Hit Play Masterlist

Hit Play Masterlist

You met Seokjin during a difficult time in your life, and seeing him again now reminds you of it.

Pairing: Seokjin x F!reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol AU, medical student Seokjin, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 13.7k total

Warnings: Bereavement, swearing, mentions of blood and illness, eventual smut

Series masterlist

Chapter 1: It's cold outside

Chapter 2: The chapel

Chapter 3: White coat

Chapter 4: Beyond

Chapter 5: Charity

Chapter 6: Hit play

©hamsterclaw 2022

Rings - Boxer!Seokjin x Reader

Notes: HELLO! Oh my god, I know I said this was gonna be posted weeks ago, but I had so many things to fix and then so much to add in. But now it’s finally here! And I’m literally sO excited to share it with you guys! I hope you guys like it! Requested by anon, hope you like it dove! Humongous shout out to @jinpanman for helping me out with this, and reading my terrible first draft! I literally owe her my kidney right now lmaooo. Love ya, doll! Have fun reading you guys, and let me know what you think!! 「 ──────── 」 Summary: All Jin knew was the ropes of a boxing ring, the pain of broken limbs. He grew up in this life, making a name for himself, the path that his father had carved out for him. He knew nothing of a gentle touch and soft whispers and a sweet girl who had no business around the likes of him. Genre: Fluff (?), Angst, Smut. Boxer!Au Word count: 17.7k (remember when I said Hearing Voices was the longest thing I’ll ever write?? Lmaooo) Warnings: Description of violence, mentions of blood. Smoking, Smut, dry humping, unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), Oral m receiving. Swearing. 〘◊❒◊❒◊❒◊❒〙 “It’s way too loud in here.” Yoongi groans as he sits down in the usual booth, tossing his leather jacket on the table with a frown. Seokjin goes to comment that he always says that. Anywhere that’s not the quiet, peaceful solitude of his apartment was too loud for him, and that he should suck it up, because it isn’t very often they get to hangout in a place that’s not the Boxing Gym. Namjoon slides in behind him with a smile, eyes turning into crescent moons and dimples coming out of hiding. Seokjin barely pays them mind as he sits opposite them, his eyes scanning the length of the bar to find a distracted Hoseok not ordering drinks like he said he was going to do. He sighs quietly, but allows him his moment with the pretty blonde stranger he was chatting up. Seokjin notices the way he already has her wrapped around his finger, with the way she covers her smile with a hand, the other resting against his chest as he flirted with everything he had. He catches sight of the bartender Jimin, a chipper younger man, sending a smile that reaches his eyes before his lips move. His blonde hair looks pink in the low red lighting of the bar’s neon bulbs, and he sends him a wave, one that Seokjin returns tiredly with an equally tired smile. Yoongi and Namjoon are talking about something in quiet voices, the elder of the two stopping to look around when he notices Hoseok’s prolonged absence. He spots him in the same position that Seokjin had and rolls his eyes, never subtle in his actions or hiding how he feels. What he gives is what you get with Min Yoongi.

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black and love | jjk (m)

in a world where you can only see colors after you meet your soulmate, you think love is hard and far apart.

pairing: jk x reader

genre: soulmate au (black and white to multi-coloured - only being able to see grey until they meet their soulmate), fluff, smut, light angst, strangers to lovers au

word count: 12.8k

contents: reader's parents are both the sweetest mothers, jk is a good son, mentions of loneliness, yearning, desperation, longingness, mild angst, a very vague Mind Your Language reference

warnings: virgin!jk, virgin!reader, both are shy af, sex while it's raining outside oof, soft soft smut but it's sorta filthy (?), making out, marking, handjob, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, slow and deep sex

♫ : Your Eyes Tell by BTS, IDK You Yet by Alexander 23 ♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

Red, your mothers’ say, is the color of love, like roses: deep and full of passion. It's the feeling of sun, but hotter. They gift each other roses sometimes: on valentines, to celebrate pride month and more. They are so in love so you know that red is the color of love. Green, they say is more lively. It has life. It is life. The trees you see on your way, the park, the fields, the top you are wearing, your eyes—it is green. It's the feeling of grass on your bare feet and the whistling of trees. Blue is the color of the sky. It's the color of the sea, your favorite pencil, your younger mother said. It's her favorite color as well. But you see blue like a patch of grey and nothing more. They say the sky is full of calmness but you only see a blanket of grey spread across. “What's black?”, you ask one of your parent, fiddling with the straps of your bag as you stuff a loaf of bread in your mouth. You are late for your first day of elementary school. Your elder mother smiles at you and tucks a strand of your hair out of your eyes with a clip, “That's the color you are seeing right now my dear, the darker one”. “So when will I see the others? Blue? Green? I wanna see red, Mom” “You will”, she says with a big smile, “When you fall in love”.

“But I wanna see red now!”. You stomp your feet stubbornly and your face flushes. “Your face is red right now my dear” “Really!?”. You run to the closest reflecting surface which is a recently cleaned plate and look at your face. You can't see it. You only know whites, greys and blacks. You don't see anything else. And it frustrates you. It was a beautiful concept, to be able to see the colors together with your soulmate, your better half. You meet someone at some point of time in your life and live happily ever after, just like a fairy tale. Your mothers: Chae Soojin (elder) and Ju Mirae (younger), met each other on pride parade, proud lesbians who married two years after being together. You came into their life an year after, a beautiful baby with beautiful eyes. They'd tell you stories of their dates, of care and joy, and how relationships and soulmates feel like. Kids of matches are pretty used to couple stories and you were no exception. You know everything by heart, as if you witnessed them yourself. You lost count of the number of time they've described the feeling of color, of love, to you. It was a tiring thing to wait, especially when you know someone is out there somewhere. World tours to hunt for soulmates became a thing with modernism among the millionaires. Just to multiply the chances. But it's the universe’s role. And like fate, it will be warm and deem to happen just in the right timing. You just got to believe it, like Mirae says. You were eleven when your best friend at that time boasted around the school saying she found her soulmate, that she can see all the different colors and caught an obsession to purple. It was a boy from another school in the same city and they met at a birthday party of a common friend. She bought purple dresses, bags and all and often showed it off. You can't understand any of it, you still see in monochrome. You cried yourself to sleep that day. You want to boast too, you want to buy things in your favorite colors as well, and see the world differently. But you don't. Not so soon. “Another expedition”, your mother barks from the kitchen listening to the radio while chopping vegetables for dinner, “I swear they are just wasting money”. A big entrepreneur is spending his wealth on luxurious stays in Spain, thinking his better half is a fine Senorita who owns a castle. And the radio says he had already visited thirty seven countries till date. “But that tech savvy did find his girlfriend that way though, Soo”, Mirae (or Mi) says as she helps her wife get the meat marinated. “It's only fate and nothing else, Mi” “You are an old school romantic always aren't you?”, the younger woman says cheekily wrapping her hands around the elder’s waist, but careful not to get the spices on her apron. “Always”, Soojin says and smiles. It fades away quickly though, seeing their daughter come downstairs with red stained eyes and tired face. “Sweetheart!? What happened?”. Both mothers are on their knees in front of you and wrapping your little body in their arms with wrists pointing away. “I want to see colors too”, you muffle, sobbing silently but feeling calm within their embrace. The mothers look at each other. Mirae is never right with words, but she is soft in her actions and good at consoling with warm hugs, so she lets her wife speak while holding you close. “I promise you'll see the world in its beauty real soon, sweetheart. You'll see that your eyes have life, you'll have a favorite color some day and a caring partner by your side. You are very young now to worry too much about life my dear hm? Would you like a tangerine?” You nod, smiling at the fruit presented to you. “What color is a tangerine?”, you ask while already taking one fragment on your hand while Soojin peels it for you. “Orange” That's a new color. It looks deep grey to you eyes, especially since it's night now, you wonder if it's calming to eyes, or like power, or soft. “What does it feel like?”, you ask. Your mother takes the fruit from your hand and places it on your mouth. You bite into the

