What Happens When You Fall Part 1 (M) I BTS Namjoon x F!Reader
🩺 Pairing BTS RM (Kim Namjoon) x Reader (Orthopedic Surgeon!Reader)
🩺 Genres Medical!AU, Friends with Benefits, Mutual Pining, Angst, Smut, Celebrity x Non-Celebrity, Long Distance, Emotional Drama, They are two idiots infuriatingly in love
🩺 Rating 18+ (minors DNI)
Two years. One rule: no feelings.
You broke it somewhere along the way.
Now you’re left with him on one side—and everything else on the other.
🩺 Wordcount: ~30k (This was supposed to be a oneshot what the heck)
🩺 Part 1 of the Fall Series Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 EPILOGUE
🩺 Main Masterlist
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You don't do feelings.
That has always been a non-negotiable policy — right up there with sterile technique and never, ever cutting corners in an operating room. Not because someone told you to live that way, but because you built yourself around the principle the same way you build everything else: carefully, deliberately, with full awareness of what happens when the structure is compromised.
Feelings, in your experience, compromise everything.
They linger past their welcome like a consult no one ordered but somehow ended up on your chart anyway. They show up at two in the morning with their shoes still on. They sit in the corner of a room you thought you'd cleared out and refuse — absolutely refuse — to acknowledge the door. You've spent the better part of a decade learning how to manage chaos, how to reassemble broken things with steady hands and a clear head. You know where to cut. You know where to fix. You know, more than anything, where to leave well enough alone.
And yet.
There's always been this quiet, slightly irritating suspicion, the kind that surfaces only when you're too tired to argue with yourself, that you might be the one thing you never quite figured out how to repair.
It's fine. You function. You excel, actually — your attendings would say so, your board scores certainly did, and your hands have never once trembled in the middle of a procedure. You are, by any reasonable metric, doing great.
You built yourself that way.
No room for distractions. No margin for the kind of softness that makes you hesitate when it counts.
Especially not the kind of distraction that used to text you at two in the morning about a book he'd just finished; something dense and philosophical that he'd read in one sitting, apparently, because he had no concept of normal sleep cycles. The kind that sent voice notes that started as opinions and dissolved, somewhere in the middle, into something that sounded dangerously close to feelings. The kind that looked at you in the specific, unhurried way of someone committing something to memory they know they're not supposed to keep.
That was a lapse in judgment.
Temporary. Fully corrected.
You ended it the way you end most things you can't afford: cleanly, before it could cost you anything you weren't prepared to lose. No scene. No tears. No drawn-out conversation that would've made it heavier than it needed to be. Just distance. Silence. The quiet, mutual understanding that whatever that had been, it was better left contained before it grew into something with roots.
He had gone still when you almost said something you shouldn't have. His expression had done this small, barely-there shift — not rejection, exactly, but not the thing you needed either — and that had been enough. More than enough.
You don't chase people who hesitate.
That's another policy. Non-negotiable.
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It's past midnight, and the hospital hums around you the way it always does at this hour — steady, rhythmic, a little like breathing. Monitors keep their soft, metronomic beeping down the hall. Somewhere in the distance a cart wheels past on linoleum, someone's rubber soles squeak on the turn. The whole place smells faintly of antiseptic and overworked air conditioning, that specific, chemical-clean scent that most people find vaguely unsettling and that you, genuinely, find comforting. It's predictable here. Everything stays where it's supposed to.
Your coffee has gone cold again.
You stare at it. It stares back, completely indifferent to your disappointment.
You push it aside.
The last chart of your shift sits open on the tablet in front of you — numbers, imaging notes, post-op observations, all of it making perfect, orderly sense — when your phone vibrates against the desk with enough conviction to rattle your cold, traitorous coffee. Your supervisor's name flashes on the screen.
You pick up immediately. "Doctor."
"I need you in the VIP wing." No greeting. No lead-in. Just his voice, clipped and carrying the weight of someone who has already made a decision and is now informing you of it. "Now."
You sit up a little straighter. "What's the case?"
"31 year old male. Lower extremity injury. Possible fracture. Imaging's already up."
"And this couldn't wait for morning because?"
"It's a priority case."
A pause settles between you, long enough to be pointed. You can almost hear him selecting his next words with the careful deliberation of a man who has learned, over the years, that you will notice if he hedges.
"You have three attendings on call tonight," you say, leaning back slightly. "Why me specifically?"
Another pause. Longer.
"…because I want the best one handling it."
You let that sit for exactly one second.
"Or," you say, perfectly pleasant, "because whoever this is comes with enough name recognition that you'd prefer the fallout lands somewhere competent if anything goes sideways."
He exhales through his nose, which is as close to you got me as he's ever going to get.
"Just get here," he says, clipped. "And be… mindful."
Mindful.
The line clicks dead before you can ask him what, precisely, he expects you to be mindful of. Your tone, your bedside manner, or the fact that you're apparently about to walk into a room where the security detail probably outnumbers the medical staff.
You stare at your phone for a beat longer than necessary.
Then you close the chart, grab your tablet, and go.
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The first thing you notice, rounding the corner into the VIP wing, is the security.
Not subtle. Not even attempting subtle.
Men in dark, well-fitted suits posted near the entrance like they were placed there by a set director. Shoulders squared, eyes tracking everything, the specific stillness of people who get paid to look like they're waiting for something to go wrong. One of them clocks you immediately, then steps aside without a word, which means someone already cleared your access.
Your brain starts quietly running through the possibilities as you walk.
Some chaebol heir who tripped over his own ego. A politician's son who was definitely not somewhere he shouldn't have been. A CEO with a stress fracture and a board meeting in the morning, because the economy apparently waits for no one's tibial plateau.
Maybe an actor.
Maybe an athlete.
Maybe someone whose face you're supposed to recognize from magazine covers and three-second video clips and the kind of cultural presence that somehow managed to skip right past you because you spent most of the last decade in lecture halls and surgical theaters.
You've treated all types.
None of them are usually this dramatic about a fracture.
You push the door open.
And walk into what appears to be, against all architectural logic, a luxury hotel room that has been lightly inconvenienced by the presence of medical equipment.
The lighting is warm — not hospital-warm, but actually warm, golden, the soft ambient glow that people pay interior designers to replicate and never quite manage in their apartments. The furniture is understated in the specific way that expensive things can afford to be: a chair that probably costs more than your monthly student loan payment, a side table holding a glass of water and what looks like a very good novel. The machines are there, sleek and quiet against the wall, designed to blend in, to cause the minimum possible offense to anyone's sense of aesthetics.
It smells faintly of cedarwood.
In a trauma wing.
In Gangnam.
The smell triggers a memory your brain is not fast enough to shut down before you recognize it.
You almost expect someone to offer you a warm towel.
Your gaze moves to the bed.
There's a figure propped against the headboard, someone else standing nearby with a low voice and a tense posture, a conversation going on that cuts off the second you step through the door. The figure in the bed is big, broad shoulders, long limbs, relaxed in a way that reads less like comfort and more like someone who has learned to perform calm under pressure. A light blanket pulled to mid-thigh. One foot slightly elevated.
Then he turns his head.
Your brain does something embarrassing.
Goes completely, uselessly blank.
His hair is different.
Blonde at the tips, frosted, a little shorter than you remember, cut closer at the sides. Clean and deliberate and styled even now, even here, even in a hospital bed at midnight. Your mind, moving at a speed that entirely bypasses your consent, immediately supplies the memory of your fingers in that hair, the way he'd tilted his head almost imperceptibly into the touch, the way he'd pretended not to notice he was doing it.
You shut it down.
You shut it down fast.
Too late, because he's already looking at you.
And he's smiling.
Not a big smile. Not a performance smile. The quiet, unhurried one — the one that sat in the corners of his mouth like it had been living there a while, the one that came with the dimple that had made genuinely questionable decisions feel like perfectly logic. He looks at you like nothing happened. Like you didn't walk out first. Like the last time he saw your face wasn't the last time, and before that was you almost saying something you'd spent weeks carefully not saying.
Like this is completely ordinary.
And you're not about to look at his imaging, cross-reference it with the timeline on his tour schedule, and tell him that the concert he has been building toward for the better part of a year is going to have to be modified.
Like you're not, in some strange and deeply inconvenient way, about to be the thing that breaks something in him tonight.
You don't examine why that thought lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest.
"Doctor," he says. His voice is a little rough — from the evening, from the pain he's clearly managing, from something — and underneath the roughness there's that tone. The amused one. The one that always sounded like he found you interesting in a way that wasn't entirely about medicine.
Like he was expecting you specifically.
As if he already knew it was going to be you.
Your heart does something that has absolutely no place in a clinical setting.
You ignore it with the practiced efficiency of someone who has been ignoring it for months.
You let the door close behind you. Your expression settles into something practiced: neutral, composed, the kind of professional warmth that means I see you as a patient and nothing else. You move toward him the way you move toward every patient — with purpose, with calm, with your whole attention organized around the task.
If he notices the effort in that distance, he says nothing.
He's always been good at that. Noticing things quietly. Keeping them to himself until the moment they'd do the most damage.
"Let's take a look," you say. Your voice comes out steady. Clinical. Good.
You don't look at his dimple.
You look at his ankle.
You look at his ankle, and you think about the imaging waiting on your tablet, and you think about what you're going to have to tell him, and you remind yourself, firmly, that you are a professional with excellent boundaries and absolutely no unresolved feelings about Kim Namjoon.
Not even a little.
Not even at all.
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Before
Two years ago, before Seoul started feeling like somewhere you actually lived instead of somewhere you were simply surviving, before your name meant anything beyond a resident number and a rotation schedule, before the particular shape of one person's attention changed the way a room felt when you walked into it...
You were sleeping on your friend's couch.
Temporarily, Minho had said, like someone who already knew the temporary would stretch. Just until you figure things out. Just until your schedule stops actively trying to kill you.
Minho had always been like that — helpful in the effortless, slightly irritating way of people who are genuinely good at it without needing credit. Pediatric surgeon, which already made you question his judgment on a fundamental level. There was a particular kind of person who chose to work with tiny humans on purpose, and you had never fully understood them.
You had told him that once, at the tail end of a shift that had lasted long enough to qualify as a human rights violation, still in scrubs, still running on hospital coffee and sheer professional stubbornness.
He had laughed like you'd said the funniest thing he'd heard all week.
That was two years ago, when you were living on Minho’s couch like a very tired, very overqualified stray. Before it turned into a shared apartment, two separate rooms, and something that looked a lot like stability.
And exactly two years ago you were tucked into the corner of his couch with your legs folded under you, wearing sweatpants that were definitely not yours; slightly too long, slightly too wide in the hips in the comfortable way of clothes that belong to someone taller, holding a beer that had a man's face printed on it.
You turn the can slowly in your hand.
The thing about working the hours you work is that faces stop registering. The world outside the hospital becomes a kind of background radiation, occasionally loud, easy to ignore. Celebrities blur into the general visual noise of the city, their faces on billboards and bus stops and building-sized screens that you walk past without looking up. You know BTS the way you know most things that have nothing to do with your job: vaguely, incompletely, in the way of someone who has absorbed information purely through proximity.
But even you know this face.
It feels, sitting in Minho's living room at eleven on a weeknight, slightly unreal.
"You're telling me this is real," you say, still studying the can.
Minho doesn't even look up from his phone. "What part."
"That your childhood best friend is on my beer."
"That's not even his best picture."
You let out a breath that could technically count as a laugh. "You're unbelievable."
"You're just annoyed that you didn't believe me."
You had not believed him. You had smiled politely and assumed it was the kind of thing people occasionally exaggerated — oh, my friend is kind of famous — without anticipating that kind of famous would turn out to mean printed on merchandise distributed to millions of people internationally. There had been a proportionality failure somewhere in your expectations.
Minho's apartment is warm, books stacked sideways on shelves they've outgrown, a throw blanket bunched up at one end of the couch that you've claimed as your own, a kitchen that smells faintly of the late dinner you made two hours ago. It is, you've come to realize over these three months, the most comfortable you've felt anywhere that wasn't a surgical theater.
That probably says something about you.
You take another sip and study the can again. "If your friend actually walks through that door," you say, "I'll apologize."
"He will."
"Mmhm."
"And you will apologize."
"If he is, in fact, a real person and not an elaborate social experiment, yes." You pause. "I'll even sound sincere."
Minho finally looks at you, deeply unimpressed in the way he reserves for your worst moments. "You need a life."
"I have one."
"A life that includes things outside the hospital."
"My life is the hospital."
"That's not a life, that's a sentence."
"It's a calling."
"It's avoidance."
You open your mouth, close it, and take another sip of the beer with the man's face on it instead. Minho watches you with the particular patience of someone who has known you long enough to not need you to confirm things out loud.
"You've been here three months," he says, gentler now. "The only place you go is work. The only people you talk to are colleagues. You came to my apartment and the first thing you did was ask if the Wi-Fi reached the couch so you could check patient charts."
"I was on call—"
"You weren't on call."
A pause.
"I might have been on call."
"You were not on call."
You pull the blanket a little tighter. Outside, the city hums, the low, constant frequency of Seoul at night, traffic and neon and the ambient energy of a place that genuinely never stops. It filters in through the window glass, distant enough to be comfortable. You like cities for this reason. The noise that means you're not required to fill the silence yourself.
"You're allowed to enjoy things," Minho says. "Non-medically."
"I enjoy things."
"Name one."
"I enjoy this beer."
"That's a beverage."
"I enjoy your company."
"I'm flattered and unconvinced."
You smile despite yourself, which you suspect was his intention. He smiles back — small, warm — and then his phone buzzes in his hand and his expression shifts into something you can't quite read. Amused, but layered.
"That's him."
You hum, already looking back at the can. "Tell your imaginary friend I say hi."
He rolls his eyes. Into the phone, he switches into comfortable, easy Korean, the conversational kind you can mostly follow by now — yes, come up, yes it's fine, yes, someone's here, no, she doesn't care — and you lift your beer slightly in the direction of the phone without looking.
You don't.
He's not relevant to your life. He exists in a world so far removed from yours it might as well be a different genre. You are small, precise, and specific. You deal in bones and imaging and recovery trajectories. Whatever world is printed on this beer can is not one that intersects with yours in any meaningful way.
The door clicks a minute later.
You don't turn right away.
There are boots against the floor, unhurried and deliberate. A small shift in the quality of the air, the way a room changes when it gains a presence rather than just a body. Minho greets him with the easy warmth of someone who hasn't had to earn comfort in a friendship for a long time.
"Finally. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
"Busy," comes the answer.
You go still.
It's the voice more than anything. Low, unhurried, the kind that doesn't strain for anything — not volume, not attention, not effect. It lands in the room like it belongs there, like it's done this before.
You turn.
He's still in his military uniform with clean lines, structured shoulders, the kind of tailoring that looks understated until you realize it isn't. His hair is shorter than you expected. Much shorter than the face on the can. Cropped close, almost gone, just a dark shadow at his scalp, sharp and clean. It changes his whole face somehow — makes him less the person you'd assembled from peripheral cultural awareness and more just a person. Specific. Present.
More real.
Your brain, with absolutely no authorization from the rest of you, immediately decides he's attractive.
Not in the distant, objective way you might acknowledge a well-composed photograph. In the way that registers in your body before it makes it to your brain — a small, involuntary shift of attention, an awareness that has nothing to do with being rational about it. He's tall. He has the particular quality of someone who takes up exactly the space he needs and none more.
You don't like that. The noticing. The immediacy of it.
Minho gestures in your direction. "This is Y/N. Staying here while she finishes her specialization."
You lift your beer approximately an inch. "Hi."
Namjoon looks at you.
Not the polite, passing look of someone acknowledging a stranger in a shared space. Actually looks like you've interrupted something in the middle, like he's working out a question he hasn't asked yet.
"Hi," he says.
Simple.
Completely simple, two letters, not even a full word, and yet something in your chest moves anyway a small, quiet tug, like a thread you didn't know was there catching on something it shouldn't.
You look away first.
You tell yourself it's self-preservation. You tell yourself you're tired and adjusting and the last thing you need is a complication that smiles like that, and you tell yourself that with enough conviction that you almost believe it.
You stay anyway.
You tell yourself it's because leaving would be rude. You tell yourself it's because Minho will bring it up for months if you disappear the second his friend arrives. You tell yourself you're just finishing your beer, that you'll be in bed in twenty minutes, that none of this is interesting.
The conversation starts carefully. Surface things. Light things. The city, the schedule, the specific misery of a particular hospital cafeteria dish that Minho insists is food and you have decided constitutes a philosophical question.
And then it doesn't stay that way.
Because he asks you why orthopedics.
Not the way people usually ask — slightly glassy, politely curious, already formatting their response before you finish yours. He asks it the way someone asks a question they actually want the answer to, head tilted slightly, attention fully directed, like the conversation has just become the most interesting thing in the room.
You open your mouth to give the answer you always give. The clean, practiced version. The one that sounds good in interviews and satisfies people enough to let it go.
It doesn't come out.
What comes out instead is the real one.
