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You are seven, and Jungkook is nine.

Bright Catherine wheels roll across the sky in bone-thundering bangs, lighting up the night with vibrant explosions of colour. The air tastes of burnt plastic mixed with the stale stench of alcohol, and if you focus really hard, screwing your eyes tight shut, the dewy drops on Jungkook’s perfectly manicured front lawn isn’t seeping into your bubblegum pink Converse. Jungkook stands beside you, eyeing the fireworks display with an almost intense fervor. Behind, someone yells out, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” before a round of cheers courses through the house.

“Well?” Jungkook turns to you sheepishly. “D’you want a kiss or something?”

Right now, your mother is probably giggling in that dry, inebriated way somewhere in the house, you think. She would jump for joy at this moment, practically pushing you into Jungkook’s weak little arms. Be nice, her voice echoes in your mind.

But you’re glad your mom is off getting drunk somewhere inside the house with her very best friend Mrs. Jeon, who just so happens to be Jeon Jungkook’s mother, so you savour the rejection on the tip of the tongue before letting it wash out.

“In your dreams,” you shoot back, not missing Jungkook’s look of relief splayed across his features.

“Good,” he sticks his tongue out at you, “‘cuz it’s not like I’d ever want to kiss you anyways.”

But the obtuse look on his face fades to a more pensive, contemplative appearance. Under the blazing display, Jungkook’s face is covered in a layer of radiance—glowing reds, silvers, greens that shroud his face in a mysterious shadow. His head is tilted towards the sky, throat jutting out, and hint of a carefree expression in his dark eyes, as if holding the world in the palm of his hands. He looks impossibly ageless; immortal and liberated.

“Well, it’s a new year.”

“Duh,” you reply sullenly, not quite sharing the same thoughtful ideas with the boy beside you, “that’s why there’s a party.”

He presses on, ignoring your quip. “Not just a new year. A new millennium. Do you even know what a millennium means?”

“Of course I know what it means, dummy,” you frown, not wanting to let Jungkook play the I’m-two-years-older-than-you-and-therefore-I’m-smarter card, the one he flaunts so often whenever he’s feeling the rush of superiority.

Not seeming to have heard your response, Jungkook sighs, “Everything’s going to be different now.”

“No it won’t,” you pout obstinately, smoothening out the wrinkles in the pretty sky-blue dress your mother forced you to wear for this occasion. “It’s just a new year. What’s gonna change?”

“Oh, forget it!” With an indignant huff, Jungkook stalks away, leaving you wondering what got him into such a bad mood so suddenly.

Later, when the party starts to die down, and you troop back next door with your uncomfortably affectionate parents, you spare one last glance in Jungkook’s direction. He stands by the front doorstep with Mr Jeon’s firm hand on his shoulder, arms crossed petulantly. When he notices your stare, he waves you off in a one handed salute, expression unchanging.

You don’t smile, but you wave back nonetheless.

.

You are eighteen, and Jungkook is twenty.

He moves all the way across the country to go to university on the East Coast, and two years later, you follow in his footsteps. Housing is expensive, but that situation is solved when Mrs. Jeon practically begs you to stay with Jungkook.

“He’s got the apartment all to himself,” she tsks with a disapproving look in her eyes. “Plus, it’ll be cheaper for the both of you.”

In truth, you’d rather not live with a boy you hadn’t spoken to in two years, even if the boy in question is your ex-next door neighbour/forced childhood friend Jeon Jungkook. But she’s right, after all.

It isn’t perfect, but that’s how you end up back on Jungkook’s doorstep, suitcases in hand, big sunglasses shadowing your big ambitions. You’ve got the sunny disposition of any bright eighteen-year-old looking to live by herself for the very first time, and you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s dark eyes rake over your body for the first time in two years. He takes the initiative and grabs your two suitcases with a grunt, allowing you to step over the threshold and into a new world.

The apartment itself is something of a trainwreck, but not that you expected anything more. There are books strewn on the beat-up old couch, and the kitchen counter is lined with takeout boxes, all in varying stages of decay. There’s a house plant standing near the couch, but its leaves are yellowed with dehydration. All in all, a typical Jungkook mess.

You can’t help but think that if his parents were here to witness this, they’d probably throw a fit and force him to move back in with them.

Slipping your oversized sunglasses over your head, you carefully move around the apartment with an unusual fragility. “Nice place you got here.”

He scowls, in such a Jungkook-like manner you almost laugh. It reminds you of the days you used to burn his G. I. Joes on the pavement with your little magnifying glass. He’d been so mad back then, vowing to cut the hair off all your Barbies and take the stuffings out of all your teddy bears. Of course, when you fake-tearfully reported Jungkook’s threats to Mrs Jeon, she scolded him so hard that afterwards, he declared he’d never speak a single word to you ever again. But a week later, when your mom once again sent you to the Jeon’s for a play date/babysitting hour, the two of you coloured on the sidewalk with chalk like nothing had ever happened.

It’s evident Jungkook’s thinking the same thing you are because, if anything, his flush deepens into a tomato red. His dark hair is shorter than what it used to be like back in high school, even curling around the edges. There’s something casual about the way Jungkook moves, like he’s finally comfortable in his own skin.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have to stay with you,” you scowl right back, eyes blazing with the same fierceness. “Wherever you go, I go, remember?”

That had been a running gag between both of your families. When you were eight, and Jungkook was ten, your mother brought you two to the mall for some back-to-school shopping. In the midst of the excitement and fervor of being in a mall full of people and things, you’d somehow gotten separated, lost in the din of the crowd.

Jungkook had been the one to find you again, dragging you by the elbow to where your mom had been searching in panicked desperation. By the end of it all, she had one phrase drilled into you: “Wherever Jungkook goes, you go with him. Okay?” To which you’d replied with, “Even to the washroom?” This, ultimately, earned you a smack to the back of the head.

But it worked. From then on, you were always following him (and sometimes, it would be the other way around), and the phrase became an oft-repeated proverb by both families, much to your and Jungkook’s chagrin.

“I remember,” he replies sourly. No doubt he’s remembering back to that day in the mall and the annoying lecture that’d come out of it.

You laugh in a loud, biting bark, which he ignores in favour of dropping your suitcases on the hardwood floor in an unceremonious thud. There’s a complaint forming in your mind already as you wince at the dull sound the suitcase makes with the ground, but you stay silent. He heads towards the fridge, popping open a beer with the casualness of a typical college kid.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” You point out nastily, and Jungkook glowers in response.

“You’re such a brat,” he spits. “What makes you think you can lecture me on underage drinking?”

In the two years after Jungkook left for college, he’d been on the receiving end of much of Mrs Jeon’s rants—many of them about you, in particular. She often bemoaned your crazy social life (most of it gleaned from your mother’s stories), the way you’d stumble home at three in the morning and wake up the entire neighbourhood with the fights you got into with your dad. And Jungkook would listen over the phone, wondering what kind of person you’d become in his absence.

But your grades stayed consistent. Consistently good, which was how you’d managed to be admitted to this fancy private university with a scholarship to boot. Jungkook had begrudgingly admitted that despite your wild behaviour, you were still probably smarter than him.

It was always like that. He worked to the point of death for straight A’s, while you sat in the back of the class, popping your gum like the typical lazy high schooler with no career aspirations to boot, cruising through all your classes without so much as lifting a pencil or completing a single page of homework in any course.

With a beer in one hand, he grabs one of your suitcases and hauls it over his shoulder, carrying it to your room. His biceps show through his airy white t-shirt, and you stop your movements in shock.

He has muscles now. The crazy pig had always been unerringly enthused with working out back in high school, but you never paid attention to his weird obsessions until now. From this angle, you could even make out the veins protruding from his forearms. You slap your cheeks, reminding yourself that this is Jungkook, for god’s sake and no amount of muscles could deter your never-ending hate for the boy you were forced to spend your childhood with.

He dumps your stuff by the ledge of the bed before settling down with a thump, eagle spread over your sheets like he’s planning on falling asleep right then and there. There’s an expression of complete relaxation on his features that mirrors your newfound freedom. Your knees bump against his when you flop down beside him, taking in the nice smell of the clean bedsheets and Jungkook’s warmth. Home. This feels like home.

“By the way, your mom asked me to set a curfew for you,” Jungkook stares at the ceiling, voice suddenly serious. “So I expect you to be back at the apartment every day by midnight.”

You sit up straight, hair flying over your shoulders as you turn to fix Jungkook with a nasty glare. “What?”

Jungkook returns your glare with a raised eyebrow. “She says she wants daily updates. Y/N, she wants daily updates.”

“You don’t have to listen to her.” Pushing a finger right up to his chest accusingly, you pout like a puppy at Jungkook’s words. “And you can’t control me.”

“And if she pulls the both of us back home because you can’t be adult enough to make it home on time?” His stare is soul-penetratingly pierce, causing your frown to deepen.

Since when did Jungkook act like such protective older brother? Your brain is spinning, and there’s a dry numbness in your trachea, making it difficult to breathe. Only five minutes into your reunion with Jeon Jungkook, and already you could spot the differences that’d evidently been made in the two years he lived without you.

“Yeah, and what’re you gonna do about it?” Your response is cheeky and oh-so-childish, hiding your true panic, and you can’t help but dimple up to him even in his most serious of stares. His cold façade melts ever so slightly. In the next moment, he reaches up and tickles your stomach with long scraggly fingers.

Your skin burns cold at the hot touch of his fingertips. There’s a weird squeeze in your stomach where he makes contact, but you laugh and laugh and laugh, body twisting in response to the tickles. Jungkook’s relentless, however, and continues his tickle attack until you’re left thrashing around on the bed like a wild fish. Satisfied with your reaction, he grins wildly, showcasing brilliant bunny teeth you used to tease him over. Gradually his volatile fingers turn to smooth palms, rubbing the expanse of your belly in comforting circles.

“I can’t believe you’re still antagonizing me like you used to,” he whispers ever so gently, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

You hum at his touch, suddenly recalling the way Jungkook once gave you the exact same treatment after you’d fallen off your skateboard in the seventh grade.

You’d skinned your knee to the point where blood dripped down to the ankles, and you could barely make it to your street when Jungkook had spotted the look in your eyes and carried you to his house. There, he’d given you belly rubs while administering anti-septic to soothe the stinging.

It was one of the only times you’d decided that maybe Jeon Jungkook wasn’t so bad after all. But not even a week later, he had cruelly laughed at your Ricky Martin impersonation and you resolved that you’d never speak to him again. But that hadn’t lasted, either.

His hand jerks to a sudden stop, and without thinking, you moan at the loss of touch. When you open your eyes, Jungkook’s staring at you—no longer cold and awkward, but a strangely enigmatic look full of unreadable meaning. He notices your open eyes and drops his gaze, his fingers still trailing along your hipbone in a forced casualness.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes. You’re at a loss, unable to form words or even thoughts. Jungkook’s determinedly not looking at you, but at long last, he turns to you with an unusually shy smile on his lips.

Reaching up to fluff your hair, he says, “You’re still such a brat. “

But he doesn’t say I’ve missed you, and neither do you.

.

You take to college like any self-respecting party girl would. There are tons and tons of frat parties, keggers, raves, events to attend, and you take it upon yourself to go to as many as possible. To your complete and utter exasperation, Jungkook doesn’t bother going to any.

Oh, well. You suppose it is typical Jungkook behaviour, after all. Back home, you were the wild child and he the perfect son. At least now he’s got his own circle of friends now, unlike back in high school when he latched onto you.

