tags: smut, fluff, college!au, fuckboy!jk, this is a flashback !!!! how it all began for our ooyg couple <3, mentions of cheating (brief)
warnings: kissing, fingering, a lil bit of breast play, protected sex, missionary, oral, multiple orgasms
word count: 5k
a/n: surprise !!! wrote this way long ago, here we get a glimpse of oc and jk's dynamic as friends <33 enjoy ! can be read as a standalone / part 1 / part 2
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Jihyo forced all of you to have a picnic—to sit on the grass and not at some table like you all usually do. Especially since midterms just ended. Said everyone needs a little breather, some change of scenery. She assigned things to bring. Said she wants to have a picnic for the vibes. Or the aesthetic. You're not really sure but you comply nonetheless (and Mingyu threatened all of you to bring the stuff you're assigned to bring, or else you're not allowed in his car anymore). You think she's doing something cutesy like this because you all haven't seen each other in a while, been so swamped with exams and projects to submit.
You're sitting on a red and white picnic blanket—brought by Jihyo of course—enjoying the food brought by Jimin and Jungkook. It's just take out, really, but it's the effort those two boys did that make it a little special. You're in charge of the dessert and you can't wait to eat the cookies you baked.
You're wearing a dress to complete the vibes, one with a floral design and a sweetheart neckline. It doesn't really differ from your usual outfits but you don't mind. You feel the sun shining down on your shoulders as you're listening to Jungkook and Mingyu bicker about who's turn it is to wash the dishes.
"Stop fighting!" Jihyo finally says as the two start picking the pepperoni off the pizza and are chucking it at each other. Jihyo's not really mad because you can see she's trying not to smile, not to laugh, too enamored with Mingyu. They recently had just gotten together so they're still in the honeymoon stage. But you think they're endgame and will be like that forever. You wish you had a love like that. You're not looking for it now though, you know it'll come at the right time.
What stops Mingyu and Jungkook bickering is Jimin shouting that it's time for dessert. You laugh at your friends as they all make a grab for the tupperwares where your baked goodies are. You make good cookies. It's one thing you're proud of. You've made enough for everyone so you remind them of that. Still, it doesn't stop Jungkook and Jihyo from fighting over the last cookie. You only have a small piece for yourself. You have some extra back at your place, for you and for a certain someone who always asks for extra.
"You have more right?" Jungkook whispers from beside you. The others are busy eating and chatting away so they don't hear you both.
You smile and nod your head, too shy to say anything. You've always been like that with Jungkook—shy and speechless. Caught off guard. Even though you've been friends for a year and he's been nothing but nice to you. It's just the natural charm he has, which is why he has a lot of girls falling for him. You get them, even though you don't feel the same way.
Jungkook and you aren't as close as he is with Mingyu. But you're close enough that it's not weird to walk to class with him alone, or to grab coffee together before meeting up with your other friends.
Or for him to follow you right back to your apartment, trailing behind you like a puppy because he wants some cookies to take home.
"You going to the party later?" Jungkook asks as you're putting cookies in a ziplock bag.
"Mhm," you hum. "Not like I got a choice. Jimin said we all had to go or he'll leave the group chat."
Jungkook laughs with you. Jimin is dramatic like that but you both know he never means his threats.
"I can pick you up? I'll be in the area later anyway."
You laugh and roll your eyes at him. "Got another date, huh?"
Jungkook has the audacity to look shy, hand coming to scratch the back of his neck as he thinks of what to say.
"You know I don't date. But yeah, got some thing with some girl. She's in that English class we have together."
You hum in acknowledgment. You don't know which girl he's talking about but it's typical of Jungkook to say something of the sort. You all know he doesn't date. Doesn't believe in love or whatever. You're not really sure. But that's Jungkook and you all love him nonetheless. He's caring and observant, always looking out for his friends, but every boy must have a flaw.
His is not believing in love. You think it's a flaw because you do believe in love and believe that everyone is supposed to experience it. Not platonic love. Romantic love. Butterflies in your tummy, hand holding. All that shit.
Eventually Jungkook leaves your apartment with a ziplock full of cookies. He hugs you before you go which leaves you a little flustered, even though he says hello and goodbye with a hug always. He's cute, you can't help it.
You clean your apartment the whole afternoon, then study with the remaining time you have left while having dinner at the same time. Jungkook says he'll pick you up at 10pm and he's a pretty punctual person. You have an hour to get ready and you do just that. You think you've worn too many floral dresses this week so you change it up a bit by wearing jeans and a cute flowy top. It's still you, so you're happy.
You hear a knock on the door and open it right away, getting a little breathless at the sight in front of you. Jungkook's in all black, as usual, and he unbuttoned his polo almost halfway so you get a good view of his chest.
"Hi," he greets, leaning in automatically to hug you. He smells like fresh laundry with a hint of vanilla perfume. It's probably from the girl he was with earlier.
"Hey," you greet back.
"Ready to go?" he asks. You nod your head and lock your door. You notice him looking you up and down so you furrow your brows, suddenly conscious with what you're wearing.
"Is there something wrong, Kook?"
Jungkook seems to snap out of whatever thought he's in as he shakes his head. "No," he laughs. "Just noticed you're not wearing one of your usual dresses."
"Oh," you simply say. You feel your cheeks heating and there's nothing you can do to stop it. "Just wanted something different for tonight."
"It's nice," he says quietly, hands in his pockets as you both make your way to the party. Jungkook switches sides with you on the sidewalk, makes sure he's walking on the outside. It's a sweet gesture. It's something he always does so you're not phased.
The party is in full swing, loud music playing and people are already drunk. Jungkook doesn't leave your side till you see your other friends. You're three shots in when you finally spot Jimin.
"Hi!" Jimin slurs as he makes his way to you and Jungkook, pulling you both in for a hug. He smells like tequila and you can't help but cringe. "You guys are here!"
The three of you take another shot, per Jimin's request, before he drags you to the other side of the house to meet his friends. You lose sight of Jungkook after that. You don't really mind because you're having fun, dancing with Jihyo, playing beer pong with her, Mingyu and Jimin.
The fun lasts till you bump into Eunwoo.
See, you and Eunwoo dated for a while. Probably just for three months. He was such a gentleman, so sweet and caring, that you were absolutely blindsided when he decided to break things off.
It's been a month since then. You're kind of over it, but it's pretty hard to get over a guy like Eunwoo. Still, he walks up to you the moment he spots you in the crowded room. Makes some small talk. Stands too close.
"How are you doing lately?" He has to lean in to speak and you can't help but feel flustered.
"Been okay," you say simply. Don't want to update him about your life anymore. There's not really a point.
"Listen—" he starts to say.
"Babe!"
You take a step back in surprise, the voice is high pitched and shrilly and you don't recognize who it is. A pretty blonde girl walks up to Eunwoo, wraps her arms around his shoulders and plants a big fat kiss on his cheeks.
"Been looking everywhere for you," she purrs.
"Just talking to an old friend," Eunwoo says, and the girl finally looks at you.
"Oh, hi!" she slurs. Can smell the alcohol right off her. "Didn't see you there. My name's Binna, I'm Eunwoos' girlfriend." She sticks her hand out and you shake it, trying not to let your eyebrows raise in surprise. It's the fact she didn't ask for your name which puts you off.
"We've been dating for two months now," she continues to say.
Okay, now your eyebrows raise in surprise. Well. You know what that means and suddenly you can't breathe, chest constricting and hands turning clammy. You say a quick goodbye and run off to the other side of the house. You try to look for a room that's not locked nor occupied.
You and Eunwoo broke up. It's been a month. He's had a girlfriend for two months. Do the math. Do the math. Do the math.
Maybe Jungkook's right. Maybe love isn't real.
"Ugh," you groan, barging into a tiny and dark room. There are washing machines on one side and dryers in another. The silence helps you calm your nerves a little bit.
You weren't that upset over the break up, but now you kinda are. Can't believe you weren't good enough for Eunwoo. Can't believe he cheated on you. Can't believe you didn't notice it. Didn't even have a gut feeling.
"Okay," you say to yourself. "It's okay. Life goes on. He wasn't the one and that's okay." You down the drink you've been holding and cringe at the strongness of the alcohol. Mingyu makes the worst drinks, but it does the job.
Your peace is interrupted when the door to the laundry room suddenly opens, makes a loud sound as it slams against the wall, and in comes Jungkook.
He doesn't see you so he literally crashes into you since he's running inside the room. You would've fallen were it not for his quick reflexes, one hand going around your waist and the other behind your head to save you from bumping into anything.
"What the fuck, Jungkook?" you almost scream.
"What the heck are you doing here?" he says right back.
It's silent for a moment as you both look at each other. Eventually, you roll your eyes and step away from his hold, choosing to lean on one of the washing machines. "Long fucking story."
You watch him as he hops up to sit on one of the dryers. "Well, I've got time."
You look at him weirdly. "Why are you here anyway?"
He shrugs, swings his feet in the air. "Was running away from some girl. She was weird."
You laugh and shake your head. Typical Jungkook.
"And you?" he asks.
You sigh, looking down to pick at a loose thread of your top. "Bumped into Eunwoo. Met his girlfriend. They've been dating for two months."
"Oh," Jungkook breathes out. It's silent for a moment.
One, two, three, four, five, six—
"Oh?" he says again. "But you guys broke up last month?"
You look at him pointedly in reply, too scared to verbalize anything. He gets it though, could see the recognition on his face.
"Do you want me to punch him?"
You scrunch your nose in disgust. "Ew, no. Don't do that, Kook. I don't want to deal with him anymore. No point anyway."
"Cheating sucks," he mumbles. You nod in agreement. "S'why I don't date." It's a little tidbit he shares about himself and you try to mask your surprise. Jungkook doesn't share much about himself.
"Should probably do the same," you joke.
"But you always date," he laughs.
"I do not!"
"It's literally your thing!"
"Dating is not my thing, Jungkook!"
You bicker back and forth for a while, you don't even know what you're both talking about anymore. But laughing with Jungkook eases the heartache in your chest so you don't mind.
"I just think it'd be fun," he explains, "and it'll help you forget about that douchebag. I hope you don't think I'm forcing you. I'm really not," Jungkook explains, a smile gracing his face. "You don't even have to answer me right now. Or—"
"Let's do it," you say, interrupting Jungkook. His eyes widen and it makes you laugh. You don't think you've ever seen him look so caught off guard.
"Are you sure because—"
"Yes, Kook! Need some change in my life. Maybe I shouldn't date for a while. I've never done anything like this before, so I want to try." You nod to yourself in affirmation.
He shrugs at you. "It's just hooking up. No strings attached."
"No strings attached," you repeat. "Just a one time thing," you mumble as Jungkook walks to where you're standing.
"We can say stop anytime, ok?" Jungkook says. His lips are so close to yours that you can feel his breath. "Just tell me."
You nod your head in reply, too speechless and distracted by the fact that his lips are so close to yours. It feels so exhilarating, the thought of almost kissing someone like this. No romantic ties or whatsoever.
"Words, sweetheart."
"Yeah," you breathe out, licking your lips in anticipation.
"You're so cute," he giggles, leaning in even more to nudge his nose against yours.
"You gonna kiss me or what, Kook?" you complain instead, to hide the fluttering feeling of your chest.
"Are you that eager to kiss me?" he teases.
You've never talked to him this close, noses bumping into each other, lips so close you could feel it move when he talks. You don't sleep with people you're not in a relationship with, but you suppose now is a perfect time to do otherwise. Cheating does suck.
Jungkook finally leans in and presses his lips against yours. You shiver at first because the first thing you feel is the coldness of his lip rings. Then you shiver even more because his lips feel so damn soft against yours. You feel his tongue licking your lips, asking in silent permission to let him in, and you do so willingly without any fight in at all.
You hear him grunt against your mouth when you finally tangle your tongue with his, and you yelp in tiny surprise when he grips your waist and effortlessly lifts you up to sit you on the dryer behind. He shuffles between your legs and pushes himself closer to you if that's even possible. His hands start roaming your body—your legs, your waist, your back. You feel hot all over and you pull at his hair to try to ground yourself.
You can't help but pout when he leans back to take a breath of air, and you realize you're breathless as well. Jungkook laughs at your pouting form, mumbling a quiet cute which has you rolling your eyes at him again.
"You're so bratty," he laughs, his hands rubbing up and down your waist mindlessly. "Maybe next time I have to teach you a thing or two about having manners."
"Who says there's going to be a next time?" you joke, but you look Jungkook in the eyes and he looks serious.
It's his turn to roll his eyes. "Come here," he simply says, and you don't fight him anymore as he goes back to kissing you. You feel him tugging at your top. "Can I take this off, pretty?" he asks. You simply nod and he takes it off from you quickly, eyes blowing out at the sight of your bare chest.
"Wow," he breathes out.
"They're just tits, Kook," you simply say, but you can't help but feel your heart racing at the look he's giving you. Like he wants to eat you whole.
"But you have nice tits," he replies back, eyes not leaving your chest. You start getting self conscious all of a sudden, had never had a guy in this position stare at your body for this long. You start bringing your hands up to cover yourself.
"Hey," he tuts, frowning so heavily his cheeks are puffed out. "Don't need to hide. It's just me." He gently brings your hands down and smiles at you, which makes you giggle in return.
"Don't think we can take our time here though," you say after a while. "Has to be quick."
Jungkook nods to himself, picking up your discarded top only to put it back on you. You look at him confusingly. You thought he'd just agree to a quickie given the place you're both in.
"You're right," he says. "We can go to your place?" he asks you.
You're too stunned to speak so you nod your head and hop down from the dryer. Jungkook interlaces his fingers with yours and you both walk back into the party only to leave the house. You try to ignore the stares you're getting, or the people whispering to each other as you and Jungkook pass by them. You're glad you don't bump into your friends.
It's silent as you walk to your apartment, but it isn't awkward. You feel his thumb rubbing your hand in a comforting matter, and it erases all doubts you have in your head. You're just here to have fun.
Eventually you get inside your apartment and you squeal the moment the door closes behind you both, because Jungkook picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. Walks quickly to your bed and drops you on it, kneeling right between your legs.
"Hi," you breathe out.
"Hello to you too," he says with a playful glint in his eye. "Now where were we?"
"We stopped right here," you say, feeling brave all of a sudden as you remove your top and throw the clothing somewhere behind you.
Again, Jungkook stares at your chest and licks his lips. "Right," he whispers. Then he makes eye contact with you and the lust and desire is suddenly gone. "We can stop anytime, okay?" he repeats his statement from earlier. "Like just tell me anytime and—"
"I get it, Kook!" you laugh, moving your leg to nudge his ribs which makes him laugh as well. "I heard you the first time." You continue poking his tummy with your foot.
"Okay, okay!" He grabs your leg to stop it from moving, brings your foot in front of his face. "Even your feet are cute." Then in sheer horror, he places a tiny kiss on your big toe.
"What the fuck!" you scream, trying to get your foot out of his hold but he's too strong. "Do you have a foot fetish or something?" you say through your laughs.
He apologizes but he doesn't look sorry one bit.
"Can we fuck, Jungkook?" you whine.
"Okay!" He smiles at you as he leans over, saying nothing else as he finally kisses you again. His hand slithers up to cup your boob and your back automatically arches in response. Then Jungkook kisses your cheek, down your jaw to your neck, then encloses his lips around your nipple.
"Oh," you moan out. You tug his hair again—it helps keep you sane. "Feels good."
Jungkook continues sucking your nipple, his other hand playing with your neglected breast. "Gonna take the rest of your clothes off, okay?" he says against your skin.
"Please," you whimper.
He smiles at your pliant form. "Seems like you do have some manners."
You're too fucked out already to talk back, just simply watch him as he removes your jeans and underwear. He moves down the bed to be eye level with your cunt and places a gentle kiss on your clit.
"Kook," you whine. "Please."
"Since you asked so nicely," he mumbles. He flattens his tongue and licks from your hole up to your clit, enclosing his lips around your bundle of nerves and he sucks. Hard.
"That feels so good," you breathe out. You don't think a guy has ever given you oral this good. You might even pass out from the intense pleasure you're feeling. You get it now. You get why a lot of girls fall for him. Why a lot want to sleep with him. You don't care that in this moment, you're just like the rest of them.
(Or maybe you're not. Jungkook did say your friendship with him won't change.)
You feel him nibble slightly on your clit and it sends your eyes rolling back, hips meeting his mouth to practically hump his face.
"What the fuck," you moan out just as Jungkook slides one finger inside you, curling it instantly to look for the spot that'll drive you insane.
He finds it right away and you see stars. "Can I come?" you whisper. "Please, please." You don't care one bit that you sound so desperate right now, you just want to feel that release. Want to feel good. Want to let go.
Jungkook detaches his lips from your clit and smirks at you. "Go ahead, pretty girl. Want you to feel good."
You close your eyes and pull at his hair even harder. You're so close to climaxing that you barely hear Jungkook moaning.
"Fuck," you say out loud, finally reaching your release. You feel the pleasure at your center, then it spreads down to your legs and up to your arms, all the way up to your head that you feel a little dizzy. Jungkook doesn't stop fingering you, and you're not even embarrassed that you can hear how wet you are down there.
"Okay, okay," you finally whimper once you start feeling the oversensitivity. You nudge him with your foot and he places one last kiss on your cunt before sitting up.
"How was that?" he asks proudly. Were it not for the mind blowing orgasm you just received, you would've rolled your eyes at his smugness.
"Like I died and went straight to heaven," you hoarsely reply.
He rubs your leg soothingly. "Still wanna continue?"
You nod your head and he smiles at you, then starts removing his clothes. You watch him silently and thank yourself for saying yes, because what the fuck, Jungkook's built like a Greek god.
And his dick is so pretty, too. You don't think you've ever described a cock as pretty until today. It's thick and long, the tip just resting a little bit bellow his belly button. It's leaking a bit too, could already see the precum, and you rub your legs together at the thought that Jungkook found pleasure in eating you out.
He comes back to bed and places himself on top of you, muscled arms caging your face.
"You good, pretty?" he says while smiling down at you.
"Yeah," you breathe out, feeling his heavy cock resting on your thigh. "Wanna suck you, though."
Jungkook chuckles at you in reply, head bowing down to nip at your neck. "No can do, sweet girl. Gonna blow my load the moment you suck me. Swear."
You pout at him and are about to talk back when he cuts you off.
"I know you're pouting. It doesn't work if I don't see it," he says against your neck.
"Fine," you mumble and he laughs again, body so close to yours that you feel the rumble in his chest.
He presses his lips against yours once again. You're so lost in the kiss that you don't realize his hand has been sliding down your body, rubbing your clit gently only to insert two fingers inside you.
"Kook," you moan against his lips.
"Just wanna make sure you're stretched out enough."
You're getting so close to climaxing again, but it feels like Jungkook already knows your body so well. He withdraws your fingers right when you're about to come. Even has the audacity to look cheeky when you huff at the loss of his fingers. You watch him get a condom from the back pocket of his jeans as you catch your breath. He rolls it on his cock before joining you in bed again, and you easily part your legs for him.
"Gonna go slow, okay?" He brings a hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "If it's too much, just tell me."