About structure — about how the skeleton is the thing that holds everything else together without ever being seen, the silent architecture underneath all the parts that get more credit. About how there's something almost philosophically satisfying about fixing something broken and watching it heal into exactly what it was supposed to be. About how bones don't lie, don't compensate the way soft tissue does, don't pretend to be fine when they're not. A fracture is a fracture. The imaging doesn't negotiate.
You realize somewhere in the middle of this that you've said significantly more than you intended.
That you've given the real answer to a man you met eleven minutes ago.
That you should probably stop.
You don't stop.
Because he's listening — and not in the nodding, waiting-to-respond way, not performing attention while actually waiting for a gap in the conversation. He's listening the way people do when they're not thinking about what they'll say next because what you're saying is enough on its own.
It does something to you.
Something small and inconvenient.
When you finish, there's a brief quiet, not uncomfortable, just full.
Then: "That makes sense."
Three words. And they land somewhere deeper than three words should be allowed to land, somewhere underneath your ribs, in the part of you that very rarely gets to say the true thing and be told it makes sense.
Minho disappears into the kitchen at some point — with the subtle, plausibly deniable timing of someone who is absolutely doing this on purpose — and then it's just the two of you in the warm light of the living room, the city doing its steady thing outside the window, and a silence that has stopped feeling like a gap and started feeling like a question.
You become aware of things you hadn't been tracking before.
The way he sits, relaxed but present, occupying the space without performing ease. The way his attention doesn't drift to his phone, to the door, to anything behind you. The way he seems, against all reasonable expectation for someone who exists at the scale he apparently exists at, entirely unbothered by the requirement to be impressive.
You find that more unsettling than if he'd been trying.
"You didn't believe him," he says, glancing at the can still in your hand.
"I'm still not fully convinced," you say. "This could be very a elaborate prank."
"That would be a significant amount of effort."
"I've seen worse. People do strange things when they're bored."
A small smile. "I'm not bored enough for that."
"No?"
He looks at you.
"Not right now."
And there it is — that pull again, quiet and persistent, settling somewhere under your skin like it's decided to stay a while. You look at him properly this time, let yourself do it. The clean lines of his face softened by the way he holds himself, unhurried. The calm that doesn't read as emptiness but as something more like depth the sense of a lot happening below a very still surface.
You feel something in you shift.
It is, you recognize immediately, a problem.
Not catastrophic. Not yet. But the kind of small structural compromise that, left unaddressed, has a tendency to become one.
You know this because you understand how things break.
One drink turns into two. Two turns into a third that neither of you quite acknowledges getting. The conversation moves through things easily — books, cities, the particular philosophy of choosing a profession that requires you to hold other people's worst moments in your hands and keep going. You laugh more than you expected to. You say things you don't usually say to people you've known for years, let alone someone you met tonight.
You notice, at some point, that you've stopped monitoring yourself.
That your shoulders have dropped. That you've pulled your knees up onto the couch without thinking about it. That you're talking the way you do when you've forgotten to be careful.
It happens gradually, and then all at once, the way everything you don't plan for does.
By the time you recognize it — the interest, the specific quality of wanting to know more, the pull toward someone you have no business being pulled toward — it's already there. Settled. Quiet. Inconvenient in the way of things that don't ask permission.
You tell yourself it's the hour. The exhaustion. The novelty of a conversation that didn't require you to perform competence or manage someone else's discomfort.
You tell yourself it's nothing.
You tell yourself it's temporary.
You mean all of it.
And still.
When he looks at you like you're something worth paying attention to, like he's not done figuring you out and doesn't seem to mind that it might take a while, you feel it.
The thread, pulling tighter.
You should cut it.
You know you should cut it.
Instead you stay, and you talk, and you let the night do what nights like this do when you're not careful: turn into something you'll spend a long time afterward pretending didn't matter.
Just once, you tell yourself.
Just this. No feelings. No complications.
You mean it when you say it.
You just don't know yet — can't know, sitting here in borrowed sweatpants with a beer can and a man who listens like it's a lost art — how thoroughly, how quietly, how completely wrong you are.
Because two years later you'll be standing in a room that smells of cedarwood and expensive calm, looking at him like he never stopped being something you were afraid to lose, and you'll understand exactly where it started.
Here.
This couch.
This night.
The moment you felt the thread and didn't cut it.
That was where everything began to break.
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Now
A month.
That's supposed to be enough time. By any reasonable measure, a month is sufficient distance to walk into a room, see someone, and treat them the way they're supposed to be treated now. As a patient, as a stranger, as a case file with a name attached. A month is enough to calcify something. Enough to let the edges of it harden into something you can work around.
That's what you told yourself when you took this shift.
That's what you're telling yourself now, standing in a doorway that smells of cedarwood and money, while something in your chest tightens with the specific, humiliating familiarity of a feeling you thought you'd already handled.
You hate that.
You hate it considerably more when he smiles at you.
Not a big smile. Not the one he performs, the full, camera-ready one you've seen on screens and magazine spreads and the side of a building in Hongdae. This one is smaller. More careful. The one that lives just at the corners of his mouth, the one that knows things, the one that has the dimple in it.
He smiles at you like he didn't watch you walk out first. Like the silence that followed was just weather — something that happened, something that passed. Like you weren't the one who decided this wasn't worth staying for, who made the calculation and came up with leave and acted on it before he could say anything that would've made it harder.
Like none of that happened.
And this is just a room and you're just a doctor and he's just a patient.
You focus on your job. Your job is real. Your job makes sense.
"Tell me what happened," you say, reaching for his chart, your voice coming out exactly as steady as you need it to be.
He shifts against the headboard, unhurried, watching you with the specific patience of someone who has nowhere more interesting to be. "I've been wondering the same thing."
You look up, briefly. "I meant the injury."
"Ah," he says. Something in the way he says it — soft, almost amused, almost sad — lands with more precision than it has any right to. "That fall."
Of course he'd call it that.
"Rehearsal," he continues, settling back slightly. "I tripped over my own feet, crashed into Yoongi, and came down wrong on the landing."
You stare at him for exactly one second. "You tripped over your own feet."
"Yes."
"And took someone else down with you."
"He was standing in a suboptimal location."
Somewhere to your left, a nurse makes a sound that is technically a cough but is functionally a laugh. You don't acknowledge it. You crouch down in front of him instead, pulling focus, getting to work.
"Pain started immediately?"
"Yes."
"Did you try to walk on it after?"
A pause. Just long enough to be an answer before the actual answer comes.
"…yes."
You close your eyes for approximately one second. "Of course you did."
"I thought it might just be—"
"Sore," you say. "Yes. Everyone thinks that. Then they make it worse." You glance toward the nurse without standing up. "Pain level on arrival?"
"Eight," she answers. "Analgesics administered at intake."
"Any numbness? Tingling?"
"No," Namjoon says.
"Previous injury to this ankle?"
"No."
You settle your hands along the joint — careful, methodical, your fingers pressing along the bone with the kind of precise, controlled pressure that you've done so many times it's almost meditative. You know exactly what you're feeling for. You know exactly where the damage is.
This part is easy.
"Does it hurt here?" You press, lighter this time.
"It did," he says.
You don't look up. "Did?"
A pause.
"Not as much. But it is hurting me now."
You know he's not talking about his ankle.
You know it the way you know most things you don't want to know — immediately, completely, before you've had a chance to decide what to do with it. You keep your hands where they are. You keep your face neutral. You move slightly higher along the fibula, continuing the examination with the focused attention of someone who is absolutely, professionally, entirely fine.
"You've been avoiding me," he says, quietly enough that it could almost be just for you. Almost.
You don't answer.
"Try to flex," you say instead.
He does, slower than he should. A small tightening around his eyes that he doesn't let become more than that like someone used to managing pain in front of an audience.
You stand. You step back before your own thoughts can catch up to your body, putting clinical distance between you and the inconvenient thing that's trying to happen in your chest.
"Imaging," you say, and the intern pulls it up on the display before you've finished the word.
You look at it. You let the clean geometry of bone and shadow ground you — the precise, honest language of what's broken and what isn't, what can be fixed and what needs time.
"Hairline fracture," you say. "Distal fibula. No displacement."
The manager moves forward before you've finished the sentence, a man with the specific energy of someone who treats medical consultations like negotiations he expects to win. "So he can perform."
"He's lucky," you say. Not to him. Just into the room.
"The concert—"
"He needs immobilization and rest. Minimum two weeks, ideally more."
"That is not—" The manager stops, recalibrates. "We have contractual obligations. This concert has been scheduled for months. Netflix is involved. All seven of them need to be present and performing. You understand that."
You turn to face him fully.
"The fibula doesn't know about the Netflix deal," you say. "If you want him walking properly through the rest of the tour — not limping, not compensating in a way that creates secondary injury, not coming back to someone like me in six weeks with something that requires actual surgery — you let this heal now."
"He can modify his performance. He doesn't have to—"
"He shouldn't be on that stage at all."
"We don't have that option."
"You do," you say, and your voice is steady, firm, the voice you use when someone needs to hear a thing they don't want to hear and there isn't a gentler way to say it. "You just don't like it."
Silence.
The manager exhales through his nose, the sound of someone running through contingencies in real time. Somewhere behind you, one of the security detail shifts his weight. The room is very still.
Then.
"Hyung."
Namjoon's voice. Calm, low, carrying the kind of authority that doesn't need volume to land.
You glance at him despite your better judgment.
He's not looking at his manager. He's looking at you. And his expression has changed, the lightness is gone, the careful amusement, the performed ease. What's underneath it is quieter and more honest, and something in you responds to it before you can tell it not to.
He knows exactly what this costs him.
Of course he does.
"What if I sit," he says, looking between you and the manager with the measured calm of someone making a concession they've already accepted. "The whole concert. Stool, chair, whatever makes sense. We've done full seated stages before. A few years ago with Taehyung."
"That's entirely different—"
"It's an option," Namjoon says. His voice doesn't rise. But something underneath it does — something close to please, except from someone who doesn't usually have to say it. Something that has nothing to do with the concert.
Your chest does something you don't have time for.
Because you know that tone. You know what it sounds like when he's asking for more than what the words say.
You exhale. Long, controlled. The breath you take when you're about to say something you'd prefer not to.
"If you're on that stage," you say, carefully, precisely, like you're reading from a care plan, "you're in a full cast. No exceptions, no modifications, no I'll be careful. You sit. You don't stand. You don't dance. You don't try to get up because the crowd is loud and you forget you're injured." You look at him directly for the first time since you started. "Those are the conditions."
A pause.
Then he smiles.
Warm and soft and entirely too familiar, like something that knows where it lives on his face and yours, like something that has done this before. The dimple appears. The whole thing is deeply, unfairly disarming.
"Thank you," he says.
And for a moment — a brief, inconvenient moment — it doesn't feel like he's thanking you for the medical accommodation.
You look away.
You look away because you need to, because staying in that look for another second would cost you something you've already paid for once and can't afford to pay again.
The door opens.
You know who it is before you turn around, because the universe apparently decided this situation needed one more layer of complication.
Minho arrives in pediatric scrubs, a small stuffed bear pinned to his pocket like a badge of honor from whatever four-year-old gave it to him and forgot to ask for it back. He stops just inside the door. Takes in the security detail — four inside, more implied outside. The furniture. The cedarwood. The general atmosphere of a room that forgot it was supposed to be a hospital. His eyebrows do a slow, eloquent climb.
This, his face says clearly, is not what I was told.
"I thought the president was here," he says.
He steps further inside. His gaze moves through the room the way it always does, cataloguing and then it slows. Settles.
On you.
On Namjoon.
On the specific quality of the silence between you.
Ah, says his expression. There it is.
"Y/N," he says, a beat more carefully than usual.
"Minho."
He looks between you and Namjoon with the carefully neutral face of someone who has just understood something he's going to have to pretend he hasn't understood for the remainder of this interaction.
The manager notices. The manager is paid to notice. "Do you two know each other?" Sharp. Directed at you.
"Not really," you say.
"Yes," Namjoon says.
At the same time.
The resulting silence has a very specific texture.
Minho doesn't hesitate for a single second.
"We go way back," he says pleasantly, with the easy confidence of someone defusing a situation through the sheer force of breezy social energy. "She stays with me — we've known each other forever, I've known Namjoon since we were kids, so the three of us have had drinks together. A few times. With other people present," he adds, the addendum arriving approximately one beat too late to do any clarifying.
The manager looks between all three of you.
You cannot read his expression, which means he's probably reading yours.
You turn back to your tablet.
"He'll be ready for discharge tomorrow morning," you say. "No surgical intervention required. The fracture is stable."
You pause for exactly long enough.
"I'll be transferring his ongoing care to another attending."
The room absorbs that.
You don't look at Namjoon. You don't need to. You can feel the quality of his silence from across the room — the way it's different from the manager's silence, from Minho's, from the nurses'. The way it has a particular weight.
"Prep for casting," you tell the intern, already moving.
You keep your pace even. You keep your shoulders back. You keep your expression the way you've learned to keep it: composed, professional, the face of someone who has just completed a clinical assessment and is moving on to the next task.
You don't look back.
You've made a study of not looking back.
The door closes behind you with a soft, definitive click, and the hallway swallows you back into its familiar hum — monitors, footsteps, the antiseptic smell that means you're on solid ground.
You keep walking.
You keep your hands steady.
You focus on the fact that the fracture is clean, the prognosis is good, and the patient will be fine.
The patient will be absolutely fine.
You're the one you're less sure about.
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You should have gone home hours ago.
You know this. You know it the way you know most inconvenient things — completely, immediately, without any room for argument. Your shift ended. Your charts are signed off. Your post-op patients are stable, your notes are filed, and there is nothing in this building that requires your specific attention at this specific hour.
And yet here you are, walking down a hallway you have absolutely no clinical reason to be in, at twenty minutes past midnight, in a hospital that stopped needing you approximately three hours ago.
You're doing rounds.
Post-op rounds. Very important. Medically necessary.
The kind of thing a conscientious physician does as a matter of professional diligence and absolutely nothing else.
You roll your eyes at yourself in the reflection of a darkened window as you pass it.
You're not going to see him. That's not what this is. You assessed him, gave your recommendations, transferred his care to Dr. Jeong who is perfectly competent and entirely uninvested in the outcome, and walked away exactly the way you were supposed to. That's where it ended. That's where it stays.
You're just... checking. On the general wellbeing of the ward. Medically.
The VIP wing is quieter at this hour, the particular hush of a hospital after visiting hours when the daytime urgency finally exhales and everything slows into something almost resembling peace. The overhead lights have dimmed to their night setting, warm and low, casting long shadows down the corridor. Somewhere distantly, a monitor keeps its steady rhythm. The antiseptic smell is fainter here, cut through with something softer — the scent of the good hand lotion the VIP nurses use, probably, the kind that comes in a pump dispenser that costs more than your lunch.
The security guard steps forward the moment he sees you.
"ID."
You exhale, already reaching into your coat pocket. "I work here."
"I still need to see it."
You hand your badge over and watch him scan it with the thoroughness of someone who gets paid specifically to not trust anyone, including people in white coats. You get it. You do. You've heard enough, over the past two years, about what people are willing to do to get close. The lengths. The creativity. The way someone becomes a public thing and the normal rules of personhood start to feel optional to everyone except the person they apply to.
He knew all those stories before you did. He told you some of them, late at night, in a tone that was careful and a little tired, the voice of someone who'd made peace with something they hadn't chosen.
You take your badge back. "Satisfied?"
He nods, steps aside.
The hallway swallows you in.
You walk toward his room with the deliberate pace of someone who is not thinking about what they're doing, which is its own kind of thinking about it. Your footsteps are quiet against the floor. The door at the end of the corridor is closed, a thin line of warm light visible underneath it, which means he's awake, which means —
You stop.
Voices.
Minho's voice, specifically — not loud, but sharp like someone saying something they mean, stripped of the easy warmth he usually wraps things in. You recognize the register. It's the tone he reserves for moments when pleasantness would be dishonest. The one that surfaces when a situation requires someone to just say the thing.
You've been on the receiving end of that tone. It's not comfortable.
Your hand rests on the door handle without pressing it.
"I'm serious, Namjoon." A pause, the weight of something being considered. "You don't get to do this halfway. Either you say it or you let it go."
The silence that follows is the kind that has a shape to it.
You don't breathe.
You don't know who he's talking about. You don't know what he means. You have a suspicion that is rapidly assembling itself in your chest without your permission, pressing against your ribs in the specific way of things you're not ready to name.
"You're going to regret not saying it."
The door swings open.
Minho steps out and nearly walks directly into you, catching himself at the last second, close enough that you can see the exact moment he registers what's happening, the hallway, the hour, your hand on the handle, your face, the whole picture arriving to him in one assembled instant.
He stops.
You freeze.
A silence that has a specific, terrible quality of two people who both understand something neither of them is going to acknowledge.
Then Minho exhales slowly, looks at you with the expression of a man who has tried, genuinely tried, and has decided to leave the rest of it to God or fate or whatever other force is responsible for the two of you.
"You're both hopeless," he says, shaking his head.
He walks past you down the hallway without another word, his footsteps unhurried, his hands in his pockets, the silhouette of a man who has said his piece and is officially no longer available for comment.
You watch him go.
