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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

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He’s Leaving (FNTO 2)

They weren’t kidding when they said everything you touch turns into a mess.

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, popstar/idol!jk, fluff, angst, future smut; this is a dialogue-heavy series so read if you’re into that! JK’s angry in this one

Warnings: foul language, these characters talk alot bc I talk alot, eventual smut

Word count: ~12,000

Series summary: You meet pop star/idol Jeon Jungkook at the cafe, you get close, and as Hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. But you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

series masterlist

A/N: This takes place 7 months after that night Y/N’s ex shows up! Italicized parts refer to past events. And since I’d mentioned this was initially for Harry, I remember now that Home by 1D was my mood for this, so listen to it as soundtrack (getting emotional while listening to it & thinking about how this ends)!

He’s leaving.

You stare blankly at the wall dividing your living room and bedroom and say the words once more, in your head and then out of your mouth.

He’s leaving.

You say it over and over again, alternating between question and statement.

Jungkook’s leaving.

“Yes, Y/N, that’s what I just said.” Jimin mutters over the phone.

“But why? I mean, since when does he leave ahead of all of you guys?”

“He decided to schedule a meeting with one of the producers he’s working with for his mixtape. It isn’t with your cousin, though, otherwise Jieun would’ve told you,” Jimin responds.

It’s the first week of August and the first show of the next leg of their world tour isn’t until a week from now, but Jungkook’s already headed to L.A. and he didn't even tell you about it. In fact, he hasn't said a word to you in the last five days, which is oddly surprising.

“He hasn't spoken to you?” Jimin asks, picking up on your thoughts. Perhaps your silence gave away the frustration you were feeling.

“Nope,” you reply, the sadness in your voice unmistakable.

“I hope you don't think I’m one of those people who’s gotten so attached to him that being ignored for five days feels like the end of the world… because it really isn’t. I’m just worried and confused,” you continue.

You aren’t blind. Jungkook’s surrounded by women, some vying for his attention, some wanting it back. They’d act out either way, displeasing him although he’d never say it out loud, but you were pretty sure you weren’t one of them. Right?

“Hey, of course not! As both of your friends, even I’m surprised. You two are like, inseparable, long-distance buddies,” he claims. “But to tell you the truth, I have no idea what’s going on either. Are you sure you didn't fight for real this time?”

No real fights, you say. Your arguments about who has better smelling detergent or your choice of movie to watch or him stealing your oversized sweatshirts were as far as you two went. You often had serious talks, but when you didn't see eye to eye, you always just agreed to disagree, and then it was back to petty fights and annoying each other like little kids again.

“I’ve to head out now, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn't help, but I hope you two patch things up! Just call if you need anything,” Jimin says after a few more back and forth of questions and answers about how the past week or so has been, just to pick up on any clues as to why things just suddenly came to a halt. You put your phone away and sit on the couch.

A few months ago, it probably wouldn't have mattered if he didn't text or call for a day or a week. You couldn't even truly come to terms with the fact that you’ve become good friends with Jeon Jungkook, the ‘golden maknae’ and self-proclaimed international playboy of the biggest band in the world who has the unenviable position of being half the female population’s (and a good fraction of the male’s as well) dream everything.

It amazed you how this oversized-clothes wearing boy with a bunny smile and doe eyes and who liked to talk to insects and impersonate chickens and act out Ironman fight scenes could arouse the sexual musings of individuals of all genders and ages. But then again, he does have that mellifluous voice and has this tendency to hump the air and dance wildly enough to reveal his abs, so you do understand the collective reaction.

For a high profile celebrity like him, it seems natural to be drawn to people from the same industry, for romance purposes or otherwise. Much of it has to do with the fact that they get the lifestyle, as his other band mates have shared, some of whom having dated fellow pop stars and models. But you aren’t from the same circle, or clique, or planet. While you’re your university’s star athlete, volleyball isn’t religion here, so there isn’t any “lifestyle change” of some sort.

Before Jungkook, your only window to celebrity life was through Jieun, your LA-based music producer of a cousin. Yet, you’ve always been wary of the spotlight, and those who loved it too much, which is why it baffled you for quite a while why you were so fond of Jungkook. He loved the spotlight enough to make his job look so easy, but he felt real — so real you almost thought he wasn't.

The midway mark of September has rolled in. Once the celebrations of your championship win over the summer were over, it was back to focusing on work and school. You’ve started your probationary period at a research institute, and you’re riding out your fifth year of university after your senior year knee injury left you out of school for a month and out of the graduation rites. This meant a chance to actually win the championship, which you did, and to appease your ever growing interest in gender studies, you decided to take up a minor program too.

It’s 8 am on a Monday and you’re enjoying your iced americano at Annie’s, your aunt’s café that she lets you run to help sustain your lifestyle. You monitor the daily operations, which means checking up on it everyday, and since class isn’t until nine, you always have your breakfast here.

Your back is turned to the door and you’re packing up your stuff, laughing at something Woojin, your café manager, is saying.

You stand up, swing your bag strap to your right shoulder and without paying attention, turn to your left to head out. Except instead of going for the door, you go for a body instead. The next thing you know, you’re massaging the right side of your forehead because holy crap this person has a knife for a chin, or a shoulder, or whichever part of the person’s body hit you.

“Ow!”

“I. Am. So. Sorry,” the person says. His voice is low and raspy, sleepiness still evident in it, and he says those words as if each is a sentence on its own. “Are you alright?”

By this time it has registered. You are looking up at the man who made your then-65 year old Grandma shriek. But that was last year and you bet if she were still alive now, she’d do the same, probably even louder.

You could hear customers enjoying their morning coffee whisper quite loudly “Is that Jeon Jungkook?!” And then it registers again. Yep, it is.

Eyes wide, you tell him that “good thing I don’t have coffee or that pretty white shirt of yours would’ve been messed up.”

Really, that’s what you say?

God, you sound so stupid, so you bat your eyelashes and put on a smile, as if that would save you the embarrassment. He grins.

“Yeah, good thing you didn't,” he says, letting out a little laugh.

You smile again, a bit awkwardly though, just to acknowledge his appreciation of you not ruining his Monday morning. As you’re about to step to your left to go for the door this time, he furrows his eyebrows. “You look familiar. Have I seen you somewhere?”

Well, you know where you’ve seen him, but you don't say that. Instead, you mumble “probably in your dreams?” Again, what?

He laughs again, this time more loudly. You’re amused at the child-like tone of his laugh, a complete contradiction to his toned body and tattooed arm. Your eyes travel up. Right, that was his shoulder you hit, you realize.

This is such a turn-off. Why does he keep laughing at stupid things?

“That sounded different in my head. It wasn't supposed to be a pick-up line if ever you thought so,” you clarify.

“No I didn’t, but thanks for confirming,” he says. You notice him smirking.

“Well, that settles it, then. Bye!” You wave, and you go for the door, for real this time.

It was an interesting way to start the week. You rarely have VIPs entering your café, especially in this quiet part of town, and so it’s quite a surprise to have him check it out. What’s even more surprising is seeing him there again the next day.

Your back isn’t to the door this time, but you’re zoned in on the paper you’re working on, eyes focusing on the laptop screen. It’s only when you momentarily look up and see Woojin preoccupied and seemingly distressed on the phone that you hear someone say, “excuse me” with his inked hand up that you realize your VIP is back. You stand up, approach him, and ask what he wants to order.

Jungkook’s face lights up. “Well, good morning, dream girl,” he greets. You flinch at the thought of what you said the day before implied.

“Please don’t,” you plead, before exploding into laughter. “Not my best moment, eh?”

He smiles again, shaking his head as if agreeing to what you just said.

“What do you want to order?”

“So… Annie?” He diverts.

