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bookwormscififan · 5 months

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Past Lovers, Chapter One

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A/N: This idea came from my friend @brokentimewatch. Vintage Husbands Meets Silent Film Sweethearts.

Warnings: death mention, sexual references.

Noir smiled warmly at JJ as he handed him a cup, setting his paperwork down and shifting slightly so JJ could sit beside him on the couch. He rested his arm against the back of the couch, then wrapped it around JJ’s shoulders when the silent man sat down, smiling as JJ cuddled into his side.

“You finished work early,” Noir commented, brushing his thumb over JJ’s shoulder as he lifted his cup to his lips. “Did something happen?”

I finished the show, JJ signed, putting his cup down so he could move his hands. I came home early because I thought I saw… someone. Noir caught the pause in JJ’s sign, tilting his head and holding him tighter before putting his own cup down.

“I thought you enjoyed reconnecting with people?” Noir had a feeling something was different about this person JJ had seen, but he didn’t want to make JJ uncomfortable. “Was there something odd about this person?”

He looked like… someone I knew from before. My own time. JJ curled more into Noir’s side, moving his head to rest on Noir’s shoulder, hand on his leg signalling the end of the conversation. Noir looked at the man curled into a tight ball on his side with a frown, then squeezed JJ’s shoulder and went back to his work, letting JJ rest until he was ready to talk.

----

Shawn shook his head as he stepped into the house, dropping his bag on the floor by the door and hanging his hat and coat up, tapping the rolled-up newspaper against his hand as he walked into the kitchen.

Jameson smiled at Shawn when we entered the kitchen, offering his cheek for a kiss before continuing to prepare dinner. He raised an eyebrow at Shawn in a silent question, watching the toymaker sit at the kitchen counter and open out the newspaper.

“Good, but a little confusing,” Shawn replied to the question, running a hand through his hair before reading the paper. “Did you go outside at any time today?” He glanced up to see Jameson shaking his head, plating the food and giving Shawn a quizzical look.

“Odd. Thought I saw you at the hospital where I dropped off some toys,” Shawn explained, following Jameson into the dining room to have their dinner. “Then again, most of what’s out there seems slightly… off today.”

Jameson began to eat, watching Shawn with a furrowed brow, then lifted his left hand and pointed to his wedding band in a question, waiting for Shawn to figure it out.

“Was the man I saw at the hospital wearing the band? I don’t think so. I wasn’t close enough to see, honestly. Probably wasn’t you; you’d come up to me if you went to the place I was going to.” Shawn shook his head again and started eating, watching his wedding band glint in the light. “This is good, Jameson.” He smiled when Jameson flashed him a proud smile with flushed cheeks, reaching across the table to hold his hand.

It had to be a trick of the light that he saw Jameson at that hospital, he thought, beginning to tell Jameson what the sick children thought of the toys. And maybe I had a little too much to drink last night, and it’s just a bad hangover that’s made the entire world look different.

----

Noir opened his eyes slowly, frowning at the tense feeling in the room, rolling to his side to see JJ sitting up in the bed, sheets pooled around his waist as he stared at the wall. Noir reached a hand out to touch JJ’s knee, pulling back when he flinched, then raised himself onto an elbow to look at his lover.

“Love,” he said quietly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and touching JJ’s knee again. “What’s wrong?” When JJ didn’t pull his knee back, Noir squeezed slightly, rubbing his thumb in circles over JJ’s knee to comfort him.

Nightmare. I’ll be alright.

“Not a nightmare,” Noir stated, grip tightening on JJ’s knee so he’d look at him, and the detective’s gaze softened when he saw the tear trails running down JJ’s cheeks. “You’re thinking about something, and it’s making you sad. Tell me.”

The man I saw today. JJ shifted to face Noir, reaching over him to turn on the bedside lamp. He looked like my friend Shawn Flynn. My roommate, my regiment partner, my… closest ally. He dropped his hands into his lap in defeat, struggling to find the words to explain what he saw.

“It’s the 21st century,” Noir pointed out, tilting his head in confusion. “It is possible he’s still alive—”

Shawn died in battle. He died protecting me. I was “displaced” after I came home with his Victoria Cross. Noir always wondered how JJ was able to apply quotation marks into his signs, but he refocused his attention on what JJ had just told him.

“Maybe,” He began slowly, lifting a hand to stop JJ from interrupting, “Maybe it’s another displacement problem. Shawn could be moved through time from a moment before he died.”

I’d remember if he disappeared.

“Not exactly. I was looking at some theories, and if someone had managed to return Shawn to the exact time he was displaced, your memory wouldn’t be affected at all. He could be displaced but still exist in your original timeline.”

I don’t know. This is all so strange. Noir nodded, stifling a yawn as he followed JJ to lie back down, pulling him to his chest and gently running his fingers through his hair.

“Things have been strange since we got displaced,” he said softly, adjusting his position when JJ moved closer. “I honestly believe the best we can do is just to let things happen and wait until we’re returned to our places.”

While that sounds ideal, JJ signed, looking into Noir’s eyes, I don’t want to lose you, too.

“You know that when we get returned, I will move heaven and earth to find you,” Noir replied, tightening his hold on JJ as his drowsiness returned, “I love you far too much to let you go.” He smiled at JJ when he tilted his head up, giving him a deep kiss before pulling away, holding one hand up to sign his response, then settling down and closing his eyes to sleep.

----

Shawn was roused from his sleep by Jameson shaking his shoulders, eyes wide in fear as he signed frantically while pointing outside.

“Slow down, love,” Shawn said, immediately concerned from Jameson’s actions. “What’s wrong?” He pressed his lips into a thin line as his husband signed slower, nodding his head to show he was following. When Jameson stopped to catch his breath, Shawn climbed out of bed and walked through the house to the front door, Jameson following him.

He wrapped his dressing gown around him, then opened the door and stepped outside, mouth falling open at the things he saw. The street he knew like the back of his hand had changed drastically; what he had seen the night before wasn’t just a bad hangover, it was real.

The cars outside the houses across the street were different, some bigger than he knew and others smaller. The street lamps were taller, the lights in them seeming to shine brighter, and there was some sort of strange music playing down the street.

Shawn stepped back inside and looked at Jameson, at a loss for words to explain what had happened to them. Instead, he walked into the kitchen, opened the cupboard above the fridge, and took out a bottle of whiskey, opening it and drinking straight for the bottle before looking at Jameson again.

“Where are the papers?” He asked, waiting for Jameson to fetch the newest copy of the newspaper to hand to him. “Jameson, love, this isn’t the papers,” he said with a disbelieving scoff, “They’ve got the date wrong. There is no way that the year is a hundred years in the future.” Even as he said it, he knew he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

He handed the bottle to Jameson as he signed his agreed disbelief, tossing the paper onto the counter and heading down the hall to get dressed, listening to Jameson’s footsteps following him to the room.

“I have no idea what’s going on, my heart,” he said to Jameson as he undid his dressing gown, turning to move into the bathroom and smirking when Jameson followed him. “But we’re going to find out. Best place to start figuring things out is either the police station or the hospital. But first—” he grabbed his husband’s arm and pulled him into a kiss, stepping into the shower and unbuttoning Jameson’s shirt with one hand while turning on the water with the other.

----

Noir held JJ’s hand tightly as they walked down the street to the hospital, hat tilted to shade his eyes from the morning sun. After a few morning kisses and cuddles, Noir had agreed to go with JJ to the hospital so they could keep a look out for the person JJ had seen the day before.

He flashed his identification to the woman at the reception desk, following behind JJ as he headed for the paediatric wing of the hospital and waving to the children when JJ introduced him. He took up a post by the door, crossing his arms and watching JJ perform while occasionally glancing out the window to watch for Shawn.

He had a clear view to the reception desk from his post, and it didn’t take long before he stiffened, seeing a man in a brown flat cap walk in beside the spitting image of JJ. He made a signal to JJ before silently leaving the room, slowly moving toward the reception so he could hear what the men were saying.

“Listen, I know this is going to sound strange,” the man in the flat cap was saying, leaning across the desk to talk to the nurse. “My husband and I seem to have missed something. I swear the town was different a few days ago. The papers say it’s a hundred years into my future, and the things on your desk there seem are so advanced. I’m just trying to figure out what’s happened.”

“Sir, I don’t know what to tell you, but—”

“Excuse me, nurse, maybe I can explain,” Noir interjected, stepping forward and extending a hand to the men. “I couldn’t help but hear what you were saying, and I might have an idea of what’s going on,” he said to the man in the cap, forcing himself not to look at the JJ clone for now.

“Who are you?” the man asked, one arm protectively wrapped around JJ’s waist to hold him close as he looked at Noir with suspicion.

“My name is Noir,” he replied gently, hands raised to show he meant no harm, “I’m a detective, and I’ve been investigating displacement cases around here for a year or two. I have reason to assume you’ve been displaced.” As he spoke, Noir led the couple aside to sit away from the crowds of people, swallowing the lump in his throat when he caught the matching wedding bands on the couple’s fingers.

“Shawn Flynn,” Shawn stated, shaking Noir’s hand with a slight frown. “This is my husband Jameson. I’m a toymaker, he performs puppet shows and sometimes helps with janitorial tasks around… our local hospital. What do you mean by ‘displaced’?”

“This may be a strange thing for you to grasp,” Noir began, tapping his fingers on his knees as he searched for the words to describe the situation. “It’s a sort of quantum displacement, movement through time that takes you and tosses you somewhere else. My… partner and I were displaced from our own times, and I’ve been trying to find cases that were similar so I can find out if there’s a way to get back.” He averted his gaze at the mention of JJ, hoping Shawn hadn’t caught it.

“You’re saying we time travelled without being aware of it?” Shawn sounded doubtful, taking Jameson’s hand and rubbing his thumb over his wedding band. “I’ll agree in saying it does sound strange, but I do find some truth in your words. I don’t know how…” He trailed off, gaze sliding to something past Noir’s shoulder, making him turn around.

JJ stood near the reception desk, eyes wide as he looked at Shawn, hands held up mid-sign and face white as a sheet. His hands started to shake, and Noir immediately stood and ran to catch him as his knees buckled. JJ twisted his hands in Noir’s coat, eyes still fixed on Shawn, then with a sharp inhale he fainted.

“What the fuck is going on?” Shawn asked, holding Jameson’s hand tightly as he stared at Noir and JJ in confusion.

----

“That’s Jameson Jackson.” Shawn glared at Noir, sitting by JJ’s bed and holding one hand lightly as he listened to Shawn’s attempts to process what was happening.

“This is JJ,” he said quietly, “He’s my partner. Before you were displaced, I was planning to marry him. Now that you’re here, things are going to be complicated.”

Shawn looked at Jameson, interpreting his signs with a frown before sighing and pulling him into a hug, holding him tight and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Tell us one thing,” Shawn said softly after letting Jameson go. “Are we safe here?”

“I will make sure you’re as safe as possible until I can find out how to send you back,” Noir promised, looking at the unconscious face of his lover. “I promised JJ the same thing. The best way to start processing these things is to visit the local library and just… read about the gaps in time you’ve missed.”

He listened while Shawn and Jameson left the room, then leaned forward to give JJ a kiss on the cheek, sitting back down and waiting for him to wake up.

--------

@iamvegorott @glass-trash-bab

#writing #fanfiction #jacksepticeye #markiplier #shawn flynn #jameson jackson #noir mark #vintage husbands #silent film sweethearts #thank you Veg for beta reading #death tw

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snackhobi · 4 years

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pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 13.4k / genre: fluff + comedy (I suppose)

summary: you work the night shift in a supermarket. and now your crush, aka the cutest boy in the world, aka the guy you’ve been thirsting after for months, aka jeon jungkook, works the night shift too. les geddit

warnings: this fic is sfw BUT there is cursing/explicit language—the reader is thirsty af, just SO thirsty, seriously the thirstiest, but other than that this fic is pretty soft

a/n: thank you to my darling friend and beta reader @hobi-gif, without whom this would have remained an unpublished fic I just wrote for funsies, and also to @yeojaa for reading this through and enjoying this terrible self indulgence of mine, you’re both queens

Why is it that all the interesting things happen whenever you’re not at work? Like the time you'd been off for one (1) night so that you could move into your new place, so you hadn't witnessed the full on brawl between a customer and the security guard right before the store shut. Or the other time when you were twenty minutes late because of road closures and you’d missed all the free doughnuts—Yoongi hadn’t even saved you one, opting to give it to his crush instead, even though Jimin wasn’t even night shift.

(Yoongi was a Judas, betraying you all because of a little thirst. Snake.)

(Okay, sure, you're friends with Jimin too, but still.)

