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#i feel like a daughter of divorced parents... like ok. that's not how DAD boils the broccoli but whatever. DAD lets me watch tv until 9 but
fastasyoucan1999 · 1 year
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everyone stop blogging im in class
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ohpretty-baby · 4 years
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my babysitter’s a quarterback • jjk
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⇥ pairing: qb!jungkook x cheerleader!reader
⇥ side pairing: namseok
⇥ synopsis: after getting cheated on by the star of the hockey team, park jimin, your life (as expected) goes downhill. what you don’t expect is your parents being skeptical of whether or not you’re a good older sibling for your sister. you also don’t expect them to call jeon jungkook—the person you hate most—to babysit the two of you.
or, alternatively: jungkook babysits you even though the two of you are the same age.
⇥ genre: fluff, crackfic, angst, e2l, jungkook is stupid, jimin’s an asshole, hoseok’s a sweetie, namjoon is also a sweetie, reader is Stressed, pining, mutual pining
⇥ warnings: cursing, crude humor, mentions of cheating, divorce
⇥ word count: 30.0k
based off a request for @fan-ati--c​ (i hope you like it dear!)
a/n: hi everyone!!! this is my first ever lengthy fic, so pls have mercy on me. i had a lotta fun writing this, so i hope you guys enjoy!!!! much much much much MUCH love <333 (feel free to give feedback and your opinions!)
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“Y/N, what has gotten into you?” Your mom gently places the tip of her fork on her plate, folding her hands together. Her words are stern, but she doesn’t raise her voice in order to save face. The air at the dinner table is dense and heavy on you, and the fact that your father and your little sister, Clementine, seem to have their eyes glued on you doesn’t help either. Clementine sniffles and the sound makes your blood boil.
You sigh, looking up from your phone to shoot a glare to your mother. You also send a glance of distaste towards your sister, which allows you to get a quick sight of her puffy eyes and runny nose. The prongs of your fork are poking your lips while you lazily chew the spaghetti stuffed in your mouth. Shrugging, you place your phone and the fork down, folding your hands in order to mirror your mom seated in front of you.
You stay silent, lips pressed tightly into a thin line, because you know she has more to say.
“Darling, you’re being extremely immature,” Your mom always had to give it to you straight, “You know that Clementine didn’t mean to upset you.”
As always, your mother is articulate and sharp when she speaks. Not once does she stutter, and after being her daughter for 17 years, you’re not entirely sure if she’s ever stumbled on her words before in her entire life. It’s indicative of her personality: intelligent, quick-witted, skilled, yet unbelievably blunt. From the way her patients praise her for constantly being compassionate and kind, you often wonder if your mom really is a psychiatrist or if she’s hired a clone to work in her stead.
It’s not that you hated your mom. You loved her dearly, as you did with the rest of your family. The reason why you seemed to always butt heads with her, though, is simply because you have a little too much in common with her (personality-wise). Your dad’s always said that you were a carbon copy of your mother, after all.
“All I’m asking is that Clem asks me if she can use my makeup,” You cough, a few bits of the noodles going down the wrong pipe, “You, of all people, mom, know how expensive lipstick can be. I need that for football games.”
It’s not a clear statistic, but it is a pretty solid fact. You always use facts in order to back up your arguments, just so that your parents can’t say anything in response. Sometimes it works. You’re still waiting for the day when you have something impactful to use.
“Well, you know that when she sees you getting all pretty,” She taps her fingers on the wooden table, “She wants to do the same, and as the-“
“As the older sister, I have to share,” You roll your eyes, and you shift your focus on Clementine, “Sorry, ok? I won’t get so mad next time.”
“Clementine, what do you say?”
“It’s ok,” She sniffles, wiping her eyes.
“No, dear. What do you say?”
“I forgive you, Y/N.”
You bite back the sarcastic comments you’re dying to say, opting to stuff your mouth with spaghetti instead. The rest of your family starts eating as well, and you keep your head low to avoid making eye contact with your sister. You love her with almost every bone in your body, but right now, you can’t tell if you want to throw your food at her or slap her with your ceramic plate.
Today, she took it upon herself to go through your makeup bag and steal one of your (again, highly expensive) lipsticks so she could slice it with a butterknife purely out of boredom. This all happened while you were taking a bath, and when you got into your room, you saw her sitting at your desk, lipstick chunks spread all over one of your old math notebooks. So of course, you yelled at her.
Then she cried. Then your mom made you apologize because you were upset that she wrongfully went through your stuff without permission. But that’s really how things have always been, ever since you were 5 years old and Clementine was just born. You’ve grown up constantly taking the blame for Clementine’s wrongdoings. It’s just how things work in your household, because your parents genuinely believe that she could do no wrong.
Apparently, being 12 gave you lots of perks.
“Y/N?” Your mother’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, “Y/N, listen to me when I speak to you.”
“Sorry, what’d you say?” You don’t care about matching your mom’s formality anymore, your cheek puffed up with more food.
“I was asking you how your day was.”
“Oh, just wonderful. Fantastic. Dandy,” You snap back, not really aware of what you’re saying as your words fly out of your mouth.
“What’s with your attitude, young lady?” She scoffs, then pauses a bit before speaking again, “Listen, I know that it’s tough, having to see Jimin-“
You slam your hands on the table, standing up. Your chair screeches awkwardly against the wood flooring of the dining room. Swallowing down the rest of your food, you try to soothe the hard lump forming in your throat.
“Do not try to analyze me. I’m not one of your patients. There’s nothing you need to fix about me, got it?” You raise your voice, staring her dead in the eye, “I just had a shit week and I very much do not need you to try and pinpoint whatever’s going on in my head.”
Your mother gasps, and only now does your dad decide to speak.
“Young lady, go to your room right now,” His words fall flat, and you scoff at him.
Your parents were complete opposites. If your mother was over analytical, your father could never read the room. Not because he was dumb, per say, but because he was always in his own little world. He always responded a little too late, felt things a second after they should be felt. That’s just how your dad thinks. He doesn’t mean to be mentally absent when all of you were at home, but he’s always been preoccupied with his work. That’s a big thing you’ve admired about your dad, how easily he can focus on one thing and ignore the rest. It’s one of the main reasons why he was so successful as an architect. Growing up, you would stay up past your bedtime just so you could be with him in his office. You’d watch how he could just sit down and create a multitude of building designs without getting distracted.
By the way he looks at you with a flash of guilt in his eyes, you can tell that he’s the only one that gets your reasoning. You can also tell that he knows how wrong it is for your mom to bring up your ex-boyfriend during dinner.
But because he wants to uphold his “authoritative” figure, he needs to “put his foot down”.
“I was planning on it anyway, thanks,” You grumble, storming off.
Once you reach your room, you slam the door—purely for dramatic effect. You throw yourself on the bed, getting out your phone and doing the first thing that pops into your head. You call Hoseok and he answers right away. A smile flashes on your face as you feel some relief from your anger.
“Hello?”
Jung Hoseok has been your best friend ever since you first stepped into your hellhole of a high school building. He was your saving grace. The only thing that kept you sane.
When you joined the Monarchs, the cheerleading squad of your school, Hoseok was the only person who talked to you during practice, even if he was a year older than you. An infamous characteristic of his is his big smile. His lips always resembled a widened heart, and he showed off his pearly whites wherever he went, exuding happiness that was extremely contagious. And if his smile was big, his heart was even bigger.
You know this because Hoseok immediately asks you “Is everything okay?” when he hears your shaky breath over the line.
You explain to him what had happened seconds prior to this phone call. Then your conversation spirals into you ranting about how your parents have been telling you that you’ve been a terrible sibling. It’s something insulting to hear, knowing that they’ve always made you take the blame for everything your sister does. It hurts even more that they can’t acknowledge the fact that getting through a breakup is hard for a 17 year old girl. They couldn’t even cut you some slack.
A pang of guilt hits you when you relay everything you’ve said to your sister over to Hoseok. Maybe you were somewhat in the wrong here. But could you blame yourself? You were going through a hard time, and it’s not unusual for someone who’s stressed to act out. Not to mention when the stressor is heartbreak.
During the beginning of September, you found Park Jimin, your past boyfriend of one year, and some other Sophomore on the cheer team making out in his car afterschool. It was now the end of October, but the memory haunts you in your every waking moment. The image of another girl pressed up on him, her skirt hiked up high enough so that you could see her spandex, flashes in your mind. In your head, you see Jimin running her hands all over the girl’s skin, purple splotches blooming on her neck and on his.
You shut your eyes, rubbing them violently as you try to ignore the painful truth: If you hadn’t decided to surprise him with some brownies you made for him that day, they would’ve done a lot more than just making out.
The notion makes tears prick your eyes, the familiar sting returning. You had been crying almost every night. Everytime you close your eyes, the same image of him and that girl appears and you can’t get rid of it at all.
You’re about to break down again, and Hoseok talks you through it. He allows you to vent, to let everything out, and he promises that the two of you will hang out after tomorrow’s practice. It gives you relief, something to look forward to at the end of the next school day. Tomorrow was Friday after all, and like you said before to your mom, your week was shit.
There had to be at least one good thing you could have this week.
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That statement is short lived, however, because instead of sitting with Hoseok at your favorite diner with a strawberry milkshake in front of you, you’re sitting at your dinner table yet again, poking at pizza with a plastic fork. You stare at the grease stains on your paper plate in disgust, as the dining room is so silent you can practically hear the small ticks of the red second hand of the clock on the wall. 
What a great way to start the weekend. Friendless, boyfriend-less, and miserable. You look up from the greasy mess before you to shoot a glare to the person in front of you.
“Why the hell are you here?” are your first words to the boy.
“Your parents called me?” He responds, mimicking your questioning tone. You scoff at him.
Jeon Jungkook. The cocky, annoying as fuck quarterback on the football team who coincidentally sits behind you in Pre-Calc everyday is now sitting across from you at your dinner table. The boy who breaks off pieces of eraser chunks and throws them at your head just to annoy you while the teacher is giving a lesson. The kid who kicks your chair at least five times every single day just because he has fun getting a rise out of you.
You don’t know how exactly your hatred for him began, but it definitely started when you first became a cheerleader.
Popularity was never something that came easily to you. Many people don’t remember, but in Freshman year, the only time your class knew of you was when your name was called for attendance. You didn’t play any sports, nor did you participate in theatre or had any musical talents whatsoever. You were simply just, there.
This all changed when your mom suggested cheerleading. You did have a few years of solid gymnastic experience and you really had nothing better to do, so you decided to take the opportunity to sign up for tryouts.
It was hard, and you slipped up a lot of times, but the coaches saw potential in you. They told you that you’ve really got drive, and they praised you for continuing to get up and perfectly following directions when they asked you to execute an especially hard move. Eventually, you were accepted and once you had more time to practice, you had gotten the hang of cheerleading quite quickly. You ended up falling in love with the sport, working hard both on and off the field. You always got constant praise for your willingness to learn new things.
And with your new success on the team, you gained a reputation for yourself.
When, exactly, did Jungkook join the picture?
You’re not sure. He kind of forced himself in.
One day, you weren’t at your usual best. The sun was beating down on you harshly, which didn’t make things any better. The football team had been practicing with you guys, and it was obvious that many of the boys were ogling at the cheerleaders. They would nudge each, looking suggestively at the girls while whispering crude comments about them.
Jungkook, being the youngest and most energetic one on the team, had other ideas in mind. You see, he lived quite loudly and he was… Eccentric, to say the least.
His eyes were focused on the cheerleaders, pinpointing at anything that would be of use to him. He peered around intently, looking for any mess ups or mistakes that they had made. He would have made fun of anyone, really. Jungkook didn’t know much about the girls on the squad, so he really had no problem using their flaws to his benefits. He wanted to make his own team laugh, and that in itself was justification enough for Jungkook.
It was just unfortunate that you were his target.
Once he saw you topple over on the ground, he was ready.
“Hey, thunder thighs! Be careful out there!”
After that, you heard nothing but boisterous laughter from the football players. It was an immature insult, one ridiculous enough to enrage you. You wished you could’ve ran over to the other side of the field and just punched him the gut, right then and there. But his own coach and grabbed him by the ear, dragging him towards you so he could apologize.
It was a lame apology, and you could tell that he was trying everything in his absolute power to bite back the laugh he was holding in. You would've said something about it, but since Jungkook was more built than you and there were authorities present, you reluctantly accepted the apology, choosing to go on with your practice instead of letting it get to you.
And after that day, Jungkook has made it his goal to torment you whenever he sees you. Since he sits behind you in Pre-Calc now, that’s become his job every day.
Jungkook was taller than Jimin. He was a pretty attractive football player, too. You would give him at least that. But he was meaner than Jimin. A bigger asshole than Jimin. More annoying than Jimin could ever be.
Literally any good quality that you thought you could find in a guy, Jeon Jungkook did not possess it. Any kindness, sympathy, or even general decency in his heart was nowhere to be found.
He had messy brown hair, a smug grin on his face that you’d love to punch, and a lean body that you wish had gone cripple. Confidence wasn’t something that he had a lack of. In fact, Jungkook’s cup overfloweth with so much confidence to the point where describing him as merely confident would be a misdeed.
Narcissistic was the word. He was extremely narcissistic and obsessed with himself, which was indicative of the daily gym snaps he’d post on his Snapchat story. He was everything that disgusted you about guys combined and turned human.
Jungkook’s very presence could set you off, and you know that he lives off of that.
This is no different from your Friday night, as he’s gnawing on pizza right in your own damn house. He’s scrolling through his phone and you’re staring at him in disgust, while Clementine has already eaten and is now sitting on the couch, curled up with some sci-fi book she got from the store last week. Taking in his appearance, you inwardly cringe when you notice him lick the oil that has found itself on his fingers.
“There’s a napkin right next to you.”
“That would be a waste of paper,” Jungkook responds, licking away the last remnant of oil and marinara sauce on his thumb, “Gotta be eco-friendly, y’know?”
He wiggles his fingers at you, his infamous shit-eating grin appearing yet again. You hate the way his mouth tugs up to the right a little bit, how his eyes gleam mischievously since he’s so full of himself. If Clementine wasn’t in the house right now, you’re certain that Jungkook would’ve been on the floor, knocked out. You would’ve hit him with a frying pan, like in that one Disney movie Clementine loved so much. Or you would’ve hit him with your Pre-Calc textbook. That shit was heavy. You could knock him out cold with that. Give him a taste of his own medicine.
You roll your eyes at him, saying nothing and eating the rest of your pizza. You make a mental note to ask your parents why the fuck they thought it was a good idea to call over Jungkook on a Friday night.
But you know the answer to that already. They seem to believe that you haven’t been “responsible” enough for Clementine, which is weird, knowing that you’ve practically raised her all her life. Your parents have always been too busy to spend enough quality time with her, save for when they defend her at dinnertime.
So instead of having a civil conversation with you—or even asking if you were doing alright—they decided (without your permission) that a babysitter would be the best option for your little sister. And you still had to stay at home tonight because your mom asked you to “see if the babysitter is okay for Clementine”.
You’re not sure where the logic was in your parents’ thought process, but you did feel bad about your sister. She had warmed up to you a little bit after yesterday, but you know that she’ll stay closed off for a while. Not only to you, but to everyone else. You wish that your parents had known that. If they did, they’d be able to get that you’re probably the best babysitter for her. But no, they had to invite Jungkook over, someone who’s boisterous and annoying, and they probably expect Clementine to get along with him just fine. (And also, what had even compelled him to start a career in babysitting?)
So you decide to stay, just so she won’t be scared of being in her own house. You have been hard on her for a little bit after all, getting irrational and moody whenever she talks to you. It’s the least you could do for her. Despite everything, you still did really love her. 
She was your sister, for goodness sake!
“Hey, just a reminder,” Jungkook’s at your trash can, throwing away his plate, “Your bedtime’s at 10 tonight.”
It’s a stupid statement, and both of you are aware that the rules are for your sister. You can’t help but feel yourself heat up, though, when he sends a wink your way.
“That’s for my sister, you dumb fu-“
Your obvious response and insult combo is interrupted when you find Clementine standing in the doorway.
“Y/N?” Her voice is timid, shy, and her head hangs low when she speaks. She doesn’t like how there’s some random stranger in the kitchen.
“Yes?”
“Can we play Telestrations?” She keeps her eyes on you, and you feel yourself soften. It’s been a little bit since the two of you played anything together.
“Mind if I join in?” Jungkook says before you can actually respond to her. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and Clementine blinks at him, stunned. All she does is nod, too afraid to verbally respond to your classmate.
You’re also stunned by his sudden change in demeanor. His cocky aura is replaced with a soft tone, smiling brightly at Clementine instead of smirking at you. He walks over to her, asking her where the board game is. She mumbles something quietly, something only Jungkook can hear, and he responds with an even more enthusiastic grin. He turns to you before they make their way back to the living room.
“You coming, or…?”
So that’s how you find yourself at your coffee table with your little sister and the most annoying person you’ve met in your entire life, getting ready to play a round of Telestrations.
All you can say is that your night definitely isn’t going the way you planned at all.
He’s sitting criss cross applesauce on the carpet, extremely relaxed as you pass out the cards, the drawing pads, and the dry erase markers. You try to hide the scowl you oh so desperately want to show, but if Clementine sees you upset with him, she’ll definitely feel less safe with him.
You don’t know why you’re defending him, but here you are, attempting to be civil with him just to make sure your sister doesn’t feel as threatened as you do. You try your best not to start any fights with him, either. You’ve heard enough about people calling you a bitch at school. Ever since you broke up with Jimin, you’ve somehow been deemed the psychotic ex by all of your peers, because how could Jimin possibly do anything wrong?
You can’t tell what’s worse: the fact that everyone says you’re a bitch, or the fact that girls come up to you now, asking you for advice on your ex-boyfriend.
Sighing, you watch as Clementine rolls a four and chooses “This Side” of the cards. You internally groan when you look at the yellow side of the card. The glossy square seems to laugh at you, presenting what your subject would be.
How the hell were you supposed to draw “tunnel vision”?
Writing your name and the word on the first page, you mentally prepare for the challenge heading your way.
“Y/N,” Clementine calls for you, “Mine isn’t working…”
Jungkook hands his marker to her before you can, and he’s testing all the other markers in the box to see if they’ll work for him. You look at him accusingly, eyes asking him: “What the hell are you trying to gain?” He shrugs at you, a simple action that tells you:
“Sorry, I’m just a great babysitter.”
He quickly goes back to his own card, copying down the words with his new marker. You return your attention to your pad, figuring out how you were going to draw your word.
“Are you gonna set the timer, Clementine?” Jungkook asks, and she shakes her head.
“We don’t use it,” She responds in a mere whisper, and Jungkook can’t hear her.
“Huh?”
“We don’t use the timer,” You answer for her, “It’s more fun that way. You can take your time.”
He nods, and the three of you flip to the first page so you can start.
You draw—well, attempt to draw—a pair of glasses facing two strange rods. You squint at the doodle, examining it as if you had to guess what the answer was. The only possible answers you’ve come up with are that A.) You’re terrible at drawing, B.) Art is definitely not your future career, and C.) No one is going to be able to figure out your drawing, not even yourself.
“So, Clementine,” Jungkook starts, catching both you and your sister’s attention, “That’s a pretty cool name.”
“Thank you,” She doesn’t look up from her pad, too focused on her drawing.
“Do people call you anything else?” He prompts, going to work on his own pad as well.
“What do you mean?” “Like, nicknames.”
“Oh. My friends call me Tina,” She says, “Y/N calls me Clem, though.”
“That’s dope,” He pops the “p”, and the way his mouth moves is enough to annoy you.
“Yeah,” Is all your sister says, and it’s obvious that both of them are determined in making their drawings look good. You, on the other hand, are already done with your sad chicken scratch of a drawing, and you take the time to watch Clementine as she leans close to her pad, right hand clutching the marker tightly.
Like your dad, Clementine was able to immerse herself in a single task, but unlike him, she was incredibly skilled in multitasking. Sometimes, she’d read a book while having a full conversation with you, and she’d still remember the content of the chapter she was reading. It was a skill that you both envied and admired about her, how she could easily redirect her attention to one task while also still performing the second task flawlessly.
“You done already, Y/N?” Jungkook quirks a brow while he looks up from his drawing. You sneak a glance at your sister, who’s immersed in her drawing, before responding.
“Don’t push it,” You mouth out, folding your hands together on your lap while you wait for the other two to finish. Jungkook flashes an obnoxious smirk your way, and it takes everything in you to not kick him in the balls right now.
“I’m done,” Clementine announces, passing her pad to you. You pass yours to Jungkook, praying that he doesn’t say anything too terrible to you. He then passes his to Clementine, completing the circle.
“W-What?” Jungkook mumbles to himself, biting back a laugh while he examines your drawing. You internally groan. There was no use in hoping that he’d have mercy on you.
In an attempt to block out his bothersome snickering, you try to guess what Clementine’s word was. You feel part of yourself die inside, as you can already tell what she’s drawn. You write the word “deer” on the third page, after looking at the drawing one more time. In the short amount of time Clementine had given herself, her depiction of a deer was scarily accurate.
“Are you guys done?”
She has her pad lying on the coffee table while she drums her fingers on the surface. You nod, while Jungkook has his hand covering his mouth. He shakes his head, still trying to decipher your sad, sad drawing. Instead of making fun of you, he’s actually making an effort to figure out what your word was, eyebrows deeply furrowed while his eyes run across your pad multiple times.
You’d feel bad because you truly don’t have an artistic bone in your body, but seeing him frustrated by your doing slightly amuses you.
Jungkook takes a few seconds before taking a deep sigh and quickly scrawling something on your pad. You can’t tell if you’re excited or dreading what he put down for your word, but that doesn’t matter because now you have to draw Clementine’s guess of what Jungkook’s word is.
A frog?
How come everyone else’s words were so easy? And how are you supposed to remember what a frog looks like?
Biting your lip, you hesitantly put the dry erase marker on the pad. You stop when it makes the initial hit, a small dot appearing on the laminated surface. This is because Jungkook’s leaning over to watch you draw, his hair mere centimeters away from tickling your skin. When you freeze, Jungkook finally moves away, turning to face you.
“You need something?” You ask in an accusatory tone. He shrugs.
“I dunno. You look constipated, so I was curious,” He says, working on a new drawing. It’s another dumb yet excruciatingly annoying jab at you, and you’re baffled at how anyone could think that that was something of use to say.
Clementine giggles, and both you and Jungkook gawk at her in surprise. You feel a sense of betrayal, seeing as your own sister finds someone like Jeon Jungkook humorous. But she’s having fun, so maybe your dignity would have to be something to sacrifice tonight.
And your parents wonder whether or not you’re a good older sister for Clementine, as if you weren’t literally tolerating the person you hate most right now just for her. You steady yourself, being proud of your kindness to him so far. The fact that you’ve actually restrained yourself from knocking Jungkook out in itself is a surprise. You’ll be sure to reward yourself with something later.
You go back to your drawing, working on the small bumps for the eye sockets and the wide almond shape of the frog’s mouth. The frog looks incredibly awkward, its eyes a little too close for your liking. Did frogs have nostrils? Obviously, right? You draw two thin slits on top of its long line of a mouth, hoping that that’s what a frog’s nose looks like. It resembles a frog, and honestly you’re willing to take whatever you can get, so you close the pad, waiting for the other two to finish.
When everyone is done and all of the pads have returned to their respective owners, you get ready to present the devolution of your prompts. Clementine’s eager to go first, which puts a soft smile on your face.
She shows off her deer, and then your correct guess, and then Jungkook’s drawing. Quite frankly, you’re quite amazed at Jungkook’s depiction of the prompt.
There’s a cute deer standing on some grass with a few random flowers around it. Like Clementine’s, it’s quite realistic, keeping in mind of the limited time and resources you’ve all had. Jungkook’s chest swells in pride when the two of you stare at his drawing for a few more seconds, secretly admiring his handiwork.
“I didn’t know you could draw!” Clementine’s indirect praises increase his ego but you stay quiet, not willing to say anything too positive around him.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” Jungkook responds, pointing out how good her deer is.
Jungkook takes his turn to present, and even his frog is amazing. Then, he flips to your drawing, a failed imitation of a frog compared to Jungkook’s accurate one a few seconds ago.
��Tina,” The sudden use of the nickname confuses you. Since when did he think he could be this informal?
“Yeah?”
“Your sister’s not really the creative one in the family,” The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, “Don’t you think?”
Clementine thinks about what to say while Jungkook watches the steam coming out of your ears in pure delight. No matter how good of an artist Jungkook is, or how good of a babysitter he could be, nothing would ever make you want to be acquaintances with him, let alone being just civil with him. What makes matters worse is that Jungkook can easily get away with making infuriating jabs at you since your sister is here with you.
You also try not to think about how Jungkook is getting paid for tormenting you outside of school, because if you dwell on it for far too long, you don’t know what you’d do.
“Y/N doesn’t have to be good at that kinda stuff,” Clementine turns to you happily, “She’s already cool.”
You sheepishly smile back at her, and then she asks you to show your drawing pad now.
“Okay, so,” You clear your throat, “Uh, my word was tunnel vision.”
“...That actually makes sense now,” Jungkook nods, stroking his chin dramatically. He squints at the drawing as if he was in an art gallery.
“This is my drawing,” You flip the page, revealing your chicken scratch from before. Clementine bursts out laughing, and you can’t help but become a little annoyed at her reaction.
“How did you not get that?” She asks Jungkook, and you feel the anger bubble away and instead become replaced with smugness. Your sister still had your back after all.
“Hey!” He points at your drawing, baffled at your sister, “Look at that and tell me that you’d guess it correctly!”
“Um, yeah,” Clementine snickers.
“How?”
“It’s glasses. Vision,” You chime in, “Then those are tunnels. Tunnel vision, right, Clem?”
“Yeah!”
“What?!” Jungkook gawks while you give your sister a triumphant high five.
“What could you have possibly guessed?” You chuckle, turning the page out of curiosity.
Before you can see the word, however, Jungkook forcibly snatches the pad out of your hands. He’s no match to your quick reflexes, though, because you’re pouncing onto him, pinning him to the carpet so you can retrieve your stolen drawing pad.
You’re about to grab it, but then he grins at you, making you stop in your tracks.
Your eyes widen, realizing how you’re in an extremely close vicinity to him, his face inches away from yours. The two of you make unnerving, silent eye contact, each of you staring at each other’s face from time to time. It’s during this that you notice how big his eyes are, resembling Clementine’s drawing of the deer from before. You also notice the mole under his bottom lip and how his lips are naturally tinted a pleasant pink. Jungkook chuckles tauntingly at you and you come back to your senses. You’ve been staring at his lips far longer than you’d like to admit.
“Can’t get your hands off me, huh?” He whispers, winking at you. The pizza you had eaten 20 minutes ago crawls up your throat right away, and you immediately peel yourself off of him. Jungkook still has the pad in his hands, signalling a victory for him.
You cough awkwardly, returning to your seat and wiping away imaginary dust on your lap. You claw at some loose fabric of your sweatpants, balling up the material in your hands. Jungkook sits up as well, nonchalantly fixing his now messy hair. He remains unphased, even though you were literally on top of him a few seconds ago.
“He put Harry Potter and taquitos,” Clementine says, breaking the silence. Jungkook’s eyes shoot up to send her a glare with feigned annoyance, while you end up laughing a bit louder than you’d like to. Then again, anything to relieve the uncomfortable tension would work.
Jungkook’s cheeks are tinted a shy, light pink, while embarrassment is painted all over his face. It’s a lame situation to laugh at, one that you probably would never admit to anyone that you find it humorous, but seeing Jungkook flustered makes you the happiest girl in the world.
The night continues with Clementine bringing out all of the board games your parents bought you over the years. It’s fun yet unbelievably painful, having to cooperate with Jungkook just for the sake of Clementine. When you played Monopoly with them, you were always reluctant to give Jungkook money, even if it was fake. You were also reluctant to receive money from him, even if the action was beneficial for you and not the other way around.
He spends the night still making stupid jabs at you, some of them earning laughs from your sister. You suck it up and deal with it, because this is the happiest you’ve seen Clementine in a long time, so you just strain a smile and move on.
