VOW: PT.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

Words: 5719.
Genre: Angst.
Warnings: Suggestive, not explicit.
Summary: Jungkook x reader. Four friends, three relationships, two weddings. Inspired by
Taeyang’s Wedding Dress.

It was 20 years before the day of Jungkook’s wedding.

You were all just children then, the four of you, you, him, and your two other friends, a bunch of
seven year olds with no worries in the world. Every day was an adventure, every nook and cranny
of every park and streetway another place to explore underneath the rays of the summer sun, in the
gusts of the autumn wind. Those days were filled with endless fun, endless laughter, endless
afternoons spent in each other’s houses, in each other’s backyards, all of you inseparable. It was a
bond created between four kids who grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same
elementary school, went everywhere together. Two boys and two girls, you all held hands and it
never meant anything more than that, there was no nervousness and hearts didn’t beat quickly
around each other. There was simply no such thing as love or pain in that small yet seemingly
enormous world you all lived in.

It was 15 years before the day of Jungkook’s wedding.

You were all 12, gangly limbs sprouting from your bodies, growing taller with every day that
passed. Middle school was much the same as elementary, but this time the three of you were
separated from Jungkook when he was placed in different classes. In his gym class, he became
acquainted with five other boys who took a liking to him, five boys who took him under their wing
and soon Jungkook began going home with them and your four became three. There was a subtle
shift in the dynamic of the group without his presence, a slight distancing from one another and
you all found other friends to spend time with to make up for that estrangement. However, the
bond was still there in the neighborhood: family vacations, barbeques, and birthdays were all
occasions where you could see each other and catch up. Still, there was no denying that when
Jungkook went from your group of four to his new group of six, something had changed.

It was 10 years before the day of Jungkook’s wedding.

You were all 17, attending the same high school, you and Jungkook in most of the same classes
since freshman year while the other half of your four was primarily placed in the advanced section.
High school was different from middle school, the distance between you and the boy who spent
the past four years with his new friends closing, the two of you rekindling that friendship that was
lost, muddled throughout the passage of time. You saw him everyday, propped up against your
desk with his head buried in his games, asking to borrow your math or history textbook because
he just happened to forget his that day. You would always smile sweetly, tilt your head to the side
to connect your gazes, and tell him if he wanted to learn so bad, he should bring his own textbook
instead of asking for yours. He’d scowl at you, muttering something about you always being so
mean to him, and you’d chuckle before opening the book and angling it so the two of you could
share.
Junior year was filled with studying with him in the library, joining him and his older friends on
their nightly escapades to eateries and beaches, cheering him on while he played basketball with
Yoongi in the school’s court, taping him and Hoseok dancing their own made-up choreographies,
listening to him singing with Jimin during car rides to faraway places. You watched Jungkook
shoot up, growing centimeters in what felt like one night, watched his body widen and fill out,
watched his face mature and heard his voice deepen, all while you went through your own
transformation, curves and hips and swells all making themselves known on your body. You saw
the way Jungkook looked at you when your sweater dipped perhaps a bit too low, when your skirt
hitched perhaps a bit too high, when you put a pen to your lips perhaps a bit too suggestively,
trying to work out a calculus problem in your head. And you were sure he saw the way your eyes
widened when he gave you a cocky smirk every time he proved you wrong, how your mouth fell
open slightly when he took his shirt off during a soccer game, how you’d back away and flush
immediately if he came just a little bit too close.
The two of you were charged, tense, unwilling to take that next step until you got drunk for the
first time with him at some party in a dark, hazy house, and spent the night swaying back and forth
in his arms, him never taking it any further than that, you never realizing just how tantalizing his
touch and smell was until that moment. You thought about it and him every night after the
encounter, remembered his fingertips ghosting over your skin and his hot breath when he told you
it was time to go home, and that first time drunk became another Saturday night, three more
weekends, ten. Every single time it would just be the two of you amidst his friends and crowds of
other people, huddled together, talking, laughing, touching, drawn to the other like charged
opposites in a magnetic field.
It was so natural, being with Jungkook, that you didn’t even realize that only two of you remained
from the original four, that you preferred it this way because you were closer to him now more
than ever. He wasn’t our Jungkook, but your Jungkook, and soon enough, inevitably, your
relationship with him turned into something beyond a mere childhood friendship.
The first time you kissed him was awkward, noses bumping and lips and teeth not knowing where
to place themselves, lasting shorter than you’d expected. But his embarrassed, heated cheeks made
it all worth it and you dove in for another and another, that day and every day after that until you
two knew every part of the other’s lips and tongues, every curve, every groove, every move, every
flick. The first night you spent together wasn’t magical either, nothing like what movies and novels
entailed, a session of lovemaking underneath an array of glimmering stars. It was in his bedroom
when his parents were away on some trip, it was him so nervous he would hurt you that you had
to coax him for an hour into finally touching you, it was a sharp pain and him finishing inside you
quickly before you even began to feel that mind-numbing pleasure you’d heard so much about, it
was him rolling to the side and pulling you into him after he hastily got rid of the condom.
And as you had with kisses, you and Jungkook learned each other’s bodies intimately and lovingly
after that, learned what made the other’s breath hitch in their throat, what made them moan and
come undone. When he pleasured you, coaxed mewls and sobs from your lips so expertly it felt
like he had been doing it all of his life, that first time was forgotten, leaving you only with
satisfaction he could now give you, once, twice, three times in one go. You learned him too, learned
he liked you underneath him, but didn’t complain when you were on top, learned he loved when
you looked directly at him when you took him in your mouth, learned how much he loved when
you let yourself scream his name and beg him for more.
But as amazing as it all was, there was a catch: it all happened in secret, the trysts unknown to the
world. There was no label to what the two of you were doing, no girlfriend, no boyfriend, certainly
no I love you’s, nothing to distinguish you from any other friend he had besides the all-consuming
passionate moments you shared with him whenever you got the chance. No one knew just how far
you had gotten yourself with Jungkook, the boy you had known since you were toddlers tottering
around in the grass. No one knew, not his five friends and most definitely not the other two to your
four, no one knew just how deep of a hole you had fallen into once you realized that you didn’t
want to be a secret anymore.
You wanted the label, to be able to murmur the words your heart had felt since those days in middle
school when the emptiness of his departure finally hit you.
You wanted to tell him you were in love with him.

It was 9 years before the day of Jungkook’s wedding.

He was a senior in high school now, 18 years old, a few months from graduating when he got the
letter of acceptance from the university just one city over. He was ecstatic, jumping up and down
for hours, heart soaring and bursting with excitement. He told his mother, father, friends, called
his brother and yelled the news into the phone, his parents boasting to everyone in the
neighborhood: our Jungkook got accepted!
But no matter how many congratulations they gave him, no matter how many pats on the back or
praise he received, it just didn’t mean as much because none of it came from her. She was the first
one he wanted to call, wanted her to be there when he opened the letter, knew she would still kiss
him and hold him and pick up his pieces even if it was cold rejection he was holding in his hands.
But he wasn’t so sure she’d do that anymore. Since senior year had began, she’d closed herself off
from him, putting up walls he never knew she even possessed, his friend since childhood, the girl
whose every scar and secret he knew like the back of his hand. What was supposed to be an autumn
and winter of planning their university lives together, of shoveling the neighborhood driveways
and drinking steaming coffees together while studying for exams and writing papers, of spending
the frosty nights in his fogged-up car or her bedroom and enjoying holidays with each other’s
families, it all turned into a solo act.
Out of school, Jungkook still had Bangtan, the nickname that had stuck after his group of five other
boys had given themselves it at a school sports festival, but she had always been there too, rooting
for him in the stands, him pushing himself to his limits to impress her. Now when he looked up,
he saw his friends who had already graduated in the bleachers, yelling his name, riling him up.
And she was nowhere to be found.
When he did see her though, she was always with the other boy in that group of four friends he
had grown up with. She was always hanging around him, in the halls, lingering by that boy’s
locker, walking with him to class, to his car, flashing the boy smiles that were meant for him and
him only. Jungkook didn’t understand this unforeseen shift in his relationship with her, didn’t
understand why she suddenly didn’t need him anymore, didn’t want to talk to him or be with him.
Nights he especially missed her, craved her touch and her lips and her voice like it was some drug
he was hooked on, he’d send her messages asking to meet up, his house, the street, anywhere. He
was only met with excuses: I’m busy, I’m studying, I’m tired. If he tried to talk to her before,
during, after class, he was met only with coldness, stiffness they never had in their relationship
that was based on years and years of knowing the other, a relationship that had become basic
instinct rather than just two people that wanted to be with each other.
But Jungkook didn’t want, he needed to be with her.
After his acceptance, his parents threw a huge celebratory party and invited the entire
neighborhood. This is my chance, he thought hopefully, to finally ask her why she’s being like
this. He was filled with anxious anticipation, watching the gates of his house open and close with
each new guest that arrived, optimism sprouting in his heart that they could go back to what they
had before, him and Y/N, like it had always been.
But it was when her family arrived without her that the sunny optimism turned into black, dismal
desolation, when she arrived with that boy’s family, smiling warmly and joking with him like she
had always done with Jungkook, that his hope turned into pain.
They walked up to him, the two of them, and she had the nerve to stick out her hand and grin at
him, a pure, genuine happiness conveyed on her lips as she congratulated him, said she was so
proud and that she always knew he had it in him. He was dumbfounded, entranced by her gleaming,
beautiful face, the face he’d missed so much these past few months, in disbelief that after
everything they’d done together, exploring and learning each other for years, after all those nights
she’d spent wrapped up in him, him breathing in her intoxicating, mind-dulling smell, that all he
was worth was a handshake.
And in the middle of his confusion, the boy by her side patted him on the back roughly, flashing
that same genuine grin to him, good job, Jungkook, he relayed, I know we’ve grown apart in these
years, but I really am so happy for you. Jungkook looked at him for the first time then, really
looked at him, and realized how the boy from his childhood had grown up just like the two of
them, had grown just as tall, widened just as much as he had. He was a man now, not some boy.
Suddenly, Jungkook felt inferior, curling in on himself just a little bit as he muttered his thank
you’s and turned around to walk to anybody that wasn’t these two in front of him.
It was right before he found the rest of Bangtan that the girl from the four approached him,
another congratulations in his ear, but no handshake this time, no, the girl pulled him into her arms
and when she pulled back, she was beaming, warm, amiable. He was surprised by her
straightforwardness, but he didn’t mind; they were childhood friends after all, and she had already
treated him better than the girl he’d maintained that relationship with well into high school. They
chatted for a bit, asking what the other had been up to in the past few years, him chuckling
halfheartedly and telling her nothing really, just been trying to get out of that hellhole of a high
school, and she laughed too, a pretty sound to accompany the pretty smile, and Jungkook realized
that she had grown too, filled out in places that had been flat before just as he and the boy had.
Without even knowing it, they had all grown, no longer the careless, oblivious children in the
neighborhood that spent all day playing together in the dirt, no longer children that didn’t know
what love or pain was.
He sat with her at dinner, on the bench in front of a table overflowing with meat and vegetables
and alcohol; his parents always loved going all out, he explained to her, to which she replied, I
know. He found out she was going to the same university, eliciting an incredulous scoff from
him, no way! But you’re like the valedictorian of our class, aren’t you? Why the hell was she
going to the same college as him when she could do much better? She only laughed, told him she
wasn’t number one but number two, that she was entering the honors program because it was a
free ride, and then pointed at the boy, no, the man sitting right next to Y/N and murmured, that’s
our number one.
And that feeling of inferiority from before transformed into a colossal blow to his ego, a sudden
lowering of his self-esteem, and from that moment on, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of number
one and the girl by his side. He couldn’t tear his eyes away when he put his arm around her and
pulled her in, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh, couldn’t focus on anything
else when their hands brushed and she looked at him with warmth and something else he couldn’t
decipher in her eyes. How had they gone from what they had before to this in only half a year,
from making love anywhere and everywhere, laughing at inside jokes and smiling just from being
in the other’s presence, to sitting across from each other silently at a party, her flirting with
someone else while he watched, helplessly, hopelessly?
The sun had already set, music from decades ago was playing in the background, and Jungkook
was four shots in when the liquid courage he needed at the beginning of the night finally came,
bubbling through his veins and making his blood hot, his heartbeat a heavy thudding in his chest.
He couldn’t take it anymore; it was just too confusing, too painful, so he told the girl next to
him I’ll be right back and got up and walked to his two childhood friends, the two of them still
huddled close, still whispering, still laughing. He looked at the man she was with, a look he wanted
to be an intimidating glare, and when they stopped their whispering, Jungkook asked, “Can I steal
her from you for a minute?”
He didn’t even wait for a reply, reaching out and grabbing her arm before he could take another
look in the eyes of the man she was with, eyes he saw were filled with possessiveness,
apprehension, and disapproval. If he looked into those eyes for any moment longer, he might’ve
exploded right there, who the fuck does he think he is, looking at me like that, filling his mind, she
doesn’t belong to him, she’s with me, she’s always been with me.
He pulled her to a secluded area in his yard, the corner of the exterior of his house, dark except for
the moon and light from inside filtered through windows. He gently pushed her against the wall,
trapping her within the confines of his hold. When his eyes focused, adjusted to the darkness, he
looked at her face, saw her widened eyes, mouth slightly open, eyebrows furrowed. It took all his
strength, all his resolution not to just lean down and crash his lips against hers, to revel in all that
he had missed since she distanced herself from him, to envelop her in his touch, make her
remember how he used to make her feel so good whenever she wanted it.
“Jungkook?” she started, “what are you doing-”
“Tell me,” he whispered as he brought his head down, foreheads almost resting on each other, “tell
me why you’re doing this to me.”
“Doing what?”
He moved his hands from the wall and traced her upper arms with his pointer fingers before
tightening his hold on her body, “You know what.”
“No, I don’t-”
Why was she acting clueless, like she had no idea what he was going through, the torture she’d
subjected him to these past few months? The anger was boiling in him again, the frustration rearing
its ugly head and surfacing from underneath the confusion, the muddled murkiness of the alcohol
clearing when he yelled, “Tell me why! Why did you just go away?!”
“Jungkook,” her tone was soft, gentle, calm. “I’ve been here the whole time.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” he whispered, failing to mask the cracking of his voice, “why did
you go away from me?”
She didn’t respond this time, cutting off their connected gazes and looking down at the ground.
“Answer me, please,” he pleaded, “you left me and went to him, but why? Why did you do that?
What did I do wrong?”
She lifted her head, gazed into his eyes and he saw twinges of sadness intertwined with the hues
he was so familiar with, the blackness of her pupils. Her lips went from a taut line to a bleak smile,
the corners only reaching halfway to where they were supposed to be.
“Because,” she murmured, shaking herself out of his grip, “I was in love with you.”
Jungkook fell one step back with her confession, in disbelief from what she had said and even
more taken aback by how she had said it. Like she had already put him in her past, a chapter that
had been finished in the book that was her life.
Was.
“Why-” he began, only to be interrupted by her placing a hand on his bicep, the tender, feathery
light touch that set his skin on fire, a sensation he’d longed for every night since she made the
decision to let him go.
“What we had was something I’ll never forget, Jungkook, but I was in love with you, and I knew
you didn’t want that.”
What is she talking about? He shook his head, mind too cloudy, fog settling over his
cognition. When had he ever said something like that?
Then it all smashed into his cognizance, his brain flooded with realizations. He was thrusted into
memories that provided him answers to those exact questions, subtle and some not so subtle
nuances and insinuations that had left his mouth that led her to that conclusion. He remembered
her asking him what he thought about couples and he’d scoffed, saying he never wanted a
girlfriend, hell, he didn’t even want to get married. I’m too focused on myself, he told her, to focus
on anybody else. He was just a step away from 18 then, about to enter the prime of his life, he told
her, he didn’t want to be tied down to anything or anybody. He wanted to have fun, wanted to
enjoy himself and his youth.
Then another time after he’d fucked her in his bed, when she was lying all bare and exposed next
to him just how he liked her, tracing patterns into his abdomen and chest. He remembered it so
clearly now, What do you think about love, Jungkook? she had asked him,do you think people as
young as us can fall in love, too? He didn’t realize it then, that she was asking about herself, about
him and her and how they fit together, and he cursed himself as he remembered his answer: I’ve
never been in love before, so how the hell would I know? He remembered now, how he looked at
her, laughing at her foolish question, about to ask her why she even asked, how the emotion drained
from her face and was replaced by a dark passivity. He remembered how he was about to reach
out to touch her, ask if she wanted to go for another round, when she got up from the bed and
hurriedly got dressed, muttering something about her parents expecting her home.
He didn’t think anything of it then because he still had her; she was still talking to him, she was
still smiling at him, she was still his. But now, on this very night, as he gazed upon her pained
expression, he realized how obvious it had been; he should’ve known how she felt, should’ve
understood what she so desperately wanted him to know.
He should’ve known how he felt too, that he didn’t want to be without her, didn’t want her to live
without him, didn’t want her in anyone else’s arms except for his own, didn’t want anyone else in
his arms except for her.
But it wasn’t the alcohol that had his head swimming with confusion, it was the “was” in her
previous statement, the past tense making his heart crumble slowly into pieces.
“Say it again,” he breathed, “one more time.”
“What?”
“Tell me that you’re in love with me.”
She paused for a moment before speaking. “I was in love with you.”
“No, no, no,” he found himself saying, desperately urging, begging, “not was, am!”
At his outburst, she looked at him with what he wanted to believe was sadness, regret, remorse,
any of the above, looked at him with glistening eyes, tears threatening to fall, voice choking out
the words, “No, not anymore. I meant what I said. You’re late, Jungkook.”
“Please, please, please,” he pleaded, “I’m not late, I’m not, I can-”
He was interrupted by his father’s booming voice calling the two of them back to the party, “Where
are Jungkook and Y/N? We’ve got something to announce!” She used that as an escape from the
charged moment they were both encapsulated in for what felt like hours, rushed past him with her
fingertips wiping at her eyes, trying to erase the evidence of what had just transpired in the darkness
by the corner of his house.
“Jungkook!” His father called and he had no choice but to oblige, dragging his body to the table,
drained of all joy and jubilation. He walked to his seat, saw how she had resumed her previous
position next to him, and felt nothing but malice and hatred polluting his heart.
“There you are,” his father said, “where’d you two go off to?”
Jungkook didn’t respond his question, instead somehow finding the will to ask, “What are you
going to announce?”
“Well, that’s why I needed you two here,” he explained. “I just found out you’re not the only one
who’s been accepted to a great school, Jungkook!”
He looked at his father impassively, waiting him to say it was the girl beside him who was
attending the same school, but the next words he spoke made his heart drop in his chest into the
pit of his stomach, filled it with blackness and bitterness and resentment.
“Y/N and that young man over there, the valedictorian of your school,” he declared so proudly it
was as if he was his father as well, “are going to study in America together at the same university!”
What?
“Can you believe it, Jungkook? What an unbelievable opportunity!”
No, no, no, no.
“God, you kids grew up too fast!”
As his father let out those words, Jungkook saw his childhood friend smiling widely, saw him take
the girl he was losing his mind over and place his hand on her chin and tilt it upwards, saw him
lean down and connect their lips in a soft, sweet kiss. He saw her cheeks immediately turn a pretty
shade of pink, saw how he put surprise and shyness in her eyes when all Jungkook had ingrained
in them was sadness and hurt.
In that one moment, in that one kiss, Jungkook saw the truth his heart was trying so hard to bury:
he really was too late.
He had lost her.

