roses, poetry and jeon.
☾ pairing: bookstore employee!jungkook x reader
★ summary: Between the pieces of sappy poetry and dried rose petals hidden in every book you buy from the local bookstore; you fall in love with the anonymously enigmatic writer.
➳ genre: bookstore au, enemies to lovers-ish?, fluff, slight angst
☂ words: 12k
♡ a/n: hellooo! So, after countless days and nights working on this, I’m VERY proud as to how it came out to be. I don’t have any experience as a bookstore employee so please forgive me if I made some mistakes! Also, all the poetry compositions have been written by yours truly hehe. I really hope you guys enjoy this story as much I enjoyed writing it! Let me know how you felt (reblogs and comments go a long way!) c:
~*~
The sunlight filtering through your window was a familiar feeling. As it warmed your covers, you lazily turned to the other side of your bed hoping to find a cooler spot to resume your slumber. When not even cocooning yourself helped, you angrily pulled your blanket over your frame and let the heat take the win for this one.
You opened your eyes and took a minute to take in your surroundings. You felt like your party-hungry college student-self waking up one morning on someone else’s bathroom floor that wasn’t yours. In that reverie, you winced as you could almost taste the vodka at the back of your throat and the puke roiling up in your stomach.
A half open book lay face down on your nightstand and dried up drool pooled near the top of your pillow, possibly because you dozed off in between. You checked your phone, and was relieved that it was the weekend. There were no messages from work, you wanted to jump up in joy like you were a child on sugar rush.
Your job as a market assistant was good, and although you enjoyed the work, sometimes it felt dry and you lost all enthusiasm to continue. Your boss was an asshole, you really wanted to smack him. Your colleagues were no less either, but in all speaking you didn’t want to change your job yet because it paid well to give you a good apartment room and four-square meals a day.
Even thinking about work made you upset. You hugged your knees to your chest, resting your head on them because you were just too tired. Deep down in your conscious, you knew you couldn’t pursue your true passion for financial reasons and because it was just a dying profession.
Thoughts aside, you decided to treat yourself to the weekend by going to the bookstore just around your block. You loved bookstores, it was your favourite retreat growing up when your father would come and pick out the books you wanted to borrow. You were a very avid reader as a child, however as the homework started piling up as you went up a grade, there was no time to wiggle some reading time in between the cracks of your heavy schedule. Until now.
The bookstore opened five years ago, a cozy place that usually met a lukewarm crowd on weekends. You were a regular there. The owner, Kim Namjoon, was few years elder to you but was polite, handsome and very well read despite having a demanding position at his accounting job. Namjoon had opened the bookstore as a part-time thing to stay rooted to his love for literature, and since his profession earned well, he was able to recruit two or three employees to help him out when he was at work.
Ji Changmin was the cutest employee there, and honestly you couldn’t deny that part of the reason why you headed up to the cozy establishment was to see him. He had an ebullient disposition with lovely dimples that you couldn’t help but think was cute. He always greeted new customers with a wide smile and you stifled a laugh when you remembered his extremely loud shriek when one of the customers accidentally dropped a book. The poor boy almost fell from the ladder when he was trying to sort out the books on the highest shelf.
He was a dance major at the nearby University and his shifts were on the weekends, the two days when he was free. He often came to the store disheveled from practicing on his own, but he still managed to clean up and look flawless in a simple apron uniform.
You also knew that the first weekend of the new month meant fresh arrivals – so not only were you going to see your favourite employee (you would never tell Changmin, of course) and get some eye-candy, but also browse through the new novels waiting to be read by fellow bookworms like yourself. Maybe even eye Changmin over the top of the pages you read, and knowing him long enough he would probably be practicing few steps of his dance routine, and oh didn’t he look sexy.
And with that said, you were ready in flat 15 minutes.
~*~
The conundrum of living in cities was known to you – the whizz of scooters going by in the morning, the delightful screams of school children returning from class in the afternoon and the shutters of karaoke bars and clubs opening up for the evening.
That’s why you were so relieved that the apartment you were housing in was located in a sleepy neighbourhood, where the hustle-bustle was less pronounced. It was also near a subway that took you effortlessly to work. The street which you lived in mostly had all the necessities you could ask for, from grocery markets, a hospital, small cafes, retail stores, and of course, a medium-sized bookstore.
Fact and Fiction Bookstore was a store squeezed in between a medical shop and an apartment, just a couple of blocks from your place. It always had a wooden signboard that had “Open” and “Closed” in hand drawn letters and the interiors were festooned with decorative pendant lamps that lit the room in a golden halo. Walnut coloured, skyscraper height bookshelves lined the walls in even spaces, from classics to children’s books to study materials. There were few wooden stools scattered hither and tither and a small cash register at the extreme center, that led to the store room in the back. Overall, the shop had a modern yet minimalistic look that was to your liking.
As you walked inside of Fact and Fiction, you heard the familiar bell chime as you pushed open the doors. You made it just in time, and of course there were no customers there. You smiled a bit, knowing that Changmin might just be around and you could have some quality time with him for a bit. But instead of seeing Changmin usually wiping the bookshelves carefully, you were surprised to see Namjoon in his place.
“Oh Y/N! So nice to see you this morning,” Namjoon smiled, walking up to you. Namjoon never came on weekends, and if he did, it was when one of the employees were unable to work anymore. But that was very rare. Could that mean-
“Hey Namjoon,” You said, trying to mask the slight disappointment. “I thought you didn’t come on weekends?”
“I don’t, but now I guess I have to,” He laughed, returning to clean the bookshelves at the far right of the room.
“Why, what happened to Changmin?” You faked playing it cool by taking a book off the Bestseller’s shelf.
“He had to leave, he got scouted by an entertainment agency couple days ago. He’s going to be a trainee,” Namjoon shouted from the opposite side of the room.
As much as your heart felt like it fell from the sky, that you were no longer going to be ogling over the button eyed boy now, you felt a surge of happiness at Changmin finally achieving his lifelong dream to be an idol. It would take some years, but seeing him on the big screen – possibly even cuter – made your heart flutter. Of course, Namjoon was handsome too, so you didn’t mind stealing glances at him now that you no other choice.
“So, what are you going to do, now that he’s gone?” You asked. Surely the other two employees would be a replacement, you thought.
“I already hired a new employee; he’s going to be in charge in weekends now,” Namjoon wiped his hands on the cloth and disappeared into the storeroom.”
You silently nodded to yourself. It was silence now, just you and the books. Evidently you moved to the New Arrivals section, picking an interesting book cover and started reading the first chapter.
As soon as you ensconced in the setting, you heard the door open with the low chatter of what you assumed were female college students.
You heard footsteps. Someone from the other end of the store, presumably the new employee, greeted them in the conventional fashion bookstore employees usually do.
"What may I help you ladies with?"
