet them. If anything, it makes them louder. You stand, moving through your apartment with practiced familiarity. Your hand glides along the wall, past the edge of the table, toward the kitchen drawers.
You open one. Nothing. Another. Still nothing. You pause, frowning slightly. You remember buying candles. You remember putting them somewhere safe. You just don’t remember where that is anymore. You let out a quiet breath, closing the drawer. A knock interrupts the stillness. Soft. Certain. You don’t hesitate. You walk straight to the door and open it.
Jungkook stands there, holding two candles and a lighter, the faint glow from the emergency lights behind him outlining his figure. His hair falls loosely over his forehead, slightly messy, his expression calmer than usual. “I was right,” he says.
“About what?”
“You don’t have any.”
You glance at the candles. “…I was looking.”
He lifts one slightly. “I come prepared.”
You step back. “Come in.”
He doesn’t tease you for it. Doesn’t make a comment. He just walks in like he understands this moment isn’t the same as the others. You close the door behind him. The apartment shifts. The quiet no longer feels empty. He moves toward the table, setting the candles down and lighting them one by one. The flames flicker to life, casting a warm glow across your space, softening the edges of everything you’ve kept so controlled. Your apartment looks different like this. Less rigid. More human.
“You live exactly how I imagined,” he says, glancing around.
“Efficient?”
“Terrifyingly organized.”
“It works.”
He nods. “I’m sure it does.”
You sit on the couch. He takes the chair across from you, close enough that the candlelight reaches both of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence settles, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It feels… shared.
“You were working,” he says.
“Yes.”
“In the dark?”
“I was finishing something.”
“You didn’t finish.”
“No.”
He leans back slightly, studying you. “You don’t like that.”
“I don’t like interruptions.”
“Life is full of those.”
“I manage.”
“You endure,” he corrects gently.
You look at him. “You always have something to say.”
“You always give me something to respond to.”
You exhale softly, shaking your head. “I didn’t invite you here to argue.”
“Good,” he says. “I’m off duty.”
That pulls a small laugh from you before you can stop it. It surprises both of you.
“There it is,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“That sound. You should use it more.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
The moment lingers. The candlelight moves between you, soft and unsteady, making everything feel slower.
“You work too much,” he says after a while.
“It’s necessary.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
He tilts his head slightly. “That’s a big answer.”
“It’s a true one.”
He watches you for a moment, then shifts forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Can I ask you something?”
You hesitate. “…Depends.”
“Do you act like this all the time?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve already decided how everything should go.”
You frown. “I don’t.”
“You do,” he says easily. “You walk like you know exactly where you’re going, even when you don’t.”
“I do know.”
“Do you?”
You hold his gaze.
“Yes.”
He studies you for a second longer, then smiles faintly. “I wonder what you’re like when you’re not like this.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe you’re only like this with me,” he says.
“That’s unlikely.”
“Or,” he continues, ignoring that, “maybe you’re one of those people who act all serious and distant, but the second you’re with your boyfriend, you turn completely different.”
You blink. “What?”
“Soft,” he says, counting on his fingers. “Smiling all the time. Talking more. Laughing at everything. Probably clingy.”
You stare at him. “That’s ridiculous.”
“So you’re always like this?”
“Yes.”
“Even with someone you like?”
“Yes.”
“Even with someone you love?”
You pause. The word sits there, heavy. You look away. “…I wouldn’t know.”
He frowns slightly. “What does that mean?”
You hesitate. Then exhale quietly. “It means I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
The words feel strange in the air. Too honest. Too exposed. You expect him to react. To laugh. To tease. To say something that makes you regret saying it out loud. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you. ”Ever?” he asks, softer now.
“Ever.”
“Not even close?”
“No.”
There’s a pause. Then he nods. “Okay.”
You blink. “…Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
He leans back slightly, still watching you, but there’s no judgment in his expression. No disbelief. “It doesn’t change anything,” he says.
“It should.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not normal.”
“Who decided that?”
“Everyone.”
He shakes his head. “Everyone doesn’t get to decide that for you.”
You don’t respond. Because the way he says it feels steady. Certain.
“You’ve just been busy,” he adds.
