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oftenderweapons · 3 years

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Lavender Honey | KNJ | Part 1

A Sons of Midas story

Pairing: Chaebol!Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Honey)

Wordcount: 19.1k

Genre: angst, smut, fluff. Childhood friends turned fwb turned enemies turned (eventually, potentially, hopefully) lovers. Also, everybody is pretty much filthy rich.

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Namjoon — man of many women, successful businessman is nothing but a rotten piece of soul living in memories and what-ifs. His life is nothing but completing his endless tasks fast enough to hide himself in a sweet scent from the past. What happens when the gentle perfume waltzes back into his present together with the only one he ever loved?

One large disclaimer and a smaller rant. I've recently seen a very popular bts gif blog accusing a writer of being toxic simply because they depicted one of the boys as a "fuckboy", and proceded with slutshaming the writer for writing smut. Now, if you can't understand the difference between a character from a work of fiction and a real person, that is probably a very good reason for you not to read this piece of fiction. I do not condone any of the behaviour in this fic: I am but a mere narrator.

Trigger warnings: both Namjoon and Honey engage in extremely disreputable antics. Namjoon is depicted as a selfish womanizer, therefore if this bothers you, please do not read any further. Namjoon has also blatant issues with alcohol and anxiety. Again, if this makes you uncomfortable, please scroll away now. I repeat, I do not condone alcoholism; it was vaguely hinted through the fic since I didn't want it to become an unbearably heavy theme for myself and other more sensitive readers. In terms of smut, we have several hints at oral sex (m&f receiving), public sex and public masturbation, hate sex. There is mention of cheating (just a kiss). Mentions of threesome and foursome. Biting and marking. Borderline fetishism (perfume). Swearing and obviously consumption of Alcohol.

Acknowledgements: all the ladies involved in this collab, starting from @joheunsaram. Mars, my beta, my love. Thank you for everything. @taegularities, too precious for this world. @honeyj00ns, thank you for your kind affection. @biaswreckme, my newest friend. @hobiandsprite, my strongest possum, and an honorary mention to @aroseforyoongi, unspeakably precious.

The link to my masterlist can be found here

The Spotify playlist can be found here

Enjoy 💜✨

[PS. Part 2 OUT HERE]

A laugh echoed through the final swirls of sleep before the alarm swept into his dream and washed it away.

Reality was bitter on his tongue while the scent lingering in his nostrils was anything but.

He stretched his arms above his head, his pectorals softly aching with the best remnant of effort. He remembered the leggy blonde from Friday night. And the sweet, kinky best friends from Saturday — and a good part of Sunday.

His grin disappeared slowly as he stood, feeling a slight headache.

Any sort of lightness evaporated once he saw the agenda for the day.

The Royal Garden — meeting at 10.

He sunk back into the mattress. He decided to send an email to Milla, his assistant, and tell her he would be working from home until the meeting.

He felt too raw to be in public. He simply got up and headed to the shower.

He hated everything for a few seconds.

He hated himself more than everything.

And then he remembered it was not his fault.

He was alone, but it was not his fault. It was not his choice.

He checked himself in the mirror.

He was young. Hot. Rich. Not that young anymore, actually. But that added to the charms.

He didn’t bother brushing his teeth and went for breakfast. The day was already too upsetting to go for fresh fruit and muesli and unsugared yogurt.

He threw everything away and stretched all the way to the top shelf, finding his priced stash of heavily sugary breakfast treats. Nutella. Lucky charms.

He grinned and filled himself to the brim with artificial sweeteners, until it almost made him numb, too energised to be bothered with minor inconveniences such as The Royal Garden.

He tried to work, and then he tried harder; still, he already knew he would remain unfocused until that unfortunate investment would be one of his little pastimes, nothing more.

He wasn’t too heavily involved with it anyway, but whenever the name appeared in his agenda, his stomach would unsettle, his legs would shake and his soul would turn into a black hole, dragging in everything light and happy.

He would splurge on sugar and alcohol and women. So many women…

Too many.

He managed to waste time, lost in his mind, staring at the documents he was pretending to read. Luckily, he managed to come back to earth in time to get properly dressed and get his driver’s call.

The Cho Beauty Industry was as usual busy, incredibly animated. Namjoon strolled through the lobby coolly, unbothered, Milla greeting him in front of the meeting room.

“Do you need me to take notes?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Milla.”

“Don’t worry. I got you.” The secretary touched his shoulder with a kind smile. “Did you sleep?”

He nodded absentmindedly, refusing to expose just how exhausted he made himself before he managed to sleep like a baby.

“How was your weekend?” He asked, sitting down beside her in the large room.

“Nara came over. It was a good weekend.”

Namjoon nodded. “Good for you.” He took his tablet, already setting up the layout for some notes, sadly knowing he wouldn’t be able to take any.

The man standing beside the projection screen bowed in acknowledgment before Namjoon bowed even deeper.

The meeting started without ceremonies, diving deep into discussion of the several points. Mr Cho was an organised, straightforward man, characteristics that Namjoon had learnt to love through the years but that left an unpleasant feeling in his heart. He detached himself from that.

He detached himself from the unsettling sensation of Mr Cho’s eyes staring at him. He suddenly felt sad. Lonelier. Observed and judged.

He was far from heaven — probably the farthest he’d ever been — but he didn’t care. He didn’t believe in heaven. Although in hindsight, he knew he had known heaven once. He’d been there too.

The shape and colour, and vibrant, steady and calm determination of those eyes reminded him every single time.

Mr Cho’s cool voice came like an unintended shot in the dark. A bullet with an unexpected trajectory.

“After careful thinking and planning we are discontinuing The Princess.”

Milla’s eyes immediately went to Namjoon’s face, Mr Cho staring at the young man, feeling extremely sorry that Namjoon had avoided all the emails and calls and attempted meetings when he’d tried to break the news to him in a delicate, heartfelt way.

Mr Cho already knew the man would give him a hard facade and then go home, disappear from everything and everyone for a few days, only to come back with one more wrinkle on his face and one more notch on the bedpost. Or maybe seven.

A boy he’d raised almost as his own was wasting away and he couldn’t do anything. He was one of the most remarkable businessmen in the city — actually in the whole country, and then some — and he’d landed some of the most important achievements in the history of his firm before turning thirty. He was slowly coming undone, but there was no actual proof of the inner decay he had been undergoing for a few years now.

Namjoon’s face was indecipherable, completely impassive in some sort of indifference he’d mastered ages ago.

Inside, he was the opposite.

Inside he was feeling his memories fade away. Lavender flowers, stretching out for metres and metres in a long line. A gentle smile. Honest, fearless eyes rolling shut in bliss. The sweet feeling of soft hair wrapped around his fingers. Tender lips against his neck. Giggles echoing in an empty room. The sound of a breathing body laying beside him in the sun. Moonlight reflected on the lake. Gingham dresses. Sunlight coming in through lace curtains. Cherries. The taste of almond lip balm. Moans echoing in the lake house. Bubble baths. Candles. Lavender. Picnic baskets. Honey. The sound of water against the row boat.

Namjoon inhaled.

Lavender honey filled his lungs.

And disappeared.

“I oppose.”

Many people in the room went quiet.

“It’s a line that needs to be renovated. It’s old.”

“Then redo the packaging.” Namjoon felt his heart beat twice as fast while his entire being slipped in criminal coldness.

“We intend to discontinue the line.” Mr Cho repeated, trying to be as clear but also as tactful as possible.

“It’s a bestseller.”

“We intend to invest in new products.”

“Why give up on a product that made your brand? It’s a sure source of income. Working on new fragrances will take time, and you’ll have to build a new target customer. It will be expensive. Too expensive, in my opinion,” Namjoon crossed his arms, his jaw flexing in a way that made his teeth hurt.

“The Princess is old by now. We need to make way for a new concept. New flowers in our garden.”

Namjoon froze at the secret meaning of the sentence.

The rest of the meeting went on without a hitch, Namjoon so tuned out that he didn’t realise the event was over.

Mr Cho politely fretted through greetings and goodbyes, refusing lunch invitations and all those formalities to try and reach Namjoon before he left.

Milla met Cho’s gaze and hesitated before calling her boss back to reality.

“Namjoon, boy. I tried to warn you—”

He looked up at the man as he felt his shoulder being touched. “It’s okay.”

“I really wanted—”

“I’m not a child anymore, I can handle it. I’m just considering if I’m interested in this project anymore.”

Mr Cho felt his heart sink. He had always known that the tie between Namjoon and The Royal Garden was something fickle and nostalgic, but at the same time something that ran too deep to be forgotten.

“You’re not interested in The Knight?”

“I don’t want The Knight. You know it.” Namjoon’s eyes were filled with freezing rage. “What’s the next flower?”

“Namjoon—”

“Give me The Princess,” his eyes were softening in a way Cho hadn’t seen in almost two decades. Actually there was a night he’d seen them from very up close, but he didn’t like remembering it.

He could still see the young man dragging his feet up the stairs, ricocheting between the wall and the railing as he climbed up, stumbling, barely upright until he crawled to the room he knew like his own, crying his lungs out, balled up on the carpet like an abandoned child, mourning for an unphysical loss that shouldn't have made him feel like his guts had been clawed out.

“Give me The Princess,” Namjoon’s voice broke. “Please.”

Cho rubbed the man’s arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Milla hinted at greetings. “Need me to call someone?” She asked as the young man grabbed a small bottle from a slot in the car door.

The smell of gin filled the car quickly.

Milla did not judge. She already knew what was coming.

“Call Nina.” Namjoon took a large sip. “And Lia. I’m out for the day.”

“My child! My flower! She is home! Finally!” Your father’s arms welcomed you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“Dad!”

“Quiet, my baby is back!” He shushed you, pressing your cheek to his. “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” you confirmed, holding your dad close and welcoming the sweet comfort his arms offered. He had a question he was dying to ask, but he would hold himself back, at least for a while.

“Your friends will be so eager to see you!” He hinted, giving you a meaningful stare.

“Sure, they already know I’m back. We’ll have a reunion soon. I was considering dinner. Something relaxed, like barbecue. I missed it!” You smiled, trying to make your way out of the dangerous topic. There was only one friend your dad could be referring to, but you had no intention of discussing that already.

“Your room is still the same!” He said enthusiastically but also softly.

“I was scared you had turned it into Lola and Lars’ playroom,” you commented, watching the two dogs sniffing at you, especially since you were almost a stranger to them.

Spending nine years abroad meant many things, like your mother getting dogs to find someone else to coddle and spoil and spend time with, but also losing ties with anyone, feeling like a plant suddenly changed of environment, the new soil filled with nutrients, new occasions, but also awfully unfamiliar.

All you knew was that the moment you entered the room, you felt a punch in the guts. There were signs, everywhere, like claw marks spread across the room.

It wasn’t your bedroom anymore. It felt like a crime scene.

You stepped in it carefully, watching films unfold everywhere. It was a call for disaster.

Scenes started unfurling in your head, old ghosts coming for you, crawling like fog from pictures, dried flowers, books—

“Dad.”

“Yeah?”

“May I take the guest room?”

Your father felt silence capture his mind. “Sure thing, my flower.”

Once in the pristine room, you laid your suitcase on the floor. “Your things will be arriving in a few days,” your dad announced. “Just tell me where you want me to put those.”

You were still too unsettled to choose. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”

He nodded. “I don’t know what happened but—”

“Nothing.” And it was true. Nothing had happened. That’s precisely how everything had come undone.

“He’s—”

“I’m sorry, dad, but the trip was long and I’d like to rest,” you admitted, energies drained.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s nothing,” you repeated, already opening your case and finding your pyjamas.

“Would you like me to keep you company?” He asked, lifting the sheets to get the bed ready.

“Don’t you have work to do?” you asked with a knowing smile.

“I’ll bring my laptop. I know the sound of typing relaxes you. You’re still my daughter.”

You smiled and nodded. “That I am.”

“It’s good to know you’re back,” Swan gave you a warm look and you felt infinitely better. Four friends, a few bottles of soju and the heavy smell of roasted pork meat was the best feeling in the world.

“Hard times, I tell you.”

Candy looked at you fondly from the other side of the table. It was truly good to have you back. Maybe some old balances would be refound — maybe the guys would find again the two pieces they lost the day you left. She was hopeful all at once, forgetting about how hopeless her situation was.

“I still can’t believe you pulled that trick on all of us,” Peach added. “Out of the blue. Puff, you were gone. And now puff, you’re here!” She laughed cheerfully. “You missed out so much.”

“Like what?” You asked with a mischievous grin.

“First. Taehyung became a heartthrob.”

“A what?” You exclaimed, remembering only the sweet face of a seventeen year old with ruffled hair.

“A heartthrob. A gentleman. A Casanova. A ladies’ man. And what a man,” Peach commented, wide eyed and swooning.

Candy wheezed and shook her head. “Come on, it’s not like that…”

“Our Taehyungie?” You asked, almost pouting at Swan, giving her a questioning look.

She blushed to her ears, looking at the other woman with mild discomfort in her eyes. “He’s a very good looking young man. You and I both know he isn’t difficult to love.”

Swan admitted.

“Well, if he takes after his brother… By the way, the female population of Seoul would like to offer you their gratitude and give you an honorary medal,” Peach hinted, making you look down with a blush on your cheeks.

“I didn’t do much—”

“You trained a beast!” She remarked.

“Peach,” Candy hissed with a concerned stare.

“Hey, don’t worry,” you reassured her, touching her forearm. Your conversation with Peach about Namjoon was very old business. She had slept with him and you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit. It was just the umpteenth demonstration that you had lost all feelings for him.

“You don’t want to know about him?” Peach asked, trying to insinuate doubt in your mind.

You ceased. “How is he.”

“Rich as filth. Successful like no man his age. But cold to the bone.”

Swan looked away just as Candy pursed her lips. She was not okay with how you looked. She felt like she was still failing you, somehow; which of course wasn’t true. Your faith in Candy was unbreakable.

“He keeps binging on girls and alcohol. But he’s a ghost, babe. A hot ghost though, I’m not going to lie about that.” Peach explained, knowing that there was no reason to butter things up with you. “I can’t believe you kept up with him.”

Candy would have snapped if she didn’t know she could trust Peach, that the two of you had your own terms and agreements to talk about Namjoon.

Your smile was bitter. “We were just dumb kids.” But you’d been the dumbest of the two.

All about the night unsettled you. The crowd walking through the corridors, the white walls and the pretentious paintings, the stupid artists wearing stupid clothes that were supposed to give them a certain 'je-ne-sais-quoi', as some of them called it with their preposterous accents and ignorant mannerisms.

Fortunately, you had found the ones you actually appreciated, taking your time talking to them while they greeted your mother, glittering at your arm like a precious jewel, while you stood at her side gently and shyly, clad in pastel tones and a watery scent. It was nothing like the heavy perfumes most of the ladies were wearing, mixing in the room and creating a cloud of disturbing, clashing fragrances.

You were getting a headache. Still you stood at your mother's side, faithful as your role required you to be, avoiding the several questions about your mysterious disappearance and your prodigious return.

The night was like too many before, too suitable for hard reminiscing and crying yourself to sleep.

You remembered when the same night had felt like champagne bubbles nine years ago, bare feet on the grass and sticky hair and pants echoing across the wooden walls of the boathouse.

You stared at the painting in front of you as tears welled up in your eyes. At least it was a painting you could genuinely feel emotional about.

With cold determination, you rebuilt yourself. Like you would need to do a million more times.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

Namjoon liked this sort of gatherings. They were the easiest.

Lots of beautiful women, lots of wine, lots of chances to show off his flawless social skills and charm dreamy, naive girls through his knowledge of art and his relationships with artists. He didn't even need to show his wealth: the Rolex at his wrist did that for him and, in case he needed extra support, he would introduce the girl to the artists he had commissioned a piece or two from.

However, tonight he would not play that game. Tonight he would be his mother's chaperon, make her proud with a dimpled grin, gentle, impeccable manners and a strict no-alcohol rule. He would smile, make conversation when invited to and redeem himself from the heart breaker, womaniser image he had made for himself.

And everything went according to plan before he spotted a leggy little thing across the room, nape and shoulders invitingly exposed, her dress so simple and delicate that Namjoon knew only a stunner would feel comfortable wearing such a plain thing to an event so important.

Mrs Kim immediately noticed her child's attention shifting, subtly changing the direction of her path as she continued to observe the pictures.

Namjoon looked at his mother with a suspicious glance before she grinned at him with that familiar smile that was just like his own.

“Mother.”

“My treasure.”

“I believe this is not the correct order of exhibition.”

“I believe you are mistaken,” she parroted him jokingly. “There is no order of exhibition.”

Namjoon gave her a small smile before continuing his sonly duties, doing so impeccably until a familiar whiff caught his nose.

He grew more attentive, closing his eyes as vision interfered with his sense of smell. That was it. The chances of the perfume being anything but his most prized one were too slim. At the same time, the chances of it belonging to one of the old ladies were too high, although he assumed no one would dare wear it before the creator's wife, especially knowing the meaning it carried.

A sick part of him wished it was the plain stunner. It seemed to suit her, conceptually. His brain was already thinking how easy it would be to pretend.

He disgusted himself for a second, but it passed quickly.

“Eunyeong?” His mother addressed the older woman at the Stunner’s side.

Namjoon felt himself die and be reborn in a millisecond. It gave his soul whiplash.

That name meant only one thing.

“Oh, my prayers! The Princess has returned?” His mother exclaimed before joining her hands before her stomach, excitement overwhelming her.

The plain stunner bent deeply. “Hello, auntie.”

Namjoon's veins iced over. He was not alive anymore. Could he be getting a stroke? He felt his left arm tickling before his mother tugged him down in a bow to Cho EunYeong. “Such a special circumstance! Namjoon, aren't you glad?”

He was glad. He was also extremely stupid, highly malfunctioning and infinitely unfortunate. Staring deep into your eyes, he spoke the only words he could muster. “Hello, Honey.”

The greeting felt old and unused on his tongue. He missed the way it used to roll off of it, the way it was second nature once to pronounce the word even when it was practically unneeded and unnecessary.

“Oh, come here, sweetie, let me hug you! Look at you, you're a stunning young woman, isn't she, Namjoon?” His mother spurred him on.

“She's always been a pretty girl. There was no way she would become any less,” he offered back coolly.

“Don't listen to him, darling, you're absolutely lovely, come here,” she exclaimed, hugging you, earning the envy of the other ladies in the room. It was clear you had a special friendship with the Kims, and the bond between such two powerful families was making everyone snobbish.

“You've been missed oh-so-dearly, Princess. I can't believe you never came back home in nine years.”

Apparently she was busy adding flowers to the garden, Namjoon thought harshly, forgetting about the poppy field he had made for himself — overpopulated and filled with extremely short lived blossoms.

“I was very busy, auntie. And I took a chance to spend time with the American branch of the family.”

Namjoon felt his chest cave.

You were so beautiful. You had always been, and he’d always fallen for it. He felt too young for the way his heart stopped and started beating twenty times faster, his whole chest fluttering with it. He breathed in slowly.

Lavender. Soothing, calming, slightly balsamic.

“Hello, Namjoon.”

It had been ages since your tongue had to wrap around the syllables of his name. It was painful and so familiar, like finally entering your home barefoot, but with shards of glass disseminated across the floor.

Namjoon didn’t accept the way excitement filled him, fireworks going off in his mind. What would he not give to touch you, to feel the sharpness of your jaw against his lips, to feel your hands on his chest, in his hair. He looked down, knowing just how easily you could still read him. He could read you just the same.

Truth is you had learnt to read together. You had been each other’s first experiment. You had been each other’s first everything, each other’s beginning. And now you were there, so close, so apart. And still the call was there, magnificent, like magnets, hands shaking with need, and a craving so primal it was hard not to answer.

He had become way more majestic and intimidating than once. The shy, soft guy that stood about a head taller than you now seemed to dominate the room, carrying himself so proudly and classily, like he owned the whole world and then some.

From what you had been told, he had each and every right to stroll around like a panther, sleek and lethal, but you didn’t allow much privilege to him: you knew he was still a scared kitten somewhere inside him. He had always had a talent for dissimulating just how much fear and insecurity he had in him.

Your eyes met his. “You’re back,” he said plainly.

“Apparently.”

The calm, warm smile you gave him made him remember too many things at once, like a supercut of eighteen years lived together, side by side, like the world would dissolve the moment the two of you would, like you were the center of the universe and its birth and its death. He could remember it in the cold light of the library, in the neon glittering effects of a club, under the verdant foliage of a summer afternoon, glimmering with water, your hair wet, your white dress sticking to your skin, and then under the grey winter skies, lips dry and broken with the cold, nose red, eyes excited at the first snowflakes falling.

He felt like a haunted house covered in blooming ivy. He had missed you.

You were right in front of him and he still missed you.

Etiquette told him he should stand at his mother’s side, like a pillar. Still, he was but a pillar of sand, eroded by your calm, cold abyss.

“May I be excused?” he said, not even waiting for his mother’s reply as he felt salt in his throat, his shirt and jacket too tight, his face too hot.

He found the closest door and headed for the garden.

“Please, excuse him. I believe you know the situation wasn’t easy on him,” Aeri, his mother, spoke softly, simply, making you suck at your lips, swallowing heavily before straightening your back, squaring up for whatever fight you had to face.

“There was no easy side to pick.”

“Maybe you could use some time to talk. Say all those unsaid words,” your mother suggested.

“I have said everything I could. The moment he’ll have something to say, I’ll wait with arms open. Now if you don’t mind, the punch looks very appealing. Mother?”

She shook her head. “Just go,” she encouraged you, waiting for you to turn before sending a stern look to her lifelong friend.

“I’m sorry, Eunyeong,” Namjoon’s mother gave an apologetic pucker of her lips.

“She’s still not there,” your mom replied drily. “I don’t know what happened. I’m still so confused. She refuses to talk, she avoids the subject like the plague and— I really don’t know. I’m so sorry about your son.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. He had all the tools to be more balanced. We already talked about this, Yeongah. Not her fault. Not his either. We just missed a bit in the equation. It doesn’t make sense to us, but apparently it does to them. Let’s just hope it will heal someday.”

Your mother nodded. “I don’t think it will.”

Aeri sadly had to agree.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

The garden was relatively empty. You already knew why you were there. You knew it because you had walked down that path so many times in your head, the Japanese dome so inviting near the pond, among the maple trees. You already knew he would be there. Water and plants naturally called to his meditative self.

“You’re here,” you spoke softly, standing a few steps behind him while he leaned against the railing, elbows propped on it.

“I needed to think.”

You nodded, looking away, pacing back and forth. “What are you thinking about?”

“About the last nine years.”

You nodded. “I… I’m—”

You felt something snake in where body and soul become one. Nostalgia so deep it hurt.

“Don’t apologise. You chose your path. You thought about yourself.” He sniffled.

Your jaw clenched.

“I wish I’d been that smart.” He snickered, sarcastic and cold. “I had to play catch up for a bit. I guess we both know who won.”

“It’s not a matter of who suffered more or who became more successful,” you replied with a sneer. “It’s not a competition.”

“You only say that because you’re the winner, Honey. Thought you’d be smarter than that. I guess we really do become duller with age.”

You felt tears well in your eyes. “I guess you really became meaner. Don’t think I didn’t keep tags on you, mister Dorian Gray. Wicked and corrupted to the bone.”

“Did they also tell you about The Princess?”

You looked away. “No use to keep the dead living.”

“Was it your choice?” He asked, turning around, face drenched in tears.

He felt slightly relieved when he noticed you had matching wet lines down your face. “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m older. I’m different.”

“You’re wearing it tonight.”

“My mother insisted. She’s wearing The Queen. You still have The Knight.”

“It’s my place.” He swallowed, trying not to sob. It was too difficult. He gave up. “Let The Princess be, please.”

You shook your head. “Don’t let that haunt you. It’s the best for both of us.” You tried to fix your makeup.

“Have you forgotten it entirely? How it was?” His voice was like a quiet whisper of the wind.

You blinked rapidly. “Joonie—”

“Tell me you still remember how good it was to have each other.”

For a second you thought about lying, but lying to him would be lying to yourself. You found all your strength and nodded. “I remember everything.”

He looked at you, taking a small step towards you. “You do?”

You nodded as you felt your lip wobble. “That's why we need to let it go.”

He wanted to come back home. He had wanted to for so long. Hopeless and helpless, he strode towards you before wrapping his arms around you, holding you to him, his eyes rolling shut as relief swallowed him whole.

Lavender. Pitch black nights and starry skies. Comfort. Sleep.

You held him as you felt him inhale. “Namjoon,” you called, rubbing his back. “We have to go.”

“Just one more more minute. It's been nine years,” he whispered, feeling your body under his palms. “Why did you leave?”

“I needed to.” Still, it hadn't worked.

“How long will you stay here?” He asked, his eyes studying your face.

“I don't know yet. It depends on the plans. I don't have any so far.”

He stared into the void for a bit. “Aren't you going to work in the company?”

You shrugged. "Maybe.”

He felt you shiver. “We should go inside.”

You smiled timidly. “How's my make up?”

He took his kerchief from the pocket, painfully remembering how many times he had fixed your mascara for entirely different reasons. He dried your face, dabbing at it delicately. “Nice and pretty,” he said with a smile. “Let's go.”

You both knew you stood on precarious ground, and you also knew there was a pages-long list of reasons you should stay away from him; nevertheless, you had to admit you loved being back in his arms. Just like all his other women did.

Daydreaming about the fine man Kim Namjoon had become was turning into a daily activity you despised and slipped into on a daily basis.

Everytime you did think about him sweeping you off your feet, you calmed down by making a probably incomplete mental list of all the women he’d been with, even uttering their names out loud when the thoughts about him got you to blush and hyperventilate.

It was inevitable that through the summer you would meet again, during one of the several events your families expected you to attend.

The Kang Foundation event was just the first of many, your father and your mother unfortunately busy with your grandparents so that they had to send you alone, not even a chaperon at your side — which was already in itself a recipe named disaster, further magnified the moment Kim Namjoon appeared in deep blue slacks and a thin linen shirt with fine silver swirls embroidered all over it.

You doubted a man could look elegant and properly dressed for a soirée without a jacket on, still he managed to pull it off effortlessly.

The event was notoriously on the cocktail side rather than the formal one, mostly attended by the new generation of business people — and usually the most influential one. You eventually spotted some familiar faces here and there, with their warm smiles and cold composure. Eventually all faces turned towards you at some point or another. You simply arched your eyebrows and looked into the only eyes that held the kind of courage you wished you had.

Namjoon stood still, straight like a column, trying to be as strong as he needed you to be, watching you walk to the counter of the bar, ordering something as everyone stared at you, at your cute, puffy gingham dress, at the way your skin gleamed under the mild lights.

He could notice some gossipers already running to you; they would surely ask you about the time abroad — or more specifically, what had led you away, and what had brought you back. For a second, he considered rescuing you before realising you could perfectly handle it by yourself. Moreover, he reminded himself who you were.

She left you, Namjoon. Without telling you a word. Without texting. One moment she was there and three days later she was on a plane taking her eight time zones away. She didn’t answer your calls. She let you waste away. She left you alone. Hurt. With no one to count on. She broke your heart. Fuck her.

No. No fucking, he reminded himself.

Too late.

His brain was already half gone, careening into all those memories of lace and bliss, of laughs and moans and childish tickles. He was still attracted to you. He would always be, he realised.

Memories became more painful as he noticed you float around the room in your ethereal dress, stopping here and there to say hi to old classmates and potential future business associates. He felt a bit wilder when he noticed the little mother of pearl accessory in your hair.

And then his heart entirely exploded at the view of your necklace. The fine choker looked absolutely poised and refined around your throat, still he was far from not noticing the pendant right in the middle.

The tiny cherries dangled right over the hollow between your collarbones, and within a second he knew he wasn't yet entirely forgotten: he was too deep in your roots for you to spit him out and throw him away. No matter how hard you wanted to move on, there were so many pieces of him with you that you could never get rid of them all.

The gift had been a fickle, stupid one, yet that summer he had felt like he owed you. He wanted to give you way more expensive things. He wanted to confess and give you a ring, wait until you graduated from university to substitute it with an actual ring — an engagement one — and then with a thin golden band, a year or so later. A classy, chic ceremony with one hundred guests maximum. A honeymoon in Nicaragua. A pretty house with all the special kitchenware to make jams and cook all those strange dishes you loved so much.

The only thing he gave you was a cherry pendant, because it was your favourite fruit, he had told you — but actually, because even though you had gifted him your innocence, you would forever stay pure in his eyes. You would forever be the summer child he had fallen in love with, and the melancholic winter fairy he wished to keep warm when snow fell.

“Namjoon,” you called, approaching him, glad that you had someone you could actually count on.

“Honey,” he replied coolly, glad for the slight background noise while his heartbeat accelerated. You were still so painstakingly beautiful. He wanted to kneel and hug your legs and rest his face against your lap. He wanted to worship you but also bite you, kiss you, devour you until he was the only one who would have you.

“Would you lend me a minute?” you asked, pointing to the terrace.

He already started walking out without waiting for you to join.

“What brings you to this humble servant?” he asked half teasingly.

You chuckled. You had always appreciated his vocabulary and his skills in rhetoric. “Business.” You went straight to the bone, trying to keep yourself as far away from him as possible. Your whole brain was very aware of how dangerous this game could become.

He arched his eyebrows and stared into the skyline expanding all around the terrace. “Not a chance of emotions. They called you Princess, but dammit, you’re an ice queen, Honey.”

You clicked your tongue. “I’m just on an errand on my father’s account. He wanted to make sure he could keep counting on you for The Royal Garden. Just business, you know.”

Namjoon nodded, frowning before bringing a fist to his lips, pondering whether to attack or let it be. He chose the stinging solution. “You know, maybe your father is used to the inconsistent side of our generation. I’m steady, reliable. And when I’m going to drop out, I say it beforehand. I hand in a notice. I communicate. Negotiate. Do you know what that is, Honey?”

“In which language do you need me to define it,” you asked sarcastically, spitting venom right back at him as you rolled your eyes.

“Still impossible, I see. Some things never change,” he mused. He looked around as you leaned against the railing, right beside him. There was no one in the terrace, mostly due to the fact that nobody was interested in missing out on the alcohol or losing their seats or their chances at socialising.

“Do you negotiate with all the girls you fuck too?” you asked, refusing to let him go unpunished.

“Jealous?” he provoked you.

“Just wondering if you still lose it after two strokes.” Dangerous territory. Very dangerous.

“Maybe you should test your theory yourself,” he suggested, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You chuckled. “I’m your typical easy prey. We can’t have that happening, Namjoon.”

His hand landed atop yours, his body turned towards you as his fingers traced a light line up, to your elbow. “Why not?” he mused. “Why not?” he asked again, his eyes locking with yours. His nose caught a whiff of your perfume. “For old times’ sake. Just to get it out of our system. I know you feel it just as I do.”

You closed your eyes. The featherlight touch of all those years ago had survived. You almost expected hard tugs and bruising grips from the man who was so used to taking everything he wanted; yet, he caressed you tenderly, like a devoted boy. “Joon. We’re older. Smarter.”

“Are we really?” His arm slid around your waist, gently inviting you closer. “We’ve seen just how many things haven’t changed at all. Just like the fact that you’re wearing my necklace tonight.”

You bit your lip. “I forgot it was yours. It was in my drawer after all.”

“Don’t act smart with me. You know what I mean,” he scolded you as he skilfully sandwiched your body between his own and the railing. “And even if you forgot about it, you’re still wearing The Princess.”

“I didn’t notice,” you mumbled. “I guess it’s just the dress.”

He snickered and dipped his face to the crook of your neck. “Is it really, Honey? Don’t lie to me,” he growled against the shell of your ear.

“The dress, I told you.”

Your brain was calling you an idiot. The wetness between your thighs was heartfeltly singing your praises. “Let’s shut your lying mouth.”

And like that his lips glued to yours needily.

He was all set on making you pay for it.

Make you pay for it all.

Hunger deep, visceral and unending devoured you both, dragging you under in an abyss of longing and desperation. You had missed it. You felt stupid but you had missed it, you had missed him and the feeling of his large palms around your waist, his chest underneath your fingers, his smooth, silk tongue claiming you endlessly with the laziest, most possessive strokes.

“Doesn't it feel good, Honey? Didn't you miss it?” he asked, almost making your thoughts emerge into reality. “I can still make you feel so good, uh?” He hid his face into the crook of your neck, body falling limp as he felt you engulf him further in your flowery embrace.

“You still turn me on so bad, Honey. You still smell so fucking divine,” he growled, grabbing your ass, making sure that not an inch of his need was lost on you. You could feel all of it. “Please, make me feel good, Honey. That's all I want.”

You wanted to hear him beg. But you also wanted to sate him and soothe him and finally cut this preternatural bond that held the two of you together.

“Say it. Say what you want. Beg for it. Make it worthy of my time. Worthy of the nine years we were apart. Of all the years to come. Make it grandiose. Magniloquent. Use those pretty words and that silver tongue of yours,” you seethed at him, his eyes already falling shut as your palm landed on his crotch, stroking him through his trousers. “I deserve to hear you beg, don't I?”

He pushed into you, pleasure getting too strong a hold of him. “Please. I'll beg. You smell so good, Honey. Just…” He groaned, feeling your hand grab his balls, massaging him just a tiny bit too aggressively.

In the meanwhile you tried looking around, just to make sure no one could catch the two of you in such an inappropriate situation; however, all that could be seen was a man standing in the corner of the terrace, looking at the skyline. You were barely visible behind him — only your legs appearing between his parted ones could give you away — and then again, you would simply pass as a couple making out or romancing in front of one of the most beautiful views of the city.

“Please. Just once, I wanna… I promise I'll make you feel so fine, Honey. Please,” Namjoon begged, so lovely you wished you could kiss his lips and comb his hair and have him in a bed to spoil him for hours, to properly get you out of his system, to fulfill all his wishes so you could finally move on and he could finally build his own life without the need to destroy himself.

Sometimes you thought he felt guilty for your departure, however you knew he was far from being that sensitive now. If he had been hurt, that was your fault. If he was a dickhead, that was entirely his fault.

Nevertheless, poor you, you were undoing the dickhead's belt, hand sliding into his trousers.

“Goodness, fuck, Honey, you're glorious, darling. Just there, babe. Keep doing that,” he murmured as he felt your fingers squeeze around him deliciously.

“Sorry, my hand is dry,” you murmured, sincerely apologetic, your other hand cupping his nape, stroking his hair, still clad in hairspray like all those nights you escaped formal meetings to get lost in each other's arms.

“Don't worry, Hon. It's okay, just keep going,” he purred, breathing heavily, completely uninterested in the fact that he would mess up his underwear and feel uncomfortable for the rest of the evening.

“Does it still feel good?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Better than the last time,” he managed to say before moaning softly. “Missed you so much,” he whispered, his hands diving underneath your dress, touching the bare back of your thighs. “I hate you so much for leaving. I hate you so fucking much, Honey.”

You knew how he felt. Because you felt just the same: you had missed him dearly, even though the man he was now was miles away from the one you used to love. And though you hated him and everything he had become, you still managed to feel the unsettling, vibrating feeling in your stomach and the calm relaxation he brought to your mind. He was the only one who could make you feel so calm, and though you felt a tornado of emotions all around you, you were in the serene eye of the storm. And there he was, standing right at your side, where he had always been before you tried to push him away.

As giggles erupted in the terrace, your quiet focus broke, the sudden presence of another couple making you stop. Mercifully, the music coming from the party was loud enough to cover Namjoon's sounds; however, the moment was now entirely ruined.

“Joon, we're not alone,” you warned him, trying to hide into him to escape prying eyes.

He exhaled, frustration clear in his voice. “They won't know.”

Still, you got out of your sinful predicament and tried to recompose yourself. “We should go inside.”

“Let's go to my place instead.”

You shook your head. “No, Joonie.”

He rolled his eyes. “We said to get out of each other's system. One more time! For old times' sake!” He hissed.

You shook your head, making sure that your hand wasn't actually dirty as you started thinking about the closest bathroom. “I think we should be smart enough to keep the distance.”

