Archive of Our Own

“No, let’s leave the nice man alone, grandma.”

You pry her fingers away from the confused gentleman’s arms. She was becoming a lot cheekier and handsy these days, running after attractive men like she was 60 going on 25.

It had been 5 years since your grandpa, George, had passed away and she was now adamant that it was time to find someone new because, as she liked to remind you, “I am lonely, (Y/N)” and “George wouldn’t want me to be lonely, for heaven’s sakes”. Needless to say, taking her out in public had become quite the chore. More often than not, you had to physically keep a hand on her arm at all times to ensure she didn’t walk out onto a road when she was too busy watching some elderly man strut his stuff away from her. If you never heard anyone else describe what lovely shapes elderly men’s butts were, it would still be too soon.

Infinitely too soon.

To put it bluntly, your grandma had more of a love life than you did. It was sad, but it was true. You were well aware you needed to up your dating game and on that particular front, your grandma, your whole extended family, and probably the rest of the world, couldn’t agree more. That said, it wasn’t your fault that there were no viable options on your radar at the moment.

Okay, you lie.

There was one.

Your best friend, Amelia’s, cousin but that could wait. He could remain in the back of your mind, right where you tried (but mostly failed) to keep him locked away.

You apologize to the man curtly before leading your grandma quickly away, “We’re here for your art class remember, not to rendezvous with gentleman number 50 in the foyer, okay?”

“Men are always a priority, (Y/N). How many times do I have to tell you that?” she lines you up with a stern frown, pouting her mouth in disapproval.

“Men can also wait until after class,” you insist, linking arms with her so you can better drag her down the corridor.

Your mum was the one that usually took this particular class with grandma but she’d had an unexpected meeting come up at work and begged you to drive your grandma there instead. Since you had been four hours into writing your molecular biology essay with only your name and a title to show for it, you figured a break was in order and you hadn’t put up much of a fight.

In reality, you were actually very curious to see what these art classes involved. Your mum outright refused to tell you anything about them, avoiding the topic to a highly suspicious degree and whenever you asked grandma, she’d just wink at you with that secretive smile of hers that unsettled you to no end.

It couldn’t be anything good.

The plan was to drop her at the door, take a quick peek inside to satisfy your curiosity and then browse around in the shops across the road from the Music & Art Academy, while you waited for the class to finish.

What you don’t expect to happen is for your grandma to clamp a hand down on your forearm as soon as you reach the open doorway, and drag you inside, rushing you to the nearest easel.

“Grandma, no, I’m not here to ‘art’, I’m just dropping you off,” you protest, trying to pull away but her grip is surprisingly strong as she pushes you down onto the stool, shoving a charcoal pencil between your fingers.

“Your mum paid for the entire term, (Y/N), so you’re going to take her place today. You wouldn’t want to waste your sweet mother’s money, would you?” You shrink back from the pointed look she sends your way.

“Look, I’ll just pay her back for the class then, I’m really no artist-” you try to stand but she shoves you back down.

“Enough, if you ever want another one of my choc-chip cookies you’ll remain right where you are for the entire class.”

“Grandma,” you breathe, horrified. Those things were basically the food equivalent of heaven.

“Not even an inch,” she threatens, before taking a seat at the easel beside you, a satisfied smile on her face. You wouldn’t risk access to her cookies and she knew it, the conniving little lady. Who knew so much mischief could find its home in such a small, delicate body?

She turns to start conversing with a fellow elderly lady beside her, Diana (you find out after she briefly introduces you), and you take the opportunity to look around. It’s quite a basic room really, white walls, an off-white tiled floor with large windows decorating the far side of the room, looking out over a pretty and well-groomed courtyard. Nothing was noticeably out of the ordinary. The other stools and easels are set up in wide circle around the centre of the room, the people resting on the seats primarily consisting of other well-matured ladies, who all gently smile at you whenever you happen to meet their eyes. It’s when your gaze drifts down that you notice the small, notably empty, podium in the middle of the circle. Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, because there didn’t seem to be any other furniture in the room, what could possibly be… the blood drains from your face when it clicks.

Suddenly you know why your mum had been dodging your questions for weeks; what secret your grandma would be so quietly thrilled about.

They were drawing naked people.

You suppress a loud gasp of horror. While you were slaving away studying (procrastinating), your mum and your grandma were drawing naked people every Tuesday night and you were about to do the exact same thing. Your eyes widen in panic, your mind screeching an alarmed ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!