The hair on the back of your neck stood. Your ears perked up out of its own volition. The vibrations in your heart quickened. Your knees suddenly felt weak, goosebumps erupting on every inch of your skin. You felt the air shifting, as if the coffee toned floorboard beneath you was angled and moved on its own accord.
You've heard that voice before. No, you knew that voice. You started to panic, leaving the book you were reading on the wrong shelf and scurrying past the aisles to the center of the room, where the voice seemingly came from.
You tried to recall where and whom the voice belonged to. The vestiges of your brain that locked out certain memories of your high school unlocked. Your mind worked like a tape recorder left on fast forward. If what you thought was right, it seemed as if that voice belonged to a certain five foot something, a mean, nitpicking, lanky teenager that went by the name –
Jeon Jungkook.
Your eyes widened immediately. The second you laid eyes on your high school enemy, your legs went cold. You stood there gawking at the boy – now a man – and couldn't for a second fathom why, in all places, he just had to work here in the same neighborhood you lived in. For a second you were cursing Namjoon, but honestly how could that innocent and charming aficionado, unalike Jungkook, know who your high school nemesis was?
Jungkook too, seemed flustered by your appearance, hand straight away behind his neck as he looked at you sheepishly. He aged well, you thought for a moment. He was no longer the gangly teenager that he was; he was bulky, with budding muscles on his arms if you strained your eyes just a bit. He grew out of his ridiculous mushroom haircut, settling for a fringe that slightly kissed the top of his eyes. He grew taller, no doubt, and this time he grew into his features, a square face with a visible jawline that could, quite literally cut glass.
Your history with Jungkook was clear as day. You guys were classmates in high school for four years. The then 15-year-old used to tease you every chance he got. He used to make fun of what you wore, the pieces of writing you wrote and why you always received the highest scores in literature class. Even when he asked for your help in getting better scores in English, he would always speak with a hint of sarcasm and impatience. You left high school cursing him through and through, but was happy you'd never get to see or run into him ever again. Until today.
"Hi Y/N," he said.
"Jungkook," you took a step forward, crossing your arms. This was habit you did as a form of defensive mechanism. Sure, whatever teenage Jungkook said to you during your high school years were long past, but it did put a dent in your self-esteem even if a bit. Maybe your teenage self still feels that the grown up Jungkook would once again sputter mean words to you even though high school was a good while back. “Been long.”
"Yeah, you're right. It's so good to see you again, I mean, I never expected," his voice soft, kind. Of all things, this was the most surprising. You tried to forget how shockingly attractive he turned out to be.
"Ditto," You said, unsure of what else to say. You looked down at your shoes, circling one foot around the other. "So how do you know Namjoon?"
"Oh, Hyung and I go way back. He used to tutor me in high school. Maths, geography, literature, you name it. I owe it to him, for making me pass. I heard he was looking for work so I decided to step in."
Oh, so that's why. The pieces were falling in place now. It did feel nice to catch up with an old high school ‘acquaintance’ of sorts, so you kept aside the qualms of your bullying experiences aside.
"Hey, now that you're here, I never got to say that I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you in high school. I was dumb, stupid really, I mean, dumb and stupid are the same thing, but what I mean is-"
"It's okay, Jungkook. I'm long past it, to be honest. You're forgiven." You manage a small smile, your insides warming with his thoughtfulness. What was even sweet was that he appeared a bit nervous, even though the line seemed rehearsed - it made you think as if he'd been saying this apology to himself so many times as if he would meet you again one day and say it.
Now that the mood was lighter, few more customers began pouring in. You let Jungkook continue with his work even though you wanted to know details about his life now. You resumed reading the book, considered even making this the first purchase in a long time, before Jungkook waddled up to you suggesting that he was free to talk.
"So," Jungkook began slowly, leaning over the wall opposite the bookshelf. “You live here?
“Just a couple of blocks from here. What about you?”
“Oh no, I took the subway here. It’s bit far from my boxing center at home,” he smiles, bowing at new customers who already seemed to know what to look for. You noticed when he smiled that the one thing that didn’t change about Jungkook was his doe eyes. God, they were so misleading to anyone else who didn’t know him well.
And wow, that explained the muscles. Jeon Jungkook having his own boxing center? You pegged Jungkook as being unemployed after high school because if you recall correctly, his grades were dismal. But you can’t judge a book by its cover, right?
“Wow, boxing center huh? How’s that going?” You kind of feigned interest, nodding your head more than usual whereas you just wanted to read.
“Great actually. I took business in college, and it really got me thinking. So, I pulled some strings and opened a center, that way I could practice and so can everyone else. It’s going pretty good,” he nodded satisfyingly.
You give him a sad smile. He was doing something he liked. You were too, but not exactly.
“So, do you still write poetry?” He asks, knowing he’d been talking too much about himself.
Ah, that was your sour spot. Your true passion. Writing poetry. Those years in high school you realized nothing gave you true happiness than what the joy of words did. You never wanted to make a career out of anything if it didn’t happen to include writing. However, prospects in becoming a writer were perilously low and by the time you finished your first year in college, you realized you had a take different direction if you wanted to lead a financially stable life to pay off your loans.
“Oh, that.” You shrugged, another one of your defense mechanisms. Jungkook’s eyebrow lifted questioningly. You weren’t one to call poetry as ‘that’.
“Well, I learnt poetry can get you far enough as someone with a dying YouTube career, sadly as it is. It's a beautiful profession, but I needed to make ends meet. So currently I'm working as assistant marketing manager at this company an hour away.” You tried to seem as content as possible.
“How is it?” Jungkook now had to go and take to some customers but he was still listening to you.
“It's great!”
It's fucking tedious. Sometimes I want to scream, tear some papers and run around like a maniac.
“I love my boss and my teammates.”
My boss is a sexist, misogynistic prick and my teammates love to kiss his ass.
“There are days when I don't even think about poetry.”
I think about it every single second that I'm at work. I can’t even write cause I’m so packed with stuff to do.
Jungkook laughs as he aligns some books in the correct angles. "You were a good student in high school. With those grades, getting that job must have been piece of cake for you. Although, it must suck not to write because of your work.”
You’re telling me.
The book you were previously reading wasn’t that interesting as you thought. You moved over to the Poetry section, skimming your fingers over the covers of books. You saw a familiar title and took it out. It was the same book of poems that your school had given as part of your Literature syllabus. This book made you fall in love with words and what they mean. You looked inside and to your relief, it had all the poems of love, tragedy and loss that you came to love when you studied them meticulously when you were still a student.
Your favourite poems were I Dream of You by Christina Rossetti and Rooms by Charlotte Mew. You longed for a romance like the ones they described in stanzas, but only seldom in your life did you come across someone who shared the love of sappy poetry like you did.
“Rooms, huh? I love that poem,” Your head sharply whipped towards Jungkook’s direction, who was now curiously studying the book you had in hand.
Jungkook, liking poetry? The same lad who made fun of all the writers for being over-dramatic over love, was now saying he liked poetry?