"Okay," you simply say, and he starts pushing his cock inside you. It's a tight fit, that you can tell, especially the head as it's the biggest part. God, he's so big. But you take it like a champ anyway, try to even your breathing until he slides all the way in.
"Holy shit," he groans, head dropping to tuck it in the crook of your neck. "You feel so good."
You get him, you really do. Jungkook fills you up so well, it's perfect, and the longer you feel him inside the faster the pain subsides.
You start rubbing his back gently. "You can move now, Kook. It doesn't hurt."
"Gimme a sec," he moans, busies himself with kissing your face instead. "Seriously." He looks at you in the eyes, his doe ones all blown out. "I might not even last long, it's embarrassing," he huffs.
You giggle at him. "Don't worry about it, silly. There's going to be a next time, like you said."
He smiles down at you, dimple popping out and nose scrunching. "Good," he mumbles while leaning down to capture your lips in his. Finally, he starts moving his hips. Slowly at first, just so you both get a good feel of each other.
Then his thrusts start getting a little bit faster and you can feel him so deep, even deeper when he puts your legs over his shoulder.
"Yeah," he groans, mesmerized by the way your tits bounce at each thrust. "There definitely needs to be a next time."
"Please," you start begging again, not really sure what you're begging for. Jungkook just glides in and out so easily because you're so wet. You feel your stomach tensing along with your thighs and you just want to come so badly again. You hold Jungkook's face in your hands and pull him down to kiss him.
"Wanna come," you pant against his mouth. "Please, Kook. Need to—"
"I got you, pretty," he grunts. "Come for me, ok? Wanna hear your pretty moans. Wanna feel your little pussy tighten around my cock."
His words edge you on even more and before you know it you're climaxing for the second time. Your legs start to shake and you let a few tears out at the ecstasy.
Jungkook prolongs your orgasm by fucking you some more. It's pure bliss you feel as you lay beneath him, watching the way his eyebrows scrunch together, feeling the cool metal of his necklace hitting your chin in time with his thrusts.
"Coming," he moans out and he delivers one hard thrust, so hard that you feel the tip of his cock deep in your belly. "Fucking hell," he curses. He thrusts turn short and slow, up until he finally stops and collapses on top of you.
It's silent for a moment as the both of you catch your breath. It's not like you did anything out of the ordinary. Didn't even switch positions. But you've never felt pleasure like this before and you're pretty sure Jungkook feels the same.
He brings his head up to look at you, tired smile gracing his face. He looks so good like this, just tired and spent but happy. "Hi," he whispers.
"Hello," you whisper back. He leans down and kisses you again, but this time it's slow and gentle. Like he wants to savor the moment. He asks in between kisses if you're okay, if you're not hurt, if you enjoyed, and you reassure him each time.
He pulls your body against his and you lay your head on his chest, your breathing slowing down in time with his steady heartbeat. He rubs up and down your back soothingly and it makes your eyes feel heavy. You feel Jungkook turn his head to kiss at your hair, and it makes you snuggle into him some more.
"Wanna shower?" he asks against your forehead.
"Sure," you hum. But neither of you move. "Give me like a minute. I can't feel my legs, I think."
He laughs and pinches your sides. You wiggle in his hold and try to escape, but Jungkook just tightens his arm around you. "Fucked you pretty hard, huh?"
You roll your eyes even if he can't see you at the moment. "You're so cocky about it."
He doesn't say anything else as he kisses your forehead one last time, then sits up and drags you into the shower with him. He just hugs you from behind as you both stand under the showerhead, letting the warm water wake you both up. You were a bit nervous at first agreeing to shower with him, thinking it'd be awkward since the thought of showering with someone is intimate. But it's not. You both stay silent as you lather each other in your shower gel. Jungkook even asks if he can wash your hair and you lean against his shoulder as he massages your head.
When you're both clean, he leans in to kiss you. You get so lost in it that you let him have his way with you again. Pretty soon he's kneeling down on the bathroom tiles, mouth on your pussy and tongue flicking against your clit. You come quickly, tired and spent already from a while ago, and when he stands up to kiss you, you ask if you can suck him off. He says yes, and you find yourself on your knees this time. You learn soon enough that Jungkook's a head pusher. But he does it so gently. Maybe he's just as spent as you are. He comes pretty quickly as well, and you swallow it all up and smile at him after.
You both get dressed and are in bed again, right in his arms. Jungkook feels warm and sturdy but also soft. Your eyes start to close and you drift off to sleep.
Jungkook isn't beside you when you wake up the next morning. Instead, you find a note on your bedside table.
Have a lot to do today. Sorry I dipped. Didn't want to wake you.
summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.
but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.
pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader
genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, pov switches (1), jk is an acts of service king and a pathetic simp for oc, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs
word count: 5.5k
notes: i procrastinated the shit out of this chapter omfg, i’m so sorry for the wait. tysm to my bae isa @page-isa for beta-reading and providing me with concerts on call while i wrote lolol. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so so appreciated!! enjoy reading my loves <33
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⤷ chapter three — ivy
i could hate you now / it’s quite alright to hate me now / but we both know that deep down / the feeling still deep down is good
The knife makes a soft thunk against the cutting board as you slice through the last of the strawberries, bright red, juice bleeding out onto the wood. You scoop the pieces into a bowl with the others — kiwi, pineapple, blueberries, a few slices of watermelon. Colourful. Easy to share. Refreshing enough for the heat outside, you hope.
A headache throbs behind your temple. It’s been sitting there since you woke up, dull but insistent. Usually, you would've had a few painkillers in your purse for this exact situation, but you had been certain that you'd be fine on the trip.
You let out a soft sigh. If it weren’t for your own spectacular decision-making.
You tilt your head back gently, reaching up to rub your forehead with the back of your wrist, careful not to smear fruit juice across your skin. The cool tile under your bare feet helps. A little.
From the kitchen, you can just about make out the voices outside.
Laughter and chatter carries faintly. Someone shouts something you can't quite make out, and there's a burst of response.
You should be out there with them. You would be, on any other day. But you’re not risking it — not with your head pounding like this, like your brain is bruised beneath your skull. One hour under that sun, and you know you’ll spend the rest of the day curled up in the dark, miserable.
Well... at least, that’s the excuse you went with.
You haven’t talked to Jungkook since last night.
Not after you walked away, leaving him with nothing but the weight of his own words and the silence you wrapped yourself in.
'I figured… you’d be here.'
Like it was obvious. Like he still knew you. Like he hadn’t made the choice to not be part of your life anymore.
Last night, your anger had been sharp. You’d felt it in your jaw, your chest, your hands. But now, it’s dulled into something muddier.
You’d been telling yourself he’d moved on — that whatever the breakup had done to you, it hadn’t touched him the same way. That he was fine. Probably relieved. Probably already halfway into his next chapter, while you were still here, trying to rewrite your ending like it didn’t hurt. And maybe that assumption had made it easier. Easier to be mad. Easier to hate him a little.
But then last night… he said he came here for you. Like he missed you. Like you still mattered.
And that? That messed with things.
Because how are you supposed to stay angry at someone who walked away, then looked you in the eye like they never wanted to? How are you supposed to keep the space intact when he was the one reaching across it — gently, quietly, like he didn’t know he was doing it?
You’d built your resentment around the idea that he let go easily. That he wanted out more than he wanted you. But now, with the weight of his words still sitting heavy in your chest, the whole picture feels harder to hold. Blurrier.
Turns out, hate’s a lot easier when you think the other person never looked back. And you're clearly a weak link.
The sound of the sliding door pulls you out of your thoughts, and you don't have to look to know exactly who it is.
There’s a soft pad of bare feet on tile, a steady, unhurried rhythm you’ve heard a thousand times before. You keep your eyes on the bowl of fruit in front of you, pretending to rearrange a few pieces like it matters.
“Hey,” Jungkook says, his voice calm.
You don’t turn around. “Hey.”
There’s a pause, just long enough for you to feel it.
”You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine,” you answer, automatic. Then you exhale, conceding a little. “Just a headache.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him move closer. He’s wearing black swim shorts that cling slightly at the waist, water still darkening the edges. A loose white t-shirt hangs off his frame — a little translucent from where it’s stuck to his chest.
His hair’s damp, curls pushed back from his forehead like he ran his fingers through it and let it dry that way. He smells faintly like sunscreen and chlorine and the heat outside.
“Did you drink enough water?” he asks.
A laughing breath tumbles from your lips before you can stop yourself. You shake your head, mostly to yourself, and glance at him over your shoulder.
He raises an eyebrow, like he already knows why you're laughing.
“You say that every time,” you say.
“Because every time, it’s true,” he says, not missing a beat.
His tone is easy, but his eyes search your face like he’s still trying to make sure. You give him a look — not annoyed, just tired — and sip from the water bottle already in your hand.
“Yes,” you say. “I’ve had water. It’s probably nothing.”
Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. He just leans against the counter beside you, one hand bracing the edge. A droplet of water slides down the inside of his veiny forearm.
You pretend not to notice.
“You take anything for it?” he asks eventually.
You shake your head. “Didn’t bring any.”
He scoffs, low and amused. “Oh, so smart.”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks. Really helpful.”
He grins — not wide, not smug. Just soft around the edges. Familiar. The kind of grin he probably doesn’t realise he’s making.
He reaches into the drawer next to you without asking, pulling it open with a scrape of wood on wood. You glance sideways, eyebrows pulling together.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking if this place is stocked like a normal rental or if we’re screwed,” he says, sifting through half-empty tea boxes, a roll of foil, batteries, and a mostly dead flashlight. “And… yeah. Screwed.”
You exhale through your nose, more of a puff than a laugh. “Should’ve figured.”
“You know what you need?” he says, straightening up. “Cold compress. Or a wet towel.”
“I’m not that desperate.”
“You say that now,” he murmurs, stepping away and heading toward the sink. He grabs a dish towel from the rack, runs it under cool water, wrings it out with practiced ease.
He turns, holding it out to you — not pushing it into your hands, just waiting, giving you the option.
You hesitate.
You want to say no. You should. But your head throbs again, dull and pulsing behind your eyes, and maybe your pride’s not worth it right now.
You reach out, take it from him.
His fingers brush yours, just for a second. Your grip's not as steady as you’d like.
You fold the cloth once, press it to the side of your head, and close your eyes for a second. The coolness helps. Not enough, but it’s something.
When you open your eyes again, he’s still there, simply watching.
“What?” you ask.
He shakes his head, but there's a small smile on his face. "Nothing."
You narrow your eyes at him, but no further words leave your mouth.
He leans a little heavier into the counter, arms folded, eyes flicking over the kitchen like he’s killing time — like he knows you well enough to wait you out.
The kitchen settles into a soft hush, filled only by the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional burst of laughter from outside.
You keep your eyes forward, focused on nothing, the damp towel warming slowly in your hand. You can feel him looking — not staring, but thinking. Sitting on something.
He shifts his weight slightly, arms still folded across his chest. Then finally, he says, low and cautious, “Hey.”
You glance over, just barely. “Yeah?”
He hesitates, just long enough for you to brace yourself.
“About what I said last night.”
You blink, eyes flicking back to the counter.
Jungkook keeps going anyway. “I didn’t mean to… dump that on you, or say it like that. I wasn’t trying to make things harder. I just… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think.”
You let the silence hang a moment, long enough for the words to settle.
“It’s fine,” you say eventually, quietly. “I’d already forgotten about it.”
He nods, lips pressing together. “Still. I’m sorry.”
You don’t answer this time. Just give a small shrug, like it’s not worth talking about.
Another hush washes over the kitchen, this one heavier.
You both sit in it for a moment, like neither of you knows exactly where to go next, but he shifts slightly and clears his throat.
A beat passes. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he squints at the counter.
“So...” he says, dragging the word out just enough to be obvious. “Are you gonna tell me what’s in the bowl, or do I have to guess?”
The question is stupid. It’s clearly fruit. But it works. It’s light enough to crack the silence without pretending it wasn’t there.
You don’t say anything for a second. Just press the cloth a little firmer to your temple and exhale, slow.
“Fruit,” you say. "Strawberries, kiwi, watermelon, pineapple. Some other stuff."
Jungkook leans over to peek into the bowl, then reaches for the spoon. You slide it away before he can grab it.
He blinks at you, a beat of surprise. “Seriously?”
“I didn’t say you could have any.”
“Since when do I need permission?” he asks, brow raised.
You give him a flat look. “Since always. You just never listened.”
He grins like that’s not even close to a deterrent. “C’mon. I kept you from passing out on the kitchen floor. That’s at least worth a bite.”
You shift the spoon just slightly further out of reach, not smiling — not fully — but your mouth twitches like it’s thinking about it. “One bite.”
“I’m starving.”
“Should’ve thought of that before cannonballing off the deep end for an hour.”
He steps closer — not too close — but enough to peer over your shoulder again, dramatic and exaggerated. “You’re telling me I generously helped your migraine and you’re gonna gatekeep the fruit bowl?”
You roll your eyes. “Fine,” you mutter, sliding the spoon toward him with one finger. “You can have some. As long as you take the rest out to the others.”
He grabs the spoon like it’s a prize, already scooping a chunk of watermelon into his mouth. “Deal,” he says around it.
He chews slowly, gaze still fixed on the bowl, like he’s giving the fruit his full concentration.
Then he nods once, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s good.”
You say nothing, just shift the towel slightly against your temple, adjusting it where it’s starting to lose its chill.
He takes another bite — slower this time, as if he’s savouring the taste.
You glance over at him, just briefly. The light from the sliding door paints a soft sheen across his skin, catches in the damp ends of his hair. His profile is calm, unreadable. You know that look. He’s thinking about something he won’t say.
“You gonna take that out?” you ask eventually, nodding at the bowl.
He looks up like he forgot it was in his hands. “Yeah. Right.”
Jungkook lingers for a second longer than necessary, still holding the spoon. Then, finally, he turns toward the door.
Just before he slides it open, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.
“If you still feel bad later… I can run into town, grab something.”
"I can take care of myself, Jungkook.”
"I— right. I didn't mean it like that." He lets out a sigh. "Just don't die, yeah?"
You nod, and the door slides open again, letting in a gust of sun and the very distant echo of your friends yelling over music.
You let out a slow breath and rest both elbows on the counter, head still heavy.
And even though the ache behind your eyes is still there — stubborn and dull — it’s softened now. Just a little.
Your headache is mostly gone.
Not completely — there’s still a faint buzz behind your right eye — but it’s somewhat bearable now. The dull kind of pressure you can forget about if you keep still and breathe slow.
What really helped, you think, was the nap. A quiet hour stretched out on the couch with the curtains drawn halfway closed and the cold cloth still folded gently against your forehead.
You don’t remember falling asleep. One minute, you were lying there, your arm slung over your eyes to block the light, and the next, you were waking up to the distant sound of laughter outside, the ache in your head a few degrees cooler.
The towel was still cold when you stirred. Not freezing, but fresher than it had any right to be after an hour against your skin.
You hadn’t put it back in the freezer.
You’re almost sure you didn’t move at all.
Which means… someone had to have changed it amidst your slumber.
You’re not sure how you feel about it. If it even happened. If it means anything.
It shouldn’t. You tell yourself that. It shouldn’t mean anything.
But something about it sticks in your chest.
You’d asked for space — not out loud, not exactly, but in all the ways that mattered. In how you walked away, in how you haven’t reached for him since. And yet… here you are. Picking apart the temperature of a towel like it holds any real weight.
You’re trying not to read into things.
Really, you are.
But it’s hard when the lines keep blurring.
Pretending in front of the others is one thing. A mutual act, a lie with rules and boundaries. But the quiet moments are harder — the ones where no one is looking. Those feel like the truth, leaking out in small, inconvenient ways.
And now here you are.
The beach is stretched out before you in all its sleepy, golden haze. You’ve only been out here for ten minutes; just long enough to settle on your towel and feel the sun warm the backs of your legs.
When you stepped out of the house, the last serve of a makeshift volleyball game had just hit the sand. Taehyung and Hoseok stood dramatically with their arms raised like they'd won the Olympics, while Jimin fell to his knees with an exaggerated groan, sand puffing up beneath him. Seokjin declared the whole thing rigged.
Now, the energy has dipped.
Yoongi is passed out with a bucket hat covering his face. Seokjin’s sitting near the cooler, sipping something canned and cold with his arm lazily slung around Haeun’s waist. Everyone else lies scattered across the sand
The air smells like sunscreen and salt. The ocean hums steady in the background, lapping up against the shore.
And beside it all — Jungkook is somewhere behind you.
You haven’t looked directly at him since you laid your towel down, but you can almost feel his presence.
You shift on your stomach, resting your cheek against your folded arms as you watch Ari walk toward the water, her ankles sinking into the wet sand with each step. The back of your neck is starting to warm. A little too much.
“You're gonna get sunburnt,” comes Jungkook’s voice, low and close behind you.
You don’t lift your head. Just let out a small noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he replies, not unkindly. “Do you really wanna deal with a migraine and a sun burn at the same time?”
You squint forward, not at anything in particular. The sun is still high, still hot. That tell tale sting is starting to spread across your shoulders, the heat clawing at your skin.
But still, you don’t move.
“I’m too comfortable,” you mumble into your arms.
Behind you, there’s a pause. A quiet snort. The soft click of a bottle opening.
“Then don’t move,” Jungkook says. “I’ve got it.”
You could say no. Could roll away, wave him off, insist on doing it yourself. But you don’t. Whether it’s the heat, the sleep still clinging to your limbs, or just the fact that resisting feels like more effort than it’s worth — you stay where you are.
You hear him kneel beside you in the sand, shifting his weight until his shadow falls across your back.
A second later, the first touch of sunscreen lands cool and smooth on your skin, right between your shoulder blades. His hands follow, spreading it across your back with steady, practiced pressure.
You tense at first, your body instinctively stiffening beneath the weight of his palms. But it’s not like you don’t know how he touches. You do. That knowledge is in your bones, no matter how much time has passed.
He’s methodical about it. No lingering, no hesitation — just slow, firm strokes. Across your shoulders. Down the curve of your spine. It doesn't feel like anything more than it is. It shouldn't.
Still, you keep your face turned away, your sunglasses hiding the part of you that can’t stop reading into this.
He’s just doing it to show the others.
His hand drags slightly higher, toward the back of your neck — just above where your bikini strap cuts across your skin — and slows.
His fingers brush lightly over the spot where your tattoo is inked into your skin: small, fine-lined, nothing dramatic. Just a single, understated flower.
His birth flower. A small tiger lily.
He’s quiet for a beat. Long enough that you notice.
It was years ago. You’d gotten them together after a night out with the group — a bit drunk and feeling impulsive. You’d been walking past a tiny tattoo studio near campus while on the way home, a place you’d both seen a hundred times but never gone into. And for some reason that night, you did.
It was an idea that made sense at the time.
He has your birth flower on the back of his neck too, low enough to hide beneath the collar of a hoodie. Yours a mirror of his, but a small bit higher.
You never talked about what they meant. Not out loud. They weren’t anything too special. Just... markers of time. Of who you were to each other then.
And now here he is, brushing sunscreen over it like he’s trying not to think about the fact that it’s still there.
