Chapter Text
Why did the store have to put women's underwear on the edge of an aisle for all to see? Rows in, less visible to passersby, are layers of purses and socks. Why did they have to put the undergarments near the edge?
In reality, you shouldn't be embarrassed about having to buy bras in the first place, but there's nothing you can really do to stop your own embarrassment. Every time a person rounds the corner, you dart away from the promiscuous mannequins and pretend to look at the tables full of random watches. It's almost sad. There's no real reason to be so flustered.
Oh, but it only gets worse once you get to checking out. There are only two registers open, and they're both grown men. You glance down at your cart—piles of laced reds and blacks, padding and wire and straps you honestly don't understand the point of—covered with a large t-shirt dress you don't even like just to mask it all. You look back up. Both men are looking at you expectantly. One is the most attractive man you're sure you've ever seen, tall and slim, chiseled jaw tilted and black hair messily falling over his forehead. The other is older, middle-aged, extremely unattractive, and looking at you just a little bit too intensely. You don't want to go down either aisle for completely different reasons, but on a whim you whip the cart toward the handsome man.
You must look so out of it. You're so embarrassed, and you consider leaving your cart and just making a run for it. But no—you are a grown woman. You can buy sexy underwear without passing out in front of the hot employee.
"How are you doing today?" the man asks, and you almost squeak. You don't. You smile, happy for the distraction.
"I'm good, what about you?"
"I'm doing great," he responds nicely. You notice now his eyes are this mesmerizing shade of brown, and you're so appreciative of the moment that you allow yourself to look into them. He stares back, almost concernedly, and you snap out of it.
"Sorry," you mumble and reach down to grab the hanger of the t-shirt dress. "I don't actually want this," You decide, handing it to him.
"Oh, okay," he says and turns to put it away behind him. You take the chance, snatching the bundle of wires and straps and tossing it onto the counter in front of you in one movement. You realize then that you probably should've done a better job of organizing the pile. That would mean less time waiting for him to de-tangle them. Oh no.
When he turns around, you see the moment his eyes widen at the mound of awkward undergarments, and your cheeks turn red. You glance away, toward the little screen reading 0.00$. You don't see his facial features soften.
When the screen says 12.99$, you manage to look back at him. Normally, you like to make conversation with the person ringing you up. You've worked in retail too many years to know that just a pleasant customer can make someone's day. However, nothing you can come up with seems appropriate to say right then. You just watch his vein-y hands remove the hangers off of each and every item, tucking them neatly into a big blacked-out bag. You appreciate the opaque quality of it, though you doubt it was intentional of him.
Somehow, watching him pile your lingerie away slowly and delicately turned you on. It was the least sexy thing he could've done with a giant pile of insinuating clothing, but it still started to roll a bundle of heat in your belly. You fidgeted across the counter, playing with your nails and tracing the lines of the counter with the tips of your fingers. Looking back at him, you notice his name-tag.
Jungkook, it read.
"That'll be 128.56," he tells you, and you swear there's a slight smirk playing on his lips. But you look away quickly before you can get embarrassed again and shove your card (which you had prepared minutes ago while you were fidgeting) into the machine. Once you're done, a receipt prints, and he snatches a pen. You figure you have to sign, but he writes something down on it instead and shoves it into your bag. Handing it to you, he smirks confidently.
"Have a nice evening," he speaks smoothly. Something about it makes the fire inside your stomach inflame, and you look him in the eye.
"You too." You take the bag.
You don't realize how heavy you're breathing until you've slipped yourself down into your front seat. You take some deep breaths and remember the receipt. You dig around in the big bag for it for a while, ruining Jungkook's hard work, and yank the long receipt out.
It's written in red, all the way at the bottom.
Xxx-xxx-xxxx
I'd love to see how these look on you sometime
- jk
Holy fuck.