For the most part, though, college is easy. You breeze through your classes like you expected to, chat up professors like you were born to do it, and make friends with some classmates. There’s time for a few hookups here and there, but you steadily ignore the hopeful glances of boys who dare to look your way. There’s a lab partner, Wonwoo, who keeps trying to make conversation about things other than science, but you never respond to his questions with anything more than clipped, one word answers.

And for the most part, you stick to the curfew, because you know your mom and she’d never let you live by yourself without these highly unfair, highly restrictive rules. And Jungkook would probably get in trouble, too.

Living with Jungkook, well, to be honest, it’s like being five years old again. Back when your parents were too cheap to afford a babysitter, they used to dump you at your next door neighbour’s house, the Jeons, where you were forced up to Jungkook’s room rather than sit in the dining room and watch cartoons by yourself.

If you could be perfectly frank, you’d admit that those playdates with Jungkook were the shit; the two of you running around the neighbourhood with your pink sparkly shoes and Jungkook’s Pokemon cards without a care in the world.

It was in the Jeon’s backyard where you’d sit on the tree swing, popping Hubba Bubba bubblegum and watching Jungkook try to build a fort. Their backyard was the safe place you’d fled to after impulsively pulling the tail of the meanest dog in the neighbourhood, the Kim’s pit bull. And your favourite memory of all—

The 90’s, man. Gone in the blink of an eye.

You could’ve sworn it was 1999 again, but the decade passed by faster than you could say the word “millennium”.

And now here you are, suddenly waltzing back into his life like you’d never left at all. It came as a surprise how easily you managed to integrate into this new world—this ditzy, flashy world of college life. Jungkook at your side, a rock against the current.

In the mornings, he leaves first for his nine am Econ lecture, so he makes overly bitter coffee and leaves some on the kitchen counter. You get up sometime after that and drink the coffee black even though you complain about the taste to him every single day, to which he laughs and tells you to make your own coffee. But you never actually listen to him, and continue to drink the bitter bullshit even though it rots your taste buds.

Most days are filled with classes, labs, and lectures. Jungkook calls you in the middle of an Intro to Chem lecture once because he forgot his dance bag back at home, and you pretend to be annoyed with him even though you’re secretly pleased that he’s given you an excuse to get out of class. There’s a pretty, long-haired girl named Joy who invites you out for a study date at The Coffee Shop a week into the semester, and the two of you connect over your mutual hatred for the bland professor who teaches the Intro to Chem course.

Afternoons are spent studying (more like socializing, in your case) in the library with Joy, or grabbing food from the pizzeria place on campus with Jungkook. He refuses to eat the crust, so one day you order crust-filled pizza and Jungkook stares at you all wide-eyed like he’s discovered the entire world in the palms of his hands. Afterwards, Jungkook goes to hang out with his dance friends, his Bangtan group or whatever, and you can’t help but feel a small twinge of sadness when he leaves you to your own devices.

The old Jungkook wouldn’t have done that, but then again, the old Jungkook didn’t have any friends. But, whatever. You’re just glad he’s out on his own now, making a name for himself.

Weeknights are reserved for parties at the frat houses two streets down, or, if you’re feeling socially inept, marathoning movies on the dusty old TV Jungkook picked up at a flea market. Frat parties are okay, to be honest. They remind you somewhat of the house parties from back home, except with grosser beer and more strangers.

Jungkook, on the other hand, avoids the frat parties like they’re the plague. Actually, in the two months you’ve been living with him, you haven’t actually seen him go to a single party, or literally anything that doesn’t involve the Bangtan Boys. It’s all very Jungkook-like, this aversion to socializing and drinking to oblivion, but you have to swallow your thoughts because almost nothing else he does is Jungkook-like anymore.

Like when Jungkook comes back after working out, all sweaty in his muscle glory, and you have to suppress the strange ideas that keep rushing into your brain when you see him all red-faced like that. It’s a weird reminder that he’s no longer the twiggy eight-year-old with the nerdy thick glasses anymore. When Jungkook steps out of the shower with only a towel to hide his body, it’s hard to remember a time you ever thought of him as the annoying older brother.

And his hair. Goddamn, that hair. You don’t remember it ever being so curly, but it’s inky black and curls like he’s permanently got a perm. When he smiles, his teeth positively dazzle and it’s simultaneously the most beautiful and annoying thing you’ve ever seen. The bucktooth is replaced by a cutesy bunny look, which is aggravating as hell.

The worst thing is, you’re not the only one who notices all these…things about him. When you accidentally let on that you live with Jungkook to Joy during another one of your Chem study sessions, she gets all wide-eyed and shocked, whispering, “The Jeon Jungkook? The hottest boy on campus?”

“As if,” you snort derisively, but Joy looks like she’s about to faint right into the textbook anyways.

Girls ogle Jungkook when you go out together. There’s an increased percentage of stares going in your direction whenever he walks with you to the pizzeria or The Coffee Shop, most of them coming from jealous college girls who can’t believe your luck. Jungkook doesn’t even falter when one October morning, a tiny girl runs up to him (while he’s with you, no less) and professes her love for him. He doesn’t bat an eye, just thanks her and moves on his way with you all slack-jawed in the background.

For some reason, he doesn’t look at any of the girls who admire him so much. The waitress from the pizzeria bats her long eyelashes and flirts heavily with Jungkook to the comical point where it’s like you don’t even exist at all, but he coldly ignores her and goes on with his order. The barista from The Coffee Shop writes her number next to “Jungkook ♥” in pretty cursive, and he throws out the take-out cup after downing the coffee in less than two seconds without sparing the writing a second glance.

“You could get so many girls if you wanted,” you note to him as he drowns himself in his third cup of coffee. “Why don’t you?”

“First of all, you can’t just ‘take’ a girl,” Jungkook replies, slamming the cup down in such a violent manner that drops of coffee land onto his crisp white shirt, forever staining it. “And second of all, I’m just not interested. In anyone.”

The strangely affirmative way he says this makes your stomach drop, before you can even catch yourself. It’s almost like—disappointment. Weird.

This can’t be happening. For the love of God, it’s Jungkook. It’s Jungkook. If it were anyone else you would just hook up with them to get over the mess that constituted your emotions, but not this time. So instead, you’re left to clean up your own feelings and hide them under that bright-eyed college girl image you’ve worked so hard to create.

If he notices your staring (probably not, the oblivious idiot), he doesn’t comment. For all you know, he still sees you as the annoying kid, the little sister from a sleepy suburban town stuck in the past. Jungkook probably sees you and remembers the Barbies, the skateboard, the shared lockers and the colourful rolls of pink Hubba Bubba Bubble Tapes. The first time the two of you played on Mr Jeon’s computer, giggling and wide-eyed at the amazing power of technology. Cherry-red heart-shaped sunglasses, glinting in the sun; the failed tree fort; and the massive tire swing in his backyard that you claimed for yourself.

Now look where you are.

It’s a big world out there, and it’s only getting bigger.

.

“This is the first time I’ve asked for an extension on my curfew, and you know it!”

You tried reasoning with Jungkook, pleading and practically begging on your knees, but still he was unrelenting. It was probably because your mother still called him daily to get updates (you can’t believe she doesn’t trust you nearly as much as Jungkook, but in hindsight it’s definitely understandable), but even still.

“But I’m an adult now,” you dimple up at him, trying out your best aegyo to Jungkook’s cold, lifeless expression. But still he stared you down, face unchanging. It was the many things about him that unnerved you, Jungkook’s ability to have a poker face in any situation. “Come on, pleeeaase?”

Jungkook rubs at his temples like he’s got a migraine. He’s sitting at his desk, books splayed out in front of him and laptop running on 25%, and you’re leaning over trying to pout at him. You’re looking at him with those puppy dog eyes that he can never resist, and it’s even hopeless to try, so finally — “Fine. Extended until two am.”

You snake your arms over his back, shamelessly squeezing his shoulders in affection. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Have I ever told you what a great person you are? Seriously—I think I love you.”

You hadn’t even realized what you said until Jungkook’s cheeks flame up in a brilliant red. But nevertheless, he replies, “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Y/N. Now go away—I’ve got stuff to study.”

Since you know better than to keep bothering him, you hurry off to get ready for the party. Party of the semester, hosted by one of the most popular jocks on campus. It was guaranteed to be huge; so huge that last year, the university was left completely dead the day after. You quickly pull on your shortest crop top, dab on the slightest bit of lipstick, and bound out the door with a quick goodbye to Jungkook.

The party itself, as it turns out, is exactly as big and exciting as you expect. It’s held off campus at one of the abandoned houses completely hidden away in a secluded forest. By the time you pull up at the house, the booming of the bass is so loud you can hear it thundering in your heart. Perfect, you think, licking your lips. You can already taste the alcohol in the air, the fiery stench permeating over the entire place.

The place is already crawling with people—college students from your school, mostly, but lots of strangers you don’t recognize. Many seem to be drunk already, even though it’s merely ten, and you follow the throngs of people heading into the house.

Inside, trap music screams loudly from sets of speakers that seem to cover every square inch. With the crowds of people dancing and booming along to the music, the house seems to rattle on its frames. You nod expectantly along with the beat, watching as someone spills their drink all over a poor girl’s dress.

Smoke. Alcohol. Music. Radiant lights, in assorted colours of purple and neon green, flashing overhead as you pass your way to find drinks. Sweaty bodies moving up against you to the beat of the music, but you ignore everything and troop ahead. Someone passes you a red solo cup, and without thinking, you take a drink. That’s definitely not beer. It tastes light and fruity, almost like liquid gummy bears, so you continue drinking anyways. You finish the first cup and find another. In the distance, someone screams, “SHOTS!” and you gravitate towards the alcohol.

How many shots have you even had? At this point, it’s too many to count. You vaguely remember playing a round of beer pong with extremely wasted engineering students who keep trying to calculate the force at which they hit the ball with the pedal, before failing miserably and giggling like little kids. Amateurs, you smirk to yourself.

And the dancing—the feeling of someone grinding up against you. Someone nameless, faceless—and the feeling of their lips on yours. You can hear their slow whispers, asking if you want to get out, but no—you can’t—there’s a curfew and Jungkook would be mad if you broke it.

Buzzing—you feel strange buzzing up against your pocket, and you realize it’s your phone. Pulling it up close to your ears, you crouch down to your knees amidst the crowd.

“Hello?”

Jungkook’s voice comes up, loud, clear and suddenly sobering you up. “Jesus, Y/N, check the time, will you?”

Frowning, you could’ve sworn it just turned midnight. “Jung…kook, it—it’s ju—”

A drunk girl trips over your crouching figure, giggling in response. “Oops, sorry! Didn’t see you there.”

You swear at the sudden pain exploding in your side where the girl had accidentally kicked you in the rib. Still on the ground, you don’t even remember your conversation with Jungkook as you rush to take care of your injury. Foggily, Jungkook’s voice pierces into your ear, a slew of oncoming questions hitting you in the face like a batting range.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you hear Jungkook swear into the phone. “Fuck. Fuck it. I’m coming to get you.”

He hangs up before you can even breathe a word in response, before you can tell him that you’re fine. You picture Jungkook, face all scrunched up with worry, driving the ten kilometers in the middle of the night to come pick you up in that beat up old pickup of his. How he would probably stonily ignore you the entire way back, but he’d still tuck you into bed and make sure you’re all okay. The thought is almost comforting.

“Hey, Y/N! You okay?” There’s a voice coming from somewhere above, and when you swivel around to look, it’s Wonwoo with his hand held out towards you.

With great difficulty, you hoist yourself up by taking his (gross, sweaty) hand and he pulls you right up to his face. He stares at you for a moment, studying your features and all you’re thinking is how much you’d rather be in Jungkook’s car right now even though he’d give you the silent treatment for breaking curfew.

