I Live In Constant Irrational Fear That I'll Wake Up To An Article Saying Yoongi Killed Himself It's

i live in constant irrational fear that i'll wake up to an article saying yoongi killed himself it's such an unreasonable fear but with everything that's been going on i'm actually terrified

y'all spreading photos of yoongi at the police station make me sick to my stomach genuinely want the worst for you nasty ass hoes

l’espoir (희망) – jung hoseok (정호석)

✧.* 18+

cooking had always been more than just a necessity; it was an art form, an expression of emotion, culture, and memory. each dish was a canvas, and the ingredients were the paints, their vibrant colors and textures inviting the imagination to run wild. the kitchen, with its warm, ambient light and the comforting hum of the stove, became a sanctuary where creativity flowed freely.

the process began with the careful selection of ingredients, each one chosen with purpose and care. the rich, earthy scent of freshly picked herbs mingled with the sweet aroma of ripe tomatoes, their skins still glistening with the morning dew. the produce, with its natural imperfections, held a rustic beauty that promised authenticity. the meats, marbled and tender, were selected with an understanding of their unique qualities, each cut a potential masterpiece waiting to be realized.

as the knife danced across the cutting board, there was a rhythm to the motion, a graceful precision that came with years of practice. the crisp snap of a carrot giving way under the blade, the soft thud of a tomato being sliced, and the aromatic release of a garlic clove being crushed—each sound was a note in the symphony of preparation. the senses were fully engaged; the eyes, tracing the vibrant colors that slowly melded together; the nose, inhaling the complex layers of scents that hinted at the flavors to come; the ears, catching the subtle sizzles and crackles as the heat worked its magic.

the heat of the stove brought everything to life, transforming raw ingredients into something greater than the sum of their parts. the onions caramelized slowly, their sharpness mellowing into a deep, golden sweetness. the meats seared to perfection, a satisfying sizzle filling the air as the juices locked in, creating a rich, savory crust. sauces reduced in a patient dance of evaporation and intensification, their once separate flavors now blending into a harmonious whole.

every movement in the kitchen was deliberate, yet there was room for spontaneity, a sudden dash of spice, a last-minute decision to add a touch of lemon zest. cooking was an intuitive dance between tradition and innovation, where recipes handed down through generations met the creative impulses of the moment. It was in this balance that true culinary artistry was born, where the cook's soul was infused into each dish. plating the food was the final act, a chance to present the creation as a visual feast before it was consumed. the vibrant colors of the vegetables, the artful arrangement of proteins, and the careful drizzle of sauces—all were carefully considered to make the dish as pleasing to the eyes as it was to the palate. the plate was the frame, and the food, the artwork, each detail telling a story, each bite an experience.

cooking was more than a task to be completed; it was a journey, a way to communicate without words, to share a part of oneself with others. it was an act of love, a gesture of care, and a celebration of the simple yet profound joy of nourishment. in the kitchen, every dish was a story waiting to be told, a story crafted with the hands, guided by the heart, and shared with those who gathered around the table.

you had never thought much about cooking. it seemed like a mundane task, something that simply had to be done to keep hunger at bay. eggs and instant noodles had always sufficed, their simplicity mirroring your indifference. you often wondered why anyone would spend hours in the kitchen when a meal could be whipped up in minutes. the aroma of a slowly simmering stew or the sight of a beautifully arranged plate held little meaning for you. but that was before everything changed, before your mother fell ill.

her illness crept up slowly, stealing her strength bit by bit until the vibrant woman who had always filled your home with the scent of home-cooked meals could no longer stand for more than a few minutes. the kitchen, once her domain, grew silent, the once lively space now cold and empty. it was then that you realized how much you had taken those meals for granted, how much they had been a part of your life without you even noticing.

with your mother unable to cook for herself, you were thrust into a role you had never imagined. you could have continued with the instant noodles, could have resigned yourself to the blandness of quick and easy meals. but something inside you resisted. you saw the way your mother looked at the untouched pots and pans, the sadness in her eyes as she realized she could no longer provide for you in the way she always had. it was then that you decided to try, to step into the kitchen and see if you could recreate even a fraction of what she used to make.

at first, it was a struggle. you were clumsy, your hands unfamiliar with the rhythm of chopping, stirring, and seasoning. the internet became your guide, recipes your lifeline as you navigated this new world. you searched for dishes she loved, simple at first—soups, stews, anything that might bring her comfort. the first few attempts were far from perfect. you burnt the rice, overcooked the vegetables, and the seasoning was always slightly off. but your mother never complained. she would smile as she tasted each dish, her eyes softening with pride, even when you knew it wasn’t quite right.

as the days turned into weeks, you began to notice a change in yourself. the kitchen, once an alien landscape, started to feel familiar. you learned to savor the process, to enjoy the way ingredients came together to form something new, something that brought a smile to your mother’s face. the care you put into each meal became a form of expression, a way to show her how much you loved her, how much you wanted to take care of her as she had taken care of you.

with time, your confidence grew. you experimented more, tried new techniques, and even began to create your own dishes. your mother’s reactions fueled your passion; the way she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly after the first bite, the way she would eagerly ask what was on the menu for the day. cooking became more than just a duty—it became a way to connect with her, to bring her joy in a time when there was so little of it left.

when she passed, the loss was unbearable. the kitchen, once filled with purpose, became a place of grief. But instead of abandoning it, you found yourself drawn to it, almost as if by instinct. cooking became a way to keep her memory alive, a way to honor the woman who had taught you to love food, even if she hadn’t done so intentionally. each meal was a tribute to her, a way to thank her for introducing you to something that brought you peace, something that made you feel closer to her even though she was gone.

it wasn’t long before you decided to take your passion further. culinary school was an intimidating prospect, but you felt ready. you entered with the same trepidation you had felt when you first stepped into the kitchen, but also with the same determination. the instructors taught you the finer points of the craft, but you always added a piece of yourself into each dish, just as you had done when cooking for your mother. your ideas were met with curiosity and admiration. you presented dishes that reflected your journey, from the humble grilled squid stew that reminded you of your early experiments to the bold korean barbecue sandwiches that showcased your creativity and confidence. each dish was crafted with care, infused with the love and respect you had for the process. you passed the program not just because of your skill, but because of the heart you put into every plate.

cooking had become more than just a way to feed yourself or others; it had become a way to tell your story, to express who you were and where you came from. every time you stood in the kitchen, you felt her presence, guiding your hands as you chopped, stirred, and seasoned. and as you watched others enjoy the food you prepared, their smiles reminded you of her, of the way she had once smiled at you, and you knew that you had found something truly special.

when the opportunity for an internship at l’espoir presented itself, you felt a mix of anticipation and curiosity. you had been through so much already, from your first fumbling steps in the kitchen to the rigorous challenges of culinary school. and now, here you were, standing on the brink of something new. the name of the restaurant itself resonated with you in a way that felt almost fated. l’espoir. hope. it was a simple word, yet it carried such profound meaning, especially for someone like you, who had found in cooking the one thing that kept you grounded, the one thing that still made you happy.

you had nothing against the idea of working there—on the contrary, you were drawn to it. there was something poetic about the name, something that spoke to your soul. cooking had always been more than just a means of sustenance; it was your connection to your past, your way of honoring your mother, and the very essence of hope. so when you accepted the offer, it wasn’t with trepidation or reluctance, but with a quiet, simmering excitement. this, you thought, could be your fresh start.

the day you walked through the doors of l’espoir for the first time, the air was thick with the mingling aromas of herbs, garlic, and roasting meats. the kitchen was a hive of activity, yet it was orchestrated with the precision of a symphony. there was a rhythm to the place, a kind of dance that the chefs performed with their knives, pans, and ladles. the hiss of oil in a hot pan, the clatter of plates being set down, the low hum of focused conversation—all of it combined to create a world that was at once chaotic and harmonious.

the chef in charge was a figure of quiet authority. you had heard of chef jung before, his reputation preceding him like the fragrant bouquet of a well-seasoned broth. he was not known for being flamboyant or loud, but rather for his meticulous attention to detail, his ability to coax the most delicate flavors from even the simplest ingredients. his presence commanded respect, not through fear, but through the sheer weight of his expertise and the dedication he inspired in those who worked under him.

when you were introduced, he looked at you with eyes that seemed to assess everything in a single glance. he was attractive, with brown threads running through his dark hair, and his chef’s whites were as crisp and clean as the linens in the dining room. there was a calmness about him, a confidence that came from years of experience, but also a warmth that hinted at a genuine love for his craft. he extended a hand, his grip firm but not crushing, and welcomed you to his kitchen.

“bienvenue à l’espoir,” he said, his voice steady and rich. “i trust you’re ready to work.” you nodded, feeling the weight of the moment. it was the start of something new, something that could shape the course of your life. the kitchen was no longer just a place to cook; it was a stage, and you were about to step into a role that would challenge you in ways you couldn’t yet imagine.

you learned quickly that chef jung hoseok was not the warm, encouraging figure you had once imagined. there was an air of severity about him, a sharpness that seemed to permeate every corner of the kitchen. from the moment you set foot in l’espoir, you were acutely aware that this place was not a haven of creativity and shared passion but rather a crucible, designed to burn away anything that wasn’t absolute perfection. hoseok was at the center of it all, a man whose entire being seemed devoted to the pursuit of culinary excellence, and nothing else.

his presence was commanding, but not in the way that inspires admiration or loyalty. Instead, it instilled a sense of dread, a fear of making even the smallest mistake. he had a way of watching you, his gaze sharp and unyielding, that made you question every movement, every decision you made. there was no room for error in his kitchen, no margin for anything less than flawless execution. his standards were exacting, his expectations clear in the curt, precise way he delivered instructions. any hope you might have had for guidance or mentorship was quickly dashed—there, you were expected to perform, and to perform perfectly.

as you followed his directives, each task assigned with a precision that bordered on obsession, you felt the weight of his scrutiny. the kitchen, once a place of solace and creativity for you, had become a place of tension, where every clatter of a pan or slip of a knife carried the potential for rebuke. there was no room for error, no space for growth; only the relentless pursuit of perfection under hoseok’s watchful eye.

you were immersed in your work, the steady rhythm of chopping vegetables the only thing keeping your nerves at bay, when you felt a presence beside you. a girl had approached, her demeanor bright and friendly, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere that hoseok cultivated. she leaned in slightly, peering over your shoulder with a curious expression that quickly melted into a warm smile. “your knife skills are really impressive,” she remarked, her voice light and genuine, a welcome relief in the otherwise tense environment.

you glanced up, meeting her gaze with a slight smile of your own. it was the first bit of kindness you had encountered since stepping into this kitchen, and it was enough to ease some of the tension that had been building in your chest. “thank you,” you replied, your voice tinged with gratitude. as you spoke, you noticed the meticulously arranged assortment of seasonings at her station. wach jar and container was perfectly aligned, the spices within organized by color and texture, a testament to her own care and precision. “your seasonings are beautifully arranged,” you added, genuinely impressed by her attention to detail.

she beamed at the compliment, a touch of pride in her expression. “i like to keep them organized. it makes experimenting with flavors a lot easier when everything’s in its place.” there was something infectious about her enthusiasm, a brightness that seemed to push back the shadows that hoseok’s presence cast over the kitchen. it was a small comfort, but in that place, even the smallest comfort felt like a lifeline.

“i’m park chaeyoung, by the way,” she said, extending a hand to you in a gesture that felt almost old-fashioned in its sincerity. you took her hand, finding her grip warm and reassuring. “it’s nice to meet you. i’m—”

before you could finish your introduction, she cut you off with a knowing look. “have you met chef jung yet?” she asked, her tone more serious now, as if she was preparing you for something you hadn’t yet understood. you nodded, the memory of your brief, formal introduction still fresh in your mind. “yeah, he welcomed me and then put me straight to work.”

chaeyoung let out a soft, almost derisive laugh, shaking her head slightly. “rhat sounds like him. work is all he cares about.” her voice held a hint of bitterness, the kind that comes from experience, from seeing too much and saying too little. she hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully, before leaning in slightly closer. “you need to be careful around him.”

The warning was subtle, almost whispered, but it struck you with an unexpected force. there was something in her tone, a depth of concern that went beyond the usual advice given to new interns. you could feel the weight of her words, the implication that there was more to hoseok than just his stern demeanor and strict standards. “what do you mean?” you began, your curiosity piqued, but before she could respond, the sound of a door opening interrupted the moment.

you turned just in time to see hoseok emerge from his office, his presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room. his expression was as unreadable as ever, his eyes scanning the kitchen with the precision of a hawk. every movement, every sound seemed to be registered, cataloged in his mind as he took stock of the ongoing work. there was a moment of stillness, the kitchen holding its collective breath as he surveyed the scene.

then his gaze locked onto one of the other cooks, a young woman named kim dahyun. she looked up at him, her face lighting up with a smile that was almost childlike in its adoration. it was as if his very presence was enough to make her day, her entire being focused on him as if nothing else mattered. “dahyun,” he said, his voice cutting through the air with the same precision as one of his knives. “come to my office.”

she practically leapt to her feet, her eagerness visible as she hurried over to him. there was something unsettling about the way she reacted to him, a kind of blind devotion that seemed out of place in a professional kitchen. she followed him into his office without a moment’s hesitation, the door closing behind them with a quiet finality. you couldn’t help but feel a chill run down your spine as you watched them go. there was something about the exchange that felt wrong, but you couldn’t quite place what it was. it wasn’t just the power dynamic at play—though that was certainly part of it—it was something more, something unspoken that lingered in the air long after they had disappeared from view.

chaeyoung’s voice broke through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to her. “do you see what i mean now?” she asked, her tone a mix of concern and resignation. there was a sadness in her eyes, a look that told you she had seen this play out before, that she knew where it would lead. but you shook your head, still unsure of what she was trying to convey. the confusion must have been evident on your face, because she sighed softly, her expression softening as she looked at you with a mixture of pity and understanding.

“you’ll find out soon enough,” she said quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow that made your heart sink. “just be careful. that’s all i’m saying.” with that, she turned back to her station, leaving you to grapple with the unease that had settled in your chest. the warmth and friendliness that had initially put you at ease were now overshadowed by a sense of foreboding, a feeling that there were things in this kitchen you had yet to understand, and that understanding them might cost you more than you were prepared to give.

the day had worn on relentlessly, each task blurring into the next until you lost track of time. the kitchen was a relentless machine, and you had been one of its many moving parts, a cog in the grand design orchestrated by chef jung. the relentless pace of service had demanded every ounce of your focus, leaving no room for distractions or second thoughts. each dish you plated, each garnish you placed, was an offering, a testament to the skill you had fought so hard to hone.

as the evening crept into night, the rush of orders began to slow, the once frantic energy in the kitchen tapering off into something quieter, more subdued. you found yourself still working, your hands moving on autopilot as you plated the last few dishes with the same care and precision you had started with. it wasn’t until you placed the final plate on the pass that you realized the noise had died down entirely.

you glanced around, noticing for the first time that the other chefs had finished their shifts and were long gone. the kitchen, once bustling with life, was now eerily silent, the only sounds the soft hum of the overhead lights and the faint clatter of pots and pans as you began to clear your station. you hadn’t even noticed that you were the last one standing, too absorbed in the rhythm of the work to register the passage of time.

with a quiet sigh, you began to return the ingredients to their proper places, meticulously ensuring that everything was as it should be. your movements were slow, almost practiced, as the exhaustion of the day finally began to catch up with you. every muscle in your body ached, but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that you had made it through your first day unscathed—or so you thought.

as you turned around to grab the plates from the counter, your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. there, standing in the dim light of the kitchen, was hoseok. he was so still, so silent, that you hadn’t noticed him at all, and the shock of his sudden presence nearly made the plates slip from your hands. you caught them just in time, fumbling slightly as you tried to regain your composure. his expression was unreadable, the same stoic mask he had worn all day. there was a heaviness in the air, a palpable tension that made your breath hitch in your throat. “chef jung,” you managed to say, your voice betraying the nervousness that you had tried so hard to keep at bay. “did you need anything?”

for a moment, he said nothing, simply observing you with that intense, unwavering gaze that you were beginning to find so unsettling. then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “you did a good job today,” he said, his tone flat, almost devoid of emotion. it was the closest thing to praise you had received all day, and yet it felt strangely hollow. you nodded, a nervous laugh escaping you as you turned back to put away the plates and tidy up what was left on the counter. your hands moved quickly, more out of a desire to escape the uncomfortable silence than anything else. but no matter how fast you worked, you could still feel his eyes on you, that penetrating stare that seemed to see through every facade you tried to put up.

it wasn’t until you heard the soft, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps that you realized he was moving closer. slowly, deliberately, he approached, each step measured and precise, like a predator closing in on its prey. the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, a sense of dread settling over you as you continued to work, pretending not to notice how close he was getting. but then, before you knew it, he was right in front of you, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of the kitchen. you froze, your hands stilling as the tension between you reached a boiling point. the counter behind you pressed into your lower back as you instinctively backed away, trying to put some distance between you and the chef who now towered over you.

your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering in your chest as you looked up at him, your mind racing to make sense of the situation. there was something different in his eyes now, something dark and unreadable, a flicker of something that made your skin prickle with unease. you couldn’t look away, trapped by his gaze, unable to move as the air seemed to thicken around you.

“i take good care of my employees,” hoseok said, his voice low, almost a whisper. the words hung in the air, heavy with implication. “especially the ones that know what they’re doing.”

he paused, letting the weight of his statement sink in. the smirk that followed was small, barely noticeable, but it sent a shiver down your spine nonetheless. there was a calculated cruelty in it, a reminder that you were playing a game whose rules you didn’t fully understand. the look of shock on your face must have amused him, because the smirk deepened, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a way that was anything but friendly. he held your gaze for a moment longer, letting the silence stretch out until it became unbearable, before finally turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

you stood there, rooted to the spot, your mind reeling from the encounter. the exhaustion that had weighed you down only moments ago was now replaced by a new kind of fatigue, one born of fear and uncertainty. his words echoed in your mind, a reminder that you had only just begun to scratch the surface of what it meant to work under a man like him. and as the silence of the kitchen closed in around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the real challenge lay ahead, hidden behind the inscrutable mask of the man who had just left you standing there in astonishment.

the next morning at l’espoir was a blur of activity, the kitchen bustling with the early rush of orders and the frenetic energy that came with the start of a new day. as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to the unnerving encounter with hoseok the night before. the more you thought about it, the more the details seemed to gnaw at you, leaving you with a gnawing sense of unease.

in a brief lull between the chaos, you seized the opportunity to speak with chaeyoung, hoping for some clarity. she was at her station, her focus entirely on the task at hand as she expertly wielded her knife. you approached her, the question weighing heavily on your mind. “chaeyoung,” you began, trying to keep your tone casual despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. “last night, hoseok—chef jung—he said something that really threw me off. he said he takes good care of his employees, especially the ones who know what they’re doing. what did he mean by that?”

her eyes widened in surprise, and she set her knife down with a decisive thud. her gaze was fixed on you, a mixture of shock and concern crossing her features. “that was faster than i thought,” she said, her voice laced with a gravity that made your stomach churn. desperation tinged your voice as you pleaded with her for an explanation. “what do you mean? please, just tell me what’s going on.”

she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could utter a single word, the same voice that had cut through the atmosphere the previous day filled the kitchen once more. chef hoseok’s presence was unmistakable, his authority evident even from a distance. he appeared in the doorway, his stance casual but his expression unreadable. “seo soojin,” he called out, his tone commanding and precise. the moment the name left his lips, the kitchen seemed to hold its breath.

you turned to see soojin, another fellow cook, visibly excited as she looked up at hoseok. her face lit up with a smile that was almost childlike, a contrast to the stern expression you had come to associate with him. without a moment’s hesitation, she followed him out of the kitchen, her steps light and eager. dahyun, who had been bustling around earlier with a beaming expression, now stood with a look of disappointed resignation. her eyes followed soojin and hoseok as they disappeared through the door, her shoulders slumping slightly as if she had expected something different.

as you watched the scene unfold, hoseok’s gaze met yours for a brief, unsettling moment. there was that smirk again, a fleeting expression that seemed to carry a weight of its own. he held your gaze just long enough to make you feel uncomfortable before turning back toward soojin, leaving you standing there with a knot of confusion in your chest. you turned back to chaeyoung, your confusion evident. “what’s going on? why does he keep doing this?”

chaeyoung let out a heavy sigh, turning to face you fully. her expression was one of resignation, her eyes filled with an emotion that was hard to decipher. “you will never be special no matter how good you are,” she said, her voice calm but carrying a weight that made your heart sink. there was no malice in her tone, but the words were stark and cold, cutting through the air with an unspoken finality. she paused, letting her words sink in before continuing. “don’t let him make you think you’re special. he has a way of making you believe you’re important, but it’s all a part of the game he plays. you’re just another cog in the machine.”

without waiting for a response, she turned back to her station, picking up her knife and resuming her work with a practiced efficiency. the clatter of the knife against the cutting board was the only sound that filled the silence that followed, the atmosphere in the kitchen heavy with the weight of her words. you stood there, rooted to the spot, your mind spinning with the implications of what she had said. the confusion that had settled over you was now compounded by a growing sense of foreboding.

