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You met Jungkook years ago when he first moved in. The same village you lived in was the same one you’d grown up in, it was small and quiet (for the most part), which was both a blessing and a curse because such a close-knit network of people meant that not only did everyone know each other and knew who was going out with whom, but rumours also spread like wildfire.
In the local pub there’d been talks detailing the sightings of a handsome hotshot city boy looking for a country home, but you’d been sceptical from the word go. Because, honestly, why would some hotshot city boy leave his hotshot city job to move to the countryside? You loved your home to bits and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else in the world, but other than the amiable people in it, the rest wasn’t even worth comparing. So why would he leave the city where the opportunities were as limitless and as infinite as the sky, to a rural village with the country bumpkins where there was only one pub, a post office and five main shops including one on the verge of closing down, and where the chances of an angry goose being on the road was more likely than a passing car? The possibility was totally ludicrous!
How predictable that you were proven wrong, where one day you found a moving van and a glossy all-black Bentley Bentayga V8 parked in front of one of the bigger properties on the outskirts. Your eyes almost buggered out of their sockets and you’d smacked your cheek a few times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, then thinking holy shit, the most luxurious SUV on the planet – and one you’d only seen on TV, was right there. For one person to comfortably afford one they either had to be a sugar baby or have two generations worth of a family inheritance.
Fine, it was in the vicinity where the higher-ends lived but it still looked absurd and so painfully out-of-place, like a singular slice of pepperoni that mistakenly made its way onto a vegetarian pizza. This guy was asking to get robbed and how lucky it was that he moved here instead of the next town over because his car would have gotten keyed for sure. Point taken, it was a nice car, but how could anyone not be paranoid while they drove and every time they parked it? Think of the insurance! The maintenance costs! So far he only sent signals that screamed “my family is stinkin’ rich and I’m also really stupid with my money!” – so were you obligated to feel any sympathy if something happened to his car? Absolutely not!
If possible, anticipation of the newcomer only seemed to snowball, with talks in the pub becoming an ever-varying agglomerate of garble and nonsensical gossip that it was alarming considering it had only been a matter of days. This was, quite doubtlessly, the most enthralling thing to have happened in the village besides the previous month when some kids from the all-boys private school were flinging slices of bread at each other on their bicycles.
The same black luxury SUV was parked outside of the pub a few weeks later, and mystery person became a mystery no more. Because when the new guy entered the pub there was also the most adorable baby girl, whom everyone correctly deduced was his. You remembered how, for the first time, the raucous chatter had fallen into pin-drop silence, while hotshot city boy struggled with battling against the Autumn gales and an old door which was not fit for a baby buggy to go through, until you were first to assist him, for which he was immensely grateful for. You’d cooed at the whimpering baby swaddled in pink, whispering, “Oh, aren’t you just absolutely gorgeous? What’s her name?” He’d been at a loss for words at first, but told you her name was Boyeon but you could call her Bo. He then mouthed something you couldn’t make out because he was suddenly swarmed by the friendly locals and their gracious offers of help along with a free lunch and a pint from the owner. But it was probably a thanks.
How times have changed since then.
For one, he tearfully sold his beloved SUV for a black range rover instead, after your long talks with him on how unnecessary having a luxury car was in a place like this. He also sold the property which he concluded was much too big for him and Bo. Now he lived a few houses down from you in a house that was thrice nicer than your cottage, but the mortgage was more reasonable than his previously purchased country mansion which was big enough to house three families.
Sometimes he shared glimpses of the life he had before: seventy, sometimes eighty-hour work weeks but a lifestyle of luxury; premier nightclubs; huge offices of oak-panelling, smooth black and glass exteriors; and cliques of elites. For him, he was kept busy, life a constant flow. Until little Boyeon entered the frame and created the bottleneck that slowed this fast-lane reality to a halt.
So he left his expensive life. Left his smart home controlled apartment, his job, his friends, the splendour and the city – which, for the first time in his life, suddenly manifested a concrete jungle that was miserable and suffocating. It wholly represented the opposites of the ideals and the environment he wanted his little girl to grow up in.