Impulsively, he leans in, lips settling on yours in a way that’s all too rough and heavy. His lips feel chapped and coarse, and for a moment you close your eyes and picture someone entirely different in front of you.

But you’re brought back to reality when Wonwoo tries to deepen the kiss, sweeping his tongue across your lips. Your eyes snap open, taking in the face that’s decidedly not in your fantasies, and push Wonwoo back in a rough shove to the shoulder blades. He stumbles back, shock settling in on his features, and before he can say anything you whirl around to find an exit.

“Y/N, wait, hold on—” But you pretend not to hear him as you stagger in the opposite direction.

Pushing past the throngs of college kids making out, you wobble out into the night air, feeling the cool blast of breeze on your skin. Atop the doorsteps, you sit cross-legged as people rush past you on their way out. A few girls you recognize from your Intro to Chem class link arms as they make their way down the stairs, giggling an “Oops, sorry!” as one of them jostles you in the back.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting. One moment you’re watching the trees rustle in the wind and trying to make out the little hints of stars in the sky, and the next moment someone is pulling you up onto your feet and dragging your arms out.

It’s Jungkook, in all his glory. His expression is masked, but you can tell his mood by the rough way he pulls you back to the car. Despite yourself, you grin goofily. His hair looks greasy, his shirt unwashed, and stinking of coffee, you’ve no doubt that you probably interrupted an important studying session, and almost suddenly guilt rises up in your throat.

You allow Jungkook to push you into the passenger seat, watch as he buckles your seatbelt for you. He sighs in a resigned sort of way, and you wait for the inevitable lecture about to come. He’d probably never extend the curfew for you ever again.

But the lecture never comes. The two of you sit in an uncomfortable silence as Jungkook drives, and you’re left twiddling thumbs, watching the street lamps fly by in the darkness of the night. Jungkook’s expression is a completely neutral poker face, which scares you a lot more than you’d care to admit. He doesn’t say a word the entire way home. When he pulls up into the parking lot, his face remains in the exact same dead expression it’s been for the last twenty minutes.

The elevator up to your floor is excruciating. For one, you’re still not completely sober, so the four-way mirrors that reflect each other until eternity is more than a little off-putting. But most importantly, there’s Jungkook’s refusal to look you in the eye, much less speak to you.

You’re standing behind him at the front doorstep when he’s jangling to get his keys when finally, you break the silence. “Jungkook, I—I’m—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts as he pops his keys into the lock. The door clicks open, and you step over the threshold first like you did that morning so many months ago. By now it’s become second nature.

The warmth of home hits you like a sharp slap to the face: both comforting and cold. Jungkook deposits his keys on the kitchen counter and turns to you with an expectant look in his eyes.

“Well?”

You still stand by the doorway, awkwardly playing with the sleeves of your shirt. There’s a mysterious look in Jungkook’s brooding dark eyes, and well, for a second, he almost looks like he wants to kiss you.

“Well, what?”

Jungkook sighs, and you can’t help but feel like you’re missing part of the conversation, like the recorders in your mind suddenly stopped working. Like there’s a joke you’re missing.

“Let’s just get you to bed, then.”

He helps you to bed, tucking you into the bedsheets, and for a moment you experience a moment of double vision: in the darkness of your room, twenty-year-old Jungkook looks exactly like ten-year-old Jungkook. Same nose, same eyes, same contemplative expression. Tight-lipped and eyes burning, like there’s something more he wants to say but decided to hold it in. In the dark, you can barely make out the outlines of his form hovering above you.

It’s almost like no time passed at all.

Jungkook meets your eyes one more time. “Good night,” is all he says to you, before turning away.

.

September melts away to October, with the leaves gradually settling into hues of autumn-like browns, yellows and reds. The air becomes crisper, colder with the oncoming season, so everyone (you included) breaks out into their best sweatshirts and hoodies. In typical college kid fashion, Jungkook practically lives in his Stussy hoodie, wearing it so often that you have to force him to wash it at least once a week.

After that night, you stop asking Jungkook to extend your curfew. The awkwardness only lasts until the morning after, for which you’re eternally grateful because Jungkook’s silent treatment puts you in a terrible mood. The entire affair is completely forgotten by the end of the next week, and you’re glad everything blew over as quickly as it did.

It’s always the two of you, hanging out by yourselves. He never invites you to meet his dance friends, the Bangtan group, so you never introduce him to your friends from various classes. For what he’s worth, Jungkook never bothers you about boys and lays off the whole I’m-so-much-more-mature-than-you routine he tried to pull off in the beginning of the semester.

The two of you settle into a comfortable routine: watching old 90s movies on the weekends when neither of you particularly want to study, grocery shopping together when you complain about the amount of takeout Jungkook’s been eating lately, and the companionable silence when you use Jungkook’s room as a studying bubble before exam days.

The parties stop being exciting after the first three times some drunk guy throws up on your shoes, and you have to spend the rest of the night cleaning them off before calling Jungkook to pick you up. There’s only so much socializing you can really take, and most of it you’d already experienced in high school, so what’s the point?

Plus, sometimes it’s fun drinking soju with Jungkook at late night KBBQ sessions rather than drinking vodka straight from the bottle alone. At times like these, with the familiar smell of sizzling beef and barbecue sauce smeared all over your chin, it’s easy to forget how far away you are from home. Forget that you’re thousands of miles away from the sleepy town you’ve lived in your entire life, and even though you were oh-so-anxious to get away maybe it starts to feel like going back would be okay, too.

“It’ll be okay, Y/N,” says Jungkook when you voice these concerns over the mouth-watering scent of meat cooking on a tabletop grill. “You’ll get over it.”

“I know, I know,” you respond impatiently. “I just want to already be over it, right? Not have to deal with all these feelings and shit.”

Jungkook picks up the beef off the grill with his chopsticks, swiftly delivering it to his mouth in one bite. “Feelings are a part of life,” he says with his mouth full and cheeks bulging. You can tell he’s being sarcastic, but somehow the delivery is all off and he accidentally sounds weirdly sincere.

“Thanks for the proverb,” you grumble, watching him lick the barbecue sauce off his chopsticks. “Not that I care, or anything.”

“Then why’d you bring it up?” He scowls. “Why do you have to be all ‘feelings are stupid’ and ‘emotions are for losers’ all the time? Doesn’t it get tiring pretending that you don’t care?”

You side-eye him massively for that comment. “What are you talking about? I do care. I care a lot!”

“Then why won’t you call your parents?”

“Because—” then you stop, realizing you actually have no idea how to reply. “Because—”

“See?” Jungkook smiles smugly and there’s nothing more you want right now than to wipe the look off his face. “Just call them, Y/N.”

“And how is Jungkook, my dear?” asks your mom one Sunday afternoon, voice crackly from the horrible cell phone reception.

After Jungkook’s comments that night, you finally decided to take the initiative and call up your parents for the first time since leaving home. You breathed in and out deeply and stared at your phone for a full five minutes before actually dialing up the number.

“He’s fine, Mom,” you reply, balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear like a multi-tasking businesswoman. “I thought you were getting daily updates from him.”

“I am,” she admits breezily. “But I wanted to hear from you.”

You roll your eyes; your mother’s intentions are as transparent as glass. “Well, he’s doing okay.”

“Does he have a girlfriend? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No to both, Mom.”

She sighs through the phone, but you almost hear the relief in her voice. “That’s good, I guess. Don’t want you guys getting caught up in some whirlwind college romance and forgetting to keep up with your schoolwork, that’s all.”

“When have I ever kept up with my schoolwork?”

Your refusal to do homework back in high school had been legendary, only getting more extreme when Jungkook left for college. Something about a waste of time and energy, but really, you just weren’t interested. Your mother had pursed her lips in disappointment and anger, but she could never say anything because of your grades. So she let you do whatever you wanted, providing you kept your grades up.

“Are your grades still holding up? This isn’t high school anymore, you know.”

You let out an exasperated huff. “I know, I know. Don’t worry about it.”

She still worries.

But she lays off you for now, and with a tired exhale, you close off the call with a quick goodbye.

Your mother’s always had a soft spot for Jeon Jungkook. Given that her best friend is Mrs Jeon, it’s pretty understandable, but for some reason, the both of them have always secretly believed that you’ll end up with Jungkook in a clichéd boy-next-door way. The way they push you two together with all the playdates and fun outings and family “activities”, as if they thought they were being subtle.

Jungkook can’t be anything more than an annoying older brother type childhood friend and now college roommate, because that would just prove them right. And you couldn’t let your mother know she was right.

Some nights, when neither of you are particularly sociable, you and Jungkook loll about on the beat-up old couch watching comedies on TV. The screen lights up your dark faces in an eerie blue glow, faint voices in the background.

“I can’t believe you still know all the dialogue in The Princess Diaries,” grumbles Jungkook one late evening. He’s huddled up against you, clutching the throw pillow for warmth.

Your eyes are glued to the screen in intense concentration. “Of course I do. Don’t you remember how obsessed I used to be with this movie?”

Jungkook chuckles. “You used to idolized Lilly Moscovitz.”

“Can you blame me? She’s a genius.”

He hums in agreement. Anne Hathaway’s voice blares away onscreen, yelling at her grandmother Julie Andrews. It’s clear he isn’t really paying attention, but his presence beside you is enough comfort.

“Do you remember the first time we watched this?”

Jungkook turns to you, eyes reflecting the bluish light from the television. “Of course.”

“You hated it,” you glare at him accusingly.

“Still do.”

You scoff with disbelief. Princess Diaries was and continues to be a national treasure, and Jungkook just doesn’t understand good films even when it hits him in the face.

When the movie’s over, he turns to you with the shadow of the screen veiling his expression. There’s a hooded look in his eyes, full of something indescribable, and you can’t help but feel ten years old again. Like you’re back in his room on a regular playdate, with the lights all dimmed to the point where you can barely make out twelve-year-old Jungkook’s slight frame in the darkness.

You blink again, but this time you return back to the present.

.

You’re sitting at the usual table at the campus library across from Joy, playing Candy Crush on your phone as Joy finishes up your Intro to Chem lab report. Intro to Chem consists mainly of Joy doing all the grunt work, with you sometimes helpfully supplying the answers to difficult questions with ridiculous ease.

“Ugh, how did you do that?” complains Joy, hair falling over her face as she struggles with an acid-base titration question. It’s one that’s stumped her for awhile and takes you a few minutes of thoughtful contemplation and quick calculations to answer.

“Easy, we just did the lab last week,” you reply, going back to Candy Crush.

“But this question was so different from the ones in class! How did you know to convert to moles rather than molarity?”

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. “Didn’t the prof show an example of this in lecture? You just have to do the ICE table twice.”

Joy pouts at you through a curtain of black hair and sharp red lips. Unlike most of your classmates, you’ve never really struggled with Chemistry, and even now in college everything still seems so clear-cut.

“Fuck you, honestly.”

You let out a bark of laughter. But before you can tease Joy for struggling with the ICE table, the phone in your hand starts buzzing.

It’s Jungkook. Joy notices the caller ID on your phone and flashes you a quick, knowing smile.

“Hello?” There’s a desperate sense of urgency in his voice, so you know it must be serious. “Y/N, can you bring my bag to the dance studio?”

Joy raises an eyebrow when you reply with, “Sure, I’ll be there in a few.”

You’re already packing up your textbooks and hauling your things into your bag by the time Jungkook ends the call. “Sorry, gotta go. Jungkook needs me to bring his bag to the studio.”

“Oh?” Joy’s mouth quirks up in an all-knowing grin. “So you’re gonna walk the two miles back to your apartment, then all the way across campus to the dance studio, just to hand deliver some bag?”

