The Hug................... - Tumblr Posts

i think ogata might be a snork in moomins ?? snorks can change colour according to them mood i guess it will help him make friends.......

sleepwalking ● 8 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, angst, SLOW BURN

words: 10.3k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 8 ► let’s search the skies for a while, you and i

Stockholm replaced Copenhagen as the next location for Rated Riot’s European Tour, and it was Day 2 of the 14 days that Sid had given Jungkook to win this bet.

Because of that, Jungkook found himself living in a whirlpool of contradictions.

When you were in the room with him, the bet was all he could think about. It’s what held him back from approaching you, what stopped him from talking to you—out of paradoxical fear that this would count towards winning the bet, but not towards getting back together with you.

And when you weren’t in the room with him, all he could think about was that you weren’t in the room with him.

It was like this right now.

Earlier today, Yoongi had suggested that everyone met up for dinner at a high-class restaurant on the Strandvägen promenade after the show tonight. It made sense for everyone to agree – the band had a day off tomorrow and the restaurant was, supposedly, at a very beautiful spot – and Jungkook figured everyone would come.

Everyone did come. Except you.

And now thoughts of you made their way into his mind while his body winced at every slight noise, every minuscule movement that he noticed out of the corner of his eye, thinking—hoping—that it was you entering the room.

He could remember seeing you at the show—actually, it was difficult for him to see anyone but you when he was on stage; he’d just noticed how impossibly captivating your eyes looked with the stage lights reflected in them as you watched Rated Riot perform—but he wasn’t sure where you had gone afterwards.

He leaned over to Namjoon, who was sitting next to him at the restaurant table, and whispered awkwardly, “so, um, I thought everyone was coming to this dinner.”

Namjoon forced himself to look away from the streetlights reflected in the bay as the band and their team dined on the waterfront. He was still smiling, dazed by the overwhelming beauty of the place, as he murmured, “everyone did come.”

“No,” Jungkook objected before Namjoon could look away. “No, uh, see, our manager didn’t.”

“Oh, Luna said that she had something to do,” the producer replied. “But I think she mentioned joining us later.”

Jungkook knew immediately that that wouldn’t happen. In fact, as he scanned the table for your friends—Luna or Maggie—he glanced at Yoongi, who’d overheard the brief exchange, and shook his head when Jungkook’s gaze landed on him.

The whole band knew you well enough by now: if you weren’t here from the start, you weren’t coming. Luna probably only said that to Namjoon, because you asked her to.

Figuring there had to be a reason why you didn’t come – it was early morning back home, so it was possible that the label had contacted you, although Jungkook doubted it; they weren’t the type to call when things were going well – he looked over to his other side where Jude, Sid, and Minjun were sitting.

The three of them had already drunk a considerable amount of brännvin—the more it burned their throats, the more they seemed to enjoy it, the psychopaths—so they were probably unaware of how loud their conversation was.

He thought this was the perfect opportunity to slip out.

Granted, he probably shouldn’t have worried about his friends catching him leaving – they’d assume he was doing it to win the bet. And perhaps he should have deliberately tried to draw more attention to himself, to show off that he was going to win.

But he snuck out of the restaurant because of you, not because of the bet.

He didn’t think this through very well, however. A taxi van had dropped everyone off at the restaurant earlier, and the ride hadn’t taken very long. But, on foot, he was forced to walk for at least fifty minutes until he reached the parking lot where the tour buses were.

He tried to breathe in through his nose and out his mouth, so it wouldn’t look like he’d just run a marathon—although the muscles in his calves certainly felt like it.

He opened the door of the bus and peered inside. As suspected, you were half-lying in your bunk, laptop on your knees, airpods in your ears.

He entered and closed the door behind him with an accidental slam. There was no one else on the bus, but you didn’t lift your head; not even as he walked down the lane between the bunks, stopping in front of yours. Whatever you were listening to had to be loud enough to drown out the noise he was making.

“What are you doing?” he asked, reaching out to touch your shoulder. Your violent flinch at his touch made him flinch as he nearly tumbled backwards into Hoseok’s bunk.

“Jesus! Fuck!” you cried in horror, yanking the airpods out of your ears. “Stop doing that! What—why are you here?”

Straightening up, his eyes still wide, he replied, “I-I came here to ask you that!”

You kept your eyes on him, your heart still startled. “You came here from Strandvägen?”

“Yes.”

“On foot?”

“Yes.”

You knew Strandvägen was quite far from here, but you didn’t know Stockholm well enough to determine if his answer was plausible. However, his chest was rising and falling at an irregular pace, even though he was trying very hard to appear calm and relaxed, and that was a clear sign of physical exertion.

Still not blinking—as if he’d fade away if you closed your eyes even for a second—you furrowed your brows. “Why?”

“To ask you why you weren’t with us,” he replied simply.

Even more confused, you flipped your laptop screen shut and placed the device behind you.

Jungkook took this as an invitation to sit down next to you (really, he would have sat on the floor at this point, his legs were burning). You watched him and thought about what to ask next.

“You could have used the phone,” you said, figuring there was nothing you could ask him that would make you feel satisfied with his answer.

“I wanted to see your face,” he replied, “when you explained why you made me walk all the way over here.”

Despite the humorous twinkle in his eyes, you felt accused and defended, “I did not make you do anything.”

“You weren’t at the restaurant,” he argued. “So, yeah. You did.”

Averting your gaze, you ran your fingers over the frayed edges of the bedspread underneath the two of you.

“You shouldn’t have bothered coming here,” you began. He ignored the condescending tone in your voice, knowing it was there to make you feel better about having to explain something personal—something you’d undoubtedly categorised under ‘complaining’ and, therefore, would regret as soon as you talked about it. “I didn’t come with you guys, because I’m not really feeling up for socialising tonight. That’s all.”

He figured as much, but he knew that was not all. The pain in his legs eased a little, now that he could see that he hadn’t walked here for nothing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you replied—a reflex—and Jungkook had to swallow his frustration. “Just not feeling my best. But I’m fine.”

You seemed unaware of your own contradictory words, but he chose not to point it out, saying instead, “Luna told Namjoon you were busy.”

“Yeah,” you replied with an uncomfortable twitch of your lip. “I asked her to. I didn’t want him to pity me. He’s very sensitive. Makes me feel bad if I upset him.”

Weirdly happy to hear that, Jungkook gave you a small, teasing smile. “But you don’t mind upsetting me?”