Anyway. You’re here almost all weeks of the year, and the few times you’re not, that’s when things get interesting. Working in any sort of retail job is boring at best, especially when the store is shut overnight (customers during the day were awful but at least they provided an ever rotating cast of varying characters that could provide amusing anecdotes to add to your repertoire), and it’s downright frustrating whenever you miss out on the few variations to your usually monotonous nights just because you happened to miss it.

Yoongi is also The Worst at keeping you updated. He has little to no interest in gossip and keeps himself firmly out of unnecessary interpersonal drama, staying uninvolved by being entirely unapproachable and blanking people whenever they try to talk to him. You keep out of it too, but in a different way— you don’t get involved in drama because everyone likes you. You’re personable and social, almost to a clownish degree, somehow treading the line between being Nice and Firm, so people simultaneously like you while also being wary of annoying you.

Either way. When you’re not there, Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to find out any developments, so you’re always left floundering to catch up with whatever’s gone on so that you can keep your position as Liked-By-All-Sides as secure.

So, with all of this in mind, when he says that nothing interesting has happened in the two weeks since you’ve been off, you’re understandably sceptical, raising an eyebrow at him from where you’re reclining in his passenger seat. The entire supermarket could have burned down while he’d been working and Yoongi would probably say of the event afterwards—if pressed—that it had ‘been a little hotter than usual’.

(At least Jimin indulges you with petty gossip. You’re certain he’d let you know about any new developments, but he’s not on a late shift tonight, much to the disappointment of both yourself and Yoongi—although he won't admit it.)

You hadn’t sensed any ripples in the Force when you’d stepped into the supermarket. Everything looked the same, all the way down to the slightly wonky sign on the front display that was trying to persuade customers to buy the new lines of overpriced olives and antipasti, and nothing felt any different on your journey up to the locker rooms; the poster asking everyone to book their holiday before the 26th June 2001 was still up, as it should be; the sight of Yoongi walking in the direction of the staff canteen as you went to dump your stuff in your locker was as familiar as normal. You were usually good at sniffing out change, but everything had passed your smell check and so you let your guard down, bursting into the break room with your usual aplomb.

That’s one thing about night shift that people don’t usually realise. Because there aren’t customers around, you can yell up and down the shop floor as much as you like (it’s usually faster than walking around to find someone) and swear or be inappropriate in ways that wouldn’t fly during the day (like bowling products across the floor instead of walking up to the shelf and putting them down). You don’t swear or yell, really, but the amount of time you’ve spent on nights has increased your overall volume and altered your verbal filter, so once you’ve kicked the door open, what comes out of your mouth is as follows:

“Wassup everyone? Ya girl is back from her time off and is absolutely RARING to go! I know you all missed me, but please, no flash photography,” you simper. You hear Yoongi snort into his coffee from his seat on the sofa, directly under the sign that says ‘No Food Or Drink Allowed On The Sofas’ alongside a picture of a dancing hot dog with a massive red X across it.

Most of your coworkers are a lot older than you—young people don’t tend to work overnight—so they don’t match your level of energy, but they’re still pleased to see you nonetheless, a little chorus of hellos greeting you when you walk into the room. You shoot finger guns at them, ending with an overly theatrical wink at Taehyung, wiggling your fingers in a wave at the boy as he grins at you through his mouthful of food (he’s not night shift but he finishes a lot of his shifts late so you're on friendly terms).

When you flop down next to Yoongi he wordlessly hands you a coffee. You hiss a little at the contact of the hot mug against your skin—he’s holding onto the handle, and you’re quick to accept it from him so you don’t burn yourself—and peer down at the hot liquid before taking a small drink.

You’re mid-sip when your eyes flick up from the mug and you immediately splutter. You cough and hack, eyes filling with tears as you try to swallow the noises down to no avail; you sound distressed enough that even Yoongi gets concerned, thumping you on the back as you make a noise akin to a cat wheezing out a hairball.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is pained as you look out of the corner of your eye at the boy sitting next to you. “I thought you said nothing interesting had happened while I was off?”

Yoongi looks perplexed. “Nothing did,” he says. Somehow you resist the overwhelming urge to pour your coffee all over him.

“Then explain to me exactly why the Muscle Boy from morning shift who works on fruit and veg is sat over there in a night shift uniform,” you hiss.

“Oh, yeah.” Yoongi sounds entirely disinterested. “He moved on to nights the first week you were off.”

So not only has the hitherto-unreachable object of your affections moved on to your shift—great, you weren't mentally prepared for that at all—he'd apparently witnessed your unnecessarily theatrical entrance, as well as your subsequent near death experience via coffee. You wish that the near death experience had, in fact, been a full death experience; your final moments may have been undignified but at least you’d have gone out while looking at a pretty face and not have to live with the embarrassment afterwards, knowing that Jeon Jungkook had witnessed you spluttering coffee down your chin.

Normally your Jungkook-radar (Kookiedar? You’ll have to work on the name for it) is faultless, flawless, sensitive to his exact location at all times—but he was never there at night. You only saw him in the mornings, catching glimpses of him on your way out, lifting heavy crates of bananas or potatoes onto the displays. But he’s here, now, sat on his own table, alone, away from the other workers.

While you hadn’t spotted him before, what with how he’s sequestered himself alone, from your vantage point now? You can clearly see him, and you know that he would have had full view of you from the moment you’d stepped into the room.

He's on night shift now. With you.

“Yoongi, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“If I asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

“No." His answer is immediate, but before you can be warmed by the fact he doesn’t wish for your imminent death, he continues: “I’d have to find someone else to reduce food for me, and I can’t go back to buying full priced noodles after this long.”

“I’ll reduce your head from your body,” you threaten, even though it makes no sense. Yoongi doesn’t react outwardly to this threat but you would wager anything that he was quivering in his boots, even though he’s doing a very good job of calmly sipping at his coffee. Ahh, Yoongi, always the master of the pokerface, despite the fact he must be terrified.

Anyway. You’re getting distracted. Basically, snake Yoongi had snaked on you and hadn’t told you about Jungkook transferring to night shift, like the snake he was. Yoongi being the snake, that is, not Jungkook. He wasn’t a snake. Sure, you’d never spoken to him in all the months you’d seen him and knew next to nothing about him but no one could be a snake when they looked that innocent. Besides, you’d seen him help customers, smiling at the old ladies who asked for him to reach for specific bits of fruit from higher shelves, or carrying their shopping for them, or—

Argh, you were getting distracted again. Essentially he was a hot, muscular angel who hadn’t had your existence on his own radar until approximately five minutes ago, and his first impression of you must be that you are an absolute clown. A buffoon. And, okay, maybe you are, but you usually only let people onto that fact after knowing them for at least a day or two.

He’d looked startled when you’d made eye contact with him across the canteen, tearing his eyes away from you the second you’d tried to inhale coffee instead of ingesting it. You’re grateful that he’s resolutely kept his gaze away, absorbed by something on his phone instead, but he must have heard your desperate wheezing from across the room. Even if you’ve managed to cough away the coffee in your lungs by now it doesn’t detract from the overall embarrassment that threatens to swallow you up.

Beside you, Yoongi continues to drink his coffee like a normal human being. He’s oblivious to your inner turmoil. Of course your crush had moved to night shift when you were on holiday. Of course you’d missed that. Why wouldn’t you? You were a snail and God was salting you. What had you done to deserve such torment?

“I can’t believe you didn’t think a new person was something I’d at least like to be made aware of,” you mutter waspishly. “Especially as he’s around our age! Since Hobi left we haven’t had anyone on shift who isn’t at least a decade older than us, Yoons.”

As is tradition, Yoongi says: “A moment of silence for our boy Hobi.” You both shut your eyes and tilt your heads forward as you mourn your fallen brother. (He wasn’t dead, he’d just moved to a different job a few months ago, although you both still see him on a weekly basis.) And then Yoongi continues: “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”

“Do you have a single wrinkle on your brain, Yoongi? Huh? Or is it completely smooth up there? Why wouldn’t a new night shift worker be something I’d want to know about?”

“I figured you’d find out eventually anyway.” Yoongi shrugs.

“I hope a stack of bread falls on you,” you say.

You’re glad when it hits 9pm and your manager, Sejin, gets everyone’s attention for the huddle so he can tell everyone where they’re working for the night. You normally don’t pay much attention but this time you’re like a bloodhound on a scent trail, sniffing out what where Jungkook is going to be.

“Jungkook, you’re on the fruit and veg section,” your manager says, and your nostrils flare. Of course. You’re entirely unsurprised when he delegates Jungkook to the fruit and vegetable aisles— it’s what the boy is familiar with, after all.

Most people in the store have areas they’re better at and do the same thing over and over, but you’re a bit of a wildcard, happy to work anywhere, so your own role varies a bit. You’d actually been there longer than Sejin, who’s a fairly new manager; he’d latched desperately onto you when he realised that you a) had been trained on pretty much everything and b) were also a pretty decent worker, on the whole, and so he allows you more freedom than he might afford other people.

So, because of this, you know that if you asked then he’d happily move you to a different area of the store, but you don't actually know where you want to go. You’re torn between hoping that you’re in a section near Jungkook (so you can ogle him) or the opposite of the store (so you’re saved any further shame due to the fact that you’re an absolute dunderhead, just an absolute embarrassment, why were you allowed outside?), but then Sejin tells you your job for the night and you can’t help a groan from escaping you.

“It’s my first shift back after my holiday and you want me to reduce all night?”

You can’t help but sound a little whiny. Reducing is so boring. Looking through everything on the shelf and scanning it and then having to stick the reduced labels on them? Over and over and over? For the whole night? Your brain is already shutting down in anticipation for the repetitive monotony. (You have to try to conserve what few brain cells you have left and you're not about to waste them on this.)

Sejin looks genuinely apologetic. “Some day staff called in sick so there weren’t enough people to finish everything. You only have the meat and fish sections to do.”

You’re so distressed at the idea of having to sift through piles of meat that you don’t notice how Jungkook perks up at this, sitting up a little in his seat; if you’d been paying attention you’d realise that the meat and fish area is directly adjacent to fruit and veg, both sections within direct eyesight of each other. Instead you’re remembering the time you’d had a packet of sea bass leak on you and no matter how many times you’d washed your hands, the fishy smell had remained. Eurgh.

“Alright, that’s everything!” Sejin claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work, everyone.”

There’s the usual grumblings and mutterings as people start to make their way out of the canteen and downstairs to start work. You take Yoongi’s mug from him and dump both of your empty cups into the hatch of the canteen, already resigning yourself to a long night of misery and boredom. Why did you choose to work in a supermarket, again?

You dawdle around upstairs for longer than you probably should once everyone’s gone, dreading the fact that you’re going to have to properly introduce yourself to Jungkook. Night shift is very insular and you can assume that no one’s introduced themselves to him or made an effort to be friendly— hence why he's been sitting alone. You’re the one person who works overnight who actually goes out of their way to introduce themselves to any new starters, but you’re fairly certain that if you try to introduce yourself to Jungkook you’ll end up throwing up on him. He’s just so hot that it makes you nervous.

You make a long drawn out ahhhhhhhhhhh noise, letting your frustration out before straightening up and puffing out your chest. It’s fine! You’re fine. You’re a strong, confident, smart night shift worker who’s introduced herself to new people multiple times before. Jungkook is just another person. Sure, he’s the cutest guy you’ve ever seen, but he’s just another person. It’s fine.

It’s not fine.

The second you round the corner to the fruit and veg section on your way to meat and fish, you see Jungkook effortlessly heft a massive crate of grapefruit as if it weighs nothing and you want to pass out. The one time you’d tried to lift a crate like that you’d almost done your back in, but Jungkook just lifts it with ease.

What’s worse is that while you’ve seen him do this before, he’d been wearing a day shift uniform at the time. The day shift uniform is, honestly, pretty ugly, an ugly beige long-sleeve button up with an equally ugly tan tie under an ugly grey apron (but of course Jungkook had still looked radiant in spite of the ugly ensemble he was forced to wear). The night shift uniform isn’t necessarily attractive either, a simple black polo shirt and combat trousers, but unlike the button up, the polo shirt is a t-shirt— and Jungkook’s rolled the already shorter sleeves up so that all of his arm is on display (holy shit he has tattoos). You can see the flex of his muscles in all their glory, the way his biceps bulge as he lifts the crate higher, the veins that run down to his hands, and your mouth floods with saliva.

“Arm,” you say.

“Pardon?” Jungkook looks up, confused, and then startles when he sees you.

“Um, nothing!” you stutter. There’s a loose lock of hair hanging across his forehead and you stare at that rather than looking into his eyes. You’d probably burst into flames if you made eye contact right now. “I just wanted to, uh, introduce myself? I know you’ve been working nights for a few weeks now so I’m kind of late, but I was on holiday. I’m Y/n.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, and then he sees how your eyes widen and he scrabbles to explain. “Uh, Sejin said it during the meeting.” He swallows.