“Surprising, I know. But like, if anyone found out the guy on the football team shared a secret love for prose and poetry, I would’ve been thrown out,” He shrugs lightly. You understood, your school solely ran on conservative values of toxic masculinity and favouritism. You managed to survive all of that, thankfully.
You and Jungkook then engaged in a discussion on the best poems and writing you guys read, surprised at his wide knowledge and the opinions he had to share. You agreed on many, disagreed with a few. But one thing you realized was that maybe meeting Jungkook wasn’t such a bad thing at all, you guys could finally be friends.
You decided to buy your book of poems. You haven’t seen this book in ages and it would be nice to add to your collection anyway.
As you handed over the book to Jungkook to check out, your hands touched only slightly. Jungkook gave you a small, shy smile, and you returned it. Right before he was going to give you the bill, his hands awkwardly hovered over the register for a moment.
“Wait,” he quickly remembered. “I have to put a stamp inside of this. It’s a way of checking what books are purchased. Work regulations. Give me a sec?”
You nodded and he disappeared into the store room for a good 10 minutes. You waited as you looked around the store for the nth time and wondering when you’d be back again. Jungkook suddenly returned, looking a little sweaty even though the air-conditioner was still on. He wiped his sweat using a towel next to the register and handed over the book to you with both hands.
You smiled at your purchase, tucking it in your bag and respectfully bowing to Jungkook before you decided to make your leave. As soon as you turned your heel towards the door, Jungkook awkwardly extended a hand to you.
“So, what do you say, friends?” His eyes were looking down, to hide his embarrassment. You thought it was cute. You extended your hand too.
“Friends.”
~*~
The sky had enveloped the sun the same way it always did during sundown. You settled comfortably in your duvet, taking out the book inside the paper bag that had the initials F.F. printed in large colourful letters. You placed the book gingerly between your legs as you scanned the hard cover.
You inhaled the pages, the smell settling somewhere in your bones. Then you began reading. It was sunset when you started and then midnight when you got to the middle. You held back a yawn as you decided to call it a day and then get to work from tomorrow. You were putting a bookmark inside the page you stopped at when something like a scrap of paper fell out of the book.
Carefully, you kept your book on the night stand and picked up the fragment and turned it over.
The paper looked as if it were torn from a notebook. What looked like a poem was written in the childish scrawl of a 10-year old, but it didn’t seem reasonable that a child would write something with such thought and maturity.
Thousands of libraries will never exhaust
How you wander in the loveliest recesses of my thoughts,
An angel fallen from heaven,
Am I merely just a spectre in your presence?
Your fingers possess secrets in every page that you write
But how would it feel my dear,
if the hands that touched your skin, were I?
Books may command your attention
But I mean no harm,
But beyond the classroom walls, here is my confession
That it fatigues me that to remain a boy who will love you from afar.
You stared at the paper for a while.
The poem was no doubt very beautiful, suggestive even. Unrequited love always made the best poems, you knew. You imagined a love-struck young boy penning down this very poem for his classmate in the back of his Algebra book, thinking it would never be seen by anyone else except him. What you loved most was that in each verse, the writer made his best effort to form an analogy between his lover’s passion for books and his passion for her. And to top it all, you and this girl shared your love for books.
But how did such a sensitive piece of writing wind up in your poetry book?
The paper didn’t match the quality of the paper of your recent buy, obviously. Namjoon was also not one to keep second-hand or used books in his store either. Was someone else reading the book and somehow slipped this inside? But the writing seemed very personal and it would be irresponsible for someone to misplace something like this.
You shrugged it off later, safely keeping the piece in one of your night stand drawers. Just when you were about to place your treasured book of poems in your book case, rose petals from the book fell to the floor.
Gasping, you picked the bunch in your hands, the petals bearing an angry crimson shade. Roses were your favourite flower, so you couldn’t but smell the petals that lay within your reach.
But if anything, it only multiplied the questions in your head as to how, when and why both the love poem and the petals were in the book in the first place.
~*~
You forgot about the poem and the rose petals until you found yourself going back to Fact and Fiction the next week. Surprisingly, work load was less but you didn’t want to be one to ask why.
It was a sunny afternoon. You got the news that a sequel to one of your favourite series released few days ago. You were sure that Namjoon would keep a neat pile of the sequel somewhere in his bookstore.
Jungkook was already at the register handing a customer his receipt when he noticed you entering through the glass door. He gave a small wave as you scuttered to the New Arrival’s section. Anxiously, you browsed through the section until you finally saw the familiar title.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you muttered, the pads of your fingertips feeling the glossy hardcover. You had only turned to the front page when a dark-haired someone appeared by your side.
“Seriously, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes? Heard it didn’t get good reviews,” Jungkook smirks at you.
“Didn’t get good reviews my ass,” you mock him, going back to reading. The boy shakes his head and lets you read as he helps a customer find a certain book. More customers started to pour in, and soon Jungkook is up and running across the store every five minutes. You felt sorry for him, but then you realised with all his working out, running across a five thousand feet store was practically nothing.
It was just you in the store when it was evening. Jungkook leaned on the wall, resting his head on the counter in respite. You smiled dejectedly at him, wanting to say something to light the mood.
“So, how is Taehyung and Jimin? We couldn’t really catch up properly,” you said, sitting on one of the tools.
Jungkook sighed, almost happy that he could have one conversation today that wasn’t about foraging book titles of books ceased producing copies anymore.
“Jimin is good,” he said, wiping his sweat with the back of his hand. “He’s working at this law firm in Australia. Taehyung is pursuing his Master’s in Europe, something in cultural studies.’
“Wow,” the jealously in your voice was slightly apparent. You did work at a well-known company, but still, working abroad was a different league altogether.
“Gosh, can you believe how messed up we three were? Always fooling around, teachers said we wouldn’t amount to anything,” Jungkook reminisced, leaning his elbows on the counter now.
“I remember,” you laughed. “Especially when Taehyung pranked Mr. Choi with that whoopie cushion and Mrs. Kang when you drew her face on the board one day.”
“I think even Mrs. Kang laughed at that drawing herself, it was pretty impressive,” he smirks, lips breaking into a cocky grin. “
“And I think everyone remembers how you made Hae-ri cry in front of the whole class when you broke up with her,” you chucked, remembering the incident. Hae-ri and Jungkook sort of were going out in the middle of eleventh grade, but you always heard rumours how Jungkook was just playing around, like boys always did.
“Come on, Hae-ri and I were a joke. Can’t help it if she took us seriously,” Jungkook rolled his eyes. He clearly wasn’t interested in her as much as she was. As much as the others girl were really, even though to you he was what you always thought he was – a stupid, mean and lanky adolescent. “To think of it, I couldn’t help if I was a bit popular.”
“Oh, you were the cynosure of all eyes, Kook,” you smiled, looking down. It was true. Jungkook always carried an aura of confidence was that infectious. The kind of charm that made heads turn when he walked in the room, the type of startling charisma that was unnatural of a fifteen-year-old.