You aren’t sure if you’re happy that asking for your name means he won’t have to call you dream girl again, or embarrassed because now there would be a name to the face.

“Annie’s my aunt, but I help run the place. It’s Y/N.”

“And I’m Jungkook,” he says, putting out his hand, as if you don't know who he is, which actually impresses you. You’ve heard of famous people's tendencies to act like everyone knows them, making them forego the courtesy of introducing themselves properly. You shake his hand, a little calloused but soft nonetheless. “This is Sejin. He told me about this place and how good it is,” he continues.

“Which is why you’re here for the second day this week?” you ask, fishing for some feedback on your food.

“I wanted to get back at the girl who would’ve spilled coffee on my shirt yesterday. Turns out this place has some great food as well,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face. You aren’t quite sure what to make of this.

You insist on their orders, suggest your bestsellers, and turn it over to the kitchen. As you’re about to head back to your seat, he says, “I remember where I know you from!” You look at him, curious.

“You’re Jieun’s cousin! She always posts about you,” he excitedly claims.

You nod. Of course, Jieun. You could’ve figured that out and told him yesterday instead of the dream girl thing.

“Right. Jieun,” you start. “She sucks up to me like that to convince me to visit her in L.A.,” you explain. You try to keep your voice steady. You don’t want to give the impression that having this conversation with him is already the most interesting part of your week, even if it is. Who gets to say that Jeon Jungkook recognizes their face anyway?

“You don’t like L.A.?” He asks curiously.

“It’s just not my cup of tea,” you respond, angling your body to move towards your table, but facing him still. You’re glad that the morning rush has ended and there aren’t many people in the cafe who minds enough that you’re talking to Jeon Jungkook.

“Then what is?” he asks, arms crossed against his chest, looking genuinely curious.

You let out a laugh. “Jasmine, chamomile. Lemongrass on some days,” you say. “We’ve got good ones you should try,” you tease.

You aren’t the type to spill things about you that easily, and he picks this one up. He nods and smiles. The only other thing he says to you before you leave is that the food is good, and that he’d “see you around.”

Of course he would, because for the rest of the week, he kept going back, right around the same time as you’re there. This isn't new, of course. You have so many customers who come everyday at a particular time — right before school or work or just part of their daily routine. But he didn't fit the profile of a regular customer, but you also could admit it was nice to see a fresh face around.

It’s Thursday of that week when he tells you “I have meetings and stuff in this area and your food’s really good,” after you give him a questioning look as to why he’s here again. And it’s the next day when he comes alone, orders jasmine tea for himself and for you, and asks for your number after you talk about Disney movies and the damsel in distress trope. And cats, and how much you hate them.

You have your back lying on the couch for 10 minutes, debating on whether you should drive to his place and ask what’s going on, or stay home and settle on phone calls for the next 2 months that he’ll be gone for the tour, if he’ll even pick them up. Because you’ve tried—you’ve called and left messages, not to ask why he hasn't been texting or if anything’s wrong, but just to crack up jokes that are way funnier than his, or to talk about food. You know, normal things.

You like how your texts never start with “good morning” and “what are you doing?” They’re usually along the lines of “some cat left a paw mark on my car, my day is ruined” or “I tripped in front of an old lady and she almost died laughing” or “what movie should I watch if I want to forget I have a shit load of work to do” or a picture of whatever food you ate that day.

Things are never formal with you two. It’s always very casual that sometimes you forget that his “show’s about to go on, I’ll talk to you later” text means he’s just about to perform in a sold-out stadium in front of thousands of people in Japan or something — like it was no big deal. Or that his “hang on, someone will just talk to me” is really code for “I’ve got an interview,” which you know will be newsflash and then posted all over social media immediately after. You enjoy this bit because it feels so natural, neither of you feel like you have to impress the other.

“Will you stop air fucking and pole dancing on the mic stand,” you’d say.

“Stop talking to me and do your report already,” he’d say.

“Seriously, why are your clothes 3 sizes bigger? How much food are you hiding in there?” You’d laugh over the phone.

“Your sweatshirt looks like shit, can I have it?” he’d annoy you, and then proceed to take it home.

You like making fun of each other as much as you like talking to each other. He’s easy to get along with and not pretentious; you’re comfortable to be around and not judgemental. He doesn’t have a problem telling you if you’re being too whiny; you don't mind calling him out for being too much of a perfectionist that he’s actually not being productive anymore.

Jimin was right when he described you two as inseparable, long-distance buddies — whether it was a night out with friends or a night in doing papers, if it didn’t clash with his schedule, you were together. Even if it was a quick take out dinner at 11PM after a long day of practicing, he’d be at your place.

Whenever he’s away on tour, he’d be constantly updating you about fan signs and the food and the weather; similarly, you’d update him on the café’s customer of the day or this new e-book you’d discovered or the weird dream you just had. You never feel any sort of pressure or expectation; neither of you feel too attached, despite the amount of time you spend together.

Regardless of how your constant texting or hanging out when he was back in Seoul seems like to others, neither of you ever felt like you had to define what you two really are. That’s what you always think the reason is as to why it works — it just does because you don't feel like it has to go a specific direction.

Despite all that, it still feels odd that he hasn’t been returning your calls or even updating you on how his day has been. The longest you’d gone without talking was 3 days, and that’s with a heads up. The next few months will be crazy for the band, what with the remaining shows of their tour. It isn't like him to just disappear from your life like this.

“When was the last time you saw him?” your best friend Chaewon asks over the phone when you finally decide to call someone after finding out Jungkook’s leaving.

“He’s not lost, okay. He’s just not calling,” you correct her. “But last week, we went for a drive, he slept over, and that was it. He just…” you trail. You aren’t even sure how to describe what just happened.

“Then why don’t you go over there?” She asks, almost as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don't know, it might get messy. You know I’m not good with confrontations.”

“Just go, Y/N. He probably won’t be calling you after he’s left if he’d been dodging you like this.”

Chae hangs up shortly after. You figure she probably doesn't want to hear another one of your excuses. You take your best friend’s advice and head for the door, get in your car, and take the 30-minute drive to his house.

“I like to leave,” you tell him. You glance to your right where he sits at the passenger seat of your car then look back on the road. You and Jungkook had just spent dinner with your friends at Chaewon’s apartment and you told him you could drive him back to the dorm.

He gives you a puzzling look. “Is that some sort of warning that I’ll wake up one day and you’ll just be… gone?” he asks, eyebrows scrunched up. You could see there’s a hint of concern on his face.

“Oh, I meant I like taking trips,” you laugh, realizing the oddity of what you had just said, which was a response to Jaehyun, your other best friend, mentioning you being voted as ‘most likely to evaporate into thin air’ in high school.

“Some days I wake up and just feel like being someplace else. So I grab my backpack and my trusty map, get into my car, and head out. By myself. Somewhere,” you say, shrugging, like it’s the most natural thing that people do.

You describe to him the places you’ve seen — the lakes and mountains and fields that many people don’t know about, how the sunsets are like from there, how the trees and flowers smell like, how otherworldly they look.

Most of the time, when you’re plagued with fear or sadness or doubt, you just leave. It’s your quick fix, your Band-Aid. You could be gone for a day or over the weekend; sometimes you’d be out for a week and not even your best friends know where you are, just that you’re safe.

“But why?” he asks. You think it was ironic since this is a guy who leaves for a living.

“When I was younger, we had this class and the teacher asked us to draw an object that represents us. I didn't even have a clear idea of who I was, how could I find the right object to symbolize me? You’ve got to find yourself, that’s how you’ll know, she said. I asked her how. She told me to go look at a map,” you narrate, looking back at that moment when you stared at your teacher trying to figure out if she was kidding or not.

“I guess you find yourself in places you don't know. Or you realize who you really are when things get chaotic and you go somewhere far. Or you pull yourself away from the crazy to take a breath and escape some things you’re not really ready to face…” you state.