the kitchen was a symphony of clattering pans, the hiss of flames, and the murmur of orders being called out and fulfilled with practiced precision. you moved through it all with a growing sense of unease, still rattled by the strange dynamics you had witnessed earlier. the incident with soojin played over in your mind, intertwining with chaeyoung's cryptic warnings, leaving you with a gnawing sense of dread.

hours passed in a blur of activity, the rhythm of the kitchen demanding your full attention, but even as you focused on your tasks, a part of you remained on edge. And then, just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the routine, the atmosphere in the kitchen shifted. the familiar presence of chef hoseok filled the room, his energy commanding and intense. you were used to him surveying the kitchen with a critical eye, but this time, he wasn’t simply observing.

to everyone’s astonishment, including your own, hoseok called out your name. the room seemed to freeze as he paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words hang in the air before continuing. “come to my office.”

a shiver ran down your spine, your blood running cold as chaeyoung’s eyes widened in shock. she turned to you with a look of apprehension, and you could see the fear reflected in her gaze, as though she had been waiting for this very moment and dreading it all the same. you nodded weakly, the motion almost imperceptible, as you tried to steady your breathing. with leaden feet, you followed him out of the kitchen, feeling the envious glares from many of the female cooks boring into your back. the intensity of their stares made your skin prickle with discomfort, but you swallowed your fear, forcing yourself to maintain some semblance of composure.

the walk to his office felt interminable, every step echoing in your mind with a sense of finality. when you finally reached his door, it creaked open with an ominous slowness, revealing the space within. the office was stark and minimalistic, a sharp contrast to the chaos of the kitchen. the walls were a cold, muted gray, devoid of any decoration save for a single, large window that overlooked the city. the desk was made of dark, polished wood, a few neatly stacked papers and a sleek laptop the only items adorning its surface. a single chair sat opposite his, the leather worn but comfortable, a place where countless others had sat before you.

hoseok moved behind his desk with a certain predatory grace, settling into his chair and fixing you with a smirk that sent another shiver down your spine. the silence in the room was heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that made your heart race. you stood there, feeling out of place, as though you were trespassing in a space where you didn’t belong. his eyes remained on you, studying your every move as you finally gathered the courage to speak. “why did you need to see me, chef jung?”

he was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering, and then, with a calculated slowness, he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “you’ve got a special gift, don’t you?” the question took you off guard, and you furrowed your brow in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“for cooking,” he clarified, though his tone carried an edge of something more. “you’re an outstanding chef.” you forced a nervous laugh, trying to downplay the compliment that felt more like a trap. “thank you, chef jung.”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were measuring your reaction, and then he continued, his voice smooth and deliberate. “performance means everything to me. in the kitchen, maybe even in the office.” the sound of his words hung in the air, and a sense of unease tightened your chest. you frowned, trying to keep your voice steady as you asked, “what do you mean by that?”

instead of answering, hoseok stood up from his chair with a fluid motion, his eyes never leaving yours. as he approached, you instinctively backed away, your heels hitting the wall behind you. the cold surface pressed into your back, trapping you as he moved closer, his presence overwhelming and suffocating. he was mere inches away from you now, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low purr. “you’re a pretty girl,” he murmured, his tone almost mocking. “a shy one too, it seems.”

your breath caught in your throat, your mind scrambling for a way out of this situation. his gaze was piercing, intense, and when you turned your head to avoid it, he quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “what’s this?” he asked, his voice laced with a cruel curiosity. “you really don’t want to sleep with me?”

his question hit you like a slap to the face, your eyes widening in shock as the reality of the situation clicked into place. the pieces of the puzzle—the office visits, the strange behavior of the female cooks, chaeyoung’s warnings—all fell together with a sickening clarity. a scoff escaped your lips, more out of disbelief than anything else. “why would i want to sleep with you?”

hoseok’s expression faltered, surprise flickering in his eyes as though he hadn’t expected such a response. you could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to reconcile your reaction with whatever twisted game he was playing. you pressed on, the anger rising in your chest as you confronted him. “do you bring all of your female cooks in here just to sleep with them? what kind of restaurant is this?”

the question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, the power dynamic between you shifted. his gaze hardened, the smirk fading as his expression turned cold. “watch what you say,” he warned, his tone icy. but the fear that had gripped you before was gone, replaced by a fiery determination. “or what?” you shot back, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. “you’ll fire me?”

he seemed genuinely taken aback, as if no one had ever dared to stand up to him before. his eyes searched yours, trying to find a crack in your resolve, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction. “no need to fire me,” you continued, your voice firm. “because i quit.”

the words were final, a declaration of your independence from whatever twisted game he had been playing. you could see the shock in his eyes, the disbelief that someone had dared to defy him. “you have some balls to think i’d sleep with you,” you added, your voice dripping with contempt. “and for what? you’re an asshole who takes advantage of women for the price of an overcooked steak.” his eyes were wide, his face a mask of astonishment as you slipped off your uniform coat jacket, the fabric heavy in your hands. with a final, defiant glare, you slammed it down on his desk, the sound reverberating through the silent office. without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out, leaving the door ajar behind you.

the night air was cool as you walked home, the city lights a blur of distant halos against the encroaching darkness. each step felt heavier than the last, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl of emotions as the gravity of what you had just done began to settle in. the confrontation with hoseok replayed in your mind on an endless loop—his smirk, his words, your defiance. In the moment, it had felt powerful, even righteous, but now, with the adrenaline fading, a different sensation began to take hold.

by the time you reached the front door of your small apartment, the realization of your actions had fully sunk in. you paused, your hand trembling slightly as you reached for the keys in your pocket. the quiet creak of the door as it swung open felt like the final sound before the storm. you stepped inside, the familiar scent of home offering a fleeting sense of comfort, but it wasn’t enough to quell the rising tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

the door closed behind you with a soft click, and suddenly, the weight of the evening pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket. you stood there, motionless, in the middle of your living room, the silence around you amplifying the chaos in your mind. the tears came slowly at first, a single drop trailing down your cheek as the full impact of what you had done crashed over you like a wave. you had just walked out on your internship, on the one opportunity that was supposed to be your stepping stone into the culinary world. hoseok was an asshole, yes, a man who clearly enjoyed taking advantage of his position, using his authority to charm his way into the beds of his female employees. but he hadn’t forced anyone—everything he did was consensual. so why had you been so angry, so furious that you had thrown away everything you had worked for?

you sank down onto the couch, your body trembling as the tears began to flow more freely. it wasn’t just about hoseok’s arrogance, his assumption that you would be willing to trade your dignity for his approval, though that stung deeply. it was the way he had discredited your culinary abilities entirely, reducing you to nothing more than a pretty face in his kitchen. the care and passion you had poured into your cooking, the countless hours spent honing your craft, all of it had been dismissed with a casual smirk and a lecherous comment.

you pressed your hands to your face, trying to stifle the sobs that wracked your body. it felt as though the ground beneath you had crumbled, leaving you adrift in a sea of doubt and regret. you had been so proud to land this internship, so eager to prove yourself, and now it was all slipping away. the memories of your mother flooded your mind—her gentle smile as she tasted your first attempts at cooking, the way she had encouraged you to follow your passion, the pride in her eyes when you were accepted into culinary school. all of it, you feared, was being tossed into the abyss along with your future.

your sobs grew louder, your chest heaving with the force of your despair. you had wanted so badly to succeed, to make your mother proud, and now it felt like you had failed her, failed yourself. you couldn’t imagine what would happen next—whether you would be blacklisted, your reputation tarnished, or if this was the end of your dreams altogether. the sound of your phone buzzing broke through your sobs, the sudden noise startling you. you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, your vision blurry as you fumbled to pull your phone from your pocket.

the screen glowed in the dim light, an unknown number displayed across it. for a moment, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as a flood of possibilities rushed through your mind. slowly, you unlocked the phone and opened the message. the words on the screen made your breath catch in your throat: “this is hoseok. be ready for work tomorrow. come on time.”

your eyes widened in shock, the tears still clinging to your lashes as you stared at the message in disbelief. you read it over and over, each time hoping that you hadn’t misread it, that it wasn’t some cruel joke. but the message remained the same, clear and concise, with no hint of the malice or arrogance you had come to expect from him. a fresh wave of tears welled up in your eyes, but this time they weren’t tears of despair. you cried out in a mixture of relief and gratitude, your voice breaking as you whispered, “thank you.” the words felt inadequate, too small to convey the whirlwind of emotions that surged through you—relief, disbelief, hope. you had been certain that you were finished, that you had burned the bridge beyond repair, but now, against all odds, hoseok was giving you another chance.

you clutched the phone to your chest, your tears flowing freely as you continued to murmur your thanks, as if by doing so you could somehow ensure that this second chance was real, that it wouldn’t slip away from you. the room around you was a blur, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and gratitude, but one thing was clear—you had been given an unexpected opportunity to prove yourself once more.

the early morning light filtered through the tall windows of the restaurant, casting a soft glow across the kitchen as you stepped inside. the space was quiet, the usual bustle of the day not yet begun, and the stillness allowed you a moment to steady yourself. the memory of last night was still fresh, the relief of hoseok’s message warring with the anxiety that had built up since then. you had come in early, determined to prove yourself, to show that you deserved the second chance he had inexplicably given you.

as you made your way through the kitchen, the faint sounds of someone already at work reached your ears—soft chopping, the gentle sizzle of something on the stove. you hesitated at the doorway, your eyes falling on hoseok, who stood alone at one of the stations. he moved with a kind of graceful precision, each action deliberate and practiced, as though he were conducting a symphony of flavors. his focus was entirely on the task before him, but even from this distance, you could see the ease with which he worked, the confidence in his every movement.

for a moment, you just watched him, awed by the skill that had made him such a formidable figure in the culinary world. he was the man whose name alone commanded respect, whose kitchen you had been so eager to join. and here he was, caramelizing onions with a level of care that spoke to a deep understanding of his craft. the rich, sweet scent filled the air, mingling with the subtle heat of the kitchen, and you found yourself momentarily entranced by the simplicity of the process.

it was then that you noticed something—he was stirring the onions more than you thought necessary. the instinctive urge to offer advice welled up inside you, but you fought it, knowing that you were in no position to critique a chef of his caliber. but before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out, almost without your permission. “chef, you shouldn’t stir so much,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but the sound carried in the quiet kitchen.

the moment the words left your lips, regret hit you like a wave. how could you be so foolish? he was the same man who had just given you a chance to redeem yourself, and here you were, criticizing his technique. your heart raced as you waited for the inevitable rebuke, the sharp reprimand that you were sure was coming. you had spoken out of turn, overstepping boundaries, and now you were certain that your second chance was about to be snatched away as quickly as it had been given.

but instead of anger, instead of the cold dismissal you had expected, hoseok paused. he stood still for a moment, as if considering your words, before he slowly turned to face you. his eyes met yours, and you felt a jolt of fear mixed with confusion at the look he gave you—calm, measured, and without a hint of the scorn you had braced yourself for. “you’re right,” he said, his voice carrying a tone of acknowledgment rather than irritation. “they’ll brown faster if i don’t stir so much.”

the surprise that washed over you was almost as strong as the initial fear. your eyes widened in disbelief, and you barely managed to stammer out a response. but before you could say anything, he smiled—a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips that softened the usually stern lines of his face. the expression was brief, gone as quickly as it had appeared, but it left you reeling. hoseok had not only accepted your advice but had done so with a humility that you hadn’t expected from someone of his stature.

he said nothing about the incident the previous day, and you knew better than to bring it up. the tension that had gripped you since last night eased slightly, but you still felt a lingering sense of unease. was it his way of testing you? or had he genuinely respected your input? the uncertainty gnawed at you, but you forced yourself to focus, reminding yourself that you were here to work, to prove yourself worthy of the opportunity he had extended.

his voice broke through your thoughts as he turned back to the onions, resuming his work with a quiet confidence. “i have an assignment for you,” he said, his tone suggesting that this was more than just a simple task. “since you seem to know so much.”

your heart skipped a beat at the words, a mix of anxiety and determination surging through you. you nodded, keeping your expression as neutral as possible, though inside you were mentally cursing yourself for speaking up earlier. you didn’t want him to think you were arrogant, or worse, insubordinate. but there was no turning back now. you had opened your mouth, and now you would have to see this through.

“i want a new product made to represent the restaurant,” he continued, his focus still on the onions but his words clearly meant for you. “something that embodies what we stand for here at l’espoir. you seem like you have some ideas, so i expect you’ll get right on it.”

the weight of the task settled over you like a heavy mantle, but you nodded again, your mind already racing with possibilities. it was no small request—creating a signature dish was a challenge that could define your place in the kitchen, perhaps even your future as a chef. you swallowed your nerves and replied with a quiet, “yes, chef,” your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. hoseok gave a small nod of acknowledgment, his attention once again on the stove as he continued to work. you stood there for a moment longer, watching as he moved with that same effortless grace, turning the now perfectly caramelized onions in the pan.

the kitchen became your safe spot as the hours slipped away, the clang of pots and the rhythmic sound of chopping filling the air. you were deep in the creative process, each movement purposeful, each decision calculated. the pressure of hoseok’s challenge weighed on you, but it was that very pressure that drove you, igniting the fire that had once fueled your passion for cooking. the thoughts of the previous day, the tension and confrontation, were pushed to the back of your mind as you focused on the task at hand.

you moved with an ease that came only from years of practice, your hands guiding the knife with precision as you sliced through vegetables and herbs. the familiar scent of garlic and onions filled the air as you sautéed them in a pan, the sizzling sound offering a comforting rhythm to your work. you experimented with various combinations, each one designed to evoke the flavors and essence that would truly represent the restaurant. the process was meticulous, each trial a step closer to finding the perfect dish that would encapsulate what l’espoir stood for.

but it wasn’t until your eyes landed on the jar of white kimchi that inspiration truly struck. the jar sat on the counter, seemingly forgotten amidst the array of ingredients scattered before you. the sight of it sparked a memory—an understanding of what this dish needed to be. kimchi was more than just a food; it was a symbol of resilience, diversity, and unity. the way it brought together a myriad of ingredients, each with its own distinct flavor, to create something harmonious and whole—it was the essence of what you wanted to capture.

qu'il y ait de l'espoir, let there be hope. the connection was undeniable, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. you worked quickly now, the energy flowing through you as you gathered ingredients. the white kimchi would be the star of the dish, its subtle flavors a delicate balance of sweetness and tang, with just the right amount of heat. it was different from the traditional red kimchi, yet it carried the same spirit. the idea of turning it into a ravioli—a fusion of korean and italian influences—felt like the perfect way to represent the blending of cultures, the melding of ideas that l’espoir sought to achieve.

unbeknownst to you, hoseok had entered the kitchen, his presence unnoticed as you became completely absorbed in your work. he lingered by the entrance, watching you with a mix of curiosity and something else—a hint of admiration, perhaps? he was drawn to the way you moved, the way your focus never wavered as you diced, sliced, and sautéed with unwavering determination. there was something about your dedication, the way you poured your heart into every step of the process, that intrigued him. a small smile played at the corner of his lips as he observed you in your element.

you began by preparing the filling for the ravioli, finely chopping the white kimchi and mixing it with sautéed garlic, onions, and a touch of ginger to enhance the flavors. the kimchi’s subtle acidity needed to be balanced, so you added a hint of honey to mellow the sharpness, allowing the natural sweetness of the fermented cabbage to shine through. the mixture was then combined with a smooth ricotta cheese, adding a creamy texture that would complement the crispness of the kimchi. you carefully tasted the filling, adjusting the seasoning with a pinch of salt and a sprinkle of black pepper, ensuring that each bite would carry the complexity of flavors you intended.

you moved on to making the pasta dough, your hands working methodically as you combined flour and eggs, kneading the mixture until it was smooth and elastic. the dough needed to rest, so you covered it with a damp cloth and set it aside, using the time to clean your station and prepare the rest of the components. hoseok watched as you moved around the kitchen, noting the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the way your fingers deftly handled the ingredients. there was a quiet confidence in the way you worked, a confidence that had been absent when you first started. he saw it in the way you now approached the tasks before you, with a sense of purpose and an understanding of what you wanted to achieve.

once the dough was ready, you rolled it out into thin sheets, the smooth surface gliding beneath your fingers. you carefully spooned the kimchi filling onto the dough, leaving enough space between each dollop to fold the dough over and seal the edges. your movements were precise as you pressed the edges together, forming delicate ravioli that held the promise of something unique. you then moved to the stove, bringing a pot of salted water to a gentle boil. the ravioli was carefully lowered into the water, and you watched as they floated to the surface, the dough turning tender and translucent as they cooked. the anticipation built within you, your mind racing with thoughts of how this dish would come together.

in a separate pan, you melted butter, allowing it to brown slightly to bring out a nutty aroma. you added sage leaves, their earthy scent mingling with the butter, creating a sauce that would coat the ravioli in a layer of rich flavor. as the ravioli finished cooking, you transferred them into the pan, gently tossing them in the butter sauce, ensuring that each piece was evenly coated. hoseok’s eyes never left you as you worked, his curiosity deepening as he saw the dish take shape. there was something different about you, something that set you apart from the others he had worked with. it wasn’t just your skill—it was the passion, the thoughtfulness that you put into each step of the process. he found himself drawn to it, intrigued by the way you had approached the challenge he had set for you.

you plated the ravioli with care, arranging them in a way that was both visually appealing and respectful of the dish’s simplicity. you finished with a sprinkle of toasted pine nuts for texture and a light drizzle of the remaining butter sauce, the golden liquid pooling around the edges of the plate. the dish was a delicate balance of flavors and textures, each element working in harmony to create something that was more than just food—it was a reflection of your creativity, your understanding of what it meant to cook with heart.

the air in the kitchen had been filled with a sense of anticipation. after your creation had come to life, it was impossible to keep the secret contained. other chefs and cooks, sensing the undercurrent of something new, began to trickle into the kitchen, their curiosity piqued. the atmosphere shifted as more and more of your colleagues gathered around the counter where your dish sat, its delicate aroma mingling with the scents of the day’s preparations. hoseok approached you first, his expression unreadable yet calm, his eyes glinting with a hint of interest. “tell me about this dish,” he asked, his tone firm but not unkind. it was a command wrapped in curiosity, one that invited you to share the thought process behind the creation that now held the attention of the entire kitchen.

taking a deep breath, you began to explain, your voice steady as you described the inspiration behind the dish. “i wanted to create something that reflects both the tradition and the innovation that this restaurant represents. white kimchi is often overshadowed by its red counterpart, but it’s just as rich in flavor, just as versatile. i thought, why not use it in a way that brings together different culinary worlds? the idea of combining it with something as classic as ravioli felt like the perfect way to bridge that gap. the tang of the kimchi, balanced with the creaminess of the ricotta, and then brought together by the sage butter—it’s a fusion that represents the diversity of our kitchen.”

as you spoke, you could sense the room’s mood shift. some of the chefs exchanged glances, their brows furrowed in skepticism. the idea of blending such distinct culinary traditions was, to many, a daring move. you could hear a few murmurs of disbelief—mixing korean and otalian cuisine in such an intimate way was almost sacrilegious to the purists. a chef from the back muttered something about the integrity of traditional dishes, and a few others nodded in agreement. but you stood your ground, explaining how the fusion wasn’t meant to diminish either culture, but rather to highlight the beauty in their union.

hoseok remained silent as you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. when you finished, the room fell into an uneasy silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. he didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps he didn’t care about—the unease among the other chefs. instead, his gaze dropped to the dish before him, and without a word, he picked up a fork, cutting through one of the ravioli with precision before bringing it to his mouth.

the room seemed to hold its breath as he chewed, his face a mask of concentration. you felt your heart pounding in your chest, the doubt from your peers weighing heavily on you, despite your best efforts to stay confident. the seconds stretched on, each one filled with an unbearable silence, until finally, hoseok’s expression shifted. a glint of something—was it surprise?—sparked in his eyes. slowly, he looked back at you, and to your utter astonishment, his lips curved into a smile. “this is amazing,” he said, his voice low but full of admiration. the tension in the room seemed to dissipate as his words sank in, and you could see the other chefs exchanging looks of surprise. “the balance of flavors, the creativity in combining these two culinary worlds—it’s exactly what i was hoping for. congratulations.”

a wave of relief washed over you, so powerful it almost brought tears to your eyes. the disbelief from your colleagues gave way to murmurs of approval as they began to gather closer, each one eager to taste the dish that had earned such high praise from chef jung. hoseok stepped back, allowing the others to try the ravioli, his smile lingering as he watched their reactions. he didn’t need to say more—his approval was enough to turn the tide of skepticism. as the chefs began to taste your creation, you could see their initial doubt melt away, replaced with genuine appreciation for the flavors you had brought together. it wasn’t long before the dish became the talk of the kitchen, its success spreading quickly through the restaurant’s staff. praise followed from all corners, each compliment fueling your sense of accomplishment. it was as though the entire kitchen had been given a new burst of energy, your dish acting as a catalyst for inspiration.

the next few days were a whirlwind of activity. news of the dish reached the restaurant’s management, and before you knew it, there was talk of adding it to the menu as the restaurant’s special. hoseok worked with you to fine-tune the presentation, ensuring that every detail was perfect. the dish quickly gained popularity among the patrons, its unique fusion of flavors creating a buzz that spread beyond the restaurant’s walls.

the recognition came swiftly. a local food critic wrote a glowing review, praising the dish for its innovative approach and its seamless blending of cultures. soon after, a food magazine reached out, requesting an interview with you and hoseok to discuss the inspiration behind the creation. but the pinnacle of the dish’s success came when the restaurant received a request to film a commercial, showcasing the process of creating the now-famous white kimchi ravioli.

the day of the shoot arrived, and the kitchen was abuzz with excitement. you felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration as you prepared for the filming, knowing that this was a rare opportunity to showcase your skills on such a large platform. hoseok introduced you to one of the chefs who would be working with you for the shoot—kim seokjin. he was tall and handsome, with an easy smile that instantly put you at ease. there was something about his demeanor that was both professional and friendly, a balance that made working with him feel natural.