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When it’s about 9:45 PM, the three of you stop playing board games since Clementine has to get ready for bed. You come up to her room so that you can say goodnight and tuck her in.
“Today was fun, Y/N,” She giggles while you pull the covers over to her.
“That’s good to hear, Clemmie,” You respond, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
Before you shut off her light, Clementine grabs the bottom hem of your shirt.
“Y/N?”
“What’s up?” The scared look in her eyes tells you that you’re gonna have to stay for a little longer, so you sit down on the bed.
“Are mom and dad gonna be okay?”
At first, you’re shocked that Clementine had even noticed, but then again, she’s always been this observant. And she was 12 already. She wasn’t dumb. It was also obvious that the reason why your parents randomly decided to go to dinner tonight was because they were trying to iron out some issues that they’ve been having.
All you do is nod and ruffle her hair playfully. Another smile appears on her face when you kiss her cheek.
“Everything’s gonna be okay,” You say, although you’re not so sure yourself.
Recently, you’ve been having trouble sleeping as well. This was because your parents always start fighting whenever they see that Clementine is asleep. You don’t know what exactly they’re arguing about every night, but you’ve assumed that it must be money issues or something along the lines of that. Real adult stuff that they want to keep you two out of, but it’s so hard to ignore when they’re yelling at each other so loudly.
Clementine’s room is closer to the stairs. Of course it’s not a surprise that she’d notice there was something wrong with your parents.
“Do you think I…?” She mumbles out the question, but you don’t need her to finish the rest of it because you’re wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close to you.
“Don’t ever think that,” You say, sighing, “You didn’t do anything, ok? Mom n’ Dad are just fixing things between themselves.”
She nods, hugging you back.
“You should go to sleep,” You pull yourself off of her, placing yet another kiss on her head before tucking her in under the covers, “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
“Promise?” She sticks out her pinky finger and you chuckle, sticking out yours and looping it around hers.
“I promise.”
“Night, Y/N.”
You say goodnight to her, turning off her lamp and shutting the door. Now that she was attended to, you had to start cleaning up. You walk downstairs to see Jungkook sprawled out over your couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. You wish that the saying “Make yourself at home” never existed, since your parents have an affinity for using it, which in turn forces you to deal with Jungkook laying on your couch like a complete slob.
The first job you assign yourself is to tidy up the living room, and you stack up all of the board games together so you can put it in the random storage closet your house has. Jungkook, of course, doesn’t bat an eye at the fact that you’re cleaning up the house all by yourself.
An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you. You walk over to the kitchen to have another slice of pizza while Jungkook acts like you don’t exist in your own house. Your stomach grumbles obscenely, even though you had a slice a few hours earlier.
It must be the stress. You do tend to be hungrier when you’re under a lot of stress, and today threw many annoyances your way.  
You check your phone and you realize that Hoseok texted you an hour ago.
[October 9, 7:30 PM] Hobi: Y/N i honestly think i’m gonna lose my mind?????????? Y/N? Y/N where tf are u i’m going insane holy shit text me when u get this PLEASE
Right away, your fingers move at the speed of light
[October 9, 10:30 PM] Y/N: omfg hobs you have no idea the shit i just went thru think i got three years taken off of my life anyways sry for the late reply what happened?
The iconic three dots and text bubble show up. You stifle a laugh. Hoseok must’ve been waiting by his phone for your text.
Hobi: i think i may have gotten myself into a date???
Y/N: a WHAT with WHO Hobi: yknow like mymanwhosnotreallymanbutheis yeah him Y/N: ur joking SPILL
You eagerly chew on the cold, stale pizza in your other hand as you wait for Hoseok to tell his whole story. Whether he’d be sending a voice memo or he’d just spam you with a multitude of texts, you never really knew. That’s just how Hoseok was.
But that didn’t really matter, because Hoseok had a date. With the kid he’s liked since the beginning of last year. Kim Namjoon.
Kim Namjoon, coincidentally in Hoseok’s photography class this semester, was easily the smartest person in the whole school. The teachers were more than heartbroken knowing that he’d be graduating this year. The students, more specifically the girls, were also saddened, because Namjoon was also quite attractive. He was tall, kind, and extremely smart, and because of this, he had earned the title as “The Package” by Hoseok. He was everything everyone ever wanted in one person. Accurately put, Kim Namjoon was a  full package.
Hobi: ok well like we have a project in photography class where we have to take pics of nature and i wanted to do the flowers bc yknow, easy A and since u couldn’t hang out today >:( Y/N: hey, not my fault my parents think that i’m a terrible sister
Hobi: yeah u have to tell me how that went but anyways i went out to take pics after practice and guess who i saw? namjoon
Y/N: aaaaAAAAAHHHH
Hobi: YEAH and then we were talking and stuff and it turns out that he’s doing flowers too and then he gave me HIS NUMBER Y/N: omfg,,,
Hobi: i  k n o w so like i think two hrs ago he texted me and we started talking and stuff and then he was like “yknow there are prettier flowers in the botanical garden downtown” and then he asked if i wanted to hang out next week so i said yeah Y/N: holy shit hobs
Hobi: yeah so it’s not really an official date but i’m counting it as one in my book
You hold back a squeal, though you want to scream at the top of your lungs so badly. You opt to just smiling from ear to ear at your screen as you continue to freak out over text.
Hobi: the only problem is that i have to pretend that i like nature :( but not only that…. like i have to know stuff
Now Hoseok’s begging you for advice on nature, and you mention that you also aren’t the biggest nature lover either. Hoseok tells you he’ll have to do some research on flowers and you think that he’s the funniest person you’ve ever met. 
Your brief moment of happiness is rudely interrupted, however, when you suddenly see Jungkook before you, standing across from you at the kitchen island.
“You’re still hungry?” He says, opening the box and grabbing the last slice.
“You’re one to talk,” You scowl, watching him take a bite from his pizza.
Jungkook leans on the island, which in turn causes him to be closer to you, since you’re also leaning on the same surface.
“You don’t really smile a lot, baby,” He teases, wiping off sauce from the corner of his mouth.
So there he was. The Jeon Jungkook you’ve known and hated so dearly. He’s always called you random pet names, simply because he knows how much you despise him. It takes everything in you to hold back the urge to cuss him out. The walls are thin and your sister might wake up.
“Don’t call me that, first off,” You spit, “Second off, why do you care so much?”
“Jus’ makin’ conversation,” His cheeks puff up as he continues to stuff his mouth with food.
“Like I give a shit,” You grumble, looking away from the chewed up food that you can see in his mouth. It’s so unfortunate that Jungkook thinks it’s a good idea to talk while eating.
“Wow, you’re so mean to me,” He takes a large swallow of his food and then pouts, “You’re killin’ me here, babe.”
Despite his seemingly sad words, Jungkook’s giving you a big, toothy grin. He winks at you for the umpteenth time tonight, and you try to think of all the ways to kill someone in silence. Right now, you wish that Clementine was awake, because it’s only around her that he seems to be somewhat decent towards you.
“You have a nice house and nice parents,” He says, more to himself rather than you as his eyes scan the tidy kitchen, “And your sister’s so nice. Why aren’t you?”
“Why are you such an asshole?”
“Why are you such a bitch?”
Some would say that 10 PM is too late to have a nonsensical argument with some douchebag quarterback from your grade, but here you are having a ridiculously heated dispute with Jungkook at 10 PM. Again, all of this is happening in your own house.  
You roll your eyes at him, and you wonder how you haven’t hurt yourself by the amount of times you’ve done that today.
The two of you eat pizza in angered silence, an uncomfortable situation you never thought you’d ever have in your entire life. Well, you’re a lot angrier than Jungkook, who’s got a smug, satisfied look on his face because he just thinks it’s so much fun to annoy the hell out of you. That makes you even more upset, which causes you to get angry with yourself because you know you shouldn’t let someone get to you like this. It’s a never ending cycle of negativity whenever you’re around him, really.
Soon enough, the faint, muffled sound of the garage opening is heard through the door, and you breathe a sigh of relief. That’s Jungkook’s signal to leave.
Before he leaves, though, he turns to you yet again.
“Thanks for the money,” He winks, “And the free pizza.”
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The weekend goes by pretty slowly, but eventually, you end up in the classroom again.
Your school day is pretty much uneventful until you get to 5th hour Pre-Calc.
The busy click, click, click of mechanical pencils and the sound of scribbles from students’ writing are all you can hear after lunch. You follow their leads, hastily scrawling down your own notes on the lines of your notebook on your desk. Once you finally get into the zone of your note taking, you feel Jungkook lean in behind you. He’s so close that you can smell the cologne he uses, and the familiar odor sets off your flight or fight system.
Now that your parents have officially “hired” Jungkook as Clementine’s full-time babysitter, you realize that you’ll be forced to see him more often and have that strong, pungent cologne constantly wafting into your nostrils. You’re certain that you’d lose your sense of smell eventually.
If only Clementine hadn’t continued praising him after he left last Friday. Maybe then your house would actually be a safe haven for you. But no, now Jungkook is allowed to come and go into your house whenever your parents need him. (Again, as if they didn’t have a whole other daughter who was willing to take care of Clementine.)
But that’s another issue to worry about later, because Jungkook’s obnoxiously chomping down on his gum right in your ear. He’s so close that you can practically smell the watermelon flavor from his mouth, and you want to barf.
All you can think is: A.) Who in their right minds would ever actively choose watermelon gum over mint, and B.) Who would think it’s a good idea to chew on their gum so damn loud in the middle of class?
To both of those questions, the answer is Jungkook, plain and clear.
“Do you mind?” You hiss at him as you try to copy what the teacher has written on the chalkboard, “This isn’t a fucking ASMR channel.”
“Slow your roll there, baby,” His words come out in a teasing lilt, the pet name causing you to tighten your grip on your pencil, “First off, mind your business. Second off, I’d be an amazing ASMR youtuber, thank you very much.”
He’s imitating the way you talk to him, which makes your blood boil yet again.
“Well, you’re not giving me any chills.”
“I could if I wanted to.”
His statement causes you to freeze in your seat, mind racing as you try to think of a good comeback. Nothing appears, and you’re sure that if you were in the right headspace, you would’ve already had something good to say.
But you’re still going through heartbreak and the stress of dealing with your parents, so all you can muster to say is:
“You’re disgusting.”
Your words remind you of Friday night, which then makes you want the Earth to cave in under you and swallow you whole. You’re still dumbfounded at how Jungkook was able to come into your house without setting off all of the security systems your parents have installed there.
“Aw, baby girl,” The use of that pet name makes the digested lunch from 20 minutes ago crawl up your throat rapidly, “You really got me there! I’m so hurt, you know that? You’re so mean to me.”
You can’t see him, but you just know that he’s clutching his heart dramatically. Your whole body burns up in flames as you imagine the annoying smile on his face, the way it tugs to the right side a little more because he’s so proud of himself. He can see the steam pouring out of your ears, and all that does is egg him on.
Now he’s poking your back lazily with the end of his pencil, propping his head up on his elbow as he tries his hardest not to laugh.
It takes approximately ten seconds until you snap.
Once the pencil hits your back for the umpteenth time, you reach behind you quickly, snatching it and tugging it forcefully out of his hands. Without thinking, you hold the ends of the pencil between your fists and when your fists shoot up away from each other, the pencil breaks in half cleanly. You’re satisfied with the splintering ends of Jungkook’s pencil while he’s gawking at you, wondering how the hell you could have broken a pencil without any struggle. The smug smile is now on your face, but it quickly fades away when Ms. Lee turns to you and places her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. You make eye contact with her and you immediately straighten up your seat, your breath hitching as you attempt to remain calm under her threatening presence.
You weren’t scared of many things, but Ms. Lee definitely made your skin crawl.
“Miss Y/N?” Her voice booms all the way to your seat in the back of the class, “Would like to share with the class as to why exactly you’re breaking a pencil in the middle of my lesson?”
“No, ma’am,” You quickly respond, your words coming out in a pathetic squeak.
You can feel the mischievous gaze Jungkook has on you, but you pay no attention to it. The teacher grunts, turning her back to the class and resuming her ever so important task of writing important formulas on the chalkboard.
You let out a soft groan and you noticeably slump in your seat, making Jungkookk chuckle.
“Nice save there, Y/N.”
“Fuck off, will you?” You toss the pencil halves back onto his desk, not wanting to have anything to do with any of Jungkook’s property. You made a mental note to wash your hands once class ended so you could rid yourself of whatever pathogens lurked on Jungkook’s pencil.
“Do you always have such a way with words?”
If you were in a private space with Jungkook, where his hands are tied and he couldn’t do anything to hurt you, you’re sure that he would’ve been beaten to a bloody pulp by now. You desperately yearn to have just one day where you can beat his ass.
But you frown, knowing that that day would never come.
“Do you always act like a pretentious dick?”
“Baby girl,” The name returns and you have never wanted to kill someone as much as you’d like to Jeon Jungkook right here, right now, in 5th Hour Pre-Calc with Ms. Lee, “If there’s anything to describe this dick, it’s certainly not pretentious, I’ll have you know that.”
“Wow,” You scoff, “Do you always have such a way with words?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact-“
“Miss Y/N and Mr. Jungkook!” Ms. Lee bellows, “I am teaching a lesson! Would you like to share-“
“No, ma’am!”
You keep your head low, continuing to copy down the notes on the board. Jungkook kicks the back of your seat multiple times throughout class, and the only thing you can think is:
How is this guy allowed to be around little kids?
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Usually, when you see someone regularly in your life, your bond with them grows stronger. But with Jeon Jungkook, you’ve learned with each passing day that your hate for him becomes stronger and stronger. And it’s been exactly five weeks. You’ve kept track.
Because now that he’s your sister’s babysitter, he’s become a lot more involved in your life. At least, he’s become involved in Clementine’s life (which ultimately means yours as well).
And as a result, your parents have started going out almost every single night, save for when there’s a football game or when Jungkook is too busy with homework. This meant that he was at your house at least 3 times a week, sometimes even more, because he just loved being with your family and your family just had to feel the same way. Sometimes your parents would even ask him to drive Clementine home from school. 
(An issue that would easily be solved if they let you learn how to drive. But apparently that was absolutely preposterous.)
One thing you’ve learned about Jungkook is that he’s scarily good at acting. He’s amazing at being sweet to Clementine, offering to drive her home after school whenever he can and creating inside jokes with her all the time as if he wasn’t planning on ruining your life this whole time. Since he’s such a “good babysitter”, your parents have started having him come over for dinner, and almost every night you had to restrain yourself from starting a food fight with him. He was always polite to your parents, though, making easy conversation with them at the table but never even daring to say a single word to you.
If someone was on the outside looking in, they’d think that Jungkook was a good person. Like a superhero, however, when he was around you, he would take off his disguise and reveal what he really is: a conceited jock who only thought with his dick.
The only possible benefit of him taking care of Clementine is that you have a lot more freedom now. That freedom has turned into occasional hangouts with Hoseok on the weekend. You’d usually use any chance you could get of hanging out with your best friend, but you also didn’t trust the dangerous human being who was constantly in your house, watching her. As a result, you’ve chosen to stay at home with Clementine, babysitting her babysitter. You label it as being a protective older sister.
But as Jungkook annoyingly puts it, with his notorious, cocky grin:
“You really like my company, don’t you, babe?”
He couldn’t be further from the truth.
This is different from tonight, though, because you’re relishing in the overly sweet, artificial taste of the strawberry shake right in front of you. It tastes like relief, like some much needed freedom from your overbearing parents on a Thursday evening.
Today, they took it upon themselves to lecture you about your sleeping schedule, telling you it’s irresponsible to stay up so late. What they don’t get is that you’ve been working on an important paper for your AP Lang class while also helping one of your classmates with their own paper. It strikes you that they don’t realize how much schoolwork your teachers pile on you. And it infuriates you even more that they always jump to the conclusion that you’re a bad kid, even though you’ve constantly had good grades while balancing schoolwork with cheer. That notion’s always gone unnoticed.
Of course, this wasn’t a pretty sight to be seen, your parents arguing with you right before their dinner date, and coincidentally, right as Jungkook stepped into the house. You don’t know what his reaction was, but you presume that he was most likely stunned. The only time you’re ever truly enraged, bluntly saying whatever harsh comments come to your mind, is when your mom starts to belittle you. This was the first time Jungkook’s ever seen you this upset. Or articulate.
It was safe to say that things didn’t end well, you storming up into your room and slamming the door.
And, as expected, you chose to have a much needed diner date with Hoseok tonight. Clementine even encouraged you to go, saying that she’d be fine with Jungkook, but you couldn’t help but still be concerned for her safety.
“Y/N, stop checking your phone,” Hoseok whines, snatching it from you, “What’s got your panties in such a knot?”
You grumble in protest when Hoseok scrolls through your conversation with your little sister over text message.
The music from the old, torn down jukebox fills the diner, and you’re surprised that it still even works. That jukebox has been there ever since your parents were kids. Nonetheless, you enjoy the nice, cheery melodies playing from it. You kick at some random bits of fries on the floor, your beaten red converse still visible under the dark shadows of the table. The diner smells of fried food, a scent that you’ll happily breathe in everyday. There’s an elderly couple sitting at the other end of the diner, waiting for their waitress to bring them their food. The old lady waves to you, and you wave back, flashing a small smile her way.
“Y/N, Tina’s gonna be perfectly fine,” He says, creating a shooing motion with his hand, “It’s not like he’s going to kill her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He literally loves her,” Hoseok takes a bite of his burger, some of the juice from the patty seeping out, “Yesterday he asked me to ask you what type of music Tina liked, Remember? Granted, he was too scared to talk to you. but-”
“Don’t,” You groan, stealing a fry as compensation, “Don’t remind me.”
“Hey, I don’t like him either,” He says, “But I’m just sayin’ that you don’t gotta worry so much. Your sister’s 12 already. She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but-“
“And technically, there would be no clear motive for him to do anything wrong because he’s getting paid,” Hoseok takes a fry for himself, “Why would he feel a need to get rid of his only source of income? That’d be ridiculous.”
You sigh, resting your head on the table in defeat. He was right. Even if Jungkook was a douchebag towards you, he wasn’t insane.
“Don’t do that!” Hoseok scolds, flicking your forehead, “Your menu was just on that table!”
“So?” You rub your forehead in a failed attempt to the pain Hoseok has just inflicted onto you.
“You know menus can have 185,000 germs per square centimeter?” He exasperatedly explains, pulling out some hand sanitizer from his backpack, “Or was it only 85,000…? No, I remember it being-“
“Wonder where you got that information,” You tease, wiggling your eyebrows while you cleanse yourself with Hoseok’s hand sanitizer. The tips of Hoseok’s ears turn red in seconds, and you laugh at his misfortune.
“You’re so lucky I love you,” He grumbles, hiding his face in his hands. You giggle, eating so many of Hoseok fries that he decides to order some more for you. That’s how your diner “dates” usually went, you only ordering a shake but then stealing all of Hoseok’s food.
“How’s that going, by the way?”
“He’s adorable, as always, but he’s really… How do I say this?” He pretends to search for the right words before deadpanning, “An absolute fucking idiot.”
“What?” The statement catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your shake.
“He’s so dumb, Y/N,” Hoseok hits his forehead with his palm, “So we’ve been hanging out a lot, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then tell me why he can’t get the clue that I want him to actually ask me out?!” He groans, “Like, I’ve been trying to bring up prom, but he doesn’t get from the multiple times that I’ve said that I don’t have a date that I want him to ask me…”
Hoseok angrily chomps down on the last bit of his burger, while you’re still roaring in hysterics about how he finds Namjoon frustratingly adorable.
“I don’t get boys,” He pouts, “I really don’t. And I am one!”
“You can say that again,” You chuckle, sipping the rest of the shake in your glass.
The two of you catch up on everything you haven’t been able to share from weeks before, since school can provide only so much time for talking. When spending time with Hoseok, you realize how often you let the little things get to you. You tend to sweat the small stuff so much that you don’t realize all the good things happening to you. It was a nice albeit short break from reality, sitting with Hoseok in your favorite diner with your favorite strawberry shake and some greasy, delicious fries.
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Eventually, you end up back at home at 10:30 PM. You come a little bit later than your assigned curfew, but it’s not like your parents would notice. They’d be home even later, since they’re stuck at your grandparents’ house. You snicker to yourself while you unlock the door, imagining the invigorating conversations they’re having over there.
The first thing you’re (begrudgingly) met with is Jungkook sitting on your couch, watching football.
“You’re home late,” He says, eyes glued to the screen. You kick off your shoes, letting them land wherever they want to, and you ignore him. You weren’t about to let anyone, not even Jungkook, ruin the fun night you had. It was too much for you to be constantly miserable.
Then, as if on cue, the smell of chocolate chip cookies wafts into your nose rather pleasantly.
“Did you guys bake?” You ask quietly, taking off your jacket. Jungkook nods.
You walk over to the garage door, where the coat closet is. Putting away your jacket, you smile to yourself. A cookie sounds amazing right now.
Grabbing some milk out of the fridge, you pour yourself a glass and take a second to really take in the beauty of the cookies. They’re perfectly browned at their edges, while their center is a light tan, and there’s a few visible chocolate chunks in all of them. Your mouth waters, despite stuffing yourself with milkshakes and fries. You place three cookies on a plate.
“I’ll be in my room,” You say as you walk up the stairs. You know Jungkook doesn’t care, but it’s been a force of habit ever since you were a kid.
When you reach your room, you quickly open the dormer window so you can sit on the roof.
If you were ever to meet the person who designed this house, you would give them a big hug and ask them to marry you, regardless of their gender. The dormer window and its alcove has been a safe space for you growing up, and you sit on the roof every time you need to clear your mind or if you just needed to treat yourself on an especially rough day.
You swing your legs outside the window, slowly moving near the edge of the sill until you’re comfortable. The brisk night air makes its way into your room, the wind pushing your hair gently in different directions. There’s a soft symphony of crickets chirping, and you take this moment to stare at the night sky.
A handful of stars shine in the pitch black sky, more than you’d see in the city but less than you’d see in the country. You make a silent prayer that one day that you’d be able to experience what a full starry night sky would be like.
Your plate of cookies and glass of milk is placed on the window seat. A cookie finds its way off of the plate, into your hands, and then into your mouth. The first bite is perfect, bits of chocolate and cookie crumbs left on your lips. You lick them eagerly, feeling nothing but euphoric as you take a sip of your milk.
“Never knew Tina could bake,” You hear a low voice behind you. It’s soft, but you still jump when you’re taken out of your cookie-intoxicated trance.
Looking up, you see Jungkook at your door, walking over to you. Your face is stuffed with mashed up cookie bits and some milk, and usually you’d be embarrassed, but you’re too tired to care, nonchalantly wiping off your faint milk moustache with the sleeve of your sweater.
“She’s great at it.”
“I know,” He chuckles before pointing to the window cushion, “Mind if I…?”
“If I said that I did mind,” You move your plate and your glass to the side so Jungkook has space, “What would you do?”
“I’d sit down anyways,” He jokes, doing just as he says.
“No point in asking, then.”
An awkward silence befalls the two of you, but that’s how nights with the babysitter went, unnerving pauses constantly appearing as he tries to figure out what to say to annoy you.
In fact, you’ve created a game out of these situations. You try to guess what he’ll tell you this time. Right now, you’re betting that he’ll mention something about your peach fuzz, or that you’re a fattie for having cookies late at night. He’s called you thunder thighs before. You wouldn’t put him past calling you a fattie.
“She talks about you a lot, y’know.”
You’re initially taken aback, but the night is too calming, so now you’re pulling your legs close to your chest, a soft sigh escaping your lips. You have your back turned to him, sitting on the window sill while he’s on the window seat, but you can feel his eyes on you.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” You hear him sniffle, “Didn’t know that you liked the Power Rangers so much.”
“Are you kidding me?” You turn around to face him, “That was my childhood.”
“Mine too,” He smiles, one that’s different from his usual smirk, “Favorite ranger?”
“Trini, easily,” You point to the Yellow Ranger plushie laying on your bed, and he chuckles.
“I personally like Zordon the most.”
It’s not something you’d usually laugh at, but Jungkook ends up cracking up at his own joke and somewhere along the way, you find yourself giggling at it as well.
Another silence comes, and you finish the rest of your cookies and milk while he fidgets nervously with his hands. If Jungkook was trying to have a conversation with you right now, he was failing miserably. It’s somewhat interesting to you, seeing him open his mouth to speak, hesitate, and then closing it out of the corner of your eye.
It’s kind of cute, even.
You blink, looking forward. What the hell were you thinking? Was the loneliness really getting to you that quickly?
“Tina made those for you, actually.”
“That’s sweet of her.”
“Yeah, um,” Jungkook scratches the nape of his neck, “She told me more about what happened earlier today.”
“Huh?”
“With your parents.”
“Oh.”
You imagine what Clementine must’ve thought, seeing your parents continue to yell at you for hours on end about your sleeping schedule. She hates seeing her family upset, and that probably made her sad for a while. You hope that she’s sleeping peacefully in her room right now, tucked away into a land of dreams.
“Yeah,” He mumbles, “I’m sorry about that.”
Involuntarily, you let out a scoff. Whether it’s directed towards him or your parents, you’re not sure. You are quite surprised, though. Since when did Jungkook ever apologize for anything? Since when did he ever feel bad?
“No need to be sorry,” You mumble, “Not like you did anything.”
Another silence, this time being accented with some awkward coughing.
“I mean, I think it’s sweet.”
“You think my parents getting on my back about sleep is sweet?”
“No, no, no,” He quickly sputters out, “I mean that your sister cares about you so much. I think that’s really sweet.”
“Oh, well, thanks,” You say, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, “That’s Clementine for ya. Sweet.”
“Like the fruit.”
“Yeah,” You chuckle, “Did you know her name means ‘mercy’?”
It’s a fact you like to share with anyone willing to hear.
“That’s really cool, actually.”
“Yeah, my mom chose that name because I was too mean when I was younger,” You shake your head at the memory, “She said that we’d need someone more forgiving in the family, so the name stuck.”
“I can imagine that.”
“Shut up!”
“Sorry, sorry,” He laughs, and there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, “It’s nice, having dinner with you guys.”
“Dinner’s alright. Shockingly average,” You shrug, drawing out the last two words, “Why do you like it so much?”
“It’s nice to see you and Clementine together, I guess,” He runs a hand through his hair, “Things like that aren’t so simple for me.”
“What’s wrong with your home?” Your tone seems a lot more blunt and judgemental than you intended it to be, but Jungkook isn’t phased. He laughs at your question, even.
“Which one?”
You got the memo.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal. You’re not the reason why my parents split,” He says nonchalantly, but then he laughs at himself again, “You know, I have a little brother too. He’s a little bit younger than Tina.”
You turn around and stare at him, and you’re unable to hide the surprise in your face. The position of you constantly craning your neck just to talk to him is uncomfortable, so you sit on the other side of the alcove, pulling your legs to your chest once more.
“What’s his name?”
“Yeonjin.”
“Not trying to be mean, but I always thought you were an only child. You kinda give off the vibe,” You rest your chin on your knees, “How come he’s never with you?”
“I don’t blame you,” He says, “It’s ‘cause he tries to always be with our dad. He also hates my guts, so there’s that, too.”
“...Can I ask why?”
The warm glow of your bedroom light shines on one half of his face, while the dim lighting from outside paints his other half. You take in his appearance, how his hair has gotten messier every time he runs his hands through it, how his soft brown eyes are bouncing around your room, studying each poster and each picture that you have placed on your wall. He takes a sharp breath before speaking.
“I hate my dad,” He scratches his cheek, “Well, not really? I don’t know, it’s confusing.”
“I get that.”
“I caught him cheating on my mom, I think two years ago,” He bites his lip, “And y’know, I told my mom. So they split.”
You nod, listening intently to every word he says.
“Yeon doesn’t know that. I begged them not to tell him,” He says, resting his head on the wall and staring out the window, “So he thinks that I’m why they’re not together.”
