Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 31k…lol

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Extreme Slow Burn, Fantasy

Summary: The tale of the Winter Bear is about a grizzly bear that’s the only bear in the entire world who doesn’t hibernate during winter. He’s considered strong for being able to fight sleep. However, being the only bear awake during winter gets lonely. So during every winter, he makes friends with children and takes their soul to be with him forever. And somewhere down the line, you get involved into the fable.

“Are you fucking kidding me, (Y/N)?!”

Your agent, Lee Suniya, screams from the top of her lungs on the other side of the call. You keep your phone at a safe distance from your ears. You sigh exasperatedly, standing in the center of the living of your cramped, one-bedroom apartment.

Despite Suniya’s aggressive scolding, you only focus on your apartment. It’s early in the morning, never realizing how blue your apartment is. It isn’t necessarily a bold blue, more so a faint blue, naturally peeking through your blinds due to the sunrise barely at its peak. All of your furniture—couch, coffee table, vase, lamp—is white, so it only makes the baby blue stand out more.

Maybe I should change my place up a little, you think to yourself.

However, your plans for redecorating your place are disrupted by the continuous rampage coming from Suniya. Her anger only worsens your annoyance toward her. “Did you not hear a single thing I said?! Is your head empty??”

“No, can you repeat everything?”

Suniya groans frustratedly then goes silent for a few seconds before returning. “Never mind. Did you at least look online?”

Your eyes move down to your laptop that’s sitting by the edge of the white, pristine coffee table. It’s on, and it’s an article called: ‘Winter Bear’: Profiting off of a Child’s Innocence. Underneath the title is the author, (Y/N), (L/N).

“Yea, just a few minutes ago.”

“So. You knew not to write that. But why did you go ahead and do it anyway?” Suniya tries very hard not to grind her teeth, but you can clearly hear it.

You take a seat on the couch right across from your laptop. You set your phone down, putting it on speaker as you scroll through the multitudes of angry comments. There are some that catch your eye, such as ‘How could you write garbage about my daughter’s favorite movie?’, ‘You didn’t even watch the movie so your opinion is fucking pointless without proper research’, and another one being, ‘Go die in a shithole, you fucking mood-killer’.

You’ve always heard about internet figures getting a lot of online flak these days, but your article exploded out of nowhere that you haven’t gotten the time to process the negative comments. Even your email is spammed with anonymous accounts calling you degrading terms.

But another reason why it doesn’t impact you as much as it should is because it was somewhat expected. Winter Bear is a beloved, rated-PG movie that people of all ages should enjoy, but your article made it very apparent that you detest it.

“Yea, I knew not to write it, but what’s the point of me making it my career as a writer when I can’t even share my own opinions?”

“You—” But before your agent can lash out any further, she catches herself. “You’re not a writer, you’re a journalist. Writers create from inspiration, journalists rephrase what they see. Are you seriously trying to give the publication a bad rep?”

“You’re not getting the point of the article. No one is. It’s a cash-grabbing movie using a dangerous folklore—”

“I get it, I get it. But where I’m coming from is that the publishing company has no time to be dealing with a bad image at this moment. They were just getting recognized, and you just had to blow it off like that.”

“That wasn’t my intention. Look, why are people even getting pissed off over one person’s opinion? They don’t have to read my shit if they don’t want to and go enjoy their half-assed children’s movie.”

It’s at this point where Suniya has completely given up on arguing with you. Both you and Suniya are stubborn to the core, and this is how you two clash often.

“It isn’t just about a bad public image for the company, but for you. You’ll have a hard time signing deals and publishing more articles.”

That comment was like a prick to your skin. There was something about that that ticked you off, more than what the internet is saying about you.

“What the hell is wrong with me sharing my thoughts? If these faceless assholes are allowed to leave comments on my article, then I can say and do whatever too!”

“(Y/N), calm down! Why are you getting upset?! Listen to me when I say this: I know where you’re coming from. I know that movie is a sensitive topic for you, but that still doesn’t mean that you should—”

“Don’t bring it up.”

The line goes silent for a while before she returns. “Alright, fine. On the bright side, this seems like a short-term consequence, so the most we can do is wait for this to die down. I gotta go, I’ll call you later.”

She hangs up, and you get the urge to throw your phone across the room. However, you don’t have the kind of money to break your phone and get a new one, so instead, you throw it against the couch pillow. It’s irritating when nobody understands you. If the general public weren’t sheeples, then it would be easier for you to explain your side. Not even Suniya truly knows where you’re coming from.

You go back to your laptop, your article receiving new comments by the second. You want to respond to them and tell them to go to hell. There are more controversial topics out there in the world, so why go to your article and attack you? You’ve already caused enough trouble for your agent, so it’s better to leave it alone.

You lay down on your couch when a sudden chill runs up your spine. You check the temperature on your phone, and it’s been getting colder lately with winter getting closer.  What sort of first-world struggles are those angry commentators going through to give them the right to downgrade you?

Regret begins to play with your head, suggesting that you should call Suniya back and apologize to her for exploding. You turn on your phone, seeing four contacts on your phone: your parents, Suniya, and your publication site’s office number. You press on Suniya’s number, letting the line ring before directing to voicemail.

With a sigh of disappointment, you get off of the couch with that feeling of regret going to eat you up for the rest of the day. You try to forget about it, pushing your mind to think about something else than to focus heavily on it. You repeat to yourself over and over that you need to eat breakfast.

You look through the fridge that’s filled with only microwavable food, some vegetables, soda, and that one vegan mandarin chicken pack that you promised to eat when you were still dieting. On the bottom shelf is leftover pizza from last night. You close the fridge then rummage through the white-painted cabinets. You hand maneuvers around the canned corn and beans, packaged dry pad-thai noodles, and shoving the Maruchan cup noodles away. You grab the rainbow, fruit-flavored cereal box, opening the top to check if there’s still some. You pop one into your mouth to check if it’s still in edible condition. Although a bit stale, you can eat it.

You couldn’t decide whether or not you wanted to eat leftover dinner or cereal for breakfast, so you ended up picking both. Rushing back to the fridge, you take out a slice of cold pizza and the half-gallon of milk, putting the pizza on a plate and into the microwave. It’s not the healthiest meal, but you’re not in the mood to be thinking about your weight.

As it warms up, you grab the remote from the living room, turning on the TV. You skip through channels with the press of a button until you get to a decent enough channel that’s playing a rerun of a sitcom show. It’s about a group of poor college graduates struggling to live in New York.

Your attention is taken away by your microwave beeping when it’s done reheating your pizza. You poke the pizza to make sure that the cheese has melted, then you take a bite of it. It doesn’t taste as fresh as when you first got it, but it still tastes savory.

“This…is…awesome!” A child’s voice shouts from the TV.

Dramatic drums and high-pitched violins play after the show goes on a commercial break. You turn around to see a trailer of a kids’ movie.

“Who…are you?” the child continues.

Each scene of the trailers lasts for a few seconds to keep the viewers’ short attention span engaged. On the screen is a young child who seems to be around eight or nine years old in a snowy forest. The child is on its knees, face-to-face with a shadowy monster before displaying itself as a fun, lovable grizzly bear licking the child’s face.

“I have to return home. Can you help me?”

“Come with us…on an epic journey,” A narrator voices over. “Filled with fun…”

The child and bear jump over rocks as they laugh.

“Adventure…”

The pair find an entirely undiscovered part of the forest, though it’s just a more expanded version of the same setting that it takes place in, just brighter lighting and more sunlight.

“And friendship.”

The next scene is when the child and the bear are cuddling together late at night to keep each other warm from the freezing temperature.

“Bears are supposed to be sleeping during winter, but you’re not,” the child ponders. “But…I’m glad that you’re awake. I don’t feel so lonely anymore.”

“Critics say ‘it’s tender’…‘entertaining’…‘everything my child has always wanted in a movie’.” The narrator continues as five yellow stars would be slapped onto a frame of an overview of the forest. “Winter Bear. Coming soon on December 20th.”

The next thing you know, you throw the pizza at the screen out of impulsive anger. The tomato sauce splatters all over the carpet, TV, and some on the coffee table. It instantly slips off the TV, landing and staining the carpet more. It felt good at that moment to lash out on the movie trailer, but not anymore after seeing the mess that you created. But once rational thinking sets in, you’re frustrated with yourself for what you’ve done. You hurriedly look for wipes then run to the TV to clean it.

As you wipe with tenacity, some uninvited memories seep in. You go back to when you were a child, holding the hand of a child whose face you can’t see, or at least, don’t want to see. The environment that surrounds you is a white forest, silence freezing every noise possible, just you and the person standing side-by-side.

You rest your forehead on the sauce-stained TV, sighing heavily as you try to forget what happened long ago. You turn to the fallen pizza, glaring at it with disdain as the red, bloody sauce soaks into what was once a white carpet that blended into the blue morning.

“He doesn’t help kids…he steals them.”

———

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), you really need to start eating healthier food. Look at your stomach, I’m beginning to see a muffin top.” Suniya jokes as she playfully hits your stomach with a pepperoni sausage.

Suniya is walking ahead of you as you push the shopping cart. She decided to tag along with you to go grocery shopping, implying that this get-together is to make up for the argument that unfolded days prior to this.

“I would eat better if the healthier options were cheaper and tasted better.”

“Hey, there are healthy foods that are cheap too, you know. You just choose not to eat it. Plus, you’re not a kid anymore. Suck it up and eat gross shit for the sake of being in shape,” This is ironic coming from Suniya, since she isn’t in the best shape either. “Maybe you should get a gym membership and start working out. Who knows, maybe you’ll start attracting people.”

“Mm-hmm,” You faintly listen to her as you’re trying to decide on which graham cracker brand you want to buy. “Oh yea, which pizza brand do you think has the least amount of tomato sauce?”

Suniya sulks, a little annoyed that you aren’t listening to her, but this is typical for you to be like that with her. “I dunno. Figure it out yourself. Why?”

“Eh,” you shrug your shoulders. “The sauce is the messiest part of the pizza. Do you think I should start eating hot pockets?”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “I don’t fucking know. Pick both if it makes it easier.”

“No, but pizza is messy. I wanna know if hot pockets are not as messy with the sauce.”

“Why does it matter? Just use a napkin or don’t eat like a toddler!”

“…I’ll go with hot pockets.”

You push the cart ahead of Suniya as she stares at you with a look of disbelief. No matter how long you two have known each other, she will never understand how your brain is wired. She shakes her head, shrugging it off as one of your unusual habits again.

“By the way, your mother called me. She said you weren’t picking up the phone and she wanted to know if you’re doing alright.”

“I’m fine.”

“…Why don’t you just call her back and tell her that?”

“I have you to pass on my message.”

“You know…” her tone deepens. “Your mom wants to talk to you directly. She wants to know how you’re doing in your voice.”

“What difference will it make? She’ll just pretend that she’s worried about me but all she’s gonna do is yell at how I can’t take care of myself and I need a new job.”

She sighs. “But she’s still your mom. You can’t forget that she raised you.”

“I’ll call her later. I have some more articles to write and I don’t need the distraction.”

But she knew that you meant never, you just wanted to end the conversation. She looks through the aisles, clearly frustrated with your lack of keeping a conversation going.

“You know, you shouldn’t worry about work so much.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s all you ever think about. Don’t you have anything else that you’re passionate about? Like, I dunno, making friends, going out, finding a boyfriend?”

“Not really. I haven’t put much thought into any of those. They’re a waste of time and money.”

“(Y/N),” she puts her hand to her hips. “Your isolation is only going to drive you even more insane. You won’t have anyone to rely on, and you’re just going to be miserable.”

A vein protrudes from your forehead, but your expression remains stagnant. “But I have you, don’t I?”

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t just rely on me. I have a family to take care of. And you should also.”

Even though you behave as if you’re ignoring her, her words bleed into your brain. You know too well that you’re getting closer to the age of settling into a life of family-hood, but it isn’t Suniya who decides what you have to do with your life. Still, what she says makes your chest ache, the desire to deny her claims of your spiral to insanity, all the while being completely aware of her concerns.

Suniya’s phone rings, so she takes it out from her purse to see an unknown number on her screen. She accepts the call, putting it to her ear.

“Hello?”

A feminine voice can be heard from the other line. Other than a ‘hi’, you can’t make what she’s saying, and Suniya’s lack of expression doesn’t help either.

“Uhm…yes. She is with me.”

An eyebrow raises, your curiosity peaking. You stare at her, squinting your eyes. She does look at you, but she doesn’t say anything to fill in the blanks.

“Sure.”

She hands the phone to you. You’re confused, looking at the phone and wondering what to do with it. She nudges it to you, so you take it.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Is this (Y/N)?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Hi, my name is Kim, and I’m calling because I read your article the other day.”

Assuming that this is an angry reader, you’re about to hang up the phone when Suniya raises her hands up, signaling for you not to. You silently sigh, putting the phone back to your ear.

“You did?”

“I did! And I absolutely loved it!”

“Oh, really?” But it takes a few seconds for you to let that sink in. “Wait, really??”

“Yes! I reread it hundreds of times, and everything you said accurately portrays exactly how I feel about the movie as well.”

You glance at Suniya, and she smiles, nodding to let you know that this isn’t a prank. You’re at a loss of words that there’s someone who genuinely enjoyed your article. No one’s ever reached out to give you compliments, so you don’t know what to say.

“Uhm, thank you.”

“It’s no big deal. I saw the feedback you received, and it seems like not a lot of people liked it. You see, I’m a mythologist. I study extensively on the Winter Bear folklore. Based on the information on your publication’s website, it doesn’t seem like you know anything about it, but you nailed every detail of the myth precisely.”

“…Yea.”

“What I wanted to talk about is that I would like you to help me with my research on the Winter Bear.”

You crease your eyebrows. “…Excuse me?”

“You see, even though I study myth, I have a strong feeling that this isn’t some mere local folklore. You seem to know a lot about it, and I would like to get to know you more. Perhaps even go to the town to investigate more about it.”

“No.” You’re about to hang up again.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

You give her a third chance, putting the phone back to your ear.

“I can compensate for your help in return! We can help each other. I’m trying to write a book and get it published before the Winter Bear movie comes out. I want to expose the real story behind, not the watered-down, kiddy version of it.”

She piques your interest. “Go on.”

“In return, I’ll help back up your article, I’ll even reference and credit you for aiding me in the research. As long as we’re able to complete the book before the release of the movie, then it’s going to be a hit. Imagine all the clicks you’re going to get in your article after my book is published. You’ll definitely make more than you can ever imagine with any ordinary article.”

“I’ve already received enough criticism as it is with just the trailer. How is a full-length movie and your book going to benefit me?”

“It’s going to be a bit…greedy of me to say, but you aren’t paid by the number of nice comments you get. You get it by how many people click on your online articles. If you ignore the negative comments, didn’t you notice that your pay got relatively higher than normal?”

As much as you don’t want to admit it, it’s true. “Yes.”

“That’s what I’m saying! That’s why we gotta get this finished before the movie. What do you say?”

You fall silent, and it makes Kim think that you actually hung up this time. Talking about the town where the tale of the Winter Bear brings up the memories again. You remember looking down at your small hands, pressing it on the snow as you knelt down. The stiffness in your hands from the cold perfectly describes how you’re feeling right now. It’s strange, when you look back to the time when you were there during winter, it was dead silent.

Your numb hands, stuck in the unforgiving snow, not a sound to comfort you in this recycling memory. It’s strange, it’s only your hands that are cold, not your knees, not your face, nothing. Are you ready to go to that place that you tried so hard to forget? Can you unveil those childhood memories?

You recall that toddler. It was only a split second, but every detail of her is vivid. That baby blue-striped dress, wearing a pink parka over it. Her tiny brown boots treading through the snow, being matted by the pure white. She turns around, and she resembles you a lot.. Her nose red and runny, yet the brimming smile on her face is the only sunlight of that gray memory. The silence is filled with her childish laughter that’s devoid of flaws, as she had yet to be tainted by the world.

“Annie.” Your past-self calls her.

“I’ll do it.”

“That’s great! Then I’ll send you an email and we can set up a day to go to the town. I look forward to working with you in the near future.”

“Yea.”

She hangs up.

“So, what did she say?”

“She wants to work with me.”

“Really?? That’s great! So, how is it going to work out?”

You aren’t entirely sure. You agreed to it on a whim without putting much thought on the consequences. Now you’re a little regretful for saying yes, especially since you don’t want anything to do with it, but since you dedicated an entire article on it, it must mean that a part of you wants to return. You don’t know how your brain works sometimes, like you go into autopilot and another force makes the decisions for you.

“We’re going to the town where that movie took inspiration from, Little Bare.”

———

At the bustling train station, Suniya helps push you through the tight crowd. You keep looking down at your phone, squinting at a picture that Kim took of herself. You’ve never met her in person and most of your conversations with her took place through phone calls and text messages. This will be the first time you’ll see her in person.

“Why the hell is the station so busy on a Tuesday?!” Suniya whines.

Standing right under the ‘Station E’ sign is Kim. She’s a lot shorter than you thought, standing at approximately 4’10”. Her black-framed glasses and messy bun along with her back slouching really gives the impression that she spends a lot of time sitting down, probably reading or researching, and you’re not far from your assumption. She’s focused on writing in her notebook, not paying attention to her surroundings whatsoever, not even caring when a salaryman bumped into her.

“Excuse me, are you Kim?”

She looks up and immediately closes her book. “Hello! You’re (Y/N), right?”

You nod.

She extends her hand out for a handshake, and you take it, taking notice of how sweaty they are. “It’s nice to finally meet you! Is that your agent?”

“Hello, I’m Suniya. We spoke on the phone before.”

“Right, I remember. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Suniya nods. “Yes. The train should be arriving soon, so do you mind if I talk to you for a bit, Miss Kim?”

“Sure.”

She pulls Kim aside, far enough from you. You know that she’s going to be talking about you, but you don’t pay too much attention to it.

“What is it that you need to talk to me about privately?”

“It’s about (Y/N).”

“Hm? What about her?”

Suniya looks at you, seeing as you’re looking down at your phone. “You see…since I’m not coming on this trip with you guys, can I request you to take care of her?”

Kim is a little taken aback, as you seemed like a fully grown adult who is capable of taking care of yourself. “Sure…”

“You see…she’s a bit…disconnected.”

She wrinkles her eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s hard to explain, but I think she has selective memory loss. She experienced some trauma that still affects her today—so much that she tends to block anything that stresses her out too much because that’s how she’s always dealt with her problems. So if she’s spacing out, then that’s why.”

From the distance, you blend well with the crowd, no different than a modern citizen focused on her phone. You don’t look lost—you look so sure of yourself like nothing disturbs you. Your outward appearance doesn’t make you sound like the description that Suniya gave.

“Selective as in, she can willingly forget things?”

She nods. “I don’t know what happened, but whatever she went through as a child, it must’ve been that bad that she doesn’t have any recollection of it. I don’t mean to scare you, but if she behaves abnormally, don’t be afraid to call me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take good care of her. If I feel comfortable working with her, then I would’ve long since canceled our plans.” She smiles.

Still, Suniya is unsure. It feels wrong, talking about you in this way.

———

On the train, you and Kim are sitting across from each other. The slight bumps create a rhythmic sound as the train speeds to your destination, and there is a lack of conversation from other passengers with the only voice being the overhead of an automated woman alerting the passengers of their next stops. You sit by the window, watching the bushes pass by faster than the mountains from a distance. Kim is on her laptop, typing at the speed of light.

“I might be prying a bit too much, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask.”

“Hm?”

“Have you been to Little Bare before?”

You don’t respond—you don’t even look at her.

“Sorry, I stepped over the line. I was just curious because you seem to have more information than your typical person—”

“Yea, I went there once.”

She wasn’t expecting you to answer, so she stutters with her next line of words.

“My family and I went on a road trip during winter break. We got stuck in a blizzard and stayed at the inn there until it died down.”

“Oh, that’s very interesting!” She puts it down in her notebook. “Do you remember what you did there?”

“…Not really.” You lie.

“Oh…” She clears her throat to get rid of the uncomfortable atmosphere she created. “Well…it’s a good thing we’re going back. It’ll help you regain those memories again.”

“How did you know that I went there before?”

“I just assumed because you seem to know a little more about that folklore, not the watered-down version of it.”

“Yea.”

After that, neither of you say anything. This must be what Suniya was saying when she said that you don’t look like you’re paying attention, or you’re distracted by something else. She keeps herself busy by going back to her notebook.

