Archive of Our Own

You had only been in Seoul for six days when the city finally stopped feeling like a postcard and started feeling like a place that could swallow you whole.
The novelty wore off quietly. The first few days had been all wide eyes and too many photos of towering buildings, crowded subways, cafés that looked curated by people with significantly more put together lives than yours. By day six, it was just noise. Constant, humming noise. Your apartment echoed in a way that made jet lag worse, walls too bare, silence too loud.
Back home, silence had meant comfort. Familiar creaks. The sound of your parents moving around the kitchen. The knowledge that you belonged somewhere, even if you felt like you were failing at it.
That was the problem.
You hadn’t just left your hometown because of opportunity. Or wanderlust. Or even bravery, no matter how much people had praised you for it.
You left because staying felt like drowning.
Because every street carried memories of who you used to be, of plans that hadn’t worked, relationships that ended quietly and painfully, expectations you couldn’t live up to no matter how hard you tried causing you to feel like a failure. Because everyone knew you and everything about you and that somehow made it harder to breathe.
Seoul didn’t know you at all. That anonymity felt like mercy. So late at night on a Tuesday when you saw an ad asking for English teachers you decided to apply on a whim. Next thing you knew you were siting in a small loft apartment in Seoul.

And now you couldn’t sleep. So you put on a coat and stepped back out into the cold.
You told yourself you were just going to walk. No expectations. No plans. Just neon lights, chilled air nipping at your cheeks, and the comfort of being invisible in a crowd that didn’t know your name yet.
Hongdae buzzed even on a weekday night, music bleeding out of basements, laughter spilling onto sidewalks, steam rising from food carts like something alive. You wandered without direction until hunger nudged at you insistently.
That was how you found the tteokbokki cart.
It sat tucked into a side street, slightly off the main road. The kind of place you might miss if you weren’t paying attention. Steam curled upward from wide metal trays, thick red sauce bubbling slowly. The smell, sweet and spicy, unmistakably comforting, wrapped around you like an invitation.
You slowed. Hovered. The menu was handwritten, entirely in Korean. You pretended to read it anyway even though you could only make out a couple of the words.
“Tteokbokki...”, you started, your voice small. You wanted to ask for the spicy ones, but the Korean words got tangled in your throat.
“Jeogi... dangsineun maewun guksu...”, you stumbled, trying to point at the tray while looking at him, “Dangsineun maewun guksu... sip-eo-yo.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
He froze. His hand, which had been reaching for a ladle, stopped mid-air. He blinked once, then twice. Slowly, a smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth. Then, he let out a sharp, breathy sound that turned into a full-blown laugh, a deep, rumbly sound that vibrated in the small space between you.
He looked down at the counter, shaking his head, his shoulders bouncing with genuine amusement.
Your heart dropped. The "swallowing you whole" feeling of the city returned in an instant, sharper than before. You didn't know exactly what you had said, but you knew it was wrong. You were the punchline of a joke you didn't even understand.
“Forget it.”, you muttered, the heat in your cheeks now a scorching burn. You felt small, stupid, and very far from home, “I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”
You turned to leave, blinking back a sudden prickle of frustrated and embarrassed tears. You just wanted to get back to your empty apartment where no one could laugh at you.
“Hey…wait. Wait!” The voice was English. It was deep, calm, and unexpectedly close.
A hand reached out, not grabbing you, but just hovering near your sleeve to get your attention. You stopped and looked back. The vendor was leaning over the counter, the laughter still dancing in his eyes, but his expression had softened into something apologetic.
“Don’t go.”, he said, his English fluid and low, “I wasn't making fun of you. I promise.”
You hugged your coat tighter, “You were literally laughing. You laughed so hard you started coughing.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish himself now, “Because you didn’t ask for the food. You accidentally told me…that…you wanted my spicy noodle. Like in a personal way.”
You froze. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice water. In your scrambled Korean, you hadn't asked for an order of noodles (not even correct to begin with). But you had basically made a very suggestive, very bold proposition to a stranger in the middle of Hongdae.
“Oh my god.”, you whispered, covering your face with both hands, “I’m leaving. I’m moving back home. I’m leaving the country.”
“Stay.”, he chuckled and this time the sound was warm, like an invitation, “It was a good try. Your grammar was actually...bold.”
You peeked through your fingers. He was already reaching for a bowl, his movements efficient and practiced. “Cold?” he asked, changing the subject to save you from your own embarrassment.
As you watched him work you forgot how to speak again.
The street vendor was incredibly handsome in a way that wasn’t loud about it. Not flashy or harsh like you had come to expect from the city. His face was calm, curious, sharp eyes softened by a lazy smile that felt real, not practiced. Honey blond hair tucked under a black beanie. Cheeks chubby in a way that triggered your cuteness aggression yet still made him look rugged. Sleeves pushed up just enough to expose forearms that felt unfairly attractive for a man selling street food.
He watched you like he had already clocked your hesitation about your entire situation and decided not to rush you.
“A little.”, you admitted. He hummed sympathetically, already reaching for a bowl., “Tteokbokki helps with that. Spicy enough to make you forget everything else.”
You raised an eyebrow before you could stop yourself, “Everything?”
He glanced back at you, eyes crinkling, “Almost.”
The laugh that escaped you surprised both of you. He smiled wider at the sound, like he had unlocked something in a game.
“What level?”, he asked, gesturing to the sauce.
“Um.”,’ you said not really sure, “Medium?…I think?”
“That’s not an answer.”, he smirked. You smiled sheepishly, “The safe one.” He nodded solemnly, “Smart.”
While he worked, you watched his hands, efficient, practiced, gentle in a way that didn’t match the bubbling heat of the food. He moved like this was muscle memory, like the cart belonged to him as much as the street did.
He slid the bowl toward you, “Careful. It’s hot.”
“Thank you.”, you said, then, “How much do I owe for this?”
“On the house.” You blinked, “I…what?”
“First time discount.”, he said with a shrug, “Consider it like a welcome to Seoul.” You smiled, warmth spreading somewhere deeper than your stomach, “Then…thank you. I’m…”
He looked up at you again. The beauty in his eyes made your brain malfunction for a moment. He waited.
“Y/N.”, you finally finished.
He repeated it softly. Once. Twice. Like he was testing the sound, “I’m Yoongi.”
Min Yoongi, you’d learn later. But right then, it was just Yoongi. Simple. Familiar. Even though you had just met.
“So…your English is really good.”, you blurted suddenly before internally wanting to combust from embarrassment. He paused just long enough to look up, “Yeah? You think so?”
“Yeah.”, you nodded quickly, “I mean…sorry, that sounded weird. I just…wasn’t expecting it.” He snorted softly, “That’s usually how that sentence ends.” You winced, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”, he said easily, “You’re not the first person to sound surprised.”
“Still.”, you said, “it’s impressive.”
He shrugged, but you caught the flicker of something pleased and a tiny bit more confident in his eyes, “I practiced.”
“For…street food conversations?”, you teased.
“For not being underestimated,” he replied lightly. Something about that stuck with you.
You took your first bite and immediately regretted every life choice you had ever made.
“Oh (cough)…wow…(cough)”, you gasped, eyes watering. He laughed, quick and quiet, “Too much?”
“It’s…a lot.”, you admitted, still smiling through the pain. He slid a small carton of milk toward you without comment. You stared at it, “You planned for this?” He shrugged, “People, especially foreigners, like to lie about their spice tolerance.”
Happily you took a few sips of the milk thankful for the relief before taking another bite.
You ate standing there, leaning against the cart, the heat blooming in your chest in a way that felt oddly grounding. The night wrapped around you, voices, footsteps, music in the distance, but the space in front of the cart felt different.
“So.”, he said after a moment, “Is it safe to say that you haven’t been here long?”
“Nope.”, you shook your head, “Less than a week.”
He smirked, “Bold choice to move here.” You laughed again, “Yeah I got a job teaching English.”
His eyebrows lifted, “How long are you going to be here for?”
“I don’t know yet.”, you said, “Long enough to figure things out I guess.” He nodded slowly like that answer made sense to him.
“That’s brave.”, he said, “Moving so far away.”
You shrugged, “It felt necessary.” He didn’t ask what you meant by that. He just nodded, gaze thoughtful, like he understood more than you had said.
When you finished eating, your fingers were numb and your face warm and something in your chest felt less hollow.
You paid him despite his protests. As you stepped away, he called after you, “Come back.”
You turned, “That sounds like an order?”
“A suggestion.”, he smiled. Then, softer, “It gets even colder around here.”
You walked home smiling like an idiot but you promised yourself you wouldn’t go back…