“You came all this way,” you replied, meeting his eye and smiling back—but your gaze remained vacant. “I couldn’t just lie to you. But, really, I’m fine. You should go back.”

Funny how you managed to assure him you weren’t lying and then proceeded to lie all in one breath.

“I’m not going back without you,” he said, his voice rougher. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said, and then again, “nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Jungkook knew you never admitted you were tired unless it was an excuse to hide what you were really feeling. And, frankly, he was starting to grow really annoyed. Not because you were refusing to tell him what was going on, but because you were treating him like a stranger.

He’d known you for seven years at this point. He could tell when you were pretending.

And yet, he hadn’t tried to pry the truth out of you in years—he couldn’t even remember what methods he used to use back when you were together.

And he suddenly felt guilty, too, because you spent so much time making sure everyone around you was doing well—citing your job as the reason—but he’d never really asked you about you in return.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he mumbled—the words he’d heard you say to him hundreds of times sounded awkward when he repeated them. “You always tell me that. It’s only fair that I reciprocate.”

“See, but I have to listen to you,” you replied softly, not meaning much by it. You just wanted to relieve him of the responsibility he seemed to think he had to sit here and listen to you. “It’s my duty to make sure you’re feeling your best.”

“Well, I’m making sure you’re feeling your best because that’s what I want to do,” he countered. “Not because I have to.”

Your eyes widened in realisation. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t care about you—”

“I get it,” he cut you off. “Talk to me.”

You sighed. There were only so many times you could slither out of answering questions without it becoming frustrating. In your personal experience, most people rarely persisted long enough for you to say “I’m fine” more than twice in a row.

Jungkook, however, sat on your bunk, stiff as a statue. Determined, clearly, to stay here until you talked to him.

You knew you’d have to. And, really, you weren’t purposefully hiding anything. You just didn’t think this was something that you should have bothered other people with. Especially Jungkook, who already had enough on his plate from performing almost every night.

“It’s nothing,” you said—always the introductory phrase in your sentences. “I was on the phone with my mum after the show—”

Jungkook reacted immediately, “isn’t it… very early over there?”

“It was a little after four in the morning when she called, yeah,” you said. “That’s why I knew right away that something bad had to have happened.”

He felt an unexpected pang in his chest. Forgetting the bet completely, he worried about something else for a second—another thing that your mum could have told you about him.

It wasn’t anything bad per se, he knew you wouldn’t be angry if you found out—he hoped not—but you might not like the fact that he wasn’t the one who told you.

But it couldn’t be. You appeared tired, not flabbergasted. You looked surprised to see him, but not enough to toss a flowerpot at his head.

He shuffled on the bunk, and tried to ask, “what, um—what happened?”

“It’s my brother,” you said with a sigh so deep, it drowned out the sound of Jungkook’s relieved exhale. “He got—he had gone on a trip with friends. But then he suddenly returned home with a broken leg. That bonehead thought it was just a sprain, even though he couldn’t walk at all, so he didn’t go to the hospital right away. And now the leg is, apparently, swollen and blue.”

Jungkook cringed at the image.

“Yeah,” you replied to his expression. “Anyway, mum needed his insurance information. It’s not even a big deal, just a broken bone, he’ll be fine. It’s just that my mum was crying like it was the end of the world, and now I’m—I don’t know. It’s nothing. You shouldn’t have come.”

So close. You’d almost finished the whole story without discrediting your feelings again.

Jungkook tried to – quickly – find a way to bring you back to your previous state of mind, “no—it’s—is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, they were at the hospital when I talked to her,” you replied. “The x-ray showed a common fracture, so he won’t need any surgery or anything.”

“That’s good. And your mum?”

“Oh, she was still hysterical when she hung up,” you said. “She only ended the call, because the nurse came to talk to her.”

This was typical of your mum, who loved her children more than anything—and now that you were rarely home because of your job, she focused a lot of that love on her youngest son.

Naturally, a broken bone was a disaster for her.

And she probably didn’t even realise how much her crying would affect you. No one liked to see their mother cry—it was possibly one of the worst sights a child could endure—but you’d always been particularly sensitive to it.

You had once told him that your biggest dream was to never see your mum cry again. And you put in great effort to make this dream come true ever since your parents’ divorce was finalised and your mother began to get herself back together: shopping trips, beauty salons, and holidays in her dream countries.

Jungkook had never heard anyone’s biggest dream be about someone else. He didn’t think he even believed you at first, but several late-night phone calls when you were pacing in your room, nearly ripping your hair out, because your mum wasn’t feeling well again, convinced him that you’d meant it.

Really, he admired you for this. But now he was clenching his jaw, because he understood where your mum was coming from, but he still thought it was unfair to burden you with this when she knew that the sound of her tears would haunt your dreams.

“He’s her youngest kid,” Jungkook rationalised in spite of himself.

“He’s seventeen,” you retorted irritably. “Surely, that’s old enough to develop a brain.”

“How did he break his leg anyway?”

“He told mum he was climbing a tree, and a branch broke off, so he fell,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I don’t know who climbs trees when they’re travelling with friends, but I do know that he was drinking, and he didn’t want mum to know. As for the thing he fell from, I can’t say anything about that. But clearly, he hit his head pretty badly on his way down, too, the absolute idiot.”

Jungkook couldn’t help a small snicker here. “Did she believe him about the tree?”

“He’s done dumber things, so I wouldn’t blame her,” you said. “And she still told me not to yell at him.”

“I second that.”

You groaned, disagreeing with him just as you’d disagreed with your mum before, “he was stupid enough to think his obviously broken leg would heal on its’ own and did not go to the hospital, and now he’s made mum cry—”

“He made a dumb mistake,” Jungkook’s calm voice cut you off. “I’m sure he knows and blames himself for it.”

Thrown off by his composure, you mumbled, “he’d better.”

“I’m sorry,” he said—the word sudden, almost inappropriate.

You looked at him. “Hm? For what?”

“That your mum cried, and you were on your own in a foreign country.”

You swallowed, your gaze falling from his face to the bedspread underneath you.

You didn’t have to tell him much, he knew your family very well: with only one parent to look after two children, you had to step up and take on the role of the other parent to your little brother and be the helping hand to replace the missing partner for your mum once your parents divorced.

Even before they divorced, actually—but Jungkook didn’t know much about that. You never talked about your family before your parents finally split up, but he had an inkling that things had been bad for a while. You had hardly any contact with your father and that had to come from somewhere.