Namjoon shook his head. He had already begged once. It was more than enough. “Fine. Then, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

And just like that, you made your way to the restroom.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

The rest of the evening was uneventful, your brain disconnected. You didn’t care anymore about the wetness between your legs, you didn’t care about the insecurity making its way into your reason, like a rattlesnake emitting a menacing buzz that killed all the noise in the room. You were lost and confused, standing in the outskirts of every social circle, glad for the half unknown faces surrounding you as a familiar linen shirt appeared at the opposite side of the room, almost as if you had summoned its bearer with your thoughts.

What you hadn’t summoned was the woman at his side, definitely too close to be a casual acquaintance, his hand too familiar with her large breasts, his lips too near to her ear while his eyes pinned yours in place, almost physically forcing you to watch as she giggled and grabbed his arm, turning to strategically slot it against the naked crevasse of her breasts.

You kept a stoic, indifferent expression, catching every detail, smiling at him as he smirked and arched an eyebrow cockily. You raised your champagne flûte at him in a congratulatory fashion before turning away.

They left a few minutes later.

You resisted twenty minutes before heading back home.

Entering your room, you stared at the carpet. On your earliest days abroad, your father had attempted to bring you back home by telling you about a drunken, sobbing Namjoon knocking at the door at three am, crawling upstairs to sleep in your room.

It was almost absurd to imagine his long legs balled up to fit underneath your covers.

You stared at your room some more, turning the light on and listening carefully to all the voices that called you.

A picture of you and him for your first public event. Another picture, this time of a baby you and a baby Namjoon sharing a bathtub, playing with rubber ducks, a pile of bubbles atop his head. He was playing magician while you lifted the ducks with your hands, as if he were making them levitate. Namjoon riding a bike while you classily sat in the back, your thighs placed across the small carrier instead of astride, your knees pressed together underneath the white sundress.

And then a way more intimate picture. It was half blurry, your body clad in frilly underwear and an oversized white shirt as you emerged from a pool at twilight.

You still remembered the smell of chlorine, how hot Namjoon’s chest had felt against your wet skin, the early June dawn way too cold for you to appreciate the five am dive.

It was the night after your last test. You had drunk champagne, eaten cake from wine glasses, stayed up all night doing stupid stuff, watching Friends, revisiting all your inside jokes, talking about the plans and dreams he was always too reluctant to share. And at dawn, when he feared the best night of his life was coming to an end, he had kissed you.

The picture had been taken a few seconds before the kiss, before he placed his phone down and walked to you and caught you in his arms and pressed his lips to yours.

It was all so far away now.

You turned your back to the picture, closed the lights and exited the room, shutting the door.

Pictures were all that was left of the Namjoon you had loved like the Moon.

Another stupid party.

More stupid people.

Exhausting strangers asking you about the future of your father’s firm. Whether you intended to stay or to go. If you already had valuable suitors.

You fixed your chiffon dress around you, making sure no one would step on the gown. You felt slightly naked under the sheer, sparkly organza of the loose jacket you wore to hide how revealing the top half of the dress was.

The garden party was overblown but pleasantly classy, as it had always been, women being futile and men being futile and vacuous.

Lanterns lit the way as you walked down the path to the main glasshouse the Kims had hired for the night. Your parents followed you, still you knew they would stay around for an hour or so, perform their social duties and head back home to their quiet.

You felt glad you recognised more people, your parents stopping by every now and then to greet some friends or business partners and reintroduce you to them; you rarely felt uncomfortable, especially under your father’s proud and loving gaze. You were almost glad to interact with the other guests a few times, especially with an art history teacher that regularly cooperated with the auction house that was part of the Kims’ business.

It was easy to stay distracted as long as your parents acted as gatekeepers; you felt safe when your dad courteously dismissed inappropriate, rude allusions and assumptions, and when he managed to serve eluding, vague replies that kept you just out of reach.

Your parents managed to extend their stay by half an hour, just enough to greet everyone, make small talk, and most importantly meet the hosts.

There stood your most recent nightmare.

Your smile to him was more a baring of teeth, a warning that your claws were out and all your weapons were on you.

“Hello.”

You rolled your eyes and went on, back straight and shoulders rolled back.

You were officially ready for a war.

You didn’t quite know what had furtherly set your ire aflame towards him; nevertheless, your hatred towards Namjoon had been renowned and strengthened.

Your eyes turned to his mother, your expression to her just as sweet as it had been sour to her eldest son.

“Hello, Princess!” She said, looking at you affectionately as you gave a small bow. “I can’t believe our most beautiful flower is walking among us tonight.”

You blushed and averted your gaze. “Your gaze is biased, auntie. How have you been doing?” you asked politely, engaging in a conversation that only felt uncomfortable when you were reminded of Namjoon standing close by, making similar small talk with your parents — especially your father.

“I hope Namjoon hasn’t been too hard on you. He told me the two of you talked,” she began, exhaling heavily once she felt her sentence had come to an end.

Curious how he had carefully selected which parts to tell her, ignoring the small detail about him asking you to tumble with him in his sheets and subsequently, promptly substituting you.

“Yes, we talked.”

She nodded, not entirely content as she noticed your neutral expression. “It will take time, but eventually you’ll manage to be close once more. It would make me immensely happy. Maybe he will find some peace with you again at his side.”

“I believe his tastes have changed.” Your reply was lapidary, your stare drifting away as you noticed an old friend. “Oh, I… I really have to go,” you said, not letting your godmother reply as you followed that half known face. “Tae?”

The man that looked at you was far from being your best friend’s little brother.

Beautiful.

You couldn’t find other words.

He looked so ineffably gracious and manly, so ethereal in his baby blue suit. “Princess!” he replied, greeting you with a hug and a smile. “Hi!” He squished you to him, completely oblivious to etiquette and all of that, your friendship too old and visceral to bother with skinship rules of any sort. “It’s been so long! You haven’t aged a day.”

“You’re all grown up instead,” you replied with a small laugh. You weren’t sure the opaqueness of his presence was due to maturity or some state of upsetting, but the way his gaze drifted away told you he was hiding something. “How are you doing?” You fixed your jacket around you and gave him a small, apprehensive smile. He was like the little brother you had never been given.

He tried to look happy, you noticed it, but the way his eyes fell to the lower left corner told you he was lying. “Oh, I’ve been really busy with my job lately. It keeps me occupied for sure,” he gave a mirthless smile. “What about you? I’ve heard about your dad releasing a new perfume after years. I can’t believe he went back to creating. Is the garden expanding?” he questioned, genuinely curious.

“No, not on my behalf at least,” you gave a gentle chuckle. “I heard you were given a new market. And I heard about your little acquisition recently!” You alluded to the news of him getting a quite prestigious flute.

“Oh,” his gaze turned sad. Infinitely sad. Misery fell upon him like a heavy cloak. “Yes. Yes. I was lucky.” You saw him shrink in size, his lithe body almost withering before you as his shoulders curved in.

“Is everything alright?” You placed your hand on his shoulder, your gaze apprehensive.

“Yes. I’m just… It was a stressful week, so I was hoping I could spend the weekend in a less straining environment.” His lips strained to a tired smile.

“If you want I can let them know you weren’t feeling well,” your hand caressed his hair, the styled look by now significantly dishevelled.

When his eyes opened, they were lined in silver. “Would you really?”

“Yes, Tae. You know you’re like a brother to me.”

He nodded and touched your shoulder. “Thank you.” His voice was too deep and too quiet to be heard.

“It’s okay. My number has changed but you know how to find me, right?”

He nodded, lips sucked in his mouth as he tried to hold himself together.

“Go,” you told him with a tender expression, watching him give a little bow before he strode away.

You stretched your neck when you felt a shadow hovering over you. The private niche in the back of the glasshouse was half in the dark. You were suddenly aware you wouldn’t get a way out tonight.

“Honey.”

You shook your head, psychologically squaring up before you turned. “Hey.”

“I saw my brother leave. What’s going on?”

You looked at him. “Surprisingly, you can’t recognise heartbreak when you see it. Keep an eye on him.”

You tried to slide through the small space between Namjoon’s frame and the green, vegetal walls encasing you in a way too small, way too intimate place.

There was no way anyone would stumble there. It was so blatantly made for lovers to be swayed: the niche made of concrete, the small bench, the plants concealing it from the main room. The darkness and the night did the rest.

“Honey,” he called again, this time grabbing your wrist.

“My parents will be looking for me.” Your reply was dry and cold.

“They have left. I told them I would have you sent home with our driver.”

You looked lost, your eyes wandering around, hoping to find a way out.

“Hey. What’s going on?” He noticed the alarm in your eyes.

You shook your head. “I’d like to be elsewhere.”

His breath stopped. He let go of your wrist. “Do you want to leave?”

He made it hard to want anything else but him, his touch, his reassuring closeness, the feeling of his breath running down your spine—

No. You had to be strong.

“I think I should go home.”

“Is it my fault?” His voice betrayed only a sliver of panic before he cleared it.

“No. Just me.”

He looked at the floor. “You'd leave me here, all alone?” When he looked up, he used the strongest weapon of his collection. His head still bent down, he looked at you from below his lashes, eyes glimmering and imploring.

Biting your tongue, you sat on the bench, getting a coy smile from him. He was still your favourite rollercoaster. “You should thank me.”

“Thank you, Honey,” he cooed, sitting at your side.

“Did you have fun with the girl from the party?” You looked away, sneakily announcing the matter of your warmongering mood.

“Which one?”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, his hands reaching your waist and pulling you to him. “I was joking, Honey, come on sweets.”

He wasn't joking and you knew it, still you let yourself fall on his lap, trying to triplicate your weight in an attempt to castrate him.

It worked only partially, causing him to hiss against your ear. “Were you jealous?”

You shook your head no, his hands still wrapped around your waist. “Of her? Why?” you acted indifferent.

“I thought about you all night,” he murmured in your ear. “Till dawn. And then some.”

“You know how it works, Joon.”

“How does it work for you, Honey?” he asked softly. “Is it still the same as before?”

You shook your head again, turning slightly so you sat across his thighs. “No. I would never let a man treat me the way you do with all those girls.”

He looked at the curve of your neck. He couldn't believe he had a thing for such a stupid detail. Maybe it was because of the sweet and soothing scent coming from it.

Even in the smell of damp soil and plants, he could feel it, bringing him to life. “You're not like the others. I would respect you.” I would love you, he thought, the cruelty of his situation making his brain halt. He couldn't think clearly.

“I think you lost the notion of respect a long time ago.” Your reply was curt, as polite as you could be at this point. “Do they all hope to redeem you? To save you?”

“They just come for what I have to offer.” His hands parted from your waist and started fidgeting with your jacket, toying with the hem.

“What can you offer?” Your eyes met his, sparks flying like two swords clashing together.

“Would you like a reminder?” His gaze was powerful and sultry. You knew you would never resist it in a million years.

You didn't expect him to kiss your shoulder as his eyes rolled shut. “I believe my memories are still pretty vivid.”

He bent forward, leaning his head closer to your neck. Your arm naturally snaked behind his shoulders, letting him close. He basked in the reprieve you were offering him; all the tension, the fear, the anger melted away. “You don’t know how much it soothes me,” he whispered, reaching closer to your chest, almost feeling like when he was allowed to rest his head on top of it, your skin naked, clammy and warm against his cheek. It felt like millennia ago. He took in your scent, which seemed to have a unique way to resonate with your personal perfume. “Promise me you’ll leave The Princess to me. At least that.”

You shook your head, looking around before doing — arguably — the most stupid thing in your life, twisting all the way till you could straddle his lap, his hands helping you shift your gown around you till he could run his fingertips on your naked thighs. “I’ll let you have me now if you give up on it,” you tried to bargain, looking at the top button of his shirt.

“What if I wanted both?” he replied, his hands undoing the buttons of your see-through jacket and prying it open so he could feel your chest bare against his face. Your heartbeat was wild and he grinned for it.

“You can’t always get what you want,” you hummed, smiling at him and slipping your fingers into the neckline of his shirt.

“But sometimes you do get what you need,” he paraphrased, hiking your skirt further up and looking into your eyes. “And I need you. Just once.”

You fought against your better judgement. As much as you needed a loyal man at your side, a steady and reliable partner, you also needed to have him one final time, once and for all, just to remind yourself he wasn’t at all extraordinary and you’d be able to find something way better with someone else. You could kill two birds with one stone: namely, Namjoon and the scent that would always take you back to him. “Give up The Princess.”

He took a pause.

And he nodded.

“Say it.”

Obediently, he stared into your eyes with ardent devotion. “I give up on The Princess.”

You smiled and started unbuckling his belt.

He tutted at it, without truly opposing. “Well, at least you could have brought me to a nice place, with a bed. You didn’t even offer me dinner.” His teasing lasted little as you licked your hand lewdly, sensually before bringing it between his legs, grabbing his half hard cock and pushing it out of his trousers and underwear.

“No need for dinner, you’ll get to feast on me, darling.”

For a second Namjoon genuinely thought he had you back. Grinning, he let his head fall back heavy against the concrete wall behind him, his hand held your waist, feeling you while he forced his eyes to open so he could take in your expression once you would lower yourself on him.

“Condom,” you ordered, harsh and unforgiving.

He looked at you like you had slapped him. “I always use it. It’s us. We can—”

“It’s not about you. This is about me. My safety. Give me a condom or get gone.”

He nodded and rummaged in the inner pocket of his jacket. It didn’t surprise you he had one on him.

You took the package from him, ripping it open easily and handing back the foil to him, quickly stretching the latex on him. “See, that didn’t kill you.”

He hummed and kissed your chest, nuzzling against it. There had been a time when he could enter you naked and feel you warm and tight and so welcoming around him. He tried to nuzzle closer for the intimacy and privilege he had once had but now no longer.

Meanwhile, you tried to use his dick to push your panties aside, twice as happy for the loose fit that kept you fresh on the humid summer night. You didn’t waste any time, getting his tip inside straight away.

“Careful, Honey,” he whined. “Stretch, sweetie.” Goodness, you were so eager, so needy and so determined. He felt like he was dreaming.

You were wet, drenched, incredibly, unexpectedly so. “Joonie,” you called, hoping to give him what he wanted once and for all.

“Oh, damn. Baby — God!” He grunted as you sunk on him to the base. “Honey, fuck. Yes.”

“My game still good?” you murmured with a chuckle, your hips beginning to twirl on him.

He nodded, bringing himself to open his eyes to study the vision of you riding him, eyes barely open, lower lip caught between your teeth, breasts moving gently in a barely-there bounce as your heavy breathing and the up-and-down motion started to mix. He stretched to touch his lips with yours. “Your game is fucking phenomenal, Honey. Always been,” he said before biting your lip himself, causing you to moan as he sucked it into his mouth.

As he grew increasingly busy with the movements, swirls and twirls and strokes mixing together, he tried to play his trick. “Stop this idiocy with The Princess.”

You kept going for a couple seconds before processing his request. “No.”

He gripped your ass punishingly. “It's a dumb move. Fucking stupid.”

You tutted and pushed him away from your face, depriving him of your lips and kisses. “The Princess is dead.”

He fought you, strong enough to bring you to him, shushing you by swallowing your lips, suddenly completely possessed by his as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

You let him.

Even if you wanted to shut him out, he had a passepartout to your body. It would always unlock for him.

“She is very much alive,” he murmured, pressing his mouth below your ear. “She's here. Eager to be fucked. Like all those years ago.”

You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, jacket shoved aside, his crisp white shirt creasing under your grasp. “You should be thanking me.”

Namjoon felt your sweet scent linger on your neck and float all the way to his nostrils.

He pushed into you from below, feeling the smooth ease of slipping inside you. “I'd thank you if you stayed quiet, you're going to get us caught.”

“It's not like you're super quiet,” you replied, grabbing his face and pulling him away. Still he resisted you, stubbornly diving back for your neck.

He couldn't stay quiet. He couldn’t give a damn about getting caught: you were the only woman he wanted to be in a scandal with, letting everyone associate you to him, your names tied together for anyone who read those dumb magazines. If he couldn’t get you to have his surname, he might as well claim you through gossip and rumors.

But right now his priority was getting you to talk, even if you spit poison all over him, he would make you talk, maybe even snicker, maybe even laugh.

He missed your laughter.

He missed the sound hitting the crook of his shoulder, the small giggles, the light breathlessness that followed. He missed it like air, like redemption, like peace.

He was a man starved.

So he banqueted.

His hands gripped your ass tighter while his mouth pressed against your neck to try and shut himself up while his thrusts became faster, needier, almost as if he were trying to hide into you.

You were a stupid woman.

You held him closer, offering him your sweet embrace as bliss finally caught him and swept him away, your mind too caught up in cruel reality to follow him.

All you could do was hold him to you and wait for him to be done. Soon hostility and regret would come, so you simply hugged him tighter and waited for the end.

His hair was covered in hairspray, holding it perfectly still, like the night of your mother's gala all those years ago, running to the boat house, giggling in the dark, hiding under the sheets as he kissed your breasts and murmured name of pretentious paintings on his way down.

You were far from heaven still.

Maybe farther now.

Namjoon allowed himself to press just one kiss below your jaw, murmuring a 'thank you' before he slipped out. You un-straddled him and allowed him some space to slip off the condom, tie it up and wrap it haphazardly in its foil.

“The Princess is all yours to kill.” He tucked himself back and tried to muster some nerves. “I'll go first,” he whispered before recomposing the perfect gentleman image, walking to a small basin nearby and opening the tap, washing his hands. He didn’t even turn before he spoke. “Can't you say something?”

“Just go.”

He averted his gaze, looking at his hands as he dried them. They were so dirty.

He allowed himself to stare at you just one more time before leaving the alcove.

Once he was far enough, you allowed yourself to cry. Only for a minute, you told yourself.

You cried for the boy you had loved, and that you probably loved still, hiding far away from the man he had become. You cried for the princess, for the home you had dreamed with him, for all the years together, for all the stupid plans and expectations.

Lastly, you cried for yourself, for what you had hoped to become at his side.

Ready to nurse your tears induced headache — or rather, outdo it — you headed for the bar, hoping to emanate as many hostile vibes as you could so no one would approach you.

You didn’t count on hostility made person to approach you with a glass in hand.

“You look like you could use a drink,” the quiet distinguished rascal spoke.

You smiled. “I hope you spiced it and are gonna drag me home afterwards.”

The woman grinned like the devil. “I wouldn't need to spice it, Princess.”

“Right back at you, Candy. Looks like you’re already deep in the party,” you assumed out loud, looking at her flushed cheeks and nose.

“A girl gotta have distractions. And in terms of proportions your distraction needs to be humongous. Maybe thrice the usual,” she said before looking right behind you.

“Am I gonna see the lame beginning of a threesome right behind me?” You asked, downing the glass in a go before looking over your shoulder.

You couldn’t even be surprised by what you saw: Namjoon, looking like a god, freshly fucked, with that laid back, sexy allure all over him. You couldn’t blame the three girls around him, hoping to get his undivided attention, trying to touch him, or to be touched as he gracefully gesticulated.

“Fuck, you could have said they were three. Foursome it is,” you sneered before cocking an eyebrow. You would never even remotely consider such a thing.

“I said: thrice the usual. I’m half drunk, I can’t maths, Princess,” Candy threw an arm around your shoulders. “Choose your weapon.”

“Whisky?”

She nodded. “If it were me I’d pick the brunette,” she commented staring behind you. “She looks subby as fuck.”

You were glad for the laugh she got out of you.

“Which one would you go for?”

You gave a look at the three of them. “The small one with blonde hair. She seems sweet. Now please, let’s get rip roaring drunk.”

Candy bowed deeply, almost losing balance as you caught her, making the two of you explode in giggles. “My pleasure.”

Turning around, you smiled at Namjoon and waved.

From tonight, he was just a memory.

And from tomorrow, The Princess will be free to disappear.

From the moment Namjoon’s eyes met yours, he immediately recognised fear, insecurity and worry.

“Honey.”

He hadn’t seen you for a whole month. One entire month.

The day after your hookup at his party, he had sent a formal email to your father, and to you as a carbon copy, where he formally gave up on his claims on The Princess, confirming that he indeed was okay with the production to be discontinued without it impacting on his participation in The Royal Garden.

Namjoon had managed to resist for four whole days with unscented sheets before he sent his assistant, his driver and his cleaning lady to raid the city for any single item scented as The Princess. Maybe he could accumulate just enough for the collection to last a few years. Maybe he could convince your father to keep making at least the fabric wash just for his personal use.

Nevertheless, he was desperate. And as more and more time passed since your last encounter, the more he felt hollow. After that night, for some reason or another, he could no longer feel the need to get lost in other girls.

He wanted to be alone, because that night reminded him exactly why he drank himself to a stupor on Jackson’s birthday the first time he had sex with someone who wasn’t you. And even that night in the greenhouse, it was far from what it used to be. He had got his pleasure and got rid of you. It was nothing but a transaction — he didn’t owe you love or bliss or feelings.

The Princess for one last chance at a temporary heaven.

And now he knew that it had been the last chance indeed.

You were afraid of him and in a few seconds he perfectly understood why.

A hand appeared at your waist, holding it with surety and affection.

“Hi there, I’m Christopher, nice to meet you!”

Namjoon’s eyes scanned the stranger quickly.

He wasn’t a stranger at all. He was simply the heir to one of Seoul’s most influential plastic surgery clinics. Namjoon knew him because after all, most of the girls he had dated had somehow a connection with that place — or at least, the wealthiest ones.

The man was tall, muscular and disturbingly kind. He had a pretty face.

A handsome face.

Dimpled one.

Maybe one of the prestigious doctors there had worked their magic on him too.

Namjoon kept studying him as he introduced himself, Christopher being incredibly polite right from the start even though Namjoon acted laconic and stern. The young man fit you. He was genuinely courteous to you — though a bit handsy.

Namjoon thought that he would have been the very same had he been in the other’s shoes. He also thought that he could never compete with Christopher’s clean face and genuine ways. He looked so handsome and angelic.

Namjoon was anything but.

For the whole night, he kept interactions to a minimum, too busy observing the two of you. He seemed to reassure you just enough for you to be comfortable talking to strangers as his arm stayed around your shoulders, or draped respectfully around your waist, your pinkies locked together when you stood a bit more apart.

Namjoon wanted to act as your best friend. He really wanted to. He wanted to support you dating a good person who could assure you a solid future, a house, a family, who would spoil you and grant you financial safety. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be your best friend.

All he could see was how handsome the almost-stranger looked, how bright his smiles for you were, how polished he seemed — and how ugly and rotten Namjoon felt.

No wonder you hadn’t come back for him. You had something better — someone better.

He tortured himself with questions like how long the two of you had been dating, how much intimacy you had allowed him, if you had kissed yet, if he’d tested the smoothness of your hair, the warmth and tenderness of your skin… of your flesh.

As soon as Christopher was busy with one of his friends you asked to be excused. You really needed to talk to Namjoon and clear a few things up.

You actually just wanted his approval.

You found it absurd that after all these years you still needed his opinion before taking a decision.

You found him lingering by the balcony and quickly asked him to accompany you outside; you wanted away from the crowd, where you could talk without having to shout to each other.

“Hey,” you began, leaning against the wall.

“Hi.” His reply was tense.

“How is it going?”

He shrugged. “Not my ideal type of night.”

You could only imagine what his ideal night looked like. You thought of three girls, a jacuzzi and a light buzz.

He actually meant curled up on a sofa with you, a cosy, handmade woolen blanket thrown over the two of you, a fire crackling quietly from the fireplace while he read a book and you napped on top of him.

“What do you think of Chris?” you asked, no longer capable of holding back your insecurities.

“Nice dude. Polite. Good looking. Sweet. Rich. He has it all, hasn’t he?” His reply would be almost reassuring if it weren’t for the vitriolic undertone.

“Namjoon.”

He inhaled and leaned against the wall right at your side. “Sorry. He really seems like an excellent person. And he looks very considerate.” He looked down. “That doesn’t mean I’m not surprised.” His jaw clenched. “What happened to us, Honey? Once you would have told me the second he texted you.”

The back of his hand brushed against yours. “I know. I wished we could go back sometimes, but there’s just so much distance from then to now. And from what we used to be to what we are. We’re not safe for each other, Joonie.”

He nodded. “Has he kissed you yet?”

You hesitated, “Mh.”

Again, he nodded. “Is he a good kisser?”

“A decent one. There’s room for improvement.”

“You deserved to be kissed excellently.” Namjoon looked in the distance. “You’re an excellent kisser. I’m sure you’ll train him well.”

You chuckled. “I had a good teacher. Plenty of practice.”

His laughter mixed with yours. “Plenty of plenties.”

“In another life—”

Namjoon had to interrupt you. He couldn’t stand the thought of that sentence being completed. “So, did you interrupt The Princess already?” he asked, babbling out the first thing he could come up with.

You inhaled and leaned your head against his shoulder. It felt so natural you could cry. “I know you’ve been hoarding a small fortune in The Princess’ products.”

Namjoon snickered. “Who told you?”

“Your mom told my mom. Who told me.”

“They still want us to be friends.” Namjoon moved his arm so that he could cup the back of your head.

You closed your eyes and felt how familiar it still was to you. Nothing could ever feel like that, no matter how right and proper Christopher felt — with him everything sounded and looked clumsy, uncomfortable, a bit made up. You already knew in whose arms you were meant to be. You stopped yourself from imagining.

“Don’t you have anyone, Joonie? What about the guys? Candy? Tae? How haven’t you found a girl yet? You’re such an excellent candidate! Sure, you might have a bit of history going around, but hey, that adds to the charms.” You hid your face from him. You knew he could read you so easily and he wouldn’t dance around your lie.

If I’m an excellent candidate, then why haven’t you picked me? Namjoon ignored the thought. “You know how it works. I was raised on filet mignon and now I can only see breadsticks around me. They don’t sate me, Honey. They never do.”

“You just need to get used to the taste.”

He inhaled, holding in his breath, his emotions, every confession and every tear. “I don’t want to.”

You didn’t let him dwell on the topic. “You can’t give me what I need. We know it. And I can’t give you what you need, either.”

“What is it that you want?” He chuckled. “You’ve never known it. For your entire life, you’ve never known.”

“Marriage. Family. Children. A dog.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “The same girl who left everything for education and ambition wants to be a lowly housewife? Come on, Honey…”

You bit your lip, feeling ready to spit at him. How dare he speak about what you wanted when he’d literally set it all on fire till it was nothing but ash? You genuinely wanted those things. Once upon a time you had wanted them with him.

Fuck it, you still wanted them with him.

You loved him. You love him.

Actually, you loved the boy he used to be.

“I need to go.” Your reply was icy. “And there’s nothing lowly in being a housewife.”

“Honey,” he begged, regretting his words immediately.

“No.”

“Please,” he whispered, and you hated him, you hated him with everything you could find within you.

Yet your heart could never come to even remotely dislike him. Your mind despised him twice more just because of that.

Namjoon saw a tall man stand in the doorway.

And though all his wits told him not to, he did the most hurtful thing he could muster.

With his hand on your cheek, he bent down. His lips met yours.

Your first reaction was to shove your fists as hard as you could against his chest.

It wasn’t the first time.

It was just an old anthem. A dance the two of you could dance with your eyes closed and your hands tied in a burning room.

You fought. You made up. You kissed, you tumbled back into each other, you tangled up in each other’s arms and legs and hair and it was always so familiar and so passionate and so loving, no matter how much anger you put into it, bites becoming a way to claim rather than a way to hurt, hands gripping flesh, holding on, praying for the tide to wash out, away, to finally be unpossessed, only to come back for more because once you experience the fullness everything else feels a ridicule, desperate imitation, a surrogate that will never suffice or sate.

Your legs grew wobbly.

Namjoon held you.

He moaned.

You swallowed his sounds.

He gripped your waist.

You tugged at his hair.

You whimpered.

He growled.

It was like that and it would always be like that. There was no other way it could ever be.

“Sweetheart.”

There were ways it needed to become.

With a deep inhale, you parted from Namjoon and turned.

There, Christopher. So handsome. So confused.

So hurt.

“I— I think we should go.” Christopher’s voice was frayed.

“I think you can. Honey can choose for herself.”

“Let’s go,” you replied immediately, leaving Namjoon behind as Christopher reached for your hand.

Namjoon observed the scene. He felt his jaw flex and his eyes well up. He let just one tear roll down before drying it up.

The way he needed to hear you say you loved him — that you still love him…

However, that was the Prince, while he would forever be just a knight, standing on the sideline, reaching for the Moon.

There wasn’t much you could recall from your discussion with Christopher, still it was all you could think about as you headed to your next — and hopefully final — event that entailed Namjoon’s presence.

The yacht already felt disturbing from afar, even more disturbing than the paparazzi that had snapped pictures of you at the dock.

You rolled your shoulders, feeling like a boxer squaring up for the ring. Just one final stunt, one final trick and you’ll be done with this forever.

Moving from the taxi boat to the yacht was a complicated ordeal, finding yourself grateful that you hadn’t fallen into the cold, deep blue sea.

The music was already disturbing, and it got worse once it started mixing with the chit chat.

You had arrived late, and you planned on leaving early, your focus on finding Jungkook, wishing him a happy birthday, hanging out with Swan and Candy, faking a headache and finally up and leaving.

Of course your mission was infinitely more complicated.

Hyuna started chatting you up about your latest rumor with Namjoon, apparently forgetful of all her past foul plays, describing in detail what people had seen during the latest party, and the rumors about the soirée at the botanic garden. Next, she had the brilliant idea of asking about The Princess, what you intended to do with the family business and if Christopher was once again free territory.

Your patience already running thin, you stumbled upon the last conversation you hoped to ever testify.

“You finally got your hands on her, uh?”

“Of course. I want it, I got it. Fuck, she’s so needy. She never had enough!”

The laugh that followed made blood curdle in your veins.

“She got used to getting it nice and dirty, no wonder the pretty prince couldn’t do her right. No way he could keep her sated. She only wants me.” Namjoon’s cruel, acidic chuckle made you nauseous.

“You ruined another one, mate!”

You inhaled. You finally felt that bond snap as his words reached your ears. “Yeah, maybe he’s not happy I ruined her for him! Anyway, time to move on, maybe I’ll find the next one tonight. Or the next four, who knows!” His fake laugh didn’t make you feel anything. You felt too drained, like standing in the eye of a storm.

Without even knowing what you were doing, you walked to him, cold and rigid as a statue as you stood right before his eyes.

You wanted to be violent. You wanted to be aggressive because, after all, anger and violence and hate felt better than the quiet, the nothingness that overwhelmed you.

"I'm not your toy, you fucking bastard,” you whispered before you poured your drink down the front of his trousers.

From the look in his eyes, you could tell he was half hazy already. You felt disgusted by him, so deeply, so disturbingly. "I’m disappointed in you. I had one good thing and you took it from me, like you always do. That’s why you are despicable and unlovable. Enjoy your disgusting, lowly, miserable life."

You turned, placed your glass on a tray and made your way to the back of the yacht, your escape interrupted by the lack of a taxi.

The only way you could save yourself was finding a private room and praying the heavens you could hide there possibly forever.

Just as you tried to close the door, Namjoon tried to get in. “Honey?”

You shook your head. This time you had had enough. For real. “Get the fuck out.”

“Honey. Let me in,” he growled, grabbing the door and shoving it open, locking it behind him once he was in.

“Who the hell do you think you are? ‘No way he could keep her sated. She only wants me.’ You dumb fucker!” you growled, hurt, angry, shoving him away by his shoulders. Finally, you were exploding. “You asshole! Acting so fucking patronising. ‘Maybe he’s not happy I ruined her for him.’ You stupid, patronising, mysoginistic pig. You think it’s cool? To use women—”

“I have never used anyone. I’ve always been clear. No strings attached. They knew what they wanted—”

“You said you would respect me!” Tears started falling, Namjoon half furious and half terrified.

“Didn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah. ‘She’s so needy. She never had enough.’ You said it, Namjoon. Your words. Are those respectful?” you screeched, turning away from him. “I’m not your sex toy, you prick. I’m a human being—”

“Was I a human being to you when you fucked me to get the greenlight on cancelling The Princess? Didn’t you think about my emotions? No. You never do.”

“I was building something good, Namjoon. I was finally getting away from you and you ruined everything!”

“I ruined it? Me? No, no no, Honey. You did it, with your own hands. You came to me, time after time. And now you don’t need me anymore and you throw me away. How typical!” He pressed a fingertip against your chest. “You? You like calling the shots. You like saying yes and no and you like saying it’s someone else’s fault when you don’t like the consequences. And right now you’re saying it’s my fault you can’t be in a relationship when it’s you being fucked up.”

You bit your lip. You had always known there needed to be something wrong with you as you refused to love anyone but him. You hated him for stabbing you right in your weakest spot. “Oh, but you’re not fucked up? Mister ‘I sleep with girl after girl after girl because I can’t keep it in my pants’. You’re disgusting.”

“And you keep coming back to this disgusting man.” His words were dead quiet. “At least I know devotion. Faith. Trust. Love. I don’t abandon the people who love me.”

You looked into his eyes. There was so much pain. You didn’t let it get to you. “You have no right to pull the love card.”

“I do, you stupid, pathetic, self-righteous bitch, I’ve loved you since I was twelve. I didn’t know life without you. We’ve been together since the day you were born. You were my peace, the only one who could calm me down and listen to me. You were the only one I wanted to be loved by. I lived to make you smile. I bent over backwards to get your attention.” He swallowed, his eyebrows furrowing as tears started streaming down his face. “You were my sun. And my moon. And all of the stars. I’m so helplessly in love with you and it doesn't stop. It never stops.”

You leaned against the closest surface you could find, hoping to find something to keep you on your feet. He was just using words to manipulate you. There was no way he was true. “You don’t love people and say that shit.”

“You do once they stab you in the back. Wanna know how it went since you’re too dumb to see it? I loved you that summer, when I told you I had never slept with anyone because I wanted to do it with you. And I loved you when you fucked me and used me while I made love to you. I loved you when I first kissed you, I loved you when we ran from your mother’s gala and made love in the boathouse and when I kissed you by the lake at dawn, watching the sunrise. I loved you when you left your lakehouse out of the blue and I still loved you when you changed your phone number after you left the country. I loved you when I was drunk at three am, knocking at your parents’ door to sleep in your room, weeping like a baby curled up in your bed. I loved you every day after that, for nine years, with your perfume on my sheets because I missed you, I missed my home, my partner, my confidante, my lover, my peace, my biggest, wildest dream. I had no one but you to count on. You were my strength, Honey. You were the only one I could be weak and young and afraid with. You were my guardian. You were all I had. And you left me alone. And then you came back and fuck it! Fuck me! I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to break you like you had broken me. But I forgot I can’t hurt you because you’re a cold-hearted bitch who doesn’t give a shit about me!” He caught his breath after the long tirade.

“This doesn’t excuse the insulting things you said. The things you've done to me.”

Namjoon sneered. “You know I was angry. I am angry. And I hated seeing you with him. My whole soul hated it.”

You shook your head. “Don’t use that excuse on me. It’s a pattern. Wanna know my side of the story? The night before I left, at the boathouse — the one where you say you made love to me, I found you talking shit. Just like two minutes ago. You said I was just a boring ride. You told her you only did me because you wanted to keep the connection between our families.” Your world crumbled. “That night. At the boat house. You— You told her— You said I was a means to an end. That—” a sob left your lips, “—that you couldn’t wait for university to find someone less boring and plain and inexperienced and… and needy. You called ten thousand times after I left. I picked up, one night, only one time. And it was her. She sent me pictures of the two of you. Pictures of her, in your bed, you at her side.”

Namjoon didn't know what you were talking about. And then, the conversation dashed through his brain. “Honey. I was talking to Hyuna. She wanted to use you. To hurt you. She was going to hurt you so she could hurt me for not liking her back.”

“She was kissing you. I saw you!” you murmured through the tears. You didn’t even know when you had started crying.

“She kissed me and I was confused and I pushed her away,” he explained, the events so clear in his mind. He had felt so panicked that night. He only wanted to keep you safe.

“You slept with her, after I was gone.” You looked away. “She called me from your phone to say so. She sent me pictures. That's why I changed my number.”

Namjoon felt ice freeze in his veins.

“That's why you changed it?”

“I needed to stop letting you hurt me.” He seemed shattered. The last nine years of his life were suddenly being rewritten from another perspective.

“But you picked up the call that night?” He rubbed his face with his hands. Why, why that one time.