You feel his fingers hesitate — just for a second — right over the ink. His thumb grazes the edge of it, subtle enough that you almost miss it. But you don’t. You feel everything.
Then he clears his throat softly and moves on, his hands smoothing down the rest of your back with the same quiet efficiency as before. Like nothing happened. Like it didn’t matter.
And maybe it doesn’t.
But the tension in your jaw says otherwise.
By the time he’s finished, your skin feels slick and protected, the burn averted. But something else lingers — not on your back, but under your ribs. Low and restless.
"Thanks," you mumble.
He lets out a small hum in response, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. For a second, you think he's going to say something, but instead, he scoots over to his own towel placed a few feet away from yours.
Minutes slip by in a blur of warmth and white noise.
You stay there, cheek pressed against the crook of your arm, letting the sun soak into your back. The sounds around you start to flatten — laughter, crashing waves, the thump of footsteps on sand — all melting together into something distant and slow. You’re not sure how long you lie there, half-awake, thoughts drifting somewhere between now and then, between what was and what isn’t anymore.
You don’t notice the shape that settles beside you until it casts a shadow across your towel.
“Wow,” Kiara says, dropping onto the sand with a dramatic exhale, “you’ve been so boring today.”
You lift your head slightly, squinting at her through your sunglasses. “Rude.”
“I’m serious,” she says, unbothered, propping herself up on her elbows. “You’re usually all over the place. But today?” She sighs. “Nothing. It’s been tragic.”
You snort, the sound muffled by your arm. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“I’m just saying,” she says, nudging your leg lightly with hers. “You’re throwing off the group dynamic."
You laugh for real this time — small, but genuine — and lift yourself slightly off your towel. Your head feels better, the pressure dulled to a faint hum. Manageable.
"You are good though, right?"
“I’m fine,” you say, rubbing at your temple with the back of your hand. “Just needed a break.”
“Well,” she drawls, sitting upright, “if you’re feeling human again, please tell me you’ll play one more round of volleyball.”
You blink. “Volleyball?”
“Yes,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “We need even teams, and I’m tired of getting stuck with Taehyung. He's genuinely a lost cause.”
You hesitate, and she watches you closely. Then, with a tilt of her head, she adds, “If you're feeling well, that is. Jungkook said that you had a headache earlier. He told all of us to keep it down when he saw you walking out, so I figured you were dying or something.”
“Oh,” you say, voice a little thinner than you’d like. “Right.” You force a breath through your nose. “I’m okay now. The nap helped.”
“Good,” she grins, bright and unbothered. “Because I refuse to lose to Jimin and this asshole again." She glances over at Jungkook with narrowed eyes, and you hear him chuckle. "My dignity can’t handle it," she adds, voice dropping a tiny bit.
You laugh and push yourself upright, brushing sand from your arms. “Fine. But Kiara, if someone spikes the ball at my face, you'll be the one that ends up dead.”
She beams, grabbing your hand and pulling you up to your feet. “No promises, but sure.”
She lets go of your hand as soon as you’re steady, then turns and jogs toward Hoseok to try and convince him to play too.
You dust off your legs with a sigh, flexing your toes in the warm sand. The heat radiates up through your soles, grounding. The sun is relentless now, painting everything in gold and glare.
You glance sideways toward the towel a few feet away.
Jungkook is still there, stretched out on his back with one arm slung across his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. From here, he looks peaceful. Like the ocean and the warmth and the quiet are all he needs.
You hesitate, then step closer.
“You playing?” you ask, voice light, careful.
Jungkook peeks one eye open, blinking up at you. “Nah,” he says, dragging the word out. “Too tired.”
You pause. Your first instinct is to roll your eyes. Maybe push. Maybe say something along the lines of 'Scared I'll beat you?'
But you don’t.
You open your mouth, but the words dry up before they form. Instead, you just give him a simple, “Alright.”
You turn toward the lazy line drawn into the sand (their version of a volleyball net), pretending you don’t hear the voice in your head asking why you even bothered in the first place.
It's not like you care.
You’re sitting on the edge of the pool, ankles skimming the surface, the pads of your feet just brushing cool water. There’s a half-empty glass of something fruity beside you on the tile. Hoseok’s cracking up mid-story, animated like always, throwing his arms out as he re-enacts some tragic college memory that has you clutching your stomach with laughter.
You’re glowing. Not in the cliché way — not some poetic, golden-hour kind of glow — but in that real, visceral way you used to around him. Like the air is lighter in your lungs when you’re surrounded by the people who get you. Like joy just leaks out of you without asking for permission.
And Jungkook?
He sits beside you. A little too close. Not close enough.
His legs are in the water too, knees bent, toes flexing every now and then as Namjoon speaks beside him, something low and thoughtful and typical of Namjoon — philosophy or music or that book he never shuts up about. Jungkook nods, murmurs something back, throws a quiet smile when Namjoon teases him for zoning out, but his attention never really leaves you.
You.
Laughing like you used to, shoulders shaking, head thrown back.
You reach out mid-laugh, fingers curling instinctively around Hoseok’s arm as you recover, and Jungkook’s heart does this pathetic little stutter in his chest. It shouldn’t matter. He knows that. Hoseok is family — your friend, his friend, everyone’s friend — and nothing more. But it’s the way you touch. So easy. So natural. So unguarded.
Like the version of you that still belongs to everyone else hasn’t changed.
The version of you he gets, though?
Guarded. Quiet. Careful.
And he deserves it. He knows that.
But still, it hurts.
It’s stupid, really. How he sits here, nodding along to a conversation he’s not even hearing, all while tracking your every laugh like it’s the air he breathes; like he’s parched and it’s the only thing that could quench it.
He doesn’t mean to do it. He tries to stop. But it’s been a month — just a month — and already he’s forgotten how to breathe in a world where your joy doesn’t belong to him.
Your fingers swipe at your eyes, wiping away tears from the laughter, and Jungkook can’t help but notice how your guard drops when you’re surrounded by them. How you’ve drawn a clear line around him, and only him.
You talk to everyone but him with that voice. The one that dances. The one he used to fall asleep to on long nights when sleep wouldn’t come unless your words wrapped around the edges of his mind first.
Now?
You barely look at him unless you have to.
Even now, you’re angled slightly away. Just enough to remind him that he lost access to something no one else even realises is sacred.
And he let it happen.
He chose this. And fuck, does he regret it.
It’s a strange kind of punishment — being near you like this. Close enough to hear your laughter, to count the freckles on your shoulders, to smell the sunscreen on your skin — and still feel completely shut out. He’s sitting in the middle of everything, surrounded by friends, summer heat, fading sun — and yet all he can think about is how badly he wants to reach for you, and how he can’t.
A splash breaks Jungkook out of his thoughts, followed by a sharp, familiar voice.
“Jimin, seriously, if you drop that in—”
“I’m not gonna drop it!”
He twists just slightly enough to see Jimin in the pool, chest deep, both arms stretched upward to keep Yasmine’s baby pink digital camera above the water. The strap is wrapped twice around his wrist, but he still moves like the thing’s made of glass, carefully navigating the shallow end of the pool.
He’s grinning, eyes curled into crescent moons behind the camera as he wades closer.
“Smile!” he shouts, voice echoing a little off the tile.
Jungkook barely has enough time to throw up a casual peace sign before the shutter snaps.
Jimin squints at the screen, adjusting the angle slightly before lifting the camera again.
“One more! The lighting’s really good right now.”
The sky is washed in that honey-orange haze that only happens for a few precious minutes before dusk. The pool reflects it all — golden ripples catching light, soft shadows stretching across the deck.
You sit still beside Jungkook, your laughter cooling into a smile. Your hand brushes your hair back absently, and it takes everything in him not to follow the movement.
Jimin lowers the camera again, brows lifting. “Wait, I wanna get one of just you two."
You hesitate, eyes flicking toward Jungkook for the briefest second. He meets your gaze and he can see the hesitance swimming in your mind.
But before he can open his mouth to tell Jimin that the picture isn't needed, you adjust your legs, turning slightly so your shoulder brushes his.
It’s not much. But it’s not nothing.
Jungkook lifts an arm, pausing for half a second, then lets his hand settle at your waist, fingers just grazing the curve of your side.
You lean into his touch, your shoulder slipping under his arm, your hand moving to rest on his knee, and Jungkook's heart trips. No warning, no rhythm. It just skips — sharp and stupid and immediate.
Because this feels familiar. And fuck, he’s missed this.
“Okay,” Jimin calls. “Say cheese!”
You smile.
Click.
He turns his head ever so slightly to sneak a glance at you, and his breath catches.
Your smile isn’t fake. Not forced. Not the stiff, polite kind you’ve been tossing his way when the group’s looking. It’s real — soft and bright, with your eyes crinkling at the corners and your nose doing that little scrunch it always does when you’re genuinely happy. Your eyelashes catch the light, casting faint shadows on your cheeks.
Click.
The sound barely fades before something reckless flickers in Jungkook.
His hand tightens slightly at your waist, like he’s grounding himself, or maybe trying to stop himself from doing exactly what he’s about to do. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s not entitled to moments like this anymore.
But God, you’re right there. Glowing. Laughing like you used to. And it’s killing him.
He watches the way your lips part slightly after your smile, the way your eyes dart to the camera and then away again. You look happy — not with him, but still. And it’s that exact version of you he aches for. The one that used to look at him like that on purpose.
He should look away.
He should remember that you're not his anymore. That whatever you're doing right now — playing pretend, leaning into the role for the sake of everyone else — isn’t real.
He tells himself not to do it.
Tells himself to breathe. To sit still. To just let this moment exist without taking anything from it.
But he doesn’t listen.
He never could, when it comes to you.
So before he can think twice — before reason has a chance to claw its way back in — he leans in, slow and quiet and aching.
And presses a kiss to your cheek.
It’s soft. A touch more than a breath, less than a second.
His lips barely linger, but it’s enough. Enough to remember. Enough to want
Click.
To his surprise, you don’t flinch or pull away.
You just… sit there. Letting it happen.
Jimin chirps something about the photo, already moving on, flipping the camera around to show Taehyung and Yasmine as they ask him to take a similar picture of them too.
But Jungkook barely hears them.
He can’t hear much over the pounding in his chest, anyway. Can’t think beyond the feel of your skin under his lips, the way your shoulder fit under his arm like it still belongs there. Like nothing’s changed.
Maybe that’s why his voice comes out quieter than he means it to.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Habit.”
You don’t look at him. But you don’t move away either. Your hand stays on his knee, almost as if you know that the second either of you move, the moment is over.
The air goes still between you. And for the first time all day, Jungkook lets himself breathe.
Not fully. Not the kind of breath that fills your lungs and clears your head. But something. Something real enough that it almost feels like hope.
Then you shift.
Just slightly.
Your hand slides off his knee, fingers brushing the fabric of his shorts as you pull away.
You stand up slowly, brushing the back of your hand across your cheek where he kissed you, like you’re wiping away sweat — or maybe just trying to reset the moment.
You don’t say anything. Just pick up your drink, half-finished and watered down by melted ice, and move toward Haeun and Ari near the deep end who welcome you with a small wave of their fingers.
Jungkook watches you go.
He should feel stupid. Regretful. Humiliated, even. But he doesn’t. Not really.
Because for one second — just one — you didn’t pull away.
You let him exist beside you. With you. Like maybe some part of you remembered, too.
And maybe that means nothing.
Maybe it was just muscle memory.
But maybe — maybe — there’s still something left to hold onto.
Even if it hurts.
Even if it’s only for one more week.
Even if all he gets now are seconds.
And he’ll take them.
Because when it comes to you, he always would.
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Summary: You anticipated the trip to Jungkook's hometown with a thrilled yet nervous heart – and upon your arrival, your emotions prove justified: because as the days pass, you realise that gentle joy awaits just as much as ancient pain.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader
➳ rating: 18+
➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluuuuuff, smut
➳ warnings: fluff fluff fluffluffulfufluf, flirting, daddy issues, arguments with his father, his dad is pretty much an ass and almost as bad as oc's mom, but his mom and brother are <3, ria <3, oc being a light in the dark, oc learns many new things, cursing, fighting, a lot of crying/tears, neglect, mental breakdown, panic and anxiety, anger, insecurities, too many mentions of nostalgia lmao, jealousy, mention of therapy, nara, christian yu lmAO, WEDDING TIME!!!, oc is so pretty (that jk loses it), alcohol/drunk stuff, more confrontations, making up, he loves loves loves her, childhood coping mechanisms; explicit sexual content: kissing, making out, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, eating out against the wall, bit of wall sex, drunk sex, manhandling omg, impatient koo, big dick!jk, dom!jk but this timeeee also sub!jk lowkey!!, tears of pleasure, masturbation, fingering, handjob for a bit, squirting, creampie, literally their orgasms are a MESS phew it's kinda hot lmao, moany/whiny/super turned on jk; no 'the ending' warning this time… just the whole chapter 🥺
➳ word count: 45.9k lmfao pls do still read it tho
➳ a/n: this was supposed to be 30k i can just never shut up lol sorry <3 but this chapter honestly got me good. i cried sm writing it and i love them and i never want this story to end :') i hope you love it, too. thank you for supporting me at all times <3 i can't wait to hear what you think 🤍
➳ listen to: dance me to the end of love by the civil wars (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍
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MASTERLIST | WIPs
It’s going to be okay — Jungkook’s hand gently clasping your thigh wants to convince you of this, you know.
But you can’t deny that the presence of the family you so long awaited is affecting you — your pulse is quickening to a heavily uncomfortable pace. You know his mom; you don’t fear his brother; but his father… his eyes are inscrutable.
They scare you to no end. There he is; the power continuously shattering your boyfriend’s heart. And Jungkook must be well conscious of your distress; because a mere moment later, he of all people, the one who's supposed to seek comfort, says—
“Angel? Breathe.”
Your eyes swerve to the side and remember to blink; you only now feel that you're jabbing crescent moons into your palm, just when you realise the sharp impact. You uncurl your fingers and nod, letting him cover the faintly scarred skin with his hand.
Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”
“I am,” he says, nodding, as if he’s practised and polished this answer over the years, “nervous, but… it’ll be okay.”
“Yes… I know.”
“Let’s go?”
You pull the handles on your respective sides at the same time, setting foot onto the stranger soil for the very first second in your life. You can’t quite discern your gut feeling right now, but you hope it’s not the last.
Waiting next to the car, you watch Jungkook round the vehicle, squinting your eyes; the noon sun is burning right above you. He heaves the suitcases with a faint groan and you join him right away to fetch the rucksack you brought.
Holding it between your knees, you flash his family a smile and a slight wave, awkward and unsure about what to do until his mother steps down the porch and towards you. She’s elated, and you see the same sprinkle in her eyes as in her son’s when she closes in enough for an embrace.
Her arms are comforting around you; somehow, you’re startled by it. Takes you a second to reciprocate the hug, hopefully not long enough for her to question your receptiveness. But then you put your chin on her shoulder, shutting your eyes for the briefest of seconds until you open them to a side hug between Jungkook and his brother.
In the slowly cooling weather, she feels warm, a motherly love that blasts heat to your cheeks until she lets go. “Finally a woman, huh?” she breathes, her voice so sweet and kind. “A great alternative to all the testosterone.”
“I can imagine,” you respond; the thought isn’t too much of a stranger to you. “I spent most of the week amongst men. They’re barbarians.”
She laughs, just in the moment that Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother advances towards you. He offers you his hand and a radiant smile that resembles your boyfriend’s. In fact, he does look quite a bit like his younger sibling. Lopsided smirk, fluffy dark hair, handsome features.
Not a lot older. Kind as he greets you with a, “Miss Novaura herself, yes?”
The name makes you beam, inundates you with pride. You appreciate that he doesn’t revert to Charmante as most people have done throughout your life, but sees you as what you are and what you do now. The manager of Novaura, damn it.
Yes.
Has he been keeping up with stuff?
“And Miss Novaura meets the second Jeon himself!” you respond, but as he grimaces, you bite your tongue immediately. What did you say?
“When,” he starts, overly dramatic, a little like Jungkook, yet somewhat more extroverted, “was I demoted to the second Jeon?”
“Oh, I’m…”
Jungkook clicks his tongue from the side, shoving his brother aside in the most sibling-like manner you can possibly imagine. Then, he threatens, “Don’t do this, or I’ll take her away from you guys again.”
“What’s that mean?” you ask.
“It means,” Junghyun interjects, “that everyone’s been dying to meet you. Mom and I even told Jungkook not to spill too much about you, so we can see ourselves.”
Oh, the pressure. The nervousness from the past couple of weeks skyrockets. Yet, your charming self conjures, “Then I hope I don’t disappoint.”
Jeon Junghyun speaks on, babbling something reassuring that you’re certain could warm your chest if you had the capacity to listen. But you drift off quickly as the side of your eyes follows a movement in the back: Jungkook timidly, almost fearfully nearing his father.
You’re alarmed and you can’t tell why — perhaps because you don’t truly know their situation yet. You haven’t seen them interact. But at this very moment, you’re surprised when Jungkook and his dad share a light side hug, too.
The occurrence is frigid, but somehow, you expected even more frozen behaviour. Rare glances, absolute ignorance. Your mind envisioned a world that harboured true enmity, but you don’t think that’s quite what these two have been maintaining over the years.
In some sense, it’s worse.
Because rather than pure silence, there’s a deep distance that is still disguised as a surface level of closeness in a family. Faking it might just be more difficult after all.
There’s no conversation between them. Nothing much as Jungkook comes back to his mother to give her a warm, genuine hug, a rainbow to a drizzle in comparison. As if to receive what his father didn’t provide.
You follow.
You’re not entirely keen on a too affectionate interaction between his dad and you, but you still smile when he lifts his hand, shaking it kindly. From here, as the corners of his lips raise, wrinkles around his eyes that he passed onto his next generation, he looks like a terribly nice man.
He gestures into the house and you follow, listening as he asks, “Was the journey okay?”
You nod joyfully, mustering up all kindness for somebody you know hurt someone you love for so long. After all, Jungkook has done the same for you, no matter how many times your mother shattered you.
And in the end, it’s still his dad.
“Oh, yes, pretty pleasant,” you answer, clearing your throat when you hear the formal tone in your voice. “We took turns driving. And since I fell asleep, I guess I can still seize the rest of the day… if you want to?”
You turn to Jungkook as the sentence fades out and he nods with raised, stirred eyebrows. “Yeah! It’s what we’re here for.”
His father smiles, a flat hand signalling towards the living room to invite you to rest for now. Matters seem normal so far; for a moment, you allow yourself to believe he isn’t so neglectful after all. Even with all your trust in Jungkook, you try to imagine a scenario in which he perceived his father’s distaste as something wrong.
You’re incorrect.
It doesn’t require more than a couple minutes and a bit more mingling until you recognise amidst the smalltalk that he doesn’t behave the same with his younger son as he does with Junghyun. There’s lightness in the way he converses with the latter.
Jungkook only moves around you and his mother; no particular intention to really connect with his dad. Understandably so. Their gazes barely meet.
Not even when his father’s tone drops as he approaches Jungkook, uttering a seemingly obligatory, “You alright? Is the job good?”
“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.