You stand there for a moment longer than makes sense.
Then you push the door open, because leaving now would be too obvious and staying in the hallway is worse, and neither of those is a real reason but here you are anyway.
The room is quieter than it was this afternoon.
The warm light is still on, the lamp on the side table, not the overhead, casting everything in amber. The cedarwood scent has settled into the room properly now, no longer noticeable as a deliberate addition but just the way the space smells, the way his space always smelled. The medical equipment hums softly at the edges. His leg is elevated, the cast pale and clinical against the warm tones of the bedding.
He's sitting up against the headboard, and he looks at you the moment you step through the door.
Not like he was looking at the wall or his phone or the middle distance and then noticed you arriving. Like he was already looking at the door.
Like he knew.
Something in your chest tightens with a feeling that takes you a mortifying second to identify as relief, and you hate that, you genuinely hate that, the immediate involuntary comfort of being in the same room as him, the way your nervous system apparently decided at some point to file him under safe without consulting you.
"You're still here," he says.
"So are you," you say, stepping inside and letting the door close behind you. "Hospitals have discharge processes. They don't just let you walk out."
A faint smile. "That's not what I meant."
You know it isn't.
You move closer, but carefully — maintaining the kind of distance that's just slightly too large to be natural, the deliberate gap of someone managing their own proximity. You stop near the foot of the bed, arms loose at your sides, tablet tucked under one arm like it's your alibi.
"I was doing rounds," you say.
He doesn't respond to that. Just looks at you, patient and unhurried, the way he always looks at things he's decided to wait out.
"You don't have rounds here," he says, after a beat. "Dr. Jeong has this wing tonight."
"I can do courtesy rounds if I want to."
The smile at the corner of his mouth does something small and involuntary. It doesn't reach his eyes all the way, which means something is sitting heavier in him than he's showing. He looks quieter than he did this afternoon — the easy performance of it stripped back, something more unguarded underneath. The kind of tired that isn't about pain or the hour.
"You should be resting," you say. "Actually resting. Not sitting up at midnight looking like you're waiting for something."
"I was," he says.
You don't touch that.
"How's the pain?" Clipboard voice. Clinical. Safe.
"Manageable."
"On a scale of one to ten."
He tilts his head slightly, like the question amuses him. "Do you always ask that?"
"Every patient, every time. One to ten."
He considers this with more gravity than it deserves. "Six."
"That's not bad."
"It was worse earlier."
"The medication will level it out overnight. Keep the leg elevated — you're already doing that, good. No weight on it, even if it starts feeling better. Especially if it starts feeling better. That's when people make stupid decisions."
"Is this the part where you tell me not to do anything heroic on stage."
"I told you that this afternoon."
"You can tell me again."
"I don't need to. You heard it the first time."
He hums. Soft, acknowledging, not quite agreement but not dismissal either.
A pause opens between you and neither of you fills it. The lamp flickers faintly, or maybe it doesn't and you're just looking for something to look at that isn't him. Outside, somewhere down the corridor, a cart moves past with its small domestic rattle. The monitor keeps its steady count.
You are very aware of the quiet.
"Minho was right," he says.
Your spine goes very still.
"About what."
He looks at you with that particular patience — the kind that feels less like waiting and more like having already decided something and simply giving you space to catch up.
"About regret," he says.
Your stomach drops.
Not dramatically. Not a plunge. Just a slow, quiet sinking, the sensation of something being recognized that you'd prefer to keep unrecognized.
"He's a pediatric surgeon," you say. "I'd be careful taking life advice from someone who voluntarily spends his days with five-year-olds."
A flicker of something moves across his face — fondness, mostly, with a thin layer of something more serious underneath.
"But he's mostly right," he says.
You exhale through your nose, which is not quite a laugh but lands in the same neighborhood.
The silence comes back. Thicker now. The kind with a specific center of gravity, pulling both of you toward something you're both pretending isn't there.
You shift your weight. "I should go."
"Stay."
Just that. One word, spoken quietly, without pressure, which somehow makes it more difficult to refuse than if he'd argued.
You hesitate.
That's the problem with him, the hesitation. He's always been able to produce it in you. This small window between your instinct and your action where things you wouldn't normally allow start to feel possible.
"Please," he adds, softer.
You don't sit. You don't move closer.
But you don't leave.
Which is its own kind of answer, and you both know it.
"I'm not staying long," you say.
He nods. Like that's sufficient. Like whatever this is, he'll take the version of it you're able to give and not ask for more.
That, somehow, is what makes it harder.
He looks at you in the lamp-warm quiet — really looks, the way he does when he's not performing anything, when he's just letting himself pay attention without trying to make it comfortable for you. There's something in it that you've never found a way to be indifferent to. The quality of his focus, the sense of being genuinely seen rather than catalogued.
It makes you want to step back.
It makes you want to stay.
You know what he'd find, if he looked long enough. Not the fracture, not the imaging, not any of the clean and legible things you can hand someone and say here, this is what's wrong and here is how we fix it. Something harder to read. The truth of it — that you're leaving, that you've known you were leaving for weeks, that somewhere in a drawer in your apartment there is a signed contract with the LA Dodgers' letterhead and your name at the bottom, and that you have said nothing because saying it would make this into something it can't survive.
You look away first.
"Can I ask you something," he says.
You nod before the sense of it reaches you.
"Why did you leave?"
The question lands in the exact place you knew it would — quiet, precise, the specific weight of something that has been carried carefully for a month.
You look at the wall. At the cast. At the clean geometric lines of the room. Anywhere that isn't the particular honesty of his face.
"You're not my patient anymore," you say. "Technically you transferred to Jeong, so—"
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one available."
He watches you for a moment longer. You can feel it without looking.
Then, carefully: "Can I ask for something else?"
The phrasing catches you. Not can I tell you something. Can I ask.
"What," you say.
He doesn't answer immediately. The pause has a shape to it — him weighing something, measuring cost against honesty, the same calculation you've watched him make before when he's about to say something real.
"Can you kiss me."
Your breath does a small, involuntary thing.
Of course.
Of course he would say that, here, at midnight, in a warm-lit room, after Minho's voice through a door and a month of silence and a conversation that has been one long exercise in saying everything except the thing.
"You're on painkillers," you say.
"So."
"So your judgment is compromised."
He tips his head back slightly, something like amusement moving through his expression despite himself. "Drunk people and children don't lie."
"I know some very dishonest children."
"No you don't."
"Minho tells me about his patients."
His smile is soft and real and briefly, painfully, it's just him — not the public version, not the performer, just the person who stayed up too late talking to you about things he didn't tell anyone else and looked at you afterward like that had meant something.
You step closer before you make the decision to do it.
You lean in.
Press your lips, gentle and brief, to his forehead — to the warm, steady plane of it, to the space above his brow that always made him look thoughtful, that you have touched before in different contexts for different reasons.
Safe.
Controlled.
Not what he asked for.
When you pull back, his hand is around your wrist.
Not tight. Not urgent. Just present — fingers loose enough that it costs you nothing to pull free, firm enough that you haven't.
"That's not what I meant," he says. His voice is very quiet.
"I know."
"Then why."
You look at him. At the question in his face — not hurt, exactly, not yet. Just open. Waiting for the true answer with the specific patience of someone who already suspects it and is hoping to be wrong.
Your chest aches in the inconvenient, familiar way of something you've been refusing to name.
"Because it's complicated," you say.
He holds your gaze. "It doesn't have to be."
It does. You both know it does — the industry, the schedules, the world he lives in that occupies a different atmosphere than yours, the way anything real between you would have to survive conditions that most things don't survive. He knows this as well as you do.
And underneath all of that, underneath every structural and logistical and reasonable argument: you are leaving. You have a flight booked and a contract signed and a life in Los Angeles waiting to begin, and you haven't told him, and the longer you don't tell him the more it feels like the kind of thing that, once said, cannot be unsaid.
You ease your wrist free. Gently. Like it doesn't cost anything.
"I should go," you say.
"Come to the concert."
It stops you in a way you didn't expect, the directness of it, the absence of cushioning or strategy. Just the request, clean and undecorated.
You turn to look at him.
He's watching you with an expression that is not playful, not careful, not the managed ease he shows most people most of the time. It's just — want. Simple, unambiguous, the expression of someone who has decided honesty is less dangerous than whatever the alternative is.
I want you there. He doesn't say it again. He doesn't need to.
You know what it means. You know what you're risking by saying yes — how yes pulls you closer to something you've been trying to stay at the edge of, how yes is another thread you won't cut, how yes is one more thing that will make Los Angeles feel further away and harder to choose.
You know all of this.
"Okay," you say.
His expression does something quiet and devastating — softens in the specific way of someone who was prepared for no and didn't know what to do with yes.
You turn before you can let yourself look at it too long. Before he can ask why, or thank you, or say anything else in that voice, at this hour, in this light, that your chest will insist on holding onto.
You push the door open.
Walk out into the cool, antiseptic certainty of the hallway.
Keep walking.
You tell yourself that a concert is nothing. One evening. Controlled exposure. You've been in worse situations with better outcomes.
You tell yourself you have this handled.
Down the corridor, the elevator opens with a soft chime. You step in. The doors close. Your reflection looks back at you from the polished metal — coat, tablet, the composed face of someone who has everything under control.
Your wrist, where his hand was, is still warm.
You look at your reflection for a long moment.
"Handled," you say, to no one.
The elevator descends
Read Part 2
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Okay… hi 😭
I KNOW. It’s been a while.
Like… a longer than I personally expected while.
In my defense, life has been ✨unhinged✨ and I unfortunately do not control when my brain decides to hyperfixate on a specific story and ignore every other work in progress I have open at the same time 🙃
Because yes, I am still thinking about continuing the sports series (The Rookie part 2, I see you 👀), I just… my brain said no, we’re doing this now and here we are.
But also, this story???
This one came out of nowhere in the most insane way.
I watched the concert, got inspired, sat down to “just write a little something”… and suddenly it was Saturday… then Sunday… and I was still writing… and the words just KEPT COMING 😭
And now I’m here, emotionally attached, fully invested, slightly unwell.
Because I love them.
Like actually, deeply, concerningly love them.
They were supposed to be a short, quick little story.
A one shot.
A simple idea.
Lies.
I started writing and they just… kept talking.
Kept feeling.
Kept existing in ways I wasn’t planning.
And now this is a whole thing.
And I’m not even mad about it because they mean so much to me and I just—🥺🖤
Anyway, thank you for being here, for reading, for feeling this with me.
More chaos (and emotional damage) coming soon.
I promise I won’t disappear again… probably… maybe… don’t quote me on that 😭
Love Ria,
Summary: Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches.
Or where you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing.
As I mentioned the other day, my YT is filled with old BTS Bangtan Bombs... well, it's also filled with older interviews and performances.
I just watched this performance video for the 1st time. Jimin is injured and not there, and Kookie's got stitches in his foot.... It was still amazing. Like, really amazing. The guys really pulled it of, with Hobi, Yoongi, Joon, Jin and Taehyung doing the choreo.
Yah, I know I'm late to this party but hey. Better late than never, right? 😁🥰😘
22K words
The thing I will never admit to anyone who's met me is how desperately I want to be loved, I don't think I could say it. How I want someone to hold my wrists and kiss my palms and smile at me, and want me. I want to be wanted and I don't know how long poetry and songs will substitute being wanted.
I recrumple the piece of paper before placing it into the recycling bin where I assume the person who was throwing it away was aiming for. I leave the classroom looking into the dark hallway to see who would've been here as early as my mother and I, but there was no indication anyone else was here. Perhaps whoever took out the recycling at the end of the day had missed it or it fell out of the bin. I went back into the classroom, my mother busy at her desk doing some last minute grading, "Is there anything else I can do?" I asked, bored since classes didn't start for at least another hour "Actually," my mother said looking towards the corner of the room "Some boy brought a basketball to my class from the gym, bring it back there for me," she said pointing towards it. "Sure," I replied walking over towards the ball, picking it up before heading towards the gym.
It was weird walking down the halls when there were no lights and completely empty. Most of the time there were at least a couple students roaming the halls, it didn't matter if there were classes going on, you were never alone in the hallways. I shove the doors open to the gym, walking over towards the corner of the gym where the basket of basketballs sat. I threw the ball to see if I could make it in, but I was less coordinated than I realized. I ran after the basketball and placed the ball back with the rest of them. I turned around to leave the gym and that's when the door to the boys locker room opened. My instant reaction was to hide behind the basket of balls, peeking over the top I watched as a boy walked out of there, his hair wet, almost as if he had just showered going into the hallway.
I waited until the doors shut before I came out of hiding. I walked towards the women's dressing room, giving a tug on the door only to find that it was still locked. Strange. The boy's locker room was open but the women's was still locked. I walked out of the gym, heading back to my mother's classroom, wondering where the young man had gone as he was not lingering in the hallways. Then as soon as I stepped into my mother's room my cheeks burned. He was sitting in the back of the classroom with headphones in. I could only hope he didn't seem me duck behind the basketballs in the gym. I walked over to my mother and sat on the edge of her desk, facing her with my back towards the guy. "Who's that?" I whispered pulling her attention from her work for a second, to look towards him and then towards me.
"He's one of my student's in your year, Jeon Jungkook," she replied quietly before going back to her work, trying to pretend we were not talking about him. I was shocked to hear the name. I remember Jungkook from middle school, he had large eyes and teeth but he was much smaller then. Now he was built, clearly he had been using the gyms and his hair had grown a bit causing a bit of a natural curl and he had this aura around him that kind of said he didn't want to talk to you. I hopped off her desk and walked over towards him. He was sketching in his notebook and I was surprised to see he was actually quite good. I sat down in the desk in front of him, watching as he dragged the pencil across the page. He had drawn most of the face before his eyes looked up. He tried to hide it but he was a bit startled to see me sitting right in front of him.
he reached up and pulled one of his headphones out of his ear "What?" he questioned and I shrugged my shoulders "I didn't know you could draw," I replied and he let out an unimpressed chuckle "There's a lot of things you don't know about me," he said. "I think there are a few things I do know," I stated getting him to raise an eyebrow "We've never really talked," he countered, "We went to middle school together. I can tell you work out, you probably like art..." I picked the headphone out of his hand and put it in my ear to hear the song 'Can You Feel My Heart' by bring me the horizon "And you prefer alternative music," I said before giving it back to him. The tip of her ears were slightly red "If you pay close enough attention you can learn a lot about someone," I added.
"Y/n!" I looked towards the door to see my best friend, she was smiling at me but when her eyes traveled to who I was talking too she looked uneasy. I looked back at Jungkook "Be good for my mother," I joked pointing at finger towards him before getting up to rush over to my friend. She quickly wrapped her arm around mine and pulled me into the now lit up hallway. "You really shouldn't talk to him," she scolded me and I furrowed my eyebrows "That's kind of mean," I replied and she shook her head "I heard he beat up Jonah last year for no reason, and he was going to be expelled, but spent the summer doing community service to stay," she whispered as if she was the first person to tell me this, if I were him I would want to punch Jonah too, he liked pressing people's buttons.
"He has a loose cap," she mumbled as we got to our lockers "Then you stay away from him," I replied because in my mind he was still the shy middle school Jungkook who looked at everything in amazement. "I heard he moved out of his parents house and in with a bunch of older guys," she said shaking her head "He probably joined some gang," she added under her breath. The hallways got more and more crowded but as soon as Jungkook walked out they parted like the red sea. It was as if everyone thought he had some sort of plague or if you poked him he'd attack you. He acted as if he hadn't noticed, going into the boys bathroom, a series of whispers following behind him.
I couldn't help but look for Jungkook in every class, or listen to hear someone else talking about him. None of what people had to say were positive. I don't think there was a single person who said something decent about him. The only people who seemed to talk to him or interact with him were the stoners or other outcasts and even then it was minimal. It made my heart ache a little. At the end of the day I went to my mother's classroom and she was sitting at her desk talking to Jungkook who stood in front of her. "y/n," my mother called me over to them "Take my keys and give Jungkook a ride home-" "I'm not going home," Jungkook replied through gritted teeth. I could see the vein in his forehead throbbing "You need them to sign the handbook or you will be asked to leave," she explained calmly.
"Fine," Jungkook muttered and my mother held out the keys to me, "come get me after, he doesn't live far," she said before shooing me off. Jungkook followed behind me, silently but I could feel him stewing behind me. We got into my mother's car and Jungkook directed me towards his house. I wasn't sure what to say to him in this kind of situation and I assumed he didn't want to talk about it. I pulled up to a house that could pass for a foreclosure and Jungkook got out, "Thanks." he muttered "Do- do you want me to wait?" I questioned before he could shut the door. He thought about it for a moment but shook his head "it's fine," he replied "I really wouldn't mind-" "I don't need your fucking pity," he said before slamming the car door shut and walking towards the house.
I arrived back to the school and my mother was waiting outside smoking a cigarette. She had promised father she would quit, so she only smokes at school now. She threw it to the ground before stomping it out and walked towards the car getting into the passenger seat. "Well?" I questioned, it was enough to prompt her to talk about what I wanted, she knew that I was curious and honestly a bit nosy. "Yes?" she questioned anyways trying to stay oblivious "He's kind one second and then a jerk the next," I told her while starting towards home. "I can't talk about students-" "Then don't make me drive them home. The ceiling was caving in," I said and she sighed already mentally scolding herself.