“I had realised I had to have misheard or misinterpreted the situation. Her voice from your phone told me just how much I hadn't. Maybe, after all, you liked her more. Maybe you wanted her.”

“I was drunk off my ass.” He confessed. “Because every time I got drunk, I could pretend they were you.”

You shook your head. “I cannot trust you anymore.”

Namjoon looked at your face. All of a sudden, he knew this fight wouldn't be like the previous one. There would be no return from this.

“All those lowly housewife dreams were exactly what I wanted with you. A husband, kids, a pretty house, a dog. It went all to hell! Fuck me, regretting not giving you a chance to talk it through, discuss, clarify. There’s nothing to clarify.”

Namjoon had frozen a couple sentences before. “A husband?”

You nodded. “I’ve always dreamed of marrying you. Living at the lakehouse. Having three kids and a golden retriever. And love you, only you, till I would be just dust in the wind.” You grimaced and shook your head, drying your face.

Namjoon inhaled painfully, his body feeling too heavy. He let go and slowly sat on the floor. He felt too unstable to stand. “That sounds beautiful, Honey. That sounds like a dream, love.”

You nodded, looking away, the first tear streaming down your face. You let that dream out, once and for all. It was time for it to fade. “I’ve dreamed about us for so long. And I went away because I was hurt and all the time I thought… I thought it was my fault. That I should have given you a chance to explain.”

Namjoon rose to his knees, placing his hand on your waist. His heart felt like a field of poppies. “You were hurt, love,” he murmured, stretching to touch your face before you kneeled in front of him. He didn’t care how much he’d suffered: he could have you back. Finally the equation had been solved. Your paths had crossed again, and he could hold you.

He could hold you.

How could he make you believe him? “That night was a drunken mistake. And earlier, I don’t know why I said those things. I was sour. I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry, Honey. But please, give me a chance. Just one. I love you, Honey. I love you so much that it hurts me. We can start from here. We can heal. Together.”

You knew he was an instinctive man, who spoke before thinking, hurt, damaged. But you also reminded yourself that it wasn’t your duty to fix him. The hope in his voice broke you, the look in his eyes, of trust, and love and admiration, of vulnerability and deep, bottomless faith was your undoing. One part of your brain reminded you that if he had started down that spiral of debauchery, it was all because of your silent, mysterious departure, and you refusing a confrontation. “I’m so sorry, Joonie. I apologise to you.” You said through gasps.

His voice spoke through a smile. “We’re here now. We can—”

You shook your head. “I cannot. I— You hurt me, Namjoon. And I don’t mean back then. I mean in the last three months. You’ve become a man I despise. Wholeheartedly. I desperately clung to the parts that made me hope for the boy I had known so deeply and fondly. But I have no hope left. You have disrespected me, used me, insulted me and acted against my well-being.”

Namjoon felt very cold. And then very hot, all at once. He shook his head. “Honey.”

“I kept coming back for you. And I used you too.” You tried to take a breath. “I recognise I abandoned you and hurt you, but that does not allow you to let yourself rot away. Nor speak of me in those terms. No amount of anger could ever excuse the hateful words you spoke against me.”

Namjoon started shaking his head, grabbing your hands, bringing them to his face. “I apologise with my whole heart, Honey. You know I’m not what you saw. I was just acting up, please. Please, stay at my side. Help me, please. I’ll be the man you’ve always dreamed me to be, Honey. I promise, love. I will change.”

“We’re a curse to each other. You will not change and we both know it.” You let yourself touch his face. He was crumbling, slowly.

He shook his head harder. “With you at my side I can do anything. Please.”

“I promise I will not come back this time. I will let you heal.”

He slammed his fist against the floor. “No. No, Honey. No.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt as he felt like he was suffocating. “Please stay. Haunt me. Please.” He bowed with his head to the floor, his hands on your knees. “Please,” he whispered tentatively around an earthquake of sobs.

“I know I’ll have to drink myself to a stupor to stomach this decision but I need to fix myself and you need to fix yourself, Joonie. We cannot keep playing this game of who hurts the other the most.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whimpered. “I need your help.”

From knowing how proud he was, you realised how desperate he must have been to ask for your assistance.

You stood up, only for him to wrap his arms around your lap, placing his head on your belly. “I will love you. Forever. And I’ll love only you.”

You caressed his hair. “You will find someone who can accept you for the man you are.”

“I still love you,” he spoke through wobbly lips. “I still want you.”

You took a long breath and detached yourself from him, exiting the room without looking back. Walking down the corridor, you snatched a bottle before entering a semi-dark room. You were ready to settle yourself before noticing a woman was already sitting on the loveseat in the corner, a small lamp lighting her glass. “Uhm, hi there? Are you okay?”

The woman vaguely startled, her eyes focusing on you. “Oh, hello. Yes, I’m fine, just taking a moment to myself. It’s a bit chaotic outside, don’t you think?” She looked confused.

You felt like she was calm and aloof enough that you could at least exchange a few words. Plus, being in front of a stranger somehow forced you to maintain some sort of composure. “Oh, I agree. Would you like to be on your own?” Maybe she wanted to be left alone?

The stranger’s eyes widened before she shook her head briskly. “No, that’s alright! I wouldn’t mind some company.”

You forced your lips into a tight line that could vaguely resemble a smile before taking a few steps closer to the sofa. Once you sat beside her, you were close enough to notice her facial features.“You’re Seokjin’s, aren’t you?”

The young woman tensed. “Depends what you mean by Seokjin’s, honestly.”

You grimaced as you realised how rude it must have sounded. Same old you, after all. “Sorry, I was being abrupt. I mean, I’ve seen you with Seokjin a few times? I recall?” You huffed out a stressed breath. “I might be mistaken, sorry.”

The woman seemed to read your neurotic laugh as a sign of stress and immediately looked apologetic. “Oh, there’s no need to apologise! Yes, I came with Seokjin tonight. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours by now. We caused quite the stir coming together.”

You bit your lower lip and shook your head. “I haven’t been in the rumor mill for a while. I hate those. Ran away from those a long time ago.” You eyed your bottle meditatively, noticing a set of glasses on the small table beside you, but avoiding them entirely. You simply decided to take a sip, scrunching your face at the burn of the alcohol — you’d never been a drinker. “Just people running their mouth ‘cause they’re too selfish to care about someone else’s wellbeing.”

The woman smirked and lifted her glass. “True that. Unfortunately, when you come to a highly publicised event such as tonight on the arm of your ex boss, people talk, point fingers, and stare at you for ‘seducing’ your boss. Absolute bullshit, in my opinion. Sorry, I tend to swear more when I drink.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, looking vaguely ashamed before you waved your hand.

“As you said, no need to apologise. My best friend swears a lot,” for a second you wondered when exactly Candy had replaced Namjoon under the ‘best friend’ label. Your brain was too hazy to think. “People should just mind their own business. Plus, from the way he looks at you, I don’t think there was much seducing to do. One look at him and any smart individual could tell he adores you.”

The other snorted. “Smart, you say? So you’re saying over three-quarters of the people on this oversized boat are dumb, huh?”

You grinned before you could voice your idea. “Money can’t buy neurons, apparently. I hate these places. So many dumb— no, not dumb. Just… Ignorant. They ignore everyone who doesn’t fit their stupid, fickle standards. And they’re up for conversation only when they want something out of you. But I’m digressing here,” you let the sentence fall before letting a small laugh out. Apparently, one third of the bottle had been enough to pick up your spirits.

Your friend — friend? — joined you in your chuckle. “They think money speaks for itself. Which, it does, but oftentimes it’s the opposite of what you think. Nothing says ‘I’m a right pompous git’ like fat wads of cash sealed up in the secret vault behind the not-so-subtle gilded book on great-great-great-great-great grandmother’s shelf. Speaking of money, that’s a very pretty outfit you have on. Don’t get me wrong — I’m greatly enjoying your company — but shouldn’t you be schmoozing? I know that’s what Seokjin came here to do.”

You frowned and took another sip. The heat in your veins felt welcome “Schmoozing,” irony possessed you. “I think I had my fill of social interactions until my funeral.” You paused for a second. “I guess I’m not good at that. I’ve never been, truly.”

The woman seemed happy to be given a chance to rant. “Now isn’t that a shame? I sincerely hope for your sake that you have someone on your side who won’t let anyone hurt you. If you’ll allow me to be somewhat candid, many people of your social status live to knock down anyone they deem unworthy of their stupid, fickle standards, as you so aptly put. You’re a rare gem, and it’s refreshing to know that there are still people in the upper echelons of society that have their head screwed on correctly.” She looked so elegant as she sipped her drink, nothing like your messy sucking at the bottle. She looked classier than people with a thousand times her money.

Suddenly, you trusted this unnamed woman. You trusted her enough to reveal fears you’d never voiced out loud. “Most people would say I’m the odd one out. That’s why I’m on the solitary side, I guess.” That was enough for now. “Anyway, what do you think, should we stay here until the ruckus dies down?”

The woman — did Seokjin call her Beauty in the group chat? — swirled her glass — wow, so classy, you thought, amused — and peered at the contents. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Seems like I’m fresh out of alcohol, though. Shame.” She pursed her lips in disappointment. “I need a lot more if I’m to stay on this oversized flotation device without going crazy.”

You laughed very loudly, a few snorts peppered in between, signalling that you were nearing hurricane drunk. “Lemme check.” Standing seemed a very complicated task, becoming even more challenging as you looked around the room. “Homo Expensivus keeps their stashes in selected locations, usually to optimise the obstentation of wealth… which leads me… Right… Here!” You sort of stumbled through the room, only to find a see-through cabinet where some bottles were kept. “I won!” you called with a giggle before crashing back on the sofa, gin bottle in hand.

“Great find! Princess, was it?”

You lifted your head and looked at her funny, startled by the nickname. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to call me, yes,” your chuckle was gleeful, but awfully short lived as your voice slipped into sarcasm. “Did Seokjin tell you everything about how I ran away and broke his best friend’s heart?”

Beauty seemed unbothered as she calmly kept pouring a generous amount of gin into her glass. “Not in that many words, but yes, he did hint at it. Of course, if you’d rather not talk about it, that’s fine by me, too. Something tells me you didn’t sniff out which room I was in to talk to a near stranger,” she spoke, half sarcastically half drily, holding up the bottle to the light to peer at its contents, “so you must have been looking to escape from something or someone.”

You nodded. It seemed easy to explain to her. “Well, this boat is a ticking time bomb for past-me. Lots of people who’d like to see me out of the picture. And I guess his friends — or ex-friends? I don’t think he’s keeping up with them — would all love to have a very heartfelt talk about how I should have thought about him before I flew out of the country like a criminal, maybe drop a hint, or prepare him or them for the hurricane I would cause.” You huffed out, taking another sip. Halfway. “And now I broke his heart again — not that he didn’t deserve it because who basically calls their soulmate a kinky slut in front of everyone? Come on!” You accidentally swung your bottle very dangerously as you gesticulated, causing Beauty to lean away and hug her gin bottle to protect it.

“Well,” the other replied, placing the bottle firmly on the ground next to the sofa, out of danger, “you talked a lot about what his friends think. Which, I assure you, Seokjin does not blame you for, but what do your friends think? I’m sure Candy would have a few choice words for you if she heard you talking down about yourself, wouldn’t she?”

The way she looked at you made you hide your head between your shoulders, her inquisitorial glance disappearing as she grimaced at the taste of pure alcohol.

“I guess I haven’t really been thinking about that. It’s been hard to think since he came back into my life.” Do not get sad drunk. Do not... “But I don’t think it’ll be easier either now that he’s gone.”

Beauty seemed to notice your emotional difficulties. “H-hey, it’s gonna be alright. Do you…” She started looking around in a way that made your head ache. “Do you want to watch videos of Cookie? Candy’s puppy? I have a few that are pretty cute.”

Your reply was a loud, endeared ‘aw’. “I love Cookie, Yes, please?”

Beauty was endeared by your large sparkly eyes, grinning as she found a way to lighten your mood. “Here, I’ll send you Cookie’s private instagram page later,” she mumbled, scrolling through the picture. “Did you hear the story about Cookie’s name?”

Your heart warmed. That was your family. “Yeah, I kinda was on the phone with her when she chose it…” you mumbled, the conversation with Beauty flowing out easily, relaxedly. You didn’t even notice it was time for you to head home.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

By the time the party was over, Namjoon had sobered up, found a change of clothes and made himself look decent again. He was sitting on the bench near where the taxi boat would moor in hope he could find you. The chases of you having already left were high, but he needed to be one hundred percent sure you weren't still on board. He was vaguely surprised to see you arrive haphazardly, your body leaning heavily against Seokjin's assistant as she accompanied you to a taxi boat.

“Hand her over, I’ll take her home,” he said, looking at you and Beauty in miserable conditions.

With the way your arms reached for him, Beauty did not hesitate leaving you to him, not without granting he wouldn't make a move on you. “I know your secrets, so don’t try anything with her.” Namjoon frowned confusedly at the slurred threat.

“One wrong move and you’re over.” she continued, slightly more clearly as she pointed a finger to his chest.

Namjoon arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me, I’ve taken care of her since she got drunk with champagne at sixteen.”

“Bang up job you’ve done taking care of her then, she’s been wobbling around drunk half the night on the verge of tears,” she hissed.

Beauty was right. Namjoon deserved a scolding. He deserved far worse. “I'll accompany her to her parents' house.”

The woman waved noncommittally to the taxi, dismissing him self-sufficiently.

“Beauty, do you want to come with us? Will you be okay?”

She seemed to be confused by the question. “I think I will.”

He fixed an arm around your waist, leading you safely on the taxi boat. “Come on, I’m driving you to your parents’.”

You shook your head. “Don’t let them see me like this,” you whined, slapping his chest as you tried to stand by yourself. He let you stumble and almost fall before he caught you.

“I have to drive you home, Honey,” he reminded you. “Your parents won’t be home. I promise.”

He watched you as your lip turned wobbly. “I don’t wanna be alone. I’m always so lonely. Why the hell did you change! We used to be so close!”

He bit his lip and shook his head. He thanked the heavens when the taxi boat docked to a quiet, empty side of the port, away from photographers and similar. He noticed his car and wrapped his arm tightly around your waist as he hurried towards it. He had never, ever seen you half that drunk. He stopped right before the car. “Honey, baby. Do you need to throw up, love?”

You shook your head and punched him relatively hard for the amount of alcohol in your blood. “Don’t call me that. Bastard!”

He gathered all his patience and opened the door, ushering* you in. “I’m so sorry, Milla,” he apologised to his assistant. “I will pay you extra, I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he repeated again, and he wanted to apologise to the whole universe, to his family, to your family, to you and all your shattered dreams and burned letters and dried flowers.

He felt miserable, but at least he could take care of you, even though he knew this would be the last time he would be able to.

“It’s okay,” Milla replied from the driver’s seat. “Is she okay?”

“We’re driving her home. She’s the princess,” he said dryly, sitting at your side and making you lean into him, holding you upright.

Milla’s eyes gleamed in surprise and understanding. “Tell me where to drive you.”

He gave her your address and held you close, looking for anything that could save his car were you to throw up.

Mercifully you made it to your house, Milla looking at Namjoon as you fought him about your passcode.

“We fought. She’s gonna hate me every day from tomorrow. I swear I have only good intentions,” he explained, Milla sweet-talking you into giving her the passcode, which she inserted quickly as Namjoon tried to keep you calm and standing.

“I’ll go, then,” Milla informed curtly, Namjoon nodding.

“You’re getting three extras. And dinner for you and Nara. Choose the place.”

She grinned and turned, giving a small wave before leaving.

“Honey. The stairs, love,” he murmured, picking you up and taking you upstairs. He naturally headed to your room.

“Not here!” you screeched.

“It’s your room.”

“Guest room. I hate my room. It’s not my room. Away!” you managed to use your legs as leverage to push yourself away from the door.

“You hate it?”

“I know you slept there. When I was gone. You’re everywhere. It hurts.” You whined. “Away. I want my pjs. Joonie. Pjs,” you ordered as he sat you on the bed in the guest room.

“Can you shower? By yourself?” he asked, kneeling and removing your shoes. “You need a shower—”

“I’m not feeling well,” you mumbled, just in time for him to grab the bin and place it under your mouth.

For the following half hour, he held your hair as you stayed bent over the toilet, letting out everything you had forced in. And every time it would subside, he would tear a piece of paper and clean your mouth, letting you rinse it before he'd grab a wet cloth and press it to your heated face, letting you rest your head against his chest, eyes closed while his arms held you. You allowed yourself to believe in it until the sickness subsided and you were left alone to wash yourself.

Soon he would become an exile, he realised. No longer your knight. No longer your prince. Just a stranger.

Once you reappeared, clad in a terry cloth pyjamas set, he managed to take one last look at you, eyes red and puffy with tears, hair wet, no makeup, knees weak.

Had he been a smarter man, a better man, you wouldn’t have been feeling miserable right then, and he would be your husband, your spouse by now, not only allowed, but even entitled to take care of you.

You settled underneath the sheets. “We’ll be strangers from tomorrow,” you said, and it sounded like all your love had been shut in a tomb forever. “Stay until I fall asleep for today.”

He nodded, sitting at your side on the bed and petting your hair. “I know it won’t change a thing, but I need you to know you’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

You nodded with your eyes closed. “I wish you had loved yourself more while I was gone,” you grabbed his hand and kissed the back of his palm. “If I left, It’s also because I needed you to learn. I needed to make sure you could survive without me. At the beginning I was angry, but then I realised I wanted you to learn to fly with your own wings. You simply… fell.”

He dried a tear. “You were my wings.”

“An angel should never borrow wings, Joonie.”

Tagging: @thejooncrew @ggukkieland @luvaffaire @bluesharksandfish (sending this through dm since tag does not work)

[P.S. PART 2 OUT HERE]

#namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #lavender honey #kim namjoon fanfiction #houseofddaeng #thetruthuntoldnet #bangtansorciere #thebtswritersclub #sonsofmidas

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ridreads · 3 years

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Rid Reads: April 2021 Fic Recs

There is an endless number of talented BTS fic writers on Tumblr who put their heart and soul into their work! This post is the first of many to come that appreciates and supports exactly these stories and their creators. In that sense, note again, this is just a list of fic recs and not my own content.

NOTE: Most of these contain NSFW content, so minors: DNI!

(I know April is already over, but school is demanding, so here’s my April-in-May-list! :D)

KEY:

[a] angst | [f] fluff | [s] smut | [c] crack

e2l - Enemies to Lovers

f2l - Friends to Lovers

s2f/l - Strangers to Friends/Lovers

ex2l - Exes to Lovers

est/rel - Established Relationship

SEOKJIN

opaline moon by @missgeniality - idol!au, f2l; a, s, f

birthday bash (ft. kth) by @hoebii - hybrid!au, est/rel; f

soft by ^ - est/rel; f, c

blossom (ft. pjm & jjk) by @btsmosphere - a

YOONGI

noise complaints by @sugasbabiie - neighbours!au; a, s

fine by @ddaechwita - est/rel; a, f

cupid’s curse by @ressjeon - college!au, ex2l; a, s

HOSEOK

undistorted by @btsmosphere - hp!au, soulmate!au, f2l; a, f

NAMJOON

promise by @joheunsaram - college/roommate!au, e2l; a, f, s

the pages between us by @r-m - est/rel; f, s

looking for something right (ft. jjk) by @biaswreckme - college/roommate!au, s2l; f, s

JIMIN

blossom (ft. ksj & jjk) by @btsmosphere - a

eleven by @mimikookie - ex2l; a

love me now by @biaswreckme - f

novocaine by @kinktae - 90s!au, ex2l; a, f, s (ongoing)

a heart doesn’t break even by @xiaokoo - school!au, fwb!au e2l; a, f, s, c (ongoing)

to the moon (ft. jjk) by @hoebii - college!au, est/rel; a, f

TAEHYUNG

pour up (ft. jjk) by @jungkxook - college/frat boy!au; s

birthday bash (ft. ksj) by @hoebii - hybrid!au, est/rel; f

across the tracks by @btsmosphere - dystopian!au, s2l; a, f

knock knock by ^ - college/roommate!au, e2l; a, f

7:53 AM by @ddaechwita - est/rel; f

good girl by @suga-kookiemonster - office!au; s

tempting (rewritten) by @kinktae - fantasy!au; a, s

when you’re expecting by @sleepyjhs - est/rel; f

royal blood by @erotikkook - royal/magic!au; a, f (ongoing)

photobooth by @hesperantha - est/rel; s

blooming for you by @imyourhobiii - college!au, f2l; f

devilish by @noteguk - est/rel; s

witcher by @xpeachesncream - fantasy/witcher!au, e2l; f, s

babysitters club by @baepsaesbae - babysitting!au, s2l, f, s

bloody blue by @masterninjacow - royal!au, l2ex; a

slow motion by @hantaev - est/rel; a, f

mr. lindo by @jimidol - ceo!au, husband!au, est/rel; f, s

never look back by @sugasbabiie - ceo!au, ex2l2ex; a, s

amnesia by @xiaokoo - exes!au; a

masked by @jungkooksbroski - hybrid/werewolf!au; a, f (ongoing)

JUNGKOOK

the element of surprise by @btsmosphere | est/rel; f

blossom (ft. pjm & ksj) by ^ - a

pour up (ft. kth) by @jungkxook - college/frat boy!au; s

melomaniac by ^ - band!au, f2l; a, f, s

make it right by ^ - band!au, ex2l; a, s

kick in the right direction by @xiaokoo - school!au, f2l; f, c

pretty bunny by ^ - hp!au, est/rel; s

indulgence by @ppersonna - est/rel; f, s

whatever it takes by @thotantics - breakup; a, s

found and lost by @hoebii - soulmate!au, e2l; a, f

to the moon (ft. pjm) by ^ - college!au, est/rel; a, f

rain by @masterninjacow - mafia!au, est/rel; a, f

looking for something right (ft. knj) by @biaswreckme - college/roommate!au, s2l; f, s

OT7

no doubt about it by @hoebii - est/rel; a, f

calico by @voiceswithoutlips - hybrid!au, s2f2l; a, f, eventual s (ongoing)

into the blue by ^ - abo!au, s2l; f, eventual s (ongoing)

recommend a fic! (especially hoseok ones, please!!)

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moccahobi · 2 years

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Happy Together - Books

Summery: Late night reading

Pairing: Namjoon (BTS) x Yoongi (BTS)

Total Word Count: 125 words

Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship

Rating: PG-16

Warnings: Mention of alcohol

A/N: This is part of my mini ficlet series for @biaswreckme! I hope you’re having a wonderful birthday so far! XOXO

The whiskey was warm as it thrummed through Namjoon's veins, the alcohol sitting comfortably in his stomach. He looked over at his boyfriend, Yoongi, who was deeply focused on a new book, his tongue peeking out ever so slightly as he focused. Namjoon, putting his thumb on his page and looking at his boyfriend a little more. The two were wearing matching pajamas, something Namjoon had gotten for Yoongi and him on their last anniversary, and while they weren't sitting next to each other, their feet were a tangled mess on a shared stool. They were even reading the same book together (Namjoon had the hard copy… Yoongi found a pirated copy online). It was a perfect night together.

How did he get so lucky?

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cromernet · 6 months

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Acceptance Notice

Welcome to Cromer Net:

@bro-atz @biaswreckme @k-hotchoisan

Now that you are a member, please follow the following steps:

Reblog this acceptance post.

Add a link to the network somewhere where it is visible on your blog.

Wait for an admin to invite you to the discord server.

Please use the tag #cromernet in the first five tags of your ATEEZ fics!

Do reach out if you have any questions!

#acceptance post

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taegularities · 3 years

Note

i'm hereby starting a petition for rid to write the fics in the "forever, we are young" series. also, if you're reading this ask and haven't read this fic, go to rid's masterlist and read it 😭 (or just go to her mlist and read anything, everything's amazing)

😭 i just keep forgetting my 'young forever'-series, but SOME DAY!! I SHALL WRITE IT!

for anyone interested, this is the fic that the series would be based on :')

all i want is to write taehyung as a husband and father in his late 20s 😭

#ask #ignore the terrible banner for the fic #i posted that when i'd just joined tumblr #good ol' times.... jan 2021 #jdhdhdg I LOVE YOU ROSIE #biaswreckme-main #rose 💞#rid tag

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ao3feed-ateez · 22 days

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the prophecy

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/yeOiz06 by biaswreckme (afangirldaydreams) "I'm just a paperweight in shades of greige Spending my last coin so someone will tell me it'll be okay" Yeosang, who has lived under a curse his entire life, finds hope. Words: 1312, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 5 of snapshots from the vault Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Kang Yeosang, Choi Jongho (ATEEZ) Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Title from a Taylor Swift Song, Touch-Starved, Kang Yeosang Needs a Hug, Child Abandonment, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Getting Together, No Dialogue, Hurt/Comfort read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/yeOiz06

#ao3feed #ateez fic #ateez rpf #ateez fanfic #kpop rpf

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thebtswritersclub · 2 years

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Monthly Project Master-list (September 2021)

This September we amped things up by tweaking our monthly project theme. For September we wrote drabbles, but we did them as they were originally intended to be written. No fic could be more than one hundred words! Each week of the month, there was a new set of prompts to focus on. Since it was September, we focused on NamKook! So all the prompts were tied to them.

Happy Reading and the admins extend their gratitude to everyone who chose to participate!

WEEK ONE

▶ God of Destruction by @bluewhale52

▸ Pairing: Namjoon x reader

▸ Summary: Just a little drabble about domestic Joon w/ reader

▸ Genre: slice of life

▶ wow, thighs by @biaswreckme

▸ Pairing: Namjoon/Jungkook

▸ Summary: (n/a)

▸ Genre: fluff, smut

▶ Tattoos by @aroseforyoongi

▸ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

▸ Summary: Jungkook adores the newest tattoo that he gave you.

▸ Genre: Tattoo artist au; established relationship au

▶ Golden Closet Films by @eatjeanjin

▸ Pairing: Jungkook x Namjoon

▸ Summary: Namjoon unknowingly helps Jungkook come up with a name for his new hobby.

▸ Genre: Fluff

▶ God of Destruction by @eatjeanjin

▸ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

▸ Summary: He’s known to have destroyed many things. But he destroyed something only you would know.

▸ Genre: Angst, Slice of Life, Exes AU

#thebtswritersclub #bts fanfictions #bts fanfic

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joheunsaram · 3 years

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glitter and disquiet (jjk) - 1

Part of the Sons of Midas Collab

Part 1 | Part 2 | Drabble

Summary- Poised to inherit Korea’s largest gaming company in a few months, the world looks at Jeon Jungkook as a symbol of envy. Why wouldn’t they? He has everything, riches, power, and according to the rumour mill, endless women. Little do they know that his father’s company is on the verge of downfall, he barely has respect of his employees, and regardless of the rumours, he’s just a virgin saving himself for true love.

word count - 18.5k (buckle up buckaroooos!)

pairing- ceo!Jungkook x youtuber!Reader

rating- R

genre- angst, smut, fluff, chaebol!au

warnings- virgin!Jungkook, mentions of cheating, divorce, open relationships, descriptions of anxiety and stress, car accident, hospitals, smut in the form of oral sex (m and f receiving), Jungkook is a hopeless romantic but wbk

a.n- Well here it is martians (did i make my own fandom name for a fandom that doesnt exist? yes, sir. ty marketing 101 in uni lmfao)! The collab that I forced all friends to do with me. Thank you @hobiandsprite, @taegularities, @oftenderweapons, @biaswreckme, @honeyj00ns for enabling my 3am thoughts. I truly love and appreciate you all!

This is an angsty piece that I challenged myself with because I wanted to create holistic characters rather than just focusing on romance (dw theres lots of that there too!).

I hope you enjoy this! See you next month for the second part hehe!

A big warm thank you to @oftenderweapons @hobiandsprite and @taegularities for beta reading this monster even though i didn’t finish it till a few hours ago! ily guys you keep me sane and happy 💕

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

Sometimes, when he was all alone, or when he was working hard, Jungkook felt it. A little tug on his little finger. It didn’t hurt nor burn, but left behind tingles. A little spark that lifted his finger into the air involuntarily. It was pretty prominent when he was younger but not much anymore. Now, much to his disappointment, it came rarely.

His doctor said it was most likely muscle fatigue, but Jungkook liked to believe in old myths instead. He wasn’t superstitious, but he liked the idea that somewhere, there was another person whose pinky twitched the same time as his - that some ancient omnipotent god had tied the two of them up with an invisible thread. A thread that may tangle, or expand, or shorten, but would always lead him to the one he was meant to be with.

Perhaps this belief was silly, a dreamer’s hyperbole, but Jungkook really really wanted it to be true. He couldn’t understand the point of life otherwise. Would god really be cruel enough to create the crushing monotony of existence without creating the reprieve of a partner to bear it with?

His pinky twitched as it rested against the gold plated rim of the dainty white porcelain coffee cup his mother insisted on using. He would have to refill it at least three times to fill his daily morning dose of caffeine but he would never take away the little joy his mother got from having the family eat brunch on the vintage china she bought at an auction last month.

“Son, are you listening to me?” his father asked in a huff, breaking him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t thinking about much in particular, his eyes following the sunlight that filtered through the overhead umbrella that shaded the small family of three. It reflected off the little coffee pot in the centre of the round grand crystal table, creating little fragments of colourful beams that danced on the surface.

“Sorry dad,” he apologized with a little smile, his nose scrunching in a way he knew would endear his father. His mother laughed at his attempt at buttering up his father, who as if on cue rolled his eyes with a similar smile of his own.

“As I was saying before you ignored me, I think we should announce you taking over the company at your birthday party in a few months,” his father continued proudly, waving the butter knife he was using around with flair while his scone remained forgotten on the flowered side plate. Jungkook was used to his father’s certain excitement when it came to the family business.

“Do you think that’s wise? He’s barely done school!” his mother spoke, exasperated. Jungkook could see the lines on her face as she scowled at her husband. He frowned, only just realizing how old his parents looked, wrinkles much more prominent and frames slightly thinner than he remembered. The last time he had seen them hadn’t been that long ago, barely a few months, but he was always jarred by how different they looked from his recollections. His memories still held the images of them from when he was a teenager still living in the immaculately modern mansion he called home.

“Yes. There’s a reason I didn’t ask you, Kyungsoo,” he sneered at his wife, the previous softness in his features turning to stone. “This is my son and my company. He’s ready, aren’t you, Jungkook?”

Along with their frailty, their dislike of each other was also something that Jungkook seemed to always forget about. He knew his parents weren’t happy with each other — he had learnt that a long time ago. As a child, he used to hear them arguing, passive aggressively trying to cut each other’s self esteem with snide remarks, but in the rose colored crevices of his mind, he only remembered how his father had surprised his mother with a hundred roses in the living room when he was ten, or the way he’d once caught them dancing in silence in the living room when he was in highschool. Jungkook had no doubt in his mind that they loved each other, but he’d be amiss if he tried to convince himself that they liked each other.

He couldn’t help wishing that they found love again. It was a kid’s wish, he knew that, but he just wanted his parents to see the best in each other like they used to.

“Dad -”

“He’s our son, Jaehwa, let him enjoy his twenties. He doesn’t need to get right into work after graduating,” she scoffed, plucking the cloth napkin off her lap and tossing it beside her as she glared at her husband.

“Well, mom—”

“He’s smart and resourceful, he’s going to take over. The sooner the better and frankly I don’t understand why you have to—”

“Mom, dad. Please,” Jungkook interrupted the argument, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “Please don’t argue. Dad, yes I’d love to start whenever you want me to,” he said looking at his father who beamed smugly at his wife in response. “And mom, don’t worry. I am enjoying my twenties.” He patted his mother’s hand as she shook her head in defeat before heaving a sigh.

“Just so you know, it is your decision when to take over the company. You can take your time if you want,” Kyungsoo emphasized, a hand on his, her expression serious despite the way his father snorted.

“I know, mom. I want to,” he said with a smile, his hand holding on to hers.

“Well now that that’s settled, Jungkook, we have to discuss something very important.” His father seemed almost nonchalant, expertly ignoring the icy argument that had just occurred at the breakfast table, his tone once again light and airy.

“Jaehwa, let’s not discuss business at the table. We’ve barely seen Jungkook since he started school…”

“It’s okay mom,” Jungkook said before cutting into his poached eggs, taking a large bite, much to his mother’s disappointment. Jaehwa was not one to let go of a topic easily, and although Jungkook felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach at continuing to placate his father, he knew it was the easier thing to do. “Go ahead, dad.”

“That’s my son!” Jaehwa beamed, mirroring his son’s action and digging into his breakfast. “So as you know the ChampCon is not doing well. I think the first thing you can do to really get the board on your side is provide an alternate revenue generator.”

Jungkook categorically did not know that Champions Confederation, shortened by fans as ChampCon, was not doing well. ChampCon was the product of his father’s blood and tears and the golden product of Jaunty Games that launched more than two decades ago, and was the sole reason his family could afford their opulent lifestyle, raking in millions of dollars a year. The massive multiplayer online game had not only built their family’s empire, but had changed the way online games were perceived, garnering a cult following that soon became mainstream, with e-sport teams and cosplay events. Every new feature launched had millions of people reviewing it, making ChampCon trend worldwide almost weekly.

To hear that Jaunty’s darling was failing made Jungkook’s skin erupt in goosebumps, his stomach turning — a feeling he hadn’t experienced since his father sat him down the day before he started his MBA and explained in excruciating detail the duties of running such a massive business. He could feel his breaths getting shallower as his father explained how competitors were basically stealing the mechanics of the game and rebranding it as their own, how game mechanics couldn’t be copyrighted, so it was Jungkook’s responsibility to create an alternative that would not only help balance out the revenue lost, but maybe even turn out to be bigger than ChampCon itself.

As his father’s eyes glittered with pride, Jungkook felt his earlier confidence dwindling. He had so adamantly told his mother that he was ready to take over, but it took less than a few minutes for reality to come knocking at his door. Jungkook was not a game designer. Sure, he had great grades, his graduate degree wrapping up soon with almost a perfect GPA, but he hadn’t even touched a game in years. How was he supposed to apparently save his father’s legacy from biting the dust?

“So, any ideas yet?” his father prodded, finishing his monologue as he finished the last of his eggs.

“Dad… you literally just told me this. Give me time, please,” Jungkook joked, trying desperately to hide his panic behind an airy tone. He hadn’t noticed his mother had left the table, and with no appetite left, he thought the timing was perfect to escape. Pushing his plate away, he sipped the last of his orange juice, and with an excuse about an upcoming presentation, he headed to exit the terrace, hoping the way his legs were shaking was not too obvious. But, of course, his father wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t make a parting remark.

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something great!” his father cheered, wiping his mouth on a napkin, and keeping pace with Jungkook as he walked him to the front door. “And remember, we don’t do this for the money,” he began, only to be cut off by his son’s sigh.

“We do it for the Lees in accounting who have six kids to feed,” Jungkook finished his father’s catchphrase, feeling the pressure on his chest and the pulse of his veins increase as he hugged his father farewell, opting to text his mother instead of showing either of his parents what truly laid beneath the facade of their perfectly calm and responsible son.

----------

The din of the bar was a familiar reprieve from daily life, the little clinks of beer glasses as various men in suits celebrated after a hard day exchanging stocks or manipulating facts in courts. The mahogany of the room reflected the hazy lights from the various dimmed chandeliers that lined the ceilings, the air scented with alcohol and sandalwood. The bar catered to a much older crowd, men escaping from their wives, women looking to lure said men for their fortunes.

It wasn’t a place for the heirs of Korea’s largest companies to gather, yet there in the corner table, hidden from the cacophony of singles mingling near the bar, sat three. Their combined impact on Korea’s GDP could astound even the stoic of people, yet the air around them was relaxed, filled with laughter and banter.

“Hyung, I’m serious!” Jungkook whined, downing his fifth tumbler of whiskey in two hours. “I don’t think I can do it. I’m not… what’s the word?”

“An asshole?” Taehyung suggested, a wide smile on his face as he watched his friend struggle with his words.

“A misogynistic old man?” Candy chimed in, taking a sip of her scotch, as she grooved to the canned jazz that played through the speakers.

“Noona! Are you implying my dad’s a misogynist?” Jungkook questioned, mouth agape as he forgot his earlier worries in defense of his father.

“He did try to say that me learning Taekwondo was not becoming of a woman,” she replied, a fake sugary smile adorning her features as she antagonized her best friend.