Being a younger brother himself, he’d always felt this misplaced guilt in situations like this. As if exploiting older children in favour of the younger ones was a common practice of all parents, and he, too, received preferential treatment compared to his older brother.

But he didn’t think he did. He knew he didn’t—his parents called him and his brother the same number of times every day, even if Jungkook couldn’t always pick up. They scolded and praised them equally.

And he knew it was different for you. Your mum called you and asked how you were and what was new with you, but the real reason for her call was your brother and the new problems he was causing.

Jungkook suspected that she did this because you’d never told her that you minded being a parent to a child you didn’t have. You never minded being needed, being everyone else’s shoulder to lean on.

You were you.

You had everything under control, always. You were the only clear head in your household of chaos. Sometimes, even in his household of chaos.

You had taught your mum years ago not to ask how you were feeling, because two things would happen if she did: either she would worry, or you’d have to lie to her so she wouldn’t. You didn’t want either.

So, she knew better than to ask you too much, and she thought—or rather, hoped—that if you really needed help, if you were really struggling, you’d be the one to call her.

At least that’s what you’d told her you’d do.

The fact that she accepted this arrangement so easily, however, broke Jungkook’s heart, because he knew that if you were going through a really difficult time, you wouldn’t even think of calling anyone.

It was a miracle you even admitted what was wrong tonight. You’d been fluent in repressing your feelings and emotions for so long that Jungkook felt a little dizzy hearing you talk now.

“I’m fine,” you repeated as the silence in your bunk became too heavy. “Really. You shouldn’t have—”

“Do you want to walk back with me?” Jungkook asked.

Like Luna, he knew when to push, but he also knew when to stop. When to demand answers and when to distract you.

With Luna, that was understandable. She’d been your closest friend for years. But Jungkook made you watch him in stunned silence for a minute.

It shouldn’t have been surprising how well he knew you, but it was. And as you looked at him, the unexpected lightness in your chest made the inside of the bus spin a little.

Objectively, Jungkook knew that everyone would be done eating by the time you got back to the restaurant. But he suggested this anyway.

And, honestly, you knew that, too. But you still wanted to go with him.

“I would,” you said, your mind whirring with all the reasons why you shouldn’t go, “but we’re probably parked very far from Strandvägen. I don’t know how you walked here in the first place.”

“Let’s go,” he decided, standing up from your bunk.

“Huh? I just said—”

“You said you would. So, let’s go.”

“But I also said—”

“If distance is the only thing stopping you,” he cut in again, “then remember that I performed a whole gig tonight, walked over five kilometres to find you, and I’m still willing to walk back. So, give me a little break and come with me willingly, okay?”

“Hmm,” you ran your tongue over your lips to hide your smile at his phrasing. “And, uh… if I don’t?”

Jungkook was completely serious when he replied, “I will carry you if I have to.”

You immediately stopped smiling and narrowed your eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Is that supposed to be a challenge—?”

Noticing the almost predatory look in his eyes, you leapt out of your bunk.

“It’s not,” you said, grabbing your phone from the bed. “I’m coming. Let’s go.”

When you and Jungkook left the parking lot, there were barely any people around—apart from a few cars here and there—which was understandable, considering it was almost three in the morning in the middle of the week.

You tended to get lost in your job a lot of the time, so you took a lot of it for granted sometimes. But it was in times like this: on dark, empty streets somewhere in Europe, that you remembered you weren’t working with regular people. You worked with artists. Musicians.

And walking back to the restaurant on Strandvägen—which should have closed hours ago, but that’s another perk of travelling with rockstars: they had the influence and the money to change the working hours of all the places they went to—you were hyper-aware of all this.

And, for a second, you felt almost intimidated. You’d known Jungkook for so long, but now you realised that he wasn’t just Jungkook, your client. Or even Jungkook, your ex-boyfriend.

This was also Jungkook, Rated Riot’s vocalist, strolling through Stockholm, hours after his concert.

But then he turned to look at you—his gaze so warm that you could see it, feel it, even in the dark of the night, under the fluorescent streetlights—and all of those feelings dissipated as quickly as they’d appeared.

He was back to being someone you’d known for almost a decade. Someone who knew things about you that you’d never shared with anyone else.

“So,” he spoke up as the two of you walked. “Is Kai still playing basketball?”

The mention of your brother made your stomach tighten again.

“Yeah,” you replied. “He doesn’t like it, though. But I’m pushing him to keep playing. He’s good at it.”

“Well, he’s tall,” Jungkook remarked.

“That, too,” you agreed. “But he’s also smart. And cunning when he needs to be. This could be his ride to college, he’s skilled enough to get a scholarship.”

“But he doesn’t want to keep playing?”

“I don't know. This is Kai. He doesn’t want to do regular, everyday things. He wants to skydive and eat cockroaches, and stuff.” You glanced at him before adding, “kind of like you, I guess.”

He was almost ready to argue, but ended up chuckling when your eyes met.

“Okay. Yeah,” he concurred. “I guess that’s true.”

“That’s why I’m relieved you guys are no longer in touch.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Wait, I’m the bad influence?”

“You can be,” you said, a meaningful glint in your eyes.

He watched you for a minute, enjoying the moment and your gentle features as you responded to his smile with one of your own. Then a dog barked somewhere in the distance, breaking the spell, and you both looked down at the pavement again.

“So, uh, if not basketball,” Jungkook said, “what does he want to do after school? Last time we talked, he wanted to be a ninja.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that was Kai in his Naruto phase. He’s into Chainsaw Man now, so I’m afraid to ask.

He laughed, clearly understanding where your apprehension was coming from.

“It could be worse,” he said. “At least he’s reading. Even if it’s manga.”

“Yeah.” You lingered on the last vowel as you sighed. “I wish it didn’t influence him this much, though. But then I feel guilty, sometimes, that I’m forcing him to only do the things that are beneficial for him instead of letting him explore other interests and hobbies.”

Jungkook nodded—indicating that he was listening—and suddenly walked to your other side. Growing confused, you felt him lightly touch your hip and nudge you both out of the way of an oncoming bike—which, at two-thirty at night, was surprising, even in a capital city.

Before you could react, he seamlessly returned to your previous conversation. “You just want what’s best for him.”

“I—yeah, uh—I do,” you said, trying to determine if your heart rate increased because of the unexpected bike, or because Jungkook was still walking right next to you, his arm brushing against yours with every step. Crossing your arms over your chest—in an attempt to shield yourself from the chilly night and your own warm chest—you added, “still, I feel like I’m hindering his growth as a person.”