———

At Little Bare, you and Kim exit the train. The wind blows against your hair, giving you the chills. You put your hands in your pocket while you stare at the town that haunts you. Every building is made out of wood, and the newer ones are built from bricks. The town is so small that you can see where it ends from the other side.

“It’s so cold! It’s supposed to have its first snow tonight, so it makes sense. But holy crap…I already can’t stand it.”

The train leaves, leaving you and Kim in a town nearly desolated. It lacks human contact, not a single person in sight. And there it is again—the dead silence. It was there before, and it hasn’t left. You wouldn’t describe it as nostalgia, but a boogeyman welcoming you back to your nightmare.

“Where do we even go?”

“I think down here.”

You walk down the staircase, hearing dead leaves being crushed beneath your feet. You enter through the main entrance of the town with a tall sign towering over you and Kim that reads: ‘Welcome to Little Bare’. You inspect the town, and the buildings made out of wood have turned dark brown after soaking in morning fog and rain. Resting your hand on the walls seems like it’s enough to give you splinters. It isn’t only the buildings that show after-signs of rain, but the streets as well. There are wet patches in the street, giving off the strong scent of wet black tar.

“Is…this the right place? It looks like a ghost town.”

You shake your head. “It’s exactly the same as I remembered.”

The general store is still there the last time you were here, one of the first buildings you’ll see when you enter this place. Directly across the street is the bar, just as empty as it was in the past during the day. The only difference is that everything has aged dramatically, those twenty years taking a  toll on the town.

“Where is everybody?”

You shrug your shoulders.

“There’s no reception here because of the high elevation, so I can’t pull up a map. There’s no physical map of this place either.”

You and Kim creep into the town more, with her peeking through the large glass windows of the general store. Her eyes light up when she sees someone standing by the front cash register. An elderly man, sitting on a chair with his back slouched, reading a newspaper.

“Oh, there’s somebody there,” you point at the man. “Let’s ask them for directions.”

You both move closer to the store, and once you’re close enough, the old man notices you two. When making eye contact with you two, Kim waves her hand as a means of greeting him. Rather than returning the greeting, the elderly man grabs a broomstick and walks out of the store, raising the broom over his head and jogging right toward you two.

“Get the hell outta here before I beat your asses myself!”

You and Kim step back, raising your hands to defend yourselves. She grabs onto your arm, and you cling onto her sleeve.

“Wait, wait, wait!” She shouts. “We’re just tourists!”

“I said get outta here! We don’t need no city people here to take what’s ours!”

“We’re not here to take anything!!”

“I said get out!!”

“What’s going on?!” An overweight woman runs out of the room. “Honey! What the fucking shit are you doing?!”

The man stops and turns around, seeing his wife marching after him. She slaps him on the back multiple times, so much that he drops the broom and waves his hands as a means of protection. After hitting him until he’s tame, the woman turns to you and Kim.

“I’m so sorry for my husband. We just had some unwanted guests come by a few days ago givin’ us some papers to sign thinkin’ we can’t read shit, so we’re all on guard,” she puts her hands to her hips. “The name’s Margaret, and this brainless man is Gerald. So, what brings two beautiful, young women here?”

You two look at each other, then back at the woman.

“Uhm..My name’s Kim. We’re here to research the myth of the Winter Bear.”

Upon bringing up the name, Margaret’s smile disappears. “Oh god…you really are just like them. So then, you girls better give me one good reason to welcome you guys in. Otherwise, I’m gonna have to kick your asses outta here.”

And just like that, someone who you two thought was civilized quickly turns sour. Knowing the amount of pain that she can enforce, you and Kim are faced with a ticking time bomb. Kim desperately flips through her notebooks, seeing if she can show any of her records to impress her.

“Uhm…wait, please, Mrs. Margaret! We don’t know who you’re talking about, but w-we have no intention of hurting anyone. I-if you look at my notes, you can tell that I’m genuinely interested in writing about this myth! Y-you see, I’m an author, and Miss (Y/N) is a journalist. We’re working together!”

But this doesn’t convince Margaret at all. She glares at you two, picking up the broom Gerald dropped. Kim freaks out more, seeing if she can find anything to offer.

“We have money! We can pay for anything!!”

That doesn’t work either. For a writer, she does a poor job of persuading. You try to think of anything to support Kim. You look around, biting your nail as sweat begins to form. You hate this—being put on the spot to problem-solve. It makes you dizzy, making you want to escape as soon as possible.

You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of the first thing that comes to mind. “I’ve been here before!”

Margaret stares at you, raising an eyebrow. You got her attention, so you take this chance to breathe.

“I came here during winter…when I was a child.”

The fury burning underneath Margaret’s eyes turns into sympathy. She lowers the broomstick, tears forming in her eyes as if she reunited with a long lost relative. To your surprise, she wraps her arms around you, catching both you and Kim off guard.

“You poor girl.”

Kim is absolutely confused. She looks at you in hopes of getting an explanation, but your expression is blank. You’re overwhelmed with multiple emotions, coming all together at once unsure of how to express them at once. It’s like when all colors come together to make white. The only thing you can do is hug her back.

———

On the second floor of the general store, you and Kim are sitting in their almost run-down kitchen. The flowery wallpapers are peeling, brown and yellow stains running down until it hits the dusty floorboards, and age-old grease stains and black food chunks occupying the stove. There’s also a gigantic hole in the ceiling.

Margaret sets down a tray of hot chamomile tea on the table. “Sorry for our shitty first impression. Things have just been so heated lately that we’re stressed out of our minds.”

You and Kim take a cup, blowing it before drinking, but Kim drinks it without issue. You want to rest your arms on the table, but it’s so sticky that it makes you quiver just thinking about the last time it was ever cleaned.

“It’s okay! From the looks of it, you guys went through a lot,” Kim replies in an optimistic tone. “What happened?”

Margaret grabs a nearby chair and sits down, placing her elbow on the table without hesitation and running her hand through her gray, curly hair. “We got these big companies, Dismaland or whatever the fuck their name is, demanding that we turn our town into a tourist attraction for a  movie they’re making. You know, those family-friendly kinds. I dunno much ‘bout it since the mayor is the one who spoke to them, but we turned it down. Since then, they’ve been harassing us to sign their papers, so every young-lookin’ person dressed almost like you guys, we try kicking them out.”

You never realized how bad it’s gotten here. It was just as hostile as you remember in your memories, but a little worse since your parents were there to defend you.

“I swear to God, we’re nice people, but we gotta put up our guard if those bastards keep on coming back,” she sighs heavily. “But to be brutally honest, I really do think we need the money. As you can tell, our place is a shithole, and those big guys are willing to give us a small portion of the money.”

“But it isn’t really about the money, is it?” You ask.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Rather, she nods.

“You’re damn right. Those corporations don’t realize that they’re creating the biggest graveyard in history.”

Kim’s eyes widen, covering her mouth as she stares at you and Margaret. “No way…you mean to tell me…”

Margaret nods again. “This ‘Winter Bear’ ain’t no fable. It’s real.”

Kim places her hands flat on the tables. “Kids actually go missing?! I knew it! Everything was just too suspicious to be simply a story.”

“Yea, so even if we need the money to keep the town going, we ain’t gonna risk some kids’ lives for it.”

“Wait,” Kim pauses. “So then…if the disappearances of children are real, then what’s the actual cause of it? Don’t tell me it’s actually a bear.”

She shakes her head. “We don’t know either. All we know is that once the kids go into the forest, they don’t come back.”

Margaret glances at you, but you avoid her gaze. You act as if you have nothing to do with the conversation, sipping the tea.

“But that doesn’t make sense. Bears hibernate during winter and these disappearances happen around this time. Wouldn’t it make more sense that it’s some other animal or a person? Not a bear. And onlywinter?” Kim scratches her head.

“Not to sound like a smartass, but bears actually don’t hibernate.”

“What?? Really?”

“They sleep longer during the winter to save energy, but they wake up in case of danger or hunger. It is possible that you can still encounter a bear.”

“So then…do you think it’s possible that bears eat the children due to the lack of food?”

Margaret shrugs her shoulders. “That could be it, but let me ask you this: wouldn’t you think a bear would leave traces of the child? Clothes? Blood? Something? They disappear into thin air, almost like they never existed.”

This sends chills down Kim’s spine. She’s heard of this many times, but hearing it from an actual resident who has lived through children going missing is terrifying…but also intriguing.

“That means that we have to check the forest! Wait, Miss (Y/N), you said that you came here before. If kids go missing, then how did you survive?”

You stare at the wall, noticing how particularly yellow it is. Judging by how dirty the place is, it makes you wonder if the wallpaper was white but got stale as time went by. You’ve been very quiet, not bothering to put your input, and this concerns Margaret. She knew that Kim was stepping over her boundaries.

“…(Y/N)?” Kim asks. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yea, I’m fine.”

“After your tea, I can show you young ladies where to go for the inn.”

Kim doesn’t read the atmosphere, not seeing how uncomfortable you’ve become. You clench onto the teacup, pinching the handle with all your might. You were confident when the thought of coming here sprung up, but being physically here is more demanding than you could’ve ever imagined.

———

Some time has gone by since the visit to Margaret’s place. She showed you two around the place, introducing you to some of the residents. Some of them you remember, but others you don’t. They don’t recognize you either, and Margaret is kind enough not to share your name with them. Once she’s finished showing you two around town, she eventually leads you two to the inn.

In the room, Kim is taking a shower while you sit by the edge of your bed. Despite struggling to find reception, the inn miraculously has some, although a bit slow. You have over fifty text messages from only two people—Suniya and your mother. Both of their messages are asking how you and Kim are doing. However, you turn off your phone, sighing as you toss it aside. You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling fan blanketed with dust. The fan itself looks like it’ll fall any second, seeing as it shakes even from the lightest movement.

You were naive to think that your problems will be solved if you stepped into Little Bare again. It’s more complicated than you expected, and now you want out. However, you’ve already promised to work with Kim; you can’t break the deal. You wish Suniya was here to yell at you, to tell you that you’ve made a dumb decision. That way, it would at least sound like she cares. Even though you’ve gotten to know Kim a little more, it still feels like you’ve stranded yourself on a foreign land.

And that image of the little girl, Annie, continuously appearing every time you close your eyes. Every corner of this town reminds you of her, like a ghost haunting you. You can sense her presence in the corner of the room, purposely watching you with hollow, blackened holes for eyes. She’s standing there in her pink parka and blue-striped dress, waiting for you to make your next move.

You groan, rubbing your eyes. You apply enough pressure that your eyes are being pushed back, rubbing so fast that your skin turns red. No matter how much you try to push the thoughts away, she just keeps coming back. Just as Kim exited the room, you get off the bed, taking your jacket and heading straight to the door.

“Where are you going? You look like you’re in a rush to start a mission.”

“It’s too small in here. I need some fresh air.”

“O-oh, okay…but please stay safe! Who knows what kinds of creeps are out there.”

“I will. Thanks.” You open the door and close it behind you.

———

You walk around, hands in the pockets of your jacket. There is no wind, but the drop in temperature stiffens your muscles. Just like in the morning, no one is occupying the streets. It’s just you, alone, with your bothersome thoughts. It manifests into a black aura, clinging onto the back of your head.

You thought about heading to Margaret’s place just to get things off of your chest, but you change your mind. She never directly stated it, but she knew who you were and what you went through. It was an odd moment that she sympathized with you without knowing exactly what had happened.

A flashy neon sign catches your attention. It’s in the shape of a brown beer bottle, pouring bubbles into a glass wine. It’s the bar that’s across the street of the general store called Bar & Grill. You’re not a drinker, but when your stress gets overwhelming, you tend to be persuaded by the lust of alcohol. Wanting to get rid of this black aura looming, you make the decision to enter the bar.

———

Your head is on the counter table, your arms around it to hide your red face. The inside of the place has very few people, only a few men who just came back from work, but even these men are barely whispering a word. The bartender stands on the other side of the counter, cleaning the glass cups with a white cloth.

“Hey, Miss. Do you have someone to take you home?”

You groan.

The bartender sighs. “You’re a young woman. Do you know how easy it is to be preyed on?”

“I can…handle myself,” you raise your head up, one eye open. “I practically raised myself! What makes you think I’m irresponsi…ble? You dunno me.” You slur your words.

The bartender sets the cup down, putting her hand on her hip and leaning on the counter. She isn’t sure if your red, watery eyes are because you drank so much or if you’re becoming emotional.

“You’re one of those researchers that came here earlier today, huh? Marge told me,” she shakes her head. “Jesus Christ, you city people really don’t know the limits to drinking.”

Next to you are five empty beer cups with the foam sliding down on the sides. You snicker at how much you drank, followed by a hiccup. “Wow, you’re right. I’m usually good at self-control. I know how to control my problems, but tonight is not one of those times.”

“It’s not that you’re good at controlling your problems. You’re just good at avoiding them. Marge told me about you, and no offense, but she thinks it’s fucking strange that you don’t look like you’re bothered that your sister was taken away by that monster. But I disagree. You’re pretending like it ever happened.”

“Excuse me? Who are you to assume how I feel??”

“Our place is practically off-coordinates with maps, but we still have those runaways who come to the bar every so often. You’re no different from them. So…”

“What?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She crosses her arms. “I won’t tell anybody. We pretend that tonight never existed.”

You rummage your hand through your messy hair, calming down. It might be the toxication persuading you, but you’re not comfortable telling her.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh really?”

“I don’t want to, and it’s because I don’t know how to talk about it. If I can’t even talk to my mom about it, then why the hell do you think I can tell you? When I did want to bring Annie’s disappearance up, my mom would change the subject. It’s not only that, but it was like…she wanted to make me disappear too. And I know it’s because she fucking blames me for losing her, and seeing my face reminds her that she lost her baby. She always favored Annie anyway, so it wasn’t surprising that when she went missing, she…she said…”

You have a flashback of when you were a child during the aftermath. You and your parents returned safely home but without Annie. Your six-year-old mind thought that if you stared at Annie’s cradle in your parents’ bedroom every so often, she would magically return. But to your dismay, your efforts were in vain, and she never appeared.

One night, you woke up from a repeating nightmare of the day you lost her, so to soothe your racing heart, you jumped out of your bed and ran to their bedroom to look at her cradle, praying that she’s there. But rather than seeing your parents asleep, they’re sitting by the edge of the bed. Your mother is curled into a ball, sobbing profusely while your father makes attempts to comfort her with shallow pats on the back. In between her cries, you heard:

“Why couldn’t it have been (Y/N)?”

Returning from a trip to the past, taking your wallet out and paying with cash. You put on your coat and head straight to the exit.

“Where are you going?” The bartender asks.

“To sleep.”

You march right out the bar, massaging your head. After opening the doors, you step out and nearly tripped. For a second, your foggy mind thought you stepped through a hole, but it turns out to be snow. Some time has gone since you’ve been holed up in the bar that it already began snowing and it’s piled up.

You wobble to the empty forest, leaving a trace of your footprints. You despise being anywhere near the empty forest that surrounds Little Bare, but with alcohol, you think you’re invincible. You stand in front of the forest, being unable to see into the distance with the fog blocking your view. But amongst the fog, there is an apparition.

You squint your eyes, but they fail to make sense of what stands far away. But what you can make of the figure is that it’s small and crouched over. It’s alive, moving around but at the same time, staying in the same spot. It isn’t far, but it isn’t that close either.

Your mind immediately draws to that apparition being a bear. That bear that took everything away from you–your little sister, your chance at a childhood, a shot at a proper adult life, everything. Anger spurs within you, no longer having that rationality in your fragile mind. Within a spur of impulse, you pick up a rock the size of your hand, pulling it back and throwing directly toward the bear.

“FUCK YOU!” You shout from the top of your lungs.

Despite the influence of alcohol, you nailed the apparition right at its head. It falls to the ground, the sound of a ‘plop’ echoing. In that brief act of revenge, victory overcame you. You nearly raise your hands up in celebration, thinking that you defeated your arch-nemesis. But you manage to return to your senses, realizing that the apparition isn’t a figment of your imagination…but an actual person. Then your adrenaline fades away.

You trek through the thick snow, hopping through it until you enter the forest, whilst tripping and stumbling. You lean over the black figure, rubbing your eyes to make sure that what you’re seeing is real. Unable to stand straight, you fall backward and land on your bottom. After blinking, dread sets in when you realize that it’s a child.

“Oh my god…oh no…help…”

You try to stand up to look for help, but once you do, your vision turns black and you become light-headed. Nausea hits you, wrapping your hand around your stomach to control your gag reflexes. The alcohol, lack of food and water, combined with the high elevation comes altogether, making you fall down again.

As your eyelashes flutter, there’s a flashlight illuminating from the direction where you came from. Just when you’re about to close your eyes, the young boy’s body grows exponentially, growing to an exact size of a fully-grown adult right before you.

———

“Mom! Dad! I made a best friend!! He lives in a cave in the forest with the black trees…No! I’m not lying. He really does live there! He’s six years old like me…What? He’s real!! He doesn’t live with a mom and dad, but he said that he lives with kids like me and him too…

“And I told him that I would show him Annie, too…”

“Don’t…!” You sit up in an unfamiliar room in a cold sweat and heavy breathing.

You’re on a clean bed, made of pure white. On the walls, there are drawings of the human anatomy, motivational quotes plastered on a piece of paper with words such as ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away’ and ‘be calm and exercise’.

Next the bed is Kim, startled by you suddenly waking up. “(Y/N)?! Are you okay??”

You look at your hand that’s trembling violently, but now that you’re conscious, the hangover hits you hard like a bullet. That massive headache and your stomach twisted in a knot. There’s a lump in your throat with the urge to throw up, but there’s nothing that’s coming out.

“Where…is this place?”

“It’s the clinic. The bartender found you unconscious with a man in the woods and thought that he was trying to take advantage of you.”

“A man…?”

You search through with what very little that you remember last night. You went to the bar to waste away, then you walked out. There was someone in the forest—a young boy. It was too dark to make sense of the boy’s details, but you just knew based on his shape that it was definitely a male.

“No…no…” You squeeze your eyes shut, enduring the pestering headache as you shake your head. “It…it was a boy. A kid.”

“What?” She raises an eyebrow. “There were no kids around, just the man. They’re interrogating him right now.”

You don’t recall a man being there. You must’ve been that fucked up to mistaken a man for a child. Even though it shouldn’t be an issue, it’s bothering you a lot. You remove the blanket, attempting to get out of bed before Kim stops you.

“What are you doing??”

“I have to see the man.”

“No! The doctor advised that you sit. You haven’t been eating, so you’re light-headed.”

“Let me see him. I need to.”

“Stop being crazy and just rest! They made food for you, so just eat and sleep.”

She puts her arms on you, but you gently push her hands away. “I will after I see him.”

You get out of bed, trying to stand but the light-headedness sets in. Your vision turns black briefly, causing you to stumble over your feet. Kim comes to the aid, helping you balance.

“See? I told you. Just rest.”

“No…I’m good. Do you know where this guy’s room is?”

Seeing how adamant you are about it, she decides to give in. “He’s in the room next to you.”

You head out of the room, walking slowly so that you don’t fall, then exiting the room. In the halls, there’s nobody, making it easier for you to head into the other room without any interruptions. You twist the doorknob, swinging it open to find the doctor and policeman, assuming by the uniforms that they’re wearing for their designated jobs. They turn to you, caught off-guard by your entrance.

The man that you’re looking for is on the bed, tilting his head when you two make eye contact. He has a long face, void of a smile. His black hair is frizzy and curly, strands of it flying all directions as if he just woke up. There are bandages wrapped around his head. After that short contact, he looks away, grabbing the doctor’s sleeve and using it to hide his face.

“Miss (Y/N)? What are you doing up?” The doctor asks.

Kim follows from behind.

“Miss Kim, I told you to watch over her.”

“I’m sorry…but she was persistent in seeing him.”

“Him…?”

Now that you have gotten your opportunity to meet with the man, you don’t know what to do. You stand still, at a loss of words when you meet the man that you ran into the forest. Perhaps you really did run into a man, not a child. You were under the influence, after all.

“Miss (Y/N),” the policeman starts. “Since you seem well enough to be standing, can I have a word with you?”

“Sure…”

———

“Amnesia?”

Returning back to your room, the policeman explains what they were discussing earlier. Kim had returned to the hotel room to give you and the police some privacy, and the doctor is staying with the man.