“Everyone’s eyes except yours,” he emphasised, crossing his arms over another.
“I mean, you hated me. We hated each other,” You state matter-of-factly, as you got up from the stool to the counter to make your purchase. “I can’t believe I even tried to be nice with you.”
Jungkook faced you with an expression on his face you couldn’t decipher. “I didn't hate you, not completely.”
That was news. You always thought Jungkook and his little gang were out to torture every weakling in school. Jungkook especially liked to torture you, so it would be an understatement to say you were a bit surprised.
“Which part of your icky teenage self,” you jabbed a finger in his shoulder playfully. “-even tolerated me?”
“The part that tolerated you thought you were special. And you still are, Y/N. Special.” He repeated.
There was a twinkle in his eyes when he spoke that you didn’t miss. Your heart felt like it was floating, warmed by the how Jungkook meant every word he said about you. Your stomach did this thing where it felt like a million bees were swarming around when you felt shy. A blast of warmth shot up your arms. The feeling lingered even when you pushed The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes in his direction.
Jungkook’s smirk didn’t wipe off his face after you had given your payment. The silence seemed unusual, did you just share an intimate, if brief, moment with your high school foe? Why had he called you special? You never stood out even when you were classmates, so why was he saying this now?
“I’ll go stamp this, yeah?” he cuts the silence. You nod, and he vanishes into the storeroom again. He comes back five minutes later this time and hands you the paper bag. You take your leave and silently leave the store.
What you don’t see is Jungkook’s gaze following you intently as you pull the door, walk across the street from the store and disappear into the night.
~*~
You returned home, your laptop greeting you with tons of messages from work. You cursed each of them, especially the one from your boss asking you to revise last week’s updates even though you emailed in a bunch of times saying you did. You pulled an all-nighter as you completed the tasks expected of you. By the time you were done, it was already two-thirty in the night.
You flopped on your bed, your body relaxing as it hit the soft covers. You breathed a sigh of relief as you pulled out your purchase from the paper bag.
You suddenly remembered the poem and the petals. You decided it would be weird, but you turned the book over as if you were expecting the same contents to pool from it. And sure enough, you were right.
Not one, but two pieces of notebook scraps settled onto your lap with some blue coloured rose petals. Your mind did a mental ‘what the fuck?’ before picking up the petals and placing them on your night stand. You picked the scraps and read them, never expecting what you would find.
Help me, for I am surrounded by loquacious ghosts
Yet you stand there, a beauty in flesh and bone
Women would die for me,
yet my mind echoes only your name
Break me from my reverie,
To kiss you in the blue sweater that hugs your delicate frame
You eye me with pure hate, yet is I to blame
I treat you wrongly,
But only to hide my love for you – if you push me away.
You read the second one now.
Blue,
It is the colour of the sweater you wear every first Monday of the month
The pencil you write poems at the top of your chemistry notebook,
The rain as it brushes against your skin when you're late to class
The look on your face when you're happy
The sound of my heart when you walk past my seat at the cafeteria table
The smile you wear when your friends hook their arms around yours
And my love for you that will never be requited.
Cold sweat broke out on your spine. This wasn't some love poem that was mistakenly placed in your book. It felt like the poems were directed at you. Even the first poem made you feel slightly suspicious because you had a resemblance to the girl mentioned in it.
You tried to knit all three poems together, because all those years in poetry class made you an expert at analysing. You found a connection. They were written by someone in high school.
The love for books, the pencil, the sweater, the behaviour traits, all reminded you of your teenage self from years ago. It was so intricate, as if this person had been observing you through a lens in class for years.
It was someone that you hated and he hated you too, but then again, you hated a lot of people in high school, and they too, you felt, disliked you. You had few friends, however good ones, all of which whom you remained in contact today.
Who could this person be? He definitely had outstanding poetry skills, the words worming its way into your heart ever since you had the first poem. You felt shy. Someone, in your class, liked you behind a mask of hatred. Your body contracted as you concluded that you had a mystery writer sending you messages with every book you bought. You wondered why you were living in the dark for a long time.
How had this not happened earlier? Why was it that before buying the book, it didn’t seem to have any individual contents in it, but after taking it home, it did?
You wanted more answers. You wanted to write back, but whom would you be writing to? You didn't know this person or his address. You realised that this was a one-way connection. You could only build your assumption if you had more poems to build them on.
And that could only happen if you happened to go to a certain bookstore couple of blocks from your apartment.
~*~
You went there the next weekend, on a cold Sunday morning. You kept the mystery poet a secret to yourself, although it haunted you for the whole week while you were at work.
As the weeks ensued, work was piling up, but you felt at peace when you were there among the books and Jungkook's company. The weekends went by with Jungkook narrating funny stories of certain customers he encountered, high school memories, work schedules, and of course books.
“No, Dark Places was absolutely not one of Gillian Flynn’s best works,” you commented, one evening.
“But the Satanic vibe was cool, you have to admit,” Jungkook’s voice was lost as he piled books in front of a stand.
Jungkook was a diligent worker for a newbie; he polished the shelves and smoothened out dog-eared books. He always checked the register and counted the cash, aligned the books the correct way, made note of what books were available and those which needed immediate restocking. He lost his callous attitude of high school years, but you berated yourself for always comparing his high school habits to the Jungkook now.
You rolled your eyes. “Have you read Karin Slaughter’s books though?”
You could feel his smirk from behind the stack of books. “Pretty Girls.”
“The Good Daughter.” You argued.
“Pretty Girls was grislier. I like.” God, you wanted to lunge a book at this guy. Everything gory or Satanic amused him, it seemed.
Jungkook was funnier than you imagined with the comedic antics he sometimes pulled off, by failing at twirling a book in his hands to accidentally hitting his head on the storeroom door behind the register. He sometimes flirted here and there, which was mostly harmless. But you couldn’t forget that time in the store when he called you special. The look he gave, the sincerity behind it, how genuine it felt.
You kept buying books and of course the love letters kept emerging along with the roses. You still had no idea who this person was, but as time went by, you kept falling more and more in love. You kept the petals in your journal. They did dry off, but you kept them regardless. You always kept the poems in your drawer, neatly piled into one corner. Sometimes, you pressed them close to your chest as if the words would somehow leap up from the page, dissolve into your rib cages and settle near your heart.
But one stormy morning that you were at the bookstore, you were weighed down by how work was progressing. The company had faced some setbacks, so you were responsible for getting the hearing from your boss. You tried to mask your sadness until you see Jungkook doing something suspicious near the centre of the room.
There was a small stand, where usually books were heaped into a mountain of paperbacks. It looked as if the boy was trying to pile the books in a house of cards fashion. The experiment was bound to fail, and Jungkook was lucky Namjoon was never here on weekends to see what was about to be happen.
But you help him instead.