Jungkook looked at you. Because your eyes were focused on the ground, he allowed his gaze to linger longer.

“But that’s not something you should be worrying about,” he said. He couldn’t help it; he felt offended—and hurt—on your behalf. “You’re not his—you’re his sister.”

“I know that,” you replied. “But he was three when dad left for the first time. He doesn’t even remember there ever being a dad. Mom and I are all he’s got. And, you know. Like a true father, I’m pushing him to fulfil my dreams and play in the NCAA.”

Jungkook found several points in your statement that he wanted to address, but he ended up focusing on your half-joking remark, “you wanted to be a basketball player?”

“No,” you said and he lifted his eyebrows higher. “But I’m committed to my role as the father. A father who desperately wants his son to succeed until the son says, ‘it’s not my dream, dad, it’s yours’. You know? Like in any normal family.”

Jungkook snickered—somehow sadly—but did not play along with your joke. Both of you knew that was just a TV trope you were using to divert the topic.

“You don’t need a father to have a normal family,” he said. “The three of you are perfectly normal together.”

You swallowed as your heart switched from beating three times faster than necessary to nearly stopping altogether.

“That’s true,” you said quietly. “But thank you for saying that. It’s easy to forget sometimes.”

“That’s because you’re so used to thinking that your family is different,” he theorised. “Growing up, I thought so, too. My house was the only one on the whole block with over a dozen people living in it. No one else lived with their aunts and uncles.”

You smiled, remembering the absolute chaos that thrived in his family home—a new argument, a new problem every day. It was lovely, though. Before meeting Jungkook and witnessing his life firsthand, you never imagined that families could be so close.

“Not a quiet moment there,” you said.

“Yeah,” he nodded, stuffing his hands in his front pockets to protect them from the cold late-night breeze. “And when I lived back home, I used to kind of hate that unstoppable noise. Now I miss it.”

“Do you go back often?”

You looked at him after you asked this, and suddenly felt your breath catch in your throat as the lights from the skyscraper across the street illuminated his features. Nearly hypnotised, you followed the lights across his face as they accentuated the darkness of his hair and the lightness of the spark in his eyes.

“I—well, probably not often enough,” he replied. You looked away from him to save yourself from making very poor decisions. “But it’s not the same. My brother moved out, my parents bicker every time they speak to each other. My cousins are still louder than all hell. I… I guess it’s just my grandma, really, that I want to see right now.

“Did you call her when we were in Paris?” you asked, recalling your conversation in the taxi outside of Gare du Nord.

Jungkook swallowed. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I wanted to, but, uh, she’s... well, she can’t hear very well right now.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You scream for a living.”

He looked at you and retorted with exaggerated dignity, “that’s how I sing.”

“My point still stands.”

He shook his head, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“It wouldn’t matter even if that was true,” he said, and, out of the corner of your eye, you could see the smile fade from his face. “She, uh, she doesn’t always understand me. Or, remember me, actually.”

You felt three separate stabs: one in your chest, one in your stomach and one somewhere in your lungs. They left you completely breathless and absolutely speechless for a full minute. It was hard to discern which had affected you more: the realisation that his grandmother—the most lovable lady you’d ever met—was sick, or the way Jungkook looked as he said this.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. The late hour and this revelation called for hushed voices.

“Thank you,” Jungkook replied with a distracted nod. He unconsciously sped up and you had to take two steps for every one of his to catch up.

You reached a bridge when Jungkook continued, “she has better days. My aunt and uncle are looking after her right now. I asked them to call me when she has a good day, but, uh... I haven’t heard from them since we arrived in Europe.”

Struggling to keep up, you reached out a hand and gently touched his shoulder, bringing him to a full stop in the pedestrian lane of the bridge over the Tranebergssund strait.

The lights from nearby buildings reflected in the water below, and you could sense the beauty around you as you caught glimpses through your peripherals. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Jungkook’s cloudy gaze.

You’ve spent over a week in Europe. You didn’t know that he was waiting to hear about his grandmother the whole time.

“That’s really unfair,” you remarked. “Your grandma loves you so much.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at his sneakers, then leaned his back against the railing of the bridge. “She actually once told me I was her favourite grandson.”

You smiled at this, then teased softly, “she probably said that to all of her grandsons.”

“Okay, but to me first!”

“Okay, okay,” you agreed, chuckling. “That might be true. In any case, this is—I don’t even know what to say. How is your grandpa handling it all?”

The brief moment of lightness faded from the conversation as Jungkook inhaled deeply and looked around, searching for a distraction.

“He is, uh... coping,” he finally replied. “Never admits what he’s feeling, but his eyes always well up when he talks to her.”

“Does she remember him?” you asked.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“On good days?” you echoed his previous observation.

“Yeah. On bad days, she pretends to remember,” he explained. “On really bad days, she’s so scared of the familiar face, but unknown person, that she can’t even pretend.”

“God,” you sighed, resting your forearms on the railing. “Both of them must be in so much pain.”

Jungkook nodded slowly and turned around, mirroring your position. The two of you watched the strait in silence for a minute, observing the lights as they danced on the soft, gentle ripples on the surface of the water.

There was a storm inside of him, nothing like the peaceful water below. It was a storm he did not like to think about, a storm he tried to run away from. But with you here, he felt a little less afraid of it.

“They’ve been together for almost sixty years,” he said. “I don’t—I can’t even begin to imagine what this must be like for them.”

“It sounds like a nightmare,” you admitted. “I don’t know what’s scarier: forgetting your loved ones or being forgotten by the ones you love.”

He answered without hesitation, “being forgotten. If you forget, it’s just—it gets scary sometimes, because everything seems so foreign. But most of the time, it’s just empty, I think. Quiet. You can still feel the love of the people around you even if you can’t remember who they are. But being forgotten—that—that’s just unbearable. You’re talking to someone you love so much, and t-they have no idea who you are.”

It felt like your heart was about to tear in half as you listened to the pain in his voice. You did not dare to imagine what sort of warzone his chest had become.

“How long was she sick?” you asked so quietly that the water nearly carried your words away.

“She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a year ago,” he replied. “Back then, her worst symptom was very shaky hands. She’s always been distracted and scatterbrained, so we didn’t think it was anything serious. But then she started to talk about visiting her sister who’s been dead for almost six years now, and uh… yeah.”

“Shit,” you whispered, because, for a moment, that was the only word that could capture what you were feeling.