He sits with his hands folded on his lap, giving you a serious expression. “Yes. It’s a minor blunt-force trauma to the head, like something no bigger than a rock.”

“Oh my god…I was the one who hit him.”

“Did he try to assault you?”

You shake your head. “I did out of anger, but not at him. I was drunk and wasn’t thinking clearly.”

You fear that you’ll get in trouble, but you’re more fearful of the condition that you left the young man in. You weren’t expecting your throw to be that strong. The policeman scratches his beard, figuring out what to do in this situation.

“For all I know, you could be lying.”

You gulp.

“But hey, you could also be telling the truth. We don’t know until we check out the scene and hear his side. He doesn’t remember crap—not even his own name. For now, we’ll continue the investigation.”

You sigh in relief, but that still doesn’t deter the guilt from you. The man is a victim of your outlash, and it’s natural for you to want to make up for what you’ve done, even if it’s minor.

“Uhm…how is he…? The guy, I mean.”

“Other than the total amnesia, he’s in a healthy state. It’s strange, though. Other than a large coat, he was wearing a thin layer of clothes, but his body temperature wasn’t affected by the cold. We don’t have young people living here either, so it’s a mystery where he came from.”

He stands up from the chair, walking to the door.

“Well, it’s nice meeting you, Miss (Y/N). If you remember anything, then don’t be afraid to come to me. My name is Sheriff Tusk, and I’ll be in the police station often.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Sheriff Tusk walks out, leaving you alone. You fall back, resting your head on the pillow as you exhale. So much has happened in a short amount of time that it’s difficult to believe that all this actually happened. Even if you got away with being put to jail, you feel immensely guilty for hurting him.

———

The next day, you’ve been discharged from the hospital, suffering only from lack of nutrients and a hangover. Kim is in the room with you, helping you pack your things. Neither of you say much, focusing on putting your belongings away. You keep thinking about the man next-door, wondering how he’s doing. You keep stealing glances at Kim, wanting to ask her if you two can visit him but never gathering enough courage to actually ask her.

“Are you ready?” Kim asks as she puts the last folded shirt into your luggage.

“Hm? Oh, yea.”

You take the luggage from her and head to the door. Kim looks at her phone, once again, seeing that her phone has low reception. You pass by the man’s room, stopping in front of it and nearly causing Kim to bump into you.

“Whoa, what’s going on?”

Without a response, your eyes lay heavily on the door, struggling with the debate of whether or not you should enter.

“…(Y/N)…?”

Eventually, you make the final decision, approaching it and your hand grasping the doorknob. You pull the door open, making Kim confused, but not stopping you from continuing.

Inside the room, your peer at the bed, seeing the man sitting upward with a movable table that has a tray of food on top. He holds a cup of pudding in his hand, eating the chocolate-flavored dessert faster than the sound of light. He eats as though he hasn’t eaten in days, the pudding smearing on the corners of his lips.

It takes a moment for him to sense your presence, jolting and freezing when he sees you. You blink profusely, looking around the room nervously. You wanted to see him again, but you didn’t think about what, or if, you wanted to say something.

The man holds the end of his blanket and pulls it up.

You scratch the back of your neck, looking only at the corner of the room. “Hi, uh…I don’t think I’ve ever formally introduced myself. My name is (Y/N).”

You move closer and extend your hand out, but it makes the man flinch. Seeing that he doesn’t want to accept your hand, you pull it back.

“I don’t know if the doctor told you but…I’m the one who threw a rock at you, which is why you have that injury. I came in to say that I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t respond to you. Rather, he stares as if he’s fearful for his life, his pupils shaking from seeing you. You take one more step, wanting to get to know him, but it makes him flinch.

“I hope you—”

“S-stay away from me…” He whimpers.

His voice is deeper than any man’s voice, and yet his tone is like a scared child. Even the way he pronounced each syllable is with a lisp and not proper, as if he’s slurring. Despite his masculine outlook with his broad shoulders, tall height, and sharp eyes, underneath that shell, he’s fearful and small.

On the right side of you is the bathroom, the door open. You face the mirror, looking at your reflection. You see yourself as an ordinary person, but this man probably sees you as something, not someone, else in his reflection.

Kim puts her hand on your shoulder, pulling you back gently. “Miss (Y/N), I think it’s better to leave him alone.”

You know it’s better to do that, but there’s an urge within you, pushing you to stay. There’s an internal battle between you and yourself, the desire to stay and talk to him but leaving him alone to rest. Ultimately, you choose Kim’s suggestion.

You take a few steps back, your courage slowly being broken down with each step. “S-sorry…”

Breaking from a blanked trance, you abruptly pace out of the room and to the lobby. Kim is left confused, her head turning back and forth between you and the man.

“Sorry about bursting into your room. I pray for a healthy recovery.” Kim runs off to find you.

———

You stand just outside the small and aging medical building, Kim eventually catching up to you.

“Hey! What was up with that?”

No response.

“Miss (Y/N)…? Hello?”

“I…I don’t know.”

You couldn’t quite understand it either, unsure of what it was that made it okay to visit him. Despite his amnesia, it seems like he’s aware that you’re the one who injured him. With your behavior worrying her, Kim puts her hands on your shoulders, shaking you slightly.

“Do you know that guy?”

“No…no, not really.”

This is the first time you’ve met him, but there’s something about that man that you can’t put your finger on it. Perhaps it’s the guilt talking to your rationale or the urge to talk to somebody who’s close to your age. You just can’t let go of this.

“Well, you shouldn’t worry about it. The sheriff let you off, so you don’t have to take care of him.”

What Kim says floats over your head. You’re not doing this to appear like a law-abiding citizen. There’s this unconscious instinct that’s pulling you to him. It sounds unrealistic and dramatic, but there’s no other way you can describe this feeling. You turn around, staring at the medical building.

———

“What do you mean I can’t visit?”

In the main lobby, the doctor is sitting behind his desk, reading the newspaper. He lowers his glasses to give you a hollow glare. It’s the next day, and you decided to visit the man a second time but your visitation has been turned down by the doctor.

“Visiting without the patient’s permission, especially consistently, is harassment. I’ve been notified of what happened yesterday, so to protect each patient’s safety, I advise that you leave him alone.”

“But I’m not doing anything bad. I just want to talk to him.”

“I know you don’t have malicious intentions, but he’s still recovering from the head injury. Plus, the police are investigating, so it’s better if you leave him alone to avoid trouble.”

“I know, but…” You trail off.

“And you should be resting as well. You’re slightly anemic and are lacking some sugar in you. I’d say run to the store and buy some ice cream.”

Despite that, you stand still. Eating for your physical health’s sake isn’t your priority, but to see the man again. The desire to see him is just as haunting as seeing delusions of your little sister.

He raises an eyebrow, folding his newspaper up and leaning over his desk. “Why are you so persistent in talking to him? From as far as I can tell, you two don’t know each other.”

He’s asking a question that you don’t know the answer to. He waits for a response, but nothing. You seem hesitant, figuring out why it’s your first instinct to see him. You just have to, but if you tell him that, then he’ll most likely kick you out anyway for an absurd reason.

Seeing as you won’t say anything, he leans back, returning to his newspaper. “Well then, I’m sorry but without a proper reason, I can’t let you see him.”

“But…!”

He sighs, losing his patience with you. “I will call Sheriff Tusk if you don’t leave us alone.”

With the threat of police involvement, it pulls you back. You turn to the door, your shoulders raised up.

“Damn city people, thinking they can do whatever they want.” The doctor whispers.

You stop in your tracks. Normally, you don’t let insults like these get to you, but his tone made it seem like you’re scum. You’re not being stubborn because you think you’re superior to the rest of them, but he paints it that way.

With your eyes filled with red, you spin around, marching right back at the doctor. He notices right away, lowering the newspaper and preparing for an attack from you. You clench your fist, getting ready to let him know what’s been in your mind and conveying that through a punch.

But you purposely look away from him, looking at the corner of the room, your inner voice telling you to stop. When you get to his desk, you nearly slam your hand on it before the last nanosecond, pulling the force back and your fists making a soft landing.

You stare straight into the doctor’s shaking eyes. You exhale heavily, cooling down your temper. “Sorry. I just wanted to say that mold is growing in the corners. You should give it a look.”

He raises an eyebrow, questioning your mental state. Absolutely nothing made sense, not even to you. You turn around and pacing out of the building. He fixes his glasses, having no clue what just happened. He looks at the corner, seeing the black mold growing.

———

Outside of the medical building, you crouch into a fetal position, hiding your face in your knees. You don’t know what’s going on with you. You don’t have full control of your body, and it’s scaring you. One second, y

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Sow Burn, Romance, Angst, Fantasy

Word Count: 25k

Summary: Freesia Island has the greenest Summer, calmest Autumn, and purest Winter. But their Spring has so many flowers that the land itself becomes a rainbow. It’s a place that you’ve always wanted to travel to after hearing the tales of that island. And one day, you finally got to be there in person, but not being forced into an unwanted marriage by the king himself.

Part One: Here

Pressing the tip of the pen on your paper, the ink leaks out, pouring onto the sheet and soaking into the pages underneath. A pool of blue blood, circling wider and wider onto the paper as your tutor’s words turn to muffles in your ear, going in one ear and out the other as the heaviness in your heart is too heavy to carry anything else.

“Your Highness!” Your tutor shouts.

You raise your head, not necessarily looking at her, but staring through her with your hollow eyes.

“Pay attention, you’ve been zoning out lately. You cannot represent women when you can’t do something as simple as focusing.”

“Sorry…”

Ever since you broke down in front of Jungkook, sleeping hasn’t been easy. You toss and turn in bed often, the ache in your chest not leaving no matter how many times to try to swat it away. The head maid and the tutors aren’t making it easier either.

“Apologies are meaningless if you don’t do anything to piggyback it.”

“Yes…”

———

The summer is getting colder, so you’re finding yourself wearing thicker clothing. If you thought that Spring is cold, then you can’t imagine how you’re going to survive through Autumn and Winter. You don’t even know if the plants are going to make it through the colder seasons either since they’re meant for warmer weather.

After lessons, you notice many of the servants scurrying around in the hallways. You’ve been locked up in this small room with the devil of a tutor all morning, so you don’t know what’s going on.

You tap on the shoulder of a passing servant. “Excuse me, may I ask what’s going on?”

“Your Highness, you don’t know? King Jungkook’s brothers are coming to visit the capital for his birthday.”

Since when were they preparing for his birthday? Also, you didn’t know that Jungkook’s birthday was coming up soon. And his brothers coming? It’s so soon that it makes you nervous just thinking about it.

“Since they’re coming, we’re trying to prepare as many things as possible before their visit as well as for other guests. This will also be a great way to introduce you to many others.”

Suddenly, you regret all those lessons that you ditched or didn’t pay attention to. The etiquette lessons are practically useless unless events like these happen, and now you’re feeling even more anxious. Not only will this be the first time you will be meeting Jungkook’s brothers, but other wealthy people as well. One wrong move, and it’ll tarnish Jungkook’s reputation.

Based on the sort of tone Jungkook uses when speaking about his brothers, you can somewhat tell that he isn’t fond of them. You haven’t spoken to him much since that night. He’s completely recovered from the poison, but he returned to his usual schedule of paperwork and sword training. Because you haven’t shown any improvements in your mannerisms, your lessons have significantly increased, so it gives you less time to make brief conversations with him. It saddens you a bit since those were the few times when you felt free.

“Ah, speaking of the celebration, the head maid would like to talk to you in regards to it.”

You can already tell that this spells trouble. Nothing good ever comes out whenever you’re with the head maid. “Okay, thank you.”

———

“His Majesty’s family are visiting soon. You must prepare to be the best representative as Freesia’s queen. Do not mess this up.”

Just as you thought.

“You must make sure that you do not make a single mistake. Doing so means that it’ll live down in history. Nobody wants humiliation to be remembered, so everything must be absolutely perfect.”

“Yes.”

You don’t look forward to the next few days before his birthday. It’s definitely going to be hard, but you have no other choice but to follow through.

———

And the next few days have been extremely rough. It’s nonstop lessons on nearly everything: the history of Freesia, every aspect of table manners, and the proper way of speaking to others. You have to constantly watch for your posture when you walk and sit. By the end of the day, you’re extremely exhausted, falling onto the bed without changing out of your clothes.

On top of that, you have to take care of the plants, so with so many things on your plate, you just want to sleep the stress away. Other than giving Jungkook the report, you don’t talk to him much. You feel a little embarrassed about what happened that day, and even if you did find the time to talk to him, you have to quickly return to the head maid and finish the rest of the lessons. With each passing day, you dread the lessons more, as you already know that you’re bound to make a mistake on the day of his birthday.

Your feet are killing you. You spent all morning checking the plants, and they haven’t been growing that well. It might be because of the drop in the temperature. While looking through the papers, you know that Jungkook won’t be satisfied with this.

At his usual training place, you see him beating the scarecrow with a wooden sword. He’s drenched in sweat, his white shirt soaked to where you can see his skin from underneath. When he sees you, he wipes his chin with his forearm, breathing heavily as he watches you draw closer to him.

“Good morning, Your Majesty. Here’s the report for today’s garden.”

He takes it from your hand, flipping through the data that you collected. As you glance in other directions, you don’t notice that Jungkook keeps making quick glances at you. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t get your attention.

“Are you tired?”

“Huh? Oh, no I’m fine.” You respond, not expecting him to ask anything at all.

“Every time I see you in the bedroom, you’re dead asleep. Plus, you have eyebags underneath.”

“I do?” You touch below your eyes.

“Are you being overworked?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine! It’s something that I should be able to do.”

But he doesn’t believe you. He makes it apparent that he’s worried, and it’s somewhat embarrassing. It might be your imagination since it’s unbelievable that somebody like Jungkook would be concerned for anybody but him.

“A-anyway…it’s almost your birthday!”

As happy as you try to convey, Jungkook is the exact opposite. If anything, his expression hasn’t changed once.

“I don’t look forward to it just as much as you don’t.”

You’re surprised he knew, but how? Did you make it that obvious? You open your mouth, looking around to say something, but nothing comes out. Since it’s almost his birthday, you’d assume that he’d be excited.

“E-even if you don’t look forward to it, it is the day that you were born.”

“…Yea.”

But with nothing else to share, you stand idly until you can’t handle the silence. You wave goodbye and walk off stiffly. The conversation was particularly off-setting since Jungkook was more serious than usual. He brushed off the topic of his birthday so quickly that you felt like you shouldn’t have brought it up.

———

It’s the day before the birthday ceremony, and everyone is on high alert to make everything as perfect as possible. The head maid has gotten stricter with you, shouting at you for the mistakes that you didn’t even know that you did. The punishments become harsher, turning more physical with the ruler to the hands.

Throughout all this, you haven’t gotten the chance to personally sit down and talk to Jungkook. But what’s strange is that you haven’t seen Taehyung for a while now either. You never see him when there are a lot of people in the same setting—only when you’re alone. But since the castle is riddled with people running about, it’s as if he disappeared into thin air.

By the end of the day, you’re so tired that you could sleep on the floor. You somehow manage to drag your feet to your bedroom, seeing the bed gives you a tiny surge of energy to dash across the vast room and drop your weight onto the bed. You don’t bother with changing out of your dress or wiping the makeup off. All you want to do is sleep.

———

“…Hey…(Y/N)…wake up.”

You hear a familiar voice whisper in your ear. Somebody is shaking your shoulder to wake you up, and it manages to work. Your eyelids feel so heavy that you don’t want to open them, so you groan in response.

The voice sighs. “You’re still in your day gown, and your face powder got all over the pillow. You didn’t bother taking it off?”

“Tired…” You say in a groggy tone.

The person lifts your hand up and inspects it. “Your hands are red. What happened?”

“Hmm…I have a hard time listening…that’s all.”

“Hard time…?” He sighs. “The head maid did this to you, didn’t she?”

You nod slightly. “But it’s okay…It’s not her fault that I’m not good at anything.”

You still refuse to open your eyes, nor do you want to lift your head up. You can feel him stroking his thumb over the red marks you received from the maid. His touch feels so gentle that it’s oddly soothing.

You hear him step away from the bed and the sound of the private bathroom door opens. The sound of water splashing occurs, followed by Jungkook returning and sitting by the bedside again. He cups your cheek and turns your head to face him.

“Stay like this and don’t move.”

A wet cloth touches your face, and your eyebrows twitch before letting him continue with what he’s doing. He wipes the white powder off of your face, followed by him wiping the eyeliner off. He then goes down to your lips, getting rid of the red paint. But you don’t like the feeling of the cloth being pressed against your lips, so you grab his wrist and try pushing it away.

“It feels weird.”

“It’s not good for you to wear makeup while you’re sleeping. Let me finish, I’m almost done.”

Although you dislike it, you let him do what he wants. Once he’s done with that, he goes back to the bathroom and throws the water out, returning once again. You feel his hands wiggling under your back, and you flinch.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything. I’ll loosen the dress for you and help you take the corset off.”

He unties the back of your dress, pulling it down to reveal that you’re wearing another but thinner gown underneath. He then unties the corset and a wave of oxygen enters your lungs. You can finally breathe again. Jungkook doesn’t bother taking off the rest of your clothes, leaving the rest for you to do. The room falls silent for a while once that’s over.

“…What’s it like…celebrating birthdays in your village?”

“Hm? Oh…all of us gathers around the campfire, and we roast a huge pig for everybody to eat.”

“That’s it? No big celebration?”

“What are you talking about? It’s a huge celebration for us. Then again…it’s nothing compared to here. There are so many things you have to worry about that it’s insane.”

“Yea…I wish it wasn’t that much of a big deal either.”

You can feel his hands brush through your hair. This is very unlike Jungkook, who would typically keep his distance from you.

“Do you and your people typically give gifts for birthdays?”

“Gifts? Why would we? Gift exchanges only happen when there’s a wedding ceremony.”

“Ah…is that so?”

You adjust your sleeping position, facing away from Jungkook, which also means pulling yourself away from his hand.

“I’m…sorry if I’m interrupting your sleep.”

You shake your head, eyes still closed. “It’s okay…I don’t mind talking to you as long as my eyes are closed.”

“Really? Why? I’m not an impressive socialite.”

“You don’t have to be. You’re a good listener.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure  are strange.”

“What’s strange is that it seems like you don’t ever sleep. Take a break every so often. It worries me.”

You? Worried for him? He can’t believe it. He thought that he was just imagining things. Jungkook covers his mouth with the back of his hand, his cheeks burning up. He can’t remember the last time somebody said that they were concerned for him. Even if what you said caught him off-guard, he doesn’t necessarily hate it.

“You’re definitely a weird person.”

But you’ve already fallen into a deep slumber before you heard him. However, it wasn’t his intention for you to hear him anyway. He brushes the hair behind your ear before leaving the room.

———

FALL

The castle has been decorated with white paper folded into various shapes of flowers in celebration of Jungkook’s birthday today. With the hectic servants running around and rushing to make everything picture-perfect, it’s more grandeur compared to your home; no wonder Jungkook was surprised by how small and quick your birthday celebrations are.

The one thing you hate the most is wearing makeup. They cover your face with a white-powdered substance, and it’s irritating on your face. Not only that, but you still can’t get used to the gowns that you have to wear. You used to wear clothes that weren’t so tight, but now that you’re a queen for thousands of people, the head maid claims that you must also represent what elegant women should wear. Since there are people coming from other countries coming to this island to celebrate, the maids try hard to make you as flawlessly beautiful as they can.

Finally free from the grasps of your maids, you’re walking alone on the second floor, above a spiral staircase and looking down at the entrance of the castle. You crouch down into a fetal position, exhaling heavily as you try to breathe through the corset tied tightly around your waist. Despite wearing these heels not even for an hour, your feet are already in pain.

From the corner of your peripheral, you see somebody getting closer to you. You’re quick to get back on your feet in case it was your head maid, but it’s Taehyung.

“Taehyung! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had business to attend to relating to your escape,” he smiles to brush off your question. “You look stunning. Are you ready for tonight? You’ll be meeting Jungkook’s brothers for the first time.”

“Truth be told, I’m not. I just want today to end already.”

“Understandable. Unfortunately, you will have to meet them sooner or later because I just saw a carriage with a man who looks like one of his brothers is arriving soon.”