“Do you like working here, Kook?” you tried to sound nonchalant. You hand him two books at a time, while he dexterously stabilised a book on top of another.
“I do,” he replies. “It’s relaxing. Especially when I’m not sweaty and working out all the time. Why?”
“It’s just, I hate my work environment you know, and I miss writing– “
Jungkook eyes you worriedly as he stops midway through the activity. You don’t notice and hand him some books anyway, but they fall right at the edge of the pile and the whole stack falls down on both of you like dominoes.
Jungkook falls back first on the ground, catching you as you fall on his stomach. Your faces are inches away from each other, but you rest your head on his chest, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! See? I’m such a mess. I can’t do anything right, I’m a failure, I’m-“
Jungkook rests his hand on your back and the other hand gently stroking your forehead. You picked up on his hesitance, as if he was asking your body to relax as a signal that he was comforting you. You did relax, you felt as ease. The weeks when you were around him, you never felt comfortable with anyone in your life. Let alone the fact that he was attractive, erm, cute – but he was probably one of the best people you knew.
“Shut up okay? You're amazing. Those assholes at work don't know how talented you are. You're amazing.” Jungkook whispered, rubbing your back in small circles. “I…I sometimes don’t like working at my centre either. The toxic masculinity over there makes me want to puke. I hate the environment, and sometimes I think I’m the one who sparked it.
He wraps both arms round you now, and you're reminded again literally, that being surrounded by books and Jungkook was what led you to Fact and Fiction every weekend. You two lie there for a good ten seconds, before you realised that a customer may walk in any moment. There was also the mess to sort out.
You help Jungkook up, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.
“I can’t really see you cry, I start crying too,” Jungkook jokes, as he hands you a tissue from the tissue box. Always so concerned, you took note. “Is there something that keeps you happy apart from books? Y-you could try and do that?”
"Actually,” you sniff. “There is something that keeps me happy these days. Someone keeps writing me love letters."
There, your secret finally revealed. Jungkook gaped you, as if he didn’t believe it. Honestly, you didn’t either until you made the connection yourself.
He proceeded to ask you details of the discovery, and was shocked himself when you told him of how you thought the person could be someone from high school. It really got him thinking. He named each classmate you’ve ever had an interaction with, but you couldn’t picture any of them having any interest in you.
How did your mystery writer/(lover?) know so much about you? Little details, little quirks. Was he a stalker? But how did he know exactly which books you bought and when?
"Well, maybe you should write something of your own too. Maybe like, in response to how you feel when you read his poems.” The boy suggested, picking the books from the floor, dusting them before putting it in a box next to him.
You mirrored his actions. You pondered over the thought for a while though. Writing to him would be a way to practice your writing that you thought you lost. It was a great idea; you were doing it for yourself. And then if you ever meet this mystery guy, you would show him too.
“Wait, before you leave,” the doe-eyed boy stops your tracks. The books were successfully placed in the box, and you were helping him put it in the sore room when he asks you to wait.
Jungkook walks you toward the end of the room. He picks out a book and shows you the cover. It’s a limited-edition copy of one of your favourite authors of all time, and signed. You wondered what it was doing at the back, when it should be out in front.
“I saved this copy, just for you,” Jungkook’s cheeks blushed a tinge of pink. “I remembered how much you liked his work in school. And I’m willing to give this to you, half the price.”
You ran and hugged Jungkook the tightest hug you had ever given someone in years. He laughed, returning the hug. You felt like the luckiest girl, customer, (whatever!) and you almost felt bad because you had gotten something exclusive for a discount because you knew the employee, anyone else would have paid fortunes for this. You thought about declining, but Jungkook really insisted.
“Don’t think about refusing. I’ll go stamp this before you make your payment,” he says before you could protest.
Really, where had Jungkook been all this time? So much kindness, this boy was brimming with endless love that you thought you didn’t deserve. After a while, he comes out and you hand him the cash.
As you say your goodbyes and make your leave, Jungkook says “And please don’t cry, wouldn’t want to taint that pretty face, right?”
Something stirred in your heart. You had just started seeing Jungkook as a man, was it now that he started seeing you as a woman? A blush creeps up your neck as you contemplate the thought all the way home.
~*~
You carefully keep the purchase on your bed. Taking out the scraps of love poems from your drawer, you needed to look at your muse before you started writing on your own.
You stretched your hands, pen in hand, ready to recreate wonders when it hit the paper. But you were blank. It’s like your mind had wired out all the imaginations you had kept stored for the last couple of years. You fell flat on your desk, exhaustion over coming you. Had you really lost your touch? Your parents, teachers and friends always praised you for your writing skills, have you let them down? But you weren’t really going to quit this easily.
You looked at your purchase. There must be another poem hidden inside. As if controlled by an entity, you opened the book, flipped the leaves and saw the very page sitting in between the middle pages. You removed the pink rose petals too, your guy never seemed to forget adding them in. You turned the scrap over.
Today I heard your laugh
Setting my heart in a frenzied trance
The purest sound even the sweetest nightingale could not match
Like fireflies bouncing against thin glass
The most beautiful treasure, I can never have.
Your eyes watered. It was a poem tinier from the rest, but this one struck something within you. “Like fireflies bouncing against thin glass”, the words feeling sweeter every time you repeated them. You couldn’t believe someone, who was so far from you, could love you this vehemently.
Suddenly, you had found your strength. You were going to write. You were doing this for him. For you.
You picked up the pen and the words just came to you. It was a struggle, but it was a start, you console yourself. You never imagined you would be writing a love letter to someone you had never seen, touched and spoke to, but you didn’t care. Your hands worked away, filling the page in front of you.
But your mind echoed the same mantra over, and over again: I am doing this for us. I am doing this for us. I am doing this for us.
~*~
It's three weeks later that you decide to do an experiment. It's been quite a while since you've been to the store, and the poems stopped coming as well. Work was driving you crazy. You knew sometime in this week you had to drop by the bookstore, so you decided to see if your mystery lover came on the weekdays.
Another employee whom you didn’t know personally and Namjoon were there. Jungkook, of course, was nowhere in sight like you guessed. Namjoon gives you a wave from the register as he speaks to a customer. You knew that you already had too many books, but today was crucial if you wanted to see if your experiment worked out. You could also return the book after you bought it, granted you brought it in after fifteen days. You could buy a book for someone else; your mystery man would never know you were buying it for yourself. Yeah, that’s what you decided do.
You picked up a random title from the shelf and made your way to the counter. The store was mostly empty, except one or two customers. Everybody was busy on a weekday.
As you made your payment, you noticed Namjoon stamping the inside of the book before handing it over to you. The counter was designed in a way so that a person standing a normal distance away couldn’t see what was inside of it. So naturally, your eyes furrowed in confusion.
“Don’t you have to go inside and stamp?” You asked, wondering if Namjoon made the wrong stamp. Even the brightest minds can forget.
“What do you mean? Namjoon looked at as if you had said the most ridiculous thing ever.