“That was when you beat me up!” Jungkook protested, neglecting his drink to wave his hands in her direction as he always did when he got riled up, and oh did Candy love it.

“As I recall, you deserved it,” she sneered.

He did deserve it. Very much so.

Jungkook had just started highschool. A timid, scrawny version of the man that sat in the bar, and Candy had somehow taken pity on him and taken him under her wing. Jungkook would forever be grateful for her, for he owed her the friend group he called family now. However, their friendship didn’t truly take off until the day Candy showed up to school in a bastardized version of her uniform, one that not only led to her colourful nickname, but for Jungkook’s eyes to be glued to her chest, his palms sweating and heartbeat accelerating. He couldn’t help it. He was fourteen and his hormones were too novel to control yet. He could never have predicted that he would zone out of the conversation in favour of staring at her cleavage, his mouth suddenly much too dry.

What was not unpredictable was the way Candy swiftly, and with much too much force, slapped him across the face, rattling his brain and his heart all in one. Jungkook would never admit it out loud, but he thought that was the moment he found his first love, beaten into him; transferred from the heat of her palm to his soul.

It was a schoolyard crush, he supposed, but even now in the dim lights of the bar, he truly thought Candy was one of the most beautiful women he had ever met, not only in looks but also in the ways she challenged him, which made him feel anew. Now his feelings were more like those of a far away admirer now, a confidant, a friend. He knew far too much about her love for Hoseok to ever have the hope that used to blossom in his chest in his teen years. That hope had slowly extinguished each time Hoseok broke her heart and she mended it, only to hand it back to the same man.

Now it simmered below his consciousness, a lingering emotion held together by the belief that if he was truly meant to be hers, she would find a way to him through the chaos of her life and the quiet of his.

“Can you stop bullying him?” Taehyung interjected, shaking his head but with a face full of mirth as he started to console his drunk friend. Candy merely stuck her tongue out in response, settling back into the leather booth as she signalled for the waitress to bring another bottle for the table.

“Jungkook, there’s nothing wrong with being worried about taking over, trust me,” Taehyung continued, placing a hand on Jungkook’s thigh. Jungkook merely stared at his lap, the energy sapping from his body as the topic returned to his imminent CEO position. It is not that Jungkook didn’t think he was capable. He was objectively the most qualified person for the job, having trained for the role since birth. Not only did he have a perfect GPA from highschool upto grad school now, he had also been working at the company every Tuesday and Thursday since he completed his bachelors.

Jungkook had no doubt in his skill, but every time he thought about the looming position, he felt his chest cave in from the pressure — odd, unfounded insecurities taking seed in his mind, regardless of his friends’ efforts. He was lucky enough to be friends with people who shared the same fate, thrusted into greatness inherited, but he couldn’t help feeling unprepared by comparison. Almost all of his friends had inherited their companies by now, and not one of them seemed to bat an eyelash at the monumental responsibility. It made him feel more anxious; perhaps he was broken, maybe that’s why he seemed to be sprinting towards milestones that never arrived while his friends eased into them at a mere stroll.

“You’ll do great, Bunny. You’re perfect for the job,” Candy said gently, patting his shoulder, knowing full well the secrets of Jungkook’s lack of confidence. Though he appeared as a mysterious, stoic bachelor to the public, he was an open book to his close friends.

“I know. I know! It’s just… what if I’m the reason that we go under and people lose jobs, and I don’t know…” Jungkook trailed off, a tattooed hand running through his hair as he poured yet another finger of whiskey into his glass. He sighed as the liquid burned his throat, colouring his taste buds in a soothing bitter warmth.

“Oh god! Please tell me, Uncle Jeon isn't still giving you that speech?” Candy scrunched her nose, shaking her head.

“Ah! ‘We don’t do this for the money son’,” Taehyung chimed in, his voice much lower than his usual baritone in an attempt to mimic Jungkook’s father and chest puffed out in a fashion that could only be described as ‘uppity’.

“‘We do it for the Lees in accounting who have six kids to feed’” Candy completed the phrase, her mocking mannerisms matching those displayed by Taehyung, and in his inebriated mind, the only thing he could think of was to laugh — their impressions were pretty spot on. Mouth wide open in glee, Jungkook cackled, turning heads, as he attempted to catch his breath. He knew it was a good idea to go out tonight.

“I love you guys,” Jungkook said, smiling widely in a way that scrunched his nose and melted his friends’ hearts.

“We love you too, Jungkookie,” the two sang as they hugged him from both sides, squishing his broad frame till he felt small and coddled, love radiating through him. It reminded him of high school when Jungkook spent hours in his classes waiting for lunch or school to end so he could be reunited with his friends, who all somehow seemed to be much older than him. They always hugged him when he caught up to them, and although they were all grown adults and cheesy hugs were a thing of the past, it still filled him with the same sense of belonging. Like he could make any mistake and they would forgive him.

Jungkook felt lighter by the end of the night, not only because the alcohol running through his veins made him feel invincible, but because amidst the reminiscing and quips, the duo had built a strategy for him to start research into a new game. When Taehyung tucked him into his bed that night, Jungkook felt ready, the upcoming responsibility morphing from an insurmountable burden into an exciting challenge. And if there was one thing that Jungkook enjoyed, it was a challenge.

-----------

“Good morning, Mr Jeon!”

“Would you like a coffee?”

“No appointments for you today.”

“The numbers for this quarter are on your table.”

Jungkook smiled at his staff, still wondering why in the world his father needed a fleet of assistants, including a Chief of Staff for some reason. It seemed extremely frivolous, but he supposed it helped lessen his workload.

Settling into his chair, he turned on his computer. Last night’s drinks took their revenge as he massaged his temples, willing the pain to subside. For a fleeting moment he wondered how much of a fool he’d acted like in front of Candy. He had no reason to be haunted by his actions, he remembered the night perfectly, but he still felt an ache in his heart. He sighed at the knock at his door, curtly granting permission to the visitor to enter.

“Hey Jungkook, how are you today?” His father’s, well soon, his Chief of Staff, Seungwon, walked in with a pile of documents, placing them on the desk in front of him.

“I’m good, uncle Seungwon. Just trying to brainstorm for the new game, you know how it is,” Jungkook replied with a small smile.

“Ah I told you! Call me Seungwon at work! You don’t want to lose your authority now do you?” Seungwon joked, watching the endearing way the young man in front of him got slightly flustered at the request. He had known Jungkook since he was practically a toddler, waddling around in his father’s office, pretending to read documents and attend phone calls. For the most part, Jungkook considered him a second father. Seungwon was the first employee his father had hired after the initial founding team, and in a sense he had always been around, first as the general admin officer for the company, and then as his executive assistant after the company grew.

“Okay, Mr Cha,” Jungkook shook his head with a smile. “What do you have for me today?”

“These are the numbers for ChampCon for the past ten years, including every new feature introduced and the analysis of how well it did or did not do. Jaehwa asked me to make sure you have them, so you can brainstorm better.”

“Yay! I’m so excited,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he looked at the giant pile in front of him dejectedly. This was definitely worse than all the readings he had to do this semester. He kind of wished he could show this to those Instagram entrepreneur influencers that talk about the glamour of being a CEO.

“I suggest you get yourself a coffee to start — and stop thinking about girls,” Seungwon winked at him as Jungkook blinked in response. How did he know? As if reading his thoughts, Seungwon gestured to the notebook under Jungkook’s arm and he groaned, looking at the multiple doodles of little toffees he had subconsciously made. Deciding to take his advice, he followed him out of the office in search of coffee, needing a short break to reset his brain.

He headed to the cafeteria the floor below, taking the stairs to get his blood pumping a little. He felt like there was sludge in his veins from last night. However, he had barely opened the thick metal door to the staircase when echoing voices met his ears. He didn’t stay for long after, but the words they said were embedded into his consciousness.

“Fucking chaebols. Does Jeon really think that useless son of his will be able to handle the company?”

“I swear he’s gonna ruin it before he hits puberty.”

“Rich people are so fucking ignorant.”

“I bet he can’t even name one feature we’ve released.”

“I’m seriously thinking of quitting once he takes over. Better quit than lose my job when he makes Jaunty bankrupt, right?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw, his tongue poking into his cheek, as he briskly walked towards his office. Do it for the Lees in accounting? They could just go fuck themselves. He could feel the venom burn his chest as he sat in his chair, refusing their words to bore into his self esteem. He knew he was the best for the job, he knew he could do it. He would prove them wrong. Just imagining the look on their faces when he revealed a new game that would leave ChampCon in the dust had his skin on fire, sending his previous motivation into overdrive.

He didn’t know how long he sat in his chair, dissecting the numbers for his company from the past ten years, but by the time he had compared all the analytics between competitors in the market, the sun was already an afterthought in the starry sky and his notebook was overfilled with potential strategies. This was what Jungkook excelled at, figuring out how to gain market shares and cut the competition. And at the moment, his greatest competition was Saga Games, an indie company that only had one game, which was a blatant copy of ChampCon, only with quirkier, more artsy characters instead of his plain champions. The game, Reverie, had gone viral on social media, targeting a niche market of mostly female gamers sorely underrepresented in his own games.

Before he knew it, he was sending away his staff for the day, deciding to hole up in his office to watch videos of the gameplay, noting the differences between his game and theirs. It was odd how wholesome the community seemed to be, barely any swearing or spats even in the unmoderated chats. He hadn’t touched a video game in years, but for this he would consider going back.

Scrolling through hundreds of videos he only found half-assed play throughs, which was good to note the actual features of the game, but not for what he needed — a qualitative look at how people were feeling about Reverie. Glancing at the clock in the corner of his desk, he realized it was almost 11, but just as he was about to give up for the night, his eye caught a familiar face.

It was you. Dressed in a baggie black Supreme hoodie and flannel pajamas, you were sat on a sickeningly pink chair, embellished with faux fur, as you played the game, a set of deep red headphones over your ears. He blinked at the screen in disbelief. There was no way you were a streamer.

Jungkook had known you for over two years. You were in every single one of his classes, doing the same concentration of management strategy with your MBA as him, and you made it a point to rile him up in every single class. Be it using Jaunty Games as a case study for your presentations and looking at him every time you pointed out a flaw in the company, or gloating to him about your better grades. You were so childish that Jungkook couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you. You brought out his stupid, childish side too. His need to prove you wrong and to beat you often led to him arguing with you despite the way your classmates groaned and rolled their eyes.

He remembered when he first met you the summer before he started his degree. It was a balmy, sunny day — the kind that feels like humidity is hanging in the air making it thick and sticky. Although he hated the heat, some idiotic part of his brain thought that running in the humid air would probably add more resistance to his runs. It did not. As he was finishing his final lap around the university, sweating buckets, his t-shirt stuck to his back, he heard a loud bicycle bell, the shrill breaking through the pop music blasting through his earphones. However, the warning bell was for naught, because before he even looked up, he was barrelled over by you.

Luckily you had swerved your bicycle so it did not hit him, but in doing so you had somehow launched yourself on to him. He groaned as his butt met the sidewalk, arms automatically going around you to ensure you didn’t hurt yourself. Momentarily flustered by how attractive he found you, Jungkook was quick to recover, clearing his throat to ask you if you were okay.

You simply brushed off the dirt, and stood up with a grin. He blinked up at you, dazed by the sun shining behind you making you look almost ethereal. He grabbed your hand when you offered it, ready to waive your apologies away. For the first time in his life, Jungkook felt the need to make the first move - make any move really. He was ready to throw a cheesy line your way, ask you to treat him to a coffee to make up for your blunder.

However, much to his utter disappointment, you never apologized. In fact, you scolded him to watch where he was going, your bright smile never disappearing as you gave him a couple of finger guns before getting back on your bicycle and riding away. Jungkook just stood there, staring after you with a bruised shin and a bruised ego to match.

Perhaps that’s why Jungkook suddenly stopped scrolling when he saw you in the thumbnail, the same wide smile making his heart race for reasons unknown. He didn’t believe in lust, that was for the weak. He had learnt his lesson when Candy beat him up, but he couldn’t help clicking on the video, curious as to why the loud, argumentative woman in his lectures would be making videos playing games.

“And although the aesthetics do make this game very visually appealing, I think the gameplay is more advanced than others in the market. You see how there’s a lack of glitches even though there are a hundred thousand people online? That’s wild!” Your voice echoed through his empty office, as you continued to break down how the game was built and why it was garnering such a large audience, and Jungkook was hooked. He had never paid attention to what you said, usually waiting for you to make a point he could contest, never absorbing the actual content of your usual arguments together. Now that he was paying attention, he understood why you were competing for valedictorian with him. You were eloquent, knowledgeable, but unlike Jungkook, the way you spoke was almost charismatic, and before he knew it he had watched the entire forty minute video.

Your subscriber count was also no joke. If anything, you were a celebrity with over 30 million subscribers on Youtube, and many more on Instagram. He smiled at your username, callmetiger95, it seemed fitting for the fiery woman in his lectures, even though your online persona was more meek and sweet. He spent the night watching your videos, when an idea popped into his head.

He was going to partner with you to create a new game.

----------

You frowned as you looked at your laptop at the end of the lecture, your Youtube Partner page pulled up. Your last video seemed to have been doing worse than the one before, in fact it did it even worse than the one posted around the same time last year, even though you had double the subscribers now. The stats weren’t terrible, especially given the ad revenue from the video was enough to cover rent for the month, but you were irked. It was the first video you had made to branch out your brand, choosing to talk about your life and grad school, rather than playing the latest trending video game. Although you knew that most of your subscribers only wanted to see you play, disappointment still gnawed at your gut.

“Hey, Tiger,” a familiar voice called from behind you, causing your frown to deepen. Of course it was the school playboy, Jeon Jungkook. You rolled your eyes as you closed your laptop, before packing it away in your backpack.

“What do you want, Jeon?” you asked, turning around, watching him leaning against the chair next to you, dressed in a suit like the rest of the class, but looking far better than the rest of the guys. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he was a model.

“So how come you never told me you were this big shot gamer?” he asked with a smile, his hair falling into his eyes. You hadn’t seen him smile this genuinely at you before, and your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Because I don’t like you,” you replied plainly, shrugging, and only slightly regretting the way his smile fell from his face.

“Oh… okay,” Jungkook said, a hand reaching to touch his ear that seemed to be a vivid shade of red. Jungkook didn’t know why he thought he could just pretend the two of you were more than classroom rivals and get away with it. He moved away a little to let you pass, gathering his nerves, before he spoke again. “I want to hire you.”

You blinked at him, frozen on the spot by the casual job offer. You had enough sense to notice how nervous Jungkook looked all of a sudden, visible beads of sweat forming on his hairline despite the air conditioning in the room being too high.

“Just because you found out I’m popular on Youtube, you want to hire me?” you asked incredulously.

“No,” Jungkook was quick to disagree, waving his hands in front of you, before deflating. “Yes… It’s just, I need your help,” he said, a lip between his teeth as he averted your gaze. Jungkook had no idea why his heart was beating so fast, but then again he had never been one to ask for help, especially from his widely attractive antagonizers.

“Is this some fuckboy move of yours? Offer me a job to get into my pants?” You raised an eyebrow and Jungkook couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped his lips at the absurdity of your words. Him? A fuckboy?

“I’m not a fuckboy, Y/N,” he said, nose upturned at the unfair label. He knew that everybody thought him as some player, but the truth was that it was just a widely inaccurate rumour his childhood friend Jimin had started during undergrad that seemed to have snowballed into his reputation. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“Whatever, Jeon. Answer’s still the same. I don’t need a job,” you replied coolly, turning and walking towards the door.

“Come on, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you however much you want!” Jungkook walked briskly to catch up easily to you. He didn’t know why he was being so insistent, especially since he was supposed to hate you after he had overheard you make some pretty terrible comments about him at a party once. All he knew was that you seemed to have insights that no one else had and he needed to learn them.

“Typical. Not everything can be bought, especially not me.” You rolled your eyes at him, opening the doors to the lecture theatre, but only wide enough for yourself, taking in a little too much joy in the way he struggled to get his stupidly broad frame through the small gap.

“That’s not what I meant. Come on, Y/N. At least hear me out,” he almost begged. It was widely out of character from the Jungkook you knew. Usually, he was all cold stares and dry remarks. The only time you had seen his expression change from serious or zoned out was when you ran into him at a trashy frat party, but you don’t like to think about that night.

“Nope,” you repeated, getting a little annoyed by his constant attempts.

“I’ll convince you,” he said as he finally stopped following you, jaw clenched in determination that only made you roll your eyes.

“Try your best, Jeon.” You waved at him with a laugh as you made your way to the library to work on your upcoming presentation.

And so he did.

Over the next two week, he tried everything in his power to convince you. At first, it was small. He would bring you a coffee to your lectures, black with one sugar, just the way you liked it and you were afraid to ask him how exactly he knew your order. Much to Jungkook’s chagrin, his daily coffees were rewarded with another rejection.

He decided to up his game. Knowing that your next project for Business Ethics required partners, he walked into your Assistant Professor’s office with five hundred thousand won in cash in an attempt to convince her to pair the two of you up. He did everything the movies showed him, placing the not very subtle wad of cash in his palm as he shook her hand while iterating how much he would appreciate it if he was partnered with you. He almost got suspended on the spot. Good thing he was top of his class in negotiations, otherwise the tabloids would have had a field day.

He sat next to you at every lecture, much to your annoyance. He bought you lunch everyday, ranging from pizza to sushi to even some homemade ramen that you were sure one of his home chefs had prepared. Much to your obstinate resolve, he was wearing you down. Day after day, you were growing increasingly endeared by how he would try to find a new way to convince you. Once he explained what he needed your help with, you were curious, not above admitting that brainstorming a new game with the future CEO of the world’s biggest gaming company sounded extremely fun.

Your resolve was finally broken when he took to social media, leaving comment after comment on your videos and photos. Usually you would never notice something like that, bombarded with thousands on the daily, but the man had the audacity to use his company account. Of course you would notice if Jaunty Games was suddenly commenting “Come on Tiger! Say yes!” on every video you had ever uploaded.

“Okay fine! I’ll do it, you absolute insane person!” you exclaimed when he once again started listing his pro-cons list before class.

“You will?” he asked, beaming widely, his nose scrunched, and you had to resist the urge to put on your sunglasses with how bright his smile was.

“On one condition,” you replied, just as the professor walked in and unceremoniously started the lecture, ignoring the way Jungkook silently clapped in glee. “You have to beat me in ChampCon.”

Jungkook’s face fell just in time for the smug smile to appear on yours.

----------

Walking into Jungkook’s apartment, you were taken aback by the almost humble abode. Of course, located in Hannam the Hill, you had expected it to be lavish, but other than the large size, the apartment was simple. Late afternoon light streamed in through the floor to ceiling windows that lined the west end of the apartment, bathing the living room in a glow that seemed to be absorbed by the all black furnishings.

It was an open concept, the narrow hallway from the front door leading into the living room that was flanked on one side by windows and the other by a kitchen island, and another hallway that you assumed led to the bedrooms. The walls were adorned by various grayscale photographs that you assumed were taken by some of the best in the world.

“So welcome,” he said enthusiastically, leading you to the plush leather couch in the centre of the room, his laptop already displaying the game, before heading to the kitchen and returning with a tray piled high with cookies and popcorn. “Are you ready for me to win?” he asked with a cocky smirk, even though he knew he stood absolutely no chance of winning.

“Why? Did you boot up some secret cheat codes?” you asked, taking your laptop out of your bag and setting it up on the mahogany coffee table, smirking at the way he scowled in response. It was almost adorable.

“I don’t need cheat codes to beat you.” He most definitely did, but Jungkook would never resort to cheap tricks to win. His pride would never let him.

“Sure, we’ll see about that,” you smirked, cracking your neck before starting a classic game, hiding the fact that you were already at the Master ranking.

Despite your earlier teasing, you found it surprising that Jungkook was actually terrible at ChampCon, often accidentally hitting his own team members and missing marks, in spite of having multiple expensive add-ons. How could someone whose father created the game be so utterly bad? It took barely fifteen minutes for the game to end, with Jungkook’s teammates spamming the chat with insults and him falling into the couch in defeat.

“Oh my god! How are you this bad?!” You laughed. You almost wished he had used some cheat code. It felt as if you were taking advantage of him.

“I don’t play, okay?” he huffed, looking away, and you had an urge to wrap him in your arms. That was new. Usually you just wanted to bully him more.

“Fine. I’ll help you with your project,” you said, not wanting to see him look so dejected any more. Your words worked wonders, though, because as soon as they left your mouth, Jungkook sat up in shock, doe-like eyes wide in surprise.

“You will?”

“Honestly, you’re so bad at this game, you need all the help you can get,” you joked, expecting him to throw an insult back at you, but all he did was smile softly, a little ‘thank you’ leaving his lips and making your heart oddly skip a beat.

Time passed by quickly after, the two of you spending a few hours talking about what he thought was wrong with his games and figuring out what the competition was doing better. Jungkook had already done a little too much research on the topic over the weeks he’d spent trying to convince you, but he pretended not to know much, opting to hear your explanations instead. He enjoyed the way you would go off on tangents about societal values and norms that influenced the market. It was interesting hearing about video games not just from their mechanics but from a more sociological view, interspersed by philosophical insights as you quoted Bauman and Malinowski with ease. He wondered why he had written you off based on an inebriated overheard conversation.

-------

Jungkook was nervous. What started as a way to finally get over Candy had manifested into a full blown crush. A crush that seemed to be requited? The moment you had run him over, he’d been intrigued. The confident, indifferent attitude you possessed had him hooked, and it only escalated when he discovered that you were in every single one of his classes.

He didn’t even want to come to this party - only deciding to leave his apartment after Seokjin had jokingly said he was too scared to go, and Jungkook wanted to prove him wrong. Donning his leather jacket and usually black jeans and shirt, he entered the overflowing house that stood a little ways from the university, a six pack in hand and nerves high. Although Jungkook’s training had made him exceptional at interpersonal relationships, he still found socializing daunting, especially without the comfort of his usual crew.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he sipped his beer, hoping someone would start a conversation so he could feel less awkward. Perhaps someone would ask him to share one of the beers he had brought. Perhaps someone from class would be there. Perhaps you would come up to him.

“Hi, you’re Jungkook right?” A sugary voice broke him out of his thoughts as he looked at the woman in front of him. Dressed in a lace bodysuit that emphasized her curves and jeans that made Jungkook gulp, the stranger gave him a wide smile, her teeth blinding.

Jungkook hummed in response, finding it hard to speak, feeling so out of his element that his grasp on his native language disappeared. She didn’t seem too put off by his sudden muteness, instead closing the gap between them, her finger slowly trailing from his collar to his torso.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, okay?” she whispered leaning into him, her breath ghosting his ear and making his skin erupt in goosebumps. “I want you to take me upstairs and fuck my brains out.”

He couldn’t help but recoil in response. Ever since Jimin had started the rumour that he was some deity in bed in undergrad, Jungkook was used to offers like this, but usually they weren’t so… forward. He wasn’t a complete prude, of course, but the thought of having sex with a stranger whose name he didn’t even know made him extremely uncomfortable, and the way she was touching him suddenly made his skin crawl.

“No, thanks,” he said, stepping away from her, feeling a little guilty as her confidence crumbled in front of him. “I’m sorry, I just don’t do that,” he clarified, only for her to snort, rolling her eyes.

��You don’t have to lie, you can just say you don’t want to,” she sneered before walking away, leaving Jungkook confused, trying to figure out how to explain that he didn’t mean to be condescending. Before he could decide whether going after her was a good idea, your voice interrupted his inner monologue.

“Wow, already breaking hearts. It’s barely midnight,” you quipped, sipping on something out of a disposable cup, and all of Jungkook’s worries disappeared, his heart skipping a beat. Before he could defend himself, you started giggling at what he assumed was his shell shocked expression. “Oh, is that Lowenbrau?” you asked, picking a bottle from next to him and examining the label.

“Yeah… you want some?” Jungkook asked and was greeted by a grin from you as you helped yourself to a bottle, uncapping it by hooking the cap on the counter and hitting the top in a way that was far too attractive for Jungkook to fathom.

The conversation after that flowed seamlessly, the two of you enjoying beers and then some tequila that was left abandoned by someone. You talked about your classes, making fun of your Ethics professor who suspiciously enough defended dictators a little too much. It had at least been an hour and Jungkook was ecstatic he had been goaded into attending this party. He enjoyed the way your eyes sparkled with mirth when you leaned in and mimicked the fighting couple at the door, making fake dialogue to make him laugh. He liked that you seemed so at ease; it made him comfortable, his usual tongue-tied self around you disappearing in the alcohol bubbling in his veins. That is until, after a joke, you leaned into him giggling, your hand covering your mouth and he was mesmerized by the little laugh.

You paused then, your eyes looking into his, and his heart stopped. This was the moment. The moment where he should lean over and kiss you, but he had never felt more scared, his hand in a fist as he tried to control the way it was trembling. He felt so out of his depth, like a scared little kid. He had kissed others before, but he knew what was expected. He was expected to sweep you off your feet, kiss you and then ravish you - and suddenly he felt like he was going to throw up. He was still in love with Candy, he realized, ignoring the way his heart sank at the thought, despite it sprinting in his chest.

“Sorry. I don’t want this,” he said abruptly, pushing you away, not missing the way you scowled at him, obviously offended. He moved quickly, making his way to the thankfully unoccupied bathroom and emptying his stomach’s contents in the toilet. After a few long minutes of catching his breath, and using the mouthwash he found under the sink to rinse his mouth, Jungkook looked at himself in the mirror. He needed to get over Candy. Candy was not his soulmate, he reminded himself. His soulmate would only look at him, not be drowning in men in a foreign country trying to distract herself from the fact that she was still in love with his hyung years after he left her. With his rationality returning, he remembered the way you made him feel - safe, even when you made his heart flutter, and it made his decision for him. He was going to apologize to you, and he was going to stop comparing every single woman he met to his childhood crush.

With determined steps he walked back into the party, his eyes scanning the room for you, and his face lighting up when he finally saw you talking to a group of your friends, laughing and drunkenly gesturing with your hands. He smiled softly, making his way towards you, hoping you would give him another chance. However, as soon as he heard what you were laughing about, his face fell, his chest heaving in a way that felt like he had just been stabbed.

“Jungkook? Fuck that entitled himbo. I could never like him,” you giggled in that pretty way that always had Jungkook weak, except this time it made venom rise within him. “You think I’m gonna fall in love with a chaebol? All those guys are spoiled fuckboys. No, thank you!”

----------

It was almost midnight by the time the two of you decided to break for dinner with a game of Mario Kart. You screamed joyously as your Princess Peach overtook Jungkook’s Bowser once again, feeling extra evil and deciding to leave a banana peel in your wake that he once again missed dodging. You were laughing, and couldn’t remember the last time you’d had this much fun. You hadn’t spent time with him since the party that soured your interactions two years ago and you regretted writing him off.

“Another?” he asked gleefully as the screen showed him in third and you at first, wanting to beat you at least once. With years spent studying games, he had almost forgotten how fun it could be to actually play them with someone. Sure, he occasionally convinced Seokjin and Taehyung to play with him but they never wanted to play something other than ChampCon and that had dampened his enthusiasm.

“You’re on,” you replied with a grin, forgetting about times when just his presence had made you annoyed. However, before the two of you could have another race on rainbow road, his phone rang. He apologized as he picked it up.

“Hello?” Jungkook answered cheerfully, only for his smile to fall as the person on the line continued. You couldn’t help but mirror his frown as he ran his hand through his hair, his lips pressed together. “Are you sure?” he asked before getting on his feet, looking around the room, the phone still glued to his ear, listening intently as he bit his lip.

When he hung up, he started running around his apartment, ignoring the way you called out his name. Jungkook’s heart felt like it was in his stomach as a sweat started appearing on his hairline, his breaths getting shallower. He couldn’t find his car keys. Where the fuck were his car keys?

He was panicking, he knew it was obvious, and he startled when he felt your fingers around his bicep. “Jungkook, what’s wrong?” you asked carefully, your face screwed in concern. It took him a minute to calm down, to force his breath to return to normal. He should stop looking for his keys and call a cab. He was being a bad host, he should probably tell you why he had to leave but his throat felt like it was closing up, and it was taking all his brain power to not break down in front of you.

“Where do you need to go?” you asked, apparently much more astute than he ever gave you credit for. You grabbed both his shoulders to make him look at you, and he felt a little calmer with your touch, finally speaking one word.

“Hospital,” he said hoarsely and that’s all it took for you to grab your purse from the coffee table and his hand, moving the two of you outside his apartment, leaving behind all your other stuff in a rush to help Jungkook reach his destination.

----------

“Where is she?” Jungkook yelled, his voice echoing around the quiet lobby as he ran towards Jimin, his friend looking stoned faced. His breathing had calmed down, but he was still worried. He had spent the entire car ride biting the inside of his cheek, trying to keep a cool facade in front of you, but he just needed to see her to make everything better. As soon as he could see her, he’d be okay.

Jimin led the two of you to the private wing of the hospital, the elevator ride a little too long for Jungkook’s liking. As soon as he arrived at the door, he pulled it open, ignoring Seokjin and Seungwon who sat on the couch, his eyes lasering in on the body lying in bed. Her eyes were shut, her head heavily bandaged with a tube attached to her nose to support her breathing. He could hear the heartbeat from the monitor as it rang eerily through the room.

You felt out of place, watching Jungkook standing motionlessly next to the woman attached to wires. You wanted to reach out to him, an urge to comfort him running through you. You had barely taken half a step in his direction, when a tall, wide shouldered man stopped you.

“Thank you for bringing him here,” he said politely, his hand raised in front of him. “But I think it’s best if you leave.” Although his tone was not cold, you felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on you. Of course you should leave. You and Jungkook were barely amicable, it seemed awfully presumptuous to think that he would need you to comfort him when he had his friends around him.

“Mom?” Jungkook spoke for the first time, his voice broken, and with a heavy heart you left, not wanting to see him so vulnerable without his explicit consent.

Jungkook could feel his eyes prickling as he held his mother’s hand. She seemed so fragile, her face bruised from the accident. Jimin had informed him that she had been in a car crash over the phone, but he had hoped that she was okay — that she got a few scratches — but the way her skin paled under the fluorescent lights and her shallow breaths puffed through, she looked on the edge of life.

When Seokjin put his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder he couldn’t help himself, turning around to embrace his friend, uncaring how his tears stained his shirt as he sobbed into his shoulder. He felt scared, guilty that the last time he met his mother he had left without saying goodbye.

“Hyung, what if… she dies?” Jungkook spoke his fears out loud, his voice muffled as Seokjin shushed him, hugging him tight. Seokjin was always the person Jungkook pestered, often annoying him and stealing free meals from him, but he was also his closest friend, one that he could always rely on.

“Jungkook, she’s going to be okay. Jimin has his best doctors on it, don’t you, Jimin?” Seokjin said gently, looking over to the blonde in the corner who seemed to be deep in thought. Jimin looked up at the call of his name, making his way over, patting Jungkook’s shoulder softly.

“She’s going to be okay. They put her in an induced coma, she’s just sleeping. She hit her head, but she’s okay,” Jimin reassured, and Jungkook heaved in relief. His mother was ill, but she was going to be okay. He repeated the phrase in his head as Seokjin guided him to the couch, his arms still around him as Jungkook gathered his thoughts, silently crying with his head on the elder’s chest.

He was sipping the water Seungwon got him as his father arrived, his state similar to Jungkook’s ten minutes ago. However, unlike Jungkook, his father didn’t go straight to his wife, making his way to Seungwon who sat next to Jungkook.

“You son of a bitch!” he yelled, grabbing the taller man from his collar and forcing him to his feet. “How fucking dare you?”

Jungkook had never seen his father so uncomposed and as he saw him lift a fist into the air to take an aim at his employee, he sprung into action, holding him back with Seokjin’s help. He knew Seungwon had been driving before the accident, but he didn’t understand why his father was so angry at him just doing his job. It’s not like Seungwon could foresee a drunk driver losing control of their car. However, his father’s next words made everything crystal clear.

“Just because I let you date her doesn’t mean you can kill her, you fucking scum!” he seethed, and Jungkook had never heard such malice before, his eyes widening in shock as he looked at Seungwon, who seemed to take the insults in stride, his face neutral.

“Jaehwa, please calm down,” he pleaded to his friend.

“Calm down? Fuck you,” Jaehwa responded, despite his breathing now significantly more relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” Seungwon responded, his face finally cracking as tears manifested in his eyes. Before Jungkook could realize what was happening, his father wiggled out of his grip and hugged his friend. Seokjin looked at Jungkook confused, but he was equally perplexed at the sudden turn of events.

----------

Seokjin had driven Jungkook home that night, but he couldn’t fall asleep, opting to sit in his kitchen with a drink, staring at the wall, trying to make sense of his parent’s relationship. He knew it wasn’t the best. He had been witness to countless fights over the years, but he was convinced that they were in love. He couldn’t wrap his around the fact his mother was cheating on his father, and that he knew.

He was startled to hear a knock at the door.

“Jungkook, can I come in?” his father asked, as soon as he opened the door. Grabbing another scotch for him, Jungkook made his way to the living room where Jaehwa sat. The two drank in silence for a while, till one glass turned into two which turned into the bottle being brought to the table. His father was the first one to speak.

“I’m sorry you had to find out about it this way,” he said, his voice a little hoarse from not being used in a while. Finally, Jungkook turned his head towards him and noticed the frown on his face, an older rendition of the one on his own face, and though usually he would feel empathetic, pity for the man who raised him, but the defeated expression only made a rage boil inside him. How could he let that happen to him? Let her get away with this? Hug the man who stole her?

“Why are you still with her? She cheated on you, dad!” he exclaimed, not having the foresight to control his volume as Jaehwa winced.

“We separated a long time ago, son,” he admitted quietly, and Jungkook felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He should’ve noticed if his parents were separated, right? Perhaps he was a bad son for never noticing, and the thought made his anger shift from his father towards himself.

“When?”

“As soon as you moved out…”

“Six years ago?” he questioned in disbelief, his mouth hanging open as he stood up, not knowing how to expend the sudden rush of energy in his body other than to start pacing.

“We didn’t want to burden you with it until we had to,” Jaehwa said, a hand reaching out towards his son, but Jungkook just glared in return, not stopping his movements as he strode up and down the room.

“How could you not tell me?” he yelled, “All this time? And she’s with uncle Seungwon?” He was irritated. It felt as if he had walked into some twisted television drama made as fodder for lonely housewives. How could a secret this big be hidden for this long?

“Jungkook… son… she’s happy,” Jaehwa answered with a sad smile, his eyes on how his fingers touched the rim of his glass, swirling a drop of whiskey that stuck to it. He had never seen his father like this: he looked sad, defeated, resigned.

“What happened?” Jungkook asked, the fight in his system giving way to a mourning for the only long term relationship he had known in his life. He sat next to his father, staring intently as he nodded, his lips in a thin line.

“We still love each other, but somewhere along the way, we just couldn’t be together.”

“That doesn’t make sense. If you love someone you fight for them! You don’t give up, dad.” Jungkook was getting frustrated now, his emotions a flurry as he tried to make sense of the bombshell his father had just dropped on him.

“You’re still young, son,” his father chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. “Sometimes love’s not enough.”

“That’s not true. You both gave up,” Jungkook retorted stubbornly as his father smiled at his naivety.

“And sometimes that’s for the best,” Jaehwa responded, patting his son on his thigh.

The two talked for an hour after, his father explaining that to him, love meant letting each other be happy, even if it means it’s with someone else. Jungkook accepted the end of his parents’ marriage but even after his father tried to explain his view on love, he could not understand him. Love was for forever. It wasn’t a burning of emotions, he knew that. That was lust. Love was a choice. To Jungkook, love was choosing the person you loved every time, even when it was hard. If someone didn’t love you a hundred percent, then they didn’t love you.

He was hurt, confused, and frustrated at the choices his parents made — choices that he was convinced were wrong. But most of all he was angry. Angry at his parents and furious at Cha Seungwon who paraded around him as a second father, giving him advice and listening to his problems for years while conspiring to ruin his parents’ relationship.