It’s during that moment where you realize that you don’t know much about Jungkook outside of the classroom and your home. You try to imagine what he must’ve felt during that moment, seeing his own dad with another woman. Then, you think about what it was like for him to know that his brother still blames him and will continue to blame him for everything.
The conclusion you reach is that you can never truly know the pain that he’s going through.
“You know it’s not your fault, though, right?” You point out, “It’s your dad’s.”
“Yeah, can’t help but feel bad sometimes, y’know?”
“I mean, no shit.”
A few light, sad chuckles emit from both of your lips.
“Well, that was strangely freeing,” He hummed, “I think you’re the second person in our school who knows that now… I don’t really know why I shared that, sorry.”
You look at him. He’s still staring out the window, his Adam’s apple clearly defined since his head is leaning back. His black shirt stretches loosely over his skin, giving you a vague hint of the muscles underneath, and his sweatpants make him look… cuddly, almost. You don’t know why, but somehow he seems as if he’d be so comfortable to hug.
Even if he’s in basic clothing, he still seems to look good.
Your initial reaction to this thought is that it’s wrong, but you’re too tired to protest it. Instead, you’re focused on how shy Jungkook has gotten, how he avoids direct eye contact and slurs his words together, save for the occasional stutters in between his sentences.
“Don’t feel bad, that’s pretty heavy. You gotta let that shit out sometimes.”
“Yeah…” He says, more to himself rather than to you, “Can I, uh, ask you a question?”
“What’s up?”
“Why’d you and Jimin break up?” His eyes are on yours, and he’s immediately trying to take back his question, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, cause that’s none of my business-“
“You’re good,” You chuckle, “He cheated on me.”
“Damn, I’m sorry, I never knew...” He frowns, “Y’know, everyone thought you were endgame.”
“Me too,” You replied, “But apparently not.”
It isn’t until you feel Jungkook’s hand on your face that you realize you’re crying. He gently wipes away the influx of tears falling from your eyes, not saying anything sarcastic or mean towards you. He’s just… there. Ready and willing to listen. He even shuts the window when he notices you shivering, a shocking contrast from his usual behavior towards you.
It’s the first time anyone other than Hoseok has asked you for the real story. The first time someone that’s not your best friend has actually taken the time to listen to the truth.
“You know that’s not your fault, either, right?”
He’s repeating your words, but for some reason they don’t sound so convincing to you.
“I dunno,” You sniffle, “Feels like it is.”
“Why would it be? He cheated on you. Not the other way around.”
You take a few moments to steady your breathing before you speak. You don’t know why you want to spill your emotions out to Jungkook, but under the moonlight and your bedroom lights, there’s a sense of security in opening up to him.
“This is gonna sound so fucking stupid,” You start, “And you better not tell anyone, or else I’m for sure gonna kill you right when I see you.”
“I promise, I won’t.”
“I’ve never… done it,” You cringe right when the words come out of your mouth, “I told Jimin that we should wait until we… y’know.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” He states, and you can’t help but be surprised at how understanding he could be.
“You don’t think it’s a little bit weird?”
“Nah,” He replies, “I also think it’s absolutely not a reason to cheat. There’s literally no valid reason in doing that, no matter how unsatisfied you are with your partner.”
“I guess so.”
The fact that Jungkook is getting mad in your stead makes you giggle.
“And plus, it was you. How do you cheat on someone like that?”
“What do you mean?”
Jungkook pauses for a minute, processing what he had just said.
“I mean, if I was Jimin- No, I mean, if I was me,” He gestures to himself, “Which I am, I would never cheat on my partner. It just makes no sense. You already have a whole ass person who likes you. I think I’d be happy enough with that already.”
“Yeah, you’d think so,” You add, and now it’s you taking a few moments before speaking again, “Um, thanks, by the way. For talking with me, and stuff.”
“Oh, no worries,” He smiles at you, “Just kinda wanted to see how you were doing because of earlier. You did look pretty upset before you left the house.”
You smile back, and it seems like he’s about to say something, but the sound of the garage interrupts him, signalling that it’s time for him to leave. He stands up from the alcove and grabs your empty plate and cup to bring downstairs.
“Hey, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, right?”
You both know the answer to the question but Jungkook asks it anyway.
“Yeah, of course,” You can’t seem to wipe off the grin present on your face, “There’s nowhere else I could be.”
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If you had to go back in time and tell yourself that eventually Jungkook would start driving you home after school and that you’d actually enjoy his company, you’re certain that your past self you’d slap your future self in the face and say that you were insane.
And maybe the latter was true.
“You’re terrible at singing,” He snickers, trying his best to keep his eyes on the road.
You’d retort and say that he doesn’t know shit and you’re actually an amazing singer, but you’re too preoccupied screaming One Direction lyrics off the top of your lungs. You decide to just jokingly flip him off instead.
The band’s songs hold a close place in your heart, because their music was what brought you and your sister closer. Although you’ve somewhat grown out of their cheesy lyrics about love and youth, you had to admit that their music was extremely catchy.
And apparently Jungkook thought this as well, because he was quietly singing along to each song word for word.
“Didn’t know you were a fan,” You tease, and he’s caught off guard.
“I’m not…”
“I bet you cried when Zayn left.”
He doesn’t look at you, because he’s driving, but the tips of his ears turn bright red, and you roar in hysterics at his reaction.
“You know I very well could’ve just left you at school,” He’s got a smile on his face despite his harsh words.
“Oh, you’d never,” You reply, staring out the window and enjoying the basic scenery around you.
After the one night where Jungkook and you dumped all your emotional baggage on each other, you found yourself looking forward to him being in your company from now on.
At first, you only decided to be nice to him since he knew the fact that you were with Park Jimin—that bombshell of a boy—and you never got it on with him. It’s not something you’re ashamed of, but you know you’d hate it if anyone else knew, because the rumor that you were crazy would just then become truer and truer to them. So you became nicer, gentler with Jungkook. Plus, hearing his story made your heart sadden a little whenever you saw how excited he was to be with Clementine.
And somewhere along the way, between him walking you to your classes and buying a Poptart pack and saving one for you after school every day, you realized that maybe he wasn’t such a bad kid to be around. He seemed to like being with you a lot too, always offering to drive you home when you had practice and when you didn’t, he’d offer to get fast food with you before going home.
Maybe it was the solidarity of experiencing pain, or it very well could just be that you’re one of the only people who knows Jungkook’s secrets and he’s one of the only people who knows about yours. Maybe there’s some pity for each other present, or it’s simply just because the both of you are tired of constantly bickering whenever you’re within a 20 foot-wide radius of each other.
You could spend countless hours trying to draw a conclusion, and you’ve tried to, during the late nights where you can’t sleep where you’re tossing and turning around restlessly. But eventually, you end up falling asleep, always answerless to the paradox you’ve been trying to solve.
Whatever the answer was, you’ve stopped caring about it, because you deemed it useless to keep trying to find it.
“How’s the new routine going?” He asks, desperate to change the topic.
“It’s going, that’s for sure,” You chuckle, “I think we just need a little bit more practice and we’ll be good.”
One thing that you’ve learned about Jungkook after becoming his friend is that he loses his natural vulgarity when you know about his family history.
You noticed this when Hoseok came over to your house one night and Jungkook didn’t call you a demeaning pet name at all during the time being. He also never bothered the two of you, making some small talk with Hoseok before leaving to play Just Dance with your sister. (He bought her that game when he found out that you guys had a Nintendo Switch that you never use).
The first thing Hoseok said to you when the two of you went to your room and you closed the door was:
“Where the hell is Jungkook and what the fuck did you do to him?”
It was a comical night, Hoseok freaking out over the wonderful, ever elusive mysteries named Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jungkook.
Another thing you (and Hoseok) had learned about Jungkook is that, surprisingly enough, his best friend was the Kim Namjoon himself.
This happened that same night, when Jungkook knocked on the door and accidentally overheard Hoseok say his name. Jungkook’s initial reaction was:
“It’s you?!” He almost shrieked in disbelief, “You’re the one Joon has a crush on?!”
His words, of course, came with a shrill: “He has a crush on me?!” from Hoseok.
Through this rude awakening, Hoseok and you learned that Namjoon was the only friend Jungkook had. Apparently, he started tutoring Jungkook when Jungkook was about to fail freshman year. Jungkook said that Namjoon was the only reason as to why he survived his first year of high school, and because of that he never left Namjoon alone. Eventually, they had strangely become the best of buddies.
And being the best of buddies meant that he knew Namjoon’s secrets.
(Safe to say, it was a rough night for both Hoseok and Jungkook but a fun one for you.)
“How’s Seok and Joon?” Jungkook asks, out of the blue, and you can tell the question has been on his mind.
“Hobi’s waiting for Namjoon to make a move.”
“Ha, that’s funny.”
“What?”
“Namjoon’s waiting for him to.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I honestly wish I was,” He chuckles, driving into your subdivision.
“It’s amazing how glaringly obvious the two of them are,” You sigh, “Hoseok made bracelets for him. Tell me that that doesn’t scream: ‘Oh hey, by the way, I like you!’”
“Yeah, Joon has so many pics of him on his Insta, you’d think they’d be dating by now…”
“They’re really, really oblivious.”
“Well,” He shrugs, taking a turn into your driveway, “It happens to the best of us.”
Jungkook walks out of the car, heads over to your door, and as usual he helps you out while reaching for your backpack and your cheer bag so he can carry them for you.
Clementine’s sitting in the kitchen, working diligently on her math homework.
“Tina!” Jungkook sings, setting down your bag on the couch. You walk over with him to her, and she has a bright smile on her face when she sees the two of you together.
“Hi!” She responds, “I’ve got something to tell you guys!”
“What is it?” You ask, sitting next to her and taking a peek at her worksheet. It’s something about fractions.
“I think I have a crush!”
“Holy-“ You stop yourself before you can say anything bad, “Uh, wow, Clem!”
“Yeah, wow…”
You and Jungkook look at each other with somewhat sad eyes. He may not have known her for as long as you have, but he feels the same, strange dull pain that you’re feeling in your chest.
Your little sister isn’t so little anymore.
Tonight was going to be a long one.
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Late night conversations with Jungkook at your dormer window have become a regular thing.
It’s the moments where fatigue starts to really hit the two of you that you have the most fun with him. There’s no shame in what you say, and no judgement stemming from one another. During then, it’s just you, Jungkook, the occasional plate of pizza and snacks, and the moon.
“I can’t believe she has a crush already,” You muse, a hint of melancholy in your tone.
“She’s 12, Y/N.”
“That’s still too young, don’t you think?”
“How old were you when you had one?”
“I think,” You pause, sorting out your vague childhood memories, “In Kindergarten, maybe?”
“My point exactly.”
You curse under your breath as you’re obviously defeated. You hate when logic is used against you. Jungkook just laughs, performing his usual habit of rubbing his nose and jerking his head so his hair can stay out of his eyes. Both of you are leaning on either side of the alcove and the window is slightly open so that you can hear the regular music of crickets outside. A light gush of wind blows through, gently shifting around random strands of your hair.
Jungkook’s yet again scrolling through his phone, looking at funny memes on Instagram and sending them to the group chat titled: “Namjoon’s Angels” that he so cleverly named. Your phone buzzes multiple times, and when you turn it on, 4 notifications from the said group chat appear on your screen. They’re all from him. You look at the boy in front of you and he’s got a delighted smile on, eyes crinkled up into crescent moons while he’s so focused on whatever’s on his phone.
“We’re in the same room, Kook,” You say, showing your screen to him, and Jungkook’s a bit surprised at the nickname, but he quickly shoots you a fake glare before going back to his own phone.
“Those aren’t just for you, princess,” He retorts, tapping away on his screen, “Those are for Joon and Hoseok too.”
Your phone buzzes once more, and this time it’s a notification from just Jungkook.
[November 15, 10:40  PM] jeon.jk on Instagram *Sent a post* [November 15, 10:40 PM] jeon.jk on Instagram This one’s for you! :)
Upon opening the chat, you’re met with an obscure picture of-
[November 15, 10:41] y/nnnn_ beans? jeon.jk Beans.
You send him a questioning look, and Jungkook squeakily laughs, almost out of breath by how funny he thinks the picture is.
jeon.jk Do you not like it? I think it’s rather nice.
The most surprising thing you’ve discovered about Jungkook is that he’s quite the articulate texter, which is a weird juxtaposition from his usual character. It’s certainly the strangest thing you’ve known about him.
y/nnnn_ it’s quite off putting jeon.jk :(
“I’m right in front of you,” You declare, turning off your phone and putting it on the cushion. Jungkook rolls his eyes, but nonetheless does the same.
“But that’s no fun.”
“You’re so weird, you know that?”
“I like to think I’m pleasant to be around.”
It’s your turn to roll your eyes. He sticks his tongue out at you before looking out the window.
“Are you going to the football game tomorrow night?”
���Kook.”
“What?”
“I’m on the cheer team…”
“Oh,” His lips form a small, tight circle and then spread into a sheepish smile once he connects the dots, “You’re right.”
“Always am.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He starts, “Anyways, did you get invited to the party after?”
“At Taehyung’s?” You ask, and he nods, “I did, yeah.”
“You gonna go?”
You bite your lip, deep in thought over the question. Hoseok got invited too, and he was begging you to go because you hadn’t talked to Namjoon enough, save for whenever he asks you where Hoseok is after school.
While it would be a good idea to come along and really start to get to know your best friend’s crush, you could already tell that it wouldn’t slide with your parents.
“There’d be no one to babysit Clementine,” You reason, “I mean I’d love to, but yeah…”
Jungkook visibly deflates, so much so that he looks like a cartoon character. You suppress a laugh, an apology coming out instead so that you don’t make him feel any worse.
“No, I get it,” He sighs, shoulders slumped down, “It’s no worries then. We’ll still see each other after the game, then, right?”
“If you really want to, sure.”
“I want to.”
You smile at him, and Jungkook mirrors you, a toothy grin flashing your way.
Your favorite moments with your unconventional, newfound friend are during the late nights, because of times like this. Around you and around him, the world is soft and light. There’s a calming simplicity when you’re talking to Jungkook, and your chest constantly feels light and fluttery. His lame jokes become funnier, and your words towards him become kinder.
Even though it’s dark, the nights seem to shed light on who the two of you really are and how you two really feel about each other.
There’s no malice, no ill intentions towards each other either. You like being there with him. Time isn’t an obstacle, which is something you’ve always felt slipped out of your hands like fine sand. The world just comes to a standstill, both of you trying to talk as much as you can before your parents come home.
For you, time has been a nuisance. You lose sleep while you hunched over your desk, working on assignments because the night is the only freetime you have. Because of that (and so that you can peacefully talk to Jungkook whenever he babysits), you simply just do your homework in the morning. Your alone time is always cut short, since you’re swamped with cheer, homework, and family obligations.
You hated how time ran out.
After all, your time with Jimin had run out.
But when you’re sitting on the cushion in your alcove with Jungkook, you slowly but surely start to adjust to the ever changing world around you. Sure, you feel guilty about constantly dumping your emotional baggage to someone you’ve just become friends with after two years of having pure hatred for them, but time and time again he’s always reassured you, telling you that he really didn’t mind you venting to him.
It’s not like Jungkook was your only option, since you always had Hoseok to rant to. But seeing Hoseok happy made you happy, and you didn’t want to ruin it by being a complete pity party.
So yeah, maybe Jungkook was the only option you had. You didn’t really mind either, since Jungkook had his fair share of problems that he’d talk to you about. There was no point in feeling bad at all, actually. There was a fair exchange of listening and venting between both sides.
You did find having an issue to restrain yourself around him. Everytime he spoke about his brother, you just wanted to jump into his arms and tell him everything was going to be okay. Even more so when his voice cracked and slowly turned into silent whispers and warbled mumbles. Your heart always broke when he would start blinking more and more so that his tears wouldn't come out. Sometimes, when things really got rough, he’d let a few ones fall, but he always followed it up with forced laughter and a strained smile.
It always made you wonder if he was hiding anything else from you.
“Wait, Y/N,” He says, raising a pointer finger up, “You can go to the party!”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you forget?” He asks, seeing how confused you are, “I’m Tina’s babysitter.”
“I didn’t forget that…?”
“I’m gonna be at the game, cause, y’know, I’m, yeah,” He explains, “Your parents are gonna have to stay at home regardless.”
You stare at him blankly as it registers in your head that there’s nothing stopping you from going to Taehyung’s infamous house parties.
“You’re right,” You mumble, “Sorry, I must be tired.”
“When’d you sleep last night?”
“Yesterday?” You stare up at the ceiling while you try to remember the other night, “4… I think?”
Jungkook shakes his head at you, ashamed.
“What’d I say about sleeping late?” He wags a finger at you, “You’re gonna ruin yourself if you keep doing that.”
“Okay, thanks, mom,” You snicker.
He then changes the topic, now complaining about the very same paper that you stayed up late to work on. You added on to his ranting, speaking your own mind as well.
The conversation is stopped abruptly when you hear knocking. Jungkook and you turn from each other to see your parents standing at the doorway. Neither of you had even heard the garage opening, or your parents walking upstairs.  
They’ve got tired, but happy smiles on their faces, and it comforts you knowing that they’re starting to iron out whatever issues they're going through. Your mom waves at you two and you echo her movements.
“Ah, I gotta go, then.”
Jungkook swiftly gets up from the alcove, grabbing his jacket that was resting on your desk chair. He greets you goodbye and then does the same with your parents, your dad walking him to the door. When both of the boys leave, your mom joins you, replacing Jungkook’s spot. She smells of steak and has a faint scent of wine about her. The relaxed, blissful state she’s in tells you that she’s intoxicated right now.
“Glad you had a fun night out,” You say, a soft smile on your lips.
“I quite like Jungkook,” She seems to not have heard your words, “Don’t you?”
“He’s nice, yeah.”
“He reminds me of your dad.”
She’s definitely a lot more drunk than you thought she was.
“Let’s get you in bed, mom,” You chuckle, standing up and helping her, “I think that’s enough for today.”
When you take her to her room and she staggers over to sit in her bed, you say goodnight to her. She responds, and you know very well that she’s most likely going to fall asleep with her dress on. You decide that your dad could handle that.
After getting ready for bed and crawling under your covers, your mind starts to wander, fixated on the idea of Jungkook and your dad being similar.
You can’t find a single distinct comparison between the two of them, but then your mind travels to the topic of your parents when they were younger. When they weren’t dating and they just knew each other as neighbors. Were they nice to each other?
Was there ever a time where they hated each other?
In between the many questions traveling through your mind, you start to enter the deep limbo of being half asleep and half awake. This doesn’t stop your curiosity about your parents story, as you see the two of them in your dreams. A young version of your mom bickering with your dad.
Then, it suddenly flashes to you walking with Jungkook in the hallways of high school, talking and bickering like you usually do.
Despite being heavily sleep deprived, you actually have a good night’s rest for once.
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It’s Friday, which meant one thing and one thing only. It’s game day.
And although you complain about how sore your muscles are after practice and how you hate staying after school for so long, but when you’re sitting on the track, listening to the shouts from the student section and watching the football get tossed back and forth between players, you can’t help but be excited for halftime. You even become immersed in the sport, intently watching the boys tackle their way through the field. Half of the time you’re not completely sure about what’s going on, but you definitely were having fun sitting with Hoseok and watching the football teams brawl for a simple leather ball.
You had to admit it. There really was something magical about football games.
It was the way the grass smelt of rain and sweat, the way you could hear nothing but excitement from the crowds of students in the student section, the way that everyone was donning the school’s signature colors of purple and gold. The energy tonight is explosive, and you relish in every single section of it.
Your teammates are focused on the game and on themselves, making sure they remember the routines you have been practicing for months. But you, on the other hand, have separated yourself from the group of girls standing on the track and talking to each other. Instead, your focus is stuck on Jungkook.
Watching him on the field is like magic.
You don’t mean to, but your eyes follow him as he rushes past the opposing team, pushing past everyone effortlessly. He knows exactly when to keep the ball clutched closely to his chest or when to throw it to his fellow teammate, and he defends himself against the opposition, turning his back against them in order to protect himself from their tackles. It’s all like clockwork, like Jungkook could predict the other team’s movements. Even though you’re far from him, you notice the way he scans the field, so much so that you can see the gears turning in his mind. He’s got a whole map of the field and the teams in his head, creating a strategy right on the fly. All to get a touchdown.
Jungkook may be the big-headed goofball who used to enjoy annoying you, but he was a completely different person on the field. He’s someone determined and clever, and he doesn’t show off or become cocky when he’s on the field. Instead, he looks out for his own teammates and becomes a real leader.
You see this when Kim Taehyung, one of the running backs, gets tackled and crashes straight onto the turf, his helmet thudding quite loudly. Before Jungkook grabs the ball in Taehyung’s hands, he gives a quick tap on the running back’s helmet as a simple way of telling him that he’s doing a good job. To tell him to not give up and to get back on his feet. It’s a barely visible gesture that no one in the crowd would notice. It’s basically insignificant to… anyone, really. But you feel your heart soften when you figure out what the gesture meant.
Then you sit up, slightly, because his eyes meet yours and suddenly all the air in your chest has decided to leave. The crease in his eyebrows disappears and he’s beaming at you.
What amazes you is that Jungkook still has the ball secure in his hands, shoving his way through the hordes of players like they’re nothing.
You wonder what it’d be like to see Jungkook running up close. It’s hard to see from this distance, but you can see how the sheen of sweat glosses his skin. There was no doubt that he was muscular and you knew that, because you saw him every single day, but tonight his body is even more defined. They flex as he moves, biceps bulging because he’s clutching onto the ball so tightly.
You’re unaware of the way your thoughts travel to Jungkook being sweaty and hot on the field. Somehow it makes you feel like you’re betraying everything you’ve stood for by thinking like this, but instead of creating an even greater inner conflict between yourself and your conscience, you give up and continue to spectate the game.
(If by the game, you mean Jungkook.)
It isn’t until you decide to give him a small wave that he stumbles. He passes the ball to Kim Seokjin, the receiver, and quickly gets up on his own feet before he can fall on the ground. The opposition’s focus is now moved onto Seokjin, and so is Jungkook’s.
Seokjin reaches the end of the field. He scores a touchdown, and the crowd goes wild. The roaring sounds like music to your ears and you stand up, cheering along with your friends to congratulate your team. You beam when you see Jungkook running alongside the receiver, genuine grins on the boys’ faces. You feel proud, but you’re not entirely sure about what.
“We’re gonna kill it soon, Y/N!” Hoseok grins, and you mirror him, a happy smile on your face as well. He’s also too focused on memorizing the steps in his head to notice that you’ve been drooling over your little sister’s babysitter.
“I mean, duh,” You dramatically flip your hair over your shoulder, making the both of you giggle.
People say that cheerleading is such an outdated sport, but you actually loved it with your entire heart. You’ve created many lasting friendships with the girls (and Hoseok, of course) on your team, and the cheer squad was the exact reason why you had a somewhat reputation at school. It was basically the only thing that kept you going during the 3 years of high school you’ve gone through, and you’re sure that it’ll be the only thing keeping you sane for the rest of your years at this hellhole of a school.
Well, that was a topic for another day.
Because before you can have another existential crisis about the fact that you’re already on your junior year of high school—you haven’t figured out exactly what you want to do with your life—and that time has really slipped you by, the timer on the big, chunky, outdated metal screen ticks down. A bold, orange “0:00” appears, signalling that it’s halftime. The football teams slow down and head back to their respective sides, getting ready to take a break while the cheerleading squad gets ready for action.
When all of the boys are seated at their benches, some of them guzzling water or simply just catching their breath, you, Hoseok, and the rest of the girls make your way onto the turf. The speaker announces your team, staticky voice emitting from the speakers and filling the air.
It’s go time.
You all huddle in a circle, hyping yourselves up with team chants. It’s invigorating, being with all of your friends, getting ready to present the routine you had been trying to perfect for the past few months. You step into the circle, and the girls lift you up, throwing you up in the air. As you’re thrown, you let the force move you, your body twirling around. You land gracefully back into their arms, and the crowd goes wild once again.
The cheerleaders grab their pom poms that are lying on the turf and they get into position. Everyone places their hands on their hips, smiles forming on all of your faces as the crowd simmers down to get ready for the show. A beat starts from the drum line, and you all wave your pom poms in the air, the tinsel-like material sounding almost like rain as they swivel in circular motions. You scan the crowds, looking at all the different students sitting together.
Then your eyes meet, and your face falters.
Park Jimin is sitting in the bleachers, beaming at the Sophomore on the cheer team. You’re rudely reminded of her sitting on his lap in the back of his car, and your eyes become hazy as you try to save face.
“Don’t pay attention to him,” Hoseok whispers, “He’s not worth it.”
You nod, averting your focus from Jimin. This was the final football game of the season. You had to make the most of it, and you weren’t going to let him get in the way of it.
The cheer captain starts with a “5, 6, 7, 8,” and the rest of you follow her chants.
The routine starts with a high kick and a right punch up, followed with another high kick and then a strict order of arm positions along with a few more kicks that you all execute with style. Some of the girls move to the front, doing backflips to entertain the crowd. The flyers, bases, and spotters, get ready for extensions while the girls in the front keep the student section preoccupied.
Hoseok is assigned as one of your bases, and two other girls—a base and a back spotter—get into formation along with him. They lift you up carefully, steadying you right away as you're raised up. The other flyers are lifted up, too, and you sigh in relief knowing that everyone did their extensions easily. You flash bright smiles to the crowd and they all scream, cheering you on as well. Your combined shouts add even more energy to what was already an electric game.
The cheer is something cheesy about having more spirit than the other team, and the words are really cringy at points, but you don’t care. You’d shout them to the ends of the earth for all you cared. What mattered was the way the student section responded with almost double the enthusiasm. Kids are hollering, practically jumping out of their seats and yelling as they repeat the school’s signature lyrics. There’s nothing but pure excitement for the game, the football team, and the cheerleaders.
You’re lowered down for a few minutes by the bases only to be thrown up quickly. Keeping your stomach tight and your arms stiff, you fall back into the arms of the cheerleaders underneath you. It’s a perfect execution of a cradle, and you’re practically glowing with pride for your team. It’s obvious that the coaches would praise you all at the next practice. The crowd goes crazy for your team as well. Once you’re placed on the ground, it’s your turn to perform flips and high kicks, and you carry out the rest of the routine effortlessly.
Staring at the crowd, you take in how everyone is smiling at you and your team, impressed at the stunts you all pulled off in such a small time frame. Their eyes are shimmering with pride and you’re certain that their throats have gone raw from all their hoots and hollers. The night sky is painted black, but the atmosphere you’re in is far from dull. The crowds are colored purple and gold, matching your uniform and the football players’ uniforms. There are kids from different cliques, but they’re all sitting together and cheering, showing the solidarity a school could have.
You hold on to the moment for as long as you can, your chest heaving up and down as you pose confidently when the routine is done. Hoseok looks at you with immense pride and you do the same, both of you practically radiating out there on the field.
Eventually, halftime is over and you’re back to sitting on the track. You’re sweaty, but you don’t care. You know you did amazing and that was worth it.
A wave of uneasiness hits your chest when you see the sophomore rush over to her backpack to check her phone. She grins at her screen before running over to your coach, using some lame excuse so she can leave. After that, she rushes out, and you see Jimin following suit.
You plan to see what they’re doing, but Hoseok grabs your wrist, already knowing what you were going to do.
“Y/N,” His voice is stern, “I love you. Don’t.”
“But-“
“It’s not a good idea. You know that.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Some of your nerves fade away when Hoseok demands that you’ll get pictures with him, even if both of you are drenched in sweat. He reasons that it’s because you rarely have any pictures with him. But isn’t that the sign of true friendship? Not being able to have pictures because you’re either having too much fun together or the both of you look so ugly you can’t even bear to have a photo taken? You use that reasoning with Hoseok and he simply pinches your cheek, telling you that you’re insufferable and forcing one of your teammates to take your pictures.
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When the game is almost done, the sophomore is nowhere to be seen.
You see your coach asking around the other girls, but they all respond with a shrug. Hoseok keeps you distracted by talking about the new friend group you’ve created with him, Namjoon, and Jungkook. Then, he starts to talk about Namjoon and the latest “date but not date” that they had last weekend. You realize you’ve never wanted to talk about Namjoon more than ever before.