You cough. Of course. There’s no other reason Jungkook would have known your name without you telling him; you sincerely doubt he’d sleuthed your name out via the rotas pinned on the board, much as you had with him. (You swear you’re not a stalker, he’s just really cute, okay?)

“I’m Jungkook,” he finishes, laughing awkwardly.

“I guessed,” you say, pointing at his name badge like that’s the reason you know it. He stares down at his chest, as if he’d forgotten that he had it pinned there, and although you'd genuinely been looking at the badge, you suddenly notice that you can see the definition of his pecs even with the thick fabric of the polo shirt. You want to pass out again. You need to divert your attention to something else, stat, your brain scrambling for something to say next. “You know, you’re the only person on night shift who’s wearing a badge. No one else does.”

You wince. Great. Now you sound like an asshole. Nice going, idiot.

Jungkook glances away from his badge to your finger, which is still pointing. He’s staring at your nail polish. Even though no one cares what the night shift gets up to, nail polish is technically against the rules and you wonder if he’s about to say something derogatory—you’d deserve it, you were just kind of a dick to him—when he smiles instead. “I like your nails.”

“O-oh,” you stutter, surprised. They’re nothing special, the colour a little chipped in places, but you’re still flattered by how genuine Jungkook’s compliment sounds. “Um. Thanks.” And because you have a habit of responding to compliments with one of your own, you say: "I really like your tattoos. The flowers are beautiful."

Jungkook looks stunned and doesn't respond. You spend a few moments staring at each other before Sejin rounds the corner, and you both abruptly turn away so it doesn’t look like you’re just standing around and talking instead of working (although that is, in fact, what you’re doing). You hustle over to the meat section, grabbing packs of bacon and pretending to look at the dates, even though you have no idea what date it is. No thoughts head full of Jungkook.

Over the years, you’ve mastered the art of Quick Glancing™. While to anyone watching you it would seem as though you’re absorbed in your work, sifting through food to check if it’s going out of date, you’re actually looking at Jungkook more often than not. Whenever it seems like he might catch you, your eyes dart back to whatever cut of meat you’re holding at the time—a box of liver, eww, slimy—but you spend the majority of the time watching him move around. You can’t help but wonder if he’d lift you as easily as those crates and have to suppress a full body shiver. Down, girl.

Yoongi appears like clockwork the second it hits midnight, leaning against the fridge as you stare at a pack of chicken wings. “Coffee time.”

“Oh, thank God.” You straighten up, unceremoniously dropping the chicken wings onto the shelf. “Caffeine, I need caffeine, get me the caffeine.”

You get the caffeine. You and Yoongi always go back to the canteen at midnight for coffee—even though you’re technically not meant to—and bring your mugs downstairs—something else you’re also not meant to do. You drink your coffee between looking at the packets of food on the shelf, sifting through trays of chicken breasts and stickering whatever's due to go out of date as Yoongi idles around near you, peering at everything you’ve slapped a reduced label on. He clicks his tongue at a lacklustre reduction, unimpressed at how little money has been slashed off the price, and honestly? Mood.

“Don’t you have bread to put out?”

“Finished it. I’m waiting for the next delivery.” Yoongi yawns, but then his eyes suddenly narrow as he looks in the direction of fruit and veg. “Your new little friend keeps looking at us. I think he might be a narc.”

“Huh? Oh, Jungkook?” You look up from the chicken thighs. Jungkook is far out of earshot but clearly visible, hunched over a shelf as he starts to furiously organise some courgettes. “Nah, I don’t think he’s a narc. Besides, what’s Sejin going to do? Fire us? We get coffee all the time and he's never said anything about it before.”

“Yeah, but Jungkook doesn’t know that.” Yoongi scowls. He sounds suspicious. “Hm. I’m going to go back to bread, but keep an eye on that one.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. “Got it,” you say with a salute.

Yoongi wanders off but not before throwing Jungkook a sharp look, which the boy doesn’t notice, resolutely staring at the courgettes. Seems like he’s really intent on making them look neat, which you think is kind of unnecessary, but whatever. It's kind of cute actually.

You don’t think Jungkook is a snitch, but you do have to admit it’s maybe a little weird how often you seem to catch him watching you, though he’s very quick to look away. Your suspicions grow somewhat when he ends up in the canteen at the same time as you, eating your lunch a lot later than everyone else. You like the peace and quiet when the room is almost empty.

Yoongi normally has lunch with you, but today he’d had to eat earlier because Sejin had asked him to help unload the delivery lorry, so you’re alone in the room with Jungkook. Although he sits on the table farthest away from you, it’s maybe a bit strange that he’s up there when you are. Like, sure, you do appreciate the fact that you can gawk at him a little bit more, but maybe Yoongi is right about him being a narc?

Nah. You’re probably just being paranoid. Jungkook is clearly introverted, not talking to the other guys working on the fruit and veg section, so he probably came up at the quietest time of day (/night) so he could avoid everyone. You can understand that.

Your lunch is almost over and you’re in the middle of making yourself and Yoongi another cup of coffee to take downstairs when Jungkook suddenly appears at your shoulder. You yelp in surprise when you notice him there, scattering coffee granules across the counter instead of dropping them in the cup like you’d meant to, clutching your chest in shock.

“Oh, God, sorry,” he apologises, and he fumbles as he scoops the granules into his palm to clear them up—and then he just stands there with a handful of instant coffee as he looks at you. You’re still clutching your heart. “Uh. I was wondering, do you bring your own coffee in?”

“Yes,” you say, cagey, unsure what he wants. You notice that he’s unintentionally cornered you against the counter, and now that your earlier shock has ebbed away, you can’t help but notice your height difference when he’s this close to you. “Can’t get coffee overnight otherwise. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, I just didn’t realise we were allowed to?” Jungkook sounds awkward, unsure. “I would have brought my own in if I’d known.”

You stare at him for a second. Yoongi would kill you if he saw what you did next, but you just end up turning around to grab another mug and dump a spoonful of coffee into it. “Do you have milk or sugar?”

“Huh?”

“Do you have milk or sugar? In your coffee?” You repeat carefully, tapping a spoon against the third mug, trying to tamp down the blush that’s threatening to appear on your cheeks when you glance at Jungkook over your shoulder. “You want one, right?”

“Oh.” He goes a little lax with surprise, apparently not realising that he’s done so until he drops a few bits of coffee on the floor and then lifts his hand again—you can see where the granules that are directly in contact with his skin have started to dissolve a little, sticky. The pile of coffee looks so small in his big hands. You want to eat out of his palm, as gross as that thought is. “Yeah, milk and sugar, please.”

As he goes to wash the coffee from his hands, you stare at yourself in the reflection of the metal kettle, wondering what the fuck you were doing while also trying to tame your thirst into submission. You never let anyone have your coffee (except Yoongi, obviously, and Hobi, when he’d been here) (a moment of silence for your boy) and you’ve known Jungkook for less than one (1) shift and you’ve already initiated him as part of the Coffee Crew.

Yoongi picks up on this immediately, spotting you and Jungkook reemerging onto the shop floor at the same time, although you peel away to visit your friend in the bread section. “Is that a mug that I saw Jungkook holding?”

“Yeah,” you say with forced casualness, wary of Yoongi’s response. Here we go.

But to your surprise he seems pleased. “He can’t narc on us now that he’s drinking coffee on the shop floor too,” Yoongi says.

“Oh, right! Yeah, that was my plan all along.” You force laughter, as if your pulse hadn’t been racing as you’d watched Jungkook take the first sip from the coffee you’d prepared for him, worried that he wouldn’t like it. You’d wanted to vomit your heart out of chest when he’d given you a small, shy smile and said that it was perfect, as if he wasn’t drinking cheap, crappy instant coffee, which was subpar even when it was good.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your fake hyena laughter but decides not to comment on it.

He raises his eyebrows again the next night when he witnesses you preparing coffee for Jungkook firsthand, lining up three mugs at midnight instead of just two, making coffee the way Jungkook likes it. “Once was enough to stop him from double crossing us, I think,” Yoongi says.

“I’m making this for him because I want Jungkook to be part of the group,” you say firmly, ignoring the way your hand trembles a little when you say this. Jungkook had waved goodbye to you when he’d spotted you in the morning after your first shift together, and tonight he’d made eye contact when you’d walked into the break room—more quietly than you had the day before—before smiling at you. (You’re constantly torn between wanting to coo at how adorable he is or begging him to bend you over a table, and it’s hard to keep these thoughts from showing on your face whenever you smile at him, but you’re doing a damn good job.)

Yoongi, despite his usual unflappable nature, looks absolutely floored. Even though you’d both spoken to Hoseok from the moment he’d started working with you, it had taken you a few weeks before you’d even offered to get him a drink at midnight, a mutual decision both you and Yoongi had agreed upon. And here you were, inviting Jungkook in without consulting your coworker-turned-best-friend, after one night. (You’re sure Hobi wouldn’t mind, but you feel kind of bad when you think about it and resolve to pay for his lunch when you see him next week.)

Yoongi squints at you as you keep your attention focused on the coffee and so don’t see the realisation settling across his features.

“Oh,” he says once it’s clicked. “You wanna suck his dick.”

You end up scattering coffee across the counter again. At this rate you may as well just pour the granules straight into the bin and cut out the middle man.

“Yeah, you wanna suck his dick,” Yoongi muses, watching as you grouse and clean up the coffee.

“At least when I talk about your crush on Jimin I have the decency to not be crude about it,” you say, jabbing a finger in Yoongi’s direction. He flushes.

“I don’t have a crush on Jimin,” he scowls. You scoff.

“Oh, please, Yoons. You’re not as subtle as you think. If I catch you staring at Jimin’s ass one more time with those googly eyes of yours I’m gonna yarf.” Jimin’s ass, admittedly, is very nice, the awful work trousers somehow flattering on him, but it’s the reverence with which Yoongi looks at it that makes his crush obvious. Amongst plenty of other things. “And you let him have my doughnut! As if that isn’t practically a declaration of marriage!”

“You’re still going on about the doughnut?” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That happened months ago.”

“It was a limited edition Krispy Kreme doughnut, Yoons!” Your voice has gone shrill. “A motherfucking Kit Kat doughnut! The only reason I didn’t strike you down where you stood is because I fully support your crush on Jimin, even if I think it’s ridiculous you haven’t asked him out already! Anyway,” you say, letting the spoon clatter into the mug. “Whether or not I want to suck Jungkook’s dick, I miss having a third person in this group. Hobi actually laughed at my jokes.”

“I laugh at your jokes when they’re funny.”

“You never laugh at them!”

“I said what I said.”

“I’m going to poison your coffee so Jungkook and I can drink the rest in peace,” you say. “Oh, moment of silence for Hobi, we almost forgot.” The moment of silence lasts for a second, and then you’re pouring the freshly boiled water into the mugs.

“I guess I should talk to Jungkook, then.” Yoongi still sounds suspicious and you glare at him as you stir the coffee.

“If I find out that you’re being mean to him, I will genuinely poison your drink,” you say, lifting the spoon and gesturing with it aggressively enough that a droplet of coffee goes flying off and lands on Yoongi’s face. You have no doubt that Jungkook could snap Yoongi like a twig if he wanted to, but Jungkook seems far too nice for that, and Yoongi can be surprisingly intimidating.

“You won’t poison me.” He wipes the coffee away, unperturbed.

You snort. “I’ll use decaff and I won’t tell you.”

This makes Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

"Watch me.”

With that threat firmly in place, you feel a little better when you hand Jungkook’s coffee to Yoongi to give to him. You’re not near the fruit and vegetable section tonight so you won’t be able to keep a direct eye on them, but you’ll catch up with Yoongi once he’s wandered back over to bread.

You’re starting to feel a bit suspicious at how long Yoongi’s been absent for and so you make your way across the shop floor to see if you can find him. To your infinite surprise you spot both guys near the salads, Yoongi perched on an upturned crate while Jungkook puts watercress onto the shelf, the two of them in deep discussion about something. You feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone when you see Yoongi genuinely laugh and you back away, unsettled.

When you eat lunch that night, Jungkook sits with you on your table at Yoongi’s behest. It’s still a quiet affair, like normal—you take as many opportunities as you can to sneak glances at Jungkook, surprised at exactly how much food he puts away—but when he offers to make the coffee, you have a hushed conversation with Yoongi while your muscle boy is distracted. You keep your eyes fixed on Jungkook’s back, and it really is unfair how good his shoulder blades look with that black material stretched across them. There’s no point in trying to hide your thirst from Yoongi now that he knows about it so you’re free to stare.

“I thought you said he was a narc,” you whisper, eyes still fixed on Jungkook's back. How is his waist so small? (Lord have mercy on your soul.)