It was the day of Jungkook’s wedding.

He stood in front of the altar, dressed in a crisp black tuxedo and matching slacks that descended
down his long legs until they met a pair of shining dress shoes, buffed and polished for one of the
most important days of his life. He stood in front of white hydrangeas and lilies and peonies and
green stems and leaves entangled around each other in hanging bouquets, in front of the officiant
who was going to bind him with the girl standing outside the hall for the rest of his life. He stood
in front of pews of his friends, family, business associates, stood in front of a million smiling faces,
beaming at him with pride and adoration, looks of our Jungkook has finally grown up, hasn’t
he? embedded in their grins.
But on his own face he wore a tight grin, the grey tie underneath his suit jacket constricting his
throat and hindering his breathing, palms sweaty and dampened by anxiety and guilt that twisted
the pits of his stomach, the feeling of restriction consuming him underneath the invisible mask he
had put on after getting dressed. He breathed in and out, once, twice, three times, and then he heard
the melody of the familiar bridal tune of the wedding march ringing through the expansive room,
the signal for the bride to begin her walk down the aisle.
He immediately darted his line of sight to his friends, seated to the left of his brother and his
parents, his friends who were entranced the same way the other guests were, mesmerized by the
glimmering venue and the sun shining through the mosaic windows, the youngest member of their
band of brothers getting hitched to who they believed to be the girl of his dreams. Next he looked
at his parents, his mother already tearing up, his father always stoic yet there was a warmth in his
dark eyes that conveyed tenderness, his brother the same persona as his father. They were all proud
of him, happy for him, excited for him.
What he felt was the complete opposite.
And before he could even take another breath, there she was, the girl he had been friends with
since childhood, at the entrance of the hall, her arm linked with her father’s, delicate white dress
cinched at the waist with a silver belt and cascading down her long body, train spilling behind her.
Her hair was piled on top of her head in elegant waves, tousled strands pulled out and framing her
face. Her smiling lips were a dainty pink, eyes winged and lightly dusted with a brown shadow,
high cheekbones powdered a rosy blush.
She looked absolutely stunning.
And when she took one step towards him, suddenly the music got louder, ringing in his ears, here
comes the bride, mocking him, here comes your bride, Jungkook, taunting him, all dressed in
white. His heart started beating erratically in the confines of his ribcage; he had to keep himself
from biting his lip in fear someone would capture the moment of the groom watching the bride
walk down the aisle with a camera, had to steady his inhales and his exhales, bring his body back
to some kind of equilibrium.
But that was easier said than done and as she closed the distance between the two of them with her
father in tow, he felt horrid, the poisonous dread in his gut coiling around itself until he felt
absolutely sick and he thought he would wretch right there and then in front of everybody. Then
he fell into one of his habits, into a trap he had set for himself, something he just couldn’t break
no matter how many times he tried, no matter how many nights he’d spent over thinking and
tossing around in his bed.
Instead of looking at his bride, the beautiful woman walking down the aisle beaming with joy and
elation, he looked at the one thing in this world that gave him an immediate sense of comfort, that
always warmed his heart and filled him with love and longing.
Instead of looking at his bride, he looked at the girl seated behind his parents, the girl wrapped up
in the arms of his childhood friend, smiling innocently as if she didn’t know what was racing
through his mind on his wedding day. He knew that if she didn’t know now, she would know
exactly what he was thinking, feeling, very soon because in a few days she was going to be going
through the same thing.
He looked at her and it was only one moment before she felt his gaze and lifted her breathtaking
face to connect them with one another, to finally show him the nose and the eyes and the lips he
loved so much, knew so well he could trace them into the sheets of his bed with his own eyes shut
tight. He examined those features he adored, the ones he never woke up to but he drank in any
night or afternoon they could be together, the last time he could do it before he was officially a
married man, the last time he could look upon her without a ring and a set of vows binding him to
another woman.
And then she was in front of him, the woman he was marrying, not the love of his life but the love
he was settling for, her father trying to pass her off to him, Jungkook’s mind screaming don’t smile
at me like that, I don’t deserve this girl, I don’t deserve to be your son-in-law, I don’t deserve any
of your love and acceptance. His heart was not just racing now; it was exploding in his chest and
he didn’t know what else to do when her small, soft hand was in front of him, waiting for him, but
to look back at the girl sitting behind his parents, the girl who was home and foreign all at the same
time.
He glanced at her once more, but this time she was looking straight at him, lifeless eyes boring
into him, face passive and emotionless, nothing on it besides for a placid tranquility. He only
looked for a mere second or two but what transpired in that fleeting moment changed his life
forever.
Jungkook’s eyes traveled from her own down to the lips he’d kissed so many times he could predict
how and where they’d move against his, felt them so often on his neck and his bare body he’d
memorized the dip of her cupid’s bow, the fullness of them, the corners that would curve upwards
when he made her smile and she filled his ears with her beautiful laugh.
But she wasn’t smiling now, wasn’t laughing, she was mouthing something to him that he was
able to decipher only due to the desperate overdrive his mind was in, making him hyper aware,
tense and focused. And when he understood what she was trying to tell him, the girl he loved so
much he would’ve given everything up for her, his heart shriveled up, withering away into a wilted
carcass of what it once was. The words stabbed at him, thrusting and slicing and cutting him into
pieces, but he still did what she silently commanded all the way from across the room.
Do it, she mouthed.
He took the hand of the woman in front of him, giving her the smile he knew everyone was
expecting him to, and pulled her onto the altar next to him.
Do it, he obeyed.

It was 7 years before the day of your wedding.

It was the start of your second year in university, a warm spring afternoon when you woke up from
a nap in his bed, wrapped up in his strong arms and enveloped in his familiar scent. He was snoring
softly, a sound you’d learned to love since you began waking up to it whenever you spent the night
in his dorm, since you began exploring his body and learning him like you’d once learned the boy
you left back home, the boy you once loved. You sighed wistfully gazing upon the man you had
been with since university began two years ago, gazed upon his still swollen lips, the purple and
brown hues on your boyfriend’s neck. He was a deep sleeper, always had been, and you
remembered back to when you were children, with the other two, when he would fall asleep in the
dewy grass and remain there until his mother came to fetch him, long after you and the other kids
left him there, giggling as you all ran away to start on another adventure.
Your brushed the hair off of his forehead with a light touch, peered at his handsome features, and
remembered how it had only taken you three months from the day you landed in America to fall
completely for your childhood friend.
You were already well into liking him before the decision came in the mail that you would be
studying abroad, but you were pushed over the edge once you actually arrived in the enormous
city, all lights and traffic and crowds and sounds. You remembered how nervous, how afraid you
were to be there by yourself, no parents, no friends, nobody.
Except for him.
You remembered how comforting his hand had been when you grabbed it as the plane sped up
before takeoff, how sunny his smile had been when you confessed that part always scared you just
a little bit, how deep his voice was when he told you everything’s going to be alright, we’ll be in
the air in no time. And when he launched into a scientific explanation of how the plane’s engines
work, the physics and the mechanics behind all of it, you couldn’t help your chuckle because that
was one of his quirks, always trying to define things in terms of how his brain worked, how he
saw the world. He was in the middle of excitedly describing what thrust is (the forward force that
pushes the engine, the whole airplane forward!) when you put your hand on his arm and leaned
up to peck him on the lips, much like the kiss he’d given you at the neighborhood party before
graduation, and murmured thank you.
His for what?, his flushed cheeks, surprised, widened eyes and raised brows, that was all it took to
make flowers bloom around the cage surrounding your guarded heart, to smile wholeheartedly at
him and say for everything, silly; that was all it took for him lean into you and this time, for a much
longer, much more passionate kiss than you’d ever shared with him. He was sweet, gentle,
charming; he was a bowl of sugar water and you were the fruit fly attracted to his scent.
Once university began, the two of you were inseparable, meeting up after classes every day,
visiting tourist attractions together, taking photos of everything and everywhere, walking through
parks and on bridges and under skyscrapers, sharing lunch and laughs and body warmth when
winter arrived in the populated city.
Soon enough, you learned everything that you had missed out on while you two were growing up
apart: he was a biology major but he loved physics and math; astrophysics, to be precise,he’d told
you once during a cram session in the library, and after you asked why, he replied,I’m fascinated
by the stars, the mystery of it all. But his parents hadn’t understood the value of it in their small,
country-town mentality, the statement “Our son is a surgeon!” meaning much more to them than
“Our son is a physicist.” So he compromised on what he loved and wanted to do for the rest of his
life, for the title, the pride, the prestige.
You tried your hardest not to compare him to the boy you’d left back home, the boy who had hurt
you, driven you to this man, tried not to compare the two if you could help it. But the truth was
plain as day: Jungkook was a fire raging through a dry forest, burning everything in its way, never
taking no for an answer, fighting for anything he wanted but was told he couldn’t have. This man
was the rays of the sun radiated from millions of miles away, brightness and warmth and love; he
was caged, hesitant, did as he was told.
You watched him take on the most difficult course load in the university, the path that made other
student’s shudder in their sleep: pre-med. He took the classes he needed for the track, biology,
chemistry, all the works, but you watched in awe as he took on other courses on top of it that meant
much more to him: calculus, physics, mechanics, electricity and magnetism. You listened to him
ramble on about everything he learned, about black holes and planetary systems and quantum
physics and waves and optics, amazed and astonished by everything he was. You admired him,
this man who could be likened to a glimmering star in the sky, unreachable yet still shining down
upon you with its glow in the darkness of the night.
And you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d managed to even end up in the same vicinity as the
valedictorian of your high school, the man you’d known your whole life, the man who seemed to
know anything and everything, who would stay up nights you slept soundly in his bed, working
on equations and reading academic journals for fun. You’re going to change the world one
day, you’d told him once, whether it’s with a scalpel or a telescope, you’re going to do great
things. His eyes lit up with glee from your statement and a grin spread across his face making him
look seven again, and your heart burst in your chest, the thought of how you wanted to see that
smile for the rest of your life running through your mind for only a moment.
It was difficult to keep up with the dazzling entity he was, his mind going a light year a minute,
and only when he slowed down to look into your eyes with that warm gaze that melted the skin
off your bones did you feel your heart skip a beat, his smile your home now, his arms more than
just friendly comfort. And when he finally asked the question, what are we?, brazenly
murmuring, You and I, we’re more than friends, aren’t we?, you let yourself take the leap you’d
never taken with your first love, let the confession tumble from your mouth before it was too
late: we’re much more than friends.
I don’t want to be your friend unless it has the word girl in front of it.
Then his lips connected with yours in a slow, sensual manner, a haze surrounding the two of you
as you fell onto the bed pinned underneath him and spent the night with him in your ear, with him
inside you, whispering how much he loves you, how long he’d been waiting to hear those words
from your lips.
And then, only then, did you allow yourself to speak those words back to him, the first time you
ever trusted someone enough to reveal the truth without fear of being hurt, wanting this relationship
to survive, not crumble and decay like your first.
I love you, too.

It was 6 years before the day of your wedding.