“nice to meet you,” seokjin said with a grin, his hand outstretched. “i’ve heard a lot about your dish.” you shook his hand, smiling back. “likewise. i’m looking forward to working with you.”

hoseok, standing off to the side with the director, watched the exchange with a calm expression, but you could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. there was a tension in the way he stood, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed the interaction between you and seokjin. it was as though something about the easy camaraderie between you and the other chef rubbed him the wrong way, but he said nothing, his face a mask of professionalism.

the filming began, and you and seokjin worked together seamlessly, preparing the ingredients for the dish. the cameras rolled as you sliced through vegetables, your hands moving with the precision that had been honed through years of practice. he was skilled, his movements confident as he worked alongside you, but there was a moment when he began to cut the kimchi in a way that you knew could be improved.

“seokjin, let me show you something,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. you took his hands in yours, guiding the knife through the kimchi with a more efficient motion. your fingers brushed against his as you adjusted his grip, your eyes meeting his as you explained the technique. “of you cut it this way, it’ll keep the pieces more uniform and release the flavors more evenly.”

his gaze locked with yours, his smile widening as he nodded. “thanks, that’s really helpful,” he replied, his tone warm and appreciative. the moment was brief, but the connection between you and him was undeniable. it was a simple act of collaboration, but to hoseok, who stood watching from the sidelines, it seemed to be something more. his jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to suppress the surge of irritation that welled up within him. it was irrational, he knew that, but the sight of you working so closely with seokjin, the way your hands had lingered on his, sparked a jealousy that he struggled to control.

as the scene wrapped up, you turned to hoseok, eager to know if he was pleased with how the shoot had gone. “chef, how was it?” you asked, your voice laced with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. his response was clipped, his tone betraying the frustration he was trying to hide. “it was fine,” he said shortly, his eyes avoiding yours. without waiting for your reply, he turned on his heel and retreated back into the kitchen, leaving you standing there with a sense of unease.

seokjin, noticing the tension, turned to you with a soft smile. “it was nice meeting you,” he said, his voice sincere. “you did great today.”

“thanks, seokjin,” you replied, forcing a smile. “you too.” as he made his way back to his station, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. hoseok’s sudden coldness lingered in your mind, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself that you had done your best. still, the uncertainty gnawed at you as you followed him back into the kitchen, the familiar scents and sounds offering little comfort.

you hesitated at the entrance, unsure whether to approach him, but before you could decide, hoseok’s voice cut through the silence, cold and commanding. “kim yerim,” he called, the sound of the name causing your heart to skip a beat. “come to my office.”

the girl peered over, a smile gracing her face as she obliged, following hoseok out of the kitchen and toward his office. the sight made your stomach churn, as did the sound of silence. you didn't miss it, the look he gave you before slipping out of the station. it was a look that you couldn't quite define, but it was enough to make your blood run cold. no matter how supportive he was, old habits died hard. at the end of the day, he was still the same man who did as he pleased with the women willing to give him a piece of their dignity.

chaeyoung approached you not long after the tension-filled exchange in the kitchen. her eyes were bright with excitement, a wide grin spreading across her face. “you were amazing today!” she exclaimed, her voice full of genuine admiration. “the way you handled everything, from the dish to the filming, it was perfect.” you smiled at her praise, feeling a warmth spread through you. “thank you, chae,” you replied, your voice soft but appreciative. the validation from your peers meant as much as the recognition from hoseok.

she wasn’t done, though. she leaned in slightly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “and you and seokjin,” she began, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret, “seemed to have something going on there. the way he was looking at you—” you laughed, shaking your head at the implication. “no, no, there’s nothing going on,” you denied, though you couldn’t stop the slight blush that crept into your cheeks at the memory of seokjin’s warm smile.

she raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she continued, “the team is going out for celebratory drinks tonight. it’s all on your behalf, so you have to come.” you hesitated, the idea of joining everyone for drinks sounding appealing yet a little daunting. “i’ll think about it,” you said, not committing but leaving the door open.

before you could say more, another voice chimed in, the tone playful yet insistent. “you’ll be there.” you turned to see seokjin, a knowing smile on his lips as he looked at you expectantly. his presence was both reassuring and slightly unnerving, given how easily he seemed to be able to read your thoughts. you found yourself nodding, caught up in his easy charm. “okay, i’ll be there,” you agreed, pausing before adding with a bit of uncertainty, “are you coming too?”

he shrugged, his expression teasing. “only if you want me to,” he said, his tone light but laced with something more. chaeyoung couldn’t hold back her giggles, her support for the budding camaraderie between you two evident in the way she swooned slightly. “drinks at nine,” she reminded, her voice full of enthusiasm.

but before you could fully relax into the idea of a fun night out, another voice cut through the conversation, this one colder and more authoritative. “what drinks?”

the three of you turned to see hoseok standing a few feet away, his expression stoic, his eyes focused intently on the three of you. chaeyoung, caught off guard, fumbled over her words, her earlier confidence evaporating under Hoseok’s intense gaze. “uh, we were just, um, planning to go out for drinks to celebrate, and we were wondering if you’d like to come too?” she managed to get out, her voice faltering slightly with each word.

you inwardly winced at the thought of hoseok joining. the situation already felt complicated enough without adding his presence to the mix, especially after the way he’d been watching you and seokjin earlier. but to your dismay, his expression didn’t change as he responded, “of course, i’ll be coming.” there was a finality in his tone that left no room for argument. you avoided looking at him, unsure of how to navigate the sudden shift in the atmosphere. instead, you turned back to seokjin, who was still standing beside you. his warm smile hadn’t faltered, and the ease in his demeanor seemed unaffected by hoseok’s looming presence.

hoseok, however, seemed to notice the silent exchange between you and seokjin. his eyes narrowed slightly, and his voice took on an edge as he asked, “and seokjin, will you be coming too?” he met his gaze calmly, his smile never wavering. “yes, i’ll be there.”

a smirk played on hoseok’s lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “great,” he said, the word carrying a weight that seemed to linger in the air long after it was spoken.

the conversation ended as quickly as it had begun, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. chaeyoung glanced between you, seokjin, and hoseok, clearly sensing the undercurrent of tension but unsure how to address it. after a moment, she cleared her throat, forcing a cheerful tone as she said, “well, i’ll see you guys tonight, then!”

she quickly excused herself, leaving you alone with seokjin and hoseok. the latter’s eyes remained on you for a moment longer before he turned on his heel and walked away, heading back toward his office. aeokjin turned to you, his voice gentle as he said, “don’t worry about it. tonight will be fun, i promise.” you nodded, though the knot in your stomach didn’t entirely loosen.

getting ready for the evening felt different than it had for other nights out. the tension that had brewed all day still lingered, and as you stood before the mirror in your room, smoothing the floral dress you’d chosen, a part of you wondered if going was even a good idea. but you’d made a commitment, and besides, after everything that had happened, a part of you wanted to celebrate. you had achieved something noteworthy, and despite the awkwardness with hoseok, there was a sense of pride that you couldn’t ignore.

your hair, which you had usually kept tied up or tucked away beneath a chef’s hat, cascaded freely over your shoulders. the soft waves framed your face, and you had taken extra care with your makeup, applying just enough to enhance your features without overdoing it. you hardly recognized yourself as you gave one last glance in the mirror, but the reflection was a pleasant surprise. tonight, you weren’t just the diligent chef striving to prove herself—you were someone who could allow herself to feel beautiful.

when you finally walked into the barbecue bar, the warm, smoky scent of grilled meat filled the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of your peers. you were greeted enthusiastically by your colleagues, their smiles wide and their voices carrying over the lively buzz of the place. chaeyoung, already a bit tipsy, threw her arms around you, her eyes sparkling with delight. “you made it!” she cheered, pulling you into a tight hug. “and look at you, so pretty tonight!”

you smiled, trying to soak in the compliments, but your gaze drifted instinctively toward hoseok, who was seated at the end of the table. his eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his expression—something stern, something unreadable. you looked away quickly, the knot in your stomach tightening, only to catch seokjin’s gaze instead.

to your surprise, his face lit up when he saw you, and before you could react, he was closing the distance between you and pulling you into a warm hug. “you look prettier than usual,” he said, his tone playful but sincere. his eyes scanned your floral dress, taking in the way it flowed around you, your hair loose and soft, the faint makeup you had applied. your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you smiled, feeling a bit shy at his directness. “thank you,” you managed, the words coming out softer than you intended. “you don’t look so bad yourself.”

he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and released you from the hug. from the corner of your eye, you noticed the way hoseok’s hand tightened around his shot glass, his knuckles going white. a moment later, he downed the entire shot in one go, the glass hitting the table with a bit too much force.

you took a seat, finding yourself in the center of the group, seokjin to your left, chaeyoung to your right, with hoseok directly across from you. the conversation flowed easily, the drinks making everyone more relaxed, more willing to laugh and share stories. chaeyoung, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, leaned in closer to you at one point, her voice a bit louder than usual. “you and seokjin are so adorable together,” she teased, her words slightly slurred. you felt your face heat up, and you laughed nervously, waving a hand dismissively. “we’re not together,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, though you could feel the curious stares of your colleagues.

seokjin leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “for now,” he added, his voice low enough that only those closest to you could hear. the whole table erupted in laughter, everyone except hoseok. he didn’t laugh. Instead, his face hardened, and he slammed his glass on the table with enough force to silence the room. without a word, he pushed back his chair and stood, heading toward the bathroom, leaving the table in an uncomfortable silence.

seokjin was the first to break the awkwardness, his voice a bit softer this time as he leaned in toward you. “don’t worry about him,” he said, his tone reassuring. “he’s just—” he paused, searching for the right words, but ultimately shook his head. “it’s not your fault.” you nodded, but the uneasy feeling in your chest didn’t dissipate. the rest of the group tried to continue the conversation, but it was clear that hoseok’s sudden departure had put a damper on the mood.

when he finally returned, it was obvious he had been drinking too much. his steps were slightly unsteady, and there was a glazed look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. you watched him carefully, noticing how his hand shook slightly as he poured himself another drink. concerned, you leaned in closer to him, your voice low. “are you going to be able to make it home?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

he looked at you, his expression hard to read, his eyes clouded by the alcohol. “what’s it to you?” he slurred, his words coming out a bit harsher than he probably intended. you bit back a sigh, your patience starting to wear thin. turning away from him, you addressed the others at the table. “i’m sorry, but i think i’m going to have to call it a night,” you said, pausing to glance at hoseok, who was swaying slightly in his seat. “i’ll need to drive hoseok home.”

the group erupted in protests, insisting that you didn’t need to take responsibility, but seokjin, who had been quietly observing, stood up and hugged you. “if you need anything, call me,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. you nodded, appreciating his support, and helped hoseok to his feet. he was surprisingly heavy, leaning against you more than you expected as you guided him out of the bar. the night air was cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth inside the bar. hoseok mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t quite make out, but you were too focused on getting him to his car to ask him to repeat it.

when you finally reached his car, he fumbled for his keys, dropping them once before managing to hand them to you. “you’re mean,” he muttered, his voice petulant, catching you off guard. the change in his demeanor was startling—gone was the stern, composed chef you were used to, replaced by someone far more vulnerable and childlike. taken aback, you looked at him, your brow furrowed. “put your seatbelt on if you’re sober enough to know how,” you said, your voice firm but not unkind.

he scoffed, his expression challenging as he tried and failed to buckle his seatbelt. the buckle slipped from his grasp twice before you finally sighed and leaned over him to secure it yourself. as you clicked the seatbelt into place, you glanced up and found his eyes fixed on you. his gaze was softer now, the earlier harshness replaced with something else, something that made your heart skip a beat.

flustered, you quickly looked away, securing him in before retreating to the driver’s seat. you started the car, the engine purring softly as you pulled out of the parking lot. “where do you live?” you asked, glancing over at him. but there was no response. when you looked over, you saw that he had already fallen asleep, his head resting against the window. you couldn’t help but scoff quietly, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips. “lightweight,” you muttered under your breath.

with no other choice, you decided to drive him to your place. the drive was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from hoseok as he shifted in his sleep. by the time you pulled up to your apartment, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. but as you looked over at hoseok, still fast asleep in the passenger seat, you knew that this night wasn’t over yet. there was still the matter of getting him inside, of figuring out what to do next. and as much as you wanted to just let him sleep it off in the car, you knew you couldn’t leave him out there.

the night air was crisp as you pulled into your driveway, the headlights of your car slicing through the darkness. your heart pounded with an anxious rhythm, still reeling from the night’s events. hoseok was fast asleep in the passenger seat, his head slumped against the window, oblivious to the world around him. you killed the engine, the sudden silence in the car amplifying the sound of your breath as you gathered the courage to wake him.

“hoseok,” you murmured softly, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. he stirred slightly, but his eyes remained closed. you shook him a bit harder, and this time, his eyelids fluttered open, groggy and unfocused. “we’re here,” you added gently. he blinked up at you, disoriented. “where?” his voice was thick with sleep, the usual sharpness of his tone dulled by the alcohol.

you sighed, stepping out of the car and walking around to his side. opening the door, you leaned in, unbuckling his seatbelt. “you fell asleep before you could tell me where you live,” you explained, your voice laced with mild frustration as you hoisted him out of the car, his body heavy and uncooperative. as you helped him into the house, his steps were sluggish, his arm slung over your shoulders for support. he stumbled slightly as you led him to the couch, guiding him down as he collapsed onto the cushions with a weary sigh. the warmth of your home enveloped you both, a stark contrast to the cool night air outside.

“always been a lightweight?” you teased lightly, attempting to lighten the mood as you watched him sprawl out on the couch, his long limbs taking up most of the space. hoseok groaned, his hand coming up to rub his face. “i don’t drink,” he muttered, his voice muffled by his hand. he paused, glancing up at you with an expression that was oddly vulnerable. “it was my first time.”

your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “your first time? why on earth did you decide to drink tonight then?” the question slipped out before you could stop it, your curiosity piqued. he shifted on the couch, rolling onto his back so he could look at you directly. his gaze was intense, almost too much to bear. “because of you,” he said simply, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something that made your stomach twist with unease.

you blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “what do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. hoseok’s eyes darkened, a scowl tugging at his lips. “maybe you should ask seokjin,” he retorted, the mocking edge to his voice making you flinch.

the implication behind his words was clear, and it stung. you scoffed, shaking your head as you tried to dismiss it. “he’s just a friend,” you argued, but the pause before you added, “and even if he wasn’t, so what?” made the words feel hollow. you turned away, intending to retreat and give yourself some distance from the tension that had thickened the air. but before you could take a step, hoseok’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist in a firm grip. you gasped as he pulled you back, your body stumbling and falling against his, your back pressing into his chest as his arms encircled your waist.

“don’t,” he murmured into your shoulder, his voice low and almost pleading. you could feel his breath warm against your skin, the closeness of him making your heart race. “i don’t like you being so close to him.” his words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of shock and confusion rendering you silent. this was hoseok—strict, professional, always in control—yet here he was, holding onto you as if you might slip away.

he tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you closer as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “i only want you to be like this with me,” he confessed, the raw honesty in his voice making your breath hitch. you swallowed hard, your mind racing to catch up with what was happening. “you’re drunk,” you protested weakly, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

but he shook his head, the movement causing his hair to brush against your skin. “i know exactly what I’m talking about,” he insisted, his voice steady despite the alcohol in his system. he hesitated for a moment before continuing, his next words sending a jolt through you. “you brought the hope back to l’espoir.”

you didn’t know how to respond, your mind a whirlwind of emotions as you tried to process the weight of his confession. but before you could form a coherent thought, hoseok’s grip on you loosened, his body going slack as sleep claimed him once more. you were left there, sitting in stunned silence, your heart pounding in your chest as the reality of the situation settled over you. he had just bared his soul to you, and you didn’t know what to do with that.

when you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the warm, enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. it was a comforting scent, one that slowly coaxed you out of the remnants of sleep. you stretched lazily, the morning light filtering softly through the curtains, casting a golden hue across the room. for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to revel in the peace, before the memories of last night came rushing back—hoseok’s confession, the unexpected closeness, the weight of his words still lingering in your mind.

you rose from the bed, the soft padding of your feet on the cool floor the only sound in the quiet house. the scent of coffee grew stronger as you made your way to the kitchen, your heart fluttering with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. as you rounded the corner, you found him standing at the counter, his back to you as he poured steaming coffee into two mugs. he was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, though slightly rumpled from sleep, his hair tousled in a way that made him look more approachable than usual.

he turned at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes locking onto yours with an expression that was surprisingly gentle. “morning,” he greeted, his voice still carrying that low, warm timbre that had made your heart race the night before. “you want some coffee?”

you nodded, feeling a bit awkward in the face of his casual demeanor after everything that had happened. “yes, please,” you managed to reply, your voice coming out a bit softer than you intended. you moved to sit at the small kitchen table, the wooden chair creaking slightly as you settled into it. hoseok handed you a mug, and you took it with a quiet word of thanks. the rich, earthy scent of the coffee was even more intoxicating up close, and you noticed that it had been made using a french press—a sign of care and attention. you took a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through you like a comforting embrace. “thank you for this,” you said, gesturing to the coffee, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling back to the events of last night.

he leaned against the counter, cradling his own mug between his hands as he regarded you with a calm gaze. “it’s me who should be thanking you,” he replied, a hint of sincerity in his tone that you weren’t used to hearing from him. “for taking care of me when I was, well, not at my best.” you hesitated, swirling the coffee in your cup as you tried to find the right words. “are you feeling better? did you sober up?”

he nodded, taking a slow sip from his mug before setting it down on the counter. “yeah. i’m good now.” there was a moment of silence, the two of you just sipping your coffee, the unspoken tension between you almost palpable. your thoughts drifted back to the way he had pulled you close last night, the confession that had left you reeling. the memory of it made your cheeks flush, and you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to the implications of his words.

as if sensing the direction of your thoughts, hoseok’s lips curved into a smirk. he tilted his head slightly, his eyes sparkling with something that made your pulse quicken. “you’re thinking about what i said last night, aren’t you?” you nearly choked on your coffee, your eyes widening as you looked up at him, caught off guard by his straightforwardness. “i, well,” you stammered, trying to compose yourself as you fumbled for a response. the memory of him holding you, his breath warm against your skin as he confessed his feelings, was too vivid to ignore.

his smirk softened into a more serious expression, his gaze unwavering as he continued. “i meant every word of it.” his tone was resolute, leaving no room for doubt, and the intensity of his gaze made it clear that he was being completely honest. your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket. you opened your mouth to respond, but found yourself at a loss, your thoughts a jumble of confusion and emotions. “i, um, i have to get to work,” you finally managed to say, your voice a bit shaky as you clung to the one thing you could focus on—the need to be on time.

hoseok studied you for a moment, as if contemplating whether to press the matter further, before raising his hand in a gesture of understanding. “i’ll drive you,” he offered, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, reassuring smile. you shook your head, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. “you don’t have to, i can—”

but he cut you off with a gentle insistence. “i want to,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. realizing there was no point in protesting, you simply nodded, your thoughts still in a whirlwind as you finished your coffee in silence. the ride to work was quiet, but not uncomfortable. hoseok seemed to be in a much better mood, the tension from the previous night having dissipated, leaving behind a sense of calm. he hummed softly to the music playing on the radio, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel as he drove.

when you arrived at the restaurant, you turned to him, offering a small smile of gratitude. “thanks for the ride.” he smiled back, a genuine warmth in his eyes that made you feel a bit more at ease. “anytime.” you watched as he walked into the restaurant ahead of you, his posture relaxed, a stark contrast to the way he had been behaving recently. it didn’t take long for you to notice that his good mood seemed to linger throughout the day, a lightness in his steps that was unusual for him. he didn’t snap at anyone, didn’t call any of the girls into his office like he usually did. it was as if something had shifted within him, and the change left you stunned, unable to shake the feeling that something significant had occurred between the two of you.