“Nah, Jungkook is okay,” Yoongi replies. In Yoongi-speak this means that he really likes Jungkook and you’re flabbergasted.

You don’t get a chance to say anything else before Jungkook is turning around, proffering your drinks to you with a bright smile—you can see his teeth, and you’ve never wanted to lick someone’s teeth before but apparently the sight of Jungkook’s mouth will do that to you, who would have guessed. It’s been two shifts and you’re already this dehydrated, just dying of thirst, shrivelled up like Spongebob in that episode where he visits Sandy’s dome for the first time. You’re a crusty thirsty sponge and Jungkook is a tall, sexy glass of water.

(You’re so fucking screwed.)

The thing with initiating Jungkook into the Coffee Crew is that you’re faced with the reality of his good looks constantly. Jungkook still doesn’t talk to anyone else, really, but he lights up around Yoongi and yourself, and you start to look forward to seeing those shiny doe eyes of his, the way he perks up whenever he sees you.

Work quickly becomes the highlight of your week, which is something you thought you'd never say, but Jungkook is just too powerful. Everything about him is absolutely fucking devastating, a few examples being:

The night when it’s a little warmer, and he unbuttons all three buttons on his polo shirt—you can see his collarbones and the tiniest bit of his chest, going feral over such a small slip of skin like you’re some sort of Victorian lady who keeps her ankles hidden in public and you’ve never seen bare skin before.

Or when you got caught behind him on the stairs while he’s explaining the difference between meat protein and vegetable protein—you get a wonderful view of his ass, which you take full advantage of (respectfully). You get another look at said ass when he plays a game of pool against Yoongi while you sit on the sofa and watch, Jungkook leaning over the wonky pool table so that he can make a particularly difficult shot, placing his wonderful butt directly into your line of vision.

Or when you notice that even though Jungkook cycles to work, he never seems to smell like sweat, and instead he just smells like fresh clothes, clean linen that’s so potent you can smell him before you see him. But no one smells that much like clean laundry, right? It must be his cologne.

“Jungkook, do you wear cologne?”

Jungkook, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised at your question and just answers it like he would any other. “No, why?”

“Oh, it’s just that you smell nice? Sort of like whatever 'clean cotton' is apparently meant to smell like. Y’know? Like fresh laundry.”

“I do wash my clothes every day,” he says. “I guess you could call me a bit of a clean freak?”

For some reason, the fact that he smells so nice because of his clothes is just so hot. You want to bury your face in his shirt and just breathe him in, but that would be weird and creepy and invasive. So you don’t do that and instead allow yourself to sniff from a polite distance, olfactory senses working overtime whenever he’s nearby.

(Yoongi finds you uncapping all the detergents down the laundry aisle one night, desperately huffing each type to try and work out which one Jungkook uses. “Jesus Christ,” he says, watching as you take a particularly long drag of whatever Spring Day is—it’s pleasant, whatever it is, but it’s not what you’re looking for. “Are you trying to get high?”

“Smell this,” you say instead, shoving it in his face. He takes a wary sniff, nose crinkling. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“I guess?” Yoongi seems baffled. “Okay, you’re clearly busy, I’ll tell Sejin to ask someone else to do the job.” You don’t reply, too busy sucking in a lungful of Crystal Snow as Yoongi backs away.)

Jungkook also seems to have this weird knack of appearing whenever you need help lifting or moving something heavy. Normally you hate it when someone steps in to help you, a little offended at the idea that you can’t do something yourself—you've been doing this for long enough that you've developed a technique for things—but when Jungkook does it you don’t feel disrespected at all. He’s just so nice about it.

Like the time when you’re struggling to move an empty wooden pallet and put it on top of a stack of others; not only is it heavy, it's large and unwieldy, too. The last time you’d tried to move one of these you’d ended up hitting it against your shins while also getting a palmful of splinters. You hate these things. Jungkook, however, materialises out of seemingly nowhere and offers you his help. He ends up lifting the thing himself, squatting down to grab it and just tossing it on top of the pile. He does it effortlessly, literally effortlessly, like the pallet weighs nothing to him, and when you ask if he thought it was heavy, he blinks.

“No, not really,” he says. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from screeching.

“You must lift a lot of weights,” you say, weakly, and Jungkook nods.

“I’ve started incorporating weights into my pull up routine recently, too.”

“Oh? Do you, like… tie them to yourself or something? Uh. How heavy are they?”

Jungkook perks up, apparently excited at the opportunity of talking about exercise. “I hold a fifteen kilogram weight in one hand while I do a pull up with the other,” he says.

Your legs feel weak at this mental image and you end up sitting on the stack of pallets as Jungkook starts to tell you about the rest of his workout routine, and when you find out he does kickboxing as well, you almost have to excuse yourself so that you can try and calm down. Instead you grin and bear it, your fingers digging into your thighs in the horniest grip known to man, acting like this is just a normal conversation that is absolutely not affecting you, no sir, no sirree, holy shit you’re going to die.

That night you do have to excuse yourself at lunch when you make a comment on Jungkook’s food, and he says that he needs to keep his calorie count up because he’s bulking at the moment.

“Bulking? Like for abs?” Yoongi asks.

“I already have abs,” Jungkook says dismissively. Your leg jolts under the table and your knee hits the underside of it, sending your empty lunch box almost flying to the floor, and Jungkook and Yoongi look at you in alarm. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

“Bathroom,” you gasp. “I gotta—bathroom. Lady stuff.”

You splash water over your face and run it over your wrists, desperately trying to cool down. You’d suspected he had abs, for multiple reasons, not least of all the fact that whenever he leaned back in his chair the material of his shirt would settle on his stomach in a way that hinted at the shape of the muscles underneath, but to hear him confirm it—like it was nothing—good lord. (Yoongi’s caught you staring at Jungkook’s stomach multiple times when the boy was distracted, but you’re beyond caring. If you have to deal with Yoongi fawning over Jimin then he can put up with you ogling Jungkook.)

When you come back, Yoongi is at the counter making your coffees while Jungkook is still sitting at the table. You slide back into your seat, about as composed as you’re going to get, when Jungkook leans towards you.

“Are you okay?” He looks worried. “I have some heat pads in my locker if, um, you wanted them, if you’re having period pains?” he says, but then he looks unsure. “I don’t know if you’re actually meant to use them on your tummy, though.”

Tummy. You want to squeal at how cute the word is, not to mention the fact that Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered about talking about period related stuff, unlike a lot of guys you’d known. “Oh, uh, no, thanks, Jungkook,” you say, flushing. “That’s really nice of you but I’m alright.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, although he’s still clearly concerned. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And that’s the other thing. You still think Jungkook is the hottest person you’ve ever seen, of course, but he’s also so nice. And hardworking. And sweet. And gentle and thoughtful and determined and talented and just—he's just a whole lot of man, really, just so much, too much. Initially you’d been attracted to him based purely on how cute he was, but now that you've actually gotten to know him, your attraction has morphed into a full-on all consuming crush that’s absolutely catastrophic.

Even when you’re not at work, you keep zoning out because you’re thinking about: Jungkook’s arms, Jungkook’s thighs, Jungkook’s face, Jungkook’s personality, or a mix of all of the above. You can’t focus on things when all you can think about is Jungkook.

Jimin, of course, has been kept fully up to date with the situation. You squat behind the bakery counter whenever he’s on a late shift, hiding away from prying eyes so that you can talk to him as he tidies up, although you know he’s making moony eyes at Yoongi, who’ll glance back at him between the shelves of bread.

You groan into your hands from your cross legged position on the floor, sat atop a flattened croissant box, and Jimin pats you sympathetically on the head.

“Jungkook is very cute,” says Jimin. You groan again.

“I want him to raw me,” you say. Yoongi must have been closer than you thought because you hear a noise of disgust from the other side of the counter before the sound of his footsteps moving away. Jimin laughs his tinkly little laugh as you continue to speak. “But I also want him to hold my hand? And I wanna kiss his cute little forehead. And make him breakfast in bed. Ugh. I hate this,” you whine.

Jimin pats your head again. “Why don’t you ask him for coffee?”

You take your head out of your hands and fix him with a pout. “Why don’t you?”

“You know I don’t ask people for coffee, Y/n, I’m the one who gets asked,” Jimin says, and you know he’s projecting his voice so that Yoongi can hear him. You also know that Yoongi is too dense to pick up on this obvious flirtation, even though you can see how Jimin throws a wink in the direction of where Yoongi must be; you don’t turn to look over the counter but you hear the distinct sound of someone walking into a stack of bread and knocking it over, before Yoongi swears. Jimin just looks fond.

“Oh my God, just marry each other already,” you mutter.

“He has to ask me out first,” Jimin says, softly enough that Yoongi can’t hear from where he must be furiously tidying up the bread, if the sound of plastic packaging and low curses are anything to go by. “Seriously, Y/n, it sounds like Jungkook likes you as well. I think you should just go for it.”

You sigh. “Jungkook’s so far out of my league it’s like we’re not even playing the same sport. He’s sinking three pointers while I’m, I don’t know, whacking balls with a croquet mallet,” you mumble.

Jungkook is nice and funny and works out and is hot, so hot, the kind of hot that has people literally stopping to look at him. (You certainly had, the first time you'd spotted him down an aisle, doing a literal double take at how cute he was.) You, meanwhile, are a clown whose sense of humour has been warped by years of niche internet memes, you drink more coffee than is probably medically advisable, and make-up can only take you up to a shaky 6/10 on a very good day. All in all: Not Exactly A Catch.

Jimin clearly disagrees. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.” He sounds genuinely mad, frowning at you. "If I didn’t like Yoongi I absolutely would have asked you out by now. Jungkook would be lucky to have you, you are a wholeass meal.”

“Yoongi compared me to a slug the other day,” you say. Admittedly it was because he’d knocked on your door when you’d been in the middle of shaving your legs, your skin shining with coconut oil—so the slug slime comment was definitely warranted and hadn’t been an insult—but Jimin’s expression turns murderous, unaware of the context.

“Min Yoongi, you get over here right now,” he hisses. Yoongi is there in seconds. “Did you call Y/n a slug?”

Yoongi’s face looms at you from over the counter. “Should’ve called her a snake instead,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hiss hiss,” you say. “That’s what you get for chatting shit about coconut oil.”

Jimin blinks before his face goes smooth and a look of understanding crosses his features, raising an eyebrow at you. You bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m going back to the bagels,” he says, but then his voice is gentle when he continues: “Unless you need something else, Jimin?”

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” He smiles at Yoongi, soft and sweet, instantly forgetting about the slug comment.

The two of them look at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist and you mime throwing up, but because they’re looking at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist, neither of them notice. You hear Yoongi’s footsteps recede and you lift your hands in despair.

“How is it even when I’m having a breakdown over a boy, the two of you manage to be so incredibly gay over each other?”

“It’s a talent,” Jimin says. “Besides, as happy as I am to listen to you, there’s only so many ways you can say I wanna suck Jungkook’s dick so bad, or he’s so adorable, what the fuck, or oh my God, Jungkook is so hot and I’m so thirsty, which are all things you’ve said, verbatim, multiple times.”

“It’s true.” You pout. “You’ve only seen Jungkook from a distance, anyway. He’s even better up close.” The bakery section is the other side of the supermarket, as far away from the fruit and veg section as you can possibly get; Jungkook has a much better work ethic than you and Yoongi and actually stays in his area to work, so he hasn’t met Jimin properly yet.

Jimin’s expression becomes thoughtful. “You know what, that’s true,” he says.

You’re immediately on guard. Jimin is well-meaning and considerate and kind, but he also loves to meddle and has absolutely no shame about it—the second you see that glint in his eyes, you think that maybe you’ve said something you shouldn’t have, but then you notice the time and your eyes widen.

“Oh, shit, I better go pretend to work before Sejin realises I’m missing.” You scrabble to your feet. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe drive home, Jimin!”

Jimin’s usually pretty punctual about leaving on time (even if he’ll hang around to talk to Yoongi, ugh). You wander over to the fruit section to help Sejin fill a display stand, and you freeze in the middle of lifting some apples into a paper bag when you spot Jimin talking to Jungkook. Jimin looks coy, Jungkook looks confused, and you? You probably look constipated. Why is Jimin still here?

You only realise that your mouth is open when Jimin spots you and winks, overexaggerated and theatrical. Your mouth snaps shut as Jungkook’s attention turns to whatever he’s winking at. You duck out of sight before he can spot you, scampering down the length of the store before practically throwing your apples at Sejin, who is understandably caught off guard and fails to catch the bag.