And at first you kept the premise. You spent the next forty-eight hours trying to prove to yourself that the tteokbokki cart hadn't been a fluke. You told yourself it was just the hunger and a cute guy, that any warm meal would have felt like a religious experience in that moment.
So you tried a different stall closer to the subway station near your apartment.
It was a mistake from the start. The older man behind the counter didn’t have a "lazy smile" or "softened eyes." He had a line of ten people behind you and zero patience for your stuttered, not making sense attempt to order in Korean. When you fumbled with the 1,000-won bills, your fingers clumsy in the wind, he let out a sharp, clicking sound of annoyance against his teeth. He muttered something to the customer behind you, something that ended in a laugh you didn't understand but felt deep in your chest because it was clearly a stab at you, and then he shoved a paper bo of lukewarm tteokbokki toward you without another glance.
The sauce was watery and lacked flavor. The rice cakes were rubbery. But mostly, the interaction felt like a bruise. It was a reminder that you were a guest who didn’t know the rules, an outsider clogging up the gears of a city that was moving too fast for you to catch up.
You threw the half-finished bowl away in a garbage can and walked home in the dark, the "swallowing you whole" feeling returning with a vengeance.
By the next night, the bare walls of your apartment felt like they were leaning in, suffocating you with their silence. Your pride held out until 11:00 PM. Then, you grabbed your coat.
You told yourself you were just going for a walk. You told yourself you were just hungry. There had to be another decent food stall in the city. But your feet knew exactly where they were going. You navigated the neon maze of Hongdae, ignoring the flashier stalls and the louder music, until you saw the familiar curl of steam rising from the side street.
The relief that washed over you when you saw the black beanie and the oversized sleeves was embarrassing.
He was mid-conversation with an older woman, but his eyes shifted the second you stepped into the light of his cart. He didn't look surprised. He just dipped his head in a way that felt like a quiet 'I knew you'd be back’ and reached for a bowl before you even had to say a word.
When you got up to the counter he he greeted you with a nod and a quiet, “Teacher.”
You rolled your eyes, “I’m not your teacher.”
He smirked, “Yeah, but you could be.”
“Back so soon?", he asked with the slightest hint of a smirk, “Miss the spice already?"
"I missed the service.”, you admitted, the honesty slipping out before you could filter it, “The guy at the subway didn’t appreciate my attempt at ordering."
Yoongi’s eyes crinkled as he scooped in a few extra rice cakes with the thick, dark, perfect sauce, “Station vendors have no soul.”, he said, sliding the bowl toward you, “They cook for the clock. While I cook for the people."
You laughed.
The city didn’t feel so heavy that night.
And when you walked away, you didn’t see him watching until you turned the corner, waiting until you disappeared before he started packing up.
You didn’t know it yet, but something had already started.
Something warm. Something dangerous.
Something that would make leaving harder than you had ever planned.

And this was only the beginning.