Your heart becomes heavy just thinking about having to introduce yourself to them. And Taehyung was not exaggerating when he said that they’re coming soon. A man with stunning looks enters. He marches into the castle, craving for attention as he makes every step with his boots as loud as possible. He clears his throat, just waiting to shout whatever he wants.

You look down from the second floor, your stomach leaning on the railings. Thankfully, you’re high enough to where Jin doesn’t notice you, so you can spy on them without eyes weighing down on you.

“That’s the oldest, Jin, and he belongs to the late king’s first concubine,” Taehyung explains. “Even though he’s a bit obnoxious, I hear that a lot of women claim that he’s the most handsome out of the six. He may seem a bit dim-witted, don’t fall for it. He’s really good at reading people’s emotions and knows what to say to get what he wants.”

Although you’re too far to hear exactly everything he’s saying, you can already tell that he’s the exact opposite of Jungkook. The way he approaches the servants, patting them on the back and wrapping his arm around their neck as if they’re friends. Even though you’ve been told that he’s reaching his thirties, he doesn’t look like he’s nearing that age whatsoever.

The brother next to arrive is a lot calmer compared to Jin. His hair is brushed back, and he looks strong enough to carry a horse with that upper-body physique. He walks in with an aura of sophistication that no one can ever imitate.

“That’s Namjoon, and he’s the fourth oldest. He was born the same year as the third oldest, Hoseok. He was known for being the smartest and strongest, but he’s also distant from the other brothers.”

Just as Taehyung speaks, another one enters, and his smile is so captivating that you can’t get your eyes off of him. He seems the most normal, smiling at every servant that he walks past by. Right behind him, another handsome man walks in with his hair as black as coal and a glare so cold that everyone freezes upon eye contact with him.

“Speak of the devil, that’s Hoseok. Before Jungkook, he was ranked the best swordsman. Next to him is Yoongi, the second oldest. I don’t know much about him, but I know he’s the most ruthless.”

And lastly, the fifth oldest enters, giggling as if he heard something funny. He’s talking to a guard, and he seems like the kindest out of all of them.

“That’s Jimin. He’s the fifth oldest, and he lives closest to Freesia.”

With that, you’ve seen his half-brothers. All that’s left is for you to meet them. The thought of meeting them makes you anxious, even to the point where your stomach turns. Not all of the brothers seem menacing based on Taehyung’s claims, but you still can’t get that nervousness that’s stuck in your stomach like an anchor. As much as you want to avoid them, you have no other choice but to come face-to-face with them.

———

It’s time for the celebration to begin, and nearly everybody that has been invited has arrived. People from all areas of the world have come to congratulate Jungkook for turning one year older. In the ballroom, you and Jungkook sit in the back on your thrones, a long line of people extending all the way to the other side, waiting for their turns to hold Jungkook’s hand and wish him a happy birthday. With each person, Jungkook forces a plastic smile but not thanking them in return. Once they leave, he returns to his usual stoic self before the next person steps before him.

Unlike the good treatment he receives, they barely acknowledge you. They glance at you briefly before turning away and whispering in each others’ ears as if they’ve never seen anyone like you before. A few of them do greet you, but it’s one of those greetings that feels very forced and an attempt to not make you seem unusual.

After hours of greeting people, it finally comes to a stop, and Jungkook slumps his back, exhaling heavily. You turn to him, just as exhausted as he is. Keeping a proper posture brings pain to your back,  you feel as if your spine is going to break at any given second.

“Are you tired, too?” You ask.

“I want this dreadful day to end already.” He massages his face.

You’re glad that he agrees with you. Even though he’s the king, some of these people came from far away to visit, so it’ll ruin his public image if he suddenly sent everybody home. When you look closely, you notice that Jungkook is also wearing makeup to hide his eyebags.

“Sleeping is a waste of time, but tonight is an exception.”

You had a feeling that he wasn’t exhilarated, but not despise it to this extent. Although you two haven’t said much, you both express the same feeling.

You watch as the guests gather around the dance floor while the live orchestra plays. They all seem to be enjoying their time here, but something about this seems off. It isn’t like the feeling of misfortune creeping up your spine, more so that you’re not familiar with what’s in front of you.

It’s Jungkook’s birthday, but besides the brief moments of introductions, they’re focused on themselves. Those days spent preparing for this day, people traveling long and far to come here, all for them not to look at him. For some reason, it’s pitiful. It’s no wonder he doesn’t look forward to his birthdays—it’s all a chore only for it not to be recognized.

Jungkook looks at you from the corner of his eye, then looking down at your hands. He notices that the scars that he saw before are gone. On top of that, the skin color on your hand is paler than before. His assumption is that the maids must’ve covered it with makeup powder.

“What’s with the long face?”

You didn’t think you were making faces, but Jungkook must be really good at reading the atmosphere. “It’s just…I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“I don’t mean to make it sound selfish but…isn’t the whole reason for this gathering is to celebrate your birthday?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t see where you’re coming from?”

“Back in my home, we come together to eat at a table to wish the person a happy birthday. Here, it feels…segregated?”

You’re not sure if that’s the right word, but that’s the closest to how you can describe it. Jungkook raises an eyebrow, looking at the people who aren’t even batting an eye at him. He looks back to you, seemingly like he doesn’t completely understand what you’re saying.

“Tell me more about your birthday celebrations.”

———

Standing around each other just on the outside of the dance floor are Jungkook’s five half-brothers. They’re all holding wine glasses, observing Jungkook talking to you. His eyes are only on you as you speak, and the only time he isn’t staring at you is when you’re doing hand movements and he looks down.

“I’ve never seen Jungkook like that with somebody before.” Jimin is the first to break the silence.

“Hey, he’s young and that’s his first wife, so it’s no surprise that he’d be interested in women,” Hoseok snickers slyly as he takes a sip of his wine. “He may be our little brother, but he’s still a man.”

Yoongi scrunches his nose. “Why do you talk about him as if he’s precious to you? You don’t even like him.”

Hoseok laughs again because Yoongi saw right through his shallow comments of endearment.

Namjoon rotates his glass clockwise. “Why her of all people? Isn’t she just some barbarian from a remote island?”

“Have you seen the fruits that her people grow? I’ve never seen anything like that before. That’s probably why he married her.” Hoseok tries to make the shape of an oval with his hands.

Rather than being supportive of his little brother being potentially interested in you, Yoongi can only look at you and him with disgust. “He stares at her like she’s important.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with that?” Jimin sneers at Yoongi.

“As a king, it’s their duty to be more focused on the state of the kingdom, not on a person. Holding a single person as valuable as your land exposes you to weakness. What would he do if she were to be killed?”

“Well…”

“He will be too busy mourning and not focusing on leading his land.” Namjoon chimes in.

Their harsh words leaving Jimin at a loss of words. That’s when Hoseok wraps his arm around Jimin and laughs to lighten the mood.

“Hey, Jungkook has always been a stone-cold kid, so if she were to die, he probably would’ve forgotten that they’re husband and wife.”

After being silent throughout the entire conversation, Jin finishes his glass and sets it down on the dinner table. He wipes his lips with his sleeves, not caring if the red wine gets on his suit.

“I’m going to talk to them and get an idea of what she’s like.”

The brothers are hesitant on letting Jin proceed with his plan, especially since his mind can be a bit rash. However, since he’s the oldest, they let him do what he wants, so he marches right for you and Jungkook, watching as trouble is about to unfold.

Jungkook notices Jin approaching you and him, finally breaking his trance from you to him. Seeing as his attention is elsewhere, you turn around and is startled to see how close Jin is. He leans over to your throne, and you would’ve admired his graceful good looks if he didn’t sneak up on you.

“I don’t think we ever got the chance to speak that much.”

What you looked forward to the least has finally happened. They weren’t interested in getting to know you, which played more into your favor of not having to embarrass yourself in front of everybody, but the heaviness in your chest returned the moment you saw Jin inching closer to you.

“Is there something you need?” Jungkook asks with a frigid tone.

Clearly offended by Jungkook’s impoliteness, Jin pulls himself back. “Hey, who are you to talk to your older brother like that?”

But Jungkook’s unfriendliness doesn’t end there. He stares at Jin with dagger eyes, and that alone makes it very clear that he does not want Jin to stay here any longer than he should. Seeing as Jungkook won’t respond to him, he turns back to you with a malicious grin.

“So…was this marriage consensual?”

That question completely threw you off-guard. You pull your head back, almost as if he threw a punch right to your face.

“Excuse me…?”

“Brother, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

But Jin raises his hand up to order him to silence. He won’t let Jungkook ruin his enjoyment. “This is the question I always ask all my brothers’ concubines. Did you agree to the marriage?”

You look at Jungkook for an answer, but he doesn’t know what to say either. That means you’re on your own.

“I did…”

Rather than going along with your response, Jin scoffs at it, rolling his eyes. “What I mean is…did you whole-heartedly agree to the marriage? There was no exchange to be made—no threats involved?”

“I…I…”

This is something you thought about every day, but having a third party shove this in your face is too much. It feels like your vision is becoming blurry, and your head is light. You can’t bring yourself to look at Jin nor Jungkook.

“I ask this because the majority of the time, the women we chose as our concubines almost never have a say in it. That’s just the way we live—men dominate and women are second nature.” He shrugs his shoulders.

You didn’t want to admit it, but it’s true. Ever since you came here, it’s almost like your opinion never matters. With the exception of Taehyung and Jungkook (sometimes), nobody cares about what you think. The manners you’ve been taught exist with the sole purpose of appearing as the ideal woman, but your ideas don’t play a role. Everything your head maid has been teaching is there to keep your personality hidden from the public, and that realization hurts.

“I’m sure you know this by now, but none of us loved our father. If anything, it was a blessing when he died. The only disappointment is that he made that street rat the king of the capital and gave the rest of us natural-born royal bloods in charge of smaller lands. Even you have more royalty compared to him.”

Jin points right at Jungkook. That’s right, you completely forgot about Jungkook’s origins, but he’s not saying anything to stop him from opening his mouth. You were told that he forbade anyone from speaking about his past, but he isn’t stopping Jin.

“We hate our father, but we grew up with him, so we can’t help but become like him. I thought that Jungkook would be nothing like him, but I guess I was wrong. He still married a woman for his own benefit. Did you know, our father had six wives? I wonder how many Jungkook will have.”

With all these words he’s spitting out, Jungkook does nothing to stop this. Even you want him to stop because he’s reminding you of your position. But the more he talks, the more it sinks in that this is going to be the rest of your life. The whole reason you’re talking to Jungkook is to get information out of him for Taehyung, but you’ve been getting too comfortable around him that you let your initial goal slip.

Jin spots that line of vulnerability that you’re showing—that uncertainty in your eyes. “You know what’s interesting about Jungkook’s mother? She sold her body in exchange for money.”

But this triggers Jungkook, and he looks like he’s about to lash out. However, Jin continues just to anger him further.

“But what is there of value if a woman doesn’t value her integrity over her body? Nothing. So then, what makes you think our father decided to make her his last concubine?”

He doesn’t need to say more for you to put the pieces together.

“It’s devastating that she ended up going to heaven along with our mothers and that wrenched father of ours. On the bright side, at least we don’t have to worry about—”

“BE QUIET.”

Jungkook’s booming room makes the ballroom fall silent. He clenches his fist, about to punch Jin but contains the desire to do so. You stand up from your seat, stepping in between to stop the violence from pursuing forward. Without another word, Jungkook walks off and exits the room. You’re about to run after him when Jin stops you.

“There’s no point in following him. People like needs to calm down on their own.”

Although he may be Jungkook’s older half-brother, you have zero respect for him. To be pushing Jungkook to this extent simply for his own amusement is too much. You snarl at Jin, but he returns the look with a side smirk. You run off to find Jungkook, with all eyes on your back as you leave the room.

———

You run around the castle bare feet, holding the heels in your hands. You were running for a while that your feet were beginning to hurt. The long gown is also making it more difficult for you to run, so you lift it up to make it easier to run. Since everybody is in the ballroom, the halls are practically empty, and the only thing you can hear is your feet patting against the floor and your heavy breathing.

You walk around the halls calling his name, but you get no response. Since he isn’t there, you rush to his office, but he isn’t there either. Your last hope is the bedroom, so you head there. Unfortunately, you fail to find him here as well.

Having nowhere else to search, you sit by the edge of the bed, breathing heavily as you finally got the chance to catch your breath. Where could he have gone? He ran off so suddenly that it was difficult to keep up with him. But what did Jin mean when he said that his mother was sent to heaven along with their father? Could it mean that his mother is dead? It could explain why you’ve never seen his mother before and also why he doesn’t enjoy talking about his mother.

While thinking of other places that he could’ve gone, the wind blows into the room, causing it to crawl down your spine. You’re not used to this cold weather, so the chilly gale distracts you from your thoughts. You get out of bed to close the balcony door when you notice someone at the small shed where Jungkook typically practices. Unsurprisingly, it’s Jungkook. Relieved that you finally found him, you rushed out the door and to the garden.

———

It’s even colder outside, and you wrap yourself with your hands. His back is facing you as he stares at the stars. He grew up in this cold weather, so it’s not a surprise that the cold doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t notice you until you get closer and the sound of your gown dragging against the dirt grabs his attention.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you really think I wanted to be there alone?” You snicker.

You stand next to him but at a safe distance where you don’t touch. He glances down at your dress, and even though it’s dark, he can tell that the ends of the fabric have been torn and you’re not wearing any heels.

“Your feet don’t hurt?”

You shake your head. “Wearing shoes hurt me more.”

From a distance, you see silhouettes of people running through the halls with lanterns. They’re all running frantically as if searching for something.

“They’re probably looking for us. Let’s hide.”

“Where?”

He points to the shed then walks ahead of you. You follow from behind before looking back at the people who are looking for you two.

———

You’ve never been in the shed before nor have you ever thought about entering. Not to your surprise, it looks like any other shed—various types of swords hanging on the wall, a rotting, mahogany table in the center, and lantern that Jungkook is lighting up with a match.

Jungkook sits by the edge of the table, and you do the same since there’s nowhere else to sit. You look down at your feet and see that it’s covered in dirt, but you aren’t disgusted by it. You never wore shoes prior to coming to Freesia Island, so it’s relieving to run around without them. While thinking about the past, you begin rubbing your necklace without thinking.

“You really like that necklace.”

“Oh…” You look down at your necklace, raising it up higher for him to see. “It’s an important part of my family tradition. Whenever a younger generation gets married, we pass it down.”

After saying that, Jungkook scoots away from you. He stares at the ground as he bites his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry. I wasted it.”

“Wasted what?”

“…You got something valuable because you got stuck with me. I dragged you into something you never agreed with.”

Is he thinking about what Jin said to him earlier? He must’ve seen how hurt you were when he was speaking, so it’s finally settling in his head how unhappy you are here. How do you respond to this? You’ve made it obvious that you hate it here, and lying that he didn’t drag you into anything won’t make him feel better either.

“You did,” He looks even more offended, so you desperately think of anything to say to make him feel better. “B-but it’s not so bad now! I mean, it’s tough being an outsider, but I’m getting used to it.”

“Yea, that’s not what you thought when you cried that night.”

“Cried?”

It hits you hard when you’re reminded of your mental breakdown. It’s something that you don’t want to remember since you dislike crying in front of people. Just thinking about it makes your cheeks turn red, so you cover it with your hands and look away from him.

“You don’t have to remind me! Of course I miss my home a lot, but rather than make the topic about me, is there something you want to talk about?”

“What?”

“I dunno. It looks like there’s something bothering you. If you don’t want to say anything, that’s fine. I’m just saying that it’s better to let it off your chest. I promise I won’t tell anybody about it.”

He stares at you suspiciously with an eyebrow raised, but there’s nothing suspicious about your round eyes returning the gaze back at him. He feels a little uncomfortable because it’s still not normal for him to be going to somebody to lean on. Clearing his throat, he thinks about where to start, but nothing comes to mind.

Since he doesn’t have anything to say, you decide to lend a hand. “Is it true that you and your brothers don’t like your father?”

“…It’s true. I despise him with everything I have, and I’m disgusted knowing that we share the same blood. And I also dislike thinking about those men as my brothers. They never treated me like one.”

Jungkook plays with his thumbs, twirling them in circles.

“My mother did have sex with men because it was the easiest way for her to make money. Everybody looked down on her for what she did, but nobody understood that she did it so that we could eat something by the end of the day. She risked sleeping with many dangerous, violent men all for the sake of me.”

He remembers those times when they still lived in the slums of the city, living in an abandoned building infested with rodents and sewage water. Every day, his mother brought another man, luring them in with her captivating beauty and pretending to be infatuated with these lustful men. She did it so often while Jungkook was in the same room that sex was a normal occurrence. Then by the end of the day, his mother would caress his cheek, asking him what he would like to eat. When he looked up at his mother, all he saw were green and purple bruises on her skin.

“Then one day, the king came to town asking for my mother. He was in love with my mother, or at least I think. When I first met him, my mother insisted that I was his son. But truth be told…she slept with so many men that her statement felt like a lie. She must’ve said that to make sure that we would live a life of luxury in the castle.”

He gets a flashback of when he first entered the castle, and it felt gigantic. He had never been in such a vast place before, so being a naive child, he was excited for the life that he was going to live.

“But my mother was treated no differently than when we lived in the streets. She tried her hardest not to show the pain she went through being abused by my father’s concubines. She was the lowest of the lowest, so it wasn’t shocking when even the maids looked down on her. However, I did notice that the higher the position a concubine’s son had, then the more well-respected the mother receives. I thought that if I wanted my mother to live a more comfortable life, then I would have to work hard to impress my father.”

“So that’s when you started training with the sword?”

He nods. “It was hard at first, but I got the hang of it pretty fast. I made sure I scored high on my tests, and it didn’t take long for my father to recognize me. But…after working hard for so long, my father got sick after receiving a wound during a battle and appointed me as heir to the throne.”

“That’s good, right? That means that your mother can live more comfortably.” You say with excitement.

However, Jungkook doesn’t look as gleeful as you. “She died.”

Your jaw drops.

“It’s tradition that whenever the king dies, we burn money and kill his wives so that they can travel to heaven along with him.”

He clenches his fists, refusing to let those memories return. Jin did mention that his mother is no longer with them anymore, but you weren’t expecting her to leave in this fashion.

“When I was recognized by my father, it was the day my mother died. So…those years spent working so hard for the sake of returning the favor to my mother, wasted. She died with the reputation of being a whore, and I couldn’t do anything to show everybody who she truly is. She…sacrificed her body countless times to these wretched men just so that I live an easier life, and I hate that I could never show her how much she meant to me…and everything she did. I never intended on becoming king…I just wanted to protect the person who I treasured the most.”

Just as you thought, despite her image being that of a prostitute, she did it because she loved Jungkook. You can tell that she didn’t care whether or not he returned the favor, she simply wanted him to grow up in a safer environment. The worst part is that her death must’ve been right before he met you because people have told you that he merely became king weeks before he came to your island. That explains Jungkook’s solemn personality when you first met him. It wasn’t that he is a cold-hearted man to the core, he was just mourning the loss of the only person who’s ever loved him.

There’s a lump in your throat, blinking profusely as the tears form in your eyes. Jungkook is taken aback to see that you’re the one who’s crying. He leans forward, using his sleeves to wipe your tears away.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m sure she knew.”

He wrinkles his eyebrows, not understanding where you’re coming from. That’s when you pull him in for a hug, burying him your shoulder. He’ll probably try to fight you off, but he looked like he needed a hug. You rock him back and forth, and he stares blankly at the wall with wide eyes, unsure of what to make of this intimate moment.

“It hurts, and it’s something that’ll never heal. Her birthdays, death anniversaries, your birthdays, they’ll hurt because she isn’t there to celebrate with you. I know it feels like she left, but she never did. Even if you can’t see her, she’s watching you right now, and she knows that everything you did was all for the sake of her. So…to let your mother rest in peace and to help you move forward, don’t beat yourself down anymore, okay?”

You continue to cry for him, and Jungkook wraps his arms around you.

“Are you an idiot? Why do you feel bad for someone who stole you from your homeland? I’m the one who ruined your life.”

He’s right. You truly are an idiot suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, pitying the man who took everything away from you. But…you can’t forget that time when he held onto you when you cried. There was a middle ground where you two know how it feels like to lose someone important. And for that, he’s glad that there’s somebody like you who understands him and holds onto him.