It was remarkable, really. How he went from clueless baby daddy to one who didn’t blink an eye if saliva or a snot rocket splattered onto his cheek and the corner of his eyeball, and he could tolerate tantrums like a champ and could do a fairly tidy french braid, too.
But this year his old friends had reached out to him, in hopes that they could spend time together like old times, arguing that it wouldn’t be old times if they didn’t have their heartthrob golden boy. As with a lot of things, he confided in you on what to do, whether he should accept or not. “You should pay a visit, if you really want to,” you told him, “I can ask Cel if she’s ok to cover the clinic on her own so I can look after Bo while you’re away.”
“But it’ll be her parents’ evening on the Friday I leave.”
“I’ll attend it for you. Honestly, you don’t need to worry because we’re going to behave. Won’t we, princess?” and Bo squealed in delight, stomping on the spot on her stubby legs while you nodded at her. Jungkook’s smile was tender. He couldn’t dissent, he trusted you like a blood nurse, both figuratively and literally, and always took care of Bo as if she were your own.
You heard the unlocking of the front door, heard it swing shut, followed by resounding footsteps down the hall that disrupted the peace. Your voice ventured out to call, “Back already? I thought you were going to be away until Monday?” It was Saturday and he only left yesterday.
The sigh Jungkook heaved was drawn out and heavy while his blazer was shrugged off. “I left early,” and he didn’t know if it was the dim lighting in his lounge that soothed the ache in his temples, or if it was the sight of you and his tiny four year-old huddled together, swaddled up from toe to chin in a big blanket on one end of his sofa. Bo was sound asleep, totally wiped out, her cheek smushed against your shoulder and her snoring light and airy. He crouched to the floor until he reached her level, chin rested atop the arm he propped onto the edge. His eyes were soft and adoring, and the weary muscles of his face stretched into a smile that was slight and slow. The tip of his finger reached out to trace across her cheek.
“I’ll go make some tea for you, I just boiled the water a few minutes ago,” you whispered, being careful as you laid Bo’s head down onto a cushion. She stirred as you moved away, her small starfish fingers grappling blindly at where your body would have been but she was such a heavy sleeper that it wasn’t a hassle.
Jungkook followed you into his kitchen. The whole time you were cognisant of the direct line of his gaze, and it fell on you. He stood beside you, back leaning into the counter while you poured hot water into separate mugs. The lighting in his kitchen was harsher on your eyes that your drowsiness dissipated. That, along with the added tingling sensation you got whenever he was around you, but you knew better than to let it cloud your judgement. He looked quite handsome tonight in a navy blue Oxford dress shirt and fitted slacks. Although, nowadays you found that your resistance dwindled by the day the more time you spend with him. But you were getting used to it, you think. After almost four years you should be.
“So … how was it?” you asked, only to be returned with silence. Head turned towards him, you found his eyes averted to some spot on the stone oak laminate flooring. “Not fun? No pretty women who tickled your fancy? The boys having trouble keeping up with you?” Your frown deepened still. “Jungkook, what’s up? What happened?”
“It started out ok, I guess,” he said, taking the mug you handed him. “We went to a rooftop garden and ate dinner. All’s going well – so far. But while we were there, there was a family. They looked like new parents and had a baby who was a little agitated and unsettled and wouldn’t keep quiet. I was used to it thanks to Bo so I didn’t mind, but a few of my friends weren’t, and apparently most of the people who were there too.” His brows furrowed, elbow leaning on the surface and facing sideways where you were. “The thing is, I realised that years ago that used to be me. I was no different to any of those people. I got irritated when there was a kid crying in public, I was the dick who told the parents that they should have better control over their child. How fucking awful is that?”
You stressed to him, with a gravity that was sympathetic, because by now you knew him enough to know when he was earnest, “That was years ago, Jungkook, you’re a different man now. You know how long it takes to drive to the city, don’t you? Was that really why you left?”
