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Summary
The thing is, he's been in love with Kim Namjoo for as long as he can remember. His first real crush, the first person he had a wet dream about, his first love. It coalesced until he couldn't find the bottom of it, but there has always been a distance between them, one Jungkook didn't know how to shake; he assumed it was Namjoo's doing, her doing her best to separate the two of them so he could get over his crush.
Now, though, with a rising sense of panic—he thinks that may not have been it at all, that what he took as pointed separation may have simply been a survival tactic.
Because Namjoo is here in the living room with them, and she smells like cherry blossoms and citrus, and she's draped over his back like she belongs there, like she wants to be there. She's tall but she's curled against Jungkook in a way that makes her seem dainty, one arm hooked around his chest, chin digging into his shoulder.