Her smile widens at your puzzled expression. “I—uh, yeah? He really needs it ‘cuz all his training gear’s in it, you know?”

“Be sure to invite me to the wedding!” she calls to your retreating back as you head out of the library, into the open sun.

You turn back to make a face at her, to which she just laughs and laughs. But when you push out the doors into the chilly fall atmosphere, hints of a smile begin to form on your lips.

The walk back to the apartment really isn’t that far, and neither is the walk to the studio. His sports bag feels heavy on your petite shoulders and you ignore the very distinctive Jungkook-like smells wafting coming from the gear inside. It weighs a ton, like you’re carrying a load of bricks, and by the time you enter the well-lit dance studio you’re almost panting from the exercise.

All the other times Jungkook had asked you to deliver something for him to practice, he’d been waiting outside the practice room for you. And when you’d finally arrive, he’d frown and tap the nonexistent watch on his wrist as if to say, “What took you so long?” But he never did, because you’d cuss him out for being ungrateful.

This time, however, he’s not waiting outside. In fact, there’s no trace of him anywhere, so you take in a deep breath and step into the hot, musky practice room.

The first thing you notice is it’s ridiculously hot in here. Maybe the heat comes from the energy of all these boys sweating and dancing their hearts out, but it feels like a freaking sauna. And not particularly fragrant, either. The whole place reeks of sweat and tears. There’s floor-length mirrors that cover the walls, much like any traditional dance studio, and loud music blasts from a speaker somewhere.

So this is where Jungkook spends all his time.

The second thing you notice is the boy who’s clearly practicing his routine in the middle of the room. He’s got short blond hair that flies everywhere as he moves perfectly in sync to the beat of the song. It’s completely mesmerizing—the way he seems to feel the rhythm of the music, and the relaxed expression on his face, like he’s drowning in the song.

His eyes make contact with yours through the mirror, and he pauses in his movements. In a swift motion, the boy reaches to turn off the music before bounding towards you in great leaps.

“Hi! Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, just looking for Jungkook.” Gesturing towards the bag on your shoulders, you continue, “he left his stuff at home.”

The blonde stranger smiles at you brightly, a big, boxy grin. He’s cute, you note. He’s really, really cute. Even while sweating profusely, you can make out the sunny disposition under those glittering brown eyes.

“Jeon Jungkook? Ah, you must be his roommate, Y/N! I’m Kim Taehyung.”

“Hi,” you greet jovially, tucking a few wisps of hair behind your ears as Taehyung sticks his hand out.

“I can’t believe he’s never introduced you to us!” Taehyung continues, speaking so quickly it’s almost hard to keep up with what he’s saying. His eyes sparkle with something akin to excitement. “You’re his childhood friend right? You’ve got to tell me everything you know about him. Jungkook’s such a private person so he never tells us anything. It used to drive me nuts, to be honest, but now that you’re here—”

Jungkook lets out a cough from behind you, stopping Taehyung in his tracks. You swivel around, taking in Jungkook’s tired appearance and the sweat dripping down his temples. He smiles briefly at you and holds his hand out for the bag that’s still on your shoulder. You can’t help but feel the sudden urge to hug him, wipe the sweat off his face.

“Thanks for bringing this to me again, Y/N,” he says, quietly, as Taehyung watches with interest in the background.

“No problem,” you respond automatically, lifting the heavy straps onto Jungkook’s awaiting hand. “You look like shit, by the way.”

“D’you really expect me to look as flawless as you every single time I’m at practice?”

Your lips quirk up at Jungkook’s oddly placed compliment. It must be his way of thanking you again for delivering his things, so you don’t comment, but Taehyung notices and flashes Jungkook a look of confusion.

Jungkook seems to notice Taehyung’s presence in the room for the first time and turns his attention to him. “Anyway, Taehyung, this is my roommate Y/N. Y/N, my friend Taehyung.”

“Yes, we just met,” you reply, turning back to face Taehyung. The puzzled look in his eyes clears up as soon as he’s in the conversation, changing into a genuine smile.

“We should hang out sometime, you know?”

“Yeah,” you answer, wondering what Jungkook might think if you started hanging out with his friends.

To his credit, Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change, which probably means he doesn’t care and wouldn’t comment. He studies the floor like it’s the most interesting thing ever, so when you look back into Taehyung’s eyes there’s a pit in the depths of your stomach.

Suddenly, change is in the air. Jungkook’s voice in your mind, whispering ‘Everything’s going to be different now.’ Like it all makes sense somehow.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time more for yourself.

.

Like the dawning of a new era, Taehyung suddenly appears everywhere.

You wave to him from the inside of The Coffee Shop with a caramel macchiato in hand while he’s riding his bike across campus. He finds you at the library one day when Joy’s at home sick, where the two of you study quietly side by side (well, he studies and you goof off on your phone playing Candy Crush). After awhile, he abandons studying and the two of you discuss playing tactics in Candy Crush and how the game is designed so players waste time while staying addicted to moving around the little pieces of candy.

You like Taehyung well enough. He’s everything Jungkook can never be—cheerful, outgoing, open—and a lot weirder. He’s got a strange attachment to a stuffed wolf hat with paws at the ends. He has the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you’ve ever met before, eating colourful candy for breakfast and heaps of cake for lunch.

“He’s fucking immature, is what he is,” Jungkook grumbles to you, once, but you don’t listen.

As a certified Sweet Tooth™, Taehyung professes that candy-based phone games are his favourite time wasters. He’s also the type to keep a container full of various candies—fuzzy peaches, sour gummy worms, airheads—in his school bag, occasionally bringing it out to snack on. He pulls it out once when the both of you are at the library, earning an angry reprimand from the strict librarian in wiry cat-eye glasses.

After that incident, Taehyung joins you and Jungkook at The Coffee Shop (the first time, he’d shown up coincidentally, but the next few times were far less subtle), sandwiching himself in between the two of you like he’d always been there.

Jungkook says nothing, shows no real emotion over Taehyung’s intrusion. But where your conversations with Jungkook had been hushed, calm, Taehyung introduces a new level of enthusiasm to everything.

“Did you know they added a new latte flavour yesterday?” comes Taehyung’s voice as he bounds in, the doorbell tinkling above him.

You and Jungkook have already sat down in your usual spots right by the window, food in tow. Inside, soft folksy music plays on the overhead stereo, and everything smells of baked goods and freshly ground coffee.

“No, I did not,” you reply with a sardonic smile.

“They did! I heard about it from Jiminnie who knows one of the baristas who works here. Do you wanna share one with me, Y/N?”

You jerk your head up from the table at the sound of your name. “Uh—sure, I guess.”

“My treat!”

You’re exhausted to the point of death, after an unspeakably late night out yesterday. Joy finally convinced you to go to a rave (an expensive one, at that) some forty kilometres away from the city, where everyone dressed up in neon and glow in the dark paints.

Jungkook, on the other hand, holed up in his room for the entire night studying for an exam or something, only venturing out into the apartment at three in the morning when you finally came stumbling home in tattered clothing and lipstick stains. He took one long look at you and tsked before retreating into the safety of his room with a fresh pot of coffee.

The whole ‘curfew’ thing died out when you start actually talking to your parents instead of relying on Jungkook to relay information. He’s still keeping tabs on you, sure, but a lot less strict about it.

And so here you are today, dark circles encircling your raccoon eyes and hints of lipstick stains smudged over your chin, head resting over arms atop the wooden, rustic-style tables of The Coffee Shop. Jungkook’s in the seat across from you, looking equally tired but without the embarrassing last night look on his face. His eyes stare straight ahead, and if you didn’t know him half as well you actually do you’d think that he’s staring at you, or something. But because it’s Jungkook, you know he’s just in a weird trance induced by overworking himself.

“Hey,” you say, flicking a finger to his forehead. “You awake there?”

He doesn’t respond, and you consider pouring his cup of black coffee over his head in order to wake him up in the most satisfying way possible, but thankfully, Taehyung comes back at the perfect moment to stop you from going through with your plan.

“Here! It’s a lavender-infused caramel macchiato,” Taehyung hands you the drink with a bright grin on his lips.

You take a sip. It’s unnervingly sweet, just the thing Taehyung would like.

“It’s good,” you lie.

Taehyung reaches out to take the cup from you. When he takes a sip, his entire face lights up in complete delight, leaving a comical milkstache on his upper lip. “Oh my god, it’s fucking amazing.”

You smile affectionately at Taehyung’s energy. Meanwhile, Jungkook continues to stare ahead, utterly removed from the situation. Taehyung snaps his fingers in front of Jungkook’s fingers to revive him, but still he stays frozen.

“Is he okay?” Taehyung’s voice is laced with worry.

“Eh,” you answer, taking another the sip of the ‘lavender latte’ and immediately triggering your gag reflexes. “He’ll be all right. Just leave him like that for awhile.”

“I fret for our dear Jungkookie sometimes,” confides Taehyung. “He works so hard. I can’t believe he’s still alive these days.”

“Well, he’s always been like that,” you shrug. Even back in high school, Jungkook was one of the strongest students academically, having never strayed from the top ten in all four years. How he managed to do that, on top of you forcing him to accompany you to different places all the time, was a miracle. It almost makes you feel guilty, actually.

In the end, you have to haul Jungkook back to his car. Taehyung helps by taking Jungkook’s hands and physically dragging him, but you protest because it’ll probably tear his shoulders and ruin his perfectly healthy physique. Taehyung says his goodbyes and leaves you with Jungkook, but not before flashing a meaningful look at you that you can’t decipher.

On the drive home, Jungkook finally breaks his silence. “So, you’re friends with Kim Taehyung now, are you?”

You reply from behind the steering wheel, stiff as a board. “And what if I am? Do you have a problem with that, or something?”

“Nope,” he answers, popping the ‘p’. It sounds a little too nonchalant to you, but you don’t comment.

Taehyung invites himself over to the apartment on the flimsiest of excuses (“Oh, Jungkookie forgot his shirt back at the studio,” to which Jungkook responds with, “That’s your shirt, Taehyung.”). On a Tuesday night, when Jungkook comes home after dance practice, Taehyung struts in behind him and plops himself on the couch and stays there until you have to physically kick him out.

You don’t mind, though. Taehyung’s pretty good company, always coming up with fun conversation topics that keep the both of you on your toes. He likes 90s teen romcoms almost as much as you do, which is a plus. Whenever Jungkook’s too irritable to marathon Clueless and Romeo + Juliet with you, you text Taehyung with a “come over?” and he arrives within ten minutes and sits himself down beside you, chattering about nothing and everything.

He curls himself up next to you one Saturday night while the TV plays 10 Things I Hate About You, Taehyung’s favourite high school rom com of all time, apparently (“Heath Ledger is a god, Y/N. A GOD.”) and yells out random lines from the movie in perfect synchronicity. You’ve never personally liked the movie, but Taehyung’s commentary is enough to keep you laughing throughout.

Taehyung finds you after your classes and walks you around campus, excitedly chatting about his day and his dance practices and his family. You learn he’s originally from Daegu, a medical school hopeful like you, likes dogs over cats and loves his family. He tells you about his parents back in his hometown, and how much he misses them and wishes they were here with him.

In turn, you tell him about your childhood with Jungkook, growing up on the West Coast in the land of hazy suburbia. Next-door neighbours turned forced playmates in elementary and middle school, until high school where you’d found your footing but Jungkook hadn’t, so he latched onto you. Taehyung listens with interest, and laughs appropriately when you tell him you once burned Jungkook’s toys with your magnifying glass, then got Jungkook in trouble for threatening you.

At the local ice cream parlour where Taehyung buys you rocky road ice cream (despite it being November), he shows you pictures of his dog, Soonshim, and croons over how old he’s getting. He shows you videos of his dances and sends you mixtapes and songs that remind him of you.

