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yeojaa · 4 years

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( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. jhs x named f!reader makes a lil (big) appearance.

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). angst. general.

tags / warnings. this starts surprisingly soft! and then it gets... sad. no real tags, though. just... mentions of butts? also kicking butts? jungkook is a bit of a manipulative dingus. the usual.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif and @periminkle! i would be nothing without them. 💛

wc. 2.7k

chapter two.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a question that doesn’t beg an answer. He already knows you aren’t - that there’s no way you possibly could be - but he asks anyway. He offers the words like a hand in the dark, a light on the horizon. A reminder that you’re not alone and he’s here.

He, with sunbeams in his smile and a dependable heartbeat. He, who is melted and never frozen, a calm sea to your raging storm. Jung Hoseok.

He holds you delicately, with utmost care, as if he’s worried you might shatter into the same pieces he’d found you in three years ago. Or worse. He cradles you to his chest, tracing stories into your skin; his fingers press against the brassy ladders of your rib cage, fitting care between the spaces and double checking your heart still beats there. Every beat reminds him that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for. He offers his support anyway.

“I’m…” The words don’t come. They’re barely realised, hardly tangible - sailors who’ve died with no names or wives.

You falter, just a little, where gold thread fails. There’s only so much someone can take.

It isn’t asked of him - it never is - but he does it anyway: catching the splinters in his hands. He pretends like they don’t hurt him just as much and the truth is, they don’t. He’s faced enough hurt that yours is nothing - simply a stroll through a rose garden, barely a blip on his radar. So he does this for you, because he can and he really doesn’t mind.

Where he’s able, he fills the cracks with the glory of his smile, with passes of his hands and lips and breath. He does his best to keep you from catching your hands on those sharp edges - turning them round with a trail of tenderness against your temple. Then another. Then one more. Touches passed in tandem with the tears that spill from your eyes, far too full to stop. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

He’s not going anywhere.

You apologise and hope the saltwater doesn’t rust your insides that he’s worked so carefully to scrub clean. The downpour continues, relentless and miserable. He waits and for that, you’re grateful.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Not quite true. You’d expected it to be worse - an entire blackhole devouring your universe. It still hurts more than it should.

Hoseok laughs. It isn’t cruel. It exists only in sound and even then, hardly at all.

“Did you think it would be easy?”

“Not easy.” Different, maybe. A pain less sharp. Pressure on a healing bruise rather than a festering wound that’s been poorly, wrongly stitched together. You didn’t get it - you’d had time to heal. Why was there still this cut-out in the centre of your heart, shaped exactly like Jungkook and torn around the edges?

“Did you think he’d changed?”

It feels silly to say yes. It feels sillier to lie. “Maybe.”

He tries again. “Did you believe he would’ve changed?”

Had you hoped for it? Wasted wishes on pennies and stars? “Yes.”

“Vi.” So soft you almost miss it, coloured in melancholy and sympathy. You’ve heard it enough times to recognise what follows. From Hoseok and your brother and your best friend. “You need to let him go.” You know he’s right. More than that, you know he cares. He doesn’t want to see the same shell of a girl from years ago - a house without any lights on inside.

“I’m trying.” You are, truly. You’d left, hadn’t you? Not once but twice! Two whole times.

You’d never thought you would.

“I know.” Hoseok is kind - kinder than you could ever hope to be. Stronger, too. You feel it in the way he holds you, keeps you afloat when you’re so close to being pulled under. “Just know I’m here.”

You can’t count how many times you’ve said it. You repeat it again, earnest and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” It means more than the words, more than it’s fine . It’s everything in between, unspoken but understood. It’s his way of reminding you that you - exactly as you are, a little broken and bruised - are everything you need. That you are exactly as you should be, with the people that love you most.

“What would I do without you?” You can’t quite picture it. You don’t want to.

The arms holding you tighten, warm grip holding you tight against his chest. His lips are dry upon your cheek, his breath ticklish over the shell of your ear. “You’d be fine,” he insists, so assured you can’t help but believe him. “Colder, probably, but you’d be just fine.”

You laugh for the first time since you’ve been in his bed, the sound still a little wet but far better than it was. More you, with sunshine peeking out from behind the rain clouds.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

You peer at him from your periphery, reminded once again of how lucky you are. You might’ve had your heart broken but it was whole again, if not a little worse for wear.

His was gone - buried six feet under.

You can’t help yourself. “Really, Hobi. Thank you.”

“What’d I say?” It’s a little huffy - all for dramatic effect, you know.