You didn’t mean for it to happen. It just… did.
At first, you only went back when you were too tired to cook. Or lonely. Or cold. Then you started going even when you weren’t any of those things because something about standing at Yoongi’s cart, fingers wrapped around a warm bowl while you watched him work made life in the city feel smaller. Easier. Kinder.
Yoongi noticed you before you said anything. He greeted you without looking up now, “Medium. Extra rice cake.”
You blinked, “I didn’t say-“
“I know.”, he cut you off, sliding the bowl toward you.
You smiled every time. Like a fool.
You learned the best nights to come, when the crowd thinned early, when the air felt quieter, when conversations could go on without interruption. Sometimes you leaned against the cart while he worked, watching his hands move with easy confidence. Other nights, you perched on a nearby stool, grading papers while he pretended not to sneak glances at you.
“You’re going to ruin your back sitting like that.”, he said once. “I teach English to teenagers being forced to learn it against their will.”, you shot back, “Suffering is part of the job.” He snorted, “That explains a lot.”
Winter deepened. Your scarf collection grew. His cart gained small changes…extra lights that he claimed were because his eyes were getting bad with age and not so that you had an easier time grading papers and writing lesson plans at night, a space heater suddenly showed up one day that he pretended wasn’t just for you, the small cooler he kept at the back suddenly became stocked with a brand of strawberry milk that you had once mentioned was your favorite. When your hands were cold, he noticed. When you looked tired, he asked.
Jungkook, the owner of the neighboring stand, noticed too.
He started lingering more, leaning against his own cart with exaggerated boredom whenever you were around. One night, while Yoongi stepped away to grab some supplies, Jungkook slid closer like a mouse ready to play while the cat was away.
“So Y/N.”, Jungkook said, flashing you a grin, “You two ever gonna admit that you guys have a thing going on or…?”
You nearly choked on your strawberry milk, “What?”
“I see you here like…every night.”, he said, “That’s commitment.”
“I’m just hungry.”, you offered back as a response.
“So in a city full of of options you want to come pay for overpriced and subpar tteokbokki every night in Hongdae?”, he raised a brow, “That’s just a little bit suspicious.”
Yoongi returned just in time to hear that.
“She’s a paying customer.”, he said flatly. Jungkook smirked, “Yeah a very loyal one.”
You laughed nervously, “He’s exaggerating.”Yoongi didn’t say anything. Just handed you a napkin you hadn’t asked for.
The next time Jungkook tried, he was more direct. “Hey Y/N.”, he said one evening, waving you over, “You coming to my cart tonight or what?”
Yoongi’s tongs paused mid-air. You hesitated, glancing between them, “I mean…I guess I could?”
Jungkook grinned triumphantly, “See?…Options.”
Yoongi clicked his tongue, “You’re annoying Jeon.”
“And you’re Jealous Min.”, Jungkook corrected.
“I’m not-“, Yoongi started but you cut him off , “I’ll try Jungkook’s tonight.”, you said quickly, half-joking, “Just once. It’ll make him feel special.”
Yoongi shrugged a little too fast, “Do what you want. You’re an adult.”
But when you stepped away, you felt it, his eyes following you, the sharp clink of metal against metal as he worked harder than necessary.
Jungkook played it up shamelessly, leaning in close as he handed you two grilled chicken skewers with some extra sauce on the side that you hadn’t ordered. “You know.”, he said loudly, “some people don’t realize what they have until it’s gone.”
Yoongi didn’t look up. When you finished and went back to say goodbye, Yoongi slid your usual order toward you anyway.
“I didn’t order this.”, you said softly. He didn’t meet your eyes, “Habit I guess.”
Something about those words stayed with you.
The nights grew longer. Colder. You started bringing him hot coffee and homemade soup and hand warmers. One night, without thinking, you tucked one into his pocket yourself when he left it sitting on the table a little too long for your liking. He froze like you had touched something sacred.
“Sorry.”, you said quickly backing away. He shook his head, “Thank you. It’s…warm.” So was the look he gave you.
One evening, snow falling slow and quiet, the street emptying early as people rushed home to beat the worst of the storm, he adjusted your scarf without asking. His fingers lingered just long enough to feel intentional.
You looked up at him. He leaned in. Not far. But just enough.
Then laughter broke the moment, a group of people stumbling past, loud and careless and Yoongi pulled back like he had crossed an invisible line.
“I should clean.”, he muttered. You nodded, heart racing, pretending you hadn’t wanted it too.
After that, things changed. Not dramatically. Just worse…subtly.
The jokes softened. He still smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes as often. One night, he forgot the extra rice cakes. Just once. It shouldn’t have mattered. He wasn’t required to do it.
But it did matter.
“You okay?”, you asked gently. He shrugged, “Just tired.”
Jungkook caught you watching him later, worry written all over your face.
“He’s an idiot.”, Jungkook whispered while he handed you a chicken skewer you hadn’t ordered but was on the house anyway. Both of you pretending not to see the side eye from Yoongi at the action.
You brows furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean by that?”
“He likes you.”, Jungkook said plainly before taking a bite of the same skewer you were eating making you shake your head. He continued, “And he’s scared.”
You swallowed, “Of what?”
Jungkook sighed, “…Of wanting something he knows he can’t keep.”
That night, as you walked away, you glanced back.
Yoongi stood at his cart, watching you go, hands still, like he didn’t know whether to call you back or let you leave.
And for the first time since you arrived in Seoul, you wondered what would hurt more.
Staying. Or leaving.

The thing about routines is that they sneak up on you.
One day you’re just passing by, telling yourself you’re not building your evenings around a man and a food cart. The next, you notice when he’s five minutes late opening. When his beanie is missing. When his smile is a fraction slower to arrive.
Yoongi still greeted you the same way.
“Teacher.”, he said, like always.
But the word didn’t land the way it used to.
You started staying longer without meaning to. Sitting on the low stool beside the cart instead of standing. Sometimes he would work in silence, comfortable and heavy, the kind that only settles between people who don’t need to fill every second.
You learned the sounds of him, the exhale when he was annoyed by a customer, the hum under his breath when a song got stuck in his head. Once, you caught him tapping out a rhythm on the counter, fingers moving unconsciously.
What’s that?”, you asked. He startled, “Nothing.”
“It sounded like something.”, you whispered. He hesitated, “Just…a habit.” You didn’t push. You were learning when not to.
Winter deepened its grip. Your scarf collection grew again. So did the number of times Yoongi quietly turned the space heater toward you, pretending it wasn’t deliberate.
“You don’t have to.”, you said once. He shrugged, “You complain.”
“I’ve never complained.”, you scoffed.
“You sigh loudly and you shiver a lot.”, he countered, “It’s distracting.” You laughed, warmth blooming low in your chest.
Some nights, Jungkook lingered nearby in between customers, watching the two of you like a spectator who already knew the ending.
“You know Y/N.”, he said one evening when Yoongi stepped away, “you could just kiss him.” You choked on your coffee, “Excuse me?” Jungkook grinned, “I’m saying. For science or something like that.”
You shook your head, “Please stop.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice, “He’s been writing songs again.” Your heart stuttered, “He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to.”, Jungkook shrugged, “You don’t hum unless you’re happy.”
You watched Yoongi return, shoulders hunched against the cold and you wondered how many parts of him you hadn’t learned yet.
One night, the street was quiet early. Snow drifted down in lazy spirals. Yoongi handed you your bowl and didn’t let go right away.
Your fingers brushed. Electric. His breath caught. For a second, he didn’t pull away. Then he did. “Careful.”, he said hoarsely, “It’s hot.” You nodded, even though you knew there was more to say.
Another night, you brought him a scarf, “You don’t have to wear it.”, you said, suddenly shy. He took it like he was desperate. Wore it immediately and every night after.
Once, when you were laughing about a student mixing up beach and something else entirely, Yoongi laughed so hard he had to turn away, shoulders shaking. When he looked back at you, there was something open in his expression, unguarded.
It scared him.
You saw it then, the way his walls snapped back into place. The way he busied himself too fast. “I should close soon.”, he said, even though it wasn’t time. You didn’t argue.
The almosts piled up.
Almost walking you home.
Almost asking you to stay.
Almost telling you something when his mouth opened and closed again.
One evening, as you stood to leave, he spoke suddenly, “Y/N…are you happy here?”
The question felt heavier than it should have.
“I think so.”, you nodded, “Are you?”
He smiled, but something still felt off, “Sometimes.”
That night, you noticed that for the first time he didn’t watch you go.
The next evening, he forgot the extra rice cakes again. You pretended not to notice.
But when Jungkook caught your expression, his smile faded.
“He’s pulling back.”, Jungkook said quietly when you took a seat on a stool that was a little closer to his stand instead of Yoongi’s.
“Why?”, you asked. Jungkook sighed, “Because wanting something is dangerous. Some people are afraid of the danger.”
When you left that night, the cold felt sharper. The city louder.
And for the first time, you wondered if the warmth you had found there was starting to thin. Like ice does before it fully cracks.