"Having parents that were- are really angry, petty and abusive when you are young is weird, because it makes part of you grow up and want to be kind, to generate good things, to be a source of peace and wellbeing for others; but out makes another part of you grow up to be quick and sharp and spiteful and that's always that part that shows itself first in a hard situation," she explained, and it made me wonder why she switched to teaching when she was a psychology major "So it's a struggle between your hateful gut reactions and your wish to not add any more misery to the world. It's a hard balance and those who really take the time to look, you can see the anger that flashes in their eyes before they quiet it, trying to overcome years of conditioning, and with gentle, constant force, that rage will mellow. It just takes time," she added.
The rest of the ride home was silent, the two of us pondering what my mother had said. When I got home I went straight to my room to do my homework and wind down for the night, but my mind couldn't help but wander to Jungkook and what he was doing for the night, where he was, what he was thinking. I curled up in bed, doing some late night social media dives to find as much as I could about Jungkook. All his profiles were private, and there were very few pictures of him, most of them were of him in middle school. I fell asleep with my phone in my hand and only woke up to my mother yelling for me to get into the car. My father had work early and I refused to get on the bus, so heading to school early was my only option.
I quickly changed outfits and packed all y things into my bag before rushing outside to jump into my mother's car. Although I didn't understand why she was making hurry when we were still going to be an hour early for school. We arrived to the school and Jungkook was waiting at the staff door. "Sorry I'm late, she just woke up," my mother said will scanning her badge to unlock the door "it's fine," Jungkook replied before holding the door open for the two of us. We walked in and he followed behind before heading into the gym, I assumed he was going into the boys locker room once again. I followed my mother into her classroom and she sat down at her desk, spreading out her assignments across it. I grabbed an assignment that said Jungkook's name on top of it and that's when I recognized the handwriting.
"Don't snoop," my mother scolded pulling the paper out of my hand to place it back in the correct stack. She then got up "I'm going to the teacher's lounge for a coffee, don't look at the assignments," she said pointing at me before walking out of the room. I pulled my phone into my mom's laptop, hoping to get some charge before the school day started. It wasn't long before Jungkook came walking in and the two of us froze in place just looking at each other. We were caught in an awkward silence neither of us knew how to break. I spun on my heels to face the wall, and then walking over my to my phone to pretend to check the charge. "Sorry about yesterday," he said and when I looked over my shoulder at him he was rubbing the back of his neck "You didn't live far, I don't mind," I replied.
"N-no I was kind of aggressive with you yesterday and... You didn't deserve my anger, you were doing me a favor," he said and this time I turned around to face him "Jungkook-" I said getting him to look up from the ground towards me, I smiled "It's okay. Everyone snaps sometimes, but not many apologize after," I told him. I could see his cheeks hint a slight red, he walked over to what I assume was his "Mind if I join you?" I asked following behind him. "I was just going to draw," he muttered sitting down and pulling out a notebook "Draw me," I said sitting in the desk in front of him. He looked at me shyly "I'm not really good at drawing... girls," he said opening the notebook "So it'll be good practice," I said. He nodded before sketching the outline of my face.
It was entrancing to watch as the lines he was drawing turned into a picture "Look at me," he said and I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. His shy demeanor had been replaced with concentration, chewing on his inner lip as he looked at me and then back down at the page. I couldn't help but feel heat rise up my neck as he stares deeply at all my features. I took this opportunity to look at him. I know he has a pretty bad reputation, but how were the girls not more attracted to him, he was basically sculpted by God. His tanned skin, dark eyes, and toned muscles were traits most women would kill for. I looked down at the drawing and nearly gasped audibly. Is that what I looked like? Or had I been romanticized through his perception of me? The thought made me blush.
I watched silently as he shaded the portrait, looking between me and the page frequently, trying to get the image on the page just right. Perhaps he had a bit of perfectionism. It was hard to quiet my heart which was pounding against my chest. It's only been two days since I met Jungkook and yet, perhaps I was developing a crush. I was so lost in my own thoughts I hadn't noticed Jungkook was ripping out the page. "Hey-what?" I grabbed it out of his hand before he could crumple it up "It's not right," he said reaching to take it back but I dodge him, looking at how he had drawn me. "I wish I looked like this," I said allowing him to take it out of my hand, he crumbled it up "You look better, I promise," he said getting up walking towards the recycling bin.
I watched him toss it inside before continuing out of the classroom, probably to go to the locker room and take a shower. My mother walked back into the room "I'm not sure I like that face," she said with a teasing voice as she walked back towards her desk. "What face?" I asked defensively before sitting in the desk closet to her desk, she chuckled sitting down behind her desk "Like maybe you're crushing on Jungkook," she teased causing my cheeks to burn "I just met him," I stated defensively, at this point I've been questioning how other girls do not have a crush on him. It's not long before he returns to the classroom, taking his spot in the middle row. I get up and walk over to sit in the desk in front of his, turning to face him.
"You don't have anything else to do?" he asked running his fingers through his hair and I shook my head side to side, which was a lie, there's always homework to be done, but he was more intriguing. His writing made it seem like he was so desperate to no longer be lonely, but he pushes you away as much as he could. He gets up and walked over to my mother's desk, handing her a piece of paper. She read it over and couldn't help but laugh and he smiled. I saw him smile. And it's the kind of smile that transforms him into someone entirely different, the kind of smile hat puts stars in his eyes and a dazzle on his lips. He was perfect. Flawless exterior for a boy with black hair and black heart. But under my mother' gaze he looks so soft and vulnerable. His cheeks were pink from his shower and he has dimples. He's easily the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I removed my gaze as he walked back towards his desk sitting down and I smiled back at him. "Look... I don't want a girlfriend," he stated bluntly causing me to blush "I didn't... I wasn't-" "My attention is and always has been on football, graduating and getting a full ride to college. Not to mention impressing the scouts who are already starting to show up at our games. Now that season is in full swing, this means more practice and games and less time to devote to anything or anyone other than football." I looked over my shoulder at my mother to see if she was hearing this, and I knew she heard it but she was busy trying to look busy and not like she was laughing at my misfortune. "Got it." I got up and turned to head out the door but I don't get far because Jungkook instantly reach out to grab my wrist and stop me from moving. My heart pumps "But... Friends is something I can do," he mumbled almost... blushing?
Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don't know how you ever lived without them. How you went about your day and hung out with your friends and went to work without having this one important person in your life. I continued to ride to school early in the morning with my other because it allows me to spend time with Jungkook. Turns out he's a lot more silly and goofy despite how he carries himself around everyone. The next month or so Jungkook and I had become good friends. He even goes as far to acknowledge me in the hallway or stop to talk to me at lunch for a minute. I thought maybe people would be jealous that I got the Jeon Jungkook to crack open, but no one seemed to care because he was a 'street rat' or 'gutter garbage'. But I do see how the girls look at him in P.E. and if he put in a little bit of effort I think they'd respond nicely.
"How come you don't date?" I asked sitting down in front of him after my mom left for the teacher's lounge to print something "I'm sure every girl at this school would kill to be your girlfriend." he shook his head "I'm not looking for a relationship," he answered "Why not? Relationships can be fulfilling," I countered and he raised an eyebrow "Says the woman who's single," he replied. I stand up sighing "I'm single because I haven't found a connection with anyone, not because I am anti-relationship. It's nice having someone to spend time with. You know, talking, cuddling, all that mushy stuff. Don't you want to do that?" I questioned and he shrugged "Eventually."
"I guess I'll go to class. You're not into girl talk," I said with a huff of annoyance, how could he not think romantically about anyone. I get as far as the front of the class before Jungkook grabs my wrist to stop me in my track. His hand was holding onto mine to keep me from going. I turn around, curling my fingers around his much larger hand. I look up at his eyes questioningly and it almost looks as if he was nervous "What?" I asked tilting my head to the side wondering why he was stopping me from leaving this time. I knew he friendzoned me the last time we had talked about girls and relationships, I just wanted to know if he had changed his mind about dating anyone from school.
He leans in, so carefully. Breathing and not breathing and hearts beating between us and he's so close, so close and I can't feel my legs anymore. I can't feel my fingertips or the cold or the emptiness of the classroom because all I feel his him, everywhere, filling everything and he whispered "Please." his lips just barely away from mine "Please don't deny me of this." and he kisses me. His lips are softer than anything I've ever known, soft like the first fall of snow, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water. It's sweet, it's so effortlessly sweet. It was cut short.
The bell rang and Jungkook hopped away from me. He acted as if nothing happened, going to his seat and sitting down. I brought my fingers up to my lips, brushing across where his once were. "Hey, the bell rang," My mother said snapping me out of my trance, "Right," I said blushing as I rushed passed her out of the room heading towards my first hour class. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. Jungkook had kissed me. I sat down next to my best friend and she raised an eyebrow "What's with you?" she questioned. I shook my head "Nothing," I replied knowing she would throw a fit if I had told her. "You know people are beginning to talk about you," she said and I furrowed my eyebrows "In what way?" I questioned.
"They see you sneaking around with Jungkook... And they aren't saying nice things," she said and my cheeks burned, not because people were talking about me, but because they say we are sneaking around. I wondered if Jungkook thought the same thing? Did he think I didn't want anyone to see us together? I didn't get to think much about it because the teacher entered the classroom and told us all to quiet down. I couldn't stop thinking about the way his lips felt against mine. It was hard to pay attention to anything my teachers said because Jungkook had kissed me, and all I could think about was the fact that he probably liked me more than he let on.
"Hey, you've been in LaLa Land all day," Seri said pulling me out of my thoughts, I turned to look at her and she narrowed her eyes looking me over "What is it?" she questioned. "Why do people judge Jungkook so harshly?" I asked before taking a bite of my sandwich, this caused her to sigh "He used to stink. Literally, in middle school he wore the same outfit over and over and I don't think he showered regularly. He also sold drugs, no one knows where he got them from. And of course, the infamous time, he beat the shit out of Jay Pritch and he was going to be expelled but the school decided to have him do community service at the school over the summer," she told me. I nodded "Okay... So, people are holding grudges against him for stupid shit he did when he was younger?" I questioned and she looked at me "He's quiet and seems to lash out," she countered.
"Name a jock he isn't either a dickhead or angry," I replied and she finally let out a chuckle with a smile "What?" I questioned and she shook her head "Nothing," she replied. "What?" I questioned her again, "You like him, don't you?" she asked causing my cheeks to flush "Why would you say that?" I asked covering my mouth with my hand, my fingers subconsciously brushing over my lips. "You go to school early with your mom every morning, and you defend him constantly," she answered and I shrugged "I just think it's unfair to judge someone for their actions as a kid. Growing up is hard," I replied, trying to ignore the fact that she was right. "Good, I need you to be a wingman tonight," she told me and I nodded my head "I know."
Our last hour classes are just a study hall, so I had my mother write me a pass saying it was okay for me to come to her class. Both Jungkook and Seri have her as their study hall teacher. When I got into the room, Seri was using colored chalk to draw a wallpaper on the board. Other students were playing on their phones, doing homework, studying, and Jungkook was in his seat sketching in his notebook. I walked over to my mother's desk where she was grading homework "You remember I'm going to Seri's tonight, right?" I asked her. She nodded her head "Yes, I expect you home tomorrow sometime," she said before looking up at me "I also expect you to text me," she added and I nodded "I know," I agreed.
"Y/n, come here, I need a picture," Seri called, her hands and wrists were covered in chalk, but she was holding her phone anyways. I walk over towards her and she pointed for me to stand in front of her artwork. I spun around so my back was facing her, she loved using me as a model because I dressed like our school had school uniforms but I liked Blair Waldorf's style. She took a few pictures and I looked over my shoulder to see Jungkook was watching us. "Jungkook would you take a picture for me?" I asked pulling my phone out of my pocket. Seri was already busy trying to edit the photo to add to her artsy instragram. Jungkook walked up to me and I handed him my phone and then posed in front of the drawing Seri had done. "Is this for instagram?" he questioned sounding annoyed, but working hard to take a good photo "Yes, it's art," I replied.
"It's social media," he replied and I shrugged my shoulder changing poses "That doesn't mean it isn't art. It's the twenty first century, that's how art is nowadays. I mean it's better people see it than not at all," I replied. He let the phone down, and held it out to me "But art is supposed to have a purpose. A meaning. What's the meaning of dressing up and posing for a pretty picture?" he asked as I took it away from him to see what kind of photos he took. "How about just because?" I asked feeling my face warm "Is beauty for its own sake not enough?" I asked looking up at him. "I look at you and maybe it is," he replied before going back to his seat. I tried to hide the small smile on my lips before walking over to sit by Seri "Did any of them come out good?" I questioned and she nodded "Look," she said showing me the one she chose.
We spent the rest of the hour editing the photos we wanted to post and thinking of good captions. We spent the rest of the hour talking about our game plan for the party tonight. The host was Seri's crush and we were all traveling out to his parents cabin while they are away. Luckily for us Seri's parents are gone this weekend so that means we will have no curfew and no one will know we are sneaking off to party. The bell rang and Seri was rushing to leave, "Let me say bye," I called after her. I said goodbye to my mother before walking over to Jungkook who was slowly packing his things up. "Have a good weekend," I said and he nodded "Are you going to the party?" He questioned.
"Are you?" I questioned and he shook his head no "I think party's are kinda lame," he replied pulling his bag over his shoulder. "Do you like them?" he questioned and I shrugged "Seri needs a wingman," I replied not giving an answer to whether or not I like partying. I had promised Seri I could go with her and help he try to get with the boy she liked and I didn't want to flake out on her. "I'll see you Monday," I said waving goodbye to him, but before I could get too far, he had grabbed my wrist, holding me in place. I turned to look at him concerned "Yeah?" I questioned tilting my head to the side, "Just be careful," he said, the tips of his ears bright red, "I know," I replied giving him a reassuring smile.
"Seri is waiting for me," I told him and he nodded "Promise me on thing," he said still holding onto my wrist "If you ever are so drunk or feel unsafe getting yourself home, you call this number and ask for me," he said putting a piece of paper in my purse. I narrowed my eyes at him "So you can tell my mother?" I teased, I knew he told my mother everything, she was the only adult he trusted. He shook his head no "I won't tell her, and I won't even talk or say I told you so," he replied, "I just- I want you to be safe," he added. I wrapped my hands around his "Okay, I promise," I said and he nodded his head, finally letting me go. I waved goodbye to him and rushed off to meet Seri in the parking lot. Of course she was already in her car and I had to hop in as she started driving away. She was so excited.
We went to her house first to get ready. We redid our make up, put on more skimpy outfits she had hidden in her closet. The one I choose to wear had a low V cut but had a longer skirt, Seri wore a tight dress, with a deep cut and short skirt. There was not much left up to the imagination, but the boy she liked tended to talk to the girls who dressed like that. The Prom Queen type. The ride there took about forty minutes and we listened to all of our favorite hype songs. When we arrived we were feeling pretty confident and as we walked in it was clear that we were in the eyes of many boys. As soon as we got into the living room we were dragged out to the backyard where we played beer pong with a few people in our grade.
I was feeling buzzed by the time we went back into the living room where people were dancing with each other to the music. Seri and I looked around until we spotted the guy she had a crush on, "Let's go ask!" she whispered looping her arm through mine, dragging me over there before I even had the chance to answer. "Hey, nice party!" she shouted over the music, "I was hoping you'd come!" he replied looking her over, seems as though her years of flirting had paid off. "You guys care to dance?" she questioned, knowing that anywhere her crush went, his best friend followed and who better to deal with him than me. "It would be foolish to say no," he replied before walking with us to the middle of the room where the music was louder.
The two of them started dancing right away and I awkwardly swayed side to side with his best friend. "He's liked her a long time," the guy tried making small talk "I'm pretty sure she's liked him since middle school," I joked back getting him to chuckle. I watched as his eyes sunk in the sight before him, and it made me regret wearing such a low dress. I spun around and by the time I was facing him he was looking back at my face "So, I've heard you spent time with Jungkook," he said and I rolled my eyes "I don't understand why everyone makes such a big deal about it," I replied. He shrugged "He's just got a bit of a reputation and you're seen as a good girl," he replied taking a step closer so we were a bit closer.
"I wouldn't say I'm a good girl, but I like to be a nice person," I replied and his hands found my waist and maybe it was the alcohol getting to me but I didn't mind it so much, taking a step towards him so our chests were close to each other. His hands found my backside, getting a good squeeze in and I giggled drunk as his lips tickled my neck. His fingers danced across my bare back and then he started kissing my neck. I looked over his shoulder to see Seri was watching me intensely instead of focusing on her long time crush. 'I'm Fine' I mouthed to her and although she didn't seem to fully believe me she went back to focusing on her own guy. I then felt teeth and it was as if a mosquito bit me, I shoved him away "Ow," I whined rubbing my neck. "Why don't we go somewhere private?" he questioned grabbing my wrist but I shook my head "I don't want to," I replied.