----------

Jungkook: Thank you for driving me yesterday. I appreciate it. I have packed up your stuff. I can drop it off if you’d like. Y/N: Don’t worry about it. I can pick it up. Y/N: I know it’s not my place, but is your mom feeling better? Jungkook: She’s doing well. Thank you. Y/N: I’m glad. What time do you want me to come by? Jungkook: 10pm. I’m sorry if that’s too late. I can drop it off. Y/N: It’s fine. I’ll see you at 10. Jungkook: Thank you.

----------

You stood outside Jungkook’s door, feeling extremely awkward. You knew you had no reason to feel that way, but you wanted to comfort him for some reason. You felt a pull towards him, a need to make him smile. That was probably the reason why you decided to spend three hours today trying to bake him cookies. Your mom always baked you cookies whenever you were upset, and so you decided to do the same for Jungkook. You didn’t even know if he ate gluten, or sugar for that matter, but here you were, standing in front of his door with a plastic container almost overflowing with chocolate chip cookies.

You knew he would be wondering why it was taking you so long to come up despite having been let in by the concierge, so you shook your head to dismiss the weirdness of you trying to start some sort of friendship, and knocked.

Jungkook greeted you with a stoic expression, and you didn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes. It had been two days since you’d rushed him to the hospital. Sure, living without your laptop for that long was a nightmare, but you were too busy worrying about this stranger. He had told you his mother was doing well, but you still feared he had lied. Looking at him now, you were starting to be convinced you were correct.

Dressed in baggy sweat pants and an equally baggy black t-shirt, his hair was dishevelled as he invited you in. The living room itself was a stark opposite of what it had been a few days ago. There were half-eaten take-out containers on the table, empty bottles of beer surrounding the couch, which held a blanket and a pillow as if he had been sleeping on it. However, what really caught your eye was the large whiteboard in the middle of the room, decorated in printouts of various games and barely legible notes on said games.

“Jeon, you okay?” you asked apprehensively as Jungkook moved a giant binder that was placed above your backpack. Before he reached for your bag, he snapped his fingers, walking over to the board and scribbling another note on it. You repeated your question and he looked up at you, as if just registering that you were here.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” he said cordially, and you felt cold. The two of you had never been friends, but you had never been polite either. You had only two moods: passive aggressively egging each other on, or enjoying conversations about games. Sure the latter that had happened only once, but was it weird if you missed that?

this?

You bit your lip, wondering if you should push further, worried about his well being.You ultimately decided against it, opting to join him at the board instead. “You worked on it without me?” you asked.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t think you’d want to do it anymore,” he answered, clearly taken aback by your inquiry.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“My hours are crazy right now, so I just assumed.” He trailed off, but he couldn’t help the relief he felt at you wanting to help. He had spent yesterday and today staying with his mother for as long as the hospital allowed, working on his assignments and then spending the whole night working on coming up with a new game.

“Hey, if I get to beat your ass in Mario Kart everyday, I’m completely happy with working at odd hours,” you joked, nudging him, your heart warming at his first uninhibited smile of the night. Taking that as your cue, you settled on the couch, looking over the binder, your eyes widening at the exhaustive research he had done.

He answered your questions and explained as the two of you dove in to discuss the gaming industry as a whole, absorbed in the certain uptick of mobile gamers that seemed to be a lucrative market to catch. It was in the middle of one of his rants on how people never appreciated the work that went into the viral games, that you remembered the cookies you had been fretting over not even fifteen minutes ago.

Reaching over, you picked the container from where you had previously abandoned it, opening the lid to present a cookie to Jungkook, who in turn simply seemed confused.

“Where did you get those?” he questioned, grabbing a cookie and sniffing it as you rolled your eyes.

“I made them. My mom used to bake cookies to cheer me up and so...” you shrugged in explanation. You weren’t sure why you even told him that. Perhaps you didn’t want him to think that you randomly made cookies and carried them everywhere. You watched in anticipation as he lifted it to his mouth, taking a massive bite before his face screwed up in disgust.

“Ew. Did you want to cheer me up or poison me?” he asked, rubbing his tongue on the back of his hand to get rid of the taste.

“What do you mean? These cookies are delicious!” you argued, only just remembering the little detail of never having tasted them in your rush to make them. Taking a cookie you tasted, only to realize that they were salty. Did you mention this was your first time baking? You probably should’ve bought them instead.

Looking at your expression, Jungkook broke out into a laugh, his cackles filling the room and making you pout at him. You truly wanted to do something nice for him, and although your plan had failed, your intention had succeeded as he looked genuinely amused.

In his laughter, Jungkook forgot that the cookie was horrendous, subconsciously taking another bite, before spitting it out. The atmosphere after was light, and by the time you left, Jungkook felt lighter, his mind a little clearer. For the first time in weeks, his to-do list was empty as he fell asleep at a semi decent hour.

The next day, you decided to meet Jungkook at the hospital, taking flowers for his mother, and store-bought cookies for Jungkook. The two of you worked quietly with occasional whispered arguments over what made a game good. It felt natural to be working with him closely, his mind surprising you on more than one occasion. Previously you had assumed that Jungkook wasn’t very smart. Sure, he achieved great grades, but you had assumed it was mostly a result of memorization rather than actual understanding of the material. However, Jungkook was extremely sharp, spouting trends and the psychology of getting someone into a habit of gaming, as if it was general knowledge.

That did not mean he was great all around though.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong,” he said, frowning at the vending machine as he swiped his card once again, only to get rejected once more. “How are you rejecting this, you stupid machine? I’m sure I have money on this,” he whined, kicking the machine.

You tried not to laugh at his antics, knowing full well that a hospital was not going to accept a black card. Did he really think that a lowly machine ever got someone of his caliber using their no-limit, 100 million won minimum monthly spendings card? You let him try a few more times before pulling out your own Visa card and swiping it, the iced coffee tumbling through the machine easily.

“Wait, why did yours work?” he asked, brows furrowed as he stared at the drink in disbelief.

“Jeon, how rich are you?” you asked bemused, enjoying the flush that creeped up his ears at your question.

“I’m not that rich. I mean I’m sure this card should’ve worked.”

“Your card’s too rare for this machine,” you explained, shaking your head in mirth as you paid for your own coffee.

“Oh,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Okay, let me pay you back. Dinner?”

It became routine after that for you to meet him at the hospital to get some work done before grabbing dinner and going back to his place to work some more. In just a week the two of you had planned a whole mobile game, a toned down version of ChampCon, that would have shorter games for beginners and better graphics. Jungkook wanted to make ChampCon more accessible and a mobile version seemed to make a lot of sense.

Along with coming up with what the two of you thought was a brilliant idea, you’d also found an odd comfort with each other in a very short time. Spending every day with each other, you started noticing little habits about Jungkook: the way he would scrunch his nose when he was excited, or poke his tongue inside his cheek when bored or concentrating, or how he had three laughs, a fake one that used whenever you annoyed him but he was too polite to call you out on it, a joyous cackle whenever he figured out a problem after a long time, and a slimy snicker whenever he was trying to get on your nerves.

Jungkook had forgotten completely about writing you off. Whenever you walked into the room, he felt his heart warm. The past week had been one of the toughest of his life. The constant stress of his final few months of school paired with the pressure of the company and his mother still lying unconscious in the hospital bed, it felt as if he was constantly on an adrenaline high. He couldn’t sleep, he barely ate, but with you around for a few hours he was able to block that out. He was unsure why he felt that way, but being in your presence somehow made him able to concentrate on the task at hand.

Most days.

Today, sitting next to you on his couch, he was distracted. Perhaps it was creepy of him to remember the exact outfit you wore when you divulged to your friends you would never date him, but seeing you in that white silk camisole set him back into that moment. Usually the memory would make him angry, but this time it made him melancholic, like colours had dulled, awashed in sepia.

“You okay, Jeon?” Your voice brought him back to the present, and he hummed distractedly.

“Hmm? Yes. Sorry.”

“Come on. What’s on your mind?” you asked, moving from where you were on the floor to the couch next to him, patting his knee. “I’m a good listener,” you chimed.

Jungkook was quiet for a little while, wondering if he should be honest. Looking at your earnest smile made his mind up for him. “Just thinking about that party where we first talked.”

“You mean the one where you rejected me like I was stinky tofu?” You snorted, despite the way the memory made you cringe.

“S-stinky tofu?” Jungkook cackled, his hair falling into his eyes as he sputtered. “I didn’t reject you! You said I was an ‘entitled himbo’ and that you would never date me!” he retorted.

“Well that’s because I wanted to kiss you and you literally ran away,” you said, feeling a little guilty. You pouted, heat rising up your cheeks in embarrassment as you looked away. You hadn't thought Jungkook had heard your drunken little rant, but were you really meant to admit to your new friends that the guy you had a crush on since the first time you saw him in your Contracts class recoiled in disgust at the prospect of kissing you?

Jungkook expected you to come up with an excuse for your mean comments; he wanted to confront you, but he softened as soon as he heard your words, his heart dancing in his chest. He knew you wanted to kiss him, but hearing you admit it made him a little brave. Turning towards you, he brought a hand to your knee, gently calling your name.

When you turned towards him, eyes looking into his, he took a deep breath. Leaning in slowly, he brought his lips to yours, and immediately felt as if he was floating. Your lips were plush, the softest he had ever felt, and it made his cheeks burn. He moved away soon after not deepening the kiss, wanting to treasure the little moment, but you were addicted.

Jungkook had barely moved an inch away when your hand reached his neck, pulling him back in. His eyes widened in shock, but he soon lost himself in you, hands cupping your face as you leaned slightly to the side, your tongue too eager to meet his as he opened his lips. He tasted like the peach jellies the two of you had been sharing earlier, a saccharine warmth that had you running your hands through his hair and bringing your leg over his lap to straddle him.

He pulled you closer, a hand travelling to your lower back and the other resting against your neck where he could feel how your pulse mimicked his. He felt as if he was in a trance, all thoughts tumbling out of his brain to the rhythm of your lips. He whimpered when you pulled his hair, and usually he would overthink it until it became an insecurity but all he could think about was your taste, the sweet cherry of your lip tint searing itself in his mind.

However, when you moved your hips he realized how turned on he was, a garbled moan escaping his lips into your mouth as he broke out from under your spell, his brain overloading with his usual self-conscious diatribe. Panting under you as you suckled on the skin of his neck in a way that made him whine, his mind played every way you would reject him when he told you the truth. He wasn’t embarrassed about it, but he knew how people worked. You expected the Jungkook that people knew, a heartbreaker, a sex god. How could he expect for you to stay for the bumbling virgin?

He felt his confidence plummet. According to his friends, porn, and every song and rom com ever he was supposed to take charge. Fuck you in a way that would blow your mind. He was the man, it was his job. He was meant to throw you down to the couch and make you cum, but the closest he had ever gotten to a woman was feeling some tits in second year of undergrad on a dare.

Suddenly Jungkook felt small, and you noticed the way he tensed under you. Lifting your face from his neck, you tried to catch your breath as you asked him, “What’s wrong?”

“I h-h-have to t-tell you s-s-something,” he whispered, his skin feeling as if it wanted to flee his body. He couldn’t believe his eighth grade stutter was back. He felt anxious, his heart pounded but when you looked at him in concern, your thumbs slowly tracing his cheekbones as you cupped his face, he felt safe. His mind was at odds. At one hand, he trusted you and felt comfortable around you, but on the other, he didn’t know if he could handle getting rejected while you sat on his extremely hard dick. It also didn’t help that his crush from 2 years ago had resurfaced in full force, playing a montage of every moment he had laid his eyes on you in supercut.

“Virgin,” he blurted, the chorus in his head spilling onto his tongue, his tone making the word sound more like a question than a statement. As soon as he said it, his face turned bright red. He was sure it could be seen from space the way it was glowing. He expected you to recoil in disgust or even pity him, but instead you giggled, one of your hands moving away from his face to cover yours.

He didn’t think about you laughing at him, but it definitely hurt more than the scenarios he had made up. He wanted to push you away, stand up and lock himself in his bedroom till you found enough sense to leave his apartment, but he was frozen.

When you composed yourself, you kissed his cheek, smiling at how warm it was under your lips. You couldn’t believe how ridiculous it was that Seoul’s reputed casanova was a virgin. If someone told you Jungkook was a virgin, you would have never believed them, but looking at the stuttering, flustered man below you, it endeared you. It made you want to protect him.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, hugging him reassuringly, and Jungkook felt like he was going to cry. He was sure it was because of lack of sleep and in no way because of how warm he felt at your words, the hurt quickly melting away. Quietly, he hugged you back, holding you tightly and nuzzling into you, as if on instinct. You let him, slowly stroking his hair, combing the soft strands as you felt your blood fizzing. You kissed him gently on the cheek again, melting at the way he scrunched his nose at that.

Jungkook felt fuzzy under your affections, opening up to you about wanting to save himself for true love, someone who he was fated to be with. Your cynical mind wouldn’t let you believe the same, but his sincerity made you optimistic. When he told you that maybe he was stupid for waiting, you squeezed his hand in yours, moving to sit next to him. You curled your arms around him, resting your head on his chest, feeling oddly calm despite your heated makeout session earlier.

He hugged you back, feeling the sugar high. He had barely gotten used to your arms around him when you were pulling away, but before he could mourn the loss of your warmth, you were smiling at him, your words making him grin coyly.

“Wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

----------

Y/N: I cannot believe you’re a belieber!! Jungkook: his songs are romantic! Y/N: I’m really reconsidering going on a second date with you Jungkook: come on! give him a chance!!! Jungkook sent a video Y/N: You sing??? Jungkook: i know i’m perfect don’t fall in love 😏 Y/N: Too late. Jungkook: you kiss a girl two times and she gets clingy istg Y/N: I wasn’t the one whimpering when we kissed Jungkook: yes you were Y/N: Sure 🙄 Jungkook: we’ll see in two hours tiger 😴

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Y/N: What did you get for 28? Jungkook: c Y/N: I’m pretty sure that’s wrong Jungkook: come over and show me what’s right Y/N: That’s the worst pick up line you’ve used yet Jungkook: and you’re still coming over Y/N: Don’t test me Jeon Jungkook: please 🥺 Y/N: Fuck you Jungkook: all in due time, beautiful 😏 Y/N: OMG. I’m coming over only to beat your ass Jungkook: worth it 😍

----------

Jungkook: thanks for helping me out again Y/N: Stop thanking me Jungkook: just feel like im taking up all your free time and im sorry if you feel pressured to help me Y/N: Jungkook I want to help you. I’m having fun! Jungkook: just thank you Y/N: STOP 😭 Jungkook: ok sorry sorry Y/N: And stop apologizing too Jungkook: im happy we met Y/N: me too

----------

It took a week and a half for the doctors to wake Jungkook’s mother back up, her traumatic brain injury taking longer than usual to heal. The doctors all told him and his father that she may not remember certain events, and might even have some mental delays. The night before she woke up, you visited Jungkook as usual and kissed him to distract him.

When he fell asleep mid rant about how excited he was to beat Saga Games with your new project, you chuckled. Worried for his back, you woke him to move him to his bed, where he held your hand and asked you to stay. Although you were usually guarded, not wanting to get involved with someone too quickly, you were climbing in next to him in a heartbeat, relishing the way his arms wrapped around you as he buried his face in your neck, dozing off quickly.

Jungkook’s mother didn't wake up when the doctors said she would, so he waited with his father and Seungwon in the room, while you held his hand. It helped calm Jungkook down every time he wanted to lash out at Seungwon for holding his mother’s hand, crocodile tears in his eyes.

The four of you stayed in the room, Seungwon on a chair next to Kyungsoo, while Jaehwa worked on his laptop on the couch, next to Jungkook and you, the former staring into space blankly, while occasionally squeezing your hand that was sweating in his. He watched the window, counting the leaves on the tree branch that blocked the view of the parking lot, forcing his mind to stop racing with worst case scenarios. By the time the sky faded from blue to pink to an inky black, he knew there were one hundred and twenty seven little leaves, because he had counted them at least eight times.

“Dear?” his mother croaked, her hand squeezing Seungwon’s and it was like the quiet of the room had suddenly exploded, the men rushing to check on the patient. Before Jungkook or his father could reach Kyungsoo, she was pulling Seungwon to her, kissing him gently as he sobbed.

Jungkook’s steps faltered at the display, and he felt an odd jealousy that the first person she saw was his secretary. He knew he was her boyfriend but the bitterness was hard to swallow. He called out to her gently, her eyes landing on him, and Jungkook couldn’t control tearing up at how fragile his mother looked.

He hesitated a little when she opened her arms for a hug, afraid that he would crush her, but the moment he was in her embrace he couldn’t help holding onto her tightly, relief flooding through his body. He held on till Kyungsoo chuckled, patting her son on the head affectionately.

You felt odd being in the middle of the family affair, his father soon joining the embrace. You wanted to leave, feeling out of place, but when Jungkook sat by his mother’s side, he brought a chair next to him for you, holding your hand as he talked to her. Your heart warmed whenever he squeezed your hand, reminding you that he wanted you there. Was this too fast for the three official dates you had gone on? Probably, but it felt right.

Despite your mind reminding you that you were imposing on a private matter, your heart won. Over the past few weeks, your crush on Jungkook had not only reignited, but the embers had turned into a forest fire. It felt strange not seeing him everyday, your text threads never ending. Although the two of you still bickered, it was now laced with an underlying tension, that most time resulted in you shutting each other up with kisses.

Kissing Jungkook felt natural. What started as a heated makeout had turned into celebratory kisses after solving a problem you were stuck on, turned into pecks when saying hello, and yearnful groping when saying goodbye. It had barely been a fortnight, yet you felt as if you could kiss him forever.

With his mind sated about his mother’s wellbeing, Jungkook felt a little more himself, less tumultuous, which gave him plenty of time to overthink about the fact that he had barely been dating you for two weeks and he had somehow dragged you to something much more daunting than meeting the parents. When the realization hit, all Jungkook could do was subtly escape, taking you with him to the hallway, his heart on his sleeve.

“I’m so sorry,” he rushed out as soon as the door was closed, his eyes panicked as they looked at your alarmed face. “I’m sorry I dragged you here. It was so stupid, you must think i’m so clingy and weird and — oh my god, I’m such a loser!”

“Jungkook, hey. Don’t be sorry,” you said, grabbing his wrist to pull it away from where he kept running it through his hair. His shoulders sagged at your words as he let out a breath he seemed to be holding. Moving closer, you wrapped your arms around him, and he immediately returned your embrace. “I’m glad you trust me enough to bring me here,” you whispered, his grip tightening around you in response.

“Thank you,” he replied, inhaling your scent, and feeling at ease. It felt as if everything in his life was falling in place, that for the first time in his existence he could rest. He didn’t feel anxious about taking over the company, he didn’t feel insecure about being written off, he just felt at peace. Could he really live in the moment now? Was that something he could give himself now?

“Hey kid, you’re gonna stand here or gonna tell your mom her favourite son is here?” Yoongi grumbled playfully, and when Jungkook looked up he saw his friends there, holding flowers, candy, and fruit. He was surprised the hospital had let them through. But then again, heading the group was Jimin, arms full of a teddy bear that was probably as tall as him. Even Namjoon had showed up, looking a little worse for wear, dark circles under his hollow eyes, but smiling nevertheless.

Jungkook’s mom beamed when the group of ten entered in a flurry of celebration. Jimin, being the loudest as usual, ran up to her screaming “Eomma!”, followed by Taehyung, both of them hugging her. The older ones, Yoongi and his wife, and Seokjin were more composed, handing her the flowers, Seokjin making the cheesy joke about her being Jungkook’s sister - a joke he’d made since the day he first met her. Candy immediately scoffed at them, moving the flowers away to hug her tight, having seen her the first time since her time abroad. Namjoon was more reserved but his well wishes still touched her heart.

It felt like a reunion of sorts, and despite Hoseok still being in the States, Seokjin had him on Facetime, in all his sleepy glory. Their group hadn’t all been together for so long, that Jungkook felt a little misty eyed. Despite everyone being in such different places in their lives, and despite the circumstances, it felt right that everyone was here at this moment. He reached for your hand, squeezing your fingers when he introduced you to his childhood friends, not missing the way Candy finally broke out of the stupor she had been in since Hoseok’s call, and raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Jungkook was finally at ease.

----------

The door bell was loud and obnoxious, startling Jungkook awake. He groaned, rolling out of bed at the insistent noise, eyes barely opened and padded towards the front door. All sleep disappeared when he saw you standing in the hallway, a colourful paper hat on your head, and a coffee and cupcake in your hands, a sparkler glittering on the tiny cake.

“Happy birthday, Jeon,” you smiled at him, a brilliant grin that always made his heart skip. His nose scrunched in response as he returned your smile, grabbing the coffee and replacing it with his hand. He dragged you to the kitchen, impatiently excited, giggling like a kid, and you couldn’t help but coo at his actions as he quickly took the cupcake from you, placing it on the counter.

Before you could say anything, he was kissing you, hands cupping your face gently as he continuously pecked your lips. If someone had told him last year that on his next birthday he would be kissing the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, he would’ve laughed in their faces, but with your lips on his, he couldn’t think of anything that seemed more fated.

His hands travelled down your sides, and when they reached your butt, he picked you up, placing you on the counter gently before looping his arms around your waist and pulling you to his chest. His eyes were shining when you separated, a toothy grin on his face that made him oddly look like a little rabbit. Grabbing the cupcake, you brought it between the two of you, picking out the now dead sparkler and replacing it with a candle from your hoodie pocket, lighting it quickly.

“Make a wish,” you said, expecting Jungkook to close his eyes and do so. Instead he looked straight at you, blowing out the candle before plucking it out, messily taking a big bite of the chocolate cupcake with frosting adorning his lips.

“I already got my wish,” he said, kissing you once again, tasting of chocolate and adoration.

----------

It seemed surreal, walking from the car to the docks, where a small boat awaited to take you to the extravagant yacht. When you asked Jungkook out for a date, a month and half ago, you wouldn’t have imagined that you would be going to a party where actual paparazzi roamed at the entrance.

For being one of the richest men in Korea, Jungkook never acted that way. Sure, he may live in a wildly secure gated community with actual celebrities as neighbours, and his watch probably cost more than your car, but Jungkook never flaunted his wealth, and so you often forgot. Playing video games over a bowl of 300 won ramen and arguing over who won only to devolve into tickles and kisses were how you knew Jungkook, not the man photographed by the media in tailored Armani suits and sports cars. It was a bit jarring seeing the extent of his wealth, especially when you finally climbed aboard the yacht.

The boat was akin to a hotel on sea, the deck lit up brilliantly with chandeliers that seemed to float as a live jazz band performed on stage. Servers walked around guests dressed in the latest runway fashion, an eclectic mix of people from vastly different age groups but exceedingly similar income brackets. You felt out of place, dressed in a little black dress from Zara, akin to a coal dropped among diamonds.

You grabbed a flute of champagne, scanning the floor for the birthday boy, and unsurprisingly finding him surrounded by his friends. You had seen him only a few hours before, but you felt butterflies return as soon as your eyes met his. Jungkook was the first man you had ever felt that way with, like he was a childhood fantasy personified, making your palms sweat and your heart somersault. You weren’t someone who fell for people quickly, but it seemed as if two years of pining had snowballed into a yearning that never seemed to be satiated.

When Jungkook met your eyes, he forgot where he was, music and Seokjin’s half baked jokes fading into the background just like the movies as he made his way to you. “You came,” he said softly when he reached you, somewhat dazed by how beautiful you looked. He couldn’t help the blush that made its way over his cheeks as you smiled at him.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, just as his arms circled you, making your breath hitch a little. Jungkook smirked at your subtle inhale, enjoying the effect he had on you. He still couldn’t believe that somehow in such a short time he had found someone that made him feel supported. Jungkook hadn’t truly realized how alone he felt in the past twenty three years of his life. People often say you have to know sadness to know happiness, but he hadn’t realized that you have to know companionship to know loneliness, and he never knew how lonely he was before he met you — a little boat floating on a never-ending still ocean.

Although celebrations were in full swing, he couldn’t focus on guests, mingling with them a chore he’d rather escape. And so about an hour after your arrival, he decided to do just that.

Your hand in his and champagne bubbles in his head, he led you to below deck, where the rooms were. It felt a little funny, a weird parallel to how his friends would run away to smelly frat rooms during a party in undergrad, but he felt giddy almost running through the decadently decorated hallways, trying rooms till he found an open one, your giggles a soundtrack to the moment.

“You can’t just run away from your own party, silly boy,” you joked as he pulled you into the room, locking the door and walking backwards to the bed, dragging you along with a grin.

“Can’t help it. You look too pretty,” he said with a giggle, sitting down and pulling you to him, hands on your waist as you stood between his legs.

“You’re just horny,” you snorted, an eye roll on the ready.

“Yes, I am,” he exclaimed jovially, falling back onto the bed, his hands behind his head, eyes closed. You laughed at his silly mood, more than a little turned on by his blatant admission. Over the last month, the two of you had been getting close. By now you had his taste memorized, and you craved his lavender vanilla scent throughout the day, but you still felt a little hesitant to move things forward physically.

Jungkook was romantic. The kind of romantic who would send you karaoke covers of love songs, who would pick a flower from the neighbour’s garden to put in your hair, who would hide silly post-it notes in your books and laptop just to make you smile. Before Jungkook, you hadn’t known romance. You had written it off as a fantasy devised by the media to sell movies and dramas, unattainable and unrealistic. Your previous experiences were proof enough, cheating boyfriends and one night stands the norm in your dating life.

He opened his eyes when you didn’t respond with your usual quips, finding you still staring at him, worrying your lip. He faltered a little, but refused to let the liquid courage die down, reaching to grab your hand, interlacing your fingers.

“Aren’t you gonna come get me, Tiger?” he asked, lips upturned in a smirk as he pulled you towards him, making you fall on top of him. He laughed at your horrified gasp, hugging you tight and kissing the top of your head as you relaxed. “Why are you worried?”

“Why aren’t you?” you countered, finding this sexually confident Jungkook a little jarring. You could hear his steady heartbeat from where your head rested on his chest, a change from the usual nervous pounding.

“Because it's you,” he said softly, lifting your head gently to look at you, eyes shining with adoration. “You make me brave,” he said. His thumbs caressed your cheekbones as he cupped your face, his lips meeting yours, and you felt as if you would explode.

You kissed him back as his arms circled your lower back, pulling you higher up on him. You felt at ease, and because he made you brave too, you straddled him, your knees on the bed next to his hips as his hands trailed to your thighs, gripping the flesh and massaging it slowly.

Much like every time you kissed Jungkook, you were soon breathless, not wanting to ever stop as his tongue wrestled yours. When you bit his lip teasingly, he whined, his hips moving up to start grinding into yours, your dress now hiked up almost to your waist.

“Ha!” you exclaimed, pulling away as he chased your lips with a scowl. You pinned him to the bed, hands on his shoulders as you laughed. “You whimpered first!”

“Are we still playing that stupid game?” he asked, rolling his eyes, laughing as you gleefully nodded. Jungkook knew why you were stalling. You always did it when things got too hot and heavy, giving him an easy out with jokes, afraid to make him uncomfortable, but Jungkook didn’t want an out now.

He had spent his whole life searching for a soulmate, and nothing else explained the connection he felt with you. You had quite literally crashed into his life, challenged him for two years, and then somehow helped him when he needed it the most. Maybe it was too soon to tell, but he didn’t care. He had never felt this way around anyone, not even Candy who he was convinced he was in love with. But seeing Candy didn’t feel like this. Like he could finally breathe, like he was in a meadow surrounded by jasmine and lilies, or in a cocoon wrapped up snugly.

Smiling widely, he flipped you over, hands next to your head as he looked down on you. “My turn,” he said with a chuckle, swiftly attaching his mouth to your neck, where he knew you were especially sensitive. He suckled the skin, caressing it with his tongue, and coaxing the breathy moans he loved so much.

You called his name and he looked up, not being able to resist tasting your lips again. In every other instance in his life when he had gotten close to having sex, he felt insecure, felt this intense pressure to perform, but right now he felt safe. Perhaps it was the alcohol confusing his emotions, but he was certain that it was you, your presence a shelter from the storm.

“Be my girlfriend,” he said, now leaning on his forearms, his nose nuzzling yours, and for the first time, you didn’t have a witty remark. Nodding wildly, you wrapped your arms around him, kissing him once again, your lips fervent as you lost yourself in him. Eager kisses led to even more eager undressing as you rid him of his shirt, running your hands up and down his chiseled abdomen.

“Lie back,” you whispered, pushing at his chest till he fell back on the bed. You were on him immediately, kissing down his jaw to his neck to his chest, leaving a little trail of love bites that made him keen.

You giggled at the sound he made as your lips circled his nipple. He was sensitive and you couldn’t wait to unravel him, proud of being the first one he had trusted to be this vulnerable with. “I thought you were all smug now, Jeon?” you asked with a grin as you looked up at him, his eyes darkened and his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“I -” he began, only to break into a whine when you playfully brought your teeth into the mix, the feeling shooting from his nipple straight to his dick. He panted, trying to collect his scrambling thoughts but all he could was plead, face flushed as he closed his eyes. “Please Y/N… Please.”

Jungkook was about to lose his mind. No, scratch that. Jungkook was about to lose his load, as your lips moved lower on his body. He felt already on edge and you had barely unbuttoned his pants. His hips moved without instructions as you pulled his pants off, the material of them and his boxers stuck mid thigh. He wanted to shimmy them off, but you were too impatient, and he was too powerless to protest as you licked a strip up his length.

His legs twitched at the action, his core tightening as he felt an ache in his balls. Your mouth encased him and his breath hitched at the way your tongue continued to lap at his dick when you moved your head up and down. He was going to cum within thirty seconds if you kept that up, and despite his warnings you continued, winking up at him when he told you he was close.

“Wanna taste you, Koo,” you said, your voice raspy, before you took him deeper. His hips rose of their accord, matching the way you bobbed on him, and it was with a high pitched cry that he came. You relished his taste, the bittersweet salt coating your taste buds as you swallowed him, continuing your ministrations till he was mewling, hand pulling at your hair.

“Happy birthday,” you said as Jungkook panted, his breaths heavy and inconsistent. He never knew an orgasm could feel this good. Is this what it was like being with someone? Did it always feel like galaxies exploding in his chest, or was it you?

He turned his head to see you lying next to him, both hands under your head as you smiled softly at him, and he couldn’t help returning it just as tenderly. He lifted his hand to push a strand of your hair behind your hair before leaning in and kissing you gently. When his tongue met yours, he could taste himself, something he thought would be repulsive but only ignited more lust within him.

Before he could stop himself, he was on you, his hands undoing your zipper deftly and pulling the dress off your body. Seeing you in just your underwear below him made him almost short circuit, stalling his movements as he forgot what he was even trying to do.

“What’s wrong?” you asked shyly, a little taken aback by how he was staring, mouth agape.

“So pretty,” he whispered in awe, eyes roaming your body as he sat on his heels next to you. You couldn't help but chuckle at his reverence, reaching behind you to undo your bra and tossing it on the floor, before doing the same with your panties. The sound that Jungkook made at your actions could only be described as needy but he still didn’t move, just looking at you, unsure of how to proceed.

Sitting up, you brought his lips to yours, guiding his hand to your chest. You sighed when he hesitantly rolled a nipple between his fingers, repeating the action again and again. Paired with his eager kisses, you were soon dripping. The two of you were on your knees, his arms now winding around you and moving lower.

The more Jungkook kissed you, the more natural it felt to be doing this with you. He hadalways been saving himself for the right person, and now he was grateful he had waited for you to find him. His lips moved from your lips to your chest, engulfing a nipple in his mouth, copying the way you had sucked and ran your tongue over his, grinning when you mewled, your hands tugging at his hair. Maybe he didn’t have to be terrible at his first time, he thought, and it gave him the confidence to move his tattooed hand between your legs.

He nipped at your chest, groaning when he felt how wet you were, and all he wanted to do was to taste you, make you feel as good as you made him feel.

“C-can I try to…” he trailed off, looking at you as you cupped his face. You nodded, and Jungkook pushed you to the bed, a little too aggressively, causing you to wince in response. He apologized, kissing you once again before moving between your legs, and settling on his stomach.

Fuck, is that what you smelt like? He was going to get addicted, he knew it as soon as he inhaled your musky scent, and when he started licking at your folds tentatively, he knew he had found his favourite flavour.

Your hips jolted when he immediately entered you with his tongue, lapping at you quickly as if on a mission to devour you. He kept up his pace and you moaned, hands gripping the sheets. It felt so good, but he kept avoiding your clit and you felt as if you were on the edge, your mind blank, only his name flowing from your tongue.

Hearing his name, he moved further down, his tongue fucking into you as his lips pulled your labia, making you lose your mind. You couldn’t take it anymore; you needed to cum, you needed him to touch your clit so you could fall apart before you cried. Pulling his hair, you pleaded, and he continued his actions.

“Baby… please! More! Please!” you exclaimed, and when he refused to change his technique, your hips started rolling against his face. He moaned loudly, his arms wrapping around your legs as he let you use him. With the friction of his nose rubbing on your clit, you finally unravelled, screaming affirmations for your new boyfriend as he continued to lap at you.

You pulled him away, shuddering, whimpering expletives, and he grinned when he kissed you. Jungkook knew he wanted to make you cum, but he didn’t know how fucking hot the image of you shaking in his arms would be.

“I give you the best head I have ever given and you edge me?” you said breathlessly, brushing your hair off your face where it was plastered in sweat. “You’re such a tease!”

“I didn’t edge you!” Jungkook protested, his indignance not visible under how brightly he was smiling, still giddy over making you into a fucked out mess. In all honesty, Jungkook had no idea he was edging you. He had just followed what he had seen in porn, but he was definitely going to remember that for next time.

Still on top of you, he nuzzled into your neck and you couldn’t help but giggle, stroking his hair.

“You okay?” you asked, your heart blooming when he laid beside you, pulling you to his chest.

“Better than okay,” he replied, kissing the top of your head. “Happy. Ecstatic! Euphoric!” he yelled, his arms tight around you, and you burst out laughing, your lips pressed to his collarbone.

“You are a dork,” you said gleefully.

“No, I’m your boyfriend,” he countered, giggling with excitement, before he simmered, his lips meeting yours gently. He wanted more, so much more. Wanted to sink into you, make you fall apart on his dick, and he could feel himself getting hard again just at the thought.

However, your calm moment was interrupted by his phone ringing. Groaning, he separated from you, answering to his father asking him where he was. He dressed quickly, pulling up his pants and shyly turning away when you helped him with his shirt, buttoning it much slower than when you had unbuttoned it.

“It’s probably something stupid, like meeting someone,” he rolled his eyes, watching you pick up your bra from the ground, but before you could put it on, he grabbed it, biting his lip and looking at you mischeviously. “Stay naked,” he whispered.

“Jeon!” you exclaimed, a little bashful at his forward demand.

“Come on! Please?” he asked, his eyes big as he pouted at you, trying to act cute as he pushed you back onto the bed, pulling the covers over you. You rolled your eyes at his antics as he kissed you again, hungry and desperate, making you moan at the way his tongue met yours.

“I still have to lose my virginity,” he said with a wink as he left a few more kisses before leaving, you shaking your head in faux disappointment. In reality, you were on cloud nine, turned on beyond belief for how the night would unravel.

----------

Jungkook whistled as he made his way to the top deck, eyes peeled for his father. He felt as if nothing could break him, elated with anticipation and impatient to join you back in the room. A goofy grin seemed to plastered on his face as he recalled the way you looked flushed from the orgasm he had given to you. Jungkook’s ego was sky high; maybe he was the sex god everyone thought he was after all. He giggled to himself at the thought.

“Hey Jungkook!” a raspy voice called out to him, and he turned around to see Yoongi walking over to him with long determined steps, a scowl adorned on his face. “Where’s Tiger?” he asked coldly, a contrast to how he usually babied his youngest friend, but Jungkook was too in his head to decipher the tone.

“You mean my girlfriend?” he said smugly, his nose scrunching as he tried to keep the dopey smile off his face. It was easier when he saw the way Yoongi’s face fell, immediately concerned for his friend. “Hyung, what’s wrong?”

Yoongi sighed, hugging Jungkook as he tried to not recoil in shock. Yoongi never hugged anyone first, unless something was wrong. He worriedly scanned the room, scared that his mother would be hurt once again, anxiety clawing at his nerves.