“Not really. But then we went club hopping, and I just couldn’t … get into it for some reason,” he emphasised with his palms spread open, “which was so odd but I hadn’t felt exhausted like that since the first night I had Bo. And that’s saying a lot. I felt out of place, like I didn’t belong in that group. I wasn’t in the mood to dance, I didn’t wanna drink either. I know it’s been a while but I didn’t expect everything to make me feel so alienated, even though it was all exactly how I left it.”
“Jungkook.”
“Mm?” His proximity was so close, he’d somehow succeeded in furtively moving an arm behind you on the counter, to the extent that if he moved anymore he’d be encircling your waist but he didn’t close the distance, not yet. His eyes were so different in moments like these, more soft than you knew eyes could be. If it were anyone else you would drop your gaze, but with him you were drawn ever closer. “I’ll tell you what, though. There was nothing I wanted more than to come home to you and Bo. That was all I could think about the whole evening.”
Your back became erect while he pinned you with a look. You weren’t the nervous type. Even when you were, you were accustomed to putting on a confident face, because confidence in a nurse was more likely to earn a patient’s trust and their ease than one who looked like they didn’t know what they were doing. Even if you didn’t know what you were doing: confidence was still key. Including admitting where your competencies were and where they weren’t.
You were the person who spoke first, greeted people first, and when you used to work in the hospital in the city you were that annoyingly happy-go-lucky nurse who sang good morning during your morning medication rounds. It was why you knew everyone in the village as if each were a member of your immediate family, and they in return treated you as such. It was also why it was so easy for you to get to know Jungkook when he first moved in, in spite of the walls he put up, a default in consequence to him residing in the city his whole life.
He also did a splendid job in making you feel like the most incompetent human being in the entire history of the Earth. The last time you felt like that was in the days before you obtained your license to practise, more specifically: your first day of work placement in nursing school. And that was saying a lot, taking into consideration that you seemed to have a permanent case of wobbly legs and butterfingers back then.
But, oh, these days you and Jungkook were pussyfooting around the mutual revelation that you two fancied the pants off each other. Before, you were in denial that he could be interested, until one Sunday when you were at Jungkook and Bo’s house he drew you to the side after a few glasses of wine and a philosophical conversation and said, “I want you. I want you and I don’t know how to make you understand that I mean it.” His tone had been low, his eyes glassy and sincere, and if you weren’t short stopped by Bo waking up you think you would have kissed him.
Jungkook’s touches became less hesitant and unashamed, his flirting more blatant, and even now when all he was doing was brushing his hands up and down your sides you were reduced to putty and couldn’t even hide the way your chest heaved quickly when his fingers dared to push past the hem of your shirt.
He had your back fully pressed into the counter now, and your hands had gone up to gently cup his cheeks when he leaned to close the distance between your bodies. God, you wanted this man so bad and all you needed to do was to meet him in the middle. You didn’t know what you two were and it felt so juvenile because wasn’t this just a first world problem that could be easily put to rest if you just swallowed hook, line and sinker and took three seconds of courage and told him you liked him back?
So why didn’t you?
You swallowed, thinking – Bo.
You’d always been the type to think too far ahead.
What if, hypothetically, you and Jungkook did start dating, and it got serious somewhere down the line and even further along you had a child together? You loved Bo just as much as you loved her dad (... maybe Bo just a smidgen more) but the thought of her finding out she wasn’t your biological daughter, the thought of that leading to her possibly feeling like she was second-best, second-favourite or second-anything to her siblings broke your heart.
That was why each time Jungkook took two steps forward, you took a tentative step back.
“What’s on your mind?” he murmured, watching closely with hooded eyes the downward sultry path of your fingers sliding from his cheeks to his collarbone, and then further down to his chest.
Your voice was small, “Bo.”
His brow lifted at you, not questioning it when you fiddled to undo another button on his shirt so that you could touch more of his bare skin. His eyelids fluttered at the trail of your fingers, before he hummed, head tilting. “Speaking of,” he began, in a low vibrating tone, “she’s still sleeping in the lounge.”