the buzz of the kitchen hummed around you as you settled into your routine, the familiar clatter of pots and pans mingling with the sharp sizzle of ingredients hitting hot oil. there was an unspoken rhythm to the place, a steady flow of movement and sound that kept the energy high, but today, there was an undercurrent of tension. whispers had already started to circulate, the staff exchanging wary glances as they awaited the inevitable—hoseok’s arrival. it was almost a ritual by now, the way he’d sweep in with that cold, calculating gaze, ready to single out yet another unfortunate girl to pull into his office. the atmosphere would shift, voices would lower, and everyone would brace themselves for whatever mood he was in that day.

but when he finally stepped into the kitchen, something was different. the usual noise faded into an expectant silence, all eyes turning towards him as he made his way through the bustling space. you watched as he paused, his gaze sweeping over the room, and for a moment, you thought you caught a glimpse of the stern, unyielding expression that had become all too familiar. but then, to everyone’s shock, his lips curled into a smile—an actual, genuine smile—and he offered a simple, “thank you, everyone, for working hard today.”

the reaction was immediate and palpable. people exchanged stunned glances, the tension in the room dissolving into an almost disbelieving murmur. no one quite knew how to react, the abrupt change in his demeanor leaving everyone off-balance. it was as if they were waiting for the punchline to some elaborate joke, but instead, hoseok simply continued walking, his steps light, his mood shockingly bright.

your heart skipped a beat when he started moving in your direction, his gaze locked onto you with a strange mix of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place. you quickly turned back to your station, trying to steady your breathing as you busied yourself with your tasks, hoping he’d pass by without another word. but then he stopped right beside you, his presence looming, and you felt a prickle of anticipation at the base of your spine. “drop your shift,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

you froze, your hands stilling over the cutting board as his words registered. Slowly, you turned to face him, confusion knitting your brows together. “what do you mean?” you asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. hoseok met your gaze, his eyes glinting with that same determined look. “you have the rest of the day off,” he clarified, his tone leaving no room for argument.

the words hit you like a sudden breeze, your heart leaping at the unexpected reprieve. it was a rare gift, one that filled you with a rush of excitement. your mind immediately started racing with all the possibilities of what you could do with the extra time, a smile beginning to spread across your face as you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. but just as quickly as the excitement rose, it was tempered by his next words. “on one condition,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

you blinked, the smile faltering slightly as you processed his words. “what condition?” you asked, your tone cautious, though the curiosity was already beginning to seep in. he leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “you spend the rest of the day with me,” he said, the request both unexpected and strangely intimate.

your heart skipped again, this time with a mix of surprise and something that felt suspiciously like anticipation. you hesitated, your mind running through the implications of his request, but there was something in the way he looked at you—something earnest and sincere—that made it hard to refuse. and truthfully, part of you didn’t want to. “all right,” you found yourself saying, the word slipping out before you could overthink it.

hoseok’s smile widened, his expression softening with something that looked a lot like relief. “good,” he replied, his tone light, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something that hinted at how much this meant to him. “i’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.” with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your mind buzzing with questions. the kitchen slowly returned to its usual rhythm, but the earlier tension was replaced by a new kind of energy—one that left you both excited and apprehensive about what the rest of the day might hold.

as you quickly wrapped up your station and informed your supervisor of your unexpected early departure, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of anticipation settle over you. there was no telling what hoseok had in mind, but as you stepped out of the kitchen and made your way to the front of the restaurant, you knew one thing for certain—today was going to be different.

the day stretched out before you like a blank canvas, one that you never imagined would be spent alongside hoseok. as you stepped out of the restaurant, the warmth of the sun embraced your skin, the bustling sounds of the city creating a lively backdrop to your unexpected adventure. hoseok guided you toward the bus stop, the two of you walking in comfortable silence, the earlier events in the kitchen still buzzing in your mind.

when the bus arrived, packed with the usual weekday crowd, you hesitated at the door. he stepped in first, his eyes scanning the interior for an empty seat. finding none, you both prepared to stand, but then, just as you were about to grab hold of the nearest rail, he gently nudged a young man sitting close by. there was something firm yet polite in his tone as he asked the man to stand and let you sit. the young man, caught off guard, quickly obliged, and you found yourself looking up at hoseok in surprise. “take the seat,” he said, his voice soft but insistent.

you blinked, not used to such gestures from him—usually, his demeanor was all business, but today, he seemed different, more considerate, almost caring. you muttered a quiet “thank you” as you sat down, the unexpected kindness making your heart skip a beat. hoseok stood beside you, holding onto the overhead rail, his posture relaxed as he looked out of the window. the bus rumbled forward, carrying the two of you through the city streets, the vibrant blur of people and places passing by. you couldn’t help but glance up at him every now and then, curious about the change in his behavior, about what had prompted him to be so attentive. it wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of you.

“so, where are we going?” you asked, tilting your head to look up at him. hoseok smiled, a playful glint in his eyes. “it’s a surprise,” he said, leaving no room for further questions. you sighed in mock frustration, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your growing excitement. there was something thrilling about not knowing where the day would take you, something about being in the moment, just the two of you, that made you feel more alive than you had in a long time.

eventually, the bus came to a stop, and hoseok gestured for you to follow him. you stepped off the bus together, the cool breeze ruffling your hair as he led you through a series of winding streets. the further you walked, the more the hustle and bustle of the main roads faded away, replaced by quieter, narrower lanes lined with small shops and cozy cafés. finally, he slowed down, and you looked up to see a small, unassuming restaurant tucked between two taller buildings. the sign above the door was simple, the name “seong’s bistro” written in elegant script. It wasn’t anything grand, but there was a charm to it, a warmth that made you feel like you were about to step into someone’s home rather than a restaurant.

“this is it,” he said, turning to you with a smile. “come on, let’s go in.” he held the door open for you, and as you walked inside, you were greeted by the welcoming scent of home-cooked meals. the interior was just as cozy as the exterior, with wooden tables, soft lighting, and walls adorned with framed photographs of what appeared to be family gatherings and happy customers. there was a sense of history there, of stories shared over meals, and it made you feel instantly at ease.

a man in his late thirties, with a friendly smile and an apron tied around his waist, approached you both. his features bore a striking resemblance to hoseok’s, though his face was softer, more rounded, and his demeanor exuded warmth. “my cousin,” the man exclaimed, pulling hoseok into a quick hug before turning to you. “and you must be the famous chef I’ve heard so much about.” you blinked in surprise, taken aback by his words. “famous?” you repeated, a bit flustered.

the man nodded enthusiastically. “of course! i’ve heard all about your kimchi ravioli. it’s an honor to finally meet you in person.” you felt your cheeks flush at the compliment, not quite used to such praise. “thank you,” you said, smiling shyly. “but i’m not sure if i’m as famous as you think.”

“nonsense,” hoseok’s cousin replied, waving off your modesty. “your dish is incredible. in fact, i have a little surprise for both of you.” he exchanged a knowing glance with hoseok, who grinned and placed a hand on your back, gently guiding you toward a corner table. you sat down, your curiosity piqued, and watched as hoseok’s cousin disappeared into the kitchen. the restaurant was quiet, only a few other customers scattered about, their soft conversations blending with the faint music playing overhead.

after a few moments, the kitchen doors swung open, and two chefs emerged, each carrying a plate. as they approached, your breath caught in your throat. on each plate was a perfectly presented serving of your kimchi ravioli, the dish that had won over so many palates. the sight of it here, in this small, family-run restaurant, filled you with a sense of pride and disbelief.

“how did you—?” you began, turning to hoseok in astonishment. he simply smiled, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “i made sure to spread the word about your dish,” he said, his voice filled with genuine pride. “you’re a national hit now.”

your heart swelled with emotion, a mix of gratitude and disbelief washing over you. The fact that he had gone out of his way to do this for you, to share your creation with others, touched you deeply. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice thick with sincerity. “i can’t believe you did this.” hoseok’s smile softened, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than usual. “you deserve it,” he said simply.

the meal that followed was nothing short of perfect. the ravioli was just as you had imagined it would be, the flavors dancing on your tongue with each bite. it was a strange but wonderful experience, tasting your own creation in a setting like this, surrounded by people who appreciated it just as much as you did. every now and then, you would glance over at hoseok, and each time, he was watching you with a contented smile, as if seeing you enjoy the meal was satisfaction enough for him.

when the plates were finally empty, he paid the bill despite your protests, and the two of you stepped out into the cool afternoon air. the sun was beginning its descent, casting a golden glow over the city, and as you walked, the conversation flowed easily between you. you found yourself laughing more, the usual walls between you and hoseok slowly crumbling as the day went on.

at one point, you passed by a quaint little chocolate shop with a beautifully arranged display in the window. you stopped in your tracks, drawn to the sight of the delicately crafted chocolates, each one a tiny masterpiece. he noticed your interest and leaned in to peer at the display with you. “which one catches your eye?” he asked, his tone light. you pointed to a small box of chocolates dusted with cocoa powder, their rich, velvety appearance almost too tempting to resist. “those,” you said, a note of longing in your voice. “they look so soft and chewy.”

without another word, he pushed open the door to the shop and stepped inside. you watched from the window as he spoke to the shopkeeper, gesturing toward the chocolates you had pointed out. a few moments later, he emerged with a small box in hand, his smile wide as he extended it to you. “for you,” he said simply.

you took the box from him, your fingers brushing against his in the process. the gesture, though small, warmed your heart. “thank you,” you said, smiling up at him. you opened the box and took out a small pick, ready to try one of the chocolates. but instead of popping it into your own mouth, you surprised hoseok by holding it up to his lips, silently offering him the first taste. he looked at you, momentarily taken aback, before his lips parted slightly, allowing you to place the chocolate on his tongue.

his eyes widened as he savored the taste, a look of pure delight crossing his face. “wow,” he murmured, swallowing. “that’s really good.” you grinned, pleased by his reaction, and finally took a piece for yourself. the chocolate melted in your mouth, rich and smooth, the cocoa powder adding a subtle bitterness that balanced perfectly with the sweetness. it was a moment of shared indulgence, a small but meaningful exchange that seemed to bring the two of you even closer.

as you continued your walk, the conversation shifted to more personal topics. you asked him about his restaurant, about how he had come up with the name “l’espoir.” for a moment, hoseok hesitated, his usual confidence wavering. but then he sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “i’ve always been the one to bring joy to the people close to me,” he began, his voice quieter now. “but when my father was dying, i had to get serious. i had to take on responsibilities I wasn’t ready for, and after he passed, it was like i lost a part of myself. i lost hope.”

you felt a pang of sympathy, the memory of your own loss surfacing in your mind. “i know how that feels,” you said softly. “when my mother passed, i felt like i lost a part of myself too. everything seemed to lose its color, its meaning. cooking was the only thing that kept me going, the only way i could hold on to the memories i had with her.” hoseok’s eyes softened even more at your words, the weight of shared grief settling between you like a silent understanding. he nodded, as if acknowledging the invisible thread that now connected the two of you—one woven from loss, but also from the strength you both found in your passion for cooking.

“i started the restaurant because i wanted to bring that hope back,” he continued, his voice tinged with a quiet resolve. “for myself, and for others. i wanted to create a place where people could feel joy, where they could find comfort in food the way i did. that’s why I named it ‘l’espoir’—hope.” you walked in silence for a moment, absorbing the depth of his words, the sincerity behind them. there was a new layer to hoseok that you hadn’t seen before, a vulnerability that he had hidden behind his confident, sometimes stern exterior. it made you see him in a different light, not just as your superior or the chef who could command a kitchen with ease, but as someone who had faced the same kind of pain you had, someone who had chosen to turn that pain into something beautiful.

“i’m glad you did,” you finally said, your voice gentle but firm. “it’s a place where people can find more than just a meal. it’s a place where they can find a part of themselves, a piece of happiness, even if just for a moment.” he looked at you, his expression one of quiet gratitude. “thank you,” he said, his voice soft but full of emotion. “it means a lot to hear that from you.”

the rest of the walk to your house was filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. the bond between you felt stronger now, deeper, as if you had crossed an invisible line from mere colleagues to something more—friends, perhaps, or something that had the potential to grow even further. when you finally reached your door, you turned to him with a smile. “thank you for today, hoseok. it was unexpected, but in the best way.”

he returned your smile, but there was something more in his eyes now, a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “i should be the one thanking you,” he said, taking a step closer. “you gave me hope today.” his words sent a flutter through your chest, but before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing gently against your forehead. the kiss was soft, barely more than a whisper of a touch, but it sent a wave of warmth through you, leaving you momentarily stunned. your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding as you looked up at him.

when he pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, something tender and unspoken. “i’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice low, as if not to break the fragile moment between you. you nodded, unable to find the words to respond. your mind was still reeling from the feel of his lips on your skin, the unexpected intimacy of it. as you watched him walk away, your heart fluttered in your chest, a mix of emotions swirling within you—confusion, excitement, but most of all, a sense of anticipation for what might come next.

once he was out of sight, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your fingers lightly brushing the spot where he had kissed you. the warmth lingered, a reminder of the day’s unexpected turns, and as you stepped inside your home, you couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. the rest of the evening passed in a blur. You replayed the events of the day in your mind, each memory filled with vivid detail—the way hoseok had stood up for you on the bus, the pride in his voice when he introduced you to his cousin, the taste of the kimchi ravioli you had created, and finally, the soft, tender kiss he had left on your forehead. each moment felt significant, like pieces of a puzzle slowly coming together, forming a picture you had yet to fully understand.

the next few days with hoseok were like a dream, a soft, hazy blur of moments that felt too good to be true. he was always there—smiling, friendly, attentive in ways that made your heart skip a beat. whether it was a simple greeting in the morning or the way he’d casually ask if you needed anything during the day, his presence was a constant source of warmth and comfort. he had a way of making even the most mundane tasks feel special. if you were chopping vegetables, he’d find a reason to stand beside you, sometimes offering a quick tip on technique, other times just making light conversation that left you smiling. his laughter was infectious, filling the kitchen with a bright, cheerful energy that everyone seemed to notice.

it didn’t take long for the other chefs to start talking. chaeyoung, in particular, couldn’t help but ask you about it one day, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “hey, have you noticed anything different about chef jung lately?” she asked, her voice low as she leaned in closer. you felt your cheeks warm, but you played it cool, feigning innocence with a smile. “no, why do you ask?”

chaeyoung’s eyes narrowed playfully. “oh, come on! don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how he’s been around you lately. it’s like you’re his favorite or something.” your heart fluttered at the thought, but you shook your head, still maintaining the pretense. “i really haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary,” you replied, keeping your tone light. “maybe he’s just in a good mood lately.”

she gave you a knowing look, but before she could press further, hoseok entered the kitchen. as usual, his presence had an immediate effect on everyone—conversations stopped, eyes turned to him. there was an unspoken respect for him that filled the air whenever he walked in, a mix of admiration and a bit of fear. you had grown used to this silence, no longer feeling the same tension as before. Instead, you found yourself feeling at ease, knowing that his attention was likely to land on you with a smile or a kind word. but today was different.

“choi yongsun,” he called out, his voice cutting through the silence. the name took a moment to register. you were in the middle of organizing the ingredients for the day, your mind still half-focused on the conversation with chaeyoung. but when you finally registered the name, your heart stuttered in your chest. a pause followed. the kind of pause that feels like an eternity, stretching the moment out until it’s almost unbearable. you looked up, confusion washing over you as you turned to see another girl—choi yongsun—standing frozen, her eyes wide as she stared at hoseok. “come to my office,” he finished

your entire world stopped spinning. it felt as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. the warmth and comfort you had felt all week vanished, replaced by a cold, gnawing sensation in the pit of your stomach. you couldn’t move, couldn’t think, as the reality of what was happening slowly dawned on you. you were invisible again. hoseok’s attention, his kindness, the gentle smiles and lingering looks—they hadn’t meant what you thought they did. all of it had been a cruel illusion, a fleeting moment that had now passed, leaving you behind like a forgotten afterthought.

your heart shattered in your chest, the pieces scattering in a thousand directions. a dull, numbing pain spread through you, making it hard to focus, hard to keep your composure. you watched as yongsun hesitated, glancing around the room as if seeking reassurance. hoseok’s gaze softened as he met hers, and in that moment, it became clear—she was the one he was focused on now. not you.

blood rushed to your head, the heat of embarrassment and hurt rising until it felt like your skin was on fire. the kitchen, once a place of warmth and comfort, now felt like a cage, trapping you in a nightmare you hadn’t seen coming. you needed to get out. before anyone could notice the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you spun on your heel and bolted from the kitchen. your breath came in shallow gasps as you fled down the hallway, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. the walls blurred as you ran, the sting of tears clouding your vision.

you pushed open the door to the street outside, the cool air hitting your face like a slap. you didn’t stop. you couldn’t. not until you found a cab, your hands shaking as you flagged one down. the ride home was a blur of motion and suppressed sobs. the reality of what had just happened hit you in waves, each one more painful than the last. how had you been so naive? how had you let yourself believe, even for a second, that he saw you as more than just another chef in his kitchen?

the thoughts spiraled, tearing at your already fragile heart. by the time you reached your door, the dam broke. tears flowed freely now, your body shaking with the force of your sobs as you fumbled with your keys, the metal slipping in your trembling hands. finally inside, you collapsed against the door, the sobs wracking your body as you sank to the floor. the realization of how deeply you had let yourself fall, of how thoroughly you had been misled, was crushing. it wasn’t just about hoseok’s attention—it was about the hope you had allowed to bloom, the fragile seed of something more that you had nurtured, only to have it ripped away in an instant.

you had been so foolish to think that he could see you, truly see you, as anything more than just another girl in his life. all the moments you had shared, the laughter, the smiles, the tender words—they were nothing more than fleeting distractions to him, easily replaced the moment someone else caught his eye. and then, as you sat alone on your cold floor, the weight of your own heartbreak settling over you, the tears wouldn’t stop. they flowed endlessly, a river of pain that seemed to have no end, each sob tearing through you with a force that left you breathless.

your thoughts were a tangled mess of hurt, anger, and a deep, aching sadness that hollowed you out from the inside. you had wanted to believe in something more, something real, but now all you were left with was the bitter taste of disappointment. it was over. whatever connection you thought you had with him was nothing more than a cruel joke, a figment of your imagination that had shattered into a million pieces.

the sobs wracked your body, each one tearing through you with a force that left you trembling on the floor. you clutched at your chest as if trying to hold the pieces of your shattered heart together, but it was no use. the pain was too much, the disappointment too deep. tears blurred your vision, and the world around you became a distorted mess of shadows and light.

you didn’t hear the door open. you were too lost in your own anguish, too consumed by the despair that had wrapped itself around your heart like a vise. it wasn’t until you sensed a presence beside you that you looked up, your breath catching in your throat. hoseok stood in the doorway, his expression stricken, eyes filled with a mix of grief and concern. his usually confident stance was gone, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. he took a tentative step toward you, his voice gentle, almost pleading.

“why did you go home?” he asked, his tone filled with an aching sorrow that matched the hurt in your chest. you felt something snap inside you at his words, a flood of emotions rushing to the surface. anger, hurt, betrayal—all of it came pouring out in a torrent as you stared at him through tear-streaked eyes.

“why did i go home?” you repeated, your voice cracking as you tried to keep the sobs at bay. “i thought—i thought you had really changed, hoseok. i thought you were different, that you were finally done with the games. i opened my heart to you, and you just, you went back to the girls in your office like it meant nothing.” your voice broke, the words trembling with the force of your emotions. you didn’t care how vulnerable you sounded, didn’t care that your tears were still falling, staining your cheeks as you looked up at him. all you could think about was the pain of realizing you had been wrong, so very wrong, about him.

hoseok’s face twisted with grief, his eyes darkening with regret as he closed the distance between you. “you’ve got it all wrong,” he said softly, his voice pained as he reached out to you. but you shook your head, pulling away from him as fresh tears welled up in your eyes. “no, i don’t,” you cried, your voice thick with emotion. “you’re an asshole, hoseok. you made me believe in something that wasn’t real. you made me believe that you could be more, that we could be more, and then you just—threw it all away.”

your words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your heartache. hoseok stopped in his tracks, his expression filled with a kind of desperation you hadn’t seen in him before. his hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if he was trying to hold himself together. then, slowly, he crouched down in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours. he reached out again, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he was afraid you might shatter if he moved too quickly. his fingers gently wrapped around your hands, warm and comforting, even as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your sobs.

“listen to me,” he murmured, his voice low, soothing. “i did call yongsun into my office. but it wasn’t what you think.” you tried to pull your hands away, the pain in your chest still raw, but he held on, his grip firm yet gentle. he leaned in closer, his gaze searching yours, his voice tender as he continued.

“she was quitting,” he said softly, his breath brushing against your skin. “that’s why i called her in. to talk about her leaving. that’s all.” you froze, your breath catching in your throat as his words registered. the hurt, the anger—everything you had been feeling—wavered, uncertainty creeping in. you searched his eyes, looking for any sign that he might be lying, but all you saw was sincerity, a raw honesty that made your heart stutter in your chest.