I was too drunk, so I stumbled behind him "Like you and Jungkook haven't done worse," he muttered causing my cheeks to burn "Actually we haven't," I replied finally pulling my wrist from his grip. "Unlike you, Jungkook is a gentleman," I said before worming my way through the crowd and getting out of the house. My hand was rubbing against the hickey I knew was forming, hoping that the extra blood flow would help it not develop super darkly. I walked out onto the front porch and sat down on the steps. It was sprinkling lightly but I didn't mind as my skin felt burning hot. Due to the weather everyone was inside, and I was glad because I was not feeling good. To make matters worse I left my purse inside the house somewhere.
"Hey, you left this inside," a girl from my class said setting my purse down beside me before going to her car with her boyfriend. I watched as they left and then reached into my purse to pull out my phone. It was dead. Of course it was. I curl up into a ball on the porch. Embarrassed, a little confused, I couldn't stop the tears that were running down my cheeks. I heard the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires, and headlights bright. I've been crying for so long I'm certain the rain had stopped and there was nothing but my tears. My clothes art stuck to my skin, wet and useless. I wanted to be completely devoid of my brain. "Y/n?" when I lift my head he was on his knees on the steps in front of me. He reaches to touch my arm and the feeling makes me more disgusted with myself. He sighed and pulls me up, just enough to pull me out of the ball I had become.
His hands trap my face and his eyes search me, search through me until I look away. My throat is dry and hoarse "I-he tried to t-touch me-" his eyes darkened "I'll kill him," he stood up, but I grabbed onto him "N-no please don't go- don't go," I held onto his sleeve "Don't leave me." he wraps his arms around me until he's tugging me up and I'm on wobbling legs and we're both standing upright. He holds me tightly against him so I could see nothing but his white T-shirt soaked in tears. "It wasn't your fault," he whispered and I shook my head against his chest, "It wasn't," he said again before leading me towards what I assumed was his car. He helped me into the passenger side, even going as far as to buckle me before getting into the driver's side.
He said nothing else on the drive home. I couldn't help but fell sleepy. His car was warm and he had offered me a sweatshirt. I let my eyes fall shut, and the gentle jostling of the car felt like someone was trying to rock me to sleep. The drive home felt way shorter than the drive there. Jungkook helped me get to the front door of my house. "Thank you," I mumbled and he nodded his head "Of course," he replied, taking the key from me to open the door. He gave me the key back and opened my front door for me "See you Monday?" I questioned and he nodded his head "yeah," he said before heading back towards the car.
The next morning I had a long lecture from my mother. I couldn't keep what happened at the party a secret. Afterwards we spent the weekend doing things we love like eat junk food and watch Love Island. When Monday came around I felt a lot better than I did on Friday. However, Jungkook was no where to be found that morning. Or the next morning. In fact he hadn't come to school early any of the days. I only saw him in passing or if he was sitting in one of his classes. And he was avoiding eye contact. I walked up to him in the library and he quickly packed his things "Hey, where are you going?" I asked grabbing his arm. "I- I have a meeting," he said which I didn't believe "With who?" I asked tilting my head to the side "one of my teachers," he said before gently pulling his arm away from my grasp.
"You're avoiding me," I complained with a pout and his eyes faltered for a second, "No..." he shook his head before heading towards the door. But he wasn't going to get away with it that easily. "Why?" I asked following him down the hallway "Seri told me what happened," he mumbled refusing to look at me. "So?" I questioned and he shrugged his shoulders "I just feel bad," he answered as if that would make it all make sense. He then walked into our English teacher's office. I huffed before hunting down my best friend who apparently told Jungkook to stay away from me. When I found her, her eyes widened in fear "What did I do?" she questioned putting her hands up.
"What did you say to Jungkook? He's avoiding me like the plague," I complained sitting down next to her "The wonderfully masterminded piece of literature?" she questioned and I glared at her "The disease, Seri," I replied. She sighed "I didn't say anything that wasn't true," she said getting me to narrow my eyes, "I just told him that people are talking about you and what Luke had said to your at the party," she explained. He believed it was his fault, when he was the one who rescued me from that party. I didn't even have to call him and he showed up. I decided that before the end of the day I would find him and I would set him straight. Luckily for me he had my mother the last hour of the day and she allows me to come and go as I please.
He was in the corner of the room in his usual seat and I did not hesitate walking over towards him. "It wasn't your fault," I said as soon as I was in front of him and he looked up at me with wide eyes "So, I don't see why you are avoiding me," I said sitting down in the seat in front of him. "I don't care what people say when we're together," I told him shaking my head, the bell rang and the two of us stood up. "Thank you," he said before turning to head towards the door, I pouted watching him dip out without even saying anything. The rest of the week went on like this, where Jungkook would literally run away from me. It hurts when the person who you want attention from the most ignores you. I could feel my energy slowly draining from my body as the week went on. Friday I even left school early because I was just mentally couldn't stand it. It felt as if he was mad at me.
There was a knock on my window and when I peered out into the dark night I could see Jungkook strung along a branch close to my window. I sighed getting up, quickly wiping at the tears on my face. I unlock the window and push it open "What are you doing here?" I whispered trying not to get attention from our neighbors. "Can I come in?" he questioned and I stepped away from the window making room for him to swing his lower body into my room, sitting on the window frame before letting him inside. He shut the window behind him to keep the cold air from coming in. "What's going on?" I questioned him crossing my arms over my chest, "You just looked... Pretty sad and I was worried," he explained rubbing the back of his neck.
"I just thought that we were friends," I whispered feeling my lips pout unconsciously and his eyes widened a little "We were- I mean we are," he stumbled through his words. "You kissed me, saved me from a party and then ignored me for the week. Were you just trying to put the moves on me and then decided against it or something?" I questioned with a weak laugh and he shook his head quickly "I kissed you, just to kiss you, not to take you home," the words were flying out of his mouth "I mean... not that I would be against it." he rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to explain how he was feeling and I waited for him to figure it out.
"I want you," he said "I want all of you. I want you inside and out and catching your breath and aching for me like I ache for you," he said like it's a lit cigarette lodged in his throat, like he wants to dip me in warm honey. "It's never been a secret. I've never tired to hide that from you. I've never pretended I wanted anything less." I tilt my head in confusion "You-you said you wanted friends-" he nodded "yes," he said, swallowing thickly "I did. I do. I do want to be your friend," he nodded and I register the slight movement in the air between us. "I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head," he taps his finger against my forehead. I hadn't even noticed the distance between us had shrunk.
"I want to be that kind of friend. The one who will memorize all the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body," he whispered. I want more. I push him onto a chair behind him and straddle his strong body. My fingers running through his dark hair and bringing him closer to me. I could feel him shift between my thighs, the warmth of his palms on my hips. I wanted him to squeeze until I moaned in his ear. I'm afraid I could not stop myself with just his lips because devouring every inch of him would be satisfying. Would he mind if I slid down his body? Crawled my way until I sat perfectly between his legs. What if my hands caressed the parts that ached to be touched? I am tempted to have my way with him. I wondered if he would let me.
I leaned in so our lips were just barely inches from each other "Wait..." I froze looking at him with wide eyes "Let me touch you first. I have wanted..." His fingertips traced my temples and then my cheekbones, then- softly despite his rough callouses- the outline of my mouth as if he meant to commit it to memory. This gesture made my heart spin like a top inside my chest. His eyes remained fixed on me, as dark as the bottom of a cup of coffee. His fingertips left my mouth and trailed a path down my throat, stopping at my pulse, slipping to the silk ribbon at the back of my neck, pulling one end of it. My eyelids fluttered half-closed as the bow came apart and his warm hand covered my bare collar bone.
I remembered in history class we were talking about some ship, how it had passed through a patch of strangely shining ocean, and how it had carved a path of fire through the water, trailing sparks in its wake. It was as if Jungkook's hands did the same to my skin. I burned where he touched, and could feel where his fingers had been even after they had moved on. His hands moved lightly but lower, over the bodice of my dress, following the curves of my breasts. I gasped, even as his hands slid to grip my waist and draw me towards him, pulling out bodies together until there was not a millimeter of space between us. His cheek was just as warm as mine, his breath against my ear made me shudder with each deliberately spoken word. "I have wanted to do this," he said "Every moment of every hour of every day that I have been with you since the first day I met you. But you must know that. You must know, don't you?"
I pulled back to look him in the eyes, lips parted in bewilderment. "Know what?" I questioned, and Jungkook with a sigh in defeat, kissed me. His lips were so soft, so soft. He had kissed me before, but this kiss was so different from the one earlier this week. I could feel his emotions. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him. He rolled us over so my back was against my twin mattress, my thighs on either side of his waist as he knelt on my bed, holding his body weight up with his arms. He pulls back, just an inch. My hands were caught under his shirt, and his mouth lingers above mine, the heat between us threatening to ignite. "Do you want to...?" I nodded my head pulling his shirt off over his head "Show me what to do," I breathed looking over is exposed chest.
"You're doing just fine," he replied but I gave him a helpless look, and he prowled closer, his fingers toy with the loose bodice of my dress "May I?" he asked quietly. I nodded shyly and he studied my eyes, as if reading the sincerity of my agreement. "Yes," I replied and he deemed it true. Gently, he pulled the fabric from me. Cool air kissed my skin, pebbling it. The flexible band around my breasts remained, but Jungkook's gaze remain on mine. "Tell me what you want next," he said roughly. I reached up to play with the strap of my bra. Jungkook's hand shook as he unbound it. As he revealed me to the air, to him. His eyes seemed to go wholly black as he took in my breasts, I could feel myself breathing unevenly "Beautiful" he murmured.
My mouth curved as the word settled within me. It gave me enough courage to lift my hands to his shoulders, running my hands over them, towards his neck, to lace my fingers together behind his head. "Beautiful," I repeated lifting my gaze back to his, I could see the restraint, the emotion. The darling purr of his rumbled into her as I pressed my mouth against his pectoral. His hand drifted towards my hair, untangling it from beneath my head. "We only go as far, and long as you want," he said. I dared looked down his body to see what strained under his pants. My mouth went dry "I-I don't know what to do," I admitted, and he pressed his forehead to mine "Anything you do will be enough," he said.
My hands that were wrapped around the back of his neck pull him towards me so our lips met once again, pressing his firm body against mine. My tongue gently lapses his bottom lip, easing into the action a little bit to test the waters. He responds by reaching his tongue out to meet mine, slipping it past my lips for just a second. Things from there only got heavier, he found that comfort and confidence in himself to take control. We kissed and kissed like it was something that would never stop, taking three second pauses to just grin at one another. I was so happy in this moment, dopamine bursting through my brain to reward me this euphoric high.
He kisses just under my chin, the tip of my nose, the length of my forehead, both temples, my cheeks, all across my jawline. Then my neck, behind my ears, all the way down my throat and his hands slide down my body. His entire form moving down my figure, disappearing as he shifts downward and suddenly his chest his hovering over my hips; suddenly I can't see him anymore. I can only make out the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, the unsteady rise of his back as he inhales and exhales. He's running his hands down and around my bare thighs and up again, up past my ribs, around my lower back and down again, just past my hip bone. His fingers hook around the elastic of my underwear and I gasp.
His lips touch my bare stomach. It's just a whisper of a kiss but something collapses in my skull. It's a feather light brush of his mouth against my skin in a place I can't quiet see. It's my mind speaking in a thousand different languages I don't understand. And then I realize he's working his way back up my body. "Want me to stop?" he questioned and I shook my head adamantly, if he stopped now, I'm pretty sure I would die. His fingers danced over my thigh, moving inwards, causing me to inhale. He watched me intensely as his fingers traced over my most intimate parts, his finger circling around before plunging into me. I couldn't hold back the moan that escaped my lips, heat rushing to my face as he smirked, clearly liking the reaction. It wasn't long before he was adding a second finger.
Every thrust, every sweet whisper, every pleasuring kiss of his was my undoing. His lips found purchase with mine, devouring my mouth, swallowing every little noise, unleashing all the passion he was feeling right in the moment looking at me riding his hand. It set a fire inside him, a fire he would gladly burn until he takes his dying breath. I came, arching my back off the mattress, whimpers sliding past my lips into his as he kiss me gently, coaxing me down from the high. I let my head fall back against the bed, breathing heavily, thanking whoever taught this man how to use his fingers. He pulled away from me, rubbing his fingers against his pants, moving to sit at the edge of the bed, his broad back in front of me. I kiss between his shoulder blade, up to the left shoulder, to the junction where his neck meets his shoulder, then to his neck.
"What about you?" I whispered in his ear, my eyes looking at the bulge in his pants, he swallowed thickly "I'll be fine," he replied, but he had been hard for so long, I doubt it was comfortable. "Let me help you," I mumbled against his skin before nipping at his neck, "Do you even...have you ever..." I smiled against him "Teach me," I replied, knowing that would be answer enough for him. He reaches around grabbing my upper arm and guiding me to kneel on the floor in front of him, between his legs. I rest my hands on his thick thighs, looking up at him with wide eyes, wanting to make him feel the way he had made me feel, but not sure how to. My eyes look over his revealed skin, I felt myself falling in a daze. "You can touch," he said and I brought a hand out but pulled back, embarrassed that I don't know what I m doing.
He moves closer to the edge of the bed, taking my hand in his own, guiding it to his chest. With his hand over my own he guides it across his muscular chest, and down his sides. Once I was the one leading him, he released his hand, letting me explore the expanse of his skin. My fingers dipping down feeling all the muscled ridges of his body, his skin smooth and warm beneath my touch. My fingers stop only at the hem of his jeans. I looked up at him to see his jaw as held tight, it gave me a confidence boost, I run my fingers slightly under the waistband. "I want to touch you," I told him and he nodded his head, silently telling me to go ahead.
I place my hand over the crotch of his jeans, even through the thick material I could tell he was rock hard. I carefully feel him against my hand as I gently palm him. I curl my hand as best as I can, as I start rubbing my hand over him and he lets out a breath of air, that only makes me want more. I unbutton his jeans and his once half lidded eyes spring open "Y/n..." I undo the zipper and pull then down his waist. He lifts his hips allowing me to pull both his boxers and jeans down his legs to his ankles. I gulp nervously as I look at him for the first time. I heard horror stories from friends of how gross they can look, but they clearly have been with the wrong boys. I wanted to imprint this image in my mind, saving it so I never forget. His thighs were strong and toned, just like the rest of him.
His cock is pressed against his stomach, two veins run up the sides, and the tip is a pretty pink like his lips. "Hands... or Mouth...?" I questioned looking at him for guidance, "either works, whatever you want," he replied, perhaps he had a preference, but he wanted me to experience this however I chose. I wrap my hand around him, I could feel the pulse, gliding my hand gently up his shaft until it met the head. I run my thumb over the slit and he jerks underneath my touch, pressing his lips tightly together to hold in a gasp. "Is this good?" I asked still stroking him and he nodded "Yes, uh you can hold tighter... It's not going to break," he choked out. I squeeze my fingers around him to create a bit more pressure and he hums in pleasure.
I could see the way he was falling apart underneath my touch. I smiled proudly to myself for being the one to do that to him. He let's his head fall back, and lets out a curse, small grunts fall when I do something he likes. "Just like that, baby," he praises causing a surge of arousal to course through me, not just because of the sight of him, but his words. That I can make him feel just as good as he did for me. I pick up the speed a little, and bring my head towards the tip. I run my tongue along the head, brushing over the slit and he starts to twitch in my hand, his hips jutting forward, pushing himself into my hand. His release oozes down all over my hand, and I stroke him through it, having less friction with the new lubricant until he reaches down for my wrist to stop me.
"You've got something to clean this up?" he said lifting my dirty hand, making me release his semi hard penis, I nodded before getting up and walking to my desk which had a box of Kleenex one it. I use a couple tissues to clean up my hand before bringing a few over to Jungkook so he could clean off what was left on his penis. "How did I do?" I asked with blushing cheeks, "You really need to ask?" he replied in a teasing voice looking down at the mess I had made of his dick. I sat down beside him "I don't know, maybe it could've been better," I answered and he turned to look at me "it took everything in me not to cum in my pants when you orgasmed, trust me, you did fine," he assured me and I couldn't help but blush at his grotesque answer.
Both of us fixed out outfits, throwing away the used tissues and what not. "A date," he said running his fingers through his hair, "Let me take you on one," he added making my heart skip a beat "When?" I asked. He chuckled "Sunday? I'll come get you," he said and I smiled "Do I get to know what we are doing?" I questioned. He shook his head "I want to surprise you," he said walking towards the window and I followed behind him because I didn't really want him to go yet. He opened the window and I slipped my arms around his waist, resting my face against his broad chest. "I have to go," he said running his hand over my arms and I shook my head "You ignored me all week," I whispered.
"Until I sleep?" I questioned and he easily relented, shutting the window and followed me to my bed. I climbed under my sheets and he laid down on top of them next to me. He ran his fingers over my back and then through my hair. I relaxed and let out a sigh in relief. He started humming under his breath and my eyelids became very heavy. He rolled onto his side, so he was now spooning me, his fingers still tickling over my skin. It wasn't long before I had succumbed to sleep. I had fallen so deeply asleep that I didn't hear Jungkook leave that night, and when I woke up there was a little post it note stuck to my nightstand. I lifted it up to see a sketch of me sleeping. I got up and hung it on my bulletin board amongst the clutter.
