Chapter Text
Well, sure. There weren’t many problems with having Jungkook as a best friend. He could offer jewel-encrusted smiles on good days, and his jokes offered all the joy of a carnival without the price - tickets only cost a laugh. But, there was one massive, looming, booming problem with having Jungkook as a best friend, that being – Jungkook wasn’t your boyfriend. You used to be fine with that. After all, he had assured you that you were special, better than any girlfriend he’d ever have. Keeping you by his side at all times, he clung on, promising you nice things if you stayed a little while longer. When he was nine, he made it official by spitting into his palm, and offering you a soggy handshake. That meant you were bound together for life. “No take backs.”
But nineteen-year-old Jungkook was different from nine-year-old Jungkook. The new, grown-up Jungkook had a new, grown-up girlfriend whom he took to neon-drenched clubs, and downed vodka with. You were sure you’d never see him anymore, if it wasn’t one thing you had, which he found very useful – an apartment severely lacking in the parent department. So, he came to you on the nights he had been drinking, looking for a place to sober up. It was the perfect place to hide from his mum and dad, who disapproved of drinking, even though he argued countless times: ‘It’s not like I’m breaking the law or anything…’
You should always have said no, but you never could. Maybe that’s because nights like those were the only times he’d ever show any trace of fondness. An innocent touch on the shoulder, or a wobbling hug that lasted a second too long – it all felt nice on your touch-starved self. You could survive being drip fed his honeyed affections, the dregs of loving he had left over from his girlfriend.
So it was, that one night, when the sky fell black, he came calling again. You spied him, distorted looking through the peephole. Keeping the door closed was a good idea. So of course, you opened it. In he floated, air swimming with beer fumes, and something slightly stronger.
You asked, “Alright?”
And he slurred back, “Alright.” Your usual greeting.
A sigh expanded your lungs, spiking ribs out and back in. You offered him a hand to step in, but he waved it off.
“No, it’s okay,” he mumbled, “I can walk.” Swinging himself inside, he lolled towards the spare room, where the stripped mattress lay, beaten up from a hundred nights spent there – spanning back to your childhood. This was where you’d lie together, Jungkook’s haze bleeding into your head, until you were drunk on him, and he sobered up on you. Then, you’d take turns throwing paper-plane questions at each other, letting them fly, hang, fall, and waiting for a response to be chucked back - almost like you were best friends again, bonding over apple-juice cartons and Pokémon cards. You could forget that you’d ever ruined it by falling in lo– Until you looked at him, eyes glassy in the shreds of early morning. Then smack! The feelings came back. This was the routine.
Flopping, the bruised mattress took another bashing from elbows and heels, till you were both lying on your backs, arms scratching arms in the dim. He opened his mouth, sticky from a night you probably wouldn’t hear about. “There was something I meant to say, Y/N.”
The customary pause drew out.
Then he said, “I forgot what it was…” He rolled onto his side, eyes fixing on you. You blinked his way, then sent stuttering eyes ceilingward. He kept staring.
“What?” Your voice cracked.
“I don’t deserve you. You’re so good to me.” He inched closer, mattress shaking with his movements, until his nose nestled in the nape of your neck. There was an unspoken contract being broken here. Boys with girlfriends don’t cuddle their not-girlfriends. You chose to ignore this, and let him get closer, till his thigh was pressing your thigh, his toes tracing your toes. Then his lips found your collar bone. This would have been a good time to call it off. Remind him of his other half. Still, it wasn’t until his searching mouth moved up, found yours and opened it up to warmth, that you came to your senses. It was time to get out. So you did - you slid from his hold, and fled. All while he was moaning “Y/N…” from the tainted bed you’d shared so many times before.
You forced yourself down the hall. Into the bathroom, you locked yourself in, and decided to take a shower to clean off the dirty feeling of spinning Jungkook into a cheater. A half hour under a wall of too-hot water wasn’t enough to drown out the pounding cry of ‘You could have stopped that.’ You emerged from the shower, pink, and soft, and upset. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, and staring at your papery legs, you waited for the water drain off you. And once you were dry, you waited some more.
When you returned to the room, Jungkook was where you left him, limbs striping the mattress like ink stains. He sat up when you came in.
“Y/N…” He had sobered up a little. Enough for your next words to stick:
“How dare you betray your girlfriend’s trust.” That was what you should have said. Instead you said, “How dare you betray my trust.” There it was – the truth, uglier in person. You were upset, not because he cheated, but because he needed to be drunk to do so. He’d never kiss you sober.
“Y/N…” his hand found his forehead, “This wasn’t meant to happen.”
“I realised.”
“Not like this.”
“Not like what?”
He sighed. “I broke up with my girlfriend.” There was a pause to let it sink in, while he swayed in the flimsy light of nosy streetlamps.
You tried to gauge his mood, then responded, “I’m sorry.” Because you realised you were. You couldn’t offer him any of the things he needed right now – no care, not love. Not on a clean conscience. There was nothing innocent about your affection. You both knew it.
So he said what you wanted to hear. “I think I love you.”
It terrified you to hear it, just in case it was true, so you replied, “Let’s keep that thought till morning.”