You looked up. “We should go check up on her,” you said first, and he nodded. The two of you finally separated, but he did give a small sigh through his nose when he followed you into the lounge, his eyes intent on your back the whole time.
Predictably, Bo hadn’t moved a muscle on the sofa since the two of you were in the kitchen. The only difference being there was a more obvious silver trail of dried saliva from one corner of her mouth to her chin as she snored.
Both of you crouched in front of her.
“... Let’s go take her upstairs,” he whispered.
“Good idea.”
He unwrapped her from the blanket. Swiftly, he lifted her up, a hand supporting the head now resting on his shoulder. “Hey, baby,” he cooed, bouncing her up and down a little in his arms when she stirred. You switched the lamp off and trailed after them upstairs to Jungkook’s bedroom. You helped him a few weeks ago set up Bo’s new room since she was four now and started school, but she still liked to sleep beside her dad some nights, and sometimes it was vice versa. Tonight was one of those nights.
He let her snuggle between where you and him lay on the bed. She grasped at the air when she was moved, but otherwise she didn’t make a peep.
“How did parents’ evening go yesterday?” he asked, voice low as not to wake her.
“Her teacher said she’s bright and is doing really well, and gets along with the other kids.” You chuckled as you said, “more notably, she sings. All the time. Including during roll call in the morning. Her teacher admits that she has to tell her to be quiet sometimes.”
Neither couldn’t help it, but you both snorted, which then passed into retrained laughs. Because that sounded so much like Bo, and Jungkook could put no blame on the teacher for kindly telling his daughter to be quiet. Since she was still small she couldn’t properly pronounce all her words yet, in particular her s’s and her r’s, and sometimes she could only say half of a word or she’d make up the rest of it to what she thought it sounded like and if she was in the mood she made up her own dances to go along. It didn’t deter her; she sang at the table, she sang while Jungkook did her hair in the morning, sang when he took her to and from school, and especially when and while he helped her sit on the toilet because those times were when she was bored the most.
“My fault,” he said, amused, because one of his more prominent habits was humming or singing around the house, which Bo must have picked up.
“It’s not a bad thing, it means she’s a happy kid.” You smiled. “And of course she is, because she has a really, really great dad who’s raising her right.”
He sneaked a look at you. You were laid on your front, the side of your face resting on your folded arms atop of one of the pillows while you gazed at Bo.
Transitioning from the city to the countryside hadn’t been easy, but you’d helped him so much over the years he was running out of ideas on how he could possibly make it up to you someday. You’d filled in the role that he’d hoped Bo’s mom would have done, but it went without saying, they didn’t keep in touch; he hadn’t seen her for almost four years now. He didn’t think about her often or got sentimental about it. He only thought about it sometimes when he gazed upon Bo’s smiling face and realised how much alike her appearance was to her – a mini caricature, except for the eyes. Bo had his eyes.
It had taken him awhile to get to grips with the whole dad thing, and sometimes he felt he was still a little lost, but every time Bo shrieked in delight or when he saw the way her face brightened when he went to pick her up from school it reminded him he didn’t need to be the perfect parent to be a good parent.
Like his own. They’d been well-meaning and kind but Jungkook was an only child who was sheltered and put on a pedestal his entire life; in his time as a student he’d been smart, athletic; a teacher’s favourite; and because God also picked His favourites, Jungkook’s family was very well-off, to top it off. Money was never something he had to worry about, and having doting parents also meant that he was not only well-loved but whatever he wanted, he got. It was fair to say that now he was a parent himself he realised he did not want Boyeon to grow up senselessly spoiled and praised in golden showers in the way that he was. The move to the countryside certainly served as a wake-up call, to which your role played a significant part. But your part also helped him the most.