While he’s gushing, you look at the photos you’ve taken with your best friend. A satisfied smile finds its way on your face when you see that they ended up a million times better than you thought it would. Hoseok also admires them while you swipe through the many new pictures in your camera roll.
“Told you it’d end up good.”
“Oh, whatever.”
You decide that you’d post your favorite ones, since you haven’t put anything new on your Instagram.
You tap on the app, planning to create a draft to post tomorrow. To your surprise, though, a new post from Jimin appears on your timeline. It’s a picture of the girl in his car. She has a bright smile on her face, her cheeks tinted a rosy pink.
Under the picture there’s a blue heart.
You’re reminded of all of the posts he had of you that had the exact same caption. You frown. Blue was your favorite color.
You go to his page, and all of your photos from before are gone. You’re frozen in your spot. Your mouth feels incredibly dry and a hard, rough lump forms in your throat. Your eyes start to sting, and the pain you thought you’ve forgotten about has come back twice as strong.
Hoseok notices this and you hand him his phone.
“Y/N… I’m so sorry.”
“I’m gonna,” You wipe your eyes and fan away the moisture so you don’t mess up your mascara, “I’m gonna go home after this.”
“Do whatever you need to,” He says, patting your head so you can rest your head on his shoulder, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
You text your parents, asking them to drive you home.
The game is slow, dull, and boring, but after such an excruciatingly long wait, it finally ends. Once it’s over, you’re immediately walking out and making your way to your parents car. You ignore all of the students around you, pushing your way through them.
You also ignore Jungkook, who’s been running after you right when the game ends but loses you in the crowd.
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When you come home, the car ride with your mom consisting of you breaking down and your mom comforting you, your mom quickly takes you to the bathroom, drawing a warm bath for you. She closes the door so neither Clementine or your dad can see the state you’re in, and she drops in a few drops of lavender into the steamy water. You hastily take off your uniform and your makeup, wanting nothing more than to get in the tub.
Shutting your eyes, you allow yourself to feel the warm water soaking your skin. The oil she added to the bath creates a pleasant scent to the steam, and your lips curve upward when you get a whiff of it. You rest your head against the edge of the porcelain surface, eyes getting hazy as the scent of lavender drowns out your senses. Your mother puts her hands through your hair, massaging your head with shampoo.
If your mother was being this gentle, this nice to you, then this was really serious.
When she plants a loving kiss on your forehead, humming sweetly, you feel your lip quiver. You were tired. This was your breaking point. You couldn’t take it anymore. Warbled, shrill sobs escape from your lips and you’ve lost all notions of self control. Your mom holds you close to her, indifferent to the soap suds and water soaking her shirt.
“Sometimes change is necessary for growth,” She says as you cry everything out.
“It hurts,” Your words come in between gasps.
“I know, darling, I promise you that you’ll find someone who truly deserves your love.”
“...Really?”
“Yes, and, you know, I already know one person who deserves it.”
“Who?”
“You.”
You hang onto every word she says, hoping that they’re actually true.
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[November 16, 9:35 PM] Jungkook Hey, is everything okay? I tried talking to you after the game but I couldn’t find you Why is that? You don’t have to tell me, just wanted to know if you were okay I’ll tell Joon you say hi later tonight. He was really excited to hang out with you Sorry, I must be spamming your phone Anyways, just wanna say you did great tonight
Read at: 10:01 PM
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[November 19, 4:02] Jungkook You didn’t show up to school today I think this is actually the first time you’ve skipped school Let me know if you need the homework or anything Read at: 4:10
You tap out of the conversation and put your phone face down on your nightstand. Tossing around in the bed, the sheets are uncomfortably hot around your sweaty skin. Your room is humid, since you’ve been doing nothing but lay in your bed for the past 3 days. Your eyelids slowly droop downward while you attempt to remove yourself from the throbbing pain in your head.
A slow, soft creak emits from your door. You open your eyes to see your sister, holding a tray with a cup of water and a grilled cheese sandwich. She still has her school clothes on.
“We ran out of soup,” She says, walking over to you.
You give her a weak smile, shifting over so she can sit next to you.
“Thank you, Clem.”
She sits up straight, expectantly watching you eat. She waits for your reaction, and your lips curve up naturally while you chew, she lets out the breath she’s unconsciously been holding in.
“Are you… doing okay?”
“I’ll be alright,” You nod, and then you roll up the sleeve of your hoodie to flex your bare arm, “Your sister’s strong.”
Clementine giggles and she leans back, resting her head on your shoulder. Her hair tickles your skin, but you don’t care. The grilled cheese in your mouth tastes absolutely amazing—most likely because you haven’t eaten anything since a bowl of soup yesterday.
“I never…” She starts, but then stops. You reassure her that she can tell you whatever she wants, and with a deep breath, she continues, “I never really… liked him.”
“Hm?”
“Jimin. I never liked him,” Her words lower into a nervous whisper. You wonder how long she’s been holding it in. She looks up at you once more, “Sometimes I could hear when you guys talked on the phone.”
Your initial response is to be angry, but there’s no point to. It wasn’t her fault that your rooms were so close to each other. Clementine scoots down so that she can rest her head on your chest, and you wrap your arms around her.
“He was kinda mean,” She sighs, “And I didn’t like how he talked to you.”
You nod. There was a truth in her words. You imagine what she thought hearing you cry behind a closed door, hearing you freak out because Jimin would end the call on you randomly when you mentioned Hoseok. Thinking back on it, Jimin was quite possessive when the two of you were together. Quite ironic.
“He’s like Gaston.”
“Gaston?”
“Yeah, full of himself,” She spits bitterly, and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen your sister speak negatively towards someone, “Only likes you ‘cause you’re pretty. Gets mad if you don’t give him something when he’s nice to you.”
Despite her dulled down description of Jimin, her words are a rude awakening for you. It’s as if you were roughly picked up and dropped into a cold, freezing bath, the frigid water creating an abrupt awareness of the reality of your past relationship. The reality was that Jimin was terrible to you, and no matter how many times you tried to label it nicely, tried to dumb it down so you yourself could swallow it easily, the truth is that whatever the two of you had wasn’t love.
It hits you that you really don’t know anything about love.
“You deserve someone better than Jimin.”
“You can say that again,” You chuckle, but Clementine cranes her neck and looks at you with burning eyes.
“No, I mean it,” She huffs, “He was terrible-“
“I know, I know, Clem,” You give her a light, reassuring smile, “But we’ll figure that out later, ‘kay? Right now it’s just you and me.”
“Yeah,” She relaxes, resting on you again, “I’d like that.”
You pinch her cheek before speaking again.
“So, you wanna tell me more about the new guy?”
She hides herself in your embrace instantly. Her new crush, Lucas, seemed quite nice from what she tells you.
The rest of your day is spent with Clementine over board games, movies, and cookies, and from how she eagerly spills out everything to you, you realize just how much she’s held from you, afraid to bother you since you “had a lot on her plate”. You secretly promise her that you’d be there for her more, that you’d forever be a shoulder to cry on for her from now on.
It’s almost funny, how a breakup forced you into having a better relationship with your sister.
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When the night falls and you’re in Clementine’s room with her, ready to say goodnight, she musters enough courage to say something else to you.
“I like Jungkook.”
“I know, so does everyone,” You reply, suddenly remembering the multiple text messages from him that you’ve ignored.
Would he be upset with you? You decide that you’ll deal with that later.
“I like the way he looks at you.”
“What do you mean?” You questioningly state, taking the covers and putting it over her body. Even though she’s already 12, you don’t think you’ll ever stop tucking her in. She doesn’t object, either, eagerly accepting your advances and pulling the covers over so only her head pops out.
“He kinda,” She yawns, “He looks at you different.”
“Different?” You chuckle lightly, reaching out to turn off her lamp.
“Yeah,” She slowly closes her eyes, “Like how Dad looks at Mom.”
You freeze in place at her words, but then you quickly shake it off. She was most likely dreaming.
“You must be tired, Clem,” You mumble, “You should sleep.”
“Yeah, I should.”
You leave Clementine so she can sleep peacefully. With the absence of her around you comes the presence of an underlying issue that you never noticed was in your life.
When did Jungkook ever come into the equation?
Returning to your habit of tossing and turning around uncomfortably in your own bed, your mind tackles the notion of what your true feelings are for Jungkook.
Was he a bad person? Certainly not, from what you’ve learned. Were you guys friends? Yes, you were, obviously, from all the conversations you’ve had at your window.
Staring at said window, you imagine Jungkook sitting there, with his wide grin and his tousled, chestnut hair. You can almost smell the scent of his laundry detergent on your nose. His laugh rings in your ears, soft, breathy chuckles sounding almost like a melody to you. You think of all the times he’s walked you to your classes, dropping you off to your room before rushing on over to his own class that was on the other side of the building. He’s never told you, but you know that he’s always late to class because of you. This revealed itself because you’d see Jungkook hastily walking over to the attendance office to get tardy slips for his teacher.
You chuckle at the thought. It never registered in his head that the office was in the hallway of your 6th hour, so whenever he gets a slip you’ll see him pass by your doorway.
An image of Jungkook with Clementine flashes in your mind when you close your eyes. You see him dancing goofily with her to some Spanish song you’re not familiar with, all so that Clementine will be comfortable dancing around him. You take in how he smiles at her, how he looks at her so happily, and how he’s so eager to embarrass himself because he just likes seeing her laugh.
Then, when you close your eyes, you see Jungkook looking at you. His eyes are soft, and there’s something there you can’t really describe. It makes you feel safe, makes you feel like you can put your guard down around him. You notice that whenever your eyes meet his, there’s a bright, warm smile on his face.
A light, fluttery feeling hits your chest, but it’s far too faint for it to be significant, you think. You brush it off as something trivial. Jungkook was your friend, and that was that.
He was nothing more and nothing less, thank you very much.
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[November 20, 12:30 AM] Y/N sorry for not texting back haven’t been feeling well i’ll be back tmrw, tho you got time to talk after school tmrw? we could get burgers or something [November 20, 12:31 AM] Jungkook Of course, yeah It’s no worries btw, Y/N Just wanna know you’re okay. I’m driving you I’m guessing? Y/N yeah there’s no one else who will, lol
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Going back to school is a little rough, and although you only missed one day, you were already toppled with absent work and new lessons that you had to teach yourself.
But every worry seemed to disappear when you finally got to the diner with Jungkook. During this, you explain everything to him, stuffing your mouth with the fries that you loved so much. Jungkook listens to every single word you say, gnawing down on his bowl of mac n’ cheese.
“That’s so shitty of him.”
You can sense the anger in his tone.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” You shrug, pulling your strawberry smoothie close to you so you can take a sip, “Not my place anymore.”
Jungkook redacts what he was about to say, only nodding as to make sure he doesn’t speak over you.
“Sorry about not responding,” You mumble, and he shakes his head profusely.
“No, no, I get it,” He smiles fondly at you, “Don’t be sorry. I’m here for you, okay?”
It amazes you how understanding he can be. Seems like just yesterday he was chewing gum obnoxiously in your ears, blowing bubbles and popping them in hopes that the sound would destroy your eardrums.
Jungkook fills you in on what you had missed yesterday, already offering to help you if you need any help. The two of you spend the time at the diner talking about anything and everything, and things somewhat feel normal for once.
You wish that everything could stay just like this in the diner, where Jungkook is sitting in front of you, cracking lame jokes left and right and you’re laughing so hard that you can’t even be bothered to breathe anymore.
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A few weeks pass, and you’ve slowly started to adjust to the “new normal” of your life. But this was only because you had such amazing friends to help you out whenever you saw Jimin with his new girlfriend. Hoseok has been there for you and always will be, Jungkook constantly has new jokes up his sleeve that he’s constantly waiting to use, and even though you’re not that close with Namjoon just yet, you’ve learned just how kindhearted he is.
This is because when you told him the whole story of you and Jimin, he started sending you pretty flowers every single day. Those were Namjoon’s “cheer up” texts that gave you a soft comfort when you received them.
Slowly but surely, your regular diner dates with Hoseok have turned into full on hangouts with the other two boys. Jungkook would drive you, while Namjoon would take Hoseok. Usually, though, your hangouts would consist of you and Jungkook losing your appetites over how sweet Namjoon and Hoseok are to each other. There wasn’t one time where Jungkook wouldn’t roll his eyes to you when Namjoon would compliment Hoseok’s hair, and you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve lost it over Hoseok pinching Namjoon’s cheek whenever he teases him.
It’s still a complete shocker to the both of you that they’re only friends.
But you honestly wouldn’t change your new friend group for the world. Albeit sort of dysfunctional and unconventional, you all worked together nicely.
Things slowly came together piece by piece, and you felt that maybe your life would continue on peacefully, just how you wanted it to.
However, today is different.
After school, Hoseok asks you if the two of you can hang out one on one, just like before, and of course you agree, because you had to admit that you did miss spending time with just him. So you expect it to be a fun filled Friday afternoon with Hoseok. Maybe you’d hear him rant about Namjoon being clueless for the umpteenth time without ever acknowledging how oblivious he is himself.
What you expect, however, is very different from your reality, because when Hoseok and you walk out of the school building and into the parking lot, you’re met with a pretty sizable crowd. There’s kids, mostly boys, pointing their cameras and you hear multiple shouts and cheers from the crowds.
You’re about to stealthily dodge the crowd and head over to Hoseok’s car, but then a gap forms in between a few students and your jaw hits the ground.
“Fuck you,” Jungkook spits, his familiar voice confirming your suspicions.
The other boys spur him on, yelling out incoherent words that you can’t decipher. You grab Hoseok by the wrist and pull him over to the crowd.
Getting a closer look at the scene, you and Hoseok give each other a scared, concerned glance. Jungkook has Jimin on the pavement, landing multiple brutal punches across his face. Jimin, whose eyes have turned hazy, has blood coming out of his nose, and if Jungkook lands one last punch, Jimin is bound to have a broken nose (if he already didn’t).
It’s a good thing, though, that the principal suddenly appears, pushing past everyone and splitting the two boys up. Jungkook and Jimin are both sitting up now, tattered and beaten down. Jungkook wipes away the blood on his mouth, while Jimin tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving up and down heavily. His face is screwed up in agony and you wince upon seeing the newly formed black eye that he’s sporting.
Jungkook doesn’t look any better either. He’s got bruises all over him, and a handful of deep cuts and scrapes from falling on the ground. He has blood on his sweatshirt, and you can’t tell if it’s his or Jimin’s.
The crowd disperses, students not wanting to get involved with the authorities. You and Hoseok stay, however, because Namjoon appears out of nowhere, his arms crossed and a tired look on his face while he assesses the damage. The principal pulls them away by their collars in order to create distance from the three of you standing there. Once there’s a reasonable space between all of you, he begins to mouth them off.
“He made jokes about it but I never thought it’d happen,” He sighs, rubbing his temples, “I got the principle once I saw what was going on. I was too late.”
“What’s gonna happen?” You ask, voice coming out in a weak whisper.
“They’ll both be expelled for a little bit,” Namjoon strokes his chin.
“Expelled?” Hoseok gasps in disbelief, “Don’t you mean suspended?” 
“The fight’s on school grounds, and they were both deliberately violent,” Namjoon explains, “If Jungkook had only made a threat to do it, then he’d be suspended. Expulsions last much longer than suspensions, based on what the principal will think is a fit punishment for the kids.”
Leave it to Kim Namjoon to know the school’s rulebook like the back of his hand.
“What’ll happen with sports?”
“Now that, I’m also not entirely sure,” Namjoon answers, and you can see the gears turning in his head, “Let’s hope the coaches will even be willing to talk to them.”
Jungkook makes eye contact with you and although he’s tired, he seems to have sobered up. You stare at him with shocked, disappointed eyes, and he looks down at his feet, like a dog who just got scolded by his owner. He rubs his nose, taking a deep breath and choosing to just listen to what the principal has to say.
What could have possibly compelled Jungkook to beat Jimin into a pulp?
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The next night you see Jungkook at your door, the bruises and cuts on his skin somewhat faint, but still apparent.
“Um, hi,” His eyes bounce around from you then to the ground, “Listen, Y/N, I-“
“What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss at him, coming out of the house and closing the door behind you.
“What?”
“Don’t you realize what you did yesterday?” You say, “Because of that you got fucking expelled!”
“That’s what I was here to talk about,” He explains.
“There was literally no reason for you to do that, Kook.”
“Y/N, if you were there, you’d understand.”
“No, Jungkook, no,” You shake your head, “I get it, Jimin’s an asshole. That doesn’t mean you need to beat him up for it!”
“Y/N,” He sighs, visibly irritated, “If you would just let me tell you why-“
“There’s no point, Jungkook!” You throw your hands up in the air while you yell at him, “You’re expelled! Do you even know if you can play football anymore?”
He bites his tongue, giving you a perfect answer.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Y/N,” He grabs your wrists, forcing you to look at him, “If you had just heard the things he said about you, you’d get it. Please, I just wanted to talk to you and apologize. Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to.”
He’s pitiful before you and you feel your anger rise.
“Y/N, he said such shitty things about you.”
“I don’t give a shit!” You retort, pulling away from him,  “I don’t need you beating up people for me, Jungkook. Do you really think I’m that weak?”
His eyes widen and he’s at a loss for words.
“No, Y/N, I never said that,” He reasons, “I just didn’t want him to talk about you like that anymore. You guys aren’t even together anymore. I was fed up.”
“Don’t you think there’s other ways you could handle that? Maybe you could, I don’t know, ignore it?”
“Y/N, please,” He pleads, exasperated, “I know this sounds stupid, but I really couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry, I just-“
“Do you really think I’m that helpless?” You scoff, “That I can’t handle when someone speaks of me badly? That you have to do everything for me?”
“No-“
“There’s something wrong with you.”
“I know,” He mumbles, “I couldn’t control my anger.”
“Yeah, that’s apparent,” You deadpan, crossing your arms, “I don’t need you to fight my fights for me, Jungkook. That’s not how it works.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” You spit, “If you had known that, then you wouldn’t have done anything.”
It’s an awkward position to be in, fighting with Jungkook at your front porch in the middle of a cold, December night, but you’re too heated to care. You ignore how you can see your breath come out in a light fog whenever you speak.
There’s a thin covering of snow everywhere, and you’re glad that you consistently wear a hoodie and sweatpants as pajamas in both summer and winter. Some snowflakes are resting on Jungkook’s head, leaving delicate white, sparkling dots in his hair. Matched with his red nose and red ears, you’d almost say he was adorable if you weren’t cussing him out right now.
“Why would you even think that was okay? Why would you do that?”
“Y/N… I…” He sputters out, “I just…”
“You just what? You think I’m so weak that I can’t handle my own problems?” You roll your eyes, “You’re unbelievable, Jungkook. You really think that I’m that weak?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“You don’t get it do you?” He scoffs.
“What do you mean?”
“I did it because I couldn’t stand to hear him talking shit about you.”
“Why couldn’t you? It’s not your issue. It’s mine, and quite frankly-“
“It’s because I’m in love with you, Y/N!” He yells out, then coughs once his confession registers in his head, “I couldn’t… I didn’t want to hear him anymore.”
HIs words make your breath catch in your throat. Your heart stops, and Jungkook stares up at you nervously. You step away from, shaking your head profusely.
“No, you’re not,” You breathe out, “You’re really not.”
“I know it’s super wrong to say this now, I just,” He scratches the nape of his neck, “I guess I felt that I needed to tell you.”
“You barely even know me,” You say, and you can’t explain why tears well up in your eyes. You wipe them away, “Go home, Jungkook. It’s late.”
You’re about to go back into the house but Jungkook’s words make you stop dead in your tracks.
“I know that you’re ass at drawing,” He prompts, “You’re also shit at singing, but you do both anyways, because you think it’s fun.”
“Kook-“
“You say that you don’t do much in your freetime, but I know that you spend all of your time hanging out with Tina whenever you can, because you care about her that much,” He states, “I also know that you secretly really like Monopoly, even though you’re fuckin’ clueless on how to play it. Most of the time you go bankrupt, but even then you’re happy playing that. You’re the only person I know who’s like that.”
You’re speechless as Jungkook begins to list off specific details about you that even you don’t know.
“You always try to twirl your pencil in class, but every single time you get embarrassed when you drop it on your desk and everyone looks at you.”
“Jungkook, don’t do this,” You turn around, “Listen, you don’t know what it’d be like to be with me. You wouldn’t like it.”
“Who says that?”
“Me,” You say, “I’m still confused about everything. It’d be bad for both you and me. And plus, what if I’m not over Jimin? You wouldn’t want that. You wouldn’t like being with me.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Huh?”
“Because I’m set, Y/N,” Jungkook declares, “From the moment I really got to know you, I figured that I wanted you for the rest of my life. And I’ll wait for you for as long as you need me to.”
“There’s no way you can be so sure.”
“I can feel it, Y/N,” His words are desperate as he tries to reason with you, “It’s different with you. I’m different when I’m with you. I’m happy.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do know, Y/N!” He shouts, “I’ve spent so many nights trying to figure out why the fuck I think about you so much until I eventually realized it. I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t sure about my own feelings.”
“You’re wrong, Jungkook.”
“Can you stop?” He snaps, “Stop belittling my feelings. Stop acting like you know shit about love, because you don’t. Your only relationship was with an asshole who cheated on you and talks shit about you even though he’s with another girl.”
Jungkook’s right. He’s absolutely right. You’re reflected on it, too. But you can’t help but become enraged when the truth comes out of his mouth.
“I don’t know shit about love?” You laugh bitterly, “Yeah, I don’t. And Jimin was an asshole. But you don’t know anything about love either.”
“At least I know what I deserve and what you deserve,” He says, “If you could just give me a chance to show you-“
“Show me what love is?” You interrupt, “Jungkook, how can you? Your own brother doesn’t even love you!”
You struck a chord, and you see that right when the words come out of your mouth. It’s only during then that you realize that using facts in your arguments aren’t always the best thing. Jungkook gawks at you in disbelief, his mouth ajar.
“I.. Jungkook, I’m really sorry. Stuff like that isn’t your fault,” You open the door and step inside, “I think that just shows we’re not good together. You should go home. It’s late. Goodnight, Jungkook.”
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After that night and once Jungkook is done with his (mercifully given) 10 day expulsion, he finds a way to avoid you at all costs at school, going as far as to even switch seats with someone in the one class you have together. Your supposed “long lasting” friend group had ultimately split up, you and Jungkook giving each other the cold shoulder while Hoseok and Namjoon tried to find a good balance of seeing each other and you guys at the same time.
Jungkook no longer drives you home, and there’s now an empty seat at the dinner table that looms heavily on your conscience. Clementine hasn’t said anything, reassuring you that she’s happy just being with you, but you know that she’s having a hard time dealing with the situation as well.
His name is omitted in your house, and no one in your family asks about him.
Well, until now.
Because when your mom sits with you on your bed, asking what really happened, you cry once more in her arms, the guilt finally pushing you past your breaking point again. You tell her everything, and she holds you close, hushing you while you cry.
“Why were you so upset with him?”
“I don’t… I don’t know,” You say as you think about it.
“Do you still have feelings for Jimin?”
You reevaluate your sentiments toward Jimin, and what used to be feelings of love and pain have simply withered away into disgust.
“No…? I don’t think so.”
“So what was the real reason?”
“I guess… I guess it’s because he was expelled and that means he could be off the team. He shouldn’t be risking that for me,” The words come out of your mouth almost involuntarily, as if they’ve been waiting to reveal themselves to you, “And the fact that he says that he’s in love with me when he hardly knows me… It was such a stupid fight and I feel terrible.”
You hide your face in your hands, thinking about what you’ve said to the poor boy.
“Are you in love with him?”
Something stirs in your heart, and it scares you.
“I can’t tell anymore.”
“Well, only you know what’s best for you, and you’ll figure it out. We’ll be here every step of the way,” Your mom assures you, “Can I just say one thing, though?”
You nod.
“When two people argue over something that’s considered stupid or trivial,” She starts, “That usually means they actually care about each other the most.”
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[December 19, 8:09] Clem Y/N Can you come pick me up from Charlotte’s pls? I wanna go home Y/N why? is everything ok? Clem Please just pick me up I wanna go home I don’t like birthday parties anymore
“Hey, mom,” You rush over to her, showing her your phone. In an instant, you’re driving over to Clementine’s friend’s house. Once you reach the place, you knock on the door, and upon meeting the parents, you say that you need to pick up Clementine for an “urgent reason”.
It isn’t until she closes the car door and your mom starts driving that she breaks down in tears.
“What’s wrong?” You ask immediately, and once she regains her composure she responds.
“They made me,” She gasps, “They made me tell Lucas that I like him. H-He made fun of me and rejected me in front of everyone.”
You and your mom look at each other with sad, knowing eyes.
Looks like there’d be a warm bath and a lot of tough conversations for Clementine in the near future.
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While you mope around and recharge your mental battery during heartbreak, it turns out that Clementine does the exact opposite. She overworks herself in order to distract herself from the fact that she’s devastated.
You take note of this when you come downstairs and you’re hit with the smell of chocolate chip cookies for the sixth time this week. They’re your favorite, but if Clementine bakes any more, you’re bound to get sick of them.
You ignore that and grab a cookie anyway, shoving it into your mouth with delight.
“Do you like it?” Clementine asks, nervous. You nod, and she beams at you.
For something as simple as chocolate chip cookies, Clementine sure does put a lot of pressure on herself to make them perfect.
“Seok’s coming over later tonight,” You attempt to make conversation while she’s already looking through her phone for a new recipe to try.
“Ah, really? That’s great! I miss him,” She smiles, “I actually, um, I have plans today too.”
“Really? With who?”
“Mom already knows,” She says rather quickly, “I’m going out with a friend to dinner.”
Despite your curiosity gnawing away at you, urging you to ask her who this friend is, you stay quiet. This was something she needed, and if your mom was okay with it, then things should be fine.
Leaving the kitchen, you go upstairs to take a nice, long shower.
“Y/N?” You hear Clementine’s muffled voice behind your door.
“It’s open.”
She steps in, and you stare at her in awe. She’s wearing a light blue, off-the-shoulder dress and from the looks of it, your mom has done her makeup beautifully. Her hair is curled, waves gently framing her face. She fidgets with the silver clutch purse in her hands shyly, while she feels your gaze on her.
“Do I, um,” She gulps, “Do I look okay?”
“You look beautiful.”
She gets even shier, sporting a soft smile on her face. While she looks amazing, she still is unsure of herself, standing awkwardly as she tries to get used to wearing such nice clothes. You feel a touch of pain that comes along with the swell of pride in your chest when you see how beautiful your sister is. It’s such a shame, seeing how fast time flies.
“Do you know which shoes would look good with this?” She asks, “I don’t think my sneakers aren’t really ideal.”
“Oh, definitely not,” You tease, getting up from your bed, “We’re almost the same shoe size, right?”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay, you can borrow my flats then,” The two of you make your way to the shoe closet, and you crouch down to sort through the piles of dress shoes, “Unless you want heels?”
“Oh, no thank you,” She spews out, and you laugh. Even under all the makeup and fancy dresses you could put Clementine in, you could never change who she really is.
You grab a pair of light beige ballet flats. They’re rounded at the tip and have a black section at the too. There’s a thin, dainty elastic bow on both of them, and when Clementine sees them, she falls in love. Of course, you knew right away that she’d like them. There was no use in having her try on other flats.
“Thank you so much, Y/N!”
“Anytime.”
There’s a bright smile on both of your faces, and your conversation is interrupted when Clementine’s phone ring.
“Oh, I’ve gotta go,” She says, leaning in to press a kiss in your cheek, “Bye, Y/N!”
“Bye, Clem. Be safe.”
“I will!”
And with that, she’s out of the door and you’re left by yourself on this frigid Friday evening. You sigh, slouching down into the couch and turning on the TV. You can’t seem to remember a day in your life where you’ve been by yourself like this, both your parents and Clementine off to dinner at some fancy places you don’t know.
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For the hundredth time this evening, you check the time.