"Like whenever Jungkook checks out a book, he goes into the storeroom and stamps? It’s a rule?" You weren’t being sure of what you were saying right now. You sounded like a poor student explaining the concept of rocket physics to a professor.
"Oh, I don't know why he does that, since there's already a stamp here." He holds up a plastic rubber stamp like someone would hold an antique. "And I mean, you could do that, since there are few spare ones in the storeroom, but that’s like extra effort you have to put in. I'm not sure why he does that."
You nodded, kind of silent.
"Does he do that to you or for every customer?"
You realise you never even noticed this. Usually when the store had customers, you were engrossed in reading or looking at books. You never even wondered if Jungkook went to the storeroom to stamp all the books that were purchased. The bookstore would be very crowded during weekends, and the time taken for Jungkook to go and come back usually takes five or ten minutes. Surely, he would’ve taken one of the stamps to the counter itself cause the journey would be too tiring. But you didn’t know for sure what he did for other customers. You slapped yourself in your head for being so ignorant.
You left the store with an uncertainty heavy on your chest.
You return home. Billions of questions bounced from one corner of your mind to another in an intense ping-pong battle. What was worse, when you looked inside the book you bought, there was no poem. No rose petals either.
Could it be that Jungkook knew your mystery guy? Was he the one slipping in the poems when you made your purchase? Did your guy come in the middle of the week and hand Jungkook his writing and leave it up to him to do the favour? Is that why there were no poems or roses today, cause Jungkook wasn’t at work?
You didn’t know. All you knew was that the best way to handle your doubts was to confront Jungkook.
You noticed that you needed to buy groceries for the night. You just had take-out for three days in a row and now the thought of Chinese food made you feel icky. You hit yourself on the head for not buying groceries earlier after you were at at the store. You took your purse and made it in time at the grocery before closing.
Once you were done, you stepped out with your heavy paper bag and saw it was pouring heavily. Pedestrians were already waiting outside the store, hoping the rain would subside soon. Nobody suspected today that it would rain and neither did you.
“Fuck,” you muttered, you didn’t bring an umbrella. The bookstore was just across the grocery. It had a bigger shade, enough to cover seven people from the rain. You silently thanked Namjoon’s choice of constructing the store as you launched yourself across the street.
Jungkook was standing under the shed, looking for something in his bag. You didn’t notice he was there until he called your name.
“Y/N!” his eyes lit up. Desperate, your eyes searched his hands. He was carrying an umbrella. You breathed easier.
“Oh hey,” you say, the rain making it hard for you to be audible. Raindrops pounded against the shed like fists banging a door. “I thought you didn’t work on weekdays?”
“I don’t,” he said. “I was meeting someone here for work.” You nodded, wondering how would bring up the topic of the poems. Maybe you would ask him on Saturday, two days from now. Right at this moment, didn’t seem like the best time.
“Would you mind dropping me off at the subway, though? It’s just near my place,” you knew you sounded desperate, but you needed to get back home. You remembered he had to take the subway to get home too. Jungkook violently nodded his head as he opened his umbrella. You both started walking, shivering slightly at the cold.
"Hey, come closer. Don't want to get your pretty outfit wet," Jungkook huddled you closer to his side, wrapping a hand around your waist for purchase. Your cheeks reddened, maybe at the way the wind whipped your skin or the fact that no one's ever been this near you.
As the space between you and Jungkook closed, you looked at the boy who was always so concerned with your well-being. He had been occupying your thoughts lately. Maybe because of his dorky personality or because he was very smouldering in person, but either ways, your experience of crushes told you that this was the beginning of another infatuation. But you, liking your high school classmate? As much you fantasised him from time to time, you had to resist thinking about it. He maybe had a girlfriend, who knew? Someone as wonderful as him deserved one.
But in this moment, under the incessant rain where both of you trying to turn his upturned umbrella, Jungkook breaking into bouts of laughter as a car splashed water on your clothes, and you complaining of your matted hair – you felt so happy. The puzzle of the poems was longer a worry to you. All you wanted was to be happy in the moment, with Jungkook.
“So, are you going to give this mystery guy a chance?” Jungkook's voice strained to speak over the rain. Ah, coming to the point. You had been so sure you wouldn’t bring up the topic, but destiny had other plans.
“How am I supposed to give him a chance when I don't know who he is or how he looks like?” You say, uncomfortable at how wet the hem of your jeans was. You were walking at an uncomfortable speed, trying to avoid the puddles in your path but in vain.
“He surely knew what he had to do to get you swoon over him,” Jungkook laughed, as if he was so sure. He was right though, strangely.
“He does have a way with words,” you agreed. The wind was horrible now, pulling your top over your midriff. "I'm scared cause maybe the day he'll come up to me, I'll look like trash."
"No, you never look like trash. You look pretty in whatever you wear, Y/N." Jungkook scoffed. You blushed again. God, why was it so hard not to blush in front of him? “But you do know what's coming.
“What is?” Honestly your mind had been occupied so much about work, and your anonymous lover than you had no time to think the next Jungkook wanted to say.
“Valentine's Day.”
As soon as you heard it, something in you jolted. Two days from now was Valentine’s Day.
"Do you think he might make his appearance that day?" you asked, your voice high as a sparrow’s chirp. Jungkook offered to hold your grocery bag in return for holding his umbrella. You obliged.
"Can't really say that, but would it make your day if he did?" he continued.
“Oh my god, yes,” you stressed on the word, even slightly a little bit anxious because you wouldn’t know what you did if he came out of nowhere.
“Does someone have butterflies in their stomach now?”
"Stop it.” You nudged an elbow at him. You have no idea what he does to me."
"I do know." He holds his gaze longer this time. The rain finally subdued. You saw something in Jungkook's eyes then, you're not sure what – sadness, hope, expectation? But whatever it was, you felt something reverberate in your ribs long after he tears his gaze away.
"I think this is where we part." You say, brushing the hair from your eyes. You were still holding his umbrella, waiting for the right moment to give it to him.
Jungkook suddenly takes your free hand and squeezes it in his own. "Whatever you do, Y/N, please give that guy a chance. He does seem to really like you." He tucked a hair beside your ear, you shuddered a bit at the cold touch.
Why was Jungkook being so persistent about it? Why was he so serious when it came to you and your mystery lover? Whatever the deal was, Jungkook's expression didn't waver. He was right too, and that strengthened your resolve to accept this stranger no matter who he was. You nodded, which made Jungkook only happier.
"I wish I can see him." You sighed, wondering if Jungkook was thinking what you were thinking.
"Y/N," Jungkook leaned over to whisper in your ear. "Maybe you just need to keep looking around you, because he could be so near to you, but you just don't know it yet."
You still don't understand what the raven-haired stunner meant by his words when he hands you the groceries, leaves without his umbrella and descends the subway stairs.
~*~
It was Saturday. Valentine’s Day.