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
You hesitate. Because this part is harder to explain. “I don’t see the point,” you say finally.
“In relationships?”
“In letting something in that might not stay.”
He nods slowly, like he’s considering it. “That’s honest,” he says.
You glance at him. “…That’s it?”
“You want me to argue?”
“A little.”
He smiles faintly. “I don’t think you’d listen.”
You almost smile again. Almost. The conversation softens after that. It shifts into something easier. You talk about work. He listens without interrupting, asking questions that feel more like curiosity than judgment.
“You carry everything with you,” he says at one point.
“It’s my responsibility.”
“It’s also heavy.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “That doesn’t mean you should have to all the time.”
You look at him. There’s something in his expression you don’t recognize. Something that makes your chest feel tight in a way you can’t explain. Time passes without you noticing. The candles burn lower. The room feels warmer. Lighter. And when the lights finally come back, it feels abrupt. Like something ended too soon.
He stands, you follow. You walk him to the door. Your hand rests on the handle but you don’t open it yet. Neither of you speaks. The moment stretches. He looks at you. Then his gaze shifts, to your lips. It’s quick, but you feel it. Your chest tightens. Your heart stumbles, then picks up faster than it should. You forget what you were about to say. Forget why you’re standing this close to him.
He looks back up. Something unreadable flickers in his eyes. Then he steps back. Like he’s choosing distance. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he says quietly.
Your fingers tighten slightly around the handle. “…Goodnight.”
You open the door. He leaves. And just like that, the space feels empty again. You close it slowly. Lean back against it. Your heart is still racing. Your thoughts scattered, restless. You press your hand lightly against your chest. “This is nothing,” you whisper.
But your pulse doesn’t agree. And neither does the way your mind keeps returning to the moment his eyes lingered just a second too long
Change does not arrive like a storm. It does not announce itself, does not demand to be acknowledged. It comes quietly, settling into the edges of your days until it no longer feels like something new.
You do not notice it at first. You only realize it later, when you try to remember when things were different and cannot find the exact moment where they shifted.
It begins with mornings. The kind you used to own completely. Your alarm rings at the same time every day. You wake up without hesitation, your body trained to move before your mind has the chance to argue. The routine follows like muscle memory. Shower. Coffee. Clothes laid out the night before. Everything in its place. It has always been enough. It has always been yours. Until it isn’t entirely anymore.
The first time it happens, you open your door and find him doing the same. Jungkook steps out of his apartment, one hand still tugging at the sleeve of his shirt, hair slightly damp like he didn’t fully dry it. He pauses when he sees you. “Morning,” he says.
His voice is softer than you’re used to hearing from him. No teasing laced into it. No attempt to get a reaction. Just a greeting that lands easily between you. You hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then, “Morning.”
It feels strange. Not uncomfortable. Just unfamiliar in its ease. You step into the hallway, adjusting your grip on your coffee. He notices immediately. “That’s it?” he asks, nodding toward your cup.
You glance at it. “That’s what?”
“You didn’t make extra.”
“I made what I need.”
He exhales like you’ve personally disappointed him. “You live like you’re the only person in the world.”
“I live alone,” you reply.
“That’s not the same thing.”
You look at him. “You’re standing in your own doorway.”
“And I’m still being neglected,” he says, tone light but eyes watching you more closely than before.
You should walk away. That’s what you would have done before. But instead, you pause. Then, without thinking too much about it, you hold your cup out toward him. “One sip,” you say.
He blinks. “You’re serious?”
“You’re already complaining. Take it or stop talking.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, like he didn’t expect this. Like he’s trying not to react too much to it. “Wow,” he mutters, stepping closer. “This is progress.”
“Don’t make it a big deal.”
“It is a big deal.”
“It’s coffee.”
“It’s your coffee,” he corrects, taking the cup from your hands.
His fingers brush yours. The contact is brief, but it lingers longer than it should. You notice it. You wish you didn’t. He takes a sip. Pauses. Then looks at you with a thoughtful expression. “You put too much sugar.”
You take the cup back immediately. “Then you should have declined.”
“I didn’t know it would be this sweet.”
“You asked for it.”