“Grandma,” you hiss and she turns to you with a frown, unimpressed that you’d interrupted her little chat, but you were too appalled to care, “you draw nudes?”

The words are a harsh, whispered accusation.

“Not yet we don’t.” It’s a little (a lot) unsettling how disappointed she looks. “This week he’ll still be wearing his pants,” she feels the need to add, her face falling, as if she’d just been told Christmas was cancelled and that was saying something because your grandma loved Christmas. Probably even more than she loved you.

However, your brain had shut down as soon as she said ‘he’ll’.

A he.

You’d be drawing a HE?

“Next week is when the real fun will start,” Diana pipes up, leaning over to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively.

Well, it wasn’t hard to guess what was going to be happening next week. Goodness, if this was the company your grandma was keeping, no wonder she was so man-crazy.

“So let me get this straight. There’s going to be a guy, shirtless… on that platform... and we’re going to draw him? While he is almost nude. While he is almost on that platform. Almost nude.” You weren’t prepared for something like this.

“Don’t pretend you’ve never seen a shirtless guy before,” your grandma says, rolling her eyes at your hysterics. Justifiable hysterics, you almost pout.

“How old is he?” your force out, because now you were imagining some 50 year old geezer lounging in a suggestive pose atop the podium and you were a solid 5 seconds away from vomiting back up those extra few cookies you’d snuck into your mouth on the way out from Grandma’s.

“He’s 21 and an absolute sweetheart, I’m sure you’ll love him,” Diana says. You figure she’s trying to reassure you but it’s hard to take her seriously with that knowing smirk she’s got going on, on her face. Knowing that the guy was 21, two years younger than you, wasn’t exactly a comforting thought either.

“And he’s got quite the body, heck it might even rival George’s, back when he was still in his prime,” your grandma quips and the two ladies begin to cackle like your grandma was none other than the comedian of the century.

“Grandma,” you say, your nose wrinkling in disgust, “just- please, behave.”

Your grandma resumes her giggling as there’s a flurry of activity from the door, and a moment later someone rushes to the middle of the room in a blur of black.

“Jungkook!” just about every lady gushes as the stranger pulls off his satchel, resting it against the side of the platform, his winter coat soon following.

This must be the he.

It was happening, it was really happening.

You’re frozen in your seat, watching the situation unfold with terror in your eyes, and you haven’t even seen his face yet. His back is facing you and even though he’s still wearing a dress shirt, you can tell your grandma and Diana were right, there was a good body hiding underneath that thin, baby blue material.  

“Sorry I’m late, ladies.”

His deep voice is met by a chorus of replies.

“Jungkook, did you run here?”

“Does that mean you’re sweaty?”

“Why is your shirt still on?”

You can’t even process their comments properly, your mind suddenly racing a mile a minute.

Because you realize you recognize that name.

You recognize that voice. And when he finally turns around, hands reaching up to the top of his shirt, the air is forced out of your lungs because you most definitely recognize that face too.

It’s Jungkook.

Amelia’s cousin, Jungkook.

That Jungkook.

The one you try to keep locked away in your mind.

The one that’s been crushing on you forever, reminding you on an almost daily basis what you were missing out on by not accepting his too-many-to-count offers of going out on a date with him. You won’t regret it, (Y/N), he always said, without a doubt.

The one who, admittedly, was also super close to winning you over, despite your best efforts of dissuading your heart. It was a matter of principle really. You don’t date the smug relations of your best friend. Even so, you were frightfully close to finally accepting one of his offers and it was not good.

You knew he’d been sensing the change as well, seeing as he’d been even more self-assured and cocky around you lately, smiling brighter than normal whenever you shut him down. God, what would he think when he saw you. He’d think you were here for him. The thought alone makes your cheeks flush and stomach clench with mortification.

Damn it.

You didn’t even know he did something like this. You briefly wonder if Amelia knew, deciding that there was no way she didn’t, and then ponder why she chose to keep that very important tidbit of information to herself when you’d called her an hour ago to let her know you were finally going to uncover the mystery and secrecy surrounding your mum’s art class. Quite obviously, you come to the conclusion that it was time to find a new best friend, one that didn’t find it amusing to send you into situations without letting you know just exactly what it was you were walking into. Man, did you have some things to say to her when this was all over.

Sooner rather than later.

Your eyes dart to the door. You really, really needed to leave but Jungkook would notice you as soon as you stood up and his noticing you was just absolute the last thing you wanted to encourage. Although, if you ran quick enough, surely there was no way he’d be able to recognize you? You take a quick look at grandma, at her smug smile, at the way one eyebrow is cocked in warning. Were the cookies really worth this?