You squeezed your eyes shut as if that would make hearing this easier. The cold wind and the raw emotion of this conversation made it all the more difficult to keep your eyes dry.

A short while later, you added shakily, “this breaks my heart, so I don’t even—I probably can’t even begin to understand what you and your family have been going through. I-I wish you’d told me.”

Jungkook looked at you, startled momentarily by your teary eyes. Then he realised that his own throat had become tight.

Turning towards you, he admitted, “I wish I had, too.”

You responded by turning to him as well.

There was a quiet moment, filled only with the wind as it moved the trees, the water, and the two of you closer to each other.

Jungkook reached for you almost instinctively. His hands were hesitant at first, unsure of how you would react. But your small nod—so small, you weren’t sure if you’d really willed your head to move—gave him permission to come closer.

He enveloped you in his embrace and exhaled so deeply that his lungs almost hollowed out when he felt you lean your head against his shoulder and slide your hands over his back.

“I-I know there’s nothing I could have done,” you whispered, “but I just—”

“You would have known,” he interrupted, tightening his grip around your waist. The side of his face was pressed against yours and you could feel every word on your temple. “That would have been enough.”

He was completely still, focused entirely on the feeling of you in his arms and the way your scent, your warmth, your touch—you—seemed to ease the pain inside of him. The way it quieted the storm, made the noise more bearable, the wind less powerful.

“I know now,” you said, lifting your head to look at him. “You can come find me if you get any news, good or bad.”

Breathing unsteadily, he nodded.

You watched each other, neither one daring to move. He held you and marvelled at how he’d survived so long without the feeling of your arms around him—tentative as if you were afraid he’d disappear if you held on too tightly. As if you’d wake up and leave this—all of this—in a near-forgotten dream.

He was the one who held you tighter in turn; to show you that he was here with you. And to show himself, too.

He understood that he had to let go of you soon—to return his hands to the frigid railing of the bridge or slide them back into his pockets—but he chose to play dumb. He chose to pretend he couldn’t read the situation, so he could keep his arms around you for just a minute longer.

His grandma used to say that a hug made everything better, and for a long time, she was one of two people in his life whose hugs truly made his heart and his mind slow down.

He hadn’t been able to hug her in a while. But he was hugging the second person right now.

“Thank you,” he said, reluctantly unwrapping his arms from around you. “Promise you’ll do the same? About your brother?”

You gave him a sad smile as you took a small step back. The chill of the night felt even more intense.

“I promise I’ll try,” you said.

He smiled back, understanding that this was already a lot coming from you.

You glanced at the water once more before returning your gaze to his face as you nervously stretched your fingers.

This conversation, along with memories of his family and how much they loved each other, reminded you of many things about your relationship that you had tried to forget.

There was something else, too. Something you couldn’t forget and couldn’t escape.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Of course,” he replied, his body still facing yours even though you had gone back to leaning into the bridge railing.

“It’s something I’ve always wondered—actually, I tried to ask you before, but, uh, you never really told me,” you spoke, stalling, as you were too nervous to just spit it out.

“Okay,” he said patiently.

“Why are you friends with Sid and his crew?”

If Jungkook was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it as he inhaled and looked somewhere behind you. Somewhere far, far into the distance.

“You know why,” he said. “We have fun.”

“I understand that part,” you said. “They distract you from the stress. I get it. But… is that really it?”

Now he began to fidget. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he turned to face the water, then got one hand out to scratch his neck, just below his chin.

“That’s very—uh, what brought this on?” he asked, the question functioning more like a defence mechanism than a manifestation of his curiosity. “Why are you asking me that suddenly?”

“Well, because I doubt Sid has even a spoonful of emotional attachment to any of his family members,” you said. “All three of them grew up so rich that their silver spoons were golden. And you’re so different.”

Jungkook swallowed. Coming from anyone else, this question would have probably offended him, even though he understood that you merely meant his relationship with his family.

He’d been friends with Sid, Jude, and Minjun for a long time, but he sometimes wondered if they kept him around out of pity. And so, he wanted to make it clear that he was more than just Sid’s little sidekick. His errand boy.

He may not have had as much money as his friends—not yet, anyway—but now, finally, he had something that none of them did: popularity and acclaim. It pushed him forward until he could walk alongside his friends. Until, he thought, he could truly call them friends and not feel inappropriate.

They were equals now.

And still, deep down, he knew you were right. He was fundamentally different from the three of them. And you were the only person he felt comfortable admitting that to.

“Yeah, uh, I know I am,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Our differences are what initially drew me to them, I think. I was always restrained by my family and, I guess, our relative lack of money. Compared to them, I mean. Meanwhile, they could just do whatever they wanted without a single worry. Sure, they all have jobs, but it’s different for them. They know they’ll be fine even if they drink those jobs away. All of that seemed exciting and, I don’t know, invigorating to me. It still seems that way. When I say I want what they have, I don’t mean their money. I mean their freedom.”

When he paused, you nodded quietly. You could see he hadn’t finished yet.

“I feel like...” he said, his eyes cast low. “Like I don’t have to worry about the consequences of my actions, either, when I’m with them. I know I do, but it feels good to pretend for a while that I don’t.” He swallowed before continuing, “but, uh… I realise that I have certain responsibilities. I have the band. I have you. Unlike them, I can never truly be free. At the end of the night, I always go home. And my grandma is there to remind me who I really am and where I come from.”

“That’s why I asked,” you said. “It’s impossible she would approve of your friendship with them.”

“She doesn’t know about them.”

You weren’t expecting this, and you couldn’t hide your reaction as your lips parted and eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. “She—she doesn’t?”

“No,” he admitted. “I never told her. I want her to believe that I’m friends with nice boys like me.”

An ironic smile appeared on his face as he said that last part and you couldn’t help but snicker. You wouldn’t have used this particular adjective to describe Sid or Jungkook, but you knew that, unlike Sid, Jungkook did have a different side to him. A side that he rarely showed anyone, but you remembered it in his good morning texts and goodnight kisses.

“Shouldn’t that be a sign to you that these people aren’t good for you?” you asked. “You’ve never lied to your grandma.”

Something inside him prepared to argue, but he held the urge until it dissolved in his grip. He knew you were right.

Sighing, he said, “probably,” and left it at that.

The truth was, he became friends with Sid, Jude, and Minjun, because he wanted to be like them. He wanted what they had.

But, over time, their friendship became something else. A distraction. A way to maintain his sanity. And he didn’t know how to tell you about that.