sweet and sourness of the fruit, “It feels like this”. You smile. After reaching high school, half of the population you knew have found their ‘the one’. Your mortal enemy found hers when she went on a trip to London. Her boyfriend speaks in dense British accent. They moved in a week later into your neighborhood to create a havoc. Couples kiss away in lobbies and feed each other lunch. They seem to have the same glow in their eyes like your mothers’ so maybe it's true that love exists, colors exists. Sometimes it seems false that the sky and the grass is anything more than several midtones of greys and blacks. On your eighteenth birthday you cried yourself to sleep again, not because of the lack of color in your life, that is there of course, long settled and thriving inside your little heart. This night you cry of yearning, to kiss with your tongue and make love to someone who helps you see the colors, colors of love, life, calmness and everything in between. To hold hands and hug them tightly to sleep. You snug close to your pillow instead and go to sleep. Sure you don't know the colors, what they look like. But you do know how they feel like by now. You decide your favorite color is periwinkle, what your mother said is a lighter shade of your ex-bff’s purple. It looks mostly white to your eye, the color of your very first diary, your best friend since then. Let's say your life hadn't been the smoothest. Ever since your bully got her match, the trouble increased twice the amount. So your ages of seventeen and eighteen was more of prioritizing your safety and sanity rather than engrossed in the thought of seeing the world differently. You are twenty-two now, and you write in your diary a note of longingness before closing it and letting out a sigh. You are supposed to submit an essay by midnight, but words don’t come. And with quirks of adulthood you have learnt not to bother your parents every time you feel heavy. Your parents aren't home. They went to pride parade, their thirtieth. They have put vibrant makeup because you can see various shades of grey on their cheeks, the pride flag. Though in reality they say it’s colorful, a rainbow to be exact. Which of course you identify as the palette of black to white.

Loneliness. That's what's consuming you wholly. Maybe after spending a few more hours listening to your hit-right-in-the-feels-playlist, you'll type away in your computer or if the sadness stays longer, send an email to your professor for extension. The first song is IDK You Yet by Alexander 23 and a tear rolls down your cheek out of hurt increasing tenfolds. Dear soulmate, where are you?

Jeon Jungkook is going feral because he can't find his Iron Man figurine to pack with his essentials. Just because he is a twenty three year old adult, doesn't mean he can forgo his favorite toy when he is moving to another city. “Did you pack your underwear, bun?”, his mother enters the room, A fine woman in her fifties whom he considered his best friend. Room's almost empty now, a few posters of his favorite punk band and comic books lay around. He flushes a little before whining, “Mom! I'm grown up, I can do things by myself!” “But did you pack your underwear?” “Yes, Mom” Feeling a little embarrassed at her straightforwardness, he stands up, pulling few bags from the floor to make room for his mother. “You'll always be my little bun. I'll miss you”, she is teary eyed, though usually she chooses to drape everything with her easy going humor. This time she doesn't and let's her son cry a little in her embrace. He looks back with big doe eyes, “I'll miss you too Mom”. Jungkook already has a dual degree with a stable job he does from home. That's what most of his life had been. Studies, working hard to support the family and being a good son. And now he had decided to do masters in Computer Application to tame his forte. He doesn't know the rules of society, way used to being secluded in his little world, so he struggles the first few weeks to socialise with his roommate, Taehyung, who on the other hand had a strong extroverted personality. It felt like oil and water won't mix well but he could build a good friendship with his roommie despite the differences. Taehyung can see colors, and so did most of his friends. He lives more freely because of it. His girlfriend— Aerum, studies art history in the same college and they met through a common class they shared. Some stories like his seemed so simple, as if love is right around the corner, no complications involved. He wishes the same for his color blind roommie soon. “Ramen?”, Taehyung asks, mixing the contents of seasoning into the pan. Jungkook leans on the kitchen counter watching him. “Not in the mood” “Feeling low?”, he instantly catches up on Jungkook’s tone and raises a brow. “I'm alright. Just, not feeling present at the moment”, he says shrugging his shoulders. It was not a big deal really, just a random phase of no motivation to do things. “Hey what happened to your eye? It's sort of swollen”, Taehyung points out with his chopsticks and Jungkook uses front camera of his phone to inspect what he is referring to. He surely can't see a different color on the spot which has bulged out of normal, he sees his pale white face with an extra bump. On touching the spot, he hisses. “Damn bro you should go to a doc” Both boys visit an eye doctor that evening itself because it had started to hurt pretty bad. It was completely out of the blue, he hasn't been to anywhere unusual or was careless of his environment for his eyes to nearly disappear because of the bump. “It's nothing serious”, the lady who inspected says and scribbles a few bottles of eye drops and ointments for three weeks. On the way back, they get takeout, said medicines and a brand new pair of shades. Attention is the last thing Jungkook wants but since it's almost the eye flu season, hopefully people will understand. The new college is fine and perfect for Jungkook. It has a gym ten minute away from both his shared apartment and the Technical Block, where he attends his lectures. Two hours of solid workout, a complete morning routine, reading two self help books a week, calling his mother daily, doing chores and assignments like a good student, and his job is what mostly consisted of his days. If Taehyung presses him to join for a movie night with rest of his circle, sometimes he does (if it's Marvel). He seemed to be content with what he was and what he did. In short he was the resident nerd according to most. People without matches would give him a try, to see if he was deemed to be theirs, since he was cute and all. It almost felt unfair someone like him doesn't have his pair

already. Everything was fine. And just like that, one day, like every other unsaid toil on human, he realises he is not the same. He doesn't feel the same. His assignment marathon, folding his clothes as soon as they were out of the laundry were supposed to be wired inside him to be effortless tasks. But the very thought of getting out of bed seemed impossible now. That evening after having dinner with Taehyung, he helps with the eye drops as always. Jungkook is resting his head back on the couch, thinking to kill his time. Taehyung’s phone rings with his soulmate’s caller ID and he excuses himself to his privacy. That's when he had desire for what felt like the firsts of his life (except when he wanted merch). He wanted that too. Aerum and Taehyung were so lost in each other, too much, may I add. The exact reason why they hadn't moved in together. They did try that though. But being in a match meant imbalance in other areas in life. And before Taehyung fails his degree, they landed on a mutual agreement to live together after graduation. But even so, he stays over at Aerum more often than he is here, not that Jungkook minded, he knows being separated from your match is a hard thing to practice. He knows it all too well, how his mother struggled while his father had been away for a long time because of work. Vice versa too. So while the liquid in his eyes stinks, that's when the thought blooms in him for the first time. It was a different feeling to have. It feels so warm to even think about such a thing. It spreads across his chest and fills his head. He wants to be in love too.