“you—you really didn’t sleep with her?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if you were afraid to even ask. a small, sad smile tugged at the corners of hoseok’s lips. he shook his head, his thumb brushing gently across the back of your hand. “of course, i didn’t,” he murmured. “i could never do that to you.”

relief washed over you, a wave of emotion so strong it left you breathless. the tears that had been born of heartbreak now turned to something else—something softer, warmer. they slipped down your cheeks in quiet streams, and hoseok reached up, brushing them away with his fingertips. “it’s okay,” he whispered, pulling you closer. “i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.” you didn’t resist as he gathered you into his arms, his warmth seeping into you, chasing away the cold that had settled in your heart. he held you like you were something precious, something fragile, and the care in his touch only made the tears fall faster.

you buried your face in his shoulder, the scent of him—familiar, comforting—wrapping around you like a balm for your wounded heart. his hands moved up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, his presence grounding you, anchoring you in a moment that felt too real, too tender to be anything but the truth. for a long time, neither of you said anything. there were no words needed, no explanations to be given. all that mattered was the way he held you, the way he made you feel safe, cherished, loved.

and then, slowly, gently, hoseok pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft as they searched your face. his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears as he leaned in. the kiss was soft, tentative, a whisper of a touch that sent a shiver down your spine. his lips were warm against yours, his breath mingling with yours in a way that felt like coming home. there was no rush, no urgency—just a quiet, tender moment that spoke of all the things neither of you could put into words.

you leaned into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as the kiss grew deeper, more passionate. you could feel his heart racing against yours, the beat a frantic echo of the need that was building inside you. the taste of him was like a drug, something you hadn’t realized you’d been craving until now. your body responded, your nipples tightening against the fabric of your shirt, your pussy growing wet with desire.

his hands slipped down to your waist, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips before sliding around to the small of your back. he pulled you closer, aligning your bodies so that you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your stomach. you moaned into his mouth, the heat between you growing with every passing second. his touch grew bolder, more insistent, as he cupped your breasts, his thumbs playing with your nipples through the fabric. the sensation sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you arch into his touch.

you broke the kiss, panting, to look up at him. his eyes were dark with need, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. “i’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with want. “i’m sorry for hurting you. for making you doubt me. i’ll do anything to make it up to you, to show you how much you mean to me.” his words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the last of the raw edges of your heartache. you reached up, placing your hand on his cheek, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “make love to me, hoseok,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “show me that we’re okay.”

his eyes searched yours for a moment, looking for confirmation, for permission. and when you nodded, a soft smile curved his lips. he stood, pulling you to your feet, and then he was leading you to the bedroom, his hand warm and firm in yours. the room was bathed in soft, golden light from the setting sun, casting shadows across the bed that was already calling to you. you could feel your heart racing, your body thrumming with anticipation as he began to undress you, his eyes never leaving yours.

once you were naked, he took a moment to just look at you, his gaze roving over your body with a kind of reverence that made you feel beautiful, desired. his hands followed, tracing the lines of your collarbone, your ribs, the swell of your hips. he leaned down, his mouth following the path his hands had taken, placing kisses along the way. you shivered, your skin coming alive under his touch. when he finally reached your breasts, he took one nipple into his mouth, suckling gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you moan.

his hand moved between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, stroking it lightly, teasing it until you were begging for more. but hoseok was in no hurry. he took his time, exploring every inch of you, building the tension until you were on the edge, your body quivering with need. and when he finally slid into you, it was with a slow, deliberate movement that made you gasp. his cock was huge, stretching you in a way that was both painful and beautiful. you felt so full, so complete, as he filled you completely.

his strokes were gentle at first, almost tender, as if he was afraid of hurting you. but as you grew more and more desperate, he picked up the pace, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had you clinging to the edge of climax. he whispered dirty, filthy words in your ear, praising your body, your tightness, your beauty, and each one sent a fresh wave of heat through you. his attentiveness was intoxicating, his sensitivity to your needs surprising and arousing.

his thumb found your clit again, pressing down firmly as he fucked you harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. you could feel your orgasm building, a storm rising inside you, threatening to break. and when it did, it was like nothing you’d ever felt before—a white-hot explosion of pleasure that had you crying out his name, your body convulsing around his cock.

hoseok’s eyes never left yours, watching you intently as you rode out the waves of your climax. his own release followed closely, his hips jerking as he came deep inside you, his warmth filling you up. he collapsed against you, his chest heaving with the exertion. for a moment, you just lay there, tangled in the sheets, your bodies slick with sweat, hearts beating in sync.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him close, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you. he kissed you again, deep and slow, his tongue stroking yours in a gentle dance that spoke of a connection that went beyond the physical. it was a promise, a declaration of love and devotion, and it made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

once you’d both caught your breath, hoseok pulled out of you, his cock still hard and glistening. without a word, he reached for the box of condoms on the nightstand, his eyes never leaving yours. you watched as he rolled one on, his movements sure and practiced, and then he was back, pushing into you again. the feeling of him bare inside you was different this time, a thrill that sent shivers down your spine. you knew it was risky, but with hoseok, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

his strokes grew slower, more deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he made love to you with a kind of tenderness that was almost overwhelming. every thrust was a silent promise, every kiss a vow to never hurt you again. and as you came apart in his arms, your bodies melding together in a symphony of passion, you knew that that was where you were meant to be—right there, with hoseok, forever.

✧.*

a/n: this one was lowk ass

BONES & ALL (본즈 앤 올) (DRABBLE)

✧.* 16+

it was raw. not in the way you snacked on maraschino cherries under the sunlight in rome, not in the way the sweetness lingered on your tongue, dripping with a saccharine aftertaste that reminded you of summer. no, this was different—primal, almost. it was a love that bared its teeth, stripped of pretense, of pleasantries, and of the gentle touches that polite society deemed proper. it demanded everything and gave in return, not in delicate whispers or soft kisses, but in the pounding of your heart that seemed to echo in your very bones.

it wasn’t just the physical that made this love different. it was the connection that ran deeper than words, deeper than thought. in the silence, when the world around you fell away, you could feel—every hope, every fear, every dark corner of his soul he had kept hidden from the rest of the world. and you knew, in that silence, that you were the only one who could ever truly understand him. it was a love that was terrifying in its intensity, but you welcomed it. you welcomed the way it tore through you, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, because it also made you feel more alive than you had ever been. you wanted to bask in it, to let it consume you until there was nothing left but the two of you, tangled together in a world of your own making. this love was not pretty; it was not sweet or delicate. it was raw.

“i can’t do it,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat, choked by the weight of the moment. the tears had come without warning, slipping down your cheeks as if they’d been waiting for this very moment, mingling with the metallic scent of blood that hung in the air, thick and intoxicating. it wasn’t a stench—not to you, not now. it was a need, a desperate, consuming need that gnawed at the edges of your sanity, twisting your insides with a sickening blend of hunger and revulsion.

you hated yourself for it. hated the way your tongue darted out to lick your lips, seeking out that taste you shouldn’t crave, that bitter tang that made your head swim and your heart race. but it was there, undeniable, just as yoongi was there, his presence overwhelming, consuming. he was smiling, though it was a fragile thing, a ghost of the smirks you’d come to know so well. his eyes, however, betrayed him—heavy with sorrow, thick with tears that he refused to let fall, not now, not when he knew the end was upon him.

the angel of death had come for him, ready to collect the debt yoongi had long known he owed. and yet, as his hands—cold as death itself, as if they’d been left in the freezer to chill—came up to cradle your face, he looked at you with such tenderness, such raw, unfiltered love, that you almost believed he could still be saved. his fingers trembled slightly, brushing over your skin with a gentleness that belied the ferocity of his final moments, smearing his blood across your cheeks in a macabre caress. it was a final gesture, one that held a dark, twisted irony, a taunt almost. he wanted to feel you, to mark you, to leave a piece of himself on you even as his life slipped away. more so, he wanted you to give in.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and it struck you just how beautiful he was in this moment. he had never looked better, never seemed more alive, more vulnerable. more raw. his blood, his very essence, painted across your skin—he was both the artist and the masterpiece, and you were the canvas upon which he’d chosen to leave his final mark. the thought made your heart clench, your stomach twist in knots of guilt and desire.

“you have to,” he whispered, his voice a strained rasp, the words heavy with an unspoken plea. his breath was ragged, his strength waning, yet he used the last of it to press his forehead against yours. his eyes searched yours, seeking something—maybe reassurance, maybe a promise, maybe just the comfort of knowing that you were still there, with him, even as everything else slipped away. his scent, that familiar, intoxicating scent, filled your senses, clouding your mind until all you could focus on was him—his blood, his skin, his very presence that clung to you like a second skin.

you gritted your teeth, sobbing uncontrollably, the sound raw and guttural, torn from the depths of your soul. you wanted to focus on his touch, the way his hands felt against your skin, the way his breath ghosted over your lips, but all you could think about was his scent—how it enveloped you, how it lingered in the air like a dark, forbidden perfume.

“you have to do it,” he said again, his voice cracking, betraying the emotion he’d tried so hard to keep at bay. his eyes bore into yours, pleading, desperate. “bones and all.”

it wasn’t a command—it was a wish, a dying wish that hung in the air between you like a weight too heavy to bear. he wanted you to take him, to consume him in every way possible, to make him a part of you even in death. he could go, he could let himself slip away into the darkness, knowing that the last thing he’d given you was all of him—every broken, bleeding piece.

you had him—had him this whole time, but it wasn’t enough. he wanted you to go all the way, to take him in, bones and all, until there was nothing left but the memory of him that would haunt you forever. even in death, he wanted to be yours, to be the reason your stomach churned, the reason your tears fell, the reason you felt sick to your stomach with the taste of him on your tongue, the reason you cried out in agony as you tasted the last remnants of him on your lips. being in your heart wasn’t enough, loving you wasn’t enough. you would become one.

he wouldn't fight it, no matter how much it had hurt. he wouldn't fight the way his skin tore, his wound already ran deep enough. it could run even deeper if it was for you, he knew you too well. he knew you would give in, especially for him. he would tell you tear him apart, he would let you do anything. he made you hungry. if you took his finger, he would give you his arm. to love is to consume, every bit of it. his bones would crunch under the weight of your love. it was raw. it was love. how he loved it when you held his hands with your teeth, stripping every layer of the body that was now yours. how he loved it when you kissed his teeth, instead of his lips. there would be no leftovers, nothing to be thrown out. he was yours, in every sense. his lips had always been sweet, you thought. even as they bled crimson, every drop tasted like honey on your tongue.

no matter how gently you opened him, the blood would still taint your flesh, your heart, your soul. his heart had stopped beating long ago, but it didn't matter. it didn’t need to beat to love you, to belong to you. it needed to be consumed. he was tough—tougher than you’d ever imagined, tougher than you’d ever wanted to know. the feeling of him in your mouth only confirmed the thought—he was tough. he was tougher on the outside than the inside. and yet, even now, you didn’t want to hurt him. you never had. but how could he hurt? how could he feel anything but peace, knowing that he was yours, that you had him, bones and all?

✧.*

✧.* 18+ MDNI — BTS (방탄소년단)

✧.*

you were desperate for him, you always were. it was a common fact, something you knew well, but he seemed to know even better. it was the sole reason you were in that godforsaken position. NAMJOON laid back, his elbows crossed behind his neck as he gazed up at you, a look of amusement playing on his face. you were on his lap, knees bent and spread for him, sopping cunt on display with nothing to cover it but a pair of sheer lace panties.

he enjoyed teasing you as much as he loved taking care of you. he would give you whatever it was you wanted, you just had to beg him for it. it was the sole reason you sat there, sulking with swollen lips and a pout on your face. “please, joon,” were the only words that you could muster up. a smirk graced his lips, one of his hands finally retracting. he quirked his eyebrow, his rough thumb finding its way to your swollen clit. he didn’t want to give in immediately, but you made it hard to resist. he could feel the way his cock strained beneath his tight boxers, pressing into the naked flesh of your thigh.

“please what, baby? don’t go dumb on me yet,” he practically purred at the way your thighs trembled at the slightest touch, a whimper passing your lips as he toyed with your pussy, using nothing but his thumb to press your sensitive clit down. “use your words for me.” you wanted to, but it seemed impossible. you eased yourself into his touch, trying to get as much friction as possible. you could feel the way his hard cock pressed itself into your skin, begging for some sort of relief.

you needed to give in, to give him what he wanted. “please, joonie,” you repeated, wiping away the tears that were blurring your vision. “please fuck me, please.” it seemed to be enough for him to give in, your cries shooting straight through his dick. after what could’ve been at eternity to you, his fingers finally wrapped themselves around your panties, tugging them down your thighs.

the cool air reacted with the overwhelming warmth that flooded your core, sweeping over your sopping cunt. he hadn't planned on looking away, and he sure wasn't going to. his eyes fall on your pussy, now on display for him and nobody else to see. “see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” his tone was taunting, mocking the fact that you had given in so quickly, but you didn’t care. all you wanted was to have him, to feel him.

his hand left your clit and slid down to his cock, stroking it lightly through the fabric of his boxers. “you’re so eager, aren’t you?” he whispered, his eyes darkening with lust. your cheeks flushed red as he pulled down the waistband of his boxers, his cock springing free. it was big, much bigger than you had anticipated. it wasn’t your first time seeing him, but you never seemed to get used to it. a wave of excitement and fear washed over you, but you were too far gone to turn back now.

you nodded, biting your bottom lip as he lined up his cock with your entrance. he was gentle at first, pushing the tip in just enough to tease you. “you’re so tight, baby. this okay?” he whispered, his voice thick with want. you nodded again, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders for balance. you felt like you could come from just that small gesture, your body was so sensitive.

his grip on your hips tightened as he began to push in deeper, inch by inch. your eyes watered as you felt yourself stretching around his size, trying to accommodate him. “fuck, joon,” you breathed out, the pain mixing with pleasure. he didn’t stop, instead he picked up the pace, his cock sinking into you until he fully bottomed out. “you’re doing so good, baby. you’re taking me so well,” he praised, his voice strained. his thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, firm circles as he began to move his hips. tears blurred your vision as you accompanied this thrusts, your legs working to help you bounce. he held your hips, hands working over the flesh of your ass as he watched you struggle to take him whole.

his cock was thick and long, the head hitting that sweet spot inside of you with every thrust. “oh my god, joon,” you moaned, throwing your head back. he grinned, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re so beautiful when you’re taking my cock like this. tell me how good it feels,” he urged. your cheeks burned at his words, but you couldn’t help but admit it. “it feels so good, so full,” you whined, the pleasure building with each stroke.

his hands slid up to your waist, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your panties to keep them out of the way. he bucked his hips up, meeting your downward motion with more force. the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your whimpers of pleasure. “that’s it, ride my cock, baby. just like that,” he groaned, his eyes never leaving your face. your hands moved to his chest, nails digging into his flesh as you picked up speed. you felt like you were going to explode from the inside out.

his cock hit you so deep that you could feel it in your stomach, the sensation overwhelming. your pussy was so wet that it was making obscene sounds with every movement. “you’re so wet for me, baby. so tight and warm. can’t believe how good you feel around me,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy. his hips began to rock into you faster, his strokes becoming more erratic as he approached climax. “i’m gonna cum, baby. gonna fill you up,” he warned. you leaned forward, your breasts bouncing in his face as you whispered, “please, namjoon. want all of you inside me.” his eyes rolled back in his head, and with one final, powerful thrust, he emptied himself into you. the feeling of his warm cum filling you up was indescribable, making your orgasm crash over you like a tidal wave.

you collapsed onto him, his cock still twitching inside of you. your breathing was heavy, and your body felt like jelly. he kissed the side of your neck, his hands stroking your back soothingly. “you’re amazing, baby. i knew you could take it all,” he said, his voice filled with pride. your cheeks flushed at his praise, but you couldn’t find the energy to speak. you just lay there, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through your body.

✧.*

the studio was his safe spot, the place he spent a majority of his time. whether he was in the middle of producing a song, or writing a lyrical draft, he found peace in the comfort of the studio. you had nothing against it, you understood his love for music better than anyone, and you often found yourself keeping him company while he worked. he thought of you as more than his girlfriend, you were his muse. he enjoyed his time in the studio more when you were around, even if it was just to keep him silent company.

other times, however, the company was less silent. YOONGI often found himself in a haze of frustration. sometimes, his brain refused to be as persistent as he wanted it to be, which led to sloppier lyrics and various pieces of paper crumbled up and discarded. you knew he had it rough, that he so desperately strived to give it his all and, in return, receive the perfection he craved. it was one of those days, unfortunately. his brain had fogged up, and he didn’t know where to go from there. he was stuck, and in desperate need of release. this time, in more ways than one.

“fuck, just like that,” his cock was heavy against the flat of your tongue, hard and intimidating as his angry, red tip leaked into your mouth. you did more than keep him company, you gave him your all. he appreciated it, you could tell by the way his eyes rolled back as his fingers tugged at your hair, hips bucking upward for you. his desk was cluttered with notes and empty cups of coffee, the scent of his cologne mingling with the faint smell of sweat. you didn’t care. you liked this side of him, the side that was raw and human. you liked how he forgot to be the stoic and composed artist when he was lost in the moment with you.

his breath hitched as you took him deeper, your throat tightening around his thickness. your eyes watered, but you didn’t dare pull away. it was your way of saying sorry for not being able to help him earlier. for not knowing the right words to say or the right notes to play. his hand gripped the back of your neck, and his other hand found yours, threading your fingers together in a silent plea for comfort.

his thighs began to tremble, and you knew he was close. your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked harder, and his curses grew louder. “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” he panted, his voice hoarse from the strain. you felt a thrill in knowing you had that power over him, that you could pull him out of his head and into the present. so, you kept going. your lips were swollen around the base of his cock, travelling up and down as you sucked him in, the sensation of your mouth wrapped so tightly around him almost too much to bear. your free hand cupped his balls, fondling them and lightly pressing as you sucked him off, the sounds of slurping obscene as you came up after every bob of your head, just to press the tip of your tongue into his slit.

his hand tightened around yours as he finally started to come undone, spurts of hot cum hitting the back of your throat. you swallowed it all, eyes locked on his. he watched you, his expression a mix of pleasure and relief. once he was done, he sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “thank you,” he murmured, the tension in his voice dissipating.

you looked up at him, a smile playing on your lips as you licked him clean. “anything for you, yoongi,” you whispered, standing up to kiss him. he tasted like salt and satisfaction. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap. his lips were gentle now, a definite contrast to the roughness of your earlier activity. “let’s take a break,” he suggested, his voice still thick with lust. “you’ve earned it.”

✧.*

everybody had their limites and boundaries. you knew when those boundaries could fade and crash just as well. you were perfectly aware of your capabilities, of how much you could take and handle. you made the choice not to push your limits, to not work yourself to the brink of exhaustion. HOSEOK knew just as well about how much you could handle, he was well aware of your physical boundaries, but he pushed them more than he cared to admit. for the most part, you didn’t mind, but he had a way of getting to you, making a mess of you.