I spent most of Saturday making sure all my homework was done before tomorrow so I wouldn't have to worry about it. My mother popped in every once in a while to tease me for being a nerd but she didn't know that I had plans tomorrow. Eventually I was able to finish everything, and decided to take a long bath that would help ease the nerves. They weren't nervous nerves, they were excited nerves. I kept trying to figure out what his plans where, what we would do, where we would go. My mother had to kick me out of the bathroom because I was in there too long. I spent the rest of the night deciding what to wear, which was difficult because I didn't know where we were going or doing.
I woke up as soon as the sun was up, did my hair, my make up and pulled on the outfit I had chosen last night. I sat in the living room with my parents, watching out the front window like a dog waiting for their owner to get home. "Jungkook coming?" my mom asked with a smirk causing me to blush as I look at her "I have many suitors," I replied and she shook her head "Not ones that you care about," she countered. She wasn't wrong. I looked out the window once again "Yes, Jungkook is coming," I answered her, and just as his name left my lips he appeared walking down the sidewalk with a large bag attached to his back. I didn't even give him time to get to the front door, "Bye, love you!" I shouted before rushing out of the house. He smiled standing on the sidewalk in front of my house "You couldn't wait?" he questioned and I shook my head no.
He held out his hand to me and I laced my fingers between his. He continued down the sidewalk "So?" I questioned as our hands swung between each other "There's a park up ahead," he replied to answer the question I had not asked. I basked in the affection he had chosen to give me, after I had a crush on him for so long, because that's really what it was between us. I was just a girl who really liked a guy, who most people didn't like. We walked through the park like lovers do, and he had me sit down with him under one of the oak trees. He pulled the bag off his back and unzipped it to reveal a guitar "You play?" I questioned as he brought it into his lap. "My father had a dream... to be a rock star," he said and I listened intensely because he never opened up about his parents.
"My mom was a roadie, they were the hottest love affair of the 80's... In this town anyways," he said, his fingers mindlessly strumming the strings "Drugs, Sex and rock n' roll, that was their life's motto and then my mom got pregnant. Dad thinks she missed a pill to trap him," he laughed at his father's joke "Dad took up construction to make money, mom got fat and angry, and I was the little kid who did it all to them," he said. I knew he made light of the situation, turned it into a story, but it must be difficult to talk about. "And you're telling me this because?" I questioned and he looked at me "Because I trust you." my heart skipped a beat "Because I want to know if there's still a chance you can know who I am, who I really am and still.... Be with me."
"I want to be with you," I confirmed without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around his "I know that they damaged you and I still want you. I don't want to fix you, or take away your pain. I want you just as you are. Broken. Misunderstood. Aggressive. I want the real version." His lips found mine once again, they were warm and right and mine. We kissed under the oak tree until our lips were seconds from cracking before I pulled away, blinking at him. "I wrote a song for you," he said with a smile and began to play.
I watched in amazement. He began simply, softly, his grip light on the neck, producing a soft, harmonic sound. The melody rolled over e, as cool and sweet as water, as hopeful and lovely as sunrise. I watched his fingers in fascination as they moved and an exquisite not rose from the guitar. He started singing and my whole body seemed to be moving in tune with the sound and words, even though my feet were firmly planted on the ground. My heart races as he continued his beautiful serenade. I knew my face was wet, but only when the last note of the guitar had echoed away and he had stopped strumming did I realize I had been crying. He put the guitar down on the ground beside him. He straightened and turned to look at me, his expression was shy, and I was speechless. "Did you like it?" he asked rubbing his knees "I knew I couldn't bring you somewhere nice and fancy, but I can write a song," he explained.
I kissed his cheek "I loved it. Truly." I rested my head on his shoulder. We sat there together, the sound of his guitar being gently taken by the wind. It was peaceful. He played a couple more songs before the two of us got up. He said there was a taco truck nearby that made a mean walking taco salad. I grabbed his hand before he could get too far and he turned to look at me with his brows furrowed. I bring my lips to his and he melts into me. My kisses continue until my lips have touched every inch of his face. He stands there accepting them, eyes closed and gasping for air. When I settle the last kiss in the same place I started, he sighed and rests his forehead against mine. Hands tight on my waist, I'm sure I'll be feeling it tomorrow.
"Y/n?" he said breathlessly, "yeah?" I replied smiling "Move." I furrowed my eyebrows "Huh?" he let out a deep breath "You need to move or I'm going to kiss you like we are in the privacy of your room." My cheeks flushed "I'm going to run my hands all over your body until you're withing beneath me in absolute want. Then I'll devour you and I don't think either of us want to get arrested for public indecency." he swallows thickly "So, please... Let go," he said. I release him and he exhales a shaky breath and he takes my hand carefully before leading me back towards the taco truck. I can't help the laugh that escapes me, and it grows when I heard him muttering how he is going to have to take a cold shower later.
My mother cooed and awed as I walked down the stairs in my floor length ballgown. I thought her reaction was overdramatic, but when my eyes moved to Jungkook, well he made my mother look undramatic. He looked at me as if I was the one who put the stars in the sky. I stopped in front of him "Only dropping me off?" I questioned and he nodded "You're stunning, do you know that?" his voice softens and he moved his hand towards my hair, he strokes a piece off my forehead, his gaze thoughtful as he stared at me. "You try to hide it, but there's no use. You're beautiful, and it frustrates the heck out of me," he whispered.
"Alright let me take a picture!" my mother said cutting the moment short, I was still blushing from his complement, Jungkook moved out of the way, but I held onto his forearm "She meant with you," I said. He looked over my, all dressed up and then at him in his jeans and a white shirt "I hardly think I'm dressed for that," he replied. I looked towards my mom and she was already giving Jungkook a look and he sighed before putting his arm around my waist, standing at my side. I smiled at the camera and my mother took a couple pictures "Alright you two, go on," she said waving us out the door. I lift the front of my dress and Jungkook grabbed the back of it, we walked towards my mother's car. He opened the door and helped me get into the passenger seat before walking around the car to the drivers side.
"You're mom's crazy for this," he said starting the car and I rolled my eyes "I thought she taught you how to drive," I replied fixing my corsage on my wrist. "Well, I'm driving you illegally in her car even though I don't have a license," he said backing the car out of the driveway "She trusts you," I replied "Apparently too much," he muttered under his breath. The drive wasn't long, but by the time we got there the parking lot in the school was already packed. We were lucky to even find a parking spot, even though it was as far away from the school as you could get. I opened the door and stepped out and the next thing I knew Jungkook was out, grabbing the back of my dress "I thought you were just dropping me off," I said looking over my shoulder at him. "Your night would be ruined if your dress got all muddy," he replied and I giggled before walking to the school "alright."
When we got into the gymnasium everyone was already on the dance floor, but it was a slow song. "Do you like dancing?" I asked ignoring the fact that he was trying to leave as soon as he got me in here. "No." I chewed on my lower lip "Oh... Okay," I whispered trying to now sound so disappointed "Ask me anyways," he countered and I hesitated before looking at him "will you dance with me?" and he nodded "Yes," he replied. He took my hand in his warm, big one and pulled me towards the dancefloor. As soon as we got to the edge of the dance floor I walked up to him and put my hand on his heart, and rested my head next to it. His body froze a moment , but then he circled one of his arms around my waist and pulled my body closer to his.
I released a breath that I was holding and something eased in my heart. He gently pushed my hair behind my ear and he rests his chin on top of my head. My heart shivered. He ran his thumb lightly over the sensitive skin of my back. I turned my head to look around to see that there was not a single person looking at us. Jungkook swore he wore a target on his back that points out all his flaws so everyone could only see the bad in him. "No one is even looking," I said holding onto his arm "Maybe you just pull out the best in me," he replied and I grinned. "Then maybe I should stick around. Just, you know, to save you some trouble," I said getting him to chuckle. I lifted my head to look at him and he looked towards me with such an intense gaze, so light, and just happy.
I wipe a bead of sweat from his temple and bury my fingers in his hair. I couldn't help but smile at him, loving how beautiful e was, how beautiful he made me feel. I loved him. I let out a laugh before dropping my head to his chest. The reality of it hitting me. I mean those feelings were probably there since the day we met, building beneath the surface, but watching him smile, at me, there was no denying it. I loved him. "Will you stay?" I asked looking at him with hopeful eyes and he let out a long sigh, running his fingers through his hair "Are you asking me to be your prom date?" he questioned and I nodded my head "I am," I replied. He sighed "I can't..." he shook his head "You deserve to date..." he was searching for the right thing to say.
"Jungkook. If you are telling me I'm the one who wants some perfect guy, then you are going to... you are going to piss me off." I pointed a finger at him "I want you. However you are, whatever you are, I want you. And I'll fight to get inside that head as many times as it takes. Over and over and over. Don't you dare doubt me." I take his hand in mine and dragged him further into the crowd until we were in the middle of the floor where there were lights dance around our feet. I start dancing like wild to the next song which was a much faster than the last one. He chuckled before dancing around with me, taking my hands and spinning me around him.
I managed to convinced Jungkook to stay for the entirety of prom. Through the couples pictures, through the ballots, through the election, through the first dance, all the way too the end of the night when he was supposed to pick me up and bright me home. We walked out of school the same way we walked in, me carrying the front of the dress and him carrying the back of it. He helped me into the car and got into the drivers side, but instead of starting the car, he just held onto the wheel. "Hey," I said and he looked towards me "I- I had fun," he said and I could see how sincere he was by his eyes. "You've helped me remember what it's like to love and to feel love again." My heart raced as he spoke, love was a big word, I didn't expect him to speak about it.
"I want to spend the rest of high school as... whatever you want me to be," he said looked back at his hands that were tight around the wheel, "What I want you to be... Jungkook, what do you want to be to me?" I asked him and he looked at me like I had asked him an impossible question "I don't deser-" "What do you want to be to me?" I asked him again and he let out a sigh "I want to be with you," he said reaching out to place his hand on my cheek "I want to be your boyfriend," he admitted to me. "That's what I want you to be too," I told him leaning in so my forehead against his mouth, a smile coming to my own "I've been waiting for you to ask me," I added as he kissed my forehead "So we're doing this," he said as I pulled away "I guess we are."
"I want you." I told him again, "And I don't care what your last name is, and I don't care who your parents are or how much money you have or don't have. I just want you. exactly as you are." He smiled a beautiful smile that showed his bunny teeth and dimples. He brought me home, leaving me in the doorway with a kiss goodnight. I remember how my father warned me about boys and how they like to play with your heart. I was young then, in middle school, when boys and girls start getting interested in one another. I swore off boys when one of my friends got her heart broke by a boy who didn't even remember her name the night after they had sex. But then my mother told me that there were good boys too, and until Jungkook I didn't believe her.
He loves with every single beat of his heart. He thinks of me constantly, always drawing and writing about me. He asks for a a full report of what I had done when he is not by my side, what I am doing, where I was, who I was with and if I was okay. He helped me study, went with me to tour the nearby college, even helped me apply. I was terrified, growing up scared me, but he protected me from those fears, reminded me of who I am. He treated me with respect, loved every part of me, even my flaws. He made me happy, really happy, like I was dancing on air happy.
My parents and I were in the middle of eating dinner when there was a knock on the door. Both of them looked at me, meaning I was the one who would have to get up and answer it. I excused myself and walked to the door, pulling it open to see Jungkook panting as if he had just ran a full marathon. "Your parents home?" he asked and I nodded pulling him inside, shutting the door and leading him into the dining room. "Oh honey get him a plate," my mom said patting my dad who was about to get up "It's okay, I ate, but I just well, I wanted to open this... with people who cared," Jungkook said showing me a letter from his dream college. I pulled him to sit down next to me and he took a shaky breath in, "Your grades are good," my mother told him and he nodded "And you worked hard at the firm," my father added.
His hands were shaking as he unsealed the envelope, pulling out the piece of paper and he unfolded it his eyes were scanning it over. I leaned over his arm to sneak a peek and I gasped "You did it!" I said getting my parents to cheer, I pressed a kiss to his cheek "You did it," I told him. He had tears in his eyes but a smile on his lips "And it's going to be paid for," he added under his breath. I pulled him into a hug, and we all started talking about him moving out there and how we were proud of him. But there was a part of my mind that couldn't stop my chest from aching because that means he would live far from me.
"I'm proud of you," I whispered stroking his cheek. The two of us were laying on our sides, facing each other in the darkness of my room. He reached up taking my hand in his own, bringing it to his mouth to kiss it. He was silent for a long time, as if debating on whether he should bring it up or not. "Your application?" he asked quietly and instantly my eyes watered with disappointment. Today had been such a lovely day for him, I didn't want what was going on with me to effect it. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest "What happened?" he mumbled into the top of my head. "Wait list," I answered simply, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to act not as bothered as I was.
"It doesn't define your worth," he said stroking my head, but that's easy for him to say with a full ride to the college of his choice. I didn't get to dwell on it long, surprise striking me when he speaks up "I could wait." I shot up and looked down at him and he was serious "Wait?" I asked furrowing my eyebrows and he nodded "So we can still graduate at the same time," he explained his thinking. "No. I won't let you do that. You worked hard, and who says they'll give you a full ride next time," I told him and he moved up to his elbows "I care more about you though-" "If you didn't go to college because of me I'd never forgive myself," I cut him off and he sighed "And you'll be okay staying behind while I go?" he asked sitting all the way up so we were face to face "As long as you are following your heart-" "You're my heart." I place my hand over his mouth to stop him "You can follow your dream," I told him.
He takes my hand off his lips "You are my dream," he whispered and I smiled "And you're mine," I replied squeezing his hand. "I want you to go to college, and I'll get revaluated next year," I told him and he sighed "Promise you will be okay?" he asked and I nodded but my heart had a sinking feeling. He cupped my face "This is the very first page, not where the storyline ends," he said stroking my face "My thoughts will echo your name until I see you again." I lean in to place a gentle kiss against his lips, which turned into something more.
He's laughing now. "That's crazy. Why are you jealous?" Jungkook asked running his fingers through his hair, I shrug, mumbling something under my breath as heat climbed up my neck. "Wait, what's that?" he asked trying to keep looking at me as I turn my back towards him. "Are you worried I'm going to leave you for another woman?" he questioned in a teasing voice "Shut up, I'm not jealous." he chuckled not believing me "I'm not, I swear. I'm not jealous. I'm just- I'm just..." I felt my tears well in my eyes. I'm having a hard time. But I never get a chance to say that as he picks me up, and spins me around "Awe, you're so cute when you're jealous." I squeeze my eyes shut in attempt to stop them, but tears fall anyway.
I've cried so much over the last two days. I had no idea how I had any left, but I do and they're falling down my cheeks like rain. Jungkook sets me back on my feet, and turns me to face towards him, needing to see with his own eyes to register what was happening. He pulled me to his chest, running his fingers through my hair "I'm sorry- I didn't think- I didn't-" I knew he felt bad that I was crying, but I could not get it together. I know once he leaves this town, and his past, he isn't going to want to come back. People outside this town will know him, and they will adore him and he won't be my own little secret anymore and I won't be his wildflower that grew through the cement cracks. "I'm sorry. You have no reason to be jealous," he said once my sobs had turned into nothing more than a few sniffles here and there "You're still my favorite person, Y/n. You always will be," he said.
My lips parted, but nothing came out. "You have to say something baby. You are very quiet and that's starting to freak me out." Baby. That's what did things to me. I liked it. Far too much. "You have nothing to apologize for," I tried really hard to swallow all those insecurities. "So- don't apologize," I look up at him "You are perfect.. you really are," the last part left my lips as nothing but a whisper. He reached up to cup my cheeks "Isn't it obvious?" he asked "This. What I feel for you. This is real love. It always has been." My eyes widen and my mouth opens "Y-you you love me?" I asked and I could see the fear flash over his face.
"I know I'm not smart or responsible, and I know my motorcycle makes weird noises, and your dad probably hates me, but we have this whole thing between us..." His thumb strokes my cheeks "But I love you. I love how you obsess over shows, I love that serious face you get when you're working on a problem. I love it when you get excited and your voice gets all scratchy-" "It does not!" I whined getting him to smile "I love how you put your all into everything you do, including people. I love that you put up with my shit but call me out on it too. I love that you bothered me every morning in school and that you believed in me when I couldn't." he grabs my shoulders to shake me "I just love you." he said as if he could get me to believe it better that way.
"I love you too," I admitted
The call that his train had arrived to the station was heard over the intercoms and he had five minutes to get on before it left again. I wrap my arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around me. The last goodbye. I lean into him and kiss his neck. A soft peck and nothing more. He lifts my head off his shoulder, tilting my face up to his, scrolling over my features. Only then did I noticed he had tears in his eyes "I thought I was tougher than a word," he said resting his forehead against mine "But I just discovered that having to say goodbye to you is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do." I wanted to beg him to stay, but instead I lean up pressing my lips to his, kissing him, hard. This was me saying goodbye.