———

You assumed that since his birthday has ended, you wouldn’t have to worry about tutoring and training sessions, but that isn’t the case. The head maid continues with the arduous teachings. Even though it already feels like a lot that you have to learn, this feels neverending. How much more do you have to learn until you’ve learned it all?

In your dressing room, you’re balancing three books on your head, with each book being at least four-hundred pages. You attempt to keep in balance, making sure that you don’t drop any of the books and keep your back straight. Your head maid walks around you in circles with a ruler in head. You know perfectly well what that ruler is for.

“If the books remain unstable, then it’s going to fall. By not keeping them well-balanced, then it shows that you are incapable of walking like a proper lady. So far, you fail to do so.”

You’ve already gotten used to her verbally abusing you that when she speaks, her voice goes in one ear and out the other. To distract yourself from having to be put down by her, you look out the window to see that the colors have changed. From the green trees and blue sky, it slowly faded to the autumn’s orange and red leaves. The grass is dead now, and there are fields of brown spread across the land. You would be mesmerized with this view had you not have to focus on holding books with your head.

The head maid slaps you on the shoulder, making you jolt.

“Keep steady! Loosen your shoulders, but don’t slouch to where you look lazy!”

You hate this. You absolutely hate this. You’ve had patience with her since the beginning, but you can’t anymore. She’s only doing it because she doesn’t like you. If you were of some other background, she would’ve been easier on you.

Out of irritation, you want to piss her off even more, so you purposely drop the books. Her jaw hangs low, absolutely in awe that you did that. You tempt her, tilting your head and cocking your head to the side just waiting for her to explode.

“You little-!”

She raises her ruler, getting ready to punish you just as she normally does.

“What happened?”

Standing by the door is Jungkook, arms crossed and his shoulder leaning on the door frame. The look of horror on the head maid’s face is laughable, the power she had over you drained. You hide your hands behind your back, looking at your feet as you wait for something dramatic to unfold.

“Y-Your Majesty…! I…”

“(Y/N), show me your hands.”

You stare at him in a daze, unsure if you heard him the first time. “What?”

“Let me see your hands.”

The head maid begins to sweat bullets when you hesitantly show him your hands. He holds them gently, noticing how red they are and old scars all around it. He doesn’t get angry, but it seems like he doesn’t appreciate the scars either.

He raises his head and glares at the head maid. “Have you been doing this to her?”

“Y-Your Majesty, I can explain. This is just a typical process for disciplining the lady.”

He doesn’t look convinced, and this makes the head maid even more nervous. Seeing how scared she of Jungkook, you pity her, despite her inflicting those injuries onto you. You step in between them, letting go of his hands.

“It’s okay, it’s because I never pay attention.”

He can see it in your eyes that you don’t want him to get upset at her. He doesn’t like how forgiving you are, especially since she must’ve made your life hell, but if you don’t want anything to happen, then it’s better for him to forget about it if it means not upsetting you.

“If that’s the case…then is it alright if I take her out of lessons in the meantime? I have something to talk about with her.”

“Please do! N-no need to ask me for permission, Your Majesty.” She bows her head.

You blink profusely. What does he want to talk about so suddenly? He’s never done this before. If it means intervening in your lessons, it must be important. You glance at the head maid, then at Jungkook. He flicks his head to the door, signaling for you to leave. With nothing to say, you exit the room, leaving him alone with the head maid.

Jungkook watches as you disappear from the hall, constantly looking back to see if he’ll follow you. Once you’re far away enough from the room, he leans close to the maid’s ear to whisper something.

“From this point on, (Y/N) will no longer be needing tutoring lessons. And if I see you ever hurt her again, then you will be seeing yourself out of the castle.”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

“Whenever she needs your assistance, don’t even look at her in the eyes. Don’t forget your position, and don’t forget hers especially. You’re lucky she decided to spare your life in spite of everything you’ve done to her.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.”

He leans back, leaving the room and catching up with you. You saw the whole thing unfold, but you couldn’t hear anything. When you look at him, he behaves as if none of that ever happened.

“What did you say to her?”

“Nothing of value. Now, come on, I have something to show  you.”

Jungkook walks before you and left in confusion, you follow him.

———

In the backyard, you get a better view of what Autumn is like in Freesia. The red and orange leaves are falling off the trees by the second, and the ground is covered with dead leaves. Each step you take, you hear the crunch of the leaves breaking into a million pieces.

The first thing you felt when you went outside of the cold air blowing against you. Despite the thick layers of clothes, it doesn’t protect you from the chilly weather mainly because you’re better suited for warmer climates. Jungkook notices how much you’re struggling with the decrease in temperature.

“Are you cold? You were like this on my birthday, too.”

You shake your head. “No! I’m fine. Now, what did you want to talk to me?”

“Well…please don’t make fun of me when I say this.”

“Say what?”

He pulls up his sweater to hide his flustered cheeks and hides his hands in his pockets. “I thought about what you said…about me overworking myself. Since I have time, I thought I would take this opportunity to relax.”

“That’s great! What do you plan on doing?”

Jungkook crouches down and picks up a single leaf. “Autumn is one of my favorite seasons because when I was a child, the only fond memory I did have was when I gathered the leaves into a pile and fell into it.”

“What…?”

The skeptical expression on your face makes him think that you find this activity to be childish. He turns away, now his entire face turning red as he stands up. He can’t even look you in the face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

“No, no, no. It’s not that I think what you did as a child is ridiculous, but I didn’t know that you can do that with leaves.”

“I can show you.”

He kneels down again, using his arms to scoop up as many leaves as he possibly can into one pile. You stand over him, observing intently with what he’s doing. He makes a pile large enough that it’s a little above your knees. Once he’s done, he stands next to you as if waiting for you to do something.

“Is…that it?”

“You’re supposed to jump in.”

“But wouldn’t it hurt?”

“It’s softer than you think.”

You won’t budge. Since you are convinced by what he said, he decides to jump in it. You jolt, about to stop him, then getting on your knees to help him up.

“Are you crazy?! Why would you do that?”

But as you pull him out of the pile, what you see is Jungkook laughing. He’s never laughed this much before, seeing as his eyes squint when he laughs a lot. This is the happiest you’ve ever witnessed Jungkook, and it’s almost weird in a way.

“Try it, it’s fun.”

There are pieces of dead leaves stuck in his hair. You have the urge to pick them out, but he looks so joyful that you don’t want to ruin it. You look around for leaves, gathering them and towering them into a large pile. Even though you make a tower that you believe will support you if you fell in it, you’re still doubtful, so you make an even taller pile. But as you keep piling on, the leaves on the top begin falling down.

“I think that’s enough.”

You stare at him suspiciously, not believing that you’ll land on it safely. Since he won’t say anything, you stand up. Now that you got that done, all that’s left is for you to jump. Right as you were about to fall into the leaves, you stop yourself. The thought of jumping into leaves to kill leisure time and being watched so keenly by Jungkook makes it feel…uncomfortable. You become conscious of what you’re doing, and now you almost don’t want to do this.

You’re really beginning to question what you’re doing here. You were just doing lessons with your strict maid, and now you’re here with Jungkook, about to jump into this pile. You thought about everything you’ve done to bring you to where you’re at, and it’s led to you to this moment.

As awkward as it is, Jungkook is anticipating it a lot, even if he isn’t saying anything. You squeeze your eyes shut, not necessarily jumping in per se, simply dropping your body onto it. Just as Jungkook says, it wasn’t as rough as you first thought. It wasn’t soft either, but the crunchy texture wasn’t tough enough to scratch you.

When you open your eyes, it felt like everything was in slow motion. The leaves were launched into the air after your impact, and you watch as the autumn colors flutter around you. You reach your hand out to grab them, but none of it falls into your hands. Within seconds, everything has fallen to the ground. You sit up, wanting to experience that short-lived fun again.

“Look at you, you have leaves all over your back.”

You remove your hair to the side, feeling your back with your hand to feel the small pieces latched onto your woolen clothes. You pick them off individually, and he scoffs. He helps sweep it off since picking them off is going to take an eternity.

Without telling you, you feel his hand run down your back, though a bit vigorous with his movements. It startles you, but you don’t retaliate with his help. It’s sweet that he’s helping you wipe it off. But touching your back is making you flustered. He never makes contact with you unless he tells you, so this is a bit strange.

“There’s some even in your hair.”

It isn’t easy to take them out with your hair tied into a braided bun. He has no other choice but to pick it out one by one.

“You did it, too, so don’t you have some on your back?”

“I do, but I can take it out later.”

“But what if the servants see? They’ll go ballistic if they found out that we were playing outside.”

“It’s fine. I can always take off my coat and shake it off. My hair isn’t as long as yours, so I can run my hand through it to comb it out. Goodness, you have so much in your hair. You might have to wash it out.”

It was fun while it lasted, but what isn’t great is having to clean up the mess that comes after. It takes a long time before he’s done. Your press your hair, noticing that you have strands sticking out from your formerly neat bun. It might be because he never had to worry about long hair, but he must’ve messed it up as he was trying to clean your hair.

When he’s off-guard, you sneak up behind him, scaring him when you start patting him on the back. “Wh-what are you doing?!”

“Helping you clean your back, too.”

Jungkook doesn’t look like he wants this to happen, but just like you, that he doesn’t want to ruin the mood, so he doesn’t say anything. As it was quiet between you two, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable, at least for you. You keep staring at his hair, noticing how thick his black hair is. His hair has grown quite a bit since the first meeting. Ignoring the dead leaves in his hair, it looks really soft, and you feel the urge to pet it.

Without thinking, you reach your hand out to touch his hair. He jolts, frightened by your touch, and you flinch your hand back.

“S-sorry!” Embarrassed, you slap his back really hard.

“Ouch!”

Because of your rash action, the pieces of leaves scatter in the air, some getting in your eyes. You move back, covering your eyes as you feel them poke your eyes and sinking deeper into your eyes.

“Ow…”

Jungkook looks back seeing you in distress. He scoots closer, moving your hands away from your eyes. Each time you try to open them, the pieces would move with your eyelid, pricking at your eyeball again.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I got something in my eyes.”

Your eyes get watery, and you get the urge to wipe them with your hands, but Jungkook is still holding them away from you.

“Let me see.”

He leans his face just inches away from you, opening your eyelid with his hand and searching for the dust that fell into your eye. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest when you saw how close he was. You tense up, not sure about what to do.

Jungkook begins to blow gently in your eyes to see if he can get rid of it. Your eyes twitch, jerking your head back slightly. However, you remain still, letting him do what he wants. You try really hard not to look at him in the eyes, otherwise, you’ll get flustered again. This close proximity is making your heart beat rapidly.

Even though you told yourself not to look at him, your brain unconsciously directs your eyes to his mouth. Since he’s really close, you can only see his lips. They don’t look chapped whatsoever, and they’re healthily pink. You never noticed that he has a mole under his lower lip. Not only that, but there’s also a scar on his left cheek. There are so many small details about him that you didn’t see the first time, and it makes you wonder if he can notice the little things on your face.

Just thinking about that makes you feel somewhat insecure. Your cheeks turn red, being more conscious about his hand on your face, his thumb holding your eyelid open as he blows in your eye. This intense awkwardness is making you think that your chest is about to explode. You can’t take this anymore, it’s making you feel shy.

Without thinking, you push Jungkook off. He falls into the fallen leaves, the leaves scattering everywhere. You’re so embarrassed that you hide your red cheeks with the palms of your hands. But after that rush leaves, you crawl to Jungkook, hovering over him to check if he’s alright.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!”

He sits up, rubbing the back of his head, presuming that he hit his head when you pushed him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

You lean closer, inspecting his head for any injuries. You sigh in relief to find that there’s nothing fatal.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you without permission.”

“N-no, you didn’t do anything.”

Was the air always this uncomfortable when you spoke to him? You brush your hair behind your ears, your eyes locked to the ground.

You flinch when Jungkook reaches his hand out to brush your bangs as well. Just like when he put his hand on your face, it was very gentle. When you glance up at him, he gazes at you with such care that you’ve never seen before. It’s almost like this isn’t the same Jungkook you’ve always known. He’s sweeter, more playful, and a joy to be around.

Despite the contrast, the man in front of you is still the same. He has the same calm demeanor and looks the same. You can tell when he wants to share things with you, but he doesn’t want to come off as too excited. There’s still that childishness that he has inside of him, but he hides it with his mature side.

“You should go back inside and get your hair fixed.”

He moves away, pretending as if he never touched you. It leaves you surprisingly disappointed that your time with him is ending, despite begrudgingly enduring the uncomfortable atmosphere. Despite barely speaking, it was fun.

“I just wanted someone to talk to. Thank you,” he’s speaking to you, but he has his head turned away. Still, you notice that his ears are turning red. “Maybe during winter, I can show you how to make a snowman or a snow angel.”

You’ve never seen snow before. The closest you’ve ever gotten to snow was when your father described it for you when he saw it. To actually experience snow sounds thrilling.

“I look forward to it! And thank you for taking me out of lessons today.”

“That’s nothing. From now, I don’t think you need it. I’ll see you later.”

You wave goodbye, walking off. You wish you got to talk to him longer, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Your relationship with him has come a long way, and it’s nice seeing how much it blossomed. There’s no more of that lingering dread whenever you’re around him, just comfort, like he’s your friend.

When you turn the corner, you get startled when you find Taehyung just standing there, leaning on the wall. You put your hand over your heart to soothe it, exhaling.

“Oh god, Taehyung! You scared me.”

“You’ve gotten really close with him these days, haven’t you?”

“Huh…? Oh, yea. A lot has happened, so…”

But you let your sentence trail off when you notice that Taehyung doesn’t look happy. He normally treats you with a friendly smile, but he looks a little upset.

“You haven’t forgotten about our plan, have you?”

Mentioning the plan makes you feel bitter inside.

“No, I didn’t.” You look down with shame and shake your head.

“Then what have you been doing? You haven’t been doing your part of the deal.”

“I still am…! It’s just that it…it takes time.”

“I’ve been watching you, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll take that long. All I needed you to do is to find Jungkook’s weak-point. Is that so hard?” He asks with a passive-aggressive tone.

His belittling is irritating you slightly. It’s like he lost trust in you. You’re at fault for not playing your part of the plan, but he never explained why he needs to know Jungkook’s weak spot. How does learning his weakness is going to help you return home?

Home…Every time you thought about it, there was a hollow void that only despair was able to fill in. But now, bringing it up doesn’t hurt anymore. You still want to go home, but it doesn’t have to be immediately either. You want to experience your first snow with Jungkook, and you want to be there when the first day of Spring arrives.

There are things you want to do with Jungkook, and he’s shared so many deep secrets that you feel like a traitor if you left him without telling him. You did this because you thought Jungkook has nothing but malice in him, but there’s more to him than what meets the eye.

When you take a while to respond, that’s when it clicks in Taehyung’s head. “You’ve grown a liking to him, have you?”

Mild panic sets in when his question sinks in. Like him…? Your animosity toward him definitely died down, but not as a romantic interest. You’d like to think that the feeling’s neutral and you two no longer have that gap in between. You know lying won’t convince Taehyung anything, so you can’t beat around the bush.

“He’s not as bad as you think he is.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Are you forgetting who we’re talking about? This is the son of a tyrant, and you think that he’ll be different from his father and brothers?”

You know that, but Jungkook isn’t like them. He didn’t grow up with royalty, and he knows what it’s like to be the lowest of the low.

Taehyung sighs in frustration, pinching his sinuses. “Do you know what happens to the concubines after the king dies?”

You tilt your head, wondering why he brought that up. “Why?”

“If Jungkook dies, then you have no other choice but to die with him.”

The utmost dread sinks into your stomach, weighing you down so much that your knees feel weak. Just like his mother, the second you tie the knock with him, you’re destined to be by his side even after death. Why didn’t it hit you when you learned of his mother’s fate?

You step away from Taehyung slowly, covering your ears as you refuse to listen to him. Sweat starts pouring down your forehead. You just came to terms that this was going to be your life, you don’t want to question it again. Jungkook can’t possibly let you fall into the same fate as his mother. Does he care enough about you to even stop it?

The distraught in your eyes does not give Taehyung any remorse for what he said. The further you step away from him, the closer he gets.

“It has been an integral part of Fressia culture that it’s become normal. That’s why I’m trying to help you, so you can get out of it.”

You shake your head, not wanting to listen to any more of this.

“Then keep with the plan. Now that you know that, don’t let Jungkook get attached to you. Otherwise, when he dies, he’s going to want you to die with him. And don’t cling onto him either. It isn’t like he’ll change tradition.”

Taehyung walks off, leaving you to face the struggle on your own. It was so easy to agree with him and go against Jungkook’s back after what he’s done. But everything isn’t so black and white, just like Jungkook. He may appear cold-hearted, but he has trouble showing that tender side to him. Despite how much you’ve learned about him, there’s st

Jungkook making the G.C.F in tokyo: … this looks a little gay
*adds troye sivan*

Jungkook: P E R F E C T

Jungkook: I’m guy

Jungkook:Gua-a

Jungkook:Gui…

Namjoon: it’s ok, take your time

Jungkook: -points at Jimin- BOYS

                             Fake Texts

SVT

#1 - So, Who is your bias? (Gyu&Hosh)

#2 - So, who is your bias? (DK, Gwan, Won)

#3 - So, who is your bias? (Won&Gyu)

Babe? I think I need stitches… (Ver)

BTS

I need answers, Jimin

So, when isyour birthday? (V&JK)

Jungkook confesses

Jin has an emergency

Taehyung asks you out

Christmas with Yoongi

EXO

We Don’t Talk Anymore (D.O) 

Lip Rings (Baek)

Sehun and Bubble Tea

                              Stories

SVT

Wonwoo - Late Shift - F

Hoshi - Nurse - F

Dino - Movie Night - F

Wonwoo - Unaware - F

Pairings:Jungkook x female reader

Rating: 18+ | Mature | Explicit

Word Count:16k | read on ao3

Synopsis: You’ve just been laid off, and all you want to do is eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget. Unfortunately, the neighborhood block party is tonight, and the festivities turn downright chaotic when the entire city loses power. Don’t fret, though. Jungkook will help take your mind off things for a while.

Genres | Content Warnings | Themes: Strangers to lovers, FLUFF with a capital FLUFF, Yugyeom makes an appearance, humor, comfort, smut (starts out with sweet, vanilla sex and masturbation, turns into biting, hickeys, fingering, oral sex [female receiving, male receiving], edging, protected vaginal sex, playful spanking, overstimulation, spitting), drinking / drinking games, drug use (weed edibles).

Preview:

Eyes wet with steaming, streaming tears, you let the bodies push you back.

Back to the elevator.

Back down to the lobby.

And back to the curb outside.

Wherehe looks up and finds your twisted, nauseated expression.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You didn’t see him when you stepped back onto the sidewalk. Even now, you only see him in parts.

Bent fingers clutch his hoodie’s drawstring, pulling left, then right. The denim of the jacket over it shifts slightly as he does. Full lips rest against each other lightly, an interrupted, absent-minded whistle reforming into more words.

“You dropped something.”

Taglist:@apprentlyeveryusernameistaken@artistkoo@augela@awinkies@babycoffeefire@bbangtanlove95@bluejin0812@bookandarrow @btseditsworld@claricedelune@codeinebelle@dearbambideer@downbad4yoongi@dreamamubarak@dvalitaes@effielumiere@elyte@greezenini@helenazbmrskai@hobiiiiiworld@ifntelyinspirit@imaginativedreams@iwantkitten@jimcartop@jkkit@kflixnet@kookayparadise@kpop-fanfics24@lynnloveslokiredacted@m-yg93@miscelunaaa@missbickerbocker@mochilatae@morti13@nch327@noonabunny@pb-n-juju@peachy-skz0325@purpleheartsfortae@rumpucis@skyys-universe@somewhereofftheglobe@sumzysworld@sunnietee@sunshinerainbowsbts@svgahigh@taytaymuse @weluvbmo@yuugehn​

Thanks and hope you enjoy!

What makes a good manager? Empathy? Organization? Know-how? Whatever mix of qualities, are they innate, or does it come from steadily and patiently rising through the ranks with your allies? Are good leaders born or made?

You don’t think you’ll ever be sure of what makes a good manager. But what you are definitely sure about is what makes a badmanager. 

Bad managers are the type of people who, when given a choice, elect to have you come in for your office job all week for your usual 8 to 5, and wait until Friday afternoon to inform you that you have been let go, even though they got the call from leadership on Monday morning.