“I asked for coffee,” he says, following you as you start walking down the hallway. “Not dessert.”
You take another sip, unfazed. “Then make your own.”
He falls into step beside you. “I might start doing that,” he says.
“Please do.”
“Or,” he adds, glancing at you, “I could just keep bothering you.”
“That sounds more likely.”
He smiles. And for a moment, neither of you says anything else. The quiet between you is different now. It doesn’t feel like something to fill. It feels like something that already knows its place.
The next shift is smaller. Easier to miss. You come home late. The kind of late that settles into your bones. Your shoulders ache, your mind still tangled in everything you didn’t finish, everything waiting for you tomorrow. The hallway is quiet when you step out of the elevator. The building feels like it’s already asleep.
You reach your door. And stop. There’s something sitting on the floor beside it. A container. You crouch slightly, picking it up. It’s still warm. Your name isn’t written anywhere. It doesn’t have to be. You already know. There’s a small piece of paper taped to the lid. You peel it off slowly.
“Eat this before you pretend you’re not hungry.”
You stare at the note longer than necessary. Your first instinct is to be annoyed. At the assumption. At the audacity. At the fact that he noticed at all. But your stomach tightens slightly, betraying you. You unlock your door and step inside. You don’t overthink it. You don’t question it. You just sit down, open the container, and take a bite. It’s warm. Simple. Good.
You eat slowly at first. Then faster. And by the time you’re done, you realize you finished all of it without checking your phone once. Without thinking about work. Without feeling like you had to be anywhere else. That realization lingers longer than it should.
The next evening, you find yourself standing in front of his door. You don’t remember deciding to come here. You just… did. You lift your hand and knock. Once. The door opens almost immediately. Jungkook looks at you like he’s been expecting this. “You’re right on time,” he says.
“For what?”
“For the part where you pretend you’re not here to thank me.”
You hold up the empty container. “This.”
He takes it from you, glancing down at it briefly before looking back at you. “You ate it.”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
He nods, satisfied. “Good.”
You hesitate. “…Thank you.”
The words don’t come easily. He notices that. Something in his expression softens, just slightly. “You’re welcome,” he says.
There’s a pause. Then he steps back, opening the door wider.
“You look like you haven’t eaten yet today either,” he adds.
“I have.”
“Lying doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are.”
You look at him. “You’re very confident for someone who’s guessing.”
“I’m not guessing,” he says. “I’m observing.”
You blink. “That’s my word.”
“I learned from the best.”
You should leave. You don’t. You step inside. His apartment feels familiar now. Not in the way yours does. Yours is structured. Predictable. Controlled. His is… alive. There’s music playing softly from somewhere, something low and easy that blends into the background without demanding attention. A jacket draped over a chair. A glass left on the table. Nothing out of place. Just not arranged to be perfect.
“You always look like you’re about to inspect something,” he says, watching you as you stand near the entrance.
“I’m just looking.”
“You’re judging.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he insists, smiling slightly. “You’re deciding how much this bothers you.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Not yet.”
You exhale softly. “Are you going to let me sit down or keep analyzing me?”
“Sit,” he says, gesturing toward the table. “I’ll analyze you while you eat.”
You sit. You don’t argue. That alone feels like a change. He moves around the kitchen with an ease that feels natural. No rush. No overthinking. Just… movement.
“You cook often?” you ask.
“Enough to survive,” he replies.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“You’re still here.”
“Questioning that decision.”
“You’re not leaving,” he says, glancing at you briefly.
“No.”
He sets a plate in front of you. “Eat,” he says.
“You’re very bossy.”
“You’re very difficult.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It works together.”
You take a bite. Pause. Then glance at him. “…This is good.”
He leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Better than yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“I knew you’d come back.”
“I didn’t come back for the food.”
“Sure.”
You don’t argue. Because you don’t have a clear answer. And that unsettles you more than you want it to.
Days pass. The changes continue. Small things. He knocks on your door. You stop pretending you’re not home. You leave your door unlocked when you know he’s around. He walks in without hesitation.
“Still working?” he asks one evening, stepping inside like he belongs there.
“Yes.”
He sets a cup of coffee on your table. You glance at it. “You remembered.”