Yoongi didn’t disappear all at once. That would’ve been easier. Kinder to your heart.
Instead, he faded in degrees so small you almost convinced yourself you were imagining it.
He still opened the cart on time. Still greeted you with “Teacher,” though the word sounded much flatter now, like it had lost some private meaning, like he said it just so he wouldn’t have to say your name. He still remembered your order, but sometimes he asked anyway, like he was testing whether the habit could be broken.
You let him.
You stayed longer.
You filled the gaps he left with effort like bringing him a new pair of gloves when the temperature dropped, waiting even when the line stretched longer than usual, laughing a little louder when his jokes landed softer.
You were not ready for a version of Seoul that didn’t include him.
Jungkook noticed immediately.
“He’s doing the slow retreat.”, he said one night, flipping skewers with unnecessary drama, “Classic.”
“He’s just busy.”, you said, too quickly.
Jungkook raised a brow, “Busy thinking about...”
Yoongi shot him a warning look from behind his cart.
“What?”, Jungkook said innocently, “I’m saying thinking is hard.”
You laughed despite yourself.
Some nights, Yoongi barely spoke. Other nights, he almost did, mouth opening like there was something pressing behind his teeth, then closing again as he focused too hard on the sauce.
You caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. He looked away when you met his eyes.
Once, you reached across the counter to wipe sauce off his wrist without thinking.
He flinched.
“I…sorry.”, you said, hand retreating immediately. He shook his head. “No. It’s fine. I just…”
He stopped. Just what? You waited. He didn’t finish and you walked away to take a seat.
Jungkook leaned over later, voice low, “You’re killing him.”
“I’m not doing anything.”, you shrugged.
“Exactly…”, Jungkook said, “That’s the problem.”

The night it happened was colder than usual. Not busy, but also not quiet…just enough people drifting through to keep the air unsettled. You sat on the stool beside Yoongi’s cart, hood pulled up, eating slowly.
He stood closer than he had in days.
You definitely noticed.
A man stumbled up while Yoongi was busy tending to other customers. The man was clearly drunk, swaying with the wind and smiling odd.
“Hey.”, he said, eyes lingering too long, “You’re really pretty.”
You offered a polite smile, “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
He laughed like it was a joke you’d made for him, “Come on. I’m just talking.”
“I said no.”, you replied calmly, shifting towards to Yoongi’s stand just slightly.
The man still didn’t take the answer and he stepped closer. You don’t have to be so stuck up.”, he said, tone sharpening and leaning in. Your heart began to race as you looked around for an exit plan.
Before you could respond, Yoongi was there putting himself infront of you. He said something in Korean you didn’t completely catch. Something similar to, “She said she’s not interested.”, but it sounded much harsher.
The man staggered back, muttering something under his breath before melting into the crowd.
The noise of the street rushed in again, laughter, music, the hiss of oil hitting heat.
You realized your hands were shaking and not just from the cold.
Yoongi stood there for half a second longer, jaw tight, eyes still on the empty space where the man had been.
Then he returned back to the cart. No comment. No question. No reassurance.
He picked up the tongs and flipped the rice cakes like nothing had happened.
You watched him from the stool, heart still pounding. He didn’t look at you again. Not directly. But he angled his body so he stood closer to you for the rest of the night.
He slid a bowl with a few extra rice cakes toward you without meeting your eyes.
You ate the rest of your food quietly, the warmth settling slowly, deliberately. When you stood to leave, Yoongi finally glanced up.
“It’s extra cold tonight.”, he said. You nodded, “Yeah.” A pause. Small. Almost nothing. “Text me when you get home.”, he added, like it was a habit he hadn’t meant to reveal.
Your chest tightened, “Okay…I will.”
You walked away with your heart still racing, replaying everything he hadn’t said.
He hadn’t apologized. He hadn’t explained.
He hadn’t acknowledged the way he had stepped in to protect you without hesitation.
But he hadn’t pulled away again either.
And as you turned the corner, you looked back once.
Yoongi was still there, cooking, steady and calm.
Standing guard.
And for the first time in days, hope crept back in, quiet and dangerous and impossible to ignore.

You became more and more frustrated leaving you to behave in ways you never had. You hated that you were thinking this way.
But seeing Yoongi step in for you the night before and then go back to stirring sauce like nothing had happened had left a mark. That quiet, controlled care, it spoke louder than words ever could.
And it made you furious.
Because he was clearly still invested, still watching, still holding back. And you weren’t ready to just accept being the “someone he quietly cared for” without having him admit it.
So you made a plan. A stupid, petty plan.
For the next few days, you didn’t go to his stand. Instead, you wandered over to Jungkook’s.
“Back for more protein?”, he teased, leaning on the counter before you’d even said anything. You smirked, “Maybe. Just seeing what the hype is about.”
He grinned knowingly, “Sure you’re not just trying to get a rise out of someone?”
You froze, drink halfway to your mouth, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I know that look.”, Jungkook said, lowering his voice like he was sharing a conspiracy, “That ‘I’m pretending not to care, but actually I care way too much’ look. Trust me…someone’s watching you from a few feet over.”
Your stomach flipped, “I…what?” Jungkook didn’t answer. Just winked and slid you your order with a little extra onions on the side, “Enjoy. And try not to burn yourself.”