Yes, answers your brain, albeit very resentfully, confirming that you’d be going nowhere for the next 45 minutes.

There was nothing you could do.

You slowly sink lower in your seat, resigned to watching this nightmare play out in front of you. You hide yourself as best as you can behind the easel, but it’s not erasing your existence from this room as well as you would like.

“Have you all had a good day?” Jungkook asks politely, smiling.

Everyone nods and thanks him. Except for one lady in an oversized wooly jumper, one she probably knitted herself, who pipes up with a cheeky grin, “It’s getting a whole lot better now.”

He chuckles as his fingers undo the first button of his dress shirt. He glances at the beaming lady, who’s giggling into her hand like a schoolgirl. You visibly cringe, groaning inwardly. If this wasn’t the worst type of torture you didn’t know what was.

He shakes his head, obviously used to their antics, biting his lip as he looks down at the floor.

“You ladies sure know how to make a guy blush.” Even your grandma is giggling now.

And you? You’re just waiting patiently for the floor to swallow you up whole, though the odds of that, you think with a heavy heart, were also not looking good.

His fingers make quick work of the rest of the buttons and the shirt soon joins his coat on the floor. It’s when his hands hook under the bottom of his singlet that he looks up and finally sees you.

His hands falter and it’s hard to miss the widening of his eyes. It would be almost comical if it weren’t the worst thing that had ever happened to you.

In any case, you’d stopped breathing a while ago - around the time when the removal of his shirt had revealed his toned biceps and the veins running along his forearms – so you just continue to sit there, completely immobile. Because what were you supped to do? Wave? Give him a thumbs up? Say something stupid like fancy meeting you here? Or never knew your biceps were so nice? Yeah, no thanks.

For a tense moment, he doesn’t move either, looking completely taken aback. Like you were the absolute last person he ever expected to see.

You could really relate to that.

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes but a second later whatever it was disappears and he breathes out, a little harshly you might add, before pulling the singlet over his head in one fluid movement.

Now it’s your turn to let out a shaky breath, your gaze instantly dropping down, despite actively telling yourself that that was the last thing you were going to do.

Your eyes drink in the smooth expanse of his chest, tracing over the hard ridges of his abs, sliding down the edges of his hips.

Holy moly.

He may as well have been an actual marble statue, carved to perfection as he was, and with his tight, black jeans resting low on his hips, the urge to reach out and touch was unbelievably strong. A little too strong. You grimace, it really was great to discover that you were even more attracted to him than you thought you were and the way the thin layer of sweat was making his skin glisten under the white light of the room was not helping in the slightest.

But man was he mesmerizing.

Eventually you become aware of his gaze on your face, and you realize you’ve been staring at him for at least a good 10 seconds with your mouth slightly ajar, which instantly sends blood rushing to your cheeks, flushing them with a red that could probably rival even the ripest of tomatoes. You refuse to meet his eyes, not wanting to see his reaction. You focus instead on the paper stretched tight over the canvas in front of you, your fingers clenched tightly around the charcoal in your hand. In your peripherals, you watch him step up onto the platform, his fingers hooking into the belt rings on his jeans, one leg slightly bent. He looked every bit the half naked cowboy hero you’d expect to find on a Western Mills & Boon paperback, minus the cowboy hat.

“Alright, since we’re short on time, no introductions today. Your 30 minutes starts now, draw away.”

He’s facing in your direction but when you chance a brief peek you’re relieved to find he’s staring straight ahead, gazing towards the door over the top of your head. With the knowledge that he couldn’t move position and look down at you anymore, you think screw it, and decide to make the best of a crappy situation. You allow your eyes to return to his body, taking the time to appreciate every single inch of his skin on display, the alluring shape of his shoulders, chest and waist. You don’t know how long you sit there, your hand poised inches away from the canvas, before you hear your grandma whisper beside you.

“Your mum didn’t pay for this class for you to just sit there and stare (Y/N). Draw. You’ll find it also helps if your pencil actually touches the canvas.” You snap your head to your grandma, once again mortified and when you glance at Jungkook, it definitely looks like he’s trying to suppress a smile. Blast it all to heck, the humiliation makes you sink even further in your seat.

You do as she says, however, and start drawing a few lines, even if you have no idea what you’re doing. You try drafting an outline but it ends up resembling a monster you’d expect to find under your bed rather than the perfect figure Jungkook was presenting. It isn’t long before you give up and return to watching Jungkook, making sure your hand is moving on the canvas this time, to appease your grandma at least.