“I’ll go get some blueberries for the other shelf from the back room,” you bark in his face, all but running away before he can respond, leaving him surrounded by the escapee apples (escapples?) that are rolling away from him. You skulk around the entrance of the fruit and veg room for a little while, waiting for Jimin to leave via the staff exit—directly across from where you’re standing—but he doesn’t appear and you can only pretend to look for blueberries for so long, eventually returning to Sejin while despondently clutching the trays of berries.

Jungkook doesn’t seem any different when you make your midnight coffee run, and lunch is about as normal as usual. When you mention Jimin, he smiles, saying that it was nice to finally meet him, but other than seemingly slightly distracted—as if deep in thought—that’s it. There’s no hint that Jimin mentioned anything about you at all, least of all your crush—thank God—but you can feel the ripples in the Force. (Or maybe that was all the coffee you were drinking, seriously, maybe you should slow down?) You know that it’s not a coincidence that you’d had yet another meltdown about Jungkook right before Jimin had introduced himself to the object of your affections. You also know that Jimin knows that you know that, utterly shameless as always.

Jimin is on another late shift the next night. You squat behind the bakery counter when it’s unmanned, Jimin going outside to throw away some old baguettes or whatever, and you (metaphorically) pounce on him when he reappears. “Park Jimin.”

Jimin is entirely unsurprised. In fact he even has a box for you to sit on, proffering a flattened piece of porridge packaging; you feel uncomfortable at the idea of sitting on the Quaker Oats guy’s face and flip it over so you can see brown cardboard rather than his weirdly smug expression looking up at you. “Yes?”

“What exactly were you talking to Jungkook about last night?” You peer up at him, attempting to look at least somewhat threatening, but it’s kind of hard when you’re so much lower to the ground than Jimin is right now. Jimin has to look down at you so far that he’s given himself a double chin, but he’s still gorgeous, because of course he is. (He should leave some for the rest of you, jeez.)

“Oh, a lot of things,” Jimin says. “You were right about him being a sweetheart. He’s very nice. I approve.”

“What are you, my dad?” You mutter to yourself, but then: “You didn’t say anything about my crush, did you?”

Jimin is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. So when he answers you with a simple ��no” you believe him, although you can’t help but still feel a little suspicious. Your gut might be full of coffee more often than not, but she’s also a smart bitch—smarter than your brain for sure—and your gut is telling you that Park Jimin must have done or said something.

“Yoongi is putting the tortillas out, so excuse me if I’m distracted,” Jimin says. The tortilla wraps are on the bottom shelf so Yoongi has to bend over to work them. You make a face of disgust and stand up to leave.

“Fine, me and the Quaker Oats guy will take ourselves elsewhere.” You tuck the flattened box snugly under your arm. “We know when we’re not wanted.”

You feel a little bad later when you put the box into the industrial baler that you have, the machine crushing all of your cardboard flat, saddened that you’ve had to part from your new friend so soon. Bye, Quaker Oats guy.

Jungkook finds you standing in front of the baler with a genuinely sad expression on your face, silent as the machine makes mechanical squealing and wailing noises while it crushes the boxes inside it. “Uh. Is everything okay?” He asks, delicate.

“It will be eventually,” you say solemnly, but then you look away from the baler and immediately brighten, smiling at him. “Did you need me for something?”

Jungkook looks at you for a second and then shakes his head. “I was just out here to get some more stock from the back room,” he says, and you both get back to work, unaware of the glances you steal at each other as you part.

Later that night—well, technically, morning—you see someone you haven’t seen for a while, and you gasp with excitement when you spot him. “Namjoon!” You holler down the aisle, far too loud and energetic at 5am, jogging up to him. “I thought you stopped morning shifts!”

Namjoon is a beautiful tree of a man, tall and long limbed, and probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. You’ve missed his dimples. “I did, but, I’m doing a bit of overtime,” he says, and you can’t help but smile up at him.

You’re so caught up in your laughter, cackling at a story that Namjoon is telling you, that you don’t notice Jungkook spotting you from the other end of the aisle. He circles around a few times, pretending to be straightening up the shelves, but watches as you shuffle closer to Namjoon, your heads practically knocking against each other as you stare intently at something on his phone. Jungkook can’t bear it any longer and starts to walk over. He has no idea what he’s planning to do once he gets there but he’s marching over anyway, and that's when you spot him.

“Jungkook, Jungkook!” You beckon him over—like he wasn’t coming in your direction already—and you sound so excited. “Jungkook, look, puppies!”

Jungkook has no idea who the tall guy is but he’s nice enough to turn his phone towards Jungkook without being asked to. There are multiple puppies tumbling over each other in the video, nosing at each other and flopping around. “I thought a golden retriever would be good for Jin, because he’s never had a dog before,” the tall man says, and you coo.

“They’re so cute! Oh my God, Joon, you should get one of those little bandanas you could tie around their necks, those are adorable,” you squeal. “Ahh, I love dogs so much. Don’t you, Jungkook?” Your eyes are shining as you look up at him, excited.

Jungkook feels like he needs to sit down. “Of course. Who doesn’t?” He says, and you beam at him; he has to dig his fingers into his palms at how cute you are. He desperately turns his attention back to the video, where one of the puppies is nosing at a ball. “Look at them retrieve.”

“Retrieve my heart,” you say, clutching your chest. “Ahh, gosh, Joonie, you’re really living the dream, moving in with your hot boyfriend and getting a dog together.” You’re too busy imagining living in that reality to notice how all the tension leaves Jungkook the second he hears that Namjoon has a boyfriend. Oblivious. “Anyway, you should probably get back to work, I’ve distracted you for long enough. Sorry!”

“No problem.” Namjoon quirks a smile at you, nodding at Jungkook before moving away.

“Ahh, Namjoon is so lucky,” you say wistfully. “He’s so nice though, he deserves it.”

Jungkook is looking at you, curious. “You really get to know everyone, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You blink. “What? Yeah, I guess. Is that weird?”

“No.” Jungkook pauses, and you think that’s all he’s going to say on the matter, but then his mouth opens again. “You’re just so nice to everyone, and you actually pay attention to what they say and remember it. Most of the time when people talk, they don’t actually listen, they’re just waiting for when it’s their turn to talk about themselves, but you don’t do that. It’s cool,” he adds, belatedly. “I really admire it.”

You’re staring at him in shock. No one’s ever said anything like that before, complimented you in such a wholehearted way about something they’ve noticed about you. It's thrown you for a loop. You’re so used to thinking of yourself as a clown—a friendly clown, sure, but a clown nonetheless—that you’re genuinely shaken to the core after hearing what Jungkook’s just said about you.

He looks alarmed when you don’t respond, just blinking up at him as your brain desperately tries to reboot, but you’re saved from having to reply when Sejin calls out to you.

“Y/n, the computer at the front desk is playing up again." His hands are cupped around his mouth, amplifying himself so that you can hear him down the aisle. “You’re the only one who knows how to fix it.”

You snap out of your daze. “Again? You’ve tried turning it off and on again, right?” You’re about to walk away from Jungkook, but first you glance up at him, shy. “Um. Thanks for always being so nice, Kookie. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says. He sounds a little breathless. You don’t have time to ask why, Sejin’s noise of distress catching your attention.

“I’m coming!” You rush off, nearly tripping on a loose grape on the floor; you manage to regain your balance with minimal flailing, unaware of how Jungkook fondly watches you go.

A few weeks later, you get sick.

You’re really bad at being sick, one of the reasons being that you don’t like to admit that you are sick—and so you still roll into work despite the fact you’re clearly unwell.

“You look like a body that’s just been fished out of the water.” Yoongi shows his concern in an interesting way. “Like you’ve been floating belly up near that trash island in the middle of the ocean that’s the size of Texas.”

You fix him with a baleful stare. He’d threatened to not let you into his car earlier, locking the door as you’d been reaching for the handle; he’d only relented after you’d hissed at him and scrabbled at the glass like some sort of feral cat.

“You do look a bit more tired than usual,” Jungkook says delicately.

You groan. The noise sounds like it’s being ripped out of your throat, which feels as dry as the sahara desert; why are your throat and eyes so dry while your nose keeps running? Why is the liquid in all the wrong places? The human body is a wreck. (After glancing at Jungkook, who looks as perfect as always, you mentally correct yourself—your body is a wreck.)

“I’m fine,” you rasp, and then sniff, trying to stop your nose from dripping. Jungkook hands you a tissue. “I don’t need this, because I’m not sick, but thank you.”

You proceed to blow your nose loudly into the tissue, a trumpeting noise that trails off into a squeak, a sad little thing that sounds like the farting noise a balloon makes when all the air finally escapes it. Yoongi snorts with amusement but Jungkook’s brow is furrowed with concern.

Rather than being disgusted at your appearance—you’re not sick, you’re just suffering from mild allergies or something, so maybe you’ll admit that you look a little washed out—Jungkook has been worried about you from the moment you’d walked in. He’d even offered you his work fleece when he’d caught you shivering, which you’d graciously accepted. (Again, you weren’t shivering because you were sick, it’s just weirdly cold in the store today, even though no one else seems to be affected by it.) (Also, like, hello? The man of your dreams was offering you the chance to wear his clothes? As if you were going to say no to that.)

Despite definitely not being sick, you do sort of feel like your head is full of cotton wool, and everything seems so much louder than usual. Sejin takes pity on you and gives you the surprisingly easy job of counting stock out back in the warehouse, where it’s quieter and warmer—but you still keep Jungkook’s fleece on anyway, breathing in the lovely smell of his fabric softener as you idly count items, taking it slow.

You’ve climbed a stepladder so that you can reach a higher shelf, mentally tallying the cans of coke you find up there; you shuffle through them so you can turn the labels towards you, making sure you’re keeping the different flavours separate. (What’s the difference between diet and zero sugar, anyway? Aren’t they both the same thing?)

“Did I just see a pigeon walk past?”

You startle and nearly knock your row of cans off the shelf. Somehow you hadn’t noticed Jungkook walking into the warehouse, even though he clearly hadn’t meant to surprise you; his hands fly out to steady the stepladder, and though you appreciate this it throws you off balance and so you grab the shelf in front of you. One of the cans falls off, jostled by your movements, and your instinct is to try and catch it with your foot so it at least slows enough before it hits the ground that it doesn’t explode.

In theory, it’s not a bad idea. In reality, you wildly overestimate how heavy the can is and so you put way too much power into the swing of your leg and punt the can of coke into the distance. The two of you trace its arcing trajectory as it disappears over the metal racking before landing with a distinctly wet clatter. Yeah, it’s definitely exploded, hasn’t it.

“Wasn’t me,” you say immediately, but then your slower-than-normal brain catches up with what Jungkook just said. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you saw a pigeon walking around,” Jungkook says. “I think I saw it walking from the back entrance into here?”

Much to his obvious surprise, your eyes light up. You’re maybe not as exuberant as usual because of your illness but you’re still clearly excited. “Oh!” You hop down off the stepladder, nearly losing your balance for a second—maybe you are a teensy weensy bit sick—but then straighten up before Jungkook can help steady you. “Shortbread’s back!”

Jungkook looks baffled but follows after you when you start to walk, abandoning your stock counts. “Shortbread?”

“Yeah! Hold on, you’re taller than me. You see that bit of metal that juts out of the ceiling there?”

Jungkook looks at where you’re pointing. It’s against the back wall of the warehouse, the ceiling lower here than in the rest of the room, panelling and wires supported by criss-crossing bars of thick blue metal. “Yeah?”

“Can you reach up there and feel around a bit?” Jungkook makes a face, clearly not wanting to shove his hand into some mysterious hidden nook, but you look up at him with the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. You probably look like a wreck (what with how sick you are) but Jungkook relents immediately anyway; you think it's because he's nice and not because your attempt at being cute had been successful. He cranes upwards and feels around with his hand until it makes contact with crinkly plastic, and you motion for him to grab it—it’s an open pack of biscuits, with a receipt wedged inside that has your name scribbled on it.

“Gimme, gimme.” You make grabby hands at him. He tilts it towards you and you latch onto a biscuit, which is clearly stale; it crumbles almost immediately in your hands but you don’t pay it any mind, gesturing for him to put the tray back in its hiding place. “Where did you see the pigeon last?”

“Uh, near the soup, I think,” Jungkook answers. You immediately head in that direction, talking over your shoulder as he follows after you.

“You’ve seen that fishing net near the cardboard baler, right?” Your eyes flit to and fro, trying to spot the errant pigeon.

“Yeah, the green one? I was wondering why that was there.”

You click your tongue. “A few months ago we had a pigeon who kept flying here and wandering into the building,” you explain. “We knew it was the same pigeon because it has a tag around its leg? I think it’s a tracker pigeon, I don’t know. So I would use biscuits to get it to follow me outside. But then management got the net and someone said they caught it and, uh, ‘disposed’ of it.” You look equal parts distressed and sad and Jungkook’s chest twinges. “I haven’t seen it since, so even though I hoped that it wasn't the truth, I kind of accepted that it probably was.”