 7:23. 
Hoseok would be here any minute, but right now you’re left to your own device.
It’s during then where your thoughts start to travel to the mess of your own life.
You mindlessly watch the cartoons that are playing on your screen while you reflect on your past mistakes. Jungkook continues to flash into your mind and you can’t help but wince every 2 or 3 minutes when you’re rudely reminded of your harsh words towards him. You cover your face in your hands, regretting every single moment of your life up till now. There was nothing that was going to bring back your friendship with Jungkook.
Why did you care so much? You shake your head as you try to sort out the discordant jumble of your emotions. There was no reason to care. You had only really gotten to know Jungkook this year. If someone was able to develop feelings for you that quickly, then certainly they weren’t real. Maybe Jungkook is in love with the idea of you. Or he’s incredibly bored and mistakes feelings of friendship for being in love. That’s usually how things play out.
So why were you bothered so much?
Why did you keep checking your phone to see if he would ever text you? Even now you’re tapping into your conversation with him, waiting to see if he’d type something out. Without thinking, you type a simple “I’m sorry” out. The words glare back at you, asking you why the fuck you haven’t sent them to him yet. You let out a tired sigh and delete them.
Although it’s childish, your mind’s first defense is to tarnish your version of Jungkook’s image. Jeon Jungkook was, in his core, a conceited, good-for-nothing quarterback who cared about no one else except for himself.
You groan, hitting yourself. Every single word in that statement isn’t true.
“What the fuck,” You whine to nobody in particular, curling up into a ball.
Why did Jungkook have to force his way into your life like that? Jungkook with his stupidly soft brown hair and his annoyingly pretty eyes. With his kind smile and laugh that you’d love to record and just hear on repeat for the rest of your days. Jeon Jungkook, the person you’d never expect to be your new best friend, but here he was, just popping up out of nowhere and disappearing without a trace. You curse his name over and over again. Why couldn’t you get his face out of your mind?
His infuriatingly attractive face and his built frame that always makes an appearance, no matter how loose his clothing is. It’s a whole repeat of the other night, where all your senses, all your thoughts, are nothing but him.
You hear his laughter. How it’s so sweet, so soft. You see the way his eyes crinkle up into pretty little crescent moons, how his toothy grin makes yet another appearance into your mind. How his eyes look so endearingly at you, like you could do no wrong in his sight. You think about reaching out to him. Maybe for a hug? You’re not so sure. All you can think about now, though, is how warm his embrace probably is. He’s always gentle with Clementine. There’s no doubt that he’s gentle and kind towards you now, too.
How would he look, laying next to you in bed? How would he look in the morning? Would he have even messier hair? Sleepy eyes? A lazy smile across his lips? Would he—
The doorbell rings, literally saving you from the grave you’re digging yourself. It wakes you up from your thoughts, making you realize that you shouldn’t be thinking of a friend like this.
You run over to the door, and when it’s open, you’re suddenly engulfed in Hoseok’s arms. You almost topple over, Hoseok being quite taller than you and stronger. He’s got a giddy grin on his face, and it looks like he’s just received the best news of his life. You have a confused, although happy smile on your face as well.
“Y/N, I’ve got so much to tell you!”
“Let me go make some popcorn,” You say, excited to hear the good news, “You got the movies, right?”
Hoseok takes off his backpack and pulls out three DVD cases.
“Obviously.”
They’re all cheesy rom-coms that are supposedly targeted towards teenagers, but are made by adults that apparently haven’t talked to a teenager in their life, despite having been one a few years earlier. That makes the movies all the better, though, because Hoseok and you like to take your time to nitpick all of the flaws in every single one. It’s a nice pastime with your best friend.
“Well, let’s get to it then!”
For the first time in forever, you can’t wait to torture yourself by watching shitty chick flicks with Hoseok.
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“He did what?” 
“He kissed me, Y/N! He kissed me!” Hoseok squeals, and he almost drops the bowl of popcorn on his lap. 
The terrible movie is long forgotten.
“In the rain?” You ask, equally as excited, “Holy shit, Hobs, that’s like a movie!”
“I know,” He can’t wipe the grin off his face, “I was so mad at him before, ‘cause like, he just wouldn’t do anything! But then he kissed me out of nowhere!”
He‘s head over heels, dramatically leaning into the couch while pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, an over exaggerated performance of a faint.
“I feel like I’ve been struck by Cupid!”
“I think you’ve been like that a long time ago.”
“Shut up.”
“Just sayin’.”
Hoseok angrily grabs a handful of popcorn and shoves it in his mouth, the popcorn squeaking and crunching between his teeth.
“I hate that you’re always right.”
“Well, that’s not so true anymore…”
Your head hangs low, your vision on the screen now on your own bowl of popcorn. You grab a handful for yourself, using the action of chomping as a way to preoccupy yourself from the guilt.
“Hey, listen,” Hoseok wraps an arm around you and you rest on him, “It was in the heat of the moment.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“Okay, maybe you’re right there,” He chuckles, “But, hey, no one’s perfect. Jungkook was out of line. So were you. Stuff like that happens.”
“Why do I care so much?” You sigh, dejected.
“Because you like him,” He hums, almost nonchalantly.
“W-What?”
“You like Jungkook, Y/N.”
You stay silent, and Hoseok lifts you off of him so he can grab you by the shoulders.
“...Do you seriously not know?” His brows furrow, and you stare at him blankly.
“I think you might be wrong there, bud,” You give him a questioning look.
“Y/N, I love you. You’re an idiot.”
He stands up, and you’re still dumbfounded at his words. Hoseok reaches over to the coffee table and takes your phone. He clicks it on, the brightness causing you to squint. You take a mental note to stop having the brightness setting so high all the time. Once your eyes adjust to the lighting, you’re met with an image of Jungkook standing next to you in the living room, his arm around you while the both of you smile at the camera.
He’s got a tiara on and you have a fairy wand and a scratchy tutu wrapped around your waist, the tight elastic causing your t-shirt to bunch up in thick wrinkles. You involuntarily giggle to yourself when you see the picture. After playing a few board games with Clementine one night, she wanted to go into the attic and dress the two of you up in her old Halloween costumes. Of course, wanting to entertain her, the both of you granted her wishes.
And as if on cue, the smile from ear to ear that you’re sporting has dawned the realization on you.
“We’re just friends…”
“Y/N. I know you. You’ve been a bitch before. Without remorse,” Hoseok sighs, shaking his head.
“Hey!”
“All I’m saying is,” He puts his hands up in surrender, “Y/N, you know how good you are in arguments when you’re angry. You almost never feel bad when you use your words.”
“Okay, I’m not that bad-“
“Y/N,” He asserts, “Remember last year when you cussed that one Freshman out ‘cause he threw a french fry at me?”
“Yeah…”
“You went out of your way to sit down next to him and then proceed to tell him that if he disappeared, no one would notice.”
“I said that?” Your voice has only now become a pathetic little squeak.
“Yes, yes, you did,” He waves his hand after he speaks, “We’re getting off topic. What I’m telling you right now is that you’re blunt. Incredibly blunt. Like, holy shit, how can you say that? type of blunt.”
“I got that, but-“
“Not done,” He shoves the phone in your face even more, as to prove a point, “As we’ve seen before, you forget half of the crap you say. You never feel bad.”
You huff, not sure if you want to hear what Hoseok’s about to say next.
“Look at yourself right now. You’ve been moping over one sentence you’ve said to one boy for how long?” He wags the phone around, further emphasizing the said point, “And now you see one picture of him and you’re giggling like a dumbass.”
You sink back into the couch, the weight of everything hitting you way too strongly, too quickly.
“Well, let’s just say I did like him-“
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Just, just hear me out, okay?” You beg, and Hoseok tosses your phone on the table before slumping down on the couch, “So let’s say I did like him. Don’t you think I would’ve known by now?”
“Holy- Jungkook was right when he said you didn’t know shit,” Hoseok’s so close to losing it and killing you, “Have you seen the way you look at him?”
“No?”
“You’re insufferable,” Hoseok groans, whipping out his phone and scrolling through his camera roll. He taps on a video and he shows it to you.
On his screen, you’re sitting in the front passenger seat while Jungkook drives, both of you screaming out the songs on the radio from the top of your lungs. It was some cheesy song both of you hated but knew all of the lyrics to. You examine yourself in the video. When you look at Jungkook, there’s—yet again—another bright smile on your face, and there seems to be a twinkle in your eye. You cringe at yourself, hearing your voice and seeing just how wide your smile is, which causes your cheeks to puff up unflatteringly.
A hand reaches to your face when you notice how chubby it is.
“Where and how did you take that?”
“Remember when Joonie’s car broke down and we had to ride with you losers?”
“Oh.”
You think about that day. It was oddly suspicious as to how quiet they were in the car. Usually, Hoseok would’ve been nervously mouthing Namjoon’s ear off by then.
“Need I say more?”
You almost feel betrayed. Betrayed by how blind you’ve been, how stupid you’ve been.
“Well, it’s a lost cause,” You lament, “I fucked everything up. He probably doesn’t care about me anymore.”
“Not exactly.”
Hoseok swipes out of his camera roll and goes into Snapchat. He slides over to the Stories section and taps on one of the small circles. You’re met with yet another truth revealing image.
Took this kiddo out since some meanie broke her heart ;(
The translucent black bar almost laughs while Clementine smiles back at you—or, the camera, at least. She’s wearing the light blue dress from before and her hair has slightly gone flat, but is still quite wavy. There’s a huge plate of spaghetti before her, and she’s holding onto her fork with anticipation.
“If he didn’t care, why would he take the time to take Tina out tonight? He could’ve ignored her reaching out to him.”
While he is extremely right, you’re more focused on the situation itself.
“Why didn’t she tell me it was him taking her to dinner?”
Yet another betrayal tonight.
“I dunno, maybe it’s ‘cause you probably would use those pretty little words of yours towards her.”
“Am I really that scary?”
“Not all of the time,” He says, “But that’s ‘cause Jungkook makes you less high strung.”
“Hey, I’d watch what you’re saying right now-“
Hoseok wraps his arms around you, and he lets out a shaky, forced laugh. You don’t hug him back, but instead you let his embrace cool you down.
“You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyways, more important than you planning out my funeral in your head right now,” He continues, “This is perfect for you.”
“What? The fact that my sister is going out on a date and I’m not is perfect?”
“No, no, you really are clueless, aren’t you? You poor, poor little girl,” He sighs, “This is a perfect opportunity for you to make amends with Wonder Boy tonight!”
“He just cares about Clem, not me, Seok,” You pout, “It’d be nice to, but he probably hates me.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re also wrong!”
Once again, Jung Hoseok is pulling out receipts left and right with the sole purpose of proving you wrong. He goes into his text conversations and taps on a group chat between him, Namjoon, and Jungkook. You squint at the title.
“Therapy from Y/N’s Stubborn Ass?”
“Poor kid named it, not me!”
You roll your eyes, scrolling through the conversation. An odd clump of texts from Jungkook shine out to you the most. They’re all from the night of you messing up your friendship with him.
[December 6, 12:54 AM] Jungkook (Namjoon’s Stalker) I feel like I’m going insane I know I should be mad at her And I’m sure when I think about it properly, I will be But for some reason I don’t?
“Nice name for Namjoon.”
“Shut up and read the fucking texts before I lose it.”
[December 6, 12:55 AM] Joon Bug <3 Maybe you’re just tired, that was a lot to take in Hoseok yeah, but also try not to take it too hard. y/n’s kind of just like that. she thinks before she speaks and she gets way too angry for her own good. even more so if she cares about you.
“No need to call me out like that.”
“Trust me, Y/N, you needed to hear it eventually.”
[December 6, 12:54 AM] Jungkook (Namjoon’s Stalker) Yeah, you’re right It’s kind of cute, isn’t it?
The rest of the conversation is Jungkook praising you, adoring how “strong” you could be and how cute you were when you got upset. It’s a complete shift in mood from seconds ago, and obviously the reaction you were not expecting. The same fluttery feeling becomes stronger in your chest, so much so that it’s too obvious to ignore. You throw the phone back to Hoseok, not being able to cope with the heaping amounts of new information you’ve received.
“What time do you think they’ll get here?” You murmur.
“Soon enough,” Hoseok sighs again, this time in relief, knowing that you were finally going to listen to him.
You decide to ease some of your nerves by actually watching the movie, pinpointing the many beautiful flaws of the characters and the stories.
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“Y/N?” You feel someone shake you, “Y/N? Wake up.”
You croak some incoherent grumbles, rubbing your puffy eyes. You cautiously open one of them, gauging how bright the lights are. Once you’ve adjusted, you blink to see Clementine above you. You sit up from Hoseok, who you’ve been leaning on for the past few hours and who’s still sound asleep.
Who knew criticizing three romance movies back to back would make you so tired?
“Hi, Clem,” You yawn, stretching out your arms, “How was dinner?”
“Great,” She giggles, “I actually have something for you, and you might be mad at me for it.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s more of a who, than a what.”
You nod, as Clementine helps you get up from the couch. In your sleep ridden daze, you forget about your urgency to talk to Jungkook and you also don’t recognize that she’s pulling you from your arm and walking you out the door. You only realize it when a brisk wind slaps you harshly in the face, causing your hair to become even more tangled than before.
Before you know it, you’re standing in front of Jungkook on your driveway and Clementine is running back into the house to find refuge in your best friend.
He’s dressed in a simple black suit, a white dress shirt neatly tucked into his pants. The thin, breathable fabric is tight against his skin, further showing just how built he is for his age. The scars and bruises have faded away completely, but you do see a bandage or two when his sleeve rolls up to scratch his nose or fix a piece of hair that’s out of place. His hair is neatly combed into a middle part, some of the hair fanning over his eyes. His hands are now shoved in his pockets, and he’s staring down at you, waiting for you to say something.
Small is probably the best way to describe how you feel when you’re in his presence right now. Underdressed, too, maybe, as you’re only clad in an old hoodie that has the name of a college you’ve never heard of, some thick, baggy sweatpants, and a pair of bunny slippers. Not to mention how messy your hair is and how your face is still puffy from the deep sleep you were in mere minutes ago.
“Um… Hi,” You wince once you hear how scratchy your voice is. This certainly is doing wonders for your image.
“Hey,” He responds, hesitant as well.
You bite your lip, trying to find the right words to say. You plan to confess to him, right here and right now, but another harsh wind hits you, causing you to shiver and clutch your arms around yourself to try to create some warmth for yourself. Immediately, Jungkook takes off his blazer and wraps it around you. He leads you to the trunk of his car, and once it’s open, he helps you get up there so you can sit.
Bless his parents for giving him an SUV.
The car trunk blocks out the outside wind, and Jungkook’s blazer gives you immense warmth. The scent of laundry detergent mixed with faint, pleasant cologne floods your senses, calming you down right away. Jungkook watches as you snuggle yourself in his clothes. His legs hang over the edge of the trunk while you curl up in a ball, leaning on one side of the car.
“I’m sorry,” You clear your throat, “For being an asshole.”
“It’s no-“
“No, don’t say that. It’s not something you can just brush over so lightly,” You look him dead in the eye while you speak, “I was terrible and I’m really sorry for saying such mean things to you. You didn’t deserve that.”
Jungkook nods, pressing his lips together into a thin line before licking them. A thin layer of saliva glosses his lips, their color a more vivid shade of pink.
“I’m really sorry, Jungkook,” You repeat, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Your voice is clear even though your heart is beating violently against your chest, and even you’re amazed. Hoseok was right when he said that you were good with your words.
Well, up until now.
“Y/N-“
When he says your name, your words ungracefully sputter out of your mouth, displaying just how afraid you are. 
“No, I’m, like, really, really sorry,” You feel tears well up in your eyes, but you brave on nonetheless, “I get it if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, and that’s okay, I just-“
“Y/N.”
In a split second, Jungkook’s hands are cupped around your face. He stares into your eyes deeply, fondly, just like he always does. You blink back at him, eyes fluttering while you try to adjust to the proximity. It’s then where you see every single little detail on his face that makes him who he is. The little scar on his cheek, the moles lightly dotted on his skin, and the way his eyes seem doe-like, almost. You take it all in, noticing how your breaths have synchronized, cold fog coming from of both of your lips.
You almost forget how much you like the way he says your name.
“Listen to me,” He whispers, “I’m okay. You’re okay.”
“Really?”
“I forgive you.”
The tears you’ve been desperately trying to hold back have somehow found their way out, and Jungkook chuckles while his thumb wipes them away. His touch is gentle on your skin, almost ticklish, and he doesn’t say anything else but just continues to dry the tears falling from your eyes.
“Jungkook,” You sniffle, “You’re too nice for your own good.”
He shrugs, letting out a breathy laugh. It’s music to your ears, just like it’s always been.
“Only to the people I love,” He tilts his head to the side, “Other than that, I’m pretty selfish.”
You giggle as well, putting your hands on his and leaning more into his touch. Your eyelids flutter downwards, as you take the time to just feel him on your skin, to savor this moment for yourself.
“Do you still think I don’t know anything about you, Y/N?”
You open your eyes and look at him, as he expectantly waits for you to answer. For some reason, though, your words catch in your throat. You never seem to be able to speak properly around Jungkook. He sighs, taking your silence as a resounding “yes”.
“Your name is Y/F/N Y/L/N and you’re a junior in high school. You’re on the Monarchs cheer team, and your best friend is named Jung Hoseok,” He says, not taking his hands away from you, “You have a little sister named Clementine, who’s 12. Your mom’s a psychiatrist and your dad is an architect. Even though they’re always busy, they’ve been trying to find ways to spend more time together.”
The routinely symphony of crickets mixed with Jungkook’s voice and the scent of Jungkook constantly wafting into your nose almost makes you faint. The state you’re in is one of complete bliss, complete relaxation as his hands are warm and welcoming against your skin. You’d go to sleep if Jungkook wasn’t professing his love for you for the second time right now.
“You like One Direction, even though a lot of people think that’s cringy. You’re still a big fan of the Power Rangers, and Trini, the Yellow Ranger, is your favorite. You can be incredibly mean and you can say things out of line, but most of the time you just don’t think before speaking,” He smiles at you while he speaks, “Deep down inside I know you’re an incredible softie. And I know that because of how you treat Tina. And, ‘cause you’re a softie ‘round me too, even if you don’t realize it.”
“Oh, Jungkook,” You breathe out, a smile forming on your lips as well.
“You used to hate me, because I called you thunder thighs during practice, and rightfully so,” He mumbles the last part, and you giggle.
“Didn’t know you’d remember that.”
“Remembered it ‘cause I can never forget how angry you were that day,” He teases, “Anyways, you used to hate me so much. And I’ll be honest, you had every reason to. I didn’t like you that much either.”
“Ouch.”
He rolls his eyes at you.
“But then I got to know you, got to see how kind and genuine you are around people, even if you don’t see that,” He says, “Sometimes you say terrible things, but under that tough exterior, all you are is just a genuine girl who does her best to make the people she loves happy.”
“You’re hardworking, smart, and extremely funny,” He continues, “In and out, you’re a beautiful person. That’s the Y/N I know, and that’s the Y/N I love and I will be in love with for a long time.”
You sniffle, and Jungkook waits, afraid that you’ll start crying again. When you don’t, he takes a deep breath before talking again.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Y/N,” He confesses, “Can’t you see?”
You shake your head, reaching out to grab him by the collar. You pull him in and press your lips against him, your whole body being set aflame and your lips telling him everything that you’re dying to say. There’s a faint taste of Jungkook’s watermelon flavored gum on your tongue (If you thought about it hard enough, there was a hint of pasta there as well). His lips are soft and pillowy against yours, and you feel as though you’ve waited for this moment for your entire life.
Who knew it would take your mom, your sister, and Hoseok to make you realize that?
Jungkook smiles against your lips, caressing your face lovingly with his thumbs. Your hand finds a way through his soft brown locks, combing through the strands that fall in between your fingers.
The sky is painted pitch black, save for the bright stars and the moon shining for the two of you, but your world is painted in deep shades of pink. Sure, it may be extremely cold because it is still December after all, but Jungkook’s lips feel warm on yours and that’s all the heat you needed to survive. You could stay like this forever if you could, if your lungs could take it.
However, that isn’t humanly possible, and after what feels like forever, your body reminds you that you still need oxygen to function.
You pull away, hands still in their respective place while the two of you meet eyes, chests moving up and down in sync. Your lips are slightly parted, mimicking Jungkook’s, and a silence falls on the two of you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s peaceful, as your world becomes nothing but Jungkook right at this moment.
“I love you,” both of you say at the same time, and before you know it, you’re laughing. Jungkook’s still stunned at first, but now he’s laughing just because you’re laughing and it’s contagious.
And in this moment, you feel safe.
Sure, you didn’t know a thing about love. You couldn’t even tell left from right at some times. But maybe that was okay. Maybe you didn’t have to figure everything out right now. Sitting with Jungkook in the trunk of his car, where the stars are beaming down on you and his coat is keeping you warm, is honestly all you need tonight. And maybe you still have some negative feelings you need to resolve from your past relationships. Maybe you had some issues in yourself that you needed to sort out, but that was okay, because Jungkook had his fair share of issues himself. And regardless of all of that, he was ready to risk it all for you. He was willing to learn and grow with you. Jungkook would wait for you as long as it takes. And you don’t need him to reassure you. You didn’t need to worry about it. You didn’t need to worry about anything, you realize.
Because now Jungkook’s walking you back into your house, offering to tuck you into bed and stay with you until you fall asleep, even though you’re 17 and you’re very well aware that you don’t need someone else to keep you company so you can sleep.
That doesn’t mean you’d decline his offer, though, as you lie in bed with him, snuggled up in his arms while he runs his hands through your hair. His dress shirt is scratchy against your skin, but you don’t care. Being with him is enough for you. 
“Are you still on the team?” You ask out of the blue, eyelids drooping down while your burning curiosity gets the best of you, “You didn’t get kicked off because of me, did you-“
He peppers your face in kisses.
“Coach and I are close, he gets it,” He mumbles against your skin, “Just gotta do a lot of his chores for the rest of the year and summer. I’ll be okay, Y/N.”
“Okay…”
“That’s not your fault, princess,” He chuckles, “That was mine.”
“Yeah, definitely,” You nuzzle your face in his chest, “Still upset you did that.”
“Oh, I know,” He places yet another kiss on your head, “But for you, I’d do it all over again if I had to.”
And as the two of you fall asleep soundly in each other’s arms, you’re unaware of the loving smiles from your family and Hoseok’s faces when they see you two through the slightly opened door.
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Epilogue
A little more than a year has passed. You’ve kept track.
Life has thrown obstacle after obstacle your way, but you’ve overcome all of them so far, and you plan to do so until your last breath. Jungkook was right when he said that you were strong. It’s amazing how you didn’t quite exactly realize this until now. 
But this “strength” is long gone today, as you’re sitting on a fancy wooden chair, the soft cushion feeling good under you, in the middle of an Italian restaurant. The chandelier’s are dimly lit, shading your beige surroundings in elegant oranges and creams. You take a deep breath, trying to still your heart that's pounding violently in your chest. Your nerves work against every single word of the pep talk you’ve given yourself this morning, and you steady yourself, fidgeting with the silk, blue fabric of your dress that’s laying across your lap.
You look over to your right, and if you were stressed out, Jungkook was ten times worse, to say the least.
His right leg is bouncing up and down uncontrollably, and he continues to wipe away sweat from his forehead with a napkin, despite the fact that the restaurant is heavily air conditioned. His lips are formed in a tight, miniscule circle, and he’s also trying to steady his breathing, but he fails time and time again, hyperventilating right after. Every few seconds, he’ll pull out his phone and use his camera as a mirror, his fingers fixing the littlest flaw in his hair that his mind seems to create. His left arm is resting on your chair, the feeling of the thick material of his sleeve tickling your skin.
You sigh, watching how much of a nervous wreck he was, despite how amazing he looked in his tux.
“Still can’t believe you took Clem to this place before me,” You quip, and Jungkook is taken out of his trance, a smile falling on his lips once his eyes meet yours, “I think that’s a little unfair, don’t you?”
A miniscule portion of the tension in his body is gone while he’s thinking of what to say, not willing to miss any chance of responding to your jokes with something of equal (if not more) wittiness.
“First come, first serve, princess,” He chuckles, and you roll your eyes at him, punching his chest lightly. Once you’re quiet, he’s back to overthinking.
“Y’know, the fact that you’re more nervous than I am is saying something,” You hum, reaching up to poke his cheek so that he returns to Earth.
“I can’t help it…”
You smirk, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. His face flashes up, and he shakes his head at you.
“You’re crazy, y’know that?” He sighs, staring at you dreamily. Even now, he becomes head over heels when you kiss him out of the blue. The sight of him having literal heart eyes for you makes you giggle.
“So are you,” You respond, “But, hey, it’ll be okay, I promise. Nothing bad could possibly happen.”
“...Really?”
“Of course, Kook,” You place your hand on his thigh, giving it an affirmative squeeze, “Everything will be fine.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Well,” You click your tongue, “We’ll get there when we get there.”
He nods, most of the stress leaving his head. You take a sigh of relief, seeing how relaxed he’s become. Now he’s cracking jokes about anything and everything, and you feel a flutter in your chest. Jungkook was back to his normal self.
Well, he was until he suddenly froze in his seat while he was in the middle of telling you a funny story during practice. Your focus is turned away from him and you follow his line of vision. You’re met with a waitress leading a middle-aged man and a boy into the seating area. She scans the room and once she sees your table, she gestures over to you two, a bright, pleasant smile on her face.
Jungkook immediately stands up to greet the two of them, thanking the waitress for her assistance. He guides them to the table, and it’s only then where you get a good look at them.
You suppress a laugh. Jungkook definitely had his father’s nose.
So did his little brother, Yeonjin, who was the spitting image of Jungkook when Jungkook was 13. He even has the infamous bowl cut that Jungkook had when he was younger. The boy takes out the earbuds in his ears, unplugs them from his phone, rolls them up in his hand, and places the coiled up earbuds into his pocket of his trousers.
He stares up at you, almost in awe, and so does his dad, who’s looking you up and down. Jungkook’s father acts as if he’s dissecting a subject, taking you apart piece by piece and rearranging you in his mind so as to get a better understanding of your character. It’s times like these where you wish that mind reading was a skill.
Jungkook takes another deep breath. He then gestures to you, and you flash a polite smile to them, reaching out your hand.
“Um, Yeonie,” He clears his throat, “Dad, this is Y/N.”
There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” His father says, a soft smile appearing finally. He shakes your hand. Yeonjin follows his actions, shaking your hand with an obviously lesser amount of strength, but with the same eagerness all the more. You hide the uneasiness in your chest, knowing all that you know about Jungkook’s dad and his brother. And knowing that his dad doesn’t know that you know about him.
Nevertheless, though, you sit down with his other side of the family and make easy conversation with them while all of you look through the menu. Yeonjin points to one dish on the menu to his dad, and then whips out his phone and starts scrolling through social media. He doesn’t say anything, save for a soft chuckle or snicker when he sees a funny post on his phone.
You take a glance at Jungkook, who has become more composed than earlier. You take a few more glances, and Jungkook does the same. When you make eye contact, you give him a bright smile, and he mirrors you. You feel the back of his hand on your thigh, and you put your hand in his. He lets out a sigh, squeezing you and massaging your skin with his thumb. The action brings both of you at peace.
“So, Y/N,” His dad takes a sip of the ice cold water in his glass, “How did you get to know Jungkook?”
This time, Yeonjin actually looks up from his phone to stare at you with curiosity.
You smile at them sheepishly, wondering what exactly to tell them of your wild ride of a story with Jungkook. Maybe you could omit some parts here and there, especially the part about him getting expelled because of you. You’re not even sure if his dad knew that happened to him.
You gulp, and Jungkook squeezes your hand once more. Now it’s him making sure that you return to Earth. Your nerves are still set on fire, though, and you stammer out a few incoherent sounds while you try to find the right things to say.