You distantly wonder how often he does this. It was an interesting gig as far as part-time jobs went, a model for hire. You also wonder what it must feel like to have so many eyes on you, studying every inch of you and being unable to cower away from their gazes. Even if you were wearing every single piece of clothing you owned, hats included, you still didn’t think you’d feel comfortable standing where he was. You had to admire him for that.

As your eyes trace back over his drool-worthy abs, your thoughts briefly drift back to something Amelia had once said. You were sure you remembered her mentioning that Jungkook was majoring in art. That he also spent time being the art hadn’t ever crossed your mind, though after bearing witness to his body you could see why he would and could. Heck, even his face was divine so you really didn’t know why you’d been so surprised. His being a model made a lot of sense.

You’re fixated on the fascinating outline of his thighs when Jungkook suddenly claps his hands together, making you jerk upright in your chair, your hand sliding across the canvas in a sharp, bold line.

“Time’s up. Make your final adjustments while I redress and then I’ll come around to look at all of your drawings as per usual.”

Wait, what?

You stare at the canvas in front of you, at the drawing you’d created. Goodness, you couldn’t even call it that. What you’d created was an insult to the word ‘drawing’. It was a mess of random lines and circles, even the previous outline of that bedroom monster now completely indistinguishable, with a dark jagged line through it all. Honestly, even a two-year old could do a better job.

Your grandma laughs beside you when she gazes over at your masterpiece, “That’s very… abstract of you, (Y/N).”

“Why is he coming around to look at all of our pictures?” you whisper harshly.

“He’s our teacher, sweetie. He needs to see how we’re progressing.”

Your eyes widen. So not just a model then. Of course he’s the teacher. You bite your lip as you continue to study your mess of a drawing. You could not show him this. It was basically a visual representation confirming that you were attracted to him. Maybe you could make your escape now? You had just sat through the majority of the class.

“How about I take my ‘art’ and wait for you out by the car while you get your words of wisdom from your art sensei, hmm? Since I’m not actually a part of this class? Sound good? Great.” You’re already halfway out of your seat. You could have sworn Jungkook’s gaze snaps in your direction at your sudden movement, but he’s focused again on the lady in front of him when you double take.

“Not even an inch,” your grandma reminds you, and you flop back down, recalling her threat about terminating access to her cookies. You bite your lip, your brain considering. Were they worth this? Were they truly worth the uncomfortable confrontation you were about to experience?

Yes, is still the answer your brain grudgingly supplies.

Defeated, you watch Jungkook make his way around the room, complimenting and providing the ladies with constructive criticism, pointing towards errors, suggesting improvements and you have to admit that he does it effortlessly, sincerely. When he’s finished with each one, the ladies thank him before departing, each one positively beaming as they do so. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t warm your heart a little. He glances at you every now and then, looking away quickly whenever your gazes collide, but each time his eyes find yours, you feel something clench tighter in your stomach.

Jungkook leaves you for last.

Your grandma taps your shoulder after she grins her thanks at him, “I’ll meet you out by the café, (Y/N).” She gives you an extra large smile, before she scurries away, closing the door on her way out, so you’re completely alone with Jungkook.

Goody.

It’s the first time you’ve ever truly been alone with him. While he had sought you out at parties and gatherings there had always been other people there, buffering any conversation between the two of you.

He moves to stand behind you, appraising your creation. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest at an alarming speed, insanely aware of his deep breaths behind you.

“Would you like to explain your drawing to me?” he asks quietly. It’s a practiced question, one he had asked everyone in the room but rather than sounding open and inviting, his tone sounded controlled now.

Regardless, your answer was no.

No, you did not want to explain your drawing.

“Uh,” is what comes out of your mouth as you laugh nervously, a hand waving out in the direction of your art, “yeah, I, this-”

Your words taper off helplessly. You really have no idea what to say about it. You both knew it was a disaster, a waste of perfectly good charcoal and paper.

You’re waiting for him to make a joke about it, but it never comes.

When the silence drags on, you take a deep breath as you slowly swivel around in your seat until you’re facing him. You’re not quite sure what you were expecting to see but it certainly isn’t the serious look he’s currently studying you with.

The unexpected gaze makes you tense and you suppress the urge to straighten your back under its intensity.

“(Y/N),” he says and his mouth opens and closes a couple of times, evidently struggling to articulate what he wants to say next so you decide to jump in.