He didn’t know how to tell you that he had a fear that had ingrained itself into his mind. A fear that he’d never tried to describe before, worried that speaking it aloud would bring it to life. It would materialise around him and swallow him whole.

It was loneliness, he supposed. Or maybe just himself.

Growing up with a family so big and friends so plenty, he never learned how to be alone. He never learned what to do when it was just him and his thoughts in an empty room for an extended period of time. He didn’t know how to distract himself from all that plagued his mind.

He was afraid of silence, afraid of the way it made his mind scream at him. He was afraid of those screams—they came from a dark place deep within his subconscious.

The screams were his doubts and insecurities. His flaws and weaknesses. His anxiety and fears.

And his friends—all three of them—made sure he was never alone. They made sure there were always enough voices in the room to keep him away from his thoughts. To keep him busy, to keep his mind satisfied.

And on this night, as you watched Jungkook drift away from you while you stood on the bridge, you could sense that there was a lot he’d still left unsaid.

“Be honest, though,” you said to the faded look in his eyes. He blinked when you started to speak and returned to the moment. “Does Sid really never get on your nerves?”

His smile was sad. “He does almost every day.”

“So why do you put up with it?” you asked. “Is this distraction really worth it? This feeling of freedom.”

Jungkook sighed. Sid wasn’t worth it. The rational part of him knew that much. Sometimes, Sid was louder than his own thoughts, and that was hardly better. But without Sid…

A silent minute later, you answered for him, “it’s the rest of them, isn’t it? You think if you cut Sid off, Jude and Minjun will leave with him.”

“I know they will leave with him.”

Uncertain how he’d take this, you asked awkwardly, “would that… really be such a bad thing?”

“I’ve known them since I was a kid,” Jungkook said as a way of answering.

“Well,” you clicked your tongue. “That sounds a little like an unhealthy attachment.”

He lowered his head. He knew that he wasn’t the best judge of what was healthy and what wasn’t, but even he could tell that his friendship with Sid had taken a turn for the worse. And still, he’s known Sid and the rest of his friends for years.

“There were good moments, though,” he said, his tone hopeful. “Sid wasn’t always this... obnoxious.”

You assumed as much; otherwise, Jungkook wouldn’t have kept him around for so long. Still, you asked, “what moments?”

“Well… the birthday parties, for example,” he began. “I saw fireworks, stood behind the wheel of a yacht, and drank decades-old whiskey way before I was legally allowed to do these things. And I didn’t have to pay for anything. Oh, and, okay—I also saw Sid dance to Britney Spears, which is, of course, priceless.”

There was unexpected amusement on your face. “Okay. That’s fair. I wish I’d seen that.”

“You really don’t,” he said. “I still have nightmares about it. He brought out a guitar later. Attempted to remix ‘Toxic’.”

Sucking your lips in to keep yourself from laughing, you nodded. “Hmm. Fitting song.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook restricted himself less as he laughed at your comment. “He can’t play for shit, though.”

Finally, you laughed, too.

Grinning, he continued, “the racing, too. I-I know this isn’t something you want to know about, but it’s—I guess, it’s a special memory for me.”

“It’s okay,” you said, a little surprised by the ease in your own voice. Racing used to be a taboo topic in your relationship. For you, that meant ‘don’t do it’, but for Jungkook, it meant, ‘do it in a way that she doesn’t find out’. Now, you said, “you can go on.”

He went on, “we raced in pairs. Jude was usually with Sid, I was with Minjun. We couldn’t do it individually, because I didn’t have a car of my own, and it wouldn’t have been fair. So, Sid bought me a car. You know the one.”

You knew and the knowledge made you lower your eyes. Even four years later, this car was difficult to forget.

But as you listened to him romanticise his friendship with Sid, you weren’t sure if Jungkook was even aware of how much the car and these races influenced your eventual break-up. How these happy moments that he shared with Sid led to unhappy moments with you.

“Then there was the time we were drunk and, somehow, ended up on the beach,” he continued, and you looked up from the water as you listened. “It got really sentimental in a way that it almost never does with us. I think Sid started it, actually, when he said that he wanted to become a musician.”

Your eyes widened, the image of Sid with a musical instrument successfully distracting you from your thoughts.

“No,” you said. “Was he serious?”

“Yeah. Dead serious.”

“Free Britney.”

He snorted. “Not for Britney. Punk rock. He had a bass and everything. He owned all the Sex Pistols records. You can see where I’m going.”

You paused, thinking. Slowly, your eyes narrowed.

“Not Sid Vicious,” you said.

Jungkook nodded and the sound of your exaggerated groaning made him laugh.

“He used to scream—I mean, literally screech at the top of his lungs—if his parents called him Isidore,” he said. “He started to go by Sid as a tribute and, I don’t know, a manifestation, I guess.”

You shook your head. The only resemblance Sid held to the notorious Sex Pistols’ bassist—aside from the drugs—was that he, too, seemed to give everyone headaches wherever he went.

“It was that night on the beach that I said I wanted that, too. Music, I mean,” Jungkook continued. “And we joked, for a minute, that we should start a band together, the four of us. Jude was going to be the lead singer, by the way.”

You scrunched your nose; another absurd image. “And you?”

“The drummer, of course. Rocking a cigarette between my teeth as I dropped killer beats.”

You laughed again. This was the one thing from their fantasies that you could see: the four of them choosing all the wrong positions in the band, but thinking they made it work because they looked cool on stage.

“So, what happened then?” you asked. “After you were the only one who became a musician.”

“Nothing,” Jungkook said. You scratched your forehead to hide the frown that your laughter had morphed into. Defending his friends came naturally to him and this habit was so useless. “I don't know. Sid never mentioned it again. I don’t think he cares.”

You looked down. You thought Sid cared.

Jungkook must have believed that they were equals now. But you knew they weren’t, and they never could be as long as Sid was involved.

The less of a lackey and more of an individual Jungkook became, the more Sid’s jealousy had to grow. Especially now that Jungkook was doing something that Sid had, apparently, always wanted to do.

“These good moments,” you started slowly, “that’s so long ago. When was the last time you had a good moment with him? When you had drinks in Prague?”

Jungkook almost winced at the unexpected memory of what happened at the hotel bar in Prague. Scrambling for a response, he gripped the railing of the bridge. “No, um, that was—that was one of the bad moments.”

“Really?” you were surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“If I did, you would have thrown me in the water.”

You glanced at the strait reflexively. “It’s that bad?”

“It’s...” he sucked in a breath. “Not good.”