“I never knew exactly what she meant, but I figured they all made sense,” you continue, slowing down the car as you’re a block away from his place. “You’ll always find a reason to leave.”

“But does leaving solve any of your problems?”

“Not always, but sometimes the problem is nothing that you leave behind. Sometimes the problem is you.” You’d thought about the times you came back and felt like a different person with a different perspective on things.

You look at him smiling, and you realize he’s been looking at you the whole time. You pull on the brakes, ready to say your goodnight, but he isn’t quite finished.

“What’s your favorite thing about leaving?”

There are so many things you love about it. You love how it means you have the freedom and capability to do anything you want. You love seeing new scenery, discovering places for the first time, meeting new people and learning their stories. It is such a human thing to want to leave, you think. You like everything about it, even the parts where you get completely lost or rained or snowed on because you weren’t prepared.

“Coming home,” you say.

He softens at this, a pleased look on his face.

“It’s like you’re gone for awhile and you see things for the first time, but then you drive back and you start seeing the familiar things — the streetlights, the driveways, the parks, the cafes… And all those constant things, they’re still there even when you leave, like they’re just waiting for you to come back.”

“You should know that. You’re always jetting off somewhere new,” you say.

“I leave because I have to. It’s part of the job.”

That conversation is ringing in your head the whole car ride to Jungkook’s house. Your knack for driving off is one of those things you never really share with anyone apart from your best friends. You never liked the thought of having to explain yourself to people, especially those you haven’t known for long, but with Jungkook, it never felt like you had to explain anything; you were always just sharing pieces of yourself that you knew he appreciated, that he somehow understood.

You pull up behind the black SUV parked in front of his place; the same SUV that you know his driver uses to take him to the airport. You turn off the engine and go through the half opened gate, up the steps and through the door.

You greet one of the members of his security team as she heads out the door and your eyes immediately turn to the two black duffel bags lying on the floor. They’re plump and full of things. You imagine all his black hoodies and sweatpants and leather jackets. You picture the bucket hats all neatly folded and his favorite Balenciaga sneakers tucked in somewhere. It feels weird, standing here at his foyer and just waiting for something to happen.

You hear steps skipping down the stairs and his voice, assuring “I’ll call you when I get there” to someone on the phone.

He’s looking down on it, texting someone who isn’t you. He does a double take, probably not expecting to see you standing by his door with a sad and confused look on your face.

You’re fidgety and you feel nervous. You never liked confrontations, even if you were convincing yourself that is not why you came here in the first place. You just want to see how he was doing, maybe ask what he’s been up to, wish him luck on the shows and that you’d see him when he gets back in two months.

“Y/N…” he starts. “I wasn't expecting you to be here.”

“Why, because you didn’t expect me to know you were leaving because you didn't tell me?” You say too quickly, resolve dissipating, tone and voice betraying you.

He looks taken aback. “Does it matter that I didn’t?” He says defensively, pulling up his duffel bags on a chair and seemingly looking for something inside one of them. You know he’s just distracting himself so he wouldn't have to look at you.

“You go home to your parents for three days and you ask to see me the day before, and now you leave for North America for two months and suddenly it doesn't matter that you don’t tell me?” Your voice is getting louder and you immediately wish you hadn’t come here at all. It seems like he doesn’t want you to be here just the same.

“You didn't even bother returning my calls or texts. And now you’re leaving. Your first show isn’t even until a week from now,” you say, crossing your arms. “What’s the rush?”

“I have a meeting with a producer,” he responds.

“That you couldn’t do during your free days there?” You snap back. You know this, you know they’re given some free time and he could’ve easily slipped that in there.

He sighs, knowing he can’t get out of this one. “I just want to be away from here, that’s all,” he says, glancing at you and then back at his bags.

“You mean away from me?”

He continues shuffling things in his duffel. He doesn’t even respond. You know it. He’s leaving because he wants to be away from you.

“What’s going on, Jungkook? One day we’re laughing our butts off until we fall asleep and the next you just… not call at all.”

“I just didn't feel like it, I guess,” he says, zipping one of the bags and adjusting its strap.

This infuriates you.

“Well that’s nice. It seemed like you always felt like coming over with dinner, keeping me company while I worked, convincing me to go out for drinks, meeting me at the café for breakfast but then all of a sudden you don’t feel like calling?” You bite back.

He’s silent for a while, as if finding the right words to say.

“You know what else is nice?” he starts, looking at you. “Calling me to come over on Friday nights when you don't feel like being out, asking me to stay the night and having me sleep next to you, kissing me and then telling me that ‘this feels nice and comfortable and fun’ and that I really am a great friend’.” His tone is angry, frustrated, desperate.

You feel your jaw drop open even if it’s closed. You did not see this coming at all. You always felt like you two were on the same page, that you like each other’s company so much that you prefer staying in on Fridays watching movies or National Geographic. You thought you both understand that sleeping next to each other only means you want to talk and laugh until you fall asleep, which is what happens all the time. You kiss then, which you treat like a goodbye because you don’t know if he’ll be there when you wake up.

“I never thought of you as the selfish and unfair type, but I guess there’s just too many layers of you that it takes time before this side of you comes out.” He swings both his bags to his right shoulder, hinting that he’s ready to leave, that he’s ready to leave things like this.

He starts walking towards the door. “They weren’t kidding when they said everything you touch turns into a mess.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “What the fuck, Jeon,” is all you could say. You’d never seen him this upset. Worse, you’d never seen him this upset at you.

“So what, I turned us into this big mess and you leave just like that? Like it’s not even worth talking to me about whatever it is you’re feeling?” you ask, following his movements. He’s halfway out the door by this time.

You follow him out, overtake him and make sure he could see your face. “Leaving doesn't always solve problems.”

“Well, Y/N, sometimes it does. Because sometimes you’re not the problem, it’s what you leave behind.”

You look at his face, trying to find pieces of him you thought you’d figured out. He turns away, not wanting to see you like this. You see him soften a little bit, like he didn't mean for things to turn out this way, but you know he isn’t going to let up. You have so many questions running through your mind. What did this all mean? What’s going to happen now?

“It’s sad how when someone you care about tells you exactly what you are to them, you realize at that moment what they are to you, and it’s the complete opposite.”

He turns to look at you this time, his face screaming a kind of sadness you’d never seen before. You’d talked about him being homesick all these years when he’s out on tour. He’d shared how the gossip and his negative image have affected him and his relationships. He’d talked about how difficult it was holding onto things and people that were real, but none of those moments could compare to this one and to this look he has on right now that lets you know he’s upset and it has everything to do with you.

You’re the one he’s leaving behind. You’re the mess he wants to get away from. You’re probably the last person he wants to see before flying out because you’re the problem he doesn't want to deal with.

“Jungkook…” you start, although you have absolutely no idea what you want to say. You look at him, eyes pleading for something, anything.

“I have to go,” is all he says. He turns around, clutching his bags over his shoulders, and walks away.

No ‘see you around’ or ‘I’ll call you soon’ like always. It was just ‘I have to go,’ like it was the period to the past months you two have been hanging out. ‘I have to go,’ like ‘leaving you is this need I have to fulfill.’ ‘I have to go,’ like, ‘this is it.’

You watch him walk out the gate. You watch the car drive away. There’s always something poetic about watching someone leave. You’d been used to that growing up. Your parents were always leaving, saving lives in places that needed saving, but you always knew they’d still be thinking about you and missing you while they were away.

But with Jungkook, it was different. You hadn’t quite gotten used to him leaving all the time, and right now, you aren’t sure he’d be thinking about you or missing you while he was gone.

‘I have to go,’ he said. Like, ‘I’m leaving. I don't want to stick around. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be with you.’