Day one: You laughed at Jungkook’s jokes, lingered longer than usual, took your time eating. Every clink of tongs, every shuffle behind Yoongi’s cart, had you imagining his reaction. He didn’t come over. He didn’t look at you. You left feeling oddly triumphant.

Day two: Same routine. You lingered, smiled, pretended to flirt casually with Jungkook when he handed you food. You caught Yoongi’s glance once, just once. A flicker, gone too fast.

Day three: You were practically giddy when you spotted him in the corner, watching. Waiting. Something in the way he stood, arms crossed, jaw tight, told you that your plan was working. That your absence was getting under his skin. Jungkook leaned close, whispering, “You’re killing him. He’s pretending not to care, but he’s slowly melting inside.”
“Good, you whispered back, smirking, “That’s the point.”
Jungkook laughed softly, “You’re mean…I kind of like it.”

By the fourth day, you realized your plan had…backfired and that maybe you should’ve just talked to him like an adult from the start.
You were laughing a little too hard at one of Jungkook’s terrible jokes. You were lingering too long over your food that was good but not Yoongi good. You were smiling, really smiling, at someone who wasn’t Yoongi.
And Yoongi didn’t react. Not at all.
You froze. Your stomach twisted, “He…he doesn’t care,” you muttered.
Jungkook tilted his head, pretending to consider, “Or…he’s really, really good at pretending not to care. Which is most likely the answer, knowing him.”
You groaned, “I wanted him to react! To finally say something or do anything!”
Jungkook handed you your order, “You got him to notice. But now? He’s probably just standing there, silently panicking about how much he actually does care. And he’s mad at himself for not being able to talk to you. Kind of like you’re doing right now…”
You slammed your drink down, “Terrible. This is terrible. I’ve made everything worse.”
Jungkook laughed, loud and with no shame.
You sighed, staring out past his cart toward Yoongi’s. He was still there, still cooking, still silent. Your chest ached, simultaneously hopeful and frustrated.
“You’re an idiot.”, you mumbled more to yourself than anyone. “Which one of us?”, Jungkook teased, “He’s an idiot. You’re an idiot. Hell…I’m an idiot depending on the day. Everyone’s an idiot in love.”
You laughed. Because he was right. And because, despite everything, you still wanted Yoongi to react. To show there was still something there.
The next night the cold had sharpened by the time you reached Jungkook’s cart, breath fogging in the air as you wrapped your fingers around the paper cup of fishcake soup he handed you.
See?”, Jungkook said, grinning, “Variety. Character development.”
“You’re impossible.”, you shook your head, but you smiled anyway and took a sip.
Several feet over, Yoongi’s cart glowed warm and familiar. You told yourself you weren’t looking for him. That you just happened to notice the way steam curled around his shoulders, the beanie pulled low, the easy way he moved like he belonged exactly where he was.
Then the voices hit you. High-pitched laughter. Too loud. Too intentional.
A group of women clustered around Yoongi’s stand, coats open despite the cold, phones already out to capture the moment. They leaned in like they were trying to get every minor detail about him. Compliments spilled freely about his smile, his hands, how kind he was, how they had never had tteokbokki this good before.
Yoongi shyly smiled and laughed.
Not the quiet one you’d learned. The softer, almost private sound. This one was louder. Performative. He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the cart, saying something in Korean that made them giggle harder. He let one of them linger a little too close when she reached for her bowl.
Your chest tightened. “Oh…”, Jungkook said flatly, “There it is.”
You didn’t respond. Jungkook glanced at you, then at Yoongi, then sighed, “You know he’s just doing the same thing you’ve been doing, right?”
“What?”, you asked, too quickly. “Trying to make you jealous.”, Jungkook said, “You two are…”, he waved a hand between the carts, “…the biggest idiots I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”
You swallowed, eyes fixed on Yoongi’s smile. It didn’t look forced like yours had been many times while trying to make him jealous. That was the worst part. He looked comfortable. Like this was easy. Like this was better.
The thought crept in quietly, cruel and reasonable all at once. Of course he would be better off with someone from here. Someone fluent in the language, someone who didn’t hesitate over sentence endings or miss jokes because they came too fast. Someone who understood the culture instinctively. Someone who his parents would be proud to add to their family. Someone who wouldn’t leave someday with a packed suitcase and apologies. Someone without an expiration date.
Your throat burned just as much as your eyes. Jungkook noticed your silence, “Hey Y/N.”, he said gently, “Don’t do that thing where you spiral and disappear.”
You set your cup down ignoring the beef skewers next to it.
“I think I should go home.”, you said giving Jungkook a small forced smile.
“What?! No…hey, stay here with me.”, he said, reaching out, “I didn’t mean…”
You shook your head, already backing away, “It’s okay. Really. You said I need more variety right? Maybe this is my sign to start checking out more of the city. I’m sure Itaewon has to have a cute guy selling something that tastes good.”, you said with a small forced laugh.
He watched you leave with concern etched across his face. “Y/N,” he called once more, “Don’t make this worse than it already is by disappearing.”
But you continued to walk away. You didn’t see Yoongi look up then. Didn’t see the way his smile faltered for half a second when he caught sight of your coat slipping past the edge of the crowd. Didn’t see how his eyes followed you instinctively, long after the laughter around him resumed.
You missed the way his hands stilled on the tongs.
And by the time you disappeared down the street, Yoongi was back to cooking, his face carefully neutral, heart pounding, wondering if this time he had finally pushed you too far.
Jungkook waited until the crowd on the street thinned before he said anything.
Yoongi was wiping down his cart, movements sharp, efficient…too efficient. The kind of focus that came from trying not to over think. “You’re an idiot.”, Jungkook said casually. Yoongi didn’t look up, “We’ve established this.”
“No.”, Jungkook said, “This is a new level of idiot. Like the level of idiot that they make terrible rom-coms about.”
Yoongi sighed, “If you’re going to lecture me, make it quick.” Jungkook leaned against his cart, “You were flirting. Like…actively. Making a show of it with all of those women.”
Yoongi finally glanced over, “So? There’s nothing illegal about some flirting. You do it all the time.”
“So…”,Jungkook continued, “Y/N looked like she got punched in the stomach.” Yoongi’s jaw tightened, “Thats not my problem.” Jungkook laughed, sharp and humorless. “You’re lying to yourself. And you know it.”