It was May, flowers and greenery blooming and sprouting in cracks of concrete and expansive
parks, temperature rising along with the humidity; it was the first summer you would be returning
home without your boyfriend on your arm, without the strength and comfort he provided. I finally
landed that internship at the hospital, he excitedly relayed over the phone when he received the
news, things are really looking up, Y/N.
They truly were… for him, at least.
He’d been so caught up in his own life, your boyfriend, that he’d forgotten about you, always
working on this paper or that assignment, finding work or internships for his future. Can we go to
the gardens? you’d murmured once, everything’s blossoming, I heard it’s absolutely beautiful.
I can’t, babe. I’m too busy.
Busy, busy, always busy, too preoccupied to even love you right, and you’d lie in his bed
unsatisfied, distant, cold. You wanted his touch and his warmth, his protection and his
dependability. But you never let those words of vulnerability leave your lips, let him work for the
dream he’d outlined and planned and had ready since he first started university. You let him take
you for granted. You let him put himself and his dreams before you, let yourself put him and his
dreams before you.
So you immersed yourself in work too, the perfect revenge, and you were busy, busy when he
wanted to meet to tell you the news of his summer internship, to tell you he was staying in the city
while you returned to the countryside by yourself. When he told you he would miss you into the
speaker, it took the world to believe the statement and not spew back you sure haven’t been missing
me the past two years.
But you wouldn’t lower yourself to spout such useless, venomous words because he was just
working, being a good son. He was just doing what was expected of him.
So when you did what was expected of you, boarded that plane and went home without him, you
couldn’t help the inkling of anxiety laced with fear that sat and coiled in the pits of your stomach.
You couldn’t help the wave of irritation, frustration, plain annoyance that washed over you when
you drove past his house, her house, the two that used to be part of your four who had come
together since your departure from the country. Or so that’s what you’d heard, from your mother
through a bout of self-indulgent gossip, a declaration from her lips that had stabbed tiny little pins
into the beating organ in your chest.
Yes, Jungkook was dating the other girl from your four of childhood friends (Can you believe
that? Our wild little boy Jungkook, tied down by her of all people? your mother had said during a
phone call, and No, you couldn’t believe it). She was sheepish, a book worm, used to follow the
three of you around with obvious timidness and shyness embedded in her behavior, a demeanor
that carried well into high school. There was nothing wrong with her, no, not at all; she was kind
and had a heart filled with empathy and warmth. But she was your opposite, your complete foil,
and the startling realization that perhaps that was what Jungkook wanted instead of you, well, that
filled you with something a little less than empathy and warmth.
You had been able to dodge seeing him the first summer break, with vacations to beach towns and
camping trips, your boyfriend, research for next semester, and all the planning you had to do for
it, there was no time to think about him and what he was up to and who he was doing it with. The
first time you did see him, however, was that second summer back home since you left the country
for school, at the yearly neighborhood party Jungkook’s parents had begun to throw after realizing
how much everyone had grown apart since the good old days. What, with all the kids leaving, it’s
our job to find a way to keep them together, isn’t it? his father had explained to yours one night,
and they had no problem hosting the festivities, the liveliest parents in the neighborhood. You were
20 and so was he, two years into adulthood but still careless, clueless, unafraid of the consequences
of your actions.
Apprehensive from the get-go, seeing him for the first time since you left, not a word exchanged
between the two of you since that encounter in the darkness when you had confessed your dying
love for him, you found yourself hiding behind crowds of other party goers, lingering near the exit.
While two years ago you had sauntered into his yard with confidence and an unshakable poise,
now you were all alone, only your mother and father as company, only wanting to crawl under the
nearest rock and wallow in its shadows. It wasn’t just him or her; it was the prospect of the two of
them together that prompted the wave of nausea once you stepped onto the grass, into the
commotion of the party. Please, Mom, you begged her, can’t I just stay home? She had adamantly
refused, verbally adoring Jungkook’s father’s idea of keeping you all together.
And when she found you standing in the darkness by yourself, she pulled you towards the center
of the party to say your hello’s to the hosts, his parents. A bow of the head and short cordial hug
was all they required, cooing and exclaiming how beautiful and mature you’d become since
leaving; I guess that’s what living in another country does to you, huh, honey?You promised to
tell them all about America, to show them photos, and then you were ushered to the table filled
with the other kids that had grown up just like you had in the past two years.
The first time you saw him, he was sprawled out in his seat, surrounded by his five friends,
laughing, joking, his smile filled with life and light. He looked like a dream, face beaming, eyes
glistening with an innocent, childish glee. If your boyfriend was a hazy star in a distant galaxy,
then in this moment Jungkook was the closest star in the Milky Way: the sun.
You stood only a few feet from the table, but you were paralyzed, couldn’t take your eyes off the
sight, him enjoying himself like he once had with you all those years ago. Then all the repressed
feelings came back in a flurry, an unforeseen frenzy of love and like, of bodies rubbing up against
each other in closets and bedrooms and cars, of intimacy and close proximity and passion that you
had only felt in his presence, his arms. You felt like your heart was going to lunge out of the
confines of your chest with each second that passed, each second before he finally lifted his eyes
and saw you standing there.
And when he did just that only a few heartbeats later, it felt like gravity had completely let its reins
loose, your body seemingly floating up and away from the situation at hand. He looked up, eyes
widened, and all he did was flash you a grin that pulled you back to earth and grounded you on the
soft, dewy grass.
Y/N, he had said your name in his velvety, deep voice when you finally sat down in front of
him, it’s been so long.
It has, you nodded, unable to take your eyes off him; he’d changed so much in the past two years
it was like meeting a whole different person. Wider than before, taller, more handsome, more
toned, jawline sharper, a more mischievous glint in his flirty eyes: they were all features you
recognized, were well acquainted with by now, just more enhanced, so much more intensified that
it mystified you. His friends quieted at your arrival, pairing off and delving into their own
conversations as if they sensed the uneasy tension rolling off you in waves, the unresolved friction
that was bound to ignite soon or later between you and the boy who had begged you to say you
loved him before you left.
He leaned his cheek on his hand as he took you in, too, eyes travelling up and down like they had
when he saw you bare for the first time, like they had all the times you had done that with him
whenever and wherever you could. Feeling like a piece of meat in the market, you couldn’t help
but blurting out, you done yet? to which he replied, just giving you back what you gave me, a smirk
on his lips and a light chuckle from you at his curt response.
And that was how easy it was to go back to some sort of normalcy with Jungkook; years of history
between the two of you, so used to the other’s actions and replies that it was simple to fall back
into the rhythm that you had established with him, a tease here, a joke there, more smiles and more
laughs, more of just you and him being what you had always been.
But the conversation was still superficial at best, how have you been? countered with fine, and
you? You told him about university and America, about the city and its multitudes of noisy
people, it’s so different from here, you told him over the music in the background, you couldn’t
even imagine it. All he replied was, I’ll have to see it for myself one day, then, hints of slyness
underneath the grin, since it’s so unimaginable. He hadn’t lost the fire in his heart, you noted, his
devious playfulness.
You learned he was studying computer science with a minor in software engineering, coding for
websites and games and apps; Why not? he asked when you gave him an incredulous look, you
think the only thing I’m good at is sports? Shaking your head, you responded, of course not. You
were always good at everything. He told you he liked the small details of it all, the way it all
worked out to some final product, and he’d always loved those games, and you remembered him
playing them every morning during homeroom, so it was perfect for him. You agreed, told him
you were happy that he had found his place in the world, and mentioned some of your plans for
the future.
You know, he murmured after he’d gotten closer to you when the sounds of the party had gotten
too loud, when I found out you were leaving the country, my whole world turned upside down.
You could only stare back in surprise, eyebrows raised, mouth hanging slightly open at his
statement.
Call me an idiot, Jungkook said, running his hand through his hair and laughing lifelessly, but I
just thought we’d always be together.
You didn’t tell him that you hadn’t only thought that, you had wished for it, hoped and desired for
nothing more than to be with him then and to be with him now, but that wasn’t how things worked
out in the end. No, you only replied you are an idiot and got up, needing to just be away from him
for a minute or two or ten, needing to clear your mind and remember the man back in America.
You walked to the back entrance of the house, almost dialing his number and calling him, but as
you climbed the stairs to go to the bathroom, you remembered the time difference and didn’t want
to disturb his sleep. Sighing, you put your phone back into your pocket and reached for the door,
but it was locked, in use. You didn’t even need to use the restroom, you just wanted to splash some
cold water on your face, bring your mind back from the daze Jungkook had put you in, reassess
what you were doing and how you were feeling.
Then you heard his voice, the man you couldn’t escape no matter where you went. You can just
use the one in my room, you heard him behind you, not following you, I swear, he chuckled, Mom
just wanted me to bring her a jacket, it’s chilly outside.
He reached for the doorknob of his bedroom, pulled it open and murmured, come on, you know
the way. You stood there for a moment, staring at him, two doors separating your bodies, not
saying anything to his suggestion, fingers lingering over the screen of the cellphone in your pocket.
Then your legs propelled you forward, stopping in front of him and peering up for only a second
before walking into his bedroom. Unlike him, it hadn’t changed at all; random toys and games and
videos strewn about, action figurines, a boy’s paradise. His sheets were dark blue, desk covered in
papers and pens and books, walls still bare.
You looked around, forgot about him standing behind you, and remembered how many nights
you’d spent in that bed, talking to him about school and friends and anything that came to your
mind, remembered how he’d listen to you like what you had to say was the most intriguing thing
in the world, remembered how he’d kiss you and pull you closer and lay there with you even
without you asking for it, how he was never too busy or too preoccupied to do all that. And you
remembered just how much you’d loved him, Jeon Jungkook, the first boy you ever loved, the first
boy you tried to forget in the arms of another.
And then your eyebrows furrowed, your lips trembled, and you moved your hand to your pocket,
finger shaking as you turned your phone off, the screen turning black and leaving you with just
him in his room, just him and you like it had always been.
Y/N? Is everything alright? he asked after however long and you turned to him, tears pooling in
your eyes, making his own grow wider with fear, surprise, shock. He began to move closer to you,
but you raised your hand, stopping him in his tracks.
Stay there, you warned, don’t. Just don’t.
I’m not going to do anything, he whispered, I just want to make sure you’re okay.
You shook your head, and that frenzy of emotions exploded in your chest again, and you couldn’t
hold back the shaking, the breaking of your voice, Jungkook, you let out, I lied to you.
What?
When you told me to tell you I love you, I told you ‘not anymore.’ I said you were too late.
He didn’t move when the tears spilled out of your eyes, onto your cheeks.
I lied.
Then he was in motion, launching in your direction, in front of you in only a moment, and you
peered up at him through blurry vision, his eyebrows pulled together, mouth in a set line, jaw
clenched.
He said nothing and that only gave you time to think, to realize how stupid you were to even speak
those words now; if he didn’t feel the same way back then, why would he feel that way now, with
a girlfriend, with all these years and miles distancing the two of you from what you used to be?
I’m sorry, the words tumbled from your mouth, eyes diverting to the ground, I-I don’t know what
I’m saying after all this time, you have a girl-
He brought his hands up and held your face in them, third, fourth, and fifth fingers clutching onto
your hair, pulling your gaze up to lock with his.
There was fire in his eyes.
And then he brought his head down, nose brushing with yours as he connected his forehead with
yours in a gentle caress, a startling juxtaposition to the blazing passion in his eyes, then he
breathed, you don’t know how many nights I lied awake wishing your words weren’t the truth.
When he pressed his lips to yours, it felt like the fire in his eyes had transferred to his mouth,
ardent, intense flames translated into the movements of his lips.
When he deepened the kiss, his tongue prodding for entrance and you letting him in with no
hesitation, it felt like that fire turned into a full-on inferno, spreading throughout your body in a
raging hellish yet heavenly sensation.
When he pulled away to breathe, the inferno became scorching embers that remained in the pit of
your stomach, the both of you still panting from the impassioned encounter.
You looked into his black eyes one last time before making your decision.
Jungkook, lock the door.
When he lowered you onto the bed, you didn’t even notice the framed picture of his girlfriend on
the nightstand, didn’t even think that your boyfriend back in America had stayed up late that night
to call your turned-off phone, to hear your voice when Jungkook kissed you over and over as he
took your clothes off, didn’t even remember the people outside, dancing and drinking and
wondering where you two had gone off to, when Jungkook made love to you in the darkness of
his bedroom.
It was more than fire, that first time with him after all those years; it was explosions and eruptions
and so much more than passion, so much more than you’d felt in those two years with another
man. Eyes glassy, breathing heavily, you gazed at him after, a breathless laugh on his lips as he
pulled you into him. God, I missed you so much, he whispered and your heart detonated, filling
with warmth and ardor with what he said next: I love you.
I do.
I always did.
Pushing yourself off of him, you rose from the bed but not before glancing at the picture frame on
his nightstand, the polaroids next to it, and you picked up your clothes from the ground in a foggy
haze of disbelief that he had actually said those words, that he had confessed it after all this time
even though, even when he belonged to someone else.
Y/N? he murmured with concern laced into his voice when he felt your distance, the missing
warmth from his side, propping himself up on his elbows against the bedframe, come back here
for a second.
And you obeyed him, you sat back on the bed and faced him, trying your hardest not to cry again
because it had been enough for one night.
What are you thinking about? he asked tentatively.
Where is she? you blurted out, why isn’t she here?
He looked down, not at you but the dark blue bed sheets, she spends every summer with her father.
And then it came back to you, memories of how her parents divorced when she was just a child,
left her and her mother here in the neighborhood while her father went to live hours away in the
chilly climate of the mountainous north. You remembered everyone whispering how sad it was,
that he just left them here to fend for themselves, but you didn’t understand it back then; you
parents were still together and you were fine and that was all that mattered to you.
It was guilt and shame that made you turn around from him, but there was one question you needed
an answer to that kept you there, on his bed, kept you from leaving his room and his presence
completely.
Why didn’t you stop me? you asked him.
What?
If you felt that way this whole time, you said, why did you let me go like that?
Jungkook put his hand over your own, the size of it engulfing yours, and his touch was still so
comforting after all this time, calming the rapid palpitations of your heart.
Because you looked so happy with him that day, he whispered, I thought he could make you
happier than I could.
You laughed at his words; what’s so funny? leaving his mouth at the sound.
I can’t decide if you’re the most selfish person in the world or if you’re actually selfless.
He smiled at that, a breathless chuckle coming from his throat, then moved his hand from yours
up your arm and pulled you down into him, crashing his lips against yours in another sensual, all-
consuming kiss.
Looking back now, the answer to that question was so obvious, you wondered why you even asked
it.
Selfish, he whispered against your lips, definitely selfish.
You both were.
It was the day of your wedding.
You sat in the dressing room, hands shaking, resolve breaking, someone else’s fingers entangled
in your hair and dusting shimmery blush onto your cheeks, eyeshadow on your eyelids. The vanity
was lined with an array of designer makeup brands, mascaras and lipsticks worth more than entire
outfits of clothes you’d usually wear, and you remembered warily asking your fiancé isn’t this too
much for just one day? to which he replied, enough of that; you’re worth every penny.
Did you forget that soon everything that’s mine will be yours?
You gazed into the mirror, palms clammy with a cold sweat, anxiety paralyzing you into some
kind of dazed stupor, and analyzed every centimeter of your face. Your hair fell in soft waves
around you, delicately framing your face, lips a rosy red, eyes winged and elongated, cheekbones
accentuated with a glimmering highlighter. You ran your fingers up your satin robe, hoping the
girls around you never finished your hair and makeup so you didn’t have to get dressed for the
ceremony, didn’t have to walk down that aisle and marry the man waiting for you at the end of it.
It was one last piece of hair curled and tucked behind your ear, one last swipe of gloss on your
lips, before they announced, “All done!” and your breath caught in your throat when they all looked
at you, beaming, one of them saying, “God, his heart’s going to stop when he sees you; you look
absolutely gorgeous.”
But you felt like your own heart was going to stop, halt its beating in your chest as they watched
you put on lustrous diamond earrings, a luxurious necklace to match, fingers ghosting over the veil
laying on the vanity. You could hear the commotion outside the dressing room, the guests sitting
outside in the venue waiting for you, for the ceremony to begin. With each laugh that permeated
through the closed door, your heart sank deeper in your chest; with each smile the girls gave you,
you were sure it couldn’t go any further, sure it had already reached the pits of your stomach.
You barely heard their “Do you want to put your dress on now?” over the vibrations of your
cellphone, barely saw their curious glances as you ignored them for the contact name that popped
up: JJ.
Brightness as low as it can go, you fumbled clumsily to unlock the phone, to quickly open up the
message he had sent you, to find out what he could possibly have to say to you just moments before
you were going to get married.
Your lips were trembling when you read his Are you in the dressing room?, fingers barely pressing
the correct letters as you typed back yes, heart fluttering and biting the inside of your cheek as he
wrote back, Where is it?
“Y/N?” one of the girls asked, bringing you back to reality, “are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” you responded, trying to mask how flustered you truly were from his sudden request,
“you girls can go get dressed now. I need a few minutes to myself before I put the dress on.”
They nodded, hints of that curiosity turning into small suspicion laced into their hesitant smiles,
but left you to yourself in the room, just you and the dress you were trying so hard to delay putting
on.
Last door on the right, you texted him back once the door shut behind you, placing the phone on
the vanity, checking your appearance one more time. You wiped your palms on your thighs to dry
them, fidgeting incessantly, knees and legs restlessly shaking up and down, up and down. You
brought your hands up to rub your temples absentmindedly, the dull ache behind your eyes
becoming a searing pain now with the people laughing outside, the dress hanging next to you, the
messages you had just received from him. What would he think if he saw you done up like this?
Would he react the same way the girls said your fiancé would, would his breathing catch in his
throat, his heart stop in his chest?
You got the answer to those questions when you heard knocking on the door, and you immediately
knew it was him, the heavy, loud thud resounding throughout the room, always three knocks in a
row, never more, never less. Your brain screamed at you to remain on the seat, not to open that
door because it would be the end of everything if you saw him now before you even pulled the
damn dress on, but your legs still shot up at the sound, still carried you to the door, hands still flew
to the doorknob to twist it and pull it open.
His hair was parted to the side, his sharp jaw set, veins protruding from his neck, thick eyebrows
set in a stern line; his lean, toned, lithe body was decked in a black suit and matching bowtie, but
his jacket was missing, leaving him in only his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. You
took him in for a second, so astonishingly, breathtakingly handsome in this moment even though
you had seen him dressed in a similar getup just a few days prior. There was something different
about his aura now, an animalistic desperation that made the hair raise on your body, goosebumps
rise on your skin.
“Jungkook,” you let out, a breathless whisper, his name fitting on the tip of your tongue so
perfectly, it felt like it belonged there, should have remained there for the rest of your lives. And
before you could even ask what he was doing there, he barged in, slamming the door shut and
locking it behind him.
Then he was all over you, hands roaming your body and fitting into your curves so naturally, it felt
like his hands were made to do exactly that, leaving trails of blazing passion wherever he touched.
He pulled you flush against his hard body and those hands moved up your back to your shoulders
then to your face, fingers placed on your neck and in your hair, thumbs brushing over your lips for
the first time with hesitation, apprehension, worry.
He stared into your eyes, his own sparkling with a glint of tears now, eyebrows pulling together
and twisting his face to reveal the pain he was hiding behind it. “You look so beautiful,” he
whispered, and you felt his hot breath against your skin, smelling of cinnamon and spice, “so, so
beautiful.”
And then everything broke, the walls you’d constructed since your engagement party, they all
came crumbling down in an avalanche of betrayal and deception and plain indifference. Just being
in his presence had this mind numbing effect on you, the phenomena of blurring the line between
right and wrong into an unreadable, undecipherable curve filled with perilous twists and turns. But
none of that mattered now, right, wrong, what you were supposed to do, what you wanted to do.
He was here, he was in front of you, he was holding you in his arms. Nothing else mattered, not
the fact that the man you wanted and the man you were getting were not the same person, not the
fact that you craved, desired him more than anything you’d ever wanted in your whole life. Nothing
else mattered because when you looked into the eyes boring into you, you saw agony in the
blackness, that same desire reflected in the two pools.
“Kiss me,” you begged now, “please, just do it.”
And just as he had obeyed you a few days ago at his own wedding, he leaned down, fingers in your
hair tightening and lifting your head up to meet his at the perfect angle, pulling your face towards
him to close the distance between your lips with a fierce, impassioned kiss. His mouth brushed
against yours gently for a moment, still unsure, timid even, but as you brought your own hands up,
intertwining them into his midnight hair and tugging on the strands, the kiss became more ardent,
more desperate, his hands slithering down your body to push your cores closer together, to get as
close as you possibly could, to feel his heated skin through your robe and his suit.
When his tongue swiped against the seam of your lips, you let him in without hesitation, let him
enter without a second thought because this was Jungkook, and Jungkook was the only one who
made made your heart burst like this, who made forest fires ignite in the nerves underneath your
skin. You broke apart for one moment and you looked up at him in a daze of lust and desire, and
saw that he was fighting his own sensual battle, panting heavily, shoulders rising and lowering
with the effort.
Then he was pushing you backwards, pushing you down onto the cream chaise lounge chair in the
corner of the room, fitting in between your legs and hovering over you before he attached himself
to the crook of your neck, kissing and nibbling the soft skin delicately. His hands traveled
underneath you from your back to your bottom, lifting it and pressing your core against his hips,
your legs locking around him in a tight embrace.
“Jungkook,” you moaned quietly, arching your back into him so that absolutely no distance
remained between the two of you, and the sound ignited another wave of rash desperation on his
end, a groan crawling out of his throat as he ravaged your lips again and again until you were
writhing, engulfed in his touch.
“Again,” he murmured when he broke apart for air. His pupils were blown out, darkness embedded
in his eyes, “One last time. Please.”
And then you had break your eye contact with him so as not to break down into tears from the
sheer desolation, the sadness in them, had to turn your head to the side to blink away the tears that
were pooling up from the thought that this truly was the last time you’d ever feel him this way, be
this close to him, the last time before you were both married, both bounded to another person for
the rest of your lives.
That was when you saw it, your wedding dress, the white gown hanging directly across the room,
fabric cascading down smoothly in waves of shimmering silk. And you remembered the man
waiting for you, the man you whispered I love you so much to just this morning when you woke
up, the warmth of the sun and his arms around you lulling you into a state of blissful belief that
maybe you could go through with the ceremony today without backing out.
Then Jungkook pulled your face and your attention back to him, made you look into his eyes again
as he whispered, “Don’t look at it. Five more minutes, just you and me,” the longing, yearning
laced into his voice, “only look at me. Please.”
And then you saw the glint of the ring on his fourth finger and his begging for you turned into his
betrayal of her. You placed your hands on his chest, shaking your head, your heart pulverized in
your ribcage with the reminder. “We don’t have five more minutes, Jungkook,” you murmured,
pushing him away, pushing him off you, “our time’s finally run out.”
“No,” he tried to lean back, tried to find your lips again, “don’t say that-”
“You have to go,” you whispered and now everything was falling apart inside of you but you
couldn’t let any of that show, couldn’t let him see you breaking down and reconsidering everything
when you’d pushed him to take the same leap, to tie the same knot you were about to, “the girls
will be back any minute.”
You slid out from underneath him and sat back down on the stool in front of the vanity, laughing
lightly as you looked at your reflection, your flushed cheeks, your swollen, glistening lips, your
chest rising up and down. “You ruined my makeup,” you said halfheartedly, reaching for the
lipstick to reapply the pigmented color, “the girls worked so hard, too.”
When you were only met with grim silence, you glanced back at Jungkook one last time, and you
saw him sitting on the chaise with his head buried in his hands, shoulders heaving. And then the
darkness took over again, the one you had become so familiar with when the guilt and the regret
and the disgrace became too much, and you felt nothing in that moment as you watched the grown
man, 27-year old Jungkook sobbing silently in front of you. It could only be described as an
indifferent numbness, a sudden turning off of all your emotions, your wants, your worries.
“Go,” you ordered him one last time, “before they come back.”
And one last time, Jungkook obeyed you.
He got up from his seat without a word from his lips, and you watched him reach for the doorknob
through the reflection of the mirror, saw him recovering from the encounter with you, his broad,
strong shoulders, his spine straighten, his head held high.
But you could never get rid of that selfishness you had, no matter how hard you tried to give up
the love of your life for the sake of someone else, no matter how much you put everyone before
yourself, and before he could leave, you spoke the words you’d felt ever since you realized it so
many years ago.
“I love you, Jungkook.”
He didn’t look back at you, shoulders didn’t sag, head didn’t lower in defeat.
“Not enough,” he said, “never enough.”
Then he was gone.