Jungkook woke up in his one-bedroom apartment, a little shaky. Today was the day.
As he reached over to pick up the backpack he took to work, he unzipped the tiny front pocket. Scraps of paper fell out from the seams, like snowflakes on a wintry morning. The twenty-three-year-old looked at each piece, running his fingers over the love poems his high school-self had written to you. If Jungkook had told his angsty teenage self that someday the poems he had written at the top of his history notebook would be read by you, he would have never believed himself.
Jungkook always liked you.
It wasn’t love at first sight, heck, he didn’t believe in that. He didn’t mind you at first, but he realised what made you so special than the rest. You were strong, maybe not in the vocal way, but in the way you saw the world around you. When the teacher complimented how well you would write your answers, you evocative your poetry was – Jungkook could never imagine how a shy girl, her nose so lost in a book at the corner of class would do that.
So when Jungkook read your answers one day, or when he would sneak a glance at your writing, he felt insecure. The real reason why Jungkook always teased you was that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t write as well you did, put his mind to something that you did so well, to be so intelligent, strong and soft. From you, he understood that strength doesn’t equate to being aggressive, or overly vocal. It can be in the way you can showed kindness as well.
So that’s why started pestering you, to hide his own feelings he could never reveal to anyone.
Jungkook never forgot how even after he teased you repeatedly in class, you would always give him an extra pencil when he wanted one, or a reassuring smile when he was anxious before a test. That was the only limit of his interactions with you, but it was more than enough.
He quickly took notice of you in the most subtle ways. The pencil you wrote with, the way your hair was styled one morning, that blue sweater that was apparently your favourite. How you passed by his seat at the cafeteria every morning to sit with your friends. How opinionated you were about certain authors and their writing styles. Even when Jungkook had to put up his ‘popular boy’ persona, sometimes he would tune out all the meaningless conversations he had just to hear how soft your laugh sounded when your friends showed you something funny.
You quickly became his muse. Jungkook was good at physical activities. He was popular, everyone had expectations from him to go on to college with a football scholarship. Everyone looked up to Jungkook cause made himself look like an idol. But in reality, Jungkook had nothing to show except for a fleeting charisma. Jungkook was good at physical activities, but not at words.
But you made him fall in love with words. Like everyone else, he was at first impatient at why poets and writers took so long to get to the point. But he learnt from you that art was patience. Love was patience.
He struggled, for weeks, months, trying to get the right words out of him. How he felt for you, how you made him feel. He now realised how hard it was express your feelings in few words. But with some practice, Jungkook eventually got there. He had begun to read more, surprising his parents too, but he eventually loved the activity. It calmed him. Soothed his nerves. Staying up late at night just reading, Jungkook noticed his English answers were improving. When he received the final grade, it wasn’t great. But he was satisfied. His whole gang slapped high-fives with him asking how he cheated his way through the exam successfully. He bit his lower lip, a habit of his, as he shrugged at them in response. The real reason was a pretty girl who always sat in the corner of class.
He kept his proudest pieces of poetry hidden in his bag for so long, secretly thanking you for realising a part of him he never knew existed. He took the bag everywhere with him, serving as his strength. His true, strength. Not the kind that had him running 20 laps around school and bench press 30 kilos to impress his coach.
He always regarded you as his first love, not Hae-ri, not any of the girls he went out with as a joke. He was sad when he graduated high school, but was too shy to come up and thank you. He regretted not saying anything to you then, knowing life is not one to give second chances.
But when Jungkook saw you in the bookstore for the first time, part of him thought this was fate. His feelings resurfaced, stronger than ever. He still had the scraps of poetry in his bag in the storeroom, he could just retrieve them and slip them into the book you would purchase. Maybe even some roses Namjoon liked to decorate on the inside.
When you slid your book the counter, Jungkook had deliberated the idea. But he knew that everything happens for a reason, so he decided to do it anyway. You would never know who it was, but at least he could tell you how he felt for you in one way. He kept repeating this as many times as you bought something from the store. He loved your company, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. Never had he felt happier when he was talking to you, getting to know the real you.
So that’s why he wanted to reveal himself to you, behold! I’m the writer behind all those poems!
Valentine’s Day would be the perfect opportunity to do so. He just hoped, wished, that you wouldn’t push him away. Or, be disappointed. That was Jungkook’s fear that kept him wide awake at night. Could you have been hoping for someone else? Did you not look at Jungkook the way he looked at you?
He would only know today. He was bracing himself, when he got changed, when he showered, when he raced to the subway and made it sharp at ten am.
Namjoon was already there, smiling at the young boy wondering why his cheeks were so red. Jungkook’s heart never beat that fast. His heart felt like it would be sliced open by a hundred bullets. He quickly put on his apron and pretended to be busy arranging the books on the middle shelves in proper order. It was already an hour when he heard the door open.
Jungkook’s feet almost leapt up when he saw you coming inside. He waved, a bit too much he thought, and took few seconds to gather himself together. He was ready to approach you any moment now. He would take your hands, press them against his chest and say: “Its me, Y/N. I’m the anonymous writer you’re looking for.”
Jungkook edged himself forward. All this time he’d been waiting for this.
Until he sees Namjoon walking up to you first.
~*~
“Y/N,” Namjoon approaches you. You didn’t expect him to be talk to you, since he was always so busy on weekends. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say…that you look pretty today.”
“What?” you laugh, nervously. Namjoon calling you pretty? All of a sudden? You never even thought he even looked at you beyond a friend. Yes, he was very good looking, Jungkook must have talked about you to him, hadn’t he? The former always complimented on your appearance, making you smile inwardly.
“Gosh,” he chuckles in return. “Your laugh really does sound like fireflies bouncing against thin glass.”
You blink twice, hand going right up to your mouth. Namjoon. Wait, Namjoon? So, it had been him all this time? Yes, it all made sense! Only someone as charming, educated and well-mannered as Namjoon fit in all the right pieces of the mystery man you pictured. No wonder the poems had a very loving touch, it was written by someone like him. But how he had he known so much about you? Was it Jungkook who told him all those teeny, insignificant details that you were made of?
At that moment, you didn't care. All you knew was that Kim Namjoon noticed you. He had noticed you.
You smile at him.
You looked over your shoulder, Jungkook’s face turning to a shade of grey. His seemed frozen in position. You wondered why. You just wanted to jump up and shake him and scream into his face: Jungkook! Namjoon is the one! He’s been the one writing to me!
“I've been meaning to ask, would you like to go out to coffee with me today? It is Valentine’s Day,” he scratches the back of his neck. You take his hands in yours. You nod willingly. You were too excited that all you had was time to point at Namjoon to Jungkook when Namjoon had his back turned to remove his apron.
Jungkook got the message you tried to tell him. He only smiled, but you wondered why it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
~*~
The café shop that you and Namjoon decided on was already swarming with customers, couples mostly. You guys decided to sit outside, a table for two. You were so excited, you were ready to bombard Namjoon with a series of questions, hoping it would give you the insight it needed. You both ordered two lattes and brownies with ice-cream topping.