“I know but—”

“No buts.”

“But—”

“No buts!” You catch the look of mischief before you catch something else - a playful palm that lands with a quiet smack. “Unless it’s yours.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re laughing, so who’s really the winner here?”

He might think it’s him, but you know it’s you. Because he’s everything you’ve ever imagined. Calm, cool, collected. Shoulders carved from boulders and a heart made of pure gold. He’s the solid foundation you’d never thought you’d needed but that steadies you now - a reliable foundation for the home you’ve been rebuilding. A friend who gives everything and asks for nothing.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to repay him.

Don’t bother, you know he’d say. It’s nothing, he’d insist. You’ll still try.

“Let’s eat.” You beat him to it, tossing whatever words he’d levied out the window as you extract yourself from the tangle of his limbs and linen sheets. His expression shifts - swings from pouting at the loss of your body to delighted at the prospect of food in the span of three seconds - and he’s kicking his way to freedom alongside you.

“Should I make pancakes? Or are you in a waffle mood?”

Truthfully, you’re in a drown-your-sorrows-in-wine mood but you figure at ten in the morning, carbs might be the better option. Especially if they come in the form of his chocolate banana pancakes, third on your list of favourite comfort foods. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes it is, then.”

The shirt he pulls on falls mostly into place before he offers a hand to you, one of his various hoodies - baby blue with Supreme emblazoned across the front - held in the other. “Put this on and let’s get cookin’, good lookin’.”

Your brother joins the two of you for breakfast, the temptation of free food too strong - even for him. He shuffles out of his bedroom, a sleepwalking zombie that only perks up at the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. He steals a piece before it’s even fully done, jumping out of the way of your wayward chopsticks when he nearly leaves a trail of pork fat over the counter.

Knives and forks clatter across kitchenware and steam curls out of ceramic. Caught in this little piece of Sunday morning paradise, it’s easy to imagine this is just another day.

“How’re you doing?” It comes around a careful mouthful of batter and chocolate chips, Yoongi’s expression soft and expectant across the table. There’s no hesitation in his question, even as Hoseok shifts in his seat beside you, free hand dropping to rest - inconspicuously - over your knee.

Yoongi notes the motion with an imperceptible tick of his stare but says nothing. It’s an unspoken agreement between the three of you.

If you don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist.

“I’m…” The words fall short, yet again, but none of you are in a rush. The quiet sound of chewing fills the void until you’re able to, in your soft and measured way. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” That’s what matters.

He hums an acknowledgement before digging further into his plate, slicing through a perfectly cooked yolk with the edge of his knife. “You’re not going to see him again, right?” You can tell he’s trying to be conversational - ask without demanding, understand without judging. You know it’s hard for him. It’d be hard for you too, if the roles were reversed.

“No.”

It’s punctuated by a squeeze of your thigh and the tiniest nod from the corner of your eye. Hoseok knows it isn’t his place to butt in but he offers his support where he can, in the little ways you can’t miss. Like the sun in the sky, you can’t always see him, but you know he’s there.

“Good.” The relief is palpable, fully formed and bright as it pops off Yoongi’s tongue in a pronounced exhale.

You can’t help but smile, though you’re not entirely sure it meets your eyes. It’s hard to remain chipper when faced with your nightmares. If only you could leave them in bed, far away. “Don’t worry.”

“You’re my little sister - I have to.”

You catch the grin that forms across Hoseok’s mouth, heart-shaped and hidden behind the rim of his coffee cup. “She’ll be fine, hyung.” It takes a lot for him to say it but you appreciate that he does. Sometimes, it feels like you and Yoongi are fighting over the wrong things; he recentres you both when that happens.

Feline eyes train on you, indecipherable in their depth. The bond you share with your brother is unparalleled, despite the oft forgotten fact that you aren’t actual siblings but a chosen family. You sometimes wonder if you’d be able to read him better if you shared the same coding - if his thoughts might slip into yours one day. Not that it’s necessary. He’s always been honest with you. “I know she will. She’s strong.”

“Thanks, Yoongs.”

He nods - a short, curt thing that’s diffused by the way his mouth moves, lips curling into the peculiar gummy smile he’s had since he was a kid. “Just know if he comes within ten feet of you again, I’ll kick his ass.” With the laughter that sprouts around his words, it could easily be mistaken for a joke. A bit of nonsense between friends.