It was 20 years before the day of your wedding.

“Shh, Jungkook,” you hissed at the boy, “don’t wake them up!”
The small child, his long midnight hair slightly covering his eyes, smiled mischievously, a devilish
smirk, and he gently tiptoed around the other two sleeping bodies sprawled out on the blanket
underneath the shade of blooming sycamore trees, dozing off in the hues of green and yellow
glowing all around them. Once he made it out of the maze unscathed, not disturbing the afternoon
naps taking place, you hastily grabbed his wrist and pulled him with you away from them to a
small little creak bustling with life and fauna, let’s explore, you gleefully proposed to him, not
really giving him a choice in the matter, naps are for losers.
But Jungkook was just like you, and if you didn’t pull him away then he would’ve pulled youaway;
there was always something that drew you to him and him to you even as little children, something
that always ensured you two would venture off on some adventure together without the other two
because you just got each other, understood the other and what they wanted and how they worked.
You giggled as he jumped into the narrow stream of water with no hesitation, a natural born
swimmer the boy, and you let out a shriek when he yanked you in too, drenching your clothes and
your hair and not giving a damn about it. It didn’t matter, a simple, innocent game of soaking and
splattering droplets, two seven-year-olds having fun, just two kids splashing around in the summer
sun.
Once you had both tired of the water, craving a snack to replenish your energies, you waddled out,
smiles plastered on both your faces despite the heavy breathing. You pulled him with you to sit on
the edge of the water, let’s dry off before we go back, and he nodded, crashing down beside you,
legs dangling into the stream.
Looking back now, it seems Jungkook had been always yours, always your Jungkook, never once
truly our Jungkook, their Jungkook.
Selfish. So selfish.
“Hey, Jungkook,” you said once your caught your breath, glancing back at him, his eyes closed,
no doubt trying to sneak in a nap himself in the warmth of golden rays peeking through leaves.
You repeated yourself louder this time to rouse him awake, nudging his body with your hands,
“wake up.”
“What is it?” he huffed, groaning from the disturbance.
“Let’s promise,” you said, “promise to always be together.”
His eyes widened, confused, startled at your sudden proposition. In the face of his bewilderment,
you smiled brightly, a grin that spread across your entire face, and he couldn’t help but return it
with one of his own, his nose scrunching sweetly in delight, one of your favorite sights in the world
ever since you were a child. You stuck your pinky out, waiting for him to seal it with the sacred
ritual, waited for him to bind yourself to him like brides and grooms did with vows on wedding
days.
It felt like an hour before he finally moved, the panic creeping up your spine dissipating as he
grabbed the small, delicate finger with his, only a little bit bigger than your own.
“Promise,” he replied, the look in his eyes so resolute you believed with every ounce of your being
that he would do anything to keep his word, and that filled your seven-year-old heart with a pure
happiness, an unabashed joy that translated into love that lasted ten years, fifteen, twenty years
later. “You and me forever.”
You laid down next to him, extending your hand towards the sky hidden by the leaves hanging
onto branches, a warm breeze picking up and blowing through your hair and in between your
fingers, goosebumps rising along your skin.
“Wanna go back?” he asked after, rising to stand, patting off the grass clinging to his wet clothes.
You only smirked, a diabolical look on your features as you shook your head no and responded,
“Let’s leave them there.”
Jungkook laughed and nodded, already knowing you would say that and it wasn’t like he had a
problem with it, just two kids who didn’t want to share the other with anyone else.
Even as children, you two were like that; no wonder you had drawn each other like moths to a
roaring flame, thinking the world only revolved around the two of you, no one else hurt in the
rotation, no one else burnt, scarred in the aftermath.
Selfish. So selfish.

It was 8 years before the day of her wedding.

A year had passed with her living in another country, with her completely disconnected from him
mentally, physically, emotionally – he realized with each day that passed without a message,
without a call, that he truly meant nothing to her anymore. She had fallen in love with another
man, someone who could take of her better than he had, give her more than he could, love her in
all the ways he hadn’t. Had he accepted it? Maybe. Had he been able to forget her? Forget the way
she smiled, the way she felt, the way she made him feel?
No way in hell.
Regardless, all that didn’t stop him from trying to put her behind him, to lock her away in some
forgotten, hidden compartment in his heart, the girl he’d once had so close but lost only due to his
own stupidity, his own inadequacy. Instead of wallowing in it, Jungkook focused on himself and
those around him, his friends, his family, his schoolwork and his hobbies. He played video games
and laughed with Hoseok after class, went to Yoongi and Namjoon’s gigs and performances at
underground clubs, studied and danced with Jimin at his studio, had dinner at Jin’s apartment with
the rest of the boys.
But the biggest development for Jungkook in that year happened in the one place he never expected
to find it: with his childhood friend, the shy, bashful girl that he had grown up with, the girl always
lingering in Y/N’s shadow, a book in her hands, glasses on her nose bridge, a sketchbook tucked
underneath her arm, the girl he was attending the same university with.
It had started as a favor for his father, an offhanded can you give her a ride with you to class today?
Her mom’s not feeling too well; she asked me last night, a request given to him one winter morning
as the snow fell lazily across the wilted land, one that Jungkook accepted without even thinking
about it because, well, he truly didn’t mind; they were going to the same place anyway. Plus, she
was quiet, reserved, just like him, and wouldn’t annoy him with small talk or questions he didn’t
have answers to.
So he did exactly that; he showed up in front of her house at 7:30 AM on the dot, watched her spot
him from behind the drapes of the window, her eyes lighting up from the realization he was waiting
for her, and she darted out of the house in a huge, puffy jacket, bundled up in a thick black scarf
and matching earmuffs and gloves. And when she slipped on the ice in her driveway, falling
backwards on her behind, Jungkook couldn’t help the outburst of laughs that erupted from his
throat as she nearly jumped into the car once she’d composed herself afterwards, her cheeks red
and burning not only from the cold, frosty temperature, but the embarrassment. And he couldn’t
help the warm smile that graced his lips as she glanced at him, eyes wide with surprise and
humiliation, and whispered into the air, don’t tell me you saw that.
He smirked, laughed again, and replied, of course I did. When she buried her face in her hands,
her hair catching the light as it fell around her, the only words that came to mind were how cute.
He put on some music, a hushed, slow ballad to fill the silence, and started the 30-minute long
journey to university with her with a genuine smile on his face. It was quiet, and after a few songs,
she unzipped her bag and took out what Jungkook caught out of the corner of his eye to be a
sketchbook and a pencil, and began scribbling away. They were halfway there when Jungkook
peeked over at her work at a red light and saw she was lost in a world of sketches, straight lines
here, curves there, shading all around. It was rough, messy even, but her talent, he knew now, was
making it look like a masterpiece despite all that.
What are you drawing? he found himself asking, curiosity peaked. She brought her head up,
clearly startled at his question, but still replied in a meek voice, everything. He nodded, a slight
confusion embedded in his features, and she broke out in a small yet captivating smile (or so
Jungkook thought, in that cramped space, her gleaming face so close to him), and explained, I do
this when I’m feeling down or stressed… I just take out my notebook and draw whatever’s in front
of me. It makes me feel peaceful.
Jungkook nodded again, this time more resolutely, understanding now, noting the sweet melody
of her voice for the first time, and asked the question that began everything between the two of
them: are you okay?
It’s just my mother. She’s… she’s sick.
But she’ll get better, won’t she? he asked, memories of her mother flooding his mind, the little
woman who always used to feed the four of them when they were hungry or give them blankets
when they were sleepy or tell them stories when they were bored. Then he remembered how she
hadn’t come out to his graduation party, any party after that, hadn’t visited his parents, hadn’t been
taking her usual walks around the neighborhood like she always used to.
She didn’t respond, the girl next to him, and then Jungkook knew it was better not to stick his nose
where it didn’t belong. Some things were better left unsaid and untouched, he believed in that
wholeheartedly.
Do you need a ride home after class? he asked her as he pulled into the school’s lot and parked
the car. No, no, it’s fine, I’ll just take the bus or something, she began, I don’t want to burden-
I’ll be done with class around 1:15. What about you? he interrupted.
She paused, looked directly into his eyes and bit her lip, a pink, glistening color, and Jungkook
noticed what a pretty shade her irises were, how her long eyelashes brushed against her brow bone
delicately, how her eyebrows furrowed daintily when she was in distress. Same time, she
murmured in defeat.
Then he broke out in a cheek splitting grin, nose scrunching in delight. Perfect. I’ll wait for you
here then.
Jungkook, she began once more, you really don’t need to-
I’ll pick you up same time tomorrow morning, too, he interjected again, taking the keys out of the
ignition, shoving them in his pocket, and opening the car door with another smirk on his lips. Try
not to fall this time.
He didn’t need to look at her face to know she was blushing, that she would fall for him in an
instant if he simply wanted her to, that he already had her in the palm of his hand, the shy girl who
had been more interested in textbooks and art than boys during high school. And maybe, just
maybe, she could do the same exact thing to him, so he could try to forget the girl who left him
behind to study in America, the girl that had captivated, enthralled him so much that he already
knew somewhere deep, deep, deep in his heart that it was only a futile attempt at delaying the
inevitable.

It was 7 years before the day of her wedding.

Jungkook had started his second year of university the same way he started the first: with no idea
of who he wanted to be or what he wanted to do. Nothing drew him in, interested him enough to
want to declare it as his major; he enjoyed singing, reading music, watching Yoongi produce
tracks, but composing wasn’t for him. He liked watching Jimin dance at the studio, joined by
Hoseok more often than not, but choreographing or dancing for the rest of his life wasn’t for him
either. Jin had journalism and broadcasting, Namjoon had his philosophy and writing courses. It
felt like everyone had found their niche, settled into where they belonged, but he was still trudging
through uncharted waters, floating from math to science to language class without finding a
location to drop his anchor into. Granted they were all older than him, had experienced and
experimented more, but Jungkook hated not knowing what he wanted, hated being suspended in
this cycle of uncertainty, hated being lost in the huge world of adulthood.
Nonetheless, there was one thing, or rather one person, that did anchor him down in the storm that
was growing up; it was the girl he offhandedly agreed to give a ride to that one winter morning.
That one ride turned into every morning, every afternoon, every night she had to stay late and he’d
retrieve her when she was done. He didn’t know then why he had insisted on picking her up himself
so adamantly that one day, but he knew now; it was somewhere between feeling bad for her and
feeling lonely in his own heart that fueled his persistence. He wanted someone to latch onto,
someone to latch onto him, and that was exactly what he got with her.
With every ride came more details about who she was behind the horn-rimmed glasses she’d
sometimes don when she tired of her contacts, behind the books and beyond the distance that had
come in between them during high school. She was still shy like all those years ago, still delicate,
like a flower blooming, reviving after a harsh winter, and it took some time until she warmed up
to Jungkook who found himself in the peculiar position of wanting, at times needing, to pry her
open. When she finally did begin to reveal parts of herself to him, he wasn’t surprised at what he
found out: her mother was ill, getting worse with each day that passed, and she was alone in her
struggle to keep her going with what meager earnings her mother made.
They couldn’t afford the expensive medication or a doctor’s constant supervision, and she spent
whatever time she wasn’t caring for her mother studying, so one day I can give her everything she
needs, she had said, so one day she can be completely healthy again. There was melancholy, a
quiet anguish embedded in her eyes, and Jungkook felt an intense, innate urge to protect her, to
keep her out of harm’s way, to watch over her like a guardian. He just never wanted her to feel
that loneliness or sadness again, of that he was sure.
So he spent whatever time he wasn’t busy, with her, in the library watching how devoted she was
to studying, colored index cards and pens detailing everything she needed to know for an exam, in
her house after class watching her care for her mother, helping her sit down here, go to the restroom
there, cook for her, clean for her, manage everything with her two small, dainty hands. Jungkook
was amazed, astonished by the power and strength she hid behind her delicateness, entranced by
her determination and commitment and how she never tired of carrying out all those tasks. He
talked to her mother while she made dinner for them, my legs, it’s my legs, she told him, it gets
more painful to walk with everyday that passes. He would nod politely, then change the subject
while he set the table, telling them about his day, about his friends’ or his father’s antics, funny
stories he was sure would elicit laughs, fill their small house with warmth. And he found out just
how much that meant to her mother one night when dinner was served but she hopped up to grab
something she forgot from the fridge. Her mother leaned in, holding his hand, and softly
whispered, thank you, Jungkook, to which he replied, setting the table isn’t anything to thank me
for.
Not that, she murmured, for making her smile, making her laugh, for bringing light to her eyes.
He decided then he’d never let that light go out again.
And even more than her strength, he was mesmerized by her determination. She never missed a
class (making his own attendance rate go up as a result), never missed an assignment, never
skipped out on the tutoring sessions she’d provide other students. She gave herself to everyone but
herself, and Jungkook didn’t understand that selflessness of hers, enraptured by how much she’d
give and never take. He found himself wanting to be the one she’d finally take from, and he realized
after some time that he already was, her self-imposed chauffeur, her watcher, her protector, the
only one she let know about the grave condition of her mother.
By the end of their first year together, Jungkook already knew he felt something for her more than
just two childhood friends spending time together. He wanted more, but he knew everything with
her had to be a small step, not a giant leap into some deep abyss she had never ventured into. He
respected that, and he waited, waited for her to catch up to him, the girl that was always trailing
behind, lost in a world of books and art.
Nevertheless, that day finally came one foggy morning on the way to school when Jungkook had
offhandedly asked her about her plans for the future after contemplating his own. She was an artist
at heart, fingers made to sketch, paint, sculpt, but she studied law and business at university, and
he wondered why she didn’t instead pursue her interests. I need a good job after I graduate, she
told him, one that pays well, so I can provide for me and my mother, and art will never give me
that. He then asked her about her father, why he didn’t help them out, and she told him that her
mother was too proud to accept his charity, to admit defeat, but she can’t keep on working in her
condition, she whispered, it’ll be too much for her.
Jungkook nodded, never pushing her more than what she wanted to divulge in that one moment,
and she pulled out her sketchbook like clockwork; he knew her habits and her mannerisms well
enough by now, almost a year together, and he felt her gaze on him as he pressed the gas pedal to
propel them forwards. Is there something on my face? he finally asked with a smile when she kept
glancing at him throughout the ride, a recurring action these past few months.
No, she responded, focused on the sheet of paper on her lap, I’m just drawing you.
I thought you only drew things that make you feel peaceful, he chuckled, gripping the steering
wheel.
I do.
He looked at her from the corner of his eyes before quickly flitting it back to the road, make sure
you draw me more handsome than I actually am then, he laughed heartily, pulling into the lot of
their school. If it’s ugly, I won’t forgive you, he teased.
I don’t have to, she murmured softly, putting the finishing touches on the piece, blowing away the
shreds left behind by her eraser in that cute way that made Jungkook’s heart squeeze tightly. He
parked the car as she held the paper up to examine for herself, and when he finished with his task,
he was able to catch a small glimpse of the curve illuminate her face artfully, and that squeezing
turned into melting, the organ dissolving in his chest. You’re handsome enough as it is, she said
with a laugh of her own, there’s nothing to fix.
Jungkook only looked at her with widened eyes, breath catching in his throat at her statement, let
me show you, she proposed, delicate fingers turning page after page, revealing sketches of him, all
while driving, one of him smiling, another looking straight ahead with a determined gaze, the next
him dozing off as he waited for her one night, all from the same angle. He knew it was only due
to her talent that she could capture the same moment in so many different ways, portray so many
different expressions and stories with the flick of her pencil.
You drew all those of me? he was able to breathe out after what felt like hours.
She nodded, lips spreading in a small smile.
Why?
Every single time I felt sad, I took out the sketchbook, opened it and put it on my lap, she said,
tearing her gaze from his to glance at the drawing once more, I pressed the pencil to the paper and
drew the first thing that came to mind.
She connected their eyes once more.
The thing I wanted to see most in that moment.
Jungkook moved without even thinking about it, his large hand engulfing her small one, gently
pulling her into him in the confines of the car. Why did you want to see me? he asked, fully
knowing the answer to the meaningless question, only wanting to hear the words fall from her own
lips to confirm his gut feeling.
Because I feel content when I’m with you. You help me forget.
He cupped her cheek with his other hand, thumb brushing her soft skin, moving up to her
cheekbones, his eyes locked on her plush, glistening lips.
Because I like you a lot, Jungkook, she breathed in the small distance between their two faces.
He leaned in, just enough to ghost his lips over hers without touching, and whispered, I like you,
too.
She didn’t move, waited for him to seal what had just been spilled in the early hours of this long-
awaited day, and Jungkook couldn’t fight the memory of how the girl in America used to kiss him,
not with patience and gentleness and grace, but with the fervor of a fire, never waiting for him to
initiate it but always taking matters into her own hands.
Then he pushed that memory, pushed her away, pushed her back into the abyss of his mind and
heart, and crashed his lips against lips of the girl in front of him in a tender, tamed kiss that left her
breathless when he pulled away, her cheeks reddening with a blush, an adorable sight that made
Jungkook’s heart regain its rapid pace. He brushed a piece of hair from her face and tucked it
behind her ear, then pulled her in for another and another, and he forgot her, the girl all the way in
America, he forgot her in that one desperate moment.
I’m going to be late, she murmured, laughing, so are you.
So? he challenged, trying to pull her in again, to taste her delicious mouth one more time.
Later, she replied as she pushed him away with another smile, placing her hands on the door
handle, see you, Jungkook.
He sighed, settling back in his seat, body returning to equilibrium, I’ll be here at 7.
I’ll be waiting.
He nodded at her wave to him, then watched her briskly walk into the building in front of them
before he got out of his car himself, running his hand through his hair as he replayed the moment
over and over in his mind. This could work, he thought as he jogged to class himself, up the stairs,
down the hall.
She could help him, help him forget, help him move on, and he could help her, help her learn,
teach her everything he knew, help her with her sadness. They could be there for each other, a
wonderful team, two people that liked each other a lot, helping each other when the other needed
it.
This could work, he let himself believe it. This could really work.