This was definitely going to be significantly harder than having dinner with his mom.
a/n: hope you guys enjoyed!!! it had quite a bunch of cliches but i loved writing them nonetheless. i love you all :)
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Sweet Home Hyogo: Chapter 3 Ha Ha...hi mom
Chapter 2-Chapter 4
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The L/n family separated from their long awaited family hug and headed inside. “So,” Mrs. L/n said as soon as the front door shut, walking over to the kitchen to prepare some tea. Y/n gulped. She knew exactly what that tone of voice meant when it came to her dear mother. It meant ‘someone’s about to be chewed out for their missing persons act for the past ½ decade.’
Mr. L/n gave his daughter a firm pat on the back before moving to sit in his chair and finish the chapter of a book he had been reading. “What brings ya home N/n?” her mother said as she put the kettle on the stove top, letting it heat up while Y/n took a seat at one of the bar stools at the island. “O-oh, um. About that.” Mrs. L/n raised a brow at her daughters actions while she brought out three tea cups from the cabinet. “And how come Shinsuke was the one to bring ya home? I thought y’all weren’t on speakin’ terms.” 
Y/n sighed as she accepted the cup of hot tea from her mother, adding the sugar she wanted before taking a cautious sip. “We’re not. I came here trying to get him to sign the papers, but my car broke down on the way, and he just so happened to be passing by, and…uh drove me here.” Y/n’s mom hummed as she made her and her husband their tea, bringing him his as she took a seat two stool away from Y/n. “So tell me Y/n.” Y/n’s eyes widened as she continued to innocently sip her tea. “What’s been goin’ on in yer life that yer too busy to visit yer dear ol’ parents hm?” 
Y/n scooted further away in her seat, trying to put distance between her and her mother. Y/n nervously laughed as she put her hands up in surrender. “I-I meant to, really! I did! But, things just got really busy, Y’know?” Y/n’s mom squinted her eyes at her daughter, call it a mother’s intuition, but she knew the real reason her daughter had been avoiding Hyogo. And she had a fairly strong suspicion as to why she had come back in a rush. “What I want to know is, how come ya come back all of a sudden, still in yer work clothes, just to get Shinsuke to sign the divorce papers Hm?” Y/n knew this question was coming. And she knew she had no choice but to give the truth as her answer. 
“W-well…I kind of need them signed…like now…” Y/n looked away from her mother’s E/c gaze and sighed walking over to her purse, slipping on her engagement ring, and walking back to where her mother was seated. Her mother turned to see what her daughter had to show her before coughing from the tea she was now choking on. “You- YOU’RE ENGAGED!?” Y/n nodded, “YOU NEVER EVEN TOLD US YOU WERE DATING!” Y/n slowly nodded her head as she kept her gaze towards the floor. “YOUR STILL MARRIED!!” Y/n winced as she closed her eyes. 
Mr. L/n stood up from his chair and put his book down before making his way over to his wife, slowly rubbing her back. “Does he know?” Mr. L/n calmly asked as Y/n sadly shook her head. Mrs. L/n’s mouth was now hanging open as she stared at her daughter in shock. Y/n sadly looked up to her parents. “Mom…Dad…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for leaving, and I’m sorry for being so distant its just…I know this is right. Please just trust me.” Mr. and Mrs. L/n looked at each other before Mrs. L/n smiled and hugged her daughter tightly. “I know, and I trust ya sweetie. I just hate to see ya hurting all the time.” Mr. L/n just returned to reading his book, hiding from the sadness he felt from the news that his daughter was actually getting divorced from Shinsuke, a man he considered his own son, and a very good man at that. 
“Oh, dad, my car got taken into the shop, right?” Her dad nodded as he reopened his book. “How long will it be until its fixed?” Her dad paused his reading as he looked up in thought, “Oh, I dunno, bout three weeks prolly.” Y/n groaned. “Ok, um, I hate to intrude but..” Her mom smiled as she placed her hand on her shoulder “Yer more than welcome to stay with us.” Y/n smiled back as she placed her hand softly on her mothers. “Thanks mom, dad.” They both gave small nods and smiles. “Oh! I’ll be right back, I’m just going to call my boyfri- fiancé.” Mrs. L/n nodded with a smile, “Go on sweetie”. 
Y/n walked onto the front porch, closed the door and unlocked her phone, dialing Akaashi’s number and listening to the dial tone before she heard, “Hello?”. “Hey baby!” Y/n smiled at his voice, remembering her original goal for this visit turned vacation. Okay Y/n, just get this thing with Shinsuke over with, and you can marry your dream man. “Y/n! How’s Hyogo going?” Y/n smiled as she shifted her weight onto her left leg, right hand coming up to play with her neatly styled hair. “Well, my car broke down, and my dad said it’ll be about three weeks until its finished…” Y/n said as she closed her eyes in frustration, her hand that was playing with her hair now gripping it. 
“Are you okay?” Y/n smiled and her features once again returned to her former more relaxed positions. That’s Keiji for you, always such a sweetheart. “Yeah, I’m okay, I’m going to be stuck here for three weeks…I’m sorry Keiji..” “Why are you sorry? You didn’t ask for your car to break down. Do you want me to pick you up? I really don’t mind, I could swing by tomorrow if you wanted.” Y/n shook her head, “Thanks baby, but, I think I’ll stay…its just…its been awhile since I’ve been home, and I think a break from the city life might do me some good. You know?”
She heard Akaashi chuckle on the other line of the phone. “Well, if this is what it takes for you to finally take a break, I suppose I can’t complain. Enjoy your vacation, just text me once in a while to let me know you’re still alive okay?” Y/n laughed, “I’ll do my best, thanks Keiji. I love you~” although she couldn’t see it he smiled on the other end “I love you too Y/n. Goodbye.” “Bye.” She hung up and headed back inside. 
“Oh, Y/n honey, I figured ya didn’t bring any clothes with ya, so I got some of yer old clothes out of storage, you’ll be stayin’ in yer old room sweetie.” Y/n said a quick ‘thank you’ to her mom before making her way back to her old bedroom, which she hadn’t stepped foot in since she was 18…since the night before she got married… She walked into the room and immediately went to the closet, dying to get out of the pencil skirt and dress shirt she had been in all day. 
It was just past 6:00, so she slipped into a pair of comfortable gray sweatpants, and a loose white t-shirt. After a nice dinner with her parents she walked back into her room, took a quick shower, and hopped onto her old bed, still as comfortable as ever. She rolled onto her side and plugged in her phone before her eyes landed on a forgotten photo. Still in the frame it was put in 7 years ago was the picture of her graduation, which was the same day Shinsuke had proposed. 
She had chosen this specific photo over all the others because of their pose. Shinsuke was lightly holding her waist with his right hand while he had his left placed over hers, proudly showing off the simple yet elegant ring he had gotten her. She sighed at the memory, going to turn the photo face down when she hesitated. Something inside of her….wasn’t letting her do it and she couldn’t figure out why. Frustrated she turned off the lamp before she turned on her side, pushing the thoughts and feelings that were starting to arise.
*GOING BACK TO EARLIER THAT DAY, WILL NOW BE FOCUSING ON KITA*
Kita continued his drive to his original destination, his grandmother’s house. He drove his red pick up truck to her house, parked and went inside. “Granny! It’s Shinsuke.” He heard the soft and quiet foots of his grandmother before the sweet woman rounded the corner, a soft and delicate smile sitting on her face. “Shin, you came!” Kita nodded as he bent down to allow his granny to give him a hug, one he obviously returned. “Do you have time for tea, Shin?” Kita nodded and took off his shoes, making his way into the kitchen to put away the fresh rice he had harvested earlier that day. 
Yumie (Yumie Kita is Kita’s grandmother) started the kettle and prepared the teacups. After the water finished boiling and the tea had steeped, Yumie poured it into the two awaiting cups. They sat in peaceful silence for awhile before Kita decided to tell his grandmother the quite interesting news he had learned. “Y/n’s back.” Yumie’s ears perked up at this information. Since Y/n had left, she had wanted nothing more than for the two of them to be re-united. And no, the sole reason was not cause she wanted great-grandkids (although that did play a part in it 😉). 
The biggest part was that she saw how the two had looked at each other all those years ago, the pure love that they held in their eyes for each other. “Oh? How wouldja know that?” Kita chuckled as he shook his head. To say he found the situation amusing was an understatement. Yes, it sucked she was still trying to divorce him, and yes it sucked she had been with another man after all, but he couldn’t deny it was nice watching the farm-turned-city girl get a nice big dose of karma. 
“Cause I just so happen to be the one who just dropped er off at her parents house. I was on my way here when I saw her car on the side of the road, didn’t expect it to be her though.” Kita shrugged as he continued drinking his tea. Yumie hummed. “What’s she doin’ in Hyogo?” It was Kita’s turn to sigh “Still tryin’ to divorce me.” Yumie shook her head. 
“I take it you two had a civil conversation this time?” Yumie raised an accusatory eyebrow at her Grandson, whose face was now sporting a smirk. “course.” Yumie only shook her head, standing up from the table after muttering a ‘hopeless’ before she grabbed the now empty cups and placed them in the sink, before shooing her grandson back home. Yumie Kita is many things, and matchmaker might just be one of them.
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Day 18 of @defendingtheduchesses 's Meghan memories challenge.
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Meghan's writing has always been one of my favourite strengths of hers. And I thought I would share one for day 18, so I picked this important one.
'What are you?' A question I get asked every week of my life, often every day. 'Well,' I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. 'I'm an actress, a writer, the Editor-in-Chief of my lifestyle brand The Tig, a pretty good cook and a firm believer in handwritten notes.' A mouthful, yes, but one that I feel paints a pretty solid picture of who I am. But here's what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, 'Right, but what are you? Where are your parents from?' I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could say Pennsylvania and Ohio, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they're after: 'My dad is Caucasian and my mom is African American. I'm half black and half white.
To describe something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it creates a grey area. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating. When I was asked by ELLE to share my story, I'll be honest, I was scared. It's easy to talk about which make-up I prefer, my favourite scene I've filmed, the rigmarole of 'a day in the life' and how much green juice I consume before a requisite Pilates class. And while I have dipped my toes into this on thetig.com, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial woman, today I am choosing to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.
It was the late Seventies when my parents met, my dad was a lighting director for a soap opera and my mom was a temp at the studio. I like to think he was drawn to her sweet eyes and her Afro, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me. They moved into a house in The Valley in LA, to a neighbourhood that was leafy and affordable. What it was not, however, was diverse. And there was my mom, caramel in complexion with her light-skinned baby in tow, being asked where my mother was since they assumed she was the nanny.
I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn't different but special. When I was about seven, I had been fawning over a boxed set of Barbie dolls. It was called The Heart Family and included a mom doll, a dad doll, and two children. This perfect nuclear family was only sold in sets of white dolls or black dolls. I don't remember coveting one over the other, I just wanted one. On Christmas morning, swathed in glitter-flecked wrapping paper, there I found my Heart Family: a black mom doll, a white dad doll, and a child in each colour. My dad had taken the sets apart and customised my family.
Fast-forward to the seventh grade and my parents couldn't protect me as much as they could when I was younger. There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my English class – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity: white, black, Hispanic or Asian. There I was (my curly hair, my freckled face, my pale skin, my mixed race) looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher told me to check the box for Caucasian. 'Because that's how you look, Meghan,' she said. I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn't bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my mother would feel if she were to find out. So, I didn't tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.
When I went home that night, I told my dad what had happened. He said the words that have always stayed with me: 'If that happens again, you draw your own box.'
I never saw my father angry, but in that moment I could see the blotchiness of his skin crawling from pink to red. It made the green of his eyes pop and his brow was weighted at the thought of his daughter being prey to ignorance. Growing up in a homogeneous community in Pennsylvania, the concept of marrying an African-American woman was not on the cards for my dad. But he saw beyond what was put in front of him in that small-sized (and, perhaps, small-minded) town, and he wanted me to see beyond that census placed in front of me. He wanted me to find my own truth.
And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a dorm mate I met my first week at university who asked if my parents were still together. 'You said your mom is black and your dad is white, right?' she said. I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. 'And they're divorced?' I nodded. 'Oh, well that makes sense.' To this day, I still don't fully understand what she meant by that, but I understood the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora's box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.
I was home in LA on a college break when my mom was called the 'N' word. We were leaving a concert and she wasn't pulling out of a parking space quickly enough for another driver. My skin rushed with heat as I looked to my mom. Her eyes welling with hateful tears, I could only breathe out a whisper of words, so hushed they were barely audible: 'It's OK, Mommy.' I was trying to temper the rage-filled air permeating our small silver Volvo. Los Angeles had been plagued with the racially charged Rodney King and Reginald Denny cases just years before, when riots had flooded our streets, filling the sky with ash that flaked down like apocalyptic snow; I shared my mom's heartache, but I wanted us to be safe. We drove home in deafening silence, her chocolate knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly.
It's either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harbouring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become an actress. There couldn't possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: 'Beautiful, sassy, Latina, 20s'; 'African American, urban, pretty, early 30s'; 'Caucasian, blonde, modern girl next door'. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.
Being 'ethnically ambiguous', as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Latina when I was dressed in red, to African American when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn't matter: I wasn't black enough for the black roles and I wasn't white enough for the white ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn't book a job.
This is precisely why Suits stole my heart. It's the Goldilocks of my acting career – where finally I was just right. The series was initially conceived as a dramedy about a NY law firm flanked by two partners, one of whom navigates this glitzy world with his fraudulent degree. Enter Rachel Zane, one of the female leads and the dream girl – beautiful and confident with an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. 'Dream girl' in Hollywood terms had always been that quintessential blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty – that was the face that launched a thousand ships, not the mixed one. But the show's producers weren't looking for someone mixed, nor someone white or black for that matter. They were simply looking for Rachel. In making a choice like that, the Suits producers helped shift the way pop culture defines beauty. The choices made in these rooms trickle into how viewers see the world, whether they're aware of it or not. Some households may never have had a black person in their house as a guest, or someone biracial. Well, now there are a lot of us on your TV and in your home with you. And with Suits, specifically, you have Rachel Zane. I couldn't be prouder of that.
At the end of season two, the producers went a step further and cast the role of Rachel's father as a dark-skinned African-American man, played by the brilliant Wendell Pierce. I remember the tweets when that first episode of the Zane family aired, they ran the gamut from: 'Why would they make her dad black? She's not black' to 'Ew, she's black? I used to think she was hot.' The latter was blocked and reported. The reaction was unexpected, but speaks of the undercurrent of racism that is so prevalent, especially within America. On the heels of the racial unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore, the tensions that have long been percolating under the surface in the US have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial woman, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that the States has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.
I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I'm from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my seventh grade class, or these days to check 'Other', I simply say: 'Sorry, world, this is not Lost and I am not one of The Others. I am enough exactly as I am.'
Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that's what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around howpeople connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent colour, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn't. So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You push for colour-blind casting, you draw your own box. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what colour your parents happen to be. You cultivate your life with people who don't lead with ethnic descriptions such as, 'that black guy Tom', but rather friends who say: 'You know? Tom, who works at [blah blah] and dates [fill in the blank] girl.' You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom. Because in 1865 (which is so shatteringly recent), when slavery was abolished in the United States, former slaves had to choose a name. A surname, to be exact.
Perhaps the closest thing to connecting me to my ever-complex family tree, my longing to know where I come from, and the commonality that links me to my bloodline, is the choice that my great-great-great grandfather made to start anew. He chose the last name Wisdom. He drew his own box.
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freebooter4ever · 4 years
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my dad group texted my brother and i, highly unusual, and i think jordan was weirded out too cause his response was equally short and confused. on the list of things my little brother and i have never discussed, our dad’s relative interest or lack there of in our lives is pretty high. dad’s been messaging me since october, asking about stuff like where my next living plans are (which he has never done since i first moved out age eighteen), and i’ve only been vaguely responding to the point blank questions cause its just. so. weird. i think my grandpa’s death has shaken dad’s worldview a bit more than he’s been letting on.
he alienated my brother and i pretty much immediately after his secretive marriage to the bottle blonde rich bitch when i was 22. he kicked my brother out as soon as jordan turned 18, and when i discovered this by coming home one summer and seeing jordan wasnt in the house, i got so fucking mad that it was the first time i ever had a full out screaming match at my dad. and apparently this display of anger was when rich bitch decided she didn’t like me (probably valid, but also ironic because pretty much from birth it was known in my entire extended family that dad and i were almost identical personality wise, and both of us have tempers where we will not get mad at anything but frustration will build up and up until on the rare blue moon it boils over, and oh boy. watch out. those moments were the only times i was ever scared of my dad as a kid and i think it only happened twice in my entire life)(if she thinks im crazy when im angry, she should see my dad)
but i was crazy mad because while i was lucky enough to be put in therapy due to attempting to starve myself into non existence at age 13 (many many sessions of ‘family’ therapy with me in the center of a long couch silently trying to pretend i was invisible and my mom two feet away at one end and dad on the opposite end of the couch, and my mom doing all the talking, ranting and raving about how im starving myself to punish her. and then the therapist kicking both my parents out and trying to convince me to say a few words, and her finally getting me to realize that how my mom treated me was not normal and not something i needed to put up with if it made me sad and scared, and then the therapist realizing that i was still too sad and scared to confront it, and her and i coming up with a compromise where we would tell my mom that i was just ‘really attached’ to dad’s house and it wasnt that i was terrified of living with my mom or liked my dad better, it was that i just really liked living in one place instead of out of a suitcase and moving every week), and so had both the therapist and my dad supporting me when at fourteen i finally said enough was enough and demanded that my dad get full custody so i didnt have to spend every other week with my abusive mother anymore - while i got out of that situation, my brother didnt. i tried, he knew that it was my decision to live full time with dad and i made it clear he could do the same, but just as it was a given that i was identical to dad’s personality, my brother was identical to mom’s so i think he was more attached to her than i was. either way, he always refused and insisted on continuing to live between both of them. after i hit driving age, my dad transferred responsibility to me for shuttling my brother to and from my dad’s house to my mom’s apartment. dad’d lock himself in his room, or go to the gym, and i’d turn on an endless rotation of star wars movies for jordan and i to watch before i had to take him to his next week’s place (phantom menace was our favorite cause darth maul was just cool ok, dont judge).
anyway, the last day i ever stayed at my moms house, my brother was there. and i must have been twenty or twenty one because he would have only been around seventeen. but even at seventeen he was well over six foot five cause he got all the height in the family which was totally not fair but thats besides the point. so while i was there my mom flew into one of her alcohol induced rages, and took it all out on my brother. i had intellectually figured that all the anger my mom used to take out on me had then transferred to my brother once i stopped living there every other week, but up until that point i hadn’t actually seen it. she started shoving him, and punching him, and not enough so it would hurt much, because as i said he was well over six feet and she was barely five six, so he could pretty well block any thing she dished out. but he was cornered, and he looked scared. and i was hiding useless on the stairwell, crying, and begging mom to stop. and it only stopped cause jordan managed to slip out the front door and once he escaped mom went back into the kitchen, still yelling and angry. and i took the chance to grab my school bag and leave in solidarity. and my brother and i stood there awkwardly on the porch, me still crying, and him smoking and trying to look cool and not like he just got chased out of the apartment by a woman half his size. and i promised him we wouldnt go back until she calmed down, and that she was being unreasonable and he didnt deserve any of it, and id figure out somewhere to go. and we started walking down the sidewalk, but not together because we were never that close. he wandered off somewhere to smoke. and that’s as far as i remember.
this day came up in conversation with my grandma in the months after grandpa’s death, during one of our many three am can’t sleep conversations in grandma’s kitchen (grandma would wake up, i’d hear her get out of bed and wake up too. she’d make herself tea and eat some graham crackers and we’d sit together at the table feeling the third empty chair like an ache). grandma brought it up, because apparently, even though i cant remember this at all, i had my no/kia brick phone in my school bag (a minor miracle because i hated carrying around cell phones for the longest time), and i actually called grandma. and grandpa and her came to pick me up, and they found me sitting on a wall a block away from my mom’s apartment, and then we drove around till we found jordan, and then we all went back to my grandparent’s house. after bringing this up, grandma then, completely unprompted, told me something that child me thought about regularly - she said that even though her mom died when she was 8, leaving her to help raise her two younger siblings, grandma thought in some ways it was easier than what my brother and i went through with the divorce and my mom leaving. i used to regularly - not wish my mom dead, exactly - but wish i could pretend she was dead, rather than her just not being there anymore. especially since, when i was suddenly thrown into being her sole emotional and physical punching bag now that dad wasn’t filling the role anymore, a lot of the times being around her post divorce was not a good thing. (I cut off all contact with my mom finally at age 25 and haven’t looked back)
so yeah, i was fucking pissed that i had worked so hard to try to mitigate the damage i caused by leaving jordan alone with my mom for pretty much the entirety of my high school years...only to have my dad kick him out barely a few years after i left for college and thus putting my brother at my mom’s mercy. ostensibly my dad kicked my brother out because of his drug addictions, but my brother was the most mild mannered addict i’ve ever known. the worst thing he ever did was steal a couple hundred dollars from me, but he never got violent, he never got angry. other people got angry at him. my aunt once tried to fight him in a hospital elevator because he sold my cousin heroin or meth or some shit and my cousin ended up impaling a knife in his chest in front of my grandma, which is a whole nother story. but jordan was only nineteen when that happened. my cousin? thirty six. and a long time violent and angry drug addict with a record (he threw a book at his professor’s head and got kicked out of grad school while on cocaine once, which is how he ended up back in washington state and needing a new drug dealer - hence my brother suddenly getting involved) (same cousin later flew into a drug fueled rage in his forties and almost beat his girlfriend to death) (my brother was long since clean by then and had nothing to do with our cousin getting drugs at that point)
all this to say my dad’s rich bitch new wife didn’t think a drug addict and mentally ill artist fit into her picture perfect family, so dad started making it clear we were not welcome at family functions unless we complied with very strict rules. ironically, jordan was let back into the fold first partially because i can hold a grudge for a very long time and i was very very terrified of my mom and dad was the sane stable one and i had trusted him to take care of everything even without me there and dad had failed pretty spectacularly at that. im still bitter at my dad for his secret marriage and subsequent moving into her million dollar mansion and throwing my brother out. but also partially because jordan started following all of dad’s rules, got himself cleaned up (he moved in with his girlfriend, and i think being out of mom’s house had a lot to do with getting over his addictions), started studying computer science, found a really good software engineering job, suddenly dad approved of him. i also partially antagonized rich bitch wife by doing silly things like wearing black leather pants and the most provocative clothes i owned whenever i went over to their house. rich bitch was a very simple narrow minded person with a lot of prejudices. i imagine i was not seen as a good influence on her two younger daughters. and eventually they stopped seeing me altogether. even when i was living in washington for all of 2017 - the only time i ever saw dad was when he’d come visit my grandparents alone. the day before i took grandma on the train to move to ohio, we were supposed to all have dinner together at our family’s favorite place to eat out - crossroads mall - and the rich bitch refused to show up. that’s how petty she is. she also is so dumb she’s under the delusion that kids get into drugs if they don’t have dogs (????) so that’s why she forced my dad to get a dog for her spoiled brat youngest when the girl went into high school. my dad dislikes animals, so i will say one of the highlights of this marriage is seeing my dad become a dog person. the rich bitch and her daughters mostly ignore the dog, but my dad is so attached to max that he even lets the little puppy sit in his lap while driving. anyway, anyone who thinks dogs are the sole answer to preventing drug addictions can go to hell.
yeah, blah blah blah, to sum up its WEIRD for my dad to suddenly be texting my brother and i unprompted, and asking me about my life and my plans. i dont really know how to deal. i miss him. he was always the closest person in my life to the point where even when i moved away for college, i still assumed after i graduated i’d just move back in with dad so it was only four years being gone, cause why would i ever want to live anywhere else?. i kept thinking if i could hit some level of success that he would approve of, that maybe eventually i could become somebody his rich bitch wife would associate with. but that never happened, obviously. 
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thetigarchives · 6 years
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THE TIG ARCHIVES│BEAUTY│MORE THAN AN ‘OTHER’
“What are you?’ A question I get asked every week of my life, often every day. ‘Well,’ I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. ‘I’m an actress, a writer, the Editor-in-Chief of my lifestyle brand The Tig, a pretty good cook and a firm believer in handwritten notes.’ A mouthful, yes, but one that paints a pretty solid picture of who I am. But here’s what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, ‘Right, but what are you? Where are your parents from?’ I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could say Pennsylvania and Ohio, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they’re after: ‘My dad is Caucasian and my mom is African American. I’m half black and half white.’
To describe something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it creates a grey area. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating. When I was asked by ELLE to share my story, I’ll be honest, I was scared. It’s easy to talk about which make-up I prefer, my favourite scene I’ve filmed, the rigmarole of ‘a day in the life’ and how much green juice I consume before a requisite Pilates class. And while I have dipped my toes into this on thetig.com, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial woman, today I am choosing to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.
It was the late Seventies when my parents met; my dad was a lighting director for a soap opera and my mom was a temp at the studio. I like to think he was drawn to her sweet eyes and her Afro, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me. They moved into a house in The Valley in LA, to a neighbourhood that was leafy and affordable. What it was not, however, was diverse. And there was my mom, caramel in complexion with her light-skinned baby in tow, being asked where my mother was since they assumed she was the nanny.
I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn’t different, but special. When I was about seven, I had been fawning over a boxed set of Barbie dolls. It was called The Heart Family and included a mom doll, a dad doll, and two children. This perfect nuclear family was only sold in sets of white dolls or black dolls. I don’t remember coveting one over the other, I just wanted one. On Christmas morning, swathed in glitter-flecked wrapping paper, there I found my Heart Family: a black mom doll, a white dad doll, and a child in each color. My dad had taken the sets apart and customized my family.
Fast-forward to the seventh grade and my parents couldn’t protect me as much as they could when I was younger. There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my English class – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity: white, black, Hispanic or Asian. There I was (my curly hair, my freckled face, my pale skin, my mixed race) looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher told me to check the box for Caucasian. ‘Because that’s how you look, Meghan,’ she said. I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my mother would feel if she were to find out. So, I didn’t tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.
When I went home that night, I told my dad what had happened. He said the words that have always stayed with me: ‘If that happens again, you draw your own box.’
I never saw my father angry, but in that moment I could see the blotchiness of his skin crawling from pink to red. It made the green of his eyes pop and his brow was weighted at the thought of his daughter being prey to ignorance. Growing up in a homogeneous community in Pennsylvania, the concept of marrying an African-American woman was not on the cards for my dad. But he saw beyond what was put in front of him in that small-sized (and, perhaps, small-minded) town, and he wanted me to see beyond that census placed in front of me. He wanted me to find my own truth.
And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a dorm mate I met my first week at university who asked if my parents were still together. ‘You said your mom is black and your dad is white, right?’ she said. I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. ‘And they’re divorced?’ I nodded. ‘Oh, well that makes sense.’ To this day, I still don’t fully understand what she meant by that, but I understood the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora’s box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.
I was home in LA on a college break when my mom was called the ‘N’ word. We were leaving a concert and she wasn’t pulling out of a parking space quickly enough for another driver. My skin rushed with heat as I looked to my mom. Her eyes welling with hateful tears, I could only breathe out a whisper of words, so hushed they were barely audible: ‘It’s OK, Mommy.’ I was trying to temper the rage-filled air permeating our small silver Volvo. Los Angeles had been plagued with the racially-charged Rodney King and Reginald Denny cases just years before, when riots had flooded our streets, filling the sky with ash that flaked down like apocalyptic snow; I shared my mom’s heartache, but I wanted us to be safe. We drove home in deafening silence, her chocolate knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly.
It’s either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harbouring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become an actress. There couldn’t possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: ‘Beautiful, sassy, Latina, 20s’; ‘African American, urban, pretty, early 30s’; ‘Caucasian, blonde, modern girl next door’. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.
Being ‘ethnically ambiguous’, as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Latina when I was dressed in red, to African American when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn’t matter: I wasn’t black enough for the black roles and I wasn’t white enough for the white ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn’t book a job.