You round the corner past soups, heading towards the cereal overstock, when you both spot the pigeon. It’s slowly walking backwards and forwards on the floor, but when you appear, it stops and looks at you.

“Shortbread! It is you!” You sound absolutely elated, squatting down and proffering the mess of crumbs in your hand, sprinkling them in front of you. “I knew they hadn’t caught you!”

The pigeon—Shortbread—hops forward immediately, heading straight for the crumbs. You laugh in delight as it gets closer and starts to peck at the food. “You’ve gotta stop coming here, bud, Sejin’s going to get really mad if he spots you,” you say. Shortbread, of course, ignores you, more intent on eating the crumbs of—well, the crumbs of shortbread that you’ve given it. You look away from the pigeon, up at Jungkook, who’s watching you with an expression on his face that you can only describe as consternation. Does he dislike pigeons, maybe? “Do you want to feed him?”

“Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?” Jungkook blurts. The remaining crumbs of biscuit fall out of your hand, scattering into a wild constellation of fragments that Shortbread immediately swoops down onto—but you’re not paying the bird any mind, completely blindsided.

“Uh. What?” You stare up at Jungkook. Your mouth is open and slack with surprise; you hadn’t quite caught his words, but you could have sworn that he said— “Come again?”

Jungkook’s put a hand over his face, which is starting to turn red. “Do you—do you want to get coffee with me?” Even though he’s turned his head away from you, his eyes are pointed in your direction; Shortbread makes a cooing noise and starts to peck at the crumbs directly in front of you, but neither of you pay the pigeon any attention.

“Uh.” You know your brain is running on around 25% capacity right now, a mixture of your sickness and lack of sleep catching up with you, but you could swear that—what does Jungkook mean—nah, he doesn’t mean that, no way… haha… unless…? “You… want to get coffee? You know where we keep the jar.” Shortbread pecks at your open palm, a few crumbs still stuck to your skin. You’re momentarily distracted from your mental breakdown, giggling at the sensation of the pigeon’s beak, even though it hurts your throat to laugh. “Shortbread, there’s way more food on the floor, why are you trying to eat from my hand?”

“Y/n.” When Jungkook says your name your eyes snap back towards him. “Can I take you out on a date?”

This time you do catch all his words. Your mouth falls open again and you stare at him like the dumbass you are. Is Jeon Jungkook—your cute, kind, buff angel seriously asking you out? Right now? When you're squatting on a dusty warehouse floor with a handful of stale biscuit crumbs, wearing the world’s least flattering uniform, all while looking like some sort of washed out river corpse? (Thanks for that lovely comparison, Yoongi.) Has he lost his mind? Maybe lifting all those heavy crates meant that all the blood has run into his arm muscles rather than his brain and it's been starved of oxygen, because there’s no sane reason as to why Jungkook would be asking you out on a date.

“Me? A date?” Your voice comes out as a squeak. “With you?”

Jungkook looks absolutely mortified. You didn’t realise someone’s cheeks could go that red. “Forget I said anything,” he says, turning on his heel so that he can walk away; you catch a glimpse of bright crimson climbing up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, too.

“No, wait, Jungkook!” You snap up from your squatting position and grab Jungkook’s shoulder, smearing crumbs onto his shirt. You feel light headed as he starts to turn around, but not because he’s looking at you—you’d stood up too quickly and you feel woozy from your illness, swaying off balance.

You nearly careen sideways into some cereal overstock. Jungkook’s eyes fly wide open in alarm, interposing himself so that you land against him instead. There’s the sound of metal clattering as your weight sends Jungkook into the cereal, rattling the cage, but he holds you steady. You still feel a bit faint, but now you’re sure that it’s partially due to the fact that you’re crushed up against Jungkook’s warm, firm chest, his hands on your hips as he frowns down at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better,” you mumble into the fabric of his polo shirt. (Jungkook's at risk of you snotting on him if your nose starts to run, but he doesn’t seem to care.) He smells even better up close than you ever could have imagined—thank god your sense of smell is still intact—and you melt against him for a second before your brain catches up with the situation and your head snaps back so that you can look at him. “Wait. Why were you about to leave?”

Jungkook’s look of concern turns instantaneously into one of embarrassment. “No reason,” he says, voice higher than normal, clearly uncomfortable.

You clench your fist and hit his firm chest, but with no strength behind the punch; your hand may as well have been a slice of bread for all the impact it makes. “Liar.” There’s no heat behind your words. “Did you seriously ask me on a date?”

Jungkook’s face is reddening again, but you’re still leaning against him. He can’t try to escape this time. “Uh. Yes?” From this close you can count his individual eyelashes, pick out the moles that dot his face, and, yep, you were right, he’s even better up close. “I’m sorry?”

You blink. “Sorry? For asking me out? Jungkook. Do you seriously think I’d say no?”

“... yes?” Jungkook’s voice is a squeak, much like yours had been a moment earlier. Holy shit. Does he not realise how amazing and hot he is? Does he seriously think that you, resident clown, would turn him down? Does he think you’re the one who’s out of his league?

You try to put this into words. Try to ask him this gently, so you can highlight just how ridiculous he’s being. However, what comes out of your mouth is: “Are you an idiot?” Thanks, brain, for once again abandoning you in your greatest time of need. Quick, reel it back. “Why would you think that?”

Jungkook, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t seem offended at your implication that he’s stupid. He just seems flustered. “I—you’re just so unapologetically you, you know?” He says. "You're charismatic and confident and everyone likes you. You’re the most popular person on night shift. I’m too shy to talk to anyone and I just do the same thing every night I’m here, but you can do everything. I always saw you talking to the other morning workers and you were always so nice, but you never spoke to me? When you introduced yourself to me after I moved to nights, I was confused, but, uh, really happy.”

Holy shit. He really does think that you’re out of his league. He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up after this little speech, mouth snapping shut while his cheeks continue to blaze red. He's so cute. He's going to be the death of you.

“Jungkook. I didn’t talk to you before night shift because you made me so fucking nervous,” you say. “I could barely look at you for weeks because you’re so beautiful that it kind of makes me want to barf sometimes and I couldn’t handle it. But then you moved to nights and I couldn’t avoid talking to you, and I found out how kind and hardworking and interesting you are, and—Jungkook, I don’t think I’ve ever crushed this hard on anyone in my life.” Why are you telling him all this? You must be more sick than you realise. Your mouth is entirely out of your control. “I get so excited for work now because it means I get to see you. Yoongi and Jimin have been listening to me gush about you for months. And Hobi too, but you don't know him. But I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I didn’t say anything,” you admit, and the tiny part of your brain that’s still functional shoots a prayer off to God, or anyone else who’s listening, begging to be struck down by lightning. No such luck. “Uh. Basically, yes, Jungkook, I would love to go on a date with you, please excuse my rambling, my brain feels like it’s full of cotton.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe anything you’re saying. You abruptly realise that the two of you are still wrapped around each other in a very compromising position, in an area of the building where anyone could appear at any moment—not to mention that Shortbread is still fluttering around nearby, eating up crumbs with typical pigeon inefficiency.

“You—you think I’m beautiful?” Jungkook asks, and you blush.

“I think you’re the hottest person who’s ever existed, probably,” you answer honestly. “Please don’t ask more questions, I start to feel queasy whenever I have to express real emotion.”

“Y/n.” Jungkook seems to be rapidly getting over his shock, and a smile starts curling at his lips, and—yeah, you still wanna lick his teeth. Good to know. “I couldn’t possibly be the hottest person who’s ever existed.”

You snort, even though the action grates the back of your nose and throat. “Where’s your evidence?”

Jungkook gently squeezes you. “Right here,” he says.

Your brain desperately scrabbles for purchase in reality, shutting down and then rebooting, internet modem sounds crackling slowly in your head as you try to get to grips with the fact that Jungkook just did that, even though the motion was meant to be tender. Why must your mind be so dirty?

Wait.

Wait, he thinks you’re hot?

“Jungkook, I look like death,” you say, and although you’re ostensibly referring to the fact you’re sick right now (fine, you’ll admit it, you’re sick), it’s more of a general statement.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook says, deadly serious. Your heart flutters. What did you do to deserve this boy?

You’ve still got your faces tilted towards each other, and you can’t help but notice Jungkook’s eyes darting down to your lips. You’ve just started to inch closer to each other when your brain finally snaps back to full capacity and you’re shoving your hand in Jungkook’s face; the clean one, thankfully, not the one covered with biscuit crumbs. Seems like your brain came through.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be in the warehouse at work, when I’m sick,” you say. While that’s true, your heart is pounding in your chest at the idea that Jungkook apparently still wants to kiss you despite the fact you definitely need to blow your nose.

“Okay.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled against your palm. “That’s fair. Can you move your hand? It’s kind of hard to breathe like this.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” You pull your hand away, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath; you feel how his chest expands and you’re once again reminded of how you’re flush against him. Jesus. “Uh, we should probably get Shortbread out of here before someone catches him.”

Jungkook lets you go so you can coax Shortbread towards one of the fire exits. He holds the door open as you squat down, wishing the pigeon good luck before you say goodbye; when you glance back up at Jungkook you notice the look on his face, open and fond, and your heart does a loop de loop in your chest when you realise that he's been looking at you like this a lot—your brain had just refused to let you notice it for what it is. What the heck.

As Jungkook lets the door shut behind you, you clear your throat. “Um. While I do absolutely want to get coffee with you, can it wait until I’m better? I don’t wanna be all crusty and snotty on our first date,” you say, weirdly shy despite the fact it’s obvious that Jungkook seems to think that you hung the moon. (Which you still don’t understand but you’re not complaining, not at all.)

“Sure.” Jungkook smiles and your heart flip flops in your chest again. The feats of acrobatics your heart achieves when Jungkook around is honestly astounding, but everything he does is just so… adorable. You’re certain that when you see him out of his work uniform and in his regular clothes you’re going to spontaneously combust, but you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. “I should probably get back to fruit and veg, but, I’ll see you for lunch?”

“Yeah.” You smile helplessly back at him. “Of course. See you at lunch.”

Despite the fact you’re worried about getting him sick, Jungkook really doesn’t care about keeping his distance. When Yoongi walks into the canteen to the sight of you snuggled up to Jungkook and giggling as you feed him his lunch, your friend just rolls his eyes. “Kids these days,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You’re just jealous that it’s taken me and Jungkook less time to confess to each other than it’s taken you with Jimin,” you say, and then gasp as you remember something. “Oh, Jungkook, that reminds me! What was that long conversation you were having with Jimin the other week?”

Jungkook flushes. “Uh, he was giving me advice on how to ask you out,” he admits sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on just blurting it out in the warehouse, but you were being so cute that I couldn’t stop myself?”

You stare into Jungkook’s eyes for a few long moments, before solemnly saying: “Jeon Jungkook, if I wasn’t sick, I would absolutely be kissing you right now.”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Yoongi says. Jungkook buries his head into the material of his work fleece, hiding his embarrassment against your shoulder, and you just laugh.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts #bts au #cypherwritersnet #bts fluff #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x oc #joy.masterlist

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thisgirlsays22 · 6 years

Text

Intro to Data Science: Chapter 4

Fic Rating: E / Chapter Rating: Also E

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin

Pairing(s): Eren Yeager/ Levi

Chapter Word Count: 5.3K

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, (British) Professor Levi, (American) Student Eren, Long Distance

Summary:

“You’re probably just into him for the accent.”

“It’s not that,” Eren argued. “It doesn’t hurt, but it’s so much more than that.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

Notes:

For my lovely @fluffymusketeer <3 Danni, I hope your eyes are well-rested and ready for more romance and smut.

And a big thank you to @attraversiamo19 for continuing to be an incredible beta, and to @erensjaegerbombs for coming on board as a beta/smut consultant. You guys are the best! (And to @dreamxxdream for continuing to read and give encouragement on early drafts <3333.)

Read chapter 4 on Ao3 or under the cut. Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | chapter 3 on Tumblr.

What the hell were you supposed to bring to someone’s place if they’d invited you over for tea? The thought had plagued Eren all week.

Historia, the girlfriend of one of his roommates--Ymir, the mean one from Wales--and, somewhat embarrassingly, Eren’s only friend, had suggested he have some fun and buy an assortment of tea for Levi.

“It’ll be cute,” she'd assured him. “Ymir secretly loves that sort of thing. I think she finds it disarming.”

They’d even gone to Tesco together, and he’d come away with far more than he’d planned. Or at least far more than felt appropriate to bring as a thanks for inviting me to tea, can we please fuck again, and can you say filthy things to me in that accent, thank you again for the hospitality.