The interaction is awkward and quiet, yet too noisy for the lovely room. You focus on the homely furniture and small-town-vibed interior as you wait for the brief dialogue to conclude. You’re not at a place to intervene yet.
There are pictures of the family, yet fresher if you could judge. The ones showcasing memories are probably somewhere you can’t see yet; you’re buzzing to finally skim through his childhood pictures.
You listen in. Quiet again, conversation already at an end.
Jungkook’s fingertips graze yours, giving a short head tilt, wondering what you’re thinking about. His beam is different when he looks at you now, a much more blissful alternative to the timid words he voiced just a couple seconds ago.
But you can’t really answer when his mother emerges in the room to wave you towards the kitchen, eager to converse, yet suggesting, “If you want, you can freshen up before dinner.”
But you reject the idea kindly, flashing your best smile as you respond, “I’m excited to be here, so we can just talk a little for now. I’ll go wash my face after dinner!”
She nods slowly, politely, a the-guest-is-king-sort of gesture before you add, “How have you been?”
The family joins at the dinner table one by one; nobody interferes or barges into another’s turn. Only listens. You’re used to chaos from events and parties you used to attend, everybody dying to have the last word, to outsmart another.
This family is as patient at a conversation as you’ve witnessed in your boyfriend. They’re lively, interested; maybe there’ll be more of an ecstatic family tumult when you get used to them or when more people join. At the wedding, probably.
You’ve seen something like that with your friends, too. Especially on this vacation. You did fall into disorder quite often.
Yet, it differs from your usual experience. No discomfort. No fear of odd questions.
The Jeons aren’t out to reveal your little secrets, but to understand you as a person; so you appreciate the natural flow of the dialogue when Jungkook’s mother answers, “Just tired. The wedding preparations are tedious, and it’ll probably only get worse.”
“Yeah? You’ve been helping out a lot, yes?”
“Yes, somewhat. The bride… Gayoung, she’s close with us and relies on us a lot. And on top of that,” she shakes her head at this point; rolls her eyes as she turns on the stove, stirring and heating up some meal, “she’s getting cold feet.”
“Oh man,” Jungkook adds, chuckling a little, unsurprised, “wedding is definitely on, though. She always gets nervous. Almost missed her first day at work years ago,” he turns to you, “she’s a vet, and she was terrified of hurting the pets, but… everybody trusts her with their pets’ lives now.”
“Awh,” you voice, “I can imagine how stressful that must be. I’m pretty good at managing stuff, though, so if you need any help—”
“No way, you’re not here to work. You can do something else?” His mother looks over her shoulder, pondering. “Paint?”
“Oh, I do paint sometimes, but I’m not very good at it.”
“She is,” Jungkook argues, hand lifting to rub your back, “but she’s an even better writer.”
His father chimes in, arms folded, “Oh, I think you can get a ton of inspiration here, then. There’s a flower field nearby if you’re interes— what?”
Stopping when Jungkook interrupts with an exhale, he tilts his head at his son, and you follow his gaze, watching thick eyebrows kiss. “I already took care of that, but… way to spoil a surprise.”
Ah. You see the hostility increase with each second. You wish you could diffuse the moment; tell Jungkook to ignore everything that might irk him.
Instead, you only sneak your palm to his knee, imitating his rub to calm his nerves. He must be tense. He always must be.
“I wasn’t spoiling,” his father argues, “was just an idea.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” you intervene, patting Jungkook’s thigh. He looks at you just briefly, but it suffices for some of his muscles to relax. “I don’t know much anyway. Spoiler-free zone!”
It’s the best you can do. So you keep trying; diverge the topic to other aspects of your life when Junghyun asks about your job and the efforts connected to it. About the joys and hardships of it. About how your parents are doing — burdensome topic, yet a must to master.
Then they speak about the passage of time in the city, and how it compares to this place; how the family perceived the differences and how their current life differs from their past here.
You learn that they still feel more connected to their hometown; obvious when considering the fact that they spent most of their years here. Initially uncertain about moving, they still decided to be closer to their children and the world’s opportunities.
The city called and it kept them.
You know it kept Jungkook the most; or maybe it was you who shackled him there, too.
“Apart from the obvious differences,” you start, “I can’t comment much on it yet, but… I’ve been really interested in being here. Super nervous.”
His mother coos, scrunching her nose the way he does, assures that there’s no need to be nervous; that this wedding might end up being the kindest you have ever been to. Adds, “Speaking of. Brought a pretty dress?”
“Oh, of course,” you say; your toes curl in excitement. “I’d show you right now, but I promised to keep it more or less a secret from Jungkook.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “He’s seen it, but not me wearing it.”
“Ah. Is it that pretty?”
“It’s pretty amazing.”
She steps closer as the dish simmers, playing with a couple strands hanging in Jungkook’s eyes. His lips twitch upwards, and his cheeks colour in a blush when she says, “Well, knowing this guy, you’re out to give my boy half a nervous breakdown, I see.”
“I’m trying to, really.”
Your answer is light-hearted, but a mere moment late. You can’t help but wonder what she means by knowing this guy. Then again, you presume a mother usually witnesses her children’s lives; watches them fall in and out of love.
You don’t like how the realisation makes you feel, but you smile it away either way.
And it doesn’t help when Junghyun seems to catch onto her statement, too, saying, “By the way… I’ve heard that at the wedding, we—”
But the interruption is sharp. Unnatural, abrupt, his mother’s voice strange when she interjects, “Ah. Listen. Let’s serve dinner, and we can talk more when we eat. A hand?”
You don’t know what it’s about, but you attempt your best to not be nosy. You can’t even guess it, so it’s probably easiest to let it go. To only stand up to help a little, Jungkook and you handing things around until you’re seated again.
She still scolds Junghyun silently, eyes wide when she sits next to him; perhaps it’s a surprise for Jungkook or for you.
You won’t spoil it. Focus on the food.
And despite the early tension, you survive dinner, albeit occasionally cut by things Jungkook’s father remarks and by Jungkook’s responses of retaliation. Like—
“Honestly, you not liking these is a perk,” Junghyun comments when Jungkooks puts the green beans aside, snatching them immediately.
His father is quick to deduce, “Didn’t you love them?”
Jungkook’s smirk is immediate, accompanied by a shrug and a click of his tongue, and a somewhat passive aggressive, “Yes. Fifteen years ago, though.”
It’s odd, the mixture of anger and fear. He reveals his agitation in his short answers, but he never extends them to something that might provoke a bigger fight.
His father then says, “I’ve never seen you put them aside.”
To which Jungkook mutters, “Should’ve looked more then, right.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“Okay.”
Tense. Quiet. Gulping.
But you get it over with, breathe and touch through it all until the plates are cleared, stuffed in the dishwasher, the clock ticking. Jungkook leads you to the porch that his family greeted you at earlier. You intertwine your fingers deeper, hoping for some solace between the irate words exchanged.
His shoulders stand slightly higher than usual, eyes a little unfocused. You squeeze his palm, and he laughs when you bump your shoulder against his. Tapping his foot against the porch, he says, “This is where we were having a barbeque this summer. Remember when I called you?”
As if you could forget. Those calls got you through messy, forsaken summer days. He lets go of your hand to tug you into his side, tight in his embrace, and your voice grows a pitch when you answer, “Yeah. You were drunk.”
“I was.”
“And you still called me. Burned your finger, right?”
He scoffs. “I barely remember that. I just remember seeing you on the video call and… missing you really bad.”
You glance into his face, opting him to do the same. Eyes half on his lips, half on his pupils, staring to and fro, you ask, “You don’t miss me now, though, right?”
“Hm… I don’t hope I’ll ever need to again.” As he presses into your arm, you cuddle in. He nods towards the small front yard, “They were playing Linkin Park here. And way back, when I was like seventeen, I’d smoke here sometimes.”
Your eyes blow wide; you can’t imagine his gentle fingers holding a cigarette between them, but then again, you kind of can. He laughs at your surprise before he continues, “I know. Rebellious phase. It was stupid, because Mom would smell it right away and then ground me.”
“Damn, Kook.”
He nods, lifting a shoulder as if to say my bad, and then kisses your temple. Asks, “You feeling good?”
“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”
“Good.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
“Good,” you echo, just for him to do it, too.
“Good. I think we cou—”
Pause.
Because the feast of interruptions continues still. A sudden, shrill call of his name reverberates across the streets, and you flinch, following the sound on the right before detecting somebody walking up to you.
You haven’t seen her yet, but she’s glowing; hair open behind her, just the top half held at the back with a butterfly claw clip. The breeze swirls her bangs, and just from the exhilaration in her voice, you can tell who it is.
Jungkook lights up equally when he squints his eyes and recognises her, loosening his grip around you as he exclaims, “Hey!”
“Helloooo!”
And then he lets you go. You watch the endearments unfold. He says, “Didn’t expect you here today.”
“Me neither,” she says, and he laughs; you join in, already curious. “I was going to binge some show, but Junghyun texted saying you’d arrived.”
She catches up with a somewhat heavy breath, widening her arms when Jungkook steps down from the porch and engulfs her in a firm, heart-warming hug. Loving, decades old.
They oscillate on the spot, and she rubs his back until they let go. She doesn’t waste a minute until her eyes drift to you; they’re so expressive, dark yet glimmering. They prove your assumption when you see her joy towards you immediately.
The moment begins a little awkwardly as the stranger approaches you with uncertainty about what to say, but then she asks, “Is it okay if I hug you, too?”
You giggle. Goodness.
“Gosh, sure!”
And you’re delighted to the bone. Her touch is warm, inviting. They all are. You’re not used to it; why does it make you sentimental? You don’t know her. You’ve never spoken to her. Why the clump in your throat?
Weird.
“Ria,” she introduces, “I’ve heard so much about you. Really, it’s a common thing to say, but I’ve been really excited like… man, why did you come so late when he was sooo whipped in the summer already and—”
Your face heats up impossibly; this thought of a passed summer that called upon a million unknown emotions and words and encounters and yearning… you might never get over it.
Jungkook gives her a playful whack on her clothed arm, eliciting a prolonged Owhhh. You lift a protective arm over her to jest back, and she gasps, infinitely pleased. It helps her open up more, because it seems that she doesn’t need more than this to suggest, “Can I take her?”
Wrinkles form on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows in confusion, and she, nearly jumping at her spot, explains, “Show her around a bit. We’re having dinner soon and then I won’t be able to move, so…”
Jungkook blinks, unsure, looking between her and you until you urge, “It’s okay. You drove most of the time, too, so try and rest a bit.”
Your reassurance helps; either way, you don’t think you would’ve gotten to much more today anyway, no matter how much you hoped to seize the evening. You’re beat from the last day and the terrible night and the tiring journey and the filling meal.
Taking a walk is all you can imagine to do right now.
Maybe he’s on the same wavelength as you, because the nods come slowly but surely. “Sure. Go. I’ll come later to bring her back.”
Ria places a sweet hand on your back, urging you forward and speaking back, “Gotta make sure I don’t kidnap her, what?”
Her house is nearby. The first of the conversation goes by similarly as it did in Jungkook’s house, but the moment she announces the arrival at her own home, your calm demeanour changes to a rather terrified one.
She’s not going to…
No.
Because she promises, “I’m not taking you inside, no worries. I wouldn’t overwhelm you like this.”
Your chest relaxes. You guess meeting one family officially, as if you’re being evaluated for marriage, might suffice. While sure her family’s as lovely as the other, you don’t want the overstimulation.
So instead of urging you inside, she takes you to the small cottage next to her house. Their property is a little bigger, the area spacier. You soon find out that the little house she’s taking you to isn’t some guest thing, but houses dozens of farm animals.
You didn’t think there was something to the cliché you heard about small towns; yet, the reality is much more endearing. How oddly cheerful the animals seem, even though you know the fantasy is just a fabrication of your mind.
You don’t know what they’re thinking or feeling.
One of the hens clucks as Ria picks it up, looking at you with big eyes as she says, “I thought you guys would come early in the night and then just sleep. I didn’t know you’d arrive so much earlier.”
“Oh yeah!” you say, hands in the back pockets of your jeans, “We left the hotel at noon.”
“That’s crazy.”
She bends, letting the hen go, and the little thing instantly rushes away. You flinch, stepping back. You’ve never done this before; you try to keep your cool, but you’re so inexperienced, mesmerised by your surroundings.
This place is so different, so much quieter, more serene. You understand the nostalgic vibe of romance movies set in towns like this. You’re suddenly thrown into The Notebook and into Footloose. Into everything that evokes warmth.
“What is?” you ask.
“Just. It’s so nice to meet you. We have so many guys here, so it’s cool to be with a girl for once.” She takes a deep breath. “And I love Kookie and I trust his judgement. So when he told me about you, I told him to get you here right away. It took you so long.”
Her tone is frisky, but you feel bad. Not quite because you let her wait, but because of why you waited yourself. Because of the breaks and pauses and the split hearts that you needed time for to sew again.
The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.
Something in the pit of your stomach stirs at the memories; you can’t believe you’re standing where he fell for you first, despite the distance. Where he reached for you through the rain and the clouds and the stars, and called to listen to your tears and your pleas to return.
You can’t believe it. In fact, yes, you believe it as little as her.
“I get it…” you say, “we have quite a few guys in our group, too.” You wait, watching her nod as she inspects the last of chickens running into the cottage. Then you ask, “What did he tell you about me?”
“What he told me? Mmmh. I mean, it’s difficult to say. He spoke of you highly, but I think his main focus was on not hurting either of you. Very, very worried about how things might play out.”
Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.
You don’t answer; shift your eyes to the grassy ground. You hear her voice lift a pitch as she says, “Man, too many guys is simply too much, though, seriously. And then having to deal with Kook all the time must be so exhausting, too.”
Laughter erupts out of you, and you shake your head, “I mean, he’s a brat sometimes. But he’s the best man I know.”
“He is a good guy, yeah? I’m so glad.” She nods again, affirmative and positively confirming. “He’s always been. It sucks sometimes that he lives so far away.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, but she shrugs her shoulders, waves off your concerns. “I take it you’re not interested in living in the city?”
Her eyes narrow when she looks into the distance, met with the lowering sun as if it entails the entirety of her beloved town. It’s probably part of it, though; the one sun she’s known all her life, despite the same star rising and setting everywhere in your vast world.
“Not really,” she says, “I like it here… Even though so many left.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Some people I knew…”
You can imagine. Two faces flash into your mind, at least. Not that you like half of the thought; but it’s automatic, and so is your statement, “I feel like I know at least two.”
She seems surprised. Tilts her head, blinking, hands on her hips. “Really?”
“Yeah, well…” You avert your eyes, fearing an abundance of transparency. “Jungkook and Nara.”
“Oh.” Ria’s blinking fastens. She didn’t expect this; neither did you. But in some sense, it was inevitable, dropping Nara’s name here. “You met Nara, huh?”
“You say it so… weirdly.”
Her hands lift and she immediately works on objecting to your assumptions, “No, I mean. She’s nice! I liked her growing up. I just wouldn’t have mentioned her unprompted. There’s no need…” She studies your face. “He doesn’t either, you know? Talks about you mostly.”
You don’t know what to say. You gathered this much; but a very strange feeling in your chest presses against your heart, and you can’t quite decipher why. You shove it aside as best as you can, and then breathe it out, thankfully admitting, “That’s relieving.”
“There’s no need to worry. I think he and you will have a good time here and bond more than ever.”
You nod. You don’t feel like responding; not because you don’t like her or don’t want to. Your throat is tied, and you can’t really think of or form a productive thought. So you just keep nodding, smiling until a hen pops out again.
Ria, pushing away a stray strand of her dark hair, points to the little, excited animal, wondering, “Hey, have you ever held a chicken?”
“No!” Ah. Good tactic to distract you, considering how many times you mentioned this minor wish in the past weeks. “But I want to! Told Jungkook like a hundred times.”
“Okay,” she waves you closer and you dare to approach, hoping to neither hurt the hen nor yourself. You have absolutely no clue about these things. “Come here then. It’s not hard.”
It’s not. In fact, the process sounds logical, facile; but your hands are shaking, and often enough, animals seem to understand negative emotions when targeted. But Ria proves a good teacher.
Shows you to near the hen calmly, moving slowly to not startle her. She instructs you to soften your voice as much as possible, kindly noting that you’re soft-spoken enough to not worry about it. And then, once close enough, she demonstrates placing a hand around the tiny body, securing the wings to prevent flapping.
You imitate. Or try to, at least. It doesn’t work right away, your nervousness intruding; but at some point, you manage. You use your other hand to support the body, lift the hen gently. Hold it close to your body to give her a sense of security, much as Ria lectured.
Ria is patient, amazing, despite having done this probably a thousand and million times. Adjusting to your lack of knowledge, praising you, acknowledging your effort.
Her giggle is mellifluously sweet as she watches and hears you gasp; she applauds, but stops right away when she detects the third presence amongst you.
She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”
Your eyes follow hers, heart lighting up as you hold up the chicken carefully and nearly shout in uninhibited excitement, “Kook, look!”
His hands are in his jeans’ pockets; his walk idle. One of his eyes is squinting shut until he steps into the shadow, a tender smile playing around his lips before you realise that it looks… sad. Doesn’t reach as far. No crinkles around his eyes.
“Aren’t you the cutest, munchkin?” he responds before dropping into a crouch next to you. He seems brighter upon seeing your face, but you still keep wondering… What just happened in the house?
You don’t know. You don’t want to ask yet either.
So you only set the hen down, lowering her until she’s balanced and waddling — waddling? — away. You wrap your arms around him, providing a flicker of warmth. You don’t know what made his face fall like this, but you want to at least attempt to lift his chin again.
God. What a start to the first day. Is it odd to feel scared?
“Wanna go?” he asks, a thumb brushing the corner of your lip.
You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”
“Then we can go and rest? And sleep if you want to.”
It’s early… but laying down and staring at the ceiling doesn’t sound too bad right now. Maybe he needs it, too. So you agree, pressing Ria to your heart once more and promising to return to her.
She’ll be at the wedding, too. You guess you’ll see everyone multiple times anyway; but as rude as it may sound, the thought of warming into this man’s body doesn’t allow you to bother with the world right now.
His steps are slow as you walk to the house. Eyes drooping. He might not notice; he’s been here so many times. But his presence, combined with the things you see, make your heart swell.
Maybe because you want to be there for him; maybe because you still can’t believe you’re here. But you perceive everything as if for the first time.
The cosy garden and the flower beds. A small-town house sitting on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s more on the simple side, painted in warm hues, a light beige. Charming. You remember everything being charming.
The snug living room, the tender, partly wooden and partly modern kitchen, the clearly old and handmade dishes. A fireplace. Wooden floors.
You haven’t seen the rooms yet, but as he leads you upstairs, you imagine him doing the same this summer as he approached his bed. He walked these same steps, a narrow and short hallway, opening the door to an inviting childhood bedroom with you present in his device.
Yearning.
But the man from the summer isn’t all you see. In fact, the place reminds of time travel; you soon recognise just how signature Jungkook everything is.
Because the moment you enter, you see him in everything. Like, in the soft quilts on his bed; he wouldn’t use them today, but you imagine a shy Jungkook and you imagine big eyes, small hands pulling the sheets over his body to cuddle into a warm night.