It was 6 years before the day of her wedding.

It had been three years since Jungkook had started his relationship with the girl from his childhood,
and needless to say, he was bored.
Worse than bored. He was trapped.
What Jungkook wanted more than anything was excitement. He was 21, a man that needed to go
out and explore, go out and experience new things and new people and new places; as cliched as
it was, he just wanted to leave. He started to hate the routine, the picking up every morning and
dropping off every afternoon, the spending every night with her watching television or watching
her work, all without talking to him, asking about his day, his worries, his feelings. While before
all he wanted her to do was take from him, now he wanted her to give to him, twenty minutes of
her time, an hour, a night in his bed, away from her house, her mother, her books, her future.
He didn’t want to be clingy, no way in hell would he ever lower himself to beg for her attention,
but he dropped hints here and there, anything to make her understand how neglected he felt, all to
no avail. She was part of student councils, debate teams, numerous clubs, but she couldn’t even
spare two hours to go out to dinner with him, five minutes to speak to him about something other
than I need to go out and buy more medication or I have an exam tomorrow, I can’t.
Yes, it was selfish, but no, he didn’t care. He wanted her to himself, his and no one else’s, but she
belonged to everyone, not him, not even herself.
Soon enough, those morning drives became stifled, filled with animosity and tension, and she
would sketch, no more pictures of him though, because he was anything but peaceful these days,
starting arguments and storming off when she blew him off, when she didn’t do what he wanted,
didn’t say what he wanted.
The only reprieve came one morning after he’d spent the night in her bed in hopes of rekindling
some kind of flame between them, which most certainly did not happen, Jungkook, my mother is
downstairs, I’m not doing this now. He understood her, wanted to not get angry or irritated by her
constant pushing him away because she did have a point, but he still huffed and flopped over on
the bed, his back facing her, a cloud of aggravation looming over him.
But then, when she’d usually just get up and get ready for the day, she instead put her hand on his
back, her warmth, her softness still so inviting and melting the annoyance off his
bones, Jungkook, she murmured, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just so hard, she repeated, tears
springing in her eyes, and Jungkook flipped over, his heart breaking, guilt filtering in like a dam
with cracks, and he pulled her into him, patting her head and replying, it’s fine. Don’t worry, don’t
worry.
It was in those moments that he realized just how good he had it with her, that the regret of feeling
the way he did drowned him, because he had a beautiful, intelligent girl that loved him, that had
her pick of anyone she wanted but still chose him in the end.
He took her in his arms and he tried to make himself believe his own words, his own it’s fine,but
he didn’t know how much longer he could last, how he could survive while suffocating, enjoy life
while surrounded by so much sadness. His goal had been to fill her life and home with light and
love, but it was exhausting coming to this place, filled with imminent doom and destruction; it was
tiring trying to keep it all at bay and he was tired. But he said nothing, he tucked himself away,
those unfulfilled desires left for another day, another rejection.
Selfish. So selfish.
She finally gave to him late in freshman year, a memory that stood out in Jungkook’s mind as one
of the most important exchanges they’d ever had. Jungkook, she said in his car after he’d picked
her up late one night, have you given any thought to what major you’re declaring next year?
He looked up immediately, the reminder irking him because he still didn’t know what he wanted
to do, and the fact that she had everything planned out only irked him more. He shook his head
and turned around to focus on the road when she said, I was talking to an upperclassman, the
secretary of student council of his year, and he told me about his job.
He rolled his eyes, was about to open his mouth and change the subject to forget about this
conversation when he heard her again, this time a smile embedded in her words, I know that face;
just hear me out, please. With a loud sigh, he glanced at her again, a subtle nod signaling her to
go on. He works for a video game company; he makes those games you love to play, she
explained, his major is computer science with a focus on software engineering.
He listened to her, gears churning in his head, imagining himself designing and creating the very
things he loved to distract himself with when things got too heavy or too rough, and his heart began
to pick up its pace in his chest, excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time entering his body.
I know you’ve been lost, but I think if you take the intro classes, you’ll really enjoy it.
When the new semester started, in the fall of his sophomore year, he did exactly that. He registered
for those courses and attended them with a skip in his step, learned the material flawlessly,
achieving his first ever A’s in university. He had fun in those classes and things just made sense
to him, primarily because he saw a point to all of it: he could use all those skills and information
to actually create something worthwhile (unlike in his writing, history, and language classes, which
he deemed useless).
Thanks to her, Jungkook found his niche, found something he loved and something that sparked a
passion in his studies for the first time ever. In his third year, he earned an internship at the same
video game company that her upperclassman friend worked at through her connections, and he
made connections of his own, securing his own job there once he finally graduated. It was all so
simple now that he looked back on it, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it himself. Then he
remembered, mentally hitting himself in the face, she was the genius and he was just the guy dating
her.
He was 21 and things were looking up for Jungkook in almost every area besides for his love life.
He had given her so much by now, was so intertwined with her life and her with his, that he
couldn’t find a way to separate himself from her. He spent every night at her house; his mother
brought them meals once she found out it had been impossible for her mother to cook them, his
father began fixing up the house here and there for them, his friends stopped by for movie
marathons, filling the small house with even more bustling life, she and her mother came over on
warm days to spend them in the shade of his patio, watching and learning and growing together in
every aspect of their lives. They were entangled in this web of commitment, but as time passed, it
became more imprisonment, confinement.
And that just wasn’t enough for Jungkook. Every day that passed he thought more about how
different his life would’ve been if he was the one to go to America with the first girl he was ever
with, if he didn’t remain here and complacently carry his life out in this manner, if he didn’t settle
down with someone who was so different than him, who needed him in different ways than he
needed her.
That was why when summer came, when she left him like she always did to go her father up in
the north, that was why Jungkook lost himself completely in the girl that came back to him after
all those years apart. She ignited something in him that had died away while she had been gone.
Passion. Attraction. Desire.
He had been spending so much time trying to melt an icy glacier that he dissolved in Y/N’s hands
in less than a second, his bones giving way to the blood that surged around them. The moment she
looked upon him that night she came to his parents’ party he already knew, knew that he was hers
and she was his, no matter what label they used, how they acted towards each other, what kind of
distance came between them. That was why he didn’t even think about his girlfriend of three years,
he didn’t even care in the heat of their passion, didn’t think about anyone but her, the girl
underneath him, over him, on him.
That was why they kept doing that every summer that she came and his girlfriend went. They loved
and made love, all in the darkness of his bedroom in the new apartment he’d saved enough to rent
out, the one only occupied by him since his girlfriend never moved in, no, she needed to stay home
and take care of her mother; he could take care of himself, couldn’t he?
It was when the first summer they spent together ended that he understood he needed Y/N like he
needed air to breathe. There was simply no world without her, no passion when she was gone, no
warmth, no joy, no laughs. And when she boarded that plane to go back to another man, Jungkook
was filled with worse than dread; he was furious, resentful, jealous, seething with hatred, cursing
everyone and everything for letting her get away, letting himself become so entangled with a girl
he didn’t feel a fraction of the same feelings for.
And every single time he made up his mind to end it all, to just tell her that it was over, he was
done, fate stopped him right in his tracks, what do you think you’re doing, Jungkook? it hissed at
him.
The first time he decided to tell his girlfriend his true feelings was nearing end of the third summer
he spent with Y/N, the late August sun burning into him the urgency to have her be his once and
for all, no one coming in between what they had anymore, no one holding her in their arms and no
one to hold in his own besides for her. His or no one else’s, his or no one else’s.
“I’m calling her tomorrow,” he told Y/N one night when she was in his bed after they’d made love
for hours, “to tell her to come back early so I can tell her about us.”
“Jungkook,” she sat up beside him, “I-I don’t think it’s time for that-”
“Bullshit!” he blurted out, unable to keep it in anymore, unable to keep pretending anymore, “I’m
done with it, this fucking game we’re playing with everyone around us!”
Her back faced him, no words left her mouth.
“I’m in love with you,” he breathed into the darkness, “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I
can remember.”
“Jungkook,” she repeated softly, “we have to think about everyone else-”
“Were you thinking about anyone else when I was fucking you ten minutes ago? When you got
into my bed that first time and every time after that?”
She whipped her head around, fire blazing in her eyes at the words he spat at her, the truth in them,
“No. I wasn’t.”
“I want to be with you,” he whispered, pulling her into him so she couldn’t evade what he needed
her to see, “I want you to be with no one else but me.”
“I’m scared,” she admitted, “I’m scared of what’s going to happen after.”
“You should’ve thought about that before we started this, that there was no going back,” he
responded, eyes dead but boring into hers, “do you trust me?”
She slowly nodded her yes.
“Then let me take care of it. We’ll get out of this, you and me, like I promised you all those years
ago.”
She placed her hand on his cheek, tangled her fingers in his hair and leaned in to kiss him, long
and hard, his hands wrapping around her body and pulling her into him so that no distance
remained between them.
“You and me.”

It was the day of her wedding.

Jungkook sat down in the pew, his mask pulled back on after the encounter he just had in the
dressing room, breathing and body temperature barely back to normal when his wife placed her
hand on his arm, looked up at him with round, sparkling eyes and asked, “Where did you go off
to?”
He didn’t return her gaze, only looked down at his clasped hands and replied monotonously,
“Restroom.”
She hummed in response, removing herself from him and instead hooking her arm around his,
interlocking the two of them together. Then she brought her left hand up, splaying her fingers out
for him to see, and his eyes flitted from thumb to index to middle finger until he reached the fourth
finger, the appendage home to a gold band with a modest diamond in the center, glistening in the
light.
“I can’t believe it ended out this way,” she said dreamily, “all of us getting married only days
apart… and to each other?” She chuckled then, a sound that always used to fill Jungkook with
warmth, comfort, coziness. “I can’t believe it.”
He couldn’t believe it either.
“And even more so that we ended up together,” she added, “I always thought you and Y/N would
have been the ones tying the knot.”
Jungkook had to suppress the lifeless chuckle from slipping past his sealed lips, had to bolt his
mouth shut to keep the truth from tumbling out like some desperate last appeal at stopping the girl
he was in love with from going through with what he had only days before, had to keep his eyes
focused straight ahead of him instead of glancing at the ring on his on his own finger, the band
blaring in front of him like an alarm, Jungkook, look at me, look at me, it taunted him, don’t you
dare forget about me.
When he caught sight of Jimin’s orange head to the right of the altar, to the right of the man she
was about to marry, strands of hair the color of a bowl ripe mandarins and a cheek-splitting grin
on his face, eyes scrunched in delight that the couple asked him to play the piano for their
ceremony, his heart ached, dropping in his chest. His eyes traveled down his friend’s arms to the
tips of his fingers poised on top of the white keys, ready to start once he got the signal, once she
graced the venue with her presence.
And as the corridors opened behind him, the huge double doors swinging open with a creak, his
heart didn’t just ache or drop, it withered away, and when he craned his neck to look at her standing
at the back of the room, her father on her arm, just as beautiful as she was moments before when
he was with her in the dressing room, just more composed and rigid, less the passionate, captivating
whirlwind he had come to know and love all these years he’d spent with her in secret. His breath
caught in his throat, a suffocating obstruction, his palms dampened, eyes widened, still unbelieving
that was finally playing out.
Then Jimin’s finger finally pressed down on the key it was ghosting over and he played the first
note that haunted Jungkook, reverberating through his eardrums, and it was the beginning of the
end of everything, Jungkook’s eyes almost filling with tears, his jaw clenched with the raw
emotion, as her words from before became truth, echoing in his mind. He had to choke back the
tears when she took that first step, smiling and her eyes fixed not on him but at the man at the end
of altar waiting for her.
Jungkook, she had said, our time is finally up.
But he still couldn’t stop himself from hoping that she had lied then too, just like that first time
he’d told her to repeat the confession of her love for him during his graduation party, couldn’t stop
himself from wishing that wasn’t the truth either.
Even after everything they’d been through, he still didn’t want to let her go, the girl he was
convinced would always be his; whether in secret or out in the open, he didn’t care.
Whether it was hurting his wife, her fiance, his family, anyone that found out about their affair, he
didn’t care.
He only cared about her.

It was 6 years before the day of your wedding.

You woke up to an empty bed, it was still early, six in the morning your phone informed you, and
Jungkook was nowhere to be found. Then you heard his voice, resounding from beyond the walls,
and your heart stopped in your chest. He was doing it, he was finally telling her everything. Despite
the fight you put up yesterday when he proposed the confession, you couldn’t hide the satisfaction,
the contentment of having him finally be yours, and only yours, from manifesting in a wide smile,
couldn’t stop yourself from rising from the bed in one of his huge shirts and wandering into the
living room. What you saw, what you heard, stopped you right in your tracks, erased that joy right
off your face.
Jungkook was standing there, leaning against a counter in the adjoined kitchen, a dark scowl
ingrained in his features, not even noticing you taking a seat in the table in front of him. His free
fingers rubbed his temples, his eyebrows furrowed in an aggravated crease, tension obvious in his
shoulders. You were aching to approach him, touch him, caress him, ask him what was wrong,
when your question was answered as he opened his mouth, swollen, glistening lips, to speak into
the phone.
“What do you mean she can’t feel her legs?”
You heard her voice, spilling out words quickly, incessantly into the other end of the line and your
heart dropped, sank into the pit of your stomach.
“No, no, I’ll pick you up from the station and we’ll go to the hospital together.”
The voice hushed to a whisper, and Jungkook’s hands covered his eyes, his body drooping as he
listened to her speak.
“I love you, too.”
Then he hung up, remaining paralyzed in his position, face still hidden, mouth still in a harsh,
straight line.
“What happened?” you asked after only a moment, unable to swallow the silence, throat
constricting with tears, with disappointment.
“Her mom collapsed,” he said, barely a whisper, “she’ll be home soon.”
You laughed lifelessly, staring right at him, “so that’s it then? Her mom collapses and the whole
world stops for her?”
“Y/N,” Jungkook said, “watch it.”
“You watch it!” you spat, “why did you even bother giving that whole speech last night if anything
would’ve stopped you?”
“This isn’t just anything,” he replied, voice curt, filled with venom, “her mom is fucking immobile
now; what was I supposed to say, ‘that’s horrible, oh, also, I’m leaving you?’” He stared back at
you, anger, rage in his eyes, “Why are you being so selfish?”
Incredulous, in disbelief from his words, his accusation, you smiled lifelessly at the irony of it all,
“Selfish, I’m the selfish one,” you said, laughing now, “what an interesting choice of words.”
“Y/N,” he began, stepping toward you, “it’s just bad timing, just wait a little bit longer-”
Without even letting him finish, you turned around and walked to his bedroom, tearing off his shirt
and throwing it to the floor, searching for your own in the chaos that was his crumpled, disheveled
bed. You heard his “Y/N!” from the other room as you got dressed hastily, collecting your bag and
shoes in the same manner. He was standing against the door frame as you were about to make your
way out, “Where are you going?” he asked in distress.
You stopped in front of him, glared right into his eyes and responded, “I don’t want to wait
anymore.”
“Wait a fucking minute,” he hissed when you tried to brush past him, “weren’t you the one that
tried to stop me last night? Weren’t you the one who said it wasn’t time for this yet? What the hell
is your problem now?”
“My problem,” you said, voice loud and resolute, “is that for the first time in my life, I woke up
and you were mine. Not hers, not anyone else’s, but mine.”
Jungkook only looked down at you from above, expression unreadable.
“And I thought I was okay with all this, the cheating, the lying, the sneaking around, as long as
you were mine in this apartment, in this room, in this bed,” you whispered now, tears threatening
again, “but it’s not enough. I’m selfish, like you said before, I’m just selfish.”
Then you felt his hands on your hips, on your waist, pulling you into him, your face buried in his
chest as the droplets spilled onto your cheeks and your shoulders began to shake softly with each
sob that left your body. “I am yours,” he murmured, “and you’re mine. No matter what, that’s the
truth.”
You pushed him away gently, drying your tears with the back of your hand, eyes stinging as you
glanced up at him again, searching for any deception in the two pools, any hesitation, any hint of
a lie. There was none.
“You and me, forever,” he repeated, “just give me a little bit more time.”
You found yourself nodding without even thinking about it, found yourself trusting him without
even caring about the consequences, the betrayal and traitorous life you were leading and how
much it would’ve hurt anyone that knew about it.
A little bit more time? He wasn’t asking for much and you granted him what he desired, a little bit
more time for himself and the girl he was in a relationship with, the girl with a difficult, sad life.
You would’ve given him anything back then, and him the same for you, anything except what the
other truly needed, and that was the truth.
Truth not with each other, but with everyone else in your lives, starting with your two childhood
friends, the one on her way from her father’s house right now, and the one waiting for you back in
America like he did every summer, every summer you spent in the arms of another man.

It was 5 years before the day of your wedding.