You know better, though. Yoongi would throttle Jungkook with his bare hands if he ever hurt you again. He’d told you enough times, drilled it into your mind that first year when he’d had to pick up all the pieces. You can’t blame him; they’d hurt him, too, just in different ways.

You’d lost the love of your life. He’d almost lost his little sister. It was hard to come back from that.

“I know you will.” Because while decidedly slimmer - a good, maybe, thirty pounds less than your former love - Yoongi would, with no doubt in your mind, obliterate the boy who’d done the same to your heart. It was a family thing.

“Does he know that, too?”

You’re sure Jungkook does. He’d be stupid not to, right? “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It’s a whole three days later when you realise how wrong you are and how stupid Jeon Jungkook is.

The familiar number flashes a total of four times, glaring up at you like a neon sign that demands your attention. Even when you blink, they’re seared against the back of your eyelids - a highlight reel of your worst moments encapsulated in a simple ten digits.

Letting the calls ring through, untouched, is almost impossible. You can do it, though. You know you can.

You repeat that over and over again until the vibrating stops and the screen is black.

That wasn’t so hard, you think.

Then the missed call reminders are replaced by a voicemail notification and all of your pride sinks like a weight to the bottom of your stomach. Unease bubbles up in its place, fizzles and snaps - a movie theatre fountain pop. You hate pop.

Deleting the message without listening to it is what you should do. Pretending like it never happened is what Yoongi would want you to do. Neither of those things happen.

You know you’re going to regret it the moment you press play and his voice fills your ears, reaching all the way into your chest as if that’s where it belongs. You only repeat it for a second time because you’re not sure you’ve heard right. You can’t believe the words he’s left.

But Jungkook is Jungkook and you really shouldn’t be surprised.

After all, he certainly isn’t when you swing open the front door. In fact, he’s almost smug, cheeks pressed into that heartbreaking smile of his. Even the cuts on his nose and his bruised eye do little to detract from the charm of it. He could wear a brown paper bag and he’d still, somehow, have your heart racing a mile a minute.

“Hi, Pumpkin.”

You barely react when he closes the distance and pops a sweet, chaste peck to your forehead. You don’t know how to react.

It’s like having a bomb dropped on you - a cataclysmic shift that tips your entire world on its side and leaves you scrambling for purchase on a tilted axis. All at once, everything returns to revolving directly around the boy standing in front of you.

Just as he had three years ago - how he almost had, only three days ago - Jungkook becomes the centre.

The realisation is sobering, startling you into action.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks once, twice, doe-eyed and adorable. It’s impossible not to see what he’s doing - see right through the facade he crafts so well, with such practiced hands. It’s even harder not to fall for it.

You’d thought you wanted nothing to do with him - not since he’d bumbled his way through his last lie, too guilty to even properly correct the mistake he’d made. You’d been certain that would be the final straw. Hoped it would be, with every last tired breath.

“I wanted to see you.”

He looks so pretty on the outside. A picture perfect dream come true, plucked straight from your afternoon fantasies. The boy you’ve wished for forever, wrapped up in hyperactive laughter and black silk.

But you know he’ll break you from the inside out, turn your heart to ash. He’ll articulate his love in the form of unnecessary bouquets and drunken voicemails that come too late. He’ll disappear for weeks at a time then come crawling back, begging for your help as if he hasn’t tripped over his own two feet. You’ll be too weak to say no, wrapping him in the bandages you should be keeping for yourself.

You know all of this - and yet you wait, hope, pray , that this time might be different.

You wonder if he can tell. If he can still read you in the ways he used to, between the lines and in the dark. You think he must by how he stares at you, relentless and restless, searching your expression for any sign of forgiveness.

“Pumpkin?” If words held weight, you’d be crushed beneath it.

“You can’t just… come here.” Where I have nowhere to run.

Jungkook shifts his weight, dances from foot to foot. He’s peering down at his shoes - Italian leather, polished within an inch of their life - mouth rounding in that pout you recognise so well. “You want me to leave?”

Don’t answer that.

“I’ll leave. Just tell me to go.”

Tell him. It’s one word. Hardly a feat.

“Vira, tell me to leave and I’ll go.”

You can’t. You can’t. There’s no anger now - nothing to spring you to your feet in a fit of rage. It’s only sadness, all-encompassing and blue, enough to swallow you whole and spit you out. It’s so heavy it aches in your bones and all the way through to your toes.

“Tell me to leave — or let me in. One or the other.”

author note. another short chapter but one that lays some important groundwork. further pain will be forthcoming! xoxo

tag list. @jalexa83 @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx

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