The window overlooks the backyard; the sunlight filters through the sheer curtains. It’s still just the middle of the evening. But you find it hard to want to leave this simple comfort. Lived-in, sweet.
Reminiscent of a youth.
Like a soft tune of a ballad. You don’t know what it is that makes you feel this way.
The cosiness? The pictures on shelves? The slightly tilted roof of the room? Or the posters reminding of a world a decade ago. It hasn’t been this long, if you think about it, but to you, all of this still tells a story.
“What’s this?” you ask, opening a random drawer and grazing rolled up paper, large, stowed away.
“Posters, I think? I haven’t seen or opened them in ages. Maybe we can—”
He pulls and rolls them out, glancing for a bare moment before he undos the action with a sudden bright red on his cheeks. You try to catch a glimpse, “What?”
He doesn’t answer, so you take the poster from him, only needing to open it halfway through to see a pretty face, followed by a swimsuit and a snatched body. Ah. Is this…
“Victoria’s Secret?”
“Shut up,” he instructs, and you hold yourself back, watching him, blinking until—
You puff out some air, nearly spitting as you laugh, teasing, “You were that type of guy, yeah?”
“Shut up,” he repeats, prying it out of your hands before he throws it into a corner. “I had this up for like two weeks. Forget it.”
“Never threw it away, though.”
“Never thought of it.”
He scratches the back of his head, a tilted smirk on his face, and you can’t help but want to keep annoying him. But he needs far more than this right now, and you’re not here to get on his nerves. So you walk up to him until determined arms wrap around his waist, kissing his chin.
“You okay?” you ask.
“Well…” He’s quieter than he’s been in the last few days and it disheartens you. Somehow fatigued, eyes halfway closed. “You know.”
You do know. Or perhaps, you don’t, but you can well imagine.
You’re not sure how he took all of this day in, day out for so many years, but you understand the weight of the situation a lot better now. Of course your mind would be rewired if you hurt this much all the time.
Whatever you’re seeing now is a fraction of what he experienced.
“It’s going to be okay,” you remind him again.
“Yeah.” He sniffles. “Hey. I have a little surprise for you tomorrow. It was spoiled a bit, but you’re right.” A peck to your nose. “You don’t know anything yet. But you’ll like it, I think.”
You don’t doubt it; you guess it helps, not being aware of much at all. Waiting for the surprise.
But then again…
When you look at him again, excitement flickering in those tired eyes of his and a hand pushing against the small of your back lightly, you think that you know a couple things at least.
“Okay. Hold on. You’re definitely going too fast!”
“This is too fast? You should’ve seen Junghyun and me racing years ago.”
You lower your head in an attempt to hide it from the wind, seeking his sweater; it’s impossible from this angle. You’re at the front, surviving between his arms as he navigates the bicycle recklessly.
The wind slaps your face, cooler this noon than yesterday. The bike writhes on the road, and you yell out, “Man, I’ll die!”
“Baby!” he exclaims back.
His laugh is louder than the gust as you hold onto his moving thighs and then realise it’s of no help. You shift your hands to the front of the cycle, wondering when it’ll hit an unforeseen rock and tip over.
“Hey,” he tries again when you only scream back, “have you never been on a bike before?”
“Of course I have!” You resist the urge to add a curse. He’ll kill the two of you. The streets are steep, probably a hill, going downwards. “Just never two people at once.”
“I did it a lot! With friends, and mostly with Gureum.”
Gureum… his dog. You have yet to meet him.
“Gureum?” you repeat.
“Yeah! He’d sit in the basket and… and enjoy the wind. Eyes closed.” He pants between cycling. “I told you, no?”
But your thoughts are elsewhere, chin dropping to your clavicles as if not looking could save you. “Fucking hell—”
“Okay. Okay…”
The bike stops abruptly, and you yelp, shutting your eyes tight and preparing yourself to die. But death doesn’t come; a tap to your hip does. His fingers hold you, calming you, words the opposite as he orders, “Alright. Get off my bike. You can walk the rest of the distance.”
Between the sniffling and the reclaiming of control of your trembling legs, you register the surprising command, and mumble, “What?”
“You heard me, sweetheart. I’ll wait at the flower field.”
You dare a look over your shoulder. His expression is serious, an eyebrow cocking. You want to retort something snarky, tell him you’ll stay on if he just slows down, for the love of God; but instead, you look ahead, and decode the view immediately.
The grass is high and the place wide. You’re right where the field begins, the road more narrow here, only really enough for cyclists and walkers. You roll your eyes, getting off as you tell him, “You’re terrible. We’re already here.”
He laughs, dropping the bike to the side carelessly before he reaches for your messed up hair. Fixes at least the front of it, flattening it in the back. You’re glad there’s no mirror around.
Then, he proceeds to grab your hand, a finger pointing to the place and says, “Look around.”
You do. It’s widely open and empty. A decent amount of flowers; you imagine a plethora of them in the summer and the spring. Now that fall is in full effect and it’s a little colder here than on your coastal vacation, you reckon that this isn’t usually all how the field looks.
But it’s beautiful. In the far, far back, you see the forest expand. Slightest traces of autumn foliage. The leaves will fall and entirely bare the trees soon.
“This is so pretty,” you say.
“Right?”
“Was this the surprise?”
“I mean,” he cards his fingers through his hair, but as he grabs the willow wicker from the larger cycle basket, the mane is blown back into his sight just a moment later, “yeah. But the actual surprise is a bit further down the field. Come.”
He guides the way, and you put your all into deciphering what he might be hinting at, only for him to say, “Don’t look so hard. You will see it in a moment anyway.”
The laugh he elicits is sweet, a thumb touching the back of your hand. Your shoulders drop in relaxation, and you shift your attention to the grass and the flowers, trying not to stomp on any of those that are still left for this fall.
A couple feet forward, you tell him, “You know I still need to meet Gureum.”
“I know. He was with Ria since we can’t really take care of him when we’re away.”
“You could take him to the city.”
“I’d do anything to be able to. But Gureum is… a free dog. He wouldn’t enjoy life in a smaller apartment after running around for so long.”
Ah… You feel the opposite still; jumped from a large cage into a homey, sheltered cube happily. But you get it; the freedom here doesn’t compare to a crowded city, does it?
“But,” Jungkook continues, “Ria said she’d bring him over this noon, so he should be there when we get home.”
“Damn. Why am I more excited about this than necessary?”
“Oh, you should be. I am, too… he’s my old boy.”
The oxymoron grants you a smile; to a parent, a baby stays a baby. Most of the time, at least. Jungkook feels something for Gureum, and even a stranger, lost and unknowing, could piece this bit together within a heartbeat.
“He’s old?” you wonder.
“He’s twenty years old. A bit slower now but… the same amount of love in his heart.”
One shall learn how to love and be kind from Jeon Jungkook. Then again, he’d be an excellent example, but a bad teacher. Wouldn’t know what to say. Wouldn’t be able to really pick out what makes him so pure-hearted.
He just is… He just is.
“I can’t fucking wait,” you say, inspirited.
The sight changes along with his expressions as you walk down the field. From happiness to a smile to excitement and then contentment. The flowers mostly disappear, giving way to something you don’t really recognise.
Orderly rows, bright green leaves and… more plants? As you inbreathe the air, however, you swear you recognise the sweet and fresh scent. Even from here, it’s distinct and special.
And when you trudge closer, finally glancing down, you understand.
Jungkook…
He took you strawberry picking.
You see them low on the ground, clustered, ripe and red. Pretty. Enough to warrant a dozen adjectives; yet, you only whisper, “Wow.”
He waits… then waits more. Lets your eyes scan the area and the fruits, permits you to take in what he probably reckons you’ve never seen before in this form. And he’s right — you haven’t.
“You like it?” he questions. “I was unsure, like… maybe you’re underwhelmed?”
Your head turns towards him at light speed. “What? I’m not. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” you confirm, repeating your thoughts, “I am definitely not underwhelmed. This is… this is something my younger self craved.”
“Oh— Really? How so?”
You hum. Think back to late nights in the back of your bed, a room larger than what you needed, yet smaller than your imagination. Smaller than your heart.
“I read stories,” you tell him, “fairy tales. Watching tales of love in the countryside. We don’t have these places in the city, do we?”
Jungkook’s hand, on your back a second ago, travels up to the back of your neck, touching it gently. “I guess you’d have to find a farm.” He stares ahead where you do, still standing there, unmoving. Then, “Angel?”
“Yeah.”
“You said you went on a field trip to a farm, right?”
“I… can only really remember once in school. Kids were shitty.” You spoke about this once; last month, he promised you’d see Ria’s farm, too. Funny that she actually did show you. “And my parents weren’t really interested in that stuff. Which I do kinda get because many city people aren’t.”
“Mhm, I can understand.” He shuffles his feet, presumably a little sad for you, regarding the long row of strawberries stretching to his right. You’re about to crouch and try without a clue what to do when he, instead of commenting on things much more, asks, “Okay, so. Wanna pick strawberries?”
“Yes!” You rub your hands, taking a step forward, but pausing again; you could start anywhere. “Will you show me how?”
“Of course.” He hums, looking for an easy spot with an accumulation of easy-to-pick fruits; then, he lifts his jeans by a couple inches and lowers his body. “Look. You can crouch or kneel.”
You give your clothes a lookover. Just some everyday jeans; they should be able to take some dirt. In actuality, though, you might’ve joined him on the ground anyway. So you do, kneeling with your hands on your thighs, obediently listening.
“You look so cute.” He chuckles, the back of his fingers barely grazing your cheek for a moment. As he sniffles, his chin nods towards the plants, hands reaching for them. “So. You gently pull the leaves aside and just pick the strawberries. Avoid those that aren’t red, though, okay?”
His pinky touches parts of an unripe strawberry still in the ground, and he explains, “You’ll know that one’s ripe when it comes off easily. Like this,” he tugs at it, “isn’t ripe. Won’t come off so well. Mmmh. Let’s try this one.”
You follow his movements until he settles for a particularly pretty and seemingly juice berry; with ease, he plucks it off by grasping the stem and twisting a little, and says, “See? You could eat this one right now. But… basket?” You shove it towards him and he throws the berry inside. “We’ll wash it before that.”
It’s quiet and sweet here as he works on explaining the process to you. An atmosphere you haven’t ever witnessed anywhere before. It’s probably different in the spring, but you’re alone here; even if someone’s around somewhere, you can’t see them from where you sit.
And it helps you focus: on how concentrated he looks, lower lip pouting, crouching easily with his sweater sleeves rolled up. It’s unusual how his tattooed hand works on the plants. Your first imagination of such a task always involves straw hats and dungarees.
“Try it, too,” he then instructs.
He puts a gentle palm on your back as you get up from kneeling, now crouching as he is, and cast about for a couple good pieces. Whenever you think you’ve found one, you seek confirmation in his eyes, repeating, “Is this okay?”
And he always promises, “You’re doing well. Look,” he inspects one of your choices, “picking the best even.”
“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”
“Sure will. I knew you’d be so good at this.”
You’re surprised; you never saw yourself doing this, even though you yearned for a life so different than the one you lived. Until you stepped off his bicycle twenty minutes ago, you had never come up with such an idea. All the more reason to be thankful to him.
But you do wonder why he’d perceive something like this far before you did, so you ask, “Really? Why?”
He uttered the words so casually, pupils fixated on the basket; he might not have noticed how immediately you reacted. Because he hums now, looking at you with immense eyes, matter-of-factly spelling out, “Because you’re gentle. This called for you.”
Because you’re gentle. Because you’re gentle.
The reasoning, so clear to him, repeats in your mind. It’s not as obvious to you; it’s been a while since you thought of your qualities, and in the last months, being gentle often meant the same to you as quietly enduring.
So you’re touched, silenced by the lump in your throat; such an easy sentence, but so filled with knowledge about a person that only truly occurs with the purest of affections.
As you stare at him, you feel the fondness spreading over your countenance as much as the leaves tickling your ankle; you hold the current strawberry delicately as you conclude, “That’s why you brought me here, yeah?”
“That too.”
Oh.
“What else?”
“You can’t do this every day,” he argues, “I want to show you new places and things.”
You graze the vulnerable skin of the strawberries collecting in the basket, watching it fill enough to feed a couple people. Grabbing it, you lift your body with a smile. For a minute, your knee aches from the crouching, and your brain gathers the sensations into one to create another core memory.
Lost for words, you merely tell him, “Thank you, Kook, I…” You heave the basket to your chest, touching his hand as he rises, too. “How do you even come up with all this?”
“How I come up with it? Hmm… I guess you make it easy to do.” He laughs, and you follow, reading your mind as he voices the same thought flashing through your brain. “I know I’ll be so nostalgic about this someday. In ten years, maybe.”
Cheeks hot despite the autumn wind, you register the butterflies immediately. Right under the basket, underneath your skin, like a swarm awaking from metamorphosis. The fact that he thinks ahead like this, paints a distant future with you… wanting you for this long drives you insane.
Jungkook’s voice always lacks uncertainty when it comes to you.
Mellow when he speaks to you, gentle even when he asks, “More?”
“Mmmh… yes. Can do a few more. And it’s fun.” So you do; picking and plucking until you can barely carry the basket anymore, already wondering what to do with the bunch until you pop the idea, “Can we eat some of these?”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”
Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. It takes you a good moment to find a water tap on the wide field; one only crosses your way when you travel back to where the bike stands, proving as dysfunctioning and broken.
And only once you’ve reached nearly the end of the field and already detect the narrow path that you cycled along from afar, your luck strikes. You wash a handful of your harvest and place them neatly at the top of the rest, right above a handkerchief Jungkook whipped out from his pocket.
The grass isn’t high everywhere; you find an ideal spot for a brief, spontaneous picnic, pleasant and comfortable; a fluffy blanket of nature. You watch ladybugs and ants crawl over blades of grass; not too much more, considering the season.
Jungkook works through the content of the basket, soon holding a piece to your mouth, “Take this,” he says, pushing it through your parted lips; waits until you’ve chewn most of it. “And?”
The initial taste is good, but the aftertaste dramatically makes your world quiver. Whatever you’ve known about food and fruits so far must have been a hoax, because you can’t fake the way your eyes widen and your voice raises in pitch, delighted as you say, “This is… so damn good.”
“Right?”
“They don’t taste like this in the city!”
“Yeah,” Jungkook chooses a smaller one from the collection, throwing it into his mouth as a whole, “these are fresh. No bullshit berries.”
“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”
“You picked good ones!”
“But this is a curse, too!” you exclaim, urging a laugh out of him that he transforms into a kiss to your temple, observing as you munch the strawberries as though encountering them for the first time. And you pout as you say, “ Keep me from eating them all. I want to take the rest home.”
“Sure, don’t worry. We can put them somewhere and take them back on the last day.”
“Hm? Oh. No, I meant today. Home, your house…” You realise your mistake. “Sorry.”
Only, he doesn’t deem it a mistake for a moment. He didn’t think you’d feel this cosy this fast — but it was what he’d hoped and opted for, so it’s a win either way. His family as your home, him as your home.
He thinks, you finally do feel at home. It took you years of endurance, didn’t it?
“Home, yeah?” he mutters. “An apology is the last thing I’d want, angel. You’re home, alright.”
You wish you had an equally meaningful answer; whatever you might babble now, you don’t think you could do justice to the soft tone he settled on. You can’t even outdo his gaze, so round, eyes so big on his otherwise clear-cut face.
What you can do is smile. Draw closer until your shoulders touch. About to taste the strawberry-flavoured, red tinted lips before a sudden motion drowns your plans.
The bunny flits over your feet; you’re sure it jumps onto yours for a moment and then uses them to push itself off into the grass, journeying on. The yelp it elicits out of you merges with the startled sound Jungkook emits.
His elbow lightly hits the side of your breast, and you pull your legs into your chest as self-defence. But it’s gone as fast as it appeared, and barely a second later, you’re watching it hop away, little ears disappearing in the distance.
“Well,” Jungkook breathes, “at least that’s normal. I’ll tell you about my snake encounters later some day.”
A hand on your chest, you exclaim, “Oh my God. You know what?” You calm down your lowkey panting, hand falling back into your lap, “Maybe you were right. We’re home for sure.”
“Oh… yeah?”
“Yeah! Totally looked like you… thought we were back home.”
Jungkook laughs out, head throwing back, and then, amidst his giggle, he throws a “Shut up” at you. The tackle nearly pushes you to the ground before his lips attack your face all over; making out on a countryside field wasn’t on your bucket list, but you sure as hell will add it only to tick it off.
His tongue really does taste like strawberries. His lips are sweet; the hand on your waist careful yet explorative. If the grass wasn’t this cruel, tickling all over your body, you’d probably remain here for the next hour.
Let him strip you bare. Kiss you into the earth. Nobody’s here; you don’t think you’ve ever fantasised of such a moment before, but suddenly, you don’t mind loving him right here.
But maybe he’s fostering the same thoughts as you, pulling back with a little groan when the blades prick his cheeks and closed eyes. Endurance isn’t easy right now; and you have a lot planned for the rest of the day anyway.
So you pull yourself together, and nod when he finally asks, “Wanna go?”
Somehow, it takes you a little longer to get home than it did to reach the field. Perhaps because he’s cycling uphill now, or maybe because the sun is at its zenith, warming the colder day. The comfort makes you want to stay in this moment, have his voice laughing next to your ear.
On a bike swaying when he loses focus, rolling dangerously to tease you on purpose.
And when you get back to his house, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. It’s fluffy and sweet and white like a cloud, living up to its name. A tongue sticks out, tail wiggling, right at the door when Jungkook opens it.
Gureum is small, smiling as far as you’re aware of a dog’s joy. You once heard that upon seeing their owner, the same hormone floods their tiny bodies as a human’s when they fall in love. Gureum must feel much like you do when Jungkook comes home.
You understand.
Understand when Gureum jumps up to Jungkook’s legs, licking his human’s face when your boyfriend picks him up. Jungkook’s voice changes so much that you barely recognise it; you’ve never heard him talk like this. Higher, lovelier, slurred to imitate the language babies speak.
The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.
Jungkook’s smile brightens until it reaches its maximum, bunny teeth flashing, the laugh erupting so deeply from his chest. Authentic. Eyes nearly closed as he calls Gureum’s name, plays with his face, as if communicating with a child.
Twenty years, and he still thinks of him as his baby. Sometimes, all golden stays.
“Baby,” he says after a while once Gureum has stopped licking his face, introducing, “this is my Gureum.”
You set the basket down next to the door, reaching a careful hand to Gureum’s head; but he’s cooperative. Lets you easily. “Hi Gureum,” you whisper, “nice to finally meet you. You’re so cute!”
“He’s a little sick these days, but,” Jungkook gazes down again, kissing Gureum’s ears. “He gets through it so well, doesn’t he? Yes, he does.”
The laugh is real. The affection is real. Tender and deep-rooted. He smooches him again, and then puts a cheek to his warm fur. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never fallen deeper.
“I missed you so much, too, buddy,” he says, “so, so much.”
You swear you see Gureum cuddling into Jungkook’s chest. Doesn’t move even when you’ve settled in the living room, resting from the journey. You’d drafted plans for the rest of today, but it doesn’t seem they’ll separate, and you don’t want them to.