“I was just doing what she did.”, Yoongi muttered, “She can sit there for days flirting with you right in front of me but as soon as I do it I’m the bad guy?”
“And how did that work out?”, Jungkook shot back, “Because from where I was standing, she left. She walked away crying. And you’re so angry you’ve through an entire fresh sponge.”
Yoongi’s hands stilled. Jungkook softened his tone, just a little, “She wasn’t upset about the flirting. She thought you didn’t care. That you deserved better than her.”
Yoongi swallowed, “Shes the one that’s better off.”
“That’s not your call to make.”, Jungkook replied. “It is when she’s temporary.”, Yoongi snapped, “When she’s going to leave and then I’m the idiot standing here pretending I didn’t see it coming.” Jungkook studied him, “You don’t actually believe that.”
Yoongi didn’t answer.
You didn’t come back the next night. Or the next. Or the next. Or the one after that.
Jungkook noticed. Yoongi pretended not to.
“She’s probably busy.”, Jungkook said on the sixth night, watching Yoongi check the street for the fifth time. Yoongi shrugged, “Told you…Temporary.” But his voice lacked conviction.
By the third week, Jungkook was worried.
“She’d at least come by to see me.”, he said, “Or text. Or…something.”
Yoongi didn’t respond.
When they closed that night, the street was quieter than usual for a Friday night, Jungkook glanced at Yoongi, “Didn’t you say she lived near here?” Yoongi hesitated, “A few blocks east.”
Jungkook didn’t wait for permission, “Let’s go for a walk.” Yoongi groaned, but still followed along.
They spotted you before either of them was ready. You were sitting at a small outdoor table near a café, lights strung overhead, heaters lit around the patio. A man sat across from you…tall, broad-shouldered, dimples flashing when he smiled. You were laughing easily, relaxed in a way Yoongi hadn’t seen in a long time.
The man said something in English. You responded immediately, no hesitation.
Yoongi’s chest caved in. Of course. Someone fluent. Someone familiar. Someone who didn’t make conversations feel like work. Someone who didn’t come with emotional and mental baggage.
Better this way, he told himself. Better to stop falling in love with someone who was always going to leave anyway.
Jungkook felt it too…the way Yoongi’s whole posture collapsed in on itself.
“Hey.”, Jungkook murmured, “We don’t know…”
Yoongi stepped back. Then you looked up. Your eyes met his. Recognition flickered. Surprise. Something unreadable.
Yoongi’s heart lurched and then he turned, storming off before you could say anything.
“Yoongi.”, Jungkook called.
Too late. He was already turning a corner.
Jungkook stood there alone, watching you watch the empty space Yoongi had occupied seconds ago. He exhaled slowly. “Well.”, he muttered, rubbing his face, “This is a mess.” He glanced between you and the direction Yoongi disappeared.
“Guess it’s up to me.”, he said grimly, “Because these two are absolutely useless.”
You didn’t follow Yoongi. You stayed seated for a few seconds, fingers wrapped tight around your cup, heart racing, pretending you hadn’t just seen the one person you had been trying not to miss.
Across from you, Namjoon noticed immediately.
“You okay?”, he asked gently. You forced a smile, “Yeah. Sorry…could you give me a minute?”
“Of course.”, he said without hesitation, “I’ll be right here.”
You stood, smoothing your coat and walked back toward the street. Jungkook was still there. He looked up when he saw you, surprise flickering across his face before concern settled in.
“Hey.”, he said, “I was hoping you’d come over.” You huffed a small laugh, “Of course you were.”
You glanced down the street, half-expecting to see Yoongi still there. He wasn’t.
“Who is that?”, Jungkook asked carefully.
“Namjoon.”, you said, “We work together. He’s helping me with lesson plans.”
Jungkook nodded slowly yet suspicious, “He seems…nice.”
“He is.”, you said. “And he’s not…”, You hesitated, “It’s not like that.”
Jungkook studied your face, then sighed, “He left.” You swallowed, Is he…okay?”
Jungkook snorted, “Physically, mentally, or emotionally?” You scoffed, “Does is matter?” Jungkook laughed, “Well…yeah depending on the kind of answer you’re looking for?”
You winced, “Right.” Jungkook crossed his arms, “Honestly? Ignore him.”
You blinked, “What?”
“He’s being stubborn. Self-destructive. Dramatic in a very Yoongi way.”, Jungkook said, “If he wants to pretend he doesn’t care, let him.” You looked away, eyes stinging, “I don’t want to hurt him.”
Jungkook’s expression softened, “You already did. Not on purpose. Just…by existing.”
You sighed, “I feel like I’m always doing the wrong thing.”
“Welcome to liking someone.”, Jungkook said dryly. You hesitated, then met his eyes, “Please don’t get involved.”
Jungkook opened his mouth then closed it.
“You’re asking the wrong person,” he said.
“I mean it.”, you said quietly, “If something happens, I want it to be because he chose it. Not because you pushed.”
Jungkook exhaled, nodding slowly, “Fine. I’ll stay out of it.” You smiled, grateful, “Thank you.” You hesitated, then added, “Tell him… never mind.”
Jungkook watched you walk back toward Namjoon, watched the way you slipped easily back into conversation, watched the space where Yoongi should have been remain painfully empty.
When you were gone, Jungkook dragged a hand down his face.
“Yeah.”; he muttered, “I’m absolutely not staying out of this.”
Because he’d seen the way Yoongi looked when you smiled. And he’d seen the way you still searched the street for him, even when you told yourself not to.
Someone had to fix this.
And apparently, that someone was him.

A few days later you started going back to Yoongi’s stand. Just not every day. Sometimes you passed it without stopping. Sometimes you ordered and left quickly. Sometimes you stayed long enough to eat, but not long enough to linger.
It wasn’t personal. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
“Medium.”, you said one night, voice neutral.
Yoongi nodded, “Got it.”
No teasing. No extra rice cake. No quiet jokes about spice tolerance or teachers or the cold. He didn’t look at you longer than necessary. Didn’t angle his body toward you like he used to. He treated you like any other customer.
And you treated him like any other vendor. You paid. You thanked him. You left.
Each time felt like swallowing something sharp.
Jungkook noticed immediately. “You’re doing that thing.”, he said one night when you stopped by his cart instead.
“What thing?”, you asked.
“The ‘I’m totally fine’ and I don’t go home and cry myself to sleep thing.”, he replied, “It’s very convincing. Ten out of ten. Oscar-worthy.” You sighed, “Please don’t.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice, “You know he hates this, right?”
“Then he shouldn’t have left.”, you said quietly. Jungkook pressed his lips together. He didn’t argue even though it was clear he wanted to.
That was when he decided to do something stupid.