You grumble as you shift your cardboard box of belongings to your other arm in order to make the last leg of your journey, every single one of your pores emptying twenty-fold their volume into the fibers of your polyester blend. Couldn’t you have been sacked in the fall? On top of having an additional couple of months to figure your shit out, you wouldn’t be drenched.

It’s 7 by the time you’re stomping around the corner to your block. There’s a family-sized bag of pita chips, a pail of hummus, and an edible patiently waiting for you.

If only there weren’t so many people blocking the way to your door.

Crumpled ghosts of flyers float past you. Their sans-serif font and centered alignment. The drawing of an old-school boombox with music spilling out of it. The date. The goddamned time. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, unable to hear even yourself under millennial R&B samples carrying Gen Z slang. 

Shoulders slumping, you try to trudge through the crowd that doesn’t part, draining energy quickly by the time you make your sixth and seventh attempt, even using the sharp corners of your box to try to snowplow your way through the increasingly drunken bodies that won’t feel any pain until the morning. 

Eyes wet with steaming, streaming tears, you let the bodies push you back.

Back to the elevator.

Back down to the lobby.

And back to the curb outside.

Wherehelooks up and finds your twisted, nauseated expression.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You didn’t see him when you stepped back onto the sidewalk. Even now, you only see him in parts.

Bent fingers clutch his hoodie’s drawstring, pulling left, then right. The denim of the jacket over it shifts slightly as he does. Full lips rest against each other lightly, an interrupted, absent-minded whistle reforming into more words.

“You dropped something.”

The Hulk bobblehead, given to you in celebration of getting this job in the first place, proves to be more lasting than your presence in the office. 

When you see it in a puddle by your feet, your heart sinks a little. 

And, ever-so-slightly, so does the box in your grip, as you jostle around to allow yourself to reach down and pick it up.

Before you can, though, bent fingers have let go of the drawstring and curl around The Hulk’s head instead. Green abs and purple shorts wiggle from its spring, despite what seems to be The Hulk’s unrelenting protest. 

You look up at the owner of those bent fingers, form crouched in front of you, still only able to perceive him in parts. Four wrinkles at the bridge of his nose. An amused smirk. 

“Ha ha!”

He studies The Hulk’s face, and his right brow falls into a slanted line in perfect mimicry.

“Raaawwrrr!” 

The Hulk’s body wiggles violently as bent fingers shake him back and forth. 

“HULK SMAAAASH!”

You don’t mean to smile. 

His smile is about to meet you too, but his eyes start to take up more space, widening at the sight of slightly shiny lines on your cheeks, carving your skin out like flowing rivers cutting through sienna rock.

“Hey! It’s OK!”

A sleeve rises into view. It moves in quick, small motions, back and forth. 

“Just gotta c-clean him up a little here and—” 

The Hulk suddenly grows ten times in size, now dangling on its spring, right in front of your face.

“See?? N-no harm done!!”

You sniffle.

Bent fingers gently set The Hulk back into the box, in a gap between your empty, gray mesh pen cup and your prized, powder blue stapler. 

You sniffle again. 

You love stapling. 

So final, so sure, that satisfying, crisp metal crunch!

You think you hear that crunch as this stranger’s bright eyes are putting it all together.

As are you, bits and pieces of this stranger now stitching together into a concerned but welcoming face, much too kind, and dangerously easy to open up to. Especially for someone in your state. 

Your fingers dig into your cardboard box.

“Thanks,” you say, relieved that your voice sounds so steady.

He lifts his eyes from the powder blue stapler and watches as you lift your upper arm to your right cheek. 

You dab your tears.

You frown at the sight of black streaks on your blouse. 

And then you startle at the feel of denim against your left cheek.

You watch as this stranger takes a step back.

The fact that he doesn’t seem to notice or care about the black streaks on hissleeve makes you care less about the black streaks on yours.

You feel a little lighter. From what it looks like, about three wisps of Pat McGrath FetishEyes lighter.

“Sorry,” he says, “I just—”

“No, that was… that was nice of you,” you say, starting to become impressed at just how steady your voice is. “Thank you.”

He nods. “Can I help you with anything else?” He holds his hands out a little, wrists coming out of his sleeves. “Take that box for you?”

“I’m good,” you say. 

He’s kind for softening his doubtful look, but his head tilt gives his thoughts away.

“Really,” you insist.

And you insist to yourself that you really don’t mean to smile. You’re surprised that you do. 

He mirrors it, his eyes following his lips, which follow yours, copying perfectly the slightly sad pout that you’re too aware that you’re making, and that tells him that his head tilt is absolutely warranted. 

“If you say so.”

Your smile fades a little as you look back down to the box, still in your grip, resting against your stomach. 

You look back up and watch as he curiously peruses the box’s content. 

“Whatis all this stuff?” he asks.

You look back over at the crowd now spilling out of your apartment building. 

“Um…”

Your brain is moving too fast, keeping you from being able to expand on the complexity of the matter. The words settling in the back of your throat are reduced to grade school-level syntax that matches the grade school-level emotions that you’re trying to hold at bay. 

This is all Desk Stuff. 

Desk Stuff belongs on a Desk. 

But you no longer have a Desk. 

You no longer even have an Office. 

Or a Job. 

And all you seem to be able to do about it, at least, for right now, is cry.

“Just… stuff.”

How is your voice still so steady when your stomach and chest are churning and burning, flip-flopping positions in your body in an attempt to escape this disaster?

To escape you?

He seems to realize now. There’s even a hint of — ugh — pity in his eyes. 

You want to explain that you’re stronger than this. It’s just that your Job, and your Office, and your Desk were so rare. Beautifully, wonderfully, hilariously rare. Just like your powder blue stapler is rare, and it’s even rarer to see it not at the ready under a mix of sunlight and fluorescent lighting but settled against hastily packed bits and bobs in a box open to the night air.

“You need to keep any of it?” he asks. 

The realization feels weirdly cold in your chest. “No,” you say.

“Youwantto keep any of it?”

You shrug. 

His head straightens suddenly. 

“Not even The Hulk??”

He looks so excited.

You really, really don’t mean to smile. You’re surprised that you do. That you still can. 

You even chuckle, softly, three tiny stops and starts of that steady, warm voice. 

“Why?You want him?”

“Well, y-yeah — he’s The Hulk!!”

You hold the box out and up to him. 

“Take him, then. Give him a nice home.”

Bent fingers wrap around The Hulk’s head. He lifts The Hulk out of the box and places it into the left chest pocket of his denim jacket, patting it caringly, for safekeeping. 

The Hulk’s eyes peek out at you over the lip.

“Nowyou pick something,” he tells you.

You look up from The Hulk’s eyes and stare questioningly into the eyes of this alarmingly kind stranger.

“You wanna keep at least one thing, right?” he asks. He peeks back down into the box. “Anything important? Or, just, y’know.” He looks back at you. “Special?”

You think again of the satisfying crunch of metal. 

And then you smile down at your powder blue stapler. 

You hug the box against your chest with one arm and pull the stapler out with your free hand. 

He smiles again, and claps his hands with glee.

The Hulk nods.

And, as you nod back, you catch a glimpse of the alleyway. 

Your gaze settles on the too-bright blue paint sadly used for something as putrid as a dumpster. 

Your feet take you there, and they, along with your calves, and thighs, and arms, and shoulders, and back, thank you immensely as you toss all the rest inside. 

That box looks so small now, amongst everything else. The longer you stare at it, you can’t even really see it anymore, as it gets lost in so many things that also don’t matter.

With your arms free, you get the impulse to pull your phone from your back pocket. But you don’t want to see the flurry of messages that are probably waiting for you.

Instead, you turn and walk back to the curb, where he is still standing and watching you. 

Your feet take you back to him, arm at your side, the stapler fold hanging off your finger, its handle and base taking turns swinging as you walk, powder blue grazing the side of your polyester-covered thigh. 

You stand in front of him, feeling so much lighter. 

“Uh, thanks,” you say. “Again.”

He smiles. 

Now that the weight is off of your shoulders, you can take in more. The sound of street traffic buzzing around you. Honks, and music, and chatter. 

The crowd around your apartment building has doubled if not tripled in size. 

“Live here?” he asks. 

You nod, and your shoulders sink. “But the block party completely slipped my mind.” You sigh and wonder how long it will take for the crowd to dissipate. “All I wanna do is eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget today ever happened.”

“What’s stopping you?” he asks. 

You furrow your brow and gesture to the drunken, obnoxious mass blocking your way in. 

“Just gotta fight your way through a little, is all,” he says. “C’mon!”

Instead of complaining about having to do anything other than what you want to, you figure that following this guy, with his broad frame, tall stature, and friendly face, will help you work smart and not hard.

So you follow him. 

He moves through the crowd with ease, swimming with the current, instead of fighting his way upstream. 

He offers you protection from the worst hits. Errant slaps and elbows here and there as people reach for each other. A near-collision with a keg stand. 

But people still cut in front of you. By the fourth or fifth instance, you wonder why this always happens when you’re in a crowd, or whether you can consider it a “cut” when you don’t even seem to register on people’s radar.

You watch as his head bobs along, nearly out of sight. And then, when he’s too far away, you start to feel the tide turning again, pulling you back out into the vast ocean. 

You’re nearly all the way back by the lobby doors when his face pops out of the crowd. 

“Hey!” he exclaims. 

He throws his arm out, hand open, palm upturned. A life saver on a rope thick, straight, and strong.

You grab it.

You watch as his hand turns over and determinedly pulls you into him.

And you lock eyes briefly before he swirls you around and puts you in front of the crowd, daring you to meet it face-to-face.

He stands behind you but places his hands firmly on your shoulders.

You grip the stapler tight in your hand. 

And then, with his guidance, you start to move through the crowd. 

Part the crowd. 

It’s much easier than you thought. But you knew that. You used to do this all the time, without even thinking. Shoulders back. Hair tossed just so. Beaming with all the wise, unthreatened confidence that years of a magical mix of expertise and bullshit have bestowed upon you.

They, and he, bring you right next to the elevators, and, thinking this is it, you go to punch the button. 

But he steers you toward the stairs instead.

He leans down into you, pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your right ear. 

“Let’s go this way.”

The music and chatter is so loud that even though you feel his chest straining, it sounds like a whisper. 

You think about what’s waiting for you at home. 

The chips. The hummus. The last three squares of your weed-infused chocolates. All designed to help you settle your mind and forget about this whole, wretched day.

Then again, maybe there are other ways to forget.

You shove your powder stapler into your pocket and nod, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already angling you toward the stairs, and chases your steps as you both climb. 

You feel his hands slide down your shoulders, then arms, then into the crooks of your slightly folded elbows, your right hand still touting your stapler, your left hand not fully grasping but angled to feel along the railing so that you have something to hold onto if you trip over one of these people sitting on the steps.

He’s right by your side. Grabs hold of you to help keep you steady when someone suddenly moves to get up. When he lets you go at the top of the stairs, you’re almost sad the building has elevators at all. 

“You know the Chans?” he asks.

You register the smell of egg rolls and dumplings and fries and cheese and sugar before you notice that the people who happen to be on this floor are too busy stuffing their faces to really talk. It’s quieter here. Thankfully.

“No,” you mumble, as he walks next to you, moving in lockstep down the hall and slightly to the right. “I don’t really know anybody else in the building.”

“Just moved in?”

“Been here three… wait… four?” You grimace. “Years?”

His eyebrows rise at the speed with which his own mother would race a cake over to every new neighbor on their street. 

“I’ll introduce you!” he says, swinging around you and standing perpendicular to your path to let you know that this next, slightly ajar door will lead you to The Chans. 

He knocks on the door. 

It opens, suddenly, and fully, and a woman grins happily at the both of you before settling into his warm, eager gaze. 

“Jungkook-ah,” she chides playfully, “I told you to come as soon as the party started! We’re already almost out of—”

He — or, well, Jungkook, apparently — rushes inside the apartment toward the kitchen, leaving you standing there in the hallway. 

The woman turns to you, still carrying fondness in her eyes. “Hi!”

“Hi,” you say, as pleasantly as you can. 

The woman takes in the sight of you, though she frowns when she looks down by your hip.

“Is… that… a stapler in your pocket?” 

Your brain starts to move too fast again. 

Desk. Office. Job.

But then she giggles. 

“Or are you just happy to see me?”

Jungkook mumbles something resembling an introduction after you follow “Miff-iff Cham” through the busy, glowing living room and into the kitchen. 

“Did you even think to get your friend a drink??” Mrs. Chan asks, reaching not for the plenty of plastic flatware but into the cupboards for a porcelain bowl. 

Jungkook mumbles something else, a chomped egg roll raised to his lips, cheeks bulging out, and a bit of fried wrapper sticking out of the corner of his mouth. 

“This boy,” Mrs. Chan laughs, shaking her head. “He devours everything in sight!” As she talks, she walks down the line of her counter, scooping up a bit of everything from her various pots and pans and plopping it into your bowl. “If we didn’t feed him real food, he’d eat garbage off the street! Like one of those fat pigeons!”

Jungkook protests, still unintelligible, but wounded, and passionate, given that flakes of egg roll wrapper fly out of his mouth. 

“Please, Jungkook, you’re so sensitive! Have you seen you?” Mrs. Chan says with a roll of her eyes. “Although, if you keep inhaling these egg rolls…”

She softens at Jungkook’s worried expression.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you fat. I just meant— Ugh, what else eats tra— Like a raccoon, then. How’s that, huh? Jungkook-ah? My little fluffy, sneaky, grabby-hands raccoon?”

Mrs. Chan shoves the now-full bowl into your open hands and makes grabby-hands with her own, pinching his full cheeks, cooing more… weird?… but sweet, raccoon-based compliments at him, which makes him smile happily, and close his eyes at her caring touch. 

You bring the bowl up to your face and breathe in the mouth-watering scent of all of this delicious, home-cooked, made-with-love morsels of amazing food.

Foroncetoday, someone has served you a pile of nothing but goodness.

You smile gratefully and take the chopsticks that Mrs. Chan gives to you. And then you take your place next to Jungkook, backs to the sink, both of you leaning back slightly as you eat. 

“Now, I didn’t catch your name,” Mrs. Chan tells you, stirring a spoon into one of the pots. 

As you finally say it, you can’t help but feel Jungkook paying you close attention — such close attention, mind you, that you swear he’s nearly pressing his smile onto your cheek.

“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself,” you go on, flashing a look at Jungkook before adding, “I’ve just been so busy…”

Desk. Office. Job.

The rest of the sentence that you were goingto say travels down your throat like the unchewed walnut that slipped by. 

You cough. Clear your throat the best you can. And pick up what you can recover.

“…atwork.”

“Ah, well, whatever! I’m happy we get to meet now,” Mrs. Chan says lightly.

The air with which she says it. So ethereal. It makes you feel a little better.

“I’m Chan Jia,” she goes on, “and my husband Feng and I have lived here pretty much all our lives, and, uh, we really like to cook! Even when half the city isn’ton our doorstep.”

Your eyes hang wide. “You’re amazing at it,” you say, through cheeks fuller than Jungkook’s. “The walnut chicken in particular is, mmm, god, so good.”

Mrs. Chan beams with pride. “Glad you like it! And that you came so hungry.”

More people spill into the Chans’ living room, and Mrs. Chan reaches for some of the paper plates and plastic flatware. 

“Get her something to drink, Jungkook-ah!”

He nods obediently and yells out an earnest, “Thank you!”

You scarf down the last bite in your bowl and start to calculate what seconds you want — definitely the walnut chicken, and maybe the lo mein — when Jungkook sticks a fresh egg roll in your face. 

“C’mon!”

He stuffs the egg roll into your mouth and takes your empty bowl from your hands, setting it in the filling kitchen sink. 

He takes your right wrist and tugs on it, leading you back out to the hall. 

You bite down on the egg roll and catch the other half in your left hand, grumbling, “I wasn’t done!” as you desperately try to chew and get the delicious pork filling and perfect golden crackles down your gullet. 

“Oh, sorry,” Jungkook says. “Seemed like you were.”

“Well!” You raise your left hand and bite into the second half. “I wasn’t!”

“Well, your bowl was empty, and you emptied it kinda fast, like, shockinglyfast, so I thought it was time for dessert—”

You polish off the egg roll as your feet plant themselves in place. “What is this? Who even areyou anyway??”

He smiles. “I’m Jungkook!”

“Yeah, caught that,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Seriously, though! I don’t really know who you—”

Someone splits the two of you, excited to bring one of two waffle ice cream cones to someone downstairs.

“—w-who you are, or if you even live here,” you continue, watching as they round the corner, jogging down the steps with what looks like pistachio ice cream in one hand and some kind of chocolate in the other. 

You turn back to Jungkook. 

“And all these people? I don’t know who theyare, and I just really—”

“But now you know Mrs. Chan,” Jungkook says, “and I guess by extension you kinda know Mr. Chan. There was a photo of him on the left wall by the—”

A group of young girls giggle as they exit one of the other apartments on this floor, each of them carrying baskets of freshly baked cookies.

Jungkook playfully yoink!s a couple from the last girl’s basket, and she teasingly slaps Jungkook’s arm as he feigns pain. 

They laugh at each other, and then, he wiggles his eyebrows and nods upward. 

“Oppa!” she whines.

He brings his shoulders up to his earlobes and wiggles his eyebrows even harder.

She rolls her eyes and hands him two more cookies, and she scurries to rejoin her group.

You glare at him.

He blinks at you. Pushes out his lips. 

“So…”

He holds out his arm.

“Is it time for dessert?”

You frown.

He wiggles the cookie around.

“Huuuuuh?”

Begrudgingly, you snatch the cookie that he’s offering.

Chocolate chip with toffee chunks and gooey caramel in the center.

It’s goddamn incredible.

“Iseveryoneon this floor a chef?!” you exclaim in surprise, crumbs flinging from your lips.

Jungkook looks up at the ceiling again as he counts. His unfolding pinky denotes The Chans in 2A, duh. His ring finger counts the Jeups and their three lovely daughters in 2D. His middle finger stands for the Gal brothers and their new ice cream machine, or, well, oldice cream machine, since their shop got the new one—

“Kinda, actually,” Jungkook answers, looking back at you, still counting the others in his head while holding the three other cookies between his thumb and index finger. “Although I guess the Jeups and the Gals are more… bakers? But I don’t think you say that for ice cream.” 

He plumps his bottom lip, chin wrinkling. 

“What do you call someone who makes ice cream for a living?”

You roll your eyes as you polish off your cookie.

“Hey, I thought we were doing it?” he asks. “Shoot. Maybe I’m doing it wrong?”

“Doingwhat?”

“What you wanted to do.”

Toffee and chocolate are swirling together heavenly in your mouth, but you keep glaring at him. You layer more fire into it. Frown harder. Scowl meaner. If you look angry enough, maybe he’ll give you a second cookie out of fear, and you don’t have to admit how boggled you are.

“You said that all you wanted to do was eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget,” Jungkook recalls. “So we’re taking care of the eating part.”

You pull back a little on the glare. 

“I would’ve appreciated getting to eat more of that walnut chicken.”

Jungkook’s eyes and grin thin out. 

“We can go back. Or…?”

He holds out another cookie to you.

Which you slowly take.

And in return, you let go of the glower.

You turn the cookie over in your hands. Raise it to your lips.

Jungkook nods encouragingly.

You take a bite.

Peanut butter. With little chocolate candies. That are also filled with peanut butter.

Your pesky smile makes another reappearance.

“Now,” Jungkook says triumphantly, biting into two cookies at once and recalling, “Mrs. Chan said,” as he gets those cookies down to half-size with his huge bites, “god this is fucking good,” smacking as he talks, “to get you a drink. So c’mon!”

He holds out his hand again. Devoid of any cookies.

You take it anyway.

And he leads you to the elevator.

“Can I get a copy of the itinerary?” you ask, puzzled by all your traipsing. 

Jungkook drums on the elevator doors with his knuckles before giving the right one a slap and pushing the call button. “It’s just block party physics,” he explains. “You saw all those kegs and coolers when you came in, right?”

You nod.

“Gotta keep beer on the ground floor. Nice way to say hi to people. And nobody wants to lug all that shit up all these floors. But people are doing stuff in their apartments, too. More drinks, and food, and games.”