You can wait. Things can wait.
You sit by Jungkook’s side as he pets him, his head soon on your shoulder, one hand in the white fur, the other holding yours. It’s how you remain for a bit.
In hindsight, albeit never having plucked strawberries before, today wasn’t some grand adventure across the world. You didn’t strike a deal at work or fight off some paparazzi hiding in an unexpecting corner. And you didn’t climb a mountain.
But you guess that’s what you craved all your life. Somehow, this is better than any crazy escapade.
The serenity that comes with a mundane moment. A love that consumes you and a love that helps you commit the most casual of acts to memory.
Maybe this is enough. An old couch lightly creaking as you move; a cloud blinking as you caress its head. Surprises to help you experience saccharine afternoons.
You remain for a bit, and then remain a little longer.
Ria came through the door not too long after you’d returned, ready for the evening plans. She’d promised to accompany the two of you to the centre of the town, giving you a tour of the most important and ancient of places.
You learned about the town’s only drapery seamstress and the best flower shop. Much as it so occurs in 70s and 80s movies, you met the son of a mechanic. He told you he’d be inheriting the company one day, and that it was okay because he never intended to leave anyway.
Ria’s eyes suspiciously widened as she spoke to him, and she lingered for a moment longer than you did after your farewell. The guy had forgotten that there was work to do by the time she finally bid him goodbye.
Jungkook’s eyes squinted at the sight, but not even he could hide his endeared smile. Pressed into Ria’s shoulder with a teasing hum.
You rewarded yourself for the day’s many steps with some soft serve in front of the city hall, talking and delivering anecdotes until the sun started setting.
As the evening concludes, you’re the last to appear at dinner. His family is already sitting here, politely waiting and sweetly welcoming once you’ve washed up and hopped into the dining room with a vibrant smile.
You’re in a good mood. Evidently so; the scent of strawberries and the taste of his mouth still linger, and you’re still coming down from the high when you chime, “I’m sorry for being late.”
“Don’t worry about it at all,” his mother assures, “we just sat down.”
“I really wanted to help, though.”
It’s true. His mother has been nothing but the ultimate host. You wanted to prove productive and useful, but then Eun had called to check in on you and delayed your plans.
“Hmm, you know what?” his mother utters, pouring you some Jjamppong. “The wedding isn’t until one, so we could get up earlier and make strawberry jam in the morning? If you’d like.”
The wedding has been in the back of your mind constantly, slowly sneaking to the forefront with an intense nervousness. You’re timid because of how it’ll turn out, how people will perceive you, if they’ll talk to you. How Jungkook will look at you.
How much love might spread; how much certain people might tone down their resentment.
Learning yet another skill such as making jam might just be the best distraction. So you nod wildly, only interrupted when Jungkook asks, “Can I join, too?”
But you change the movements of your head to a shake, jesting about quality time and whatnot until he surrenders, “Alright. Way to shut out the boyfriend and son, I see you.”
“Speaking of food,” you say, pausing, slurping a big bite of noodles; they’re spicier than you’re used to from city restaurants. Better, too. You point your chopsticks to your dinner. “May I have the recipe?”
As his father and brother indulge in their food, acting as quiet listeners, his mother answers, “I’m sure Jungkook has it. I’m offended he never cooked it for you, since they had it a lot growing up.”
“Offended indeed. You learned this?”
“Oh, this?” Jungkook’s eyebrows, hitherto sporting a crease between them — a telltale sign of a well-eating Jeon — relax. “Yeah! I was learning when I was like, what, fifteen?” He seeks approval from his mother, who soon nods. “I fully butchered it when I tried it for the first time.”
Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”
“Yeah, you refused to help!” Jungkook complains, whining when Junghyun hits his brother’s elbow with his own. “And I burned my wrist and had the wound for ages. Couldn’t do much in P.E.”
Much as yesterday, it seems his father hasn’t learned; because as you feared, it’s only now when he melts and intervenes. You almost surmise he’s provoking on purpose when he queries, “When you were fifteen when? I can’t remember any wounds.”
Jungkook scoffs. “Are you telling me I’m making it up again?”
“No, I’m just saying I don’t remember.”
“That’s because you were at work and didn’t pick up my many calls. Mom was sick that week… It's why I wanted to cook and learn at all.” He nods towards his brother. “Junghyun remembers because he went to a friend and then rushed home to bring me to the hospital. None of it sounds familiar to you, does it?”
Jungkook lists and narrates the happening with a flat voice, as if recalling items still left to purchase for tomorrow’s meal. He’s stirring his soup and his father is stirring everyone else’s, uncaring as he responds, “I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine. You probably didn’t care.”
“Nonsense.”
Another, “As much as the last years,” added to the mix, you opt for his hand under the table again, but he pulls away. You’re left dumbfounded, looking at him in surprise. This has never happened before; he’s never been upset in such a way.
As if to signal, “It’s fine. It’s whatever. Let me deal with this.”
But he can’t deal with it; you see the beginning signs of a rising chest and a decreasing appetite. Nobody just plays with the content of such a rich soup for this long; least of all a foodie like him. He’s busy looking at it, propping his elbow on the table.
You stare for a little longer, and then turn back to your food.
It sounds like it’s over. And it’s quiet; maybe you could interrupt with something else, change the course of the conversation. But his father isn’t done yet.
No. You notice everybody else’s irritation when he opens his mouth to speak again. They sigh, forming a line with their lips when he emits a question that leaves even you in disbelief, “Why are you saying this?”
“Come on,” his mother tries, wanting to ease the tension, but Jungkook is faster.
“What? I mean, I don’t know?” he starts, once again an equal amount of fear and annoyance in his voice. “I barely ever hear from you, Dad.” With each word, he grows more daring, at the end of his capacities when he eventually curses, “We live in the same city, for fuck’s sake—”
“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.
“What? It’s true. Even the last hundred times, Mom visited alone. Could’ve at least come over and said Hi to my girlfriend.”
“I’m here now and saying Hi, though,” you try, weakly smiling.
“And he’s here, too. How grand of him.”
Fuck.
“Stop the attitude,” his father warns, “you could’ve come over plenty of times, too.”
“Are you hearing yourself? News flash, I did. I tried to talk to you, too. If I was still fourteen, I’d still be apologising. Oh, or is that what you want? Is it what you want?”
“What are you talking ab—”
“I’m talking about how I really wanted to tell you about a shit ton of things. Like when Nara and I broke up,” amidst the already tense moment, your heart pains for a second, “or when I graduated. Or when I was having a really fucking hard time this summer and needed somebody and then when I fell in love and needed to tell somebody, and… where are you all the time anyway? Who fucking knows — I don’t!”
It worsens and worsens. Crashes and burns; every word splits the air in the room. You don’t know how to save the moment anymore; maybe you’re not supposed to. You can only lend him courage. Perhaps he’s supposed to finally say all this.
But it’s hard to listen.
Because as the waterfall of grief cascades, you hear Jungkook’s voice quiver. He’s about to break. Right here, in front of everybody, you’re about to witness the woe this man inflicted on him all his life.
And you see it; see parts of this very torture when his father reveals who he’s become over the decade. The one Jungkook described to you; empty of empathy and understanding.
Because again, he renders you in shock when he speaks again. Fucking nasty, nitpicking and focusing on only one aspect, attacking somebody’s pride.
“Get a grip over yourself! You graduated in arts — you didn’t conquer the world. And you hold a grudge when—”
“I hold a grudge? I do? You’re the fucking one who shunned a kid because of a mistake and—”
“I do not want to hear about this. Not again.”
As their voices grow, so does your heartbeat. The anxiety is unbearable; you can barely imagine the one spreading through Jungkook’s chest. His face is red, neck hot, veins about to pop. If you could, you’d slap your hands over your ears.
But you can’t listen away; can’t ignore the panic, either.
“Please, stop,” you say, moving, but Jungkook frees himself of your grip again, stands. You attempt again, “Stop it, baby.”
But he won’t listen, mind somewhere else entirely.
“You won’t blame me for shit you did years ago, you can’t—” his father insists, but…
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Watch your mo—”
“Or wha—”
His father’s face, similarly scarlet as his son’s, grows a shade darker at the shameless counter, and his large hand lifts in slow motion for you. Comes down with a thump, intending to slap the wooden table, but hitting the edge of his small kimchi bowl again.
It flies up inches into the air before suddenly rolling off the table, aligning with you and soon falling onto your lower arm with a painful impact. It topples down onto your knee before it meets the ground and shatters into a handful of pieces.
You gasp and shriek, more out of surprise than pain; but Jungkook’s reaction is immediate. He bolts towards you, protecting you from whatever danger might be left. Pulls you off your seat and away from the shards as dead silence befalls the room.
It’s filled with your shaky breaths and the way his mother and brother shove their chairs back, hands reaching for you. Jungkook keeps you out of their reach. Looks at his father for a couple seconds; then to the kimchi on the ground; then back to him.
You can’t see him properly until you move to glance at him, wanting to keep his anger low, but… you don’t think you can do much anymore.
The fire in his eyes is blue.
And his voice is strained but furious when he finalises through gritted teeth, “You are fucking insane.”
This time, the man doesn’t answer. You hear his wife utter something as if scolding him before she speaks up and offers to clean up the mess. But Jungkook shakes his head, “No need. He can do it.”
Then, turning to his father, he repeats, “You’re fucking insane. You’re a terrible parent and we all know and only you can’t admit it to yourself. I just didn’t think you’d develop into a terrible person, too.”
Still long fingers around your wrist, he moves you towards the stairs, rounding off the fight with one more, “Don’t fucking get near me or her, do you understand? Fuck.”
So many words exchanged, but it was the stupid kimchi covering your pyjamas to make him topple over the edge. You feel guilty, but you don’t. It’s the man downstairs that has so fucking much to reflect on.
God. You wanted this vacation to relax Jungkook, to soothe you, to turn the first painful half of the year into something glorious.
But…
Then again, didn’t you expect this? Weren’t you scared of this?
Didn’t you fear the exact manner in which he now leads you to his room, in which the slamming of the door rings in your ears, his hands in his hair?
He’s let you go and stranded in his room. It’s odd, the way you stand here, clothes dirty and the grief dirtier.
You walk towards him cautiously, watching him shiver, and reach for his wrists in turn this time. It’s a featherlight touch, but you feel the tremble underneath your fingers. And you instantly notice when he starts coming undone. When his lips shake, too.
Even with his head lowered, you recognise the wet waterline, and how it takes a handful more heavy breaths until you hear the first sob. You hug him. You hug him right away. Hold him close and closer.
You make a weak attempt at pulling him to the bed, but he’s already in the process of breaking down, his body getting heavier, falling. The carpet offers solace as his knees suddenly hit the ground. His arms hold onto your hips and his face buries in your chest.
When his breathing turns irregular, so does yours; you feel like the world is splitting and the sky crashing down.
His leg comes in touch with your messed up clothes, and when he looks up into your eyes, he’s already crying. A trail of tears courses down his cheeks as his pupils suddenly shake, looking for something, asking you, “Did he hurt you, baby?”
“Kook…”
“Let me see, you must be hurt, you— you were just wearing these thin ass slippers without socks, right? The fucking bowl shattered and…”
“I’m okay, Kookie. I’m not hurt, I promise.”
“No, but… it fell on you, it must— did it bruise your knee?” he continues hectically, inspecting you, never seeing anything. He cradles your face, still crying and sniffling, shoving his pain aside to make sure, “Please tell me if anything hurts, ‘kay? I will get something, I’ll— dunno, fucking smash his fucking face, I’ll—”
His mind is going haywire. A proper downward spiral, and you don’t know how to stop it. What the fuck— what the fuck…
“Jungkook— Jungkook, please,” you try, lowering his hand, but he won’t stop searching for signs of injury. “Baby, please.”
“Why is he like this? I just… man, I am trying, angel.” His voice falls at the last word; your heart fractures at the same time as it tries to keep his intact. “I am trying so hard in life for him to like me, and you… you’re here, so I thought he’d behave and instead—”
“I know. It’s okay.”
It’s not, but you can’t say it. Can’t say how much the meaning behind your stained clothes hurts. How much it connects to what the weeping man in your arms feels; how he looked forward to this, planning ahead, a surprise for everyday without anticipating such ruin.
And he’s as clueless as you. More broken than you ever anticipated. Resembling the burst dish one floor beneath you, holding you like an anchor, crying into your chest.
He keeps repeating the same things as you repeat yours, soon mumbling his words of trying and trying and constantly trying. Of wanting to be loved. Attempting to understand if it’s too much to ask for. Is it?
Why can’t he love me?
And you whisper back, He loves you. He does.
It’s easy, falling into such misery. There were moments not too far in the past where you were on the receiving end of such pain, and he was your life vest. You don’t know if you’re keeping him above the surface as well as he did, because you keep susurrating the hopeful mantra to him.
But he keeps believing—
“No… no, he never fucking did. Wh—who treats someone like this?”
“Some people forget, you know… how to show affection. Sometimes, they deem their pride more important. It says nothing about you.” You lift his chin, heartbroken upon detecting his reddened eyes. “Everyone else in this stupid world loves you.”
“Your mother doesn’t either…”
“My mother? The woman who hates literally everyone?” You smile, trying to make him imitate it, but he doesn’t. You brush his cheeks and then his hair. “I do. I love you. I knew who you were even when I was unbiased.”
“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”
Once again, you try a faint smile. Not for him to join in, but because you’re reminded of a foolish friendship; it had already long bloomed into more when you’d finally named it one.
“Not for a second,” you say.
Break in discussion. He’s still shedding tears, snivelling. Stays frozen like this, all of him unable to move except for his lips. They mutter, “I don’t ever want you to get hurt. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with me, but…”
“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”
“I love you,” he maffles weakly, “I love you. I love you.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
You feel as though offering solace to a child. As if he’s shrunk into what he used to be, in the very room he used to sulk. The trauma still belongs to a kid, and when hurt, he’ll turn him into one, too.
You hate it. Hate that his sorrow still belongs to such a young heart. That he never processed it.
Before you came here, you spoke about it. And once you’re back in the city, you’ll have to figure things out further; the time constraints just before you drove away didn’t allow you to take much into consideration.
You can only cry now, can’t you? Detest the dampness in your own eyes. Stay right here until some sign occurs, lifting you up from the ground.
And it does fifteen minutes later.
The knock is gentle, just two of them, and you tell Jungkook to wait, that you’d be back in a minute. As you stand, his back is bent, his head lowered. As if he’s sleepwalking or slowly fainting.
You shut your eyes for a second; then open them again.
Behind the door, his mother awaits. In her soft hands, she’s balancing a tray holding some food. She lifts it towards you, tells you, “The two of you barely ate.”
Upon a closer look, you realise that her eyes are swollen, too. The view nearly forces you to tear up again, your face seethingly hot. You want to hug her. Want to tell her you’re sorry. Instead, you only touch her shoulder, and mutter a grateful thank you.
“It’s okay.”
She sounds so pained. You wonder if she said something to her husband. Reprimanded him, cried for his son, grieved a childhood and life that could’ve been.
But she doesn’t say any of it, and neither do you mention it. You only agree, “It will be. Are we still making jam tomorrow?”
“Yes. Tell Jungkook he can come if he wants to.”
“Yeah… I was thinking that, too.” You stare down to your food, never noticing how she peeks past your shoulder. Sees her son unmoving on the floor; she knows she can’t do more than you are right now. So she only nods when you repeat, “Thank you so much.”
You wish her a good night, bringing the food to where your boyfriend sits. Put it down in front of him.
“Sit upright, baby?” you ask him, crushed by the sight of swollen cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. His lips are parted, his breathing still stagnant; he only stares at his food until you push the tray closer to him and say, an attempt at a smile, “Let’s eat a bit. Mother-in-law brought it for us.”
No smile back, but a sniffle. The crying subsides just a bit as a shaking hand grabs the spoon, slurping the soup before he can even think of the noodles. He eats a little, slowly, surely. You help when he needs it, feed him a bite, encourage him to one more.
Every other minute, he cries again. You wipe the tears away, try to make him eat more.
His father fucked him up. You knew about the issues and demons Jungkook combatted. Of course his mentality suffered; of course there are parts of him that might never heal… But you never quite understood the full effect.
His father fucked him up good; got him so bad. Parts of both of them are so ultimately ruptured, aren’t they?
Whenever he winds down, you eat in silence, right there on the ground on top of the old carpet. When he can’t swallow anymore, still some left in his bowl — Jungkook barely ever doesn’t finish his food — you move up to the bed with him.
You kiss his hair repeatedly, as if it could heal him just a little, to even the tiniest percentage. You don’t know how much of an effective bandage you are to him, but you know you’re doing at least something.
Because he whispers another I love you before the gut-wrenching sounds of his sobs have finally faded out, still echoing in the room. His tiny, shrunk voice says, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow with you.”
And somehow, it pains you even more. The hopeful tone; the wish for a day to not hurt.
“Me too, baby,” you say, “it’s nobody but us, okay?”
“Yeah… yeah.”
And that’s it. It’s all you can do for now; understanding the heavy heart the night cursed you with.
But as you drift away, you keep pleading. Pleading and pleading and pleading for a better tomorrow without getting a promise back.
To your chagrin but least of your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t join your jam-making session the next morning.
When you stirred awake for a little bit, eyes still sleep-drunk and body falling, your phone flashed seven thirty in the morning. Not ready to start the day yet and doubting anybody else had gotten out of bed, you cuddled into his body, and he, while deep in his slumber, must still have noticed.
Pulled you in more, smacking his lips and sighing a little, a warm hand at the back of your head. Secured in his embrace, you fell asleep again.
Only to awake two hours later without him by your side. You’re already washed up and somewhat sobered up from sleep, and you’ve looked on the first and ground floor. You can’t find him.
His mother informed you that she and her husband would be leaving to join the wedding earlier, to help out with the preparations and make sure the plans all sit. You offered your help, but she claimed they’d be okay, and that you can still use the morning after the jam lesson to rest.
Perhaps Jungkook has embarked on a journey then, using this time to do something in the early morning.
Once you’ve walked into the kitchen, greeting his mother with a smile and a good morning, you ask, “Nervous for the wedding?”
“Mmmh, kind of,” she answers, locking the phone she held, putting it aside to sip her tea, “but it should be good since we took care of most of the stuff pretty well. It’ll be wonderful. Except the damn Wedding March — we couldn’t settle on any song but this.”
“I can’t wait. I bet it’ll be beautiful.” You take a seat in front of her, hearing the sounds of the TV and quiet conversations. Among the voices, you recognise two, but his is neither of them. You’re not interested in joining. So you look at her, scratching your temple as you inquire instead, “Where’s Kook gone?”
Her forefinger points downwards, another blow to the tea and another swig. “Basement. I brought him some coffee, but he seemed busy and quiet, so I left him there. But,” her voice grows louder, enthusiastic, “you can go! Maybe he’ll be okay with that?”
Hmm…
“What did he go down for?” you ask.
“I think he was looking for something.” Now, she lowers her tone again, lower arms on the table. “He also just… did that sometimes when he was younger, or after a fight.”
After a fight.
Like the breakdown last night. You understand.