He's so beautiful, I think it makes my eyes hurt. Or at least made me sick. When my mom told me he was walking up the driveway I rushed up to my room. I don't know why, I guess I was nervous, I hadn't seen him since last summer. I looked in the mirror to see that my cheeks were glowing and my forehead was so shiny you could see it from space. I quickly dabbed away at my forehead, and pulled my hair from my face in hopes to cool down. "Y/n!" my mother calls from downstairs "Coming!" I replied, but my feet wouldn't move right away. I needed to gain confidence before facing him. "Y/n!" my mom called again and this time I manage to get down the stairs, Jungkook was in the middle of hugging my father, telling him about his football college experience.
My heart was thumping and he hadn't even turned to look at me yet, I couldn't imagine- My heart stopped. He was still Jungkook, but he looked slightly older, more slimmed out, but stronger. Football practice must be brutal for him to get that muscular. "Y/n," he said opening his arms and that was enough for me to go running into his arms, crashing into his chest, my arms wrapping around his torso. "Jungkook," I mumbled against the shirt of his chest and the two of us stood there in a comfortable embrace until my mom called from the dining room asking if Jungkook was hungry from his travels. I was reluctant to let him go, but neither of us could resist my mother's cooking.
We sat down at the table, in the same position we were when Jungkook found out he got into his dream college. My father and Jungkook talked on and on about the football team, apparently my father was into college football and watched every one of Jungkook's games on TV. "How are you doing in math?" my mother asked him as the two of them were washing the dishes, he was washing, she was rinsing and I was drying. Jungkook looked sheepishly at the plate he was cleaning "I may have slipped up a bit," he admitted getting my mother to look towards him scoldingly "You need to keep your grades up so you can stay on the team," she reminded him in a motherly way and he nodded "I know, I let them slip, but I got myself a tutor, Yuna," he explained "And with her help we managed to get by grade to a B- by the end," he added.
She still shook her head "A B- ? How far did you let it slip?" she questioned getting the three of us to giggle a little bit "I'm a little lost with you both," he told us and I couldn't help but smile. "So Yuna?" my mother asked and my heart sunk a little bit, a part of me didn't want to hear about the girl who saved his math grade. "I asked the professor who was the top of the class and begged her to tutor me, and let me tell you, she doesn't seem friendly," he said chuckling. "Everyone told me she's a little weird. She's the girl in the back of class, pink hair but wearing all black, but I remember when other people were judgmental of me. She's really just shy," he said smiling. "We bonded through music, she wore a band Tee and we chatted about music. Once we were friends she was more than happy to help," he added.
He went on and on talking about her as if she was his new best friend. I had to intentionally remind myself not to make a face when he spoke of her. Eventually he moved onto talking about his other friends, but he didn't talk about them the same way he did about her. It was almost as if he cared about her more than them. As soon as the last dish was passed towards me, I dried it quickly before rushing out of the room. "Honey?" my mom called but I went straight into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. I took a deep breath in and then blew it all out after a moment. I reminded myself that I also moved on from college, I got a well paying job, and my application should be reevaluated next year.
There was a gentle knock on the bathroom door "Honey?" my mother asked again slightly worried. I splashed my face with some water before opening the door to see her and Jungkook waiting. "My stomach hurt," I lied my mother nodded but Jungkook looked like he didn't quite believe me, "I'm going to get ready," I replied pushing passed the two of them and up to my room. Once inside I started working on my make-up, tying my hair up in a cute ponytail, afterwards I pulled on the cute dress I had gotten at the thrift store. When I walked down the stairs Jungkook was watching football with my father and my mother was in the corner reading another book.
I walked over and sat down next to my mother who barely batted an eye at me, but I could feel an intense gaze on me. I turned my head to see Jungkook looking at me and his lips form the word beautiful. It was almost as if he didn't want my father to hear him blatantly tell me I was beautiful, I couldn't help but turn bashful as I look at my mother. "Jungkook said some kids are going to meet up for fireworks. He'd take you," my mother said and I couldn't help but feel embarrassed, like the little sibling he had to bring along "I don't know," I answered my hands gripping tightly on my dress. "Why not? You're even all dressed up'' she asked with a furrow of her eyebrows "My stomach still doesn't feel good," I told her with a shrug. "Why don't you lay down for a bit and we will ask you later," she said and I nodded before getting up and heading back into my room.
I wanted to skip the fireworks, so I lied and said my stomach hurt, but maybe it was the butterflies. It felt weird to be in the same space as him, after a year of not seeing each other. I didn't know what experiences he went through, who he had met, how was I supposed to believe he still thought about as he used to, as I think of him. Whenever I am around him I just feel like I need to get away. I wanted to be asleep, that lovely dark place where these anxieties and sadness can't follow me. "I knew you'd be here," his voice causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise. He chuckled "If your stomach really hurt, you wouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning, you're a wimp," he said, I looked over my shoulder at him and he had a bright smile.
I had managed to last all day. I think a part of him knew that too. I looked up into the sky as if I was waiting for the sky to light up in color. "You've been distant," he said walking up to stand next to me "No- I haven't," I stuttered through words even though he was right. His fingers brushed against the back of my hand "You hardly even hugged me," he said in a teasing tone. "I'm so scared." I admitted. I turned to face him "It's all going to end soon, one way or another. I'm hanging on by my fingernails. I have no idea if their investment in me will ever pay off. And I'm so lonely sometimes I could cry. I lost my best friend. I spend all my time with a huge frightening man who wants to kill me, and he's probably my only friend now, even though he doesn't want to be and it sucks."
His mouth presses on my cheek. A kiss. A miracle. Jungkook's warm breath, fanning my cheek. His fingertips slide into my palms, and my fingers curl into his "Baby, no." I feel my head spinning and I tighten my grip on his hand. "I'm their saddest great achievement." I finally let the waterworks fall, my sobs unbearable. He caught me in his arms, running his fingers through my hair trying to soothe me. "No, baby," he repeated holding me tight "We are all so proud of you. We love you, no matter what you do," he said but I shook my head no, "I'm just some girl from high school you had a fling with," I cried remembering how my coworker said he forgot everything about high school when he went to college.
"You aren't just some girl that happened to come into my life, Y/n," he said pulling me back so he could look me in the eyes "You're the girl," he wiped the tears off my cheeks "You came blazing into my life and demanded that I fall fiercely in love with you. Not just kinda, not sorta. I've fallen so deep in love with you, that I know it's more than love. It's LOVE. It's fierce. It's more than I ever imagined my life would be filled with. I love you Y/n." His eyes were begging me to believe him, as if the fact that I don't drove him insane. I sniffled as he tried his best to wipe the tears off of my cheeks "I love you, Y/n. I love you so much, that I can't imagine what life was like before you, or what it'll be after you."
"Is Yuna what's after me?" the waterworks started up again, I couldn't take it, his words, so sweet like a hand caressing my neck, but then they also close to choke me. "You seemed to really like being with her and you go to the same college-" "she's not you." I calm down enough to look at him once again "What?" I tilted my head to the side "She. isn't. you." I was scared to believe what he sounded like he was saying, is what he was saying. "She's pretty, but her face doesn't transform into sunlight when she looks at me." he chuckled "She's funny but not spit out your drink in astonishment funny." It felt like my heart was going to explode as his eyes moved down to my lips under the glow of the booming fireworks. He moved his ace a little closer to mine, looking into my eyes, "when I see her I don't feel like I have to talk to her, or do something- anything to get her to swing that gaze on me."
My hands were shaking when he tucked hair behind my ears and breathed "You haven't done anything to gain my attention in a really long time." His nose brushes against mine "I fell in love with you our senior year, when I discovered I could turn your cheeks pink with just a word. Then I fell in love with you." his lips find mine. His lips were soft, almost silken, and pillowy against my own. I could feel the soft tickle from his breathing, his fingers carding through my hair as we breath each other in. I veer back when I felt something drip on my forehead. Jungkook's thumb brushes over my forehead revealing that it was nothing but water. The drips multiply quickly "Come on," Jungkook said, taking my hand "Let's head inside." He pulled me to my feet and we booked it towards the house, branches scraping at my legs as the sky opens up and the rain spills out.
We crash through the back door that was connected to the kitchen. I was hot and cold all at once. And completely soaked. My hair sticking to my cheeks, my dress clinging to my body. Jungkook, too, is soaked through, his hair in clumps of wet curls, his chest heaving. He pulled me close to him and kissed me again. Our wet bodies sticking together. His hands are traveling to my back, his shaking fingers unzipping my dress. He peels the dress off my skin and over my head. I peel away his shirt. Kissing and walking, heading toward the living room couch half-dressed, the rain blurring the view out of every window. The room is dark with the storm until a crack of lightening flashes, brightening everything up.
I then realized my parents could come home any moment. Watching fireworks wouldn't be fun in the pouring rain. I climb off of Jungkook's lap and rushed into the kitchen to collect our wet clothes "My parents," I remind him tossing his shirt towards him before running up the stairs to my bedroom. What I hadn't anticipated was for him to chase after me "What are you doing?" I asked as we both entered my room. He pulled the door shut behind him and locked the door "Like hell," he cursed walking towards me, his hands finding my waist like they were magnets to each other "My girl is half naked and you think I'd pass it up?" he whispered before backing me onto my bed. My cheeks were burning "You're girl?" I questioned as he crawled between my legs, over me "Who's else would you be?" he questioned
His lips found mine instantly and they were soft at first. Just featherlight touches, as if he's memorizing the shape of my lips with his own. His tongue sweeps my lips and then inside my parted lips and kisses me so deeply I feel dizzy. His hands hold onto my waist, his mouth is fused to mine, hungry and demanding. I pour everything I have into the kiss. All my love, my loneliness, my hopes, my sadness. Jungkook takes it and give me everything in return. We get tangled up in each others arms and his mouth finds the pulse in my neck, behind my ear, at the base of my throat, kissing me like he can't get enough. He pushes one thigh between my legs and even through my panties and his jeans, I find relief I didn't know I needed. Almost. It's still not enough, so I moan into his mouth.
He raises himself up on his elbows and peers down at me, his eyes hooded, lips swollen from our kisses. He is the hottest guy on the planet, and he's mind. At least for tonight. "don't stop," I beg. He grins, rolling over on his side, sliding one hand between my legs. A shockwave rocks my body. His palm moves in a small circle, and the heel of his hand presses into the spot that's aching for him. My body is like a live wire, seconds away from exploding. Heat prickles at my skin as he kisses a path down to my breasts. He unhooks my bra and warm lips brush my nipple. his tongue coming out for a taste, I felt dizzy. When he closes his mouth over me I stop breathing.
Each teasing lick makes me hotter and hotter. Under his grip, I thrash, my body searching for something. He shifts again, taking my other nipple into his mouth. And then he moves lower, his lips gliding down to my stomach. My heart stops when he moves between my legs. I can feel his hands trembling as he slides my panties down my legs. A sharp intake of breath is all he gives before his mouth lowers onto me. It feels good. So good. his tongue finds a sensitive spot, causing my hips to buck up. A loud moan flies out. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip and try to stay quiet but Jungkook is driving me crazy. I grab the back of his head to pull his hair and he peers up at me "Do you want me to stop?" he questions and I shake my head no. He keeps going. His tongue is magic, flicking against me in a relentless rhythm.
His fingers trace a path up my inner thigh he lifts his head as if to ask for permission again and I give it to him with an anxious nod. No one had touched me since him. He slides one finger slowly inside me. He settles back between my legs and his shoulders push me open so far that I should be blushing, but all I can feel is anticipation. With one arm looped around my thigh and eases a second finger into me. The muscles in my legs tighten. My fingers digging into his skull but he doesn't stop kissing me even as the pleasure crashes over me in waves that drag me under. Once I go limp, he climbs up and lies beside me, drawing me towards him. His lips find my neck again and he breathes deeply. "Jungkook," I whispered into his ear "Do you want me to- uh, you know?" I mumbled vaguely about the bulge on my thigh.
"Uh. yeah, sure," he replied pulling back, looking as if he was trying not to laugh "Yeah sure? I don't have to if you don't want-" "I want." he answered so comically fast that I was the one laughing now. "I really, really want." he quickly eases down his jeans. I moved to the floor and knelt between his legs. I want to do this right, but because I can feel him watching me, self-consciousness makes me want to run. "Was the last time with... me?" he questioned noticing my hesitance and I shake my head embarrassed, but he leaned down pressing a kiss on my forehead "My last time was with you too," he answered. "Tell me how to make you feel good." I said feeling a bit better "It's already good." his eyes were hazy and he cups the back of my head, gently threading his fingers through my hair.
His other hand reaches for one of mine and he slowly wraps my fingers round him." You use both," he whispered, I give him a little pump. "Good," he told me. Feeling bolder, I take the tip of him in my mouth and suck. He almost jerks off the bed. I smile against him, enjoying the noises he's making. I might not have experience but I hope my enthusiasm makes up for it because I really want him to feel as good as he's made me feel. I want him to lose control. He keeps stroking my hair and I get my wish sooner rather than later. he comes apart beneath me, trembling wildly. As I pull away from him I hear a knock on my door "Honey?" my mom's voice comes through the door "Yeah?" I replied thanking the Lord that Jungkook had locked the door.
"Feeling better?" she asked and I looked towards Jungkook "Much better," I answered her while staring at him. "I'll see you in the morning then. I promised Jungkook I'd to bring him to the station," she replied and I heard her footsteps head down the hall towards her room. "Morning?" I asked almost sadly and he nods before pulling his clothes back on, and I follow his lead pulling on some pajamas. When I turn around Jungkook was laying in my bed, "Come here," he said pulling me down to lay beside him "Just close your eyes and go to sleep," he said. My voice is muffled against his chest "You promise you won't leave?" he kisses my forehead "I promise." I snuggle closer, losing myself in the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. And when I wake the next morning he's gone, leaving me nothing but a post it note.
I walked into my parents house that was packed with all sorts of people. Now that I was older, New Years Eve parties became a bigger event than Christmas in the winter. Every adult, teen and child my parents knew were packed in our house and backyard. I found my mother and father in the kitchen, the two of them slightly buzzed, I could tell by how they kissed me on the cheek, squeezing me tightly between the two of them. I took a glass of champagne and went out on the front porch where there weren't any people. That's when I saw someone walking down the sidewalk with a backpack against their back. As they came closer, I realized the stranger, was no stranger at all, but Jungkook.
"Y/n?" he asked with a bunny grin, I set my glass down before rushing down the stairs to throw myself into his arms. He caught me and spun the two of us around before letting me down on my feet. My heart gave a little beat at the acknowledgment Jungkook had shown up. I slid my hands down his biceps to his elbow and finally his wrists. "Are you going to stay for a while?" I asked trying not to build up too much hope. Maybe he had some kind of... Something he'd come for besides me. Turning his wrists, he slid his hands down until we were palm to palm. "I just rode a four hour train ride to get here. Who else would I be here for?" I loved this man.
That was what I thought. What I said though was completely different thing. "Come in," I said, taking a step away from him before blinking at him. He really was standing there, in the middle of the sidewalk in his hoodie with a backpack on. he was here. Here. With a squeak I hadn't made since I was probably twelve , I threw my arms around his arm and hugged him once more for a split second. "Come on," I said dragging him into the house, I knew my parents were going to be excited to see him. I brought him into the kitchen and my parents threw their arms around him, asking him all sorts of questions. Clearly they had missed him too. He wasn't able to make it to last years New Years Party, and took summer classes, so none of us had seen him for quite some time.
He's so pretty I could cry. Pretty boy, with pretty hair and pretty eyes, and he's all mine. At least, he was. I don't know if he still was. My heart clutches at the thought. I walk over to my parents and Jungkook, he smiles putting his arm over my shoulders to pull me to his side. "Hold onto her son. For as long as time lets you," my father drunkenly mumbled causing me to blush "I will." he didn't even hesitate. I looked up at him, finding those brown eyes smiling down at me with devotion I had never experienced or imagined being on the receiving end of. A warmth floods my chest, pounding and expanding with every passing second I spend under his gaze, but his side. Jungkook looked at me with a world of possibilities shining bright and dazzling in his eyes. A promise. "I plan on spending the rest of my life with her. I'm not letting her go anytime soon."
My parents walked away with a satisfied grin, and I instantly brought my fist to his side. "Ouch, hey," he whined rubbing where I had attacked him "Why did you say all that?" I asked "My parents don't think we are together..." and he tilted his head to the side "Do you think we are together?" he asked changing his goofy demeanor to something more serious. "I- I thought so-" "What changed your mind?" he questioned ignoring the rest of the party "Uh well, you are gone and I don't want to hold you back." he cups my cheeks forcing me to look nowhere but his eyes "You aren't holding me back, you are what keeps me going towards the future," he said. I nod my head, blushing as onlookers were looking towards us "I love you," he said easing my heart.
"I love you too Jungkook," I replied feeling my lip twitch into a frown as I look straight at his chest "I feel selfish," I whispered. Tears well in my eyes "You went to college to get away, but I kept pulling you back here..." I looked up at him "Maybe we should just be friends," I said looking up at him and he furrowed his eyebrows "Is that what you want?" he questioned and I shrugged my shoulders "You should find someone who doesn't remind you of the past," I replied. He took my hands in his "You don't remind me of the past," he said sternly "You look like my future," he said before pulling me to his chest. My ear was pressed right against his heart, it was beating wildly as if it was trying to bust out.