“You take it too sweet,” he says.
You pick it up. “…Thank you.”
He shrugs, sitting beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “What are you working on?”
You hesitate. Then turn your laptop slightly toward him. “This.”
He leans closer. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him beside you. “You’re overcomplicating this part,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“You say that about everything.”
“Because you do that with everything.”
You hold his gaze for a moment. Then look back at your screen. “Maybe.”
The word slips out quietly. You don’t take it back. He notices. And he doesn’t say anything about it. Which somehow means more.
Later that night, the two of you sit in your apartment. No work. No distractions. Just quiet.
“You’re different,” he says.
You glance at him. “How?”
“You’re here.”
“I’ve always been here.”
“No,” he says softly. “You were always somewhere else. Even when you weren’t.”
You don’t respond immediately. Because you know what he means.
“And now?” you ask.
He looks at you. “Now you stay.”
The words settle into the space between you. Gentle. Honest. You look at him, something shifting quietly in your chest. “That’s new,” you admit.
“Yeah,” he says.
The silence that follows feels different. Not something to escape, but something to hold. You still argue. He still gets under your skin. You still tell yourself this is temporary. But somewhere between shared coffee, warm meals, quiet conversations, and doors that no longer feel like boundaries…You have stopped standing on opposite sides of the hallway. And started meeting somewhere in between.
It starts as a suggestion you have no intention of accepting. You are standing in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up, laptop open on the counter, your attention split between an email you are rewriting for the third time and the quiet hum of your thoughts. The evening has already settled in, the sky outside your window turning a deep shade of blue that you barely notice anymore. A knock comes at your door. You don’t need to check who it is. “It’s open,” you call out.
The door clicks, then closes. “You really need to stop leaving your door unlocked,” Jungkook says as he steps inside.
“You really need to stop walking in like you live here,” you reply without looking up.
“I practically do.”
You exhale softly, eyes still on your screen. “What do you want?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. You hear him move around your space, the quiet sound of him setting something down, the faint shift of weight as he leans against your counter. “Come out with me tonight.”
You stop typing. Slowly, you look up. “No.”
He doesn’t seem surprised. “That was fast.”
“It was obvious.”
“I didn’t even tell you where.”
“It doesn’t matter where.”
He studies you for a moment, then tilts his head slightly. “You’re not even a little curious?”
“No.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“I have work.”
“You always have work.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not even trying to pretend to consider it.”
“I am considering it.”
“And?”
“No.”
He lets out a quiet breath, not annoyed, just… thinking.
You look back at your screen. “You should know the answer by now.”
“It’s not about the answer,” he says.
“Then what is it about?”
“You showing up.”
You pause. Something about the way he says it lands differently. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t do that.”
“I know.”
“Then stop asking.”
“I won’t.”
You glance at him again. “Why?”
He shrugs lightly. “Because one day you might say yes.”
You hold his gaze for a second. “That day is not today.”
He smiles, pushing himself off the counter. “Okay,” he says easily. “Then I’ll go without you.”
“Please do.”
He heads toward the door, pausing just before he leaves. “They’re not that bad, you know,” he adds.
“I didn’t say they were.”
“You’re acting like they are.”
“I don’t know them.”
“Then come meet them.”
“No.”
He nods once, like he already expected that. “Alright,” he says softly, then adds, “but just in case you change your mind later, it’s the restaurant at the corner.” His voice stays gentle as he looks at you for a moment longer. “It’s not far. You might like it."
Then he leaves. The door closes behind him. And the apartment feels quieter than it did before. You stare at your screen. The words blur. The sentence you were writing doesn’t make sense anymore.
You reread it. Rewrite it. Delete it. Nothing sticks. You press your fingers against your temple, exhaling slowly. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter.
You’ve had harder days than this. You’ve handled worse. But something about today lingers. The pressure, the expectations, the constant feeling of being just slightly behind no matter how much you do.
Your phone lights up. A message from Anna. “Did you eat?”
You stare at it for a moment before replying. “I’m working.”
Three dots appear immediately. “That’s not what I asked.”
You don’t answer. You set your phone down. The silence stretches. Your apartment feels smaller than usual. Too quiet. Too still.