“Huh.” You ran your fingers over the railing, confused. With all that had happened—Sid’s lie about Jungkook’s ex, the Paris trip, the unfortunate encounter at the bar in Berlin—it was hard for you to guess what could have constituted a bad moment between him and Sid. “But Sid’s still kicking it. Wreaking havoc on Stockholm.”

Jungkook only hummed in response.

This time, your question was intentionally provocative, “so what does he have to do to cross the line?”

He brought the sole of his sneakers over the ground, rubbing at the pavement to win another moment.

“He’s done everything, I think,” he said finally. “The more time I spend with him here in Europe, the more I realise that things will be different when we go home.”

“Oh.” You blinked. Discomfort and distaste and even a sprinkle of pure dread gathered in the pit of your stomach. “So, he—he’s staying here until we go home?”

He lifted his eyes and noticed the way the light in your gaze seemed to dim. He wanted to assure you, but he also knew that there was something else he wanted, too.

He wanted to defeat Sid. He wanted to make him regret his actions for once. He wanted him to deal with something that he’d never had to deal with before: consequences.

So, all that Jungkook could say to you, was a lame, “I-I don't know.”

The disappointment remained prominent on your face as you said, “well, as long as I don’t see him, I guess, you can… think about what you want to do with him. I just think you deserve better friends.”

He cleared his throat and tried to shift the topic, “I thought Minjun wasn’t that bad.”

You glanced at him and saw the desperation in his attempt at a smile—it was there, but it did not quite reach his eyes.

“He’s tolerable,” you replied kindly.

He snickered. “Okay.”

“Keep him,” you said. “Lose Sid.”

“Hmm. And Jude?”

“Let Jude decide.” You shrugged. It seemed really simple. “It’s not a divorce, you don’t need to divide children. He can choose his real friends himself.”

Sadness returned to his voice as he looked down. “He’ll choose Sid.”

Your voice remained firm. “Then let him.”

Jungkook sighed. There wasn’t much else he could say to you. He heard it in your voice—all the determination that he lacked, you made up for it.

You noted that this wasn’t simple for him, at all. He’d known Sid, Jude, and Minjun since he was a teenager. It was easy for a friendship to feel permanent when it was decades-long. When you got so used to it, you didn’t think to imagine what it’d be like without it.

“Look…” you said, leaning your back against the railing. “If I were more like Sid, I’d be forceful. Maybe I’d even offer something as leverage. Something bad that I would do to you if you didn’t stop being friends with them. But I’m not Sid.”

Flashing back to the bet again, Jungkook groaned. “And thank God for that.”

“Yeah. So, I’m just… all I can do is tell you that you deserve better,” you said. “You deserve to be happy, you know? I don’t always talk shit about your friends because I personally think they’re shit.” You paused when he gave you a look. “Fine. It’s not just because I think they’re shit. I’m—I’m also looking out for you.”

“I appreciate that. You’re…” he stopped, feeling a flicker of fear for your reaction. He decided to push through more quietly, “you’re one of the few people in my life who does that for me.”

“Surround yourself with these people,” you said, too lost in the moment to notice his apprehension. “The ones who really care about you. It doesn’t matter how many of them there are. If they’re the only ones left in your life, I promise it’ll feel enough.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the quantity that matters for me, anyway. It’s… a lot of other things.”

“Think if those things are really worth it,” you persisted, “and if it wouldn’t be more reasonable to just walk away.”

He remembered—so suddenly, it almost knocked him off his feet and his grip on the railing tightened—how you’d done it. How you walked away from him for what was supposed to be the final time.

If it weren’t for a stroke of luck—or destiny, he supposed—he might have never seen you again. He might have never stood on this bridge in Stockholm with you. And if he’d gone after you that time, if he’d stopped you, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to wait for four years to get to this bridge.

Everything required a decision, and he was desperate to know if you ever regretted yours.

“Even if walking away could hurt them?” he asked you.

You looked at him and misjudged the sadness in his eyes for the pain of losing long-time friends.

“You’re hurting me,” you countered, “when you let them treat you like that. When you let them put you in danger.”

He could suddenly hear the silence around you both. With his eyes locked on you, he stammered, “w-why does that hurt you?”

This time, it was you who didn’t have a proper answer to his question. “Because.”

Inhaling until his lungs overflowed, Jungkook lifted his chin and closed his eyes.

A heavy minute later, he asked, “do you know what is the one thing that I’m glad my grandma forgot?”

The sudden change in conversation caught you off guard. “Uh—what?”

“You.”

You continued to watch him, and there seemed to be something burning in this word—a fire strong enough to shield you from the cold wind of the Swedish night and light your skin up with a warmth that felt innate and familiar.

“Why, um,”—you swallowed, interrupting yourself—“why are you glad?”

“Because she’d managed to do the one thing I couldn’t,” he replied.

The fire in your chest spread and you could barely inhale before it consumed everything inside of you.

You looked down at the water below. “Jungkook—”

There it was – his name like a curse on your lips. He didn’t think he was going to last this long in the first place, but this still felt like a forceful slam of a door in his face.

“I know,” he said quickly. “It’s too much, sorry. It’s just... being here with you makes me feel like myself again. Like I’m not just Rated Riot’s vocalist. Not just Sid’s friend. I’m also more than that. It probably makes no sense to you—”

“No,” you interrupted, shivering as the warmth inside of you faded into anxiety. Into fear. “I—I understand what you mean. But I think it’s because we’ve spent so much time together these past few days. It’s easy to get lost in the memories.”

Your guard went back up so quickly that Jungkook scoffed under his breath. He thought he’d broken down some of your defences tonight. Really, he’d merely bent them, if even that.

He still couldn’t tell you anything more out of fear that you would get lost in Stockholm just to run away from him.

“Well, why do you think we’ve been spending so much time together?” he asked, a certain edge to his voice.

You looked at him. “That’s what I’ve been asking you since we came to Prague.”

“It’s because I’m—because—” he started to say and then, in search of the right words, ended up dropping his own walls so he could admit, simply, “I just miss you.”

Still, you looked away and insisted, almost childishly, “you can’t miss me. My job is being with you and the band 24/7.”

He wasn’t sure if you were saying that because it was just easier like this, or because you genuinely felt this way.

Regardless, he shook his head.