"You look beautiful tonight," he whispered towards the side of my head and I slide my arms around his torso "did you miss me?" I asked. "Every fucking day." I chew on my lower lip, "Did you miss me?" he question and I held him tighter as if he'd disappear in thin air if I let go "So much it hurts," I answered before lifting my head to look at him "What are we?" I asked even though my heart is in my stomach waiting for his response. "I don't know," he replied, moving a hair off my right shoulder, bringing his lips to my neck. "What do you want us to be?" his breath dances across my exposed skin and I shudder with anticipation.
I stepped off the train in the stranger city, so much bigger than our hold home town. I felt a wave of panic shoot through me as people's elbows and shoulders bumped into me. I followed the crowd off the platform and looked around the city streets. I pulled out my phone checking the directions to the apartment my mother said Jungkook was rooming in. It had been two years since I'd actually seen him in person. We stayed in touch through email, and eventually once he got himself a phone we would call and text when we could, but with busy schedules even those became less and less frequent. It wasn't long until I got to the university, people my age filled both sides of the street. I looked down at my phone to see that I was almost at his apartment. My phone dinged when I arrived to his front step and I shoved it in my back pocket walking up to the door.
I knocked on it and waited a moment. I don't know why I had expected Jungkook to answer, I hadn't even told him I was coming. "Hello?" the young man said, he couldn't have been a year or two older than me "Hi, uh, I'm Jungkook's friend from his hometown, uh y/n," I introduced myself. He smiled a big boxy smile "By the way he talks about you I'd say you were more than just friends," He teased before stepping to the side "He's not back from class yet, but he should be soon, come in," he said and I stepped into the apartment. It was quite big and fairly clean, "I'm Taehyung and that's Jimin," he said leading me into the living room where another boy was "We are Jungkook's roommate, although we are seniors in college, now so he kinda has bad luck," Taehyung said sitting down.
I sat down on another cough smiling politely as I scanned the area "So, what was Jungkook like in high school?" Jimin asked with a smirk. "Uh-well he was quite angry, he had a short fuse," I explained and they looked bewildered "What?" I questioned, "Nothing, he just, I swear I've never seen him not smile, he's like the chilliest dude," Taehyung explained and I nodded my head "Well, he had shitty parents and shitty classmates so being here must be paradise," I said shifting uncomfortably, although I'm glad Jungkook excelled here, it still hurt that I wasn't enough. "Is he happy, like truly, really?" I questioned, they both smiled "I think he'd be happier with you around," Jimin said as his lips formed a smirk. "He doesn't like to talk about his past, family or hometown, but he loved talking about Y/n," Taehyung said causing my cheeks to flush.
I heard the front door open "Professor Grey assigned me so much homework!" Jungkook complained from the door like a little kid and then he rounded the corner and nearly frozen in place. "Y/n?" he questioned a bolt of feeling leaving me breathless and I stood up, my knee jerk reaction was to run away, but that would be weird considering I was in his house. Just the sound of his voice has my heart racing in a way that feels dangerous. The jarring shift from fear to joy has my palms sweating, delirious with feeling. I'd been so nervous this whole time and now. He's here. Right in front of me. He looked older now, if I thought he was fit before, he must be a body builder now. He looked perfect and beautiful. I open my mouth to speak but no words could come. I shake my head searching desperately for the right words but I can't speak.
I can only stare at him as he steps forward, his eyes bright and shining. He pulled me into his arms. A few tears roll down my cheeks. I press my face into his neck and try, but fail to pull myself together. "S-sorry," I apologized, I hadn't expected to cry upon seeing him again. He pulled away enough to look at me "I'm sorry," I repeated and he furrowed his eyebrows "What happened?" he questioned pushing hair out of my eyes to take his face in my hands "What are you sorry for?" he asked. "I just-" I let out a laugh in self pity, thankful his roommates had left the room ages ago "I just started crying out of nowhere for no reason," I explained, but he shook his head no "I know it's not out of nowhere," he said pulling me back into his arms.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered into the side of my head "I'm so sorry for everything you've gone through in the past two years, it kills me to know you were suffering and I couldn't be there for you," he said causing my eyes to well with tears again. "I don't want to think about it right now." I shake my head. "Right now all I want is this. I just want to be here. With you. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together." he turned his head so his lips were against my temple "Y/n," he said softly. A wave of feeling washes over me. Hearing him say my name makes it feel real, makes us feel real. I meet his eyes and he smiles pulling away from me "You know-" he tugs at the straps of his backpack before tossing it on the couch "I feel everything when you touch me. I can feel your excitement. Your nervousness. Your pleasure." he smirked walking towards the stairs, and I follow him with red cheeks "I love the way you respond to me. I love the way you want me. I feel it, when you lose yourself, the way you trust me when we are together. And I feel your love for me." he whispered opening the door to what I assumed was his room. "I feel it in my bones."
I walk in and he shuts the door behind him and the second the door clicks closed I'm clinging to him, my lips on his. Wrapping my arms around his neck, running my hands through his hair, pulling him into me. He tastes so sweet. So hot, so sweet and I keep trying to say his name but I can't even find time to breathe, much less to say a single word. I push him off me. I undo his shirt, my hands shaking and fumbling with the buttons and I get so frustrated I just rip it open, buttons flying everywhere, and I don't have a chance to push the fabric off his body before he lifted me up, wrapping my legs around his hips heading towards his bed. He dips me backwards until the mattress is under my head and he leans over me cupping my face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses around my mouth and he pulls me close and kisses me, kisses me until time topples over and my head spins into oblivion.
It's a heavy, unbelievable kiss. It's the kind of kiss that inspires stars to climb into the sky and light up the world. The kind that takes forever and no time at all. His hands were holding my cheeks, and he pulls back just to look me in the eye, his chest heaving "I think," he started "My heart is going to explode." I wish now more than ever, that I knew how to capture moments like these and revisit them forever. Because this. This was everything. "Me too," I whispered, we stare at each other, nearly nose to nose now. And it feels... comfortable, tentative, new and strange. His eyes search my face. "I've been waiting for two years for you to see me." he said the words clearly without hesitation, and still I can't believe them.
A lump rises in my throat. "We've only actually been with each other twice since you moved," I mumbled, "Four times. Not counting Christmas at your house." he had been keeping track. "You wore a white sundress with lemons on it for Summer Fireworks and a grey knit dress with black knee high boots for New Years," he said. My chest feels so tight, and I have to clear my throat to speak. "You're so beautiful." I doubted that. I'm wearing faded jeans and a loose shirt that keeps falling over one shoulder, and my hair is a tousled mess because it was insanely windy in this town. I know I don't look beautiful, but the way he's looking at me, I can feel it. I reach for the bottom of my shirt, then pull it over my head and let it fall to the ground. His nostrils flair when my skimpy bra is revealed. Holding his gaze, I bring my hands behind my back and undo the tiny clasp and let my bra fall away too.
He sucks in a breath. He's seen my breasts before. He's seen me naked actually, but the hunger in his eyes, the glittering admiration, it's like he's looking at me for the first time. I wiggle out of my jeans and panties, and reach up towards him. I should be nervous, but I'm not. I tug on his white T-shirt he was wearing under the button up, helping him get out of it. God, his bare chest never fails to make me light headed. It's sculpted. Masculine. So perfect. He doesn't say a work when I ease his jeans down, his underwear with it. His erection juts out, hard and imposing, and when I wrap my fingers around it, he makes a desperate noise at the back of his throat. Yet, he still doesn't touch me. His arms remain on either side of my head, holding himself up. I don't think he is even blinking.
"Is there a reason you are not all over me right now?" I questioned, suddenly a bit insecure "I'm trying to go slow," he said softly "If I touch you, I won't be able to stop and then I'll be inside of you and-" I shut him up with a firm kiss, locking my hands around the nap of his neck. I pull my lips from his, "That kind of the point.... You getting inside me." I nibble on his bottom lip, and just like that, the thread of control he was clinging to snaps like an elastic band. He growls against my lips, his strong body pressed against mine, his erection trapped between us. His body ripples with urgency as he kisses me again. He was right to warn me- he doesn't stop kissing me, not even to come up for air. He doesn't stop touching me. Everywhere. He hungrily explores my neck and breasts, belly and then he's between my legs.
His tongue flicks over my clit, hot and greedy. I felt a bit self conscious, it was different from when we were in high school and he used his fingers. It was more intimate, and made me feel exposed, but since it was Jungkook and I was now overtaken my pleasure to care how vulnerable this position makes me. My hips strain to meet him, aching for more, and he chuckles and gives me the contact I crave. He wraps his lips around my clit and sucks, and if I hadn't been lying down, I would have been keeled right over. Pleasure shoots up my spine and surges through my bloodstream. When he pushes his two long fingers inside me, my mind fragments into a million pieces. I orgasm faster than he expects, and he groans as I convulse against his fingers, his face, his tongue and his fingers working me through it.
I whimper when he removes his fingers but it was quickly replaced when I watched him reach into his bedside table to grab a condom. Swallowing hard, I watch him roll it down his length. Skillfully. I didn't want to know where he had gotten the experience. In high school or the past two years. Either way he had experience, and I didn't. "What if I'm bad at sex." I hadn't expected to say those words out loud but he looks at me fondly, lowering his body over mine, his lips brush against my temple. Softly. Sweetly. "The fact that it's you is more than enough," he said before pressing a kiss to my head before looking into my eyes "Are you sure?" he questioned and I nodded my head "Yes."
His features taut in concentration as he brings his erection to my opening. He nudges my opening and I remind myself to relax. The pressor from the intrusion is intense, and he was hardly in there. His cock was a lot bigger than the two fingers he was using moments ago. "Are you okay?" he questioned, his voice laced with concern. I nodded my head, "I need words baby," he coaxed and I cleared my throat "yes, I'm fine," I assured him. Heat unfurls in my core, and my clit pulses in time to my rapid heartbeat. Jungkook eases inn half an in where he meets more resistance. It's a foreign sensation, but not unpleasant. His eyebrows were furrowed, and the tendons of his neck strain, as if he's fighting himself for control. I think the anticipation is worse, just anticipating that the next little bit was going to hurt just as much.
"I think we need to band-aid this," I blurt out, "Forget slow. Just do it fast," I told him and he choked out a laugh shaking his head "I don't want to hurt you," he said and he stopped moving altogether. His erection neither plunging nor re-treating. Just there. "I think it'll be the same either way," I assured him and he nodded in agreement "okay. You with me?" he questioned, I held onto his shoulders and in one swift movement he's all the way inside me. The pain was already subsiding when he lifted his head to check on me, I move my hips tentatively against him and his eyes roll back into his skull. "Fuck," he whispered before looking at me "Are you okay?" he questioned again on my mental and physical state "I'm good," I assured him.
He pulls out a few inches before sliding himself back in and pleasure shoots right through me. His mouth finds mine in a sweet, tender kiss, and his hips begin to move. Thrusting and retreating in a lazy rhythm that draw a shaky noise from my throat. I hold on tight, digging my fingers into his strong back. "Wrap your legs around me," he rasped and I do, the angle changes, deeper contact, locking our bodies tighter than before. He fills me over and over and over again,, each long strong intensifying the ache inside me, until every square inch of skin his hot and tight and screaming for relief.
He reaches between us, rubbing my swollen, throbbing clit, adding extra stimulation. He increases the pace, his hips snapping forward, his lips latched on mine as if he can't bear not kissing me. When he hits a spot deep inside, the tension explodes in an orgasm so intense I didn't even make a sound. I arch my spine and slam my eyes shut, my breath stuck in my throat, my lips glued to his. "Oh fuck," he slams in one last time, his back, damp with seat, trembles beneath my palms as he grunts in release. His heart hammers against my breasts, and I feel almost smug because, I did this to him. I made him curse, groan and wobble, as if the world beneath his feet had vanished. I made him come apart. And he did the same thing to me.
Afterward, we lies on our sides, facing each other. I'm limp and sated, too lazy to move. But not too lazy to admire the beautiful man's body stretched out next to me. He's long and powerful, not a shred of fat on him, just thick muscle stretched tight against bone. His arms are deliciously ripped, his thighs massive. His fingers brush against my forehead, tucking my hair behind my ears. "You've doubted me." I furrow my eyebrows at his statement, wondering what had brought that up "Doubted my commitment to you." I felt my cheeks burn. Over the years he's been away, I always worried he had moved on without me. "And how could I blame you?" he said getting me to look at him, worry must have evident on my face "I've told you I've loved you. I tried to show you when I was home. But I never shown that I'd put your first."
"And that's my fault. I left for college, and I knew you felt like I left you behind," he said wrapping his arm around me before pulling me towards him. "I didn't-" "I know you like the back of my hand." his lips find my neck "I should've begged you to come with me," he whispered. I felt tears well in my eyes "I would've followed you anywhere if you asked," I replied softly. It's strange how you can be desperately in love with someone even when you haven't spoken to o even seen them in years. I think it's incredible how despite the distance between two people, you'll never stop loving them. That's just how love works I suppose, you either love them forever or you never loved them to begin with. Love doesn't just leave because the person does.
When I wake up it takes me a moment to figure out that I wasn't home but in Jungkook's room. I get up and a shirt falls down to my thighs, lifting it up to my nose I smell it and all I could think was Jungkook. He must've put clothes on me after I had fallen asleep in his bed. I sneak out of the room and follow the light to the stairs, there I heard quiet voices from the living room. "It still baffles my mind that through these four years, your eyes have only been on her. I mean she's beautiful obviously, but you hardly seen each other," Jimin said, "I like being with her." I couldn't help but smile at Jungkook's words "Well no shit. Be more specific."
He sighed "It's easy being with her." he said after a long moment "She understands me in a way no one else does. When I'm not with her I wish she was there. When I am with her, I want that moment to last forever. She makes me want to be a better person, and when I think about a world where she doesn't exist... I want to burn every inch of it to the ground." I start walking down the stairs and as I do all eyes turn towards me "hey sleepy head," Jungkook greeted me with a smile "You could've woken me up," I said standing near his chair. He takes my hips and pulled me down to sit on his lap "You look cute sleeping," he replied and I rolled my eyes before looking at the other boys "Is he like this with all the girls?" I joked, secretly hoping that one of them would tell me about the other girls in his life.
"No, he keeps girls at arms length away at all times," Jimin replied getting Taehyung to chuckle "It's like he's afraid they have cooties," he added. Jungkook rolled his eyes at his friends "For a while we thought he might be gay, but clearly he can't keep his hands off you," Taehyung said looking at Jungkook's thumb that stroked my bare thigh and then back towards my eyes. I felt heat run up my spine, "I suppose he's always been mine then," I teased. "I graduate soon. I plan on coming home for as long as you're there," he said and I sighed "I'm only home for the summer, I have school in the fall," I told him. "Then we spend the summer together."
"What do you think?" Jungkook asked as the relator left us alone to check out the apartment to our hearts content "It's lovely," I told him doing a spin around the living room. "Should we take it?" he asked and I look at him with wide eyes "We?" I questioned and his smiled "You don't want to spend your senior year of college in the dorms do you?" he questioned. I figured he decided to move to my college town because he wanted to be closer to me, but I hadn't expected him to want me to move in with him. He chuckled at my surprised look "You have no idea how much I love you do you?" he questioned causing my cheeks to flush.
"I want to leave this world before you because I can't imagine having to go through a single day without you in the world. If this past year was a preview of that kind of life, then I can assure you it isn't a life worth living. You're my girlfriend and my best friend." He took me in his arms, his hands secure around my lower back "You're the future mother of my children and the one place that truly feels like home. You're the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, not because of anything you did or said, but because you loved me at my lowest, and my highest." My heart clenches "I want to be the kind of man who is worthy of a woman like you- if it's even possible. I promise to work every damn day to make sure you don't regret being with someone as miserable as me."
"Because when I'm with you I'm not miserable at all. You make me happy in a way that makes me afraid to blink just in case it all disappears." His vulnerability pulls at my heartstrings. "I'll give you anything you want- anything at all-so long as you give me a chance to make you as happy as you make me. A dog. A family. A home. I want it all." I felt tears well in my eyes "Jungkook, this sounds an awful lot more like a proposal for marriage than to move in with you," I teased him. He pulled away from me nervously "And if it was?" he asked reaching into his pocket to reveal a velvet box and my heart started beating out of my chest. He knelt down and opened the box to reveal the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. It was exactly what I would've wanted and the only person who knew would've been my mother. "Y/n, please, please marry me," he said a little choked up.
"Of course," I answered without hesitation as I sunk to my feet "I can't think of anything I'd want more than to be married to you," I said before throwing myself into his arms. I bury my face in the crook of his neck "is that a yes?" he questioned rubbing his hand over my back "Yes, yes, a million times yes," I replied sitting back to look at him. He took my left hand in his and then slipped the ring on my finger, "So, what does my bride to be think of this apartment?" he asked getting me to let out a laugh "I think it's the perfect place to start our life... together."