Things don’t feel real. You’ve been driving for 30 minutes, unsure where to go, reeling over the conversation you just had with Jungkook, if you could even call it that. It’s like he just dropped a bomb on you that you didn't know he’d had all this time.

There was so much frustration and sadness on his face that morning and you couldn't get the image out of your head. What have you done? You kept asking yourself.

But you reason that none of this is your fault. You thought everything was clear between the both of you. Sure, you never really talked about it, but if he was really feeling differently about you, then why didn't he just say something?

“I’m heading out,” you say to Jaehyun over the phone. He’s always the first person you call when you feel like driving off.

“I’m guessing the talk with Jungkook didn't turn out well?” he asks.

You don’t respond. You don’t really want to say anything to your friends about all this until you’ve figured things out.

“Chae told me,” he says, interrupting the silence.

“Yeah, I figured,” you reply. Information is so fluid between the both of them.

“So where are you off to?”

“I don't really know, just wherever,” you say, but you know exactly where you’re going. It will just take another hour until you get there.

“Alright, just be safe,” he says, before hanging up.

You step on the gas and turn on the music. Anything is better than the silence that’s ringing in your ears right now. You hum to the tunes of Colde and LeeHi, praying to the heavens you won’t hear Jungkook’s voice on the next song. This is your ‘favorites’ playlist and he had sneakily included some of his band’s songs one day when you went out to the market to grab some fruits and he stayed at your place watching TV.

About 60 minutes later, you reach the place. It’s en route to a town a couple of miles south of the city. It’s a turn to the corner, onto a dirt road and a path lined with shrubs and small trees. The entrance to the main beach is right off the highway about a mile away, but you’d discovered this entrance not long ago when you drove off on a Sunday, two days after your ex-boyfriend came knocking at your door months after he broke up with you. It was the first time you spoke since then, and it was also the first time he ever tried to explain himself to you. You remember that trip; it was 7 months ago and it was also the last time you’d been here. Somehow you just felt the pull of this place.

You realize later on, as you sit on the shore watching the sky turn purple and orange, that you told Jungkook about this when you were here.

You watched the sunset then just like today. It looked so beautiful and so you snapped a picture and sent it to him. He was in Japan at that time for an event. You’d told him you’d fallen asleep and were just listening to the waves crash on the shore — your favorite sound in the world, you’d said. When it was all over, you decided to call it a day.

“I’m driving back now,” you’d told him. “Okay,” he responded, voice tired from the day he had. It was rare for you to talk to anyone when you were out. You felt like a part of home was tugging at you when you did. But Jungkook was away and you just wanted him to see what you were seeing. You felt it was a way for you to tell him that you were fine. He didn’t seem convinced when he’d left your apartment that Friday night after Jinyoung visited. The photo you sent of the sunset, and the next one of you lying on the sand, smiling, were enough to convince him that indeed you were.

“Okay. Hold on to the feeling once you see the familiar,” he’d said. He knew you loved that feeling. He always said he imagined a smile creeping from the left side of your mouth when you realized you were nearing home.

“You’re familiar, Jeon,” you’d told him.

You liked the idea, that you saw him as something familiar. You’d only known each other then for a few months but you’d talked as if it had been years. He was away but he still felt constant.

“So are you, Y/L/N,” he replied.

You were thinking about this, about him, as the dust settled and the sky’s now a pretty dark blue with tiny hints of burnt orange. The waves still sound majestic, truly something you can never get tired of. You feel the cold autumn air tingle your insides. You close your eyes and breathe in to try to immerse yourself in your surroundings, hoping against hope that something will click and things will make sense.

You’d spent the whole afternoon here yet you feel like nothing’s changed. He is on the plane to California and you’re still confused. You still have the same questions from last week, from this morning. He’s still your constant; you just aren’t sure if you’re still his.

Leaving doesn't always solve problems, you told yourself. You just wished you’d told him one more time. Maybe he would’ve stayed.

“We’re having Spanish,” Chaewon says as you enter her apartment. “And you’re late.” She continues, turning to you with slices of apples and oranges in her hands. You could hear the laughter and the cheers from the living room. Nobody’s minding you because a soccer game is on.

You envy their energy — why you agreed to continue to help run the cafe even with a full-time job, you don’t know, but it’s starting to take its toll on you and all you want to do is sleep. Jungkook and the guys will soon be in full preparation mode for the start of the tour and your superstar friend, who had now also claimed your own friends, wanted to have dinner with everyone before things got too busy.

“You cooked?” you ask, returning your gaze to her after looking out on who is already here.

“Nope. Take-out. But the Sangria is homemade.”

“Take-out?” you repeat, excitedly, making your way to the table to check on the food.

“Jungkook wanted Spanish and take-out,” Chaewon confirms, as laughter roars from the living room.

You walk over to check on everybody else who all acknowledge your presence with air fist bumps.

“So you’ve moved past Chinese and Japanese take-out and have gone for Spanish now, huh, Jeon?” you question. He gives you his signature bunny smile from his seat on the floor. He does that quite often when he’s showing off or after he’s done something nice.

“Hey, it’s a classy place and I get a discount. And, Chae sounded tired when I called so I took it upon myself to save dinner,” he proudly declares, standing up and motioning towards you. How cocky, you think, but you return his pinch on your cheek with a pinch on his nose.

Dinner is as fun as dinner with your friends always goes, but your hectic schedule that day made you extremely tired. After moving to the couch and a glass of Sangria later, you feel your head spinning and rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder. He notices your tired face, nudges at you and says he’s going to take you home. “Thanks, Jeon,” you murmur under your breath. “I promise I won’t puke.”

It takes a few glasses of water and a handful of profiteroles to get you sobered up and ready to head out. He helps you get in his car and you retreat to a semi-fetus position until the next corner.

“You’re really tired, aren’t you? You’re never this quiet during a car ride. Even when you’re drunk you won’t stop talking… or singing,” he teases. “Out of tune, I might add.”

You sit up from your sulking position. “Sometimes I just want to choke you, you know” you remark with a serious face.

“Do you want to feel the wrath of my women?” he questions, winking, referring to his army of fans who are protective of him, and for good reason.

“They’d probably want to do the same, only in a sexual way.” At this he laughs, shaking his head as if to say you’d done it again, teased him like this and made his cheeks blush.

The ride is a quick one for a Thursday night. You feel you haven't made fun of him enough as he pulls the brakes in front of your apartment building and immediately steps out and walks to your side before you could even thank him and say goodbye.

He opens the door and pulls you out like it’s routine, although you clearly remember he’d brought you home when you were drunk only twice, one of which was when he’d found you half-naked in your kitchen with a knife, ready to attack him. Since then, Jungkook had made sure to never let you be that drunk again, and always made it a point to feed you sweets so you’d stay awake.

He’s successful though — you’re sober and awake tonight. You’re just really tired.

You unlock your apartment door and he steps in with you, goes straight to your kitchen and makes you tea. He knows that chamomile makes you sleep well, and that’s exactly what he prepares.

“So comfortable in my place already, Jeon,” you say after realizing what he’s doing. He just knows in what cupboard your mug is kept, and in which box the chamomile is stored, and how much sugar you put, but then again, he did help you quite a bit organize your kitchenware. He opens a drawer to get aspirin - “Just in case,” he says. You watch him like he had done this many times before.

A small smile forms on your lips.

“Look, you’re tired and I convinced you to come tonight. If you don't sleep well, you’ll wake up in a bad mood and complain to me again that your neighbor’s cat is loitering on your steps… and then you’ll blame me.”

You laugh. For someone who deals with so many people everyday, it amazes you how well he remembers things about you like that.

“I was about to say how I like hanging out with you because you make me coffee or tea…”

“You’d do the same for me, Y/N, no matter how much you want to stop yourself from doing so.” He winks at you, tastes the tea, and places it on the counter.