You should probably walk down and check — but then again, this has seemingly been a coping mechanism ever since he was younger. So perhaps, you need to let him be for a little; give him a chance to entangle his thoughts and regain some peace.
You repeat your decision to her and she nods in understanding, throwing a glance to a huge jar on the kitchen counter. You’re ready to deliver an answer before she even asks, “Want to help out then?”
“Sure!”
The process is a patient one. Reminds you of when Jungkook told you how to pick the strawberries yesterday; gently, sweetly, with a tender touch and an even more delicate voice.
Jungkook’s mother takes the fruits out of the jar with care, explains to you to mash them and cook the jam with absolute soothing composure. The minutes pass so serenely that you imagine preparing meals with her on a cold winter evening, pleasing your soul to ensure not only a good night’s sleep but lasting quiet of the soul, too.
You add the sugar and lemon juice to your mix, stirring and boiling the delicatesse before you put it in sterilised jars. She shows you how to sterilise them at all; you didn’t think or know that such a step was necessary at all.
The making of it doesn’t take too long; forty-five minutes tops. As you scanned the internet just before entering the kitchen almost an hour ago, it said it takes barely half an hour. But she demonstrated it all to you slowly, unrushed.
You’re thankful.
“Have you ever made jam before?” she asks as you admire your creation.
You shake your head. “No… I don’t think I’ve tried such a thing at all. It’s fun making things on your own. I mean, I do like to cook sometimes, but I’m nowhere on Jungkook’s level, I don’t think.”
She chuckles, nodding as if to confirm. Then clarifies, “Yes, he’s enjoyed being involved in the kitchen ever since he was a teen. Especially before he left town and realised he’d have to cook on his own.”
You giggle with her, like with a friend or a trusted figure. It’s so consoling, talking to her. Fun, smiles intact, still present when she asks, “How are the two of you doing? I mean, you did move in together quite fast, so I’m just wondering.”
Yes; she doesn’t need to spell it out. You get it — you’ve heard about this.
So-called relationship experts claim that taking decisions in the honeymoon phase isn’t too healthy, warping your sense of reality and perception of the other person. You don’t disagree, but you guess in this case…
“Honestly, it’s been good,” you respond. “We have a couple heated evenings where we argue about stuff, but… it’s been healing. And he offered to move in when I really needed it.”
“Yes, Jungkook told me.” Oh. “You weren’t at a very good place before. Please don’t mind.” You shake your head in reassurance, urging her to go on. It’s his mother; it’s fine to tell her if any of you is struggling. “I’m glad you’re there for each other because he wasn’t at a good place either.”
You nearly don’t dare to ask; in a way, she might know her son better than you know your boyfriend. Maybe; maybe not. You fear a disheartening answer when you ask, “Do you think he is now?”
But she, careful as ever, tells you honestly, “It’ll probably take time to get over things, but— it’ll be okay. Things seem a little better, though, if you want my neutral POV.”
“Ah… okay. That helps.” You play with the white-dotted red band around the jar. Your mind circles around a million questions that only she might be able to answer; yet, cautiously, all you query is, “Do you ever… have you ever spoken to him? Or his dad? About all the things…”
You reckon that if he’s talked about the two of you before, he probably mentioned spilling his secrets to you, too. At least from your perspective, it’s obvious that he entrusts her with his heart.
And once again, she affirms, “I have. Often. Even before the two of you came. It’s why I told you to take your time getting here.”
Ah… Makes sense now. So that’s why you had to roam the hotel until noon a couple days before. You sigh.
She continues, “It just doesn’t end well most of the time, so… And I’m not a good talker. I don’t know what to say anymore after so many years. Both want me on their side, though Jungkook never persists on it.”
She’s so wrong. Both she and him.
Jungkook has told you for months that he’s bad with words; yet, he comes in with every word ever written by any bard, singing poetry to you and bandaging your heart when needed.
You remember…
I’m not good with words, baby. And I don’t know how to ever properly verbalise something like this.
You sigh again. Tell her, “I understand. I also wouldn’t expect you to go against either of them.”
“Sure. But… It's difficult sometimes. Seeing how broken some of our bonds are.”
You’ve used and formed this word so many times before. Broken. For him, for you, for the world. Hearing somebody else share these sentiments and confirm your fears hurts.
And you’re out of words, wishing for a higher power to grant you a curing skill. If you could lift somebody’s burden with a single touch, just the way you’re reaching out for her hand now, you’d be busy circling the globe at all times.
“I’m so sorry,” is all, however, you can offer.
You hate how helpless she is. You urge to say something more, to hug her and promise that the world always regains its colours at some point. But you remain like this, watching the jam in the jars; hearing her say—
“You know. Jungkook has my number. I don’t know how much you and your mother still talk, but… you can talk to me, too, if you ever need to. I mean, I’m a mother.” She laughs at this part, raising a shoulder to her chin in pride, “And you’re part of him, so you can be part of us, too.”
Your eyes, locked onto the jar until now, flit up to her, and you blink to keep them dry, admitting without another thought, “I might actually cry.”
“Oh. Awh,” she voices, lifting her hand from underneath yours to cover it again. “Don’t. I didn’t mean to be all kitsch. I meant it.”
Gathering your prior thoughts into words, you puff out a breath, sporting a reprimanding look as you say, “You’re so wrong. You and your son, you always know what to say.”
Teeth flash again as she grins; she looks so innocent and pure. “Well, where do you think he got it from?”
Shit…
“Thank you…” you mutter, body already twitching, yearning to bolt forwards until you finally dare to ask, “Okay. May I… Can I hug you?”
“My goodness, love. You don’t need to ask! C’mere.”
You instantly tear up when she pulls you in. Last time you met, she left a fleeting touch. You barely knew her then; in some way, you don’t know her much now, either. But this… this is impactful.
The way she presses you into her; her chin on your shoulder. The slight pat and then the following rub up and down your shoulder blade. So warm; so salving.
One or two more pats, with a little more impact this time, she gently moves you back by your arms again, sucking in a breath as she suggests, “Alright. Wedding time, yes? We should start getting ready.”
“Yes. But…” You hesitate, wonder how much you can interfere. But then you diminish your mental concerns, and simply utter, “If you don’t mind. May I suggest something?”
You walk down the steps to the basement.
The light is on; other than what mainstream movies might suggest, they’ve set up the interior of the basement prettily. The few furniture — a table and a couch chair, as well as a couple common chairs — is a light beige, the wallpapers light, flowery.
He’s in the middle of the room, on the ground despite the many options to sit, sifting through pictures and objects lying around him. When he detects you, he flinches a bit, eyes big, moving suspiciously as if to hide something.
But you guess he’s just startled; and once he catches himself, he calls your name, wishing a sweet, “Morning, baby. Sorry for leaving the bed.”
“Oh, hey. It’s your house, you can do whatever you like. Besides, your mom and I had the time of our lives.”
He smiles brightly. You love, love, the wrinkles around his eyes. “Made some groundbreaking jam, yes?”
“You’ll see when you taste it.” You walk closer, recognising photo albums and frames. Yet, you ask, “What are you doing?”
“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”
The pictures are flipped, upside down from where you stand, so you round his body, legs folded on the floor. You come to a kneel, and just when you’re close enough, you see the pure sugar spilled in front of him.
It’s in the form of fat baby cheeks. An open, surprised mouth. Then, in form of a photograph of a toddler crying. The same tremendous eyes and the same curve of his upper lip. A tilted smirk on one of them, just the one you know.
They’re adorable. You dissolve at the sight; at seeing him in a red vest, holding a half chewn corndog, tiny fingers forming a peace sign, and an unsure expression as if he’s seeing the world for the first time.
He does this often. Zone off like this.
Not rarely do you tease that he’s trudging through his first life, but he often refutes your theory with an immediate expression of shock. Chuckles back that it never feels like he’s loving you for the first time.
“Why are you looking at these, Kook?” you ask, hands on his shoulder before you settle your chin on one of them, cheek to cheek.
“Just so. I knew there was a picture of my cousin somewhere, too. Look.” He shoves aside some of the photographs on top, fishing out a very old one. “This is her. Gayoung.”
A lovely girl next to him, clearly older. They’re both holding car toys; he’s busy indulging in it, laughing, not noticing the flashing of the camera. But she’s staring right into it, caught off guard, eyebrows high and mouth open.
“I can’t believe she’s getting married today,” Jungkook says. “She’s like a daughter to my parents, but… I didn’t get to talk that much with her anymore when she grew into an adult. Was more with Ria. And then I moved, too. But… it’s still crazy. I still remember her as a young but older sister.”
“Of course. Time’s pace of passing is pretty strange. Very fast.”
“Yeah…”
He throws it back into the pile, shutting two of the handful of photo albums. Humming, he flips a couple pages of a third album; your eyes follow as he combs through them. You almost don’t notice when he pauses, and when you do, you understand why.
It’s another old picture, Jungkook tiny, mouth wide open to say something as he points towards the camera slash photographer. And he’s in the arms of somebody who’s undeniably his father. The man looks more like Junghyun than Jungkook.
But they seem happy here. His big hands are firm on Jungkook’s body, holding him lovingly and smiling at him with even further tenderness.
Jungkook remains on it for only a split second, but you get it.
You replay his mother’s words in your mind, and suddenly, you remember; a revelation clears up like a sunny day after a fog, and God… you remember.
And still, you act like you don’t. Like you haven’t understood that he’s here to reminisce about a life when things were still okay; when he still felt loved. Reliving moments when shit hurt less. Of course he’s here; it makes sense, so directly after a fight.
He seeks comfort in moments he barely remembers to escape the pain he recently suffered.
You’re out of damn words. This shouldn’t be happening to anybody.
You hug him from behind, arms around his chest. Attempting to ease his possibly disturbed soul, you ask, “Hey. Do you know that you’re the sweetest being alive? These pictures cause cavities. Good that you kept them from me.”
“Oh, yeah?” He turns his head slightly, lips grazing your nose, warm breath falling on it. “Coming from my munchkin herself.”
“I mean it! You’re so cute. And look at these cheeks,” your finger gestures towards a chubby baby, “they’re still so soft, by the way.”
You press your face against his, squishing his scarred cheek, and he states under a laugh, “You’re too much.”
“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”
He clicks his tongue, though playfully. You hear in his voice and see in his beam that he’s delighted, flattered, loving and loved. You ask, “Are you feeling okay now?”
To your relief, he nods. “I’m feeling better, I guess. Looking forward to the wedding. And your dress!”
“Oh, I am, too. I was going to show it to your mom just before, but… I want you to be the first to see it.”
“And then you say I’m not the luckiest man alive.”
“I just said Ashton Kutcher is. Mila Kunis is pretty cool.”
“Shut up.”
You pause, watch him tidy up; after a minute, you tell him, “You should’ve joined when we made the jam. Could’ve been fun, too.”
“Yeah… I mean I thought about it, but. Then I was like, maybe it’d be good for her to get to know you, like, unfiltered. She’s always careful not to be weird around me.”
“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”
“Isn’t it?”
You nod against his cheek; then, drum lightly against his chest, a peck to his ear, getting to your feet a second later as you ask, “So… are you coming up? It’s a little after eleven. We should probably get ready soon.”
“Yeah, I’ll be up in some. You should go first, though. I’ll need a bit less time.”
You’re already taking steps towards the staircase leading up, but you can’t refrain from throwing one last tease, “You sure? Not sure with your skincare routine. Have you even eaten?”
“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”
You lift your lips to a last provoking, tight-lipped smile before you ascend to his room. The dress is still almost flawless between your clothes. You heavily worried about damage in the few days you travelled, but aside from a few spots that need to be ironed out, it’s as gorgeous as ever.
Flattening out the creases with a borrowed iron, you soon rummage in your suitcase for the curling iron and the rest of your make up. You look at the mess scattered on Jungkook’s table, wondering where to start.
Make up, probably.
Okay. you have one, two chances max to try what you want to achieve. The goal is to remain casual, natural and humble; considering your dress, you cannot overdo it. You don’t want to look excessively over the top. Want to keep your essence under the make up.
So you keep it lowkey, pretty much content with the results before you slip into the dress.
And when you look into the mirror, you nearly squeal. You don’t struggle with your appearance. But while you’ve largely been satisfied with how you look, you did occasionally find things to possibly improve.
Normal. Doesn’t everyone deem certain spots flaws, regardless of whether they actually are?
But today… today you’re sparkling. You’re happy; in love with what you accomplished.
If you could, you’d immediately rush down to him again, show you the results. But it seems you don’t need to — because half a minute later, you make out his voice outside. He’s talking to his brother, laughing about something; seems the rest of the family is leaving. The door shuts just before you hear him moving up the stairs with quick steps.
And… when he finally opens the ajar door to his own room, his body locks at the spot, as if somebody screwed his feet into the wooden floor.
The reaction is easily imagined; most often seen on TV. You didn’t know how real it was, but then again, clichés always have an origin in real life, don’t they?
You’re surprised, a little shy by how he looks at you. And how he looks in general — black trousers hugging his snatched waist and well-formed hips. The white dress shirt is still in progress, collars up, suit jacket not yet on.
And he’s olding something in his hand that you can’t recognise.
He looks breathtaking and mesmerising, despite missing half of the preparation still. Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.
Does he feel the same about you? Probably.
Because he curses, “What the fuck.”
Like a statement, not a question. You touch the silky soft material of your dress, widening your eyes as your quiet voice asks, “What?”
“What are you even?”
You burst out into a brief, fleeting laugh at the question, repeating, “What I am?”
“Like, a fairy or something. Shit, it’s as if I’m getting married.”
Another near-squeak falls out of you. But you can’t blame him this time; you chose this attire carefully.
The sheer chiffon fabric, light and airy, sparkling; it called your name the moment you saw it. Floor length, lavender, spilling to the floor like a waterfall; a spicy slit on the side that Jungkook’s eyes remained on for just a tiny heartbeat longer, you know.
And off-the-shoulder sleeves; most of the back bare.
Sheepishly, you ask, “So you like it?”
“Like, I—” he starts, yet stops. He blows a raspberry. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest. Oh my God,” he exclaims, dramatically touching his forehead, “I need to keep other’s eyes off you. Look at you!”
You laugh out loud, a hand on his wrist to keep your balance, no other productive response in your bright pink entangled mind than, “Babe—”
“No, seriously. Okay, I concur. It was right for me to wait to see you in the dress. Getting a heart attack as we speak.”
Your cheeks still glow brightly when you wiggle a finger at him, disappointed that there is no reality show camera pointing at you to hear you say, “If your boyfriend doesn’t react like this, girl, you don’t want him.”
You instinctively move to the buttons of his sleeve, helping out, resisting the urge to give in and fix his collar, too. You want to see the end result so badly, but he’s still missing the tie and the jacket.
So you settle on merely touching the buttons over his chest, nodding as if approving before you say, “You already look so good, too. You know, maybe it’s you who should hide behind me today. What if some middle school girl crushing on you jumps you?”
He chuckles. “They can try.”
“They? Well, shit.”
“I’m kidding.” He lowers his chin, bringing your knuckles to his rosy lips, kissing one or two of them. “Hide me, then.”
“Mhm… Do you need help getting ready? With the tie or something?”
“Oh, it’s okay. You can lean back for a bit, tell me a story or something? I shouldn’t take too long.”
It’s a ritual of sorts. Sometimes, when you wait for the other on a date or dinner night, the faster one acts as the night’s entertainer. Sings songs or tells stories or plays DJ or serves the latest, hottest work tea.
You tell him, “Okay. But before I do,” your hand wanders down to his; it’s stubbornly closed around an object, dangling on his side. You uncurl his fingers. “What’s that you got there?”
“Oh, I…” He comes to life, as if he forgot that he was holding it at all. He lifts it between your faces, straightening his palm, and presents you something incredibly sparkly and nostalgic. “It’s part of the reason I went down at all. With my mom’s permission since she wore it at her prom…”
Damn it. Both of them deceived you.
“You were looking for it?” He nods; your heartbeat accelerates as you urge, “And…”
“And I got it for you.”
Words, you notice, are only your specialty when you’re jotting them down and narrating a story from within your mind. When it comes to answering to the grand gestures he always makes you fall in love with, you’re such a zero.
Odd, considering how he, in contrast, has claimed over and over again that he’s not as eloquent as he’d like to be. But you’ve long figured out that if he was to preach the truths he holds in his heart to an audience, the stage would drown in a flood of tears within minutes.
You reach for the shiny, pearly, flowery accessory. It’s rose-gold, a little vintage, clearly older, and so strikingly beautiful. It looks like…
“A comb… for me,” you say. Not the one to untangle your hair. The decorative type; fancy and gorgeous. He nods again, lets you take it between your fingers. “Why?”
“Just,” a shrug of his shoulder, “I wanted to give you a little something to remind you of this place and the love you got here. Besides, it’d look so pretty on you.”
A reminder that you’re loved. You wonder — who thinks of these things? Does anyone else in this universe heat up their girl’s chest like your boyfriend does?
They can tell you what they want; you’re the luckiest being alive. And in return, you want to love him as much as nobody has ever loved before.
You whisper, “Thank you, Kook… Your mom is okay with this?” Another enthusiastic nod of confirmation. “Thank you so much. I— I wish you could see yourself the same way.” You squeeze it in your hand to feel it properly, then open it again. “This is so pretty.”
“It’ll suit you.”
“Yes?” Softly, you hand it back to him, turning to the mirror, with him right behind you. “Do you want to put it in?”
“Ah… I can try.”
“Right there?” You point to the back of your head; to the braid in your loose half updo. “Near the hair pins I used. The comb might hide them well, too.”
And he does his best. Regards your hairdo focused, eyebrows knitting in concentration, so gentle with it. No getting stuck, no intentional tugging.
“Wait,” he then says, tapping his trouser’s pocket, and then fishes out his phone for a picture. He shows it to you; the accessory sits there perfectly, not crooked or ruining a single wisp of hair. “How’s that?”
“You did it so well. Thank you, Koo.” You face him again, smile bright and endless. “Your turn?”
“Yes.” He rubs his hands, looking around. “Let’s get this over with. Give me feedback, okay? And tell me a story?”
You take a seat at the edge of his bed prettily, coming up with a short tale about personified instruments and what they’d symbolise. The guitar for the heart and the love in it, the drums for thunder and the excited pulse of the soul.
“The flute for the breeze and dreams?” Jungkook adds.
And you urge in a thrilled tone, “And the violin for the rain and longing. They’d learn from each other, right?” You sigh. “I’ll think about the piano, too. Can’t figure it out yet… it could be a lot.”
Jungkook nods, distracted and interrupting the story when he asks for brief comments on his progress. Barely any feedback, though; praises largely.
You watch as he slips into the rest of his clothing and gels his hair back — it’s grown quite a bit since the press conference in September. You get to your feet, amped up when he finally claps and rubs his hands in anticipation a bit later, announcing that he’s ready to leave.
And you’re still euphoric when you jump into your car, letting him drive through the streets he knows much better. His fingers wander to the passenger seat every now and then; minutes after the last scolding, you keep reminding him to keep his hands on the wheel.
I want to kiss you so bad, but your damn make up won’t let me today, huh?
A tease here, a flirt there.