“I can’t believe you readily agreed to go out with me,” the man before you shrugs modestly. “I mean, I could pass on as your elder brother, right?”
“Um, no, I was so happy that you asked, I…I never imagined, really. I’m really happy you did,” you stuttered, reaching out your arms to touch his. He appreciated the compliment.
“That’s so sweet, Y/N,” Namjoon smiled again, resting the palm of his hand on his cheek, giving you a longing gaze.
“Sweet, just like the poems you wrote for me,” you giggled, waiting to hear just what he would say. You almost choked on the next words.
“The what?” He blinked. Immediately, you knew you looked stupid. You tried to find your words.
“I said, just the like the poems you wrote for me.”
“I never wrote poems for you, heck, I can't even write poetry, Y/N.” Namjoon sipped on his latte that arrived. Your knees turned rubbery. He was joking right? You continued to insist, but Namjoon just shook his head firmly.
“I'm serious, I never wrote anything for anyone. Ask all my exes.” He was looking at your curiously now. You did too. Your hands were getting sweaty with nervousness.
“Then why did you say that my laugh sounded like fireflies tinkling against glass?” Exactly your question.
“Cause, I heard Jungkook saying it was.”
Your heart again did a little flip at his name. He was talking about you to Namjoon. But Jungkook was narrating the same line from the last poem you received, how is that possible, granted if he didn’t know the content? Or if, someone had given him the poem in the first place and he just happened to see it? A streak of anger went up your body when you thought of Jungkook intruding on your privacy.
“If...if, you didn't write these poems, then who did?” You searched your bag, taking out the poems that you kept in your wallet. You laid them out, one by one, on the table. There were many of them, but Namjoon scrutinised each piece closely. His eyes darted from one end to another, eyebrows furrowed in confusion suggesting he was in deep thought. Namjoon squinted at the scribbly, childish scrawls on the scraps and suddenly his brain clicked.
“This seems a lot like the poems Jungkook showed me, you know.”
You looked up shocked, your heart feeling like it was dropped from a height. Jungkook writes poems? You knew he read often; you didn’t know he wrote too. Did he have the time to? When did he start writing? All these questions made your head feel like it was stuffed with cotton.
Namjoon noticed your silence. “I know,” he laughs. “Seems weird right? He doesn’t seem like it, but that boy does have some talent in the writing department. He says it calms him somehow.”
“Do you keep roses in the store room, Namjoon?” You said, not looking at him. Your voice almost sounded robotic.
“I do, to brighten up the space there. Although I realised on the days you would come, there would always be one rose less the last time I counted them.”
Do you think...?
Suddenly, your brain had connected the dots. You shouldn't have judged Namjoon so quickly. All the times you remembered, Jungkook mentioned going to the storeroom to stamp the books you purchased. There was actually a stamp right there in the counter, but he never failed to go inside the storeroom instead. Maybe he slipped in the poems and the roses then?
And the handwriting. You remember going through Jungkook's essays in high school when you tried to help him out, even a bit. You remembered how bad his handwriting was.
But Jungkook, writing poems for you? You admit you did feel a soft spot for Jungkook albeit your sour history with him in high school, but soon you realised he's so much more than his shy demeanour. Yes, your assumption on Namjoon being your mystery writer overlooked all the clues, and you wished you thought more thoroughly. Now, because of your impulsive decision-making skills, you landed up in this awkward situation with Namjoon.
Jungkook was the one writing poems for you. Only he could notice those habits you had possessed in school, he was your classmate for fuck’s sake! All those years that you hated him for being mean to you, he was crushing on you instead? How, why?
But then you understood. You liked Jungkook. Ever since the first poem. He became such a beautiful writer, with all the delicate details he noticed about you. So, there was meaning behind him calling you special. There was meaning when he looked at you for a few seconds longer. There was meaning in his smile, in his actions, in his concern. There was meaning in every little thing he did because he liked you, and still likes you. And you liked him too.
Why had he resisted the ache in his heart to come forward and tell you the truth about who the person behind the poems was?
You put back the poems and muttered several apologies to Namjoon before you fled the scene, your mind rehearsing exactly what to tell Jungkook the first thing you meet him.
~*~
You barged inside the familiar bookstore, the cold air from the air-conditioner hitting you smack in the face. There were no customers, it was Valentine’s Day you remind yourself. Jungkook was busy cleaning up the bar, a solemn look colouring his usually bright face.
He looked a bit startled when he saw you open the door, as if he didn't expect you to enter at this hour.
“Y/N! How was your date?” He faked enthusiasm. You marched up to him and slammed the poems down on the counter.
“You could have told me, you know. The worst I could do was to storm off,” You crossed your arms, this time not as a defence mechanism.
“What are you talking about?” He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the poems now. How long was he going to keep up this act?
“Disappearing to stamp my book? The horrible handwriting? The intricate details about how I was in school? Sounds like only someone who knew me, or observed me very well, would know.” You said, tone a bit lighter. “I'm not dumb, Kook.”
There was a slight pause on Jungkook’s end before he speaks. “Took you this long to find out, though.”
You grinned. “You’re a coward.” You leaned forward, slightly kissing him on the lips. He responds, smiling, taking his hand to cup you on the cheek. It’s awkward at first, but his lips were just the right amount of soft and yours. Suddenly, Namjoon, your temporary crush on Changmin, disappear. The moment is magical as you lock both arms around Jungkook’s neck as he kisses you excitedly. Sparks fly between both your bodies.
You break away from the kiss. “You say big words in your poems, yet you can't muster up the courage to confess to the girl you like?”
“I thought…you and Namjoon hyung...” Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed crimson, as he eyes the floor in attempt to hide his evident embarrassment.
“Which wouldn't have happened if you confessed to me earlier.” You rolled your eyes, baffled that he didn’t speak up when he should have. “Do you know how awkward it was, realising you were the one behind the poems and not Namjoon?”
“Oh my god, did you leave him there all alone?” He tried to suppress a small laugh. “So, do you like me now?”
“We just kissed, Jungkook.” You punched him. “But yes, I have liked you ever since I read your poem the first time. And your writing is just…wow.”
“I try,” He did that thing again where he rubbed the back of his neck when he got shy. “Only for the girl I always had a crush on.”
“And you succeeded.” Throwing your hands over his neck again, nuzzling your nose against his, you felt the comfort, the same one whenever you were around Jungkook, slowly making it way from your legs to your arms.
“Valentine's Day is not over yet, shall we go out?” You nodded at Jungkook’s suggestion as you both made your way out the store, no customers projected to come anyway.
Hand in hand, you realised that fairy tales with happy endings did exist. Except for princes, dragons and villains – your story had roses, poetry and Jeon Jungkook, your enigmatic writer in hidden notebook scraps, whom you loved with all your heart.