You sit on the chair and feel the aroma of the tea soothe you. He stands there watching you, pleased with what he’s done. “You good?” he asks, and you nod behind your mug.

You don’t need to be taken care of, you’d told him once. You don’t need someone to be looking out for you when you’re drunk and being clumsy, when you’re busy and not eating, when you’re injured and unable to walk properly, when you’re stressed and needed a break.

“If you don’t want me here you could always just tell me, you know?” he’d said once. “I won’t take it personally. We’re good with each other that way.”

But you never asked him to leave. In fact, you always wanted him to stay, always asked him to.

“Ready to call it a night?” he questions, after you put down your empty mug.

You look up at him. You could feel your eyes falling and your body aching for a warm shower and your sheets. It’s been a crazy week and it isn’t even over. You want to rest, but you also don't want to be alone.

“Can you stay?” you ask, biting your lip and trying hard to pull off your puppy eyes so he’d say yes.

“Sure,” he says. He didn’t wait for an explanation. He didn’t need one. He just understood.

You give him a warm smile.

“I know you love my couch, but I might forget in the morning you’re here and I might stab you for real this time,” you state. “The bed’s big enough for both of us and Chandler,” you offer, referring to your hedgehog stuffed toy that’s about half your size.

“At least I get a blanket!” he claims.

“Thanks, Jeon.”

A soft smile appears on his face. “Anything for you, Y/N.”

By the time you decide to leave the beach, the sky has already settled in a midnight blue. The waves are crashing, and from across the water, you could see lights from the small town not so far away. You think about spending the night there, or driving someplace else and sleeping in your car until the next morning. But you decide to go home, even if you know you’ll just be thinking about him more if you do.

You turn on your engine, put the windows down, and listen to the wind. You think about this morning again. You’re still in denial that he’d said what he did and the implication that you probably led him on all these months.

But you’re convincing yourself that he couldn't pin this on you — he was always calling, he was always texting, he always wanted to be with you after a busy week, he always made it up to you when he couldn’t come over, he always stayed when you asked him to.

You two kissed, but it was a soft one, not ravenous or lust-filled. He didn't pull away and you didn’t try to deepen it. But he looked so good after their show and he was gonna be gone for the tour and the alcohol was talking and you let it.

You kissed again after that. There was no drunken night to blame it on the second time, but it was raining when you woke up the next day and he looked so warm and comfortable sleeping on your bed that you just felt like you had to. But he kissed you back, softly still, and he didn't say anything. He didn't pull you in for another one after.

If he really felt anything, then he should have. He should have grabbed you and told you he wanted more, that he was feeling differently, that things were changing. He should’ve done it then or any other time after that. He was always honest with you, but you didn't understand why he wasn't honest about this one, why he decided to just stop things and leave you hanging.

Maybe you weren’t away long enough, because you didn't even realize that you were already home until you saw your neighbor’s white sedan parked in your street. You pull the brakes and park behind it, thinking you were probably absent-minded the entire ride back.

There’s no warm feeling inside that you’re back. This wasn’t a trip that was meant to change anything or make you figure out how to fix things. All you thought about was that you miss him terribly, and maybe that’s what it was meant for, rub in your face that he’s gone.

You drag yourself up the stairs and enter your place. It suddenly feels like he’s everywhere in your apartment. You’d moved in last year and not even your best friends or your mom had imprinted enough of themselves inside.

There’s the cup Jungkook bought for you after he broke one of your favorites. There’s this pack of granola bars in your pantry that he got so you wouldn't have to gobble up ice cream when you were hungry. There’s the spare toothbrush he started using after his first night in. There’s your sweatshirt that he returned, and his hoodie that he said he’d get back the next time he sees you.

And there’s the counter where you both shared take-out dinners and homemade breakfast. And there’s your couch where you spent nights working while he watched TV on mute. And there’s your bed where he’d slept next to you a few times.

“I shouldn't have watched all those stupid chick flicks when he wasn't talking to me,” you think out loud. Now you’re left with an apartment that has him everywhere.

You’re not even together. You’ve shared so much of yourself to each other but never ‘I like you’s’ nor ‘I love you’s,’ not even ‘I miss you’, but why does it feel like you’ve shared all that and more? Why this sudden feeling of emptiness after he told you he had to go and then left just like that?

Everything you touch turns into a mess, he told you.

Your friends joke about it all the time. Your penchant for trying anything that remotely interests you doesn’t necessarily mean you’re good at it. Whether it’s decorating those Valentine’s cookies that Hyejin bakes, molding those vases during a pottery class you impulsively signed up for, or even making pajeon when Chae said you couldn’t fry anything other than your broken-yolk eggs, you just have the tendency to end up with final products that are nothing like what you intended. In look or substance, they’re just not that pretty. Jungkook always laughed along.

But he said it to you today like it burned him. As if to say, look at what you’ve done, I don’t want to be a part of this.

“So uhm, are you just going to sit there and watch us or are you going to help?” Jungkook asks from the floor of your living room, paintbrush in one hand, goodie bag in another.

Body sprawled on your sofa with legs hanging and kicking off the armrest, you look at him with a pout. “Jaehyun doesn’t want me to.”

Jaehyun sighs from where he’s sat on the floor. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Y/N. It’s that I can’t afford to.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, whatever,” bitterness apparent in your voice.

It’s a Sunday and your friends are at your apartment to help Jaehyun decorate the goodie bags he’ll be distributing to the kids at the orphanage that he volunteers at. Twice a year, he throws them a party that requires decorating giveaway bags that contain the books and sweets he’s bought with his own money. Jungkook ended up there because, well, by now you don’t question him anymore. They had a day-off and he said he was bored.

“Jaehyun’s being kind. Y/N’s just really shit at these things so he doesn’t let her touch these,” she says, holding up a bag where she’d painted a rainbow.

“You got the color order wrong,” you shoot at her. She responds with scowl.

“Come on, Jae. Pretty please. I promise I won’t mess them up like last time,” you plead to Jaehyun. You know he has a soft spot for you.

“You said that the last time, too” Hyejin chides.

“Wow thanks, guys. No one’ll even pretend to be on my side, huh,” you sit up and frown at everyone.

“Y/N, we are, like, most of the time.” You glare at your friend. “But I spent my money on these and the party is already next week and I really want the kids to feel hopeful and inspired, not scared, okay? And I want them to actually keep the goodie bags, not throw them away. It’s nothing personal, I promise.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” you wave your hand at them and give up.

This is a usual occurrence. You know you’re useless with anything that involves the arts that’s why your only contribution every time you guys help Jaehuyn is your apartment as a venue.

Jungkook arrived an hour earlier with a glimmer and excitement on his face when he saw what your friends were doing, like a little kid at a candy store. He wasted no time and got right down to business. God, those kids who will get his bags would never know they were holding a goldmine.

“So what happened the last time?” Jungkook asks.

“She tried to draw a bear but it ended up looking like that character from the monsters cartoon, you know, the one holding its eyes?” Hyejin recalls, laughing as she recalls the proud look on your face and the distressed one on Jaehyun’s. “She tried to remedy it but like, just no. It looked terrible.”

“No kid would feel hopeful with that,” Chaewon adds.

“I really had to do quality checks of her work and I threw them all away cause they’d gone lumpy. She didn’t even mix the paint well,” Jaehyun continues.

“Yah! I think Jungkook got the message, okay?” You start chuckling, seeing Jungkook’s amused face and his effort to not laugh along at the thought of you being shut down for something you thought was a pretty thing you created. “I’ve accepted that art isn’t my forte.”

“So is cooking, baking, pottery, organizing, arranging…” You throw Chaewon a pillow, smack to her face like she deserves.