Now, outside Levi’s flat, Eren stared down at the bag full of tea and realised what a dumb gift this truly was. He ran a nervous hand through his hair and worked up the nerve to buzz Levi’s apartment.

Laughter and music from the high street bars and restaurants were drowned out by Eren’s thoughts, playing on loop as he waited for Levi to let him in: Holy shit I have Levi’s address. Holy shit I am at Levi’s apartment. Holy shit I’m going to see Levi. Holy shit I’m going to fuck Levi again.

That is, if Levi wanted to fuck him after he saw his stupid bag of tea.

The door swung open. “Hi,” Levi said, cheeks flushed. “It’s a bit hot in here. I’ve got the oven on.” He patted his hands on his apron, which read Keep Calm and Set a Bloody Timer.

He’s got the oven on, Eren thought, dazed. He fucking cooked for me. “Hi,” Eren said. “Cool apron. Very British.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “A gift from a friend. Come in.”

“I, um. Here--” Eren thrust the bag at Levi, embarrassed that for some reason Levi seemed to be cooking him dinner and he’d brought...a bag of tea. He was going to have to have a talk with Historia about this.

Levi gave the bag a puzzled frown as he took it from Eren. After having a quick look through, Levi’s eyes softened and he said, “Eren, these are all awful.”

Eren burst out laughing, feeling the tension ease. It was so much better that Levi didn’t pretend to make a fuss. “Oh. Really? I thought Twinings was nice.”

Levi chuckled and shook his head. “Why did you even bring these?”

“You invited me for tea? My friend thought it would be a nice idea. In place of wine.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still embarrassed.

Levi bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

“What?”

“Tea’s not...I’ve invited you round for dinner.”

“No. No. You distinctly said tea.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled up. “Here, look. I said ‘what time should I come over for tea’, and you didn’t correct me.”

To Eren’s dismay, Levi didn’t bother to look at the textual evidence. Instead, he said, “It’s another word for dinner.”

“Fuck. Really?” Eren laughed, hoping Levi didn’t think he was a complete idiot.

“I did ask if you had any allergies or dietary restrictions. Don’t you have any British friends?” At least Levi sounded amused and was courteously trying to hold back his laughter.

“I thought you were just being kind of weird. And not really. My best friend here is also American.” And gives really bad gift advice. “I mean my flatmates are from here, but we don’t talk much. We’ve definitely never had dinner together.” Reiner drank a lot of protein shakes, and Eren had never seen Bert eat anything but pasta and peas. Annie and Ymir remained mysteries that Eren was fine not solving.

“Well, that explains it then.” Levi was still holding the bag, giving it an odd little smile.

“Do you want to keep them?” Eren asked.

“No. Please take them far away from here. Donate them to charity or give them to your flatmates.” He placed the bag down in the hallway, but he did it gently, and Eren felt that somehow the gift had still been well received. Even if it was not being kept.

Eren took off his shoes and left them on the rack next to a few pairs of Levi’s. On the other side of the hall was a closed door, and he realised it must be Levi’s bedroom. He got one of those full body heat waves that he thought he’d left behind during his teen years. Why did he have no chill over Levi’s fucking bedroom and the fact that he might end up in there later?

Levi ushered him into the main part of the apartment.

“Your place looks like one of the Ikea magazines my mom keeps in her bathroom.”

“Thank you?” Levi said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s really nice!” Eren clarified.

“Ah, right.” Levi looked pleased. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing towards the living room.

Eren had meant what he’d said, but underneath the compliment lurked a sadder observation. The apartment was gorgeous; the kitchen and living room were connected, and above the leather sofa, a wide skylight opened up to grey clouds and the fading light straining through them.

Gorgeous, but bare, missing the feeling of being home. Two book shelves flanked the television--Eren spotted Levi’s copy of The Book of Dust and felt a flush of warmth in his chest--but otherwise the place seemed cold and unlived in, like it really was just a model home made for photographs in magazines.

But of course he wasn’t going to mention that now. He didn’t want to exacerbate the awkward, tentative tension between them.

“So if tea is dinner, what are we having?” Eren asked.

“Wine,” Levi deadpanned. “Lots of wine.”

Eren laughed at Levi’s response, but a shyness crept up on him, the intimate feel of the night had thrown him off-balance. Like standing on an unsteady boat at sea.

“Can I help with anything?” he asked as he watched Levi bustling around the kitchen. It didn’t look like he was doing anything in particular, but he certainly appeared busy.

“No no. Thanks. Have a seat.”

Maybe Eren should just go kiss him or something. But hadn’t Levi invited him here to talk? Apparently tea wasn’t even really tea, so he had no fucking clue what was going to happen.

Eren took a seat at the table so he would still be close enough to hear Levi or offer help again.

“So really what’s for dinner?”

Levi, who still appeared to be doing nothing in the kitchen while looking intently focussed, smiled at the question.

“Salmon and roasted veg.”

“That sounds great!”

Silence again and more of Levi’s fussing around in the kitchen. Was Levi as nervous as Eren?

Unable to bear the tension anymore, Eren stood and walked over to Levi. He blurted out the question that had been on his mind since he left Levi’s office: “Are we going to talk about...whatever is going on here?”

“Yes.”

They stared at one another, and Levi didn’t offer any further explanation.

“I want to keep seeing you,” Eren said, exasperated.

Levi sighed. “I’d like that too.”

Eren startled. “Really? But you said you didn’t see this going anywhere.”

“Still asked you here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but what if I want to see where this goes? I want to, you know, date you or whatever.” Eren tried to keep his tone casual. He didn’t know where this could go either, really. He didn’t know if Levi would like him once he really got to know him, didn’t even know if he’d be staying in the country once he’d turned his thesis in. But still. He couldn't help that he wanted to find out where it could go.

Levi crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “I’d like to keep seeing you. May as well see what happens.”

Eren took a moment to let that sink in. It suddenly felt as though he was having a lucid dream, nothing around him real and anything was possible.

“I read the university’s policy. On students and teachers,” Eren said.

Levi sighed. “I did too. Eren look I--I need to talk to my department head.”

Eren blinked at him. “Oh.”

“You’re not okay with that?”

“No, no. It’s that I’m surprised you want to bring it up now. It feels so serious and official,” he explained.

“Even if this doesn’t go beyond tonight, I shouldn’t be on any panels to grade your work. If I am, it should be approved by the department.”

The thought of other professors knowing there was something going on between them made Eren uneasy. He didn't want Levi to be judged.

“If it makes you too uncomfortable, I won’t, but I don’t think--I don’t think anything more should happen between us if that’s the case.”

He was stunned by Levi's willingness to put himself in such an awkward position. “Okay,” Eren agreed. “What are you going to tell them?”

“That you blew me in my office, and I jerked you off.”

Eren kept his face serious, not wanting Levi to get the best of him. “That’s great. I just wanted to make sure you’d provide an accurate account of what happened. Spare no detail.”

Levi snorted. “Yes, I’ll be sure to mention the cum you wiped on my face.”

“They don’t need to hear about that.”

“Spare no detail,” Levi reminded him.

Eren swallowed, ready to seize the opportunity he saw. “You should also make sure to tell them that I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life. Your voice does things to me.”

Without any more jokes to hide behind, Eren leaned awkwardly against the counter next to Levi.

Levi turned away, tips of his ears red. “Yes, well. I’ll be sure to include that in my report.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a corkscrew in the drawer to your left if you want to get started,” he mumbled, putting on his oven mitts and pulling out the tray, full of a colourful assortment of fish, tomatoes, asparagus and carrots.

“That looks amazing,” Eren said as he searched around for the wine opener. All of Levi’s utensils and kitchen gadgets in the drawer were neatly arranged, the wine opener right on top.

“Cheers. I prepare a decent tea.”

Eren caught the smirk playing on Levi’s lips. “Hey, there’s no need to pour salt in the wound. Low blow.”

Levi rested the hot pan of food on top of the stove, slipped off the mitts, and walked over towards Eren.

“I like your voice too,” Levi said in an undertone, grey eyes dark as they met Eren’s. “Not as annoying as other American accents I’ve heard.”

Come and kiss me, Eren thought a little desperately, but Levi set the plates down on the table instead. His brain felt a little broken. Unhelpful thoughts like Are we dating now? and When are we going to make out? made it difficult to focus on his food.

As they ate, the sky opened up without warning. Rain pounded down on the skylight, leaving violent slashes of water against the glass. The nearby shops and pubs still sent in some light through the darkening sky. Eren periodically looked up to watch the rain, smiling each time.

“Do you watch the rain in here a lot?” Eren asked.

“Yes,” Levi said. “It’s quite nice to listen to the rain and read a book. I fall asleep on that armchair more often than I should.”

When they were finished eating they moved to the couch, and as the wine flowed, the conversation loosened their tongues. Soon Eren was telling Levi: “I saved up to buy these stupid Abercrombie clothes in high school. It’s silly, but I’m still proud of myself that I got them all on my own. It’s what all the cool kids were wearing.” Eren rolled his eyes, but his words were sincere.

“I shouldn’t have teased you,” Levi said apologetically. “I thought you were a bit of a lad at first.”

“A what?"

"A 'bro'" Levi said.

"Oh. Nah. Just a poor kid who will wear the same shirt until it has holes everywhere and someone in his family just throws it out for him.” Usually that someone was Mikasa.

“It’s nice you’re close to your family,” Levi said.

“Are you not?”

“I don’t have any family to be close to.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eren asked.

“Not much to say. Never met my dad, and my mum died when I was young. My uncle raised me, but he died a few years back too. Only good thing he left me was his house.” Levi’s eyes went somewhere far away, and Eren touched his hand carefully as though he were reaching for a broken bit of glass. Levi looked up at Eren in surprise, but didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Eren said. “My dad died when I was about thirteen, and it was really hard on the family. Thus the, uh, money shit I mentioned. But at least I had the rest of my family, I’m sorry you were alone.”

“Wasn’t completely alone. I grew up with two of my friends, and they’ve always been like family.”

Eren’s heart warmed at the fondness in Levi’s voice when he mentioned his friends. He liked learning these details of Levi’s life.

“What’s the rest of your family like then?” Levi asked.

“I’ve been told I have an interesting family.” Eren always felt self-conscious explaining the tedious intricacies of his family, but he might as well get it over with. “My sister Mikasa’s adopted, and my brother--half-brother--Zeke was adopted by my mom when she and our dad got married. His mom died when he was a baby.” Eren sighed. “My mom and Mikasa are the best, but Zeke is a fucking mess.”

Levi furrowed his brow. “How’s that?”

It seemed impolite to get into the fact that Zeke owed him close to a thousand dollars. Eren swallowed down the resentment and said instead, “I used to really look up to Zeke. He was my hero. I was a freshman when he was a senior in high school, and he just seemed like he had it all together. So popular, like really charismatic, head of the debate team, which sounds dorky but he made it look cool.”

Eren paused, worried that he was being a boring buzzkill, but Levi nodded for him to continue.

“Something happened after he graduated. He’s different now. It’s like he just got stuck, I don’t know.”

“Death in the family can do that to a person,” Levi said in his calm, neutral way.

“Maybe,” Eren said. The anger coming back up again. Over the years he’d heard these same explanations from his mother--“Zeke lost his mother and now his father, Eren. Cut him some slack.”--But he was tired of breaks and excuses.

He changed the subject before he began a rant that was difficult to disengage from, always a car with broken brakes. “My mom and my sister might be coming to visit me in a couple months.”

“That’s nice,” Levi said.

“Yeah, they’ve never been here before. Mikasa hasn’t even left the country, so I think it would be really cool if it works out. I’d love to show them the city.”

Levi nodded and refilled their wine glasses. Eren was at that beautiful point where he felt relaxed, funnier. He didn’t want to get sloppy tonight, not when he wanted to impress Levi. Wanted to make him feel good.

“So you like living in London then?” Levi asked.

“More than anything.” Even though the loneliness could be overwhelming sometimes, he’d lived with that feeling for most of his life. It was better here than it had ever been back home. The sense of freedom trumped all.

Levi gave him a small smile, taking a sip of wine.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Eren said, catching Levi’s eye from across the couch.

Levi knew what he meant. “Me too.”

You like me, Eren thought, the realisation knocking the air out of him all over again. The first time he’d ever hiked to the top of a mountain and stared out at the vast green forest below, the mountains in the distance, he’d had this same feeling.

Without breaking eye contact, Levi set his wine glass down with a gentle clink against the wooden table, and they moved together; Eren climbed into Levi’s lap to lick into his mouth, and Levi’s fingers slid up his shirt in reply. The only sounds in the room were the rain hitting the glass above them, the soft sounds of their lips moving together.

“What do you like, Eren?” Levi asked in an undertone that made heat coil in Eren’s belly.