He relaxed a little when his eyes landed on her, safe and laughing with his father. Not knowing what could be wrong, he repeated his question, only for Yoongi to let him go and look at him with a sad smile.

“She used you, Jungkook,” Yoongi said with another sigh, and Jungkook’s confusion only grew.

“Who?” he asked, brows furrowed as he took the phone his older friend handed to him.

He felt his blood run cold as he looked at the screen, heart shattering as if someone took a hammer to it. No, not shattering. It felt as if it had been ripped from his chest and put in a blender. He could feel his pulse in his ears as the screen in front of him turned blurry.

He didn’t realize he was crying till a teardrop landed on Yoongi’s phone, magnifying your handle as if to mock him.

Renowned Youtuber Y/N Y/L/N callmetiger95 Appointed Lead Strategist of Saga Games.

Maybe everyone was right after all. Soulmates weren’t real, love was a sham, and Jeon Jungkook was an idiot.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Drabble

taglist- @ressjeon, @joonights, @mwitsmejk, @daggerbeneathmygown, @moonchild1, @drumsofheaven, @thisartemisnevermisses, @kaepjjangiya, @bbydoejk, @emsuzz, @crewzie-chan, @cheesecakes-randomshitz, @aroseforyoongi, @awhnamjoon, @agustdjoon, @codeinebelle, @hobiandsprite

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #ficscafe #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts x reader #bts fanfic #thebtswritersclub #thetruthuntoldnet #bangtanuniversity #btsnoonanet #bts scenarios #purplearmynet #52hertz

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Lavender Honey | KNJ | Part 2

A SONS OF MIDAS STORY

Pairing: Chaebol!Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Honey)

Wordcount: 22.8k

Genre: angst, smut, fluff. Childhood friends turned fwb turned enemies turned (eventually, potentially, hopefully) lovers. Also, everybody is pretty much filthy rich.

Rating: 18+

Trigger warnings: The biggest warnings for this are swearing and consuption/discussion of alcohol. Therapy is one of the main topics of this fic, and abuse of alcohol, anxiety, panicking and social anxiety are discussed. There is one very angsty mention of oral sex (female receiving). One crackhead joke about mommy kink and another crackhead joke about daddy kink (yes, only crack, nothing kinky). There are a couple cases of invasion of privacy (mostly paparazzi and the press). In terms of smut, we have some grinding and making out, masturbation (female receiving), protected sex, mild impregnation kink, borderline fetishism (perfume). Also, everyone except Taewan is a brokenhearted mess.

Acknowledgements: I'm starting from @joheunsaram who texted me at four am saying "I have an idea", resulting in me writing 42k words -- and her religiously beta-reading them. If this isn't love, then it's most definitely masochism. The other thank you's as usual go to Rid, @taegularities, for being a goddess among mortals, to Cherry, @honeyj00ns, who made me cry with her Yoombles, and Rose, @biaswreckme, who had to deal with me rewriting the same scene over and over, while dealing with the hardships of The Real World. You're a tough cookie, my darling. Last but not least, @hobiandsprite, my beloved dumb possum. Yes, YOU ARE BABY.

HERE IS PART 1 | Link to my masterlist

Enjoy 💜✨

Namjoon’s life had always been made of patterns. The graphs of a successful business plan. Excel sheets. The line at the end of a contract. Gingham. The logoed paper filling The Princess’ box, protecting the fine glass bottle. The way his boxes of cereals aligned perfectly in the cabinet.

He knew his patterns.

Getting tipsy enough not to jump from bed to bed. Getting too drunk to care. Eventually jumping from bed to bed when anger got the best of him.

If there was a border between anger and sadness, it was that one question: “Fuck or drink.”

Now he knew sleeping around was not an option anymore.

He didn’t know what had made him speak that awful stuff in public. He knew he was angry and he didn’t believe a word he said. Whenever he went back to that moment, he always found himself gripping bottles of alcohol like a baby bottle.

Sometimes he liked to hurt himself by thinking about that gentleman — what was his name even? — he indulged in thinking about the dude forgetting about what had happened. Taking you back. Making you happy. He liked thinking about him becoming The Prince in your father’s garden. He liked feeling that emotional knife twist in his guts, delve into his flesh, regret and pain and loneliness pouring out of him.

He had grown accustomed to basking in his own misery, so much that days became weeks, flowing one next to the other into an endless pool of time lost.

Sometimes he thought of how much pain he had caused you.

Sometimes he wanted to punch his own face, to melt into that lost time himself.

Sometimes he wished he could dissolve into nothingness, together with that dream of a husband, of a father you had buried with the memories of the boy he used to be.

In his sleep, it wasn’t your laugh tormenting him anymore. He could see wide, innocent eyes, the same as yours. He could hear children laughing, his vision bathed in green, tiny, white ruffled clothes billowing in the breeze. Your voice calling names he would never hear.

When those dreams visited him, there was no salvation; tears would stream down his face before he could even wake up, and once he did rouse, he would roam around his house, restless, too shocked to even drink — every sip took him farther away from that vision.

But once the mirage disappeared, he would drag himself to his cellar, order some food and use the meal as an excuse to get blurred enough to find sleep once more.

He pretended to work from home, he signed whatever Milla asked him to sign, he skimmed everything Milla asked him to read, he sent whatever Milla drafted and with a bunch of words he would order replies to be written. Even his private phone’s voicemail redirected the caller to Milla. His assistant had become an extension of him, way more operative than he could ever be. The only thing that hadn’t seen her approval was the raise he assigned her through HR.

And although the mechanism lasted for weeks, Namjoon knew it was destined to break. He just didn’t expect for his brother to be the breaking point.

The younger man came in silently, the only noise coming from the door unlocking. Namjoon was too dull to notice. He was watching a documentary about something or another — he was mostly staring at the screen, drifting in and out of consciousness as sleep came in waves, in and out… in and…

“Namjoon,” his brother called. “Hyung?”

He groaned in reply, sticking his arm out of the blanket, Taehyung following the destructive path around the living room before finding the dormant beast lounging in his brother’s sofa.

He knew something had broken in him a long time ago, and from seeing you at the party, Taehyung could reckon you had both been hurting and the situation had somehow worsened. “Oh god, I’m fucked up too, but you went completely M.I.A. I thought you were dead,” he spoke without hiding worry in his voice. He couldn’t stop observing the chaos in the room, grimacing at the stain of red wine on the cream coloured carpet. “How do you think that stain of wine will get cleaned?” That would not come clean.

Namjoon checked his wrist watch, before remembering he wasn’t wearing one, acting nonchalant — Taehyung noticed his brother’s gesture anyway. “I’m not M.I.A., I’ve been answering emails and calls from my assistant.” It was only partly a lie, no matter how small the truth was.

Taehyung eyed him suspiciously. “Have you, though? I got a call just this morning, telling me that you haven’t been working at all. How do you explain that?” He puckered his lips in disapproval.

By now extremely disturbed and upset, Namjoon checked his phone. It had been left in night mode, so he wouldn’t notice how lonely he was behind all those ‘where u at?’ and ‘I’m free this saturday. we could have some fun’, and other poorly worded, grammatically incorrect alternatives. You used to never fuck up grammar — no matter how dirty and flirtlyly you spoke. He shook his head and rubbed his face with his hands before noticing a few missed calls, a bunch of emails. Once more he allowed himself to lie. “I have been working. Maybe they didn’t talk to my assistant. You know there’s a procedure about requests and interdepartmental communication.”

Looking around the room in discomfort and frustration, Tae tried to find a place to sit, until he spotted a chair and dragged it all the way where Namjoon was lying, his lower body clad in a thick, furred blanket. When he spoke, he sounded upset and slightly hurt. “I’m your brother. You can’t lie to me like this, I’m not stupid. And you look like shit, Joon.”

Namjoon scoffed and tried to find a way to outsmart him. “Don’t come in here, thinking you’re fresh like a rose, Tae. You got black circles under your eyes. And from the looks of you, you haven’t washed your hair in days either.”

“I’ve been accepting calls at least. We’ve worked so hard to get there, and I’m not risking my job or reputation just like that.” Taehyung sighed, again, before rubbing at his face. He’d never seen his brother so dishevelled. Trying to comfort him, Taehyung put his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Look, I admit that I’m probably not the right person to tell you this, because you’re right. I’ve been a mess. But don’t neglect what you’ve built.”

“It doesn’t matter, Tae.You know why I got here. How I got here.” Namjoon felt his throat close as tears started to form in his eyes. He wanted to scream.

Taehyung frowned as he saw his brother’s worry escalate into panic. “But you are here. And it’s too late to throw it all out. Namjoon, what the hell happened anyway?”

The man inhaled deeply, gathering all his strength to recount what had slashed through his life like a shooting star before abandoning him in the dark. “Honey and I had a thing. Summer after high school. Then she left without telling me. I started spiralling out of control. You know that. And then she came back. And we got back into old habits. But I was a dick, Tae. I was disgusting. I did horrible things to her. And then at the party she told me she loved me.” Namjoon clenched his jaw and tugged at his hair, wanting to hide, to run, to stop the emptiness in his gut. “And now I’ve lost it all, Tae. Everything. I could have had a home with her. I could have had a _family_ with her. Marriage, kids. The whole deal.”

Namjoon wasn’t indifferent to the way Taehyung got emotional. No matter how much of a hermit he was, he knew about his brother’s little arrangement. He also knew he’d been unhappy for the last few months, though he hadn’t followed his hyung’s wretched example.

“Maybe it’s not too late. She told you she loves you. This is something that doesn’t fade this easily, Joon. And if she’s truly in love with you, she would see your effort if you made one. I might not know Honey as well as you do, but I know her well enough to promise you that she’d take you back if you tried hard enough,” Taehyung spoke with hope in his voice, both for his older brother and himself. Hope, but also so much sorrow.

For once in his life, Namjoon felt like he could be understood. “She made clear that I’m just a memory to her.”

Taehyung shook his head and touched his brother’s shoulder in sympathy. “I can neither confirm nor deny that, but if you’re right, you have to at least get back on track for yourself.”

Namjoon nodded, exhaling and sitting up, rolling his shoulders as he tried to get rid of the soreness of being still for too long. “Yeah, my situation with Honey might be over—” he needed to be hopeful for his little brother, give him all the hope he needed to have for himself, too. For once in his life, he needed to be the actual older brother. “But you still have a girl that loves you to the end of the world and back. She’s really in love with you.”

Taehyung smirked, looking away, his jaw clenched. He looked hurt. Lost. _That must be the look I have when Mother says I’m brooding,_ Namjoon thought. “How do you know? How can you be so sure about that?” Taehyung’s voice was strained.

“Because I—” It hurt to say. “I know the way Honey looked at me. And I know how it feels to be looked at like that. Don’t throw it away. I’ve never seen her unhappy at your side, only seen full adoration, understanding and so much pride. And the way you look at her? You’re into her, head to toe. Might as well buy a ring and propose, dude.”

Letting out a deep exhale, Taehyung chuckled and Namjoon felt like joining. He feared he had forgotten how to. Taehyung stared at a spot on Namjoon’s blanket. He hoped he hadn’t stained it with food or alcohol. It looked like a great blanket. “I am, man. I am into her… and it hurts so fucking much that she’s so far away from me. I don’t even know whether she still loves me or not.”

Namjoon smiled painfully, sadly. “You said it first. That kind of feeling doesn’t disappear in a day.”

Whatever the words had meant to Taehyung, the younger let himself spill a single tear. And as he sniffled, he looked enlightened by a holy light, like grace had finally dawned over him.

“I- I think I truly love her, Joon,” his voice sounded angelic, broken like a saint praising his God through torture and agony.

“Then you know you shouldn’t be here right now,” he forced himself to smile, trying to be reassuring, comforting and reliable. His snowbear counted on him.

Taehyung nodded, his mop of hair shaking with the movement. “I guess it’s time I see her face again.” He studied Namjoon’s face. “Are you okay, though?”

The man felt his voice cave. He needed to be strong, and strength requires for one to admit being weak. He could feel the tang of blood as he tugged at the skin of his lip, with his teeth, accidentally splitting it . “I… I think I need some help. Like, fixing some stuff in my life.” He looked at the room. “I don’t know where to start.” He looked at the rain outside his window. He was glad the sky matched his mood. “I really want to be the man she wanted me to be; the man she would want by her side.” He had to clear his voice before he asked what he hadn’t asked in years. “Can I count on you?”

Taehyung smiled, his lip wobbly. “You know that I’ll always be here to guide you through whatever. You don’t even have to ask.”

Namjoon found it difficult but so good to stand up, legs unsteady before he pulled his brother in an embrace, wrapping him into a hug. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d last been held. “Sorry, I stink.” Namjoon said, sniffling.

“Don’t worry. I do, too.” Taehyung cackled and Namjoon let go, patting the younger’s back as he found himself embarrassed.

Namjoon’s eyes shone in pride at the determined look on his brother’s face. “Now go to her, knight in shining armour.” With a final pat on his back, he watched Taehyung quickly make his way across the living room and down the hall.

“Love you!” he murmured at the younger before he heard the door shut.

Staring at the wreck that his house was, he rubbed his forehead and picked up his phone. He put the sound back on. He needed to start moving.

So he called his hyung.

⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸

Yoongi looked almost ridiculous with the yellow gloves reaching his elbows, washing away the stains from the floor with a sponge while balled up on his knees. “I mean, you have a cleaning lady for this… Aish, Namjoonah, what are you doing with your life?” Yoongi shook his head. “You know what? I know exactly what you're doing. You know you can't keep tearing at your skin hoping you'll manage to get rid of her in the process.” Yoongi was stern but also warm in his scolding. “How long has it been since we last saw you alive and well, Namjoon?”

“I'm starting therapy,” he announced coldly. “Milla found a good psychologist. I'll be treated for my alcoholism and my self-destructive tendencies.” Namjoon felt proud, but also scared at admitting his issues.

Yoongi stopped scrubbing, looking up at his young friend. “I didn't… I thought it was—”

“You thought I didn't drink that much?” Namjoon cackled and rattled the black trash bag in his hand, causing a disturbing clinking to echo across the room. “This hasn't been the first time, hyung. I—” Namjoon inhaled and closed his eyes, biting his lip. “There were weekends I don't even remember. Girls I don't even remember.”

Yoongi inhaled. “What of Peach. What do you remember of her.” His tone was lapidary. An order, not a question.

“I only remember that I hoped it would hurt her. Honey, I mean. That it would get her angry enough to fly back home and slap me across the face.” Namjoon placed the bag down, sitting and rubbing his hands against his face. “I'm sorry. I knew she liked you. She always has. She told me she was with me only because she was tired of feeling unwanted.”

Yoongi bit his lower lip. “Apparently being a business genius doesn't keep you from being a dumb fucker.”

Namjoon simply nodded.

“Do you need someplace to stay? Someone to keep you in check?” Yoongi asked. “At the beginning it will feel like hell and your self control might be weak.”

Namjoon didn't know. “I actually needed you for another reason too.”

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Jungkook entered the apartment shortly after Yoongi called him, the three men sitting in a now tidy and clean living room — well, except for the stain Taehyung had foreseen wouldn't come clean.

“Hyung?” Jungkook looked a little confused, tired, but so apparently calm on the surface. Namjoon could tell there was much going on under his active facade. “Are you okay?”

Namjoon smiled and hugged him, Jungkook melting against his chest. He felt like he was holding on to him, claws out. How long had it been since he'd been held like this by Namjoon? Or even better, how long had it been since Namjoon had let anyone hold him?

“I saw her at the party, hyung. She looked beautiful. Will you go back to her?”

Namjoon smiled and looked at his feet.

If there was love on Earth, Jungkook knew it was the thing that kept Namjoon and you together. He didn't know if he still believed in the tie around his pinkie anymore, but he knew that Namjoon hyung and his best friend, the Princess, would be tied together, forever.

“I've done many wrong things, Jungkook. Right now I need to cleanse myself from those. Once I manage to stop being ashamed of myself, we'll see if I still want her and if she wants me too.”

Jungkook pouted. Apparently he wasn't the only one trying to run from the thread around his finger.

Namjoon looked at Yoongi and nodded. 'Help me', he seemed to call. The older answered.

“Jungkook, Namjoon has decided to face his fears. He will be starting therapy soon. He will face his problems with alcohol and with his inner self and he could use a friend around him.” Yoongi caressed Namjoon's back before placing an arm around his shoulders.

“That's very brave of you, hyung.” Jungkook's arm crossed with that of Yoongi as he also touched Namjoon's shoulder.

He felt protected. Like he had a safety net of angels, ready to catch him whenever he started falling. “Would you like to move here? Or maybe stay in your apartment and have a roommate for a while? I'll be working at the firm and going to therapy. I won't be a nuisance and… I mean, I—” Namjoon thought about the last few years. Did he deserve the kind of effort he was asking from them? “I know I was very absent and I was overall a shitty friend. Missing Honey was… it was the start of something I didn't know I had in me.”

“Hyung. We love you.” Jungkook's eyes were lined with silver. “We were worried about you, and we never truly intervened because we were scared we would lose you.” Namjoon wrapped his arms around Jungkook as he saw the younger starting to tear up. “We were scared that you would push us away. We were good with anything you would give us.”

Namjoon patted Jungkook's head. He could feel how the younger was absolutely overwhelmed by the circumstances. He held him tighter for that.

Jungkook closed his eyes. Nothing wrong would happen there. His hyungs would never leave him, not truly. They would always watch over him from a distance, cheer for him, protect him, guide him. But now his most fragile of friends needed his help. “Come live with me, hyung.”

Namjoon nodded. “I'd love to. I promise I won't bother you. I'll behave.”

Jungkook nodded. “Let's get your stuff ready.”

From the side, Yoongi had watched the scene with an aching heart, hoping that this was just a first step to a longer, healing journey.

You hated doing this. You hated it with your entire being.

Still, after seeing the announcement on the news, there was little you could do. You and Candy debated over keeping quiet or intervening for several minutes, until you realised you couldn’t handle it any longer.

But with tired bones and a weary soul, you said goodbye to Candy and forced yourself to find some strength. The sound of you walking down the corridor was ominous, as if the very ground you were stepping on was charging you with power. You needed it.

The receptionist told you Jimin was in his office and you were lucky since he was free. They didn’t know your luck was his disgrace as they addressed you to his office, the wait on the lift excruciating before the doors opened and you resumed your angry sprint.

You didn’t bother knocking, literally intruding in Jimin’s office, startling him. “Hello, Princess.” He said, blinking.

You grit your teeth and rolled your shoulders. “Cut the bullshit and stand up, you stupid boy.”

Jimin stood immediately and discreetly closed the door, hoping your scolding didn’t reach the other rooms.

“I’ve been told you’re getting married,” you started. “And I’ll ignore how pathetic it is I had to find out through a stupid tabloid.” You made Jimin sit, spinning the chair in your direction. “It’s a shame the news was spread so much, you’ll have plenty of trouble calling this farce off.”

“Wanna know what the wifey-to-be did to me? To Namjoon?” Jimin was still paralysed. You’d never been angry at him. He didn’t even know what to do, and at the mention of his friend’s name he grew twice as panicked. “She wanted him and she was ready to hurt me to get me out of the picture. So he lied about how he felt about me, to protect me. I heard their conversation. I saw her kiss him. And I left the country because I thought I was just a tool for him. Like he would never love me and respect me the way I did.” You took a deep breath, your tone suddenly blue. “But that’s on me. I was stupid not to talk to him that same night.” Jimin didn’t know what to do. He felt like hugging you because he could feel the way your voice strained, trying to hold back the tears. But then it got icy again. “Hold tight because now comes the funny part. After I left, I didn’t feel like answering his calls — because once again, that’s what dumb, self-absorbed assholes do — and then one night I decided to pick up the call. That’s when I heard his voice. And hers too because apparently she had gotten him drunk enough to convince him to fuck her.”

Jimin fliched.

“She sent me pictures to make sure I didn’t forget. That way I would know it was real,” you hissed. “To make sure I would see the face of the man I love right between her legs, everytime I close my eyes.”

At that, Jimin felt his heart clench, realising just how bad his situation was. “I’m so sorry, Princess.”

You were heartbroken when you looked at him, your gentle, loyal friend. He would become her slave— you knew it already. She would ruin him, probably turn him into someone numb enough to survive at her side. “This is what she’ll do to you, Jimin. She’ll chew you up and spit you out, and she won’t care about you ever.”

The young man propped his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands.

“I’m your friend Jimin, and I know people can change, but she doesn’t sound like someone who would invest her energies in becoming a better person. I will always be your friend and I’ll always be there for you when you need me; still, do not expect me to respect her or be kind to her. She doesn’t deserve my compassion.”

Namjoon’s first appointment with Lee Eunho was difficult, words coming out in fits and starts. Anxiety during high school, the sound of anger boiling within him always a background noise to his existence. And you. Pacific, calm, patient you. The way you always grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him back from tumbling headfirst into danger. And then his coping mechanism had become investing all his energies into taking care of you. When he would stress and panic about school, he would call you, and he would meet you in your library at home, laying down on the plush carpet before the fireplace, reading comics instead of course books right next to you. And at some point, he would systematically fall asleep, your hand combing his messy hair or his fingers searching for yours.

He had managed to miss so many pieces of the puzzle, believing he saw a complete view while he was seeing but a relic of it. Eunho asked smart questions, sometimes prompting him when Namjoon didn't know how to fill the blanks, scribbling down those bits that seemed to perplex or confuse his patient. He also suggested more regular meetings in the early stages of detoxification, insisting on meeting Jungkook, Taehyung and Yoongi too0 as meaningful stakeholders who could help Namjoon through his complex journey.

A part of Namjoon wanted you to be there for him too, but with the following appointment he realised just how wrong it was to depend on someone so much. Slowly, he realised he had to eradicate you from parts of himself he should be capable of controlling autonomously. After two weeks of biweekly meetings, Namjoon was thankful for the path he had started — thankful for that fight on the boat, thankful for the man he was learning not to be. He also realised the road would be long, possibly endless.

Some days were difficult. Some days made him want to hide in the guestroom in Jungkook's house, dig himself a tomb of pillows and blankets and become one with the darkness. Some days eating was difficult and even the first cup of coffee of the day would make him throw up.

He found out chocolate milk helped him far better, Jungkook collecting a stash of sickeningly sweet cereals for whenever Namjoon didn't feel like eating and he had to find a way to get him fed.

What didn't change was Jungkook's proud smile every time he saw Namjoon dressed in a suit, with a relaxed look, ready to head to his office in town. Sure, he was worried about the way the clothes hung from his body, too large for the way his frame had shrunk.

After three weeks of therapy, Eunho helped Namjoon get ready to face some of his fears, easing his doubts and brainstorming about the possible reactions. He was ready for fear, but hope felt bigger. That afternoon, as he was returning from his appointment, he asked Milla to drive him to the hospital.

Jimin welcomed him at the reception, leading him upstairs, to that room Namjoon had somehow feared since he'd known the news.

“She's waiting,” he said. “Jungkook told me about your decision. We all are very proud of you.” Jimin smiled widely and opened his arms, Namjoon smiling back and hugging the smaller man. “We're waiting for you to come home to us.”

Namjoon realised his lip was wobbling as he looked at Jimin with the most thankful eyes. His gentle angel looked so tired. “What is gnawing at you?”

Jimin shook his head. “Not today.”

Namjoon watched the smile dim on his face. “I'll text you,” Namjoon promised before entering. He knocked against the door jamb, looking at the form on the bed slowly rising. “Do you have a bit of time for an old friend?”

The woman blinked and stared at Namjoon, her expression impassive. “I expected gifts.”

Namjoon fished a crossword magazine from his bag. “I believe this is a suitable form of entertainment.”

“You think you can make up for nine years of being a ghost with a few crosswords?” Candy's voice had a gleam Namjoon didn't know.

He pouted, looking down before he turned. This was not something he was ready for. “I— I think I made a mistake,” he said, walking to the door.

“Joonie?” Candy called, suddenly confused. “I was joking.”

Namjoon turned, looking like a scolded puppy, walking hesitantly to the bed. “I came here after therapy.”

Candy nodded and patted her bed, inviting him to sit. “Are you doing better?”

“Depends on the day. Most of the time, I am.” Namjoon found her hand and held it in his. “What about you, Candy? How are you doing?”

She smiled energetically but there was fatigue far below. “Healing is tiring, but I make it work.” Her chuckle helped Namjoon's spirit improve.

“Come on, you're surrounded by the people you love, you get all the attention, and everyone spoils you rotten.” Namjoon smirked. “If you haven't changed, I bet you're living your best life. If you'd known this earlier, you would have done it sooner.” He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

“I guess I'm more predictable than I'd like to admit.” Her feistiness seemed vaguely tamed. “Still it’s hard to see everyone coming in here with long faces and being incapable of doing something about it.”

“You mean the engagements?” Namjoon asked, gesturing at the comb on the bedside table, asking permission to fix his friend’s hair. Candy acquiesced with a nod, her face slightly more relaxed as he started combing, his technique far from the clumsiness she had expected.

“Yes. And the break-ups. And the divorces. The only people who bring some positive energy in here are your brother and Swan.” She smiled so brightly Namjoon could only mirror the expression.

“I’m so happy for them,” he murmured, dreamy-eyed. “Mom burst into tears when Swan told her. She also started planning the wedding, but that’s another story.”

“I’m sure she was also happy to see you so peaceful.” Candy smiled and paused, watching Namjoon put down the comb. “You know, I think I have a plan.”

He picked up a small bottle of nail polish before he smirked and shook his head. “You're not allowed to use your temporary disability to call an intervention.”

“Why the fuck not? And also, no, I’m not letting you put nail polish on me, you clumsy fucker”. Candy’s tone was practical, if slightly incredulous.

Namjoon used his strongest weapon, showing his dimple matched with a large boyish grin. “Come on, I need to practice, I'll have a niece soon.”

“What if it’s a boy?” Candy spat back, with a bit of playful bantering in her tone.

“He might want nail polish too. But I know it'll be a girl. I know it.” Namjoon paused meditatively before whispering, “if it's a boy I'll riot.”

You hadn’t expected for Taehyung’s face to hurt so much once you saw him at the door. It was a prelude to what you expected to feel like in front of his brother, the only difference being the radiant grin on his face, the beatific expression of a man who had found his everything within one person and had decided to celebrate life by creating another.

Seeing Swan hurt even more, the look on her face so happy with newfound bliss that it only reminded you of what could have been. Suddenly six appointments with your psychologist flew out of the window, regrets and guilt clawing at your throat.

Swan seemed to be extremely understanding as she placed a hand on your arm. “We’re really glad you’re here. Thank you for coming sweetheart.”

You nodded and bit your lip, forcing your spine to be straighter. You felt like all your willpower was set on your vertebrae, sticking them together, one after the other as you walked into the house. The house was devastatingly familiar, the hardwood floors so welcome underneath your sock-clad feet. “Congratulations to you guys,” you said, looking at Swan’s baby bump with a little bit of envy balled up like a snake in your stomach. “I’m very happy that you’ve refound each other.” You tried to smile your greatest smile, and still it felt dull on your face.

Swan placed an arm around your waist and led you to the small kitchenette where the two of you could speak calmly before venturing into the small crowd in the living room. “He’s already here. I thought I should tell you that,” Swan warned you calmly. “He’s very different, babe. I think you should see it with your own eyes. He’s changing. He’s working hard and I think you’d be happy to see him today, as he is now.”

You nodded. “Is he sober?”

Swan nodded back. “One hundred percent for six weeks now. He’s started therapy, you know. But I think you two should have this conversation by yourselves.”

You sucked your lips and bobbed your head. “I think so too.”

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between the two of you last summer. I’m not telling you you should give him a second chance either. Just solve it like adults. Tae and I don’t want to pick between the two of you.” Swan looked at you with the deepest worry and apologies in her eyes.

“I think I’ll talk to him if it comes natural. I’m not…” you considered how to phrase your thoughts. “I don’t want to force either of us into a confrontation we might not be ready for.”

Swan rubbed your arm before you rolled your shoulders back and entered the living room. She grabbed your sleeve and held you in her arms. “I’m proud of you, babe.”

You felt tears ignite your eyes. You inhaled and held them back. “And I of you, Swan.” And with that, both of you entered the room.

The moment you saw him, you felt the need to avert your gaze. He looked like the panther kit you had always imagined him as. He was smiling at Jungkook, holding a soft, white puppy in his arms. He seemed miles away from the ghost you’d seen ages ago. He seemed… alive. You had no other word but that.

And then you realised you couldn’t keep your eyes away from him. It felt like such a relief to see him like that. It was only a matter of time until your gaze met his, expecting him to freeze while he did the exact opposite.

He seemed to melt, a smile so big you felt your eyes watering and your feet carrying you to the veranda, away from everyone. In a corner of the room, Yoongi seemed to notice your upset state in a second, Namjoon placing a hand on his shoulder before he quickly followed your path, his heart feeling like a frame hanging slightly askew on the wall. He placed the heavy, overgrown puppy down on the ground, and the dog followed him anyway, almost getting stuck in the door as Namjoon carelessly closed it behind him. “Honey?”

You kept sobbing in a corner of the balcony, Namjoon’s face crumbling like an autumn leaf. The white pawed cloud immediately stood on his back legs and placed his front ones on your thighs, studying you, sniffing at you and jumping as he tried to catch your attention.

“Gureum, come,” Namjoon called, the puppy reluctantly trotting back to his owner. “Are you okay, Honey?”

You shook your head, still looking at the lake in the distance.

“Would you like to be by yourself?” Namjoon murmured gently.

You nodded, the man ready to leave the balcony when you spoke again. “Are you really doing better?”

He turned towards you once more, tutting at his pet once the clingy thing almost tripped him. He leaned his forearms against the railing. “On most days, yes. It wasn’t all that difficult to do better than before,” he admitted. “I feel cleaner now. I don’t know if that’s better. And some days still hit a bit too hard, but I have my friends. The right ones, this time.”

You nodded, quickly remembering the unfamiliar faces you had spotted around him during a few parties. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“Did I upset you?” he asked worriedly. “It wasn’t my intention. I knew you were coming but I thought we should both be here for Tae and Swan. They deserve it.”

You agreed. “I know you didn’t mean to. I was— It—” Glueing words together felt too complicated.

Namjoon waited patiently. If there was one thing Eunho had taught him was that there was a certain pace for sensations to become feelings to become words, eventually. And Namjoon knew the wait was worth it.

“I just… Didn’t expect the smile,” you confessed.

Namjoon smiled even bigger. “Sorry I confused you. I was just very happy to see you,” he admitted. “Last time I saw you, I thought it would be the last one for real, forever. I thought you’d leave all your friends and run again. I didn’t want to feel guilty for that again— Sorry, I worded that strangely. I feel guilty about you running the first time, and you having to leave behind your friends because I was a nasty fucker. I didn’t want you to do that again because I hurt you — again.” Namjoon looked at the lake, then at Gureum.

“It’s just that,” you needed a pause to gather your thoughts. “I don’t know how I’m feeling right now,” you admitted, shaking your head. “Ara would be so disappointed in me.”

“May I ask who’s Ara? A new friend?” Namjoon was genuinely interested. He hoped she was somebody who could help you recover from how he’d hurt you.

“My therapist.”

He nodded. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be disappointed. Healing takes time and sometimes it’s not even true healing. It’s just becoming aware of a scar and knowing how to move around it carefully. And also learning to avoid hurting yourself again. That’s what Eunho — my doctor — says.”

You looked at him, daring to face him for the first time in a month. “Swan told me you started therapy.”

Namjoon smiled, your heart clenching again as his lovely dimple appeared. “Yeah. I’m really trying. Our fight really showed me that the life I was living before wasn’t worth it.” He paused and crouched, petting Gureum, still faithfully sitting at his side, studying his owner’s every movement. “The life I’m living now is way more difficult, but also more fun. The numbness I felt before returns every now and then, but the boys are keeping me grounded and caring for Gureum is really making me rethink my priorities. It keeps me busy and it makes me feel happy.”

He was happy. That made you feel elated. Lifted. You still punished yourself daily for breaking him, nine years ago the first time, last September for the umpteenth time — God only knows how much your absence had broken him, a small chip day after day.

“When did you start seeing Ara?” he asked calmly.

“A few weeks ago. I still haven’t learnt much.”

“All progress is slow and subjective. Maybe you’re just accumulating notion after notion, conversation after conversation until you have the full picture and you can put it into action. You’re a smart girl, you just work a bit different from the rest of us,” he pondered, thinking out loud.

“You sure believe in me a lot.” You started toying with your fingers out of nerves.

“Why shouldn’t I?” He looked up at you, his expression a little dumbstruck and insulted. “You’ve been my friend for a long time. I wouldn’t have stuck by if I didn’t believe in you.”

You sniffled and bent down, stretching your hand to Gureum’s nose, letting him sniff at you before he gave permission to be petted. “So, Gureum.”

“He's a Samoyed. He’ll turn into a cloud of fluff by the time he’s an adult,” Namjoon explained. “They’re very clumsy, funny, very energetic dogs. A bit hard to train, but very loyal. A tad stubborn, but I’m used to that,” he said, looking at you.

Your smile made your cheeks feel warm. “You mean because of Yoongi.”

Namjoon snickered and pursed his lips. “Of course,” he replied sarcastically.

You let the tiny accusation slip. A part of you wanted to get to know this new Namjoon, while another part of you remained skeptical. The second part won. “We should go back inside. I’m getting cold.”

“Sure. You can keep Gureum while you’re here.” Namjoon looked at his dog’s face, squishing his cheeks, the large pup licking his owner’s face. “It’s almost like he can feel those who need him the most.”

Your smile got even bigger. “Then I’ll be glad to have a cuddle companion.”

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Namjoon and Eunho discussed in detail what had happened on the balcony, Namjoon feeling extremely anxious about slipping into old patterns of clinging to you whenever he felt unsafe or he spotted you sad and vulnerable. He wanted to make sure he didn’t throw away weeks of hard work and throw himself in your arms. At the same time, he felt like checking in on you every now and then, making sure that your meetings with Ara were progressing, that the damage he had done to you wasn’t permanent.

In the end he felt like Eunho’s solution could be a good compromise; that’s how Namjoon found his feet leading to your parents’ home in the city, the long walk reinvigorating him before he stopped right in front of the door. He took a deep breath, checking his phone to make sure he had some time before heading back to work. He rang the doorbell, your mother's voice resonating shortly after from the intercom. “Who's that?”

“It's Kim Namjoon, auntie.”

Her reply was enthusiastic, opening the gate quickly and letting him in, leaving the entry door ajar as she went to call you.

Namjoon walked down the small lane quickly, rubbing his hands together in the cold autumn afternoon. “She's getting ready,” your mother said as soon as he entered the house. “Won't you take your shoes off? May I offer you some tea? We were about to have some! Are you staying?”

Namjoon smiled sheepishly. “I'm heading back to work in a minute, I have a few appointments at the office, unfortunately. Thank you for your kind offer, auntie.” He stopped as he watched you appear at the foot of the staircase, smiling a confused smile as you looked at him. “Hey! What brought you here?”

He smiled back. He felt calm in a way he hadn't felt in years at the thought of you. You felt almost like any other person.

Namjoon thought it would scare him; he felt relieved instead. “I wanted to talk to you for a minute. It won't take long since I'm on schedule.”

You nodded and turned to your mom, watching her as she picked up Lola and Lars and brought the two small dogs in the other room with her.

“I wanted to ask for your phone number.” Namjoon stared at his shoes, his cheeks reddening. “I won't bother you, I just thought that I’d like to talk to you every now and then. I mean, I discussed it with Eunho, my therapist—” you nodded at the mention of the man, remembering precisely who he was “— and he said this could work as long as I keep healthy boundaries so I thought we could schedule sometime to talk, once a week, when you want— if you want, that is.” Namjoon’s shy chuckle had you blinking rapidly. This man had fucked one fourth of the female population of Seoul in the twenty to forty age range and he still managed to blush and shy away in front of you.

You reminded yourself he was trying to leave all of that behind. “I agree. On one condition.”

Namjoon paid even more attention at that point.

“I need to feel free to step away if it threatens my own good.” You stated your condition clearly, Namjoon nodding at that. “I promise I won’t push you away out of the blue. I’ll give reasons and I’ll try to explain as clearly as I can, but I need to put myself first.”