“But seriously. Trust her to score the final point of a championship game or write a 30-page report on housewifization and its subordination of women but if it isn’t sports or research, forget it. Everything she touches turns into a mess. RIP to all the cookies and goodie bags and vases that never saw the light of day,” Hyejin dramatically claims. “It’s kind of her thing.”

You shrug. It kind of is your thing. Your unartistic, unorganized, and mindless chaotic ass, for the life of you, just can’t get it together. Clothes and shoes all over the place, gifts wrapped in frayed gift wrappers, cooked food looking inedible… relationships that crash and burn because you couldn’t decide if you wanted to care or not, because you did whatever you felt like just cause you wanted to, because you got too close and didn’t know when to pull away… Yeah, definitely.

You turned to your friends who were all back to being immersed in what they were doing, proud look on their faces at the pieces that will definitely give joy and warmth to whoever will get them.

“I just mess things up, though. At least I don’t break them.”

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing in your ears, surprising you so much you almost fall off where you were lying.

“I’m outside,” Hyejin says on the other line. You get up and open the door.

She turns to you after seeing the blanket on your couch, realizing you had slept there instead of your bed. “Too much of Jungkook in your room, huh?” she says, looking sad, not realizing there was too much of him everywhere. You had just been too tired to go to your room when you got home, but you didn’t answer.

She takes your silence as a yes and walks to your kitchen to take out the bread and coffee she bought, then heads out to your terrace while you wash up in the bathroom.

You sit in front of her and eat your breakfast quietly while she watches you take small bites of your cheese bread. You tell her everything that’s happened the past 24 hours — from Jimin’s call to Jungkook’s out-of-left-field outburst.

“I think I led him on,” you say, head thrown back on the chair, eyes closed.

“Uh, you think?” Hyejin claims.

“How come none of you ever said anything?” you ask, looking at her. Jungkook didn't say anything; your friends didn’t say anything… Were you that naïve? That selfish? That stupid?

“Well, it’s not like you’d listen anyway,” she starts. “You always just do what you want. Like, sure constantly talk to the guy giving you heart eyes every time you look at him, go date the guy whose family is in Australia and would most likely go back and leave you, sure spend time and flirt with the insanely hot and kind and funny pop star… like there are no consequences to these things,” she unapologetically says.

“Is that so bad?” you ask.

You don’t want to sound defensive. You don’t have the energy to really argue with anyone.

“Come on, Y/N. Don’t tell me you didn't see this coming. With how you two were, one of you was bound to fall for the other.”

“We allowed ourselves to get that close, Hyejin, to be… this. Whatever this is. Or was. It’s not like we ever talked about it, though.”

She raises an eyebrow at you.

“But I just figured we were both mature enough to handle the consequences. I just don't understand why it has to be this screwed up.”

She looks at you as if she’s looking right to your soul. “It’s like you ask someone to play fire with you, and you don't mind if you get burnt. You don't mind if they get burnt, too. That’s what it’s like.”

“Getting burned is part of it. Getting hurt is part of it. I know that, and I always get over it,” you say.

“Yeah, but the thing is, you expect the same thing from the other person, too.”

You don’t like how right she is about all this.

“When you get hurt, you just walk away because you expect it and you accept it and then that’s it, goodbye to everything that was good. Move on to the next relationship that may or may not work out,” she continues.

You cover your face with your arms, as if somehow that’s going to be enough to make up for everything you’ve done.

“But that’s precisely why you always live in the moment, you know? To hell with being careful, or obsessing over whether or not doing something will hurt you. When you feel it that moment, you do it. And you’re okay if it hurts you, or if it leaves you with the shorter end of the stick. You get back on your feet right after anyway.”.

The day at the quad when Jinyoung broke up with you comes to mind. You didn’t even fight for it, you normally don’t; you’d rather spend that time getting over something and moving on.

“But Jungkook isn’t like that, Y/N,” she says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Don't you get it? He won’t tell you he feels differently. He won’t tell you and right then and there, realizing you don't feel the same way, just accept it and get over it.”

You look back to that last morning you had together, the tangled limbs, the morning kiss, watching him get ready, the words “stay a little longer” almost slipping past your lips like always, but instead saying that it was nice and comfortable and fun. He smiled then.

“Thanks for doing that for me; you really are a great friend,” is what you said before he left. So you weren’t dreaming the crestfallen look you saw on his face. With furrowed brows he took his phone, multiple messages probably telling him to go back to the dorm, and then he was gone.

Your eyes widen at the memory. That’s what he was referring to. You’d been too frustrated at him ignoring you that you didn’t even bother to think of what might’ve triggered it.

Hyejin seems to pick this up. “So are you now realizing you’re an idiot?”

You smack her arm and she winces, deservedly so.

“Okay, fine. I may have been one but to ignore me like that and then just leave? He waited last minute to tell me what he was feeling and then he fucking left, leaving me here confused and hurt and in agony. That’s way worse than my quick and easy,” you exclaim.

“Sometimes people will cover up the pain rather than just say they’re hurt. Some hearts are wired that way, Y/N. Not everyone does quick and easy. Not everyone gets to accept their own feelings, and upon realizing they’re not reciprocated, moves on right away like you do.”

You let everything sink in.

“It was my second time at that beach yesterday, you know?” You start after a long silence.

“The first time was after Jinyoung had come over to explain himself. I was already over the break up; I left to get over his reason for it. But yesterday when I was down there, all I could think about was how much I miss Jungkook. Like, it was the only thing going through my head the entire time I was there. He was always leaving but I always knew that when he got back, he’d be knocking at my door again…” you trail. You know it isn't going to be the same this time around.

“People have their own reasons for leaving, you always say that. You can never fault them for why they choose to. You leave because you want to figure yourself out. He left because he probably didn't want to deal with what he’s feeling for you.”

Feelings. You always made sure to keep yours in check, but Hyejin was right; you also always expected the same from him.

You look out on the city and get lost in your thoughts. People always thought of you as someone who had things figured out - you know what you want from life and from those who are part of it. You’d walked away from people and let them walk away from you when you knew it had to happen. But this whole deal with Jungkook feels like unfamiliar territory.

If it were someone else, you probably would’ve just let it go, but you keep thinking about Jungkook and the way his dimples still surprise you every time he smiles and how his laugh is so childlike and infectious it annoys you and warms your heart at the same time.

You can't get off your head how it feels to hear him say ‘good morning’ when you wake up and find his arm gently resting on your waist, your fingers always tempted to trace the ink decorating his own.

You warm at the thought of how he manages to make you feel better when you’re tired, how he never makes you feel hopeless when you’re being angry at all the unjust things in the world, how he reminds you of all the good there is during the times you forget.

You think of how you don’t want to lose all that.

“Feelings…” you say. You couldn’t get used to the idea that he has them for you.

“Do you have them too?” Hyejin finally asks.

You were so hung up on how the past week has been, that he ignored you, that he left, that you didn't even stop to think of why, and more importantly, what you feel for him.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve never seen you like this with anyone, though.”

“It’s because I’ve never been like this with anyone.”

“Like what?”

“Cautious?”

“You mean, spending so much time together, constantly talking, kissing, is you being cautious?” She’s asks, incredulous.

You shrug. “It was never anything more.”

“Then why do you do them?” She snaps back.

“Because I want to? I’m always ready for him to turn me down.” It does surprise you every time he says yes to your requests, to your calls, your kisses. “But he never does.”

“But you don’t ask for anything more?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Hyejin groans. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“What did I say?!”

“How can you want all of that and none of it at the same time? Seriously, you guys are like, friends with benefits without the sex…”.

You throw her a piece of bread, scandalized with what she just said. But you laugh at this. Your friends had joked about that before; even his band mates agreed. You were everything and nothing at the same time, stuck in the grey scale that neither of you were willing to admit. Or move away from.