He texted you two days later.

Jungkook:
Group thing tonight. Don’t bail.

You frowned at your phone.

You:
Group of who?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.

Jungkook:
People I like.

You should’ve known better.

The restaurant was small, loud, and already crowded when you walked in. Jungkook waved wildly from a corner table like he was flagging down a helicopter.
Yoongi sat across from him. Your stomach dropped.
Jungkook beamed, “Y/N You made it!”
You considered leaving. Briefly. Dramatically. Yoongi looked up halfway, awkward, “Hey.”
“Hey.”, you replied. You sat. The air immediately felt wrong, too tight, too aware of itself. Jungkook started talking fast, filling the space with commentary about the food, the weather, a guy he’d seen trip outside.
Yoongi nodded along, eyes mostly on his beer glass. You picked at your food.
“So.”, Jungkook said, clapping his hands once, “This is fun, right? Friends. Hanging out.”
“Mm.”, you hummed. Yoongi cleared his throat, “Work okay?”
“Yeah.”, you nodded, “Busy.”

“Good.”

Silence. Jungkook’s smile strained. At one point, Yoongi reached for the same side dish you did. His fingers brushed yours for half a second, barely anything, but both of you froze.
“Sorry.”, he muttered. “It’s fine.”, you said quickly. Neither of you tried again. Jungkook leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like he was reconsidering every decision he’d ever made.
“Well.”, he said eventually, standing, “I’m gonna…uh…grab another drink.”
He did not come back for a while. Left alone, the quiet settled heavy between you.
“You didn’t have to come.”, Yoongi said.
“You didn’t have to either.”, you replied.

Another pause.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”, he added. You glanced at him, “Liar.” He exhaled, defeated, “Yeah…”
Neither of you said what you wanted to say. Neither of you apologized. Neither of you admitted anything.
When Jungkook finally returned, the tension was so thick it practically had a seat at the table.
“Okay.”, he said carefully, “We’re…done here.” Outside, you said polite goodbyes. You walked away first.
Yoongi watched you go. Jungkook watched Yoongi watch you. And when Yoongi turned away, shoulders slumped just a little, Jungkook groaned aloud.
“Oh my god.”, he muttered, “You two are exhausting.” He pulled out his phone. “Fine.”, he said to no one, “New plan.”

After that very awkward dinner you told yourself you were done. Done circling food carts like they were emotional lifelines. Done measuring your days by whether Yoongi smiled at you or not. Done pretending you could hover in the middle without falling.
So you went out. Really out. Hongdae at night was loud in a way that felt liberating instead of overwhelming, music thudding through your chest, lights blurring at the edges, laughter easy and careless. You drank more than you meant to. Enough that your shoulders loosened. Enough that the ache dulled. Enough that your mental capacity loosened.
You danced. You smiled. You let yourself be normal.
That was when he appeared.
Tall. Confident. Loud in the way that felt flattering at first…and slightly familiar. He complimented your smile, your accent, the way you moved. You laughed back. Flirted just enough to prove, to him, to yourself, that you could.
That you weren’t stuck on some street vendor.
But when he leaned closer, hand sliding to your lower back, something inside you recoiled.
“I’m gonna head out.”, you said lightly, stepping back.
His smile dropped.
“What?”, he asked, like he hadn’t heard you.
You were buttoning up your coat, “I said I’m leaving.”
“You led me on.”, he scoffed, grabbing your wrist when you turned.
Your stomach dropped. “Let go.”, you said, sharper now.
He didn’t.
The crowd pressed in around you, music too loud, faces too blurred. Panic crept up your spine, hot and fast. You yanked your arm free and started walking, too quickly, heart racing.
Food stalls. Lights. Maybe you could find Jungkook and he’d help you get home safely.
You headed toward the street instinctively, scanning faces, carts, familiar shapes.
Nothing. Jungkooks stand was dark.
The man from the club followed, anger simmering now, “You think you can just-“
You kept walking though. Yoongi’s cart glowed softly under the streetlights. For one terrifying second, you almost kept walking.
You didn’t want him to see you like this. Shaking. Crying. Stupid and drunk and scared.
You turned away to leave when you heard it…

“Y/N?”