“This is your third time?”, Aerum asks, not judging but concerned because you, looking at the verge of tears. “Yes. I hope this time it's the right decision”, you sniff a little and gulp the lump forming in your throat. You had changed your major thrice. Starting from literature, to psychology and now finally landing down on art history for some reason. You don't know if this is a phase or an actual good decision for life. Studying about hormones and cognitive behavior has given you a burnout. It took a while to make a solid decision to continue because you really wanted to drop out of the college. On that period of researching about what fits you the most, you felt art intriguing. It was a strange course to take for someone who still can't see colors, since most students already have a match and can identify paintings and their elements. Color plays an important role in art. And you can't just step in and encase the information with your black and white vision. But you thought really really hard, befriended Aerum in the process and went ahead. “It'll be alright, Y/n. I promise. You can still do good in this field if you work enough. Whether or not you are capable to see colors doesn't matter”, Aerum knows it's half a lie. It's difficult to get through without color vision. You always looked so pale in her eyes, lifeless even, sometimes. As if every time you move, every time you breathe, it's draining you. Despite it you are still holding on to hope and she is wholeheartedly proud of you. Weeks roll down and time passes. You have no idea what month it is. Since you are still coping with your monochrome vision, it takes more effort to pass the subjects than other students. You don't give up though. You try your best, if anything it was a great distraction from whatever feelings that pulled you down. Aerum sits opposite to you at the library, pretending to read something till her boyfriend arrives, who insisted that he should check up on her since they'd been working for too long. She never shuts up about him, and it was not in a nagging way of blabber, it was cute and warm to listen to, reminding you of your mothers. Yes maybe it was hurtful at times, but you don't let your insecurity come in the way of enjoying romantic tea almost everyday. “Don't you wonder, Y/n? About your soulmate?”, she whispers faintly to not trigger the librarian. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as if the presence or absence of one wouldn't make a difference in your life, “I used to”, you turn a page noisily, distracting yourself from the sudden discomfort, “Not anymore”. Aerum picks up from the tone, “Don't be disheartened Y/n. You'll find your love. Soon. I promise”. You simply smile and buy her encouragement. She was always enthusiastic, full of life. Sometimes you felt she was carrying a dead weight when you are with her. You had turned monochrome too, like your vision. “Just notice people's eyes. When it's the right person, you fall and it's suddenly a different world, more joy, more life inside you. So please don't lose hope” You know pretty well how it works. You lock eyes, there's a flutter in your heart and in a split second the world is diverse. You fall in love. You give love. You receive love. You feel loved. It's the most beautiful thing a human can experience. You know it. You recall a very cringey phase in your life where you were so desperate that you gazed into boys’ eyes and ogle, waiting for something to happen. Seeing them scare away from you, you eventually stopped. That was in fifth grade. “You have beautiful eyes, Y/n, I wish you could see them too”, she says. Aerum isn't the best to change topics smoothly but you appreciate her efforts anyways and give her a smile. You are too used to that compliment from color visioned people. You blushed when you were six, waiting to see them soon, you cried about the same after a few years. And then it just became one of things you were used to, shoving all the feelings of it at the bottom of your chest. Taehyung is wearing a big coat over what you suppose are black

tees and loose pants, when he enters. It should be the color brown from what his girlfriend says: as if straight out of a 90’s movie. He is handsome, you had only imagined his face through whatever Aerum supplied you with. He has much softer features than you had imagined. He stops at your table and kisses the top of your friend's head and then after a few minutes greets your presence. “You must be Y/n”. His voice is deep. “Yes. And you must be Taehyung”, you smile and awe internally at how cute the pair looked. He drags a nearby chair to sit impossibly close to Aerum and puts a hand over her shoulders, pulling even closer. “The one and only”, he says and then turns to his beloved, “When are you coming over love? I've been waiting”. Aerum pouts and cups his face, “Soon Tae. There's just lot of work over this stupid assignment”, she groans and rants over the essay and research papers due in a week and you've hardly started on it. “I can help. I did this last year”, he fills in immediately. The fact that Taehyung was your senior was one thing, but it seemed more like begging for a chance to be with his girlfriend. Either way it's a win-win for you both. You can't wait to get this over with and spend your weekend over mushy rom-coms and pizza marathon. “Can Y/n join?”, Aerum chimes. Both of them looking at you. “Of course she can!”, Taehyung says and kisses her on the lips. You are pretty sure they would continue their soft make out until the librarian throws them out. So you thank for their hospitality and excuse yourself outside. The air was getting stuffy anyways. And then you bump into something. “Ow!”. Or someone. “I'm so sorry!”, you add immediately at a boy of your age. You can't see his face though, he is covering it with one of his hands and looks like he was searching for something. Looking at the ground you spot a pair of shades and you pick it up. “Here”, you grab his free hand and place it on his palm, “I'm really sorry”. He turns around and puts on his glass, what is he hiding? , “Thanks”, his voice is soft, “And no problem” You simply nod and walk away as he enters the library.

Weekend comes by in a split, and you half groan thinking your rom-com all-nighters have to wait. Taehyung’s apartment is a fifteen minute walk, where you've decided to meet up. Aerum and Taehyung were good companies of course, but you needed alone time to recharge from the chaos of the week gone by. Aerum had already reached, and slightly breathless when she opens the door. Taehyung sits in the living room couch with messed hair. You put a two on two and blush. So this weekend you'll be third wheeling. After setting a bowl of Pringles in the middle and assignments blown wide on the table, all of you sit down with respective laptops. Taehyung eyes his girlfriend from time to time, he is teasing and she has absolutely no sense of barrier to it. Your screen lits up into a new Wikipedia page and you let out a silent groan stretching your arms forward. “That calls for a break I think?”, Taehyung reads and everyone agrees. You've been gawking at your screen for hours and a rest was well deserved. The paper is only quarter way done by the way. But slow progress is better than no progress at all. “Hey I need to use the bathroom”, you tell him. “Right next to the bedrooms”, he signals. You can feel the couple's tension easing up as you leave. You feel bad, but Aerum is the one who insisted you into it so you slide that thought away. When you reach the bathroom, it's locked. And the it hits you that someone was in the house all along. Aerum had told you about Taehyung’s roommate like a background information. It's probably him. Now, you cannot knock. So you shift around your steps and glance at the neighboring walls to pass some time. There's a laugh down the hall. They are clearly enjoying their little of privacy and fate was definitely by their side. Halfway through drawing your fourth circle with your feet on the floor, the door opens. It's the shade-guy. And he is wearing his shade even now. “Hi”, you say, a little dazed. He fixes his shades firmer against his nose. That day if you thought he was blind, now you know he is definitely not because he is staring down at you, towering. “Hi”, he says back, a small smile demanding to break but they don't come, “We met that day”. “Yeah. I'm here with Aerum” “So you are Y/n”, he picks up and you give him a tight lipped smile with a small nod. “And you are...?” “Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook” You like the ring of it. “It was nice to meet you Jungkook”. “It was nice to meet you as well” And just like that with a small smile he disappears into his room. It was awkward. But you get it, he is not used to people and you understand that too well. The reason behind his shades still remains an itch to your curiosity, but that thought slips away when your bladder reminds you to take a piss. Unfortunately you had to stay all the way till 8PM to put a conclusion to your taunting research paper and Aerum decided to stay the night since it's a weekend anyways. You bid farewell and walk home, your warm sweater and hot chocolate waiting for you. Living alone was hard sometimes. But it was for moments like these, solitude was a great requirement to wash out the wear from the tough day. Jungkook didn't appear out of his bedroom at all. You wanted to ask Taehyung a little about the story behind his shades. But you don't, thinking it's not your thing to indulge on. Hot water relaxes you, the hot choco warms your body and you settle down into big fluffy sweaters (the closest you can get to cuddling). Being avidly organized, you decide to sort out tomorrow's schedule and go to sleep. Hand flies to your forehead. You forgot the very file with all your assignments back at Taehyung’s. Making calls is something you dread. You call Aerum five times knowing she is there. But the call doesn't budge, they are probably enjoying themselves. So you retort to