“I think you just wanted everything - you wanted company, you wanted him to stay the night, you wanted to kiss, you wanted him to hold you, you wanted to talk… You wanted to be friends.” When Hyejin says it like that, you do seem like a fool.

“But you didn’t want what those actually implied or even required from you,” she continues. “Almost like there’s this line you’ve set for both of you that only you can see.”

You sigh in frustration. You know when you drew that line, when you’d warned yourself to never cross it, when you’d promised yourself to never want more.

“I guess I always knew what I really felt… I probably just denied it or didn't want it enough,” you think out loud.

“So what now?” She finally asks the painfully obvious question. “What will you do now?”

“Wallow in my self misery and remind myself everyday that I'm an idiot,” you answer back.

“Hmm. You’re too easy on yourself,” she says.

You smack her arm again, which earns you a laugh from her. “I’m kidding! But seriously, now that everything's a little clear, what are you going to do?”

“Make things even clearer?” You sigh. “I feel like such a mess, Hyej. And he’s the one who usually cheers me up when I feel like shit but I can’t ask that from him, now can I?” You say, your body now slumped in your chair, feeling like you’re back to square one.

“You can’t and you won’t.” She walks over to you to pull you up like a big baby. “You’ve got 2 months to figure your shit out before he comes back. Better start now,” she says, as she ushers you back inside.

There’s continuous knocking on the door, causing you to get up from your seat on your work desk and you readied yourself to fight whoever decided to disturb your busy Saturday morning.

You open the door and are greeted with a loud bellow, your name being sung in opera-style by a certain doe-eyed boy.

“Jeon Jungkook, what are you doing! You’re gonna wake the neighbors,” you shout, pulling him inside.

“Your closest neighbor is an old woman who’s hard of hearing. I think we’re good,” he smiles, eyes all innocent-looking.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. It’s one of those rare Saturday’s when the guys are afforded a full day off - no practice, no show, no filming. He always looked forward to days like this, which you expect he’d spend sleeping in or exercising or playing Overwatch.

“Got a free day,” he gleams.

“I know but what are you doing here?”

“You’ve been cranky and whiny this whole week. And you don’t respond to my memes,” he says, pouty lips making him look like a little kid that hasn’t been given much attention.

“I told you it’s work. I’m short on time to work on my reports since I got dragged to this week-long event. But I think my brain cells have dissipated; I can’t seem to construct simple sentences anymore,” you sigh, heading for your couch to sink into. “I’m sorry for not responding to your memes.”

“I’ll forgive you only if you come with me.”

“To where?” Your brow quirks up, finally taking in his baggy pants and loose white polo and bucket hat. “And what look are you going for with this whole get up?” You question, not missing the mismatched pieces of clothing and shades perched on his hat.

“Something unassuming. I asked Jin hyung for advice and raided Tae’s closet,” he shrugs.

“So what do you say? Come with me. Take a break! You won’t get any more productive being cooped up in here. Plus, artists need to go out for inspiration and you don’t seem like you’re getting it here,” he says with a smug look. You smack his arm, knowing that last bit he only said to mock you.

But it’s the words you always say to him; now he’s just saying them right back to you. “I promise to buy you snacks,” he says, reaching out his hand to you and pushing you to your room to get dressed.

And that promise he keeps. He rented a simple car so his luxurious one wouldn’t catch attention. You take a drive out of the city, sing your lungs out in the car, and go store hopping. You find supermarkets and convenience stores and little shops to look for different kinds of snacks that you both try and make reviews of. Every pretty view you see has you stopping the car and admiring the scene.

You inhale the fresh air, something you don’t get much in the city, and you appreciate this. You get back to your place, complain about your tummy aches, laugh until you fall asleep, tangled limbs and all, but not before telling him it was the most fun you’d had in a while and your brain feels rejuvenated enough to get the reports done in the next few days.

He falls asleep with that smile, the proud one he’d have on when you show your appreciation for him. He does like getting praises, that much you know.

You wake up to his quiet snores, cheek squished on the pillow with a hand over your waist, like always. You know you have to wake him up soon, which you do with a soft kiss, like always too. You watch him smile into the kiss and return it, until he finally opens his eyes to look at you.

“Get up, sleepyhead. They’ll be calling you over soon,” you say.

You watch him ready himself from your bed, still drowning in that kiss with a lazy smile on your face. You want to tell him to stay a little longer, even if you’re the one pushing him to get ready.

You always want to say that, whether it’s walking out the door at night or getting up from your bed in the morning. You always want to ask him to stay a little bit more but you never do, thankful for whatever time he could spare you, careful not to ask for more than what he could give.

Yesterday was good. You’d been drowning in work, and you’d blown off your friends this past week and you knew that Jungkook had a busy week as well. But yesterday felt nice. He’d given up his own free day to be with you and he willingly did so, knowing that you need it without you saying it out loud.

You had fun during the drive, and even more so exploring the store aisles, figuring out which brand of shrimp cracker or chocolate milk to get, buying all of them anyway, and excitedly opening them, finishing it all up and proceeding to give your review like those YouTubers you both liked to watch.

It always feels like this with him, but you had been so tired and drained that being with him yesterday just made you feel so happy. It showed with how you constantly leaned into him, how you rested your head on his shoulder as he was deciding on the size of banana milk he would buy, knowing he’d be resting his head on yours as a response.

You were missing physical affection and he was always willing to give you that, and you liked that he never seemed to ask for more. You’d initiate and he’d return, you’d pull and he’d let you, no questions asked. It felt comfortable enough, you thought. You didn’t have to explain yourself or your actions. It just always seemed like a given.

He’d said that he was dealing with a lot already as a pop star, that stuck with you and you knew from then on it was code for him not wanting to get into a relationship, and despite having being single for a little over a year already, you had too much going on in your life too that you didn’t really need any commitments at this point. You were on the same page, for sure.

It was nice and comfortable and fun, that’s what you tell him. You’re referring to the day you had, and what it’s like with him too, in general. You watch him pull his gray hoodie over his head. The black one, his favorite, you’d worn the night before, and you hug yourself to say you don’t want to return it yet.

He chuckles, “Fine. I’ll get it back the next time I see you.” You like his scent, but you’d never say this to him too.

You stand up to head to the kitchen, feeling refreshed and ready to be productive for the rest of the week. You know it had so much to do with the previous day, as if the laughter and smiles you had made up for that entire week when you barely did either. You give him a quick hug. “Thanks for that, Jungkook. You really are a great friend.”

His face falls a little bit, as he clutches onto his phone to check the multiple messages probably telling him to go back home. You don’t think much of it. When you turn back to him, he’s gone.

part 1 drabble <<>> part 2 drabble

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#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts fic #bts jungkook #idol jungkook

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hunchbearing · 6 years

Text

Yar (Something I Wrote in High School)

Looking forward, I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking starboard, I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking port, I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking sternwise, there’s a large ship with light gray flapping sails and dark gray paint on the hull.

Oozing around the deck is a gaggle of limping, sunburned fools.

My name is Tony, and I’m a pirate.

My crew is the craftiest group of sour, salty worms to ever drift around this big blue bowl called the Atlantic. Cap’n Mutt’s crew, I should say. I am no poop deck scrubber, however. I’m the first mate. Well, the first mate when the other fifteen first mates die, anyway.

Our vessel is called the Dynamite Explosive Awesome Thrashing Hellforged Rascally Atrocious Bloody Bane of the Indian Trader. The acronym that comes to mind, DEATHRABBIT, is never used, because it was completely unintentional, not that Mutt would ever admit it. For the sake of saving time, however, I’ll use it.