“no more, i can't,” you felt the tears slip down your cheeks as your head spun, the beat of your heart quickening as you felt your fourth orgasm of the hour creep up. hoseok hummed against your slick cunt, his tongue lapping away at your slick. he kept his eyes open, just to get the picture perfect view of your abused cunt, red and swollen, yet it was wet with desire, still calling out to him. “you can do it, come on,” he murmured softly, his tongue flicking your overstimulated bundle of nerves in a way that had you crying. “you can cum for me, can’t you?” you felt weak, like the weight of the world was in your arms, yet you could still feel the coil in your stomach tightening.

his eyes flickered up to yours, looking for the usual spark of lust and need. instead, he saw something different. something that made his heart drop a beat. your eyes were glazed over, pupils dilated, and your breathing was shallow. the need was still there, the want was still burning deep within you, but you were close to the edge of pain. hoseok knew he had to be careful. but he was selfish, so very selfish. his own desires clouded his judgment as he pushed for one more. his thumb circled your clit, pressing down hard as his tongue worked faster, fucking into your pussy like he wanted to taste every part of you. your hands fisted into the bed sheets, your body arching off the bed as you tried to escape the pleasure.

you felt the tremor in your legs, the beginnings of another orgasm crashing into you like a wave. hoseok’s eyes never left yours as he watched the desperation play out on your face. he knew you were close to breaking. he could feel your body tense up, the way your cunt was trying to clamp down on his tongue. he knew he had to give you relief. so he pushed harder, faster, until your eyes snapped shut and your back arched. a scream tore from your throat as your pussy clenched around his tongue, the walls fluttering as you came once more. he didn’t stop, he couldn’t. he wanted to see how far he could push you, how much you could take before you truly broke.

the tremors subsided, your body going limp against the bed. hoseok’s tongue slowed, the pressure on your clit lightening until it was almost non-existent. your breathing was ragged, your chest rising and falling rapidly. he pulled away, looking up at you with a smug smile on his face. “see, i knew you could do it,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. but there was something else there, something darker. he was proud of himself, proud of how much he had pushed you. but as he looked at you, sprawled out and glistening with sweat and cum, he felt a twinge of guilt. maybe he had gone too far this time. maybe he had pushed too hard. but the way your chest still heaved, the way your cunt still spasmed around his thumb, told him that you hadn’t had enough. so he leaned in again, ready to give you one more, ready to push you to the edge once again.

his mouth found yours, the taste of your need still lingering on his tongue. he kissed you deeply, his thumb still playing with your sensitive clit, keeping you on the edge. you moaned into the kiss, your hands reaching up to pull him closer, needing more of him. you didn’t care about the pain anymore, all you could feel was the pleasure that he brought you. and so he continued, his kisses growing more demanding as he felt your body respond. he knew he could get one more out of you, he knew you wanted it.

his cock was hard and heavy against his stomach, begging for attention. hoseok broke the kiss, panting heavily as he looked down at you. “turn over,” he ordered, his voice gruff with need. you complied, rolling onto your stomach. he climbed on top of you, his cock pressing against your wet pussy from behind. without preamble, he thrust into you, filling you up in one swift motion. you cried out, the pain mixing with pleasure as he began to fuck you. his hips slammed against your ass, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body. you felt your orgasm building again, and you knew you couldn’t hold out much longer.

but hoseok wasn’t done with you yet. he reached around, his hand finding your clit once again. he rubbed it in small, tight circles, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you in place as he fucked you hard and fast. you felt your pussy tighten around his cock, the pressure building until it was almost unbearable. “yes, like that, baby, come for me one more time,” he groaned, his voice in your ear sending shivers down your spine. and then it hit you, the most intense orgasm of the night. your body convulsed, your cunt clamping down on his cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. hoseok’s thrusts grew erratic as he felt you come, his own orgasm following closely behind. he filled you up, his cum mixing with your juices as he buried his face in your neck, panting heavily.

once he had caught his breath, he rolled off of you, his body slick with sweat. he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. you nodded, your eyes still closed as you tried to process the intensity of what had just happened. you were okay. more than okay. you were alive, you were alive with pleasure, with passion. and as you snuggled closer to him, feeling his heartbeat against your chest, you knew that it was what you wanted. it was what you needed. and as long as hoseok was there to give it to you, you would never say no.

✧.*

there was something so pretty about the way he was eager to give himself to you, about the sense of purpose he felt knowing he was all yours. he wanted you to do whatever it was you wanted to him, it made him livid. it was the same principle that made your pussy wet, the same thing that made you protective of him. he was so sweet, so fragile, and he was all yours. there was nobody he loved more, nobody he trusted more. he belonged to you, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

his moans were light and airy, his touch feather-like, it was like he was afraid of hurting you. his eyes were slick with tears, his lips plump and wet with his own drool. he was like a lost puppy, one that was needier than the rest. he craved all of your attention, he wanted to feel you for the rest of his life. the thought of anybody else having you made him sad. not angry, just sad. it made his heart break and often drove him to tears, because he never wanted you to look at anyone else, let alone give them what you gave him.

JIMIN was sprawled on the bed, his hair slick with sweat as it stuck to his forehead. he was breathing heavily, eyelids heavy as he took in the sight of you, bouncing on his dick and using him for your pleasure. it drove him insane, how you used his dick to get off, and he could never get enough of it. he watched the way your tits bounced with every impact, your nails grazing his chest as you clenched around his cock.

you toyed with his nipples, the sound of his whimpers sending a fresh wave of heat through your core. he looked at you, eyes wet with tears of pleasure as you leaned in, pressing soft kisses to his face. “feel good, baby?” he nodded weakly in response, his dick throbbing at your low, seductive tone. his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of your lips against his skin, clashing with the way you milked his dick, raw and dry. “too good,” he whispered, voice cracking. he couldn’t think, let alone speak.

you pushed back the sweaty hair from his face as you bounced on his dick, the sensation allowing you to freely convulse around him. no matter how sweet and shy he was, the sheer feeling of him hitting your sweet spot always made you moan with him. he was more sensitive than you, more gentle, but it didn’t take away from the fact that he made you feel good. his hands shyly cupped your tits, his small fingers toying with your nipples. he took note of the way you clenched around him, the way your mouth hung open at the feeling of him, it made him fall apart for you. he always fell apart for you.

his breath hitched as you leaned back, giving him a better view of his cock sliding in and out of you. you watched his expression as you rode him, his eyes widening with every movement. his pupils were blown out, his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. you knew he was close, and the power it gave you was exhilarating. your hands squeezed his thighs as you sped up, his dick swelling within you. jimin’s eyes snapped to yours, a silent plea for release.

you leaned down, pressing your chest against his, and whispered in his ear, “cum for me, baby.” and with those words, he did. his cock twitched and pulsed, filling you up without any barrier between you two. the feeling was intense, the warmth spreading through your core as he came deep inside of you. jimin’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body going limp beneath yours as he let out a long, drawn-out moan.

his eyes snapped open and met yours, his chest heaving with exertion. there was something so raw about this moment, something so intimate that it made your heart race. jimin’s cheeks flushed even more, his eyes a mix of pleasure and fear as he felt you pulse around him. “you’re so perfect, baby,” you murmured, kissing him sweetly. his eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt, but all he saw was truth. he was yours, and in this moment, you were his everything.

✧.*

there was something so frightening about the thought of being a mother. you couldn’t quite place what the reason was. maybe you didn’t want to go through the procedure, the pain and physical changes that came as the price. maybe you feared you wouldn’t be the ideal mother, the ideal wife. whatever the reason was, you knew you were afraid. it wasn’t to say that you’d never become one, maybe you would. maybe you'd change your mind, when the time was right.

your husband was the exact opposite. there was something about the thought of you—swollen, round and helpless with his baby in your belly, that absolutely drove TAEHYUNG insane. he often found himself fantasizing about it, about how he’d get to have a family with you, about how he’d be the perfect father to your babies. he never pressured you, but it was evident in more ways than one that he was desperate for it.

it didn’t go unnoticed by you, especially while he fucked you. he made it obvious in a way that had you re-considering your previous decision. the way his eyes lit up in a rabid, hungry way, all the while he fucked you. it was the way his thrusts were harsh and sloppy as he buried himself to the brim of your sobbing cunt, as if he was readying himself for dumping all the cum he had to give you into the deepest pits of your pussy. it was the way he let you know, whispering filth in your ear, breathing heavy against your neck before he finally came undone in an animalistic way.

“let me fill this pretty pussy up, make you a mommy,” he babbled on and on and on as he fucked you, hips slamming against your bare skin. you were too fucked out to register any of it, dumbed down to recognizing nothing but the feeling of him inside you. he was feral, his hands rosming everywhere as he filled you up with his dick. “need to cum inside, get you all swollen 'n pretty for me, please,” he practically begged, his fingers toying with your tits, before dropping down to your ass, cupping the sweet flesh. then, they pressed into the skin of your stomach. you whined as he continued to slam into you, fingers pressing into the spot where the outline of his cock appeared under the surface. he groaned as he kneaded the flesh, imagining it to be the same spot where he’d fill you up with his cum.

his eyes were glossed over, and he was lost in his own world of thoughts, the kind that had you clutching the sheets, biting your lower lip. “you’re gonna be so beautiful, swollen with my babies,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, as his cock grew thicker, pressing into your womb. your body felt stretched to the limits, but in a way that was almost too good to handle. the fear you once had was slowly morphing into something else—desire. something about the way he talked about it, the way he acted when he was close to finishing, had you craving it. you didn’t know if it was the thrill of the idea or just his overwhelming need that had you rethinking your stance on the matter.

his pace grew erratic, his breaths coming out in sharp pants as he neared the edge. you felt the familiar warmth building up inside of him, his cock pulsing in time with his racing heart. “fuck, i’m gonna—“ he cut off with a groan, the word lost in the haze of pleasure that clouded his mind. and without any warning, he pulled out, stroking his cock vigorously, painting your stomach with ropes of cum. he watched with a wild look in his eyes as the white fluid trickled down towards your pussy, mixing with your juices.

you both laid there for a moment, panting and sweaty, before he leaned in to kiss you, his mouth tasting faintly of mint and salt. “that was amazing, baby,” he whispered, kissing you softly. you nodded, feeling a strange emotion bubble up inside of you. was it excitement? maybe it was fear. or maybe, just maybe, it was the acceptance of a future you never thought you’d want. “i love you so much,” he said, his eyes searching yours. and in that moment, you knew you’d do anything to make him happy—even if it meant giving him the one thing you were most afraid of. “maybe we should talk about it,” you murmured, and he pulled back, surprise etched on his face. “about what?” he asked, his voice tentative. “about having kids. about you cumming inside me, tae,” you said, your voice stronger than you thought it would be. his eyes lit up, hope shimmering in their depths. “really?” and all you could do was nod, because maybe, just maybe, you were ready to face that fear head-on.

✧.*

having a high sex drive wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. it was only human to have urges, desires, ones that were in desperate need of being explored. you understood that feeling all too well. not because you felt it every hour of every day, but because you had a boyfriend who knew his way around that feeling.

it wasn’t entirely JUNGKOOK’s fault, some of it was yours. it had something to do with the way you managed to look perfect, all the time. you didn’t feel the same way, but that didn’t matter. not to him. not while he saw you through rose-tinted glasses he had no intention of removing anytime soon. it was the sole reason of him being horny, all the time. he didn’t want to give you the impression that he was using you, because that really wasn't the case. he just needed you, all the time.

“again?” you inquired, despite the lack of shock on your face. it was replaced by a look of amusement as jungkook stood behind you, his rock hard cock pressing into your ass as he kissed your neck. “just can't be serious.” he had already fucked you that day, maybe two or three times. you stopped keeping count. he made it his mission to fill you up the second he woke up, and before going to sleep. he wanted you to go to sleep with him on your mind, his touch lingering on your skin. he wanted you to feel him, every second of the day for as long as you could. this time, you were both in a public setting, a very compromising situation with nothing but the wall of a public bathroom separating you from the rest of the group.

his hands snuck under your skirt, gripping your ass firmly as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. his breath was hot and you felt your cheeks flush with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. “not here, kook,” you protested weakly, pushing your ass back into him slightly. his grip tightened and his teeth grazed your earlobe. “why not?” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “i need you, right now.”

his other hand reached around, cupping your mound through your underwear. your body betrayed you, your legs involuntarily parting to give him better access. you gasped as his fingers found your clit, stroking it with a gentle yet firm pressure. the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing made your heart race, but jungkook didn’t stop. if anything, it only made him more eager.

his hand slid down, his fingers slipping inside your panties and touching your wetness. you bit your lip to keep from moaning. “you’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “can’t wait to feel you around me again.” without warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out as he kissed along your neck. you leaned back into him, trying to keep your balance as he played with your body.

the sound of the lock clicking into place was the only indication that you had any privacy. jungkook wasted no time, spinning you around and pushing you against the wall. his mouth found yours, kissing you deeply as his hand worked you over. you could feel his cock pressing against your stomach, straining against his pants. “i'll be quick,” he promised, his voice muffled by your kiss. “i just can't wait.”

his hand moved faster, your breath hitching with every stroke. you felt yourself getting closer, the tension building in your core. “right here, right now,” he whispered, his eyes locked with yours. “cum for me.” your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, washing over you as you moaned into his mouth. jungkook’s eyes widened in triumph, his hand never slowing down until your legs were trembling.

finally, he pulled away, his hand still resting on your thigh. “see?” he said, smirking. “it's always worth it.” you thought it was over, the humiliation you felt clashing with the pleasure, but it was far from over. your eyes widened as he struggled with his belt, dick hard in his jeans. no matter what, nor where, he needed to feel you.

his zipper was down in seconds, his cock springing free. it was hot and heavy in his hand as he stroked it. “spread your legs,” he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper. you did as told, your heart hammering in your chest. “wider.” his hand slid between your legs, his fingers spreading your folds open. he stepped closer, aligning himself with your entrance.

without any preamble, he thrusted into you, filling you to the brim. you bit your lip to keep from crying out, your eyes squeezed shut. he didn’t care who might hear, his only concern was the feeling of your tight pussy around his cock. he fucked you hard and fast, his hips slamming into yours with an urgency that was almost violent. the sound of your bodies colliding echoed off the tiles, mixing with the occasional sound of someone walking by outside the stall.

you reached back, gripping his thighs to keep yourself steady as he fucked you. your knuckles turned white with the effort of staying quiet. it was so wrong, so risky, but that only added to the thrill. jungkook’s hand moved up to cover your mouth, muffling any noises you might make. “so good,” he breathed, his eyes never leaving yours. “so fucking good.” his thumb slipped into your mouth and you bit down on it, trying to keep quiet as he pounded into you.

his hand moved to your hip, holding you in place as he picked up the pace. you felt yourself climbing again, your body begging for release. “cum on my dick,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “i know you want to.” he was right because, just like that, you did. your pussy clenched around his cock as another orgasm rocked through you, your moan muffled by his hand. his eyes rolled back in his head as he followed, filling you up with his cum.

for a moment, you both just stood there, panting heavily. the sound of someone else entering the bathroom snapped jungkook out of his post-orgasm haze. he quickly tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. “let's go,” he said, his voice normal once more. “we don't want to keep them waiting.” he washed his hands and opened the door, leaving you to fix your clothes and make sure you looked presentable.

✧.*

a/n: monday tuesday wednesday thursday friday 7 days a week

roses (장미) — jeon jungkook (전정국)

✧.* WC: 11.9K

✧.* SYN: polar opposites were said to attract, but nobody specified when. no matter how beautiful, no matter how enchanting—sometimes, they were just made to repel.

✧.* 16+

roses were meant to be the symbol of love—romance captured in its purest form. their petals, silken and fragile, were light against the fingertips, and their colors, from the softest blush to the deepest crimson, seemed to glow with a kind of inner fire. roses were everything beautiful, everything tender. but to you, they were a lie.

for every rose, no matter how lovely, was laced with thorns. they were subtle, hiding just beneath the surface, waiting for a careless touch to remind you of their presence. they never scarred your fingers on purpose—how could they? the flowers themselves had no say in the sharpness of their defenses. and yet, they always found a way to mar your skin, leaving behind thin lines of pain, tiny rivers of blood mingling with the red of the petals. it was as if the rose took your blood as payment for its beauty, demanding a piece of you in exchange for the admiration it commanded. you couldn't see them as others did. where others saw a token of love, you saw a warning—a reminder that beauty often came with a cost, and that love, no matter how sweet, could hurt just as deeply.

you hated roses. not because they weren't beautiful, but because their beauty was tainted by the inevitability of pain. they were a paradox, a contradiction you could never reconcile. to love them was to accept the wounds they left behind, and you had no desire to be wounded. jungkook, with his warm eyes and gentle smile, knew this about you. he knew it better than anyone.

when you first started dating, he surprised you with a bouquet of red roses, each bloom more perfect than the last. they were vibrant, luxurious, their scent intoxicating in its richness. you smiled when you saw them, because how could you not? they were beautiful, after all, and he had chosen them with you in mind. but beneath your smile, a familiar unease churned. nothing that truly loved you, no matter how beautiful, would never hurt you. you didn't want to hurt his feelings, didn't want to dampen the joy in his eyes, so you accepted them with as much grace as you could muster. you held them close, careful not to let your fingers brush too harshly against the thorns. you placed them in water, tended to them, watched as their petals unfurled further, revealing their full splendor. yet, no matter how much care you gave them, they remained a symbol of everything you couldn't bring yourself to love.

the roses, with their beauty and their thorns, became a silent metaphor for your fears. they were a constant reminder that love—true, deep love—wasn't without its dangers. that even the most beautiful things could hurt you if you weren't careful. and so, while you couldn't see the beauty in the roses, you saw it in jungkook. you saw it in the way he beamed when he handed them to you, in the tenderness of his voice when he asked if you liked them. you saw the care he took in choosing them, the thoughtfulness behind his actions, and you loved him all the more for it. but the roses themselves? they remained, as ever, a source of quiet torment.

it wasn't until after a few dates that you finally confessed the truth. you remember the moment vividly—the way the words tumbled out of your mouth, hesitant yet firm, as you told him you didn't like roses. you hadn't intended to hurt him, and you could see the brief flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, the way his shoulders tensed slightly. “why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, his voice tinged with regret. his fingers traced the edge of your hand, a silent apology in his touch.

you sighed, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “i didn’t want to disappoint you. you were so thoughtful, i just didn’t have the heart to say it.”

“i’m sorry,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he’d wronged you in some unforgivable way. “i didn’t know.”

“it’s okay,” you assured him gently, lifting his chin so that his eyes met yours. “i kept every single one.” his eyes softened at your words, and a small, sheepish smile curved his lips. “really?”

“really,” you confirmed, squeezing his hand. “i may not love roses, but i love the thought behind them.”

the roses stopped after that day. in their place came something simpler, something that held a different kind of beauty. jungkook began to bring you dandelions, plucked from wherever he could find them, their bright yellow heads bobbing on slender green stems. they were humble, unpretentious, the kind of flower people often overlooked or dismissed as weeds. but to you, they were perfect.

you loved the way they scattered in the wind, carrying with them the weight of a thousand wishes. every time you held one in your hand, you couldn't resist closing your eyes, drawing in a breath, and blowing gently, sending the delicate seeds spiraling into the air. with each breath, you made a wish—small, secret hopes you whispered to the universe, trusting that somehow, some way, they would be heard. jungkook always watched you with a soft smile as you did this, his eyes never leaving your face. “what did you wish for?” he would ask, his voice warm and curious.

but you never told him. you always shook your head, a playful smile on your lips as you teased him with your silence. “i can’t tell you,” you’d say, “or it won’t come true.”

he would laugh, a rich, melodic sound that made your heart feel lighter than air. “one day, you’ll have to tell me,” he’d insist, though there was no urgency in his words—just the quiet patience of someone willing to wait as long as it took.

and maybe, one day, you would tell him. But for now, you kept your wishes close, letting them flutter away with the dandelion seeds, drifting on the breeze like tiny prayers. in truth, you always wished for the same thing—that you could hold on to this moment, to this feeling, forever. that the love you shared with jungkook, so pure and gentle, would last as long as there were dandelions to carry your wishes. you found comfort in the simplicity of the dandelions. there were no thorns, no hidden dangers. they were honest in their imperfection, and in that honesty, you found a kind of beauty that roses could never offer. the dandelions became a symbol of your love—humble, enduring, and free from the pain that had always accompanied the roses.

and every time jungkook brought you one, it felt like a promise—a promise that he understood, that he knew what you needed even before you did. it was a promise that he would never bring you pain, that he would love you in all the ways you needed to be loved, without the thorns, without the scars. you held on to that promise, just as you held on to each dandelion he gave you, treasuring it for what it was—a gift, not just of love, but of understanding. and as the seeds danced away on the wind, you knew that your wishes were safe, carried on the breath of a love that was as gentle and enduring as the flowers themselves.