Since you were one of the two village nurses, you gave out your personal number to everyone in the village, in case you were ever in need. Even on your days off you were on call. Though your first impressions of him weren’t favourable, you gave Jungkook no differential treatment to everyone else. You gave him your number at his first visit to your clinic when he wanted a check-up on Bo. Back then she was almost six months old.
It was one of those nights when Bo was restless and no matter what he did, he couldn’t put her to sleep. When Bo had been crying for who knows how long, he didn’t know what it was that made him call you first because before, it had always been his mom. But moments of desperation sometimes made people do unlikely things. He half-expected you to hang up on him, or maybe offer some light consolation that wasn’t helpful at all, but instead you talked him through the entire phone call, and even went over when Bo’s cries and wails were ongoing and when he sounded like he was in near-tears.
You must have been some kind of baby-whisperer because you’d managed to put Bo to rest within minutes. “Not a baby-whisperer, just a nurse,” you’d told him, but he wasn’t convinced. And really, that was where your unlikely friendship had started. He trusted you, and you looked after Bo like a parent. You visited in the weekends, sewed the rips in her dresses and sometimes she asked Jungkook where you were on days you didn’t come see her.
He was aware of the gossip that encompassed the both of you these days. It had been going on in much earlier days until, finally – and it wasn’t a eureka moment, or one instance, but a collection of instances that accrued until it was impossible to deny or reject. Jungkook was in love with his best friend and he had been for a while.
He’d been on a few dates over the years he’d been in the village, but most of these were because of you. You bent your back for him to have these dates that he couldn’t be cruel enough to refuse. However, now you’d stopped trying to set him up with your friends in the next town over, and that had to mean something … right?
If only you realised how he contemplated you, as if you were someone who had fallen out of heaven – words which were verbatim to someone who you’d set him up with once. Her name was Maariya and she was a paramedic who lived in the next town over, a very good friend of yours and also hands-down gorgeous with brown bedroom eyes so alluring that you were stuttering when you first met her in college, so when you found out they didn’t go beyond date three you were so bewildered and disheartened that you reached the conclusion that Jungkook’s standards were so impossible for it not to work out with one of the most wonderful, kindest, smartest women you knew. You thought they had so much in common! You thought you finally sussed it for him and had put an end to his celibate lifestyle! But little had you known.
That evening after Maariya and Jungkook gone out to dinner, they decided to go for a stroll around the Christmas market, and because coincidence was such a funny thing they’d seen you with Bo, hands linked tightly and bundled in your coats and scarves, looking at the stalls together.
Even with Jungkook’s hand holding Maariya’s, it would take an idiot to not notice the way he looked at you, and Maariya was far from one. His eyelids were slow to blink and it had allowed her to see how motionless his irises were, how they shone with the reflection of the fairy lights overhead, and how they took in more light, still. To put it plainly, he looked to her like his brain was perhaps short-circuiting.
Maariya was a good sport, had genuinely liked Jungkook, thought him attractive and thought him as good company and someone worth her time, but she knew an enamoured man when she saw one, and she was someone who valued her self-worth and had better priorities than chasing a person who so obviously pined for someone else, a someone else who was also her very good friend. She told him how cute his daughter was, wished him good luck, and him to her, and they promised to meet up again for a drink.
.
.
“Something on your mind?” Your words mimicked his own from earlier, and he paused, eyes dazed, narrowing in on you.
He replied, “I have someone on my mind, yes.” The lamp’s dim lighting was enough for him to catch the tightening of your lips, as if you willed them not to move any more.
“Someone’s been on my mind a lot these days, too.”
He drew in a breath, suddenly not as tired anymore. “Yeah?”
Though your eyes were sunken with fatigue, your gaze crossed his again ever intently, with the soft determination of a child. You needn’t say more.
Jungkook may as well have been free from all the weight of the world.
.
.
.
“But I’m worried, I’m scared, but I really like you.”
A pause.
“You want to talk about it?”
Another pause.
“I do, but I’m tired and it’s not a conversation I want to have right now.”
“That’s fine, whenever you’re ready. You’re worth the wait.”