You glance at the door. Then back at your screen. Then at the door again. You don’t overthink it. You don’t give yourself time to. You stand, grab your bag, and head out.
The place is louder than anything you’ve allowed yourself to be in for a long time. You hesitate at the entrance, your hand still resting on the door handle. This was a mistake. You should leave. You almost do. Then you hear his voice. You glance inside. Jungkook is sitting at a table with a group of people, laughing at something someone just said. It’s easy. Effortless. The kind of laughter that doesn’t need to be held back or measured.
You’ve never seen him like this. For a moment, you just watch. Then he looks up. His eyes find you immediately. The laughter fades from his expression, replaced by something else. Surprise. Then something softer. He stands. Walks toward you without hesitation. “You came.”
You shift slightly. “I was nearby.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Yes.”
He smiles. “I’m glad you did.”
You glance past him at the table. “I’m not staying long.”
“That’s fine.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
He steps aside slightly. “Come on.”
You follow him inside. Every step feels unfamiliar. You’re aware of everything. The noise, the people, the way your routine isn’t here to guide you. But then you reach the table. And everything slows.
“This is Y/N,” Jungkook says.
His friends look at you. Not with judgment. Not with curiosity that feels invasive. Just… open.
“Hi,” one of them says warmly.
“Finally,” another adds, smiling. “We’ve heard about you.”
You glance at Jungkook. He shrugs. “Only good things.”
“I doubt that,” you say quietly.
They laugh. And somehow, it doesn’t feel like they’re laughing at you. It feels like they’re letting you in.
You sit. At first, you don’t say much. You listen. The conversation flows easily around you. Stories, jokes, small arguments that don’t carry weight. You expect to feel out of place. You don’t. Not entirely.
“Y/N,” someone says, pulling you into the conversation. “Jungkook said you work a lot.”
“That’s an understatement,” Jungkook mutters.
You glance at him. “You’re very talkative tonight.”
“I’m always talkative.”
“That’s true,” one of his friends adds. “He doesn’t stop.”
You find yourself smiling. A small one. But real.
“And what do you do?” another asks.
You answer. They listen. Not just waiting for their turn to speak.
“That sounds exhausting,” someone says.
“It is,” you admit.
“Then why do you do it?”
You pause. “Because I’m good at it.”
Jungkook glances at you. “That’s not the only reason,” he says quietly.
You look at him. “…It’s enough.”
He doesn’t argue. But his gaze lingers. Like he knows there’s more you’re not saying. The night moves forward. At some point, you forget to check the time. You forget to think about work. You laugh. More than once. And each time, it feels a little easier. A little less unfamiliar.
At one point, you step outside for air. The night is cooler here. Quieter. You lean against the railing, exhaling slowly. A moment later, the door opens behind you. Jungkook steps out. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You don’t look like you want to run anymore.”
You glance at him. “It’s not as bad as I thought.”
“That’s high praise coming from you.”
“It’s honest.”
He nods. “That’s all I need.”
You look out at the city. “I don’t usually do this,” you say quietly.
“I know.”
“I don’t usually leave my routine.”
“I know that too.”
You hesitate. “It’s not terrible.”
He smiles slightly. “I’ll take that.”
You look at him. “You make it easy,” you admit.
The words come out softer than you intended. He still hears them. His expression shifts, something deeper settling in his eyes. “You make it harder,” he says.
You frown slightly. “What does that mean?”
“You make me think about things I usually don’t.”
“Like what?”
“Like slowing down,” he says. “Like paying attention. Like… staying in one place longer than I’m used to.”
You don’t respond immediately. Because that… matters more than it should.
“You’re good at that,” he adds.
“At what?”
“Making people stay.”
You look at him. “I don’t try to.”
The silence that follows is softer. Warmer. Different from anything you’ve shared before. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then someone calls his name from inside. He glances back. Then at you. “Stay a little longer,” he says.
You hesitate. Then nod. “…Okay.”
And for the first time in a long time, you choose to stay.
(2/2 is now up on Ko-fi for early access. Coming here on the 22nd.)
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
romaincrisis
titsay
kaledo-art
areudirty