It’s Taehyung who introduces you to his favourite anime. Taehyung who suggests building pillow forts out of bags of cotton balls he bought specifically for this purpose. Taehyung who looks at you like you’re the end all, be all of things that have and will ever be.

There’s an undeniable glitter in his eyes, and you catch yourself staring.

.

Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t take to your newfound friendship with the same enthusiasm. He studiously avoids the apartment whenever Taehyung comes over, which is to say that he locks himself in his room while listening to Tori Kelly.

He’s just being stupid, you tell yourself. He said he was okay with it.

“What’s his deal?” Taehyung asks you one Friday afternoon as Jungkook stalks out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand. He’s sitting on the couch beside you, the two of you watching a drama on the television.

“Who knows?” You shrug. You’ve never been able figure out Jungkook when he’s in one of his moods.

Taehyung scoots closer to you, no longer focused on the television screen. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Your heart drops, throat squeezing tightly. Something tells you that you know exactly what he’s going to say next, but it’s hard to hear anything over the sound of your heart pounding like a drum.

“Y-yeah?”

Taehyung smiles, and gently places one hand over yours. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“Like, as in a date?”

His lips quirk in an almost smile. “Yes, as in a date.”

The air suddenly knocks out of your lungs. Taehyung’s intentions had been abundantly clear right from the very beginning, but even still, it came out completely out of the blue. You turn to look at Taehyung, who’s glancing at your expression with an expectant, hopeful look, and you smile weakly.

How do you feel about Taehyung?

Sure, he’s cute. One of the most adorable boys on campus, certainly. Extremely nice and caring, to boot. Unexpectedly has one of the deepest, sexiest voices you’ve ever heard in your life. Super weird, but aligns perfectly with your sense of humour.

But—there’s always a but. But you don’t know what it is.

“Can I get back to you on that?” The words slip out before you can even think about them.

Taehyung looks slightly crestfallen, but it doesn’t deter him from grinning back an “Of course!” with his usual cheer. If not for the slight downturn in his lips, you wouldn’t even notice the small change in his demeanour. But when the two of you turn to the screen once again, the silence in the room stretches on for miles.

After finishing off the episode, Taehyung hurries off with an excuse to “study,” which is bullshit because by know you know that Taehyung never studies, like you. Except he doesn’t make the grades in the same way you do, and just chooses to toe the line with every course he takes.

You don’t stop him from leaving, but waves goodbye from the couch. After he’s gone, there’s a sickening silence as you’re left with your thoughts. You stay frozen to the spot, unable to speak or even think.

What do you say to him?

You imagine rejecting him and seeing that boxy smile crushed into utter despair and hopelessness. His ears would probably droop down like a sad little puppy, all light going out of his eyes. No, you decide. I can’t do that to him.

Instead, you go to Jungkook for advice. Not that he’s ever been helpful when it came to boys and relationships, but whatever.

“Jungkook?” You knock on his door lightly, hoping he’s still alive in there somewhere. “Jungkook, can I talk to you?”

Without a missing beat, Jungkook flings his door wide open and you catch an icy look in his features before it smoothens out to a cool neutral expression.

“Yes?”

You enter without waiting for Jungkook’s permission. Flinging yourself onto his bed, you moan, “I don’t know what to do.”

Jungkook, still standing by the door, turns to you with a bemused look. “About what?”

“Taehyung.”

“Are you intentionally trying to be vague here?” Jungkook says crossly.

“Shut it,” you reply quickly. “I don’t know what to do about Taehyung because he just asked me out on a date.”

“So?”

“You act as if he’s not your friend or anything,” you shoot back, scowling. “It’s a big deal! I don’t know what to do.”

Jungkook stares at you, expression unchanging. “You are both consenting adults. Y/N, you’re not a child anymore. Make your own decisions.”

“But—but what if I’m not sure?” Biting down on your lip, you turn to Jungkook with a worried expression on your features. “I don’t want to break his heart.”

Jungkook sighs, hand stilling over his laptop. Instead of ignoring you like you’d expected, he pushes his work aside and sits down on the bed beside your legs. In a smooth motion, he reaches out for your feet and rubs at the bottom in comforting, repetitive movements.

“He’s not a fragile little kid, Y/N.”

He continues massaging you like this, even though there are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is a rat’s nest of grease. Jungkook’s probably been overworking himself again, but there’s a soft smile playing up his lips in an attempt to comfort your shuddering body.

“Maybe I should go for it,” you affirm, staring at the ceiling resolutely. “Maybe I just need to give it a try.”

Jungkook suddenly pauses in his movements, dropping his hand to his side. You stare at him, pouting at him, but he just continues to look at you with a strange expression. Lips slightly parted, jaw still, he looks almost disappointed.

“So you’re fine with it?” The question lingers a full minute after you’ve spoken, and the silence that ensues is punctuated by Jungkook’s heavy gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His voice sounds different. Sarcastic, self-deprecating, even.

There’s a twisted, almost ironic smile playing on his lips, and you can’t help but feel like there’s something else he wants to say. But Jungkook turns to look away from you, basking in the afternoon sunlight.

“I don’t know,” you say, getting up to leave. “I figured you would care, since he’s your friend and all.”

“Well, you figured wrong,” Jungkook bites back, and the malice in his tone cuts deep. “because it doesn’t matter to me.”

You throw him a reproachful look over your shoulder as you round over the doorway. There’s a strange quality to his voice, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but it doesn’t matter anyway.

For some inexplicable reason, your stomach sinks in disappointment at the thought of Jungkook’s words replaying in your mind over and over again.

.

Dating Taehyung, is, well, it’s an experience.

He takes you out for celebratory ice cream when you tell him your answer—never mind the pit in your stomach—but smiles so brightly it blinds you. Afterwards, when he kisses you goodbye with a hint of strawberry vanilla on his lips, you swear there are stars on the back of your eyelids. Your lips taste of Taehyung for the rest of the night.

He’s nothing like Jungkook, and never will be. But why are you comparing the two of them, anyway?

“Hi, Y/N.” This time he’s standing outside of your Intro to Chem lecture hall, bouquet of roses in one hand. “I passed by a flower shop on my way here and these made me think of you.”

“Oh,” you eye the blooming red flowers with surprise. “Thank you, Taehyung. These are so lovely.”

Were all college boys like this? Back in high school you recall the type of boys you used to date: the sleazy ones, who’d flirt with you until you got into their beds. Then the next morning they’d move on to someone else. You’d fully expected your college experience to mimic the high school dream, but so far it was turning out to be a little different than expected.

“Seriously, Taehyung, this is so nice of you.”

Others from your class pass by, some girls gazing at your flowers with a hint of jealousy. Joy eyes the bouquet in your hands and Taehyung standing next to you and throws you a thumbs up and a smirk.

“Beautiful roses for a beautiful girl,” Taehyung grins with that cheesy smile of his, dimples appearing on each cheek. “Now come on, do you want to get coffee?”

It’s strange. You think you have all your ducks in a row, with university courses planned out, parties to go to, and Jungkook at home to wait for you, and then someone like Taehyung comes along.

Because dating Taehyung means frequent Netflix and chills, where he makes the popcorn but accidentally dumps it all over the floor during scary parts of a horror movie; spontaneous late-night baking (most of the times, one of you is completely smashed and crying over the measuring spoons); and coffee dates after class at The Coffee Shop, where you’d order a strawberry lemon pastry and Taehyung orders a chocolate swirl pastry and the two of you share.

Taehyung walks you to class and you walk him to dance practice. You hang around the studio sometimes before he’s done with a pastry delivery from The Coffee Shop, just to see him run to you with sweat glistening down his temples, enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug. Though he’s completely soaked through with sweat and smells something awful, he’s Taehyung and you can never get over his affection.

The Coffee Shop dates with Jungkook, which turned into Jungkook and Taehyung, have now been completely overtaken by Taehyung to the point where Jungkook grabs his coffee and runs out of the store like it’s on fire.

Dinner at the local pizzeria with Jungkook is replaced by dinner at Taehyung’s apartment, where he tries his hand at making spaghetti and fails almost spectacularly.

After a lengthy apology to his neighbours for setting off the fire alarm, twice, the two of you decide that maybe cooking isn’t either of your fortes. So Taehyung brings home takeout and you gorge on cold noodles and fried chicken while lying on his couch (considerably nicer than the one back home, but) with Taehyung’s hand in your lap and your feet propped up against the edges.

It’s nice. Everything’s nice. Taehyung’s a great kisser, but even better than you expected in bed. He’s gentle, caring and gives more than he takes. You spend more time wrapped up in his arms than you do in your own bedsheets, which is a good change, probably.

Still. Even though Taehyung is definitely the loveliest boyfriend and possibly a contender for the best human being in the world, there’s a nagging feeling that it’s all too perfect. Like everything will eventually come crashing down.

But for now, with Taehyung wrapping his long fingers over your wrist and pulling you closer to him, it feels sort of like a makeshift home.

.

Soon enough, windy November gives way to an icy December. The air turns from chilly to downright freezing, so Taehyung graciously offers you his coat whenever you forget your own, draping it over your shoulders like a true gentleman. It’s about a week into exams season, and with your flight scheduled back home with Jungkook approaching imminently, your stress levels are at an all time high.

Taehyung is off studying for his Cell Anatomy final, holed up in his apartment blasting bubblegum pop music as he munches on junk food, probably. Instead of bothering him, you’re in your usual study bubble in Jungkook’s room, where Jungkook lays sprawled-out on the ground beside you looking as frazzled as any student in this time of year.

“Remind me why I’m in university again,” he groans, lifting one muscular arm to shield himself against the light.

Beside him, you’re holding your notes up to the ceiling, skimming through each page with eyes glazed with exhaustion. Slowly drifting off to sleep, Jungkook’s voice suddenly snaps you out of your sleep.

“Because you don’t want to die without an education,” you joke. “Because the grownups will be mad.”

It had never been “Jungkook’s parents” or even “your parents.” Even now, you both still refer to them as “the grownups”. A childish expression often whispered conspiratorially, whenever one of you had an urge to do something mischievous. Most of the time that person was you, dragging Jungkook out of the house for various experiments that landed the both of you in trouble, even though it’d been your idea all along.

Some things certainly never change.

“I wish I could just, skip everything. Flash forward into real life, you know?”

Your lips quirk at Jungkook’s oddly introspective remark. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like we live in this gigantic bubble,” Jungkook sighs before adding, “Don’t you wish you could go back to the nineties?”

There’s a persistent nagging in his tone, something that suggests Jungkook’s thought about this a lot lately. You turn to face him, and find that he’s already staring at you, eyes blazing with fervor. There’s a surprising fire to his words.

“Back to Suburban Dream Life? Back to that dusty old place? Hell, no,” you declare. “I’m fine where I am, thank you very much.”

“Oh yes, I forgot, you have Taehyung now.” His words come out oddly bitter, so you turn to him in surprise. There’s an annoyed look in his eyes, the one you used to see whenever you’d tried pulling him out of his studies for a walk to the local park, or whenever you’d taken too long playing with his toys.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

The notes lay abandoned on the floor as you focus your attention on Jungkook’s words. You hear his heavy breathing from beside your ear as he contemplates his next words.

“Nothing.” The slight strain in his voice leaks through, betraying the tiniest bit of emotion.

“You’re the one who said I should do whatever I want.”

“I—I did, I’m not going back on that, I just—” For a moment, you see a brief flash of pain in his eyes. Then it’s gone, the vulnerability morphing to ice, then to steel.

“What, then?” Your voice is fifty shades below zero.

Absolutely nothing is making sense right now. Jungkook and that look of pure hurt, like you wounded him or something.