The sound of your name broke you. You didn’t even realize you were crying that hard until your vision blurred completely.
Yoongi was already moving. He crossed the distance in seconds, hands gentle but firm as he pulled you into him, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders like instinct had taken over.
You sobbed into his jacket.
Harder than you meant to. Harder than you’d cried since you’d left home. He held you like he’d been waiting for this. Like there was no hesitation left in him at all.
“It’s okay.” he whispered, voice low and steady, one hand cradling the back of your head, “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
The man lingered for half a second too long. Yoongi lifted his head. Whatever crossed his face then made the guy back off immediately, muttering something before disappearing into the crowd.
Yoongi didn’t chase him even though he wanted to.
He just held you tighter.
You clutched his shirt, fingers digging in, crying until your chest ached.
“I tried.”, you choked, “I really tried to move on.” Yoongi swallowed hard, forehead resting against yours, “I know.”
And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t pretend he didn’t care. He stayed. He held you.
And in the middle of a neon-lit street, surrounded by steam and music and strangers, the distance between you finally collapsed, leaving nothing but the truth neither of you could outrun anymore.
After that Yoongi didn’t hesitate. He shut the burners off with quick, practiced movements, hands steady even though his jaw was still tight. The cart went dark earlier than usual, metal lids clanging softly as he secured everything.
“Come on.”, he said quietly, already shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over your shoulders, “My place is closer. We can go there.”
You nodded, too tired to argue, fingers curling into the fabric like it was an anchor.
The walk was short. Quiet. Yoongi stayed close, close enough that his arm was securely wrapped around your lower back, close enough that if you stumbled, he was already there.
When you reached his apartment, he kicked his shoes off and guided you inside like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Bathroom’s there.” he said gently, “You can clean up or shower. Take as long as you need.”
You hesitated, “Yoongi—”
“Please Y/N.”, he said, softer now., “Let me take care of you.”
That did it.
You nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind you only because you needed a moment to breathe. The shower steamed up quickly, heat easing the tight knot in your chest. You let yourself cry again, quietly this time, letting the water wash away the fear, the alcohol, the night.
When you stepped out, wrapped in a towel, there was a folded stack waiting on the floor just in front of the door.
Clothes. You stared.
They were his, an oversized sweatshirt, soft and worn, and a pair of sweatpants. They smelled faintly like laundry soap and something unmistakably him. You pulled them on even though it made your heart race.
When you stepped back into the living room, Yoongi looked up from the kitchen.
He froze.
“Oh.”, he breathed, barely audible.
You tugged at the sleeve self-consciously, “I hope this is okay.”
“Yeah.”, he said quickly, then slower, like he was grounding himself, “Yeah. It’s…good.”
He handed you a mug next. Something warm. Sweet.
“You need water too.”, he added, setting a glass down, “And you’re sitting. You need to relax for a little bit.”
You obeyed. He moved around you quietly, grabbing a blanket, dimming the lights, keeping the TV on something low and unimportant. He sat on the floor near the couch, close enough that your knees brushed his shoulder.
You watched him for a long moment. “You didn’t have to do this.”, you said.
“I wanted to.”, he replied simply. Silence settled, not awkward this time. Heavy, but safe.
When your eyes started to droop, Yoongi shifted, hesitating just long enough for you to notice.
“Can I?”, he asked, nodding toward the space beside you.
You lifted the blanket. He sat carefully, like he was afraid of startling you and when you leaned into him without thinking, his arm came around you immediately, firm, grounding, real.
You exhaled.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “For purposely trying to make jealous instead of just talking to you.”
He shook his head, “I’m sorry.”
You fell asleep like that, wrapped in his clothes, his warmth, his quiet promise that for tonight, at least, you weren’t alone.
And Yoongi stayed awake long after, listening to your breathing, knowing that whatever came next…he wasn’t letting you disappear again.
You woke up warm.
That was the first thing you noticed. Not just physically, though that too, but the kind of warmth that settled into your chest and stayed there, heavy and safe.
You were on Yoongi’s couch, curled half on top of him, your cheek pressed against his chest. His hoodie hung loose on you. One of his arms was around your shoulders, the other bent awkwardly under the back of his head like he’d fallen asleep without moving once you’d settled in.
For a second, panic flared. Then memory caught up.
Hongdae. Too many drinks. Fear clawing at your throat. Yoongi’s arms wrapping around you like a promise he hadn’t realized he was making.
You shifted slightly. He stirred immediately.
“Hey.”, he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, “You okay?”
You tilted your head up to look at him. His hair was a mess, eyes still soft, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. No walls. No careful distance.
“Yeah.”, you said quietly, “I think so.” He exhaled, relief plain, “Good.”
Neither of you moved for a moment. The city outside was still waking up, muted traffic, the hum of life starting again, but the apartment felt suspended in time.
“I’m sorry.”, Yoongi said suddenly. You frowned, “For what?”
“For pretending I didn’t care.”, he admitted. “For pulling away instead of talking. For watching you walk away and telling myself it was better that way. For being a coward that didn’t know how to handle all of this since you came into my life out of nowhere.”
Your throat tightened, “You really thought I’d be better off without you?”
He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, “I thought you’d be better off with someone who didn’t make everything complicated. Someone who didn’t panic at the idea of wanting something too much.”
You shifted closer, fingers curling into his hoodie, “Yoongi…I left my hometown because I felt invisible there. Because staying felt worse than being scared somewhere new. You were the first thing in Seoul that made me feel like I belonged.”
His jaw tightened. “I was scared.”, he confessed, “Every time you smiled at me, every time you came back to the cart, I kept thinking—this is temporary, don’t touch it, don’t ruin it.”
You swallowed, “I thought you didn’t want me. That I was just another customer.” He shook his head immediately, “You were never just that…not since you told me you wanted my spicy noodle.”
You laughed for what felt like the first time in weeks.
When the silence filled in you turned to him. “So what now?”, you asked softly. Yoongi looked at you like the answer terrified him, and thrilled him, in equal measure.
“Now.”, he said, brushing his thumb along your jaw, “I stop pretending I don’t want you.”
You leaned in first. The kiss was slow. Careful. Not desperate, not rushed, just two people finally choosing to stop holding back. When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his.
“I’m really glad it was you.”, you whispered. He smiled, small and genuine, “Me too.”
His phone buzzed.
Then yours did.
You both froze.
Yoongi glanced at the screen and groaned, “Oh no.”
You checked yours and laughed, It’s Jungkook.”

Jungkook: Breakfast. Now. I have a plan. Do NOT mess it up.

You looked up at Yoongi, “Should we be scared?”
“Yes.”, he said immediately, “He’s been planning something.”

Jungkook was already at the café when you arrived. He was pacing.
There were flowers on the table. Actual flowers. A neatly folded note. Two menus untouched.
He looked up. Then he saw you both. Holding hands.
His jaw dropped.
“You…!”, he spluttered, “NO. Absolutely not.”
Yoongi squeezed your hand, smirking, “Morning Jeon.”
Jungkook turned to you, “You weren’t supposed to come together.”
“You texted ‘breakfast.”, you said innocently, “We’re having breakfast.”
“I stayed up until five.”, Jungkook groaned, running a hand through his hair, “I had bullet points. I had a speech. There were going to be meaningful pauses.”
Yoongi glanced at the flowers, “Are those for Y/N…from me?”
“No.”, Jungkook snapped. Then paused, “…Maybe.”
You laughed and Jungkook pointed at you accusingly, “See? This is why I got involved. Left alone, you two are disasters.”
Yoongi pulled out a chair for you, “And yet,” he said calmly, “we figured it out on our own.”
Jungkook collapsed into his seat, defeated, “I hate happy endings. They ruin my narrative.”
You reached across the table and squeezed his hand, “Thank you anyway.”
He sighed, but smiled despite himself, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me plan your wedding. But the baby shower…that one I can do.”
Yoongi choked on his coffee. You grinned.
And for the first time, there was no tension surrounding you, just warmth, laughter, and the quiet certainty that this time, no one was walking away. All things you never expected while walking on the streets of Seoul.