“I’m sorry if I surprised you, I didn’t know you taught art classes. I was actually substituting for my mum. I don’t know if you’d remember her but she has super short red hair, about yay high, perpetual smiler but anyway, she had an impromptu meeting at work and she didn’t want grandma to come alone so I drove us both. As you can see, I’m not really one for drawing.” You swallow thickly. “Look I really, really didn’t know you taught art classes-” He watches you closely while you ramble, eventually holding up a hand to make you stop.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I did mention it to you a few times, but I know you don’t really listen to me, which is fine,” he pushes his hand into his pockets, looking down at the ground for a beat and you bite your lip, feeling unbelievably guilty. He looks back up at you, “Or not, but-”

“If you’re worried about me telling anyone you shouldn’t be, because I won’t.” Okay, except Amelia. Best friends were always the exception. Speaking of Amelia, you’re blurting out the question before you can reconsider, “Curious, does Amelia know you teach art classes?”

“My cousin Amelia? Yeah, she does.”

For crying out loud, Amelia, know your best friend duties. Where the heck was your heads up?

He looks confused, probably wondering why you were bringing up his cousin out of nowhere but he shakes off his bewilderment, and is back to a focused, solemn Jungkook a moment later.

“I really don’t mind about the class. There’s actually something else I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

Oh?

You immediately tense, was this going to turn into another date offer? But there was no one here to buffer the situation? You start to panic and your face must do something to betray the fact because he quickly continues.

“No, not that. Okay, yes that, but here me out, okay?”

It’s not like you had much choice. You could try to run, but everyone knew Jungkook was insanely fast.

“Okay,” your voice is wary.

“Oh,” he says, a flash of surprise racing over his features, as if he wasn’t expecting you to comply so quickly, his mouth stuttering, as if he’d had a whole argument prepared in case you were to refuse, “okay. Cool.”

Your body stills. This seems different. He seems different.

He let’s out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair and it suddenly hits you that he’s nervous. You don’t know how you missed it considering how unsure of himself he looks. Maybe because it contrasts so vividly to how he normally is. Usually he’d be nothing but cocky smiles and suggestive winks. Then again, you’d always thought there was more to him, that the over-confident joker he portrayed was only scratching the surface of who he truly was, a front even and now here he was, shifting from foot to foot, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, looking so shy.

It was unnerving.

It was endearing.

“Look,” he meets your eyes again and your throat catches at the emotion you see there, “you know I like you. I haven’t exactly been subtle. I know that. I do and I also know you’ve never really appreciated the lack of subtlety either.”

Your fingers grip even tighter around the charcoal pencil you still held in your hand.

“I don’t know when I’ll ever be alone with you again so I’m just going to say it.” He takes a deep breath, and you feel your own chest expanding in time with his.

“Recently I thought you seemed to be, potentially be – I thought I sensed that you may be interested in me too. Though that didn’t stop you from continuing to shut me down at every opportunity and I… I guess I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t want to bother you anymore if that’s not – if you’re not into me like that. That maybe I really was just reading you wrong.”

“Jungkook-”

“Just-just let me finish,” he pleads, a soft blush slowly blossoming on his cheeks, the sight effectively shutting you up. “I realize now that playing the cocky fool probably wasn’t the greatest idea, which, looking back now, I should have realized a long time ago, since Yoongi was the one who assured me it was a flawless play, and he’s always been full of shit. It explains all those amused as heck smirks he’s been sending me too. So I’m sorry. I behaved like a moron and that’s, that’s not me. Well, not all me. I really do like you so I’ve decided I’m only going to ask you out one more time and then I’ll leave you alone, for real this time.”

It’s hard to swallow, as his eyes turn even more sincere. He clears his throat and your eyes widen when you realize he was planning on asking you right now.

This was a lot to take in.

You’re surprised your heart hasn’t bet itself out of your chest at this point.

“So then, (Y/N).”

Your breath hitches at your name on his lips. He’d said your name many times over the past few months, of course, even today, but he’d never, ever said it like he did just now. So softly. With such feeling.

He gulps but he forces the words out, the slightest twinge of hope in his eyes, “Will you go out on a date with me?” This time when he softly adds, “you won’t regret it” it’s undertones are sad, a rueful smile on his face.

Your heart clenches at the sight.