“I don’t know.”

He leaves it at that, and an uncomfortable silence takes over the room. You try going back to your notes, holding them up to the light again, but it doesn’t feel right. Jungkook fidgets in his seat, fingers hovering over his laptop.

“Just tell me: are you happy with him?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife. Jungkook turns to stare at you again, giving off the same intense look you’ve known all your life.

Confusion flits across your eyes. “What do you mean? Of course I am, Jungkook.”

The silence that ensues is deafening as Jungkook contemplates your words. “Okay,” he finally says, after a long pause. “Okay.”

.

Winter break comes and goes.

Your parents welcome you home after your first official semester at university with big hugs and cheerful smiles. The Jeons come over that night, Jungkook in tow, in order to “formally” celebrate your massive achievement. But what that really means is the grownups get drunk on cheap wine after dinner, so you and Jungkook are, once again, left to your own devices.

Same as usual, of course.

“So, Y/N, do you have any suiiitors?” Mrs Jeon’s wine glass sways in her hand as she directs a slurry question to you. She smiles at you, all pointed teeth and red lipstick, and you suddenly feel as though you’re ten years old again, forced together with Jungkook on yet another playdate.

“I have a boyfriend, yes,” you answer stiffly.

Mrs Jeon simpers with a fake-sounding, “Oooh, really?”

Jungkook throws you a surprised look, which you ignore. For some reason, you’d harboured the relationship from everyone back home. Actually, the thought never really occurred to you, to tell your family about Taehyung, even during the weekly calls to home.

“Yes. His name is Kim Taehyung and he’s one of Jungkook’s friends.”

You don’t miss the knowing look Mr Jeon casts at Jungkook’s direction, not exactly subtle. Jungkook turns to you, as if to say, Don’t worry about it, before shooting a nasty glare at his parents.

“You’ll simply have to bring him around sometime,” your mother helpfully supplies. “And you, Jungkook? Has a girl caught your attention yet?”

Jungkook shakes his head, but his father responds with, “Well, we always hoped that you and—”

“Shhhhh!” This time, your father speaks up in a strangely high-pitched tone. “We can’t say anything!”

There’s a round of giggles at the dinner table, but you and Jungkook stay quiet. Instead, while the grownups continue chit-chatting over this and that, the local gossip becoming the topic once more, the two of you sit side by side in complete silence.

When the Jeons finally leave at the end of the night, Jungkook turns to you, searching your face for something to say. Upon finding nothing but a neutral expression, he waves you off in the familiar one hand salute he used to always do, way back when. It reeks of hazy afternoons when your mother used to come pick you up, Jungkook looking out from the window as you cross the freshly-mowed lawn.

You’re taken back in time, back when you were seven and Jungkook was nine. The fireworks veiling his face in shades of scarlet red. The shouts of laughter from behind the two of you, the party of adults celebrating the new millennium. Jungkook raising his chubby nine-year-old hand in the same one handed salute.

This time, you don’t wave back.

.

“Tell me something,” Namjoon raises his chopsticks to you with a plate of Pad Thai on his lap. “Did you, or did you not, own those sparkly butterfly clips when you were a kid?”

You’re sitting in Kim Namjoon’s apartment at a weekly Bangtan get-together. Taehyung’s arm snakes around your waist, and his chin rests comfortably on your shoulder like a throw pillow. Before Taehyung, Jungkook had never invited you to these get-togethers, and it’s strange seeing all these boys acting so familiarly with Jungkook. It throws you off a bit, to be honest.

But it really is your first time meeting all of Bangtan, all at once. You’d seen glimpses of Jung Hoseok, or Hobi as everyone seems to call him, dancing his heart out in the practice room. Park Jimin is one of Taehyung’s closest friends, but that’s all you really know about the puffy cheeked, bright eyed boy currently sitting with Jungkook. The others—you weren’t really sure. Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin and Min Yoongi. All upperclassmen and all very good-looking.

The conversation started out simply enough; as Taehyung’s girlfriend, everyone felt obliged to ask how the two of you got together. When your relationship with Jungkook was revealed through Taehyung, everyone jumped on board and started demanding answers to questions of Jungkook’s childhood.

“I did not,” you shoot back, but it’s a lie and you know it.

“Yes, you did,” Jungkook retorts from across the room, and all eyes turn to him. “In every colour imaginable, if I remember correctly.”

Guffaws erupt from the rest of Bangtan, with Jimin clapping Jungkook on the back in mirth. Taehyung laughs too, nuzzling his mouth closer to your neck to give you a sloppy kiss.

“You would know,” you reply hotly. “If I remember correctly, you used to steal them from me.”

Laughter breaks again. Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok, sitting together with Jungkook, let out howls to Jungkook’s look of agony. They shoot you looks of admirable disbelief, as if they couldn’t understand how a petite girl like you could outwit a boy like Jungkook. You wanted to tell them that it’s often Jungkook who has trouble keeping up with you, really.

“Those must’ve been the good old days,” continues Namjoon with a philosophical look in his eyes. Yoongi snorts at Namjoon’s words like it’s the sappiest thing he’s ever heard.

“Hardly. Do you remember when I burnt off the mask on your G. I. Joe?” You direct your question to Jungkook, who glares at you through his bangs.

“Damn, Y/N!” calls a voice, hard to distinguish above the din of so many college boys under one roof.

“And I threatened to cut the hair off your dolls, so you told my mom?” There’s a glint in Jungkook’s eye, an expression of fire. “What about the time you pushed me into the pool?”

“Hey! If I recall correctly, you dared me! And you didn’t say you couldn’t swim!”

“I didn’t dare you; you came up behind me when Mom wasn’t looking and yelled ‘THIS IS SPARTA!’ A terrible movie, by the way.”

You roll your eyes exasperatedly. “I think you mean an excellent movie. You were the one who wouldn’t stop reciting lines from it when it first came out.”

The rest of the boys whip their heads back and forth as you and Jungkook trade insults, watching the two of you spit fire with amusement in their eyes. Even Taehyung stops his cuddling in order to observe your conversation with Jungkook.

“Hey, at least I wasn’t the one who had a weird obsession with Ricky Martin,” Jungkook scoffs. “And anyway, your impressions of him were atrocious.”

You leap to your feet, pushing Taehyung off your side like a raggedy doll, and stick your finger at Jungkook accusingly. “YOU TAKE THAT BACK, JEON JUNGKOOK!”

In the end, it takes two members of Bangtan and Taehyung to restrain you from physically attacking Jungkook, all while the man himself roots to the spot with peals of laughter, shouting, “NEVER!” to your increasingly furious expression. Even Yoongi stares at you with faint amusement in his eyes, a fond smile quirking on his lips.

After you calm down and Taehyung’s soft head returns to warm your shoulder, the boys look to you with expressions of fierce admiration and awe as though you’re the most fascinating creature they’ve ever seen. Jungkook tries to catch your eye, but you studiously ignore him as the big elephant in the room.

For some reason, though, the image of Jungkook doubled back in laughter sears itself into the depths of your mind. Even as Taehyung snuggles to your side like an adorable cat, the smell of his cologne filling your nostrils, it’s all you can think about.

.

Spring semester flies by quicker than you could’ve imagined.

January is bitingly cold. January is also when Taehyung first whispers an “I love you” ever so gently into your ear as you’re bundled up under his bedsheets.

It takes you a little bit by surprise, actually. One second he’s nuzzling against you like everything’s normal, his hair in your mouth, when suddenly he turns his head around and murmurs, “I love you, Y/N,” right into your ear. He’s grinning from ear to ear, waiting for your response, and all you can do is stare and stare and stare.

“I—” you try to speak, but the words die in your mouth.

Taehyung senses your hesitation, and quietly says, “It’s okay if you can’t say it back just yet. Take your time.”

How the hell did you end up with someone so…so pure? You’re the luckiest girl in all of the fucking world, to have a boyfriend like Taehyung.

February consists of snow, snow, snow. You finally decide to shell out a hundred bucks for some good quality winter boots after the fifth time your boots get sloshed in the snow. Valentine’s Day passes with Taehyung serenading you outside your Intro to Chem II lecture, to which Joy records on her phone with her usual excited squeaking. The whole thing ends up on the university’s Snapchat, and you get congratulations from random strangers every day for a week afterward.

Afterwards, Taehyung takes you out for an expensive dinner at a posh restaurant downtown (one he’d never be able to afford normally) where the two of you poke fun at the maître d’s snobby accent and the fact that everyone else in the restaurant is easily a decade older than either of you. But it’s a nice dinner, where you and Taehyung end up sharing both your plates, eating spaghetti off each other in an attempt to recreate that scene from The Lady and The Tramp but actually embarrassing yourselves in front of these rich snobby folk.

You and Taehyung end up back in his apartment at the end of the day. It’s a perfect way to end an exceedingly romantic Valentine’s Day, except for the part when Taehyung whispers “I love you” into the crook of your neck and you still can’t say it back.

He pretends it doesn’t kill the mood, but it does anyway.

Jungkook spends the day locked up in his room listening to Tori Kelly.

March is spring break, but both you and Jungkook stay in the East to study for oncoming midterms. Taehyung skypes you from his family house up north, bringing his dog Soonshim up to the camera and making you say hi. He sighs into the computer, wishing he could bring you back home to meet his parents and the rest of his family, and you agree along with him but secretly glad you don’t have to.

With Taehyung’s absence, it starts to feel a lot like the way it did back in September and October. Jungkook and you, snagging your usual spots at The Coffee Shops, drinking coffee into oblivion. Dinner at the pizzeria, every day, with Jungkook still refusing to eat the crust. It’s a welcome change from Taehyung.

Sometimes, you can’t keep up with Taehyung’s bubbliness. But Jungkook is nice about it. He cracks jokes that you’ll probably end up getting married before graduating college, but doesn’t hear the panic bubble up in your throat at the thought of spending an eternity with Taehyung.

The two of you hole up in Jungkook’s room, studying day and night. You’re in your own private bubble, shielded away from the world in a wall of impenetrable textbooks and notes, while Jungkook sits beside you in comfortable companionship. Everything is right exactly where they should be.

With April comes rain season, so Taehyung walks you to class every day with an umbrella in hand, while in turn you walk him to dance practice with an umbrella in yours. The little routine you had with Jungkook back during spring break is all but gone once again, and you catch yourself almost missing it.

Finally, it hits May. You and Taehyung haunt The Coffee Shop every day until the manager practically kicks you out, threatening to ban the two of you from ever returning. After that, Taehyung becomes a rather permanent fixture in your study bubble with Jungkook.

“I honestly can’t believe I have to third-wheel in my own room,” Jungkook grumbles.

Taehyung reaches up from the floor to ruffle Jungkook’s hair affectionately. “Just hurry up and get a girlfriend already, then.”

You scoff, disbelief in your tone. “Jungkook? A girlfriend?”

The thought is ridiculously absurd, almost completely out of the question. Back in high school, the only girl Jungkook ever talked to had been you. He’d always been laughably bad at interacting with the opposite sex, and that much doesn’t seem to have changed since. When was the last time you saw him talk to a college girl?

“He doesn’t look like a player, does he?” Taehyung says to you before winking at Jungkook saucily. “And he wasn’t, not when he first got here. But how many girls did you hook up with last year, Jungkookie?”

Taehyung’s tone had meant to be light and teasing, but it was as though he’d dropped a bomb onto the atmosphere of the room. Jungkook flinches, almost imperceptibly, and his jaw stiffens beneath the smooth expanse of skin. On the floor beside Taehyung, you freeze, pen dropping to the carpet.

What?