“Umm a lot things,” Eren said, and then internally chastised himself for being so unsexy. Buzzed from the wine, he bit his lip and then said, “I like to be spanked sometimes. Nothing too crazy, but yeah.”

“Huh.” Levi nodded. “I wondered.”

“What? How?”

“Dunno. You seemed to really like begging for me. And there was a moment when I--” he reached over carefully and tugged Eren’s hair not too forcefully but enough that the promise of more made Eren’s cock take interest.

Amazed, Eren said, “Oh. Wow, you noticed that.”

Levi gave him a small smile. “Do you want me to take care of you, Eren?”

Wide-eyed and turned on as fuck, Eren nodded.

“Let me take you to bed?”

Eren surged forward and kissed him again, the words making him burn all over. That loop began to play through his head again. Holy fuck Levi is taking me to bed. Who even says that? Take me anywhere, fuck.

In a tangle, they made it to the bedroom, Eren unable to resist pulling Levi in for kiss after kiss.

Eren stepped back to strip off his shirt, and a thrill shot through him at Levi’s appreciative look. He reached forward and pulled Levi’s shirt off too, sighing with pleasure, running his fingers down the thick, corded muscles of Levi’s abs and arms.

“God damn,” Eren said with awe.

Levi smirked, and Eren watched eagerly as he removed the rest of his clothes, heavy cock curving up towards his belly. Hot desire flared within Eren, and he stepped forward to touch Levi again, to get his hands anywhere he could.

Eren’s cock strained against his jeans, and mercifully Levi unzipped them, tugging them down along with his boxers. The room was warm, but a shivery thrill shot through Eren as his dick sprang free.

“You make me so fucking hard,” Eren said, arousal pulsing through his whole body as he pushed Levi onto the bed and straddled him. They made out on top of Levi’s crisp, freshly washed sheets. They still smelled like detergent, and damn Eren even liked Levi’s detergent.

“Let me suck your dick this time,” Levi said lowly, gripping Eren’s ass and urging him forward until his cock bobbed in front of Levi’s lips.

Head tilted up, Levi began teasing the underside of Eren’s cock with his tongue, lapping gently as he kneaded Eren’s ass. Without warning, he began to suck, hands guiding Eren into a steady rhythm. A string of nonsensical obscenities was all Eren could manage as Levi worked his magic, taking Eren deeper and deeper.

Levi opened his eyes to meet Eren’s, holding his gaze as he angled his head and began to run his lips up and down the side.

“You ever tried that one before, Eren? The harmonica technique, apparently.”

“Fuck you.” Eren gave a shaky laugh, a little relieved to have the edge taken off. He’d thought he was already about to blow his load on Levi’s face, and just the thought of it made his dick throb.

Levi began to lick the head of Eren’s cock again, but Eren stopped him. “I want to touch you too.” And if Levi kept going, he wouldn't be able to keep it together.

He moved so they were laying side by side. He dragged a hand down the soft hair of Levi’s happy trail and through the coarser pubic hair, playing with Levi’s cock which was so hard in his hands.

“Lube’s in the bedside table to your left.” Levi sounded breathless.

Eren grabbed the lube and slicked both of their hands with it so they could fist each other’s cocks while they made out, their moans swallowed up by each searing kiss. Levi did double duty, fingering Eren open while he jerked him off until Eren couldn’t take anymore and got on all fours. “Fuck me,” he pleaded.

Levi got on his knees and pulled a condom from the bedside drawer. He ran his hands over Eren’s ass, and Eren pushed his hips back. “Come on, Levi.”

He moaned in relief when Levi pushed all the way inside, caressing Eren’s back all the while.

Buried balls deep in him, Levi stayed still. “You sure you’re ready?” he asked quietly.

“Y-yes,” Eren said.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I will,” he promised.

The first slap came then, and a jolt of electricity shot to Eren’s dick. Head thrown back, he groaned. “God yeah, that’s good. More.”

Levi began to move with slow, even thrusts as he let another slap land on Eren’s other cheek.

“Fuckkk,” Eren cried, letting his hips sink down so he could grind himself against the bed. He needed that sweet friction to ease some of the throbbing in his cock. His arms were already quivering in anticipation, and he didn’t think he could support himself one-handed if he tried to touch himself.

Another smack, the sweet bite of pain and pleasure was almost too much as Levi continued to fuck him slowly. “Hips up,” Levi said. “I’ll touch you when I’m ready.”

“You’re evil,” Eren moaned as he raised himself back up, shocked by how fucked out he sounded already. They’d barely even been at it, but it was like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to do this to him. One or two people over the years had tried, but never like this. They hadn’t taken it seriously, not like Levi was.

Levi hummed in acknowledgement. “You’re doing so well, Eren,” he said as he quickened his pace. Eren never knew when the next spark of pleasure-pain was going to land. The anticipation, the inability to relieve the ache in his cock made his head dizzy with pleasure, cock leaking pearly fluid onto Levi’s sheets. Eren struggled to hold himself up, but wanted to please Levi.

He lost time like that, lost himself in the feeling of Levi inside him and the sweet, steady sting.

Levi hit that sweet, perfect spot as he thrust deep inside of him. He slapped Eren’s ass again, harder this time, and Eren nearly sobbed with torturous pleasure. He had never felt so exposed during sex before, so open about what he wanted. Never had someone give him exactly what he needed.

“Levi, I don’t know if I can--god, please, touch me.”

Levi pulled out of him and Eren whimpered.

“Turn over,” Levi commanded, voice husky as he ran his fingers down Eren’s spine, making him shiver. “On your back.”

Eren complied, body bonelessly falling back against the bed.

When he looked up, the expression on Levi’s face stole his breath away. Levi’s hair had fallen in front of his eyes, sticking to his forehead. Chest and cheeks tinted red. Lips parted as he gazed at Eren with raw desire.

“You want me.” Eren gazed up at Levi, dumbstruck by the hunger in Levi’s eyes.

Levi crawled forward, placing his hands on either side of Eren’s head. “What gave me away?” he asked dryly. Christ, that voice would be the death of him.

“Fuck me,” Eren said, somewhere between a plea and an order. “Now. I need you.”

Levi reached down and slid himself back inside of Eren.

Levi bent forward to nibble at Eren’s lips and finally wrapped a hand around his aching cock.

“You were so good for me,” Levi whispered against Eren's lips, his hand working Eren’s dick in tandem with his deep thrusts.

Eren whimpered at the praise, throwing his head back against the pillow in ecstacy. “Levi--I can’t--I’m gonna--” Eren’s orgasm crashed over him, and he cried out, fingers digging into Levi’s biceps as he came so hard he thought he might pass out.

A few more thrusts and Levi followed suit, Eren still light-headed. Their sweat-slicked chests heaved against one another as they caught their breath. Levi pulled out carefully; he brushed Eren’s hair out of his eyes before going to retrieve a towel to clean them both up.

As they lay together after, facing one another in the bed, Eren asked, “You really liked that, didn’t you?”

Levi paused, considering the question. “I liked how much you liked it.”

“Oh. I hope I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to?” The idea of anyone sacrificing their own pleasure for him was troubling.

Levi shifted closer and reached out a hand to cup Eren’s cheek. “Course not,” he said, and Eren relaxed.

“Hey, do you think we could go into the living room while it’s raining?” Eren asked. “I really like your skylight.”

“Sure.” Levi gave him a skeptical look. “You need me to carry you?”

“No, no. I’m fine,” Eren said, but he was shakier on his feet than he anticipated as he tugged on his boxers. He leaned into Levi as they walked through to the living room.

They fell asleep together on the couch as they watched the rain. Eren’s head rested on Levi’s chest as he felt gentle fingers carding through his hair, soothing him along with the pitter-patter against the roof.

Before Eren gave himself up to sleep, hints of fear crept in. Years ago there had been a small earthquake in Eren’s hometown. His dog had paced nervously around the living room, growling and whimpering in anticipation before any of them knew what was coming. It felt a bit like that. The knowing you were probably going to fall in love, that you were probably going to be heartbroken. A tsunami on the horizon.

They woke to the first rays of sunlight overhead, and Levi fucked him again. He pinned Eren’s hands above his head and moved so, so slowly. Eren writhed underneath him, trying to gain leverage to speed up the agonizing pace.

“Beg me,” Levi whispered, and Eren shivered.

“Do you like it when I beg you?” he asked.

Levi didn’t answer, but he stroked his thumb over Eren’s cheekbone, and Eren begged and begged and begged.

Please don’t make me go, Eren begged silently, later, when they were showered and dressed.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Levi offered. “What would you like?”

“Pancakes, maybe?”

Levi nodded and retrieved a pan off of the rack, but paused at the stove. “What kind of pancakes do you mean?”

“Oh. Well chocolate chip if you have them. Or fruit.”

“No. I mean, your American ‘pancakes’ or real pancakes.”

Eren furrowed his brow.

“You’d call them crepes.” Levi sighed, as though it pained him greatly to say this.

“I definitely didn’t mean crepes. Do you need a recipe? My mom emailed me her favorite one.”

“You’re head chef, then,” Levi said, stepping aside. He pulled his apron off its hook, and hung it over Eren. There it was, that full body heat again as Levi reached around to tie off the apron. “I’ve only got one, so head chef wears it.”

Eren nodded mutely. If you had asked him yesterday if one of the things he valued in a man was owning an apron, he would have thought it was a joke. Now it was a must-have, a deal-maker.

Cooking in Levi’s kitchen was so much better than in Eren’s shitty apartment. For one, there was so much room. Having the kitchen in the same area as the living room here meant he wasn’t constantly bashing into things like he was at home. There, if you tried to squeeze in more than one person, it became a huge pain in the ass to cook. Especially if it was Reiner whose shoulders took up half the room.

Levi stood by his side and measured out all the ingredients as Eren instructed, diligently converting the measurements without looking them up.

“It’s amazing you can do that so easily,” Eren said, impressed.

“I have a PhD in statistics, and I cook with my friend Hanji,” Levi said, and Eren didn’t miss the side-stepping of the compliment. “American too. They’ve lived here for a decade now and still learned next to nothing.”

“Oh, wow,” Eren said, “that’s a long time.”

Levi hummed in acknowledgement.

“I think it used to be a lot easier to stay over here,” Eren added a little sadly. He thought of all the companies he couldn’t even apply to without having a permanent visa.

“It certainly did.” Levi finished leveling out the second cup of flour, his tone neutral, unconcerned.

Eren felt a flicker of disappointment; Levi didn’t seem bothered that Eren might be leaving after the summer, but of course that was ridiculous. So they’d fucked a couple times, said they wanted to see where things went, and now they were cooking breakfast together. He thought of his dog pacing, reminded himself to slow down.

Love had always burned so bright and quick for him. Flamed in and out in the blink of an eye. A supernova. Maybe he wasn’t even capable of long-term love, so worrying about the end of the summer was a waste of time.

Eren finished mixing the batter and heated some butter in the pan. He was watching the butter slowly dissolve, so he didn’t see Levi moving closer to reach his arm around Eren’s waist and rest a hand on his hip.

“Hi,” Eren said dumbly.

“Hi,” Levi replied.

They stood like that for a moment, watching each other without a word. Levi had such beautiful, angular features. The way his grey eyes weighed on Eren, the hint of affection in them, was enough to render Eren speechless. It was only the sound of the butter sizzling that broke the spell.

The conversation between them was subdued as they ate the fluffy pancakes, Eren lost in thought over when he would see Levi again.

“Not bad.” Levi hummed with approval as he ate. “Not as good as ours, though.”

“Shut up. They’re better.” Eren smiled around his fork.

After, they cleared the plates together, and then it felt like time for Eren to head off. The oddest feeling passed through him, like a ghost. He already missed Levi.

“I should probably get going. Get out of your hair,” Eren said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wanted Levi to put his hands on him again, but they stayed apart.

Levi nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got papers to grade.”

He followed Eren into the entryway, quiet as Eren put his shoes on.

“What next?” Eren asked, looking up at Levi.

“I don’t know,” Levi replied. He leaned back against the wall, watching Eren, expression unreadable.

Eren stood and kissed Levi. He still felt like Levi could change his mind at any moment, and he didn’t want to waste a precious second. Pulling back, he said, “Want to--I don’t know--catch a movie later this week?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Eren smiled. “I’ll text you.”

“Right. I better get to work. Papers aren’t going to grade themselves.”

Eren was halfway home when he realised that Levi hadn’t sent him back with the crappy tea after all. The bag hadn’t been by the door when he’d left; Eren would have noticed.

He felt a stirring of hope, of possibility, in his chest. It was the same feeling he’d felt when he’d decided he needed a change in his life, when he submitted his application for his Master’s, when he’d first stepped off the plane to a new beginning.

#ereri #snkartists network #ereri fanfic #fic: intro to data science #snk #aot #my writing

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