“here’s your shirt,” you murmured, handing him the neatly folded fabric that felt heavier in your hands than it should have. the weight of finality clung to it, as if the fibers themselves had absorbed the tension between you, the countless unspoken words and unresolved feelings woven into the threads. you had gathered the last of jungkook's things, the remnants of a love that had once filled your home with warmth and light but now seemed to haunt it, like echoes of laughter long gone.

he took the shirt from you without looking up, his fingers brushing yours in a way that used to send a shiver of excitement through you. now, it only brought a dull ache, a reminder of what was slipping away. he had changed so much over the past year. the bright-eyed boy who once looked at you as if you hung the stars had morphed into someone distant, cold. his eyes, once filled with a warmth that made you feel seen, had grown dim, as though the light within him had burned out, leaving nothing but the shadows behind.

jungkook had quickly become the tear in your eye and the tear in your heart, a source of pain that gnawed at you from the inside out. he was no longer the man you fell in love with, but a stranger wearing his skin. you had watched the change happen slowly at first, like a creeping frost on a windowpane, but then it had sped up, and before you knew it, the warmth between you had been replaced by an icy silence. it was a silence that had once been comfortable, a shared space where words weren't needed because the understanding between you was so deep. now, it was a chasm, wide and unbridgeable, filled with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

the end had come faster than you had anticipated, but perhaps that was how these things always happened. you tried to brace yourself, to prepare for the inevitable, telling yourself over and over that not everything was forever. it was a mantra you repeated to numb the pain, to convince yourself that you could accept it. but how were you supposed to accept losing him when every part of you still clung to the hope that things could be different? that somehow, the man you loved was still in there, buried beneath the layers of hurt and distance?

you watched as he turned away from you, his manner dismissive in that distinctly masculine, emotionally restrained way that cut you deeper than any harsh word ever could. It was as if he had already moved on, as if this—your heartbreak—was nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. you knew he felt the weight of it too, that he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted you to believe, but his silence was a wall, thick and impenetrable, that you couldn’t break through no matter how hard you tried.

he was about to walk out of your life for the last time, and you couldn't let him go without trying, just one more time, to reach him. to make him understand what this meant to you. the words were heavy on your tongue, almost too painful to speak, but you forced them out, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. “i wished,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. the words caught in your throat, and you had to swallow hard to keep going. “i wished for us to be forever.”

the simplicity of the statement hung in the air between you, raw and vulnerable. it was the truth, stripped of all pretense, the most honest thing you had said in a long time. it was the wish you had made countless times, with dandelion seeds drifting on the wind, with every shooting star that crossed the night sky, with every single breath you had taken while lying beside him in the quiet of the night. it was the wish you had carried in your heart since the beginning, even as things began to unravel, even as the distance between you grew.

you saw the slight falter in his step as the words reached him. he stopped in his tracks, his back still turned to you, and for a moment, you thought he might say something. you held your breath, waiting for the sound of his voice, for anything that would tell you he still cared, that he still felt something. but the silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, and you realized with a sinking heart that there was nothing left to say. he let the silence fill the space between you, allowing it to drown out your words, as if by not responding, he could erase them from existence.

the seconds dragged on like hours, the silence suffocating you as you stood there, waiting for a response that would never come. jungkook knew you were behind him, could probably feel the weight of your gaze on his back, but he didn't turn around. he didn't offer you the comfort of his eyes, the soft reassurance of his voice. Instead, he walked back inside, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed through the empty spaces of your heart.

you stared at the closed door, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to cry. not there, not now. you had given him everything—your love, your trust, your dreams of a future together. and now, you had nothing left to give. the door had closed, not just on this chapter of your life, but on the possibility of ever finding solace in his arms again. the silence that followed was no longer comforting. it was deafening, a void that pressed in on you from all sides, reminding you of what you had lost. and in that silence, you knew the truth—you were no longer there. not in his heart, not in his mind. the person you had been, the person who had loved him with every fiber of her being, was gone, leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell of who you once were.

you forced yourself to leave, to walk away from the door that had once opened so easily for you. each step felt like a struggle, as if the weight of your heartbreak was pulling you down, making it hard to move forward. but you kept going, because you had no other choice. you couldn't stay in that place any longer, surrounded by memories that would only serve to haunt you. as you stepped out into the cool evening air, the world felt different—dimmer, less vibrant. It was as if the color had been drained from everything, leaving behind only shades of gray. the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of roses from a nearby garden. you inhaled sharply, the scent stinging your senses like the thorns that had once pierced your skin. and just like those thorns, the memories of your time with jungkook would leave scars—scars that would take time to heal, if they ever did at all.

you walked away, leaving behind the man who had once been your everything, and with each step, you felt the weight of the past slowly lifting from your shoulders. but the pain remained, sharp and aching, a reminder that some wounds run too deep to ever fully heal. and as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in darkness, you couldn't help but wonder if the wish you had once held so close to your heart had been nothing more than a foolish dream, carried away on the wind like dandelion seeds, never to come true.

when you returned home, the silence greeted you like an unwelcome guest, settling into every corner of the house, amplifying the emptiness that seemed to have grown overnight. the house felt colder, emptier than it ever had before, as though the very walls had absorbed the sorrow that weighed so heavily on your heart. and yet, nothing had changed. the furniture was still in its place, the same pictures hung on the walls, the same sunlight filtered through the windows, casting the same patterns on the floor. everything was as it had been, and yet, it all felt different—foreign, somehow, like you were a stranger in your own home.

you didn’t know why you had expected it to be any different. why had you thought, even for a moment, that the world would stop spinning on its axis just because your heart had been shattered? the absurdity of the thought struck you as both laughable and tragic. your heart was broken, yet the world found a way to keep spinning, indifferent to your pain. the birds still sang outside, the traffic still moved along the streets, and somewhere, people were still laughing, still loving, still living their lives as if nothing had happened. the world carried on, and you were left to pick up the pieces of a life that had been torn apart.

as you moved through the house, your gaze fell on the roses he had given you, still thriving in the crystal vases where you had carefully placed them. they stood proudly, their petals full and vibrant, a stark contrast to the withered dandelions that lay beside them. you had been diligent in changing the water, making sure the roses had everything they needed to flourish. and flourish they did, their beauty almost mocking in its perfection, as if to remind you of the love that had once been so full of promise.

but the dandelions—oh, the dandelions—they had not fared as well. you had taken extra care of them, watering them more frequently than you ever had with any other flowers, desperately trying to keep them alive. they were delicate, fragile things, just like the wishes you had whispered into the wind, and you had wanted them to last, to hold on to their golden beauty for just a little longer. but no matter how much care you gave them, they still found a way to wilt, their once bright yellow heads now drooping, petals shriveled and brown. they had died on you, leaving you with nothing but the memory of the hopes they had carried.

it was a bitter realization—one that struck deep, piercing through the numbness that had settled in your chest. you needed to stop watering dead flowers. the thought echoed in your mind, a painful truth you had been avoiding for far too long. the dandelions were gone, just like the love you had once shared with jungkook, and no amount of water or care could bring them back. it was over, and you had to let go. but letting go felt like an impossibility, like trying to breathe under water—each attempt only filled your lungs with more pain.

your eyes returned to the roses, and you realized just how little had changed. their beauty did not bring you any comfort. instead, it filled you with a deep, aching sense of emptiness. their perfection was a lie, a facade that hid the thorns lying just beneath the surface. thorns that had always been there, even when you hadn’t seen them, ready to pierce through the skin at the slightest touch. they were beautiful, yes, but their beauty came at a cost—one that you had paid dearly.

your heart sank as you reached out for the roses, your hand trembling slightly as you wrapped your fingers around the stems. you felt every prick, the way the thorns dug into the tender flesh of your palm, piercing through the surface with sharp, unyielding precision. the pain should have made you flinch, should have forced you to pull back, but instead, you tightened your grip, welcoming the sensation. it was almost a relief to feel something other than the hollow numbness that had been consuming you.

you watched, detached, as your blood began to seep from the wounds, mingling with the bright red petals, the crimson droplets staining the clear water. it was a sight both grotesque and mesmerizing—your life force mingling with the very thing that had symbolized your love, now tainted and corrupted. and yet, for the first time, it didn’t hurt. the pain was there, yes, but it was distant, as though it belonged to someone else, a stranger who had nothing to do with you.

you loosened your grip, letting the stems slip from your fingers and fall back into the vase. the blood on your hand began to dry, a faint stinging sensation left behind as a reminder of the thorns' touch. but the pain no longer mattered. it was just another sensation in a world that had become a blur of emotions too complex to untangle. you turned away from the flowers, leaving them behind as you walked further into the house, each step echoing in the silence that had settled around you. the rooms felt colder, the air thicker, as if the very atmosphere had shifted, mourning the loss that had taken place within those walls. but there was nothing left to mourn.

you slept. it was easier that way, easier to slip into the quiet oblivion of dreams where reality couldn’t reach you, where the sharp edges of your pain were softened, blurred by the fog of sleep. you slept because every time you woke up, the world was colder, more hostile, and you were too weak to face it. the bed, once shared, now felt like a vast, empty expanse, a void that swallowed you whole. the sheets still carried his scent, faint but there, a cruel reminder of what was lost. so, you buried yourself beneath them, cocooning yourself in a fragile barrier against the world.

every time you woke up, you were confronted with the same brutal truth: he was gone. the realization came slowly, like a wave that started far off in the distance, gaining strength as it approached until it crashed over you, relentless and unforgiving. it would hit you as you blinked yourself awake, in that brief, disorienting moment where you didn’t quite remember where you were. you reached out instinctively, your hand searching the space beside you, but it met only the cool emptiness of the sheets. the ache in your chest deepened, a hollow, gnawing pain that seemed to settle into your very bones.

you felt the urge to call him, to reach out to him, to hear his voice on the other end of the line—steady, warm, reassuring. your fingers would hover over your phone, trembling with the need to dial his number, to send a message, anything to break the silence that pressed down on you. but what was there to say? what could you possibly tell him that hadn’t already been left unspoken? the words died in your throat, choked by the knowledge that it wouldn’t change anything. he was no longer there, and no amount of pleading or wishing would bring him back.

and so, you turned away from the phone, sinking back into the bed, pulling the covers over your head as though you could block out the world itself. sleep became your refuge, your escape from the brutal clarity of consciousness. in sleep, you could forget, if only for a little while. in sleep, the weight of reality lifted, and you drifted into a world where things were as they should be, where he was still there, still yours.

but every time you woke up, the reality would crash back down on you, harder and more unbearable than before. the bed felt colder, the room emptier, and the silence heavier. it was as if the universe itself was conspiring to remind you of what you had lost, what had slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, impossible to grasp and hold on to. the disbelief settled into your chest like a stone, heavy and cold. it was easier to cling to that disbelief than to accept the truth, easier to let yourself be carried away by the numbness than to face the searing pain that lay just beneath the surface. you couldn’t believe it had happened, refused to let yourself truly accept that he was gone. had it happened? had you really lost him? the questions circled in your mind, relentless, unanswered, each one twisting the knife a little deeper into your heart.

you were confused, disoriented, lost in a labyrinth of grief that you didn’t know how to navigate. the world outside seemed distant, almost unreal, as though you were floating through it without truly being a part of it. the memories of him lingered like ghosts, haunting every corner of your mind, and you couldn’t tell where the past ended and the present began. everything was a blur, a swirl of emotions too tangled to unravel.

and so, you went back to sleep, because in sleep, the lines between reality and dreams were blurred, and you could still see him, still feel him. in your dreams, he was there, whole and real, his smile warm and bright, his touch gentle. in your dreams, he hadn’t left you, hadn’t walked away, and the world was still as it should be. you clung to those moments, those fleeting glimpses of a world that no longer existed, because they were all you had left. in sleep, the disbelief settled into temporary joy, a fragile, fleeting happiness that only existed in the depths of your mind. you knew it wasn’t real, knew that it would shatter the moment you woke up, but you held on to it anyway, desperate for any scrap of comfort. you would see him in your dreams, and for those precious moments, everything would be okay. you would laugh with him, talk with him, hold him, and it was as if nothing had changed.

but then you would wake up, and the illusion would fade, leaving you more broken than before. the bed would feel colder, the room quieter, the silence more suffocating. and you would lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself to get up, to face the day, but the weight of your denial would pull you back under. so you would close your eyes again, praying for sleep to take you, to pull you back into that world where he still existed, where you could pretend, if only for a little while, that everything was still the same. and so, you slept. and slept. and slept. because it was easier than facing the reality of a world without him.

jungkook shut down. it wasn’t something he consciously decided to do, but rather an instinctual retreat into himself, like a wounded animal seeking shelter in the darkest corner of the forest. his emotions were a storm that threatened to tear him apart, so he did the only thing he knew how—he numbed himself. he buried the pain deep, far beneath the surface, where he hoped it would never see the light of day.

his days became a monotonous blur of routine. he went through the motions, each one devoid of the color and warmth that had once defined his life. there was a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away, a constant reminder of the emptiness that had taken root in his heart. he woke up, dressed himself, and headed to the gym, as if the physical exertion could somehow drown out the chaos in his mind.

the gym became a sanctuary, the one place where he could lose himself in the rhythmic clanging of weights and the steady thump of his heartbeat in his ears. he lifted, the strain on his muscles a welcome distraction from the thoughts that threatened to consume him. he ran, his feet pounding against the treadmill in a desperate attempt to outrun the memories of you. but no matter how fast or how far he ran, they always threatened to catch up with him, lingering at the edges of his consciousness like a persistent shadow.

he pushed himself harder, ran until his lungs burned and his legs felt like they would give out beneath him. he jogged, then walked, then jogged again, anything to keep his body moving, to keep his mind from spiraling into the dark places he feared. the pain in his muscles was a dull, constant ache, but it was nothing compared to the void inside him, the hollow ache that seemed to have settled in his chest.

when he left the gym, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, he found himself wandering aimlessly, as if searching for something—anything—that could fill the emptiness. he went to the market, seeking the comfort of familiarity in the mundane task of picking out fresh fruit. but even there, you haunted him. he would see the watermelons stacked neatly on the shelves, their bright, green rinds a stark contrast to the dullness of his mood, and he would be reminded of how much you loved them. he could almost hear your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about how sweet and refreshing they were on a hot summer day. the memory would twist the knife in his chest, and he would force himself to look away, to walk away, leaving the market with nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth.

nights were the worst. the silence of his apartment was suffocating, the loneliness almost unbearable. he started going to bars with his friends, seeking solace in the mind-numbing effects of alcohol. it was easier that way—easier to drown his sorrows in liquor, to forget, even if it was just for a little while. he would order round after round, paying for everyone, desperate to keep the drinks flowing, to keep the laughter and noise around him as a buffer against the silence that awaited him at home.

his friends would cheer, their voices loud and boisterous, their smiles wide and carefree. he would force himself to smile along with them, to laugh at their jokes, even as he felt the icy tendrils of grief winding tighter around his heart. the alcohol would dull the edges of his pain, make the world seem softer, more bearable, and for a few fleeting hours, he could almost forget. but he knew it wouldn’t last. it never did. he clung to those moments of reprieve, no matter how brief, no matter how hollow they left him feeling afterward. because as long as he could keep the pain at bay, as long as he could pretend, just for a little while, that he wasn’t completely shattered inside, he could survive. he needed those moments to last, needed them to stretch out into the dark hours of the night, to carry him through until the morning light.

but even as he forced himself to keep moving, to keep pushing forward, there was a part of him that knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. the weight of his grief was a constant, oppressive presence, and no amount of physical exertion or alcohol could truly erase it. he was running on borrowed time, and deep down, he feared the day when the numbness would wear off, and he would be left to face the full force of his emotions. so he shut down, closed himself off, and went through the motions, day after day, night after night. because it was easier than feeling, easier than confronting the reality of what he had lost. he couldn’t afford to break down, couldn’t afford to let himself fall apart, because he didn’t know if he would ever be able to put himself back together again.

you couldn’t cling to the false reality you had carefully constructed any longer. the threads holding it together unraveled, leaving you exposed to the raw truth you had desperately tried to ignore. the more you tried to force yourself back into the numb comfort of denial, the more reality clawed its way into your consciousness, demanding to be acknowledged. “why me?” the question echoed in your mind, relentless and unforgiving. you couldn’t understand how this had happened to you, how your life had spiraled into a pit of despair so deep you couldn’t see the bottom. what had you done to deserve this? what crime had you committed that was so terrible, so unforgivable, that you were now being punished in such a cruel and merciless way?

your thoughts were a chaotic swirl of anger and confusion, a storm that raged within you with no outlet, no direction. the more you tried to reason with yourself, the more frustrated you became. who could you blame for this? was it your fault? his? the universe’s? the questions tormented you, gnawing at your sanity, and with every passing minute, the fury inside you grew stronger, more uncontrollable.

there was nobody to lash out at, nobody to direct your anger toward. you were alone, left to wrestle with the seething emotions that had taken up residence in your heart. and every time your gaze fell upon the roses, still standing tall in their vase, they seemed to mock you, their vibrant beauty a contrast to the darkness that had settled over your life. they thrived, even as everything else around you withered away. their presence was a constant reminder of the love that had once been and the pain that remained. you had every right to hate them.

your hands trembled as you reached for the television remote, the plastic cool and unyielding against your skin. without thinking, you hurled it across the room, your vision blurring with the force of your anger. the vase shattered into a thousand tiny shards of glass, scattering across the floor in a sparkling array of destruction. but the roses—those damned roses—remained intact, their petals untouched, as if the chaos around them couldn’t reach their perfection.

you stared at the mess you had made, your chest heaving with ragged breaths, but there were no tears left to shed. the sadness that had once consumed you had been swallowed up by a burning rage, a fire that seemed to scorch everything in its path. how could he do this to you? how could he walk away, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a life that no longer made sense? the injustice of it all fueled the inferno in your heart, and you found yourself consumed by a single, overpowering desire: revenge. you wanted him to suffer, to feel the guilt that you believed should be eating away at him every second of every day. you wanted him to see you, to be reminded of everything he had thrown away, and you wanted him to beg for your forgiveness. if you couldn’t have peace, then you would have the satisfaction of knowing that he didn’t either.

with newfound resolve, you began to ready yourself. you meticulously prepared, every brush of makeup, every stroke of mascara, a declaration of war against the version of yourself that had crumbled in the wake of heartbreak. you refused to be the victim any longer. you would go out, find the pieces of yourself that still remained, and piece them together into something new—something that would draw his eyes back to you and make him realize what he had lost. you chose the bar carefully, the one where you knew he was a regular, where the chances of seeing him were high. as you slipped into a dress that clung to your figure, accentuating every curve, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. but the woman who looked back at you was a stranger—her eyes were sharp, glittering with the fury that had replaced every other emotion. the void was gone, buried beneath layers of anger and the determination to make him pay for the pain he had caused.

your heart hammered in your chest, a drumbeat of anticipation, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when you saw him. would he recognize you? would he see the fire in your eyes and understand that it was his doing? or would he turn away, indifferent to the transformation you had undergone? as you made your way to the door, your heels clicking against the floor, you clung to the hope that he would be there, that he would see you and fall to his knees in regret. but even as you tried to convince yourself that this was the outcome you wanted, a small, uncertain voice whispered in the back of your mind, asking if this was truly who you had become—someone who thrived on anger and revenge, who found solace in the idea of another’s suffering.

but you pushed that voice aside, determined to see this through. the fury in your veins was the only thing that felt real anymore, the only thing that kept you going. and so, you walked out the door, ready to confront the man who had once been your everything, even if it meant losing the last remnants of yourself in the process.

jungkook’s world had narrowed to a single point of focus—the relentless, unyielding ache inside him that refused to be named or tamed. it simmered beneath his skin, a beast with no outlet, coiled and ready to strike. the gym had become his sanctuary, a place where he could pound his fists into the heavy bag until his knuckles were raw and bleeding, until the sharp pain in his hands was all that existed in his mind. but even that wasn’t enough.

he hit the bag harder, his bare fists connecting with brutal force, over and over again. the sting of torn skin, the dull throb in his bones—none of it registered. all he knew was the rhythmic, punishing impact of his fists against the leather, the way his breath came in ragged gasps, the way his blood seemed to boil beneath the surface. he didn’t care that his knuckles were split, didn’t notice the way his sweat dripped off him in steady streams, matting his hair to his forehead and soaking through his clothes. he was beyond caring, beyond feeling anything other than the rage that consumed him.

he didn’t realize how loud the sound of his fists smashing into the bag had become, didn’t notice the way other gym-goers had started to watch, their eyes widening at the intensity of his aggression. they stared, some concerned, others keeping their distance, wary of the energy radiating off him in waves. but jungkook was oblivious, his focus entirely on the bag in front of him, as if it held all the answers to the chaos in his mind.

his thoughts were a tangled mess, a storm that raged without end. why was this happening to him? what had he done to deserve this? he needed answers, needed someone to blame, but the more he searched for a reason, the more elusive it became. the frustration gnawed at him, clawing at the inside of his chest until he felt like he might explode. he couldn’t make sense of the turmoil inside him, couldn’t find a way to quiet the incessant pounding of his heart or the restless tapping of his feet as he stood there, trying to regain control.

jungkook’s fingers twitched, playing with the edges of his gym towel, twisting it into knots as if the physical action could somehow unravel the knots inside his own head. his heart raced, a frantic beat that seemed to echo in the silence of his mind, a silence that only made him angrier. he hated the quiet, hated the way it left him alone with his thoughts, with the voices that whispered all sorts of things to him, things he didn’t want to hear, things that only made the fury inside him burn hotter.

he needed an escape, a way to release the tension that coiled inside him like a spring wound too tight. but nothing worked—nothing took the edge off the anger that bubbled just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment. he needed to feel something other than this gnawing, hollow rage, needed to drown out the noise in his head, even if only for a little while.

so he did what he always did when the pressure became too much to bear—he turned to the only temporary relief he knew. the bar called to him, a beacon of false hope in the darkness that had become his life. there, among the noise and the laughter, the clinking of glasses and the buzz of conversation, he could lose himself, if only for a little while. the alcohol would burn away the edges of his anger, would blur the sharp lines of his thoughts until they were nothing more than a dull ache in the back of his mind. he craved that numbness, the brief respite it offered, even if it never lasted.

as he left the gym, his mind was still running wild, the voices still whispering insidiously, feeding his anger, pushing him to the edge. he could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his hands still shook slightly from the exertion, the way his heart pounded with unresolved fury. but he pushed it all down, burying it deep inside as he made his way to the bar, seeking out the oblivion he so desperately needed. the world outside seemed indifferent to his turmoil—the sun still shone, people still went about their day, oblivious to the storm that raged within him. and that only made him angrier, made him feel even more isolated, as if he was the only one trapped in this endless cycle of anger and pain. but the bar was waiting, the promise of temporary relief dangling just out of reach, and he latched onto that hope, no matter how fleeting, no matter how false. it was all he had left.

you stepped into the bar with a forced sense of confidence, your heels clicking against the worn wooden floor as you entered. the dim lighting cast shadows over your face, but you convinced yourself that every pair of eyes followed your every move. you had to believe it, even if it wasn’t true. you were determined to be the center of attention, to show the world, and more importantly, to show him what he had let go.