This is precisely why Suits stole my heart. It’s the Goldilocks of my acting career – where finally I was just right. The series was initially conceived as a dramedy about a NY law firm flanked by two partners, one of whom navigates this glitzy world with his fraudulent degree. Enter Rachel Zane, one of the female leads and the dream girl – beautiful and confident with an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. ‘Dream girl’ in Hollywood terms had always been that quintessential blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty – that was the face that launched a thousand ships, not the mixed one. But the show’s producers weren’t looking for someone mixed, nor someone white or black for that matter. They were simply looking for Rachel. In making a choice like that, the Suits producers helped shift the way pop culture defines beauty. The choices made in these rooms trickle into how viewers see the world, whether they’re aware of it or not. Some households may never have had a black person in their house as a guest, or someone biracial. Well, now there are a lot of us on your TV and in your home with you. And with Suits, specifically, you have Rachel Zane. I couldn’t be prouder of that.
At the end of season two, the producers went a step further and cast the role of Rachel’s father as a dark-skinned African American man, played by the brilliant Wendell Pierce. I remember the tweets when that first episode of the Zane family aired, they ran the gamut from: ‘Why would they make her dad black? She’s not black’ to ‘Ew, she’s black? I used to think she was hot.’ The latter was blocked and reported. The reaction was unexpected, but speaks of the undercurrent of racism that is so prevalent, especially within America. On the heels of the racial unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore, the tensions that have long been percolating under the surface in the US have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial woman, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that the States has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.
I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I’m from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my seventh grade class, or these days to check ‘Other’, I simply say: ‘Sorry, world, this is not Lost and I am not one of The Others. I am enough exactly as I am.’
Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that’s what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around how people connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent color, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn’t. So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You push for color-blind casting, you draw your own box. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what color your parents happen to be. You cultivate your life with people who don’t lead with ethnic descriptions such as, ‘that black guy Tom’, but rather friends who say: ‘You know? Tom, who works at [blah blah] and dates [fill in the blank] girl.’ You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom. Because in 1865 (which is so shatteringly recent), when slavery was abolished in the United States, former slaves had to choose a name. A surname, to be exact.
Perhaps the closest thing to connecting me to my ever-complex family tree, my longing to know where I come from, and the commonality that links me to my bloodline, is the choice that my great-great-great grandfather made to start anew. He chose the last name Wisdom. He drew his own box.”
- Written by Meghan Markle for the July 2015 issue of Elle UK
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jugaddict · 7 years
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Riverdale Marriage Types
Okay, so since I am your basic sociology major, I couldn’t help but try to classify our beloved Riverdale characters into sociological theorems. 
As a fandom we can all seem to agree that 99% of the Riverdale parents suck (Except Fred Andrews, our resident adult hero) or at the very least, have very lackluster parenting skills. This is interesting in it’s own sense because not one of the main characters other than Archie (who had a simple Troy Bolton complex arc with his dad) don’t have a strained relationship with their parents. 
What is even MORE interesting is the obvious strains in each set of parents marriages. 
In order to try and and understand the behaviour of Riverdale’s parents, I’m going to attempt to identify which marriage type the couples fall into based on Cuber and Harroff’s 1965 models. My analysis for this little project is heavily based on season 1 and the first two episodes of season 2. 
The first thing to understand that marriages are categorized into two types. Utilitarian and Intrinsic. The majority of marriages in the world are utilitarian. If you live in North America, this might come as a surprise because of the huge cultural and societal emphasis to marry your true love. Marriage is romanticized in television and depicted mostly as intrinsic. 
None of Riverdale’s marriages are intrinsic according to my analysis. 
Ok so let’s get this started. 
Alice and Hal Cooper - Devitalized Marriage
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Hal and Alice were actually the easiest one for me to classify. 
A devitalized marriage is when a couple is typically married for several years but has lost it’s spice and meaning. Both partners were once deeply in love but it has fizzled. Time together is spent more often on “duty time” which puts their focuses on children, property, and reputation. Despite the bleak satisfaction, the marriage remains stable.
This screamed the Coopers to me. Alice and Hal were high school sweethearts, as Betty said in season 1. I honestly do believe that they were in love, despite bumps along the way (Alice giving up her first born for adoption, etc.) We see how they bicker and fight, however Alice’s top priorities are indeed her success at The Register, Betty’s success and the Cooper reputation as a whole. Although the means to maintain the reputation are questionable: They sent Polly away after discovering she is pregnant and made a town announcement in front of a church to inform the town about Polly’s pregnancy when she returned; Hal went as far as to break into Sheriff Keller’s office to conceal information that would damage the family’s image.
I’d also like to stress the utilitarianism functions this marriage has, economically. Established in 1x10, Alice grew up on the South Side. Marrying Hal allowed her to shed her south high skin (so to speak) to gain higher social status. 
Penelope and Clifford Blossom - Passive Congenial Marriage 
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While Clifford is no longer alive, we can piece together the kind of relationship he had with Penelope based on their conversations and behaviour to each other and their children in season 1. 
I placed their marriage as Passive-Congenial. This type of marriage emphasizes qualities other than emotional closeness, and never expected marriage to encompass emotional intensity. Rather, partners engage in casual companionship. The union is centered around the sensibility of marriage as well as a huge focus behind financial stability. 
From what we can tell, Penelope is unemployed. This suggests her dependency of Clifford rests in her desire of affluence rather than love. (This can be debated though, as it was established that Penelope was wealthy even in high school. Hermione tells Cheryl “You’re mother also couldn’t tell the difference between having money and having class” Whichever way you’d like to see it, her wealth only vastly multiplied with her marriage to a Blossom). We never saw Clifford or Penelope share any mutual care for each other. They sat next to each other, ate together, and spewed the word “Blossom” more than anything else. Clearly financial stability (read luxury) was at the crux of the Blossom’s priorities. To the extent their children would be abused (and killed) if they stood in their way of abundant success. An argument can even be made that Penelope was chosen as a suitable wife for Clifford because of her hair colour, in which the very image of the Blossoms could be maintained through the lineage of their children. This reinforces the “sensibility” notion of their marriage. Furthermore, Penelope showed far more raw emotion at her mansion/estate being engulfed in flames than from her own husband’s funeral. “Why are you crying, you hated him” She says to Cheryl, while she herself had dry eyes. 
Hermione and Hiram Lodge - Conflict Habituated
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I wasn’t quite sure how to classify Hiram and Hermione just because we were only just introduced to Hiram as a character, and might have been given unreliable narration about Hiram’s intentions throughout the first season. Their relationship is tricky because although Hermione maintains her unwavering loyalty to her husband despite his crimes, she seems to flip from having power in her relationship (making it appear like an egalitarian marriage in which both partners are well aware of what they are doing) to being frustratingly manipulated and under the control of her husband. We will see as the seasons progress. 
As it stands right now, I put them in a tentative Conflict- Habituated marriage. This is when the marriage has considerable tension, unresolved conflict, both spouses acknowledge incompatibility or tension as normal and do not attempt to solve or expect to resolve differences. The relationship as a whole is still very stable. 
Clearly Hermione was uncomfortable with being stripped from some of her wealth and her husband being jailed, “Baby, we are guilty”  she snaps at Veronica and breaks down and sobs when things look sour. But she doesn’t let it drag her down. She tries to make her own business decisions, working at Pops Diner and doing business with Fred despite knowing her husband would disapprove. However, the moment her husband is back in town, she defends him, lies for him and behaves incredibly submissive. Is it pretend? Is it real? We don’t know. What we can boil it down to is that there is some conflict, this relationship is not all sunshine and roses (will Hermione ignore it as she has been so far or fight against it?) and ultimately the extent of this will soon unfold as we see them interact more together on screen. 
Mary and Fred Andrews - (Dissolved) Vital Marriage
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Ok so I cheated a little because I said none of the marriages in Riverdale were intrinsic. But Mary and Fred are separated and planning a divorce so for the sake of simplicity I’ll consider them as no longer married. So. When they were together I believe they were in a vital marriage. 
A vital marriage is when two partners define being together as being intensely enjoyable and important. Conflicts are likely to center around real issues and there is a focus on individual autonomy. The minority of marriages in the world are vital and they are in fact very hard to maintain, especially in North American culture where the value of marriage in juxtaposed with individual happiness, in which if a partner is not feeling happy, rather than trying to solve conflicts in the marriage, they leave the marriage. 
I believe this is what happens with Mary and Fred. This doesn’t mean that they don’t both still care for each other or even dislike each other. Clearly Mary has made a life for herself out of Riverdale, perhaps restless from being tied down to such a small town (lmao I don’t blame her I wouldn’t want to be Riverdale’s resident lawyer right now). She makes an appearance twice, reevaluating her choices about leaving her son behind when she realizes Archie may not be be safe alone with his father, showing concern for the family she left and even taking phsyical care for Fred after he is injured. 
So basically, even though somehow even though they have to worst “marriage” in the sense of marriage as an institution, they still have arguably the best, healthiest interpersonal relationship out of all the parents on the show. Way to go Andrews!
Sierra and Myles McCoy - Conflict- Habituated
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Once again, my guess for this one is as good as yours. I placed this marriage as a conflict-habituated union. Similarly to Hermione and Hiram, Myles is largely absent throughout season 1 which makes it difficult to analyze the relationship. The difference between Myles and Hiram however lies in Myles’s behavior towards his family when he did show up. It is clear from the get-go that Sierra and Myles have relatively different world views.  Sierra tells Josie in 1x06 that she’d hate for Josie to let her father down because if she did “He will somehow blame me” Myles disagrees with Josie pursuing music despite being a professional jazz player himself, whereas his wife is supportive. When together, their conversations were brief, but tense, and Myles ended up walking out on his daughter’s performance mid-act, as well as his wife, who he was attending the event with, and didn’t want him to go. This mutual tension is what flagged me as identifying the marriage as conflict-habituated because we see no attempt between Mr and Mrs to resolve any issues they have. They seem to just live on separately, together. 
Gladys and FP - Who knows???
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I can’t classify these two because the only thing we know about them is that Gladys left FP and Jughead behind to live with her parents in Toledo (and also is refusing to visit her suffering son… not a fan). There’s also this mention about hospital bills. Not sure who was in the hospital. Jellybean? Gladys? Not clear. I’ll be honest I can’t even find any proof that these two were married. (Does FP wear a ring??) What we do know is that before FP was arrested he told Jughead he’d make an effort to win his mother and sister back, which might lean towards looking at another devitalized marriage? Not sure. I won’t put a label on it. 
That’s the end! Hoped you liked this! Feel free to comment or send me an ask on this is you have any insight. Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did putting it together! :)  
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welshjule · 4 years
Text
You got me begging you for mercy
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To my Friends, Family and all Readers,
Welcome to my first blog. Every week I will be posting a story ‘loosely based’ on my life in Australia since 1982. My aim is to provide a little escapism in a sometimes-hard world and to hopefully make you laugh. The content will be mature themed as I am in no way attempting to be a role-model!
Happy reading my Darlings
Let me know what you think.
Ju xx
Perth, Australia.
January 1995
It was a Sunday night and I had just put my daughter Alice to bed. The house was red hot, the windows were wide open and there wasn’t a breeze; it was like living inside a sweaty sock. Summer in Perth can be brutal and it is a dry, burning heat that scorches the hair on your arms and rips the skin off your feet if you try and walk barefoot outside. The temperature had hit forty degrees that day and I only had two stand-up fans, so a load of our family and friends had been swimming at the local pool.
We got home and Alice, who was about five years old, spent about two hours in a cold bath – in her bathers, underwater, face-down and pretending to be dead! My job was to run in and rescue her every so often but I kept forgetting. I gave the nickname ‘Insane Alice’ to my daughter when she was very young because she was my wild, brave, curious nutcase, who always had something to say and most of it was somewhat demented. Over the years, we dropped the Insane bit and it was just Alice, but to tell the truth, she’s still a bit touched.
My Father called her ’his Alice’ for thirty years.
So, my exhausted daughter was now asleep with a wet towel on top of her and a fan blowing hot air around her room.
Walking into the kitchen, I stuck my head under the cold tap until my hair and face were soaking wet. Grabbing an ice-cold beer from the fridge, I wandered out to the garden and laid back on an old lounger. Tracey Chapman was singing about a fast car as I lit a fag and skulled my beer.
The house was like a furnace and there was no reprieve outside. From November to March, you went to bed sweating and you got up the same way. We lived in a low-income area and nobody had air-conditioning; you just had to deal with the heat.
At that time, single mothers didn’t get to choose the houses with alarm systems and swimming pools. We could only afford tired, old rentals with dripping taps and broken flyscreens and to make matters worse, I was cleaning two ‘beach-front’ mansions a day while Alice was at school.
 #These were palaces, with huge swimming pools, wine cellars and balconies overlooking the blue ocean and I earned a pittance. I had to shut my mouth like Ruby from ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ when the ‘lady of the house’ complained about smears on the bathroom mirror or dust on the roof because I needed the money.
Looking around now, my poor garden looked so sad; that unrelenting ball of fire had burnt the beautiful flowers I had planted and singed the lawn so badly that it was now just dry, straw.
I was feeling a bit weird and conflicted because everyone around me seemed to think that I should be trying to find a man to ‘look after me and be a father to Alice.’ Don’t get me wrong, it was said with kindness, but I was bored of the whole thing.
Thirty years ago, there was a real stigma attached to being a single mother. If your marriage failed but the dad was still on the scene with the kids, that was ok. If there was no father in sight, it played with people’s heads.
I chose to leave Alice’s father when she was a baby and bring up my daughter alone and I loved it.
I didn’t have a man and I didn’t really want one.
But some people just weren’t comfortable with it. Was I a lesbian? Did I hate men? Was I flirting with their man? They wanted to set me up with their husband’s mate from Bunnings and it was all, ‘We’ve got to find you a nice fella’ and ‘you can’t be too fussy.’ What a cheek! I was thirty years old with no visible hump on my back. Who were they thinking of wheeling in? Alf F##king Stewart?’’
There was a lot of pressure
And It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried.
I’d been to Bachelor and Spinster Balls, joined ‘Parents Without Partners’ (very creepy) and even went to ’Japanese conversation ‘night classes because everyone told me ‘There are loads of divorced men learning languages now Ju. There will be blokes everywhere.’          The only man I ever spoke to was wearing a grey cardigan and had just retired from the civil service.
God knows I tried
And I was about to try again
In 1995, there was no tinder or instant messaging because there were no mobile phones or computers (well not in our house anyway). People had to leave their residence and go hunting in pubs and clubs on a Saturday night for their own Brad Pitt or Pamela Anderson and it was utterly soul destroying.
But I had the Wanneroo Times and I was on a mission.
This local community newspaper had started printing adverts in their classifieds for single people wanting to meet a partner. It was basically, ‘man seeking woman’ or ‘woman seeking man’. Then, everybody told massive lies about themselves; ‘very attractive, happy go lucky, no baggage, loves a good red wine and walking on the beach at sunset.’ It was ridiculous but that didn’t stop me filling in the form.
My advert said,
If you are a sports fanatic and watch it on tv all weekend – read on
If you are bitter about your wife taking everything from you in the divorce, we’ve already met - read on
If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, warm winter fires, bubble baths and collecting driftwood. Stop reading Sir, for you are a dead set serial killer.
I didn’t say much about me, just,
’blonde, thirty, likes to write.’
And I posted it off.
It took a week to receive any responses.
I’d been watching ‘Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves’ and wondering how I could get in touch with Kevin Costner to tell him I was waiting for him here; in the hottest, most isolated corner of the world!
But I was feeling quite hopeful and ready for some romance in my life. I spent most of the week singing ‘You know it’s true, everything I do, I do it for you.’
On a Monday morning, the postman dropped an official looking, brown envelope into my post box and I had seven letters!!
Buzzing with excitement, I made a cup of coffee, lit a fag and opened the first one.
He had a wife but they didn’t sleep together. He desperately needed passion in his life, maybe two afternoons a week! Yeh right, dream on!
Three more were married and just wanted a bit on the side.
My fifth would-be suitor boasted of a body tattooed from his neck to his toes and a willingness to provide colour photos. I just couldn’t stomach it!
And the sixth little gem was a smooth-talking illiterate who claimed to be a ‘mad rooter’ but added that, ’If I was a ‘Fat Sheila,’ then not to bother eh!’
I could feel a black depression impending; Was I supposed to settle for this group of no-hopers?
But there was one letter remaining and that was written by a man named Fred.
Fred was English and had been in Perth for a couple of years. He worked in some office and liked Guinness. That was good enough for me!
We spoke on the phone a couple of times and met for a quick coffee. He was a nice bloke and didn’t seem to be deranged. He asked me to go to the movies to see ’Braveheart’ and I said ‘’lovely.’’
So, its Friday night and I am sorted. Alice is staying at my parents’ house and I have a date!
The Commitments are slaying Mustang Sally and I am drinking a vodka and tonic. My hair is a work of art! It has been washed, blow- dried, straightened, back-combed and gelled, plus I’ve used half a can of hairspray, so this hairdo is not shifting.
On goes the make-up, a pair of jeans that are much too small and a black shirt. Sounds simple doesn’t it?
But it is still 32 degrees at 6.30pm and the sweat is dripping down my back. I am sitting on an ice pack with my feet in a bowl of cold water and the pedestal fan is coughing, stale air at me like an old family dog. The jeans are slowly roasting my legs, the underneath of my hair is soaking wet and the makeup is dripping off my face.
But I don’t care, because I’m looking good, the house smells of ’Red Door’ perfume and I’ve had a few puffs of a lovely old joint I found on top of the kitchen cupboard.
I am ready for action!
Fred turned up at about seven and he looked very smart with jeans and a blue shirt. He was quite a portly fellow, very suntanned and with a completely bald head. I don’t know if he’d ever had any hair and I didn’t really care.
I was flying!
We were a bit early for the movies so we went for a drink first. The pub was practically empty but the night was young, so I told Fred that it was my shout. He asked the ‘gothic and heavily pierced’ barmaid, if she could make him a flat, white coffee and she looked at him with complete disgust. I ordered a double vodka and we sat down for a chat. I really wanted to find Fred attractive but he wasn’t giving me much.
He had a very strong Yorkshire accent and was into cycling and re-cycling. He started telling me about sustainable compost heaps and I just glazed over.
But, as I sat looking at him, the room started spinning and Fred began to morph into Dierdre Barlow from Coronation Street and a brown, boiled egg.
That old puff was strong!
’’I’m that choofed you chose me lass,’’ he said ‘’and I’m having a grand time, but I’m not one for the drink.’’
’Jesus Christ! When am I going to cop a break?’ I thought, ‘I’m a thirty-year-old woman wearing skin tight jeans and high heels. My legs are shaved, my elbows moisturised and I HAVE THE HOUSE TO MYSELF!! Who gives a shit about recycling?
I didn’t want to talk about Fred’s ‘loovely bunch of lasses at work’ or ’the benefits of riding a bicycle.’
My life consisted of chicken nuggets, nit shampoo and a daughter who was obsessed with a demonic dessert called Strawberry Shortcake. This nauseating strawberry cake had three best friends called Apple Dumpling, Raspberry Tart and Cherry Cuddler. They sounded like a bunch of sex workers and their pimp was a freak called ‘The Prickly and Peculiar Pieman from Porcupine Creek. Alice had it on an old video and played it constantly. She had been speaking in an American accent for about three weeks and I was over it!    
 I wanted to act like a teenager. To get absolutely wasted, fall-down drunk and extremely immature. I wished Fred would suggest a drinking game so that we could get really loud and find everything hysterical. I needed him to make me laugh because that is sexy. I wanted to completely skip the bloody movie altogether!
Nah, take that back.
Fred was, in fact, an egg that spoke with a Yorkshire accent and he was boring me to death.
So, we walked to the cinema and bought our own tickets, (very civilised), then I was straight into the Candy Bar. Buying a very expensive choc- top ice-cream and some popcorn, I asked Fred what he was having and he said,
’’Nah, I’ll not have owt, I’m watching me weight.’’
That really irritated me because I’d been considering a box of Maltesers too and now I couldn’t have them because I would look like a pig.
We found two seats in the middle row. The place was packed out because it was the first night the film was showing.
‘’So, Fred, what’s this Braveheart about then? It’s not going to be all blood and gore is it?’’ I asked.
“I don’t know Julie, I haven’t seen it,’’ he said, but it translated to, ’’Ah doon’t know jooleh, I’ve not seen film.’’
Now, don’t forget, I was deep in the grip of Sherwood Forrest and I thought Braveheart would be similar; some battles, dodgy accents, a love story, some fantastic one-liners ‘a la’ Alan Rickman.
I thought wrong.
The beginning of the film showed the beauty of Scotland with some hauntingly lovely music and a softly-spoken narrator. By the time I had eaten my choc-top, there were bodies of men, women and children hanging from beams, heads chopped off and the stabbing and slashing of everyone in sight; including the poor horses.
I was in a hell of a state!
Alice always compares me to the late, great, British comedian Larry Grayson when I am out of my comfort zone and am shocked or horrified. I get flustered and loud, highly camp and completely over the top.
I have to have things explained to me very clearly.
This film was way beyond my comfort zone.
My hands were over my eyes and all you could hear from me was ‘’Oh my God, when are they going to stop killing?”  ‘’Oh, that’s gross!’’  ‘’I can’t look!’’  ‘’Why is there so much blood?’’ ‘’What’s happening Fred?”
And then an English soldier ties Braveheart’s beautiful bride to a tree.
I’m thinking, ‘’hurry up Wallace and save your woman.’’
Everyone is waiting for Mel to rescue her but he’s missing in action.
And the English Bast##d slits her throat!
Now, we still had about three more hours of this film to endure and the main character’s wife was dead. I just couldn’t believe it. She was exquisite, almost heavenly.
What was going on?
Í nudged Fred, ‘’What’s happening Fred? Is it a flashback or a dream? Is she coming back?’’
I was beside myself.
Fred was getting a little snippy at my endless questions and bad language because I couldn’t stop saying ‘’Oh F#ck’’ every time a limb was chopped off and it was constant carnage. It simply never stopped.
There was a teenage boy and his girlfriend sitting next to me and I tearfully asked the boy what he thought was going on. Did he think the lovely Marrun was coming back? Was it a flashback? He just looked horrified and two minutes later they both left.
So, now I’m crying and it’s serious. I’m absolutely gutted about useless Wallace not getting there in time and I don’t really feel like watching anymore.
Worse though, I haven’t got a tissue!
I am sobbing and my nose is running and I am doing that unattractive, hiccupy thing.
Fred’s forgotten his handkerchief and I’m hyperventilating and trying to quell my hysteria. But it’s just so sad and all you can hear in the whisper quiet audience are my racking sobs and sniffs. In the end, I had to use a KitKat wrapper and the sleeve of my top to wipe my nose. (yeh, I know, disgusting).
So now I’ve got to sit through another 150 minutes of butchery and treachery, heads in the mail, people being thrown out of windows and the mass raping of young maidens. It was relentless and I was suffering very loudly.
Fred was peeved, “Nah then, Jooleh, joost try to be a tad quieter pet. I can’t ‘ear film.’’
I was frazzled and I hadn’t even got to the torture of William Wallace.
What a joy that was!
About thirty minutes of Mel being hung, drawn and quartered very slowly with some lethal weapons (sorry, I had to).
First, he spits out the anaesthetic drug the princess slips him and then he refuses to shout ‘mercy’ to end his own torture. It was all too much and I kept shouting ‘mercy’ at the screen and crying loudly, but Mel just kept hanging on in there.
William Wallace was no pussy!
Eventually though, all the organs have been removed from his body and he has to die.
In his last few seconds alive he sees his wife, Murron, walking through the crowds, waiting for him and she is so beautiful, it’s heart breaking. Braveheart shouts ‘Freedom’ and I’m completely finished.
Before anyone could move, I was out of my seat. ’’I’ll see you in the foyer Fred,” I sobbed and ran to the toilets before the lights came on.
My body was shaking, my legs were like jelly and I was sweating. I felt like I had given birth to ten-pound triplets in an African hut, alone and without pain relief!
Then I saw my face in the mirror and stopped dead.
The old mascara I had found in the kitchen drawer was not waterproof and I had these black spider lines all down my cheeks. My eyes were smudged with dark grey eyeshadow, my nose was bright red and my face was blotchy and oily, with no trace of a base!
For some reason, my hair had also suffered and it looked like a yellow bird’s nest that had been sat on.
I hadn’t brought a handbag out with me, just a small purse, so the only things I had to rescue this complete disaster was a ten dollar note, a factor 30 lip balm and a furry tic-tac.
Everybody was coming into the lady’s toilets now and they were all looking at me. One girl came over and pretended to care but I saw straight through her. I’d heard some of her friends laughing at me during the torture scene.
I didn’t have a spare head so there wasn’t much I could do. I just washed my face, blew my nose and went out to meet Fred. I refused to look him straight in the eye though because I was hideous.
As we drove back to my place, the car was silent and I knew that Fred was sulking.
He eventually said ‘’Appen, A’Il see film again wit’ lasses from work. I missed most of it!’’
I thought, ‘’Oh do one, you Bloody tart, you are definitely not coming in for coffee.’’
We hit my driveway and I jumped out of the car like an Olympian.
Fred said something that sounded like ‘’See thee soon then Lass’’ and I said ‘’lovely.’’
Slamming the front door, I felt shell-shocked.
I jumped under a cold shower, washed off all the makeup and gunk from my hair and tied an old sarong around myself. Making a cup of tea and some toast with Nutella, I grabbed the remote and sat on the sofa.
Two minutes later, it was just me and Kevin.
I didn’t think I would ever hear from Fred again, but he rang a few nights later while I was watching ‘Home and Away‘ with Alice.
‘’Ow do Jooleh love, can ya guess where I am?’’ he asked jovially.
I froze. Oh my God.
“You’re not outside are you Fred? ’I asked,
‘’Nah’’, he chuckled, ‘’I’m lyin’ in’t cold tub, sipping hot brew and eating an apple pie. Blooody Bliss!’’
I hung up the phone and we never went out again.
Dating makes me realise why I’m not married!
If you liked this story, there’s a lot more to read because Alice and I have been writing tales ‘loosely based’ on our lives for many years, with the hope of finally finishing a book called ’A Mother like mine.’ Every Saturday, I will be publishing a blog so that you can read it over the weekend. Sometimes, Alice will write one too.
We will talk about love, losses and dating disasters, womanhood, teenage years and being a Welsh, single parent family in a rough-arse suburb of Perth in the nineties; from our two, completely different perspectives. I will even tell you how my true love literally walked through my front door and I almost took Alice to live in Texas! Our stories will be mostly funny but there will also be our recollection of some hard times. Nobody escapes them and sometimes it helps to read about other people’s battles.
 Future titles include;
‘The Good, The Bad and the Aussies’
‘A Gang of Gary’s’
‘Doyawannarootorwhat’
‘Sorry about my little fella?’
‘Six months pregnant or a Tattoo?’
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evilsnowswan · 7 years
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Summary: [Rumbelle Mermaid!AU] based on this prompt by repeatinglitanies: “In a world where people are aware of the existence of mermaids, Belle is a mermaid who lives in the world’s largest aquarium along with other sea creatures. She enjoys looking at the little humans who come to visit, especially a floofy haired boy who comes every week with his father….” An injured Belle is captured and brought to Gold and Milah’s aquarium. Gold is a marine biologist dedicated to protecting the creatures there, Milah wants to turn a profit, and their son has his own ideas about how to befriend a mermaid.
Rating: G Link to full story: [Read on AO3] Previous Chapters: [Coverart][Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6][Chapter 7]
Current Chapter: 8/?
A/N: Song choice for this chapter: [listen here]
Only after the tears had stopped running down Bae’s face, did they leave his office. He took his boy by the hand and directed their steps outside and towards the diner. One of Granny’s famous hot cocoas - with cinnamon, rainbow sprinkles, and whipped cream - would do the boy good, and he’d feel much better knowing him in the widow Lucas’ care - rather than alone in his room or with his mother. He hoped the friendly atmosphere would calm Bae down and that the everyday hum and hustle would help take his mind off the matter.