When no one responds, Taehyung presses on, “We all thought you’d settle down with a nice girl this year, Jungkookie, but you’ve become some sort of eunuch, holing yourself up like that!”

Jungkook moistens his lips before softly whispering, “I just wanted to focus on my studies.”

You train your eyes on Jungkook’s back, staring at the mess of black curls to the gray sweater that clings to his muscular body. Suddenly, it feels as though the room is spinning, bright colourful dots blinding your eyes from the light. In the background, you hear Taehyung’s muffled voice going, “Nonsense! It’s gotta be Y/N’s presence here, she’s probably kicking up your brotherly instincts or something.”

Snapping out of your trance, you blurt out, “He’s not my brother,” at the same time as Jungkook snarls, “She’s not my sister.”

Taehyung holds up both hands in surrender. “Calm down, guys, I was just joking.”

Neither of you respond, and sensing the awkward tension in the air, Taehyung leaves it at that. The rest of the night is filled with the silence of pens scratching away on lined paper, keyboards clacking away on laptops, and the rustles of page flipping.

The study session ends at approximately three in the morning, when Taehyung yawns and desperately tries to blink sleep out of his eyes. Getting up to kiss you goodnight, he offers to stay over in your room for some “extra practice,” but you push away from him to explain that you’re simply too tired for anymore strenuous activities. There’s a disappointed glint in his eyes which you ignore, so he leaves you and Jungkook alone once more.

As soon as the bedroom door closes and Taehyung’s footfalls disappear, you whip your head to face Jungkook. To your surprise, there’s a strange look of guilt in his chiseled features, lips slightly parted as though he’s about to say something.

But you beat him to the punch. “A player, huh?”

He breaks eye contact, unable to face your questioning stares. “I—yeah.”

Your stomach clenches uncomfortably, while your throat constricts airflow. Everything feels abnormally hot. The only sounds in the room come from the whirring of Jungkook’s laptop, still open to an essay he’d been finishing up. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you let out a shaky breath.

“Well…okay.”

“Okay?” Jungkook’s brows knit together in confusion.

“You’re a consenting adult, aren’t you?” Repeating Jungkook’s words to him, you force out a fake laugh with all the effort you can muster.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, eyes boring into yours like a drill. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Using the rest of your courage, you attempt a cool, neutral expression before dusting yourself off the floor and gathering your things in one big swoop. Before heading out the door, you throw a glance back at him, small smile on your lips.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.”

.

After the dreaded finals season, Taehyung talks non-stop about the upcoming dance program that the Hip Hop Club showcases at the end of every school year. He drags you to the event (although the rest of Bangtan would’ve forced you to come anyways) where you sit in the front row watching Taehyung like the proud girlfriend you should be.

The Bangtan Boys move like a well-oiled machine: fierce, passionate, and ridiculously, ridiculously, in sync. Taehyung displays the best facials with his flirty, winking expressions, always showing off for the crowd of giggly college girls. Jimin and Hobi dance with the best technique, moving through their formations with such ease and overwhelming sense of control.

But the only one you have eyes for is Jungkook. Maybe it’s because he always seems to be at the center of their formations, but all you can do during the program is helplessly watch as Jungkook moves to the beat of the music, body rolls his way into the hearts of the fangirls in the audience who chant his name wildly.

There’s a spark in the way he moves, like he’s so utterly confident in his actions and so lost in the rhythm and flow of the music. So entirely entrancing that you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away.

No longer is he the boy of your childhood. He seems to have shed that image long ago, anyways.

When it’s all over, you feel yourself clapping and cheering for the boys, even though Jungkook still remains etched on your mind. Your thoughts are nothing compared to the roar of the crowd, ferociously applauding the performance.

The moment you see the seven boys after the performance, backstage in the waiting room, you launch yourself into Jungkook’s arms without a hint of hesitation. He gives a slight oof as you throw your weight onto him, snaking skinny elbows over his waist.

“Oh my God, you were fucking amazing,” you whisper into the crook of his neck. He’s sweating profusely, but you couldn’t care less.

Jungkook pats your back awkwardly, clearly not expecting your enthusiastic response, but you can feel his chest unwinding with relief as he breathes heavily. The two of you continue hugging like this, with his fingers threading into your hair and your face resting on his shoulder, rocking slowly back and forth. Together, in your own private bubble, blocking out the rest of the world.

“Thank you,” he whispers huskily, sending shivers down your back.

Before you can reply, a voice interrupts from behind. “Y/N?”

At the sound, the two of you jump apart, clambering to get away from each other. You swivel around to face a sweaty Taehyung, who looks about as confused as you feel.

“Taehyung!” You rush towards your boyfriend this time, embracing him in a tight hug that feels wrong, wrong, wrong. Dimly, you’re aware of Taehyung’s stiffness, but you can’t bring yourself to deliberate it. “Baby, you killed it. I love you.”

It’s the first time you’ve been able to say it back.

But the words don’t sound right. Instead, the “I love you” comes out sounding like a big, resounding lie instead of the gentle and loving way Taehyung always says it, and you desperately hope he doesn’t hear the desperation behind it.

If he does, he doesn’t comment.

.

May turns to June, and with it your freshman year comes to a finish. Taehyung whispers a final “I love you” before boarding his plane back home, with promises to Skype frequently over the summer and the suggestion of a potential visit in July. You watch him leave from outside the gate, feeling oddly free.

It’s not that you don’t love Kim Taehyung. You do—actually, you’re probably in love with him. But the thought of loving Kim Taehyung, a boy so drastically different from Jeon Jungkook, had once been a statement you’d shout from the rooftops, now turned to something that consumed you with guilt.

But guilt over what, exactly?

You and Jungkook arrive back to the West Coast on the same plane. The flight itself is an awkward affair; neither of you particularly knew what to say to each other in the wake of the dance program. Jungkook spends his time leaning out the window, head tilted away from you, while you nervously fidget with your fingers and try to forget the boy sitting next to you.

Something had changed, back in May. After the hug, after Taehyung’s confused glances, you could barely look Jungkook in the eye without feeling the sharp sting of guilt and betrayal. Your answers to Jungkook’s questions became clipped and short responses, with none of the same flow as before.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Jungkook had asked, but it was no use.

You’d just brushed past him, stonily ignoring his questions. Not missing the hurt and confusion in his eyes, but you didn’t know what to do. Taehyung had to come first, right? As your rightful boyfriend, you’re supposed to prioritize his concerns over someone like Jungkook.

So you hung around with your boyfriend, clinging closer to him than ever that even Taehyung noticed. But you didn’t care—because Taehyung is what matters most, right?

But Taehyung’s not with you anymore. He’s at home with his actual family, and he’s hellbent on introducing you to them. For some reason, just the mere thought of meeting Taehyung’s parents is enough to set off your internal panic button, so you avoid the topic entirely whenever he tries to bring it up.

And now you would be spending the rest of summer back in your old neighbourhood with Jungkook by your side, just like the good old days. No Taehyung in sight. The thought alone almost makes you sick with worry.

“I’m home!”

“Y/N!” With her arms wide open, your mother comes rushing from the kitchen. You drop your bags on the floor and dash towards her, falling into the embrace with all your might. Her arms wrap around you with a familiar warmth, and her scent smells just like home.

“How was your flight, darling?” The voice belongs to your father, who joins in on the hug. Soon, the three of you are sandwiched together in a mess of tears and smiles.

“Great,” you reply almost sarcastically, thinking of tense silences and Jungkook’s molten stares.

It takes awhile for you to settle back down into the steady humdrum of hazy suburbia. University life had been so fascinating—so ditzy and exciting in the big city, with each day filled with tons of activity. Streets bustling with life, strangers dressed to the nines, and bright neon signs that lit up every part of town each night.

Now it’s all neatly manicured lawns with perfectly timed sprinklers, rows upon rows of the same white picket fences, and streetlamps that turn on at nine o’clock at night.

For the first few weeks, you avoid Jungkook spectacularly well. Living back at home has its perks, namely, that you’re not constantly bombarded by his presence. The Jeons invite you over semi-regularly and it takes all your willpower to resist Mrs Jeon’s freshly baked, mouth-watering apple pies, but your thought turns to Jungkook and your appetite disappears.

It’s like Jungkook’s whispering into your ear. Don’t be such a baby, Y/N.

But you make do. You use the time to catch up with all your old friends from high school, most of whom decided to stay in the area for university. Weeknights are spent Skyping Taehyung, who’s worlds away from you, describing your hometown to the grainy and pixelated boy on your laptop screen. Taehyung still sends off each Skype call with a cheesy “love you, babe,” and throws a cute kissy face to the camera. He sends you funny Vines and videos of his dog, Soonshim, which you watch with misty eyes over a boy ten million miles away from you.

The last week of June, your parents invite the Jeons over for one of their habitual family dinners. It’s the first one since you got home, so you spend most of the morning stressed out over having to see Jungkook again.

You spend most of the morning dreading the dinner, busying yourself with random chores that do nothing but exacerbate your panicked thoughts. Folding laundry with ridiculous precision, cutting up vegetables for dinner, even trying your hand at baking a pie.

Nothing works. The apple pie turns out disgustingly and crumbles into a pile of gooey mess the second you lift it out of the oven. Smells delectable, at least, filling your entire house with the warm scent of baked apples, but it only reminds you of the apartment you share with Jungkook where cooking is, essentially, a rarity.

Your mother kicks you out of the kitchen when she comes home from work and sees your garbage pile of an apple pie on the counter. She shakes her head disapprovingly, whispering something akin to, “Where did I get a daughter like that?” when she thinks you can’t hear (you do, obviously) and pushes you off to your room to wait.

The Jeons arrive a six o’clock on the dot. They’ve never been anything but punctual, a trait that your mother sincerely wishes was passed on to you through Jungkook, but amazingly it never happened.

Knock, knock. “Y/N, can I come in?”

It’s Jungkook, rapping his knuckles on the white doorframe. You’re draped on the armchair with your feet casually propped up on the deskside, nonchalantly surfing on your phone. When he announces his presence, you drop your phone to the carpet like it’s a hot potato.

“Jungkook?”

Three weeks pale in comparison to the two years you’ve been apart, but it still feels like eternity. He looks tanned, his mess of curly black hair dyed a shocking golden brown. Underneath the orange stripped shirt, you can barely make out the hint of a muscular interior.

But his eyes. The same intense dark eyes he’s had his entire life. The ones now directed to you with an unreadable expression.

Jungkook crosses over the threshold and steps in with the ease and familiarity of a boy who had spent years of his life in this bedroom. For a moment, he pauses, looking around the room with a fond smirk on his lips.

“You haven’t changed your room at all, Y/N.”

“So?” You scoff. “Not much can change in two years.”

The afternoon sunlight, filtered by the venetian blinds in your room, checkers Jungkook’s face in radiant sunshine. His hair glints in the glow of the light, and you watch with fascination at the oodly beautiful way it seems to set his skin in a fire of golds and yellows.

“A lot can change in two years,” he says, coming to a stop at the foot of your armchair. From your spot, you stare up at him, eyebrow raised in a quirk.

“Maybe you’re the one who changed,” you suggest, but the way Jungkook looks to you now makes your stomach uneasy. Like he can’t get enough of your face. “Maybe I’m the one who stayed the same.”

Jungkook offers you a sad little smile. “No, I don’t think so.” Then, ever so gently, he leans closer, pulling your lips in for a kiss.

His lips are so, so soft against yours, but it tastes as sweet as honey. There’s an explosion of feeling, loud, intense and completely overpowering your senses. Without thinking, you deepen the kiss, desperate for more touch, for absolute closeness. Jungkook’s fingers roam your body, moving from your shoulders to your waist and settling in your hair.