calling Taehyung this time. It takes six rings for someone to pick up. “Hello?”, the other side speaks. It's not Taehyung. “Jungkook?” “Um yeah?” “Where's Taehyung?” Jungkook glances at his roommate's long locked bedroom from the kitchen counter, “He is kinda busy...I think”. “I get it. I actually forgot to take my folder. Can I come and get it now?” You only manage to check the time now and see it's 11:28PM. You fiddle with your hair knowing you are afraid to walk alone in the dark. But you have no other go. You need the materials to submit it tomorrow. “It's late”, Jungkook says. And before you feel guilty for either waking them up or disturbing them in general he continues, “I can drop it off at your place. Send me your location. I'll text my phone number now”, he takes a breath, “Is that fine?” You simply gawk into the void, wondering how did you manage to hit a jackpot at the middle of the night. “Thank you!”, you shout into the phone and Jungkook smiles at the other end, “Thank you so much!” Jungkook has a big grin as he hangs up without much to say. It's a painless act of sympathy and nothing more. More than that, he wishes and prays for everyone's safety. You put your phone into speaker for some ambiance music, mostly classical piano as you sip from your mug. There's a comfortable silence and peace. Bam! A thunder roars outside. Just like that, the weather changes its face into a heavy downpour. You begin to worry because Jungkook is probably in the middle of the road, drenched, unless he had made the prophetic decision of taking an umbrella just in case. And as you pray for his wellbeing, the nature starts to behave in reverse. The music is overpowered by the rain entirely. You really don't have a choice other than to hope for his safety. Jungkook runs with the folder inside his coat. He doesn't care much about weather forecast, or even himself to carry an umbrella. But he wishes he did for protecting your folder. He withheld the decision to stop by shelter of a shop because he needs to get home soon, his Database Management assignment is waiting. Instead focuses on the little he can manage, and his monochrome vision doesn't help much as well. Three rushed knocks at the door and you jump on your feet. He looks worse than you had assumed. Absolutely no inch of him is spared by the climate. He still has his shade on. “Fuck you are absolutely soaked”, you murmur, the fact that maybe your folder had met the same fate doesn't pass you. It only does when Jungkook reveals an almost safe plastic bundle from under his coat. “I'm so sorry”, you cry, “I mean thank you so much but—” “It's alright”, he shrugs. He just needs to walk through the pounding rain once again. No big deal. “I'll get you a towel” Jungkook has zero plans on staying another second, simply because it seemed absurd to stay at someone's he doesn't know well, and not to make you uncomfortable. It's midnight now. You hand him a big warm towel. On another hand sits your brother's pjs. And Jungkook is quick to speak. “You really don't have to do that. I'll get going now”. He almost turns sideways to the exit and you are obliged to stop him. “Jungkook it's pouring rain outside. It's not safe. Are you monochrome?” “Yeah” That does it, “Then absolutely not! It's dangerous to walk at night. I know how hard it is to get through with monochrome, especially at night. I've some hot choco, change into the clothes. Bathroom is that way” Any more retraction will seem like Jungkook is simply being a stubborn kid. You see him flush a little, head low, while he takes the pair from your hand. You make an extra glass of hot choco while he walks in. “That fits you alright, I guess”, you chuckle. He looks down at himself, “I guess”. “Marshmallows?”, you ask, pouring the warm beverage into two mugs and topping yours with small white delicacy. Jungkook nods and you drop a generous amount into his mug. You are generally picky when it came to treating someone because: monthly budget. But he is your savior tonight, he deserves the extra

topping. You both sip away, you leaning opposite to him on the counter. “Thank you”, he says, grateful for the hospitality. And even now he has his shade on. So you guess since it's odd, it's safe to ask. “Why do you wear shades?” He sips into his mug and adjusts the glasses on his nose, “I have an eye infection” You simply say an ‘oh’ and take another sip. There's simply nothing more to add than, “I hope it's getting better” “Two more weeks” Even with the shades on, you know that he is staring at you, and you are staring at him. Nothing to speak about. It's awkward, but not strange. Jungkook notes the look of your studio apartment and likes it. It's cozy, warm and much different than where he lives. Taehyung is more leaned towards minimalist trends so their apartment ends up looking like a contemporary home. Yours however, is filled with furniture and books, two potted plants besides the stack of them and a big study table. His type of an apartment. “Thank you Y/n. I'll get going now” You take the emptied cup from his hands, “Get home safely”

The next time you meet Jungkook is two days later. He is at the library hunting for reference books and you are on the adjacent row, digging through romance novels. You look at each other at the same time. And he strides towards you after waving and hands going back to the pocket of his ripped jeans like always. “Hey”, he whispers, not to get caught by the nosy librarian. “Hi”, you whisper back, smiling sheepishly at him. “Romance”, he notes from the book at your hand. And like a quirky teenager you blush. People literally have no time to read novels unless you are majoring in literature (a reason why you thought majoring in that is a good idea but oh well), “That's a lovely book”. “You've read this?” “Are you both kissing?” You flinch at the whispered growl sent your way by a women behind Jungkook. You didn't really see your librarian sneaking up to catch you, but for completely unprecedented reasons. “No!”, you stammer and quip. “Shhh. No talking. I will require you both to get your books fast and leave” “Mrs. Mills—” “Miss”, she immediately corrects Jungkook, sliding back her glasses on her nose bridge due to frowning too much. “Miss Mills, we were not um kissing” You can't see the way Jungkook is blushing, but from the tone of his voice you can keep up and your nod follows to agree with him. “Don't lie” She's dubious. But fortunately you could still get your hands on your books. You leave, embarrassed. Maybe by the way Jungkook was towering over you might have gave off something, but that was no reason to mock two harmless students. You walk silently along with him without a clear destination in mind. You were just going to stroll around before your next class begins in twenty minutes. “That was er, awkward”, Jungkook begins, hands rubbing at the nape of his neck. You notice that he has a different shade on and very slightly you can notice his lower eye lashes fluttering against his cheeks. “Yeah”, you fix your hair for no reason, “It was. Mrs. Mills is crazy” “Miss”, he says and you both giggle. “Want to go grab a coffee?”, he asks. There's nothing much to do. He was visiting the campus Starbucks anyway. You agree to tag along. And from that day coffee dates became a thing. It's the closest you can experience to a soulmate and you are very grateful for this addition to your life. Jungkook was subtle, soft and a perfect gentleman who tends to say a lot about how much he misses his hometown. You talk about your mothers, your favorite book characters, your music taste and he listens to them all, and all the more remembers the tiniest details which slips into conversations later, making you shy and giddy at how attentive he was. You wish you could do the same to his rant about computer coding and such intellectual things. The habit of being easily flustered around him and zoning out didn't help much for that. “Have I told you, you look happy these days, Y/N?”, Areum chirps midway drinking her cocktail. Words don't come to you with alcohol filling your throat so you smile instead. This was one of those odd things now. You are at a party, and having drinks. You sabotaged your peaceful night with bath bombs for what? Jungkook is coming too. “When is Taehyung reaching?”, you ask instead, too shy and feeling weird to ask whereabouts of Jungkook. Aerum and Taehyung seem to not know a lot about the little bond you developed with Jungkook. It wasn't necessarily secretive, the topic didn't come up and you didn't bother to enlighten her either. Jungkook is coming with Taehyung anyways so it's the same thing. “In five minutes”. Aerum has this habit of being a few pitches higher than usual when she is wasted. You had stopped at a single shot and take responsibility of both of your safety until the boys arrive. “My Boo!”, she cries and runs to her boyfriend who is still, on the other side of the club at the entrance. A few heads turn to the sudden shrill, including yours and you catch the boys. Taehyung looks like he is out of a runway show as always, too detailed on his look. Jungkook looks equally