Of course he hadn’t thought that last part through properly, and Gold sighed when he spotted the Nolans and their little girl sitting in a booth in the corner. Emma Nolan was wrapped in a green bathrobe and an old beach towel and grinning as broadly as the shark head that her robe had for a hood.
“... and then, woosh, she was gone!” Emma’s little hands shot through the air. “And Dad, Dad, she’s super-fast. Like superduper … uber-fast!” Face flushed, the girl threw her arms up higher and the terry shark slid off her head and shoulders, exposing her arms and neck. Apparently, the shock of the incident had already worn off and morphed into wide-eyed, breathless overexcitement.
Her mother immediately leaned over to fix Emma’s robe.
“You mean to say-” David Nolan lowered his voice-“that mermaid’s faster… than me?!” His tone matched his daughter’s in pitch and volume and he seemed just as enthusiastic about the topic, which Gold knew couldn’t be true. Had it been Bae -and hadn’t he known for a fact that merfolk did not harm humans - his expression would have been much more like the one Mrs. Nolan wore: concerned, displeased, disapproving.
“Excuse me,” Gold said. All eyes fell on him. He cleared his throat.
Bae had steered them towards his friend and her family, but was uncharacteristically quiet now that they had arrived at their table.
Gold and David Nolan exchanged a look and small nods of greeting, Mrs. Nolan, however, only pursed her lips. She was still fussing over Emma’s clothes and towel.
“I only just heard,” he began, his face growing warmer under Mrs. Nolan’s stern gaze. By the dirty looks she was shooting him, it might as well have been him - the culprit, the guilty party, persona non grata - who was to be held personally responsible for Emma’s accidental adventure in the reef tank. “And I wanted to apologize. Bae knows better than playing by the tanks -” Her eyes narrowed- “but, of course, we shouldn’t have left the children unsupervised at any time,” he added quickly and Mrs. Nolan nodded along in agreement.
“Our Emma knows not to go too close too. She’s here a lot,” David interjected, placing a hand on his daughter’s head. He smiled. “Right, kiddo? If anything, we should have checked that the gates were properly locked. That’s not the kids’ responsibility. They were just having fun.”
It was a noble attempt at defusing his wife's anger, but it all boiled down to him and Milah as the ones to blame either way. They had failed to perform their supervisory role properly - either neglected their duties as parents or employers, or both. Probably both. Simultaneously.
“It was an accident, no one got hurt. No harm done.”
Bae tensed at Gold’s side. Gold let go of his hand and put his arm around the boy’s shoulders.
“That’s a very kind way of looking at it, Mr Nolan. My wife and I are, however, truly sorry.” He spoke mostly to Mrs. Nolan, despite keeping his eyes firmly on a spot somewhere behind her left ear. “And I wanted to personally come and check in with you both - make sure your daughter was alright.”
Finally, a little smile. Mother’s absolution.
“But I’m fine, Mr Gold,” Emma piped up, turning in her seat to look up at him. “I just got wet.” She grinned. “Almost dry now.” She flapped her arms a little, as if to prove she wouldn’t shower him in droplets or leave puddles where she stood - or sat, respectively. Her mother shot her a pointed look. “If- if we promise not to get into trouble again and to do what we’re told, can Bae stay and play? Please?” She reached for Bae’s hand. “Please?!”
“If your parents are alright with that-”
“Of course!” David said. “Sit with us for a bit, buddy.” He smiled at Bae and scooted over to make room, patting the seat. “My wife is heading home to get Emma a change of clothes, but I’ll keep an eye on them. My shift’s over, I don’t mind hanging for a bit,” he looked at Gold, keeping eye contact long enough to make it significant. “I’m sure you’ll look into the mermaid business? Check that things are good over at the reef? Gates closed and all?”
Gold nodded. “Absolutely. I’m headed there next. Thank you. We really appreciate your help and understanding,” He turned to Mrs. Nolan - “and we’ll make sure something like this won’t happen again -” and then addressed his son: “Bae, listen to Mr Nolan, alright? Have Granny fix you a cocoa, if you like - but no pastries. It’s almost dinner time. Your mother or I will come and get you in about… an hour,” He checked with Mr Nolan. Yes, an hour would be fine. “No wandering around without an adult, ok?”
“Yes, Papa,” Bae said. Then he shifted in his seat, beckoned him closer and whispered, “We were just playing, she didn’t mean to,” He hesitated. “Papa, her tail looked all… funny. What if-”
“I know,” He squeezed Bae’s shoulder. No need for the boy to get all worked up again. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her.”
Leaving Bae with the Nolans, he returned to the main building. Now that he knew him in good hands, his only thought was Indigo.
***
Things were much worse than he had anticipated.
In the time it had taken him to calm Bae down enough to speak and tell him what had happened at the reef tank, and then walked the boy over to Granny’s, Milah and Gus Gaston had made a good job of it and - without waiting for Whale’s approval or his - begun medical procedure.
He was done yelling at them about it.
Unfortunately, the yelling hadn’t made Gold feel any better. It was too late for that and it was his fault anyway. Had he kept an eye on Bae, had he gone to check on Indigo sooner that afternoon, had he paid better attention, had he not gotten so carried away with his research on corals and plants that he forgot to ask her about herself, this whole situation could have been prevented.
He should have known.
It was hypocritical to vent his anger and blame his wife and their employees. Gaston was a brainless brute, his methods questionable at best, but he had detected what Gold had not: Indigo had been in pain and immediate action necessary. Of course, immediate action should have meant dialing 911 for professional veterinary care, not a thoughtless DIY-approach.
Gus Gaston had dropped out of the program back in the day, they knew, but still acted like he held a double degree in veterinary medicine and marine biology. He had claimed that caring for a mermaid’s tail was no different from declawing a cat or filing down horses’ teeth. Easy. Quick. And he had handled the anesthesia with such confidence that no one had stopped to question his actions. How they had gotten Indigo to keep still long enough to do it, Gold didn’t want to know. Hadn’t Gaston’s family been big money, he would have fired him long ago, would fire him now- going on his unpleasant gut feeling alone.
He’d deal with the idiot later.
“Murchadh?”
It took all the self-control he possessed to keep the grimace off his face and the anger out of his voice. No matter how pissed off he was, he would not argue with Milah in front of their son.
“Yes?”
She gave him the once-over.
His old wetsuit wasn’t something he particularly wanted to be seen in. It had fit snug as a glove once, but was now rather too large in the body and perished in places. He had had to roll up the sleeves and legs a bit too, which made him feel like the boy he’d once been: Forever embarrassed by his size and build, stumbling about in second-hand rags he never quite managed to grow into. He had been the smallest boy in the village, but also the fastest, and he held his breath longer than anyone else, which had saved his life more than once. Standing here now, in his baggy suit, barefoot on the slippery tiles made him feel small and vulnerable, and he had to fight the urge to hold his breath, close his eyes, and count in his head until the danger had passed.
He glanced at the boots lying by the holding pool, then forced himself to look at her face. In her heels she was taller than he was.
“Dove will take us to the airport,” she said, and he was grateful she had chosen to keep any remarks on his appearance to herself. God knew she didn’t think him attractive, they didn’t need to rehash it in front of Bae. “Our flight leaves in three hours.”
“Give Ethel my best,” he said, making it sound almost like he meant it. The old hag would love this. Another opportunity to meddle and tell her daughter how much better she could do if only she divorced that good-for-nothing cripple of a husband. And hadn’t they warned her about him from the start? Hadn’t they told her so? She needed a real man. A man to worship the very ground she walked on. A man to teach her son how to become one. Play some ball, shoot a deer, memorize useless facts about overpriced motorized vehicles that cost more than the average person made in a year. That sort of thing. Gold’s lip curled.
“Thank you. I will.” She checked her watch. “Come on, Baelfire, the car is waiting.”
“I don’t want to go!”
Bae’s face darkened and Gold felt a twinge of guilt. He didn’t want him to go any more than the boy wished to spend the remainder of the summer at Montgomery Manor. Yet, fighting Milah on this would only have the opposite effect. He might have been a runner by necessity in his youth, but it was she who had running down to an art form. He needed to let her go.
“Bae,” He opened his arms for Bae and hugged him close as the boy came running into them. “Listen, your grandmother called and she’s really looking forward to your visit. She hasn’t seen you and Mama since Christmas and I imagine it might get quite lonely in that big old house all by herself… “
“She’s not alone. She’s got Dougal.”
He had almost forgotten about the Doberman. His mother-in-law loved that creature. Her late husband had bred Doberman Pinschers, a favorite pastime of his, and Dougal was the last one he had trained himself before his accident. Ethel held onto that dog like it was the son she’d never had.
“Yes, but I’m sure she’s excited to hear all about your summer, Bae. Dogs don’t make the best conversationalists.”
Bae looked at him, eyebrows arched.
“You can’t expect them to tell good stories,” Gold explained.
“I know lots of good stories,” Bae said.
“I know you do.”
“Why can’t you come?”
“I have to work,” Gold said, catching Milah’s impatient eye. Her lips were a thin white line. She hated how much their son didn’t want to belong to her old world, how reluctant he was to visit her childhood home, how little joy he got out of the things and activities her family valued. He felt almost sorry for her sometimes. Not today though.
“Marmie told me she’s having the big pool ready for when we arrive,” she said, her gaze fixed on Bae’s curls. “You can work on your butterfly and dive. Maybe beat me at freestyle?”
The one thing they had in common. Watching his wife in her tailored suits and high heels, it was hard to imagine her as a young girl, swimming laps, racing for Gold in a Speedo and swim cap. She was great in the water. Before all this, she’d killed him in a race for the best waves and won. He still didn’t know why she’d asked him out after. Milah had been 30.000 leagues out of his back then - just as she was now - and they both knew it.
“That would be great, wouldn’t it?” He broke the hug to steer Bae back to his mother. “Marine biologists and trainers need to be good swimmers,” he said encouragingly, and Milah released the tension in her face long enough to give him a fleeting smile.
This wasn’t for her. It was for his son. Bae shouldn’t have to feel like he had to choose sides. There weren’t supposed to be sides.
“Okay,” Bae said. “But I’m not wearing the cap Marmie got me last year! It looks stupid.”
Milah laughed. “We’ll get you a new one. Now-” She held out a hand for Bae to take. “We’ll call you when we get there.”
“Have a safe trip,” Gold said.
After they had left, he went and pulled on his boots, grabbed the temporal artery thermometer from the tray, and carefully stepped down the ladder into their largest quarantine holding pool. Even if it was the largest they had, it wasn’t much bigger than a very spacious bathtub or two, and, as his feet touched the ground, the water only went up to his thighs. The water resistance meant he didn’t need his cane walking in the pool, and, as he didn’t have to swim, the low water level made it easier to use his hands freely.
“Good evening.”
With his left hand, he made little waves in the water to announce his presence - in case she was awake.
Indigo was their only patient in the med wing, which had become restricted-access and special-permit-only with her arrival.
When Milah had pushed for an upgrade from their old Med Shed, a regular garden shed on the premises they used to operate out of, and which had served them just fine up to that point, to what was now the medical wing with several indoor holding pools and an airlock door for quarantine purposes, she had also insisted on having a security system installed that required ID and allowed communication via intercom. He had deemed it extravagant and unnecessary at the time. Now he was grateful for the extra security.
The medical wing was top-notch and allowed them to do terrific work. His team now rescued, rehabilitated and released more than 200 animals each year; last year, they had rescued more than 270 animals and made the papers as Ocean Angels when they’d taken in large numbers of California sea lions, northern elephant seals and harbor seals, as well as sea otters, turtles, a baby dolphin and a porpoise after a horrible oil spill higher up the coast.
“For every patient, the goal is to treat, rehabilitate and return it to the wild as soon as possible,” Milah had told the press. “Maintaining the animals' wildness and reducing the stress they experience is an integral part of our work. The animals are not used to interacting with humans, and we want to be able to eventually return them to their habitat with their instincts and abilities intact.”
It was the same line she had used on the investors and generous sponsors, and the reason why they now had a facility that included not only a ridiculous security system and optional quarantine space, but an exam and surgical room equipped with a new endoscope and x-ray. The total budget for the facility was $554,000; which had been raised entirely by private donations, with 346 donors supporting the project. Husbandry still was the core of all their rehabilitation efforts - including nutrition, handling techniques, hygiene and sanitation, housing, disease prevention, and stress reduction, but the new equipment and ongoing cash flow made their work a lot easier. As did qualified staff applying for their team and the many volunteers that more positive press coverage had swept in, who were eager to help with their rehabilitation and release efforts and regular work, including much of the day-to-day care of the animals.
Gold turned on the thermometer and gently swept it across Indigo's forehead. He read the number then double-checked the reading with another go, nodded, and waded back to the stairs to heave himself out of the water. Grunting, he limped over to the tray and table, and, checking the time on one of the screens, jotted down both the temperature and the time in the notebook.
Whales, dolphins, seals and other marine mammals could generate their own heat and maintain a stable body temperature despite fluctuating environmental conditions. Like people, they were endothermic homeotherms, meaning: warm-blooded, but unlike the average person, they could endure water temperatures as low as -2 degrees Celsius and air temperatures reaching -40 degrees °C. Indigo’s inner thermostat, however, was out of whack.
He went over the older entries. Not better, not good, but at least her temperature had been relatively stable for the last couple of hours.
Just like with human patients, the first twenty-four hours after trauma were the most critical, which was why he was determined not to leave Indigo’s side tonight, and also the reason he hadn’t fought Milah on her decision to up and leave, taking Bae across the country on the next machine available to see her mother. They needed a break and he needed time to fix his mistakes.
With a sigh, he looked through Indigo’s chart, scanned the printouts (they might as well have been in Chinese) and notes in the margins, then watched her vitals on the screen. The steady hum and whir of all their fancy equipment was both alienating and soothing, a constant soundtrack in the background like a mechanical heartbeat. His hand hovering over the computer mouse, Gold wondered what would be a mermaid’s favorite music genre, wondered if the legends were true, wondered what she sounded like singing. Then he clicked play.
The music filled the air like mist, like a cautious creature, shy and soft, treading with utmost care. A timid fawn in the snow.
He adjusted the volume and the lights. “I hope you like this one, sweetheart.”
He looked at Indigo in her sling. She didn’t stir.
Upon arrival, staff had immediately begun administering emergency therapy. There were several lacerations along Indigo’s tail, likely caused by their nets and Gaston’s crude attempts at removing infected tissue- infected, inflamed tissue, caked with sand and blood- which had done more harm than good. Indigo had been dehydrated and unconscious, and she required around-the-clock care.
Whale had been in multiple times, put her on antibiotics and blood pressure medications. In addition to fluids and meds, veterinary staff had to use a wide array of their equipment to rule out severe internal injuries – including ultrasound and x-rays. Stitching up the cuts had been tricky. Just like pinnipeds, Indigo had a thick blubber layer that rejected many suture materials, and surgery had been complicated further by her dive reflex; a reflex which caused a pinnipeds heart rate to slow down, their breathing to stop, and their blood to pool centrally during anesthesia. It made keeping her under for longer periods of time extremely risky, especially after she’d been out of the water and under for an undetermined period of time prior to surgery already.
“I’m so sorry,” Gold told her, tracing the outline of the IV needle in her arm. They had struggled with that too, intravenous fluid therapy, unsure whether to adhere to human or marine mammal guidelines. The fluids and drugs had to be monitored and adjusted frequently. Indigo was too weak to swim on her own and needed to be supported in the pool, for which they had come up with a special sling: A sort of hammock made from swimming noodles and a harness that held her floating comfortably in the middle.
Indigo’s eyelids twitched, indicating rapid-eye-movement and dreams. Stroking her temples, Gold could only hope they weren’t nightmares. They had pumped her full of drugs and she didn’t appear to feel anything - not on the operating table and not now - even though they had yanked at her body, sticking her with all sorts of implements, rough and messy and bloody.
It was almost completely dark in the med wing, with the music playing softly and the machines beeping like it was them who breathed, deep and calm, and fast asleep. The doctor had ordered bedrest and close monitoring and would be back in the morning.
Until then, Gold would stay with Indigo.
Floating in the salt water beneath her harness, holding her and rocking them gently, he thought of Chipper, the dolphin.
Estimated to have been just four to six weeks old at the time of rescue, weighing under 15 kilograms when found stranded on the beach, she had been in very poor condition, dehydrated and close to death. Rescue staff did not expect her to survive the first few hours, let alone live through the night. Regardless, they had stayed with her, providing treatment, fluids, and supporting her in the water. The next morning arrived - they were still there. The first day came and went. Chipper stayed. For days and weeks, staff and volunteers worked around the clock to save the youngster. In addition to food and medication, they used close contact and music to treat the calf - which had given Gold the idea.
Indigo was breathing on her own. The tubes made sure she got everything her body needed. The drugs kept the pain at bay, the meds helped her heal. He would provide comfort and company as best he could, and she would wake up soon. 
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&#039;The Proposal&#039; Injects Your Favorite &#039;Bachelor&#039; Tropes Straight Into Your Veins
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'The Proposal' Injects Your Favorite 'Bachelor' Tropes Straight Into Your Veins
Jessica — a 30-year-old Steelers fan who loves partying, whitewater rafting and science — makes her way center stage. She’s one of 10 women vying for an engagement with a stranger on national television.
In the first official challenge of the “soul mate pageant,” she and her competitors are required to “bare their souls and their bodies as they reveal what’s most important to them, in their finest beachwear.”
Welcome to “The Proposal,” a new ABC show that takes the “Bachelor” franchise’s recipe for instant love and grinds it into a powder you can rail.
The whole thing takes place in front of a live studio audience, on a set that’s part “Bachelor” mansion, part “Miss America” stage. The mystery man Jessica hopes to wife sits inside a futuristic pod, a curved, cagelike structure shielding him from view. He can see her, but she can’t see him. None of us can. 
“So the first thing I want to do is —” Jessica says to the audience before pausing. “Dad, I’m sorry, but I want to be vulnerable.” She then removes the sarong around her waist, revealing a white, ruffly swimsuit as the audience cheers wildly. The camera zooms in on Dad in the audience. His glazed-over grin seems to be saying, “My daughter’s a hoot!” 
Freshly vulnerable, Jessica takes out a collage she prepared, featuring photos of her parents’ “love story” that culminates with her birth. She flips the piece of cardboard over to reveal a blank side. “This is where I want our adventure to start,” she says, to heightened applause. “I want to fill this scrapbook with memories of us.”
“Bachelor” fans will recognize this move ― the family scrapbook left unfinished ― a classic gift that contestants bestow on the lead the night before they hope to wind up engaged. Except Jessica hasn’t even seen her suitor’s face, and she’s not even waiting 24 hours to become his fiancée. 
The hourlong (shit)show that is “The Proposal” premiered Monday night directly after “The Bachelorette,” appealing to viewers who think the beloved reality show’s procedural 10-week-long courtship is 10 weeks too long.
No longer must viewers toil through seemingly endless rose ceremonies to reach the orgasmic climax of the grand proposal and the sweet release of happily ever after. Now “Bachelor” junkies can jump to the finish line week after week for the ultimate grotesque love rush. 
ABC
Mike waits in the pod, shrouded in darkness on “The Proposal.”
The nightmarish spectacle, something right out of “Black Mirror,” takes the now codified “journey to find love” imprinted into the brains of “Bachelor” fans and boils it down to its essence. Physical attraction, check. Trauma porn, check. Teary speech about “finding your person,” check. Father’s approval, check. Neil Lane diamond ring, check. 
Our host is Jesse Palmer, a Chris Harrison type who has undergone a mandatory system upgrade. “What you’re about to see has never been attempted before on television,” he says, welcoming those in the audience and at home and congratulating us all for “making history.” Palmer, who was the Bachelor himself in 2004, seems to have dutifully observed the melodramatic yet monotone ways of Harrison, the veteran master of ceremonies, and adopted them as his own. 
We then meet the groom-to-be … well, kind of. One of the show’s strange twists is that neither the contestants nor viewers see the man’s face until the very end, as if the hourlong competition courtship weren’t worrisome enough.
A large screen rolls video introducing Mike, a 29-year-old police officer from Bakersfield, California. (The city has one of the most corrupt and racist police forces in the U.S. Hello, Prince Charming!) To prevent viewers from seeing his face, Mike’s physical form is obscured by an inexplicable, Alex Mack–style silver goo, yielding a sight as horrific and uncanny as Kevin Bacon in “Hollow Man.”
can’t believe no one told me that ABC’s “The Proposal” takes place in the Annihilation cinematic universe pic.twitter.com/p2asNvUUPQ
— Caroline Framke (@carolineframke) June 19, 2018
We learn that six years ago, Mike was in a motorcycle accident and lost his right leg. He’s still mobile and athletic, and he loves CrossFit. A woman in the audience wipes away a tear. 
Next we meet the women, including Jessica, who parade down a staircase in cocktail attire as batshit descriptions of them play over the speakers.
When Havilah “isn’t writing or speaking, she’s tending to her massive collection of dolls.”
Before medical student Rihanna started studying emergency room medicine, “she was a flight attendant, and she’s very proud of her calves.” (The camera then zooms in on those gloriously shaped gams.) 
Kendall, introduced as a baton twirler, has “been twirling batons her whole life … and sometimes those batons are on fire. Kendall is also a neuropsychologist.”
The last woman to walk the plank is Monica, a smiley, 31-year-old real estate agent from Southern California who “learned to surf even though she’s horrified by the ocean.”
ABC
Monica, the eventual winner of “The Proposal,” blows a kiss toward the pod.
After the women are introduced and before they utter a single peep, Palmer chimes in. It’s elimination time. “I know this is difficult. We’ve barely gotten started, but out of these 10 women, which seven would you like to see more of?” he asks.  
“Wow, this is a lot harder than I’ve anticipated,” Mike’s disembodied voice bellows from the general vicinity of the pod they’ve trapped him in. The show is a parody of itself. When he chooses which women he’d “like to get to know better,” each gives a little wave to the audience. Some blow kisses at the dark void where their future husband lies in wait. 
Next comes the aforementioned bathing suit competition, in which women can “be vulnerable” by exposing their dark secrets and sexy bodies for approximately 30 seconds. This is magic of “The Proposal.” It takes what “The Bachelor” says it’s about (finding love) and mixes it with what “The Bachelor” is really about (being hot and being on TV) and presents them both without pretense or apology.
Fans know the key to “Bachelor” glory is having a backstory that’s moving (I’ve been hurt in the past) but not too tragic (My parents are divorced), lest you be a cursed leper whose unromantic affliction will bedevil your future marriage. “The Proposal” contestants know these rules like the backs of their hands. One woman tears up recalling her battle with anxiety and depression, before running her hand down her slim figure suggestively and shouting cheerily, “Clearly I’m over it!” as the audience whoops. 
The depravity makes “UnReal” look quaint. 
After the bathing suit round, the women are whittled down to four. They then answer “deal breaker” questions that can be about anything — “politics, religion, even sex” — in 30 seconds or less.
First, Morgan’s up. “There’s no easy way to say this,” the voice from the pod roars. “How do you feel about dating an amputee?” After a moment of hesitation, Morgan replies that she is “not opposed” to it. “I believe the soul is what matters, not the physical appearance.”
Next is Jessica, the collage girl. “As a police officer, there are those dangers that we face in the field, in which we may not come home,” Mike’s voice booms like the Wizard of Bakersfield PD. “Are you able to live with that?” 
“I am,” Jessica responds without missing a beat, as if she cannot wait for her future hubby to be six feet under. “I definitely could live with that. I have strong religious beliefs, so I would believe you are always in God’s hands and he would take care of you and I know that you would be OK. I know our time is precious on this earth, and we would have so many moments, and I would hold those forever in my heart ―”
Palmer cuts her off. “Jessica, your time’s up,” he says. “Thank you.”
The camera zooms in on the starless prison keeping Mike captive. We cannot see his facial reaction but do see a slight movement from the right side of his head. Certainly he’s alive. Possibly he approves. 
ABC
A rare glimpse inside the “Proposal” pod.
In the next round, Mike’s best friend emerges from the audience to ask questions that only a best friend could. Kendall is cut for saying she doesn’t want kids — a rare reasonable moment amid the bananas display. The question of whether to become a mother is a complicated one, an issue that prevents many couples from committing to a life together. Fair! 
Before the final round, Mike emerges from the dark pod that has kept him captive to face his two potential brides. He’s cute, kind of like a meaty Wilmer Valderrama. “I’m glad I got to come here and see two amazing, beautiful, stunning women,” he says, putting to bed any worry that he doesn’t fully appreciate their complex interiority. 
Then the two finalists ― collage girl Jessica and smiley surfer Monica ― give last-ditch appeals to win Mike’s eternal love. They’ve both changed into glittery, floor-length gowns for the occasion. Jessica’s up first. She tells Mike she’s a “traditional woman” and needs Dad’s approval before taking the plunge. Camera jumps to Dad in the audience, whose eyes are welling with tears. For some reason he gives his blessing, assuring his withered 30-year-old daughter ― ancient by reality-TV standards of desirability ― will finally be dicked down.
Jessica takes a deep breath. “I can’t promise we’re never going to not have a fight or a disagreement or argue about what we’re gonna watch,” she says. “But what I can promise you is that I will love you and be there for you every single day, every step of the way. I’m your person.”
Holy shit. She starts crying, the sobs interspersed with eruptions of maniacal laughter.
She promises to love him when she’s “old and gray and 60 and can’t walk,” perhaps a Freudian slip about her future husband’s amputated leg. 
She closes with, “Let’s do the damn thing!” ― quoting the catchphrase of the current Bachelorette, Becca Kufrin. 
Then it’s Monica’s turn. She starts crying right away, and Jessica looks pissed. “I’ve yet to find someone that has as big of a heart as me,” she says between perfect baby sobs. “But you just seem to fit that really well.” Her speech is better less creepy. Jessica knows it. 
It’s time for Mike to close the deal. “I know from the very beginning I never thought I’d find somebody as special as you guys,” he says. “And I never thought I’d find love. But after hearing what you guys have to say, I feel like I have. And so … Monica.”
Mike gets down on one knee and pops out that sweet Neil Lane bling. Monica looks thrilled, as if this is everything she has ever wanted. The public performance of a fairy tale ending eclipses the value of an actual relationship with an actual partner. Monica and Mike eat each other’s faces. The camera zooms in on Jessica’s contorted grimace, giving its monstrous viewers just what they want: suffering. 
ABC
“Proposal” nation gets juiced up.
If “The Bachelor” is a simulacrum of the perfect love story, “The Proposal” is a simulacrum of that simulacrum. Yet there’s something freeing about the ludicrous spectacle, which, in a way, exposes the artificiality of the whole franchise. It also makes plain some of the unspoken assumptions at the root of “The Bachelor” philosophy that rarely see the light of day. 
For example, that women over 30 are tragic spinsters. And that love is something that blossoms between two hot people when they are “ready” and “open” and “here for the right reasons.” And most certifiably, that finding love on TV isn’t just *giggle* so unexpected *giggle,* it’s absurd. 
With “The Bachelor,” ABC has created a massive fan base, a “nation” addicted to love, humiliation and cruelty. Thus it’s the live studio audience upon which the “Proposal” camera loves to dwell — all those reactionary faces serving as a stand-in for our collective obsession.
We asked for this, all of us. 
Over 36 seasons, “The Bachelor” has perfected a reality-TV recipe as addicting as it is culpable. Every season, I swear I’m off the stuff, and yet every year, come the bios, I return. Glued to my seat, I watch the same story of love blossom, however impractically, offensively and inanely. And honestly, with two-hour episodes and an incessant programming schedule, who has the time? 
The McDonald’s to the “Bachelor” Cheesecake Factory, “The Proposal” offers the same giddy-guilty feeling on the cheap, in a fraction of the time. It’s a fairy tale romance and an all-American nightmare, packaged into an hour of cringeworthy, utterly engrossing, surreally dystopian TV. 
“The Proposal” is the final destination of “Bachelor” mania, infused with the disorienting pace of reality as we experience it in the year 2018. In its formula, aesthetic and (un?)scripted moments, the show out-weirds science fiction and outdoes satire. It’s the perfect reality show for a time when reality feels as if it’s sinking into the mud of an uncanny valley. 
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