Summers with Jungkook were like a dream. They were like returning to a book you had put down,
a story left to resume for when you were mature enough to understand it, when you were older,
more experienced, comprehended more than you did when you were 18. That first night you spent
with him, that first encounter, first touch, first kiss, first everything after so long, it was all so
different, yet so familiar at the same time. He had grown too, Jungkook, he had changed, but was
somehow still the same boy you knew, the same boy you played with and made that promise to
always be with; he was still your Jungkook.
In him you found what you had been missing all this time. It was passion; it was fire, plain and
simple, it was Jungkook and everything he was, everything that he had and did and said that the
man in America didn’t.
You lost yourself in him, lost yourself in not only his arms and his kisses but his words, his
whispers of how much he had missed you, his I always thought of you when I saw this or that, lost
yourself in the adventures he took you on under the guise of two childhood friends meeting again
after years of estrangement, the stories he told you of the time you had spent apart, how much he
had grown and matured and come to terms with not wanting you, but needing you back in his life.
You blushed at his declarations, still unbelieving that he could have harbored these feelings this
whole time, the Jungkook that had abhorred commitment and love and relationships when you
were in high school with him, still skeptical until one summer, the first, the second, the third, you
couldn’t remember, when he brought that promise up again, and whispered you and me,
forever against your lips into the darkness, the moonlight illuminating his bare skin, the glint in
his onyx hair.
You curled your fingers tighter around him, nodding, chanting forever, forever.
Those summers you spent with him made you believe such a thing could actually come true in the
world you lived in, could no longer be a few months in each other’s arms but an entire lifetime
together, no longer a fantasy kept secret in the confines of his bedroom but a reality on display for
everyone to know, speak, gossip about.
You two were good liars, you and Jungkook, and even better actors, able to feign a cordial, amiable
yet distanced relationship in front of anyone that witnessed your interactions, his parents, yours,
his friends, siblings, everyone. How great that you two rekindled your friendship after all this
time, his father appreciated one night you visited with dessert from your mother, you two made
this old man proud.
I hope you two can remain friends forever, his mother said with a kind smile.
Forever, yes, that was the plan, but not as friends. No, that wasn’t what you wanted, selfish, so
selfish, you didn’t want to be his friend but his everything, you wanted more and friend just wasn’t
enough.
You smiled back at his parents, nodding your head at their words then glancing back at
Jungkook. Me too.
Fall, winter, and spring, those were the worst seasons, any season spent away from him, in another
country, almost another world apart, the man you loved so much it suffocated you at times when
you were in his arms in his small studio apartment in the middle of the city, when he asked you
how you spent the summer back home, what you did and who you did it with, and you’d fill with
anxiety, with longing, with the desire to go back and be with Jungkook again, but you thrust it all
aside, for his sake, and you’d complacently reply, you know, the usual.
Nothing exciting.
It was ironic, what you told him when he asked those questions, and you had to stifle a laugh once
you actually considered the contradiction in your words; wasn’t the only reason you went back
home because you craved excitement, ached for the exhilaration that being with Jungkook
provided you, the passion and the explosions and eruptions of love and fire that he spurred inside
your body in the way no one else could?
It was funny, all of it was just funny, and you’d toss and turn in that cold bed, dreaming of his old
room, his bed with the dark blue sheets and the shelves with action figurines, his smile, his
scrunched up nose, his eyelashes, his lips, his everything, and that was another laugh you had to
stifle, another irony in the comedy that was your life, that you were here and he was there, both in
the embrace of people you both loved but didn’t love enough.
And those months weren’t just difficult because of the separation with Jungkook, but also in the
separation from your boyfriend, emotionally, physically, mentally. This time you were the one
disconnected, shut off, losing interest and patience with every day that passed. You were both 21,
only one more year of university left, and he was preparing to apply for medical school back home
while you did the same for schools that specialized in your own major. You were busy and he was
even more so, and you contemplated ending things with him because there was just nothing there
anymore, not for you at least, besides for the comfort of familiarity, the comfort of staying as you
had always been, with the man you had always been with. But as you were about to take that step,
that leap of faith, you’d remember Jungkook and that girl and her mother and how they all had
him wrapped around their finger, how you couldn’t stand the thought of him sleeping with
someone else as you slept alone, an ocean, a continent away.
So you stayed. You didn’t end anything and you didn’t care about anyone’s feelings but your own,
because being alone was scary, unappealing, unnecessary. Being alone was not part of the plan
you and Jungkook had laid out when you first started this whole ordeal.
Rule number one, he had said, no jealousy if I’m with her or you’re with him. No jealousy.
Rule number two, you had replied, no telling unless we both agree to it.
And rule number three, he concluded, at the end of the day, you know that the only person I love
is you. You and me, forever.
That was it, three little rules, easy and simple to understand. But it wasn’t like they stopped your
jealousy or your possessiveness of him, no way could you keep that under reigns when you
pictured that mousy girl underneath him, thinking he belonged to her, remembered how he rushed
to her whenever she needed him, answered her calls in a heartbeat, when he texted her on the side
when you weren’t looking, when you heard the guilt and yearning and regret in his voice when he
whispered I love you to her quietly into the phone, just loud enough for you to overhear.
It was easier for him, and it was obvious, easier because you didn’t feel anything for the man in
America anymore, and Jungkook knew that well enough by the time summer rolled around and
you ran into his arms, starved of love and affection for months. While Jungkook’s girlfriend called
him daily, sometimes every few hours, he called you once every week or every other week.
Jungkook didn’t ever have to hear you whisper those words of love to your own boyfriend, didn’t
hear that telltale remorse that accompanied cheating in your voice; it was just easier for him
because you weren’t in love with that man anymore and you were only consumed with Jungkook.
Truth was you didn’t want to make it any less difficult for Jungkook, because if you were suffering
watching him love you and maybe love her, then he had to suffer too. And so you didn’t end things
with your boyfriend, instead, you stayed as you had always been, stayed his friend and stayed his
partner, because that’s what you two were at this point, two people that had known each other all
their lives, together in not so much a relationship, but a partnership.
And if Jungkook wasn’t in the picture, if you hadn’t reunited with him that one summer in a
whirlwind of passion and lost love, then maybe you could’ve been content with this man. He was
attractive, dark eyes warm like honey, glowing skin and a bright smile, a velvety voice that could
make goosebumps appear on your body, long limbs and a slender yet toned physique. He was
hardworking, multifaceted, and he was kind, his heart so golden it shined in his chest.
But he was distanced, he cut parts of himself off and didn’t show them to you, kept you light years
away, and that was what you needed most from him; you wanted to see the darkness in all that
light, wanted to see all his bad along with his good.
Maybe that was what drew you to Jungkook, kept you coming back for more, the fact that he was
so selfish, his actions so cruel to the girl he was with, but he wasn’t hiding it; he showed you all
of him, shared it all with you during those warm months you spent with him. He wasn’t good, he
wasn’t bad, he was Jungkook, and you reveled in the fact that you knew every side of him like no
one else did.
And he knew you. Knew all your darkness, your demons and your weaknesses. Your spitefulness,
for example, your jealousy, resentment, your fiery rage that could be ignited with the flip of a
switch.
Your boyfriend, on the other hand, knew nothing about all that, the same way you knew nothing
about him.
He didn’t know that you took him out to all those touristy places around the city, the rouse
ofremember when we came here together for the first time? I want to do it all with you again,just
so you could take photos and send them with postcards back home, addressed to the one and only
Jeon Jungkook. With love, from the two of us, you’d sign them, hope the both of you can visit one
day.
He didn’t know you went out of your way to make plans with him to go out to dinner, not asking
but finally forcing him to do the same to just go to the park or the movie theater or the gardens
together, to fill your schedule and all your free time with him just so that if Jungkook messaged,
called you, asking what you were doing, you could say, we’re on a date, I can’t talk now, a giggle
on your lips, lying loud enough for Jungkook to hear on the other end, I’m just talking to my mom,
give me a second, love.
And when your boyfriend noticed how out of your way you were going to see him, to spend time
with him (obviously, without knowing the true reason behind it all), you felt him ease up, loosen
the reigns a little and finally begin to open up after so long. He’d hold you tightly and reveal things
you’d forgotten he felt, the man who was so cold suddenly becoming warmer with every day that
passed, and it would be a lie to say that you didn’t feel something in the pits of your stomach when
his deep voice uttered the words I love you and I missed being with you like this, when he pulled
you after dinner to dance in the middle of the restaurant, his smile stretching across his face as you
laughed and followed him earnestly, reminding you of the reasons you were fell in love with him
in the first place. It was strange, loving two men so differently, but you didn’t think much of it
then; you only thought about yourself.
Then, one night in the wake of spring, a cool breeze blowing into the opened window above his
bed, you lied there after making love to him intensely, lustfully for the first time in a long time.
The change in his behavior, in his demeanor, had stirred an awakening of withered emotion for the
man you had spent the last three years with, and you welcomed it as the loneliness took over,
almost another year away from Jungkook, smiling when he placed his hand on your cheek and
cradled it, gazing into your eyes like the first time you ever did this with him.
“Y/N,” he said in the darkness, tone solemn, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Eyebrows raised, confused, you asked, “For what?”
“I’ve been selfish, haven’t I?” he murmured, “ignoring you for work, school, my future. I’ve been
focusing on everything except for you.”
You were left speechless by his words, the irony of it all coming back and slapping you in the face,
robbing you of any logical, coherent response. He thought he was the selfish one? You almost let
out a breathless laugh at his conclusion, the seriousness embedded in his eyes bordering on
comedic, almost told him that he was completely wrong, that he knew absolutely nothing about
selfishness.
That was the first time you ever felt the sinking, drowning feeling of the guilt that came with
infidelity.
“You don’t have to apologize-”
“No,” he interrupted, “you’ve been here for me this whole time, and I haven’t been there for you.”
He sat up as if to accentuate the gravity of what he was saying with this new position, “It’s not
fair, and you deserve better than that, you deserve more and I’m sorry I never gave that to you.”
Then the guilt began to crawl up your throat, constricting your breathing, cutting off all words, all
air.
“But I’m going to start now, I swear. I don’t want to ever lose you,” he said, “I love you so much,
so much. There’s no one else for me, no one I’ll ever need as much as I need you.”
It was smothering.
“I know we’re young and I know I’m nothing yet, but I promise,” he spilled out, more quickly
now as the nervousness laced into his voice, “I’ll become someone important, and everything we
endured these past few years will be worth it. But only if you’re with me when it finally happens.”
Strangling.
“I love you,” it came out in a whisper from his lips, “and I want to be with you for the rest of my
life,” his hands were on you now, running up your shoulders and your neck until they rested on
your cheek, thumb brushing the skin tenderly, “forever.”
Suffocating.
You looked at him, stared into his eyes and found no traces of insincerity, deception; he was finally
baring himself in front of you, no walls, no bars, no take-backs. There was no longer that distance
that plagued your relationship, no longer that coldness in his expression, his eyes, that kept you at
arm’s length, always far enough to make everything cloudy, murky, a haze over what he actually
wanted and thought beyond the superficial surface of it all. Tears welled up in your eyes as you
heard his voice in your head over and over, forever, forever, forever.
“I love you too, Taehyung,” the words tumbled out in a desperate frenzy, a hurricane of guilt and
remorse, barely leaving your throat in a hoarse whisper, “I love you, too.”
It was just a horrible mess, a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from, and you didn’t even know
what was lie and what was truth anymore, the difference between right and wrong, what your brain
wanted you to do and what your heart needed you to do, if you truly meant those words or if it was
another attempt to put off leaving him again until the next breaking point.
But none of that even mattered when Taehyung registered your words and his eyes filled with light
and love and warmth and he smiled so brightly his eyes scrunched with joy and delight and his
touch felt like honey melting on your skin as he pulled you into him for a kiss, one that you
desperately deepened, needing that comfort from him in this frightening crisis, that comfort he
always provided you with when you needed it, ever since that first time you boarded that plane for
America, his hand in yours, telling you about how its engines worked, his voice silencing the
anxiety that crept up your spine.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he whispered, “I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”
You nodded a little too quickly, needing him to just stop talking, to shut up and take you into his
arms and fall asleep already, because everything was bad and only getting worse with each second
that passed, with every word that left his lips.
Then he said it, then he reversed everything with the one statement that changed your life forever,
pushing you into another corner with no escape, thrusting you from the comfortable, blissful state
of ignorance he had lulled you into and back into the nightmare you had only just crawled out of.
“Marry me.”
Drowning.
“Not now, we’re still so young, but when I’m actually somebody,” it tumbled out of his lips, “you
don’t even have to answer now, Y/N, just know that I meant everything I said. I want to be with
you forever.”
Selfish. So selfish.
It was four years before the day of your wedding.
This summer, the very last summer you spent with Jungkook, was different from all the others.
His girlfriend’s mother had been in a wheelchair ever since her collapse, but now she was
bedridden in their house, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to walk, get up, move around.
She was confined, getting worse everyday, her body deteriorating, withering away. May and June
was filled with him spending all his time with them and not with you, you watching him from your
window parking in their driveway and rushing into the house with groceries and bags in his hands,
watched him shut the door behind him without even a glance to your house, situated diagonally
across from hers.
You missed him, his embrace, his everything, and it felt like he changed so much every time you
came back that you were aching to touch him again, feel him, love him once more. But there was
simply no time, no opening, and he certainly wasn’t making any for you either; he wasn’t calling
or messaging or pulling you to places far away from everything that deterred your relationship.
From the gossip your mother filled you in on, you learned enough to understand why. His girlfriend
stopped attending school for a few months to care for her mother, something Jungkook and his
family absolutely could not tolerate; she was going to become a lawyer, wasn’t she? She was going
to start her own firm and make enough for her mother to get healthy again, wasn’t she, and she
needed school for that. So his family, combined with the entire neighborhood, collected enough
funds to hire a nurse that would watch her mother while she studied. All of it was led by Jungkook,
did you know that Y/N? He knew how important school was for her, so he made sure she kept
going, your mother boasted, he’s such an amazing boy, perfect for the amazing girl he’s dating.
You had to bite your tongue to keep the poisonous comments from spilling out; her opinion of the
girl changed real quick, didn’t it?
He visits her mother every day, your mom explained, because she’s with her father in the
summers. That much you knew, if it wasn’t for those trips, you could never have spent those years
in his arms during these warm months. She wanted to stay, but everyone told her to go; she
deserves a break, she works so hard, the poor girl.
Poor girl, so poor; she had everything you wanted, she had Jungkook and every little story your
mother recounted felt like she didn’t just have him in her clutches for now, but for the rest of your
lives.
And well, you had to see it for yourself, ever curious, what had Jungkook whipped to the point
that he still couldn’t take that step to leave her. You couldn’t just remain on the sidelines any
longer, so you accompanied your mother when she baked bread or cooked dinner for them, strolled
into the house of the girl whose boyfriend you’d been sleeping with for the past four years, you
walked into there with no shame and your head held high.
The way you left, though, was the utter opposite of that.
Jungkook was shocked when he first saw you, his eyes wide and mouth hanging low on the floor,
you only smiled and greeted him amiably, promptly proceeding to her mother’s room for a formal
hello. What you saw was a heart wrenching shell of who that woman used to be, thin, so thin, skin
stretched and sunken and pale despite her youth, hair that had fallen out and left patches all over
her skull. She looked like death, looked hollow, empty, like she was hanging on by a thread.
Y/N, she barely whispered, it’s been so long since I last saw you.
It has, you replied quietly, your smile disappearing when she responded, we missed you so much
around here.
Ah, really? you croaked out, eyes flitting to everything in the room except for her, her sickness
and her sadness.
Of course, especially my little girl, she said, I wish you two could’ve stayed close like you did with
Jungkook.
God, and the way she looked at you, like she knew something no one else did, the way her dead
eyes bore into yours, it felt like she was staring not at you but into you, and you scrambled for a
response, me too, and then bowed your head and bid her farewell, got the hell out of there as
quickly as you could, looking at nothing but the ground as you sped to your house, shame, shame,
shame filling your head and your heart.
No wonder Jungkook was staying away from you. That experience was absolutely horrible, and
now you understood everything, why he did what he did everyday, why he felt so indebted to her,
felt like he had to take care of her and watch over her.
So you gave him space, let him do what he had to do, and spent May and June by yourself, called
Taehyung when you could, still no answer to his proposal, skirting around the subject as you asked
him how he was, what he was doing. He had been accepted into the top medical school in the
country, in the same city as Jungkook’s university, and you had chosen a school near his as well.
He was moving back in August, right before the school began, into the apartment you two had
chosen near both campuses. Such a small world, all four friends ending up in the same city, ending
up with each other. Such a small world.
It was July, the last month before Taehyung came back, when everything exploded. Like a bomb
just waiting for its moment to go off.
He caught you lying on the grass in your backyard on a blanket, stretched out underneath the clear
night sky, something you didn’t see a lot of in America. Here, in the country, the air was crisp and
the stars were bright and it was all so mesmerizing, a breathtaking place to clear your head and
spend some time alone.
When you heard footsteps padding on the soft grass, you tilted your head to glance behind you,
surprised it was Jungkook heaving and panting heavily and hovering over you.
“Get up,” he ordered, “come with me.”
“What are you doing here?” you sputtered out, avoiding him after that fiasco in his girlfriend’s
house. Without an answer, he leaned over and tugged on your arm, urging you to come with him,
“Wait, Jungkook! My parents,” you tried, his eyebrows furrowing in response.
“Who cares?” he breathed, “Please, just come with me.”
You got up haphazardly, caution in your voice when you asked, “Where?”
“Anywhere but here. I have to get away from here.”
You nodded, seeing the desperation in his eyes, the pleading in his voice, and you let him pull you
to his car, “I parked down there,” he pointed, “so no one will see you getting in.”
Always hiding. Always lying. Always a secret.
Once inside the vehicle, you sent your mom a quick message about going over some old friend’s
house for the night, and realized Taehyung had called you, sent you a few texts, and you were
about to open them when Jungkook spoke again, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles
were white.
“Put it away,” he ordered, jaw clenched to match his fists, and when your head shot up to ask him
why, he responded, “Just do it for me.”
“Jungkook,” you said, changing the subject as you acquiesced, throwing your phone in your bag,
not wanting to push him when he was already so upset, “are you sure you can leave her tonight?”
“The nurse is there,” he explained, “and she’s asleep because of the medication. But no more about
that, please, I can’t deal with that tonight.”
You fell silent, unsure of what he even wanted from you, a year and a few months of separation
and new found shame creating this awkward atmosphere. Instead of looking at him, you directed
your gaze out of the window, watching the rural landscape of grassy hills rolling over one another
transform into the concrete sidewalks and twinkling lights of the city. You offhandedly noted he
was taking you to his apartment, this exact route etched into your memory from how many times
you’d traveled it over the past few years.
After he parked his car in the garage, he got out hastily, rushing to your side of the car to open the
door for you. He extended his hand and you looked up at him slowly, taking time with your
movements, and when you finally placed your hand in his, he yanked you out and pulled you with
him to the elevator, practically punching the button of his floor number.
“Are you okay?” you asked him to break the tension, the pressure present in his body language,
his tight hold.
“I’m about to be,” he murmured when the elevator dinged and charged forward with you in tow,
unlocking his front door hurriedly, rushing in and shutting the door behind him.
Then he was all over you.
Groans of fuck, I missed you so much, fuck, I need you right now, filled the empty, vacant darkness,
filled you with warmth and melted you from the inside out, tension and awkwardness and strain
evaporating and thawing in his touch. Like two magnets, the both of you gravitated, were just
drawn to each other and every time one pulled away for breath, the other pulled them back in as if
it was dangerous, life-threatening to be apart for more than a few seconds.
You both forgot about your significant others, forgot about her mother, forgot about his proposal,
forgot about everything for hours as you became one in the lascivious act of passion that you two
had been deprived of for so long.
But this time, it was different for you. When you were done with one another, exhausted and
blissfully fucked out, this time you couldn’t ignore the shame creeping up your spine, the guilt
clawing at your throat. You got up suddenly, out of his embrace and away from his essence, and
you looked around and saw her possessions for the first time scattered on the drawers, the dresser,
her picture and one of the three of them, her, Jungkook, her mother in a wheelchair, all smiling
jubilantly.
“What’s wrong?”
Then you looked down and realized your hands were shaking, your heart quaking in your chest,
and your eyes skimmed over your left hand, your left ring finger, and you remembered Taehyung,
remembered the words he whispered to you when you were next to him in his bed just like this.
And then you looked at Jungkook, really looked him in the eyes, and you saw how tired he was,
saw how stressed he must be, and for the first time this didn’t feel right, it only felt wrong.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked again, confusion splaying itself over his weary features.
And then you said it.
“He proposed to me.”
“What?”
“Taehyung proposed to me.”
“And? Did you say no?”
“No,” you replied, “I told him I needed time before I gave him an answer.”
“Time for what?” Jungkook spat, a dark scowl replacing the confusion, “you can’t marry him.”
“Jungkook,” you began, voice beginning to break, reaching for him yet unable to look him in the
eye, “I-”
“No!” he yelled, pushing your hand away, “don’t fucking touch me if you’re going to say yes.”
Your hand stopped in the air and fell to your side.
“You can’t fucking marry him. No. No way.” He got up from the bed and began pacing back and
forth. “No.”
“It’s not your decision,” you whispered back, watching his expression change from disdain to sheer
rage.
“Not my decision?” he hissed, “Are you going to keep fucking me even after you walk down the
aisle? You going to keep this up even when you’re his wife?”
Then he surged towards you, arms on both sides of your body, leaning over you, lips dangerously
close, “or are you going to stop? Do you think you could live without me, could be content with
another man for the rest of your life?”
He ghosted his fingers up your side, leaving shivers in their wake, his breath warm on your skin,
“has he ever made you feel like this, by barely even touching you?”
“No,” you breathed, chest rising with each intake of breath. “Never.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said, face solemn, grave, “Rule number three. Did you forget? You
and me, forever.”
You nodded and let his words wash over you, let yourself enjoy what he was saying, even if you
knew that nothing was ever resolved with those four words, nothing was ever changed, and
nothing would ever change.
The proposal sparked a fire within Jungkook that you had not foreseen. He was frantic now, needy,
reckless, seeking you out whenever and however he could when before he’d keep his distance and
do his work as the dutiful, loyal boyfriend he was. You felt his fear in his touch, felt his desperation
in his kisses and his embrace and his I love you’s, and you tried to pacify him, comfort him with
your own reassurances, but it was difficult when you saw him and her dying mother everywhere
you looked, even when you closed your eyes, when you were consumed by disgrace and guilt and
all you wanted was for it to just stop already.
That relief came when July ended and Taehyung arrived in August, ripping you from Jungkook’s
arms and distracting you with life and school and furniture shopping and decorating. You felt peace
return to you, in the city and away from Jungkook and her mother and death and decay and shame.
You were both in the same country, but it all worked much the same, you didn’t spend those
months with Jungkook, didn’t spend September or December or February or April with him,
because that was Taehyung’s time and it was too risky. He would still call you, send you messages,
and you could never stop your heart from skipping just a little when that JJ popped up on your
phone screen, when you read and heard his miss you’s, love you’s, need you’s.
You were working now, to help Taehyung and your parents with the bills, and it gave you more
excuses to refuse Jungkook when he wanted to meet up, see you late at nights when she wasn’t
there. Truth was it just hurt being with him; it hurt your heart and you were getting tired of it, the
constant stabbing and jabbing and ripping and bleeding.
So you slowly weaned yourself off the intoxicating drug that was Jeon Jungkook, you immersed
yourself in anything and everything that wasn’t him, and tried to move on from him, tried to put
your cheating, your betrayal, your traitorous, selfish self behind you as you started this new chapter
with Taehyung, letting the seed of his proposal sprout in your heart into a bouquet of teeming
flowers and entangled stems.
But little did you know then just how much you would regret pushing Jungkook away in those
years, just how much you would hate yourself for not using up all the precious time you had with
him while he was still yours.
Because fantasy worlds are just that: fantasies.
Never honesty, never truth, never reality.