You slowly slide off the stool, pushing yourself to your feet. If he’d asked you a month ago, your reply would have been no. Heck, if he’d asked you last week, you would have probably still said no. You were scared of how much he had won you over, even if you’d only caught brief glimpses of the real him. You were scared of how much you were attracted to him – though okay, maybe it had increased ten-fold now that you had seen him shirtless. You were scared and you’d kept on refusing his date proposals even though your heart had been starting to scream at you to say yes. You’d been too proud to give in.

But his vulnerability left you breathless and you figured, if he could drop his cockiness you could drop your pride and be honest with him too.

“You haven’t been reading me wrong.” Your voice is quiet and it feels small in the empty room but you force yourself to maintain eye contact.

“W-what?” Jungkook breathes, eyes searching yours.

“You haven’t been reading me wrong,” you repeat, voice a little stronger.

Jungkook looks dumfounded, completely frozen, as if he was once again a statue, ready to be drawn by a circle of elderly ladies.

“Yes, Jungkook,” you clarify when he continues to stare at you, unmoving, “yes, I will go out on a date with you.”

There’s another lingering beat.

“Are you ser-” He doesn’t finish, delving back into shocked silence and you return his questioning gaze, your stomach summersaulting before he continues.

“Holy shit. You’re serious,” his eyes are wide, staring at you in undisguised disbelief.

You laugh at his language and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Holy crap,” he breathes again, “are you sure?”

You chuckle at his incredulous tone, hands hanging awkwardly by your side.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Like completely sure?”

“100 percent.”

His smile is blinding and you can’t help but mirror it, your stomach bubbling with a rising happiness.

“You don’t think I’m a cocky, foolish man-child?”

“Oh no, I definitely think you’re a cocky, foolish man-child.”

His grin widens. As does yours.

“But you still want to go out on a date with me?”

“I must be insane, right?”

Jungkook lets out a laugh and closes the distance between you, circling his arms around your waist, lifting you up into the air. For once, you don’t push his arms away; instead you tighten your arms around his neck as he spins you around, the muscles you’d been ogling for close to an hour pressed up close against your body. It felt safe, warm, right.

“Completely batty.”

“Batty?” you snort as he gently sets you back down, though he doesn’t relinquish his hold on your waist. “Just how much time do you spend undressing for elderly women?”

“Not enough, obviously.”

You playfully slap his shoulder, earning another laugh. Your expression quickly composes, however, when you mull the statement over in your head.

“Wait, does this mean you’re actually going to let my grandma draw you nude next week?”

Jungkook snorts, “She wishes.”

Gross.

“Jungkook.”

“No, (Y/N). I’m their teacher. The model I originally hired has been sick for the past couple of weeks so I’ve had to fill in for him but he’ll be back next Tuesday.”

“So my grandma won’t be seeing your-” you can’t even finish the sentence without shuddering at the thought of your grandma getting to admire your, well depending on how the date went, future boyfriend.

“No,” he squeezes your waist, eyes shining with amusement, “your grandma won’t be seeing any more of me than she already has.”

While a strong wave of relief crashes through your body, making you slump in his arms, you can’t help the small giggle that escapes when you remember how excited Diana and your grandma had looked when they’d been alluding to next week’s class.

“Man, they’re going to be so disappointed.”

Literally every single one of those old ladies would be devastated, considering how unbelievably thrilled they had all been when Jungkook first walked into the room and even more so when he’d started stripping. For a brief moment you entertain the idea of telling your grandma about the disappointment that would await her at her next art class, but you instantly discard that notion. Given what she’d put you through tonight you decide she deserves a bit of her own medicine.

“It’ll break their hearts.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to look so happy when you’re saying something like that,” Jungkook says, noting your devious smile.

You simply shrug and he chuckles, “So ruthless.”

You hum, fiddling with the fluff on his jacket.

He studies you for a lingering moment, his head tilting slightly to one side, considering, before a sly smirk makes its way onto his face.

“What?” you ask, apprehensively.

He leans closer, whispering conspiratorially. “It was the abs, wasn’t it? My abs were the tipping point.” He shakes his head, his voice turning wistful. “I knew I should have unveiled them earlier.”

He drops his arms from your waist as you smack his shoulder, one of his hands sliding down your arm to interlock his fingers with yours. Your heart positively skips in your chest, warmth spreading up from his hand to the rest of your body.

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He grins, flicking the light switch once he’s dragged you both over to the door, locking it before you begin walking back down the corridor, hand in hand.

He smiles at you, tugging you closer against his side.

“You won’t regret it,” he murmurs.

You squeeze his hand.

“I’m counting on it.”