He lets out a shaky laugh, but you hear the agony in the edge of his tone, and it says I’ve been waiting so long.

Your body is a machine of its own, acting without the consent of your brain. You further the kiss, pushing your tongue into his mouth to explore the caverns. He responds with a breathy moan, and when you open your eyes he looks utterly lost in his own bubble.

“Wait, hold on,” you whisper, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook, dazed and foggy, groans at the sudden stop.

It’s nearly impossible disentangling yourself from his crutches. “Please—don’t go,” you hear from behind you, a choked sob coming from a wrecked Jungkook.

Reaching the bedroom door, you turn to close it in an affirmative slam. The sound is sickeningly loud and you’re sure the grownups are probably wondering whether the two of you have gotten into a fight upstairs, but for some reason, closing the door washes away any and all hesitations.

You turn back to Jungkook, who’s staring at the way you move with lust-filled hooded eyes. His eyes travel up and down your body in a way that’s almost reminiscent of the time you first moved into his apartment, but this time you gather enough courage to say something.

“Bed. Now.”

.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you keep condoms in your bedroom.”

The two of you lay side by side on your queen sized bed, wrapped up in each others’ limbs and the soft white bedsheets. Jungkook breathes heavily, skin covered in a layer of sweat.

“Are you really so surprised, though?” you reply with a goofy grin you can’t shake off. “Do you even remember what I was like in high school?”

Jungkook studies your profile with thoughtful eyes. There’s a small smile on his lips, and he looks thoroughly satisfied. Privately, you’re pretty satisfied, too. Probably more satisfied than you’ve ever been in your entire life.

You are eighteen, Jungkook is twenty, and for the first time ever, you’ve allowed yourself to admit something that has always been tucked away in the depths of your mind. That maybe you could have … feelings for him. Especially now, basking in the afterglow. Everything smells like Jungkook and sweat and while you would normally curl your nose in disgust, but for some reason, it feels just right.

Perfectly at peace.

You sigh, nuzzling into Jungkook’s bicep. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

“Because—because,” Jungkook’s eyes widen suddenly and his jaw hangs open. “Oh my God, Y/N, because of Taehyung.”

At the sound of Taehyung, you sit up straight as a rod, lightning flashing into your eyes.

“Fuck.”

There’s almost a resigned way in which Jungkook laughs, sounding so bitter and broken. He stares up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head, and he laughs and laughs and laughs. It’s all at once terrifying and heart breaking and so utterly sad.

“Fucking stop laughing,” you spit, but the laughter is contagious. You find yourself giggling along to the ridiculousness of the situation, despite the growing pit of intense anxiety in the depths of your abdomen. “God. This is such a mess.”

“You know, I’ve been in love with you since high school,” Jungkook pauses, voice suddenly turning serious. “I tried to forget you.”

“Well, I’m not easily forgettable,” you retort, but there’s a flutter of butterflies in your stomach at Jungkook’s surprising confession. His voice has gone deadly quiet, which only means that he’s not joking.

“It worked for a year,” Jungkook admits, “but then you came back. Why did you do that?”

You hummed, threading your fingers through Jungkook’s large hands. They fit together so perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle. “Wherever you go, I go. Isn’t that how it’s always been?”

Wherever you go, I have to follow. Those are the rules, right?

“I don’t even know where my life ends and yours begins anymore,” sighs Jungkook. “It’s like we’ve been so intertwined that I don’t know what I’d ever do if, one day, you just decided to leave me. Forever.”

“I rue the day I met you, Jeon Jungkook,” you say, with a sad smile playing on your lips.

“Y/N, what are you going to do about Taehyung?”

“Fuck if I know.”

But what could you say to Taehyung that would make him understand—understand that this was long time coming? Whatever’s between you and Jungkook, all the tension, the conflicting emotions, the childhood memories—it could never have led up to anything else: a culmination of years and years of whatever this was.

The guilt subsides, fading quicker than the euphoric giddiness you felt with Jungkook. Strangely, there’s an aura of calm now, like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

“Y/N, he—he’s not just some guy,” says Jungkook quietly. He watches you play with his fingers, but his eyes glaze with a real panic. “Taehyung’s my friend.”

You swallow thickly, ignoring fear and anxiety that threatens to rise up every time you think of your boyfriend. Kim Taehyung, puppy-lover, all around sunshine boy. Probably one of the nicest people to have ever lived. The two of you haven’t even fought yet, for fuck’s sake. How many people could say they accomplished a completely peaceful relationship for nine months?

And now you’ve fucked it all up. Well, technically, Jungkook is the one who made the first move, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? All that matters is you cheated on your perfectly perfect boyfriend, and Jungkook is the homewrecker of sorts.

“I know,” you whisper barely audibly. “I’ll talk to him.”

Jungkook’s eyes rake over your expression, searching for a hint of emotion in the passive expanse of your face.

“Y/N,” he continues, “it’s me or him.”

“I know,” you shoot back, irritated and sounding more like the petulant child Jungkook remembers so fondly. “Quit stating the obvious.”

Jungkook angles his head away from you, hiding the grin that quirks up on the corners of his lips.

“Okay, okay.”

“You gonna say it again, or?”

Jungkook shoves your arm playfully. “Okay, you brat.”

Even though the future’s never looked more ominous, your heart flutters. Jungkook’s voice lulls you to sleep, a soothing presence that feels utterly so, so right.

.

The second Taehyung’s face shows up on the webcam, you blurt out exactly what happened last week with Jungkook. It happens sort of by accident, but by now you really need stop wondering what happened to your brain-to-mouth filter. But the look on his face, the golden, happy smiles full of excitement to see you on screen again, and you knew there was no other way.

Taehyung’s not a fragile creature, and neither are you. The least he deserves now is the truth, and as much of it as you can muster.

“Y/N, I don’t know what to say,” Taehyung sighs, looking more tired than you’ve ever seen him. The easygoing grin slid off his face immediately and if you weren’t about to burst into tears you would’ve laughed at how comical it looked.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” you say, glancing at Taehyung out of the corner of your eye. “But I want you to know it was a mistake.”

Taehyung snorts derisively. “Save it, Y/N.”

“Please, Taehyung,” you plead desperately. You’ve never seen him like this, so cold, so calm, so tired. It’s everything you’ve seen in Jungkook, but nothing you’ve ever experienced with your normally sunny boyfriend.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he replies dully. “It’s me or him. You have to choose.”

Somewhere in the corners of your mind you’d always known it would come down to this. But now that Taehyung—and Jungkook, for that matter, voiced it aloud, you couldn’t believe it was real. That the boy who interfered so much in your childhood could now have such a deepening effect in your life.

Your mouth goes completely dry. Taehyung stares at you for a response, but you’re looking anywhere but him. Past your computer screen, the darkness seems to give your room an eerie glow. Off the windowsill shines a broken Barbie doll with her shiny blonde hair left in tatters.

Your brain begins to whir. Even in your most intimate moment with Taehyung, your thoughts still turn to Jungkook.

He had broken that Barbie doll. When you were four, and he was six, Mrs Jeon forced Jungkook to have a playdate in your room and acquiesce to all your whiny four-year-old demands. You wanted him to play dress-up with your favourite doll, so he’d taken scissors and completely destroyed it out of pure six-year-old rage.

By the end of the ensuing fistfight, your mother had to drag the two of you apart, kicking and screaming. While Jungkook had been left with bruises and scratches all over his face where you’d tried to claw him to death, your skin was left perfectly unblemished, looking as angelic as ever.

It had always been like this—Jungkook takes the hits. In the ninth grade, a boy by the name of Jinyoung had broken your sad little naïve heart when he dumped you by the bleachers for a pretty, popular girl who laughed at your haircut. The next day, he turned up to school with a black eye and an apology to you in front of the entire class of impressionable ninth graders, and you’d somehow been left with the feeling that Jungkook-the-scary-upperclassman must’ve gotten involved.

“Y/N?”

Taehyung’s voice cuts through your memories, startling you back into the present. There’s no hint of a smile in his usually dancing eyes. All you can see is the mess that you’ve made, with no chance of cleanup in sight.

“I—I don’t know,” you reply honestly. “Can I get back to you?”

“You know, that’s exactly what you said to me when I first asked you out.”

“Was it?”

“Yeah,” continues Taehyung with an embittered smile. “Guess I should’ve known. I should’ve believed you when you said he’s not your brother.”

Your voice breaks a little, at that. “Taehyung, I—I’m so sorry.”

You’d tried so hard not to break throughout this entire conversation, but Taehyung’s comment brings you back to May, when the three of you had been studying for finals in Jungkook’s room. Back when everything had been so simple.

But now that you think about it, even back then you’d sensed that something was off. In the entirety of your relationship with Taehyung, Jungkook had always been present in some way shape or form, whether physically or emotionally. Guiding you through all these steps you should have taken by yourself.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” whispers Taehyung one final time, and for some reason, it feels like goodbye.

.

Your mother insists that you get out of the house. Nearly three days after the Talk with Taehyung, and he’d stopped replying to all your messages, you had vowed to never leave your room for the rest of summer.

“It’s a shame you broke up with him before we got to meet him,” your mother had said when you told her.

But you couldn’t even cry. Tears threatened to leak out of the corners of your eyes, but they never did. Instead, the guilt in the pit of your stomach stays. Every time you think back to Taehyung—all those months, the dreaded I-love-you’s, the coffee dates—all of it feels like a lie. Like you were just leading him on, like one long elaborate scam that ended only in Taehyung’s heartbreak. Now he can’t even face you anymore.

What a waste of a heart of gold.

But it’s been three days, and your mother insists that you get out of the house for some “fresh air” or socializing. You’ve done nothing but loll around the house all day, watching old reruns on TV and checking your phone every five seconds.

It’s been three days, and you almost miss him.

“There’s a part tonight at the Jeons,” urges your mother gently. “It’s the 4th of July. You should come.”

You can’t go, because Jungkook will be there. Especially after what happened—you can’t see him now. It feels almost disrespectful, forbidden.

But you let yourself be dragged into the party. Your mother throws you into a pretty sky-blue dress that reflects an old dress she used to make you wear. It’s almost the exact same dress, actually, so you wonder where exactly she could’ve gotten a carbon copy of a kid’s monochrome dress in an adult size. But you don’t really care, so instead you watch her listlessly as she applies makeup; first eyeshadow, then mascara, and finally the pink lipstick.

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive at the front gate. Your mother drops you off, heading inside immediately to find Mrs Jeon and update her on the news. You mill about outside, awkwardly standing by the front door, unsure of whether or not to enter.

To enter would mean breaking a promise.

A blast from above startles you. Looking up, it’s Catherine wheels, exploding across the night sky in bright flashes of red, blue and silver. The earth smells of gunpowder and mud, water from the lawn seeping into your shoes.

“Pretty view, huh?”

Swiveling around to face the voice that spoke, you meet eye-to-eye with Jungkook. He looks good, standing on his porch with his shirt slightly unbuttoned. Hair slightly ruffled, but curly as ever. His eyes, though. The same intense Jungkook eyes you’ve stared at so often over the years. The same ones that now make your heart pound painfully with a strange desire.

“Fuck you,” is your only response, and he offers a pathetic smile.

“I heard about your breakup.”

“Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook,” you repeat, spitting venom. “I fucking hate you.”

Then you’re crossing the porch, walking straight to him with violent force, all while staring right back into those eyes. Wrapping your hands around his waist as roughly your slight frame could possibly muster, and pulling him down into a searing kiss.

He smiles into the kiss. Overhead, fireworks continue their frenzied dance across the sky in bangs and whistles, veiling the two of you in bright, bright colours.

You are eighteen, and Jungkook is twenty, and the two of you have finally found home in each other.