You feel like you could do anything. The sky's the limit. And it soon proves that the statement has never rang truer, even if in a vastly different context now.
Because once you reach the wedding — your metaphorical sky —, Ria is already standing at the parking lot, waving the moment she spots the two of you stepping out of the car. From afar, you already see the wedding’s venue; a lake in the back, a huge tent and a field at the front.
The parking lot right next to it, but still a couple minutes of a trek away.
Ria’s parents indulge Jungkook in a conversation about something you barely register right away, and she gestures towards herself, hugging and greeting you with an odd half-smile.
“You look so pretty,” she says, and you beam benignly, returning the compliment.
She’s rocking a dark blue dress, sleeveless, her hair in a loose bun. Wavy strands frame her face. But somehow, she looks demotivated. Worried to the slightest, though still mostly cheerful. So you ask, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah! I just wanted to tell you something. But don’t freak out, okay?”
Well, shit. Doesn’t start as you imagined, does it? You glimpse over to Jungkook. He’s laughing from the heart, button nose crunched; why is she not telling him, too?
Your chest feels tighter; the usual human response to a menacing statement such as hers. You upright yourself, take a deep breath, ground yourself as you encourage, “Yes? I won’t. What’s up?”
“Well… we’re in this town and like, people know each other. And since we’re all in a very close circle here, I just wanted to say that,” her face changes; she kind of grimaces, as if apologetic for something, “Nara came, too.”
Ah.
Ah…
The sky's the limit, and you reached it, and now you’re kind of crashing.
Well. You never thought about this; but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Of course she’d be here. She was part of this town and Jungkook’s life for so many years, so naturally, she’d be familiar with his relatives, too.
Besides, even if she hadn’t been with him… Didn’t Jungkook and Ria already establish with you just yesterday, when you were inhaling your ice cream, that this small town strives on familiarity?
Meetings at the town hall, the shop owners’ affection for most of their year-long customers. The Stars Hollow vibe you already recognised.
Ahhh…
So that’s what Junghyun might have been trying to tell you on the first day, too. You remember his mother interrupting.
How annoying. You did not want to feel annoyed. Maybe it would’ve been better if Ria hadn’t told you; if you’d bumped into Nara randomly and suffered the temporary heart attack. Or perhaps, you wouldn’t have seen her at all…
Come on. Unrealistic.
Fuck, you feel childish. There shouldn’t be any burning in your chest or an uncomfortable warmth in your cheek. You shouldn’t be feeling the urge to run over to Jungkook, to actually hide him behind you.
To rush to his ear, whisper your worries, make him promise that he only loves you and won’t ride into the sunset with her.
Delusional, paranoid concerns that you wouldn’t entertain on any normal, sane day; then again, the news Ria delivered wasn’t going to leave you unbothered anyway. This whole thing around exes really sucks.
“I… I shouldn’t spiral, though, right?” you answer, your voice a little weaker. Ria immediately nods, though still not relaxing the wrinkle between her eyebrows. “I mean, of course she’d be here. This is her place, she was born here and…”
Ria takes your hands in hers, assures, “I promise you it’s nothing too bad, okay? Nara and Jungkook have been here at the same time before and literally nothing happened.”
What? When?
“When?” you echo.
“Uh, like last summer? He only came down for a couple days, though. College exams and stuff.”
Ah… you wouldn’t even know. Back then, you’d only encountered him once, at the blurry frat party that you spent in locked rooms and on tiled roofs. When you sang together and spilled your hearts to each other.
For the very first time.
Whatever he did before or after that… how would you know?
Only, you feel even sicker at the thought that after that party, and after he allegedly met Nara here again without anything literally happening, he still linked with her back in the city. Still shared his nights and sheets with her.
Does this count as nothing happening? What if the time here evoked something? What if it happens again?
Fuck, what if it happens again?
“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.
“What? No,” she exclaims, though instantly lowering her voice, rubbing your arm soothingly, “it’s okay, I promise. He didn’t even think of it. Either that or he doesn’t care ‘cause he didn’t mention her once.”
“But now I might keep thinking about it.”
“Seriously. Fuck, I feel bad for saying it—”
“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”
“Okay, look. It’s honestly fine. She’s nice, she won’t do anything shady; not if she knows about y’all.” Another caressing touch to your shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you. Please don’t feel startled. I’m here, okay? I’ll smash his nose if anything happens.”
She looks to the side. The other conversation has seemingly ended, too, and you swallow as Ria’s parents wave her over. She says, “Okay. Gotta go, but I’ll meet you guys inside and reserve seats, okay? There’s just limited assigned seating.”
She pats your coat-clad arm, and then walks away.
Well. Okay.
You guess you’ll have to get over this one way or another. You focus on your clothing. Focus on how you look, how Jungkook looks. The weather, the tent many many feet away. Your boyfriend’s gaze on you as he walks back to you, offering his hand.
He pauses when he sees you, asking, “Is everything okay?”
“Hm?” you hum. “Yes. Just nervous, I think.”
“Me too.” He flashes the sweetest grin known to mankind, genuinely excited, childlike joy. Tilts his head at you. “You seriously look so fucking pretty. Like really, really.”
You smile.
Okay…
It should be alright. Jeon Jungkook is so in love with you; damn it, he even peels your oranges for you when you don’t feel like doing it. You need to trust the process; need to hold onto your excitement.
Okay.
You glance at the event warming up in the far. Halfway through, people have gathered, standing on the grass or the man-made path. There’s still a bit of time; so naturally, they’re still busying themselves with conversations.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
You’ve met her before. This isn’t different.
You look down to where his and your fingers intertwine; put particular attention to the way he holds you. Firmly, as if protecting and loving and keeping you close at the same time.
His smile lifts your spirits a little, the wind enclosing your mind and easing it. You nod only slightly, telling yourself it’ll all be good — and then, let him tug you towards the wedding.
The wedding is as bustling as you expected. It’s bright, colourful, flowers draped over the place in abundance. Even before you enter it, the huge tent leaves you breathless, gasping.
They put so much effort into this; it’s clear as day. Jungkook’s mother isn’t around, but the moment you lay your eyes on her again, you’ll praise her for what she helped mount. Somehow, the beauty nearly makes you forget that you’re among pure strangers.
But that at least one familiar face is roaming here somewhere.
You take a deep breath.
All these people know each other. They probably grew up together, know the ins and outs of the town, have gathered at weddings and funerals and school events. You don’t know how well you’ll be able to integrate, but you do hope for their support.
It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.
At least not when Jungkook pulls at your hand and the two of you into certain directions, coming to a stand multiple times when he sees a person or two calling him to them. Some are old school friends; some adults he knew when he was a child.
Candy store owners. Somebody who sold him his first scooter. Or a pal he used to share his banana milk with.
The sentiments are clearly there and they bask in them, but none of them ever forgets about you. Jungkook introduces you, tugs you into his side, enskies you with praise. And they respond with kindness and interest; tell you he’s mentioned you before.
You remember. Jungkook told you how his friends spoke about you or saw you on TV, eager to meet you — they react according to the excitement he foretold, and you reciprocate it with ease. Very sweet.
Yet, it seems that even in a small town, or especially in a small town, enmity runs just as deep as affection. Some people remember friendships, others still resent rotten memories.
You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.
He’s standing near the entrance of the spacious tent; you glance inside, unsuspecting, not a single familiar face in sight. You don’t notice him until Jungkook does, coming to a stand, walk interrupted as the guy exclaims, “Jeon Jungkook! My goodness, Jungkook—”
You meet thick eyebrows, long-ish dark hair, full lips. He’s handsome, his smile bright.
And his voice is mellow and sweet, and at certain tones, it reminds you of Jimin’s; then again, some syllables come out much deeper. You don’t know who he is; of the pictures Jungkook has shown you, he wasn’t in any of them.
“Hey,” Jungkook greets, somewhat distant. You don’t think standing here is his first choice, but your boyfriend is as polite as can be. Even waves towards the guy, and tells you, “This is Christian. Barom, but he lives in Australia now, so.”
“Hi,” you reach out a hand, “nice to meet you.”
The accent is heavy and somehow cursive when he responds, “Likewise.”
Jungkook is definitely not delighted about him. Follows the touch of your hands, then your gaze up to Christian’s face. You notice it before Jungkook can probably even think of it: the odd look the stranger throws at you.
Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.
And when Jungkook suddenly does catch it, he intervenes, “You came all the way from Sydney?”
“Yep. And you came over from the city?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook answers. You barely register it, but you’re certain he’s been pushing you behind him inch by inch; but you remain at your spot. You can deal with this. “We were on vacation before, but I was gonna come anyway.”
“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”
You recall never introducing yourself; but you’re positive he’s figured out your relationship to Jungkook just by the steadfast grip around your palm. But Jungkook still officially voices your name and informs him, “My girlfriend.”
Christian must be seeing or hearing something you aren’t — strange since it was him who asked — but he laughs, teasing, “You’re being defensive.”
“I’m not. I literally just told you she’s my girlfriend.”
“Lucky. You look pretty together.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
You have not a single clue what’s going on. Jungkook is never really rude, so there must be something about this Barom or Christian — he’s never mentioned him before.
Then again, you guess growing up in a tight space comes with all sorts of relationships. Christian is probably the sort that never earns a mention until actually met with the person themselves.
It’s funny though — in some way, the rejection seems one-sided. As if Jungkook is still holding something against him and Christian remains uncaring; while it might not be a universal truth, you’ve experienced that those utterly calm are often the ones at fault.
And Jungkook isn’t an angry human being. He’s kind. Patient. Needs a reason to be mad.
Christian doesn’t take the hint when he smiles, a heavily tattooed hand patting Jungkook on his shoulder as he suggests, “See you later then? Let’s take a picture or get a drink afterwards.”
Jungkook only stalls for the tiniest seconds, but you know him — he’s probably already made up his mind. You look between the men, baffled by the nearly visible bolts shooting from one pair of eyes to the other.
“Sure,” Jungkook eventually says, your hand still in his, and works on moving to the coat check and then to the chairs without adding anything else.
You don’t inquire yet what this was about as you walk, catching glimpses of the priest, of the stranger guests and of the people lingering at the front of the tent. You’re busy gauging Jungkook’s eyebrows, observing as they relax more the further he gets away from the guy.
And neither do you need to pop the question when you’ve settled somewhere in the middle-ish, you on his right side, Ria on the other. Next to her, her parents that you briefly met when you brought her home yesterday.
Previously turned on her seat, she now uprights her body, hooking her arm with Jungkook’s as she whispers to him, yet clearly enough for you to hear, “Was that Yu Barom?”
Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”
“Right.”
They nod, understanding each other wordlessly, but you’re still floating in between a couple theories and the actual sentiments. So you lean in; you’ve become one of the gossipers at a wedding, you guess.
“Okay,” you start; the two of them stare at you with the same big puppy eyes. “You don’t seem to like him.”
“Oh, we don’t,” Jungkook bluntly admits.
“Why?”
Jungkook smacks his lips. Eyes drift to the roof of the tent, the polyester fabric swaying in the gust. Then, they shift to his cousin, presumably seeking approval, because she shrugs her shoulders, gesturing with her hand and says, “Oh, go ahead.”
So he explains, “His little cousin was a constant problem for Ria. Same age… harassed her and all. Constant flirting and phone calls and didn’t take the hint, just an uncomfortable dude in general.” He pauses, shaking his head. “I had to threaten him for him to get lost. And Christian didn’t like that.”
Okay, now you definitely feel like somebody indulging in tittle-tattle. Some more and you’ll be one of the aunties. Your mouth gradually opens as he speaks, and you emphasise, “No way.”
“It’s true— the guy was on a break from college for just a month and decided to argue with a fifteen-year-old.”
“What? Did you get into a fight with him?”
“Nah.” He pauses when a group of random three girls in green dresses walks along the aisle, even though they’re barely facing you, sending a perfumed breeze towards you. Then, “Not a physical one. But it was a bit messy. Didn’t like that night.”
“Me neither,” Ria confirms.
Of course he didn’t like it.
He’s largely non-confrontational. You’ve learned this much in the time you’ve known him, and have given the fact utmost sense ever since he revealed his innermost fears. Jungkook keeps quiet; he dreads repetitions of a direful past.
Yet, initiating and risking a conflict for his baby cousin increases the respect you harbour for him.
People are cruel; but Jeon Jungkook is good-hearted to his core, no matter how flawed.
You touch the back of his hand, caressing it when he says, “Stay with me tonight, okay? And if you can’t, then do come to me when he nears you.”
“Okay.”
His eyes meet yours, concerned but also suspiciously fiery when he states, “Because like, I really didn’t like how he was looking at you.”
Ah…
“Hm?”
“You didn’t notice?” he asks, his voice higher, thick eyebrows closing into each other again. You lift a thumb, clearing the crease and his stress. “I almost plucked his eyes out.”
Of course you noticed. You just didn’t think it irritated Jungkook to this point.
“Oh— Kook—”
“No seriously,” he stresses, turning his hand to get ahold of two of your fingers, “guy was sweet half his life and then tried stuff with so many girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he approached you again, so please stay away from him, okay?”
“Yes, baby. But I wouldn’t let him do shit anyway. Don’t worry.” You nudge his shoulder. “And don’t be jealous. Have you seen yourself?”
He rolls his eyes at the accusation, but there’s a sliver of a smile on his face and relief in his gaze. You guess hearing you say it does wonders to him; sometimes, you truly praise the connection between you, based on a clear foundation of trust and communication.
Well… at least now.
“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “it was just gross how he looked at you. Fuck this. Not with my girl.”
You can’t help but break into a chuckle, way too loud for your row. You slap a hand over your mouth, careful not to ruin the lipstick, and nearly give into the urge to release his pout. But it’s too sweet — it can linger for a second.
Removing your hand, you near him until your mouth grazes his, assuring, “I love you,” before you peck his lips curtly. He still looks a little grumpy, though. Your man. “It’s okay, baby.”
The grip around your hand intensifies. It doesn’t seem it will vanish for the rest of the night. You sure hope it doesn’t.
And you’re immensely grateful for the luck you’re enjoying. Not only because of this place’s beauty and the palm holding onto yours — but you haven’t seen Nara either. In fact, you become hyper aware of how much you’ve been thinking of her.
Like; what is she wearing? How is she doing? Is she thinking about Jungkook; expecting him here; feeling a sort of way? Is she imagining his smile and how she saw it in this very town so many times, dedicated to her?
And did Christian ever flirt with her, too? Did it irritate Jungkook?
You’ve been thinking it all dead.
Unnecessarily so if Jungkook hasn’t even mentioned her, never sought her out. Instead, he’s busy protecting his girl from past bullies.
In all honesty, you’ll probably cross ways with her still. The guest list isn’t endless; the place vast but not infinite.
But for now, you forget about her, trashing all thoughts and possibilities. Shake your head. Breathe it out. Relieve your chest.
You diverge into conversations about anything and everything, reminiscing about yesterday and the places you saw. Listen into stories Ria and Jungkook tell: about injuries, about pleasant nights and about the fights they had.
Ria was like the sister Jungkook never had; Junghyun was a good older brother, but when seeking another opinion, she was on speed dial. Sometimes, growing up in a certain environment makes all the difference — hearing a girl’s thoughts at all times might have made Jungkook the way he is.
Thoughtful, respectful. You have encountered sexism a million times — not to mention just minutes ago, checked out so shamelessly — but you don’t think Jungkook has such a notion even in any crevice of his heart.
You’re fond and happy when they laugh together; her crinkles match his. Their laugh contagious.
It still echoes and fades, slowly and lovingly when the tent quietens. All heads turn, but you don’t see much from here. Maybe a couple moving bodies at the entrance. Someone coughs, interrupting the silence and lowering their head, and the moment allows you a peek at the sensation.
The bride is waiting, holding a bouquet. Her father is touching her veil to fix it despite having nothing to fix; but she doesn’t notice.
Gayoung is glancing ahead, breathing in. Everyone’s eyes remain on her, but your head turns to follow her eyes. The groom is already standing there in a standard groomesque position, hands folded, upright like a post.
He looks insanely nervous. His shiny boot taps the ground, lips parting and unparting. And he’s blinking; then forming a circle with his mouth, releasing the pent-up tension.
She hasn’t moved yet. The ceremony is yet to begin.
But even before all that, as people indulge in the sight and wait for their eternity to start, Jungkook has already mimicked your turn, fingers still intertwined. When he speaks, you flinch; you didn’t notice his voice this close.
He’s looking at the groom, too, before he settles his gaze on you. Stares with affection in his gems that bursts your heart, splinters your ribs and implodes your chest. You know he’ll say something to fade out the entire crowd before he actually says it.
“Can I tell you something mainstream?”
You hum, “Hm?”
He regards your digits, plays with them. “If you ever choose to marry me…” Your heart stops. “I’ll look just as tense as him.”
“Would you… want to marry me one day?”
“It’s just a thing people do, right?” he questions. “Whether it’s like this or in any other way— I’ll spend my life with you anyhow.”
I’ll spend my life with you.
Not a question. Not a need.
But a confession. A goal. A plan.
You don’t get to answer when the first tunes of a guitar play. It’s a song you recognise; paints a smile onto your face. The melody is soft, slow, so gentle. They didn’t choose an orchestral track or the usual Wedding March after all.
It’s a song.
Jungkook’s eyes blow wide, and he immediately seeks yours. Mutters into your ear, “Do I know this?”
“You probably do.”
“Wait—” He listens in. Pupils roll up as he ponders. Then, “Didn’t someone sing this in the lobby this week?”
Almost. It’s why it delights you so. You already had half an idea back then, and you managed to somehow incorporate it into this wedding without really being part of these people.
“Yoongi played it on the guitar,” you clarify, “I suggested it to your mom this morning. I guess she liked it enough to forward the request so spontaneously.”
“You did? Then she must’ve…”
You can’t decipher what he’s thinking. His stare is fixated on the passing bride, her slow steps, the beam she wears as she nears whom she’s decided to be the rest of her life.
You can’t peep into his brain, but you notice when he tilts his head. See the tiny gap between his lips and the way he catches the groom blink away tears the moment you do, because Jungkook smiles at just the same moment as you do.
Gayoung lowers her head when she comes to a stand in front of his still-fiancé, and then delivers the most magnificent, most mesmerising grin. She’s happy, you know. You don’t think you’ve seen this intensity of joy a lot of times in your life.
You recognised it when Jungkook woke up still in your bed after the blue night. When he opened up to you, vowed to stay, brought you to his home. When you announced to the world that you’d be his to remain, that you’d do what you enjoy.
When you got home that evening, and he kissed you right against the door, deemed you crazy, deemed you his.
You haven’t seen this very happiness much in your life, but you’ve seen it in him. And you’ve felt it in your chest. Growing, blossoming, never wilting.
The couple at the front speaks its vows like a song. The words are melodic, poetic, and you’re almost entirely sure that they’re not rehearsed. It’s all real. The love in them and the memories in them, accompanied by the liquid bliss swimming in his and her waterline.
No, you haven’t experienced this too many times before. You’ve felt it. He’s felt it.
And you don’t need to know much more than this; don’t need to know what he’s thinking to understand what he means when he says—
“This… this is it.”
THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼
1k block limit as always!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3