Checkered Sunshine & Neon Rainbows (3)
Summary: A mall trip turns into something deeper as J-Hope reminds Lumi that they are worth more than price tags and apologies. Between neon signs, a puffer jacket, and quiet car rides, they learn that love isn't earned—it's given, freely and endlessly.
Chapters:
1 ; 2 ; 3
Chapter 3: Neon Sunsets and Puffer Jacket Promises
Warnings: Mentions of past self-harm, grief, trauma, healing themes, emotional vulnerability
Rating: G
Genre: BTS AU, Parent, Slice of Life, Fluff, Healing
Word Count: ~700
Chapter 3: Neon Sunsets and Puffer Jacket Promises
The car ride was a riot of colour and noise. Lumi had commandeered the aux cord the second they’d buckled in, and now Harry Styles’ Watermelon Sugar blasted through the speakers, the bass thumping like a second heartbeat. They sang along at full volume, knees bouncing, fingers drumming the window in a chaotic rhythm only they understood.
“Tastes like strawberries on a summer evenin’…!” they belted, kicking their mismatched Vans against the dashboard. The sun streaked through the window, turning their orange-streaked hair into liquid gold.
J-Hope gripped the steering wheel, half-laughing, half-wincing. “You’re gonna dent my car, Lumi-ya.”
“You’ll thank me when we’re vibing in my dopamine room!” they shouted back, spinning a gummy bear bracelet around their wrist. Their green eyeliner had smudged into a rebellious haze, making their freckles pop like constellations.
He glanced at them—really looked—and felt that familiar ache in his chest. Four years ago, Lumi had sat in this same seat, silent and hollow-eyed, sleeves pulled over fresh cuts. Back then, they’d flinched at loud noises, at bright colours, at their reflection. Now they were a supernova, burning too fast, too bright, and he’d let the universe collapse before he dimmed that light again.
---
The mall loomed ahead, its glass façade glittering like a promise. Lumi lunged for the door handle before he’d even parked.
“Seatbelt. Now.” J-Hope caught the back of their rainbow sweater vest, yanking them gently into their seat. “You’re not a feral cat, ya?”
“Debatable!” they chirped, but slumped back, vibrating. “Disco balls, Appa. Disco. Balls.”
“Disco balls,” he repeated, killing the engine. The sudden silence felt sacred. Lumi’s breath hitched, their eyes wide and wild, fingers twisting a frog ring like a prayer bead.
He reached over, stilling their hand. “Breathe. It’s not a race.”
They nodded, cheeks flushed, but their knee kept jiggling. “I just… need it to be perfect. Like my brain’s finally outside, you know?”
He knew. After the accident, they’d refused to sleep in any room that looked “too much like a hospital.” Beige walls, white sheets—it had taken months to convince them they were safe. Now they wanted to explode safely, and he’d hand them the matches.
“Perfect’s boring,” he said, flicking their nose. “Let’s get weird.”
---
The mall swallowed them whole. Lumi darted ahead, their star-patched jeans flashing like a disco ball in motion. J-Hope trailed behind, mentally tallying their Pinterest list: checkerboard rug, neon signs, skateboard shelves… Wait.
“Lumi-ya!” he called, jogging to catch up. “The flower ceiling lamp—!”
They froze mid-skip, shoulders slumping. “Oh. Right.” Their voice cracked, just barely. “It… sold out online. But it’s fine! We’ll improvise! Maybe… origami cranes? Or glow-in-the-dark stickers—!”
They were ramping up again, words tripping over themselves. J-Hope pulled them into a side hug, ignoring the stares of passing teens. “We’ll find something better. Swear.”
“Better than a flower lamp?” They scoffed, but leaned into him, their dopamine jewellery clinking softly. “Doubt.”
He steered them toward the home decor section, where a neon ~v i b e s~ sign flickered ominously. “You once turned my old socks into a ‘statement art installation.’ I believe in you.”
Lumi snorted, ducking under his arm. “It was avant-garde and you know it.”
---
Later the mall’s sliding doors hissed shut behind them, but Lumi lingered, their eyes glued to a mannequin in the Calvin Klein store window. The puffer jacket was thick, and sleek—normal, by their standards—but something about the way it hung, boxy and defiant, made their fingers twitch. They could style this. Add patches, safety pins, maybe bleach the sleeves…
J-Hope followed their gaze, already pulling out his wallet. “Size?”
“Appa, no—” Lumi grabbed his arm, cheeks flushing. “We already spent so much. The neon signs, the rug, the—the disco ball planter—”
“And the disco ball planter is a necessity,” he said flatly, steering them inside. The sales associate lit up, but J-Hope waved them off. “We’ll just… look.”
Lumi didn’t argue again. They stood statue-still as he zipped them into the jacket, their reflection in the mirror a clash of contradictions—glossy puffer fabric swallowing their rainbow sweater vest, frog rings peeking out from the cuffs.
“Perfect,” J-Hope declared.
“It’s expensive,” they whispered.
He turned them to face him, hands on their shoulders. “You’re worth every won. Always.”
They didn’t cry. Not here. But their throat bobbed, eyes glazing over like they were rewinding every time they’d apologized for existing after their mom’s death. For the scars, the silence, the way they’d whispered “I’m sorry” like a mantra.
“Okay,” they croaked. “Okay.”
---
Back at the car, Lumi helped load the bags in silence. Disco balls clinked, neon signs rattled, and the skateboard shelves jutted awkwardly from the trunk. When J-Hope shut the hatchback, they finally broke.
“I’m exhausting,” they blurted, tears spilling. “I talk too much, I spend too much, I—I painted the wall and you just—”
He pulled them into a hug, their face smushed against the puffer jacket. “You’re alive,” he murmured into their hair, still flecked with orange paint. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”
They clung to him, trembling, until the mall’s parking lot lights flickered on.
---
The drive home was quiet. Lumi curled into the passenger seat, the new jacket swallowing them whole, and stared at the neon signs glowing in the backseat. SUN, CLOUD, BE HAPPY, Outside, Seoul blurred into streaks of gold and shadow.
By the time they hit the highway, Lumi was asleep—head lolling, frog ring catching the streetlights. J-Hope kept glancing over, memorizing the peace on their face. No jittering legs, no frantic Pinterest scrolling. Just soft breaths and smudged green eyeliner.
Four years ago, he thought, they’d hidden in hospital corners, slicing skin to feel something. Now they’d turned their room into a kaleidoscope, stolen his clothes, and danced like the world owed them joy.
His phone buzzed—a text from Jin.
Did they burn down Dongdaemun?
He snapped a pic of Lumi’s knocked-out form, neon signs glowing like guardians in the back.
Worse. They discovered capitalism.
When they pulled into the driveway, Lumi stirred, blinking groggily. “Did we… get the curtains?”
“Green ones. To match the rug.”
“And the… skateboard shelves?”
“Looking dangerously cool.”
They yawned, hugging the jacket tighter. “S’good.”
He reached over, squeezing their hand. “Ready to turn your room into a dopamine bomb?”
They smiled, small but sure. “Yeah.”
Inside, the house waited—once completely beige walls ready to bleed colour, blank ceilings begging for neon suns. J-Hope carried Lumi’s bags upstairs, step by step, heartbeat by heartbeat.
Their mother would’ve loved this.
She’d have loved them.