handsome slaying a simple t shirt with ripped jeans and shades. “Enjoying yourself love?”, you hear Taehyung saying to his girlfriend but mostly zoned out on catching Jungkook’s attention. “Hi”, you speak first. “Hi, Y/N”. Jungkook still needs to get his dose of shots to become a little extroverted in this crowd. “Have some shots boys!”, Aerum flies past you with two filled glasses of sparkly liquid in a questionable time. And like a very few choices in hand, you watch Jungkook reconsidering his life decisions and pouring the alcohol down his throat. You have two more shots, just to accompany the them. Aerum is careless at this point, way firm over Taehyung’s high alcohol tolerance (which is not true). The dizzy couple disappear into the crowd and sway their hips to whatever EDM music was playing right now. “I guess it's just us now”, Jungkook thinks out loud, not that he has anything better to say. You nod and take two shots from the counter. “Here you go. Since we are here. Might as well have some fun”, you try to sound less deprecating and he nods along, downing his fifth shot. Since you have little to no history with liquor or party, everything was getting to you in a split minute. The sound is suddenly drown out into the background, but you can still feel the drums on your chest, mind is a little hazy as you continue to pour some more. Jungkook stops after a few, feeling responsible for the little gang he is here with. Three of you are definitely wasted so someone needs to stay sober to drive back home. In this setting, Jungkook seems more attractive, a little grey gradient over his otherwise pale face due to flickering lights. You still don't know how Jungkook really looks like without his shades. How his eyes are like. Are they big? Or sharp and feline? Maybe they'll appear grey like yours too if he has a different eye color. “You wanna dance?”. He looks at you fixing the shade firmer against his nose bridge. “Sure” It was hard to see with color blindness at night, so you both agree to dance at a more lighted and less populated spot, which was close to the bathroom. The music isn't intense here to aid a migraine as well. You mostly mimic Jungkook’s steps and styles. While he is more fluid and smooth with his movements. He looked like a professional. If he was in the middle of the crowd, people would definitely form a circle to admire him. He looked so fine, which you are extensively studying right now, even though it's just jamming around to beats. “Why did you help me?”, you ask, a little faint for Jungkook to hear through the music. “What”, he comes closer to hear you. “Why did you help me?”, you repeat. “It seemed unsafe for you to walk alone in the dark so…”, he shifts some hair around his temple with his fingers,“It was nothing really”. You scoff, “Nothing? You drenched on a storm for me” “It wasn't that bad Y/N” “Oh it was”, you smile, not buying his reasoning. Maybe for someone who lifts a couple of kgs more than your own weight, it isn't a big deal. “It was fine”, he says softly. Your movements were getting lighter along time with your head. Drops of sweat coat Jungkook’s face as he shifts his feet to the rhythm. People started invading your little space as well, squeezing you closer to Jungkook. To a point you hit your head on his hard chest. “Are you okay?”, the voice above you ask. You try to peel yourself off of him, only to get pushed back into him again. “Yes. Yes I'm, I er…I'm sorry” His one firm hand holds the small of your back before you end up falling on other men. Heat rises up and your cheeks are rosy (only if the both of you could see). Jungkook is a little flush himself. His ear blushes. The crowd doesn't stop. As the time goes by, more drinks haze around adults and more people are losing their sanity of giving people space. “You want to go out?” “Yes please”, you reply. The air is chillier than before. Your hands rub your sides to warm up your body and Jungkook regrets not bringing a jacket. If he had to remove his t-shirt for you instead, that would

be inappropriate. “This is better”, you say in unison and giggle, a loud exhale to ease the bustle of socialising. “Sorry back in there”, he says and you know he is implying to his hands on your waist. Not that you seem to mind. If anything, it felt good to be held by someone, like in forever. You were not hugged enough in your life to complain about. “It's okay, Jungkook. You don't need to apologize”, you smile, “Er, do you wanna sit down somewhere? These heels are killing me” Jungkook only notices now about your deviation from regular fashion sense. You never let go of your sneakers and heels seemed like the last piece of footwear you would choose. “You never wear heels”, he sits down next to you in a bench located two steps to the right. The night was peaceful, thanks to the streetlights otherwise it would have been completely dark. It's not much windy but it's getting colder and colder, making you want to press against Jungkook again. His body was warm against you minutes ago. “Well I thought I should try something outside of my comfort zone today”, you confess, removing your heels and massaging your foot, sighing. “But heels aren't necessary. Besides you look cute in those sneakers” Your eyes widen and flutter a bit, never really used to complements. Your fashion would belong to the off season of a century gone by, and here is a very handsome guy calling you cute in them. “Oh, thanks” “You seem a little flushed”, he notices. He is smiling wide, out of both pride and alcohol that he could have that effect on a girl (he is very oblivious). “Sorry”, you tuck a strand of hair off your face, “I'm not really used to it”. “Really? You are really cute. I think you should be reminded that” Jungkook really doesn't get this much confidence when he is sober. Four shots of vodka is really gearing him up at the moment and he smiles, moving closer to you when you look like you are malfunctioning. “You are really shy”, and right after his words follow your hands hiding your face, now that he is sitting so close to you, legs ready to brush if you take another breath. “Look at me, Y/N” Oh boy. Let's assume the night had become colder and that's why your fingers are trembling so fast. Not dramatically but enough to show that you feel small under his gaze. Most of the times, he had always been shy, and you were on the same page. Maybe you should hang out in the bar more often. When your face is exposed to him again, he is simply staring. You can't see his eyes, but it feels like he is looking at you tenderly. You can see creases under his eyes through his half tinted glasses, enough to know that he is smiling with those eyes. “Your eyes are really beautiful” You aren't dreaming, because on the sidelines where your hands rest on your thighs you pinch to check if it was. He was really here, looking at you like you are a rare gem, and hands slowly moving closer to cup your face. Is he going to kiss you? He is staring at your lips. You always wanted your first kiss to be your soulmate. Not a recent crush, not a fling. But you don't feel like pushing him off either. Love, your mother quotes is: “Powerful, like you feel calm even when your insides are upside down, it's peace to be around the other, to grow each other” Maybe what you are feeling right now is something along those lines. But what if you do stare into him and the world still remains monochrome? What then? Jungkook is leaning in, his face is so close you can smell the vodka. He is pulling your face towards him as well. “Y/N can I—” You don't kiss. His sentence gets interrupted. The moment gets interrupted. And for a second Jungkook feels like he had taken things into his hands purely out of hormonal intentions and turned your friendship into a disaster. But neither of you have much time to apprehend all of those details because Aerum is jumping between you and Jungkook to stop Taehyung from punching a lad inside the bar. You didn't have to do much. The bar people were kicking all of you out anyway. Taehyung has dried blood on his

lips and Aerum is with him in the back seat of the car with a first aid kit. While Jungkook drives to your place, you are awfully silent beside him, not daring to peel your eyes of the front road. There were questions, there were explanations to be made and even if you had to start one you don't know where to begin. The only thing you do is to say a soft ‘thank you’, when Jungkook drops you off at your apartment. Maybe you can send a long ass text explaining the depths of your feelings, maybe you can call afterwards and ask him his intentions, about what he felt. There was a small voice inside you to find out if Jungkook is the boy meant to be. The person you'll explore the world with. And that very expectation has you in trance—the fear of disappointment. If he is not the one, then who is? You've waited for so long in your life and it's the first time you had any quality bonding experience with a guy. As you lie on your bed and stare at the ceiling, these thoughts haunt you. Jungkook wonders if you had slept already, if he should call you and tell you everything, to be honest to his really good friend. He almost feels like he had lost you, and even though it's just weeks of attachment, it was a big one for him. He looked forward to those coffee dates, even though Starbucks is expensive. Even if he had to cancel his Marvel movie marathon for a day. He looked forward to seeing you and your smile and all those mundane things about you. So he sits in his room, flicking is table light and deciding to call his mother first and seek advice. She would probably laugh first because he never had girl problems, something Jungkook looks forward to calm himself a bit. At 1:40 AM, your phone rings and that's when you realise you had dozed off a little. You swipe off the drool and swipe answer out of reflex. “Mom…” the other end sobs. It's Jungkook. You shoot your body up to sit straight, and he doesn't give another chance for you to speak. “Mom, I'm sorry to call you this late”, another loud sob. Your hands squeeze at your chest where your heart is, feeling constricted at Jungkook crying through the phone. “...It's about Y/N, I told you about her last week. Today we went clubbing and…I was about to kiss her and…I feel so pathetic, Mom. I don't know what I was thinking. She'll leave me and I don't know what to do…” “Jungkook…” “Y-Y/N?” “Jungkook I'm not going to leave you” “I intended to call my Mom. I'm…I'm sorry”. Jungkook buries his hands between his hands, ashamed while he sobs into the microphone harder. “It's okay. Is Taehyung there?” “He's with Aerum. I'm alone” In few seconds you are up on your feet hugging a jacket and sucking up your fear of dark for fifteen minutes as you stroll. Jungkook told you to not do such a thing, especially when it feels really child like. The alcohol is bringing his vulnerability to surface. With you by his side for the past week, he never addressed his loneliness and desperation. And now seeing you fading away before his eyes made it harder to not cry for an hour. When you enter the apartment, the lights are off, except there's a small beam escaping from his bedroom. He hasn't even locked the front door. “Jungkook?” He doesn't remove his face noticing you enter and focuses on drying them fast. You see his shade resting on a farther end of his table. Oh. You are about to find out. And you almost feel like making it more dramatic than what it sounds. To make this into a peekaboo game. Your heart hammers in your chest. Jungkook probably isn't giving this moment much thought, but he isn't showing you his face either. Something inside you wants him to be your soulmate and you don't know if that is a sign. “Jungkook”, you lean on his table and look down at his crouched body, “look at me”. “Thank you, Y/N. But I can explain about earlier”. As if time slowed down he removes his face from his hands and looks straight ahead. From your view, you can only see his lashes. And man you were terrified beyond words. As if it's an important exam you are taking and