as you approached the bar, you held your head high, the tension in your shoulders disguising the fragility beneath. the bartender caught your eye, and you ordered your drink with a voice that sounded stronger than you felt. the glass was cool in your hand, a momentary relief as you took a sip. the burn of the alcohol was sharp, a distraction from the thoughts swirling in your mind.

with every sip, the anger that had fueled you began to dissipate, leaving a hollow space in its wake. the bar's noise faded into the background, and your thoughts grew louder, clearer. you began to think—really think—about everything that had happened. the whirlwind of emotions, the moments you thought were forever, and the sudden, jarring end that left you lost.

the more you thought, the more you began to pray. it started as a whisper in your mind, a plea to the universe, to whatever force controlled fate. you begged for a chance to undo the past, to turn back time, to rewrite your story. you wished for him, for the universe to bring him back into your life, for the pain to dissolve and be replaced with the love you once knew.

your thoughts spiraled, one after another, questioning everything. what if you had done something differently? what if you had fought harder, loved him more, or been more forgiving? what if this was all a test, and you were meant to prove that your love was stronger than the pain? you pondered every possibility, every twist of fate that could have led to a different ending. the more you thought, the more desperate your prayers became. you weren’t just asking—you were begging, pleading with whatever power might be listening. you needed him back; you needed him to see you, to realize what he had walked away from. you would do anything, give anything, to have him in your life again.

as you stared into the depths of your glass, the alcohol no longer brought relief. Instead, it amplified the ache in your chest, the void that only he could fill. the world around you faded, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your prayers, and the unbearable longing that consumed you. you wanted to make it clear, to whatever force might be listening, that you would do anything—everything—to have him back. you needed him to know, needed the universe to know, that your love was stronger than the pain, stronger than the anger, and that you were willing to fight for it, no matter the cost.

jungkook walked through the dimly lit streets, the cool night air biting at his skin, but he barely felt it. his thoughts were too loud, drowning out the world around him. he replayed every moment with you in his mind, dissecting each word, each touch, each mistake. the pain in his chest was sharp, a constant reminder of what he had lost. he wondered if there was anything he could do to have you back, even for a fleeting moment.

he knew the truth, though. he knew he couldn’t have you the way he used to. he had been selfish, too caught up in his own world, too focused on his own fears. he had pushed you away, bit by bit, until there was nothing left to hold onto. you were the opposite of him in so many ways. where he was sharp and jagged, you were soft and warm. where he built walls, you built bridges. you knew how to fulfill wishes, how to bring hope to the hopeless. that was why people were drawn to you, why they loved you.

but he had pushed you away, scared you off with his sharpness, with the very things he thought were protecting him. he often hurt people, unintentionally but inevitably, and it was exactly how he lost you. he hated himself for it, for letting his fears get in the way of something so beautiful. he was beautiful on the outside, and you knew it. but the more he had let you in, the more he found himself hurting you, even if it wasn’t intentional. you had a way of mingling with the night sky, floating in the air in an etherreal way that gave those around you a sense of relief, as if their wishes were being fulfilled, whereas he was nothing of the sort. he was pretty, and with beauty, there was the inevitable pain attached to it.

he needed you, even if it was just for a moment. he needed to see you, to feel the warmth of your presence, to remind himself of what he had once had and lost. his mind raced with thoughts of how he could make it happen, what he could do to have you back, even if it was just for a second. he would give anything to look at you, to see the way you smiled, to remember what it felt like to be loved by you. as he approached the bar, his heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anticipation and dread. he hadn’t planned on seeing you here, hadn’t even thought it was possible. but as he stepped inside, his eyes scanned the room, and there you were, sitting at the bar, a vision of everything he had lost.

the world seemed to stop for a moment as he took you in. you were beautiful, more beautiful than he remembered, but it wasn’t just your appearance that drew him in. it was the way you carried yourself, the way you seemed to light up the room even when you were sitting there alone. he could see the sadness in your eyes, the way you sipped your drink like it was a lifeline, and his heart ached for you, for the pain he knew he had caused. he wanted to go to you, to say something, anything, but his feet were rooted to the ground. he couldn’t move, couldn’t bring himself to take that step. what would he say? what could he say that would make any of this better? he had lost his chance, and now all he could do was stand there, watching you, begging the universe for just one more moment.

but the universe was silent, offering him no answers, no solace. all he could do was watch as you sat there, beautiful and sad, and wonder how he had ever let you go. the weight of his regret was crushing, and he knew that no amount of wishing could change what had happened. he had lost you, and now all he could do was live with the pain of that loss. so he stood there, frozen in place, watching you from across the room, the distance between you feeling insurmountable. he didn’t approach you, didn’t say a word. he just watched, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he would never have you the way he once did, that the only thing he could do now was remember, and regret, and wish for things that could never be.

the neon lights of the city danced in the puddles of rainwater, casting an eerie glow across the deserted streets. it was a night much like any other, except for the quiet ache in your chest that had been lingering for months. the rain had picked up just as you stepped out of the bar, the droplets mingling with the tears that had been threatening to spill since the moment you saw jungkook standing by the entrance. the silence between you had been deafening, a cruel contrast to the laughter and shared secrets that once filled the air. now, you found yourself walking in the same direction as him, the cold rain a pitiful excuse for the chills that ran down your spine.

his eyes met yours, a silent question hanging in the air. he offered a tentative smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, and you felt your heart stumble. without a word, you turned and ducked into the nearest alley, the rain a veil hiding your desperate hope that he’d follow. the seconds stretched out like a tightrope between you, each drop of water echoing in the silence until you heard his footsteps approaching.

he stepped into the alley, the rain soaking his dark hair and tracing lines down his cheeks. he looked at you, his gaze intense and searching, as if trying to read the story etched on your face. you took a deep breath, the scent of wet concrete and rain-soaked asphalt filling your lungs, and closed the distance between you. the rain grew heavier, but the only sound you heard was the thundering of your heart, the universe seemingly holding its breath for what was to come.

jungkook reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed the wet strands of hair from your face. his touch sent a jolt through your body, a reminder of the electricity that had once danced between you. his thumb traced the outline of your jaw, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. you leaned into his touch, your own hand finding its way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. it was a silent conversation, a dance of longing and regret that needed no words.

with a soft sigh, you raised your face to his, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips met yours. it was a kiss that held the weight of a thousand unsaid i love yous, a silent apology for the time lost and the chances squandered. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the rain continued to pound against the two of you, a cocoon of pain and passion. the alley was a sanctuary for your fleeting reunion, a place where the outside world couldn't intrude.

you both knew it wouldn’t last, that the universe had only granted you this one night to set things right. but for now, you were lost in the warmth of his embrace, the taste of him on your lips, and the feel of his skin against yours. you allowed yourself to believe in the lie that this could change everything, that you could have a second chance. his hands roamed your body, relearning every curve and contour as if trying to burn the memory into his soul. the rain soaked through your clothes, melding you together in a bittersweet symphony of desire and despair.

the night unfolded in a haze of passion, every touch a whispered promise of what could have been. the air grew thick with the scent of rain and the heat of your bodies as you stumbled into his apartment, a silent agreement hanging in the air. the room was dimly lit, the rain now a gentle lullaby against the windows, the only sound the ragged breaths and soft moans that filled the space. you let him lead you to his bed, the softness of the sheets a contrast to the tumultuous storm raging within you.

as you lay together, the storm outside mirroring the one in your hearts, you felt the sting of tears on your cheeks. jungkook kissed them away, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. you didn't speak, didn't dare to break the spell with words that could shatter the illusion. instead, you communicated with touches and sighs, your bodies speaking a language that transcended the limitations of speech. the moments were fleeting, the time slipping away like the rainwater down the drain. you both knew it was just a temporary reprieve from the cold reality that awaited you come morning. yet, as you tangled together, lost in the warmth of his arms, you couldn’t help but cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, the universe had chosen to tip the scales in your favor tonight.

but even as the thought whispered through your mind, the weight of the truth settled in your chest like a stone. the universe had never played favorites, and it wasn’t about to start now. this was just a brief intermission in the grand play of life, a poignant reminder of the love that once was and could never be again. as dawn approached, you lay there, your hearts racing, your bodies slick with sweat and the scent of each other. the rain had stopped, leaving only the quiet hum of the city waking up around you. jungkook's grip on you tightened, as if he could hold onto the moment forever. but the light grew brighter, and the shadows of doubt began to creep in, painting the walls with the harsh strokes of reality.

you knew it was over, that the universe had collected its debt and the bill was now due. you pulled away from him, the cold air hitting your skin like a slap. you dressed in silence, the weight of your clothes feeling heavier than the armor of a thousand warriors. jungkook watched you, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own, his expression a silent plea for you to stay. but you couldn’t. the sun was rising, and with it, the inevitable end to your stolen night. you whispered a goodbye, the finality of the word cutting through the air like a knife. he nodded, understanding in his eyes as you stepped out.

the days stretched out like an endless, monochromatic expanse, each one bleeding into the next with a sense of profound emptiness. the world outside your window seemed to spin on, indifferent to your internal collapse. you found yourself in a state of profound disconnection, where everything once vibrant had faded to gray.

you no longer cried, not because you had run out of tears, but because the depth of your sorrow had become a silent, consuming void. your eyes, once accustomed to weeping, now felt parched and vacant. the tears had dried up, leaving behind a dryness that mirrored the desolation within you. the very act of crying had become a distant memory, a faint echo of the anguish that had once poured forth uncontrollably.

the ache of his absence was now a dull, relentless throb in your chest. you moved through your days with a leaden sense of inertia, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. the bed you once shared with him felt like a vast, hollow expanse. you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the sheets cold and uninviting. the warmth of his presence had been replaced by an oppressive chill that seemed to seep into your bones.

you had lost your motivation, the spark that once drove you to engage with the world had flickered and died. the things that used to bring you joy now felt like meaningless rituals. you had no desire to engage with anything—no will to cook, to read, to socialize. the activities that once held meaning now seemed like empty gestures, as though they belonged to a past self you could barely recognize.

every corner of your home seemed to mock you with reminders of his absence. the roses he had given you still stood in their vases, their petals vibrant yet wilting against the muted backdrop of your sorrow. they had become a symbol of your hollow grief, their beauty now tainted by the pain they represented. they, too, had started to wilt. you found yourself unable to touch them, unable to bring yourself to care for them. they were a reminder of what had been lost, and their presence only served to deepen the emptiness.

the moments you had once cherished now felt like fleeting illusions. the memories of his touch, his laughter, his smile—they all seemed like echoes from a distant, unreachable past. they hovered around you, tantalizingly close, yet forever out of reach. the very essence of him had become a temporary fixture in your life, a fleeting warmth that had vanished as quickly as it had arrived. your days blended into a monotonous routine, each one passing in a blur of gray and silence. you moved through your life with an automaton’s grace, performing tasks without passion or enthusiasm. the mirror reflected a face that seemed unfamiliar—hollowed eyes, a wan smile that never quite reached your eyes. the person you saw there was a shadow of who you once were, a shell that had been hollowed out by the weight of your grief.

even as you went through the motions of daily life, your mind was a swirling vortex of despair and disillusionment. you felt disconnected from everything, as though you were observing your own existence from a distance. your body was present, but your spirit seemed to have retreated into a dark, inaccessible corner. the world was a blur of indistinct shapes and sounds, and you struggled to find meaning in anything. in the quiet of your solitude, you found yourself lost in a labyrinth of thoughts that offered no solace. the emptiness was all-consuming, a deep well that seemed to have no bottom. the once vibrant, hopeful person you had been now felt like a distant memory, a ghost of a self that had been irrevocably altered by the loss of him.

jungkook lay in the darkness of his room, the sheets crumpled around him, a silent testament to the upheaval of his emotions. the room was heavy with the scent of you, a lingering fragrance that had become both a balm and a torment. the aroma of you clung to the fabric, a ghostly reminder of a presence now painfully out of reach. he buried his face in the pillow, the soft, familiar scent washing over him like a bittersweet wave, mingling with the dampness of his tears.

his heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, each beat a sharp pang of longing and regret. he clung to the pillow, clutching it as if it were a lifeline, trying desperately to hold onto the remnants of you. the tears streamed down his face, hot and relentless, soaking the fabric beneath him. he sobbed into the pillow, his cries muffled but raw, each sound an expression of his overwhelming grief. he could no longer see clearly through his tears, but the darkness of the room seemed to envelop him, pressing down on him with a suffocating weight. your absence was a gaping void that filled the space around him, amplifying his sense of loneliness. the bed, once a place of comfort and shared warmth, now felt like a desolate expanse where he lay alone, adrift in his sorrow.

desperation clawed at him, driving him to a place where he sought to express his pain in ways that went beyond mere tears. his hands, once gentle and loving, now sought a different outlet for his anguish. with a shuddering breath, he pushed himself up from the bed and stumbled to the wall, the dim light casting long shadows that danced with his movements. his knuckles, still raw from previous attempts to subdue his rage, were now red and bruised, but the pain seemed to offer a distorted sense of relief.

he pounded his fists against the wall, the sound of his blows echoing through the room. each hit was not driven by anger but by a profound sadness that had consumed him entirely. he felt the sting of the impact, the dull ache of his knuckles meeting the unforgiving surface. his punches were more of a plea than a fight—a plea to feel something other than the empty ache in his chest, a desperate attempt to make the void of your absence tangible.

the walls bore the brunt of his sorrow, and the small marks left by his fists seemed to mock his attempts to find solace. the physical pain was a poor substitute for the emotional torment, but it was the only thing he could grasp at in his moments of despair. the act of hurting himself became a ritual of sorts, a way to channel the overwhelming sadness that threatened to drown him.

he collapsed back onto the bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and his hands, now throbbing with the aftereffects of his self-inflicted blows, rested limply by his sides. the room was silent save for the soft rustle of the sheets and his uneven breathing. he stared up at the ceiling, the darkness above him a mirror of the darkness within. his mind was a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and memories. He replayed moments with you over and over, each memory a painful reminder of what had been lost. the scent of you on the sheets, once a comfort, now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how close yet how unreachable you were. he wished he could reach out to you, to call you and hear your voice, but the reality of your absence was a constant, unyielding presence in his life.

jungkook’s sorrow had transformed into a deep, gnawing depression that consumed every corner of his existence. he felt hollow, his body moving through the motions of daily life with a mechanical detachment. the days blended into a blur, each one marked by a sense of loss and longing. his emotions were a tumultuous sea, and he struggled to find solid ground amidst the crashing waves. every time he lay down, every time he stared at the empty space beside him, the grief would engulf him anew. the scent of you, the lingering touch of your presence, was both a comfort and a torment. he was caught in a cycle of remembering and mourning, unable to escape the pain that had become a constant companion. the bed, the walls, the silence—everything around him seemed to echo the emptiness of your absence, amplifying his despair.

you had spent days entangled in the suffocating grip of despair, every day a struggle to drag yourself through the motions of life. your home, once filled with the remnants of a love that now felt like a distant dream, had become a place where echoes of your pain reverberated endlessly. but as time wore on, there came a moment—a quiet, insistent moment—when the weight of your sorrow began to lift, if only slightly.

the realization that you had been clinging to a fractured ideal of the past started to seep into your consciousness. you began to accept that what you wished for, what you had yearned for so desperately, was not something that could be willed back into existence. the journey to acceptance was not instantaneous; it was a slow, deliberate process, marked by small victories and subtle shifts in your mindset.

you found solace in the mundane details of daily life. you began to notice the subtle beauty in everyday moments—the way the sunlight filtered through your window, the calming rhythm of your breath as you practiced mindfulness, the comforting hum of routine, and the way the godforsaken roses had finally withered away. slowly, you started to feel a sense of security in these ordinary rituals. they were reminders that life, while changed, continued to offer moments of tranquility and purpose.

as you ventured out into the world, your heart began to open up to new experiences. a first date—a simple, unremarkable event—brought with it a feeling of genuine happiness that you hadn't experienced in a long time. it was a tentative, fragile joy, but it was there nonetheless. you allowed yourself to be present, to savor the laughter and the connection, to let go of the lingering shadows of the past. the date was a pleasant surprise, an unexpected gift of normalcy and hope. as you walked hand-in-hand with your companion, you felt a warmth in your chest that had been absent for too long. the world seemed to expand around you, filled with possibilities rather than regrets. you were starting to live again, to feel alive.

at the end of the evening, as you were handed a bouquet of flowers, your heart fluttered with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. the flowers were beautiful, vibrant red roses, their petals soft and inviting. you accepted them with a genuine smile, letting their delicate fragrance mingle with the newfound joy you were experiencing. the sight of the roses, however, didn’t evoke the visceral reaction they once did. instead, they were simply another part of your reality, no longer a symbol of the pain that once defined your days.

what you didn't realize was that jungkook had been waiting nearby, a bouquet of dandelions clutched in his hands. he had hoped to see you, to offer you something that held meaning for both of you. but as he watched from the shadows, his heart sank when he saw you take the roses with such ease, a gesture that seemed to signify a quiet acceptance of a reality that he himself struggled to embrace.

the sight of you with the roses, when he knew how much you had loved dandelions, was a harsh reminder of the chasm that had grown between you. it was a moment that crystallized the harsh truth he had been avoiding—your life had moved on, had found new sources of happiness and meaning, while he remained anchored in the past. the acceptance he had hoped to find in his own heart seemed elusive, overshadowed by the painful reality of watching you embrace a new chapter without him. jungkook stood there, paralyzed by the sight before him. the dandelions in his hand felt like a cruel joke now, a poignant symbol of what could have been. they were meant to be a token of his love, a way to reconnect with the joy you had once shared. but seeing you with the roses, accepting them so effortlessly, made the dandelions seem insignificant, a mere relic of a bygone era.

in that moment, he faced the unyielding truth of his situation: the reality he had been trying to avoid was indeed cruel and unforgiving. his heart ached with a profound sense of loss, but beneath the pain was a new understanding. acceptance was a bitter pill to swallow, but as he watched you with the roses, he began to grasp its necessity. as you walked away with your bouquet, your happiness palpable, jungkook was left alone with his dandelions and the reality that you had found a way to move forward. the once vivid pain of your absence was now tempered by a melancholic acceptance. it was a realization that, no matter how much he wished things could be different, the world continued to turn, with or without him in your life.

the sky was a somber gray, an oppressive expanse that stretched endlessly above you, mirroring the weight that settled heavily on your heart. you stood there, clutching the bouquet of roses in your hands, their vibrant red a definite contrast to the bleak backdrop of the overcast day. the flowers, once symbols of love now transformed into markers of loss, felt heavy and poignant.

you had come to understand something profound in this moment—something that had eluded you for so long. you understood why jungkook had been drawn to these roses, why they had held such a special place in his heart. the roses were undeniably beautiful, their petals velvety and rich, a testament to nature’s ability to create splendor even in the face of hardship. but you also grasped the deeper truth: beauty, as with everything, came at a price. the thorns of the rose were not just physical barriers; they were metaphors for the pain that often accompanied true beauty and love.

as you held the bouquet, you let yourself marvel at the roses’ splendor. each petal was like a delicate brushstroke of crimson on a canvas of green, a fleeting masterpiece of nature. you ran your fingers gently over the petals, feeling their softness, their warmth, and for a moment, you were lost in their beauty. the roses were not just flowers; they were a testament to the complexity of emotions and experiences.

a tear, born from the depths of your sorrow, slipped silently down your cheek. it landed softly on one of the petals, its glistening drop mingling with the rose's vibrant hue. you watched in a kind of mesmerized sadness as the tear traced a slow, shimmering path over the surface of the petal. it was a testament to the pain you felt, yet the flower remained unwavering in its beauty. the tear did not diminish the rose's allure; it merely added to its story, making it all the more poignant.

with careful reverence, you approached jungkook’s grave, the final resting place of the person whose absence had left a void in your life. the roses, now intertwined with your sorrow, seemed to carry a weight that transcended their mere physical presence. you set them gently by his grave, placing them with a tenderness that spoke of your deep, unspoken grief.

the wind stirred, causing the petals to flutter ever so slightly, as if acknowledging the gesture. as you stepped back, you observed the bouquet resting there, a symbol of your enduring affection, and also of your newfound understanding of the delicate balance between beauty and suffering. the roses, despite the tear that marked them, remained beautiful—unblemished in their elegance, a reflection of the love and the pain they represented.

the realization hit you with a cruel clarity: even as the roses symbolized something deeply personal and painful, they also embodied an immutable truth about beauty. it was a truth that jungkook had understood far better than you could have ever realized before. his love for the roses had been an acknowledgment of their dual nature—their ability to captivate and hurt simultaneously.

you stood there, feeling a quiet, aching acceptance. the sky above remained gray, a canvas as muted as the feelings swirling within you. the roses danced in the eind, their thorns seemingly harmless now, their crimson petals vibrant as the wind blew against them. they were beautiful, just as he was. if only they hadn’t withered as quickly as they did. maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have either.

✧.*

a/n: modu uril chyeodabwa