“Same here,” he agreed. “I’d like to call that condition too.”

You nodded, thankful that he too was setting his boundaries clearly. You also hoped he would be able not to cross them, nor yours.

“So, deal?” he asked, stretching his hand to yours.

You grabbed it and gave it an energetic, small shake. “Deal.”

Namjoon grinned, ready to leave, already placing his hand on the handle.

“The number, Joonie!” you reminded him, his euphoric state influencing you.

He stopped mid-step and turned to you, shrinking his neck, hiding his head between his shoulders. “Right.”

And like that, a small bridge was built across the deep, dark waters.

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Calling Namjoon on Saturday afternoon became a comfortable tradition. In a couple weeks you got used to sending small texts when you found a funny meme, interesting business news, books you knew he would like. In exchange he would return pictures of Gureum, artistic shots from the lakehouse or from one of his almost daily treks.

Ara approved of the way you were rebuilding your friendship with Namjoon, approving of how comfortable you were with telling him you were busy, or too caught up in your own life to talk to him on that day. On the other side, Namjoon and Eunho discussed how he didn’t feel the suffocating need to talk to you, how he was happy he could choose to talk to you, or not talk to you at all. Some days were just too complicated for words to come out of his mouth — or even simply form in his brain.

Those days were engulfed in silence, as if his life were a snowball, but he didn’t isolate anymore. Gureum forced him to go on walks, Jungkook would understand his disinterest in talking and would suggest watching a film together, or playing video games. They would eat junk food on the sofa and nap. He would feel too drained to text you, sending a simple “ttyl”, and you would understand, replying with a gif tagged “comfort” and moving on with your day.

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And then one day hurt more than the others.

You didn’t know why, it was truly pointless, still, you felt like nothing could fix you. Nothing could help you.

‘Can you come over? I think I’d like to see you.’

Namjoon ignored the phone vibrating on top of the table, his focus all set on the meeting, Taehyung going on and on about the potential of wine auctions and wine selling, discussing carefully, if a bit too passionately, the figures coming from the Japanese and Chinese market.

Taehyung noticed his brother’s eyes leaving the presentation to read the notification on his phone; though Namjoon did it quickly and nonchalantly, the shift in his posture was not lost on his brother.

“Uhm, I… wait, I think there’s a problem with the next slide. Let me fix it quickly,” Taehyung lied, as smoothly as possible, winking at Namjoon as he made quick work of opening the text.

‘I’m in a meeting rn. I have another one after this. I could cut my five pm short, but I won’t be free before 5.30. You at the town house?’

‘Sorry. Don’t worry about it.’

‘I want to see you too. No pressure. 5.30 town house?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Later, hon.’

As Namjoon placed down his phone, Taehyung picked up the presentation again, flawlessly, but going three times faster this time, patting his brother’s shoulder once the meeting was dismissed.

“Was that someone important?” Taehyung asked.

“Honey.”

The younger raised his eyebrows. “Are the two of you back on?”

Namjoon shook his head in disappointment. “We’re getting to know each other again, just more cautiously. More maturely.”

Taehyung mulled over his brother’s words. “Are you safe with her?”

The older looked down. “I think the important part is that I’m learning to be safe with myself.”

“That’s a good answer. I’m happy for you.” Taehyung paused. “How is she?”

“She’s doing better. She’s also doing therapy. She’s been very emotionally drained lately. And she’s working with her father now. She’s part of a creative team. It’s really helping her.”

Taehyung nodded. “Good for her… So, are you seeing her?”

“I have an appointment in ten.” Namjoon exhaled, checking his watch.

“You think I can cover that?”

“What about Swan? Isn’t she waiting on you at home?”

Taehyung grinned at the mention of his fiancée. “She doesn’t expect me back for a while still.” He grabbed his brother’s shoulder and gripped it tightly. “You told me to go to my girl once. I’m telling you to do that now.”

Namjoon didn’t even reply. He simply took long steps to the door and made his way to you.

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The moment he rang the doorbell, your mother opened almost straight away. “She’s in the library. Today it’s very bad, Namjoon.”

He nodded.

“She’s barely spoken.”

He took off his shoes quickly, thankful for dressing up casually that morning, with a comfortable turtleneck and a pair of looser slacks. He knocked at the wooden frame of the entrance to the library. “May I?”

You turned lazily since Lars was balled up on your belly, sleeping — you didn’t want to disturb him. You nodded and Namjoon entered the room, spotting the thick pile of books beside you. Those were your comfort novels, their thick spines cracked for you to open them comfortably.

The Pomeranian woke and barked at Namjoon, making you flinch and frown. The tall man approached nonetheless, kneeling on the thick carpet, stealing a pillow to lay his head on it as he laid beside you. “Wanna talk?”

You shook your head, Lars calming down once Namjoon gave him belly scratches, the small dog rolling on his back, his leg stretching out as the cuddles hit the perfect spot.

Namjoon smiled and heard the sound of other small paws approaching, Lola coming in to check that her partner was doing okay, only to insistently ask to receive those attentions Lars was so generously being given.

“Want me to read something for you?” he asked before you nodded eagerly, turning to face him fully. “Persuasion? Jane Eyre? Wuthering Heights? Call Me By Your Name? Wait. I’ll pick my favourite.”

He chose a rather thin book, by now so abused and scribbled and run down he reminded himself he should have it scanned and reprinted in a way you could have it with you forever. Half those annotations were in his own penmanship, too.

He could remember that afternoon as if it were yesterday. Summer skies. The breeze making the hem of your sundress billow. The smell of your sunscreen. And the places that book brought you. He opened it and started reading.

“Kublai Khan does not necessarily believe everything Marco Polo says when he describes the cities he visited on his expeditions, but the emperor of the Tartans does continue listening to the young Venetian with greater attention and curiosity than he shows any of other messenger or explorer of his...”

Before he had read through all the “Cities and Memory” section, you were already sleeping, your hand resting on Lola’s soft fur, right beside his own, your pinkies laced together. When your mother entered the room to announce dinner time, she noticed both of you were deeply asleep in front of the fireplace, Namjoon’s other hand resting on your hair.

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Things got a lot easier after that. You started going on walks with Namjoon and Gureum — once you even brought Lars and Lola with you, the tabloids going on and on about how it was one of your first public appearances in months, and one of Namjoon’s too, some even speculating that the two of you were dating and that your undying love for him had forced him back from the dark side; which was of course absolute bullshit, but you weren’t too bothered by that. You didn’t want to meddle with them and you preferred letting them stew in their own juice made of “the sweetheart saving the fuckboy” and all of that.

All you cared about was that hanging out with Namjoon felt relaxing, soothing, healing even. You were two people walking along similar paths, with similar destinations, and the growing certainty of Namjoon still being in your life no matter if your paths diverged gave you a sort of peace you weren’t sure could exist on this Earth.

And then one day he asked you to go visit Candy. Together.

It felt like a delicate moment between the two of you, your pinkie searching for his before entering the room. A part of you still felt guilty about not visiting her half as much as you should have, mostly due to barely exiting your house except for your job. Your social anxiety — now you had a name for it, thanks to Ara — had worsened and having to face your best friend meant facing all your shortcomings in terms of friend duties.

Candy’s hair being uncharacteristically tidy was the first thing you noticed, your steps faltering when you noticed she had fresh flowers in her room, together with a basket full of fruit and a picture of Cookie.

You’d brought her nothing.

Namjoon engulfed your hand in his as he noticed your hesitation. “It doesn’t matter, Honey,” he whispered on the threshold, placing his other hand on your cheek, making your panicked glance meet his. “She doesn’t care. She’ll be happy to see you.” You nodded, Namjoon sweetly stroking the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone. “You’ll be fine.”

You nodded again and smiled at him, making him grin back at you.

From her bed, Candy watched the scene, perfectly silent as she watched how much Namjoon had changed and how fragile you looked in his hands. As the moment seemed to fade, comfort seeping from his hand to your skin, Candy cleared her throat, making you turn your head quickly. “The prodigal daughter has returned.”

“Sorry mommy, I’ve been naughty,” you teased with light glee in your voice.

“Come here, you shy cat,” Candy called, opening her arms and inviting you in her embrace. “I missed you, baby,” she whispered once you were hugging her, her hair smelling of disinfectant. It unsettled you a little.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back. “I’m so sorry I was a coward.”

“You were healing too, darling. I know you stopped by a couple times while I was sleeping. And you’ve been very busy, haven’t you? Joonie told me you’re working now.”

You nodded, holding her hand and sitting down on a chair, Namjoon standing behind you. “I’m on a creative team. We’re working on a new line and it’s been challenging.”

“She’s been working hard. I’m very proud of her,” Namjoon admitted, so tempted to put his hand on your shoulder, but deciding to wait for you to initiate contact. After all, he had just stopped holding your hand.

Candy watched your cheeks redden, your small smile telling her something had changed, and from the way Namjoon had helped you calm down, it had to be a good something. “So, have the two of you come here to obtain my blessing?”

Namjoon chuckled. “No, Candy. We’re hanging out. We’re healing.” This time it was you looking for Namjoon’s hand, trying to reassure him. “If we find out this benefits both of us, then I wouldn’t mind asking Honey out. Doing things the old way. But personally, I need to walk before I run.” You turned to look at him. You’d never discussed this topic with him, both of you too focused on finding your roots to go figure out the branches yet, still you were glad he told you, no matter he did so in front of Candy. You didn’t mind, at all; however, you did appreciate the thing he said about doing things the old way. You realised you could enjoy going on a date with him. Kissing him. And though those lips had kissed so many women, you wanted to call them yours, just as much you wanted to remind him yours had been the first.

“Good. I hoped you weren’t pulling a Seokjin on me.” Candy said before seeing the two of you stand very very still.

Namjoon’s hand froze against your own. What was happening to his friend was one of the things that had scared him the most since he was a boy, since he realised he had a crush on you. Having your parents choose the person who should love you forever, in sickness and in health, until death do us part, was a deeply wrong thing, something that irked the deepest, most idealistic part of his soul. And still, no matter how lowly he thought of Seokjin’s circumstances he could not deny he had considered them himself.

“You know our situation is very different,” Namjoon spoke, his voice so cold you knew his mood had dramatically shifted. He needed someplace quiet as his thoughts started getting out of control.

You understood his mood perfectly when you turned towards him, the frown on his face telling you that something was very, very wrong, his jaw locking as he searched for a packet of gummy bears in his pocket.

You knew he could deal with crises by himself, still you needed to make sure he was okay. “Joon, baby.”

His eyes met yours and he gave you a curt nod, putting a distance between the two of you.

“Would you like to get some fresh air?”

He nodded, Candy growing alarmed at his behaviour. He said goodbye, as always polite and warm, but she could tell something was nagging at him.

“Don’t worry. It’s not your fault,” you reassured her once he was out of the room. ”Verbalising his worries is still hard on him. He just needs some quiet place to think.” You took hold of her hand and kissed the back of it. “I’ll text you once he’s feeling better, okay?”

“Keep me updated, please,” Candy asked, patting your shoulder. “You know me and my conscience.”

You smiled and nodded. “Don’t torture yourself.”

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As soon as you and Namjoon exited the hospital, you took a taxi to his apartment, needing the privacy Jungkook's place couldn't offer.

Your hand stayed linked with his throughout the drive, and then until you reached his doorstep. He opened the door and pulled you in, blinking rapidly as he studied the entryway.

There were so many things he'd done in that place — even in that very room — that he wasn't proud of.

“Joonie,” you murmured, squeezing his hand.

“Could you please hold me?”

You wrapped your arms around him immediately as self loathing started rising, the waters so high he could barely breathe. “Joonie,” you whispered again as the first sob escaped his lips. “What is it, dear?”

He placed his forehead against your shoulder. “I was thinking how much I hate what’s happening to Jin hyung, and at the same time I am the same person who actually considered forcing your parents into giving me your hand in marriage?” His snicker was vitriolic. “I’m so disgusting.”

His words cut you like a knife. “You're not, baby. You're strong and beautiful and you're healing.” And I'm falling in love with you all over again and it scares me because it's different — it's better — than before. You held the confession in your heart, keeping it until it didn't feel scary and you could analyse your fears with Ara.

“Why are you still with me, Honey? Why are you by my side, ____?”

The answer came naturally. “Because it's where I choose to be. Because you deserve it, because you make my life lighter, and it feels so good to watch you heal and bloom and become so painstakingly beautiful day after day. You're a miracle, Joon.” You felt tears stream down your face, startling when you realised they were yours. “You're a miracle and I don't want to stop watching you happen.”

When Namjoon touched your face, there was nothing but reverence, devotion, and faith.

He kissed you like he never had. He kissed you like the statue of a saint, like he was pure and unashamed, and because he had known sin and lust, he didn't feel the need for either. He kissed your lips like raindrops touch magnolia petals, like honey bees land on lavender flowers.

You kissed him back, like the sea mirroring the night sky, like the fields of wheat dancing in the breeze, like water healing the cracks of a wasteland. If once it had been fire, now your kisses were water, like a drizzle, like a spring rain.

His face parted from yours. You stared at each other timidly, fondly.

And then the storm began. Your hands grabbed at his hair as you pulled him to you, his body caging you against the wall, one of his hands angling your head as the other one explored your body. He was breathless, excited, incapable of understanding what exactly was happening.

As he realised how unsteady he was in that moment, he slowed down, the kiss turning languid and slow, fond. His palms settled down around your waist while yours still crawled around feverishly.

“Honey, let's stop,” he breathed out, rubbing your spine as you hid your face into his chest.

“Sorry. I got carried away,” you said, words muffled against his chest.

You felt Namjoon's chest shake with a chuckle. “I appreciate it. But we need to go slow. I don't want to throw away all the hard work we did because we didn't take one step at a time.”

You nodded, running your hands down his back. “You're right.”

“Still, I want you to know that stopping right now is one of the most difficult choices I've ever made.” He held you to his chest, caressing your hair. “Let's go sit down.”

Once settled on the sofa, Namjoon turned to face you, holding your hands. “I meant it seriously when I said I wanted to take things easy, like we didn't do when we were kids.”

You shook your head yes, rubbing your thumbs across his knuckles. “Do you forgive me for leaving you?”

He nodded ceremoniously. “That night was an avalanche of mistakes, one after the other. And what happened with Hyuna was the peak of it all.” He brought his hands to his lips, too weak to hold himself back. “It was a complicated series of shared responsibilities. I lied to her, you didn't ask me, you left and I wasn't strong enough. I was dumb and angry and so, so immature because I had let you become my conscience and my peace of mind. Which was my mistake.”

“I didn't let you explain. And I didn't trust you.” You murmured. “And then last summer, I used you. I manipulated you and I brought chaos in your life—”

“Do you forgive yourself for that?” Namjoon asked. “I have forgiven you. I trust you now.” You felt his hands squeeze yours. “Do you forgive and trust yourself?”

It took you a second, taking a deep breath before admitting the hardest truth. “I'm still learning.”

Namjoon smiled. “That's why we'll go slow. And that's why I trust you and respect you, Honey. Hearing you admit that you're still a work in progress makes me so proud of you.”

“I'm proud of you too, Namjoon.” You kissed his wrists, his eyes closing as he basked in the perfection of the moment. “Do you forgive yourself?”

Namjoon nodded. “I'm getting there too. I feel close. I hope that in a few years it will be a distant memory, a very hard, very precious lesson.” He felt like a wall had been pulled down. “Aren't you angry that I didn't tell you about Jimin and Seokjin?”

You shook your head. “I understand why you did that, but I honestly hope you never do it again.”

“Okay. I’ll remember that. Honestly I did it because I was afraid of how you would take it.” He let go of one of your hands to scratch his nape. “All our friends are heartbroken.”

“I’m so sorry for Peach and Yoongi,” you said, pouting. “Fuck.” This time it was you taking your hands away and bringing them to your face, rubbing your palms against your eyes. “She loves him, Joon.”

Namjoon nodded, his expression mirroring your sad one. “I know…” And then he felt a lightning coursing through him. “I never apologised for Peach.”

You looked at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry about that. We were lonely and I thought you would get angry enough to come back and slap me across the face in person. And I hoped you did, because even if I had to see you angry and sad and disappointed, even if you had slapped me, at least I would have seen your face.” His mouth felt too dry.

“I was trying not to feel anything for you,” you confessed.

“Did you feel nothing?”

You shook your head, sucking your lips past your teeth, looking up as you hoped for tears not to fall. “I didn’t stop loving you. Even after that.”

Namjoon felt his heart shatter. “I’m so sorry.”

Once more you dismissed the apology with a wave of your hands. “When did you stop?”

“After the thing with Chris. I realised I never considered how I felt, and you didn’t either. And I never considered how bad I was to you. How unhealthy it was to snap like elastic bands all over the place when the other was around.” You inhaled. “That’s not a way to live.”

Namjoon acquiesced. “Would you feel like trying to be together for real? Me and you? Like two adult, balanced people walking side by side?”

You licked your lips and nodded. And smiled. And nodded. “We’ll take this easy.”

“So easy,” he murmured in return, his entire face alight with joy. “We’ll go on dates, I’ll kiss you goodbye at the door. I’ll buy you a real gift if we make it to one hundred days together.”

You chuckled and got on your knees on the sofa, crawling until you could sit in his lap, his arms welcoming you warmly. “And we’ll keep going to therapy.”

“Of course we will.”

“And sometimes I think we should go together,” you mentioned casually, seeing if he caught your cue.

“Absolutely.” He hugged you to his chest, inhaling your scent. It wasn’t yours. He let it go. “I wanted to ask you, but I was a bit afraid.”

You dragged the bridge of your nose against his jaw. “Of what?”

“Of you saying it was too fast, too soon.” He ran his hands over your arms.

“It’s the only way we can do this like smart people,” you considered, placing your hands on his.

“Can you stay until I fall asleep?” Namjoon asked, leaning his head against your shoulder and closing his eyes.

“Let’s take you to Jungkook’s. I don’t want him to worry.” With one hand reaching behind you, you combed his hair, his heartbeat relaxing against your back.

“You’re right, but it feels too good, right here, right now.”

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When Jungkook opened the door, he didn’t expect to see you next to Namjoon, especially considering that it was fairly late in the night. He marveled at Namjoon’s hand holding on tightly onto yours.

“Hi Guk,” you said, smiling gracefully, speaking gently.

“Hi,” he replied, still a bit confused.

“I’ve brought him back home,” you said, turning to Namjoon and giving him a grin that made his heart beat three times faster.

“Aren’t you coming in, staying for a bit?” Namjoon seemed to pout as he asked.

You turned to Jungkook. “May I?”

The younger man nodded silently as he decided to observe the situation. He felt a bit dumb as he spotted your new dynamics. The way Namjoon seemed to refuse to let go of your hand, the way the two of you seemed to stand closer, to smile brighter. It was like going back to high school, when the man would be found at your side whenever you had some spare time.

You chatted for a while with Jungkook, the three of you together, you venting about your job while Jungkook went on about his, rehearsing what he had so far for his speech to the board as the new CEO, until Namjoon’s yawns grew too blatant not to be noticed, Gureum already sleeping heavily on his owner’s lap, your hand and Namjoon’s meeting as you petted the dog.

As your conversation with Jungkook came to a natural stop, you turned to your best friend in the world. “Want me to go? You should sleep.”

Namjoon’s eyes lowered. “Would you keep me company until I fall asleep?”

You thought about it for a second. You couldn’t see anything bad in it, plus you truly wanted to be there for him. “Go get changed,” you murmured, Namjoon wishing Jungkook goodnight before he woke Gureum up, the dog following him to his room.

“He asked me to wait until he falls asleep,” you told Jungkook.

The man nodded. “I don’t know what is going on between the two of you, but he needs steady people to lean on. And even though he’s learning to stand on his own, if you leave this time, I won’t forgive you.”

You bit your lip and stared at the floor as he warned you, nodding in understanding.

“I won’t let go of him this time. I promise. And even if life could bring me far from him, I won’t let the distance separate us.”

Jungkook couldn’t fully understand what you meant, and he was even more confused as you moved quietly to where Namjoon had disappeared. His bedroom was cozy, there were some plants, a very tiny tree, and some cacti by the window. He was brushing his teeth in the ensuite. “May I?” You asked from the entrance.

A muffled confirmation convinced you to step further into the small corridor that led to his bed. You stood there embarrassedly, too new to that space to know how to occupy it. Thankfully Namjoon appeared a few seconds later, finding his spot on the bed and curling up underneath the covers. He had thick flannel pyjamas on, his glasses abandoned on the bedside table.

You looked around, trying to decide what to do. You felt a slight bit of anxiety starting to rise from your stomach before he patted the bed. “You can sit here. I won’t move. One step at a time, Honey.” You didn’t know who was comforting who when you grabbed hold of his hand and laced your fingers together. Cross-legged on the bed, you started touching his hair, knowing how easy it was for him to fall asleep like that.

In twenty minutes, he was asleep.

A small corner of your brain was tempted to lay at his side and let his and Gureum’s heavy exhales lull you, however, you reminded yourself you still had something left to do. Untangling your hand from Namjoon’s you shut the bedside lamp and let the soft gleam of your phone screen help you out of the room, the lights in the living room still on.

You waited in the living room, fixing your dress over and over again, wondering if the woolen fabric and the woolen tights would keep you warm during your first date with Namjoon.

Your first date.

You felt your cheeks rise as a smile appeared on your face, touching them before fixing your hair self-consciously. Your mother was watching tv with the dogs, while you waited there, your toes wiggling as you could barely contain your excitement. And your worry.

Namjoon had never been late for appointments. He’d never kept you waiting. But today…

Fifteen minutes after the agreed time, your phone rang, a picture of him and Gureum appearing on your screen and making you blush like a schoolgirl. He must have ended up stuck in traffic. You picked up the call, your mother immediately looking at you as you murmured, “Namu?”

“Hello Honey.” His voice was hard, strange. You’d never heard it like that. “I must apologise to you.”

Your face dulled down with confusion. “What happened? Are you okay? Do you need time? We can postpone—”

“Hold on, hold on. Wait.” The sounds on his end of the phone were muffled briefly, a feminine voice causing your ears to tingle with suspicion, making your worry increase tenfold. Was he with someone else? Was he hiding you? Or was he hiding someone else? Maybe he was in a club— You scolded yourself for thinking the worst of him; maybe he was dealing with work stuff.

“Are you there, sweets?”

You nodded before humming, realising he couldn’t see you.

“It was Milla. I was meeting the board and I need to talk to you in private for a second.” You heard him huff out in frustration as he was newly interrupted, barking out something before he got back to you. “Sorry again.”

You could see him combing his hair back in frustration. “It’s okay. Do you need to talk about that?”

He tutted and exhaled. “It’s business stuff. I— I have to leave for Kyoto in a couple hours. An investor got cold feet and he’s going to withdraw his sponsorship. I have to fly there asap.”

You nodded as you understood what was going on. “It’s okay. We can wait— I can wait. Just don’t stress yourself, Joon. Okay?”

He hummed in a very unconvincing way. Namjoon looked around, making sure no one would interrupt him. “I really wanted to see you tonight. I… I missed you these last few days.” It had been only four days since he’d fallen asleep at your side, and since then you had both been too busy with your jobs to find some time to meet, even your walks becoming something too hard to arrange. “I’m so tired.”

Your heart clenched uncomfortably as he didn’t bother hiding the stress in his voice. “We’ll take a nap once you’re back. Can you sleep on the flight?”

He tutted. “I have to prepare the reviewed projections.”

You frowned. “Can’t you have Milla do that and take a nap?” You realised you wanted to hold him. You also realised you were sad you couldn’t.

“I need to know exactly how much I’m pushing the numbers.” He threw his head back against the headrest of his seat. “I wish I could hold you right now.”

“Do you need me to come over? You’re in the office, right?” You stood up abruptly, feeling the need to pace.

“It will rain soon, no need, sweets.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you first thing once I’m back.”

You smiled in return. “I’ll take that as a promise.”

“It is.” He allowed himself a few more seconds with you. “Are you upset?”

You shook your head, “uhm, no. I mean, no, really,” you tried to sound serious, to not give away the excitement fading into disappointment. “I was really excited about the…” you looked at your mom on the sofa, very — nonchalantly — interested in your conversation. “About the thing. But it’s okay. We’ll reschedule.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He realised he could book you one extra ticket and have you travel with him, but then again, your job was more important, and he reckoned the smart move would be seeing you once he came back, and make sure that your reunion was worth it. “Then I’m booking your Friday late afternoon. Be ready for six sharp, I’ll pick you up.”

You chuckled, quickly calming yourself right afterward. “Six sharp. Friday. Can’t wait.”

“Me either. I’ll text you before flight departure, later tonight.” I love you. “Take care of yourself, Honey.”

“You too, Joonie. Go get ready, big boy. You’ve got this. I believe in you!”

Before Namjoon could say things out of instinct, he said goodbye and closed the call.

“Namjoon?” your mom asked.

You nodded, your face crumbling with disappointment as you let the phone land on the sofa and went upstairs, wearing your pyjamas and getting ready for a chill facetime with Candy.

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The three days went by relatively quickly, though painfully. The temptations to drink were multiplied once he started getting into a series of business meetings that were way too informal for Namjoon not to notice how the investor was desperately trying to get on his good graces, even “accidentally” introducing his daughter to him.

He managed to get himself out of trouble by faking a disease which strictly forbade him to drink even the mildest of liquors, and he escaped the exceedingly touchy young woman by saying he already had arrangements on him pushed by his family and that any deal on those terms had to be discussed with his father.

The urge to drink that one night was especially disturbing, both to forget the beautiful woman, how he’d allowed himself to study her body with his eyes before he took a deep inhale and thought about you. About how that night in the glasshouse had felt. Sure, he didn’t need to end up with you; still, he felt confused once he picked up his phone and called you. Your voice sounded peaceful. “Joonie.”

“Honey? Are you someplace private? Can we talk?”

The sentence made you worry. “Yeah, I’m in my room.”

“I just— it’s been a long day and the itch to grab a glass is pretty strong right now and there was this girl who threw herself at me and I swear I did not touch her, I just accidentally looked at her chest because it was huge and she seemed to keep trying to get my attention—”

You breathed in, trying to process all the words he was spitting out at alarming speed. “Okay, slow down. Please don’t drink. Grab a pack of candies, some water, some tea, just no alcohol, okay. You’ve been working hard. Draw yourself a hot bath, have some lavender sent in, just focus on calming down, okay?”

His breathing became slower and deeper. He realised he missed The Princess, still he couldn’t rely on it to stay sane.

“Do you need me to call Eunho?” you asked, sitting down on the bed, rubbing your hand against your chest worriedly.

“No, it’s okay. I already called him. We made a plan on how to deal with this and I already calmed down a fair bit compared to earlier. I just needed to tell you about what happened with that woman because I was guilt tripping myself and I really needed to talk to you.” He stared at his legs as they were propped up against the headboard, his back to the mattress as he tried to get his heart rate to an acceptable level.

“Okay. What happened with her?”

“She was throwing herself at me and I really tried to be respectful because I’m committed to you, Honey. I know we’re not rushing but if we’re together in this thing — and I don’t know, what are the expectations? I—” He found himself breathing heavily, brow furrowed, eyes shut as he waited for your reply.

“I don’t care if you look at other women. You have eyes, you can look.” Your voice was steady as you gave him a basic ground rule. “I don’t care if they make a move. We all see people and might catch their attention. All I care about is choice. Intention. If you don’t mean to sleep with them, if you choose to be with me, then they don’t matter.”

“I was so worried, Honey.” Namjoon felt peace rushing through him. “It was— I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I mean, I was staring at the void and I didn’t realise she… her chest was right in the trajectory and I… I panicked and I kept thinking, would you be disappointed if you saw me like that?”

“Namjoon,” you said calmly, your voice soothing him. “I don’t care about you casually, unintentionally looking at someone's breasts.”

“Honey—” He tried to interrupt.

“No. Let me finish.” You licked your lips, trying to gather exactly your thoughts. “Some mechanisms are so deeply embedded in our minds that it’s hard to get rid of them. It’s not the first thought that matters, but the way you correct that first impression. You were doing it absentmindedly. Without intention. I don’t think an involuntary thought should be given much importance. The way you’ve come to me, panicked, worried, makes me understand that you choose to care about me.”

“I care about you, Honey,” he repeated, wishing with all of his heart he could be staring into your eyes, your calm, peaceful stare. “I wish you were here,” he breathed out. “I don’t want anyone else.”

“And I trust you when you say that. I believe you.” Your heart trembled slightly in fear. “Do you miss your life from before? All the… All the girls and…”

“No.” His reply was lightning fast. “It was all so meaningless and I don’t want it anymore. It never had the meaning it had between the two of us.” He longed to touch your cheek as he spoke. He paused as he tried to find the right words. “It was magical, when we… I’m sorry, I’m getting carried away. I must have made it more than it was, you know, memories are always a rose-tinted version of reality and all of that…”

“I felt it too.” You tried to bring some saliva to your dry mouth. “The… the magic.” You had no other words to define that.

Namjoon tiptoed around the topic very carefully. “That night in the greenhouse,” he paused. “You were so far away from me and—” you heard him inhale and exhale slowly. “I don’t want anything like that anymore. I don’t want to pretend to have you.”

You nodded. “I don’t know how to ask this question. It’s something dumb and superficial and—”

“Just ask, Honey. I won’t deny you, and you know it.” He sat up, ready to take anything you would throw at him.

“Do you need sex like… on the immediate? Is it something you can’t go without on an ordinary basis? Us taking things slow, physically… Is it having repercussions on you?” You brought your fingers to your mouth, biting a piece of loose skin.

“Nothing I cannot deal with.” He did have urges; still, he couldn’t help but feel guilty afterwards. He couldn’t allow himself to feel guilty about making love to you. “I mean, am I attracted to you? Yes. Do I want you, physically too? Yes. Do I want to wait until it’s something that I feel worthy of? Absolutely.”

It felt like a type of conversation that needed someone a bit more neutral than the two of you, someone who could translate Namjoon’s words into something you could understand. “Did you talk about it with Eunho?”

He hummed in confirmation.

“I think I need to understand this better,” you admitted. “Do you think we could talk about it together, with him?”

Namjoon mulled it over for a moment. “Okay… ”

“I mean, if you’re comfortable about it—”

“I am,” he reassured you immediately. “Just send me your schedule so I can arrange.”

You giggled. “Good.”

The conversation went on for another half hour or so, Namjoon yawning by the time you decided it was time to let him go to sleep. “Namu, go to bed,” you ordered him, your voice tender as you did so.

He finally agreed, his voice deep and sleepy. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?”

You playfully smacked your lips. “There you go. Sleep tight.”

You were ready to close the call when you heard him. “Can I dream of you tonight? Of that time at the boathouse, at dawn?”

You knew exactly which dawn he was talking about, your body reminding you the exact feeling of his touch, reverent, worshipping on the feverish skin of your ribs. “I’ll be dreaming of that with you.”

You heard him smile through the phone. “Then, sweet dreams, my Honey.”

You smiled back, “Sweet dreams.”

Namjoon stood outside your window, the cold December night making his cheeks sting with the freezing weather, a thin layer of frozen mist laying on the ground. He threw one more pebble, hoping to have you open the window.

He was happy to have an excuse to head to the lakehouse, since you were staying in your vacation home with your parents for the weekend. It fit his plan perfectly. He was ready to aim at your window once more when he saw you appear, drawing the curtain and standing there, so happy. You lifted one finger, telling him to wait a second before you left the room in a rush. He rocked back and forth on his feet, waiting for you expectantly.

And then the door opened. It felt like a small glimpse of heaven, especially when you started walking across the garden. “Namjoon,” you whispered out loud.

“Honey.” His smile was breathtaking.

It was like starting to fall in love with him again, except this time it was a deliberate descent, every small choice a step further down into the staircase of his heart. “It’s cold out here, Joonie,” you cooed as you stood in front of him.

“I wanted to see you.” He stared at his shoes. His cheeks were red, like crisp winter apples, the tip of his nose matching the tint. He had a thick beanie on, matching with the scarf protecting his throat, and a fluffy jacket that made you want to hug him even harder. “Sorry I came here so late. I just wanted to let you know that I made it home safe. And I couldn’t wait for tomorrow. ”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, pressing your hands to his red cheeks. “Was the trip tiring?”

He nodded and placed his hands on your waist, tugging you into his embrace, opening his jacket and pulling you into its warmth. You nuzzled in gladly, the soft cashmere of his turtleneck meeting your cheek. “Would you like to come in? I could make you some tea, or—”

He shook his head, eyes crinkled in joy. “I should go home. My parents are waiting for me at the lakehouse.”

“You should have called. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting.” You noticed just how much the cold had bitten into him, taking a step back to look at his hands, red with the cold. You caught them between yours. “You’re freezing.”

He denied it with a tilt of his head. “It was worth it.” He was glowing with joy. You hadn’t seen him that happy in a long while. “Come back here,” he murmured, pulling you back inside his coat.

You chuckled and wrapped your arms around him. He found himself giggling. He was happy. So, so happy. And he was okay with having you like this, there but from a distance, but he would also be okay with not having you at all as long as he could have a small chat like this, once a month. A few minutes where he could tell you about himself, and you would tell him about yourself, he would hug you and leave, mind at peace with the knowledge of you walking on a safe path.

“Are you leaving for the Christmas holidays?” he asked, still holding you.

“I think I’ll stay home. What about you?” You started rocking left to right as he waddled side to side, making you giggle.

“I’ll stay in town. I’ll go back to Seoul for a couple family events, or to see our friends.” He smiled. “Swan looks beautiful. And Taehyung is ecstatic. He’s glowing, all the time.”

“When’s the baby bear coming?” you asked, looking up at Namjoon. “End of March?”

He nodded. “The doctors said March 17th, but who knows.” He studied your face, your nose already runny. “You should go back in, you’re dressed too light.”

You couldn’t feel anything but Namjoon. You imagined how good it would be to fall asleep at his side before you could realise you still needed to fix what you had done to him for The Princess — and before that, for that wretched night. You may have forgiven him for that night, for those wretched words, for Chris, but you still had a long way to go before having him in your bed.

It was like he’d read your mind. “As I was coming here, I thought about that night at the gala, with your date,” he started. “I analysed my actions, and my feelings back then. I wanted to make sure no man would take the place I wanted, without realising I wasn’t even remotely suitable for it, for your needs. I didn’t respect you and I want to apologise for it. I’m really scared that I might have possessive and selfish behaviour in the future, and I know it would be unrealistic to promise you I will be a saint; however, now I know how my toxic behaviour works and I’ll make sure I listen to you more carefully in the future. I know we might hurt each other again, but I need to be sure we never go that far ever again.”

You felt your eyes water slightly, biting your lip. “I’m so proud of you, Namu,” you said before kissing his chest. “I don’t think promises such as ‘I’ll never hurt you again’ can actually work, but I’m so very proud of you for committing to avoiding negative behaviour and making up for it when it slips.” You arched your back so you could see his face.

Namjoon nodded. “I want to be a better man. Not the boy I used to be. I can learn from all that pain and cruelty and be a better person to myself. And maybe this thing between us will not work, but still, I’ll always be grateful to you and to the person who will make you happy someday. I used to think everything I did was to make myself better than you. It took me so long to understand that I should always aim at being better than myself.”

“That’s a very kind and smart thing to say, Joon.” You touched the hair at his nape, pulling his head down so you could kiss his lips chastely. “You might think of yourself as a flawed person, but I can only see a healing man. A miracle — and I told you that before. Merciful, kind, wise.” Your hands caressed him adoringly. “And if we’re not made for each other, I’ll support and help anyone who will be at your side.”

He kissed your head, cupping your cheeks and pulling you close. He felt so at home in your arms. “I need to go, Honey.” He bent down slightly to peck your lips with his. “Sleep tight, baby,” he murmured. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tried unlatching himself from you, but then stopped as you held on to him tightly, refusing to let go.

He felt so emotional at your tender, obstinate embrace. “Wear your pretty white dress tomorrow,” he said fondly.

You stared up at him, grinning brightly. “I will.” You let go of him gently, slowly, with a slight pout on your lips, the temptation of falling asleep in his arms too strong. “Good night, Joonie.” You started walking backwards through the garden, refusing to take your eyes off him. It was like looking at a baby bird slowly making his way out of his egg. He seemed like a man on his way to rebirth, with all the experience of understanding and growing out of his old mistakes.