It was three years before the day of your wedding.

Never had you known the legitimacy of the phrase “old habits are hard to break” until you tried to
stay away from Jungkook, until you tried to end this affair with him, until he looked at you with
such agony and torment in his eyes, lips trembling when you’d whisper this is the last time,
Jungkook.
What did I do? he’d ask, why don’t you want me anymore?
Nothing. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Then why? he’d repeat, Why? Why? Why?
Because it’s hard.
Hard?
Being with you.
Please, he would beg, you don’t know how hard it is for me, you’re the only reason I can get
through it, I’m stuck, I’m trapped. You’re my only freedom.
Those words echoed in your mind and even more guilt filled you, and you gave into him, once,
twice, five, ten more times, so many more times when Taehyung and Jungkook’s girlfriend were
off at symposiums or stayed late to prepare presentations and their theses, one on law, the other on
medicine, you and Jungkook in his car or your apartment while they worked away for hours, days,
weeks. This is the last time, you’d always say, I can’t deal with the guilt anymore, Jungkook, stop
making this so hard, I want it to stop.
Unsurprisingly, it didn’t.

It was two years before the day of your wedding.

You were 25 when you first tried to let Jungkook go.
You were 25, a boyfriend and an affair of 7 years on your back, a proposal you still hadn’t answered
or told anyone about looming over you, and you were disgusted with yourself. Every night you’d
lie next to Taehyung and tried to understand why he even loved you the way he did, the selfish,
egotistical monster you were, and when you’d wake up and find him gazing at you, anxiety and
fear consumed you, did he finally realize, figure it all out? Can he see me for who I am, behind
this mask?
Then he’d smile, one of those grins that made your heart quake and melt into a puddle of affection,
and your body would deflate like a balloon, safe for another day.
When before it used to be funny to you, now it was just horrible, everything was horrible, you
were in love with Jungkook and he was in love with you, but you were practically engaged to
Taehyung, and Jungkook had become so intertwined into his girlfriend’s life he was already a
member of her family. It was all horrible and it killed to wake up every morning in another man’s
arms, happy you were with him, that joy replaced by shame when you remembered when you
woke up in Jungkook’s arms and felt that same, even more happiness, and then you’d think about
how he woke up in her arms and-
“What are you thinking about?” Taehyung asked one morning when you were looking out the
window, mouth dry, heart beating rapidly, fingers tapping nervously on your mug.
“Nothing,” you replied almost too quickly, cursing the high pitch of your voice.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, always so perceptive, so observant, taking a seat in front of
you, “are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
You nodded, taking a sip of tea, directing your gaze back to the outside world, the steel
skyscrapers, the blue canvas of the sky, the crowds on the street, so many people out there with so
many stories and so many lives; you just wanted to fall into step with them and become
anonymous, wanted to forget your own life and blur into their multitudes, wanted to be anyone but
yourself today, tomorrow, forever.
“I know I said I wouldn’t push you,” he said, bringing you attention back to him, “but I’ve come
to terms with the fact that I’m a selfish guy.” A chuckle left his lips as he said the words, yours
were set in a straight line. Horrible.
“Have you given any thought to the proposal?”
You looked into Taehyung’s eyes and saw your life with him reflected in the pools. It would be
happy, warm, content; he would give you anything you wanted, always treat you with kindness,
respect. Your relationship wouldn’t hurt anyone, wouldn’t break anyone else apart, wouldn’t tear
anyone from their responsibilities and duties.
You were 25 when you realized you and Jungkook could truly never be anything more than this
affair, than those secret trysts in the darkness of a crumpled bed. You were 25 when you realized
that this thing, this relationship, if you could even call it that, with Jungkook was almost a replica
of what you two had in high school. You were 25 when you realized you had always been
Jungkook’s secret and nothing more, nothing less than that. He loved you, and you loved him, but
neither of you acted on it, tried to fight for it, and that negated its importance, its priority.
Sometimes love isn’t powerful or life-changing; it’s painful, arduous, and more trouble than it’s
actually worth.
And you were 25 when you committed your first selfless act. When you put someone else,
everyone else before you and what you wanted. You thought of that girl and her mother, and you
knew you couldn’t take Jungkook from them; they had lost one man in their lives, and now
another? How could you even think of coming in between the two of them like that? Seeing her
mother in that condition, seeing how much Jungkook mattered to them and provided for them, it
was too much, and you understood you didn’t need him as much as they needed him.
So you softened your gaze and you silenced your mind, and you put it away, the last 7 years; you
locked them in a box in your heart, somewhere deep and dark where you wouldn’t be able to reach
them. You looked at Taehyung for the first time in your entire life without thinking about Jungkook
and you realized that he was enough.
“I have,” you said, “I’ve been thinking about it everyday since you asked.”
“And?” he pressed, and the nervousness in his tone made your heart flutter and you saw the
desperation in his eyes, and you hated yourself for making him wait for so long to hear the words,
hated yourself for keeping him waiting for this when you were enjoying yourself with another
man. He looked so handsome, so breathtaking in that one moment as he waited for your response,
and you wondered what kind of cruel god would give you to him when he was so good and you
were so bad.
You were 25 when you realized that it was you that wasn’t enough.
You opened your mouth to answer when your phone rang loudly from the kitchen and you shot up
and darted to it, hoping with all your might it wasn’t that familiar JJ on the screen.
It wasn’t.
“Mom?” you said, concern growing when you heard her sniffle on the other end, “Mom, what’s
wrong?”
“She just passed away,” your mother whispered into the phone, voice shaky, so shaky.
“Who?”
“Her mother,” she said, “she’s gone, Y/N.”

It was two years before the day of her wedding.

Jungkook stood there, in the sickeningly white hospital room, with the wind knocked out of him,
and his heart twisted into an awful knot; he stood there as the doctor told him there was nothing
else they could do to help her because the disease had spread so far, so aggressively within the past
few months that there was simply no stopping it. She had been hospitalized since the year began
and with all their expensive technology and medicine, it still it wasn’t enough to save her.
I’m so sorry for your loss, he told Jungkook, where is the daughter?
She’s coming now, he said, the doctor nodding and backing away, clipboard in hand as he gave the
boy the space he knew he needed.
When he was alone, only when he was alone, did Jungkook allow himself to cry.
His broad, strong shoulders shook violently, and the tears rolled down his cheeks so easily, for the
woman who had become his second mother in the past 7 years, for the girl who had just lost her
mother, and for himself, the boy who had gotten himself involved and intertwined with all this
death and sadness. Jungkook stood there and he sobbed, his hands in covering his face as he
remembered her last words; he was the only one there, offhandedly visiting her because he figured
she must’ve been lonely since her daughter was at another conference a city away, 25 and so close
to achieving her dream of finally giving her mother everything she needed.
He walked into her room and wasn’t surprised by her condition; he was used to it by now, but there
was something else surrounding her tonight, an ominous aura he couldn’t put his finger on, one
that filled him with dread and fear. He spent the night with her, watching television, talking about
work and his recent promotion, and got ready to leave somewhere around 9, today was a long
day, he said with a chuckle, thinking about going home and calling Y/N, hearing her voice before
he went to sleep because he missed her so much that it made his heart wrench in his chest when
he thought about how she was distancing herself from him more and more everyday.
Then her mother put her hand on his arm, Jungkook, she croaked, lips chapped and dry, eyes
drooping, skin translucent and an ashy gray, one thing before you go.
Startled by her sudden words, he sat back down and earnestly looked at her, nodding for her to go
on.
I think my time is up, she whispered, I don’t know how I fought this long, but before I go, I want
to thank you, Jungkook, for everything you’ve done for me and my daughter.
Don’t say that, he countered, you’ve still got a lot of life in you. You have to see her graduate, start
her firm, you have to stay alive because she’s doing this all for you-
I wish, I wish, she laughed, then the life drained out of her face once the sound stopped, can I ask
for one more thing, Jungkook? Can I be selfish one last time before I die?
He nodded, would’ve given her anything in that moment, the last wish of a dying woman.
I know she’s not the easiest to love, but she loves you, Jungkook, so much, so much, she
said, protect her. Take care of her, be there for her. Do what I can’t do anymore.
He only stared at her, no words leaving his lips.
She needs you. Promise me.
Jungkook stood there in the hospital waiting room and he remembered the desperation in her eyes,
and he felt like a glass window in that one moment, like she saw through him and knew everything
he had been feeling and thinking this whole time, knew he loved another woman more than he
loved her daughter, knew he dreamt of her at nights when her daughter was away or was simply
not enough. She was on the verge of death but she looked so alive then, was so warm, powerful
with her words.
He wiped the tears from his stinging eyes and remembered how cold she was when they called
him in after she passed away that same night, when he saw her fragile body still and lifeless in the
bed when only hours before she had bound him to her daughter with two words.Promise me.
I promise. Forever. I promise.
He heard their voices before he saw them, their running footsteps approaching him as he wiped
the rest of the evidence of his break down away, as he turned around and saw Y/N, her mother,
and Taehyung standing there, all shocked, panting, dismayed, saying nothing.
“Oh, Jungkook,” her mother wailed as she got closer to him, pulling him into a hug, “I can’t believe
she’s really gone.”
He let her sob into his chest before Y/N pulled her away from him, “Here, Mom,” she murmured,
handing her a handkerchief for her drenched cheeks.
Next, she hugged him and Jungkook almost grabbed her tightly, almost revealed everything to
everyone right there, needing the comfort of her arms and her kisses to breathe life back into him
after this horrible night. When he saw Taehyung over her head, he instead turned into stone in her
hold, her touch leaving him stiff and barren and comatose except for the writhing pain in his heart.
When she backed away, he gazed at her and only her, and saw devastation and shame and disgrace
painted all over her features, and looking back now, it was a wonder how he didn’t know, didn’t
understand what was running through her head, what decision she had already made without him.
Then he heard her, cries of his name coming from down the hall, “Jungkook! Jungkook!” laced in
between sobs and yells, “Tell me they’re lying, that it’s just a joke,” she begged him, his girlfriend
of 7 years, “she’s in there, isn’t she? She’s just asleep, isn’t she?”
He shook his head and felt the tears well up in his eyes again when she registered the reality, the
fact that her mother had finally lost after years of battling this horrible disease, the fact that
everything she had worked for was to keep her mother alive, and that now she was dead.
She sank to her knees, sobbing violently, shrieking even, and it was the most distraught Jungkook
had ever seen her, the background, the world disappearing in her pain and her grief.
When she had calmed, quieted down to soft cries after Y/N and her mother comforted her, she
finally spoke. “Were you with her? Did you see her?”
“I was the last person she saw,” he responded lifelessly, no more tears left in him as he looked
upon his girlfriend’s face, soaked with the familiar trails of sadness.
“What did she say?”
“She said thank you,” he whispered, looking down at the ground, “and that she hoped we’d stay
together forever. That I’d give you everything she couldn’t.”
He looked at her again, saw how beautiful she was even in her sadness, and he knew, somewhere
deep inside in his heart, he knew his promise wasn’t a lie.
He wouldn’t leave her. Not now, not ever.
No matter what he wanted.
Jungkook didn’t look at Y/N in that moment, no, his eyes were only glued to his girlfriend’s face,
pulling her into himself as if he could shield her from everything and anything that dared harm
her, his fragile girl and her guardian.
But if he did look at Y/N’s face, he would’ve known, he would’ve known that this was the end,
this truly was the end of their 7 year long love, the affair that ripped and tore and killed, but only
in secret, in the darkness.
He would’ve known that she would accept Taehyung’s proposal months later, only because he
looked at his girlfriend and not at her in that moment, only because she knew then that Jungkook
would only look upon that girl and not herself in that way in front of everyone, full of love and
protection and safety.
He would’ve known that she was planning on rejecting Taehyung and waiting for him for however
long he needed, wanted her to wait; he would’ve known that she loved him enough to do that.
Until today.
But he didn’t know that back then, and he only had himself to blame for it.
His own inadequacy, his own obliviousness, his own selfishness that paraded around as
selflessness.
He should have known.