the results are about to come. If you listen carefully, maybe you can hear a drumroll in the background as well. And then, he looks at you. And you look at him. “Jungkook…” “Jungkook!”. Maybe it's a fate thing that manifests all the intrusions up until this point. Taehyung barges in half dizzy. But this you basically invited yourself. On your way you had called Taehyung and despite tangled with his girlfriend he answers the phone and makes a quick drive back to the apartment. “Jungkook are you okay!?” “I'm fine, Hyung”, Jungkook says. He is avoiding eye contact with you right now and paying attention to his hyperventilating roommate. “Jungkook!”. Oh Aerum is here as well. There's too much population in the small room and for some reason every breath you take is suffocating. It's best to leave, you think. And Taehyung advices the same as well, promising to talk to Jungkook and get him back to life. When you walk back, this is your time to cry. You are still monochrome. Nothing changed. And yet it felt like everything did. Because Jungkook is not just handsome, he is ethereal and his eyes are beautiful. It's the most kindest face you have ever seen. Something you would like to wake up to every day by your side. But he isn't fated. His eyes are deep and dark, but the glimmering of his weeping eyes makes it look like there are stars trapped in them. You can't get the shapes of his eyes out of your mind—doe shaped and tender. What a pain that those eyes can't see colors. And what a pain that when it does, it's not going to be because of you.

When you wake up around noon with a raging headache, there are thirteen missed call from Jungkook and five from Taehyung. Thirteen because Jungkook is sober and is still very much confused and afraid to lose you. Five because he thought you are mad at him so he called from Taehyung’s phone. Your oversleep had made your face horrendous, the unremoved makeup added. So you decided to tackle your appearance and peace of mind first and then answer the phone. Changing clothes and little bit of dry shampoo is enough to mimic a shower. You don't have the energy to handle life right now. You had cried so much last night, songs boosting in your ears to multiply your pain, which was weirdly your favorite game to play. Grabbing your cereal bowl at 3PM, you open your phone at last. There are several text messages from Jungkook as well. On a normal day you would be eager to answer them all, but right now you dodge them and click on his caller ID instead. He immediately answers the call in half a ring, “Y/N!” “Y/N Can we meet today? At the park?" He doesn't get an answer and instead a sigh. You look at your cereal bowl as if the answer is floating on the milk. “No” “Please. This is important” “I can't, Jungkook”. You get up from your seat and stand close to your window, feeling nauseous all of a sudden. You didn't want to confront him at a state like this. You don't know if it was mutually awkward or if it was just you. “Please”, he begs. It takes several minutes and a lot of fighting with yourself to mutter a yes. Now instead of crying while eating tubs of ice cream, you have to look like you have your life put together and walk twenty minutes to the resident park. You take the long way around so now it's thirty minutes. Even though you feel guilty for making Jungkook wait, your insides were jello to work properly. Jungkook wears a checkered shirt with ripped jeans from last night. Unlike you, he hasn't bothered to cover up with makeup or even brush his hair properly for that fact. Which tells he had spent a sleepless night. He runs up to you the moment you appear. “Jungkook—” “I need to kiss you”, he fills in immediately, his hands almost flying to cup your tender skin of cheeks. Your face looks bummed out and he feel nauseous at the sight, guilty to put you through it, “I think you're my soulma—” “No”, you take a step back and you hate the feeling of your eyes stinking because of tears threatening to show. Jungkook was hopeless once—yesterday, so much so that Taehyung puts his jacket into the laundry, wet from his friend's tears. It wasn't planned, both of you thought fate will make you see colors anyways. It didn't happen and you wonder why would you still allow him to kiss you. Not that you didn't want to. “We don't see colors, we are not soulmates, Jungkook. Quit this” His eyes are oh so beautiful. You can't take your eyes off them, especially when they look like art in this daylight. They widen when you say those words and he takes a step towards to you, softly, a hand reaching out, pleading you to give him a chance. “One time. Please. Just this once” “What makes you think this will change anything?” “I talked to Taehyung, I talked to my Mom, she said sometimes eye contact isn't enough. And I do feel something when I'm with you and I know that you feel it too. Please Y/N. My mother is never wrong. Can I please kiss you?” He gets his answer after a lot of staring. A lot of fighting over thoughts again. His mother better be right otherwise it will leave you so hurt. For a person like you, affection like this is a big deal. It isn't mediocre joke like for most people. But Jungkook isn't giving up, his eyes aren't. You can't peel your eyes from their shine. So you give in, with a small nod. You remember writing in your journal about your first kiss. This was a little different from that. You were supposed to be happy and fully sure about who you are supposed to lock lips with, you were supposed to not cry harder when it happens. But what you intended to feel, that is somehow the same. Like Mi

once said, it's like fire flowing from your chest to all parts of your body and you can't put control to it. But you are afraid to find out. Both your eyes remains shut as you kiss. Jungkook doesn't have an experience at this either to move his mouth languidly, nor was his heart at place. But you try nevertheless to take each other's breathe away. Chaste, sweet and just lots of pressing mouths to each other. When he pulls away, he is careful to not let go of you completely. His forehead is touching yours and when you open your eyes to look into his, he is already looking at you with a smile. “You have beautiful eyes, Y/N” “You too” “Guess you are my soulmate now” His eyes are the same color as before, but his skin his not, the sky isn't the same. The flowers around you are brighter and you are suddenly filled with all that life you were chasing your whole life. You can see colors. And Jungkook is your soulmate. You don't know how to process so you kiss him again, loving the newfound feeling. He kisses you again too, till you are tired and your breakfast is burned out in the process. Now you understand why Taehyung and Aerum were always jumping on each other. Now you know, because you can feel it too.

“Oh sweetheart I can't believe this!”, Mi hyperventilates, urging her wife to drop whatever she is doing and join the commotion. “Our little girl is in love!”. That takes the elder’s attention and she comes running into the living room where her wife sits with tears in her eyes and talking to you on skype. You are thankful Jungkook hasn't reached yet. He is busy moving his stuff from Taehyung’s to your apartment. “What!? Spill the tea!”, your elder mother nudges and Mi basically raps the whole detail, as if another second can't wait and you giggle at them. They tear up as you continue to speak, seeing their child full of life. You looked brighter and cheerful, there's pink tint on your face when you talk about him and it seems to only grow the more you speak. “You should bring him home for dinner!”, one of them suggests. You are not sure about Jungkook’s say about this. You promise to consider the invite and cancel the call. Talk of the angel, Jungkook enters the front door with two huge carton boxes of his stuff and sends a soft smile your way. Immediately after his hands are free, he pulls you into a kiss, something he had gotten better over the weeks, “What did your mothers say?”. “They are delighted”, you smile, “And they are eager to meet you”. “Sure”, he says, “I want to meet them too”. “This weekend?” “Sounds good” Week goes by fast, filled with staying up nights watching a movie, kissing during the breaks, holding hands and going to the campus together, hugging his body to sleep and other mildly intimate things. And oh there was hella lot of staring too. You're so pretty, your eyes are so lively and it's a crime if one doesn't take their time to let oneself drawn to them. Jungkook feels lucky that you are all to himself only. More plants are added to your home, you notice as you embrace your mothers, them not missing another beat to show that same affection to Jungkook. He is dressed modestly— a tucked in crisp shirt, pants and slicked back hair, looking more handsome like this, goal driven to impress the ladies with his charm, though he really didn't have anything to worry about. And your mothers are more than impressed, lifting the fog out of Jungkook’s face, a bright smile spreads across his lips when they start referring to them as their own son, reminding him of his mother. “Where are you off to Mom?”. It's almost dark and you remember about their weekend club. As much they like to stay, being representatives doesn't earn them an excuse to spend more time. Soojin and Mirae excuse themselves, their bags filled with papers of action plan for the new school going to open in the locality. As much as you already miss them, you are happy you get to spend time with Jungkook, nothing seems enough when it came to him. Soojin inspects the sky for a second and takes out the umbrella. Even in the incoming downpour, they don't comply to staying in, and bid goodbyes while they hold hands and leave the gate. “Your home is so beautiful”, Jungkook hugs you from behind and plants a soft kiss to your hair. Your hands snakes with him where it rests on your waist and you smile, “Well, thank you” When you turn around to kiss him, the rain starts pouring down into the concrete, cutting out all disturbance of the world. Right now, it's just you and him, again, only this time it feels different. Maybe it's his well ironed shirt, the gentleman he was today, which had your heart beating out farther than usual. Which is exactly why you can't get enough of the kiss and push him into the couch in the living room to kiss him more, sitting on his laps and straddling him. And he kisses back, plunging his tongue into your mouth. He is a quick learner, knowing when and where to hold you during a kiss. His hands supports the back of your head and the other moving to your ass. With a moan you break apart, for ventilation reasons, “Jungkook…can we—” “Are you sure?” You kiss him and nod, and he smiles, never seen you so impatient. His shirt is dug out from his pants, falling loose around his thighs. Your