You take a second to take Jungkook in from toe to head. White, worn sneakers, with blue details. Baggy pants. Thin, white hoodie. Denim jacket. Fluffed hair, crinkled and thin eyes, wrinkled nose, and an easy, big smile. Like he’s just hanging out at home.

“Party physics,” you repeat.

The elevator doors open, and you both step in, Jungkook leaning against the railing in the back, and you facing him with a smirk.

“Of which you just happen to be a scholar?”

Jungkook grins. “That, and, uh…”

He gestures to one of the flyers on the elevator bulletin board behind you. It’s not as crumpled as the ones that blew by you earlier. But it is drooping, the tape holding up its top two corners having lost its stickiness over the past few weeks.

You smooth the paper out.

And then you reach into your pocket.

For your powder blue stapler.

You staple each corner into the cork, and you see what Jungkook is talking about. Below the boombox drawing and general details is a whole spreadsheet of details. A murder mystery party on floor twelve. A dance party on floor seven. Karaoke on floor six. Movies on floor eight. 

Nothing on floor nine. You’re one of just a few people who live there. That floor doesn’t get great light, or a great view, facing the north, ignored side of the block. But that doesn’t matter to you. You like it quiet. That’s why you’re all there.

For some reason, you feel a little sick at the thought of riding up to floor nine.

So you’re grateful that you stop, for now, on floor five.

It boasts a crowd just a tad smaller than the one on the first floor, but the energy seems easier. Lively, but less brash.

When Jungkook sees your relieved smile, he takes it as a sign that he’s doing somethingright.

“Where should we start?” he asks, looking around at all the open doors. As you re-holster your stapler, his head darts left and right, checking your reaction with each option he presents.

“Board games! Ooh, OK, ‘ya seem to like that. We’ll put that on the list. We could also check out that poker game, which we passed back there. And there’s—”

You pull Jungkook’s arm toward you with such force that his nose bumps into your cheek. You laugh together, your eyes shining a bit brighter.

“That.”

You point.

“I wanna do that.”

Given your professional, cool-toned business separates; your seemingly strategic nature; your, quite frankly, super uptight vibe; and the way your eyes initially widened at the proposal to join the board game room, Jungkook wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who had even a passing interest in drinking games. Especiallyflip cup.

Yet, here you are, standing on top of Kim Yugyeom’s mother’s old kitchen table, the front of your blouse stained with sangria, and both of your hands victoriously pumping two empty, crushed plastic cups into the air.

Funny how the thing that always kept you from playing flip cup was the beer.

And you were extraordinary. How you downed each drink. How, like your voice has been so far this evening, you were able to stay so composed. How that gave you such an advantage with each flip. How everyone in the room cheered you on, shocked by how you hadn’t stuttered on a single cup. How Jungkook almost caught up, but you were able to rally and down two more full cups of sangria than you probably should have.

“Howwwww have I not plaaaaayedthisgaaaaame before?!” you ask, delirious from your winner’s rush. And maybe the sangria.

“You haven’t?!” a laughing Yugyeom adds, as he helps you down from his table. “Would’ve thought you were a pro!”

A little unsteady on your feet, and happily so, you lean into him, melting at his strong form and touch before pouring into one of the chairs nearby.

“Alright there, champ?” Yugyeom chuckles.

He watches you wiggle happily in your seat, one strong wiggle forcing you to lean a bit too much to the right. 

“Haha, fuck, let me get you some damn water!”

Jungkook lands in the chair next to you, propping you up and giggling at your blissful humming. 

Your eyes meet his. “Oh, what’s this?” You raise your left hand up. “Hmm?” Your palm grazes the tip of his nose, and your eyes widen with excitement, as his widen to try to find out what’s wrong with your hand. 

“Oh!” you smile.

Equally thrilled and perplexed, Jungkook moves to give you a high five?

But you dodge him with a grin. 

“Uh-oh!” 

Your wrist goes slack. Delighted, you do an arm wave, letting it flow through up to your shoulders, through to your trunk, and onwards to your other arm, which flows up and around from your side and around, down your opposite shoulder and through your forearm, fingers gathering to a point and tipping back Jungkook’s open forehead.

Jungkook lets out a spirited laugh that perks up your spine.

As you watch with interest, he furrows his brow and opens his mouth in fake offense. His head bobs forward, and he lets the wave travel throughout his entire body, each muscle isolation smoothing into the next. 

He gets up and starts to dance, suddenly going rigid as he starts to pop and lock, hips moving with more precision than you would have anticipated, his baggy clothes suddenly looking sharp, his body halving, and The Hulk slipping out a little, bobbling along with him. 

Yugyeom rejoins you, and him, cheering and catching the wave in his chest from Jungkook’s lightning rod of a hand and letting it travel through his black hoodie-covered torso, down to his legs, the frayed rips of his light blue jeans swaying as his muscles take turns relaxing and constricting, traveling back up to his other arm, and down to the hand that is holding two water bottles: one for Jungkook, and one for you.

You giggle and shiver as Yugyeom places the cold plastic against your neck, fingers grazing his as you take over the grip of the bottle.

This is… nice.

“What else can we play??” you ask brightly, letting the bottle linger for a moment before lifting it, and unscrewing the cap. “What other games are there?”

“Should probably slow down on the drinking ones,” Jungkook rightfully decides, as you start to slump again.

He takes a step back to you, and your left cheek rests on his right hip.

Feeling so comfortable, you close your eyes for a moment, missing Yugyeom’s intrigued smirk, and Jungkook’s helpless nose scrunch.

“Leaving so soon?” Yugyeom asks, tossing him the other bottle.

Jungkook looks down and notes your hazy, unfocused eyes, as well as your clumsy fingers still working at the water bottle cap. 

“After this water break.”

“Well, swing by again later,” Yugyeom tells you, as your eyes flutter open. “I need to avenge my humiliated friend here. Or get the chance to, at least.”

Jungkook pouts. “Humiliated?”

“Only Jungkook can save himself,” you say, much too haughty for someone who has taken about thirty whole seconds to open a water bottle, “but depending on how tonight goes, I might take you on as another trophy. I mean victim. I mean opponent.”

Yugyeom shakes his head at your self-assuredness, looking over at Jungkook to see if he’s clocking this, and finding he’s only chuckling as you close your eyes and eagerly drink.

“Where’d you find her?” Yugyeom asks, as Jungkook looks back at him.

“Obviously by the dumpsters, given all the trash talk,” Jungkook jokes.

You choke on your water and laugh, the back of your hand rising to your lips as you open your eyes again and catch your breath.

“No, really,” Yugyeom goes on, smiling at you and shoving his hands into his back pockets, chest puffing out with a relaxing breath. “You live on the block?”

You point up at the ceiling. “Ninth floor.”

“Thehermitfloor?” Yugyeom asks, surprised.

You left your left shoulder from Jungkook’s hip and tilt your head toward it. “I crawled out of my cave today. And saw Jungkook on the curb.”

Yugyeom looks over at Jungkook again, who just smiles. 

He meets Jungkook’s smile with a pleased chuckle.

“I mean it. Come back later. I still wanna hang.” He narrows his eyes at you and wiggles his eyebrows. “I want a go with the resident flip cup champ.”

You wink at him as you bring the water bottle back to your lips. 

Before Yugyeom takes his leave, he reaches out his hand, slightly dampened from the condensation on those ice-cold water bottles, to Jungkook. Their right hands clasp together, and they bring their right shoulders forward to one another, chests bumping together tightly. 

Yugyeom slaps Jungkook’s back.

He mumbles something.

Jungkook scoffs with a grin.

And then they part, Yugyeom flashing you another smile before he heads back toward his kitchen table.

Jungkook crouches down and wipes his hand on his thigh. You watch his fingers spreading across. His palm rubbing down toward his knee, and then back up again.

“Oh my god,” he says. 

You straighten and snap your eyes to his, feeling caught. “What??”

“I think you’re…”

Jungkook shoots you an open-mouthed, told-you-so smile. 

“…havingfun??”

“Absolutely not,” you say, trying your best to sneer.

“You’re smiling!” Jungkook taps his finger on your cheek. 

You swat his hand away, giggling and thinking fondly of him teasing those three girls with the cookies. You haven’t really stopped smiling since.

“You’relaaaugh-iiiiing!”

You roll your eyes. “So what if I am?”

Jungkook watches as you screw the water bottle’s cap back on and set it down, next to the right leg of your chair.

“Are you?” he asks gently. “H-having fun?”

He wants you. 

To have fun, that is. 

He wants you to have fun because you so clearly hadn’t earlier that day. He’s good at fun. At least, he’s always thought he is. In much the same way that Mrs. Chan is good at walnut chicken, and the Jeups are good at cookies, and the Gal brothers are good at ice cream. 

He’s always thought that he’s been good at fun. Things have gotten a little busier, as life does. He hasn’t talked to as many people in a while. He definitely hasn’t gotten to swing by Yugyeom’s nearly as often, and he’s missed his check-ins with Yugyeom’s wonderful neighbors. While standing out there on the curb, peering up at your building, he wondered if he’d changed.

But, if you’re having fun, given the day that you’ve had, then that means he hasn’t.

He’s still good at fun.

Maybe if you knew this was kind of about him, it wouldn’t feel so strange for someone to want you to have fun when just a couple of hours ago, the bubble of your perfectly pleasant life burst at the discovery that people who celebrated your birthday, who clinked drinks with you at happy hour, who left you funny sticky notes on your desk, who shared the load when work got overwhelming — people who were supposedly invested in you — didn’t actuallycare all that much.

Do you even deserve it? Fun? When you are so easily discarded? 

Jungkook clearly deserves it. He’s only just met you, by some dumpsters no less, and he’s still, inexplicably, trying so hard.

You feel your heavy heart pulling you under.

But then, you catch sight of The Hulk tucked into Jungkook’s pocket.

“I am.” You grin. “I am having a lot of fun.”

He brightens. Sits a little taller.

“Good!” His eyes close nearly all the way, and his two front teeth bunch up his lips. “I knew you were.”

He jumps to his feet. “Feeling up to more games? Maybe those board games?”

The sangria is starting to catch you, mixing with the swirl of emotions bogging down your heavy, heavy heart. You need to do something to let it out.

“Which floor had the karaoke?” you ask. “Six?”

“Quit hogging the mic!” 

You spin around and scream the next lyrics at this surly, thin-lipped man, mashing whatever he can into a lour look of extreme disapproval. 

The next part of this song is iconic, and masterful. You know each of the vocal parts in the lush swell of the breakdown, but this occasion calls for the throughline, the main melody, to drive the point home.

“NEVER GONNA GET IT NEVER GONNA GET IT!” you belt, pointing at Thin Lips, shimmying as you dance around him in a circle. 

“NEH! VER GONNA GET IT NEVER GONNA GET IT!”  

You put a resonant sting on the syncopated quarter notes that carry into the next measure, tapping your toes on each eighth-note of this manifesto. 

“NEH!!! VER GONNA GET IT NEVER GONNA GET IT!”  

Exaggerating even more, you pull your lips into a mocking pout, and you descend down the harmonic scale. 

“NEHHHH-VER GONNA GET IT—”

Brazen, and drawing a bit of power from the room clapping and laughing around you, you grab the handle of your stapler, aim it at Thin Lips’ cleft chin, and clap the hammer against the anvil on each note. 

“WOO-WOO-WOO-WOOOOOOO!!!!”

“THE FUCK—”

“Shik.”

You aren’t sure when Jungkook got up from his seat on the Hans-in-6F’s couch, but now, he’s next to you, arms folded, chest slightly bouncing from holding in his laughter.

Thin-lipped Shik glares at him, and you start circling around Jungkook instead, singing the second half of the breakdown a little softer, but swaying your stapler in the air.

Jungkook’s eyes, which have been following you this whole time, spread out to the rest of the room, everyone chanting and clapping along. “We’re all having a good time.”

“She’s sung like a hundred songs!” Shik protests. “I want a turn!”

At the whiff of vodka that follows, Jungkook negotiates, “One more song, alright?” 

He speaks kindly, with the kind of smile that people born with goodness and light at their core can share. But he puffs himself up when he says it. He unfolds his arms, and his chest inflates. He flexes his right hand. Just in case.

Shik sighs. “Fine. But make it something pleasant. She’s been screamingfor the past hour.”

He takes Jungkook’s seat on the couch, seemingly discontent unless he’s taking things from other people. 

But it’s fine. The energy is dissipating anyway, En Vogue starting to decrescendo and queue up your next show-stopping performance.

“Hey.” Jungkook’s unflexed right hand lands softly on your shoulder. “Diva.”

You turn and smile at him.

“Wanna do one last song?”

Panting, and jamming your stapler back into your pocket, you slow your dancing feet to a mere sway, pouring your weight to the left, then to the right.

“OK,” you say, mind starting to wander, “but let me pick something different.” Your eyes widen a bit. “Would you wanna sing something with me?”

Jungkook beams. “Yeah!” 

As you scroll through your private YouTube playlist of karaoke faves, he stands a little closer. Looks over your shoulder with curiosity. Giggles softly when your thumb tugs at ones that he likes, too.

He smells good.

“Ooh!”

You startle back at his sudden exclamation and bump into his chest. 

And he just lets you.

“You, uh, know this one ?” you ask, thumb hovering over a picture of two silhouettes.

“I love that one.”

“Me too.”

A shared glance between you tells you how much.

Jungkook hums. “Then start us off.”

Growing up, you’d wished that the karaoke industry would work faster. Churn out more microchips that held more than just the 70s and 80s ballads that your family sang in the same rotation at every holiday, birthday, christening, graduation, wedding, hell, every Saturday morning, while you each took charge of scrubbing a different part of the house… 

Nowadays, karaoke versions of songs aren’t hard to find. Literally every song is essentially at your fingertips. But with every song at your fingertips, it’s becoming harder and harder to find people who know what you know. Like what you like.  

As Jungkook reaches for the other mic, still charging on its base, you play the instrumental.

And you raise your mic to your mouth.

“I keep so much of me hidden. Can’t lie. No, I’ve got this pain inside. Most times I never admit it. But with you, no, I don’t want to hide.”

Jungkook bites his lip as you sing. You aren’t the most gymnastic singer, but you have such a pleasant voice. And he’s not the only one who thinks so. A hush has fallen over the entire room, and even Shik is captivated by the way you’ve softened the air around you. 

“What’s there all the time. And weighs on my mind. My friends say they listen. But honestly, I don’t think that they get me like you do. You don’t have to try. I come unfolded with the things I hold inside. I have never told no one but you.”

How long have you been singing? Has it been an hour? Two?

Maybe people don’t tire of you as easily as you thought.

Your heart feels a little lighter.

And you let Jungkook fill the space that remains.

“When I’m with you, I feel different.”

In just one line, you discover that if Jungkook’s voice were a drink, it would be a toasted marshmallow mocha. If Jungkook’s voice were a feeling, it would be your bare legs meeting the backseat of the car on a tempered summer day. If Jungkook’s voice were a hand, it would cup your cheek and hold your face up to make sure you didn’t miss the sight of a falling star. 

“Like I can’t just be your warmness, oh baby…”

His vocal runs are hurdles and sprints and marathons in equal turns, voice strong and whole as he dips in and out of notes and syllables, playing with time, and tickling your lighter, and lighter, and even lighter, heart.

“I’ve been through some tough things in my life. And it’s so easy to tell you.”

You believe him.

You believe him so strongly that you almost miss your cue to join him again at the chorus, singing an octave apart, matching him note for note, voice bending and gliding a little easier. Freer.

But then everything juststops.

The music. Your voices. The energy.

It all comes to a halt.

Other voices start to overlap. Curses, and concern.

A small circle of bright, invasive light appears. And then another. And another.

They catch people in slices.

Frowns. Fists. 

Eyes. No two sets meeting.

Except, somehow, yours and Jungkook’s.

“Everyone OK?” someone asks, as more and more tiny spotlights rove around the room. 

“Apparently it’s the whole building!”

“The whole block?”

“Look out the window!”

“Yeah, it’s the whole city!”

Whines start to fill the room. Then groans. Then yells.

“Fuck,” you hear Jungkook whisper, “people are gonna lose it pretty quickly.”

You feel a hand grab yours and yank you toward them.

“It’s me.”

But you knew that.

And now you know that the center of his body, the notch where his pecs and the top of his abs meet and surrender to one another, seems to be a perfect spot for your hand to rest. And your hand resting there makes up for all the blows that your feet and shins and hips take as you fight your way through the distressed crowd.

“Door.”

You don’t see or feel it. Jungkook’s already holding it open for you, leading you through by jutting out his chest and letting you know where he is, which is right there, still curved around your hand.

His hand leaves yours and slides down your side, circling around your back, incidentally following the line of the band of your bra. His forearm pins you to him, and you feel your body bending with his as he shuffles you through to the hall. His chin rests on the top of your head, and your temple cushions against his collarbone.

Baby powder.

Bodes beat against your back, and you take in a sharp breath, your fingers balling into fists. One hand is still safely settled into that notch below Jungkook’s chest. Your other arm is pressed to your side, hugged by Jungkook’s armpit, your hand swinging down and closing around—

“Wait, shit, I’m still holding the mic?”

“It’s OK,” he tells you. “Everything’s OK.”

But something catches his attention.

“Deji?!”

You feel Jungkook’s chest tighten around your fist.

“Deji!!”

“Mr. Jeup?” Jungkook calls out, hoping his voice can meet hers despite the building wails.

“Jungkook-ah?”

“Yes, it’s Jungkook!” 

The collective spotlights help Jungkook and Mr. Jeup find each other across the hall, and Jungkook leads him, and you, to a spot close to the staircase railing.

Mr. Jeup has soaked through the collar of his shirt.

“I can’t find Deji,” he says breathlessly. “I’d already been looking for her for a couple of hours, but she got separated from her unnies—” He clicks his teeth. “Always trailing behind.”

You think of the sweet girl slapping Jungkook’s hand away from her basket of cookies.

“We’ll find her.” 

From what you can tell, Jungkook’s voice is enough to reassure Mr. Jeup, as the slices of him that you get look more and more relieved. 

“Go home and check in with Mrs. Jeup and the girls,” Jungkook tells him. “My friend and I will go up floor by floor. I’ll text you the moment I see her.”

Mr. Jeup shakes his head. “We should’ve just gotten her a phone. Like she wanted.”

“She won’t be far. She knows your rules.” A slice of light catches Jungkook’s smile, as fond as when he had exchanged those cute giggles with her earlier. “And, though it might not seem like it, she always follows them.”

Mr. Jeup nods. “Thanks, Jungkook. Let me know.”

Shades of Mr. Jeup make their way along the railing, following it carefully as he makes his way back downstairs.

“I’ll formally introduce you another time,” he says apologetically.

Jungkook can’t be so hospitable, or demented, to be thinking about a formal introduction in this fraught situation. 

But then you think of how he and Deji teased each other. Their familiar, funny way. How she gave him four cookies as a treat.

Or a payment.

A placid smile spreads across your face. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

Jungkook chuckles.

“C’mon.”

“When will it come back on??”

“We wanna watch!”

“It was just about to get to the good part!”

“Give it a few more minutes,” a voice, more mature than the others, calls out. “Give the backup generators a little bit of time to kick in.”

“They’re not going to,” another older voice says in response. “It’s been too long. I’m betting they’re down as well.”

“Stop it!” the first hisses. “You’ll scare them!”

As predicted, the younger voices start to clamor.

“What??”

“So when will the power come back on?”

“I’m getting hot!”

“Me too! I’m starting to sweat!”

“Eeeewww!”

“Helloooooo!” 

Jungkook calls brightly from the hallway through the opening door, slowly revealing a group of kids in the living room, and a couple on the couch, outlined against a soft half-sphere of candlelight. 

“Yon! Yeo!”

“Jungkookie!”

The woman on the left jumps up from the couch, and the woman on the right just nods.

You sigh softly when, in the center back of the group of kids, all of them lying on top of each other, having kicked off their blankets and facing a blank, white bed sheet hanging on a cleared clothing rack, you see Deji, sitting with her legs criss-crossed.

And next to a boy.

Jungkook lets go of your hand, but not without glancing at you to make sure it’s OK to.

You smile and nod, lingering in the doorway and watching him tiptoe in the gaps between squishy, teeny arms and legs to crouch down next to Deji, and this boy.

Deji gives Jungkook a high five, and you smirk to yourself as he pulls his phone out from his back pocket, sighing with relief as he starts to type.

The woman who waved gets up and walks over to you, leaning on a bookshelf by the door and folding her arms.