It was one year before the day of your wedding.

You were 26 and lost in work, in the last year of university before you finally got your prized
degree, lost in beginning to plan your ceremony, picking a venue and an officiant and what flowers
went where and who was invited, lost in the world you had constructed that consisted of only
yourself and Taehyung. It was hard, hard losing Jungkook, and even harder when he still tried to
get in contact with you, mostly when he was a lonely, drunken mess, stuttering and sputtering into
the other end of the phone.
It was hard, but all you had to do was glance at your ring finger, upon the gold band Taehyung and
bought for you after you accepted his proposal three months after the funeral, and you pushed
Jungkook away, pushed him back, pushed him down, and resumed the life you had begun to lead
without him and his love.
The last time you met Jungkook in private was the night of your engagement party.
You were dressed in a dress the color of red wine, wrapped tightly around your body and flowing
around your legs as you walked and greeted your guests, a hug for one, a kiss for another. You
were all smiles, surrounded by Taehyung’s family and yours, the sadness of the tragedy that had
occurred in the neighborhood seemingly forgotten for this one special night.
Then you saw them and stopped in your tracks, Jungkook and her, standing on the outskirts of the
room. She was beautiful, dressed in a delicate lavender cocktail dress with her hair swept to the
side, and he was suited up, jaw-droppingly handsome, as if his features and face had matured even
more in the year you’d spent far from him. Taehyung pulled you to them as soon as he spotted
them, your two childhood friends, the two that completed your four from so many years ago.
“Thank you for coming,” you greeted them, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze, warmly taking her hand in
your own and looking at her instead, “you didn’t have to.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” she responded, a permanent melancholy in her eyes now. “We
wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“Of course,” Taehyung said, putting a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, “how could we have not?
Friends since we were babies, practically.”
You peered at him then, and were surprised to see nothing except blackness in his eyes. None of
that fire, that passion you were so familiar with. It was as if something had died away within him
and blown those flames out, left him this hollow, empty shell.
It was frightening and you bowed your head to them without another glance at Jungkook, please
enjoy the night, enjoy yourselves, let’s talk later, as you pulled Taehyung away to greet other
guests, to get away from the two of them, the reminder of the horrible things you had done, the
lies, the betrayals, the pain, and the sadness.
The night went on accordingly, you and Taehyung listening to speeches given by family members
who had just a little bit too much to drink, we’re so happy for you two, they said, so proud, so
excited for you. You winced when his parents called you the perfect girl for their Taehyung, when
your own mother and father teared up recounting memories of how you would all play together
when you were seven, how it was like a dream that you ended up engaged to the boy they knew
would always treat you right, would love you forever.
And you felt a little part of yourself shrivel up when your eyes wandered to Jungkook, seated to
the left of your table, when you saw his dark gaze locked upon you, his smoldering eyes and his
jaw clenched and his eyebrows knitted together. You wished then that he hadn’t come, that you
hadn’t even invited him, hadn’t subjected him to this because it was painful, it hurt so much to see
him like that, so broken and wrangled up within himself.
By the end of dessert, almost everyone was intoxicated, even Taehyung beside you, truly enjoying
himself with friends and family, singing and laughing loudly. You tried to do the same, but no
amount of alcohol could get rid of the anxiety that came with being in the same room as Jungkook
looking at you like that, and you had to get away to breathe, get away from his suffocating gaze.
It was like a repeat of history, you searching for the bathroom and running into him, just like the
very first night you saw him after returning home from America, the very first night of your affair
with him, the affair that spanned 7 whole long years. The hall was empty, just like back then, the
dark, narrow hall of his house, and he was breathtaking, just like back then, your handsome
Jungkook.
“Congratulations,” he said when you stopped in front of him, your heart exploding at his words,
“I never got to tell you that.”
You didn’t say anything, only stared up at him, eyes wide and emotions you couldn’t even decipher
ripping through you like a tornado.
“You look beautiful,” he continued despite your silence, “so beautiful.”
And then the sadness, the detachment in his voice, it broke something inside of you, and tears
gathered and your eyebrows pulled together, trying your hardest to keep from crying, to keep that
all far away from tonight.
“Why are you doing this?” you found yourself saying, needing to know what he wanted from you.
“I miss you,” he said, coming closer, “every hour of every day, every moment you’re with him
and not with me.”
“Jungkook,” you began, “that’s over-”
“Did you forget?” his voice was desperate now, emotion flooding in, his own eyes beginning to
glisten with tears, “rule number three? Did you forget?” he was inches away now, and he took
your face in his hands, “you and me, forever,” he said, “you and me, forever.”
“We weren’t given forever,” you whispered, heart withering the confines of your chest, “we never
had forever.”
“Then let’s make it ourselves, you and me, fuck everything, fuck everyone,” the words left his lips
in a scrambled mess, reckless, so reckless, “I don’t care anymore, I’m not happy, I’m so tired, I’m
just so tired, I want you and I want nothing else.”
“Jungkook, just relax,” you tried, “think about what you’re saying.”
Then he put his hands on your shoulders and he pulled you so close but at a far enough distance to
glare directly into your eyes. “I have thought about what I’m saying. Every single night I stay up
and all I do is think!”
You didn’t say anything, just let him explode with what he was feeling so strongly, so passionately.
“God, all I want to fucking do is leave. Come with me, Y/N, let’s go, let’s get out of here,” the
words tumbled out, “let’s just leave them, like we should have done years ago.”
You found yourself shaking your head, trying to shake yourself out of his hold, “do you
even hear what you’re saying right now? We can’t leave, we can’t-”
“Why not!” he yelled now, “you love me and I love you, why are we doing this? Why are we with
people we don’t want?”
“Because,” you began, trying to keep your voice from breaking, “we don’t always get what we
want. No, Jungkook, it’s over, it’s done. Just let me go.”
“Bullshit!”
“Jungkook, be quiet-”
“Don’t tell me what to do. You can’t do that anymore.”
“Don’t you feel bad?” you blurted out, almost hissing it, anger replacing the sadness, the hurt.
“How can you even think we deserve to be selfish when we’ve been doing that for so long? How
can you say that after everything we’ve seen, been through? Doesn’t the guilt, the shame just
consume you? Swallow you whole?”
“Guilt?” he said lifelessly, as if he was considering it for the first time. “I gave everything to her,
everything, and I deserve to be selfish. I don’t want to live my life for her anymore, and she’s not
some weak little thing, she’s stronger than she looks.”
God, he was so convincing, life coming back into his for only a second when he talked about his
possible life with you, talked about leaving her. And you almost gave in on that night, almost gave
into him and his tearful pleas, when you looked at the broken, shattered man who had once been
so strong and fiery and compelling, a flicker of life left in him, you almost gave in to him and told
him how much you missed him too, how much you just wanted him to take you into his arms and
hold you for the rest of your life, how much you wished you could’ve gone back and changed
everything, could’ve stopped yourself from not talking to him back in the senior year of high
school, could’ve stopped yourself from going to America, could’ve stopped him from getting close
to that girl, stopped yourself from getting close to Taehyung.
You almost told him how much you wished it could have always been you and him, forever, like
it was when you were little kids, two children that always stuck together, were always drawn to
the other despite it being a group of four.
Almost.
“Jungkook! Where are y-you?” you heard the slurred voice and recognized it instantly, his
girlfriend, fumbling around the hall, searching for him.
You quickly dove into the bathroom without answering Jungkook’s confession, standing behind it
with your heart about to leap right out of your chest, praying she didn’t stumble into here and
discover you behind it.
“What are you d-doing here?” you could hear her loud drunken rambling in the room beyond, “I
m-missed y-you!”
“Let’s go,” Jungkook’s gruff voice relayed, followed by whining on her end, “We should head
home already.” You had never seen her drunk before, and you didn’t want to eavesdrop on their
private conversation, but you couldn’t move from your spot, paralyzed by the fear of being caught.
“No, Jungkook,” she said, “why are you being so mean? I want to have f-fun!”
He said something that you couldn’t make out, and then she spoke again.
“Come on, Jungkook,” she coaxed loudly, “you remember that one time you wanted to do it in that
place and I said no? Let’s do it now, come on!”
Your mouth dropped to the floor and you pressed your ear to the door, no way in hell that was
about to happen outside-
“Why not!”
“Stop yelling,” you heard his voice, stern, solemn, serious.
“You always d-do this now. Why don’t you touch me anymore, love me anymore?” she cried now,
“why, why, why? What did I do? Am I not attractive enough anymore?”
“Stop that-”
If everything could have come crumbling down again, like the day her mother died, if anything
could have hurt as much as that day, it was this moment, it was what she said next.
“Is it because I’m dying too?”
You barely heard his “What?” from the other side of the door, a soft whisper, disbelief laced into
every sound of every letter.
You were 26 when you finally, fully, completely let Jungkook go.

It was the day of your wedding.

You took a deep breath and look into the full-body mirror in the dressing room, finally wearing
the dress that had haunted you for so long, its lacy white fabric cascading down in a mocking
manner, taunting you with its effortless beauty.
“I didn’t think it was possible for you to look any better,” one the girls exclaimed, “but obviously,
I was wrong!”
“Breathtaking,” another said. “Absolutely gorgeous!”
You blushed, looking down with a meek smile, “thank you so much. For everything.”
“Of course, it is your day, after all,” they assured you, “come on, come on,” they urged you now,
placing the translucent veil on your head and handing you the bouquet of white lilacs and yellow
hyacinths and orange orchids, Taehyung’s favorite flowers, you mused when you picked them out,
unable to stop your eyes from wandering over to the red dahlias and plumerias, their blood-stained
petals reminding you of Jungkook, and you imagined if it was him you were marrying today, they
would’ve been perfectly intertwined within the white of the lilacs, the green stems and leaves.
“Everyone’s waiting for you.”
You nodded, took another deep breath, and let them lead you out of the small room, let yourself
leave Jungkook and the encounter you had with him only 15 minutes prior in there, let yourself
finally leave him in your past as you climbed this shooting branch, this new story with Taehyung,
forever imprinted on the tree that was your life.
Another breath and you were standing outside the corridor of the wedding hall, one more and the
doors opened, revealing the room filled with close to a hundred people, family, friends, everyone
there to share this day with you and your soon-to-be husband, to see you join him in holy
matrimony.
When you stepped in, all those heads turned, all those eyes flitted to look at you, and you became
hyper aware of everyone and their gazes, suddenly conscious of just how many people there were
in that room, and your body stiffened underneath the stares and the whispers that you heard all
around you.
“Relax,” your father murmured next to you, “breathe, darling.”
It was one more breath before he looped his arm around yours and the music began to play.
The first note rang in your ears, the second in your head, and the third in your heart. The beat of
the pulsing organ was much faster than the beat of the song, and you imagined you could hear, feel
the blood rushing through your body, your breath speeding up with each step you took towards the
man you were marrying. He was beaming, smiling so brightly it could’ve blinded someone, and
you felt like you were only one second away from breaking down into tears, the fact that he was
so happy when you had cheated on him for seven years with his childhood friend, cheated on him
only 15 minutes ago on your wedding day, cheating on him right now as you sought Jungkook’s
head out in the multitudes of people seated.
You spotted him in the front, and as you got nearer, you saw his grim expression for only a second
before looking away, the same he wore when he came to see you, and your heart ached again,
wanting to reach out to him and tell him you wanted him too, that it was all a lie, your insistence
on the end of your affair, that you wanted a do-over, another chance at life with him.
But, then, naturally, your eyes went from his to hers, and you were reminded why you couldn’t
say any of that, why you couldn’t stop this whole charade, why you had to carry on with your
responsibility and Jungkook with his.
With one glance at her face, you were reminded of how everything played out after the engagement
party, the way he begged you to forget that his girlfriend had been diagnosed with the same disease
her mother had, the one that took her away from everyone too soon, the way he pleaded for you to
run away with him, go somewhere far, far away, away from everyone that would’ve been hurt or
betrayed by the love you two shared.
No, Jungkook, you told him, it’s over. It’s done. Just let me go.
He had proposed to her some time after he found out she was suffering from the same affliction as
her mother, and of course, everyone’s family planned the wedding for her together, you becoming
closer to her during those months when she asked you for help, it’s no big deal, I’m planning my
wedding anyway. You smiled at her, it’s the least I can do, don’t worry about it.
You owed her much more than just planning her wedding, but you didn’t tell her that.
And as you looked upon her smiling face, you imagined you saw dark circles underneath sunken
eyes, imagined she was already thinner, skin was stretched, imagined she was more fragile, delicate
than ever before. She needed him more than you did and that fact was true the day her mother died
and it was true today and it would be true tomorrow, next year, ten years in the future. You looked
at her for one more second, feeling for the first time relief and happiness that she was the one that
ended up with Jungkook, such a sweet, kind girl that would always love him and take care of him.
You walked past the two without looking at him again, only focusing your eyes on Taehyung and
you knew you had made the right decision, your first selfless act.
When you reached him, finally, the music stopped and your father passed you off and Taehyung
took your hand in his huge one, his grip warmth and comfort and home all in one touch, and pulled
you onto the altar with him. He paused before lifting your veil off your face, his eyes widening
when he finally looked at you without the obstruction, and he whispered, “You are so beautiful.”
And then the officiant began, his loud voice booming throughout the venue, “Dear friends and
family, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of Taehyung and Y/N in
marriage…”
He spoke for what felt like forever, stories and quotes from poetry and literature filled with love
and commitment and the importance of marriage, marriage is more than the joining of two people,
it is the union of two hearts, he said, no other human ties are more tender and no other vows more
important than those you are about to take. Both of you come to this day with the deep realization
that the contract of marriage is sacred, as are all of its obligations and responsibilities.
A contract. A responsibility. An obligation.
Everyone had their own; everyone had vows that bound them to duties and commitments, but more
often than not, those vows bound them to people. The very first vow you said, back when you were
7 and didn’t know anything about love or death or pain, back when Jungkook was yours and you
were his, that vow compelled you to him for the most arduous years of your life: you and me,
forever.
But sometimes you have to break promises, sometimes you have to put the past in the past and
leave it there, leave it with all the bad and all the poison so you can move on, so you can grow and
mature and try to become someone better, someone that can be proud of who you are and what
you do and what you want, someone that doesn’t hurt but heals, someone that doesn’t lie or pretend
but lives honestly, truthfully, out in the open.
You were none of that when you were with Jungkook.
It was one last deep breath before you said the last vow you would ever say for the rest of your
life.

It was the day of her wedding.

Jungkook’s heart wasn’t even beating in his chest anymore, it had stopped moving completely,
shriveled up like a rotten, wilted flower left out in the sun, one that had been left to endure the
harsh conditions of a blustery winter.
He thought it couldn’t get any worse, seeing the girl he loved up on the altar with the boy he’d
known since childhood, seeing her marry someone that wasn’t him; he thought it couldn’t get any
worse than that.
But it did.
“Do you, Kim Taehyung, take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, promising to love and cherish,
through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges you may face, for as long
as you both shall live?”
Taehyung didn’t even hesitate when he spoke the words.
“I do.”
Then the officiant turned to her, and Jungkook had to fight from screaming the words, no, no, no,
stop, stop, stop, had to keep himself from ripping his wife’s hand off his arm, tenderly rubbing
circles into his bicep, wistfully sighing at the spectacle in front of them all; he had to will himself
with all of his strength and power to stay seated and not run up there and pull her into him, yelling
to everyone there that she was his and he was hers, her and him, forever.
“Do you, Y/N Y/L/N , take Kim Taehyung to be your lawfully wedded husband, promising to love
and cherish, through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges you may face,
for as long as you both shall live?”
Jungkook didn’t do any of that, didn’t do anything he truly wanted to do, because he loved her, he
loved that girl up there, the girl that had let him go, acted like she didn’t love him anymore even
though he knew she did, knew she couldn’t forget him and the past 7 years they had given each
other, couldn’t forget the entire life she had spent growing up with him and learning him, loving
him, being with him.
He didn’t do any of that because he knew this was what she wanted, knew she wanted to marry
Taehyung and not him; this was what she wanted, that girl up there who had thought only about
herself and what she wanted for her whole life except for the one time he actually needed her to
be selfish. What a fucking time to finally be selfless, he remembered thinking when she rejected
his offer to leave; it was almost funny and if he didn’t feel so empty, he would’ve laughed.
Then he flashed back to only 15 minutes ago, when she was still in his arms and he was kissing
her and it felt like it was summer again, like they were in his car or his apartment or his old
bedroom. He almost cried right then and there, realizing how much everything had changed, how
fast time had flown by and what he would’ve given for only another year, another summer, another
month, day, hour with her.
Jungkook, she had said what now felt like ages ago, our time is finally up. And like the lovestruck
idiot he was, he thought she was lying like all those other times she looked into his eyes and
murmured this is the last time, we can’t do this anymore, you and me, we have to stop.
But this wasn’t like then. This wasn’t the past, this wasn’t 7 years ago, a replay of the first time
she left him to go to America when she would return, beautiful and alluring and ready for him, no,
this was today, this was the present and there was no return from this. There was no coming back
from this.
And when she finally spoke again, filling the wedding hall with her melodic voice, when she spoke
with warmth and tenderness in her voice, a beautiful, radiant smile on her face, the same warmth
and tenderness she used when she used to wake up next to Jungkook and whisper good morning,
love, in his ear, her fingers caressing his temples, the same smile she gave him when he made her
laugh or told her he loved her, when she said those words, he knew our time is finally up wasn’t
another delay, another avoidance; it was the cold, hard truth.
His wife tugged on his sleeve, “this is my favorite part,” she whispered, he heard sniffles and
whispers around him; but Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off her as he waited for her to say those
words, the horrible vow that bound her to another man for the rest of her life, a man that wasn’t
him, would never be him.
He thought he’d never again feel as empty and hollow as he did then, sitting there, watching it all
play out before like some performance he had no power of intervening into, like some punishment
he had to accept and live with. This was his punishment, his retribution for being selfish. So selfish.
One deep breath, one anxious tap his thigh, and he heard her.
“I do.”