“Sweet dreams, Honey.” Namjoon waved at you, turning only once he noticed you lingering at the doorstep, carefully studying his frame as he walked away.

As you walked in, you blinked at the field of flowers that was Namjoon’s living room. The entire room was filled with flowers, with vases everywhere, dried lavender and roses and baby’s breath and small plants — since he felt guilty about having too many dead flowers in the room. Right before the fireplace laid a chequered blanket, with a wooden basket, and an overwhelming amount of food.

And then balloons, covering the ceiling in light blue and white. It was a very artificial version of a picnic in the open air, the smell of crisp apples turning it into a late autumn rendezvous. “We didn’t celebrate your birthday for many years. I wanted to make up for that,” Namjoon murmured, helping you take off your coat, Gureum refusing to come indoors since the ground was covered in a thin layer of snow outside.

“Joonie. This is…” You were speechless, walking in the room very carefully, following the path made through the small forest on the floor. You felt tears well up in your eyes, refusing to count how many times he’d managed to make you cry with joy since the two of you had begun this new adventure together.

“It was the least I could do,” he said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck with embarrassment. “Please, come.”

He held your hand as he led you to the blanket, offering you a pillow to sit on, toying with the small pendant of your necklace — cherry shaped. The one he’d gifted you so long ago, when you were still teenagers. He talked with you for hours under the plastic sky on the ceiling, moving the leftovers back inside the basket and moving everything away, laying back on the blanket, Namjoon holding you in his arms. “It’s summer, isn’t it?” he asked, chuckling with that funny laugh of his, making you settle down on his chest.

And in your heart, it truly was summer, but this time you weren’t afraid of the winters ahead, knowing that Namjoon, as a friend or more, would always be at your side.

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Once December rolled around, Namjoon started the craziest quest of the year, trying to find the perfect birthday gift for his little brother, and for his beloved Seokjin hyung — especially now that he looked miserable with the marriage pending over his head like the sword of Damocles. And then Christmas gifts! For his most important friends — and sponsors — Yoongi hyung and the lovely Jungkook, for his parents, who seemed to love him twice as much now, his mother tearing up everytime she saw the two of you together, his smile so bright he could put the Seoul Tower to shame. And though your arrangement wasn’t official, sometimes it felt like it was, your parents having blessed any relationship between you and Namjoon a very long time ago.

Still, there was a person who was more special than anyone else.

On a Sunday morning, Namjoon literally dragged you out of your room, forcing you to get dressed and go out with him. “Come on, the shop is going to close.”

“It’s nine am, stop being a pain, I woke up literally ten minutes ago!” You opposed, from the passenger’s seat, Namjoon driving into town, parking his car at his old place and deciding to walk with you in the pale winter morning. You held tight onto his hand, his leather gloves against your wool-covered hands. A few underground stops later, you were in the beating heart of Gangnam, rivers of people streaming down the main boulevard, the crowd already making you anxious.

“Come on,” he called, placing a hand around your waist as he led you to a slightly quieter street. “It should be… here!” He grinned at you as he found his destination.

The shop could only be defined as a nursery boutique, the insides so attentively designed that you felt intimidated by the deco. “Good morning,” the shop assistant welcomed you as you entered. “How may I help you?”

“We’re looking for some special gifts for a special princess. Is there any chance you have something for us?” His face radiated pure joy.

“The assistant smiled. “Are we looking for clothes, toys, accessories like baby-bags, maybe room decor?”

Namjoon turned towards you, his eyes glittering as he waited for your reply. He was blatantly expecting you to direct him. “A blanket, maybe? And a plushie?” you suggested, looking back at him.

He nodded, smiling, his dimple making a glorious appearance and causing you to swoon. If this is what he’d dragged you out for, then you were ready to do that a thousand times more.

Ten minutes later, Namjoon was struggling to pick which baby shoes he liked best — blanket and plushie already in the cart, together with a lovely light green onesie, an oversized cream coloured teddy bear that could replicate the mother’s heartbeat for the baby to sleep peacefully. And then a richly illustrated fairytale book, an expensive baby monitor and a set of toiletries for bathtime, among which a few rubber duckies that had reminded you both of your childhood together.

“What an eager dad,” the shop assistant commented merrily as she started scanning the endless list of items.

Namjoon froze. Did she mean… him? “Actually uncle,” he corrected with a chuckle. “It’s our little niece,” he replied with a fond smile.

“Oh, sorry!” The cashier apologised, her cheeks slightly rosy.

“Don’t worry! I mean, maybe… Someday… Who knows!” He laughed his embarrassed laugh, looking at you with stars in his eyes.

You felt your knees grow weak. Yes. This was the enamoured, devoted man you could see as the father of your children — that hopefully hadn’t got anyone else pregnant in his womanizer streak, but you let the thought fade to nothing. You would face that too, together.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the shop assistant’s voice. “We usually keep this for our most special customers, but I think you could be interested. We have a very close collaboration with The Royal Garden.” You bit your lips, smiling and looking away, feeling your cheeks heat. “They will be releasing a new line of baby products called Lily, coming out next March,” the woman continued.

Namjoon turned to you, cocking his head to the side with amusement.

“Since it will be released exclusively, we want to make sure we book the products in advance for our clients, so you’ll be able to have the limited edition release,” she concluded.

“I think our lily will have her fill of that already,” you replied kindly, “but I’m happy to hear my family’s products are creating such great anticipation.”

The cashier’s gaze disappeared behind her hands with a second bout of embarrassment. “I am infinitely sorry,” she replied, fixing all your items in the bags, the teddy bear taking a bit too much space.

Namjoon smiled for the rest of the morning, the two of you stopping by his apartment only to put all the gifts in the back of his car, the bear taking the entirety of his backseat. “So, The Lily,” he mused.

“The Lily.”

“And when were you going to tell me?” he asked with a grin, side-eyeing you while he drove.

“At the baby shower, maybe” you mused.

He nodded. “Ah… Keeping it from me for so long?”

“I have my sweet secrets,” you replied cheekily, smiling at him mischievously.

He nodded some more with a cocked eyebrow. “Guess I’ll have to tickle them out of you.”

“They’re industry secrets. I can’t trust you with them, you business shark.” You looked out of the window, the landscape turning from suburban to rural as you reached his lakehouse.

You usually didn’t answer the phone while working, especially since it was your private phone and you rarely had it on you. However, fate wanted things to go differently that morning, especially since seeing Candy’s name, knowing her rigorous work ethic, let you know that the matter was urgent. “What happened? Jungkook? Peach?” you asked, your heart already beating loudly in your chest. “Joonie?”

Candy’s voice was very calm and chirpy when she replied, “hey, I just called to check in on you. Is everything okay, Princess?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering if something happened since you called. You never call during work hours,” you replied lightheartedly, quite happy to hear your friend, but also still dubious about her motive. After all there had to be one.

She snorted before continuing, “yeah, I normally don’t, but working from home is a pain in my ass. I’m bored out of my mind, but that’s not why I called.” Her tone got lighter and more vague, which meant she was treading lightly over dangerous territory. “I was looking through Dispatch to check up on any publicity, both good and bad for my brand ambassadors and I saw an article about you and Namjoon shopping for baby stuff?”

You rolled your eyes. “Wait, can you send me the link? We were just shopping for Swan’s baby, but I guess they made it something it wasn’t, right?” You knew it already.

As she found her source, you heard some rustling on her behalf. “Yeah, one second. I thought that might’ve been the case, but I wanted to make sure. Can you believe baby Swan is arriving soon? Tete won’t shut up about it, but I can’t wait to meet her either. Okay, I sent you the link.”

You smiled at the memory of Namjoon’s expression, already enamoured of a baby he had yet to meet. “Joon is so happy about it. He’s gonna spoil that baby before it’s born. Let me check the damage”. On speaker mode, you commented the title as you read: ‘Kim heir: from daddy to dad’. “Well, the title is already something… I can’t believe this. I’m so fed up of these fucking tabloids.” You exhaled, stressed. “I hope this won’t make Joon spiral. Why do they pathologically need to shove their noses in other people’s business, for god’s sake. Why don’t they get on some bitch ass like Hyuna?”

Candy’s growl already told you her opinion. “Ugh, don’t say her name around me. Just hearing it makes my blood boil. I hope she gets what’s coming. Jail, maybe?” The hopeful, playful lilt to her voice made you laugh at her joke — well, maybe not joke.

“The very bare minimum,” you commented. “Anyway, is the rest of the gang doing okay? I reckon I’ve been living in my bubble with Joon and missing out on everyone else. Is Hoseok still around? Is he behaving? Do you need someone to kick his ass?”

Candy cackled, Hoseok’s voice appearing at the other end of the line. You heard them chit chat before he spoke loud and clear, “is it about Daddy Joon?”

The woman’s laugh was hysterical as she went on, “yeah, Daddy Joon is expecting and looking super good in a white t-shirt and jeans!”

You shook your head, and still, you smiled at the glee in their voices. “Yeah, yeah, go on, keep teasing. We all know you’ll get the bun in the oven first. Anyway, I should check up on him, send him a quick head-up.”

Candy seemed to be slightly taken by surprise at your little jab. “Shut up, Princess, that’s not happening for a while. Let’s see how I am with baby Swan first, and then I’ll see about having kids of my own.” A loud clatter of pans and pots echoed from her side, the woman immediately panicking for her boyfriend, while you panicked for your still recovering friend as she mentioned standing up and helping.

“Candy! He’s the one supposed to help you, babe, don’t you dare move!” you almost screamed on the phone. “Jung Hoseok I swear to god, you incompetent chipmunk!”

“But Princess, my future husband! What if he’s hurt? Do you know how hard it is to not move? I used to be captain of the dance team!! I can’t not move!” you could almost see her imploring look matching her whiny tone.

You acquiesced, “we know it, babe, we know. Hold on, incoming call from Joonie, I really have to go. And we’ll have to explain this to our parents…”

“Good luck with that! Tell Daddy Joon Hobi and I say hi!” Candy said, sending you an avalanche of kisses as you spoke your final warnings.

“Of course. Have a nice day! And Hoseok, you’d better behave. Don’t stress my darling. Love you, bye!!!”

“Bye, sweetheart!”

Quickly you moved on to your awaiting call. “Joon,” you replied.

“I got a text from Yoongi. Are you okay?” he asked, “I’m driving there right now, I need to see you, I won’t take too long.”

You hummed in confirmation.

“It’s okay, we’ll handle this. I’m downstairs. Wait— Good morning, uncle.”

You blinked a couple times. “I’m with your dad,” he whispered. “I— Yes, I’m on the phone with her,” he spoke, not at you. “He said to meet in his office.”

You sucked your lips into your mouth. You knew his permission was not a problem, therefore… “See you there.”

Standing beside Namjoon, your dad at his desk, felt like a very difficult position to be in, especially since your dad looked like he wasn’t entirely pleased with the situation. “So, am I going to become a granddad?” he asked, straight off the bat, making your knees tremble slightly.

Joon made to start talking, but you interrupted him. “We were buying gifts for Namjoon’s niece. It is absolutely not the way they wrote it, of course.”

“Except the part where it says I look extremely happy with Honey— I mean, your daughter, uncle.” Namjoon was quick to clarify. “I am immensely happy with her. And I hope she returns the feeling.”

“Which I do,” you confirmed quickly.

“No kids out of marriage. That shall be clear. I want my daughter safe and my little flowers having two committed and loving parents.” Your father looked at Namjoon with a gaze that would have made you incinerate in shame and fear. “Don’t think you haven’t made a name for yourself in the city. I know my girl is smart — maybe way too smart for you — and she won’t be one more notch on your bedpost.”

Namjoon’s cheeks reddened significantly. “Dad!” you said in warning.

“I know, he’s not like that anymore. But I want it to be clear. If I hear of your hands on anyone but her, I’m going to cut them off, together with something else—”

“Dad!” you exclaimed once more.

“He’s right, Honey.” Namjoon looked at the polished floor. “I haven’t made the best name for myself—” he turned to your father. “And I know I don’t deserve your daughter. But I’m working hard to be worthy of walking at her side, possibly forever.”

Your father nodded. “I know you’re a good man. I was just going through fatherly duties.” He stood and walked toward you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Are you doing okay? I know the public eye is very hard on you.”

“I’m doing fine, yeah. I’m ready for it, this time.” You smiled reassuringly, Namjoon shyly reaching for your pinkie with his.

“Good. How do you guys want to handle this? Deny? Confirm relationship, deny pregnancy? Announce marriage?”

You smiled nervously. “I think we’d like to discuss this by ourselves first,” you commented.

“Fine, I’ll let you talk it out,” your dad said with an equally tight smile. Probably he’d already texted your mom and she was already filing the guestlist for your marriage. He exited the door, peeking from the great glass opening on the wall and giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up. “So, what do we do?”

Namjoon thought about it. There was a time he wanted to have your name tied to his with a double knot, but now he knew it wouldn’t be the best compliment to your reputation. “I don’t want the press breathing down our neck. I want to keep you safe, Honey, and safety means your name far away from the tabloids. But my choice is only one side of the coin. I’ll follow your lead in this, though I must admit I’d rather not put that kind of pressure on myself.”

“Let’s say we hang out with the same people and I’m the baby’s godmother and we thought it natural for two people so close to the child to be hanging out together.” You shrugged.

“It won’t explain the picture of us walking hand in hand or me with an arm around your waist. Or booping your nose,” he said, this time a tiny smile on his face.

“Fuck.” He opened his arms, your body fitting perfectly against his. “I fucked up so bad. Does it really, unequivocally show that it’s us?”

“Sort of…” he murmured, fixing your hair out of your face.

You fake sobbed — one of his habits that had stuck to you. “Then let’s keep it neutral. We’ve been hanging out but we prefer to enjoy our acquaintance without the pressure of the press.”

He nodded. “It’s pretty generic. They’ll think we’re together anyway, but yeah, acquaintance sounds like a nice word.”

“Good,” you conceded, feeling his index tapping against the tip of your nose.

“It feels good to see you during the day.” He smiled at you. “Sorry circumstances but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Neither will I,” you replied mischievously, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Candy and Hobi say hi, by the way.”

He shook his head, “those happy-go-lucky chipmunks.”

You grinned at him, shaking your head as you combed his hair back. “You look so handsome today.”

“Gotta keep myself pimped up for you,” he replied cheekily. “Unless your eyes stray from their rightful target.”

Again, you shook your head, incapable of holding back an abashed smile. “As if…” You linked your arms behind his neck and pulled him down, kissing his nose. “Careful about your hands, pretty boy. Dad will probably check the security cameras to know exactly what happened in his studio.”

He positioned them respectfully at your shoulder-blades, forcing himself to keep his hands in place. “I love my hands and I’d rather keep them, thank you very much.” He skimmed the upper half of your spine. He placed his lips close to your ear. “I believe you’d enjoy me keeping them, too.”

A shiver coursed through you, Namjoon’s hands holding you tighter. “This still works?” he mused, with a small chuckle. “Amazing.”

“You’d be amazed at how many things still work, Joonie.” You stood on your tiptoes, the hands around your waist propelling you even further up. “And be careful about your tongue too, boy, lest he cut that too. That would be a true loss,” you teased with a snicker, Namjoon shaking his head before smirking.

“I should really go, shouldn’t I?” he asked, caressing the back of your head. “I’ll draft a statement for the press along the lines we established. I’ll have it sent to you and your father for approval.”

You nodded. “Perfect.”

“I have an appointment in ten and I need to head back now, darling.” He kissed your forehead. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Again you bobbed your head.

“Honey, are we good?” he asked, taking a step back and cupping your face.

“We’re fine, Namu,” you confirmed, watching him get ready to leave.

“Goodbye sweetheart.”

“Goodbye Joon.”

“Merry Christmas!” You greeted everyone, walking in the room with Namjoon’s arm around your waist, his lips at your temple. “Look at that Christmas tree, Namu, you did a great job!”

“Mom helped,” he purred back-hugging you, by now shameless in his skinship with anyone around. There was nothing keeping him from holding you in his arms, not even small rumors still feeding old news and little updates, blowing them endlessly until they became so ridiculous you laughed them off. There had been a minor crisis when a minor tabloid suggested you were the reason for his whoring around. But then everything had been smooth, almost idyllic in its proceeding.

“And you got all those gifts,” you cooed, toning it down once your parents also entered the room.

“I did,” he purred, getting a slap on the back by your father.

“Decency, kid,” he reprimanded Namjoon playfully.

“Oh, come on, let them be. You were an octopus too back when our parents announced the engagement,” your mother said, snitching on him.

The parents chatted to themself while you and Joon sat by the fireplace, waiting for Taehyung and Swan to arrive. The woman’s belly was definitely swollen, her shirt fitting her barely. “Ah, look at you, you’re so pretty!” Your awed gaze explored the curve of her belly, almost touching it before you took a step back. “May I?” you asked, Swan nodding as she took in your wide eyes imploring her.

“Hi baby,” you cooed, placing your hands on her tenderly, almost reverently. “That’s so beautiful, Swan,” you spoke with wonder in your voice. “Are you feeling okay? Is the 17th confirmed or did the doctor change the expected date?”

“Confirmed for now. We’re doing okay, plus Taehyung keeps spoiling me.” She smiled brightly. “There couldn’t be a safer, more comforting environment to expect. The gang has been so supportive, and Candy loves hanging out with the baby.”

“Already working on that Best Auntie spot, uh?” You shook your head, Namjoon holding your hand, staring at Swan’s radiant face.

“Hello sister,” he called, making her smile.

“Hi Joon,” she greeted affectionately. “I want to thank you again for all the gifts for our daughter.”

He shrugged. “Bare minimum. May I?”

She nodded, Taehyung standing protectively at her side.

Namjoon patted the belly delicately, entirely fascinated. As Swan stared at your face, she noticed your eyes glitter with an emotion not yet spoken. “Shall we go sit at the table?” Taehyung asked, worriedly supporting his partner.

Dinner was a lengthy ordeal, styled perfectly to mix Korean tradition and the religious festivity. The table was filled with love, laughter, and true warmth. It was far from your Christmas with the American branch of the family, mostly because of the arm propped on the back of the chair after dinner, Namjoon barely holding himself back from peppering small kisses all over the side of your face. He was allowed to do so. To kiss you, to hold you, to take your hand in his. He was allowed to caress your hair and touch your waist and grip your hips and every time he did so, he felt like there was no better person he could wish at his side. He stared at Taehyung and Swan, exchanging a tell-tale wink with his brother.

“Shall we move to the sofa, my dear?” Taehyung spoke quietly, nuzzling his nose against Swan's hair.

“Let's go,” she replied, Taehyung helping her chair away from the table and her up on her feet thought it was absolutely unnecessary.

Namjoon felt sorry for only a second, reminding himself he had every right to snatch you away from the party. He excused himself for a moment, placing a hand on your father's back before he spoke something in his ear, your mother and Aeri’s loud talking keeping you from hearing what it was about.

“Trivial matters,” Namjoon explained briefly, a hand on your shoulder before he and your father left the room. He was back a few minutes later, your eyes meeting his as soon as he appeared.

He kissed his mother's cheek. “Merry Christmas, mom,” he spoke, before hugging his dad. You were confused. “We're heading out, say bye to our people, Honey.”

You blinked and did as he told you, your mom smiling at you, already misty eyed. You had a vague idea of the reason why Namjoon was taking you away. It wasn't that much of a mystery to either of you. You had been waiting for a long time and well, it was time to wait no more.

“Keep the fluffkin,” Namjoon told his brother, Gureum confused at the fact that his owner was temporarily leaving him to the dog-sitters. “Merry Christmas guys. Merry Christmas baby,” he said, sending a flying kiss to the belly. “Come on, let's go, the trip is kinda long,” Namjoon told you, leaving his keys by the door.

“The car?” you asked, pointing at his key chain while he helped you wear your coat.

“No need.”

“The trip is long?” you said, quoting him.

“Metaphorically,” he said before wearing his coat and picking you up bridal-style. “I'll have to carry you. Open the door?”

“Joon?!”

“Open the door, come on.”

You complied, him saying goodbye once more before taking a few steps out, making you close the door.

“What the hell, Joon? It's Christmas. You could have waited one more hour!” you scolded him, still holding him tighter.

“Not really. Timing is fundamental. Do you have your bag?” he checked, just as you pointed to your dad's car, thanking God that he'd left it open. Poor man was so excited to celebrate with his dearest friends. And maybe see his daughter become an engaged woman by the end of the night. After all, you were getting old, that's what he always told you. With your bag laying on your belly, Namjoon started making his way to the backyard, the lake glimmering in the distance. Still, the small house shone brighter.

“Joon? The boathouse?” You asked, staring at its renewed outside, the small building entirely renovated, its wooden axes outside beautifully restored, the roof still rustic but definitely more healthy and the small windows decorated with white lace curtains.

“Yes, the boathouse,” he said, bringing you closer to the building, lanterns elegantly placed on the window sill. It looked like a sweet cabin, one of those where you drink hot chocolate and eat marshmallows and nap with a soft quilt on an old leather sofa. Where you can read and rest and cook apple pies and smell the scent of pinewood from the furniture and the hardwood floor.

Namjoon opened the door very clumsily, the smell of wood immediately swallowing you before he even took the first step inside.

“You said your parents were demolishing it because of bugs?” You asked, staring at the small paradise that was inside.

Quilt: got it. Comfy leather sofa: got it. Library: got it. Small, functional kitchen: got it.

“We were just having it fixed. A couple rooms were added. There's running water. There's a fireplace. There's a bedroom.”

You turned to look at him.

“Actually there are two.” He looked away from you, his cheeks reddening. “We kept the front side the same, since you loved it. We have a patio on the side, towards the lake.”

“Joon.”

“Do you like it?” He asked, puppy eyed, placing you down in fear you rejected the small home he'd made for the two of you. “I mean, the inner decor is a bit lacking, but that's something you could handle, I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable, I wanted you to have your things too, choose your style—”

“Joon,” you spoke again, your voice shaking.

“Oh, god, I fucked up, didn't I?” He hugged you to his chest, covering your face in kisses. “I'm so sorry, Honey. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'm sorry,”

“Joon, stop,” you said, Namjoon taking a step back immediately, hiding his face in his hands, feeling so awfully out of place. “I love it,” you told him, his expression transfixed. You looked around, feeling your heart tremble with confusion and excitement and emotions too deep to be better defined. “I love you.”

Namjoon stared at you, mouth agape. “You what?”

“I love our home. And I love you.”

He picked you up in his arms in seconds, spinning you around and covering your whole forehead with kisses. “You love me!” he cheered, incredulous and so, so elated as he squished your face between his hands. He quickly let go of you, jumping as high as he could as he spun in circles. “You love me!!!”

You cackled at him. “I do, you oversized puppy!”

Once more you found yourself catapulted in his arms as he lifted you to his face. “I love you too, Honey.” He stared deep into your eyes. “I love you so, so, so, so, so, so much!” he said before a meteor shower of kisses rained down on your face.

“I have a gift for you,” you said, looking at him as he smirked at you. “Nope. That one's for later,” you chirped, making him nuzzle his nose up with yours. You grabbed your bag and sat down on the thick carpet before the fire. It was so fluffy you already knew you would fall asleep on it sooner or later.

Namjoon sat in front of you, both of you cross-legged as you rummaged in your bag, finding a medium sized box that fit on your palm. The white ribbon confirmed it was exactly what you were looking for.

You handed it to him, urging him to open it. He shredded the thin paper in seconds. “Honey,” he murmured, confused and overjoyed. “Honey…” he called again, opening the box and studying the glass bottle inside.

“It's… I couldn't let go of it. It's part of us, of who we are. Cancelling it would be a mistake. So I simply updated it to something more balanced, stronger but also cooler. More composed. The difference is barely there, I don't think you're going to notice,” you explained.

“You're not wearing any, right?” he asked, sitting up, bringing the bottle close to your neck.

You tutted, confirming his assumption. “Go ahead.”

Namjoon spritzed the perfume against your neck, where his cherry pendant had been laying for days now, since your first date. He waited for the alcohol to drift away before he brought his nose to the underside of your ear, smelling you like a truffle dog. It was rather funny, if it weren't for the way his lips sent zings of electricity across your body.

“There's something…” he mused, taking another sniff. “Like… a good something. But… I can't put my finger on it.”

“Let's see if this can help.” You extracted another box, the blue ribbon calming you as you offered it to him. Once more, he tore the paper off, almost breaking the unnamed, plain box as he extracted the bottle inside.

“Honey, is it…?”

“Wear it,” you told him, giving him an encouraging pat on the leg.

As soon as he put it on, he recognised his own scent. “It's The Knight.”

“Incorrect.” You bit your lip nervously, trying to hold back the brightest smile of your entire life. “That is The Prince.”

Namjoon blinked in confusion. “It's my cologne.”

“It is, but it's called The Prince now,” you explained, grinning, feeling like a rubber ball ready to bounce all over the room with excitement. “Sniff it and then The Princess next.”

Namjoon followed your instruction, trying to understand what was happening. As he placed his nose close to your neck for the second time, he felt it. “Peppermint.”

You nodded. “It's always been an undertone in The Knight. I just reinforced it in The Prince. And added it to The Princess, which did a little name change too.”

Namjoon moved aside the carton wrapped around the base, unveiling the surprise, the label reading, 'The Princess — in Love'.

Namjoon placed the matching bottles out of the way, standing on his knees and placing a hand around the back of your hand, another around your waist, pushing you down with your back to the rug. “Fuck, Honey, you're gonna kill me like this, love,” he murmured before laying on top of you, your lips stretching to his mouth chastely, your kisses close-mouthed, childish like the very first one you had exchanged. “This is incredible. You’re incredible,” he spoke against your lips, feeling his body responding to yours. “Are we— Is this rushing? I mean… I don’t want you to come live here if you’re not— I mean, if you want to, then it’s okay, but we could, like— Stay here for the weekend, like a holiday getaway or something…”

You nodded, caressing his face. “It will be our getaway home.”

He mirrored your nod, kissing your forehead. “We’ve been dating for what, three weeks? A month? I’m… I’m dumb. I’m rushing, I’m sorry—”

You chuckled, cupping his cheeks with both your palms. “You’re greedy. And giddy. We’ll keep talking things through to make sure it’s not too fast too soon. But I’m okay with the idea of coming here for the weekend. Have some quality time. Me, you, Gureum. Having our friends over. Babysitting your niece when the guys go on dates. Spend rainy afternoons reading.”

He closed his eyes and nuzzled into the crook of your neck, feeling the lavender and mint mix fill his lungs, calm him down and at the same time make his blood sing in his veins. “Will I also be allowed to make out with you in front of the fireplace?”

You smirked and nodded, his dimple appearing on his face before you poked it.

“After three dates I’m already trying to get under your clothes. You must really think I’m such a womanizer.” He hid further into your neck, trying not to feel too embarrassed. He did feel sorry. He wanted to give you something better than stealing you from your families just so he could hoard you all to himself and kiss you and cuddle you and sleep next to you.

You wrapped your legs around him, trying to bring his hips closer to yours, humming when you managed to grind against his thigh. “If you wanting me after three dates makes you a womanizer, I don’t know how I should feel about how much I want you right now.” He felt amazing up against you, his shoulders definitely bulkier now compared to a few months ago, his legs more muscular after all the walks and treks.

“You want me?” he whispered. You nodded, kissing his head before he untucked himself from your neck. “You really do?”

You nodded again, smiling, combing his hair with your fingers. And the way you looked at him… He hadn’t seen that glance aimed at him in so long. He couldn’t believe you loved him again. He couldn’t believe you had chosen him: among all the people, you had chosen him. Flawed — no, healing. Trying. He was a work in progress, just like you are.

When he asked himself how could you believe in him, he always reminded himself of how much he believes in you. When he thought your feelings for him would falter, his own feelings for you reassured him and calmed him.

He kissed you slowly, melting into you, eyes rolling close, your hands rubbing up and down his back. His fingers traced your face reverently, drawing your lips, your cupid’s bow, the arch of your nose, your eyebrows, waiting for you to lower your eyelids to trace the cute curve of your lashes. “Honey,” he said, simply, fondly, skimming the side of your body, gripping your thigh before kissing you again. “Let me make love to you, please.”

You naturally brought your fingers to the zipper of his jumper, pulling it down. “Yes. Yes, please.”

And though with anyone else, in any other circumstance, it would have felt rushed, there was nothing else you wanted to do with him, after the most beautiful months of your lives together, in the house he’d imagined for the two of you. It was a wonderful night, it was the perfect moment and— you loved him.

“I love you,” he repeated again, feeling your hand on his nape. “It feels so good to say.” His smile was radiant as you explored his chest with your hands. It was way still broad, vaguely rounder, and smooth, and hot.

“I love you,” you breathed out, kissing his throat as he took off his jumper and laid on his side, touching your face, scared of taking off even a single piece of clothing.

You rose to your knees and did it for him, slipping your dress off from over your head, the stretchy wool making the operation almost effortless. Before him, you stayed, unafraid, looking right into his eyes as you removed the slip underneath, your body only covered in your underwear and a pair of tights.

He laid lazily with his back on the carpet, looking right into your eyes, feeling like there was nothing else he could stare at. He’d seen plenty of half naked bodies, but no one had a glance like yours. “Come,” he said, warm and loving, opening his arms and offering his body as your pillow. You straddled him, placing your lips against his and simply breathing in his breath. Your eyes closed as you touched your forehead with his, his hands around your waist,

“This is the only thing I’ve ever had any faith in,” he whispered. “Peace.” And he knew it wasn’t you, it wasn’t with you. It was within himself. He realised he wasn’t eager to have you, it wasn’t possession, it was rather the idea of gifting himself, of being so grateful. “I wanted you for so long that I lost sense of having myself.”

“It sounds strange but I want you to make love to yourself through me.” You caressed his hair, his hands joining yours as you cupped his cheeks. “For all those times you made love to me, that summer, while I was being foolish.”

He shook his head and rubbed his nose against you. “I forgive you.”

You bit your lip, feeling your eyes water. “I forgive you, Namu.”

He held you as tight as he could without smothering you, and after he kissed your cheek, he traced your ear with his lips. “Can I take this off?” His hand lingered on the clasp of your bra.

“Yes,” you breathed out, fingers dancing on the closure of his belt. “May I?”

“Yes.” And once more, ‘yes’, he repeated, when your finger accidentally grazed his crotch. “Yes” you whimpered, when he rolled you on your back and helped you get rid of the tights. ‘Yes’, he growled when you lifted your hips and slipped off your panties before sitting down on the clean blanket he had laid for you.

You shone in the delicate gleam of Christmas light and the flames from the fireplace. And he was bathed in the same light when he laid beside you, bringing you closer to him, holding you in his arms once more. “You’re even more magical than I remember,” he spoke, so fondly you felt nothing but adoration. He kissed you endlessly, covering your face in kisses. “I need to go grab protection,” he told you, needing to stay responsible for a second, though all he wanted was to slip inside you and stay there until he couldn’t hold still anymore. You didn’t stop him when he stood. Not when he walked to the other room. Not when he walked back, his body so beautiful in the mellow light, a blush creeping up your cheeks when your gaze tumbled down and met his hardening cock.

“Something to say, Honey?”

You shook your head and smiled mischievously at him as he made himself comfortable at your side. By the simple fact that he’d brought a whole box of condoms, you knew you would lay in front of the fire for a fairly long time. You couldn’t complain: the faux fur carpet was comfortable enough and you knew his chest would be your pillow for the night.

“Nothing to say,” you confessed with a grin. “Except I love you.”

He hummed teasingly and smiled, “yeah, so I’ve heard.” He cupped your breast, kissing when he could feel your heartbeat. “Wanna stretch you out. And then I wanna die inside you.” He kissed your chest, again, and again, his fingers tiptoeing at your waistline. “May I?”

You joined his hand with yours and led him down. He swallowed your gasp once he entered you with his middle finger, praising you, kissing your furrowed brow, shushing you until you allowed him to move, his thumb rubbing small, fleeting circles on your clitoris. “Does it feel good?”

“You’re still so damn good at this,” you said, elated, breathless.

He smiled and drew your jaw with the tip of his nose. “You taught me,” he said before inhaling your scent. You smelled like you and him, together, at last. “Light, slow circles.”

With one hand gripping his shoulder, the other nestled deep into his hair, you started grinding against him.

“Faster? Harder?” he asked, using his whole face to touch you since both his hands were busy — one holding himself up, the other showing you a pleasure you’d never needed from anyone else except him and yourself.

“Faster, I’m—” He pressed his lips to yours, tongue sliding in as he used your favourite method in muffling your moans, pleasure erupting from your core, back arching, arms wrapping around his neck as you tried to have him closer, nearer, where he could be your anchor and comfort you and hold you and tell you over and over, with the loud drumming of his heart that he loves you, he loves you, just you, with his delicate, healing, immense soul.

“It’s okay, Honey,” he told you, just like he did the first time he slid inside you, the burn barely there on that strange and scary and wonderful night. Almost as wonderful as that precise moment, when you watched him cover his cock with a condom and hover on top of you. “We can wait,” he reminded you for the tenth time.

“If you say that one more time, I swear I’m going to tie you up and fuck me by myself,” you hissed, scratching his back as he got in position.

He shook his head and snickered. “Here I was, thinking you wanted something romantic and soft for our first time as a couple. An officially taken, officially in love couple.”

A sudden attack of fondness kept you from a vitriolic remark, making you giggle before you widened your legs further for him, wrapping them around his waist right as he slid inside. “Fucking lovely,” he hissed, letting you suck on his thumb as you moaned, getting used to the stretch. “You’re so perfect,” he said, closing his eyes, trying to spare himself the vision that would inevitably, and quite shamefully, destroy his stamina and self control.

“You are, too,” you mewled, knowing exactly what to do to get what you wanted. “Just like that summer.” You kissed his neck before giving it a tentative lick, causing him to growl. “You got me so hooked I refused to have anyone else,” you said, trying to sound casual in the way you were provoking him. “You’ve always been the only one.”

Namjoon managed to give two more thrusts before his brain processed and his body stopped. “What? In nine years?”

“You left a lasting impression,” you said with a cute chuckle.

“Nine years?”

You nodded and gripped his ass, sinking your nails in his flesh. “Yes, now will you please ruin me?”

He emitted a sound similar to a roar, pushing inside with an animal force, using his arms to keep you still, though his thrusts pushed you slightly against the blanket, causing you to slide upwards slightly, the friction warming your skin. “Can’t wait to cum inside you, someday. Have you full of my cum,” he hissed and growled.

And with a condom on, your birth control in place, indulging in your little fantasy seemed way safer than usual. “You want to fill me with your babies?”

He whimpered, biting your shoulder, taking in your scent.

“I know you want to cum, Joonie. I wanna feel you cum,” you murmured temptingly.

“Not without you,” he said, so vulnerable bringing one hand down right as you stopped him.

“Hold me, I’ll handle that.” And with that, you started working to your climax, feeling it burn hotter and hotter until you couldn’t handle it anymore, letting go, your fingers faltering as pleasure defeated you. “You’re so good to me, baby.”

“Honey,” he cried out, “Honey, love, please. Say, say—“

“Namjoon,” you whimpered, his head nodding furiously against the crook of your neck. “Cum. Feel good for me. Don’t you wanna own me? Mh? You can, baby.”

He spoke your name through gritted teeth and let his hips snap roughly again and again, his abs tensing, his breath stopping in his lungs before he released it with a howl.

“Yes, love. Come here, baby,” you cooed, arms open as he crashed on top of you, nuzzling his face against your chest as his climax faded. Both your and his blood started calming down as you laid in front of the fireplace, your hand skimming his spine, up and down, until he found the strength to speak.

“You’re perfect, Honey. You’re so, so perfect darling.” And with feelings filling his heart, he said all the things he’d wanted to say the first time he found pleasure inside you, when he loved you so much already.

And now he’d learned to love you better. To love you right. And to love himself. Finally, his black night glittered with stars and he could soar at your side.

He borrowed wings no more.

⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸◯⫷⫸

Tagging: @blushingatyou @thejooncrew @ggukkieland @luvaffaire @bluesharksandfish (through DMs)

#namjoon angst #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon x reader #lavender honey #namjoon fanfiction #houseofddaeng #thetruthuntoldnet #bangtansorciere #thebtswritersclub #sons of midas

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