hands snake up to touch his skin, and you kiss him more, just to tell him how much you need him. He carries you, your legs wrapped around his torso, to take you to your bedroom, where there's more space, and also to not ruin your parents’ couch. He takes off his shirt, his face various shades of crimson, on his cheeks and ears and wherever you seem to touch him, as if even his blood is attracted to you. He had been shirtless a couple of times before, the only thing which makes this more shy is considering you are going to make love to each other for the very first time. He sits down on the edge of the bed, you still sticking to him, your hands all over his exposed skin and lips not leaving his. Your mothers return in less than an hour so that means you can't just kiss around for more, not like you had the control or patience for it. Eventually along the way you push him to the mattress and kiss his jaw. “I love you so much”, you sigh, hands on his cheeks to give another sweet kiss to his nose. He smiles, hands still on your torso, and pushing you around to switch positions. Your eyes, they look livelier than ever before, pupils blown wide, as if they can't get enough of him. “I love you too” “Show me then”, you challenge him, fiddling with the band of his pants down, lightly tracing wherever his V-line ends beneath the pants. Which was far enough to push his buttons. Your blouse and pants come down next, he is gentle with every touch upon your way. Most of them out of love and some of them because of shyness never leaving him. He has never been in a situation like this before, but this was calmer chaos, and he can't wait to pleasure you. You'll sing all your melodies, all because of him. Your torso covered in light pink bra is exposed to him and it takes collective effort and giggles for him to unhook them. Seeing your breasts he gently cups them and tries to get used to the softness in his hands, rolling the nipples with his thumb making you gasp. Gasps rolls into moans as he fiddles with you more and that seems to fuel him to take one boob into his mouth after a nod of consent from you. “Does this feel good baby?”, his voice turns into a rasp as he gulps down his own saliva. Your skin tastes like strawberries from your body wash and he inhales it, burying his head in your chest. “Yes”, you moan, followed by Jungkook when your hands wrap into his hair and your nails scrapes against his scalp. “I want to make you feel good baby”, he breathes and kisses your stomach. You notice now that your thighs are open and one of his thighs close to your panties. It's itching you to just move and press against his glutes. When he returns to your neck to mark you, he presses his thighs to your core finally and you whimper, clawing his back. The denim was giving you a comfortable friction to work with so you grind into him and moan into his ear. “Pretty”, he comments and flexes his thigh to create further stimulation for you. He looks at your skin to see purple spots littered over. Your face is fully pink and so are your ears. The closeness was getting to you, but enjoying it nevertheless. He understands now why colors are important. You seem prettier like that and no other reason. Sure he is grateful that he can see the rainbows now and find out Iron man was actually red and yellow. But seeing you strewn out like art was the most important to him. He bites the crook of your neck again before trailing down your body. He has never done anything remotely explicit like this, like tugging the elastic of your panties with his teeth, he did that to make himself look sexier and it was almost funny because he was flustered doing so. But as your cunt gets exposed every second you do anything but laugh. A little of your juice coats your lips and he is salivating at the thought of tasting them. Though he is not quite sure what to expect. “Can I taste you love?” “Oh my God”, you moan at the thought and nod softly, immediately covering your face with your hands. He comes back to you, to meet your face

and removes your hands, “Hey, only if you are okay with it”. “I'm okay with it”, you assure him, “Go ahead”. He presses his lips to yours for a second

before he gets off of bed and walks to the other end. Taking one of your ankles, he starts placing pecks along your skin until it reaches your knees and then switches. You take a sharp inhale when his second round begins from your knees and trailing up. He lays down on his stomach on the bed and inches himself forward as he progresses to between your thighs to the prize. Your eyes are glued to the tiny chandelier on your ceiling, because watching him between your thighs was too hot for you to handle at the moment and you don't want to ruin it by cumming incredibly fast. Your back arcs first and thighs bend second when he experimentally swipes his tongue between your lips and stopping at your clit. He continues that a few times before spreading you with his fingers and latch on to your bud. Jungkook is grateful that he is at least familiar with the female anatomy otherwise he would've had to spend another few minutes finding where the clitoris is. And that gratefulness is far more reflected in the way you wreath and hold on to the bedding to sane yourself. First time sex is often supposed to ve very awkward but Jungkook does it with so much passion, his lack of practice isn't anywhere to be seen. Seeing your juices flowing out to the bed, he trails down and wiggles his tongues inside your hole and slurps up what he can. “You taste so good baby” “Jungkook!...Please don't stop!” Knowing you are close, he is determined to double that incoming orgasm. He inserts a finger while he presses his lips to your bud and drawing figure eights. “R-right there”, you moan, when he curls his finger and finds a spongy spot. This time you choose to go ahead and look at him and you that is enough to get you off at last. His triceps flex to support his weight better and he eats you out with fervor. After he is satisfied with his job he sits on his heels and grins at you, a very bi polar bunny smile showing making you want to bite his bread cheeks to actually check if they are bread. “That was so good”, you huff, still calming down from your high. You crawl to him for a brief make out. His pants were remarkably dented at this point and it's only fair he gets to have some fun too. You work your hands on the zipper of his jeans while you kiss him and a shiver runs through his spine. While the buttons of his jeans part, you dig a little of your finger under his boxer and trace the line, making him whimper on your lips. “Touch me please” You honestly don't know what to expect when you take his cock out of his boxer but he is beautiful everywhere and you might as well kiss it. But that's for another time. Your fingers wrap around his cock hesitantly. It feels strange to hold that and he hisses when you try to swipe your thumb over his head. His hand comes to rest on yours to show you how to pleasure him. After a few pumps you learn to take control and smile when he moans, head leaning back that he has to support himself with his hands dug on the mattress. A small clock sits at your nightstand. Thirty more minutes. “Baby, if you go on like this I'll cum”, he removes your hand, “Lay back...we don't have time”. “Be gentle”, you say, getting anxious as the moment nears. His eyes are instantly ten times softer if that's even possible. “I'll be gentle, I'll take good care of you…I promise”. He presses his mouth to yours for a soft peck and his hands massages your thighs to relax. They had been tense all these while. He takes time to massage your muscles wherever you are tight and contracted due to anxiety. As much as you want him, you don't know how well you will do when it comes down to sex. You have nothing to worry about Jungkook, your mind says. He seemed confident with you though both of you are virgins and going to change that in a few minutes. Jungkook smiles when you hum under his touch and for a split second when you close your eyes to fully dwell into his fingertips, you hear a shuffle when he wears a condom and aligns himself to your entrance. “Tell me if it's too much okay?” You nod, eyes still