The DEATHRABBIT’s crew is what makes the British navy shiver while it sips its tea, and with very good reason. This old floating wasps’ nest has turned fifteen of those lily baskets into floating piles of lit matches just this week. Oddly enough, though, a lot of people claim to pray for us! They pray for us to sink back to hell where we belong. I know because King George left us a lovely letter on one of his many ill fated ships.

People I meet constantly ask why I do what I do. Truthfully, I ask myself the same thing in the mirror every morning. Then I see something shine in the corner of the mirror. It’s a five foot heap of doubloons on a Persian carpet with naked women laughing and playing in it. It doesn’t take long to remember at that point.

Of course, I wasn’t always in this line of work. I was just a simple, normal butcher working my way through the Meatman’s Academy.

Then one day, the pirates came to town.

They hurled small bombs and shot bulletholes into the buildings like freckles. While dazedly running in circles in almost total blindness, I saw through the smoke. I saw the silhouette of a man. He was like a statue of a god, just standing with his fists on his hips. A slumped, grunting chap ran up to him and dropped a jingling bag into his hand. Under the hat-man’s other arm came the gorgeous figure of a female, a woman from my own bloody town. The guy never even turned his head! My mouth was agape until the smoke cleared and I saw that the man in the hat was looking at me. Captain Mutt himself. His scarred, pocked face may as well have been a beacon of light. He nodded at me, and I followed without a thought. I left my stupid normal wife, my stupid normal house, and my stupid normal taxes behind forever, never shedding a tear over it. I was born for this stuff.

Anyway, the action started on a typical calm morning at sea.

I had lookout duty that day. Cap’n Mutt expects us to diligently sit with the muscles of one eye socket clamped around the narrow end of an 8-foot spyglass for six consecutive hours or more. That’s rarely what occurs. One would think that pirates leap at the chance to do the ship’s one sit-down job, and one is wrong. It’s boring. Such work makes a man’s mind softer and eyes duller than a barrel o’grog. To help pass the time, us lackeys have conjured up a few games.

One is called Butt Crack Countin’, which is self-explanatory. Another is called Hawkey, where you try to spit all the way across a side of the ship. I was playing the latter when a cliche peg-leg pirate yelled from below that white sails seemed to be coming from the starboard horizon. Grimacing as I swallowed my aborted projectile, I snapped to the eyehole of the looking glass. A smile split my face when I saw the old fart was right.

Now, an enemy ship is nothing to celebrate about for anyone, but for the man in the nest, it means you get to use the Bell. The big black, loud bell that makes the ringer feel like a bear standing over an anthill. I reached straight up into the Bell’s rusty black depths and eagerly slammed the brass ball into the side like a mountain man with a deer’s skull. Every man on deck aside from the wheel warmer (Mutt only likes to steer when ladies are watching) ran below deck to prepare the cannons.

These battles with the Brits are always the same. It’s almost sad, really. The British are an ever-gentlemanly group. They insist on taking turns, then they make the most baffled faces when we unload a dozen cannons on them at once. It’s hilarious. Of course, it’s easy to imagine that the battles can get boring, and they do. Like in the crows’ nest, we get creative.

One popular game is White Flag Pop. We withdraw our cannons, stick our white underwear out of the holes, and when they parallel their ship to ours to walk their plank over here, we bring the cannons through the deck and shoot at close range to blow their vessel into hamster cage chips.

My personal favorite game is Copycat. We put up a British flag in lieu of our own, dress in some of their long-since fallen comrades’ uniforms, and when they start asking us questions, we repeat what they say word for word, and as soon as they get angry, we throw bags of excrement at them, then shoot them and raid their jewelry boxes.

This time, however, we decided to wing it.

The flags drew closer and we were still out of ideas. All the men were pitching their two farthings, saying we should throw our rotten apples at them, wear masks, give them the finger, and one guy even suggested shooting our livestock out of our cannons. Annabel and Eliza, my two girlfriends, both joined in to scold me for leaving the privy lid up, and I remarked that we should launch them to a land where someone cared about their lady times. While everyone laughed (except for the women, who stomped off after slapping me), I had not realized I’d just sealed my doom.

Us boys finally reached a consensus about the attack plan, and not a moment too soon. We decided to wait until they approached, put a crucifix flag up, dress in black, and pretend to be stranded ministers. The men with big beards were okay, but those of us with stubble had to shave, and we rushed to do it before they arrived. Some of us had to use swords, since straight razors weren’t often used on the ship. Indeed, we were committed to our hijinks.

By the time I was shaven, I went back on deck in my black suit to see most of the other men with their game faces on, in costume and frantically waving to our “rescuers”. Shortly, the British ship floated parallel to our starboard side.

“Ello, ‘oly men!” The captain of the Brit vessel greeted from his deck. Lanky with a huge goofy grin, a huge goofy nose, and skin that refused to tan despite the ruthless sun.

“And hello to you, my son.” Cap’n Mutt said in a subtle, accent-less voice with his hands dramatically clasped behind his rear. “We seem to be in some trouble.”

“We can see that, sir! Looks like a bit of a sticky wicket! What seems to be the dilemma?”

“Oh, it’s silly. I’m rather embarrassed, but...” Mutt sighed with a half-smile. “We whipped all our slaves to death.”

“Oh my! Gee, sir! I hate when that happens, so I do! Them things ain’t cheap! But you can’t exactly ask them to not do something again, now can you? Ha! Ye can’t feed ‘em salt water, either! Well, we have plenty of slaves to go ‘round! You can borrow then while we escort your holinesses back home, how’d that be?”

Ted, Frank, and Joey, our three black pirates who naturally had to sit this prank out, were cursing under their breaths below deck with their fists clenched.

“My son, that would be divine. Get it? Divine? Because I worship a deity?” The entire crews of both ships heaved with laughter in a beautiful moment of unity before the Brits boarded the DEATHRABBIT.

Each of us had our rapiers hidden down a leg of our loose pants. Soon every Brit was aboard with ten slaves coming along. Before they got the slaves acquainted with their new quarters, we made small talk for a little while, having no idea that two women were sneaking from the DEATHRABBIT onto the white-sailed Brit ship, the Gaylord Butterworthy.

We were supposed to stall the pale officers, so we started singing hymns (in low voices so they would mistake our gibberish for Latin). Meanwhile, Eliza and Annabel let the remaining slaves on the Gaylord know they were the new commanders of the vessel, using two of my guns to enunciate their points.

After singing the sixteenth chorus of “Jesus Gmlsi Dffftrd God Lfdces,” a familiar voice came from the deck of the Gaylord.

“Hello, you sorry blisters of the Atlantic! This is Captain Eliza Ruth Covington! I’m here to tell you that this ship is going with me and my first mate! And as for the ‘holy men’ among you, they are nothing but filthy pirates! They have swords in their pants and they have a drape over the ship’s label! You may have heard of it! The Dynamite Explosive Awesome Thrashing Hellforged Rascally Atrocious Bloody Bane of the Indian Trader! Toodles, boys! We now have our own bathroom for our “lady times!” Oh, and I hope you can swim!”

A cannon protruded from the Gaylord’s hull and fired a massive hole into the DEATHRABBIT’s belly before the women released their sails and drifted off.

We were silent enough to hear their laughter even when they were a hundred yards away. Finally, we all looked at our foes and destroyed the ship as well as each other in the ensuing gory battle. In the end, only Cap’n Mutt and I survived, floating on a desk.

“Well, today was bad, eh?” I at last spoke.

“Quite,” Mutt answered. “If I die trying, if I have to paddle a thousand miles, which is very likey, I will kill Eliza and Annabel. Are you with me, boy?”

“Actually,” I said as I drew my cutlass, “It’s captain now.”

In one swing, I sliced off Mutt’s head and placed his hat on my head. I smiled, enjoying the feel. “Captain Tony Baloney. Has a nice ring to it,” I mused as I began to paddle west.

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