“I miss you outside of your job,” he said, gaining confidence now that you weren’t looking at each other. He continued to speak to the water, “I miss hanging out with you. I miss how we used to spend hours scrolling through Netflix, trying to decide what to watch only to get so distracted by our conversation that we’d end up talking the whole night while the movie posters played in the background. I miss the way you’d sing backup vocals for me when I was putting on a show in the shower. I miss the apple scent of your shampoo and how the bottle was the perfect microphone. And the way you screamed that one time, when I nearly blinded you by accidentally squirting shampoo directly into your eye.”

You snickered—quietly, involuntarily, almost painfully—and the sound brought him back down from his memories as he turned to face you again.

“I miss everything,” he finished. “All those little moments.”

Your glance at him was furtive, momentary.

“Why now?” you asked.

This time, it was Jungkook who laughed—incredulously, cynically. “Why always? I don’t think I’ve ever truly stopped missing you.”

As you became more aware of how close he was—physically, of course, because mentally, he might as well have already been inside your head—goosebumps began to rise on your skin. Not just from the cold night, but also because he was right there—right fucking there—and you weren’t touching him.

Clearing your throat, you tried again, “well, why did you tell me now, then?”

Deep inside, he was anticipating the question—it made sense, he could see why you’d want to know—but he still winced when he heard it.

Despite everything that had happened tonight—each moment brutally honest and coming from the deepest parts of his heart; the parts that he’d kept hidden for four years—there was a reason why he was telling you this now.

It’s because he was a fraud.

He’d made a fucking bet.

Inhaling sharply, he lifted his gaze to the cloudy sky above. He shrugged, hating himself with every word that was supposed to be an explanation, “better late than never or something like that, I guess.”

You observed him for a second before you looked away, too. You didn’t say anything, and he was desperate to make things right—at least, as right as he possibly could, without making them worse.

“I’m sorry if everything I said made you uncomfortable,” he tried. “I just wanted to—”

You shook your head, encouraged by the darkness and the emptiness of the street around you—like there was no one else here in Stockholm tonight, just the wind, the bridge, the two of you, and the water below.

“No,” you cut him off. “I’ve missed you, too."

His heart rate sped up so quickly that he thought it might give him whiplash. This night, in its entirety, was a rollercoaster ride.

He looked at you, shocking you with how intense his own shock was. “You have?”

Realising that he’d gone out of his way to do these things—spending time with you, helping you backstage, taking you to Paris—while you continued to find it all suspicious as if there was some deeper, more malicious reason for his actions, you began to feel guilty.

Wanting to redeem yourself, you nodded firmly.

“Yeah,” you said. “I have.”

Jungkook was nearly suffocating, his lungs full of something that he could not inhale.

The rollercoaster had reached its peak—his heart was leaping out of his chest—and suddenly, it plummeted at a rapid, nauseating speed. He felt like he was free-falling, his stomach slamming and hitting everything on its way down, as he realised, in horror, what he was doing.

He was taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t know about the bet. He was taking advantage of you.

You were being honest with him—which was rare for you in general, but even rarer nowadays—and he wasn’t doing the same for you. Not entirely.

There was a real reason why he told you about this now, not months—even years—earlier.

The memory of Sid suggesting the bet that very first night in Prague was sharp and brittle. It added to the weight of the confessions he’d made tonight and each of his words ricocheted off his ribcage and pierced his heart as a reminder that everything he’d told you tonight was a half-truth.

He meant what he said about missing you. He meant every single word, every little barely pronounced syllable that kept getting caught on the spikes in his heart, stabbed there each time he remembered that you were no longer together.

Four years he’d felt this way. And deep down, at the end of every day, he knew that he wanted you. Bet or no bet.

And he saw now—he could feel now—that he may have had a chance. A second chance.

But you were looking at him, the colour of your eyes reflected on every surface around him, and he couldn’t move.

He couldn’t take the chance. Not like this.

“It’s cold,” he said. “Should we go?”

The way the colour seemed to drain from your eyes was painful. He felt nauseous as he looked away.

“Uh, yeah,” you said. There was an emptiness in your voice—a great reflection of the sudden space that had opened up in his chest and in yours. “Let’s go.”

The disappointment came so abruptly, it caught you off-guard. You felt like this wasn’t everything that had to have happened tonight.

You felt like the night had been leading up to something. You weren’t sure what, and you weren’t sure how far you’d let it get, but here it was, instead; the disappointment.

The two of you walked the rest of the way to Strandvägen in silence.

One half of your pair felt confused and unexpectedly dispirited. The other half regretted being born.

There was something else, too; a feeling that the two of you shared. And it was the same thing—the thing that almost happened tonight—that you were both afraid of.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “is it really you?”

prev ○ next

“No, worse. I fucking forgave him.”

WE DID IT. WE MADE IT

When I tell you I was crying like a baby.

The moment we saw the tiniest glimpse of the Marauder and then Wrecker in that doorway😭😭😭

Then Omega running at him and him twirling her in the air before pulling her into protective big brother hug🥹🥹♥️♥️💕

And the way Hunter Hunter skipped a step or two to get to her faster…I can’t😭💕

And finally there hug💕💕💕

10/10

brothers (and Batcher)

YES. This. This is everything. This is perfect.

@keichanz @born-for-eachother @katerinu @inuyashasforest @kaze-ranna @inukag @lavendertwilight89 @stillunderyourbed @chit-a-to @serial-doubters-club @clearwillow @fawn-eyed-girl @neutronstarchild @ruddcatha @creative-hanyou @heynikkiyousofine @malditamigs @coquinespike @kalcia

the hug, karl x rachel yuri edition

as much as i like the ship and how its interpreted, i wanted this to be angsty in a way considering how karl killed rachel in the lore and karl, being the hugger and killer, cries abt it, like hes forgiving rachel (i got inspired by a fear and hunger lilium animation that is now deleted) but honestly, u can interpret it as whatever

(original painting by gustav klimt below - he made awesome ass art)

Any word from Cal? No, nothing yet.

Welp guys i read the update and........ HOLY SHIT MY LIFE IS COMPLETE! Like when i saw it i was making some noising i didn’t know i was making. I was sooooooo happy that they finally hug! We got rob at first, but Siu made it up for us. My sisters was with me when i was fangirling and was confuse. but one of them is reading Tower of god right now but is on season 2. I can’t wait till she cacth up so i can talk to her about it but this whole post is all about the hug because I AM SOOOOOOOO HAPPY THANK YOU SIU. Khun and bam better not think this hug is nothing or pretend it was nothing on the next chapter. But i died a little but cam back to life. this is the only day that i am not dead inside.