“I’m Yon,” she replies. “And that’s Yeo.” 

She jerks her thumb behind her.

Staring straight ahead, Yeo takes another sip of wine.

You introduce yourself and say, “Did you set this up for the kids?”

Yon nods. “Toy Story 3. We were almost at the incinerator scene.”

Your eyes pop open, and you look over to the kid who cheered about the scene earlier. 

“That was the good part??”

Yon cackles and says, “Seojun over there has a dark sense of humor.” 

The other kids have successfully been distracted, settling into other lively conversations, giggling and playing games with each other, and with Jungkook. 

But Seojun quietly breaks free from the group and makes her way to the couch. She plops down next to Yeo, the two of them chatting quietly. 

Yon watches them affectionately. “So does Yeo. Kindred spirits, those two.”

They look so serious. But there are moments. Eyebrow flickers. Chuckles. And, throughout, a warm smile of recognition of something deeper. A somewhat somber but understanding of the world around them. 

Seojun pauses. Stumbles. Gets whatever she wants to say out. Yeo seems to ponder it, and then says something back. Then, Seojun and Yeo look away from each other, and Yeo strokes her hair once as Seojun hides a smile.

You didn’t realize how many kids lived in the building. But you’re usually out before they’re up, and back in long after they’re asleep.

“Kind of you to host something kid-friendly.”

“To be honest, these have kind of been little test runs.” 

Yon’s voice is cautious and small, but happy. 

“We want to adopt,” she admits. 

Her eyes are pillowy soft as they scan over those tiny, laughing faces. 

“The kids around here are so sweet. Good families. Good parents. They don’t judge. And they’ve given us so many smiles. It’d be nice to share our lives like this all the time. Especially with a little one who really needs it.”

You can feel how momentous Yon’s heart must be. Her words surround you. Inflate you. Lift you up.

“Well,” you sigh, impressed, and a little sheepish, at her outpouring of love, “the little ones who get to join your family are quite lucky.”

Yon lets out a deep, encouraged sigh. “Thanks for that. Nice to hear something positive, y’know? It’s been… hard.”

You regretfully agree.

“Anyway,” Yon replies, “how do you know Jungkook? Are you friends with Yugyeom, too? That’s how we met him.”

“I, um—”

Desk.

Office.

Job.

“Well, I just met him today.” You blink. You can’t believe you just met him today.

Yon smiles, recognizing your dazed look. 

“He makes quite an impression, doesn’t he?”

Your eyes land on him as he grins and throws up a peace sign while taking a picture with Deji, and laughing with the boy, who is starting to take interest in The Hulk bobblehead in Jungkook’s pocket. 

“I’ve known him since he was a skinny teen,” Yon reflects. “His parents used to own this building, but they sold the property when they retired. He’s still here all the time, though.” 

She smiles.

“It’s been a little while since we’ve gotten to see him. But it’s always so nice when we do. He just makes things… better.”

Jungkook notes the boy’s gaze, and his bent fingers reach into that pocket to pull The Hulk’s head out, flashing The Hulk’s cute little grimace, to Deji and the boy’s delight. 

But when the boy reaches out for it, Jungkook frowns and leans back, not letting the boy take The Hulk out of his pocket completely, choosing instead to close the flap of his pocket over The Hulk’s black eyes, tapping the pocket in thanks for safekeeping. 

You giggle.

Maybe that’s the secret to Jungkook.

To all of this.

Being a kid at heart.

Yes, things have been hard.

Thingsarehard.

But they haven’t been hard just today. And not just for you. Or Yon and Yeo. Or Shik. Or Mr. Jeup. Or any of the people in your building, on your block, in this city. 

Everyone is shuffling around, lost in the dark. 

But it isn’t your fault.

It isn’t anyone’sfault.

Maybe that’s just how it is sometimes. 

Maybe that’s how it is all the time.

There’s always more that you could do to fight against the darkness. To make things better.

But maybe there’s also more time for selcas, and singing, and sangria. 

Fun, kind things that you could do with others. And for yourself. 

Maybe that’s the way to start.

Yon’s face suddenly pulls together tightly. And you follow her gaze to your hip.

“Why do you have a stapler in your pocket?”

“Hey!” Jungkook exclaims, popping up beside you and patting Yon’s back.

“Hey,” Yon says warmly, leaning in for a hug. “We were just getting to know each other.” She smirks. “Just as it seems the two of youare.”

Jungkook grins at you. “The two of us have been having fun.”

You smile. 

“Oooh,funnnn,” Yon says, her voice waving up and down as the word trails from her lips.

She smirks at Jungkook.

“Then don’t worry about Deji. She’s just fine.”

And she is. Deji and the boy are in their own little bubble, voices hushed, bodies crouched and facing each other, smiles mirroring.

“Tell Mr. Jeup that I can walk her down if he wants,” Yon says.

“Nah, he’s good,” Jungkook replies. “I sent him

✿ : Quick little works that I pick up when I’m bored or need to procrastinate. I’m open to requests, but I won’t be able to do all of them :c

°•.  .•°

Yoongi meets you in a meet and greet and you have a child with you.

Yoongi asks you out.

Namjoon ghosts you and regrets it. 

Jungkook keeps a journal

°•. ✿ .•°

(Fanfic masterlist)

(Leave a request!)

(Support me on my ko-fi <3)

Hey just wanted to let ya’ll know

STOP GUILTING PEOPLE WHO JOIN KFANDOMS LATER THAN YOU DID!!!

I’ve seen a lot of it and it makes people who love the same group you do feel like absolute garbage! I joined a few kfandoms later than their debut, sometimes even AT their debut and people are all over the Internet “you’ve been sleeping on them cause they were doing stuff before their debut!” Well that’s awesome now I have more content to watch while I support the same groups you do!

Just be grateful that they’re gaining fame stop making their newer fans feel absolutely awful :)

Jin:

A chuckle came from you as you passed the item that you were creating across to Jin, adding to his pile that he needed to finish off for you.

“What are you laughing at?” Jin asked you as he turned round to pick up another after he was done.

“You,” you smiled back across to him, “I wasn’t sure if you’d enjoy this, but you seem to be in your element right now.”

“It’s a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”

Throughout the production you had listened to Jin humming and singing to himself as he concentrated. “Do you have any idea how much time you’ve saved me stepping up and helping me out tonight?”

“Maybe we should change the store so that it’s ours, I can help you out more often then.”

“It’s mine,” you joked in reply, “all you’ve done is help me out for one day.”

Jin nodded back to you, “I can help you out more often though from now on, I didn’t realise that it would be this much fun.”

“I didn’t realise that all I had to do was give you a glue gun and you’d enjoy yourself,” you smirked, “who knew it was that easy?”

“You know me Y/N, I’m easily pleased.”

Yoongi:

You watched nervously as Yoongi looked over the merch that you were packing, noticing one of the parcels with a photocard of him in it.

“Can I sign it?” Yoongi asked you as he picked it up, taking a look at which card of his it was.

“I mean, if you want to, you can,” you laughed, taken aback by his question, “I might have to start charging more if you do that.”

“It’ll be a nice surprise for whoever gets it.”

Your head nodded in agreement with him, “hopefully if they open up the parcel to see that it’s signed too, they will leave me a nice review. There is so much negativity on my review page right now.”

“If it means that it’ll help your business, I’ll sign everything here if you want me to Y/N.”

“It’s alright,” you chuckled, “most of it is Jungkook’s merch anyway I’m afraid.”

Yoongi’s eyes rolled at your remark, “why doesn’t that surprise me at all? We should send stuff to remind people that I’m the best.”

“You’re the best in my eyes,” you promised him, “but whether you’re the best in the eyes of your fans remains to be seen.”

“They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

Hoseok:

Your head shook as you looked over your list of orders, counting through it again and again to make sure that you didn’t miss a single one.

“Why do you always do this to yourself every holidays?” Hobi asked you as he looked at your paper.

“Do what?” You quizzed in reply, with not a second to spare to even look at him as you pulled out your design box from under your bed.

“Always put yourself under big pressure.”

Your shoulders shrugged as you began to get out what you needed. “I like knowing my gifts make the holidays more exciting for people, even if it does sometimes end up with me going slightly up the wall.”

“Is there anything that I can do to try and ease some of the pressure that’s on your shoulders?”

“A drink?” You offered, “I have a feeling that I’ll get through a lot of coffee.”

Hobi nodded as he stood up from your bed, “I’m going to stay for a while and keep an eye on you, not let you work yourself too hard.”

“I’ll be alright, this isn’t my first busy holiday season,” you tried to assure him, but Hobi’s head still shook back across at you.

“I’m staying, even just for the company.”

Namjoon:

You had turned the house upside down as you searched for the missing item of the order that you were packing, unable to find it anywhere.

“What’s wrong?” Namjoon asked as he walked in to find just about everything thrown aside.

“I’m missing a phone case to send to this order,” you told him, turning the cushions off of the sofa to see if it had slipped down there.

“Alright, let’s try and find it together.”

Namjoon placed his phone into his pocket before having a look around the house too. “It’s a pretty simple case design, just some nice flowers and spring things on it,” you told Namjoon so that he knew what to look for.

“It’s got to be here somewhere, are you sure that you’ve not taken it out of this room at all?”

“Absolutely,” you sighed, “I saw it maybe half an hour ago max.”

Namjoon continued to search, lifting up a pile of paperwork as something hit the floor, “I think the phone case might be located.”

“Thank goodness,” you hummed, glancing down to see the phone case on the floor. “Joon, you’ve just saved me there.”

“We all lose things from time to time.”

Jimin:

A proud smile formed on Jimin’s face as he took the badge that he had made out of the machine, holding it up under the light to check it.

“Is this right?” He asked you, holding it out for you to take from him to check yourself too.

“It looks perfect,” you told him as soon as you looked at it, checking it over and nodding your head at all of the fine details.

“How many more do you need making?”

Your smile turned up as Jimin picked up the things that he needed to make another badge. “Are you absolutely sure that you don’t mind helping me out doing this? Haven’t you got things to be doing for work?”

“I’m actually enjoying helping you out, who knew badge making could be so much fun?”

“I really appreciate it,” you told him, “I’ve been rushed off of my feet.”

Jimin quickly offered you a reassuring smile, “you know that whenever you need a helping hand, I’m always here to step in Y/N.”

“I do,” you acknowledged, “and you’ve dug me out of a massive hole right now too, I took on way too many orders this time.”

“We’ll get it done together, don’t worry.”

Taehyung:

His nose turned up as Taehyung read through the delivery details of the order that you had shown him, shaking his head in disbelief at it.

“Can I reply?” He laughed, keen to give the woman a taste of her own medicine in response.

“I’ve got to try and be professional,” you reminded him, taking your laptop back, “as much as I want to go and tell her to stuff her order.”

“I can’t believe some people are so rude.”

Your shoulders shrugged, having got through a few rude requesters throughout your years of running your shop. “There are definitely a few people named Karen lurking about ready to order on Etsy.”

“I can’t believe you have to do her order after how she spoke to you, it’s unfair on you Y/N.”

“It’s money,” you laughed, “that’s the best way for me to look at it.”

A sigh came from Taehyung as he watched you get started, “can’t you write a note in her parcel telling her to stop being such a misery.”

“I wish,” you smiled in reply to him, “I just trust that eventually one day their nastiness will come back to haunt them.”

“Just kill them with kindness instead.”

Jungkook:

His shoulders shrugged as Jungkook looked over the parcels that you had laid out across the living room, trying to make sure that each one was perfect.

“Are you going to post all of these tomorrow?” He quizzed, looking over your address stickers.

“I might only be able to do a few, my bag isn’t big enough to carry them all down,” you replied, continuing to add the final touches.

“You’re walking down with all of this?”

Your head nodded in reply to Jungkook, with no car, you had no other choice to get the parcels sent off in time. “I reckon if I walk down with some tomorrow and some the day after I’ll get them all shipped off.”

“That’s ridiculous, why don’t I drive you down on my lunch break tomorrow to get them all posted?”

“I can’t expect you to do that,” you smiled, “I’ll be alright walking.”

Jungkook’s head shook back at you, “I wasn’t offering Y/N, I was telling you. I’ve got time, and you need to get these sent off, right?”

“I do,” you chuckled, knowing that Jungkook wasn’t going to argue with you, “thank you for offering to help me out with delivering Kook.”

“It’s my pleasure, no bother at all.”

—

Masterlist

Jin:

As you picked up the phone, you heard Jin tell everyone to be quiet. “Y/N, what’s your favourite song of ours?” Jin asked you, without even saying hello.

“I quite like Boy with Luv,” you replied to Jin, hearing plenty of commotion in the background, “why are you asking me that so suddenly, what’s going on?”

Jin stepped aside so that he could talk to you quietly, “for the episode, we have to guess people’s favourite things.”

“I’m sure that there are plenty of other songs of yours that your fans like though,” you quickly told Jin, not wanting him to use your answer to represent everyone.

The boys had already gone for it though, “Boy with Luv is a popular song, we’re going to trust you and pick that as the fan’s favourite too.”

“Don’t do that because you’ll blame me if you guys lose.”

“We’re trusting in you Y/N,” Jin laughed in reply.

A groan came from you, “keep me on the phone until you find out the answer, so I know whether to run or not.”

“Yeah, you might not be welcome at the dorm tonight.”

Yoongi:

You quickly paused your programme as you noticed your phone ringing. “Y/N, tell Jungkook to go and pick on someone else?” Yoongi yelled down the phone.

“What are you on about?” You laughed, with no idea what was going on as you heard Jungkook ‘s laughter in the background as Yoongi told him to go away.

He was pushed and pulled in two different directions as he tried to talk to you, “can you tell Jungkook to get another member?”

“Why?” You asked him, wanting to know what it was that you were supposed to be doing. “If you’re playing a game, then isn’t Jungkook doing what he’s supposed to be doing?”

A groan came from Yoongi as you failed to do what he asked. “Y/N, you’re supposed to be on my side, help me get Jungkook to bugger off.”

“Who’s he going to go after if he can’t go after you in the game?”

“I don’t care who he gets,” Yoongi cried out to you.

A chuckle escaped from you as you heard how desperate he was. “Sorry, but I think you might have to fight this one yourself.”

“I can’t believe that you’ve let me down like this.”

Hoseok:

Your heart stopped when you looked down at your phone and noticed Hobi’s name on the screen. “Y/N?” A voice called out, not recognising it as Hobi’s.

“Hello?” You quizzed, taking a moment to work out that the voice that you actually heard was Namjoon’s, wondering why you hadn’t heard Hobi’s voice.

A sigh came from Namjoon before speaking to you, “I don’t suppose you’re able to get yourself to the hospital, are you?”

“W-why?” You nervously quizzed, fearing the worst as you remembered what it was that the boys were filming, knowing just how physical the episode was.

Namjoon knew that you knew too before saying a word. “There’s been a bit of an incident, Hobi might have had a bit too much confidence.”

“What’s he done Joon? Or would I rather just not know for now?”

“It’s easier to show you Y/N,” he told you in response.

Your head nodded, grabbing your coat. “I’ll drive to the hospital now; I can be there in about half an hour I reckon.”

“I’ll meet you outside to show you where.”

Namjoon:

You didn’t know what was going on as you answered Namjoon’s call, hearing plenty of noise down the line. “Y/N, can you hear me?” Namjoon shouted to you.

“I can hear you,” you yelled back to him, “what on earth are you doing? I thought that you were filming for run?” You asked him, recalling Namjoon’s schedule.

A laugh came from him in reply to your question, “we are, but there’s a couple of things that we left at the dorm.”

“Let me guess, you want me to go to the dorm and bring them to you?” You asked, reading Namjoon like a book, knowing exactly what he wanted from you.

Another laugh came from him, “I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate, but I promise that I’ll make it up to you for helping us out to get this done.”

“I can get to the dorm in twenty minutes if you tell me what I need.”

“I’ll send a text with a list on it,” Namjoon replied.

Your eyes widened slightly, “a list? How much have you left at the dorm? Did you not check before you left the dorm?”

“You know what we’re like, just a tad forgetful.”

Jimin:

As soon as you saw Jimin’s name pop up on your phone, you were worried, quickly accepting his call. “I’m exhausted,” was all that he said to you answered him.

“Is that all that you rang me for?” You asked him, shaking your head as you sat yourself down on the sofa, “why are you ringing me during the middle of filming run?”

Jimin could hear the panic that was in your voice, “I just thought I’d call and see how you are, what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought something bad had happened, you never ring me during filming,” you scolded him, taking several deep breaths to calm yourself back down.

A soft sigh came from Jimin as he listened to you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, I only rang because I’m tired and I want to hear your voice.”

“It’s fine, it’s my fault for probably assuming the worst straight away.”

“It’s nice that you worry about me though,” Jimin smiled.

Your eyes rolled at how excited he sounded, “of course, I worry about you, especially when I’ve seen some episodes of run too.”

“This one’s easy, even we can’t mess it up.”

Taehyung:

A sigh of relief came from Taehyung as you picked up his call, speaking straight away. “Y/N, we’re relying on you to get the answer right so that we can win a snack?”

“Answer right for what?” You quizzed, with no idea what was happening as you heard the boys in the background, their voices all muffling together as they all spoke.

Taehyung quickly shushed them before speaking again, “do you have any idea what the capital of Samoa is Y/N?”

“Isn’t it Apia?” You asked Taehyung, not even having to think as the boys all cheered on the end of the phone in reply to the answer that you gave.

Taehyung didn’t respond as he watched the production team, as their heads quickly nodded. “Y/N, thank you! I knew that you wouldn’t let us down.”

“I hope you plan on sharing some of those snacks with me for helping.”

“I’ll bring some home with me,” Taehyung promised you.

A chuckle came from you as the boys all thanked you. “I’m glad I could help, but you guys all owe me a favour at some point now.”

“We’ll help you out whenever you need us.”

Jungkook:

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you glanced down to see Jungkook calling you, quickly picking up his call. “Y/N, guess what, I got to come home early?”

“Did you win again?” You laughed, hearing in the background of the call that Jungkook was already on the road. “Shall I start getting ready to go out to dinner in that case?”

The smile on Jungkook’s face quickly turned up, “I reckon that I’ll be home within about half an hour at this rate Y/N.”

“Wow, you really did finish early,” you smirked, shaking your head as you realised that Jungkook was over two hours early to leave the set.

He couldn’t help but laugh knowing that the boys were still on set. “You should have seen their faces when PD told me that I was able to go home.”

“I can imagine that none of them were probably impressed with you.”

“I think they might have hated me,” Jungkook chuckled.

Your eyes rolled at how delighted he sounded on the other end of the line, “you’ll be in trouble when you see them at the dorm.”

“I’m the winner, I don’t care what they do.”

—

Masterlist

Oh, baby!

Reader x Yoongi | Part 30//??

Summary ➪ Min Yoongi, is a simple man. He likes his coffee black and iced, he enjoys his job, and he loves his baby girl. But what happens when the new neighbor, quite literally, drops into his life?

Warnings ➪ any typos are mine; uh toxicity?

A/n: A bit of a shorter type of update. Lemme know your thoughts. I always love hearing y’all’s comments on what’s going with the characters. As always feedback is appreciated and encouraged. If you want to be added to the tag list please let me know

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Tag List: @unicornbabylover@halesandy@supernoonanyc@aianloveseven@hannahdinse8@lyndseygoregasmxo@aunoiire@brbkpop@nochuwastaken@tinyoonsblog@borahae-reads@jinscharms@phenomenalgirl9@yoongiigolden@girlwithluv0613@yaboiithewreck@mint–yoongs@ysljoon@hyunjingin

Fic Masterlist

Extra:

leviackermanscleaningbuddy:

Yoongi *throwing his controller*: Dammit I lost again!

Jungkook:

Jungkook:Do you want me to leave the room so you can say bad words?

Yoongi:

Yoongi:Yes, please.

hello everyone!

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i know everyone is going through a tough time due to coronavirus and everything going on. this is an especially hard time for my family. my entire family has been laid off, and as of yesterday, we lost our family dog. he had to be put down due to kidney failure, and it was one of the hardest things i’ve ever had to do in my life. due to this, and being laid off, my family can barely afford groceries, let alone a $800+ vet bill from the tests for my dog, and then euthanization. if anyone is able to donate, or wants to commission something from me. please check out the link. if not, please reblog to spread the word. thank you.

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