big from fear. He interlocks your fingers with him and his face right above you. And so are your eyes, trapped inside his big doe ones. “Are you sure about this?”, he asks again, his thumb swiping under your palm into a soothing sensation. To be honest you were tentative about sex for a second. Not that you enjoyed it till now, it was purely insecurity talking to you and you knew it's high time you take control of your mind and not the other way round. So you nod again and raise your head to kiss the corner of his lips, “Yes. I'm ready”. You feel a stretch when the head of his cock presses in. He stares into your eyes the whole way until he fully bottoms into you, your walls perfectly cushioned around him and his eyes studying any signs of discomfort. “How do you feel?” “In love”, you reply. That does something to him. He feels heat rise to his head and onto his body when you say things like that. You signal him that it's okay to move so he does, very very slow, as if you are a fragile thing. He tames his pace as slow as possible, despite his eagerness and when he is more than half way out, he enters you again, with a whimper on his lips and his tongue on yours. “Feels really good baby”, he cries, repeating his movement, not once leaving his eyes from yours. “Y-yes mngh—Move a little faster please” Jungkook sits on his knees, fingers still interlocked and takes a moment to see your cunt swallowing him in. It was too hot and explicit that his ears turn scarlet from how good it feels and moves at a comfortable pace like you complied. “I'm going to cum”, your boyfriend moans. “Me too” His cock buries deeper inside, chasing both of your high and you end up in a toe curling high, greater than last time and your moans kissing his ears. “I love you so much Y/N, fuck I can't get enough of you” “I love you too—ah—Jungkook” You both climax together. Thighs stuttering and moaning messes on bed. Five more minutes. You quickly dress up and change sheets and toss it into laundry. As much as you wanted to cuddle in your naked bodies, you always had time for that back at your apartment. From the looks of Jungkook, he is going to propose a repeat session of this very soon. The rain has calmed a bit and petrichor fills the air. You decide to watch something on TV to seem like that's what you had been doing all along. But your makeup over the hickies didn't quite work so when your mothers giggle without context your brows knit in confusion.

College had been smooth ever since you can see colors and you don't have to memorize anything anymore. Your favorite color is still periwinkle, and your diary finds a new chapter disclosing—more merrier than the past. Five weeks into dating, you had been quite detached to books since you found a new passion—Jungkook. So after a long time you visit the library to get your hands on some classics. Thinking he is probably somewhere at the Technical block, you really didn't expect to meet him here. He is at the library hunting for reference books and you are on the adjacent row, digging through romance novels. You look at each other at the same time. And he strides towards you after waving and hands going back to the pocket of his ripped jeans like always. “Hey”, he whispers, not to get caught by the nosy librarian. “Hi”, you whisper back, smiling sheepishly at him. Out of habit whenever he is near you, his lips are bound to meet yours. You share a sweet kiss until— “Are you both kissing?” “Mrs. Mills—” “Miss”, she immediately corrects you. “Miss…Mills. We are very sorry” “Shhh. No talking. I will require you both to get your books fast and leave” You giggle on your way out, remembering how much things have changed for the better. You are forever grateful for always having hope, and trusting Jungkook. Just like he promised, he never broke your heart and oathed to keep them safe on his gentle arms. He kisses you now, outside the library and links arms. You've never been this happier before, and you smile knowing from now on it'll only grow.

----------THE END----------

thank you so much for reading!!! please do leave a feedback!!! ★ taglist: @rasprings @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!) ★ credits: @creativepromptsforwriting : soulmate au prompt, @/stephbohrer on spotify : hopless romantics, this ones for you playlist ★ banner & boards: by me :) a/n: happiest birthday wishes to my bff @rasprings !! this is by far the longest fic I've written and I hope everyone enjoys this! let me know about the characters and plot! I started writing this on 9 june 2021 and scheduling this on 14 july 2021. that's more than a month! editing was honestly a pain in the ass with tumblr mobile I'm grateful that my pc worked! I hope you enjoy the aesthetic boards as well! found out that I can't include more than 10 pictures so text breakers at the end are missing lol. more fics are coming (hopefully): rich kids au and beach au!!

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

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Hideaway (M)

Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature

Chapters

01: Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown (9.2k words) | read on ao3 02: How Sharper Than a Serpent’s Tooth It Is to Have a Thankless Child (13.3k words) | read on ao3 03: Love Sought is Good, but Given Unsought, is Better (17.6k words) | read on ao3 04: I Will Live in Thy Heart, Die in Thy Lap, and Be Buried in Thine Eyes (14.2k words) | read on ao3 05: And This Our Life Finds Tongues in Trees (11k words) | read on ao3 Total Word Count: ~65k

Drabbles

Epilogue 1 (2k words) | read on ao3 Epilogue 2 (~9k words) | read on ao3 Epilogue 3 (~5k words) | read on ao3 Epilogue 4 (~9k words) | read on ao3 Epilogue 5 (~11k words) | read on ao3 Epilogue 6 (10k words) | read on ao3 Epilogue 7 (8k words) | read on ao3

Summary

Only the respected patriarch of the Kim dynasty thinks you are worth anything. Despite his vision, the rest of the upper crust sees you as nothing more than your station, a girl borne of a family that only ever existed to serve them. Cruelly, the only thing standing in your way is also the key to your success: having to take care of a smiley, goofy, lanky, drunk manchild in ill-fitting clothes who just happens to be next in line for the throne, and who has just inadvertently kidnapped you. The next three days with Kim Seokjin will make or break you.

Excerpt

Mr. Kim stares at his son. You think you see a fondness in his eyes, but the words that come out of him are, “What the hell is wrong with my idiot son?”  He turns to you, and in the uncomfortable silence, you avert your eyes and fiddle with your phone. Eventually, you meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, I-I’m not sure how to, uh, is that a rhetorical question? Because I don’t feel, uh, what’s the word I’m looking for, uh, qualified to, uh—” “Please keep an eye on him. My legacy is on the line.” You nod and have to suppress a gigantic eye-roll. You want to say “what do you think I’ve been doing all these years?” “Promise me?” Mr. Kim asks suddenly. Now, you definitely see a fondness in his eyes. He’s terrified. He’s pleading you, and you soften. “Yes, sir. Of course. What do you think I’ve been doing all these years?”

Genres: Fluff / Smut / Humor / Angst / AU Businessman!BTS / Assistant!You / E2F2L / Flashbacks / Middle School OT7 / High School OT7 / College OT7 / Law School OT7 / Growing Up Together 

Pairings: Jin x Reader

Content Warnings: Soft smut, hard smut, strained father/son relationship, Jin is a manchild and your life would be so much better if he’d just get it together, but then where would you be, family trauma, bullying, teasing, some domestic violence, some references to physical abuse, references to and scenes of drug use, some kinky stuff, cheating, an icky instance with an unwanted advance, and just themes about expectations, general pressure, and anxiety.

Influences: Two Weeks’ Notice, Hamlet (honestly the whole dynamic between Jin and his dad is very Shakespearean), Succession (but only in theme), Iron Man franchise, Rory/Logan from Gilmore Girls, really into the whole rich boy thing this month apparently

Taglist 💜: permanent @purpleheartsfortae @btseditsworld | hideaway  @simpledomain  @impossiblytinytraveler​ @purplehearts1996​

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Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai​ for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

                December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

                Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

                “You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

                You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

 Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

                Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

                You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

                You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

                Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

                “Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”  

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

                You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

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promise - series masterlist (knj)

NOTE: I have lost access to my old account @joheun-saram​, and all new updates will be to this new series masterlist.

Summary- Namjoon has always been in the periphery of your friend group, but when you meet the cute boy he doesn’t make the best first impression, or second, or third…

word count- 40k (COMPLETE)

pairing- college!namjoon x reader

rating- R

genre- collegeau, roommatesau, enemies2friends2lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst

a.n- Well, well, well… if it isn’t my simp ass writing another Namjoon series. Love that about me. Get ready for some slow burn and a lot of Namjoon just being annoying! 🥴This is a drabbleish series so most parts will be about 2-3k.

Got questions about the series, or want to be on the taglist? Send me an ask! 💕

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